suggests that the verses in her honour, which were removed with the
plastering from Tavistock Parish Church in 1845, may have been amongst
his earliest efforts. They ended with these flattering words:—
This! This was she, that in despite of Death,
Lives still ador’d, admir’d Elizabeth.
Spain’s rod, Rome’s ruin, Netherland’s relief;
Heaven’s gem, Earth’s joy, World’s wonder, Nature’s chief.
Browne’s elegy on Prince Henry was reprinted as one of the songs in the
first book of his _Britannia’s Pastorals_, which was also published in
1613, with commendatory verses from Drayton and Brooke and the learned
Selden, besides those from his college friends. In doing the same kindly
office for the second book, in 1616, Ben Jonson spoke thus highly of the
care and finish of Browne’s work:—
which is so good
Upon th’ Exchange of Letters, that I wou’d
More of our Writers would, like thee, not swell
With the _how much_ they set forth, but th’ _how well_.
Other verses prefixed to this book came from Tavistock, and were written
by Sir John Glanvill, probably Browne’s relation, and an old
schoolfellow.
After the Fitz, the Glanvill family was the most important in Tavistock.
Settled at Holwell, in Whitchurch, for many generations, about 1550 they
sent a younger son into the town as a merchant. His son, John, passed
from an attorney’s office to the Bar, and in 1598, two years before his
death, he was made a Justice of the Common Pleas. In 1615, the fine
Jacobean monument against the south wall of the chancel was erected to
his memory by his widow, probably in gratitude to her sons, who in that
year had conveyed to her Sortridge, her own family estate, also in
Whitchurch, probably forfeited by her second marriage; for in the
interval she had married Sir Francis Godolphin, and become a second time
a widow. She occupied a dower house in Barley Market Street, and her
second name still lingers in the “Dolvin Road,” across the Tavy. The
Judge, Prince tells us, lived in part of the Abbey, this being, most
likely, the Abbey House, which Oliver says was occupied in 1635 by
Serjeant Maynard. The Barton at Kilworthy was bought by Judge Glanvill,
but it was his eldest son, Sir Francis, who built the mansion and laid
out the terrace gardens, of which some charming portions are still in
use. This Sir Francis Glanvill sat, as M.P. for Tavistock, in 1625 and
1628, with the great Commoner, John Pym. On January 21st, 1626, his son,
Francis, was baptized at Mary Tavy, by reason of the plague raging so
fiercely at Tavistock. So dreadful was the scourge, that six hundred
people died in twelve months; and the little town had scarcely recovered
its normal population in a hundred and fifty years. The younger Francis
dying without issue, left Kilworthy to his nephew, Francis Kelly; and he
left it to the Manatons, who held it till it was bought by the Russells
about 1770. By his sisters, daughters, and grand-daughters, Judge
Glanvill’s family became allied to the Brownes, Hamlyns, and Glubbs of
Tavistock, the Grylls of Launceston, to Heles, Eastcourts, and
Polwheles; to the Fowells, the Sawles of Penrice, and the Doidges of
Hurlesditch; besides the Kellys and Manatons. One of his sisters was the
second wife of Robert Knight, probably the first _married_ Vicar of
Tavistock; and his third son, George, was Vicar from 1662 to 1673.
Sir John Glanvill, the second son, was equally distinguished in law and
politics. He was made Recorder of Plymouth in 1614, Serjeant in 1637,
and Recorder of Bristol in 1640. As M.P. for Plymouth from 1614 to 1628,
he was attached to the country party with Elliott and Pym, and he had
charge of the Petition of Right before the Lords. Returned for Bristol
in 1640, he was chosen Speaker of the Short Parliament, as a man of
reasonable judgment and soothing speech; but having joined the King at
Oxford in 1643, from 1645 to 1648 he was imprisoned in the Tower as a
delinquent. He was re-appointed King’s Serjeant at the Restoration, and
died soon after at Broad Hinton, his estate in Wiltshire. It was this
worthy fellow-townsman who, in 1616, addressed William Browne in verses
overflowing with kindly appreciation, and beginning:—
Ingenious Swaine! that highly dost adorne
Clear Tavy! on whose brinck we both were borne!
Another eminent fellow-townsman, John Maynard, might have been with
Browne at the Grammar School, and certainly followed him to Exeter
College and to the Inns of Court. Like Sir John Glanvill, Maynard was a
man of mark, both in law and politics; but he was more of a time-server.
He was clever enough to be leader of the Western Circuit during fifty of
the most turbulent years of our annals. He was “Protector’s Serjeant”
under Cromwell; “Ancient Serjeant” under Charles II. and James II.; and
“Lord Commissioner” after the Revolution of 1688. He also sat in every
Parliament from the first of Charles I. to the first of William and
Mary. He was presented to the new King at Whitehall when he was nearly
ninety; and William observed that he must have outlived all the lawyers
of his time. “Yes, sire,” he promptly replied; “and if your Highness had
not come over to help us, I should have outlived the law, too.” As
Maynard took part both in the impeachment of Strafford and also of Sir
Henry Vane, it is no wonder that Roscommon, Strafford’s nephew and
godson, should write of him:—
The robe was summoned, Maynard at the head,
In legal murder none so deeply read;
or that the author of _Hudibras_ should enquire, in his witty doggrel:—
Did not the learned Glynne and Maynard,
To make good subjects traitors, strain hard?
It is to Maynard’s credit that he spent part of his fortune in founding
a free school at Bere Alston, which he had represented in Parliament.
Maynard and Courtenay are names still pleasantly associated in Tavistock
with provision for the deserving poor, in convenient almshouses; whilst
an exhibition to help some “Grammar scholar,” “of the best ingenuity and
towardliness,” on his way to the University, is a lasting memorial of
Sir John Glanvill.
In 1626, Browne probably received from another old schoolfellow, Richard
Peeke, a copy of his _Three to One_, a short and vigorous account of his
recent exploits in Spain. This Richard Peeke, a gentleman of good family
in Tavistock, had volunteered, in 1625, for the ill-starred expedition
to Cadiz, and being taken prisoner, by his prowess in defeating three
fully-armed Spaniards with a quarter-staff, had won his life and
liberty, and was presently celebrated in ballads as “Manly Peeke,” and
in a fine old play as “Dick of Devonshire.” He was invited by King
Philip IV. to serve him by land or sea, but Peeke said he must return to
the wife and children who were sighing for him in Tavistock; so he came
back to settle down quietly in the old home, and, as one of our pewter
flagons tells, he was churchwarden in 1638.
And what was William Browne doing all this time? In 1614 he had written
his masque of “Ulysses and Circe” for the Inner Temple, where it was
performed 13th January, 1614–5. The subject may have been suggested by
Chapman’s _Odyssey_, printed in 1614, or by Samuel Daniel’s lyric,
“Ulysses and the Siren” (1605), and it is more than likely that Browne’s
masque gave Milton some hints for his “Comus.” In 1614 he also
contributed seven Eclogues to the “Shepheard’s Pipe,” the other
contributors being C. Brooke, Davies, and Wither. Browne worked into his
first Eclogue the “Jonathas” of the little-known Occleve, and the fourth
is an Elegy on Thomas, the son of Sir Peter Manwood.
Our little and learned poet, as Prince describes him, is said to have
been appointed, in 1615, Pursuivant of Wards and Liveries for life. He
married a daughter of Sir Thomas Eversfield, and had two sons, who both
died young. In 1624 he returned to Oxford as tutor to the Hon. Robert
Dormer, afterwards Earl of Carnarvon, who was killed at Newbury in 1643.
Browne, being thirty-three, matriculated from Exeter College on 30th
April, 1624, and on 16th November took his M.A., being commended for his
knowledge of humane letters and the fine arts. He seems to have gone
abroad with his pupil, and in 1640 he wrote from Dorking to Sir Benjamin
Ruddyerd, congratulating him on his “late speech in Parliament, wherein
they believe the spirit which inspired the Reformation, and genius which
dictated the Magna Charta, possessed you. In my poore cell and
sequestration from all businesse, I blesse God and praye for more such
members in the Commonwealth.” Anthony Wood says he was afterwards
domesticated with the Herberts at Wilton, and prospered there; and it
has been fairly proved that he, and not Ben Jonson, wrote that most
perfect epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke:—
Underneath this sable hearse
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother;
Death! ere thou hast slain another,
Learn’d and fair, and good as she,
Time will throw a dart at thee.
We do not know when or where our poet ended his days, but if, oppressed
with sorrow or sickness, he turned with longing to the native scenes
which in early youth he had loved so well, it is likely enough that he
is referred to in the simple entry of the Tavistock register:—“27th
March, 1643, William Browne was buried.”
As poets will, Browne went on writing all through life, but he published
nothing new after 1616. He left in MS. a third book of the Pastorals,
which was first printed in 1852, and a number of smaller poems, sonnets,
epistles, visions, allegories, epigrams, epitaphs, and some jocular
pieces. Amongst the last were the Lydford stanzas, which contained the
first notice of the wild Gubbingses, and the sharp satire on Lydford
Law; about 1630 they were “commonly sung by many a fiddler” as a
Devonshire ballad.
Why did Browne print nothing new after 1616? He had not lost the poetic
gift, for much that he left in MS. is as good as anything he ever wrote.
We have examples in the first and second songs of the third book of the
Pastorals, and nothing that he published is brighter than the song in
the Lansdowne MS. with the pleasant refrain:
Welcome! Welcome! do I sing!
Far more welcome than the Spring!
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a Spring for ever!”
In truth, William Browne was, as his friend Drayton styled him, “a
rightly-born Poet.” If, like the “Faërie Queene,” his Pastorals are
vague and diffuse in narrative, and deficient in human interest, yet,
like the “Faërie Queene,” they abound in happy visions, and fine
descriptions, and wholesome thoughts, expressed in easy, flowing melody.
Browne was akin to Keats and Tennyson in his love of well-sounding words
and sonorous lines. It gave him keen pleasure—
To linger on each line’s enticing graces.
And his enjoyment of the simple beauties of nature was as true and
heartfelt as Cowper’s. Vivid pictures of country scenes, and homely
sketches of country life, are presented to us again and again in verse
that is always clear and lucid, though soft and sweet, or rough and
rugged, according to the subject. His carefully-constructed verses, in
their clearness and in their varying tone, would really seem to have
been attuned to the “voiceful Tavy” which he loved so dearly and
celebrated so gladly, and by whose side many of them were written.
Why, then, with such a gift, so obviously unexhausted, did he decline to
publish anything after the appearance of the second book of _Britannia’s
Pastorals_, in 1616? Probably he felt, as S. Daniel had felt before him,
that a people entirely devoted to action and incident could have little
taste for pure poetry. Even as early as 1613 he had described a poor
poet, sitting up late, wasting ink and paper, and wearing out “many a
gray goose quill,” in the vain hope of immortal renown:—
When Loe! (O Fate!) his worke not seeming fit
To walk in equipage with better wit,
Is kept from light, there gnawne by Moathes and Wormes,
At which he frets.
And, in 1623, when he wrote his commendatory verses for Massinger’s
_Duke of Millaine_, he was convinced that there was no demand for any
poetry but the drama:—
I am snapt already, and may go my way;
The Poet-Critic’s come; I hear him say:
This Youth’s mistook, the Author’s work’s a Play.
It would be easy to make a pleasant little volume of selections from the
more striking or more beautiful passages in Browne’s Pastorals, but here
we can hardly find room for half-a-dozen specimens. Of death he writes:—
Death is no stranger,
And generous Spirits never fear for danger.
Of cheerful content:—
Where there’s content, ’tis ever Holy-day.
Of the Good Shepherd he says that from
the stem
Of that sweet singer of Jerusalem,
Came the best Shepherd ever flocks did keepe,
Who yeelded up his life to save his sheepe.
In Book 2 we have such satire as this, of the “fawning citizen,”
Who “lives a Knave to leave his sonne a Knight”;
such strong lines as this of the sea:—
The vast insatiate Sea doth still devour;
such vivid pictures as this:—
The whistling Reeds upon the water’s side,
Shot up their sharpe heads in a stately pride;
or sweetly-soothing verses like these, on the stillness of nightfall:—
Onely the curled Streames soft chidings kept;
And little Gales that from the greene leafe swept
Dry summer dust, in fearefull whisp’rings stir’d,
As loth to waken any singing bird.
Such passages as these must be admired by every lover of nature, but the
poet will always be doubly dear to those who have lived amongst the
scenes he describes so tenderly and so faithfully. My own feeling of
indebtedness to one whose poetry had given a sort of sacredness to his
native haunts was thus expressed when I was in clerical charge of the
Tamar side of Tavistock, more than thirty years ago:—
Nature’s true Poet, blest with fancies sweet,
And voice as swift and changeful as our brooks,
We country swains cast often wondering looks
On those great singers that around thee meet;
For Spenser, Sidney, thy chief teachers were,
And Wither, Drayton, Jonson, called thee friend;
And, like enough, kind Shakespere did commend
Thy “modest muse.” And yet, we all may share
The scenes of beauty that inspired thy lay;
For still, by “Blanchdown Wood” the Tamar sweeps;
Still trickle streamlets down the “Dartmoor” steeps,
And sing blithe music to the lambs at play;
Still through “sweet Ina’s Combe” the Walla leaps,
Hurrying to greet the Tavy on its way.
D. P. ALFORD.
THE BLOWING UP OF GREAT
TORRINGTON CHURCH.
BY GEORGE M. DOE.
The town of Great Torrington played a not inconspicuous part in the
Civil Wars, the culminating and dramatic incident of which was the
blowing up of the Parish Church after the defeat and flight of the
Royalist forces who were then in the town. The fight at Torrington, too,
was the last important engagement of the campaign in the West, being the
final decisive blow to the Royalist cause there. A very accurate and
full account of the whole of the doings in North Devon during this
stirring time is to be found in the late Mr. R. W. Cotton’s invaluable
work on _Barnstaple and the Northern part of Devonshire during the Great
Civil War_, 1642–1646, and the incidents more particularly relating to
Great Torrington were collected by me and embodied in a little book
entitled, _A few Pages of Great Torrington History_, 1642–1646, and the
blowing up of the Church is also dealt with in my paper in the
_Transactions of the Devonshire Association for the year 1894_.
Though of far less importance than the final battle, there were two
other previous engagements at Great Torrington. The first of these took
place in December, 1642, when a party of Parliamentarian horse and foot
from Barnstaple attacked the Royalists then in the town. From the
varying accounts given by each party, it is, however, uncertain which
side came off best in the encounter.
[Illustration: GREAT TORRINGTON CHURCH (OLD).]
[Illustration: GREAT TORRINGTON CHURCH (NEW).]
There are entries of burials in the Parish Register of Great Torrington
of this date, one being that of Christopher Awberry, a trooper of Sir
Ralph Hopton, who was killed by the “goeing off of a muskett unawares
upon the maine gard,” and was buried “Souldier Like,” and another of
Thomas Hollamore, “slaine by ye goeing off of a muskett.”
In the next year another attack was made on the Royalist forces under
Colonel Digby in Great Torrington, resulting in a fight on the Commons
on the north side of the town, in which the attacking force was
repulsed. A description of this engagement is given by Lord Clarendon in
his _History of the Rebellion_.
Between this last date and that of the blowing up of the Church, there
is the following interesting entry in the Register of Burials of July,
1644:—
Thomas Moncke gent. lieuetennt to Colonell Thomas Moncke of Poderidge
Esq beeing slaine in South Streete the IX^{th} day about 12^{th} a
’clocke att night by somme of his owne company by reason of some
misprision of the word given being the IX^{th} day att 12^{th}
aforesaid was buried the 10^{th} day.
The “Colonell Thomas Moncke” in this entry was the father of the
unfortunate lieutenant, and brother of the celebrated George Monk, Duke
of Albemarle and Earl of Torrington, who subsequently played the leading
part in the Restoration of King Charles II. Potheridge, in the parish of
Merton, which is now converted into a farm-house, was the family seat of
the Monks.
On the morning of Monday, the 16th February, 1645, the Parliamentarian
Army, with Fairfax as General and Cromwell Lieutenant-General, marched
from Ashreingney viâ Stevenstone, reaching Great Torrington late in the
evening, and after some hard fighting in the dark succeeded in forcing
their way into the town and driving the Royalist soldiers, under Lord
Hopton, through the streets and across the Torridge in the direction of
Cornwall. Hardly had the victors effected an entrance, before the
Church, which had been used by the Royalists as a magazine for their
powder, was blown up, the explosion wrecking the surrounding houses and
dealing ruin and destruction in all directions.
There are several very graphic accounts of the catastrophe and the
incidents immediately leading up to it, by eye witnesses, which cannot
be excelled in accurate and vivid description by any additional
embellishments. The following is that of Joshua Sprigge, the chaplain of
Fairfax:—
Monday, February 16th, the drums beat by four of the clock in the
Morning; the general rendezvous of the army was appointed to be at
Rings-Ash, about three miles from Chimleigh; where, accordingly, by
seven of the clock in the morning, the whole army was drawn up in
battalia, horse and foot, on the moor five miles short of Torrington,
and so marched in order ready for a present engagement, in case the
enemy should attempt any thing in our march through the narrow lanes;
the forlorn hope of horse, commanded by major Stephens and Captain
Moleneux, being advanced towards Stephenston (master Rolls’ house near
Torrington), his excellency understood that the enemy had 200 dragoons
in the House, whereupon a commanded party of horse and foot were sent
to fall on them; but upon the advance of our forces towards them, the
enemy quit the place; yet our horse marching fast, engaged their rear,
took several of their dragoons prisoners, and afterwards the forlorn
hope of horse on both sides were much engaged in the narrow and dirty
lanes; at last we beat them from master Rolls’ house, all along the
lane almost to Torrington. About five of the clock in the evening the
van of the army was drawn up in the park, the forlorn hope of foot was
drawn out near the forlorn hope of horse in the midway, between master
Rolls’ house and Torrington, and there lined the hedges to make good
the retreat of the horse; the enemy likewise drew out of the town four
or five closes off, and lined the hedges with musketeers within a
close of ours, and flanked their foot with horse; whereupon good
reserves were sent to second our forlorn hope of foot, lest the enemy,
knowing the ground, and we being strangers unto it, might suddenly
encompass us (it being by this time dark night, and the whole army
being then come up, having marched ten miles that day). About eight at
night the enemy drew off from some of the closes they formerly
possessed; whereupon we gained the ground they quitted, and a council
of war being called, whether it was advisable, being night, to engage
the enemy’s body, then in the town, who were ready with the best
advantages of ground and barricadoes to receive us; it was the general
sense of the council to make good our ground and double our guards
till the next morning, that we might the better take view of the
places where we were like to engage; whereupon the general and
lieutenant-general went from master Rolls’ house to see the guards
accordingly set, but, hearing a noise in the town, as if the enemy
were retreating, and being loath that they should go away without an
affront, to that purpose, and that we might get certain knowledge
whether they were going off or not, a small party of dragoons were
sent to fire on the enemy near the barricadoes and hedges. The enemy
answered us with a round volley of shot; thereupon the forlorn hope of
foot went and engaged themselves to bring off the dragoons, and the
reserve fell on to bring off the forlorn hope; and being thus far
engaged, the general being on the field, and seeing the general
resolution of the soldiery, held fit that the whole regiments in order
after them should fall on. And so both sides were accordingly engaged
in the dark for some two hours, till we beat them from the hedges and
within their barricadoes, which were very strong, and where some of
their men disputed the entrance of our forces with push of pike and
butt-end of musket for a long time. At last it pleased God to give us
the victory, our foot first entering the town, and afterwards the
horse, who chased the enemy through the town, the Lord Hopton,
bringing up the rear, had his horse shot dead under him in the middle
of the town, their horse once facing about in the street, caused our
foot to retreat, but more of our horse coming up pursued them to the
bridges, and through the other barricadoes at the further end of the
town, where we had no sooner placed guards at the several avenues, and
had drawn our whole army of foot and most of our horse into the town,
but the magazine of near eighty barrels of powder, which the lord
Hopton had in the church, was fired by a desperate villain, one Watts,
whom the enemy had hired with thirty pounds for that purpose, as he
himself confessed the next day, when he was pulled out from under the
rubbish and timber, and the lead, stones, timber, and iron work of the
church were blown up into the air and scattered all over the town and
fields about it where our forces were; yet it pleased God miraculously
to preserve the army, that few were slain besides the enemy’s (that
were prisoners in the church where the magazine was blown up), and
most of our men that guarded them who were killed and buried in the
ruins: and here was God’s great mercy unto us, that the general being
there in the streets escaped with his life so narrowly, there falling
a web of lead with all its force which killed the horse of one master
Rhoads of the lifeguard who was thereon next to the general in the
street, but doing neither him nor the general any hurt. There were
taken in the town about 600 prisoners besides officers, great store of
arms (the lanes and fields being bestrewn with them), all their foot
were scattered, their horse fled that night towards Cornwall in great
confusion: the prisoners we took confessed they had about 4,000 foot
and 4,000 horse at least; the service was very hot, we had many
wounded, it was stoutly maintained on both sides for the time.
From other sources we learn that the main body of the Royalist Horse was
stationed at the end of the barricade on the north side of the town, and
the Prince’s Guards were in the Castle Green. The word for the night
was, “We are with you,” and the signal was a handkerchief tied round the
right arm. The word for the night of the Parliamentarian Army was,
“Emmanuel, God with us,” and each man carried a sprig of furze in his
hat.