The Earl of Shaftesbury himself reaped the advantage of this manœuvre; which, from the technical word employed in the return of these bills, was called Ignoramus. Stephen Colledge, the Protestant joiner, also experienced the benefit of a packed jury, though concerned in all the seditious practices of the time. He was afterwards tried, condemned, and executed at Oxford, where he was out of the magic circle of the sheriff's protection; and, though I believe the man deserved to die, he certainly at last met with hard measure. His death was supposed to have broke the talisman of Ignoramus, and was considered as a triumph by the Tories, who, for a long time, had been unable to persuade a jury to find for the king.[323] When Lord Stafford was most unjustly condemned, Bethel and his brother sheriff affected a barbarous scruple, whether the king was entitled to commute the statutory punishment of high treason into simple decapitation. The House of Commons ordered that the king's writ be obeyed. This hard-hearted conduct was an indulgence of their republican humour. Shortly after, Mr Bethel was found guilty of a riot and assault upon one of the king's watermen at the election of members of parliament for Southwark, 5th October, 1681. This person being active in the poll, Mr Bethel caned him, and told him he would have his coat (the king's livery) stripped over his ears. For this he was fined five merks. Bethel, notwithstanding his violence, was so fortunate as to escape the business of the Rye-house Plot. His brother sheriff, Cornish, was not so fortunate: He was a plain republican, and highly esteemed by Lord Russell, for having treated with indifference the apprehension of the Tower firing on the city, saying, they could only demolish a few chimneys. He was executed as an accomplice in the Rye-house conspiracy, upon the evidence of that very Goodenough, who had been his tool in packing the illegal juries; so that his death seemed a retribution for dishonouring and perverting the course of justice. James II. was afterwards satisfied that Cornish had been unjustly executed, and restored his estate to his family.
Titus Oates, once called and believed the Saviour of his country, was one of the most infamous villains whom history is obliged to record. He was the son of an anabaptist ribbon-weaver, received a tolerably good education, and, having taken orders, was preferred to a small vicarage in Kent. Here the future protestant witness was guilty of various irregularities, for which he was at length silenced by the bishop, and by the Duke of Norfolk deprived of his qualification as chaplain. At this pinching emergency he became a papist, either for bread, or, as he afterwards boasted, for the purpose of insinuating himself into the secrets of the Jesuits, and betraying them.[324]
The Jesuits setting little store by their proselyte, whose talents lay only in cunning and impudence, he skulked about St Omers and other foreign seminaries in a miserable condition. Undoubtedly he had then the opportunity of acquiring that list of names of the order of Jesus with which he graced his plot, and might perhaps hear something generally of the plans, which these intriguing churchmen hoped to carry through in England by means of the Duke of York. Of these, however, he must have had a very imperfect suspicion; for the scheme which is displayed in the letters of Coleman, the duke's secretary, does not at all quadrate with the doctor's pretended discovery. When confronted with Coleman, he did not even know him personally. When the king asked him about the personal appearance of Don John of Austria, he described him, at a venture, as a tall thin black man, being the usual Spanish figure and complexion; but, unfortunately, he was little, fair, and fat. In a word, it was impossible such a villain could have obtained a moment's credit, but for the discovery of Coleman's actual intrigues, the furious temper of the times, and the mysterious death of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey. On that last occasion he displayed much dexterity. There was some difficulty in managing the evidence, whether to bring the assassination to the conspiracy, or the conspiracy to the assassination; but Oates contrived the matter with such ingenuity, that the murder became a proof, and the plot became a proof of the murder, to the universal conviction of the public. As to Oates' other qualities, he was, like every renegade, a licentious scoffer at religion, and, in his manners, addicted, it is said, to the most foul and unnatural debaucheries. When we consider his acts and monuments, it is almost impossible to believe, how so base a tool should have ever obtained credit and opportunity to do such mighty mischief.[325]
As for his family, to which Dryden alludes a little below, "he would needs," says North, "be descended of some ancient and worshipful stock; but there were not so many noble families strove for him, as there were cities strove for the parentele of Homer. However, the heralds were sent for, to make out his pedigree, and give him a blazon. They were posed at the first of these, but they made good the blazon for him in a trice, and delivered it authenticamente, and it was engraved on his table and other plate; for he was rich, set up for a solemn housekeeper, and lived up to his quality."[326]
Dryden compares Oates to the brazen serpent raised up in the wilderness, by looking on which, the Israelites were cured of the bites of the fiery snakes. Sprat had applied the same simile, in a favourable sense, to Oliver Cromwell:
North has left us some specimens of Oates' peculiar mode of pronounciation. Bedloe, his brother-witness in the plot, had been taken ill at Bristol, and, on his death-bed, held some conference with the Lord Chief-Justice North, then upon a circuit, who took down his examination, concerning which numerous reports went forth. It proved, however, to be the same story he had formerly told. Even Dr Oates himself was disappointed; and was heard to say aloud, as the Lord Chief-Justice passed through the court on a council-day, at all which times he was a diligent attendant, "Maay Laird Chaife-Jaistaice, whay this baisness of Baidlaw caims to naithaing." But his Lordship walked on without attending to his discourse.[327]
In personal appearance North informs us, that "he was a low man, of an ill-cut very short neck; and his visage and features were most particular. His mouth was the centre of his face, and a compass there would sweep his nose, forehead, and chin, within the perimeter. Cave quos Deus ipse notavit."[328] An engraving of the doctor, now before me, bears witness to this last peculiarity, and does justice to the cherubic plenitude of countenance and chin mentioned in the text. It is drawn and engraved by Richard White, and bears to be "the true originall, taken from the life, done for Henry Brome and Richard Chiswel; all others are counterfeit."
As the doctor's portrait is not now quite so common as when the lady, mentioned in the Spectator, wore it upon her fan, gloves, and handkerchief, the curious reader may be pleased to be informed, that this "true original" is prefixed to "The Witch of Endor, or the Witchcrafts of the Roman Jezebel, by Titus Oates, D. D. folio 1679." It is dedicated to the Earl of Shaftesbury, &c.; "the Publisher's affectionate good friend, and singular good Lord."
Oates pretended to have taken his doctor's degree at Salamanca, where it is shrewdly suspected he never was; at least where he certainly never took orders. The Tory libels of the time contain innumerable girds concerning this degree. There is, in the Luttrel Collection, "An Address from Salamanca to her (unknown) offspring, Dr T. O." Dryden often alludes to the circumstance; thus, in the epilogue to "Mithridates," acted 1681-2,
In the first book of Samuel, chap. xv., the reader will find the reproaches with which that prophet loaded Saul, for sparing, contrary to God's commandment, Agag, king of the Amalekites; concluding with the awful denunciation, that for his disobedience the Lord had rejected him from being king over Israel.
Agag's murder is to be understood of the mysterious death of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey. This gentleman was an active justice of peace, and had been knighted by Charles II., on account of his exertions during the fire of London. In other respects, he was low-spirited, and rather a timorous man, and, in the exercise of his office, favourable to the Catholics. Oates, finding the information he had lodged with the ministers concerning the Popish plot rather less ardently listened to than he expected, chose to utter before this magistrate a full declaration on the subject upon oath. His intention was probably to make the matter as public as possible. Godfrey expressed much unwillingness to have any thing to do with the matter at all; and when he had heard the story out, expressed to his friends his fear that he should have no thanks for his pains, but would probably be the first martyr. This strange, and one would think absurd, boding proved too true; after having been missing for several days, this unfortunate man was found lying in a ditch, near Primrose-hill. There were marks of strangling round his neck; and although his own sword was thrust through his body, yet it turned out to have been done after death. His money and rings were safe; robbery was therefore out of the question. This murder ever will remain among the riddles of history. Three opinions have been entertained: 1st, North does not hesitate to affirm, that the contrivers and abettors of the plot murdered this poor man, to give some colour to the story of the bloody machinations of the Papists: But this seems too strange and desperate a course to be imputed to the opposition party at large without some positive proof; and as for Oates and his brother witnesses, (whom we will not injure by suspecting them capable of remorseful, or compunctious visitings,) their steps were, at this time, too much the object of observation to admit of their executing so bloody a plan with the necessary degree of secrecy. 2d, It has been thought that Godfrey, a man of a melancholy temperament, whose dark and cloudy spirit had been just agitated by a strange tale of blood and mystery, may have been wrought up to take that time to commit suicide. It is even positively asserted, that he hanged himself at home, and that his brothers conveyed the body to the place where it was found, to avoid the shame and other consequences of his fate becoming public. There is something plausible in this account; but it is entirely unsupported by proof of any kind. 3d, The grand solution, and indeed the only one which would go down at the time, was, that Godfrey had fallen by the papists. There were probably enough of fanatics in that sect to have executed such a deed, had it been of consequence to the progress of their religion: But there appears no adequate motive for taking off Godfrey, who had merely taken down a deposition which he could not refuse to receive, and who had besides endeavoured to serve the accused parties, by transmitting to Coleman an account of the affidavit; while Oates and his companions, the depositaries of the supposed secret, and whose death would stifle the plot for ever, were suffered to walk about, even unattempted. Positive evidence was however obtained, to silence all hypothetical reasoning on the subject. One Bedlow, a very infamous character, amid a thousand dreadful stories of fires raised by the Jesuits from 1666 downwards, charged the Catholics, and particularly Miles Prance, a silver-smith, with the death of Godfrey[329]. This man was imprisoned in Newgate; and, after much communing with Shaftesbury and Buckingham, in which, it is said, neither threats, promises, nor actual tortures were spared, confessed himself an accomplice in the murder.[330] He retracted this confession before the privy-council; but being remanded to prison, new terrors, promises, and sufferings, induced him to retract that retractation. His story was a tissue of improbabilities; and he and Bedlow, when adduced as evidence on the trial of three poor men, whom they charged with strangling Godfrey, concealing the body in Somerset-House, and afterwards disposing of it on Primrose-hill, contradicted each other, and contradicted themselves. All was in vain: the three innocent victims of perjury were condemned and executed, and the witnesses promoted and rewarded, not with money only, but, strange to say, with universal respect and regard; although their merit, supposing it to be real, was that of murderers and incendiaries, who had turned evidence for the crown against their accomplices.
The outcry raised about Godfrey's murder at the time, and for long after, gave the plot its surest foundation and support. When his funeral rites were performed, the crowd was prodigious, and the papists were sufficiently cautious to keep within doors, or some might have been offered up as an oblation to the manes of Justice Godfrey. While the clergyman preached the funeral sermon of the protestant victim, two robust divines stood by him in the pulpit, lest, while rendering this last duty to the murdered magistrate, he should in facie ecclesiæ be murdered by the papists. At the formal pope-burnings of the party, Sir Edmondbury, supported on a steed by his murderers, was a principal figure in the procession, preceded by a harbinger, who rung a bell, and admonished the people to remember Justice Godfrey. In short, this unfortunate gentleman's death, however it came about, continued long to be the watch-word and war-cry of those, who called themselves the true protestant party.
"In August, 1680, the Duke of Monmouth went into the country to divert himself, visiting several gentlemen in the west of England, by whom he was received and entertained with a gallantry suitable to the greatness of his birth, and the relation he stood in to his majesty; incredible numbers of people flocking from all the adjacent parts to see this great champion of the English nation, who had been so successful against both the Dutch, French, and Scots. He went first into Wiltshire, and was pleased to honour the worthy esquire Thynne with his company for some days. From thence he went to Mr Speak's, in Somersetshire, in which progress he was caressed with the joyful acclamations of the country people, who came from all parts; twenty miles about the lanes and hedges being every where lined with men, women, and children, who, with incessant shouts, cried, "God bless King Charles and the Protestant Duke!" In some towns and parishes which he passed through, they strewed the streets and highways where he was to pass with herbs and flowers, especially at Ilchester and Pithyton; others presenting him with bottles of wine. When he came within ten miles of Mr Speak's, he was met by two thousand persons on horseback, whose numbers still increased as they drew nearer to Mr Speak's, and when they arrived there, they were reputed to be twenty thousand; wherefore they were forced to break down several pearch of his park pales to enlarge their passage to the house, where his grace and all this numerous company were entertained and treated, in an extraordinary manner.
"On the 26th, he went to Brompton; being met on the road by a great company of gentry and country people, who conducted him to Sir J. Sydenham's, where he was entertained at a noble and splendid dinner. The next day he went to Barrington, where he was pleased to honour Mr William Stroud with his company at dinner; the entertainment being nothing inferior to what his Grace had met with in all other places. After dinner he went to Chard, where he arrived about five in the afternoon, attended with a train of five thousand horsemen; and there he was met and welcomed by a crowd of men, women, and children, who had not a mute among them, but were almost all of them made deaf by their own shouts and acclamations of joy. His Grace lay there that night, being treated at a very splendid supper; he lodged at the house of M. Prideaux.[331] The next day, having been entertained at a sumptuous dinner, he rid to Ilminster, and in the afternoon he went to Whitelackindon, where he lay that night; and the day following, which was Sunday, his grace observed the Sabbath with a religious care, and went to Ilminster church. On the 30th, he went to Calliton, where he was entertained by Sir Walter Young. The next day he went to Overton, where he was entertained, and lodged by Mr Dukes. From thence he went to Exeter, and was met by the citizens and the people of all the adjacent parts, to the number of twenty thousand persons; but that which was more remarkable, was the appearance of a brave company of brisk, stout young men, all clothed in linen waistcoats and drawers, white, and harmless, having not so much as a stick in their hands; they were in number about nine hundred or a thousand; they went three miles out of the city to meet his Grace, where they were drawn up all on a little hill, and divided into two parts, in which order they attended the Duke's coming, who rid up first between them, and then round each company; after which they united, and went hand in hand in order before, where he was no sooner arrived, but a universal shout from all parts echoed forth his welcome; the numerous concourse of people, the incredible and amazing acclamations, and the universal joy which then filled the whole city, far exceeding my pen to describe.[332]
"From thence he returned to Mr Speake's, where the whole country flocked again to see and admire him, not being enough satisfied with their former sight. From thence he went the next day to Mr Harvie's, near Yeovil, where he dined, and in the afternoon he rid to Esquire Thynne's; people flocking from all the towns and villages thereabout to Howden-hill, where they attended the Duke's coming; and after they had, by loud acclamations, proclaimed his welcome amongst them, and expressed their joy for his safe return, they took their leave of him, returning his Grace their humble and hearty thanks for that kind visit, and for his having condescended to accept of their plain, but true-hearted entertainment. From thence he returned to London, wonderfully pleased with the noble and generous entertainment he met with at the several places where he came; every place striving to out-vye each other."[333]
At Tunbridge Wells. "Abundance of country people rudely crowded, after their rustic manner, to see the eldest son of their king and sovereign, every one extolling him to the skies, crying to one another, 'O what a brave man he is!' Some admired the beauty and make of his person; some the majesty and port of his carriage; and others, who had seen the king, the exact resemblance he bare to his majesty; affirming, they never, in all their lives, saw a son resemble a father more than the duke did the king; but all admired his affable and courteous disposition."[334]
These assemblies were chiefly made under pretence of cock-matches, horse-races, and other popular amusements; pretexts the more dangerous, as they were the well-known signals of rendezvous at which the cavaliers were wont to concert their plots against Cromwell. See the tract called "Killing no Murder." Foot races, wrestling matches, and other country pastimes, were also resorted to as an ostensible cause of meeting. These gave Monmouth an opportunity to display his personal agility and liberality. He wrestled, he ran, and carried off the prize, in both exercises; he then ran in his boots against the peasants in their shoes, and still obtained the victory. The prizes which he gained were freely distributed among his competitors. All these arts of popularity became the derision of his enemies, when he was forced into exile; as, for example, in the following verses:
These ostentatious progresses were devised by Shaftesbury, as a mode of manifesting the strength of Monmouth's party, and increasing his partizans and popularity. Among the higher ranks, they carried an air of defiance which rather hurt his cause; for reflecting and cautious men were slow to join in what seemed to be a preliminary for civil war. It was different with the lower orders, who, always biassed by what is more immediately addressed to their eye-sight, were led by these showy processions, and by the courtesy, activity, and fine presence of Monmouth, to doat on him to an incredible degree. Not only did the western peasantry, on his landing in 1685, crowd to join him in multitudes beyond what he could arm, but their attachment survived even his defeat and death; and they long believed, with fond credulity, that another person had been executed in his stead, and that their beloved protestant prince was still alive.
The arts of Absalom, in stealing the hearts of Israel from his father, form an exact parallel to the language which Dryden puts in the mouth of Monmouth.
"And it came to pass after this, that Absalom prepared him chariots and horses, and fifty men to run before him. And Absalom rose up early, and stood beside the way of the gate: and it was so, that when any man that had a controversy came to the king for judgment, then Absalom called unto him, and said, Of what city art thou? And he said, Thy servant is one of the tribes of Israel. And Absalom said unto him, See, thy matters are good and right; but there is no man deputed of the king to hear thee. Absalom said moreover, Oh that I were made judge in the land, that every man, which hath any suit or cause, might come unto me, and I would do him justice! And it was so, that when any man came nigh unto him to do him obeisance, he put forth his hand, and took him, and kissed him. And on this manner did Absalom to all Israel, that came to the king for judgment. So Absalom stole the hearts of the men of Israel." 2d Sam. chap. xv. v. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.
Thomas Thynne, esquire, of Longleat-hall, called, from his great wealth, Tom of Ten Thousand. He had been formerly a friend of the Duke of York, but, upon some quarrel between them, he attached himself warmly to Monmouth. Mr Thynne was one of those gentlemen, who petitioned for the speedy meeting of parliament, after it was prorogued in 1679, on account of the heat with which the house pursued the Exclusion Bill. The king received the intimation very ill; told Mr Thynne, he was surprised at persons of property countenancing such proceedings, and that he wished they would mind their own affairs, and leave him to attend to his. When Monmouth made his progress through the west of England, as mentioned in the last note, Mr Thynne received him at his country-seat with all the splendour and liberality of ancient English hospitality. This gentleman's tragical fate is well known. He was married to the Lady Ogle, sole heiress of the Northumberland estate; but, his bride going abroad, the marriage was never consummated. Count Konigsmark met the lady, fell in love with her person, or with her fortune, and could see no better road to both than by assassinating her husband. Accordingly, three foreigners, hired by the count, or dependents upon him, waylaid Mr Thynne's carriage, as it passed through Pall-Mall, and shot him with a blunderbuss, in the manner represented on his tombstone in Westminster Abbey.[335] The Duke of Monmouth had left the carriage about an hour before the murder; and sir John Reresby received the thanks of the king for his activity in apprehending the assassins, without which, suspicions might have arisen that the attempt was intended against Monmouth by the court party.[336] Monmouth himself remained all night with his dying friend, and distinguished himself by his zeal and assiduity in furthering the search after the murderers. At length, Count Konigsmark was taken by Gibbons, one of Monmouth's attendants, who seized him, as he was going on ship-board. When apprehended, Gibbons charged him with the fact, and added, that he had like to have killed his master, the Duke of Monmouth; to which the Count answered, "they would not have killed him." The three actual assassins were condemned to death; but, by some foul play,[337] Konigsmark, who had employed them, and who came over to England expressly to see that they executed their bloody commission, was acquitted. Monmouth went to see these subaltern villains executed. Stern, at the gallows, complained that he died for a man's fortune whom he never spoke to, for a woman whom he never saw, for a dead man whom he never had a view of. True Narrative of the Horrid Plot, &c. fol. 1679. p. 64. State Trials, Vol. II. p. 503.
The accusations against York and the Queen were no part of Oate's original plot. On the contrary, in the summary of his "True Narrative," he informs us, that the "Royal family of the Stuarts are condemned to be cut off, root and branch, and namely, the King, Duke of York, and Prince of Orange, because that family have not answered their expectation, nor have they any hopes that any of them will comply fully with this their bloody design, when fully discovered to them." And on the next page, it is again affirmed, that notwithstanding the Duke of York's zeal for the Catholic religion, "they design to dispose of him as is aforesaid." But when the public belief in the plot had taken root, and Shaftesbury had grafted upon it his doctrine of exclusion, Oates, by degrees, charged the Duke, first with being the innocent and blind tool of the Catholics whom they intended to succeed his brother, though he knew nothing of their designs; and finally, with being at the very depth of all the villainy, and the immediate author of the Fire of London. As for the queen, her barrenness was a reason, for all the exclusionists desiring she should be removed, that the king might have a chance of legitimate issue, to the exclusion of the Duke of York. Animated by a belief, that this would be agreeable to the king, Oates had the boldness, at the bar of the House of Commons, to utter these words, in his affected phraseology, "Aye, Taitus Oates, accause Catherine, Quean of England, of haigh traison!" The grounds of his accusation are stated in the trial of Wakeman, the queen's physician, who, he alleged, was bribed with 15,000l to poison the king, in case he should escape the poniard of a Jesuit, named Coniers, and the pistols of Pickering and Groves. Oates then swore, that three Jesuits carried him with them to Somerset-house, where they were summoned to attend the Queen; that he remained in an anti-chamber when they were ushered into her presence; that he heard a female voice say, she would assist Sir George Wakeman in his project, and would no longer bear these repeated violations of her bed. When the fathers came out, he desired to see the queen, and when admitted into the anti-chamber, whence the female voice had proceeded, he saw the queen, who smiled graciously on him, and there was no other woman present. These impudent stories, with some blunders into which the best-breathed witness may fall, saved Wakeman's life.
The King immediately saw the tendency of this charge, and observed, "They think I have a mind for a new wife; but for all that, I will not see an innocent woman abused;" and certainly, had he given way to it, the Queen would have been in great danger.
James Butler, Duke, Marquis, and Earl of Ormond, Earl of Ossory and Brecknock, &c. &c. was as illustrious for his talents, as for his rank, and distinguished by virtues superior to both. In the difficult and dangerous situation of Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, he had to maintain the cause of Charles I. in that kingdom, with very slender means, at once against the confederated Irish Catholics, and the parliamentary forces, the more formidable, though less numerous, enemies of the royal cause. In 1649, he was able, through consummate skill, both as a politician and general, to boast that he had reduced almost all Ireland under the royal authority, excepting the cities of Dublin and Londonderry. But Cromwell's arrival, with 8000 disciplined and veteran forces, effectually changed the scene. His first exploit was the storm of Tredagh, or Drogheda, where the besiegers put the whole garrison to the sword, and committed the most dreadful excesses of barbarity. After this terrible example of severity, hardly any of the royal garrisons could be prevailed on to make such a defence, as might expose them to the same extremity. Wexford, and New Ross, both very strong places, surrendered without a blow; all the forces under Lord Inchiquin revolted to the side of the parliament; and, at length, in 1650, Ormond saw himself under the necessity of abandoning the kingdom, which he had so long and valiantly defended. From Ireland he retreated to France, and accompanied King Charles during his exile. He was much trusted by that prince; and was charged with the task of withdrawing the Duke of Gloucester from the family of the queen mother, Henrietta, who was making every possible attempt to induce him to change his religion. This delicate commission he executed with dexterity and success. He had afterwards the satisfaction to forward a reconciliation between the king and his mother, who had been on bad terms on account of the queen's imprudent interference with her son's religious tenets. At the Restoration, the Marquis of Ormond, for such was then his title, was liberally rewarded, in lands and honours, for his steady attachment to the royal party. He was created Duke of Ormond in Ireland, and appointed steward of the household, groom of the stole, and privy counsellor for the three kingdoms. In 1661, he was made Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. As the duke was a steady friend of the great Clarendon, his services, and faithful zeal for the king's real interests, did not prevent his sharing in the disgrace of the chancellor. He had quarrelled with Lady Castlemaine, then the favourite mistress, who gave vent to her rage in the most abusive reproaches, and finally told the duke, she hoped to see him hanged; to which he made the memorable reply, that, far from wishing her ladyship's days shortened in return, his greatest desire was to see her grow old. When Clarendon was banished, the prevailing party, and especially the Duke of Buckingham, entertained a design of impeaching the Duke of Ormond, and succeeded so far as to deprive him of the lieutenancy of Ireland. The profligate Buckingham agitated a still darker project, and is supposed to have hired the famous Blood to attempt the assassination of his rival, in which the ruffian had nearly succeeded. When Blood was afterwards taken in his attempt to steal the regalia, the king being desirous to spare his life, sent to Ormond to intimate his wish, that his grace would consent to the proposed pardon. Ormond nobly answered, if his majesty could forgive him the stealing of his crown, he might easily pardon the assault on his life. The gallant Earl of Ossery,[338] who guessed whence the attempt originally proceeded, seeing the Duke of Buckingham shortly afterwards in the presence, charged him with being the author of the intended assassination; and added, "if his father came to a violent end, he should be at no loss to know the author, should consider Buckingham as the murderer, and pistol him, if he stood behind the king's chair: this" he boldly added, "I tell you in the king's presence, that you may be sure I shall keep my word." It does not appear that this spirited speech met either a retort from Buckingham, or a check from the king. Although the Duke of Ormond escaped the more open, as well as the more secret practices of his enemies, he experienced much coldness from the king, partly on account of his disliking the French intrigues, and partly because he disdained to pay court to the royal mistresses. Yet he would not throw up the staff, which he held as lord-steward of the household, but continued his attendance on court with as much punctuality as if in the highest favour. This mode of conduct greatly embarrassed the good-natured, though unprincipled Charles, to whom Ormond's silent and unreproachful attentions were the most cutting memento of his own ingratitude. On one occasion, the king appeared so much confused, that the Duke of Buckingham asked him, whether he had lost the Duke of Ormond's favour, or Ormond had lost his, since, of the two, his majesty seemed most out of countenance?—In this neglected situation, the duke used good-humouredly to compare himself to an old neglected rusty clock; "yet, even that," said he, "points right once in the twelve hours, and so perhaps may I." On another occasion, when Colonel Cary Dillon pressed him for his interest with the king, and said, he had no friend at court, save God and his grace,—"Alas! poor Cary," said the duke, "thou couldst not have two friends who have so little influence there, and are so much neglected." During all the king's coldness, the duke never altered his political principles, although Charles carried his estrangement to the pitch of not even speaking to him. His opinion of Shaftesbury, and his party, may be learned from an incident which happened during his disgrace at court. "The day that the Earl of Shatesbury was declared lord-chancellor, the king broke through his ordinary rule (of not addressing the duke) and either in doubt about the wisdom of the step he had taken, or out of curiosity to know the Duke of Ormond's sentiments of it, went up to him, and, taking him aside to a window, asked what he thought of his giving the seals to Lord Shaftesbury, whether he had done prudently or not? His grace replied, you have doubtless acted very prudently in so doing, if you know how to get them from him again." Carte, Vol. II. p. 462. At length, after the duke had attended court for a year without receiving a civil word from his sovereign, he suddenly received a message, that the king meant to sup with him. At the entertainment, no word of explanation took place, although the ancient cordiality between the king and his subject seemed to be fully restored. The next day, when the duke came to the court, as usual, the king observed, "Yonder comes Ormond; I have done all I can to disoblige him, and render him as discontented as others; but he will be loyal in spite of my teeth: I must even take him in again, as the fittest man to govern Ireland." Accordingly, the duke was restored to his office of lord-lieutenant in 1677.
He held this high situation during the ferment occasioned by the Popish plot; and although, according to Oates and Bedloe's information, one branch of that conspiracy was the murder of the duke, yet he did not escape suspicion of being accessary to it any more than the king, who was in the same predicament. Lord Shaftesbury, in the parliament of 1679, insinuated an accusation against the duke, on account of the alleged favour he shewed to Papists. From this charge he was vindicated by the Earl of Ossory, with an uncommon degree of spirited eloquence. Alter pleading his father's services against the Roman Catholic rebels, the danger of assassination from them which he had repeatedly escaped, and the active share he had in preventing the perversion of the Duke of Gloucester from the Protestant faith, he thus retorted upon Shaftesbury; "Having spoke of what he has done, I presume with the same truth to tell your lordship what he has not done. He never advised the breaking the triple league; he never advised the shutting up of the exchequer; he never advised the declaration for a toleration; he never advised the falling out with the Dutch, and the joining with France; he was not the author of that most excellent position, Delenda est Carthago; that Holland, a Protestant country, should, contrary to the true interest of England, be totally destroyed. I beg your lordship will be so just, as to judge of my father, and of all men, according to their actions and counsels."[339] Shaftesbury, abashed at this summary of his former political conduct, so different from that he was now pursuing, retracted his accusation with some symptoms of confusion. It remained, however, a capital object with the Whigs, to remove, if possible, the Duke of Ormond from the management of Ireland, at least to put in such a council as should trammel his measures. The King's firmness disconcerted both these plans. At the momentous period when Shaftesbury was committed to the Tower, the Duke of Ormond was sent for to England, that his presence might add respectability and weight to the king's councils. He entered the city with great pomp; and was every where received with the veneration due to his rank, his age, and his services. He had never linked himself to any political faction; contented to serve the crown upon the old cavalier principles, which he always asserted. He was thought, however, to go too great lengths in advising the king to maintain his authority by harsh measures; nor were his experience and authority sufficient to prevent much confused jarring in the king's councils, betwixt Halifax, who was for holding the scales even between the factions, and the high-flying Tories, who were posting towards arbitrary power. Yet, as a steady supporter of the interests of the crown, particularly in the course of the city elections, he deserved the honour which Dryden has assigned him, of standing the first in the file of the king's friends.
The King was pleased to reward the services of Ormond by giving him the rank of an English Duke, in 1682. After having been so long threatened with removal, as a favourer of the Papists, he was actually deprived of the lieutenancy of Ireland, in 1684, for not being disposed to second James II. in the countenance which he meant to afford that sect. The great Duke of Ormond, to which epithet he has a just title, died on the 21 July, 1688, without witnessing the second banishment of the house of Stewart.
This great statesman was a particular patron of Dryden, as is evident from the dedication of "Plutarch's Lives;" where our author again expresses his respect for the father, and his regret for the son. After the death of both, our poet continued to enjoy the countenance of their successor, James, second Duke of Ormond, son of the gallant Ossory, to whom he has dedicated the Fables.