[29] This is error, for R. C. _arm._ was not before named.
[30] This is error, because, it is not said, ‘_Et subditi
d’ni regis_.’
[31] This should be _prorogationes_, for there was a double
prorogation.
[32] This is error, because it wants A. B.
[33] It ought to be with some expression of ‘_mutatis
mutandis_,’ of the name of King Charles the Second, instead
of King James, who is only named in the act. This is error,
it is not agreeable to the statute; for that saith only King
James: and certainly the statute intended no otherwise; for
it is said, For the trial of his majesty’s subjects, how they
stand affected, &c. and not the subjects of his majesty’s
heirs and successors.
[34] (My) not in the statute.
[35] _Ad pacem conservand. nec non, &c._ left out.
[36] _Et ibidem_, is left out.
[37] _Generalis_, left out.
[38] _Contra debitam quoadlibet eor. Legeanciam_, ought here
to be inserted; for if he be not a natural subject, the oath
is not to be tendered to him. Immediately after the tender to
J. C. J. B. and J. G. though they be termed, _sub ditos dci:
end: Re._
Any Englishman that understands Latin, may, notwithstanding the
abbreviations, indifferently understand this indictment; but a
foreigner not understanding English, though a scholar, will be at a
loss in many places; yet to complete my work, I thought it convenient
not to omit such an authentic piece.
Memorand. That in the writ of Oyer and Terminer, Pacsche 9 Hen. 8. upon
the insurrection in London, it was resolved clearly by all the justices
of England, that the justices of Oyer and Terminer cannot inquire one
day, and the same day determine; no more can the justices of the peace,
&c. But the justices of jail delivery, and justices in Eyre, may well
do it; El. 8. Keyleway’s Rep. f. 159. b. pl. 2. But they do not call
themselves so in the indictment.
If one in his absence be found guilty of an offence, whereby he incurs
a premunire, he hath two months time allowed him after he is outlawed,
to be heard, 27 Ed. 3 1 cap. Coke upon Littleton, sect. 201. fo.
134. b. saith, That the ancient law was, upon trials for felony, &c.
the defendant had fifteen days time, or more, (if he prayed it,) to
consider of his answer.
With this agrees Britton, fo’ 10. b.
_Fortescue in libro de laudib. legum Angliæ._
Mirror of Justice, cap. 4. sect. 7.
The statute of 28 Edw. 1. 9. provides that inquests shall be of the
next neighbours, most sufficient, and least suspicious, upon penalty of
double damages.
25 Edw. 3. cap. 3. No indictor be upon the inquests for felony nor
trespass, if challenged.
34 Edw. 3. 4. Juries to be of the next people, not to be suspected or
procured. With this agrees Regist. fo. 178.
11 Hen. 4. 9. That if any indictment be made, but by inquest returned
by the sheriff, (without denomination to him of their names,) by any
but his sworn officer, it shall be void.
* * * * *
By these and the like treatments, we see how the persecutors
endeavoured to root out the Quakers, if possible; for the effecting
of which, alderman Richard Brown did whatever he could, continually
letting loose the reins to his exorbitant malice, without regarding
whether that which he was bent against, was really punishable, or not,
whereof the following instance may serve for an evidence.
A certain mender of old shoes, who belonged to the society of the
Quakers, was desired by a labouring man, on a Seventh day of the week,
late at night, to mend a pair of shoes for him, that he might have them
again in the morning, because he had no other to wear. The cobler,
to accommodate the man, set up at work till after midnight; but the
shoes not being finished then, he went to bed, and rising early in
the morning, went to his work again as privately as he could in his
chamber; but an envious neighbour informed against him for working on
a Sunday; whereupon he was had before the said R. Brown, who committed
him to Bridewell, to be there kept to hard labour. And he refusing to
beat hemp, as being fully persuaded that he had not deserved such a
punishment, was cruelly whipt, but he bore it with great constancy, and
not yielding, he was turned up among those of his society, who were
imprisoned there on a religious account.
As this case, which befel an honest man, was to be pitied, so there
happened about that time, something among the Quakers at London,
which was facetious and ridiculous: for several of them being taken
out of their religious meetings, were confined in Newgate, where in
the night they lodged in a large room, having in the middle of it a
great pillar, to which they fastened their hammocks at the one end,
and to the opposite wall on the other, quite round the room, in three
stories high, one over another; so that they who lay in the upper and
middle rows were fain to go to bed first, being obliged to climb up
to the higher, by getting into the lower: and under the lower rank of
hammocks, by the wall side, were laid beds, upon the floor. Such a
multitude of bedding for so many persons in one room, could not but
somewhat infect the air, and cause an unhealthy steam: so that some of
the prisoners grew sick, and one of them died. This caused some bustle,
and it was not without good reason that an ancient grave citizen,
having seen the prisoners thus crowded up, said, This is enough to
breed an infection among them. And this having been told by Sir
William Turner, one of the sheriffs of London, he came into Newgate,
and bidding the turnkey bring down the said prisoners to him in the
press-yard, were he was, he ordered they should return to Bridewell,
where they had been before.
Now among these was a shabby fellow, who, to get victuals without
working, had thrust himself among the Quakers, when they were taken
at a meeting, on purpose to be sent to prison, and to be maintained
by them. This lazy varlet was no small burden to our prisoners; for
whenever any victuals were brought in to them, either for their money,
or sent to them by their friends, he did not stick to thrust in with
his knife in hand, and make himself his own carver; and such was his
impudence, that if he saw the provision was short, he would be sure
to take enough, though others wanted. But how burdensome soever this
lazy drone was to the prisoners, they could get no relief; for to
whom should they complain? Since the keepers, as well as others, were
for vexing and oppressing them. But now at length an opportunity was
come to be rid of his troublesome company. Among the prisoners was
Thomas Ellwood, a man of literature, and of an acute wit, with whom,
long after, I entered into a familiar and pleasing correspondence by
letters. The said Ellwood, when he had heard that they were to be sent
to Bridewell, drew near to the sheriff, and pointing to the aforesaid
fellow, said, That man is not only none of our company, but an idle
dissolute fellow, who hath thrust himself among our friends, that he
might live upon them; therefore I desire we may not be troubled with
him at Bridewell. The sheriff smiling, and seeing this fellow standing
with his hat on, and looking as demurely as he could, that the sheriff
might take him for a Quaker, called him forth, and said to him, ‘How
came you to be in prison?’ ‘I was taken at a meeting,’ said he. ‘But
what business had you there,’ said the sheriff. ‘I went to hear,’
returned the fellow. ‘Ay, you went upon a worse design, it seems,’
replied the sheriff; ‘but I will disappoint you,’ continued he; ‘for I
will change your company, and send you to them that are like yourself.’
Then calling for the turnkey, he said, ‘Take this fellow, and put him
among the felons; and be sure let him not trouble the Quakers any
more.’ The fellow, not a little astonished at the hearing of this
doom, on a sudden parted with his Quakership; for off went his hat,
and falling to bowing and scraping, he said to the sheriff, ‘Good your
worship have pity upon me, and set me at liberty.’ ‘No, no,’ said the
sheriff, ‘I will not so far disappoint you: since you had a mind to be
in prison, in prison you shall be for me.’ Then bidding the turnkey
once more to take him away, he had him up, and put him among the
felons. After this manner this pretended Quaker was rewarded according
to his deeds; and so the true Quakers got rid of him.
Breaking off now this jocose and diverting, though true, narrative, I
return to a serious relation of the sufferings of the faithful, which
caused the death of some of them; among these was Richard Hubberthorn,
who some time before, as hath been related, had a conference with the
king; who then promised him, that he and his friends should not suffer
for their opinions or religion. But now he was in the month called
June, violently hauled from the meeting, bearing the name of the Bull
and Mouth, and brought before alderman Richard Brown, who with his
own hands pulled down his hat upon his head with such violence, that
he brought his head near to the ground, and then committed him to
Newgate, where being thronged among others, he soon grew sick; and his
sickness so increased, that he had hardly been two months in prison,
before he was taken away by death. Two days before his departure, being
visited by some of his friends, who asked him if any thing was upon
his spirit, he said, that there was no need to dispute matters, for he
knew the ground of his salvation, and was satisfied for ever in his
peace with the Lord. He also said, ‘That faith which hath wrought my
salvation, I well know, and have grounded satisfaction in it.’ In the
morning before he deceased, one Sarah Blackberry was with him, to whom
he said, ‘Do not seek to hold me, for it is too strait for me, and out
of this straitness I must go; for I am wound into largeness, and am to
be lifted up on high, far above all.’ In this frame of mind he departed
this life, in the evening, and so entered with happiness into eternity.
Now I come also to the glorious exit of E. Burrough, that valiant hero,
of whom mention hath often been made in this history. For several
years he had been very much in London, and there preached the gospel
with piercing and powerful declarations. And that city was so near to
him, that oftentimes, when persecution grew hot, he said to Francis
Howgill, his bosom friend, ‘I can freely go to the city of London, and
lay down my life for a testimony to that Truth, which I have declared
through the power and Spirit of God.’ Being in this year at Bristol,
and thereabouts, and moved to return to London, he said to many of
his friends, when he took his leave of them, that he did not know he
should see their faces any more; and therefore he exhorted them to
faithfulness and steadfastness, in that wherein they had found rest for
their souls. And to some he said, ‘I am now going up to the city of
London again, to lay down my life for the gospel, and suffer amongst
Friends in that place.’
Not long after, coming to London, and preaching in the meeting-house
called the Bull and Mouth, he was violently pulled down by some
soldiers, and had before alderman Richard Brown, and committed to
Newgate. Several weeks afterwards, being brought to the sessions-house
in the Old Bailey, he was fined by the court twenty marks, and to lie
in prison till payment. But judging this unreasonable in a high degree,
he could not bend thereto for conscience-sake. He was kept there in
prison about eight months, with six or seven score prisoners beside,
upon the same account. But they being so crowded, that for want of room
their natures were suffocated, many grew sick and died, of which number
he was one. And though a special order from the king, was sent to the
sheriffs of London, for his and some other prisoners’ release, yet such
was the enmity of some of the city magistrates, especially Brown, that
they did what was in their power to prevent the execution of the said
order. And thus E. Burrough continued prisoner, though his sickness
increased. During the time of his weakness, he was very fervent in
prayer, as well for his friends as for himself; and many consolatory
and glorious expressions proceeded from his mouth. Once he was heard
to say, ‘I have had the testimony of the Lord’s love unto me from my
youth: and my heart, O Lord, hath been given up to do thy will. I have
preached the gospel freely in this city, and have often given up my
life for the gospel’s sake; and now, O Lord, rip open my heart, and
see if it be not right before thee.’ Another time he said, ‘There is no
iniquity lies at my door; but the presence of the Lord is with me, and
his life I feel justifies me.’ Another day he was thus heard in prayer
to God, ‘Thou hast loved me when I was in the womb; and I have loved
thee from my cradle: and from my youth unto this day; and have served
thee faithfully in my generation.’ And to his friends that were about
him, he said, ‘Live in love and peace, and love one another.’ And at
another time he said, “The Lord taketh the righteous from the evil to
come.” And praying for his enemies and persecutors, he said, ‘Lord,
forgive Richard Brown, if he may be forgiven.’ And being sensible that
death was approaching, he said, ‘Though this body of clay must turn to
dust, yet I have a testimony that I have served God in my generation;
and that spirit which hath lived and acted, and ruled in me, shall
yet break forth in thousands.’ The morning before he departed this
life, (which was about the latter end of this year,) he said, ‘Now my
soul and spirit is centred into its own being with God; and this form
of person must return from whence it was taken.’ And after a little
season he gave up the ghost. This was the exit of E. Burrough, who, in
his flourishing years, viz. about the age of eight and twenty; in an
unmarried state, changed this mortal life for an incorruptible, and
whose youthful summer flower was cut down in the winter season, after
he had very zealously preached the gospel about ten years.
About the 19th year of his age, he first came to London with a public
testimony, and continued almost eight years together to preach the
word of God in that city, with great success; so that many came to
be convinced, and great addition was made to the church there. In
his youth he surpassed others of his age in knowledge; and though G.
Croese, who wrote the pretended history of the Quakers, calls him a
rustic fellow, yet he was no more such than the said author himself,
who is a country preacher: for he was well educated and instructed
in that learning which the place of his nativity, viz. the barony of
Kendal in Westmoreland, afforded. Insomuch, that though he was not
skilful in languages, yet he had the tongue of the learned; and in his
public ministry was very fluent, and elegant in speech, even according
to the judgment of learned men.
His enemies now began to rejoice, for they seemed to imagine that the
progress of that doctrine, which he so powerfully and successfully
had preached, by his decease would have been stopped or retarded: but
they made a wrong reckoning. Francis Howgill then gave forth a kind
of epicedium, which though in prose, yet was not void of poetical
expressions, and was as followeth.
‘Shall days, or months, or years, wear out thy name, as though
thou hadst no being? Oh nay! Shall not thy noble and valiant
acts, and mighty works which thou hast wrought through the power
of him that separated thee from the womb, live in generations to
come? O yes! The children that are yet unborn, shall have thee in
their mouths, and thy works shall testify of thee in generations,
who yet have not a being, and shall count thee blessed. Did thy
life go out as the snuff of a candle? O nay! Thou hast penetrated
the hearts of many, and the memorial of the just shall live for
ever; and be had in renown among the children of men: for thou
hast turned many to righteousness, and shalt shine as a star
of God in the firmament of God’s power, for ever and ever; and
they that are in that, shall see thee there, and enjoy thee
there, though thou be gone away hence, and can no more be seen
in mutability; yet thy life and thy spirit shall run parallel
with immortality. Oh Edward Burrough! I cannot but mourn for
thee, yet not as one without hope or faith, knowing and having a
perfect testimony of thy well-being in my heart, by the Spirit of
the Lord; yet thy absence is great, and years to come shall know
the want of thee. Shall I not lament as David did for a worse
man than thee, even for Abner; when in wrath he perished by the
hand of Joab, without any just cause, though he was a valiant
man? David lamented over Abner, and said, died Abner as a fool
dieth? (Oh nay! He was betrayed of his life.) Even so hast thou
been bereaved of thy life by the hand of the oppressor, whose
habitations are full of cruelty. Oh my soul, come not thou within
their secret, for thy blood shall be required at the hands of
them who thirsted after thy life; and it shall cry as Abel’s
who was in the faith; even so wert thou, it shall weigh as a
ponderous millstone upon their necks, and shall crush them under,
and be as a worm that gnaweth, and shall not die. When I think
upon thee, I am melted into tears of true sorrow; and because
of the want that the inheritance of the Lord hath of thee, my
substance is even as dissolved. Shall I not say as David did of
Saul and Jonathan, when they were slain in mount Gilboa, the
beauty of Israel is slain upon the high places: even so wast
thou stifled in nasty holes, and prisons, and many more who were
precious in the eyes of the Lord: and surely precious wast thou
to me, oh dear Edward, I am distressed for thee my brother, very
pleasant hast thou been to me, and my love to thee was wonderful,
passing the love of woman: Oh thou whose bow never turned back,
nor sword empty from the blood of the slain, from the slaughter
of the mighty; who made nations and multitudes shake with the
word of life in thy mouth, and wast very dreadful to the enemies
of the Lord; for thou didst cut like a razor, and yet to the seed
of God brought forth, thy words dropped like oil, and thy lips
as the honeycomb. Thou shalt be recorded amongst the valiants
of Israel, who attained to the first degree, through the power
of the Lord, that wrought mightily in thee in thy day, and wast
worthy of double honour, because of thy works. Thou wast expert
to handle thy weapon, and by thee the mighty have fallen, and the
slain of the Lord have been many; many have been pricked to the
heart through the power of the word of life; and coals of fire
from thy life came forth of thy mouth, that in many a thicket,
and among many briers and thorns it came to be kindled, and did
devour much stubble that cumbered the ground, and stained the
earth. Oh how certain a sound did thy trumpet give! And how great
an alarm didst thou give in thy day, that made the host of the
uncircumcised greatly distressed! What man so valiant, though
as Goliath of Gath, would not thy valour have encountered with,
while many despised thy youth? And how have I seen thee with thy
sling and thy stone, (despised weapons to war with,) wound the
mighty! And that which hath seemed contemptible to the dragon’s
party, even as the jaw bone of an ass, with it thou hast slain
the Philistines heaps upon heaps, as Samson. Thou hast put thy
hand to the hammer of the Lord, and hast often fastened nails in
the heads of the Lamb’s enemies, as Jael did to Sisera; and many
a rough stone hast thou polished and squared, and made it fit
for the buildings of God; and much knotty wood hast thou hewed
in thy day, which was not fit for the building of God’s house.
Oh thou prophet of the Lord, thou shalt for ever be recorded in
the Lamb’s book of life, among the Lord’s worthies, who have
followed the Lamb through great tribulations, as many can witness
for thee from the beginning; and at last hast overcome, and been
found worthy to stand with the Lamb upon Mount Sion, the hill of
God; as I have often seen thee, and thy heart well tuned as a
harp, to praise the Lord, and to sound forth his great salvation;
which many a time hath made glad the hearts of them that did
believe, and strengthened their faith and hope. Well, thou art
at rest, and bound up in the bundle of life; and I know tears
were wiped away from thy eyes, because there was no cause of
sorrow in thee: for I know thou witnessedst the old things done
away, and there was no curse, but blessings were poured upon thy
head as rain, and peace as a mighty shower, and trouble was far
from thy dwelling; though in the outward man trouble on every
side, and hast had a greater share in that, for the gospel-sake,
(though a youth,) in thy time, than many besides: but now thou
art freed from that, and hast obtained a name through faith, with
the saints in light. Well, hadst thou more to give up than thy
life for the name of Jesus in this world? Nay: and to seal the
testimony committed unto thee with thy blood, as thou hast often
said in thy day, which shall remain as a crown upon thee for ever
and ever. And now thou art freed from the temptations of him who
had the power of death; and from thy outward enemies, who hated
thee because of the love that dwelt in thee; and remainest at the
right hand of God, where there is joy and pleasure for evermore
in the everlasting light; which thou hast often testified unto,
according to the word of prophecy in thy heart, which was given
unto thee by the Holy Ghost; and art at rest in the perfection
thereof, in the beauty of holiness; yet thy life and thy spirit
I feel as present, and have unity with it, and in it, beyond all
created and visible things, which are subject to mutation and
change; and thy life shall enter into others, to testify unto the
same Truth, which is from everlasting to everlasting; for God
hath raised, and will raise up children unto Abraham, of them
that have been as dead stones; his power is Almighty, great in
his people in the midst of their enemies.’
With these sublime expressions F. Howgill lamented his endeared friend
E. Burrough.
* * * * *
In the latter end of this year, William Ames also deceased at
Amsterdam, being come from England in a weak condition, for he had
suffered so much hardship in Bridewell, London, that his health was
much impaired when he came into Holland. In his sickness, which was a
lingering disease, he was told, that among the Baptists and Collegians,
it was said of him, that he had changed his judgment, and was grieved
for having judged them wrongfully. But to this he said, ‘It was not
so; but that he still judged their way of worship, especially their
disputations and will worship, to be out of the way of the Lord.’ And
in this belief he died in peace.
In his youth he was of a cheerful temper, and a lover of such company;
but being in that condition often disquieted in his mind, he became
a close follower of the priests and teachers, and exercised himself
diligently in reading the holy scriptures, which, though good in
itself, yet did not bring him to true peace with God; but being of a
quick understanding, he could talk much out of them, insomuch, that
entering into society with the Baptists, he became a teacher among
them. Now, though he was more precise, and endeavoured to avoid the
committing of sins, yet he found that root from whence they sprang
remained alive in him; for when he met with something that was contrary
to his own will, or mind, anger soon prevailed: nevertheless, in that
state he would speak of justification, sanctification, and cleansing
by the blood of Christ, though he himself was not come to that pure
washing. In this state he perceived that he was no true member of
Christ, because regeneration was still wanting. Thus he saw that a
high profession would not avail, and that something more was required
to obtain a happy state; but as yet, he knew not what it was that thus
disquieted him; though sometimes, on the committing of any sin, he felt
something that struck him with terror. At length it pleased the Lord,
that hearing one of the Quakers, so called, preach, that that which
convinceth man of sin, was the light of Christ, which enlightens every
man coming into the world, this doctrine entered so deep with him, that
he embraced it as wholesome; and thus walking with great circumspection
and fear before the Lord, he found that by giving diligent heed to that
which inwardly reproved and condemned him from evil, he came to be
delivered therefrom, and to witness sanctification. And thus advancing
in godliness he himself became a zealous preacher of that doctrine,
which had struck him so to the heart. He was indeed a zealous man, and
though some were ready to think him too zealous, yet he was discreet;
and I know that he was condescending in indifferent matters, thinking
that there were customs, which though not followed in one country, were
yet tolerable in another. He was also generous, and lest he might seem
to be burdensome to any, he rather choose to work with his hands.
1663.
Now I return again to the occurrences of G. Fox, whom we left at
London, where, having spent some time, he went about the beginning of
the year 1663, to Norwich, and from thence to Cambridgeshire, where he
heard of E. Burrough’s decease, and, being sensible how great a grief
this loss would be to his friends, wrote the following lines to them.
‘_Friends_,
‘Be still and quiet in your own conditions, and settled in the
seed of God, that doth not change; that in that ye may feel dear
E. B. among you, in the seed, in which, and by which, he begot
you to God, with whom he is; and that in the seed ye may all see
and feel him, in which is the unity with him in the life; and to
enjoy him in the life that doth not change, which is invisible.