There is extant a singular and affecting account of the death of one of these sufferers, written by Alexander Peden, an enthusiastic preacher of the Cameronian sect, which is rendered more striking by the rudeness of the narrative, and the minute circumstantiality of the details. This is one of the passages which we propose to take from this portion of our history; the other consists of some extracts relative to the sufferings and death of one of the most accomplished and discreet, as well as most pious, of the ministers who suffered during the persecution under the two last kings of the Stuart family. The former of these two, by name John Brown, was a small farmer and carrier, resident at Priesthill, in the parish of Muirkirk, an upland district on the borders of Ayrshire and Lanarkshire; “a man” says Wodrow, “of shining piety, who had great measures of solid digested knowledge and experience, and a singular talent of a most plain and affecting way of communicating his knowledge to others.” This man was orderly, sedate, and discreet, and nowise obnoxious to the ruling party, except as a conscientious and inflexible seceder from the Episcopalian worship attempted to be imposed. Our tale is taken from a publication entitled the ‘Life of Mr. Alexander Peden,’ published about the year 1720.[221]
“In the beginning of May, 1685, he (Mr. Alexander Peden) came to the house of John Brown and Marion Weir, whom he married before he went to Ireland, where he staid all night, and in the morning, when he took farewell, he came out of the door, saying to himself, ‘Poor woman, a fearful morning,’ twice over; ‘A dark misty morning.’ The next morning, between five and six hours, the said John Brown having performed the worship of God in his family, was going with a spade in his hand to make ready some peat ground: the mist being very dark, he knew not until cruel and bloody Claverhouse compassed him with three troops of horse, brought him to his house, and then examined him; who, though he was a man of a stammering speech, yet answered him distinctly and solidly; which made Claverhouse to examine those whom he had taken to be his guide through the muirs, if ever they heard him preach. They answered, No, no; he was never a preacher. He said, ‘If he has not preached, mickle has he prayed in his time.’ He said to John, ‘Go to your prayers, for you shall immediately die.’ When he was praying, Claverhouse interrupted him three times: one time that he stopt him, he was pleading that the Lord would spare a remnant, and not make a full end in the day of his anger. Claverhouse said, ‘I gave you time to pray, and ye are begun to preach:’ he turned about upon his knees and said, ‘Sir, you know neither the nature of preaching or praying, that calls this preaching.’ Then continued without confusion; when ended, Claverhouse said, ‘Take good–night of your wife and children.’ His wife standing by with her child in her arms that she had brought forth to him, and another child of his first wife’s, he came to her, and said, ‘Now Marion, the day is come, that I told you would come when I first spake to you of marrying me.’ She said, ‘Indeed, John, I can willingly part with you.’ ‘Then,’ he said, ‘this is all I desire, I have no more to do but to die.’ He kissed his wife and bairns, and wished purchased and promised blessings to be multiplied upon them, and his blessing. Claverhouse ordered six soldiers to shoot him:[222] the most part of the bullets came upon his head, which scattered his brains on the ground. Claverhouse said to his wife, ‘What thinkest thou of thy husband now, woman?’ She said, ‘I thought ever much of him, and now as much as ever.’ He said, ‘It were justice to lay thee beside him.’ She said, ‘If ye were permitted, I doubt not but that your crueltie would go that length; but how will ye make answer for this morning’s work?’ He said, ‘To man I can be answerable; and for God, I will take him in my own hand.’ Claverhouse mounted his horse, and marched, and left her with the corpse of her dead husband lying there; she set the bairn upon the ground, and gathered his brains, and tied up his head, and straighted his body, and covered him in her plaid, and sat down and wept over him. It being a very desolate place, where never verdure grew, and far from neighbours, it was some time before any friends came to her; the first that came was a very fit hand, that old singular Christian woman in the Cummerhead, named Elizabeth Menzies, three miles distant, who had been tried with the violent death of her husband at Pentland, afterwards of two worthy sons, Thomas Weir, who was killed at Drumclog, and David Steel, who was suddenly shot afterwards when taken. The said Marion Weir sitting upon her husband’s grave, told me, that before that, she could see no blood but what she was in danger to faint; and yet she was helped to be a witness to all this, without either fainting or confusion, except when the shots were let off, her eyes dazzled. His corpse was buried at the end of his house, where he was slain, with this inscription on his grave–stone:—
In earth’s cold bed, the dusty part here lies
Of one who did the earth as dust despise!
Here in this place, from earth he took departure;—
Now he has got the garland of the martyr.
This murder was committed between six and seven in the morning: Mr. Peden was about ten or eleven miles distant, having been in the fields all night; he came to the house between seven and eight, and desired to call in the family, that he might pray amongst them. When praying, he said, ‘Lord, when wilt thou avenge Brown’s blood? Oh! let Brown’s blood be precious in thy sight! and hasten the day when thou wilt avenge it, with Cameron’s, Cargill’s, and many others of our martyrs’ names; and oh! for that day, when the Lord would avenge all their bloods.’
“When ended, John Muirhead inquired what he meant by Brown’s blood? He said twice over, ‘What do I mean? Claverhouse has been at the Priesthill this morning, and has cruelly murdered John Brown: his corpse was lying at the end of his house, and his poor wife sitting weeping by his corpse, and not a soul to speak a word comfortably to her.’”
It is not to be supposed that this atrocity was single or singular in its nature, or that it and others rest upon doubtful testimony. “No historical facts,” says Mr. Fox, “are better ascertained than the account of these instances of cruelty which are to be found in Wodrow.” And the extent to which they were carried may be appreciated from the number of military executions or murders recorded by that author,[223] in the two first months only of the year in which the above tragedy was enacted. Neither must it be supposed that these were the unwarranted excesses of a brutal soldiery: the Privy Council, the chief executive power of Scotland, clearly pointed out the line of conduct to be pursued in its instructions;[224] and in its dealings with the prisoners brought before it, showed equally clearly that the exceeding of their orders in severity would not be harshly construed. There are few who do not recollect the scene in ‘Old Mortality,’ in which the preacher Macbriar is examined before the Council: and the fiction does go one step beyond the reality, as detailed in the authentic pages of Wodrow. Those who did not perish by shot or sword, had often reason to wish that their sufferings had been ended by the summary method of military execution. Torture was pitilessly used to extract confession; and branding, banishment, and hanging, were largely employed, not only against the violent spirits whom persecution had driven to assume arms, but against those who offered none but passive resistance. And this severity was the cause, not the consequence, of the more violent sects rising in arms: it was the result of a premeditated scheme to oppress, if not to root out, Presbyterianism, as tending to keep alive a spirit of independence, civil as well as religious. With this intention, the ministers and other prominent persons were first attacked under form of law: it was not until their firmness proved to be inexpugnable, that the act of assembling for worship was itself proscribed. Even so early as 1661, Mr. James Guthrie, one of the most eminent ministers of the Scottish church, a man of moderation and discretion, as well as zeal, learning, and piety, was singled out as a victim. Hume’s account of this transaction is a good specimen of the spirit in which he treats of this period of history. “It was deemed political to hold over men’s heads for some time the terror of punishment, till they should have made the requisite compliances with the new government. Though neither the king’s temper nor plan of administration led him to severity, some examples, after such a bloody and triumphant rebellion, seemed necessary; and the Marquis of Argyle and one Guthrie were pitched upon as the victims.... Guthrie was a seditious preacher, and had personally affronted the king: his punishment gave surprise to nobody.” On this passage, we have to observe, that Guthrie was not a person unknown or insignificant, to be spoken of thus contemptuously (one Guthrie); and in denial the latter statements, to quote the following extract from Wodrow, whose testimony we do not hesitate to prefer to that of Hume, neither quoting their authority. “The king himself was so sensible of his (Guthrie’s) good services to him and his interest when at the lowest, and of the severity of this sentence, that when he got notice of it, he asked with some warmth, ‘And what have you done with Mr. Patrick Gillespie?’ It was answered that Mr. Gillespie had so many friends in the house, his life could not be taken. ‘Well,’ said the king, ‘if I had known you would have spared Mr. Gillespie, I would have spared Mr. Guthrie.’[225] And indeed there was reason for it, as to one who had been so firm and zealous a supporter of his Majesties title and interest, and had suffered so much for his continued opposition to, and disowning of the English usurpation.” And far from being an insignificant person, whose death might be passed over as a matter of no account, the greatest pains were taken to induce him to save his life by[226] making concessions, with the value of which, as coming from him, the court party were well acquainted. But his offence and the reason for pursuing him to death are not obscurely hinted at in the first sentence of our extract from Hume: he had stood up against invasion of the rights of the Presbyterian kirk, which the king, in swearing to the Covenant, had bound himself to uphold; and therefore he was made an example, “to hold over men’s heads the terror of punishment, till they should have made the requisite compliances with the new government.” The charge against him was treason and sedition, founded principally on the language of a petition adopted by a meeting of ministers, August 23, 1660, of which he was one, and on two publications, the ‘Western Remonstrance,’ and ‘Causes of God’s Wrath,’ in the sentiments of both of which he expressed his concurrence on his trial: and in his last speech he acknowledged himself the author of the latter. From one of his speeches before the parliament, we extract the following passage, which is worth the attention of those who think that opinions are to be stifled by violence.
“My lord, my conscience I cannot submit, but this old crazy body, and mortal flesh I do submit, to do with it whatsoever you will, whether by death, or banishment, or imprisonment, or anything else; only I beseech you to ponder well what profit there is in my blood: it is not the extinguishing of me or many others that will extinguish the Covenant and work of reformation since the year 1638. My blood, bondage, or banishment will contribute more for the propagation of those things than my life or liberty could do, though I should live many years.”[227]
His death, however, was resolved on; and in spite of the vigour of his defence, and the laxness of the charges against him, on which no lawyer since the Revolution would have dared to build a charge of constructive treason, he was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged; which sentence was carried into effect June 1, 1661. He commenced his dying speech in these words:—
“Men and brethren, I fear many of you are come hither to gaze, rather than to be edified by the carriage and last words of a dying man; but if any have an ear to hear, as I hope some of this great confluence have, I desire your audience to a few words. I am come hither to lay down this earthly tabernacle and mortal flesh of mine, and, I bless God, through his grace, I do it willingly, and not by constraint. I say, I suffer willingly: if I had been so minded, I might have made a division, and not been a prisoner; but being conscious to myself of nothing worthy of death or bonds, I could not stain my innocency with the suspicion of guiltiness, by my withdrawing; neither have I wanted opportunities and advantages to escape since I was prisoner,—not by the fault of my keepers, God knoweth, but otherwise; but neither for this had I light or liberty, lest I should reflect upon the Lord’s name, and offend the generation of the righteous: and if some men have not been mistaken, or dealt deceitfully in telling me so, I might have avoided not only the severity of the sentence, but also had much favour and countenance in complying with the courses of the times. But I durst not redeem my life with the loss of my integrity, God knoweth I durst not; and that since I was prisoner, he hath so holden me by the hand, that he never suffered me to bring it in debate in my inward thoughts, much less to propose or hearken to any overture of that kind. I did judge it better to suffer than to sin; and therefore I am come hither to lay down my life this day.”
He proceeded to justify his own loyalty, and the conduct for which he was condemned, as in no way treasonable or seditious, but a conscientious upholding of the rights and privileges of the church: and bearing testimony to the sacredness of the Covenant, and to his own adherence to it, and to the doctrine and discipline of the Presbyterian church, he concluded in an exalted strain of piety and thankfulness, and met his death, according to the testimony of Burnet, above quoted, with the utmost tranquillity.
“It was very confidently asserted at this time, that some weeks after Mr. Guthrie’s head had been set up on the Netherbow Port in Edinburgh, the commissioner’s coach coming down that way, several drops of blood fell from the head upon the coach, which all their art and diligence could not wipe off. I have it very confidently affirmed, that physicians were called, and inquired if any natural cause could be assigned for the blood dropping so long after the head was put up, and especially for it not washing out of the leather; and they could give none. This odd incident beginning to be talked of, and all other methods being tried, at length the leather was removed, and a new cover put on: this was much sooner done than the wiping off the guilt of this great and good man’s blood from the shedders of it, and this poor nation. The above report I shall say no more of; it was generally spoken of at the time, and is yet firmly believed by many: at this distance I cannot fully vouch it as certain; perhaps it may be thought too miraculous for the age we are now in: but this I will affirm, that Mr. Guthrie’s blood was of so crying a nature, that even Sir George Mackenzie was sensible that all his rhetoric, though he was a great master in that sort, had not been sufficient to drown it, for which cause he very wisely passed it over in silence.”[228]
This is rather a remarkable instance of a common superstition. The reader who will consult the original authorities, will be struck by the elevated tone of joyful anticipation with which the sufferers of this period almost uniformly met death. See the accounts of King, Mackail, Renwick, and many others. Compare these deaths with those of Socrates or Cato, and we have the best exemplification of the practical difference between Christianity and Heathenism, even in its purest forms. “The Heathen looked on death without fear, the Christian exulted.”[229]
The English reader will naturally look in a chapter devoted to the subjects by which this is occupied, for some account of the persecution of the reformed church of his own country in the reign of Mary. This is a period very different in character from that persecution of the Scottish Presbyterians, which we have just described, but not inferior in interest. Their stubborn opposition for conscience’ sake is well contrasted by the mild submission of the English reformers for conscience’ sake also; as the ascetic lives, and in many cases the stern and gloomy tenets of the former are contrasted with the innocent and decent cheerfulness, and more attractive doctrines encouraged, practised, and preached, by the latter. These differences may be explained by various causes, arising from a difference of national character and natural circumstances. The Scotch have always been a people not lightly moved, but stern in temper, and stubborn in endurance when roused into action: and their wild country and defensible fastnesses rendered it easy, in the first instance, to withdraw from vexatious interference, in the second, when pursued, to oppose violence successfully. And besides, the resolute resistance of the Cameronians and others was the fruit of a spirit of independence of long growth, fostered by long contests with the crown, both in England and Scotland; and the civil wars had effectually broken down the notion, that it was forbidden to take up arms, even for conscience’ sake, against the powers that be. That their conduct, if not always judicious, was in its main principles worthy of honour and admiration, we have already stated to be our opinion: but we are not on that account less ready to admire the calm submission of the English reformers, coupled with their resolute upholding of the truth. The Scottish zealots had studied the Old Testament till they had imbibed rather too much of the Jewish temper: the conduct of the fathers of our church was full of the very spirit of Christianity. The latter were not more distinguished than the former for uprightness of life, devotion to the truth, as they received it, or readiness to seal their adherence to it by death. But they had the advantage in depth of learning, in a more temperate gravity of conduct, and soundness of judgment: and it is on these accounts, as well as by reason of the more eminent station which they filled in the eyes of the world, that they have always been reverenced as shining lights; while the persecuted sects of Scotland were long regarded by those who were but generally acquainted with that period of our history, either with hatred or contempt in proportion as the cruel extravagances of a few, or the so–called moroseness, and puritanical precision of the many, made most impression.
The stories of Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley, and others high in rank, are familiarly known even to children, in whose limited circle of historical reading the horrors of this period have been suffered to hold too prominent a place. Less known to fame, yet not inferior to any, it should seem, in the qualities of the heart and the understanding, was he whose memorable death we have selected for narration; and in whose rustic simplicity of deportment, and somewhat coarse jocularity, and grotesque contour of person (a circumstance which is to be inferred from various parts of the narrative), we trace a resemblance, slight, and unimportant, yet not uninteresting, to the Athenian philosopher, as well as in his care, retained to the last, for the feelings and welfare of his friends, and his resolute refusal to compromise the goodness of his cause by flight.
“Of Rowland Taylor (says Bishop Heber) neither the name nor the misfortunes are obscure. He was distinguished among the divines of the Reformation for his abilities, his learning, and piety; and he suffered death at the stake on Aldham Common, near Hadleigh, in the third year of Queen Mary, amid the blessings and lamentations of his parishioners, and with a courageous and kindly cheerfulness which has scarcely its parallel, even in those days of religious heroism.”
“There is nothing indeed more beautiful, in the whole beautiful Book of Martyrs, than the account which Fox has given of Rowland Taylor, whether in the discharge of his duty as a parish priest, or in the more arduous moments when he was called on to bear his cross in the cause of religion. His warmth of heart, his simplicity of manners, the total absence of the false stimulants of enthusiasm or pride, and the abundant overflow of better and holier feelings, are delineated, no less than his courage in death, and the buoyant cheerfulness with which he encountered it, with a spirit only inferior to the eloquence and dignity of the Phædon. Something, indeed, must be allowed for the manners of the age, before we can be reconciled to the coarse vigour of his pleasantry, his jocose menace to Bonner, and his jests with the Sheriff on his own stature and corpulency. But nothing can be more delightfully told than his refusal to fly from the Lord Chancellor’s officers; his dignified yet modest determination to await death in the discharge of his duty; and his affectionate and courageous parting with his wife and children. His recollection, when led to the stake, of ‘the blind man and woman,’ his pensioners, is of the same delightful character; nor has Plato anything more touching than the lamentation of his parishioners over his dishonoured head and long white beard, and his own meek rebuke to the wretch who drew blood from that venerable countenance. Let not my readers blame me for this digression. They will have cause to thank me, if it induces them to refer to a history which few men have ever read without its making them ‘sadder and better.’”[230]
Rowland Taylor, “a right perfect divine,” and parish priest, according to the manners of the time, was chaplain to Archbishop Cranmer; but on being appointed rector of Hadleigh, a small town in Suffolk, he quitted his patron’s family, to devote himself entirely to the care of his living; and by his diligent study, and preaching, and attention to the temporal as well as spiritual welfare of his people, he both recommended the doctrines which he taught, and acquired the esteem and love of his parishioners in an uncommon degree. Such was his occupation and character during the reign of Edward VI.: on the accession of Mary, he was one of the first to suffer for his adherence to the church and to the laws, in consequence of his resistance to the attempts made to reinstate Popish priests and Popish ceremonies in the parochial churches. In this scheme to reconcile England to the Pope, the renegade Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, and the brutal and ferocious Bonner, Bishop of London, who figure prominently in the following narrative, were the most zealous actors. The length and prolix style of the original forbids us to extract the entire story from the Book of Martyrs; but we shall adhere to it as closely as we can, as well for the sake of giving (according to the principle laid down in our introduction) a specimen of the style of that remarkable work, as for the characteristic touches and intrinsic beauty of a great part of the narration. It begins with an account of Taylor’s character and parochial labours up to the death of Edward VI., and the subsequent attempts of his sister and successor Mary, to restore, by violence, the supremacy of the Roman Catholic religion.
“In the beginning of this rage of Antichrist (1553), a certain petie gentleman, after the sort of a lawyer, called Foster, a bitter persecutor in those days, with one John Clerk, of Hadley, conspired to bring in the Pope and his maumetrie[231] again into Hadley Church. To this purpose they builded up with all haste possible the altar, intending to bring in their masse againe, about the Palme Sunday. But this their device took none effect; for in the night the altar was beaten down; wherefore they built it up againe the second time, and laid diligent watch, lest any should againe break it down.
“On the day following came Foster and John Clerk, bringing with them their Popish sacrificer, who brought with him all his implements and garments to play his Popish pageant, whom they and their men guarded with swords and bucklers, lest any man should disturbe him in his missall sacrifice.
“When Dr. Taylor, who (according to his custome) sat at his booke studying the word of God, heard the bels ring, hee arose, and went into the church, supposing something had been there to be done, according to his pastorall office: and coming to the church, he found the church doores shut, and fast barred, saving the chancel doore, which was only latched, where he entering, and comming into the chancell, saw a Popish sacrificer in his robes, with a broad new shaven crown, ready to begin his Popish sacrifice, beset about with drawn swords and bucklers, lest any man should approach to disturbe him.
“Then said Dr. Taylor, ‘Thou divell, who made thee so bold to enter into this church of Christ, to prophane and defile it with this abominable idolatry?’ With that start up Foster, and, with an ireful and furious countenance, said to Dr. Taylor, ‘Thou traitor, what doest thou here, to let and disturb the Queene’s proceedings?’ Dr. Taylor answered, ‘I am no traitor, but I am the shepherd that God, my Lord Christ, hath appointed to feed this his flock; wherefore I have good authority to bee here, and I command thee, thou Popish wolf, in the name of God, to avoid hence, and not to presume here with such Popish idolatry to poison Christ’s flock.’”
Taylor being violently put out of the church, the mass was continued. But he was a man to be feared for his integrity, courage, and ability, and therefore to be destroyed: and in those times, the transaction which we have just related furnished means of proceeding against him under colour of law. In a few days, upon complaint of Clerk and Foster, he was cited to appear before Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, and Lord Chancellor. “When his friends heard this, they earnestly counselled him to depart and flye; alledging and declaring unto him, that he could neither be indifferently heard to speak his conscience and mind, nor yet look for justice or favour at the said Chancellor’s hands, who, as it was well knowne, was most fierce and cruell; but must needs (if he went up to him) wait for imprisonment and cruell death at his hands.”
“Then said Dr. Taylor to his friends, ‘Dear friends, I most heartily thank you that you have so tender a care over mee; and although I know that there is neither justice nor truth to be looked for at my adversaries’ hands, but rather imprisonment and cruell death, yet I know my cause to be so good and righteous, and the truth so strong on my side, that I will, by God’s grace, go and appear before them, and to their beards resist their false doings.’”
In this mind, though strongly urged to fly, he continued, and took his journey to London on horseback, with a trusty servant named John Hull, who on the way “laboured to counsel and perswade him very earnestly to fly, and not to come to the Bishop; and proffered himselfe to go with him to save him, and in all perils to venture his life for him and with him. But in no wise would Dr. Taylor consent or agree thereunto. Thus they came up to London, and shortly after, Taylor presented himself before the Bishop of Winchester.”
The account of this conference is amusing as well as interesting, but it is both too long and too theological to extract. Taylor, however, according to the reporter, had altogether the best of it, except in the conclusion, which was effected by what Fox, in his marginal note, quaintly calls “Winchester’s strong argument, Carry him to prison.” He remained in the King’s Bench about a year and three–quarters, “in the which time the Papists got certain old tyrannous lawes, which were put down by King Henry VIII. and by King Edward, to be revived again by Parliament, so that now they might, ex officio, cite whom they would upon their own suspicion, and charge him with what articles they lusted, and, except they in all things agreed to their purpose, burne them. When these laws were once established, they sent for Dr. Taylor, with certain other prisoners, which were againe convened before the Chancellor, and other Commissioners, about the 22d of January, 1555. The purport and effect of which talke between them, because it is sufficiently described by himselfe in his owne letter, written to a friend of his, I have annexed the said letter here under, as followeth[232].... After that Dr. Taylor thus, with great spirit and courage, had answered for himselfe, and stoutly rebuked his adversaries for breaking their oath made before to King Henry, and to King Edward his sonne, and for betraying the realme into the power of the Roman Bishop; they, perceiving that in no case could he be stirred to their wills and purpose, committed him thereupon to prison againe, where he endured till the last of January.”
On that day he was again brought before Winchester and other bishops, and condemned to death. Being a priest, however, he was to be degraded before he was delivered to the civil power, and Bonner was appointed to perform that office. “Well,” quoth the Bishop, “I am come to degrade you; wherefore put on these vestures.”[233] “No,” quoth Dr. Taylor, “I will not.” “Wilt thou not?” said the Bishop. “I shall make thee, ere I go.” Quoth Dr. Taylor, “You shall not, by the grace of God.” Then he charged him upon his obedience to do it; but he would not do it for him.
“So he willed another to put them on his backe; and when he was thoroughly furnished therewith, he set his hands to his side, walking up and down, and said, ‘How say you, my Lord, am I not a goodly foole? How say you, my Masters? If I were in Cheape, should I not have boyes enow to laugh at these apish toyes and toying trumpery?’ So the Bishop scraped his fingers, thumbes, and the crowne of his head, and did the rest of such like divellish observances.
“At the last, when he should have given Dr. Taylor a stroke on the breast with his crosier–staffe, the Bishop’s Chaplain said, ‘My Lord, strike him not, for he will sure strike againe.’ ‘Yea, by St. Peter, will I,’ quoth Dr. Taylor, ‘the cause is Christ’s, and I were no good Christian if I would not fight in my Master’s quarrell.’ So the Bishop laid his curse on him, but struck him not.... And when hee came up, he told Master Bradford (for then both lay in one chamber) that he had made the Bishop of London afraid: ‘for,’ saith he laughingly, ‘his Chaplain gave him counsell not to strike me with his crosier–staffe, for that I would strike againe; and, by my troth,’ said he, rubbing his hands, ‘I made him believe I would doe so indeed.’”
After this ceremony he was delivered to the secular power. His last interview with his family is thus simply told. “Now when the Sheriffe and his company came against St. Botolph church (in Aldgate), Elizabeth cried, saying, ‘O my deare Father! Mother, Mother, here is my father led away.’ Then cried his wife, ‘Rowland, Rowland, where art thou?’ for it was a verie darke morning, that the one could not see the other. Dr. Taylor answered, ‘Deare wife, I am here,’ and staid. The Sheriffe’s men would have led him forth, but the Sheriffe said, ‘Stay a little, maisters, I praie you, and let him speake to his wife;’ and so they staied.
“Then came she to him; and he tooke his daughter Mary in his armes, and he, his wife, and Elizabeth, kneeled down and said the Lord’s Praier: at which sight the Sheriffe wept apace, and so did divers other of the company. After they had praied, he rose up and kissed his wife, and shooke her by the hand, and said, ‘Farewell, my deare wife, bee of good comfort, for I am quiet in my conscience. God shall stir up a father for my children.’ And then he kissed his daughter Mary, and said, ‘God blesse thee, and make thee his servant:’ and kissing Elizabeth, hee said, ‘God blesse thee, I praie you all stand strong and stedfast unto Christ and his worde, and keep you from idolatry.’ Then said his wife, ‘God be with thee, dear Rowland. I will with God’s grace meet thee at Hadley.’
“And so he was led forth to the Woolsack.... And at his comming out, John Hull before spoken of stood at the railes with Dr. Taylor’s sonne. When Dr. Taylor saw them, he called them, saying, ‘Come hither, my sonne Thomas;’ and John Hull lifted up the child, and set him on the horse before his father. Then lifted he up his eyes toward heaven, and praied for his sonne, laide his hatte on the child’s head, and blessed him, and so delivered the child to John Hull, whom he tooke by the hand, and said, ‘Farewell, John Hull, the faithfullest servant that ever man had.’ And so they rode forth: the Sheriffe of Essex, with foure yeomen of the guard, and the Sheriffe’s men leading him.”
He was thus conducted to Hadley, in the neighbourhood of which was appointed the place of his execution, at Aldham Moor. The even and cheerful tenour of his mind is evinced in many points of our past narrative, and confirmed by witnesses. “They that were present, and familiarly conversant with this Dr. Taylor, reported of him that they never did see in him any feare of death; but especially and above all the rest, which besides him suffered at the same time, always shewed himselfe merry and cheerful in time of his imprisonment, as well before his condemnation as after: he kept one countenance and like behaviour. Whereunto he was rather confirmed by the company and presence of Mr. John Bradford, who then was in prison and chamber with him. The same morning, when he was called up by the Sheriffe to go to his burning, he cast his armes about a balk which was in the chamber between Mr. Bradford’s bed and his; and there hanging by the hands, said to Mr. Bradford, ‘O, Mr. Bradford,’ said he, ‘what a notable sway should I give if I were hanged,’ meaning for that he was a corpulent and big man.” His unusual stature seems to have been a favourite subject for jesting with him; for we find a very elaborate piece of quizzing on the same subject, approximating in character to that species of wit which is sometimes denominated trotting. It runs thus:—
“At Chelmsford, the Sheriff of Essex, being about to deliver up his prisoner to the Sheriff of Suffolk, sought, as they sat at supper, to induce him to recant. After using the common topics, he concludes, ‘Ye should do much better to revoke your opinions, and return to the Catholike church of Rome: if ye will, doubt ye not but ye shall find favour at the Queene’s hands. This councell I give you, good Mr. Doctor, of a good heart, and good will toward you; and thereupon I drink to you. In like manner said all the Yeomen of the Guard. Upon that condition, Mr. Doctor, we will all drink to you.’
“When they had all drunk to him, and the cup was come to him, he stayed a little, as one studying what answer he might give. At the last thus he answered, and said, ‘Master Sheriffe, and my masters all, I heartily thank you for your good will; I have hearkened to your words, and marked well your counsels; and, to be plain with you, I do perceive that I have been deceived myself, and am likely to deceive a great many of Hadley of their expectation.’ With that word they all rejoiced. ‘Yea, good Master Doctor,’ quoth the Sheriffe, ‘God’s blessing on your heart, hold you there still. It is the comfortablest word that we heard you speak yet. What, should ye cast yourself away in vaine: play a wise man’s part, and I dare warrant it, ye shall finde favour.’ Thus they rejoiced very much at the word, and were very merry.
“At the last, ‘Good Master Doctor,’ quoth the Sheriffe, ‘what meane ye by this, that ye said ye think ye have been deceived yourselfe, and think ye shall deceive many one in Hadley?’ ‘Would ye know my meaning plainly?’ quoth he. ‘Yea,’ quoth the Sheriffe, ‘good Master Doctor, tell it us plainly.’
“‘Then,’ said Dr. Taylor, ‘I will tell you how I have been deceived, and, as I think, I shall deceive a great many more: I am, as you see, a man that has a very great carkasse, which I thought should have been buried in Hadley church–yard, if I had died in my bed, as I well hoped I should have done; but herein I see I was deceived: and there are a great number of wormes in Hadley church–yard, which should have had jolly feeding on this carrion; which they have looked for many a day. But now I know we be deceived, both I and they; for this carkasse must be burnt to ashes, and so shall they lose their bait and feeding, that they looked to have had of it.’
“When the Sheriffe and his company heard him say so, they were amazed, and looked one on another, marvelling at the man’s constant minde, that thus without all feare made a jest of the cruell torment, and death now at hand prepared for him. Thus was their expectation clean disappointed. And in this appeareth what was his meditation in his chiefest wealth and prosperity, namely, that he should shortly die, and feed wormes in his grave; which meditation, if all our Bishops and spirituall men had used, they had not, for a little worldly glory, forsaken the word of God and truth which they in King Edward’s days had preached and set forth, nor yet to maintain the Bishop of Rome’s authority, have committed to the fire so many as they did.”
“At Lavenham, a small town near Bury, where the cavalcade remained two days, the attempts to induce him to recant were renewed by the Sheriffe and gentlemen of the county, of whom there was a great concourse, with the promise even of promotion to a bishopric. On the 8th of February he was brought out to complete his earthly journey. The same spirit animated him to the end. On the way, being alighted from his horse, ‘he lept, and fet a friske or twaine,’ as men commonly do in dauncing. ‘Why, Master Doctor,’ quoth the Sheriffe, ‘how do you now?’ He answered, ‘Well, God be praised, good Master Sheriffe, never better; for now I know I am almost at home. I lack not past two stiles to go over, and I am even at my father’s house; but Master Sheriffe,’ said he, ‘shall we not go thorow Hadley?’ ‘Yes,’ quoth the Sheriffe, ‘you shall go thorow Hadley.’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘O good Lord, I thank thee, I shall yet once again ere I die, see my flock, whom thou, Lord, knowest I have most heartily loved, and truely taught.’
“This wish being gratified, his last hours were soothed by the accents which of all must have been most grateful, the prayers and blessings of the poor, to whom he had been as a father in the relieving of their corporeal wants. The street of Hadley was lined with those who invoked succour and strength for him, mingled with exclamations of woe at the grievous loss which had befallen themselves. Nor in his own extremity did he forget the humblest and most needy of those who had been objects of his care: but stopping by the alms–houses he cast out of a glove to the inmates of them such money as remained of what charitable persons had given for his support in prison (his benefices being sequestrated): and missing two of them, he asked, ‘Is the blind man and blind woman that dwelt here alive?’ He was answered, ‘Yea, they are there within.’ Then threw he glove and all in at the window, and so rode forth. Thus this good father and provider for the poore took his leave of those for whom all his life he had a singular care and studie.
“At the last, coming to Aldham Common, the place assigned where he should suffer, and seeing a great multitude of people gathered together, he asked, ‘What place is this; and what meaneth it that so much people are gathered hither?’ It was answered, ‘It is Aldham Common, the place where you must suffer; and the people are come to looke upon you.’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘thanked be God, I am even at home; and so light from his horse, and with both his hands rent the hood from his head.
“Now was his head notted evil favourably, and clipped much like as a man would clip a foole’s head, which cost the good Bishop Bonner had bestowed upon him when he degraded him. But when the people saw his reverend and ancient face with a long white beard, they burst out with weeping teares, and cried saying, ‘God save thee, good Doctor Taylor!’ with such other like godly wishes. Then would he have spoken to the people, but the yeomen of the guard were so busie about him, that as soon as he opened his mouth, one or other thrust a tippestaff into his mouth, and would in nowise permit him to speak.
“As they were piling the faggots, one Warwick cruelly cast a faggot at him, which light on his head and broke his face, that the bloud ran down his visage. Then said Dr. Taylor, ‘O friend, I have harme enough; what needed that?’”
Here we take leave of him; for it is needless again to enter into the revolting details of the barbarous method of execution especially prescribed for errors in matters of faith. The affection borne towards him was beautifully manifested in a poor woman, who knelt at the stake to join in his prayers, and could not be driven away by threats or fear. His last moments were like his life, tranquil, fearless, and forgiving.
Here, for the present at all events, we close this work. We have now traced the Grecian nation from the outset of authentic history to the period of its utmost greatness in arms, arts, and letters: and in doing so, according to the plan laid down in our introduction, we hope to have accumulated a mass of historical anecdotes, which, independent of their intrinsic beauty or interest, may possess a further value, as tending to throw some light one on another. Like the close of the Persian war, the close of the Peloponnesian war is a remarkable epoch: the former marks the beginning of the greatness, the latter the beginning of the decline of Greece. From thenceforward the history of Greece becomes more complicated, and our authorities less satisfactory; inasmuch as, at the close of Xenophon’s Hellenics, we lose that series of admirable contemporary writers who have hitherto guided us; and the late compilers, such as Diodorus and Plutarch, make no adequate amends for the loss. The study, therefore, of the succeeding portion of history becomes less agreeable and more difficult: at the same time there is no want of remarkable incidents; for if the annals of Athens and Sparta become less important, the rise of Thebes to its short–lived power, the sudden growth of Thessaly under Jason of Pheræ, of Macedonia under Philip, and, above all, the renovation of the old Grecian spirit in the Achæan league, would supply abundance to fill another volume, which should bring down the history of Greece to its final absorption into the Roman empire.