The new and complete book of martyrs; or, An universal history of martyrdom: being Fox's Book of marytrs, revised and corrected, with additions and great improvements. : Containing an authentic account of the lives, persecutions and sufferings of the holy martyrs; and the many dreadful persecutions against the Church of Christ in all parts of the world, by pagans, Jews, Turks, papists, and others, from earliest ages of the church to the present period. ... The whole forming at once a general Christian martyrology, and a complete history of persecutions. / By the Rev. Mr. John Fox, M.A. late of Magdalen College, Oxford. ; Now revised, corrected and improved, with many additional articles, relating to the acts and monuments of the church. By Paul Wright, D.D. ; Embellished with forty elegant copper plate engravings. ; In two volumes. Vol. I[-II].

CHAP. II. Continuation of the Persecution arrow_forward of PROTESTANTS during the Reign of QUEEN MARY I. with the providential Deliverances of many from their cruel Enemies the PAPISTS.

An Account of the Sufferings and cruel Torments of CUTBERT SYMSON, Deacon of the Christian Con|gregation in London.

CUTBERT SYMSON was a man of a faith|ful and zealous heart to Christ and his true flock, insomuch that he never ceased labouring, and studying most earnestly, not only how to preserve them without corruption of the popish religion, but also his care was very vigilant, how to keep them together without danger or peril of persecu|tion. The pains, travail, zeal, patience, and fide|lity of this man, in caring and providing for this congregation, as it is not easily to be expressed; so it is wonderful to behold the providence of the Lord by vision, concerning the troubles of this faithful minister and godly deacon, as in this here following may appear.

THE Friday night before Mr. Rough, minister of the congregation (of whom mention was made before), was taken, being in his bed he dreamed, that he saw two of the guards leading Cutbert Sym|son, deacon of the said congregation, and that he had the book about him, wherein were written the names of all them which were of the congregation. Whereupon being sore troubled he awaked, and called his wife, saying, Kate, strike a light, for I am much troubled with my brother Cutbert this night. When she had so done, he began to read in his book a while, and there feeling sleep to come upon him, he put out the candle, and so gave him|self again to rest. Being asleep, he dreamed the like dream again; and, awaked therewith, he said, Oh Kate, my brother Cutbert is gone. So they lighted a candle again, and rose. And as the said Mr. Rough was making him ready to go to Cut|bert to see how he did, in the mean time the said Cutbert came in with the book containing the names and accounts of the congregation. Whom when Mr. Rough had seen, said he, Brother Cut|bert, you are welcome; for I have been sore trou|bled with you this night, and so told him his dream. After he had so done, he desired him to lay the book away from him, and to carry it no more about him. Unto which Cutbert answered, he would not so do; for dreams, he said, were but fancies, and not to be credited. Then Mr. Rough straitly charged him in the name of the Lord to do it. Whereupon the said Cutbert took such notes out of the book, as he had desired him to do, and im|mediately left the book with Mr. Rough's wife.

THE next night following, the said Mr. Rough had another dream in his sleep, concerning his own trouble. The matter whereof was this: he thought in his dream that he was carried himself forcibly to the bishop, and that the bishop pluckt off his beard, and cast it into the fire, saying these words▪ Now I may say I have had a piece of an heretic burned in my house, and so accordingly it came to pass.

NOW to return to Cutbert again; as we have touched something concerning these visions, so now remaineth to mention his pains and sufferings upon the rack, and otherwise, like a good Laurence for the congregation's sake, as he wrote with his own hand.

A true Account how he was used in the Tower of Lon|don, being sent thither by the Council, the 13th day of December.

ON the Thursday after, I was called into the Warehouse, before the constable of the Tower, and the recorder of London, Mr. Cholm|ley; they commanded me to tell, whom I did will to come to the English service. I answered, I would

declare nothing. Whereupon I was set in a rack of iron, the space of three hours, as I judged.

THEN they asked me if I would tell them. I an+swered as before. Then was I loosed, and carried to my lodging again. On the Sunday after I was brought into the same place again, before the lieu|tenant and the recorder of London, and they ex|amined me. As before I had said, I answered. Then the lieutenant did swear by God I should tell. Then did they bind my two sore fingers together, and put a small arrow betwixt them, and drew it through so fast that the blood followed, and the arrow brake.

THEN they racked me twice. Then was I car|ried to my lodging again, and ten days after the lieutenant asked me if I would not confess that which they had before asked me. I answered, I had said as much as I would. Then five weeks after he sent me unto the high priest, where I was greatly assaulted, and at whose hand I received the pope's curse, for bearing witness of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. And thus I commend you unto God, and to the word of his grace, with all them that unfeignedly call upon the name of Jesus, de|siring God of his endless mercy, through the merits of his dear Son Jesus Christ, to bring us all to his everlasting kingdom, Amen. I praise God for his great mercy shewed upon us. Sing Hosanna unto the Highest with me Cutbert Symson. God for|give me my sins. I ask all the world forgiveness, and I do forgive all the w••••ld, and thus I leave this world, in hope of a joyful resurrection.

A Note of Cutbert Symson's Patience.

NOW as touching this Cutbert Symson, this is further to be noticed, that Bonner in his consistory, speaking of Cutbert Symson, gave this testimony of him there to the people, saying, You 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this man, saith he, what a p••r••••nable man he is; and after he had thus commended his person, added moreover, And furthermore concerning his pa••i|••nce, I say unto you, that ••f he were not an heresie, ••••e is a man of the greatest patience that ever yet came before me: fo•• I tell you, he hath been thrice racked upon one day 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Tower. Also in my house he hath felt some sorrow, and yet I never saw his patience broken, &c.

IT is thought and said by some, that that arrow which was grated between his singers, being tied together, was not in the Tower, but in the bishop's house.

THE day before this blessed deacon and martyr of God, Cutbert Symson, after his painful racking, should go to his condemnation before Bonner to be burned, being in the stocks in the bishop's ••od|house, he had a very strange vision or apparitio•• which he himself with his own mouth declared to that learned man Mr. Austen, to his own wife, and Thomas Symson, and to others besides, in the p••••|son of Newgate a little before his death. The re|lation whereof I stand in no little doubt whether 〈◊〉〈◊〉 report abroad or not, considering with myself 〈◊〉〈◊〉 great diversity of men's judgments, by the reading of histories, and variety of affections. Some I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will not believe it, some will deride the same, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 also will be offended with the setting forth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 uncertain things of that sort, esteeming all things 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be uncertain and incredible which appears any way strange from the common order of nature.

OTHERS will be perhaps grieved, thinking with themselves, or else reasoning with me, that although the matter were as is reported, yet, forasmuch 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the common error of believing tho••e rash miracle••▪ fancies visions, dreams, and apparitions, thereby may be confirmed, it is thought more expedient 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the same to be omitted.

THESE, and such like, will be, I know, the say|ings of many. Whereunto briefly I answer, grant|ing first, and admitting with the words of Basil, Not every dream is straightway a prophesy. A|gain, neither am I ignorant that the papists in their books and legends of saints, have their prodigious visions and apparitions of angels, of our lady, of other saints, and of Christ: which as I will not ad|mit to be believed as true; so will they ask me, why should I require more to be credited by them, than their's by us.

FIRST, I write not this to oblige any man precise|ly to believe the same, as they do their's, but only

report it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it hath been h••ard of persons known▪ naming also the parties who were the hearers there of, leaving the judgment thereof notwithstanding ••••e unto the arbi••r••ment of the reader. Al••ho' it is no good argument, proceeding from the sin|gular or particular, to the universal, to say that visions be not true in some: Ergo, they be true in none. And if any shall mus••, or object again, Why should such visions be given to him▪ or a few other singular persons, more than to all the rest, seeing the others were in the same cause and quar|rel, and died also martyrs as well as he? To this I say, concerning the Lord's times and doings I have not to meddle nor make, who may work where and when it pleaseth him. And what if the Lord thought chiefly above others with singular consola|tion to respect him, who is chiefly above the other, and singularly did suffer most exquisite torments for his sake? What great marvel herein? But, as I said, of the Lord's secret times I have not to rea|son. This only which hath out of the man's own mouth been received, so as I received it of the par|••ies, I thought here to communicate to the reader, for him to judge thereof as God shall rule his mind. The matter is this.

THE day before Symson was condemned, he be|ing in the stocks, Cluney, his keeper, cometh in with the keys about nine o'clock at night (after his usual manner) to view his prison, and see whether all were present, who when he espied the said Cut|bert to be there, departed again, locking the doors after him. Within two hours after, about eleven o'clock toward midnight, the said Cutbert (whether being in a slumber▪ or being awake I cannot say) heard one coming in, first opening the outward door, then the second, after the third door, and so looking in to the said Cutbert, having no candle or torch that he could see, but giving a brightness and light most comfortable and joyful to his heart, say|ing unto him▪ Ha•• and departed again. Who it was he could not tell, neither dare I define. This that he saw he himself declared four or five times to the said Mr. Austen, and others. At the sight whereof he received such joyful comfort, that he also expressed no little solace in telling and declaring the same.

A LETTER From Cutbert Symson to his Wife, written in the Coal-House.

DEARLY beloved in the Lord Jesus Christ, I cannot write as I do wish unto you.

I beseech you with my soul, commit yourself under the mighty hand of our God, trusting in his mercy, and he will surely help us, as shall be most unto his glory and our everlasting comfort, being sure of this, that he will suffer nothing to come unto us, but that which will be most profitable for us.

FOR it is either a correction for our sins, or a trial of our faith, or to set forth his glory, or for all together, and therefore must needs be well done. For there is nothing that cometh unto us by for|tune or chance, but by our heavenly Father's pro|vidence. And therefore pray unto our heavenly Father, that he will ever give us his grace to con|sider it. Let us give him most hearty thanks for these his fatherly corrections; for as many as he loveth he correcte••••▪ And I beseech you now be of good cheer, and count the cross of Christ greater riches, than all the vain pleasures of England. I do not doubt (I praise God for it), but that you have supped with Christ at his Maundy; I mean, believe in him: for that is the effect, and then must you drink of his cup, I mean his cross (for that doth the cup signify unto us). Take the cup with a good stomach, in the name of God, and then shall you be sure to have the good wine, Christ's blood, to thy poor thirsty soul. And when you have the wi••e, you must drink it out of this cup. Learn this when you come to the Lord's supper. In all things give thanks.

In the name of Jesus shall every knee bow, CUTBERT SYMSON.

The Martyrdom of HUGH FOXE and JOHN DE|VENISH.

WITH Cutbert Symson likewise were appre|hended and also suffered Hugh Foxe and John Devenish; who being brought unto their ex|aminations with the said Cutbert, before Bonner, bishop of London, March 19, had articles and interrogatories ministered unto them by the said officer.

The general Answers of Cutbert Symson, Hugh Foxe, and John Devenish, to the Articles proposed to them by the Bishop.

TO the first article they all answered affirmative|ly: but John Devenish added, That that church is grounded upon the prophets and apostles, Christ being the head corner••stone, and how in that church there is the true faith and religion of Christ.

TO the second article they all confessed and be|lieved, That in Christ's catholic church, there are but two sacraments, namely, baptism and the sup|per of the Lord; otherwise they do not believe the contents of this article to be in any part thereof.

TO the third, fourth, and fifth articles they all answered affirmatively.

TO the sixth article they all answered, and denied to acknowledge the authority of the see of Rome to be lawful and good, or yet his religion.

TO the seventh article they all answered affirma|tively, that they have and will do still while they live; and John Devenish adding thereto, said that the sacrament of the altar, as it is now used, is no sacrament at all.

TO the eighth article they all confessed, and be|lieved all things above by them acknowledged and declared to be true, and that they are of the diocese of London, and jurisdiction of the same.

THESE three above-named persons, Cutbert, Foxe, and Devenish, as they were altogether apprehend|ed at Islington, so they all three suffered together in Smithfield, about the 28th day of March, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whose perfect constancy the same Lord (in who•••• cause and quarrel they suffered), giver of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 grace, and governor of all things, be exalted for ever, Amen.

An Account of the Martyrdom of WILLIAM NICHOL of Haversord-West, in Wales.

WE find in all ages from the beginning, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Satan hath not ceased at all times to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the church of Christ with one affliction or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the trial of their faith, but yet never so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at any time to all the world, as 〈…〉〈…〉 Lord hath permitted him power over the 〈…〉〈…〉 his saints to the shedding of their blood, 〈…〉〈…〉 of their religion; for then sleepeth 〈…〉〈…〉 I warrant you, from the murdering of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 unless they will fall down with Ahab and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to worship him, and so kill and poison their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 souls eternally; as in these miserable latter 〈◊〉〈◊〉 queen Mary we have felt, heard, and seen 〈◊〉〈◊〉 upon God's people. Among whom we ••••••corded an honest poor man, named Willi•••• ••••••chol, who was apprehended by the 〈…〉〈…〉 the pope, for speaking certains words aga•••••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 cruel kingdom of Antichrist, and on the 9th 〈◊〉〈◊〉 April, 1558, was burnt in Wales, ending his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a most happy and blessed state, gloriously 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his soul into the hands of that God, whose 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be praised for ever, Amen.

THIS William Nichol [as we are informed] 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so simple a good soul, that many esteemed him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 foolish. But what he was in that respect we 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not, but this we are sure he died a good man, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in a good cause, whatsoever they judge of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 And the more simplicity and feebleness of wit ap|peared in him, the more beastly and wretched doth it declare their cruel tyrannical act therein. Th•• Lord give them repentance, if it be his blessed will, Amen.

An Account of the Martyrdom of WILLIAM SEAMAN, THOMAS CARMAN, and THOMAS HUDSON, at Norwich, in the County of Norfolk.

IMMEDIATELY after William Nichol, suc|ceeded in that honourable and glorious vocation of martyrdom three constant godly men at Nor|wich, in Norfolk, who were cruelly put to death for the true testimony of Jesus Christ, the 19th of May, 1558, whose names be these: William Sea|man, Thomas Carman, and Thomas Hudson.

WILLIAM SEAMAN was an husbandman, of the age of 26 years, dwelling in Mendlesham, in the county of Suffolk, who was divers times sought after at the command of sir John Tyrrel, knight, and at last he himself searched his house and other places for him; notwithstanding he somewhat mis|••••d of his purpose, God be thanked. Then he gave charge to his servants, Robert Baulding and ••••nes Clarke, with others, to seek for him. They, having no officer, went in the evening to his house, ••e being at home, took him and carried him to their master, sir John Tyrrel. This Baulding be|ing Seaman's near neighbour, and one whom Sea|man trusted as an extraordinary friend, notwith|standing, to do his master a pleasure, now became an enemy to his chief friend, and was one of the busiest in the taking of him. And as they were going to carry him to their master, sir John Tyrrel, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the night, it is credibly reported that there fell a ••ight between them out of the elements, and part|ed them, this Baulding being in company with the rest when the light fell; and although he was then in the prime of his age, yet after that time never enjoyed a good day, but pined away even to death.

WELL, for all that strange sight (as I said), they carried him to their master. Who, when he came, asked him why he would not go to mass, and receive the sacrament, and so worship it? To which Wil|liam Seaman answered (denying it to be a sacra|ment) and said, It was an idol, and that he would not receive it. After which words sir John Tyrrel sent him to Norwich, to Hopton, then bishop, and there after conference and examination had with him, the bishop read his bloody sentence of con|demnation against him; and afterward delivered him to the secular power, who kept him till the day of martyrdom.

THE said William Seaman left behind him, when he died, a wife, and three children very young: and his wife with her said young children, was persecuted out of the said town of Mendlesham, because she would not go to hear mass, and all her corn and goods seized and taken away, by Mr. Christopher Cole's officers, he being lord of the said town.

THOMAS CARMAN (who, as is said, pledged Ri|chard Crashfield at his burning, and thereupon was apprehended), being prisoner in Norwich, was one time with the rest examined and brought before the said bishop, who answered no less in his Master's cause than the others; and therefore had the like reward that the others had, which was the bishop's bloody blessing of condemnation, and delivered also to the secular power, who kept him with the others until the day of slaughter, which was not long after.

THOMAS HUDSON was of Ailesham, in Norfolk, by his occupation a glover, a very honest poor man, having a wife and three children, labouring always truly and diligently in his vocation, being thirty years of age, and bearing so good a will to the gospel, that he in the days of king Edward the Sixth, two years before queen Mary's reign, learn|ed to read English of Anthony and Thomas Nor|gate, of the same town, wherein he greatly profited about the time of the alteration of religion; for when queen Mary came to reign, and had changed the service in the church, putting in for wheat, chaff and darnel, and for good preaching, blasphe|mous crying out against truth and godliness; he then avoiding all their ceremonies of superstition, absented himself from his house, and went into Suffolk a long time, and there remained travelling from one place to another, as occasion offered. At last he returned back to his house at Ailesham, to comfort his wife and children, being heavy and troublesome with his absence.

NOW when he came home, and perceived his continuance there would be dangerous, he and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 devised to make him a place among 〈…〉〈…〉

to hide himself in, where he remained all the day reading and praying continually, for the space of half a year, and his wife, like an honest woman being careful for him, used herself faithfully and diligently towards him.

IN the mean time came the vicar of the town (who was one of the bishop's commissaries, a very wicked man), and inquired of Thomas Hudson's wife for her husband. Unto whom she answered, as not knowing where he was. Then the said Berry waxed angry, and threatened to burn her, because she would not tell where her husband was. After that when Hudson understood it, he grew every day more zealous than before, and continu|ally read and sung psalms, the people openly resorting to him, to hear his exhortations and prayers.

AT last he walked abroad for certain days openly in the town, crying out continually against the mass and all their trumpery, and in the end coming home to his house, he sat him down, having his book by him, reading and singing psalms continu|ally without ceasing, for three days and three nights together, to the great wonder of many.

THEN one John Crouch, his next neighbour, went to the constables, Robert Marsham and Robert Lawes, in the night to certify them thereof: for Berry commanded openly to watch for him, and the constables understanding the same, went to catch him at break of day, the 22d of April, 1558.

AND when Hudson saw them come in, he said, Now mine hour is come: welcome friends, wel|come. You be they that shall lead me to life in Christ. I thank God for it, and the Lord enable me thereto for his mercy's sake. Then they took and led him to Berry, the commissary, who was vicar of the town, and the said Berry asked him, first, Where he kept his church for four years be|fore? To which the said Hudson answered thus, Wheresoever he was, there was the church.

DOST thou not believe, said Berry, in the sacra|ment of the altar? What is it?

Hudson.

It is worms meat: my belief is in Christ crucified.

Berry.

Dost thou not believe the mass to put away sins?

Hudson.

No, God forbid; it is a patched mon|ster, and a disguised puppet, more tedious a piece|ing than ever was Solomon's temple.

AT which words Berry stamped, fumed, and shewed himself a mad-man, and said, Well, tho•• villain, thou—I will write to the bishop, my good lord, and trust unto it, thou shalt be handled accord|ing to thy deserts. O sir, said Hudson, there is no Lord but God, though there be many lords and many gods. With that Berry thrust him back with his hand. And one Richard Cliffar, standing by, said, I pray you, sir, be good to the poor man. At which words Berry was more mad than before, and would have had Cliffar bound in a recognizance of forty pounds for his good behaviour both in word and deed; but his desire took no effect. Then he asked Hudson whether he would recant, or not: to which Hudson answered, The Lord forbid! I had rather die many deaths than do so.

THEN after long talk, the said Berry, seeing it to no purpose to persuade him, took his pen and ink▪ and wrote letters to the bishop thereof, and sent this Hudson to Norwich, bound like a thief, to him, which was eight miles from thence, who went thi|ther singing with joy, as merry as ever he was in his life before. He was a month in prison, where he spent his time in reading and invocating the name of God.

THESE three christian and constant martyrs, William Seaman, Thomas Carman, and Thomas Hudson, after they were, (as you have heard) con|demned the 19th day of May, 1558, were carried out of prison to the place where they should suffer, which was without Bishopsgate, at Norwich, called Lollard's Pit. And being all there, they made their humble petitions to the Lord. That being done, they arose and went to the stake, and standing all there with their chains about them, immediately Thomas Hudson came forth from them under the

chain, to the great surprize of all the spectators; many doubted his constancy, fearing he should re|cant; others thought he wanted a reprieve for further conference; and some imagined he came forth to ask his parents blessing. In the midst of this confusion his two companions at the stake did all they could to comfort and encourage him, ex|horting him in the bowels of Christ to be of good cheer, &c. But alas! he felt more in his consci|ence than they could conceive, for he was encom|passed with intolerable grief of mind, not for fear of death, but for lack of an inward sensible feeling of the love of his Saviour: and therefore, being very careful, he humbly fell upon his knees, and vehemently prayed to God, who at last (according to his old mercies) sent him comfort; and then he arose in ecstasy of joy, as a new man changed even from death to life, and said, Now I thank God I am strong, and care not what man can do unto me. So going again to his companions at the stake, they all suffered death most joyfully, constantly, and manfully together, to the terror of the wicked, the comfort of good people, and the glory of God, whose name be praised for ever. Amen.

AFTER this, the aforesaid commissary Berry made a great stir about others who were suspected in the town of Ailesham, and caused two hundred to creep through the cross at Pentecost, besides other punish|ments which they suffered.

ON a time this Berry gave a poor man of his parish of Marsham a blow with a flail, for a word's speaking, that presently thereon he died; and it is reported that the said Berry held up his hand at the bar for the same.

AT another time one Alice Oxes, of the same parish came to his house, and going into the hall he met her, and, being in an ill humour, he struck her with his fist, whereupon she was fain to be carried home, and the next day was found dead in her chamber.

THE number of whores and concubines he had is incredible to all, but to those that lived near him. He was rich, and of great authority, and as great a reprobate, persecuting the gospel, and compelling men to idolatry; he burnt all the good books he could lay hands on, and divorced many men and women for religion.

WHEN he heard that queen Mary was dead, and the glory of her triumph quelled, the Sunday after (being the 19th of November, 1558) he made a great feast, and had one of his concubines there, with whom he was in his chamber after dinner un|til even-song. Then went to church, where he had ministered baptism; and in his return from even-song, between the church-yard and his house, being but a little space (about the breadth of the church-yard) he fell down suddenly to the ground with a groan, and never stirred after, neither shewed any one token of repentance. And those that had his great riches since his death have so consumed them, that they be poorer now than they were before they had them.

NOW let the reader observe the difference be|tween the end of a martyr, and the end of a per|secutor.

ABOUT this time Joan Seaman, mother to the aforesaid William Seaman, being of the age of six|ty-six years, was persecuted by the said sir John Tyrrel also, because she would not go to mass and receive against her conscience: which good old wo|man being from her house, was glad some time to lie in bushes, groves, and fields, and sometimes in her neighbour's house when she could. And her husband being at home, about 80 years old, fell sick; and she hearing thereof, with speed returned home to her house again, not regarding her life, but considering her duty, and shewed her diligence to her husband most faithfully, till God took him a|way by death. Then by God's providence she fell sick also, and died in her own house soon after. When one Mr. Symonds, the commissary, heard of it, he (dwelling in a town hard by, called Thorn|ton) commanded that she should not have christian burial (as they termed it), and her friends were com|pelled to lay her in a pit under a mote's side. Her husband and she kept a good house, and had a good report amongst their neighbours, willing always to receive strangers, and to comfort the poor and sick, and lived together in the holy estate of matrimony very honestly above forty years; and departed this life willingly and joyfully, with a stedfast faith

and a good remembrance of God's promise in Jesus Christ.

A woman, called Mother Bennet, a widow, who lived in the town of Wetherset, near Mendle|sham, was persecuted out of the town for not going to mass, but at last she returned home again secret|ly to her house, and there departed this life joy|fully. But sir John Tyrrel, and Mr. Symonds, the commissary, would not let her be buried in the church-yard. So she was laid in a grave by the high-way side.

THIS good old woman met one of mother Sea|man's neighbours, and asked how mother Seaman did; and the neighbour answered, that she did very well, God be thanked. O, said mother Bennet, mo|ther Seaman hath stepped a great step before me; for she was never covetous, that I could perceive.

HER husband in his mirth would say unto her, O woman, if thou wert sparing, thou mightest have saved me an hundred marks more than thou hast. To which she would gently answer, O man, be content, and let us be thankful, for God hath given us enough, if we can see it. Alas, good husband, would she say, I tell you truth, I cannot firkin up my butter, and keep my cheese in the chamber, waiting for a great price, and let the poor want, and so displease God. But, husband, let us be rich in good works, and so shall we please the Lord, and have all good things given us, &c.

IN the month of May likewise, William Harris, Richard Day, and Christian George, suffered at Colchester, and there joyfully and fervently made their prayers to God.

AND being settled at the stake, and chained to the posts, with the fire flaming fiercely round about them, they, like constant christians, triumphantly praised God within the same, and offered up their bodies a lively sacrifice unto his holy Majesty, in whose habitation they have now their everlasting tabernacles: his name be therefore praised for ever|more, Amen.

THE said Christian George's husband had another wife burnt before this Christian, whose name was Agnes George, who suffered as you have heard, at Stratford the Bow. And after the death of the said Christian, he married an honest godly woman again▪ and so they both (I mean the said Richard George and his last wife) in the end were taken also, and laid in prison, where they remained till the death of queen Mary, and at last were delivered by our most gracious sovereign lady queen Elizabeth.

IN the month of June came out a proclamation from the king and queen, against wholesome and godly books, which under the false title of heresy and sedition were wrongfully condemned in the said proclamation, which here follows.

By the King and Queen.

WHEREAS divers books, filled both with heresy, sedition, and treason, have of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and be daily brought into this realm out of foreign countries and places beyond the seas, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 also covertly printed within this realm, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 abroad in sundry parts thereof, whereby not only God is dishonoured, but also an encouragement given to disobey lawful princes and governors•• the king and queen's majesties, for redress hereof, do by this their present proclamation declare 〈◊〉〈◊〉 publish to all their loving subjects, that whosoever shall, after the proclaiming hereof, be found to have any of the said wicked and seditious boo••••▪ or finding them, do not forthwith burn the same without shewing or reading the same to any other shall in that case be reputed and taken for a rebel, and shall without delay be executed for that offence, according to the order of martial law.

Given at our manor of St. James's, June the sixth.

JOHN CAWOOD, Printer.

The Apprehension of certain godly Men and Wo|men, praying together in the Fields about Isling|ton.

SECRETLY in a back close in a field by Isling|ton, were gathered together a company of innocent persons, to the number of forty men and

women. Who there sitting together at prayer, and virtuously occupied in the meditation of God's holy word, first cometh a certain man to them un|known, who looking over unto them, stayed and saluted them, saying, that they looked like men that meant no hurt. Then one of the said com|pany asked the man, if he could tell whose close that was, and whether they might be so bold to sit there. Yea, said he, because ye seem to be such persons as intend no harm; and so departed. Within a quarter of an hour after, came the con|stable of Islington, named King, with six or seven more, one with a bow, another with a bill, and the rest with weapons. Six or seven of this company were left behind in a private place, to be ready in case they were wanted, while the constable, and one with him went before to view them; they both went amongst them, looking and viewing what they were doing, and what books they had: and so going a little forward, and returning back again, ordered them to deliver their books. They un|derstanding that he was a constable, refused not so to do. Then came up the rest of their fellows, before-mentioned, who bade them stand and not depart. They answered again, they would be obedient and ready to go whithersoever they would have them, and they were first carried to a brew-house at a small distance, while some of the compa|ny went to the nearest justice; but he being not at home, they were carried before sir Roger Cholmley. In the mean time some of the women escaped away from them, some in the close where they sat, and others before they came to the brew-house. For so they were carried, ten with one man, eight with another, with some more, with others less, in such a manner as it was not hard for them to escape that would. In fine, they that were carried to sir Roger Cholmley, were twenty-seven, and sir Roger and the recorder taking their names in a bill, and calling them one by one, so many as answered to their names he sent to Newgate, which were twenty-two out of twenty-seven. They con|tinued in prison seven weeks; and before they were examined, word was sent by Alexander, the keeper, that if they would hear a mass, they should all be delivered, but thirteen of them were burnt, seven in Smithfield, and six at Brentford; two died in prison, and the other seven, with much trouble (through God's providence) escaped death. Their names were these:

• John Willes,
• Thomas Hinshaw,
• R. Bailey, woolpacket,
• Robert Willes,
• Hudleys,
• T. Coast, haberdasher,
• Roger Sandy.

THE names of the seven martyrs that were ap|prehended amongst others, in the close at Isling|ton, and afterwards burnt in Smithfield, were as follows:

• Henry Pond,
• Rainol Eastland,
• Robert Southam,
• Matthew Ricarby,
• John Floyd,
• John Holiday,
• Roger Holland.

THESE seven godly men had several articles ad|ministered to them by bishop Bonner, in the usual form; to which they returned their answers, and absolutely refusing to acknowledge the doctrine of the Romish church, were altogether condemned, the sentence being read against them, and so all seven by secular magistrates being sent to Newgate the 17th of June▪ not long after, about the 27th of the said month were brought to Smithfield, and there ended their lives in the glorious cause of Christ's gospel. Their particular examinations ne|ver came to our hands, except only those of Roger Holland, which here follow in the order and man|ner as we have received them by the information of some that were there present at the same.

The Examination and Condemnation of ROGER HOLLAND.

THIS Roger Holland, a merchant-taylor of London, was first an apprentice with one Mr. Kempton at the Black Boy in Watling-street, where he served his apprenticeship with much trou|ble to his master, in breaking him of the licentious liberty which he had before been trained and brought up in, giving himself to riot, as dancing, fencing, gaming, banquetting, and wanton com|pany; and besides all this, being a stubborn and obstinate papist, far unlike to come to any such end as God called him unto.

HIS master, notwithstanding his lewdness, trust|ed him with his accompts; and on a time he re|ceived the sum of thirty pounds for his master, and falling into ill company, lost every groat at dice, being past all hope which way to answer it, and therefore he purposed to convey himself beyond the seas, either into France or Flanders.

HAVING determined with himself thus to do, he called betimes in the morning on a servant in the house, an ancient and discreet maid, whose name was Elizabeth, who professed the gospel, with a life agreeing unto the same, and at all times much rebuking the wilful and obstinate papistry, as also the licentious living of this Roger Holland. To whom he said, Elizabeth, I would I had followed thy gentle persuasions and friendly rebukes; which if I had done, I had never come to this shame and misery which I am now fallen into; for this night I have lost thirty poudns of my master's money, which to pay him and to make up mine accounts I am not able. But this much, I pray you, desire my mistress, that she would entreat my master to take this note of my hand, that I am thus much indebted to him; and if I am ever able, I will see him paid, desiring him that none of my kindred and friends may ever understand this my lewd part: for if it should come to my father's ears, it would bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave: and so was he departing.

THE maid considering that it might be his utter ruin, Stay, said she; and having a sum of money by her, which was left her by a kinsman at his death, who was thought to be Dr. Redman, she brought unto him thirty pounds, saying Roger, here is thus much money, I will let the•• have it, and I will keep this note. But since I do thus much for thee, to help thee, and to save thy honesty, thou shalt promise me to refuse all lewd and wild company, all swearing and ribaldry talk; and if ever I know thee to play one twelve-pence at either dice or cards, then will I shew this thy note unto my master. And furthermore thou shalt promise me to resort every day to the lecture at All-hallows, and the sermon at St. Paul's every Sunday, and to cast a|way all thy books of popery and vain ballads, and get thee the Testament and book of service, and read the scriptures with reverence and fear, calling unto God still for his grace to direct thee in his truth. And pray fervently to God, desiring him to pardon thy former offences, and not to rememb•••• the sins of thy youth; and ever be afraid to break his laws, or offend his majesty. Then shall Go•• keep thee, and send thee thy heart's desire.

AFTER this time, within one half year God 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wrought such a change in this man, that he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 become an earnest professor of the truth, and detested all popery and ill company; so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he was in admiration to all them that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 known him, and seen his former life and wi••••••edness.

THEN he repaired to hi•• father in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and brought divers good books with him, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 stowed them among his friends, so that his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and others began to taste the sweetness of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and to detest the mass, idolatry, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and in the end his father gave him fifty 〈…〉〈…〉 begin the world withal.

THEN he came to London again, and went 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the maid that lent him the money to pay his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 withal, and said unto her, Elizabeth, here i•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 money I borrowed of thee, and for the friend•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 good will, and good council I have received at 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hands, to recompense thee I am not able, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wise than by making thee my wife; and soon 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they were married, which was in the first ye•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the reign of queen Mary. And having a child 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her, he caused Mr. Rose to baptize it in his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 house. Notwithstanding he was betrayed to, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 enemies, and he being gone into the country 〈◊〉〈◊〉 convey the child away, that the papists should 〈◊〉〈◊〉 have it in their anointing hands, Bonner caused hi•• goods to be seized on, and most cruelly used 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wife.

AFTER this he remained closely in the city, and in the country, in the congregations of the faithful▪ until the last year of queen Mary. Then he with six others before-named, were taken in, or not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from St. John's Wood, and brought up to New|gate upon May-day in the morning, 1558.

THEN being called before the bishop, Dr. Ched|sey, both the Harpsfields, and certain others, after

many other fair and crafty persuasions of Dr. Ched|sey, to allure him to their Babylonical church; thus the bishop began with him.

HOLLAND, I for my part do wish well unto thee, and the more for thy frie••d's sake. And as Dr. Standish telleth me, you and he were born in one parish, and he knoweth your father to be a very honest catholic gentleman: and Mr. Doctor told me that he talked with you a year ago; and found you very wilfully addicted to your own conceit. Divers of the city also have shewed me of you, that you have been a great procurer of men's ser|vants to be of your religion, and come to your congregations; but since you be now in the dan|ger of the law, I would wish you to act the wise man's part: so shall you not want any favour I can do or procure for you, both for your own sake, and also for your friends, who are men of worship and credit, and wish you well, and by my troth, Roger, so do I.

THEN said Mr. Eglestone, a gentleman of Lan|cashire, and near kinsman to Roger, being there present, I thank your good lordship; your honour meaneth good unto my cousin, I beseech God he have the grace to follow your counsel.

Holland.

Sir, you crave of God you know not what. I beseech God to open your eyes to see the light of the word.

Eglestone.

Roger, hold your peace, lest you fare worse at my lord's hands.

Holland.

No, I shall fare as it pleaseth God, for man can do no more than God doth permit him,

THEN the bishop and the doctors, with Johnson, the register, casting their heads together, in the end saith Johnson, Roger, how sayst thou? wilt thou submit thyself unto my lord, before thou be enter|ed into the book of contempt?

Holland.

I never meant but to submit myself unto the magistrates, as I learn of St. Paul to the Romans, chap. xiii. and so he recited the text.

Chedsey.

Then I see you are no anabaptist.

Holland.

I mean not yet to be a papist; for they and the anabaptists agree in this point, not to sub|mit themselves to any other prince or magistrate, than those that must first be sworn to maintain them and their doings.

Chedsey.

Roger, remember what I have said, and also what my lord hath promised he will per|form with further friendship. Take heed, Roger, for your ripeness of wit hath brought you into these errors.

Holland.

Mr. Doctor, I have yet your words in memory, though they are of no such force to prevail with me.

THEN they whispered together again, and at last Bonner said, Roger, I percieve thou wilt not be ruled by good counsel, for any thing that either I or your friends can say.

Holland.

I may say to you, my lord, as Paul said to Felix and to the Jews, as doth appear in the 22d of the Acts, and in the 15th of the first Epis|stle to the Corinthians. It is not unknown unto my master to whom I was apprentice withal, that I was of your blind religion that now is taught, and therein did obstinately and wilfully remain, un|til the latter end of king Edward, in manner, hav|ing that liberty under your auricular confession, that I made no conscience of sin, but trusted in the priest's absolution, he for money doing also som•• penance for me: which after I had given, I ••••red no further what offences I did, no more th•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 minded after he had my money, whether he tasted bread and water for me, or no: so that 〈◊〉〈◊〉, swearing, and all other vices, I accounted 〈◊〉〈◊〉 offence of danger, so long as I could for money have the•••• absolved. So straitly did I observe your rules of religion, that I would have ashes upon Ash Wed|nesday, though I had used ever so much wickedness at night. And albeit I could not of conscience eat flesh upon the Friday, yet in swearing, drinking,

or dicing all the night long, I made no conscience at all. And thus I was brought up, and herein I have cont••nued till now of late, that God hath open|ed the light of his word, and called me by his grace to repentance of my former idolatry and wicked life; for in Lancashire their blindness and whore|dom is much more than may with chasle ears be heard. Yet these my friends, which are not clear in these notable crimes, think the priest with his mass can save them, though they blaspheme God, and keep concubines beside their wives, as long as they live. Yea, I know some priests very devout, my lord, yet such as have six or seven children by four or five sundry women.

MR. Doctor, now to your antiquity, unity, and universality, (for these Dr. Chedsey, alledged as notes and tokens of their religion) I am unlearned. I have no sophistry to shift my reasons withal; but the truth I trust I have, which needeth no painted colours to set her forth. The antiquity of our church is not from pope Nicholas, or pope Joan, but our church is from the beginning, even from the time that God said unto Adam, that the seed of the woman should break the serpent's head; and so to faithful Noah; to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to whom it was promised, that their seed should multiply as the stars in the sky; and so to Moses, David and all the holy fathers that were from the beginning unto the birth of our Saviour Christ. All they that believe these promises were of the church, though the number were oftentimes but few and small, as in Elias's days, when he thought there was none but he that had not bowed their knees to Baal, when God had reserved seven thou|sand that never had bowed their knees to that idol: as I trust there be seven hundred thousand more than I know of, that have not bowed their knees to the idol your mass, and your God Ma••zim; the up|holding whereof is your bloody cruelty, while you daily persecute Elias and the servants of God, forc|ing them (as Daniel was in his chamber) closely to serve the Lord their God; and even as we by this your cruelty are forced in the fields to pray unto God, that his holy word may be once again truly preached amongst us, and that he would mitigate and shorten these idolatrous and bloody days wherein all cruelty reigneth. Moreover, of our church have been the apostles and evangelists, the martyrs and confessors of Christ, that have at all times and in all ages been persecuted for the testi|mony of the word of God. But for the upholding of your church and religion, what antiquity can you shew? Yea, the mass, that idol and chief pilla•• of your religion, is not yet four hundred years old▪ and some of your masses are younger, as that of S••. Thomas Becket, the traitor, wherein you pray, that you may be saved by the blood of St. Thomas. And as for your Latin service, what are we of the l••ity the better for it? I think he that should hear 〈◊〉〈◊〉 priests mumble up their service, although he did well understand Latin, yet should ••e under••••••nd few words thereof, the priests do so champ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and chew them, and post so fast, that they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 understand what they say, nor they that hear 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and in the mean time the people, when they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pray with the priest, are set to their beads to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 our lady's psalter. So crafty is S••tan to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 these his dreams (which you defend with faggo•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fire), to quench the light of the word of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which, as David saith, should be a lanthorn 〈…〉〈…〉 feet. And again, wherein shall a young 〈…〉〈…〉 his ways, but by the word of God? And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your will hide it from us in a tongue unknown, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Paul had rather have five words spoken with ••••|derstanding, than ten thousand in ••n 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tongue; and yet will you have your Latin 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and praying in a strange tongue, whereof the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 are utterly ignorant, to be of such antiquity▪

THE Greek church, and a good part of Chryste••|dom besides, never received your service in an un|known tongue, but in their own natural language, which all the people understand, neither yet your transubstantiation, your receiving in one kind, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 purgatory, your images, &c.

AS for the unity which is in your church, what is it else but treason, murder, poisoning one another, idolatry, superstition, and wickedness? What unity was in your church, when there were three popes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 once? Where was your head of unity when you had a woman pope? Here he was interrupted, and could not be suffered to proceed.

THE bishop then said, Roger, these thy words are downright blasphemy, and by the means of thy friends thou hast been suffered to speak, and art over malepert to teach any here. Therefore, keeper, take him away.

The second Examination of ROGER HOLLAND.

THE day that Henry Pond and the rest were brought forth to be again examined, Dr. Chedsey said, Roger, I trust you have now better considered of the church than you did before.

Holland.

I consider thus much: that out of the church there is no salvation, as divers ancient doc|tors say.

Bonner.

That is well said. Mr. Eglestone, I trust your kinsman will be a good catholic man. But, Roger, you mean, I trust, the church of Rome.

Holland.

I mean that church which hath Christ for her head; which also hath his word and his sa|craments according to his word and institution.

THEN Chedsey interrupted him, and said, Is that a Testament you have in your hand?

Holland.

Yea Mr. Doctor, it is •• New Testa|ment. You will find no fault with the translation (I think). It is your own translation; it is accord|ing to the great Bible.

Bonner.

How say you? How do you know that it is the Testament of Christ, but only by the church? For the church of Rome hath and doth preserve it, and out of the same hath made decrees, ordinances, and true expositions.

NO (saith Roger), the church of Rome hath and doth suppress the reading of the Testament. And what a true exposition, I pray you, did the pope make thereof, when he set his foot on the Empe|ror's neck, and said, "Thou shalt walk upon the lion and the asp; the young lion and the dragon shalt thou tread under thy foot," Psalm xci.

THEN said the bishop, Such unlearned wild heads as thou and others, would be expositors of the scrip|ture. Would you then the ancient learned (as there are some here as well as I) should be taught of you?

Holland.

Youth delighteth in vanity. My wildness hath been somewhat the more by your doctrine, than ever I learned out of this book of God. But (my lord) I suppose some old doctors say, if a poor layman bring his reason and argument out of the word of God he is to be credited be|fore the learned, though they be ever such great doctors. For the gift of knowledge was taken from the learned doctors, and given to poor fisher|men. Notwithstanding, I am ready to be instruct|ed by the church.

Bonner.

That is very well said, Roger. But you must understand that the church of Rome is the catholic church. Roger, for thy friend's sake (I promise thee) I wish thee well, and I mean to do thee good. Keeper, see he want nothing. Roger, if thou lackest any money to pleasure thee, I will see thou shalt not want. This he spake unto him alone, his companions being apart, with many other fair promises, and so he was sent to prison again.

The last Examination of ROGER HOLLAND.

THE last examination of Roger Holland was, when he with his fellow-prisoners were brought into the consistory, and there all excom|municated, except Roger, and ready to have their sentence of judgment given, with many threaten|ing words to affright them withal: the lord Strange, sir Thomas Jarret, M. Eglestone, Esq. and divers others of worship, both of Cheshire and Lancashre, that were Roger Holland's kinsmen and friends, being there present, who had been earnest suitors to the bishop in his favor, hoping for his safety of life. Now the bishop hoping yet to win him with his fair and flattering words, began after this man|ner.

Bonner.

Roger, I have divers times called thee before me at my own house, and have conferred with thee, and being not learned in the Latin tongue, it do••h appear unto me that thou hast a good memory, and very sensible in talk, but some|thing

over hasty, which is a natural impediment in|cident to some men. And surely they are not the worst natured men. For I myself am now and then too hasty, but mine anger is soon over. So, Ro|ger, surely I have a good opinion of you, that you will not with these fellows cast yourself headlong from the church of your parents and your friends that are here, very good catholics (as it is reported unto me). And as I mean thee good, so Roger, play the wise man's part, and come home with the lost son, and say, I have run into the church of schismatics and heretics, from the catholic church of Rome: and you shall, I warrant you, not only find favour at God's hands, but the church that hath authority, shall absolve you, and put new gar|ments upon you▪ and kill the fatling to make thee good cheer withal, that is, in so doing, as meat doth refresh and cherish the mind, so shalt thou find as much quietness of conscience in com|ing home to the church, as did the hungry son that had been fed before with the hogs, as you have done with these heretics that sever themselves from the church. I give them a homely name, but they be worse

(putting his hand to his cap out of reve|rence)

than hogs: for they know the church, and will not follow it. If I should say thus much to a Turk, he would (I think) believe me. But, Ro|ger, if I did not bear thee and thy friends good will, I would not have said so much as I have done, but I would have let mine ordinary alone with you.

AT these words his friends there present thanked the bishop for his good will, and for the pains he had taken in his and their behalf.

THEN the bishop proceeded, saying, Well, Ro|ger, how say you? Do you not believe, that after the priest hath spoken the words of consecration, there remaineth the body of Christ really and cor|porally, under the forms of bread and wine? I mean the self same body as was born of the virgin Mary, that was crucified upon the cross, that rose again the third day.

Holland.

Your lordship saith, the same body which was born of the virgin Mary, which was crucified upon the cross, which rose again the third day: but you leave out, which ascended into heav|en; and the scripture saith, he shall there remain until he come to judge the quick and the dead. Then he is not contained under the forms of bread and wine, by Hoc est corpus meum, &c.

Bonner.

Roger, I perceive my pains and good will will not prevail, and if I should argue with thee, thou art so wilful (as all thy fellows be, standing in thine own singularity and foolish conceit), that thou wouldst still talk to no purpose this seven years, if thou mightest be suffered. Answer whether thou wilt confese the real and corporal presence of Christ's body in the sacrament, or wilt not.

Holland.

My lord, although God by his suffer|ance hath here placed you, to set forth his truth and glory in us his faithful servants, notwithstanding your meaning is far from the zeal of Christ; and for all your words, you have the same zeal that Annas and Caiaphas had, trusting to their authori|ty, traditions, and ceremonies, more than to the word of God.

Bonner.

If I should suffer him, he would fall from reasoning to raving, as a frantic heretic.

ROGER (said the lord Strange), I perceive my lord would have you tell him, whether you will sub|mit yourself to him or no.

YEA, said Bonner, and confess this preface that I have spoken of.

WITH this Roger turned to the lord Strange, and the rest of his kinsmen and friends, and very chear|fully kneeled down upon his knees and said, God, by the mouth of his servant St. Paul, hath said, "Let every soul submit himself unto the higher powers, and he that resisteth, receiveth his own damnation;" and as you are a magistrate appointed by the will of God, so do I submit myself unto you, and to all such as are appointed for magis|trates.

Bonner.

That is well said, I see you are no an|abaptist. How say you then to the presence of Christ's body and blood in the sacrament of the al|tar?

Holland.

I say and beseech you all to mark and bear witness with me (for so you shall do before the judgment-seat of God) what I speak; for here is the conclusion: and ye, my dear friends

(turning to his kinsmen),

I pray you shew my father what I do say, that he may understand I am a christian man. I say and believe, and am therein fully persuaded by the scriptures, that the sacrament of the supper of our Lord, ministered in the holy communion ac|cording to Christ's institution, I being penitent and sorry for my sins, and minding to amend and lead a new life, and so coming worthily unto God's board in perfect love and charity, do there receive by faith the body and blood of Christ. And though Christ in his human nature sit at the right hand of his Father, yet (by faith I say) his death, his passion, his merits are mine, and by faith I dwell in him, and he in me. And as for the mass, transubstan|tiation, and the worshipping of the sacrament, they are mere impiety and horrible adolatry.

I thought so much said Bonner, (suffering him to speak no more) how he would prove a very blasphe|mous heretic as ever I heard. How irreverently doth he speak of the blessed mass? And so read his sentence of condemantion, adjudging him to be burned.

ALL this while Roger was very patient and qui|et, and when he should depart, he said, My lord, I beseech you suffer me to speak two words. The bishop would not hear him, but bade him away. Notwithstanding, being requested by one of his friends, he said, Speak, what hast thou to say?

Holland.

Even now I told you that your au|thority was from God, and by his sufferance: and now I tell you God hath heard the prayer of his servants, which hath been poured forth with tears for his afflicted saints, whom you daily persecute, as now you do us. But this I dare be bold in God to say, (by whose Spirit I am moved) that God will shorten your hand of cruelty, that for a time you shall not molest his church. And this you shall in a short time well perceive, my dear breth|ren, to be most true. For after this day, in this place there shall not be any by him put to the trial of fire and faggot: and after that day there were none that suffered in Smithfield for the truth of the gospel.

THEN said Bonner, Roger, thou ar••, I perceive as mad in these thy heresies as ever was Joan Butch|er. In anger and in fume thou wouldst become a railing prophet. Though thou and all the rest of you would see me hanged, yet I shall live to burn, yea and I will burn all the sort of you that come in|to my hands, that will not worship the blessed sa|crament of the altar, for all thy prattling: and so he went his way.

THEN Roger Holland began to exhort his friends to repentance, and think well of them that suffered for the testimony of the gospel, and with that the bishop came back, charging the keeper that no man should speak to them without his licence, and if they did, they would be committed to prison. In the mean time Henry Pond and Roger spake still unto the people, exhorting them to stand firm in the truth: adding moreover, that God would shorten these cruel and evil days for elect's sake.

THE day they suffered, a proclamation was made, that none should be so bold to speak or talk any word unto them, or receive any thing of them, or to touch them upon pain of imprisonment, without either bail or mainprize; with other cruel threaten|ing words contained in the same proclamation. Notwithstanding the people cried out, desiring God to strengthen them: and they likewise still prayed for the people, and the restoring of his word. At length Roger, embracing the stake and the reeds, said these words:

"Lord, I most humbly thank thy Majesty, that thou hast called me from the state of death, unto the light of thy heavenly word, and now unto the fellowship of thy sainte, that I may sing and say, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts. And, Lord, into thy hands I commit my spirit. Lord bless these thy people." And so he ended his life, look|ing up unto heaven, praying to, and praising God, with the rest of his fellow-saints. For whose joy|ful constancy the Lord be praised.

An Account of the Martyrdom of Six Men, who suf|fered at Brentford, for the true Testimony of JE|SUS CHRIST.

THESE six martyrs were of the company of those who were apprehended in a Close, near Islington (as is before-mentioned), and sent to pri|son. Whose names here follow:

• Robert Mills,
• Stephen Cotton,
• Robert Dynes,
• Stephen Wight,
• John Slade,
• William Pikes, alias
• Pikes, the tanner.

THESE six martyrs were burnt at Brentford, se|ven miles from London, on the 14th of July, 1558. They had their articles ministered to them by T. Darbyshire, Bonner's chancellor, at sundry times, to which they made their answers much after the same manner as others have done before.

WHEN these good men came before Bonner's chancellor, Thomas Darbyshire, and had the articles ministered unto them, and they answered unto the same; in the end the chancellor commanded them to appear before him again the 11th day of July, at St. Paul's. Where when they came, he requir|ed of them, whether they would turn from their opinions to the holy mother church; and if not, that then, whether there were any cause to the con|trary, but that he might proceed with the sentence of condemnation. Whereunto they all answered, That they would not go from the truth, nor relent from any part of the same while they lived. Then he charged them to appear before him again the next day in the afternoon, between one and two o'clock, to hear the definitive sentence read against them, according to the ecclesiastical laws then in force. At which time he sitting in judgment, talking with these godly and virtuous men, at last came into the said place, sir Edward Hastings, and sir Thomas Corn|wallis, knights, two of queen Mary's officers of her house, and being there, they sat them down over against the chancellor, in whose presence the chancellor condemned those poor innocent lambs, and delivered them over to the secular power, who received and carried them to prison immediately, and there kept them in safety till the day of their death.

IN the mean time this naughty chancellor slept not, I warrant you, but that day in which they were condemned, he made a certificate unto the lord chancellor's office, from whence the next day after a writ was sent to burn them at Brentford, which ac|cordingly was accomplished. Whereunto being brought, they made their humble prayers to the Lord Jesus, undressed themselves, went joyfully to the stake, whereunto they were bound, and the fire flaming about them, they yielded their souls, bo|dies, and lives into the hands of the omnipotent God, for whose cause they did suffer, and to whose protection I commend the gentle reader, Amen.

AMONG these six was one William Pikes, a tan|ner (as you have heard), who some time dwelt in Ipswich, a very godly man, and of a virtuous dis|position, a good keeper of hospitality, and benefi|cial to the persecuted in queen Mary's days. In the third year of queen Mary, a little after Mid|summer, he (then being at liberty) went into his garden, and took with him a Bible of Roger's trans|lation, where he, sitting with his face towards the South, reading in the said Bible, suddenly there fell, between eleven and twelve o'clock, at mid-day, four drops of fresh blood upon the Bible, and he knew not from whence it came. At which he was sore astonished, and could by no means learn (as I said) from whence it should fall; and wiping out one of the drops with his finger, he called his wife and said, in the virtue of God, wife, what meaneth this? Will the Lord have four sacrifices? I see well enough the Lord will have blood: his will be done, and give me grace to abide the trial. Wife, let us pray, for I fear the day draweth nigh. Af|terwards he daily expected to be apprehended, and it came to pass accordingly, as you have heard. Thus much I thought good to write, in order to stir up our dull minds in considering the wonderful works of the Lord, and reverently to honour the same.

WHEN he was so sick in Newgate that nobody expected him to live six hours, he expressed a great desire of martyrdom, saying, that he had been twice in arrow_back persecution arrow_forward before, and that now he desired the Lord, if it were his will, that he might glorify

[figure]

Rose Allen's Hand burnt with a Candle, by that M••nster of inhumanity Edmund Tyrrel, a descendant of him who murdered Edward the V^th.

his name at the stake; and so as he prayed it came to pass at Brentford.

Verses upon BONNER'S Effigy.

MUSE not so much that nature's work Is thus deformed now: With belly blown, and head so swoln, For I shall tell you how: This cannibal in three years space, Two hundred martyrs slew: They were his food, he so lov'd blood, He spared none he knew. It should appear that blood feeds fat, If men lie well and soft: For Bonner's belly waxt with blood, Though he seem'd to fast oft, O bloody beast, bewail the death Of those that thou hast slain: In time repent, since thou canst not Their lives restore again.

An Account of the scourging of THOMAS HINDSHAW, by Bishop Bonner.

WHEN bishop Bonner found that his exami|nations, persuasions, threats, and imprison|ments, were to no purpose with Thomas Hinshaw, he (the said bishop) took him with him to Fulham, where immediately after his coming, he was set in the stocks, remaining there all the first night with bread and water.

THE next morning the bishop came and examined him himself, and perceiving no yielding in his mind, he sent Mr. Harpsfield to talk with him; who, after long talk, in the end fell to raging words, ••••lling the said Thomas Hinshaw peevish boy, and ••sked him whether he thought he went about to damn his soul, or no, &c. Unto which the said Thomas answered, That he was persuaded that they laboured to maintain their dark and devilish king|dom, but not for any love to truth. Then Harps|field, being in a mighty rage, told the bishop there|of. Whereat the bishop fumed and fretted, that for anger being scarce able to speak, he said, Dost thou answer my archdeacon so, thou naughty boy? I shall handle thee well enough be assured; so he sent for a couple of rods, and caused him to kneel against a long bench in an arbour in his garden, where the said Thomas, without any inforcement of his part, offered himself to the bearing, and did abide the fury of the said Bonner, so long as the fat paunched bishop could endure with breath, and through w••ariness was obliged to cease, and give place to his shameful act. He had two willow rods, but he wasted but one, and so left off.

NOW after this scourging, the said Thomas Hin|shaw, notwithstanding, did sustain divers conflicts and examinations sundry times. At last being brought before the said bishop in his chapel at Ful|ham, there he had procured witnesses, and gathered articles against him, which the young man denied, and would not affirm, or consent to any interro|gatory there and then ministered, do what they could.

ABOUT a fortnight after he fell sick of a burning ague, whereby he was delivered through much in|treaty unto his master, Martin Pugson, in St. Paul's church-yard; for then the bishop thought verily he was more like to die than to live. Which sickness endured a twelve-month or more, so that in the mean time queen Mary died. Then he shortly after recovered health, and escaped death, being at the writing of this, both witness and reporter of the same, the Lord therefore be praised. Amen.

An Account of the scourging of JOHN WILLES, by Bishop Bonner.

BESIDES the above-named, was scourged also by the hands of the said bishop, one John Willes, a capper, a right faithful and true honest man in all his dealings and conditions, who was brother to the aforesaid Richard Willes, burned at Brentford, as is before said. Who also was appre|hended in the same number at Islington, as also is mentioned before: and being brought before Bon|ner,

and there examined, but was commanded to the Coal-house, with the aforesaid Thomas Hin|shaw, where they remained one night in the stocks. From thence he was sent to Fulham, where he, with the said Hinshaw, remained eight or ten days in the stocks▪ during which time he sustained di|vers conflicts with the said Bonner, who had him often in examination, urging him, and with a stick which he had ••n his hand, often rapping him on the head, and flirting him under the chin, and on the ears, saying he looked down like a thief. Moreover, after he had assayed all manner of ways to make him recant, and could not, at length taking him to his orchard, there within a little arbour, with his own hands beat him first with a willow rod, and that being worn well nigh to the stumps, he called for a birch rod, which a lad brought out of his chamber. The cause why he so beat him was this: Bonner asked him when he had crept to the cross. He answered, not since he came to the years of discretion, neither would though he should be torn with wild horses. Then Bonner desired him to make a cross on his forehead, which he re|fused to do. Whereupon he had him immediately to his orchard, and there calling for rods, shewed his cruelty upon him, as he had done upon Tho|mas Hinshaw.

THIS done, he had him immediately to the parish church of Fulham, with the said Thomas Hinshaw, and Robert Willes, to whom there being severally called before him, he ministered certain articles, asking if he would subscribe to the same. To which he made his answer according to his consci|ence, denying them all except one article, which was concerning king Edward's service in English. Shortly after this beating, Bonner sent a certain old priest lately come from Rome, to him in prison, to conjure out the evil spirit from him, who laying his hand upon his head, began with certain words pro|nounced over him, to conjure as he had been won•• before to do. Willes marvelling at what the old man was about, said, I trust no evil spirit is in me, and laughed him to scorn.

AS this John Willes was divers times called be|fore Bonner, so much communication passed between them as is too tedious to recite. It is enough to make the reader laugh to see the blind and unsa|voury reasons with which that bishop endeavoured to delude the ignorant, some of which were in the following manner: Bonner going about to persuade Willes not to meddle with matters of scripture, but rather to believe other men's teaching, who had more skill in the same, asked him first, if he did believe the scripture: Yea, said he, that I do. Then (quoth the bishop) St. Paul saith, If the man sleep, the woman is at liberty to go to another man. If thou wert asleep having a wife, wouldst thou be content that thy wife should take to another man? And yet this is the scripture.

ALSO, if thou wilt believe Luther, Zuinglius, and such, then thou canst not go right; but if thou wilt believe me, &c. thou canst not err: and if th•••• shouldst err, yet thou art in no danger, thy blood should be required at our hands. As if th•••• shouldst go to a far country, and meet with a fa|therly man, as I am (these were his words), and ask the way to the city, and he should say, this way, and thou wilt not believe him, but should follow Luther, and other heretics of late days, and go a contrary way; how wilt thou come to the place thou askest for? So if thou wilt not believe me, but follow the leading of other heretics, thou shalt be brought to destruction, and burn both body and soul.

AS truly as thou seest the bodies of them is Smithfield burnt, so truly their souls do burn in hell, because they err from the true church.

OFT-TIMES speaking to the said John Willes, he would say, They call me bloody Bonner. A ven|geance on you all: I would fain be rid of you, but you have a delight in burning. But if I might have my will, I would sew up your mouths, and put you in sacks and drown you.

THE same day that he was delivered, Bonner came to the stocks where he lay, and asked him how he liked his lodging, and his fare.

WELL (said Willes), if it would please God, I might have a little straw to lie or sit upon.

THEN (said Bonner) thou wilt shew no token of a christian man. And upon this his wife came in unknown to him▪ being very great with child, every

hour expecting her labour, and intreated the bishop for her husband, saying, that she would not go from thence, but that she would there stay, and be deli|vered in the bishop's house, unless she had her husband with her. How sayest thou (quoth Bon|ner to Willes), if thy wife miscarry, or thy child, or children, if she be with one or two, should per|ish, the blood of them would be required at thy hands. Then to this agreement he came, that he should hire a bed in the town of Fulham, and her husband should go home with her the morrow af|ter, upon this condition, that his kinsman there pre|sent (one Robert Rouse) should bring the said Willes to his house at St. Paul's the next day.

TO which Willes would not agree, but insisted upon going then. At length, his wife being im|portunate for her husband, and Bonner seeing she would not stir without him, fearing belike the rumour that might come upon his house ther••by, and also probably fearing to be troubled with a lying-in woman, bade Willes make a cross, and say, In nomine Patris, & Filii, & Spiritus Sancti, Amen.

THEN Willes began to say, In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen. No, no (saith Bonner), say it me in Latin; Willes understanding the matter of that Latin to be good, said the same, and so went home with his wife, his aforesaid kinsman being charged to bring him the next day to St. Paul's; else, said Bonner, if thou dost not bring him, thou art an heretic as well as he. Notwithstanding, the charge being no greater, his kinsman did not bring him, but he of his own accord came to the bishop within a few days after, where he put to him a certain writing in Latin, to subscribe unto, containing, as it seemed to him, no great matter, that he needed greatly to stick at, although, what the bill was he could not certainly tell: so he subscribed to the bill, and re|turned home. And thus much concerning the 22 taken at Islington.

The History of RICHARD YEOMAN, Dr. TA••••OR'S Curate, at Hadley.

RICHARD YEOMAN, a devout old man, was Dr. Taylor's curate, at Hadley, and well versed in the scriptures, and giving godly exhortations to the people: with him Dr. Taylor left his cure at his departure. But as soon as Mr. Newall had gotten the benefice, he put out Mr. Yeoman, and set in a popish curate to maintain and continue their Romish religion, which now they thought fully established. Then he wandered from place to place, exhorting all men to stand faithfully to God's word, earnestly to give themselves unto prayer, with pa|tience to bear the cross now laid upon them for their trial, with boldness to confess the truth before their adversaries, and with an undoubted hope to wait for the crown and reward of eternal felicity. But when he perceived his adversaries to lie in wait for him, he went into Kent, and with a little packet of laces, pins and points, and such like things, he travelled from village to village, selling such things, and by that shift subsisted himself, his wife and children.

AT last justice Moyle, of Kent, took Mr. Yeo|man and set him in the stocks a day and a night, but having no evident matter to charge him with, he let him go again. So he came secretly again to Hadley, and tarried with his poor wife, who kept him secretly in a chamber of the town-house, com|monly called the Guildhall, more than a year. All which time the good old father abode in a chamber locked up all the day, and spent his time in devout prayer, and reading the scriptures, and in carding of wool which his wife did spin. His wife did also go and beg bread and meat for herself and her chil|dren, and by such poor means they sustained them|selves. Thus the saints of God sustained hunger and misery, while the prophets of Baal lived in jollity, and were costly pampered at Jezabel's table.

AT last parson Newall (I know not by what means) perceived that Richard Yeoman was so kept by his poor wife, and taking with him the bailiff's deputies and servants, came in the night|time, and broke open five doors to get at Yeoman, whom he found in bed with his wife and children; whom when he had so found, he angrily cried, I thought I should find an harlot and an whore toge|ther. And he would have plucked the cloaths off from them: but Yeoman held fast the cloaths, and said unto his wife, Wife, arise, and put on thy

cloaths. And unto the parson he said, Nay, par|son, no harlot, nor whore, but a married man and his wife, according to God's ordinance, and blessed be God for lawful matrimony. I thank God for this great grace, and I defy the pope and all his popery. Then they led Richard Yeoman unto the cage, and set him in the stocks until it was day.

THERE was then also in the cage an old man named John Dale, who had sat there three or four days, because when the said parson Newall with his curate used the Romish service in the church, he spake openly unto him, and said, O miserable and blind guides, will ye ever be blind leaders of the blind? will ye never amend? will ye never see the truth of God's word? will neither God's threats nor promises enter into your hearts? will the blood of martyrs nothing mollify your stoney stomachs? O obdurate, hard-hearted, perverse, and crooked generation! O damnable sort, whom nothing can do good unto.

THESE, or the like words, he speak in fervency of spirit against the superstitious religion of Rome. Wherefore parson Newall caused him forthwith to be attached, and set in the stocks in a cage. So was he kept there till sir Henry Doile, a justice, came to Hadley.

WHEN poor Yeoman was taken, the parson called earnestly upon sir Henry Doile to send them both to prison. Sir Henty Doile earnestly intreated the parson to consider the age of the men, and their mean condition; they were neither persons of note nor preachers; wherefore he would desire him to let them be punished a day or two, and so let them go, at least John Dale, who was no priest: and therefore seeing he had so long sat in the cage, he thought it punishment enough at this time. When the parson heard this, he was exceeding mad, and in a great rage called them pestilent heretics, unfit to live in the commonwealth of christians. Where|fore I beseech you, sir, (quoth he) according to your office, defend the holy church, and help to sup|press these heresies, &c. which are false to God, and thus boldly set themselves to the evil example of others, against the queen's gracious proceedings Sir Henry Doile seeing he could do no good in the matter, and fearing also the danger of meddling too much in it, made out the writ, and caused the con|stables to carry them to Bury gaol. For now all the justices, though ever so many, were afraid of a shaven crown, and stood in as much awe of them, as Pilate did of Annas and Caiaphas, and the pha|risaical brood, who cried, "Crucify him, crucify him; if thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar's friend."

WHEREFORE whatsoever their consciences were, yet (if they would escape danger) they must needs be the popish slaves and vassals. So they took Richard Yeoman and John Dale pinioned, and bound them like thieves, set them on horseback, and bound their legs under the horses bellies, and so carried them to Bury gaol, where they were laid in irons; and because they continually rebuked popery, they were thrown into the lowest dungeon, where John Dale, through sickness of the prison, and evil keeping, died in prison, whose body, when he was dead, was thrown out and buried in the fields. He was a man of forty-six years of age, a weaver by his occupation, well learned in the holy scriptures, faithful and honest in all his conversa|tion, stedfast in confession of the true doctrine of Christ set forth in king Edward's time; for which he joyfully suffered prison and chains, and from this worldly dungeon he departed in Christ to eter|nal glory, and the blessed paradise of everlasting felicity.

AFTER that John Dale was dead, Richard Yeo|man was removed to Norwich prison, where after strait and evil keeping, he was examined of his faith and religion. Then he boldly and constantly con|fessed himself to be of the faith and confession that was set forth by king Edward VI. and from that he would no wise vary. Being required to submit himself to the holy father the pope; I defy him (quoth he) and all his detestable abominations: I will in no wise have to do with him, nor any thing that appertaineth to him. The chief articles ob|jected to him, were his marriage and the mass sa|crifice. Wherefore when he continued stedfast in confession of the truth, he was condemned, degrad|ed, and not only burnt, but most cruelly tormented

in the fire. So he ended his poor and miserable life, and entered into the blessed bosom of Abra|ham, enjoying with Lazarus the comfortable quietness that God hath prepared for his elect saints.

The Story of JOHN ALCOCK.

THIS young man was by occupation a sheer|man, and came to Hadley to seek work; he being in church one Sunday, and parson Newall coming by with the procession, would not once move his cap, nor shew any sign of reverence, but stood behind the font. The parson perceiving this, when he was almost out of the church door, ran back again, and caught him, and called for the constable.

THEN came Robert Rolfe, with whom this young man had wrought, and said, What hath he done, Mr. Parson, that you are in such a rage with him?

HE is an heretic and traitor (quoth the parson), and despiseth the queen's proceedings. Wherefore I command you in the queen's name, have him to the stocks, and see he be forthcoming.

WELL (quoth Rolfe) he shall be forthcoming, proceed in your business, and be quiet.

HAVE him to the stocks, quoth the parson.

I am constable, quoth Rolfe, and I may bail him, and will bail him; he shall not be put in the stocks, but he shall be forthcoming: so the good parson went forth with his holy procession, and so to mass.

IN the afternoon Rolfe said to this young man, I am sorry for thee, for truly the parson will seek thy destruction, if thou take not good heed what thou answerest him.

THE young man said, Sir, I am sorry that it is my hap to be a trouble to you. As for myself, I am not sorry, but I commit myself into God's hands, and I trust he will give me mouth and wis|dom to answer according to right.

WELL, quoth Rolfe, yet beware of him, for he is malicious and a blood-sucker, and beareth an old hatred against me, and he will handle you the more cruelly, because of displeasure against me.

I fear not, quoth the young man: he shall do no more to me, than God will give him leave; and happy shall I be if God will call me to die for his truth's sake.

THEN they went to the parson, who at the first asked him, Fellow, what sayst thou to the sacrament of the altar?

I say, quoth he, as ye use the matter, ye make a shameful idol of it, and ye are false idolatrous priests, all the sort of you.

I told you (quoth the parson) he was a stout heretic.

SO after long talk, the parson committed him to prison, and the next day he rode up to London, and carried the young man with him; and so the young man came no more to Hadl••y: but after a long imprisonment in Newgate, where after many examinations and troubles, for that he would not submit himself to ask forgiveness of the pope, and to be reconciled to the Romish religion, he was cast into the lower dungeon, where with ill keeping and sickness of the house, he died in prison. Thus died he a martyr to God's truth, which he heartily confessed, and received the garland of a well-fought battle at the hand of the Lord. His body was cast out, and buried in a dunghill▪ for the papists would in all things be like themselves; therefore they would not so much as suffer the dead bodies to have convenient burial.

The History of THOMAS BENBRIDGE, Gentleman and Martyr, wrongfully condemned and put to death for the Testimony of Christ.

THOMAS BENBRIDGE, a gentleman, (unmarried) in the diocese of Winchester, although he might have lived a gentleman's life, in the wealthy possessions of this world; yet to follow Christ had rather enter into the strait gate of arrow_back persecution arrow_forward , to the heavenly possession of life in the Lord's king|dom, than here to enjoy present pleasure•• with unquietness of conscience. Wherefore ma••fully standing against the papists for the defence o•• the sincere doctrine of Christ's gospel, he spared not himself to confirm the truth of the same. For which cause he being apprehended for an adversary to the Romish religion, was forthwith had to ex|amination before the bishop of Winchester, where he sustained sundry conflicts for the truth against the said bishop and his colleague; for which he was condemned, and some time after brought to the place of martyrdom, by sir Richard Pecksal, sheriff.

WHEN standing at the stake, he began to untie his points, and to prepare himself; then he gave his gown to the keeper, being belike his ••ee. His Jerkin was laid on with gold lace fair and brave, which he gave to sir Richard Pecksal, the high-sheriff. His cap of velvet he took from his head and threw it away. Then lifting his mind to the Lord, he made his prayers.

THAT done, being now fastened to the stake, Dr. Seaton willed him to recant, and he should have his pardon▪ but when he saw it prevailed not to speak, the said dreaming doctor willed the people not to pray for him unless he would recant, no more than they would pray for a dog.

MR. Benbridge, standing at she stake with his hand•• together in such a manner as the priest hold|eth his hands in his Memento, the said Dr. Seaton came to him again and exhorted him to recant: unto whom he said, Away Babylonian, away.

THEN said one that stood by, Sir, cut out his tongue, and mother being a temporal man, railed on him worse than Dr. Seaton did, who, (as it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thought) was set on by some other.

THUS when they saw he would not yield, they bade the tormentors to set to fire, and yet he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nothing like covered with faggots. First, the fire took away a piece of his beard, whereat he did not shrink at all. Then it came on the other side and took his legs, and the nether stockings of his hose being leather, made the fire to pierce the sharper, so that the intolerable heat thereof made him to 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I recant: and suddenly he thrust the fire from 〈◊〉〈◊〉 And having two or three of his friends by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wished his life, they stepped to the fire, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to take it from him also, who for their labour 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sent to prison. The sheriff also of his own 〈◊〉〈◊〉 took him from the stake, and sent him to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 again, for which he was sent unto the Fleet, 〈…〉〈…〉 there some time. But before he was taken 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the stake, the said Dr. Seaton wrote articles to have him subscribe unto them, as touching the pope, the sacrament, and such other trash. But the said 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Benbridge made much ado before he would ••••••|scribe them, insomuch that Dr. Seaton order•••• them to set to fire again. Then with much pain and grief of heart he subscribed to them upon man's back.

THAT being done, he had his gown given 〈◊〉〈◊〉 again, and so was led to prison. Being in prison, he wrote a letter to Dr. Seaton, and recanted th••s•• words he spake at the stake, unto which he had subscribed: for he was grieved that ever he sub|scribed unto them. Whereupon expressing his conscience, he was the same day seven-night after burnt indeed, where the vile tormentors did rather broil than burn him. The Lord give his enemies repentance.

An Account of the Martyrdom of JOHN COOKE, a Sawyer, ROBERT MILES, alias PLUMMER, Sheer|man, ALEXANDER LANE, a Wheel-wright, JAMES ASHLEY, Bachelor.

THE examination of these above-mentioned persons, being severally called before the bishop of Norwich, and sir Edward Walgrave,

with others, was partly upon these articles fol|lowing.

FIRST, sir Edward Walgrave called John Cooke to him, and said, How doth it happen that you go not to your church?

Cooke.

I have been there.

Sir Edw.

What is the cause that you go not thither now in these days?

Cooke.

Because the sacrament of the altar is an abominable idol, and the vengeance of God will come upon all them that do maintain it.

Sir Edw.

O thou rank traitor, if I had as good commission to cut out thy tongue, as I have to sit h••re this day, thou shouldst be sure to have it done▪

THEN he commanded the constable to take him away, saying, he was both a traitor and a rebel.

THEN he called Robert Miles, and said, How happeneth it, that you will not go to church?

Miles.

Because I will follow no false gods.

THEN said the bishop, Who told thee that it is a god?

EVEN you, quoth Miles, and such as you are.

THEN the bishop commanded him aside, and to appear before him the next day.

THEN the called Alexander Lane before him, and asked him how it chanced, that he would not go to the church.

HE said, that his conscience would not serve him so to do.

SIR Edward said, How dost thou believe?

LANE answered, Even as it is written in God's book.

THEN sir Edward commanded him to say his belief.

THEN Lane, being somewhat abashed, said his belief to these words, which he missed unawares, "Born of the virgin Mary."

THEN said sir Edward, What, was he not born of the virgin Mary?

YES, said Lane, I would have said so.

NAY, said sir Edward, you are one of Cooke's scholars, and so commanded him away, and to come before him the next day.

AFTER the like manner they passed also with James Ashley, whom they warned the next day likewise to appear before them again. So in ••ine they appearing again, had their condemnation. And thus these four blessed martyrs innocently suffered together at St. Edmund's-Bury, as is aforesaid, about the beginning of August, not long before the sickness of queen Mary.

An Account of the Martyrdom of two godly Persons 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Ipswich, for the everlasting Testimony of Christ▪ namely, ALEXANDER GOUCH, and ALICE DRI|VER.

MR. NOONE, a justice in Suffolk, dwelling in Martlesham, hunting after good men to appreh••nd them, (as he was a bloody tyrant in the time of trial) at length had intelligence of one A|lexander Gouch, of Woodbridge, and Driver's wife, of Grosborough, to be at Grosborough together, a little from his house, and immediately took his men with him, and went thither, and made diligent search for them; where the poor man and woman were compelled to get into an hay-loft to hide themselves from their cruelty. At length they came to search the hay for them, and by gaging thereof with pitchforks, at last found them: so they took them and led them to Melton gaol, where they remaining a good while, at last wer•• carried to Bury, against the assize at St. James's-tide, and be|ing there examined of matters of faith, did boldly stand to confess Christ crucified, defying the pope 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his papistical trash. And among other things, Driver's wife likened queen Mary in her persecu|tion to Jezabel; and so in that sense called 〈◊〉〈◊〉

Jezabel: for that sir Clement Higham, being chief judge there, ordered her ears immediately to be cut off, which was done accordingly, and she joyfully yielded herself to the punishment, and thought herself happy that she was counted worthy to suffer any thing for the name of Christ.

AFTER the assize at Bury, they were carried to Melton gaol again, where they remained a time. This Alexander Gouch was of the age of 36 years, or thereabouts, and by his occupation a weaver of shreding coverlets, dwelling at Woodbridge, in Suf|folk, and born at Uxford, in the same county. Driver's wife was a woman about the age of 30 years, and dwelt at Grosborough, (where they were taken) in Suffolk: her husband did use husbandry. These two were carried from Melton gaol, to Ipswich, where they remained, and were examined. Which examination, as it ••••me to hands, hereafter followeth.

The First Examination of Alice Driver, before Dr. Spenser, the Chancellor of Norwich.

FIRST, she coming into the place where she should be examined, with a smiling counte|nance, Dr. Spenser said, Why, woman, dost thou laugh us to scorn?

Driver's Wife.

Whether I do or no, I might well enough, to see what fools ye be.

THEN the chancellor asked her wherefore she was brought before him, and why she was laid in prison.

Dri.

Wherefore? I think I need not tell you; for you know it better than I.

Spenser.

No, by my troth, woman, I know not why.

Dri.

Then have you done me much wrong thus to imprison me, and know no cause why; for I know no evil that I have done, I thank God, and I hope there is no man that can accuse me of any notorious fact that I have done, justly.

Spens.

Woman, woman, what sayest thou to the blessed sacrament of the altar? Dost thou not be|lieve that it is very flesh and blood, after the words be spoken of consecration?

Driver's wife at those words held her peace, and made no answer. Then a great chuff-••eaded priest that stood by spake, and asked her why she made not the chancellor answer. With that the said Driver's wife looked upon him austerely, and said, Why, priest, I come not to talk with thee, but I come to talk with thy master: but if thou wilt I shall talk with thee, command thy master to hold his peace. And with that the priest put his nose in his cap, and spake never a word more. Then the chancellor bid her make answer to that he demand|ed of her

Dri.

Sir, pardon me though I make no answer, for I cannot tell what you mean thereby; for in all my life I never heard nor read of any such sacra|ment in all the scripture.

Spens.

Why, what scriptures have you read, I pray you?

Dri.

I have (I thank God) read God's book.

Spens.

Why, what manner of book is that you call God's book?

Dri.

It is the Old and New Testament. What call you it?

Spens.

That is God's book indeed, I cannot deny.

Dri.

That same book have I read throughout, but yet never could find any such sacrament there; and for that cause I cannot make you an answer to that thing I know not. Notwithstanding, for all that, I will grant you a sacrament, called the Lord's supper: and therefore seeing I have granted you a sacrament, I pray you shew me what a sacra|ment is.

Spens.

It is a sign. And one Dr. Gascoin being by, confirmed the same, that it was the sign of a holy thing.

Dri.

You have said the truth, sir. It is a sign indeed, I must needs grant it: and therefore seeing it is a sign, it cannot be the thing signified also. Thus far we do agree; for I have granted your own saying.

THEN stood up the said Gascoin, and made an oration with many fair words, but little to the pur|pose, being both offensive and odious to the minds of the godly. In the end of which long tale, he asked her if she did not believe the omnipotency of God, and that he was almighty, and able to per|form that he spake. She answered, Yes; and said, I do believe that God is almighty, and able to per|form that he spake and promised.

Gascoin.

Very well. Then he said to his dis|ciples, "Take, eat, this is my body:" Ergo, it was his body. For he was able to perform that he spake, and God useth not to lie.

Dri.

I pray you did he ever make any such promise to his disciples, that he would make the bread his body?

Gas.

Those be the words. Can you deny it?

Dri.

No; they be the very words indeed, I cannot deny it; but I pray you, was it not bread that he gave unto them?

Gas.

No; it was his body.

Dri.

Then was it his body that they did eat over night?

Gas.

It was his body.

Dri.

What body was it then that was crucified the next day?

Gas.

It was Christ's body.

Dri.

How could that be, when the disciples had eaten him over night? except he had two bodies, as by your argument he had; one they did eat over night, and he was crucified the next day. Such a doctor, such doctrine! Be you not ashamed to teach the people, that Christ had two bodies? In the 22d of Luke, "He took bread and brake it to his disciples, saying, "Take, &c. and do this in remembrance of me." St. Paul saith, 1 Cor. xi. "Do this in remembrance of me: for as often as ye shall eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye shall shew the Lord's death till he come:" and there|fore I marvel you blush not before all this people, to lie so manifestly as you do.

WITH that Gascoin held his peace, and made her no answer; for, as it seemed, he was ashamed of his doings. Then the chancellor lift up his head off from his cushion, and commanded the gaoler to take her away.

Dri.

Now ye be not able to resist the truth, ye command me to prison again. Well, the Lord in the end shall judge our cause, and to him I leave it. So away she went with the gaoler.

The Second Examination of Alice Driver.

THE next day she came before them again, and the chancellor then asked her, what she said to the blessed sacrament of the altar?

Dri.

I will say nothing to it: for you will nei|ther believe me nor yourselves: for yesterday I asked you what a sacrament was, and you said, it was a sign; and I agreed thereto, and said it was the truth, confirming it by the scriptures, so that I went not from your own words; and now you come and ask me again of such a sacrament as I told you I never read of in the scriptures.

Spens.

Thou liest, naughty woman, we did not say that it was a sign.

Dri.

Why, masters, be ye not the men that you were yesterday? Will ye eat your own words? Are ye not ashamed to lie before all this multitude here present, who heard you speak the same?

THEN stood up Dr. Gascoin, and said, she was deceived; for there are three churche••, the malig|nant church, the church militant, and the church triumphant. So he would fain have made matter, but he could not tell which way.

Dri.

Sir, is there mention made of so many churches in the scripture?

Gas.

Yea.

Dri.

I pray you where find you this word [church] written in the scripture?

Gas.

It is written in the New Testament.

Dri.

I pray you, sir, shew the place where it is written.

Gas.

I cannot tell the place, but there it is. With that she desired him to look in his Testament: then he fumbled and sought about him for one; but at that time he had none, and that he knew well enough, though he seemed to search for it. At last she said, Have you none here, sir?

Gas.

No.

Dri.

I thought so much indeed, that you were little acquainted withal. Surely▪ you are a good doctor. You say you sit here to judge according to the law, and how can you give judgment, and have not the book of the law with you? At which words Dr. Gascoin was out of countenance, and asked her if she had one.

NO, said she.

THEN, said he, I am as good a doctor as you.

Dri.

Well, sir, I had one, but you took it from me (as you would take me from Christ, if you could), and since you would not suffer me to have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 book at all; so burning is your charity. But you may well know (I thank God), that I have ex|ercised the same; else I could not have answered you (to God's glory be it spoken) as I have. Thus she put them all to silence, so that one looked on another, and had not a word to speak.

Dri.

Have you no more to say? God be ho|noured. You be not able to resist the Spirit of God in me, poor woman. I was an honest poor man's daughter, never brought up in the university as you have been, but I have driven the plough before my father many a time: yet notwithstand|ing, in defence of God's truth, and in the cause of my master Christ, by his grace I will set my foot against the foot of any of you all, in the mainte|nance and defence of the same; and if I had a thousand lives, they should go for payment thereof. —So the chancellor rose up, and read the sentence of condemnation in Latin, and committed her to the secular power; and so she went to prison again as joyfully as the bird of day, praising and glorifying the name of God.

Martyrdom of ALEXADER GOUCH and ALICE DRIVER.

THIS Alexander Gouch was examined chiefly of the sacrament and other ceremonies of the popish church. And for that his belief was, that Christ was ascended into heaven, and there remain|eth, and that the sacrament was the remembrance of his death and passion, and for refusing the mass, and the pope to be supreme head of Christ's church, for these causes was he condemned, and died with Alice Driver▪ at Ipswich, the 4th of November, which was the Monday after All Saints, 1558.

THESE two persons being come to the place where the stake was set, by seven o'clock in the morning, notwithstanding they came the same morning from Mel••on gaol, which is six miles from Ipswich, being at their prayers, and singing of psalms both of them together, sir Henry Dowel, being then sheriff, was very much offended with them, and desired the bailiffs of Ipswich to bid them make an end of prayers; they kneeling upon a broom faggot, one of the bailiffs, whose name was Richard Smart, commanded them to make an end, saying, On, on, have done; make an end, nail them to the stake; yet they continued in prayer.

THEN sir Henry sent one of his men, whose name was Richard Cove, that they should make an end.

THEN Gouch stood up and said unto the sheriff, I pray you, Mr. Sheriff, let us pray a l••ttle while, for we have but a little time to live here.

THEN said the bailiff, Come, have them to the fire.

THEN the said Gouch, and Alice Driver, said, Why, Master Sheriff, and Master Bailiff, will you not suffer us to pray?

AWAY, said sir Henry, to the stake with them.

GOUCH answered, Take heed, Mr. Sheriff, if you forbid prayer, the vengeance of God hangeth over your heads. Then they being tied to the stake, and the iron chain being put about Alice Driver's neck, O (said she) here is a goodly hand|kerchief, blessed be God for it.

THEN divers came and took them by the hands as they were bound standing at the stake. The sheriff cried, Lay hands on them, lay hands on them. With that a great number ran to the stake. The sheriff seeing that, let them all alone, so that there was not one taken.

THERE was one Bate, a barber, a busy doer about them, who having then a frieze gown upon him, sold it immediately, saying, It stunk of heretics; with other foul words. Within three or four weeks after this, God's hand was upon him, and he ••ied very miserably in Ipswich.

ALTHOUGH our history hasteth apace (the Lord be praised) to the happy death of queen Mary, yet she died not so soon but that some were burned be|fore her death, and more would have been burned soon after, if God's provision had not prevented her with death. In the number of them which suffer|ed in the same month when queen Mary died, were three that were burned at Bury, whose names were these, Philip Humfrey, John David, and Henry David, his brother.

CONCERNING the burning of these three, here is to be noted, that sir Clement Higham, about a fortnight before the queen died, issued out a writ for the burning of them, notwithstanding that the queen was then known to be past remedy of her sickness.

An Account of Mrs. PREST, Martyr.

ALTHOUGH in such a great number of per|sons who in sundry parts of these realms were put to death in queen Mary's time, it be hard ex|actly to recite every particular person that suffered but that some escape us either unknown, or omit|ted; yet I cannot pass over a certain poor woman, I mean a Mrs. Prest, burned under the said queen's reign, in the city of Exeter, who dwelling some|time about Cornwall, having a husband and chil|dren there, much addicted to the superstitious sect of popery, was many times rebuked by them, and driven to go to the church, to their idols and cere|monies, to confession, to follow the cross in pro|cession, to give thanks to God for restoring An|tichrist again in this realm, &c. which when her spirit could not abide to do, she made her prayer to God, calling for his help and mercy, and so at length lying in her bed, about mid-night, she thought there came to her a certain motion and feeling of singular comfort. Whereupon in short space, she began to grow in contempt of her hus|band and children, and so taking nothing from them, but what she had on, departed from them; seeking her living by labour and spinning as well as she could, here and there for a time. In which time she never ceased 〈◊〉〈◊〉 utter her mind as well as she durst against their popery; however, she at that time was brought home to her husband again. Where at last she was accused by her neighbours, and so brought up to Exeter, to be presented to the bishop and his clergy. The name of the bishop who had her in examination, was Dr. Troublevile. His chancellor (as I gather) was Blackstone. The chiefest matter whereupon she was charged and condemned, was for the sacrament (which they call) of the altar, and for speaking against idols, as by the declaration of those which were present, I understand, who report the talk between her and the bishop on this wise:

Bishop.

Thou foolish woman, I hear say, that thou hast spoken certain words against the most blessed sacrament of the altar, the body of Christ. Fie for shame. Thou art an unlearned person, and a woman: wilt thou meddle with such high

matters, which all the doctors of the world cannot define? Wilt thou talk of such high mysteries? Keep thy work, and meddle with that thou hast to do. It is no woman's matter, at cards and tow to be spoken of. And if it be as I am informed, thou art worthy to be burned.

Woman.

My lord, I trust your lordship will hear me speak.

Bishop.

Yea, marry, for that cause I sent for you.

Woman.

I am a poor woman, and do live by my hands, getting a penny truly, and of what I get, I give part to the poor.

Bishop.

That is well done. Art thou not a man's wife?

AND here the bishop entered into conversation about her husband.

TO whom she answered again, declaring that she had a husband and children; and had them not. So long as she was at liberty, she refused neither husband nor children: but now standing here as I do, said she, in the cause of Christ and his truth, where I must either forsake Christ, or my husband, I am contented to stick only to Christ, my heavenly spouse, and renounce the other.

AND here she making mention of the words of Christ, "He that leaveth not father or mother, sister or brother, husband," &c. the bishop inferred, that Christ spake that of the holy martyrs, who di|ed because they would not sacrifice to the false gods.

Woman.

Surely, sir, and I will rather die than I will do any worship to that idol, which with your mass you make a god.

Bishop.

What, heretic, will you say that the sa|crament of the altar is a foul idol?

Woman.

Yes truly, there was never such an idol as your sacrament is made by your priests, and com|manded to be worshipped of all men, with many fond phantasies, where Christ did command it to be eaten and drank in remembrance of his most bless|ed passion for our redemption.

Bishop.

See this prattling woman. Dost thou not hear, that Christ did say over the bread, "This is my body," and over the cup, "This is my blood?

Woman.

Yes, forsooth, he said so, but he meant that it is body and blood, not carnally, but sacra|mentally.

Bishop.

Lo, she hath heard prating among th••se new preachers, or read some peevish book. Alas, poor woman, thou art deceived.

Woman.

No, my lord, what I have learned was of godly preachers, and of godly books which I have heard read. And if you will give me leave, I will declare a reason why I will not worship the sacrament.

Bishop.

Marry, say on, I am sure it will be good|ly gear.

Woman.

Truly such gear as I will loose this poor life of mine for.

Bishop.

Then you will be a martyr, good wife.

Woman.

Indeed, if the denying to worship that bready god be my martyrdom, I will suffer it with all my heart.

Bishop.

Say thy mind.

Woman,

You must bear with me, a poor wo|man.

Bishop.

So I will.

Woman.

I will demand of you, whether you can deny your creed, which doth say, That Christ doth perpetually sit at the right hand of his Father, both body and soul, until he come again; or whe|ther he be there in heaven our Advocate, and to make prayer for us unto. God his Father? If it be so, he is not here on earth in a piece of bread. If

he be not here, and if he do not dwell in temples made with hands, but in heaven, what, shall we seek him here? If he did offer his body once for all, why make you a new offering? If with once offering he made all perfect, why do you with a false offering make all imperfect? If he be to be worshipped in Spirit and in truth, why do you worship a piece of bread? If he be eaten and drank in faith and truth, if his flesh be not profitable to be among us, why do you say you make his flesh and blood, and say it is profitable for body and soul? Alas, I am a poor woman, but rather than I will do as you, I would live no longer. I have said, sir.

Bishop.

I promise you, you are a jolly protes|tant. I pray you in what schools have you been brought up?

Woman.

I have upon the Sundays visited the sermons, and there have I learned such things as are so fixed in my breast, that death shall not sepa|rate them.

Bishop.

O foolish woman, who will waste his breath upon thee, or such as thou art? But how chanceth it that thou wentest away from thy hus|band? if thou wert an honest woman, thou wouldst not have left thy husband and children, and run a|bout the country like a fugitive.

Woman.

Sir, I laboured for my living; and as my master Christ counselleth me, when I was perse|cuted in one city, I fled into another.

Bishop.

Who persecuted thee?

Woman.

My husband and my children. For when I would have them to leave Idolatry, and to worship God in heaven, he would not hear me, but he with his children rebuked me, and troubled me. I fled not for whoredom, nor for theft, but because I would be no partaker with him and his, of that foul idol the mass; and wheresoever I was, as oft as I could, upon Sundays and holidays, I made excuses not to go to the popish church.

Bishop.

Belike then you are a good housewife, to fly from your husband, and the church.

Woman.

My housewifery is but small; but God give me grace to go to the true church.

Bishop.

The true church, what dost thou mean?

Woman.

Not your popish church, full of idols and abominations, but where two or three are ga|thered together in the name of God, to that church will I go, as long as I live.

Bishop.

Belike then you have a church of your own. Well, let this mad woman be put down to prison till we send for her husband.

Woman.

No, I have but one husband, who is here already in this city and in prison with me (from whom I will never depart). And so their commu|nication, for that time, brake off. Blackstone and others persuaded the bishop that she was not in her right senses (which is no new thing for the wisdom of God to appear foolishness to the carnal men of this world), and therefore they consulted together, that she should have liberty to go at large. So the keeper of the bishop's prison had her home to his house, where she fell to spinning and carding, and did work as a servant in the said keeper's house, and she went abou•• the city when and where she pleased, and many people took great delight in talking with her: and all her discourse was about the sacrament of the altar, which of all things they could least abide.

THEN her husband was sent for, but she refused to go home with him, with the blemish of the cause and religion, in defence whereof she there stood be|fore the bishop and the priests.

THEN divers of the priests endeavoured to per|suade her to leave her wicked opinion about the sacrament of the altar, the natural body and blood of our Saviour Christ. But she made them an|swer, that it was nothing but very bread and wine, and that they might be ashamed to say, that a piece of bread should be turned by a man into the natural body of Christ, which bread doth corrupt, and mice oftentimes do eat it, and it doth mould, and is burned: God's body will not be so handled, nor kept in prison, or boxes or aumbries. Let it be your god, it shall not be mine; for my Saviour

sitteth on the right hand of God, and doth pray for me. And to make that sacramental or signifi|cative bread instituted for a remembrance, the very body of Christ, and to worship it, is very foolishness and devilish deceit.

NOW truly, said they, the devil hath deceived thee.

NO, said she, I trust the living God hath opened mine eyes, and caused me to understand ••he right use of the blessed sacrament, which the true church doth use, but the false church doth abuse.

THEN stepped forth an old friar, and asked her what she said of the holy pope.

I (said she) say, that he is Antichrist and the devil.

THEN they all laughed.

NAY, said she, you have more need to weep than to laugh, and to be sorry that ever you were born, to be the chaplains of that whore of Babylon. I defy him and all his falshood; and get you away from me, you do but trouble my conscience. You would have me follow your doings; I will first lose my life. I pray you depart.

WHY, thou foolish woman, said they, we come to thee for thy profit and soul's health.

O Lord God, said she, what profit ariseth by you, that teach nothing but lies for truth? how save you souls, when you preach nothing but dam|nable lies, and destroy souls.

HOW provest thou that? said they.

DO you not damn your souls, said she, when you teach the people to worship idols, stocks, and stones, the wo••ks of men's hands? and to worship a false god of your own making, of a piece of bread, and teach that the pope is God's vicar, and hath power to forgive sins? and that there is a purgatory, when God's Son hath by his passion purged all? and say, you make God, and sacrifice him, when Christ's body was a sacrifice once for all? Do you not teach the people to number their sins in your ears, and say they be damned, if they confess not all: when God's word saith, Who can number his sins? Do you not promise them trentals and di••|ges, and masses for souls, and sell your prayers for money, and make them buy pardons, and trust to such foolish inventions of your own imagina|tions? Do you not altogether against God? Do you not teach us to pray upon beads, and to pray unto saints, and say they can pray for us? Do you not make holy water and holy bread to fray devils? Do you not a thousand more abominations? And yet you say, you come for my profit, and to save my soul. No, no, one hath saved me. Farewel, you with your salvation. Much other talk there was between her and them, which here were too tedious to express.

IN the month's liberty, which was granted her by the bishop, as is before-mentioned, she went in|to St. Peter's church, and there found a cunning Dutchman th••t had made new noses to certain fine images which were disfigured in king Edward's time; to whom she said, What a mad man art thou to make them new noses, which within a few days shall all lose their heads? The Dutchman accused her, and laid it hard to her charge. And she said unto him, Thou art accursed, and so are thy ima|ges. He called her whore. Nay, said she, thy images are whores, and thou art a whore-hunter; for doth not God say, You go a who••ing after strange gods, figures of your own making? and thou art one of them. Then she was sent for, clap|ped fast, and from that time she had no more li|berty.

DURING the time of her imprisonment, divers re|sorted to visit her, some sent by the bishop, some of their own voluntary will; amongst whom was one Daniel, a great preacher sometime of the gospel, in the days of king Edward, in those parts of Corn|wal and Devonshire: whom after that she perceiv|ed by his own confession to have revolted from that which he preached before, through the grievous im|prisonments, as he said, and fear of arrow_back persecution arrow_forward which he had partly sustained by the cruel justices in those parts, earnestly she exhorted him to repent with Peter, and to be more constant in his profes|sion.

MOREOVER, there resorted to her a certain worthy gentlewoman, the wife of one Walter Rauly, a wo|man of noble wit, and of a good and godly opinion; who coming to the prison, and talking with her, she said her creed to the gentlewoman; and when she came to the article, He ascended, there she staid, and bid the gentlewoman to seek his blessed body in heaven, not on earth, and told her plainly that God dwelleth not in temples made with hands, and the sacrament to be nothing else but a remembrance of his blessed passion; and yet, said she, as they now use it, it is but an idol, and far wide from any remembrance of Christ's body; which, said she, will not continue, and so take it good mistress. So that as soon as she came home to her husband, she declared to him, that in her life she never heard a woman (of such simplicity to look on) talk so god|ly, so perfectly, so sincerely, and so earnestly; in|somuch, that if God were not with her, she could not speak such things, to which I am not able to answer, though I can read, and she cannot.

ALSO there came to her one William Kede, and John his brother, not only brethren in the flesh, but also in the truth, and men in that country of great credit, whose father, R. Kede, all his life suffered nothing but trouble for the gospel. These two good and faithful brethren were present with her, both in the hall, and also at the prison, and (as they reported) they never heard the like woman, of so godly talk, so faithful or so constant; and as godly exhortations she gave them.

THUS this good matron was by many ways tried, both by hard imprisonment, threatenings, taunts and scorns, called an anabaptist, a mad woman, a drunkard, a runagate. She was proved by liberty to go whether she would; she was tried by flatte|ry, with many fair promises; she was tried with her husband, her goods and children; but nothing could prevail, her heart was fixed, she had cast her anchor, utterly contemning this wicked world; a rare example of constancy to all professors of Christ's gospel.

IN the hill of my information, it is so reported to me, that albeit she was of such simplicity, and without learning, yet you could declare no place of scripture, but she would tell you the chapter; you, she would recite you the names of all the books of the bible. For which cause one Gregory Basset, a rank papist, said she was out of her wits, and talked of the scripture as a dog rangeth far off from his master when he walketh in the fields, or as a stolen sheep out of his master's hands, she knew not whereat, as all heretics do; with many other taunts, which she utterly defied. Whereby as Almighty God is highly to be praised, working so mightily in such a weak vessel, so men of stronger and stouter nature have also to take example how to stand in like case; whereas we see this poor woman, how manfully she went through with such constancy and patience.

AT last when they perceived her to be past re|medy, and had consumed all their threatenings, that neither by imprisonment nor liberty, by me|naces nor flattery, they could bring her to sing any other song, nor win her to their vanities and su|perstitious doings, then they cried out, An ana|baptist, an anabaptist. Then in one day they brought her from the bishop's prison to the Guild▪ hall, and after that delivered her to to the temporal power, according to their custom, where she was by the gentlemen of the country exhorted yet to call for grace, and to leave her opinions: and go home to thy husband, said they, thou art an unlearned woman, thou art not able to answer to such high matters.

I am not, said she; yet with my death I am content to be a witness of Christ's death; and I pray you make no longer delay with me: my heart is fixed, I will never say otherwise, nor turn to your superstitious doings.

THEN the bishop said, the devil did lead her.

NO, my lord, said she, it is the Spirit of God which leadeth me, and which called me in my bed, and at midnight opened his truth to me.

THE•• there was a great shout and laugh amongst the priests and others,

DURING the time that this good woman was thus under these priests' hands, amongst many o|ther baitings and sore conflicts which she had 〈…〉〈…〉 them, here is moreover not to be forgot|ten,

how that Dr. Blackstone aforesaid, being treasurer of the church, had a concubine, who sundry times resorted to him, with other of his gossips: so that always when they came, this said good woman was called forth to his house, there to make his minio••, with the rest of his company, some mirth, he examining her with such mocking and grinning, deriding the truth, that it would have vexed any christian heart to have seen it. Then when he had long used his foolishness in this sort, and had sported himself enough in deriding this christian martyr; in the end he sent her to prison again, and there kept her very miserably, except that sometimes he would send for her, when his afore|said guests came to him, to use with her his accus|tomed folly. But in fine, these vile wretches, (af|ter many combats and scoffing persuasions) when they had played the part of the cat with the mouse, at length condemned her, and delivered her over to the secular power.

THEN the sentence being given, that she should go the place from whence she came, and from thence to the place of execution, there to be burn|ed with flames, till she be consumed; lifted up her voice and thanked God, saying, I thank thee, my Lord my God; this day have I found that which I have long sought. But such outcries as were again, and such mockings were never seen up|on a poor innocent woman: all which she most patiently took. And yet this favour they pretend|ed after her judgment, that her life should be spared, if she would turn and recant. Nay, that will I not, said she: God forbid that I should lose the life eternal for this carnal and short life. I will never turn from my heavenly husband, to my earthly husband; from the fellowship of angels to mortal children; and and if my husband and children be faithful, then am I their's; God is my father, God is my mother, God is my sister, my brother, my kinsman; God is my friend most faithful.

THEN was she delivered to the sheriff, innumera|ble people beholding her, and led by the officers to the place of execution, without the walls of Exeter, cal|led Sothenhey, where again these superstitious priests assaulted her, and she prayed them to have no more talk with her, but cried still, God be merciful to me a sinner. And so while they were tying her to the stake, thus still she cried, and would give no answer to them, but with much patience took her cruel death, and was with flames of fire consumed▪ and so ended this mortal life, as constant a wom••n in the faith of Christ, as ever was upon the earth. She was as simple a woman to appearance, as a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 might behold; of a very little and short stature, somewhat thick, about 54 years of age. She had a chearful countenance, so lively, as though she had been prepared for the day of her marriage to meet the Lamb; most patient in her words and answers; sober in apparel, meat and drink, and would never be idle, but a great comfort to as many as would talk with her; good to the poor▪ and in her trouble she would take no money, be|cause (said she) I am going to a city where money beareth no mastery; whilst I am here, God hath promised to feed me. Thus was her mortal life ended. For whose constancy God be everlastingly praised, Amen.

The arrow_back Persecution arrow_forward and Martyrdom of RICHARD SHARPE, THOMAS BANION, and THOMAS HALL.

RICHARD SHARPE, weaver of Bristol, was brought the ninth day of March, 1556, before Mr. Dalby, chancellor of the city of Bristol, and after examination concerning the sacrament of the altar, was persuaded by the said Dalby and others to recant; and the 29th of the said month was enjoined to make his recantation before the parishioners in his parish church. Which when he had done, he felt in his conscience such a torment|ing hell, that he was was not able quietly to work in his occupation, but decayed and changed both in colour and liking of his body; who shortly after upon Sunday came into his parish church, called Temple, and after high mass came to the choir door, and said with a loud voice, Neighbours, bear me record that yonder idol (and pointed to the altar) is the greatest and most abominable that ever was▪ and I am sorry that ever I denied my Lord God. Then the constables were ordered to

apprehend him, but none stepped forth, but suffer|ed him to go out of the church. After, at night, he was apprehended and carried to Newgate, and shortly after he was brought before the lord chancellor, where he denied the sacrament of the altar to be the body and blood of Christ, and said i•• was an idol; and therefore was condemned to be burned by the said Dalby. He was burnt the 7th of May, 1557, and died godly, patiently, and constantly, confes|sing the articles of our faith.

An Account of THOMAS HALE, Martyr.

THE Thursday night before Easter, in the year 1557, came one Mr. David Harris, alderman, and John Stone, to the house of one Thomas Hale, shoemaker, of Bristol, and caused him to rise out of his bed, and brought him forth from his door. To whom the said Thomas Hale said, You have sought my blood these two years, and now much good may it do you. He being committed to the watchmen, was carried to New|gate the 24th of April in the year aforesaid, was brought before Mr. Dalby the chancellor, commit|ted by him to prison, and after by him condemned to be burned for saying, The sacrament of the altar was an idol. He was burnt the 7th day of May with the aforesaid Richard Sharpe, patiently em|bracing the fire with his arms. They were both bound back to back.

An Account of THOMAS BANION.

THOMAS BANION, a weaver, at the com|mandment of the commissioners, was brought by a constable, the 13th day of August, 1557, before Mr. Dalby, chancellor of Bristol, who com|mitted him to prison for saying there was nothing but bread in the sacrament, as they used it. Where|fore, the twentieth day of August, he was con|demned by the said Dalby to be burnt for denying five of their sacraments, and affirming two, that is, the sacrament of the body and blood of Christ, and the sacrament of baptism. He was burnt the 27th of the said month, in the same year, and died godly, constantly, and patiently, with confessing the articles of our christian faith.

The Martyrdom of JOHN CORN••FORD, of Wor|tham, CHRISTOPHER BROWNE, of Maidstone, JOHN HERST, of Ashford, ALICE SNOTH, and CATHARINE KNIGHT, alias TINLEY, an aged Woman.

THESE five were the last that suffered in queen Mary's reign, for the testimony of that word for which so many had died before, and gave up their lives meekly and patiently, suffering the violent malice of the papists: who although they they then might have either well spared them, or else deferred their death, knowing of the sick|ness of queen Mary; yet such was the implacable spite of that generation, that there be some that say, the archdeacon of Canterbury the same time being at London, and understanding the danger of the queen, immediately made post haste home to dispatch these whom he had before then in his cruel custody.

THE matter why they were judged to the fire, was for believing the body not to be in the sacra|ment of the altar, unless it be received; saying moreover, that we receive another thing also, be|sides Christ's body, which we see, and is a tempo|ral thing, according to St. Paul, "The things that be seen, be temporal," &c.

Item, For confessing that an evil man doth not receive Christ's body, "Because no man hath the Son, except it be given him of the Father."

Item, That it is an idolatry to creep to the cross, and St. John forbidding it, saith, Beware of i|mages.

Item, For confessing that we should not pray to our lady, and other saints, because they be not omnipotent.

FOR these and other such like articles of christian doctrine, were these committed to the fire. A|gainst whom, when the sentence should be read, and they excommunicated, after the manner of the papists, one of them, John Corneford by name, stirred with a vehement spirit of the zeal of God,

proceeding in a more true excommunication against the papists, in the name of them all, pronounced sentence against them, in these words as follow▪

"IN the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the most mighty God, and by the power of his holy Spirit, and the authority of his holy ca|tholic and apostolic church, we do here give into the hands of Satan to be destroyed, the bodies of all those blasphemers and heretics, that do main|tain any error against his most holy word, or do condemn his most holy truth for heresy, to the maintenance of any false church or feigned religion, so that by this thy just judgment, O most mighty God, against thy adversaries, thy true religion may be known to thy great glory and our comfort, and to the edifying of all our nation. Good Lord, so be it, Amen."

THIS sentence of excommunication being the same time openly pronounced and registered, pro|ceeding so, as it seemeth, from an inward faith and hearty zeal to God's truth and religion, took such effect against the enemy, that within six days after queen Mary died, and the tyranny of all English papists with her. Albeit, notwithstanding the sickness and death of that queen, whereof they were not ignorant, yet the archdeacon and others of Canterbury, thought to dispatch the martyrdom of these men before.

IN which fact, the tyranny of this archdeacon seemeth to exceed the cruelty of Bonner, who not|withstanding he had some at the same time under his custody, yet was not so importunate in hauling them to the fire, as appeareth by father Lining and his wife, and divers others, who being the same time under custody of Bishop Bonner, were delivered by the death of queen Mary.

THESE godly martyrs, in their prayer which they made before their martyrdom, desired God that their blood might be the last that should be shed, and so it was.

THIS Catharine Tinley was the mother of one Robert Tinley, dwelling in Maidstone, which Ro|bert was in trouble all queen Mary's time. To whom his mother coming to visit him, asked him how he took this place of Scripture which she had seen, not by reading of the scripture (for she had yet in manner no taste of religion), but had found it by chance in a book of prayers, "I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy; your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visi|ons. And also upon the servants, and upon the maids in those days will I pour my Spirit," &c. Which place after that he had expounded to her, she began to take hold on the gospel, growi••g more and more in zeal and love thereof, and ••o continued unto her martyrdom.

AMONG such women as were burned at Canter|b••ry, it is recorded of a certain maid, and suppos|ed to be this Alise Snoth mentioned in this story, or else to be Agnes Snoth above mentioned, that when she was brought to be executed, she being at the stake, called for her godfather and godmo|thers. The justice hearing her, sent for them, but they durst not come. Notwithstanding the justices willed the messenger to go again, and to shew them that they should incur no danger there|of.

THEN they hearing that, came to know the mat|ter of their sending for. When the maid saw them, she asked them what they had promised for her, and so she immediately rehearsed her faith, and the commandments of God, and required of them, if there were any more that they had promised in her behalf; and they said, No.

THEN, said she, I die a christian woman, bear witness of me; and she was consumed in fire, and gave up her life joyfully for the testimony of Christ's gospel, to the terror of the wicked, and comfort of the godly, also to the stopping of the slanderous mouths of such as falsely do quarrel against the faithful martyrs, for going from that religion where|in by their godfathers and godmothers they were at first baptized.

The History and Condemnation of JOHN HUNT, and RICHARD WHITE, who escaped the Fire by the Death of Queen Mary.

BESIDES these three martyrs above-named, there were several others imprisoned in divers parts of the realm, whereof some were but newly taken and not yet examined, some examined but not condemned, certain were both examined and condemned, but for lack of the writ escaped.

OTHERS there were also, both condemned, and the writ also was brought down for their burning, and yet by the death of the chancellor, the bishop, and of queen Mary, happening ••ogether about one time, they most happily and marvellously were preserved, and lived many years after. In the number of whom was one John Hunt, and Rich|ard White, imprisoned at Salisbury. Touching which history, something is here to be shewed.

THESE two good men, and faithful servants of the Lord, had remained a long time in prison at Salisbury, and other places thereabouts, the space of two years and more. During which time, they were often called to examination, and manifold wayes were impugned by the bishops and priests. All whose examinations, as I thought not much needful here to prosecute or to search out, for the length of the volume; so neither again did I think it good to leave no memory at all of the same, but some part to express, namely, of the examination of Richard White, before the bi|shop of Salisbury, the bishop of Gloucester, with the chancellor and other priests, not unworthy here to be rehearsed.

THE bishop of Salisbury at that time was Dr. Capon, the bishop of Gloucester was Dr. Brookes. These, with Dr. Geffery, the chancellor of Salisbu|ry, and a great number of priests sitting in judg|ment, Richard White was brought before them. With whom first the bishop of Gloucester, who had the examination of him, began thus.

Brookes.

Is this the prisoner?

Chancellor.

Yea, my lord.

Brookes.

Friend, wherefore camest thou hither?

White.

My lord, I trust to know the cause: for the law saith in the mouth of two or three witnes|ses things must stand.

Capon.

Did not I examine thee of thy ••aith when thou camest hither?

White.

No, my lord, you did not examine me, but commanded me to the Lollard's-Tower, and that no man should speak with me. And now I do require mine accuser.

THEN the Register said, The mayor of Marl|borough apprehended you for words that you spake there; and for that I commanded you to be con|veyed hither to prison.

White.

You had the examination of me at Marl|borough. Say what I have said, and I will answer you.

Chancellor.

Thou shalt confess thy faith befo••e thou depart; and therefore say thy mind freely, and be not ashamed so to do.

White.

I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, because it is the power of God to salvation unto all that believe: and St. Peter saith, "If any man do▪ ask thee a reason of the hope that is in thee, make him a direct answer, and that with meekness." Who shall have the examination of me?

Chan.

My lord of Gloucester shall have the ex|amination of thee.

White.

My lord, will you take the pains to wet your coat in my blood? Be not guilty thereof; I warn you before hand.

Brookes.

I will do nothing contrary to our law.

White.

My lord, what is it that you do request at my hands?

Brookes.

I will pose thee upon certain articles, and principally upon the sacrament of the altar: how dost thou believe of the blessed sacrament of the altar? Believest thou not the real, carnal, and corporal presence of Christ in the same, even the very same Christ that was born of the virgin Mary,

that was hanged on the cross, that suffered for our sins? And at these words they all put off their caps, and bowed their bodies.

White.

My lord, what is a sacrament?

Brookes.

It is the thing itself which it repre|senteth.

White.

That cannot be; for he that ••••present|eth a prince cannot be the prince himself.

Brookes.

How many sacraments findest thou in the scriptures called by the name of sacraments?

White.

I find two sacraments in the scriptures, but not called by the names of sacraments. But I think St▪ Augustine first gave them the name of sacraments.

Brookes.

Then thou findest not that word sacra|ment in the scriptures.

White.

No, my lord.

Brookes.

Did not Christ say, This is my body, and are not his words true?

White.

I am sure the words are true; but you play by me as the devil did by Christ: for he said. If thou be, &c. Matt. iv. For it is, &c. Psal. xci. But the words that followed after be clean left out, which are these: Thou shalt walk on the lion and the asp, &c. These words the devil left out, be|cause they were spoke against himself; and even so do you recite the scriptures.

Brookes.

Declare thy faith upon the sacrament.

White.

Christ and his sacraments are alike, be|cause of their natures; for in Christ are two na|tures, a divine and an human nature; so likewise in the sacraments of Christ's body and blood there be two natures, which I divide into two parts, that is, external and internal. The external part is the element of bread and wine, according to the saying of St. Augustine. The internal part is the invisi|ble grace, which by the same is represented. So there is an external receiving of the same sacrament, and an internal. The external is with the hand, the eye, the mouth, and the ear. The internal is by the Holy Ghost in the heart, which worketh in me faith; whereby I apprehend all the merits of Christ, applying the same wholly unto my salva|tion. If this be truth, belie•••• it; and if it be not, reprove it.

Dr. Hoskins.

This is Oecolampadius's doctrine, and Hooper taught it the people.

Brookes.

Dost thou not believe, that after the words of consecration there is the natural presence of Christ's body.

White.

My lord, I will answer you, if you will answer me to one question. Is not this article of our belief true? "He sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty:" if he be come from thence to judgment, say so.

Brookes.

No. But if thou will believe the scrip|tures, I will prove to thee that Christ was both in heaven and in earth at one time.

White.

As he is God, he is in all places; but as for his manhood, he is but in one place.

Brookes.

St. Paul saith, 1 Cor. xv. "Last of all he was seen of me," &c. Here St. Paul saith he saw Christ, and St. Paul was not in heaven.

White.

St. Paul's chief purpose was by this place to prove the resurrection. But how do you prove that Christ, when he appeared to St. Paul, was not still in heaven; like as he was seen of Ste|phen, sitting at the right hand of God? St. Au|gustine saith, the head that was in heaven, did cry for the body and members which were on the earth, and said, "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" And was not Paul taken up into the third heaven; where he might see Christ? as he witnesseth, 1 Cor. xv. For there he doth but only say he saw Christ, but concerning the place he speaketh nothing. Wherefore this place of scripture proveth not that Christ was both in heaven and earth at one time.

Brookes.

I told you before he would not believe.

Here be three opinions, the Lutherans, the Oeco|lampadians, and we the Catholics. If you the Oecolampadians have the truth, then the Lutherans and we the Catholics be out of the way. If the Lutherans have the truth, then you the Oecolam|padians and we the Catholics be out of the way. But if we the Catholics have the truth, as we have indeed, then the Lutherans and you the Oecolam|padians are out of the way, as you are indeed, for the Lutherans do call you heretics.

White.

My lord, you have troubled me greatly with the scriptures.

Brookes.

Did I not tell you it was not possible to remove him from his error? Away with him to the Lollards' Tower, and dispatch him as soon as you can.

THIS was the effect of my first examination. More examinations I had after this, which I have no time now to write out.

AMONGST many other examinations of the afore|said Richard White, it happened one time, that Dr. Blackstone, chancellor of Exeter, sat upon him, with divers others, who alledging certain doctors, as Chrysostom, Cyprian, Tertullian, against the said Richard White, and being reproved by him for his false patching of the doctors, fell into such a trembling and shaking, (his conscience belike accus|ing him) that he was fain, stooping down, to lay both his hands upon his knees to stay his body from trembling.

THEN the said John Hunt, and Richard White, after many examinations and long captivity, at length were called for and brought before Dr. Geffery, the bishop's chancellor there to be condemned, and so they were. The high sheriff at that present was sir Anthony Hungerford, who being then at the sessions, was there charged with these two con|demned persons, with other malefactors there con|demned likewise at the same time, to see them put to death.

IN the mean time Mr. Clifford, of Bosco, in Wiltshire, son-in-law to the said sir Anthony Hun|gerford, the sheriff, came to his father, exhorting and counselling him in no case to meddle with the death of these two innocent persons; and if the chancellor and priests would needs be instant upon him, yet he should first require the writ to be sent down, De comburendo, for his discharge.

SIR Anthony Hungerford hearing this, and un|derstanding justice Brown to be in the town the same time, went to him to ask his advice and coun|sel in the matter, who told him that without the writ sent down from the superior powers, he could not be discharged: and if the writ were sent, then he must by the law do his charge.

THE sheriff understanding by justice Brown, how far he might go by the law, and having at that time no writ for his warrant, let them alone, and the next day after taking his horse, departed.

THE chancellor all this while marvelling what the sheriff meant, and yet disdaining to go unto him, but looking rather the other should have come first to him, at last hearing that he was rid away, took his horse and rid after him; who at length over|taking the sheriff, declared unto him how he had committed certain condemned prisoners to his hand, whose duty had been to have seen execution done; the matter, he said, was great, and therefore willed him to look well unto it how he would answer the matter. And thus began he fiercely to lay to his charge.

WHEREIN note, good reader, by the way, the close and covert hypocrisy of the papists in their dealings; who in the form and stile of their own sentence condemnatory, pretend a petition unto the secular power, in the wounds of Jesus Christ, that the rigour of the law may be mitigated, and that their life may be spared. And how standeth this now with their doings and dealings, when this chancellor (as you see) is not only contented to give sentence against them, but also hunteth after the officer, not suffering him to spare them, altho' he would? What dissimulation is this of men, going and doing contrary to their own words and profes|sion? But let us return to our matter again.

THE sheriff hearing the chancellor's words, and seeing him so urgent upon him, told him again that

he was no babe, which now was to be taught of him. If he had any writ to warrant and discharge him in burning those men, then he knew what he had to do. Why, saith the chancellor, did not I give you a writ, with my hand and eight more of the close set unto the same? Well, quoth the she|riff, that is no sufficient discharge for me; and therefore as I told you, if you have a sufficient writ and warrant from the superior powers, I know then what I have to do in my office; otherwise, if you have no other writ but that, I tell you, I will neither burn them for you, nor any of you all, &c.

WHERE note again (good reader) how by this it may be thought and supposed, that the other poor saints and martyrs of God, such as had been burn|ed at Salisbury before, were burned belike without any authorised or sufficient writ from the superiors, but only from the information of the chancellor and of the close, through the uncircumspect negligence of the sheriffs, who should have looked more sub|stantially into the matter. But this I leave and refer unto the magistrates. Let us return to the ••••ory again.

DOCTOR Geffery, the chancellor, thus sent away from the sheriff, went home, and there fell sick upon the same, (for anger belike) as they signified unto me, who were the parties themselves, both godly and grave persons, who were then condemn|ed, the one of them, which is Richard White, be|ing yet alive.

THE under sheriff to this sir Anthony Hunger|ford, above-named, was one Mr. Michell, a godly man. So that not long after this came down the writ to burn the above-named Richard White and John Hunt; but the under sheriff receiving the said writ, said, I will not be guilty of these men's blood, and immediately burnt the writing, and de|parted his way. Within four days after the chan|cellor died; concerning whose death this cometh by the way to be noted, that these two aforesaid, John Hunt and Richard White, being the same time in a low and dark dungeon, being Saturday, toward evening (according to their accustomed manner) fell to evening prayer. Who kneeling there together, as they should begin their prayer, suddenly fell both to such a strange weeping and tenderness of heart (but how they could not tell)▪ that they could not pray one word, but so continu|ed a great space, bursting out in tears. After that night was past, and the morning come, the first word they heard was that the chancellor, their great enemy, was dead. The time of whose death they found to be the same hour when they fell into such a sudden weeping. The Lord in all his works be praised, Amen. Thus much concerning the death of that wicked chancellor.

RICHARD White and John Hunt, after the death of the chancellor, the bishop also being dead a little before, continued still in prison till the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 coming in of queen Elizabeth; and so were set 〈◊〉〈◊〉 liberty.

An Account of the Martyrdom of a young Lad••▪ Eight Years old, scourged to Death in Bishop B••••|ner's House in London.

IF bloody torments and cruel death of a poor innocent, suffering for no cause of his own, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the truth of Christ and his religion, do make a martyr, no less deserveth the child of John Fetty, to be reputed in the catalogue of holy martyrs, who in the house of bishop Bonner, was unmercifully scourged to death, as by the sequel of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 here following may appear.

AMONGST those that were persecuted and miser|ably imprisoned for the profession of Christ's gospel, and yet mercifully delivered by the providence of God, there was one John Fetty, a godly poor man, dwelling in the parish of Clerkenwell, and was by vocation a taylor, of the age of twenty-four years or thereabouts, who was accused and complained of unto one Brokenbury, a parson of the same parish, by his own wife, because he would not come unto the church, and be partaker of their idolatry and superstition; and therefore, through the said priest's procurement, he was apprehended by Ri|chard Tanner, and his fellow constables there, and one Martin the headborough. However, immedi|ately upon his apprehension, his wife (by the just

judgment of God) was stricken mad, and divested of her wits, which declared a marvellous example of the justice of God against such unfaithful and unnatural treachery. And although this example (perhaps for lack of knowledge and instruction in such cases) little moved the consciences of these simple poor men to cease their arrow_back persecution arrow_forward ; yet natural pity towards that ungrateful woman wrought so in their hearts, that for the preservation and sup|port of her and her two children (like otherwise to perish) they for that present let her husband alone, and would not carry him to prison, but suffered him to remain quietly in his house. During which time, he as it were forgetting the wicked and un|kind fact of his wife, did yet so cherish and provide for her, that within the space of three weeks (thro' God's merciful providence) she was well amended, and had recovered again some stay of her wits and senses.

BUT such was the power of Satan in the malici|ous heart of that wicked woman, that notwith|standing his gentle dealing with her, yet so soon as she had recovered some health, she did again accuse her husband; whereupon he was the second time apprehended, and carried unto sir John Mordaunt, knight, one of the queen's commissioners, and he upon examination sent him by Cluny, the bishop's sumner, unto the Lollards' Tower: where he was put into the painful stocks, and had a dish of water set by him, with a stone put into it. To what pur|pose God knoweth, except it were to shew that he should look for little other sustenance. Which is credible enough, if we consider their like practices upon divers before-mentioned in this history, as amongst others, upon Richard Smith, who died through their cruel imprisonment; touching whom, when a godly woman came to Dr. Story, to have leave that she might bury him, he asked her if he had any straw or blood in his mouth; but what he meant thereby, I leave to the judgment of the wise.

AFTER the aforesaid John Fetty had thus lain in prison for the space of fifteen days, hanging in the stocks, sometimes by one leg and one arm, some|times by the other, and sometimes by both, it hap|pened that one of his childran (a boy of the age of eight or nine years) came unto the bishop's house to see if he could get leave to speak with his father. At his coming thither, one of the bishop's chaplain•• met with him, and asked him what he lacked, and whom he would have. The child answered, that he came to see his father. The chaplain asked a|gain who was his father. The boy then told him and pointing towards Lollards' Tower, shewed him that his father was there in prison. Why, said the priest, thy father is an heretic: the child being of a bold and quick spirit, and also godly brought up, and instructed by his father in the knowledge of God, answered and said, my father is no heretic; for you have Balaam's mark.

WITH that the priest took the child by the hand, and carried him into the bishop's house, and there amongst them did they most shamefully, and with|out all pity, so whip and scourge, being naked, this tender child, that he was all in a gore of blood, and then in jolly brag of their catholic tyranny, they caused Cluny, having his coat upon his arm, to car|ry the child in his shirt unto his father being in pri|son, the blood running down his heels.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 his coming unto his father the child fell down upon his knees, and asked his blessing. The poor man then beholding his child, and seeing him so cruelly arrayed, cried out for sorrow, and said, Alas, Will, who hath done this to thee? The boy answered, that as he was seeking to come to see his father, a priest with Balaam's mark took him into the bishop's house, and there he was so handled. Cluny therewith violently plucked the child away out of his father's hands, and carried him back again into the bishop's house where they kept him three days after.

AND at three days end, Bonner (minding to make the matter whole, and somewhat to appease the poor man, for this their horrible fact) determined to release him; and therefore caused him early in the morning to be brought out of Lollards' Tower into his bed-chamber, where he found the bishop bathing of himself against a great fire; and at his first entering into the chamber, Fetty said, God be here, and peace. God be here, and peace I said Bonner; that is neither God speed nor good mor|row. If you kick against this peace (said Fetty), then this is not the place that I seek for.

A CHAPLAIN of the bishop's standing by, turned the poor man about, and thinking to deface him, said in a mocking manner, what have we here, a player? Whilst Fetty was thus standing in the bi|shop's chamber, he espied hanging about the bi|shop's bed, a great pair of black beads; whereupon he said, My lord, I think the hangman is not far off; for the halter, pointing to the beads, is here already. At which words the bishop was in a mar|vellous rage.

THEN he immediately after espied also standing in the said bishop's chamber in the window a lit|tle crucifix. Then he asked the bishop what it was; and he answered that it was Christ. Was he handled so cruelly as he is here pictured, said Fetty.

YEA, that he was, said the bishop.

AND even so cruelly will you handle such as come before you: for you are unto God's people as Ca|iaphas was unto Christ.

THE bishop being in a great fury, said, Thou art a vile heretic, and I will burn thee, or else I will spend all that I have unto my gown.

NAY, my lord, said Fetty you had better give it to some poor body, that he may pray for you. But yet Bonner bethinking himself of the danger that the child was in by their whipping, and what peril might ensue thereupon▪ thought better to dis|charge him; which thing was accomplished.

WHEREUPON, after this and such like talk, the bishop at last discharged him, willing him to go home, and carry his child with him; which he did, and that with a heavy heart to see his poor boy in such extreme pain and grief. But within fourteen days after the child died, whether through his cru|el scourging, or any other infirmity, I know not; and therefore I refer the truth thereof unto the Lord, who knoweth all secrets, and also to the dis|creet judgment of the reader. But however it was, the Lord yet used their cruel and detestable fact, as a means of his providence for the delivery of this good poor man and faithful christian; his name therefore be ever praised, Amen.

An Account of the cruel Handling and Burning of NICHOLAS BURTON, an English Merchant, in Spain.

I THINK it not amiss in this place to mention the story of Nicholas Burton, being such as is not unworthy to be known, as well for the exam|ple of his singular constancy, as also for the noting of the extreme dealing and cruel revenge of th••se catholic inquisitors of Spain▪ who under the pre|tended visor of religion, do nothing but seek their own private gain and advantage, with crafty rifling and spoiling of other men's goods, as by noting of this story may appear.

THE fifth day of November, about the year of our Lord, 1560, this Nicholas Burton, citizen sometime of London, and merchant, dwelling in the parish of Little St. Bartholomew, peaceably and quietly following his traffic in the trade of mer|chandize, and being in the city of Cadiz, in the party of Andalusia, in Spain, there came into his lodging a Judas, or, as they term them, a familiar of the fathers of the inquisition. Who asking for the said Nicholas Burton, feigned that he had a letter to deliver into his own hands; by which means he spake with him immediately. And hav|ing no letter to deliver to him, then the said promo|ter, or familiar, at the motion of the devil his mas|ter, whose messenger he was, invented another lie, and said, that he would take lading for London in such ships as the said Nicholas Burton had freighted to lade, if he would let any; which was partly to know where he loaded his goods, that they might attach them, and chiefly to detract the time un|til the serjeant of the inquisition might come and apprehend the body of the said Nicholas Burton; which they did incontinently.

HE then well perceiving that they were not a••le to burden or charge him that he had written, spake, or done any thing there in that country against the ecclesiastical or temporal laws of the same realm, boldly asked them what they had to lay to his charge that they did so arrest him, and bade them to declare the cause, and he would answer the•• Notwithstanding they answered nothing, but com|manded

[figure]

The Cruel Methods by which M^• NICHOLAS BURTON an Englishman, was Tortured in the Inquisitorial Prison at Cadiz in SPAIN▪ previous to his Martyrdom.

him with cruel threatening words to hold his peace, and not to speak one word to them.

AND so they carried him to the filthy common prison of the town of Cadiz, where he remained in irons fourteen days amongst thieves.

ALL which time he so instructed the poor pri|soners in the word of God, according to the good talent which God had given him in that behalf, and also in the Spanish tongue to utter the same, that in short space he had well reclaimed several of those superstitious and ignorant Spaniards to embrace the word of God, and to reject their popish traditions.

WHICH being known unto the officers of the in|quisition, they conveyed him laden with irons from thence to a city called Seville, into a more cruel and straiter prison called Triana, where the said fathers of the inquisition proceeded against him secretly ac|cording to their accustomable cruel tyranny, that never after he could be suffered to write or speak to any of his nation: so that to this day it is un|known who was his accuser.

AFTERWARD, the 20th of December, they brought the said Nicholas Burton, with a great number of other prisoners, for professing the true christian religion, into the city of Seville, to a place where the said inquisitors sat in judgment, which they called Auto, with a canvas coat, whereupon in divers parts was painted the figure of a huge devil, tormenting a soul in a flame of fire, and on his head a copping tank of the same work.

HIS tongue was forced out of his mouth with a cloven stick fastened upon it, that he should not ut|ter his conscience and faith to the people, and so he was set with another Englishman of Southampton, and divers other condemned men for religion as well Frenchmen•• as Spaniards, upon a scaffold over a|gainst the said inquisition, where their sentences and judgments were read and pronounced against them.

AND immediately after the said sentences given, they were carried from thence to the place of execu|tion without the city, where they most cruelly burn|ed them, for whose constant faith, God be praised.

THIS Nicholas Burton by the way, and in the flames of fire, had so chearful a countenance, em|bracing death with all patience and gladness, that the tormentors and enemies which stood by, said, that the devil had his soul before he came to the fire; and therefore they said his senses of feeling were past him.

IT happened that after the arrest of Nicholas Burton aforesaid, immediately all the goods and merchandize which he brought with him into Spain by the way of traffic, were (according to their common usage) seized, and taken into the sequester; among which they also rolled up much that apper|tained to another English merchant, wherewith he was credited as factor. Whereof so soon as news was brought to the merchant as well of the imprisonment of his factor, a•• of the arrest made upon his goods, he sent his attorney into Spain, with authority from him to make claim to his goods, and to demand them; whose name was John Fronton, citizen of Bristol.

WHEN his attorney was landed at Seville, and had shewed all his letters and writings to the holy house, requiring them that such goods might be de|livered into his possession, answer was made him that he must sue by bill, and retain an advocate (but all was doubtless to delay him), and they forsooth of courtesy assigned him one to frame his supplica|tion for him, and other such bills of petition, as he had to exhibit into their holy court, demanding for each bill eight rials, albeit they stood him in no more stead than if he had put up none at all. And for the space of three or four months this fellow missed not twice a day attending every morning and afternoon at the inquisitor's palace, suing unto them upon his knees for his dispatch, but especially to the bishop of Tarracon who was at that very time chief in the inquisition at Seville, that he of his absolute authority would command restitution to be made thereof; but the booty was so good and great, that it was very hard to come by it again.

AT length, after he had spent four whole months in suits and requests, and also to no purpose, he re|ceived this answer from them, That he must shew better evidence, and bring more sufficient certifi|cates

out of England for proof of this matter, that those which he had already presented to the court. Whereupon the party forthwith posted to London, and with all speed returned to Seville again with more ample and large letters testimonial, and certificates, according to their requests, and exhi|bited them to the court.

NOTWITHSTANDING the inquisitors still shifted him off, excusing themselves by lack of leisure, and for that they were occupied in more weighty affairs, and with such answers put him off for four months after.

AT last, when the party had well nigh spent all his money, and therefore sued the more earnestly for his dispatch, they referred the matter wholly to the bishop. Of whom, when he repaired unto him, he made this answer, That for himself, he knew what he had to do; howbeit he was but one man, and the determination, appertained to the other commissioners as well as unto him: and thus by posting and passing it from one to another, the party could obtain no end of his suit. Yet for his importunity's sake, they were resolved to dispatch him, it was on this sort: one of the inquisitors, called Gasco, a man very well experienced in these practices, willed the party to resort unto him after dinner.

THE fellow being glad to hear this news, and supposing that his goods should be restored unto him, and that he was called in for that purpose to talk with the other that was in prison, to confer with him about their accounts, rather through a little misunderstanding, hearing the inquisitors cast out a word▪ that it should be needful for him to talk with the prisoner, and being thereupon more than half persuaded, that at length they meant good faith, did so, and repaired thither about the evening. Immediately upon his coming, the goal|er was forthwith charged with him, to shut him up close in such a prison where they appointed him.

THE party hoping at the first that he had been called for about some other matter, and seeing him|self, contrary to his expectation, cast into a dark dungeon, perceived at length that the world went with him far otherwise than he supposed it would have done.

BUT within two or three days after he was brought into the court, where he began to demand his goods; and because it was a device that well serv|ed their turn without any more circumstance, they bid him say his Ave Maria; "Ave Maria grat•• plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui Jesus, Amen."

THE same was written word by word as he sp••ke it, and without any more talk of claiming his goods, because it was needless, they commanded him to prison again, and entered an action ag••inst him as an heretic, forasmuch as he did not say his Ave Maria after the Romish fashion, but ended it very suspiciously, for he should have added more••|ver; "Sancta Maria mater Dei, ora pro nobis pe••|catoribus:" by abbreviating whereof, it was ••••••dent enough (said they) that he did not allow the mediation of saints.

THUS they picked a quarrel to detain him in prison a longer season, and afterwards brought him forth upon their stage disguised after their manner▪ where sentence was given, that he should lose all the goods which he sued, though they were not his own, and besides this, suffer a year's imprison|ment.

IN the year 1560, several other Englishmen suf|fered in Spain, among whom John Baker and William Burgate were apprehended, and burnt the second day of November in the city of Seville.

MARK BRUGES, an Englishman, master of an En|glish ship called the Minion, was burnt in a city in Portugal.

WILLIAM HOOKER, a young man about the age of sixteen years, being an Englishman, was stoned to death by certain young men in the city of Seville, for the same righteous cause.

BUT of these and such other matters which hap|pened in Spain, because they fell not within the

reign of queen Mary, but since her time, we shall treat more hereafter, when we come to the reign of queen Elizabeth, where we shall give an account, not only of the martyrs abroad, but also the whole inquisition of Spain and Flanders, with the tragical tumults and troubles happening within the last me|mory of these our latter unhappy days.

A Treatise concerning those that were scourged by the Papists, for the Cause of the Gospel.

AFTER this bloody slaughter of God's saints and servants thus ended and discussed, let us now proceed (by God's assistance) to treat of such as for the same cause of religion have been, though not put to death, yet whipped and scourged by the enemies of God's word, first beginning with Rich|ard Wilmor and Thomas Fairfax, who about the time of Anne Askew, were miserably rent and tormented with scourges and stripes, for their faith|ful standing to Christ and his truth, as by the story and examination of them both may appear.

The Scourging of RICHARD WILMOT and THOMAS FAIRFAX.

AFTER the first recantation of Dr. Crome, for his sermon which he made the fifth Sunday in Lent, at St. Thomas Acres, being the Mercers' chapel, his sermon was an Epistle of the same day, written in the tenth chapter to the Hebrews; wherein he very learnedly proved by the same place of scripture and others, that Christ was the only and sufficient sacrifice unto God the Father for the sins of the whole world, and that there was no more sacrifice to be offered for sin by the priests, foras|much as Christ had offered his body on the cross, and shed his blood for the sins of the people, and that once for all. For which sermon he was ap|prehended by Bonner, and brought before Stephen Gardiner and others of the council, where he pro|mised to recant his doctrine at St. Paul's Cross, the second Sunday after Easter. And accordingly he was there and preached, Bonner with all his doctors sitting before him: but he so preached and handled his matter, that he rather verified his former saying, than denied any part of that which he before had preached. For which the protestants praised God, and heartily rejoiced.

BISHOP Bonner and his champions were not at all pleased therewith, but yet notwithstanding they took him home with them, and was so handled among the wolfish generation, that they made him come to the Cross again the next Sunday.

AND because the magistrates should now hear him, and be witness of this recantation which was most blasphemous, to deny Christ's sacrifice to be sufficient for penitent sinners, and to say that the sacrifice of the mass was good, godly, and an holy sacrifice, propitiatory and available both for the quick and the dead: because (I say) that they would have the nobles to hear this blasphemous doctrine, the viperous generation procured all the chief of the council to be there present.

NOW to come to our matter: at this time, the same week, between his first sermon and the last, and while Dr. Crome was in durance, one Rich|ard Wilmot being apprentice in Bow-lane, of the age of 18 years, and sitting at work in his master's shop, in the month of July, one Lewis, a Welch|man, being one of the guard, came into the shop, having things to do for himself.

ONE asked him what news at the court, and he answered, that the old heretic, Dr. Crome, had re|canted now indeed before the council, and that he should on Sunday next be at St. Paul's Cross again, and there declare it.

THEN Wilmot sitting at his master's work, and hearing him speak these words, and rejoicing in the same, began to speak unto him, saying, that he was sorry to hear this news: for (said he) if Crome should say otherwise than he hath said, then is it contrary to the truth of God's word, and contrary to his own conscience, which shall before God ac|cuse him.

LEWIS answered and said, that he had preached and taught heresy; and therefore it was meet that he should in such a place revoke it.

WILMOT told him that he would not so say, neither did he hear him preach any doctrine con|trary to God's written word, but that he proved his doctrine▪ and that sufficiently, by the scriptures.

LEWIS then asked him how he knew that?

WILMOT answered, By the scriptures of God, wherein he shall find God's will and pleasure, what he willeth all men to do, and what not to do; and also by them he should prove and try all doctrines, and the false doctrine from the true.

LEWIS said, it was never well since the Bible was translated into English; and that he was both an heretic and a traitor that caused it to be translated into English (meaning Cromwell), and therefore was rewarded according to his deserts.

WILMOT answered again, What his deserts and offences were to his prince a great many do not know, neither is it of any force whether they do or no; since, he was sure that he lost his life for of|fending his prince, and the law did put it in execu|tion: adding moreover, concerning that man, that he thought it pleased God to raise him from a low estate, and to place him in high authority, partly unto this, that he should do that which all the bishops in the realm yet never did, in restoring again God's holy word, which being hid long be|fore from the people in a strange tongue, and now coming abroad amongst us, will bring our bishops and priests, said he, in less estimation among the people.

LEWIS asked, Why so?

WILMOT said, Because their doctrine and living is not agreeable to his word.

THEN said Lewis, I never heard but that all men should learn of the bishops and priests, because they are learned men, and have been brought up in learning all the days of their lives. Wherefore they must needs know the truth, and our fathers did believe their doctrine and learning, and I think they did well, for the world was far better then, than it is now.

WILMOT answered, I will not say so: for we must not believe them because they are bishops, neither because they are learned, neither because our 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fathers did follow their doctrine. For I have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in God's book, how that bishops and learned men have taught the people false doctrine, and likewise the priests from time to time, and indeed those peo|ple our forefathers believed as they taught, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they thought, so thought the people. But for all this Christ calleth them false prophets, thieves, and murderers, blind leaders of the blind, willing the people to take heed of them, lest they should both fall into the ditch.

MOREOVER we read, that the bishops, 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ and learned men have been commonly resiste•••• of the truth from time to time, and have always perse|cuted the prophets in the old law, as their succe•••••••• did persecute our Saviour Christ and his disciples 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the new law. We must take heed therefore 〈◊〉〈◊〉 we credit them no further than God will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 neither follow them nor our forefathers other•••••••• than he commandeth us. For Almighty 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hath given to all people, as well to kings and pri••••ces, as bishops, priests, learned and unlearned 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ a commandment and law, unto which he willeth all men to be obedient. Therefore if any bishop 〈◊〉〈◊〉 priest, preach or teach, or prince or magistrate, command any thing contrary to his commandment, we must take heed how we obey them. For 〈◊〉〈◊〉 better for us to obey God than man.

MARRY, sir, quoth Lewis, you are an holy doc|tor indeed. By God's blood, if you were my man, I would set you about your business a little better, and not suffer you to look upon books, and so would your master if he were wise. And with that in came his master, and a young man with him, who was a servant to Mr. Daubney, in W••••|ling-street.

HIS master asked him what was the matter.

LEWIS said that he had a knavish boy here to his servant, and how that if he were his, he would ra|ther hang him than keep him in his house.

THEN his master being somewhat moved, asked his fellows what the matter was.

THEY said, they began to talk about Dr. Crome.

THEN his master asked what he had said, swear|ing a great oath, that he would make him tell him.

HE said, that he trusted he had said nothing, wherewith either he or Mr. Lewis might justly be offended. I pray (quoth Wilmot), ask him what I said.

MARRY (said Lewis), this he said, That Dr. Crome did preach and teach nothing but the truth, and how that if he recanted on Sunday next, he should be sorry to hear it, and that if he do, he is made to do it against his conscience. And more he saith, that we must not follow our bishops' doc|trine and preaching: for, saith he, they be hinder|ers of God's word, and persecutors of that; and how Cromwel (that traitor) did more good in set|ting forth the Bible, than all our Bishops have done these hundred years: thus reporting the matter worse than it really was.

HIS master hearing this, was in a great fury, and rated him, saying that either he would be hanged or burned, swearing that he would take away all his books and burn them.

THE young man (Mr. Daubney's servant) stand|ing by hearing this, began to speak on his part un|to Lewis, and his talk confirmed all the sayings of the other to be true.

THIS young man was learned, his name was Thomas Fairfax. Lewis hearing this man's talk as well as the other's, went his way in a rage to the court.

ON the next day they heard, that the said Wil|mot and Fairfax were sent for to come to the lord mayor. The messenger was Mr. Smart, the sword-bearer of London. They came before dinner to the mayor's house, and were commanded to sit down to dinner in the hall; and when dinner was done, they were both called into a parlour, where the mayor and sir Roger Cholmley was, who exa|mined them severally, the one not hearing the other.

THE effect of their discourse was this; sir Roger Cholmley said to Wilmot, that my lord mayor and he had received a commandment from the council, to send for him and his company, and to examine them of certain things which were laid to their charge.

THEN said Mr. Cholmley to him, Sirrah, what countryman art thou? He answered, That he was born in Cambridgeshire, and in such a town. Then he asked him, how long he had been in the city. He told him.

THEN he asked what learning he had. He said, little learning and small knowledge. Then (deri|dingly) he asked how long he had known Dr. Crome. He said about two years. Then he call|ed him a lying boy, and said that he (the said Wil|mot) was his son.

THE other said unto him, that was unlike, for that he never saw his mother, nor she him. Cholm|ley said he lied. Wilmot said he could prove it to be true. Then he asked him how he liked his ser|mon that he made at St. Thomas Acres chapel in Lent. He said that indeed he heard him not. He said yes, and the other nay. Then said he, What say you to his sermon made at the Cross the last day, heard you not that?

Wilmot.

Yes, and in that sermon he deceived a great number of people.

Cholmley.

How so?

Wilmot.

For that they looked that he should have recanted his doctrine that he taught before, and did not, but rather confirmed it.

Cholmley.

Yea, sir, but how say you now to him? For he hath recanted before the council; and hath promised on Sunday next to be at the Cross again; how think you of that?

Wilmot.

If he so did, I am the more sorry to hear it; and said▪ he thought he did it for fear and safeguard of his life.

Cholmley.

But what say you? Was his first ser|mon heresy or not?

Wilmot.

No, I suppose it was no heresy. For if it were, St. Paul's epistle to the Hebrews was heresy, and Paul an heretic that preached such doc|trine; but God forbid that any christian man should so think of the holy apostle; neither do I so think.

Cholmley.

Why, how knowest thou that St. Paul wrote those things that are in English now, to be true, whereas Paul never wrote English or Latin?

Wilmot.

I am certified that learned men of God, that did seek to advance his word, did translate the same out of the Greek and Hebrew into Latin and English, and that they durst not presume to alter the sense of the scripture of God, and last will and testament of Christ Jesus.

THEN the lord mayor, being in a great fury, asked him what he had to do to read such books, and said, that it was a pity that his master did suffer him so to do, and that he was not set better to work; and in fine said unto him, that he had spoken evil of my lord of Winchester, and bishop Bonner, those reverend and learned fathers and counsellors of this realm, for which his fact he saw no other but he must suffer, as was due to the same. And Mr. Cholmley said, Yea, my lord, there is such a sort of heretics and traitorous knaves taken now in Essex by my lord Rich, that it is too wonderful to hear. They shall be sent to the bish|op shortly, and shall be hanged and burned all.

Wilmot.

I am sorry to hear that of my lord Rich, for that he was my godfather, and gave me my name at my baptism.

CHOLMLEY asked him when he spake with him. He said, not these twelve years.

Cholmley.

If he knew that you were such a one, he would do the like by you, and in so doing he should do God great service.

Wilmot.

I have read the same saying in the gos|pel that Christ said to his disciples, "The time shall come, saith he, that whosoever killeth you, shall think that he shall do God good service."

WELL sir, said Cholmley, because you are so full of your scripture, and so well learned, we consider you lack a quiet place to study in. Therefore you shall go to a place where you shall be most quiet, and I would wish you to study how you will answer to the council of those things which they have to charge you with, for else it is like to cost you your best joint. I know my lord of Winchester will han|dle you well enough when he heareth thus much. Then was the officer called in to have him to the Compter, in the Poultry, and the other to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Compter, not one of them to see another; and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they remained eight days. In which time 〈◊〉〈◊〉 masters made great suit to the lord mayor, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sir Roger Cholmley, to know their offences, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that they might be delivered.

AT length they procured the wardens of the company of Drapers to labour with them in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 suit to the mayor. The mayor went with them to the council: but at that time they could find no grace at Winchester's hand, and sir Anthony Browne's, but that they had deserved death, and that they should have the law.

AT length, through much intreaty, he granted them this favour, that they should not die as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had deserved, but should be tied to a cart's tail, and be whipped three market-days through the city. Thus they came home that day, and went another day, and the master and wardens of the company petitioned on their knees to have this open punish|ment released, forsomuch as they were servants of so worshipful a company, and that they might be punished in their own hall before the wardens and certain of the company, which at length was grant|ed.

THE next day they appeared before the masters in the hall, their own masters being present, where they were charged with heresy and treason, for which, they were told, they deserved death, and this was declared with a long process by Mr. Brookes, the master of the company, declaring what labour and suit the mayor and wardens had made for them, to save them from death, which they (as he said)

had deserved, and from open shame, which they should have had, being judged by the council to have been whipped three days through the city at a cart's tail, and from these two dangers they had la|boured to deliver them, but not without great trouble and change. For (said he) the company hath promised to the council for this their mercy towards them, an hundred pounds, notwithstanding we must see them punished in our hall within our|selves for those their offences. After these and many other words, he commanded them to prepare themselves to receive their punishment.

THEN they were put asunder, and stripped from the waist upward one after another, and had into the midst of the hall, where they were wont to make their fire; there was a great ring of iron, to which there was a rope tied fast, and one of their feet tied fast to that.

THEN came down two men disguised in mum|mers apparel, with visors on their faces, and they beat them with great rods till the blood flowed out of their bodies. As for Wilmot, he could not lie in his bed for six nights after, for Brookes played the tyrant with them; so that with the pain and fear, they were never in health afterwards, as the said Wilmot with his mouth hath credibly in|formed us, and we can do no less than testify the same.

THUS have we briefly declared this little tragedy. wherein we may note the malice of the enemies at all times to those who profess Christ, and take his part, of what estate or degree soever they be, ac|cording to the apostle's saying, "It is given unto you not only to believe, but also to suffer with him." To whom be honour and glory, Amen.

The Scourging of THOMAS GREEN, Printer, written by his own Hand.

IN the reign of queen Mary, I Thomas Green, being brought before Dr. Story by my master, whose name is John Wayland, a Printer, for a book called Antichrist, which had been distributed to certain honest men; he asked me where I had the book, and said I was a traitor. I told him I had the book of a Frenchman. Then he asked me more questions, but I told him I could tell him no more. Then he said, it was no heresy, but treason, and that I should be hanged, drawn, and quartered; and so he called for Cluny, the keeper of the Lol|lards' Tower, and bid him set me fast in the stocks; and he took me out, and carried me to the Coal-House, and there I found a Frenchman lying in the stocks, and he took him out, and put a bolt and a fetter on my right leg, and another on my left hand, and so he set me cross fettered in the stocks, and took the Frenchman away with him, and there I lay a day and a night. On the morrow after, he came and said, Let me shift your hand and your leg, because you shall not be lame; and he made as though he pitied me, and said, Tell me the truth, and I will be your friend.

AND I said, I had told the truth, and could tell no otherwise. Then he put only my leg in the stocks, and so went his way, and there I remained six days, and would come to no answer.

THEN Dr. Story sent for me, and asked whether I would tell him the truth, where I had the book. I said I had told him, of a Frenchman. He asked me where I came acquainted with the Frenchman, where he dwelt, and where he delivered me the book. I said, I came acquainted with him in New|gate, I coming to my friends who were put in for God's word and truth's sake, and the Frenchman coming to his friends also, there we talked together, and became acquainted one with another, and did eat and drink together there with our friends, in the fear of God.

THEN Story scoffed at me and said, Then there was brother in Christ, and brother in Christ; and reviled me, and called me an heretic, and asked me if I had the book of him in Newgate. I said no; and I told him, as I went on my business in the street I met him, and he asked me how I did, and I him also; so falling into discourse, he shewed me that book, and I desired him that he would let me have it.

IN this examination Story said, it was a great

book, and asked me whether I bought it, or had it given me. I told him I bought it. Then he said, I was a thief, and had stolen my master's money. And I said, a little money served, for I gave him but four-pence, but I promised him, that at our next meeting I would give him twelve-pence more. And he said, that was boldly done, for such a book as spake both treason and heresy.

THEN Story required me to bring him two sure|ties, and watch for him that I had the book of, and I should have no harm. I made him answer, I would bring no sureties, nor could I tell where to find them. Then, said he, this is but a lie; and so called for Cluny, and bid him lay me fast in the Coal-house, saying, he would make me tell another tale at my next coming: and so I lay in the stocks day and night, but only when I eat my meat, and there remained ten days before I was called for again.

THEN Dr. Story sent for me again, and asked if I would yet tell him the truth; I said, I neither could▪ nor would tell him any other truth than I had done already. And while I was there stand|ing, there were two brought, which I took to be prisoners.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mrs. Story fell in a rage, and swore a great oath, that it were a good deed to put a hun|dred or two of these heretic knaves in an house, and I myself (said she) would set it on fire. So I was committed to prison again, where I remained fourteen days, and came to no answer.

THEN Story sent for me again, and called me into the garden, where I found with him my lord of Windsor's chaplain, and two gentlemen more, and he told them all what they had said and done, They said, the book was a wondrous evil book, and had both treason and heresy in it. They then ask|ed me what I said of the book. And I said, I knew no evil by it.

AT which wor•••• Story chafed, and said he would hang me up by the hand with a rope; and said also, he would cut out my tongue, and mine ears also from my head. After this they alledged two or three things unto me out of the book. And I an|swered, I had not read the book throughout, and therefore I could give no judgment of it.

THEN my lord of Windsor's chaplain and the other two gentlemen took me aside, and intreated me very gently, saying, Tell us where you had the book, and of whom, and I will save you harmless. I made them answer, that I had told all I could 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Dr. Story, and began to tell it them again: but they said, they k••ew that already; so they left that talk, and went again with me to Story.

THEN Story burdened me with my faith, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I was an heretic. Whereupon the chaplain 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me how I did believe. Then I began to rehear•••• the articles of my belief, but he bid me let that alone. Then he asked me how I believed in Chris•• I made him answer, that I believed in Christ was died and rose again the third day, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father.

WHEREUPON Story asked me mockingly, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is the right hand of God? I made him answer, I thought it was his glory. Then said he, So 〈◊〉〈◊〉 say all. And he asked me when he would be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of sitting there. Then my lord of Windsor's ch••••|lain asked me what I said of the mass. I said, I never knew what it was, nor what it meant, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 understood it not, because I never learned any La|tin, and since the time I had any knowledge, I had been brought up in nothing but in reading of English, and with such men as have taught the same; with many more questions, which I cannot rehearse.

MOREOVER, he asked me if there were not the very body of Christ, flesh, blood, and bone, in the mass, after the priest had consecrated it. And I made him answer, As for the mass I cannot under|stand it; but in the New Testament I read, that as the apostles stood looking after the Lord when he ascended up into heaven, an angel said to them, "Even as ye see him ascend up, so shall he come again." And I told them another sentence, where Christ saith, "The poor shall you have always with you, but me ye shall not have al|ways."

THEN Mr. Chaplain put many more questions to me, to which I made no ••••swer. Among others he brought Chrysostom and St. Hierome for his purpose. To whom I answered, that I neither minded nor was able to answer their doctors, nei|their knew whether they alledged them right or no, but to that which is written in the New Testa|ment I would answer. Here they laughed me to scorn, and called me fool, and said, they would reason no more with me.

THEN Dr. Story called for Cluny, and bid him take me away, and set me fast, and let no man speak with me. So I was sent to the Coal-house; where I had not been a week, but there came in fourteen prisoners: but I was kept still alone without com|pany, in a prison called Salt-house, having upon my leg a bolt and a fetter, and my hands manacled together with irons, and there continued ten days, having nothing to lie on, but bare stones or a board.

ON a time whilst I lay there in prison, the bishop of London coming down a pair of stairs on the backside undrest, in his hose and doublet, looked through the grate, and asked wherefore I was put in, and who put me in.

I made him answer, that I was put in for a book called Antichrist, by Dr. Story. And he said, You are not ashamed to declare wherefore you were put in, and said it was a very wicked book, and bid me confess the truth to Story. I said, I had told the truth to him already, and desired him to be good unto me, and help me out of prison, for they had kept me there a long time. And he said, he could not meddle with it; Story hath begun, and he must end it.

THEN I was removed out of the Salt-house to give place to two women, and carried to the Lol|lards' Tower, and put in the stocks; and there I found two prisoners, one called Lion, a French|man, and another with him: and so I was kept in the stocks more than a month both day and night, and no man suffered to come to me, or to speak with me, but only my keeper, who brought me meat.

THUS we three being together, Lion, the French|man, sung a psalm in the French tongue, and we sang with him, so that we were heard down in the street, and the keeper coming up in a great rage, sware that he would put us all in the stocks; and so took the Frenchman, and commanded him to kneel down upon his knees, and put both his hands in the stocks, where he remained all that night till the next day.

AFTER this, I being in Lollards' Tower seven days, since my last being with Story, he sware a great oath, that he would rack me, and make me tell the truth. Then Story sending for me, com|manded me to be brought to Walbrook, where he and the commissioners dined; and by the way my keeper told me that I should go to the Tower to be racked. So when they had dined, Story called for me in, and there I stood before them, and some said I was worthy to be hanged for having such heretical books. After I had staid a little while before them, Story called for the keeper, and com|manded him to carry me to the Lollards' Tower again, and said, he had other matters of the queen's to do with the commissioners, but he would find another time for me. Whilst I lay yet in the Lol|lards' Tower, the woman which brought the books over, being taken, and her books, was put in the Clink, in Southwark, by Hussey, one of the arches; and I Thomas Green do here testify before God, that I neither discovered the man nor the woman, of whom I had the books.

THEN I lying in the Lollards' Tower, being sent for before Mr. Hussey, he required of me, where|fore I was put into the Lollards' Tower, and by whom. To whom I made answer, that I was put there by Dr. Story, for a book called Antichrist. Then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 made as though he would be my friend, and said he knew my friends, and my father and mother, and ••id me tell him of whom I had the book, and said, Come on, tell me the truth. I told him as I had told Dr. Story before.

THEN he was angry, and said, I love thee well, and therefore I sent for thee, and looked for a fur|ther truth; but I could tell him no other: where|upon he sent me again to the Lollards' Tower. At

my going away he called me back again, and said, that Dixon gave me the books, being an old man, dwelling in Birchin-lane; and I said he knew the matter better than I. So he sent me away to the Lollards' Tower, where I remained seven days and more.

THEN Mr. Hussey sent for me again, and re|quired of me to tell him the truth. I told him I could tell him no other truth than I had told Dr. Story before.

THEN he began to tell me of Dixon, of whom, he said, I had the books, who had made the matter manifest before; and he told me of all things touch|ing Dixon and the books, more than I could myself, insomuch that he told me how many I had, and that he had a sack full of them in his house, and knew where the woman lay, better than myself. Then I saw the matter so open and manifest before my face, that it signified nothing for me to stand in it. He asked me what I had done with the books, and I told him I had but one, and that Dr. Story had. He said I lied, for I had three at one time, and he required me to tell him of one.

THEN I told him of one that John Beane had of me, being apprentice with Mr. Tottle. So he promised me before and after, and as he should be saved before God, that he should have no harm. And I kneeling down upon my knees, desired him to take my blood, and not to hurt the young man. Then he said, Because you have been so stubborn, the matter being made manifest by others and not by you, being so long in prison, tell me if you will stand to my judgment. I said, Yes, take my blood, and hurt not the young man.

THEN he told me, I should be whipped like a thief and a vagabond: and so I thanked him, and went my way with my keeper to the Lollards' Tower, where I remained two or three days, and so was brought by the keeper Cluny, by the com|mandment of the commissioners, to Christ's-Hos|pital, sometime the Grey-Friars, and accordingly had there for that time the correction of thieves and vagabonds; and so was delivered to Trinian, the porter, and put into a stinking dungeon.

AND after a few days, I finding friendship, was let out of the dungeon, and lay in a bed in the night, and walked in a yard by the dungeon in the day-time, and so remained prisoner a month and more.

AT length Dr. Story came and two gentlem••n with him, and called for me, and I was brought before them. Then he said to the gentlem••n▪ Here cometh this heretic, of whom I had the book called Antichrist; and began to tell them how many times I had been before him, and said, I have in|treated him very gently, and he would never 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me the truth, till it was found out by othe••▪ Then said he, it were a good deed to cut 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tongue, and thine ears off thy head, to make 〈◊〉〈◊〉 an example to all other heretic knaves. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 gentlemen said, Nay, that were pity. 〈…〉〈…〉 asked if I would not become an honest man: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 said, Yes, for I have offended God many 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Whereupon he burdened me with my faith; I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him that I had made him answer of my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 before my lord Windsor's chaplain as much 〈◊〉〈◊〉 could.

SO in the end he commanded me to be 〈…〉〈…〉, he standing by me, and called for two of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and the whips to whip me; and the two 〈◊〉〈◊〉 came with a cord, and bound my hands toge••••er▪ and the one end of the cord to a stone pillar. The•• one of my friends, called Nicholas Priestman, ••••••|ing them call for whips, hurled in a bundle of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, which seemed something to pacify the mind of hi•• cruelty; and they scourged me with rods. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they were whipping of me, Story asked me if I would go unto my master again, and I said, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 And he said, I perceive now he will be worse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ever he was before: but let me alone (quoth he)▪ I will find him out if he be England. And so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 many other things, which I cannot rehearse, when they had done whipping of me, they bid me pay my fees, and go my ways.

DR. Story commanded that he should have an hundred stripes, but the gentlemen so intrea••••d, that he had not so many, Story saying, If I might have my will, I would surely have his tongue cut out.

A LETTER From STEPHEN COTTEN to his Brother, declaring how he was beaten twice by Bishop BONNER, before he was burnt at Brentford.

BROTHER, in the name of the Lord Jesus, I commend me unto you, and I do heartily thank you, for your godly exhortation and counsel in your last letter declared to me. And albeit I do per|ceive by your letter, you are informed, that as we are divers persons in number, so we are of contrary sects, conditions, and opinions, contrary to the good opinion you had of us at your last being with us in Newgate▪ be you most assured, good brother, in the Lord Jesus, we are all of one mind, one faith, one assured hope in the Lord Je|sus, whom I trust we altogether with one spirit, one brotherly love, do daily call upon for mercy and for|giveness of our sins, with earnest repentance of our former lives, and by whose precious blood-shedding we trust to be saved only, and by no other means. Wherefore, good brother, in the name of the Lord seeing these impudent people, whose minds are al|together bent to wickedness, envy, uncharitableness, evil speaking, do go about to slander us with un|truth, believe them not, neither let their wicked sayings once enter into your mind. And I trust one day to see you again, although now I am in God's prison, which is a joyful school for them that love their Lord God, and to me, being a simple scholar, most joyful of all.

GOOD brother, once again I do, in the name of our Lord Jesus, exhort you to pray for me, that I may fight strongly in the Lord's battle, to be a good soldier to my captain Jesus Christ our Lord, and desire my sister also to do the same, and do not ye mourn or lament for me, but be ye glad and joyful of this my trouble: for I trust to be loosed out of this dungeon shortly, and to go to everlasting joy, which never shall have end. I heard how ye were with the commissioners. I pray you, sue no more for me, good brother. But one thing I shall desire you, to be at my departing out of this life, that you may bear witness with me that I shall die, I trust in God, a true christian, and, I hope, all my companions in the Lord our God: and therefore believe not these evil-disposed people, who are the authors of all untruths.

I pray you provide me a long shirt against the day of our deliverance; for the shirt you gave me last, I have given it to one of my companions, who had more need than I; as for the money and meat you sent us, the bishop's servants delivered none to us, neither he whom you had so great trust in. Bro|ther, there is none of them to trust to, for the mas|ter and servant are both alike. I have been twice beaten, and threatened to be beaten again by the bishop himself. I suppose we shall go into the country to Fulham, to the bishop's house, and there be arraigned. I would have you to hearken as much as you can. For when we shall go, it will be suddenly done. Thus fare you well. From the Coal-house, this present Friday.

Your brother, STEPHEN COTTEN,

The Scourging of JAMES HARRIS.

IN this society of the scourged professors of Christ, was also one James Harris, of Billerica, in Essex, a stripling of the age of seventeen years; who be|ing apprehended and sent up to Bonner in the compa|ny of Margaret Ellis, by sir John Mordaunt, knight Edmond Tyrrel, justice of peace (as appeareth by their own letters before mentioned), was and by Bonnor divers times strictly examined. In which examinations he was charged not to have come to his parish church for the space of one year or more. Whereunto he granted, confess|ing therewithal, that once, for fear, he had been at the church, and there had received the popish sa|crament of the altar, for which he was heartily sor|ry, detesting the same with all his heart.

AFTER this, and such like answers, Bonner (the better to try him) persuaded him to go to confession. The lad, somewhat to fulfil his request, consented to go, and did. But when he came to the priest, he stood still, and said nothing. Why, quoth the priest, sayest thou nothing? What shall I say, said Harris? Thou must confess thy sins, said the priest. My sins, said he, be so many, that they connot be numbered. With that the priest told Bonner what he had said; and he, of his accustomed devotion, took the poor lad into his garden, and there, with a

••od, taken from off a cherry-tree, did most cruelly whip him.

The Scourging of ROBERT WILLIAMS, a Smith.

ROBERT WILLIAMS, who being appre|hended in the same company, was so tormented after the same manner with rods in his arbour, who there subscribing and yielding himself by promise to obey the laws, after being let go, refused so to do: whereupon he was earnestly sought for, but could not be found, for that he kept himself close, and went not abroad but by stealth: and now in the mean time of this arrow_back persecution arrow_forward , this Robert Williams departed this life, and so escaped the hands of his enemies. The Lord therefore be honoured for ever, Amen.

AND forasmuch as I have begun to write of Bon|ner's scourging, by the occasion thereof cometh to mind to infer by the way, his beating of other boys and children, and drawing them naked through the nettles, in his journey, rowing towards Fulham. The story, though it touch no matter of religion, yet because it sheweth something of the nature and disposition of that man, and may refresh the reader, wearied perhaps with other doleful stories, I thought not to omit.

BONNER, passing from London to Fulham by water, having John Willie and Thomas Hindshaw above-mentioned with him, both prisoners for reli|gion, by the way as he went, was saying even song with Harpsfield, his chaplain, in the barge, and be|ing about the middle of their orisons, they espied some young boys swimming and washing themselves in the Thames, over against Lambeth, or a little above: unto whom he went and gave very gentle language, and fair speech, until he had set his men on land.

THAT done, his men ran after the boys to get them, as the bishop commanded them before, beat|ing some with nettles, drawing some through bushes of nettles naked, and some they made to leap into the Thames to save themselves, that it was ••••••|velled they were not drowned.

NOW as the children for fear did cry, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 skirmishing was between them, immediately ca•••• a greater lad thither, to know what the matter 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that the boys made such a noise. Whom 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the bishop espied, he asked him whether he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 maintain them in their doings or no. Unto 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the young fellow made answer stoutly, Yea. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the bishop commanded him to be taken also▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he ran away with speed, and then avoided 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••|shop's blessing. Now when the bishop saw him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 away, and another man sitting upon a rail in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 where he ran, he desired him likewise to stop the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and because he would not, he commanded his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to fetch that man to him also; but he hearing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ran away as fast as he could, and by leaping 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the ditch, escaped the bishop in like manner.

THEN the bishop, seeing the success of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to prove no better, cried to a couple of ferry 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to run and hold him that last run away. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 cause they said they could not (as indeed it was 〈◊〉〈◊〉) therefore he caused his men to take and beet 〈◊〉〈◊〉 The boys hearing that, le••pt into the water 〈…〉〈…〉 themselves; notwithstanding they were caught 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the water by the bishop's men held and beat▪

NOW, after the end of this skirmish, the bishop's men returned to their master again into the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and he and Harpsfield his chaplain, went to their even-song afresh where they left, and so forso•••••• the rest of their service, as clean without malice, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 an egg without meat. The Lord give him repen••tance (if it be be his will), and grace to become a new man, Amen.

The Whipping of a Beggar at Salisbury.

UNTO these above specified, is also to be added the miserable whipping of a poor starved beg|gar, who, because he would not receive the sacra|ment at Easter in the town of Colingborow, was brought to Salisbury with bills and glieves to the

chancellor Dr. Genery, who cast him into the dun|geon, and after caused him miserably to be whipped by two catch-poles. The sight whereof made all godly hearts to rue it, to see such tyranny to be shewed upon such a simple and silly wretch: for they that saw him him have reported, that they ne|ver saw a more simple creature. But what pity 〈◊〉〈◊〉 move the hearts of merciless papists.

BESIDES these above-named, divers others also suffered the like scourgings and whippings in their ••od••••s for their f••••thful standing in the truth. Of whom it may be said, as it is written of the apostles in the Acts, "Which departed from the council, ••••joicing that they were coun•••••• worthy to suffer for the name of Jesus."

Another Treatise of such as being pursued in Queen MARY'S Time, were in great Danger, and yet through the good Providence of God, mercifully were preserved.

ALTHOUGH the secret purpose of Almighty God which disposeth all things, suffered a great number of his faithful servant both men and women, and that of all ages and degrees, to fall into the ene|my's hands, and to abide the brunt of this persecu|tion, to be ••ried with rods, whips, with racks, with ••••tters, with famine, with burning of hands, with p••••cking off beards, with burning also both hand, 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and body, &c.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 notwithstanding some there were again, and that a great number, who miraculously by the mer|ciful providence of God, against all men's expecta|tion, in safety were delivered out of the fiery rage of this arrow_back persecution arrow_forward , either by quitting the realm, or shifting of place, or the Lord so blinding the eyes of the persecutors, or disposing the opportunity of time, or working some such means or other for his servants, as not only ought to stir them up to per|petual thanks, but also may move all men both to behold and magnify the ••wondrous works of the Almighty.

ABOUT the time it began to be known that queen Mary was sick, divers good men were in hold in divers quarters of the realm, some at Bury, some at Salisbury, as John Hunt, and Richard White, of whom we have treated before, and some at London, amongst whom was William Living, with his wife, and John Lithal, of whom something remaineth now compendiously to be touched.

An Account of the arrow_back Persecution arrow_forward and Deliverance of WILLIAM LIVING, with his Wife, and of JOHN LITHAL, Ministers.

ABOUT the latte•• end of queen Mary's reign, she then being sick, came 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Cox, a promo|ter, to the house of William Living, about six o'clock, accompanied with one John Launce, of the Greyhound. They being not ready, they demand|ed some buttons, saying, they should be as well paid for them as any; and he would come about three hours after for them again,

IN the mean time he procured one Mr. Dean, the constable, and G••rge Hancock, the ••eadle of Astronomy, called the work of Joannas de Sacro Bo••••o de Sp••••e••••, with figures, some round, some triangle▪ some quadrangle; which book, because it was guilt, seemed to him the chief book there, and that he carried open in the street, saying, I have found him at length. It is no wonder the queen be sick, seeing there be such conjurers in privey corners; but now I trust he shall conjure no more; and so brought him and his wife from Shoe-lane through Fleet-street, into St. Paul's church-yard, with the constable, the beadle, and two others fol|lowing them, till they entered into Darbishire's house, who was bishop Bonner's chancellor: and after the constable and they had talked with Dar|bishire, he came forth, and walked in his yard, and said to him,

What is your name?

Liv.

William Living.

Darb.

What are you? a priest?

Liv.

Yea.

Darb.

Is this your wife that is come with you?

Liv.

That she is.

Darb.

Where were you made priest?

Liv.

At Obourne.

Darb.

In what bishop's days?

Liv.

〈…〉〈…〉 bishop of Lincoln, that was king Henry's s••••ri••ual father in Cardinal Wolsey's time.

Darb.

You are a schismatic and a traitor.

Liv.

I would be sorry that were true. I am certain I never was a traitor, but always have taught obedience according to the tenor of God's word; and when tumults and schisms have been stirred, I have preached God's word, and assuaged them as in the time of king Edward.

Darb.

What, you are a schismatic. You be not in the unity of the catholic church: for you pray not as the church of Rome doth: you pray in English.

Liv.

We are certain we be in the true church.

Darb.

There be that doubt thereof, forsomuch as there is but one true church. Well, you will learn against I talk with you again▪ to know the church of Rome, and to be a member thereof.

Liv.

If the church of Rome be of that church whereof Christ is the head, then I am a member thereof, for I know no other church but that.

Darb.

Well, Cluny, take him with thee to the Coal-house.

THEN he called Cluny again, and spake secretly to him, but what he said I know not.

THEN said Cluny, Wilt thou not come? And so plucked me away violently, and brought me to his own house in Paternoster-row, where he robbed me of my purse, my girdle, and my Psalter, and a New Testament of Geneva, and then brought me to the Coal-house to put me in the stocks, saying, Put in both your legs and your hands; and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you fine with me, I will put a collar about 〈◊〉〈◊〉 neck. What is the fine, quoth I? Forty shillings, said he: I am never able to pay it, said I.

THEN said he, You have friends that be able▪ I denied it; and so he put both my legs into 〈◊〉〈◊〉 stocks till supper-time, which was six o'clock▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 then a cousin of my wife's brought me me••••, who seeing me sit there, said, I will give you forty-〈◊〉〈◊〉 and ••et him go at liberty: and he took her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and presently let me forth in her sight, to 〈…〉〈…〉 supper. And at seven o'clock he put me in the stocks again, and I remained till two o'clock▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 next day, and so he let me forth till night. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 woman above-mentioned, was Griffin's first 〈◊〉〈◊〉 brother dwelling then in Aldermanbury, 〈…〉〈…〉 in Cheapside.

THE Thursday following, in the afterno•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I called to the Lollards' Tower, and there put 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the stocks, having the honour to put my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that hole which Mr. John Philpot's leg was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so lay all that night, no body coming to 〈…〉〈…〉 with meat or drink.

AT eleven o'clock on the Friday, Cluny 〈…〉〈…〉 me with meat, and let me forth, and about 〈◊〉〈◊〉 o'clock he brought me to Darbishire's house, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 drew forth a scroll of names, and asked me 〈◊〉〈◊〉 knew none of them: I said, I knew none of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but Foster. And so I kneeled down 〈…〉〈…〉 knees, and prayed him that he would not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thereof any farther. And with that came forth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 godly women, who said, Mr. Darbishire▪ 〈…〉〈…〉 enough; and so became sureties for me, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to Cluny fifteen shillings for my fees, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 go with them.

AND thus much concerning William Living▪ After this came his wife to examination, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 answers to Darbishire, the chancellor, h••re likewi•••• follow.

The Examination of Julian Living, Wife to William Living.

Darbishire.

AH, sirrah: I see by your going you be one of the sisters.

Julian.

I wear not my gown for sisterhood, neither for nunnery, but to keep me warm.

Darb.

Nun▪ No, I dare say you be none: is that man your husband?

Julian.

Yea.

Darb.

Is he a priest?

Julian.

No, he saith no mass.

Darb.

What then? he is a priest. How dar|est thou marry him?

THEN he shewed me a roll of certain names of citizens.

TO whom I answered, I knew none of them.

THEN said he, You shall be made to know them.

THEN said I, Do no other but justice and right, for the day will come, that thou shalt answer for it.

Darb.

Why, woman, thinkest thou not that I have a soul?

Julian.

Yes, I know you have a soul; but whether it be to salvation or damnation, I cannot ••ell.

Darb.

Ho, Cluny, have her to the Lollards'-Tower. And so he took me, and carried me to his house, where was one Dale, a promoter, which said to me, Alas, good woman, wherefore be you here?

WHAT is that to you? said I.

YOU be not ashamed, quoth Dale, to tell where|fore you come hither.

NO, quoth I, that I am not; for it is for Christ's Testament.

CHRIST'S Testament? quoth he. It is the de|vil's Testament.

O Lord, quoth I, God forbid that any man should speak any such word.

WELL, well, said he, you shall be ordered well enough. You care not for burning, quoth he. God's blood, there must be some other means found for you.

WHAT, quoth I, will you find any worse than you have found?

WELL, quoth he, you hope, and you hope: but your hope shall be cut off. For though the queen fail, she that you hope for shall never come at it; for there is my lord cardinal's grace, and many more between her and it.

THEN, quoth I, my hope is in none but God.

THEN said Cluny, Come with me; and so I went to the Lollards' Tower. On the next day Darby|shire sent for me again, and inquired of those citi|zens that he inquired of before.

I answered, I knew them not.

WHERE were you, quoth he, at the communion on Sunday was fortnight?

AND I said, In no place.

THEN the constable of St. Bride's being there, made suit for me.

AND Darbishire demanded of him, if he would be bound for me.

HE answered, Yea. And so he was bound for my appearance betwixt that and Christmas.

THEN Darbishire said, You be constable, and should give her good counsel.

SO I do, quoth he. For I bid her go to mass, and to say as you say. For, by the mass, if you say the crow is white, I will say so too.

AND thus much concerning the examination of William Living and his wife, whom although thou seest here delivered through the request of women, his sureties, yet it was no doubt, but that the deadly sickness of queen Mary abated and bridled, rather than the cruelty of those papists, which otherwise would never have let them go.

An Account of the Trouble and Deliverance of JOHN LITHAL.

AT the taking of William Living, it happened that some of his books were in the custody of one John Lithal; which known, the constable of the ward of Southwark, with other of the queen's servants, were sent to his house, who breaking open his doors and chests, took away not only the books of the said William Living, but also all his own•• books, writings, and bills of debts, which he never had again. All this while Lithal was not at home.

THE next Saturday after, as he was returned, and known to be at home, John Avales and some of the queen's servants beset his house all the night, with such careful watch, that as he in the morning issued out of doors, thinking to escape their hands, John Avales bursting out upon him, cried Stop the trai|tor, stop the traitor. Whereat Lithal being amaz|ed, looked back.

AND so John Avales came running to him, with others that were with him, saying, Ah, sirrah, you are a traitorous fellow indeed, we have had some|what to do to get you. To whom he answered, that he was a truer man to the queen's majesty than he. For you, said he, are commanded by God to keep holy the Sabbath-day, and you seek to shed your neighbour's blood on the Sabbath-day. Re|member that you must answer it to God. But he said, Come on, you villian, you must go before the council. So Lithal was brought into St. Paul's church-yard to the bishop's chancello•• by John Avales, saying, that they had there caught the captain of these fellows, and so caused him to be called to examination before Dr. Darbishire, who began with him in this wise:

Chan.

What country man are you?

Lith.

I am an Englishman, born in Stafford|shire.

Clan.

Where were you brought up?

Lith.

In this our country of England.

Chan.

In what university?

Lith.

In no university, but in a free-school.

Chan.

We had certain books from your house, and writing, wherein is both treason and heresy.

Lith.

Sir, there is neither treason nor heresy in them.

THEN the chancellor asked for certain other men that I knew.

Lith.

If you have ought to lay to my charge, I will answer it; but I will have no other 〈◊〉〈◊〉 blood upon my head.

Chan.

Why come you not to the church? Of what church be you, that you come not to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 own parish church?

Lith.

I am of the church of Christ, the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of all goodness.

Chan.

Have you no ministers of your 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but Christ?

Lith.

We have others.

Chan.

Where be they?

Lith.

In the whole world, dispersed, preaching and professing the gospel and faith only in our Sa|viour Jesus, as he commanded them.

Chan.

You b••ast much every one of you of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 faith and belief: let me hear therefore the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 how you believe.

Lith.

I believe to be justified really by Christ Jesus, according to the saying of St. Paul to the Ephesians, without either deeds or works, or any thing that may be invented by man▪

Chan.

Faith cannot save without works.

Lith.

That is contrary to the doctrine of the Apostles.

Chan.

John Avales, you and the keeper have this fellow to prison.

THEN John Avales, and Cluny the keeper, had

me into St. Paul's, and would have had me seen the Apostles' mass.

Lith.

I know none the apostles had, and there|fore I will see none.

Cluny and John Avales.

Come and kneel down before the rood, and say a Paternoster, and an Ave in the worship of the five wounds.

Lith.

I am forbidden by God's own mouth to kneel to any idol or image: therefore I will not.

THEN they pulled me with great extremity, one having me by one arm, and the other by the other; but God gave me at that present time more strength than both these, his name be praised for it.

THEN when they could not make me to kneel before the rood, neither to see the mass, there ga|thered a great company about us, and all against me. Some spit on me, and said, Fi•• on thee, heretic; and others said, it was a pity I was not burned al|ready.

THEN they carried me to Lollards'-Tower, and hanged me in a great pair of stocks, in which I lay three days and three nights, till I was so lame that I could neither stir nor move.

THEN I offered the keeper some money and gold that I had about me, to release me out of the stocks: and he said, I would not be ruled by him, either to see mass, or to kneel before the rood, and therefore T should lie there still. But I said, I would never do the thing that should be against my conscience; and though you have lamed my body, yet my con|science is whole, I praise God for it. So shortly after he let me out of the stocks, more for the love of my money (as it may be thought), than for any other affection; and within four or five days my wife got leave of Mr. Chancellor to come to me, to bring me such things as were needful for me, and there I lay five weeks and odd days. In which time divers of my neighbours and friends made suit to the chancell••r ••or my deliverance; the bish|op, as they said, at that time being sick at Fulham. So my neighbours being there, about twenty of them▪ the chancellor sent for me out of ••ollars••-Tower to his own house, and said as follows▪

Chan.

Lithal, here are some of thy neighbours who have been with me to intreat for thee, and they have informed me, that thou hast been a very hon|est and quiet neighbour among them, and I think it be God's will that I should deliver thee before my lord come home. For if he come, and thou go home again, I shall be burned for thee; for •• know his mind already in that matter.

Lith.

I give you hearty thanks for you•• gen|tleness, and my neighbours for their good report.

Chan.

Lithal, if thy neighbours will be bound for thy forth-coming▪ whensoever thou shalt be called for; and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 if thou wilt be an obedient subject, I shall be content to deliver thee.

Neigh.

If it please your worship, we 〈…〉〈…〉 bound for him in body and goods.

Chan.

I will require no such bonds of you, but that two of you will be bound in twenty pounds a piece, that he shall come to answe•• when he shall be called.

Lith.

Where find you, Mr. Chancellor, in all the scriptures, that the church of God did bind 〈◊〉〈◊〉 man for the profession of his faith? Which pro|fession you have heard of me, that all our justifi••••|tion, righteousness, and salvation▪ cometh only and freely by the merits of our Saviour Jesus Christ, and all the inventions and works of men, be they ever so glorious, be altogether vain, a•• the wise man saith.

Chan.

Lo, where is he now, I put no such matter to you; for in that I believe as you do: but yet St. James sait••▪ "That a man is justified by works."

Lith.

St. James spake to them that boasted themselves of faith, and shewed no works of faith: but O, Mr. Chancellor, remember I pray you, how all the promises and prophecies of the holy scrip|ture, even from the first promise that God made to

Adam, and so even to the latter end of the Reve|lation of St. John, do testify that in the name of Jesus, and only by his merits, all that believe shall be saved from all their sins and offences. Isaiah saith, chap. lxv. "I am found of them that sought me not, and am manifest to them that ask not after me:" but against Israel he saith, "All day long have I stretched out my hand to a people that be|lieve not." And when the jailer asked St. Paul, what he would do to be saved, the apostle said, Acts xvi. "Believe on the Lord Jesus, and thou shalt be saved, and all thy houshold."

AGAIN, St. John saith in the Revelation, that there was none, neither in heaven nor on earth, neither under the earth, that was able to open the book nor the seals thereof, but only the Lamb Je|sus, our only Saviour. And St. Paul saith, Heb. ix. "With one offering hath he made perfect for ever them that are Sanctified."

Chan.

With vain glory you rehearse much scripture, as all the rest of you do: but you have no more understanding than my sheep. But to the purpose. Will you that your neighbours shall en|ter into bonds for you, or not?

Lith.

By my mind they shall not. Wherefore I desire you that you would not bind me, but let me serve God with my conscience freely. For it is written, Rev. xiii. "They that lead into captivity, shall go into captivity, and they that strike with the sword, shall perish with the sword."

ALSO it is written in the gospel of our Saviour Jesus Christ, Matt. xviii. "That whoso doth offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and that he were cast into the depth of the sea." Of which I am assured by his holy Spirit that I am one. Wherefore be you well assured that such mercy as you shew, unto you shall be shewed the like.

Chan.

You are a mad man. I would not bind you, but that I must needs have somewhat to shew for your deliverance. Then he called two of his neighbours, Thomas Daniel and Saunders Maybe, who offered themselves to be bound, and called me before them, and said, I have a letter of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hand-writing, with his name and seal at it, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 book also against the regiment of women, for which I could make him to be hanged, drawn, and quar|tered; but on my faith I will him no more 〈◊〉〈◊〉 than I mean to my own soul.

Lith.

I desire you that be my neighbour•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 friends, that you will not enter into bonds for 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ for you know not the danger thereof, neither I myself; it goeth against my conscience that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 should so do.

Chan.

Why, I will not bind you to do any 〈◊〉〈◊〉 against your conscience.

THEN they made the bond, and sealed to 〈…〉〈…〉 willed me that I should seal to it also▪ and 〈…〉〈…〉 that I would not, neither could I observe the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and therefore I would not set to my hand.

Chan.

It is pity that thou hast so much 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shewed thee: yet for these honest mens' 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will discharge thee.

NOTWITHSTANDING all these dissembling 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Dr. Darbishire, pretending for favour 〈…〉〈…〉 sureties to set him at liberty, it was no such 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nor any zeal of charity that moved him so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but only fear of the time, understanding 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••••|gerous and irrecoverable sickness of queen 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which then began somewhat to assuage the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 proceeding of these persecutors, whereby they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not do what they would: for else Lithal was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 likely to have escaped so easily.

MOREOVER, there was one Edward Grew, pri••••, and Appline, his wife, compelled to fly from 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dwelling at a town called Broke; and the man ••••|ing very aged, travelled abroad to keep a go•••• conscience.

AT last he was taken and cast into Col••he••••••••-castle, where he remained till queen Elizabeth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to her regal seat, and by the alteration of religion he was delivered. His wife, good woman, was i•• great care for him, and to her power did what she could to succour him.

WILLIAM Brown, parson of little Sta••ham, in

the county of Suffolk, made a sermon in the said town, soon after the burial of our good king Ed|ward, and in his sermon he said, There goeth a report that our good king is buried with a mass by the bishop of Winchester, he having a mitre upon his head. But if it were so, said he, they are all traitors that so do, because it is both against the truth, and the laws of this realm, and it is great idolatry and blasphemy, and against the glory of God; and they are no friends either to God, the king, or unto the realm that so do. For this his preaching, one Robert Blomefield, an adversary to the truth, being then ••onstable of the town, and bailiff unto sir John Jerningham, knight, (the lord of the town) immediately rode forth, and brought home with him one Edward Golding, who was then under-sheriff, sir Thomas Cornwallis, being then high-sheriff.

SO the said Golding and Blomefield sent for cer|tain men of the same town, and examined them for the sermon▪ whereupon they made but a small an|swer. Then the sheriff made a bill, and so terrified the men, that two or three of them set to their hands, and one of them never enjoyed himself after, but it was grief to him till he died.

THEN they took men with them to the parson's house, and in the night they took him, and with muchmen kept him till it was day. Then should he have been carried the next day to the council; but the said Robert Blomefield was taken so sick, that he was like to die: so that he could not carry him for his life.

THEN the said sheriff sent him to Ipswich again, and there he was for a time. Then he was sent to B••••y prison, and from thence to the council, and then into the Fleet; and so he lay in prison from the beginning of harvest till near Christmas, and said, God gave him such answers to make when he was examined, that he was delivered with quietness of conscience. And having his liberty, he came again to the aforesaid town; and because he would not go to mass, his living was taken away, and he and his wife were constrained to fly here and there for his life and conscience. In the last year of queen Mary's reign God took him out of this life in peace.

WHERE moreover is to be noted, that this Ro|bert Blomefield above-named, immediately after he had apprehended the said Brown, fell very sick; and although at that time he was a wealthy man and of great substance (beside his land which was better than twenty pounds a year), after this time God plagued his houshold, that his eldest son died, and his wife had a pining sickness till she departed this life also.

THEN he married another, a rich widow; but all would not help, and nothing would prosper; for he had a sore pining sickness, being full of blotches and sores, whereby he wasted away both body and goods till he died.

SO when he died, he was above ninescore pounds in debt, and it was never heard of any repentance he had; but a little before his death, he threatened a good man, one Simon Harlston, to put him forth to the officers, because he did wear no surplice when he said service.

WHEREFORE it is pity such baits of popery are left to the enemies to take christians in. God take them away, or ease us from them: for God know|eth they be the cause of much blindness and strife amongst men.

The arrow_back Persecution arrow_forward of ELIZABETH YOUNG.

YOU heard before of the scourging of Thomas Greene, how he was troubled and beaten by Dr. Story, for a certain book called Antichrist, which he received of a woman, because in no case he would detect her.

THIS woman was one Elizabeth Young, who coming from Emden to England, brought with her divers books, and dispersed them abroad in Lon|don; for which she being at length apprehended and laid fast, was brought to examination thirteen times before the catholic inquisitors of heretical pravity. Some of which examinations have come to our hands, and are as follow:

The First Examination of Elizabeth Young before Mr. Hussy.

Hussy.

WHERE was you born, who was your father and mother?

Eliz. Young.

Sir, all this is but vain talk, and very superfluous. I•• is to fill my head with fanta|sies, that I should not be able to answer unto such things as I came for. You have not, I think, put me in prison to know who is my father and mother. But, I pray you, go to the matter I came hither for.

Hussy.

Wherefore wentest thou out of the realm?

Young.

To keep my conscience clean.

Hussy.

When wast thou at mass?

Young.

Not these three years.

Hussy.

Then wast thou not there three years be|fore that?

Young.

No, sir, nor yet three years before that: for if I were I had evil luck.

Hussy.

How old art thou?

Young.

Forty and upwards.

Hussy.

Twenty of those years you went to mass.

Young.

Yea, and twenty more I may, and yet come home▪ as wise as I went thither first, for I un|derstand it not.

Hussy.

Why wilt thou not go to mass?

Young.

Sir, my conscience will not suffer me: for I had rather all the world should accuse me, than mine own conscience.

Hussy.

What if a lou••e or a ••lea stick upon thy skin, and bite thy flesh? thou must make a consci|ence in taking her off, is there not a conscience ••n it?

Young.

That is but a sorry argument 〈…〉〈…〉 place the scriptures, and especially in such a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my salvation dependeth upon: for it is but an 〈◊〉〈◊〉 conscience that a man can make.

Hussy.

But why wilt thou not swear 〈…〉〈…〉 evangelists before a judge?

Young.

Because I know not what a book 〈…〉〈…〉

THEN he began to teach her the book 〈…〉〈…〉

Young.

Sir, I do not understand it, 〈…〉〈…〉 fore I will not learn it.

Hussy.

Thou wilt not understand it; 〈…〉〈…〉 that rose up and went his way.

The Second Examination of Elizabeth Young, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Martin.

Martin.

THOU art come from beyond 〈…〉〈…〉 and hast brought with 〈…〉〈…〉 heresy and treason, and thou must confess 〈…〉〈…〉 translated them, printed them, and who 〈…〉〈…〉 over, (for I know thee to be but a mess••ng•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in so doing the queen's highness will be 〈…〉〈…〉 thee (for she hath forgiven greater things 〈…〉〈…〉 and thou shalt find as much favour as i•• 〈…〉〈…〉 But if thou be stubborn, and wilt not 〈…〉〈…〉 wilt be very ill-handled: for we know 〈…〉〈…〉 already; but this we do, only to see wheth•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wilt be true to thy word or no.

Young.

Sir, you have my confession, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 than that I cannot say.

Martin.

Thou must say more, and 〈…〉〈…〉 more. Dost thou think that we will be 〈…〉〈…〉 by this confession that thou hast 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Thou rebellious whore, and traitorous heretics 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dost refuse to swear upon the evangelists 〈…〉〈…〉 judge, I hear say. Thou shalt be racked by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 meal, thou traitorous whore and heretic, 〈…〉〈…〉 shalt swear before a judge before thou go: yea, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou shalt be made to confess how many books 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hast sold, and to whom.

Young.

Sir, I understand not what an oath is,

and therefore I will take no such thing upon me. And no man hath bought any books of me as yet, for those books that I had your commissioners have got them all.

Martin.

Thou traitorous whore, we know that thou hast sold a number of books, yea, and to whom: and how many times thou hast been here, and where thou layest, and every place that thou hast been in: dost thou think that thou hast fools in hand?

Young.

No, sir, you be too wise for me; for I cannot tell how many places I have been in myself, but if it were in Turkey, I should have meat, and drin••, and lodging for my money.

Martin.

Thou rebellious whore, thou hast spo|ken evil words of the queen, and thou dwellest amongst a set of traitors and rebels that cannot give the queen a good name.

Young.

I am not able to accuse any man thereof, neither is there any man that can prove any such things of me as you lay to my charge. For God's word hath taught me my duty to my queen, and therefore I am sure you accuse me wrongfully.

Martin.

Thou rebel and traitorous whore, thou shalt be so racked and tormented, that thou shalt be an example to all such traitorous whores and heretics; and thou shalt be made to swear by the holy evangelists, and confess to whom thou hast sold all and every of these heretical books that thou hast sold: for we know what number thou hast sold, and to whom; but thou shalt be made to con|fess it in spite of thy blood.

Young.

Here is my carcase; do with it what you will, and more than that you cannot have. Mr. Martin, you can have no more than my blood.

THEN he raved as though he were stark mad, and said, Martin! Why callest thou me Mar|tin?

Young.

Sir, I know you well enough, for I have been before you ere now. You delivered me once at Westminster.

Martin.

Where didst thou dwell then?

Young.

I dwelt in the Minories.

Martin.

I delivered thee and thy husband both▪ and I thought then that thou wouldst have done otherwise than thou dost now. For if thou hadst been before any other bishop in England, and said the words that thou didst before me, thou hadst fried a faggot: and though thou didst not burn the••, thou art like to burn or hang now.

Young.

Sir, I promised you then, that I would never be fed with an unknown tongue, and no more will I yet.

Martin.

I shall feed thee well enough. Thou shalt be fed with that (I warrant thee) which will be little to thine ease.

Young.

Do what God shall suffer you to do: for more you shall not. And then he arose, and so departed, and went to the keeper's house, and asked his wife, whom she had suffered to come to this traitorous whore (as he called her). Then said the keeper's wife, As God receive my soul, there came neither man, woman, nor child to ask for her.

Martin.

If an•• man, woman, or child, come to ask for her, I ••••arge thee on pain of death, that they be laid fast; and give her one day bread, and another day water.

Young.

If you take away my meat, I trust that God will take away my hunger: and so he depart|ed, saying, that was too good for her; and then she was shut up under two locks in the Clink, where she was before.

The Third Examination of Mrs. E. Young, before Dr. Martin.

Martin.

ELIZABEH, wilt thou confess these things that thou hast been examined upon; for thou knowest that I have been thy friend, and in so doing I will be thy friend again;

giving her many fair words, and then demanding of her how many gentlemen were beyond the seas.

Young.

It is too much for me to tell you how many are on the other side.

Martin.

No, I mean but in Frankfort and Em|den, where thou hast been.

Young.

Sir, I did never take account of them; it is a thing that I look not for.

Martin.

When shall I have a true word come out of your mouth?

Young.

I have told you the truth, but because that it foundeth not to your mind, therefore you mind, therefore you will not credit it.

Martin.

Wilt thou yet confess? And if thou wilt, that which I have promised I will do; and if thou wilt not, I promise thee thou must go even hence to the rack, and therefore confess.

Young.

I can say no more than I have said.

Martin.

Well, forsomuch as she will confess no more, have her away to the rack, and then she will be marred.

THEN answered a priest that sat there, and said, Woman, take an oath, and confess: wilt thou be hurt for other men?

Young.

I can confess no more than I have. Do with my carcase what you will.

Martin.

Did ye ever hear the like of this here|tic? What a stout heretic is this? We have the truth, and we know the truth, and yet look whether she will confess. There is no remedy, but she must needs to the rack, and therefore away with her, and so commanded her out of the door, and called her keeper unto him, and said ••o him, There is no remedy but this heretic must be racked; and talked with him more, but what it was she did not hear.

THEN he called her in again, and said, Wilt thou not confess, and keep thee from the rack? I ad|vise thee so to do; for if thou wilt not, thou know|est not the pain yet, but thou shalt do.

Young.

I can confess no more; do with my ••••••|case what you will.

Martin.

Keeper, away with her. Thou know|est what I said. Let her know the pain of the rack. And so she departed, thinking no less, but that she should have gone to the rack, till she saw the keeper turn toward the Cli••k again. And thus did God alienate their hearts, and diminish their tyrannous power, unto the time of further examinations; for she was brought before the bishop, the dean, and the chancellor, and other commissioners, first and last, thirteen times.

The Fourth Examination of Mrs. E. Young, before the Bishop of London, Sir Roger Cholm••ey, Dr. Cook, the Recorder of London, Dr. Roper, and Dr. Martin.

FIRST she being presented by Dr. Martin be|fore the bishop of London, Dr. Martin beg••n to declare against her, saying, The lord chancellor hath sent you here a woman, who hath brought books over from Emden, where all these books of heresy and treason are printed, and hath therewith filled all the land with treason and heresy; neither yet will she confess who translated them, nor who printed them, nor yet who sent them over. Where|fore my lord chancellor commit••eth her unto my lord of London, to do with her as he shall think good. For she will confess nothing but that she bought these said books in Amsterdam, and so brought them over to sell for gain.

Dr. Cook.

Let her head be trussed in a small line, and make her confess.

Martin.

The book is called Antichrist, and so may well be called, for it speaketh against Jesus Christ, and the queen. Besides that, she hath a cer|tain spark of the anabaptists, for she refuseth to swear upon the four Evangelists before a judge: for I myself and Mr. Hussy have had her before us four times, but we cannot bring her to swear. Wherefore my lord chancellor would that she should abstain and fast, for she hath not fasted a great

while: for she hath lain in the Clink a good while, where she had too much liberty.

THEN said the bishop, Why wilt thou not swear before a judge; that is the right trade of the ana|baptists.

Young.

My lord, I will not swear that this hand is mine.

NO, said the bishop; and why?

Young.

My lord Christ saith, That whatsoever is more than yea, yea, or nay, nay, it cometh of evil. And moreover, I know not what an oath is: and therefore I will take no such thing upon me.

THEN said Cholmley, Twenty pounds it is a man in woman's clothes; twenty pounds it is a man.

Bonner.

Think you so, my lord.

Cholmley.

Yea, my lord.

Young.

My lord, I am a woman.

Bishop.

Swear her upon a book, seeing it is but a question asked.

THEN, said Cholmley, I will lay twenty pounds it is a man.

THEN Dr. Cook brought her a book, command|ing her to lay her hand thereon.

Young.

No, my lord, I will not swear, for I know not what an oath is. But I say that I am a woman, and have children.

Bishop.

That we know not; wherefore swear.

Cholmley.

Thou ill-favoured whore, lay thy hand upon the book; I will lay on mine; and so he laid his hand on the book.

Young.

So will not I.

THEN the bishop spake a word in Latin out of St. Paul, as concerning swearing.

Young.

My lord, if you speak to me of St. Paul, then speak English, for I understand you not.

Bishop.

I dare swear that thou dost not.

Young.

My lord, St. Paul saith, that five words spoken in a language that may be understood, are better than many in a strange tongue.

Cook.

Swear before us, whether thou be a man or a woman.

Young.

If you will not believe me, then send for women into a secret place, and I will be searched.

Cholmley.

Thou art an ill-favoured whore.

Bishop.

How believest thou in the sacrament of the altar?

Young.

If it will please you that I shall declare my faith, I will, and if it be not good, teach me a better, and I will believe it,

Cook.

That is well said, declare thy faith.

Young.

I believe in God the Father Almighty, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, three persons and one God▪ I believe all the articles of my creed: I be|lieve all things written in the scripture, and all things agreeable to the scripture, given by the Holy Ghost to the church of Christ, set forth and taught by the church of Christ. I believe that Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, that immaculate Lamb, came into the world ••o save sinners; and that in him, by him, and through him I am made clean from my sins, and without him I could not. I believe that in the holy sacrament of Christ's body and blood, which he did institute and ordain, and left among his disciples the night be|fore he was betrayed; when I do receive this sa|crament in faith and spirit, I do receive Christ.

Bishop.

No more, I warrant you, but the sacra|ment of Christ's body and blood, received but in spirit and faith, with those heretics.

Cholmley.

Ah, whore, spirit and faith, whore!

Young.

This sacrament man never could, nor did make, but only he, that did what no man could do.

Martin.

Then thou must allow that grass is a sacrament; for who could make grass but he only?

Young.

Sir, he hath suffered, and made a suffi|cient sacrifice once for all, and so hath he made his sacrament sufficient once for all: for there was never man that could say, "Take, eat, this is my body, that is broken for you," but only Jesus Christ, who had his body broken for the sins of the world: which sacrament he hath left here amongst us for a testimonial of his death, even to the world's end.

Martin.

Who taught thee this doctrine? Did Scory?

Young.

Yea, bishop Scory, and others that I have heard.

Bishop.

Why, is Scory bishop now?

Young.

If that offend you, call him Dr. Scory if you will.

Roper.

I knew him when he was but a poor doctor.

Martin.

What do you call Scory?

Young.

Our superintendant.

Bishop.

Lo! their superintendant.

Martin.

And what are ye called?

Young.

Christ's congregation.

Bishop.

Lo! Christ's congregation, I warrant you.

Dr. Cook.

What living hath Scory?

Young.

As far as I do know, he liveth by his own, for I know no man that giveth him ought.

Recorder.

Yes, I warrant you, he hath enough sent him out of England.

Young.

Sir, I know no such thing.

Cholmley.

Hark, whore, hark; hark how I do believe.

Young.

My lord, I have told you my belief.

Cholmley.

Hark, thou ill-favoured whore, how I do believe. When the priest hath spoken the words of consecration, I do believe that there re|maineth the very body that was born of the virgin Mary, was hanged on the cross, was dead and bu|ried, and descended into hell, and rose again the third day, and ascended into heaven, and sitteth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the right hand of God. The same body when the priest hath spoken the words, cometh down, and when the priest lifteth up his body on this wise

(he lifting up his hands, said)

there it is.

Young.

I have told you also how I do believe.

Martin.

Away with her.

Cholmley.

Ah, ill-favoured whore! Nothing but spirit and faith, whore!

Martin.

Away with her, we have more to talk withal.

THEN she was carried into the Coal-house, and searched for books, and then put into the stock-house, and her knife, girdle, and apron taken from her.

The Fifth Examination of Elizabeth Young, before the Bishop of London's Chancellor.

Chan.

WHAT age are you of?

Young.

Forty years and upwards.

Chan.

Why, thou art a woman of fair years; why shouldst thou meddle with the scriptures? It is necessary for thee to believe, and that is enough. It is more fit for thee to meddle with thy dist••ff, than to meddle with the scriptures. What is thy

belief? I would hear it; for it cannot be good, in that thou art brought to prison.

Young.

Sir, if it will please you to hear, I will declare it unto you. But I pray you that you will take your pen and write it, and them examine it; and if you find any thing therein that is not fit for a christian woman, then teach me better, and I will learn it.

Chan.

Well said. But who shall judge between thee and me?

Young.

The scripture.

Chan.

Wilt thou stand by that?

Young.

Yea, sir.

Chan.

Well, go thy way out at the door a little while, for I am busy, and I will call for thee anon again.

THEN he called me again and said, Now, woman, the time is too long to write. Say thy mind, and I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bear it in my head.

THEN Elizabeth began, and declared her faith to him as she had done before to the bishop.

Chan.

Woman, spirit and faith I do allow, but dost not thou believe that thou dost receive the body of Christ, really, corporally, and substan|tially.

Young.

The words, really and corporally, I un|derstand not; as for substantially, I take it, you mean I should believe that I should receive his human body (which is upon the right hand of God, and can occupy no more places at once), and that I believe not.

Chan.

Thou must believe this, or else thou art damned.

Young.

Sir, can you give me belief?

Chan.

No, God must give it thee.

Young.

God hath given me no such faith or belief.

THE chancellor then declared a text of St. Paul in Latin, and then in English, saying, I could make thee believe, but that thou hast a cankered heart, and wilt not believe. Who then can make thee to believe?

Young.

You said even now, that faith or belief cometh of God, and so I believe, and then may not I believe an untruth to be true.

Chan.

Dost thou not believe that Christ's flesh is flesh in thy flesh?

Young.

No, sir, I believe not that▪ for my flesh will putrify and rot.

Chan.

Christ said, My flesh is flesh in flesh.

Young.

Whoso receiveth him fleshly, shall have a fleshly resurrection.

Chan.

Christ saith in St. John, chap. vi. "My flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink in|deed."

Young.

Christ preached to the Capernaites, say|ing, "Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood, ye shall not have life in you:" and the Capernaites murmured as it. And his dis|ciples also murmured, saying among themselves, "This is an hard saying, and who can abide it?" Christ understood their meaning, and said▪ "Are ye also offended? Will ye also go away? What and if ye shall see the Son of man ascend up to hea|ven, from whence he came? Will that offend you? It is the Spirit that quickeneth, the flesh profiteth nothing." I pray you, sir, what meaneth Christ by that?

Chan.

O God forbid. Would you have me to interpret the scriptures? We must leave that for our old ancient fathers, which have studied the scriptures a long time, and have the Holy Ghost given unto them.

Young.

Why, sir, have you not the Holy Ghost given and revealed unto you?

Chan,

No, God forbid that I should so believe; but I hope, I hope: but you say, you are of the Spirit. Will you say that you have no profit in Christ's flesh?

Young.

Sir, we have our profit in Christ's flesh, but not as the Capernaites did understand it; for they understood that they must eat his flesh as they did eat ox flesh and others, and drink his blood, as we drink wine or beer out of a bowl. But so we must not receive it: but our prof•••• that we have by Christ, is to believe that his body was broken upon the cross, and his blood shed for our sins; that is the very meaning of Christ, and so we should eat his flesh, and drink his blood, when he said, "My flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed."

Chan.

How doth thy body live, if Christ's flesh is not flesh in thy flesh?

Young.

Sir, I was a body before I had a soul; which body God had created, and yet it could not live, till God had breathed life into me, and by that life doth my body live. And when it shall please God to dissolve my life, my flesh will offer itself unto the place from whence it came, and through the merits of Christ my soul will offer itself to the place from whence it came.

Chan.

Yea, but if thou do not believe that Christ••s flesh is flesh in thy flesh, thou canst not be saved.

Young.

Sir, I do not believe that.

Chan.

Why, doth not Christ say, "My flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed?" Canst thou deny that?

Young.

I deny not that; for Christ's flesh and blood is meat and drink for my soul, the food of my soul. For whosoever believeth that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, hath died and shed his blood for his sins, his soul feedeth thereon for ever.

Chan.

When thou receivest the sacrament of the altar, dost thou not believe that thou dost re|ceive Christ's body?

Young.

Sir, as often as I receive the sacra|ment, I believe, that spiritually and by faith I receive Christ. And of this sacrament, I know Christ himself to be the author, and none but he. And this same sacrament is an establishment to my conscience, and an augmenting to my faith.

Chan.

Why, did not Christ take bread, and gave thanks, and break it, and gave it to his dis|ciples, saying, "Take, eat, this is my body that is given for you?" Did he give them his body, or no?

Young.

He also took the cup, and gave thanks to his Father, and gave it to his disciples, saying▪ "Drink ye all hereof: for this is the cup of the New Testament in my blood, which shall be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for many." Now, I pray you, sir, let me ask 〈◊〉〈◊〉 one question: Did he give th•• cup the name of his blood, or the wine that was in the cup?

THEN he was very angry, and said, Dost 〈◊〉〈◊〉 think that thou hast an hedge-priest in hand?

Young.

No, sir, I take you not to be an hedge-priest; I take you for a doctor.

Chan.

So me thinketh. Thou wilt take upon thee to teach me.

Young.

No, sir, but I let you know what I know; and by argument one shall know 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Christ said, "As oft as you do this do it in re|membrance of me; but a remembrance is not of a thing present, but absent. Likewise St. Paul saith, "So oft as ye shall eat of this bread, and drink of this cup, ye shall shew forth the Lord's death till he come:" then we must not look for him here, un••il his coming again at the latter day. Again, is not this article of our belief t••ue, "He sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge both the quick and the dead?" But if he come not before he c••me to judgment, how then is he present in your sacrament of the altar? Wherefo••e I believe that the human body of Christ occupieth no more than one place at once; for when he was here, he was not there.

The Sixth Examination of Mrs. Young before the Chancellor.

Chan.

WOMAN, the last time that thou wast before me, our talk was concerning the sacrament.

Young.

Sir, true it is, and I trust that I said nothing that you can deny by the scriptures.

Chan.

Yes, thou wilt not believe that Christ's flesh is flesh in thy flesh.

Young.

No, sir, God hath given me no such be|lief; for it cannot be found by the scriptures.

Chan.

Wilt thou believe nothing but what is in the scripture? Why, how many sacraments dost thou find in the scripture?

Young.

The church of Christ doth set down two.

Chan.

I will as well find seven by the scripture, as thou shalt find two.

Young.

Sir, I talk not to you thereof, but I say that the church of Christ setteth out two, and I have been taught no more.

Chan.

What are those two?

Young.

The sacrament of Christ's body and blood, and the sacrament of baptism.

Chan.

What sayest thou by the sacrament of wedlock?

Young.

I have not heard it called a sacrament, but the holy estate of matrimony, which ought to be kept of all men that take it upon them.

Chan.

How sayest thou by priests? Is it good that they should marry? Is it to be kept of them?

Young.

I come not hither to reason any such matter, for I am no divine, and also it is no part of my faith.

Chan.

Can you not tell? You shall tell before ever you go.

Young.

Then you must keep me a good while; for I have not studied the scriptures for it.

Chan.

No? Why, you will not be ashamed to flee unto the highest mystery, even to the sacrament at the first dash, and you are not afraid to argue with the best doctor in the land.

Young.

God's mysteries I will not meddle with, but all things that are written, are written for our edification.

Chan.

What say you by prayers for the dead? Is it not meet that if a man's friend be dead, his friend commend his soul unto God?

Young.

There is no christian man that will com|mend his friend or his foe unto the devil. And whether it be good for him when he is dead or no, sure I am that it is good when he is alive.

Chan.

Then thou allowest not prayer to be good for them when they be dead, and lying in purpa|tory. Is it not meet that prayer be made unto God for them?

Young.

Sir, I never heard in the scriptures of purgatory, but in the scripture I have heard of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and hell.

Chan.

Why, you have nothing but the skim|ming of the scriptures. Our ancient fathers could find out in the bottom of the scriptures that there is a purgatory. Yea, they could find it in the New Testament, that a priest shall take the sacrament, and go to the altar, and make an oblation, and offer it up every day.

Young.

Sir, that could never be found in the Bible nor New Testament, as far as ever I could hear.

Chan.

Whom dost thou hear read either the Bible or New Testament, but a sort of schismatics, bawdy bishops, and hedge-priests (which have brought into the church a stinking communion, which was never heard of in any place in the world, but here in England), which have deceived the king and all the nobility, and all the whole realm.

Young.

Sir, it is a vile name that you give them all.

Chan.

Where are all the hedge-knaves now, that they come not to their answer?

Young.

Answer, sir? Why, they have answer|ed both with the scriptures, and also with their blood; and then where were you that you came not forth to your answer in their times? I never knew any of you that were troubled, but two, and that was not for God's word, it was for their dis|obedience.

Chan.

No, I pray you? Did you not know that we were killed, hanged, burned, and be|headed?

Young.

Sir, I never knew that any of you ever was either hanged, killed, burned, or beheaded.

Chan.

No? Did you never hear that the bishop of Rochester lost his head for the supremacy of the bishop of Rome?

Young.

Then he died not for God's word.

Chan.

Well, thou wilt believe nothing but that which is written in God's word Where canst thou find the sabbath written in the scripture, by the name of the sabbath? For the right sabbath day will I prove to be Saturday. Or, where canst thou find the articles of the creed in the scripture by the name of articles? or where canst thou find in the scripture that Christ went down into hell?

Young.

What place or part in the scripture can you find to disprove any of these things?

Chan.

What priest hast thou lain withal that thou hast so much scripture? Thou art some priest's woman, I think, for thou wilt take upon thee to reason, and teach the ••est doctor in all the land.

Young.

I was never yet priest's wife, nor yet priest's woman.

Chan.

Have I touched your conscience?

Young.

No, sir, you have not touched my con|science, but beware you hurt not your own.

Chan.

Thou hast read a little in the Bible▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Testament, and thou thinkest that thou art able 〈◊〉〈◊〉 reason with a doctor, that hath gone to school thirty years; and, before God, I think if I had talked th•••• much with a Jew as I have done with thee▪ he would have turned ere this time. But I may say by you as Christ said by Jerusalem, saying, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how oft would I have gather|ed thee together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens, but thou would not." And so would 〈◊〉〈◊〉 gather you together in one faith, and you will not: and therefore your own blood be upon your own head: for I can do no more but teach you. Th•••• art one of the rankest heretics that ever I heard; for thou believest nothing but what is in the scrip|ture; and therefore thou art damned.

Young.

I do believe all things written in the scripture, and all things agreeable to the scripture, given by the Holy Ghost to the church of Christ, set forth and taught by the church of Christ, and shall I be damned because I will not believe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 untruth?

THEN the chancellor called the keeper, saying▪ Cluny, take her away, thou knowest what thou hast to do with her. And so she departed, and was brought again to the stock-house, and there she ••ay certain days, and both her hands manacled in one iron; and afterwards she was removed into the Lollards' Tower, and there she remained with both her feet in the stocks and irons till the next time of examination.

The Seventh Examination of Mrs. Young before the Chancellor and the Bishop's Scribe.

Chan.

WOMAN, thou hast been twice before me, but we could not agree, and here be certain articles that my lord the bishop of Lon|don would that thou shouldst make ••nswer unto, which are these: First, how many sacraments dost thou allow.

Young.

Sir, as many as Christ's church doth al|low, and that is two.

THEN said the scribe, Thou wast taught seven before king Edward's days.

Chan.

Which two sacraments be those that thou dost allow?

Young.

The sacrament of the body and blood of Jesus Christ, and the sacrament of baptism.

Chan.

Dost thou not believe that the pope of Rome is the supreme head of the church, ••mmedi|ately under God in earth?

Young.

No, sir, no man can be the head of Christ's church: for Christ himself is the head, and his word is the governor of all that ••e of that church, wheresoever they be scattered abroad.

Chan.

Dost thou not believe that the bishop of Rome can forgive thee all thy sins heretical, detest|able and damnable, that thou hast done from thine infancy unto this day?

Young.

Sir, the bishop of Rome is a sinner as I am, and no man can forgive me my sins, but he only that is without sin, and that is Jesus Christ, who died for my sins.

Chan.

Dost thou not know that the pope sent over his jubilees, that all that ever would fast and pray, and go to the church, should have their sins forgiven them?

The Scribe.

Sir, I think that she was not in the realm then.

Chan.

Hast thou not desired God to defend thee from the tyranny of the bishop of Rome, and all his detestable enormities?

Young.

Yes, that I have.

Chan.

And art thou not sorry for it?

Young.

No, sir, not a whit.

Chan.

Hast thou not said, that the mass was wicked, and the sacrament of the altar most abo|minable?

Young.

Yes, that I have.

Chan.

And art thou not sorry for it?

Young.

No, sir, not a whit.

Chan.

Art thou not content to go to the church, and hear mass?

Young.

I will not go to the church, either to mass or mattins, till I may hear it in a tongue that I can understand: for I will be fed no longer in a strange Language. And always the scribe did 〈◊〉〈◊〉 every one of these articles, as they were demanded and answered unto.

THEN the scribe asked her from whence she came.

THE chancellor said, This is she that brought over all these books of heresy and treason.

THEN the scribe said to her, Woman, where had••t thou all these books?

Young.

I bought them in Amsterdam, and brought them over to ••ell, thinking to gain thereby.

The Scribe.

What is the name of the book?

Young.

I cannot tell.

Scribe.

Why shouldst thou buy books, and know not their names?

THEN said Cluny, the keeper, Sir, my lord bishop did send for her by name that she should come to mass, but she would not.

Chan.

Yea, did my lord send for her by name, and would she not go to mass?

Young.

No, sir, I will never go to mass, till I do understand it, by the leave of God.

Chan.

Understand it! why, who the devil can make thee understand Latin, thou being so old?

THEN the scribe commanded her to set her hand to all these things.

THEN said she, Let me hear them read first.

Scribe.

Master Chancellor, shall she hear it read?

Chan.

Ay, ay, let the heretic hear it read.

THEN she heard it read, and so signed it.

The Eighth Examination of Elizabeth Young before the Bishop.

Bishop.

IS this the woman that hath three chil|dren?

Keeper.

Yea, my lord.

Bishop.

Woman, here is a supplication put into my hands for thee. In like case there was another supplication put up to me for thee before this, in which thou madest as though I should keep thy children.

Young.

My lord, I did not know of this sup|plication, nor yet of the other.

Bishop.

Mr. Dean, is this the woman you have sued so earnestly for?

Dean.

Yea, my lord.

Dean.

Woman, what remaineth in the sacrament of the altar, when and after that the priest hath spoken the words of consecration?

Young.

A piece of bread. But the sacrament of Christ's body and blood, which he did institute and leave among his disciples the night before he was betrayed, ministered according to his word, that sacrament I do believe.

Dean.

How dost thou believe concerning the body of Christ? where is his body, and how many bodies hath he?

Young.

Sir, in heaven he sitteth on the right hand of God.

Dean.

From whence came his human body?

Young.

He took it of the virgin Mary.

Dean.

That is flesh, blood, and bones, as mine is. But what shape hath his spiritual body? Hath it face, hands, and feet?

Young.

I know no other body that he hath, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that body whereof he meant when he said, "〈◊〉〈◊〉 is my body, which is given for you: and this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 blood which shall be shed for you." Whereby 〈◊〉〈◊〉 plainly meaneth that body and no other, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••ook of the virgin Mary, having the perfect 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and proportion of a human body.

Sto••y.

Thou hast a wise body: for thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 go to the stake.

Dean.

Art thou content to believe in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Christ's church? But to ask of thee what Chri•••••• church is, or where it is, I let it pass.

Young.

Sir, to that church I have joined 〈◊〉〈◊〉 faith, and from it I purpose never to turn, by Go•••• help.

Dean.

Wouldst thou not be at home with ••y children with a good will?

Young.

Sir, if it please God to give me leave▪

Dean.

Art thou willing to confess thyself to be a foolish woman, and to believe as our holy father the pope of Rome doth, and as the lord cardi•••••• doth, and as my lord the bishop of London thi•• ordinary doth, and as the king and queen, and all the nobility in England do; yea, and the emperor▪ and all the noble persons of Christendom?

Young.

Sir, I was never wise, but in few word•• I shall make you a brief answer how I do believe all things that are written in the scriptures, given by the Holy Ghost unto the church of Christ, set for•••• and taught by the church of Christ. Hereon I ground my faith, and not on man.

THEN said Story, And who shall be judge?

Young.

Sir, the scripture.

Story.

And who shall read it.

Young.

He unto whom God hath given the un|derstanding.

Bishop.

Woman, be reformable▪ for I would thou wert gone, and master dean here hath earnest|ly sued for thee.

Dean.

Woman, I have sued for thee indeed, and I promise thee, if thou wilt be reformable, my lord will be good unto thee.

Young.

I have been before my lord bishop, and before master chancellor three times, and have de|clared my faith.

Dean.

And yet I know that master chancellor will say, that thou art a general heretic.

Story.

Away with her.

Bishop.

Master dean, you know that I may not ••arry, nor you neither. Let her keeper bring her home to your own chamber at four o'clock in the afternoon, and if that we find her reasonable, then let her go, for I would that she were gone.

THEN said the dean, With a good will my lord; and so she was sent unto the place from whence she came, until it was four o'clock in the afternoon.

The Ninth Examination of Mrs. Young, before the Dean, after which she was delivered.

Dean.

ART thou a fool now, as thou wert to day?

Young.

Sir, I have learnt ••ut small wisdom since.

Dean.

Dost thou think that I am better learned than thou?

Young.

Yes, sir, that I do.

Dean.

Thinkest thou that, can do thee good?

Young.

Yea, sir, and if it please God, that you will.

Dean.

Then I will do thee good indeed. What dost thou receive when thou receivest the sacrament which Christ left among his disciples the night be|fore he was betrayed?

Young.

Sir, that which his disciples did receive.

Dean.

What did they receive?

Young.

Sir, that which Christ gave them, they received.

Dean.

What answer is this? was Christ there present?

Young.

Sir, he was there present; for he insti|tuted his own sacrament.

Dean.

He took bread, and he brake it, and he gave it to his disciples, and said, "Take, eat, this is my body which shall be broken for you." When thou receivest it, dost thou believe that thou receiv|est his body?

Young.

Sir, when I receive, I believe that thro•• faith I do receive Christ.

Dean.

Dost thou believe that Christ is there?

Young.

Sir, I believe that he is there to me, and by faith I do receive him.

Dean.

He also took the cup and gave thanks, and gave it to his disciples, and said, "Drink ye all thereof: this is the cup of the New Testament in my blood, which is shed for many for the remission of sins." When thou dost receive it after the insti|tution that Christ ordained among his disciples, the night before he was betrayed, dost thou believe that Christ is there?

Young.

Sir, by faith I believe that he is there, and by faith I do believe that I do receive him.

Dean.

Now thou hast answered me, remember what thou sayest, that when thou dost receive ac|cording to the institution of Christ, thou dost receive Christ.

Young.

Sir, I believe Christ not to be absent from his own sacrament.

Dean.

How long wilt thou continue in that belief?

Young.

Sir, as long as I do live, by the help of God, for it is and hath been my belief.

Dean.

Wilt thou say this before my lord?

Young.

Yea, sir.

Dean.

Then I dare deliver thee. Why, thou calf, why wouldst thou not say so to-day.

Young.

Sir, you asked me no such question.

Dean.

Then you would stand in disputation how many bodies Christ had.

Young.

Sir, indeed that question you did ask me.

Dean.

Who shall be the sureties that thou wilt appear before my lord of London and me upon Friday next?

Young.

Sir, I have no sureties, nor know I where to have any.

THEN spake the dean unto two women that stood there, who had earnestly sued for her, saying, "Women, will ye be her sureties, that she shall ap|pear before my lord of London and me, upon Fri|day next?

Women.

Yea, sir, and it please you.

Dean.

Take heed that I find you no more a babbler in the scripture.

Young.

Sir, I am no babbler in the scripture, nor yet can any man burden me therewith.

Dean.

Yes, I have heard of you well enough what you a••e.

THEN said he to the two women, What if a man should touch your conscience, do ye not smell a little of heresy also?

Women.

No, sir.

Dean.

Yes, a little of the frying-pan, or else wherefore have ye two so earnestly sued for her?

THE one woman answered, because that her chil|dren were like to perish, and therefore God put 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in mind to sue for her.

THEN said the other woman, And I provided her child a nurs••, and I am threatened to stand for the keeping of her child: and therefore it stande•••• me in hand to sue to have her out.

Dean.

Woman, give thanks unto these 〈◊〉〈◊〉 women, who have so earnestly sued for thee, and I promise thee so have I. These great heretics 〈◊〉〈◊〉 receive nothing but in spirit and faith; and so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rose and departed.

Young.

Sir, God be praised, and I thank 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for your goodness and their's also, and so he we•••• away; and upon the Friday next, because she was accused, her two sureties went thither, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 discharged.

The arrow_back Persecution arrow_forward of ELIZABETH LAWSON.

IN the town of Bedfield, in the county of Suf|folk, dwelt an ancient godly matron, named Elizabeth Lawson, about the age of sixty years▪ who was apprehended as an heretic by the consta|bles of the same town, named Robert Kitrich, and Thomas ••las, in the year 1556, because she would not go to church to hear mass, and receive the sa|ment, and believe in it.

FIRST, they laid her in a dungeon, and after that she was ca••ried unto Norwich, and from thence to Bury g••al, where at last she was condemned to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉. In the mean time sir John ••i••••ard ••ad her home unto his house, he being high sheriff that year, where she was hardly kept, and wrapped in

irons, till at length, when they could by no means move her to recant, she was sent to prison again with shameful revilings.

THUS she continued in prison the space of two years and three quarters. In the mean time there were burnt her son and many more, whereby she would often say, "Good Lord, what is the cause that I may not yet come to thee with thy children? Well, good Lord, thy blessed will be done, and not mine."

NOT long after this (most happily) followed the death of queen Mary. At which time this Elizabeth Lawson remained yet still in Bury prison, till at last she was ••ailed upon sureties, or else she could not be delivered. For she being a condem|ned person, neither the temporality, nor yet spirit|ual authority would discharge her without sureties. Now she being abroad, and her sureties made afraid by wicked men, said, they would cast her again in prison, except she would see them dis|charged.

THEN she got a supplication to go unto the queen's majesty, and came to a friend of her's to have his counsel therein; who willed her to stay a while, because she was old, the days short, and the expences great, and weather ••oul (••or it was a little before Christmas), and to tarry until summer. In the mean time God broke the bond, and shortened her journey▪ for he took her home to himself out of this life in peace.

THIS good old woman, long before she went to prison, had the falling sickness, and told a friend of her's, one Simon Harlston, after she was apprehend|ed, that she never had it more, but lived in good health and joy of heart, through our Lord Christ.

SHE had a very unkind husband, who while she was in prison, sold her raiment, and would not help her; and after she was out of prison, she re|turned home unto him▪ yet would he shew her no kindness, nor help her neither▪ and yet the house and land that he dwelt in he had by her; wherefore as long as she lived she was maintained by the congregation.

THE said Elizabeth Lawson also had a sister, wife 〈◊〉〈◊〉 one Robert Hollon, in Mickfield, in the same county of Suffolk, who likewise was persecut|ed and driven out from house to house, and a young man her son with her, because they would not go to the church to hear mass, and receive the sacra|ment of the altar.

An Account of the arrow_back Persecution arrow_forward of THOMAS CHRIST|ENMASS and WILLIAM WATS.

IN this perilous rage of queen Mary's reign were two men persecuted, one called Thomas Christ|enmass, the other William Wats, of Tunbridge, in Kent. As these two men travelled from place to place, not resting two night•• together in one place, they happened to go to Rochester in Kent, where they at the town's end met with a damsel of eight years of age, ••ut 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she went, they knew not. It was then night, and they being weary, were willing to lie in the same town, but could not tell where, they feared so the bloody catholics. At last they devised to ask the damsel whether there were any heretics in the town, or no? and she said, Yea. They asked her where. She answered them, At such an 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ telling them the name, and where the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wa••. Shortly after, as they were gone from her, they bethought themselves better, and God so moving their hearts, they went to the child again, and asked her how she knew that the inn-keeper (of whom she spake before) was an heretic. Marry, quoth she, well enough, and his wife also. How knowest thou, pre••ty mai••e••, said they? I pray thee tell us. How know I, said she? Marry, because they go to the church▪ and those that will not hold up their hands there, they will present them, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 himself goes from house to house, to compel them to come to church. When these two men heard this, they gave God praise, and avoided that house, taking the warning of that maid (of good bringing up, as it should seem) to be God's marvellous providence towards them.

IN the last year▪ but one of queen Mary's reign, William Wats lived at Seal••, in Kent▪ where being apprehended and brought by the constables before the bishop and justices at Tunbridge, who endea|voured

to persuade him to turn from the truth, but all in vain, though they spent much time, and used many flattering words.

AT dinner-time the constables took Wats to a victualing-house, where after they had well ••••lled themselves, they fell asleep, supposing their prison|er had been sure enough under their hands. Wat's wife being in the house with her husband, and very careful for his well-doing, seeing them all fast asleep, desired her husband to go away, as God had given him an opportunity; but he refusing so long that at last a stranger hearing something of the dis••ute, asked what the matter was, and why she was so earnest with her husband: the wife told him▪ Then said the stranger to Wats, Father, go thy ways in God's name, and tarry no longer: the Lord hath opened the way unto thee. Upon which words he went his way, and his wife departed from him, and went home to her house at Seale▪ thinking her hus|band had gone another way. Now as she was going in at her door, telling her friends of his deliverance, immediately came in the said Wat's also, and they all being amazed thereat, willed him in all haste to get him away; for they thought there would be search for him immediately.

THEN Wats said, he would eat meat first, and also pray; which he did, and afterwards departed thence. As soon as he was out of doors, and had hid himself in an holly-bush, immediately came the said constables with thirty persons into the said house to search for him, where they pierced the feather-beds, broke open his chests, and made great havock; and as they were searching▪ the constable cried, I will have Wats, I will have Wats, I tell thee, I will have Wats; but God ••e thanked Wats could not be found. And when they saw it need|less to search for him, in the end they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his wife, and set her in a pair of stocks, where she remained two days, and she was very bold in the truth, and at last delivered through the providence of God; whose name be glorified in all his works, Amen.

Mr. DABNEY.

THERE was at London a certain godly person, a painter, named Dabney, whom John Avales i•• the time of queen Mary had brought before Bon|ner to be examined for his faith. It happened the same time, when the said Dabney was there, that the bishop was occupied with the examination•• of others, so that he was bid to stand by, and to wait the bishop's leisure. Upon the same, or not long after, suddenly came word to the bishop to prepare him with all speed▪ the general procession tarried for him. The bishop hearing that, setting all business apart, bustleth himself with all possible speed▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the church, there to furnish procession. By reason whereof Dabney, who newly came to the house▪ was there left alone, while every man else was bu|sied in pr••p••••ing and setting themselves forward ac|cording as the case required.

TO be short, as the time called on, Bonner 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his houshold makes all possible haste to the pro|cession. Dabney being left alone, came down 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the outward court next the gate, there walk•••• heavily by himself, looking for nothing less than to escape that danger. The porter, who was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 left at home, seeing the man walk alone, supposing he hast been some citizen left there behind▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 waiting for opening the gate, went and opened 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wicket, asking if he would go out. Yea, said he▪ with a good will, ••f you will let me out. With 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my heart, quoth the porter, and I pray you so do.

AND thus the said Dabney taking the opportu|nity offered of God, being let out by the porter, es|caped out of the wolf's mouth. The procession being done, when the bishop returned home, Dab|ney was gone, and could not be found. Where|upon search was made, but especially John Avales laid wait for him: who, after long searching, when he could not get him, at length received fifteen crowns of his wife to let him alone when he should see him, and so that good man escaped.

ALEXANDER WIMHURST, Priest.

ALIKE example of God Almighty's goodness towards his afflicted servants in that dan|gerous time of arrow_back persecution arrow_forward , may also appear evi|dently in one Alexander Wimhurst, a priest, some time of Magdalen college, in Oxford, and then a papist, but since an earnest enemy to Antichrist, and a man better instructed in the true fear of God. It

happened that one had recommended him to bishop Bonner for religion, upon what occasion I do not understand. According to the old manner in such cases provided, he sent forth Robin Caly, other|wise called Robin Papist▪ one of his whelps, to bring in the game, and to cause this silly poor man to appear before him Little Robin, like a proper man, bestirreth him in his business, and smelleth him out, and when he had taken him, bringeth him along by Cheapside, not suffering him to talk with any of his acquaintance by the way, though they were some of his old friends of Oxford that offered to speak unto him.

WHEN they came into St. Paul's he espied Dr. Chedsey there walking up and down, and, because he was able in such a case to do pleasure, and for that he had been of his old acquaintance in Oxford, he was very desirous to speak to him ere he went through. Chedsey, perceiving that Robin Caly did attend upon him, said, that he durst not med|dle in the matter. Yes, (said little Robin) you may talk with him if it please you, master Doctor. To be short, Alexander opened his case, and in the end desired, for old acquaintance sake, that he would find means he might be brought before Dr. Martin to be examined, rather than any other. Nay, said he, (alledging the words of Christ unto Peter in the last chapter of St. John) you remem|ber, brother, what is written in the gospel; "When thou wast young, thou dist gird thyself, and wentest whither thou wouldst: but being aged, other men shall gird thee, and lead thee whither thou wouldst not." Thus abusing the scripture to his private meaning, whereas notwithstanding he might easily have accomplished so small a request, if he had liked it.

THENCE he was carried to Story and Cook, com|missioners, there to learn what should become of him. Before them he behaved himself boldly and stoutly, as they on the other side did urge him with captious questions very cruelly. When they had baited the poor man their fill, they asked him where his whore was. She is not my whore (said he), but my lawful wife. She is thy whore, said they. She is not my whore (said he again), I tell you. So when they perceived that he would not give place unto them, nor attributed to them so much as they looked for at his hand, according to the ordi|nary manner, they commanded him to prison. And now mark well the providence of God in his pre|servation.

HE was brought into C••••ny's house, in Pater|noster-row, from thence to be carried to Lollards'-Tower▪ out of hand, but that Cluny, (as it hap|pened) his wife and his maid, were so earnestly oc|cupied about present business, that they had not leisure then to lock up their prisoner. In the hall where Alexander sat was a strange woman, whose husband was then presently in trouble for religion, which perceived by some occasion or other, that this man was brought in for the like cause. Alack, good man, saith she, if you will you may escape the cruel hands of your enemies, forasmuch as they be all away that should look unto you. God hath opened the way unto you for a deliverance, and therefore lose not the opportunity thereof, if you be wise. Being persuaded with th••se and such like words, he went out of the doors, and escaped their hands.

BOSOM'S Wife.

THIS good woman being at Richmond with her mother, was greatly urged to go to church. At length, through great importunity, she came; being in the church, and sitting with her mother in the p••w, contrary in all things to the do|ings of the papists, she behaved herself so, that when they kneeled she stood, when they turned forward, she turned backward, &c.

THIS being notorious in the church, the consta|ble and church-warden attached her in the queen's name, charging her and her mother to appear the next day at Kingston, which accordingly they did, and happening to meet the officers crossing the ri|ver, saluted them by their names, but at that time the officers had no power to speak to them, though afterwards they stampt and stared, and were mad with themselves for letting them pass, as was de|clared by the waterman in the bo••t. Whereupon the good woman taking her journey to London, escaped their cruelty.

JOHN DAVIS, under Twelve Years of Age.

IN the year 1546, and the last year of king Henry the Eighth, John Davis, a child of twelve years and under, who dwelling in the house of Mr. John|son, apothecary, in the town of Worcester, his uncle, using sometimes to read in the Testament and other English books, was complained of by his mistress, who was an obstinate person, and consulted with one Thomas Parton, and Alice Brook, wife to Nicholas Brook, organ maker, with certain of the canons, and Mr. Johnson, chancellor to Dr. Heath, their bishop. The means whereby he was intrapped, was wrought by the aforesaid Alice Brook, who procured her son Oliver, school-fellow with the said John Davis, to feign friendship with him, and under pretence to be instructed, to see his English books, and especially to get something of his writing against the six articles: which being had, was soon brought to the canons of the church and the chancellor. Whereupon Thomas Parton came to apprehend him, and his uncle was forced against his will to bind the poor boy's arms behind him; and so he was brought to the officers of the town, where he lay from the 14th of August till the last of September. Then was he commanded to the Freeman's prison, where one Richard Howborough, coming to persuade him from burning, willed him to prove first with a candle: who then holding his finger, and the other a candle under it a good space, yet (as the party himself assured me) he felt no burning thereof, neither would the other that held the candle believe him a great while, till he had looked, and saw no scorching of the candle at all appeared.

THE child was removed from thence to an inner prison, ca••led Peephol, where the low bailiff, nam|ed Robert Yould, laid upon him a pair of bolts, so that he could not lift up his little legs, but lean|ing on a staff, slipt them forward upon the ground: with these bolts his lying was upon the cold ground, having not one lo••k of straw nor cloth to cover him, save only two sheep skins, neither durst father or mother, or any of his friends come to him. Besides this, and many great threats of the papists, there was a mad-m••n put to him in the prison, with a knife about him, wherewith in his frantic rage he often threatened to stab him.

AFTER this came to him one Joyliff and Yaw•••• two canons, who had his writings against the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 articles, and his ballad, called, "Come down for all your shaven crown," to see whether he would stand to that he had written. Which done, with many great raging words, not long after ••at M••. Johnson, the chancellor, in the Guildhall, upon the poor lad. Where first were b••ought in his accusers, and sworn, then were sworn also twenty four m••n which went on his quest, and found him guilty, but he never came before the chancellor. Upon 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he was sent to the common go••l among thieves and murderers there to tarry the coming of the judg••••▪ and so to be had strait to execution. But the migh|ty mercy of the Lord, who helpeth the desolate and miserable, when all other help is past, so pro|vided for this innocent lad, that the purpose of all his hard hearted enemies was disappointed: for ••••••fore the judges came, God took away Henry the Eighth out of this life. By reason whereof 〈◊〉〈◊〉 force of the law was th•••• stayed: however, he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nevertheless arraigned, bring held up in a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 arms at the bar before the judges, who were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 man and Marven▪ who when they perceived that they could not burn him, would have him presently whipped. But Mr. Bourne declared to the judg•••• how he had whipping enough. After that he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 lain a week more in prison, he had him home 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his house, his wife ano••nted his legs herself with ointment, which then were stiff and numbed with irons, till at length when Mr. Bourne and his wife saw they could not win him to the belief of their sa|crament, they put him away, lest he should infect their son Anthony, as they thought, with heresy.

THUS John Davis was mercifully preserved, after he had suffered imprisonment from the 14th day of August till within seven days of Easter, who is yet alive▪ and a profitable minister this day in the church of England: blessed be the Lord.

Mrs. ROBERTS.

MISTRESS ROBERTS, a gentlewoman, living (as I understand) in the town of Hawkhurst, in Sussex, being earnestly addicted to the truth of the gospel, and no less constant in that which she had learned therein, so kept herself during

all the brunt of queen Mary's time, that she never came to their popish service, nor polluted her con+science with their idolatrous mass. There dwelt at the same time not far off a justice, called sir John Gilford, who being as fervent on the contra|ry side to set forward the proceedings of queen Ma|ry, thought to prove masteries with this gentlewo|man, in forcing her into the church. And first sending his wife, he attempted her by fair words and gentle persuasions to conform herself to the prince's laws, and to come, as other christian people did, to the church. Notwithstanding, she con|stantly persisting in the sincerity of the tru••h, would by no persuasions be won to do therein against her conscience; and so kept at home a cer|tain time till again Mr Gilford thinking not to give her over so, sent his officers and servants to her, by force and power to haul her out of her house to the church, and so did. Where, by the way, she for grief of conscience swooned, and so of necessity was brought home again, and falling into an ague, was for that time dispensed with. When she had recovered her health again, he came in per|son to compel her to come to church whether she would or no. But (as the proverb goeth) who can prevent that which God would have done? For when Mr. Gilford had purposed as pleased him, the Lord so disposed for this good woman, that as he was coming up stairs towards her chamber, sudden|ly his old disease the gout seized him, and so ••erri|bly tormented him, that he could go no further: and so he, that purposed to carry her to the church against her will, was forced himself to be carried home to his house on account of his pain, protesting and swearing that he would nev••r from henceforth trouble that gentlewoman more, and no more he did.

Mrs. ANNE LACY.

MISTRESS ANNE LACY, widow, in Not|tinghamshire, was in great danger in queen Mary's time, insomuch that the process was out against her, and she ready to have been apprehend|ed, being so nearly pursued, that she was driven to hide her bible and other books in a dunghill. Mr. Lacy, her brother, was then justice of peace; but to whom (as I have heard) she was but very little beholden. Nevertheless, where kindred faileth, yet God's grace never faileth such as stick to him; for in this mean time, as the process came out against her, queen Mary died, and so she escaped.

CROSSMAN'S Wife.

SHE lived at Tibnam Longrow, in Norfolk, and for not going to church, was sought for at her house by the constable of the hundred, who when he came to her house, she being at home with a child sucking in her arms, stept into a corner on the one side of the chimney, and they seeking about the chambers, the child never cried (although be|fore they came it did) as long as they were there, and so by this means the Lord preserved her.

The Congregation at Stoke in Suffolk.

THERE were some likewise that avoided the violent rage of the adversaries by means only of their number, and mutual according in godliness, wherein they did so hold together, that without much ado none well could be troubled: whereof we have an example in a certain town in Suffolk, called Stoke. After the three sharp years of queen Mary's arrow_back persecution arrow_forward being past, yet notwithstanding the inhabitants of the town aforesaid, especially the women, came not to their church to receive▪ after the popish manner, the sacrament; who, if they had been but few, they could by no means have escaped imprisonment. But because there were so many, the papists thought it best not to lay hands upon them. Only they appointed them sixteen days res|pite after Easter, wherein as many as would, should receive the sacrament: those that would not▪ should stand to the peril that would follow. Of this com|pany, which were many, giving their hands toge|ther, the chief were these:

EVE, an old woman of sixty years of age. Alice Coker, her daughter▪ Elizabeth Foxe. Agnes Cutting. Alice Spencer. Henry Canker. Joan Fouke. Agnes Spau••ding. John Steyre, and his brother. John Foxe.

THESE, after the order was taken for their not coming to the church, took counsel among them|selves

what was best to be done, and at length con|cluded by promise one to another, that they should not receive at all. Yet some of them afterwards, being persuaded with fair promises that the com|munion should be ministered unto them according to king Edward's book, went to the parish priest (whose name was Cotes), and asked him after which sort he would administer the sacrament. He answered to such as he favoured, that he would give it after the right sort; the rest should have it after the popish manner.

TO be short, none did communicate so, but only John Steyre and John Foxe; of which the one gave his wife leave to do as she thought best. The other went about with threats to compel his wife, saying, that otherwise he would divorce himself from her. As for the rest, they withdrew themselves from church, resorting to their wonted company, only Foxe's wife tarried still at home, in heaviness, whose husband practised with the curate in the mean time, that the next day after he should give her the sacrament, which was the seventeenth day after Easter. But the very same day, unknowing to her husband, she went secretly to her company, and with tears declared how violently her husband had dealt with her. The other women bade her not|withstanding to be of good cheer, and said, that they would make their most earnest prayers to God both for her and her husband; and indeed when they had so done, the matter took very good suc|cess. For the next day after, Goodman Foxe came of his own accord unto them, a far other man than he was before, and bewailed his own rashness, pray|ing them that they would forgive him, promising ever after to be more strong in faith, to the great rejoicing both of them and his wife.

ABOUT half a year after this, the bishop of Nor|wich sent forth certain of his officers or apparators thither, which gave them warning every one to come to th•• church the next Sunday following. If they would not come, they should appear before the commissary out of hand, to render account of their abs••nce. But the women having secret knowledge of this before, kept themselves out of the way on purpose, to avoid the summons or war|ning. Therefore when they were not at the church on the day appointed, the commissary did first sus|pend them, according to the bishop of Rome's law, and within three weeks after did excommunicate them. Therefore when they perceived that an officer of the town was set to take some of them, they conveening themselves privily out of the town, escaped all danger.

The Congregation in London.

NO less wonderful was the preservation of the congregation in London, which from the first beginning of queen Mary, to the l••tter end thereof, continued, notwithstanding ••hatsoever the malice, device, searching, and inquisition of men, or strict|ness of laws could work to the contrary. Such was the merciful hand of the Lord according to his accustomed goodness, ever working with his people. Of this bou••tiful goodness of the Lord, man) and great examples appeared in the congregation which I now speak of. How often, and in what great danger did he deliver them!

FIRST, In Black-friars, when they should have resorted to sir Thomas Carden's house, private watch was laid for them, but yet through God's providence the mischief was prevented, and they delivered.

AGAIN; they narrowly escaped about Aldgate, where spies were laid for them: and had not Tho|mas Simpson, the deacon, espied them, and bid them disperse themselves away, they had been taken. For within two hours, the constables coming to the house after they were gone, demanded of the wife what company had been there. To whom she, to excuse the matter, made answer again, saying▪ that half a dozen good fellows had been there at break|fast as they went a maying.

ANOTHER time also about the Great Conduit, they passing there through a very narrow alley▪ in|to a clothworker's lo••t, were espied, and the sher|iffs sent for: but before they came, they having privy knowledge thereof, immediately shifted a|way out of the alley, John Avales standing alone in the mercers chapel, staring at them.

ANOTHER like escape they made in a ship at Billingsgate, belonging to a certain good man of Leigh, where in the open sight of the people they were assembled together, and yet through God's mighty power escaped.

BETWIXT Ra••cliff and Redriff, in a ship called Jesus ship, twi••e or thrice they assembled, having there closely, after their accustomed manner, both sermon, prayer, and communion, and yet through the protection of the Lord they returned, although not unespied, yet untaken.

MOREOVER, in a cooper's house in Pudding Lane, so n••ar th••y were to perils and dangers, that John Avales coming into the house where they were, talked with the man of the house and after he had asked a question or two, departed; God so working, that either he had no knowledge of them, or no power to ••••ke them.

BUT they never escaped more hardly, than once in Thames-street in the night-time, where the house being bese•• with enemies, they were deliver…ed by the means of a mariner, who being at that present in the same company, and seeing no other way to avoid, pluckt off his slops and swam to he next boat, and so rowed the company over, using his shoes instead of ••ars; and so the jeopardy was dispatched.

WHAT should I speak of the extreme danger which that goodly company was in at the taking of Mr. Rough, their minister, and Cutbert Simpson their deacon, had no God's providence given know|ledge before to Mr. R••u••h in his sleep, that Cut|bert Simpson shou••d leave behind him at home the book of all their names, which he was wont to c••rry about with him; whereof mention is made before.

IN this church or congregation there were some|times forty, sometimes an hundred sometimes two hundred, sometimes more, sometimes less. About the latter time of queen Mary it greatly increased. From the beginning▪ which was about the first en|try of queen Mary's reign, they had divers mini|sters; first, Mr. Scamier, then Tho. Foule, after him Mr. Rough, then Mr. Augustine Bernher, and lastly, Mr. Bentham; concerning the deliver|ance of which Mr. Bentham (being now bishop of Coventry and Litchfi••ld), God's mighty provi|dence most notably is to be considered. The sto|ry is thus:

ON a time when seven martyrs were burnt in Smithfield, a proclamation was issued out, strictly forbidding all persons whatsoever either to salute, or pray for, the prisoners as they came to the stake: the godly people hearing this, great numbers of them assembled together, resolving to comfort and encourage them by their prayers: and when they came towards the stake, well guarded by officers armed with bills and glieves as usual, the whole ••ongregation ran in upon them, kissing and em|b••acing them, (not minding the officers and their weapons) and carried them to the stake, and might as well have carried them off, for ought the officers could do to prevent it.

THIS done, and the people giving place to the officers, the proclamations was read with a loud voice to the people in the names of the king and queen, That no man should pray for them, or once speak a word unto them. Mr. Bentham, then mi|nister of the congregarion, seeing the fire set to the martyrs, turned his eyes to his people and said, We know they are the people of God, and there|fore we cannot chuse but say, God strengthen them: and then he boldly said, Almighty God, for Christ's sake strengthen them. With that all the people with one consent, and one voice, said, Amen, Amen. The noise whereof was so great, that the officers could not tell what to say, or whom to ac|cuse. And thus much concerning the congregation ••f the faithful assembling together at London in the time of queen Mary.

ANOTHER time, as Mr. Bentham was going through St. Catherine's, intending to take a walk in the air, he was forced by two or three m••n to go along with them. Mr. Bentham being amazed at the suddenness of the matter, required what their purpose was, or whither they would have him go. They answered, that by the occasion of a man there found drowned, the coroner's inquest was called and charged to sit upon him, of which inquest he must of necessity be one, &c. He endeavoured to excuse himself, alledging that he had no skill, and

less experience in such matters; and if it would please them to let him go, they would meet with another more sit for their purpose. But when with this they would not be satisfied, he further urged, that he was a scholar in the university of Oxford, and thereby was privileged from being of any inquest. The coronor demanded the sight of his privilege. He said, if he would give him leave, he would fetch it. Then said the coron••r, The queen must be served without delay; and so constrained him to be at the hearing of the matter. Then a book was offered him to swear upon; up+on his opening it, he found it to be a popish prim|mer, and refused to swear thereon, and declared moreover what superstition in the book was con|tained. What, said the coroner, I think we shall have an heretic among us. And upon that, after much reasoning, he was committed to the custody of an officer till further examinations: by occasion whereof he hardly could have escaped, had not the Lord helped where man was not able. What fol+lowed? As they were thus contending about mat|ters of heresy, suddenly cometh the coroner of the admiralty, disannulling and repealing the order and calling of that inquest, for that it was (as he said) pertaining to his office; and therefore the other coroner and his company in that place had nothing to do. And so the first coroner was discharged and displaced: By reason whereof Mr. Bentham escaped their hands.

EDWARD BENNET.

ABOUT the second year of queen Mary, Ed|ward Bennet, then dwelling at Queenhithe, was desired by Mr. Tingle, then prisoner in New|gate, to bring him a New Testament. He pro|curing one of Mr. Coverdale's translation, wrapt it in a handkerchief, saying to George the keeper, who asked him what he had, that it was a piece of powdered beef. Let me see it, said he. Perceiving what it was, he brought him to sir Roger Cholm|ley, who examined him why he did so, saying that book was not lawful, and so committed him to Woodstreet Compter, where he continued twenty five weeks.

DR. Story coming to the prison to examine other prisoners, this Bennet looking out at the grate, spake to him, desiring him to be good unto him, and to help in out, for he had long lain in prison. To whom Dr. Story answered, Wast thou not before me in Christ's church? Yes, forsooth, said Ben|net, Ah, said Story, thou dost not believe in the sacrament of the altar? Marry, I will help thee out: come, said he to the keeper, turn him out. I will help him; and so took Bennet with him, and brought him to Cl••ny, in Paternoster-row, and bade him bring him to the Coal-house, and there he was in the stocks a week.

THEN the bishop sent for him to talk with him, and first asked him if he were confessed? No, said Bennet. He asked him if he would be confessed? No, said he. Then he asked him if the priest could take away his sins. No, said Bennet, I do not so believe.

THEN he and Harpsfield laughed at him, and mocked him, asking him if he did not believe that whatsoever the priest here bound in earth, should be bound in heaven, and whatsoever he looseth in earth, should be loosed in heaven. No, said Ben|net; but I believe that the minister of God, preaching God's word truly, and administering the sacraments according to the same, whatsoever he bindeth on earth, should be bound in heaven, and whatso••ver he looseth, &c. Then the bishop put|ting him aside, said he should go to Fulham and be whipped.

MR. Buswell, a priest, then came to him lying in the Coal house, in the stocks, and brought Cran|mer's r••cantation, saying, that he had recanted. My faith, said the other, lieth in no man's book, but in him that hath redeemed me. The next Sa|turday, Bennet with five others were called for to come to mass in the chapel. The mass being done, and they coming out, five of them went to prison, and were afterwards burned. Bennet being be|hind, and coming toward the gate, the port••r opening to a company going out, asked if there were no prisoners there. No, said they. Bennet standing in open sight before him, with other serv|ing men who were there by reason that Bonner made many priests that day, when the gates were opened, went amongst them and so esc••ped.

AGAIN, in the last year of queen Mary, the same Bennet being taken again with the twenty••four be|yond Islington, and brought to sir Roger Cholm|ley's, the people coming very thick, did cut off some of them, to the number of eight, which were behind, among whom was Bennet. Then he knocked at the gate to come in, the porter said, that he was none of the company. He said, Yes, and knocked again. Then there stood by one of the congregation, named Johnson, who said, Ed|ward, thou hast done well, do not tempt God: go thy way. And so he taking the warning as sent of God, with a quiet conscience escaped burn|ing.

JEFFERY HURST, Brother-in-law to George Marsh, Martyr.

IN the town of Shakerley, in Lancashire, dwelt one Jeffery Hurst, the son of an honest yeoman, who had besides him eleven children, the said Jef|fery being at the first and eldest: and their father being willing to bring them up, so that they should be able another day to help themselves, he did bind this Jeffery apprentice unto the craft of nailing, to make all kind of nails, which occupation he learned, and served out the time of seven years, which being expired he gave himself at times to learn of his other brethren which went to school; and as he was very willing to the same, so God sent him know|ledge; wherein he persevered and went forwards in such sort, that he could write and read indiffer|ently, and in longer continuance came by more knowledge; and so having the Bible and divers other books in his house, did come to knowledge in the scripture. After this he took to wife the sister of Mr. George Marsh, of whose martyrdom mention is made before, and being very familiar with him, did greatly amend his knowledge. Now when queen Mary was entered the first year of her reign, he kept himself away from their doings and came not to church: whereupon he was laid i•• wait for and called heretic, and Lollard, and so for fear of further danger he was compelled to leave his wife and child, and fly into Yorkshire, and there being not known, did lead his life, returning some|times by night to comfort his wife, and bringing with him some preacher or other, who used to preach unto them so long as the time would serve, and so departed by night again. The names of the preachers were, Mr. Reneses, Mr. Best, Mr. Brodbank••, Mr. Russel, and every time they came thither they were about twenty or twenty-four sometimes, but sixteen at least, who had there also a communion. And thus in much fear did he with others lead his life, till the last year of the reign of queen Mary. Then it chanced that the said Jef|fery Hurst, after the death of his father, came home and kept close for seven or eight weeks.

THERE dwelt not far off, at Morless, a certain justice of the peace, and of the quorum, named Thomas Lelond, who hearing of him, appointed a time to come to his father's house where he then dwelt, to rifle the house for books, and to search for him also, and so he did. Jeffery and his com|pany having knowledge of their coming, took the books which were in the house, as the Bible, the communion book, and the New Testament of Tin|dal's translation, and divers others, and threw them all underneath a ••ub or fat, conveying also the said Jeffery under the same, with a great deal of straw underneath him; for as it chanced they had the more time, because when the justice came almost to the door, he stayed and would not enter the house till he had sent for Hurst's mother's landlady, Mrs. Shakerley; and then with her consent intended to go forwards. In the mean time, Jeffery by such as were with him, was willed to lay in his window the Testament of Tindal's translation, and a little book containing the third part of the Bible, with the book of Ecclesiasticus, to try what they would say unto them.

THIS done, Mrs. Shakerley came. Unto whom the justice immediately declared the cause of his coming, and how he was sorry to attempt any such thing against any of her tenants for her sake, but notwithstanding he must needs execute his office. And again you must (said he) note this, that a scab|bed sheep is able to infect a great number; and especially having, as he hath, so many brethren and sisters, he is able to ma••r them all, if he be not looked to in time. And thus concluding, Mr. Lel••nd entered into the house, and being come in, set himself in a chair in the middle of the house; and sending sir Ralph Parkinson, his priest, and one of his men, and one of Mrs. Shakerley's men,

about the house, to search and rifle the chests (who did so), in the mean time he talked with Hurst's mother, almost sixty years of age; and chiding with her that she would suffer her son so to order and behave himself like an heretic, said. Thou old fool. I know myself that this new learning shall come again; but for how long? even for three or four months, and no longer. But I will lay thee, old fool, in Lancaster dungeon for this, and well worthy.

NOW as concerning the searchers, they found nothing but Latin books, as a grammar, and such like. These be not what we look for (said they)▪ we must see farther, and so looked into Hurst's chamber, where they found the foresaid books. Then sir Ralph taking up the Testament, looked on it, and smiled. His master seeing that, said, Now, sir Ralph, what have we hear? Forsooth, saith he, a Testament of Tindal's translation, plain heresy, and none worse than it. Then said he, all their goods are lost to the queen, and their bodies to prison, and was wonderfully hasty; notwithstand|ing, through the means of Mrs. Shakerley, he was content to stay a little.

THEN the priest looked on the other book.— What say you to that, sir Ralph? is that as bad as the other? No, said he, but it is not good that they should have such English books to look on, for this and such others may do much harm. Then he asked his mother where her eldest son was, and her daughter Alice. She answered, she could not tell; they had not been with her along time. And he swore by God's body, he would make her tell wh••••e they were or he would lay her in Lancaster dungeon; and yet he would have them notwith|standin•• t••o. To be short, for fear, he had his brothe•• J. Hurst and his mother bound in an hun|dred pounds to bring the parties before him in fourteen days time, and so he departed, and the priest put both the books in his bosom, and carried them away with him. Then John Hurst went af…ter them▪ desiring that he might have the book w••ich the priest found no fault with; but he said, they should answer to them both, and which soever was the better, neither was good.

AS this passed on, when the time was come that Jeffery Hurst and his sister should be examined, the justice sent for them betimes in the morning, and had prepared a mass to begin withal, asking Jeffery Hurst if he would first go and see his Maker, and then he would talk further with him. To whom Jeffery answered and said, Sir, my Ma|ker is in heaven, and I am assured in going to your mass I shall find no edification thereby; and there|fore I pray you hold me excused.

WELL, well, said he, I perceive I shall find you an heretic, by God; but I will go to mass, and I will not lose it for all your p••attling. Then he went into his chapel, and when mass was done he sent for them, and caused his pr••est to read a scroll unto them concerning the seven sacraments; and ever as he spake of the body and blood of Christ, he put off his cap, and said, Lo, you may see, you will deny these things, and care not for your prince; but you shall feel it before I have done with you, and all the faculty of you, with other talk more between them, I know not what; but in the end they were licensed to depart under sureties to ap|pear again before him within three weeks, and the•• to go to Lancaster. However, in the mean time it so pleased God, that within four days of the day appointed, it was noised that the queen was dead, and within fourteen days after the said Jeffery Hurst had his two books sent home, and nothing was said unto him.

IT followed after this that God's word began to take place, and the queen's visitors came down into that country, who chose four men in the parish, to wit, Simon Smith, Jeffery Hurst, Henry Brown, George Eccersley, which four were protestants, to see the queen's proceedings take place; who accord|ing to their power did so, notwithstanding it little prevailed; and therefore the said Jeffery being so•••• grieved with the office, fell sick, in which sickness it pleased God to call him, making a very godly end, God have the praise for it.

NOW to return to the aforesaid Thomas Lelond again, he continuing still in office, did very seldom come to the church, but said he was aged, and might not labour, and there kept with him sir Ralph Parkinson, his priest, who could (as it was sa••d) administer the communion unto the people, and

sing mass unto his master: yes, and (as the same reported) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a prettier feat than all that, for he begat two children by a servant in his house, his master knowing it, and saying nothing, for that he would lose his good mass-priest.

FURTHERMORE, this was noted in the same justice Lelond's behaviour at church time, that he had a little dog which he would play with all service time, and the same dog had a collar full of bells, so that the noise of them molested and troubled others as well as himself from hearing the service. Also it was observed in the same justice, that as he sat in his chapel at service time, his manner was on a wil|low ba••k to knit knots, for that he could not be suffered to have his beads, and to put the same upon a string also. Witness hereof Edward Hurst, with others.

FURTHERMORE, as concerning Henry Brown, one of the four chosen men before-mentioned, this is also to be noted, that the said Henry Brown, dwelling in the town of Pinnington, in the same parish, 1564, had a little boy, who as he was play|ing in the town, one Glave's wife gave unto the boy a pair of beads made of wood for him to play withal. The boy, being glad thereof to have such a fine thing, went home and shewed them to his father. His father seeing the beads, took them and burnt them, and when he had so done, went forth and asked who had given unto his little boy that pair of beads.

THAT I did, said Glave's wife.

WELL, said he, I have burnt them.

HAST thou so? said she, and thrust him from her. They shall be the dearest beads that ever thou sawest, and immediately went and com|plained unto the justice, how Brown had burned her beads.

AT this the justice was very angry, and directed his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 unto the constables of the same town, by his own hand subscribed.

This done, the constables according to their charge brought him before the justice at the time appointed; and when the justice came to talk with him, he was in such a heat, that he called him thief, and said that he had robbed his neighbour in burning of her beads, and that there were rings and other jewels on them, and that he might as well have picked her purse; wherefore (said he) I will lay thee in Lancaster dungeon for this trick.

WHILST they were thus talking, there came all his servants about them from their work, saying, Is this master doctor Brown, that will burn beads? I pray you, sir, let us have him here and preach: I will give you a quarter's wages, saith one; and I will give money, saith another, and he shall be mas|ter doctor, with much derision and scoffing at this poor man.

HE hearing this, spake again boldly, and said, Did you send for me to make a laughing-stock of me? You be in office, and ought rather to come to the church, and see such papistry abolished yourself, than thus to trouble me for doing my duty: but I tell you plainly, that you do not come to church as you ought to do, and therefore with more things that I have to charge you withal, I say you do not well. When all this misdemeanour by the justice laid to his charge would not prev••il, and also a witness came in of the papist who knew the beads, and testified that they were plain, and cost but a half-penny, he then went into his parlour in a pas|sion, and one master Exburston, a papist, with ••im; which Exburston turned back, and said, Is it you, Henry Brown, that maketh this stir? You are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of them that pulled down crosses in the church, and pull••d down the rood-sollor, and all the saints; you were best now to go paint a black devil, and set him up and worship him, for that will serve well for your religion. And thus, under suretyship, he de|parted till July following, and then he should go to Lancaster prison, and so he came away.

THE time drew on that he should appear, but God stayed the matter, and in July as the aforesaid Thomas Lelond sat in his chair talking with his friends, he fell down suddenly dead, not much mov|ing any joint: and thus was his end; from such God defend us.

WILLIAM WOOD, of Kent.

WILLIAM WOOD, baker, dwelling in the county of Kent, was examined before Dr. Ken••ll, chancellor of the diocese of Rochester▪ Dr. Chedsey, the mayor of Rochester, and Mr. Robin|son, the scribe, on the 19th day of October, and in the second year of queen Mary, in St. Nicholas church in Rochester.

Scribe.

William Wood, you are presented be|cause you will no•• come to the church, nor receive the blessed sacrament of the altar. How say you? Have you received, or have you not?

Wood.

I have not received it, nor dare I receive it, as you minister it.

Kenall.

Thou heretic, what is the cause that thou hast not received the blessed sacrament of the altar? And at this word they all put off their caps, and made low obeisance.

Wood.

There are three causes that make my conscience afraid that I dare not receive it. The first, Christ did deliver it to his twelve apostles and said, Take, eat and drink ye all of this, &c. and ye eat and drink up all alone. The second cause is; you hold it to be worshipped, contrary to God's commandment, Thou shalt not bow down nor worship. The third cause is; you administer it in a strange tongue, contrary to St. Paul's doctrine, I would rather have five words with understanding, than ten thousand with tongues: by reason where|of the people be ignorant of the death of Christ.

Kenall.

Thou heretic, wilt thou have any plain|er words than these, "Take, eat, this is my body?" Wilt thou deny the scriptures?

Wood.

I will not deny the holy scriptures, God forbid, but with my heart I do faithfully believe them. St. Paul saith, "God calleth those things that are not, as though they were:" and Christ saith, "I am a vine: I am a door." St. Paul saith, "The rock is Christ:" All which are figu|rative speeches, wherein one thing is spoken, and another thing is understood.

Robinson.

You make a very long talk of this matter: learn, Wood, learn.

Kenall.

Nay, these heretics will not learn: look how this heretic glorieth in himself: thou fool, art thou wiser than the queen and her council, and all the learned men of this realm?

Wood.

And please you, Mr. Chancellor, I think you would be loth to have such glory, to have your life and goods taken away, and to be thus called upon, as you rail upon me. But the se••vant is not greater than his master. And where you do mock me, and say that I am wiser than the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and her council, St. Paul saith, "The wisdom 〈…〉〈…〉 wise of this world is foolishness before God, and ••e that will be wise in this world, shall be accounted but a fool."

Kenall.

Dost ••ot thou believe that after these words spoken by a priest, Hoc est corpus meum, "this is my body;" there remaineth no more bread and wine, but the very flesh and blood of Christ, as he was born of the virgin Mary, really and substantial|ly, in quantity and quality, as he did hang upon the cross?

Wood.

I pray you, Mr. Chancellor, give me leave, for my learning, to ask you one question, and I will answer you after.

Kenall.

It is some wise question, I warrant you.

Wood.

God spake to the prophet Ezekiel, say|ing, "Thou son of man, take a razor, and shave off the hair of thy head, and take one part and cast it into the air, take the second part and put it into thy coat lap; and take the third part, and cast it into the fire: and this is Jerusalem." I pray you, Mr. Chancellor, was this hair ••hat the pro|phet did cast into the fire, or was it Jerusalem?

Kenall.

It did signify Jerusalem.

Wood.

Even so this word of Christ, "This is my body," is not to be understood, that Christ's carnal, natural and real body is in the same, in quantity and quality as it was born of the virgin Mary, and as he was crucified on the cross, is pre|sent

or inclosed in the sacrament: but it doth signi|fy Christ's ••ody, as St. Paul saith, "So oft as ye eat of this bread, and drink of this cup, you shall shew forth the Lord's death till he come." What should the apostle mean by this word, "Till he come," if he were here carnally, naturally, corpo|rally, and really, in the same quantity and quality as he was born of the virgin Mary, and as he did hang on the cross, as you 〈…〉〈…〉 St. Paul saith, "You shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Lord's death till he come." This doth argue, that he is not here as you would have us to believe.

Cheds••y.

I will prove that Christ is here present under the form of bread, but not in quantity and quality.

Kenall.

Yes, he is here present in quantity and quality.

Chedsey.

He is her•• present under a form, and not in quantity and quality.

Y••s said Kenall.

No, said Chedsey.

I will prove him here in quantity and quality, said Kenall.

I will prove the contrary, said Chedsey.

AND these two doctors were so earnest in this matter, the one to affirm, the other to deny, con|tending so fiercely one with the other, that they foamed at the mouth, and one was ready to spit in another's face, so that in great fury and rage the two doctors rose up from the judgment seat, and Dr. Kenall departed out of the church in great rage and fury immediately.

Wood.

Behold, good people, they would have us to believe, that Christ is naturally, really, in quantity and quality, present in the sacrament, and yet they cannot tell themselves, nor agree within themselves how he is there.

AT these words the people made a great shout, and the mayor stood up and commanded the people to be quiet, and to ke••p silence. And the God that did deliver St. Paul out of the hands of the high priests, by the contention that was between the pharisees and sadducees, did even so deliver me at that time out of the mouths of the bloody papists, by means of the contention of these two doctors. Blessed be the name of the Lord, who hath promis|ed to lay no more upon his people than he will enable them to bear, and in the midst of temptation can make a way for them (how, and when it pleas|eth him) to escape out of all dangers.

MANY other like examples of God's helping hand have been declared upon his elect saints and children, a remarkable instance of which may be seen in Simon Grinaeus, mentioned in the commen|tary of Melancthon, in his own words as follow|eth.

The History of SIMON GRINAEUS, collected out of Melancthon's Commentaries upon the tenth Chap|ter of Daniel.

WHEN I was (saith he) at the assembly hol|den at Spire, in the year of our Lord 1539, by chance Simon Grinaeus came thither unto me from the university of Heidelberg, where he heard Faber, the bishop of Vienna, in a sermon, defend and maintain many testable errors. When the ser|mon was done, he followed Faber out of the church, and saluted him reverently, telling him that he had something to say to him: the bishop was willing to talk with him.

THEN Grinaeus said unto him, that he was very sorry that a man of such learning and authority should openly maintain such errors as were both contumelious against God, and also might be re|futed by the manifest testimonies of the scriptures. Ireneus writeth, (saith he) that Polycarpus was wont to stop his ears whensoever he heard any er|roneous and wicked doctrine. With what mind then (think you) would Polycarpus have heard you argue and reason what it is that the mouse eateth, when he gnaweth the consecrated host? Who would not bewail such ignorance and blind|ness of the church? With this the bishop brokeoff

his talk, and asked his name. This man, dissem|bling nothing, gently told him that his name was Grinaeus.

THIS bishop, as many well know, was also timo|rous and fearful in the company of learned men. Wherefore he fearing the learning, eloquence, and fervent zeal of Grinaeus, especially in such a mat|ter as this was, fained as though he had been sent for by the king, and that he had no leisure now to reason upon this matter. He pretended that he was very desirous of acquaintance and longer talk with Grinaeus, intreating him, that, both for his own private cause, and also for the common-wealth, he would come again the next day unto him, and so shewed him his lodging, and appointed him an hour when he should come. Grinaeus, thinking that he had spoken unfeignedly, promised so to do

WHEN he was departed from the bishop, he im|mediately came to us, and was scarcely sat at the table (for it was supper-time) reciting part of the talk he had with the bishop unto me and others there present, when, sitting with my company, I was suddenly called out of the parlour by a certain ancient fatherly man, who shewing a singular gravi|ty in his countenance, words, and behaviour, spake unto me, and said, that the serjeants would by and by come unto our lodging, being sent by the king's command, to carry Grinaeus to prison, whom the bishop had accused to the king; commanding that Grinaeus should immediately depart out of the town; and exhorted me, that we should in no case delay the time: and so bidding me farewel, depart|ed. But what old man this was, I neither kn••w then, nor ever after could understand. I returning again to my company, bade them arise, and told them what the old man had said unto me.

BY and by, we taking Grinaeus in the midst of us, carried him through the street to the River Rhine; and after we had stayed upon the hither bank awhile, until Grinaeus with his companion were carried over in a small boat, returning again to our lodging, we understood that the serjeants had been there, when we were but a little way gone out of the house. Now in what danger Grinaeus would have been, if he had been carried to prison by this cruelty of the bishop, every man easily may conjecture: wherefore we judged that that most cruel intent and purpose of his was disappointed by God's merciful providence. And as I cannot say what old man it was that gave me that warning, even so likewise the serjeants made such quick speed, that, except Grinaeus had been covered and defended by the angels, through the marvellous providence of God, he could never have escaped.

CONCERNING the truth of this matter, there are many good men yet alive who know the same, and also were present when this circumstance happened. Therefore let us give thanks unto God, who hath given us his angels to be our keepers and defenders, whereby with more quiet minds we may fulfil and do the office of our vocation.

WITH such like examples of God's mighty and merciful custody, the church of Christ in all ages abounds, as by manifold experience appears, as well among the Germans, as in other places and ages: but in no place more, nor at any time more plentiful, than in the persecuting time of queen Mary, in this realm of England, as partly hath been already shewn, and will hereunto be added.

The Lady Catherine, Duchess of Suffolk.

STEPHEN GARDINER, bishop of Win|chester, surmissing the lady Catherine▪ baron|ess of Willoughby and Eresby, and duchess dowa|ger of Suffolk, to be one of his ancient enemies, because he knew he had deserved no better of her, devised, in the holy time of the first Lent in queen Mary's reign, a holy practice of revenge, first, by touching her in the person of her husband, Richard Berty, esquire, for whom he sent an attachment (having the great seal at his devotion) to the sheriff of Lincolnshire, with a special letter, commanding most strictly the same sheriff to attach the said Richard immediately, and without bail to bring

him up to London to his Lordship. Mr. Berty being clear in conscience, and free from offence to|ward the queen, could not conjecture any cause of this strange process, unless it were some quarrel for religion, which he thought could not be so sore as the process pretended.

THE sheriff, notwithstanding the commandment, adventured only to take a bond of Mr. Berty, with two sureties, in a thousand pounds for his ap|pearance before the bishop on Good Friday fol|lowing; at which day Mr. Berty appeared, the bishop then being at his house by St. Mary Ove|ry's. Of whose presenc••, when the bishop under|stood by a gentleman of his chamber, he c••me out of his gallery into his dining-chamber in a great rage, where he found a crowd of suitors, saying he would not that day hear any, but came forth only to know of Mr. Berty, how he, being a subject, durst so arrogantly set at light two former processes of the queen.

MR. BERTY answered, that notwithstanding my lord's words might seem to the rest somewhat sharp towards him, yet he conceived great comfort of them. For whereas he before thought it extremely hard to be attached, having used no obstinacy or contumacy, now he gathered of those words, that my lord meant not otherwise but to have used some ordinary process: none, however, came to his hands.

YEA, marry, said the bishop, I have sent you two subpoenas to appear immediately, and I am sure you received them, for I committed the trust of them to no worse a man than Mr. Solicitor; and I shall make you an example to all Lincolnshire for your obstinacy.

MR BERTY denying the receipt of any subpoena, humbly prayed his lordship to suspend his displea|sure and the punishment till he had good trial thereof, and th••n, if it please him, to double the pain for the fault, if any were.

WELL, said the bishop, I have appointed myself this day (according to the holiness of the same) for devotion, and I will not further trouble myself with you; but I injoin you in a thousand pounds not to depart without leave, and to be here again to-morrow at seven of the clock. Mr. Berty came at the time appointed, at which time the bishop had with him Mr. Serjeant Stampford, to whom he moved certain questions of the said Mr. Berty, be|cause Mr. Serjeant was towards the lord Wriothes|ley, late earl of Southampton▪ and chancellor of England, with whom the said Mr. Berty was brought up. Mr. Serjeant gave a very friendly account of Mr. Berty, of his own knowledge, for the time of their conversation together. Where|upon the bishop caused Mr. Berty to be brought in, and first making a false train (as God would, without fire) before he would descend to the quar|rel of religion, he assualted him in this manner.

Bishop of Winchester.

The queen's p••easure is, that you shall make present payment of 4000 pounds, due to her father by duke Charles, late husband to the duchess your wife, whose executor she was.

Berty.

Pleaseth it your lordship, that debt is installed, and is, according to that instalment, truly answered.

Bishop.

Tush, the queen will not be bound to instalments in the time of Kett's government: for so I esteem the late government.

Berty.

The instalment was appointed by king Henry the Eighth: besides, the same was, by special commissioners, confirmed in king Edward's time; and the lord treasurer being an executor also to the duke Charles, solely and wholly, took upon him, before the said commissioners, to discharge the same.

Bishop.

If it be true that you say, I will shew you savour. But of another thing, Mr. Berty, I will admonish you, as meaning you well. I hear evil of your religion, yet I can hardly think evil of you, whose mother I know to be as godly a catholic as any within this land; yourself brought up with a master, whose education, if I should disallow, I might be charged as author of his error. Besides, partly I know you myself, and understand of my friends enough to make me your friend: wherefore I will not doubt of you; but I pray you, if I may

ask the question of my lady your wife, is she now as ready to set up the mass, as she was lately to pull it down, when she caused, in her progress▪ a dog to be carried in a rochet, and called by my name? or doth she think her lambs now safe enough, who said to me, when I vailed my bonnet to her ••ut of my chamber window in the Tower▪ That it was merry with the lambs, now the wolf was shut up? Another time, my lord, her husband, having invit|ed me and divers ladies to dinner, desired every la|dy to chuse him whom she loved best, and so place themselves: my lady your wife, taking me by the hand, for my lord would not have her to take him|self, said, That, forasmuch as she could not sit down with my lord, whom she loved best, she had chosen him whom she loved worst.

OF the device of the dog, quoth Mr. Berty, she was neither the author nor the allower. The words, though in that season they sounded bitter to your lordship, yet if it would please you, without offence, to know the cause, I am sure the one ••ill clear the other. As touching setting up of mass, which she learned, not only by strong persuasions of divers ex|cellent learned men, but by universal consent and or|der▪ these six years past, inwardly to abhor, if she should outwardly allow, she should both to Christ shew herself a false christian, and to her prince a masquing subject. You know, my lord, one by judgment reformed, is more worth than a thousand transformed temporisers. To force a confession of religion by mouth, contrary to that in the heart, worketh damnation where salvation is pretended.

YEA, marry, quoth the bishop, that deliberation would do well, if she were required to come from an old religion to a new: but now she is to return from a new to an ancient religion, wherein, when she made me her gossip, she was as earnest as any.

FOR that, my lord, (said Mr. Berty) not long since she answered a friend of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, using your lordship's speech, That 〈…〉〈…〉 not by age▪ but by truth: and therefore she was to be turned by persuasion, and not by commandment.

I pray you, (〈◊〉〈◊〉 the bishop) th••••k you 〈…〉〈…〉 to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her?

YEA verily (said Mr. Berty) with the truth: for she is reasonable enough.

THE bishop, in reply to this, said, It will be a marvellous grief to the prince of Spain, and to all the nobility that shall come with him, when they shall find but two noble personages of the Spanish race within this land, the queen and my lady your wife, and one of them gone from the faith.

MR. Berty answered, that he trusted they should find no fruits of infidelity in her.

THE bishop then persuaded Mr. Berty to labo•••• earnestly for the reformation of her opinion, and offering large friendship, released him of his bond from further appearance.

THE dutchess and her husband, from the daily accounts which they received from their friends, understanding that the bishop meant to call her to an account of her faith, whereby extremity might follow, devised how they might pass the seas by the queen's licence. Mr. Berty had a ready means; for there remained great sums of money due to the old duke of Suffolk (one of whose executors the dutchess was) beyond the seas, the emperor himself being one of those debtors.

MR. Berty communicated this his purposed suit for licence to pass the seas, and the cause, to the bishop, adding, that he took this to be the most proper time to deal with the emperor, by reason of likelihood of marriage between the queen and his son.

I like your device well, said the bishop, but I think it better that you tarry the prince's 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and I will procure you his letters also to his fath••r.

NAY, said Mr. Berty, under your lordship's cor|••••ction, and pardon for so liberal speech, I suppose the ••••me will then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 less convenient; for when the 〈…〉〈…〉, the emperor hath 〈…〉〈…〉, but till then he will refuse nothing to win 〈…〉〈…〉 with us.

〈…〉〈…〉 said the ••••shop, sm••••••ng, you guess 〈…〉〈…〉 to the queen, 〈…〉〈…〉.

MR. Berty found so good success, that he ob|tained the queen's licence, not only to pass the seas, but to pass and repass them as often as he should think proper, till he had finished his business be|yond the seas. He accordingly emba••ked at Do|ver, about the beginning of June, in the first year of her reign, leaving the duchess behind, who, by agreement with her husband, followed, taking barge at Lion-key, very early in the morning of the first of January ensuing, not without some danger.

NONE of the persons who accompanied her, ex|cept Mr. Robert-Cranwell, an old gentleman, whom Mr. Betty had provided for that purpose, were made priv••y to her departure till the instant. She took her daughter with her, an infant of one year old, and the meanest of her servants, for she ima|gined the best would not adventure that fortune with her. They were in number four men, one a Greek born, who was a rider of horses, another a ••••iner, the third a brewer, the fourth a fool, a kitchen-maid, a gentlewomen, and a laundress.

AS she departed her house called the Barbican, between four and five o'clock in the morning, with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 company and baggage, one Atkenson, a herald, keeper of her house, hearing a noise, rose and came out with a torch in his hand, as she was going out of the gate; wherewith being amazed, she was forced to leave a mail with necessaries for her young daughter, and a milk-pot with milk, in the same gate-house, commanding all her servants to hasten forward to Lion-key: and taking with her only the two women and her child, as soon as she was clear of her own house, perceiving the herald to ••ol••ow, she stept into the charter-house just by. The he|rald coming out of the duches••'s house, and seeing nobody stirring, nor assured (though by the mail suspecting) that she was departed, returned in; and while he was searching the parcels left in the mail, the dutchess issued into the streets, and proceeded on her ••ourney, she knowing the place only by name where she should take her boat, but not the way thither, nor any that was with her. Likewise her servants having divided themselves, none but one knew the way to the said Lion key.

SO she appeared like a mean merchant's wife, and the rest like mean servants, walking in the streets unknown, she took the way that leads to Finsbury field, and the others walked the city streets as they lay open before them, till by chance, more than discretion, they met all suddenly toge|ther a little within Moregate, from whence they passed directly to Lion-key, and there took barge in a morning so misty, that the steer's man was loth to launch out, but that they urged him. So soon as the day permitted, the council was informed of her departure, and some of them came forthwith to her house to inquire of the manner thereof, and took an inventory of her goods, besides further order devised for search and watch to apprehend and stay her.

THE fame of her departure reached Leigh, a town at the Land's End, before her approaching thither. By Leigh dwelt one Gosling, a merchant of London, an old acquaintance of Cranwell's, whither the said Cranwell brought the dutchess, naming her Mrs. White, the daughter of Mr. Gosling, for such a daughter he had who never was in that country. She there reposed herself, and made new garments for her daughter, having lost her own in the mail at Barbican.

WHEN the time came that she should take ship, being constrained that night to lie at an inn in Leigh, (where she was again almost betrayed) yet notwithstanding by God's good working she es|caped that hazard; at length, as the tide and wind served, they went on board, and carried twice into the seas, almost into the coast of Zealand, by contra|ry wind were driven to the place from whence they came; and at the last recoil, certain persons came to the shore, suspecting she was within that ship; yet having examined one of her company that was on shore for f••esh provision, and finding by the simpl••city of his tale only the appearance of a mean merchant's wise to be on ship-board, he ceased to search any further.

TO be short, so soon as the dutchess had landed in Brabant, she and her women were apparelled like the women of the Netherlands with hooks; and so she and her husband took their journey to|wards Cleveland, and being arrived at a town call|ed Santon, took a house there, until they might

further devise of some sure place where to settle themselves.

ABOUT five miles from Santon, is a free town called 〈◊〉〈◊〉, under the said Duke of Cleve's do|minion, and one of the Hans-towns, privileged with the company of the Steel-yard in London, whither div••••s Walloons were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for religion, and had for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 minister one Francis Perusell, then called Francis de Rivers, who hast received some courtesy in England at the duchess's hands. Mr. Berty being yet at Santon, practised wi••h him to obtain a p••otection from the magistrates for his, and his wife's abode at Wesell; which was the sooner procured, because the state of the duchess was not discovered, but only to the chief magistrate, earnestly bent to shew them pleasure, while this protection was in seeking.

IN the mean while at the town of Santon was a muttering, that that the duchess and her husband were greater personages than they gave themselves forth: and the magistrates not very well inclined to religion, the bishop of Arras also being dean of the great minster, orders were taken that the duch|ess and her husband should he examined of th••ir condition and religion upon a sudd••n. Which be|ing biscovered by a gentleman of that country to Mr. Berty, he without delay taking no more than the duchess, her daughter, and two others with them, as though he meant no more than to t••ke the air, about three o'clock in the afternoon in February on foot, without hiring either horse or waggon, for fear of disclosing his purpose, meant privily that night to get to Wesell, leaving the rest of his family at Santon.

AFTER they had travelled one English mile from the towm, th••re fell a mighty rain of continuance, whereby a long frost and ice before congealed, was thawed, which doubled more the weariness of those new lacquies. But being now on the way, and overtaken with the night, they sent their two servants (which only went with them) to a vill••ge as they passed, to hire a carr for their ••ase, but none could be hired. In the mean time Mr. Berty was forced to carry the child, and the duchess h••s cloak and ••apie••. At last, between 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ and seven o'clock of a dark night, they came to Wesell, and repairing to the inns for lodging, and some repose after such a painful journey, found hard entertainment; for going from inn to inn, offering 〈…〉〈…〉 of money for a small lodging, they were refused by all the inn holders, suspecting Mr. Berty to be a launce-knight, and the duchess to be his woman. The child for cold and sustenance cried pitifully, the mo|ther wept as fast, and the heavens rained as fast as the clouds could pour.

MR. Berty, destitute of all other succour of hos|pitality, res••lved to bring the duchess to the porch of the great church in the town, and so to buy coals, victuals, and straw for their miserabl•• repose there that night, or at least till by God's help he might provide her b••tter lodging. Mr. Berty at that time understood not much Du••ch, and by reason of bad weather and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 season of the night, he could not happen upon any that could speak Eng|lish, French, Italian, or Latin, till at last going to|w••rds the church-porch, he heard two striplings talking Latin, to whom he approached, and offer|ed them two stivers to bring him to some Walloon's house.

BY these boys, and God's good conduct, he chanced at the first upon the house where Mr. Pe|rusell supped that night, who had procured them the protection of the magistrates of that town. At the first knock, the good man of the house him|self came to the door, and opening it▪ asked Mr. Ber|ty what he was. Mr. Berty said, an Englishman, that sought for one Mr. Perusell's house. The Walloon desired Mr. Berty to stay a while, who went back, and told Mr. Perusell, that the same English Gentleman, of whom they talked at supper-time, had sen•• by likelihood his servant to speak with him. Whereupon Mr. Perusell came to the door, and beholding Mr. Berty, the duchess, and their child, their f••ces, app••rel•• and bodies so far from their old form, deformed with dirt, wea|ther, and heaviness, could not speak to them, nor they to him for tears. At 〈◊〉〈◊〉 recovering them|selves, they s••luted on•• another, and so together entered the house, 〈…〉〈…〉 Mr. Berty changing his apparel with the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the

duchess with the good wife, and their child with the child of the house.

WITHIN a few days after, by Mr. Perusell's means, they hired a very fair house in the town, and did not delay to shew themselves what they were, in such good sort as their present condition permitted. It was by this time through the whole town, what discourtesy the innholders had shewed unto them at their entry, insomuch that on the Sunday following a preacher in the pulpit openly in sharp terms rebuk|ed that great incivility towards strangers, by allega|tion of sundry places out of the holy scriptures, dis|coursing how not only princes somtimes are received in the image of private persons, but angels in the shape of men, and that God of his justice would make them strangers one day in another land, to have more sense of the afflicted heart of a stranger.

THE time thus passing forth, as they thought themselves thus happily settled, suddenly a watch|word came from sir John Mason, then queen Mary's ambassador in the Netherlands, that my lord Paget had feigned an errand to the baths that way: and whereas the duke of Brunswick was shortly with ten ensigns to pass by Wesell for the service of the house of Austria against the French king, the said duchess and her husband should be with the same company intercepted.

WHEREFORE to prevent the cruelty of these ene|mies, Mr. Berty with his wife and child departed to a place called Wincheim, under the Palsgrave's dominion; where under his protection they conti|nued till their necessaries began to fail them, and they, almost fainting under so heavy a burden, be|gan to fail of hope.

AT which time, in the midst of their dispair, there came suddenly to them, letters from the Pala|tine of Vilva, that the king of Poland was informed of their ha••d estate by a baron, named Joannes A|lasco, that was sometime in England, offering them great courtesy. This provision unlooked for, great|ly revived their heavy spi••ts. Yet considering they should remove from many of their countrymen and acquaintance, to a place so far distant, a country not frequented by the English, and perhaps upon their arrival not finding what they looked for, the end of their journey should be worse than the begining, they advised thereupon with one Mr. Carloe, late bishop of Chichester, that if he would vouchsafe to take some pains therein, they would make him a fellow of that journey. So finding him agreeable they sent with him letters of great thanks to the king and Palatine, and also a few principal jewels (which only they had left of many), to solicit for them, that the king would vouchsafe under his seal, to assure them of the thing which he so honora|bly by letters had offered.

THAT favour, by the forwardness of the Palatine, was as soon granted as uttered. Upon which as|surance the said duchess and her husband, with their family, began their journey in April, 1557, from the castle of Wineheim, where they before lay, towards Frankfort. In which their journey, it were too long here to discribe what dangers fell by the way, upon them and their whole company, by reason of the Landgrave's captain, who, under a quarrel, pretended for a spaniel of Mr. Berty's, set upon them in the highway with his horsemen, thrusting their boar-spears through the waggon where the women and children were, Master Ber|ty having but four horsemen along with him. In which scuffle it happened that the captain's horse was slain under him.

WHEREUPON a rumour was spread immediately through the towns and villages, about, that the Landgrave's captain should be slain by certain Walloons, which exasperated the countrymen the more fiercely against Mr. Berty, as afterward it proved. For as he was motioned by his wife to save himself by the swiftness of his horse, and to re|cover some town thereby for his rescue, he so doing, was in worse case than before: for the townsmen and the captain's brother; supposing no less but that the captain had been slain, pressed so eagerly upon him, that he had been there taken and murdered among them, had not he (as God would have it) espied a ladder leaning to a window, by which he got into the house, and went up into the garret, where, with his dagger and rapier defended him|self for a time: but at length the burgh-master com|ing thither with another magistrate, who could

speak Latin, he was advised to submit himself to the order of the law. Mr. Berty knowing himself to be clear, and the captain to be alive, was the more bold to submit himself to the judgment of the law, upon condition that the magistrate would receive him under safe conduct, and defend him from the rage of the multitude. Which being promised, he willingly delivered up the weapons, and peaceably surrendered himself into the hands of the magis|trates, and so was committed to safe custody till the truth of his cause could be tried.

THEN Mr. Berty wrote a letter to the Land grave, and another to the earl of Erbagh, dwelling about eight miles off, who came early in the morn+ing to the town, where the duchess was brought with her waggon, Mr. Berty also being in the same town under custody.

THE earl, who had some intelligence before of the duchess, after he was come and had shewed her such courtesy as he thought belonged to her estate and dignity, the townsmen perceiving the earl be|have himself so humble to her, began to consider more of the matter, and further understanding the captain to be alive, both they and the authors of this stir, drew in their horns, shrunk away, and made all the friends they could to Mr. Berty and his lady, beseeching them not to report their doings after the worst manner.

AND thus Mr. Berty and his wife, escaping that danger, proceeded in their journey toward Poland, where in conclusion they were quietly entertained by the king, and placed honourably in the earldom of the said king of the Poles, in Sanogelia, called Crozan, where Mr. Berty with the duchsss, having the king's absolute power of government over the said earldom, continued in honour, peace and plen|ty, till the death of queen Mary.

THOMAS HORTON, Minister.

THOMAS HORTON used oftentimes to tra|vel between Germany and England, for the benefit and s••••tenance of the poor English exiles there: so he journeying on a time between Maest|richt and Cologn, chanced t•• be taken by certain rovers, and so being led by them away, was in no little danger: and yet this danger of his was not so great, but the present help of the Lord was greater to aid and deliver him out of the same.

THOMAS SPRAT, of Kent, Tanner.

HE had been some time a servant to one justice Brent, a heavy persecutor, and therefore for|saking his master for religion's sake, he went to Calais, (accompanied by one William Porrege, who was afterwards a minister) from whence they used often for their necessary affairs to have recourse to England.

IN the fourth year of queen Mary they landed at Dover, and taking their journey together toward Sandwich, suddenly upon the way, three miles from Dover, they happened to meet justice Brent, the two Blachendens, and other gentlemen with their servants, to the number of ten or twelve horses. One of the Blachendens happened to know William Porrege, the other had only heard of his name.

SPRAT first espying his master Brent, was much surprised, saying to his companion, yonder is Mr. Brent, God have mercy upon us. Well, quoth Porrege, seeing now there is no remedy, let us go on our way. And so thinking to pass by them, they kept themselves at a distance, Sprat also sha|dowing his face with his cloak.

ONE of Mr. Brent's servants knowing Sprat, cal|led out to his master, saying, yonder is Thomas Sprat; at which words they all stopt their horses, and called for Thomas Sprat to come to them. They call you, said William Porrege; now there is no remedy, but we are taken: and so would have persuaded him to go to them being called, for that there was no escaping from so many horsemen in those plains and downs, where was no wood near them by a mile, and but one hedge about a ••••one's throw off. All this notwithstanding, S••rat st••••d, and would not go. Then they called again, s••tting still on horseback. Ah, sirrah, quoth the justice, why come you not hither? And still his companion moved him to go, seeing there was no hope of get|ting away. Nay, said Sprat, I will not go to them; and therewith took to his legs, running to the hedge that was next him. They seeing that, 〈…〉〈…〉

their horses, thinking it impossible for him to es|cape their hands. When he got to the hedge, scrambling through the bushes, they were at his heels, and struck at him with their swords, one of the Blachendens (both of them haters of God's word) cruelly crying, Cut one of his legs off.

HE had no sooner got through the hedge, but one of justice Brent's servant's (a fellow that had some time been his fellow-servant) followed him on foot: the rest rode up the other side of the hedge to meet him at the end.

WHILE they were following Sprat, only one re|mained with William Porrege (which was one of the Blachendens, but not he that knew him), who began to question him, not asking what was his name (as God would have it) for then he had been known and taken: but from whence he came, and how he got into Sprat's company, and whither he was going; he answered, that he came from Cala|is, and Sprat came over with him in the passage-boat, and they were both going to Sandwich: and so without any more questions he let him depart. But to return.

AS Sprat was pursued on the one side of the hedge by his old fellow-servant in his boots, and on the other side by horsemen, his fellow servant cried out, You had as good tarry: for we will have you, we will have you: yet notwithstanding he still kept his course till he came to a steep down-hill at the end of the hedge, down which he ran from them, for the horsemen could not follow him without fetching a great compass about. After he had ran almost a mile he got to a wood, but by that time they were just behind him: but night coming on, and it be|gining to rain, they pursued him no further. And thus by the Providence of God they both got clear.

NOT long after this, one of the two cruel Bla|chendens was cruelly murdered by his own servant.

JOHN CORNET.

THIS young man was apprentice to a musician at Colchester, and being sent by his master 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a wedding (in the second year of queen Mary), in a town hard by, called Rough-hedge, was requested by a company there of good men (the constables being present), to sing some songs of the scripture: he happened to sing a song, called, News out of London, which tended against the mass, and a|gainst the queen's misproceedings.

WHEREUPON the next day he was accused by the parson of Rough-hedge, called Yacksley, and so committed first to the constable, where his master gave him over, and his mother forsook and cursed him. From thence he was sent to justice Cannall, and then to the earl of Oxford, where he was first put in irons and chains, and after that so manacled, that the blood spirted out of his fingers ends, be|cause he would not confess the names of those who allured him to sing. After that, he was again sent to Rough-hedge, and there whipped till the blood followed, and banished the town forever.

THOMAS BRYCE.

HE being in the house of John Seal, in the pa|rish of Horting, the bailiff and other neigh|bours were sent by Sir John Baker, to search for, and apprehend him, and though they perfectly knew his stature and the colour of his garments, yet then they had no power to know him, though he stood before their faces. So miraculously did the Almighty dazzle their eyes, that they asked for him and looked on him, yet notwithstanding he quietly took his bag of books, and departed out of the house without any hand laid upon him.

ALSO another time, about the second year of queen Mary, the said Thomas Bryce, with John Bryce, his elder brother, coming then from Wesell, meeting together at their father's house, as they tra|velled towards London, to give warning to one Springfield there, which else was like to be taken unawares by his enemies waiting for him upon Gad's hill, fell into company with a promoter, who d••gged and followed them again to Gravesend, into the town, and laid the house for them where they were, all the ways as they should go to the wa|ter's side, so that it had not been possible for them to have avoided the present danger of those perse|cutors, had not God's provident care otherwise dis|posed

for his servants, through the ostler of the inn, who conveyed them under cover by a secret pas|sage; whereby they took barge a mile out of town, and so in the end both the lives of them, and also Springfield, were preserved, through God's gracious protection.

GERTRUDE CROKHAY.

GERTRUDE CROKHAY, dwelling in St. Catherine's, by the Tower of London, and being then in her husband's house, it happened in the year 1556, that the Pope's childish Saint Nicho|las went about the parish. Which she understand|ing, shut her door against him, not suffering him to enter into her house.

THEN doctor Mallet hearing thereof, and being then master of the said St. Catherine's, the next day came to her with twenty at his tail, thinking belike to affright her, and asked why she would not the night before let in St. Nicholas, and receive his blessing, &c. To whom she answered thus: Sir, I know not that St. Nicholas came hither. Yes, quoth Mallet, here was one that represented St. Nicholas.

INDEED sir, (said she) here was one that was my neighbour's child, but not St. Nicholas: for St. Nicholas is in heaven. I was afraid of them that came with him, to have had my purse cut by them: for I have heard of men robbed by St. Nicholas's clerks, &c. So Mallet perceiving that nothing could be gotten at her hands, went his way as he came, and she for that time escaped.

THEN in the year 1557, a little before Whitsun|tide, it happened that the said Gertrude answered for a child that was baptized of one Thomas Saun|ders, which child was christened secretly in a house after the order of the service-book in king Edward's time; and that being soon known to her enemies, she was sought for; who understanding nothing thereof, went beyond the sea into Guelderland, to see certain lands that should come to her children in the right of her first husband, who was a stranger born: and there about a quarter of a year, at length coming home by A••twerp, she chanced to meet with one John Johnson, a Dutchman, alias John de Vil|la, of Antwerp, shipper, who seeing her there, went out of malice to the Margrave, and accused her to be an anabaptist, whereby she was taken and carried to prison. The cause why he did thus, was because he claimed of Mr, Crokhay, her husband, a piece of money which was not his due, for a ship that Mr. Crokhay bought of him, and because he could not get it, he wrought this displeasure. Well, she being in prison, lay there a fortnight. In which time she saw some that were prisoners there, who privately were drowned in Rhenish wine-fats, and after secretly put in sacks and cast into the river. Now she, good woman, expecting to be so served, took thereby such fear, that it brought the begin|n••••g of her sickness, of which at length she died.

THEN at last was she called before the Margrave, and charged with anabaptistry: which she there ut|terly denied, and detested the error, declaring be|fore him in Dutch her faith boldly, without any fear. So the Margrave hearing the same, in the end be|ing well pleased with the profession, at the suit of some of her friends delivered her out of prison, but took away her book, and so she came over into England again.

THOMAS ROSE, a PREACHER.

HE was a Devonshire man, born in Ermouth, and being made priest in that country, was brought out of it by one Mr. Fabian, to Polsted, in Suffolk, where the said Mr. Fabian was parson, and in a short time after by his means was placed in the town of Hadley, where he first coming to some knowledge of the gospel, began there to treat upon the creed, and thereupon took occasion to inveigh against purgatory, praying to saints and images, about the time that Mr, Latimer began to preach at Cambridge, in the time of Bilney and Arthur; in|somuch that many embracing the truth of Christ's gospel, against the said purgatory and other points, and the number of them daily encreasing, the ad|versaries began to stir against him, insomuch that Mr. B••te (who afterwards became a godly zealous man), was then brought to preach against the said Thomas Rose; notwithstanding this, he continued still very vehemently against images, and the Lord so blessed his labours, that many began to contrive how they might deface and destroy them, and espe|cially

four men, whose names were, Ring, Debnam, Marsh and Gard, who usually resorted to his ser|mons, by which they were so inflamed, that soon after they ventured to destroy the rood of the court of Dover, which cost three of them their lives, and were hanged in chains, because they would not accuse Thomas Rose as their counsellor. The said Rose had the coat of the rood brought to him afterwards who burnt it. The rood was said to have done many and great miracles, yet being in the fire, could not help himself, but burned like a block, as in|deed it was.

AT this time there were two sore enemies in Had|ley, Walter Clerk and John Clerk, two brothers: these complained to the council, that an hundred men were not able to fetch Thomas Rose out of Hadley, who then was upon examination of his doctrine committed to the commissaries keeping. And indeed such was the zeal of a number towards the truth then in that town, that they were much offended that their minister was so taken from them, and had therefore by force brought him from the commissary, if certain wise men had not otherwise persuaded them, who at length also with more quiet placed him in his office again: which so enraged the two brothers, Walter Clerk and John Clerk, that thay complained to the council▪ as aforesaid; where|upon a serjeant at arms was s••nt from the council to arrest Thomas Rose and bring him before them. Then his adversaries l••••d to his charge, that he was privy to the burning of the r••••d at Dover court, and upon this he was committed to prison in the bishop of Lincoln's h••use, in Holborn, where he remained from Shrovetide to Whitsuntide, and great part of the time in the sto••ks.

THE stocks was very high and large, so that day and night he lay with his back on the ground, upon a little straw, with his heels so high, that the blood was fallen from his se••t which were so benumbed that he could hardly f••el the•• for a long time. By this treatment he fell sick, and the keeper often hearing him cry and g••oan through extremity of pain, was moved with pity, and went to the bishop and told him, that he would not keep him to die under his hand, and upon this h•• had some more ••ase and liberty. Now at this time his mother was come from Hadley to see him, but she was not suf|fered to speak with him (such was their cruelty) but the bishop flattered her▪ and gave her a pair of par…don-heads▪ and bade her go home and pray, for she might not see him; which thing pierc••d the hearts both of the mother and the son. At this time also certain men of Hadley, v••ry desirous to see him, en|deavoured to speak with him, but might not be suf|fered, ••till at length they gave the keeper four shil|lings, and yet then might not speak to him, or see him, otherwise than through a grate. And thus continued he till Mid-summer in prison. Then he was removed to Lambeth, in the first year of Dr. Cranmer's consecration, who used him much more courteously than ever the bishop of Lincoln did, and at length wrought his deliverance, and set him at liberty: but yet so, that he was bound not to come within twenty miles of Hadley. After this he came to London, and there preached the gospel half a year, till Hadley men hearing thereof, labour|ed to have him to Hadley again, and indeed by means of sir John Rainford, knight, obtained at the archbishop's house to have him thither: how|ever, by means one was placed in the cure at Had|ley, he could not enjoy his office again there, but went to Stratford three miles off▪ and there con|tinued in preaching the word three years, till at length the adversaries procured an inhibition from the bishop of Norwich, to put him to silence. But a great number laboured to have him continue in preaching, and subscribed a supplication to the archbishop, with one hundred and twenty hands, who under their seals also testified of his honest de|meanour, so that the adversaries this way not pre|vailing, they indicted him at Bury, in Suffolk, so that he was constrained to flee to London, and to use the aid of the lord Audly, then lord chancellor, who removed the matter from them, and called it before him, and after examination of the matter, set him free, and sent him by a token to the lord Cromwell, then lord priv•• seal, for a licence from the king to preach: which being obtained by the lord Cromwell's means (who hereupon also had ad|mitted the said Thomas Rose his chaplain), forth|with he was sent into Lincolnshire and to York. In the mean time such complaint was made to the duke of Norfolk, for that he preached against auri|cular confession, transubstantiation, and such other

points contained in the six articles (which then to have done, by law was death), that the duke in his own person not only sought him at Norwich, but also beset all the ports for him, from Yarmouth to London; and being lieutenant, commanded that whosoever could take the said Thomas Rose, should hang him on the next tree. However, the said Thomas Rose at his coming home, having warning thereof by certain godly persons, was conveyed away, and passed over to Flanders, and so to Zurich in Switzerland, where a time he remained with Mr. Bullinger, and afterwards went to Basil, and there hosted with master Grinaeus, till letters came that Master doctor Barns should be bishop of Nor|wich, and things should be reformed and restored. But when he came into England again, it was not so, and therefore forthwith fled again beyond the seas, being so beset, as if the mighty providence of God had not sent him in readiness to receive him the self same man, boat, and boy, that before carried him over, it had been impossible for him to have es|caped. But such was the goodness of God towards him, that he safely was conveyed, and lived at Bar|row the space of three years, till at length purposing to come over into England, about business that he had, he, his wife, and their child, being but a year and three quarters old, upon the sea, the ship being in great danger, wherein they sailed (for the mast being cut away in that peril, they were carried whithersoever the waves tossed them), they with di|vers others expected nothing but death. However, at length they were taken prisoners, and carried into Dieppe in France, having all their stuff taken from them, and forty pounds in money. There they re|mained prisoners from Michaelmas till Allhallow-tide, in great heaviness, not knowing what would become of them, but depending only upon God's providence. It pleased God at the same time, that one Mr. Young, of the town of Rye, (who had heard him preach before), came thither for the re|deeming of certain Englishmen there taken priso|ners. This Mr. Young moved to see them in this case, much pitied them, and comforted them, and told them he would pay their ransom, and so he did, had them away, and brought them to Rye, and from thence by stealth they came to London. At length the honourable earl of Sussex, hearing of the said Thomas Rose, sent for him, his wife, and his child, and had them to his house at Attleborough, where they continued, till at length it was blazoned abroad, that the earl was a maintainer of such a man to read in his house, as had preached against the catholic faith (as they term it)▪ the earl being a•• the parliament and hearing thereof, wrote a letter to warn him to make shift for himself, and to escape. So that from thence he passed to London, making hard shift for a year there and somewhat more, till the death of King Henry. After the king's death he and others, who in the king's general pardon were excepted (and therefore dead men if they had been taken whilst king Henry lived), by certain of the council were set at liberty, and at length after king Edward was crowned, were licensed to preach again by the king, who gave unto the said Thomas Rose the benefice of West-Ham, by London. But at the death of that virtuous and noble prince, he was deprived of all, and so should also have been of his life, had not God appointed him friends, who re|ceived him in London secretly, as their teacher in the congregation, among whom for the poor priso|ners at their assemblies forty one in a night often|times were gathered. And thus he continued a|mongst them, and with the lady Vane almost a year in the reign of queen Mary. But although he of|tentimes escaped secretly whilst he read to the godly in sundry places of London, yet at length through a Judas that betrayed them, he with 35 more were taken in Bow▪church yard, at a ••heerman's house on New-year's day at night. The rest being commit|ted to prison, the said Thomas Rose was had to Stephen Gardiner, the bishop of Winchester, who would not speak with him that night, but commit|ted him to the Clink, till the Tuesday after.

The First Examination of THOMAS ROSE, at St. MARY OVERY'S, before the Bishop of Winchester.

Rose.

I Wonder, my lord, that I should be thus troubled for that which by the word of God hath been established, and by the laws of this realm hath been allowed, and by your own writing so notably in your books De vera obedientia, con|firmed.

Bishop.

Ah sirrah, hast thou gotten that?

Rose.

Yea, my lord, I thank God, and do con|fess myself much thereby confirmed. For as touch|ing the doctrine of supremacy, against the bishop of Rome's authority, no man hath said further. And as I remember, you confess it, that when this truth was revealed unto you, you thought the scales to fall from your eyes.

Bishop.

Thou liest like a varlet, there is no such thing in my book: but I shall handle thee, and such as thou art, well enough. I have long looked for thee, and at length have caught thee. I will know who are thy maintainers, or else I will make thee a foot longer.

Rose.

My lord, you shall do as much as pleas|eth God, and no more, yet the law is in your hand; but I have God for my maintainer, and none other. At these words one of his servants stepped forth, and said, My lord, I heard this man preach by Norwich, in sir John Robster's house, and in his prayer he desired God to turn queen Mary's heart, or else to take her out of the world: and this was in king Edward's time.

Rose.

My lord, I made no such prayer, but next after the king, I mentioned her in this manner, saying, Ye shall pray for my lady Mary's grace, that God will vouchsafe to endue her with his Spirit, that she graciously may perceive the mysteries con|tained within his holy laws, and so render unto him her heart purified with true faith, and true and loyal obedience to her sovereign lord and king, to the good example of the inferior subjects. And this, my lord, is already answered in mine own hand-wri|ting to the council.

UNTO this he said little, but turning his face to some that were by him, This is he said the bishop, that my lord of Norwich told me had gotten his maid with child.

Rose.

This is no heresy, my lord▪ although it be a lie. Indeed certain wicked persons raised this report of me▪ for the hatred they bare to the doctrine which I preached: but for purgation of myself herein I had no less than six of the council's hands, that there might be due and diligent exami|nation of this matter in the country, by men of wor|ship appointed for that purpose, who can all testify, I thank God, that I am most clear from such wick|edness, and indeed they have cleared me from it; and therefore I doubt not but all good men will see the mischievous device of mine adversaries, who, when other means failed, by such sinister means, went about to draw me into discredit and hatred: but God, who is the helper of the innocent, and searcher of men's hearts, hath and doth defend me, and hath laid o|pen things that were hid, to their shame. One of the chief reporters of this, that I should so abuse myself, was one Mr. Clark, servant and in some es|timation with the old lord treasurer of England, re|puted and taken for a conjurer, who afterwards hanged himself in the Tower. Then the bishop commanded that I should be carried to the Tower, and kept safely; where I lay till the week before Whitsuntide. After which time I was twice called when the bishop came to the Tower about other prisoners. Notwithstanding, the bishop had no great talk with me, but spake friendly. One, sir Richard Southwell, knight, however, still accused me for my prayer, and said I did put a difference betwixt lady Mary and lady Elizabeth, for that I prayed in king Edward's faith, and prayed that he would confirm lady Elizabeth in that which was well begun upon her. Unto this the bishop said little. But in the week before Pentecost, I was conveyed from the Tower to Norwich, there to be examined by the bishop and his clergy, as concern|ing my faith, the manner whereof here followeth.

The second Examination of THOMAS ROSE, before Dr. HOPKINS, Bishop of Norwich, in the presence of Sir W. WOODHOUSE. Mr. STEWARD the Chan|cellor, Dr. BARRET, with divers others, Anno 1553.

AFTER I was presented by my keeper, the bishop immediately asked me what I was. I told him I had been a minister.

Bishop.

What is this to the pu••pose? Were you a friar or a priest?

Rose.

Friar was I never, but a priest have I been and beneficed by the king's majesty.

Bishop.

Where were you made priest?

Rose.

In Exeter, in the county where I was born. Then the bishop required of me my letters

of orders. I told him I kn•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 where they were, for they were things of me not greatly re|garded.

〈◊〉〈◊〉

W••ll, 〈…〉〈…〉 yourself to the order of the 〈…〉〈…〉 England?

Rose.

My 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I trust I am not out of the order of 〈…〉〈…〉 I know myself 〈…〉〈…〉.

Bishop.

What? ye••, you have h••••e preach••d most damnable and dev••lish doctrine.

〈◊〉〈◊〉

Not so, my lord. The doctrine by me 〈…〉〈…〉 true, sincere, and holy But 〈…〉〈…〉 that i•• now 〈◊〉〈◊〉 forth in most wicked and damnable, yea, and that both against God 〈…〉〈…〉▪ But as for the doctrine by m•• preached, it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 grounded upon the word of God s••t out also by the authority of two most mighty kings, with the consent of all the nobility and clergy o•• the same: so that I preached noth••ng but their lawful proceedings, having ••heir lawful authority under their broad seal for confirmation of the same, for which my doing you cannot justly charge me. And since the law ceased, I have kept silence; so that the council which sent me unto you, have not charg…ed me ••••erewith. Wherefore you do me ope•• wrong to burden me with that wherein I am free.

Chan.

What, sir? you are very captious; an|swereth thou my lord after such a sort?

Rose.

Sir, I answer for myself, and according to the truth; wherewith ye ought not to be offended, if ye be of God

Chan.

Thou art an evil man. Wast thou not a••jured before now?

Rose.

No you untruly report me, and are in no wise able to pr••ve that which you have spoken: so that your w••••ds appear to proceed altogether of malice, which I have not deserved at your hands. But ••n this I will perceive you are made 〈…〉〈…〉 to utter other men's malice conceive•• o•• old.

Chan.

What sayest thou to the real presence in the sacrament?

Rose.

I know right well you are made an in|strument to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 innocent blood: well, you may have it, if God permit, it is present at hand, for I am not come hither to lye▪ but to die (if God see it good) in defence of that which I have said. Wherefore you may begin when you shall think good, for I have said nothing but the truth, and t••at which in those days, was by all men allowed for truth, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which you at that time du••st no•• once whisper, although you now brag ov••r so much.

Bishop.

Well, father Rose, whatsoever hath been done in times past, shall no•• now be called in ques|tion, so that you now submit yourself: for not only you, but all the whole realm, hath been out of the right way, both high and low, spiritual and tempo|••a••; but all notwithstanding have submitted them|selves and acknowledged their faith. Wherefore if you will be accounted for an Englishman, you must likewise submit yourself.

Rose.

My lord▪ I am an Englishman born, and do must humbly requi••e of the christian congrega|tion of England, to be counted as a particular member of the same, and with all due reverence submit myself as in the form and manner following: That whatsoever law or laws shall be set forth in the same for the esta••lishment of Christ's true religion▪ and that, according to the faith and doctrine of the holy patriarc••s and prophets, Jesus Christ and his holy apostles, with the faithful fathers of Christ's primitive church, I do not only hold it, and believe ••t, but also most reverently obey it. At which my assertion▪ the bishop seemed to be greatly rejoiced, and said, Well, then we shall soon be at a point: but you shall take this for no day of examination, but rather of communication▪ so that you shall now depart, and consi••er with yourself untill we call for you again: and so ended our first meeting.

The Third Examination of THOMAS ROSE.

ON Friday following, I was called again into Christ's church within their lady's chapel, as they 〈…〉〈…〉 a great part of the whole city of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and after I was present|ed by my keeper▪ the bishop beg••n with a great protestation, and after many w••••ds, demanded of

me, whether, according to my former promise, I would submit myself or no•• I answered as before I had done, that according to my former protesta+tion, I would most gladly obey. Then said the chancellor, (to utter his gentleness) I think you do but feign.

Rose.

The fault then, said I, shall be in your|self, and not in me: for if you burden me with nothing but scriptures, and the fathers of Christ's primitive church, then as I said before, so I say again, I shall most gladly obey.

Chancellor.

Well then, seeing you challenge to be member of the church of England, your mother here, for a trial of obedience, provoketh you, as mothers are wont to allure you, to receive this lit|tle gift at her hand.

Rose.

Forsooth, said I, if she offer it me, as re|ceived of God my father, I shall gladly receive it, as from the hand of my very true and spiritual mother.

Chan.

What say you to ear-confession? Is it not a law ecclesiastical and necessary for the church of England?

Rose.

Some ways it might be permitted, and some ways not, and that because it had not it's original of God and his blessed word; and yet I deny not, but that a man, being troubled in his conscience, and resorting to a discreet, sober, and christian learned man, for the quieting of his mind, might well be permitted: but to bind a man, un+der pain of damnation, once every year, to number his sins into the ears of a filthy, 〈…〉〈…〉 priest, is not of God, neither can be proved by his word.

Bishop.

Ah, s••rrah, you will admit nothing but scripture, I see well.

Rose.

No truly, my lord, I admit nothing but scripture for the ••ule of the soul: for why? faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God; and where the word of God is not, there ought no belief to be given: for whatsoever is not of faith is sin. And here they left off speaking any more of that matter.

Mr. Chancellor then began to wh••t his ••eeth ••t me, saying▪ Yea, but you have preached, that the real, natural, and substantial presence of Christ is not in the sacrament. What say you to that?

Rose.

Verily, I say that you are a bloody man, and s••••k to quench your thirst in the blood of an innocent, and therefore, to satisfy you in that be|half, I say verily unto you, that so I have here preached: although, contrary to law you challenge me with the same, yet will I in no wise deny it, though justly I might do it, but stand thereunto, e|ven to seal it with my blood, desiring all that are here present to testify the same, and believe it as the only truth,

Bishop.

I charge you all to believe it not.

Rose.

Yea, but my lord, if you will needs have credence given you, you must bring God's word to maintain your sayings.

Bishop.

Why doth not Christ say. This is my body? And can there be any plainer words spoken?

Rose.

It is true, my lord, the words are as plain as can be; and even so are these, where it is said, I am a door, a vine, and Christ called a stone, a lion and yet is he naturally none of these: for they are all figurative speeches, as both the scriptures and fa|thers do sufficiently prove.

AT which saying, the bishop would have had me stay, saying I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 have another day wherein I might take better advice.

Rose.

Not so, my lord, for I am at a full point with myself in that matter, and am right woll able to prove both your transubstantiation, with the real presence, to be against the scriptures and the ancient father•• of the primitive church: for Justin, who is one of the most ancient w••••ters that ever wrote up|on the sacrament, writeth in his second apology, that the bread, water, and wine, in the sacrament, are not to be taken as other meats and drinks, but are meats purposedly obtained to give thanks unto God, and therefore are called Eucharistia, and also have the names of the body and blood of Christ; and that it is not lawful for any man to eat or drink of them, but such as profess the religion of Christ, and live also accord••ng to their profession: and yet, saith he, the same bread and drink is changed into our flesh and blood, and nourisheth our bodies.

By which saying, it is evident, that Justin meant, that the bread and wine remain still, or else they could not have turned into our flesh and blood, and nourish our bodies.

AT which my saving they were greatly troubled, but inforced themselves to have denied the doctor, and would suffer me to speak no more, but straight|way was I carried away unto my lodging: and so ended the second day of mine appearance, which was the Friday in Whitsun week, and then was I appointed to appear again on the Monday fol|lowing. However, upon what occasion I know not, it was deferred unto the Wednesday, which was Corpus Christi eve.

IN the mean time, the bishop sent two of his chaplains to me, with whom I had communication about the real presence. After long reasoning concerning this point, at length I drove them to this issue▪ whether they did confess that Christ in the self same body which was conceived of the virgin Mary, and wherein he suffered and rose again, do in the self-same body naturally, substantially▪ and really sit at the right hand of God the Father, with|out return from thence, untill the day of the general judgment, or not? Whereunto they answered, Yes, truly, we confess it, hold it, and believe it. Then I again demanded of them, whether they did affirm, after the words pronounced by the minister, there to remain flesh, blood, bones, hairo, nails, as is wont most grossly to be preached, or not? And they with great deliberation answered, that they did not only abhor the teaching of such gross doctrine, but also would d••test themselves, if they should so think.

AT which two principal points, wherein they ful|ly confirmed my doctrine which I ever taught, I was not a little comforted and rejoiced, but marvel|••ously encouraged. Whereupon I demanded of them again, what manner of body they then affirm|ed it to be in the sacrament? Forsooth, said they, not a visible, palpable, or circumscriptable body, for that is always at the Father's right hand; but in the sacrament it is invisible, and can neither be fel••, seen, nor occupy any place, but is there by the omnipotency of God's holy word, they know not how.

AND for this they brought in St Augustine, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 though by them not truly understood, yet they would admit no other sense than their own, but would tak•• upon them to confirm it with Martin▪ Luther, Melancthon, Bucer, and Calvin: so that I, perceiving their obstinacy in that behalf, gave them over for that time, and afterwards talked with Dr. Barret, whom I also found of the same opinion. For, said he, if you would dissent from the fathers of the primitive church, of which St. Augustine is one, you shall be contented to die out of the favour of God. Well, I gave them all over, being obstin•••••• in their errors; however, to bring them to confess that openly which they had granted privately, •• I granted them according to the scriptures, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 former protestation, a presence, although not as they supposed.

AFTER all this, the honourable earl of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 came to me, and that gentle knight Sir William Woodhouse, with great persuasions: to whom after long talk, I said, That I would do all that I might, saving my conscience, which I would in no 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pollute: and neither have I, as knoweth God, by whom all men must be judged.

The Last Examination of THOMAS ROSE before the Bishop.

NOW to come to my last appearance, the bishop forthwith demanded of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, whether I were resolved as he had heard say. To whom I an|swered, that as I always had said before, even so I was now. Then, by low bowing my knee, I gave him my due reverence, and the rather for that the honourable earl of Sussex was there. At this some who would be counted great gospellers, were (contra|ry to all christianity) so••e ••ff••nd••d. I then said, that whatsoever laws were set forth for the establishment of Christ's true religion, and that according to the doctrine of Christ's holy apostles, and the faithful fathers of the primitive church, I did not only obey them, but most earnestly embrace and believe them. Yea, and yet ••o the further blinding of their eyes, I said, that if any thing could justly be proved

by God's holy word, by me heretofore preached or taught untruly, either for lack of learning, unwari|ly, or ignorance, yet by better knowledge, when it shall justly be tried and examined by the same, I shall not refuse (the thing perfectly proved) to re|voke the same; provided always the word of God herein be my judge.

ALL this spake I (as God knoweth) to keep them from suspecting that which I went about, and that they should have no occasion to judge me of obsti|nacy. Then said I, moreover, all you must of force confess, that the doctrine by me heretofore preached, had, besides the authority of God's eter|nal verity, the authority of two most noble and mighty princes, with the advice and counsel of all the nobility and clergy of the land, and that with great deliberation from time to time, with open disputations in both the universities, enacted also by parliament with the consent of the whole body and commons of the same, and that without any resis|tance or gainsaying established, as a religion most pure and perfect, most earnestly and sincerely preached by the principal bishops and doctors, and that before the king's majesty's person; and I, as one who was called to that office, did the like with all the rest, and in the zeal of God, and with a pure conscience, did set forth the same, as the only and absolute truth of God, and the just and most true proceedings of my sovereign lord and king: and I had then my head where it now standeth, betwixt mine ears, altogether applying the same, to appre|hend with all diligence that which then was estab|lished and taught, as the only and absolute truth, and a thing unto me most desirable, and well willing without any desire to hear the contrary, till now, through this my captivity, I am compelled to hear the contrary part speak, who are even here present, and whom my lord sent unto me.

AFTER several long private disputations had hap|pened betwixt us, at length I have heard of them a contrary doctrine, which I never before had heard, and therefore must confess mine own ignorance in the same: for, quoth I, after I had inforced these men here present (meaning the bishop's two chap|lains) to confess Jesus Christ's natural body, with his full complete members, in due order and pro|portion of a perfect man's body, to be present at the right hand of God the Father, and that without return from thence, until the last judgment, and al|so that after the words pronounced by the priest, there remaineth no such gross presence of flesh, blood, bones, hair, and nails, as was wont to be preached; but that after I had demanded of them what manner of body they affirmed to be present, they said, a body invisible by the omnipotency of God's word, which neither can be felt or seen, no•• that hath any distinction of members, but such a body as occupieth no place, but is there they know not how: necessity compelled me to confess mine ignorance in that behalf, although in very deed they perceived not my meaning therein, neither was it in my thought they should so do: for by this their confession, and my silence afterward, I perceived their horrid blasphemies.

AND methought in this I had well discharged 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my conscience, in causing them, in open audience, to confess the same, and so I granted a presence, but not as they supposed: for I ea••ly said, that Christ, after the words pronounced, i•• present in the lawful use and right distribution of his holy supper▪ which thing I never denied, or any godly man that ever I heared of, for, said I, Eusebius Emissenus, a man of singlar fame and learning, about three hundred years after Christ's ascension, saith, that the conversion of the visible creatures of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, is like unto our conversion in baptism, where nothing is outwardly changed, but all the change is inwardly, by the mighty working of the Holy Ghost, which fashioneth and frameth Christ in the heart and mind of man, as by the example of Peter preaching to the people, Acts ii. by which he so pierced their conscience, that they openly, with most earnest repentacce confessed their sins▪ saying "Men and brethren, what shall we do? Repen••, and be baptized every one of you," said Peter, "in the name of Jesus Christ; so that at this sermon there were turned unto Christ three thousand per|sons; in whom Christ was so fashioned and formed, as that he dwelt in every one of them, and they in him; and after the like manner, said I, is Christ present in the lawful use and right distribution of his holy supper, and not otherwise, for although I said according to the truth, that Christ dwelt in

every one of those persons rehearsed, yet meant I no|thing less than that he in them should have a gros••, carnal, ••••fleshly dwelling.

AND no more meant I (as God knoweth) him carnally or grossly to be in the sacrament, but ac|cording to the scriptures▪ and my former protest••|tion, that is▪ to the spiritual nourishment of all such as worthily come unto that holy supper▪ re|ceiving it according to his holy institution.

AND thus I ended; which the papists most ma|liciously and slanderous••y named a recantation; which I never meant nor thought, as God know|eth.

NOW after I had thus concluded my speech, the bishop, taking me by the hand, said, Father Rose, you may be a worthy instrument in God's church, and we will see to you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 coming home (〈◊〉〈◊〉 he 〈…〉〈…〉 to ••ake his Journey in visitation of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉), and they feared much at this very time, le••t queen Mary should have miscarried in her child tra|••ail, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a••ked for, being then accounted very great with child, so that they were not so fierce as they had been, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 apprehensive of some 〈◊〉〈◊〉, ••f I should have suffered▪ and therefore were glad ••o be rid of me▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by any colourable means for their own discharge it might be; and the night following I was only committed to mine own lodging.

ON the morrow, when the bishop was ready to ••ide forth in visitation, he called me before him▪ ••nd perceiving that Sir William Woodhouse did bear me great favour, said, he was sorry for me and my expences, and therefore wished that I was some|where where I might spend no more money till his return. Why, my lord, said sir William Wood|house, he shall have meat and drink, and lodging with me, till you return again, seeing you now break up house; and hereupon I went home with sir William, that good night, who most gen••e••lly entertained me, and I had great liberty. Upon this the popish priests of the college of Christ's church in Norwich, because they saw me at liberty in sir William's absence, who had been from home a fortnight, blazed it abro••d that sir William was bound for me in body and lands. At his coming home, therefore, I asked sir William if he were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bound for me, and he denied it. Then, said I, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but for the reverence I bear to you, I might have been an hundred miles from you before this. I no•• trust, sir, as you are not ••ound for me▪ I may go and visit my friends. Go where you will, said 〈◊〉〈◊〉 William; for I told the bishop I would not be your ga••ler, but pro••••sed only 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ drink, and lodg|ing for you. Shortly after, by the advice of some friends, I was secretly conveyed to a friend's house▪ where I was closely kept for near •• month, until rumours were over: for▪ at the bishop's ret••rn▪ search was made for me in all houses where it was known I had been acquainted, and in the ships 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Yarmouth.

AT length the bishop sent to a conjuror, to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of him which way I was gone; and he answered 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I was gone over water, and in the keeping of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 man. And in very deed I was pas••ed ov••r a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 water, and was hid by a blessed woman, who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in a small cott••ge, the space of three weeks, ••till the inquiries had nearly subsided.

I was then conveyed to London, and from then••e passed over the seas, where I lived▪ till the 〈…〉〈…〉 queen Mary, and till it pleased God, for the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of his church, and restoring of all poor exiles and prisoners, for his name's sake, to bless this realm with the government of our noble queen, wh•••• God, to the glory of his own name, and the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of his church, according to his good will and pleas|ure, long preserve and continue over us.

A brief Discourse concerning the Troubles and happy Deliverance of Dr. SANDS, first▪ Bishop of Wor|cester, next of London, afterwards Archbishop of York.

AT king Edward's death, the duke of North|umberland came down to Cambridge with an army of men, having commission to proclaim▪ lady Jane queen, and by power to suppress lady Mary, who took upon her that dignity, and was proclaim|ed queen in Norfolk. The duke sent for Dr. Sands

the vice-chancellor, Dr. Parker, Dr. Bill, and Mr. Leaver, to sup with him. Amongst other speeches, he said to them, Masters, pray for us, that we speed well: if not, you shall be made bishops, and we deacons. And even so it came to pass: Dr. Par|ker and Dr. Sands were made bishops, and he and sir John Gates, who was then at the table, were made deacons not long after, on Tower hill. Dr. Sands being vice-chancellor▪ was required to preach on the morrow. The warning was short for such an auditory, and to speak of such a matter; yet he refused not the thing, but went into his chamber, and so to bed. He rose a•• three o'clock in the morning, took his bible in his hand, and after he had prayed a considerable time, he shut his eyes, and holding his bible before him▪ earnestly prayed to God that it might fall open where a most fit text should be for him to treat of. The Bible, as God would have it, fe••l open upon the first chapter of Joshua, the three last verses, where he found so convenient a place of scripture for that time, that the like he could not find in the whole Bible. His ••ext was thus: "And they answered Joshua, say|ing, All that thou commandest us we will do, and whithersoever thou sendest us, we will go. Ac|cording as we hearkened unto Moses in all things, so will we hearken unto thee: only the Lord thy God be with thee, as he was with Moses. Whoso|ever he be that doth rebel against thy command|ment, and will not hearken unto thy words, in all that thou commandest him, he shall be put to death: only be strong, and of a good courage."

WHOEVER shall consider what was concluded by such as called themselves the state, and likewise the auditory, the time, and other circumstances, may easily see that this text most fitly served for the purpose. And as God gave the text, so gave he such order and utterance, as drew many tears out of the eyes of the greatest of them.

IN the time of his sermon, one of the guard lifted a mass-book and a grail up to him in the pulpit, which sir George Haward, with certain of the guard had taken that night in Mr. Hurlestone's house, where lady Mary had been a little before, and there had mass. The duke, with the rest of the nobility, required Dr. Sands to put his sermon in writing, and appointed Mr. Leaver to go to Lon|don with it, and to put it in print. Dr. Sands re|quired one day and a half for writing of it. At the time appointed he had made it ready, and Mr. Leaver was ready booted to receive it at his hands, and carry it to London. As he was delivering of it, one of the beadles, named Adams, came weeping to him, and prayed him to shift for himself, for the duke was retired, and queen Mary proclaimed.

DR. SANDS was not troubled thereat; but gave the sermon written to Mr. Layfield. Mr. Leaver departed home, and he went to dinner to one Mr. More's, a beadle, his great friend. At the din|ner, Mrs. More seeing him merry and pleasant (for he had ever a man's courage, and could not be ter|rified), drank unto him, saying, Master, Vice-chancellor, I drink unto you, for this is the last time that I shall see you. And so it was; for she was dead before Dr. Sands returned out of Ger|many. The duke that night retired to Cam|bridge, and sent for Dr. Sands to go with him to the market-place to proclaim queen Mary. The duke cast up his cap with others; but the tears ran down his cheeks for grief. He told Dr. Sands▪ that queen Mary was a merciful woman, and that he doubted not thereof; declaring that he had sent unto her to know her pleasure, and looked for •• general pardon. Dr. Sands answered, My life is not dear unto me, neither have I done or said any thing that urgeth my conscience. For that which I spake of the sta••e, I have instructions warranted by the subscription of sixteen counsellors, neither can speech be treason; neither yet have I spoken further than the word of God▪ and the laws of the realm do warrant me, come of me what God will. But be you assured, you shall never escape death, for if she should save you, those that now shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will kill you.

THAT night the guard apprehended the duke; and certain grooms of the stable were as b••sy with Dr. Sands, as if they would take a prisoner. But sir John Gates, who lay then in Dr. Sand's house, sharply rebuked them, and drove them away. Dr. Sands, by the advice of Sir John Gates, walked in the fields. In the mean time, the university, con|trary to all order, had met together in consultation, and ordered that Dr. Mouse and Dr. Hatcher should repair to Dr. Sand's lodging, and bring

〈◊〉〈◊〉 the statute••book of the university, the keys, 〈…〉〈…〉 other things as were in his keeping; and so they did: for Dr. Mouse being an earnest pro|testan•• the day before, and whom Dr. Sands had done much for, was now become a papist, and his great enemy. Certain of the university had ap+pointed a congregation at afternoon. As the bell rang to it, Dr. Sands came out of the fields, and sending for the beadles, asked what the mat|ter meant, and required them to wait upon him to the schools, according to their duty. So they did. And as soon as Dr. Sands, the beadles going before him, came into the regent house and took his chair, one Mr. Mitch, with a rabble of unlearned papists, went into a bye-school, and conspired together to pull him out of his chair, and to use violence unto him. Dr. Sands began his oration, expostulating with the university, charging them with great in|gratitude, declaring, that he had said nothing in his sermon but what he was ready to justify, and their case was all one with him: for they had not only concealed, but consented to that which he had spoken.

AND thus while he remembered them how bene|ficial he had been to the university, and their un|thankfulness to him again, in came Mr. Mitch with his conspirators, about twenty in number. One laid hands on the chair to pull it from him; ano|ther told him, that that was not his place, and another called him traitor. Whereat he perceiving how they used violence, and being of great courage, groped to his dagger, and had dispatched some of them as God's enemies, if Dr. Bill and Dr. Blith had not fallen upon him, and prayed for God's sake to hold his hands and be quiet, and patiently to bear that great offered wrong. He was per|suaded by them, and after that tumult was ceased, he ended his oration; and having some money of the university's in his hands, he there delivered the same every farthing. He gave up the books, reckonings and keys pertaining to the university, and withal yielded up his office, praying God to give the university a better officer, and to give them better and more thankful hearts, and so repaired home to his own college.

ON the morrow after there came unto him one Mr. Gerningham, and Mr. Thomas Mildmay. Gerningham told him, that it was the queen's pleasure, that two of the guard should attend upon him, and that he must be carried prisoner to the Tower of London, with the duke. Mr. Mildmay said, he marvelled that a learned man would speak so unadvisedly against so good a prince▪ and wil|fully run into such danger. Dr. Sands answered, I shall not be ashamed of bonds, but if I could do as Mr. Mildmay can, I needed not to fear bonds: for he came down in payment against queen Mary, and armed in the field, and now he returned i•• payment for queen Mary; before a traitor, and now a great friend; I cannot with one mouth blow hot and cold after the manner.

UPON this his stable was robbed of four very good geldings, the best of them Mr Huddle•••••••• took for his own saddle, and rode on him to Lon|don in his sight. An inventory was taken of all his goods by Mr. More, beadle for the university▪ He was set upon a lame horse that halted to the ground; which thing a friend of his perceiving prayed that he might lend him a nag. The ye•• man of the guard were contented. As he depar•••••• forth at the town's end, some papists resorted thi|ther to jeer at him, and some of his friends to mourn for him. He came in the rank to London, the people being full of out-cries. And as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 came in at Bishopsgate, one like a milk woman hurled a stone at him, and hit him on the breast, with such a blow, that he was like to fall off his horse. To whom he mildly said, Woman, God forgive it thee. Truth is, that that journey and evil intreating so mortified him, that he was more ready to die than to live.

AS he came through Tower-hill-street, one wo|man standing at her door, cried, Fie on thee, thou knave, thou knave▪ thou traitor, thou heretic. Whereat he smiled. Look, the desperate heretic, said she, laughing at this jeer. A woman on the other side of the street answered, saying, Fie on thee, neighbour, thou art not worthy to be called a woman, railing upon this gentleman whom thou knowest not, nor the cause why he is thus treated. Then she said, Good gentleman, God be thy com|fort, and give thee strength to stand in God's cause, even to the end. And thus he passed through rough and smooth to the Tower, the first prisoner that entered in that day, which was St. Jame's

day. The yeoman of the guard took from him his borrowed nag, and what else soever he had. His man one Q••inting Suainton, brought after him a Bible, and some shirts, and such like things. The Bible was sent in to him, but the shirts and such like served the yeoman of the guard.

AFTER he had been in the Tower three weeks in a bad prison, he was brought up into Nun's-Bower, a better prison, where was put along with him Mr. John Bradford.

AT the day of queen Mary's coronation their prison door was set open, ever shut before. One Mr. Mitchell, his old acquaintance, who had been prisoner before in the same place, came in to him, and said, Master Sands, there is such a stir in the Tower, that neither gates, doors, nor prisoners are looked to this day. Take my cloak, my hat, and my rapier, and get you gone, you may go out of the gates without questioning, save yourself, and let me do as well as I can. A rare friendship; but he refused the offer, saying, I know no cause why I should be in prison. And to do thus were to make myself guilty. I will expect God's good will, yet must I think myself much obliged to you: and so Mr. Mitchell departed.

WHILE Dr. Sands and Mr. Bradford were thus in close prison twenty nine weeks, one John Bow|ler was their keeper, a very perverse papist, yet by often persuading of him, for he would give ear, and by gentle using of him, at length he began to mislike popery, and to favour the gospel, and was so persuaded in true religion, that on a Sunday when they had mass in the chapel, he brought up a ser|vice book, a manchet, and a glass of wine, and there Dr. Sands ministered the communion to Bradford and to Bowler. Thus Bowler was their son be|gotten in bonds. When Wyat was in arms, and the old duke of Norfolk sent forth with a number of men to apprehend him; that room might be made in the Tower for him and other his accom|plices, Dr. Cranmer, Dr. Ridley, and Mr. Brad|ford, were cast into one prison, and Dr. Sands with nine other preachers were sent unto the Marshal|sea.

THE keeper of the Marshalsea appointed to every preacher a man to lead him in the street; he caused them to go far before, and he and Dr. Sands came behind, whom he would not lead, but walked fa|miliarly with him. Yet Dr. Sands was known, and the people every where prayed to God to com|fort him, and to strengthen him in the truth. By that time the people's minds were altered, popery began to be unsavory. After they passed the bridge, the keeper said to Dr. Sands, I perceive the vain people would set you forward to the fire. You are as vain as they, if you being a young man will stand in your own conceit, and prefer your own judgment before that of so many worthy pre|lates, ancient, learned, and grave men as be in this realm. If you so do, you shall find me a severe keeper, as one that utterly disliketh your religion. Dr. Sands answered, I know my years to be young, and my learning but small, it is enough to know Christ crucified, and he hath learned nothing who seeth not the great blasphemy that is in popery. I will yield unto God, and not unto man: I have read in the scriptures of many godly and courteous keepers: God may make you one; if not; I trust he will give me strength and patience to bear your hard usage. Then said the keeper, Are you re|solved to stand to your religion? Yes, quoth the doctor, by God's grace. Truly, said the keeper, I love you the better for it; I did but tempt you, what favour I can shew you, you shall ••e sure of and I shall think myself happy if I might die at the stake with you. He was as good as his word, for he trusted the doctor to walk in the fields alone, where he met with Mr. Bradford, who was also a prisoner in the King's-Bench, and had found the same favour from his keeper: he laid him in the best chamber in the house; he would not suffer the knight-marshal's men to lay fetters on him, as others had. And, at his request, he put Mr. San|ders in along with him, to be his bed fellow, and sundry times after he suffered his wife, who was Mr. Sand's daughter of Essex, a gentlewoman beautiful both in body and soul, to resort to him. There was great resort to Dr. Sands, and Mr. Sanders; they had much money offered them, but they would receive none. They had the com|munion there three or four times, and a great ma|ny communicants. Dr. Sands gave such exhorta|tion to the people, (for at that time being young, he was thought very eloquent) that he moved many

tears, and made the people abhor the mass, and de|fy all popery.

WHEN Wyat with his army came into South|wark, he sent two gentlemen into the Marshalsea, to Dr. Sands, saying, that Mr. Wyat would be glad of his company and advice, and that the gates should be set open for all the prisoners. He an|swered, Tell Mr. Wyat, if this his rising be of God, it will take place; if not, it will fall. For my part, I was committed here by order, I will be discharg|ed by like order, or I will never depart hence. So answered Mr. Sanders, and the rest of the preach|ers, being there prisoners.

AFTER that Dr. Sands had been nine weeks pri|soner in the Marshalsea, by the mediation of sir Thomas Holcroft, knight marshal, he was set at liberty; sir Thomas sued earnestly to the bishop of Winchester, Dr. Gardiner, for his deliverance after many repulses: but he could not prevail except Dr. Sands would be one of their sect, and then he could want nothing. He wrong out of him at last, that if the queen would grant him his deliverance, he would not be against it: for that was sir Thomas's last request. In the mean time he had procured two ladies of the privy chamber to move the queen in it; who was contented if the bishop of Win|chester would like it. The next time that the bishop went into the privy chamber to speak with the queen, Mr. Holcroft so lowed, and had his warrant for Dr. Sands's remission ready, and pray|ed the two ladies, when the bishop should take his leave, to put the queen in mind of Dr. Sands. So they did, and the queen said, Winchester, what think you of Dr. Sands, is he not sufficiently pun|ished? As it please your majesty, saith Winchester. That he spake, remembering his former promise to Mr. Holcroft, that he would not be against Dr. Sands, if the queen should like to discharge him. Saith the queen, The truly, we would that he were set at liberty. Immediately Mr. Holcroft of|fered the queen the warrant, who subscribed the same, and called Winchester to put to his hand, and so he did. The warrant was given to the knight marshal again, sir Thomas Holcroft. As the bishop went forth of the privy chamber door, he called Mr. Holcroft to him, commanding him not to set Dr. Sands at liberty, until he had taken sureties of two gentleman of this country with him▪ each one bound in 5001. that Dr. Sands should not depart out of the realm without licence. Mr. Holcroft immediately after met with two gentle|men of the North, friends and cousins to Dr. Sand••▪ who offered to be bound in body, goods, and lands for him. After dinner, the same day, Mr. Hol|croft sent for Dr. Sands to his lodging at West|minster, requiring the keeper to accompany him. He came accordingly, finding Mr. Holcroft alon•• imparted his long suit, with the whole proceeding, and what effect it had taken, to Dr. Sands; much rejoicing that it was his good hap to do him good, and to procure his liberty, and that nothing remain|ed, but that he would enter into bonds with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 two sureties, for not departing out of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ Dr. Sands answered, I give God thinks, who hath moved your heart to mind me so well, and I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 myself most bound unto you. God shall requite▪ and I shall never be found unthankful. But as you have dealt friendly with me, I will also deal plai•••••• with you. I came a freeman into prison; I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not go forth a bondman. As I cannot benefit 〈◊〉〈◊〉 friends, so will I not hurt them. And if I be set 〈◊〉〈◊〉 liberty, I will not tarry six days in this realm, i•• I may get out. If therefore I may not get free fort••▪ send me to the Marshalsea again, and there you shall be sure of me.

THIS answer Mr. Holcroft much misliked who told Dr. Sands that the time would not l••ong con|tinue, a change would shortly come, the state 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but a cloud, and would soon shake away. And that his cousin sir Edward Bray would gladly receive him and his wife into his house, where he should never need go to church, and the lady Bray was a zealous gentlewoman, who hated popery. Adding that he would not so deal with him to lose all hi•• labour. When Dr. Sands could not be removed from his former saying, Mr. Holcroft said, Seeing you cannot be altered, I will charge my purpose and yield unto you. Come of it what will, I will set you at liberty: and seeing you have a mind to go over sea, g••t you gone as quick as you can. One thing I require of you, that while you are there, you write nothing to me hi••her, for so you may undo me. He friendly kissed Dr. Sands, bade him farewel,

and commanded the keeper to take no foes of him, saying, Bet me answer Winchester as I may. Dr. Sands returning with the keeper to the Marshalsea, tarried all night, and on the morrow he gave a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to all the prisoners, to which he invited his bed|fellow and sworn stake-fellow, if it had so pleased God. When he took his leave, he said, Mr. San|ders, farewel, with many tears and kisses, the one falling on the other's neck, and so departed, clearly delivered without examination or bond. From thence he went to the king's-bench, and there talk|ed with Mr. Bradford, and Dr. Farrer, bishop of St. David's, then prisoner's. Then he comforted them, and they praised God for his happy delive|rence. He went by Winchester's house, and there took boat, and came to a friend's house in London, called William Banks, and tarried there one night. The next night he shifted to another friend's house and then he heard that search was made for him.

DR. WATSON and Mr. Christopherson coming to the bishop of Winchester, told him, that he had set the greatest heretic in England at liberty, and one that had of all others most corrupted the university of Cambridge, namely, Dr. Sands. Whereupon the bishop, being chancellor of England, sent for all the constables of London, commanding them to watch for Dr. Sands, who was then within the city, and to apprehend him, and whosoever of them should take him and bring him to him, he should have pounds for his labour. Dr. Sands suspecting the matter, conveyed himself by night to one Mr. ••••rty's house, a stranger who was in the Marshalsea prisoner with him a while; he was a good protes|tant, and dwelt in Mark-lane. There he was six days, and had one or two of his friends that repaired to him. Then he removed to one of his acquain|tance in Cornhill▪ he caused his man Quinting to provide two geldings for him, minding on the mor|row to ride into Essex, to Mr. Sands his father-in-law, where his wife was.

DR. SANDS pulled on his boots, and taking leave of his friend Benjamin, a constable who favoured his escape, with tears they kissed each other: he put his hand in his purse, and would have given Benjamin a great part of that little he had, but Ben|jamin would take none. Yet since that, Dr. Sands remembered him thankfully. He rode out night to his father-in-law Mr. Sands, where his wife was: he had not been there two hours, but it was told Mr. Sands, that there were two of the guard which would that night apprehend Dr. Sands, and so they were appointed.

THAT night Dr. Sands was guided to an honest farmer near the sea, where he tarried two days and two nights in a chamber without company. After that he shifted to one James Mower, a shipmaster, who dwelt at Milton Shore, where he expected wind for the English 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ready into Plander▪ While he was there, James Mower brought to him forty or fifty mariners, to whom he gave an exhor|tation; they liked him so well, that they promised to die for it, before that he should be apprehended.

THE sixth of May, being Sunday, the wind serv|ed. He took his leave of his host and hostess, and went towards the ship. In talking his leave of his hostess who was ••arren, and had been married eight years, he gave her a fine handkerchief and an old ryal of gold in it, thanking her much, and said, Be of good comfort, before that one whole year be past, God shall give you a child; a boy. And it came to pass, that fir••t day twelve month lacking one day, God gave her a fair son.

AT the shore Dr. Sands met with Mr. Isaac, of Kent, who had his eldest son there, who upon the liking he had to Dr. Sands, sent his son with him, who afterwards died in his father's house in Frank|fort. Dr. Sands and Dr. Coxe were both in one ship, being one Cockrel's ship, and were within the kenning, when two of the guard came thither to apprehend Dr. Sands. They arrived at Antwerp, being bid to dinner by Mr. Locke And at dinner time one George Gilpin, being secretary to the English house, and kinsman to Dr. Sands, c••me to him, and rounded him in his ear, and said, king Philip hath sent to make search for you, and to ap|prehend you. Hereupon they rose from their din|ner in great haste, and went out of the gate leading toward Cleveland. They found a waggon, and hasted away, and came safe to Augsburgh, in Cleveland, where Dr. Sands tarried fourteen days, and then travelled towards Strasburgh, where after he had lived one year, his wife came to him. He fell sick of a ssux, which kept him nine months,

and brought him to death's door. He had ••hild which died of the plague. His wife at length fell into consumption, and died in his arms; no man had more godly woman to his wife.

AFTER this, Mr. Sampson went away to Eman|uel, a man skilful in Hebrew. Mr. Grindall went into the country to learn the Dutch tongue. Dr. Sands still remained in Strasburgh, whose support was chiefly from one Mr. Isaac, who loved him most dearly, and was ever more ready to give than to re|ceive. He gave him in that space above an hun|dred marks, which sum the said Dr. Sands paid him again, and by his other gifts and friendship, shewed himself to be a thankful man. When his wife was dead, he went to Zurich, and there was in Peter Martyr's house for the space of five weeks. Being there as they sat at dinner, word suddenly came that queen Mary was dead, and Dr Sands was sent for by his friends at Stratsburgh. That news made Mr. Martyr, and Mr. Jarret then there, very joy|ful; but Dr. Sands could not rejoice, it smote into his heart that he should be called to misery.

Mr, BULLINGER and the ministers feasted him, and he took his leave and returned to Strasburgh, where he preached; and so Mr. Grindall and he came over to England, and arrived in London, the same day that queen Elizabeth was crowned.

The severe Punishment of God upon the Persecutors of his People and Enemies to his Word, with such also as have been Blasphemers, Contemners and Mockers.

QUEEN MARY being dead and gone, we will now leave her, and treat of those under her who were the chief instruments in this arrow_back persecution arrow_forward , the bishops and clergy, to whom she, as a true catholic, gave all the execution of her power, as did queen Alexandria to the Pharisees after the time of the Maccabees; of whom Josephus thus writeth: She only retained to herself the name and title of the kingdom, but all her power she gave to the pharisees to possess, &c. Touching which prelates and priests, here is to be noted in like manner the wonderful and miraculous providence of Almighty God, which as he shortened the reign of their queen so he suffered them not to escape unvisited: first beginning with Stephen Gardiner, the arch-persecu|tor of Christ's church, whom he took away about the midst of the queen's reign; of whose poisoned life and stinking end, for so much as sufficient hath been touched before, I need not here make rehear|sal thereof.

AFTER him dropped away others also, some be|fore the death of queen Mary, and some after, as Morgan, bishop of St. David's who sitting upon the condemnation of bishop Farrer, and unjustly usurping his room, not long after was struck by God's hand in such a strange manner that his me••t would not go down, but rise and puke up again, sometimes at his mouth, sometimes blown out at his nose, most nauseous to behold, and so he con|tinued till his death.

WHERE note moreover, that when Mr. Leyson, being then sheriff at bishop Farrer's burning, had brought away the cattle of the said bishop, from his servant's house, named Matthew Harbott••l, in|to his own custody, the cattle coming into the she|riff's ground, divers of them would never eat mea••, but lay bellowing and roaring, and so died.

WHAT a stroke of God's hand was brought up|on the cruel persecuter of the holy saint's of God, bishop Thornton, suffragan of Dover, who after he had exercised his cruel tyranny upon so many pious men at Canterbury, at length coming upon a Satur|day from the chapter-house at Canterbury to Borne and there upon Sunday following looked upon his men playing at bowls, sell suddenly in a palsy, and so had to bed, was willed to remember God: Yea, so I do, said he, and my lord cardinal too, &c.

AFTER him succeeded another bishop or suffragan ordained by the aforesaid cardinal. It is reported that he had been suffragan before to Bonner, who not long after being made bishop or suffragan of Dover, broke his neck falling down a pair of staire in the cardinal's chamber at Greenwich, as he had received the cardinal's blessing.

JOHN COOPER, of the age of 44 years, dw••lling

at Watsam, in the county of Suffolk, a carpenter by trade, a man of a very honest report, and a good house keeper, a harbourer of strangers that travel|led for conscience, and one that favoured religion, and those that were religious.

THIS man being at home, there came unto him one William Fenning, a serving man, dwelling in the said town of Watsam, and understanding that the said Cooper had a couple of fat bullocks, and did desire to buy them of him, because he had brought them up for his own use, and if he should ••ell them, he then must be compelled to buy others, and that he would not do.

WHEN Fenning saw he could not get them (for he had often tried), he said, he would sit as much in his light, and so departed, and went and accused him of high treason. The words he was charged with were these, How he should ••ray, if God would not take away queen Mary, that then the devil would take her away. Of these words did this Fenning charge him before Sir Henry Doiel, knight (unto whom he was carried by Mr. Timperley, of Hinclesam, in Suffolk, and one Grimwood, of Low|shaw, constable) which words Cooper flatly denied; and said he never spoke them; but that did not avail.

NOTWITHSTANDING that, he was arraigned at Bury, before sir Clement Higham, at a Lent assize, and there this Fenning brought two vile men, that witnessed to the speaking of the aforesaid words, whose names were Richard White, of Watsam, and Grimwood, of Hitcham, in the said county of Suf|folk. Whose testimonies were received as truth, although this good man, John Cooper, had said what he could to declare himself innocent therein, but to no purpose, God knows. For his life was determined, as in the end appeared by sir Clement High••m's words, who said he should not escape, for an example to all heretics, as indeed he thoroughly performed: for immediately he was sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, which was ac|cordingly performed soon after, to the great grief of many a good heart. Here good Cooper is bereft of his life, and leaves behind him a wife and nine children, with goods and cattle to the value of 300 marks, all which substance was taken away by the said sir ••enry Doiel, sheriff, but his wife and poor children were left to the wide world in their clothes and suffered not to enjoy one penny of that they had sore laboured for, unless they made friends to buy it with money of the said sheriff, so cruel and greedy was he and his officers upon such things as were there left.

NOW, this innocent man being dead, his goods spoiled, his wife and children left desolate and com|fortless, and all things hushed, and nothing ••eared of any part: yet the Lord, who surely doth revenge the guiltless blood, would not still so suf••er it, but at length began to punish it himself. For in the harvest following, as the said Grimwood, of Hit|cham, one of the witnesses before mentioned, was at his labour stacking up a goff of corn, being in health, and fearing no danger, suddenly his bowels fell out of his body, and thus most miserably he died: such was the terrible judgment of God, to shew his displeasure against his bloody act, and to warn the rest, by these his judgments, to repent|ance. The Lord grant us to honour the same, for his mercy's sake. Amen.

IN the story of Mr. Bradford mention was made before of Mr. Woodroffe, who being the sheriff, used much to rejoice at the death of the poor saints of Christ, and so hard was he in his office, that when Mr. Rogers was in the cart going towards Smithfield, in the way his children were brought unto him, the people making a lane for them to come; Mr. Woodroffe had the carman's head broken, because of his stopping his cart. But what happened? He was not come out of his office the space of a week, but he was stricken suddenly by the hand of God, the one half of his body was in such a condition, that he lay benumbed and bed|ridden, not able to move himself, but as he was lifted by others; and so he continued in that in|firmity the space of seven or eight years, till his dy|ing day.

LIKEWISE touching Ralph Lardin, the betrayer of George Eagles, it is thought by some, that the said Ralph was afterward attached himself, arraign|ed, and hanged.

WHO, being at the bar, before the judges, and a

great number of people, spake these words: This is most justly fallen upon me, for that I have be|trayed the innocent blood of that good and just man George Eagles, who was here condemned in the time of queen Mary through my procurement, when I sold his blood for a little money.

AMONG other persecutors, there came also to our hands the cruelty of one Mr. Swing••ield, an alder|man's deputy about Thames-street, who hearing one Angel's wife, a midwife, that kept herself from their popish church, to be at the labour of one Mrs. Walter, at Crooked-lane end, took with him three more, and beset the house about, and took her and carried her to Bonner's officers, big with child, twenty-eight weeks gone, who laid her in Lollards' Tower; where, the same day she came in, through fear, and a fall at her taking, she was delivered of a male child, and could have no woman to assist her in that needful time. Lying there five weeks, she was delivered under sureties by friendship; and Dr. Story hearing thereof, charged her with felony, and so sent her to Newgate. The cause was, be|cause that she having a woman at her house that died in labour, and the child also, and so charged her with both their deaths.

BUT when sir Roger Cholmley heard her tell her tale, he delivered her; and not much more than ten weeks after, if it were so long, died the said Mr. Swingfield, and the other three that came to take her.

BECAUSE some there be, and not a few, who have such great devotion in setting up the popish mass, I would desire them to mark well the following sto|ry. There was a certain bailiff, of Crowland, in Lincolnshire, named Burton, who pretending an earnest friendship to the gospel in king Edward's days, at least in outward shew (although inwardly he was a papist or atheist, and well known to be a man of a wicked and adulterous life), set forth the king's proceedings lustily, till the time that king Edward was dead, and queen Mary placed quietly in her estate.

THEN perceiving by the first proclamation con|cerning religion, how the world was like to turn, the bailiff turned his religion likewise; and so he moved the parish to shew themselves the queen's friends, and so set up the mass speedily. Never|theless the most substantial of the parish marvelling much at the bailiff's inconstancy, considering also his abominable life, and having no great devotion unto his request, knowing moreover that their du|ty and friendship to the queen stood not in setting up the mass, spared to provide for it, as long as they might, but the bailiff called on them still in the queen's name.

AT last, when he saw his words were not regard|ed, and purposing to win his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by playing the man in the mass's behalf and the queen's, he got him to church upon a Sunday morning, when the curate was beginning the English service, according to the statute set forth by king Edward the sixth; the bailiff cometh in a great rage to the curate, and saith, Sirrah, will you not say mass? Buckle your|self to mass, you knave, or by God's blood I shall sheath my dagger in your shoulder. The poor cu|rate for fear settled himself to the mass.

NOT long after this, the bailiff rode from home upon certain business, accompanied by one of his neighbours, and as they came riding together upon the Fennebank homeward again, a crow sitting in a willow tree took her flight over his head, singing after her wonted note, knave, knave, and withal let fall upon hi•• face, so that her excrements ran from the top of his nose down to his beard.

THE poisened scent and favour whereof so an|noyed his stomach, that he never ceased vomiting untill he came home, wherewith his heart was so sore, and his body so distempered, that through ex|treme sickness he got him to bed, and so lying, he was not able for the stink in his stomach and painful vomiting, to receive any relief of meat or drink, but cried out still, sorrowfully complaining of that stink, and with no small oaths cursed the crow that prisoned him. To make short, he continued but a few days, but with extreme pain of vomiting and crying, he desperately died, without any token of repentance of his former life.

Reported and testified for a c••rtainty, by divers of his neighbours, both honest and credible persons.

AS James Abbes was led by the sheriff towards his martyrdom, divers poor people stood in the way and asked their alms. He then having no money to give them, and desirous yet to distribute some|thing amongst them, did pull off his apparel, saving his shirt, and gave the same unto them, to some one thing, to some another, in the giving whereof he exhorted them to be strong in the Lord, and as faithful followers of Christ, to stand stedfast unto the truth of the gospel, which he (through God's help) would then in their sight seal and confirm wi••h his blood. While he was thus charitably oc|cupied, and zealously instructing the people a ser|vant of the sheriff's going by and hearing him, cri|ed out aloud unto them, and blasphemously said, Believe him not, good people, he is an heretic and a mad man, out of his wits; believe him not, for it is heresy that he saith. And as the other contin|ued in his godly admonitions, so did this wicked wretch still blow forth his blasphemous exclama|tions, until they came unto the stake where he should suffer. Unto which this constant martyr was tied, and in the end cruelly burned, as in his story more fully is already declared.

BUT immediately after the fire was put unto him (such was the fearful stroke of God's justice upon this blasphemous railer), that he as there presently in the sight of all the people, stricken with a frenzy wherewith he had before most railingly charged that good martyr of God, who in this furious rage and madness casting of his shoes with all the rest of his clothes, cried out unto the people and said, Thus did James Abbes the true servant of God, who is saved but I am damned. And thus ran he round about the town of Bury, still crying out, that James Ab|bes was a good man and saved, but he was damned.

THE sheriff then being amazed, caused him to be taken and tied in a dark house, and by force com|pelled him again to put on his clothes, thinking thereby within a while to bring him to some quiet|ness. But (all that notwithstanding) as soon as they were gone, he continued his former raging, and casting off his clothes, cried as he did before, James Abbes is the servant of God, and is saved, but I am damned.

AT length ••e was tied at a cart, and brought home to his master's house, and within half a year or thereabouts, he being at the point of death, the priest of the parish was sent for: who coming un|to him, brought with him the crucifix and their houseling host of the altar. Which gear when the poor wretch saw, he cried out to the priest, and de|fied all that baggage, saying, that the priest, with such others as he was, was the cause of his damna|tion, and that James Abbes was a good man and saved. And so shortly after died.

CLARK, an open enemy to the gospel and all god|ly preachers, in king Edward's days hanged him|self in the Tower of London.

THE great and notable papist, called Troling Smith, of late fell down suddenly in the street and died.

DALE, the promoter, was eaten into his body with lice, and so died, as it is well known of many, and confessed also by his fellow John Avales, be|fore credible witness.

ALEXANDER, the keeper of Newgate, a cruel ene|my to those that lay there for religion, died very miserably, being so swollen, that he was more like a monster than a man, and so rotten within, that no man could abide the smell of him. This cruel wretch, to hasten the poor lambs to the slaughter, would go to Bonner, Story, Cholmley, and others, crying out, Rid my prison, rid my prison. I am too much pestered with these heretics.

THE son of the said Alexander, called James, having left unto him by his father great substance, within three years wasted all to nought: and when some marvelled how he spent thess goods so fast: O, said he, evil gotten, evil spent; and shortly after as he went in Newgate-market, he fell down sud|denly, and there wretchedly died.

JOHN PETER, son-in-law to this Alexander, and an horrible blasphemer of God, and no less cruel to the said prisoners, rotted away, and so most mise|rably died. Who commonly, when he would affirm

any thing, were it true or false, used to say. If it be not true, I pray God I ••ot ere I die▪ Witness the printer hereof, with divers others.

AND what a ••otable spectacle of God's reveng|ing judgment have we to consider in sir Ralph Eller|ker, who as he was desirous to see the heart taken out of Adam Damlip, whom they most wrongfully put to death: so shortly after the said Sir Ralph Ellerker, being slain of the French, they fell to mangling him, and after they had cut off his privy members, would not so leave him before they might see his heart cut out of his body.

STEPHEN GARDINER, hearing of the pitiful end of judge Hales, after he had drowned himself, tak|ing occasion thereby, called the following and pro|fession of the gospel, a doctrine of desperation. But as judge Hales never fell into that inconvenience before he had consented to papistry; so whoso well considereth the end of doctor Pendleton, (which at his death full sore repented that ever he had yielded to the doctrine of the papists as he did) and likewise the miserable end of the most part of the papists besides, and especially of Stephen Gardiner himself who after so long professing the doctrine of papistry, when there came a bishop to him on his death bed, and put him in remembrance or Peter denying his master; he answering again, said, that he had deni|ed with Peter, but never repented with Peter, and so both stinkingly and unrepentedly died, will say, as Stephen Gardiner also himself gave an evident ex|ample of the same to all men, to understand that po|pery rather is a doctrine of desperation, procuring the vengeance of Almighty God to them that wil|fu••ly do cleave unto it.

AND thus much concerning those persecutors.

THE persecuting clergy who died in the time of arrow_back persecution arrow_forward , we shall take no notice of▪ but those who remained after the death of queen Mary were deprived, and committed to several prisons.

IN THE TOWER.

• Nicholas Heath, archbishop of York, and lord chancellor.
• Thomas Thirlby, bishop of Ely.
• Thomas Watson, bishop of Lincoln.
• Gilbert Bourne, bishop of Bath and Wells.
• Richard Pates, bishop of Worcester.
• Troublefield, bishop of Exeter.
• John Fecknam, abbot of Westminster.
• John Borall, dean of Windsor and Peterborough.

OF David Pool, bishop of Peterborough, it is not known whether he was in the Tower, or in some other prison.

GOLDWEL, bishop of St. Asaph, and Maurice, elect of Bangor, ran away.

EDMUND BONNER, bishop of London, in the Marshalsea.

THOMAS WOOD, bishop elect, in the Marshalsea.

CUTHBERT SCOT, bishop of Chester, was in the Fleet, from whence he escaped to Louvain, and there died.

IN THE FLEET.

• Henry Cole, dean of St. Paul's.
• John Harpsfield, archdeacon of London, and dean of Norwich.
• Nicholas Harpsfield, archdeacon of Canterbury.
• Anthony Draycot, archdeacon of Huntingdon.
• William Chedsey, archdeacon of Middlesex.

CONCERNING which doctor Chedsey here is to be noted, that in the beginning of king Edward's reign he recanted and subscribed to thirty-four articles, wherein he then fully consented and agreed with his own hand-writing to the whole form of doctrine approved and allowed then in the church, as well concerning justification by faith only, as also the doctrine of the two sacraments then received, deny|ing as well the pope's supremacy, transubstantiation, purgatory, invocation of saints, elevation and ado|ration of the sacrament, the sacrifice, and venera|tion of the mass, as also all other like excrements of popish superstition, according to the king's book then set forth.

WHEREFORE the more marvellous it is, that he,

being counted so famous and learned a clerk, would shew himself so fickle and unstable in his assertions, so double in his doing, to altar his religion according to time, and to maintain for truth, not what he thought best, but what he might most safely de|fend. So long as the state of the lord protector and of his brother stood upright, what was then the conformity of this doctor Chedsey, his own arti|cles in Latin, written and subscribed with his own hand, do declare, what I have to shew, if he will deny them. But after the decay of the king's uncles, the fortune of them turned not so fast, but his reli|gion turned withal, and he took upon him to dis|pute with Peter Martyr, in upholding transubstan|tiation at Oxford, which a little before with his own hand-writing he had overthrown.

AFTER this ensued the time of queen Mary, wherein doctor Chedsey, to shew his double dili|gence, was so eager in his commission to sit in judgment, and to bring poor men to their death, that in the last year of queen Mary, when the lord chancellor, sir Thomas Cornwallis, lord Clinton and divers others of the council had sent for him by a spe+cial letter to repair to London out of Essex, he writ+ing again to the bishop of London sought means not to come at the desire of the council, but to contin|ue still in his persecuting progress. The copy of whose letter I have also in my hands (if need were) to bring forth.

IT happened in the first year of queen Elizabeth, that one William Mauldon was bound servant to one Mr. Hugh Aparry, then a wheat-taker for the queen, dwelling at Greenwich; who being newly come to him, and having no book there to look up|on. being desirous to occupy himself virtuously, looked about the house, and found a primmer in English, wherein he read on a winter's evening. While he was reading, there sat one John Apowel, that had been a serving man, about thirty years of age, born in Wales, whom the said Mr. Hugh gave meat and drink unto, till such time as he could get a service. And as William Mauldon read in the book the said John Apowel mocked after every word, with contrary and flouting words irreverently, in|somuch that he could no longer abide him for grief of heart, but turned to him and said, John, take heed what thou dost; thou dost not mock me, but thou mockest God: for in mocking of his word, thou mockest him; and this is the word of God, though I be simple that read it: and therefore be|ware what thou dost.

THEN Mauldon fell to reading again, and still he proceeded in his mocking; and when Mauldon had read certain English prayers, in the end he read, Lord have mercy upon us Christ have mercy up|on us, &c.

AND as Mouldon was reciting these words, the other with a start suddenly said. Lord have mer|cy upon me.

WITH that Mouldon said, What ailest thou, John?

He said, I was afraid.

WHEREOF wast thou afraid? said Mauldon.

NOTHING now, said the other: and so he would not tell him. After this when Mauldon and he went to bed, Mauldon asked him what he was a|fraid of.

HE said, when you read, Lord have mercy up|on us, &c. me thought the hair of my head stood upright, with a great fear which came upon me.

THEN said Mauldon, John, thou mayest see, the evil spirit could not abide that Christ should have mercy upon us. Well, John, said Mauldon, repent and amend thy life, for God will not be mocked. If we mock and jest at his word, he will punish us.

ALSO you use ribaldry words, and swearing very much: therefore, for God's sake, John, amend thy life. So I will (said he) by the grace of God; I pray God I may. Amen, said the other, with other words, and so went to bed.

ON the morrow, about eight o'clock in the morn|ing, John came running down out of his chamber in his shirt into the hall, and wrestled with his mistress as if he would have thrown her down. Whereat she shrieked out, and called her servants

to help her, and took by strength and carried him up into his bed, and there bound him; for they per|ceived plainly that he was out of his right mind.

AFTER that, as he lay, almost a day and a night, his tongue never ceased, but he cried out of the devil of hell, and his words were ever still, O the devil of hell; now the devil of hell, I would see the devil of hell, there he is, there he goeth, &c.

THUS he lay without amendment about six days, that his master and all the family being weary of the noise, agreed with the keepers of Bedlam, and gave a piece of money, and sent him thither.

THIS is a terrible example to you that be mock|ers of God: thefore repent and amend, lest the ven|geance of God fall upon you in like manner. Wit|ness hereof, William Mauldon, of Newington.

THE same William Mauldon chanced afterwards to dwell at a town six miles from London, called Walthamstow, where his wife taught young chil|dren to read, which was about the year of our Lord, 1563, and the fourth year of queen Elizabeth's reign. Unto this school, amongst other children, came one Benfield's daughter, named Dennis, about the age of twelve years.

AS these children were talking together, they happened among other talk (as the nature of chil|dren is to be busy with many things) to fall into communication of God, and to reason among them|selves, after their childish discretion, what he should be. Some answered one thing, some another. Among whom, when one of the children had said, He was a good old Father, Dennis Benfield said, He is an old doating fool.

WHAT wretched and blasphemous words were those you heard? Now mark what followed.

WHEN Mauldon heard of these abominable words of the girl, he desired his wife to correct her for the same; which was appointed to be done the next day; but when the morrow came, her mother would needs send her to London market: the girl greatly intreated her mother that she might not go; however, through her mother's compulsion, she was forced to go. And what happened? Her bu|siness being done at London, as she was returning again homeward, a little beyond Hackney, she was suddenly struck on one side, which turned black, and she speechless. Whereupon she was carried back to Hackney, and there died the same night. Witness of the same, William Mauldon and his wife, also Benfield her father, and mother.

A dreadful example, no doubt, both to old and young, what it is for children to blaspheme the Lord their God, and what it is for parents to suffer their young ones to grow up in such blasphemous blindness, and not to nurture them betimes in the rudiments of the christian catechsm, to know first their creation, and then their redemption in Christ our Saviour, to fear the name of God, and to reve|rence his Majesty. For what else do they deserve but to be taken away by death, who contemptuously despise him they derive the benefit of life from?

THEREFORE let all young maids, boys, and young men, take example by this wretched creature, not only to avoid blaspheming the sacred Majesty of the omnipotent God their creator, but also not once to take his name in vain, as they are taught in his commandments.

SECONDLY, let all fathers, godfathers, and god|mothers, take this for a warning, to see to the in|struction and catechising of their children, for whom they have bound themselves in promise both to God and to his church: for if the father and godfather, the mother and godmothers, had done their duty by this young girl, this destruction might not have fallen upon her.

THIRDLY, let all blind atheists, epicures, mam|monists, belly-gods of this world, and sons of Belial, hypocrites, infidels, and mockers of religion, who say in their hearts, there is no God, learn also hereby not only what God is, and what he is able to do, but also in this miserable creature here pun|ished in this world, behold what shall likewise fall on them in the world to come, unless they will be warned betimes by such examples as the Lord doth give them.

FOURTHLY and lastly, here may also be a specta|cle

for all those who are blasphemers and abomina|ble swearers, or rather tearers of God, abusing his glorious name in such a contemptuous and despite|ful manner as they frequently do: whom if neither the command of God, nor the calling of the preach|er, nor remorse of conscience, nor rule of reason, nor their withering age, nor hoary hairs, will ad|monish, yet let these terrible examples of God's strict judgment somewhat move them to take heed ••o themselves. For if this young maiden, who was not full twelve years old, for her irreverent speaking of God (and that but at one time) did not escape the stroke of God's terrible hand, what then have they to look for, who being men grown in years, and often warned by the preacher, yet cease not continually with their blasphemous oaths, not only to abuse his name, but also most contu|meliously to tear him (as it were) and all his parts to pieces?

DID not Thomas Arundel, archbishop of Can|terbury, give sentence against the lord Cobham, and died himself before him, being so mortified in his tongue, that he could neither swallow nor speak for some time before his death?

WILLIAM SWALLOW, the cruel tormentor of George Eagles, was shortly after so plagued of God, that all the hair of his head, and nails of his fingers and toes, went off, his eyes almost closed up, that he could scarce see.

I trust, however, the gospel of Christ being now received in the queen's cou••t amongst the courtiers and servants of her guard, hath framed their lives and manners in the due fear of God, and temper|ance of life, with all sobriety, and merciful com|passion towards their own christians, that they need not greatly any other instructions to be given them in this story: yet forasmuch as examples fre…quently operate more effectually on the minds and memories of men; and also partly considering with myself how these, above all other sorts of men in the whole realm, in time past ever had most need of such wholesome lessons and admonitions, to leave their inordinate ••ot of drunkenness, and their heathenish prophaneness of life, I thought it may not be improper here to set before their eyes a ter|rible example, not of a strange and foreign person, but of one of their own coat, a y••oman of the guards, not feigned by me, but brought to me by God's providence, for a warning to all courtiers, and of very truth no longer ago than in the year of our Lord 1568: and as the story is true, so i•• the name of the party not unknown, being called Christopher Landesdale, living in Hackney, in Middlesex: the order of whose life, and manner of his death, being worthy to be noted, is as follows.

THIS Landesdale, who was married to an old woman of considerable property, lived notwith|standing in a state of whoredom with a younger wo|man, by whom he had two children, a son and a daughter, whom he kept in his own house till his decease. It was customary for him, when he should have been serving God on the sabbath-day, to be riding or walking about his fields, neither he nor any of his house coming to church after the English ser|vice was again received. Besides this, he was a great swearer, and a great drunkard, and also took great delight in making other men drunk, whom, when he had made drunkards, he would have to call him father, and he would call them his sons; and of these sors, by report, he had above forty. If he saw a man that would drink freely, he would take great notice of him, and spend his money chearfully with him in ale or wine, but mostly in wine, to make him the sooner drunk. These bless|ed sons of his would have great cheer oftentimes, both at his own house and at taverns: and not long before his death, he was so very much disguised with liquor, at a tavern opposite his own house, that he fell down in a state of insensibility; nor could he arise till helped up, and carried home.

THIS father of drunkards, as he was a great feaster of the rich and wealthy of Hackney, and others, so his poor neighbours and tenants fared little the better for him, except it were with some broken meat, which, after his feasts his wife would send unto them, or some alms given at his door.

BESIDES all this, he did much injury to his poor neighbours, in turning his cattle on the adjoining commons, which eat up all from the poor without pity or mercy.

ABOUT two years before he died, a poor man,

who was ill of a flux, happened, through weakness, to lie down in a ditch of the said La••desdale's, a small distance from his house, where he had a lit|tle straw brought him. Notwithstanding the said Landesdale had out-houses and barns enough to have laid him in, but would not shew him so much pity. In that situation the poor man lay night and day about six weeks before he died.

CERTAIN good neighbours hearing of this, pro|cured things necessary for his relief, but he was so far spent that he could not be recovered; lying in the hot sun, hath a horrible smell, most pitiful to behold.

A little before this poor man died, he desired to be moved to another ditch more shady. Where|upon one of the neighbours coming to Landesdale's wife for a bundle of straw for him to sit upon, she required to have him removed to Newington side, because, she said, if he should die, it would be very far to carry him to the church.

BESIDES this, there was a marriage in Landes|dale's house, and the guests that came to the mar|riage gave the poor man money as they passed and repassed him, but Landesdale disdained to contribute any thing to his relief, notwithstanding that he had promised to Mr. Searles, one of the queen's guard, who had more pity on him, to minister to him things necessary.

TO be short, the next day poor Lazarus depart|ed this life, and was buried in Hackney church|yard; upon whom Landesdale did not so much as bestow a winding-sheet towards his burial. And thus much concerning the end of poor Lazarus. Now let us hear what became of the rich glutton.

ABOUT two years after, the said Landesdale be|ing full of liquor (as his custom was), came riding in great haste from London on St. Andrew's day, 1568, and, as was reported by those who saw him, reeling to and fro, with his hat in his hand, and coming by a ditch, tumbled headlong into it. Some say that the horse fell upon him, but that is im|probable. True it is however, that the horse, more sober than his master, came home, leaving him be|hind. Whether he broke his neck with the f••ll, or was drowned, (though the water was scarce a foot deep) is uncertain; but certain it is, he was there found dead. Being thus found dead in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the coroner (as is the custom) sat upon him: and how the matter was managed to save his goods, the Lord knoweth; but the goods were saved, and the poor horse indicted for his master's death.

THE neighbours hearing of this man's death, and considering the manner thereof, said it was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fallen upon him, that, as he suffered the poor man to lie and die in a ditch near his own house, so his end was to die in a ditch likewise. And th••••, christian reader, in this story have I set before your eyes the true image of a rich glutton and poo•• La|zarus; by which we may discover what happ••••eth in the end to such voluptuous epicures and 〈◊〉〈◊〉, who being void of all sense of religion, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of God, yield themselves up to all profaneness of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, neither regarding honesty at home, nor shewing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to their neighbours abroad.

CHRIST our Saviour saith, Mat. v. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy:" but judg|ment without mercy shall be executed on 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which have shewed no mercy, &c. and St. John saith, 1 John iv. "He that seeth his brother 〈◊〉〈◊〉 need and shutteth up his compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him," &c. Again Isaiah crieth out against such profane drunkards, "Woe be unto them that rise up early to follow drunkenness, and to them that continue so until night till they be set on fire with wine. In those com|panies are harps and ••utes, tabrets and pipes, and wine: but they regard not the works of the Lord, and consider not the operation of his hands," &c. Woe be unto them that are strong to spue out wi••e and expert to set up drunkenness.

THE punishments of such as are dead, are whole|some documents to such as are alive. Therefore, as the story above exempli••••ed may serve to warn all cour••iers and y••omen of the guard; so by what followeth, I would admonish all gentlemen to take

heed in time, and forsake their outrageous swearing and blaspheming of the Lord their God.

IN the reign of king Edward, there was in Corn|wall a certain lusty young gentleman, who rode in company with other gentlemen and their servants, to the number of about forty horsemen. This youngster entering into conversation with some of them, began to swear most horribly, blaspheming the name of God, with other ribaldry words besides. One of the company, not able to abide the hearing of such blasphemous abomination, told him in gen|tle words, that he should give answer and account for every idle word.

THE gentleman, offended thereat, said, Why ta|kest thou thought for me? take thought for thy winding-sheet. Well, said the other, amend, for death giveth no warning; for as soon cometh a lamb's skin to the market as an old sheep's. God's wounds, saith he, care not thou for me; raging still after this manner worse and worse in words, till at length, on their journey, they came riding over a large bridge, standing over a piece of an arm of the sea. Upon which bridge this gentleman swearer spurred his horse in such a manner, that he sprang clean over with him on his back; who, as he was going, exclaimed, Horse and man, and all to the devil. This terrible story happened at a town in Cornwal, I would have been afraid to have related here, but for the testimony of Mr. Heyns, a minis|ter, who was both the reprehender of his swearing, and witness of his death. Ridley, then bishop of London, also preached and declared the same fact and example at Paul's Cross. The name of the gentleman I could by no means obtain of the party and witness aforesaid, for dread of those (as he said) of his kindred who yet remained in the said county.

HAVING now sufficiently admonished, first the courtiers, then the gentlemen, now thirdly, for a brief admonition to the lawyers, we will here insert the strange end and death of one Henry Smith, a student of the law.

HENRY SMITH, having a godly gentleman for his father▪ and an ancient protestant, living at Cam|den, in Gloucesters••ire, was virtuously brought up by him in the knowledge of God's word and sincere religion; wherein he shewed himself in the begin|ning such an earnest professor, that he was called by the papists prattling Smith. After these good be|ginnings, he went to be a student of the law in the Middle Temple, London, where by ill company, he began to be perverted to popery, and afterwards going to Louvain, was more deeply grounded in the same. Insomuch that, returning from thence, he brought with him pardons, a crucifix, with an Agnus Dei, which he used commonly to wear about his neck, and had in his chamber images, before which he was wont to pray; besides divers other popish trash, which he brought with him from Lou|vain. Now what end followed this I should be un|willing to declare, but that the notoriety of the fact was such, as amazed almost the whole city of Lon|don. The end was this.

A short time after his return, this Henry Smith became a foul jeerer, and a scornful scoffer of that religion which he once professed. In his bed-cham|ber, in St. Clement's parish without Temple-bar, as he was going to bed in the evening, having strip|ped himself naked, he tied his shirt (which he had torn for that purpose) about his privities, and with his girdle or garter strangled himself; having his Agnus Dei in a silver table, with his other idola|trous trash, in a window by him. And thus being dead, and not thought worthy to be interred in the church yard, he was buried in a lane called Foskew lane.

FOREIGN EXAMPLES.

HOIMEISTER, the great arch-papist, and chief master-pillar of the pope's falling church, as he was on his journey towards the coun|cil of Ratisbon, to dispute against the defenders of Christ's gospel, suddenly in his journey, not far from Ulmes, was prevented by the stroke of God's hand and there miserably died, with horrible roaring and crying out.

ANOTHER example we have of one Arnoldus Bomelius, a young man of the university of Lou|vain, well commended for his flourishing wit and ripeness of learning, who, whil•••• he favoured the cause of the gospel, and took part with the same a|gainst the enemies of the truth, prospered and went

well forward; but after he drew to the company of Tyleman, master of the pope's college in Louvain, and framed himself after the rule of his unsavoury doctrine, that is, to stand in fear and doubt of his justification, and to work his salvation by merits and deeds of the law, he began more and more to grow in doubtful despair and discomfort of mind; as the nature of that doctrine is, utterly to pluck away a man's mind from all certainty and true liberty of spirit, to a servile doubtfulness, full of discomfort and bondage of soul.

THUS the young man, seduced and perverted through this blind doctrine of ignorance and dubi|tation, fell into a great agony of mind, wandering and wrestling in himself a long time, till at length being overcome with despair, and not having in the popish doctrine wherewith to raise up his soul, he went out of the city on a time to walk, accompa|nied by three other students of the same university, his special familiars. As they returned home again, Arnoldus, through fatigue, as it seemed, sat down by a spring side to rest himself: the others thinking no ill, went forwards, and in the mean time Arnol|dus suddenly took out his dagger, and struck him|self into the body.

HIS fellows seeing him shrinking down, and the fountain to be coloured with the blood that issued out of the wound, came running to him, took him up, and brought him into an house near at hand, and there exhorted him, as well as they could, to repent his fact; who then by outward gesture seemed to give some sign of repentance. Notwithstanding, he espying one of his friends there busy about him, to have a knife hanging at his girdle, violently plucked out the knife, and with main force stabbed himself to the heart.

JOHANNES SLEIDANUS, in his 23d book, giveth a rela••ion Cardinal Cresentius, the chief president and mo••••••ator of the council of Trent, Anno 1552. The story of ••hom is ••ertain, the thing that hap|pe••••d to him was strange and notable, the example of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 may be pro••it••ble to others, such as have grace to be warned by other men's evils.

THE twenty-fifth day of March in the year afore••said, Cresentious, the pope's legate, and vicegerent in the council of Trent, was sitting all day long un|til dark night, in writing letters to the Pope. Af|ter his labour, when night was come, thinking to refresh himself, he began to 〈◊〉〈◊〉; behold there ap|peared to him a mighty black dog, of a huge big|ness, his eyes shining with fire, and his ears hanging down well near to the ground, and strait began to come towards him, and couched under the table. The cardinal, not a little surprised at the fight there|of, som••what recovering himself, called to his ser|vants, who were in the outward chamber next by, to bring in a candle, and to seek for the dog. But when the dog could not be found, neither there, nor in any other chamber about, the cardinal there|upon struck with a sudden conceit of mind, imme|diately fell into such a sickness, that his physicians, which he had about him, with all their art and in|dustry could not cure him. And so in the town of Verona died this popish cardinal, the pope's holy legate, and president of this council, wherein his purpose was (as Sleidan saith) to recover and heal again the whole authority and doctrine of the Ro|mish see, and to set it up for ever.

THERE were in this council of Trent, besides the pope's legates and cardinals, 24 bishops, doctors of divinity 62. And thus was the end of this popish council, by the provident hand of the Almighty, dispatched and brought to nought.

THE council of Trent, being then dissolved by the death of this cardidal, was afterward notwith|standing collected again about the year of our Lord 1562, against the erroneous proceedings of which council other writers there be that say enough. So much as pertaineth only my story, I thought pro|per hereunto to add an account of two adulterous filthy bishops belonging to the said council, one of whom resorting to an honest wife, was slain by the just stroke of God with a boar-spear. The other bishop, who used to creep through a window, in the same window was sub••illy taken and hanged in a gin laid for him on purpose▪ and so contrived, that in the morning he was seen openly in the street hanging out of the window, to the wonder of all that passed by.

IN the city of Antwerp lived one, named John Vander Warse, of good estimation amongst the chief of that place. Who, as he was of a cruel na••ture, so he was of a perverse and corrupt judg|ment, and a sore persecutor of Christ's flock, with greediness seeking and shedding innocent blood, and had drowned divers good men and women in the water, for which he was much commended by the bloody generation. By some he was called a blood hound, or bloody dog. By others he was called a shilpad, that is to say, sheltoad, for he being a short grundy, and of little stature, did ride commonly with a great broad hat, as a country churl.

THIS man being weary of his office, (wherein he had continued above twenty years) he gave it over; and because he was now grown rich and wealthy, he intended to pass the residue of his life in ease and pleasure.

ABOUT the second year after, he came to Ant|werp, to the feast called our lady's Oumegang, to make merry; which feast is usually kept on the Sunday following the assumption of our lady. The same day about four o'clock in the afternoon, he being well loaden with wine, rode homewards in his waggon, with his wife and a gentlewoman waiting on her, and his fool. As soon as the waggon was come without the gates of the city, upon the wood|en bridge being at that time made for a shift, with rails or barriers on each side for the safety of the passengers (about half the heighth of a man), the horses stood still, and would by no means go for|ward, whatsoever the driver of the waggon, could do.

THEN he cried out to him that guided the wag|gon, saying, Ride on, in the name of a thousand devile ride on. The poor man answered, that he could not make the horses go forward. By and by while they were yet talking, suddenly arose, as it were, a mighty whirlwind, with a terrible noise (the weather being very fair, and no wind stirring before) and tost the waggon into the town ditch, the ropes that tied the horses being broke asunder, in such a manner as if they had been cut with a sharp knife, the waggon being also cast upside down, by the fall whereof he had his neck broke, and was swallowed up in the mire. His wife was taken up alive, but died in three days after. But the gentle|woman and the fool, by God's providence were preserved from harm. The fool hearing the peo|ple say his master was dead, said, And was not I dead, was not I dead too? This happened in the year 1553. Witness hereof not only the printer of the same story in dutch, dwelling then in Ant|werp, whose name was Francis Fraet, a good man, and afterwards through hatred was put to death by the papists, but also divers Dutchmen here in Eng|land, and a great number of English merchants who were at that time in Antwerp.

IN the year 1565, there was in the town of Gaunt in Flanders, one William de Wever, accused and imprisoned by the provost of St. Peter's, in Gaunt (who had in his cloister a prison and place of execu|tion) and the day the said William was called to the place of judgment, the provost sent for Mr. Giles Brackleman, principal advocate of the coun|cil of Flanders, and bur••h-master and judge of St. Peter's, in Gaunt, with other rulers of the town, to sit in judgment upon him; and as they sat in judg|ment, Mr. Giles Brackleman reasoned with the said William de Wever upon divers articles of his faith. One whereof was,

WHY he denied that it was lawful to pray to saints; and he answered, For three causes, the one was, That they were but creatures, and not the Creator. The second was,

THAT if he should call upon them, the Lord did both see it and hear it; and therefore he durst give the glory to none other but God. The third and chief cause was,

THAT the Creator had commanded in his holy word to call upon him in trouble, unto which com|mandment he durst neither add nor take from.

HE also demanded, whether he did not believe that there was a purgatory which he should go into after this life, where every one should be purified and cleansed.

HE answered, That he had read over the whole

bible, and could find no such place, but the death of Christ was his purgatory: with many other questions, proceeding after their order, till he came to pronounce his condemnation. But before it was read, he was struck with a palsy, that his mouth was almost drawn up to his ear, and so he fell down the rest of the lords standing before him, that the people might not see him: and the people were de|sired to depart. Then they took him up and car|ried him to his house, where he died the very next day. Yet notwithstanding all this, they burnt William de Wever within three hours after.

The Story and End of the French King.

WHOSOEVER was the author or authors of this letter above prefixed, herein tho•• seen (good reader) good counsel given to the king; if he had had the grace to receive and follow the ••ame, no doubt but God's blessing working with him, he had not only set the realm in a blessed state from much disturbance, but also had continued himself in all flourishing felicity of princely honour and dignity. But instead of that, he was so outrageous against the protestants, that he threatened Anne du Bourg, one of the high court of Parliament in Pa|ris, that he would see him burn with his own eyes. But how he came short of his purpose, the sequel of the story will make it appear, in the following manner.

KING HENRY being in the parliament house, which was kept at the Friar Augustine's at Paris, because the palace was in preparing against the marriage of his daughter, and his sister, and hav|ing heard the opinion in religion of Anne du Bourg, counsellor in the law, a man eloquent and learned, he caused the said Anne du Bourg, and Loys du Faux, counsellors, to be taken prisoners by the constable of France, who apprehended them, and delivered them into the hands of count Mont|gomery, who carried them to prison. Against whom the king being full of wrath and anger, among other things, said to the said Anne du Bourg, These eyes of mine shall see thee burnt: and so on the 19th of June, commission was given to judges ••o make their process.

IN the meanwhile, great feasts and banquets were preparing at court, for joy and gladness of the mar|riage that should be of the king's daughter and sis|ter▪ against the last day of June save one. When the time was come, the king employed all the morning in examining the presidents and counsel|lors of the said parliament against these prisoners, and other of their companions that were charged with the same doctrine; which being done, they went to dinner.

THE king, after he had dined, for that he was one of the defendants at the tourney, which was solemnly made in St. Anthony's-street, near to the prison where the aforesaid prisoners were commit|ted, entered into the li••t••; and therein engaging, as the manner is, had broken many slaves very val|iantly, running as well against the count of Mont|gomery, as divers others. Whereupon he was highly commended by the spectators. And be|cause he was thought to have done enough, they desired him to leave off with praise: but he being the more inflamed with the hearing of his praise, would needs run another course with Montgomery: who then refusing to run against the king, and kneeling on his knees for pardon not to run; the king being eagerly set, commanded him on his al|legiance to run, and (as some affirm) he also put the staff in his hand, unto whose hand he had com|mitted the aforesaid prisoners a little before. Montgomery being thus enforced, whether he would or no, to run against the king, prepared him|self after the best manner to obey the king's com|mandment. Whereupon he and the king met together so fiercely, that in breaking their spears the king was struck with the counter blow, so right in one of his eyes, by reason that the visor of his helmet suddenly fell down at the same instant, that the splinters entered into his head; so that the brains were touched, and thereupon so festered, that no remedy could be found, although physicians and surgeons were sent from all parts of the realm, and also from Brabant, from king Philip, but no|thing availed, so that the 11th day after, that is, the 10th of July, 1559, he miserably ended his

life, having reigned 1•• years, 3 months, and 10 days.

The lamentable History of JOHN WHITMAN, Shoe|maker, who suffered most cruel Torments at Os|tend, in Flanders, Anno, 1572.

JOHN WHITMAN, Shoemaker, about the age of 49 years, born in Tinen, a town in Bra|bant, after his coming over into England, dwelt in Rye, in the county of Sussex, being married 23 years; always a professor of the gospel, as well in the time of freedom, as in the time of arrow_back persecution arrow_forward . About Candlemas, in the year 1572, unknown to his friends in Rye, understanding of shipping in Rye, which was ready bound for Ostend in Flan|ders, he went on board the Saturday morning, and arrived at Ostend that night, where he lodged with one of his kinsmen dwelling the••e. The next day being Sund••••, in the morning, he, accompanied with his said kinsman, took his journey, as it were to have passed into the higher country.

WHEN they were about three miles on their jour|ney out of the town, Whitman immediately return|ed back to Ostend, whither so soon as he was come, he immediately went to church, and at the time of the heave offering, stept to the sacrificer, and took from his head the idol, saving these words in the Dutch tongue, Is this your God? And so breaking it, cast it down under his feet. The people laid hold on him, and he was carried immediately to prison. The next day the judges and other coun|sellors being assembled, he was brought forth into the common hall, and examined of this fact, the in|tent, the counsel, and abettors thereof, and also of his faith; where he very constantly in defence of his christian faith, and great detestation of idolatry, behaved himself in such a manner, that he wrung tears from the eyes of several, both of the chief, and others present. So he was committed again to prison. The next day being Tuesday, he was brought out again before the judges into the same place, and b••ing examined as before, he no whit abated, but increased in his constancy. Whereup|on sentence was given upon him to have his hand cut off, and his body scorched to death, and after to be hanged up. So the day following, being Wednesday, he was brought out of prison to the town-hall, standing in the market-place, all things being prepared there for the ex••cution. The hangman went into the hall, and with a cord tied his hands, and came out leading him thereby. As soon as Whitman was out of the house, he made such haste, and as it were ran to the place of execu|tion, so that he drew the hangman after him. There was a post let up with spars from the top thereof, a slope, down to the ground, in the man|ner of a tent, to the intent that he should be only scorched to death, and not burned. When he was come to the place, the hangman commanded him to lay down his right hand upon a block, which he immediately with a hatchet smote off: the good man still continuing constant, the hangman stept be|hind him, and bid him put out his tongue, through which he thrust a long instrument like a packing-needle, and so let it stick. Then the judges, stand|ing by in the common-hall, read again his crime and sentence. Whereunto he could make no an|swer, his tongue hanging out of his head: then he was stripped to his waistcoat, and put within his tent, and made fast with two chains, and fire was put round about, which broiled and scorched his body most miserably, till he was quite black, he not being seen, but heard to make a noise within the tent. When he was dead, he was carried out to be hanged upon a gibbet near the town.

The Oration of JOHN HALES to her Majesty Queen ELIZABETH, on her Accession to the Throne.

ALTHOUGH there be innumerable gifts and benefits of Almighty God, whereof every one would wonderfully comfort any person, on whom it should please his goodness to bestow it; yet is none of them either separated by itself, or joined with any other, or yet all mingled together, to be companied to this one, That it hath pleased God of his mercy to deliver this realm, our country, from the tyranny of malicious Mary, and to commit it to the government of virtuous Elizabeth. For if a man had all the treasure of Solomon, and mght

not be suffered to have the use thereof, in what better case was he than miserable Tantalus, over whose head the apples continually hung, yet being starved with hunger, he could never touch them? If a man had as strong a body as Sampson had, and besides, were as whole as a fish, as the proverb is, yet if he were kept in ••ands, what should it avail him? Yea, rather, if it be well considered, it is a hurt to him, if continuance of torment and pains may be a hurt.

IF a man had as many children as Gideon the judge had, and might not be so suffered to bring them up in the fear of God, and good manners and knowledge, had he not been more happy without them, than to have them? If a man had as much knowledge of God as St. Paul had, and durst not profess it openly with his mouth, as he is com|manded, but for fear of death should declare the contrary, slander the word of God, and deny Christ, which is forbidden, should it not rather be a furtherance to his damnation than otherwise?

AND to be short, if any man had all these gifts together, or generally all the gifts of fortune, the body, the mind, and of grace, yet if he might not have the use of them, what should they profit him? Verily nothing at all. For felicity is not in having, but in using; not in possessing, but in occupying; not in knowledge, but in doing.

BUT alas, our natural mother England, which hath been counted the surest, the richest, and of late the most godly nation of the earth, hath been these whole five years most violently by ••yr••••ts forced to want the use of all the gifts and benefits where|with God and nature hath indued her. Her natu|ral and loving children would not be suffered to en|joy their right inheritance, whereby they might re|lieve and succour her or themselves; but whatsoev|er they had, was either by open, or by crafty deal|ing pulled from them. And surely this had been tolerable, if none other mischief had been there|with intended.

HE is a gentle thief (if thieves may be counted gentle) that only robbeth a man of his goods▪ and refraineth violent hands from his person. For such loss, with labour and diligence, may be re|covered. He may be called a merciful murderer, that only killeth the aged parents, and useth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 force on the children.

NATURE hath made all men mortal, and that is like space; and to kill the parents, is as it were a prevention of a short time, if it were to the utter|most enjoyed. But these tyrants were more un|gentle than common thieves, more devoid of mer|cy than common murderers. For they were con|tented not only to have the goods of the people, but they would have it delivered to them by the owners' own hands, that it might be said to the world they gave with their heart; and they were not therewith pleased, but they would have their lives, that they should not betray them; and yet herewith they were not satisfied, but they meant to root out the whole progeny and nation of English|men, that none should be left to revenge and cry out on their extremities, and to bring our country into the Spaniards' dominion.

IT is an horrible cruelty for one brother to kill another, much more horrible for children to lay vi|olent and murdering hands on their parents, but most horrible of all to murder the children in the sight of their parents, or the parents in the sight of their children, as these most cruel tormentors have done.

BUT what do I stand in these things which have some defence, because the Turks perchance used so to do, and heathens kill one another, to make sacri|fice of men to their fantastical gods?

IT was not enough for these unnatural English tormentors, tyrants, and false christians, to be the lords of the goods, possessions, and bodies of their brethren and countrymen; but being very Anti|christs, and enemies of Christ's cross, they would be gods, and reign in the consciences and souls of men. Every man, woman, and child, must deny Christ in word openly; abhor Christ in their deeds; slander his gospel with word and deed; worship and honour false gods, as they would have them, and themselves did; and so give body and soul to the devil their master; or secretly fly; or after in|ward torments be burned openly. O cruelty! cru|elty! far exceeding all cruelties committed by those

ancient and famous tyrants and cruel murderers, Pharaoh, Herod, Caligula, Nero, Domitian, Maximine, Dioclesian, and Decius, whose names, for their cruel arrow_back persecution arrow_forward of the people of God, and their own tyranny practised on the people, have been, are, and ever shall be, in perpetual hatred, and their souls in continual torment in hell. If any man would take upon him to set forth particularly all the acts that have been done these full five years, by this unnatural woman, (no, no woman, but a monster, and the devil of hell, covered with the shape of a woman) as it is most n••cessary, for the glory of God, and the profit of his church and this realm, it should be done; he shall find it a matter sufficient for a perfect great history, and not to be contained in an oration, to be uttered at one time by the voice of one man; but to comprehend the sum of all their wickedness in few words, behold, whatsoever malice in mischief, covetousness in spoil, cruelty in punishing, tyranny in destruction, could do, that all this poor English nation this full five years suffered already, or should have suffered, had not the great mercy of God prevented it.

AND albeit there have been many that have haz|arded and lost their lives to shake off this most rough brake, (wherewith this viragin, rather than virgin as she would be called and taken, boasted herself to be sent of God, to ride and tame the peo|ple of England) albeit there have been many that have gone about to loose their brethren out of the yoke of this most miserable captivity, and albeit some have proved to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the bands of this most cruel tyranny, yet could they never bring to pass that which they so earnestly laboured, and so man|ifestly attempted.

AND it is not to be wondered, let the papists boast thereof what it pleaseth them. For almighty God being a most righteous governor punishing evil, and rewarding good, could not of his justice suffer his scourge so soon to be taken from this our land, if he meant the salvation of the people, as most manifestly it appeareth he did. For having once given to this realm the greatest jew••l that might be, that is, the free use of his lovely word (which if they had em|braced and follow•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 w••uld have reformed all dis|orders and sins for which his wrath was kindled and provoked) the 〈…〉〈…〉 either utterly contemned it, or abused it; and ma|ny made it a cloak and colour to cover their mis|chief. So that if he should suddenly have with|drawn this plague, (as tyrants and evil governors be the plague of God) they would never have passed on his justice, nor yet should they have felt the sweetness of his mercy. For commonly the peo|ple regard but things present, and neither remem|ber things past, nor yet pass an things to come, un|less they be warned by exceeding extremities.

BESIDES this, it is most evident, that he had de|termined to make this noble conquest alone with his own hand and mighty power, and would not that it should be done by man, lest man should im|pute any part of the glory of this victory to his own strength, or to his own policy, or that fortune should seem to bear any stroke in so glorious a con|quest, and so be partaker, in men's opinions, of the triumph so worthy.

NEITHER did this almighty power work this when man would have it dispatched, that is, as soon as the enemy began to gather their force; for it is not so great a victory to discomfit a few dispersed people, as it is to destroy a perfectly united army; but he suffered them to make their force as great as was possible, to work whatsoever mischiefs by smile, banishment, prisonment, hanging, heading, burn|ing, or otherwise could be immagined.

NEITHER would this most provident wisdom do it out of season: but as the good husbandman doth not crop his tree, till he hath rendered his fruit; so would he not root out these pestilent tyrants, till the most profit might be taken thereof.

WHEN he had given sufficient leisure to all kind of men to declare themselves who were crocodiles, sometime lying in water, sometime on land, that is, both gospellers and papists; who were spunges, suspected whether they had life or not life, whether they were christians or epicures; who were camel|ions, that could turn themselves into all colours, with protestants, protestants; with papists, papists; with Spaniards, Spaniards; with Englishmen, En|glishmen; who were Gna••hos, that could apply themselves to every man's 〈…〉〈…〉

mad affections; who were weather-cocks, that did turn with every wind; who were mastives, that could bite and bark not; who were cur••, ever barking; who were foxes that would promise much, and perform nothing; who could bind them|selves with many oaths, and do clean contrary; who were Cain••, that sought the innocent Abels' deaths; who were the wolves that worried the lambs; and finally, when he had suffered the spir|itual shavelings to spue out their venom, and every man plainly to declare outwardly what he was in|wardly; then doth he work this most victorious conquest. And with his works he seemeth plainly to say thus unto us: Ye see, my people, what I have done for you, not for your sakes, which no|thing regarded the benefits that I most plen••eously poured on you, and have deserved most grievous punishment for your unthankfulness; but of mine infinite mercy, and for my glory's sake, which I will have opened to all the world in these latter days, to the fear of evil doers, and to the comfort of the well doers. Provoke no more my wrath: ye see what will follow it: be hereafter more pru|dent and wise than ye were before: ye may, if ye will, be more circumspect in time to come, than ye have been in the time past: ye may, if ye list, put me to less trouble, and keep yourselves in more safe|ty. I have not only discovered mine, your's, and my land of England's enemies, and all the crafts, subtilties, and policies that have been, or may be used by them, or any like hereafter, but I have also taken away their head and captain, and destroyed a great number of them, that ye should not be trou|bled with them, and some of them have I left, that ye may make them spectacles and examples, to the terror and fear of their posterity. Love me, and I will love you: se••k my honour and glory, and I will work your commodity and safety: walk in my ways and commandments, and I will be with you for ever. Surely, if we consider the wonderful mercy that it hath pleased God to use towards us, in the delivering of the realm and us his people, out of the hands of those most cruel tyrants, as we can|not but do, unless we wi••l declare ourselves to be the most untha••kful people that ever lived, we must needs judge it not only worthy to be compared, but also f••r to exceed the deliverance of the children of Israel out of Egypt from the tyranny of Pharaoh, and from the powers of Holosernes and Senacherib. For it is not read that either Pharaoh or the other two sought any other thing, than to be the lords of the goods and bodies of the Israelites; they forced them not to commit adultery, and to serve false gods, as these English tyrants did.

BUT, besides, if we will note the wonderful works of God in handling this matter, we shall well perceive, that far much more is wrought to his glory, and to the profit of his church and people, than perchance all men at the first do see. For he hath not only dispatched the realm of the chief per|sonages and head of these tyrants, but also as it were, declareth, that he minded not that either they or their doings should continue. For albeit that all acts, done by tyrants tyranously, be by all laws, reason and equity, of no force; yet because no dis|putation should follow on this, what is tyranously done, and what is not tyrannously done, he hath provided that this question needeth not to come in question. For he utterly blinded their eyes, and suffered them to build on false grounds, which can no longer stand than they are propped up with rope, sword, and faggot. For her first parliament▪ where|in they meant to overthrow whatsoever king Ed|ward had for the advancement of God's glory brought to pass, was of no force or authority. For she perceiving that her enemies' stomach could not be emptied, nor her malice spued on the people by any good order, she committeth a great disorder. She by force and violence taketh from the common•• their liberty, that, according to the ancient laws and customs of the realm, they could not have their free election of nights and burgesses for the parliament. For she well knew, that if either christian men, or true English men, should be elect|ed, it was not possible for that to succeed which she intended. And, therefore, in many places divers were chosen by force of her threats, meet to serve her malicious affections. Wherefore that parlia|ment was no parliament, but may be justly called a conspiracy of tyrants and traitors: for the greater part, by whose authority and voices things proceed|ed in that court, by their acts most manifestly de|clared themselves so: the rest, both christians and true Englishmen, although they had good wills, yet were not able to resist or prevail against the mul|titude

of voices and suffrages or so many evil, false to God, and enemies to their country. Also dive••s burgesses being orderly chosen, and lawfully return|ed, (as in some places the people did what they could to resist her purposes) were disorderly and un|lawfully put out, and others without any order of law put in their places. Doctor Taylor, bishop of Lincoln, a christian bishop and a true Englishman, being lawfully and orderly called to the parliament, and placed in the lords' house in his degree, was in his robes by violence thrust out of the house. Al|exander Nowell, with two others, all three being burgesses for divers shires, and christian men and true Englishmen, and lawfully chosen, returned and admitted, were by force put out of the house of commons: for which cause, the said parliament is also void, as by a president of the parliament holden at Coventry in the 38th year of king Henry the sixth, it most manifestly appeareth. And the third parliament, called in the name of her husband, and of her evil grace, wherein they would have undone what her noble father and the realm had brought to pass for the restitution of the liberty of the realm and for extinguishment of the usurped authority of the bishop of Rome, is also void, and of none au|thority. For that the title and stile of the supreme head of the church of England, which by a statute made in the 35th year of the reign of the said king Henry, was ordained, that it should be united and annexed for ever to the imperial crown of this realm was omitted in the writs of summoning. Where|fore as a woman can bring forth no child without a man, so cannot those writs bring forth good and sure fruit, because this part of the title, which was ordained by the parliament for the form to be al|ways used in the king's stile, was left out. For greater error is in lack of form, than in lack of mat|ter. And where the foundation is ••ad, there can nothing built thereon be good. There is no law, spiritual or temporal, (as they term them) nor any good reason, but allow these rules for infallible principles. And if any man will say, that it was not in the free choice, liberty, and pleasure of the king of this realm, and the queen, whether they would express the said title in their stile or not, as that subtle serpent, Gardiner, being chancellor of the realm, and traiterously sending out the writs of parliament without the same stile, perceiving he had oversho•• himself in calling the parliament, and ha|ving committed many horrible murders and most mischievous acts, would have excused it, as appears by a piece of a statute made in the same parliament in the eighth chapter, and two-and twentieth leaf, it may be justly and truly answered, that they could not so do. For although every person may by law renounce his own private right, yet may he not renounce his right in that which toucheth the com|monwealth, or a third person.

AND this title and stile more touched the com|monwealth of England, than the king. For, as I said before, it was ordained for the conservation of the liberty of the whole realm, and to exclude the usurped authority of the bishop of Rome. And therefore no king nor queen alone could renounce such title: but it ought (if they would have it ta|ken away) to be taken away orderly and formerly by act of parliament, sufficiently called and sum|moned. For the natural and right way to loose and undo things, is to dissolve them by that means they were ordained. And so it most manifestly appeareth, that all their doings, from the beginning to the end, were and be of a one effect, or authority: but all that they have done, hath been mere tyran|ny. O most marvellous providence of Almighty God, that always, and in all things, doth what is best for the wealth of his people! O most mighty power, that so suddenly overwhelmeth the counsels of the wicked, and bringeth their devices to naught! O infinite Mercy, that so gently dealeth with his people, that he saveth them whom he might most justly destroy! O most joyful, most glorious, and never-to-be-forgotten Hope Wednesday, in which it hath pleased thee, O God, to deliver thy church, this realm, and thy people from so horrible a tyran|ny! No tongue can express, no pen can indite, no eloquence can worthily set out, much less exhornate these thy marvellous doings. No, no heart is able to render unto thy goodness sufficient thanks for the benefits we have received. Who could ever have hoped for this most joyful time? Yea, who did not look rather for thy most sharp visitation, and utter destruction of this realm, as of Sodom, Gomorrah, and Jerusalem.

BUT we see and feel, good Lord, that thy mercy

is greater than all men's sins, and far above all thy works. And albeit, there is no christian, and natu|ral Englishman, woman or child, either present or that shall succeed us, who is not, or shall not be par|taker of this most exceeding mercy and wonderful benefit of Almighty God; and therefore is bound continually to praise and thank him: yet, there is not one creature that is more bound so to do, than you, noble queen Elizabeth. For in this horrible tyranny, and most cruel arrow_back persecution arrow_forward , your grace hath been more hunted for, than any other. Divers times they have taken you; sometimes they have had you in strong hold, secluded from all liberty; sometimes at liberty, but not out of the custody of cruel gaol••rs; and many times they determined, that without justice ye should be privily murdered. They thought, if your grace had been suppressed, they should have fully prevailed: if you had been destroyed, their doings forever should be establish|ed: if you had been taken out of the way, there were none left that would or could undo what they had ordained. But he that sitteth on high, and laughed at their madness, would not suffer that the malicious purposes, and most cruel devised injustice should have success. He took upon him the pro|tection of you. He only hath been our Jeoseba, that preserved you from this wicked Athalia. He only hath made you queen of this realm, instead of this mischievous Marana. No earthly creature therefore, can claim the smallest merit: no man's force, no man's counsel, no man's aid, hath been the cause thereof. Therefore, the greater his be|nefits have been toward you, the more are you bound to seek his glory, and to set forth his honour. You see his power, what he is able to do; he alone can save, and he can destroy; he can pull down, and he can set up. If you fear him, and seek to do h••s will, then will he favour you, and preserve you to the end from all enemies, as he did king David. If you now fall from him, or juggle with him, look for no more favour than Saul hath shewed to him. But I have a good hope, that both his justice and benefits be so printed in your heart, that you will never forget them, but seek by all means to have the one, and to fear to fall into the other. I trust also, your wisdom will not only consider the causes of this late most sharp visitation, but also to your ut|termost power endeavour to out root them.

AND forasmuch as besides this infinite mercy poured on your grace, it hath pleased his divine providence to constitute your highness to be our Deborah, to be the governess and head of the body of this realm, to have the charge and cure thereof, it is requisite above all things, as well for his glory and honour, as for your discharge, quietness and safety, to labour that the same body now at the first be cleansed, made whole, and then kept in good order. For, if the body of man be corrupted and diseased, he is not able to manage his things at home, much less to do any thing abroad: so if the body of the realm be corrupt and out of order, it shall neither be able to do any thing abroad, if ne|cessity should require, nor yet prosper in itself. But this may not be done with piecing and patching cobling and botching, as was used in time 〈◊〉〈◊〉, whilst your most noble father and brother reigned. For, if a man cut off one head of the serpent Hy|dra, and destroy not the whole body, many will grow instead of that one: and as in a corrupt 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that hath many diseases, if the physician should la|bour to heal one part, and not the whole, it will in short time break out afresh: so unless the body of a realm, or commonwealth, be clean purged from corruption, all the particular laws and statu•••••• that can be divised shall not profit it.

WE need no foreign examples to prove it: look upon this realm itself, it will plainly declare it. And as it is not enough to cleanse the body from it's corruption, but there must be also preservatives ministered to keep it from putrefaction; for natu|rally of itself it is disposed to putrify: so, after the body of a realm is purged, unless there be godly or|dinances for the preservation thereof ordained, and duly ministered, it will return to the old state. For this body, which is the people, is universally natu|rally disposed to evil; and without compulsion, will hardly do what is their duty.

THUS must your grace do, if you mind the ad|vancement of God's glory, your own quietness and safety, and the wealth of this your politic body. And they be not hard to bring to pas••, where good|will will vouchsafe to take to her a little pain. The realm will soon be purged, if vice and self-love be utterly condemned. It will be in good state pre|served,

if these three things—God's word truly taught and preached, youth well brought up in godly and honest exercises, and justice rightly min|istred, may be perfectly constituted. And without this foundation, let men imagine what it pleaseth them, the spiritual house of God shall never be well framed or builded, nor the public state of your realm well ordered. For in what body God's word lack|eth, the unity and charity that ought to be a|mong the members thereof, and which knitteth them together, is soon extinguished. Where the youth is neglected, there can no good success be hoped; no more than the husbandman can look for a good crop where he sowed no seed. And where justice is not truly and rightly ministered, there the more laws and statutes he heaped together, the more they be contemned. And surely, if this thing could not without exceeding charges be compassed, (and God forbid that charges should be weighed, be they ever so great, where God's glory and the wealth of the realm may be furthered) yet ought it not to be neglected. What charges did David and Solomon his son, employ to build the stony house of God? How much more charges should a christian prince employ to build and set up the lively house of God? But verily, I am fully persuaded that it shall not be chargeable to do this. No, a great deal of super|fluous charges, which otherwise your grace shall be forced to sustain, shall thus be clean cut away, and so your revenues, by means most profitable, and to no good person hurtful, increased.

THEREFORE, for God's sake, noble queen, let not the opportunity, now by God offered, be by your grace omitted. A physician can in nothing so much declare his good will and cunning, nor purchase himself so great estimation, as when he findeth his patient thoroughly sick and weakened, and doth restore him to his perfect health and perfection. Likewise, if a prince should desire of God, a thing whereby he might declare the zeal that he beareth to God, or whereby he might win fame and glory, he could desire nothing so much, as to come into a state corrupted, as this realm of England at present is, not to destroy it, as did Caesar, but to make it, as did Romulus.

IF your grace can bring this to pass, (and I am out of all doubt you may quickly) you shall do more than any of your progenitors did before you. Al men shall confess, that you are not only for prox|imity of blood preferred, but rather of God special|ly sent and ordained. And as the queen of Sheba came from far off to see the glory of king Solomon a woman to a man, even so shall the princes of our time come, men to a woman, and kings marvel at the virtue of queen Elizabeth. Thus shall we, your subjects, be most bound to praise God, and to think ourselves most happy, that coming so suddenly from the worse, be forthwith preferred to the best, rid from extremest calamity, and brought to the greatest felicity; and it shall be, besides, an example for all evil princes, to leave their arrow_back persecution arrow_forward of Christ and his members, to cease from their tyranny, wherewith they continually oppress their poor sub|jects. And so all people, not only we of this your realm, but of all other nations, shall have just cause to pray for your grace's health, and increase of honour.

The Life and Death of Dr. STORY, a cruel Persecu|tor of Christ in his Members.

THIS Dr. Story, being an Englishman by birth, and from his infancy not only nursed in pa|pistry, but also even as it were by nature earnestly affected to the same, and growing somewhat in ri|per years, in the days of queen Mary became a bloody tyrant, and cruel persecutor of Christ in his members (as all the histories in this book almost do declare). Thus he raging all the reign of the aforesaid queen Mary against the infallible truth of Christ's gospel, and the true professors thereof, ne|ver ceasing till he had consumed to ashes two or three hundred blessed martyrs, who willingly gave their lives for the testimony of his truth; and thinking their punishment in the fire not cruel enough, he went about to invent new torments for the holy martyrs of Christ, such was his hatred to the truth of Christ's gospel, but in the end the Lord God looking upon the afflictions and cruel blood-shedding of his servants, took away queen Mary, the great pillar of papistry. After whom succeeded lady Elizabeth, now queen of England, who staying the bloody sword of arrow_back persecution from

raging any further, caused the same Dr. Story to be apprehended, and committed to ward, with ma|ny other his accomplices, sworn enemies to Christ's glorious gospel. The said Story having been a while detained in prison, at last, by what means I know not, got out and conveyed himself over the seas, where he continued a most bloody persecutor, still raging against God's saints with fire and sword Insomuch as he growing to be familiar and right dear to the duke of Alva, in Antwerp, received special commission from him to search the ships for goods forfeited, and for English books, and such like.

AND in this favour and authority he continued there for a time, by which means he did much hurt, brought many a good man and woman into trouble and extreme peril of life through his blood-thristy cruelty: but at last the Lord (when the ••••easure of his iniquity was full) proceeded in judgment against him, and cut him off from the face of the earth, according to the prayers of many a good man; which came to pass in order as followeth. It being certainly known (for the report thereof was gone forth into all lands) that he not only intended the subversion and overthrow of his native country of England, by bringing in foreign hostility, if by any means he might encompass it; but also daily and hourly murdered God's people, there was this platform laid (by God's providence no doubt) that one Mr. Parker, a merchant, should sail unto Ant|werp, and by some means convey Story into Eng|land.

THIS Parker arriving at Antwerp, suborned cer|tain men to repair to Dr. Story, and to signify unto him, that there was an English ship come, loaded with merchandize, and that if he would make search thereof himself, he should find store of En|glish books, and orher things for his purpose. Sto|ry hearing this, and suspecting nothing, made haste towards the ship, thinking to make the same his prey; and coming on board, searched for English heretical books (as he called them); and going down under the hatches, because he would be sure to have their blood if he co••ld, they clapped down the hatches, hoisted up their sail, having (at God would) a good gale, and sailed away unto England. Where they arriving, presented this bloody butch|er, and traitorous rebel, Story, to the no little re|joicing of many an English heart. He being now committed to prison, continued there a good space: during all which time he was importuned and so|licited daily by wise and learned fathers to recant his devilish and erroneous opinions, to conform himself to the truth, and to acknowledge the queen's supremacy. All which he utterly denied to the death, saying, that he was a sworn subject to the king of Spain, and was no subject to the queen of England, nor she his sovereign queen; and there|fore (as he well deserved) he was condemned (as a traitor to God, the queen's majesty, and the realm) to be drawn, hanged, and quartered; which was performed accordingly, he being laid upon a hur|dle, and drawn from the Tower along the streets to Tyburn, where he being hanged till he was half dead, was cut down and stripped; and (which is not to be forgot) when the executioner had cut off his privy members, he rushing up upon a sudden, gave him a blow upon the ear, to the great wonder of all that stood by: and thus ended this bloody Nimrod's wretched life, whose judgment I leave to the Lord.