Acts and Monuments Volume 2 Part 2

The Congregation in London.

NO less marvelous was the preservation of the congregation in London, which from the first beginning of Queen Mary, to the latter end thereof, continued notwithstynding whatsoever the malice, devise, searching and inquisition of men, or streitnes of laws could work to the contrary. Such was the merciful hand of the Lord, according to his accustomed goodness, ever working with his people. Of this great bountiful goodness of the Lord, many and great examples appeared in the congregation which now I speak of. How oft, and in what great dangers did he deliver them?

First at the Black Friers, when they should have resorted to Syr Thomas Cardens house, privy watch was laid for them, but yet through the Lord's vigilant providence the mischief was prevented, and they delivered.

Agayne howe narrowly did they escape about Algate, where spies were laid for them, & had not Thomas Simson the Deacō espied them, and bid them disperse thenselves away, they had been taken. For within two hours the Constable coming to the house after they were gone, demanded of the wife what company had been there. To whom she to excuse the matter, made answer again: saying that half a dosen good fellows had been there at breakfast, as they went a maying.

An other time also about the great conduit, they passing there through a very strayt Alley, into a Cloth workers loft, were espied, and the Sheriffs sent for but before they came, they having privy knowledge thereof immediately shifted away out of the Alley, John Auales standing alone in the Mercers Chapel staring at them.

An other like escape they made in a ship at Billinsgate belonging to a certain good man of Ley, where in the open sight of the people they were congregated together, & yet through God's mighty power escaped.

Betwixt Ratcliffe and Redriffe, in a ship, called Jesus Ship, twice or thrice they assembled having there closely, after their accustomed manner, both Sermon, prayer & communion, and yet through the protection of the Lord they returned, although not vnspied, yet untaken.

Moreover in a Coopers house in Pudding Lane, so near they were to peril and dangers, that John Auales coming into the house where they were, talked with the good man of the house, and after he had asked a question or two, departed, God so working that either he had no knowledge of them, or no power to apprehend them.

But they never escaped more hardly, thē once in Thames street in the night time, where the house being besette with enemies, yet as the Lord would, they were delivered by the means of a Mariner, who being at that present in the same company, and seeing no other way to avoid, plucked of his slops, and swam to the next boat, and so rowed the company over, using his shoes in steed of owres, & so the jeopardy was dispatched.

I have heard of one who being sent to thē to take their names, and to espy their doings, yet in being amongst them was converted and cried them all mercy.

What should I speak of the extreme and present danger which that Godly company was in at the taking of master Rough their minister, and Cutbert Simson their Deacon, had not the Lord's providence given knowledge before to master Rough in his sleep that Cutbert should leave behind him at home the book of all their names, which he was wont to carry about him? whereof mention is made before. pag, 2034.

In this Church or congregation were sometime xl. sometimes an hundred, sometimes two hundred, sometimes mo, and sometimes less. About the latter time of Queen Mary, it greatly increased. From the first beginning, which was about the first entry of Queen Mary's reign, they had diverse ministers, first M. Scamler, then Thom. Fowl, after him M. Rough, then M. Augustine Bernher, and last M. Bentham. Concerning the deliverance of which M. Bentham (being now B. of Coventry and Lichfield) God's mighty providence most notably is to be considered. For how is it possible by man's estimation, for the said M. Bentham to have escaped, had not the present power of the Lord, passing all men's expectation, been pressed and ready to help his servant in such a strait. The story and case is this.

At what time the vii. last burned in Smithfield, mentioned in this book before, pag. 2039. were condemned & brought to the stake to suffer, came down in the name of the king and Queen a proclamation, being twice pronounced openly to the people, first at Newgate, then at the stake where they should suffer, straightly charging and commanding, that no man should either pray for them, or speak to them, or once say God help them.

It was appointed before of the godly there standing together, which was a great multitude, that so soon as the prisoners should be brought, they should go to them to embrace and to comfort them, and so they did. For as the said Martyrs were coming toward the place in the people's sight, being brought with bills & glaues (as the custom is) the godly multitude and Congregation with a general sway made toward the prisoners, in such manner, that the byllmē and the other officers being all thrust back, could nothing do, nor anything come nigh. So the godly people meeting and embracing, and kissing them, brought them in their arms (which might as easily have conveyed them clean away) unto the place where they should suffer.

This done, and the people giving place to the Officers, the proclamation with a loud voice was read to the people, containyng (as is before said) in the K. & Queens name, that no man should pray for them, or once speak a word unto them. &c. Master Bentham, the minister then of the congregation, not sparyng for that, but as zeal and Christian charity moved him, and seeing the fire set to them, turning his eyes to the people, cried and said: We know they are the people of God, and therefore we cannot choose but wish well to them, and say: God strengthen thē: And so boldly he said: Almighty God for Christ's sake strengthen them. With that, all the people with a whole consent and one voice followed and said: Amen, Amē. The noise whereof was so great, and the criers thereof so many, that the Officers could not tell what to say: nor whom to accuse. And thus much concerning the congregation of the faithful, assembling together at London in the time of Queen Mary.

The said M. Bentham another time, as he passed thorough S. Katherines, intending to walk and take the air abroad, was enforced by two or three men, approaching upon him, needs to go with them to a place whether they would lead him. M. Bētham astonied at the sodeinnes of the matter, and maruelling what the thing should be, required what their purpose was, or whether they would have him. They answered, that by the occasion of a man there found drowned, the Crowners quest was called and charged to sit upon him, of the which quest he must of necessity be one. &c. He again, loath to medle in the matter, excused himself, alleging that in such kind of matters he had no skill, and less experience: if it would please them to let him go, they should meet with other more meet for their purpose. But when with this they would not be satisfied, he alleged further, that he was a scholar of Oxford, and thereby was privileged from being of any inquest. The Crowner demanded the sight of his privilege. He said, if he would give him leave, he would fetch it. Then said the Crowner: the queen must be served without all delay, & so constrained him notwithstanding to be with thē in hearing the matter.

Beyng brought to the house where the Crowner and the rest of the quest were sitting, as the manner is, a book was offered him to swear upon. M. Bentham opening the book, and seeing it was a papistical Primer, refused to swear thereupon▪ and declared moreover what superstition in that book was contained. What, said the Crowner? I think we shall have here an heretic among us. And upon that, after much reasoning amongst them, he was committed to the custody of an officer till further examination: by occasion whereof, to all men's reason, hard it had been and inevitable for M. Bentham to have escaped, had not the Lord helped where man was not able. What followed? Incontinent as they were thus contending and debating about matters of heresy, sodeynly cometh the Crowner of the Admiralty, disannulling and repealing the order & calling of that inquest, for that it was (as he said) pertaining to his office, and therefore the other Crowner and his company in that place had nothing to do: And so the first Crowner was discharged and displaced: by reasō whereof M. Bentham escaped their hands, having no more said unto him.

*English men preserved at the taking of Calais.

THe worthy works of the Lord's mercy toward his people be manifold and cannot be comprehended, so that who is he living in the earth almost who hath not experienced the helping hand of the Lord, at some time or other upon him? Amōgst many other, what a piece of gods tender providence was shown of late upon our English brethren and countrymen, what time Calais was takē by the Tyrant Guise, a cruel enemy both to God's truth and to our English nation? And yet by the gracious provision of the Lord, few or none at all, of so many that favored Christ and his Gospel, in that terrible spoil miscarried. In the number of whom there was a godly couple, one John Thorpe and his wife, which feared the Lord, and loved his truth, who being sick the same time, and cast out into the wild fields, harbourles, desolate, and despayring of all hope of life, having their young infant moreover taken from them in the said fields, and carried away of the soldiers: yet the Lord so wrought, that the poor woman being almost past recovery of life, was fet and carried, the space well nigh of a mile, by strangers whom they never knew, into a village, where both she was recovered for that night, & also the next day coming toward England, they chanced into the same Inn at the next town, where they found their young child sitting by the fire side.

Edward Benet.

ONe Edw. Benet about the second year of the reign of Q. Mary, then dwelling at Quenehieth with one Grynocke a Baker, was desired of one Tyngle prisoner then in Newgate, to bring him a new testament, He procuring one of M. Couerdals translatiō, wrapped it in a handkerchief, saying to George the keeper which asked him what he had, that it was a piece of pondered biefe. Let me see it, said he. Perceiuing what it was, he brought him to Syr Roger Cholmley, who examined him why he did so, saying that book was not lawful, & so committed him to the Counter in woodstreet, where he continued 25. weeks.

Doctor Story coming to the prison to examine other Prisoners, this Benet looking out at the grate, spake to him, desiring him to be good unto him, and to help him out, for he had lien long in prison. To whom D. Story thē answering: What, said he, wast not thou before me in Christ's Church? Yes forsooth, said Benet. Ah, said Story, thou doest not believe in the Sacrament of the Aultar. Mary I will help thee out: come, said he to the keeper, turn him out, I will help him: and so took Benet with him and brought him to Cluney in Pater noster Row, and bade him bring him to the Colehouse, and there he was in the stocks a week.

Then the Bishoppe sent for him to talk with him, and first asked him if he were shriven? No, said Benet. He asked him if he would be shriven? No, said he. Then he asked him if the Priest could take away his sins? No, said Benet, I do not so believe. Then he and Harpsfielde laughed at him and mocked him, asking him if he did not believe that what so ever the Prieste here bound in earth, should be bound in heaven: and what so ever he loosed in earth, should be loosed in heaven? No, quoth Benet: But I believe that the Minister of God preaching God's word truly, and ministering the Sacraments according to the same, whatsoever he bindeth in earth, shall be bound in heaven, and what so ever he looseth. &c. Then the Bishop putting him aside, said, he should go to Fulham and be whipped.

Then came to him M. Buswell a Pries • , lying in the Colehouse in the stocks, and brought Cranmer's recantation, saying that he had recanted. My faith, saith the other, lieth in no man's book but in him which hath redeemed me. The next saterday, Benet with five other was called for to come to mass, into the Chapel. The Mass being done and they coming out, five of thē went to prison and were after burned. Benet being behind and coming toward the gate, the porter opening to a company going out, asked if there were no prisoners there. No, said they. Benet standing in open sight before him, with other serving men which were there by reason that Boner made many priests that day (having one of his sleues and half the fore part of his coat burned of in prisō, being more like a prisoner then any of the other) when the gate was opened, went out amongst them, and so escaped.

Agayne, in the last year of Queen Mary, the same Benet being taken again with the 24. beyond Islington, and brought to Syr Roger Cholmleys, the people coming very thick did cut of some of them, to the number of 8. which were behind, among whom was Benet. Then he knocking at the gate to come in, the Porter said, that he was none of the company. He said yes, and knocked again. Thē there stood one by of the congregation, named Johnson, dwelling now at Hamersmith, which said: Edward, thou hast done well, do not tempt God, go thy way. And so taking the warning as sent of God, with a quiet conscience eschued burning.

Jeffrey Hurst brother in law to George Marsh the Martyr.

IN the Town of Shakerley in Lancashyre dwelled one Jeffrey Hurst the son of an honest yeoman, who had besides him 11. children, the said Jeffrey being the xii. and eldest of the rest: and for that their father being willing to bring them up, so that they should be able another day to help themselves, he did bind this Jeffrey prentise unto the craft of nailing, to make all kind of nails: which occupation he learned and served out the time of 7. years. The which years being expired, he gave himself at times to learn of his other Brethren which went to school: and as he was very willing to the same, so GOD sent him knowledge wherein he did persevere and go forwards, in such sort that he could write and read indifferently, and in longer continuance came by more knowledge, and so having the Bible and diverse other books in his house, did come by pre • ye knowledge in the Scripture. After this he took unto him a wife being the Sister of Master George Marsh, of whose Martyrdom mention is made before pag. 1484. and being much familiar with him, did mend his knowledge not a little. Now whē queen Mary was entered, the first year of her reign he kept himself away from their doings & came not at the church: Wherupon he was laid in wait for, and called heretic, and Lollard, & so for fear of further danger, he was compelled to leave his wife and his child, and all, and fled into Yorkeshyre, & there being not known did lead his life, returning sometimes by night to his house to comfort his wife, and bringing with him some preacher or other, who used to preach unto them so long as the time would serve, and so departed by night again. The names of the Preachers were: M. Reneses, M. Best, M. Brodbanke, M. Russell, & every time they came thither they were about 20. or 24. sometimes, but 16. at least, who had there also sometimes a Cōmuniō. And thus in much fear did he with other lead his life, till the last year of the reign of Queen Mary. Thē it chanced that the said Jeffrey Hurst, after the death of his father, came home, and kept himself close for vii. or viii. weeks.

There dwelt not far of at Morlesse, a certain Justice of peace and of quorum, named M. Thomas Lelond, who hearing of him, appointed a time to come to his Fathers house where he then dwelt, to rifle the house for books, and to search for him also, and so did. Jeffrey and his company having knowledge of his coming, took the books which were in the house, as the Bible, the Communion book, the new testament of Tindals translation, and diverse others, and threw them all underneath a tub or • at, conveying also the said Jeffrey under the same, with a great deal of straw underneath him: for as it chanced they had the more time, because that whē the Justice came almost to the door, he stayed and would not enter the house till he had sent for Hurstes mothers Landlady: M. Shakerley, and then with her consent to go forwards. In the mean time, Jeffrey by such as were with him, was willed to lay in his window the testament of Tindals translation, and a little book containing the third part of the bible, with y ^e book of Ecclesiasticus, to try what they would say unto them.

This done, Mistress Shakerley came. Unto whō eftsoons the Justice declareth the cause of his coming and how he was sory to attempt any such thing against any of her tenauntes for her sake, but notwithstanding he must needs execute his office. And again you must (said he) note this, that a skabbed sheep is able to infect a great mumber: and especially having, as he hath, so many brethren, & sisters, he is able to mar them all, if he be not looked unto in time. And thus concluding, M. Lelond entered into the house, & being come in, set himself in a chair in the middle of the house, and sending Syr Rafe Parkinson his Priest, and one of his men, and one of Mistress Shakerleys men about the house, to search and rifle the chestes for books (which so did) in the mean time he talked with Hurstes mother, being of the age almost of lx. years: And chiding with her that she would suffer her son so to order and be have himself like an heretic, said: thou old fool I know myself that this new learning shall come again: but for how long? even for three months or four months and no longer. But I will lay thee old fool in Lancaster dūgeon for this gear, and well worthy.

Now as concerning the searchers, they found nothing but latin books, as Grammar, and such like. These be not they that we look for (said they) we must see further, and so looked into Hurstes chamber where they found the foresaid books. Then syr Rafe taking up the testament, looked on it, and smiled. His Mayster seeing that, said: now Syr Rafe, what have we there? Forsooth, saith he, a testament of Tindals translation, plain heresy, and none worse then it. Then is all their goods, saith he, lost to the Queen & their bodies to prison, and was wonderfully hasty: notwithstanding through Mistress Shakerley, for a space he was content to see farther.

Then the Priest looked on the other book: What say ye to that Syr Rafe, is that as evil as the other? No said he, but it is not good that they should have such English Books to look on: for this and such others, may do much harm. Then he asked the Mother where her eldest son was, and her daughter Alyce? She answered she could not tell: they were not with her of long time before. And he swore by God's body, he would make her tell where they were, or he would lay her in Lancaster Dungeon, and yet he would have them, notwithstanding too, To be short, for fear he had his Brother John Hurst and his Mother bound in an hundredth pound to bring the parties before him within xiv. days, and so departed he, and the Priest put both the books in his bosom, and carried them away with him. Then John Hurst went after them, desiring that he might have the book which the Priest found no fault with: but he (said they) should answer to them both, and which so ever was the better, was not good.

As this past on, when the time was come that Jeffrey Hurst and his sister should be examined, the Justice sent for them betimes in the morning, & had prepared a mass to begin withal, asking Jeffrey Hurst if he would first go and see his maker, and thē he would talk further with him. To whom then Jeffrey answered and said: Syr my Maker is in heaven, and I am assured in going to your Mass I shall find no edification thereby, and therefore I pray you hold me excused.

Well, well, said he, I perceive I shall find you an heretic, by God: but I will go to Mass, & I will not lose it for all your prattling. Then into his Chapel he went, and when mass was done, he sent for them, and caused his Priest to read a scroll unto them as concerning the 7. Sacraments, & ever as he spake of the body & blood of Christ, he put of his cap, and said: loe ye may see: you will deny these things and care not for your Prince: but you shall feel it ere I have done with you, & all the faculty of you, with other talk more between them, I know not what: but in the end they were licensed to depart under suretyes to appear again before him within 3. weeks, and then to go to Lancaster. Howbeit in the mean while it so pleased God, that within four days of the day appointed, it was noised that the Queen was dead, and within xiv. days after, the said Jeffrey Hurst fet home his 2. books, and nothing was said unto him.

It followed after this that God's word begun to take place, and the Queens visitors came down into that country, who did choose four men in the parish: to wit, Simond Smith, Jeffrey Hurst, Henry Brown, George Eccersly, which four were Protestants, to see the Queens procedinges to take place: which according to their power did the same, notwithstanding it did little prevail: & therefore the said Jeffrey being sore grieved with the office, fell sick, in which sickness it pleased God to call him, making a very godly end, God have the praise for it.

Now to return to the foresaid Thomas Lelond again, he continuing in his office still, did very few times come to the Church, but said he was aged and might not labor, and there kept with him Syr Rafe Parkinson his Priest, which could (as it was said) minister the Communion unto the people, and sing Mass to his master: Yea and (as the fame reported) did a pretyer seat then all that: for he begat two children by a servant in a house, his master knowing it, and saying nothing, for that he would not lose his good mass Priest.

Furthermore, this was noted in the same Justice Lelondes behavior at service time, that he had a little dog which he would play with, all service time, and the same Dog had a collar full of Bels, so that the noise of them did molest and trouble others as well as himself, from hearing the service. Also in the same Justice it was noted & observed, that as he sat in his Chapel at service time, his manner was on a willow bark to knit knottes, for that he could not be suffered to have his beads, and to put the same vpō a string also. Witnes hereof Edward Hurst, with others.

Furthermore, as concerning Henry Brown one of the 4. chosen men above mentioned, this is also to be added, that the said Henry Brown dwelling in the town of Pinington in the same Parish an. 1564. had a little boy, who as he was playing in the Town, one Glaues wife gave unto the boy a pair of Beads made of wood, to play him withal. The little boy being glad thereof to have such a trim thing, went home & shown his father of thē. His Father seeing the Beads, took them and burned thē, and when he had so done, went forth and asked who had given unto his little boy that pair of Beads.

That did I, said Glaues wife.

Well said he, I have burned them.

Hast thou so, said she? and thrust him from her. They shall be the dearest Beads that ever thou sawest, & incontinent went & cōplayned unto the said Justice, how Brown had burned her beads.

This matter the Justice took sore to snuff, and was very angry, and did direct his letter unto the constables of the same Town, by his own hand subscribed: the title of which superscription on the backside was this: To the Cōstables of Pinington give this.

This done the Constables according to this their charge did bring him afore the Justice at time appointed, and when the Just • ce came to talk with him, he was in such a chafe, that he called him thief, and said that he had robbed his neighbor in burning of her beads, and that there was ringes and other Jewel's on them, and that he might as well have picked her purse: wherefore I will lay thee (said he) in Lancaster for this gear.

Whilest they were thus talking, there came all his servants about them from their work, saying: is this M. Doctor Brown that will burn Beads? I pray you Syr, let us have him here and preach. I will give a quarters wages, saith one: and I will give money saith another, and he shall be master Doctor: with much derision and scoffing at this poor man.

He hearing this, spake again boldly, and said: did you send for me to make a laughing stock of me? You be in office, and ought rather to come to the Church, and see such Papistry abolished yourself, then thus to trouble me for doing my duty: but I tell you plainly, you do not come to Church as you ought to do, and wherefore with more things that I have to charge you withal, I say you do not well. When all this misdemeanor of the Justice laid to his charge, would not prevail, and also witness came in of the Papists, which did know the Beads, & testified that they were plain & cost but a halfepeny, he then went into his Parlor in a chafe, and one M. Erberston a papist with him· Which Erberston turned back and said: is it you Henry Brown, that keepeth this stir? you are one of them that pulled down Crosses in the church, and pulled down the Rood seller, and all the Saints: you were best now to go paint a black Devil, and set him up and worship him, for that will serve well for your religiō. And thus under suretyship he did depart til July following and then he said he should go to Lancaster prison, and so came he away.

The time drew on that he should appear, but GOD stayed the matter, and in July, as the foresaid Thomas Lelond sat in his chair talking with his friends, he fell down sodeinly dead, not much moving any joint: And thus was his end: from such God us defend.

William Wood of Kent.

THe examination of William Woode Baker, dwelling in the Parish of Strowd, in the County of Kent, before Doctor Kenall Chancellor of the Dioces of Rochester, Doctor Chadsey, the Major of Rocher, and M. Robinson the Scribe, the 19. day of October, and in the second year of Queen Mary, in S. Nicholas Church in Rochester.

At these words the people made a great shout and the Major stood up and commanded the people to be quiet, & to keep silence. And that God y ^t did deliver S. Paul out of the hands of the high Priests, by the contention that was between the Pharisees and the Sadducees, did even so deliver me at that time out of the mouths of the bloody Papists, by the means of the contention of these two Doctors. Blessed be the name of the Lord which hath promised to lay no more upon his, then he will make them able to bear, and in the midst of temptation he can make a way for his (whom and when it pleaseth him) to escape out of all dangers.

Many other like examples of God's helpyng hand have been declared upon his elect Saints and Children in delivering them out of danger by wonderful and miraculous ways, some by one means some by another. What a notable work of God's mighty hand was seen in Simon Grinaeus, mentioned in the Commentary of Melancthon upon Daniel. Who having a sodeine warning by a certain old man, who was not seen after, nor known then of any what he was, avoided the peril of taking and burning, as by the relation of Melancthon writing and witnessing of the same, may appear in the words of his own story here following.

*The History of Simon Grinaeus collected out of Melanchthon's Commentaris upon the x. Chapiter of Daniel.

WHen I was (saith he) at the assembly holden at Spyre in the year of our Lord 1529. by chance Simon Grynaeus came thither unto me from the Uniuersity of Hedelberge, where he heard Faber the Byshoppe of Vienna in a Sermon, defend and maintain certain detestable errors. When the Sermon was done, he followed Faber going out of the Church and saluted him reverently, declaring unto him that he was moved of a good zeal & intent, somewhat to say unto him. Faber was contented to talk with him.

Then Grinaeus said unto him that he was very sorry that a man of such learning and authority should openly maintain such errors as were both contumelious against God, & also might be refuted by the manifest testimonies of the Scripture. Irenaeus writeth (said he) that Polycarpus was wont to stop his cares whensoever he heard any erroneous & wicked doctrine. With what mind then (think you) would Polycarpus have heard you argue and reason what it is that the mouse eateth, when she gnaweth the consecrated host? Who would not bewail such ignorance and blindness of the Church? With this Faber brake of his talk, as he was about to say more, and asked his name. This man dissembling nothing, gently told him that his name was Grinaeus.

This Faber (as many well knew) was always tymerous and fearful in the company of learned men. Wherefore he fearing the learning, eloquence, and fervent zeal of Grinaeus, specially in such a matter as this was, feigned as though he had been sent for by the king, and that he had no leisure now to reason upon this matter. He pretended that he was very desirous of acquaintance and longer talk with Grinaeus, entreating him, that both for his own private cause, and also for the common wealth, he would come again the next day unto him, and so shown him his lodging, and appointed him an hour when he should come. Grinaeus thinking that he had spoken unfeignedly, promised so to do.

When he was departed frō Faber, he came straight way unto us, and was scarcely set at the table (for it was supper time) reciting a part of his talk with Faber unto me and others there present, when as I sitting with my company, was sodeinly called out of the Parler by a certain ancient fatherly man, who showing a singular grauitye in his countenance, words, and behavior, spake unto me & said, that the Sergeantes would by and by come unto our lodging, being sent by the kings commandment, to carry Grinaeus to Prison, whom Faber had accused to the Kynge, commanding that Grinaeus should straight ways depart out of the town, & exhorted me that we should in no case delay the time: and so bidding me farewell, departed. But what old man this was, neither did I know then nor afterward could understand. I returning again unto my company, bad them rise, and told them what the old man had said unto me.

By and by, we taking Grinaeus in the midst of us, carried him through the street to the River of Rhene, whereas after he had stayed upon the hither bank a while, until Grinaeus with his companiō were carried over in a small boat, returning again to our lodging, we understood that the Sergeants had been there, when we were but a little way gone out of the house. Now in what great danger Grinaeus should have been, if he had been carried to prison, by this cruelty of Faber every man easily may conjecture. Wherefore we judged that that most cruel intent and purpose of him, was disapoynted by God's merciful providence. And as I cannot say, what old man it was that gave me that warning, even so likewise the Sergeants made such quick speed, that except Grinaeus had been covered and defended by Angels through the marvelous providence of God, he could never have escaped.

Cōcerning the truth of this matter, there be many good men yet alive, which both know the same, and also were present at the doing thereof. Therefore let us give thanks unto God, which hath given us his Angels to be our keepers and defenders, whereby with more quiet minds, we may fulfill and do the office of our vocation.

With such like examples of God's mighty and merciful custody, the church of Christ in all ages doth abound, as by manifold experiences may appear as well among the Germans, as also in all other places and ages, but in no place more, nor in time more plentiful, then in this persecuting time of Queen Mary in this our Realm of Enland: as partly hath been already historyed, and parte yet remaineth (the Lord willing) moreover hereunto to be added.

Lady Katherine Duches of Suffolcke.

STephen Gardener Bishop of Winchester, surmising the Lady Katherine Baronesse of Willoughby and Cresby and Duchesse Dowager of Suffolcke, to be one of his ancient enemies, because he knew he had deserved no better of her, devised in the holy time of the first Lent in Queen Mary's reign, a holy practice 〈◊〉 • evenge, first by touching her in the person of her husband M. Richard Berty Esquyre, for whom he sent an attachment (having the great seal at his devotion) to the Sheriff of Lincolnshyre with a special Letter commanding moste straitly the same Sheriff, to attache the said Richard immediately, and without baile to bring him up to London to his great Lordship. M. Berty her husband being clear in conscience, and from offense toward the queen, could not conjecture any cause of this strange process, unless it were some quarrel for Religion, which he thought could not be so sore as the process pretended.

The Sheriff notwithstanding the commandment, adventured only to take the bond of M. Bertye with 2. sureties, in a thousand pound for his appearance to be made before the Bishop on good Friday following, at which day M. Berty appeared, the Bishop then lying at his house by S. Mary Oueryes. Of whose presence when the Bishop understood by a gentleman of his chamber, in a great rage he came out of his gallery into his dining chamber, where he found a press of suitors, saying he would not that day hear any, but came forth only to know of M. Berty, how he being a subject durst so arrogantly set at light two former processes of the Queens.

M. Berty answered, that albeit my Lord's words might seme to the rest somewhat sharp towards him, yet he conceived great comfort of thē. For whereas he before thought it extremity to be attached, having used no obstinacy or contumacy, now he gathered of those words, that my Lord meant not otherwise but to have used some ordinary process: albeit in deed none came to his hands.

Yea Mary, quoth the Byshoppe, I have sent you two subpenas, to appear immediately, and I am sure you received them, for I committed the trust of them to no worse man but to Mayster Solicitor, and I shall make you an example to all Lyncolnshyre for your obstinacy.

M. Berty denying the receipt of any, humbly prayed his Lordship to suspend his displeasure & the punishment till he had good trial thereof, & then, if it pleased him, to double the pain for the fault, if any were.

Well, quoth the Byshoppe, I have appointed myself this day (according to the holiness of the same) for devotion, and I will not further trouble me with you: but I enioyn you in a thousand pound not to depart without leave, and to be here again tomorrow at 7. of the clock. M. Berty well observed the hour, and no • ote • ailed: At which time the B. had with him M. Seriant Stampford, to whō he moved certain questions of the said M. Berty, because M. Serieaunt was towards the Lord Wriothesley late Earl of Southhampton, and Chancellor of England, with whom the said M. Berty was brought up. M. Seriant made very friendly report of M. Berty of his own knowledge for the time of their conversation together. Wherupon the Bishop caused M. Berty to be brought in, and first making a false trayne (as God would, without fire) before he would descend to the quarrel of Religion, he assaulted him in this manner.

Of the devise of the Dog, quoth M. Berty, she was neither the author nor the allower. The words, though in that season they sounded bitter to your Lordship, yet if it should please you without offense to know the cause, I am sure the one will purge the other. As touching setting up of Mass, which she learned not only by strong persuasions of diverse excellent learned men, but by universal consent and order whole vi. years past, inwardly to abhor (if she should outwardly allow, she should both to Christ show her self a false Christian, and to her prince a masquing subject. You know my Lord, one by judgment reformed, is more worth then a thousand transformed tēporizers. To force a confession of Religion by mouth, contrary to that in the heart, worketh damnation where salvation is pretended.

Yea mary (quoth the Bishop) that deliberation would do well i • she never required to come from an old Religion to a new. But now she is to return from a new to an ancient Religion: Wherein when she made me her gossip, she was as earnest as any.

For that, my Lord (said M. Berty) not long sithen, she answered a friend of hers v • ing your Lordships speech, that Religion went not by age but by truth: and therefore she was to be turned by persuasion and not by commandment.

I pray you (quoth the Bishop) think you it possible to persuade her?

Yea verily (said M. Berty) with the truth: for she is reasonable enough.

The bishop thereunto replying, said: it will be a marvelous grief to the Prince of Spain, and to all the nobility that shall come with him, when they shall find but two noble personages of the spanish race within this land, the Queen, and my Lady your wife, and one of thē gone from the faith.

M. Berty answered, that he trusted they should find no fruits of infidelity in her.

So the Bishop persuading M. Berty to travel earnestly for the reformation of her opinion, and offering large friendship, released him of his bande from further appearance.

The Duchesse and her husband, daily more and more, by their friends understanding that the Bishop meant to call her to an account of her faith, whereby extremity might follow, devised ways how by the Queens license they might pass the Seas. M. Berty had a ready mean: for there rested great sums of money due to the old Duke of Suffolk (one of whose executers the Duches was) beyond the Seas, the Emperor himself being one of those debtors. M. Berty communicated this his purposed suit for license to pass the Seas, and the cause, to the Bishop-adding, that he took this time most meet to deal with the Emperor, by reason of likelihood of Marriage between the Queen and his son.

I like your devise well (quoth the bishop) but I think it better, that you tarry the Princes coming, and I will procure you his letters also to his father.

Nay (quoth M. Berty) under your Lordships correction and pardon of so liberal speech, I suppose the time will then be less convenient: for when the Marriage is cōsūmate, the Emperor hath his desire: but till then he will refuse nothing to win credit with us.

By S. Mary (quoth the Bishoppe, smiling) you guess shrewdly. Well, proceed in your suit to the Queen, and it shall not lack my helping hand.

M. Berty found so good success, that he in few days obtained the Queens license, not only to pass the seas, but to pass and repass then so often̄ as to him seemed good, till he had finished all his business and causes beyond the seas. So he passed the seas at Dover about the beginning of June in the first year of her reign, leaving the Duchesse behind, who by agreement and consent beewixt her & her husband, followed, taking Barge at Lyon Key, very early in the morning, on the first day of January next ensuing, not without some peril.

There was none of those that went with her, made privy to her going till the instant, but an old Gentleman called M. Robert Cranwell, whom M. Berty had specially provided for that purpose. She took with her her daughter an infant of one year, & the meanest of her servants, for she doubted the best would not adventure that fortune with her. They were in mumber 4. men, one a Greek borne, which was a rider of horses, another a Ioyner, the third a Brewer, the fourth a fool one of the kitchen, one g • ntlewoman, and a Laundreue.

As she departed her house called the Barbican, betwixt 4. and 5. of the clock in the morning, with her company & baggage, one Atkinson a Herald, keeper of her house: hearing noise about the house, rose and came out with a torch in his hand as she was yet issuing out of the gate: wherewith being amazed, she was forced to leave a male with necessaryes for her young daughter, and a milk pot with milk in the same gatehouse, commaūding all her servants to speed them away before to Lyon Key, and taking with her only the two womē and her child, so soon as she was forth of her own house, perceiving the Herald to follow, she stepped in at Garter house hard by. The Herald coming out of the Duchesse house, and seeing nobody stirring, not assured (though by the male suspecting) that she was departed, returned in: and while he stayed ransacking parcelles left in the male, the Duchesse issued into the street, and proceeded in her journey, he knowing the place only by name where she should take her boat, but not the way thither, nor none with her. Likewise her servants having divided themselves, none but one knew the way to the said key.

So she appareled like a mean Marchantes wife and the rest like mean servants, walking in the streets unknown, she took the way that led to Finesbury field and the others walked the city streets as they lay open before them, till by chance more then discretion, they met all sodeinly together a little within Mooregate, frō whence they passed directly to Lyon key, & there took barge in a morning so misty, that the stearesman was loath to launch out, but that they urged him. So soon as the day permitted, the Council was informed of her departure, and some of thē came forthwith to her house to inquire of the manner thereof, and took an inuentory of her goods, besides further order devised for search and watch to apprehend and stay her.

The fame of her departure reached to Leigh, a town at the lands end, before her approaching thither. By Leigh dwelt one Gosling a merchant of Londō, an old acquaintance of Cranwels, whither the said Cranwell brought the Duchesse, naming her Mistress White, the daughter of Mayster Gosling, for such a daughter he had which never was in that country. There she reposed her, and made new garments for her daughter, having lost her own in the male at Barbican.

When the time came that she should take ship, being constrained that night to lie at an Inn in Leigh (where she was again almost be wrayed) yet notwithstanding, by God's good working she escaping that hassard, at length, as the tide and wind did serve, they went aboord, & being carried twice into the seas, almost into the coast of Zealand, by contrary wind were drivē to the place from whence they came, and at the last recuile, certain parsons came to the shore, suspecting she was within that ship: yet having examined one of her company that was a land for fresh Achates, and finding by the simplicitye of his tale, only the appearance of a mean Marchauntes wife to be a shipboord, he ceased any further search.

To be short, so soon as the Duchesse had landed in Brabant, she and her womē were appareled like the women of Netherlande with hukes, and so she and her husband took their journey toward̄s Cleueland, and being ariued at a town therein called Santon, took a house there until they might further devise of some sure place where to settle themselves.

About five miles from Santon, is a free town called Weasel, under the said Duke of Cleues dominion, and one of the Haūs towns, privileged with the company of the Steelyard in London, whether diues Wallons were fled for religion, and had for their Minister one Frances Perusell, then called Frances de Rivers, who had received some curtesy in England at the Duchesse hands. Master Berty being yet at Santon, practiced with him to obtain a protection from the Magistrates for his abode & his wives at Weasel: which was the sooner procured because the state of the Duchesse was not discovered but only to the chief Magistrate, earnestly bent to show them pleasure, whiles this protection was in seeking.

In the mean while, at the Town of Santon was a muttering that the Duchesse & her husband were greater personages then they gave themselves forth, and the Magistrates not very well inclined to religion, the Bishop of Arras also being Dean of the great Minster, order was taken, that the Dutches and her husband should be examined o • their condition and Religion upon the sudden. Which practice discovered by a gentleman of that country to Mayst • r Bertie, he without delay taking no more then the Duches her daughter, and two other with them, as though he meant no more but to take the air, about three of y ^e clock in the afternoon in February, on foot, without hiering of horse or wagon for fear of disclosing his purpose, meant privily that night to get to Wesel, leaving his other family still at Santon.

After the Duches and he were one englishe mile from the town, there fell a mighty rain of continuance, whereby a long frost and ise before congealed, was thawed, which doubled more the weariness of those new lacquies. But being now on the way, and overtakē with the night, they sent their two servants (which only went with them) to villages, as they past, to hire some carre for their ease, but none could be hired. In the mean time M. Bertye was forced to carry the child, and the Duches his cloke and rapier. At last betwixt vi. & vii. of the clock in y ^e dark night, they came to Weesell, and repairing to their Inns for lodging and some repose after such a painful journey, found hard intertaynment, for going from Inn to Inn offering large money for small lodging, they were refused of all the Inholders, suspecting Mayster Bertye to be a Launceknight, and the Duches to be his woman. The Child for cold and sustenance cried pitifully, the mother wept as fast, the heavens rained as fast as y ^e clouds could pour.

Mayster Bertie destitute of all other succor of hospitality, resolved to bring the Duchesse to the porche of the great church in the town, and so to buy coals, victuals and straw for their miserable repose there that night, or at least till by God's help he might provide her better lodging. Mayster Berty at that time understood not much dutche, and by reason of evil weather and late season of y ^e night, he could not happen upon any that could speak english, French, Italian, or Latin, till at last going towards the Church porch, he heard 2. striplinges talking Latin, to whom he approached and offered thē two stiuers to bring him to some Wallons house.

By these boys, and God's good conduicte, he chanced at the first upon the house where Mayster Perusell supped that night, who had procured them the protection of the Magistrates of that town. At the first knock, the goodman of the house himself came to the door, and opening it, asked Mayster Berty what he was. Master Berty said, an englishman, that sought for one M. Peruselles house. The Wallon willed M. Bertie to stay a while, who went back and told Mayster Perusell that the same english gentleman of whom they had talked the same supper had sent, by likelihood, his servant to speak with him. Whereupon M. Perusell came to the door, and beholding Mayster Bertie, the Duchesse, and their child, their faces, apparelles, and bodies so far from their old form, deformed with dirt, wether, & heaviness, could not speak to them, nor they to him for tears. At length recovering them selves, they saluted one another, and so together entered the house, God knoweth full joyfully. Mayster Berty changing of his apparel with the goodman, the Duchesse with the good wife, and their child with the child of the house.

Within few days after, by M. Peruselles means, they hired a very fair house in the town, and did not let to show themselves what they were, in such good sort as their present condition permitted. It was by this time through the whole town what discurtesie the Inholders had shown unto them at their entry, in so much as on y ^e Sunday following, a preacher in the Pulpit openly in sharp terms rebuked that great inciuillitie towards strangers, by allegation of sundry places out of holy scriptures, discoursing how not only Princes sometime are received in the Image of private persons, but Angels in the shape of men, and that God of his Justice would make the strangers one day in another lande, to have more sense of the afflicted heart of a stranger.

The time was passing forth, as they thought themselves thus happily settled, suddenly a watchworde came from sir John Mason, then Queen Mary's Ambassador in Netherland, that my Lord Paget had feigned an errant to the Bathes that ways: and whereas the Duke of Brunswick was shortly with x. ensigns to pass by Weasel for the service of the house of Austricke against y ^e freēch king, the said Duchesse, and her husband should be with the same charge and company intercepted.

Wherefore to prevent the cruelty of these enemies, M. Berty with his wife and child departed to a place called Winheim in high Dutchland under the Palsgranes Dominion, where under his protection they continued till their necessaries began to fail them, and they almost feynting under so heavy a burden, began to fail of hope.

At what time, in the midst of their despair, there came sodeinly letters to them from the Pallatine of Uilua and the king of Poole, being instructed of their hard estate by a Baron named Johannes Alasco, that was sometime in England offering them large courtesy. This puruison unlooked for, greatly revived their heavy spirits. Yet considering they should remove from many their countrymen and acquaintance, to a place so far distant a Country not haunted with the English, and perhaps upon their arriuall not finding as they looked for, the end of their journey should be worse then the beginning: they devised thereupon with one M. Barloe, late Byshoppe of Chichester, that if he would vouchsafe to take some payns therein, they would make him a fellow of that journey. So finding him prone, they sent with him letters of great thanks to the king and Pallatine, and also with a few principal Iewelles (which only they had left of many, to solicit for them, that the king would vouchsafe under his seal, to assure them of the thing which he so honourably by letters offered.

That suit by the forewardnes of the Pallatine, was as soon granted as uttered. Upon which assurance the said Duchesse and her husband, with their family, entered the journey in April. 1557. from the Castle of Wineheim, where they before lay, towards Franckford. In y ^e which their journey, it were long here to describe what dangers fell by the way upon them, and their whole company, by reason of their Lantgraues Captain, who under a quarrel pretensed for a spaniell of M. Berties, set upon them in the high way, with his horsemen, thrusting their borespeares through the wagon where the Children and Women were, M. Bertie having but 4. horsemen with him. In the which brable it happened the Captains horse to be slain under him.

Whereupon a rumour was sparsed immediately thorough towns and villages about, that the Lantgraue captain should be slain by certain Wallons, which incensed the ire of the countrymen there more fiercely against M. Bertie, as afterward it proved. For as he was motioned by his wife to save himself by y ^e swiftness of his horse and to recover some town there by for his rescue, he so doing was in worse case then before, for the townsmen and the Captains brother supposing no less but that the Captayne had been slain, pressed so eagerly upon him, that he had been there taken and murdered among them, had not he (as God would) spying a ladder leaning to a wyndow, by the same got up into the house, and so gone up in to a garret in the top of y ^e house, where he with his dagge and rapyre defended himself for a space: but at length the Burghmayster coming thither with another Magystrate, which could speak latin, he was counseled to submit himself to the order of the law. Mayster Bertye knowing himself clear, and the Captayne to be alive, was y ^e more bolder to submit himself to the judgment of y ^e law, upon condition that the Magistrate would receive him under safe conduct, and defend him from the rage of the multitude. Which being promised, M. Bertie putteth him self and his weapon in the Magistrates hand, & so was committed to safe custody, while the truth of his cause should be tried.

Then Mayster Berty writing his letters to y ^e Lantgraue and to the Earl of Erbagh, the next day early in the morning the Earl of Erbagh dwelling within 8. miles, came to the town whether the Duchesse was brought with her wagon, M. Bertie also being in the same town under custody.

The Earl, who had some intelligence of the Duches before, after he was come and had shown such courtesy as he thought to her estate was seemly, the Townsmen perceyuyng the Earl to behave himself so humbly unto her, began to consider more of the matter, and further understanding the Capitayne to be alive, both they, and especially the authors of the stir shrunk away, and made all the friends they could to master Bertie and his wife, not to report their doings after the worst sort.

And thus Mayster Bertie and his wife escaping that danger, proceeded in their journey toward Polelande, where in conclusion they were quietly entertained of the king, and placed honourably in the Earldom of the said king of Poles in Sanogelia, called Crozā, where M. Berty with the Duchesse having the kings absolute power of government over the said Earldom, continued both in great quietness and honor, till the death of Queen Mary.

Thomas Horton Minister.

AS ye have heard of the dangerous troubles of the Duchesse of Suffolk in time of her exile for religion sake, whom notwithstanding the Lord's present protection still delivered in all distresses, as well from her enemies in England, as in Dutchland frō y ^e Launceknightes there: so have we no less to behold and magnify the lords merciful goodness in preserving of Thomas Horton frō the like perilles of the same Country.

Which Thomas Horton, what a profitable instrument he was to the Church of Christ in Queen Mary's time, all our Englishmen almost beyond the seas then, did both know and feel.

This good Thomas Horton, as he used oftentimes to travail between Germany and England, for the behoove and sustenance of the poor English exiles there: so he iournying upon a time between Mastricke and Collē chanced to be taken there by certain Rouers, and so being led by them away, was in no little danger: and yet this danger of his was not so great, but the present help of the Lord was greater to aid and deliver him out of the same.

Thomas Sprat of Kent, Tanner

VNto these afore rehearsed examples of God's blessed providence towards his servants, may also be added the happy deliverance of Thomas Sprat and William Porrege his companion, now Minister. Whose story briefly to course over, is this.

This Thomas Sprat had been servant sometimes to one M. Brent a Justice, and a heavy persecutor, and therefore forsaking his Mayster for religious sake, he went to Calais, from whence he used often with the said William Porrege for their necessary affairs, to have a recourse into England.

It so happened about the fourth year of Queen Mary's reign, that they landing upon a time of Dover, and taking their journey together toward Sandwich suddenly upon the way within three miles of Dover, met with the foresaid M. Brent, the two Blachendens, and other Gentlemen moe, with their servants, to the number of x. or xii. horses. Of the which two Blachendens, being both haters and enemies of God's word and people, the one had perfect knowledge of William Porrege, the other had not seen him, but only had heard of his name before.

Thus they being in the way where this Justice with his mates should meet them directly in the face, Thomas Sprat first espying M. Brent, was sore dismayde, saying to his companion: yonder is M. Brent. William Porrege God have have mercy upon us. Well quoth the other, seeing now there is no remedy, let us go in our way. And so thinking to pass by them, they kept themselves aloufe, as it were a score off from them, Thomas Sprat also shadowing his face with his cloke.

Notwithstanding, one of M. Brentes servants advising him better then his master did: yonder, said he to his Mayster, is Thomas Sprat. At which words they all rained their horses, and called for Thomas Sprat to come to them. They cal you, said William Porrege. Now here is no remedy but we are takē: and so persuaded him to go to them being called, for that there was no escaping from so many horsemen in those playnes and downes, where was no wood near them by a mile, nor hedge neither, but only one, which was a byrdbolt shot off.

All this notwithstanding, Sprat stayed and would not go. Then they called again, sitting still on horseback. Ah sirra, quoth the Justice? why come ye not hither? And still his companion moved him to go, seeing there was no other shift to flee away. Nay, said Sprat, I will not go to them, and therwithall took his legs, running to the hedge that was next him. They seeing that, set spurs to their horse, thinking by and by to have him, and that it was impossible for him to escape their hands, as it was in deed, they being on horse back and he on foot, had not y ^e Lord myraculously delivered his seely servant frō the gaping mouth of the Lyon ready to devour him.

For as God would, so it fell out that he had got over the hedge, skrawling through the bushes, when as they were even at his heels, striking at him with their swords out of the Blachendens crying cruelly: cut off one of his legs.

Thus Sprat had scarcely recovered the hedge from his enemies, when one of M. Brentes servants, which had been fellow sometimes in house with him, followed him in his bootes: and certain rode up at one side of the hedge, and certain at the other, to meet him at the upper end.

Now while they were following the chase after Thomas Sprat, only one remained with William Porrege (who was one of the Blachendens, not he which knew him, but the other) who began to question with him: not asking what was his name (as God would (for then he had been known and taken: but from whence he came and how he came into Sprats company, and whether he went: Unto whom he answered and said: from Calyce and that Sprat came over with him in the passage boat, and they two were going to Sandwich, and so without anymore questions he let him depart.

Anone as he kept along the hedge, one of the horsemen which rode after Sprat, returning back, and meeting w ^t the said W. Porrege, demanded the very same questions as the other had done, to whom he made also the like answer as afore, and so departed, taking another contrary way from the meeting of the other horsman. And thus W. Porrege escaped.

Now concerning Thomas Sprat, he being pursued on the one side by horsemen, on the other side by his own fellow, who followed after him in his bootes, crying: you were as good to tarry, for we will have you, we will have you: yet notwithstanding he still kept on his course till at length he came to a steep down hill at y ^e hedge end, down the which hill he ran from them, for they could not ride down the hill, but must fetch a great compass about and so this Thomas Sprat ran almost a mile, and as god would got a Wood.

By that time he came to the Wood, they were even at his heels: but the night drew on, and it began to rain and so the malice of these persecutors was at an ende, the Lord working for his servants, whose name be praised forever and ever, Amen.

Not long after this, one of the two Blanchendens aforesaid, which so cruelly sought the destruction of other, was cruelly murdered by his own servants.

John Cornet.

HEre might also be recited the hard aduētures and sufferings of John Cornet, and at length his deliverance by God's good working, out of the same.

Who being a prentise with a minstrel at Colchester, was sent by his master about the 2. year of Queen Mary's reign, to a wedding in a town thereby called Roughhedge, where he being requested by a company there of good men, the Constables also of the parish being present thereat, so sing some songs of the scripture, chanced to sing a song called News out of London, which tended against the Mass, and against the Queens misproceedinges.

Whereupon the next day he was accused by the Parson of Roughhedge called Yackesley, and so committed, first to the Constable, where both his master gave him over and his mother forsook and cursed him. From thence he was sent to the next Justice, named M. Cānall: and then to the Earl of Oxford, where he was first put in irons & chains, and after that so manacled that the blood spurt out of his fingers ends, because he would not confess y ^e names of them which allured him to sing.

And marvel it was that the cruel Papists were so contended, that they sent him not also to Bishop Boner, to suffer the extremity of the fire. But God's gracious providence disposed otherwise for his servant. For after he was manacled, the Earl commanded him to be brought again to the town of Roughhedge, & there to be whipped till the blood followed, and to be banished the town forever: and so he was, during all the time of Queen Mary.

Thomas Bryce.

IF our story should proceed so wide and so large, as did the exceeding mercy of God's providence in helpyng his servants out of wretchedness and thralldom of those bloody days, our treatise, I think, would extend to an endless process.

For what good man or woman was there almost in all this time of Queen Mary, who either in carrying a good conscience out of the land, or tarrying within y ^e realm could well escape the Papists hands, but by some notable experience of the Lord's mighty power and helpyng hand working for him? What should I here speak of the myraculous deliverance of Thomas Bryce, who being in the house of John Seal, in the parish of Horting, and the Bailiff with other neighbors coming in, sent by Sir John Baker to search and apprehend him, & knowing perfectly both his stature and color of his garments yet had no power to see or know him standing before their faces. So mightily the Lord did blind their eyes, that they asking for him, and looking upon him, yet notwithstanding he quietly took up his bag of books, and so departed out of the house, without any hand laid upon him.

Also another time, about the 2. year of Queen Mary, the said Thomas Bryce, with John Bryce his elder brother, coming then from Weasel, meeting together at their fathers house, as they iornyed towards London to give warning there to one Springfield, which else was like to be taken unawares by his enemies waiting for him upon Gaddes hill, fell in company with a promoter, which dogged them and followed them again to Graues • ad, into the town, and laid the house for them where they were, and all the ways as they should go to the water side: so that it had not been possible for them to have avoided the present danger of those persecutors, had not the Lord's provident care otherwise disposed for his servants through the Hostler of the Inn, covertly to convey them by a secret passage: whereby they took Barge a mile out of the town, and so in the ende both the lives of them, and also of Springfield was preserved, through the Lord's gracious protection.

Gertrude Crockhey.

GErtrude Crokehey dwelling at S. Katherines by the Town of London, and being then in her husbands house, it happened, in the year 1556. that the Popes childish S. Nicholas went about the parish. Which she understanding, shut her door against him, not suffering him to enter into her house.

Then Doct. Mallet hearing thereof, and being then Mayster of the said S. Katherines, the next day came to her with twenty at his tail, thinking belike to fray her, and asked why she would not the night before let in S. Nicolas and receive his blessing. &c. To whom she answered thus. Syr I know no S. Nicholas (said she) that came hither. Yes quoth Mallet, here was one that represented S. Nicolas.

In deed sir (said she) here was one y ^t was my neighbors child, but not S. Nicolas: for S. Nicholas is in heaven. I was afraid of them that came with him to have had my purse cut by them: for I have heard of men robbed by S. Nicolas clerks. &c. So Mallet perceiving that nothing could be gotten at her hands, went his way as he came, and she for that time so escaped.

Then in the year 1557. a little before Whitsuntide, it happened that the said Gertrude answered for a child that was baptized of one Thomas Saunders, which child was christened secretly in a house after the order of y ^e service book in king Edward's time, and that being shortly known to her enemies, she was sought for. Which understanding nothing thereof, went beyond the Sea into Gilderland, to see certain lands that should come to her children in the right of her first husband, who was a stranger borne, & being there about a quarter of a year at the length coming homeward by Andwarpe, she chanced to meet with one John Johnson a Ducth man alias John de Uilla of Andwerpe shipper who seeing her there, went of malice to the Margraue, and accused her to be an Anabaptist: whereby she was taken and carried to prison. The cause why this naughty man did thus, was for that he claimed of M. Crokhay her husband a piece of money which was not his due, for a ship y ^t Mayster Crokhay bought of him, and for that he could not get it, he wrought this displeasure. Well, she being in prison, lay there a fortnight. In the which time she saw some that were prisoners there, who privily were drowned in Renish wine fattes, and after secretly put in sacks and cast into the River. Now she, good woman, thinking to be so served, took thereby such fear that it brought the beginning of her sickness, of the which at length she died.

Then at the last was she called before the Margraue and charged with Anabaptistry: which she there utterly denied, and detested the error, declaring before him in Dutch her faith boldly, without any fear. So the Margraue hearing the same, in the end being well pleased w ^t her profession, at y ^e suit of some of her friends, delivered her out of prison, but took away her book, and so she came over into England again.

William Mauldon.

I Lightly pass over here the tedious afflictions of William Mauldon, how in the dangerous time of the 6. articles, before the burning of Anne Askew, he was scourged being young, of his father, for professing and confessing of true Religion: and afterward being examined in auricular confession by the Priest, his books were searched for, and so at length he was presented up by y ^e same Priest in a letter written to the Bishop. Which letter, had it not been burned by another Priest to whose hands it came (as the Lord would have it) it had undoubtedly cost him his life.

This one thing in the said William Mauldon is to be noted, that being young, in those days of king Henry, when the mass moste flourished, the aultars with the sacrament thereof being in their moste high veneration y ^t to man's reason it might seem impossible that the glory and opinion of that Sacrament and Sacramentalles, so highly worshipped, and so deeply rooted in the hearts of so many, could by any means possible so soon decay and vanish to naught: yet notwithstanding he being then so young, under the age of xvii. years, by the spirit (no doubt) of prophesy, declared then unto his parents, that they should see it shortly even come to pass, that both the Sacrament of the altar and the altars themselves, with all such plantations which the heavenly father did not plant, should be plucked up by the roots: and even so within the space of very few years the event thereof followed accordingly: the Lord therefore be praised for his moste gracious reformation.

Robert Horneby.

I Let pass likewise the dangerous escape of Robert Horneby, servant sometime and groome of the Chamber to Lady Elizabeth, she being then in trouble in Queen Mary's days: who being willed to come to Mass, refused so to do, and therefore coming afterward from Woodstock to Hampton Courte, was called before the Counsayle, & by them committed to the Marshalsey, and not unlike to have sustained further danger, had not the Lord's goodness better provided for him, who at length by Doctor Martyn was delivered.

Mistress Sandes.

THe like also may be testified and recorded of Mistress Sandes, now wife to Syr Morice Bartlet, then Gentlewooman wayter to the said Lady Elizabeth being in the Tower. Which Mistress Sandes denied in like manner to come to Mass, and therefore beside the heavy displeasure of her father was not only displaced from her room, and put out of the house, but also was in great ieopardye of further trial. But the Lord who disposeth for everyone as he seeth best, wrought her way out of her enemies hands by flying over the Seas, where she continued amongst other banished exiles in the City of Geneva & of Basil, till the death of Queen Mary.

*The story of Thomas Rose yet living, a Preacher, of the age of lxxvi. years, in the town of Luton, and Countye of Bedford.

THis Thomas Rose a Deuonshyre man, was borne in Exmouth, and being made Priest in that country, was brought out of it by one M. Fabiā, to Polsted in Suffolk where y ^e said M. Fabian was Parson, & in short time after, by his means was placed in y ^e town of Hadley, where he first coming to some knowledge of the gospel, began first there to entreat upon the Crede, & thereupon to take occasiō to inveigh against Purgatory, praying to Saints & Images, about the time y ^t M. Latimer began first to preach at Cambridge, in the time of Bilney & Arthur .47. years ago, or thereabout, in so much that many embracing y ^e truth of Christ's Gospel, against the said Purgatory and other points: and the number of them daily increasing, y ^e adversaries began to stir against him, in so much that M. Bale (who afterward became a godly zealous man) was then brought to preach against the said Thomas Rose, & so did. This notwithstanding he continued still very vehement against Images, & the Lord so blessed his labors that many began to devise how to deface and destroy them and especially four men, whose names were Ro. King, Ro. Debnam, Nic. Marsh, and Ro. Gard. which usually resorted to his sermons & vpō his preaching were so inflamed with zeal, that shortly after they adventured to destroy the Rood of Douercourt, which cost three of them their lives, as appeareth before pag. 1031. The three persons which suffered, and were hanged in chains, wer offered their lives, to have accused the said Thomas Rose, as of counsel with them, which refused so to do, and therefore suffered. The said Tho. Rose had the coat of the said Rood brought unto him afterward, who burned it. The Rood was said to have done many great miracles and great wonders wrought by him, and yet being in the fire could not help him self, but burned like a block, as in very deed he was.

At this time there were two sore enemies in Hadley, Walter Clerke, and John Clerke, two brethren, these cōplayned to the Counsayle, that an hundred men were not able to fetch the said Thomas Rose out of Hadley, who then was upon examination of his doctrine, committed to the Commissaries keeping. And in deed such was y ^e zeal of a number towards the truth thē in that town, y ^t they were much offended, that their Minister was so taken frō them, and had therefore by force fet him from the Commissary, if certain wise men had not otherwise persuaded, which at length also with more quiet did set him in his office again, which thing so angered y ^e two brethren, Walter Clerke & John. Clerk, that they complained to y ^e counsel, as aforesaid, whereupon a serieant at arms named Cartwright, was sent from the counsel, who arrested the said Thomas Rose, & brought him before the counsel. Then his adversaries being called, they laid to his charge, y ^t he was privy of the burning of the Rood of Douercourt, and upon this he was committed to the prison in the Bish. of Lincolns house in Holborne, Bishop Langly the kings Confessor, and there remained he in prison, frō Shroftide till till Mydsomer very sore stocked till after Easter.

The stocks were very hye, & great, so that day & night he did lie with his back on the ground, upon a little straw with his heels so hye, y ^t by means the blood was fallen from his feet, his feet wer almost without sense for a long time, & he herewith waxed very sick, in so much that his keeper pitying his estate, and hearing him cry sometime thorough the extremetie of pain, went to the bishop, & told him that he would not keep him to die under his hand, & upon this he had some more ease & liberty. Now at this time his mother was come frō Hadley to see him, but she might not be suffered to speak w ^t the said Tho. Rose her son (such was their cruelty) but the B. flattered her, & gave her a pair of pardon beads, & bade her go home & pray, for she might not see him, which thing pierced y ^e harts both of y ^e mother & son not a little. At this time also certain mē of Hadley, very desirous to see him, trauayled to speak w ^t him, but might not be suffered, til at length they gave the keeper 4. s. & yet then might not speak to him, or see him otherwise then through a grate. And thus continued he til midsomer in prison there. Then was he removed to Lambeth, in the first year of D. Cran. consecration, who used him much more courteously then ever the B. of Lincoln did, & at length worked his deliverance, & set him at liberty: but yet so, that he was bounden not to come within xx. miles of Hadley. After this he came to London, and there preached the gospel half a year, till Hadley men hearing thereof, labored to have him to Hadley again, & in deed by means of sir John Rainsford knight, obtained at y ^e Archbishops hand to have him thither: howbeit, by means one was placed in y ^e cure at Hadley, he could not enjoy his office again there, but went to Stratford three miles off, and there continued in preaching y ^e word 3. years til at length the adversaries procured an inhibition from the Bysh. of Norwich, to put him to silence. But a great number trauayled to have him continue in preaching, & subscribed a supplication to y ^e archb. with seuē score hands, who under their seals also testified of his honest demeanor, so that the adversaries this way prevailing not, they indicted him at Bury in Suffolk, so that he was constrained to flee to lōdon, & to use y ^e aid of the L. Audly, then Lord Chancellor who removed the matter from thē, & called it before him & after certain examination of the matter, did set him free & did send him by a token to the Lord Crōwell then L. pryuie Seal, for a license frō the king, to preach, which being obtained by the L. Cromwell his means (who hereupon also had admitted the said Thomas Rose his chaplain) forthwith he was sent into Lincolnshyre and to York. In the mean time such complaint was made to the Duke of Norfolk, for that he had preached against auricular confession, transubstantiation, & such other points contained in the 6. articles (which then to have done, by law was death) that the Duke in his own person not only sought him at Norwich, but also beset all the hauens for him, from Yarmouth to Londō, & being Lieuetenant, commanded, y ^t who soever could take y ^e said T▪ Rose, should hang him on y ^e next tree. Howbeit the said Tho. Rose at his coming home, having warning hereof by certain godly persons was conveyed away, & passed over to Flanders, and so to Germany unto Zurich, where a time he remained with M. Bullinger, & afterward went to Basel, & there hosted w ^t M. Grineus, till letters came that M. Doct. Barns should be B. of Norwich, & things should be reformed, & he restored. But whē he came over into Eng. again it was nothing so, & therefore forthwith f • ed again beyond y ^e seas being so beset, as if the mighty providence of God had not sent him in readiness to receive him, y ^e self same man, bote and boy, y ^t before carried him over, it had not been possible for him to have escaped. But such was the goodness of god towards him, that he safely was conveyed, & lived at Barow the space of 3. years, til at length purposing to come over into England, about business that he had, he, his wife, & their child being but a year & three quarters old, vpō y ^e sea, the ship being in great danger, wherein they sailed (for the mast being hewn down in that peril, they wer carried whither soever the waves tossed them) they with divers others made a full accompt of death. Howbeit, at length they wer taken prisoners, & carried into Deepe in France having all their stuff takē frō them, & xl.li. in money. There they remained prisoners frō Michaelmas til Hallowtide in great heaviness, not knowing what would become of thē, but depending only upon God's providence, it pleased God at the same time, that one M. Young of the town of Rye (who had heard him preach before) came thither for y ^e redeeming of certain English men there takē prisoners. This M. Young moved to see them in this case, much pitied them, & comforted them, and told them he would pay their ransom, & so he did, had them away, & brought them to Rye, & from thence by stealth came they to London. At length the honorable Earl of Sussex hearing of the said Tho. Rose, sent for him, his wife, & his child, & had them to his house at Attelborough, where they continued, til at length it was blased abroad, that the Earl was a mainteiner of such a man to read in his house, as had preached against the Catholic faith (as they term it.) The Earl being at the parliament, & hearing thereof, wrote a letter to warn him to make shift for himself, & to avoid. So that frō thence he passed to London, making strayt shifts for a year there & somewhat more, til the death of king Henry. After the kings death, he & others which in the kings general pardon were excepted (& therefore dead men, if they had been taken whilst king Henry lived) by certain of y ^e Coūsail were let at liberty, & at length, after K. Edward was crowned, were licensed to preach again by the king, who gave unto y ^e said Tho. Rose, the benefice of Westham by London. But at the death of that virtuous and noble prince, he was deprived of all, & so should also have been of his life, had not God appointed him friends, who received him in London secretly, as their teacher in the congregation, amongst whom for the pore prisoners at their assemblies .x.li. a night oftentimes was gathered. And thus he continued amongst them, & with the Lady Uane almost a year, in the reign of Q. Mary. But although he oftentimes escaped secretly whilst he read to y ^e godly in sundry places of London, yet at length through a Judas that betrayed them, he with .xxxv. that were with him, were takē in Bowchurchyard at a Shiermans house on Newyeres day at night being Tuesday. The residue being committed to prisons, the said Tho. Rose was had to the B. of Winchester Ste. Gardener, but the Bishop would not speeke with him that night, but committed him to the Clinke till Tuesday after.

A brief discourse concerning the troubles and happy deliverance of the Reverend Father in God, Doct. Sandes, first Bish. of Worcester, next of London, and now Archb. of York.

K Ing Edward died, the world being unworthy of him, the Duke of Northumberland came down to Cambridge with an army of men, having Commission to proclaim Lady Jane Queen, and by power to suppress Lady Mary, who took upon her that dignity, and was proclaimed Queen in Norfolk. The Duke sent for D. Sandes being Uicechancellor, for D. Parker, for D. Bill, and M. Leauer, to sup with him. Amongst other speeches he said: Masters, pray for us that we speed well, if not, you shall be made Bishops, and we Deacons. And even so it came to pass, D. Parker, and D. Sandes were made Bishops, and he and Sir John Gates, who was then at the Table, were made Deacons ere it was long after, on the Tower hill. D. Sandes being Uicechancellor, was required to preach on the morrow. The warning was short for such an Auditory, and to speak of such a matter: yet he refused not the thing, but went into his chamber, & so to bed. He rose at 3. of the clock in the morning, took his Bible in his hand, and after that he had prayed a good space, he shut his eyes, and holding his Bible▪ before him, earnestly prayed to God that it might fall open where a most fit text should be for him to entreat of. The Bible as God would have it, fell open upon the first chapter of Joshua, where he found so convenient a piece of Scripture for that time, that the like he could not have chosen in all the Bible. His text was thus: Responderunt{que} ad Joshua atque dixerunt, Omnia quae precepisti nobis faciemus, & quocunque miseris ibimus: sicut obediuimus in cūctis Mosi ita obediemus & tibi, tantum sit Dominus Deus tuus tecum sicut fuit cum Mose, qui contradixerit ori tuo, & non obedierit cunctis sermonibus quos preceperis ei, moriatur: tu tantum comfortare & viriliter age. Who shall consider what was concluded by such as named themselves by the state, and withal, the Auditory, the time, and other circumstances, he shall easily see that this text most fitly served for the purpose. And as God gave the text, so gave he him such order and utterance, as pulled many tears out of the eye of the biggest of them.

In the time of his Sermon one of the Gard lift up to him into the Pulpit a Mass book and a Graile, which sir George Haward with certain of the Gard had taken that night in M. Hurlestons house where lady Mary had been a little before, and there had Mass. The Duke with the rest of the nobility, required Doct. Sandes to put his sermon in writing, and appointed M. Leauer to go to London with it, and to put it in print. D. Sandes required one day and a half for writing of it. At the time appointed he had made it ready, and M. Leauer was ready booted to receive it at his hands, and carry it to London. As he was delivering of it, one of the Bedles named M. Adams, came weeping to him, and prayed him to shift for himself, for the Duke was retired, and Queen Mary proclaimed.

Doctor Sandes was not troubled herewithal, but gave the sermon written to M. Layfield. M. Leauer departed home, and he went to dinner to one M. Mores a Bedle, his great friend. At the dinner, maistresse Moors seeing him merry and pleasant (for he had ever a man's courage, and could not be terrified) drank unto him, saying: M. Uicechancellor, I drink unto you, for this is the last time that ever I shall see you. And so it was, for she was dead before D. Sandes returned out of Germany. The Duke that night retired to Cambridge, and sent for Doct. Sandes to go with him to the Market place to proclaim Queen Mary. The Duke cast up his cap with others, and so laughed that the tears ran down his cheeks for grief. He told D. Sandes that Queen Mary was a merciful woman, and that he doubted not thereof: declaring, that he had sent unto her to know her pleasure, and looked for a general pardon. Doctor Sandes answered, my life is not dear unto me, neither have I done or said any thing that urgeth my conscience. For that which I spake of the state, I have instructions warranted by the subscription of xvj. Counsailors. Neither can speech be treason, neither yet have I spoken further then the word of God, and laws of this Realm doth warrant me, come of me what God will. But be you assured, you shall never escape death: for if she would save you, those that now shall rule, will kill you.

That night the Gard apprehended the Duke, and certain Groomes of the Stable were as busy with Doctor Sandes as if th • y would take a prisoner. But Sir John Gates who lay then in Doctor Sandes his house, sharply rebuked them, and drave them away. Doct. Sandes by the advise of Sir John Gates, walked into the fields. In the mean time, the University contrary to all order, had met together in consultation, and ordered, that D. Mouse and D. Hatcher, should repair to D. Sandes lodging, and fee away the statute book of the University, the keys, and such other things that were in his keeping, & so they did, for D. Mouse being an earnest Protestant the day before, and one whom Doct. Sandes had done much for, now was he become a Papist, and his great enemy. Certain of the University had appointed a congregation at after noon. As the Bell rang to it, D. Sandes cometh out of the fields, and sending for the Bedles, asketh what the matter meaneth, and requireth them to wait upon him to the Schools, according to their duty. So they did, And so soon as D. Sandes, the Bedles going before him, came into the Regent house & took his chair. One M. Mitch with a rabble of unlearned Papists, went into a by school, and conspired together to pull him out of his chair, and to use violence unto him. D. Sandes began his Oration, expostulatyng with the University, charging them with great ingratitude, declaring that he had said nothing in his sermon, but that he was ready to iusti •• e, and that their case was all one with his: For they had not only concealed, but consented to that which he had spoken.

And thus while he remembered unto them howe beneficial he had ben to the University, and their unthankfulness to him again, in cometh M. Mitche with his conspirators about xx. in number. One layeth hand upon the chair to pull it from him, another told him that that was not his place, and another called him traitor. Wherat he perceuyng how they used violence, & being of great courage, groped to his dagger, and had dispatched some of them as gods enemies, if D. Bill and D. Blith had not fallen upon him, and prayed him for God's sake to hold his hands and be quiet, and patiently to bear that great offered wrong. He was persuaded by them, and after that tumult was ceased, he ended his Oration, & having some money of the Universities in his hands, he there delivered the same every farthyng. He gave up the books, reckonings and keys, pertaining to the University, and withal, yielded up his Office, praying God to give to the University a better Officer, and to give them better and more thankful hearts, and so repaired home to his own College.

On the morrow after, there came unto him one M. Gerningham, and one M. Thomas Mildmay. Gerningham told him, that it was the Queens pleasure that two of the Gard should attend upon him, & that he must be carried prisoner to the Tower of London with y ^e Duke. M. Mildmay said, he meruailed that a learned mā would speak so unadvisedly against so good a Prince, and willfully run into such danger. D. Sandes answered. I shall not be ashamed of bonds, But if I could do as M. Mildmay can, I needed not fear bonds: For he came down in payment against Queen Mary, and armed in y ^e field, and now he returneth in payment for Queen Mary, before a traitor, and now a great friend. I cannot with one mouth blow hot and cold after this sort.

Upon this, his stable was robbed of four notable good geldinges, the best of them Master Hudlestone took for his own Saddle, and road on him to London in his sight. An Inventory was taken of all his goods by M. Moore Bedle for the University. He was set upon a lame horse that halted to the ground, which thing a friend of his perceiving, prayed that he might lend him a nagge. The yeomen of the Gard were content. As he departed forth at the Towns ende, some Papists resorted thither to giere at him, some of his friends to mourn for him. He came into the rank to London, the people being full of outcries. And as he came in at Bishops gate, 〈◊〉 like a milk wife hurled a stone at him, and hit 〈…〉 breast with such a blow, that he was like to fall of 〈…〉 . To whō he mildly said: Woman, God forgive it thee. Truth is, that journey and evil intreatyng so mortified him, that he was more ready to die, then to live.

As he came through Tower hill street, one woman standing in her door, cried: Fie on thee thou knave, thou Knaue, thou Traitor, thou Heretic. Whereat he smiled. Look, the desperate Heretic (saith she) laugheth at this gear. A woman on the other side of the streat, answered, saying: Fie on thee neighbor, thou art not worthy to be called a woman, railing upon this Gentleman whom thou knowest not, neither yet the cause why he is thus entreated. Then she said, good Gentleman, God be thy comfort, and give thee strength to stand in God's cause even to the ende. And thus he passed thorough fire and water into the Tower. The first prisoner that entered in that day, which was S. James day. The yeomen of the garde took from him his borrowed Nagge, and what else so ever he had. His man one Quinting Suainton brought after him a Bible, and some shirtes and such like things. The Bible was sent in to him, but the shirtes and such like, served the yeomen of the Garde.

After he had been in the Tower three weeks in a bad prison, he was lift up into Nuns bower, a better prison, where was put to him master John Bradford.

At the day of Queen Mary's Coronation, their prison door was set open, ever shut before. One master Mitchel his old acquaintance, and had been prisoner before in the same place, came in to him and said: Master Sandes, there is such a stir in the Tower, that neither gates, doors, nor prisoners, are looked to this day. Take my Cloake, my Hatte, and my Rapier, and get you gone, you may go out of the gates without questioning, save yourself, and let me do as I may. A rare friendship: but he refused the offer, saying: I know no just cause why I should be in prison. And thus to do were to make myself guilty, I will expect God's good will, yet must I think myself most bound unto you, and so master Michell departed.

While D. Sands and M. Bradford were thus in close prison together 29. weeks, one John Bowler was their Keeper, a very perverse Papist, yet by often persuading of him, for he would give care, and by gentle using of him at the length he began to mislike Popery and to favor the Gospel, and so persuaded in true religion, that on a Sunday when they had Mass in the Chapel, he bringeth up a Service book, a manchet and a glass of wine, and there D. Sandes ministered the Communion to Bradford and to Bowler. Thus Bowler was their son begotten in bonds when Wiate was in arms, and the old Duke of Norfolk sent forth with a power of men to apprehend him, that room might be made in the Tower for him and other his complices, Doctor Cranmer, D. Ridley, and M. Bradford were cast into one prison, and Doctor Sands with 9. other preachers were sent into the Marshalsea.

The Keeper of the Marshalsea appointed to every preacher, a man to lead him in the streate, he caused them go far before, and he and Doc. Sandes came behind, whom he would not lead, but walked familiarlye with him. Yet D. Sandes was known, and the people everywhere prayed to GOD to comfort him and to strength him in the truth. By that time the people's minds were altered, Popery began to be unsavory. After they passed the Bridge, the keeper Thomas Way said to D. Sands: I perceive the vain people would set you forward to the fire, ye are as vain as they, if you being a young man will stand in youre own conceit, and prefer youre own knowledge before the judgment of so many worthy Prelates, ancient, learned, and grave men as be in this Realm. If you so do, you shall find me as strait a keeper as one that utterly misliketh your Religion. Doctor Sandes answered: I know my years young and my learning small, it is enough to know Christ crucified, and he hath learned nothing that seeth not the great blasphemy that is in Popery, I will yield unto God and not unto man, I have read in the Scriptures of many godly and courteous Keepers, God may make you one. If not, I trust he will give me strength and patience to bear your hard dealing with me. Sayth Thomas Way, do ye then mind to stand to your Religion: Yea saith Doctor Sandes, by God's grace. Truly saith the Keeper, I love you the better, I did but tempt you. What favor I can show you, you shall be sure of, and I shall think myself happy if I may die at the stake with you. The said Keeper shown Doctor Sandes ever after, all friendship: he trusted him to go into the fields alone, and there met with M. Bradford, who than was removed into the Benche, and there found like favor of his Keeper. He laid him in the best chamber in the house: he would not suffer y ^e Knight Marshals man to lay fetters on him, as others had. And at his request he put M. Sandes into him, to be his bedfellowe, and sondrye times suffered his wife, who was M. Sandes daughter of Essex, a Gentlewoman, beautiful both in body and soul to resort to him. There was great resort to Doctor Sands, and M. Sanders, they had much money offered them, but they would receive none. They had the Communion there 3. or 4. times, and a great sort of Communicants. Doctor Sands gave such exhortation to the people, for at that time being young, he was thought very eloquent, that he moved many tears and made the people abhor the Mass, and defy all Popery.

When Wyat with his army came into Southwarke, he sent two Gentlemen into y ^e Marshalsea to D. Sandes: Saying, that master Wyat would be glad of his company and advice, and that the gates should be set open for all the prisoners. He answered: Tell master Wyat, if this his rising be of God it will take place: If not, it will fall. For my part I was committed hither by order, I will be discharged by like order, or I will never depart hence. So answered master Sanders, and the rest of the preachers being there prisoners.

After that doctor Sands had been 9. weeks prisoner in the Marshalsea, by the mediation of syr Thomas Holcroft then Knight Marshall he was set at liberty. Syr Thomas sued earnestly to the Bishop of Winchester, doctor Gardener for his deliverance after many repulses, except doctor Sandes would be one of their sect, and then he could want nothing. He wroong out of him that if the Queen could like of his deliverance, he would not be against it: for that was Syr Thomas last request. In the mean time he had procured two Ladies of the Privy chamber to move the Queen in it: Who was contented if the bishop of Winchester could like of it. The next time that the Bishop went into the privy Chamber to speak with the Queen, master Holcroft followed and had his warrant for doctor Sandes remission ready, and prayed the two Ladies, when as the Bishoppe should take his leave to put the Queen in mind of doctor Sandes. So they did. And the Queen said, Winchester: what think you by D. Sandes, is he not sufficiently punished. As it please your Majesty saith Winchester. That he spake, remembering his former promise to M. Holcroft, that he would not be against D. Sandes, if the Queen should like to discharge him. Sayeth the Queen: Then truly, we would that he were set at liberty. Immediately M. Holecroft offered the Queen the Warrant. Who subscribed the same, and called Winchester to put too his hand, and so he did. The Warrant was given to the Knighte Marshall again, Sir Thomas Holcroft. As the Bishop went forth of the privy Chamber door, he called M. Holcroft to him: Commaunding him not to set D. Sandes at liberty, until he had taken sureties of two Gentlemen of his country with him, everyone bound in 500. pounds that D. Sands should not depart out of the realm without license. Master Holcroft immediately after met with two Gentlemen of the North, friends and cousins to D. Sandes, who offered to be bound in body, goods and lands for him. At after dinner the same day, M. Holcroft sent for D. Sandes, to his lodging at Westminster, requiring the Keeper to company with him. He came accordingly, fineding M. Holcroft alone, walking in his garden. Master Holcroft imparted his long suit, with the whole proceeding, and what effect it had taken to Doctor Sandes: much rejoicing that it was his good hap i • to do him good, and to procure his liberty, and that nothing remained, but that he would enter into bonds with his two sureties, for not departinge out of the Realm. Doctor Sandes answered: I give God thanks, who hath moved your heart to mind me so well, and I think myself most bound unto you, God shall requite, and I shall never be found unthankful. But as you have dealt friendly with me, I will also deal plainly with you. I came a free man into prison, I will not go forth a bondman. As I cannot benefit my friends, so will I not hurt thē: And if I be set at liberty, I will not tarie 6. days in this Realm if I may get out. If therefore I may not go free forth, send me to the Marshalsea again, and there you shall be sure of me.

This answer much misliked M. Holecroft: He told Doctor Sands that the time would not long continue, a change would shortly come: the state was but a cloud, & would soon shake away. And that his cousin sir Edward Bray would gladly receive him and his wife into house, where he should never need to come at Church, and how the Lady Braye was a zealous Gentlewoman, who hated Popery. Adding that he would not so deal with him to loose all his labor. When D. Sandes could not be removed from his former saying, master Holcrofte said: Seeing you cannot be altered, I will change my purpose, and yield unto you. Come of it what will, I will see you at liberty: And seeing you mind over Sea, get you gone so quickly as you can. One thing I require of you, that while you are there, you write nothing to come hither, for so ye may undo me. He friendly kissed D. Sands, bad him farewell, and commanded the Keeper to take no fees of him: Saying, let me answer Winchester as I may. Doctor Sandes returned with the keeper to the Marshalsee tarried all night. There on the morrow gave a dinner to all the prisoners, bad his bedfellow, and sworn stake fellow, if it had so pleased God, master Saunders farewell, with many tears and kissings, the one falling on the others neck, and so departed, clearly delivered without examination or bond. From thence he went to the Benche, and there talked with M. Bradford, and M. Farrar Bishop of David's, then prisoners. Then he comforted them, and they praised God for his happy deliverance. He went by Winchesters house, and there took boat, and came to a friends house in London, called William Banks, and tarried there one night. On the morrow at night he shifted to another friends house, and there he learned that search was made for him.

Doctor Watson and M. Christopherson coming to the Bishop of Winchester, told him that he had set at liberty the greatest heretic in England, and one that had of all other most corrupted the University of Cambridge D. Sandes. Whereupon the Bish. of Winchester being Chancellor of England, sent for all the Constables of London, commanding them to watch for D. Sands, who was then within the City, and to apprehend him, and who so ever of them should take him and brin • him to him, he should have v. pounds for his labor. D. Sandes suspectyng the matter, conueighed himself by night to one M. Barties house a stranger, who was in the Marshalsee with him prisoner a while, he was a good Protestant and dwelt in Mark lane. There he was six days, and had one or two of his friends that repaired unto him. Then he repaired to an acquaintance of his, one Hurlestone a Skinner, dwelling in Cornehill, he caused his man Quinting to provide two geldings for him, mindyng on the morrow to ride into Essex to M. Sandes his father in law, where his wife was.

At his going to bed in Hurlestons house, he had a pair of hose newly made that were too long for him. For while he was in the Tower, a Tailor was admitted him to make him a pair of hose. One came unto him whose name was Benjamin, a good protestant dwelling in Birching lane: he might not speak to him, or come unto him to take measure of him, but only look upon his leg, he made the hose, and they were two inches too long. These hose he prayed the good wife of the house to send to some Taylor to cut his hose two ynches shorter. The wife required the boy of the house to carry them to the next Taylor to cut. The boy chanced (or rather God so provided) to go to the next Taylor which was Benjamin that made them, which also was a Constable, and acquainted with the Lord Chauncellors commandment. The boy required him to cut the hose. He said I am not thy Masters Taylor. Sayth the boy, because ye are our next neighbor and my masters Tailor dwelleth far of I came to you, for it is far nights, and he must occupy them tymely in the morning. Benjamin took the hose and looked upon them, he knew his handy work, and said: These are not thy masters hose, but Doct. Sandes, them I made in the Tower. The boy yielded and said, it was so. Sayth he, go to thy maistresse, pray her to sit up till xii. of the clock, then I will bring the hose and speak with D. Sandes to his good.

At middenight, the goodwyfe of the house, and Benjamin the Taylor, cometh in to Doct. Sandes chamber. The wife prayeth him not to be afraid of their coming. He answereth, nothing can be amiss, what God will, that shall be done. Then Benjamin telleth him y ^t he made his hose, and by what good chance they now came to his hands, God used the mean that he might admonish him of his peril, and advise him how to escape it, telling him that all the Constables of London, whereof he was one, watched for him, and some were so greedily set, that they prayed him if he took him, to let them have the carriage of him to the Bishop of Winchester, and he should have the v. pound. Saith Benjamin, it is known that your man hath provided two geldings, and that you mind to ride out at Algate tomorrow, and there then ye are sure to be taken. Follow mine advise, and by God's grace ye shall escape their hands. Let your man walk all the day tomorrow in the street where your horses stand, booted and ready to ride. The goodmans servant of the house shall take the horses and carry them to Bednoll green. The goodman shall be booted, and follow after as if he would ride. I will be here with you tomorrow about viii. of the clock, it is both Terme and Parliament time, here we will break our Fast, and when the street is full, we will go forth. Look wildly, and if you meet your brother in the street, shun him not, but outface him and know him not. Accordingly D. Sandes did, clothed like a gentleman in all respects, and looked wildly as one that had been long kept in prison out of the light. Benjamin carried him through Birching lane, and from one lane to another, till he come at Moore gate. There they went forth until they came to Bednoll green where the horses were ready, and M. Hurleston, to ride with him as his man. D. Sandes pulled on his bootes, and taking leave of his friend Benjamin, with tears they kissed eche other, he put his hand in his purse, and would have given Benjamin a great part of that little he had, but Benjamin would take none. Yet since, D. Sandes hath remembered him thankfully. He rode that night to his father in law, M. Sandes where his wife was, he had not been there two hours, but it was told M. Sandes that there was two of the Garde which would that night apprehend Doctor Sandes, and so they were appointed.

That night Doct. Sandes was guided to an honest Farmer near the Sea, where he tarried two days and two nights in a chamber without all company. After that he shifted to one James Mower a Shipmaister, who dwelt at Milton shore, where he expected wind for the English Fleet ready into Flaunders. While he was there James Mower brought to him forty or fifty Mariners, to whom he gave 〈◊〉 exhortation, they liked him so well, that they promised to die for it, or that he should be apprehended.

The 6. of May being Sunday, the wynd served. He took his leave of his Hoste and Hostesse, & went towards the ship, in taking his leave of his Hostesse who was barren, and had been married viii. years. He gave her a fine handkerchief and an old royal of gold in it, thanking her much, and said: Be of good comfort, or that an whole yere be past, God shall give you a child, a boy. And it came to pass, for that day tweluemoneth lacking one day, God gave her a fair son.

At the shore D. Sandes met with M. Isaac of Kent who had his eldest son there, who upon the likyng he had to D. Sandes, sent his son with him, who afterward died in his fathers house in Franckford. D. Sands and D. Coxe, were both in one ship, being one Cockrels ship. They were within the kennyng, when two of the Gard came thither to apprehend D. Sands. They ariued at Andwerpe, being bid to dinner to M. Locke. And at dinner time one George Gilpin being Secretary to the English house, and kinsman to D. Sandes, came to him and rounded him in his ear, and said: King Phillip hath sent to make search for you, and to apprehend you. Hereupon they rose from their dinner in a marvelous great shower, and went out at the gate toward the lande of Cleue. There they found a Wagon and hasted away, and came safe to Ausburg in Cleueland where D. Sands tarried 14. days, and then iorneyed towards Strausborough, where after he had lived one year, his wife came unto him. He fell sore sick of a flixe, which kept him nine months, and brought him to deaths door. He had a child which fell sick of the plage and died. His wife at length fell sick of a consumption and died in his arms, no man had a more godly woman to his wife.

After this, M. Sampson went away to Immanuel, a man skillful in the Hebrew. M. Grindall went into the country to learn the Dutch tongue. D. Sandes still remained in Strausborough, whose sustentation then was chiefly from one M. Isaac, who loved him most dearly, and was ever more ready to give, then he to take. He gave him in y ^e space above one hundredth marks, which sum the said D. Sandes paid him again, and by his other gifts and friendlines, shown himself to be a thankful man. When his wife was dead he went to Zurike, and there was in Peter Martyrs house for the space of five weeks. Beyng there, as they sat at dinner, word suddenly came that Queen Mary was dead, and Doct. Sands was sent for by his friends at Strausborough. That news made M. Martyr, and M. Iaret then there, very joyful, but D. Sands could not rejoice, it smote into his heart that he should be called to misery.

M. Bullinger and the Ministers feasted him, and he took his leave and returned to Strausborough where he preached, and so M. Grindall and he came towards England, and came to London the same day that Queen Elizabeth was crowned.

A Complaint against such as favored the Gospel in Ipswich, exhibited to Queen Mary's Counsaile, sitting in Commission at Beckles in Suffolk, the 18. of May. Ann. 1556. by Phillip Williams, alias Footeman, John Steward, and Matthew Butler, sworn for the purpose.

The names of such as fled out of the Town, and lurked in secret places.
• S. Mary Tower.
  • Robert Partriche.
  • Rose Nottingham, daughter of William Nottingham the elder.
• S. Laurence.
  • Anne Fenne, servant to Robert Nottingham.
  • Andrew Yngforbye his wife and daughter.
  • Thomas Thompson shomaker, supposed to have received but twice these 17. years.
  • Marten Algate, lockesmith his wife.
• S. Margaret's.
  • William Pickesse, Tanner.
  • John Whoodles, Couerlet weauer, and his wife.
  • William Harset, Bricklaier.
  • Thomas Fowler, Shomaker.
  • W. Wright his wife at the Wind mill.
  • Laurence Waterwarde late Curate, borne in a town called Chorley, in Lankeshire.
• S. Nicholas▪
  • Widowe Swain.
  • Matthew Birde and his wife.
  • Stephen Greenwich and his wife.
  • Will. Colman, servant to the said Stephen▪
  • Robert Colman and his wife.
  • Roger Laurence, aliàs Sparow.
  • John Carelton, Sadler.
  • William Colman.
  • James Hearst his wife.
• S. Peters.
  • Richard Houer apprentice with Nicholas Nottingham.
  • Rich. Hedley a seller of heretical books.
• S. Stephens.
  • James Bockyng Shoemaker, his wife.
  • John Rawe, late servant to James Ashley.
  • William Palmer. servants to Stephen Grene Shomaker.
  • Rich. Richman. servants to Stephen Grene Shomaker.
  • John Deersley. servants to Stephen Grene Shomaker.
  • Rich. Richman Shoemaker his wife, daughter to mother Fenkell Midwyfe.
• S Cletes.
  • Mistress Tooley, who departed to Darsham in Suff.
  • Agnes Wardal the elder widow.
  • Robert Wardal her son.
• • John Shoemaker and his wife.

The names of such as have not received the Sacrament.
• S. Clementes.
  • Robert Bray.
  • John Nottingham.
  • Agnes Wardal, wife of Robert Wardal.
  • Nicholas Nottingham.
  • Richard Mitchel.
  • William Jordan his wife.
  • Richard Butteral.
  • Robert Brown.
• S. Peters.
  • John Read.
  • Thomas Spurdance.
  • John, servant to Stephen Grinleffe.
• S. Stephens.
  • Robert Scolding.
• S Margaret's.
  • John Greenewich and his wife.
• S. Nicholas.
  • Thomas Sturgeon Mariner.
  • John Finne his wife.
• S. Mary .
  • Robert Branstone, brother and servant to William Branstone.
• S. Mary Tower.
  • Marten Johnson, who lieth bedrede.
  • Agnes his keeper. servants to Rob. Nottingham.
  • Bent Alceede. servants to Rob. Nottingham.
• S Laurence.
  • Robert Sylke his son.
• S. Mary at Elmes.
  • John Ramsey and his wife, now in prison.

Names of such as observe not Ceremonies.
• S. Clementes.
  • Robert Cambridge refused the Paxe.
  • Robert Brage his wife refused to suffer any child to be dipped in the Font.
  • Joan Barber widow. refused to behold the elevation of the sacrament.
  • Thomasine her Daughter. refused to behold the elevation of the sacrament.
  • Mistress Ponder, mother to Joan Barber. in the same fault.
  • Tie a Mariner his wife.
• S. Mary at Elmes.
  • Richard Hawarde refused the Paxe at Mass in S. Laurence.
• • M. Lions at Mass at Saint Mary Stoke refused the Paxe.
• S. Peters.
  • Mother Fenkel. refuse to have Childrenne dipped in Fontes.
  • John Warde, alias Bentleys wife. refuse to have Childrenne dipped in Fontes.
• S. Stephens.
  • Mother Beriffe Midwife, refuseth to have childrē dipped in Fontes.
• S. Nicholas.
  • George Bushe his wife rejected the Hoaste after receipt of it.

Names of priests wives, that have access to their husbands.
• Rafe Carleton his wife, Curate of S. Matthews, and S. Mary at Elmes.
• Elizabeth Cantrel, wife to Rafe Cantrel.
• Jane Barker, wife to Roberte Barker Prieste, late of Burie.
• Latimer his wife, curate of S. Laurence, and S. Stephens.
• William Clearke his wife, late Curate of Barkeham, and S. Mary at Elmes.

Names of mainteiners against this complaint.
• Robert Sterop, Customer to Queen Marie.
• Gilbert Sterop, deputy to Edward Grimstone Esquire, for his Butlerage.
• Master Butler the elder, Searcher.
• Maistresse Tooly, swellynge by much ritchesse into wealth.
• Margaret Bray, who also presumeth upon the office of a Midwife, not called.
• S. Clementes.
  • Joan Barber widow, practisinge much wholesome counsel.
• S. Mary key.
  • Mistress Birde. practisinge much wholesome counsel.
  • Bastian Mannes wife, and him self more riche then wise.

Their requests to punish and conuent certain, whose ensample might reverse other from their opinions, as
• To conuent Richard Birde gailer, who by evil counsel doth animate his prisoners of his sect. Also for that he with his wife did check us openly with unseemly words, tending almost to a tumult.
• To conuente Thomas Sadler, for certain words spoken to John Bate the Crier of the town, the sixte of Maye.
• That it might please the Bishop to wish his Commissary and Officiall, to be upright and diligente in their office, and to appoint a Curate of more ability to feed his cure with God's word.
• That none may be suffered to be midwives, but such as are Catholic, because of evil counsel at such times as the necessity of womennes travail, shall require a number of women assembled.
• That Rafe Carleton Curate, may be convented, whether by corruption of money he hath engrossed his boke, of any that are there named, and hath not received in deed as it is reported.

The myraculous preservation of Lady Elizabeth, now Queen of England, from extreme calamity and danger of life, in the time of Q. Marie her sister.

And thus much touching the troubles of Lady Elizabeth at Woodstock. Whereunto this is more to be added, that during the same time, the Lord of Tame had labored to the Queen, and became surety for her, to have her from Woodstock to his house, and had obtained grant thereof. Whereupon preparation was made accordingly, and all things ready in expectation of her coming. But through the procurement either of M. Benifield, or by the doing of Winchester her mortal enemy, letters came over night to the contrary: whereby her journey was stopped.

Thus this worthy Lady oppressed with continual sorrow, could not be permitted to have recourse to any friends she had, but still in the hands of her enemies was left desolate, and utterly destitute of all that might refresh a doulefull heart, fraughte full of terror and thralldom. Whereupon no marvel, if she hearing upon a time out of her garden at Woodstock, a certain milkemaide singing pleasantly, wished her self to be a milkemaid as she was, saying that her case was better, and life more merier then was hers, in that state as she was.

Now after these things thus declared, to proceed further there where we left before, Syr Henry Benifield and his soldiers, with the Lord of Tame, and Syr Rafe Chamberlain, garding and waiting upon her, the first night from Woodstock she came to Ricot. In which journey such a mighty wind did blow, that her servants were same to hold down her clothes about her: In so much that her hoode was twice or thrice blown from her head. Whereupon she desirous to return to a certain Gentleman's house there near, could not be suffered by Syr Henry Benifield so to do, but was constrained under an hedge to trim her head as well as she could.

After this, the next night they journeyed to M. Dormers, and so to Colbroke, where she lay all that night at the George: and by the way coming to Colbroke, certain of her graces Gentlemen and Yeomen met her, to the noumber of three score, much to all their comforts, which had not seen her grace of long season before, notwythstandinge they were commanded in the Queens name immediately to depart the town, to both their, and her graces no little heaviness, who could not be suffered once to speak with them. So that night all her men were taken from her, saving her Gentleman vsher, three Gentlewomen, two Gromes, and one of her Wardrope, the soldiers watching and warding about the house, and she close shut up within her prison.

The next day following, her grace entered Hamptoncourt on the backside, into the princes lodging, y ^e doors being shut to her, and she guarded with soldiers, as before, say there a fortnight at the least, or ever any had recourse unto her. At length came the L. William Haward, who marvelous honorably used her grace. Whereat she took much comfort, and requested him to be a mean that she might speak with some of the Counsel. To whom (not long after) came the Bishop of Winchester, the Lord of Arundel, the Lord of Shrewsbury, and Secretary Peter, who with great humility humbled them selves to her grace. She again likewise saluting them, said: My Lord's (quoth she) I am glad to see you: for me think, I have ben kept a great while from you desolately alone. Wherefore I would desire you to be a mean to the Kyng and Queens Majesty's, that I may be delivered from prison, wherein I have been kept a long space, as to you my Lord's, it is not unknown.

When she had spoken, Stephen Gardener the bishop of Winchester kneeled down, and requested that she would submit her self to the Queens grace, and in so doing he had no doubt but that her Majesty would be good unto her: she making answer that rather then she would so do, she would lie in prison all the days of her life, adding that she craved no mercy at her majesties hand, but rather desired the Law, if ever she did offend her Majesty in thought, word, or deed: And besides this, in yealdinge (quoth she) I should speak against myself, and confess myself to be an offender, which never was towards her Majesty: by occasion whereof the King and the Queen might ever hereafter conceive of me an ill opinion: And therefore I say my Lord's, it were better for me to lie in prison for the truth, then to be abroad and suspected of my Prince. And so they departed, promising to declare her message to the Queen.

On the next day, the bish. of Winchester came again unto her grace, and kneelinge down, declared that the Queen marveled that she would so stoutly use her self, not confessing to have offended: so that it should seme the Queens Majesty, wrongfully to have imprisonned her grace.

Nay quoth the Lady Elizabeth, it please her to punish me as she thinketh good.

Well quoth Gardener, her Majesty willeth me to tell you, that you must tell another tale ere that you be set at liberty.

Her grace answered, that she had as liefe be in prison with honesty & truth, as to be abroad, suspected of her majesty: and this that I have said, I will (said she) stand unto, for I will never bely myself.

Winchester again kneled down, and said: Then your grace hath the vantage of me & other the Lord's for your long and wrong imprisonment.

What vantage I have (quoth she) you know, taking God to record I seek no vantage at your hands for your so dealing with me, but God forgive you & me also. With that the rest kneeled desiring her grace that all might be forgotten, and so departed, she being fast locked up again.

A seven night after the Queen sent for her grace at x. of the clock in the night to speak with her: for she had not seen her in two years before. Yet for all that she was amazed at the sudden sending for, thinking it had been worse then afterwards it proved, and desired her Gentlemen and Gentlewomen to pray for her, for that she could not tell whether ever she should see them aagayne or no.

At which time Sir Henry Benifield with Maistresse Clarencius coming in, her grace was brought into the garden unto a stairs foot that went into the Queens lodging, her graces Gentlewomen waiting upon her, her Gentleman Usher & her Groomes going before with torches, where her Gentlemen and Gentlewomen being commanded to stay all saving one woman, maistres Clarencius conducted her to the Queens bed chamber where her majesty was.

At the sight of whom, her grace kneeled down and desired God to preserve her Majesty, not mistrusting but that she should try her self as true a subject towards her Majesty, as ever did any, and desired her Majesty even so to Judge of her: and said that she should not find her to the contrary, what so ever report otherwise had gone of her.

To whom the Queen answered: you will not confess your offense, but stand stoutly to your truth: I pray God it may so fall out.

If it doth not, quoth the Lady Elizabeth, I request neither favor nor pardon at your Majesty's hands. Well said the Queen, you stiffly still persevere in your truth. Belike you will not confess but that you have ben wrongfully punished.

I must not say so (if it please your Majesty) to you.

Why, then (said the Queen) belike you will to other.

No, if it please your Majesty (quoth she) I have borne the burden, and must bear it. I humbly beseech your Majesty to have a good opinion of me, and to think me to be your true subject, not only from the beginning hitherto, but forever, as long as life lasteth: and so they departed with very few comfortable words of the Queen, in English: but what she said in Spanish, God knoweth. It is thought that king Phillip was there behind a cloth, and not seen, and that he shown himself a very friend in that matter, &c.

Thus her grace departing, went to her lodging again, and the seven night after was released of Sir Henry Benifield her Gaoler (as she termed him) and his soldiers, and so her grace being set at liberty from imprisonment, went into the country, and had appointed to go with her Sir Thomas Pope, one of Queen Mary's Counsailors, and one of her Gentlemen Ushers, Master Bage, and thus straitly was she looked to all Queen Mary's time. And this is the discourse of her highness imprisonment.

Then there came to Lamheyre, M. Ierningham, and M. Norris Gentleman Usher, Queen Mary's men, who took away from her grace Maistresse Ashley to the Fleet, and three other of her Gentlewomen to the Tower: which thing was no little trouble to her grace, saying: that she thought they would fetch all away at the ende. But god be praised, shortly after was fetched away Gardener through the merciful providence of the Lord's goodness, by occasion of whose opportune decease (as is partly touched in this story before, pag. 1705.) the life of this excellent Princesse, the wealth of all England, was preserved. For this is credible to be supposed, that the said wicked Gardener of Winchester had long labored his wits, and to this only most principal mark, bent all his devises, to bring this our happy and dear sovereign out of the way, as both by his words and doings before notified, may sufficiently appear.

But such was the gracious and favorable providence of the Lord, to the preservation not only of her royal majesty, but also the miserable and woeful state of this whole Island, and poor subjects of the same, whereby the proud platforms and peevish practices of this wretched Achitophel prevailed not: but contrariwise, both he, and all the snares and traps of his pernicious counsel laid against another, were turned to a net to catch himself, according to the Proverb: Malum consilium, consultori pessimum.

After the death of this Gardener, followed the death also and droppyng away of other her enemies, whereby by little and little her ieoperdy decreased, fear diminished, hope of comfort began to appear as out of a dark cloud: and albeit as yet her grace had no full assurance of perfect safety, yet more gentle entertainment daily did grow unto her, till at length to the month of November, and xvij. day of the same, three years after the death of Ste. Gardener, followed the death of Queen Mary, as hereafter God granting shall be more declared.

Although this history following be not directly appertaining to the former matter, yet the same may here not unaptly be inserted, for that it doth discover and show forth the malicious hearts of the Papists toward this virtuous Queen our sovereign Lady in the time of Queen Mary her sister, which is reported, as a truth credibly told by sundry honest persons, of whom some are yet alive, and do testify the same. The matter whereof is this.

Soone after the s • urre of Wiate and the troubles that happened to this Queen for that cause: it fortuned one Robert Farrer a Haberdasher of London, dwelling nere unto Newgate market, in a certain morning to be at the Rose tauerne (from whence he was seldom absent) and falling to his common drink, as he was ever accustomed and having in his company three other companions like to himself, it chanced the same time one Laurence Sheriff Grocer, dwelling also not far from thence, to come into the said Tavern, and finding there the said Farrer (to whom of long time he had borne good will) sat down in the seat to drink with him, and Farrer having in his full cups, and not having consideration who were present began to talk at large, & namely against the Lady Elizabeth, and said: that Gill hath been one of the chief doers of this rebellion of Wiat, and before all be done, she and all the heretics her partakers, shall well understand of it. Some of them hope that she shall have the crown, but she and they (I trust) that so hope, shall hop hedlesse, or be fried with Fagots before she come to it.

The aforesaid Laurence Sheriff Grocer, being then servant unto the said Lady Elizabeth, and sworn unto her grace, could no longer forbear his old acquaintance and neighbor Farrer in speaking so unreverantly of his Mistress, but said unto him: Farrer, I have loved thee as a neighbor, and have had a good opiniō of thee, but hearing of thee that I now hear, I defy thee: and I tell thee I am her graces sworn servant, and she is a Princesse, and the daughter of a noble king, and it evil becometh the • to call her a Gill, & for thy so saying, I say thou art a knave, and I will complain upon thee. Do thy worst said Farrer, for that I said, I will say again, and so Sheriff came from his company.

Shortly after the said Shirife taking an honest neighbor with him, went before the Commissioners to complain: the which Commissioners • ate then at Boner the Bishop of London's house beside Paul's, and there were present Boner then being the chief Commissioner, the L. Mordant, sir John Baker, D. Darbishiere Chancellor to the Bishop, Doctor Story, Doctor Harpsfield, and other.

The aforesaid Sheriff coming before them, declared the manner of the said Rob. Farrers talk against the Lady Elizabeth. Boner answered, peradventure you took him worse then he meant.

Yea my L. said D. Story, if you knew the man as I do, you would say there is not a better Catholic, nor an honester man in the City of London.

Well, said Sheriff, my Lord, she is my gracious Lady and mistress, and it is not to be suffered that such a varlet as he is, should call so honorable a princes by the name of a Gil: And I saw yesterday in the Court that my Lord Cardinal Poole meeting her in the Chamber of presence, kneeled down on his knees and kissed her hand, & I saw also that King Philippe meeting her, made her such obeisance that his knee touched the ground: and then me thinketh it were too much to suffer such a varlet as this is, to call her Gill, and to wish them to hop headless that shall wish her grace to enjoy the possession of the crown when God shall send it unto her as in the righte of her inheritance. Yea? stay there quoth Boner. When God sendeth it unto her, let her enjoy it. But truly (said he) the man that spake the words that you have reported, meant nothing against the Lady Elizabeth your Mistress, and no more do we: but he like an honest and zealous man feared the alteration of Religion, which every good man ought to fear: and therefore (said Boner) good man go your ways home and report well of us toward youre Mistress, and we will send for Farrer and rebuke him for his rash and indiscreet words, and we trust he will not do the like again. And thus Sheriff came away, and Farrer had a flappe with a fox tail.

Now that ye may be fully informed of the aforesaid Farrer, whom D. Story praised for so good a man, ye shall understand that the same Farrer having two daughters being handsome maidens, the Elder of them for a sum of money he him self delivered to Syr Roger Cholmley to be at his commandment, the other he sold to a Knight called Syr William Good dolphin to be at his commandment: whom he made his lackie and so carried her w ^t him, being appareled in man's apparel to Bolein, and the said Farrar followed the Campe. He also was a great, and a horrible blasphemer of God, and a common accuser of honest and quiet men, also a common dronkarde. And now I refer the life of these Catholics to your judgment, to think of them as you please.

But of this matter enough and too much. Now let us return where we left before, which was at the death of Queen Marie. After whose decease succeeded her foresaid sister Lady Elizabeth into the right of the crown of England: who after so long restrainement, so great dangers escaped, such blusterous storms ouerblowne, so many injuries digested and wrongs sustained by the mighty protection of our merciful God, to our no small comfort and commodity, hath ben exalted and erected out of thrall to Liberty, out of danger to Peace and quietness, from dread to Dignity, from misery to Majesty, from mourning to Ruling. Briefly, of a prisonner made a Princesse, and placed in her throne Royal proclaimed now Queen, with as many glad hearts of her subjects, as ever was any King or Queen in this Realm before her, or ever shall be (I dare say) hereafter.

Touching whose flourishing state, her Princely reign and peaceable government, with other things diverse and sondrye incident to the same, and especially touching the great stirs & alterations which have happened in other foreine nations, and also partly among our selves here at home, for so much as the tractation hereof requireth another Uolume by it self, I shall therefore defer the reader to the next Book or Section ensuing: wherein (if the Lord so please to sustain me with leave and life) I may have to discourse of all and singular such matters done and achieved in these our latter days and memory, more at large.

Now then after these so great afflictions falling upon this Realm, from the first beginning of Queen Mary's reign, wherein so many men, women, and children were burned, many imprisoned and in prisons starved, diverse exiled, some spoiled of goods & possessions, a great number driven from house to home, so many weeping eyes, so many sobbing hearts, so many children made fatherless, so many fathers bereft of their wives and children, so many vexed in conscience, and diverse against conscience constrained to recant, and in conclusion, never a good man almost in all the Realm but suffered something during all the time of this bloody persecution: after all this (I say) now we are come at length (the Lord be praised) to the 17. day of November, which day as it brought to the persecuted members of Christ, rest from their careful mourning, so it easeth me somewhat likewise of my laborious writing, by the death I mean of Queen Mary. Who being long sick before upon the said xvij. day of November, in the year above said, about 3. or 4. a clock in the morning, yielded her life to nature, and her kingdom to Queen Elizabeth her sister.

As touching the manner of whose death, some say that she died of a Tympany, some by her much sighing before her death, supposed she died of thought & sorrow. Wherevpon her Counsel seeing her sighing, & desirous to know the cause, to the ende they might minister the more ready consolation unto her, feared, as they said, that she took y ^e thought for the kings Majesty her husband, which was gone from her. To whom she answering again: In deed (said she) that may be one cause, but that is not the greatest wound that pearseth my oppressed mind: but what that was she would not express to them.

Albeit, afterward she opened the matter more plainly to M. Rise and Mistress Clarentius (if it be true that they told me, which heard it of M. Rise himself) who then being most familiar with her, & most bold about her, told her that they feared she took thought for king Philip's departing from her. Not that only (said she) but when I am dead & opened, you shall find Calais lying in my heart. &c. And here an end of Queen Mary, and of her persecution.

Of which Queen this truly may be affirmed & left in story for a perpetual memorial or Epitaph for all kings and Queens that shall succeed her to be noted, that before her never was readde in story of any King or Queen of England since the time of king Lucius, under whom in time of peace, by hanging, heading, burning, and prisoning: so much Christian blood, so many Englishmens lives were spilled within this Realm, as under the said Queen Mary for the space of four years was to be seen, and I beseech the Lord never may be seen hereafter.

A brief declaration, showing the unprosperous success of Queen Mary in persecuting God's people, and how mightily God wrought against her in all her affairs.

NOw, for so much as Queen Mary, during all the time of her reign, was such a vehement Adversary and Persecutour against the sincere Professors of Christ Jesus and his Gospel: for the which there be many which do highly magnify & approve her doings therein, reputing her Religion to be found and Catholic, and her proceedings to be most acceptable and blessed of almighty God: to the intent therefore: that all men may understand, howe the blessing of the Lord God did not only not proceed with her proceedings, but contrary, rather how his manifest displesure ever wrought against her, in plaguing both her and her Realm, and in subuerting all her counsels and attempts, whatsoever she took in hand: we will bestow a little time therein, to perpend and survey the whole course of her doings and • heuaunces: and consider what success she had in the same. Which being well considered, we shall find never no reign of any Prince in this Land, or any other, which had ever to show in it (for the proportion of time) so many arguments of God's great wrath & displesure, as was to be seen in the reign of this Queen Mary, whether we behold the shortness of her time, or the unfortunate event of all her purposes? who seemed never to purpose anything that came luckely to pass, neither did anything frame to her purpose what so ever she took in hand touching her own private affairs.

Of good kings we read in the Scripture, in showing mercy and pity, in seeking God's will in his word, & subuerting the monuments of Idolatry, howe God blessed their ways increased their honors, and mightily prospered all their proceedings: as we see in king David, Solomon, Josiah, Iosaphath, Hezekiah, with such other. Manasseh made the streets of Jerusalem to swim with the blood of his subjects▪ but what came of it the text doth testify.

Of Queen Elizabeth, which now reigneth among us, this we must needs say, which we see, that she in sparing the blood, not only of God's servants, but also of God's enemies, hath doubled now the reign of Queen Mary her sister, with such abundance of peace and prosperity, that it is hard to say, whether the realm of England felt more of God's wrath in Queen Mary's time, or of God's favor and mercy in these so blessed & peaceable days of Queen Elizabeth.

Gamaliell speaking his mind in the Counsaile of the Pharisees concerning Christ's religion, gave this reason, that if it were of God, it should continue, who soever said nay: If it were not, it could not stand. So may it be said of Q. Mary and her romishe Religion, that if it were so perfect and Catholic as they pretend, and the contrary faith of the Gospellers were so detestable and heretical as they make it, how cometh it then, that this so Catholic a Queen, such a necessary pillar of his spouse his Church, continued no longer, till she had utterly rooted out of the land this heretical generation? Yea how chanced it rather, y ^• almighty God, to spare these poor heretics, rooted out Q. Mary so soon from her throne, after she had reigned but only v. years and v. months?

Now furthermore, howe God blessed her ways and endeavours in the mean time, while she thus persecuted the true servants of God, remaineth to be discussed. Where first this is to be noted, that when she first began to stand for the title of the Crown, and yet had wrought no resistance against Christ and his Gospel, but had promised her faith to the Suffolk men, to mayntayn the religion left by king Edward her brother, so long GOD went with her, advanced her, and by the means of the Gospellers brought her to the possession of the Realm. But after that she breaking her promise with God & man began to take part with Stephen Gardener, and had givē over her supremacy unto the pope, by and by God's blessing left her, neither did anything well thrive with her afterward during the whole time of her Regiment.

For first incontinently the fairest and greatest ship she had, called great Harry, was burned: such a vessel as in all these partes of Europe was not to be matched.

Then would she needs bring in king Philip, and by her strange marriage with him, make the whole realm of England subject unto a stranger. And all y ^t notw ^t standing, either that she did or was able to do, she could not bring to pass to set y ^e crown of England upon his head. With king Phillip also came in the Pope and his popish Mass: w ^t whom also her purpose was to restore again y ^e Monks and Nuns unto their places, neither lacked there all kind of attempts to the uttermost of her ability: & yet therein also God stopped her of her will, that it came not forward. After this, what a dearth happened in her time here in her land? the like whereof hath not lightly in England been seen, in so much that in sundry places her poor subjects were fain to feed of accornes for want of Corn.

Furthermore, where other kings are wont to be renowned by some worthy victory and prowes by them achieued, let us now see what valiant victory was go •• en in this Queen Mary's days. King Edward the vi. her blessed brother, how many rebellions did he suppress in Deuonshyre, in Norfolk, in Oxfordshyre, & else where? what a famous victory in his time was gotten in Scotland, by y ^e singular working (no doubt) of God's blessed had rather then by any expectation of man? K. Edw. the third (which was the xi. K. frō y ^e conquest) by princely puissance purchased Calais unto England, which hath been kept english ever since, til at length came Queen Mary, y ^e xi. likewise from the said K. Edward, which lost Calais frō England again: so that the winninges of this Queen wer very small: what the losses were, let other men judge.

Hitherto the affairs of Queen Mary have had no great good success, as you have heard. But never worse success had any woman, thē had she in her childbyrth. For seeing one of these two must needs be granted, that either she was with child or not with child, if she were w ^t child & did travail, why was it not seen? if she were not, howe was all the realm deluded? And in the mean while where were all the prayers, y ^e solemn processions, y ^e devout masses of the Catholic Clergy? why did they not prevail with God, if their Religion were so godly as they pretend? If their Masses Ex opere operato be able to fetch Christ from heaven, and to reach down to Purgatory, how chāced then they could not reach to the Queens chamber, to help her in her travail, if she had ben with child in deed? if not, howe then came it to pass, that all the Catholic Church of England did so err, & was so deeply deceived? Queen Mary, after these manifold plagues and corrections, which might sufficiently admonish her of God's disfauour provoked against her, would not yet cease her persecution, but still continued more and more to revenge her Catholic zeal upon the Lord's faithful people, setting f •• e to their poor bodies by dosens and halfedosens together. Wherevpon God's wrathful indignation increasing more and more against her, ceased not to touche her more near with private misfortunes and calamities. For after that he had taken from her the fruit of children (which chiefly and above all things she desired) then he bereft her of that, which of all earthly things should have been her chief stay of honor, and staff of comfort, that is, withdrew from her the affectiō and company even of her own husband, by whose marriage she had promised before to her self whole heaps of such joy & felicity: but now the omnipotent governor of all things so turned the wheel of her own spinning against her, that her high buildings of such joys & felicities, came all to a Castle come down, her hopes being confounded, her purposes disappointed, and she now brought to desolation: who seemed neither to have the savor of God, nor the harts of her subjects, nor yet the love of her husband: who neither had fruit by him while she had him, neither could now enjoy him whō she had married, neither yet was in liberty to mary any other whom she might enjoy. Mark here (Christian Reader) the woeful adversity of this Queen, and learn withal, what the Lord can do when man's willfulness will needs resist him, and will not be ruled.

At last, when all these fair admonitions would take no place with the Queen, nor move her to revoke her bloody laws, nor to stay the tyranny of her Priests, nor yet to spare her own Subiectes, but that the poor servants of God were drawn daily by heaps most pitifully as sheep to the slaughter, it so pleased the heavenly Majesty of almighty God, when no other remedy would serve, by death to cut her of, which in her life so little regarded the life of others: giving her throne, which she abused to the destruction of Christ's Church and people, to another who more tēperatly and quietly could guid the same, after she had reigned here the space of five years and five months. The shortness of which years and reign, vnneth we find in any other story of King or Queen since the Conquest or before (being come to their own government) save only in king Richard the third.

And thus much here, as in the closing up of this story, I thought to insinuate, touching the unlucky and ruefull r • ign of queen Mary: not for any detraction to her place and state royal, whereunto she was called of the Lord, but to this only intent and effect, that forsomuch as she would needs set her self so confidently to work and strive against the Lord and his proceedings, all readers & rulers not only may see how y ^e Lord did work against her therefore, but also by her may be advertised & learn what a perilous thing it is for men and women in authority, upon blind zeal & opinion, to stir up persecution in Christ's Church, to the effusion of Christian blood, least it prove in the end with them (as it did here) that while they think to persecu • e heretics, they stumble at the same stone as did the Jews in persecuting Christ and his true members to death, to their own confusion and destruction.

*The severe punishment of God upon the persecutors of his people and enemies to his word, with such also as have been blasphemers, contemners, and mockers of his Religion.

LEauing now Queen Mary, being dead and gone, I come to them which under her were the chief Ministers and doers in this persecution, the Bishops (I mean) and Priests of the Clergy, to whō Queen Mary gave all the execution of her power, as did Queen Alexandra to the Pharisees after the time of the Maccabees. Of whom Josephus thus writeth: Ipsa solum nomen regium ferebat, caeterum omnem regni potestatem Pharisaei possidebant. That is: She only retained to her self the name and title of the kingdom, but all her power, she gave to the phariseis to possess. &c. Touching which Prelates and Priests, here is to be noted in like sort the wonderful and miraculous providence of almighty GOD, which as he abridged the reign of their Queen, so he suffered them not to escape vnuisited: first beginning with Stephen Gardener the Archpersecutour of Christ's Church, whom he took away about the midst of the Queens reign. Of whose poisoned life and stinking end, forsomuch as sufficient hath been touched before. pag. 1786. I shall not need here to make any new rehearsal thereof.

After him dropped other away also, some before the death of Queen Mary, and some after, as Morgan Bishop of S. David's, who sitting upon the condemnation of the blessed Martyr bysh. Farrar, and unjustly usurping his rowm, not long after was stricken by God's have after such a strange sort, that his meat would not go down but rise & pycke up again, sometime at his mouth, sometime blown out of his nose most horrible to behold, & so he continued till his death. Where note moreover y ^t when Mayster Leyson being then Sheriff at Bishop Farrars burning, had fet away the cattle of the said Byshoppe, from his servants house called Matthew Harbottell, into his own custody, the cattle coming into the Sheriffs ground, diverse of them would never eat meat but lay bellowing and roaring, and so died.

This foresaid Byshoppe Morgan above mentioned, bringeth me also in remembrance of Justice Morgan, who sat upon the death of the Lady Jane, & not long after the same, fell mad and was bereft of his wits, & so died, having ever in his mouth, Lady Jane, Lady Jane. &c.

Before the death of Queen Mary, died Doct. Dunning the bloody and wretched Chancellor of Norwich who, after he had most rigorously condemned and murdered so many simple and faithful Saints of the Lord, continued not longe himself, but in the midst of his rage in Queen Mary's days died in Lincolnshyre being sodaynly taken (as some say) sitting in his chair.

The like sudden death fell also upon Berry Commissary in Norfolk, who (as is before shown in the story of Thomas Hudson) four days after Queen Mary's death, when he had made a great feast, and had one of his concubines there, coming home from the Church after Evensong, where he had ministered Baptism the same time, between the Churchyard and his house, sodeinly fell down to the ground with a heavy groan, and never stirred after, neither shown any one token of repentance.

What a stroke of God's hand was brought upon the cruel persecutor of the holy and harmless saints of the Lord, Bishop Thornton, Suffragan of Dover, who after he had exercised his cruel tyranny upon so many Godly men at Canterbury, at length coming upon a Saturday from the Chapter house at Canterbury to Borne, & there upon Sunday following, looking upon his mē praying at the bowles, • ell suddenly in a Palsy, and so had to bed was willed to remember God, Yea, so I do (said he) and my Lord Cardinal to. &c.

After him succeeded an othher Bishop or Suffragan ordained by the foresaid Cardinal. It is reported that he had been Suffragan before to Boner, who not 〈◊〉 after was made Bysh. or Suffragan of Dover, brake his neck falling down a pair of stairs in the Cardinals chamber at Grenewich, as he had received the Cardinals blessing.

Among other plentiful and sondrye examples of the Lord's judgment and severity practiced upon the cruel persecutors of his people, that is not the least that followeth, concerning the story of one William Fenning, y ^e effect and circumstance of which matter is this.

John Cooper, of the age of 44. years, dwelling at Watsam in the County of Suffolk, being by science a Carpenter, a man of a very honest report & a good housekeeper, a harbourer of strangers, that trauayled for conscience, and one that favored Religion, and those that were religious, he was of honest conversation and good life hating all popish and papistical trash.

This man being at home in his house, there came unto him one William Fenning, a serving man dwelling in the said Town of Watsam, and understanding that the said Cooper had a couple of fair Bullockes, did desire to buy them of him, which Cooper told him that he was loath to sell them, for that he had brought them up for his own use, and if he should sell them, he then must be compelled to buy other and that he would not do.

When Fenning saw he could not get them (for he had often assayed the matter) he said he would sit as much in his light, and so departed, and went and accused him of high treason. The words he was charged with wer these: how he should pray that if God would not take away Queen Mary, that then he should wish the Devil to take her away. Of these words did this Fenning charge him before sir Henry Do • ell knight (unto whom he was carried by M. Timperley of Hinchlesā in Suffolk, & one Grimwood of Lowshaw Cōstable) which words Cooper sta • lie denied: & said he never spake them, but that could not help.

Notwithstanding he was arrayned therefore at Berry before sir Clement Higham, at a Lent assise, and there this Fenning brought two noughty men that witnessed the speaking of the foresaid words, whose names were Richard White of Watsam, and Grimwood of Higham, in the said County of Suffolk. Whose testimonies were received as truth, although this good man John Cooper had said what he could to declare himself innocent therein, but to no purpose God knoweth. For his life was determined, as in the ende appeared by sir Clement Hyghams words, who said he should not escape, for an example to all heretics, as in deed he thoroughly performed. For immediately he was judged to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, which was executed upon him shortly after, to the great grief of many a good heart. Here good Cooper is bereft of his life, and leaves behind him alive his wife and 9. children with goods and cattle, to the value of 3. hundred marks, the which substance was all taken away by the said sir Henry Doyel Sheriff, but his wife & pore children left to the wide world in their clothes, and suffered not to enjoy one penny of that they had sore labored for, unless they made friends to buy it with money, of the said Sheriff so cruel and greedy was he and his officers upon such things as were there left.

Well, now this innocent man is dead▪ his goods spoiled, his wife and children left desolate and comfortless, and all things is hushte, and nothing feared of any parte, yet the Lord who surely doth revenge the guiltless blood, would not still so suffer it, but began at the length to punish it him self. For in the harvest after, the said Grimwood of Hitcham one of the witnesses before specified, as he was in his labor staking up a goffe of corn, having his health, and fearing no pearill: suddenly his bowels fell out of his body, and immediately most miserably he died: such was the terrible Judgment of God, to sh • we his displeasure against this bloody act, and to warn the rest by these his judgments to repentance. The Lord grant us to honor the same for his mercies sake. Amen.

This foresaid Fenning, who was the procurer of this tyranny against him, is yet alive, and is now a minister, which if he be, I pray God he may so repent that fact, that he may declare himself hereafter, such a one as may well answer to his vocation accordingly.

But since we have heard that he is no chaungeling but continueth still in his wickedness, & therefore presented before the worshipful Mayster Humerston Esquire and Justice of Peace & Coram for that he had talk with some of his friends (as he thought) how many honest women (to their great infamy) were in the Parish of Wensthaston wherein he is now Ui • are resident, wherefor he was commanded the next Sunday ensuing, to ask all the Parish forgiveness vpō his knees openly in service time, which he did in Wensthaston Church beforesayd, & moreover the abovesaid Fenning is reported, to be more like a shifter then a Minister.

To these examples also may be added y ^e terrible judgment of God upon the Parson of Crondall in Kent, who upon Shrouesonday having received the Popes Pardon from Cardinal Poole, came to his Parish, and exhorted y ^e people to receive the same, as he had done himself: saying y ^t he stood now so clear in conscience as whē he was first borne, & cared not now if he should die the same hour in y ^e clearenes of conscience: whereupon being suddenly stricken by the hand of God, & leaning a little on the one side, immediately shrunk down in the Pulpit, & so was found dead, speaking not one word more. Read before pag. 1560.

Not long before y ^e death of Queen Mary died Doctor Capon Bishop of Salisbury. About the which time also followed the unprepared death of Doctor Geoffrey Chancellor of Salisbury, who in the midst of his buildings, suddenly being taken by the mighty hand of God, yielded his life, which had so little pittye of other men's lives before. Concerning whose cruelty partly mention is made before pag. 2055.

As touching moreover this foresaid Chancellor, here is to be noted, that he departing upon a Saturday, y ^e next day before the same, he had appointed to call before him .90. persons and not so few, to examine them by Inquisition, had not the goodness of the Lord, and his tender providence, thus prevented him with death, providing for his poor servants in time.

And now (to come from Priests to Lay men) we have to find in them also no less terrible demonstrations of God's heavy judgment upon such as have been vexers and persecutors of his people.

Before in the story of M. Bradford .1624. mention was made of Master Woodroffe, who being thē Sheriff, used much to rejoice at the death of the poor Saints of Christ, and so hard he was in his office, that when Mayster Rogers was in y ^e cart going toward Smithfield, and in the way his childrē wer brought unto him, y ^e people making a laue for them to come: Master Woodroffe bad the carmans head should be brokē for staying his cart. But what happened? He was not come out of his office the space of a week, but he was stricken by the sudden hand of God, the one half of his body in such sort y ^t he lay be numbed and bedred, not able to move himself but as he was li • ted of other, and so contynued in that infirmity the space of 7. or 8. years till his dying day, pag. 1624.

Lykewise touching Rafe Lardyn the betrayer of George Eagles, it is thought of some, that y ^e said Rase afterward was attached himself, arraegned, and hanged.

Who being at the bar, had these words before the Judges there, and a great multitude of people. This is most justly fallen upon me (saith he) for that he had betrayed the innocent blood of a good & just man George Eagles, who was here condemned in the time of Queen Mary's reign thorough his procurment who sold his blood for a little money. Not much unlike stroke of these severally, was shown upon W. Swallow of Chemlford, & his wife, also upon Rich. Potto, & Justice Brown cruel persecutors of y ^e said George Egles, concerning whose story Read before, pag. 2009.

Amonge other persecutors also came to our hands y ^e cruelty of one Master Swingfield an Aldermans Deputye about Thamis street, who hearing 〈◊〉 Angels wife, a midwyfe that kept her self from their Popish Church, to be at the labor of one Mistress Walter all crooked Lane ende▪ took three other with him, and besette the house about, and took her and carried her to Boners officers, big with child, 28. weeks gone, who laid her in Lollards Tower, where as the same day she came in, thorough fear and a fall at her taking, she was delivered of a man child, & could have no woman with her in that needful time. Lying there 5. weeks, she was delivered under suertyes by friendship, and Doctor Story hearing thereof charged her with fellony, and so sent her to Newgate. The cause was for that she had a womā at her house in her labor that died, and the child also, and so he charged her with their death.

But when Syr Roger Cholmley heard her tell her tale, he delivered her: and not much more then 10. weeks after, if it were so long, died the said Master Swingfield, and the other three that came to take her.

Because some there be, and not a few, which have such a great devotion in setting up y ^e Popish Mass, I shall desire thē to mark well this story following. There was a certain Bailiff of Crowlād in Lincolnshire named Burton, who pretending an earnest friendship to the Gospel in king Edwards days, in outward show at least (although inwardly he was a Papist or Atheist, and well known to be a man of a wicked & adulterous life) set forth the kings proceedings lustely, till the time that king Edward was dead and Queen Mary placed quietly in her estate.

Then perceiving by the first proclamation concerning Religion, how the world was like to turn, the Bailiff turned his Religion likewise: and so he moved the Parish to show themselves the Queens friends, & to set up the Mass speedily. Neuertheles the most substauntiall of the Parish, marueling much at the Bailiffs inconstant lightness, considering also his abominable life, and having no great devotion unto his request: knowing moreover that their duty & friendship to the Queen stood not in setting up y ^e Mass, spared to provide for it, as long as they might: but the Bailiff called on them still in the Queens name.

At last, when he saw his words were not regarded, & purposing to wynne his spurs by playing the man in y ^e Masses behalf and the Queens, he got him to the church upon a sunday morning, & when the Curate was beginning the English service, according to the Statute sect forth by King Edward the vi. the Bailiff cometh in a great rage to the Curate & saith: Syrrha will you not say Mass? buckle yourself to Mass you knave, or by God's blood I shall sheathe my dagger in your shoulder. The poor Curate for fear fetled himself to Mass.

Not long after this, the Bailiff rode from home vpō certain business, accompanied with one of his neighbors and as they came ryding together upon the Fennebanke homeward again, a Crow sitting in a willow tree took her flighte over his head, singing after her wonted note, knave, knave, & withal let fall upon his face, so that her excrements ran from y ^e top of his nose down to his beard.

The poisoned sent & savor whereof so noyed his stomach, that he never ceased vomiting until he came home, wherewith his heart was so sore & his body so distempered: that for extreme sickness he got him to bed, and so lying, he was not able for the stink in his stomach and painful vomiting, to receive any relief of meat or drink, but cried out still, sorowfully complaing of that stink, & with no small oaths, cursing the Crow that had poisoned him. To make short, he continued but a few days, but w ^t extreme pain of vomiting and crying, he desperately died without any token of repentance of his former life.

Reported and testified for a certainty, by diverse of his neighbors, both honest and credible persons.

Of James Abbes Martyr, ye heard before. In the time of whose Martyrdom, what befell upon a wicked railer against him, now ye shall further understand. Whereby all such railing persecutors may learn to fear God's hand, and to take heed, howe or what they speak against his servants. As this James Abbes was led by the sheriffe toward his execution, diverse poor people stood in y ^t way, and asked their alms. He then having no money to give them, and desirous yet to distribute something amongst them, did pull off all his apparel saving his shirt, & gave the same unto them, to someone thing, to some another: in the giving whereof he exhorted them to be strong in the Lord, and as faithful followers of Christ, to stand steadfast unto the truth of the Gospel, which he (through God's help) would then in their sight seal and confirm w