B. What! You are one of them that do deny
To yield obedience by conformity.
Q. Nay: we desire conformable to be.
B. But unto what? Q. The Image of the Son. {190}
B. What’s that to us! We’ll have conformity
Unto our form. Q. Then we shall ne’er have done.
For, if your fickle minds should alter, we
Should be to seek a new conformity.
Thus, who to-day conform to Prelacy,
To-morrow may conform to Popery.
But take this for an answer, Bishop, we
Cannot conform either to them or thee;
For while to truth your forms are opposite,
Whoe’er conforms thereto doth not aright.
B. We’ll make such knaves as you conform, or lie
Confined in prisons till ye rot and die.
Q. Well, gentle Bishop, I may live to see,
For all thy threats, a check to cruelty;
But in the meantime, I, for my defence,
Betake me to my fortress, Patience.
No sooner was this cruel law made but it was put in execution with great
severity; the sense whereof working strongly on my spirit, made me cry
earnestly to the Lord that he would arise and set up his righteous
judgment in the earth for the deliverance of his people from all their
enemies, both inward and outward; and in these terms I uttered it:
Awake, awake, O arm of th’ Lord, awake,
Thy sword uptake;
Cast what would Thine forgetful of Thee make
Into the lake.
Awake, I pray, O mighty Jah, awake
Make all the world before Thy presence quake,
Not only earth, but heaven also shake.
Arise, arise, O Jacob’s God, arise,
And hear the cries
Of ev’ry soul which in distress now lies,
And to Thee flies.
Arise, I pray, O Israel’s hope, arise;
Set free Thy seed, oppressed by enemies.
Why should they over it still tyrannize?
Make speed, make speed, O Israel’s help, make speed,
In time of need;
For evil men have wickedly decreed
Against Thy seed.
Make speed, I pray, O mighty God, make speed;
Let all Thy lambs from savage wolves be freed,
That fearless on Thy mountain they may feed.
Ride on, ride on, Thou Valiant Man of Might,
And put to flight
Those sons of Belial who do despite
To the upright:
Ride on, I say, Thou Champion, and smite
Thine and Thy people’s enemies, with such might
That none may dare ’gainst Thee or Thine to fight.
Although the storm raised by the Act for banishment fell with the
greatest weight and force upon some other parts, as at London, Hertford,
&c., yet we were not in Buckinghamshire wholly exempted therefrom, for a
part of that shower reached us also.
For a Friend of Amersham, whose name was Edward Perot or Parret,
departing this life, and notice being given that his body would be buried
there on such a day, which was the first day of the fifth month, 1665,
the Friends of the adjacent parts of the country resorted pretty
generally to the burial, so that there was a fair appearance of Friends
and neighbours, the deceased having been well-beloved by both.
After we had spent some time together in the house, Morgan Watkins, who
at that time happened to be at Isaac Penington’s, being with us, the body
was taken up and borne on Friends’ shoulders along the street in order to
be carried to the burying-ground, which was at the town’s end, being part
of an orchard belonging to the deceased, which he in his lifetime had
appointed for that service.
It so happened that one Ambrose Benett, a barrister at law and a justice
of the peace for that county, riding through the town that morning on his
way to Aylesbury, was by some ill-disposed person or other informed that
there was a Quaker to be buried there that day, and that most of the
Quakers in the country were come thither to the burial.
Upon this he set up his horses and stayed, and when we, not knowing
anything of his design against us, went innocently forward to perform our
Christian duty for the interment of our friend, he rushed out of his inn
upon us with the constables and a rabble of rude fellows whom he had
gathered together, and having his drawn sword in his hand, struck one of
the foremost of the bearers with it, commanding them to set down the
coffin. But the Friend who was so stricken, whose name was Thomas Dell,
being more concerned for the safety of the dead body than his own, lest
it should fall from his shoulder, and any indecency thereupon follow,
held the coffin fast; which the Justice observing, and being enraged that
his word (how unjust soever) was not forthwith obeyed, set his hand to
the coffin, and with a forcible thrust threw it off from the bearers’
shoulders, so that it fell to the ground in the midst of the street, and
there we were forced to leave it.
For immediately thereupon, the Justice giving command for the
apprehending us, the constables with the rabble fell on us, and drew some
and drove others into the inn, giving thereby an opportunity to the rest
to walk away.
Of those that were thus taken I was one. And being, with many more, put
into a room under a guard, we were kept there till another Justice,
called Sir Thomas Clayton, whom Justice Benett had sent for to join with
him in committing us, was come, and then being called forth severally
before them, they picked out ten of us, and committed us to Aylesbury
gaol, for what neither we nor they knew; for we were not convicted of
having either done or said anything which the law could take hold of, for
they took us up in the open street, the king’s highway, not doing any
unlawful act, but peaceably carrying and accompanying the corpse of our
deceased friend to bury it, which they would not suffer us to do, but
caused the body to lie in the open street and in the cartway, so that all
the travellers that passed by, whether horsemen, coaches, carts, or
waggons, were fain to break out of the way to go by it, that they might
not drive over it, until it was almost night. And then having caused a
grave to be made in the unconsecrated part (as it is accounted) of that
which is called the churchyard, they forcibly took the body from the
widow whose right and property it was, and buried it there.
When the Justices had delivered us prisoners to the constable, it being
then late in the day, which was the seventh day of the week, he, not
willing to go so far as Aylesbury, nine long miles, with us that night,
nor to put the town to the charge of keeping us there that night, and the
first day and night following, dismissed us upon our parole to come to
him again at a set hour on the second day morning; whereupon we all went
home to our respective habitations, and coming to him punctually
according to promise, were by him, without guard, conducted to the
prison.
The gaoler, whose name was Nathaniel Birch, had not long before behaved
himself very wickedly, with great rudeness and cruelty, to some of our
friends of the lower side of the county, whom he, combining with the
Clerk of the Peace, whose name was Henry Wells, had contrived to get into
his gaol; and after they were legally discharged in court, detained them
in prison, using great violence, and shutting them up close in the common
gaol among the felons, because they would not give him his unrighteous
demand of fees, which they were the more straitened in from his
treacherous dealing with them. And they having through suffering
maintained their freedom and obtained their liberty, we were the more
concerned to keep what they had so hardly gained, and therefore resolved
not to make any contract or terms for either chamber-rent or fees, but to
demand a free prison, which we did.
When we came in, the gaoler was ridden out to wait on the judges, who
came in that day to begin the assize, and his wife was somewhat at a loss
how to deal with us; but being a cunning woman, she treated us with great
appearance of courtesy, offering us the choice of all her rooms; and when
we asked upon what terms, she still referred us to her husband, telling
us she did not doubt but that he would be very reasonable and civil to
us. Thus she endeavoured to have drawn us to take possession of some of
her chambers at a venture, and trust to her husband’s kind usage. But
we, who at the cost of our friends had a proof of his kindness, were too
wary to be drawn in by the fair words of a woman, and therefore told her
we would not settle anywhere till her husband came home, and then would
have a free prison, wheresoever he put us.
Accordingly, walking all together into the court of the prison, in which
was a well of very good water, and having beforehand sent to a friend in
the town, a widow woman, whose name was Sarah Lambarn, to bring us some
bread and cheese, we sat down upon the ground round about the well, and
when we had eaten, we drank of the water out of the well.
Our great concern was for our friend Isaac Penington, because of the
tenderness of his constitution; but he was so lively in his spirit, and
so cheerfully given up to suffer, that he rather encouraged us than
needed any encouragement from us.
In this posture the gaoler, when he came home, found us, and having
before he came to us consulted his wife, and by her understood on what
terms we stood, when he came to us he hid his teeth, and putting on a
show of kindness, seemed much troubled that we should sit there abroad,
especially his old friend Mr. Penington, and thereupon invited us to come
in and take what rooms in his house we pleased. We asked upon what
terms; letting him know withal that we determined to have a free prison.
He, like the sun and wind in a fable, that strove which of them should
take from the traveller his cloak, having like the wind tried rough,
boisterous, violent means to our friends before, but in vain, resolved
now to imitate the sun, and shine as pleasantly as he could upon us;
wherefore he told us we should make the terms ourselves, and be as free
as we desired if we thought fit, when we were released, to give him
anything, he would thank us for it, and if not, he would demand nothing.
Upon these terms we went in and disposed ourselves, some in the
dwelling-house, others in the malt-house, where they chose to be.
During the assize we were brought before Judge Morton, a sour, angry man,
who very rudely reviled us, but would not either hear us or the cause,
but referred the matter to the two justices who had committed us.
They, when the assize was ended, sent for us to be brought before them at
their inn, and fined us, as I remember, six shillings and eightpence
apiece, which we not consenting to pay, they committed us to prison again
for one month from that time, on the Act for banishment.
When we had lain there that month, I, with another, went to the gaoler to
demand our liberty, which he readily granted, telling us the door should
be opened when we pleased to go.
This answer of his I reported to the rest of my friends there, and
thereupon we raised among us a small sum of money, which they put into my
hand for the gaoler, whereupon I, taking another with me, went to the
gaoler with the money in my hand, and reminding him of the terms upon
which we accepted the use of his rooms, I told him, that although we
could not pay chamber rent or fees, yet inasmuch as he had now been civil
to us, we were willing to acknowledge it by a small token, and thereupon
gave him the money. He, putting it into his pocket, said, “I thank you
and your friends for it, and to let you see I take it as a gift, not a
debt, I will not look on it to see how much it is.”
The prison door being then set open for us, we went out, and departed to
our respective homes.
But before I left the prison, considering one day with myself the
different kinds of liberty and confinement, freedom and bondage, I took
my pen, and wrote the following enigma or riddle:—
Lo! here a riddle to the wise,
In which a mystery there lies;
Read it, therefore, with that eye
Which can discern a mystery.