The Prose Works of John Milton

John Milton

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THE PROSE WORKS OF JOHN MILTON:

WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION,

BY RUFUS WILMOT GRISWOLD.

HE WAS IN HIS STYLE

NAKED AND STERN; AND TO EFFEMINATE EARS

PERCHANCE EVEN HARSH; BUT WHO WILL DARE DISPUTE

HIS STRENGTH AND GRANDEUR?

SIR EGERTON BRYDGES.

MILTON! THOU SHOULDST BE LIVING AT THIS HOUR.

. . . . . . . . . RETURN TO US AGAIN,

AND GIVE US MANNERS, VIRTUE, FREEDOM, POWER.

THY SOUL WAS LIKE A STAR, AND DWELT APART:

THOU HADST A VOICE, WHOSE SOUND WAS LIKE THE SEA:

PURE AS THE NAKED HEAVENS, MAJESTIC, FREE;

SO DIDST THOU TRAVEL ON LIFE’S COMMON WAY,

IN CHEERFUL GODLINES, AND YET THY HEART

THE LOWLIEST DUTIES ON HERSELF DID LAY.

WORDSWORTH.

IN TWO VOLUMES. II.

PHILADELPHIA:

JOHN W. MOORE, No. 193 CHESTNUT STREET.

1847.

Printed by King Baird.

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

- A DEFENCE of the People of England, in answer to Salmasius’s Defence of the King.......................................................... 5

- A Treatise of Civil Power in Ecclesiastical Causes: showing, that it is not lawful for any Power on Earth to compel in Matters of Religion............. 127

- Considerations touching the likeliest Means to remove Hirelings out the Church, c........................................................ 145

- A Letter to a Friend, concerning the Ruptures of the Commonwealth......... 170

- The present Means and brief Delineation of a free Commonwealth, easy to be put in practice, and without delay. In a Letter to General Monk........ 173

- The ready and easy Way to establish a free Commonwealth, and the Excellence thereof, compared with the Inconveniences and Dangers of readmitting Kingship in this Nation............................................. 174

- Brief Notes upon a late Sermon, titled, “The Fear of God and the King,” preached, and since published, by Matthew Griffith, D. D. and Chaplain to the late King, wherein many notorious Wrestlings of Scripture, and other Falsities, are observed.............................................. 191

- The History of Britain, that Part especially now called England; from the first traditional Beginning, continued to the Norman Conquest. Collected out of the ancientest and best Authors thereof. Published from a Copy corrected by the Author himself......................................... 197

- Of true Religion, Heresy, Schism, Toleration, and what best Means may be used against the Growth of Popery. Printed in the year 1673................ 343

- A brief History of Moscovia, and other less known Countries lying Eastward of Russia, as far as Cathay, gathered from the writings of several Eye-witnesses 350

- A Declaration, or Letters Patents for the Election of John the Third, King of Poland, elected on the 22d of May, Anno Dom. 1674, containing the Reasons of this Election, the great Virtues and Merits of the said serene Elect, his eminent Services in War, especially in his last great Victory against the Turks and Tartars; whereof many Particulars are here related, not published before....................................................... 375

- Letters of State to most of the Sovereign Princes and Republics of Europe, during the Administration of the Commonwealth, and the Protectors Oliver and Richard Cromwell.................................................. 380

- Letters written in the Name of the Parliament............................ ibid.

- Letters written in the Name of Oliver the Protector......................... 407

- Letters written in the Name of Richard the Protector........................ 458

- A Manifesto of the Lord Protector, against the Spaniards.................... 464

- The Second Defence of the People of England, against an anonymous Libel, entitled, “The royal Blood crying to Heaven for Vengeance on the English Parricides”........................................................ 477

- Familiar Epistles...................................................... 527

A DEFENCE OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND,

IN ANSWER TO SALMASIUS’S DEFENCE OF THE KING. [*]

[ FIRST PUBLISHED 1692.]

THE PREFACE.

ALTHOUGH I fear, lest, if in defending the people of England, I should be as copious in words, and empty of matter, as most men think Salmasius has been in his defence of the king, I might seem to deserve justly to be accounted a verbose and silly defender; yet since no man thinks himself obliged to make so much haste, though in the handling but of any ordinary subject, as not to premise some introduction at least, according as the weight of the subject requires; if I take the same course in handling almost the greatest subject that ever was (without being too tedious in it) I am in hopes of attaining two things, which indeed I earnestly desire: the one, not to be at all wanting, as far as in me lies, to this most noble cause, and most worthy to be recorded to all future ages: the other, that I may appear to have avoided myself that frivolousness of matter, and redundancy of words, which I blame in my antagonist. For I am about to discourse of matters, neither inconsiderable nor common; but how a most potent king, after he had trampled upon the laws of the nation, and given a shock to its religion, and begun to rule at his own will and pleasure, was at last subdued in the field by his own subjects, who had undergone a long slavery under him; how afterwards he was cast into prison, and when he gave no ground, either by words or actions, to hope better things of him, he was finally by the supreme council of the kingdom condemned to die, and beheaded before the very gates of the royal palace. I shall likewise relate (which will much conduce to the easing men’s minds of a great superstition) by what right, especially according to our law, this judgment was given, and all these matters transacted: and shall easily defend my valiant and worthy countrymen (who have extremely well deserved of all subjects and nations in the world) from the most wicked calumnies both of domestic and foreign railers, and especially from the reproaches of this most vain and empty sophister, who sets up for a captain and ringleader to all the rest. For what king’s majesty sitting upon an exalted throne, ever shone so brightly, as that of the people of England then did, when shaking off that old superstition, which had prevailed a long time, they gave judgment upon the king himself, or rather upon an enemy who had been their king, caught as it were in a net by his own laws, (who alone of all mortals challenged to himself impunity by a divine right,) and scrupled not to inflict the same punishment upon him, being guilty, which he would have inflicted upon any other? But why do I mention these things as performed by the people, which almost open their voice themselves, and testify the presence of God throughout? who, as often as it seems good to his infinite wisdom, uses to throw down proud and unruly kings, exalting themselves above the condition of human nature, and utterly to extirpate them and all their family. By his manifest impulse being set on work to recover our almost lost liberty, following him as our guide, and adoring the impresses of his divine power manifested upon all occasions, we went on in no obscure, but an illustrious passage, pointed out and made plain to us by God himself. Which things, if I should so much as hope by any diligence or ability of mine, such as it is, to discourse of as I ought to do, and to commit them so to writing, as that perhaps all nations and all ages may read them, it would be a very vain thing in me. For what style can be august and magnificent enough, what man has parts sufficient to undertake so great a task? Since we find by experience, that in so many ages as are gone over the world, there has been but here and there a man found, who has been able worthily to recount the actions of great heroes, and potent states; can any man have so good an opinion of his own talents, as to think himself capable to reach these glorious and wonderful works of Almighty God, by any language, by any style of his? Which enterprise, though some of the eminent persons in our commonwealth have prevailed upon me by their authority to undertake, and would have it be my business to vindicate with my pen against envy and calumny, (which are proof against arms) those glorious performances of theirs, (whose opinion of me I take as a very great honour, that they should pitch upon me before others to be serviceable in this kind of those most valiant deliverers of my native country; and true it is, that from my very youth, I have been bent extremely upon such sort of studies, as inclined me, if not to do great things myself, at least to celebrate those that did,) yet as having no confidence in any such advantages, I have recourse to the divine assistance; and invoke the great and holy God, the giver of all good gifts, that I may as substantially, and as truly, discourse and refute the sauciness and lies of this foreign declamator, as our noble generals piously and successfully by force of arms broke the king’s pride, and his unruly domineering, and afterwards put an end to both by inflicting a memorable punishment upon himself, and as thoroughly as a single person did with ease but of late confute and confound the king himself rising as it were from the grave, and recommending himself to the people in a book published after his death, with new artifices and allurements of words and expressions. Which antagonist of mine, though he be a foreigner, and, though he deny it a thousand times over, but a poor grammarian; yet not contented with a salary due to him in that capacity, chose to turn a pragmatical coxcomb, and not only to intrude in state-affairs, but into the affairs of a foreign state: though he brings along with him neither modesty, nor understanding, nor any other qualification requisite in so great an arbitrator, but sauciness, and a little grammar only. Indeed if he had published here, and in English, the same things as he has now wrote in Latin, such as it is, I think no man would have thought it worth while to return an answer to them, but would partly despise them as common, and exploded over and over already, and partly abhor them as sordid and tyrannical maxims, not to be endured even by the most abject of slaves: nay, men that have sided with the king, would have had these thoughts of his book. But since he has swoln it to a considerable bulk, and dispersed it among foreigners, who are altogether ignorant of our affairs and constitution; it is fit that they who mistake them, should be better informed; and that he, who is so very forward to speak ill of others, should be treated in his own kind.

If it be asked, why we did not then attack him sooner, why we suffered him to triumph so long, and pride himself in our silence? For others I am not to answer; for myself I can boldly say, that I had neither words nor arguments long to seek for the defence of so good a cause, if I had enjoyed such a measure of health, as would have endured the fatigue of writing. And being but weak in body, I am forced to write by piecemeal, and break off almost every hour, though the subject be such as requires an unintermitted study and intenseness of mind. But though this bodily indisposition may be a hindrance to me in setting forth the just praises of my most worthy countrymen, who have been the saviours of their native country, and whose exploits, worthy of immortality, are already famous all the world over; yet I hope it will be no difficult matter for me to defend them from the insolence of this silly little scholar, and from that saucy tongue of his, at least. Nature and laws would be in an ill case, if slavery should find what to say for itself, and liberty be mute: and if tyrants should find men to plead for them, and they that can master and vanquish tyrants, should not be able to find advocates. And it were a deplorable thing indeed, if the reason mankind is endued withal, and which is the gift of God, should not furnish more arguments for men’s preservation, for their deliverance, and, as much as the nature of the thing will bear, for making them equal to one another, than for their oppression, and for their utter ruin under the domineering power of one single person. Let me therefore enter upon this noble cause with a cheerfulness, grounded upon this assurance, that my adversary’s cause is maintained by nothing but fraud, fallacy, ignorance, and barbarity; whereas mine has light, truth, reason, the practice and the learning of the best ages of the world, of its side.

But now, having said enough for an introduction, since we have to do with critics, let us in the first place consider the title of this choice piece: “Defensio Regia pro Car. Primo, ad Car. Secundum: a Royal Defence (or the king’s defence) for Charles the First, to Charles the Second.” You undertake a wonderful piece of work, whoever you are; to plead the father’s cause before his own son: a hundred to one but you carry it. But I summon you, Salmasius, who heretofore skulked under a wrong name, and now go by no name at all, to appear before another tribunal, and before other judges, where perhaps you may not hear those little applauses, which you used to be so fond of in your school. But why this royal defence dedicated to the king’s own son? We need not put him to the torture; he confesses why. “At the king’s charge,” says he. O mercenary and chargeable advocate! could you not afford to write a defence for Charles the father, whom you pretend to have been the best of kings, to Charles the son, the most indigent of all kings, but it must be at the poor king’s own charge? But though you are a knave, you would not make yourself ridiculous in calling it the king’s defence; for you having sold it, it is no longer yours, but the king’s indeed: who bought it at the price of a hundred jacobusses, a great sum for a poor king to disburse. I know very well what I say: and it is well enough known who brought the gold, and the purse wrought with beads: we know who saw you reach out greedy fists, under pretence of embracing the king’s chaplain, who brought the present, but indeed to embrace the present itself, and by accepting it to exhaust almost all the king’s treasury.

But now the man comes himself, the door creaks, the actor comes upon the stage.

- In silence now, and with attention wait,

- That ye may learn what th’ Eunuch has to prate.

- — Terent.

For whatever the matter is with him, he blusters more than ordinary. “A horrible message had lately struck our ears, but our minds more, with a heinous wound concerning a parricide committed in England in the person of a king, by a wicked conspiracy of sacrilegious men.” Indeed that horrible message must either have had a much longer sword than that which Peter drew, or those ears must have been of a wonderful length, that it could wound at such a distance; for it could not so much as in the least offend any ears but those of an ass. For what harm is it to you, that are foreigners? are any of you hurt by it, if we amongst ourselves put our own enemies, our own traitors to death, be they commoners, noblemen, or kings? Do you, Salmasius, let alone what does not concern you: for I have a horrible message to bring of you too; which I am mistaken if it strike not a more heinous wound into the ears of all grammarians and critics, provided they have any learning and delicacy in them, to wit, your crowding so many barbarous expressions together in one period in the person of (Aristarchus) a grammarian; and that so great a critic as you, hired at the king’s charge to write a defence of the king his father, should not only set so fulsome a preface before it, much like those lamentable ditties that used to be sung at funerals, and which can move compassion in none but a coxcomb; but in the very first sentence should provoke your readers to laughter with so many barbarisms all at once. “Persona regis,” you cry. Where do you find any such Latin? or are you telling us some tale or other of a Perkin Warbec, who, taking upon him the person of a king, has, forsooth, committed some horrible parricide in England? which expression, though dropping carelessly from your pen, has more truth in it than you are aware of. For a tyrant is but like a king upon a stage, a man in a vizor, and acting the part of a king in a play; he is not really a king. But as for these gallicisms, that are so frequent in your book, I won’t lash you for them myself, for I am not at leisure; but shall deliver you over to your fellow-grammarians, to be laughed to scorn and whipped by them. What follows is much more heinous, that what was decreed by our supreme magistracy to be done to the king, should be said by you to have been done “by a wicked conspiracy of sacrilegious persons.” Have you the impudence, you rogue, to talk at this rate of the acts and decrees of the chief magistrates of a nation, that lately was a most potent kingdom, and is now a more potent commonwealth? Whose proceedings no king ever took upon him by word of mouth, or otherwise, to villify and set at nought. The illustrious states of Holland therefore, the genuine offspring of those deliverers of their country, have deservedly by their edict condemned to utter darkness this defence of tyrants, so pernicious to the liberty of all nations; the author of which every free state ought to forbid their country, or to banish out of it; and that state particularly that feeds with a stipend so ungrateful and so savage an enemy to their commonwealth, whose very fundamentals, and the causes of their becoming a free state, this fellow endeavours to undermine as well as ours, and at one and the same time to subvert both; loading with calumnies the most worthy asserters of liberty there, under our names. Consider with yourselves, ye most illustrious states of the United Netherlands, who it was that put this asserter of kingly power upon setting pen to paper? who it was, that but lately began to play Rex in your country? what counsels were taken, what endeavours used, and what disturbances ensued thereupon in Holland? and to what pass things might have been brought by this time? How slavery and a new master were ready prepared for you; and how near expiring that liberty of yours, asserted and vindicated by so many years war and toil, would have been ere now, if it had not taken breath again by the timely death of a certain rash young gentleman. But our author begins to strut again, and to feign wonderful tragedies; “whomsoever this dreadful news reached, (to wit, the news of Salmasius’s parricidial barbarisms,) all of a sudden, as if they had been struck with lightning, their hair stood an end, and their tongues clove to the roof of their mouth.” Which let natural philosophers take notice of, (for this secret in nature was never discovered before,) that lightning makes men’s hair stand on end. But who knows not that little effeminate minds are apt to be amazed at the news of any extraordinary great action; and that then they show themselves to be, what they really were before, no better than so many stocks? “Some could not refrain from tears;” some little women at court, I suppose, or if there be any more effeminate than they, of whose number Salmasius himself being one, is by a new metamorphis become a fountain near akin to his name, (Salmacis,) and with his counterfeit flood of tears prepared over night, endeavours to emasculate generous minds: I advise therefore, and wish them to have a care;

- ———Infamis ne quem malè fortibus undis

- Salmacis enervet.———

- ———Ne, si vir cum venerit, exeat indè

- Semivir, et tactis subitò mollescat in undis.

- Abstain, as manhood you esteem,

- From Salmacis’ pernicious stream:

- If but one moment there you stay,

- Too dear you’ll for your bathing pay.—

- Depart nor man nor woman, but a sight

- Disgracing both, a loath’d hermaphrodite.

“They that had more courage” (which yet he expresses in miserable bald Latin, as if he could not so much as speak of men of courage and magnanimity in proper words) “were set on fire with indignation to that degree, that they could hardly contain themselves.” Those furious Hectors we value not of a rush. We have been accustomed to rout such bullies in the field with a true sober courage; a courage becoming men that can contain themselves, and are in their right wits. “There were none that did not curse the authors of so horrible a villany.” But yet, you say, their tongues clove to the roof of their mouths; and if you mean this of our fugitives only, I wish they had clove there to this day; for we know very well, that there is nothing more common with them, than to have their mouths full of curses and imprecations, which indeed all good men abominate, but withal despise. As for others, it is hardly credible, that when they heard the news of our having inflicted a capital punishment upon the king, there should any be found, especially in a free state, so naturally adapted to slavery as either to speak ill of us, or so much as to censure what we had done. Nay, it is highly probable, that all good men applauded us, and gave God thanks for so illustrious, so exalted a piece of justice; and for a caution so very useful to other princes.

In the mean time, as for those fierce, those steel-hearted men, that, you say, take on for, and bewail so pitifully, the lamentable and wonderful death I know not who; them I say, together with their tinkling advocate, the dullest that ever appeared since the name of a king was born and known in the world, we shall even let whine on, till they cry their eyes out. But in the mean time, what schoolboy, what little insignificant monk, could not have made a more elegant speech for the king, and in better Latin, than this royal advocate has done? But it would be folly in me to make such particular animadversions upon his childishness and frenzies throughout his book, as I do here upon a few in the beginning of it; which yet I would be willing enough to do, (for we hear that he is swelled with pride and conceit to the utmost degree imaginable,) if the undigested and immethodical bulk of his book did not protect him. He was resolved to take a course like the soldier in Terence, to save his bacon; and it was very cunning in him, to stuff his book with so much puerility, and so many silly whimsies, that it might nauseate the smartest man in the world to death to take notice of them all. Only I thought it might not be amiss to give a specimen of him in the preface; and to let the serious reader have a taste of him at first, that he might guess by the first dish that is served up, how noble an entertainment the rest are like to make; and that he may imagine with himself what an infinite number of fooleries and impertinencies must needs be heaped up together in the body of the book, when they stand so thick in the very entrance into it, where, of all other places, they ought to have been shunned. His tittle-tattle that follows, and his sermons fit for nothing but to be wormeaten, I can easily pass by; as for any thing in them relating to us, we doubt not in the least, but that what has been written and published by authority of parliament, will have far greater weight with all wise and sober men, than the calumnies and lies of one single impudent little fellow; who being hired by our fugitives, their country’s enemies, has scraped together, and not scrupled to publish in print, whatever little story any one of them that employed him put into his head. And that all men may plainly see how little conscience he makes of setting down any thing right or wrong, good or bad, I desire no other witness than Salmasius himself.

In his book, entitled, “Apparatus contra Primatum Papæ,” he says, “there are most weighty reasons why the church ought to lay aside episcopacy, and return to the apostolical institution of presbyters: that a far greater mischief has been introduced into the church by episcopacy, than the schisms themselves were, which were before apprehended: that the plague which episcopacy introduced, depressed the whole body of the church under a miserable tyranny; nay, had put a yoke even upon the necks of kings and princes: that it would be more beneficial to the church, if the whole hierarchy itself were extirpated, than if the pope only, who is the head of it, were laid aside,” page 160. “That it would be very much for the good of the church, if episcopacy were taken away, together with the papacy: that if episcopacy were once taken down, the papacy would fall of itself, as being founded upon it,” page 171. He says, “he can show very good reasons why episcopacy ought to be put down in those kingdoms that have renounced the pope’s supremacy; but that he can see no reason for retaining it there: that a reformation is not entire, that is defective in this point: that no reason can be alleged, no probable cause assigned, why the supremacy of the pope being once disowned, episcopacy should notwithstanding be retained,” page 197.—Though he had wrote all this, and a great deal more to this effect, but four years ago, he is now become so vain and so impudent withal, as to accuse the parliament of England, “for not only turning the bishops out of the house of lords, but for abolishing episcopacy itself.” Nay, he persuades us to receive episcopacy, and defends it by the very same reasons and arguments, which with a great deal of earnestness he had confuted himself in that former book; to wit, “that bishops were necessary and ought to have been retained, to prevent the springing up of a thousand pernicious sects and heresies.” Crafty turncoat! are you not ashamed to shift hands thus in things that are sacred, and (I had almost said) to betray the church; whose most solemn institutions you seem to have asserted and vindicated with so much noise, that when it should seem for your interest to change sides, you might undo and subvert all again with the more disgrace and infamy to yourself? It is notoriously known, that when both houses of parliament, being extremely desirous to reform the church of England by the pattern of our reformed churches, had resolved to abolish episcopacy, the king first interposed, and afterwards waged war against them chiefly for that very cause; which proved fatal to him. Go now and boast of your having defended the king; who, that you might the better defend him, do now openly betray and impugn the cause of the church, whose defence you yourself had formerly undertaken; and whose severest censures ought to be inflicted upon you.

As for the present form of our government, since such a foreign insignificant professor as you, having laid aside your boxes and desks stuffed with nothing but trifles, which you might have spent your time better in putting into order, will needs turn busybody, and be troublesome in other men’s matters, I shall return you this answer, or rather not to you, but to them that are wiser than yourself, viz. That the form of it is such as our present distractions will admit of; not such as were to be wished, but such as the obstinate divisions, that are amongst us, will bear. What state soever is pestered with factions, and defends itself by force of arms, is very just in having regard to those only that are sound and untainted, and in overlooking or secluding the rest, be they of the nobility or the common people; nay, though profiting by experience, they should refuse to be governed any longer either by a king or a house of lords.

But in railing at that supreme council, as you call it, and at the chairman there, you make yourself very ridiculous; for that council is not the supreme council, as you dream it is, but appointed by authority of parliament, for a certain time only; and consisting of forty persons, for the most part members of parliament, any one of whom may be president if the rest vote him into the chair. And there is nothing more common, than for our parliaments to appoint committees of their own members; who, when so appointed, have power to meet where they please, and hold a kind of a little parliament amongst themselves. And the most weighty affairs are often referred to them, for expedition and secrecy; the care of the navy, the army, the treasury; in short, all things whatsoever relating either to war or peace. Whether this be called a council, or any thing else, the thing is ancient, though the name may be new; and it is such an institution, as no government can be duly administered without it. As for our putting the king to death, and changing the government, forbear your bawling, don’t spit your venom, till, going along with you through every chapter, I show, whether you will or no, “by what law, by what right and justice,” all that was done. But if you insist to know, “by what right, by what law;” by that law, I tell you, which God and nature have enacted, viz. that whatever things are for the universal good of the whole state, are for that reason lawful and just. So wise men of old used to answer such as you. You find fault with us for “repealing laws, that had obtained for so many years;” but you do not tell us whether those laws were good or bad, nor, if you did, should we heed what you said; for you, busy puppy, what have you to do with our laws? I wish our magistrates had repealed more than they have, both laws and lawyers; if they had, they would have consulted the interest of the Christian religion, and that of the people better than they have done. It frets you, that “hobgoblins, sons of the earth, scarce gentlemen at home, scarce known to their own countrymen, should presume to do such things.” But you ought to have remembered, what not only the Scriptures, but Horace would have taught you, viz.

- ——Valet ima summis

- Mutare, et insignem attenuat Deus,

- Obscura promens, c.

- The power that did create, can change the scene

- Of things; make mean of great, and great of mean;

- The brightest glory can eclipse with night;

- And place the most obscure in dazzling light.

But take this into the bargain. Some of those who, you say, be scarce gentlemen, are not at all inferior in birth to any of your party. Others, whose ancestors were not noble, have taken a course to attain to true nobility by their own industry and virtue, and are not inferior to men of the noblest descent. They had rather be called “sons of the earth,” provided it be their own earth, (their own native country,) and act like men at home, than, being destitute of house or land, to relieve the necessities of nature in a foreign country by selling of smoke, as thou dost, an inconsiderable fellow and a jack-straw, and who dependest upon the good-will of thy masters for a poor stipend; for whom it were better to dispense with thy labours, and return to thy own kindred and countrymen, if thou hadst not this one piece of cunning, to babble out some silly prelections and fooleries at so good a rate amongst foreigners. You find fault with our magistrates for admitting such “a common sewer of all sorts of sects.” Why should they not? It belongs to the church to cast them out of the communion of the faithful; not to the magistrate to banish them the country, provided they do not offend against the civil laws of the state. Men at first united into civil societies, that they might live safely, and enjoy their liberty, without being wronged or oppressed; and that they might live religiously, and according to the doctrine of Christianity, they united themselves into churches. Civil societies have laws, and churches have a discipline peculiar to themselves, and far differing from each other. And this has been the occasion of so many wars in Christendom; to wit, because the civil magistrate and the church confounded their jurisdictions. Therefore we do not admit of the popish sect, so as to tolerate papists at all; for we do not look upon that as a religion, but rather as a hierarchical tyranny, under a cloak of religion, clothed with the spoils of the civil power, which it has usurped to itself, contrary to our Saviour’s own doctrine. As for the independents, we never had any such amongst us, as you describe; they that we call independents, are only such as hold, that no classis or synods have a superiority over any particular church, and that therefore they ought all to be plucked up by the roots, as branches, or rather as the very trunk, of hierarchy itself; which is your own opinion too. And from hence it was that the name of independents prevailed amongst the vulgar. The rest of your preface is spent in endeavouring not only to stir up the hatred of all kings and monarchs against us, but to persuade them to make a general war upon us. Mithridates of old, though in a different cause, endeavoured to stir up all princes to make war upon the Romans, by laying to their charge almost just the same things that you do to ours: viz. that the Romans aimed at nothing but the subversion of all kingdoms, that they had no regard to any thing, whether sacred or civil, that from their very first rise, they never enjoyed any thing but what they had acquired by force, that they were robbers, and the greatest enemies in the world to monarchy. Thus Mithridates expressed himself in a letter to Arsaces, king of the Parthians.

But how came you, whose business it is to make silly speeches from your desk, to have the confidence to imagine, that by your persuasions to take up arms, and sounding an alarm as it were, you should be able so much as to influence a king amongst boys at play; especially, with so shrill a voice, and unsavoury breath, that I believe, if you were to have been the trumpeter, not so much as Homer’s mice would have waged war against the frogs? So little do we fear, you slug you, any war or danger from foreign princes through your silly rhetoric, who accusest us to them, just as if you were at play, “that we toss kings’ heads like balls; play at bowls with crowns; and regard sceptres no more than if they were fools’ staves with heads on:” but you in the mean time, you silly loggerhead, deserve to have your bones well thrashed with a fool’s staff, for thinking to stir up kings and princes to war by such childish arguments. Then you cry aloud to all nations, who, I know full well, will never heed what you say. You call upon that wretched and barbarous crew of Irish rebels too, to assert the king’s party. Which one thing is sufficient evidence how much you are both a fool and a knave, and how you outdo almost all mankind in villainy, impudence, and madness; who scruple not to implore the loyalty and aid of an execrable people devoted to the slaughter, whom the king himself always abhorred, or so pretended, to have any thing to do with, by reason of the guilt of so much innocent blood, which they had contracted. And that very perfidiousness and cruelty which he endeavoured as much as he could to conceal, and to clear himself from any suspicion of, you, the most villainous of mortals, as fearing neither God nor man, voluntarily and openly take upon yourself. Go on then, undertake the king’s defence at the encouragement and by the assistance of the Irish. You take care, and so you might well, lest any should imagine, that you were about to bereave Cicero or Demosthenes of the praise due to their eloquence, by telling us beforehand, that “you conceive you ought not to speak like an orator.” It is wisely said of a fool; you conceive you ought not to do what is not in your power to do: and who, that knows you never so little, ever expects any thing like an orator from you? Who neither uses, nor is able to publish, any thing that is elaborate, distinct, or has so much as sense in it; but like a second Crispin, or that little Grecian Tzetzes, you do but write a great deal, take no pains to write well; nor could write any thing well, though you took never so much pains. “This cause shall be argued (say you) in the hearing, and as it were before the tribunal, of all mankind.” That is what we like so well, that we could now wish we had a discreet and intelligent adversary, and not such a hairbrained blunderbuss as you, to deal with. You conclude very tragically, like Ajax in his raving; “I will proclaim to heaven and earth the injustice, the villainy, the perfidiousness and cruelty of these men, and will deliver them over convicted to all posterity.” O flowers! that such a witless, senseless bawler, one that was born but to spoil or transcribe good authors, should think himself able to write any thing of his own, that will reach posterity, whom together with his frivolous scribbles, the very next age will bury in oblivion; unless this defence of the king perhaps may be beholden to the answer I give to it, for being looked into now and then. And I would entreat the illustrious states of Holland, to take off their prohibition, and suffer the book to be publicly sold. For when I have detected the vanity, ignorance, and falsehood, that it is full of, the farther it spreads the more effectually it will be suppressed. Now let us hear how he convicts us.

CHAPTER I.

I PERSUADE myself, Salmasius, that you, being a vain flashy man, are not a little proud of being the king of Great Britain’s defender, who himself was styled the “Defender of the Faith.” For my part, I think you deserve your titles both alike; for the king defended the faith, and you have defended him, so, that betwixt you, you have spoiled both your causes: which I shall make appear throughout the whole ensuing discourse, and particularly in this very chapter. You told us in the 12th page of your preface, that “so good and so just a cause ought not to be embellished with any flourishes of rhetoric; that the king needed no other defence, than by a bare narrative of his story:” and yet in your first chapter, in which you had promised us that bare narrative, you neither tell the story right, nor do you abstain from making use of all the skill you have in rhetoric to set it off. So that if we must take your own judgment, we must believe the king’s cause to be neither good nor just. But by the way I would advise you not to have so good an opinion of yourself (for nobody else has so of you) as to imagine that you are able to speak well upon any subject, who can neither play the part of an orator, nor an historian, nor express yourself in a style that would not be ridiculous even in a lawyer; but like a mountebank’s juggler, with big swelling words in your preface, you raised our expectation, as if some mighty matter were to ensue; in which your design was not so much to introduce a true narrative of the king’s story, as to make your own empty intended flourishes go off the better. For “being now about to give us an account of the matter of fact, you find yourself encompassed and affrighted with so many monsters of novelty, that you are at a loss what to say first, what next, and what last of all.” I will tell you what the matter is with you. In the first place, you find yourself affrighted and astonished at your own monstrous lies, and then you find that empty head of yours not encompassed, but carried round, with so many trifles and fooleries, that you not only now do not, but never did, know what was fit to be spoken, and in what method. “Among the many difficulties, that you find in expressing the heinousness of so incredible a piece of impiety, this one offers itself, you say, which is easily said, and must often be repeated; to wit, that the sun itself never beheld a more outrageous action.” But by your good leave, sir, the sun has beheld many things, that blind Bernard never saw. But we are content you should mention the sun over and over. And it will be a piece of prudence in you so to do. For though our wickedness does not require it, the coldness of the defence that you are making does. “The original of kings, you say, is as ancient as that of the sun.” May the gods and goddesses, Damasippus, bless thee with an everlasting solstice; that thou mayest always be warm, thou that canst not stir a foot without the sun. Perhaps you would avoid the imputation of being called a doctor Umbraticus. But alas! you are in perfect darkness, that make no difference betwixt a paternal power, and a regal: and that when you had called kings fathers of their country, could fancy that with that metaphor you had persuaded us, that whatever is applicable to a father, is so to a king. Alas! there is a great difference betwixt them. Our fathers begot us. Our king made not us, but we him. Nature has given fathers to us all, but we ourselves appointed our own king. So that the people is not for the king but the king for them. “We bear with a father, though he be harsh and severe;” and so we do with a king. But we do not bear with a father, if he be a tyrant. If a father murder his son, he himself must die for it; and why should not a king be subject to the same law, which certainly is a most just one? Especially considering that a father cannot by any possibility divest himself of that relation, but a king may easily make himself neither king nor father of his people. If this action of ours be considered according to its quality, as you call it, I, who am both an Englishman born, and was an eyewitness of the transactions of these times, tell you, who are both a foreigner and an utter stranger to our affairs, that we have put to death neither a good, nor a just, nor a merciful, nor a devout, nor a godly, nor a peaceable king, as you style him; but an enemy, that has been so to us almost ten years to an end; nor one that was a father, but a destroyer of his country. You confess, that such things have been practised; for yourself have not the impudence to deny it: but not by protestants upon a protestant king. As if he deserved the name of a protestant, that, in a letter to the pope, could give him the title of most holy father; that was always more favourable to the papists than to those of his own profession. And being such, he is not the first of his own family, that has been put to death by protestants. Was not his grandmother deposed and banished, and at last beheaded by protestants? And were not her own countrymen, that were protestants too, well enough pleased with it? Nay, if I should say they were parties to it, I should not lie. But there being so few protestant kings, it is no great wonder, if it never happened that one of them has been put to death. But that it is lawful to depose a tyrant, and to punish him according to his deserts; nay, that this is the opinion of very eminent divines, and of such as have been most instrumental in the late reformation, do you deny it if you dare.

You confess, that many kings have come to an unnatural death; some by the sword, some poisoned, some strangled, and some in a dungeon; but for a king to be arraigned in a court of judicature, to be put to plead for his life, to have sentence of death pronounced against him, and that sentence executed; this you think a more lamentable instance than all the rest, and make it a prodigious piece of impiety. Tell me, thou superlative fool, whether it be not more just, more agreeable to the rules of humanity, and the laws of all human societies, to bring a criminal, be his offence what it will, before a court of justice, to give him leave to speak for himself; and, if the law condemn him, then to put him to death as he has deserved, so as he may have time to repent or to recollect himself; than presently, as soon as ever he is taken, to butcher him without more ado? Do you think there is a malefactor in the world, that if he might have his choice, would not choose to be thus dealt withal? And if this sort of proceeding against a private person be accounted the fairer of the two, why should it not be counted so against a prince? Nay, why should we not think, that himself liked it better? You would have had him killed privately, and none to have seen it, either that future ages might have lost the advantage of so good an example; or that they that did this glorious action, might seem to have avoided the light, and to have acted contrary to law and justice. You aggravate the matter by telling us, that it was not done in an uproar, or brought about by any faction amongst great men, or in the heat of a rebellion, either of the people, or the soldiers: that there was no hatred, no fear, no ambition, no blind precipitate rashness in the case; but that it was long consulted on, and done with deliberation. You did well in leaving off being an [*] advocate, and turn grammarian, who from the accidents and circumstances of a thing, which in themselves considered sway neither one way nor other, argue in dispraise of it before you have proved the thing itself to be either good or bad. See how open you lie: if the action you are discoursing of be commendable and praiseworthy, they that did it deserve the greater honour, in that they were prepossessed with no passions, but did what they did for virtue’s sake. If there were great difficulty in the enterprise, they did well in not going about it rashly but upon advice and consideration. Though for my own part, when I call to mind with how unexpected an importunity and fervency of mind, and with how unanimous a consent, the whole army, and a great part of the people from almost every county in the kingdom, cried out with one voice for justice against the king, as being the sole author of all their calamities: I cannot but think, that these things were brought about by a divine impulse. Whatever the matter was, whether we consider the magistrates, or the body of the people, no men ever undertook with more courage, and, which our adversaries themselves confess, in a more sedate temper of mind, so brave an action, an action that might have become those famous heroes, of whom we read in former ages; an action, by which they ennobled not only laws, and their execution, which seem for the future equally restored to high and low against one another; but even justice, and to have rendered it, after so signal a judgment, more illustrious and greater than in its own self.

We are now come to an end of the 3d page of the first book, and have not the bare narrative he promised us yet. He complains that our principles are, that a king, whose government is burdensome and odious, may lawfully be deposed: and “by this doctrine,” says he, “if they had had a king a thousand times better than they had, they would not have spared his life.” Observe the man’s subtle way of arguing. For I would willingly be informed what consequence there is in this, unless he allows, that a king’s government may be burdensome and odious, who is a thousand times better than our king was. So that now he has brought things to this pass, to make the king that he defends a thousand times worse than some whose government notwithstanding is burdensome and odious, that is, it may be, the most monstrous tyrant that ever reigned. I wish ye joy, O ye kings, of so able a defender! Now the narrative begins. “They put him to several sorts of torments.” Give an instance. “They removed him from prison to prison;” and so they might lawfully do; for having been a tyrant, he became an open enemy, and was taken in war. “Often changing his keepers.” Lest they themselves should change. “Sometimes they gave him hopes of liberty; nay, and sometimes even of restoring him to his crown, upon articles of agreement.” It seems then the taking away his life was not done upon so much premeditation, as he talked of before; and that we did not lay hold on all opportunities and means, that offered themselves, to renounce our king. Those things that in the beginning of the war we demanded of him, when he had almost brought us under, which things if they were denied us, we could enjoy no liberty, nor live in any safety; those very things we petitioned him for when he was our prisoner, in a humble, submissive way, not once, nor twice, but thrice, and oftener, and were as often denied. When we had now lost all hopes of the king’s complying with us, then was that noble order of parliament made, that from that time forward, there should no articles be sent to the king; so that we left off applying ourselves to him, not from the time that he began to be a tyrant, but from the time that we found him incurable. But afterward some parliament-men set upon a new project, and meeting with a convenient opportunity to put it in practice, pass a vote to send further proposals once more to the king. Whose wickedness and folly nearest resembles that of the Roman senate, who contrary to the opinion of M. Tullius, and all honest men, voted to send embassadors to M. Antony; and the event had been the same, but that it pleased God Almighty, in his providence, to order it otherwise, and to assert our liberty, though he suffered them to be enslaved: for though the king did not agree to any thing that might conduce to a firm peace, and settlement of things, more than he had before, they go and vote themselves satisfied. Then the sounder part of the house finding themselves and the commonwealth betrayed, implore the aid of that valiant and always faithful army to the commonwealth. Upon which occasion I can observe only this, which yet I am loth to utter; to wit, that our soldiers understood themselves better than our senators, and that they saved the commonwealth by their arms, when the other by their votes had almost ruined it. Then he relates a great many things in a doleful, lamentable strain; but he does it so senselessly, that he seems rather to beg of his readers, that they would be sorrowful, than to stir up any such passion in them. It grieves him “to think that the king should undergo a capital punishment, after such a manner as no other king ever had done.” Though he had often told us before, that there never was a king that underwent a capital punishment at all. Do you use to compare ways and manners, ye coxcomb, when you have no things nor actions to compare with one another? “He suffered death,” says he, “as a robber, as a murderer, as a parricide, as a traitor, as a tyrant.” Is this defending the king? Or is it not rather giving a more severe sentence against him, than that that we gave? How came you so all on a sudden to be of our mind? He complains “that executioners in vizards [personati carnifices] cut off the king’s head.” What shall we do with this fellow? He told us before, of “a murder committed on one in the disguise of a king [in personâ regis]:” now he says, it was done in the disguise of an executioner. It were to no purpose, to take particular notice of every silly thing he says. He tells stories of “boxes on the ear, and kicks, that,” he says, “were given the king by common soldiers, and that it was four shillings apiece to see his dead body.” These, and such like stories, which partly are false, and partly impertinent, betray the ignorance and childishness of our poor scholar; but are far from making any reader ever a whit the sadder. In good faith his son Charles had done better to have hired some ballad-singer, to have bewailed his father’s misfortunes, than this doleful, shall I call him, or rather most ridiculous orator, who is so dry and insipid, that there is not the least spirit in any thing he says.

Now the narrative is done, and it is hard to say what he does next, he runs on so sordidly and irregular. Now he is angry, then he wonders; he neither cares what he talks, nor how; repeats the same things ten times over, that could not but look ill, though he had said them but once. And I persuade myself, the extemporary rhymes of some antic juck-pudding may deserve printing better; so far am I from thinking aught he says worthy of a serious answer. I pass by his styling the king a “protector of religion.” who chose to make war upon the church, rather than part with those church-tyrants, and enemies of all religion, the bishops; and how is it possible, that he should “maintain religion in its purity,” that was himself a slave to those impure traditions and ceremonies of theirs? And for our “sectaries, whose sacrilegious meetings,” you say, “have public allowance;” instance in any of their principles, the profession of which is not openly allowed of, and countenanced in Holland. But in the mean time, there is not a more sacrilegious wretch in nature than yourself, that always took liberty to speak ill of all sorts of people. “They could not wound the commonwealth more dangerously, than by taking off its master.” Learn, ye abject, homeborn slave; unless ye take away the master, ye destroy the commonwealth. That that has a master, is one man’s property. The word master denotes a private, not a public relation. “They persecute most unjustly those ministers, that abhorred this action of theirs.” Lest you should not know what ministers he means, I will tell you in a few words what manner of men they were; they were those very men, that by their writings and sermons justified taking up arms against the king, and stirred the people up to it: that daily cursed, as Deborah did Meroz, all such as would not furnish the parliament either with arms, or men, or money. That taught the people out of their pulpits, that they were not about to fight against a king, but a greater tyrant than either Saul or Ahab ever were; nay, more a Nero than Nero himself. As soon as the bishops, and those clergymen whom they daily inveighed against, and branded with the odious names of pluralists and nonresidents, were taken out of their way, they presently jump, some into two, some into three of their best benefices; being now warm themselves, they soon unworthily neglected their charge. Their covetousness brake through all restraints of modesty and religion, and themselves now labour under the same infamy, that they had loaded their predecessors with; and because their covetousness is not yet satisfied, and their ambition has accustomed them to raise tumults, and be enemies to peace, they cannot rest at quiet yet, but preach up sedition against the magistracy, as it is now established, as they had formerly done against the king. They now tell the people, that he was cruelly murdered; upon whom themselves having heaped all their curses, had devoted him to destruction, whom they had delivered up as it were to the parliament, to be despoiled of his royalty, and pursued with a holy war. They now complain, that the sectaries are not extirpated; which is a most absurd thing to expect the magistrates should be able to do, who never yet were able, do what they could, to extirpate avarice and ambition, those two most pernicious heresies, and more destructive to the church than all the rest, out of the very order and tribe of the ministers themselves.

For the sects which they inveigh against, I confess there are such amongst us, but they are obscure, and make no noise in the world: the sects that they are of, are public and notorious, and much more dangerous to the church of God. Simon Magus and Diotrephes were the ringleaders of them. Yet are we so far from persecuting these men, though they are pestilent enough, that though we know them to be ill-affected to the government, and desirous of and endeavouring to work a change, we allow them but too much liberty. You, that are both a Frenchman and a vagabond, seem displeased that “the English, more fierce and cruel than their own mastiffs,” as your barking eloquence has it, “have no regard to the lawful successor and heir of the crown: take no care of the king’s youngest son, nor of the queen of Bohemia.” I will make ye no answer; you shall answer yourself. “When the frame of a government is changed from a monarchy to any other, the new modellers have no regard to succession:” the application is easy; it is in your book De primatu Papæ. “The great change throughout three kingdoms,” you say, “was brought about by a small number of men in one of them.” If this were true, that small number of men would have deserved to have dominion over the rest; valiant men over fainthearted cowards. “These are they that presumptuously took upon them to change,” antiquum regni regimen, in alium qui a pluribus tyrannis teneatur. It is well for them that you cannot find fault with them, without committing a barbarous solecism; you shame all grammarians. “The English will never be able to wash out this stain.” Nay, you, though a blot and a stain to all learned men, were never yet able to stain the renown and everlasting glory of the English nation, that with so great a resolution, as we hardly find the like recorded in any history, having struggled with, and overcome, not only their enemies in the field, but the superstitious persuasions of the common people, have purchased to themselves in general amongst all posterity the name of deliverers: the body of the people having undertook and performed an enterprise, which in other nations is thought to proceed only from a magnanimity that is peculiar to heroes. What “the protestants and primitive Christians” have done, or would do upon such an occasion, I will tell ye hereafter, when we come to debate the merits of the cause: in discoursing it before, I should be guilty of your fault, who outdo the most impertinent talkers in nature.

You wonder how we shall be able to answer the Jesuits. Meddle with your own matters, you runagate, and be ashamed of your actions, since the church is ashamed of you; who, though but of late you set yourself so fiercely and with so much ostentation against the pope’s supremacy and episcopal government, are now become yourself a very creature of the bishops.

You confess, that “some protestants, whom you do not name, have asserted it lawful to depose a tyrant:” but though you do not think fit to name them, I will, because you say “they are far worse than the very Jesuits themselves;” they are no other than Luther, and Zuinglius, and Calvin, and Bucer, and Pareus, and many others. “But then,” you say, “they refer it to the judgment of learned and wise men, who shall be accounted a tyrant. But what for men were these? Were they wise men, were they men of learning? Were they anywise remarkable, either for virtue or nobility?” You may well allow a people, that has felt the heavy yoke of slavery to be wise, and learned, and noble enough, to know what is fit to be done to the tyrant that has oppressed them; though they neither consult with foreigners nor grammarians. But that this man was a tyrant, not only the parliaments of England and Scotland have declared by their actions and express words; but almost all the people of both nations assented to it, till such time as by the tricks and artifices of the bishops they were divided into two factions: and what if it has pleased God to choose such men, to execute his vengeance upon the greatest potentates on earth, as he chose to be made partakers of the benefit of the gospel? “Not many wise, not many learned, not many powerful, not many noble: that by those that are not, he might bring to nought those that are; and that no flesh might glory in his sight.” And who are you, that babble to the contrary? dare you affect the reputation of a learned man? I confess you are pretty well versed in phrase-books, and lexicons, and glossaries; insomuch that you seem to have spent your time in nothing else. But you do not make appear, that you have read any good authors with so much judgment as to have benefited by them. Other copies, and various lections, and words omitted, and corruptions of texts, and the like, these you are full of; but no footstep of any solid learning appears in all you have writ: or do ye think yourself a wise man, that quarrel and contend about the meanest trifles that may be? That being altogether ignorant in astronomy and physic, yet are always railing at the professors of both, whom all men credit in what things belong to their own sciences, that would be ready to curse them to the pit of hell, that should offer to deprive you of the vain glory of having corrected or supplied the least word or letter in any copy you have criticised upon. And yet you are mad to hear yourself called a grammarian. In certain trifling discourses of yours, you call Dr. Hammond knave in plain terms, who was one of this king’s chaplains, and one that he valued above all the rest, for no other reason but because he had called you a grammarian. And I do not question, but you would have been as ready to have thrown the same reproach upon the king himself, if you had heard that he had approved his chaplain’s judgment of you. Take notice now, how much I (who am but one of those many English, that you have the impudence to call madmen, and unlearned, and ignoble, and wicked) slight and despise you, (for that the English nation in general should take any notice in public of such a worm as you are, would be an infinite undervaluing of themselves,) who, though one should turn you topsyturvy, and inside out, are but a grammarian: nay, as if you had made a foolisher wish than Midas did, whatever you meddle with, except when you make solecisms, is grammar still. Whosoever therefore he be, though from among the dregs of that common people that you are so keen upon, (for as for those men of eminency amongst us, whose great actions evidenced to all men their nobility, and virtue, and conduct, I will not disgrace them so much, as to compare you to them, or them to you,) but whosoever, I say, among the dregs of that common people, has but sucked in this principle, that he was not born for his prince, but for God and his country; he deserves the reputation of a learned, and an honest, and a wise man more, and is of greater use in the world, than yourself. For such a one is learned without letters; you have letters, but no learning, that understand so many languages, turn over so many volumes, and yet are but asleep when all is done.

CHAPTER II.

THE argument that Salmasius, toward the conclusion of his first chapter, urged as irrefragable, to wit, that it was really so, because all men unanimously agreed in it; that very argument, than which, as he applied it, there is nothing more false, I, that am now about to discourse of the right of kings, may turn upon himself with a great deal of truth. For, whereas he defines “a king” (if that may be said to be defined which he makes infinite) “to be a person in whom the supreme power of the kingdom resides, who is answerable to God alone, who may do whatsoever pleases him, who is bound by no law:” I will undertake to demonstrate, not by mine, but by his own reasons and authorities, that there never was a nation or people of any account (for to ransack all the uncivilized parts of the world were to no purpose) that ever allowed this to be their king’s right, or put such exorbitant power into his hand, as “that he should not be bound by any law that he might do what he would, that he should judge all, but be judged of none.” Nor can I persuade myself, that there ever was any one person besides Salmasius of so slavish a spirit, as to assert the outrageous enormities of tyrants to be the rights of kings. Those amongst us that were the greatest royalists, always abhorred this sordid opinion: and Salmasius himself, as appears by some other writings of his before he was bribed, was quite of another mind. Insomuch, that what he here gives out, does not look like the dictates of a free subject under a free government, much less in so famous a commonwealth as that of Holland, and the most eminent university there: but seems to have been penned by some despicable slave, that lay rotting in a prison, or a dungeon. If whatever a king has a mind to do, the right of kings will bear him out in, (which was a lesson that the bloody tyrant Antoninus Caracalla, though his step-mother Julia preached it to him, and endeavoured to inure him to the practice of it, by making him commit incest with herself, yet could hardly suck in,) then there neither is, nor ever was, that king, that deserved the name of a tyrant. They may safely violate all the laws of God and man: their very being kings keeps them innocent. What crime was ever any of them guilty of? They did but make use of their own right upon their own vassals. No king can commit such horrible cruelties and outrages, as will not be within this right of kings. So that there is no pretence left for any complaints or expostulations with any of them. And dare you assert, that “this right of kings,” as you call it, “is grounded upon the law of nations, or rather upon that of nature,” you brute beast? for you deserve not the name of a man, that are so cruel and unjust towards all those of your own kind; that endeavour, as much as in your lies, so to bear down and vilify the whole race of mankind, that were made after the image of God, as to assert and maintain, that those cruel and unmerciful taskmasters, that through the superstitious whimsies, or sloth, or treachery of some persons, get into the chair, are provided and appointed by nature herself, that mild and gentle mother of us all, to be the governors of those nations they enslave. By which pestilent doctrine of yours, having rendered them more fierce and untractable, you not only enable them to make havoc of, and trample under foot, their miserable subjects; but endeavour to arm them for that very purpose with the law of nature, the right of kings, and the very constitutions of government, than which nothing can be more impious or ridiculous. By my consent, as Dionysius formerly of a tyrant became a schoolmaster, so you of a grammarian should become a tyrant; not that you may have that regal license of doing other people harm, but a fair opportunity of perishing miserably yourself: that, as Tiberius complained, when he had confined himself to the island Capreæ, you may be reduced into such a condition, as to be sensible that you perish daily. But let us look a little more narrowly into this right of kings that you talk of. “This was the sense of the eastern, and of the western part of the world.” I shall not answer you with what Aristotle and Cicero (who are both as credible authors as any we have) tell us, viz. That the people of Asia easily submit to slavery, but the Syrians and the Jews are even born to it from the womb. I confess there are but few, and those men of great wisdom and courage, that are either desirous of liberty, or capable of using it. The greatest part of the world choose to live under masters; but yet they would have them just ones. As for such as are unjust and tyrannical, neither was God ever so much an enemy to mankind, as to enjoin a necessity of submitting to them; nor was there ever any people so destitute of all sense, and sunk into such a depth of despair, as to impose so cruel a law upon themselves and their posterity. First, you produce “the words of King Solomon in his Ecclesiastes.” And we are as willing to appeal to the Scripture as you. As for Solomon’s authority, we will consider that hereafter, when perhaps we shall be better able to understand it. First, let us hear God himself speak, Deut. xvii. 14. “When thou art come into the land, which the Lord thy God giveth thee, and shalt say, I will set a king over me, like as the nations that are round about me.” Which passage I could wish all men would seriously consider: for hence it appears by the testimony of God himself; first, that all nations are at liberty to erect what form of government they will amongst themselves, and to change it when and into what they will. This God affirms in express terms concerning the Hebrew nation; and it does not appear but that other nations are, as to this respect, in the same condition. Another remark that this place yields us, is, that a commonwealth is a more perfect form of government than a monarchy, and more suitable to the condition of mankind, and in the opinion of God himself better for his own people; for himself appointed it, and could hardly be prevailed withal a great while after, and at their own importunate desire, to let them change it into a monarchy. But to make it appear, that he gave them their choice to be governed by a single person, or by more, so they were justly governed, in case they should in time to come resolve upon a king, he prescribes laws for this king of theirs to observe, whereby he was forbidden to multiply to himself horses and wives, or to heap up riches: whence he might easily infer, that no power was put into his hands over others, but according to law, since even those actions of his life, which related only to himself, were under a law. He was commanded therefore to transcribe with his own hand all the precepts of the law, and having writ them out, to observe and keep them, that his mind might not be lifted up above his brethren. It is evident from hence, that as well the prince as the people was bound by the law of Moses. To this purpose Josephus writes, a proper and able interpreter of the laws of his own country, who was admirably well versed in the Jewish policy, and infinitely preferable to a thousand obscure ignorant rabbins: he has it thus in the fourth book of his Antiquities, Ἁριςοϰρατία μὲν οὖν ϰράτιςον, c. “An Aristocracy is the best form of government; wherefore do not you endeavour to settle any other; it is enough for you, that God presides over ye, but if you will have a king, let him guide himself by the law of God, rather than by his own wisdom; and lay a restraint upon him, if he offer at more power than the state of your affairs will allow of.” Thus he expresses himself upon this place in Deuteronomy. Another Jewish author, Philo Judæus, who was Josephus’s contemporary, a very studious man in the law of Moses, upon which he wrote a large commentary: when in his book concerning the creation of the king, he interprets this chapter of Deuteronomy, he sets a king loose from the law no otherwise than as an enemy may be said to be so: “They,” says he, “that to the prejudice and destruction of the people acquire great power to themselves, deserve not the name of kings, but that of enemies: for their actions are the same with those of an irreconcilable enemy. Nay, they, that under a pretence of government are injurious, are worse than open enemies. We may fence ourselves against the latter; but the malice of the former is so much the more pestilent, because it is not always easy to be discovered.” But when it is discovered, why should they not be dealt with as enemies? The same author in his second book, Allegoriar. Legis, “A king,” says he, “and a tyrant, are contraries.” And a little after, “A king ought not only to command, but also to obey.” All this is very true, you will say, a king ought to observe the laws, as well as any other man. But what if he will not, what law is there to punish him? I answer, the same law that there is to punish other men; for I find no exceptions. There is no express law to punish the priests, or any other inferior magistrates, who all of them, if this opinion of the exemption of kings from the penalties of the law would hold, might, by the same reason claim impunity, what guilt soever they contract, because there is no positive law for their punishment; and yet I suppose none of them ever challenged such a prerogative, nor would it ever be allowed them, if they should.

Hitherto we have learned from the very text of God’s own law, that a king ought to obey the laws, and not lift himself up above his brethren. Let us now consider whether Solomon preached up any other doctrine, chap. viii. ver. 2, “I counsel thee to keep the king’s commandment, and that in regard of the oath of God. Be not hasty to go out of his sight; stand not in an evil thing; for he doth whatsoever pleaseth him. Where the word of a king is, there is power; and who may say unto him, what dost thou?” It is well enough known, that here the preacher directs not his precepts to the Sanhedrim, or to a parliament, but to private persons; and such he commands to “keep the king’s commandment, and that in regard of the oath of God.” But as they swear allegiance to kings, do not kings likewise swear to obey and maintain the laws of God, and those of their own country? So the Reubenites and Gadites promise obedience to Joshua, Josh. i. 17, “According as we hearkened unto Moses in all things, so will we hearken unto thee; only the Lord thy God be with thee, as he was with Moses.” Here is an express condition. Hear the preacher else, ch. ix. ver. 17, “The words of wise men are heard in quiet, more than the cry of him that ruleth among fools.” The next caution that Solomon gives us, is, “Be not hasty to go out of his sight; stand not in an evil thing; for he doth whatsoever pleaseth him.” That is, he does what he will to malefactors, whom the law authorizes him to punish, and against whom he may proceed with mercy or severity, as he sees occasion. Here is nothing like tyranny; nothing that a good man needs be afraid of. “Where the word of a king is, there is power; and who may say to him, What dost thou?” And yet we read of one, that not only said to a king, “What dost thou?” but told him, “Thou hast done foolishly.” But Samuel, you may say, was an extraordinary person. I answer you with your own words, which follow in the forty-ninth page of your book, “What was there extraordinary,” say you, “in Saul or David?” And so say I, what was there in Samuel extraordinary? He was a prophet, you will say; so are they that now follow his example; for they act according to the will of God, either his revealed or his sacred will, which yourself grant in your 50th page. The preacher therefore in this place prudently advises private persons not to contend with princes; for it is even dangerous to contend with any man, that is either rich or powerful. But what then? must therefore the nobility of a nation, and all the inferior magistrates, and the whole body of the people, not dare to mutter when a king raves and acts like a madman? Must they not oppose a foolish, wicked, and outrageous tyrant, that perhaps seeks the destruction of all good men? Must they not endeavour to prevent his turning all divine and human things upside down? Must they suffer him to massacre his people, burn their cities, and commit such outrages upon them daily; and finally, to have perfect liberty to do what he lists without control?

- O de Cappadocis eques catastris!

- Thou slavish knight of Cappadocia!

Whom all free people, if you can have the confidence hereafter to set your foot within a free country, ought to cast out from amongst them, and send to some remote parts of the world, as a prodigy of dire portent; or to condemn to some perpetual drudgery, as one devoted to slavery, solemnly obliging themselves, if they ever let you go, to undergo a worse slavery under some cruel, silly tyrant: no man living can either devise himself, or borrow from any other, expressions so full of cruelty and contempt, as may not justly be applied to you. But go on. “When the Israelites asked a king of God, they said, they would set up a king that should have the same rule and dominion over them, that the kings of their neighbour countries exercised over their subjects. But the kings of the East we know had an unlimited power,” as Virgil testifies,

- “———Regem non sic Ægyptus et ingens

- Lydia, nec populi Parthorum, et Medus Hydaspes

- Observant.”———

- “No Eastern nation ever did adore

- The majesty of sovereign princes more.”

First, what is that to us, what sort of kings the Israelites desired? Especially since God was angry with them, not only for desiring such a king as other nations had, and not such a king as his own law describes, but barely for desiring a king at all? Nor is it credible, that they should desire an unjust king, and one that should be out of the reach of all laws, who could not bear the government of Samuel’s sons, though under the power of laws; but from their covetousness sought refuge in a king. And lastly, the verse that you quote out of Virgil does not prove, that the kings of the East had an absolute unlimited power; for those bees, that he there speaks of, and who reverence their kings, he says, more than the Egyptians or Medes do theirs, by the authority of the same poet:

- “——Magnis agitant sub legibus ævum.”

- “Live under certain fundamental laws.”

They do not live under a king then, that is tied to no law. But now I will let you see how little reason you have to think I bear you an ill-will. Most people think you a knave; but I will make it appear, that you have only put on a knave’s vizor for the present. In your introduction to your discourse of the pope’s supremacy, you say, that some divines in the council of Trent made use of the government, that is said to be amongst bees, to prove the pope’s supremacy. This fancy you borrow from them, and urge it here with the same malice that they did there. Now that very same answer that you gave them, whilst you were an honest man, now that you are become a knave, you shall give yourself and pull off with your own hand that vizor you have now put on: “The bees,” say you, “are a state, and so natural philosophers call them; they have a king, but a harmless one; he is a leader, or captain, rather than a king; he never beats, nor pulls, nor kills his subject bees.” No wonder they are so observant of him then: but in good faith, you had but ill luck to meddle with these bees; for though they are bees of Trent, they show you to be a drone. Aristotle, a most exact writer of politics, affirms that the Asiatic monarchy, which yet himself calls barbarous, was according to law, Politic. 3. And whereas he reckons up five several sorts of monarchies, four of those five he makes governments according to laws, and with the consent of the people; and yet he calls them tyrannical forms of government, because they lodge so much power in one man’s hand. But the kingdom of the Lacedemonians, he says, is most properly a kingdom, because there all power is not in the king.

The fifth sort of monarchy, which he calls παμβασιλεία that is, where the king is all in all: and to which he refers that that you call the right of kings, which is a liberty to do what they list; he neither tells us when nor where any such form of government ever obtained. Nor seems he to have mentioned it for any other purpose, than to show how unjust, absurd, and tyrannical a government it is. You say, that when Samuel would deter the people from choosing a king, he propounded to them this right of kings. But whence had Samuel it? Had he it from the written law of God? That cannot be. We have observed already, that the Scriptures afford us a quite other scheme of sovereignty. Had Samuel it then immediately from God himself by revelation? That is not likely neither; for God dislikes it, discommends it, finds fault with it: so that Samuel does not expound to the people any right of kings appointed by God; but a corrupt and depraved manner of governing, taken up by the pride and ambition of princes. He tells not the people what their kings ought to do, but what they would do. He told them the manner of their king, as before he told us the manner of the priests, the sons of Eli; for he uses the same word in both places (which you in the thirty-third page of your book, by a Hebrew solecism too, call םׁשפח.) That manner of theirs was wicked, and odious, and tyrannical: it was no right, but great wrong. The fathers have commented upon this place too: I will instance in one, that may stand for a great many; and that is Sulpitius Severus, a contemporary and intimate friend of St. Jerome, and, in St. Augustin’s opinion, a man of great wisdom and learning. He tells us in his sacred history, that Samuel in that place acquaints the people with the imperious rule of kings, and how they used to lord it over their subjects. Certainly it cannot be the right of kings to domineer and be imperious. But according to Sallust, that lawful power and authority that kings were entrusted with, for the preservation of the public liberty, and the good of the commonwealth, quickly degenerated into pride and tyranny: and this is the sense of all orthodox divines, and of all lawyers, upon that place of Samuel. And you might have learned from Sichardus, that most of the rabbins too were of the same mind; at least, not any one of them ever asserted, that the absolute inherent right of kings is there discoursed of. Yourself in your fifth chapter, page 106, complain, that “not only Clemens Alexandrinus, but all other expositors mistake themselves upon this text:” and you, I will warrant ye, are the only man that have had the good luck to hit the mark. Now, what a peice of folly and impudence is this in you to maintain, in opposition to all orthodox expositors, that those very actions, which God so much condemns, are the right of kings, and to pretend law for them! Though yourself confess, that that right is very often exercised in committing outrages, being injurious, contumelious, and the like. Was any man ever to that degree sui juris, so much his own master, as that he might lawfully prey upon mankind, bear down all that stood in his way, and turn all things upside down? Did the Romans ever maintain, as you say they did, that any man might do these things suo jure, by virtue of some inherent right in himself? Sallust indeed makes C. Memmius, a tribune of the people, in an invective speech of his against the pride of the nobility, and their escaping unpunished, howsoever they misbehaved themselves, to use these words, viz., “To do whatever one has a mind to, without fear of punishment, is to be a king.” This saying you catched hold of, thinking it would make for your purpose; but consider it a little better, and you will find yourself deceived. Does he in that place assert the right of kings? or does he not blame the common people, and chide them for their sloth, in suffering their nobility to lord it over them, as if they were out of the reach of all law, and in submitting again to that kingly tyranny, which, together with their kings themselves, their ancestors had lawfully and justly rejected and banished from amongst them? If you had consulted Tully, you would have understood both Sallust and Samuel better. In his oration pro C. Rabirio, “There is none of us ignorant,” says he, “of the manner of kings. These are their lordly dictates: mind what I say, and do accordingly.” Many passages to this purpose he quotes out of poets, and calls them not the right, but the custom or manner of kings; and he says, we ought to read and consider them, not only for curiosity’s sake, but that we may learn to beware of them, and avoid them. You perceive how miserably you are come off with Sallust, who though he be as much an enemy to tyranny as any other author whatsoever, you thought would have patronized this tyrannical right that you are establishing. Take my word for it, the right of kings seems to be tottering, and even to further its own ruin, by relying upon such weak props for its support; and by endeavouring to maintain itself by such examples and authorities, as would hasten its downfall, if it were further off than it is.

“The extremity of right or law,” you say, “is the height of injury, Summum jus summa injuria; this saying is verified most properly in kings, who, when they go to the utmost of their right, fall into these courses, in which Samuel makes the rights of kings to consist.” And it is a miserable right, which, when you have said all you can for, you can no otherwise defend, than by confessing, that it is the greatest injury that may be. The extremity of right or law is said to be, when a man ties himself up to niceties, dwells upon letters and syllables, and in the mean time neglects the intent and equity of the law; or when a written law is cunningly and maliciously interpreted; this Cicero makes to have been the rise of that common saying. But since it is certain that all right flows from the fountain of justice, so that nothing can possibly be any man’s right that is not just; it is a most wicked thing in you to affirm, that for a king to be unjust, rapacious, tyrannical, and as ill as the worst of them ever was, is according to the right of kings; and to tell us that a holy prophet would have persuaded the people to such a senseless thing. For whether written or unwritten, whether extreme or remiss, what right can any man have to be injurious? Which, lest you should confess to be true of other men, but not of kings, I have one man’s authority to object to you, who, I think, was a king likewise, and professes that that right of kings, that you speak of, is odious both to God and himself: it is in the 94th psalm, “Shall the throne of iniquity have fellowship with thee, that frameth mischief by a law?” Be not therefore so injurious to God, as to ascribe this doctrine to him, viz. that all manner of wicked and flagitious actions are but the right of kings; since himself tells us, that he abhors all fellowship with wicked princes for this very reason, because, under pretence of sovereignty, they create misery and vexation to their subjects. Neither bring up a false accusation against a prophet of God; for by making him to teach us in this place what the right of kings is, you do not produce the right Samuel, but such another empty shadow as was raised by the witch of Endor. Though for my own part, I verily believe that that infernal Samuel would not have been so great a liar, but that he would have confessed, that what you call the right of kings, is tyranny. We read indeed of impieties countenanced by law, Jus datum sceleri: you yourself confess, that they are bad kings that have made use of this boundless license of theirs to do every thing. Now, this right that you have introduced for the destruction of mankind, not proceeding from God, as I have proved it does not, must needs come from the devil; and that it does really so, will appear more clearly hereafter. “By virtue of this liberty, say you, princes may if they will.” And for this, you pretend to have Cicero’s authority. I am always willing to mention your authorities, for it generally happens, that the very authors you quote them out of, give you an answer themselves. Hear else what Cicero says in his 4th Philippic, “What cause of war can be more just and warrantable than to avoid slavery? For though a people may have the good fortune to live under a gentle master, yet those are in a miserable condition, whose prince may tyrannize over them if he will.” May, that is, can; has power enough so to do. If he meant it of his right, he would contradict himself, and make that an unjust cause of war, which himself had affirmed with the same breath to be a most just one. It is not therefore the right of all kings that you describe, but the injuriousness, and force, and violence of some. Then you tell us what private men may do. “A private man,” say you, “may lie, may be ungrateful:” and so may kings, but what then? May they therefore plunder, murder, ravish, without control? It is equally prejudicial and destructive to the commonwealth, whether it be their own prince, or a robber, or a foreign enemy, that spoils, massacres, and enslaves them. And questionless, being both alike enemies of human society, the one, as well as the other, may lawfully be opposed and punished; and their own prince the rather, because he, though raised to that dignity by the honours that his people have conferred upon him, and being bound by his oath to defend the public safety, betrays it notwithstanding all. At last you grant, that “Moses prescribes laws, according to which the king that the people of Israel should choose, ought to govern, though different from this right that Samuel proposes;” which words contain a double contradiction to what you have said before. For whereas you had affirmed, that a king was bound by no law, here you confess he is. And you set up two contrary rights, one described by Moses, and another by Samuel, which is absurd. “But,” says the prophet, “you shall be servants to your king.” Though I should grant that the Israelites were really so, it would not presently follow, that it was the right of their kings to have them so; but that by the usurpation and injustice of most of them, they were reduced to that condition. For the prophet had foretold them, that that importunate petition of theirs would bring a punishment from God upon them; not because it would be their king’s right so to harass them, but because they themselves had deserved it should be so. If kings are out of the reach of the law, so as that they may do what they list, they are more absolute than any masters, and their subjects in a more despical condition than the worst of slaves The law of God provided some redress from them, though of another nation, if their masters were cruel and unreasonable towards them. And can we imagine, that the whole body of the people of a free nation, though oppressed and tyrannized over, and preyed upon, should be left remediless? That they had no law to protect them, no sanctuary to betake themselves to? Can we think, that they were delivered from the bondage they were under to the Egyptian kings, to be reduced into a worse to one of their own brethren? All which being neither agreeable to the law of God, nor to common sense, nothing can be more evident, than that the prophet declares to the people the manner, and not the right of kings; nor the manner of all kings, but of most. Then you come to the rabbins, and quote two of them, but you have as bad luck with them here, as you had before. For it is plain, that that other chapter that rabbi Joses speaks of, and which contains, he says, the right of kings, is that in Deuteronomy, and not in Samuel. For rabbi Judas says very truly, and against you, that that discourse of Samuel’s was intended only to frighten the people. It is a most pernicious doctrine, to maintain that to be any one’s right, which in itself is flat injustice, unless you have a mind to speak by contraries. And that Samuel intended to affrighten them, appears by the 18th verse, “And ye shall cry out in that day, because of your king, which ye shall have chosen you, and I will not hear you in that day, saith the Lord.” That was to be their punishment for their obstinacy in persisting to desire a king, against the mind and will of God; and yet they are not forbidden here either to pray against him, or to endeavour to rid themselves of him. For if they might lawfully pray to God against him, without doubt they might use all lawful means for their own deliverance. For what man living, when he finds himself in any calamity, betakes himself to God, so as to neglect his own duty, in order to a redress, and rely upon his lazy prayers only? But be it how it will, what is all this to the right of kings, or of the English people? who neither asked a king against the will of God, nor had one appointed us by God, but by the right that all nations have to appoint their own governors, appointed a king over us by laws of our own, neither in obedience to, nor against, any command of God? And this being the case, for aught I see, we have done well in deposing our king, and are to be commended for it, since the Israelites sinned in asking one. And this the event has made appear; for we, when we had a king, prayed to God against him, and he heard us, and delivered us: but the Jews (who not being under a kingly government, desired a king) he suffered to live in slavery under one, till, at last, after their return from the Babylonish captivity, they betook themselves to their former government again. Then you come to give us a display of your talmudical learning; but you have as ill success with that as you have had with all the rest. For, whilst you are endeavouring to prove that kings are not liable to any temporal judicature, you quote an authority out of the treatise of the Sanhedrim, “that the king neither is judged of others, nor does himself judge any.” Which is against the people’s own petition in Samuel; for they desired a king that might judge them. You labour in vain to salve this, by telling us, that it is to be understood of those kings that reigned after the Babylonish captivity. For then, what say ye to Maimonides? He makes this difference betwixt the kings of Israel and those of Juda; that the kings of the posterity of David judge, and are judged; but the kings of Israel do neither. You contradict and quarrel with yourself or your rabbins, and still do my work for me. This, say you, is not to be understood of the kings of Israel in their first institution; for in the 17th verse it is said, “you shall be his servants;” that is, he shall use you to it, not that he shall have any right to make you so. Or if you understand it of their king’s right, it is but a judgment of God upon them for asking a king; the effects of which they were sensible of under most of their kings, though not perhaps under all. But you need no antagonists, you are such a perpetual adversary to yourself. For you tell us now a story, as if you were arguing on my side, how that first Aristobulus, and after him Jannæus surnamed Alexander, did not receive that kingly right that they pretended to, from the Sanhedrim, that great treasury and oracle of the laws of that nation, but usurped it by degrees against the will of the senate. For whose sake, you say, that childish fable of the principal men of that assembly being struck dead by the angel Gabriel was first invented. And thus you confess, that this magnificent prerogative, upon which you seem mainly to rely, viz. “that kings are not to be judged by any upon earth, was grounded upon this worse than an old wife’s tale, that is, upon a rabbinical fable.” But that the Hebrew kings were liable to be called in question for their actions, and to be punished with stripes, if they were found faulty, Sichardus shows at large out of the writings of the rabbins, to which author you are indebted for all that you employ of that sort of learning, and yet you have the impudence to be thwarting with him. Nay, we read in Scripture, that Saul thought himself bound by a decree of his own making; and in obedience thereunto, that he cast lots with his son Jonathan which of them two should die. Uzzias likewise, when he was thrust out of the temple by the priests as a leper, submitted as every private person in such a case ought to do, and ceased to be a king. Suppose he should have refused to go out of the temple, and lay down the government, and live alone, and had resolved to assert that kingly right of not being subject to any law, do you think the priests, and the people of the Jews, would have suffered the temple to be defiled, the laws violated, and live themselves in danger of the infection? It seems there are laws against a leprous king, but none against a tyrant. Can any man possibly be so mad and foolish as to fancy, that the laws should so far provide for the people’s health, as though some noisome distemper should seize upon the king himself, yet to prevent the infection’s reaching them, and make no provision for the security of their lives and estates, and the very being of the whole state, against the tyranny of a cruel, unjust prince, which is incomparably the greater mischief of the two? “But,” say you, “there can be no precedent shown of any one king that has been arraigned in a court of justice, and condemned to die.” Sichardus answers that well enough. It is all one, says he, as if one should argue on this manner: The emperor of Germany never was summoned to appear before one of the prince electors: therefore, if the prince elector Palatine should impeach the emperor, he were not bound to plead to it; though it appears by the golden bull, that Charles the Fourth subjected himself and his successors to that cognizance and jurisdiction.

But no wonder if kings were indulged in their ambition, and their exorbitances passed by, when the times were so corrupt and depraved, that even private men, if they had either money or interest, might escape the law, though guilty of crimes of never so high a nature. That ἀνυπεύθυνον, that you speak of, that is to be wholly independent upon any other, and accountable to none upon earth, which you say is peculiar to the majesty of sovereign princes, Aristotle in the 4th book of his Pol. Ch. 10, calls a most tyrannical form of government, and not in the least to be endured by a free people. And that kings are not liable to be questioned for their actions, you prove by the testimony of a very worthy author, that barbarous tyrant Mark Antony; one of those that subverted the commonwealth of Rome: and yet he himself, when he undertook an expedition against the Parthians, summoned Herod before him, to answer to a charge of murder, and would have punished him, but that Herod bribed him. So that Antony’s asserting this prerogative royal, and your defence of King Charles, come both out of one and the same spring. “And it is very reasonable,” say you, “that it should be so; for kings derive their authority from God alone.” What kings are those, I pray that do so? For I deny, that there ever were any such kings in the world, that derived their authority from God alone. Saul, the first king of Israel, had never reigned, but that the people desired a king, even against the will of God; and though he was proclaimed king once at Mizpah, yet after that he lived a private life, and looked to his father’s cattle, till he was created so the second time by the people at Gilgal. And what think ye of David? Though he had been anointed once by God, he was not anointed a second time in Hebron by the tribe of Judah, and after that by all the people of Israel, and that after a mutual covenant betwixt him and them? 2 Sam. v. 1 Chron. xi. Now, a covenant lays an obligation upon kings, and restrains them within bounds. Solomon, you say, “succeeded him in the throne of the Lord, and was acceptable to all men:” 1 Chron. xxix. So that it is something to be well-pleasing in the eyes of the people. Jehoiadah the priest made Joash king, but first he made him and the people enter into a covenant to one another, 2 Kings xi. I confess that these kings, and all that reigned of David’s posterity, were appointed to the kingdom both by God and the people; but of all other kings, of what country soever, I affirm, that they are made so by the people only: nor can you make it appear, that they are appointed by God, any otherwise than as all other things, great and small, are said to be appointed by him, because nothing comes to pass without his providence. So that I allow the throne of David was in a peculiar manner called “the throne of the Lord:” whereas the thrones of other princes are no otherwise God’s than all other things in the world are his; which if you would, you might have learnt out of the same chapter, ver. 11, 12. “Thine, O Lord, is the greatness, c. for all that is in the heaven and in the earth is thine. Both riches and honour come of thee, and thou reignest over all.” And this is so often repeated, not to puff up kings, but to put them in mind, though they think themselves gods, that yet there is a God above them, to whom they owe whatever they are and have. And thus we easily understand what the poets, and the Essenes among the Jews, mean, when they tell us, that it is by God that kings reign, and that they are of Jupiter; for so all of us are of God, we are all his offspring. So that this universal right of Almighty God’s and the interest that he has in princes, and their thrones, and all that belongs to them, does not at all derogate from the people’s right; but that notwithstanding all this, all other kings, not particularly and by name appointed by God, owe their sovereignty to the people only, and consequently are accountable to them for the management of it. The truth of which doctrine, though the common people are apt to flatter their kings, yet they themselves acknowledge, whether good ones, as Sarpedon in Homer is described to have been; or bad ones as those tyrants in the lyrick poet:

- Γλαῦϰε, τίη δὴ νῶι τετιμήμισθα, μαλίςα, c

- Glaucus, in Lycia we’re ador’d like gods:

- What makes ’twixt us and others so great odds?

He resolves the question himself: “Because, says he, we excel others in heroical virtues: Let us fight manfully then, says he, lest our countrymen tax us with sloth and cowardice.” In which words he intimates to us, both that kings derive their grandeur from the people, and that for their conduct and behaviour in war they are accountable to them. Bad kings indeed, though to cast some terror into people’s minds, and beget a reverence of themselves, they declare to the world, that God only is the author of kingly government; in their hearts and minds they reverence no other deity but that of fortune, according to that passage in Horace:

- Te Dacus asper, te profugi Scythæ,

- Regumque matres barbarorum, et

- Purpurei metuunt tyranni.

- Injurioso ne pede proruas

- Stantem columnam, neu populus frequens

- Ad arms oessantes, ad arma

- Concitet, imperiumque frangat.

- “All barb’rous people, and their princes too,

- All purple tyrants honour you;

- The very wand’ring Seythians do.

- “Support the pillar of the Roman state,

- Lest all men be involv’d in one man’s fate,

- Continue us in wealth and peace:

- Let wars and tumults ever cease.”

So that if it is by God that kings now-a-days reign, it is by God too that the people assert their own liberty; since all things are of him, and by him. I am sure the Scripture bears witness to both; that by him kings reign, and that by him they are cast down from their throne. And yet experience teaches us, that both these things are brought about by the people, oftener than by God. Be this right of kings, therefore, what it will, the right of the people is as much from God as it. And whenever any people, without some visible designation of God himself, appoint a king over them, they have the same right to put him down, that they had to set him up at first. And certainly it is a more godlike action to depose a tyrant than to set up one: and there appears much more of God in the people, when they depose an unjust prince, than in a king that oppresses an innocent people. Nay, the people have a warrant from God to judge wicked princes; for God has conferred this very honour upon those that are dear to him, that celebrating the praises of Christ, their own king, “they shall bind in chains the kings of the nations, (under which appellation all tyrants under the gospel are included,) and execute the judgments written upon them that challenge to themselves an exemption from all written laws,” Psalm cxlix. So that there is but little reason left for that wicked and foolish opinion, that kings, who commonly are the worst of men, should be so high in God’s account, as that he should have put the world under them, to be at their beck, and be governed according to their humour; and that for their sakes alone he should have reduced all mankind, whom he made after his own image, into the same condition with brutes.

After all this, rather than say nothing, you produce M. Aurelius as a countenancer of tyranny; but you had better have let him alone. I cannot say whether he ever affirmed, that princes are accountable only before God’s tribunal. But Xiphiline indeed, out of whom you quote those words of M. Aurelius, mentions a certain government, which he calls an Autarchy, of which he makes God the only judge: περὶ άυταρχίας ὁ Θεὸς μόνος ϰρίνειν δυνάται. But that this word Autarchy and Monarchy are synonymous, I cannot easily persuade myself to believe. And the more I read what goes before, the less I find myself inclinable to think so. And certainly whoever considers the context, will not easily apprehend what coherence this sentence has with it, and must needs wonder how it comes so abruptly into the text; especially, since Marcus Aurelius, that mirror of princes, carried himself towards the people, as Capitolinus tells us, just as if Rome had been a commonwealth still. And we all know, that when it was so, the supreme power was in the people. The same emperor honoured the memory of Thraseas, and Helvidius, and Cato, and Dio, and Brutus; who all were tyrant-slayers, or affected the reputation of being thought so. In the first book that he writes of his own life, he says, that he proposed to himself a form of government, under which all men might equally enjoy the benefit of the law, and right and justice be equally administered to all. And in his fourth book he says, the law is master, and not he. He acknowledged the right of the senate and the people, and their interest in all things: we are so far, says he, from having any thing of our own, that we live in your houses. These things Xiphiline relates of him. So little did he arrogate aught to himself by virtue of his sovereign right. When he died, he recommended his son to the Romans, for his successor, if they should think he deserved it. So far was he from pretending to a commission from Heaven to exercise that absolute and imaginary right of sovereignty, that Autarchy, that you tell us of. “All the Latin and Greek books are full of authorities of this nature.” But we have heard none of them yet. “So are the Jewish authors.” And yet, you say, “the Jews in many things allowed but too little to their princes.” Nay, you will find that both the Greeks and the Latins allowed much less to tyrants. And how little the Jews allowed them would appear, if that book that Samuel “wrote of the manner of the kingdom” were extant; which book, the Hebrew doctors tell us, their kings tore in pieces and burnt, that they might be more at liberty to tyrannize over the people without control or fear of punishment. Now look about ye again, and catch hold of somewhat or other.

In the last place, you come to wrest David’s words in the 17th Psalm, “let my sentence come forth from thy presence.” Therefore, says Barnachmoni, “God only can judge the king.” And yet it is most likely, that David penned this psalm when he was persecuted by Saul, at which time, though himself were anointed, he did not decline being judged even by Jonathan: “Notwithstanding, if there be iniquity in me, slay me thyself,” 1 Sam. xx. At least, in this psalm he does no more than what any person in the world would do upon the like occasion; being falsely accused by men, he appeals to the judgment of God himself, “let thine eyes look upon the thing that is right; thou hast proved and visited mine heart,” c. What relation has this to a temporal judicature? Certainly they do no good office to the right of kings, that thus discover the weakness of its foundation.

Then you come with that threadbare argument, which of all others is most in vogue with our courtiers, “Against thee, thee only have I sinned,” Psalm li. 6. As if David in the midst of his repentance, when overwhelmed with sorrow, and almost drowned in tears, he was humbly imploring God’s mercy, had any thoughts of this kingly right of his when his heart was so low, that he thought he deserved not the right of a slave. And can we think, that he despised all the people of God, his own brethren to that degree, as to believe that he might murder them, plunder them, and commit adultery with their wives, and yet not sin against them all this while? So holy a man could never be guilty of such insufferable pride, nor have so little knowledge either of himself, or of his duty to his neighbour. So without doubt when he says, “against thee only,” he meant, against thee chiefly have I sinned, c. But whatever he means, the words of a psalm are too full of poetry, and this psalm too full of passion, to afford us any exact definitions of right and justice; nor is it proper to argue any thing of that nature from them. “But David was never questioned for this, nor made to plead for his life before the Sanhedrim.” What then? How should they know, that any such thing had been, which was done so privately, that perhaps for some years after not above one or two were privy to it, as such secrets there are in most courts? 2 Sam. xii. “Thou hast done this thing in secret.” Besides, what if the senate should neglect to punish private persons? Would any infer, that therefore they ought not to be punished at all? But the reason why David was not proceeded against as a malefactor, is not much in the dark: he had condemned himself in the 5th verse, “The man that hath done this thing shall surely die.” To which the prophet presently replies, “Thou art the man.” So that in the prophet’s judgment, as well as his own, he was worthy of death: but God, by his sovereign right over all things, and of his great mercy to David, absolves him from the guilt of his sin, and the sentence of death which he had pronounced against himself; verse 13th, “The Lord hath put away thy sin, thou shalt not die.”

The next thing you do, is to rail at some bloody advocate or other, and you take a deal of pains to refute the conclusion of his discourse. Let him look to that; I will endeavour to be as short as I can in what I have undertaken to perform. But some things I must not pass by without taking notice of; as first and foremost your notorious contradictions; for in the 30th page you say, “The Israelites do not deprecate an unjust, rapacious, tyrannical king, one as bad as the worst of kings are.” And yet, page 42, you are very smart upon your advocate, for maintaining that the Israelites asked for a tyrant: “Would they have leaped out of the fryingpan into the fire,” say you, “and groan under the cruelty of the worst of tyrants, rather than live under bad judges, especially being used to such a form of government?” First, you said the Hebrews would rather live under tyrants and judges; here you say they would rather live under judges than tyrants; and that “they desired nothing less than a tyrant.” So that your advocate may answer you out of your own book. For according to your principles it is every king’s right to be a tyrant. What you say next is very true, “the supreme power was then in the people, which appears by their own rejecting their judges, and making choice of a kingly government.” Remember this, when I shall have occasion to make use of it. You say, that God gave the children of Israel a king as a thing good and profitable for them, and deny that he gave them one in his anger, as a punishment for their sin. But that will receive an easy answer; for to what purpose should they cry to God because of the king that they had chosen, if it were not because a kingly government is an evil thing; not in itself, but because it most commonly does, as Samuel forewarns the people that theirs would, degenerate into pride and tyranny? If you are not yet satisfied, hark what you say yourself; acknowledge your own hand, and blush; it is in your “Apparatus ad Primatum: God gave them a king in his anger,” say you, “being offended at their sin in rejecting him from ruling over them; and so the Christian church, as a punishment for its forsaking the pure worship of God, has been subjected to the more than kingly government of one mortal head.” So that if your own comparison holds, either God gave the children of Israel a king as an evil thing, and as a punishment, or he has set up the pope for the good of the church. Was there ever any thing more light and mad than this man is? Who would trust him in the smallest matters, that in things of so great concern says and unsays without any consideration in the world? You tell us in your twenty-ninth page, “that by the constitution of all nations, kings are bound by no law.” That “this had been the judgment both of the eastern and western part of the world.” And yet, page 43, you say, “That all the kings of the east ruled ϰατὰ νόμον, according to law, nay, that the very kings of Egypt in all matters whatsoever, whether great or small, were tied to laws.” Though in the beginning of this chapter you had undertook to demonstrate, that “kings are bound by no laws, that they give laws to others, but have none prescribed to themselves.” For my part I have no reason to be angry with you, for either you are mad, or of our side. You do not defend the king’s cause, but argue against him, and play the fool with him: or if you are in earnest, that epigram of Catullus,

- Tantò pessimus omnium poeta,

- Quantò tu optimus omnium patronus.

- The worst of poets, I myself declare,

- By how much you the best of patrons are.

That epigram, I say, may be turned, and very properly applied to you: for there never was so good a poet as you are a bad patron. Unless that stupidity, that you complain your advocate is “immersed over head and ears in,” has blinded the eyes of your own understanding too, I will make you now sensible that you are become a very brute yourself. For now you come and confess, that “the kings of all nations have laws prescribed to them.” But then you say again, “They are not so under the power of them, as to be liable to censure or punishment of death, if they break them.” Which yet you have proved neither from Scripture, nor from any good author. Observe then in short; to prescribe municipal laws to such as are not bound by them, is silly and ridiculous: and to punish all others, but leave some one man at liberty to commit all sort of impieties without fear of punishment, is most unjust; the law being general, and not making any exception; neither of which can be supposed to hold place in the constitutions of any wise lawmaker, much less in those of God’s own making. But that all may perceive how unable you are to prove out of the writings of the Jews, what you undertook in this chapter to make appear by them, you confess of your own accord, that “there are some rabbins, who affirm that their forefathers ought not to have had any other king than God himself; and that he set other kings over them for their punishment.” And of those men’s opinion I declare myself to be. It is not fitting or decent, that any man should be a king, that does not far excel all his subjects. But where men are equals, as in all governments very many are, they ought to have an equal interest in the government, and hold it by turns. But that all men should be slaves to one that is their equal, or (as it happens most commonly) far inferior to them, and very often a fool, who can so much as entertain such a thought without indignation? Nor does “it make for the honour of a kingly government, that our Saviour was of the posterity of some kings,” more than it does for the commendation of the worst of kings, that he was the offspring of some of them too. “The Messias is a king.” We acknowledge him so to be, and rejoice that he is so; and pray that his kingdom may come, for he is worthy: nor is there any other equal, or next to him. And yet a kingly government being put into the hands of unworthy and undeserving persons, as most commonly it is, may well be thought to have done more harm than good to mankind. Nor does it follow for all this, that all kings, as such, are tyrants. But suppose it did, as for argument-sake I will allow it does, lest you should think I am too hard with ye; make you the best use of it you can. “Then, say you, God himself may properly be said to be the king of tyrants, nay, himself, the worst of all tyrants.” If the first of these conclusions does not follow, another does, which may be drawn from most parts of your book, viz. That you perpetually contradict, not only the Scriptures, but your own self. For in the very last foregoing period you had affirmed, that “God was the king of all things, having himself created them.” Now he created tyrants and devils, and consequently, by your own reason, is the king of such. The second of these conclusions we detest, and wish that blasphemous mouth of yours were stopped up, with which you affirm God to be the worst of tyrants, if he be, as you often say he is, the king and lord of such. Nor do you much advantage your cause by telling us, that “Moses was a king, and had the absolute and supreme power of a king.” For we could be content that any other were so, that could “refer our matters to God, as Moses did, and consult with him about our affairs,” Exod. xviii. 19. But neither did Moses, not withstanding his great familiarity with God, ever assume a liberty of doing what he would himself. What says he of himself; “the people come unto me to inquire of God.” They came not then to receive Moses’ own dictates and commands. Then says Jethro, ver. 19, “Be thou for the people to Godward, that thou mayst bring their causes unto God.” And Moses himself says, Deut. iv. 5, “I have taught you statutes and judgments, even as the Lord my God commanded me.” Hence it is that he is said to have been “faithful in all the house of God,” Numb. xii. 7. So that the Lord Jehovah himself was the people’s king, and Moses no other than as it were an interpreter or a messenger betwixt him and them. Nor can you, without impiety and sacrilege, transfer this absolute supreme power and authority, from God to a man, (not having any warrant from the word of God so to do,) which Moses used only as a deputy or substitute to God; under whose eye, and in whose presence, himself and the people always were.

But now, for an aggravation of your wickedness, though here you make Moses to have exercised an absolute and unlimited power in your “Apparat. ad Primat.” page 230, you say, that “he, together with the seventy elders, ruled the people, and that himself was the chief of the people, but not their master.” If Moses therefore were a king, as certainly he was, and the best of kings, and had a supreme and legal power, as you say he had, and yet neither was the people’s master, nor governed them alone; then, according to you, kings, though indued with the supreme power, are not by virtue of that sovereign and kingly right of theirs, lords over the people, nor ought to govern them alone; much less according to their own will and pleasure. After all this, you have the impudence to feign a command from God to that people, “to set up a king over them, as soon as they should be possessed of the Holy Land,” Deut. xvii. For you craftily leave out the former words, “and shalt say, I will set a king over me,” c. And now call to mind what you said before, page 42, and what I said I should have occasion to make use of, viz., “That the power was then in the people, and that they were entirely free.” What follows, argues you either mad or irreligious; take whether you list: “God,” say you, “having so long before appointed a kingly government, as best and most proper for that people; what shall we say to Samuel’s opposing it, and God’s own acting, as if himself were against it? How do these things agree?” He finds himself caught; and observe now with how great malice against the prophet, and impiety against God, he endeavours to disentangle himself. “We must consider,” says he, “that Samuel’s own sons then judged the people, and the people rejected them because of their corruption; now Samuel was loth his sons should be laid aside, and God, to gratify the prophet, intimated to him, as if himself were not very well pleased with it.” Speak out, ye wretch, and never mince the matter: you mean, God dealt deceitfully with Samuel, and he with the people. It is not your advocate, but yourself, that are “frantic and distracted;” who cast off all reverence to God Almighty, so you may but seem to honour the king. Would Samuel prefer the interest of his sons, and their ambition, and their covetousness, before the general good of all the people, when they asked a thing that would be good and profitable for them? Can we think, that he would impose upon them by cunning and subtilty, and make them believe things that were not? Or if we should suppose all this true of Samuel, would God himself countenance and gratify him in it? would he dissemble with the people? So that either that was not the right of kings, which Samuel taught the people: or else that right, by the testimony both of God and the prophet, was an evil thing, was burdensome, injurious, unprofitable, and chargeable to the commonwealth: or lastly, (which must not be admitted,) God and the prophet deceived the people. God frequently protests, that he was extremely displeased with them for asking a king. Ver. 7th, “They have not rejected thee, but they have rejected me, that I should not reign over them.” As if it were a kind of idolatry to ask a king that would even suffer himself to be adored, and assume almost divine honour to himself. And certainly, they that subject themselves to a worldly master, and set him above all laws, come but a little short of choosing a strange god: and a strange one it commonly is; brutish, and void of all sense and reason. So 1st of Sam. chap. 10th, v. 19th, “And ye have this day rejected your God, who himself saved you out of all your adversities and your tribulation, and ye have said unto him, Nay, but set a king over us;” c. and chap. 12th, v. 12th, “Ye said unto me, Nay, but a king shall reign over us; when the Lord your God was your king:” and v. the 17th, “See that your wickedness is great, that ye have done in the sight of the Lord, in asking you a king.” And Hosea speaks contemptibly of the king, chap. xiii. v. 10, 11, “I will be thy king; where is any other that may save in all thy cities, and thy judges of whom thou saidst, Give me a king, and princes? I gave thee a king in mine anger, and took him away in my wrath.” And Gideon, that warlike judge, that was greater than a king; “I will not rule over you,” says he, “neither shall my son rule over you; the Lord shall rule over you,” Judges, chap. viii. Intimating thereby, that it is not fit for a man, but for God only, to exercise dominion over men. And hence Josephus in his book against Appion, an Egyptian grammarian, and a foulmouthed fellow, like you, calls the commonwealth of the Hebrews a Theocracy, because the principality was in God only. In Isaiah, chap. xxvi. v. 13, the people in their repentance, complain that it had been mischievous to them, “that other lords besides God himself, had had dominion over them.” All which places prove clearly, that God gave the Israelites a king in his anger; but now who can forbear laughing at the use you make of Abimelech’s story? Of whom it is said, when he was killed, partly by a woman that hurled a piece of millstone upon him, and partly by his own armour-bearer, that “God rendered the wickedness of Abimelech.” “This history,” say you, “proves strongly, that God only is the judge and avenger of kings.” Yea, if this argument hold, he is the only judge and punisher of tyrants, villainous rascals, and bastards. Whoever can get into the saddle, whether by right or by wrong, has thereby obtained a sovereign kingly right over the people, is out of all danger of punishment, all inferior magistrates must lay down their arms at his feet, the people must not dare to mutter. But what if some great notorious robber had perished in war, as Abimelech did, would any man infer from thence, that God only is the judge and punisher of highwaymen? Or what if Abimelech had been condemned by the law, and died by an executioner’s hand, would not God then have rendered his wickedness? You never read, that the judges of the children of Israel were ever proceeded against according to law: and yet you confess, that “where the government is an aristocracy, the prince, if there be any, may and ought to be called in question, if he break the laws.” This in your 47th page. And why may not a tyrant as well be proceeded against in a kingly government? why, because God rendered the wickedness of Abimelech. So did the woman, and so did his own armour-bearer; over both which he pretended to a right of sovereignty And what if the magistrates had rendered his wickedness? Do not they bear the sword for that very purpose, for the punishment of malefactors? Having done with his powerful argument from the history of Abimelech’s death, he betakes himself, as his custom is, to slanders and calumnies; nothing but dirt and filth comes from him; but for those things that he promised to make appear, he hath not proved any one of them, either from the Scriptures or from the writings of the rabbins. He alleges no reason why kings should be above all laws, and they only of all mortal men exempt from punishment, if they deserve it. He falls foul upon those very authors and authorities that he makes use of, and by his own discourse demonstrates the truth of the opinion that he argues against. And perceiving, that he is like to do but little good with his arguments, he endeavours to bring an odium upon us, by loading us with slanderous accusations, as having put to death the most virtuous innocent prince that ever reigned. “Was King Solomon, says he, better than King Charles the First?” I confess some have ventured to compare his father King James with Solomon; nay, to make King James the better gentleman of the two. Solomon was David’s son, David had been Saul’s musician; but King James was the son of the earl of Darnley, who, as Buchanan tells us, because David the musician got into the queen’s bed-chamber at an unseasonable time, killed him a little after; for he could not get to him then, because he had bolted the door on the inside. So that King James being the son of an earl, was the better gentleman, and was frequently called a second Solomon, though it is not very certain, that himself was not the son of David the musician too. But how could it ever come into your head, to make a comparison between King Charles and Solomon? For that very King Charles whom you praise thus to the sky, that very man’s obstinacy, and covetousness, and cruelty, his hard usage of all good and honest men, the wars that he raised, the spoilings, and plunderings, and conflagrations, that he occasioned, and the death of innumerable of his subjects, that he was the cause of, does his son Charles, at this very time, whilst I am a-writing confess and bewail on the stool of repentance in Scotland, and renounces there that kingly right that you assert.

But since you delight in parallels, let us compare King Charles and King Solomon together a little: “Solomon began his reign with the death of his brother,” who justly deserved it; King Charles began with his father’s funeral, I do not say with his murder: and yet all the marks and tokens of poison that may be appeared in his dead body; but that suspicion lighted upon the duke of Buckingham only, whom the king notwithstanding cleared to the parliament, though he had killed the king and his father; and not only so, but he dissolved the parliament, lest the matter should be inquired into. “Solomon oppressed the people with heavy taxes;” but he spent that money upon the temple of God, and in raising other public buildings: King Charles spent his in extravagances. Solomon was enticed to idolatry by many wives: this man by one. Solomon, though he were seduced himself, we read not that he seduced others; but King Charles seduced and enticed others, not only by large and ample rewards to corrupt the church, but by his edicts and ecclesiastical constitutions he compelled them to set up altars, which all protestants abhor, and to bow down to crucifixes painted over them on the wall. “But yet for all this, Solomon was not condemned to die.” Nor does it follow because he was not, that therefore he ought not to have been. Perhaps there were many circumstances, that made it then not expedient. But not long after, the people both by words and actions made appear what they took to be their right, when ten tribes of twelve revolted from his son; and if he had not saved himself by flight, it is very likely they would have stoned him, notwithstanding his threats and big swelling words.

CHAPTER III.

HAVING proved sufficiently that the kings of the Jews were subject to the same laws that the people were; that there are no exceptions made in their favour in Scripture; that it is a most false assertion grounded upon no reason, nor warranted by any authority, to say, that kings may do what they list with impunity; that God has exempted them from all human jurisdiction, and reserved them to his own tribunal only; let us now consider, whether the gospel preach up any such doctrine, and enjoin that blind obedience, which the law was so far from doing, that it commanded the contrary; let us consider, whether or no the gospel, that heavenly promulgation, as it were, of Christian liberty, reduce us to a condition of slavery to kings and tyrants, from whose imperious rule even the old law, that mistress of slavery, discharged the people of God, when it obtained. Your first argument you take from the person of Christ himself. But, alas! who does not know, that he put himself into the condition, not of a private person only, but even of a servant, that we might be made free? Nor is this to be understood of some internal spiritual liberty only; how inconsistent else would that song of his mother’s be with the design of his coming into the world, “He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their heart, he hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek!” How ill suited to their occasion would these expressions be, if the coming of Christ rather established and strengthened a tyrannical government, and made a blind subjection the duty of all Christians! He himself having been born, and lived, and died under a tyrannical government, has thereby purchased liberty for us. As he gives us his grace to submit patiently to a condition of slavery, if there be a necessity of it; so if by any honest ways and means we can rid ourselves, and obtain our liberty, he is so far from restraining us, that he encourages us so to do. Hence it is that St. Paul not only of an evangelical, but also of a civil liberty, says thus, 1 Cor. vii. 21. “Art thou called, being a servant? care not for it; but if thou mayest be made free, use it rather; you are bought with a price, be not ye servants of men.” So that you are very impertinent in endeavouring to argue us into slavery by the example of our Saviour; who, by submitting to such a condition himself has confirmed even our civil liberties. He took upon him indeed in our stead the form of a servant, but he always retained his purpose of being a deliverer; and thence it was, that he taught us a quite other notion of the right of kings, than this that you endeavour to make good. You, I say, that preach up not kingship, but tyranny, and that in a commonwealth; by enjoining not only a necessary, but a religious, subjection to whatever tyrant gets into the chair, whether he come to it by succession or by conquest, or chance, or any how. And now I will turn your own weapons against you; and oppose you, as I use to do, with your own authorities. When the collectors of the tribute money came to Christ for tribute in Galilee, he asked Peter, Matt. xvii. “Of whom the kings of the earth took custom or tribute, of their own children, or of strangers?” Peter saith unto him, “Of strangers.” Jesus saith unto him,

Then are the children free; notwithsanding, lest we should offend them, c. give unto them for thee and for me.” Expositors differ upon this place, whom this tribute was paid to; some say it was paid to the priests, for the use of the sanctuary; others, that it was paid to the emperor. I am of opinion, that it was the revenue of the sanctuary, but paid to Herod, who perverted the institution of it, and took it to himself. Josephus mentions divers sorts of tribute, which he and his sons exacted, all which Agrippa afterwards remitted. And this very tribute, though small in itself, yet being accompanied with many more, was a heavy burden. The Jews, even the poorest of them, in the time of their commonwealth, paid a poll; so that it was some considerable oppression that our Saviour spoke of: and from hence he took occasion to tax Herod’s injustice (under whose government, and within whose jurisdiction he then was) in that, whereas the kings of the earth, who affect usually the title of fathers of their country, do not use to oppress their own children, that is, their own natural-born subjects, with heavy and unreasonable exactions, but lay such burdens upon strangers and conquered enemies; he, quite contrary, oppressed not strangers, but his own people. But let what will be here meant by children, either natural-born subjects, or the children of God, and those of the elect only, or Christians in general, as St. Augustine understands the place; this is certain that if Peter was a child, and therefore free, then by consequence we are so too, by our Saviour’s own testimony, either as Englishmen or as Christians, and that it therefore is not the right of kings to exact heavy tributes from their own countrymen and those freeborn subjects. Christ himself professes, that he paid not this tribute as a thing that was due, but that he might not bring trouble upon himself by offending those that demanded it. The work that he came into this world to do, was quite of another nature. But if our Saviour deny, that it is the right of kings to burden their freeborn subjects with grievous exactions; he would certainly much less allow it to be their right to spoil, massacre, and torture their own countrymen, and those Christians too. He discoursed after such a manner of the right of kings, that those to whom he spoke suspected his principles as laying too great a restraint upon sovereignty, and not allowing the license that tyrants assume to themselves to be the rights of kings. It was not for nothing, that the Pharisees put such questions to him, tempting him; and that at the same time they told him, that he regarded not the person of any man: nor was it for nothing that he was angry when such questions were proposed to him, Matt. xxii. If one should endeavour to ensnare you with little questions, and catch at your answers, to ground an accusation against you upon your own principles concerning the right of kings, and all this under a monarchy, would you be angry with him? You would have but very little reason.

It is evident, that our Saviour’s principles concerning government were not agreeable to the humour of princes. His answer too implies as much; by which he rather turned them away, than instructed them. He asked for the tribute money. “Whose image and superscription is it?” says he. They tell him it was Cæsar’s, “Give then to Cæsar,” says he, “the things that are Cæsar’s; and to God, the things that are God’s.” And how comes it to pass, that the people should not have given to them the things that are theirs? “Render to all men their dues,” says St. Paul, Rom. xiii. So that Cæsar must not engross all to himself. Our liberty is not Cæsar’s; it is a blessing we have received from God himself; it is what we are born to; to lay this down at Cæsar’s feet, which we derive not from him, which we are not beholden to him for, were an unworthy action, and a degrading of our very nature. If one should consider attentively the countenance of a man, and not inquire after whose image so noble a creature were framed; would not any one that heard him presently make answer, That he was made after the image of God himself? Being therefore peculiarly God’s own, and consequently things that are to be given to him, we are entirely free by nature, and cannot without the greatest sacrilege imaginable be reduced into a condition of slavery to any man, especially to a wicked, unjust cruel tyrant. Our Saviour does not take upon him to determine what things are God’s and what Cæsar’s; he leaves that as he found it. If the piece of money, which they showed him, was the same that was paid to God, as in Vespasin’s time it was; then our Saviour is so far from having put an end to the controversy, that he has but entangled it, and made it more perplexed than it was before: for it is impossible the same thing should be given both to God and to Cæsar. But, you say, he intimates to them what things were Cæsar’s; to wit, that piece of money, because it bore the emperor’s stamp: and what of all that? How does this advantage your cause? You get not the emperor, or yourself a penny by this conclusion. Either Christ allowed nothing at all to be Cæsar’s, but that piece of money that he then had in his hand, and thereby asserted the people’s interest in every thing else: or else, if (as you would have us understand him) he affirms all money that has the emperor’s stamp upon it, to be the emperor’s own, he contradicts himself, and indeed gives the magistrate a property in every man’s estate, whenas he himself paid his tribute-money with a protestation, that it was more than what either Peter or he were bound to do. The ground you rely on is very weak; for money bears the prince’s image, not as a token of its being his, but of its being good metal, and that none may presume to counterfeit it. If the writing princes’ names or setting their stamps upon a thing, vest the property of it in them, it were a good ready way for them to invade all property. Or rather, if whatever subjects have been absolutely at their prince’s disposal, which is your assertion, that piece of money was not Cæsar’s because his image was stamped on it, but because of right it belonged to him before it was coined. So that nothing can be more manifest, than that our Saviour in this place never intended to teach us our duty to magistrates, (he would have spoken more plainly if he had,) but to reprehend the malice and wickedness of the hypocritical Pharisees. When they told him that Herod laid wait to kill him; did he return an humble, submissive answer? “Go, tell that fox,” says he, c. intimating, that kings have no other right to destroy their subjects, than foxes have to devour the things they prey upon. Say you, “he suffered death under a tyrant.” How could he possibly under any other? But from hence you conclude, that he asserted it to be the right of kings to commit murder and act injustice. You would make an excellent moralist. But our Saviour, though he became a servant, not to make us so but that we might be free; yet carried he himself so with relation to the magistracy, as not to ascribe any more to them than their due. Now, let us come at last to inquire what his doctrine was upon this subject. The sons of Zebedee were ambitious of honour and power in the kingdom of Christ, which they persuaded themselves he would shortly set up in the world; he reproves them so, as withal to let all Christians know what form of civil government he desires they should settle amongst themselves. “Ye know,” says he, “that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them; and they that are great exercise authority upon them; but it shall not be so among you; but whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant.” Unless you had been distracted, you could never have imagined, that this place makes for you: and yet you urge it, and think it furnishes you with an argument to prove, that our kings are absolute lords and masters over us and ours. May it be our fortune to have to do with such enemies in war, as will fall blindfold and naked into our camp instead of their own: as you constantly do, who allege that for yourself, that of all things in the world makes most against you. The Israelites asked God for a king, such a king as other nations round about them had. God dissuaded them by many arguments, whereof our Saviour here gives us an epitome; “You know that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them.” But yet, because the Israelites persisted in their desire of a king, God gave them one, though in his wrath. Our Saviour, lest Christians should desire a king, such a one at least as might rule, as he says the princes of the Gentiles did, prevents them with an injunction to the contrary; “but it shall not be so among you.” What can be said plainer than this? That stately, imperious sway and dominion, that kings use to exercise, shall not be amongst you; what specious titles soever they may assume to themselves, as that of benefactors or the like. “But he that will be great amongst you,” (and who is greater than the prince?) “let him be your servant.” So that the lawyer, whoever he be, that you are so smart upon, was not so much out of the way, but had our Saviour’s own authority to back him, when he said, that Christian princes were indeed no other than the people’s servants; it is very certain that all good magistrates are so. Insomuch that Christians either must have no king at all, or if they have, that king must be the people’s servant. Absolute lordship and Christianity are inconsistent. Moses himself, by whose ministry that servile economy of the old law was instituted, did not exercise an arbitrary, haughty power and authority, but bore the burden of the people, and carried them in his bosom, as a nursing father does a sucking child, Numb. xi. and what is that of a nursing father but a ministerial employment? Plato would not have the magistrates called lords, but servants and helpers of the people; nor the people servants, but maintainers of their magistrates, because they give meat, drink, and wages to their kings themselves. Aristotle calls the magistrates, keepers and ministers of the laws. Plato, ministers and servants. The apostle calls them ministers of God; but they are ministers and servants of the people, and of the laws, nevertheless for all that; the laws and the magistrates were both created for the good of the people: and yet this is it, that you call “the opinion of the fanatic mastiffs in England.” I should not have thought the people of England were mastiff dogs, if such a mongrel cur as thou art did not bark at them so currishly. The master, if it shall please ye, of St. Lupus, [*] complains it seems, that the mastiffs are mad (fanatics). Germanus heretofore, whose colleague that Lupus of Triers was, deposed our incestuous king Vortigern by his own authority. And therefore St. Lupus despises thee, the master not of a Holy Wolf, but of some hunger-starved thieving little wolf or other, as being more contemptible than that master of vipers, of whom Martial makes mention, who hast by relation a barking she-wolf at home too, that domineers over thee most wretchedly; at whose instigations, as I am informed, thou hast wrote this stuff. And therefore it is the less wonder, that thou shouldst endeavour to obtrude an absolute regal government upon others, who hast been accustomed to bear a female rule so servilely at home thyself. Be therefore, in the name of God, the master of a wolf, lest a she-wolf be thy mistress; be a wolf thyself, be a monster made up of a man and a wolf; whatever thou art, the English mastiffs will but make a laughing-stock of thee. But I am not now at leisure to hunt for wolves, and will put an end therefore to this digression. You that but a while ago wrote a book against all manner of superiority in the church, now call St. Peter the prince of the apostles. How inconstant you are in your principles! But what says Peter? “Submit yourselves to every ordinance of man, for the Lord’s sake, whether it be to the king as supreme, or to governors, as unto them that are sent by him for the punishment of evil-doers, and the praise of them that do well: for so is the will of God,” c. This epistle Peter wrote, not only to private persons, but those strangers scattered and dispersed through Asia; who, in those places where they sojourned, had no other right, than what the laws of hospitality entitled them to. Do you think such men’s case to be the same with that of natives, freeborn subjects, nobility, senates, assemblies of estates, parliaments? nay, is not the case far different of private persons, though in their own country; and senators, or magistrates, without whom kings themselves cannot possibly subsist? But let us suppose, that St. Peter had directed his epistle to the natural-born subjects, and those not private persons neither; suppose he had writ to the senate of Rome; what then? No law that is grounded upon a reason, expressly set down in the law itself, obligeth further than the reason of it extends. “Be subject,” says he, ὑποταγητε: that is, according to the genuine sense and import of the word, “be subordinate, or legally subject.” For the law, Aristotle says, is order. “Submit for the Lord’s sake.” Why so? Because a king is an officer “appointed by God for the punishment of evil-doers, and the praise of them that do well; for so is the will of God:” to wit, that we should submit and yield obedience to such as are here described. There is not a word spoken of any other. You see the ground of this precept, and how well it is laid. The apostle adds in the 16th verse, as free; therefore not as slaves. What now? if princes pervert the design of magistracy, and use the power that is put into their hands to the ruin and destruction of good men, and the praise and encouragement of evil-doers; must we all be condemned to perpetual slavery, not private persons only, but our nobility, all our inferior magistrates, our very parliament itself? Is not temporal government called a human ordinance? How comes it to pass then, that mankind should have power to appoint and constitute what may be good and profitable for one another; and want power to restrain or suppress things that are universally mischievous and destructive? That prince, you say, to whom St. Peter enjoins subjection, was Nero the tyrant: and from thence you infer, that it is our duty to submit and yield obedience to such. But it is not certain, that this epistle was writ in Nero’s reign: it is as likely to have been writ in Claudius’s time. And they that are commanded to submit, were private persons and strangers; they were no consuls, no magistrates: it was not the Roman senate, that St. Peter directed his epistle to. Now let us hear what use you make of St. Paul, (for you take a freedom with the apostles, I find, that you will not allow us to take with princes; you make St. Peter the chief of them to-day, and to-morrow put another in his place.)

St. Paul in his 13th chap. to the Romans, has these words: “Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers, for there is no power but of God; the powers that be, are ordained of God.” I confess he writes this to the Romans, not to strangers dispersed, as Peter did; but, however, he writes to private persons, and those of the meaner rank; and yet he gives us a true and clear account of the reason, the original, and the design of government; and shows us the true and proper ground of our obedience, that it is far from imposing a necessity upon us of being slaves. “Let every soul, says he, that is, let every man, submit.” Chrysostom tells us, “that St. Paul’s design in this discourse, was to make it appear, that our Saviour did not go about to introduce principles inconsistent with the civil government, but such as strengthened it, and settled it upon the surest foundations.” He never intended then by setting Nero or any other tyrant out of the reach of all laws, to enslave manking under his lust and cruelty. “He intended too, (says the same author,) to dissuade from unnecessary and causeless wars.” But he does not condemn a war taken up against a tyrant, a bosom enemy of his own country, and consequently the most dangerous that may be. “It was commonly said in those days, that the doctrine of the apostles was seditious, themselves persons that endeavoured to shake the settled laws and government of the world; that this was what they aimed at in all they said and did.” The apostle in this chapter stops the mouths of such gainsayers: so that the apostles did not write in defence of tyrants as you do; but they asserted such things as made them suspected to be enemies to the government they lived under, things that stood in need of being explained and interpreted, and having another sense put upon them than was generally received. St. Chrysostom has now taught us what the apostle’s design was in this discourse; let us now examine his words: “Let every soul be subject to the higher powers.” He tells us not what those higher powers are, nor who they are; for he never intended to overthrow all governments, and the several constitutions of nations, and subject all to some one man’s will. Every good emperor acknowledged, that the laws of the empire, and the authority of the senate, was above himself; and the same principle and notion of government has obtained all along in civilized nations. Pindar, as he is cited by Herodotus, calls the law πάντων βασιλέα, king over all. Orpheus in his hymns calls it the king both of gods and men: and he gives the reason why it is so; because, says he, it is that that sits at the helm of all human affairs. Plato in his book de Legibus, calls it τὸ χρατο[Editor: illegible character]ν ἐν τν̃ πόλει: that that ought to have the greatest sway in the commonwealth. In his epistles he commends that form of government, in which the law is made lord and master, and no scope given to any man to tyrannize over the laws. Aristotle is of the same opinion in his Politicks; and so is Cicero in his book de Legibus, that the laws ought to govern the magistrates, as they do the people. The law therefore having always been accounted the highest power on earth, by the judgment of the most learned and wise men that ever were, and by the constitutions of the best-ordered states; and it being very certain that the doctrine of the gospel is neither contrary to reason, nor the law of nations, that man is truly and properly subject to the higher powers, who obeys the law and the magistrates, so far as they govern according to law. So that St. Paul does not only command the people, but princes themselves, to be in subjection; who are not above the laws, but bound by them, “for there is no power but of God:” that is, no form, no lawful constitution of any government. The most ancient laws that are known to us were formerly ascribed to God as their author. For the law, says Cicero in his Philippics, is no other than a rule of well-grounded reason, derived from God himself, enjoining whatever is just and right, and forbidding the contrary. So that the institution of magistracy is Jure Divino, and the end of it is, that mankind might live under certain laws, and be governed by them. But what particular form of government each nation would live under, and what persons should be intrusted with the magistracy, without doubt, was left to the choice of each nation. Hence St. Peter calls kings and deputies, human ordinances. And Hosea, in the 8th chapter of his prophecy, “they have set up kings, but not by me; they have made princes, and I knew it not.” For in the commonwealth of the Hebrews, where upon matters of great and weighty importance, they could have access to God himself, and consult with him, they could not choose a king themselves by law, but were to refer the matter to him. Other nations have received no such command. Sometimes the very form of government, if it be amiss, or at least those persons that have the power in their hands, are not of God, but of men, or of the devil, Luke iv. “All this power will I give unto thee, for it is delivered unto me, and I give it to whom I will.” Hence the devil is called the prince of this world; and in the 12th of the Revelations, the dragon gave to the beast his power, and his throne, and great authority. So that we must not understand St. Paul, as if he spoke of all sorts of magistrates in general, but of lawful magistrates; and so they are described in what follows. We must also understand him of the powers themselves; not of those men, always, in whose hands they are lodged. St. Chrysostom speaks very well and clearly upon this occasion. “What?” says he, “is every prince then appointed by God to be so? I say no such thing,” says he. “St. Paul speaks not of the person of the magistrate, but of the magistracy itself. He does not say, there is no prince but who is of God. He says there is no power but of God.” Thus far St. Chrysostom; for what powers are, are ordained of God: so that Paul speaks only of a lawful magistracy. For what is evil and amiss cannot be said to be ordained, because it is disorderly; order and disorder cannot consist together in the same subject. The apostle says, “the powers that be;” and you interpret his words as if he had said, “the powers that now be;” that you may prove, that the Romans ought in conscience to obey Nero, who you take for granted was then emperor. I am very well content you should read the words so, and draw that conclusion from them. The consequence will be, that Englishmen ought to yield obedience to the present government, as it is now established according to a new model; because you must needs acknowledge, that it is the present government, and ordained of God, as much at least as Nero’s was. And lest you should object, that Nero came to the empire by a lawful succession, it is apparent from the Roman history, that both he and Tiberius got into the chair by the tricks and artifices of their mothers, and had no right at all to the succession. So that you are inconsistent with yourself, and retract from your own principles, in affirming that the Romans owed subjection to the government that then was; and yet denying that Englishmen owe subjection to the government that now is. But it is no wonder, to hear you contradict yourself. There are no two things in the world more directly opposite and contrary to one another, than you are to yourself. But what will become of you, poor wretch? You have quite undone the young king with your witticisms, and ruined his fortunes utterly; for according to your own doctrine you must needs confess, that this present government in England is ordained of God, and that all Englishmen are bound in conscience to submit to it. Take notice, all ye critics and textuaries; do not you presume to meddle with this text. Thus Salmasius corrects that passage in the epistle to the Romans: he has made a discovery, that the words ought not to be read, “the powers that are; but, the powers that now are:” and all this to prove, that all men owed subjection and obedience to Nero the tyrant, whom he supposed to have been then emperor. This Epistle, which you say was writ in Nero’s time, was writ in his predecessor’s time, who was an honest well-meaning man: and this learned men evince by undeniable arguments. But besides, the five first years of Nero’s reign were without exception. So that this threadbare argument, which so many men have at their tongues’ end, and have been deceived by, to wit, that tyrants are to be obeyed, because St. Paul enjoins a subjection to Nero, is evident to have been but a cunning invention of some ignorant parson. He that resists the powers, to wit, a lawful power, resists the ordinance of God. Kings themselves come under the penalty of this law, when they resist the senate, and act contrary to the laws. But do they resist the ordinance of God, that resist an unlawful power, or a person that goes about to overthrow and destroy a lawful one? No man living in his right wits can maintain such an assertion. The words immediately after make it as clear as the sun, that the apostle speaks only of a lawful power; for he gives us in them a definition of magistrates, and thereby explains to us who are the persons thus authorized, and upon what account we are to yield obedience, lest we should be apt to mistake and ground extravagant notions upon his discourse. “The magistrates,” says he, “are not a terror to good works, but to evil: Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? Do that which is good and thou shalt have praise of the same: for he is the minister of God to thee for good. He beareth not the sword in vain; for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doth evil.” What honest man would not willingly submit to such a magistracy as is here described? And that not only to avoid wrath, and for fear of punishment, but for conscience sake. Without magistrates, and some form or other of civil government, no commonwealth, no human society, can subsist, there were no living in the world. But whatever power enables a man, or whatsoever magistrate takes upon him, to act contrary to what St. Paul makes the duty of those that are in authority; neither is that power nor that magistrate ordained of God. And consequently to such a magistracy no subjection is commanded, nor is any due, nor are the people forbidden to resist such authority; for in so doing they do not resist the power, nor the magistracy, as they are here excellently well described; but they resist a robber, a tyrant, an enemy; who if he may notwithstanding in some sense be called a magistrate, upon this account only, because he has power in his hands, which perhaps God may have invested him with for our punishment; by the same reason the devil may be called a magistrate. This is most certain, that there can be but one true definition of one and the same thing. So that if St. Paul in this place define what a magistrate is, which he certainly does, and that accurately well; he cannot possibly define a tyrant, the most contrary thing imaginable, in the same words. Hence I infer, that he commands us to submit to such magistrates only as he himself defines and describes, and not to tyrants, which are quite other things. “For this cause you pay tribute also:” he gives a reason together with a command. Hence St. Chrysostom; “why do we pay tribute to princes? Do we not,” adds he, “thereby reward them for the care they take of our safety? We should not have paid them any tribute, if we had not been convinced, that it was good for us to live under a government.” So that I must here repeat what I have said already, that since subjection is not absolutely enjoined, but on a particular reason, that reason must be the rule of our subjection: where that reason holds, we are rebels if we submit not; where it holds not, we are cowards and slaves if we do. “But,” say you, “the English are far from being freemen; for they are wicked and flagitious.” I will not reckon up here the vices of the French, though they live under a kingly government: neither will I excuse my own countrymen too far: but this I may safely say, whatever vices they have, they have learnt them under a kingly government; as the Israelites learnt a great deal of wickedness in Egypt. And as they, when they were brought into the wilderness, and lived under the immediate government of God himself, could hardly reform, just so it is with us. But there are good hopes of many amongst us; that I may not here celebrate those men who are eminent for their piety and virtue and love of the truth; of which sort I persuade myself we have as great a number, as where you think there are most such. “But they have laid a heavy yoke upon the English nation:” what if they have, upon those of them that endeavoured to lay a heavy yoke upon all the rest? upon those that have deserved to be put under the hatches? As for the rest, I question not but they are very well content to be at the expense of maintaining their own liberty, the public treasury being exhausted by the civil wars. Now he betakes himself to the fabulous rabbins again: he asserts frequently, that kings are bound by no laws; and yet he proves, that according to the sense of the rabbins, “a king may be guilty of treason, by suffering an invasion upon the rights of his crown.” So kings are bound by laws, and they are not bound by them; they may be criminals, and yet they may not be so.

This man contradicts himself so perpetually, that contradiction and he seem to be of kin to one another. You say that God himself put many kingdoms under the yoke of Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon. I confess he did so for a time, Jer. xxvii. 7, but do you make appear, if you can, that he put the English nation into a condition of slavery to Charles Stuart for a minute. I confess he suffered them to be enslaved by him for some time; but I never yet heard, that himself appointed it so to be. Or if you will have it so, that God shall be said to put a nation under slavery, when a tyrant prevails; why may he not as well be said to deliver them from his tyranny, when the people prevail and get the upper hand? Shall his tyranny be said to be of God, and not our liberty? There is no evil in the city that the Lord hath not done, Amos iii. So that famine, pestilence, sedition, war, all of them are of God; and is it therefore unlawful for a people afflicted with any of these plagues, to endeavour to get rid of them? Certainly they would do their utmost, though they know them to be sent by God, unless himself miraculously from heaven should command the contrary: and why may they not by the same reason rid themselves of a tyrant, if they are stronger than he? Why should we suppose his weakness to be appointed by God for the ruin and destruction of the commonwealth, rather than the power and strength of all the people for the good of the state? Far be it from all commonwealths, from all societies of freeborn men, to maintain not only such pernicious, but such stupid and senseless principles; principles that subvert all civil society, that to gratify a few tyrants, level all mankind with brutes; and by setting princes out of the reach of human laws, give them an equal power over both. I pass by those foolish dilemmas that you now make, which that you might take occasion to propose, you feign some or other to assert, that the “superlative power of princes is derived from the people;” though for my own part I do not at all doubt, but that all the power that any magistrates have is so. Hence Cicero, in his Orat. pro Flacco, “Our wise and holy ancestors,” says he, “appointed those things to obtain for laws, that the people enacted.” And hence it is, that Lucius Crassus, an excellent Roman orator, and at that time president of the senate, when in a controversy betwixt them and the common people, he asserted their rights, “I beseech you, says he, suffer not us to live in subjection to any, but yourselves, to the entire body of whom we can and ought to submit.” For though the Roman senate governed the people, the people themselves had appointed them to be their governors, and had put that power into their hands. We read the term of Majesty more frequently applied to the people of Rome, than to their kings. Tully in Orat. pro Flancio, “it is the condition of all free people, (says he,) and especially of this people, the lord of all nations, by their votes to give or take away, to or from any, as themselves see cause. It is the duty of the magistrates patiently to submit to what the body of the people enact. Those that are not ambitious of honour, have the less obligation upon them to court the people: those that affect preferment, must not be weary of entreating them.” Should I scruple to call a king the servant of his people, when I hear the Roman senate, that reigned over so many kings, profess themselves to be but the people’s servants? You will object perhaps, and say, that all this is very true in a popular state; but the case was altered afterwards, when the regal law transferred all the people’s right unto Augustus and his successors. But what think you then of Tiberius, whom yourself confess to have been a very great tyrant, as he certainly was? Suetonius says of him, that when he was once called Lord or Master, though after the enacting of that Lex Regia, he desired the person that gave him that appellation, to forbear abusing him. How does this sound in your ears? a tyrant thinks one of his subjects abuses him in calling him Lord. The same emperor in one of his speeches to the senate, “I have said,” says he, “frequently, heretofore, and now I say it again, that a good prince, whom you have invested with so great a power as I am intrusted with, ought to serve the senate and the body of the people, and sometimes even particular persons; nor do I repent of having said so: I confess that you have been good, and just, and indulgent masters to me, and that you are yet so.” You may say, that he dissembled in all this, as he was a great proficient in the art of hypocrisy; but that is all one. No man endeavours to appear otherwise than he ought to be. Hence Tacitus tells us, that it was the custom in Rome for the emperors in the Circus, to worship the people; and that both Nero and other emperors practised it. Claudian in his panegyric upon Honorius mentions the same custom. By which sort of adoration what could possibly be meant, but that the emperors of Rome, even after the enacting of the Lex Regia, confessed the whole body of the people to be their superiors? But I find, as I suspected at first, and so I told ye, that you have spent more time and pains in turning over glossaries, and criticising upon texts, and propagating such like laborious trifles, than in reading sound authors so as to improve your knowledge by them. For had you been never so little versed in the writings of learned men in former ages, you would not have accounted an opinion new, and the product of some enthusiastic heads, which has been asserted and maintained by the greatest philosophers, and most famous politicians in the world. You endeavour to expose one Martin, who you tell us was a tailor, and one William a tanner; but if they are such as you describe them, I think they and you may very well go together; though they themselves would be able to instruct you, and unfold those mysterious riddles that you propose: as, “Whether or no they that in a monarchy would have the king but a servant to the commonwealth, will say the same thing of the whole body of the people in a popular state? And whether all the people serve in a democracy, or only some part or other serve the rest?” And when they have been an Œdipus to you, by my consent you shall be a sphinx to them in good earnest, and throw yourself headlong from some precipice or other, and break your neck; for else I am afraid you will never have done with your riddles and fooleries. You ask, “Whether or no, when St. Paul names kings, he meant the people?” I confess St. Paul commands us to pray for kings, but he had commanded us to pray for the people before, ver. 1. But there are some for all that, both among kings and common people, that we are forbidden to pray for; and if a man may not so much as be prayed for, may he not be punished? What should hinder? But, “when Paul wrote this epistle, he that reigned was the most profligate person in the world.” That is false. For Ludovicus Capellus makes it evident, that this epistle likewise was writ in Claudius’s time. When St. Paul has occasion to speak of Nero, he calls him not a king, but a lion; that is, a wild, savage beast, from whose jaws he is glad he was delivered, 2 Tim. iv. So that it is for kings, not for beasts, that we are to pray, that under them we may live a quiet and peaceable life, in all godliness and honesty. Kings and their interest are not the things here intended to be advanced and secured; it is the public peace, godliness, and honesty, whose establishment we are commanded to endeavour after, and to pray for. But is there any people in the world, that would not choose rather to live an honest and careful life, though never free from war and troubles, in the defence of themselves and their families, whether against tyrants or enemies, (for I make no difference,) than under the power of a tyrant or an enemy, to spin out a life equally troublesome, accompanied with slavery and ignominy? That the latter is the more desirable of the two, I will prove by a testimony of your own; not because I think your authority worth quoting, but that all men may observe how double-tongued you are, and how mercenary your pen is. “Who would not rather,” say you, “bear with those dissensions, that through the emulation of great men often happen in an aristocratical government, than live under the tyrannical government of one, where nothing but certain misery and ruin is to be looked for? The people of Rome preferred their commonwealth, though never so much shattered with civil broils, before the intolerable yoke of their emperors. When a people, to avoid sedition, submits to a monarchy, and finds by experience, that this is the worst evil of the two, they often desire to return to their former government again.” These are your own words, and more you have to this purpose in that discourse concerning bishops, which under a feigned name you wrote against Petavius the Jesuit; though yourself are more a Jesuit than he, nay worse than any of that crew. We have already heard the sense of the Scripture upon this subject; and it has been worth our while to take some pains to find it out. But perhaps it will not be so to inquire into the judgment of the fathers, and to ransack their volumes: for if they assert any thing, which is not warranted by the word of God, we may safely reject their authority, be it never so great; and particularly that expression that you allege out of Irenæus, “that God in his providence orders it so, that such kings reign as are suitable to and proper for the people they are to govern, all circumstances considered.” That expression, I say, is directly contrary to Scripture. For though God himself declared openly, that it was better for his own people to be governed by judges, than by kings, yet he left it to them to change that form of government for a worse, if they would themselves. And we read frequently, that when the body of the people has been good, they have had a wicked king, and contrariwise that a good king has sometimes reigned, when the people have been wicked. So that wise and prudent men are to consider and see what is profitable and fit for the people in general; for it is very certain, that the same form of government is not equally convenient for all nations, nor for the same nation at all times; but sometimes one, sometimes another may be more proper, according as the industry and valour of the people may increase or decay. But if you deprive the people of this liberty of setting up what government they like best among themselves, you take that from them, in which the life of all civil liberty consists. Then you tell us of Justin Martyr, of his humble and submissive behaviour to the Antonines, those best of emperors; as if any body would not do the like to princes of such moderation as they were. “How much worse Christians are we in these days, than those were! They were content to live under a prince of another religion.” Alas! they were private persons, and infinitely inferior to the contrary party in strength and number. “But now papists will not endure a protestant prince, nor protestants one that is popish.” You do well and discreetly in showing yourself to be neither papist nor protestant. And you are very liberal in your concessions; for now you confess, that all sorts of Christians agree in that very thing, that you alone take upon you with so much impudence and wickedness, to cry down and oppose. And how unlike those fathers that you commend, do you show yourself: they wrote apologies for the Christians to heathen princes; you in defence of a wicked popish king, against Christians and protestants. Then you entertain us with a number of impertinent quotations out of Athenagoras and Tertullian: things that we have already heard out of the writings of the apostles, much more clearly and intelligibly exprest. But Tertullian was quite of a different opinion from yours, of a king’s being a lord and master over his subjects: which you either knew not, or wickedly dissembled. For he, though he were a Christian, and directed his discourse to a heathen emperor, had the confidence to tell him, that an emperor ought not to be called Lord. “Augustus himself, says he, that formed this empire, refused that appellation; it is a title proper to God only. Not but that the title of Lord and Master may in some sense be ascribed to the emperor: but there is a peculiar sense of that word, which is proper to God only; and in that sense, I will not ascribe it to the emperor. I am the emperor’s freeman. God alone is my Lord and Master.” And the same author, in the same discourse; “how inconsistent,” says he, “are those two appellations, Father of his country, and Lord and Master!”

And now I wish you much joy of Tertullian’s authority, whom it had been a great deal better you had let alone. But Tertullian calls them parricides that slew Domitian. And he does well, for so they were, his wife and servants conspired against him. And they set one Parthenius and Stephanus, who were accused for concealing part of the public treasure, to make him away. If the senate and the people of Rome had proceeded against him according to the custom of their ancestors; had given judgment of death against him, as they did once against Nero; and had made search for him to put him to death; do ye think Tertullian would have called them parricides? If he had, he would have deserved to be hanged, as you do. I give the same answer to your quotation out of Origen, that I have given already to what you have cited out of Irenæus. Athanasius indeed says, that kings are not accountable before human tribunals. But I wonder who told Athanasius this! I do not hear, that he produces any authority from Scripture, to confirm this assertion. And I will rather believe kings and emperors themselves, who deny that they themselves have any such privilege, than I will Athanasius. Then you quote Ambrosius, who after he had been a proconsul, and after that became a catechumen, at last got into a bishopric: but for his authority, I say, that his interpretation of those words of David, “against thee only I have sinned,” is both ignorant and adulatory. He was willing all others should be enthralled to the emperor, that he might enthral the emperor to himself. We all know with what a papal pride and arrogancy he treated Theodosius the emperor, how he took upon him to declare him guilty of that massacre at Thessalonica, and to forbid him coming into the church: how miserably raw in divinity, and unacquainted with the doctrine of the gospel, he showed himself upon that occasion; when the emperor fell down at his feet, he commanded him to get him out of the porch. At last, when he was received again into the communion of the church, and had offered, because he continued standing near to the altar, the magisterial prelate commanded him out of the rails: “O Emperor,” says he, “these inner places are for the priests only, it is not lawful for others to come within them!” Does this sound like the behaviour of a minister of the gospel, or like that of a Jewish high-priest? And yet this man, such as we hear he was, would have the emperor ride other people, that himself might ride him, which is a common trick of almost all ecclesiastics. With words to this purpose, he put back the emperor as inferior to himself; “You rule over men,” saith he, “that are partakers of the same nature, and fellow-servants with yourself: for there is only one Lord and King over all, to wit, the Creator of all.” This is very pretty! This piece of truth, which the craft and flattery of clergymen has all along endeavoured to suppress and obscure, was then brought to light by the furious passion, or to speak more mildly, by the ignorant indiscreet zeal, of one of them. After you have displayed Ambrose’s ignorance, you show your own, or rather, vent a heresy in affirming point blank, that “under the Old Testament, there was no such thing as forgiveness of sins upon the account of Christ’s sufferings, since David confessed his transgression, saying, against thee only have I sinned,” Psal. lviii. It is the orthodox tenet, that there never was any remission of sins, but by the blood of the Lamb that was slain from the beginning of the world. I know not whose disciple you are, that set up for a broacher of new heresies: but certain I am, that that great divine’s disciple, whom you are so angry with, did not mistake himself, when he said, that any one of David’s subjects might have said, “Against thee only have I sinned,” as properly, and with as much right, as David himself. Then you quote St. Austin, and produce a company of Hipponensian divines. What you allege out of St. Austin makes not at all against us. We confess that as the prophet Daniel has it, it is God that changeth times, sets up one kingdom, and pulls down another; we only desire to have it allowed us, that he makes use of men as his instruments. If God alone gave a kingdom to King Charles, God alone has taken it from him again, and given it to the parliament, and to the people. If therefore our allegiance was due to King Charles, because God had given him a kingdom; for the same reason it is now due to the present magistracy. For yourself confess, that God has given our magistrates such power as he uses to give to wicked princes, for the punishment of the nation. And the consequence of this will be, that according to your own opinion, our present magistrates being raised and appointed by God, cannot lawfully be deposed by any, but God himself. Thus you overthrow the opinion you pretend to maintain, which is a thing very frequent with you; your apology for the king carries its death wound in it. You have attained to such a prodigious degree of madness and stupidity, as to prove it unlawful upon any account whatsoever, to lift up one’s finger against magistrates, and with the very next breath to affirm, that is the duty of their subjects to rise up in rebellion against them.

You tell us, that St. Jerom calls Ishmael, that slew Gedaliah, a parricide or traitor: and it is very true, that he was so: for Gedaliah was deputy governor of Judæa, a good man, and slain by Ishmael without any cause. The same author in his comment upon the book of Ecclesiastes, says, that Solomon’s command to keep the king’s commandment, is the same with St. Paul’s doctrine upon the same subject; and deserves commendation for having made a more moderate construction of that text, than most of his contemporaries. You say, you will forbear inquiring into the sentiments of learned men that lived since St. Austin’s time: but to show that you had rather dispense with a lie, than not quote any author that you think makes for you, in the very next period but one you produce the authorities of Isidore, Gregory, and Otho, Spanish and Dutch authors, that lived in the most barbarous and ignorant ages of all; whose authorities, if you knew how much we despise, you would not have told a lie to have quoted them. But would you know the reason why he dares not come so low as to the present times? why he does as it were hide himself, and disappear, when he comes towards our own times? The reason is, because he knows full well, that as many eminent divines as there are of the reformed churches, so many adversaries he would have to encounter. Let him take up the cudgels, if he thinks fit; he will quickly find himself run down with innumerable authorities out of Luther, Zuinglius, Calvin, Bucer, Martyr, Paræus, and the rest. I could oppose you with testimonies out of divines, that have flourished even in Leyden. Though that famous university and renowned commonwealth, which has been as it were a sanctuary for liberty, those fountains and streams of all polite learning, have not yet been able to wash away that slavish rust that sticks to you, and infuse a little humanity into you. Finding yourself destitute of any assistance or help from orthodox protestant divines, you have the impudence to betake yourself to the Sorbonists, whose college you know is devoted to the Romish religion, and consequently but of very weak authority amongst protestants. We are willing to deliver so wicked an assertor of tyranny as you, to be drowned in the Sorbonne, as being ashamed to own so despicable a slave as you show yourself to be, by maintaining that the whole body of a nation is not equal in power to the most slothful degenerate prince that may be. You labour in vain to lay that upon the pope, which all free nations, and all orthodox divines, own and assert. But the pope and his clergy, when they were in a low condition, and but of small account in the world, were the first authors of this pernicious absurd doctrine of yours; and when by preaching such doctrine they had gotten power into their own hands, they became the worst of tyrants themselves. Yet they engaged all princes to them by the closest tie imaginable, persuading the world, that was now besotted with their superstition, that it was unlawful to depose princes, though never so bad, unless the pope dispensed with their allegiance to them, by absolving them from their oaths. But you avoid orthodox writers, and endeavour to burden the truth with prejudice and calumny, by making the pope the first assertor of what is a known and a common received opinion amongst them; which if you did not do it cunningly, you would make yourself appear to be neither papist nor protestant, but a kind of mongrel Idumean Herodian. For as they of old adored one most inhuman bloody tyrant for the Messias, so you would have the world fall down and worship all. You boast, that “you have confirmed your opinion by the testimonies of the fathers that flourished in the four first centuries; whose writings only are evangelical, and according to the truth of the Christian religion.” This man is past all shame! how many things did they preach, how many things have they published, which Christ and his apostles never taught! How many things are there in their writings, in which all protestant divines differ from them! But what is that opinion that you have confirmed by their authorities? “Why, that evil princes are appointed by God.” Allow that, as all other pernicious and destructive things are. What then? why, “that therefore they have no judge but God alone, that they are above all human laws; that there is no law, written or unwritten, no law of nature, nor of God, to call them to account before their own subjects.” But how comes that to pass? Certain I am that there is no law against it: no penal law excepts kings. And all reason and justice requires, that those that offend, should be punished according to their deserts, without respect of persons. Nor have you hitherto produced any one law, either written or unwritten, of God or of nature, by which this is forbidden. What stands in the way then? Why may not kings be proceeded against? Why, “because they are appointed by God, be they never so bad.” I do not know whether I had best call you a knave, or a fool, or ignorant, unlearned barbarian. You show yourself a vile wretch, by propagating a doctrine so destructive and pernicious; and you are a fool for backing it with such silly arguments. God says in Isa. liv. “I have created the slayer to destroy.” Then by your reason a murderer is above the laws. Turn this topsyturvy, and consider it as long as you will, you will find the consequence to be the same with your own. For the pope is appointed by God, just as tyrants are, and set up for the punishment of the church, which I have already demonstrated out of your own writings. “And yet,” say you, Wal. Mes. pag. 412, “because he has raised his primacy to an insufferable height of power so as that he has made it neither better nor worse than plain downright tyranny, both he and his bishops may be put down more lawfully, than they were at first set up.” You tell us, that the pope and the bishops (though God in his wrath appointed them) may yet lawfully be rooted out of the church, because they are tyrants; and yet you deny that it is lawful to depose a tyrant in the commonwealth, and that for no other reason, than because God appointed him, though he did it in his anger. What ridiculous stuff is this! for whereas the pope cannot hurt a man’s conscience against his own will, for in the consciences of men it is that his kingdom consists, yet you are for deposing him as a grievous tyrant, in whose own power it is not to be a tyrant; and yet you maintain, that a tyrant properly and truly so called, a tyrant that has all our lives and estates within his reach, without whose assistance the pope himself could not exercise his tyranny in the church, ought for conscience sake to be borne withal and submitted to. These assertions compared with one another betray your childishness to that degree, that no man can read your books, but must of necessity take notice of your ignorance, rashness, and incogitancy. But you allege another reason, “human affairs would be turned upside down.” They would so, and be changed for the better. Human affairs would certainly be in a deplorable condition, if being once troubled and disordered, there was a necessity of their continuing always so. I say, they would be changed for the better, for the king’s power would revert to the people, from whom it was first derived, and conferred upon one of themselves; and the power would be transferred from him that abused it, to them that were prejudiced and injured by the abuse of it; than which nothing can be more just, for there could not well be an umpire in such a case; who would stand to the judgment of a foreigner? all mankind would equally be subject to the laws; there would be no gods of flesh and blood: which kind of deities whoever goes about to set up in the world, they are equally injurious to church and commonwealth. Now I must turn your own weapons upon you again. You say, “there can be no greater heresy than this, to set up one man in Christ’s seat. These two are infallible marks of Antichrist, infallibility in spirituals, and omnipotence in temporals.” Apparat. ad Prim. page 171. Do you pretend that kings are infallible? If you do not, why do you make them omnipotent? And how comes it to pass, that an unlimited power in one man should be accounted less destructive to temporal things, than it is to ecclesiastical? Or do you think, that God takes no care at all of civil affairs? If he takes none himself, I am sure he does not forbid us to take care which way they go. If he does take any care about them, certainly he would have the same reformation made in the commonwealth, that he would have made in the church, especially it being obvious to every man’s experience, that infallibility and omnipotency being arrogated to one man, are equally mischievous in both. God has not so modelled the government of the world as to make it the duty of any civil community to submit to the cruelties of tyrants, and yet to leave the church at liberty to free themselves from slavery and tyranny; nay, rather quite contrary, he has put no arms into the church’s hand but those of patience and innocence, prayer and ecclesiastical discipline; but in the commonwealth, all the magistracy are by him entrusted with the preservation and execution of the laws, with the power of punishing and revenging; he has put the sword into their hands. I cannot but smile at this man’s preposterous whimsies; in ecclesiastics he is Helvidius, Thraseas, a perfect tyrannicide. In politics no man more a lackey and slave to tyrants than he. If his doctrine hold, not we only that have deposed our king, but the protestants in general, who against the minds of their princes have rejected the pope, are all rebels alike. But I have confounded him long enough with his own arguments. Such is the nature of the beast, lest his adversary should be unprovided, he himself furnishes him with weapons. Never did any man give his antagonist greater advantages against himself than he does. They that he has to do withal, will be sooner weary of pursuing him, than he of flying.

CHAPTER XV.

PERHAPS you think, Salmasius, that you have done enough to ingratiate yourself with princes; that you have deserved well of them: but if they consider their own interest, and take their measures according to what it really is, not according to the false gloss that your flatterers have put upon it, there never was any man in the world that deserved so ill of them as you, none more destructive and pernicious to them and their interest in the whole world than yourself. For by exalting the power of kings above all human laws, you tell all mankind that are subject to such a government, that they are no better than slaves, and make them but the more desirous of liberty by discovering to them their error, and putting that into their heads, that they never so much as dreamt of before, to wit, that they are slaves to their princes. And without doubt such a sort of government will be more irksome and unsufferable, by how much the more you persuade the world, that it is not by the allowance and submission of nations, that kings have obtained this exorbitant power; but that is absolutely essential to such a form of government, and of the nature of the thing itself. So that whether you make the world of your mind or no, your doctrine must needs be mischievous and destructive, and such as cannot but be abhorred of all princes. For if you should work men into a persuasion, that the right of kings is without all bounds, they would no longer be subject to a kingly government; if you miss of your aim, yet you make men weary of kings, by telling them that they assume such a power to themselves, as of right belonging to them. But if princes will allow of those principles that I assert; if they will suffer themselves and their own power to be circumscribed by laws, instead of an uncertain, weak, and violent government, full of cares and fears, they will reign peaceably, quietly, and securely. If they slight this counsel of mine, though wholesome in itself, because of the meanness of the author, they shall know that it is not my counsel only, but what was anciently advised by one of the wisest of kings. For Lycurgus king of Lacedemon, when he observed that his own relations that were princes of Argos and Messana, by endeavouring to introduce an arbitrary government had ruined themselves and their people; he, that he might benefit his country, and secure the succession to his own family, could think upon no better expedient, than to communicate his power to the senate, and taking the great men of the realm into part of the government with himself; and by this means the crown continued in his family for many ages. But whether it was Lycurgus, or, as some learned men are of opinion Theopompus, that introduced that mixed form of government among the Lacedemonians, somewhat more than a hundred years after Lycurgus’s time,) of whom it is recorded, that he used to boast, that by advancing the power of the senate above that of the prince, he had settled the kingdom upon a sure foundation, and was like to leave it in a lasting and durable condition to his posterity,) which of them soever it was, I say, he has left a good example to modern princes; and was as creditable a counsellor, as his counsel was safe. For that all men should submit to any one man, so as to acknowledge a power in him superior to all human laws, neither did any law ever enact, nor indeed was it possible that any such law should ever be; for that cannot be said to be a law that strikes at the root of all laws, and takes them quite away: it being apparent that your positions are inconsistent with the nature of all laws, being such as render them no laws at all. You endeavour notwithstanding, in this fourth chapter, to make good by examples, what you have not been able to do by any reasons that you have alleged hitherto. Let us consider whether your examples help your cause; for they many times make things plain, which the laws are either altogether silent in, or do but hint at.

We will begin first with the Jews, whom we suppose to have known most of the mind of God; and then, according to your own method, we will come to the times of Christianity. And first, for those times in which the Israelites being subject to kings, who, or howsoever they were, did their utmost to cast that slavish yoke from off their necks. Eglon the king of Moab had made a conquest of them; the seat of his empire was at Jericho; he was no contemner of the true God; when his name was mentioned, he rose from his seat: the Israelites had served him eighteen years; they sent a present to him, not as to an enemy, but to their own prince; notwithstanding which outward veneration and profession of subjection they killed him by a wile, as an enemy to their country. You will say perhaps, that Ehud, who did that action, had a warrant from God for so doing. He had so, it is like; and what greater argument of its being a warrantable and praiseworthy action? God uses not to put men upon things that are unjust, treacherous, and cruel, but upon such things as are virtuous and laudable. But we read no where that there was any positive command from Heaven in the case. “The Israelites called upon God;” so did we. And God stirred up a Saviour for them; so he did for us. Eglon of a neighbouring prince became a prince of the Jews; of an enemy to them he became their king. Our gentleman of an English king became an enemy to the English nation; so that he ceased to be a king. Those capacities are inconsistent. No man can be a member of the state, and an enemy to it at the same time. Antony was never looked upon by the Romans as a consul, nor Nero as an emperor, after the senate had voted them both enemies. This Cicero tells us in his Fourth Philippic: “If Antony be a consul,” says-he, “Brutus is an enemy; but if Brutus be a saviour and preserver of the commonwealth, Antony is an enemy: none but robbers count him a consul.” By the same reason, say I, who but enemies to their country look upon a tyrant as a king? So that Eglon’s being a foreigner, and King Charles a prince of our own, will make no difference in the case; both being enemies and both tyrants, they are in the same circumstances. If Ehud killed him justly, we have done so too in putting our king to death. Samson that renowned champion of the Hebrews, though his countrymen blamed him for it, “Dost thou not know,” say they, “that the Philistines have dominion over us?” Yet against those Philistines, under whose dominion he was, he himself undertook a war in his own person, without any other help; and whether he acted in pursuance of a command from Heaven, or was prompted by his own valour only, or whatsoever inducement he had, he did not put to death one, but many, that tyrannized over his country, having first called upon God by prayer, and implored his assistance. So that Samson counted it no act of impiety, but quite contrary, to kill those that enslaved his country, though they had dominion over himself too; and though the greater part of his countrymen submitted to their tyranny. “But yet David, who was both a king and a prophet, would not take away Saul’s life, because he was God’s anointed.” Does it follow, that because David refused to do a thing, therefore we are obliged not to do that very thing? David was a private person, and would not kill the king; is that a precedent for a parliament, for a whole nation? David would not revenge his own quarrel, by putting his enemy to death by stealth; does it follow, that therefore the magistrates must not punish a malefactor according to law? He would not kill a king; must not an assembly of the states therefore punish a tyrant? he scrupled the killing of God’s anointed; must the people therefore scruple to condemn their own anointed? especially one that after having so long professed hostility against his own people, and washed off that anointing of his, whether sacred or civil, with the blood of his own subjects. I confess that those kings, whom God by his prophets anointed to be kings, or appointed to some special service, as he did Cyrus, Isa. xliv., may not improperly be called the Lord’s anointed: but all other princes, according to the several ways of their coming to the government, are the people’s anointed, or the army’s, or many times the anointed of their own faction only.

But taking it for granted, that all kings are God’s anointed, you can never prove, that therefore they are above all laws, and not to be called in question, what villainies soever they commit. What if David laid a charge upon himself and other private persons, not to stretch forth their hands against the Lord’s anointed? Does not God himself command princes not so much as “to touch his anointed?” which were no other than his people, Psal. cv. He preferred that anointing, wherewith his people were anointed, before that of kings, if any such thing were. Would any man offer to infer from this place of the Psalmist, that believers are not to be called in question, though they offend against the laws, because God commands princes not to touch his anointed? King Solomon was about to put to death Abiathar the priest, though he were God’s anointed too; and did not spare him because of his anointing, but because he had been his father’s friend. If that sacred and civil anointing, wherewith the high priest of the Jews was anointed, whereby he was not only constituted high priest, but a temporal magistrate in many cases, did not exempt him from the penalty of the laws; how comes a civil anointing only to exempt a tyrant? But you say, “Saul was a tyrant, and worthy of death:” What then? It does not follow, that because he deserved it, that David in the circumstances he was then under had power to put him to death without the people’s authority, or the command of the magistracy. But was Saul a tyrant? I wish you would say so; indeed you do so, though you had said before in your Second Book, page 32, That “he was no tyrant, but a good king, and chosen of God.” Why should false accusers, and men guilty of forgery, be branded, and you escape without the like ignominious mark? For they practise their villainies with less treachery and deceit, than you write and treat of matters of the greatest moment. Saul was a good king, when it served your turn to have him so; and now he is a tyrant because it suits with your present purpose.

But it is no wonder, that you make a tyrant of a good king; for your principles look as if they were invented for no other design, than to make all good kings so. But yet David, though he would not put to death his father-in-law, for causes and reasons that we have nothing to do withal, yet in his own defence, he raised an army, took and possessed cities that belonged to Saul, and would have defended Keilah against the king’s forces, had he not understood, that the citizens would be false to him. Suppose Saul had besieged the town, and himself had been the first that had scaled the walls; do you think David would presently have thrown down his arms, and have betrayed all those that assisted him to his anointed enemy? I believe not. What reason have we to think David would have stuck to do what we have done, who when his occasions and circumstances so required, proffered his assistance to the Philistines, who were then the professed enemies of his country, and did that against Saul, which I am sure we should never have done against our tyrant? I am weary of mentioning your lies, and ashamed of them. You say, it is a maxim of the English, “That enemies are rather to be spared than friends;” and that therefore “we conceived we ought not to spare our king’s life, because he had been our friend.” You impudent liar, what mortal ever heard this whimsy before you invented it? But we will excuse it. You could not bring in that threadbare flourish, of our being more fierce than our own mastiffs, (which now comes in the fifth time, and will as oft again before we come to the end of your book,) without some such introduction. We are not so much more fierce than our own mastiffs, as you are more hungry than any dog whatsoever, who return so greedily to what you have vomited up so often. Then you tell us, that David commanded the Amalekite to be put to death, who pretended to have killed Saul. But that instance, neither in respect to the fact, nor the person, has any affinity with what we are discoursing of. I do not well understand what cause David had to be so severe upon that man, for pretending to have hastened the king’s death, and in effect to have put him out of his pain, when he was dying; unless it were to take away from the Israelites all suspicion of his own having been instrumental in it, whom they might look upon as one that had revolted to the Philistines, and was part of their army. Just such another action as this of David’s do all men blame in Domitian, who put to death Epaphroditus, because he had helped Nero to kill himself. After all this, as another instance of your impudence, you call him not only the “anointed of the Lord,” but “the Lord’s Christ,” who a little before you said was a tyrant, and acted by the impulse of some evil spirit. Such mean thoughts you have of that reverend name, that you are not ashamed to give it to a tyrant, whom you yourself confess to have been possessed with the devil. Now I come to that precedent, from which every man that is not blind, must needs infer the right of the people to be superior to that of kings. When Solomon was dead, the people assembled themselves at Sichem to make Rehoboam king. Thither himself went, as one that stood for the place, that he might not seem to claim the succession as his inheritance, nor the same right over a freeborn people, that every man has over his father’s sheep and oxen. The people propose conditions, upon which they were willing to admit him to the government. He desires three days’ time to advise; he consults with the old men; they tell him no such thing, as that he had an absolute right to succeed, but persuade him to comply with the people, and speak them fair, it being in their power whether he should reign or not. Then he advises with the young men that were brought up with him; they, as if Salmasius’s phrenzy had taken them, thunder this right of kings into his ears; persuade him to threaten the people with whips and scorpions: and he answered the people as they advised him. When all Israel saw, that the king hearkened not to them, then they openly protest the right of the people, and their own liberty; “What portion have we in David? To thy tents, O Israel! now look to thine own house, David.” When the king sent Adoram to them, they stoned him with stones, and perhaps they would not have stuck to have served the king himself so, but he made haste and got out of the way. The next news is of a great army raised by Rehoboam, to reduce the Israelites to their allegiance. God forbids him to proceed, “Go not up,” says he, “to war against your brethren the children of Israel; for this thing is of me.” Now consider, heretofore the people had desired a king; God was displeased with them for it, but yet permitted them to make a king according to that right that all nations have to appoint their own governors. Now the people reject Rehoboam from ruling them; and this God not only suffers them to do, but forbids Rehoboam to make war against them for it, and stops him in his undertaking; and teaches him withal, that those that had revolted from him were not rebels in so doing; but that he ought to look upon them as brethren. Now recollect yourself: you say, that all kings are of God, and that therefore the people ought not to resist them, be they never such tyrants. I answer you, the convention of the people, their votes, their acts, are likewise of God, and that by the testimony of God himself in this place; and consequently according to your argument, by the authority of God himself, princes ought not to resist the people. For as certain as it is, that kings are of God, and whatever argument you may draw from thence to enforce a subjection and obedience to them: so certain is it, that free assemblies of the body of the people are of God, and that naturally affords the same argument for their right of restraining princes from going beyond their bounds, and rejecting them if there be occasion; nor is their so doing a justifiable cause of war, any more than the people of Israel’s rejecting Rehoboam was. You ask why the people did not revolt from Solomon? Who but you would ask such an impertinent question? You see they did revolt from a tyrant, and were neither punished nor blamed for it. It is true, Solomon fell into some vices, but he was not therefore a tyrant; he made amends for his vices by many excellent virtues, that he was famous for, by many benefits which accrued to the nation of the Jews by his go vernment. But admit that he had been a tyrant: many times the circumstances of a nation are such that the people will not, and many times such that they cannot, depose a tyrant. You see they did it when it was in their power. “But,” say you, “Jeroboam’s act was ever had in detestation; it was looked upon as an unjust revolt from a lawful prince; he and his successors were accounted rebels.” I confess we find his revolt from the true worship of God often found fault with; but I no where find him blamed for revolting from Rehoboam; and his successors are frequently spoken of as wicked princes, but not as rebels. “Acting contrary to law and right,” say you, “cannot introduce or establish a right.” I pray, what becomes then of your right of kings? Thus do you perpetually baffle yourself. You say, “Adulteries, murders, thefts are daily committed with impunity.” Are you not aware, that here you give an answer to your own question, how it comes to pass, that tyrants do so often escape unpunished? You say, “Those kings were rebels, and yet the prophets do no where dissuade the people from their allegiance.” And why do you, you rascally false prophet, endeavour to persuade the people of England not to yield obedience to their present magistrates, though in your opinion they are rebels? “This English faction of robbers,” say you, “allege for themselves, that by some immediate voice from Heaven, they were put upon their bloody enterprise.” It is notoriously evident, that you were distracted when you wrote these lines; for as you have put the words together, they are neither Latin, nor sense. And that the English pretend to any such warrant, as a justification of their actions, is one of those many lies and fictions, that your book is full of. But I proceed to urge you with examples. Libna, a great city, revolted from Joram, because he had forsaken God: it was the king therefore that was guilty, not the city, nor is the city blamed for it. He that considers the reason that is given why that city rejected his government, must conclude, that the Holy Ghost rather approves of what they did than condemns them for it. “These kind of revolts are no precedents,” say you. But why were you then so vain, as to promise in the beginning of this chapter, that you would argue from examples, whereas all the examples that you allege, are mere negatives, which prove nothing? and when we urge examples that are solid and positive, you say they are no precedents. Who would endure such a way of arguing? You challenged us at precedents; we produced them; and what do you do? you hang back, and get out of the way. I proceed: Jehu, at the command of a prophet, slew a king; nay, he ordered the death of Ahaziah, his own liege prince. If God would not have tyrants put to death by their own subjects, if it were a wicked thing so to do, a thing of a bad example; why did God himself command it? If he commanded it, it was a lawful, commendable, and a praiseworthy action. It was not therefore lawful to kill a tyrant, because God commanded it; but God commanded it, because, antecedently to his command, it was a justifiable and a lawful action. Again, Jehoiada the high priest did not scruple to depose Athaliah, and kill her, though she had been seven years in actual possession of the crown. “But,” say you, “she took upon her the government, when she had no right to it.” And did not you say yourself, but a while ago, “that Tiberius assumed the sovereignty, when it belonged not at all to him?” And yet you then affirmed, that, according to our Saviour’s doctrine, we ought to yield obedience to such tyrants as he was. It were a most ridiculous thing to imagine, that a prince, who gets in by usurpation, may lawfully be deposed; but one that rules tyrannically may not. “But,” say you, “Athaliah could not possibly reign according to the law of the Jewish kingdom, ‘Thou shalt set over thee a king,’ says God Almighty; he does not say, Thou shalt set over thee a queen.” If this argument have any weight, I may as well say, the command of God was, that the people should set over themselves a king, not a tyrant. So that I am even with you. Amazias was a slothful idolatrous prince, and was put to death, not by a few conspirators; but rather, it should seem, by the nobility, and by the body of the people. For he fled from Jerusalem, had none to stand by him, and they pursued him to Lachish: they took counsel against him, says the history, because he had forsaken God: and we do not find that Azarias his son prosecuted those that had cut off his father. You quote a great many frivolous passages out of the rabbins, to prove that the kings of the Jews were superior to the Sanhedrim. You do not consider Zekediah’s own words, Jer. xxxviii. “The king is not he that can do any thing against you.” So that this was the prince’s own style. Thus he confessed himself inferior to the great council of the realm, “Perhaps,” say you, “he meant, that he durst not deny them any thing for fear of sedition.” But what does your perhaps signify, whose most positive asserting any thing is not worth a louse? For nothing in nature can be more fickle and inconsistent than you are. How oft you have appeared in this discourse inconsistent with yourself; unsaying with one breath what you have said with another? Here, again, you make comparisons betwixt King Charles, and some of the good kings of Judah. You speak contemptibly of David, as if he were not worthy to come in competition with him. “Consider David,” say you, “an adulterer, a murderer; King Charles was guilty of no such crimes. Solomon his son, who was accounted wise,” c. Who can with patience hear this filthy, rascally fool, speak so irreverently of persons eminent both in greatness and piety? Dare you compare King David with King Charles; a most religious king and prophet, with a superstitious prince, and who was but a novice in the Christian religion; a most prudent wise prince with a weak one; a valiant prince with a cowardly one; finally, a most just prince with a most unjust one? Have you the impudence to commend his chastity and sobriety, who is known to have committed all manner of lewdness in company with his confidant the duke of Buckingham? It were to no purpose to inquire into the private actions of his life, who publicly at plays would embrace and kiss the ladies lasciviously, and handle virgins’ and matrons’ breasts, not to mention the rest. I advise you therefore, you counterfeit Plutarch, to abstain from such like parallels, lest I be forced to publish those things concerning King Charles, which I am willing to conceal.

Hitherto we have entertained ourselves with what the people of the Jews have acted or attempted against tyrants, and by what right they did it in those times, when God himself did immediately, as it were, by his voice from heaven govern their commonwealth. The ages that succeeded, do not afford us any authority, as from themselves, but confirm us in our opinion by their imitating the actions of their forefathers. For after the Babylonish captivity, when God did not give any new command concerning the crown, though the royal line was not extinct, we find the people return to the old Mosaical form of government again. They were one while tributaries to Antiochus, king of Syria; yet when he enjoined them things that were contrary to the law of God, they resisted him, and his deputies, under the conduct of their priests, the Maccabees, and by force regained their former liberty. After that, whoever was accounted most worthy of it, had the principality conferred upon him. Till at last, Harcanus the son of Simon, the brother of Judah, the Maccabee, having spoiled David’s sepulchre, entertained foreign soldiers, and began to invest the priesthood with a kind of regal power. After whose time his son Aristobulus was the first that assumed the crown; he was a tyrant indeed, and yet the people stirred not against him, which is no great wonder, for he reigned but one year. And he himself being overtaken with a grievous disease, and repenting of his own cruelty and wickedness, desired nothing more than to die, and had his wish. His brother Alexander succeeded him; “and against him,” you say, “the people raised no insurrection, though he were a tyrant too.” And this lie might have gone down with us, if Josephus’s history had not been extant. We should then have had no memory of those times, but what your Josippus would afford us, out of whom you transcribe a few senseless and useless apophthegms of the Pharisees. The history is thus: Alexander administered the public affairs ill, both in war and peace; and though he kept in pay great numbers of Pisidians and Cilicians, yet could he not protect himself from the rage of the people: but whilst he was sacrificing they fell upon him, and had almost smothered him with boughs of palm trees and citron trees. Afterward the whole nation made war upon him six years, during which time, when many thousands of the Jews had been slain, and he himself being at length desirous of peace, demanded of them, what they would have him to do to satisfy them; they told him nothing could do that but his blood, nay, that they should hardly pardon him after his death. This history you perceived was not for your purpose, and so you put it off with a few pharisaical sentences; when it had been much better, either to have let it quite alone, or to have given a true relation of it: but you trust to lies more than to the truth of your cause. Even those eight hundred Pharisees whom he commanded to be crucified, were of their number that had taken up arms against him. And they with the rest of the people had solemnly protested, that if they could subdue the king’s forces, and get his person into their power, they would put him to death. After the death of Alexander, his wife Alexandra took the government upon her, as Athaliah had formerly done, not according to law, (for you have confessed, that the laws of the Jews admitted not a female to wear the crown,) but she got it partly by force, for she maintained an army of foreigners; and partly by favour, for she had brought over the Pharisees to her interest, which sort of men were of the greatest authority with the people. Them she had made her own, by putting the power into their hands, and retaining to herself only the name. Just as the Scotch presbyterians lately allowed Charles the name of king, but upon condition, that he would let them be king in effect. After the death of Alexandra, Hyrcanus and Aristobulus, her sons, contended for the sovereignty; Aristobulus was more industrious, and having a greater party, forced his elder brother out of the kingdom. A while after, when Pompey passed through Syria, in his return from the Mithridatic war; the Jews, supposing they had now an opportunity of regaining their liberty, by referring their cause to him, dispatch an embassy to him in their own names; they renounce both the brothers; complain that they had enslaved them. Pompey deposed Aristobulus, leaves the priesthood, and such a principality as the laws allowed, to Hyrcanus the elder. From that time forward he was called high priest, and Ethnarcha. After these times in the reign of Archelaus, the son of Herod, the Jews sent fifty ambassadors to Augustus Cæsar; accused Herod that was dead, and Archelaus his son, that then reigned; they deposed him as much as in them lay, and petitioned the emperor, that the people of the Jews might be governed without a king. Cæsar was moved at their entreaty, and did not appoint a king over them, but a governor, whom they called an ethnarch. When that governor had presided ten years over Judea, the people sent embassadors again to Rome, and accused him of tyranny. Cæsar heard them graciously; sent for the governor, condemned him to perpetual exile, and banished him to Vienna. Answer me, now, that people that accused their own princes, that desired their condemnation, that desired their punishment, would not they themselves rather, if it had been in their power, and that they might have had their choice; would not they, I say, rather have put them to death themselves; you do not deny, but that the people and the nobles often took up arms against the Roman deputies, when by their avarice, or their cruelty, their government was burdensome and oppressive. But you give a ridiculous reason for this, as all the rest of yours are. You say, “they were not yet accustomed to the yoke;” very like they were not, under Alexander, Herod, and his son. “But,” say you, “they would not raise war against Caius Cæsar, nor Petronius.” I confess they did not, and they did very prudently in abstaining, for they were not able. Will you hear their own words, on that occasion? “We will not make war,” say they, “because we cannot.” That thing, which they themselves acknowledge they refrained from for want of ability, you, false hypocrite, pretend they refrained from out of religion. Then with a great deal of toil you do just nothing at all; for you endeavour to prove out of the fathers, (though you had done it as superficially before) that kings are to be prayed for. That good kings are to be prayed for, no man denies; nay, and bad ones too, as long as there are any hopes of them: so we ought to pray for highwaymen, and for our enemies. But how? not that they may plunder, spoil, and murder us; but that they may repent. We pray both for thieves and enemies; and yet who ever dreamt, but that it was lawful to put the laws in execution against the one, and to fight against the other? I value not the Egyptian liturgy that you quote; but the priest that you mention, who prayed that Commodus might succeed his father in the empire, did not pray for any thing in my opinion, but imprecated all the mischiefs imaginable to the Roman state. You say, “that we have broken our faith, which we engaged more than once, in solemn assemblies, to preserve the authority and majesty of the king.” But because hereafter you are more large upon that subject, I shall pass it by in this place; and talk with you when you come to it again.

You return then to the fathers; concerning whom take this in short. Whatever they say, which is not warranted by the authority of the Scriptures, or by good reason, shall be of no more regard with me, than if any other ordinary man had said it. The first that you quote is Tertullian, who is no orthodox writer, notorious for many errors; whose authority, if he were of your opinion, would stand you in no stead. But what says he? He condemns tumults and rebellions. So do we. But in saying so, we do not mean to destroy all the people’s rights and privileges, all the authority of senates, the power of all magistrates, the king only excepted. The fathers declaim against seditions rashly raised by the giddy heat of the multitude; they speak not of the inferior magistrates, of senates, of parliaments encouraging the people, to a lawful opposing of a tyrant. Hence Ambrose, whom you quote; “Not to resist,” says he, “but to weep and to sigh, these are the bulwarks of the priesthood; what one is there of our little number, who dare say to the emperor, I do not like your laws? This is not allowed the priests, and shall laymen pretend to it?” It is evident of what sort of persons he speaks, viz. of the priests, and such of the people as are private men, not of the magistrates. You see by how weak and preposterous a reason he lighted a torch as it were to the dissensions that were afterwards to arise betwixt the laity and the clergy concerning even civil or temporal laws. But because you think you pressed hardest upon us with the examples of the primitive Christians; who though they were harassed as much as a people could be, yet, you say, “they never took up arms against the emperor:” I will make it appear, in the first place, that for the most part they could not: secondly, that whenever they could, they did: and thirdly, that whether they did or did not, they were such a sort of people, as that their example deserves to have little sway with us. First therefore, no man can be ignorant of this, that when the commonwealth of Rome expired, the whole and sovereign power in the empire was settled in the emperor; that all the soldiers were under his pay; insomuch that if the whole body of the senate, the equestrian order, and all the common people, had endeavoured to work a change, they might have made way for a massacre of themselves, but could not, in any probability retrieve their lost liberty: for the empire would still have continued, though they might perhaps have been so lucky as to have killed the emperor. This being so, what could the Christians do? It is true, there were a great many of them; but they were dispersed, they were generally persons of mean quality, and but of small interest in the world. How many of them would one legion have been able to keep in awe? Could so inconsiderable a body of men as they were in those days ever expect to accomplish an enterprise that many famous generals, and whole armies of tried soldiers, had lost their lives in attempting? When about 300 years after our Saviour’s nativity, which was near upon 20 years before the reign of Constantine the Great, when Dioclesian was emperor, there was but one Christian legion in the whole Roman empire; which legion, for no other reason than because it consisted of Christians, was slain by the rest of the army at a town in France called Octodurum. “The Christians,” say you, “conspired not with Cassius, with Albinus, with Niger;” and does Tertullian think they merited by not being willing to lose their lives in the quarrels of infidels? It is evident therefore, that the Christians could not free themselves from the yoke of the Roman emperors; and it could be no ways advantageous to their interest to conspire with infidels, as long as heathen emperors reigned. But that afterwards the Christians made war upon tyrants, and defended themselves by force of arms when there was occasion, and many times revenged upon tyrants their enormities, I am now about to make appear.

In the first place, Constantine, being a Christian, made war upon Licinius, and cut him off, who was his partner in the sovereign power, because he molested the eastern Christians; by which act of his he declared thus much at least, that one magistrate might punish another: for he for his subjects’ sake punished Licinius, who to all intents was as absolute in the empire as himself, and did not leave the vengeance to God alone: Licinius might have done the same to Constantine, if there had been the like occasion. So then, if the matter be not wholly reserved to God’s own tribunal, but that men have something to do in the case, why did not the parliament of England stand in the same relation to King Charles, that Constantine did to Licinius? The soldiers made Constantine what he was: but our laws have made our parliaments equal, nay, superior, to our kings. The inhabitants of Constantinople resisted Constantius an Arian emperor, by force of arms, as long as they were able; they opposed Hermogenes whom he had sent with a military power to depose Paul an orthodox bishop; the house whither he had betaken himself for security they fired about his ears, and at last killed him right out. Constans threatened to make war upon his brother Constantius, unless he would restore Paul and Athanasius to their bishoprics. You see those holy fathers, when their bishoprics were in danger, were not ashamed to stir up their prince’s own brother to make war upon him. Not long after, the Christian soldiers, who then made whom they would emperors, put to death Constans the son of Constantinus, because he behaved himself dissolutely and proudly in the government, and translated the empire to Magnentius. Nay, those very persons that saluted Julian by the name of emperor, against Constantius’s will, who was actually in possession of the empire, (for Julian was not then an apostate, but a virtuous and valiant person,) are they not amongst the number of those primitive Christians, whose example you propose to us for our imitation? Which action of theirs, when Constantius by his letters to the people very sharply and earnestly forbad, (which letters were openly read to them,) they all cried out unanimously, that themselves had but done what the provincial magistrates, the army, and the authority of the commonwealth had decreed. The same persons declared war against Constantius, and contributed as much as in them lay, to deprive him both of his government and his life. How did the inhabitants of Antioch behave themselves, who were none of the worst sort of Christians? I will warrant you they prayed for Julian, after he became an apostate, whom they used to rail at in his own presence, and scoffing at his long beard bid him make ropes of it: upon the news of whose death they offered public thanksgivings, made feasts, and gave other public demonstrations of joy. Do you think they used, when he was alive, to pray for the continuance of his life and health? Nay, is it not reported, that a Christian soldier, in his own army, was the author of his death? Sozomen, a writer of ecclesiastical history, does not deny it, but commends him that did it, if the fact were so. “For it is no wonder,” says he, “that some of his own soldiers might think within himself, that not only the Greeks, but all mankind hitherto had agreed, that it was a commendable action to kill a tyrant; and that they deserve all men’s praise, who are willing to die themselves to procure the liberty of all others: so that that soldier ought not rashly to be condemned, who in the cause of God and of religion, was so zealous and valiant.” These are the words of Sozomen, a good and religious man of that age. By which we may easily apprehend what the general opinion of pious men in those days was upon this point. Ambrose himself being commanded by the emperor Valentinian the younger, to depart from Milan, refused to obey him, but defended himself and the palace by force of arms against the emperor’s officers, and took upon him, contrary to his own doctrine, to resist the higher powers. There was a great sedition raised at Constantinople against the emperor Arcadius, more than once, by reason of Chrysostom’s exile. Hitherto I have shown how the primitive Christians behaved themselves towards tyrants; how not only the Christian soldiers, and the people, but the fathers of the church themselves, have both made war upon them, and opposed them with force, and all this before St. Austin’s time: for you yourself are pleased to go down no lower; and therefore I make no mention of Valentinian the son of Placidia, who was slain by Maximus a senator, for committing adultery with his wife; nor do I mention Avitus the emperor, whom, because he disbanded the soldiers, and betook himself wholly to a luxurious life, the Roman senate immediately deposed; because these things came to pass some years after St. Austin’s death. But all this I give you: suppose I had not mentioned the practice of the primitive Christians; suppose they never had stirred in opposition to tyrants; suppose they had accounted it unlawful so to do; I will make it appear, that they were not such persons, as that we ought to rely upon their authority, or can safely follow their example. Long before Constantine’s time the generality of Christians had lost much of the primitive sanctity and integrity both of their doctrine and manners. Afterwards, when he had vastly enriched the church, they began to fall in love with honour and civil power, and then the Christian religion went to wreck. First luxury and sloth, and then a great drove of heresies and immoralities, broke loose among them; and these begot envy, hatred, and discord, which abounded every where. At last, they that were linked together into one brotherhood by that holy band of religion, were as much at variance and strife among themselves as the most bitter enemies in the world could be. No reverence for, no consideration of, their duty was left among them: the soldiers and commanders of the army, as oft as they pleased themselves, created new emperors, and sometimes killed good ones as well as bad. I need not mention such as Verannio, Maximus, Eugenius, whom the soldiers all of a sudden advanced and made them emperors; nor Gratian, an excellent prince; nor Valentinian the younger, who was none of the worst, and yet were put to death by them. It is true, these things were acted by the soldiers, and soldiers in the field; but those soldiers were Christians, and lived in that age which you call evangelical, and whose example you propose to us for our imitation. Now you shall hear how the clergy managed themselves: pastors and bishops, and sometimes those very fathers whom we admire and extol to so high a degree, every one of whom was a leader of their several flocks; those very men, I say, fought for their bishoprics, as tyrants did for their sovereignty; sometimes throughout the city, sometimes in the very churches, sometimes at the altar, clergymen and laymen fought promiscuously; they slew one another, and great slaughters were made on both sides. You may remember Damasus and Urcisinus, who were contemporaries with Ambrose. It would be too long to relate the tumultuary insurrections of the inhabitants of Constantinople, Antioch, and Alexandria, especially those under the conduct and management of Cyrillus, whom you extol as a preacher up of obedience; when the monks in that fight, within the city, had almost slain Orestes, Theodosius’s deputy. Now who can sufficiently wonder at your impudence, or carelessness and neglect? “Till St. Austin’s time, say you, and lower down than the age that he lived in, there is not any mention extant in history, of any private person, of any commander, or of any number of conspirators, that have put their prince to death, or taken up arms against him.” I have named to you, out of known and approved histories, both private persons and magistrates, that with their own hands have slain not only bad but very good princes; whole armies of Christians, many bishops among them, that have fought against their own emperors. You produce some of the fathers, that with a great flourish of words, persuade or boast of obedience to princes: and I, on the other side, produce both those same fathers, and others besides them, that by their actions have declined obedience to their princes, even in lawful things; have defended themselves with a military force against them; others that have opposed forcibly, and wounded their deputies; and others that, being competitors for bishopries, have maintained civil wars against one another: as if it were lawful for Christians to wage war with Christians for a bishopric, and citizens with citizens; but unlawful to fight against a tyrant, in defence of our liberty, of our wives and children, and of our lives themselves. Who would own such fathers as these? You produce St. Austin, who, you say asserts, that “the power of a master over his servants, and a prince over his subjects, is one and the same thing.” But I answer; if St. Austin assert any such thing, he asserts what neither our Saviour, nor any of his apostles ever asserted; though for the confirmation of that assertion, than which nothing can be more false, he pretends to rely wholly upon their authority. The three or four last pages of this fourth chapter, are stuffed with mere lies, or things carelessly and loosely put together, that are little to the purpose: and that every one that reads them, will discover by what has been said already. For what concerns the pope, against whom you disclaim so loudly, I am content you should bawl at him, till you are hoarse. But whereas you endeavour to persuade the ignorant, that “all that called themselves Christians, yielded an entire obedience to princes, whether good or bad, till the papal power grew to that height, that it was acknowledged superior to that of the civil magistrate, and till he took upon him to absolve subjects from their allegiance:” I have sufficiently proved by many examples before and since the age that St. Augustine lived in, that nothing can be more false. Neither does that seem to have much more truth in it, which you say in the last place; viz. that pope Zachary absolved the Frenchmen from their oath of allegiance to their king. For Francis Hottoman, who was both a Frenchman and a lawyer, and a very learned man, in the 13th chapter of his Francogallia, denies that either Chilperic was deposed, or the kingdom translated to Pepin, by the pope’s authority; and he proves out of very ancient chronicles of that nation, that the whole affair was transacted in the great council of the kingdom, according to the original constitution of that government. Which being once done, the French histories, and pope Zachary himself, deny that there was any necessity of absolving his subjects from their allegiance. For not only Hottoman, but Guiccard, a very eminent historian of that nation, informs us, that the ancient records of the kingdom of France testify, that the subjects of that nation upon the first institution of kingship amongst them, reserved a power to themselves, both of choosing their princes, and of deposing them again, if they thought fit: and that the oath of allegiance, which they took, was upon this express condition; to wit, that the king should likewise perform what at his coronation he swore to do. So that if kings, by misgoverning the people committed to their charge, first broke their own oath to their subjects, there needs no pope to dispense with the people’s oaths; the kings themselves by their own perfidiousness having absolved their subjects. And finally. pope Zachary himself, in a letter of his to the French, which you yourself quote, renounces, and ascribes to the people that authority, which you say he assumes to himself: for, if a prince be accountable to the people, being beholden to them for his royalty; if the people, since they make kings, have the same right to depose them, as the very words of that pope are; it is not likely that the Frenchmen would by any oath depart in the least from that ancient right, or ever tie up their own hands, so as not to have the same right that their ancestors always had, to depose bad princes, as well as to honour and obey good ones; nor is it likely that they thought themselves obliged to yield that obedience to tyrants, which they swore to yield only to good princes. A people obliged to obedience by such an oath, is discharged of that obligation, when a lawful prince becomes a tyrant, or gives himself over to sloth and voluptuousness; the rule of justice, the very law of nature, dispenses with such a people’s allegiance. So that even by the pope’s own opinion, the people were under no obligation to yield obedience to Chilperic, and consequently had no need of a dispensation.

CHAPTER V.

THOUGH I am of opinion, Salmatius, and always was, that the law of God does exactly agree with the law of nature; so that having shown what the law of God is, with respect to princes, and what the practice has been of the people of God, both Jews and Christians, I have at the same time, and by the same discourse, made appear what is most agreeable to the law of nature: yet because you pretend “to confute us most powerfully by the law of nature,” I will be content to admit that to be necessary, which before I had thought would be superfluous; that in this chapter I may demonstrate, that nothing is more suitable to the law of nature, than that punishment be inflicted upon tyrants. Which if I do not evince, I will then agree with you, that likewise by the law of God they are exempt. I do not purpose to frame a long discourse of nature in general, and the original of civil societies; that argument has been largely handled by many learned men, both Greek and Latin. But I shall endeavour to be as short as may be; and my design is not so much to confute you, (who would willingly have spared this pains,) as to show that you confute yourself, and destroy your own positions. I will begin with that first position, which you lay down as a fundamental, and that shall be the groundwork of my ensuing discourse. “The law of nature,” say you, “is a principle imprinted on all men’s minds, to regard the good of all mankind, considering men as united together in societies. But this innate principle cannot procure that common good, unless, as there are people that must be governed, so that very principle ascertain who shall govern them.” To wit, lest the stronger oppress the weaker, and those persons, who for their mutual safety and protection have united themselves together, should be disunited and divided by injury and violence, and reduced to a bestial savage life again. This I suppose is what you mean. “Out of the number of those that united into one body,” you say, “there must needs have been some chosen, who excelled the rest in wisdom and valour; that they, either by force or by persuasion, might restrain those that were refractory, and keep them within due bounds. Sometimes it would so fall out, that one single person, whose conduct and valour was extraordinary, might be able to do this, and sometimes more assisted one another with their advice and counsel. But since it is impossible, that any one man should order all things himself, there was a necessity of his consulting with others, and taking some into part of the government with himself; so that whether a single person reign, or whether the supreme power reside in the body of the people, since it is impossible that all should administer the affairs of the commonwealth, or that one man should do all, the government does always lie upon the shoulders of many. And afterwards you say, “both forms of government, whether by many or a few, or by a single person, are equally according to the law of nature, viz. That it is impossible for any single person so to govern alone, as not to admit others into a share of the government with himself.” Though I might have taken all this out of the third book of Aristotle’s Politics, I chose rather to transcribe it out of your own book; for you stole it from him, as Prometheus did fire from Jupiter, to the ruin of monarchy, and overthrow of yourself, and your own opinion. For inquire as diligently as you can for your life into the law of nature, as you have described it, you will not find the least footstep in it of kingly power, as you explain it. “The law of nature,” say you, “in ordering who should govern others, respected the universal good of all mankind.” It did not then regard the private good of any particular person, not of a prince; so that the king is for the people, and consequently the people superior to him: which being allowed, it is impossible that princes should have any right to oppress or enslave the people; that the inferior should have right to tyrannize over the superior. So that since kings pretend to any right to do mischief, the right of the people must be acknowledged, according to the law of nature, to be superior to that of princes; and therefore, by the same right, that before kingship was known, men united their strength and counsels for their mutual safety and defence; by the same right, that for the preservation of all men’s liberty, peace, and safety, they appointed one or more to govern the rest; by the same right they may depose those very persons whom for their valour or wisdom they advanced to the government, or any others that rule disorderly, if they find them, by reason of their slothfulness, folly, or impiety, unfit for government: since nature does not regard the good of one, or of a few, but of all in general. For what sort of persons were they whom you suppose to have been chosen? You say, “they were such as excelled in courage and conduct,” to wit, such as by nature seemed fittest for government; who by reason of their excellent wisdom and valour, were enabled to undertake so great a charge. The consequence of this I take to be, that right of succession is not by the law of nature; that no man by the law of nature has right to be king, unless he excel all others in wisdom and courage; that all such as reign and want these qualifications, are advanced to the government by force or faction; have no right by the law of nature to be what they are, but ought rather to be slaves than princes. For nature appoints that wise men should govern fools, not that wicked men should rule over good men, fools over wise men: and consequently they that take the government out of such men’s hands, act according to the law of nature. To what end nature directs wise men should bear the rule, you shall hear in your own words; viz. “That by force or by persuasion, they may keep such as are unruly within due bounds.” But how should he keep others within the bounds of their duty, that neglects, or is ignorant of, or wilfully acts contrary to, his own? Allege now, if you can, any dictate of nature by which we are enjoined to neglect the wise institutions of the law of nature, and have no regard to them in civil and public concerns, when we see what great and admirable things nature herself effects in things that are inanimate and void of sense, rather than lose her end. Produce any rule of nature, or natural justice, by which inferior criminals ought to be punished, but kings and princes to go unpunished; and not only so, but though guilty of the greatest crimes imaginable, be had in reverence and almost adored. You agree, that “all forms of government, whether by many, or few, or by a single person, are equally agreeable to the law of nature.” So that the person of a king is not by the law of nature more sacred than a senate of nobles, or magistrates, chosen from amongst the common people, who you grant may be punished, and ought to be if they offend; and consequently kings ought to be so too, who are appointed to rule for the very same end and purpose that other magistrates are. “For,” say you, “nature does not allow any single person to rule so entirely, as not to have partners in the government.” It does not therefore allow of a monarch: it does not allow one single person to rule so, as that all others should be in a slavish subjection to his commands only. You that give princes such partners in the government, “as in whom,” to use your own words, “the government always resides,” do at the same time make others colleagues with them, and equal to them; nay, and consequently you settle a power in those colleagues of punishing and of deposing them. So that while you yourself go about, not to extol a kingly government, but to establish it by the law of nature, you destroy it; no greater misfortune could befall sovereign princes, than to have such an advocate as you are. Poor unhappy wretch! what blindness of mind has seized you, that you should unwittingly take so much pains to discover your knavery and folly, and make it visible to the world, (which before you concealed in some measure, and disguised,) that you should be so industrious to heap disgrace and ignominy upon yourself? What offence does Heaven punish you for, in making you appear in public, and undertake the defence of a desperate cause, with so much impudence and childishness, and instead of defending it, to betray it by your ignorance? What enemy of yours would desire to see you in a more forlorn, despicable condition than you are, who have no refuge left from the depth of misery, but in your own imprudence and want of sense, since by your unskilful and silly defence, you have rendered tyrants the more odious and detestable, by ascribing to them an unbounded liberty of doing mischief with impunity; and consequently have created them more enemies than they had before? But I return to your contradictions.

When you had resolved with yourself to be so wicked, as to endeavour to find out a foundation for tyranny in the law of nature, you saw a necessity of extolling monarchy above other sorts of government; which you cannot go about to do, without doing as you use to do, that is, contradicting yourself. For having said but a little before, “That all forms of government, whether by more or fewer, or by a single person, are equally according to the law of nature,” now you tell us, “that of all these sorts of government, that of a single person is most natural:” nay, though you had said in express terms but lately, “that the law of nature does not allow, that any government should reside entirely in one man.” Now upbraid whom you will with the putting of tyrants to death; since you yourself, by your own folly, have cut the throats of all monarchs, nay even of monarchy itself. But it is not to the purpose, for us here to dispute which form of government is best, by one single person, or by many. I confess many eminent and famous men have extolled monarchy; but it has always been upon this supposition, that the prince was a very excellent person, and one that of all others deserved best to reign; without which supposition, no form of government can be so prone to tyranny as monarchy is. And whereas you resemble a monarchy to the government of the world by one Divine Being, I pray answer me, whether you think that any other can deserve to be invested with a power here on earth that shall resemble his power that governs the world, except such a person as does infinitely excel all other men, and both for wisdom and goodness in some measure resemble the Deity? and such a person, in my opinion, none can be but the Son of God himself.—And whereas you make a kingdom to be a kind of family, and make a comparison betwixt a prince and the master of a family; observe how lame the parallel is. For a master of a family begot part of his household, at least he feeds all those that are of his house, and upon that account deserves to have the government; but the reason holds not in the case of a prince; nay, it is quite contrary. In the next place, you propose to us for our imitation the example of inferior creatures, especially of birds, and amongst them of bees, which according to your skill in natural philosophy, are a sort of birds too; “The bees have a king over them.” The bees of Trent you mean; do not you remember? all other bees you yourself confess to be commonwealths. But leave off playing the fool with bees; they belong to the Muses, and hate, and (you see) confute, such a beetle as you are. “The quails are under a captain.” Lay such snares for your own bitterns; you are not fowler good enough to catch us. Now you begin to be personally concerned. Gallus Gallinaceus, a cock, say you, “has both cocks and hens under him.” How can that be, since you yourself that are Gallus, and but too much Gallinaceus, by report cannot govern your own single hen, but let her govern you? So that if a Gallinaceus be a king over many hens, you that are a slave to one, must own yourself not to be so good as a Gallinaceus, but some Stercorarius Gallus, some dunghill-cock or other. For matter of books, there is no body publishes huger dunghills than you, and you disturb all people with your shitten cock-crow; that is the only property in which you resemble a true cock. I will throw you a great many barley-corns, if in ransacking this dung-hill book of yours, you can show me one jewel. But why should I promise you barley, that never pecked at corn, as that honest plain cock that we read of in Æsop, but at gold, as that roguey cock in Plautus, though with a different event; for you found a hundred Jacobusses, and he was struck dead with Euclio’s club, which you deserve more than he did.

But let us go on: “That same natural reason that designs the good and safety of all mankind, requires, that whoever be once promoted to the sovereignty, be preserved in the possession of it.” Whoever questioned this, as long as his preservation is consistent with the safety of all the rest? But is it not obvious to all men, that nothing can be more contrary to natural reason, than that any one man should be preserved and defended, to the utter ruin and destruction of all others? But yet (you say) “it is better to keep and defend a bad prince, nay one of the worst that ever was, than to change him for another; because his ill government cannot do the commonwealth so much harm as the disturbances will occasion, which must of necessity be raised before the people can get rid of him.” But what is this to the right of kings by the law of nature? If nature teaches me rather to suffer myself to be robbed by highwaymen, or if I should be taken captive by such, to purchase my liberty with all my estate, than to fight with them for my life, can you infer from thence, that they have a natural right to rob and spoil me? Nature teaches men to give way sometimes to the violence and outrages of tyrants, the necessity of affairs sometimes enforces a toleration with their enormities; what foundation can you find in this forced patience of a nation, in this compulsory submission, to build a right upon, for princes to tyrannize by the law of nature? That right which nature has given the people for their own preservation, can you affirm that she has invested tyrants with for the people’s ruin and destruction? Nature teaches us, of two evils to choose the least: and to bear with oppression, as long as there is a necessity of so doing; and will you infer from hence, that tyrants have some right by the law of nature to oppress their subjects, and go unpunished, because, as circumstances may fall out, it may sometimes be a less mischief to bear with them than to remove them? Remember what yourself once wrote concerning bishops against a jesuit; you were then of another opinion than you are now: I have quoted your words formerly; you there affirm “that seditious civil dissensions and discords of the nobles and common people against and amongst one another are much more tolerable, and less mischievous, than certain misery and destruction under the government of a single person, that plays the tyrant.” And you said very true. For you had not then run mad; you had not then been bribed with Charles his Jacobusses. You had not got the Kings’-evil. I should tell you perhaps, if I did not know you, that you might be ashamed thus to prevaricate. But you can sooner burst than blush, who have cast off all shame for a little profit. Did you not remember, that the commonwealth of the people of Rome flourished and became glorious when they had banished their kings? Could you possibly forget that of the Low Countries? which, after it had shook off the yoke of the king of Spain, after long and tedious wars, but crowned with success, obtained its liberty, and feeds such a pitiful grammarian as yourself with a pension: but not with a design that their youth might be so infatuated by your sophistry, as to choose rather to return to their former slavery, than to inherit the glorious liberty which their ancestors purchased for them. May those pernicious principles of yours be banished with yourself into the most remote and barbarous corners of the world. And last of all, the commonwealth of England might have afforded you an example, in which Charles, who had been their king, after he had been taken captive in war, and was found incurable, was put to death. But “they have defaced and impoverished the island with civil broils and discords, which under its kings was happy, and swam in luxury.” Yea, when it was almost buried in luxury and voluptuousness, and the more inured thereto, that it might be enthralled the more easily; when its laws were abolished, and its religion agreed to be sold, they delivered it from slavery. You are like him that published Simplicius and Epictetus in the same volume; a very grave stoic, “who call an island happy, because it swims in luxury.” I am sure no such doctrine ever came out of Zeno’s school. But why should not you, who would give kings a power of doing what they list, have liberty yourself to broach what new philosophy you please? Now begin again to act your part. “There never was in any king’s reign so much blood spilt, so many families ruined.” All this is to be imputed to Charles, not to us, who first raised an army of Irishmen against us; who by his own warrant authorized the Irish nation to conspire against the English; who by their means slew two hundred thousand of his English subjects in the province of Ulster, besides what numbers were slain in other parts of that kingdom; who solicited two armies towards the destruction of the parliament of England, and the city of London; and did many other actions of hostility before the parliament and people had listed one soldier for the preservation and defence of the government. What principles, what law, what religion ever taught men rather to consult their ease, to save their money, their blood, nay their lives themselves, than to oppose an enemy with force? for I make no difference between a foreign enemy and another, since both are equally dangerous and destructive to the good of the whole nation. The people of Israel saw very well, that they could not possibly punish the Benjamites for murdering the Levite’s wife, without the loss of many men’s lives: and did that induce them to sit still? Was that accounted a sufficient argument why they should abstain from war, from a very bloody civil war? Did they therefore suffer the death of one poor woman to be unrevenged? Certainly if nature teaches us rather to endure the government of a king, though he be never so bad, than to endanger the lives of a great many men in the recovery of our liberty; it must teach us likewise not only to endure a kingly government, which is the only one that you argue ought to be submitted to, but even an aristocracy and a democracy: nay, and sometimes it will persuade us, to submit to a multitude of highwaymen, and to slaves that mutiny. Fulvius and Rupilius, if your principles had been received in their days, must not have engaged in the servile war (as their writers call it) after the Prætorian armies were slain: Crassus must not have marched against Spartacus, after the rebels had destroyed one Roman army, and spoiled their tents: nor must Pompey have undertaken the Piratic war. But the state of Rome must have pursued the dictates of nature, and must have submitted to their own slaves, or to the pirates, rather than run the hazard of losing some men’s lives. You do not prove at all, that nature has imprinted any such notion as this of yours on the minds of men: and yet you cannot forbear boding us ill luck, and denouncing the wrath of God against us, (which may Heaven divert, and inflict it upon yourself, and all such prognosticators as you,) who have punished, as he deserved, one that had the name of our king, but was in fact our implacable enemy; and we have made atonement for the death of so many of our countrymen, as our civil wars have occasioned, by shedding his blood, that was the author and cause of them. Then you tell us, that a kingly government appears to be more according to the laws of nature, because more nations, both in our days, and of old, have submitted to that form of government than ever did to any other.” I answer, if that be so, it was neither the effect of any dictate of the law of nature, nor was it in obedience to any command from God. God would not suffer his own people to be under a king; he consented at last, but unwillingly; what nature and right reason dictates, we are not to gather from the practice of most nations, but of the wisest and most prudent. The Grecians, the Romans, the Italians, and Carthaginians, with many other, have of their own accord, out of choice, preferred a commonwealth to a kingly government; and these nations that I have named, are better instances than all the rest. Hence Sulpitius Severus says, “That the very name of a king was always very odious among a free-born people.” But these things concern not our present purpose, nor many other impertinences that follow over and over again. I will make haste to prove that by examples, which I have proved already by reason; viz. that it is very agreeable to the law of nature, that tyrants should be punished; and that all nations, by the instinct of nature, have punished them; which will expose your impudence, and make it evident, that you take a liberty to publish palpable downright lies. You begin with the Egyptians; and indeed, who does not see, that you play the gipsy yourself throughout? “Amongst them,” say you, “there is no mention extant of any king, that was ever slain by the people in a popular insurrection, no war made upon any of their kings by their subjects, no attempt made to depose any of them.” What think you then of Osiris, who perhaps was the first king that the Egyptians ever had? Was not he slain by his brother Typhon, and five and twenty other conspirators? And did not a great part of the body of the people side with them, and fight a battle with Isis and Orus, the late king’s wife and son? I pass by Sesostris, whom his brother had well nigh put to death, and Chemmis and Cephrenes, against whom the people were deservedly enraged; and because they could not do it while they were alive, they threatened to tear them in pieces after they were dead. Do you think that a people that durst lay violent hands upon good kings, had any restraint upon them, either by the light of nature or religion, from putting bad ones to death? Could they that threatened to pull the dead bodies of their princes out of their graves, when they ceased to do mischief, (though by the custom of their own country the corpse of the meanest person was sacred and inviolable,) abstain from inflicting punishment upon them in their lifetime, when they were acting all their villainies, if they had been able, and that upon some maxim of the law of nature? I know you would not stick to answer me in the affirmative, how absurd soever it be; but that you may not offer at it, I will pull out your tongue. Know then, that some ages before Cephrenes’s time, one Ammosis was king of Egypt, and was as great a tyrant, as who has been the greatest; him the people bore with. This you are glad to hear; this is what you would be at. But hear what follows, my honest Telltruth. I shall speak out of Diodorus, “They bore with him for somewhile, because he was too strong for them.” But when Actisanes king of Ethiopia made war upon him, they took that opportunity to revolt, so that being deserted, he was easily subdued, and Egypt became an accession to the kingdom of Ethiopia. You see the Egyptians, so soon as they could, took up arms against a tyrant; they joined forces with a foreign prince, to depose their own king, and disinherit his posterity; they chose to live under a moderate and good prince, as Actisanes was, though a foreigner, rather than under a tyrant of their own. The same people with a very unanimous consent took up arms against Apries, another tyrant, who relied upon foreign aids that he had hired to assist him. Under the conduct of Amasis their general they conquered, and afterwards strangled him, and placed Amasis in the throne. And observe this circumstance in the history; Amasis kept the captive king a good while in the palace, and treated him well: at last, when the people complained that he nourished his own and their enemy; he delivered him into their hands, who put him to death in the manner I have mentioned. These things are related by Herodotus and Diodorus. Where are you now? do you think that any tyrant would not choose a hatchet rather than a halter? “Afterwards,” say you, “when the Egyptians were brought into subjection by the Persians, they continued faithful to them;” which is most false; they never were faithful to them: for in the fourth year after Cambyses had subdued them, they rebelled. Afterwards, when Xerxes had tamed them, within a short time they revolted from his son Artaxerxes, and set up one Inarus to be their king. After his death they rebelled again, and created one Tachus king, and made war upon Artaxerxes Mnemon. Neither were they better subjects to their own princes, for they deposed Tachus, and conferred the government upon his son Nectanebus, till at last Artaxerxes Ochus brought them the second time under subjection to the Persian empire. When they were under the Macedonian empire, they declared by their actions, that tyrants ought to be under some restraint: they threw down the statues and images of Ptolemæus Physco, and would have killed him, but that the mercenary army, that he commanded, was too strong for them. His son Alexander was forced to leave his country by the mere violence of the people, who were incensed against him for killing his mother: and the people of Alexandria dragged his son Alexander out of the palace, whose insolent behaviour gave just offence, and killed him in the theatre: and the same people deposed Ptolemæus Auletes for his many crimes. Now since it is impossible, that any learned man should be ignorant of these things that are so generally known; and since it is an inexcusable fault in Salmasius to be ignorant of them, whose profession it is to teach them others, and whose very asserting things of this nature ought to carry in itself an argument of credibility; it is certainly a very scandalous thing (I say) either that so ignorant, illiterate a blockhead, should, to the scandal of all learning, profess himself, and be accounted a learned man, and obtain salaries from princes and states; or that so impudent and notorious a liar should not be branded with some particular mark of infamy, and for ever banished from the society of learned and honest men.

Having searched among the Egyptians for examples, let us now consider the Ethiopians their neighbours. They adore their kings, whom they suppose God to have appointed over them, even as if they were a sort of gods: and yet whenever the priests condemn any of them, they kill themselves: and on that manner, says Diodorus, they punish all their criminals; they put them not to death, but send a minister of justice to command them to destroy their own persons. In the next place, you mention the Assyrians, the Medes, and the Persians, who of all others were most observant of their princes: and you affirm, contrary to all historians that have wrote any thing concerning those nations, that “the regal power there had an unbounded liberty annexed to it, of doing what the king listed.” In the first place, the prophet Daniel tells us, how the Babylonians expelled Nebuchadnezzar out of human society, and made him graze with the beasts, when his pride grew to be insufferable. The laws of those countries were not entitled the laws of their kings, but the laws of the Medes and Persians; which laws were irrevocable, and the kings themselves were bound by them: insomuch that Darius the Mede, though he earnestly desired to have delivered Daniel from the hands of the princes, yet could not effect it. “Those nations,” say you, “thought it no sufficient pretence to reject a prince, because he abused the right that was inherent in him as he was sovereign.” But in the very writing of these words you are so stupid, as that with the same breath that you commend the obedience and submissiveness of those nations, of your own accord you make mention of Sardanapalus’s being deprived of his crown by Arbaces. Neither was it he alone that accomplished that enterprise; for he had the assistance of the priests (who of all others were best versed in the law) and of the people; and it was wholly upon this account that he deposed him, because he abused his authority and power, not by giving himself over to cruelty, but to luxury and effeminacy. Run over the histories of Herodotus Ctesias, Diodorus, and you will find things quite contrary to what you assert here; you will find that those kingdoms were destroyed for the most part by subjects, and not by foreigners; that the Assyrians were brought down by the Medes, who then were their subjects, and the Medes by the Persians who at that time were likewise subject to them. You yourself confess that “Cyrus rebelled, and that at the same time in divers parts of the empire little upstart governments were formed by those that shook off the Medes.” But does this agree with what you said before? Does this prove the obedience of the Medes and Persians to their princes, and that Jus Regium which you had asserted to have been universally received amongst those nations? What potion can cure this brainsick frenzy of yours? You say, “It appears by Herodotus how absolute the Persian kings were.” Cambyses being desirous to marry his sisters, consulted with the judges, who were the interpreters of the laws, to whose decision all difficult matters were to be referred. What answer had he from them? They told him, they knew no law which permitted a brother to marry his sister; but another law they knew, that the kings of Persia might do what they listed. Now to this I answer, if the kings of Persia were really so absolute, what need was there of any other to interpret the laws, besides the king himself? Those superfluous unnecessary judges would have had their abode and residence in any other place rather than in the palace where they were altogether useless. Again, if those kings might do whatever they would, it is not credible, that so ambitious a prince as Cambyses, should be so ignorant of that grand prerogative, as to consult with the judges, whether what he desired were according to law. What was the matter then? either they designed to humour the king, as you say they did, or they were afraid to cross his inclination, which is the account that Herodotus gives of it; and so told him of such a law, as they knew would please him, and in plain terms made a fool of him, which is no new thing with judges and lawyers now-a-days. “But,” say you, “Artabanus a Persian told Themistocles, that there was no better law in Persia, than that by which it was enacted, that kings were to be honoured and adored.” An excellent law that was without doubt, which commanded subjects to adore their princes! but the primitive fathers have long ago damned it; and Artabanus was a proper person to recommend such a law, who was the very man that a little while after slew Xerxes with his own hand. You quote regicides to assert royalty. I am afraid you have some design upon kings. In the next place, you quote the poet Claudian, to prove how obedient the Persians were. But I appeal to their histories and annals, which are full of the revolts of the Persians, the Medes, the Bactrians, and Babylonians, and give us frequent instances of the murders of their princes. The next person whose authority you cite, is Otanes the Persian, who likewise killed Smerdis then king of Persia, to whom, out of the hatred which he bore to a kingly government, he reckons up the impieties and injurious actions of kings, their violation of all laws, their putting men to death without any legal conviction, their rapes and adulteries; and all this you will have called the right of kings, and slander Samuel again as a teacher of such doctrines. You quote Homer, who says that kings derive their authority from Jupiter; to which I have already given an answer. For king Philip of Macedon, whose asserting the right of kings you make use of; I will believe that Charles his description of it, as soon as his. Then you quote some sentences out of a fragment of Diogenes a Pythagorean; but you do not tell us what sort of a king he speaks of. Observe therefore how he begins that discourse; for whatever follows must be understood to have relation to it. “Let him be king,” says he, “that of all others is most just, and so he is that acts most according to law; for no man can be king that is not just; and without laws there can be no justice.” This is directly opposite to that regal right of yours. And Ecphantas, whom you likewise quote, is of the same opinion: “Whosoever takes upon him to be a king, ought to be naturally most pure and clear from all imputation.” And a little after, “Him,” says he, “we call a king, that governs well, and he only is properly so.” So that such a king as you speak of, according to the philosophy of the Pythagoreans, is no king at all. Hear now what Plato says in his Eighth Epistle: “Let kings,” says he, “be liable to be called to account for what they do: Let the laws control not only the people but kings themselves, if they do any thing not warranted by law.” I will mention what Aristotle says in the Third Book of his Politics; “It is neither for the public good, nor is it just,” says he, “seeing all men are by nature alike and equal, that any one should be lord and master over all the rest, where there are no laws; nor is it for the public good, or just, that one man should be a law to the rest, where there are laws; nor that any one, though a good man, should be lord over other good men, nor a bad man, over bad men.” And in the Fifth Book, says he, “That king whom the people refuse to be governed by, is no longer a king, but a tyrant.” Hear what Xenophon says in Hiero: “People are so far from revenging the deaths of tyrants, that they confer great honour upon him that kills one, and erect statues in their temples to the honour of tyrannicides.” Of this I can produce an eye-witness, Marcus Tullius, in his oration pro Milone; “The Grecians,” says he, “ascribed divine worship to such as kill tyrants: what things of this nature have I myself seen at Athens, and in the other cities of Greece? how many religious observances have been instituted in honour of such men? how many hymns? They are consecrated to immortality and adoration, and their memory endeavoured to be perpetuated.” And lastly, Polybius, an historian of great authority and gravity, in the Sixth book of his History, says thus: “When princes began to indulge their own lusts and sensual appetites, then kingdoms were turned into so many tyrannies, and the subjects began to conspire the death of their governors; neither was it the profligate sort that were the authors of those designs, but the most generous and magnanimous.” I could quote many such like passages, but I shall instance in no more. From the philosophers you appeal to the poets; and I am very willing to follow you thither. Æschylus is enough to inform us, that the power of the kings of Greece was such, as not to be liable to the censure of any laws, or to be questioned before any human judicature; for he in that tragedy that is called, The Suppliants, calls the king of the Argives, “a governor not obnoxious to the judgment of any tribunal.” But you must know, (for the more you say, the more you discover your rashness and want of judgment,) you must know, I say, that one is not to regard what the poet says, but what person in the play speaks, and what that person says; for different persons are introduced, sometimes good, sometimes bad; sometimes wise men, sometimes fools; and such words are put into their mouths, as it is most proper for them to speak; not such as the poet would speak, if he were to speak in his own person. The fifty daughters of Danaus, being banished out of Egypt, became suppliants to the king of the Argives; they begged of him, that he would protect them from the Egyptians, who pursued them with a fleet of ships. The king told them he could not undertake their protection, till he had imparted the matter to the people; “For,” says he, “if I should make a promise to you, I should not be able to perform it, unless I consult with them first.” The women being strangers and suppliants, and fearing the uncertain suffrages of the people, tell him, “That the power of all the people resides in him alone; that he judges all others, but is not judged himself by any.” He answers: “I have told you already, that I cannot do this thing that you desire of me, without the people’s consent; nay, and though I could, I would not.” At last he refers the matter to the people: “I will assemble the people,” says he, “and persuade them to protect you.” The people met, and resolved to engage in their quarrel; insomuch that Danaus their father bids his daughters “be of good cheer, for the people of the country, in a popular convention, had voted their safeguard and defence.” If I had not related the whole thing, how rashly would this impertinent ignoramus have determined concerning the right of kings among the Grecians, out of the mouths of a few women that were strangers and suppliants, though the king himself, and the history, be quite contrary! The same thing appears by the story of Orestes in Euripides, who, after his father’s death, was himself king of the Argives, and yet was called in question by the people for the death of his mother, and made to plead for his life, and by the major suffrage was condemned to die. The same poet, in his play called “The Suppliants,” declares, that at Athens the kingly power was subject to the laws; where Theseus then king of that city is made to say these words: “This is a free city, it is not governed by one man; the people reign here.” And his son Demophoon, who was king after him, in another tragedy of the same poet, called Heraclidæ; “I do not exercise a tyrannical power over them, as if they were barbarians: I am upon other terms with them; but if I do them justice, they will do me the like.” Sophocles in his Œdipus shows, that anciently in Thebes the kings were not absolute neither: hence says Tiresias to Œdipus, “I am not your slave.” And Creon to the same king, “I have some right in this city,” says he, “as well as you.” And in another tragedy of the same poet, called Antigone, Æmon tells the king, “That the city of Thebes is not governed by a single person.” All men know, that the kings of Lacedemon have been arraigned, and sometimes put to death judicially. These instances are sufficient to evince what power the kings in Greece had.

Let us consider now the Romans: You betake yourself to that passage of C. Memmius in Sallust, of kings having a liberty to do what they list, and go unpunished; to which I have given an answer already. Sallust himself says in express words, “That the ancient government of Rome was by their laws, though the name and form of it was regal: which form of government, when it grew into a tyranny, you know they put down and changed.” Cicero, in his oration against Piso, “Shall I,” says he, “account him a consul, who would not allow the senate to have any authority in the commonwealth? Shall I take notice of any man as consul, if at the same time there be no such thing as a senate; when of old the city of Rome acknowledged not their kings, if they acted without or in opposition to the senate?” Do you hear; the very kings themselves at Rome signified nothing without the senate. “But,” say you, “Romulus governed as he listed;” and for that you quote Tacitus. No wonder: the government was not then established by law; they were a confused multitude of strangers, more likely than a regulated state; and all mankind lived without laws before governments were settled. But when Romulus was dead, though all the people were desirous of a king, not having yet experienced the sweetness of liberty, yet, as Livy informs us, “The sovereign power resided in the people; so that they parted not with more right than they retained.” The same author tells us, “That the same power was afterwards extorted from them by their emperors.” Servius Tullius at first reigned by fraud, and as it were a deputy to Tarquinius Priscus; but afterward he referred it to the people, Whether they would have him reign or no? At last, says Tacitus, he became the author of such laws as the kings were obliged to obey. Do you think he would have done such an injury to himself and his posterity, if he had been of opinion, that the right of kings had been above all laws? Their last king, Tarquinius Superbus, was the first that put an end to that custom of consulting the senate concerning all public affairs: for which very thing, and other enormities of his, the people deposed him, and banished him and his family. These things I have out of Livy and Cicero, than whom you will hardly produce any better expositors of the right of kings among the Romans. As for the dictatorship, that was but temporary, and was never made use of, but in great extremities, and was not to continue longer than six months. But that which you call the right of the Roman emperors, was no right, but a plain downright force; and was gained by war only. “But Tacitus,” say you, “that lived under the government of a single person, writes thus; the gods have committed the sovereign power in human affairs to princes only, and have left to subjects the honour of being obedient.” But you tell us not where Tacitus has these words, for you were conscious to yourself, that you imposed upon your readers in quoting them; which I presently smelt out, though I could not find the place of a sudden: for that expression is not Tacitus’s own, who is an approved writer, and of all others the greatest enemy to tyrants; but Tacitus relates that of M. Terentius, a gentleman of Rome, being accused for a capital crime, amongst other things that he said to save his life, flattered Tiberius on this manner. It is in the Sixth Book of his Annals, “The gods have entrusted you with the ultimate judgment in all things; they have left us the honour of obedience.” And you cite this passage as if Tacitus had said it himself; you scrape together whatever seems to make for your opinion, either out of ostentation, or out of weakness; you would leave out nothing that you could find in a baker’s or a barber’s shop; nay, you would be glad of any thing that looked like an argument, from the very hangman. If you had read Tacitus himself, and not transcribed some loose quotations out of him by other authors, he would have taught you whence that imperial right had its original. “After the conquest of Asia,” says he, “the whole state of our affairs was turned upside down; nothing of the ancient integrity of our forefathers was left amongst us; all men shook off that former equality which had been observed, and began to have reverence for the mandates of princes.” This you might have learned out of the Third Book of his Annals, whence you have all your regal right. “When that ancient equality was laid aside, and instead thereof ambition and violence took place, tyrannical forms of government started up, and fixed themselves in many countries.” The same thing you might have learned out of Dio, if your natural levity and unsettledness of judgment would have suffered you to apprehend any thing that is solid. He tells us in the Fifty-third Book of his History, out of which book you have made some quotation already, That Octavius Cæsar, partly by force, and partly by fraud, brought things to that pass, that the emperors of Rome became no longer fettered by laws. For he, though he promised to the people in public that he would lay down the government and obey the laws, and become subject to others; yet under pretence of making war in several provinces of the empire, still retained the legions, and so by degrees invaded the government, which he pretended he would refuse. This was not regularly getting from under the law, but breaking forcibly through all laws, as Spartacus the gladiator might have done, and then assuming to himself the style of prince or emperor, as if God or the law of nature had put all men and all laws into subjection under him. Would you inquire a little further into the original of the right of the Roman emperors? Marcus Antonius, whom Cæsar (when by taking up arms against the commonwealth he had got all the power into his hands) had made consul, when a solemnity called the Lupercalia was celebrated at Rome, as had been contrived beforehand, that he should set a crown upon Cæsar’s head, though the people sighed and lamented at the sight, caused it to be entered upon record, that Marcus Antonius, at the Lupercalia, made Cæsar king at the instance of the people. Of which action Cicero, in his second Philippic, says, “was Lucius Tarquinius therefore expelled, Spurius Cassius, Sp. Melius, and Marcus Manilius put to death, that after many ages Marcus Antonius should make a king in Rome, contrary to law?” But you deserve to be tortured, and loaded with everlasting disgrace, much more than Mark Antony; though I would not have you proud because he and yourself are put together; for I do not think so despicable a wretch as you fit to be compared with him in any thing but his impiety; you that in those horrible Lupercalia of yours set not a crown upon one tyrant’s head, but upon all, and such a crown as you would have limited by no laws, nor liable to any. Indeed if we must believe the oracles of the emperors themselves, (for so some Christian emperors, as Theodosius and Valens, have called their edicts, Cod. lib. 1. tit. 14,) the authority of the emperors depends upon that of the law. So that the majesty of the person that reigns, even by the judgment, or call it the oracle, of the emperors themselves, must submit to the laws, on whose authority it depends. Hence Pliny tells Trajan in his Panegyric, when the power of the emperors was grown to its height, “A principality and an absolute sovereignty are quite different things. Trajan puts down whatever looks like a kingdom; he rules like a prince, that there may be no room for a magisterial power.” And afterwards, “whatever I have said of other princes, I said that I might show how our prince reforms and corrects the manners of princes, which by long custom have been corrupted and depraved.” Are you not ashamed to call that the right of kings, that Pliny calls the corrupt and depraved customs of princes? But let this suffice to have been said in short of the right of kings, as it was taken at Rome. How they dealt with their tyrants, whether kings or emperors, is generally known. They expelled Tarquin. “But,” say you, “how did they expel him? Did they proceed against him judicially? No such matter: when he would have come into the city, they shut the gates against him.” Ridiculous fool; what could they do but shut the gates, when he was hastening to them with part of the army? And what great difference will there be, whether they banished him or put him to death, so they punished him one way or other? The best men of that age killed Cæsar the tyrant in the very senate. Which action of theirs, Marcus Tullius, who was himself a very excellent man, and publicly called the father of his country, both elsewhere, and particularly in his second Philippic, extols wonderfully. I will repeat some of his words: “All good men killed Cæsar as far as in them lay. Some men could not advise in it, others wanted courage to act in it, others an opportunity, all had a good will to it.” And afterwards, “what greater and more glorious action (ye holy gods!) ever was performed, not in this city only, but in any other country? what action more worthy to be recommended to everlasting memory? I am not unwilling to be included within the number of those that advised it, as within the Trojan horse.” The passage of Seneca may relate both to the Romans and the Grecians: “there cannot be a greater nor more acceptable sacrifice offered up to Jupiter, than a wicked prince.” For if you consider Hercules, whose words these are, they show what the opinion was of the principal men amongst the Grecians in that age. If the poet, who flourished under Nero, (and the most worthy persons in plays generally express the poet’s own sense,) then this passage shows us what Seneca himself, and all good men, even in Nero’s time, thought was fit to be done to a tyrant; and how virtuous an action, how acceptable to God, they thought it to kill one. So every good man of Rome, as far as in him lay, killed Domitian. Pliny the second owns it openly in his Panegyric to Trajan the emperor, “we took pleasure in dashing those proud looks against the ground, in piercing him with our swords, in mangling him with axes, as if he had bled and felt pain at every stroke: no man could so command his passion of joy, but that he counted it a piece of revenge to behold his mangled limbs, his members torn asunder, and after all, his stern and horrid statues thrown down and burnt.” And afterwards, “they cannot love good princes enough, that cannot hate bad ones as they deserve.” Then amongst other enormities of Domitian, he reckons this for one, that he put to death Epaphroditus, that had killed Nero: “Had we forgotten the avenging Nero’s death? Was it likely that he would suffer his life and actions to be ill spoken of, whose death he revenged?” He seems to have thought it almost a crime not to kill Nero, that counts it so great a one to punish him that did it. By what has been said, it is evident, that the best of the Romans did not only kill tyrants, as oft as they could, and howsoever they could; but that they thought it a commendable and a praiseworthy action so to do, as the Grecians had done before them. For when they could not proceed judicially against a tyrant in his lifetime, being inferior to him in strength and power, yet after his death they did it, and condemned him by the Valerian law. For Valerius Publicola, Junius Brutus his colleague, when he saw that tyrants, being guarded with soldiers, could not be brought to a legal trial, he devised a law to make it lawful to kill them any way, though uncondemned; and that they that did it, should afterwards give an account of their so doing. Hence, when Cassius had actually run Caligula through with a sword, though every body else had done it in their hearts, Valerius Asiaticus, one that had been consul, being present at that time, cried out to the soldiers, that began to mutiny because of his death, “I wish I myself had killed him.” And the senate at the same time was so far from being displeased with Cassius for what he had done, that they resolved to extirpate the memory of the emperors, and to raze the temples that had been erected in honour of them. When Claudius was presently saluted emperor by the soldiers, they forbad him by the tribune of the people to take the government upon him; but the power of the soldiers prevailed. The senate declared Nero an enemy, and made inquiry after him, to have punished him according to the law of their ancestors; which required that he should be stripped naked, and hung by the neck upon a forked stake, and whipped to death.

Consider now, how much more mildly and moderately the English dealt with their tyrant, though many are of opinion, that he caused the spilling of more blood than ever Nero himself did. So the senate condemned Domitian after his death; they commanded his statues to be pulled down and dashed to pieces, which was all they could do. When Commodus was slain by his own officers, neither the senate nor the people punished the fact, but declared him an enemy, and inquired for his dead corpse, to have made it an example. An act of the senate made upon that occasion is extant in Lampridius: “Let the enemy of his country be deprived of all his titles; let the parricide be drawn, let him be torn in pieces in the Spoliary, let the enemy of the gods, the executioner of the senate, be dragged with a hook,” c. The same persons in a very full senate condemned Didus Julianus to death, and sent a tribune to slay him in the palace. The same senate deposed Maximinus, and declared him an enemy. Let us hear the words of the decree of the senate concerning him, as Capitolinus relates it: “The consul put the question, ‘Conscript fathers, what is your pleasure concerning the Maximines?’ They answered, ‘they are enemies, they are enemies, whoever kills them shall be rewarded.’ ” Would you know now, whether the people of Rome, and the provinces of the empire, obeyed the senate, or Maximine the emperor? Hear what the same author says: the senate wrote letters into all the provinces, requiring them to take care of their common safety and liberty; the letters were publicly read. And the friends, the deputies, the generals, the tribunes, the soldiers of Maximine, were slain in all places; very few cities were found, that kept their faith with the public enemy. Herodian relates the same thing. But what need we give any more instances out of the Roman histories? Let us now see what manner of thing the right of kings was in those days, in the nations that bordered upon the empire. Ambiorix, a king of the Gauls, confesses “the nature of his dominion to be such, that the people have as great power over him, as he over them.” And consequently, as well as he judged them, he might be judged by them. Vercingetorix, another king in Gaul, was accused of treason by his own people. These things Cæsar relates in his history of the Gallic wars. “Neither is the regal power among the Germans absolute and uncontrollable; lesser matters are ordered and disposed by the princes; greater affairs by all the people. The king or prince is more considerable by the authority of his persuasions, than by any power that he has of commanding. If his opinion be not approved of, they declare their dislike of it by a general murmuring noise.” This is out of Tacitus. Nay, and you yourself now confess, that what but of late you exclaimed against as an unheard-of thing, has been often done, to wit, that “no less than fifty Scottish kings have been either banished or imprisoned, or put to death, nay, and some of them publicly executed.” Which having come to pass in our very island, why do you, as if it were your office to conceal the violent deaths of tyrants, by burying them in the dark, exclaim against it as an abominable and unheard-of thing? You proceed to commend the Jews and Christians for their religious obedience even to tyrants, and to heap one lie upon another; in all which I have already confuted you.

Lately you made large encomiums on the obedience of the Assyrians and Persians, and now you reckon up their rebellions; and though but of late you said they never had rebelled at all, now you give us a great many reasons why they rebelled so often. Then you resume the narrative of the manner of our king’s death, which you had broken off so long since; that if you had not taken care sufficiently to appear ridiculous and a fool then, you may do it now You said, “he was led through the members of his own court.” What you mean by the members of the court, I would gladly know. You enumerate the calamities that the Romans underwent by changing their kingdom into a commonwealth. In which I have already shown how grossly you give yourself the lie. What was it you said, when you wrote against the Jesuit? You demonstrated, that “in an aristocracy, or a popular state, there could but be seditions and tumults, whereas under a tyrant nothing was to be looked for, but certain ruin and destruction;” and dare you now say, you vain corrupt mortal, that “those seditions were punishments inflicted upon them for banishing their kings?” Forsooth, because King Charles gave you a hundred Jacobusses, therefore the Romans shall be punished for banishing their kings. But “they that killed Julius Cæsar, did not prosper afterwards.” I confess, if I would have had any tyrant spared, it should have been him. For although he introduced a monarchical government into a free state by force of arms, yet perhaps himself deserved a kingdom best; and yet I conceived that none of those that killed him can be said to have been punished for so doing, any more than Caius Antonius, Cicero’s colleague, for destroying Catiline, who when he was afterwards condemned for other crimes, says Cicero in his oration pro Flacco, “Catiline’s sepulchre was adorned with flowers.” For they that favoured Catiline, they rejoiced; they gave out then, that what Catiline did was just, to increase the people’s hatred against those that had cut him off. These are artifices, which wicked men make use of, to deter the best of men from punishing tyrants, and flagitious persons; I might as easily say the quite contrary, and instance in them that have killed tyrants, and prospered afterwards; if any certain inference might be drawn in such cases from the events of things. You object further, “that the English did not put their hereditary king to death in like manner, as tyrants used to be slain, but as robbers and traitors are executed.” In the first place I do not, nor can any wise man, understand what a crown’s being hereditary should contribute to a king’s crimes being unpunishable. What you ascribe to the barbarous cruelty of the English, proceeded rather from their clemency and moderation, and as such, deserves commendation; who, though the being a tyrant is a crime that comprehends all sorts of enormities, such as robberies, treasons, and rebellions against the whole nation, yet were contented to inflict no greater punishment upon him for being so, than they used of course to do upon any common high wayman, or ordinary traitor. You hope “some such men as Harmodius and Thrasibulus will rise up against us, and make expiation for the king’s death, by shedding their blood that were the authors of it.” But you will run mad with despair, and be detested by all good men, and put an end to that wretched life of yours, by hanging yourself, before you see men like Harmodius avenging the blood of a tyrant upon such as have done no other than what they did themselves. That you will come to such an end is most probable, nor can any other be expected of so great a rogue; but the other thing is an utter impossibility.

You mention thirty tyrants that rebelled in Gallienus’s time. And what if it fall out, that one tyrant happens to oppose another, must therefore all they that resist tyrants be accounted such themselves? You cannot persuade men into such a belief, you slave of a knight; nor your author Trebellius Pollio, the most inconsiderable of all historians that have writ. “If any of the emperors were declared enemies by the senate,” you say, “it was done by faction, but could not have been by law.” You put us in mind what it was that made emperors at first: it was faction and violence, and to speak plainer, it was the madness of Antony, that made generals at first rebel against the senate, and the people of Rome; there was no law, no right for their so doing. “Galba,” you say, “was punished for his insurrection against Nero.” Tell us likewise how Vespasian was punished for taking up arms against Vitellius. “There was as much difference,” you say, “betwixt Charles and Nero, as betwixt those English butchers, and the Roman senators of that age.” Despicable villain! by whom it is scandalous to be commended, and a praise to be evil spoken of: but a few periods before, discoursing of this very thing, you said, “that the Roman senate under the emperors was in effect but an assembly of slaves in robes:” and here you say, “that very senate was an assembly of kings;” which if it be allowed, then are kings, according to your own opinion, but slaves with robes on. Kings are blessed, that have such a fellow as you to write in their praise, than whom no man is more a rascal, no beast more void of sense, unless this one may be said to be peculiar to you, that none ever brayed so learnedly. You make the parliament of England more like to Nero, than to the Roman senate. This itch of yours of making similitudes enforces me to rectify you, whether I will or no: and I will let you see how like King Charles was to Nero; Nero, you say, “commanded his own mother to be run through with a sword.” But Charles murdered both his prince, and his father, and that by poison. For to omit other evidences; he that would not suffer a duke that was accused for it, to come to his trial, must needs have been guilty of it himself. Nero slew many thousands of Christians; but Charles slew many more. There were those, says Suetonius, that praised Nero after he was dead, that longed to have had him again, “that hung garlands of flowers upon his sepulchre,” and gave out that they would never prosper that had been his enemies. And some there are transported with the like frenzy, that wish for King Charles again, and extol him to the highest degree imaginable, of whom you, a knight of the halter, are a ringleader. “The English soldiers, more savage than their own mastiffs, erected a new and unheard-of court of justice.” Observe this ingenious symbol, or adage of Salmasius, which he has now repeated six times over, “more savage than their own mastiffs.” Take notice, orators and schoolmasters; pluck, if you are wise, this elegant flower, which Salmasius is so very fond of: commit this flourish of a man, that is so much a master of words, to your desks for safe custody, lest it be lost. Has your rage made you forget words to that degree, that like a cuckoo, you must needs say the same thing over and over again? What strange thing has befallen you? The poet tells us, that spleen and rage turned Hecuba into a dog; and it has turned you, the lord of St. Lupus, into a cuckoo. Now you come out with fresh contradictions. You had said before, page 113, that “princes were not bound by any laws, neither coercive, nor directory; that they were bound by no law at all.” Now you say, that “you will discourse by-and-by of the difference betwixt some kings and others, in point of power; some having had more, some less.” You say, “you will prove that kings cannot be judged, nor condemned by their own subjects, by a most solid argument;” but you do it by a very silly one, and it is this: You say, “There was no other difference than that betwixt the judges, and the kings of the Jews; and yet the reason why the Jews required to have kings over them, was because they were weary of their judges, and hated their government.” Do you think, that, because they might judge and condemn their judges, if they misbehaved themselves in the government, they therefore hated and were weary of them, and would be under kings, whom they should have no power to restrain and keep within bounds, though they should break through all laws? Who but you ever argued so childishly? So that they desired a king for some other reason, than that they might have a master over them, whose power should be superior to that of the law; which reason, what it was, it is not to our present purpose to make a conjecture. Whatever it was, both God and his prophets tell us, it was no piece of prudence in the people to desire a king. And now you fall foul upon your rabbins, and are very angry with them for saying, that a king might be judged and condemned to undergo stripes; out of whose writings you said before you had proved, that the kings of the Jews could not be judged. Wherein you confess, that you told a lie when you said you had proved any such thing out of their writings. Nay, you come at last to forget the subject you were upon, of writing in the king’s defence, and raise little impertinent controversies about Solomon’s stables, and how many stalls he had for his horses. Then of a jockey you become a ballad-singer again, or rather, as I said before, a raving distracted cuckoo. You complain, that in these latter ages, discipline has been more remiss, and the rule less observed and kept up to; viz. because one tyrant in not permitted, without a check from the law, to let loose the reins of all discipline, and corrupt all men’s manners. This doctrine, you say, the Brownists introduced amongst those of the reformed religion; so that Luther, Calvin, Zuinglius, Bucer, and all the most celebrated orthodox divines, are Brownists in your opinion. The English have the less reason to take your reproaches ill, because they hear you belching out the same slanders against the most eminent doctors of the church, and in effect against the whole reformed church itself.

CHAPTER VI.

AFTER having discoursed upon the law of God and of nature, and handled both so untowardly, that you have got nothing by the bargain but a deserved reproach of ignorance and knavery; I cannot apprehend what you can have further to allege in defence of your royal cause, but mere trifles. I for my part hope I have given satisfaction already to all good and learned men, and done this noble cause right, should I break off here; yet lest I should seem to any to decline your variety of arguing and ingenuity, rather than your immoderate impertinence, and tittle-tattle, I will follow you wherever you have a mind to go; but with such brevity as shall make it appear, that after having performed whatever the necessary defence of the cause required, if not what the dignity of it merited, I now do but comply with some men’s expectation, if not their curiosity. “Now,” say you, “I shall allege other and greater arguments.” What! greater arguments than what the law of God and nature afforded? Help, Lucina! the mountain Salmasius is in labour! It is not for nothing that he has got a she-husband. Mortals, expect some extraordinary birth. “If he that is, and is called a king, might be accused before any other power, that power must of necessity be greater than that of the king; and if so, then must that power be indeed the kingly power, and ought to have the name of it: for a kingly power is thus defined; to wit, the supreme power in the state residing in a single person, and which has no superior.” O ridiculous birth! a mouse crept out of the mountain! help grammarians! one of your number is in danger of perishing! the law of God and of nature are safe; but Salmasius’s dictionary is undone. What if I should answer you thus? That words ought to give place to things; that we having taken away kingly government itself, do not think ourselves concerned about its name and definition; let others look to that, who are in love with kings: we are contented with the enjoyment of our liberty; such an answer would be good enough for you. But to let you see that I deal fairly with you throughout, I will answer you, not only from my own, but from the opinion of very wise and good men, who have thought, that the name and power of a king are very consistent with a power in the people and the law superior to that of the king himself. In the first place, Lycurgus, a man very eminent for wisdom, designing, as Plato says, to secure a kingly government as well as it was possible, could find no better expedient to preserve it, than by making the power of the senate, and of the Ephori, that is, the power of the people, superior to it. Theseus, in Euripides, king of Athens, was of the same opinion; for he, to his great honour, restored the people to their liberty, and advanced the power of the people above that of the king, and yet left the regal power in that city to his posterity. Whence Euripides in his play called the “Suppliants,” introduces him speaking on this manner: “I have advanced the people themselves into the throne, having freed the city from slavery, and admitted the people to a share in the government, by giving them an equal right of suffrage.” And in another place to the herald of Thebes, “in the first place,” says he, “you begin your speech, friend, with a thing that is not true, in styling me a monarch: for this city is not governed by a single person, but is a free state; the people reign here.” These were his words, when at the same time he was both called and really was king there. The divine Plato likewise, in his eighth epistle, “Lycurgus,” says he, “introduced the power of the senate and of the Ephori, a thing very preservative of kingly government, which by this means has honourably flourished for so many ages, because the law in effect was made king. Now the law cannot be king, unless there be some, who, if there should be occasion, may put the law in execution against the king. A kingly government so bounded and limited, he himself commends to the Sicilians: “Let the people enjoy their liberty under a kingly government; let the king himself be accountable; let the law take place even against kings themselves, if they act contrary to law.” Aristotle likewise, in the third book of his Politics, “of all kingdoms,” says he, “that are governed by laws, that of the Lacedemonians seems to be most truly and properly so.” And he says, all forms of kingly governments are according to settled and established laws, but one, which he calls παμβασιλεία, or Absolute Monarchy, which he does not mention ever to have obtained in any nation. So that Aristotle thought such a kingdom, as that of the Lacedemonians was to be and deserve the name of a kingdom more properly than any other; and consequently that a king, though subordinate to his own people, was nevertheless actually a king, and properly so called. Now since so many and so great authors assert, that a kingly government both in name and thing may very well subsist even where the people, though they do not ordinarily exercise the supreme power, yet have it actually residing in them, and exercise it upon occasion; be not you of so mean a soul as to fear the downfall of grammar, and the confusion of the signification of words to that degree, as to betray the liberty of mankind, and the state, rather than your glossary should not hold water. And know for the future, that words must be conformable to things, not things to words. By this means you will have more wit, and not run on in infinitum, which now you are afraid of. “It was to no purpose then for Seneca,” you say, “to describe those three forms of government, as he has done.” Let Seneca do a thing to no purpose, so we enjoy our liberty. And if I mistake us not, we are other sort of men, than to be enslaved by Seneca’s flowers. And yet Seneca, though he says, that the sovereign power in a kingly government resides in a single person, says withal, that “the power is the people’s,” and by them committed to the king for the welfare of the whole, not for their ruin and destruction; and that the people has not given him a propriety in it, but the use of it. “Kings at this rate,” you say, “do not reign by God but by the people.” As if God did not so overrule the people, that they set up such kings, as it pleases God. Since Justinian himself openly acknowledges, that the Roman emperors derived their authority from that “royal law, whereby the people granted to them and vested in them all their own power and authority.” But how oft shall we repeat these things over and over again? Then you take upon you to intermeddle with the constitution of our government, in which you are no way concerned, who are both a stranger and a foreigner; but it shows your sauciness, and want of good manners. Come then, let us hear your solecisms, like a busy coxcomb as you are. You tell us, but it is in false Latin, “that what those desperadoes say, is only to deceive the people.” You rascal! was it not for this that you, a renegado grammarian, were so forward to intermeddle with the affairs of our government, that you might introduce your solecisms and barbarisms amongst us? But say, how have we deceived the people? “The form of government which they have set up, is not popular, but military.” This is what that herd of fugitives and vagabonds hired you to write. So that I shall not trouble myself to answer you, who bleat what you know nothing of, but I will answer them that hired you. “Who excluded the lords from parliament, was it the people?” Ay, it was the people; and in so doing they threw an intolerable yoke of slavery from off their necks. Those very soldiers, who you say did it, were not foreigners, but our own countrymen, and a great part of the people; and they did it with the consent, and at the desire, of almost all the rest of the people, and not without the authority of the parliament neither. “Was it the people that cut off part of the house of commons, forcing some away?” c. Yes, I say, it was the people. For whatever the better and sounder part of the senate did, in which the true power of the people resided, why may not the people be said to have done it? What if the greater part of the senate should choose to be slaves, or to expose the government to sale, ought not the lesser number to interpose, and endeavour to retain their liberty, if it be in their power? “But the officers of the army and their soldiers did it.” And we are beholden to those officers for not being wanting to the state, but repelling the tumultuary violence of the citizens and mechanics of London, who like that rabble that appeared for Clodius, had but a little before beset the very parliament house? Do you therefore call the right of the parliament, to whom it properly and originally belongs, to take care of the liberty of the people both in peace and war, a military power? But it is no wonder that those traitors that have dictated these passages to you, should talk at that rate; so that profligate faction of Antony and his adherents used to call the senate of Rome, when they armed themselves against the enemies of their country, The camp of Pompey. And now I am glad to understand, that they of your party envy Cromwell, that most valiant general of our army, for undertaking that expedition in Ireland, (so acceptable to Almighty God,) surrounded with a joyful crowd of his friends, and prosecuted with the well-wishes of the people, and the prayers of all good men: for I question not but at the news of his many victories there, they are by this time burst with spleen. I pass by many of your impertinencies concerning the Roman soldiers. What follows is most notoriously false: “The power of the people,” say you, “ceases where there is a king.” By what law of right is that? Since it is known, that almost all kings, of what nations soever, received their authority from the people upon certain conditions; which if the king do not perform, I wish you would inform us, why that power, which was but a trust, should not return to the people, as well from a king, as from a consul, or any other magistrate. For when you tell us, that it is necessary for the public safety, you do but trifle with us; for the safety of the public is equally concerned, whether it be from a King, or from a Senate, or from a Triumvirate, that the power wherewith they were entrusted reverts to the people, upon their abuse of it; and yet you yourself grant, that it may so revert from all sorts of magistrates, a king only excepted. Certainly, if no people in their right wits ever committed the government either to a king, or other magistrates, for any other purpose than for the common good of them all, there can be no reason why, to prevent the utter ruin of them all, they may not as well take it back again from a king, as from other governors; nay, and it may with far greater ease be taken from one, than from many. And to invest any mortal creature with a power over themselves, on any other terms than upon trust, were extreme madness; nor is it credible that any people since the creation of the world, who had freedom of will, were ever so miserably silly, as either to part with the power for ever, and to all purposes, or to revoke it from those whom they had entrusted with it, but upon most urgent and weighty reasons. If dissensions, if civil wars, are occasioned thereby, there cannot any right accrue from thence to the king, to retain that power by force of arms, which the people challenge from him as their own. Whence it follows, that what you say, and we do not deny, that “governors are not likely to be changed,” is true with respect to the people’s prudence, not the king’s right; but that therefore they ought never to be changed, upon no occasion whatsoever, that does not follow by no means; nor have you hitherto alleged any thing, or made appear any right of kings to the contrary, but that all the people concurring, they may lawfully be deposed, when unfit for government; provided it may be done, as it has been often done in your own country of France, without any tumults or civil wars.

Since therefore the safety of the people, and not that of a tyrant, is the supreme law; and consequently ought to be alleged on the people’s behalf against a tyrant, and not for him against them: you that go about to pervert so sacred and so glorious a law, with your fallacies and jugglings; you who would have this supreme law, and which of all others is most beneficial to mankind, to serve only for the impunity of tyrants; let me tell you, (since you call us Englishmen so often inspired, and enthusiasts and prophets,) let me, I say, be so far a prophet, as to tell you, that the vengeance of God and man hangs over your head for so horrid a crime; although your subjecting all mankind to tyranny, as far as in you lies, which in effect is no better than condemning them to be devoured by wild beasts, is in itself part of its own vengeance; and whithersoever you fly, and wheresoever you wander, will first or last pursue you with its furies, and overtake you, and cause you to rave worse than you do at present. I come now to your second argument, which is not unlike the first: If the people may resume their liberty, “there would be no difference,” say you, “betwixt a popular state and a kingdom; but that in a kingdom one man rules, and in a popular state many.” And what if that were true; would the state have any prejudice by it? But you yourself tell us of other differences that would be notwithstanding; to wit, of “time and succession; for in popular states, the magistrates are generally chosen yearly;” whereas kings, if they behave themselves well, are perpetual;” and in most kingdoms there is a succession in the same family. But let them differ from one another, or not differ, I regard not those petty things: in this they agree, that when the public good requires it, the people may, without doing injury to any, resume that power for the public safety, which they committed to another for that end and purpose. “But according to the royal law, by the Romans so called, which is mentioned in the institutes, the people of Rome granted all their power and authority to the prince.” They did so by compulsion; the emperor being willing to ratify their tyranny by the authority of a law. But of this we have spoken before; and their own lawyers, commenting upon this place in the institutes, confess as much. So that we make no question but the people may revoke what they were forced to grant, and granted against their wills. But most rational it is to suppose, that the people of Rome transferred no other power to the prince, than they had before granted to their own magistrates; and that was a power to govern according to law, and a revocable, not an absurd, tyrannical power. Hence it was, that the emperors assumed the consular dignity, and that of the tribunes of the people; but after Julius Cæsar, not one of them pretended to the dictatorship: in the Circus Maximus they used to adore the people, as I have said already out of Tacitus and Claudian. But “as heretofore many private persons have sold themselves into slavery, so a whole nation may.” Thou jailbird of a knight, thou day-spirit, thou everlasting scandal to thy native country! The most despicable slaves in the world ought to abhor and spit upon such a factor for slavery, such a public pander as thou art. Certainly if people had so enslaved themselves to kings, then might kings turn them over to other masters, or sell them for money, and yet we know that kings cannot so much as alienate the demesnes of the crown: and shall he, that has but the crown, and the revenues that belong to it, as an usufructuary, and those given him by the people, can he be said to have, as it were, purchased the people, and made them his propriety? Though you were bored through both ears, and went barefoot, you would not be so vile and despicable, so much more contemptible than all slaves, as the broaching such a scandalous doctrine as this makes you. But go on, and punish yourself for your rogueries as now you do, though against your will. You frame a long discourse of the law of war; which is nothing to the purpose in this place: for neither did Charles conquer us; and for his ancestors, if it were never so much granted that they did, yet have they often renounced their title as conquerors. And certain it is, that we were never so conquered, but that as we swore allegiance to them, so they swore to maintain our laws, and govern by them: which laws, when Charles had notoriously violated, taken in what capacity you will, as one who had formerly been a conqueror, or was now a perjured king, we subdued him by force, he himself having begun with us first. And according to your own opinion, “Whatever is acquired by war, becomes his property that acquired it.” So that how full soever you are of words, how impertinent soever a babbler, whatever you prate, how great a noise soever you make, what quotations soever out of the rabbins, though you make yourself never so hoarse, to the end of this chapter, assure yourself, that nothing of it makes for the king, he being now conquered; but all for us, who by God’s assistance are conquerors.

CHAPTER VII.

To avoid two very great inconveniencies, and, considering your own weight, very weighty ones indeed, you denied in the foregoing chapter, that the people’s power was superior to that of the king; for if that should be granted, kings must provide themselves of some other name, because the people would indeed be king, and some divisions in your system of politics would be confounded: the first of which inconveniencies would thwart with your dictionary, and the latter overthrow your politics. To these I have given such an answer as shows, that though our own safety and liberty were the principal things I aimed the preservation of, yet withal, I had some consideration of salving your dictionary, and your politics. “Now,” say you, “I will prove by other arguments, that a king cannot be judged by his own subjects; of which arguments this shall be the greatest and most convincing, that a king has no peer in his kingdom.” What! Can a king have no peer in his kingdom? What then is the meaning of those twelve ancient peers of the kings of France? Are they fables and trifles? Are they called so in vain, and in mock only? Have a care how you affront those principal men of that kingdom; who if they are not the king’s peers, as they are called, I am afraid your dictionary, which is the only thing you are concerned for, will be found more faulty in France than in England. But go to, let us hear your demonstration, that a king has no peer in his own kingdom. “Because,” say you, “the people of Rome, when they had banished their king, appointed not one, but two consuls: and the reason was, that if one should transgress the laws, his colleague might be a check to him.” There could hardly have been devised any thing more silly: how came it to pass then, that but one of the consuls had the bundles of rods carried before him, and not both, if two were appointed, that each might have a power over the other? And what if both had conspired against the commonwealth? Would not the case then be the very same that it would have been, if one consul only had been appointed without a colleague? But we know very well, that both consuls, and all other magistrates, were bound to obey the senate, whenever the senate and the people saw, that the interest of the commonwealth so required. We have a famous instance of that in the decemvirs, who though they were invested with the power of consuls, and were the chief magistrates, yet the authority of the senate reduced them all, though they struggled to retain their government. Nay, we read that some consuls, before they went out of office, had been declared enemies, and arms have been taken up against them; for in those days no man looked upon him as a consul, who acted as an enemy. So war was waged against Antony, though a consul, by authority of the senate; in which being worsted, he would have been put to death, but that Octavius, affecting the empire, sided with him to subvert the commonwealth. Now whereas you say, “that it is a property peculiar to kingly majesty, that the power resides in a single person;” that is but a loose expression, like the rest of what you say, and is contradicted by yourself a little after: “for the Hebrew judges,” you say, “ruled as long as they lived, and there was but one of them at a time; the Scripture also calls them kings: and yet they were accountable to the great council.” Thus we see, that an itch of vain glory, in being thought to have said all that can be said, makes you hardly say any thing but contradictions. Then I ask, what kind of government that was in the Roman empire, when sometimes two, sometimes three emperors, reigned all at once? Do you reckon them to have been emperors, that is, kings, or was it an aristocracy, or a triumvirate? Or will you deny, that the Roman empire under Antoninus and Verus, under Dioclesian and Maximian, under Constantine and Licinius, was still but one entire empire? If these princes were not kings, your three forms of government will hardly hold; if they were, then it is not an essential property of a kingly government, to reside in a single person. “If one of these offend,” say you, “then may the other refer the matter to the senate, or the people, where he may be accused and condemned.” And does not the senate and the people then judge, when the matter is so referred to them? So that if you will give any credit to yourself, there needs not one colleague to judge another. Such a miserable advocate as you, if you were not so wretched a fellow as you are, would deserve compassion; you lie every way so open to blows, that if one were minded for sport’s sake to make a pass at any part of you, he could hardly miss, let him aim where he would. “It is ridiculous,” say you, “to imagine, that a king will ever appoint judges to condemn himself.” But I can tell you of an emperor, that was no ridiculous person, but an excellent prince, and that was Trajan, who, when he delivered a dagger to a certain Roman magistrate, as the custom was, that being the badge of his office, frequently thus admonished him, “Take this sword, and use it for me, if I do as I ought; if otherwise, against me: for miscarriages in the supreme magistrate are less excusable.” This Dion and Aurelius Victor say of him. You see here, that a worthy emperor appointed one to judge himself, though he did not make him equal. Tiberius perhaps might have said as much out of vanity and hypocrisy; but it is almost a crime to imagine, that so good and virtuous a prince as Trajan, did not really speak as he thought, and according to what he apprehended right and just. How much more reasonable was it, that though he were superior to the senate in power, and might, if he would, have refused to yield them any obedience, yet he actually did obey them, as by virtue of his office he ought to do, and acknowledged their right in the government to be superior to his own! For so Pliny tells us in his Panegyric, “The senate both desired and commanded you to be consul a fourth time; you may know by the obedience you pay them, that this is no word of flattery, but of power.” And a little after, “This is the design you aim at, to restore our lost liberty.” And Trajan was not of that mind alone; the senate thought so too, and were of opinion, that their authority was indeed supreme: for they that could command their emperor, might judge him. So the emperor Marcus Aurelius, when Cassius governor of Syria endeavoured to get the empire from him, referred himself either to the senate, or the people of Rome, and declared himself ready to lay down the government, if they would have it so. Now how should a man determine of the right of kings better and more truly, than out of the very mouths of the best of kings? Indeed every good king accounts either the senate, or the people, not only equal, but superior to himself by the law of nature. But a tyrant being by nature inferior to all men, every one that is stronger than he, ought to be accounted not only his equal, but superior: for as heretofore nature taught men from force and violence to betake themselves to laws; so wherever the laws are set at naught, the same dictate of nature must necessarily prompt us to betake ourselves to force again. “To be of this opinion,” says Cicero pro Sestio, “is a sign of wisdom; to put it in practice argues courage and resolution; and to do both, is the effect of virtue in its perfection.” Let this stand then as a settled maxim of the law of nature, never to be shaken by any artifices of flatterers, that the senate, or the people, are superior to kings, be they good or bad: which is but what you yourself do in effect confess, when you tell us, that the authority of kings was derived from the people. For that power, which they transferred to princes, doth yet naturally, or, as I may say, virtually reside in themselves notwithstanding: for so natural causes that produce any effect by a certain eminency of operation, do always retain more of their own virtue and energy than they impart; nor do they, by communicating to others, exhaust themselves. You see, the closer we keep to nature, the more evidently does the people’s power appear to be above that of the prince. And this is likewise certain, that the people do not freely, and of choice, settle the government in the king absolutely, so as to give him a propriety in it, nor by nature can do so; but only for the public safety and liberty, which, when the king ceases to take care of, then the people in effect have given him nothing at all: for nature says, the people gave it him to a particular end and purpose; which end, if neither nature nor the people can attain, the people’s gift becomes no more valid than any other void covenant or agreement.

These reasons prove very fully, that the people are superior to the king; and so your “greatest and most convincing argument, that a king cannot be judged by his people, because he has no peer in his kingdom,” nor any superior, falls to the ground. For you take that for granted, which we by no means allow. “In a popular state,” say you, “the magistrates being appointed by the people, may likewise be punished for their crimes by the people: in an aristocracy the senators may be punished by their colleagues: but it is a prodigious thing to proceed criminally against a king in his own kingdom, and make him plead for his life.” What can you conclude from hence, but that they who set up kings over them, are the most miserable and most silly people in the world? But, I pray, what is the reason why the people may not punish a king that becomes a malefactor, as well as they may popular magistrates and senators in an aristocracy? Do you think that all they who live under a kingly government, were so strangely in love with slavery, as when they might be free, to choose vassalage, and to put themselves all and entirely under the dominion of one man, who often happens to be an ill man, and often a fool, so as whatever cause might be, to leave themselves no refuge in, no relief from, the laws nor the dictates of nature, against the tyranny of a most outrageous master, when such a one happens? Why do they then tender conditions to their kings, when they first enter upon their government, and prescribe laws for them to govern by? Do they do this to be trampled upon the more, and be the more laughed to scorn? Can it be imagined, that a whole people would ever so villify themselves, depart from their own interest to that degree, be so wanting to themselves, as to place all their hopes in one man, and he very often the most vain person of them all? To what end do they require an oath of their kings, not to act any thing contrary to law? We must suppose them to do this, that (poor creatures!) they may learn to their sorrow, that kings only may commit perjury with impunity. This is what your own wicked conclusions hold forth. “If a king, that is elected, promise any thing to his people upon oath, which if he would not have sworn to, perhaps they would not have chose him, yet if he refuse to perform that promise, he falls not under the people’s censure. Nay, though he swear to his subjects at his election, that he will administer justice to them according to the laws of the kingdom; and that if he do not, they shall be discharged of their allegiance, and himself ipso facto cease to be their king; yet if he break this oath, it is God and not man that must require it of him.” I have transcribed these lines, not for their elegance, for they are barbarously expressed; nor because I think there needs any answer to them, for they answer themselves, they explode and damn themselves by their notorious falsehood and loathsomeness: but I did it to recommend you to kings for your great merits; that among so many places as there are at a court, they may put you into some preferment or office that may be fit for you. Some are princes’ secretaries, some their cup-bearers, some masters of the revels: I think you had best be master of the perjuries to some of them. You shall not be master of the ceremonies, you are too much a clown for that; but their treachery and perfidiousness shall be under your care.

But that men may see you are both a fool and a knave to the highest degree, let us consider these last assertions of yours a little more narrowly: “A king,” say you, “though he swear to his subjects at his election, that he will govern according to law, and that if he do not, they shall be discharged of their allegiance, and he himself ipso facto cease to be their king; yet can he not be deposed or punished by them.” Why not a king, I pray, as well as popular magistrates? because in a popular state, the people do not transfer all their power to the magistrates. And do they, in the case that you have put, vest it all in the king, when they place him in the government upon those terms expressly, to hold it no longer than he uses it well? Therefore it is evident, that a king sworn to observe the laws, if he transgress them, may be punished and deposed, as well as popular magistrates. So that you can make no more use of that invincible argument of the people’s transferring all their right and power to the prince; you yourself have battered it down with your own engines.

Hear now another most powerful and invincible argument of his, why subjects cannot judge their kings, “because he is bound by no law, being himself the sole lawgiver.” Which having been proved already to be most false, this great reason comes to nothing, as well as the former. But the reason why princes have but seldom been proceeded against for personal and private crimes, as whoredom, and adultery, and the like, is not because they could not justly be punished even for such, but lest the people should receive more prejudice through disturbances that might be occasioned by the king’s death, and the change of affairs, than they would be profited by the punishment of one man or two. But when they begin to be universally injurious and insufferable, it has always been the opinion of all nations, that then, being tyrants, it is lawful to put them to death any how, condemned or uncondemned. Hence Cicero, in his Second Philippic, says thus of those that killed Cæsar, “they were the first that ran through with their swords, not a man who affected to be king, but who was actually settled in the government; which, as it was a worthy and godlike action, so it is set before us for our imitation.” How unlike are you to him! “Murder, adultery, injuries, are not regal and public, but private and personal crimes.” Well said, parasite! you have obliged all pimps and profligates in courts by this expression. How ingeniously do you act both the parasite and the pimp with the same breath! “A king that is an adulterer, or a murderer, may yet govern well, and consequently ought not to be put to death, because, together with his life; he must lose his kingdom; and it was never yet allowed by God’s laws, or man’s, that for one and the same crime, a man was to be punished twice.” Infamous foul-mouth wretch! By the same reason the magistrates in a popular state, or in an aristocracy, ought never to be put to death, for fear of double punishment; no judge, no senator must die for they must lose their magistracy too, as well as their lives. As you have endeavoured to take all power out of the people’s hands, and vest it in the king, so you would all majesty too: a delegated translatitious majesty we allow, but that majesty does chiefly and primarily reside in him, you can no more prove, than you can that power and authority does. “A king,” you say, “cannot commit treason against his people, but a people may against their king.” And yet a king is what he is for the people only, not the people for him. Hence I infer, that the whole body of the people, or the greater part of them, must needs have greater power than the king. This you deny, and begin to cast up accounts. “He is of greater power than any one, than any two, than any three, than any ten, than any hundred, than any thousand, than any ten thousand:” be it so, “he is of more power than half the people.” I will not deny that neither; “add now half of the other half, will he not have more power than all those?” Not at all. Go on, why do you take away the board? Do you not understand progression in arithmetic? He begins to reckon after another manner. “Has not the king, and the nobility together, more power?” No, Mr. Changeling, I deny that too. If by the nobility, whom you style optimates, you mean the peers only; for it may happen that amongst the whole number of them, there may not be one man deserving that appellation: for it often falls out, that there are better and wiser men than they amongst the commons, whom in conjunction with the greater or the better part of the people, I should not scruple to call by the name of, and take them for, all the people. “But if the king is not superior in power to all the people together, he is then a king but of single persons, he is not the king of the whole body of the people.” You say well, no more he is, unless they are content he should be so. Now, balance your accounts, and you will find that by miscasting, you have lost your principal. “The English say, that the right of majesty originally and principally resides in the people; which principle would introduce a confusion of all states.” What, of an aristocracy and democracy? But let that pass. What if it should overthrow a gynæocracy too? ( i. e. a government of one or more women,) under which state, or form of government, they say, you are in danger of being beaten at home; would not the English do you a kindness in that, you sheepish fellow, you? But there is no hope of that. For it is most justly so ordered, since you would subject all mankind to tyranny abroad, that you yourself should live in a scandalous most unmanlike slavery at home. “We must tell you,” you say, “what we mean by the word People.” There are a great many other things, which you stand more in need of being told: for of things that more immediately concern you, you seem altogether ignorant, and never to have learnt any thing but words and letters, not to be capable of any thing else. But this you think you know, that by the word people we mean the common people only, exclusive of the nobility, because we have put down the House of Lords. And yet that very thing shows, that under the word people we comprehend all our natives, of what order and degree soever; in that we have settled one supreme senate only, in which the nobility also, as a part of the people, (not in their own right, as they did before; but representing those boroughs or counties, for which they may be chose,) may give their votes. Then you inveigh against the common people, as being “blind and brutish, ignorant of the art of governing;” you say there is “nothing more empty, more vain, more inconstant, more uncertain than they.” All which is very true of yourself, and it is true likewise of the rabble, but not of the middle sort, amongst whom the most prudent men, and most skilful in affairs, are generally found; others are most commonly diverted either by luxury and plenty, or by want and poverty, from virtue, and the study of laws and government. “There are many ways,” you say, “by which kings come to the crown, so as not to be beholden to the people at all for it;” and especially, “those tht inherit a kingdom.” But those nations must certainly be slaves, and born to slavery, that acknowledge any one to be their lord and master so absolutely, as that they are his inheritance, and come to him by descent, without any consent of their own; they deserve not the appellation of subjects, nor of freemen, nor can they justly be reputed such; nor are they to be accounted as a civil society, but must be looked on as the possessions and estate of their lord, and his family: for I see no difference as to the right of ownership betwixt them, and slaves, or beasts. Secondly, “they that come to the crown by conquest, cannot acknowledge themselves to have received from the people the power to usurp.” We are not now discoursing of a conqueror, but of a conquered king; what a conqueror may lawfully do, we will discourse elsewhere; do you keep to your subject. But whereas you ascribe to kings that ancient right, that masters of families have over their households, and take an example from thence of their absolute power; I have shown already over and over, that there is no likeness at all betwixt them. And Aristotle (whom you name so often) if you had read him, would have taught you as much in the beginning of his Politics, where he says, they judge amiss, that think there is but little difference betwixt a king, and a master of a family: “For that there is not a numerical, but a specifical difference betwixt a kingdom and a family.” For when villages grew to be towns and cities, that regal domestic right vanished by degrees, and was no more owned. Hence Diodorus, in his first book, says, that anciently kingdoms were transmitted not to the former kings’ sons, but to those that had best deserved of the people. And Justin, “Originally,” says he, “the government of nations, and of countries, was by kings, who were exalted to that height of majesty, not by popular ambition, but for their moderation, which commended them to good men.” Whence it is manifest, that, in the very beginning of nations, that fatherly and hereditary government gave way to virtue, and the people’s right: which is the most natural reason and cause, and was the true rise of kingly government. For at first men entered into societies, not that any one might insult over all the rest, but that in case any should injure another, there might be laws and judges to protect them from wrong, or at least to punish the wrong doers. When men were at first dispersed and scattered asunder, some wise and eloquent man persuaded them to enter into civil societies; “that he himself,” say you, “might exercise dominion over them, when so united.” Perhaps you meant this of Nimrod, who is said to have been the first tyrant. Or else it proceeds from your own malice only, and certainly it cannot have been true of those great and generous spirited men, but is a fiction of your own, not warranted by any authority that I ever heard of. For all ancient writers tell us, that those first instituters of communities of men had a regard to the good and safety of mankind only, and not to any private advantages of their own, or to make themselves great or powerful.

One thing I cannot pass by, which I suppose you intended for an emblem, to set off the rest of this chapter: “If a consul,” say you, “had been to be accused before his magistracy expired, there must have been a dictator created for that purpose;” though you had said before, “that for that very reason there were two of them.” Just so your positions always agree with one another, and almost every page declares how weak and frivolous whatever you say or write upon any subject is. “Under the ancient Saxon kings,” you say, “the people were never called to parliaments.” If any of our own countrymen had asserted such a thing, I could easily have convinced him that he was in an error. But I am not so much concerned at your mistaking our affairs, because you are a foreigner. This in effect is all you say of the right of kings in general. Many other things I omit, for you use many digressions, and put things down that either have no ground at all, or are nothing to the purpose, and my design is not to vie with you in impertinence.

CHAPTER VIII.

IF you had published your own opinion, Salmasius, concerning the right of kings in general, without affronting any persons in particular, notwithstanding this alteration of affairs in England, as long as you did but use your own liberty in writing what yourself thought fit, no Englishman could have had any cause to have been displeased with you, nor would you have made good the opinion you maintain ever a whit the less. For if it be a positive command both of Moses and of Christ himself, “That all men whatsoever, whether Spaniards, French, Italians, Germans, English, or Scots, should be subject to their princes, be they good or bad,” which you asserted, p. 127, to what purpose was it for you, who are a foreigner, and unknown to us, to be tampering with our laws, and to read us lectures out of them as out of your own papers and miscellanies, which, be they how they will, you have taught us already in a great many words, that they ought to give way to the laws of God? But now it is apparent, that you have undertaken the defence of this royal cause, not so much out of your own inclination, as partly because you were hired, and that at a good round price too, considering how things are with him that set you on work; and partly, it is like, out of expectation of some greater reward hereafter; to publish a scandalous libel against the English, who are injurious to none of their neighbours, and meddle with their own matters only. If there were no such thing as that in the case, is it credible, that any man should be so impudent or so mad, as though he be a stranger, and at a great distance from us, yet of his own accord to intermeddle with our affairs, and side with a party? What the devil is it to you, what the English do amongst themselves? What would you have, pragmatical puppy? What would you be at? Have you no concerns of your own at home? I wish you had the same concerns that that famous Olus, your fellow-busybody in the Epigram, had; and perhaps so you have; you deserve them, I am sure. Or did that hotspur your wife, who encouraged you to write what you have done for outlawed Charles’s sake, promise you some profitable professor’s place in England, and God knows what gratifications at Charles’s return? But assure yourselves, my mistress and my master, that England admits neither of wolves, nor owners of wolves: so that it is no wonder you spit so much venom at our English mastiffs. It were better for you to return to those illustrious titles of yours in France; first to that hunger-starved lordship of yours at St. Lou; [*] and in the next place, to the sacred consistory of the most Christian king. Being a counsellor to the prince, you are at too great a distance from your own country. But I see full well, that she neither desires you, nor your counsel; nor did it appear she did, when you were there a few years ago, and began to lick a cardinal’s trencher: she is in the right, by my troth, and can very willingly suffer such a little fellow as you, that are but one half of a man, to run up and down with your mistress of a wife, and your desks full of trifles and fooleries, till you light somewhere or other upon a stipend, large enough for a knight of the grammar, or an illustrious critic on horseback, if any prince or state has a mind to hire a vagabond doctor, that is to be sold at a good round price. But here is one that will bid for you; whether you are a merchantable commodity or not, and what you are worth, we shall see by and by. You say, “the parricides assert, that the government of England is not merely kingly, but that it is a mixed government.” Sir Thomas Smith, a countryman of ours in Edward the Sixth’s days, a good lawyer, and a statesman, one whom you yourself will not call a parricide, in the beginning of a book which he wrote “of the commonwealth of England,” asserts the same thing, and not of our government only, but of almost all others in the world, and that out of Aristotle; and he says that it is not possible, that any government should otherwise subsist. But as if you thought it a crime to say any thing, and not unsay it again, you repeat your former threadbare contradictions. You say, “there neither is nor ever was any nation, that did not understand by the very name of a king, a person whose authority is inferior to God alone, and who is accountable to no other.” And yet a little after you confess, “that the name of a king was formerly given to such powers and magistrates, as had not a full and absolute right of themselves, but had a dependence upon the people, as the suffetes among the Carthaginians, the Hebrew judges, the kings of the Lacedemonians, and of Arragon.” Are you not very consistent with yourself? Then you reckon up five several sorts of monarchies out of Aristotle; in one of which only that right obtained, which you say is common to all kings. Concerning which I have said already more than once, that neither doth Aristotle give an instance of any such monarchy, nor was there ever any such in being: the other four he clearly demonstrates that they were bounded by established laws, and the king’s power subject to those laws. The first of which four was that of the Lacedemonians, which in his opinion did of all others best deserve the name of a kingdom. The second was such as obtained among barbarians, which was lasting, because regulated by laws, and because the people willingly submitted to it; whereas by the same author’s opinion in his third book, what king soever retains the sovereignty against the people’s will, is no longer to be accounted a king, but a downright tyrant; all which is true likewise of his third sort of kings, which he calls Æsymnetes, who were chosen by the people, and most commonly for a certain time only, and for some particular purposes, such as the Roman dictators were. The fourth sort he makes of such as reigned in the heroical days, upon whom for their extraordinary merits the people of their own accord conferred the government, but yet bounded by laws; nor could these retain the sovereignty against the will of the people; nor do these four sorts of kingly governments differ, he says, from tyranny in any thing else, but only in that these governments are with the good liking of the people, and that against their will. The fifth sort of kingly government, which he calls παμβασίλεια, or absolute monarchy, in which the supreme power resides in the king’s person, which you pretend to be the right of all kings, is utterly condemned by the philosopher, as neither for the good of mankind, nor consonant to justice or nature, unless some people should be content to live under such a government, and withal confer it upon such as excel all others in virtue. These things any man may read in the third book of his Politics. But you, I believe, that once in your life you might appear witty and florid, pleased yourself with making a comparison “betwixt these five sorts of kingly government, and the five zones of the world; betwixt the two extremes of kingly power, there are three more temperate species interposed, as there lie three zones betwixt the torrid and the frigid.” Pretty rogue! what ingenious comparisons he always makes us! may you for ever be banished whither you yourself condemn an absolute kingdom to be, that is, to the frigid zone, which when you are there, will be doubly cold to what it was before. In the meanwhile we shall expect that new-fashioned sphere which you describe, from you our modern Archimedes, in which there shall be two extreme zones, one torrid, and the other frigid, and three temperate ones lying betwixt. “The kings of the Lacedemonians, you say, might lawfully be imprisoned, but it was not lawful to put them to death.” Why not? Because the ministers of justice, and some foreign soldiers, being surprised at the novelty of the thing, thought it not lawful to lead Agis to his execution, though condemned to die? And the people of Lacedemon were displeased at his death, not because condemned to die, though a king, but because he was a good man and popular, and had been circumvented by a faction of the great ones. Says Plutarch, “Agis was the first king that was put to death by the ephori;” in which words he does not pretend to tell us what lawfully might be done, but what actually was done. For to imagine that such as may lawfully accuse a king, and imprison him, may not also lawfully put him to death, is a childish conceit. At last you betake yourself to give an account of the right of English kings. “There never was,” you say, “but one king in England.” This you say, because you had said before, “unless a king be sole in the government, he cannot be a king.” Which if it be true, some of them, who I had thought had been kings of England, were not really so; for to omit many of our Saxon kings, who had either their sons or their brothers partners with them in the government, it is known that King Henry II., of the Norman race, reigned together with his son. “Let them show,” say you, “a precedent of any kingdom under the government of a single person, who has not an absolute power: though in some kingdoms more remiss, in others more intense.” Do you show any power that is absolute, and yet remiss, you ass? is not that power which is absolute, the supreme power of all? How can it then be both supreme and remiss? Whatsoever kings you shall acknowledge to be invested with a remiss (or a less) power, those I will easily make appear to have no absolute power; and consequently to be inferior to a people, free by nature, who is both its own lawgiver, and can make the regal power more or less intense or remiss; that is, greater or less. Whether the whole island of Britain was anciently governed by kings, or no, is uncertain. It is most likely, that the form of their government changed according to the exigencies of the times Whence Tacitus says, “the Britons anciently were under kings; now the great men amongst them divide them into parties and factions.” When the Romans left them, they were about forty years without kings; they were not always therefore under a kingly government, as you say they were. But when they were so, that the kingdom was hereditary, I positively deny; which that it was not, is evident both from the series of their kings, and their way of creating them; for the consent of the people is asked in express words.

When the king has taken the accustomed oath, the archbishop stepping to every side of the stage erected for that purpose, asks the people four several times in these words, “Do you consent to have this man to be your king?” Just as if he spoke to them in the Roman style, Vultis, Jubetis hunc Regnare? “Is it your pleasure, do you appoint this man to reign?” Which would be needless, if the kingdom were by the law hereditary. But with kings, usurpation passes very frequently for law and right. You go about to ground Charles’s right to the crown, who was so often conquered himself, upon the right of conquest. William, surnamed the Conqueror, forsooth, subdued us. But they who are not strangers to our history, know full well, that the strength of the English nation was not so broken in that one fight at Hastings, but that they might easily have renewed the war. But they chose rather to accept of a king than to be under a conqueror and a tyrant: they swear therefore to William, to be his liegemen, and he swears to them at the altar, to carry himself towards them as a good king ought to do in all respects. When he broke his word, and the English betook themselves again to their arms, being diffident of his strength, he renewed his oath upon the Holy Evangelists, to observe the ancient laws of England. And therefore, if after that he miserably oppressed the English, (as you say he did,) he did it not by right of conquest, but by right of perjury. Besides, it is certain, that many ages ago, the conquerors and conquered coalesced into one and the same people: so that that right of conquest, if any such ever were, must needs have been antiquated long ago. His own words at his death, which I give you out of a French manuscript written at Caen, put all out of doubt, “I appoint no man (says he) to inherit the kingdom of England.” By which words, both his pretended right of conquest, and the hereditary right, were disclaimed at his death, and buried together with him.

I see now that you have gotten a place at court, as I foretold you would; you are made the king’s chief treasurer and steward of his court craft: and what follows, you seem to write ex officio, as by virtue of your office, magnificent Sir.” “If any preceding kings, being thereunto compelled by factions of great men, or seditions amongst the common people, have receded in some measure from their right, that cannot prejudice the successor; but that he is at liberty to resume it.” You say well; if therefore at any time our ancestors have through neglect lost any thing that was their right, why should that prejudice us their posterity? If they would promise for themselves to become slaves, they could make no such promise for us; who shall always retain the same right of delivering ourselves out of slavery, that they had of enslaving themselves to any whomsoever. You wonder how it comes to pass that a king of Great Britain must now-a-days be looked upon as one of the magistrates of the kingdom only; whereas in all other kingly governments in Christendom, kings are invested with a free and absolute authority. For the Scots, I remit you to Buchanan: for France, your own native country, to which you seem to be a stranger, to Holloman’s Franco-Gallia, and Girardus a French historian: for the rest, to other authors, of whom none that I know of were Independents: out of whom you might have learned a quite other lesson concerning the right of kings, than what you teach. Not being able to prove that a tyrannical power belongs to the kings of England by right of conquest, you try now to do it by right of perjury. Kings profess themselves to reign “by the grace of God:” what if they had professed themselves to be gods? I believe if they had, you might easily have been brought to become one of their priests. So the archbishops of Canterbury pretended to archbishop it by “Divine Providence.” Are you such a fool, as to deny the pope’s being a king in the church, that you may make the king greater than a pope in the state? But in the statutes of the realm the king is called our lord. You are become of a sudden a wonderful Nomenclator of our statutes: but you know not that many are called lords and masters who are not really so: you know not how unreasonable a thing it is to judge of truth and right by titles of honour, not to say of flattery. Make the same inference, if you will, from the parliament’s being called the king’s parliament; for it is called the king’s bridle too, or a bridle to the king: and therefore the king is no more lord or master of his parliament, than a horse is of his bridle. But why not the king’s parliament, since the king “summons them?” I will tell you why; because the consuls used to indict a meeting of the senate, yet were they not lords over that council. When the king therefore summons or calls together a parliament, he does it by virtue and in discharge of that office, which he has received from the people, that he may advise with them about the weighty affairs of the kingdom, not his own particular affairs. Or when at any time the parliament debated of the king’s own affairs, if any could properly be called his own, they were always the last things they did; and it was in their choice when to debate of them, and whether at all or no, and depended not upon the king’s pleasure. And they whom it concerns to know this, know very well, that parliaments anciently, whether summoned or not, might by law meet twice a year: but the laws are called too, “the king’s laws.” These are flattering ascriptions; a king of England can of himself make no law; for he was not constituted to make laws, but to see those laws kept, which the people made. And you yourself here confess, that “parliaments meet to make laws;” wherefore the law is also called the law of the land, and the people’s law. Whence king Ethelstane in the preface to his laws, speaking to all the people, “I have granted you every thing,” says he, “by your own law.”—And in the form of the oath, which the kings of England used to take before they were made kings, the people stipulate with them thus: “Will you grant those just laws, which the people shall choose?” The king answers, “I will.” And you are infinitely mistaken in saying, that “when there is no parliament sitting, the king governs the whole state of the kingdom, to all intents and purposes, by a regal power.” For he can determine nothing of any moment, with respect to either peace or war: nor can he put any stop to the proceedings of the courts of justice. And the judges therefore swear, that they will do nothing judicially, but according to law, though the king by word, or mandate, or letters under his own seal, should command the contrary. Hence it is that the king is often said in our law to be an infant; and to possess his rights and dignities, as a child or a ward does his: see the Mirror, Cap. 4, sec. 22. And hence is that common saying amongst us, that “the king can do no wrong:” which you like a rascal, interpret thus, “Whatever the king does, is no injury, because he is not liable to be punished for it.” By this very comment, if there were nothing else, the wonderful impudence and villainy of this fellow discovers itself sufficiently. “It belongs to the head,” you say, “to command, and not to the members: the king is the head of the parliament.” You would not trifle thus, if you had any guts in your brains. You are mistaken again (but there is no end of your mistakes) in not distinguishing the king’s counsellors from the states of the realm: for neither ought he to make choice of all of them, nor of any of them, which the rest do not approve of; but for electing any member of the house of commons, he never so much as pretended to it. Whom the people appointed to that service, they were severally chosen by the votes of all the people in their respective cities, towns, and counties. I speak now of things universally known, and therefore I am the shorter. But you say, “it is false that the parliament was instituted by the people, as the worshippers of saint Independency assert.” Now I see why you took so much pains in endeavouring to subvert the papacy; you carry another pope in your belly, as we say. For what else should you be in labour of, the wife of a woman, a he-wolf, impregnated by a she-wolf, but either a monster, or some new sort of papacy? You now make he-saints and she-saints, at your pleasure, as if you were a true genuine pope. You absolve kings of all their sins, and as if you had utterly vanquished and subdued your antagonist the pope, you adorn yourself with his spoils. But because you have not yet profligated the pope quite, till the second and third, and perhaps the fourth and fifth part of your book of his supremacy come out, which book will nauseate a great many readers to death, sooner than you will get the better of the pope by it; let it suffice you in the mean time, I beseech you to become some antipope or other. There is another she-saint, besides that Independency that you deride, which you have canonized in good earnest; and that is, the tyranny of kings: you shall therefore by my consent be the high priest of tyranny; and that you may have all the pope’s titles, you shall be a “servant of the servants,” not of God, but of the court. For that curse pronounced upon Canaan seems to stick as close to you, as your shirt. You call the people “a beast.” What are you then yourself; for neither can that sacred consistory, nor your lordship of St. Lou, exempt you its master from being one of the people, nay, of the common people; nor can make you other than what you really are, a most loathsome beast. Indeed the writings of the prophets shadow out to us the monarchy and dominion of great kings by the name, and under the resemblance, of a great beast. You say, that “there is no mention of parliaments held under our kings, that reigned before William the Conqueror.” It is not worth while to jangle about a French word: the thing was always in being; and you yourself allow that in Saxon times, Concilia Sapientum, Wittena-gemots, are mentioned. And there are wise men among the body of the people, as well as amongst the nobility. But “in the statute of Merton made in the twentieth year of king Henry the third, the earls and barons are only named.” Thus you are always imposed upon by words, who yet have spent your whole life in nothing else but words; for we know very well that in that age, not only the guardians of the cinque-ports, and magistrates of cities, but even tradesmen are sometimes called barons; and without doubt, they might much more reasonably call every member of parliament, though never so much a commoner, by the name of baron. For that in the fifty-second year of the same king’s reign, the commoners as well as the lords were summoned, the statute of Marlbridge, and most other statutes, declare in express words; which commoners King Edward the Third, in the preface to the statute-staple, calls, “Magnates Comitatum, the great men of the counties,” as you very learnedly quote it for me; those to wit, “that came out of several counties, and served for them;” which number of men constituted the house of commons, and neither were lords, nor could be. Besides, a book more ancient than those statutes, called, “Modus habendi Parliamenta, i. e. the manner of holding parliaments,” tells us, that the king and the commons may hold a parliament, and enact laws, though the lords, the bishops are absent; but that with the lords, and the bishops, in the absence of the commons, no parliament can be held. And there is a reason given for it, viz. because kings held parliaments and councils with their people before any lords or bishops were made; besides, the lords serve for themselves only, the commons each for the county, city, or borough that sent them. And that, therefore, the commons in parliament represent the whole body of the nation; in which respect they are more worthy, and every way preferable to the house of peers. “But the power of Judicature,” you say, “never was invested in the house of commons.” Nor was the king ever possessed of it: remember though, that originally all power proceeded, and yet does proceed, from the people. Which Marcus Tullius excellently well shows in his oration, “De lege Agraria, of the Agrarian law:” “As all powers, authorities, and public administrations ought to be derived from the whole body of the people; so those of them ought in an especial manner so to be derived, which are ordained and appointed for the common benefit and interest of all, to which employments every particular person may both give his vote for the choosing such persons, as he thinks will take most care of the public, and withal by voting and making interest for them, lay such obligations upon them, as may entitle them to their friendship and good offices in time to come.” Here you see the true rise and original of parliaments, and that it was much ancienter than the Saxon chronicles. Whilst we may dwell in such a light of truth and wisdom, as Cicero’s age afforded, you labour in vain to blind us with the darkness of obscurer times. By the saying whereof I would not be understood to derogate in the least from the authority and prudence of our ancestors, who most certainly went further in the enacting of good laws, than either the ages they lived in, or their own learning or education seem to have been capable of; and though sometimes they made laws that were none of the best, yet as being conscious to themselves of the ignorance and infirmity of human nature, they have conveyed this doctrine down to posterity, as the foundation of all laws, which likewise all our lawyers admit, that if any law, or custom, be contrary to the law of God, of nature, or of reason, it ought to be looked upon as null and void. Whence it follows, that though it were possible for you to discover any statute, or other public sanction, which ascribed to the king a tyrannical power, since that would be repugnant to the will of God, to nature and to right reason, you may learn from that general and primary law of ours, which I have just now quoted, that it will be null and void. But you will never be able to find, that any such right of kings has the least foundation in our law. Since it is plain therefore, that the power of judicature was originally in the people themselves, and that the people never did by any royal law part with it to the king, (for the kings of England neither used to judge any man, nor can by the law do it, otherwise than according to laws settled and agreed to: Fleta, Book I. Cap. 17,) it follows that this power remains yet whole and entire in the people themselves. For that it was either never committed to the house of peers, or if it were, that it may lawfully be taken from them again, you yourself will not deny. But, “It is in the king’s power,” you say, “to make a village into a borough, and that into a city; and consequently the king does in effect create those that constitute the Commons House of Parliament.” But, I say, that even towns and boroughs are more ancient than kings; and that the people is the people, though they should live in the open fields. And now we are extremely well pleased with your Anglicisms, COUNTY COURT, THE TURNE HUNDREDA: You have quickly learned to count your hundred Jacobuses in English.

- Quis expedivit Salmasio suam HUNDREDAM?

- Picamque docuit verba nostra conari?

- Magister artis venter, et Jacobæi

- Centum, exulantis viscera mar supii Regis

- Quod si dolosi spes refulserit nummi,

- Ipse Antichriste modò qui Primatum Papæ

- Minatus uno est dissipare sufflatu,

- Cantabit ultrò Cardinalitium melos.

- Who taught Salmasius, that French chatt’ring pie,

- To aim at English, and HUNDREDA cry?

- The starving rascal, flush’d with just a Hundred

- English Jacobusses, HUNDREDA blunder’d.

- An outlaw’d king’s last stock.—A hundred more,

- Would make him pimp for th’ Antichristian whore;

- And in Rome’s praise employ his poisoned breath,

- Who threat’ned once to stink the pope to death.

The next thing you do is to trouble us with a long discourse of the earls and the barons, to show that the king made them all; which we readily grant, and for that reason they were most commonly at the king’s beck; and therefore we have done well to take care, that for the future they shall not be judges of a free people. You affirm, that “the power of calling parliaments as often as he pleases, and of dissolving them when he pleases, has belonged to the king time out of mind.” Whether such a vile mercenary foreigner as you, who transcribe what some fugitives dictate to you, or the express letter of our own laws, are more to be credited in this matter, we shall inquire hereafter. But say you, “there is another argument, and an invincible one, to prove the power of the kings of England superior to that of the parliament; the king’s power is perpetual and of course, whereby he administers the government singly without the parliament; that of the parliament is extraordinary, or out of course, and limited to particulars only, nor can they enact any thing so as to be binding in law, without the king.” Where does the great force of this argument lie? In the words “of course and perpetual?” Why, many inferior magistrates have an ordinary and perpetual power, those whom we call justices of the peace. Have they therefore the supreme power? And I have said already, that the king’s power is committed to him, to take care, by interposing his authority, that nothing be done contrary to law, and that he may see to the due observation of our laws, not to top his own upon us: and consequently that the king has no power out of his courts; nay, all the ordinary power is rather the people’s, who determine all controversies themselves by juries of twelve men. And hence it is, that when a malefactor is asked at his arraignment, “How will you be tried?” he answers always, according to law and custom, “by God and my country;” not by God and the king, or the king’s deputy. But the authority of the parliament, which indeed and in truth is the supreme power of the people committed to that senate, if it may be called extraordinary, it must be by reason of its eminence and superiority; else it is known they are called ordines, and therefore cannot properly be said to be extra ordinem, out of order; and if not actually, as they say, yet virtually they have a perpetual power and authority over all courts and ordinary magistrates, and that without the king.

And now it seems our barbarous terms grate upon your critical ears, forsooth! whereas, if I had leisure, or that it were worth my while, I could reckon up so many barbarisms of yours in this one book, as if you were to be chastised for them as you deserve, all the schoolboys’ ferulas in Christendom would be broken upon you; nor would you receive so many pieces of gold as that wretched poet did of old, but a great many more boxes on the ear. You say, “It is a prodigy more monstrous than all the most absurd opinions in the world put together, that the Bedlams should make a distinction betwixt the king’s power and his person.” I will not quote what every author has said upon this subject; but if by the words Personam Regis, you mean what we call in English, the person of the king; Chrysostom, who was no Bedlam, might have taught you, that it is no absurd thing to make a distinction betwixt that and his power; for that further explains the apostle’s command of being subject to the higher powers, to be meant of the thing, the power itself, and not of the persons of the magistrates. And why may not I say that a king, who acts any thing contrary to law, acts so far forth as a private person, or a tyrant, and not in the capacity of a king invested with a legal authority? If you do not know, that there may be in one and the same man more persons or capacities than one, and that those capacities may in thought and conception be severed from the man himself, you are altogether ignorant both of Latin and common sense. But this you say to absolve kings from all sin and guilt; and that you may make us believe, that you are gotten into the chair yourself, which you have pulled the pope out of. “The king,” you say, “is supposed not capable of committing any crime, because no punishment is consequential upon any crime of his.” Whoever therefore is not punished, offends not; it is not the theft, but the punishment, that makes the thief. Salmasius the Grammarian commits no solecisms now, because he is from under the ferula; when you have overthrown the pope, let these, for God’s sake, be the canons of your pontificate, or at least your indulgencies, whether you shall choose to be called the high priest St. Tyranny, or St. Slavery. I pass by the reproachful language, which towards the latter end of the chapter you give the state of the commonwealth, and the church of England; it is common to such as you are, you contemptible varlet, to rail at those things most that are most praiseworthy. But that I may not seem to have asserted any thing rashly concerning the right of the kings of England, or rather concerning the people’s right with respect to their princes; I will now allege out of our ancient histories a few things indeed of many, but such as will make it evident, that the English lately tried their king according to the settled laws of the realm, and the customs of their ancestors. After the Romans quitted this island, the Britons for about forty years were sui juris, and without any kings at all. Of whom those they first set up, some they put to death. And for that, Gildas reprehends them, not as you do, for killing their kings, but for killing them uncondemned, and (to use his own words) “non pro veri examinatione,” without inquiring into the matter of fact. Vortigern was for his incestuous marriage with his own daughter condemned (as Nennius informs us, the most ancient of all our historians next to Gildas) by St. German, “and a general council of the Britons,” and his son Vortimer set up in his stead. This came to pass not long after St. Augustine’s death, which is enough to discover how futilous you are, to say, as you have done, that it was a pope, and Zachary by name, who first held the lawfulness of judging kings. About the year of our Lord 600, Morcantius, who then reigned in Wales, was by Oudeceus, bishop of Llandaff, condemned to exile, for the murder of his uncle, though he got the sentence off by bestowing some lands upon the church.

Come we now to the Saxons, whose laws we have, and therefore I shall quote none of their precedents. Remember, that the Saxons were of a German extract, who never invested their kings with any absolute, unlimited power, but consulted in a body of the more weighty affairs of government; whence we may perceive, that in the time of our Saxon ancestors parliaments (the name itself only excepted) had the supreme authority. The name they gave them, was “councils of wise men;” and this in the reign of Ethelbert, of whom Bebe says, “that he made laws in imitation of the Roman laws, cum concilio sapientum; by the advice, or in a council of his wise men.” So Edwin king of Northumberland, and Ina king of the west Saxons, “having consulted with their wise men, and the elders of the people,” made new laws. Other laws King Alfred made, “by the advice” in like manner of “his wise men;” and he says himself, “that it was by the consent of them all, that they were commanded to be observed.”

From these and many other like places, it is as clear as the sun, that chosen men even from amongst the common people, were members of the supreme councils, unless we must believe, that no men are wise but the nobility. We have likewise a very ancient book, called the “Mirror of Justice,” in which we are told, that the Saxons, when they first subdued the Britons, and chose themselves kings, required an oath of them, to submit to the judgment of the law, as much as any of their subjects, Cap. 1. Sect. 2. In the same place it is said, that it is but just that the king have his peers in parliament, to take cognizance of wrongs done by the king, or the queen; and that there was a law made in King Alfred’s time, that parliaments should be holden twice a year at London, or oftener, if need were: which law, when through neglect it grew into disuse, was revived by two statutes in King Edward the Third’s time. And in another ancient manuscript, called “Modus tenendi Parliamenta,” we read thus, “If the king was summoned, he is guilty of perjury; and shall be reputed to have broken his coronation oath.” For how can he be said to grant those good laws, which the people choose, as he is sworn to do, if he hinders the people from choosing them, either by summoning parliaments seldomer, or by dissolving them sooner, than the public affairs require, or admit? And that oath which the kings of England take at their coronation, has always been looked upon by our lawyers as a most sacred law. And what remedy can be found to obviate the great dangers of the whole state, (which is the very end of summoning parliaments,) if that great and august assembly may be dissolved at the pleasure many time of a silly, headstrong king? To absent himself from them, is certainly less than to dissolve them; and yet by our laws, as that Modus lays them down, the king neither can nor ought to absent himself from his parliament, unless he be really indisposed in health; nor then neither, till twelve of the peers have been with him to inspect his body, and give the parliament an account of his indisposition. Is this like the carriage of servants to a master? On the other hand the house of commons, without whom there can be no parliament held, though summoned by the king, may withdraw, and having made a secession, expostulate with the king concerning maleadministration, as the same book has it. But, which is the greatest thing of all, amongst the laws of King Edward, commonly called the Confessor, there is one very excellent, relating to the kingly office; which office, if the king do not discharge as he ought, then, says the law, “he shall not retain so much as the name of a king.” And lest these words should not be sufficiently understood, the example of Chilperic king of France is subjoined, whom the people for that cause deposed. And that by this law a wicked king is liable to punishment, that sword of King Edward, called Curtana, denotes to us, which the earl of Chester used to carry in the solemn procession at a coronation; “a token,” says Matthew Paris, “that he has authority by law to punish the king, if he will not do his duty:” and the sword is hardly ever made use of but in capital punishments. This same law, together with other laws of that good King Edward, did William the Conqueror ratify in the fourth year of his reign, and in a very full council held at Verulam, confirmed it with a most solemn oath: and by so doing, he not only extinguished his right of conquest, if he ever had any over us, but subjected himself to be judged according to the tenor of this very law. And his son Henry swore to the observance of King Edward’s laws, and of this amongst the rest; and upon those only terms it was that he was chosen king, while his elder brother Robert was alive. The same oath was taken by all succeeding kings, before they were crowned. Hence our ancient and famous lawyer Bracton, in his first book, Chap. viii., “There is no king in the case,” says he, “where will rules the roast, and law does not take place.” And in his third book, Chap. ix., “A king is a king, so long as he rules well; he becomes a tyrant when he oppresses the people committed to his charge.” And in the same chapter, “The king ought to use the power of law and right as God’s minister and vicegerent; the power of wrong is the Devil’s and not God’s; when the king turns aside to do injustice, he is the minister of the Devil.” The very same words almost another ancient lawyer has, who was the author of the book called “Fleta;” both of them remembered that truly royal law of King Edward, that fundamental maxim in our law, which I have formerly mentioned, by which nothing is to be accounted a law, that is contrary to the laws of God, or of reason; no more than a tyrant can be said to be a king, or a minister of the Devil a minister of God.

Since therefore the law is chiefly right reason, if we are bound to obey a king, and a minister of God; by the very same reason, and the very same law, we ought to resist a tyrant, and a minister of the Devil. And because controversies arise oftener about names than things, the same authors tell us, that a king of England, though he have not lost the name of a king, yet is as liable to be judged, and ought so to be, as any of the common people. Bracton, Book I. Chap. viii.; Fleta, Book I. Chap. xvii.; “No man ought to be greater than the king in the administration of justice; but he himself ought to be as little as the least in receiving justice, si peccat, if he offend.” Others read it, si petat. Since our kings therefore are liable to be judged, whether by the name of tyrants, or of kings, it must not be difficult to assign their legal judges. Nor will it be amiss to consult the same authors upon that point. Bracton, Book I. Chap. xvi.; Fleta, Book I. Chap. 17; “The king has his superiors in the government; the law, by which he is made king; and his court, to wit, the earls, and the barons: comites (earls) are as much as to say, companions; and he that has a companion, has a master; and therefore, if the king will be without a bridle, that is, not govern by law, they ought to bridle him.” That the commons are comprehended in the word barons, has been shown already; and in the books of our ancient laws they are frequently said to have been called peers of parliament: and especially in the Modus tenendi, c. “There shall be chosen,” says that book, “out of all the peers of the realm, five and twenty persons, of whom five shall be knights, five citizens, and five burgesses; and two knights of a county have a greater vote in granting and rejecting than the greatest earl in England.” And it is but reasonable they should, for they vote for a whole county, c., the earls for themselves only. And who can but perceive, that those patent earls, whom you call earls made by writ, (since we have now none that hold their earldoms by tenure,) are very unfit persons to try the king, who conferred their honours upon them?

Since therefore by our law, as appears by that old book called “the Mirror,” the king has his peers, who in parliament have cognizance of wrongs done by the king to any of his people; and since it is notoriously known, that the meanest man in the kingdom may even in inferior courts have the benefit of the law against the king himself, in case of any injury, or wrong sustained; how much more consonant to justice, how much more necessary is it, that in case the king oppress all his people, there should be such as have authority not only to restrain him, and keep him within bounds, but to judge and punish him! for that government must needs be very ill, and most ridiculously constituted, in which remedy is provided in case of little injuries, done by the prince to private persons, and no remedy, no redress for greater, no care taken for the safety of the whole; no provision made to the contrary, but that the king may, without any law, ruin all his subjects, when at the same time he cannot by law so much as hurt any one of them. And since I have shown, that it is neither good manners, nor expedient, that the lords should be the king’s judges; it follows, that the power of judicature in that case does wholly, and by very good right, belong to the commons, who are both peers of the realm, and barons, and have the power and authority of all the people committed to them. For since (as we find it expressly in our written law, which I have already cited) the commons together with the king made a good parliament without either lords or bishops, because before either lords or bishops had a being, kings held parliaments with their commons only; by the very same reason the commons apart must have the sovereign power without the king, and a power of judging the king himself; because before there ever was a king, they in the name of the whole body of the nation held councils and parliaments, had the power of judicature, made laws, and made the kings themselves, not to lord it over the people, but to administer their public affairs. Whom if the king, instead of so doing, shall endeavour to injure and oppress, our law pronounces him from that time forward not so much as to retain the name of a king, to be no such thing as a king: and if he be no king, what need we trouble ourselves to find out peers for him? For being then by all good men adjudged to be a tyrant, there are none but who are peers good enough for him, and proper enough to pronounce sentence of death upon him judicially. These things being so, I think I have sufficiently proved what I undertook, by many authorities and written laws; to wit, that since the commons have authority by very good right to try the king, and since they have actually tried him, and put him to death, for the mischief he had done both in church and state, and without all hope of amendment, they have done nothing therein but what was just and regular, for the interest of the state, in discharging of their trust, becoming their dignity, and according to the laws of the land. And I cannot upon this occasion, but congratulate myself with the honour of having had such ancestors, who founded this government with no less prudence, and in as much liberty as the most worthy of the ancient Romans or Grecians ever founded any of theirs: and they must needs, if they have any knowledge of our affairs, rejoice over their posterity, who, when they were almost reduced to slavery, yet with so much wisdom and courage vindicated and asserted the state, which they so wisely founded upon so much liberty, from the unruly government of a king.

CHAPTER IX.

I THINK by this time it is sufficiently evident, that kings of England may be judged even by the laws of England; and that they have their proper judges, which was the thing to be proved. What do you do further? (for whereas you repeat many things that you have said before, I do not intend to repeat the answers I have given them.) “It is an easy thing to demonstrate, even from the nature of the things for which parliaments are summoned, that the king is above the parliament. The parliament (you say) is wont to be assembled upon weighty affairs, such as wherein the safety of the kingdom and of the people is concerned.” If therefore the king call parliaments together, not for his own concerns, but those of the nation, nor to settle those neither, but by their own consent, at their own discretion, what is he more than a minister, and as it were an agent for the people? since without their suffrages that are chosen by the people, he cannot exact the least thing whatsoever, either with relation to himself, or any body else? Which proves likewise, that it is the king’s duty to call parliaments whenever the people desire it; since the people’s and not the king’s concerns are to be treated of by that assembly, and to be ordered as they see cause. For although the king’s assent be required for fashion sake, which in lesser matters, that concerned the welfare of private persons only, he might refuse, and use that form, “the king will advise;” yet in those greater affairs, that concerned the public safety, and liberty of the people in general, he had no negative voice: for it would have been against his coronation oath to deny his assent in such cases, which was as binding to him as any law could be, and against the chief article of Magna Charta, cap. 29, “We will not deny to any man, nor will we delay to render to every man, right and justice.” Shall it not be in the king’s power to deny justice, and shall it be in his power to deny the enacting of just laws? Could he not deny justice to any particular person, and could he to all his people? Could he not do it in inferior courts, and could he in the supreme court of all? Or, can any king be so arrogant as to pretend to know what is just and profitable better than the whole body of the people? Especially, since “he is created and chosen for this very end and purpose, to do justice to all,” as Bracton says, lib. iii. c. 9, that is, to do justice according to such laws as the people agree upon. Hence is what we find in our records, 7 H. IV. Rott. Parl. num. 59, the king has no prerogative, that derogates from justice and equity. And formerly when kings have refused to confirm acts of parliament, to wit, Magna Charta and some others, our ancestors have brought them to it by force of arms. And yet our lawyers never were of opinion, that those laws were less valid, or less binding, since the king was forced to assent to no more than what he ought in justice to have assented to voluntarily, and without constraint.

Whilst you go about to prove that kings of other nations have been as much under the power of their senates or councils, as our kings were, you do not argue us into slavery, but them into liberty. In which you do but that over again, that you have from the very beginning of your discourse, and which some silly Leguleians now and then do, to argue unawares against their own clients. But you say, “We confess that the king, wherever he be, yet is supposed still to be present in his parliament by virtue of his power; insomuch, that whatever is transacted there, is supposed to be done by the king himself:” and then as if you had got some pretty bribe or small morsel, and tickled with the remembrance of your purse of gold, “we take,” say you, “what they give us;” and take a halter then, for I am sure you deserve it. But we do not give it for granted, which is the thing you thought would follow from thence, “that therefore that court acts only by virtue of a delegated power from the king.” For when we say, that the regal power, be it what it will, cannot be absent from the parliament, do we thereby acknowledge that power to be supreme? Does not the king’s authority seem rather to be transferred to the parliament, and, as being the lesser of the two, to be comprised in the greater? Certainly, if the parliament may rescind the king’s acts whether he will or no, and revoke privileges granted by him, to whomsoever they be granted: if they may set bounds to his prerogative, as they see cause; if they may regulate his yearly revenue, and the expenses of his court, his retinue, and generally all the concerns of his household; if they may remove his most intimate friends and counsellors, and, as it were, pluck them out of his bosom, and bring them to condign punishment; finally, if any subject may by law appeal from the king to the parliament, (all which things, that they may lawfully be done, and have been frequently practised, both our histories and records, and the most eminent of our lawyers, assure us,) I suppose no man in his right wits will deny the authority of the parliament to be superior to that of the king. For even in an interregnum the authority of the parliament is in being, and (than which, nothing is more common in our histories) they have often made a free choice of a successor, without any regard to an hereditary descent. In short, the parliament is the supreme council of the nation, constituted and appointed by a most free people, and armed with ample power and authority, for this end and purpose; viz. to consult together upon the most weighty affairs of the kingdom; the king was created to put their laws in execution. Which thing after the parliament themselves had declared in a public edict, (for such is the justice of their proceedings, that of their own accord they have been willing to give an account of their actions to other nations,) is it not prodigious, that such a pitiful fellow as you are, a man of no authority, of no credit, of no figure in the world, a mere Burgundian slave, should have the impudence to accuse the parliament of England, asserting by a public instrument their own and their country’s right, “of a detestable and horrid imposture?” Your country may be ashamed, you rascal, to have brought forth a little inconsiderable fellow of such profligate impudence. But perhaps you have somewhat to tell us, that may be for our good: go on, we will hear you. “What laws,” say you, “can a parliament enact, in which the bishops are not present?” Did you then, you madman, expel the order of bishops out of the church, to introduce them into the state? O wicked wretch! who ought to be delivered over to Satan, whom the church ought to forbid her communion, as being a hypocrite, and an atheist, and no civil society of men to acknowledge as a member, being a public enemy, and a plaguesore to the common liberty of mankind; who, where the gospel fails you, endeavour to prove out of Aristotle, Halicarnassæus, and then from some popish authorities of the most corrupt ages, that the king of England is the head of the church of England, to the end that you may, as far as in you lies, bring in the bishops again, his intimates and table-companions, grown so of late, to rob and tyrannize in the church of God, whom God himself has deposed and degraded, whose very order you had heretofore asserted in print that it ought to be rooted out of the world, as destructive of and pernicious to the Christian religion. What apostate did ever so shamefully and wickedly desert as this man has done, I do not say his own, which indeed never was any, but the Christian doctrine which he had formerly asserted? “The bishops being put down, who, under the king, and by his permission, held plea of ecclesiastical causes, upon whom,” say you, “will that jurisdiction devolve?” O villain! have some regard at least to your own conscience; remember before it be too late, if at least this admonition of mine come not too late, remember that this mocking the Holy Spirit of God is an inexpiable crime, and will not be left unpunished. Stop at last, and set bounds to your fury, lest the wrath of God lay hold upon you suddenly, for endeavouring to deliver the flock of God, his anointed ones that are not to be touched, to enemies and cruel tyrants, to be crushed and trampled on again, from whom himself by a high and stretched out arm had so lately delivered them; and from whom you yourself maintained, that they ought to be delivered, I know not whether for any good of theirs, or in order to the hardening of your own heart, and to further your own damnation. If the bishops have no right to lord it over the church, certainly much less have kings, whatever the laws of men may be to the contrary. For they that know any thing of the gospel know thus much, that the government of the church is altogether divine and spiritual, and no civil constitution. Whereas you say, that “in secular affairs, the kings of England have always had the sovereign power;” our laws do abundantly declare that to be false. Our courts of justice are erected and suppressed, not by the king’s authority, but that of the parliament; and yet in any of them, the meanest subject might go to law with the king; nor is it a rare thing for the judges to give judgment against him, which if the king should endeavour to obstruct by any prohibition, mandate, or letters, the judges were bound by law, and by their oaths, not to obey him, but to reject such inhibitions as null and void in law. The king could not imprison any man, or seize his estate as forfeited; he could not punish any man, not summoned to appear in court, where not the king, but the ordinary judges give sentence; which they frequently did, as I have said, against the king. Hence our Bracton, lib. 3, cap. 9, “The regal power,” says he, “is according to law; he has no power to do any wrong, nor can the king do any thing but what the law warrants.” Those lawyers that you have consulted, men that have lately fled their country, may tell you another tale, and acquaint you with some statutes, not very ancient neither, but made in King Edward IV., King Henry VI., and King Edward VIth’s days; but they did not consider, that what power soever those statutes gave the king, was conferred upon him by authority of parliament, so that he was beholden to them for it; and the same power that conferred it, might at pleasure resume it. How comes it to pass, that so acute a disputant as you, should suffer yourself to be imposed upon to that degree, as to make use of that very argument to prove the king’s power to be absolute and supreme, than which nothing proves more clearly, that it is subordinate to that of the parliament? Our records of the greatest authority with us declare, that our kings owe all their power, not to any right of inheritance, of conquest, or succession, but to the people. So in the parliament rolls of King Henry IV., numb. 108, we read, that the kingly office and power was granted by the commons to King Henry IV., and before him, to his predecessor King Richard II., just as kings use to grant commissioners’ places and lieutenantships to their deputies, by edicts and patents. Thus the house of commons ordered expressly to be entered upon record, “that they had granted to King Richard to use the same good liberty, that the kings of England before him had used:” which because that king abused to the subversion of the laws, and “contrary to his oath at his coronation,” the same persons that granted him that power, took it back again, and deposed him. The same men, as appears by the same record, declared in open parliament, “that having confidence in the prudence and moderation of King Henry the IVth, they will and enact, that he enjoy the same royal authority that his ancestors enjoyed.” Which if it had been any other than in the nature of a trust, as this was, either those houses of parliament were foolish and vain, to give what was none of their own, or those kings that were willing to receive as from them, what was already theirs, were too injurious both to themselves and their posterity; neither of which is likely. “A third part of the regal power,” say you, “is conversant about the militia; this the kings of England have used to order and govern, without fellow or competitor.” This is as false as all the rest that you have taken upon the credit of fugitives: for in the first place, both our own histories, and those of foreigners, that have been any whit exact in the relation of our affairs, declare, that the making of peace and war always did belong to the parliament. And the laws of St. Edward, which our kings were bound to swear that they would maintain, make this appear beyond all exception, in the chapter “De Heretochiis,” viz. “That there were certain officers appointed in every province and county throughout the kingdom, that were called Heretochs, in Latin, duces, commanders of armies, that were to command the forces of the several counties,” not for the honour of the crown only, “but for the good of the realm. And they were chosen by the general council, and in the several counties at public assemblies of the inhabitants, as sheriffs ought to be chosen.” Whence it is evident, that the forces of the kingdom, and the commanders of those forces, were anciently, and ought to be still, not at the king’s command, but at the people’s; and that this most reasonable and just law obtained in this kingdom of ours, no less than heretofore it did in the commonwealth of the Romans. Concerning which, it will not be amiss to hear what Cicero says, Philip. 1. “All the legions, all the forces of the commonwealth, wheresoever they are, are the people of Rome’s; nor are those legions, that deserted the consul Antonius, said to have been Antony’s, but the commonwealth’s legions.” This very law of St. Edward, together with the rest, did William the Conqueror, at the desire and instance of the people, confirm by oath, and added over and above, cap. 56, “That all cities, boroughs, castles, should be so watched every night, as the sheriffs, the aldermen, and other magistrates, should think meet for the safety of the kingdom.” And in the 6th law, “Castles, boroughs, and cities, were first built for the defence of the people, and therefore ought to be maintained free and entire, by all ways and means.” What then? Shall towns and places of strength in times of peace be guarded against thieves and robbers by common councils of the several places; and shall they not be defended in dangerous times of war, against both domestic and foreign hostility, by the common council of the whole nation? If this be not granted, there can be no freedom, no integrity, no reason, in the guarding of them: nor shall we obtain any of those ends, for which the law itself tells us, that towns and fortresses were at first founded. Indeed our ancestors were willing to put any thing into the king’s power, rather than their arms, and the garrisons of their towns; conceiving that to be neither better nor worse, than betraying their liberty to the fury and exorbitancy of their princes. Of which there are so very many instances in our histories, and those so generally known, that it would be superfluous to mention any of them here.

But “the king owes protection to his subjects; and how can he protect them, unless he have men and arms at command?” But, say I, he had all this for the good of the kingdom, as has been said, not for the destruction of his people, and the ruin of the kingdom: which in King Henry the IIId’s time, one Leonard, a learned man in those days, in an assembly of bishops, told Rustandus, the pope’s nuncio and the king’s procurator, in these words; “All churches are the pope’s, as all temporal things are said to be the king’s, for defence and protection, not his in propriety and ownership, as we say; they are his to defend, not to destroy.” The aforementioned law of St. Edward is to the same purpose; and what does this import more than a trust? Does this look like absolute power? Such a kind of power a commander of an army always has, that is, a delegated power; and yet both at home and abroad he is never the less able to defend the people that choose him. Our parliaments would anciently have contended with our kings about their liberty and the laws of St. Edward, to very little purpose; and it would have been an unequal match betwixt the kings and them, if they had been of opinion, that the power of the sword belonged to them alone: for how unjust laws soever their kings would have imposed upon them, their charter, though never so great, would have been a weak defence against force. But say you, “What would the parliament be the better for the militia, since without the king’s assent they cannot raise the least farthing from the people towards the maintaining it?” Take you no thought for that: for in the first place you go upon a false supposition, “that parliaments cannot impose taxes without the king’s assent,” upon the people that send them, and whose concerns they undertake.

In the next place, you, that are so officious an inquirer into other men’s matters, cannot but have heard, that the people of their own accord, by bringing in their plate to be melted down, raised a great sum of money towards the carrying on of this war against the king. Then you mention the largeness of our king’s revenue: you mention over and over again five hundred and forty thousands: that “those of our kings that have been eminent for their bounty and liberality have used to give large boons out of their own patrimony.” This you were glad to hear; it was by this charm, that those traitors to their country allured you, as Balaam the prophet was enticed of old, to curse the people of God, and exclaim against the judicial dispensations of his providence. You fool! what was that unjust and violent king the better for such abundance of wealth? What are you the better for it? Who have been no partaker of any part of it, that I can hear of, (how great hopes soever you may have conceived of being vastly enriched by it,) but only of a hundred pieces of gold, in a purse wrought with beads. Take that reward of thine iniquity, Balaam, which thou hast loved, and enjoy it. You go on to play the fool; “the setting up of a standard is a prerogative that belongs to the king only.” How so? Why because Virgil tells us in his Æneis, “that Turnus set up a standard on the top of the tower at Laurentum, for an ensign of war.” And do not you know Grammarian, that every general of an army does the same thing? But, says Aristotle, “The king must always be provided of a military power, that he may be able to defend the laws; and therefore the king must be stronger than the whole body of the people.” This man makes consequences just as Ocnus does ropes in hell; which are of no use but to be eaten by asses. For a number of soldiers, given to the king by the people, is one thing, and the sole power of the militia is quite another thing; the latter, Aristotle does not allow that kings ought to be masters of, and that in this very place which you have quoted; “He ought,” says he, “to have so many armed men about him, as to make him stronger than any one man, than many men got together; but he must not be stronger than all the people.” Polit. lib. 3, cap. 4. Else instead of protecting them, it would be in his power to subject both people and laws to himself. For this is the difference betwixt a king and a tyrant: a king, by consent of the senate and people, has about him so many armed men, as to enable him to resist enemies, and suppress seditions. A tyrant, against the will both of senate and people, gets as great a number as he can, either of enemies, or profligate subjects, to side with him against the senate and the people. The parliament therefore allowed the king, as they did whatever he had besides, the setting up of a standard; not to wage war against his own people, but to defend them against such as the parliament should declare enemies to the state: if he acted otherwise, himself was to be accounted an enemy; since according to the very law of St. Edward, or according to a more sacred law than that, the law of nature itself, he lost the name of a king, and was no longer such. Whence Cicero in his Philip. “He forfeits his command in the army, and interest in his government, that employs them against the state.” Neither could the king compel those that held of him by knight-service, to serve him in any other war, than such as was made by consent of parliament; which is evident by many statutes. So for customs and other subsidies for the maintenance of the navy, the king could not exact them without an act of parliament; as was resolved about twelve years ago, by the ablest of our lawyers, when the king’s authority was at the height. And long before them, Fortescue, an eminent lawyer, and chancellor to King Henry the Sixth, “The king of England,” says he, “can neither alter the laws, nor exact subsidies without the people’s consent.” Nor can any testimonies be brought from antiquity, to prove the kingdom of England to have been merely regal. “The king,” says Bracton, “has a jurisdiction over all his subjects;” that is, in his courts of justice, where justice is administered in the king’s name indeed, but according to our own laws. “All are subject to the king;” that is, every particular man is; and so Bracton explains himself in the places that I have cited. What follows is but turning the same stone over and over again, (at which sport I believe you are able to tire Sisiphus himself,) and is sufficiently answered by what has been said already. For the rest, if our parliaments have sometimes complimented good kings with submissive expressions, though neither savouring of flattery nor slavery, those are not to be accounted due to tyrants, nor ought to prejudice the people’s right: good manners and civility do not infringe liberty. Whereas you cite out of Sir Edward Coke and others, “that the kingdom of England is an absolute kingdom;” that is said with respect to any foreign prince, or the emperor: because as Camden says, “It is not under the patronage of the emperor:” but both of them affirm, that the government of England resides not in king alone, but in a body politic. Whence Fortescue, in his book de Laud. Leg. Ang. cap. 9, “The king of England,” says he, “governs his people, not by a merely regal, but a political power; for the English are governed by laws of their own making.” Foreign authors were not ignorant of this: hence Philip de Comines, a grave author, in the Fifth Book of his Commentaries, “Of all the kingdoms of the earth,” says he, “that I have any knowledge of, there is none in my opinion where the government is more moderate, where the king has less power of hurting his people, than in England.” Finally, “It is ridiculous,” say you, “for them to affirm that kingdoms were ancienter than kings; which is as much as if they should say, that there was light before the sun was created.” But with your good leave, Sir, we do not say that kingdoms, but that the people were before kings. In the mean time, who can be more ridiculous than you, who deny there was light before the sun had a being? You pretend to a curiosity in other men’s matters, and have forgot the very first things that were taught you. “You wonder how they that have seen the king sit upon his throne, at a session of parliament, (sub aureo et serico Cœlo, under a golden and silken heaven,) under a canopy of state, should so much as make a question, whether the majesty resided in him, or in the parliament?” They are certainly hard of belief, whom so lucid an argument, coming down from heaven, cannot convince. Which golden heaven, you, like a stoic, have so devoutly and seriously gazed upon, that you seem to have forgot what kind of heaven Moses and Aristotle describe to us; for you deny, that there was any light in Moses’s heaven before the sun; and in Aristotle’s you make three temperate zones. How many zones you observed in that golden and silken heaven of the king’s, I know not; but I know you got one zone (a purse) well tempered with a hundred golden stars by your astronomy.

CHAPTER X.

SINCE this whole controversy, whether concerning the right of kings in general, or that of the king of England in particular, is rendered difficult and intricate, rather by the obstinacy of parties, than by the nature of the thing itself; I hope they that prefer truth before the interest of a faction, will be satisfied with what I have alleged out of the law of God, the laws of nations, and the municipal laws of my own country, that a king of England may be brought to trial, and put to death. As for those whose minds are either blinded with superstition, or so dazzled with the splendour and grandeur of a court, that magnanimity and true liberty do not appear so glorious to them, as they are in themselves, it will be in vain to contend with them, either by reason and arguments, or examples. But you, Salmasius, seem very absurd, as in every other part of your book, so particularly in this, who though you rail perpetually at the Independents, and revile them with all the terms of reproach imaginable, yet assert to the highest degree that can be, the independency of a king, whom you defend; and will not allow him to “owe his sovereignty to the people, but to his descent.” And whereas in the beginning of your book you complained, that he was “put to plead for his life,” here you complain “that he perished without being heard to speak for himself.” But if you have a mind to look into the history of his trial, which is very faithfully published in French, it may be you will be of another opinion. Whereas he had liberty given him for some days together, to say what he could for himself, he made use of it not to clear himself of the crimes laid to his charge, but to disprove the authority of his judges, and the judicature that he was called before. And whenever a criminal is either mute, or says nothing to the purpose, there is no injustice in condemning him without hearing him, if his crimes are notorious, and publicly known. If you say, that Charles died as he lived, I agree with you: if you say, that he died piously, holily, and at ease, you may remember that his grandmother Mary, Queen of Scots, an infamous woman, died on a scaffold with as much outward appearance of piety, sanctity, and constancy, as he did. And lest you should ascribe too much to that presence of mind, which some common malefactors have so great a measure of at their death; many times despair, and a hardened heart, puts on as it were a vizor of courage; and stupidity, a show of quiet and tranquillity of mind: sometimes the worst of men desire to appear good, undaunted, innocent, and now and then religious, not only in their life, but at their death; and in suffering death for their villainies, use to act the last part of their hypocrisy and cheats, with all the show imaginable; and like bad poets or stageplayers, are very ambitious at being clapped at the end of the play. “Now,” you say, “you are come to inquire who they chiefly were, that gave sentence against the king.” Whereas it ought first to be inquired into, how you, a foreigner, and a French vagabond, came to have any thing to do to raise a question about our affairs, to which you are so much a stranger? And what reward induced you to it? But we know enough of that, and who satisfied your curiosity in these matters of ours; even those fugitives, and traitors to their country, that could easily hire such a vain fellow as you, to speak ill of us. Then an account in writing of the state of our affairs was put into your hands by some hair-brained, half protestant, half papist chaplain or other, or by some sneaking courtier, and you were put to translate it into Latin; out of that you took these narratives, which, if you please, we will examine a little: “Not the hundred thousandth part of the people consented to this sentence of condemnation.” What were the rest of the people then, that suffered so great a thing to be transacted against their will? Were they stocks and stones, were they mere trunks of men only, or such images of Britons, as Virgil describes to have been wrought in tapestry?

- Purpurea intexti tollant aulæa Britanni

- And Britons, interwove, held up the purple hangings.

For you describe no true Britons, but painted ones, or rather needle-wrought men instead of them. Since therefore it is a thing so incredible, that a warlike nation should be subdued by so few, and those of the dregs of the people, (which is the first thing that occurs in your narrative,) that appears in the very nature of the thing itself to be most false. “The bishops were turned out of the house of lords by the parliament itself.” The more deplorable is your madness, (for are not you yet sensible that you rave?) to complain of their being turned out of the parliament, whom you yourself in a large book endeavour to prove ought to be turned out of the church. “One of the states of parliament, to wit, the house of lords, consisting of dukes, earls, and viscounts, was removed.” And deservedly were they removed; for they were not deputed to sit there by any town or county, but represented themselves only; they had no right over the people, but (as if they had been ordained for that very purpose) used frequently to oppose their rights and liberties. They were created by the king, they were his companions, his servants, and, as it were, shadows of him. He being removed, it was necessary they should be reduced to the same level with the body of the people, from amongst whom they took their rise. “One part of the parliament, and that the worst of all, ought not to have assumed that power of judging and condemning the king.” But I have told you already, that the house of commons was not only the chief part of our parliament, while we had kings, but was a perfect and entire parliament of itself, without the temporal lords, much more without the bishops. But, “the whole house of commons themselves were not admitted to have to do with the trial of the king.” To wit, that part of them was not admitted, that openly revolted to him in their minds and counsels; whom, though they styled him their king, yet they had so often acted against as an enemy.

The parliament of England, and the deputies sent from the parliament of Scotland, on the 13th of January, 1645, wrote to the king, in answer to a letter of his, by which he desired a deceitful truce, and that he might treat with them at London; that they could not admit him into that city, till he had made satisfaction to the state for the civil war that he had raised in the three kingdoms, and for the deaths of so many of his subjects slain by his order; and till he had agreed to a true and firm peace upon such terms as the parliaments of both kingdoms had offered him so often already, and should offer him again. He on the other hand either refused to hear, or by ambiguous answers eluded, their just and equal proposals, though most humbly presented to him seven times over. The parliament at last, after so many years’ patience, lest the king should overturn the state by his wiles and delays, when in prison, which he could not subdue in the field, and lest the vanquished enemy, pleased with our divisions, should recover himself, and triumph unexpectedly over his conquerors, vote that for the future they would have no regard to him; that they would send him no more proposals, nor receive any from him: after which vote, there were found even some members of parliament, who out of the hatred they bore that invincible army, whose glory they envied, and which they would have had disbanded, and sent home with disgrace, after they had deserved so well of their nation, and out of a servile compliance with some seditious ministers, finding their opportunity, when many, whom they knew to be otherwise minded than themselves, having been sent by the house itself to suppress the Presbyterians, who began already to be turbulent, were absent in the several counties, with a strange levity, not to say perfidiousness, vote that that inveterate enemy of the state, who had nothing of a king but the name, without giving any satisfaction or security, should be brought back to London, and restored to his dignity and government, as if he had deserved well of the nation by what he had done. So that they preferred the king before their religion, their liberty, and that very celebrated covenant of theirs. What did they do in the mean time, who were sound themselves, and saw such pernicious councils on foot? Ought they therefore to have been wanting to the nation, and not provide for its safety, because the infection had spread itself even in their own house?

But, who secluded those ill-affected members? “The English army,” you say: so that it was not an army of foreigners, but of most valiant, and faithful, honest natives, whose officers for the most part were members of parliament; and whom those good secluded members would have secluded their country, and banished into Ireland; while in the mean time the Scots, whose alliance began to be doubtful, had very considerable forces in four of our northern counties, and kept garrisons in the best towns of those parts, and had the king himself in custody; whilst they likewise encouraged the tumultuating of those of their own faction, who did more than threaten the parliament, both in city and country, and through whose means not only a civil, but a war with Scotland too shortly after broke out. If it has been always counted praiseworthy in private men to assist the state, and promote the public good, whether by advice or action; our army sure was in no fault, who being ordered by the parliament to come to town, obeyed and came, and when they were come, quelled with ease the faction and uproar of the king’s party, who sometimes threatened the house itself. For things were brought to that pass, that of necessity either we must be run down by them, or they by us. They had on their side most of the shopkeepers and handicraftsmen of London, and generally those of the ministers, that were most factious. On our side was the army, whose fidelity, moderation, and courage were sufficiently known. It being in our power by their means to retain our liberty, our state, our common safety, do you think we had not been fools to have lost all by our negligence and folly? They who had had places of command in the king’s army, after their party was subdued, had laid down their arms indeed against their wills, but continued enemies to us in their hearts: and they flocked to town, and were here watching all opportunities of renewing the war. With these men, though they were the greatest enemies they had in the world, and thirsted after their blood, did the Presbyterians, because they were not permitted to exercise a civil as well as an ecclesiastical jurisdiction over all others, hold secret correspondence, and took measures very unworthy of what they had formerly both said and done; and they came to that spleen at last, that they would rather enthral themselves to the king again, than admit their own brethren to share in their liberty, which they likewise had purchased at the price of their own blood; they chose rather to be lorded over once more by a tyrant, polluted with the blood of so many of his own subjects, and who was enraged, and breathed out nothing but revenge, against those of them that were left, than endure their brethren and friends to be upon the square with them.

The Independents, as they are called, were the only men, that from first to last kept to their point, and knew what use to make of their victory. They refused (and wisely, in my opinion) to make him king again, being then an enemy, who when he was their king, had made himself their enemy: nor were they ever the less averse to a peace, but they very prudently dreaded a new war, or a perpetual slavery under the name of a peace. To load our army with the more reproaches, you begin a silly confused narrative of our affairs; in which, though I find many things false, many things frivolous, many things laid to our charge for which we rather merit; yet I think it will be to no purpose for me to write a true relation, in answer to your false one. For you and I are arguing, not writing histories, and both sides will believe our reasons, but not our narrative; and indeed the nature of the things themselves is such, that they cannot be related as they ought to be, but in a set history; so that I think it better, as Sallust said of Carthage, rather to say nothing at all, than to say but a little of things of this weight and importance. Nay, and I scorn so much as to mention the praises of great men, and of Almighty God himself, (who in so wonderful a course of affairs ought to be frequently acknowledged,) amongst your slanders and reproaches. I will therefore only pick out such things as seem to have any colour of argument. You say, “the English and Scots promised by a solemn covenant, to preserve the majesty of the king.” But you omit upon what terms they promised it; to wit, if it might consist with the safety of their religion and their liberty. To both which, religion and liberty, that king was so averse to his last breath, and watched all opportunities of gaining advantages upon them, that it was evident that his life was dangerous to their religion, and the certain ruin of their liberty. But then you fall upon the king’s judges again: “If we consider the thing aright, the conclusion of this abominable action must be imputed to the Independents, yet so as the Presbyterians may justly challenge the glory of its beginning and progress.” Hark, ye Presbyterians, what good has it done you? How is your innocence and loyalty the more cleared by your seeming so much to abhor the putting the king to death? You yourselves, in the opinion of this everlasting talkative advocate of the king your accuser, “went more than half-way towards it; you were seen acting the fourth act and more, in this tragedy; you may justly be charged with the king’s death, since you showed the way to it; it was you and only you that laid his head upon the block.” Woe be to you in the first place, if ever Charles his posterity recover the crown of England; assure yourselves, you are like to be put in the black list. But pay your vows to God, and love your brethren who have delivered you, who have prevented that calamity from falling upon you, who have saved you from inevitable ruin, though against your wills. You are accused likewise for that “some years ago you endeavoured by sundry petitions to lessen the king’s authority, that you published some scandalous expressions of the king himself in the papers you presented him with in the name of the parliament; to wit, in that declaration of the lords and commons of the 26th of May 1642, you declared openly in some mad positions that breathed nothing but rebellion, what your thoughts were of the king’s authority: Hotham by order of parliament shut the gates of Hull against the king; you had a mind to make a trial by this first act of rebellion how much the king would bear.” What could this man say more, if it were his design to reconcile the minds of all Englishmen to one another, and alienate them wholly from the king? for he gives them here to understand, that if ever the king be brought back, they must not only expect to be punished for his father’s death, but for the petitions they made long ago, and some acts that past in full parliament, concerning the putting down the common-prayer and bishops, and that of the triennial parliament, and several other things that were enacted with the greatest consent and applause of all the people that could be; all which will be looked upon as the seditions and mad positions of the Presbyterians. But this vain fellow changes his mind all of a sudden; and what but of late, “when he considered it aright,” he thought was to be imputed wholly to the Presbyterians, now that “he considers the same thing from first to last,” he thinks the Independents were the sole actors of it. But even now he told us, “the Presbyterians took up arms against the king, that by them he was beaten, taken captive, and put in prison:” now he says, “this whole doctrine of rebellion is the Independents’ principle.” O! the faithfulness of this man’s narrative! how consistent he is with himself! what need is there of a counter narrative to this of his, that cuts its own throat?

But if any man should question whether you are an honest man or a knave, let him read these following lines of yours: “It is time to explain whence and at what time this sect of enemies to kingship first began. Why truly these rare Puritans began in Queen Elizabeth’s time to crawl out of hell, and disturb not only the church, but the state likewise; for they are no less plagues to the latter than to the former.” Now your very speech bewrays you to be a right Balaam; for where you designed to spit out the most bitter poison you could, there unwittingly and against your will you have pronounced a blessing. For it is notoriously known all over England, that if any endeavoured to follow the example of those churches, whether in France or Germany, which they accounted best reformed, and to exercise the public worship of God in a more pure manner, which our bishops had almost universally corrupted with their ceremonies and superstitions; or if any seemed either in point of religion or morality to be better than others, such persons were by the favour of episcopacy termed Puritans. These are they whose principles you say are so opposite to kingship. Nor are they the only persons, “most of the reformed religion, that have not sucked in the rest of their principles, yet seem to have approved of those that strike at kingly government.” So that while you inveigh bitterly against the Independents, and endeavour to separate them from Christ’s flock, with the same breath your praise them; and those principles which almost every where you affirm to be peculiar to the Independents, here you confess have been approved of by most of the reformed religion: Nay, you are arrived to that degree of impudence, impiety, and apostacy, that though formerly you maintained bishops ought to be extirpated out of the church root and branch, as so many pests and limbs of antichrist, here you say the king ought to protect them, for the saving of his coronation oath. You cannot show yourself a more infamous villain than you have done already, but by abjuring the protestant reformed religion, to which you are a scandal. Whereas you tax us with giving a “toleration of all sects and heresies,” you ought not to find fault with us for that; since the church bears with such a profligate wretch as you yourself, such a vain fellow, such a liar, such a mercenary slanderer, such an apostate, one who has the impudence to affirm, that the best and most pious of Christians, and even most of those who profess the reformed religion, are crept out of hell, because they differ in opinion from you. I had best pass by the calumnies that fill up the rest of this chapter, and those prodigious tenets that you ascribe to the Independents, to render them odious; for neither do they at all concern the cause you have in hand, and they are such for the most part as deserve to be laughed at and despised, rather than receive a serious answer.

CHAPTER XI.

YOU seem to begin this eleventh chapter, Salmasius, though with no modesty, yet with some sense of your weakness and trifling in this discourse. For whereas you proposed to yourself to inquire in this place, by what authority sentence was given against the king; you add immediately, which nobody expected from you, that “it is in vain to make any such inquiry; to wit, because the quality of the persons that did it leaves hardly any room for such a question.” And therefore as you have been found guilty of a great deal of impudence and sauciness in the undertaking of this cause, so since you seem here conscious of your own impertinence, I shall give you the shorter answer. To your question then; by what authority the house of commons either condemned the king themselves, or delegated that power to others; I answer, they did it by virtue of the supreme authority on earth. How they come to have the supreme power, you may learn by what I have said already, when I have refuted your impertinencies upon that subject. If you believed yourself, that you could ever say enough upon any subject, you would not be so tedious in repeating the same thing so many times over. And the house of commons might delegate their judicial power by the same reason, by which you say the king may delegate his, who received all he had from the people. Hence in that solemn league and covenant that you object to us, the parliaments of England and Scotland solemnly protest and engage to each other, to punish the traitors in such manner as “the supreme, judicial authority in both nations, or such as should have a delegated power from them,” should think fit. Now you hear the parliaments of both nations protest with one voice, that they may delegate their judicial power, which they call the supreme; so that you move a vain and frivolous controversy about delegating this power.

“But,” say you, “there were added to those judges, that were made choice of out of the house of commons, some officers of the army, and it never was known, that soldiers had any right to try a subject for his life.” I will silence you in a very few words: you may remember, that we are not now discoursing of a subject, but of an enemy; whom if a general of an army, after he has taken him prisoner, resolves to dispatch, would he be thought to proceed otherwise than according to custom and martial law, if he himself with some of his officers should sit upon him, and try and condemn him? An enemy to a state, made a prisoner of war, cannot be looked upon to be so much as a member, much less a king in that state. This is declared by that sacred law of St. Edward, which denies that a bad king is a king at all, or ought to be called so. Whereas you say, it was “not the whole, but a part of the house of commons, that tried and condemned the king,” I give you this answer: the number of them, who gave their votes for putting the king to death, was far greater than is necessary, according to the custom of our parliaments, to transact the greatest affairs of the kingdom, in the absence of the rest; who since they were absent through their own fault, (for to revolt to the common enemy in their hearts, is the worst sort of absence,) their absence ought not to hinder the rest who continued faithful to the cause, from preserving the state; which when it was in a tottering condition, and almost quite reduced to slavery and utter ruin, the whole body of the people had at first committed to their fidelity, prudence, and courage. And they acted their parts like men; they set themselves in opposition to the unruly wilfulness, the rage, the secret designs of an inveterate and exasperated king; they preferred the common liberty and safety before their own; they outdid all former parliaments, they outdid all their ancestors, in conduct, magnanimity, and steadiness to their cause. Yet these very men did a great part of the people ungratefully desert in the midst of their undertaking, though they had promised them all fidelity, all the help and assistance they could afford them. These were for slavery and peace, with sloth and luxury, upon any terms: others demanded their liberty, nor would accept of a peace that was not sure and honourable. What should the parliament do in this case? Ought they to have defended this part of the people, that was sound, and continued faithful to them and their country, or to have sided with those that deserted both? I know what you will say they ought to have done. You are not Eurylochus, but Elpenor, a miserable enchanted beast, a filthy swine, accustomed to a sordid slavery even under a woman; so that you have not the least relish of true magnanimity, nor consequently of liberty, which is the effect of it: you would have all other men slaves, because you find in yourself no generous, ingenuous inclinations; you say nothing, you breathe nothing, but what is mean and servile. You raise another scruple, to wit, “that he was the king of Scotland too, whom we condemned;” as if he might therefore do what he would in England.

But that you may conclude this chapter, which of all others is the most weak and insipid, at least with some witty quirk, “there are two little words,” say you, “that are made up of the same number of letters, and differ only in the placing of them, but whose significations are wide asunder, to wit, Vis and Jus, (might and right.)” It is no great wonder that such a three-lettered man as you, (fur, a thief,) should make such a witticism upon three letters: it is the greater wonder (which yet you assert throughout your book) that two things so directly opposite to one another as those two are, should yet meet and become one and the same thing in kings. For what violence was ever acted by kings, which you do not affirm to be their right? These are all the passages, that I could pick out of nine long pages, that I thought deserved an answer. The rest consists either of repetitions of things that have been answered more than once, or such as have no relation to the matter in hand. So that my being more brief in this chapter than in the rest is not to be imputed to want of diligence in me, which, how irksome soever you are to me, I have not slackened, but to your tedious impertinence, so void of matter and sense.

CHAPTER XII.

I WISH, Salmasius, that you had left out this part of your discourse concerning the king’s crime, which it had been more advisable for yourself and your party to have done; for I am afraid lest in giving you an answer to it, I should appear too sharp and severe upon him, now he is dead, and hath received his punishment. But since you choose rather to discourse confidently and at large upon that subject, I will make you sensible, that you could not have done a more inconsiderate thing, than to reserve the worst part of your cause to the last, to wit, that of ripping up and inquiring into the king’s crimes; which when I shall have proved them to have been true and most exorbitant, they will render his memory unpleasant and odious to all good men, and imprint now in the close of the controversy a just hatred of you, who undertake his defence, on the reader’s minds. Say you, “his accusation may be divided into two parts, one is conversant about his morals, the other taxeth him with such faults as he might commit in his public capacity.” I will be content to pass by in silence that part of his life that he spent in banquetting, at plays, and in the conversation of women; for what can there be in luxury and excess worth relating? And what would those things have been to us, if he had been a private person? But since he would be a king, as he could not live a private life, so neither could his vices be like those of a private person. For in the first place, he did a great deal of mischief by his example: in the second place, all that time that he spent upon his lust, and his sports, which was a great part of his time, he stole from the state, the government of which he had undertaken: thirdly and lastly, he squandered away vast sums of money, which were not his own, but the public revenue of the nation, in his domestic luxury and extravagance. So that in his private life at home he first began to be an ill king. But let us rather pass over to those crimes, “that he is charged with on the account of misgovernment.” Here you lament his being condemned as a tyrant, a traitor, and a murderer. That he had no wrong done him, shall now be made appear. But first let us define a tyrant, not according to vulgar conceits, but the judgment of Aristotle, and of all learned men. He is a tyrant who regards his own welfare and profit only, and not that of the people. So Aristotle defines one in the tenth book of his Ethics, and elsewhere, and so do very many others. Whether Charles regarded his own or the people’s good, these few things of many, that I shall but touch upon, will evince.

When his rents and other public revenues of the crown would not defray the expenses of the court, he laid most heavy taxes upon the people; and when they were squandered away, he invented new ones; not for the benefit, honour, or defence of the state, but that he might hoard up, or lavish out in one house, the riches and wealth, not of one, but of three nations. When at this rate he broke loose, and acted without any colour of law to warrant his proceedings, knowing that the parliament was the only thing that could give him check, he endeavoured either wholly to lay aside the very calling of parliaments, or calling them just as often, and no oftener, than to serve his own turn, to make them entirely at his devotion. Which bridle when he had cast off himself, he put another bridle upon the people; he put garrisons of German horse and Irish foot in many towns and cities, and that in time of peace. Do you think he does not begin to look like a tyrant? In which very thing, as in many other particulars, which you have formerly given me occasion to instance, though you scorn to have Charles compared with so cruel a tyrant as Nero, he resembled him extremely much. For Nero likewise often threatened to take away the senate. Besides, he bore extreme hard upon the consciences of good men, and compelled them to the use of ceremonies and superstitious worship, borrowed from popery, and by him reintroduced into the church. They that would not conform, were imprisoned or banished. He made war upon the Scots twice for no other cause than that. By all these actions he has surely deserved the name of a tyrant once over at least.

Now I will tell you why the word traitor was put into his indictment. When he assured his parliament by promises, by proclamations, by imprecations, that he had no design against the state, at that very time did he list Papists in Ireland; he sent a private embassy to the king of Denmark to beg assistance from him of arms, horses, and men, expressly against the parliament; and was endeavouring to raise an army first in England, and then in Scotland. To the English he promised the plunder of the city of London; to the Scots, that the four northern counties should be added to Scotland, if they would but help him to get rid of the parliament, by what means soever. These projects not succeeding, he sent over one Dillon, a traitor, into Ireland with private instructions to the natives, to fall suddenly upon all the English that inhabited there. These are the most remarkable instances of his treasons, not taken up upon hearsay and idle reports, but discovered by letters under his own hand and seal. And finally I suppose no man will deny that he was a murderer, by whose order the Irish took arms, and put to death with most exquisite torments above a hundred thousand English, who lived peaceably by them, and without any apprehension of danger; and who raised so great a civil war in the other two kingdoms. Add to all this, that at the treaty in the Isle of Wight the king openly took upon himself the guilt of the war, and cleared the parliament in the confession he made there, which is publicly known. Thus you have in short why King Charles was adjudged a tyrant, a traitor, and a murderer.—“But,” say you, “why was he not declared so before, neither in that solemn league and covenant, nor afterwards when he was delivered to them, either by the Presbyterians or the Independents, but on the other hand was received as a king ought to be, with all reverence?” This very thing is sufficient to persuade any rational man, that the parliament entered not into any councils of quite deposing the king, but as their last refuge, after they had suffered and undergone all that possibly they could, and had attempted all other ways and means. You alone endeavour maliciously to lay that to their charge, which to all good men cannot but evidence their great patience, moderation, and perhaps a too long forbearing with the king’s pride and arrogance. But “in the month of August, before the king suffered, the house of commons, which then bore the only sway, and was governed by the Independents, wrote letters to the Scots, in which they acquainted them, that they never intended to alter the form of government that had obtained so long in England under king, lords, and commons.” You may see from hence, how little reason there is to ascribe the deposing of the king to the principles of the Independents. They, that never used to dissemble and conceal their tenets, even then, when they had the sole management of affairs, profess, “That they never intended to alter the government.” But if afterwards a thing came into their minds, which at first they intended not, why might they not take such a course, though before not intended, as appeared most advisable, and most for the nation’s interest?—Especially when they found, that the king could not possibly be entreated or induced to assent to those just demands, that they had made from time to time, and which were always the same from first to last. He persisted in those perverse sentiments with respect to religion and his own right, which he had all along espoused, and which were so destructive to us; not in the least altered from the man that he was, when in peace and war he did us all so much mischief. If he assented to any thing, he gave no obscure hints, that he did it against his will, and that whenever he should come into power again, he would look upon such his assent as null and void. The same thing his son declared by writing under his hand, when in those days he run away with part of the fleet, and so did the king himself by letters to some of his own party in London. In the mean time, against the avowed sense of the parliament, he struck up a private peace with the Irish, the most barbarous enemies imaginable to England, upon base dishonorable terms; but whenever he invited the English to treaties of peace, at those very times, with all the power he had, and interest he could make, he was preparing for war. In this case, what should they do, who were entrusted with the care of the government? Ought they to have betrayed the safety of us all to our most bitter adversary? Or would you have had them left us to undergo the calamities of another seven years’ war, not to say worse? God put a better mind into them, of preferring, pursuant to that very solemn league and covenant, their religion and liberties, before those thoughts they once had, of not rejecting the king; for they had not gone so far as to vote it; all which they saw at last, (though indeed later than they might have done,) could not possibly subsist, as long as the king continued king. The parliament ought and must of necessity be entirely free, and at liberty to provide for the good of the nation, as occasion requires; nor ought they so to be wedded to their first sentiments, as to scruple the altering their minds, for their own, or the nation’s good, if God put an opportunity into their hands of procuring it. But “the Scots were of another opinion; for they, in a letter to Charles, the king’s son, call his father a most sacred prince, and the putting him to death a most execrable villainy.” Do not you talk of the Scots, whom you know not; we know them well enough, and know the time when they called that same king a most execrable person, a murderer and a traitor; and the putting a tyrant to death a most sacred action.

Then you pick holes in the king’s charge, as not being properly penned; and you ask “why we needed to call him a traitor and a murderer, after we had styled him a tyrant; since the word tyrant includes all the crimes that may be;” and then you explain to us grammatically and critically, what a tyrant is. Away with those trifles, you pedagogue, which that one definition of Aristotle’s, that has lately been cited, will utterly confound; and teach such a doctor as you, that the word tyrant (for all your concern is barely to have some understanding of words) may be applied to one, who is neither a traitor nor a murderer. But “the laws of England do not make it treason in the king, to stir up sedition against himself or the people.” Nor do they say, that the parliament can be guilty of treason by deposing a bad king, nor that any parliament ever was so, though they have often done it; but our laws plainly and clearly declare, that a king may violate, diminish, nay, and wholly lose his royalty. For that expression in the law of St. Edward, of “losing the name of a king,” signifies neither more nor less, than being deprived of the kingly office and dignity; which befel Chilperic king of France, whose example for illustration sake is taken notice of in the law itself. There is not a lawyer amongst us, that can deny, but that the highest treason may be committed against the kingdom as well as against the king. I appeal to Glanville himself, whom you cite, “If any man attempt to put the king to death, or raise sedition in the realm, it is high treason.” So that attempt of some papists to blow up the parliament-house, and the lords and commons there with gunpowder, was by King James himself, and both houses of parliament, declared to be high treason, not against the king only, but against the parliament and the whole kingdom. It would be to no purpose to quote more of our statutes, to prove so clear a truth; which yet I could easily do. For the thing itself is ridiculous, and absurd to imagine, that high treason may be committed against the king, and not against the people, for whose good, nay, and by whose leave, as I may say, the king is what he is: so that you babble over so many statutes of ours to no purpose; you toil and wallow in our ancient law-books to no purpose; for the laws themselves stand or fall by authority of parliament, who always had power to confirm or repeal them; and the parliament is the sole judge of what is rebellion, what high treason, (læsa majestas,) and what not. Majesty never was vested to that degree in the person of the king, as not to be more conspicuous and more august in parliament, as I have often shown: but who can endure to hear such a senseless fellow, such a French mountebank as you, declare what our laws are? And, you English fugitives! so many bishops, doctors, lawyers, who pretend that all learning and ingenuous literature is fled out of England with yourselves, was there not one of you that could defend the king’s cause and your own, and that in good Latin also, to be submitted to the judgment of other nations, but that this brainsick, beggarly Frenchman must be hired to undertake the defence of a poor indigent king, surrounded with so many infant-priests and doctors? This very thing, I assure you, will be a great imputation to you amongst foreigners; and you will be thought deservedly to have lost that cause, you were so far from being able to defend by force of arms, as that you cannot so much as write in behalf of it.

But now I come to you again, good man Goosecap, who scribble so finely; if at least you are come to yourself again: for I find you here towards the latter end of your book in a deep sleep, and dreaming of some voluntary death or other, that is nothing to the purpose. Then you “deny, that it is possible for a king in his right wits to embroil his people in seditions, to betray his own forces to be slaughtered by enemies, and raise factions against himself.” All which things having been done by many kings, and particularly by Charles the late king of England, you will no longer doubt, I hope, especially being addicted to Stoicism, but that all tyrants, as well as profligate villains, are downright mad. Hear what Horace says, “Whoever through a senseless stupidity, or any other cause whatsoever, hath his understanding so blinded as not to discern truth, the Stoics account of him as of a madman: and such are whole nations, such are kings and princes, such are all mankind; except those very few that are wise.” So that if you would clear King Charles from the imputation of acting like a madman, you must first vindicate his integrity, and show that he never acted like an ill man. “But a king,” you say, “cannot commit treason against his own subjects and vassals.” In the first place, since we are as free as any people under heaven, we will not be imposed upon by any barbarous custom of any other nation whatsoever. In the second place, suppose we had been the king’s vassals; that relation would not have obliged us to endure a tyrant to reign and lord it over us. All subjection to magistrates, as our own laws declare, is circumscribed, and confined within the bounds of honesty, and the public good. Read Leg. Hen. I. Cap. 55. The obligation betwixt a lord and his tenants is mutual, and remains so long as the lord protects his tenant; (this is all our lawyers tell us;) but if the lord be too severe and cruel to his tenant, and do him some heinous injury, “The whole relation betwixt them, and whatever obligation the tenant is under by having done homage to his lord, is utterly dissolved and extinguished.” These are the very words of Bracton and Fleta. So that in some case, the law itself warrants even a slave, or a vassal, to oppose his lord, and allows the slave to kill him, if he vanquish him in battle. If a city or a whole nation may not lawfully take this course with a tyrant, the condition of freemen will be worse than that of slaves.

Then you go about to excuse King Charles’s shedding of innocent blood, partly by murders committed by other kings, and partly by some instances of men put to death by them lawfully. For the matter of the Irish massacre, you refer the reader to Ἐιϰων Βασιλιϰὴ; and I refer you to Eiconoclastes. The town of Rochel being taken, and the townsmen betrayed, assistance shown, but not afforded them, you will not have laid at Charles’s door; nor have I any thing to say, whether he was faulty in that business or not; he did mischief enough at home; we need not inquire into what misdemeanours he was guilty of abroad. But you in the mean time would make all the protestant churches, that have at any time defended themselves by force of arms against princes, who were professed enemies of their religion, to have been guilty of rebellion. Let them consider how much it concerns them for the maintaining their ecclesiastical discipline, and asserting their own integrity, not to pass by so great an indignity offered them by a person bred up by and amongst themselves. That which troubles us most is, that the English likewise were betrayed, in that expedition. He who had designed long ago to convert the government of England into a tyranny, thought he could not bring it to pass, till the flower and strength of the military power of the nation were cut off. Another of his crimes was, the causing some words to be struck out of the usual coronation oath, before he himself would take it. Unworthy and abominable action! The act was wicked in itself; what shall be said of him that undertakes to justify it? For by the eternal God, what greater breach of faith, and violation of all laws, can possibly be imagined? What ought to be more sacred to him, next to the holy sacraments themselves, than that oath? Which of the two do you think the more flagitious person, him that offends against the law, or him that endeavours to make the law equally guilty with himself? Or rather him who subverts the law itself, that he may not seem to offend against it? For thus that king violated that oath, which he ought most religiously to have sworn to; but that he might not seem openly and publicly to violate it, he craftily adulterated and corrupted it; and lest he himself should be accounted perjured, he turned the very oath into a perjury. What other could be expected, than that his reign would be full of injustice, craft, and misfortune, who began it with so detestable an injury to his people? And who durst pervert and adulterate that law, which he thought the only obstacle that stood in his way, and hindered him from perverting all the rest of the laws: But “that oath” (thus you justify him) “lays no other obligation upon kings, than the laws themselves do: and kings pretend, that they will be bound and limited by laws, though indeed they are altogether from under the power of the laws.” Is it not prodigious, that a man should dare to express himself so sacrilegiously and so senselessly, as to assert, that an oath sacredly sworn upon the Holy Evangelists, may be dispensed with, and set aside as a little insignificant thing, without any cause whatsoever! Charles himself refutes you, you prodigy of impiety, who, thinking that oath no light matter, choose rather by a subterfuge to avoid the force of it, or by a fallacy to elude it, than openly to violate it; and would rather falsify and corrupt the oath, than mainfestly forswear himself after he had taken it. But “The king indeed swears to his people, as the people do to him; but the people swear fidelity to the king, not the king to them.” Pretty invention! Does not he that promises, and binds himself by an oath to do any thing to or for another, oblige his fidelity to them that require the oath of him? Of a truth, every king swears Fidelity, and Service, and Obedience to the people, with respect to the performance of whatsoever he promises upon oath to do.

Then you run back to William the Conqueror, who was forced more than once to swear to perform, not what he himself would, but what the people and the great men of the realm required of him. If many kings “are crowned without the usual solemnity,” and reign without taking any oath, the same thing may be said of the people; a great many of whom never took the oath of allegiance. If the king by not taking an oath be at liberty, the people are so too. And that part of the people that has sworn, swore not to the king only, but to the realm, and the laws, by which the king came to his crown; and no otherwise to the king, than whilst he should act according to those laws, that “the common People,” that is, the house of Commons, should choose; (quas vulgus elegerit.) For it were folly to alter the phrase of our law, and turn it into more genuine Latin. This clause, (quas vulgus elegerit,) which the commons shall choose, Charles before he was crowned, procured to be razed out. “But,” say you, “without the king’s assent the people can choose no laws;” and for this you cite two statutes, viz. Anno 37 H. VI., Cap. 15, and 13 Edw. IV., Cap. 8: but these two statutes are so far from appearing in our statute-books, that in the years you mention neither of those kings enacted any laws at all. Go now and complain, that those fugitives, who pretended to furnish you with matter out of our statutes, imposed upon you in it; and let other people in the mean time stand astonished at your impudence and vanity, who are not ashamed to pretend to be thoroughly versed in such books, as it is so evident you have never looked into, nor so much as seen. And that clause in the coronation oath which such a brazen-faced brawler as you call fictitious, “The king’s friends,” you say yourself, “acknowledge, that it may possibly be extant in some ancient copies, but that it grew into disuse, because it had no convenient signification.” But for that very reason did our ancestors insert it in the oath, that the oath might have such a signification as would not be for a tyrant’s conveniency. If it had really grown into disuse, which yet is most false, there was the greater need of reviving it; but even that would have been to no purpose, according to your doctrine: “For that custom of taking an oath, as kings now-a-days generally use it, is no more,” you say, “than a bare ceremony.” And yet the king, when the bishops were to be put down, pretended that he could not do it by reason of that oath. And consequently that reverend and sacred oath, as it serves for the king’s turn, or not, must be solemn and binding, or an empty ceremony: which I earnestly entreat my countrymen to take notice of, and to consider what manner of a king they are like to have, if he ever come back. For it would never have entered into the thoughts of this rascally foreign grammarian, to write a discourse of the rights of the crown of England, unless both Charles and Stuart now in banishment, and tainted with his father’s principles, and those profligate tutors that he has along with him, had industriously suggested to him what they would have writ. They dictated to him, “That the whole parliament were liable to be proceeded against as traitors, because they declared without the king’s assent all them to be traitors, who had taken up arms against the parliament of England; and that parliaments were but the king’s vassals: that the oath, which our kings take at their coronation, is but a ceremony:” And why not that of a vassal too? So that no reverence of laws, no sacredness of an oath, will be sufficient to protect your lives and fortunes, either from the exorbitance of a furious, or the revenge of an exasperated, prince, who has been so instructed from his cradle, as to think laws, religion, nay, and oaths themselves, ought to be subject to his will and pleasure. How much better is it, and more becoming yourselves, if you desire riches, liberty, peace, and empire, to obtain them assuredly by your own virtue, industry, prudence, and valour, than to long after and hope for them in vain under the rule of a king? They who are of opinion that these things cannot be compassed but under a king, and a lord, it cannot well be expressed how mean, how base, I do not say, how unworthy, thoughts they have of themselves; for in effect, what do they other than confess, that they themselves are lazy, weak, senseless, silly persons, and framed for slavery both in body and mind? And indeed all manner of slavery is scandalous and disgraceful to a free-born ingenuous person; but for you, after you have recovered your lost liberty, by God’s assistance, and your own arms; after the performance of so many valiant exploits, and the making so remarkable an example of a most potent king, to desire to return again into a condition of bondage and slavery, will not only be scandalous and disgraceful, but an impious and wicked thing; and equal to that of the Israelites, who, for desiring to return to the Egyptian slavery, were so severely punished for that sordid, slavish temper of mind, and so many of them destroyed by that God who had been their deliverer.

But what say you now, who would persuade us to become slaves? “The king,” say you, “had a power of pardoning such as were guilty of treason, and other crimes; which evinces sufficiently, that the king himself was under no law.” The king might indeed pardon treason, not against the kingdom, but against himself; and so may any body else pardon wrongs done to themselves; and he might, perhaps, pardon some other offences, though not always. But does it follow, because in some cases he had the right of saving a malefactor’s life, that therefore he must have a right to destroy all good men? If the king be impleaded in an inferior court, he is not obliged to answer, but by his attorney: does it therefore follow, that when he is summoned by all his subjects to appear in parliament, he may choose whether he will appear or no, and refuse to answer in person? You say, “That we endeavour to justify what we have done by the Hollanders’ example;” and upon this occasion, fearing the loss of that stipend with which the Hollanders feed such a murrain and pest as you are, if by reviling the English you should consequently reflect upon them that maintain you, you endeavour to demonstrate “how unlike their actions and ours are.” The comparison that you make betwixt them I resolve to omit (though many things in it are most false, and other things flattery all over, which yet you thought yourself obliged to put down, to deserve your pension). For the English think they need not allege the examples of foreigners for their justification. They have municipal laws of their own, by which they have acted; laws with relation to the matter in hand the best in the world: they have the examples of their ancestors, great and gallant men, for their imitation, who never gave way to the exorbitant power of princes, and who have put many of them to death, when their government became insupportable. They were born free, they stand in need of no other nation, they can make what laws they please for their own good government. One law in particular they have a great veneration for, and a very ancient one it is, enacted by nature itself, That all human laws, all civil right and government, must have a respect to the safety and welfare of good men, and not be subject to the lusts of princes.

From hence to the end of your book I find nothing but rubbish and trifles, picked out of the former chapters; of which you have here raised so great a heap, that I cannot imagine what other design you could have in it, than to presage the ruin of your whole fabric. At last, after an infinite deal of tittle-tattle, you make an end, calling “God to witness, that you undertook the defence of this cause, not only because you were desired so to do, but because your own conscience told you, that you could not possibly undertake the defence of a better.” Is it fit for you to intermeddle with our matters, with which you have nothing to do, because you were desired, when we ourselves did not desire you? to reproach with contumelious and opprobrious language, and in a printed book, the supreme magistracy of the English nation, when according to the authority and power that they are intrusted with, they do but their duty within their own jurisdiction, and all this without the least injury or provocation from them? (for they did not so much as know that there was such a man in the world as you.) And I pray by whom were you desired? By your wife, I suppose, who, they say, exercises a kingly right and jurisdiction over you; and whenever she has a mind to it (as Fulvia is made to speak in that obscene epigram, that you collected some centoes out of, page 320) cries, “Either write, or let us fight;” that made you write perhaps, lest the signal should be given. Or were you asked by Charles the younger, and that profligate gang of vagabond courtiers, and like a second Balaam called upon by another Balak to restore a desperate cause by ill writing, that was lost by ill fighting? That may be; but there is this difference, for he was a wise understanding man, and rid upon an ass that could speak, to curse the people of God: thou art a very talkative ass thyself, and rid by a woman, and being surrounded with the healed heads of the bishops, that heretofore thou hadst wounded, thou seemest to represent that beast in the Revelation.

But they say, that a little after you had written this book you repented of what you had done. It is well, if it be so; and to make your repentance public, I think the best course that you can take will be, for this long book that you have writ, to take a halter, and make one long letter of yourself. So Judas Iscariot repented, to whom you are like; and that young Charles knew, which made him send you the purse, Judas his badge; for he had heard before, and found afterward by experience, that you were an apostate and a devil. Judas betrayed Christ himself, and you betray his church; you have taught heretofore, that bishops were antichristian, and you are now revolted to their party. You now undertake the defence of their cause, whom formerly you damned to the pit of hell. Christ delivered all men from bondage, and you endeavour to enslave all mankind. Never question, since you have been such a villain to God himself, his church, and all mankind in general, but that the same fate attends you that befell your equal, out of despair rather than repentance, to be weary of your life, and hang yourself, and burst asunder as he did; and to send beforehand that faithless and treacherous conscience of yours, that railing conscience at good and holy men, to that place of torment that is prepared for you. And now I think, through God’s assistance, I have finished the work I undertook, to wit, the defence of the noble actions of my countrymen at home, and abroad, against the raging and envious madness of this distracted sophister; and the asserting of the common rights of the people against the unjust domination of kings, not out of any hatred to kings, but tyrants: nor have I purposely left unanswered any one argument alleged by my adversary, nor any one example or authority quoted by him, that seemed to have any force in it, or the least colour of an argument. Perhaps I have been guilty rather of the other extreme, of replying to some of his fooleries and trifles, as if they were solid arguments, and thereby may seem to have attributed more to them than they deserved.

One thing yet remains to be done, which perhaps is of the greatest concern of all, and that is, that you, my countrymen, refute this adversary of yours yourselves, which I do not see any other means of your effecting, than by a constant endeavour to outdo all men’s bad words by your own good deeds. When you laboured under more sorts of oppression than one, you betook yourselves to God for refuge, and he was graciously pleased to hear your most earnest prayer and desires. He has gloriously delivered you, the first of nations, from the two greatest mischiefs of this life, and most pernicious to virtue, tyranny and superstition; he has endued you with greatness of mind to be the first of mankind, who after having conquered their own king, and having had him delivered into their hands, have not scrupled to condemn him judicially, and pursuant to that sentence of condemnation, to put him to death. After the performing so glorious an action as this, you ought to do nothing that is mean and little, not so much as to think of, much less to do, any thing but what is great and sublime. Which to attain to, this is your only way; as you have subdued your enemies in the field, so to make appear, that unarmed, and in the highest outward peace and tranquillity, you of all mankind are best able to subdue ambition, avarice, the love of riches, and can best avoid the corruptions that prosperity is apt to introduce, (which generally subdue and triumph over other nations,) to show as great justice, temperance and moderation in the maintaining your liberty, as you have shown courage in freeing yourselves from slavery. These are the only arguments, by which you will be able to evince, that you are not such persons as this fellow represents you, Traitors, Robbers, Murderers, Parricides, Madmen; that you did not put your king to death out of any ambitious design, or a desire of invading the rights of others, not out of any seditious principles or sinister ends; that it was not an act of fury or madness; but that it was wholly out of love to your liberty, your religion, to justice, virtue, and your country, that you punished a tyrant. But if it should fall out otherwise, (which God forbid,) if as you have been valiant in war, you should grow debauched in peace, you that have had such visible demonstrations of the goodness of God to yourselves, and his wrath against your enemies; and that you should not have learned by so eminent, so remarkable an example before your eyes, to fear God, and work righteousness; for my part, I shall easily grant and confess (for I cannot deny it) whatever ill men may speak or think of you, to be very true. And you will find in a little time, that God’s displeasure against you will be greater than it has been against your adversaries, greater than his grace and favour has been to yourselves, which you have had larger experience of than any other nation under heaven.

A TREATISE OF CIVIL POWER IN ECCLESIASTICAL CAUSES;

SHOWING THAT IT IS NOT LAWFUL FOR ANY POWER ON EARTH TO COMPEL IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

[ FIRST PUBLISHED 1659.]

TO THE PARLIAMENT OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF ENGLAND, WITH THE DOMINIONS THEREOF.

I HAVE prepared, Supreme Council! against the much-expected time of your sitting, this treatise; which, though to all Christian magistrates equally belonging, and therefore to have been written in the common language of Christendom, natural duty and affection hath confined and dedicated first to my own nation; and in a season wherein the timely reading thereof, to the easier accomplishment of your great work, may save you much labour and interruption: of two parts usually proposed, civil and ecclesiastical, recommending civil only to your proper care, ecclesiastical to them only from whom it takes both that name and nature. Yet not for this cause only do I require or trust to find acceptance, but in a twofold respect besides: first, as bringing clear evidence of Scripture and protestant maxims to the parliament of England, who in all their late acts, upon occasion, have professed to assert only the true protestant Christian religion, as it is contained in the Holy Scriptures: next, in regard that your power being but for a time, and having in yourselves a Christian liberty of your own, which at one time or other may be oppressed, thereof truly sensible, it will concern you while you are in power, so to regard other men’s consciences, as you would your own should be regarded in the power of others; and to consider that any law against conscience is alike in force against any conscience, and so may one way or other justly redound upon yourselves. One advantage I make no doubt of, that I shall write to many eminent persons of your number, already perfect and resolved in this important article of Christianity. Some of whom I remember to have heard often for several years, at a council next in authority to your own, so well joining religion with civil prudence, and yet so well distinguishing the different power of either; and this not only voting, but frequently reasoning why it should be so, that if any there present had been before of an opinion contrary, he might doubtless have departed thence a convert in that point, and have confessed, that then both commonwealth and religion will at length, if ever, flourish in Christendom, when either they who govern discern between civil and religious, or they only who so discern shall be admitted to govern. Till then, nothing but troubles, persecutions, commotions can be expected, the inward decay of true religion among ourselves, and the utter overthrow at last by a common enemy. Of civil liberty I have written heretofore, by the appointment, and not without the approbation, of civil power: of Christian liberty I write now, which others long since having done with all freedom under heathen emperors, I should do wrong to suspect, that I now shall with less under Christian governors, and such especially as profess openly their defence of Christian liberty; although I write this, not otherwise appointed or induced, than by an inward persuasion of the Christian duty, which I may usefully discharge herein to the common Lord and Master of us all, and the certain hope of his approbation, first and chiefest to be sought: in the hand of whose providence I remain, praying all success and good event on your public councils, to the defence of true religion and our civil rights.

JOHN MILTON.

A TREATISE OF CIVIL POWER IN ECCLESIASTICAL CAUSES.

TWO things there be, which have been ever found working much mischief to the church of God, and the advancement of truth; force on one side restraining, and hire on the other side corrupting, the teachers thereof. Few ages have been since the ascension of our Saviour, wherein the one of these two, or both together, have not prevailed. It can be at no time, therefore, unseasonable to speak of these things; since by them the church is either in continual detriment and oppression, or in continual danger.—The former shall be at this time my argument; the latter as I shall find God disposing me, and opportunity inviting. What I argue, shall be drawn from the Scripture only; and therein from true fundamental principles of the gospel, to all knowing Christians undeniable. And if the governors of this commonwealth, since the rooting out of prelates, have made least use of force in religion, and most have favoured Christian liberty of any in this island before them since the first preaching of the gospel, for which we are not to forget our thanks to God, and their due praise; they may, I doubt not in this treatise, find that which not only will confirm them to defend still the Christian liberty which we enjoy, but will incite them also to enlarge it, if in aught they yet straiten it. To them who yet perhaps hereafter, less experienced in religion, may come to govern or give us laws, this or other such, if they please, may be a timely instruction: however, to the truth it will be at all times no unneedful testimony, at least some discharge of that general duty, which no Christian, but according to what he hath received, knows is required of him, if he have aught more conducing to the advancement of religion, than what is usually endeavoured, freely to impart it.

It will require no great labour of exposition, to unfold what is here meant by matters of religion; being as soon apprehended as defined, such things as belong chiefly to the knowledge and service of God; and are either above the reach and light of nature without revelation from above, and therefore liable to be variously understood by human reason, or such things as are enjoined or forbidden by divine precept, which else by the light of reason would seem indifferent to be done or not done; and so likewise must needs appear to every man as the precept is understood. Whence I here mean by conscience or religion that full persuasion, whereby we are assured that our belief and practice, as far as we are able to apprehend and probably make appear, is according to the will of God and his Holy Spirit within us, which we ought to follow much rather than any law of man, as not only his word every where bids us, but the very dictate of reason tells us. Acts iv. 19, “Whether it be right in the sight of God, to hearken to you more than to God, judge ye.” That for belief or practice in religion, according to this conscientious persuasion, no man ought to be punished or molested by any outward force on earth whatsoever, I distrust not, through God’s implored assistance, to make plain by these following arguments.

First, it cannot be denied, being the main foundation of our protestant religion, that we of these ages, having no other divine rule or authority from without us, warrantable to one another as a common ground, but the Holy Scripture, and no other within us but the illumination of the Holy Spirit so interpreting that scripture as warrantable only to ourselves, and to such whose consciences we can so persuade, can have no other ground in matters of religion but only from the Scriptures. And these being not possible to be understood without this divine illumination, which no man can know at all times to be in himself, much less to be at any time for certain in any other, it follows clearly, that no man or body of men in these times can be the infallible judges or determiners in matters of religion to any other men’s consciences but their own. And therefore those Bereans are commended, Acts xvii. 11, who after the preaching even of St. Paul, “searched the Scriptures daily, whether those things were so.” Nor did they more than what God himself in many places commands us by the same apostle, to search, to try, to judge of these things ourselves: and gives us reason also, Gal. vi. 4, 5, “Let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another: for every man shall bear his own burden.” If then we count it so ignorant and irreligious in the papist, to think himself discharged in God’s account, believing only as the church believes, how much greater condemnation will it be to the protestant his condemner, to think himself justified, believing only as the state believes? With good cause, therefore, it is in the general consent of all sound protestant writers, that neither traditions, councils, nor canons of any visible church, much less edicts of any magistrate or civil session, but the Scripture only, can be the final judge or rule in matters of religion, and that only in the conscience of every Christian to himself.—Which protestation made by the first public reformers of our religion against the imperial edicts of Charles the Fifth, imposing church-traditions without Scripture, gave first beginning to the name of Protestant; and with that name hath ever been received this doctrine, which prefers the Scripture before the church, and acknowledges none but the Scripture sole interpreter of itself to the conscience. For if the church be not sufficient to be implicitly believed, as we hold it is not, what can there else be named of more authority than the church but the conscience, than which God only is greater, 1 John iii. 20? But if any man shall pretend that the Scripture judges to his conscience for other men, he makes himself greater not only than the church, but also than the Scripture, than the consciences of other men: a presumption too high for any mortal, since every true Christian, able to give a reason of his faith, hath the word of God before him, the promised Holy Spirit, and the mind of Christ within him, 1 Cor. ii. 16; a much better and a safer guide of conscience, which as far as concerns himself he may far more certainly know, than any outward rule imposed upon him by others, whom he inwardly neither knows nor can know; at least knows nothing of them more sure than this one thing, that they cannot be his judges in religion. 1 Cor. ii. 15, “The spiritual man judgeth all things, but he himself is judged of no man.” Chiefly for this cause do all true protestants account the pope Antichrist, for that he assumes to himself this infallibility over both the conscience and the Scripture; “sitting in the temple of God,” as it were opposite to God, “and exalting himself above all that is called God, or is worshipped,” 2 Thess. ii. 4. That is to say, not only above all judges and magistrates, who though they be called gods, are far beneath infallible; but also above God himself, by giving law both to the Scripture, to the conscience, and to the Spirit itself of God within us. When as we find, James iv. 12, “There is one lawgiver, who is able to save and to destroy: Who art thou that judgest another?” That Christ is the only lawgiver of his church, and that it is here meant in religious matters, no well-grounded Christian will deny. Thus also St. Paul, Rom. xiv. 4, “Who art thou that judgest the servant of another? to his own lord he standeth or falleth: but he shall stand; for God is able to make him stand.” As therefore of one beyond expression bold and presumptuous, both these apostles demand, “Who art thou,” that presumest to impose other law or judgment in religion than the only lawgiver and judge Christ, who only can save and destroy, gives to the conscience? And the forecited place to the Thessalonians, by compared effects, resolves us, that be he or they who or wherever they be or can be, they are of far less authority than the church, whom in these things as protestants they receive not, and yet no less Antichrist in this main point of antichristianism, no less a pope or popedom than he at Rome, if not much more, by setting up supreme interpreters of Scripture either those doctors whom they follow, or, which is far worse, themselves as a civil papacy assuming unaccountable supremacy to themselves, not in civil only, but in ecclesiastical causes. Seeing then that in matters of religion, as hath been proved, none can judge or determine here on earth, no not church governors themselves, against the consciences of other believers, my inference is, or rather not mine but our Saviour’s own, that in those matters they neither can command nor use constraint, lest they run rashly on a pernicious consequence, forewarned in that parable, Matt. xiii. from the 29th to the 31st verse: “Lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares,” c. Whereby he declares, that this work neither his own ministers nor any else can discerningly enough or judgingly perform without his own immediate direction, in his own fit season, and that they ought till then not to attempt it. Which is further confirmed, 2 Cor. i. 24, “Not that we have dominion over your faith, but are helpers of your joy.” If apostles had no dominion or constraining power over faith or conscience, much less have ordinary ministers, 1 Pet. v. 2, 3, “Feed the flock of God, c. not by constraint, neither as being lords over God’s heritage.”

But some will object, that this overthrows all church-discipline, all censure of errors, if no man can determine. My answer is, that what they hear is plain Scripture, which forbids not church-sentence or determining, but as it ends in violence upon the conscience unconvinced. Let whoso will interpret or determine, so it be according to true church-discipline, which is exercised on them only who have willingly joined themselves in that covenant of union, and proceeds only to a separation from the rest, proceeds never to any corporal enforcement or forfeiture of money, which in all spiritual things are the two arms of Antichrist, not of the true church; the one being an inquisition, the other no better than a temporal indulgence of sin for money, whether by the church exacted or by the magistrate; both the one and the other a temporal satisfaction for what Christ hath satisfied eternally; a popish commuting of penalty, corporal for spiritual; a satisfaction to man, especially to the magistrate, for what and to whom we owe none: these and more are the injustices of force and fining in religion, besides what I most insist on, the violation of God’s express commandment in the gospel, as hath been shown. Thus then, if church-governors cannot use force in religion, though but for this reason, because they cannot infallibly determine to the conscience without convincement, much less have civil magistrates authority to use force where they can much less judge; unless they mean only to be the civil executioners of them who have no civil power to give them such commission, no, nor yet ecclesiastical, to any force or violence in religion. To sum up all in brief, if we must believe as the magistrate appoints, why not rather as the church? If not as either without convincement, how can force be lawful?

But some are ready to cry out, what shall then be done to blasphemy? Them I would first exhort, not thus to terrify and pose the people with a Greek word; but to teach them better what it is, being a most usual and common word in that language to signify any slander, any malicious or evil speaking, whether against God or man, or any thing to good belonging: Blasphemy or evil speaking against God maliciously, is far from conscience in religion, according to that of Mark ix. 39, “There is none who doth a powerful work in my name, and can lightly speak evil of me.” If this suffice not, I refer them to that prudent and well-deliberated act, August 9, 1650, where the parliament defines blasphemy against God, as far as it is a crime belonging to civil judicature, plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore; in plain English, more warily, more judiciously, more orthodoxally than twice their number of divines have done in many a prolix volume: although in all likelihood they whose whole study and profession these things are, should be most intelligent and authentic therein, as they are for the most part, yet neither they nor these unerring always, or infallible. But we shall not carry it thus; another Greek apparition stands in our way, Heresy and Heretic; in like manner also railed at to the people as in a tongue unknown. They should first interpret to them, that heresy, by what it signifies in that language, is no word of evil note, meaning only the choice or following of any opinion good or bad in religion, or any other learning: and thus not only in heathen authors, but in the New Testament itself, without censure or blame; Acts xv. 5, “Certain of the heresy of the Pharisees which believed;” and xxvi. 5, “After the exactest heresy of our religion I lived a Pharisee.” In which sense presbyterian or independent may without reproach be called a heresy. Where it is mentioned with blame, it seems to differ little from schism; 1 Cor. xi. 18, 19, “I hear that there be schisms among you,” c. for there must also heresies be among you, c. Though some, who write of heresy after their own heads, would make it far worse than schism: whenas on the contrary, schism signifies division, and in the worst sense; heresy, choice only of one opinion before another, which may be without discord. In apostolic times, therefore, ere the Scripture was written, heresy was a doctrine maintained against the doctrine by them delivered; which in these times can be no otherwise defined than a doctrine maintained against the light which we now only have, of the Scripture. Seeing therefore, that no man, no synod, no session of men, though called the Church, can judge definitively the sense of Scripture to another man’s conscience, which is well known to be a general maxim of the protestant religion; it follows plainly, that he who holds in religion that belief, or those opinions, which to his conscience and utmost understanding appear with most evidence or probability in the Scripture, though to others he seem erroneous, can no more be justly censured for a heretic than his censurers; who do but the same thing themselves, while they censure him for so doing. For ask them, or any protestant, which hath most authority, the church or the Scripture? They will answer, doubtless, that the Scripture: and what hath most authority, that no doubt but they will confess is to be followed. He then, who to his best apprehension follows the Scripture, though against any point of doctrine by the whole church received, is not the heretic; but he who follows the church against his conscience and persuasion grounded on the Scripture. To make this yet more undeniable, I shall only borrow a plain simile, the same which our own writers, when they would demonstrate plainest, that we rightly prefer the Scripture before the church, use frequently against the papist in this manner. As the Samaritans believed Christ, first for the woman’s word, but next and much rather for his own, so we the Scripture: first on the church’s word, but afterwards and much more for its own, as the word of God; yea, the church itself we believe then for the Scripture. The inference of itself follows; if by the protestant doctrine we believe the Scripture, not for the church’s saying, but for its own, as the word of God, then ought we to believe what in our conscience we apprehend the Scripture to say, though the visible church, with all her doctors, gainsay: and being taught to believe them only for the Scripture, they who so do are not heretics, but the best protestants: and by their opinions, whatever they be, can hurt no protestant, whose rule is not to receive them but from the Scripture: which to interpret convincingly to his own conscience, none is able but himself guided by the Holy Spirit; and not so guided, none than he to himself can be a worse deceiver.

To protestants, therefore, whose common rule and touchstone is the Scripture, nothing can with more conscience, more equity, nothing more protestantly can be permitted, than a free and lawful debate at all times by writing, conference, or disputation of what opinion soever, disputable by Scripture: concluding that no man in religion is properly a heretic at this day, but he who maintains traditions or opinions not probable by Scripture, who, for aught I know, is the papist only; he the only heretic, who counts all heretics but himself. Such as these, indeed, were capitally punished by the law of Moses, as the only true heretics, idolaters, plain and open deserters of God and his known law: but in the gospel such are punished by excommunication only. Tit. iii. 10, “An heretic, after the first and second admonition, reject.” But they who think not this heavy enough, and understand not that dreadful awe and spiritual efficacy, which the apostle hath expressed so highly to be in church-discipline, 2 Cor. x., of which anon, and think weakly that the church of God cannot long subsist but in a bodily fear, for want of other proof will needs wrest that place of St. Paul, Rom. xiii., to set up civil inquisition, and give power to the magistrate both of civil judgment, and punishment in causes ecclesiastical. But let us see with what strength of argument; “let every soul be subject to the higher powers.” First, how prove they that the apostle means other powers, than such as they to whom he writes were then under; who meddled not at all in ecclesiastical causes, unless as tyrants and persecutors? And from them, I hope, they will not derive either the right of magistrates to judge in spiritual things, or the duty of such our obedience. How prove they next, that he entitles them here to spiritual causes, from whom he withheld, as much as in him lay, the judging of civil? 1 Cor. vi. 1, c. If he himself appealed to Cæsar, it was to judge his innocence, not his religion. “For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil:” then are they not a terror to conscience, which is the rule or judge of good works grounded on the Scripture. But heresy, they say, is reckoned among evil works, Gal. v. 20, as if all evil works were to be punished by the magistrate; whereof this place, their own citation, reckons up besides heresy a sufficient number to confute them; “uncleanness, wantonness, enmity, strife, emulations, animosities, contentions, envyings;” all which are far more manifest to be judged by him than heresy, as they define it; and yet I suppose they will not subject these evil works, nor many more such like, to his cognizance and punishment. “Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? Do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same.” This shows that religious matters are not here meant; wherein from the power here spoken of, they could have no praise; “For he is the minister of God to thee for good:” True; but in that office, and to that end, and by those means, which in this place must be clearly found, if from this place they intend to argue. And how, for thy good by forcing, oppressing, and ensnaring thy conscience? Many are the ministers of God, and their offices no less different than many; none more different than state and church government. Who seeks to govern both, must needs be worse than any lord prelate, or church pluralist: for he in his own faculty and profession, the other not in his own, and for the most part not thoroughly understood, makes himself supreme lord or pope of the church, as far as his civil jurisdiction stretches; and all the ministers of God therein, his ministers, or his curates rather in the function only, not in the government; while he himself assumes to rule by civil power things to be ruled only by spiritual: whenas this very chapter, verse 6, appointing him his peculiar office, which requires utmost attendance, forbids him this worse than church plurality from that full and weighty charge, wherein alone he is “the minister of God, attending continually on this very thing.” To little purpose will they here instance Moses, who did all by immediate divine direction; no nor yet Asa, Jehosaphat, or Josiah, who both might, when they pleased, receive answer from God, and had a commonwealth by him delivered them, incorporated with a national church, exercised more in bodily than in spiritual worship: so as that the church might be called a commonwealth, and the whole commonwealth a church: nothing of which can be said of Christianity, delivered without the help of magistrates, yea, in the midst of their opposition; how little then with any reference to them, or mention of them, save only of our obedience to their civil laws, as they countenance good, and deter evil? which is the proper work of the magistrate, following in the same verse, and shows distinctly wherein he is the minister of God, “a revenger to execute wrath on him that doth evil.” But we must first know who it is that doth evil: the heretic they say among the first. Let it be known then certainly who is a heretic; and that he who holds opinions in religion professedly from tradition, or his own inventions, and not from Scripture, but rather against it, is the only heretic: and yet though such, not always punishable by the magistrate, unless he do evil against a civil law, properly so called, hath been already proved, without need of repetition. “But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid.” To do by Scripture and the gospel, according to conscience, is not to do evil; if we thereof ought not to be afraid, he ought not by his judging to give cause: causes therefore of religion are not here meant. “For he beareth not the sword in vain.” Yes, altogether in vain, if it smite he knows not what; if that for heresy, which not the church itself, much less he, can determine absolutely to be so; if truth for error, being himself so often fallible, he bears the sword not in vain only, but unjustly and to do evil. “Be subject not only for wrath, but for conscience sake.” How for conscience sake, against conscience? By all these reasons it appears plainly, that the apostle in this place gives no judgment or coercive power to magistrates, neither to those then, nor these now, in matters of religion; and exhorts us no otherwise than he exhorted those Romans.

It hath now twice befallen me to assert, through God’s assistance, this most wrested and vexed place of Scripture; heretofore against Salmasius, and regal tyranny over the state; now against Erastus, and state tyranny over the church. If from such uncertain, or rather such improbable, grounds as these, they endue magistracy with spiritual judgment, they may as well invest him in the same spiritual kind with power of utmost punishment, excommunication; and then turn spiritual into corporal, as no worse authors did than Chrysostom, Jerome, and Austin, whom Erasmus and others in their notes on the New Testament have cited, to interpret that cutting off which St. Paul wished to them who had brought back the Galatians to circumcision, no less than the amercement of their whole virility: and Grotius adds, that this concising punishment of circumcisers became a penal law thereupon among the Visigoths: a dangerous example of beginning in the spirit to end so in the flesh; whereas that cutting off much likelier seems meant a cutting off from the church, not unusually so termed in Scripture, and a zealous imprecation, not a command. But I have mentioned this passage to show how absurd they often prove, who have not learned to distinguish rightly between civil power and ecclesiastical. How many persecutions then, imprisonments, banishments, penalties, and stripes; how much bloodshed have the forcers of conscience to answer for, and protestants rather than papists! For the papist, judging by his principles, punishes them who believe not as the church believes, though against the Scripture; but the protestant, teaching every one to believe the Scripture, though against the church, counts heretical, and persecutes against his own principles, them who in any particular so believe as he in general teaches them; them who most honour and believe divine Scripture, but not against it any human interpretation though universal; them who interpret Scripture only to themselves, which by his own position, none but they to themselves can interpret: them who use the Scripture no otherwise by his own doctrine to their edification, than he himself uses it to their punishing; and so whom his doctrine acknowledges a true believer, his discipline persecutes as a heretic. The papist exacts our belief as to the church due above Scripture; and by the church, which is the whole people of God, understands the pope, the general councils, prelatical only, and the surnamed fathers: but the forcing protestant, though he deny such belief to any church whatsoever, yet takes it to himself and his teachers, of far less authority than to be called the church, and above Scripture believed: which renders his practice both contrary to his belief, and far worse than that belief, which he condemns in the papist. By all which, well considered, the more he professes to be a true protestant, the more he hath to answer for his persecuting than a papist. No protestant therefore, of what sect soever, following Scripture only, which is the common sect wherein they all agree, and the granted rule of every man’s conscience to himself, ought by the common doctrine of protestants, to be forced or molested for religion.

But as for popery and idolatry, why they also may not hence plead to be tolerated, I have much less to say. Their religion the more considered, the less can be acknowledged a religion; but a Roman principality rather, endeavouring to keep up her old universal dominion under a new name, and mere shadow of a catholic religion; being indeed more rightly named a catholic heresy against the Scripture, supported mainly by a civil, and except in Rome, by a foreign, power: justly therefore to be suspected, not tolerated by the magistrate of another country. Besides, of an implicit faith which they profess, the conscience also becomes implicit, and so by voluntary servitude to man’s law, forfeits her Christian liberty. Who then can plead for such a conscience, as being implicitly enthralled to man instead of God, almost becomes no conscience, as the will not free, becomes no will? Nevertheless, if they ought not to be tolerated, it is for just reason of state, more than of religion; which they who force, though professing to be protestants, deserve as little to be tolerated themselves, being no less guilty of popery, in the most popish point. Lastly, for idolatry, who knows it not to be evidently against all Scripture, both of the Old and New Testament, and therefore a true heresy, or rather an impiety, wherein a right conscience can have nought to do; and the works thereof so manifest, that a magistrate can hardly err in prohibiting and quite removing at least the public and scandalous use thereof?

From the riddance of these objections, I proceed yet to another reason why it is unlawful for the civil magistrate to use force in matters of religion; which is, because to judge in those things, though we should grant him able, which is proved he is not, yet as a civil magistrate he hath no right. Christ hath a government of his own, sufficient of itself to all his ends and purposes in governing his church, but much different from that of the civil magistrate; and the difference in this very thing principally consists, that it governs not by outward force; and that for two reasons. First, Because it deals only with the inward man and his actions, which are all spiritual, and to outward force not liable. 2dly, To show us the divine excellence of his spiritual kingdom, able, without worldly force, to subdue all the powers and kingdoms of this world, which are upheld by outward force only. That the inward man is nothing else but the inward part of man, his understanding and his will; and that his actions thence proceeding, yet not simply thence, but from the work of divine grace upon them, are the whole matter of religion under the gospel, will appear plainly by considering what that religion is; whence we shall perceive yet more plainly that it cannot be forced. What evangelic religion is, is told in two words, Faith and Charity, or Belief and Practice. That both these flow, either, the one from the understanding, the other from the will, or both jointly from both; once indeed naturally free, but now only as they are regenerate and wrought on by divine grace, is in part evident to common sense and principles unquestioned, the rest by Scripture: concerning our belief, Matt. xvi. 17, “Flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.” Concerning our practice, as it is religious, and not merely civil, Gal. v. 22, 23, and other places, declare it to be the fruit of the spirit only. Nay, our whole practical duty in religion is contained in charity, or the love of God and our neighbour, no way to be forced, yet the fulfilling of the whole law; that is to say, our whole practice in religion. If then both our belief and practice, which comprehend our whole religion, flow from faculties of the inward man, free and unconstrainable of themselves by nature, and our practice not only from faculties endued with freedom, but from love and charity besides, incapable of force, and all these things by trangression lost, but renewed and regenerated in us by the power and gift of God alone; how can such religion as this admit of force from man, or force be any way applied to such religion, especially under the free offer of grace in the gospel, but it must forthwith frustrate and make of no effect, both the religion and the gospel? And that to compel outward profession, which they will say perhaps ought to be compelled, though inward religion cannot, is to compel hypocrisy, not to advance religion, shall yet, though of itself clear enough, be ere the conclusion further manifest. The other reason why Christ rejects outward force in the government of his church, is, as I said before, to show us the divine excellence of his spiritual kingdom, able without worldly force to subdue all the powers and kingdoms of this world, which are upheld by outward force only: by which to uphold religion otherwise than to defend the religious from outward violence, is no service to Christ or his kingdom, but rather a disparagement, and degrades it from a divine and spiritual kingdom, to a kingdom of this world: which he denies it to be, because it needs not force to confirm it: John xviii. 36. “If my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews.” This proves the kingdom of Christ not governed by outward force, as being none of this world, whose kingdoms are maintained all by force only: and yet disproves not that a Christian commonwealth may defend itself against outward force, in the cause of religion as well as in any other: though Christ himself coming purposely to die for us, would not be so defended. 1 Cor. i. 27, “God hath chosen the weak things of the world, to confound the things which are mighty.” Then surely he hath not chosen the force of this world to subdue conscience, and conscientious men, who in this world are counted weakest; but rather conscience, as being weakest, to subdue and regulate force, his adversary, not his aid or instrument in governing the church: 2 Cor. x. 3, 4, 5, 6, “For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh: for the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds, casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ: and having in a readiness to avenge all disobedience.” It is evident by the first and second verses of this chapter, and the apostle here speaks of that spiritual power by which Christ governs his church, how all-sufficient it is, how powerful to reach the conscience, and the inward man with whom it chiefly deals, and whom no power else can deal with. In comparison of which, as it is here thus magnificently described, how uneffectual and weak is outward force with all her boisterous tools, to the shame of those Christians, and especially those churchmen, who to the exercising of church-discipline, never cease calling on the civil magistrate to interpose his fleshly force? An argument that all true ministerial and spiritual power is dead within them; who think the gospel, which both began and spread over the whole world for above three hundred years, under heathen and persecuting emperors, cannot stand or continue, supported by the same divine presence and protection, to the world’s end, much easier under the defensive favour only of a Christian magistrate, unless it be enacted and settled, as they call it, by the state, a statute or state religion; and understand not that the church itself cannot, much less the state, settle or impose one tittle of religion upon our obedience implicit, but can only recommend or propound it to our free and conscientious examination: unless they mean to set the state higher than the church in religion, and with a gross contradiction give to the state in their settling petition that command of our implicit belief, which they deny in their settled confession both to the state and to the church. Let them cease then to importune and interrupt the magistrate from attending to his own charge in civil and moral things, the settling of things just, things honest, the defence of things religious, settled by the churches within themselves; and the repressing of their contraries, determinable by the common light of nature; which is not to constrain or to repress religion probable by Scripture, but the violaters and persecutors thereof: of all which things he hath enough and more than enough to do, left yet undone; for which the land groans, and justice goes to wrack the while. Let him also forbear force where he hath no right to judge, for the conscience is not his province, lest a worst wo arrive him, for worse offending than was denounced by our Saviour, Matt. xxiii. 23, against the Pharisees: Ye have forced the conscience, which was not to be forced; but judgment and mercy ye have not executed: this ye should have done, and the other let alone. And since it is the counsel and set purpose of God in the gospel, by spiritual means which are counted weak, to overcome all power which resists him; let them not go about to do that by worldly strength, which he hath decreed to do by those means which the world counts weakness, lest they be again obnoxious to that saying, which in another place is also written of the Pharisees, Luke vii. 30, “That they frustrated the counsel of God.” The main plea is, and urged with much vehemence to their imitation, that the kings of Judah, as I touched before, and especially Josiah, both judged and used force in religion: 2 Chron. xxxiv. 33, “He made all that were present in Israel to serve the Lord their God:” an argument, if it be well weighed, worse than that used by the false prophet Shemaia to the high priest, that in imitation of Jehoiada, he ought to put Jeremiah in the stocks, Jer. xxix. 24, 26, c. for which he received his due denouncement from God. But to this besides I return a threefold answer:

First, That the state of religion under the gospel is far differing from what it was under the law; then was the state of rigour, childhood, bondage, and works, to all which force was not unbefitting; now is the state of grace, manhood, freedom, and faith, to all which belongs willingness and reason, not force: the law was then written on tables of stone, and to be performed according to the letter, willingly or unwillingly; the gospel, our new covenant, upon the heart of every believer, to be interpreted only by the sense of charity and inward persuasion: the law had no distinct government or governors of church and commonwealth, but the priests and Levites judged in all causes, not ecclesiastical only, but civil, Deut. xvii. 8, c. which under the gospel is forbidden to all church-ministers, as a thing which Christ their master in his ministry disclaimed, Luke xii. 14, as a thing beneath them, 1 Cor. vi. 4, and by many other statutes, as to them who have a peculiar and far differing government of their own. If not, why different the governors? Why not church-ministers in state-affairs, as well as state-ministers in church-affairs? If church and state shall be made one flesh again as under the law, let it be withal considered, that God, who then joined them, hath now severed them; that which, he so ordaining, was then a lawful conjunction, to such on either side as join again what he hath severed would be nothing now but their own presumptuous fornication.

Secondly, the kings of Judah, and those magistrates under the law, might have recourse, as I said before, to divine inspiration; which our magistrates under the gospel have not, more than to the same spirit, which those whom they force have ofttimes in greater measure than themselves: and so, instead of forcing the Christian, they force the Holy Ghost; and, against that wise forewarning of Gamaliel, fight against God.

Thirdly, those kings and magistrates used force in such things only as were undoubtedly known and forbidden in the law of Moses, idolatry and direct apostacy from that national and strict enjoined worship of God; whereof the corporal punishment was by himself expressly set down: but magistrates under the gospel, our free, elective, and rational worship, are most commonly busiest to force those things which in the gospel are either left free, nay, sometimes abolished when by them compelled, or else controverted equally by writers on both sides, and sometimes with odds on that side which is against them. By which means they either punish that which they ought to favour and protect, or that with corporal punishment, and of their own inventing, which not they, but the church, had received command to chastise with a spiritual rod only. Yet some are so eager in their zeal of forcing, that they refuse not to descend at length to the utmost shift of that parabolical proof, Luke xiv. 16, c. “Compel them to come in:” therefore magistrates may compel in religion. As if a parable were to be strained through every word or phrase, and not expounded by the general scope thereof; which is no other here than the earnest expression of God’s displeasure on those recusant Jews, and his purpose to prefer the Gentiles on any terms before them; expressed here by the word compel. But how compels he? Doubtless no other way than he draws, without which no man can come to him, John vi. 44, and that is by the inward persuasive motions of his spirit, and by his ministers; not by the outward compulsions of a magistrate or his officers. The true people of Christ, as is foretold, Psalm cx. 3, “are a willing people in the day of his power;” then much more now when he rules all things by outward weakness, that both his inward power and their sincerity may the more appear. “God loveth a cheerful giver:” then certainly is not pleased with an uncheerful worshipper: as the very words declare of his evangelical invitations, Isa. lv. 1, “Ho, every one that thirsteth, come.” John vii. 37, “If any man thirsteth.” Rev. iii. 18, “I counsel thee.” And xxii. 17, “Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.” And in that grand commission of preaching, to invite all nations, Mark xvi. 16, as the reward of them who come, so the penalty of them who come not, is only spiritual. But they bring now some reason with their force, which must not pass unanswered, that the church of Thyatira was blamed, Rev. ii. 20, for suffering the false “prophetess to teach and to seduce.” I answer, That seducement is to be hindered by fit and proper means ordained in church-discipline, by instant and powerful demonstration to the contrary; by opposing truth to error, no unequal match; truth the strong, to error the weak, though sly and shifting. Force is no honest confutation, but uneffectual, and for the most part unsuccessful, ofttimes fatal to them who use it: sound doctrine, diligently and duly taught, is of herself both sufficient, and of herself (if some secret judgment of God hinder not) always prevalent against seducers. This the Thyatirians had neglected, suffering, against church-discipline, that woman to teach and seduce among them; civil force they had not then in their power, being the Christian part only of that city, and then especially under one of those ten great persecutions, whereof this the second was raised by Domitian: force therefore in these matters could not be required of them who were under force themselves.

I have shown, that the civil power hath neither right, nor can do right, by forcing religious things: I will now show the wrong it doth, by violating the fundamental privilege of the gospel, the new birthright of every true believer, Christian liberty: 2 Cor. iii. 17, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.” Gal. iv. 26, “Jerusalem which is above is free; which is the mother of us all.” And ver. 31, “We are not children of the bondwoman, but of the free.” It will be sufficient in this place to say no more of Christian liberty, than that it sets us free not only from the bondage of those ceremonies, but also from the forcible imposition of those circumstances, place and time, in the worship of God: which though by him commanded in the old law, yet in respect of that verity and freedom which is evangelical, St. Paul comprehends both kinds alike, that is to say, both ceremony and circumstance, under one and the same contemptuous name of “weak and beggarly rudiments,” Gal. iv. 3, 9, 10; Col. ii. 8, with 16; conformable to what our Saviour himself taught, John iv. 21, 23, “Neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem. In spirit and in truth; for the Father seeketh such to worship him:” that is to say, not only sincere of heart, for such he sought ever; but also, as the words here chiefly import, not compelled to place, and by the same reason, not to any set time; as his apostle by the same spirit hath taught us, Rom. xiv. 5, c. “One man esteemeth one day above another; another,” c.; Gal. iv. 10, “Ye observe days and months,” c.; Col. ii. 16. These and other such places in Scripture the best and learnedst reformed writers have thought evident enough to instruct us in our freedom, not only from ceremonies, but from those circumstances also, though imposed with a confident persuasion of morality in them, which they hold impossible to be in place or time. By what warrant then our opinions and practices herein are of late turned quite against all other protestants, and that which is to them orthodoxal, to us becomes scandalous and punishable by statute, I wish were once again considered; if we mean not to proclaim a schism in this point from the best and most reformed churches abroad. They who would seem more knowing, confess that these things are indifferent, but for that very cause by the magistrates may be commanded. As if God of his special grace in the gospel had to this end freed us from his own commandments in these things, that our freedom should subject us to a more grievous yoke, the commandments of men. As well may the magistrate call that common or unclean which God hath cleansed, forbidden to St. Peter, Acts x. 15; as well may he loosen that which God hath straitened, or straiten that which God hath loosened, as he may enjoin those things in religion which God hath left free, and lay on that yoke which God hath taken off. For he hath not only given us this gift as a special privilege and excellence of the free gospel above the servile law, but strictly also hath commanded us to keep it and enjoy it. Gal. v. 13, “You are called to liberty.” 1 Cor. vii. 23, “Be not made the servants of men.” Gal. v. 14, “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free; and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.” Neither is this a mere command, but for the most part in these forecited places, accompanied with the very weightiest and inmost reasons of Christian religion: Rom. xiv. 9, 10, “For to this end Christ both died, and rose, and revived, that he might be Lord both of the dead and living. But why dost thou judge thy brother?” c. How presumest thou to be his lord, to be whose only lord, at least in these things, Christ both died, and rose, and lived again? “We shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.” Why then dost thou not only judge, but persecute in these things for which we are to be accountable to the tribunal of Christ only, our Lord and lawgiver? 1 Cor. vii. 23, “Ye are bought with a price; be not made the servants of men.” Some trivial price belike, and for some frivolous pretences paid in their opinion, if bought and by him redeemed, who is God, from what was once the service of God, we shall be enthralled again, and forced by men to what now is but the service of men. Gal. iv. 31, with v. 1, “We are not children of the bondwoman, c. stand fast therefore,” c. Col. ii. 8, “Beware lest any man spoil you, c. after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.” Solid reasons whereof are continued through the whole chapter. Ver. 10, “Ye are complete in him, which is the head of all principality and power:” not completed therefore or made the more religious by those ordinances of civil power, from which Christ their head hath discharged us; “blotting out the hand-writing of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us; and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross,” ver. 14. Blotting out ordinances written by God himself, much more those so boldly written over again by men: ordinances which were against us, that is, against our frailty, much more those which are against our conscience. “Let no man therefore judge you in respect of,” c., ver. 16. Gal. iv. 3, c. “Even so we, when we were children, were in bondage under the rudiments of the world: But when the fulness of time was come, God sent forth his Son, c. to redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons, c. Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son, c. But now, c. how turn ye again to the weak and beggarly rudiments, whereunto ye desire again to be in bondage? Ye observe days,” c. Hence it plainly appears, that if we be not free, we are not sons, but still servants unadopted; and if we turn again to those weak and beggarly rudiments, we are not free; yea, though willingly, and with a misguided conscience, we desire to be in bondage to them; how much more then if unwillingly and against our conscience! Ill was our condition changed from legal to evangelical, and small advantage gotten by the gospel, if for the spirit of adoption to freedom promised us, we receive again the spirit of bondage to fear; if our fear, which was then servile towards God only, must be now servile in religion towards men: strange also and preposterous fear, if when and wherein it hath attained by the redemption of our Saviour to be filial only towards God, it must be now servile towards the magistrate: who, by subjecting us to his punishment in these things, brings back into religion that law of terror and satisfaction belonging now only to civil crimes; and thereby in effect abolishes the gospel, by establishing again the law to a far worse yoke of servitude upon us than before. It will therefore not misbecome the meanest Christian to put in mind Christian magistrates, and so much the more freely by how much the more they desire to be thought Christian, (for they will be thereby, as they ought to be in these things, the more our brethren and the less our lords,) that they meddle not rashly with Christian liberty, the birthright and outward testimony of our adoption; lest while they little think it, nay, think they do God service, they themselves, like the sons of that bondwoman, be found persecuting them who are freeborn of the Spirit, and by a sacrilege of not the least aggravation, bereaving them of that sacred liberty, which our Saviour with his own blood purchased for them.

A fourth reason, why the magistrate ought not to use force in religion, I bring from the consideration of all those ends, which he can likely pretend to the interposing of his force therein; and those hardly can be other than first the glory of God; next, either the spiritual good of them whom he forces, or the temporal punishment of their scandal to others. As for the promoting of God’s glory, none, I think, will say that his glory ought to be promoted in religious things by unwarrantable means, much less by means contrary to what he hath commanded. That outward force is such, and that God’s glory in the whole administration of the gospel according to his own will and counsel ought to be fulfilled by weakness, at least so refuted, not by force; or if by force, inward and spiritual, not outward and corporeal, is already proved at large. That outward force cannot tend to the good of him who is forced in religion, is unquestionable. For in religion whatever we do under the gospel, we ought to be thereof persuaded without scruple; and are justified by the faith we have, not by the work we do: Rom. xiv. 5, “Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.” The other reason which follows necessarily is obvious, Gal. ii. 16, and in many other places of St. Paul, as the groundwork and foundation of the whole gospel, that we are “justified by the faith of Christ, and not by the works of the law.” If not by the works of God’s law, how then by the injunctions of man’s law? Surely force cannot work persuasion, which is faith; cannot therefore justify nor pacify the conscience; and that which justifies not in the gospel, condemns; is not only not good, but sinful to do: Rom. xiv. 23, “Whatsoever is not of faith, is sin.” It concerns the magistrate then to take heed how he forces in religion conscientious men: lest by compelling them to do that whereof they cannot be persuaded, that wherein they cannot find themselves justified, but by their own consciences condemned, instead of aiming at their spiritual good, he force them to do evil; and while he thinks himself Asa, Josiah, Nehemiah, he be found Jeroboam, who caused Israel to sin; and thereby draw upon his own head all those sins and shipwrecks of implicit faith and conformity, which he hath forced, and all the wounds given to those little ones, whom to offend he will find worse one day than that violent drowning mentioned Matt. xviii. 6.

Lastly, as a preface to force, it is the usual pretence, that although tender consciences shall be tolerated, yet scandals thereby given shall not be unpunished, profane and licentious men shall not be encouraged to neglect the performance of religious and holy duties by colour of any law giving liberty to tender consciences. By which contrivance the way lies ready open to them hereafter, who may be so minded, to take away by little and little that liberty which Christ and his gospel, not any magistrate, hath right to give: though this kind of his giving be but to give with one hand, and take away with the other, which is a deluding, not a giving.

As for scandals, if any man be offended at the conscientious liberty of another, it is a taken scandal, not a given. To heal one conscience, we must not wound another: and men must be exhorted to beware of scandals in Christian liberty, not forced by the magistrate; lest while he goes about to take away the scandal, which is uncertain whether given or taken, he take away our liberty, which is the certain and the sacred gift of God, neither to be touched by him, nor to be parted with by us. None more cautious of giving scandal than St. Paul. Yet while he made himself “servant to all,” that he “might gain the more” he made himself so of his own accord, was not made so by outward force testifying at the same time that he “was free from all men,” 1 Cor. ix. 19; and thereafter exhorts us also, Gal. v. 13, “Ye were called to liberty, c. but by love serve one another:” then not by force. As for that fear, lest profane and licentious men should be encouraged to omit the performance of religious and holy duties, how can that care belong to the civil magistrate, especially to his force? For if profane and licentious persons must not neglect the performance of religious and holy duties, it implies, that such duties they can perform, which no protestant will affirm. They who mean the outward performance, may so explain it; and it will then appear yet more plainly, that such performance of religious and holy duties, especially by profane and licentious persons, is a dishonouring rather than a worshipping of God; and not only by him not required, but detested: Prov. xxi. 27, “The sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination; how much more when he bringeth it with a wicked mind?” To compel therefore the profane to things holy in his profaneness, is all one under the gospel, as to have compelled the unclean to sacrifice in his uncleanness under the law. And I add withal, that to compel the licentious in his licentiousness, and the conscientious against his conscience, comes all to one: tends not to the honour of God, but to the multiplying and the aggravating of sin to them both. We read not that Christ ever exercised force but once; and that was to drive profane ones out of his temple, not to force them in: and if their being there was an offence, we find by many other scriptures that their praying there was an abomination: and yet to the Jewish law, that nation, as a servant, was obliged; but to the gospel each person is left voluntary, called only, as a son, by the preaching of the word; not to be driven in by edicts and force of arms. For if by the apostle, Rom. xii. 1, we are “beseeched as brethren by the mercies of God to present our bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is our reasonable service” or worship, then is no man to be forced by the compulsive laws of men to present his body a dead sacrifice; and so under the gospel most unholy and unacceptable, because it is his unreasonable service, that is to say, not only unwilling but unconscionable.

But if profane and licentious persons may not omit the performance of holy duties, why may they not partake of holy things? Why are they prohibited the Lord’s supper, since both the one and the other action may be outward; and outward performance of duty may attain at least an outward participation of benefit? The church denying them that communion of grace and thanksgiving, as it justly doth, why doth the magistrate compel them to the union of performing that which they neither truly can, being themselves unholy, and to do seemingly is both hateful to God, and perhaps no less dangerous to perform holy duties irreligiously, than to receive holy signs or sacraments unworthily? All profane and licentious men, so known, can be considered but either so without the church as never yet within it, or departed thence of their own accord, or excommunicate: if never yet within the church, whom the apostle, and so consequently the church, have nought to do to judge, as he professes, 1 Cor. v. 12, then by what authority doth the magistrate judge; or, which is worse, compel in relation to the church? If departed of his own accord, like that lost sheep, Luke xv. 4, c. the true church either with her own or any borrowed force worries him not in again, but rather in all charitable manner sends after him; and if she find him, lays him gently on her shoulders; bears him, yea, bears his burdens, his errors, his infirmities any way tolerable, “so fulfilling the law of Christ,” Gal. vi. 2. If excommunicate, whom the church hath bid go out, in whose name doth the magistrate compel to go in? The church indeed hinders none from hearing in her public congregation, for the doors are open to all: nor excommunicates to destruction; but, as much as in her lies, to a final saving. Her meaning therefore must needs be, that as her driving out brings on no outward penalty, so no outward force or penalty of an improper and only a destructive power should drive in again her infectious sheep; therefore sent out because infectious, and not driven in but with the danger not only of the whole and sound, but also of his own utter perishing.

Since force neither instructs in religion, nor begets repentance or amendment of life, but on the contrary, hardness of heart, formality, hypocrisy, and, as I said before, every way increase of sin; more and more alienates the mind from a violent religion, expelling out and compelling in, and reduces it to a condition like that which the Britons complain of in our story, driven to and fro between the Picts and the sea. If after excommunion he be found intractable, incurable, and will not hear the church, he becomes as one never yet within her pale, “a heathen or a publican,” Matt. xviii. 17, not further to be judged, no not by the magistrate, unless for civil causes; but left to the final sentence of that Judge, whose coming shall be in flames of fire; that Maranathà, 1 Cor. xvi. 22, than which to him so left nothing can be more dreadful, and ofttimes to him particularly nothing more speedy, that is to say, The Lord cometh: in the mean while delivered up to Satan, 1 Cor. v. 5, 1 Tim. i. 20, that is, from the fold of Christ and kingdom of grace to the world again, which is the kingdom of Satan; and as he was received “from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God,” Acts xxvi. 18, so now delivered up again from light to darkness, and from God to the power of Satan; yet so as is in both places manifested, to the intent of saving him, brought sooner to contrition by spiritual than by any corporal severity. But grant it belonging any way to the magistrate, that profane and licentious persons omit not the performance of holy duties, which in them were odious to God even under the law, much more now under the gospel; yet ought his care both as a magistrate and a Christian, to be much more that conscience be not inwardly violated, than that license in these things be made outwardly conformable: since his part is undoubtedly as a Christian, which puts him upon this office much more than as a magistrate, in all respects to have more care of the conscientious than of the profane; and not for their sakes to take away (while they pretend to give) or to diminish the rightful liberty of religious consciences.

On these four scriptural reasons, as on a firm square, this truth, the right of Christian and evangelic liberty, will stand immovable against all those pretended consequences of license and confusion, which for the most part men most licentious and confused themselves, or such as whose severity would be wiser than divine wisdom, are ever aptest to object against the ways of God: as if God without them, when he gave us this liberty, knew not of the worst which these men in their arrogance pretend will follow: yet knowing all their worst, he gave us this liberty as by him judged best. As to those magistrates who think it their work to settle religion, and those ministers or others, who so oft call upon them to do so, I trust that having well considered what hath been here argued, neither they will continue in that intention, nor these in that expectation from them; when they shall find that the settlement of religion belongs only to each particular church by persuasive and spiritual means within itself, and that the defence only of the church belongs to the magistrate. Had he once learnt not further to concern himself with church-affairs, half his labour might be spared, and the commonwealth better tended. To which end, that which I premised in the beginning, and in due place treated of more at large, I desire now concluding, that they would consider seriously what religion is: and they will find it to be, in sum, both our belief and our practice depending upon God only. That there can be no place then left for the magistrate or his force in the settlement of religion, by appointing either what we shall we believe in divine things, or practise in religious (neither of which things are in the power of man either to perform himself, or to enable others,) I persuade me in the Christian ingenuity of all religious men, the more they examine seriously, the more they will find clearly to be true: and find how false and deviseable that common saying is, which is so much relied upon, that the Christian magistrate is “Custos utriusque Tabulæ,” Keeper of both Tables, unless is meant by keeper the defender only; neither can that maxim be maintained by any proof or argument, which hath not in this discourse first or last been refuted. For the two tables, or ten commandments, teach our duty to God and our neighbour from the love of both; give magistrates no authority to force either: they seek that from the judicial law, though on false grounds, especially in the first table, as I have shown; and both in first and second execute that authority for the most part, not according to God’s judicial laws, but their own.

As for civil crimes, and of the outward man, which all are not, no, not of those against the second table, as that of coveting; in them what power they have, they had from the beginning, long before Moses or the two tables were in being. And whether they be not now as little in being to be kept by any Christian as they are two legal tables, remains yet as undecided, as it is sure they never were yet delivered to the keeping of any Christian magistrate. But of these things perhaps more some other time; what may serve the present hath been above discoursed sufficiently out of the Scriptures: and to those produced, might be added testimonies, examples, experiences, of all succeeding ages to these times, asserting this doctrine: but having herein the Scripture so copious and so plain, we have all that can be properly called true strength and nerve; the rest would be but pomp and encumbrance. Pomp and ostentation of reading is admired among the vulgar: but doubtless in matters of religion he is learnedest who is plainest. The brevity I use, not exceeding a small manual, will not therefore, I suppose, be thought the less considerable, unless with them perhaps who think that great books only can determine great matters. I rather choose the common rule, not to make much ado, where less may serve. Which in controversies, and those especially of religion, would make them less tedious, and by consequence read oftener by many more, and with more benefit.

CONSIDERATIONS TOUCHING THE LIKELIEST MEANS TO REMOVE HIRELINGS OUT OF THE CHURCH.

WHEREIN IS ALSO DISCOURSED OF TITHES, CHURCH-FEES, AND CHURCH-REVENUES; AND WHETHER ANY MAINTENANCE OF MINISTERS CAN BE SETTLED BY LAW.

[ FIRST PUBLISHED 1659.]

TO THE PARLIAMENT OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF ENGLAND, WITH THE DOMINIONS THEREOF.

OWING to your protection, Supreme Senate! this liberty of writing, which I have used these eighteen years on all occasions to assert the best rights and freedoms both of church and state, and so far approved, as to have been trusted with the representment and defence of your actions to all Christendom against an adversary of no mean repute; to whom should I address what I still publish on the same argument, but to you, whose magnanimous councils first opened and unbound the age from a double bondage under prelatical and regal tyranny; above our own hopes heartening us to look up at last like men and Christians from the slavish dejection, wherein from father to son we were bred up and taught; and thereby deserving of these nations, if they be not barbarously ingrateful, to be acknowledged, next under God, the authors and best patrons of religious and civil liberty, that ever these islands brought forth? The care and tuition of whose peace and safety, after a short but scandalous night of interruption, is now again, by a new dawning of God’s miraculous providence among us, revolved upon your shoulders.

And to whom more appertain these considerations, which I propound, than to yourselves, and the debate before you, though I trust of no difficulty, yet at present of great expectation, not whether ye will gratify, were it no more than so, but whether ye will hearken to the just petition of many thousands best affected both to religion and to this your return, or whether ye will satisfy, which you never can, the covetous pretences and demands of insatiable hirelings, whose disaffection ye well know both to yourselves and your resolutions? That I, though among many others in this common concernment, interpose to your deliberations what my thoughts also are; your own judgment and the success thereof hath given me the confidence: which requests but this, that if I have prosperously, God so favouring me, defended the public cause of this commonwealth to foreigners, ye would not think the reason and ability, whereon ye trusted once (and repent not) your whole reputation to the world, either grown less by more maturity and longer study, or less available in English than in another tongue: but that if it sufficed some years past to convince and satisfy the unengaged of other nations in the justice of your doings, though then held paradoxal, it may as well suffice now against weaker opposition in matters, except here in England with a spirituality of men devoted to their temporal gain, of no controversy else among protestants.

Neither do I doubt, seeing daily the acceptance which they find who in their petitions venture to bring advice also, and new models of a commonwealth, but that you will interpret it much more the duty of a Christian to offer what his conscience persuades him may be of moment to the freedom and better constituting of the church: since it is a deed of highest charity to help undeceive the people, and a work worthiest your authority, in all things else authors, assertors, and now recoverers of our liberty, to deliver us, the only people of all protestants left still undelivered, from the oppressions of a simonious decimating clergy, who shame not, against the judgment and practice of all other churches reformed, to maintain, though very weakly, their popish and oft refuted positions; not in a point of conscience wherein they might be blameless, but in a point of covetousness and unjust claim to other men’s goods; a contention foul and odious in any man, but most of all in ministers of the gospel, in whom contention, though for their own right, scarce is allowable. Till which grievances be removed, and religion set free from the monopoly of hirelings, I dare affirm, that no model whatsoever of a commonwealth will prove successful or undisturbed; and so persuaded, implore divine assistance on your pious councils and proceedings to unanimity in this and all other truth.

JOHN MILTON.

CONSIDERATIONS TOUCHING THE LIKELIEST MEANS TO REMOVE HIRELINGS OUT OF THE CHURCH.

THE former treatise, which leads in this, began with two things ever found working much mischief, to the one side restraining, and hire on the other side corrupting, the teachers thereof. The latter of these is by much the more dangerous: for under force, though no thank to the forcers, true religion ofttimes best thrives and flourishes; but the corruption of teachers, most commonly the effect of hire, is the very bane of truth in them who are so corrupted. Of force not to be used in matters of religion, I have already spoken; and so stated matters of conscience and religion in faith and divine worship, and so severed them from blasphemy and heresy, the one being such properly as is despiteful, the other such as stands not to the rule of Scripture, and so both of them not matters of religion, but rather against it, that to them who will yet use force, this only choice can be left, whether they will force them to believe, to whom it is not given from above, being not forced thereto by any principle of the gospel, which is now the only dispensation of God to all men; or whether being protestants, they will punish in those things wherein the protestant religion denies them to be judges, either in themselves infallible, or to the consciences of other men; or whether, lastly, they think fit to punish error, supposing they can be infallible that it is so, being not wilful, but conscientious, and, according to the best light of him who errs, grounded on Scripture: which kind of error all men religious, or but only reasonable, have thought worthier of pardon, and the growth thereof to be prevented by spiritual means and church-discipline, not by civil laws and outward force, since it is God only who gives as well to believe aright, as to believe at all; and by those means, which he ordained sufficiently in his church to the full execution of his divine purpose in the gospel. It remains now to speak of hire, the other evil so mischievous in religion: whereof I promised then to speak further, when I should find God disposing me, and opportunity inviting. Opportunity I find now inviting; and apprehend therein the concurrence of God’s disposing; since the maintenance of church ministers, a thing not properly belonging to the magistrate, and yet with such importunity called for, and expected from him, is at present under public debate. Wherein lest any thing may happen to be determined and established prejudicial to the right and freedom of the church, or advantageous to such as may be found hirelings therein, it will be now most seasonable, and in these matters, wherein every Christian hath his free suffrage, no way misbecoming Christian meckness to offer freely, without disparagement to the wisest, such advice as God shall incline him and enable him to propound: since heretofore in commonwealths of most fame for government, civil laws were not established till they had been first for certain days published to the view of all men, that whoso pleased might speak freely his opinion thereof, and give in his exceptions, ere the law could pass to a full establishment. And where ought this equity to have more place, than in the liberty which is inseparable from Christian religion? This, I am not ignorant, will be a work unpleasing to some: but what truth is not hateful to some or other, as this, in likelihood, will be to none but hirelings. And if there be among them who hold it their duty to speak impartial truth, as the work of their ministry, though not performed without money, let them not envy others who think the same no less their duty by the general office of Christianity, to speak truth, as in all reason may be thought, more impartially and unsuspectedly without money.

Hire of itself is neither a thing unlawful, nor a word of any evil note, signifying no more than a due recompence or reward; as when our Saviour saith, “the labourer is worthy of his hire.” That which makes it so dangerous in the church, and properly makes the hireling, a word always of evil signification, is either the excess thereof, or the undue manner of giving and taking it. What harm the excess thereof brought to the church, perhaps was not found by experience till the days of Constantine; who out of his zeal thinking he could be never too liberally a nursing father of the church, might be not unfitly said to have either overlaid it or choked it in the nursing. Which was foretold, as is recorded in ecclesiastical traditions, by a voice heard from heaven, on the very day that those great donations and church-revenues were given, crying aloud, “This day is poison poured into the church.” Which the event soon after verified, as appears by another no less ancient observation, “That religion brought forth wealth, and the daughter devoured the mother.”

But long ere wealth came into the church, so soon as any gain appeared in religion, hirelings were apparent; drawn in, long before by the very scent thereof. Judas therefore, the first hireling, for want of present hire answerable to his coveting, from the small number or the meanness of such as then were the religious, sold the religion itself with the founder thereof, his master. Simon Magus the next, in hope only that preaching and the gifts of the Holy Ghost would prove gainful, offered beforehand a sum of money to obtain them. Not long after, as the apostle foretold, hirelings like wolves came in by herds: Acts xx. 29, “For I know this, that after my departing shall grievous wolves enter in among you, not sparing the flock.” Tit. i. 11, “Teaching things which they ought not, for filthy lucre’s sake.” 2 Pet. ii. 3, “And through covetousness shall they with feigned words make merchandise of you.” Yet they taught not false doctrine only, but seeming piety: 1 Tim. vi. 5, “Supposing that gain is godliness.” Neither came they in of themselves only, but invited ofttimes by a corrupt audience: 2 Tim. iv. 3, “For the time will come, when they will not endure sound doctrine, but after their own lusts they will heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears:” and they on the other side, as fast heaping to themselves disciples, Acts xx. 30, doubtless had as itching palms: 2 Pet. ii. 15, “Following the way of Balaam, the son of Bosor, who loved the wages of unrighteousness.” Jude 11, “They ran greedily after the error of Balaam for reward.” Thus we see, that not only the excess of hire in wealthiest times, but also the undue and vicious taking or giving it, though but small or mean, as in the primitive times, gave to hirelings occasion, though not intended, yet sufficient to creep at first into the church. Which argues also the difficulty, or rather the impossibility, to remove them quite, unless every minister were, as St. Paul, contented to preach gratis; but few such are to be found. As therefore we cannot justly take away all hire in the church, because we cannot otherwise quite remove all hirelings, so are we not, for the impossibility of removing them all, to use therefore no endeavour that fewest may come in; but rather, in regard the evil, do what we can, will always be incumbent and unavoidable, to use our utmost diligence how it may be least dangerous: which will be likeliest effected, if we consider, first, what recompence God hath ordained should be given to ministers of the church; (for that a recompence ought to be given them, and may by them justly be received, our Saviour himself from the very light of reason and of equity hath declared, Luke x. 7, “The labourer is worthy of his hire;”) next, by whom; and lastly, in what manner.

What recompence ought to be given to church-ministers, God hath answerably ordained according to that difference, which he hath manifestly put between those his two great dispensations, the law and the gospel. Under the law he gave them tithes; under the gospel, having left all things in his church to charity and Christian freedom, he hath given them only what is justly given. That, as well under the gospel, as under the law, say our English divines, and they only of all protestants, is tithes; and they say true, if any man be so minded to give them of his own the tenth or twentieth; but that the law therefore of tithes is in force under the gospel, all other protestant divines, though equally concerned, yet constantly deny. For although hire to the labourer be of moral and perpetual right, yet that special kind of hire, the tenth, can be of no right or necessity, but to that special labour for which God ordained it. That special labour was the Levitical and ceremonial service of the tabernacle, Numb. xviii. 21, 31, which is now abolished: the right therefore of that special hire must needs be withal abolished, as being also ceremonial. That tithes were ceremonial, is plain, not being given to the Levites till they had been first offered a heave-offering to the Lord, ver. 24, 28. He then who by that law brings tithes into the gospel, of necessity brings in withal a sacrifice, and an altar; without which tithes by that law were unsanctified and polluted, ver. 32, and therefore never thought on in the first Christian times, till ceremonies, altars, and oblations, by an ancienter corruption, were brought back long before. And yet the Jews, ever since their temple was destroyed, though they have rabbies and teachers of their law, yet pay no tithes, as having no Levites to whom, no temple where, to pay them, no altar whereon to hallow them: which argues that the Jews themselves never thought tithes moral, but ceremonial only. That Christians therefore should take them up, when Jews have laid them down, must needs be very absurd and preposterous.

Next, it is as clear in the same chapter, that the priests and Levites had not tithes for their labour only in the tabernacle, but in regard they were to have no other part nor inheritance in the land, ver. 20, 24, and by that means for a tenth, lost a twelfth. But our Levites undergoing no such law of deprivement, can have no right to any such compensation: nay, if by this law they will have tithes, can have no inheritance of land, but forfeit what they have. Besides this, tithes were of two sorts, those of every year, and those of every third year: of the former, every one that brought his tithes, was to eat his share: Deut. xiv. 23, “Thou shalt eat before the Lord thy God, in the place which he shall choose to place his name there, the tithe of thy corn, of thy wine, and of thine oil,” c. Nay, though he could not bring his tithe in kind, by reason of his distant dwelling from the tabernacle or temple, but was thereby forced to turn it into money, he was to bestow that money on whatsoever pleased him, oxen, sheep, wine, or strong drink; and to eat and drink thereof there before the Lord, both he and his household, ver. 24, 25, 26. As for tithes of every third year, they were not given only to the Levite, but to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow, ver. 28, 29, and chap. xxvi. 12, 13. So that ours, if they will have tithes, must admit of these sharers with them. Nay, these tithes were not paid in at all to the Levite, but the Levite himself was to come with those his fellow-guests, and eat his share of them only at his house who provided them; and this not in regard to his ministerial office, but because he had no part or inheritance in the land.

Lastly, the priests and Levites, a tribe, were of a far different constitution from this of our ministers under the gospel: in them were orders and degrees both by family, dignity, and office, mainly distinguished; the high priest, his brethren and his sons, to whom the Levites themselves paid tithes, and of the best, were eminently superior, Numb. xviii. 28, 29. No protestant, I suppose, will liken one of our ministers to a high priest, but rather to a common Levite. Unless then, to keep their tithes, they mean to bring back again bishops, archbishops, and the whole gang of prelatry, to whom will they themselves pay tithes, as by that law it was a sin to them if they did not? ver. 32. Certainly this must needs put them to a deep demur, while the desire of holding fast their tithes without sin may tempt them to bring back again bishops, as the likeness of that hierarchy that should receive tithes from them; and the desire to pay none, may advise them to keep out of the church all orders above them. But if we have to do at present, as I suppose we have, with true reformed protestants, not with papists or prelates, it will not be denied that in the gospel there be but two ministerial degrees, presbyters and deacons; which if they contend to have any succession, reference or conformity with those two degrees under the law, priests and Levites, it must needs be such whereby our presbyters or ministers may be answerable to priests, and our deacons to Levites; by which rule of proportion it will follow that we must pay our tithes to the deacons only, and they only to the ministers. But if it be truer yet, that the priesthood of Aaron typified a better reality, 1 Pet. ii. 5, signifying the Christian true and “holy priesthood to offer up spiritual sacrifice;” it follows hence, that we are now justly exempt from paying tithes to any who claim from Aaron, since that priesthood is in us now real, which in him was but a shadow. Seeing then by all this which has been shown, that the law of tithes is partly ceremonial, as the work was for which they were given, partly judicial, not of common, but of particular right to the tribe of Levi, nor to them alone, but to the owner also and his household, at the time of their offering, and every three years to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow, their appointed sharers, and that they were a tribe of priests and deacons improperly compared to the constitution of our ministry; and the tithes given by that people to those deacons only; it follows that our ministers at this day, being neither priests nor Levites, nor fitly answering to either of them, can have no just title or pretence to tithes, by any consequence drawn from the law of Moses. But they think they have a better plea in the example of Melchisedec, who took tithes of Abraham ere the law was given; whence they would infer tithes to be of moral right. But they ought to know, or to remember, that not examples, but express commands, oblige our obedience to God or man: next, that whatsoever was done in religion before the law written, is not presently to be counted moral, when as so many things were then done both ceremonial and Judaically judicial, that we need not doubt to conclude all times before Christ more or less under the ceremonial law. To what end served else those altars and sacrifices, that distinction of clean and unclean entering into the ark, circumcision, and the raising up of seed to the elder brother? Gen. xxxviii. 8. If these things be not moral, though before the law, how are tithes, though in the example of Abraham and Melchisedec? But this instance is so far from being the just ground of a law, that after all circumstances duly weighed both from Gen. xiv. and Heb. vii. it will not be allowed them so much as an example. Melchisedec, besides his priestly benediction, brought with him bread and wine sufficient to refresh Abraham and his whole army; incited to do so, first, by the secret providence of God, intending him for a type of Christ and his priesthood; next, by his due thankfulness and honour to Abraham, who had freed his borders of Salem from a potent enemy: Abraham, on the other side, honours him with the tenth of all, that is to say, (for he took not sure his whole estate with him to that war,) of the spoils, Heb. vii. 4. Incited he also by the same secret providence, to signify as grandfather of Levi, that the Levitical priesthood was excelled by the priesthood of Christ. For the giving of a tenth declared, it seems, in those countries and times, him the greater who received it. That which next incited him, was partly his gratitude to requite the present, partly his reverence to the person and his benediction: to his person, as a king and priest, greater therefore than Abraham, who was a priest also, but not a king. And who, unhired, will be so hardy as to say, that Abraham at any other time ever paid him tithes, either before or after; or had then, but for this accidental meeting and obligement; or that else Melchisedec had demanded or exacted them, or took them otherwise than as the voluntary gift of Abraham? But our ministers, though neither priests nor kings more than any other Christian, greater in their own esteem than Abraham and all his seed, for the verbal labour of a seventh day’s preachment, not bringing, like Melchisedec, bread or wine at their own cost, would not take only at the willing hand of liberality or gratitude, but require and exact as due, the tenth, not of spoils, but of our whole estates and labours; nor once, but yearly.

We then, it seems, by the example of Abraham, must pay tithes to these Melchisedecs: but what if the person of Abraham can neither no way represent us, or will oblige the ministers to pay tithes no less than other men? Abraham had not only a priest in his loins, but was himself a priest, and gave tithes to Melchisedec either as grandfather of Levi, or as father of the faithful. If as grandfather (though he understood it not) of Levi, he obliged not us, but Levi only, the inferior priest, by that homage (as the apostle to the Hebrews clearly enough explains) to acknowledge the greater. And they who by Melchisedec claim from Abraham as Levi’s grandfather, have none to seek their tithes of but the Levites, where they can find them. If Abraham, as father of the faithful, paid tithes to Melchisedec, then certainly the ministers also, if they be of that number, paid in him equally with the rest. Which may induce us to believe, that as both Abraham and Melchisedec, so tithes also in that action typical and ceremonial, signified nothing else but that subjection which all the faithful, both ministers and people, owe to Christ, our high priest and king.

In any literal sense, from this example, they never will be able to extort that the people in those days paid tithes to priests, but this only, that one priest once in his life, of spoils only, and in requital partly of a liberal present, partly of a benediction, gave voluntary tithes, not to a greater priest than himself, as far as Abraham could then understand, but rather to a priest and king joined in one person. They will reply, perhaps, that if one priest paid tithes to another, it must needs be understood that the people did no less to the priest. But I shall easily remove that necessity, by remembering them that in those days was no priest, but the father, or the first born of each family; and by consequence no people to pay him tithes, but his own children and servants, who had not wherewithal to pay him, but of his own. Yet grant that the people then paid tithes, there will not yet be the like reason to enjoin us; they being then under ceremonies, a mere laity, we now under Christ, a royal priesthood. 1 Pet. ii. 9, as we are coheirs, kings and priests with him, a priest for ever after the order or manner of Melchisedec. As therefore Abraham paid tithes to Melchisedec because Levi was in him, so we ought to pay none because the true Melchisedec is in us, and we in him, who can pay to none greater, and hath freed us, by our union with himself, from all compulsive tributes and taxes in his church. Neither doth the collateral place, Heb. vii. make other use of this story, than to prove Christ, personated by Melchisedec, a greater priest than Aaron: ver. 4. “Now consider how great this man was,” c.; and proves not in the least manner that tithes be of any right to ministers, but the contrary: first, the Levites had a commandment to take tithes of the people according to the law, that is, of their brethren, though they come out of the loins of Abraham, ver. 5. The commandment then was, it seems, to take tithes of the Jews only, and according to the law. That law changing of necessity with the priesthood, no other sort of ministers, as they must needs be another sort under another priesthood, can receive that tribute of tithes which fell with that law, unless renewed by another express command, and according to another law; no such law is extant. Next, Melchisedec not as a minister, but as Christ himself in person, blessed Abraham, who “had the promises,” ver. 6, and in him blessed all both ministers and people, both of the law and gospel: that blessing declared him greater and better than whom he blessed, ver. 7, receiving tithes from them all, not as a maintenance, which Melchisedec needed not, but as a sign of homage and subjection to their king and priest: whereas ministers bear not the person of Christ in his priesthood or kingship, bless not as he blesses, are not by their blessing greater than Abraham, and all the faithful with themselves included in him; cannot both give and take tithes in Abraham, cannot claim to themselves that sign of our allegiance due only to our eternal king and priest, cannot therefore derive tithes from Melchisedec. Lastly, the eighth verse hath thus; “Here men that die receive tithes: there he received them, of whom it is witnessed that he liveth.” Which words intimate, that as he offered himself once for us, so he received once of us in Abraham, and in that place the typical acknowledgment of our redemption: which had it been a perpetual annuity to Christ, by him claimed as his due, Levi must have paid it yearly, as well as then, ver. 9, and our ministers ought still, to some Melchisedec or other, as well now as they did in Abraham.

But that Christ never claimed any such tenth as his annual due, much less resigned it to the ministers, his so officious receivers, without express commission or assignment, will be yet clearer as we proceed. Thus much may at length assure us, that this example of Abraham and Melchisedec, though I see of late they build most upon it, can so little be the ground of any law to us, that it will not so much avail them as to the authority of an example. Of like impertinence is that example of Jacob, Gen. xxviii. 22, who of his free choice, not enjoined by any law, vowed the tenth of all that God should give him: which for aught appears to the contrary, he vowed as a thing no less indifferent before his vow, than the foregoing part thereof: that the stone, which he had set there for a pillar, should be God’s house. And to whom vowed he this tenth, but to God? Nor to any priest, for we read of none to him greater than himself; and to God, no doubt, but he paid what he vowed, both in the building of that Bethel, with other altars elsewhere, and the expense of his continual sacrifices, which none but he had a right to offer. However therefore he paid his tenth, it could in no likelihood, unless by such an occasion as befell his grandfather, be to any priest. But, say they, “All the tithe of the land, whether of the seed of the land, or of the fruit of the tree, is the Lord’s, holy unto the Lord, Lev. xxvii. 30.” And this before it was given to the Levites; therefore since they ceased. No question; For the whole earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof, Psalm xxiv. 1, and the light of nature shows us no less; but that the tenth is his more than the rest, how know I, but as he so declares it? He declares it so here of the land of Canaan only, as by all circumstance appears, and passes, by deed of gift, this tenth to the Levite; yet so as offered to him first a heave-offering, and consecrated on his altar, Numb. xviii. all which I had as little known, but by that evidence. The Levites are ceased, the gift returns to the giver. How then can we know that he hath given it to any other? Or how can these men presume to take it unoffered first to God, unconsecrated, without another clear and express donation, whereof they show no evidence or writing? Besides, he hath now alienated that holy land; who can warrantably affirm, that he hath since hallowed the tenth of this land, which none but God hath power to do or can warrant? Their last proof they cite out of the gospel, which makes as little for them, Mat. xxiii. 23, where our Saviour denouncing woe to the scribes and Pharisees, who paid tithe so exactly, and omitted weightier matters, tells them, that these they ought to have done, that is, to have paid tithes. For our Saviour spake then to those who observed the law of Moses, which was yet not fully abrogated, till the destruction of the temple. And, by the way, here we may observe, out of their own proof, that the scribes and Pharisees, though then chief teachers of the people, such at least as were not Levites, did not take tithes, but paid them: so much less covetous were the scribes and Pharisees in those worse times than ours at this day. This is so apparent to the reformed divines of other countries, that when any one of ours hath attempted in Latin to maintain this argument of tithes, though a man would think they might suffer him without opposition, in a point equally tending to the advantage of all ministers, yet they forbear not to oppose him, as in a doctrine not fit to pass unopposed under the gospel. Which shows the modesty, the contentedness of those foreign pastors, with the maintenance given them, their sincerity also in the truth, though less gainful, and the avarice of ours; who, through the love of their old papistical tithes, consider not the weak arguments, or rather conjectures and surmises, which they bring to defend them.

On the other side, although it be sufficient to have proved in general the abolishing of tithes, as part of the Judaical or ceremonial law, which is abolished all, as well that before as that after Moses; yet I shall further prove them abrogated by an express ordinance of the gospel, founded not on any type, or that municipal law of Moses, but on moral and general equity, given us instead: 1 Cor. ix. 13, 14, “Know ye not, that they who minister about holy things, live of the things of the temple; and they which wait at the altar, are partakers with the altar? So also the Lord hath ordained, that they who preach the gospel, should live of the gospel.” He saith not, should live on things which were of the temple, or of the altar, of which were tithes, for that had given them a clear title: but abrogating that former law of Moses, which determined what and how much, by a later ordinance of Christ, which leaves the what and how much indefinite and free, so it be sufficient to live on: he saith, “The Lord hath so ordained, that they who preach the gospel, should live of the gospel;” which hath neither temple, altar, nor sacrifice: Heb. vii. 13, “For he of whom these things are spoken, pertaineth to another tribe, of which no man gave attendance at the altar:” his ministers therefore cannot thence have tithes. And where the Lord hath so ordained, we may find easily in more than one evangelist: Luke x. 7, 8, “In the same house remain, eating and drinking such things as they give: for the labourer is worthy of his hire, c. And into whatsoever city you enter, and they receive you, eat such things as are set before you.” To which ordinance of Christ it may seem likeliest, that the apostle refers us both here, and 1 Tim. v. 18, where he cites this as the saying of our Saviour, “That the labourer is worthy of his hire.” And both by this place of Luke, and that of Matt. x. 9, 10, 11, it evidently appears, that our Saviour ordained no certain maintenance for his apostles or ministers, publicly or privately, in house or city received; but that, whatever it were, which might suffice to live on: and this not commanded or proportioned by Abraham or by Moses, whom he might easily have here cited, as his manner was, but declared only by a rule of common equity, which proportions the hire as well to the ability of him who gives, as to the labour of him who receives, and recommends him only as worthy, not invests him with a legal right. And mark whereon he grounds this his ordinance; not on a perpetual right of tithes from Melchisedec, as hirelings pretend, which he never claimed, either for himself, or for his ministers, but on the plain and common equity of rewarding the labourer; worthy sometimes of single, sometimes of double honour, not proportionable by tithes. And the apostle in this forecited chapter to the Corinthians, ver. 11, affirms it to be no great recompence, if carnal things be reaped for spiritual sown; but to mention tithes, neglects here the fittest occasion that could be offered him, and leaves the rest free and undetermined. Certainly if Christ or his apostles had approved of tithes, they would have, either by writing or tradition, recommended them to the church; and that soon would have appeared in the practice of those primitive and the next ages. But for the first three hundred years and more, in all the ecclesiastical story, I find no such doctrine or example: though error by that time had brought back again priests, altars, and oblations; and in many other points of religion had miserably Judaized the church. So that the defenders of tithes, after a long pomp, and tedious preparation out of heathen authors, telling us that tithes were paid to Hercules and Apollo, which perhaps was imitated from the Jews, and as it were bespeaking our expectation, that they will abound much more with authorities out of Christian story, have nothing of general approbation to begin with from the first three or four ages, but that which abundantly serves to the confutation of their tithes; while they confess that churchmen in those ages lived merely upon free-will offerings. Neither can they say, that tithes were not then paid for want of a civil magistrate to ordain them, for Christians had then also lands, and might give out of them what they pleased; and yet of tithes then given we find no mention. And the first Christian emperors, who did all things as bishops advised them, supplied what was wanting to the clergy not out of tithes, which were never motioned, but out of their own imperial revenues; as is manifest in Eusebius, Theodoret, and Sozomen, from Constantine to Arcadius. Hence those ancientest reformed churches of the Waldenses, if they rather continued not pure since the apostles, denied that tithes were to be given, or that they were ever given in the primitive church, as appears by an ancient tractate in the Bohemian history. Thus far hath the church been always, whether in her prime or in her ancientest reformation, from the approving of tithes: nor without reason; for they might easily perceive that tithes were fitted to the Jews only, a national church of many incomplete synagogues, uniting the accomplishment of divine worship in one temple; and the Levites there had their tithes paid where they did their bodily work; to which a particular tribe was set apart by divine appointment, not by the people’s election: but the Christian church is universal; not tied to nation, diocese, or parish, but consisting of many particular churches complete in themselves, gathered not by compulsion, or the accident of dwelling nigh together, but by free consent, choosing both their particular church and their church-officers. Whereas if tithes be set up, all these Christian privileges will be disturbed and soon lost, and with them Christian liberty.

The first authority which our adversaries bring, after those fabulous apostolic canons, which they dare not insist upon, is a provincial council held at Cullen, where they voted tithes to be God’s rent, in the year 356; at the same time perhaps when the three kings reigned there, and of like authority. For to what purpose do they bring these trivial testimonies, by which they might as well prove altars, candles at noon, and the greatest part of those superstitions fetched from paganism or Jewism, which the papist, inveigled by this fond argument of antiquity, retains to this day? To what purpose those decrees of I know not what bishops, to a parliament and people who have thrown out both bishops and altars, and promised all reformation by the word of God? And that altars brought tithes hither, as one corruption begot another, is evident by one of those questions, which the monk Austin propounded to the pope, “concerning those things which by offerings of the faithful came to the altar;” as Beda writes, l. i. c. 27. If then by these testimonies we must have tithes continued, we must again have altars. Of Fathers, by custom so called, they quote Ambrose, Augustin, and some other ceremonial doctors of the same leaven: whose assertion, without pertinent Scripture, no reformed church can admit; and what they vouch is founded on the law of Moses, with which, every where pitifully mistaken, they again incorporate the gospel; as did the rest also of those titular fathers, perhaps an age or two before them, by many rites and ceremonies, both Jewish and heathenish, introduced; whereby thinking to gain all, they lost all: and instead of winning Jews and pagans to be Christians, by too much condescending they turned Christians into Jews and pagans. To heap such unconvincing citations as these in religion, whereof the Scripture only is our rule, argues not much learning nor judgment, but the lost labour of much unprofitable reading. And yet a late hot Querist [*] for tithes, whom ye may know by his wits lying ever beside him in the margin, to be ever beside his wits in the text, a fierce reformer once, now rankled with a contrary heat, would send us back, very reformedly indeed, to learn reformation from Tyndarus and Rebuffus, two canonical promoters. They produce next the ancient constitutions of this land, Saxon laws, edicts of kings, and their councils, from Athelstan, in the year 928, that tithes by statute were paid: and might produce from Ina, above two hundred years before, that Romescot or Peter’s penny was by as good statute law paid to the pope; from 725, and almost as long continued. And who knows not that this law of tithes was enacted by those kings and barons upon the opinion they had of their divine right? as the very words import of Edward the Confessor, in the close of that law: “For so blessed Austin preached and taught;” meaning the monk, who first brought the Romish religion into England from Gregory the pope. And by the way I add, that by these laws, imitating the law of Moses, the third part of tithes only was the priest’s due; the other two were appointed for the poor, and to adorn or repair churches; as the canons of Ecbert and Elfric witness: Concil. Brit. If then these laws were founded upon the opinion of divine authority and that authority be found mistaken and erroneous, as hath been fully manifested, it follows, that these laws fall of themselves with their false foundation. But with what face or conscience can they allege Moses or these laws for titles, as they now enjoy or exact them; whereof Moses ordains the owner, as we heard before, the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow, partakers of the Levite; and these fathers which they cite, and these though Romish rather than English laws, allotted both to priest and bishop the third part only? But these our protestant, these our new reformed English presbyterian divines against their own cited authors, and to the shame of their pretended reformation, would engross to themselves all tithes by statute; and supported more by their wilful obstinacy and desire of filthy lucre, than by these both insufficient and impertinent authorities, would persuade a Christian magistracy and parliament, whom we trust God hath restored for a happier reformation, to impose upon us a Judaical ceremonial law, and yet from that law to be more irregular and unwarrantable, more complying with a covetous clergy, than any of those popish kings and parliaments alleged. Another shift they have to plead, that tithes may be moral as well as the sabbath, a tenth of fruits as well as a seventh of days: I answer, that the prelates who urge this argument have least reason to use it, denying morality in the sabbath, and therein better agreeing with reformed churches abroad than the rest of our divines. As therefore the seventh day is not moral, but a convenient recourse of worship in fit season, whether seventh or other number; so neither is the tenth of our goods, but only a convenient subsistence morally due to ministers.

The last and lowest sort of their arguments, that men purchased not their tithe with their land, and such like pettifoggery, I omit; as refuted sufficiently by others: I omit also their violent and irreligious exactions, related no less credibly; their seizing of pots and pans from the poor, who have as good right to tithes as they; from some, the very beds; their suing and imprisoning, worse than when the canon law was in force; worse than when those wicked sons of Eli were priests, whose manner was thus to seize their pretended priestly due by force: 1 Sam. ii. 12, c. “Whereby men abhorred the offering of the Lord.” And it may be feared, that many will as much abhor the gospel, if such violence as this be suffered in her ministers, and in that which they also pretend to be the offering of the Lord. For those sons of Belial within some limits made seizure of what they knew was their own by an undoubted law; but these, from whom there is no sanctuary, seize out of men’s grounds, out of men’s houses, their other goods of double, sometimes of treble value, for that which, did not covetousness and rapine blind them, they know to be not their own by the gospel which they preach. Of some more tolerable than these, thus severely God hath spoken: Isa. xlvi. 10, c. “They are greedy dogs; they all look to their own way, every one for his gain, from his quarter.” With what anger then will he judge them who stand not looking, but under colour of a divine right, fetch by force that which is not their own, taking his name not in vain, but in violence? Nor content, as Gehazi was, to make a cunning, but a constrained advantage of what their master bids them give freely, how can they but return smitten, worse than that sharking minister, with a spiritual leprosy? And yet they cry out sacrilege, that men will not be gulled and baffled the tenth of their estates, by giving credit to frivolous pretences of divine right. Where did God ever clearly declare to all nations, or in all lands, (and none but fools part with their estates without clearest evidence, on bare supposals and presumptions of them who are the gainers thereby,) that he required the tenth as due to him or his Son perpetually and in all places? Where did he demand it, that we might certainly know, as in all claims of temporal right is just and reasonable? or if demanded, where did he assign it, or by what evident conveyance to ministers? Unless they can demonstrate this by more than conjectures, their title can be no better to tithes than the title of Gehazi was to those things which, by abusing his master’s name, he rooked from Naaman. Much less where did he command that tithes should be fetched by force, where left not under the gospel, whatever his right was, to the freewill offerings of men? Which is the greater sacrilege, to belie divine authority, to make the name of Christ accessory to violence, and robbing him of the very honour which he aimed at in bestowing freely the gospel to commit simony and rapine, both secular and ecclesiastical; or on the other side, not to give up the tenth of civil right and propriety to the tricks and impostures of clergymen, contrived with all the art and argument that their bellies can invent or suggest; yet so ridiculous and presuming on the people’s dulness and superstition, as to think they prove the divine right of their maintenance by Abraham paying tithes to Melchisedec, whenas Melchisedec in that passage rather gave maintenance to Abraham; in whom all, both priests and ministers as well as laymen, paid tithes, not received them. And because I affirmed above, beginning this first part of my discourse, that God hath given to ministers of the gospel that maintenance only which is justly given them, let us see a little what hath been thought of that other maintenance besides tithes, which of all protestants our English divines either only or most apparently both require and take. Those are fees for Christenings, marriages, and burials: which, though whoso will may give freely, yet being not of right, but of free gift, if they be exacted or established, they become unjust to them who are otherwise maintained; and of such evil note, that even the council of Trent, l. ii. p. 240, makes them liable to the laws against simony, who take or demand fees for the administering of any sacrament: “Che la sinodo volendo levare gli abusi introdotti,” c. And in the next page, with like severity, condemns the giving or taking for a benefice, and the celebrating of marriages, Christenings, and burials, of fees exacted or demanded: nor counts it less simony to sell the ground or place of burial. And in a state-assembly at Orleans, 1561, it was decreed, “Che non si potesse essiger cosa alcuna, c. p. 429, That nothing should be exacted for the administering of sacraments, burials, or any other spiritual function.” Thus much that council, of all others the most popish, and this assembly of papists, though by their own principles, in bondage to the clergy, were induced, either by their own reason and shame, or by the light of reformation then shining in upon them, or rather by the known canons of many councils and synods long before, to condemn of simony spiritual fees demanded. For if the minister be maintained for his whole ministry, why should he be twice paid for any part thereof? Why should he, like a servant, seek vails over and above his wages? As for Christenings, either they themselves call men to baptism, or men of themselves come: if ministers invite, how ill had it become John the Baptist to demand fees for his baptizing, or Christ for his Christenings? Far less becomes it these now, with a greediness lower than that of tradesmen calling passengers to their shop, and yet paid beforehand, to ask again for doing that which those their founders did freely. If men of themselves come to be baptized, they are either brought by such as already pay the minister, or come to be one of his disciples and maintainers: of whom to ask a fee as it were for entrance is a piece of paltry craft or caution, befitting none but beggarly artists. Burials and marriages are so little to be any part of their gain, that they who consider well may find them to be no part of their function. At burials their attendance they allege on the corpse; all the guests do as much unhired. But their prayers at the grave; superstitiously required: yet if required, their last performance to the deceased of their own flock. But the funeral sermon; at their choice, or if not, an occasion offered them to preach out of season, which is one part of their office. But something must be spoken in praise; if due, their duty; if undue, their corruption: a peculiar simony of our divines in England only. But the ground is broken, and especially their unrighteous possession, the chancel. To sell that, will not only raise up in judgment the council of Trent against them, but will lose them the best champion of tithes, their zealous antiquary, Sir Henry Spelman; who in a book written to that purpose, by many cited canons, and some even of times corruptest in the church, proves that fees exacted or demanded for sacraments, marriages, burials, and especially for interring, are wicked, accursed, simoniacal, and abominable; yet thus is the church, for all this noise of reformation, left still unreformed, by the censure of their own synods, their own favourers, a den of thieves and robbers.

As for marriages, that ministers should meddle with them, as not sanctified or legitimate, without their celebration, I find no ground in Scripture either of precept or example. Likeliest it is (which our Selden hath well observed, 1. 2, c. 28, Ux. Eb.) that in imitation of heathen priests, who were wont at nuptials to use many rites and ceremonies, and especially, judging it would be profitable, and the increase of their authority, not to be spectators only in business of such concernment to the life of man, they insinuated that marriage was not holy without their benediction, and for the better colour, made it a sacrament; being of itself a civil ordinance. a household contract, a thing indifferent and free to the whole race of mankind, not as religious, but as men: best, indeed, undertaken to religious ends, and as the apostle saith, 1 Cor. vii. “in the Lord.” Yet not therefore invalid or unholy without a minister and his pretended necessary hallowing, more than any other act, enterprise, or contract of civil life, which ought all to be done also in the Lord and to his glory: all which, no less than marriage, were by the cunning of priests heretofore, as material to their profit, transacted at the altar. Our divines deny it to be a sacrament; yet retained the celebration, till prudently a late parliament recovered the civil liberty of marriage from their encroachment, and transferred the ratifying and registering thereof from the canonical shop to the proper cognizance of civil magistrates. Seeing then, that God hath given to ministers under the gospel that only which is justly given them, that is to say, a due and moderate livelihood, the hire of their labour, and that the heave offering of tithes is abolished with the altar; yea, though not abolished, yet lawless, as they enjoy them; their Melchisedechian right also trivial and groundless, and both tithes and fees, if exacted or established, unjust and scandalous; we may hope, with them removed, to remove hirelings in some good measure, whom these tempting baits, by law especially to be recovered, allure into the church.

The next thing to be considered in the maintenance of ministers, is by whom it should be given. Wherein though the light of reason might sufficiently inform us, it will be best to consult the Scripture: Gal. vi. 6, “Let him that is taught in the word, communicate to him that teacheth, in all good things:” that is to say, in all manner of gratitude, to his ability. 1 Cor. ix. 11, “If we have sown unto you spiritual things, is it a great matter if we reap your carnal things?” To whom therefore hath not been sown, from him wherefore should be reaped? 1 Tim. v. 17, “Let the elders that rule well, be counted worthy of double honour; especially they who labour in word and doctrine.” By these places we see, that recompence was given either by every one in particular who had been instructed, or by them all in common, brought into the church-treasury, and distributed to the ministers according to their several labours: and that was judged either by some extraordinary person, as Timothy, who by the apostle was then left evangelist at Ephesus, 2 Tim. iv. 5, or by some to whom the church deputed that care. This is so agreeable to reason, and so clear, that any one may perceive what iniquity and violence hath prevailed since in the church, whereby it hath been so ordered, that they also shall be compelled to recompense the parochial minister, who neither chose him for their teacher, nor have received instruction from him, as being either insufficient, or not resident, or inferior to whom they follow; wherein to bar them their choice, is to violate Christian liberty. Our law-books testify, that before the council of Lateran, in the year 1179, and the fifth of our Henry II., or rather before a decretal epistle of pope Innocent the IIId, about 1200, and the first of King John, “any man might have given his tithes to what spiritual person he would:” and as the Lord Coke notes on that place, Instit. part 2, that “this decretal bound not the subjects of this realm, but as it seemed just and reasonable.” The pope took his reason rightly from the above-cited place, 1 Cor. ix. 11, but falsely supposed every one to be instructed by his parish priest. Whether this were then first so decreed, or rather long before, as may seem by the laws of Edgar and Canute, that tithes were to be paid, not to whom he would that paid them, but to the cathedral church or the parish priest, it imports not; since the reason which they themselves bring, built on false supposition, becomes alike infirm and absurd, that he should reap from me, who sows not to me; be the cause either his defect, or my free choice. But here it will be readily objected, what if they who are to be instructed be not able to maintain a minister, as in many villages? I answer, that the Scripture shows in many places what ought to be done herein. First, I offer it to the reason of any man, whether he think the knowledge of Christian religion harder than any other art or science to attain. I suppose he will grant that it is far easier, both of itself, and in regard of God’s assisting Spirit, not particularly promised us to the attainment of any other knowledge, but of this only: since it was preached as well to the shepherds of Bethlehem by angels, as to the Eastern wise men by that star: and our Saviour declares himself anointed to preach the gospel to the poor, Luke iv. 18; then surely to their capacity. They who after him first taught it, were otherwise unlearned men: they who before Huss and Luther first reformed it, were for the meanness of their condition called, “the poor men of Lyons:” and in Flanders at this day, “le Gueus,” which is to say, Beggars. Therefore are the Scriptures translated into every vulgar tongue, as being held in main matters of belief and salvation, plain and easy to the poorest: and such no less than their teachers have the spirit to guide them in all truth, John xiv. 26, and xvi. 13. Hence we may conclude, if men be not all their lifetime under a teacher to learn logic, natural philosophy, ethics, or mathematics, which are most difficult, that certainly it is not necessary to the attainment of Christian knowledge, that men should sit all their life long at the feet of a pulpited divine; while he, a lollard indeed over his elbow cushion, in almost the seventh part of forty or fifty years teaches them scarce half the principles of religion; and his sheep ofttimes sit the while to as little purpose of benefiting, as the sheep in their pews at Smithfield; and for the most part by some simony or other bought and sold like them: or if this comparison be too low, like those women, 1 Tim. iii. 7, “Ever learning and never attaining;” yet not so much through their own fault, as through the unskilful and immethodical teaching of their pastor, teaching here and there at random out of this or that text, as his ease or fancy, and ofttimes as his stealth, guides him. Seeing then that Christian religion may be so easily attained, and by meanest capacities, it cannot be much difficult to find ways, both how the poor, yea, all men, may be soon taught what is to be known of Christianity, and they who teach them, recompensed. First, if ministers of their own accord, who pretend that they are called and sent to preach the gospel, those especially who have no particular flock, would imitate our Saviour and his disciples, who went preaching through the villages, not only through the cities, Matt. ix. 35, Mark vi. 6, Luke xiii. 22, Acts viii. 25, and there preached to the poor as well as to the rich, looking for no recompence but in heaven: John iv. 35, 36, “Look on the fields, for they are white already to harvest: and he that reapeth, receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto life eternal.” This was their wages. But they will soon reply, we ourselves have not wherewithal; who shall bear the charges of our journey? To whom it may as soon be answered, that in all likelihood they are not poorer, than they who did thus; and if they have not the same faith, which those disciples had to trust in God and the promise of Christ for their maintenance as they did, and yet intrude into the ministry without any livelihood of their own, they cast themselves into miserable hazard or temptation, and ofttimes into a more miserable necessity, either to starve, or to please their paymasters rather than God; and give men just cause to suspect, that they came neither called nor sent from above to preach the word, but from below, by the instinct of their own hunger, to feed upon the church.

Yet grant it needful to allow them both the charges of their journey and the hire of their labour, it will belong next to the charity of richer congregations, where most commonly they abound with teachers, to send some of their number to the villages round, as the apostles from Jerusalem sent Peter and John to the city and villages of Samaria, Acts viii. 14, 25; or as the church at Jerusalem sent Barnabas to Antioch, chap. xi. 22, and other churches joining sent Luke to travel with Paul, 2 Cor. viii. 19; though whether they had their charges borne by the church or no, it be not recorded. If it be objected, that this itinerary preaching will not serve to plant the gospel in those places, unless they who are sent abide there some competent time; I answer, that if they stay there a year or two, which was the longest time usually staid by the apostles in one place, it may suffice to teach them, who will attend and learn all the points of religion necessary to salvation; then sorting them into several congregations of a moderate number, out of the ablest and zealousest among them to create elders, who, exercising and requiring from themselves what they have learned, (for no learning is retained without constant exercise and methodical repetition,) may teach and govern the rest: and so exhorted to continue faithful and steadfast, they may securely be committed to the providence of God and the guidance of his Holy Spirit, till God may offer some opportunity to visit them again, and to confirm them: which when they have done, they have done as much as the apostles were wont to do in propagating the gospel, Acts xiv. 23, “And when they had ordained them elders in every church, and had prayed with fasting, they commended them to the Lord, on whom they believed.” And in the same chapter, ver. 21, 22, “When they had preached the gospel to that city, and had taught many, they returned again to Lystra, and to Iconium and Antioch, confirming the souls of the disciples and exhorting them to continue in the faith.” And chap. xv. 36, “Let us go again, and visit our brethren.” And ver. 41, “He went through Syria and Cilicia, confirming the churches.” To these I might add other helps, which we enjoy now, to make more easy the attainment of Christian religion by the meanest: the entire Scripture translated into English with plenty of notes; and somewhere or other, I trust, may be found some wholesome body of divinity, as they call it, without school-terms and metaphysical notions, which have obscured rather than explained our reliligion, and made it seem difficult without cause. Thus taught once for all, and thus now and then visited and confirmed, in the most destitute and poorest places of the land, under the government of their own elders performing all ministerial offices among them, they may be trusted to meet and edify one another whether in church or chapel, or, to save them the trudging of many miles thither, nearer home, though in a house or barn. For notwithstanding the gaudy superstition of some devoted still ignorantly to temples, we may be well assured, that he who disdained not to be laid in a manger, disdains not to be preached in a barn; and that by such meetings as these, being indeed most apostolical and primitive, they will in a short time advance more in Christian knowledge and reformation of life, than by the many years’ preaching of such an incumbent, I may say, such an Incubus ofttimes, as will be meanly hired to abide long in those places. They have this left perhaps to object further; that to send thus, and to maintain, though but for a year or two, ministers and teachers in several places, would prove chargeable to the churches, though in towns and cities round about. To whom again I answer, that it was not thought so by them who first thus propagated the gospel, though but few in number to us, and much less able to sustain the expense. Yet this expense would be much less than to hire incumbents, or rather incumbrances, for lifetime; and a great means (which is the subject of this discourse) to diminish hirelings.

But be the expense less or more, if it be found burdensome to the churches, they have in this land an easy remedy in their recourse to the civil magistrate; who hath in his hands the disposal of no small revenues, left perhaps anciently to superstitious, but meant undoubtedly to good and best uses; and therefore, once made public, appliable by the present magistrate to such uses as the church, or solid reason from whomsoever, shall convince him to think best. And those uses may be, no doubt, much rather than as glebes and augmentations are now bestowed, to grant such requests as these of the churches; or to erect in greater number, all over the land, schools, and competent libraries to those schools, where languages and arts may be taught free together, without the needless, unprofitable, and inconvenient removing to another place. So all the land would be soon better civilized, and they who are taught freely at the public cost might have their education given them on this condition, that therewith content, they should not gad for preferment out of their own country, but continue there thankful for what they received freely, bestowing it as freely on their country, without soaring above the meanness wherein they were born. But how they shall live when they are thus bred and dismissed, will be still the sluggish objection. To which is answered, that those public foundations may be so instituted, as the youth therein may be at once brought up to a competence of learning and to an honest trade; and the hours of teaching so ordered, as their study may be no hindrance to their labour or other calling. This was the breeding of St. Paul, though born of no mean parents, a free citizen of the Roman empire: so little did his trade debase him, that it rather enabled him to use that magnanimity of preaching the gospel through Asia and Europe at his own charges. Thus those preachers among the poor Waldenses, the ancient stock of our reformation, without these helps which I speak of, bred up themselves in trades, and especially in physic and surgery, as well as in the study of Scripture, (which is the only true theology,) that they might be no burden to the church; and by the example of Christ might cure both soul and body; through industry joining that to their ministry, which he joined to his by gift of the spirit. Thus relates Peter Gilles in his history of the Waldenses in Piemont. But our ministers think scorn to use a trade, and count it the reproach of this age, that tradesmen preach the gospel. It were to be wished they were all tradesmen; they would not so many of them, for want of another trade, make a trade of their preaching: and yet they clamour that tradesmen preach; and yet they preach, while they themselves are the worst tradesmen of all.

As for church endowments and possessions, I meet with none considerable before Constantine, but the houses and gardens where they met, and their places of burial; and I persuade me, that from the ancient Waldenses, whom deservedly I cite so often, held, “That to endow churches is an evil thing; and, that the church then fell off and turned whore, sitting on that beast in the Revelation, when under pope Sylvester she received those temporal donations.” So the forecited tractate of their doctrine testifies. This also their own traditions of that heavenly voice witnessed, and some of the ancient fathers then living foresaw and deplored. And indeed, how could these endowments thrive better with the church, being unjustly taken by those emperors, without suffrage of the people, out of the tributes and public lands of each city, whereby the people became liable to be oppressed with other taxes. Being therefore given for the most part by kings and other public persons, and so likeliest out of the public, and if without the people’s consent, unjustly, however to public ends of much concernment, to the good or evil of a commonwealth, and in that regard made public though given by private persons, or which is worse, given, as the clergy then persuaded men, for their souls’ health, a pious gift; but as the truth was, ofttimes a bribe to God, or to Christ for absolution, as they were then taught, from murders, adulteries, and other heinous crimes; what shall be found heretofore given by kings or princes out of the public, may justly by the magistrate be recalled and reappropriated to the civil revenue: what by private or public persons out of their own, the price of blood or lust, or to some such purgatorious and superstitious uses, not only may, but ought to be taken off from Christ, as a foul dishonour laid upon him, or not impiously given, nor in particular to any one, but in general to the church’s good, may be converted to that use, which shall be judged tending more directly to that general end. Thus did the princes and cities of Germany in the first reformation; and defended their so doing by many reasons, which are set down at large in Sleidan, Lib. 6, Anno 1526, and Lib. 11, Anno 1537, and Lib. 13, Anno 1540. But that the magistrate either out of that church-revenue which remains yet in his hand, or establishing any other maintenance instead of tithe, should take into his own power the stipendiary maintenance of church ministers, or compel it by law, can stand neither with the people’s right, nor with Christian liberty, but would suspend the church wholly upon the state, and turn ministers into state pensioners. And for the magistrate in person of a nursing father to make the church his mere ward, as always in minority, the church, to whom he ought as a magistrate, Isa. xlix. 23, “to bow down with his face towards the earth, and lick up the dust of her feet;” her to subject to his political drifts or conceived opinions, by mastering her revenue; and so by his examinant committees to circumscribe her free election of ministers, is neither just nor pious; no honour done to the church, but a plain dishonour: and upon her whose only head is in heaven, yea upon him, who is only head, sets another in effect, and which is most monstrous, a human on a heavenly, a carnal on a spiritual, a political head on an ecclesiastical body; which at length by such heterogeneal, such incestuous conjunction, transforms her ofttimes into a beast of many heads and many horns. For if the church be of all societies the holiest on earth, and so to be reverenced by the magistrate; not to trust her with her own belief and integrity, and therefore not with the keeping, at least with the disposing, of what revenue shall be found justly and lawfully her own, is to count the church not a holy congregation, but a pack of giddy or dishonest persons, to be ruled by civil power in sacred affairs. But to proceed further in the truth yet more freely, seeing the Christian church is not national, but consisting of many particular congregations, subject to many changes, as well through civil accidents, as through schisms and various opinions, not to be decided by any outward judge, being matters of conscience, whereby these pretended church-revenues, as they have been ever, so are like to continue endless matter of dissension both between the church and magistrate, and the churches among themselves, there will be found no better remedy to these evils, otherwise incurable, than by the incorruptest council of those Waldenses, or first reformers, to remove them as a pest, an apple of discord in the church, (for what else can be the effect of riches, and the snare of money in religion?) and to convert them to those more profitable uses above expressed, or such as shall be judged most necessary; considering that the church of Christ was founded in poverty rather than in revenues, stood purest and prospered best without them, received them unlawfully from them who both erroneously and unjustly, sometimes impiously, gave them, and so justly was ensnared and corrupted by them. And lest it be thought that, these revenues withdrawn and better employed, the magistrate ought instead to settle by statute some maintenance of ministers, let this be considered first, that it concerns every man’s conscience to what religion he contributes; and that the civil magistrate is intrusted with civil rights only, not with conscience, which can have no deputy or representer of itself, but one of the same mind: next, that what each man gives to the minister, he gives either as to God or as to his teacher; if as to God, no civil power can justly consecrate to religious uses any part either of civil revenue, which is the people’s, and must save them from other taxes, or of any man’s propriety, but God by special command, as he did by Moses, or the owner himself by voluntary intention and the persuasion of his giving it to God. Forced consecrations out of another man’s estate are no better than forced vows, hateful to God, “who loves a cheerful giver;” but much more hateful, wrung out of men’s purses to maintain a disapproved ministry against their conscience; however unholy, infamous, and dishonourable to his ministers and the free gospel, maintained in such unworthy manner as by violence and extortion. If he give it as to his teacher, what justice or equity compels him to pay for learning that religion which leaves freely to his choice, whether he will learn it or no, whether of this teacher or another, and especially to pay for what he never learned, or approves not; whereby, besides the wound of his conscience, he becomes the less able to recompense his true teacher? Thus far hath been inquired by whom church-ministers ought to be maintained, and hath been proved most natural, most equal and agreeable with Scripture, to be by them who receive their teaching; and by whom, if they be unable. Which ways well observed can discourage none but hirelings, and will much lessen their number in the church.

It remains lastly to consider, in what manner God hath ordained that recompense be given to ministers of the gospel; and by all Scripture it will appear, that he hath given it them not by civil law and freehold, as they claim, but by the benevolence and free gratitude of such as receive them: Luke x. 7, 8, “Eating and drinking such things as they give you. If they receive you, eat such things as are set before you.” Matt. x. 7, 8, “As ye go, preach, saying, The kingdom of God is at hand, c. Freely ye have received, freely give.” If God have ordained ministers to preach freely, whether they receive recompense or not, then certainly he hath forbid both them to compel it, and others to compel it for them. But freely given, he accounts it as given to himself: Phil. iv. 16, 17, 18, “Ye sent once and again to my necessity: not because I desire a gift; but I desire fruit, that may abound to your account. Having received of Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you, an odour of sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, well-pleasing to God;” which cannot be from force or unwillingness. The same is said of alms, Heb. xiii. 16, “To do good and to communicate, forget not; for with such sacrifice God is well pleased.” Whence the primitive church thought it no shame to receive all their maintenance as the alms of their auditors. Which they who defend tithes, as if it made for their cause, whenas it utterly confutes them, omit not to set down at large; proving to our hands out of Origen, Tertullian, Cyprian, and others, that the clergy lived at first upon the mere benevolence of their hearers; who gave what they gave, not to the clergy, but to the church; out of which the clergy had their portions given them in baskets, and were thence called sportularii, basket-clerks: that their portion was a very mean allowance, only for a bare livelihood; according to those precepts of our Saviour, Matt. x. 7, c. the rest was distributed to the poor. They cite also out of Prosper, the disciple of St. Austin, that such of the clergy as had means of their own, might not without sin partake of church maintenance; not receiving thereby food which they abound with, but feeding on the sins of other men: that the Holy Ghost saith of such clergymen, they eat the sins of my people; and that a council at Antioch, in the year 340, suffered not either priest or bishop to live on church-maintenance without necessity. Thus far tithers themselves have contributed to their own confutation, by confessing that the church lived primitively on alms. And I add, that about the year 359, Constantius the emperor having summoned a general council of bishops to Arminium in Italy, and provided for their subsistence there, the British and French bishops judging it not decent to live on the public, chose rather to be at their own charges. Three only out of Britain constrained through want, yet refusing offered assistance from the rest, accepted the emperor’s provision; judging it more convenient to subsist by public than by private sustenance. Whence we may conclude, that bishops then in this island had their livelihood only from benevolence; in which regard this relater Sulpitius Severus, a good author of the same time, highly praises them. And the Waldenses, our first reformers, both from the Scripture and these primitive examples, maintained those among them who bore the office of ministers by alms only. Take their very words from the history written of them in French, Part 3, Lib. 2, Chap. 2, “La nourriture et ce de quoy nous sommes couverts, c. Our food and clothing is sufficiently administered and given to us by way of gratuity and alms, by the good people whom we teach.” If then by alms and benevolence, not by legal force, not by tenure of freehold or copyhold: for alms, though just, cannot be compelled; and benevolence forced is malevolence rather, violent and inconsistent with the gospel: and declares him no true minister thereof, but a rapacious hireling rather, who by force receiving it, eats the bread of violence and exaction, no holy or just livelihood, no not civilly counted honest; much less beseeming such a spiritual ministry.

But, say they, our maintenance is our due, tithes the right of Christ, unseparable from the priest, no where repealed; if then, not otherwise to be had, by law to be recovered: for though Paul were pleased to forego his due, and not to use his power, 1 Cor. ix. 12, yet he had a power, ver. 4, and bound not others. I answer first, because I see them still so loth to unlearn their decimal arithmetic, and still grasp their tithes as inseparable from a priest, that ministers of the gospel are not priests; and therefore separated from tithes by their exclusion, being neither called priests in the New Testament, nor of any order known in Scripture: not of Melchisedec, proper to Christ only; not of Aaron, as they themselves will confess; and the third priesthood only remaining, is common to all the faithful. But they are ministers of our high priest. True, but not of his priesthood, as the Levites were to Aaron; for he performs that whole office himself incommunicably. Yet tithes remain, say they, still unreleased, the due of Christ; and to whom payable, but to his ministers? I say again, that no man can so understand them, unless Christ in some place or other so claim them. That example of Abraham argues nothing but his voluntary act; honour once only done, but on what consideration, whether to a priest or to a king, whether due the honour, arbitrary that kind of honour or not, will after all contending be left still in mere conjecture; which must not be permitted in the claim of such a needy and subtle spiritual corporation, pretending by divine right to the tenth of all other men’s estates; nor can it be allowed by wise men or the verdict of common law. And the tenth part, though once declared holy, is declared now to be no holier than the other nine, by that command to Peter, Acts x. 15, 28, whereby all distinction of holy and unholy is removed from all things. Tithes therefore, though claimed, and holy under the law, yet are now released and quitted both by that command to Peter, and by this to all ministers, above-cited Luke x. “eating and drinking such things as they give you:” made holy now by their free gift only. And therefore St. Paul, 1 Cor. ix. 4, asserts his power indeed; but of what? not of tithes, but “to eat and drink such things as are given” in reference to this command; which he calls not holy things, or things of the gospel, as if the gospel had any consecrated things in answer to things of the temple, ver. 13, but he calls them “your carnal things,” ver. 11, without changing their property. And what power had he? Not the power of force, but of conscience only, whereby he might lawfully and without scruple live on the gospel; receiving what was given him, as the recompence of his labour. For if Christ the Master hath professed his kingdom to be not of this world, it suits not with that profession, either in him or his ministers, to claim temporal right from spiritual respects. He who refused to be the divider of an inheritance between two brethren, cannot approve his ministers, by pretended right from him, to be dividers of tenths and freeholds out of other men’s possessions, making thereby the gospel but a cloak of carnal interest, and to the contradiction of their master, turning his heavenly kingdom into a kingdom of this world, a kingdom of force and rapine: to whom it will be one day thundered more terribly than to Gehazi, for thus dishonouring a far greater master and his gospel; “Is this a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and oliveyards, and vineyards, and sheep and oxen?” The leprosy of Naaman, linked with that apostolic curse of perishing imprecated on Simon Magus, may be feared will “cleave to such and to their seed for ever.” So that when all is done, and belly hath used in vain all her cunning shifts, I doubt not but all true ministers, considering the demonstration of what hath been here proved, will be wise, and think it much more tolerable to hear, that no maintenance of ministers, whether tithes or any other, can be settled by statute, but must be given by them who receive instruction; and freely given, as God hath ordained. And indeed what can be a more honourable maintenance to them than such, whether alms or willing oblations, as these; which being accounted both alike as given to God, the only acceptable sacrifices now remaining, must needs represent him who receives them much in the care of God, and nearly related to him, when not by worldly force and constraint, but with religious awe and reverence, what is given to God, is given to him; and what to him, accounted as given to God. This would be well enough, say they; but how many will so give? I answer, as many, doubtless, as shall be well taught, as many as God shall so move. Why are ye so distrustful, both of your own doctrine and of God’s promises, fulfilled in the experience of those disciples first sent?—Luke xxii. 35, “When I sent you without purse, and scrip, and shoes, lacked ye any thing? And they said, Nothing.” How then came ours, or who sent them thus destitute, thus poor and empty both of purse and faith? Who style themselves embassadors of Jesus Christ, and seem to be his tithe-gatherers, though an office of their own setting up to his dishonour, his exacters, his publicans rather, not trusting that he will maintain them in their embassy, unless they bind him to his promise by a statute-law, that we shall maintain them. Lay down for shame that magnific title, while ye seek maintenance from the people: it is not the manner of embassadors to ask maintenance of them to whom they are sent. But he who is Lord of all things, hath so ordained: trust him then; he doubtless will command the people to make good his promises of maintenance more honourably unasked, unraked for. This they know, this they preach, yet believe not: but think it as impossible, without a statute-law, to live of the gospel, as if by those words they were bid go eat their Bibles, as Ezekiel and John did their books; and such doctrines as these are as bitter to their bellies; but will serve so much the better to discover hirelings, who can have nothing, though but in appearance, just and solid to answer for themselves against what hath been here spoken, unless perhaps this one remaining pretence, which we shall quickly see to be either false or uningenuous.

They pretend that their education, either at school or university, hath been very chargeable, and therefore ought to be repaired in future by a plentiful maintenance: whenas it is well known, that the better half of them, (and ofttimes poor and pitiful boys, of no merit or promising hopes that might entitle them to the public provision, but their poverty and the unjust favour of friends,) have had the most of their breeding, both at school and university, by scholarships, exhibitions, and fellowships at the public cost, which might engage them the rather to give freely, as they have freely received. Or if they have missed of these helps at the latter place, they have after two or three years left the course of their studies there, if they ever well began them, and undertaken, though furnished with little else but ignorance, boldness, and ambition, if with no worse vices, a chaplainship in some gentleman’s house, to the frequent embasing of his sons with illiterate and narrow principles. Or if they have lived there upon their own, who knows not that seven years charge of living there, to them who fly not from the government of their parents to the license of a university, but come seriously to study, is no more than may be well defrayed and reimbursed by one year’s revenue of an ordinary good benefice? If they had then means of breeding from their parents, it is likely they have more now; and if they have, it needs must be a mechanic and uningenuous in them, to bring a bill of charges for the learning of those liberal arts and sciences, which they have learned (if they have indeed learned them, as they seldom have) to their own benefit and accomplishment. But they will say, we had betaken us to some other trade or profession, had we not expected to find a better livelihood by the ministry. This is that which I looked for, to discover them openly neither true lovers of learning, and so very seldom guilty of it, nor true ministers of the gospel. So long ago out of date is that old true saying, 1 Tim. iii. 1, “If a man desire a bishopric, he desires a good work:” for now commonly he who desires to be a minister, looks not at the work, but at the wages: and by that lure or lowbell, may be tolled from parish to parish all the town over. But what can be plainer simony, than thus to be at charges beforehand, to no other end than to make their ministry doubly or trebly beneficial? To whom it might be said, as justly as to that Simon, “Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought, that the gift of God may be purchased with money; thou hast neither part nor lot in this matter.”

Next, it is a fond error, though too much believed among us, to think that the university makes a minister of the gospel. What it may conduce to other arts and sciences, I dispute not now: but that which makes fit a minister, the Scripture can best inform as to be only from above, whence also we are bid to seek them; Matt. ix. 38, “Pray ye therefore to the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth labourers into his harvest.” Acts xx. 28, “The flock, over which the Holy Ghost hath made you overseers.” Rom. x. 15, “How shall they preach, unless they be sent?” By whom sent? by the university, or the magistrate, or their belly? No surely, but sent from God only, and that God who is not their belly. And whether he be sent from God, or from Simon Magus, the inward sense of his calling and spiritual ability will sufficiently tell him; and that strong obligation felt within him, which was felt by the apostle, will often express from him the same words: 1 Cor. ix. 16, “Necessity is laid upon me, yea, wo is me if I preach not the gospel.” Not a beggarly necessity, and the woe feared otherwise of perpetual want, but such a necessity as made him willing to preach the gospel gratis, and to embrace poverty, rather than as a woe to fear it. 1 Cor. xii. 28, “God hath set some in the church, first apostles,” c. Ephes. iv. 11, c. “He gave some apostles, c. For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ, till we all come to the unity of the faith.” Whereby we may know, that as he made them at the first, so he makes them still, and to the world’s end. 2 Cor. iii. 6, “Who hath also made us fit or able ministers of the New Testament.” 1 Tim. iv. 14, “The gift that is in thee, which was given thee by prophecy, and the laying on of the hands of the presbytery.” These are all the means, which we read of, required in Scripture to the making of a minister. All this is granted, you will say; but yet that it is also requisite he should be trained in other learning: which can be no where better had than at universities. I answer, that what learning, either human or divine, can be necessary to a minister, may as easily and less chargeably be had in any private house. How deficient else, and to how little purpose, are all those piles of sermons, notes, and comments on all parts of the Bible, bodies and marrows of divinity, besides all other sciences, in our English tongue; many of the same books which in Latin they read at the university? And the small necessity of going thither to learn divinity I prove first from the most part of themselves, who seldom continue there till they have well got through logic, their first rudiments; though to say truth, logic also may much better be wanting in disputes of divinity, than in the subtile debates of lawyers, and statesmen, who yet seldom or never deal with syllogisms. And those theological disputations there held by professors and graduates are such, as tend least of all to the edification or capacity of the people, but rather perplex and leaven pure doctrine with scholastic trash, than enable any minister to the better preaching of the gospel. Whence we may also compute, since they come to reckonings, the charges of his needful library; which, though some shame not to value at 600 l. may be competently furnished for 60 l. If any man for his own curiosity or delight be in books further expensive, that is not to be reckoned as necessary to his ministerial, either breeding or function. But papists and other adversaries cannot be confuted without fathers and councils, immense volumes, and of vast charges. I will show them therefore a shorter and a better way of confutation: Tit. i. 9, “Holding fast the faithful word, as he hath been taught, that he may be able by sound doctrine, both to exhort and to convince gainsayers:” who are confuted as soon as heard, bringing that which is either not in Scripture, or against it. To pursue them further through the obscure and entangled wood of antiquity, fathers and councils fighting one against another, is needless, endless, not requisite in a minister, and refused by the first reformers of our religion. And yet we may be confident, if these things be thought needful, let the state but erect in public good store of libraries, and there will not want men in the church, who of their own inclinations will become able in this kind against papists or any other adversary.

I have thus at large examined the usual pretences of hirelings, coloured over most commonly with the cause of learning and universities; as if with divines learning stood and fell, wherein for the most part their pittance is so small; and, to speak freely, it were much better there were not one divine in the universities, no school-divinity known, the idle sophistry of monks, the canker of religion; and that they who intended to be ministers, were trained up in the church only by the Scripture, and in the original languages thereof at school; without fetching the compass of other arts and sciences, more than what they can well learn at secondary leisure, and at home.—Neither speak I this in contempt of learning, or the ministry, but hating the common cheats of both; hating that they, who have preached out bishops, prelates, and canonists, should, in what serves their own ends, retain their false opinions, their pharisaical leaven, their avarice, and closely their ambition, their pluralities, their nonresidences, their odious fees, and use their legal and popish arguments for tithes: that independents should take that name, as they may justly from the true freedom of Christian doctrine and church-discipline, subject to no superior judge but God only, and seek to be dependents on the magistrates for their maintenance; which two things, independence and state-hire in religion, can never consist long or certainly together. For magistrates at one time or other, not like these at present our patrons of Christian liberty, will pay none but such whom by their committees of examination they find conformable to their interests and opinions: and hirelings will soon frame themselves to that interest, and those opinions which they see best pleasing to their paymasters; and to seem right themselves, will force others as to the truth. But most of all they are to be reviled and shamed, who cry out with the distinct voice of notorious hirelings; that if ye settle not our maintenance by law, farewell the gospel; than which nothing can be uttered more false, more ignominious, and I may say, more blasphemous against our Saviour; who hath promised without this condition, both his Holy Spirit, and his own presence with his church to the world’s end: nothing more false, (unless with their own mouths they condemn themselves for the unworthiest and most mercenary of all other ministers,) by the experience of three hundred years after Christ, and the churches at this day in France, Austria, Polonia, and other places, witnessing the contrary under an adverse magistrate, not a favourable; nothing more ignominious, levelling, or rather undervaluing Christ beneath Mahomet. For if it must be thus, how can any Christian object it to a Turk, that his religion stands by force only; and not justly fear from him this reply, Yours both by force and money, in the judgment of your own preachers? This is that which makes atheists in the land, whom they so much complain of: not the want of maintenance, or preachers, as they allege, but the many hirelings and cheaters that have the gospel in their hands; hands that still crave, and are never satisfied. Likely ministers indeed, to proclaim the faith, or to exhort our trust in God, when they themselves will not trust him to provide for them in the message whereon, they say, he sent them; but threaten, for want of temporal means, to desert it; calling that want of means, which is nothing else but the want of their own faith: and would force us to pay the hire of building our faith to their covetous incredulity. Doubtless, if God only be he who gives ministers to his church till the world’s end; and through the whole gospel never sent us for ministers to the schools of philosophy, but rather bids us beware of such “vain deceit,” Col. ii. 8, (which the primitive church, after two or three ages not remembering, brought herself quickly to confusion,) if all the faithful be now “a holy and a royal priesthood,” 1 Pet. ii. 5, 9, not excluded from the dispensation of things holiest, after free election of the church, and imposition of hands, there will not want ministers elected out of all sorts and orders of men, for the gospel makes no difference from the magistrate himself to the meanest artificer, if God evidently favour him with spiritual gifts, as he can easily, and oft hath done, while those bachelor divines and doctors of the tippet have been passed by.

Heretofore in the first evangelic times, (and it were happy for Christendom if it were so again,) ministers of the gospel were by nothing else distinguished from other Christians, but by their spiritual knowledge and sanctity of life, for which the church elected them to be her teachers and overseers, though not thereby to separate them from whatever calling she then found them following besides; as the example of St. Paul declares, and the first times of Christianity. When once they affected to be called a clergy, and became, as it were, a peculiar tribe of Levites, a party, a distinct order in the commonwealth, bred up for divines in babbling schools, and fed at the public cost, good for nothing else but what was good for nothing, they soon grew idle: that idleness, with fulness of bread, begat pride and perpetual contention with their feeders the despised laity, through all ages ever since; to the perverting of religion, and the disturbance of all Christendom. And we may confidently conclude, it never will be otherwise while they are thus upheld undepending on the church, on which alone they anciently depended, and are by the magistrate publicly maintained a numerous faction of indigent persons, crept for the most part out of extreme want and bad nurture, claiming by divine right and freehold the tenth of our estates, to monopolize the ministry as their peculiar, which is free and open to all able Christians, elected by any church. Under this pretence exempt from all other employment, and enriching themselves on the public, they last of all prove common incendiaries, and exalt their horns against the magistrate himself that maintains them, as the priest of Rome did soon after against his benefactor the emperor, and the presbyters of late in Scotland. Of which hireling crew, together with all the mischiefs, dissensions, troubles, wars merely of their kindling, Christendom might soon rid herself and be happy, if Christians would but know their own dignity, their liberty, their adoption, and let it not be wondered if I say, their spiritual priesthood, whereby they have all equally access to any ministerial function, whenever called by their own abilities, and the church, though they never came near commencement or university. But while protestants, to avoid the due labour of understanding their own religion, are content to lodge it in the breast, or rather in the books, of a clergyman, and to take it thence by scraps and mammocks, as he dispenses it in his Sunday’s dole; they will be always learning and never knowing; always infants; always either his vassals, as lay papists are to their priests; or at odds with him, as reformed principles give them some light to be not wholly conformable; whence infinite disturbances in the state, as they do, must needs follow. Thus much I had to say; and, I suppose, what may be enough to them who are not avariciously bent otherwise, touching the likeliest means to remove hirelings out of the church; than which nothing can more conduce to truth, to peace and all happiness both in church and state. If I be not heard nor believed, the event will bear me witness to have spoken truth; and I in the meanwhile, have borne my witness, not out of season, to the church and to my country.

A LETTER TO A FRIEND CONCERNING THE RUPTURES OF THE COMMONWEALTH.

PUBLISHED FROM THE MANUSCRIPT.

SIR,—UPON the sad and serious discourse which we fell into last night, concerning these dangerous ruptures of the Commonwealth, scarce yet in her infancy, which cannot be without some inward flaw in her bowels; I began to consider more intensely thereon than hitherto I have been wont, resigning myself to the wisdom and care of those who had the government; and not finding that either God or the public required more of me, than my prayers for them that govern. And since you have not only stirred up my thoughts, by acquainting me with the state of affairs, more inwardly than I knew before; but also have desired me to set down my opinion thereof, trusting to your ingenuity, I shall give you freely my apprehension, both of our present evils, and what expedients, if God in mercy regard us, may remove them. I will begin with telling you how I was overjoyed, when I heard that the army, under the working of God’s Holy Spirit, as I thought, and still hope well, had been so far wrought to Christian humility, and self-denial, as to confess in public their backsliding from the good old cause, and to show the fruits of their repentance, in the righteousness of their restoring the old famous parliament, which they had without just authority dissolved: I call it the famous parliament, though not the harmless, since none well-affected, but will confess, they have deserved much more of these nations, than they have undeserved. And I persuade me, that God was pleased with their restitution, signing it, as he did, with such a signal victory, when so great a part of the nation were desperately conspired to call back again their Ægyptian bondage. So much the more it now amazes me, that they, whose lips were yet scarce closed from giving thanks for that great deliverance, should be now relapsing, and so soon again backsliding into the same fault, which they confessed so lately and so solemnly to God and the world, and more lately punished in those Cheshire rebels; that they should now dissolve that parliament, which they themselves re-established, and acknowledged for their supreme power in their other day’s humble representation: and all this, for no apparent cause of public concernment to the church or commonwealth, but only for discommissioning nine great officers in the army; which had not been done, as is reported, but upon notice of their intentions against the parliament. I presume not to give my censure on this action, not knowing, as yet I do not, the bottom of it. I speak only what it appears to us without doors, till better cause be declared, and I am sure to all other nations most illegal and scandalous, I fear me barbarous, or rather scarce to be exampled among any barbarians, that a paid army should, for no other cause, thus subdue the supreme power that set them up. This, I say, other nations will judge to the sad dishonour of that army, lately so renowned for the civilest and best ordered in the world, and by us here at home, for the most conscientious. Certainly, if the great officers and soldiers of the Holland, French, or Venetian forces, should thus sit in council, and write from garrison to garrison against their superiors, they might as easily reduce the king of France, or duke of Venice, and put the United Provinces in like disorder and confusion. Why do they not, being most of them held ignorant of true religion? because the light of nature, the laws of human society, the reverence of their magistrates, covenants, engagements, loyalty, allegiance, keeps them in awe. How grievous will it then be! how infamous to the true religion which we profess! how dishonourable to the name of God, that his fear and the power of his knowledge in an army professing to be his, should not work that obedience, that fidelity to their supreme magistrates, that levied them and paid them; when the light of nature, the laws of human society, covenants and contracts, yea common shame, works in other armies, among the worst of them! Which will undoubtedly pull down the heavy judgment of God among us, who cannot but avenge these hypocrisies, violations of truth and holiness; if they be indeed so as they yet seem. For neither do I speak this in reproach to the army, but as jealous of their honour, inciting them to manifest and publish with all speed, some better cause of these their late actions, than hath hitherto appeared, and to find out the Achan amongst them, whose close ambition in all likelihood abuses their honest natures against their meaning to these disorders; their readiest way to bring in again the common enemy, and with him the destruction of true religion, and civil liberty.

But, because our evils are now grown more dangerous and extreme, than to be remedied by complaints, it concerns us now to find out what remedies may be likeliest to save us from approaching ruin. Being now in anarchy, without a counselling and governing power; and the army, I suppose, finding themselves insufficient to discharge at once both military and civil affairs, the first thing to be found out with all speed, without which no commonwealth can subsist, must be a senate or general council of state, in whom must be the power, first, to preserve the public peace; next, the commerce with foreign nations; and lastly, to raise moneys for the management of these affairs: this must either be the parliament re-admitted to sit, or a council of state allowed of by the army, since they only now have the power. The terms to be stood on are, liberty of conscience to all professing Scripture to be the rule of their faith and worship; and the abjuration of a single person. If the parliament be again thought on, to salve honour on both sides, the well-affected part of the city, and the congregated churches, may be induced to mediate by public addresses, and brotherly beseechings; which, if there be that saintship among us which is talked of, ought to be of highest and undeniable persuasion to reconcilement. If the parliament be thought well dissolved, as not complying fully to grant liberty of conscience, and the necessary consequence thereof, the removal of a forced maintenance from ministers, then must the army forthwith choose a council of state, whereof as many to be of the parliament, as are undoubtedly affected to these two conditions proposed. That which I conceive only able to cement, and unite for ever the army, either to the parliament recalled, or this chosen council, must be a mutual league and oath, private or public, not to desert one another till death: that is to say, that the army be kept up, and all these officers in their places during life, and so likewise the parliament or counsellors of state; which will be no way unjust, considering their known merits on either side, in council or in field, unless any be found false to any of these two principles, or otherwise personally criminous in the judgment of both parties. If such a union as this be not accepted on the army’s part, be confident there is a single person underneath. That the army be upheld, the necessity of our affairs and factions will constrain long enough perhaps, to content the longest liver in the army. And whether the civil government be an annual democracy, or a perpetual aristocracy, is not to me a consideration for the extremities wherein we are, and the hazard of our safety from our common enemy, gaping at present to devour us. That it be not an oligarchy, or the faction of a few, may be easily prevented by the numbers of their own choosing, who may be found infallibly constant to those conditions fore-named, full liberty of conscience, and the abjuration of monarchy proposed: and the well-ordered committees of their faithfullest adherents in every county, may give this government the resemblance and effects of a perfect democracy. As for the reformation of laws, and the places of judicature, whether to be here, as at present, or in every county, as hath been long aimed at, and many such proposals, tending no doubt to public good, they may be considered in due time, when we are past these pernicious pangs, in a hopeful way of health, and firm constitution. But unless these things, which I have above proposed, one way or other, be once settled, in my fear, which God avert, we instantly ruin; or at best become the servants of one or other single person, the secret author and fomenter of these disturbances. You have the sum of my present thoughts, as much as I understand of these affairs, freely imparted; at your request, and the persuasion you wrought in me, that I might chance hereby to be some way serviceable to the Commonwealth, in a time when all ought to be endeavouring what good they can, whether much or but little.

With this you may do what you please, put out, put in, communicate, or suppress: you offend not me, who only have obeyed your opinion, that in doing what I have done, I might happen to offer something which might be of some use in this great time of need. However, I have not been wanting to the opportunity which you presented before me, of showing the readiness which I have in the midst of my unfitness, to whatever may be required of me, as a public duty.

October 20, 1659.

THE PRESENT MEANS AND BRIEF DELINEATION OF A FREE COMMONWEALTH,

EASY TO BE PUT IN PRACTICE, AND WITHOUT DELAY.

IN A LETTER TO GENERAL MONK.

PUBLISHED FROM THE MANUSCRIPT.

FIRST, All endeavours speedily to be used, that the ensuing election be of such as are already firm, or inclinable to constitute a free commonwealth, (according to the former qualifications decreed in parliament, and not yet repealed, as I hear,) without single person, or house of lords. If these be not such, but the contrary, who foresees not, that our liberties will be utterly lost in this next parliament, without some powerful course taken, of speediest prevention? The speediest way will be to call up forthwith the chief gentlemen out of every county; to lay before them (as your excellency hath already, both in your published letters to the army, and your declaration recited to the members of parliament) the danger and confusion of readmitting kingship in this land; especially against the rules of all prudence and example, in a family once ejected, and thereby not to be trusted with the power of revenge: that you will not longer delay them with vain expectation, but will put into their hands forthwith the possession of a free commonwealth; if they will first return immediately and elect them, by such at least of the people as are rightly qualified, a standing council in every city and great town, which may then be dignified with the name of city, continually to consult the good and flourishing state of that place, with a competent territory adjoined; to assume the judicial laws, either those that are, or such as they themselves shall new make severally, in each commonalty, and all judicatures, all magistracies, to the administration of all justice between man and man, and all the ornaments of public civility, academies, and such like, in their own hands. Matters appertaining to men of several counties or territories, may be determined, as they are here at London, or in some more convenient place, under equal judges.

Next, That in every such capital place, they will choose them the usual number of ablest knights and burgesses, engaged for a commonwealth, to make up the parliament, or (as it will from henceforth be better called) the Grand or General Council of the Nation: whose office must be, with due caution, to dispose of forces, both by sea and land, under the conduct of your excellency, for the preservation of peace, both at home and abroad; must raise and manage the public revenue, but with provident inspection of their accompts; must administer all foreign affairs, make all general laws, peace or war, but not without assent of the standing council in each city, or such other general assembly as may be called on such occasion, from the whole territory, where they may, without much trouble, deliberate on all things fully, and send up their suffrages within a set time, by deputies appointed. Though this grand council be perpetual, (as in that book I proved would be best and most conformable to best examples,) yet they will then, thus limited, have so little matter in their hands, or power to endanger our liberty; and the people so much in theirs, to prevent them, having all judicial laws in their own choice, and free votes in all those which concern generally the whole commonwealth; that we shall have little cause to fear the perpetuity of our general senate; which will be then nothing else but a firm foundation and custody of our public liberty, peace, and union, through the whole commonwealth, and the transactors of our affairs with foreign nations.

If this yet be not thought enough, the known expedient may at length be used, of a partial rotation.

Lastly, If these gentlemen convocated refuse these fair and noble offers of immediate liberty, and happy condition, no doubt there be enough in every county who will thankfully accept them; your excellency once more declaring publicly this to be your mind, and having a faithful veteran army so ready and glad to assist you in the prosecution thereof. For the full and absolute administration of law in every county, which is the difficultest of these proposals, hath been of most long desired; and the not granting it held a general grievance. The rest, when they shall see the beginnings and proceedings of these constitutions proposed, and the orderly, the decent, the civil, the safe, the noble effects thereof, will be soon convinced, and by degrees come in of their own accord, to be partakers of so happy a government.

THE READY AND EASY WAY TO ESTABLISH A FREE COMMONWEALTH,

AND THE EXCELLENCE THEREOF, COMPARED WITH THE INCONVENIENCIES AND DANGERS OF READMITTING KINGSHIP IN THIS NATION.

[ FIRST PUBLISHED 1660.]

------------------ Et nos

Consilium dedimus Syllæ, demus populo nunc.

ALTHOUGH, since the writing of this treatise, the face of things hath had some change, writs for new elections have been recalled, and the members at first chosen re-admitted from exclusion; yet not a little rejoicing to hear declared the resolution of those who are in power, tending to the establishment of a free commonwealth, and to remove, if it be possible, this noxious humour of returning to bondage, instilled of late by some deceivers, and nourished from bad principles and false apprehensions among too many of the people; I thought best not to suppress what I had written, hoping that it may now be of much more use and concernment to be freely published, in the midst of our elections to a free parliament, or their sitting to consider freely of the government; whom it behoves to have all things represented to them that may direct their judgment therein; and I never read of any state, scarce of any tyrant, grown so incurable, as to refuse counsel from any in a time of public deliberation, much less to be offended. If their absolute determination be to inthrall us, before so long a Lent of servitude, they may permit us a little shroving-time first, wherein to speak freely, and take our leaves of liberty. And because in the former edition, through haste, many faults escaped, and many books were suddenly dispersed, ere the note to mend them could be sent, I took the opportunity from this occasion to revise and somewhat to enlarge the whole discourse, especially that part which argues for a perpetual senate. The treatise thus revised and enlarged, is as follows.

The Parliament of England, assisted by a great number of the people who appeared and stuck to them faithfullest in defence of religion and their civil liberties, judging kingship by long experience a government unnecessary, burdensome, and dangerous, justly and magnanimously abolished it, turning regal bondage into a free commonwealth, to the admiration and terror of our emulous neighbours. They took themselves not bound by the light of nature or religion to any former covenant, from which the king himself, by many forfeitures of a latter date or discovery, and our longer consideration thereon, had more and more unbound us, both to himself and his posterity; as hath been ever the justice and the prudence of all wise nations, that have ejected tyranny. They covenanted “to preserve the king’s person and authority, in the preservation of the true religion, and our liberties;” not in his endeavouring to bring in upon our consciences a popish religion; upon our liberties, thraldom; upon our lives, destruction, by his occasioning, if not complotting, as was after discovered, the Irish massacre; his fomenting and arming the rebellion; his covert leaguing with the rebels against us; his refusing, more than seven times, propositions most just and necessary to the true religion and our liberties, tendered him by the parliament both of England and Scotland. They made not their covenant concerning him with no difference between a king and a God; or promised him, as Job did to the Almighty, “to trust in him though he slay us:” they understood that the solemn engagement, wherein we all forswore kingship, was no more a breach of the covenant, than the covenant was of the protestation before, but a faithful and prudent going on both in words well weighed, and in the true sense of the covenant “without respect of persons,” when we could not serve two contrary masters, God and the king, or the king and that more supreme law, sworn in the first place to maintain our safety and our liberty. They knew the people of England to be a free people, themselves the representers of that freedom; and although many were excluded, and as many fled (so they pretended) from tumults to Oxford, yet they were left a sufficient number to act in parliament, therefore not bound by any statute of preceding parliaments, but by the law of nature only, which is the only law of laws truly and properly to all mankind fundamental; the beginning and the end of all government; to which no parliament or people that will throughly reform, but may and must have recourse, as they had, and must yet have, in church-reformation (if they throughly intend it) to evangelic rules; not to ecclesiastical canons, though never so ancient, so ratified and established in the land by statutes which for the most part are mere positive laws, neither natural nor moral: and so by any parliament, for just and serious considerations, without scruple to be at any time repealed. If others of their number in these things were under force, they were not, but under free conscience; if others were excluded by a power which they could not resist, they were not therefore to leave the helm of government in no hands, to discontinue their care of the public peace and safety, to desert the people in anarchy and confusion, no more than when so many of their members left them, as made up in outward formality a more legal parliament of three estates against them.

The best-affected also, and best-principled of the people, stood not numbering or computing, on which side were most voices in parliament, but on which side appeared to them most reason, most safety, when the house divided upon main matters. What was well motioned and advised, they examined not whether fear or persuasion carried it in the vote, neither did they measure votes and counsels by the intentions of them that voted; knowing that intentions either are but guessed at, or not soon enough known; and although good, can neither make the deed such, nor prevent the consequence from being bad: suppose bad intentions in things otherwise well done; what was well done, was by them who so thought, not the less obeyed or followed in the state; since in the church, who had not rather follow Iscariot or Simon the magician, though to covetous ends, preaching, than Saul, though in the uprightness of his heart persecuting the gospel? Safer they therefore judged what they thought the better counsels, though carried on by some perhaps to bad ends, than the worse by others, though endeavoured with best intentions: and yet they were not to learn, that a greater number might be corrupt within the walls of a parliament, as well as of a city; whereof in matters of nearest concernment all men will be judges; nor easily permit, that the odds of voices in their greatest council shall more endanger them by corrupt or credulous votes, than the odds of enemies by open assaults; judging, that most voices ought not always to prevail, where main matters are in question. If others hence will pretend to disturb all counsels; what is that to them who pretend not, but are in real danger; not they only so judging, but a great, though not the greatest, number of their chosen patriots, who might be more in weight than the others in numbers: there being in number little virtue, but by weight and measure wisdom working all things, and the dangers on either side they seriously thus weighed. From the treaty, short fruits of long labours, and seven years war; security for twenty years, if we can hold it; reformation in the church for three years: then put to shift again with our vanquished master. His justice, his honour, his conscience declared quite contrary to ours; which would have furnished him with many such evasions, as in a book entitled, “An Inquisition for Blood,” soon after were not concealed: bishops not totally removed, but left, as it were, in ambush, a reserve, with ordination in their sole power; their lands already sold, not to be alienated, but rented, and the sale of them called “sacrilege;” delinquents, few of many brought to condign punishment; accessories punished, the chief author, above pardon, though, after utmost resistance, vanquished; not to give, but to receive, laws; yet besought, treated with, and to be thanked for his gracious concessions, to be honoured, worshipped, glorified. If this we swore to do, with what righteousness in the sight of God, with what assurance that we bring not by such an oath, the whole sea of blood-guiltiness upon our heads? If on the other side we prefer a free government, though for the present not obtained, yet all those suggested fears and difficulties, as the event will prove, easily overcome, we remain finally secure from the exasperated regal power, and out of snares; shall retain the best part of our liberty, which is our religion, and the civil part will be from these who defer us, much more easily recovered, being neither so subtle nor so awful as a king reinthroned. Nor were their actions less both at home and abroad, than might become the hopes of a glorious rising commonwealth: nor were the expressions both of army and people, whether in their public declarations, or several writings, other than such as testified a spirit in this nation, no less noble and well fitted to the liberty of a commonwealth, than in the ancient Greeks or Romans. Nor was the heroic cause unsuccessfully defended to all Christendom, against the tongue of a famous and thought invincible adversary; nor the constancy and fortitude, that so nobly vindicated our liberty, our victory at once against two the most prevailing usurpers over mankind, superstition and tyranny, unpraised or uncelebrated in a written monument, likely to outlive detraction, as it hath hitherto convinced or silenced not a few of our detractors, especially in parts abroad. After our liberty and religion thus prosperously fought for, gained, and many years possessed, except in those unhappy interruptions, which God hath removed; now that nothing remains, but in all reason the certain hopes of a speedy and immediate settlement for ever in a firm and free commonwealth, for this extolled and magnified nation, regardless both of honour won, or deliverances vouchsafed from heaven, to fall back, or rather to creep back so poorly, as it seems the multitude would, to their once abjured and detested thraldom of kingship, to be ourselves the slanderers of our own just and religious deeds, though done by some to covetous and ambitious ends, yet not therefore to be stained with their infamy, or they to asperse the integrity of others; and yet these now by revolting from the conscience of deeds well done, both in church and state, to throw away and forsake, or rather to betray, a just and noble cause for the mixture of bad men who have ill-managed and abused it, (which had our fathers done heretofore, and on the same pretence deserted true religion, what had long ere this become of our gospel and all protestant reformation so much intermixed with the avarice and ambition of some reformers?) and by thus relapsing, to verify all the bitter predictions of our triumphing enemies, who will now think they wisely discerned and justly censured both us and all our actions as rash, rebellious, hypocritical, and impious; not only argues a strange, degenerate contagion suddenly spread among us, fitted and prepared for new slavery, but will render us a scorn and derision to all our neighbours. And what will they at best say of us, and of the whole English name, but scoffingly, as of that foolish builder mentioned by our Saviour, who began to build a tower, and was not able to finish it? Where is this goodly tower of a commonwealth, which the English boasted they would build to overshadow kings, and be another Rome in the west? The foundation indeed they lay gallantly, but fell into a worse confusion, not of tongues, but of factions, than those at the tower of Babel; and have left no memorial of their work behind them remaining, but in the common laughter of Europe! Which must needs redound the more to our shame, if we but look on our neighbours the United Provinces, to us inferior in all outward advantages; who notwithstanding, in the midst of greater difficulties, courageously, wisely, constantly went through with the same work, and are settled in all the happy enjoyments of a potent and flourishing republic to this day.

Besides this, if we return to kingship, and soon repent, (as undoubtedly we shall, when we begin to find the old encroachments coming on by little and little upon our consciences, which must necessarily proceed from king and bishop united inseparably in one interest,) we may be forced perhaps to fight over again all that we have fought, and spend over again all that we have spent, but are never like to attain thus far as we are now advanced to the recovery of our freedom, never to have it in possession as we now have it, never to be vouchsafed hereafter the like mercies and signal assistances from Heaven in our cause, if by our ingrateful backsliding we make these fruitless; flying now to regal concessions from his divine condescensions, and gracious answers to our once importuning prayers against the tyranny which we then groaned under; making vain and viler than dirt the blood of so many thousand faithful and valiant Englishmen, who left us in this liberty, bought with their lives; losing by a strange aftergame of folly all the battles we have won, together with all Scotland as to our conquest, hereby lost, which never any of our kings could conquer, all the treasure we have spent, not that corruptible treasure only, but that far more precious of all our late miraculous deliverances; treading back again with lost labour all our happy steps in the progress of reformation, and most pitifully depriving ourselves the instant fruition of that free government, which we have so dearly purchased, a free commonwealth, not only held by wisest men in all ages the noblest, the manliest, the equallest, the justest government, the most agreeable to all due liberty and proportioned equality, both human, civil, and Christian, most cherishing to virtue and true religion, but also (I may say it with greatest probability) plainly commended, or rather enjoined by our Saviour himself, to all Christians, not without remarkable disallowance, and the brand of Gentilism upon kingship. God in much displeasure gave a king to the Israelites, and imputed it a sin to them that they sought one: but Christ apparently forbids his disciples to admit of any such heathenish government; “The kings of the Gentiles,” saith he, “exercise lordship over them;” and they that “exercise authority upon them are called benefactors: but ye shall not be so; but he that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger, and he that is chief, as he that serveth.” The occasion of these his words was the ambitious desire of Zebedee’s two sons, to be exalted above their brethren in his kingdom, which they thought was to be ere long upon earth. That he speaks of civil government, is manifest by the former part of the comparison, which infers the other part to be always in the same kind. And what government comes nearer to this precept of Christ, than a free commonwealth; wherein they who are the greatest, are perpetual servants and drudges to the public at their own cost and charges, neglect their own affairs, yet are not elevated above their brethren; live soberly in their families, walk the street as other men, may be spoken to freely, familiarly, friendly, without adoration? Whereas a king must be adored like a demigod, with a dissolute and haughty court about him, of vast expense and luxury, masks and revels, to the debauching of our prime gentry both male and female; not in their pastimes only, but in earnest, by the loose employments of court-service, which will be then thought honourable. There will be a queen of no less charge; in most likelihood outlandish and a papist, besides a queen-mother such already; together with both their courts and numerous train: then a royal issue, and ere long severally their sumptuous courts; to the multiplying of a servile crew, not of servants only, but of nobility and gentry, bred up then to the hopes not of public, but of court-offices, to be stewards, chamberlains, ushers, grooms, even of the close-stool; and the lower their minds debased with court-opinions, contrary to all virtue and reformation, the haughtier will be their pride and profuseness. We may well remember this not long since at home; nor need but look at present into the French court, where enticements and preferments daily draw away and pervert the protestant nobility.

As to the burden of expense, to our cost we shall soon know it; for any good to us deserving to be termed no better than the vast and lavish price of our subjection, and their debauchery, which we are now so greedily cheapening, and would so fain be paying most inconsiderately to a single person; who for any thing wherein the public really needs him, will have little else to do, but to bestow the eating and drinking of excessive dainties, to set a pompous face upon the superficial actings of state, to pageant himself up and down in progress among the perpetual bowings and cringings of an abject people, on either side deifying and adoring him for nothing done that can deserve it. For what can he more than another man? who, even in the expression of a late court-poet, sits only like a great cipher set to no purpose before a long row of other significant figures. Nay, it is well and happy for the people, if their king be but a cipher, being ofttimes a mischief, a pest, a scourge of the nation, and which is worse, not to be removed, not to be controlled, much less accused or brought to punishment, without the danger of a common ruin, without the shaking and almost subversion of the whole land: whereas in a free commonwealth, any governor or chief counsellor offending may be removed and punished, without the least commotion. Certainly then that people must needs be mad, or strangely infatuated, that build the chief hope of their common happiness or safety on a single person; who, if he happen to be good, can do no more than another man; if to be bad, hath in his hands to do more evil without check, than millions of other men.

The happiness of a nation must needs be firmest and certainest in full and free council of their own electing, where no single person, but reason only, sways. And what madness is it for them who might manage nobly their own affairs themselves, sluggishly and weakly to devolve all on a single person; and more like boys under age than men, to commit all to his patronage and disposal, who neither can perform what he undertakes, and yet for undertaking it, though royally paid, will not be their servant, but their lord! How unmanly must it needs be, to count such a one the breath of our nostrils, to hang all our felicity on him, all our safety, our well-being, for which if we were aught else but sluggards or babies, we need depend on none but God and our own counsels, our own active virtue and industry! “Go to the ant, thou sluggard,” saith Solomon; “consider her ways, and be wise; which having no prince, ruler, or lord, provides her meat in the summer, and gathers her food in the harvest:” which evidently shows us, that they who think the nation undone without a king, though they look grave or haughty, have not so much true spirit and understanding in them as a pismire: neither are these diligent creatures hence concluded to live in lawless anarchy, or that commended, but are set the examples to imprudent and ungoverned men, of a frugal and self-governing democracy or commonwealth; safer and more thriving in the joint providence and counsel of many industrious equals, than under the single domination of one imperious lord. It may be well wondered that any nation, styling themselves free, can suffer any man to pretend hereditary right over them as their lord; whenas by acknowledging that right, they conclude themselves his servants and his vassals, and so renounce their own freedom. Which how a people and their leaders especially can do, who have fought so gloriously for liberty; how they can change their noble words and actions, heretofore so becoming the majesty of a free people, into the base necessity of court-flatteries and prostrations, is not only strange and admirable, but lamentable to think on. That a nation should be so valorous and courageous to win their liberty in the field, and when they have won it, should be so heartless and unwise in their counsels, as not to know how to use it, value it, what to do with it, or with themselves; but after ten or twelve years’ prosperous war and contestation with tyranny, basely and besottedly to run their necks again into the yoke which they have broken, and pros; trate all the fruits of their victory for nought at the feet of the vanquished, besides our loss of glory, and such an example as kings or tyrants never yet had the like to boast of, will be an ignominy if it befall us, that never yet befell any nation possessed of their liberty; worthy indeed themselves, whatsoever they be, to be for ever slaves, but that part of the nation which consents not with them, as I persuade me of a great number, far worthier than by their means to be brought into the same bondage. Considering these things so plain, so rational, I cannot but yet further admire on the other side, how any man, who hath the true principles of justice and religion in him, can presume or take upon him to be a king and lord over his brethren, whom he cannot but know, whether as men or Christians, to be for the most part every way equal or superior to himself: how he can display with such vanity and ostentation his regal splendor, so supereminently above other mortal men; or being a Christian, can assume such extraordinary honour and worship to himself, while the kingdom of Christ, our common king and lord, is hid to this world, and such Gentilish imitation forbid in express words by himself to all his disciples. All protestants hold that Christ in his church hath left no vicegerent of his power; but himself, without deputy, is the only head thereof, governing it from heaven: how then can any Christian man derive his kingship from Christ, but with worse usurpation than the pope his headship over the church, since Christ not only hath not left the least shadow of a command for any such vicegerence from him in the state, as the pope pretends for his in the church, but hath expressly declared, that such regal dominion is from the Gentiles, not from him, and hath strictly charged us not to imitate them therein?

I doubt not but all ingenuous and knowing men will easily agree with me, that a free commonwealth without single person or house of lords is by far the best government, if it can be had; but we have all this while, say they, been expecting it, and cannot yet attain it. It is true indeed, when monarchy was dissolved, the form of a commonwealth should have forthwith been framed, and the practice thereof immediately begun; that the people might have soon been satisfied and delighted with the decent order, ease, and benefit thereof: we had been then by this time firmly rooted past fear of commotions or mutations, and now flourishing: this care of timely settling a new government instead of the old, too much neglected, hath been our mischief. Yet the cause thereof may be ascribed with most reason to the frequent disturbances, interruptions, and dissolutions, which the parliament hath had, partly from the impatient or disaffected people, partly from some ambitious leaders in the army; much contrary, I believe, to the mind and approbation of the army itself, and their other commanders, once undeceived, or in their own power. Now is the opportunity, now the very season, wherein we may obtain a free commonwealth, and establish it for ever in the land, without difficulty or much delay. Writs are sent out for elections, and, which is worth observing, in the name, not of any king, but of the keepers of our liberty, to summon a free parliament: which then only will indeed be free, and deserve the true honour of that supreme title, if they preserve us a free people. Which never parliament was more free to do; being now called not as heretofore, by the summons of a king, but by the voice of liberty: and if the people, laying aside prejudice and impatience, will seriously and calmly now consider their own good, both religious and civil, their own liberty and the only means thereof, as shall be here laid down before them, and will elect their knights and burgesses able men, and according to the just and necessary qualifications, (which, for aught I hear, remain yet in force unrepealed, as they were formerly decreed in parliament,) men not addicted to a single person or house of lords, the work is done; at least the foundation firmly laid of a free commonwealth, and good part also erected of the main structure. For the ground and basis of every just and free government, (since men have smarted so oft for committing all to one person,) is a general council of ablest men, chosen by the people to consult of public affairs from time to time for the common good. In this grand council must the sovereignty, not transferred, but delegated only, and as it were deposited, reside; with this caution, they must have the forces by sea and land committed to them for preservation of the common peace and liberty; must raise and manage the public revenue, at least with some inspectors deputed for satisfaction of the people, how it is employed; must make or propose, as more expressly shall be said anon, civil laws, treat of commerce, peace, or war with foreign nations, and, for the carrying on some particular affairs with more secrecy and expedition, must elect, as they have already out of their own number and others, a council of state.

And, although it may seem strange at first hearing, by reason that men’s minds are prepossessed with the notion of successive parliaments, I affirm, that the grand or general council, being well chosen, should be perpetual: for so their business is or may be, and ofttimes urgent; the opportunity of affairs gained or lost in a moment. The day of council cannot be set as the day of a festival; but must be ready always to prevent or answer all occasions. By this continuance they will become every way skilfullest, best provided of intelligence from abroad, best acquainted with the people at home, and the people with them. The ship of the commonwealth is always under sail; they sit at the stern, and if they steer well, what need is there to change them, it being rather dangerous? Add to this, that the grand council is both foundation and main pillar of the whole state; and to move pillars and foundations, not faulty, cannot be safe for the building. I see not therefore, how we can be advantaged by successive and transitory parliaments; but that they are much likelier continually to unsettle rather than to settle a free government, to breed commotions, changes, novelties, and uncertainties, to bring neglect upon present affairs and opportunities, while all minds are in suspense with expectation of a new assembly, and the assembly for a good space taken up with the new settling of itself. After which, if they find no great work to do, they will make it, by altering or repealing former acts, or making and multiplying new; that they may seem to see what their predecessors saw not, and not to have assembled for nothing: till all law be lost in the multitude of clashing statutes. But if the ambition of such as think themselves injured, that they also partake not of the government, and are impatient till they be chosen, cannot brook the perpetuity of others chosen before them; or if it be feared that long continuance of power may corrupt sincerest men, the known expedient is, and by some lately propounded, that annually (or if the space be longer, so much perhaps the better) the third part of senators may go out according to the precedence of their election, and the like number be chosen in their places, to prevent their settling of too absolute a power, if it should be perpetual: and this they call “partial rotation.” But I could wish, that this wheel or partial wheel in state, if it be possible, might be avoided, as having too much affinity with the wheel of Fortune. For it appears not how this can be done, without danger and mischance of putting out a great number of the best and ablest: in whose stead new elections may bring in as many raw, unexperienced, and otherwise affected, to the weakening and much altering for the worse of public transactions. Neither do I think a perpetual senate, especially chosen or entrusted by the people, much in this land to be feared, where the well-affected, either in a standing army, or in a settled militia, have their arms in their own hands. Safest therefore to me it seems, and of least hazard or interruption to affairs, that none of the grand council be moved, unless by death, or just conviction of some crime: for what can be expected firm or steadfast from a floating foundation? however, I forejudge not any probable expedient, any temperament that can be found in things of this nature, so disputable on either side. Yet lest this which I affirm be thought my single opinion, I shall add sufficient testimony. Kingship itself is therefore counted the more safe and durable because the king, and for the most part his council, is not changed during life: but a commonwealth is held immortal, and therein firmest, safest, and most above fortune: for the death of a king causeth ofttimes many dangerous alterations: but the death now and then of a senator is not felt, the main body of them still continuing permanent in greatest and noblest commonwealths, and as it were eternal. Therefore among the Jews, the supreme council of seventy, called the Sanhedrim, founded by Moses, in Athens that of Areopagus, in Sparta that of the ancients, in Rome the senate, consisted of members chosen for term of life; and by that means remained as it were still the same to generations. In Venice they change indeed oftener than every year some particular council of state, as that of six, or such other: but the true senate, which upholds and sustains the government, is the whole aristocracy immoveable. So in the United Provinces, the states general, which are indeed but a council of state deputed by the whole union, are not usually the same persons for above three or six years; but the states of every city, in whom the sovereignty hath been placed time out of mind, are a standing senate, without succession, and accounted chiefly in that regard the main prop of their liberty. And why they should be so in every well-ordered commonwealth, they who write of policy give these reasons; “That to make the senate successive, not only impairs the dignity and lustre of the senate, but weakens the whole commonwealth, and brings it into manifest danger; while by this means the secrets of state are frequently divulged, and matters of greatest consequence committed to inexpert and novice counsellors, utterly unfit to seek in the full and intimate knowledge of affairs past.” I know not therefore what should be peculiar in England, to make successive parliaments thought safest, or convenient here more than in other nations, unless it be the fickleness, which is attributed to us as we are islanders: but good education and acquisite wisdom ought to correct the fluxible fault, if any such be, of our watery situation.

It will be objected, that in those places where they had perpetual senates, they had also popular remedies against their growing too imperious: as in Athens, besides Areopagus, another senate of four or five hundred; in Sparta, the Ephori; in Rome, the tribunes of the people. But the event tells us, that these remedies either little avail the people, or brought them to such a licentious and unbridled democracy, as in fine ruined themselves with their own excessive power. So that the main reason urged why popular assemblies are to be trusted with the people’s liberty, rather than a senate of principle men, because great men will be still endeavouring to enlarge their power, but the common sort will be contented to maintain their own liberty, is by experience found false; none being more immoderate and ambitious to amplify their power, than such popularities, which were seen in the people of Rome; who at first contented to have their tribunes, at length contented with the senate that one consul, then both, soon after, that the censors and prætors also should be created plebian, and the whole empire put into their hands; adoring lastly those, who most were adverse to the senate, till Marius, by fulfilling their inordinate desires, quite lost them all the power, for which they had so long been striving, and left them under the tyranny of Sylla: the balance therefore must be exactly so set, as to preserve and keep up due authority on either side, as well in the senate as in the people. And this annual rotation of a senate to consist of three hundred, as is lately propounded, requires also another popular assembly upward of a thousand, with an answerable rotation. Which besides that it will be liable to all those inconveniences found in the aforesaid remedies, cannot but be troublesome and chargeable, both in their motion and their session, to the whole land, unwidely with their own bulk, unable in so great a number to mature their consultations as they ought, if any be alloted them, and that they meet not from so many parts remote to sit a whole year lieger in one place, only now and then to hold up a forest of fingers, or to convey each man his bean or ballot into the box, without reason shown or common deliberation; incontinent of secrets, if any be imparted to them; emulous and always jarring with the other senate. The much better way doubtless will be, in this wavering condition of our affairs, to defer the changing or circumscribing of our senate, more than may be done with ease, till the commonwealth be throughly settled in peace and safety, and they themselves give us the occasion. Military men hold it dangerous to change the form of battle in view of an enemy; neither did the people of Rome bandy with their senate, while any of the Tarquins lived, the enemies of their liberty; nor sought by creating tribunes, to defend themselves against the fear of their patrician, till sixteen years after the expulsion of their kings, and in full security of their state, they had or thought they had just cause given them by the senate. Another way will be, to well qualify and refine elections: not committing all to the noise and shouting of a rude multitude, but permitting only those of them who are rightly qualified, to nominate as many as they will; and out of that number others of a better breeding, to choose a less number more judiciously, till after a third or fourth sifting and refining of exactest choice, they only be left chosen who are the due number, and seem by most voices the worthiest. To make the people fittest to choose, and the chosen fittest to govern, will be to mend our corrupt and faulty education, to teach the people faith, not without virtue, temperance, modesty, sobriety, parsimony, justice; not to admire wealth or honour; to hate turbulence and ambition; to place every one his private welfare and happiness in the public peace, liberty, and safety. They shall not then need to be much mistrustful of their chosen patriots in the grand council; who will be then rightly called the true keepers of our liberty, though the most of their business will be in foreign affairs. But to prevent all mistrust, the people then will have their several ordinary assemblies (which will henceforth quite annihilate the odious power and name of committees) in the chief towns of every country, without the trouble, charge, or time lost of summoning and assembling from far in so great a number, and so long residing from their own houses, or removing of their families, to do as much at home in their several shires, entire or subdivided, toward the securing of their liberty, as a numerous assembly of them all formed and convened on purpose with the wariest rotation. Whereof I shall speak more ere the end of this discourse: for it may be referred to time, so we be still going on by degrees to perfection The people well weighing and performing these things, I suppose would have no cause to fear, though the parliament abolishing that name, as originally signifying but the parley of our lords and commons with the Norman king when he pleased to call them, should, with certain limitations of their power, sit perpetual, if their ends be faithful and for a free commonwealth, under the name of a grand or general council. Till this be done, I am in doubt whether our state will be ever certainly and throughly settled; never likely till then to see an end of our troubles and continual changes, or at least never the true settlement and assurance of our liberty. The grand council being thus firmly constituted to perpetuity, and still, upon the death or default of any member, supplied and kept in full number, there can be no cause alleged, why peace, justice, plentiful trade, and all prosperity should not thereupon ensue throughout the whole land; with as much assurance as can be of human things, that they shall so continue (if God favour us, and our wilful sins provoke him not) even to the coming of our true and rightful, and only to be expected King, only worthy as he is our only Saviour, the Messiah, the Christ, the only heir of his eternal Father, the only by him anointed and ordained since the work of our redemption finished, universal Lord of all mankind. The way propounded is plain, easy, and open before us; without intricacies, without the introducement of new or absolute forms or terms, or exotic models; ideas that would effect nothing; but with a number of new injunctions to manacle the native liberty of mankind; turning all virtue into prescription, servitude, and necessity, to the great impairing and frustrating of Christian liberty. I say again, this way lies free and smooth before us; is not tangled with inconveniences; invents no new incumbrances; requires no perilous, no injurious alteration or circumscription of men’s lands and properties; secure, that in this commonwealth, temporal and spiritual lords removed, no man or number of men can attain to such wealth or vast possession, as will need the edge of an agrarian law (never successful, but the cause rather of sedition, save only where it began seasonably with first possession) to confine them from endangering our public liberty. To conclude, it can have no considerable objection made against it, that it is not practicable; lest it be said hereafter, that we gave up our liberty for want of a ready way or distinct form proposed of a free commonwealth. And this facility we shall have above our next neighboring commonwealth, (if we can keep us from the fond conceit of something like a duke of Venice, put lately into many men’s heads by some one or other subtly driving on under that notion his own ambitious ends to lurch a crown,) that our liberty shall not be hampered or hovered over by any engagement to such a potent family as the house of Nassau, of whom to stand in perpetual doubt and suspicion, but we shall live the clearest and absolutest free nation in the world.

On the contrary, if there be a king, which the inconsiderate multitude are now so mad upon, mark how far short we are like to come of all those happinesses, which in a free state we shall immediately be possessed of.—First, the grand council, which, as I showed before, should sit perpetually, (unless their leisure give them now and then intermissions or vacations, easily manageable by the council of state left sitting,) shall be called, by the king’s good will and utmost endeavour, as seldom as may be. For it is only the king’s right, he will say, to call a parliament; and this he will do most commonly about his own affairs rather than the kingdom’s as will appear plainly so soon as they are called. For what will their business then be, and the chief expense of their time, but an endless tugging between petition of right and royal prerogative, especially about the negative voice, militia, or subsidies, demanded and ofttimes extorted without reasonable cause appearing to the commons, who are the only true representatives of the people and their liberty, but will be then mingled with a court-faction; besides which, within their own wall, the sincere part of them who stand faithful to the people will again have to deal with two troublesome counter-working adversaries from without, mere creatures of the king, spiritual, and the greater part, as is likeliest, of temporal lords, nothing concerned with the people’s liberty. If these prevail not in what they please, though never so much against the people’s interest, the parliament shall be soon dissolved, or sit and do nothing; not suffered to remedy the least grievance, or enact aught advantageous to the people. Next, the council of state shall not be chosen by the parliament, but by the king, still his own creatures, courtiers, and favourers; who will be sure in all their councils to set their master’s grandeur and absolute power, in what they are able, far above the people’s liberty.

I deny not but that there may be such a king, who may regard the common good before his own, may have no vicious favourite, may hearken only to the wisest and incorruptest of his parliament: but this rarely happens in a monarchy not elective; and it behoves not a wise nation to commit the sum of their well-being, the whole state of their safety to fortune. What need they; and how absurd would it be, whenas they themselves, to whom his chief virtue will be but to hearken, may with much better management and dispatch, with much more commendation of their own worth and magnanimity, govern without a master? Can the folly be paralleled, to adore and be the slaves of a single person, for doing that which it is ten thousand to one whether he can or will do, and we without him might do more easily, more effectually, more laudably ourselves? Shall we never grow old enough to be wise, to make seasonable use of gravest authorities, experiences, examples? Is it such an unspeakable joy to serve, such felicity to wear a yoke? to clink our shackles, locked on by pretended law of subjection, more intolerable and hopeless to be ever shaken off, than those which are knocked on by illegal injury and violence? Aristotle our chief instructor in the universities, lest this doctrine be thought sectarian, as the royalists would have it thought, tells us in the third of his politics, that certain men at first, for the matchless excellence of their virtue above others, or some great public benefit, were created kings by the people, in small cities and territories, and in the scarcity of others to be found like them; but when they abused their power, and governments grew larger, and the number of prudent men increased, that then the people, soon deposing their tyrants, betook them, in all civilest places, to the form of a free commonwealth. And why should we thus disparage and prejudicate our own nation, as to fear a scarcity of able and worthy men united in council to govern us, if we will but use diligence and impartiality, to find them out and choose them, rather yoking ourselves to a single person, the natural adversary and oppressor of liberty; though good, yet far easier corruptible by the excess of his single power and exaltation, or at best, not comparably sufficient to bear the weight of government, nor equally disposed to make us happy in the enjoyment of our liberty under him?

But admit, that monarchy of itself may be convenient to some nations; yet to us who have thrown it out, received back again, it cannot but prove pernicious. For kings to come, never forgetting their former ejection, will be sure to fortify and arm themselves sufficiently for the future against all such attempts hereafter from the people: who shall be then so narrowly watched and kept so low, that though they would never so fain, and at the same rate of their blood and treasure, they never shall be able to regain what they now have purchased and may enjoy, or to free themselves from any yoke imposed upon them: nor will they dare to go about it; utterly disheartened for the future, if these their highest attempts prove unsuccessful; which will be the triumph of all tyrants hereafter over any people that shall resist oppression; and their song will then be, to others, How sped the rebellious English? to our posterity, How sped the rebels your fathers? This is not my conjecture, but drawn from God’s known denouncement against the gentilizing Israelites, who, though they were governed in a commonwealth of God’s own ordaining, he only their king, they his peculiar people, yet affecting rather to resemble heathen, but pretending the misgovernment of Samuel’s sons, no more a reason to dislike their commonwealth, than the violence of Eli’s sons was imputable to that priesthood or religion, clamoured for a king. They had their longing, but with this testimony of God’s wrath; “Ye shall cry out in that day, because of your king whom ye shall have chosen, and the Lord will not hear you in that day.” Us if he shall hear now, how much less will he hear when we cry hereafter, who once delivered by him from a king, and not without wonderous acts of his providence, insensible and unworthy of those high mercies, are returning precipitantly, if he withhold us not, back to the captivity from whence he freed us! Yet neither shall we obtain or buy at an easy rate this new gilded yoke, which thus transports us: a new royal revenue must be found, a new episcopal; for those are individual: both which being wholly dissipated, or bought by private persons, or assigned for service done, and especially to the army, cannot be recovered without general detriment and confusion to men’s estates, or a heavy imposition on all men’s purses; benefit to none but to the worst and ignoblest sort of men, whose hope is to be either the ministers of court riot and excess, or the gainers by it; but not to speak more of losses and extraordinary levies on our estates, what will then be the revenges and offences remembered and returned, not only by the chief person, but by all his adherents; accounts and reparations that will be required, suits, indictments, inquiries, discoveries, complaints, informations, who knows against whom or how many, though perhaps neuters, if not to utmost infliction, yet to imprisonment, fines, banishment, or molestation? if not these, yet disfavour, discountenance, disregard, and contempt on all but the known royalist, or whom he favours, will be plenteous. Nor let the new royalized presbyterians persuade themselves, that their old doings, though now recanted, will be forgotten; whatever conditions be contrived or trusted on. Will they not believe this; nor remember the pacification, how it was kept to the Scots; how other solemn promises many a time to us? Let them but now read the diabolical forerunning libels, the faces, the gestures, that now appear foremost and briskest in public places, as the harbingers of those, that are in expectation to reign over us; let them but hear the insolencies, the menaces, the insultings, of our newly animated common enemies crept lately out of their holes, their hell I might say, by the language of their infernal pamphlets, the spew of every drunkard, every ribald; nameless, yet not for want of license, but for very shame of their own vile persons, not daring to name themselves, while they traduce others by name; and give us to foresee, that they intend to second their wicked words, if ever they have power, with more wicked deeds. Let our zealous backsliders forethink now with themselves how their necks yoked with these tigers of Bacchus, these new fanatics of not the preaching, but the sweating tub, inspired with nothing holier than the venereal pox, can draw one way under monarchy to the establishing of church discipline with these new disgorged atheisms: yet shall they not have the honour to yoke with these, but shall be yoked under them; these shall plough on their backs. And do they among them, who are so forward to bring in the single person, think to be by him trusted or long regarded? So trusted they shall be, and so regarded, as by kings are wont reconciled enemies; neglected, and soon after discarded, if not persecuted for old traitors; the first inciters, beginners, and more than to the third part actors, of all that followed. It will be found also, that there must be then, as necessary as now, (for the contrary part will be still feared,) a standing army; which for certain shall not be this, but of the fiercest cavaliers, of no less expense, and perhaps again under Rupert. But let this army be sure they shall be soon disbanded and likeliest without arrear or pay; and being disbanded, not be sure but they may as soon be questioned for being in arms against their king: the same let them fear who have contributed money; which will amount to no small number, that must then take their turn to be made delinquents and compounders. They who past reason and recovery are devoted to kingship perhaps will answer, that a greater part by far of the nation will have it so, the rest therefore must yield. Not so much to convince these, which I little hope, as to confirm them who yield not, I reply, that this greatest part have both in reason, and the trial of just battle, lost the right of their election what the government shall be: of them who have not lost that right, whether they for kingship be the greater number, who can certainly determine? Suppose they be, yet of freedom they partake all alike, one main end of government: which if the greater part value not, but will degenerately forego, is it just or reasonable, that most voices against the main end of government should enslave the less number that would be free? more just if is, doubtless, if it come to force, that a less number compel a greater to retain, which can be no wrong to them, their liberty, than that a greater number, for the pleasure of their baseness, compel a less most injuriously to be their fellowslaves. They who seek nothing but their own just liberty, have always right to win it and to keep it, whenever they have power, be the voices never so numerous that oppose it. And how much we above others are concerned to defend it from kingship, and from them who in pursuance thereof so perniciously would betray us and themselves to most certain misery and thraldom, will be needless to repeat.

Having thus far shown with what ease we may now obtain a free commonwealth, and by it, with as much ease, all the freedom, peace, justice, plenty, that we can desire; on the other side, the difficulties, troubles, uncertainties, nay rather impossibilities, to enjoy these things constantly under a monarch: I will now proceed to show more particularly wherein our freedom and flourishing condition will be more ample and secure to us under a free commonwealth, than under kingship.

The whole freedom of man consists either in spiritual or civil liberty. As for spiritual, who can be at rest, who can enjoy any thing in this world with contentment, who hath not liberty to serve God, and to save his own soul, according to the best light which God hath planted in him to that purpose, by the reading of his revealed will, and the guidance of his Holy Spirit? That this is best pleasing to God, and that the whole protestant church allows no supreme judge or rule in matters of religion, but the Scriptures; and these to be interpreted by the Scriptures themselves, which necessarily infers liberty of conscience; I have heretofore proved at large in another treatise; and might yet further, by the public declarations, confessions, and admonitions of whole churches and states, obvious in all histories since the reformation.

This liberty of conscience, which above all other things ought to be to all men dearest and most precious, no government more inclinable not to favour only, but to protect, than a free commonwealth; as being most magnanimous, most fearless, and confident of its own fair proceedings. Whereas kingship, though looking big, yet indeed most pusillanimous, full of fears, full of jealousies, startled at every umbrage, as it hath been observed of old to have ever suspected most and mistrusted them who were in most esteem for virtue and generosity of mind, so it is now known to have most in doubt and suspicion them who are most reputed to be religious. Queen Elizabeth, though herself accounted so good a protestant, so moderate, so confident of her subjects’ love, would never give way so much as to presbyterian reformation in this land, though once and again besought, as Camden relates, but imprisoned and persecuted the very proposers thereof; alleging it as her mind and maxim unalterable, that such reformation would diminish regal authority. What liberty of conscience can we then expect of others, far worse principled from the cradle, trained up and governed by popish and Spanish counsels, and on such depending hitherto for subsistence? Especially what can this last parliament expect, who having revived lately and published the covenant, have re-engaged themselves, never to readmit episcopacy? Which no son of Charles returning but will most certainly bring back with him, if he regard the last and strictest charge of his father, “to persevere in, not the doctrine only, but government of the church of England, not to neglect the speedy and effectual suppressing of errors and schisms;” among which he accounted presbytery one of the chief. Or if, notwithstanding that charge of his father, he submit to the covenant, how will he keep faith to us, with disobedience to him; or regard that faith given, which must be founded on the breach of that last and solemnest paternal charge, and the reluctance, I may say the antipathy, which is in all kings, against presbyterian and independent discipline? For they hear the gospel speaking much of liberty; a word which monarchy and her bishops both fear and hate, but a free commonwealth both favours and promotes; and not the word only, but the thing itself. But let our governors beware in time, lest their hard measure to liberty of conscience be found the rock whereon they shipwreck themselves, as others have now done before them in the course wherein God was directing their steerage to a free commonwealth; and the abandoning of all those whom they call sectaries, for the detected falsehood and ambition of some, be a wilful rejection of their own chief strength and interest in the freedom of all protestant religion, under what abusive name soever calumniated.

The other part of our freedom consists in the civil rights and advancements of every person according to his merit: the enjoyment of those never more certain, and the access to these never more open, than in a free commonwealth. Both which, in my opinion, may be best and soonest obtained, if every country in the land were made a kind of subordinate commonalty or commonwealth, and one chief town or more, according as the shire is in circuit, made cities, if they be not so called already; where the nobility and chief gentry, from a proportionable compass of territory annexed to each city, may build houses or palaces befitting their quality, may bear part in the government, make their own judicial laws, or use these that are, and execute them by their own elected judicatures and judges without appeal, in all things of civil government between man and man; so they shall have justice in their own hands, law executed fully and finally in their own counties and precincts, long wished and spoken of, but never yet obtained; they shall have none then to blame but themselves, if it be not well administered; and fewer laws to expect or fear from the supreme authority; or to those that shall be made, of any great concernment to public liberty they may, without much trouble in these commonalties, or in more general assemblies called to their cities from the whole territory on such occasion, declare and publish their assent or dissent by deputies, within a time limited, sent to the grand council; yet so as this their judgment declared shall submit to the greater number of other counties or commonalties, and not avail them to any exemption of themselves, or refusal of agreement with the rest, as it may in any of the United Provinces, being sovereign within itself, ofttimes to the great disadvantage of that union. In these employments they may, much better than they do now, exercise and sit themselves till their lot fall to be chosen into the grand council, according as their worth and merit shall be taken notice of by the people.

As for controversies that shall happen between men of several counties, they may repair, as they do now, to the capital city, or any other more commodious, indifferent place, and equal judges. And this I find to have been practised in the old Athenian Commonwealth, reputed the first and ancientest place of civility in all Greece; that they had in their several cities a peculiar, in Athens a common government; and their right, as it befel them, to the administration of both. They should have here also schools and academies at their own choice, wherein their children may be bred up in their own sight to all learning and noble education; not in grammar only, but in all liberal arts and exercises. This would soon spread much more knowledge and civility, yea, religion, through all parts of the land, by communicating the natural heat of government and culture more distributively to all extreme parts, which now lie numb and neglected, would soon make the whole nation more industrious, more ingenious at home; more potent, more honourable abroad. To this a free commonwealth may easily assent; (nay, the parliament hath had already some such thing in design;) for of all governments a commonwealth aims most to make the people flourishing, virtuous, noble, and high-spirited. Monarchs will never permit; whose aim is to make the people wealthy indeed perhaps, and well fleeced, for their own shearing, and the supply of regal prodigality; but otherwise softest, basest, viciousest, servilest, easiest to be kept under: and not only in fleece, but in mind also sheepishest; and will have all the benches of judicature annexed to the throne, as a gift of royal grace, that we have justice done us; whenas nothing can be more essential to the freedom of a people, than to have the administration of justice, and all public ornaments, in their own election, and within their own bounds, without long travelling or depending upon remote places to obtain their right, or any civil accomplishment; so it be not supreme, but subordinate to the general power and union of the whole republic. In which happy firmness, as in the particular above-mentioned, we shall also far exceed the United Provinces, by having, not as they, (to the retarding and distracting ofttimes of their counsels or urgentest occasions,) many sovereignties united in one commonwealth, but many commonwealths under one united and intrusted sovereignty. And when we have our forces by sea and land, either of a faithful army, or a settled militia, in our own hands, to the firm establishing of a free commonwealth, public accounts under our own inspection, general laws and taxes, with their causes in our own domestic suffrages, judicial laws, offices, and ornaments at home in our own ordering and administration, all distinction of lords and commoners, that may any way divide or sever the public interest, removed; what can a perpetual senate have then, wherein to grow corrupt, wherein to encroach upon us, or usurp? or if they do, wherein to be formidable? Yet if all this avail not to remove the fear or envy of a perpetual sitting, it may be easily provided, to change a third part of them yearly, or every two or three years, as was above mentioned; or that it be at those times in the people’s choice, whether they will change them, or renew their power, as they shall find cause.

I have no more to say at present: few words will save us, well considered; few and easy things, now seasonably done. But if the people be so affected as to prostitute religion and liberty to the vain and groundless apprehension, that nothing but kingship can restore trade, not remembering the frequent plagues and pestilences that then wasted this city, such as through God’s mercy we never have felt since; and that trade flourishes no where more than in the free commonwealths of Italy, Germany, and the Low Countries, before their eyes at this day; yet if trade be grown so craving and importunate through the profuse living of tradesmen, that nothing can support it but the luxurious expenses of a nation upon trifles or superfluities; so as if the people generally should betake themselves to frugality, it might prove a dangerous matter, lest tradesmen should mutiny for want of trading; and that therefore we must forego and set to sale religion, liberty, honour, safety, all concernments divine or human, to keep up trading: if, lastly, after all this light among us, the same reason shall pass for current, to put our necks again under kingship, as was made use of by the Jews to return back to Egypt and to the worship of their idol queen, because they falsely imagined that they then lived in more plenty and prosperity; our condition is not sound but rotten, both in religion and all civil prudence; and will bring us soon, the way we are marching, to those calamities, which attend always and unavoidably on luxury, all national judgments under foreign and domestic slavery: so far we shall be from mending our condition by monarchising our government, whatever new conceit now possesses us. However, with all hazard I have ventured what I thought my duty to speak in season, and to forewarn my country in time; wherein I doubt not but there be many wise men in all places and degrees, but am sorry the effects of wisdom are so little seen among us. Many circumstances and particulars I could have added in those things whereof I have spoken: but a few main matters now put speedily in execution, will suffice to recover us, and set all right; and there will want at no time who are good at circumstances; but men who set their minds on main matters, and sufficiently urge them, in these most difficult times I find not many. What I have spoken, is the language of that which is not called amiss “The good old Cause:” if it seem strange to any, it will not seem more strange, I hope, than convincing to backsliders. Thus much I should perhaps have said, though I were sure I should have spoken only to trees and stones; and had none to cry to, but with the prophet, “O earth, earth, earth!” to tell the very soil itself, what her perverse inhabitants are deaf to. Nay, though what I have spoke should happen (which thou suffer not, who didst create mankind free! nor thou next, who didst redeem us from being servants of men!) to be the last words of our expiring liberty. But I trust I shall have spoken persuasion to abundance of sensible and ingenuous men; to some perhaps, whom God may raise to these stones to become children of reviving liberty; and may reclaim, though they seem now choosing them a captain back for Egypt, to bethink themselves a little, and consider whither they are rushing; to exhort this torrent also of the people, not to be so impetuous, but to keep their due channel; and at length recovering and uniting their better resolutions, now that they see already how open and unbounded the insolence and rage is of our common enemies, to stay these ruinous proceedings, justly and timely fearing to what a precipice of destruction the deluge of this epidemic madness would hurry us, through the general defection of a misguided and abused multitude.

BRIEF NOTES UPON A LATE SERMON, TITLED,

THE FEAR OF GOD AND THE KING.

PREACHED AND SINCE PUBLISHED BY MATTHEW GRIFFITH, D. D., AND CHAPLAIN TO THE LATE KING.

WHEREIN MANY MOTORIOUS WRESTINGS OF SCRIPTURE, AND OTHER FALSITIES, ARE OBSERVED,

[ FIRST PUBLISHED 1660.]

I AFFIRMED in the preface of a late discourse, intitled, “The ready Way to establish a Free Commonwealth, and the Dangers of re-admitting Kingship in this Nation,” that the humour of returning to our old bondage was instilled of late by some deceivers; and to make good, that what I then affirmed was not without just ground, one of those deceivers I present here to the people: and if I prove him not such, refuse not to be so accounted in his stead.

He begins in his epistle to the General, [*] and moves cunningly for a license to be admitted physician both to church and state; then sets out his practice in physical terms, “a wholesome electuary to be taken every morning next our hearts;” tells of the opposition which he met with from the college of state physicians, then lays before you his drugs and ingredients; “Strong purgatives in the pulpit, contempered of the myrrh of mortification, the aloes of confession and contrition, the rhubarb of restitution and satisfaction;” a pretty fantastic dose of divinity from a pulpit mountebank, not unlike the fox, that turning pedlar opened his pack of ware before the kid; though he now would seem, “to personate the good Samaritan,” undertaking to “describe the rise and progress of our national malady, and to prescribe the only remedy;” which how he performs, we shall quickly see.

First, he would suborn St. Luke as his spokesman to the General, presuming, it seems, “to have had as perfect understanding of things from the very first,” as the evangelist had of his gospel; that the General, who hath so eminently borne his part in the whole action, “might know the certainty of those things” better from him a partial sequestered enemy; for so he presently appears, though covertly, and like the tempter, commencing his address with an impudent calumny and affront to his excellence, that he would be pleased “to carry on what he had so happily begun in the name and cause” not of God only, which we doubt not, but “of his anointed,” meaning the late king’s son; to charge him most audaciously and falsely with the renouncing of his own public promises and declarations, both to the parliament and the army, and we trust his actions ere long will deter such insinuating slanderers from thus approaching him for the future But the General may well excuse him; for the Comforter himself scapes not his presumption, avouched as falsely, to have empowered to those designs “him and him only,” who hath solemnly declared the contrary. What fanatic, against whom he so often inveighs, could more presumptuously affirm whom the Comforter hath empowered, than this anti-fanatic, as he would be thought?

THE TEXT.

Prov. xxiv. 21.— My son, fear God and the king, and meddle not with them that be seditious, or desirous of change, c.

Letting pass matters not in controversy, I come to the main drift of your sermon, the king; which word here is either to signify any supreme magistrate or else your latter object of fear is not universal, belongs not at all to many parts of Christendom, that have no king; and in particular not to us. That we have no king since the putting down of kingship in this commonwealth, is manifest by this last parliament, who, to the time of their dissolving, not only made no address at all to any king, but summoned this next to come by the writ formerly appointed of a free commonwealth, without restitution or the least mention of any kingly right or power; which could not be, if there were at present any king of England. The main part therefore of your sermon, if it mean a king in the usual sense, is either impertinent and absurd, exhorting your auditory to fear that which is not; or if king here be, as it is understood, for any supreme magistrate, by your own exhortation they are in the first place not to meddle with you, as being yourself most of all the seditious meant here, and the “desirous of change,” in stirring them up to “fear a king,” whom the present government takes no notice of.

You begin with a vain vision, “God and the king at the first blush” (which will not be your last blush) “seeming to stand in your text like those two cherubims on the mercy-seat, looking on each other.” By this similitude, your conceited sanctuary, worse than the altar of Ahaz, patterned from Damascus, degrades God to a cherub, and raises your king to be his collateral in place, notwithstanding the other differences you put; which well agrees with the court-letters, lately published, from this lord to the other lord, that cry him up for no less than angelical and celestial.

Your first observation, page 8, is, “That God and the king are coupled in the text, and what the Holy Ghost hath thus firmly combined, we may not, we must not dare to put asunder;” and yourself is the first man who puts them asunder by the first proof of your doctrine immediately following, Judg. vii. 20, which couples the sword of the Lord and Gideon, a man who not only was no king, but refused to be a king or monarch, when it was offered him, in the very next chapter, ver. 22, 23, “I will not rule over you, neither shall my son rule over you; the Lord shall rule over you.” Here we see, that this worthy heroic deliverer of his country thought it best governed, if the Lord governed it in that form of a free commonwealth, which they then enjoyed, without a single person. And thus is your first scripture abused, and most impertinently cited, nay, against yourself, to prove, that “kings at their coronation have a sword given them,” which you interpret “the militia, the power of life and death put into their hands,” against the declared judgment of our parliaments, nay, of all our laws, which reserve to themselves only the power of life and death, and render you in their just resentment of this boldness another Dr. Manwaring.

Your next proof is as false and frivolous, “The king,” say you, “is God’s sword-bearer;” true, but not the king only: for Gideon, by whom you seek to prove this, neither was nor would be a king; and as you yourself confess, page 40, “There be divers forms of government.” “He bears not the sword in vain,” Rom. xiii. 4: This also is as true of any lawful rulers, especially supreme; so that “Rulers,” ver. 3, and therefore this present government, without whose authority you excite the people to a king, bear the sword as well as kings, and as little in vain. “They fight against God, who resist his ordinance, and go about to wrest the sword out of the hands of his anointed.” This is likewise granted: but who is his anointed? Not every king, but they only who were anointed or made kings by his special command; as Saul, David, and his race, which ended in the Messiah, (from whom no kings at this day can derive their title,) Jehu, Cyrus, and if any other were by name appointed by him to some particular service: as for the rest of kings, all other supreme magistrates are as much the Lord’s anointed as they; and our obedience commanded equally to them all; “for there is no power but of God,” Rom. xiii. 1: and we are exhorted in the gospel to obey kings, as other magistrates, not that they are called any where the Lord’s anointed, but as they are the “Ordinance of man,” 1 Pet. ii. 13. You therefore and other such false doctors, preaching kings to your auditory, as the Lord’s only anointed, to withdraw people from the present government, by your own text are self-condemned, and not to be followed, not to be “meddled with,” but to be noted, as most of all others the “seditious and desirous of change.”

Your third proof is no less against yourself. Psal. cv. 15, “Touch not mine anointed.” For this is not spoken in behalf of kings, but spoken to reprove kings, that they should not touch his anointed saints and servants, the seed of Abraham, as the verse next before might have taught you, he reproved kings for their sakes, saying, “Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm;” according to that, 2 Cor. i. 21, “He who hath anointed us, is God.” But how well you confirm one wrested scripture with another! 1 Sam. viii. 7, “They have not rejected thee, but me:” grossly misapplying these words, which were not spoken to any who had “resisted or rejected” a king, but to them who much against the will of God had sought a king, and rejected a commonwealth, wherein they might have lived happily under the reign of God only, their king. Let the words interpret themselves; ver. 6, 7, “But the thing displeased Samuel, when they said, Give us a king to judge us: and Samuel prayed unto the Lord. And the Lord said unto Samuel, Hearken unto the voice of the people in all that they say unto thee; for they have not rejected thee, but they have rejected me, that I should not reign over them.” Hence you conclude, “so indissoluble is the conjunction of God and the king.” O notorious abuse of Scripture! whenas you should have concluded, so unwilling was God to give them a king, so wide was the disjunction of God from a king. Is this the doctrine you boast of, to be “so clear in itself, and like a mathematical principle, that needs no farther demonstration?” Bad logic, bad mathematics, (for principles can have no demonstration at all,) but worse divinity. O people of an implicit faith, no better than Romish, if these be thy prime teachers, who to their credulous audience dare thus juggle with Scripture, to allege those places for the proof of their doctrine, which are the plain refutation: and this is all the Scripture which he brings to confirm his point.

The rest of his preachment is mere groundless chat, save here and there a few grains of corn scattered to entice the silly fowl into his net, interlaced here and there with some human reading, though slight, and not without geographical and historical mistakes: as page 29, Suevia the German dukedom, for Suecia, the Northern kingdom: Philip of Macedon, who is generally understood of the great Alexander’s father only, made contemporary, page 31, with T. Quintus the Roman commander, instead of T. Quintius, and the latter Philip: and page 44, Tully cited “in his third oration against Verres,” to say of him, “that he was a wicked consul,” who never was a consul: nor “Trojan sedition ever portrayed” by that verse of Virgil, which you cite page 47, as that of Troy: schoolboys could have told you, that there is nothing of Troy in that whole portraiture, as you call it, of Sedition. These gross mistakes may justly bring in doubt your other loose citations, and that you take them up somewhere at the second or third hand rashly, and without due considering.

Nor are you happier in the relating or the moralizing your fable, “The frogs” ( BEING ONCE A FREE NATION, saith the fable) “petitioned Jupiter for a king: he tumbled among them a log: they found it insensible; they petitioned then for a king that should be active; he sent them a crane” (a STORK, saith the fable) “which straight fell to pecking them up.” This you apply to the reproof of them who desire change: whereas indeed the true moral shows rather the folly of those who being free seek a king; which for the most part either as a log lies heavy on his subjects, without doing aught worthy of his dignity and the charge to maintain him, or as a stork, is ever pecking them up, and devouring them.

But “by our fundamental laws, the king is the highest power,” page 40. If we must hear mooting and law lectures from the pulpit, what shame is it for a doctor of divinity not first to consider, that no law can be fundamental, but that which is grounded on the light of nature or right reason, commonly called moral law: which no form of government was ever counted, but arbitrary, and at all times in the choice of every free people, or their representers. This choice of government is so essential to their freedom, that longer than they have it, they are not free. In this land not only the late king and his posterity, but kingship itself, hath been abrogated by a law; which involves with as good reason the posterity of a king forfeited to the people, as that law heretofore of treason against the king, attainted the children with the father. This law against both king and kingship they who most question, do not less question all enacted without the king and his antiparliament at Oxford, though called mongrel by himself. If no law must be held good, but what passes in full parliament, then surely in exactness of legality no member must be missing: for look how many are missing, so many counties or cities that sent them want their representers. But if, being once chosen, they serve for the whole nation, then any number, which is sufficient, is full, and most of all in times of discord, necessity, and danger. The king himself was bound by the old mode of parliaments, not to be absent, but in case of sickness, or some extraordinary occasion, and then to leave his substitute; much less might any member be allowed to absent himself. If the king then and many of the members with him, without leaving any in his stead, forsook the parliament upon a mere panic fear, as was at that time judged by most men, and to levy war against them that sat, should they who were left sitting, break up, or not dare enact aught of nearest and presentest concernment to public safety, for the punctilio wanting of a full number, which no law-book in such extraordinary cases hath determined? Certainly if it were lawful for them to fly from their charge upon pretence of private safety, it was much more lawful for these to set and act in their trust what was necessary for the public. By a law therefore of parliament, and of a parliament that conquered both Ireland, Scotland, and all their enemies in England, defended their friends, were generally acknowledged for a parliament both at home and abroad, kingship was abolished: this law now of late hath been negatively repealed; yet kingship not positively restored, and I suppose never was established by any certain law in this land, nor possibly could be: for how could our forefathers bind us to any certain form of government, more than we can bind our posterity? If a people be put to war with their king for his misgovernment, and overcome him, the power is then undoubtedly in their own hands how they will be governed. The war was granted just by the king himself at the beginning of his last treaty, and still maintained to be so by this last parliament, as appears by the qualification prescribed to the members of this next ensuing, that none shall be elected, who have borne arms against the parliament since 1641. If the war were just, the conquest was also just by the law of nations. And he who was the chief enemy, in all right ceased to be the king, especially after captivity, by the deciding verdict of war; and royalty with all her laws and pretensions yet remains in the victor’s power, together with the choice of our future government. Free commonwealths have been ever counted fittest and properest for civil, virtuous, and industrious, nations, abounding with prudent men worthy to govern; monarchy fittest to curb degenerate, corrupt, idle, proud, luxurious people. If we desire to be of the former, nothing better for us, nothing nobler than a free commonwealth: if we will needs condemn ourselves to be of the latter, despairing of our own virtue, industry, and the number of our able men, we may then, conscious of our own unworthiness to be governed better, sadly betake us to our befitting thraldom: yet choosing out of our number one who hath best aided the people, and best merited against tyranny, the space of a reign or two we may chance to live happily enough, or tolerably. But that a victorious people should give up themselves again to the vanquished, was never yet heard of, seems rather void of all reason and good policy, and will in all probability subject the subduers to the subdued, will expose to revenge, to beggary, to ruin, and perpetual bondage, the victors under the vanquished: than which what can be more unworthy?

From misinterpreting our law, you return to do again the same with Scripture, and would prove the supremacy of English kings from 1 Pet. ii. 13, as if that were the apostle’s work: wherein if he saith that “the king is supreme,” he speaks so of him but as an “ordinance of man,” and in respect of those “governors that are sent by him,” not in respect of parliaments, which by the law of this land are his bridle; in vain his bridle, if not also his rider: and therefore hath not only co-ordination with him, which you falsely call seditious, but hath superiority above him, and that neither “against religion,” nor “right reason:” no nor against common law; for our kings reigned only by law. But the parliament is above all positive law, whether civil or common, makes or unmakes them both; and still the latter parliament above the former, above all the former lawgivers, then certainly above all precedent laws, entailed the crown on whom it pleased; and as a great lawyer saith, “is so transcendent and absolute, that it cannot be confined either for causes or persons, within any bounds.” But your cry is, no parliament without a king. If this be so, we have never had lawful kings, who have all been created kings either by such parliaments, or by conquest: if by such parliaments, they are in your allowance none; if by conquest, that conquest we have now conquered. So that as well by your own assertion as by ours, there can at present be no king. And how could that person be absolutely supreme, who reigned, not under law only, but under oath of his good demeanor, given to the people at his coronation, ere the people gave him his crown? and his principal oath was to maintain those laws, which the people should choose. If then the law itself, much more he who was but the keeper and minister of law, was in their choice, and both he subordinate to the performance of his duty sworn, and our sworn allegiance in order only to his performance.

You fall next on the consistorian schismatics; for so you call Presbyterians, page 40, and judge them to have “enervated the king’s supremacy by their opinions and practice, differing in many things only in terms from popery;” though some of those principles, which you there cite concerning kingship, are to be read in Aristotle’s Politics, long ere popery was thought on. The presbyterians therefore it concerns to be well forewarned of you betimes; and to them I leave you.

As for your examples of seditious men, page 54, c. Cora, Absalom, Zimri, Sheba, to these you might with much more reason have added your own name, who “blow the trumpet of sedition” from your pulpit against the present government: in reward whereof they have sent you by this time, as I hear, to your “own place,” for preaching open sedition, while you would seem to preach against it.

As for your Appendix annexed of the “Samaritan revived,” finding it so foul a libel against all the well-affected of this land, since the very time of ship-money, against the whole parliament, both lords and commons, except those that fled to Oxford, against the whole reformed church, not only in England and Scotland, but all over Europe, (in comparison whereof you and your prelatical party are more truly schismatics and sectarians, nay, more properly fanatics in your fanes and gilded temples, than those whom you revile by those names,) and meeting with no more Scripture or solid reason in your “Samaritan wine and oil,” than hath already been found sophisticated and adulterate, I leave your malignant narrative, as needing no other confutation, than the just censure already passed upon you by the council of state.

THE HISTORY OF BRITAIN,

THAT PART ESPECIALLY NOW CALLED ENGLAND,

FROM THE FIRST TRADITIONAL BEGINNING, CONTINUED TO THE NORMAN CONQUEST:—COLLECTED OUT OF THE ANCIENTEST AND BEST AUTHORS THEREOF.

PUBLISHED FROM A COPY CORRECTED BY THE AUTHOR HIMSELF, [1670.]

THE FIRST BOOK.

THE beginning of nations, those excepted of whom sacred books have spoken, is to this day unknown. Nor only the beginning, but the deeds also of many succeeding ages, yea, periods of ages, either wholly unknown, or obscured and blemished with fables. Whether it were that the use of letters came in long after, or were it the violence of barbarous inundations, or they themselves, at certain revolutions of time, fatally decaying, and degenerating into sloth and ignorance; whereby the monuments of more ancient civility have been some destroyed, some lost. Perhaps disesteem and contempt of the public affairs then present, as not worth recording, might partly be in cause. Certainly ofttimes we see that wise men, and of best ability, have foreborne to write the acts of their own days, while they beheld with a just loathing and disdain, not only how unworthy, how perverse, how corrupt, but often how ignoble, how petty, how below all history, the persons and their actions were; who, either by fortune or some rude election, had attained, as a sore judgment and ignominy upon the land, to have chief sway in managing the commonwealth. But that any law, or superstition of our philosophers, the Druids, forbad the Britons to write their memorable deeds, I know not why any out of Cæsar [*] should allege: he indeed saith, that their doctrine they thought not lawful to commit to letters; but in most matters else, both private and public, among which well may history be reckoned, they used the Greek tongue; and that the British Druids, who taught those in Gaul, would be ignorant of any language known and used by their disciples, or so frequently writing other things, and so inquisitive into highest, would for want of recording be ever children in the knowledge of times and ages, is not likely. Whatever might be the reason, this we find, that of British affairs, from the first peopling of the island to the coming of Julius Cæsar, nothing certain, either by tradition, history, or ancient fame, hath hitherto been left us. That which we have of oldest seeming, hath by the greater part of judicious antiquaries been long rejected for a modern fable.

Nevertheless there being others, besides the first supposed author, men not unread, nor unlearned in antiquity, who admit that for approved story, which the former explode for fiction; and seeing that ofttimes relations heretofore accounted fabulous have been after found to contain in them many footsteps and reliques of something true, as what we read in poets of the flood, and giants little believed, till undoubted witnesses taught us, that all was not feigned; I have therefore determined to bestow the telling over even of these reputed tales; be it for nothing else but in favour of our English poets and rhetoricians, who by their art will know how to use them judiciously.

I might also produce example, as Diodorus among the Greeks, Livy and others among the Latins, Polydore and Virunnius accounted among our own writers. But I intend not with controversies and quotations to delay or interrupt the smooth course of history; much less to argue and debate long who were the first inhabitants, with what probabilities, what authorities each opinion hath been upheld; but shall endeavour that which hitherto hath been needed most, with plain and lightsome brevity, to relate well and orderly things worth the noting, so as may best instruct and benefit them that read. Which, imploring divine assistance, that it may redound to his glory, and the good of the British nation, I now begin.

THAT the whole earth was inhabited before the flood, and to the utmost point of habitable ground from those effectual words of God in the creation, may be more than conjectured. Hence that this island also had her dwellers, her affairs, and perhaps her stories, even in that old world those many hundred years, with much reason we may infer. After the flood, and the dispersing of nations, as they journeyed leisurely from the east, Gomer the eldest son of Japhet, and his offspring, as by authorities, arguments, and affinity of divers names is generally believed, were the first that peopled all these west and northern climes. But they of our own writers, who thought they had done nothing, unless with all circumstance they tell us when, and who first set foot upon this island, presume to name out of fabulous and counterfeit authors a certain Samothes or Dis, a fourth or sixth son of Japhet, (who they make, about 200 years after the flood, to have planted with colonies, first the continent of Celtica or Gaul, and next this island; thence to have named it Samothea,) to have reigned here, and after him lineally four kings, Magus, Saron, Druis, and Bardus. But the forged Berosus, whom only they have to cite, no where mentions that either he, or any of those whom they bring, did ever pass into Britain, or send their people hither. So that this outlandish figment may easily excuse our not allowing it the room here so much as of a British fable.

That which follows, perhaps as wide from truth, though seeming less impertinent, is, that these Samotheans under the reign of Bardus were subdued by Albion, a giant, son of Neptune; who called the island after his own name, and ruled it forty-four years. Till at length passing over into Gaul, in aid of his brother Lestrygon, against whom Hercules was hasting out of Spain into Italy, he was there slain in fight, and Bergion also his brother.

Sure enough we are, that Britain hath been anciently termed Albion, both by the Greeks and Romans. And Mela, the geographer, makes mention of a stony shore in Languedoc, where by report such a battle was fought. The rest, as his giving name to the isle, or even landing here, depends altogether upon late surmises. But too absurd, and too unconscionably gross is that fond invention, that wafted hither the fifty daughters of a strange Dioclesian king of Syria; brought in, doubtless, by some illiterate pretender to something mistaken in the common poetical story of Danaus king of Argos, while his vanity, not pleased with the obscure beginning which truest antiquity affords the nation, laboured to contrive us a pedigree, as he thought, more noble. These daughters by appointment of Danaus on the marriage-night having murdered all their husbands, except Linceus, whom his wife’s loyalty saved, were by him, at the suit of his wife their sister, not put to death, but turned out to sea in a ship unmanned; of which whole sex they had incurred the hate: and as the tale goes, were driven on this island. Where the inhabitants, none but devils, as some write, or as others, a lawless crew left here by Albion, without head or governor, both entertained them, and had issue by them a second breed of giants, who tyrannized the isle, till Brutus came.

The eldest of these dames in their legend they call Albina; and from thence, for which cause the whole scene was framed, will have the name Albion derived. Incredible it may seem so sluggish a conceit should prove so ancient, as to be authorized by the elder Ninnius, reputed to have lived above a thousand years ago. This I find not in him: but that Histion, sprung of Japhet, had four sons; Francus, Romanus, Alemannus, and Britto, of whom the Britains; [*] as true, I believe, as that those other nations, whose names are resembled, came of the other three; if these dreams give not just occasion to call in doubt the book itself, which bears that title.

Hitherto the things themselves have given us a warrantable dispatch to run them soon over. But now of Brutus and his line, with the whole progeny of kings, to the entrance of Julius Cæsar, we cannot so easily be discharged; descents of ancestry long continued, laws and exploits not plainly seeming to be borrowed, or devised, which on the common belief have wrought no small impression; defended by many, denied utterly by few. For what though Brutus and the whole Trojan pretence were yielded up; (seeing they who first devised to bring us from some noble ancestor, were content at first with Brutus the consul; till better invention, although not willing to forego the name, taught them to remove it higher into a more fabulous age, and by the same remove lighting on the Trojan tales in affectation to make the Briton of one original with the Roman, pitched there;) yet those old and inborn names of successive kings, never any to have been real persons, or done in their lives at least some part of what so long hath been remembered, cannot be thought without too strict an incredulity.

For these, and those causes above mentioned, that which hath received approbation from so many, I have chosen not to omit. Certain or uncertain, be that upon the credit of those whom I must follow; so far as keeps aloof from impossible and absurd, attested by ancient writers from books more ancient, I refuse not, as the due and proper subject of story. The principal author is well known to be Geoffrey of Monmouth; what he was, and whence his authority, who in his age, or before him, have delivered the same matter, and such like general discourses, will better stand in a treatise by themselves. All [†] of them agree in this, that Brutus was the son of Silvius; he of Ascanius; whose father was Eneas, a Trojan prince, who at the burning of that city, with his son Ascanius, and a collected number that escaped, after long wandering on the sea, arrived in Italy. Where at length by the assistance of Latinus king of Latiam, who had given him his daughter Lavinia, he obtained to succeed in that kingdom, and left it to Ascanius, whose son Silvius (though Roman histories deny Silvius to be the son of Ascanius) had married secretly a niece of Lavinia.

She being with child, the matter became known to Ascanius. Who commanding his “magicians to inquire by art, what sex the maid had conceived,” had answer, “that it was one who should be the death of both his parents; and banished for the fact, should after all, in a far country, attain the highest honour.” The prediction failed not, for in travail the mother died. And Brutus (the child was so called) at fifteen years of age, attending his father to the chase, with an arrow unfortunately killed him.

Banished therefore by his kindred, he retires into Greece. Where meeting with the race of Helenus king Priam’s son, held there in servile condition by Pandrasus then king, with them he abides. For Pyrrhus, in revenge of his father slain at Troy, had brought thither with him Helenus, and many others into servitude. There Brutus among his own stock so thrives in virtue and in arms, as renders him beloved to kings and great captains above all the youth of that land. Whereby the Trojans not only began to hope, but secretly to move him, that he would lead them the way to liberty. They allege their numbers, and the promised help of Assaracus a noble Greekish youth, by the mother’s side a Trojan; whom for that cause his brother went about to dispossess of certain castles bequeathed him by his father. Brutus considering both the forces offered him, and the strength of those holds, not unwillingly consents.

First therefore having fortified those castles, he with Assaracus and the whole multitude betake them to the woods and hills as the safest place from whence to expostulate; and in the name of all sends to Pandrasus this message, “That the Trojans holding it unworthy their ancestors to serve in a foreign kingdom had retreated to the woods; choosing rather a savage life than a slavish: if that displeased him, that then with his leave they might depart to some other soil.”

As this may pass with good allowance that the Trojans might be many in these parts, (for Helenus was by Pyrrhus made king of the Chaonians, and the sons of Pyrrhus by Andromache Hector’s wife, could not but be powerful through all Epirus,) so much the more it may be doubted, how these Trojans could be thus in bondage, where they had friends and countrymen so potent. But to examine these things with diligence, were but to confute the fables of Britain, with the fables of Greece or Italy; for of this age, what we have to say, as well concerning most other countries, as this island, is equally under question. Be how it will, Pandrasus not expecting so bold a message from the sons of captives, gathers an army; and marching towards the woods, Brutus who had notice of his approach nigh to the town called Sparatinum, (I know not what town, but certain of no Greek name,) over night planting himself there with good part of his men, suddenly sets upon him, and with slaughter of the Greeks pursues him to the passage of a river, which mine author names Akalon, meaning perhaps Achelous or Acheron; where at the ford he overlays them afresh. This victory obtained, and a sufficient strength left in Sparatinum, Brutus with Antigonus, the king’s brother, and his friend Anacletus, whom he had taken in the fight, returns to the residue of his friends in the thick woods; while Pandrasus with all speed recollecting, besieges the town. Brutus to relieve his men besieged, who earnestly called him, distrusting the sufficiency of his force, bethinks himself of this policy. Calls to him Anacletus, and threatening instant death else, both to him and his friend Antigonus, enjoins him, that he should go at the second hour of night to the Greekish leagre, and tell the guards he had brought Antigonus by stealth out of prison to a certain woody vale, unable through the weight of his fetters to move him further, entreating them to come speedily and fetch him in.—Anacletus to save both himself and his friend Antigonus swears this, and at a fit hour sets on alone toward the camp; is met, examined, and at last unquestionably known. To whom, great profession of fidelity first made, he frames his tale, as had been taught him; and they now fully assured, with a credulous rashness leaving their stations, fared accordingly by the ambush that there awaited them. Forthwith Brutus divided his men into three parts, leads on in silence to the camp; commanding first each part at a several place to enter, and forbear execution, till he with his squadron possessed of the king’s tent, gave signal to them by trumpet. The sound whereof no sooner heard, but huge havoc begins upon the sleeping and unguarded enemy, whom the besieged also now sallying forth, on the other side assail. Brutus the while had special care to seize and secure the king’s person; whose life still within his custody, he knew was the surest pledge to obtain what he should demand. Day appearing, he enters the town, there distributes the king’s treasury, and leaving the place better fortified, returns with the king his prisoner to the woods. Straight the ancient and grave men he summons to council, what they should now demand of the king.

After long debate Mempricius, one of the gravest, utterly dissuading them from thought of longer stay in Greece, unless they meant to be deluded with a subtle peace, and the awaited revenge of those whose friends they had slain, advises them to demand first the king’s eldest daughter Innogen in marriage to their leader Brutus with a rich dowry, next shipping, money, and fit provision for them all to depart the land.

This resolution pleasing best, the king now brought in, and placed in a high seat, is briefly told, that on these conditions granted, he might be free; not granted he must prepare to die.

Pressed with fear of death, the king readily yields; especially to bestow his daughter on whom he confessed so noble and so valiant: offers them also the third part of his kingdom, if they like to stay; if not, to be their hostage himself, till he had made good his word.

The marriage therefore solemnized, and shipping from all parts got together, the Trojans in a fleet, no less written than three hundred four and twenty sail, betake them to the wide sea: where with a prosperous course, two days and a night bring them on a certain island long before dispeopled and left waste by sea-rovers, the name whereof was then Leogecia, now unknown. They who were sent out to discover, came at length to a ruined city, where was a temple and image of Diana that gave oracles: but not meeting first or last, save wild beasts, they return with this notice to their ships; wishing their general would inquire of that oracle what voyage to pursue.

Consultation had, Brutus taking with him Gerion his diviner, and twelve of the ancientest, with wanton ceremonies before the inward shrine of the goddess, in verse (as it seems the manner was) utters his request, “Diva potens nemorum,” c.

- Goddess of shades, and huntress, who at will

- Walk’st on the rolling sphere, and through the deep

- On thy third reign the earth look now, and tell

- What land, what seat of rest thou bid’st me seek,

- What certain seat, where I may worship thee

- For aye, with temples vow’d, and virgin choirs.

To whom sleeping before the altar, Diana in a vision that night thus answered, “Brute sub occasum solis,” c.

- Brutus, far to the west, in th’ ocean wide,

- Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,

- Seagirt it lies, where giants dwelt of old,

- Now void, it fits thy people; thither bend

- Thy course, there shalt thou find a lasting seat,

- Where to thy sons another Troy shall rise;

- And kings be born of thee, whose dreaded might

- Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.

These verses originally Greek, were put in Latin, saith Virunnius, by Gildas a British poet and him to have lived under Claudius. Which granted true, adds much to the antiquity of this fable; and indeed the Latin verses are much better, than of the age for Geoffrey ap Arthur, unless perhaps Joseph of Exeter, the only smooth poet of those times, befriended him. In this, Diana overshot her oracle thus ending, “Ipsis totius terræ subditus orbis erit,” That to the race of Brute, kings of this island, the whole earth shall be subject.

But Brutus, guided now, as he thought, by divine conduct, speeds him towards the west; and after some encounters on the Afric side, arrives at a place on the Tyrrhene sea; where he happens to find the race of those Trojans, who with Antenor came into Italy; and Corineus, a man much famed, was their chief: though by surer authors it be reported, that those Trojans with Antenor were seated on the other side of Italy, on the Adriatic, not the Tyrrhene shore. But these joining company, and past the Herculean Pillars, at the mouth of Ligeris in Aquitania cast anchor: where after some discovery made of the place, Corineus, hunting nigh the shore with his men, is by messengers of the king Goffarius Pictus met, and questioned about his errand there. Who not answering to their mind, Imbertus, one of them, lets fly an arrow at Corineus, which he avoiding, slays him: and the Pictavian himself hereupon levying his whole force, is overthrown by Brutus and Corineus; who with the battle-axe which he was wont to manage against the Tyrrhene giants, is said to have done marvels. But Goffarius having drawn to his aid the whole country of Gaul, at that time governed by twelve kings, puts his fortune to a second trial; wherein the Trojans, overborne by multitude, are driven back, and besieged in their own camp, which by good foresight was strongly situate. Whence Brutus unexpectedly issuing out, and Corineus in the meanwhile, whose device it was, assaulting them behind from a wood, where he had conveyed his men the night before: the Trojans are again victors, but with the loss of Turon a valiant nephew of Brutus: whose ashes, left in that place, gave name to the city of Tours, built there by the Trojans. Brutus finding now his powers much lessened, and this yet not the place foretold him, leaves Aquitain, and with an easy course arriving at Totness in Devonshire, quickly perceives here to be the promised end of his labours.

The island, not yet Britain but Albion, was in a manner desert and inhospitable; kept only by a remnant of giants, whose excessive force and tyranny had consumed the rest. Them Brutus destroys, and to his people divides the land, which with some reference to his own name he thenceforth calls Britain. To Corineus, Cornwall, as now we call it, fell by lot; the rather by him liked, for that the hugest giants in rocks and caves were said to lurk still there; which kind of monsters to deal with was his old exercise.

And here with leave bespoken to recite a grand fable, though dignified by our best poets: while Brutus, on a certain festival day solemnly kept on that shore, where he first landed, was with the people in great jollity and mirth, a crew of these savages breaking in upon them, began on a sudden another sort of game, than at such a meeting was expected. But at length by many hands overcome, Goemagog the hugest, in height twelve cubits, is reserved alive, that with him Corineus, who desired nothing more, might try his strength; whom in a wrestle the giant catching aloft, with a terrible hug broke three of his ribs: nevertheless Corineus enraged, heaving him up by main force, and on his shoulders bearing him to the next high rock, threw him headlong, all shattered, into the sea, and left his name on the cliff, called ever since Langoemagog, which is to say, the giant’s leap.

After this, Brutus in a chosen place builds Troja Nova, changed in time to Trinovantum, now London: and began to enact laws; Heli being then high priest in Judæa: and having governed the whole isle twenty-four years, died, and was buried in his new Troy. His three sons, Locrine, Albanact, and Camber, divide the land by consent. Locrine had the middle part Lœgria; Camber possessed Cambria, or Wales; Albanact, Albania, now Scotland. But he in the end by Humber king of the Hunds, who with a fleet invaded that land, was slain in fight, and his people drove back into Lœgria. Locrine and his brother go out against Humber; who now marching onward, was by them defeated, and in a river drowned, which to this day retains his name. Among the spoils of his camp and navy, were found certain young maids, and Estrildis above the rest, passing fair, the daughter of a king in Germany; from whence Humber, as he went wasting the sea coast, had led her captive: whom Locrine, though before contracted to the daughter of Corineus, resolves to marry. But being forced and threatened by Corineus, whose authority and power he feared, Guendolen the daughter he yields to marry, but in secret loves the other: and ofttimes retiring, as to some private sacrifice, through vaults and passages made under ground, and seven years thus enjoying her, had by her a daughter equally fair, whose name was Sabra. But when once his fear was off by the death of Corineus, not content with secret enjoyment, divorcing Guendolen, he makes Estrildes now his queen. Guendolen, all in a rage, departs into Cornwall, where Madan, the son she had by Locrine, was hitherto brought up by Corineus his grandfather. And gathering an army of her father’s friends and subjects, gives battle to her husband by the river Sture; wherein Locrine, shot with an arrow, ends his life. But not so ends the fury of Guendolen; for Estrildis, and her daughter Sabra, she throws into a river: and, to leave a monument of revenge, proclaims that the stream be thenceforth called after the damsel’s name; which, by length of time, is changed now to Sabrina, or Severn.

Fifteen years she governs in behalf of her son; then resigning to him at age, retires to her father’s dominion. This, saith my author, was in the days of Samuel. Madan hath the praise to have well and peacefully ruled the space of forty years, leaving behind him two sons, Mempricius, and Malim. Mempricius had first to do with the ambition of his brother, aspiring to share with him in the kingdom; whom therefore, at a meeting to compose matters, with a treachery, which his cause needed not, he slew.

Nor was he better in the sole possession, whereof he could so ill endure a partner, killing his nobles, and those especially next to succeed him; till lastly, given over to unnatural lust, in the twentieth of his reign, hunting in a forest, he was devoured by wolves.

His son Ebranc, a man of mighty strength and stature, reigned forty years. He first, after Brutus, wasted Gaul; and returning rich and prosperous, builded Caerebranc, now York; in Albania, Alclud, Mount Agned, or the Castle of Maidens, now Edinburg. He had twenty sons and thirty daughters by twenty wives. His daughters he sent to Silvius Alba into Italy, who bestowed them on his peers of the Trojan line. His sons, under the leading of Assaracus their brother, won them lands and signiories in Germany; thence called from these brethren, Germania; a derivation too hastily supposed, perhaps before the word Germanus, or the Latin tongue was in use. Some who have described Henault, as Jacobus Bergamas, and Lassabeus, are cited to affirm, that Ebranc, in his war there, was by Brunchildis, lord of Henault, put to the worse.

Brutus, therefore, surnamed Greenshield, succeeding, to repair his father’s losses, as the same Lessabeus reports, fought a second battle in Henault, with Brunchild, at the mouth of Scaldis, and encamped on the river Hania. Of which our Spencer also thus sings:

- Let Scaldis tell, and let tell Hania,

- And let the marsh of Esthambruges tell

- What colour were their waters that same day,

- And all the moor ’twixt Elversham and Dell,

- With blood of Henalois, which therein fell;

- How oft that day did sad Brunchildis see

- The Greenshield dyed in dolorous vermeil, c.

But Henault, and Brunchild, and Greenshield, seem newer names than for a story pretended thus ancient.

Him succeeded Leil, a maintainer of peace and equity; but slackened in his latter end, whence arose some civil discord. He built, in the North, Cairliel; [*] and in the days of Solomon.

Rudhuddibras, or Hudibras, appeasing the commotions which his father could not, founded Caerkeynt or Canterbury, Caerguent or Winchester, and Mount Paladur, now Septonia or Shaftesbury: but this by others is contradicted.

Bladud his son built Caerbadus or Bath, and those medical waters he dedicated to Minerva; in whose temple there he kept fire continually burning. He was a man of great invention, and taught necromancy; till having made him wings to fly, he fell down upon the temple of Apollo in Trinovant, and so died after twenty year’s reign.

Hitherto, from father to son, the direct line hath run on: but Leir, who next reigned, had only three daughters, and no male issue: governed laudably, and built Caerleir, now Leicester, on the bank of Sora. But at last, falling through age, he determines to bestow his daughters, and so among them to divide his kingdom. Yet first, to try which of them loved him best, (a trial that might have made him, had he known as wisely how to try, as he seemed to know how much the trying behooved him,) he resolves a simple resolution, to ask them solemnly in order; and which of them should profess largest, her to believe. Gonorill the eldest, apprehending too well her father’s weakness, makes answer, invoking Heaven, “That she loved him above her soul.” “Therefore,” quoth the old man, overjoyed, “since thou so honourest my declining age, to thee and the husband whom thou shalt choose, I give the third part of my realm.” So fair a speeding, for a few words soon uttered, was to Regan, the second, ample instruction what to say. She, on the same demand, spares no protesting; and the gods must witness, that otherwise to express her thoughts she knew not, but that “She loved him above all creatures;” and so receives an equal reward with her sister. But Cordeilla, the youngest, though hitherto best loved, and now before her eyes the rich and present hire of a little easy soothing, the danger also, and the loss likely to betide plain dealing, yet moves not from the solid purpose of a sincere and virtuous answer. “Father,” saith she, “my love towards you is as my duty bids: what should a father seek, what can a child promise more? They, who pretend beyond this, flatter.” When the old man, sorry to hear this, and wishing her to recall those words, persisted asking; with a loyal sadness at her father’s infirmity, but something, on the sudden, harsh, and glancing rather at her sisters than speaking her own mind, “Two ways only,” saith she, “I have to answer what you require me: the former, your command is, I should recant; accept then this other which is left me; look how much you have, so much is your value, and so much I love you.” “Then hear thou,” quoth Leir, now all in passion, “what thy ingratitude hath gained thee; because thou hast not reverenced thy aged father equal to thy sisters, part in my kingdom, or what else is mine, reckon to have none.” And, without delay, gives in marriage his other daughters, Gonorill to Maglaunus duke of Albania, Regan to Henninus duke of Cornwall; with them in present half his kingdom; the rest to follow at his death. In the meanwhile, fame was not sparing to divulge the wisdom and other graces of Cordeilla, insomuch that Aganippus, a great king in Gaul, (however he came by his Greek name, not found in any register of French kings,) seeks her to wife; and nothing altered at the loss of her dowry, receives her gladly in such manner as she was sent him. After this, King Leir, more and more drooping with years, became an easy prey to his daughters and their husbands; who now, by daily encroachment, had seized the whole kingdom into their hands: and the old king is put to sojourn with his eldest daughter attended only by threescore knights. But they in a short while grudged at, as too numerous and disorderly for continual guests, are reduced to thirty. Not brooking that affront, the old king betakes him to his second daughter: but there also, discord soon arising between the servants of differing masters in one family, five only are suffered to attend him. Then back again he returns to the other; hoping that she his eldest could not but have more pity on his gray hairs: but she now refuses to admit him, unless he be content with one only of his followers. At last the remembrance of his youngest, Cordeilla, comes to his thoughts; and now acknowledging how true her words had been, though with little hope from whom he had so injured, be it but to pay her the last recompense she can have from him, his confession of her wise forewarning, that so perhaps his misery, the proof and experiment of her wisdom, might something soften her, he takes his journey into France. Now might be seen a difference between the silent, or downright spoken affection of some children to their parents, and the talkative obsequiousness of others; while the hope of inheritance overacts them, and on the tongue’s end enlarges their duty. Cordeilla, out of mere love, without the suspicion of expected reward, at the message only of her father in distress, pours forth true filial tears. And not enduring either that her own, or any other eye should see him in such forlorn condition as his messenger declared, discreetly appoints one of her trusted servants first to convey him privately towards some good seatown, there to array him, bathe him, cherish him, furnish him with such attendance and state as beseemed his dignity; that then, as from his first landing, he might send word of his arrival to her husband Aganippus. Which done, with all mature and requisite contrivance, Cordeilla, with the king her husband, and all the barony of his realm, who then first had news of his passing the sea, go out to meet him; and after all honourable and joyful entertainment, Aganippus, as to his wife’s father, and his royal guest, surrenders him, during his abode there, the power and disposal of his whole dominion: permitting his wife Cordeilla to go with an army, and set her father upon his throne. Wherein her piety so prospered, as that she vanquished her impious sisters, with those dukes; and Leir again, as saith the story, three years obtained the crown. To whom, dying, Cordeilla, with all regal solemnities, gave burial in the town of Leicester: and then, as right heir succeeding, and her husband dead, ruled the land five years in peace. Until Marganus and Cunedagius, her two sisters’ sons, not bearing that a kingdom should be governed by a woman, in the unseasonablest time to raise that quarrel against a woman so worthy, make war against her, depose her, and imprison her; of which impatient, and now long unexercised to suffer, she there, as is related, killed herself. The victors between them part the land; but Merganus, the eldest sister’s son, who held, by agreement, from the north side of Humber to Cathness, incited by those about him, to invade all as his own right, wars on Cunedagius, who soon met him, overcame, and overtook him in a town of Wales, where he left his life, and ever since his name to the place.

Cunedagius was now sole king, and governed with much praise many years, about the time when Rome was built.

Him succeeded Rivallo his son, wise also and fortunate; save what they tell us of three days raining blood and swarms of stinging flies, whereof men died. In order then Gurgustius, Jago or Lago, his nephew; Sisilius, Kinmarcus. Then Gorbogudo, whom others name Gorbodego, and Gorbodion, who had two sons, Ferrex, and Porrex. They, in the old age of their father, falling to contend who should succeed, Porrex, attempting by treachery his brother’s life, drives him into France; and in his return, though aided with the force of that country, defeats and slays him. But by his mother Videna, who less loved him, is himself, with the assistance of her women, soon after slain in his bed: with whom ended, as is thought, the line of Brutus. Whereupon the whole land, with civil broils, was rent into five kingdoms, long time waging war each on other; and some say fifty years. At length Dunwallo Molmutius, the son of Cloten king of Cornwal, one of the foresaid five, excelling in valour and goodliness of person, after his father’s decease, found means to reduce again the whole island into a monarchy; subduing the rest at opportunities. First, Ymner king of Loegria, whom he slew; then Rudaucus of Cambria, Staterius of Albania, confederate together. In which fight Dunwallo is reported, while the victory hung doubtful, to have used this art. He takes with him 600 stout men, bids them put on the armour of their slain enemies; and so unexpectedly approaching the squadron, where those two kings had placed themselves in fight, from that part which they thought securest, assaults and dispatches them. The displaying his own ensigns, which before he had concealed, and sending notice to the other part of his army what was done, adds to them new courage, and gains a final victory. This Dunwallo was the first in Britain that wore a crown of gold; and therefore by some reputed the first king. He established the Molmutine laws, famous among the English to this day; written long after in Latin by Gildas, and in Saxon by King Alfred: so saith Geoffrey, but Gildas denies to have known ought of the Britons before Cæsar; much less knew Alfred. These laws, whoever made them, bestowed on temples the privilege of sanctuary; to cities also, and the ways thither leading, yea to plows, granted a kind of like refuge; and made such riddance of thieves and robbers, that all passages were safe. Forty years he governed alone, and was buried nigh to the temple of Concord; which he, to the memory of peace restored, had built in Trinovant.

His two sons, Belinus and Brennus, contending about the crown, by decision of friends, came at length to an accord: Brennus to have the north of Humber, Belinus the sovereignty of all. But the younger not long so contented, that he, as they whispered to him, whose valour had so oft repelled the invasions of Ceulphus the Morine duke, should now be subject to his brother, upon new design sails into Norway; enters league and affinity with Elsing that king: which Belinus perceiving, in his absence dispossesses him of all the north. Brennus, with a fleet of Norwegians, makes towards Britain; but encountered by Guithlac, the Danish king, who, laying claim to his bride, pursued him on the sea, his haste was retarded, and he bereft of his spouse; who, from the fight, by a sudden tempest, was with the Danish king driven on Northumberland, and brought to Belinus. Brennus, nevertheless, finding means to recollect his navy, lands in Albania, and gives battle to his brother in the wood Calaterium; but losing the day, escapes, with one single ship, into Gaul. Meanwhile the Dane, upon his own offer to become tributary, sent home with his new prize, Belinus returns his thoughts to the administering of justice, and the perfecting of his father’s law. And to explain what highways might enjoy the foresaid privileges, he caused to be drawn out and paved four main roads to the utmost length and breadth of the island, and two others athwart; which are since attributed to the Romans. Brennus, on the other side, soliciting to his aid the kings of Gaul, happens at last on Seginus duke of the Allobroges; where his worth, and comeliness of person, won him the duke’s daughter and heir. In whose right he shortly succeeding, and, by obtained leave, passing with a great host through the length of Gaul, gets footing once again in Britain. Now was Belinus unprepared: and now the battle ready to join, Conuvenna, the mother of them both, all in a fright, throws herself between, and calling earnestly to Brennus her son, whose absence had so long deprived her of his sight, after embracements and tears, assails him with such a motherly power, and the mention of things so dear and reverend, as irresistibly wrung from him all his enmity against Belinus.

Then are hands joined, reconciliation made firm, and counsel held to turn their united preparations on foreign parts. Thence that by these two all Gallia was overrun, the story tells; and what they did in Italy, and at Rome, (if these be they, and not Gauls, who took that city,) the Roman authors can best relate. So far from home I undertake not for the Monmouth Chronicle; which here, against the stream of history, carries up and down these brethren, now into Germany, then again to Rome, pursuing Gabius and Porsena, two unheard-of consuls. Thus much is more generally believed, that both this Brennus, and another famous captain, Britomarus, whom the epitomist Florus and others mention, were not Gauls, but Britons; the name of the first in that tongue signifying a king, and of the other a great Briton. However, Belinus, after a while, returning home, the rest of his days ruled in peace, wealth, and honour, above all his predecessors; building some cities, of which one was Caerose upon Osca, since Caerlegion; beautifying others, as Trinovant, with a gate, haven, and a tower, on the Thames, retaining yet his name; on the top whereof his ashes are said to have been laid up in a golden urn.

After him Gurguntius Barbirus was king, mild and just; but yet, inheriting his father’s courage, he subdued the Dacian, or Dane, who refused to pay the tribute covenanted to Belinus for his enlargement. In his return, finding about the Orkneys thirty ships of Spain, or Biscay, fraught with men and women for a plantation, whose captain also Bartholinus, wrongfully banished, as he pleaded, besought him that some part of his territory might be assigned them to dwell in, he sent with them certain of his own men to Ireland which then lay unpeopled, and gave them that island, to hold of him as in homage. He was buried in Caerlegion, a city which he had walled about.

Guitheline his son is also remembered as a just and good prince; and his wife Martia to have excelled so much in wisdom, as to venture upon a new institution of laws. Which King Alfred translating, called Marchen Leage; but more truly thereby is meant the Mercian law, not translated by Alfred, but digested or incorporated with the West-Saxon. In the minority of her son she had the rule; and then, as may be supposed, brought forth these laws, not herself, for laws are masculine births, but by the advice of her sagest counsellors; and therein she might do virtuously, since it befell her to supply the nonage of her son; else nothing more awry from the law of God and nature, than that a woman should give laws to men.

Her son Sisilius coming to years, received the rule; then, in order, Kimarus; then Danius, or Elanius, his brother. Then Morindus, his son by Tanguestela, a concubine, who is recorded a man of excessive strength, valiant, liberal, and fair of aspect, but immanely cruel; not sparing, in his anger, enemy or friend, if any weapon were in his hand. A certain king of the Morines, or Picards, invaded Northumberland; whose army this king, though not wanting sufficient numbers, chiefly by his own prowess overcame; but dishonoured his victory by the cruel usage of his prisoners, whom his own hands, or others in his presence, put all to several deaths: well fitted to such a bestial cruelty was his end; for hearing of a huge monster, that from the Irish sea infested the coast, and, in the pride of his strength, foolishly attempting to set manly valour against a brute vastness, when his weapons were all in vain, by that horrible mouth he was catched up and devoured.

Gorbonian, the eldest of his five sons, than whom a juster man lived not in his age, was a great builder of temples, and gave to all what was their due: to his gods, devout worship; to men of desert, honour and preferment; to the commons, encouragement in their labours and trades, defence and protection from injuries and oppressions; so that the land flourished above her neighbours; violence and wrong seldom was heard of. His death was a general loss: he was buried in Trinovant.

Archigallo, the second brother, followed not his example; but depressed the ancient nobility; and, by peeling the wealthier sort, stuffed his treasury, and took the right way to be deposed.

Elidure, the next brother, surnamed the Pious, was set up in his place: a mind so noble, and so moderate, as almost is incredible to have been ever found. For, having held the sceptre five years, hunting one day in the forest of Calater, he chanced to meet his deposed brother, wandering in a mean condition; who had been long in vain beyond the seas, importuning foreign aids to his restorement; and was now, in a poor habit, with only ten followers, privately returned to find subsistence among his secret friends. At the unexpected sight of him, Elidure himself also then but thinly accompanied, runs to him with open arms; and, after many dear and sincere welcomings, conveys him to the city Alclud; there hides him in his own bedchamber. Afterwards feigning himself sick, summons all his peers, as about greatest affairs; where admitting them one by one, as if his weakness endured not the disturbance of more at once, causes them, willing or unwilling, once more to swear allegiance to Archigallo. Whom, after reconciliation made on all sides, he leads to York; and, from his own head, places the crown on the head of his brother. Who thenceforth, vice itself dissolving in him, and forgetting her firmest hold, with the admiration of a deed so heroic, became a true converted man; ruled worthily ten years, died, and was buried in Caerleir. Thus was a brother saved by a brother, to whom love of a crown, the thing that so often dazzles and vitiates mortal men, for which thousands of nearest blood have destroyed each other, was in respect of brotherly dearness, a contemptible thing.

Elidure now in his own behalf re-assumes the goverement, and did as was worthy such a man to do. When Providence, that so great a virtue might want no sort of trial to make it more illustrious, stirs up Vigenius and Peredure, his youngest brethren, against him who had deserved so nobly of that relation, as least of all by a brother to be injured. Yet him they defeat, him they imprison in the tower of Trinovant, and divide his kingdom; the North to Peredure, the South to Vigenius. After whose death Peredure obtaining all, so much the better used his power, by how much the worse he got it: so that Elidure now is hardly missed. But yet, in all right owing to his elder the due place whereof he had deprived him, fate would that he should die first: and Elidure, after many years’ imprisonment, is now the third time seated on the throne; which at last he enjoyed long in peace, finishing the interrupted course of his mild and just reign, as full of virtuous deeds as days to his end.

After these five sons of Morindus, succeeded also their sons in order. [*] Regin of Gorbonian, Marganus of Archigallo, both good kings. But Enniaunus, his brother, taking other courses, was after six years deposed. Then Idwallo, taught by a near example, governed soberly. Then Runno, then Geruntius, he of Peredure, this last the son of Elidure. From whose loins (for that likely is the durable and surviving race that springs of just progenitors) issued a long descent of kings, whose names only for many successions, without other memory, stand thus registered: Catellus, Coillus, Porrex, Cherin, and his three sons, Fulgenius, Eldadus, and Andragius, his son Urianus; Eliud, Eledaucus, Clotenus, Gurguntius, Merianus, Bleduno, Capis, Oenus, Sisillius; twenty kings in a continued row, that either did nothing, or lived in ages that wrote nothing; at least, a foul pretermission in the author of this, whether story or fable; himself weary, as seems, of his own tedious tale.

But to make amends for this silence, Blegabredus next succeeding, is recorded to have excelled all before him in the art of music; opportunely, had he but left us one song of his twenty predecessors’ doings.

Yet after him nine more succeeded in name; his brother Archimailus, Eldol, Redion, Rederchius, Samulius, Penissel, Pir, Capoirus; but Cliguellius, with the addition of modest, wise, and just.

His son Heli reigned forty years, and had three sons, Lud, Cassibelan, and Nennius. This Heli seems to be the same whom Ninius, in his Fragment, calls Minocan; for him he writes to be the father of Cassibelan. Lud was he who enlarged and walled about Trinovant; there kept his court, made it the prime city, and called it from his own name Caerlud, or Lud’s town, now London. Which, as is alleged out of Gildas, became matter of great dissension betwixt him and his brother Nennius; who took it heinously that the name of Troy, their ancient country, should be abolished for any new one. Lud was hardy, and bold in war; in peace a jolly feaster. He conquered many islands of the sea, saith Huntingdon, [†] and was buried by the gate, which from thence we call Ludgate. [‡] His two sons, Androgeus and Tenuantius, were left to the tuition of Cassibelan; whose bounty and high demeanor so wrought with the common people, as got him easily the kingdom transferred upon himself. He nevertheless, continuing to favour and support his nephews, confers freely upon Androgeus London with Kent; upon Tenuantius, Cornwal; reserving a superiority both over them, and all the other princes to himself, till the Romans for awhile circumscribed his power. Thus far, though leaning only on the credit of Geoffrey Monmouth, and his assertors, I yet, for the specified causes, have thought it not beneath my purpose to relate what I found. Whereto I neither oblige the belief of other person, nor overhastily subscribe mine own. Nor have I stood with others computing or collating years and chronologies, lest I should be vainly curious about the time and circumstance of things, whereof the substance is so much in doubt. By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes. For albeit Cæsar, whose authority we are now first to follow, wanted not who taxed him of misrepresenting in his Commentaries, yea in his civil war against Pompey, much more, may we think, in the British affairs, of whose little skill in writing he did not easily hope to be contradicted; yet now, in such variety of good authors, we can hardly miss, from one hand or other, to be sufficiently informed, as of things past so long ago. But this will better be referred to a second discourse.

THE SECOND BOOK.

I AM now to write of what befel the Britons from fifty and three years before the birth of our Saviour, when first the Romans came in, till the decay and ceasing of that empire; a story of much truth, and for the first hundred years and somewhat more, collected without much labour. So many and so prudent were the writers, which those two, the civilest and the wisest of European nations, both Italy and Greece, afforded to the actions of that puissant city. For worthy deeds are not often destitute of worthy relators: as by a certain fate, great acts and great eloquence have most commonly gone hand in hand, equalling and honouring each other in the same ages. It is true, that in obscurest times, by shallow and unskilful writers, the indistinct noise of many battles and devastations of many kingdoms, overrun and lost, hath come to our ears. For what wonder, if in all ages ambition and the love of rapine hath stirred up greedy and violent men to bold attempts in wasting and ruining wars, which to posterity have left the work of wild beasts and destroyers, rather than the deeds and monuments of men and conquerors? But he whose just and true valour uses the necessity of war and dominion not to destroy, but to prevent destruction, to bring in liberty against tyrants, law and civility among barbarous nations, knowing that when he conquers all things else, he cannot conquer Time or Detraction, wisely conscious of this his want, as well as of his worth not to be forgotten or concealed, honours and hath recourse to the aid of eloquence, his friendliest and best supply; by whose immortal record his noble deeds, which else were transitory, become fixed and durable against the force of years and generations, he fails not to continue through all posterity, over Envy, Death, and Time also victorious. Therefore when the esteem of science and liberal study waxes low in the commonwealth, we may presume that also there all civil virtue and worthy action is grown as low to a decline: and then eloquence as it were consorted in the same destiny, with the decrease and fall of virtue, corrupts also and fades; at least resigns her office of relating to illiterate and frivolous historians, such as the persons themselves both deserve, and are best pleased with; whilst they want either the understanding to choose better, or the innocence to dare invite the examining and searching style of an intelligent and faithful writer to the survey of their unsound exploits, better befriended by obscurity than fame. As for these, the only authors we have of British matters, while the power of Rome reached hither, (for Gildas affirms that of the Roman times no British writer was in his days extant, or if any were, either burnt by enemies or transported with such as fled the Pictish and Saxon invasions,) these therefore only Roman authors there be, who in the Latin tongue have laid together as much, and perhaps more than was requisite to a history of Britain. So that were it not for leaving an unsightly gap so near to the beginning, I should have judged this labour, wherein so little seems to be required above transcription, almost superfluous. Notwithstanding since I must through it, if aught by diligence may be added or omitted, or by other disposing may be more explained or more expressed, I shall assay.

Julius Cæsar (of whom, and of the Roman free state more than what appertains, is not here to be discoursed) having subdued most part of Gallia, which by a potent faction he had obtained of the senate as his province for many years, stirred up with a desire of adding still more glory to his name, and the whole Roman empire to his ambition; some [*] say, with a far meaner and ignobler, the desire of British pearls, whose bigness he delighted to balance in his hand; determines, and that upon no unjust pretended occasion, to try his force in the conquest also of Britain. For he understood that the Britons in most of his Gallian wars had sent supplies against him; had received fugitives of the Bellovaci his enemies; and were called over to aid the cities of Armorica, which had the year before conspired all in a new rebellion. Therefore Cæsar, [†] though now the summer well nigh ending, and the season unagreeable to transport a war, yet judged it would be great advantage, only to get entrance into the isle, knowledge of men, the places, the ports, the accesses; which then, it seems, were even to the Gauls our neighbours almost unknown. For except merchants and traders, it is not oft, [‡] saith he, than any use to travel thither; and to those that do, besides the sea-coast, and the ports next to Gallia, nothing else is known. But here I must require, as Pollio did, the diligence, at least the memory, of Cæsar: for if it were true, as them of Rhemes told him, that Divitiacus, not long before a puissant king of the Soissons, had Britain also under his command, besides the Belgian colonies which he affirms to have named, and peopled many provinces there; if also the Britons had so frequently given them aid in all their wars; if lastly, the Druid learning, honoured so much among them, were first taught them out of Britain, and they who soonest would attain that discipline, sent hither to learn; [§] it appears not how Britain at that time should be so utterly unknown in Gallia, or only known to merchants, yea to them so little, that being called together from all parts, none could be found to inform Cæsar of what bigness the isle, what nations, how great, what use of war they had, what laws, or so much as what commodious havens for bigger vessels. Of all which things as it were then first to make discovery, he sends Caius Volusenus, in a long galley, with command to return as soon as this could be effected. He in the meantime with his whole power draws nigh to the Morine coast, whence the shortest passage was into Britain. Hither his navy, which he used against the Armoricans, and what else of shipping can be provided, he draws together.

This known in Britain, the embassadors are sent from many of the states there, who promise hostages and obedience to the Roman empire. Them, after audience given, Cæsar as largely promising and exhorting to continue in that mind, sends home, and with them Comius of Arras, whom he had made king of that country, and now secretly employed to gain a Roman party among the Britons, in as many cities as he found inclinable, and to tell them that he himself was speeding thither. Volusenus, with what discovery of the island he could make from aboard his ship, not daring to venture on the shore, within five days returns to Cæsar. Who soon after, with two legions, ordinarily amounting, of Romans and their allies, to about 25,000 foot, and 4500 horse, the foot in 80 ships of burden, the horse in 18, besides what galleys were appointed for his chief commanders, sets off, about the third watch of night, with a good gale to sea; leaving behind him Sulpitius Rufus to make good the port with a sufficient strength. But the horse, whose appointed shipping lay windbound eight mile upward in another haven, had much trouble to embark.

Cæsar, now within sight of Britain, beholds on every hill multitudes of armed men ready to forbid his landing; and [*] Cicero writes to his friend Atticus, that the accesses of the island were wondrously fortified with strong works or moles. Here from the fourth to the ninth hour of day he awaits at anchor the coming up of his whole fleet. Meanwhile, with his legates and tribunes, consulting and giving order to fit all things for what might happen in such a various and floating water-fight as was to be expected. This place, which was a narrow bay, close environed with hills, appearing no way commodious, he removes to a plain and open shore eight miles distant; commonly supposed about Deal in Kent. [†] Which when the Britons perceived, their horse and chariots, as then they used in fight scowering before, their main power speeding after, some thick upon the shore, others not tarrying to be assailed, ride in among the waves to encounter, and assault the Romans even under their ships, with such a bold and free hardihood, that Cæsar himself between confessing and excusing that his soldiers were to come down from their ships, to stand in water heavy armed, and to fight at once, denies not but that the terror of such new and resolute opposition made them forget their wonted valour. To succour which he commands his galleys, a sight unusual to the Britons, and more apt for motion, drawn from the bigger vessels, to row against the open side of the enemy, and thence with slings, engines, and darts, to beat them back. But neither yet, though amazed at the strangeness of those new seacastles, bearing up so near, and so swiftly as almost to overwhelm them, the hurtling of oars, the battering of fierce engines against their bodies barely exposed, did the Britons give much ground, or the Romans gain; till he who bore the eagle of the tenth legion, yet in the galleys, first beseeching his gods, said thus aloud, “Leap down soldiers, unless you mean to betray your ensign; I for my part will perform what I owe to the commonwealth and my general.” This uttered, overboard he leaps, and with his eagle fiercely advanced runs upon the enemy; the rest heartening one another not to admit the dishonour of so nigh losing their chief standard, follow him resolutely. Now was fought eagerly on both sides. Ours who well knew their own advantages, and expertly used them, now in the shallows, now on the sand, still as the Romans went trooping to their ensigns, received them, dispatched them, and with the help of their horse, put them every where to great disorder. But Cæsar causing all his boats and shallops to be filled with soldiers, commanded to ply up and down continually with relief where they saw need; whereby at length all the foot now disembarked, and got together in some order on firm ground, with a more steady charge put the Britons to flight: but wanting all their horse, whom the winds yet withheld from sailing, they were not able to make pursuit. In this confused fight, [*] Scæva a Roman soldier having pressed too far among the Britons, and beset round, after incredible valour shown, single against a multitude, swam back safe to his general; and in the place that rung with his praises, earnestly besought pardon for his rash adventure against discipline; which modest confessing after no bad event, for such a deed, wherein valour and ingenuity so much outweighed transgression, easily made amends and preferred him to be a centurion. Cæsar also is brought in by Julian, [†] attributing to himself the honour (if it were at all an honour to that person which he sustained) of being the first that left his ship, and took land: but this were to make Cæsar less understand what became him that Scæva.

The Britons finding themselves mastered in fight, forthwith send ambassadors to treat of peace, promising to give hostages, and to be at command. With them Comius of Arras also returned; whom hitherto, since his first coming from Cæsar, they had detained in prison as a spy: the blame whereof they lay on the common people; for whose violence, and their own imprudence, they crave pardon. Cæsar complaining they had first sought peace, and then without cause had begun war, yet content to pardon them, commands hostages: whereof part they bring in straight, others, far up in the country to be sent for, they promise in a few days. Meanwhile the people disbanded and sent home, many princes and chief men from all parts of the isle submit themselves and their cities to the dispose of Cæsar, who lay then encamped, as is thought, on Barham down. Thus had the Britons made their peace; when suddenly an accident unlooked for put new counsels into their minds.

Four days after the coming of Cæsar, those eighteen ships of burden, which from the upper haven had taken in all the Roman horse, borne with a soft wind to the very coast, in sight of the Roman camp, were by a sudden tempest scattered and driven back, some to the port from whence they loosed, others down into the west country; who finding there no safety either to land or to cast anchor, chose rather to commit themselves again to the troubled sea; and, as Orosius reports, were most of them cast away. The same night, it being full moon, the galleys left upon dry land, were, unaware to the Romans, covered with a springtide, and the greater ships, that lay off at anchor, torn and beaten with waves, to the great perplexity of Cæsar, and his whole army; who now had neither shipping left to convey them back, nor any provision made to stay here, intending to have wintered in Gallia. All this the Britons well perceiving, and by the compass of his camp, which without baggage appeared the smaller, guessing at his numbers, consult together, and one by one slyly withdrawing from the camp, where they were waiting the conclusion of a peace, resolve to stop all provisions, and to draw out the business till winter. Cæsar, though ignorant of what they intended, yet from the condition wherein he was, and their other hostages not sent, suspecting what was likely, begins to provide apace, all that might be, against what might happen; lays in corn, and with materials fetched from the continent, and what was left of those ships which were past help, he repairs the rest. So that now by the incessant labour of his soldiers, all but twelve were again made serviceable.

While these things are doing, one of the legions being sent out to forage, as was accustomed, and no suspicion of war, while some of the Britons were remaining in the country about, others also going and coming freely to the Roman quarters, they who were in station at the camp gates sent speedily word to Cæsar, that from that part of the country, to which the legion went, a greater dust than usual was seen to rise. Cæsar guessing the matter, commands the cohorts of guard to follow him thither, two others to succeed in their stead, the rest all to arm and follow. They had not marched long, when Cæsar discerns his legion sore overcharged: for the Britons not doubting but that their enemies on the morrow would be in that place, which only they had left unreaped of all their harvest, had placed an ambush; and while they were dispersed and busiest at their labour, set upon them, killed some, and routed the rest. The manner of their fight was from a kind of chariots; wherein riding about and throwing darts, with the clutter of their horse, and of their wheels, they ofttimes broke the rank of their enemies; then retreating among the horse, and quitting their chariots, they fought on foot. The charioteers in the meanwhile somewhat aside from the battle, set themselves in such order that their masters at any time oppressed with odds, might retire safely thither, having performed with one person both the nimble service of a horseman, and the steadfast duty of a foot soldier. So much they could with their chariots by use and exercise, as riding on the speed down a steep hill, to stop suddenly, and with a short rein turn swiftly, now running on the beam, now on the yoke, then in the seat. With this sort of new skirmishing the Romans now over-matched and terrified, Cæsar with opportune aid appears; for then the Britons make a stand: but he considering that now was not fit time to offer battle, while his men were scarce recovered of so late a fear, only keeps his ground, and soon after leads back his legions to the camp. Further action for many days following was hindered on both sides by foul weather; in which time the Britons dispatching messengers round about, learn to how few the Romans were reduced, what hope of praise and booty, and now, if ever, of freeing themselves from the fear of like invasions hereafter, by making these an example, if they could but now uncamp their enemies; at this intimation multitudes of horse and foot coming down from all parts, make towards the Romans. Cæsar foreseeing that the Britons, though beaten and put to flight, would easily evade his foot, yet with no more than thirty horse, which Comius had brought over, draws out his men to battle, puts again the Britons to flight, pursues with slaughter, and returning burns and lays waste all about. Whereupon embassadors the same day being sent from the Britons to desire peace, Cæsar as his affairs at present stood, for so great a breach of faith, only imposes on them double the former hostages to be sent after him into Gallia: and because September was nigh half spent, a season not fit to tempt the sea with his weather-beaten fleet, the same night with a fair wind he departs towards Belgia; whither two only of the British cities sent hostages, as they promised, the rest neglected. But at Rome when the news came of Cæsar’s acts here, whether it were esteemed a conquest or a fair escape, supplication of twenty days is decreed by the senate, as either for an exploit done, or a discovery made, wherein both Cæsar and the Romans gloried not a little, though it brought no benefit either to him or to the commonwealth.

The winter following, [*] Cæsar, as his custom was, going into Italy, whenas he saw that most of the Britons regarded not to send their hostages, appoints his legates whom he left in Belgia, to provide what possible shipping they could either build, or repair. Low built they were to be, as thereby easier both to freight, and to haul ashore; nor needed to be higher, because the tide so often changing, was observed to make the billows less in our sea than those in the Mediterranean: broader likewise they were made, for the better transporting of horses, and all other freightage, being intended chiefly to that end. These all about six hundred in a readiness, with twenty-eight ships of burden, and what with adventurers, and other hulks about two hundred, Cotta one of the legates wrote them, as Athenæus affirms, in all one thousand; Cæsar from port Iccius, a passage of some thirty mile over, leaving behind him Labienus to guard the haven, and for other supply at need, with five legions, though but two thousand horse, about sunset hoisting sail with a slack south-west, at midnight was becalmed. And finding when it was light, that the whole navy lying on the current, had fallen off from the isle, which now they could descry on their left hand; by the unwearied labour of his soldiers, who refused not to tug the oar, and keep course with ships under sail, he bore up as near as might be, to the same place where he had landed the year before; where about noon arriving, [†] no enemy could be seen. For the Britons, which in great number, as was after known, had been there, at sight of so huge a fleet durst not abide. Cæsar forthwith landing his army, and encamping to his best advantage, some notice being given him by those he took, where to find his enemy; with the whole power, save only ten cohorts, and three hundred horse, left to Quintus Atrius for the guard of his ships, about the third watch of the same night, marches up twelve miles into the country. And at length by a river, commonly thought the Stowre in Kent, espies embattled the British forces. They with their horses and chariots advancing to the higher banks, oppose the Romans in their march, and begin the fight; but repulsed by the Roman cavalry, give back into the woods to a place notably made strong both by art and nature; which, it seems, had been a fort, or hold of strength raised heretofore in time of wars among themselves. For entrance, and access on all sides, by the felling of huge trees overthwart one another, was quite barred up; and within these the Britons did their utmost to keep out the enemy. But the soldiers of the seventh legion locking all their shields together like a roof close over head, and others raising a mount, without much loss of blood took the place, and drove them all to forsake the woods. Pursuit they made not long, as being through ways unknown; and now evening came on, which they more wisely spent in choosing out where to pitch and fortify their camp that night.

The next morning Cæsar had but newly sent out his men in three bodies to pursue, and the last no further gone than yet in sight, when horsemen all in post from Quintus Atrius bring word to Cæsar, that almost all his ships in a tempest that night had suffered wreck, and lay broken upon the shore. Cæsar at this news recalls his legions, himself in all haste riding back to the seaside, beheld with his eyes the ruinous prospect. About forty vessels were sunk and lost, the residue so torn and shaken, as not to be new-rigged without much labour. Straight he assembles what number of shipwrights either in his own legions or from beyond sea could be summoned; appoints Labienus on the Belgian side to build more; and with a dreadful industry of ten days, not respiting the soldiers day or night, drew up all his ships, and intrenched them round within the circuit of his camp. This done, and leaving to their defence the same strength as before, he returns with his whole forces to the same wood, where he had defeated the Britons; who preventing him with greater powers than before, had now repossessed themselves of the place, under Cassibelan their chief leader: whose territory from the states bordering on the sea was divided by the river Thames about eighty miles inward. With him formerly other cities had continual war; but now in the common danger had all made choice of him to be their general. Here the British horse and charioteers meeting with the Roman cavalry fought stoutly; and at first, something overmatched, they retreat to the near advantage of their woods and hills, but still followed by the Romans, made head again, cut off the forwardest among them, and after some pause, while Cæsar, who thought the day’s work had been done, was busied about the intrenching of his camp, march out again, give fierce assault to the very stations of his guards and sentries; and while the main cohorts of two legions, that were sent to the alarm, stood within a small distance of each other, terrified at the newness and boldness of their fight, charged back again through the midst, without loss of a man. Of the Romans that day was slain Quintus Laberius Durus a tribune; the Britons having fought their fill at the very entrance of Cæsar’s camp, and sustained the resistance of his whole army intrenched, gave over the assault. Cæsar here acknowledges, that the Roman way both of arming, and of fighting, was not so well fitted against this kind of enemy; for that the foot in heavy armour could not follow their cunning flight, and durst not by ancient discipline stir from their ensign; and the horse alone disjoined from the legions, against a foe that turned suddenly upon them with a mixed encounter both of horse and foot, were in equal danger both following and retiring. Besides their fashion was, not in great bodies, and close order, but in small divisions and open distances to make their onset; appointing others at certain spaces, now to relieve and bring off the weary, now to succeed and renew the conflict; which argued no small experience, and use of arms. Next day the Britons afar off upon the hills begin to show themselves here and there, and though less boldly than before, to skirmish with the Roman horse. But at noon Cæsar having sent out three legions, and all his horse, with Trebonius the legate, to seek fodder, suddenly on all sides they set upon the foragers, and charge up after them to the very legions, and their standards. The Romans with great courage beat them back, and in the chase, being well seconded by the legions, not giving them time either to rally, to stand, or to descend from their chariots as they were wont, slew many. From this overthrow, the Britons that dwelt farther off betook them home, and came no more after that time with so great a power against Cæsar. Whereof advertised, he marches onward to the frontiers of Cassibelan, [*] which on this side was bounded by the Thames, not passable except in one place, and that difficult, about Coway-stakes near Oatlands, as is conjectured. Hither coming he descries on the other side great forces of the enemy, placed in good array; the bank set all with sharp stakes, others in the bottom, covered with water; whereof the marks, in Beda’s time, were to be seen, as he relates. This having learned by such as were taken, or had run to him, he first commands his horse to pass over; then his foot, who wading up to the neck, went on so resolutely and so fast, that they on the other side, not enduring the violence, retreated and fled. Cassibelan no more now in hope to contend for victory, dismissing all but four thousand of those charioteers, through woods and intricate ways attends their motion; where the Romans are to pass, drives all before him; and with continual sallies upon the horse, where they least expected, cutting off some and terrifying others, compels them so close together, as gave them no leave to fetch in prey or booty without ill success. Whereupon Cæsar strictly commanding all not to part from the legions, had nothing left him in his way but empty fields and houses, which he spoiled and burnt.

Meanwhile the Trinobantes, a state or kingdom, and perhaps the greatest then among the Britons, less favouring Cassibelan, send embassadors, and yield to Cæsar upon this reason. Immanuentius had been their king; him Cassibelan had slain, and purposed the like to Mandubratius his son, whom Orosius calls Androgorius, Beda Androgius; but the youth escaping by flight into Gallia, put himself under the protection of Cæsar. These entreat, that Mandubratius may be still defended, and sent home to succeed in his father’s right. Cæsar sends him, demands forty hostages and provision for his army, which they immediately bring in, and have their confines protected from the soldiers. By their example the Cenimagni, Segontiaci, Ancalites, Bibroci, Cassi (so I write them, for the modern names are but guessed) on like terms make their peace. By them he learns that the town of Cassibelan, supposed to be Verulam, was not far distant; fenced about with woods and marshes, well stuffed with men and much cattle. For towns then in Britain were only woody places ditched round, and with a mud wall encompassed against the inroads of enemies. Thither goes Cæsar with his legions, and though a place of great strength both by art and nature, assaults it in two places. The Britons after some defence fled out all at another end of the town; in the flight many were taken, many slain, and great store of cattle found there. Cassibelan for all these losses yet deserts not himself; nor was yet his authority so much impaired, but that in Kent, though in a manner possessed by the enemy, his messengers and commands find obedience enough to raise all the people. By his direction, Cingetorix, Carvilius, Taximagulus, and Segonax, four kings reigning in those countries which lie upon the sea, lead them on to assault that camp, wherein the Romans had entrenched their shipping; but they whom Cæsar left there issuing out slew many, and took prisoner Cingetorix a noted leader, without loss of their own. Cassibelan after so many defeats, moved especially by revolt of the cities from him, their inconstancy and falsehood one to another, uses mediation by Comius of Arras to send embassadors about treaty of yielding. Cæsar, who had determined to winter in the continent, by reason that Gallia was unsettled, and not much of the summer now behind, commands him only hostages, and what yearly tribute the island should pay to Rome, forbids him to molest the Trinobantes, or Mandubratius; and with his hostages, and a great number of captives, he puts to sea, having at twice embarked his whole army. At his return to Rome, as from a glorious enterprise, he offers to Venus, the patroness of his family, a corslet of British pearls. [*]

Howbeit other ancient writers have spoken more doubtfully of Cæsar’s victories here; and that in plain terms he fled from hence; for which the common verse in Lucan, with divers passages here and there in Tacitus, is alleged. Paulus Orosius, [*] who took what he wrote from a history or Suetonius now lost, writes, that Cæsar in his first journey, entertained with a sharp fight, lost no small number of his foot, and by tempest nigh all his horse. Dion affirms, that once in the second expedition all his foot were routed; Orosius that another time all his horse. The British author, whom I use only then when others are all silent, hath many trivial discourses of Cæsar’s being here, which are best omitted. Nor have we more of Cassibelan, than what the same story tells, how he warred soon after with Androgeus, about his nephew slain by Evelinus nephew to the other; which business at length composed, Cassibelan dies, and was buried in York, if the Monmouth book fable not. But at Cæsar’s coming hither, such likeliest were the Britons, as the writers of those times, [†] and their own actions represent them; in courage and warlike readiness to take advantage by ambush or sudden onset, not inferior to the Romans, nor Cassibelan to Cæsar; in weapons, arms, and the skill of encamping, embattling, fortifying, overmatched; their weapons were a short spear and light target, a sword also by their side, their fight sometimes in chariots fanged at the axle with iron sithes, their bodies most part naked, only painted with woad in sundry figures, to seem terrible, [‡] as they thought; but, pursued by enemies, not nice of their painting to run into bogs worse than wild Irish up to the neck, and there to stay many days holding a certain morsel in their mouths no bigger than a bean, to suffice hunger; [§] but that receipt, and the temperance it taught, is long since unknown among us: their towns and strong holds were spaces of ground fenced about with a ditch, and great trees felled overthwart each other, their buildings within were thatched houses for themselves and their cattle: in peace the upland inhabitants, besides hunting, tended their flocks and herds, but with little skill of country affairs; the making of cheese they commonly knew not, wool or flax they spun not, gardening and planting many of them knew not; clothing they had none, but what the skins of beasts afforded them, ∥ and that not always; yet gallantry they had, [¶] painting their own skins with several portraitures of beast, bird or flower, a vanity which hath not yet left us, removed only from the skin to the skirt behung now with as many coloured ribands and gewgaws: towards the seaside they tilled the ground and lived much after the manner of the Gauls their neighbors, or first planters: [**] their money was brazen pieces or iron rings, their best merchandize tin, the rest trifles of glass, ivory, and such like: [††] yet gems and pearls they had, saith Mela, in some rivers: their ships of light timber wickered with ozier between, and covered over with leather, served not therefore to transport them far, and their commodities were fetched away by foreign merchants: their dealing, saith Diodorus, plain and simple without fraud; their civil government under many princes and states, [‡‡] not confederate or consulting in common, but mistrustful, and ofttimes warring one with the other, which gave them up one by one an easy conquest to the Romans: their religion was governed by a sort of priests or magicians, called Druids, from the Greek name of an oak, which tree they had in great reverence, and the mistletoe especially growing thereon. Pliny writes them skilled in magic no less than those of Persia; by their abstaining from a hen, a hare, and a goose, from fish also saith Dion, and their opinion of the soul’s passing after death into other bodies, [§§] they may be thought to have studied Pythagoras; yet philosophers I cannot call them, reported men factious and ambitious, contending sometimes about the archpriesthood not without civil war and slaughter; nor restrained they the people under them from a lewd, adulterous, and incestuous life, ten or twelve men, absurdly against nature, possessing one woman as their common wife, though of nearest kin, mother, daughter, or sister; progenitors not to be gloried in. But the gospel, not long after preached here, abolished such impurities, and of the Romans we have cause not to say much worse, than that they beat us into some civility; likely else to have continued longer in a barbarous and savage manner of life. After Julius (for Julius before his death tyrannously had made himself emperor of the Roman commonwealth, and was slain in the senate for so doing) he who next obtained the empire, Octavianus Cæsar Augustus, either contemning the island, as Strabo [*] would have us think, whose neither benefit was worth the having nor enmity worth the fearing; or out of a wholesome state-maxim, as some say to moderate and bound the empire from growing vast and unwieldy, made no attempt against the Britons. But the truer cause was party civil war among the Romans, partly other affairs more urging. For about twenty years after, [†] all which time the Britons had lived at their own dispose, Augustus, in imitation of his uncle Julius, either intending or seeming to intend an expedition hither, was come into Gallia, when the news of a revolt in Pannonia diverted him: [‡] about seven years after in the same resolution, what with the unsettledness of Gallia, and what with embassadors from Britain which met him there, he proceeded not. The next year, difference arising about covenants, he was again prevented by other new commotions in Spain. Nevertheless some of the British potentates omitted not to seek his friendship by gifts offered in the Capitol, and other obsequious addresses. Insomuch that the whole island [§] became even in those days well known to the Romans; too well perhaps for them, who from the knowledge of us were so like to prove enemies. But as for tribute, the Britons paid none to Augustus, except what easy customs were levied on the slight commodities wherewith they traded into Gallia.

After Cassibelan, Tenantius the younger son of Lud, according to the Monmouth story, was made king. For Androgeus the elder, conceiving himself generally hated for siding with the Romans, forsook his claim here, and followed Cæsar’s fortune. This king is recorded just and warlike.

His son Kymbeline, or Cunobeline, succeeding, was brought up, as is said, in the court of Augustus, and with him held friendly correspondences to the end; was a warlike prince; his chief seat Camalodunum, or Maldon, as by certain of his coins, yet to be seen, appears. Tiberius, the next emperor, adhering always to the advice of Augustus, and of himself less caring to extend the bounds of his empire, sought not the Britons; and they as little to incite him, sent home courteously the soldiers of Germanicus, that by shipwreck had been cast on the British shore. ∥ But Caligula, [¶] his successor, a wild and dissolute tyrant, having passed the Alps with intent to rob and spoil those provinces, and stirred up by Adminius the son of Cunobeline; who, by his father banished, with a small number fled thither to him, made semblance of marching toward Britain; but being come to the ocean, and there behaving himself madly and ridiculously, went back the same way: yet sent before him boasting letters to the senate, as if all Britain had been yielded him. Cunobeline now dead, Adminius the eldest by his father banished from his country, and by his own practice against it from the crown, though by an old coin seeming to have also reigned; Togodumnus, and Caractacus the two younger, uncertain whether unequal or subordinate in power, were advanced into his place. But through civil discord, Bericus (what he was further, is not known) with others of his party flying to Rome, [*] persuaded Claudius the emperor to an invasion. Claudius now consul the third time, and desirous to do something, whence he might gain the honour of a triumph, at the persuasion of these fugitives, whom the Britons demanding, he had denied to render, and they for that cause had denied further amity with Rome, makes choice of this island for his province: [†] and sends before him Aulus Plautius the prætor, with this command, if the business grew difficult, to give him notice. Plautius with much ado persuaded the legions to move out of Gallia, murmuring that now they must be put to make war beyond the world’s end, for so they counted Britain; and what welcome Julius the dictator found there, doubtless they had heard. At last prevailed with, and hoisting sail from three several ports, lest their landing should in any one place be resisted, meeting cross winds, they were cast back and disheartened; till in the night a meteor shooting flames from the East, and as they fancied directing their course, they took heart again to try the sea, and without opposition landed. For the Britons, having heard of their unwillingness to come, had been negligent to provide against them; and retiring to the woods and moors, intended to frustrate and wear them out with delays, as they had served Cæsar before.

Plautius, after much trouble to find them out, encountering first with Caractacus, then with Togodumnus, overthrew them; and receiving into conditions part of the Boduni, who were then subject to the Catuellani, and leaving there a garrison, went on toward a river: where the Britons not imagining that Plautius without a bridge could pass, lay on the further side careless and secure. But he sending first the Germans, whose custom was, armed as they were to swim with ease the strongest current, commands them to strike especially at the horses, whereby the chariots, wherein consisted their chief art of fight, became unserviceable. To second them he sent Vespasian, who in his latter days obtained the empire, and Sabinus his brother; who unexpectedly assailing those who were least aware, did much execution. Yet not for this were the Britons dismayed; but reuniting the next day, fought with such a courage, as made it hard to decide which way hung the victory: till Caius Sidius Geta, at point to have been taken, recovered himself so valiantly, as brought the day on his side; for which at Rome he received high honours. After this the Britons drew back towards the mouth of Thames, and, acquainted with those places, crossed over; where the Romans following them through bogs and dangerous flats, hazarded the loss of all. Yet the Germans getting over, and others by a bridge at some place above, fell on them again with sundry alarms and great slaughter; but in the heat of pursuit running themselves again into bogs and mires, lost as many of their own. Upon which ill success, and seeing the Britons more enraged at the death of Togodumnus, who in one of these battles had been slain, Plautius fearing the worst, and glad that he could hold what he held, as was enjoined him, sends to Claudius. He who waited ready with a huge preparation, as if not safe enough amidst the flower of all his Romans, like a great Eastern king, with armed elephants marches through Gallia. So full of peril was this enterprise esteemed, as not without all this equipage, and stranger terrors than Roman armies, to meet the native and the naked British valour defending their country. Joined with Plautius, who encamping on the bank of Thames attended him, he passes the river. The Britons who had the courage, but not the wise conduct of old Cassibelan, laying all stratagem aside, in downright manhood scruple not to affront in open field almost the whole power of the Roman empire. But overcome and vanquished, part by force, others by treaty come in and yield. Claudius therefore, who took Camalodunum, the royal seat of Cunobeline, was often by the army saluted Imperator; a military title which usually they gave their general after any notable exploit; but to others, not above once in the same war; as if Claudius, by these acts, had deserved more than the laws of Rome had provided honour to reward. Having therefore disarmed the Britons, but remitted the confiscation of their goods, [*] for which they worshipped him with sacrifice and temple as a god, leaving Plautius to subdue what remained; he returns to Rome, from whence he had been absent only six months, and in Britain but sixteen days; sending the news before him of his victories, though in a small part of the island. By which is manifestly refuted that which Eutropius and Orosius write of his conquering at that time also the Orcades islands, lying to the North of Scotland; and not conquered by the Romans (for aught found in any good author) till above forty years after, as shall appear. To Claudius the senate, as for achievements of highest merit, decreed excessive honours; arches, triumphs, annual solemnities, and the surname of Britannicus both to him and his son.

Suetonius writes, that Claudius found here no resistance, and that all was done without stroke: but this seems not probable. The Monmouth writer names these two sons of Cunobeline, Guiderius and Arviragus; that Guiderius being slain in fight, Arviragus, to conceal it, put on his brother’s habiliments, and in his person held up the battle to a victory; the rest, as of Hano the Roman captain, Genuissa the emperor’s daughter, and such like stuff, is too palpably untrue to be worth rehearsing in the midst of truth. Plautius after this, employing his fresh forces to conquer on, and quiet the rebelling countries, found work enough to deserve at his return a kind of triumphant riding into the Capitol side by side with the emperor. [†] Vespasian also under Plautius had thirty conflicts with the enemy; in one of which encompassed, and in great danger, he was valiantly and piously rescued by his son Titus: [‡] two powerful nations he subdued here, above twenty towns and the Isle of Wight; for which he received at Rome triumphal ornaments, and other great dignities. For that city in reward of virtue was ever magnificent; and long after when true merit was ceased among them, lest any thing resembling virtue should want honour, the same rewards were yet allowed to the very shadow and ostentation of merit. Ostorius in the room of Plautius viceprætor met with turbulent affairs; [§] the Britons not ceasing to vex with inroads all those countries that were yielded to the Romans; and now the more eagerly, ∥ supposing that the new general, unacquainted with his army, and on the edge of winter, would not hastily oppose them. But he weighing that first events were most available to breed fear or contempt, with such cohorts as were next at hand, sets out against them: whom having routed, so close he follows, as one who meant not to be every day molested with the cavils of a slight peace, or an emboldened enemy. Lest they should make head again, he disarms whom he suspects; and to surround them, places many garrisons upon the rivers of Antona and Sabrina. But the Icenians, a stout people, untouched yet by these wars, as having before sought alliance with the Romans, were the first that brooked not this. By their example others rise; and in a chosen place, fenced with high banks of earth and narrow lanes to prevent the horse, warily encamp. Ostorius though yet not strengthened with his legions, causes the auxiliar bands, his troops also alighting, to assault the rampart. They within, though pestered with their own number, stood to it like men resolved, and in a narrow compass did remarkable deeds. But overpowered at last, and others by their success quieted, who till then wavered, Ostorius next bends his force upon the Cangians, wasting all even to the sea of Ireland, without foe in his way, or them, who durst, ill handled; when the Brigantes, attempting new matters drew him back to settle first what was unsecure behind him. They, of whom the chief were punished, the rest forgiven, soon gave over; but the Silures, no way tractable, were not to be repressed without a set war. To further this, Camalodunum was planted with a colony of veteran soldiers; to be a firm and ready aid against revolts, and a means to teach the natives Roman law and civility. Cogidunus also a British king, their fast friend, had to the same intent certain cities given him: [*] a haughty craft, which the Romans used, to make kings also the servile agents of enslaving others. But the Silures, hardy of themselves, relied more on the valour of Caractacus; whom many doubtful, many prosperous successes had made eminent above all that ruled in Britain. He, adding to his courage policy, and knowing himself to be of strength inferior, in other advantages the better, makes the seat of his war among the Ordovices; a country wherein all the odds were to his own party, all the difficulties to his enemy. The hills and every access he fortified with heaps of stones, and guards of men; to come at whom a river of unsafe passage must be first waded. The place, as Camden conjectures, had thence the name of Caer-caradoc on the west edge of Shropshire. He himself continually went up and down, animating his officers and leaders, that “this was the day, this the field, either to defend their liberty, or to die free;” calling to mind the names of his glorious ancestors, who drove Cæsar the dictator out of Britain, whose valour hitherto had preserved them from bondage, their wives and children from dishonour. Inflamed with these words, they all vow their utmost, with such undaunted resolution as amazed the Roman general; but the soldiers less weighing, because less knowing, clamoured to be led on against any danger. Ostorius, after wary circumspection, bids them pass the river: the Britons no sooner had them within reach of their arrows, darts, and stones, but slew and wounded largely of the Romans. They on the other side closing their ranks, and over head closing their targets, threw down the loose rampires of the Britons, and pursue them up the hills, both light and armed legions; till what with galling darts and heavy strokes, the Britons, who wore neither helmet nor cuirass to defend them, were at last overcome. This the Romans thought a famous victory; wherein the wife and daughter of Caractacus were taken, his brothers also reduced to obedience; himself escaping to Cartismandua, queen of the Brigantes, against faith given was to the victors delivered bound; having held out against the Romans nine years, saith Tacitus, but by truer computation, seven. Whereby his name was up through all the adjoining provinces, even to Italy and Rome; many desiring to see who he was, that could withstand so many years the Roman puissance: and Cæsar, to extol his own victory, extolled the man whom he had vanquished.

Being brought to Rome, the people as to a solemn spectacle were called together, the emperor’s guard stood in arms. In order came first the king’s servants, bearing his trophies won in other wars, next his brothers, wife, and daughter, last himself. The behaviour of others, through fear, was low and degenerate; he only neither in countenance, word, or action submissive, standing at the tribunal of Claudius, briefly spake to this purpose: “If my mind, Cæsar, had been as moderate in the height of fortune, as my birth and dignity was eminent, I might have come a friend rather than a captive into this city. Nor couldst thou have disliked him for a confederate, so noble of descent, and ruling so many nations. My present estate to me disgraceful, to thee is glorious. I had riches, horses, arms, and men; no wonder then if I contended, not to lose them. But if by fate, yours only must be empire, then of necessity ours among the rest must be subjection. If I sooner had been brought to yield, my misfortune had been less notorious, your conquest had been less renowned; and in your severest determining of me, both will be soon forgotten. But if you grant that I shall live, by me will live to you for ever that praise which is so near divine, the clemency of a conqueror.” Cæsar moved at such a spectacle of fortune, but especially at the nobleness of his bearing it, gave him pardon, and to all the rest. They all unbound, submissly thank him, and did like reverence to Agrippina the emperor’s wife, who sat by in state; a new and disdained sight to the manly eyes of Romans, a woman sitting public in her female pride among ensigns and armed cohorts. To Ostorius triumph is decreed; and his acts esteemed equal to theirs, that brought in bonds to Rome famousest kings. But the same prosperity attended not his later actions here; for the Silures, whether to revenge their loss of Caractacus, or that they saw Ostorious, as if now all were done, less earnest to restrain them, beset the prefect of his camp, left there with legionary bands to appoint garrisons: and had not speedy aid come in from the neighbouring holds and castles, had cut them all off; notwithstanding which, the prefect with eight centurions, and many their stoutest men, were slain: and upon the neck of this, meeting first with Roman foragers, then with other troops hasting to their relief, utterly foiled and broke them also. Ostorius sending more after, could hardly stay their flight; till the weighty legions coming on, at first poised the battle, at length turned the scale: to the Britons without much loss, for by that time it grew night. Then was the war shivered, as it were, into small frays and bickerings; not unlike sometimes to so many robberies, in woods, at waters, as chance or valour, advice or rashness, led them on, commanded or without command. That which most exasperated the Silures, was a report of certain words cast out by the emperor, “That he would root them out to the very name.” Therefore two cohorts more of auxiliars, by the avarice of their leaders too securely pillaging, they quite intercepted; and bestowing liberally the spoils and captives, whereof they took plenty, drew other countries to join with them.

These losses falling so thick upon the Romans, Ostorius with the thought and anguish thereof ended his days; the Britons rejoicing, although no battle, that yet adverse war had worn out so great a soldier. Cæsar in his place ordains Aulus Didius: but ere his coming, though much hastened, that the province might not want a governor, the Silures had given an overthrow to Manlius Valens with his legion, rumoured on both sides greater than was true, by the Silures to animate the new general; by him in a double respect, of the more praise if he quelled them, or the more excuse if he failed. Meantime the Silures forgot not to infest the Roman pale with wide excursions; till Didius marching out, kept them somewhat more within bounds. Nor were they long to seek who, after Caractacus, should lead them; for next to him in worth and skill of war, Venutius, a prince of the Brigantes, merited to be their chief. He at first faithful to the Romans, and by them protected, was the husband of Cartismandua, queen of the Brigantes, himself perhaps reigning elsewhere. She who had betrayed Caractacus and her country to adorn the triumph of Claudius, thereby grown powerful and gracious with the Romans, presuming on the hire of her treason, deserted her husband; and marrying Vellocatus one of his squires, confers on him the kingdom also. This deed so odious and full of infamy, disturbed the whole state; Venutius with other forces, and the help of her own subjects, who detested the example of so foul a fact, and withal the uncomeliness of their subjection to the monarchy of a woman, a piece of manhood not every day to be found among Britons, though she had got by subtile train his brother with many of his kindred into her hands, brought her soon below the confidence of being able to resist longer. When imploring the Roman aid, with much ado, and after many a hard encounter, she escaped the punishment which was ready to have seized her. Venutius thus debarred the authority of ruling his own household, justly turns his anger against the Romans themselves: whose magnanimity not wont to undertake dishonourable causes, had arrogantly intermeddled in his domestic affairs, to uphold the rebellion of an adulteress against her husband. And the kingdom he retained against their utmost opposition; and of war gave them their fill; first in a sharp conflict of uncertain event, then against the legion of Cæsius Nasica. Insomuch that Didius growing old, and managing the war by deputies, had work enough to stand on his defence, with the gaining now and then of a small castle. And Nero [*] (for in that part of the isle things continued in the same plight to the reign of Vespasian) was minded but for shame to have withdrawn the Roman forces out of Britain: in other parts whereof, about the same time other things befel. [†] Verannius, whom Nero sent hither to succeed Didius, dying in his first year, save a few inroads upon the Silures, left only a great boast behind him, “That in two years, had he lived, he would have conquered all.” But Suetonius Paulinus, who next was sent hither, esteemed a soldier equal to the best in that age, for two years together went on prosperously, both confirming what was got, and subduing onward. At last over-confident of his present actions, and emulating others, of whose deeds he heard from abroad, marches up as far as Mona, the isle of Anglesey, a populous place. For they, it seems, had both entertained fugitives, and given good assistance to the rest that withstood him. He makes him boats with flat bottoms, fitted to the shallows which he expected in that narrow frith; his foot so passed over, his horse waded or swam. Thick upon the shore stood several gross bands of men well weaponed, many women like furies running to and fro in dismal habit, with hair loose about their shoulders, held torches in their hands. The Druids (those were their priests, of whom more in another place) with hands lift up to Heaven uttering direful prayers, astonished the Romans; who at so strange a sight stood in amaze, though wounded: at length awakened and encouraged by their general, not to fear a barbarous and lunatic rout, fall on, and beat them down scorched and rolling in their own fire. Then were they yoked with garrisons, and the places consecrate to their bloody superstitions destroyed. For whom they took in war, they held it lawful to sacrifice; and by the entrails of men used divination. While thus Paulinus had his thought still fixed before to go on winning, his back lay broad open to occasion of losing more behind: for the Britons, urged and oppressed with many unsufferable injuries, had all banded themselves to a general revolt. The particular causes are not all written by one author; Tacitus who lived next those times of any to us extant, writes that Prasutagus king of the Icenians, abounding in wealth, had left Cæsar coheir with his two daughters; thereby hoping to have secured from all wrong both his kingdom and his house; which fell out far otherwise. For under colour to oversee and take possession of the emperor’s new inheritance, his kingdom became a prey to centurions, his house to ravening officers, his wife Boadicea violated with stripes, his daughters with rape, the wealthiest of his subjects, as it were, by the will and testament of their king thrown out of their estates, his kindred made little better than slaves. The new colony also at Camalodunum took house or land from whom they pleased, terming them slaves and vassals; the soldiers complying with the colony, out of hope hereafter to use the same license themselves. Moreover the temple erected to Claudius as a badge of their eternal slavery, stood a great eyesore; the priests whereof, under pretext of what was due to the religious service, wasted and embezzled each man’s substance upon themselves. And Catus Decianus the procurator endeavoured to bring all their goods within the compass of new confiscation, [*] by disavowing the remitment of Claudius. Lastly, Seneca, in his books a philosopher, having drawn the Britons unwillingly to borrow of him vast sums upon fair promises of easy loan, and for repayment to take their own time, on a sudden compels them to pay in all at once with great extortion. Thus provoked by heaviest sufferings, and thus invited by opportunities in the absence of Paulinus, the Icenians, and by their examples the Trinobantes, and as many else as hated servitude, rise up in arms. Of these ensuing troubles many foregoing signs appeared; the image of victory at Camalodunum fell down of itself with her face turned, as it were, to the Britons; certain women, in a kind of ecstacy, foretold of calamities to come: in the council-house were heard by night barbarous noises; in the theatre hideous howlings, in the creek horrid sights, betokening the destruction of that colony; hereto the ocean seeming of a bloody hue, and human shapes at low ebb, left imprinted on the sand, wrought in the Britons new courage, in the Romans unwonted fears. Camalodunum, where the Romans had seated themselves to dwell pleasantly, rather than defensively, was not fortified; against that therefore the Britons make first assault. The soldiers within were not very many. Decianus the procurator could send them but two hundred, those ill armed: and through the treachery of some among them, who secretly favoured the insurrection, they had deferred both to entrench, and to send out such as bore not arms; such as did, flying to the temple, which on the second day was forcibly taken, were all put to the sword, the temple made a heap, the rest rifled and burnt. Petilius Cerealis coming to his succour, is in his way met and overthrown, his whole legion cut to pieces; he with his horse hardly escaping to the Roman camp. Decianus, whose rapine was the cause of all this, fled into Gallia. But Suetonius at these tidings not dismayed, through the midst of his enemy’s country, marches to London (though not termed a colony, yet full of Roman inhabitants, and for the frequency of trade, and other commodities, a town even then of principal note) with purpose to have made there the seat of war. But considering the smallness of his numbers, and the late rashness of Petilius, he chooses rather with the loss of one town to save the rest. Nor was he flexible to any prayers or weeping of them that besought him to tarry there; but taking with him such as were willing, gave signal to depart; they who through weakness of sex or age, or love of the place, went not along, perished by the enemy; so did Verulam, a Roman free town. For the Britons omitting forts and castles, flew thither first where richest booty and the hope of pillaging tolled them on.

In this massacre about seventy thousand Romans and their associates, in the places above mentioned, of certain lost their lives. None might be spared, none ransomed, but tasted all either a present or a lingering death; no cruelty that either outrage or the insolence of success put into their heads, was left unacted. The Roman wives and virgins hanged up all naked, [*] had their breasts cut off, and sewed to their mouths; that in the grimness of death they might seem to eat their own flesh; while the Britons fell to feasting and carousing in the temple of Andate their goddess of victory. Suetonius adding to his legion other old officers and soldiers thereabout, which gathered to him, were near upon ten thousand; and purposing with those not to defer battle, had chosen a place narrow, and not to be overwinged, on his rear a wood; being well informed that his enemy were all in front on a plain unapt for ambush: the legionaries stood thick in order, empaled with light armed; the horse on either wing. The Britons in companies and squadrons were every where shouting and swarming, such a multitude as at other time never; no less reckoned than two hundred and thirty thousand: so fierce and confident of victory, that their wives also came in wagons to sit and behold the sports, as they made full account of killing Romans: a folly doubtless for the serious Romans to smile at, as a sure token of prospering that day: a woman also was their commander in chief. For Boadicea and her daughters ride about in a chariot, telling the tall champions as a great encouragement, that with the Britons it was usual for women to be their leaders. A deal of other fondness they put into her mouth not worth recital; how she was lashed, how her daughters were handled, things worthier silence, retirement, and a vail, than for a woman to repeat, as done to her own person, or to hear repeated before a host of men. The Greek historian [†] sets her in the field on a high heap of turves, in a loose-bodied gown, declaiming, a spear in her hand, a hare in her bosom, which after a long circumlocution, she was to let slip among them for luck’s sake; then praying to Andate the British goddess, to talk again as fondly as before. And this they do out of a vanity, hoping to embellish and set out their history with the strangeness of our manners, not caring in the meanwhile to brand us with the rankest note of barbarism, as if in Britain women were men, and men women. I affect not set speeches in a history, unless known for certain to have been so spoken in effect as they are written, nor then, unless worth rehearsal: and to invent such, though eloquently, as some historians have done, is an abuse of posterity, raising in them that read other conceptions of those times and persons than were true. Much less therefore do I purpose here or elsewhere to copy out tedious orations without decorum, though in their authors composed ready to my hand. Hitherto what we have heard of Cassibelan, Togadumnus, Venusius, and Caractacus, hath been full of magnanimity, soberness, and martial skill: but the truth is, that in this battle and whole business the Britons never more plainly manifested themselves to be right barbarians: no rule, no foresight, no forecast, experience, or estimation, either of themselves or of their enemies; such confusion, such impotence, as seemed likest not to a war, but to the wild hurry of a distracted woman, with as mad a crew at her heels. Therefore Suetonius, contemning their unruly noises and fierce looks, heartens his men but to stand close awhile, and strike manfully this headless rabble that stood nearest, the rest would be a purchase rather than a toil. And so it fell out; for the legion, when they saw their time, bursting out like a violent wedge, quickly broke and dissipated what opposed them; all else only held out their necks to the slayer; for their own carts and wagons were so placed by themselves, as left them but little room to escape between. The Romans slew all: men, women, and the very drawing horses lay heaped along the field in a gory mixture of slaughter. About fourscore thousand Britons are said to have been slain on the place; of the enemy scarce four hundred, and not many more wounded. Boadicea poisoned herself, or, as others say, sickened and died. [*] She was of stature big and tall, of visage grim and stern, harsh of voice, her hair of a bright colour flowing down to her hips; she wore a plaited garment of divers colours, with a great golden chain; buttoned over all a thick robe. Gildas calls her the crafty lioness, and leaves an ill fame upon her doings.

Dion sets down otherwise the order of this fight, and that the field was not won without much difficulty, nor without intention of the Britons to give another battle, had not the death of Boadicea come between. Howbeit Seutonius, to preserve discipline, and to dispatch the relies of war, lodged with all the army in the open field; which was supplied out of Germany with a thousand horse and ten thousand foot; thence dispersed to winter, and with incursions to waste those countries that stood out. But to the Britons famine was a worse affliction; having left off, during this uproar, to till the ground, and made reckoning to serve themselves on the provisions of their enemy. Nevertheless those nations that were yet untamed, hearing of some discord risen between Suetonius and the new procurator Classicianus, were brought but slowly to terms of peace; and the rigour used by Suetonius on them that yielded, taught them the better course to stand on their defence. [†] For it is certain that Suetonius, though else a worthy man, overproud of his victory, gave too much way to his anger against the Britons. Classician therefore sending such word to Rome, that these severe proceedings would beget an endless war, Polycletus, no Roman but a courtier, was sent by Nero to examine how things went. He admonishing Suetonius to use more mildness, awed the army, and to the Britons gave matter of laughter. Who so much even till then were nursed up in their native liberty, as to wonder that so great a general with his whole army should be at the rebuke and ordering of a court-servitor. But Suetonius a while after, having lost a few galleys on the shore, was bid resign his command to Petronius Turpilianus, who not provoking the Britons, nor by them provoked, was thought to have pretended the love of peace to what indeed was his love of ease and sloth. Trebellius Maximus followed his steps, usurping the name of gentle government to any remissness or neglect of discipline; which brought in first license, next disobedience into his camp; incensed against him partly for his covetousness, partly by the incitement of Roscius Cælius, legate of a legion; with whom formerly disagreeing, now that civil war began in the empire, he fell to open discord; [*] charging him with disorder and sedition, and him Cælius with peeling and defrauding the legions of their pay; insomuch that Trebellius, hated and deserted of the soldiers, was content a while to govern by base entreaty, and forced at length to flee the land. Which notwithstanding remained in good quiet, governed by Cælius and the other legate of a legion, both faithful to Vitellius then emperor; who sent hither Vectius Bolanus; under whose lenity, though not tainted with other fault against the Britons nothing was done, nor in their own discipline reformed. [†] Petilius Cerealis by appointment of Vespasian succeeding, had to do with the populous Brigantes in many battles, and some of those not unbloody. For as we heard before, [‡] it was Venusius who even to these times held them tack, both himself remaining to the end unvanquished, and some part of his country not so much as reached. It appears also by several passages in the histories of Tacitus, [§] that no small matter of British forces were commanded over sea the year before to serve in those bloody wars between Otho and Vitellius, Vitellius and Vespasian contending for the empire. To Cerealis succeeded Julius Frontinus in the government of Britain, ∥ who by taming the Silures, a people warlike and strongly inhabiting, augmented much his reputation. But Julius Agricola, whom Vespasian in his last year sent hither, trained up from his youth in the British wars, extended with victories the Roman limit beyond all his predecessors. His coming was in the midst of summer; and the Ordivices to welcome the new general had hewn in pieces a whole squadron of horse which lay upon their bounds, few escaping. Agricola, who perceived that the noise of this defeat had also in the province desirous of novelty stirred up new expectations, resolves to be beforehand with the danger: and drawing together the choice of his legions with a competent number of auxiliaries, not being met by the Ordovices, who kept the hills, himself at the head of his men, hunts them up and down through difficult places, almost to the final extirpating of that whole nation. With the same current of success, what Paulinus had left unfinished, he conquers in the isle of Mona: for the islanders altogether fearless of his approach, whom they knew to have no shipping, when they saw themselves invaded on a sudden by the auxiliars, whose country-use had taught them to swim over with horse and arms, were compelled to yield. This gained Agricola much opinion: who at his very entrance, a time which others bestowed of course in hearing compliments and gratulations, had made such early progress into laborious and hardest enterprises. But by far not so famous was Agricola in bringing war to a speedy end, as in cutting off the causes from whence war arises. For he knowing that the end of war was not to make way for injuries in peace, began reformation from his own house; permitted not his attendants and followers to sway, or have to do at all in public affairs: lays on with equality the proportions of corn and tribute that were imposed; takes off exactions, and the fees of encroaching officers, heavier than the tribute itself. For the countries had been compelled before, to sit and wait the opening of public granaries, and both to sell and to buy their corn at what rate the publicans thought fit; the purveyors also commanding when they pleased to bring it in, not to the nearest, but still to the remotest places, either by the compounding of such as would be excused, or by causing a dearth, where none was, made a particular gain. These grievances and the like, he in the time of peace removing, brought peace into some credit; which before, since the Romans coming, had as ill a name as war.

The summer following, Titus then emperor, [*] he so continually with inroads disquieted the enemy over all the isle, and after terror so allured them with his gentle demeanor, that many cities which till that time would not bend, gave hostages, admitted garrisons, and came in voluntarily. The winter he spent all in worthy actions; teaching and promoting like a public father the institutes and customs of civil life. The inhabitants rude and scattered, and by that the proner to war, he so persuaded to build houses, temples, and seats of justice; and by praising the forward, quickening the slow, assisting all, turned the name of necessity into an emulation. He caused moreover, the noblemen’s sons to be bred up in liberal arts; and by preferring the wits of Britain before the studies of Gallia, brought them to affect the Latin eloquence, who before hated the language. Then were the Roman fashions imitated, and the gown; after a while the incitements also and materials of vice, and voluptuous life, proud buildings, baths, and the elegance of banqueting; which the foolisher sort called civility, but was indeed a secret art to prepare them for bondage. Spring appearing, he took the field, and with a prosperous expedition wasted as far northward as frith of Taus all that obeyed not, with such a terror, as he went, that the Roman army, though much hindered by tempestuous weather, had the leisure to build forts and castles where they pleased, none daring to oppose them. Besides, Agricola had this excellence in him, so providently to choose his places where to fortify, as not another general then alive. No sconce or fortress of his raising was ever known either to have been forced, or yielded up or quitted. Out of these impregnable by siege, or in that case duly relieved, with continual irruptions he so prevailed, that the enemy, whose manner was in winter to regain what in summer he had lost, was now alike in both seasons kept short and straitened. For these exploits, then esteemed so great and honourable, Titus, in whose reign they were achieved, was the fifteenth time saluted imperator; [†] and of him Agricola received triumphal honours. The fourth summer, Domitian then ruling the empire, he spent in settling and confirming what the year before he had travelled over with a running conquest. And had the valour of his soldiers been answerable, he had reached that year, as was thought, the utmost bounds of Britain. For Glota and Bodotria, now Dunbritton, and the frith of Edinburgh, two opposite arms of the sea, divided only by a neck of land, and all the creeks and inlets on this side, were held by the Romans, and the enemy driven as it were into another island. In his fifth year [‡] he passed over into the Orcades, as we may probably guess, and other Scotch isles; discovering and subduing nations, till then unknown. He gained also with his forces that part of Britain which faces Ireland, as aiming also to conquer that island; where one of the Irish kings driven out by civil wars coming to him, he both gladly received, and retained him as against a fit time. The summer ensuing, on mistrust that the nations beyond Bodotria would generally rise, and forelay the passages by land, he caused his fleet, making a great show, to bear along the coast, and up the friths and harbours; joining most commonly at night on the same shore both land and sea forces, with mutual shouts and loud greetings. At sight whereof, the Britons, not wont to see their sea so ridden, were much daunted. Howbeit the Caledonians [§] with great preparation, and by rumor, as of things unknown much greater, taking arms, and of their own accord beginning war by the assault of sundry castles, sent back some of their fear to the Romans themselves: and there were of the commanders who, cloaking their fear under show of sage advice, counselled the general to retreat back on this side Bodotria. He in the mean while having intelligence, that the enemy would fall on in many bodies, divided also his army into three parts. Which advantage the Britons quickly spying, and on a sudden uniting what before they had disjointed, assail by night with all their forces that part of the Roman army which they knew to be the weakest; and breaking in upon the camp, surprised between sleep and fear, had begun some execution. When Agricola, who had learnt what way the enemies took, and followed them with all speed, sending before him the lightest of his horse, and foot to charge them behind, the rest as they came on to affright them with clamour, so plied them without respite, that by approach of day the Roman ensigns glittering all about, had encompassed the Britons: who now after a sharp fight in the very ports of the camp, betook them to their wonted refuge, the woods and fens, pursued a while by the Romans; that day else in all appearance had ended the war. The legions reincouraged by this event, they also now boasting, who but lately trembled, cry all to be led on as far as there was British ground. The Britons also not acknowledging the loss of that day to Roman valour, but to the policy of their captain, abated nothing of their stoutness; but arming their youth, conveying their wives and children to places of safety, in frequent assemblies, and by solemn covenants bound themselves to mutual assistance against the common enemy. About the same time a cohort of Germans having slain their centurion with other Roman officers in a mutiny, and for fear of punishment fled on shipboard, launched forth in three light galleys without pilot; [*] and by tide or weather carried round about the coast, using piracy where they landed, while their ships held out, and as their skill served them, with various fortune, were the first discoverers to the Romans that Britain was an island.

The following summer, [†] Agricola having before sent his navy to hover on the coast, and with sundry and uncertain landings to divert and disunite the Britons, himself with a power best appointed for expedition, wherein also were many Britons, whom he had long tried, both valiant and faithful, marches onward to the mountain Grampius, where the British, above thirty thousand, were now lodged, and still increasing; for neither would their old men, so many as were yet vigorous and lusty, be left at home, long practised in war, and every one adorned with some badge, or cognizance of his warlike deeds long ago. Of whom Galgacus, both by birth and merit the prime leader to their courage, though of itself hot and violent, is by his rough oratory, in detestation of servitude and the Roman yoke, said to have added much more eagerness of fight, testified by their shouts and barbarous applauses. As much did on the other side Agricola exhort his soldiers to victory and glory; as much the soldiers by his firm and well-grounded exhortations were all on a fire to the onset. But first he orders them on this sort: Of eight thousand auxiliary foot he makes his middle ward, on the wings three thousand horse, the legions as a reserve, stood in array before the camp; either to seize the victory won without their own hazard, or to keep up the battle if it should need. The British powers on the hill side, as might best serve for show and terror, stood in their battalions; the first on even ground, the next rising behind, as the hill ascended. The field between rung with the noise of horsemen and chariots ranging up and down. Agricola doubting to be overwinged, stretches out his front, though somewhat with the thinnest, insomuch that many advised to bring up the legions; yet he not altering, alights from his horse, and stands on foot before the ensigns. The fight began aloof, and the Britons had a certain skill with their broad swashing swords and short bucklers either to strike aside, or to bear off the darts of their enemy; and withal to send back showers of their own. Until Agricola discerning that those little targets and unwieldy glaves ill pointed, would soon become ridiculous against the thrust and close, commanded three Batavian cohorts, and two of the Tungrians exercised and armed for close fight, to draw up, and come to handy strokes. The Batavians, as they were commanded, running in upon them, now with their long tucks thrusting at the face, now with their piked targets bearing them down, had made good riddance of them that stood below; and for haste omitting further execution, began apace to advance up hill, seconded now by all the other cohorts. Meanwhile the horsemen flee, the charioteers mix themselves to fight among the foot, where many of their horse also fallen in disorderly, were now more a mischief to their own, than before a terror to their enemies. The battle was a confused heap, the ground unequal; men, horses, chariots, crowded pellmell; sometimes in little room, by and by in large, fighting, rushing, felling, overbearing, overturning. They on the hill, which were not yet come to blows, perceiving the fewness of their enemies, came down amain; and had enclosed the Romans unawares behind, but that Agricola with a strong body of horse, which he reserved for such a purpose, repelled them back as fast; and others drawn off the front, were commanded to wheel about and charge them on the backs. Then were the Romans clearly masters; they follow, they wound, they take, and to take more, kill whom they take: the Britons, in whole troops with weapons in their hands one while fleeing the pursuer, anon without weapons desperately running upon the slayer. But of all them, when once they got the woods to their shelter, with fresh boldness made head again, and the forwardest on a sudden they turned and slew, the rest so hampered, as had not Agricola, who was every where at hand, sent out his readiest cohorts, with a part of his horse to alight and scour the woods, they had received a foil in the midst of victory; but following with a close and orderly pursuit, the Britons fled again, and were totally scattered; till night and weariness ended the chase. And of them that day ten thousand fell; of the Romans three hundred and forty, among whom Aulus Atticus the leader of a cohort; carried with heat of youth and the fierceness of his horse too far on.

The Romans jocund of this victory, and the spoil they got, spent the night; the vanquished wandering about the field, both men and women, some lamenting, some calling their lost friends, or carrying off their wounded; others forsaking, some burning their own houses; and it was certain enough, that there were who with a stern compassion laid violent hands on their wives and children, to prevent the more violent hands of hostile injury. Next day appearing, manifested more plainly the greatness of their loss received; every where silence, desolation, houses burning afar off, not a man seen, all fled, and doubtful whither: such word the scouts bringing in from all parts, and the summer now spent, no fit season to disperse a war, the Roman general leads his army among the Horestians; by whom hostages being given, he commands his admiral with a sufficient navy to sail round the coast of Britain; himself with slow marches, that his delay in passing might serve to awe those new conquered nations, bestows his army in their winter-quarters. The fleet also having fetched a prosperous and speedy compass about the isle, put in at the haven Trutulensis, now Richburg near Sandwich, from whence it first set out: [*] and now likeliest, if not two years before, as was mentioned, the Romans might discover and subdue the isles of Orkney; which others with less reason, following [†] Eusebius and Orosius, attribute to the deeds of Claudius. These perpetual exploits abroad won him wide fame: with Domitian, under whom great virtue was as punishable as open crime, won him hatred. [‡] For he maligning the renown of these his acts, in show decreed him honours, in secret devised his ruin. Agricola [§] therefore commanded home for doing too much of what he was sent to do, left the province to his successor quiet and secure. Whether he, as is conjectured, were Salustius Lucullus, or before him some other, for Suetonius only names him legate of Britain under Domitian; but further of him, or aught else done here until the time of Hadrian, is no where plainly to be found. Some gather by a preface in Tacitus to the book of his histories, that what Agricola won here, was soon after by Domitian either through want of valour lost, or through envy neglected. And Juvenal the poet speaks of Arviragus in these days, and not before, king of Britain; who stood so well in his resistance, as not only to be talked of at Rome, but to be held matter of a glorious triumph, if Domitian could take him captive, or overcome him. Then also Claudia Rufina the daughter of a Briton, and wife of Pudence a Roman senator, lived at Rome famous by the verse of Martial for beauty, wit and learning. The next we hear of Britain, is, that when Trajan was emperor, it revolted, and was subdued. But Hadrian next entering on the empire, ∥ they soon unsubdued themselves. Julius Severus, saith Dion, then governed the island, a prime soldier of that age: he being called away to suppress the Jews then in tumult left things at such a pass, as caused the emperor in person to take a journey hither; [¶] where many things he reformed, and as Augustus and Tiberius counselled, to gird the empire within moderate bounds, he raised a wall with great stakes driven in deep, and fastened together, in manner of a strong mound, fourscore mile in length, to divide what was Roman from Barbarian; as his manner was to do in other frontiers of his empire, where great rivers divided not the limits. No ancient author names the place, but old inscriptions, and the ruin itself, yet testifies where it went along between Solway frith by Carlisle, and the mouth of Tine. [**] Hadrian having quieted the island, took it for honour to be titled on his coin, “The restorer of Britain.” In his time also Priscus Licinius, as appears by an old inscription, was lieutenant here. Antoninus Pius reigning, [††] the Brigantes ever least patient of foreign servitude, breaking in upon Genounia (which Camden guesses to be Guinethia or North Wales) part of the Roman province, were with the loss of much territory driven back by Lollius Urbicus, who drew another wall of turves; in likelihood much beyond the former, and as Camden proves, between the frith of Dunbritton, and of Edinburgh; to hedge out incursions from the north. And Seius Saturninus, as is collected from the digests, [‡‡] had charge here of the Roman navy. With like success did Marcus Aurelius, [§§] next emperor, by his legate Calphurnius Agricola, finish here a new war: Commodus after him obtaining the empire. In his time, as among so many different accounts may seem most probable, Lucius ∥∥ a supposed king in some part of Britain, the first of any king in Europe, that we read of, received the Christian faith, and this nation the first by public authority professed it: a high and singular grace from above, if sincerity and perseverance went along, otherwise an empty boast, and to be feared the verifying of that true sentence, “The first shall be last.” And indeed the praise of this action is more proper to King Lucius, than common to the nation; whose first professing by public authority was no real commendation of their true faith, which had appeared more sincere and praiseworthy, whether in this or other nation, first professed without public authority or against it, might else have been but outward conformity. Lucius in our Monmouth story is made the second by descent from Marius; Marius the son of Arviragus is there said to have overthrown the Picts then first coming out of Scythia, slain Roderic their king; and in sign of victory to have set up a monument of stone in the country since called Westmaria; but these things have no foundation. Coilus the son of Marius, all his reign, which was just and peaceable, holding great amity with the Romans, left it hereditary to Lucius. He (if Beda err not, living near five hundred years after, yet our ancientest author of this report) sent to Elutherius, then bishop of Rome, [*] an improbable letter, as some of the contents discover, desiring that by his appointment he and his people might receive Christianity. From whom two religious doctors, named in our chronicles Faganus and Deruvianus, forthwith sent, are said to have converted and baptized well nigh the whole nation: [†] thence Lucius to have had the surname of Levermaur, that is to say, great light. Nor yet then first was the Christian faith here known, but even from the latter days of Tiberius, as Gildas confidently affirms, taught and propagated, and that as some say by Simon Zelotes, as others by Joseph of Arimathea, Barnabas, Paul, Peter, and their prime disciples.

But of these matters, variously written and believed, ecclesiastic historians can best determine; as the best of them do, with little credit given to the particulars of such uncertain relations. As for Lucius, they write, [‡] that after a long reign he was buried in Gloucester; but dying without issue, left the kingdom in great commotion. By truer testimony [§] we find that the greatest war which in those days busied Commodus, was in this island. For the nations northward, notwithstanding the wall raised to keep them out, breaking in upon the Roman province, wasted wide; and both the army and the leader that came against them wholly routed, and destroyed; which put the emperor in such a fear, as to dispatch hither one of his best commanders, Ulpius Marcellus. ∥ He a man endowed with all nobleness of mind, frugal and temperate, mild and magnanimous, in war bold and watchful, invincible against lucre, and the assault of bribes; what with his valour, and these his other virtues, quickly ended this war that looked so dangerous, and had himself like to have been ended by the peace which he brought home for presuming to be so worthy and so good under the envy of so worthless and so bad an emperor. After [¶] whose departure the Roman legions fell to sedition among themselves; fifteen hundred of them went to Rome in name of the rest, and were so terrible to Commodus himself, as that to please them he delivered up to their care Perennis the captain of his guard, for having in the British war removed their leaders, who were senators, and in their places put those of the equestrian order. Notwithstanding which compliance, they endeavoured here to set up another emperor against him; and Helvius Pertinax, [**] who succeeded governor, found it a work so difficult to appease them, that once in a mutiny he was left for dead among many slain; and though afterwards he severely punished the tumulters, was fain at length to seek a dismission from his charge. After him Clodius Albinus [*] took the government; but he, for having to the soldiers made an oration against monarchy, by the appointment of Commodus was bid resign to Junius Severus. [†]

But Albinus in those troublesome times ensuing under the short reign of Pertinax and Didius Julianus, [‡] found means to keep in his hands the government of Britain; although Septimius Severus, [§] who next held the empire, sent hither Heraclitus to displace him; but in vain, for Albinus with all the British powers and those of Gallia met Severus about Lyons in France, ∥ and fought a bloody battle with him for the empire, though at last vanquished and slain. The government of Britain [¶] Severus divided between two deputies; till then one legate was thought sufficient; the north he committed to Virius Lupus. Where the Meatæ rising in arms, [**] and the Caledonians, though they had promised the contrary to Lupus, [††] preparing to defend them, so hard beset, he was compelled to buy his peace, and a few prisoners with great sums of money. But hearing that Severus had now brought to an end his other wars, he writes him plainly the state of things here, [‡‡] “the Britons of the north made war upon him, broke into the province, and harassed all the countries nigh them, that there needed suddenly either more aid, or himself in person.”

Severus, though now much weakened with age and the gout, yet desirous to leave some memorial of his warlike achievements here, as he had done in other places, and besides to withdraw by this means his two sons from the pleasures of Rome, and his soldiers from idleness, with a mighty power, far sooner than could be expected, arrives in Britain. [§§] The northern people much daunted with the report of so great forces brought over with him, and yet more preparing, send embassadors to treat of peace, and to excuse their former doings. The emperor now loth to return home without some memorable thing done, whereby he might assume to his other titles the addition of Britannicus, delays his answer, and quickens his preparations; till in the end, when all things were in readiness to follow them, they are dismissed without effect. His principal care was to have many bridges laid over bogs and rotten moors, that his soldiers might have to fight on sure footing. For it seems through lack of tillage, the northern parts were then, as Ireland is at this day; and the inhabitants in like manner wanted to retire, and defend themselves in such watery places half naked. He also being past Adrian’s wall, ∥∥ cut down woods, made ways through hills, fastened and filled up unsound and plashy fens. Notwithstanding all this industry used, the enemy kept himself so cunningly within his best advantages, and seldom appearing, so opportunely found his times to make irruption upon the Romans, when they were most in straits and difficulties, sometimes training them on with a few cattle turned out, and drawn within ambush cruelly handling them, that many a time enclosed in the midst of sloughs and quagmires, they chose rather themselves to kill such as were faint and could not shift away, than leave them there a prey to the Caledonians. [¶¶] Thus lost Severus, and by sickness in those noisome places, no less than fifty thousand men: and yet desisted not, though for weakness carried in a litter, till he had marched through with his army to the utmost northern verge of the isle: and the Britons offering peace, were compelled to lose much of their country not before subject to the Romans. [*] Severus on the frontiers of what he had firmly conquered, builds a wall cross the island from sea to sea; which one author judges the most magnificent of all his other deeds; and that he thence received the style of Britannicus; [†] in length a hundred and thirty-two miles. Orosius adds it fortified with a deep trench, and between certain spaces many towers or battlements. The place whereof some will have to be in Scotland, the same which Lollius Urbicus had walled before. Others [‡] affirm it only Hadrian’s work re-edified; both plead authorities and the ancient track yet visible: but this I leave among the studious of these antiquities to be discussed more at large. While peace held, the empress Julia meeting on a time certain British ladies, and discoursing with the wife of Argentocoxus a Caledonian, cast out a scoff against the looseness of our island women; whose manner then was to use promiscuously the company of divers men. Whom straight the British woman boldly thus answered: “Much better do we Britons fulfil the work of nature than you Romans; we with the best men accustom openly: you with the basest commit private adulteries.” Whether she thought this answer might serve to justify the practice of her country, as when vices are compared, the greater seems to justify the less; or whether the law and custom wherein she was bred, had whipped out of her conscience the better dictate of nature, and not convinced her of the shame, certain it is, that whenas other nations used a liberty not unnatural for one man to have many wives, the Britons [§] altogether as licentious, but more absurd and preposterous in their license, had one or many wives in common among ten or twelve husbands; and those for the most part incestuously. But no sooner was Severus returned into the province, than the Britons take arms again. Against whom Severus, worn out with labours and infirmity, sends Antoninus his eldest son, expressly commanding him to spare neither sex nor age. But Antoninus, who had his wicked thoughts taken up with the contriving of his father’s death, a safer enemy than a son, did the Britons not much detriment. Whereat Severus, more overcome with grief than any other malady, ended his life at York. ∥ After whose decease Antoninus Caracalla his impious son, concluding peace with the Britons, took hostages and departed to Rome. The conductor of all this northern war Scottish writers name Donaldus, he of Monmouth Fulgenius, in the rest of his relation nothing worth. From hence the Roman empire declining apace, good historians growing scarce, or lost, have left us little else but fragments for many years ensuing. Under Gordian the emperor we find, by the inscription [¶] of an altar-stone, that Nonius Philippus governed here. Under Galienus we read there was a strong and general revolt from the Roman legate. Of the thirty tyrants which not long after took upon them the style of emperor, [**] by many coins found among us, Lollianus, Victorinus, Posthumus, the Tetrici, and Marius are conjectured to have risen or borne great sway in this island. [††] Whence Porphyrius, a philosopher then living, said that Britain was a soil fruitful of tyrants; and is noted to be the first author that makes mention of the Scottish nation. While Probus was emperor, [‡‡] Bonosus the son of a rhetorician, bred up a Spaniard, though by descent a Briton, and a matchless drinker; nor much to be blamed, if, as they write, he were still wisest in his cups; having attained in warfare to high honours, and lastly in his charge over the German shipping, willingly, as was thought, miscarried, trusting on his power with the western armies, and joined with Proculus, bore himself awhile for emperor; but after a long and bloody fight at Cullen, vanquished by Probus, he hanged himself, and gave occasion of a ready jest made on him for his much drinking: [*] “Here hangs a tankard, not a man.” After this, Probus with much wisdom prevented a new rising here in Briton by the severe loyalty of Victorinus a Moor, at whose entreaty he had placed here that governor which rebelled. For the emperor upbraiding him with the disloyalty of whom he had commended, Victorinus undertaking to set all right again, hastes thither, and finding indeed the governor to intend sedition, by some contrivance not mentioned in the story, slew him, whose name [†] some imagine to be Cornelius Lelianus. They write also that Probus gave leave to the Spaniards, Gauls, and Britons to plant vines, and to make wine; and having subdued the Vandals and Burgundians in a great battle, [‡] sent over many of them hither to inhabit, where they did good service to the Romans, when any insurrection happened in the isle. After whom Carus emperor going against the Persians, left Carinus [§] one of his sons to govern among other western provinces this island with imperial authority; but him Dioclesian, saluted emperor by the eastern arms, overcame and slew. About which time Carausius, ∥ a man of low parentage, born in Menapia, about the parts of Cleves and Juliers, who through all military degrees was made at length admiral of the Belgic and Armoric seas, then much infested by the Franks and Saxons, what he took from the pirates, neither restoring to the owners nor accounting to the public, but enriching himself, and yet not scouring the seas, but conniving rather at those sea robbers, was grown at length too great a delinquent to be less than an emperor; [¶] for fear and guiltiness in those days made emperors oftener than merit: and understanding that Maximianus Herculius, [**] Dioclesian’s adopted son, was come against him into Gallia, passed over with the navy, which he had made his own, into Britain, and possessed the island. Where he built a new [††] fleet after the Roman fashion, got into his power the legion that was left here in garrison, other outlandish cohorts detained, listed the very merchants and factors of Gallia, and with the allurement of spoil invited great numbers of other barbarous nations to his part, and trained them to sea service, wherein the Romans at that time were grown so out of skill, that Carausius with his navy did at sea what he listed, robbing on every coast; whereby Maximilian, able to come no nearer than the shore of Boloigne, was forced to conclude a peace with Carausius, and yield him Britain; [‡‡] as one fittest to guard the province there against inroads from the North. But not long after [§§] having assumed Constantius Chlorus to the dignity of Cæsar, sent him against Carausius; who in the meanwhile had made himself strong both within the land and without. ∥∥ Galfred of Monmouth writes, that he made the Picts his confederates; to whom, lately come out of Scythia, he gave Albany to dwell in: and it is observed, that before his time the Picts are not known to have been any where mentioned, and then first by Eumenius a rhetorician. [¶¶] He repaired and fortified the wall of Severus with seven castles, and a round house of smooth stone on the bank of Carron, which river, saith Ninnius, was of his name so called; he built also a triumphal arch in remembrance of some victory there obtained. [***] In France he held Gessoriacum, or Boloigne; and all the Franks, which had by his permission seated themselves in Belgia, were at his devotion. But Constantius hasting into Gallia, besieges Boloigne, and with stones and timber obstructing the port, keeps out all relief that could be sent in by Carausius. Who ere Constantius, with the great fleet which he had prepared, could arrive hither, was slain treacherously [*] by Alectus one of his friends, who longed to step into his place; when he seven years, and worthily as some say, as others tyrannically, had ruled the island. So much the more did Constantius prosecute that opportunity, before Alectus could well strengthen his affairs: [†] and though in ill weather, putting to sea with all urgency from several havens to spread the terror of his landing, and the doubt where to expect him, in a mist passing the British fleet unseen, that lay scouting near the isle of Wight, no sooner got ashore, but fires his own ships, to leave no hope of refuge but in victory. Alectus also, though now much dismayed, transfers his fortune to a battle on the shore; but encountered by Asclepiodotus, captain of the prætorian bands, and desperately rushing on, unmindful both of ordering his men, or bringing them all to fight, save the accessories of his treason, and his outlandish hirelings, is overthrown, and slain with little or no loss to the Romans, but great execution on the Franks. His body was found almost naked in the field, for his purple robe he had thrown aside, lest it should descry him, unwilling to be found. The rest taking flight to London, and purposing with the pillage of that city to escape by sea, are met by another part of the Roman army, whom the mist at sea disjoining had by chance brought thither, and with a new slaughter chased through all the streets. The Britons, their wives also and children, with great joy go out to meet Constantius, as one whom they acknowledge their deliverer from bondage and insolence.

All this seems by Eumenius, [‡] who then lived, and was of Constantius’s household, to have been done in the course of one continued action; so also thinks Sigonius, a learned writer: though all others allow three years to the tyranny of Alectus. In these days were great store of workmen, and excellent builders in this island, whom, after the alteration of things here, the Æduans in Burgundy entertained to build their temples, and public edifices. Dioclesian having hitherto successfully used his valour against the enemies of his empire, uses now his rage in a bloody persecution against his obedient and harmless Christian subjects: from the feeling whereof neither was this island, though most remote, far enough removed. [§] Among them here who suffered gloriously, Aron, and Julius of Caerleon upon Usk, but chiefly Alban of Verulam, were most renowned; the story of whose martyrdom soiled, and worse martyred with the fabling zeal of some idle fancies, more fond of miracles, than apprehensive of truth, deserves not longer digression. Constantius, after Dioclesian, dividing the empire with Galerius, had Britain among his other provinces; where either preparing or returning with a victory from an expedition against the Caledonians, he died at York. ∥ His son Constantine, who happily came post from Rome to Boloigne, just about the time, saith Eumenius, that his father was setting sail his last time hither, and not long before his death, was by him on his death-bed named, and after his funeral, by the whole army saluted emperor.

There goes a fame, and that seconded by most of our own historians, though not those the ancientest, that Constantine was born in this island, his mother Helena the daughter of Coilus a British prince, not sure the father of king Lucius, whose sister she must then be, for that would detect her too old by a hundred years to be the mother of Constantine. But to salve this incoherence, another Coilus is feigned to be then earl of Colchester. To this therefore the Roman authors give no testimony, except a passage or two in the Panegyrics, about the sense whereof much is argued: others [*] nearest to those times clear the doubt, and write him certainly born of a mean woman, Helena, the concubine of Constantius, at Naisus in Dardania. [†] Howbeit, ere his departure hence, he seems to have had some bickerings in the North, which by reason of more urgent affairs composed, he passes into Gallia; and after four years returns either to settle or to alter the state of things here, until a new war against Maxentius called him back, leaving Pacatianus his vicegerent. He deceasing, [‡] Constantine his eldest son enjoyed for his part of the empire, with all the provinces that lay on this side the Alps, this island also. But falling to civil war with Constans his brother, was by him slain; [§] who with his third brother Constantius coming into Britain, seized it as victor. Against him rose Magnentius, ∥ one of his chief commanders, by some affirmed the son of a Briton, he having gained on his side great forces, contested with Constantius in many battles for the sole empire; but vanquished, in the end slew himself. [¶] Somewhat before this time Gratianus Funarius, the father of Valentinian, afterwards emperor, had chief command of those armies which the Romans kept here. And the Arian doctrine [**] which then divided Christendom, wrought also in this island no small disturbance; a land, saith Gildas, greedy of every thing new, stedfast in nothing. At last [††] Constantius appointed a synod of more than four hundred bishops to assemble at Ariminum on the emperor’s charges, which the rest all refusing, three only of the British, poverty constraining them, accepted; though the other bishops among them offered to have borne their charges; esteeming it more honourable to live on the public, than to be obnoxious to any private purse. Doubtless an ingenuous mind, and far above the presbyters of our age; who like well to sit in assembly on the public stipend, but liked not the poverty that caused these to do so. After this Martinus was deputy of the province; who being offended with the cruelty which Paulus, an inquisitor sent from Constantius, exercised in his inquiry after those military officers who had conspired with Magnentius, was himself laid hold on as an accessory: at which enraged he runs at Paulus with his drawn sword; but failing to kill him, turns it on himself. Next to whom, as may be guessed, Alipius was made deputy. In the mean time Julian, [‡‡] whom Constantius had made Cæsar, having recovered much territory about the Rhine, where the German inroads before had long insulted, to relieve those countries almost ruined, causes eight hundred pinnaces to be built; and with them, by frequent voyages, plenty of corn to be fetched in from Britain; which even then was the usual bounty of this soil to those parts, as oft as French and Saxon pirates hindered not the transportation. [§§] While Constantius yet reigned, ∥∥ the Scots and Picts breaking in upon the Northern confines, Julian, being at Paris, sends over Lupicinus, a well-tried soldier, but a proud and covetous man, who with a power of light-armed Herulians, Batavians, and Mæsians, in the midst of winter sailing from Boloigne, arrives at Rutupiæ, seated on the opposite shore, and comes to London, to consult there about the war; but soon after was recalled by Julian, then chosen emperor. Under whom we read not of aught happening here, only that Palladius, one of his great officers, was hither banished. This year, [*] Valentinian being emperor, the Atticots, Picts, and Scots, roving up and down, and last the Saxons with perpetual landings and invasions harried the south coast of Britain; slew Nectaridius who governed the sea borders, and Bulchobaudes with his forces by an ambush. With which news Valentinian not a little perplexed, sends first Severus high steward of his house, and soon recalls him; then Jovinus, who intimating the necessity of greater supplies, he sends at length Theodosius, a man of tried valour and experience, father to the first emperor of that name. He [†] with selected numbers out of the legions, and cohorts, crosses the sea from Boloigne to Rutupiæ; from whence with the Batavians, Herulians, and other legions that arrived soon after, he marches to London; and dividing his forces into several bodies, sets upon the dispersed and plundering enemy, laden with spoil; from whom recovering the booty which they led away, and were forced to leave there with their lives, he restores all to the right owners, save a small portion to his wearied soldiers, and enters London victoriously; which, before in many straits and difficulties, was now revived as with a great deliverance. The numerous enemy with whom he had to deal, was of different nations, and the war scattered: which Theodosius, getting daily some intelligence from fugitives and prisoners, resolves to carry on by sudden parties and surprisals, rather than set battles; nor omits he to proclaim indemnity to such as would lay down arms, and accept of peace, which brought in many. Yet all this not ending the work, he requires that Civilis, a man of much uprightness, might be sent him, to be as deputy of the island, and Dulcitius a famous captain. Thus was Theodosius busied, besetting with ambushes the roving enemy, repressing his roads, restoring cities and castles to their former safety and defence, laying every where the firm foundation of a long peace, when [‡] Valentinus a Pannonian, for some great offence banished into Britain, conspiring with certain exiles and soldiers against Theodosius, whose worth he dreaded as the only obstacle to his greater design of gaining the isle into his power, is discovered, and with his chief accomplices delivered over to condign punishment: against the rest, Theodosius with a wise lenity suffered not inquisition to proceed too rigorously, lest the fear thereof appertaining to so many, occasion might arise of new trouble in a time so unsettled. This done, he applies himself to reform things out of order, raises on the confines many strong holds; and in them appoints due and diligent watches: and so reduced all things out of danger, that the province, which but lately was under command of the enemy, became now wholly Roman, new named Valentia of Valentinian, and the city of London, Augusta. Thus Theodosius nobly acquitting himself in all affairs, with general applause of the whole province, accompanied to the sea-side returns to Valentinian. Who about five years after sent hither Fraomarius, a king of the Almans, [§] with authority of a tribune over his own country forces; which then, both for number and good service, were in high esteem. Against Gratian, who succeeded in the Western empire, Maximus a Spaniard, and one who had served in the British wars with younger Theodosius, [*] (for he also, either with his father, or not long after him, seems to have done something in this island,) and now general of the Roman armies here, either discontented that Theodosius was preferred before him to the empire, or constrained by the soldiers who hated Gratian, assumes the imperial purple; [†] and having attained victory against the Scots and Picts, with the flower and strength of Britain, passes into France; there slays Gratian, and without much difficulty, the space of [‡] five years obtains his part of the empire, overthrown at length, and slain by Theodosius. With whom perishing most of his followers, or not returning out of Armorica, which Maximus had given them to possess, the south of Britain by this means exhausted of her youth, and what there was of Roman soldiers on the confines drawn off, became a prey to savage invasions; [§] of Scots from the Irish seas, of Saxons from the German, of Picts from the North. Against them, first ∥ Chrysanthus the son of Marcian a bishop, made deputy of Britain by Theodosius, demeaned himself worthily: then Stilicho a man of great power, whom Theodosius dying left protector of his son Honorius, either came in person, or sending over sufficient aid, repressed them, and as it seems new fortified the wall against them. But that legion being called away, when the Roman armies from all parts hasted to relieve Honorius, [¶] then besieged in Asta of Piemont, by Alaric the Goth, Britain was left exposed as before, to those barbarous robbers.

Lest any wonder how the Scots came to infest Britain from the Irish sea, it must be understood, that the Scots not many years before had been driven all out of Britain by Maximus; [**] and their king Eugenius slain in fight, as their own annals report: whereby, it seems, wandering up and down without certain seat, they lived by scumming those seas and shores as pirates. But more authentic writers confirm us, that the Scots, whoever they be originally, came first into Ireland, and dwelt there, and named it Scotia long before the north of Britain took that name. Orosius, [††] who lived at this time, writes that Ireland was then inhabited by Scots. About this time, [‡‡] though troublesome, Pelagius a Briton found the leisure to bring new and dangerous opinions into the church, and is largely writ against by St. Austin. But the Roman powers which were called into Italy, when once the fear of Alaric was over, made return into several provinces; and perhaps Victorinus of Tolosa, whom Rutilius the poet much commends, might be then prefect of this island; if it were not he whom Stilicho sent hither. Buchanan writes, that endeavouring to reduce the Picts into a province, he gave the occasion of their calling back Fergusius and the Scots, whom Maximus with their help had quite driven out of the island: and indeed the verses of that poet speak him to have been active in those parts. But the time which is assigned him later by Buchanan after Gratianus Municeps, by Camden after Constantine the tyrant, accords not with that which follows in the plain course of history. [§§] For the Vandals having broke in and wasted all Belgia, even to those places from whence easiest passage is into Britain, the Roman forces here, doubting to be suddenly invaded, were all in uproar, and in tumultuous manner set up Marcus, who it may seem was then deputy. But him not found agreeable to their heady courses, they as hastily kill; ∥∥ for the giddy favour of a mutinying rout is as dangerous as their fury. The like they do by Gratian a British Roman, [*] in four months advanced, adored, and destroyed. There was among them a common soldier whose name was Constantine, with him on a sudden so taken they are, upon the conceit put in them of the luckiness in his name, as without other visible merit to create him emperor. It fortuned that the man had not his name for nought; so well he knew to lay hold, and make good use of an unexpected offer. He therefore with a wakened spirit, to the extent of his fortune dilating his mind, which in his mean condition before lay contracted and shrunk up, orders with good advice his military affairs: and with the whole force of the province, and what of British was able to bear arms, he passes into France, aspiring at least to an equal share with Honorius in the empire. Where, by the valour of Edobecus a Frank, and Gerontius a Briton, and partly by persuasion, gaining all in his way, he comes to Arles. [†] With like felicity by his son Constans, whom of a monk he had made a Cæsar, and by the conduct of Gerontius he reduces all Spain to his obedience. But Constans after this displacing Gerontius, the affairs of Constantine soon went to wreck; for he by this means alienated, set up Maximus one of his friends against him in Spain; [‡] and passing into France, took Vienna by assault, and having slain Constans in that city, calls on the Vandals against Constantine; who by him incited, as by him before they had been repressed, breaking forward, overrun most part of France. But when Constantius Comes, the emperor’s general, with a strong power came out of Italy, [§] Gerontius, deserted by his own forces, retires into Spain; where also growing into contempt with the soldiers, after his flight out of France, by whom his house in the night was beset, ∥ having first with a few of his servants defended himself valiantly, and slain above three hundred, though when his darts and other weapons were spent he might have escaped at a private door, as all his servants did, not enduring to leave his wife Nonnichia, whom he loved, to the violence of an enraged crew, he first cuts off the head of his friend Alanus, as was agreed; next his wife, though loth and delaying, yet by her entreated and importuned, refusing to outlive her husband, he dispatched: for which her resolution, Sozomenus, an ecclesiastical writer gives her high praise, both as a wife, and as a Christian. Last of all, against himself he turns his sword; but missing the mortal place, with his poniard finishes the work. Thus far is pursued the story of a famous Briton, related negligently by our other historians.

As for Constantine, his ending was not answerable to his setting out; for he with his other son Julian besieged by Constantius in Arles, and mistrusting the change of his wonted success, to save his head, poorly turns priest; but that not availing him, is carried into Italy, and there put to death; having four years acted the emperor. While these things were doing, [¶] the Britons at home, destitute of Roman aid, and the chief strength of their own youth, that went first with Maximus, then with Constantine, not returning home, vexed and harassed by their wonted enemies, had sent messages to Honorius; but he at that time not being able to defend Rome itself, which the same year was taken by Alaric, advises them by his letter to consult how best they might for their own safety, and acquits them of the Roman jurisdiction. [**] They therefore thus relinquished, and by all right the government relapsing into their own hands, thenceforth betook themselves to live after their own laws, defending their bounds as well as they were able; and the Armoricans, who not long after were called the Britons of France, followed their example. Thus expired this great empire of the Romans; first in Britain, soon after in Italy itself: having borne chief sway in this island, though never thoroughly subdued, or all at once in subjection, if we reckon from the coming in of Julius to the taking of Rome by Alaric, in which year Honorius wrote those letters of discharge into Britain, the space of 462 years. [*] And with the empire fell also what before in this Western world was chiefly Roman; learning, valour, eloquence, history, civility, and even language itself, all these together, as it were, with equal pace, diminishing and decaying. Henceforth we are to steer by another sort of authors; near enough to the things they write, as in their own country, if that would serve; in time not much belated, some of equal age; in expression barbarous, and to say how judicious, I suspend a while: this we must expect; in civil matters to find them dubious relaters, and still to the best advantage of what they term Holy Church, meaning indeed themselves: in most other matters of religion, blind, astonished, and struck with superstition as with a planet; in one word, monks. Yet these guides, where can be had no better, must be followed; in gross, it may be true enough; in circumstances each man, as his judgment gives him, may reserve his faith, or bestow it. But so different a state of things requires a several relation.

THE THIRD BOOK.

THIS third book having to tell of accidents as various and exemplary as the intermission or change of government hath any where brought forth, may deserve attention more than common, and repay it with like benefit to them who can judiciously read: considering especially that the late civil broils had cast us into a condition not much unlike to what the Britons then were in when the imperial jurisdiction departing hence left them to the sway of their own councils; which times by comparing seriously with these latter, and that confused anarchy with this interreign, we may be able from two such remarkable turns of state, producing like events among us, to raise a knowledge of ourselves both great and weighty, by judging hence what kind of men the Britons generally are in matters of so high enterprise; how by nature, industry, or custom, fitted to attempt or undergo matters of so main consequence: for if it be a high point of wisdom in every private man, much more is it in a nation, to know itself; rather than puffed up with vulgar flatteries and encomiums, for want of self-knowledge, to enterprise rashly and come off miserably in great undertakings.

[†] [Of these who swayed most in the late troubles, few words as to this point may suffice. They had arms, leaders, and successes to their wish; but to make use of so great an advantage was not their skill.

To other causes therefore, and not to the want of force, to warlike manhood in the Britons, both those, and these lately, we must impute the ill husbanding of those fair opportunities, which might seem to have put liberty so long desired, like a bridle, into their hands. Of which other causes equally belonging to ruler, priest, and people, above hath been related: which, as they brought those ancient natives to misery and ruin, by liberty, which, rightly used, might have made them happy; so brought they these of late, after many labours, much bloodshed, and vast expense, to ridiculous frustration: in whom the like defects, the like miscarriages notoriously appeared, with vices not less hateful or inexcusable.

For a parliament being called, to address many things, as it was thought, the people with great courage, and expectation to be eased of what discontented them, chose to their behoof in parliament, such as they thought best affected to the public good, and some indeed men of wisdom and integrity; the rest, (to be sure the greater part,) whom wealth or ample possessions, or bold and active ambition (rather than merit) had commended to the same place.

But when once the superficial zeal and popular fumes that acted their new magistracy were cooled, and spent in them, straight every one betook himself (setting the commonwealth behind, his private ends before) to do as his own profit or ambition led him. Then was justice delayed, and soon after denied: spite and favour determined all: hence faction, thence treachery, both at home and in the field: every where wrong, and oppression: foul and horrid deeds committed daily, or maintained, in secret, or in open. Some who had been called from shops and warehouses, without other merit, to sit in supreme councils and committees, (as their breeding was,) fell to huckster the commonwealth. Others did thereafter as men could soothe and humour them best; so he who would give most, or, under covert of hypocritical zeal, insinuate basest, enjoyed unworthily the rewards of learning and fidelity; or escaped the punishment of his crimes and misdeeds. Their votes and ordinances, which men looked should have contained the repealing of bad laws, and the immediate constitution of better, resounded with nothing else but new impositions, taxes, excises; yearly, monthly, weekly. Not to reckon the offices, gifts, and preferments bestowed and shared among themselves: they in the meanwhile, who were ever faithfullest to this cause, and freely aided them in person, or with their substance, when they durst not compel either, slighted and bereaved after of their just debts by greedy sequestrations, were tossed up and down after miserable attendance from one committee to another with petitions in their hands, yet either missed the obtaining of their suit, or though it were at length granted, (mere shame and reason ofttimes extorting from them at least a show of justice,) yet by their sequestrators and subcommittees abroad, men for the most part of insatiable hands, and noted disloyalty, those orders were commonly disobeyed: which for certain durst not have been, without secret compliance, if not compact with some superiors able to bear them out. Thus were their friends confiscate in their enemies, while they forfeited their debtors to the state, as they called it, but indeed to the ravening seizure of innumerable thieves in office: yet were withal no less burdened in all extraordinary assessments and oppressions, than those whom they took to be disaffected: nor were we happier creditors to what we called the state, than to them who were sequestered as the state’s enemies.

For that faith which ought to have been kept as sacred and inviolable as any thing holy, “the Public Faith,” after infinite sums received, and all the wealth of the church not better employed, but swallowed up into a private gulf, was not ere long ashamed to confess bankrupt. And now besides the sweetness of bribery, and other gain, with the love of rule, their own guiltiness and the dreaded name of Just Account, which the people had long called for, discovered plainly that there were of their own number, who secretly contrived and fomented those troubles and combustions in the land, which openly they sat to remedy; and would continually find such work, as should keep them from being ever brought to that Terrible Stand of laying down their authority for lack of new business, or not drawing it out to any length of time, though upon the ruin of a whole nation.

And if the state were in this plight, religion was not in much better; to reform which, a certain number of divines were called, neither chosen by any rule or custom ecclesiastical, nor eminent for either piety or knowledge above others left out; only as each member of parliament in his private fancy thought fit, so elected one by one. The most part of them were such, as had preached and cried down, with great show of zeal, the avarice and pluralities of bishops and prelates; that one cure of souls was a full employment for one spiritual pastor how able soever, if not a charge rather above human strength. Yet these conscientious men (ere any part of the work done for which they came together, and that on the public salary) wanted not boldness, to the ignominy and scandal of their pastorlike profession, and especially of their boasted reformation, to seize into their hands, or not unwillingly to accept (besides one, sometimes two or more of the best livings) collegiate masterships in the universities, rich lectures in the city, setting sail to all winds that might blow gain into their covetous bosoms: by which means these great rebukers of nonresidence, among so many distant cures, were not ashamed to be seen so quickly pluralists and nonresidents themselves, to a fearful condemnation doubtless by their own mouths. And yet the main doctrine for which they took such pay, and insisted upon with more vehemence than gospel, was but to tell us in effect, that their doctrine was worth nothing, and the spiritual power of their ministry less available than bodily compulsion; persuading the magistrate to use it, as a stronger means to subdue and bring in conscience, than evangelical persuasion: distrusting the virtue of their own spiritual weapons, which were given them, if they be rightly called, with full warrant of sufficiency to pull down all thoughts and imaginations that exalt themselves against God. But while they taught compulsion without convincement, which not long before they complained of as executed unchristianly against themselves; these intents are clear to have been no better than antichristian: setting up a spiritual tyranny by a secular power, to the advancing of their own authority above the magistrate, whom they would have made their executioner, to punish church-delinquencies, whereof civil laws have no cognizance.

And well did their disciples manifest themselves to be no better principled than their teachers, trusted with committeeships, and other gainful offices, upon their commendations for zealous, (and as they sticked not to term them,) godly men; but executing their places like children of the devil, unfaithfully, unjustly, unmercifully, and where not corruptly, stupidly. So that between them the teachers, and these the disciples, there hath not been a more ignominious and mortal wound to faith, to piety, to the work of reformation, nor more cause of blaspheming given to the enemies of God and truth, since the first preaching of reformation.

The people therefore looking one while on the statists, whom they beheld without constancy or firmness, labouring doubtfully beneath the weight of their own too high undertakings, busiest in petty things, trifling in the main, deluded and quite alienated, expressed divers ways their disaffection; some despising whom before they honoured, some deserting, some inveighing, some conspiring against them. Then looking on the churchmen, whom they saw under subtle hypocrisy to have preached their own follies, most of them not the gospel, time servers, covetous, illiterate persecutors, not lovers of the truth, like in most things whereof they accused their predecessors: looking on all this, the people which had been kept warm a while with the counterfeit zeal of their pulpits, after a false heat, became more cold and obdurate than before, some turning to lewdness, some to flat atheism, put beside their old religion, and foully scandalized in what they expected should be new.

Thus they who of late were extolled as our greatest deliverers, and had the people wholly at their devotion, by so discharging their trust as we see, did not only weaken and unfit themselves to be dispensers of what liberty they pretended, but unfitted also the people, now grown worse and more disordinate, to receive or to digest any liberty at all. For stories teach us, that liberty sought out of season, in a corrupt and degenerate age, brought Rome itself to a farther slavery: for liberty hath a sharp and double edge, fit only to be handled by just and virtuous men; to bad and dissolute, it becomes a mischief unwieldy in their own hands: neither is it completely given, but by them who have the happy skill to know what is grievance and unjust to a people, and how to remove it wisely; what good laws are wanting, and how to frame them substantially, that good men may enjoy the freedom which they merit, and the bad the curb which they need. But to do this, and to know these exquisite proportions, the heroic wisdom which is required, surmounted far the principles of these narrow politicians: what wonder then if they sunk as these unfortunate Britons before them, entangled and oppressed with things too hard and generous above their strain and temper? For Britain, to speak a truth not often spoken, as it is a land fruitful enough of men stout and courageous in war, so it is naturally not over fertile of men able to govern justly and prudently in peace, trusting only in their mother-wit; who consider not justly, that civility, prudence, love of the public good, more than of money or vain honour, are to this soil in a manner outlandish; grow not here, but in minds well implanted with solid and elaborate breeding, too impolitic else and rude, if not headstrong and intractable to the industry and virtue either of executing or understanding true civil government. Valiant indeed, and prosperous to win a field; but to know the end and reason of winning, unjudicious, and unwise: in good or bad success, alike unteachable. For the sun, which we want, ripens wits as well as fruits; and as wine and oil are imported to us from abroad, so must ripe understanding, and many civil virtues, be imported into our minds from foreign writings, and examples of best ages; we shall else miscarry still, and come short in the attempts of any great enterprise. Hence did their victories prove as fruitless, as their losses dangerous; and left them still conquering under the same grievances, that men suffer conquered: which was indeed unlikely to go otherwise, unless men more than vulgar bred up, as few of them were, in the knowledge of ancient and illustrious deeds, invincible against many and vain titles, impartial to friendships and relations, had conducted their affairs: but then from the chapman to the retailer, many whose ignorance was more audacious than the rest, were admitted with all their sordid rudiments to bear no mean sway among them, both in church and state.

From the confluence of all their errors, mischiefs, and misdemeanors, what in the eyes of man could be expected, but what befell those ancient inhabitants, whom they so much resembled, confusion in the end?

But on these things, and this parallel, having enough insisted, I return to the story, which gave us matter of this digression.]

The Britons thus, as we heard, being left without protection from the empire, and the land in a manner emptied of all her youth, consumed in wars abroad, or not caring to return home, themselves, through long subjection, servile in mind, [*] slothful of body, and with the use of arms unacquainted, sustained but ill for many years the violence of those barbarous invaders, who now daily grew upon them. For although at first greedy of change, [†] and to be thought the leading nation to freedom from the empire, they seemed awhile to bestir them with a show of diligence in their new affairs, some secretly aspiring to rule, others adoring the name of liberty, yet so soon as they felt by proof the weight of what it was to govern well themselves, and what was wanting within them, not stomach or the love of license, but the wisdom, the virtue, the labour, to use and maintain true liberty, they soon remitted their heat, and shrunk more wretehedly under the burden of their own liberty, than before under a foreign yoke. Insomuch that the residue of those Romans, which had planted themselves here, despairing of their ill deportment at home, and weak resistance in the field by those few who had the courage or the strength to bear arms, nine years after the sacking of Rome removed out of Britain into France, [‡] hiding for haste great part of their treasure, which was never after found. [§] And now again the Britons, no longer able to support themselves against the prevailing enemy, solicit Honorius to their aid, ∥ with mournful letters, embassages, and vows of perpetual subjection to Rome, if the northern foe were but repulsed. [¶] He at their request spares them one legion, which with great slaughter of the Scots and Picts, drove them beyond the borders, rescued the Britons, and advised them to build a wall across the island, between sea and sea, from the place where Edinburgh now stands to the frith of Dunbritton, by the city Alcluith. [**] But the material being only turf, and by the rude multitude unartificially built up without better direction, availed them little. [††] For no sooner was the legion departed, but the greedy spoilers returning, land in great numbers from their boats and pinnaces, wasting, slaying, and treading down all before them. Then are messengers again posted to Rome in lamentable sort, beseeching that they would not suffer a whole province to be destroyed, and the Roman name, so honourable yet among them, to become the subject of Barbarian scorn and insolence. [‡‡] The emperor, at their sad complaint, with what speed was possible, sends to their succour. Who coming suddenly on those ravenous multitudes that minded only spoil, surprise them with a terrible slaughter. They who escaped fled back to those seas, from whence yearly they were wont to arrive, and return laden with booties. But the Romans, who came not now to rule, but charitably to aid, declaring that it stood not longer with the ease of their affairs to make such laborious voyages in pursuit of so base and vagabond robbers, of whom neither glory was to be got, nor gain, exhorted them to manage their own warfare; and to defend like men their country, their wives, their children, and what was to be dearer than life, their liberty, against an enemy not stronger than themselves, if their own sloth and cowardice had not made them so: if they would but only find hands to grasp defensive arms, rather than basely stretch them out to receive bonds. [§§] They gave them also their help to build a new wall, not of earth as the former, but of stone, (both at the public cost, and by particular contributions,) traversing the isle in a direct line from east to west, between certain cities placed there as frontiers to bear off the enemy, where Severus had walled once before. They raised it twelve feet high, eight broad. Along the south shore, because from thence also like hostility was feared, they place towers by the sea-side at certain distances, for safety of the coast. Withal they instruct them in the art of war, leaving patterns of their arms and weapons behind them; and with animating words, and many lessons of valour to a faint-hearted audience, bid them finally farewell, without purpose to return. And these two friendly expeditions, the last of any hither by the Romans, were performed, as may be gathered out of Beda and Diaconus, the two last years of Honorius. Their leader, [*] as some modernly write, was Gallio of Ravenna; Buchanan, who departs not much from the fables of his predecessor Boethius, names him Maximianus, and brings against him to this battle Fergus first king of Scots, after their second supposed coming into Scotland, Durstus, king of Picts, both there slain, and Dioneth an imaginary king of Britain, or duke of Cornwall, who improbably sided with them against his own country, hardly escaping. [†] With no less exactness of particular circumstances he takes upon him to relate all those tumultuary inroads of the Scots and Picts into Britain, as if they had but yesterday happened, their order of battle, manner of fight, number of slain, articles of peace, things whereof Gildas and Beda are utterly silent, authors to whom the Scotch writers have none to cite comparable in antiquity; no more therefore to be believed for bare assertions, however quaintly drest, than our Geoffrey of Monmouth, when he varies most from authentic story. But either the inbred vanity of some, in that respect unworthily called historians, or the fond zeal of praising their nations above truth, hath so far transported them, that where they find nothing faithfully to relate, they fall confidently to invent what they think may either best set off their history, or magnify their country.

The Scots and Picts in manners differing somewhat from each other, but still unanimous to rob and spoil, hearing that the Romans intended not to return, from their gorroghs or leathern frigates [‡] pour out themselves in swarms upon the land more confident than ever; and from the north end of the isle to the very wall’s side, then first took possession as inhabitants; while the Britons with idle weapons in their hands stand trembling on the battlements, till the half-naked barbarians with their long and formidable iron hooks pull them down headlong. The rest not only quitting the wall, but towns and cities, leave them to the bloody pursuer, who follows killing, wasting, and destroying all in his way. From these confusions arose a famine, and from thence discord and civil commotion among the Britons; each man living by what he robbed or took violently from his neighbour. When all stores were consumed and spent where men inhabited, they betook them to the woods, and lived by hunting, which was their only sustainment. [§] To the heaps of these evils from without were added new divisions within the church. ∥ For Agricola the son of Severianus, a Pelagian bishop, had spread his doctrine wide among the Britons, not uninfected before. The sounder part, neither willing to embrace his opinion to the overthrow of divine grace, nor able to refute him, crave assistance from the churches of France: who send them Germanus bishop of Auxerre, and Lupus of Troyes. They by continual preaching in churches, [¶] in streets, in fields, and not without miracles, as is written, confirmed some, regained others, and at Verulam in a public disputation put to silence their chief adversaries. This reformation in the church was believed to be the cause of their success a while after in the field. For the Saxons and Picts with joint force, [*] which was no new thing before the Saxons at least had any dwelling in this island, during the abode of Germanus here, had made a strong impression from the north. The Britons marching out against them, [†] and mistrusting their own power, send to Germanus and his colleague, reposing more in the spiritual strength of those two men, than in their own thousands armed. They came, and their presence in the camp was not less than if a whole army had come to second them. It was then the time of Lent, and the people, instructed by the daily sermons of these two pastors, came flocking to receive baptism. There was a place in the camp set apart as a church, and tricked up with boughs upon Easter-day. The enemy understanding this, and that the Britons were taken up with religions more than with feats of arms, advances after the paschal feast, as to a certain victory. German, who also had intelligence of their approach, undertakes to be captain that day; and riding out with selected troops to discover what advantages the place might offer, lights on a valley compassed about with hills, by which the enemy was to pass. And placing there his ambush, warns them, that what word they heard him pronounce aloud, the same they should repeat with universal shout. The enemy passes on securely, and German thrice aloud cries Hallelujah; which answered by the soldiers with a sudden burst of clamour, is from the hills and valleys redoubled. The Saxons and Picts on a sudden supposing it the noise of a huge host, throw themselves into flight, casting down their arms, and great numbers of them are drowned in the river which they had newly passed. This victory, thus won without hands, left to the Britons plenty of spoil, and the person and the preaching of German greater authority and reverence than before. And the exploit might pass for current, if Constantius, the writer of his life in the next age, had resolved us how the British army came to want baptizing; for of any paganism at that time, or long before, in the land we read not, or that Pelagianism was rebaptized. The place of this victory, as is reported, was in Flintshire, [‡] by a town called Guidcruc, and the river Allen, where a field retains the name of Maes German to this day. But so soon as German was returned home, [§] the Scots and Picts, (though now so many of them Christians, that Palladius a deacon was ordained and sent by Celestine the pope to be a bishop over them,) were not so well reclaimed, or not so many of them, as to cease from doing mischief to their neighbours, ∥ where they found no impeachment to fall in yearly as they were wont. They therefore of the Britons who perhaps were not yet wholly ruined, in the strongest and south-west parts of the isle, [¶] send letters to Ætius, then third time consul of Rome, with this superscription; “To Ætius thrice consul, the groans of the Britons.” And after a few words thus: “The barbarians drive us to the sea, the sea drives us back to the barbarians: thus bandied up and down between two deaths, we perish either by the sword or by the sea.” But the empire, at that time overspread with Huns and Vandals, was not in condition to lend them aid. Thus rejected and wearied out with continual flying from place to place, but more afflicted with famine, which then grew outrageous among them, many for hunger yielded to the enemy; others either more resolute, or less exposed to wants, keeping within woods and mountainous places, not only defended themselves, but sallying out, at length gave a stop to the insulting foe, with many seasonable defeats; led by some eminent person, as may be thought, who exhorted them not to trust in their own strength, but in divine assistance. And perhaps no other here is meant than the foresaid deliverance by German, if computation would permit, which Gildas either not much regarded, or might mistake; but that he tarried so long here, the writers of his life assent not. [*] Finding therefore such opposition, the Scotch or Irish robbers, for so they are indifferently termed, without delay get them home. The Picts, as before was mentioned, then first began to settle in the utmost parts of the island, using now and then to make inroads upon the Britons. But they in the mean while thus rid of their enemies, begin afresh to till the ground; which after cessation yields her fruit in such abundance, as had not formerly been known, for many ages. But wantonness and luxury, the wonted companions of plenty, grow up as fast; and with them, if Gildas deserve belief, all other vices incident to human corruption. That which he notes especially to be the chief perverting of all good in the land, and so continued in his days, was the hatred of truth, and all such as durst appear to vindicate and maintain it. Against them, as against the only disturbers, all the malice of the land was bent. Lies and falsities, and such as could best invent them, were only in request. Evil was embraced for good, wickedness honoured and esteemed as virtue. And this quality their valour had, against a foreign enemy to be ever backward and heartless; to civil broils eager and prompt. In matters of government, and the search of truth, weak and shallow; in falsehood and wicked deeds, pregnant and industrious. Pleasing to God, or not pleasing, with them weighed alike; and the worse most an end was the weigher. All things were done contrary to public welfare and safety; nor only by secular men, for the clergy also, whose example should have guided others, were as vicious and corrupt. Many of them besotted with continual drunkenness, or swollen with pride and wilfulness, full of contention, full of envy, indiscreet, incompetent judges to determine what in the practice of life is good or evil, what lawful or unlawful. Thus furnished with judgment, and for manners thus qualified both priest and lay, they agree to choose them several kings of their own; as near as might be, likest themselves; and the words of my author import as much. Kings were anointed, saith he, not of God’s anointing, but such as were cruellest; and soon after as inconsiderately, without examining the truth, put to death by their anointers, to set up others more fierce and proud. As for the election of their kings, (and that they had not all one monarch, appears both in ages past and by the sequel,) it began, as nigh as may be guessed, either this year [†] or the following, when they saw the Romans had quite deserted their claim. About which time also Pelagianism again prevailing by means of some few, the British clergy too weak, it seems, at dispute, entreat the second time German to their assistance; who coming with Severus, a disciple of Lupus, that was his former associate, stands not now to argue, for the people generally continued right; but inquiring those authors of new disturbance, adjudges them to banishment. They therefore by consent of all were delivered to German; who carrying them over with him, [†] disposed of them in such place where neither they could infect others, and were themselves under cure of better instruction. But Germanus the same year died in Italy; and the Britons not long after found themselves again in much perplexity, with no slight rumour that their old troublers the Scots and Picts had prepared a strong invasion, purposing to kill all, and dwell themselves in the land from end to end. But ere their coming in, as if the instruments of divine justice had been at strife, which of them first should destroy a wicked nation, the pestilence, forestalling the sword, left scarce alive whom to bury the dead; and for that time, as one extremity keeps off another, preserved the land from a worse incumbrance of those barbarous dispossessors, whom the contagion gave not leave now to enter far. [*] And yet the Britons, nothing bettered by these heavy judgments, the one threatened, the other felt, instead of acknowledging the hand of Heaven, run to the palace of their king Vortigern with complaints and cries of what they suddenly feared from the Pictish invasion. Vortigern, who at that time was chief rather than sole king, unless the rest had perhaps left their dominions to the common enemy, is said by him of Monmouth, to have procured the death first of Constantine, then of Constance his son, who of a monk was made king, and by that means to have usurped the crown. But they who can remember how Constantine, with his son Constance the monk, the one made emperor, the other Cæsar, perished in France, may discern the simple fraud of this fable. But Vortigern however coming to reign, is deciphered by truer stories a proud unfortunate tyrant, and yet of the people much beloved, because his vices sorted so well with theirs. For neither was he skilled in war, nor wise in counsel, but covetous, lustful, luxurious, and prone to all vice; wasting the public treasure in gluttony and riot, careless of the common danger, and through a haughty ignorance unapprehensive of his own. Nevertheless importuned and awakened at length by unusual clamours of the people, he summons a general council, to provide some better means than heretofore had been used against these continual annoyances from the north. Wherein by advice of all it was determined, that the Saxons be invited into Britain against the Scots and Picts; whose breaking in they either shortly expected, or already found they had not strength enough to oppose. The Saxons were a barbarous and heathen nation, famous for nothing else but robberies and cruelties done to all their neighbours, both by sea and land; in particular to this island, witness that military force, which the Roman emperors maintained here purposely against them, under a special commander, whose title, as is found on good record, [†] was “Count of the Saxon shore in Britain,” and the many mischiefs done by their landing here, both alone and with the Picts, as above hath been related, witness as much. [‡] They were a people thought by good writers to be descended of the Sacæ, a kind of Scythians in the north of Asia, thence called Sacasons, or sons of Sacæ, who, with a flood of other northern nations came into Europe, toward the declining of the Roman empire; and using piracy from Denmark all along these seas, possessed at length by intrusion all that coast of Germany, [§] and the Netherlands, which took thence the name of Old Saxony, lying between the Rhine and Elve, and from thence north as far as Eidora, the river bounding Holsatia, though not so firmly or so largely, but that their multitude wandered yet uncertain of habitation. Such guests as these the Britons resolve now to send for, and entreat into their houses and possessions, at whose very name heretofore they trembled afar off. So much do men through impatience count ever that the heaviest, which they bear at present, and to remove the evil which they suffer, care not to pull on a greater; as if variety and change in evil also were acceptable. Or whether it be that men in the despair of better, imagine fondly a kind of refuge from one misery to another.

The Britons therefore with Vortigern, [*] who was then accounted king over them all, resolve in full council to send embassadors of their choicest men with great gifts, and, saith a Saxon writer, in these words desiring their aid; “Worthy Saxons, hearing the fame of your prowess, the distressed Britons wearied out, and overpressed by a continual invading enemy, have sent us to beseech your aid. They have a land fertile and spacious, which to your commands they bid us surrender. Heretofore we have lived with freedom, under the obedience and protection of the Roman empire. Next to them we know none worthier than yourselves: and therefore become suppliants to your valour. Leave us not below our present enemies, and to aught by you imposed, willingly we shall submit.” Yet Ethelwerd writes not that they promised subjection, but only amity and league. They therefore who had chief rule among them, [†] hearing themselves entreated by the Britons, to that which gladly they would have wished to obtain of them by entreating, to the British embassy return this answer: [‡] “Be assured henceforth of the Saxons, as of faithful friends to the Britons, no less ready to stand by them in their need, than in their best of fortune.” The embassadors return joyful, and with news as welcome to their country, whose sinister fate had now blinded them for destruction. The Saxons, consulting first their gods, [§] (for they had answer, that the land whereto they went, they should hold three hundred years, half that time conquering, and half quietly possessing,) furnish out three long galleys, ∥ or kyules, with a chosen company of warlike youth, under the conduct of two brothers, Hengist and Horsa, descended in the fourth degree from Woden; of whom, deified for the fame of his acts, most kings of those nations derive their pedigree. These, and either mixed with these, or soon after by themselves, two other tribes, or neighbouring people, Jutes and Angles, the one from Jutland, the other from Anglen by the city of Sleswick, both provinces of Denmark, arrive in the first year of Martian the Greek emperor, from the birth of Christ four hundred and fifty, [¶] received with much good-will of the people first, then of the king, who after some assurances given and taken, bestows on them the isle of Tanet, where they first landed, hoping they might be made hereby more eager against the Picts, when they fought as for their own country, and more loyal to the Britons, from whom they had received a place to dwell in, which before they wanted. The British Nennius writes, that these brethren were driven into exile out of Germany, and to Vortigern who reigned in much fear, one while of the Picts, then of the Romans and Ambrosius, came opportunely into the haven. [**] For it was the custom in Old Saxony, when their numerous offspring overflowed the narrowness of their bounds, to send them out by lot into new dwellings wherever they found room, either vacant or to be forced. [††] But whether sought, or unsought, they dwelt not here long without employment. For the Scots and Picts were now come down, some say, as far as Stamford, in Lincolnshire, whom perhaps not imagining to meet new opposition, the Saxons, though not till after a sharp encounter, put to flight; [‡‡] and that more than once; slaying in fight, [§§] as some Scotch writers affirm, their king Eugenius the son of Fergus. ∥∥ Hengist perceiving the island to be rich and fruitful, but her princes and other inhabitants given to vicious ease, sends word home, inviting others to a share of his good success. Who returning with seventeen ships, were grown up now to a sufficient army, and entertained without suspicion on these terms, that they “should bear the brunt of war against the Picts, receiving stipend, and some place to inhabit.” With these was brought over the daughter of Hengist, a virgin wonderous fair, as is reported, Rowen the British call her: she by commandment of her father, who had invited the king to a banquet, coming in presence with a bowl of wine to welcome him, and to attend on his cup till the feast ended, won so much upon his fancy, though already wived, as to demand her in marriage upon any conditions. Hengist at first, though it fell out perhaps according to his drift, held off, excusing his meanness; then obscurely intimating a desire and almost a necessity, by reason of his augmented numbers, to have his narrow bounds of Tanet enlarged to the circuit of Kent, had it straight by donation; though Guorangonus, till then, was king of that place; and so, as it were overcome by the great munificence of Vortigern, gave his daughter. And still encroaching on the king’s favour, got further leave to call over Octa and Ebissa, his own and his brother’s son; pretending that they, if the north were given them, would sit there as a continual defence against the Scots, while himself guarded the east. [*] They therefore sailing with forty ships, even to the Orcades, and every way curbing the Scots and Picts, possessed that part of the isle which is now Northumberland. Notwithstanding this, they complain that their monthly pay was grown much into arrear; which when the Britons found means to satisfy, though alleging withal, that they to whom promise was made of wages were nothing so many in number: quieted with this a while, but still seeking occasion to fall off, they find fault next, that their pay is too small for the danger they undergo, threatening open war, unless it be augmented. Guortimer, the king’s son, perceiving his father and the kingdom thus betrayed, from that time bends his utmost endeavour to drive them out. They on the other side making league with the Picts and Scots, and issuing out of Kent, wasted without resistance almost the whole land even to the western sea, with such a horrid devastation, that towns and colonies overturned, priests and people slain, temples and palaces, what with fire and sword, lay altogether heaped in one mixed ruin. Of all which multitude so great was the sinfulness that brought this upon them, Gildas adds, that few or none were likely to be other than lewd and wicked persons. The residue of these, part overtaken in the mountains were slain; others subdued with hunger preferred slavery before instant death; some getting to rocks, hills, and woods, inaccessible, preferred the fear and danger of any death, before the shame of a secure slavery; [†] many fled over sea into other countries; some into Holland, where yet remain the ruins of Brittenburgh, an old castle on the sea, to be seen at low water not far from Leyden, either built, as writers of their own affirm, or seized on by those Britons, in their escape from Hengist; [‡] others into Armorica, peopled, as some think, with Britons long before, either by gift of Constantine the Great, or else of Maximus, to those British forces which had served them in foreign wars; [§] to whom those also that miscarried not with the latter Constantine at Arles, and lastly, these exiles driven out by Saxons, fled for refuge. But the ancient chronicles of those provinces attest their coming thither to be then first when they fled the Saxons; and indeed the name of Britain in France is not read till after that time. Yet how a sort of fugitives, who had quitted without stroke their own country, should so soon win another, appears not, unless joined to some party of their own settled there before. ∥ Vortigern, nothing bettered by these calamities, grew at last so obdurate as to commit incest with his daughter, tempted or tempting him out of an ambition to the crown. For which being censured and condemned in a great synod of clerks and laics, partly for fear of the Saxons, according to the counsel of his peers, he retired into Wales, and built him there a strong castle in Radnorshire, [*] by the advice of Ambrosius a young prophet, whom others call Merlin. Nevertheless Faustus, who was the son thus incestuously begotten, under the instructions of German, or some of his disciples, for German was dead before, proved a religious man, and lived in devotion by the river Remnis, in Glamorganshire. [†] But the Saxons, though finding it so easy to subdue the isle, with most of their forces, uncertain for what cause, returned home: whenas the easiness of their conquest might seem rather likely to have called in more; which makes more probable that which the British write of Guortimer. For he coming to reign, [‡] instead of his father deposed for incest, is said to have thrice driven and besieged the Saxons in the isle of Tanet; and when they issued out with powerful supplies sent from Saxony, to have fought with them four other battles, whereof three are named; the first on the river Darwent, the second at Episford, wherein Horsa the brother of Hengist fell, and on the British part Catigern the other son of Vortigern. The third in a field by Stonar, then called Lapis Tituli, in Tanet, where he beat them into their ships that bore them home, glad to have so escaped, and not venturing to land again for five years after. In the space whereof Guortimer dying, commanded they should bury him in the port of Stonar; persuaded that his bones lying there would be terror enough, to keep the Saxons from ever landing in that place: they, saith Nennius, neglecting his command, buried him in Lincoln. But concerning these times, ancientest annals of the Saxons relate in this manner. In the year [§] four hundred and fifty-five, Hengist and Horsa fought against Vortigern, in a place called Eglesthrip, now Ailsford in Kent, where Horsa lost his life, of whom Horsted, the place of his burial, took name.

After this first battle and the death of his brother, Hengist with his son Esca took on him kingly title, ∥ and peopled Kent with Jutes; who also then, or not long after, possessed the Isle of Wight, and part of Hampshire lying opposite. Two years after [¶] in a fight at Creganford, or Craford, Hengist and his son slew of the Britons four chief commanders, and as many thousand men; the rest in great disorder flying to London with the total loss of Kent. And eight years [**] passing between, he made new war on the Britons; of whom, in a battle at Wippeds-fleot, twelve princes were slain, and Wipped the Saxon earl, who left his name to that place, though not sufficient to direct us where it now stands. His last [††] encounter was at a place not mentioned, where he gave them such an overthrow, that flying in great fear they left the spoil of all to their enemies. And these perhaps are the four battles, according to Nennius, fought by Guortimer, though by these writers far differently related; and happening besides many other bickerings, in the space of twenty years, as Malmsbury reckons. Nevertheless it plainly appears that the Saxons, by whomsoever, were put to hard shifts, being all this while fought withal in Kent, their own allotted dwelling, and sometimes on the very edge of the sea, which the word Wippeds-fleot seems to intimate. But Guortimer now dead, [‡‡] and none of courage left to defend the land, Vortigern either by the power of his faction, or by consent of all, reassumes the government: and Hengist thus rid of his grand opposer, hearing gladly the restorement of his old favourer, returns again with great forces; but to Vortigern, whom he well knew how to handle without warring, as to his son-in-law, now that the only author of dissension between them was removed by death, offers nothing but all terms of new league and amity.

The king, both for his wife’s sake and his own sottishness, consulting also with his peers not unlike himself, readily yields; and the place of parley is agreed on; to which either side was to repair without weapons.—Hengist, whose meaning was not peace, but treachery, appointed his men to be secretly armed, and acquainted them to what intent. The watchword was, [*] Nemet eour saxes, that is, draw your daggers; which they observing, when the Britons were thoroughly heated with wine (for the treaty it seems was not without cups) and provoked, as was plotted, by some affront, dispatched with those poniards every one his next man, to the number of three hundred, the chief of those that could do aught against him, either in counsel or in field. Vortigern they only bound and kept in custody, until he granted them for his ransom three provinces, which were called afterward Essex, Sussex, and Middlesex. Who thus dismissed, retiring again to his solitary abode in the country of Guorthigirniaun, so called by his name, from thence to the castle of his own building in North Wales by the river Tiebi; and living there obscurely among his wives, was at length burnt in his tower by fire from Heaven, at the prayer, [†] as some say, of German, but that coheres not; as others, by Ambrosius Aurelian; of whom, as we have heard at first, he stood in great fear, and partly for that cause invited in the Saxons. Who, whether by constraint or of their own accord, after much mischief done, most of them returning back into their own country, left a fair opportunity to the Britons of avenging themselves easier on those who staid behind. Repenting therefore, and with earnest supplication imploring divine help to prevent their final rooting out, they gather from all parts, and under the leading of Ambrosius Aurelianus, a virtuous and modest man, the last here of the Roman stock, advancing now onward against the late victors, defeat them in a memorable battle. Common opinion, but grounded chiefly on the British fables, makes this Ambrosius to be a younger son of that Constantine, whose eldest, as we heard, was Constance the monk; who both lost their lives abroad usurping the empire. But the express words both of Gildas and Bede assure us, that the parents of this Ambrosius having here borne regal dignity, were slain in these Pictish wars and commotions in the island. And if the fear of Ambrose induced Vortigern to call in the Saxons, it seems Vortigern usurped his right. I perceive not that Nennius makes any difference between him and Merlin; for that child without father, that prophesied to Vortigern, he names not Merlin, but Ambrose; makes him the son of a Roman consul, but concealed by his mother, as fearing that the king therefore sought his life: yet the youth no sooner had confessed his parentage, by Vortigern either in reward of his predictions, or as his right, bestowed upon him all the west of Britain; himself retiring to a solitary life. Whosever son he was, he was the first, [‡] according to surest authors, that led against the Saxons, and overthrew them; but whether before this time or after, none have written. This is certain, that in a time when most of the Saxon forces were departed home, the Britons gathered strength: and either against those who were left remaining, or against their whole powers the second time returning, obtained this victory. Thus Ambrose as chief monarch of the isle succeeded Vortigern; to whose third son Pascentius he permitted the rule of two regions in Wales, Buelth and Guorthigirniaun. In his days, saith Nennius, [*] the Saxons prevailed not much: against whom Arthur, as being then chief general for the British kings, made great war, but more renowned in songs and romances, than in true stories. And the sequel itself declares as much. For in the year four hundred and seventy-seven, [†] Ella, the Saxon, with his three sons, Cymen, Pleting, and Cissa, at a place in Sussex called Cymenshore, arrive in three ships, kill many of the Britons, chasing them that remained into the wood Andreds Leage. Another battle was fought [‡] at Mercreds-Burnamsted, wherein Ella had by far the victory; but Huntingdon makes it so doubtful, [§] that the Saxons were constrained to send home for supplies. Four years after died Hengist, ∥ the first Saxon king of Kent; noted to have attained that dignity by craft, as much as valor, and giving scope to his own cruel nature, rather than proceeding by mildness or civility. His son Oeric, surnamed Oisc, of whom the Kentish kings were called Oiscings, succeeded him, and sate content with his father’s winning, more desirous to settle and defend, than to enlarge his bounds: he reigned twenty-four years. By this time Ella and his son Cissa besieging Andredchester, [¶] supposed now to be Newenden in Kent, take it by force, and all within it put to the sword.

Thus Ella, three years after the death of Hengist, began his kingdom of the South-Saxons; [**] peopling it with new inhabitants, from the country which was then Old Saxony, at this day Holstein in Denmark, and had besides at his command all those provinces, which the Saxons had won on this side Humber. [††] Animated with these good successes, as if Britain were become now the field of fortune, Kerdic another Saxon prince, the tenth by lineage from Woden, [‡‡] an old and practised soldier, who in many prosperous conflicts against the enemy in those parts had nursed up a spirit too big to live at home with equals, coming to a certain place, which from thence took the name of Kerdic-shore, [§§] with five ships, and Kenric his son, the very same day overthrew the Britons that opposed him; and so effectually, that smaller skirmishes after that day were sufficient to drive them still further off, leaving him a large territory. After him Porta another Saxon, ∥∥ with his two sons Bida and Megla, in two ships arrive at Portsmouth thence called, and at their landing slew a young British nobleman, with many others who unadvisedly set upon them. [¶¶] The Britons to recover what they had lost, draw together all their forces, led by Natanleod, or Nazaleod, a certain king in Britain, and the greatest, saith one; but with him five thousand of his men Kerdic puts to rout and slays. From whence the place in Hantshire, as far as Kerdicsford, now Chardford, was called of old Nazaleod. Who this king should be, hath bred much question; some think it to be the British name of Ambrose; others to be the right name of his brother, who for the terror of his eagerness in fight, became more known by the surname of Uther, which in the Welsh tongue signifies Dreadful. And if ever such a king in Britain there was as Uther Pendragon, for so also the Monmouth book surnames him, this in all likelihood must be he. Kerdic by so great a blow given to the Britons had made large room about him; not only for the men he brought with him, but for such also of his friends, as he desired to make great; for which cause, and withal the more to strengthen himself, his two nephews Stuff and Withgar, in three vessels bring him new levies to Kerdie-shore. [*] Who, that they might not come slugglishly to possess what others had won for them, either by their own seeking, or by appointment, are set in a place where they could not but at their first coming give proof of themselves upon the enemy; and so well they did it, that the Britons after a hard encounter left them masters of the field. [†] About the same time, Ella, the first South-Saxon king died; whom Cissa, his youngest son, succeeded; the other two failing before him.

Nor can it be much more or less than about this time, for it was before the West-Saxon kingdom, that Uffa, the eighth from Woden, made himself king of the East-Angles; [‡] who by their name testify the country above mentioned; from whence they came in such multitudes, that their native soil is said to have remained in the days of Beda uninhabited. [§] Huntingdon defers the time of their coming in to the ninth year of Kerdic’s reign: for, saith he, ∥ at first many of them strove for principality, seizing every one his province, and for some while so continued, making petty wars among themselves; till in the end Uffa, [¶] of whom those kings were called Uffings, overtopped them all in the year five hundred and seventy-one; then Titilus his son, [**] the father of Redwald, who became potent.

And not much after the East-Angles, began also the East-Saxons to erect a kingdom under Sleda, the tenth from Woden. But Huntingdon, as before, will have it later by eleven years, and Erchenwin to be the first king.

Kerdic the same in power, though not so fond of title, forbore the name twenty-four years after his arrival; but then founded so firmly the kingdom of West-Saxons, [††] that it subjected all the rest at length, and became the sole monarchy of England. The same year he had a victory against the Britons at Kerdic’s ford, by the river Aven: and after eight years, [‡‡] another great fight at Kerdic’s leage, but which won the day is not by any set down. Hitherto have been collected what there is of certainty with circumstance of time and place to be found registered, and no more than barely registered, in annals of best note; without describing after Huntingdon the manner of those battles and encounters, which they who compare, and can judge of books, may be confident he never found in any current author, whom he had to follow. But this disease hath been incident to many more historians: and the age whereof we now write hath had the ill hap, more than any since the first fabulous times, to be surcharged with all the idle fancies of posterity. Yet that we may not rely altogether on Saxon relaters, Gildas, in antiquity far before these, and every way more credible, speaks of these wars in such a manner, though nothing conceited of the British valour, as declares the Saxons in his time and before to have been foiled not seldomer than the Britons. For besides that first victory of Ambrose, and the interchangeable success long after, he tells that the last overthrow, which they received at Badon-hill, was not the least; which they in their oldest annals mention not at all. And because the time of this battle, by any who could do no more than guess, is not set down, or any foundation given from whence to draw a solid compute, it cannot be much wide to insert it in this place. For such authors as we have to follow give the conduct and praise of this exploit to Arthur; and that this was the last of twelve great battles which he fought victoriously against the Saxons.

The several places written by Nennius in their Welsh names [*] were many hundred years ago unknown, and so here omitted. But who Arthur was, and whether ever any such reigned in Britain, hath been doubted heretofore, and may again with good reason. For the monk of Malmsbury, and others, whose credit hath swayed most of the learneder sort, we may well perceive to have known no more of this Arthur five hundred years past, nor of his doings, than we, now living; and what they had to say, transcribed out of Nennius, a very trivial writer yet extant, which hath already been related; or out of a British book, the same which he of Monmouth set forth, utterly unknown to the world, till more than six hundred years after the days of Arthur, of whom (as Sigebert in his chronicle confesses) all other histories were silent, both foreign and domestic, except only that fabulous book. Others of later time have sought to assert him by old legends and cathedral regests. But he who can accept of legends for good story, may quickly swell a volume with trash, and had need be furnished with two only necessaries, leisure and belief; whether it be the writer, or he that shall read. As to Arthur, no less is in doubt who was his father; for if it be true, as Nennius or his notist avers, that Arthur was called Mab-Uther, that is to say, a cruel son, for the fierceness that men saw in him of a child, and the intent of his name Arturus imports as much, it might well be that some in after-ages, who sought to turn him into a fable, wrested the word Uther into a proper name, and so feigned him the son of Uther; since we read not in any certain story, that ever such person lived till Geoffrey of Monmouth set him off with the surname of Pendragon. And as we doubted of his parentage, so may we also of his puissance; for whether that victory at Badon-hill were his or no, is uncertain; Gildas not naming him, as he did Ambrose in the former. Next, if it be true as Caradoc relates, [†] that Melvas, king of that country which is now Somerset, kept from him Gueniver his wife a whole year in the town of Glaston, and restored her at the entreaty of Gildas, rather than for any enforcement that Arthur with all his chivalry could make against a small town defended only by a moory situation; had either his knowledge in war, or the force he had to make, been answerable to the fame they bear, that petty king had neither dared such affront, nor he been so long, and at last without effect, in revenging it.—Considering lastly how the Saxons gained upon him every where all the time of his supposed reign, which began, as some write, [‡] in the tenth year of Kerdic, who wrung from him by long war the counties of Somerset and Hampshire; there will remain neither place nor circumstance in story, which may administer any likelihood of those great acts, that are ascribed to him. This only is alleged by Nennius in Arthur’s behalf, [§] that the Saxons, though vanquished never so oft, grew still more numerous upon him by continual supplies out of Germany. And the truth is, that valor may be overtoiled, and overcome at last with endless overcoming.

But as for this battle of mount Badon, where the Saxons were hemmed in, or besieged, whether by Arthur won, or whensoever, it seems indeed to have given a most undoubted and important blow to the Saxons, and to have stopped their proceedings for a good while after. Gildas himself witnessing, that the Britons, having thus compelled them to sit down with peace, fell thereupon to civil discord among themselves. Which words may seem to let in some light toward the searching out when this battle was fought. And we shall find no time since the first Saxon war, from whence a longer peace ensued, than from the fight at Kerdic’s Leage, in the year five hundred and twenty seven, which all the chronicles mention, without victory to Kerdic; and give us argument from the custom they have of magnifying their own deeds upon all occasions, to presume here his ill speeding. And if we look still onward, even to the forty-fourth year after, wherein Gildas wrote, if his obscure utterance be understood, we shall meet with every little war between the Britons and Saxons. [*] This only remains difficult, that the victory first won by Ambrose was not so long before this at Badon siege, but that the same men living might be eyewitnesses of both; and by this rate hardly can the latter be thought won by Arthur, unless we reckon him a grown youth at least in the days of Ambrose, and much more than a youth, if Malmsbury be heard, who affirms all the exploits of Ambrose to have been done chiefly by Arthur as his general, which will add much unbelief to the common assertion of his reigning after Ambrose and Uther, especially the fight of Badon being the last of his twelve battles. But to prove by that which follows, that the fight at Kerdic’s Leage, though it differ in name from that of Badon, may be thought the same by all effects; Kerdic three years after, [†] not proceeding onward, as his manner was, on the continent, turns back his forces on the Isle of Wight; which, with the slaying of a few only in Withgarburgh, he soon masters; and not long surviving, left it to his nephews by the mother’s side, Stuff and Withgar: [‡] the rest of what he had subdued, Kenric his son held; and reigned twenty-six years, in whose tenth year [§] Withgar was buried in the town of that island which bore his name. Notwithstanding all these unlikelihoods of Arthur’s reign and great achievements, in a narration crept in I know not how among the laws of Edward the Confessor, Arthur, the famous king of Britons is said not only to have expelled hence the Saracens, who were not then known in Europe, but to have conquered Friesland, and all the north-east isles as far as Russia, to have made Lapland the eastern bound of his empire, and Norway the chamber of Britain. When should this be done? From the Saxons, till after twelve battles, he had no rest at home; after those, the Britons, contented with the quiet they had from their Saxon enemies, were so far from seeking conquests abroad, that by report of Gildas above cited, they fell to civil wars at home. Surely Arthur much better had made war in old Saxony, to repress their flowing hither, than to have won kingdoms as far as Russia, scarce able here to defend his own. Buchanan our neighbour historian reprehends him of Monmouth, and others, for fabling in the deeds of Arthur; yet what he writes thereof himself, as of better credit, shows not whence he had but from those fables; which he seems content to believe in part, on condition that the Scots and Picts may be thought to have assisted Arthur in all his wars and achievements; whereof appears as little ground by credible story, as of that which he most counts fabulous. But not further to contest about such uncertainties.

In the year five hundred and forty-seven, ∥ Ida the Saxon, sprung also from Woden in the tenth degree, began the kingdom of Bernicia in Northumberland; built the town Bebenburgh, which was after walled; and had twelve sons, half by wives and half by concubines. Hengist, by leave of Vortigern, we may remember, had sent Octave and Ebissa, to seek them seats in the north, and there, by warring on the Picts, to secure the southern parts. Which they so prudently effected, that what by force and fair proceeding, they well quieted those countries; and though so far distant from Kent, nor without power in their hands, yet kept themselves nigh a hundred and eighty years within moderation; and, as inferior governors, they and their offspring gave obedience to the kings of Kent, as to the elder family. Till at length following the example of that age, when no less than kingdoms were the prize of every fortunate commander, they thought it but reason, as well as others of their nation, to assume royalty. Of whom Ida was the first, [*] a man in the prime of his years, and of parentage as we heard; but how he came to wear the crown, aspiring or by free choice, is not said. Certain enough it is, that his virtues made him not less noble than his birth in war undaunted and unfoiled, in peace tempering the awe of magistracy with a natural mildness, he reigned about twelve years.

In the mean while Kenric in a fight at Searesbirig, [†] now Salisbury, killed and put to flight many of the Britons; and the fourth year after at Beranvirig, [‡] now Banbury, as some think, with Keaulin his son, put them again to flight. Keaulin shortly after succeeded his father in the West-Saxons. And Alla, descended also of Woden, but of another line, set up a second kingdom in Deira, the south part of Northumberland, [§] and held it thirty years; while Adda, the son of Ida, and five more after him, reigned without other memory in Bernicia: and in Kent, Ethelbert the next year began. ∥ But Esca the son of Hengist had left Otha, and he Emeric to rule after him; both which, without adding to their bounds kept what they had in peace fifty-three years. But Ethelbert in length of reign equalled both his progenitors, and as Beda counts, three years exceeded. Young at his first entrance, [¶] and unexperienced, he was the first raiser of civil war among the Saxons; claiming from the priority of time wherein Hengist took possession here, a kind of right over the later kingdoms; and thereupon was troublesome to their confines: but by them twice defeated, he who but now thought to seem dreadful, became almost contemptible. For Keaulin and Cutha his son, pursuing him into his own territory, [**] slew there in battle, at Wibbandun, two of his earls, Oslac and Cneban. By this means the Britons, but chiefly by this victory at Badon, for the space of forty-four years, ending in five hundred and seventy-one, received no great annoyance from the Saxons: but the peace they enjoyed, by ill using it, proved more destructive to them than war. For being raised on a sudden by two such eminent successes, from the lowest condition of thraldom, they whose eyes had beheld both those deliverances, that by Ambrose and this at Badon, were taught by the experience of either fortune, both kings, magistrates, priests, and private men, to live orderly.

But when the next age, [††] unacquainted with past evils, and only sensible of their present ease and quiet, succeeded, strait followed the apparent subversion of all truth, and justice, in the minds of most men: scarce the least forestep or impression of goodness left remaining through all ranks and degrees in the land; except in some so very few, as to be hardly visible in a general corruption: which grew in short space not only manifest, but odious to all the neighbouring nations. And first their kings, amongst them also the sons or grandchildren of Ambrose, were foully degenerated to all tyranny and vicious life whereof to hear some particulars out of Gildas, will not be impertinent. They avenge, saith he, and they protect, not the innocent, but the guilty; they swear oft, but perjure; they wage war, but civil and unjust war. They punish rigorously them that rob by the high-way; but those grand robbers, that sit with them at table, they honour and reward. They give alms largely, but in the face of their almsdeeds, pile up wickedness to a far higher heap. They sit in the seat of judgment, but go seldom by the rule of right; neglecting and proudly overlooking the modest and harmless, but countenancing the audacious, though guilty of abominable crimes; they stuff their prisons, but with men committed rather by circumvention than by any just cause.

Nothing better were the clergy, but at the same pass, or rather worse than when the Saxons came first in; unlearned, unapprehensive, yet impudent; subtle prowlers, pastors in name, but indeed wolves; intent upon all occasions, not to feed the flock, but to pamper and well-line themselves: not called, but seizing on the ministry as a trade, not as a spiritual charge; teaching the people not by sound doctrine, but by evil example; usurping the chair of Peter, but through the blindness of their own worldly lusts, they stumble upon the seat of Judas; deadly haters of truth, broachers of lies; looking on the poor Christian with eyes of pride and contempt; but fawning on the wickedest rich men without shame: great promoters of other men’s alms, with their set exhortations; but themselves contributing ever least: slightly touching the many vices of the age, but preaching without end their own grievances, as done to Christ; seeking after preferments and degrees in the church, more than after heaven; and so gained, made it their whole study how to keep them by any tyranny. Yet lest they should be thought things of no use in their eminent places, they have their niceties and trivial points to keep in awe the superstitious multitude; but in true saving knowledge leave them still as gross and stupid as themselves; bunglers at the Scripture, nay, forbidding and silencing them that know; but in worldly matters, practised and cunning shifters; in that only art and simony great clerks and masters, bearing their heads high, but their thoughts abject and low. He taxes them also as gluttonous, incontinent, and daily drunkards. And what shouldst thou expect from these, poor laity, so he goes on, these beasts, all belly? Shall these amend thee, who are themselves laborious in evil doings? Shall thou see with their eyes, who see right forward nothing but gain? Leave them rather, as bids our Saviour, lest ye fall both blindfold into the same perdition. Are all thus? Perhaps not all, or not so grossly. But what availed it Eli to be himself blameless, while he connived at others that were abominable? Who of them hath been envied for his better life? Who of them hath hated to consort with these, or withstood their entering the ministry or endeavoured zealously their casting out? Yet some of these perhaps by others are legended for great saints.

This was the state of government, this of religion among the Britons, in that long calm of peace, which the fight at Badon-hill had brought forth. Whereby it came to pass, that so fair a victory came to nothing. Towns and cities were not reinhabited, but lay ruined and waste; nor was it long ere domestic war breaking out wasted them more. For Britain, [*] as at other times, had then also several kings: five of whom Gildas, living then in Armorica at a safe distance, boldly reproves by name: first, Constantine, (fabled the son of Cador, duke of Cornwall, Arthur’s half, by the mother’s side,) who then reigned in Cornwall and Devon, a tyrannical and bloody king, polluted also with many adulteries: he got into his power two young princes of the blood royal, uncertain whether before him in right, or otherwise suspected: and after solemn oath given of their safety the year that Gildas wrote, slew them with their two governors in the church, and in their mother’s arms, through the abbot’s cope which he had thrown over them, thinking by the reverence of his vesture to have withheld the murderer. These are commonly supposed to be the sons of Mordred, Arthur’s nephew, said to have revolted from his uncle, giving him in a battle his death’s wound, and by him after to have been slain. Which things, were they true, would much diminish the blame of cruelty in Constantine, revenging Arthur on the sons of so false a Mordred.

In another part, but not expressed where, Aurelius Conanus was king: him he charges also with adulteries, and parricide; cruelties worse than the former; to be a hater of his country’s peace, thirsting after civil war and prey. His condition, it seems, was not very prosperous, for Gildas wishes him, being now left alone, like a tree withering in the midst of a barren field, to remember the vanity and arrogance of his father, and elder brethren, who came all to untimely death in their youth. The third reigning in Demetia, or South Wales, was Vortipor, the son of a good father; he was, when Gildas wrote, grown old, not in years only, but in adulteries; and in governing, full of falsehood and cruel actions. In his latter days, putting away his wife, who died in divorce, he became, if we mistake not Gildas, incestuous with his daughter. The fourth was Cuneglas, imbrued in civil war; he also had divorced his wife, and taken her sister, who had vowed widowhood: he was a great enemy to the clergy, high-minded, and trusting to his wealth. The last, but greatest of all in power, was Maglocune, and greatest also in wickedness: he had driven out, or slain, many other kings, or tyrants, and was called the Island Dragon, perhaps having his seat in Anglesey; a profuse giver, a great warrior, and of a goodly stature. While he was yet young, he overthrew his uncle, though in the head of a complete army, and took from him the kingdom: then touched with remorse of his doings, not without deliberation, took upon him the profession of a monk; but soon forsook his vow, and his wife also; which for that vow he had left, making love to the wife of his brother’s son then living. Who not refusing the offer, if she were not rather the first that enticed, found means both to dispatch her own husband, and the former wife of Maglocune, to make her marriage with him the more unquestionable. Neither did he this for want of better instructions, having had the learnedest and wisest man, reputed of all Britain, the instituter of his youth. Thus much, the utmost that can be learnt by truer story, of what past among the Britons from the time of their useless victory at Badon, to the time that Gildas wrote, that is to say, as may be guessed, from 527 to 571, is here set down altogether; not to be reduced under any certainty of years.

But now the Saxons, who for the most part all this while had been still, unless among themselves, began afresh to assault them, and ere long to drive them out of all which they maintained on this side Wales. For Cuthulf, the brother of Keaulin, [*] by a victory obtained at Bedanford, now Bedford, took from them four good towns, Liganburgh, Eglesburgh, Bensington now Benson in Oxfordshire, and Ignesham; but outlived not many months his good success. And after six years more, [†] Keaulin, and Cuthwin his son, gave them great overthrow at Deorrham in Gloucestershire, slew three of their kings, Comail, Condidan, and Farinmaile; and three of their chief cities, Gloucester, Cirencester, and Badencester. The Britons notwithstanding, after some space of time, [*] judging to have outgrown their losses, gather to a head and encounter Keaulin, with Cutha his son at Fethanleage; whom valiantly fighting, they slew among the thickest, and, as is said, forced the Saxons to retire. [†] But Keaulin, reinforcing the fight, put them to a main rout; and following his advantage, took many towns, and returned laden with rich booty.

The last of those Saxons, who raised their own achievements to a monarchy, was Crida, much about this time, first founder of the Mercian kingdom, [‡] drawing also his pedigree from Woden. Of whom all to write the several genealogies, though it might be done without long search, were in my opinion to encumber the story with a sort of barbarous names, to little purpose. This may suffice, [§] that of Woden’s three sons, from the eldest issued Hengist, and his succession; from the second, the kings of Mercia; from the third, all that reigned in West Saxony, and most of the Northumbers, of whom Alla was one, the first king of Deira; which, after his death, the race of Ida seized, and made it one kingdom with Bernicia, ∥ usurping the childhood of Edwin, Alla’s son; whom Ethelric, the son of Ida, expelled. Notwithstanding others write of him, that from a poor life, and beyond hope in his old age, coming to the crown, he could hardly, by the access of a kingdom, have overcome his former obscurity, had not the fame of his son preserved him. Once more the Britons, [¶] ere they quitted all on this side the mountains, forgot not to show some manhood; for meeting Keaulin at Woden’s-beorth, that is to say, at Woden’s mount in Wiltshire; [**] whether it were by their own forces, or assisted by the Angles, whose hatred Keaulin had incurred, they ruined the whole army, and chased him out of his kingdom; from whence flying, he died the next year in poverty, who a little before was the most potent, and indeed sole king of all the Saxons on this side the Humber. But who was chief among the Britons in this exploit had been worth remembering, whether it were Maglocune, of whose prowess hath been spoken, or Teudric king of Glamorgan, whom the regest of Landaff recounts to have been always victorious in fight; to have reigned about this time, and at length to have exchanged his crown for an hermitage; till in the aid of his son Mouric, whom the Saxons had reduced to extremes, taking arms again, he defeated them at Tinterne by the river Wye; but himself received a mortal wound. [††] The same year with Keaulin, whom Keola the son of Cuthulf, Keaulin’s brother, succeeded, Crida also the Mercian king deceased, in whose room Wibba succeeded; and in Northumberland, Ethelfrid, in the room of Ethelric, reigning twenty-four years. Thus omitting fables, we have the view of what with reason can be relied on for truth, done in Britain since the Romans forsook it. Wherein we have heard the many miseries and desolations brought by divine hand on a perverse nation; driven, when nothing else would reform them, out of a fair country, into a mountainous and barren corner, by strangers and pagans. So much more tolerable in the eye of heaven is infidelity professed, than Christian faith and religion dishonoured by unchristian works. Yet they also at length renounced their heathenism; which how it came to pass, will be the matter next related.

THE FOURTH BOOK.

THE Saxons grown up now to seven absolute kingdoms, and the latest of them established by succession, finding their power arrive well nigh at the utmost of what was to be gained upon the Britons, and as little fearing to be displanted by them, had time now to survey at leisure one another’s greatness. Which quickly bred among them either envy or mutual jealousies; till the west kingdom at length grown overpowerful, put an end to all the rest. [*] Meanwhile, above others, Ethelbert of Kent, who by this time had well ripened his young ambition, with more ability of years and experience in war, what before he attempted to his loss, now successfully attains: and by degrees brought all the other monarchies between Kent and Humber to be at his devotion. To which design the kingdom of West-Saxons, being the firmest of them all, at that time sore shaken by their overthrow at Woden’s-beorth, and the death of Keaulin, gave him, no doubt, a main advantage; the rest yielded not subjection, but as he earned it by continual victories. [†] And to win him the more regard abroad, he marries Bertha the French king’s daughter, though a Christian, and with this condition, to have the free exercise of her faith, under the care and instruction of Letardus, a bishop, sent by her parents along with her; the king notwithstanding and his people retaining their old religion. Beda [‡] out of Gildas lays it sadly to the Britons’ charge, that they never would vouchsafe their Saxon neighbours the means of conversion; but how far to blame they were, [§] and what hope there was of converting in the midst of so much hostility, at least falsehood, from their first arrival, is not now easy to determine. ∥ Howbeit not long after they had the Christian faith preached to them by a nation more remote, and (as report went, accounted old in Beda’s time) upon this occasion.

The Northumbrians had a custom at that time, and many hundred years after not abolished, to sell their children for a small value into any foreign land. Of which number two comely youths were brought to Rome, whose fair and honest countenances invited Gregory, archdeacon of that city, among others that beheld them, pitying their condition, to demand whence they were; it was answered by some who stood by, that they were Angli of the province Deira, subjects to Alla king of Northumberland; and by religion, pagans. Which last Gregory deploring, framed on a sudden this allusion to the three names he heard; that the Angli so like to angels should be snatched ‘de ira,’ that is from the wrath of God, to sing hallelujah: and forthwith obtaining license, of Benedict the pope, had come and preached here among them, had not the Roman people, whose love endured not the absence of so vigilant a pastor over them, recalled him then on his journey, though but deferred his pious intention. For a while after, [¶] succeeding in the papal seat, and now in his fourth year, admonished, saith Beda, by divine instinct, he sent Augustin, whom he had designed for bishop of the English nation, and other zealous monks with him, to preach to them the gospel. Who being now on their way, discouraged by some reports, or their own carnal fear, sent back Austin, in the name of all, to beseech Gregory they might return home, and not be sent a journey so full of hazard, to a fierce and infidel nation, whose tongue they understood not. Gregory with pious and apostolic persuasions exhorts them not to shrink back from so good a work, but cheerfully to go on in the strength of divine assistance. The letter itself, yet extant among our writers of ecclesiastic story, I omit here, as not professing to relate of those matters more than what mixes aptly with civil affairs. The abbot Austin, for so he was ordained over the rest, re-encouraged by the exhortations of Gregory, and his fellows by the letter which he brought them, came safe to the isle of Tanet, [*] in number about forty, besides some of the French nation, whom they took along as interpreters.

Ethelbert the king, to whom Austin at his landing had sent a new and wondrous message, that he came from Rome to proffer heaven and eternal happiness in the knowledge of another God than the Saxons knew, appoints them to remain where they had landed, and necessaries to be provided them, consulting in the mean time what was to be done. And after certain days coming into the island, chose a place to meet them under the open sky, possessed with an old persuasion, that all spells, if they should use any to deceive him, so it were not within doors, would be unavailable.

They on the other side called to his presence, advancing for their standard a silver cross, and the painted image of our Saviour, came slowly forward singing their solemn litanies: which wrought in Ethelbert more suspicion perhaps that they used enchantments; till sitting down as the king willed them, they there preached to him, and all in that assembly, the tidings of salvation. Whom having heard attentively, the king thus answered: “Fair indeed and ample are the promises which ye bring, and such things as have the appearance in them of much good; yet such as being new and uncertain, I cannot easily assent to, quitting the religion which from my ancestors, with all the English nation, so many years I have retained. Nevertheless because ye are strangers, and have endured so long a journey, to impart us the knowledge of things, which I persuade me you believe to be the truest and the best, ye may be sure, we shall not recompense you with any molestation, but shall provide rather how we may friendliest entertain ye; nor do we forbid whom ye can by preaching gain to your belief.” And accordingly their residence he allotted them in Doroverne or Canterbury his chief city, and made provision for their maintenance, with free leave to preach their doctrine where they pleased. By which, and by the example of their holy life, spent in prayer, fasting, and continual labour in the conversion of souls, they won many; on whose bounty and the king’s, receiving only what was necessary, they subsisted.

There stood without the city on the east side, an ancient church built in honour of St. Martin, while yet the Romans remained here: in which Bertha the queen went out usually to pray: here they also began [†] first to preach, baptize, and openly to exercise divine worship. But when the king himself, convinced by their good life and miracles, became Christian, and was baptized, which came to pass in the very first year of their arrival, then multitudes daily, conforming to their prince, thought it honour to be reckoned among those of his faith. To whom Ethelbert indeed principally showed his favour, but compelled none. [‡] For so he had been taught by them who were both the instructors and the authors of his faith, that Christian religion ought to be voluntary, not compelled. About this time Kelwulf the son of Cutha, Keaulin’s brother, reigned over the West Saxons, [§] after his brother Keola or Kelric, and had continual war either with English, Welsh, Picts, or Scots. ∥ But Austin, whom with his fellows Ethelbert had now endowed with a better place for their abode in the city, and other possessions necessary to livelihood, crossing into France, was by the archbishop of Arles, at the appointment of pope Gregory, ordained archbishop of the English; and returning, sent to Rome Laurence and Peter, two of his associates, to acquaint the pope of his good success in England, and to be resolved of certain theological, or rather Levitical questions: with answers to which, not proper in this place, Gregory sends also to the great work of converting, that went on so happily, a supply of labourers, Mellitus, Justus, Paulinus, Rufinian, and many others; who what they were, may be guessed by the stuff which they brought with them, vessels and vestments for the altar, copes, reliques, and for the archbishop Austin a pall to say mass in; to such a rank superstition that age was grown, though some of them yet retaining an emulation of apostolic zeal. Lastly, to Ethelbert they brought a letter with many presents. Austin, thus exalted to archiepiscopal authority, recovered from the ruins and other profane uses a Christian church in Canterbury, built of old by the Romans, which he dedicated by the name of Christ’s church, and joining to it built a seat for himself and his successors; a monastery also near the city eastward, where Ethelbert at his motion built St. Peter’s, and enriched it with great endowments, to be a place of burial for the archbishops and kings of Kent: so quickly they stepped up into fellowship of pomp with kings.

While thus Ethelbert [*] and his people had their minds intent, Ethelfrid the Northumbrian king was not less busied in far different affairs: for being altogether warlike, and covetous of fame, he more wasted the Britons than any Saxon king before him; winning from them large territories, which either he made tributary, or planted with his own subjects. Whence [†] Edan king of those Scots that dwelt in Britain, jealous of his successes, came against him with a mighty army, to a place called Degsastan; but in the fight losing most of his men, himself with a few escaped; only Theobald the king’s brother, and the whole wing which he commanded, unfortunately cut off, made the victory to Ethelfrid less entire. Yet from that time no king of Scots in hostile manner durst pass into Britain for a hundred and more years after: and what some years before Kelwulf the West Saxon is annalled to have done against the Scots and Picts, passing through the land of Ethelfrid a king so potent, unless in his aid and alliance, is not likely. Buchanan writes as if Ethelfrid, assisted by Keaulin whom he mistitles king of East Saxons, had before this time a battle with Aidan, wherein Cutha, Keaulin’s son, was slain. But Cutha, as is above written from better authority, was slain in fight against the Welsh twenty years before. The number [‡] of Christians began now to increase so fast, that Augustin, ordaining bishops under him, two of his assistants, Mellitus and Justus, sent them out both to the work of their ministry. And Mellitus by preaching converted the East Saxons, over whom Sebert the son of Sleda, by permission of Ethelbert, being born of his sister Ricula, then reigned. Whose conversion Ethelbert to gratulate, built them the great church of St. Paul in London to be their bishop’s cathedral; as Justus also had his built at Rochester, and both gifted by the same king with fair possessions.

Hitherto Austin laboured well among infidels, but not with like commendation soon after among Christians. For by means of Ethelbert summoning the Britain bishops to a place on the edge of Worcestershire, called from that time Augustin’s oak, he requires them to conform with him in the same day of celebrating Easter, and many other points wherein they differed from the rites of Rome: which when they refused to do, not prevailing by dispute, he appeals to a miracle, restoring to sight a blind man whom the Britons could not cure. At this something moved, though not minded to recede from their own opinions without further consultation, they request a second meeting; to which came seven Britain bishops, with many other learned men, especially from the famous monastery of Bangor, in which were said to be so many monks, living all by their own labour, that being divided under seven rectors, none had fewer than three hundred. One man there was who staid behind, a hermit by the life he led, who by his wisdom effected more than all the rest who went: being demanded, for they held him as an oracle, how they might know Austin to be a man from God, that they might follow him, he answered, that if they found him meek and humble, they should be taught by him, for it was likeliest to be the yoke of Christ, both what he bore himself, and would have them bear; but if he bore himself proudly, that they should not regard him, for he was then certainly not of God.

They took his advice, and hasted to the place of meeting. Whom Austin, being already there before them, neither arose to meet, nor received in any brotherly sort, but sat all the while pontifically in his chair. Whereat the Britons, as they were counselled by the holy man, neglected him, and neither hearkened to his proposals of conformity, nor would acknowledge him for an archbishop: and in the name of the rest, [*] Dinothus, then abbot of Bangor, is said thus sagely to have answered him: “As to the subjection which you require, be thus persuaded of us, that in the bond of love and charity we are all subjects and servants of the church of God, yea to the pope of Rome, and every good Christian, to help them forward, both by word and deed, to be the children of God: other obedience than this we know not to be due to him whom you term the pope; and this obedience we are ready to give both to him and to every Christian continually. Besides, we are governed under God by the bishop of Caerleon, who is to oversee us in spiritual matters.” To which Austin thus presaging, some say menacing, replies, “Since ye refuse to accept of peace with your brethren, ye shall have war from your enemies; and since ye will not with us preach the word of life to whom ye ought, from their hands ye shall receive death.” This, though writers agree not whether Austin spake it as his prophecy, or as his plot against the Britons, fell out accordingly. [†] For many years were not past, when Ethelfrid, whether of his own accord, or at the request of Ethelbert, incensed by Austin, with a powerful host came to Westchester, then Caer-legion. Where being met by the British forces, and both sides in readiness to give the onset, he discerns a company of men, not habited for war, standing together in a place of some safety; and by them a squadron armed. Whom having learnt upon some inquiry to be priests and monks, assembled thither after three days’ fasting, to pray for the good success of their forces against him, “therefore they first,” saith he, “shall feel our swords; for they who pray against us, fight heaviest against us by their prayers, and are our dangerousest enemies.” And with that turns his first charge upon the monks. Brocmail, the captain set to guard them, quickly turns his back, and leaves above twelve hundred monks to a sudden massacre, whereof scarce fifty escaped.

But not so easy work found Ethelfrid against another part of Britons that stood in arms, whom though at last he overthrew, yet with slaughter nigh as great to his own soldiers. To excuse Austin of this bloodshed, lest some might think it his revengeful policy, Beda writes, that he was dead long before, although if the time of his sitting archbishop be right computed sixteen years, he must survive this action. [*] Other just ground of charging him with this imputation appears not, save what evidently we have from Geoffrey of Monmouth, whose weight we know. [†] The same year Kelwulf made war on the South Saxons, bloody, saith Huntingdon, to both sides, but most to them of the south; [‡] and four years after dying, left the government of West Saxons to Kinegils and Cuichelm, the sons of his brother Keola. Others, as Florent of Worcester, and Matthew of Westminster, will have Cuichelm son of Kinegils, but admitted to reign with his father, in whose third year [§] they are recorded with joint forces or conduct to have fought against the Britons in Beandune, now Bindon in Dorsetshire, and to have slain of them above two thousand. ∥ More memorable was the second year following, by the death of Ethelbert the first Christian king of Saxons, and no less a favourer of all civility in that rude age. He gave laws and statutes after the example of Roman emperors, written with the advice of his sagest counsellors, but in the English tongue, and observed long after. Wherein his special care was to punish those who had stolen aught from church or churchman, thereby showing how gratefully he received at their hands the Christian faith. Which, he no sooner dead, but his son Eadbald took the course as fast to extinguish; not only falling back into heathenism, but that which heathenism was wont to abhor, marrying his father’s second wife. Then soon was perceived what multitudes for fear or countenance of the king had professed Christianity, returning now as eagerly to their old religion. Nor staid the apostacy with one province, but quickly spread over to the East Saxons; occasioned there likewise, or set forward, by the death of their Christian king Sebert: whose three sons, of whom two are named Sexted and Seward, [¶] neither in his lifetime would be brought to baptism, and after his decease re-established the free exercise of idolatry; nor so content, they set themselves in despite to do some open profanation against the other sacrament. Coming therefore into the church where Mellitus the bishop was ministering, they required him in abuse and scorn to deliver to them unbaptized the consecrated bread; and him refusing drove disgracefully out of their dominion. Who crossed forthwith into Kent, where things were in the same plight, and thence into France, with Justus bishop of Rochester.

But divine vengeance deferred not long the punishment of men so impious; for Eadbald, vexed with an evil spirit, fell often into foul fits of distraction; and the sons of Sebert, in a fight against the West Saxons, perished with their whole army. But Eadbald, within the year, by an extraordinary means became penitent. For when Lawrence the archbishop and successor of Austin was preparing to ship for France, after Justus and Mellitus, the story goes, if it be worth believing, that St. Peter, in whose church he spent the night before in watching and praying, appeared to him, and to make the vision more sensible, gave him many stripes for offering to desert his flock; at sight whereof the king (to whom next morning he showed the marks of what he had suffered, by whom and for what cause) relenting and in great fear, dissolved his incestuous marriage, and applied himself to the Christian faith more sincerely than before, with all his people. But the Londoners, addicted still to paganism, would not be persuaded to receive again Mellitus their bishop, and to compel them was not in his power.

Thus much through all the south was troubled in religion, as much were the north parts disquieted through ambition. [*] For Ethelfrid of Bernicia, as was touched before, having thrown Edwin out of Deira, and joined that kingdom to his own, not content to have bereaved him of his right, whose known virtues and high parts gave cause of suspicion to his enemies, sends messengers to demand him of Redwald king of East Angles; under whose protection, after many years wandering obscurely through all the island, he had placed his safety. Redwald, though having promised all defence to Edwin as to his suppliant, yet tempted with continual and large offers of gold, and not contemning the puissance of Ethelfrid, yielded at length, either to dispatch him, or to give him into their hands: but earnestly exhorted by his wife, not to betray the faith and inviolable law of hospitality and refuge given, [†] prefers his first promise as the more religious; nor only refuses to deliver him, but since war was thereupon denounced, determines to be beforehand with the danger; and with a sudden army raised, surprises Ethelfrid, little dreaming an invasion, and in a fight near to the east side of the river Idle, on the Mercian border, now Nottinghamshire, slays him, [‡] dissipating easily those few forces which he had got to march out overhastily with him; who yet, as a testimony of his fortune not his valour to be blamed, slew first with his own hands Reiner the king’s son. His two sons Oswald and Oswi, by Acca, Edwin’s sister, escaped into Scotland. By this victory Redwald became so far superior to the other Saxon kings, that Beda reckons him the next after Ella and Ethelbert; who, besides this conquest of the north, had likewise all on the other side Humber at his obedience. He had formerly in Kent received baptism, [§] but coming home, and persuaded by his wife, who still it seems was his chief counsellor to good or bad alike, relapsed into his old religion: yet not willing to forego his new, thought it not the worst way, lest perhaps he might err in either, for more assurance to keep them both; and in the same temple erected one altar to Christ, another to his idols.

But Edwin, as with more deliberation he undertook, and with more sincerity retained, the Christian profession, so also in power and extent of dominion far exceeded all before him; subduing all, saith Beda, English or British, even to the isles, then called Mevanian, Anglesey, and Man; settled in his kingdom by Redwald, he sought in marriage Edelburga, whom others called Tate, the daughter of Ethelbert. To whose embassadors Eadbald her brother made answer, that “to wed their daughter to a pagan, was not the Christian law.” Edwin replied, that “to her religion he would be no hindrance, which with her whole household she might freely exercise. And moreover, that if examined it were found the better, he would embrace it.” These ingenuous offers, opening so fair a way to the advancement of truth, are accepted, ∥ and Paulinus as a spiritual guardian sent along with the virgin. He being to that purpose made bishop by Justus, omitted no occasion to plant the Gospel in those parts, but with small success, till the next year [¶] Cuichelm, at that time one of the two West-Saxon kings, envious of the greatness which he saw Edwin growing up to, sent privily Eumerus a hired swordsman to assassin him; who, under pretence of doing a message from his master, with a poisoned weapon stabs at Edwin, conferring with him in his house, by the river Derwent in Yorkshire, on an Easter-day; which Lilla one of the king’s attendants, at the instant perceiving, with a loyalty that stood not then to deliberate, abandoned his whole body to the blow; which notwithstanding made passage through to the king’s person with a wound not to be slighted. The murderer encompassed now with swords, and desperate, forerevenges his own fall with the death of another, whom his poniard reached home. Paulinus omitting no opportunity to win the king from misbelief, obtained at length this promise from him; that if Christ whom he so magnified, would give him to recover of his wound, and victory of his enemies who had thus assaulted him, he would then become Christian, in pledge whereof he gave his young daughter Eanfled, to be bred up in religion; who, with twelve others of his family, on the day of Pentecost was baptized. And by that time well recovered of his wound, to punish the author of so foul a fact, he went with an army against the West-Saxons: whom having quelled by war, and of such as had conspired against him, put some to death, others pardoned, he returned home victorious, and from that time worshipped no more his idols, yet ventured not rashly into baptism, but first took care to be instructed rightly what he learnt, examining and still considering with himself and others whom he held wisest; though Boniface the pope, by large letters of exhortation both to him and his queen, was not wanting to quicken his belief. But while he still deferred, and his deferring might seem now to have passed the maturity of wisdom to a faulty lingering, Paulinus by revelation, as was believed, coming to the knowledge of a secret which befel him strangely in the time of his troubles, on a certain day went in boldly to him, and laying his right hand on the head of the king, asked him if he remembered what that sign meant; the king trembling, and in amaze rizing up, straight fell at his feet. “Behold,” saith Paulinus, raising him from the ground, “God hath delivered you from your enemies, and given you the kingdom as you desired: perform now what long since you promised him, to receive his doctrine, which I now bring you, and the faith, which if you accept, shall to your temporal felicity add eternal.”

The promise claimed of him by Paulinus, how and wherefore made, though savouring much of legend is thus related. Redwald, as we have heard before, dazzled with the gold of Ethelfrid, or by his threatening overawed, having promised to yield up Edwin, one of his faithful companions, of which he had some few with him in the court of Redwald, that never shrunk from his adversity, about the first hour of the night comes in haste to his chamber, and calling him forth for better secrecy, reveals to him his danger, offers him his aid to make escape; but that course not approved, as seeming dishonourable without more manifest cause to begin distrust towards one who had so long been his only refuge, the friend departs. Edwin left alone without the palace gate, full of sadness and perplexed thoughts, discerns about the dead of night a man neither by countenance nor by habit to him known, approaching towards him. Who after salutation asked him, “why at this hour, when all others were at rest, he alone so sadly sat waking on a cold stone.” Edwin not a little misdoubting who he might be, asked him again, “what his sitting within doors, or without, concerned him to know.” To whom he again, “Think not that who thou art, or why sitting here, or what danger hangs over thee is to me unknown: but what would you promise to that man, whoever would befriend you out of all these troubles, and persuade Redwald to the like?” “All that I am able,” answered Edwin. And he, “What if the same man should promise to make you greater than any English king hath been before you?” “I should not doubt,” quoth Edwin, “to be answerably grateful.” “And what if to all this he would inform you,” said the other, “in a way to happiness, beyond what any of your ancestors have known? would you hearken to his counsel?” Edwin without stopping promised “he would.” And the other laying his right hand on Edwin’s head, “When this sign,” saith he, “shall next befal thee, remember this time of night, and this discourse, to perform what thou hast promised;” and with these words disappearing, he left Edwin much revived, but not less filled with wonder, who this unknown should be. When suddenly the friend who had been gone all this while to listen further what was like to be decreed of Edwin, comes back and joyfully bids him rise to his repose, for that the king’s mind, though for a while drawn aside, was now fully resolved not only not to betray him, but to defend him against all enemies, as he had promised. This was said to be the cause why Edwin admonished by the bishop of a sign which had befallen him so strangely, and as he thought so secretly, arose to him with that reverence and amazement, as to one sent from heaven, to claim that promise of him which he perceived well was due to a divine power, that had assisted him in his troubles. To Paulinus therefore he makes answer, that the Christian belief he himself ought by promise, and intended to receive; but would confer first with his chief peers and counsellors, that if they likewise could be won, all at once might be baptized. They therefore being asked in council what their opinion was concerning this new doctrine, and well perceiving which way the king inclined, every one thereafter shaped his reply. The chief priest, speaking first, discovered an old grudge he had against his gods, for advancing others in the king’s favour above him their chief priest: another hiding his court-compliance with a grave sentence, commended the choice of certain before uncertain, upon due examination; to like purpose answered all the rest of his sages, none openly dissenting from what was likely to be the king’s creed: whereas the preaching of Paulinus could work no such effect upon them, toiling till that time without success. Whereupon Edwin, renouncing heathenism, became Christian: and the pagan priest, offering himself freely to demolish the altars of his former gods, made some amends for his teaching to adore them. With Edwin, [*] his two sons Osfrid and Eanfrid, born to him by Quenburga, daughter, as saith Beda, of Kearle king of Mercia, in the time of his banishment, and with them most of the people, both noble and commons, easily converted, were baptized; he with his whole family at York, in a church easily built up of wood, the multitude in most part in rivers.

Northumberland thus christened, Paulinus, crossing Humber, converted also the province of Lindsey, and Blecca the governor of Lincoln, with his household and most of that city; wherein he built a church of stone, curiously wrought, but of small continuance; for the roof in Beda’s time, uncertain whether by neglect or enemies, was down; the walls only standing. Meanwhile in Mercia, Kearle, a kinsman of Wibba, saith Huntingdon, not a son, having long withheld the kingdom from Penda, Wibba’s son, left it now at length in the fiftieth year of his age: with whom Kinegils and Cuichelm, the West-Saxon kings, two years after, [†] having by that time it seems recovered strength, since the inroad made upon them by Edwin, fought at Cirencester, then made true. But Edwin seeking every way to propagate the faith, which with so much deliberation he had received, persuaded Eorpwald, the son of Redwald, king of East-Angles, to embrace the same belief; [*] willingly or in awe, is not known, retaining under Edwin the name only of a king.

But Eorpwald not long survived his conversion, slain in fight by Riebert a pagan: [†] whereby the people having lightly followed the religion of their king, as lightly fell back to their old superstitions for above three years after: Edwin in the mean while, to his faith adding virtue, by the due administration of justice wrought such peace over all his territories, that from sea to sea man or woman might have travelled in safety. His care also was of fountains by the way side, to make them fittest for the use of travellers. And not unmindful of regal state, whether in war or in peace, he had a royal banner carried before him. But having reigned with much honour seventeen years, he was at length by Kedwallay or Cadwallon, king of the Britons, who with aid of the Mercian Penda had rebelled against him, slain in a battle with his son Osfrid, at a place called Hethfield, and his whole army overthrown or dispersed in the year six hundred and thirty-three, [‡] and the forty-seventh of his age, in the eye of man worthy a more peaceful end. His head brought to York was there buried in the church by him begun. Sad was this overthrow, both to church and state of the Northumbrians: for Penda being a heathen, and the British king, though in name a Christian, but in deeds more bloody than the pagan, nothing was omitted of barbarous cruelty in the slaughter of sex or age; Kedwalla threatening to root out the whole nation, though then newly Christian.—For the Britons, and, as Beda saith, even to his days, accounted Saxon Christianity no better than paganism, and with them held as little communion. From these calamities no refuge being left but flight, Paulinus taking with him Ethilburga the queen and her children, aided by Bassus, one of Edwin’s captains, made escape by sea to Eadbald king of Kent: who receiving his sister with all kindness, made Paulinus bishop of Rochester, where he ended his days. After Edwin, the kingdom of Northumberland became divided as before, each rightful heir seizing his part; in Deira Osric, the son of Elfric, Edwin’s uncle, by profession a Christian, and baptized by Paulinus: in Bernicia, Eanfrid the son of Ethelfrid; who all the time of Edwin, with his brother Oswald, and many of the young nobility, lived in Scotland exiled, and had been there taught and baptized. No sooner had they gotten each a kingdom, but both turned recreant, sliding back into their old religion; and both were the same year slain; Osric by a sudden eruption of Kedwalla, whom he in a strong town had unadvisedly besieged; Eanfrid seeking peace, and inconsiderately with a few surrendering himself. Kedwalla now ranged at will through both those provinces, using cruelly his conquest; [§] when Oswald the brother of Eanfrid with a small but Christian army unexpectedly coming on, defeated and destroyed both him and his huge forces, which he boasted to be invincible, by a little river running into Tine near the ancient Roman wall then called Denisburn, the place afterwards Heaven-field, from the cross reported miracles for cures, which Oswald there erected before the battle, in token of his faith against the great number of his enemies. Obtaining the kingdom he took care to instruct again the people in Christianity. Sending therefore to the Scottish elders, Beda so terms them, among whom he had received baptism, requested of them some faithful teacher, who might again settle religion in his realm, which the late troubles had much impaired; they, as readily hearkening to his request, send Aidan, a Scotch monk and bishop, but of singular zeal and meekness, with others to assist him, whom at their own desire he seated in Lindisfarne, as the episcopal seat, now Holy Island: and being the son of Ethelfrid, by the sister of Edwin, as right heir, others failing, easily reduced both kingdoms of Northumberland as before into one; nor of Edwin’s dominion lost any part, but enlarged it rather; over all the four British nations, Angles, Britons, Picts, and Scots, exercising regal authority. Of his devotion, humility, and almsdeeds, much is spoken; that he disdained not to be the interpreter of Aidan, preaching in Scotch or bad English, to his nobles and household servants; and had the poor continually served at his gate, after the promiscuous manner of those times: his meaning might be upright, but the manner more ancient of private or of church-contribution is doubtless more evangelical. About this time the West-Saxons, [*] anciently called Gevissi, by the preaching of Berinus, a bishop, whom pope Honorius had sent, were converted to the faith with Kinegils their king: him Oswald received out of the font, and his daughter in marriage. The next year [†] Cuichelm was baptized in Dorchester, but lived not to the year’s end. The East-Angles also this year were reclaimed to the faith of Christ, which for some years past they had thrown off. But Sigebert the brother of Eorpwald now succeeded in that kingdom, praised for a most Christian and learned man: who while his brother yet reigned, living in France an exile, for some displeasure conceived against him by Redwald his father, learned there the Christian faith; and reigning soon after, in the same instructed his people, by the preaching of Felix a Burgundian bishop.

In the year six hundred and forty [‡] Eadbold deceasing, left to Ercombert, his son by Emma the French king’s daughter, the kingdom of Kent; recorded the first of English kings, who commanded through his limits the destroying of idols; laudably if all idols without exception; and the first to have established Lent among us, under strict penalty; not worth remembering, but only to inform us, that no Lent was observed here till his time by compulsion: especially being noted by some to have fraudulently usurped upon his elder brother Ermenred, [§] whose right was precedent to the crown. Oswald having reigned eight years, ∥ worthy also as might seem of longer life, fell into the same fate with Edwin, and from the same hand, in a great battle overcome and slain by Penda, at a place called Maserfield, now Oswestre in Shropshire [¶] miraculous, as saith Beda, after his death. His brother Oswi succeeded him; [**] reigning, though in much trouble, twenty-eight years; opposed either by Penda, or his own son Alfred, or his brother’s son Ethilwald. Next year [††] Kinegils the West-Saxon king dying left his son Kenwalk in his stead, though as yet unconverted. About this time Sigebert king of East-Angles having learnt in France, ere his coming to reign, the manner of their schools, with the assistance of some teachers out of Kent instituted a school here after the same discipline, thought to be the university of Cambridge, then first founded; and at length weary of his kingly office, betook him to a monastical life; commending the care of government to his kinsman Egric, who had sustained with him part of that burden before.

It happened some years after, that Penda made war on the East-Angles; they expecting a sharp encounter, besought Sigebert, whom they esteemed an expert leader, with his presence to confirm the soldiery; and him refusing, carried by force out of the monastery in the camp; where acting the monk rather than the captain, with a single wand in his hand, he was slain with Egric, and his whole army put to flight. Anna of the royal stock, as next in right, succeeded; and hath the praise of a virtuous and most Christian prince. But Kenwalk the West-Saxon [*] having married the sister of Penda, and divorced her, was by him with more appearance of a just cause vanquished in fight, and deprived of his crown: whence retiring to Anna king of East-Angles, after three years abode in his court [†] he there became Christian, and afterwards regained his kingdom. Oswi in the former years of his reign had sharer with him Oswin, nephew of Edwin, who ruled in Deira seven years, commended much for his zeal in religion, and for comeliness of person, with other princely qualities, beloved of all. Notwithstanding which, dissensions growing between them, it came to arms. Oswin seeing himself much exceeded in numbers thought it more prudence, dismissing his army, to reserve himself for some better occasion. But committing his person with one faithful attendant to the loyalty of Hunwald an earl, his imagined friend, he was by him treacherously discovered, and by command of Oswi slain. After whom within twelve days, [‡] and for grief of him whose death he foretold, died bishop Aidan, famous for his charity, meekness and labour in the gospel. The fact of Oswi was detestable to all; which therefore to expiate, a monastery was built in the place where it was done, and prayers there daily offered up for the souls of both kings, the slain and the slayer. Kenwalk, by this time re-installed in his kingdom, kept it long, but with various fortune; for Beda relates him ofttimes afflicted by his enemies, [§] with great losses: and in six hundred and fifty-two, by the annals, fought a battle (civil war Ethelwerd calls it) at Bradanford by the river Afene; against whom, and for what cause, or who had the victory, they write not. Camden names the place Bradford in Wiltshire, by the river Avon, and Cuthred his near kinsman, against whom he fought, but cites no authority; certain it is, then Kenwalk four years before had given large possessions to his nephew Cuthred, the more unlikely therefore now to have rebelled.

The next year ∥ Peada, whom his father Penda, though a heathen, had for his princely virtues made prince of Middle-Angles, belonging to the Mercians, was with that people converted to the faith. For coming to Oswi with request to have in marriage Alfleda his daughter, he was denied her, but on condition that he with all his people should receive Christianity. Hearing therefore not unwillingly what was preached to him of resurrection and eternal life, much persuaded also by Alfrid the king’s son, who had his sister Kyniburg to wife, he easily assented, for the truth’s sake only as he professed, whether he obtained the virgin or no, and was baptized with all his followers. Returning, he took with him four presbyters to teach the people of his province; who by their daily preaching won many. Neither did Pinda, though himself no believer, prohibit any in his kingdom to hear or believe the gospel, but rather hated and despised those, who, professing to believe, attested not their faith by good works; condemning them for miserable and justly to be despised, who obey not that God, in whom they choose to believe. How well might Penda, this heathen, rise up in judgment against many pretended Christians, both of his own and these days! yet being a man bred up to war, (as no less were others than reigning, and ofttimes one against another, though both Christians,) he warred on Anna king of the East-Angles, [¶] perhaps without cause, for Anna was esteemed a just man, and at length slew him. About this time the East Saxons, who, as above hath been said, had expelled their bishop Mellitus, and renounced the faith, were by the means of Oswi thus reconverted. Sigebert, surnamed the small, being the son of Seward, without other memory of his reign, left his son king of that province, after him Sigebert the second; who coming often to visit Oswi his great friend, was by him at several times fervently dissuaded from idolatry, and convinced at length to forsake it, was there baptized; on his return home taking with him Kedda a laborious preacher, afterwards made bishop; by whose teaching, with some help of others, the people were again recovered from misbelief. But Sigebert some years after, though standing fast in religion, was by the conspiracy of two brethren, in place near about him, wickedly murdered; who being asked, “What moved them to a deed so heinous,” gave no other than this barbarous answer; “That they were angry with him for being so gentle to his enemies, as to forgive them their injuries whenever they besought him.” Yet his death seems to have happened not without some cause by him given of divine displeasure. For one of those earls who slew him, living in unlawful wedlock, and therefore excommunicated so severely by the bishop, that no man might presume to enter into his house, much less to sit at meat with him, the king not regarding his church-censure, went to feast with him at his invitation. Whom the bishop meeting in his return, though penitent for what he had done, and fallen at his feet, touched with the rod in his hand, and angrily thus foretold: “Because thou hast neglected to abstain from the house of that excommunicate, in that house thou shalt die;” and so it fell out, perhaps from that prediction, God bearing witness to his minister in the power of church-discipline, spiritually executed, not juridically on the contemner thereof.

This year [*] 655 proved fortunate to Oswi, and fatal to Penda; for Oswi by the continual inroads of Penda having long endured much devastation, to the endangering once by assault and fire Bebbanburg, [†] his strongest city, now Bamborrow-castle, unable to resist him, with many rich presents offered to buy his peace, which not accepted by the pagan, [‡] who intended nothing but destruction to that king, though more than once in affinity with him, turning gifts into vows, he implores divine assistance, devoting, if he were delivered from his enemy, a child of one year old, his daughter, to be a nun, and twelve portions of land whereon to build monasteries. His vows, as may be thought, found better success than his proffered gifts; for hereupon with his son Alfrid, gathering a small power, he encountered and discomfited the Mercians, thirty times exceeding his in number, and led on by expert captains, [§] at a place called Laydes, now Leeds in Yorkshire. Besides this Ethelwald, the son of Oswald, who ruled in Deira, took part with the Mercians; but in the fight withdrew his forces, and in a safe place expected the event: with which unseasonable retreat the Mercians, perhaps terrified and misdoubting more danger, fled; their commanders, with Penda himself, most being slain, among whom Edilhere the brother of Anna, who ruled after him the East-Angles, and was the author of this war; many more flying were drowned in the river, which Beda calls Winwed, then swoln above its banks. ∥ The death of Penda, who had been the death of so many good kings, made general rejoicing, as the song witnessed. At the river Winwed, Anna was avenged. To Edelhere succeeded Ethelwald his brother, in the East-Angles; to Sigebert in the East-Saxons, Suidhelm the son of Sexbald, saith Bede, [*] the brother of Sigebert, saith Malmsbury; he was baptized by Kedda, then residing in the East-Angles, and by Ethelwald the king received out of the font. But Oswi in the strength of his late victory, within [†] three years after subdued all Mercia, and of the Pictish nation greatest part, at which time he gave to Peada his son-in-law the kingdom of South-Mercia, divided from the Northern by Trent. But Peada the spring following, as was said, by the treason of his wife the daughter of Oswi, married by him for a special Christian, on the feast of Easter [‡] not protected by the holy time, was slain. The Mercian nobles, Immin, Eaba, and Eadbert, throwing off the government of Oswi, set up Wulfer the other son of Penda to be their king, whom till then they had kept hid, and with him adhered to the Christian faith. Kenwalk the West-Saxon, now settled at home, and desirous to enlarge his dominion, prepares against the Britons, joins battle with them at Pen in Somersetshire, and overcoming, pursues them to Predridan. Another fight he had with them before, at a place called Witgeornesburg, barely mentioned by the monk of Malmsbury. Nor was it long ere he fell at variance with Wulfer the son of Penda, his old enemy, scarce yet warm in his throne, fought with him at Possentesburgh, on the Easter holydays, [§] and as Ethelwerd saith, took him prisoner; but the Saxon annals, quite otherwise, that Wulfer winning the field, wasted the West-Saxon country as far as Eskesdun: nor staying there, took and wasted the isle of Wight, but causing the inhabitants to be baptized, till then unbelievers, gave the island to Ethelwald king of South-Saxons, whom he had received out of the font. The year ∥ six hundred and sixty-four a synod of Scottish and English bishops, in the presence of Oswi and Alfred his son, was held at a monastery in those parts, to debate on what day Easter should be kept; a controversy which long before had disturbed the Greek and Latin churches: wherein the Scots not agreeing with the way of Rome; nor yielding to the disputants on that side, to whom the king most inclined, such as were bishops here, resigned, and returned home with their disciples. Another clerical question was there also much controverted, not so superstitious in my opinion as ridiculous, about the right shaving of crowns. The same year was seen an eclipse of the sun in May, followed by a sore pestilence beginning in the South, [¶] but spreading to the North, and over all Ireland with great mortality. In which time the East-Saxons, after Swithelm’s decease, being governed by Siger the son of Sigebert the small, and Sebbi of Seward, though both subject to the Mercians; Siger and his people unsteady of faith, supposing that this plague was come upon them for renouncing their old religion, fell off the second time to infidelity. Which the Mercian king Wulfer understanding, sent Jarumannus a faithful bishop, who with other his fellow-labourers, by sound doctrine and gentle dealing, soon recured them of their second relapse. In Kent, Ercombert expiring, was succeeded by his son Ecbert. In whose fourth year, [**] by means of Theodore, a learned Greekish monk of Tarsus, whom pope Vitalian had ordained archbishop of Canterbury, the Greek and Latin tongue, with other liberal arts, arithmetic, music, astronomy, and the like, began first to flourish among the Saxons; as did also the whole land, under potent and religious kings, more than ever before, as Bede affirms, till his own days. Two years [††] after in Northumberland died Oswi, much addicted to Romish rites, and resolved, had his disease released him, to have ended his days at Rome. Ecfrid, the eldest of his sons begot in wedlock, succeeded him. After other [*] three years, Ecbert in Kent deceasing, left nothing memorable behind him, but the general suspicion to have slain or connived at the slaughter of his uncle’s two sons, Elbert and Egelbright. In recompense whereof he gave to the [†] mother of them part of Tanet, wherein to build an abbey; the kingdom fell to his brother Lothair. And much about this time by best account it should be, however placed in Beda, [‡] that Ecfrid of Northumberland, having war with the Mercian Wulfer, won from him Lindsey, and the country thereabout. Sebbi having reigned over the East-Saxons thirty years, not long before his death, though long before desiring, took on him the habit of a monk; and drew his wife at length, though unwilling, to the same devotion. Kenwalk also dying left the government to Sexburga his wife, who outlived him in it but one year, driven out, saith Mat. Westm. by the nobles disdaining female government. After whom several petty kings, [§] as Beda calls them, for ten years space divided the West-Saxons; others name two, Escwin, the nephew of Kinegils, and Kentwin the son, not petty by their deeds: ∥ for Escwin fought a battle with Wulfer [¶] at Bedanhafde, and about a year after both deceased; but Wulfer not without a stain left behind him of selling the bishopric of London to Wini; the first simonist we read of in this story: Kenwalk had before expelled him from his chair at Winchester. Ethelred, the brother of Wulfer, obtaining next the kingdom of Mercia, not only recovered Lindsey, and what besides in those parts Wulfer had lost to Ecfrid some years before, but found himself strong enough to extend his arms another way, as far as Kent, wasting that country without respect to church or monastery, [**] much also endamaging the city of Rochester, notwithstanding what resistance Lothair could make against him. In August six hundred and seventy-eight [††] was seen a morning comet for three months following, in manner of a fiery pillar. And the South-Saxons about this time were converted to the Christian faith, upon this occasion. Wilfred bishop of the Northumbrians entering into contention with Ecfrid the king, was by him deprived of his bishoprick, and long wandering up and down as far as Rome, [‡‡] returned at length into England; but not daring to approach the north, whence he was banished, bethought him where he might to best purpose elsewhere exercise his ministry. The south of all other Saxons remained yet heathen; but Ediwalk their king not long before had been baptized in Mercia, persuaded by Wulfer, and by him, as hath been said, received out of the font. For which relation’s sake he had the Isle of Wight, [§§] and a province of the Meannari adjoining given him on the continent about Meanesborow in Hantshire, which Wulfer had a little before gotten from Kenwalk. Thither Wilfrid takes his journey, and with the help of other spiritual labourers about him, in short time planted there the gospel. It had not rained, as is said, of three years before in that country, whence many of the people daily perished by famine; till on the first day of their public baptism, soft and plentiful showers descending restored all abundance to the summer following. Two years after this, ∥∥ Kentwin the other West-Saxon king above named, chaced the Welsh Britons, as is chronicled without circumstance, to the very sea-shore. But in the year, by Beda’s reckoning, six hundred and eighty-three, [*] Kedvalla a West-Saxon of the royal line, (whom the Welsh will have to be Cadwallader, last king of the Britons,) thrown out by faction, returned from banishment, and invaded both Kentwin, if then living, or whoever else had divided the succession of Kenwalk, slaying in fight Edelwalk the South-Saxon, who opposed him in their aid; [†] but soon after was repulsed by two of his captains, Bertune and Andune, who for a while held the province in their power. [‡] But Kedwalla gathering new force, with the slaughter of Bertune, and also of Edric the successor of Edelwalk, won the kingdom, but reduced the people to heavy thraldom. [§] Then addressing to conquer the Isle of Wight, till that time pagan, saith Beda, (others otherwise, as above hath been related,) made a vow, though himself yet unbaptized, to devote the south part of that island, and the spoils thereof, to holy uses. Conquest obtained, paying his vow as then was the belief, he gave his fourth to bishop Wilfrid, by chance there present; and he to Bertwin a priest, his sister’s son, with commission to baptize all the vanquished, who meant to save their lives. But the two young sons of Arwald, king of that island, met with much more hostility: for they, at the enemy’s approach flying out of the isle, and betrayed where they were hid not far from thence, were led to Kedwaller, who lay then under cure of some wounds received, and by his appointment, after instruction and baptism first given them, harshly put to death, which the youths are said above their age to have Christianly suffered. In Kent Lothair died this year of his wounds received in the fight against the South-Saxons, led on by Edric, who descending from Ermenred, it seems challenged the crown, and wore it, though not commendably, one year and a half: but coming to a violent death, ∥ left the land exposed a prey either to homebred usurpers, or neighbouring invaders. Among whom Kedwalla, taking advantage from their civil distempers, and marching easily through the South-Saxons, whom he had subdued, sorely harassed the county, untouched of a long time by any hostile incursion. But the Kentish men, all parties uniting against a common enemy, with joint power so opposed him, that he was constrained to retire back; his brother Mollo in the flight, with twelve men in his company, seeking shelter in a house was beset, and therein burnt by the pursuers: [¶] Kedwalla much troubled at so great a loss, recalling and soon rallying his disordered forces, returned fiercely upon the chasing enemy; [**] nor could he be got out of the province, till both by fire and sword he had avenged the death of his brother. [††] At length Victred, the son of Ecbert, attaining the kingdom, both settled at home all things in peace, and secured his borders from all outward hostility. [‡‡] While thus Kedwalla disquieted both West and East, after his winning the crown, Ecfrid the Northumbrian, and Ethelred the Mercian, fought a sore battle by the river Trent; wherein Elfwin brother to Ecfrid, a youth of eighteen years, much beloved, was slain; and the accident likely to occasion much more shedding of blood, peace was happily made up by the grave exhortation of Archbishop Theodore, a pecuniary fine only paid to Ecfrid, as some satisfaction for the loss of his brother’s life. Another adversity befell Ecfrid in his family, by means of Ethildrith his wife, king Anna’s daughter, who having taken him for her husband, and professing to love him above all other men, persisted twelve years in the obstinate refusal of his bed, thereby thinking to live the purer life. So perversely then was chastity instructed against the apostle’s rule. At length obtaining of him with much importunity her departure, she veiled herself a nun, then made abbess of Ely, died seven years after of the pestilence; and might with better warrant have kept faithfully her undertaken wedlock, though now canonized St. Audrey of Ely.

In the mean while Ecfrid had sent Bertus with a power to subdure Ireland, a harmless nation, saith Beda, and ever friendly to the English; in both which they seem to have left a posterity much unlike them at this day; miserably wasted, without regard had to places hallowed or profane; they betook themselves partly to their weapons, partly to implore divine aid; and, as was thought, obtained it in their full avengement upon Ecfrid. For he the next year, against the mind and persuasion of his sagest friends, and especially of Cudbert a famous bishop of that age, marching unadvisedly against the Picts, who long before had been subject to Northumberland, was by them feigning flight, drawn unawares into narrow straits, overtopped with hills, and cut off with most of his army. From which time, saith Beda, military valour began among the Saxons to decay, not only the Picts till then peaceable, but some part of the Britons also recovered by arms their liberty for many years after. Yet Alfrid elder, but base brother to Ecfrid, a man said to be learned in the Scriptures, recalled from Ireland, to which place in his brother’s reign he had retired, and now succeeding, upheld with much honour, though in narrower bounds, the residue of his kingdom. Kedwalla having now with great disturbance of his neighbours reigned over the West-Saxons two years, besides what time he spent in gaining it, wearied perhaps with his own turbulence, went to Rome, desirous there to receive baptism, which till then his worldly affairs had deferred; and accordingly, on Easter-day, six hundred and eighty-nine, [*] he was baptized by Sergius the pope, and his name changed to Peter. All which notwithstanding, surprised with a disease, he outlived not the ceremony so far sought much above the space of five weeks, in the thirtieth year of his age, and in the church of St. Peter was there buried, with a large epitaph upon his tomb. Him succeeded Ina of the royal family, and from the time of his coming in for many years oppressed the land with like grievances, as Kedwalla had done before him, insomuch that in those times there was no bishop among them. His first expedition was into Kent, to demand satisfaction for the burning of Mollo: Victred, loth to hazard all, for the rash act of a few, delivered up thirty of those that could be found accessory, or as others say, pacified Ina with a great sum of money. [†] Meanwhile, at the incitement of Ecbert, a devout monk, Wilbrod, a priest eminent for learning, passed over sea, having twelve others in company, with intent to preach the gospel in Germany. [‡] And coming to Pepin chief regent of the Franks, who a little before had conquered the hither Frisia, by his countenance and protection, promise also of many benefits to them who should believe, they found the work of conversion much the easier, and Wilbrod the first bishopric in that nation. But two priests, each of them Hewald by name, and for distinction surnamed from the colour of their hair, the Black and the White, by his example piously affected to the souls of their countrymen the Old Saxons, at their coming thither to convert them, met with much worse entertainment. For in the house of a farmer, who had promised to convey them, as they desired, to the governor of that country, discovered by their daily ceremonies to be Christian priests, and the cause of their coming suspected, they were by him and his heathen neighbours cruelly butchered; yet not unavenged, for the governor enraged at such violence offered to his strangers, sending armed men slew all those inhabitants, and burnt their village.

After three years [*] in Mercia, Ostrid the queen, wife to Ethelred, was killed by her own nobles, as Beda’s epitome records; Florence calls them Southimbrians, negligently omitting the cause of so strange a fact. And the year following, [†] Bethred a Northumbrian general, was slain by the Picts. Ethelred, seven years [‡] after the violent death of his queen, put on the monk, and resigned his kingdom to Kenrid the son of Wulfer his brother. The next year [§] Alfrid in Northumberland died, leaving Osred a child of eight years to succeed him. Four years after which, ∥ Kenred, having a while with praise governed the Mercian kingdom, went to Rome in the time of pope Constantine, and shorn a monk, spent there the residue of his days. Kelred succeeded him, the son of Ethelred, who had reigned the next before. With Kenred went Offa the son of Siger, king of the East-Saxons, and betook him to the same habit, leaving his wife and native country; a comely person in the prime of his youth, much desired of the people; and such his virtue by report, as might have otherwise been worthy to have reigned. Ina the West-Saxon [¶] one year after fought a battle, at first doubtful, at last successful, against Gerent king of Wales. The next year [**] Bertfrid, another Northumbrian captain, fought with the Picts, and slaughtered them, saith Huntingdon, to the full avengement of Ecfrid’s death. The fourth year after, [††] Ina had another doubtful and cruel battle at Woodnesburgh in Wiltshire, with Kenred the Mercian, who died the year following a lamentable death: [‡‡] for as he sat one day feasting with his nobles, suddenly possessed with an evil spirit, he expired in despair, as Boniface archbishop of Mentz, an Englishman, who taxes him for a defiler of nuns, writes by way of caution to Ethelbald his next of kin, who succeeded him. Osred also a young Northumbrian king, slain by his kindred in the eleventh of his reign for his vicious life and incest committed with nuns, was by Kenred succeeded and avenged; he reigning two years left Osric in his room. In whose seventh year, [§§] if Beda calculate right, Victred king of Kent deceased, having reigned thirty-four years, and some part of them with Suebbard, as Beda testifies. ∥∥ He left behind him three sons, Ethelbert, Eadbert, and Alric his heirs. Three years after which, [¶¶] appeared two comets about the sun, terrible to behold; the one before him in the morning, the other after him in the evening, for the space of two weeks in January, bending their blaze toward the north; at which time the Saracens furiously invaded France, but were expelled soon after with great overthrow. The same year in Northumberland, Osric, dying or slain, adopted Kelwulf the brother of Kenred his successor, to whom Beda dedicates his story; [***] but writes this only of him, that the beginning and the process of his reign met with many adverse commotions, whereof the event was then doubtfully expected.

Meanwhile Ina, seven years before having slain Kenwulf, to whom Florent gives the addition of Clito, given usually to none but of the blood royal, and the fourth year after overthrown and slain Albright another Clito, driven from Taunton to the South-Saxons for aid, vanquished also the East-Angles in more than one battle, as Malmsbury writes, but not the year; whether to expiate so much blood, or infected with the contagious humour of those times, Malmsbury saith, at the persuasion of Ethelburga his wife, went to Rome, and there ended his days; yet this praise left behind him, to have made good laws, the first of Saxon that remain extant to this day, and to his kinsmen Edelard bequeathed the crown, no less than the whole monarchy of England and Wales. For Ina, if we believe a digression in the laws of Edward confessor, was the first king crowned of English and British, since the Saxons’ entrance; of the British by means of his second wife, some way related to Cadwallader last king of Wales, which I had not noted, being unlikely, but for the place where I found it.

After Ina, [*] by a surer author, Ethelbald king of Mercia commanded all the provinces on this side Humber, with their kings: the Picts were in league with the English, the Scots peaceable within their bounds, and of the Britons part were in their own government, part subject to the English. In which peaceful state of the land, many in Northumberland, both nobles and commons, laying aside the exercise of arms, betook them to the cloister: and not content so to do at home, many in the days of Ina, clerks and laics, men and women, hasting to Rome in herds, thought themselves no where sure of eternal life till they were cloistered there. Thus representing the state of things in this island, Beda surceased to write. Out of whom chiefly has been gathered, since the Saxons’ arrival, such as hath been delivered, a scattered story picked out here and there, with some trouble and tedious work, from among his many legends of visions and miracles; toward the latter end so bare of civil matters, as what can be thence collected may seem a calendar rather than a history, taken up for the most part with succession of kings, and computation of years, yet those hard to be reconciled with the Saxon annals. Their actions we read of were most commonly wars, but for what cause waged, or by what councils carried on, no care was had to let us know; whereby their strength and violence we understand, of their wisdom, reason, or justice, little or nothing, the rest superstition and monastical affectation; kings one after another leaving their kingly charge, to run their heads fondly into a monk’s cowl; which leaves us uncertain whether Beda was wanting to his matter, or his matter to him. Yet from hence to the Danish invasion it will be worse with us, destitute of Beda. Left only to obscure and and blockish chronicles; whom Malmsbury, and Huntingdon, (for neither they nor we had better authors of those times,) ambitious to adorn the history, make no scruple ofttimes, I doubt, to interline with conjectures and surmises of their own; them rather than imitate, I shall choose to represent the truth naked, though as lean as a plain journal. Yet William of Malmsbury must be acknowledged, both for style and judgment, to be by far the best writer of them all: but what labour is to be endured turning over volumes of rubbish in the rest, Florence of Worcester, Huntingdon, Simeon of Durham, Hoveden, Matthew of Westminster, and many others of obscurer note, with all their monachisms, is a penance to think. Yet these are our only registers, transcribers one after another for the most part, and sometimes worthy enough for the things they register. This travail, rather than not know at once what may be known of our ancient story, sifted from fables and impertinences, I voluntarily undergo; and to save others, if they please, the like unpleasing labour; except those who take pleasure to be all their lifetime raking the foundations of old abbeys and cathedrals. But to my task now as it befalls. In the year seven hundred and thirty-three, [†] on the eighteenth kalends of September, was an eclipse of the sun about the third hour of day, obscuring almost his whole orb as with a black shield. Ethelbald of Mercia [*] besieged and took the castle or town of Somerton: and two years after, [†] Beda our historian died, some say the year before. Kelwulf in Northumberland three years after, [‡] became monk in Lindisfarne, yet none of the severest, for he brought those monks from milk and water to wine and ale; in which doctrine no doubt but they were soon docile, and well might, for Kelwulf brought with him good provision, great treasure and revenues of land, recited by Simeon, yet all under pretence of following (I use the author’s words) poor Christ, by voluntary poverty: no marvel then if such applause were given by monkish writers to kings turning monks, and much cunning perhaps used to allure them. To Eadbert his uncle’s son, he left the kingdom, whose brother Ecbert, archbishop of York, built a library there.

But two years after, [§] while Eadbert was busied in war against the Picts, Ethelbald the Mercian, by foul fraud, assaulted part of Northumberland in his absence, as the supplement to Beda’s epitome records. In the West-Saxons, Edelard, who succeeded Ina, having been much molested in the beginning of his reign, with the rebellion of Oswald his kinsman, who contended with him for the right of succession, overcoming at last those troubles, died in peace seven hundred and forty-one, ∥ leaving Cuthred one of the same lineage to succeed him; who at first had much war with Ethelbald the Mercian, and various success, but joining with him in league two years after, [¶] made war on the Welsh; Huntingdon doubts not to give them a great victory. And Simeon [**] reports another battle fought between Britons and Picts the year ensuing. Nor was the kingdom of East-Saxons drawing to a period, for Sigeard and Senfred the sons of Sebbi having reigned a while, and after them young Offa, who soon quitted his kingdom to go to Rome with Kenred, as hath been said, the government was conferred on Selred son of Sigebert the Good, who having ruled thirty-eight years, [††] came to a violent death; how or wherefore, is not set down. After whom Swithred was the last king, driven out by Ecbert the West-Saxon: but London, with countries adjacent, obeyed the Mercians till they also were dissolved. Cuthred had now reigned about nine years, [‡‡] when Kinric his son, a valiant young prince, was in a military tumult slain by his own soldiers.

The same year Eadbert dying in Kent, his brother Edilbert reigned in his stead. But after two years, [§§] the other Eadbert in Northumberland, whose war with the Picts hath been above mentioned, made now such progress there, as to subdue Kyle, so saith the auctarie of Bede, and other countries thereabout to his dominion; while Cuthred the West-Saxon had a fight with Ethelhun, one of his nobles, a stout warrior, envied by him in some matter of the commonwealth, ∥∥ as far as by the Latin of Ethelwerd can be understood, (others interpret it sedition,) and with much ado overcoming, took Ethelhun for his valour into favour, by whom faithfully served in the twelfth or thirteenth of his reign, he encountered in a set battle with Ethelbald the Mercian at Beorford, now Burford in Oxfordshire, [¶¶] one year after against the Welsh, which was the last but one of his life. Huntingdon, as his manner is to comment upon the annal text, makes a terrible description of that fight between Cuthred and Ethelbald, and the prowess of Ethelhun, at Beorford, but so affectedly, and therefore suspiciously, that I hold it not worth rehearsal; and both in that and the latter conflict gives victory to Guthred; after whom Sigebert, [*] uncertain by what right, his kinsman, saith Florent, stepped into the throne, whom, hated for his cruelty and other evil doings, Kinwulf, joining with most of the nobility, dispossessed of all but Hamshire; that province he lost also within a year, [†] together with the love of all those who till then remained his adherents, by slaying Cumbran, one of his chief captains, who for a long time had faithfully served, and now dissuaded him from incensing the people by such tyrannical practices. Thence flying for safety into Andrew’s wood, [‡] forsaken of all, he was at length slain by the swineherd of Cumbran in revenge of his master, and Kinwulf, who had undoubted right to the crown, joyfully saluted king. The next year Eadbert the Northumbrian, [§] joining forces with Unust king of the Picts, as Simeon writes, besieged and took by surrender the city of Alcluith, now Dunbritton in Lennox, from the Britons of Cumberland; and ten days after, ∥ the whole army perished about Niwanbirig, but to tell us how, he forgets. In Mercia, Ethelbald was slain at a place called Secandune, now Seckington in Warwickshire, the year following, [¶] in a bloody fight against Cuthred, as Huntingdon surmises, but Cuthred was dead two or three years before; others write him murdered in the night by his own guard, and the treason, as some say, of Beornred, who succeeded him; but ere many months was defeated and slain by Offa. Yet Ethelbald seems not without cause, after a long and prosperous reign, to have fallen by a violent death; not shaming, on the vain confidence of his many alms, to commit uncleanness with consecrated nuns, besides laic adulteries, as the archbishop of Mentz in a letter taxes him and his predecessor, and that by his example most of his peers did the like; which adulterous doings he foretold him were likely to produce a slothful offspring, good for nothing but to be the ruin of that kingdom, as it fell out not long after. [**] The next year Osmund, according to Florence, ruling the South-Saxons, and Swithred the East, Eadbert in Northumberland, following the steps of his predecessor, got him into a monk’s hood; the more to be wondered, that having reigned worthily twenty-one years, [††] with the love and high estimation of all, both at home and abroad, still able to govern, and much entreated by the kings his neighbours, not to lay down his charge; with offer on that condition to yield up to him part of their own dominion, he could not be moved from his resolution, but relinquished his regal office to Oswulf his son; who at the year’s [‡‡] end, though without just cause, was slain by his own servants. And the year after died Ethelbert, son of Victred, the second of that name in Kent.

After Oswulf, Ethelwald, otherwise called Mollo, was set up king; who in his third year [§§] had a great battle at Eldune, by Melros, slew Oswin a great lord, rebelling, and gained the victory. But the third year after ∥∥ fell by the treachery of Alcred, who assumed his place. The fourth year after which, [¶¶] Cataracta an ancient and fair city in Yorkshire, was burnt by Arned a certain tyrant; who the same year came to like end. And after five years more, [***] Alcred the king, deposed and forsaken by all his people, fled with a few, first to Bebba, a strong city of those parts, thence to Kinot, king of the Picts. Ethelred, the son of Mollo, was crowned in his stead. Meanwhile Offa the Mercian, growing powerful, had subdued a neighbouring people by Simeon, called Hastings; and fought successfully this year with Alric king of Kent, at a place called Occanford: the annals also speak of wondrous serpents then seen in Sussex. Nor had Kinwulf the West-Saxon given small proof of his valour in several battles against the Welsh heretofore; but this year seven hundred and seventy-five, [*] meeting with Offa, at a place called Besington, was put to the worse, and Offa won the town for which they contended. In Northumberland, [†] Ethelred having caused three of his nobles, Aldulf, Kinwulf, and Ecca, treacherously to be slain by two other peers, was himself the next year driven into banishment, Elfwald the son of Oswulf succeeding in his place, yet not without civil broils; for in his second year [‡] Osbald and Athelheard, two noblemen, raising forces against him, routed Bearne his general, and pursuing burnt him at a place called Seletune.

I am sensible how wearisome it may likely be, to read of so many bare and reasonless actions, so many names of kings, one after another, acting little more than mute persons in a scene: what would it be to have inserted the long bead-roll of archbishops, bishops, abbots, abbesses, and their doings, neither to religion profitable, nor to morality, swelling my authors each to a voluminous body, by me studiously omitted; and left as their propriety who have a mind to write the ecclesiastical matters of those ages? Neither do I care to wrinkle the smoothness of history with rugged names of places unknown, better harped at in Camden and other chorographers. Six years [§] therefore passed over in silence, as wholly of such argument, bring us to relate next the unfortunate end of Kinwulf the West-Saxon; who having laudably reigned about thirty-one years, yet suspecting that Kineard, brother of Sigebert the former king, intended to usurp the crown after his decease, or revenge his brother’s expulsion, had commanded him into banishment: ∥ but he lurking here and there on the borders with a small company, having had intelligence that Kinwulf was in the country thereabout, at Merantun, or Merton in Surrey, at the house of a woman whom he loved, went by night and beset the place. Kinwulf, over confident either of his royal presence, or personal valour, issuing forth with a few about him, runs fiercely at Kineard, and wounds him sore; but by his followers hemmed in, is killed among them. The report of so great an accident soon running to a place not far off, where many more attendants awaited the king’s return, Osric and Wifert, two earls, hasted with a great number to the house, where Kineard and his fellows yet remained. He seeing himself surrounded, with fair words and promises of great gifts attempted to appearse them; but those rejected with disdain, fights it out to the last, and is slain with all but one or two of his retinue, which were nigh a hundred. Kinwulf was succeeded by Birthric, being both descended of Kerdic the founder of that kingdom. [¶]

Not better was the end of Elfwald in Northumberland, two years after slain miserably by the conspiracy of Siggan, one of his nobles, others say of the whole people at Scilcester by the Roman wall; yet undeservedly, as his sepulchre at Hagustald, now Hexam upon Tine, and some miracles there said to be done, [**] are alleged to witness, and Siggan five years after laid violent hands on himself. [††] Osred son of Alcred advanced into the room of Elfwald, and within one year driven out, left his seat vacant to Ethelred son of Mollo, who after ten years of banishment [‡‡] (imprisonment, saith Alcuin) had the sceptre put again into his hand. The third year of Birthric king of West-Saxons, gave beginning from abroad to a new and fatal revolution of calamity on this land. For three Danish ships, the first that had been seen here of that nation, arriving in the west; to visit these, as was supposed foreign merchants, the king’s gatherer of customs taking horse from Dorchester, found them spies and enemies. For being commanded to come and give account of their lading at the king’s custom house, they slew him, and all that came with him; as an earnest of the many slaughters, rapines, and hostilities, which they returned not long after to commit over all the island. [*] Of this Danish first arrival, and on a sudden worse than hostile aggression, the Danish history far otherwise relates, as if their landing had been at the mouth of Humber, and their spoilful march far into the country; though soon repelled by the inhabitants, they hasted back as fast to their ships: but from what cause, what reason of state, what authority or public council the invasion proceeded, makes not mention, and our wonder yet the more, by telling us that Sigefrid then king in Denmark, and long after, was a man studious more of peace and quiet than of warlike matters. [†] These therefore seem rather to have been some wanderers at sea, who with public commission, or without, through love of spoil, or hatred of Christianity, seeking booties on any land of Christians, came by chance, or weather, on this shore. The next year [‡] Osred in Northumberland, who driven out by his nobles had given place to Ethelred, was taken, and forcibly shaven a monk at York. And the year after, [§] Oelf, and Oelfwin, sons of Elfwald, formerly king, were drawn by fair promises from the principal church of York, and after by command of Ethelred cruelly put to death at Wonwaldremere, ∥ a village by the great pool in Lancashire, now called Winandermere. Nor was the third year [¶] less bloody; for Osred, who, not liking a shaven crown, had desired banishment and obtained it, returning from the Isle of Man with small forces, at the secret but deceitful call of certain nobles, who by oath had promised to assist him, were also taken, and by Ethelred dealt with in the same manner: who, the better to avouch his cruelties, thereupon married Elfled the daughter of Offa; for in Offa was found as little faith or mercy. He the same year, having drawn to his palace Ethelbrite king of East-Angles, with fair invitations to marry his daughter, caused him to be there inhospitably beheaded, and his kingdom wrongfully seized, by the wicked counsel of his wife, saith Mat. Westm. annexing thereto a long unlikely tale. For which violence and bloodshed to make atonement, with friars at least, he bestows the relics of St. Alban in a shrine of pearl and gold. Far worse it fared the next year with the relics in Lindisfarne; where the Danes landing pillaged that monastery; and of friars killed some, carried away others captive, sparing neither priest nor lay: which many strange thunders and fiery dragons, with other impressions in the air seen frequently before, were judged to foresignify.

This year [**] Alric third son of Victred ended in Kent his long reign of thirty-four years; with him ended the race of Hengist: thenceforth whomsoever wealth or faction advanced took on him the name and state of a king. The Saxon annals of seven hundred and eighty-four name Ealmund then reigning in Kent; but that consists not with the time of Alric, and I find him no where else mentioned. The year following [††] was remarkable for the death of Offa the Mercian, a strenuous and subtlie king; he had much intercourse with Charles the Great, at first enmity, to the interdicting of commerce on either side, at length much amity and firm league, as appears by the letter of Charles himself yet extant, procured by Alcuin a learned and prudent man, though a monk, whom the kings of England in those days had sent orator into France, to maintain good correspondence between them and Charles the Great. He granted, saith Huntingdon, a perpetual tribute to the pope out of every house in his kingdom, [*] for yielding perhaps to translate the primacy of Canterbury to Litchfield in his own dominion. He drew a trench of wondrous length between Mercia and the British confines from sea to sea. Ecferth the son of Offa, a prince of great hope, who also had been crowned nine years before his father’s decease, restoring to the church what his father had seized on, yet within four months by a sickness ended his reign; and to Kenulf, next in the right of the same progeny, bequeathed his kingdom. Meanwhile the Danish pirates, who still wasted Northumberland, venturing on shore to spoil another monastery at the mouth of the river Don, were assailed by the English, their chief captain slain on the place; then returning to sea, were most of them shipwrecked; others driven again on shore, were put all to the sword. Simeon attributes this their punishment to the power of St. Cudbert, offended with them for rifling his convent. Two years after this [†] died Ethelred, twice king, but not exempted at last from the fate of many of his predecessors, miserably slain by his people, some say deservedly, as not inconscious with them who trained Osred to his ruin. Osbald a nobleman exalted to the throne, and, in less than a month, deserted and expelled, was forced to fly from Lindisfarne by sea to the Pictish king, and died an abbot. Eadhulf, whom Ethelred six years before had commanded to be put to death at Rippon, before the abbey-gate, dead as was supposed, and with solemn dirge carried into the church, after midnight found there alive, I read not how, then banished, now recalled, was in York created king. In Kent Ethelbert or Pren, whom the annals call Eadbright, (so different they often are one from another, both in timing and in naming,) by some means having usurped regal power, after two years reign contending with Kenulf the Mercian, was by him taken prisoner, and soon after out of pious commiseration let go: but not received of his own, what became of him Malmsbury leaves in doubt. Simeon writes, that Kenulf commanded to put out his eyes, and lop off his hands; but whether the sentence were executed or not, is left as much in doubt by his want of expression. The second year after this, they in Northumberland, who had conspired against Ethelred, [‡] now also raising war against Eardulf, under Wada their chief captain, after much havoc on either side at Langho, by Whaley in Lancashire, the conspirators at last fleeing, Eardulf returned with victory. The same year London, with a great multitude of her inhabitants, by a sudden fire was consumed.

The year eight hundred [§] made way for a great alteration in England, uniting her seven kingdoms into one, by Ecbert the famous West-Saxon; him Birthrick dying childless left next to reign, the only survivor of that lineage, descended from Inegild the brother of king Ina. ∥ And according to his birth liberally bred, he began early from his youth to give signal hopes of more than ordinary worth growing up in him; which Birthric fearing, and withal his juster title to the crown, secretly sought his life, and Ecbert perceiving, fled to Offa, the Mercian: but he having married Eadburgh his daughter to Birthric, easily gave ear to his embassadors coming to require Ecbert: [*] he, again put to his shifts, escaped thence into France; but after three years’ banishment there, which perhaps contributed much to his education, Charles the Great then reigning, he was called over by the public voice, (for Birthric was newly dead,) and with general applause created king of West-Saxons. The same day Ethelmund at Kinnersford passing over with the Worcestershire men, was met by Woelstan another nobleman with those of Wiltshire, between whom happened a great fray, wherein the Wiltshire men overcame, but both dukes were slain, no reason of their quarrel written; such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows, flocking and fighting in the air? The year following, [†] Eardulf the Northumbrian leading forth an army against Kenwulf the Mercian for harbouring certain of his enemies, by the diligent mediation of other princes and prelates, arms were laid aside, and amity soon sworn between them. But Eadburga, [‡] the wife of Birthric, a woman every way wicked, in malice especially cruel, could not or cared not to appease the general hatred justly conceived against her; accustomed in her husband’s day, to accuse any whom she spighted; [§] and not prevailing to his ruin, her practice was by poison secretly to contrive his death. It fortuned that the king her husband, lighting on a cup which she had tempered, not for him, but for one of his great favourites, whom she could not harm by accusing, sipped thereof only, and in a while after, still pining away, ended his days; the favourite, drinking deeper, found speedier the operation. She, fearing to be questioned for these facts, with what treasure she had, passed over sea to Charles the Great, whom, with rich gifts coming to his presence, the emperor courtly received with this pleasant proposal: “Choose, Eadburga, which of us two thou wilt, me or my son,” (for his son stood by him,) “to be thy husband.” She, no dissembler of what she liked best, made easy answer: “Were it in my choice, I should choose of the two your son rather, as the younger man.” To whom the emperor, between jest and earnest, “Hadst thou chosen me, I had bestowed on thee my son; but since thou hast chosen him, thou shalt have neither him nor me.” Nevertheless he assigned her a rich monastery to dwell in as an abbess; for that life it may seem she chose next to profess: but being awhile after detected of unchastity with one of her followers, she was commanded to depart thence: from that time wandering poorly up and down with one servant, in Pavia a city of Italy, she finished at last in beggary her shameful life.

In the year eight hundred and five ∥ Cuthred, whom Kenulf the Mercian had, instead of Pren, made king in Kent, having obscurely reigned eight years, deceased. In Northumberland, Eardulf the year following was driven out of his realm by Alfwold, [¶] who reigned two years in his room; after whom Eandred son of Eardulf thirty-three years; but I see not how this can stand with the sequel of story out of better authors: much less which Buchanan relates, the year following, [**] of Achaius king of Scots, who having reigned thirty-two years, and dying in eight hundred and nine, [††] had formerly aided (but in what year of his reign tells not) Hungus king of Picts with ten thousand Scots, against Athelstan a Saxon or Englishman, then wasting the Pictish borders; that Hungus by the aid of those Scots, and the help of St. Andrew their patron, in a vision by night, and the appearance of his cross by day, routed the astonished English, and slew Athelstan in fight. Who this Athelstan was, I believe no man knows; Buchanan supposes him to have been some Danish commander, on whom king Alured or Alfred had bestowed Northumberland; but of this I find no footstep in our ancient writers; and if any such thing were done in the time of Alfred, it must be little less than a hundred years after: this Athelstan therefore, and this great overthrow, seems rather to have been the fancy of some legend than any warrantable record. Meanwhile Ecbert [*] having with much prudence, justice, and clemency, a work of more than one year, established his kingdom and himself in the affections of his people, turns his first enterprise against the Britons, both them of Cornwall and those beyond Severn, subduing both. In Mercia, Kenulf, the sixth year after, [†] having reigned with great praise of his religious mind and virtues both in peace and war, deceased. His son Kenelm, a child of seven years, was committed to the care of his elder sister Quendrid: who, with a female ambition aspiring to the crown, hired one who had the charge of his nurture to murder him, led into a woody place upon pretence of hunting. The murder, [‡] as is reported, was miraculously revealed; but to tell how, by a dove dropping a written note on the altar at Rome, is a long story, told, though out of order, by Malmsbury, and under the year eight hundred and twenty-one by Mat. West., where I leave it to be sought by such as are more credulous than I wish my readers. Only the note was to this purpose:

- Low in a mead of kine under a thorn,

- Of head bereft, lieth poor Kenelm kingborn.

Keolwulf, the brother of Kenulf, after one year’s reign, was driven out by one Bernulf an usurper; [§] who in his third year, ∥ uncertain whether invading or invaded, was by Ecbert, though with great loss on both sides, overthrown and put to flight at Ellandune or Wilton: yet Malmsbury accounts this battle fought in eight hundred and six; a wide difference, but frequently found in their computations. Bernulf thence retiring to the East-Angles, as part of his dominion by the late seizure of Offa, was by them met in the field and slain: but they, doubting what the Mercians might do in revenge hereof, forthwith yielded themselves both king and people to the sovereignty of Ecbert. As for the kings of East-Angles, our annals mention them not since Ethelwald; him succeeded his brother’s sons, [¶] as we find in Malmsbury, Aldulf (a good king, well acquainted with Bede) and Elwold who left the kingdom to Beorn, he to Ethelred the father of Ethelbrite, whom Offa perfidiously put to death.

Simeon and Hoveden, in the year seven hundred and forty-nine, write that Elfwald king of East-Angles dying, Humbeanna and Albert shared the kingdom between them; but where to insert this among the former successions is not easy, nor much material: after Ethelbrite, none is named of that kingdom till their submitting now to Ecbert: he from this victory against Bernulf sent part of his army under Ethelwulf his son, with Alstan bishop of Shirburn, and Wulfred a chief commander, into Kent. Who, finding Baldred there reigning in his eighteenth year, overcame and drove him over the Thames; whereupon all Kent, Surrey, Sussex, and lastly Essex, with her king Swithred, became subject to the dominion of Ecbert. Neither were these all his exploits of this year; the first in order set down in Saxon annals being his fight against the Devonshire Welsh, at a place called Gafulford, now Camelford in Cornwall.

Ludiken the Mercian, [*] after two years preparing to avenge Bernulf his kinsman on the East-Angles, was by them with his five consuls, as the annals call them, surprised and put to the sword: and Withlaf his successor first vanquished, then upon submission, with all Mercia, made tributary to Ecbert. Meanwhile the Northumbrian kingdom of itself was fallen to shivers; their kings one after another so often slain by the people, no man daring, though never so ambitious, to take up the sceptre, which many had found so hot, (the only effectual cure of ambition that I have read,) for the space of thirty-three years after the death of Ethelred son of Mollo, as Malmsbury writes, there was no king: many noblemen and prelates were fled the country. Which misrule among them the Danes having understood, ofttimes from their ships entering far into the land, infested those parts with wide depopulation, wasting towns, churches, and monasteries, for they were yet heathen: the Lent before whose coming, on the north side of St. Peter’s church in York was seen from the roof to rain blood. The causes of these calamities, and the ruin of that kingdom, Alcuin, a learned monk living in those days, attributes in several epistles, and well may, to the general ignorance and decay of learning, which crept in among them after the death of Beda, and of Ecbert the archbishop; their neglect of breeding up youth in the Scriptures, the spruce and gay apparel of their priests and nuns, discovering their vain and wanton minds. Examples are also read, even in Beda’s days, of their wanton deeds; thence altars defiled with perjuries, cloisters violated with adulteries, the land polluted with the blood of their princes, civil dissensions among the people; and finally, all the same vices which Gildas alleged of old to have ruined the Britons. In this estate Ecbert, who had now conquered all the south, finding them in the year eight hundred and twenty-seven, [†] (for he was marched thither with an army to complete his conquest of the whole island,) no wonder if they submitted themselves to the yoke without resistance, Eandred their king becoming tributary. Thence turning his forces the year [‡] following he subdued more thoroughly what remained of North-Wales.

THE FIFTH BOOK.

THE sum of things in this island, or the best part thereof, reduced now under the power of one man, and him one of the worthiest, which, as far as can be found in good authors, was by none attained at any time here before, unless in fables; men might with some reason have expected from such union peace and plenty, greatness, and the flourishing of all estates and degrees: but far the contrary fell out soon after; invasion, spoil, desolation, slaughter of many, slavery of the rest, by the forcible landing of a fierce nation; Danes commonly called, and sometimes Dacians by others, the same with Normans; as barbarous as the Saxons themselves were at first reputed, and much more: for the Saxons first invited came hither to dwell; these unsent for, unprovoked, came only to destroy. [*] But if the Saxons, as is above related, came most of them from Jutland and Anglen, a part of Denmark, as Danish writers affirm, and that Danes and Normans are the same; then in this invasion, Danes drove out Danes, their own posterity. And Normans afterwards none but ancienter Normans. [†] Which invasion perhaps, had the heptarchy stood, divided as it was, had either not been attempted, or not uneasily resisted; while each prince and people, excited by their nearest concernments, had more industriously defended their own bounds, than depending on the neglect of a deputed governor, sent ofttimes from the remote residence of a secure monarch. Though as it fell out in those troubles, the lesser kingdoms revolting from the West-Saxon yoke, and not aiding each other, too much concerned for their own safety, it came to no better pass; while severally they sought to repel the danger nigh at hand, rather than jointly to prevent it far off. But when God hath decreed servitude on a sinful nation, fitted by their own vices for no condition but servile, all estates of government are alike unable to avoid it. God hath purposed to punish our instrumental punishers, though now Christians, by other heathen, according to his divine retaliation; invasion for invasion, spoil for spoil, destruction for destruction. The Saxons were now full as wicked as the Britons were at their arrival, broken with luxury and sloth, either secular or superstitious; for laying aside the exercise of arms, and the study of all virtuous knowledge, some betook them to overworldly or vicious practice, others to religious idleness and solitude, which brought forth nothing but vain and delusive visions; easily perceived such by their commanding of things, either not belonging to the gospel, or utterly forbidden, ceremonies, relics, monasteries, masses, idols; add to these ostentation of alms, got ofttimes by rapine and oppression, or intermixed with violent and lustful deeds, sometimes prodigally bestowed as the expiation of cruelty and bloodshed. What longer suffering could there be, when religion itself grew so void of sincerity, and the greatest shows of purity were impured?

ECBERT.

ECBERT in full height of glory, having now enjoyed his conquest seven peaceful years, his victorious army long since disbanded, and the exercise of arms perhaps laid aside; the more was found unprovided against a sudden storm of Danes from the sea, who landing in the thirty-second [‡] of his reign, wasted Shepey in Kent. Ecbert the next year, [§] gathering an army, for he had heard of their arrival in thirty-five ships, gave them battle by the river Carr in Dorsetshire; the event whereof was, that the Danes kept their ground, and encamped where the field was fought; two Saxon leaders, Dudda and Osmund, and two bishops, as some say, were there slain. This was the only check of fortune we read of, that Ecbert in all his time received. For the Danes returning two years after ∥ with a great navy, and joining forces with the Cornish, who had entered league with them, were overthrown and put to flight. Of these invasions against Ecbert the Danish history is not silent; whether out of their own records or ours may be justly doubted: for of these times at home I find them in much uncertainty, and beholden rather to outlandish chronicles, than any records of their own. The victor Ecbert, as one who had done enough, seasonably now, after prosperous success, the next year [*] with glory ended his days, and was buried at Winchester.

ETHELWOLF.

ETHELWOLF the son of Ecbert succeeded, by Malmsbury described a man of mild nature, not inclined to war, or delighted with much dominion; that therefore contented with the ancient West-Saxon bounds, he gave to Ethelstan his brother, or son, as some write, the kingdom of Kent and Essex. But the Saxon annalist, [†] whose authority is elder, saith plainly, that both these countries and Sussex were bequeathed to Ethelstan by Ecbert his father. The unwarlike disposition of Ethelwolf gave encouragement no doubt, and easier entrance to the Danes, who came again the next year with thirty-three ships; [‡] but Wulfherd, one of the king’s chief captains, drove them back at Southampton with great slaughter; himself dying the same year, of age, as I suppose, for he seems to have been one of Ecbert’s old commanders, who was sent with Ethelwolf to subdue Kent. Ethelhelm, another of the king’s captains, with the Dorsetshire men, had at first like success against the Danes at Portsmouth; but they reinforcing stood their ground, and put the English to rout. Worse was the success of earl Herebert at a place called Mereswar, slain with the most part of his army.

The year following [§] in Lindsey also, East-Angles, and Kent, much mischief was done by their landing; where the next year, ∥ emboldened by success, they came on as far as Canterbury, Rochester, and London itself, with no less cruel hostility: and giving no respite to the peaceable mind of Ethelwolf, they yet returned with the next year [¶] in thirty-five ships, fought with him, as before with his father at the river Carr, and made good their ground. In Northumberland, Eandred the tributary king deceasing, left the same tenure to his son Ethelred, driven out in his fourth year, [**] and succeeded by Readwulf, who soon after his coronation hasting forth to battle against the Danes at Alvetheli, fell with the most part of his army; and Ethelred, like in fortune to the former Ethelred, was re-exalted to his seat. And, to be yet further like him in fate, was slain the fourth year after. Osbert succeeded in his room. But more southerly, the Danes next year [††] after met with some stop in the full course of their outrageous insolencies. For Earnulf with the men of Somerset, Alstan the bishop, and Osric with those of Dorsetshire, setting upon them at the river’s mouth of Pedridan, slaughtered them in great numbers, and obtained a just victory. This repulse quelled them, for aught we hear, the space of six years; [‡‡] then also renewing their invasion with little better success. For Keorle an earl, aided with the forces of Devonshire, assaulted and overthrew them at Wigganbeorch with great destruction: as prosperously were they fought the same year at Sandwich, by king Ethelstan, and Ealker his general, their great army defeated, and nine of their ships taken, the rest driven off; however to ride out the winter on that shore, Asser saith, they then first wintered in Shepey isle. Hard it is, through the bad expression of these writers, to define this fight, whether by sea or land; Hoveden terms it a seafight. Nevertheles with fifty ships (Asser and others add three hundred) they entered the mouth of the Thames, [§§] and made excursions as far as Canterbury and London, and as Ethelwerd writes, destroyed both; of London, Asser signifies only that they pillaged it. Bertulf also, the Mercian, successor of Withlaf, with all his army they forced to fly, and him beyond the sea. Then passing over Thames with their powers into Surrey, and the West-Saxons, and meeting there with king Ethelwolf and Ethelbald his son, at a place called Ak-Lea, or Oke-Lea, they received a total defeat with memorable slaughter. This was counted a lucky year [*] to England, and brought to Ethelwolf great reputation. Burhed therefore, who after Bertulf held of him the Mercian kingdom, two years after this, imploring his aid against the North-Welsh, as then troublesome to his confines, obtained it of him in person, and thereby reduced them to obedience. This done, Ethelwolf sent his son Alfred, a child of five years, well accompanied to Rome, whom Leo the pope both consecrated to be king afterwards, and adopted to be his son; at home Ealker with the forces of Kent, and Huda with those of Surrey, fell on the Danes at their landing in Tanet, and at first put them back; but the slain and drowned were at length so many on either side, as left the loss equal on both: which yet hindered not the solemnity of a marriage at the feast of Easter, between Burhed the Mercian, and Ethelswida king Ethelwolf’s daughter. Howbeit the Danes next year [†] wintered again in Shepey. Whom Ethelwolf, not finding human health sufficient to resist, growing daily upon him, in hope of Divine aid, registered in a book, and dedicated to God the tenth part of his own lands, and of his whole kingdom, eased of all impositions, but converted to the maintenance of masses and psalms weekly to be sung for the prospering of Ethelwolf and his captains, as it appears at large by the patent itself, in William of Malmsbury. Asser saith, he did it for the redemption of his soul, and the souls of his ancestors. After which, as having done some great matter to show himself at Rome, and be applauded of the pope; he takes a long and cumbersome journey thither with young Alfred again, [‡] and there stays a year, when his place required him rather here in the field against pagan enemies left wintering in his land. Yet so much manhood he had, as to return thence no monk; and in his way home took to wife Judith daughter to Charles the Bald, king of France. [§]

But ere his return, Ethelbald his eldest son, Alstan his trusty bishop, and Enulf earl of Somerset conspired against him: their complaints were, that he had taken with him Alfred his youngest son to be there inaugurated king, and brought home with him an outlandish wife; for which they endeavoured to deprive him of his kingdom. The disturbance was expected to bring forth nothing less than war: but the king abhorring civil discord, after many conferences tending to peace, condescended to divide the kingdom with his son: division was made, but the matter so carried, that the eastern and worst part was malignly afforded to the father; the western and best given to the son: at which many of the nobles had great indignation, offering to the king their utmost assistance for the recovery of all; whom he peacefully dissuading, sat down contented with his portion assigned. In the East-Angles, Edmund lineal from the ancient stock of those kings, a youth of fourteen years only, but of great hopes, was with consent of all but his own crowned at Bury. About this time, as Buchanan relates, ∥ the Picts, who not long before had by the Scots been driven out of their country, part of them coming to Osbert and Ella, then kings of Northumberland, obtained aid against Donaldus the Scottish king, to recover their ancient possession. Osbert, who in person undertook the expedition, marching into Scotland, was at first put to a retreat; but returning soon after on the Scots, oversecure of their supposed victory, put them to flight with great slaughter, took prisoner their king, and pursued his victory beyond Stirling bridge. The Scots unable to resist longer, and by embassadors entreating peace, had it granted them on these conditions: the Scots were to quit all they had possessed within the wall of Severus: the limits of Scotland were beneath Stirling bridge to be the river Forth, and on the other side, Dunbritton Frith; from that time so called of the British then seated in Cumberland, who had joined with Osbert in this action, and so far extended on that side the British limits. If this be true, as the Scots writers themselves witness, (and who would think them fabulous to the disparagement of their own country?) how much wanting have been our historians to their country’s honour, in letting pass unmentioned an exploit so memorable, by them remembered and attested, who are want oftener to extenuate than to amplify aught done in Scotland by the English; Donaldus, on these conditions released, soon after dies, according to Buchanan, in 858. Ethelwolf, chief king in England, had the year before ended his life, and was buried as his father at Winchester. [*] He was from his youth much addicted to devotion; so that in his father’s time he was ordained bishop of Winchester; and unwillingly, for want of other legitimate issue, succeeded him in the throne; managing therefore his greatest affairs by the activity of two bishops, Alstan of Sherburne, and Swithine of Winchester. But Alstan is noted of covetousness and oppression, by William of Malmsbury; [†] the more vehemently no doubt for doing some notable damage to that monastery. The same author writes, [‡] that Ethelwolf at Rome paid a tribute to the pope, continued to his days. However he were facile to his son, and seditious nobles, in yielding up part of his kingdom, yet his queen he treated not the less honourably, for whomsoever it displeased. The West-Saxons had decreed [§] ever since the time of Eadburga, the infamous wife of Birthric, that no queen should sit in state with the king, or be dignified with the title of queen. But Ethelwolf permitted not that Judith his queen should lose any point of regal state by that law. At his death he divided the kingdom between his two sons, Ethelbald and Ethelbert; to the younger Kent, Essex, Surrey, Sussex, to the elder all the rest; to Peter and Paul certain revenues yearly, for what uses let others relate, who write also his pedigree, from son to father, up to Adam.

ETHELBALD AND ETHELBERT.

ETHELBALD, unnatural and disloyal to his father, ∥ fell justly into another, though contrary sin, of too much love for his father’s wife; and whom at first he opposed coming into the land, her now unlawfully marrying, he takes into his bed; but not long enjoying died at three years end, [¶] without doing aught more worthy to be remembered; having reigned two years with his father, impiously usurping, and three after him, as unworthily inheriting. And his hap was all that while to be unmolested with the Danes; not of divine favour doubtless, but to his greater condemnation, living the more securely his incestuous life. Huntingdon on the other side much praises Ethalbald, and writes him buried at Sherburn, with great sorrow of the people, who missed him long after. Mat. Westm. saith, that he repented of his incest with Judith, and dismissed her: but Asser, an eyewitness of those times, mentions no such thing.

ETHELBERT ALONE.

ETHELWALD by death removed, the whole kingdom came rightly to Ethelbert his next brother. Who, though a prince of great virtue and no blame, had as short a reign allotted him as his faulty brother, nor that so peaceful; once or twice invaded by the Danes. But they having landed in the west with a great army, and sacked Winchester, were met by Osric earl of Southampton, and Ethelwolf of Berkshire, beaten to their ships, and forced to leave their booty. Five years after, [*] about the time of his death, they set foot again in Tanet; the Kentishmen, wearied out with so frequent alarms, came to agreement with them for a certain sum of money; but ere the peace could be ratified, and the money gathered, the Danes, impatient of delay, by a sudden eruption in the night soon wasted all the East of Kent. Meanwhile, or something before, Ethelbert deceasing was buried as his brother at Sherburn.

ETHELRED.

ETHELRED, the third son of Ethelwolf, at his first coming to the crown was entertained with a fresh invasion of the Danes, [†] led by Hinguar and Hubba, two brothers, who now had got footing among the East-Angles; there they wintered, and coming to terms of peace with the inhabitants, furnished themselves of horses, forming by that means many troops with riders of their own: these pagans, Asser saith, came from the river Danubius. Fitted thus for a long expedition, they ventured the next year [‡] to make their way over land and over Humber as far as York: them they found to their hands embroiled in civil dissensions; their king Osbert they had thrown out, and Ella leader of another faction chosen in his room; who both, though late, admonished by their common danger, towards the year’s end with united powers made head against the Danes and prevailed; but pursuing them overeagerly into York, then but slenderly walled, [§] the Northumbrians were every where slaughtered, both within and without; their kings also both slain, their city burnt, saith Malmsbury, the rest as they could made their peace, overrun and vanquished as far as the river Tine, and Egbert of English race appointed king over them. Brompton, no ancient author, (for he wrote since Mat. West.) nor of much credit, writes a particular cause of the Danes coming to York; that Bruern a nobleman, whose wife king Osbert had ravished, called in Hinguar and Hubba to revenge him. The example is remarkable, if the truth were as evident. Thence victorious, the Danes next year ∥ entered into Mercia towards Nottingham, where they spent the winter. Burhed then king of that country, unable to resist, implores the aid of Ethelred and young Alfred his brother; they assembling their forces and joining with the Mercians about Nottingham, offer battle: [¶] the Danes, not daring to come forth, kept themselves within that town and castle, so that no great fight was hazarded there; at length the Mercians, weary of long suspense, entered into conditions of peace with their enemies. After which the Danes, returning back to York, made their abode there the space of one year, [**] committing, some say, many cruelties. Thence embarking to Lindsey, and all the summer destroying that country, about September [*] they came with like fury into Kesteven, another part of Lincolnshire; where Algar, the earl of Howland, now Holland, with his forces, and two hundred stout soldiers belonging to the abbey of Croiland, three hundred from about Boston, Morcard lord of Brunne, with his numerous family, well trained and armed, Osgot governor of Lincoln with five hundred of that city, all joining together, gave battle to the Danes, slew of them a great multitude, with three of their kings, and pursued the rest to their tents; but the night following, Gothrun, Baseg, Osketil, Halfden, and Hamond, five kings, and as many earls, Frena, Hinguar, Hubba, Sidroc the elder and younger, coming in from several parts with great forces and spoils, great part of the English began to slink home. Nevertheless Algar with such as forsook him not, all next day in order of battle facing the Danes, and sustaining unmoved the brunt of their assaults, could not withhold his men at last from pursuing their counterfeited flight: whereby opened and disordered, they fell into the snare of their enemies, rushing back upon them. Algar and those captains forenamed with him, all resolute men, retreating to a hill side, and slaying of such as followed them, manifold their own number, died at length upon heaps of dead which they had made round about them. The Danes, thence passing on into the country of East-Angles, rifled and burnt the monastery of Ely, overthrew earl Wulketul with his whole army, and lodged out the winter at Thetford; where king Edmond assailing them was with his whole army put to flight, himself taken, bound to a stake, and shot to death with arrows, his whole country subdued. The next year [†] with great supplies, saith Huntingdon, bending their march toward the West-Saxons, the only people now left in whom might seem yet to remain strength or courage likely to oppose them, they came to Reading, fortified there between the two rivers of Thames and Kenet, and about three days after sent out wings of horse under two earls to forage the country; [‡] but Ethelwolf earl of Berkshire, at Englefield a village nigh, encountered them, slew one of their earls, and obtained a great victory. Four days after came the king himself and his brother Alfred with a main battle; and the Danes issuing forth, a bloody fight began, on either side great slaughter, in which earl Ethelwolf lost his life; but the Danes, losing no ground, kept their place of standing to the end. Neither did the English for this make less haste to another conflict at Escesdune or Ashdown, four days after, where both armies with their whole force on either side met. The Danes were embattled in two great bodies, the one led by Bascai and Halfden, their two kings, the other by such earls as were appointed; in like manner the English divided their powers, Ethelred the king stood against their kings; and though on the lower ground, and coming later into the battle from his orisons, gave a fierce onset, wherein Bascai (the Danish history names him Ivarus the son of Regnerus) was slain. Alfred was placed against the earls, and beginning the battle ere his brother came into the field, with such resolution charged them, that in the shock most of them were slain; they are named Sidroc elder and younger, Osbern, Frean, Harald: at length in both divisions the Danes turn their backs; many thousands of them cut off, the rest pursued till night. So much the more it may be wondered to hear next in the annals, that the Danes, fourteen days after such an overthrow fighting again with Ethelred and his brother Alfred at Basing, (under conduct, saith the Danish history, of Agnerus and Hubbo, brothers of the slain Ivarus,) should obtain the victory; especially since the new supply of Danes mentioned by Asser [*] arrived after this action. But after two months, the king and his brother fought with them again at Mertun, in two squadrons as before, in which fight hard it is to understand who had the better; so darkly do the Saxon annals deliver their meaning with more than wonted infancy. Yet these I take (for Asser is here silent) to be the chief fountain of our story, the ground and basis upon which the monks later in time gloss and comment at their pleasure. Nevertheless it appears, that on the Saxon part, not Heamund the bishop only, but many valiant men lost their lives. This fight [†] was followed by a heavy summer plague; whereof, as is thought, king Ethelred died in the fifth year of his reign, and was buried at Winburn, where his epitaph inscribes that he had his death’s wound by the Danes, according to the Danish history 872. Of all these terrible landings and devestations by the Danes, from the days of Ethelwolf till their two last battles with Ethelred, or of their leaders, whether kings, dukes, or earls, the Danish history of best credit saith nothing; so little wit or conscience it seems they had to leave any memory of their brutish rather than manly actions; unless we shall suppose them to have come, as above was cited out of Asser, from Danubius, rather than from Denmark, more probably some barbarous nation of Prussia, or Livonia, not long before seated more northward on the Baltic sea.

ALFRED.

ALFRED, the fourth son of Ethelwolf, had scarce performed his brother’s obsequies, and the solemnity of his own crowning, when at the month’s end in haste with a small power he encountered the whole army of Danes at Wilton, and most part of the day foiled them; but unwarily following the chase, gave others of them the advantage to rally; who returning upon him now weary, remained masters of the field. This year, as is affirmed in the annals, nine battles had been fought against the Danes on the south side of Thames, besides innumerable excursions made by Alfred and other leaders; one king, nine earls were fallen in fight, so that weary on both sides at the year’s end, league or truce was concluded. Yet next year [‡] the Danes took their march to London, now exposed to their prey; there they wintered, and thither came the Mercians to renew peace with them. The year following, they roved back to the parts beyond Humber, but wintered at Torksey in Lincolnshire, where the Mercians now the third time made peace with them. Notwithstanding which, removing their camp to Rependune in Mercia, [§] now Repton upon Trent in Derbyshire, and there wintering, they constrained Burhed the king to fly into foreign parts, making seizure of his kingdom; he running the direct way to Rome, ∥ (with better reason than his ancestors,) died there, and was buried in a church by the English school. His kingdom the Danes farmed out to Kelwulf, one of his household servants or officers, with condition to be resigned them when they commanded. From Rependune they dislodged, [¶] Hafden their king leading part of his army northward, wintered by the river Tine, and subjecting all those quarters, wasted also the Picts and British beyond: but Guthrun, Oskitell, and Anwynd, other three of their kings, moving from Rependune, came with a great army to Grantbrig, and remained there a whole year. But Alfred that summer proposing to try his fortune with a fleet at sea, (for he had found that the want of shipping and neglect of navigation had exposed the land to these piracies, met with seven Danish rovers, took one, the rest escaping; an acceptable success from so small a beginning, for the English at that time were but little experienced in sea-affairs. The next [*] year’s first motion of the Danes was towards Warham castle, where Alfred meeting them, either by policy, or their doubt of his power, Ethelwerd saith, by money brought them to such terms of peace, as that they swore to him upon a hallowed bracelet, others say upon certain [†] relics, (a solemn oath it seems, which they never vouchsafed before to any other nation,) forthwith to depart the land: but falsifying that oath, by night with all the horse they had (Asser saith, [‡] slaying all the horsemen he had) stole to Exeter, and there wintered. In Northumberland, Hafden their king began to settle, to divide the land, to till, and to inhabit. Meanwhile they in the west, who were marched to Exeter, entered the city, coursing now and then to Warham; but their fleet the next year, [§] sailing or rowing about the west, met with such a tempest near to Swanswich or Gnavewic, as wrecked one hundred and twenty of their ships, and left the rest easy to be mastered by those galleys, which Alfred had set there to guard the seas, and straiten Exeter of provision. He the while beleaguering them in the city, ∥ now humbled with the loss of their navy, (two navies, saith Asser, the one at Gnavewic, the other at Swanwine,) distressed them so, as that they give him as many hostages as he required, and as many oaths, to keep their covenanted peace, and kept it. For the summer coming on, they departed into Mercia, whereof part they divided among themselves, part left to Kelwulf their substituted king. The twelfthtide following, [¶] all oaths forgotten, they came to Chippenham in Wiltshire, dispeopling the countries round, dispossessing some, driving others beyond the sea; Alfred himself with a small company was forced to keep within woods and fenny places, and for some time all alone, as Florent saith, sojourned with Dunwulf a swineherd, made afterwards for his devotion and aptness to learning, bishop of Winchester. Hafden and the brother of Hinguar, [**] coming with twenty-three ships from North Wales, where they had made great spoil, landed in Devonshire, nigh to a strong castle named Kinwith; where, by the garrison issuing forth unexpectedly, they were slain with twelve hundred of their men. [††]

Meanwhile the king about Easter, not despairing of his affairs, built a fortress at a place called Athelney in Somersetshire, therein valiantly defending himself and his followers, frequently sallying forth. The seventh week after he rode out to a place called Ecbryt-stone in the east part of Selwood: thither resorted to him with much gratulation the Somerset and Wiltshire men, with many out of Hampshire, some of whom a little before had fled their country; with these marching to Ethandune, now Edindon in Wiltshire, he gave battle to the whole Danish power, and put them to flight. [‡‡] Then besieging their castle, within fourteen days took it. Malmsbury writes, that in this time of his recess, to go a spy into the Danish camp, he took upon him with one servant the habit of a fiddler; by this means gaining access to the king’s table, and sometimes to his bed chamber, got knowledge of their secrets, their careless encamping, and thereby this opportunity of assailing them on a sudden. The Danes, by this misfortune broken, gave him more hostages, and renewed their oaths to depart out of his kingdom. Their king Gytro or Gothrun offered willingly to receive baptism, [§§] and accordingly came with thirty of his friends to a place called Aldra or Aulre, near to Athelney, and were baptized at Wedmore; where Alfred received him out of the font, and named him Athelstan. After which they abode with him twelve days, and were dismissed with rich presents. Whereupon the Danes removed next year [*] to Cirencester, thence peaceably to the East-Angles; which Alfred, as some write, had bestowed on Gothrun to hold of him; the bounds whereof may be read among the laws of Alfred. Others of them went to Fulham on the Thames, and joining there with a great fleet newly come into the river, thence passed over into France and Flanders, both which they entered so far conquering or wasting, as witnessed sufficiently, that the French and Flemish were no more able than the English, by policy or prowess, to keep off that Danish inundation from their land. [†] Alfred thus rid of them, and intending for the future to prevent their landing; three years after (quiet the mean while) with more ships and better provided puts to sea, and at first met with four of theirs, whereof two he took, throwing the men overboard, then with two others, wherein two were of their princes, and took them also, but not without loss of his own. [‡] After three years, another fleet of them appeared on these seas, so huge that one part of them thought themselves sufficient to enter upon East-France, the other came to Rochester, and beleaguered it; they within stoutly defending themselves, till Alfred with great forces, coming down upon the Danes, drove them to their ships, leaving for haste all their horses behind them. [§] The same year Alfred sent a fleet toward the East-Angles, then inhabited by the Danes, which, at the mouth of Stour, meeting with sixteen Danish ships, after some fight took them all, and slew all the soldiers on board; but in their way home lying careless, were overtaken by another part of that fleet, and came off with loss: whereupon perhaps those Danes, who were settled among the East-Angles, erected with new hopes, violated the peace which they had sworn to Alfred, ∥ who spent the next year in repairing London (besieging, saith Huntingdon) much ruined and unpeopled by the Danes; the Londoners, all but those who had been led away captive, [¶] soon returned to their dwellings, and Ethred, duke of Mercia, was by the king appointed their governor. But after thirteen years respite of peace, [**] another Danish fleet of two hundred and fifty sail, from the east part of France, arrived at the mouth of a river in East-Kent, called Limen, nigh to the great wood Andred, famous for length and breath; into that wood they drew up their ships four miles from the river’s mouth, and built a fortress. After whom Haesten, with another Danish fleet of eighty ships, entering the mouth of Thames, built a fort at Middleton, the former army remaining at a place called Apeltre. Alfred, perceiving this, took of those Danes who dwelt in Northumberland a new oath of fidelity, and of those in Essex hostages, lest they should join, as they were wont, with their countrymen newly arrived. [††] And by the next year having got together his forces, between either army of the Danes, encamped so as to be ready for either of them, who first should happen to stir forth; troops of horse also he sent continually abroad, assisted by such as could be spared from strong places, wherever the countries wanted them, to encounter foraging parties of the enemy. The king also divided sometimes his whole army, marching out with one part by turns, the other keeping intrenched. In conclusion rolling up and down, both sides met at Farnham in Surrey; where the Danes by Alfred’s horse troops were put to flight, and crossing the Thames to a certain island near Coln in Essex, or as Camden thinks by Colebrook, were besieged there by Alfred till provision failed the besiegers, another part staid behind with their king wounded.

Meanwhile Alfred preparing to reinforce the siege of Colney, the Danes of Northumberland, breaking faith, came by sea to the East-Angles, and with a hundred ships coasting southward, landed in Devonshire, and besieged Exeter; thither Alfred hastened with his powers, except a squadron of Welsh that came to London; with whom the citizens marching forth to Beamflet, where Haesten the Dane had built a strong fort, and left a garrison, while he himself with the main of his army was entered far into the country, luckily surprise the fort, master the garrison, make prey of all they find there; their ships also they burnt or brought away with good booty, and many prisoners, among whom the wife and two sons of Haeston were sent to the king, who forthwith set them at liberty. Whereupon Haeston gave oath of amity and hostages to the king; he in requital, whether freely or by agreement, a sum of money. Nevertheless, without regard of faith given, while Alfred was busied about Exeter, joining with the other Danish army, he built another castle in Essex at Shoberie, thence marching westward by the Thames, aided with the Northumbrian and East-Anglish Danes, they came at length to Severn, pillaging all in their way. But Ethred, Ethelm, and Ethelnoth, the king’s captains, with united forces, pitched nigh to them at Buttington, on the Severn bank in Montgomeryshire, [*] the river running between, and there many weeks attended; the king meanwhile blocking up the Danes who besieged Exeter, having eaten part of their horses, the rest urged with hunger, broke forth to their fellows, who lay encamped on the east side of the river, and were all there discomfited with some loss of valiant men on the king’s party; the rest fled back to Essex, and their fortress there. Then Laf, one of their leaders, gathered before winter a great army of Northumbrian and East-Anglish Danes, who leaving their money, ships, and wives with the East-Angles, and marching day and night, sat down before a city in the west called Wirheal, near to Chester, and took it ere they could be overtaken. The English after two days’ siege, hopeless to dislodge them, wasted the country round to cut off from them all provision, and departed.

Soon after which, [†] next year, the Danes no longer able to hold Wirheal, destitute of victuals, entered North Wales; thence laden with spoils, part returned into Northumberland, others to the East-Angles as far as Essex, where they seized on a small island called Meresig. And here again the annals record them to besiege Exeter, but without coherence of sense or story. Others relate to this purpose, [‡] that returning by sea from the siege of Exeter, and in their way landing on the coast of Sussex, they of Chichester, sallied out and slew of them many hundreds, taking also some of their ships. The same year, they who possessed Meresig, intending to winter thereabout, drew up their ships, some into the Thames, others into the river Lee, and on the bank thereof built a castle twenty miles from London; to assault which, the Londoners aided with other forces marched out the summer following, but were soon put to flight, losing four of the king’s captains. Huntingdon writes [§] quite the contrary, that these four were Danish captains, and the overthrow theirs: but little credit is to be placed in Huntingdon single. For the king thereupon with his forces lay encamped nearer the city, that the Danes might not infest them in time of harvest; in the mean time, subtilely devising to turn Lee stream several ways, whereby the Danish bottoms were left on dry ground: which they soon perceiving, marched over land to Quatbrig on the Severn, built a fortress, and wintered there; while their ships left in Lee were either broken or brought away by the Londoners; but their wives and children they had left in safety with the East-Angles. The next year was pestilent, [*] and besides the common sort, took away many great earls, Kelmond in Kent, Brithulf in Essex, Wulfred in Hampshire, with many others; and to this evil the Danes in Northumberland and East-Angles ceased not to endamage the West Saxons, especially by stealth, robbing on the south shore in certain long galleys. But the king causing to be built others twice as long as usually were built, and some of sixty or seventy oars higher, swifter and steadier than such as were in use before either with Danes or Frisons, his own invention, some of these he sent out against six Danish pirates, who had done much harm in the Isle of Wight, and parts adjoining. The bickering was doubtful and intricate, part on the water, part on the sands; not without loss of some eminent men on the English side. The pirates at length were either slain or taken, two of them stranded; the men brought to Winchester, where the king then was, were executed by his command; one of them escaped to the East-Angles, her men much wounded: the same year not fewer than twenty of their ships perished on the south coast with all their men. And Rollo the Dane or Norman landing here, as Mat. West. writes, though not in what part of the island, after an unsuccessful fight against those forces which first opposed him, sailed into France and conquered the country, since that time called Normandy. This is the sum of what passed in three years against the Danes, returning out of France, set down so perplexly by the Saxon annalist, ill-gifted with utterance, as with much ado can be understood sometimes what is spoken, whether meant of the Danes, or of the Saxons.

After which troublesome time, Alfred enjoying three years of peace, by him spent, as his manner was, not idly or voluptuously, but in all virtuous employments, both of mind and body, becoming a prince of his renown, ended his days in the year nine hundred, [†] the fifty-first of his age, the thirtieth of his reign, and was buried regally at Winchester: he was born at a place called Wanading in Berkshire, his mother Osburga, the daughter of Oslac the king’s cupbearer, a Goth by nation, and of noble descent. He was of person comelier than all his brethren, of pleasing tongue and graceful behaviour, ready wit and memory; yet through the fondness of his parents towards him, had not been taught to read till the twelfth year of his age; but the great desire of learning, which was in him, soon appeared by his conning of Saxon poems day and night, which with great attention he heard by others repeated. He was besides excellent at hunting, and the new art then of hawking, but more exemplary in devotion, having collected into a book certain prayers and psalms, which he carried ever with him in his bosom to use on all occasions. He thirsted after all liberal knowledge, and oft complained, that in his youth he had no teachers, in his middle age so little vacancy from wars and the cares of his kingdom; yet leisure he found sometimes, not only to learn much himself, but to communicate thereof what he could to his people, by translating books out of Latin into English, Orosius, Boethius, Beda’s history and others; permitted none unlearned to bear office, either in court or commonwealth. At twenty years of age, not yet reigning, he took to wife Egelswitha the daughter of Ethelred a Mercian earl. The extremities which befell him in the sixth of his reign, Neothan abbot told him, were justly come upon him for neglecting in his younger days the complaint of such as injured and oppressed, repaired to him, as then second person in the kingdom, for redress; which neglect, were it such indeed, were yet excusable in a youth, through jollity of mind unwilling perhaps to be detailed long with sad and sorrowful narrations; but from the time of his undertaking regal charge, no man more patient in hearing causes, more inquisitive in examining, more exact in doing justice, and providing good laws, which are yet extant; more severe in punishing unjust judges or obstinate offenders. Thieves especially and robbers, to the terror of whom in cross-ways were hung upon a high post, certain chains of gold, as it were daring any one to take them thence; so that justice seemed in his days not to flourish only, but to triumph: no man than he more frugal of two precious things in man’s life, his time and his revenue; no man wiser in the disposal of both. His time, the day and night, he distributed by the burning of certain tapers into three equal portions; the one was for devotion, the other for public or private affairs, the third for bodily refreshment; how each hour passed, he was put in mind by one who had that office. His whole annual revenue, which his first care was should be justly his own, he divided into two equal parts; the first he employed to secular uses, and subdivided those into three, the first to pay his soldiers, household servants and guard, of which divided into three bands, one attended monthly by turns; the second was to pay his architects and workmen, whom he had got together of several nations; for he was also an elegant builder, above the custom and conceit of Englishmen in those days: the third he had in readiness to relieve or honour strangers according to their worth, who came from all parts to see him, and to live under him. The other equal part of his yearly wealth he dedicated to religious uses, those of four sorts; the first to relieve the poor, the second to the building and maintenance of two monasteries, the third of a school, where he had persuaded the sons of many noblemen to study sacred knowledge and liberal arts, some say at Oxford; [*] the fourth was for the relief of foreign churches, as far as India to the shrine of St. Thomas, sending thither Sigelm bishop of Sherburn, who both returned safe, and brought with him many rich gems and spices; gifts also and a letter he received from the patriarch at Jerusalem; sent many to Rome, and from them received relics. Thus far, and much more might be said of his noble mind, which rendered him the mirror of princes; his body was diseased in his youth with a great soreness in the siege, and that ceasing of itself, with another inward pain of unknown cause, which held him by frequent fits to his dying day: yet not disenabled to sustain those many glorious labours of his life both in peace and war.

EDWARD THE ELDER.

EDWARD the son of Alfred succeeded, [†] in learning not equal, in power and extent of dominion surpassing his father. The beginning of his reign had much disturbance by Ethelwald an ambitious young man, [‡] son of the king’s uncle, or cousin german, or brother, for his genealogy is variously delivered. He vainly avouching to have equal right with Edward of succession to the crown, possessed himself of Winburn in Dorset, [§] and another town diversely named, giving out that there he would live or die; but encompassed with the king’s forces at Badbury a place nigh, his heart failing him, he stole out by night, and fled to the Danish army beyond Humber. The king sent after him, but not overtaking, found his wife in the town, whom he had married out of a nunnery, and commanded her to be sent back thither. About this time, [*] the Kentish men against a multitude of Danish pirates fought prosperously at a place called Holme, as Hoveden records. Ethelwald, aided by the Northumbrians with shipping, three years after, [†] sailing to the East-Angles, persuaded the Danes there to fall into the king’s territory, who marching with him as far as Crecklad, and passing the Thames there, wasted as far beyond as they durst venture, and laden with spoils returned home. The king with his powers making speed after them, between the Dike and Ouse, supposed to be Suffolk and Cambridgeshire, as far as the fens northward, laid waste all before him. Thence intending to return, he commanded that all his army should follow him close without delay; but the Kentish men, though often called upon, lagging behind, the Danish army prevented them, and joined battle with the king. where duke Sigulf and earl Sigelm, with many other of the nobles were slain; on the Danes’ part, Eoric their king, and Ethelwald the author of this war, with others of high note, and of them greater number, but with great ruin on both sides; yet the Danes kept in their power the burying of their slain. Whatever followed upon this conflict, which we read not, the king two years after with the Danes, [‡] both of East-Angles and Northumberland, concluded peace, which continued three years, by whomsoever broken: for at the end thereof [§] king Edward, raising great forces out of West-Sex and Mercia, sent them against the Danes beyond Humber; where staying five weeks, they made great spoil and slaughter. The king offered them terms of peace, but they rejecting all entered with the next year into Mercia, ∥ rendering no less hostility than they had suffered; but at Tetnal in Staffordshire, saith Florent, were by the English in a set battle overthrown. King Edward, then in Kent, had got together of ships about a hundred sail, others gone southward came back and met him. The Danes, now supposing that his main forces were upon the sea, took liberty to rove and plunder up and down, as hope of prey led them, beyond Severn. The king [¶] guessing what might embolden them, sent before him the lightest of his army to entertain them; then following with the rest, set upon them in their return over Cantbrig in Gloucestershire, and slew many thousands, among whom Ecwils, Hafden, and Hinguar their kings, and many other harsh names in Huntingdon; the place also of this fight is variously written, by Ethelwerd and Florent called Wodensfield.

The year following, [**] Ethred the duke of Mercia, to whom Alfred had given London, with his daughter in marriage, now dying, King Edward resumed that city, and Oxford, with the counties adjoining, into his own hands; and the year after [††] built, or much repaired by his soldiers, the town of Hertford on either side Lee; and having a sufficient number at the work, marched about middle summer with the other part of his forces into Essex, and encamped at Maldon, while his soldiers built Witham; where a good part of the country, subject formerly to the Danes, yielded themselves to his protection. Four years after [‡‡] (Florent allows but one year) the Danes from Leicester and Northampton, falling into Oxfordshire, committed much rapine, and in some towns thereof great slaughter; while another party wasting Hertfordshire, met with other fortune; for the country people, inured now to such kind of incursions, joining stoutly together, fell upon the spoilers, and recovered their own goods, with some booty from their enemies. About the same time Elfled the king’s sister sent her army of Mercians into Wales, who routed the Welsh, [*] took the castle of Bricnan-mere by Brecknock, and brought away the king’s wife of that country, with other prisoners. Not long after she took Derby from the Danes, and the castle by a sharp assault. But the year ensuing [†] brought a new fleet of Danes to Lidwic in Devonshire, under two leaders, Otter and Roald; who sailing thence westward about the land’s end, came up to the mouth of Severn; there landing wasted the Welsh coast, and Irchenfield part of Herefordshire; where they took Kuneleac a British bishop, for whose ransom King Edward gave forty pound: but the men of Hereford and Gloucestershire assembling put them to flight; slaying Rayold and the brother of Otter, with many more, pursued them to a wood, and there beset compelled them to give hostages of present departure. The king with his army sat not far off, securing from the south of Severn to Avon; so that openly they durst not, by night they twice ventured to land; but found such welcome that few of them came back; the rest anchored by a small island, where many of them famished; then sailing to a place called Deomed, they crossed into Ireland. The king with his army went to Buckingham, staid there a month, and built two castles or forts on either bank of Ouse ere his departing; and Turkitel a Danish leader, with those of Bedford and Northampton, yielded him subjection. Whereupon the next year, [‡] he came with his army to the town of Bedford, took possession thereof, staid there a month, and gave order to build another part of the town, on the south side of Ouse. Thence the year following [§] went again to Maldon, repaired and fortified the town. Turkitel the Dane having small hope to thrive here, where things with such prudence were managed against his interest, got leave of the king, with as many voluntaries as would follow him, to pass into France. Early the next year ∥ king Edward re-edified Tovechester now Torchester; and another city in the annals called Wigingmere. Meanwhile the Danes in Leicester and Northamptonshire, not liking perhaps to be neighboured with strong towns, laid siege to Torchester; but they within repelling the assault one whole day till supplies came, quitted the siege by night; and pursued close by the besieged, between Birnwud and Ailsbury were surprised, many of them made prisoners, and much of their baggage lost. Other of the Danes at Huntingdon, aided from the East-Angles, finding that castle not commodious, left it, and built another at Temsford, judging that place more opportune from whence to make their excursions; and soon after went forth with design to assail Bedford: but the garrison issuing out slew a great part of them, the rest fled. After this a greater army of them, gathered out of Mercia and the East-Angles, came and besieged the city called Wigingmere a whole day; but finding it defended stoutly by them within, thence also departed, driving away much of their cattle: whereupon the English, from towns and cities round about joining forces, laid siege to the town and castle of Temsford, and by assault took both; slew their king with Toglea a duke, and Mannan his son an earl, with all the rest there found; who chose to die rather than yield. Encouraged by this, the men of Kent, Surrey, and part of Essex, enterprise the siege of Colchester, nor gave over till they won it, sacking the town and putting to sword all the Danes therein, except some who escaped over the wall. To the succour of these a great number of Danes inhabiting ports and other towns in the East-Angles united their force; but coming too late, as in revenge beleaguered Maldon: but that town also timely relieved, they departed, not only frustrate of their design, but so hotly pursused, that many thousands of them lost their lives in the flight. Forthwith King Edward with his West-Saxons went to Passham upon Ouse, there to guard the passage, while others were building a stone wall about Torchester; to him their earl Thurfert, and other lord Danes, with their army thereabout, as far as Weolud, came and submitted. Whereat the king’s soldiers joyfully cried out to be dismissed home: therefore with another part of them he entered Huntingdon, and repaired it, where breaches had been made; all the people thereabout returning to obedience. The like was done at Colchester by the next remove of his army; after which both East and West-Angles, and the Danish forces among them, yielded to the king, swearing allegiance to him both by sea and land: the army also of Danes at Grantbrig, surrendering themselves, took the same oath. The summer following [*] he came with his army to Stamford, built a castle there on the south side of the river, where all the people of these quarters acknowledged him supreme. During his abode there, Elfled his sister, a martial woman, who after her husband’s death would no more marry, but gave herself to public affairs, repairing and fortifying many towns, warring sometimes, died at Tamworth the chief seat of Mercia, whereof by gift of Alfred her father she was lady or queen; whereby that whole nation became obedient to King Edward, as did also North Wales, with Howel, Cledaucus, and Jeothwell, their kings. Thence passing to Nottingham, he entered and repaired the town, placed there part English, part Danes, and received fealty from all in Mercia of either nation. The next autumn, [†] coming with his army into Cheshire, he built and fortified Thelwell; and while he staid there, called another army out of Mercia, which he sent to repair and fortify Manchester. About midsummer following [‡] he marched again to Nottingham, built a town over against it on the south side of that river, and with a bridge joined them both; thence journeyed to a place called Bedecanwillin in Pictland; there also built and fenced a city on the borders, where the king of Scots did him honour as to his sovereign, together with the whole Scottish nation; the like did Reginald and the son of Eadulf, Danish princes, with all the Northumbrians, both English and Danes. The King also of a people thereabout called Streatgledwalli (the North-Welsh, as Camden thinks, of Strat-Cluid in Denbighshire, perhaps rather the British of Cumberland) did him homage, and not undeserved. For, Buchanan himself confesses, [§] that this king Edward, with a small number of men compared to his enemies, overthrew in a great battle the whole united power both of Scots and Danes, slew most of the Scottish nobility, and forced Malcolm, whom Constantine the Scotch king had made general, and designed heir of his crown, to save himself by flight sore wounded. Of the English he makes Athelstan the son of Edward chief leader; and so far seems to confound times and actions, as to make this battle the same with that fought by Athelstan about twenty-four years after at Bruneford, against Anlaf and Constantine, whereof hereafter. But here Buchanan ∥ takes occasion to inveigh against the English writers, upbraiding them with ignorance, who affirm Athelstan to have been supreme king of Britain, Constantine the Scottish king with others to have held of him: and denies that in the annals of Marianus Scotus any mention is to be found thereof; which I shall not stand much to contradict, for in Marianus, whether by surname or by nation Scotus, will be found as little mention of any other Scottish affairs, till the time of king Dunchad slain by Machetad, or Macbeth, in the year 1040: which gives cause of suspicion, that the affairs of Scotland before that time were so obscure, as to be unknown to their own countrymen, who lived and wrote his chronicle not long after. But King Edward thus nobly doing, and thus honoured, the year [*] following died at Farendon; a builder and restorer even in war, not a destroyer of his land. He had by several wives many children; his eldest daughter Edgith he gave in marriage to Charles king of France, grandchild of Charles the Bald above mentioned: of the rest in place convenient. His laws are yet to be seen. He was buried at Winchester, in the monastery, by Alfred his father. And a few days after him died Ethelward his eldest son, the heir of his crown. He had the whole island in subjection, yet so as petty kings reigned under him. [†] In Northumberland, after Ecbert whom the Danes had set up and the Nortbumbrians, yet unruly under their yoke, at the end of six years had expelled, one Ricsig was set up king, and bore the name three years; then another Ecbert, and Guthred; the latter, if we believe legends, of a servant made king by command of St. Cudbert, in a vision; and enjoined by another vision of the same saint, to pay well for his royalty many lands and privileges to his church and monastery. But now to the story.

ATHELSTAN.

ATHELSTAN, next in age to Ethelward his brother, who deceased untimely few days before, though born of a concubine, yet for the great appearance of many virtues in him, and his brethren being yet under age, was exalted to the throne at Kingston upon Thames, [‡] and by his father’s last will, saith Malmsbury, yet not without some opposition of one Alfred and his accomplices; who not liking he should reign, had conspired to seize on him after his father’s death, and to put out his eyes. But the conspirators discovered, and Alfred denying the plot, [§] was sent to Rome, to assert his innocence before the pope; where taking his oath on the altar, he fell down immediately, and carried out by his servants, three days after died. Meanwhile beyond Humber the Danes, though much awed, were not idle. Inguald, one of their kings, took possession of York; Sitric, who some years ∥ before had slain Niel his brother, by force took Davenport in Cheshire; and however he defended these doings, grew so inconsiderable, [¶] that Athelstan with great solemnity gave him his sister Edgith to wife: but he enjoyed her not long, dying ere the year’s end; nor his sons Anlaf and Guthfert the kingdom, driven out the next year [**] by Athelstan: not unjustly saith Huntingdon, as being first raisers of the war. Simeon calls him Gudfrid a British king, whom Athelstan this year drove out of his kingdom; and perhaps they were both one, the name and time not much differing, the place only mistaken. Malmsbury differs in the name also, calling him Adulf a certain rebel. Them also I wish as much mistaken, who write that Athelstan, jealous of his younger brother Edwin’s towardly virtues, lest added to the right of birth they might some time or other call in question his illegitimate precedence, caused him to be drowned in the sea; [††] exposed, some say, with one servant in a rotten bark, without sail or oar; where the youth far off land, and in rough weather despairing, threw himself overboard; the servant, more patient, got to land, and reported the success.

But this Malmsbury confesses to be sung in old songs, not read in warrantable authors; and Huntingdon speaks as of a sad accident to Athelstan, that he lost his brother Edwin by sea; far the more credible, in that Athelstan, as it is written by all, tenderly loved and bred up the rest of his brethren, of whom he had no less cause to be jealous. And the year [*] following he prospered better than from so foul a fact, passing into Scotland with great puissance, both by sea and land, and chasing his enemies before him, by land as far as Dunfeoder and Wertermore, by sea as far as Cathness. The cause of this expedition, saith Malmsbury, was to demand Guthfert the son of Sitric, thither fled, though not denied at length by Constantine, who with Eugenius king of Cumberland, at a place called Dacor or Dacre in that shire, surrendered himself and each his kingdom to Athelstan, who brought back with him for hostage the son of Constantine. [†] But Guthfert escaping in the mean while out of Scotland, and Constantine, exasperated by this invasion, persuaded Anlaf, the other son of Sitric, then fled into Ireland, [‡] others write Anlaf king of Ireland and the Isles, his son-in-law, with six hundred and fifteen ships, and the king of Cumberland with other forces, to his aid. This within four years [§] effected, they entered England by Humber, and fought with Athelstan at a place called Wendune, others term it Brunanburg, others Bruneford, which Ingulf places beyond Humber, Camden in Glendale of Northumberland on the Scotch borders; the bloodiest fight, say authors, that ever this island saw: to describe which the Saxon annalist, wont to be sober and succinct, whether the same or another writer, now labouring under the weight of his argument, and overcharged, runs on a sudden into such extravagant fancies and metaphors, as bear him quite beside the scope of being understood. Huntingdon, though himself peccant enough in this kind, transcribes him word for word as a pastime to his readers. I shall only sum up what of him I can attain, in useful language. The battle was fought eagerly from morning to night; some fell of King Edward’s old army, tried in many a battle before; but on the other side great multitudes, the rest fled to their ships. Five kings, and seven of Anlaf’s chief captains were slain on the place, with Froda a Norman leader; Constantine escaped home, but lost his son in the fight, if I understand my author; Anlaf by sea to Dublin, with a small remainder of his great host, Malmsbury relates this war, adding many circumstances after this manner: that Anlaf, joining with Constantine and the whole power of Scotland, besides those which he brought with him out of Ireland, came on far southwards, till Athelstan, who had retired on set purpose to be the surer of his enemies, enclosed from all succour and retreat, met him at Bruneford. Anlaf perceiving the valour and resolution of Athelstan, and mistrusting his own forces, though numerous, resolved first to spy in what posture his enemies lay: and imitating perhaps what he heard attempted by King Alfred the age before, in the habit of a musician, got access by his lute and voice to the king’s tent, there playing both the minstrel and the spy: then towards evening dismissed, he was observed by one who had been his soldier, and well knew him, viewing earnestly the king’s tent, and what approaches lay about it, then in the twilight to depart. The soldier forthwith acquaints the king, and by him blamed for letting go his enemy, answered, that he had given first his military oath to Anlaf, whom if he had betrayed, the king might suspect him of like treasonous mind towards himself; which to disprove, he advised him to remove his tent a good distance off: and so done, it happened that a bishop, with his retinue coming that night to the army, pitched his tent in the same place from whence the king had removed. Anlaf, coming by night as he had designed, to assault the camp, and especially the king’s tent, finding there the bishop instead, slew him and all his followers. Athelstan took the alarm, and as it seems, was not found so unprovided, but that the day now appearing, he put his men in order, and maintained the fight till evening; wherein Constantine himself was slain with five other kings, and twelve earls; the annals were eontent with seven, in the rest not disagreeing. Ingulf abbot of Croyland, from the authority of Turketul a principal leader in this battle, relates it more at large to this effect: That Athelstan above a mile distant from the place where execution was done upon the bishop and his supplies, alarmed at the noise, came down by break of day upon Anlaf and his army, overwatched and wearied now with the slaughter they had made, and something out of order, yet in two main battles. The king, therefore in like manner dividing, led the one part, consisting most of West Saxons, against Anlaf with his Danes and Irish, committing the other to his chancellor Turketul, with the Mercians and Londoners, against Constantine and his Scots. The shower of arrows and darts overpassed, both battles attacked each other with a close and terrible engagement, for a long space neither side giving ground. Till the chancellor Turketul, a man of great stature and strength, taking with him a few Londoners of select valour, and Singin who led the Worcestershire men, a captain of undaunted courage, broke into the thickest, making his way first through the Picts and Orkeners, then through the Cumbrians and Scots, and came at length where Constantine himself fought, unhorsed him, and used all means to take him alive; but the Scots valiantly defending their king, and laying load upon Turketul, which the goodness of his armour well endured, he had yet been beaten down, had not Singin his faithful second at the same time slain Constantine; which once known, Anlaf and the whole army betook them to flight, whereof a huge multitude fell by the sword. This Turketul, not long after leaving worldly affairs, became abbot of Croyland, which at his own cost he had repaired from Danish ruins, and left there this memorial of his former actions. Athelstan with his brother Edmund victorious thence turning into Wales, with much more ease vanquished Ludwal the king, and possessed his land. But Malmsbury writes, that commiserating human chance, as he displaced, so he restored both him and Constantine to their regal state: for the surrender of King Constantine hath been above spoken of. However the Welsh did him homage at the city of Hereford, and covenanted yearly payment of gold twenty pound, of silver three hundred, of oxen twenty-five thousand, besides hunting dogs and hawks. He also took Exeter from the Cornish Britons, who till that time had equal right there with the English, and bounded them with the river Tamar, as the other British with Wey. Thus dreaded of his enemies, and renowned far and near, three years [*] after he died at Gloucester, and was buried with many trophies at Malmsbury, where he had caused to be laid his two cousin germans, Elwin and Ethelstan, both slain in the battle against Anlaf. He was thirty years old at his coming to the crown, mature in wisdom from his childhood, comely of person and behaviour; so that Alfred his grandfather in blessing him was wont to pray he might live to have the kingdom, and put him yet a child into soldier’s habit. He had his breeding in the court of Elfled his aunt, of whose virtues more than female we have related, sufficient to evince that his mother, though said to be no wedded wife, was yet such of parentage and worth, as the royal line disdained not, though the song went in Malmsbury’s days (for it seems he refused not the authority of ballads for want of better) that his mother was a farmer’s daughter, but of excellent feature; who dreamed one night she brought forth a moon that should enlighten the whole land: which the king’s nurse hearing of took her home and bred up courtly; that the king, coming one day to visit his nurse, saw there this damsel, liked her, and by earnest suit prevailing, had by her this famous Athelstan, a bounteous, just, and affable king, as Malmsbury sets him forth, nor less honoured abroad by foreign kings, who sought his friendship by great gifts or affinity; that Harold king of Noricum sent him a ship whose prow was of gold, sails purple, and other golden things, the more to be wondered at, sent from Noricum, whether meant Norway or Bavaria, the one place so far from such superfluity of wealth, the other from all sea: the embassadors were Helgrim and Offrid, who found the king at York. His sisters he gave in marriage to greatest princes; Elgif to Otho son of Henry the emperor; Egdith to a certain duke about the Alps; Edgiv to Ludwic king of Aquitain, sprung of Charles the Great; Ethilda to Hugo king of France, who sent Aldulf son of Baldwin earl of Flanders to obtain her. From all these great suitors, especially from the emperor and king of France, came rich presents, horses of excellent breed, gorgeous trappings and armour, relics, jewels, odours, vessels of onyx, and other precious things, which I leave poetically described in Malmsbury, taken, as he confesses, out of an old versifier, some of whose verses he recites. The only blemish left upon him was the exposing his brother Edwin, who disavowed by oath the treason whereof he was accused, and implored an equal hearing. But these were songs, as before hath been said, which add also that Athelstan, his anger over, soon repented of the fact, and put to death his cupbearer, who had induced him to suspect and expose his brother; put in mind by a word falling from the cupbearer’s own mouth, who slipping one day as he bore the king’s cup, and recovering himself on the other leg, said aloud fatally, as to him it proved, one brother helps the other. Which words the king laying to heart, and pondering how ill he had done to make away his brother, avenged himself first on the adviser of that fact, took on him seven years’ penance, and as Mat. West. saith, built two monasteries for the soul of his brother. His laws are extant among the laws of other Saxon kings to this day.

EDMUND.

EDMUND not above eighteen years old [*] succeeded his brother Athelstan, in courage not inferior. For in the second of his reign he freed Mercia of the Danes that remained there, and took from them the cities of Lincoln, Nottingham, Stamford, Derby, and Leicester, where they were placed by King Edward, but it seems gave not good proof of their fidelity. Simeon writes, that Anlaf setting forth from York, and having wasted southward as far as Northampton, was met by Edmund at Leicester; but that ere the battles joined, peace was made between them by Odo and Wulstan the two archbishops, with conversion of Anlaf; for the same year Edmund received at the fontstone this or another Anlaf, as saith Huntingdon, not him spoken of before, who died this year, (so uncertain they are in the story of these times also,) and held Reginald another king of the Northumbrians, while the bishop confirmed him: their limits were divided north and south by Watlingstreet. But spiritual kindred little availed to keep peace between them, whoever gave the cause; for we read him two years [*] after driving Anlaf (whom the annals now first call the son of Sitric) and Suthfrid son of Reginald out of Northumberland, taking the whole country into subjection. Edmund the next year [†] harassed Cumberland, then gave it to Malcolm king of Scots, thereby bound to assist him in his wars, both by sea and land. Mat. West. adds, that in this action Edmund had the aid of Leolin prince of North Wales, against Dummail the Cumbrian king, him depriving of his kingdom, and his two sons of their sight. But the year [‡] after, he himself by strange accident came to an untimely death: feasting with his nobles on St. Austin’s day at Puclekerke in Gloucester, to celebrate the memory of his first converting the Saxons; he spied Leof a noted thief, whom he had banished, sitting among his guests: whereat transported with two much vehemence of spirit, though in a just cause, rising from the table he run upon the thief, and catching his hair, pulled him to the ground. The thief, who doubted from such handling no less than his death intended, thought to die not unrevenged; and with a short dagger struck the king, who still laid at him, and little expected such assassination, mortally into the breast. The matter was done in a moment, ere men set at table could turn them, or imagine at first what the stir meant, till perceiving the king deadly wounded, they flew upon the murderer and hewed him to pieces; who like a wild beast at bay, seeing himself surrounded, desperately laid about him, wounding some in his fall. The king was buried at Glaston, whereof Dunstan was then abbot; his laws yet remain to be seen among the laws of other Saxon kings.

EDRED.

EDRED, the third brother of Athelstan, the sons of Edmund being yet but children, next reigned, not degenerating from his worthy predecessors, and crowned at Kingston. Northumberland he thoroughly subdued, the Scots without refusal swore him allegiance; yet the Northumbrians, ever of doubtful faith, soon after chose to themselves one Eric a Dane. Huntingdon still haunts us with this Anlaf, (of whom we gladly would have been rid,) and will have him before Eric recalled once more and reign four years, [§] then again put to his shifts. But Edred entering into Northumberland, and with spoils returning, Eric the king fell upon his rear. Edred turning about, both shook off the enemy, and prepared to make a second inroad: which the Northumbrians dreading rejected Eric, slew Amancus the son of Anlaf, and with many presents appeasing Edred submitted again to his government; ∥ nor from that time had kings, but were governed by earls, of whom Osulf was the first. About this time [¶] Wulstan archbishop of York, accused to have slain certain men of Thetford in revenge of their abbot, whom the townsmen had slain, was committed by the king to close custody; but soon after enlarged, was restored to his place. Malmsbury writes, that his crime was to have connived at the revolt of his countrymen: but king Edred two years after, [*] sickening in the flower of his youth, died much lamented, and was buried at Winchester.

EDWI.

EDWI, the son of Edmund, now come to age, [†] after his uncle Edred’s death took on him the government, and was crowned at Kingston. His lovely person surnamed him the fair, his actions are diversely reported, by Huntingdon not thought illaudable. But Malmsbury and such as follow him write far otherwise, that he married, or kept as concubine, his near kinswoman, [‡] some say both her and her daughter; so inordinately given to his pleasure, that on the very day of his coronation he abruptly withdrew himself from the company of his peers, whether in banquet or consultation, to sit wantoning in the chamber with his Algiva, so was her name, who had such power over him. Whereat his barons offended sent bishop Dunstan, the boldest among them, to request his return: he, going to the chamber, not only interrupted his dalliance, and rebuked the lady, but taking him by the hand, between force and persuasion brought him back to his nobles. The king highly displeased, [§] and instigated perhaps by her who was so prevalent with him, not long after sent Dunstan into banishment, caused his monastery to be rifled, and became an enemy to all monks and friars. Whereupon Odo archbishop of Canterbury pronounced a separation or divorce of the king from Algiva. But that which most incited William of Malmsbury against him, he gave that monastery to be dwelt in by secular priests, or to use his own phrase, made it a stable of clerks: at length these affronts done to the church were so resented by the people, that the Mercians and Northumbrians revolted from him, and set up Edgar his brother, ∥ leaving to Edwi the West-Saxons only, bounded by the river Thames; with grief whereof, as is thought, he soon after ended his days, [¶] and was buried at Winchester. Meanwhile [**] Elfin, bishop of that place, after the death of Odo ascending by simony to the chair of Canterbury, and going to Rome the same year for his pall, was frozen to death in the Alps.

EDGAR.

EDGAR by his brother’s death now [††] king of all England at sixteen years of age, called home Dunstan out of Flanders, where he lived in exile. This king had no war all his reign; yet always well prepared for war, governed the kingdom in great peace, honour, and prosperity, gaining thence the surname of peaceable, much extolled for justice, clemency, and all kingly virtues, [‡‡] the more, ye may be sure by monks, for his building so many monasteries; as some write, every year one: for he much favoured the monks against secular priests, who in the time of Edwi had got possession in most of their convents. His care and wisdom was great in guarding the coast round with stout ships to the number of three thousand six hundred. Mat. West. reckons them four thousand eight hundred, divided into four squadrons, to sail to and fro, about the four quarters of the land, meeting each other; the first of twelve hundred sail from east to west, the second of as many from west to east, the third and fourth between north and south; himself in the summer time with his fleet. Thus he kept out wisely the force of strangers, and prevented foreign war, but by their too frequent resort hither in time of peace, and his too much favouring them, he let in their vices unaware. Thence the people, saith Malmsbury, learned of the outlandish Saxons rudeness, of the Flemish daintiness and softness, of the Danes drunkenness; though I doubt these vices are as naturally homebred here as in any of those countries. Yet in the winter and spring time he usually rode the circuit as a judge itinerant through all his provinces, to see justice well administered, and the poor not oppressed. Thieves and robbers he rooted almost out of the land, and wild beasts of prey altogether; enjoining Ludwal, king of Wales, to pay the yearly tribute of three hundred wolves, which he did for two years together, till the third year no more were to be found, nor ever after; but his laws may be read yet extant.—Whatever was the cause, he was not crowned till the thirtieth of his age, but then with great splendour and magnificence at the city of Bath, in the feast of Pentecost. This year [*] died Swarling a monk of Croyland, in the hundred and forty-second year of his age, and another soon after him in the hundred and fifteenth; in that fenny and waterish air the more remarkable. King Edgar the next year [†] went to Chester, and summoning to his court there all the kings that held of him, took homage of them; their names are Kened king of Scots, Malcolm of Cumberland, Maccuse of the Isles, five of Wales, Dufwal, Huwal, Grifith, Jacob, Judethil; these he had in such awe, that going one day into a galley, he caused them to take each man his oar, and row him down the river Dee, while he himself sat at the stern; which might be done in merriment and easily obeyed; if with a serious brow, discovered rather vain-glory, and insulting haughtiness, than moderation of mind. And that he did it seriously triumphing, appears by his words then uttered, that his successors might then glory to be kings of England, when they had such honour done them. And perhaps the divine power was displeased with him for taking too much honour to himself; since we read, that the year following [‡] he was taken out of this life by sickness in the height of his glory and the prime of his age, buried at Glaston abbey. The same year, as Mat. West. relates, he gave to Kened, the Scottish king, many rich presents, and the whole country of Laudian, or Lothien, to hold of him on condition, that he and his successors should repair to the English court at high festivals when the king sat crowned; gave him also many lodging places by the way, which till the days of Henry the second were still held by the kings of Scotland. He was of stature not tall, of body slender, yet so well made, that in strength he chose to contend with such as were thought strongest, and disliked nothing more, than that they should spare him for respect, or fear to hurt him. Kened king of Scots, then in the court of Edgar, sitting one day at table, was heard to say jestingly among his servants, he wondered how so many provinces could be held in subjection by such a little dapper man: his words were brought to the king’s ear: he sends for Kened as about some private business, and in talk drawing him forth to a secret place, takes from under his garment two swords, which he had brought with him, gave one of them to Kened; and now, saith he, it shall be tried which ought to be the subject; for it is shameful for a king to boast at table, and shrink in fight. Kened much abashed fell presently at his feet, and besought him to pardon what he had simply spoken, no way intended to his dishonour or disparagement; wherewith the king was satisfied.

Camden, in his description of Ireland, cites a charter of King Edgar, wherein it appears he had in subjection all the kingdoms of the isles as far as Norway, and had subdued the greatest part of Ireland with the city of Dublin: but of this other writers make no mention. In his youth having heard of Elfrida, daughter to Ordgar duke of Devonshire much commended for her beauty, he sent Earl Athelwold, whose loyalty he trusted most, to see her; intending, if she were found such as answered report, to demand her in marriage. He at the first view taken with her presence, disloyally, as it oft happens in such employments, began to sue for himself; and with consent of her parents obtained her. Returning therefore with scarce an ordinary commendation of her feature, he easily took off the king’s mind, soon diverted another way. But the matter coming to light how Athelwold had forestalled the king, and Elfrida’s beauty more and more spoken of, the king now heated not only with a relapse of love, but with a deep sense of the abuse, yet dissembling his disturbance, pleasantly told the earl, what day he meant to come and visit him and his fair wife. The earl seemingly assured his welcome, but in the meanwhile acquainting his wife, earnestly advised her to deform herself what she might, either in dress or otherwise, lest the king, whose amorous inclination was not unknown, should chance to be attracted. She, who by this time was not ignorant, how Athelwold had stepped between her and the king, against his coming arrays herself richly, using whatever art she could devise might render her the more amiable; and it took effect. For the king, inflamed with her love the more for that he had been so long defrauded and robbed of her, resolved not only to recover his intercepted right, but to punish the interloper of his destined spouse; and appointing with him as was usual a day of hunting, drawn aside in a forest now called Harewood, smote him through with a dart. Some censure this act as cruel and tyrannical, but considered well, it may be judged more favourably, and that no man of sensible spirit but in his place, without extraordinary perfection, would have done the like: for next to life what worse treason could have been committed against him? It chanced that the earl’s base son coming by upon the fact, the king sternly asked him how he liked his game; he submissly answering, that whatsoever pleased the king, must not displease him; the king returned to his wonted temper, took an affection to the youth, and ever after highly favoured him, making amends in the son for what he had done to the father. Elfrida forthwith he took to wife, who to expiate her former husband’s death, though therein she had no hand, covered the place of his bloodshed with a monastery of nuns to sing over him. Another fault is laid to his charge, no way excusable, that he took a virgin Wilfrida by force out of the nunnery, where she was placed by her friends to avoid his pursuit, and kept her as his concubine: but lived not obstinately in the offence; for sharply reproved by Dunstan, he submitted to seven years penance, and for that time to want his coronation: but why he had it not before, is left unwritten.

Another story there goes of Edgar fitter for a novel than a history; but as I find it in Malmsbury, so I relate it. While he was yet unmarried, in his youth he abstained not from women, and coming on a day to Andoyer, caused a duke’s daughter there dwelling, reported rare of beauty, to be brought to him. The mother not daring flatly to deny, yet abhorring that her daughter should be so deflowered, at fit time of night sent in her attire one of her waiting maids; a maid it seems not unhandsome nor unwitty; who supplied the place of her young lady. Night passed, the maid going to rise but daylight scarce yet appearing, was by the king asked why she made such haste: she answered, to do the work which her lady had set her. At which the king wondering, and with much ado staying her to unfold the riddle, for he took her to be the duke’s daughter, she falling at his feet besought him, that since at the command of her lady she came to his bed, and was enjoyed by him, he would be pleased in recompense to set her free from the hard service of her mistress. The king a while standing in a study whether he had best be angry or not, at length turning all to a jest, took the maid away with him, advanced her above the lady, loved her, and accompanied with her only, till he married Elfrida. These only are his faults upon record, rather to be wondered how they were so few, and so soon left, he coming at sixteen to the license of a sceptre; and that his virtues were so many and mature, he dying before the age wherein wisdom can in others attain to any ripeness: however, with him died all the Saxon glory. From henceforth nothing is to be heard of but their decline and ruin under a double conquest, and the causes foregoing; which, not to blur or taint the praises of their former actions and liberty well defended, shall stand severally related, and will be more than long enough for another book.

THE SIXTH BOOK.

EDWARD THE YOUNGER.

EDWARD, the eldest son of Edgar by Egelfleda his first wife, the daughter of duke Ordmer, was according to right and his father’s will placed in the throne; Elfrida, his second wife, and her faction only repining, who laboured to have had her son Ethelred, a child of seven years, preferred before him; that she under that pretence might have ruled all. Meanwhile comets were seen in heaven, portending not famine only, which followed the next year, but the troubled state of the whole realm not long after to ensue. The troubles begun in Edwin’s days, between monks and secular priests, now revived and drew on either side many of the nobles into parties. For Elfere duke of the Mercians, with many other peers corrupted, as is said, with gifts, [*] drove the monks out of those monasteries where Edgar had placed them, and in their stead put secular priests with their wives. But Ethelwin duke of East-Angles, with his brother Elfwold, and earl Britnorth, opposed them, and gathering an army defended the abbeys of East-Angles from such intruders. To appease these tumults, a synod was called at Winchester; and, nothing there concluded, a general council both of nobles and prelates was held at Caln in Wiltshire, where while the dispute was hot, but chiefly against Dunstan, the room wherein they sat fell upon their heads, killing some, maiming others, Dunstan only escaping upon a beam that fell not, and the king absent by reason of his tender age. This accident quieted the controversy, and brought both parts to hold with Dunstan and the monks. Meanwhile the king addicted to a religious life, and of a mild spirit, simply permitted all things to the ambitious will of his step-mother and her son Ethelred: to whom she, displeased that the name only of king was wanting, practised thenceforth to remove King Edward out of the way; which in this manner she brought about.

Edward on a day wearied with hunting, thirsty and alone, while his attendants followed the dogs, hearing that Ethelred and his mother lodged at Corvesgate, (Corfe castle, saith Camden, in the isle of Purbeck,) innocently went thither. She with all show of kindness welcoming him, commanded drink to be brought forth, for it seems he lighted not from his horse; and while he was drinking, caused one of her servants privately before instructed, to stab him with a poniard. The poor youth, who little expected such unkindness there, turning speedily the reins, fled, bleeding, till through loss of blood falling from his horse, and expiring, yet held with one foot in the stirrup, he was dragged along the way, traced by his blood, and buried without honour at Werham, having reigned about three years: but the place of his burial not long after grew famous for miracles. After which by duke Elfere, (who, as Malmsbury saith, [*] had a hand in his death) he was royally interred at Skepton or Shaftesbury. The murderess Elfrida, at length repenting, spent the residue of her days in sorrow and great penance.

ETHELRED.

ETHELRED, second son of Edgar by Elfrida, (for Edmund died a child,) his brother Edward wickedly removed, was now next in right to succeed, [†] and accordingly crowned at Kingston: reported by some, fair of visage, comely of person, elegant of behaviour; [‡] but the event will show, that with many sluggish and ignoble vices he quickly shamed his outside; born and prolonged a fatal mischief of the people, and the ruin of his country; whereof he gave early signs from his first infancy, bewraying the font and water while the bishop was baptizing him. Whereat Dunstan much troubled, for he stood by and saw it, to them next him broke into these words, “By God and God’s mother, this boy will prove a sluggard.” Another thing is written of him in his childhood; which argued no bad nature, that hearing of his brother Edward’s cruel death, he made loud lamentation; but his furious mother, offended therewith, and having no rod at hand, beat him so with great wax candles, that he hated the sight of them ever after. Dunstan though unwilling set the crown upon his head; but at the same time foretold openly, as is reported, the great evils that were to come upon him and the land, in avengement of his brother’s innocent blood. [§] And about the same time, one midnight, a cloud sometimes bloody, sometimes fiery, was seen over all England; and within three years ∥ the Danish tempest, which had long surceased, revolved again upon this island. To the more ample relating whereof, the Danish history, at least their latest and diligentest historian, as neither from the first landing of Danes, in the reign of West-Saxon Brithric, so now again from first to last, contributes nothing; busied more than enough to make out the bare names and successions of their uncertain kings, and their small actions, at home: unless out of him I should transcribe what he takes, and I better may from our own annals; the surer and the sadder witnesses of their doings here, not glorious, as they vainly boast, but most inhumanly barbarous. [¶] For the Danes well understanding that England had now a slothful king to their wish, first landing at Southampton from seven great ships, took the town, spoiled the country, and carried away with them great pillage; nor was Devonshire and Cornwall uninfested on the shore; [**] pirates of Norway also harried the coast of West-chester: [††] and to add a worse calamity, the city of London was burnt, casually or not, is not written. It chanced four years after, [‡‡] that Ethelred besieged Rochester; some way or other offended by the bishop thereof. Dunstan, not approving the cause, sent to warn him that he provoke not St. Andrew the patron of that city, nor waste his lands; an old craft of the clergy to secure their church-lands, by entailing them on some saint: the king not hearkening, Dunstan, on this condition that the siege might be raised, sent him a hundred pounds, the money was accepted and the siege dissolved. Dunstan reprehending his avarice, sent him again this word, “because thou hast respected money more than religion, the evils which I foretold shall the sooner come upon thee; but not in my days, for so God hath spoken.” The next year was calamitous, [*] bringing strange fluxes upon men, and murrain upon cattle. Dunstan the year [†] following died, a strenuous bishop, zealous without dread of person, and for aught appears, the best of many ages, if he busied not himself too much in secular affairs. He was chaplain at first to King Athelstan, and Edmund who succeeded, much employed in court affairs, till envied by some who laid many things to his charge, he was by Edmund forbidden the court; but by the earnest mediation, saith Ingulf, of Turketul the chancellor, received at length to favour, and made abbot of Glaston; lastly by Edgar and the general vote, archbishop of Canterbury. Not long after his death, the Danes arriving in Devonshire were met by Goda, lieutenant of that country, and Strenwold a valiant leader, who put back the Danes, but with loss of their own lives. The third year following, [‡] under the conduct of Justin and Guthmund the son of Steytan, they landed and spoiled Ipswich, fought with Britnoth duke of the East-Angles about Maldon, where they slew him; the slaughter else had been equal on both sides. These and the like depredations on every side the English not able to resist, by council of Siric then archbishop of Canterbury, and two dukes, Ethelward and Alfric, it was thought best for the present to buy that with silver, which they could not gain with their iron; and ten thousand pounds was paid to the Danes for peace. Which for a while contented; but taught them the ready way how easiest to come by more. The next year but one, [§] they took by storm and rifled Bebbanburg, and ancient city near Durham: sailing thence to the mouth of Humber, they wasted both sides thereof, Yorkshire and Lindsey, burning and destroying all before them. Against these went out three noblemen, Frana, Frithegist, and Godwin; but being all Danes by the father’s side, willingly began flight, and forsook their own forces betrayed to the enemy. No less treachery was at sea; ∥ for Alfric, the son of Elfer duke of Mercia, whom the king for some offence had banished, but now recalled, sent from London with a fleet to surprise the Danes, in some place of disadvantage, gave them over night intelligence thereof, then fled to them himself; which his fleet, saith Florent, perceiving, pursued, took the ship, but missed of his person; the Londoners by chance grappling with the East-Angles made them fewer, saith my author, by many thousands. Others say, [¶] that by this notice of Alfric the Danes not only escaped, but with a greater fleet set upon the English, took many of their ships, and in triumph brought them up the Thames, intending to besiege London: for Anlaf king of Norway, and Swane of Denmark, at the head of these, came with ninety-four galleys. The king for this treason of Alfric, put out his son’s eyes; but the Londoners both by land and water so valiantly resisted their besiegers, that they were forced in one day, with great loss, to give over. But what they could not on the city, they wreaked themselves on the countries round about, wasting with sword and fire all Essex, Kent, and Sussex. Thence horsing their foot, diffused far wider their outrageous incursions, without mercy either to sex or age. The slothful king, instead of warlike opposition in the field, sends embassadors to treat about another payment; [*] the sum promised was now sixteen thousand pounds; till which paid, the Danes wintered at Southampton; Ethelred inviting Anlaf to come and visit him at Andover, [†] where he was royally entertained, some say baptized, or confirmed, adopted son by the king, and dismissed with great presents, promising by oath to depart and molest the kingdom no more; [‡] which he performed. But the calamity ended not so; for after some intermission of their rage for three years, [§] the other navy of Danes sailing about to the west, entered Severn, and wasted one while South Wales, then Cornwall and Devonshire, till at length they wintered about Tavistock. For it were an endless work to relate how they wandered up and down to every particular place, and to repeat as oft what devastations they wrought, what desolations left behind them, easy to be imagined. In sum, the next year ∥ they afflicted Dorsetshire, Hampshire, and the Isle of Wight; by the English many resolutions were taken, many armies raised, but either betrayed by the falsehood, or discouraged by the weakness, of their leaders, they were put to the rout or disbanded themselves. For soldiers most commonly are as their commanders, without much odds of valour in one nation or other, only as they are more or less wisely disciplined and conducted.

The following year [¶] brought them back upon Kent, where they entered Medway, and besieged Rochester; but the Kentish men assembling gave them a sharp encounter, yet that sufficed not to hinder them from doing as they had done in other places. Against these depopulations the king levied an army; but the unskilful leaders not knowing what to do with it when they had it, did but drive out time, burdening and impoverishing the people, consuming the public treasure, and more emboldening the enemy, than if they had sat quietly at home. What cause moved the Danes next year [**] to pass into Normandy, is not recorded; but that they returned thence more outrageous than before. Meanwhile the king, to make some diversion, undertakes an expedition both by land and sea into Cumberland, where the Danes were most planted; there and in the Isle of Man, or, as Camden saith, Angelsey, imitating his enemies in spoiling and unpeopling. The Danes from Normandy, arriving in the river Ex, laid siege to Exeter; [††] but the citizens, as those of London, valorously defending themselves, they wrecked their anger, as before, on the villages round about. The country people of Somerset and Devonshire assembling themselves at Penho, shewed their readiness, but wanted a head; and besides being then but few in number, were easily put to flight; the enemy plundering all at will, with loaded spoils passed into the Isle of Wright; from whence all Dorsetshire and Hampshire felt again their fury. The Saxon annals write, that before their coming to Exeter, the Hampshire men had a bickering with them, [‡‡] wherein Ethelward the king’s general was slain, adding other things hardly to be understood, and in one ancient copy; so end. Ethelred, whom no adversity could awake from his soft and sluggish life, still coming by the worse at fighing, by the advice of his peers not unlike himself, sends one of his gay courtiers, though looking loftily, to stoop basely, and propose a third tribute to the Danes: they willingly hearken, but the sum is enhanced now to twenty-four thousand pounds, and paid; the Danes thereupon abstaining from hostility. But the king, to strengthen his house by some potent affinity, marries Emma, [*] whom the Saxons call Elgiva, daughter of Richard duke of Normandy. With him Ethelred formerly had war, or no good correspondence, as appears by a letter of pope John the fifteenth, [†] who made peace between them about eleven years before; puffed up now with his supposed access of strength by this affinity, he caused the Danes all over England, though now living peaceably, [‡] in one day perfidiously to be massacred, both men, women, and children; sending private letters to every town and city, whereby they might be ready all at the same hour; which till the appointed time (being the ninth of July) was concealed with great silence, [§] and performed with much unanimity; so generally hated were the Danes. Mat. West. writes, that this execution upon the Danes was ten years after; that Huna, one of Ethelred’s chief captains, complaining of the Danish insolences in time of peace, their pride, their ravishing of matrons and virgins, incited the king to this massacre, which in the madness of rage made no difference of innocent or nocent. Among these, Gunhildis the sister of Swane was not spared, though much deserving not pity only, but all protection: she, with her husband Earl Palingus coming to live in England, and receiving Christianity, had her husband and young son slain before her face, herself then beheaded, foretelling and denouncing that her blood would cost England dear. Some say ∥ this was done by the traitor Edric, to whose custody she was committed; but the massacre was some years before Edric’s advancement; and if it were done by him afterwards, it seems to contradict the private correspondence which he was thought to hold with the Danes. For Swane, breathing revenge, hasted the next year into England, [¶] and by the treason or negligence of Count Hugh, whom Emma had recommended to the government of Devonshire, sacked the city of Exeter, her wall from east to west-gate broken down: after this wasting Wiltshire, the people of that county, and of Hampshire, came together in great numbers with resolution stoutly to oppose him; but Alfric their general, whose son’s eyes the king had lately put out, madly thinking to revenge himself on the king, by ruining his own country, when he should have ordered his battle, the enemy being at hand, feigned himself taken with a vomiting; whereby his army in great discontent, destitute of a commander, turned from the enemy: who straight took Wilton and Salisbury, carrying the pillage thereof to the ships. Thence the next year [**] landing on the coast of Norfolk, he wasted the country, and set Norwich on fire; Ulfketel duke of the East-Angles, a man of great valour, not having space to gather his forces, after consultation had, thought it best to make peace with the Dane, which he breaking within three weeks, issued silently out of his ships, came to Thetford, staid there a night, and in the morning left it flaming. Ulfketel, hearing this, commanded some to go and break or burn his ships; but they not daring or neglecting, he in the mean while with what secresy and speed was possible, drawing together his forces, went out against the enemy, and gave them a fierce onset retreating to their ships: but much inferiour in number, many of the chief East-Angles there lost their lives. Nor did the Danes come off without great slaughter of their own; confessing that they never met in England with so rough a charge. The next year, [††] whom war could not, a great famine drove Swane out of the land. But the summer following, [*] another great fleet of Danes entered the port of Sandwich, thence poured out over all Kent and Sussex, made prey of what they found. The king levying an army out of Mercia, and the West-Saxons, took on him for once the manhood to go out and face them; but they, who held it safer to live by rapine, than to hazard a battle, shifting lightly from place to place, frustrated the slow motions of a heavy camp, following their wonted course of robbery, then running to their ships. Thus all autumn they wearied out the king’s army, which gone home to winter, they carried all their pillage to the Isle of Wight, and there staid till Christmas; at which time the king being in Shropshire, and but ill employed, (for by the procurement of Edric, he caused, as is thought, Alfhelm, a noble duke, treacherously to be slain, [†] and the eyes of his two sons to be put out,) they came forth again, overrunning Hampshire and Berkshire, as far as Reading and Wallingford: thence to Ashdune, and other places thereabout, neither known nor of tolerable pronunciation; and returning by another way, found many of the people in arms by the river Kenet; but making their way through, they got safe with vast booty to their ships. The king and his courtiers [‡] wearied out with their last summer’s jaunt after the nimble Danes to no purpose, which by proof they found too toilsome for their soft bones, more used to beds and couches, had recourse to their last and only remedy, their coffers; and send now the fourth time to buy a dishonourable peace, every time still dearer, not to be had now under thirty-six thousand pound (for the Danes knew how to milk such easy kine) in name of tribute and expenses: which out of the people over all England, already half beggared, was extorted and paid. About the same time Ethelred advanced Edric, surnamed Streon, from obscure condition to be duke of Mercia, and marry Edgitha the king’s daughter. The cause of his advancement, Florent of Worcester, and Mat. West. attribute to his great wealth, gotten by fine polices and a plausible tongue: he proved a main accessory to the ruin of England, as his actions will soon declare. Ethelred the next year, [§] somewhat rousing himself, ordained that every three hundred and ten hides (a hide is so much land as one plow can sufficiently till) should set out a ship or galley, and every nine hides find a corslet and headpiece: new ships in every port were built, victualled, fraught with stout mariners and soldiers, and appointed to meet all at Sandwich. A man might now think that all would go well; when suddenly a new mischief had sprung up, dissension among the great ones; which brought all this diligence to as little success as at other times before. Birthric, the brother of Edric, falsely accused Wulnoth, a great officer set over the South-Saxons, who, fearing the potency of his enemies, with twenty ships got to sea, and practiced piracy on the coast. Against whom, reported to be in a place where he might be easily surprised, Birthric sets forth with eighty ships; all which, driven back by a tempest and wrecked upon the shore, were burnt soon after by Wulnoth. Disheartened with this misfortune, the king returns to London, the rest of his navy after him; and all this great preparation to nothing. Whereupon Turkill, a Danish earl, came with a navy to the isle of Tanet, ∥ and in August a far greater, led by Heming and Ilaf, joined with him. Thence coasting to Sandwich, and landed, they went onward and began to assault Canterbury; but the citizens and East-Kentish men, coming to composition with them for three thousand pounds, they departed thence to the Isle of Wight, robbing and burning by the way. Against these the king levies an army through all the land, and in several quarters places them nigh the sea, but so unskilfully or unsuccessfully, that the Danes were not thereby hindered from exercising their wonted robberies.

It happened that the Danes were one day going up into the country far from their ships; the king having notice thereof, thought to intercept them in their return; his men were resolute to overcome or die, time and place advantageous; but where courage and fortune was not wanting, there wanted loyalty among them. Edric with subtile arguments, that had a show of deep policy, disputed and persuaded the simplicity of his fellow counsellors, that it would be best consulted at that time to let the Danes pass without ambush or interception. The Danes where they expected danger finding none, passed on with great joy and booty to their ships. After this, sailing about Kent, they lay that winter in the Thames, forcing Kent and Essex to contribution, ofttimes attempting the city of London, but repulsed as oft to their great loss. Spring begun, leaving their ships, they passed through Chiltern wood into Oxfordshire, [*] burnt the city, and thence returning with divided forces, wasted on both sides the Thames; but hearing that an army from London was marched out against them, they on the north side passing the river at Stanes, joined with them on the south into one body, and enriched with great spoils, came back through Surrey to their ships; which all the Lent-time they repaired. After Easter sailing to the East-Angles they arrived at Ipswich, and came to a place called Ringmere, where they heard that Ulfketel with his forces lay, who with a sharp encounter soon entertained them; but his men at length giving back, through the subtlety of a Danish servant among them who began the fight, lost the field; though the men of Cambridgeshire stood to it valiantly.

In this battle Ethelstan, the king’s son-in-law, with many other noblemen, were slain; whereby the Danes, without more resistance, three months together had the spoiling of those countries and all the fens, burnt Thetford and Grantbrig, or Cambridge; thence to a hilly place not far off, called by Huntingdon, Baleshan, by Camden, Gogmagog hills, and the villages thereabout, they turned their fury, slaying all they met save one man, who getting up into a steeple, is said to have defended himself against the whole Danish army. They therefore so leaving him, their foot by sea, their horse by land through Essex, returned back laden to their ships left in the Thames. But many days passed not between, when sallying again out of their ships as out of savage dens, they plundered over again all Oxfordshire, and added to their prey Buckingham, Bedford, and Hertfordshire; [†] then like wild beasts glutted returning to their caves. A third excursion they made into Northamptonshire, burnt Northampton, ransacking the country round: then as to fresh pasture betook them to the West-Saxons, and in like sort harassing all Wiltshire, returned, as I said before, like wild beasts or rather sea monsters to their water-stables, accomplishing by Christmas the circuit of their whole year’s good deeds; an unjust and inhuman nation, who, receiving or not receiving tribute where none was owing them made such destruction of mankind, and rapine of their livelihood, as in misery to read. Yet here they ceased not; for the next year [‡] repeating the same cruelties on both sides the Thames, one way as far as Huntingdon the other as far Wiltshire and Southampton, solicited again by the king for peace, and receiving their demands both of tribute and contribution, they slighted their faith; and in the beginning of September laid siege to Canterbury. On the twentieth day, by the treachery of Almere the archdeacon, they took part of it and burnt it, committing all sorts of massacre as a sport; some they threw over the wall, others into the fire, hung some by the privy members; infants, pulled from their mother’s breasts, were either tossed on spears, or carts drawn over them; matrons and virgins by the hair dragged and ravished. Alfage [*] the grave archbishop above others hated of the Danes, as in all counsels and actions to his might their known opposer, taken, wounded, imprisoned in a noisome ship; the multitude are tithed, and every tenth only spared. Early the next year [†] before Easter, while Ethelred and his peers were assembled at London, to raise now the fifth tribute amounting to forty-eight thousand pound, the Danes at Canterbury propose to the archbishop, [‡] who had now been seven months their prisoner, life and liberty, if he paid them three thousand pound: which he refusing as not able of himself, and not willing to extort it from his tenants, is permitted till the next Sunday to consider; then hauled before the counsel, of whom Turkill was chief, and still refusing, they rise, most of them being drunk, and beat him with the blunt side of their axes, then thrust forth deliver him to be pelted with stones; till one Thrun a converted Dane, pitying him half dead, to put him out of pain, with a pious impiety, at one stroke of his axe on the head dispatched him. His body was carried to London and there buried, thence afterward removed to Canterbury. By this time the tribute paid, and peace so often violated sworn again by the Danes, they dispersed their fleet; forty-five of them, and Turkill their chief, staid at London with the king, swore him allegiance to defend his land against all strangers, on condition only to be fed and clothed by him. But this voluntary friendship of Turkill was thought to be deceitful, that staying under this pretence he gave intelligence to Swane, when most it would be seasonable to come. In July [§] therefore of the next year, King Swane arriving at Sandwich, made no stay there, but sailing first to Humber, thence into Trent, landed and encamped at Gainsburrow; whither without delay repaired to him the Northumbrians, with Uthred their earl; those of Lindsey also, then those of Fisburg, and lastly all on the north of Watlingstreet (which is a highway from east to west-sea) gave oath and hostages to obey him. From whom he commanded horses and provision for his army, taking with him besides bands and companies of their choicest men; and committing to his son Canute the care of his fleet and hostages, he marches towards the South-Mercians, commanding his soldiers to exercise all acts of hostility; with the terror whereof fully executed, he took in few days the city of Oxford, then Winchester; thence tending to London, in his hasty passage over the Thames, without seeking bridge or ford, lost many of his men. Nor was his expedition against London prosperous; for assaying all means by force or wile to take the city, wherein the king then was, and Turkill with his Danes, he was stoutly beaten off as at other times. Thence back to Wallingford and Bath, directing his course, after usual havoc made, he sat a while and refreshed his army. There Ethelm, an earl of Devonshire, and other great officers in the west, yielded him subjection. These things flowing to his wish, he betook him to his navy, from that time styled and accounted king of England; if a tyrant, saith Simeon, may be called a king. The Londoners also sent him hostages, and made their peace, for they feared his fury. Ethelred, thus reduced to narrow compass, sent Emma his queen, with his two sons had by her, and all his treasure, to Richard II., her brother, duke of Normandy; himself with his Danish fleet abode somewhile at Greenwich, then sailing to the Isle of Wight, passed after Christmas into Normandy; where he was honourably received at Roan by the duke, though known to have born himself churlishly and proudly towards Emma his sister, besides his dissolute company with other women. Meanwhile Swane [*] ceased not to exact almost insupportable tribute of the people, spoiling them when he listed; besides, the like did Turkill at Greenwich. The next year beginning, [†] Swane sickens and dies; some say terrified and smitten by an appearing shape of St. Edmund armed, whose church at Bury he had threatened to demolish; but the authority hereof relies only upon the legend of St. Edmund. After his death the Danish army and fleet made his son Canute their king; but the nobility and states of England sent messengers to Ethelred, declaring that they preferred none before their native sovereign, if he would promise to govern them better than he had done, and with more clemency. Whereat the king rejoicing sends over his son Edward with embassadors, to court both high and low, and win their love, promising largely to be their mild and devoted lord, to consent in all things to their will, follow their counsel, and whatever had been done or spoken by any man against him, freely to pardon, if they would loyally restore him to be their king. To this the people cheerfully answered, and amity was both promised and confirmed on both sides. An embassy of lords is sent to bring back the king honourably; he returns in Lent, and is joyfully received of the people, marches with a strong army against Canute; who having got horses and joined with the men of Lindsey, was preparing to make spoil in the countries adjoining; but by Ethelred unexpectedly coming upon him, was soon driven to his ships, and his confederates of Lindsey, left to the anger of their countrymen, executed without mercy both by fire and sword. Canute in all haste sailing back to Sandwich, took the hostages given to his father from all parts of England, and with slit noses, ears cropped, and hands chopped off, setting them ashore, departed into Denmark. Yet the people were not disburdened, for the king raised out of them thirty thousand pound to pay his fleet of Danes at Greenwich. To these evils the sea in October passed his bounds, overwhelming many towns in England, and of their inhabitants many thousands. The year following, [‡] an assembly being at Oxford, Edric of Streon having invited two noblemen, Sigeferth and Morcar, the sons of Earngrun of Seavenburg, to his lodging, secretly murdered them; the king, for what cause is unknown, seized their estates, and caused Algith the wife of Sigeferth to be kept at Maidulfsburg, now Malmsbury; whom Edmund the prince there married against his father’s mind, then went and possessed their lands, making the people there subject to him. Mat. Westm. saith, that these two were of the Danes who had seated themselves in Northumberland, slain by Edric under colour of treason laid to their charge. They who attended them without, tumulting at the death of their masters, [§] were beaten back; and driven into a church, defending themselves were burnt there in the steeple. Meanwhile Canute returning from Denmark with a great navy, ∥ two hundred ships richly gilded and adorned, well fraught with arms and all provision; and, which Encomium Emmæ mentions not, two other kings, Lachman of Sweden, Olav of Norway, arrived at Sandwich: and, as the same author then living writes, sent out spies to discover what resistance on land was to be expected; who returned with certain report, that a great army of English was in readiness to oppose them. Turkill, who upon the arrival of these Danish powers kept faith no longer with the English, but joining now with Canute, [*] as it were now to reingratiate himself after his revolt, whether real or complotted, counselled him (being yet young) not to land, but to leave to him the management of this first battle: the king assented, and he with the forces which he had brought, and part of those which arrived with Canute, landing to their wish, encountered the English, though double in number, at a place called Scorastan, and was at first beaten back with much loss. But at length animating his men with rage only and despair, obtained a clear victory, which won him great reward and possessions from Canute. But of this action no other writer makes mention. From Sandwich therefore sailing about to the river Frome, and there landing, over all Dorset, Somerset, and Wiltshire he spread wasteful hostility. [†] The king lay then sick at Cosham in this county; though it may seem strange how he could lie sick there in the midst of his enemies. Howbeit Edmund in one part, and Edric of Streon in another, raised forces by themselves; but so soon as both armies were united, the traitor Edric being found to practise against the life of Edmund, he removed with his army from him; whereof the enemy took great advantage. Edric easily enticing the forty ships of Danes to side with him, revolted to Canute: the West-Saxons also gave pledges, and furnished him with horses. By which means the year ensuing, [‡] he with Edric the traitor passing the Thames at Creclad, about twelfthtide, entered into Mercia, and especially Warwickshire, depopulating all places in their way. Against these prince Edmund, for his hardiness called Ironside, gathered an army; but the Mercians refused to fight unless Ethelred with the Londoners came to aid them; and so every man returned home. After the festival, Edmund, gathering another army, besought his father to come with the Londoners, and what force besides he was able; they came with great strength gotten together, but being come, and in a hopeful way of good success, it was told the king, that unless he took the better heed, some of his own forces would fall off and betray him. The king daunted with this perhaps cunning whisper of the enemy, disbanding his army, returns to London. Edmund betook him into Northumberland, as some thought to raise fresh forces; but he with earl Uthred on the one side, and Canute with Edric on the other, did little else but waste the provinces; Canute to conquer them, Edmund to punish them who stood neuter: for which cause Stafford, Shropshire, and Leicestershire, felt heavily his hand; while Canute, who was ruining the more southern shires, at length marched into Northumberland; which Edmund hearing dismissed his forces, and came to London. Uthred the earl hasted back to Northumberland, and finding no other remedy, submitted himself with all the Northumbrians, giving hostages to Canute. Nevertheless by his command or connivance, and the hand of one Turebrand a Danish lord, Uthred was slain, and Iric another Dane made earl in his stead.

This Uthred, son of Walteof, as Simeon writes, in his treatise of the siege of Durham, in his youth obtained a great victory against Malcolm, son of Kened king of Scots, who with the whole power of his kingdom was fallen into Northumberland, and laid siege to Durham. Walteof the old earl, unable to resist, had secured himself in Bebbanburg, a strong town; but Uthred gathering an army raised the siege, slew most of the Scots, their king narrowly escaping, and with the heads of their slain fixed upon poles beset round the walls of Durham. The year of this exploit Simeon clears not, for in 969, and in the reign of Ethelred, as he affirms, it could not be. Canute by another way returning southward, joyful of his success, before Easter came back with all the army to his fleet. About the end of April ensuing, Ethelred, after a long, troublesome, and ill governed reign, ended his days at London, and was buried in the church of St. Paul.

EDMUND IRONSIDE.

AFTER the decease of Ethelred, they of the nobility who were then at London, together with the citizens, chose Edmund [*] his son (not by Emma, but a former wife the daughter of Earl Thored) in his father’s room; but the archbishops, abbots, and many of the nobles assembled together, elected Canute; and coming to Southampton where he then remained, renounced before him all the race of Ethelred, and swore him fidelity: he also swore to them in matters both religious and secular, to be their faithful lord. But Edmund, [†] with all speed going to the West-Saxons, was joyfully received of them as their king, and of many other provinces by their example.—Meanwhile Canute about mid May came with his whole fleet up the river to London; then causing a great dike to be made on the Surrey side, turned the stream, and drew his ships thither west of the bridge; then begirting the city with a broad and deep trench, assailed it on every side; but repulsed as before by the valorous defendants, and in despair of success at that time, leaving part of his army for the defence of his ships, with the rest sped him to the West-Saxons, ere Edmund could have time to assemble all his powers; who yet with such as were at hand, invoking divine aid, encountered the Danes at Pen by Gillingham in Dorsetshire, and put him to flight. After midsummer, increased with new forces, he met with him again at a place called Sherastan, now Sharstan; but Edric, Almar, and Algar, with the Hampshire and Wiltshire men, then siding with the Danes, he only maintained the fight, obstinately fought on both sides, till night and weariness parted them. Daylight returning renewed the conflict, wherein the Danes appearing inferior, Edric to dishearten the English cuts off the head of one Osmer, in countenance and hair somewhat resembling the king, and holding it up, cries aloud to the English, that Edmund being slain, and this his head, it was time for them to fly; which fallacy Edmund perceiving, and openly showing himself to his soldiers, by a spear thrown at Edric, that missing him yet slew one next him, [‡] and through him another behind, they recovered heart, and lay sore upon the Danes till night parted them as before: for ere the third morn, Canute, sensible of his loss, marched away by stealth to his ships at London, renewing there his leaguer. Some would have this battle at Sherastan the same with that at Scorastan before mentioned, but the circumstance of time permits not, that having been before the landing of Canute, this a good while after, as by the process of things appears. From Sherastan or Sharstan Edmund returned to the West-Saxons, whose valour Edric fearing lest it might prevail against the Danes, sought pardon of his revolt, and obtaining it swore loyalty to the king, who now the third time coming with an army from the West-Saxons to London, raised the siege, chasing Canute and his Danes to their ships. Then after two days passing the Thames at Brentford, and so coming on their backs, kept them so turned, and obtained the victory; then returns again to his West-Saxons, and Canute to his siege, but still in vain: rising therefore thence, he entered with his ships a river then called Arenne; and from the banks thereof wasted Mercia; thence their horse by land, their foot by ship came to Medway. Edmund in the mean while with multiplied forces out of many shires crossing again at Brentford, came into Kent, seeking Canute; encountered him at Otford, and so defeated, that of his horse they who escaped fled to the isle of Sheppey; and a full victory he had gained, had not Edric still the traitor by some wile or other detained his pursuit: and Edmund, who never wanted courage, here wanted prudence to be so misled, ever after forsaken of his wonted fortune. Canute crossing with his army into Essex, thence wasted Mercia worse than before, and with heavy prey returned to his ships: them Edmund with a collected army pursuing overtook at a place called Assandune or Asseshill, [*] now Ashdown in Essex; the battle on either side was fought with great vehemence; but perfidious Edric perceiving the victory to incline towards Edmund, with that part of the army which was under him fled, as he had promised Canute, and left the king overmatched with numbers: by which desertion the English were overthrown, duke Alfric, duke Godwin, and Ulfketel the valiant duke of East-Angles, with a great part of the nobility slain, so as the English of a long time had not received a greater blow. Yet after a while Edmund, not absurdly called Ironside, preparing again to try his fortune in another field, was hindered by Edric and others of his faction, advising him to make peace and divide the kingdom with Canute. To which Edmund overruled, a treaty appointed, and pledges mutually given, both kings met together at a place called Deorhirst in Gloucestershire; [†] Edmund on the west side of Severn, Canute on the east, with their armies, then both in person wafted into an island, at that time called Olanege, [‡] now Alney, in the midst of the river; swearing amity and brotherhood, they parted the kingdom between them. Then interchanging arms and the habit they wore, assessing also what pay should be allotted to the navy, they departed each his way. Concerning this interview and the cause thereof others write otherwise; Malmsbury, that Edmund grieving at the loss of so much blood spilt for the ambition only of two men striving who should reign, of his own accord sent to Canute, offering him single combat, to prevent in their own cause the effusion of more blood than their own; that Canute, though of courage enough, yet not unwisely doubting to adventure his body of small timber, against a man of iron sides, refused the combat, offering to divide the kingdom. This offer pleasing both armies, Edmund was not difficult to consent; and the decision was, that he as his hereditary kingdom should rule the West-Saxons and all the South, Canute the Mercians and the North. Huntingdon followed by Mat. Westm. relates, that the peers on every side wearied out with continual warfare, and not refraining to affirm openly that they two who expected to reign singly, had most reason to fight singly, the kings were content; the island was their lists, the combat knightly; till Knute, finding himself too weak, began to parley, which ended as is said before. After which the Londoners bought their peace of the Danes, and permitted them to winter in the city. But King Edmund about the feast of St. Andrew unexpectedly deceased at London, and was buried near to Edgar his grandfather at Glaston. The cause of his so sudden death is uncertain; common fame, saith Malmsbury, lays the guilt thereof upon Edric, who to please Canute, allured with promise of reward two of the king’s privy chamber, though at first abhorring the fact, to assassinate him at the stool, by thrusting a sharp iron into his hinder parts. Huntingdon and Mat. Westm. relate it done at Oxford by the son of Edric, and something vary in the manner, not worth recital. Edmund dead, Canute meaning to reign sole king of England, calls to him all the dukes, barons, and bishops of the land, cunningly demanding of them who were witnesses what agreement was made between him and Edmund dividing the kingdom, whether the sons and brothers of Edmund were to govern the West-Saxons after him, Canute living? They who understood his meaning, and feared to undergo his anger, timorously answered, that Edmund they knew had left no part thereof to his sons or brethren, living or dying; but that he intended Canute should be their guardian, till they came to age of reigning. Simeon affirms, that for fear or hope of reward they attested what was not true: notwithstanding which he put many of them to death not long after.

CANUTE, OR KNUTE.

CANUTE having thus sounded the nobility, [*] and by them understood, received their oath of fealty, they the pledge of his bare hand, and oath from the Danish nobles; whereupon the house of Edmund was renounced, and Canute crowned. Then they enacted, that Edwi brother of Edmund, a prince of great hope, should be banished the realm. But Canute, not thinking himself secure while Edwi lived, consulted with Edric how to make him away; who told him of one Ethelward a decayed nobleman, likeliest to do the work. Ethelward sent for, and tempted by the king in private with largest rewards, but abhorring in his mind the deed, promised to do it when he saw his opportunity; and so still deferred it. But Edwi afterwards received into favour, as a snare, was by him, or some other of his false friends, Canute contriving it, the same year slain. Edric also counselled him to dispatch Edward and Edmund, the sons of Ironside; but the king doubting that the fact would seem too foul done in England, sent them to the king of Sweden, with like intent; but he, disdaining the office, sent them for better safety to Solomon king of Hungary; where Edmund at length died, but Edward married Agatha daughter to Henry the German emperor. A digression in the laws of Edward Confessor under the title of Lex Noricorum saith, that this Edward, for fear of Canute, fled of his own accord to Malesclot king of the Rugians, who received him honourably, and of that country gave him a wife. Canute, settled in his throne, divided the government of his kingdom into four parts; the West-Saxons to himself, the East-Angles to earl Turkill, the Mercians to Edric, the Northumbrians to Iric; then made peace with all princes round about him, and, his former wife being dead, in July married Emma, the widow of king Ethelred. The Christmas following was an ill feast to Edric, of whose treason the king having now made use as much as served his turn, and fearing himself to be the next betrayed, caused him to be slain at London in the palace, thrown over the city wall, and there to lie unburied; the head of Edric fixed on a pole, he commanded to be set on the highest tower of London, as in a double sense he had promised him for the murder of King Edmund to exalt him above all the peers of England. Huntingdon, Malmsbury, and Mat. Westm. write, that suspecting the king’s intention to degrade him from his Mercian dukedom, and upbraiding him with his merits, the king enraged caused him to be strangled in the room, and out at a window thrown into the Thames. Another writes, [*] that Eric at the king’s command struck off his head. Other great men, though without fault, as duke Norman the son of Leofwin, Ethelward son of duke Agelmar, he put to death at the same time, jealous of their power or familiarity with Edric: and notwithstanding peace, kept still his army; to maintain which, the next year [†] he squeezed out of the English, though now his subjects, not his enemies, seventy-two, some say, eighty-two thousand pound, besides fifteen thousand out of London. Meanwhile great war arose at Carr, between Uthred son of Waldef, earl of Northumberland, and Malcolm son of Kened king of Scots, with whom held Eugenius king of Lothian. But here Simeon the relater seems to have committed some mistake, having slain Uthred by Canute two years before, and set Iric in his place: Iric therefore it must needs be, not Uthred, who managed this war against the Scots. About which time at a convention of Danes at Oxford, it was agreed on both parties to keep the laws of Edgar; Mat. Westm. saith of Edward the elder.

The next year [‡] Canute sailed into Denmark, and there abode all winter. Huntingdon and Mat. Westm. say, he went thither to repress the Swedes; and that the night before a battle was fought with them, Godwin, stealing out of the camp with his English, assaulted the Swedes, and had got the victory ere Canute in the morning knew of any fight. For which bold enterprise, though against discipline, he had the English in more esteem ever after. In the spring, at his return into England, [§] he held in the time of Easter a great assembly at Chichester, and the same year was with Turkill the Dane at the dedication of a church by them built at Assendune, in the place of that great victory which won him the crown. But suspecting his greatness, the year following banished him the realm, and found occasion to do the like by Iric the Northumbrian earl upon the same jealousy. Nor yet content with his conquest of England, ∥ though now above ten years enjoyed, he passed with fifty ships into Norway, dispossessed Olave their king, and subdued the land, [¶] first with great sums of money sent the year before to gain him a party, then coming with an army to compel the rest. Thence returning king of England, Denmark, and Norway, yet not secure in his mind, [**] under colour of an embassy sent into banishment Hacun a powerful Dane, who had married the daughter of his sister Gunildis, having conceived some suspicion of his practices against him: but such course was taken, that he never came back; either perishing at sea, or slain by contrivance the next year [††] in Orkney. Canute therefore having thus established himself by bloodshed and oppression, to wash away, as he thought the guilt thereof, sailing [‡‡] again into Denmark, went thence to Rome, and offered there to St. Peter great gifts of gold and silver, and other precious things; besides the usual tribute of Romscot, giving great alms by the way, [§§] both thither and back again, freeing many places of custom and toll with great expense, where strangers were wont to pay, having vowed great amendment of life at the sepulchre of Peter and Paul, and to his whole people in a large letter written from Rome yet extant. At his return therefore he built and dedicated a church to St. Edmund at Bury, whom his ancestors had slain, ∥∥ threw out the secular priests, who had intruded there, and placed monks in their stead; then going into Scotland, subdued and received homage of Malcolm, and two other kings there, Melbeath and Jermare. [*] Three years [†] after, having made Swane, his supposed son by Algiva of Northampton, duke Alfhelm’s daughter, (for others say the son of a priest, whom Algiva barren [‡] had got ready at the time of her feigned labour,) king of Norway, and Hardecnute, his son by Emma, king of Denmark; and designed Harold, his son by Algiva of Northampton, king of England; died [§] at Shaftsbury, and was buried at Winchester in the old monastery. This king, as appears, ended better than he began; for though he seems to have had no hand in the death of Ironside, but detested the fact, and bringing the murderers, who came to him in hope of great reward, forth among his courtiers, as it were to receive thanks, after they had openly related the manner of their killing him, delivered them to deserved punishment, yet he spared Edric, whom he knew to be the prime author of that detestable fact; till willing to be rid of him, grown importune upon the confidence of his merits, and upbraided by him that he had first relinquished, then extinguished, Edmund for his sake; angry to be so upbraided, therefore said he with a changed countenance, “traitor to God and me, thou shalt die; thine own mouth accuses thee, to have slain thy master my confederate brother, and the Lord’s anointed.” Whereupon although present ∥ and private execution was in rage done upon Edric, yet he himself in cool blood scrupled not to make away the brother and children of Edmund, who had better right to be the Lord’s anointed here than himself. When he had obtained in England what he desired, no wonder if he sought the love of his conquered subjects for the love of his own quiet, the maintainers of his wealth and state for his own profit. For the like reason he is thought to have married Emma, and that Richard duke of Normandy her brother might the less care what became of Alfred and Edward, her sons by King Ethelred. He commanded to be observed the ancient Saxon laws, called afterwards the laws of Edward the Confessor, not that he made them, but strictly observed them. His letter from Rome professes, if he had done aught amiss in his youth, through negligence or want of due temper, full resolution with the help of God to make amends, by governing justly and piously for the future; charges and adjures all his officers and viscounts, that neither for fear of him, or favour of any person, or to enrich the king, they suffer injustice to be done in the land; commands his treasurers to pay all his debts ere his return home, which was by Denmark, to compose matters there; and what his letter professed, he performed all his life after. But it is a fond conceit in many great ones, and pernicious in the end, to cease from no violence till they have attained the utmost of their ambitions and desires; then to think God appeased by their seeking to bribe him with a share, however large, of their ill-gotten spoils; and then lastly to grow zealous of doing right, when they have no longer need to do wrong. Howbeit Canute was famous through Europe, and much honoured of Conrade the emperor, then at Rome, with rich gifts and many grants of what he there demanded for the freeing of passages from toll and custom. I must not omit one remarkable action done by him, as Huntingdon reports it, with great scene of circumstance, and emphatical expression, to show the small power of kings in respect of God; which, unless to court-parasites, needed no such laborious demonstration. He caused his royal seat to be set on the shore, while the tide was coming in; and with all the state that royalty could put into his countenance, said thus to the sea; “Thou sea belongest to me, and the land whereon I sit is mine; nor hath any one unpunished resisted my commands: I charge thee come no further upon my land, neither presume to wet the feet of thy sovereign lord.” But the sea, as before, came rolling on, and without reverence both wet and dashed him. Whereat the king quickly rising, wished all about him to behold and consider the weak and frivolous power of a king, and that none indeed deserved the name of a king, but he whose eternal laws both heaven, earth, and sea obey. A truth so evident of itself, as I said before, that unless to shame his court-flatterers, who would not else be convinced, Canute needed not to have gone wetshod home; the best is, from that time forth he never would wear a crown, esteeming earthly royalty contemptible and vain.

HAROLD.

HAROLD for his swiftness surnamed Harefoot, [*] the son of Canute by Algiva of Northampton, (though some speak doubtfully as if she bore him not, but had him of a shoemaker’s wife as Swane before of a priest; others of a maidservant, to conceal her barrenness,) in a great assembly at Oxford was by duke Leofric and the Mercians, with the Londoners, according to his father’s testament, elected king; [†] but without the regal habiliments, which Ælnot, the archbishop, having in his custody, refused to deliver up, but to the sons of Emma, for which Harold ever after hated the clergy; and (as the clergy are wont thence to infer) all religion. Godwin earl of Kent, and the West-Saxons with him, stood for Hardecnute. Malmsbury saith, that the contest was between Dane and English; that the Danes and Londoners grown now in a manner Danish, were all for Hardecnute: but he being then in Denmark, Harold prevailed, yet so as that the kingdom should be divided between them; the west and south part reserved by Emma for Hardecnute till his return. But Harold, once advanced into the throne, banished Emma his mother-in-law, seized on his father’s treasure at Winchester, and there remained. Emma, [‡] not holding it safe to abide in Normandy while duke William the bastard was yet under age, retired to Baldwin earl of Flanders. In the mean while Elfred and Edward sons of Ethelred, accompanied with a small number of Norman soldiers in a few ships, coming to visit their mother Emma not yet departed the land, and perhaps to see how the people were inclined to restore them their right, Elfred was sent for by the king then at London; but in his way met at Guilford by earl Godwin, who with all seeming friendship entertained him, was in the night surprised and made prisoner, most of his company put to various sorts of cruel death, decimated twice over; then brought to London, was by the king sent bound to Ely, had his eyes put out by the way, and delivered to the monks there, died soon after in their custody. Malmsbury gives little credit to this story of Elfred, as not chronicled in his time, but rumoured only. Which Emma however hearing sent away her son Edward, who by good hap accompanied not his brother, with all speed into Normandy. But the author of “Encomium Emmæ,” who seems plainly (though nameless) to have been some monk, yet lived, and perhaps wrote within the same year when these things were done; by his relation, diffaring from all others, much aggravates the cruelty of Harold, that he, not content to have practised in secret (for openly he durst not) against the life of Emma, sought many treacherous ways to get her son within his power; and resolved at length to forge a letter in the name of their mother, inviting them into England, the copy of which letter he produces written to this purpose.

“ EMMA in name only queen, to her sons Edward and Elfred, imparts motherly salutation. While we severally bewail the death of our lord the king, most dear sons! and while daily you are deprived more and more of the kingdom your inheritance; I admire what counsel ye take, knowing that your intermitted delay is a daily strengthening to the reign of your usurper, who incessantly goes about from town to city, gaining the chief nobles to his party, either by gifts, prayers, or threats. But they had much rather one of you should reign over them, than to be held under the power of him who now overrules them. I entreat therefore that one of you come to me speedily, and privately, to receive from me wholesome counsel, and to know how the business which I intend shall be accomplished. By this messenger present, send back what you determine. Farewell, as dear both as my own heart.”

These letters were sent to the princes then in Normandy, by express messengers, with presents also as from their mother; which they joyfully receiving, returned word by the same messengers, that one of them will be with her shortly; naming both the time and place. Elfrid therefore, the younger (for so it was thought best) at the appointed time, with a few ships and small numbers about him appearing on the coast, no sooner came ashore but fell into the snare of earl Godwin, sent on purpose to betray him; as above was related. Emma greatly sorrowing for the loss of her son, thus cruelly made away, fled immediately with some of the nobles her faithfullest adherents into Flanders, had her dwelling assigned at Bruges by the earl; where having remained about two years, [*] she was visited out of Denmark by Hardecnute her son; and he not long had remained with her there, when Harold in England, having done nothing the while worth memory, save the taxing of every port at eight marks of silver to sixteen ships, died at London, some say at Oxford, and was buried at Winchester. After which, [†] most of the nobility, both Danes and English now agreeing, send embassadors to Hardecnute still at Bruges with his mother, entreating him to come and receive as his right, the sceptre; who before midsummer came with sixty ships, and many soldiers out of Denmark.

HARDECNUTE.

HARDECNUTE received with acclamation, and seated in the throne, first called to mind the injuries done to him or his mother Emma in the time of Harold; sent Alfric archbishop of York, Godwin, and others, with Troud his executioner, to London, commanding them to dig up the body of King Harold, and throw it into a ditch; but by a second order, into the Thames. Whence taken up by a fisherman, and conveyed to a churchyard in London belonging to the Danes, it was interred again with honour. This done, he levied a sore tax, that eight marks to every rower, and twelve to every officer in his fleet should be paid throughout England: by which time they who were so forward to call him over had enough of him; for he as they thought, had too much of theirs. After this he called to account Godwin earl of Kent, and Leving bishop of Worcester, about the death of Elfred his half brother, which Alfric the archbishop laid to their charge; the king deprived Leving of his bishopric, and gave it to his accuser: but the year following, pacified with a round sum, restored it to Leving. Godwin [*] made his peace by a sumptuous present, a galley with a gilded stem bravely rigged, and eighty soldiers in her, every one with bracelets of gold on each arm, weighing sixteen ounces, helmet, corslet, and hilts of his sword gilded; a Danish curtaxe, listed with gold or silver, hung on his left shoulder, a shield with boss and nails gilded in his left hand, in his right a lance; besides this, he took his oath before the king, that neither of his own counsel or will, but by the command of Harold, he had done what he did, to the putting out Elfred’s eyes. The like oath took most of the nobility for themselves, or in his behalf. The next year [†] Hardecnute sending his house-carles, so they called his officers, to gather the tribute imposed; two of them, rigorous in their office, were slain at Worcester by the people; whereat the king enraged sent Leofric duke of Mercia, and Seward of Northumberland, with great forces and commission to slay the citizens, rifle and burn the city, and waste the whole province. Affrighted with such news, all the people fled: the countrymen whither they could, the citizens to a small island in Severn, called Beverege, which they fortified and defended stoutly till peace was granted them, and freely to return home. But their city they found sacked and burnt; wherewith the king was appeased. This was commendable in him, however cruel to others, that towards his half-brethren, though rivals of his crown, he shewed himself always tenderly affectioned; as now towards Edward, who without fear came to him out of Normandy, and with unfeigned kindness received, remained safely and honourably in his court. But Hardecnute [‡] the year following, at a feast wherein Osgod a great Danish lord gave his daughter in marriage at Lambeth to Prudon another potent Dane, in the midst of his mirth, sound and healthful to sight, while he was drinking fell down speechless, and so dying, was buried at Winchester beside his father. He was it seems, a great lover of good cheer; sitting at table four times a day, with great variety of dishes and superfluity to all comers. Whereas, saith Huntingdon, in our time princes in their houses made but one meal a day. He gave his sister Gunildis, a virgin of rare beauty, in marriage to Henry the Alman emperor; and to send her forth pompously, all the nobility contributed their jewels and richest ornaments. But it may seem a wonder, that our historians, if they deserve that name, should in a matter so remarkable, and so near their own time, so much differ. Huntingdon relates, against the credit of all other records, that Hardecnute thus dead, the English rejoicing at this unexpected riddance of the Danish yoke, sent over to Elfred, the elder son of Emma by King Ethelred, of whom we heard but now that he died a prisoner at Ely, sent thither by Harold six years before; that he came now out of Normandy, with a great number of men, to receive the crown; that earl Godwin, aiming to have his daughter queen of England, by marrying her to Edward a simple youth, for he thought Elfred of a higher spirit than to accept her, persuaded the nobles, that Elfred had brought over too many Normans, had promised them land here, that it was not safe to suffer a warlike and subtle nation to take root in the land, that these were to be so handled as none of them might dare for the future to flock hither, upon pretence of relation to the king: thereupon by common consent of the nobles, both Elfred and his company were dealt with as was above related; that they then sent for Edward out of Normandy, with hostages to be left there of their faithful intentions to make him king, and their desires not to bring over with him many Normans; that Edward at their call came then first out of Normandy; whereas all others agree, that he came voluntarily over to visit Hardecnute, as is before said, and was remaining then in court at the time of his death. For Hardecnute dead, saith Malmsbury, Edward, doubting greatly his own safety, determined to rely wholly on the advice and favour of earl Godwin; desiring therefore by messengers to have private speech with him, the earl a while deliberated; at last assenting, prince Edward came, and would have fallen at his feet; but that not permitted, told him the danger wherein he thought himself at present, and in great perplexity besought his help, to convey him some whither out of the land. Godwin soon apprehending the fair occasion that now as it were prompted him how to advance himself and his family, cheerfully exhorted him to remember himself the son of Ethelred, the grandchild of Edgar, right heir to the crown at full age; not to think of flying, but of reigning, which might easily be brought about, if he would follow his counsel; then setting forth the power and authority which he had in England, promised it should be all his to set him on the throne, if he on his part would promise and swear to be for ever his friend, to preserve the honour of his house, and to marry his daughter. Edward, as his necessity then was, consented easily, and swore to whatever Godwin required. An assembly of states thereupon met at Gillingham, where Edward pleaded his right; and by the powerful influence of Godwin was accepted. Others, as Brompton, with no probability write, that Godwin at this time was fled into Denmark, for what he had done to Elfred, returned and submitted himself to Edward then king, was by him charged openly with the death of Elfred, and not without much ado, by the intercession of Leofric and other peers, received at length into favour.

EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.

GLAD were the English delivered so unexpectedly from their Danish masters, and little thought how near another conquest was hanging over them. Edward, the Easter following, [*] crowned at Winchester, the same year accompanied with earl Godwin, Leofric, and Siward, came again thither on a sudden, and by their counsel seized on the treasure of his mother Emma. The cause alleged is, that she was hard to him in the time of his banishment; and indeed she is said not much to have loved Ethelred her former husband, and thereafter the children by him; she was moreover noted to be very covetous, hard to the poor, and profuse to monasteries. About this time [†] also King Edward, according to promise, took to wife Edith or Egith earl Godwin’s daughter, commended much for beauty, modesty, and beyond what is requisite in a woman, learning. Ingulf, then a youth lodging in the court with his father, saw her oft, and coming from the school was sometimes met by her and posed, not in grammar only, but in logic. Edward the next year but one [‡] made ready a strong navy at Sandwich against Magnus king of Norway, who threatened an invasion, had not Swane king of Denmark diverted him by a war at home to defend his own land; [§] not out of good will to Edward, as may be supposed, who at the same time expressed none to the Danes, banishing Gunildis the neice of Canute with her two sons, and Osgod by surname Clapa, out of the realm. Swane, overpowered by Magnus, ∥ sent the next year to entreat aid of King Edward; Godwin gave counsel to send him fifty ships fraught with soldiers; but Leofric and the general voice gainsaying, none were sent. The next year [*] Harold Harvager, king of Norway, sending embassadors, made peace with King Edward; but an earthquake at Worcester and Derby, pestilence and famine in many places, much lessened the enjoyment thereof. The next year [†] Henry the emperor, displeased with Baldwin earl of Flanders, had straitened him with a great army by land; and sending to king Edward, desired him with his ships to hinder what he might his escape by sea. The king therefore, with a great navy, coming to Sandwich, there staid till the emperor came to an agreement with earl Baldwin. Meanwhile Swane son of earl Godwin, who, not permitted to marry Edgiva the abbess of Chester by him deflowered, had left the land, came out of Denmark with eight ships, feigning a desire to return into the king’s favour; and Beorn his cousin german, who commanded part of the king’s navy, promised to intercede, that his earldom might be restored him. Godwin therefore and Beorn with a few ships, the rest of the fleet gone home, coming to Pevensey, (but Godwin soon departed thence in pursuit of twenty-nine Danish ships, who had got much booty on the coast of Essex, and perished by tempest in their return,) Swane with his ships comes to Beorn at Pevensey, guilefully requests him to sail with him to Sandwich, and reconcile him to the king, as he had promised. Beorn mistrusting no evil where he intended good, went with him in his ship attended by three only of his servants: but Swane, set upon barbarous cruelty, not reconciliation with the king, took Beorn now in his power, and bound him; then coming to Dartmouth, slew and buried him in a deep ditch. After which the men of Hastings took six of his ships, and brought them to the king at Sandwich; with the other two he escaped into Flanders, there remaining till Aldred bishop of Worcester by earnest mediation wrought his peace with the king. About this time King Edward sent to pope Leo, desiring absolution from a vow which he had made in his younger years, to take a journey to Rome, if God vouchsafed him to reign in England; the pope dispensed with his vow, but not without the expense of his journey given to the poor, and a monastery built or re-dified to St. Peter; who in vision to a monk, as is said, chose Westminster, which King Edward thereupon rebuilding endowed with large privileges and revenues. [‡] The same year, saith Florent of Worcester, certain Irish pirates with thirty-six ships entered the mouth of Severn, and with the aid of Griffin prince of South Wales, did some hurt in those parts: then passing the river Wye, burnt Dunedham, and slew all the inhabitants they found. Against whom Aldred bishop of Worcester, with a few out of Gloucester and Herefordshire, went out in haste: but Griffin, to whom the Welsh and Irish had privily sent messengers, came down upon the English with his whole power by night, and early in the morning suddenly assaulting them, slew many, and put the rest to flight. The next year [§] but one, King Edward remitted the Danish tax which had continued thirty-eight years heavy upon the land since Ethelred first paid it to the Danes, and what remained thereof in his treasury he sent back to the owners: but through imprudence laid the foundation of a far worse mischief to the English; while studying gratitude to those Normans, who to him in exile had been helpful, he called them over to public offices here, whom better he might have repaid out of his private purse; by this means exasperating either nation one against the other, and making way by degrees to the Norman conquest. Robert a monk of that country, who had been serviceable to him there in time of need, he made bishop, first of London, then of Canterbury; William his chaplain, bishop of Dorchester. Then began the English to lay aside their own ancient customs, and in many things to imitate French manners, the great peers to speak French in their houses, in French to write their bills and letters, as a great piece of gentility, ashamed of their own: a presage of their subjection shortly to that people, whose fashions and language they affected so slavishly. But that which gave beginning to many troubles ensuing happened this year, and upon this occasion.

Eustace earl of Boloign, [*] father of the famous Godfrey who won Jerusalem from the Saracens, and husband to Goda the king’s sister, having been to visit King Edward, and returning by Canterbury to take ship at Dover, one of his harbingers insolently seeking to lodge by force in a house there, provoked so the master thereof, as by chance or heat of anger to kill him. The count with his whole train going to the house where his servant had been killed, slew both the slayer and eighteen more who defended him. But the townsmen running to arms, requited him with the slaughter of twenty more of his servants, wounded most of the rest; he himself with one or two hardly escaping, ran back with clamour to the king; whom, seconded by other Norman courtiers, he stirred up to great anger against the citizens of Canterbury. Earl Godwin in haste is sent for, the cause related and much aggravated by the king against that city, the earl commanded to raise forces, and use the citizens thereof as enemies. Godwin, sorry to see strangers more favoured of the king than his native people, answered, that “it were better to summon first the chief men of the town into the king’s court, to charge them with sedition, where both parties might be heard, that not found in fault they might be acquitted; if otherwise, by fine or loss of life might satisfy the king, whose peace they had broken, and the count whom they had injured: till this were done refusing to prosecute with hostile punishment them of his own country unheard, whom his office was rather to defend.” The king, displeased with his refusal, and not knowing how to compel him, appointed an assembly of all the peers to be held at Gloucester, where the matter might be fully tried; the assembly was full and frequent according to summons: but Godwin, mistrusting his own cause, or the violence of his adversaries, with his two sons, Swane and Harold, and a great power gathered out of his own and his sons’ earldoms, which contained most of the south-east and west parts of England, came no farther than Beverstan, giving out that their forces were to go against the Welsh, who intended an irruption into Herefordshire; and Swane under that pretence lay with part of his army thereabout. The Welsh understanding this device, and with all diligence clearing themselves before the king, left Godwin detected of false accusation in great hatred to all the assembly. Leofric therefore and Siward, dukes of great power, the former in Mercia, the other in all parts beyond Humber, both ever faithful to the king, send privily with speed to raise the forces of their provinces. Which Godwin not knowing, sent bold to King Edward, demanding count Eustace and his followers, together with those Boloignians, who, as Simeon writes, held a castle in the jurisdiction of Canterbury. The king, as then having but little force at hand, entertained him a while with treaties and delays, till his summoned army drew nigh, then rejected his demands. Godwin, thus matched, commanded his sons not to begin fight against the king; begun with, not to give ground. The king’s forces were the flower of those counties whence they came, and eager to fall on: but Leofric and the wiser sort, detesting civil war, [*] brought the matter to this accord; that hostages given on either side, the cause should be again debated at London. Thither the king and lords coming with their army, sent to Godwin and his sons (who with their powers were come as far as Southwark) commanding their appearance unarmed with only twelve attendants, and that the rest of their soldiers they should deliver over to the king. They to appear without pledges before an adverse faction denied; but to dismiss their soldiers refused not, nor in aught else to obey the king as far as might stand with honour and the just regard of their safety.

This answer not pleasing the king, an edict was presently issued forth, that Godwin and his sons within five days depart the land. He, who perceived now his numbers to diminish, readily obeyed, and with his wife and three sons, Tosti, Swane, and Gyrtha, with as much treasure as their ship could carry, embarked at Thorney, sailed into Flanders to earl Baldwin, whose daughter Judith Tosti had married: for Wulnod his fourth son was then a hostage to the king in Normandy; his other two, Harold and Leofwin, taking ship at Bristow, in a vessel that lay ready there belonging to Swane, passed into Ireland. King Edward, pursuing his displeasure, divorced his wife Edith, earl Godwin’s daughter, sending her despoiled of all her ornaments to Warewel with one waiting-maid; to be kept in custody by his sister the abbess there. His reason [†] of so doing was as harsh as his act, that she only, while her nearest relations were in banishment, might not, though innocent, enjoy ease at home. After this, William duke of Normandy, with a great number of followers, coming into England, was by King Edward honourably entertained, and led about the cities and castles, as it were to show him what ere long was to be his own, (though at that time, saith Ingulf, no mention thereof passed between them,) then, after some time of his abode here, presented richly and dismissed, he returned home.

The next year [‡] Queen Emma died, and was buried at Winchester. The chronicle attributed to John Brompton, a Yorkshire abbot, but rather of some nameless author living under Edward III., or later, reports that the year before, by Robert the archbishop she was accused both of consenting to the death of her son Elfred, and of preparing poison for Edward also: lastly, of too much familiarity with Alwin bishop of Winchester; that to approve her innocence, praying overnight to St. Swithune, she offered to pass blindfold between certain ploughshares red-hot, according to the ordalian law, which without harm she performed; that the king thereupon received her to honour, and from her and the bishop, penance for his credulity; that the archbishop, ashamed of his accusation, fled out of England: which, besides the silence of ancienter authors, (for the bishop fled not till a year after,) brings the whole story into suspicion, in this more probable, if it can be proved, that in memory of this deliverance from the nine burning ploughshares, Queen Emma gave to the abbey of St. Swithune nine manors, and bishop Alwin other nine.

About this time Griffin prince of South Wales wasted Herefordshire; to oppose whom the people of that country, with many Normans, garrisoned in the castle of Hereford, went out in arms, but were put to the worse, many slain, and much booty driven away by the Welsh. Soon after which Harold and Leofwin, sons of Godwin, coming into Severn with many ships, in the confines of Somerset and Dorsetshire, spoiled many villages, and resisted by those of Somerset and Devonshire, slew in a fight more than thirty of their principal men, many of the common sort, and returned with much booty to their fleet. King Edward on the other side [*] made ready above sixty ships at Sandwich, well stored with men and provision, under the conduct of Odo and Radulf, two of his Norman kindred, enjoining them to find out Godwin, whom he heard to be at sea. To quicken them, he himself lay on shipboard, ofttimes watched and sailed up and down in search of those pirates. But Godwin, whether in a mist, or by other accident, passing by them, arrived in another part of Kent, and dispersing several messengers abroad, by fair words allured the chief men of Kent, Surrey, and Essex, to his party; which news coming to the king’s fleet at Sandwich, they hasted to find him out; but missing of him again, came up without effect to London. Godwin, advertised of this, forthwith sailed to the Isle of Wight; where at length his two sons Harold and Leofwin finding him, with their united navy lay on the coast, forbearing other hostility than to furnish themselves with fresh victuals from land as they needed. Thence as one fleet they set forward to Sandwich, using all fair means by the way to increase their numbers both of mariners and soldiers. The king then at London, startled at these tidings, gave speedy orders to raise forces in all parts that had not revolted from him; but now too late, for Godwin within a few days after with his ships or galleys came up the river Thames to Southwark, and till the tide returned had conference with the Londoners; whom by fair speeches (for he was held a good speaker in those times) he brought to his bent. The tide returned, and none upon the bridge hindering, he rowed up in his galleys along the south bank; where his land-army, now come to him, in array of battle now stood on the shore; then turning toward the north side of the river, where the king’s galleys lay in some readiness, and land forces also not far off, he made show as offering to fight; but they understood one another, and the soldiers on either side soon declared their resolution not to fight English against English. Thence coming to treaty, the king and the earl reconciled, both armies were dissolved, Godwin and his sons restored to their former dignities, except Swane, who, touched in conscience for the slaughter of Beorne his kinsman, was gone barefoot to Jerusalem, and, returning home, died by sickness or Saracens in Lycia; his wife Edith, Godwin’s daughter, King Edward took to him again, dignified as before. Then were the Normans, who had done many unjust things under the king’s authority, and given him ill counsel against his people, banished the realm; some of them, not blameable, permitted to stay. Robert archbishop of Canterbury, William of London, Ulf of Lincoln, all Normans, hardly escaping with their followers, got to sea. The archbishop went with his complaint to Rome; but returning, died in Normandy at the same monastery from whence he came. Osbern and Hugh surrendered their castles, and by permission of Leofric passed through his countries with their Normans to Macbeth king of Scotland. The year following, [†] Rhese, brother to Griffin, prince of South Wales, who by inroads had done much damage to the English, taken at Bulendun, was put to death by the king’s appointment, and his head brought to him at Gloucester. The same year at Winchester on the second holy day of Easter, earl Godwin, sitting with the king at table, sunk down suddenly in his seat as dead: his three sons, Harold, Tosti, and Girtha, forthwith carried him into the king’s chamber, hoping he might revive: but the malady had so seized him, that the fifth day after he expired. The Normans who hated Godwin give out, saith Malmsbury, that mention happening to be made of Elfred, and the king thereat looking sourly upon Godwin, he, to vindicate himself, uttered these words: “Thou, O king, at every mention made of thy brother Elfred, lookest frowningly upon me; but let God not suffer me to swallow this morsel, if I be guilty of aught done against his life or thy advantage;” that after these words, choked with the morsel taken, he sunk down and recovered not. His first wife was the sister of Canute, a woman of much infamy for the trade she drove of buying up English youths and maids to sell in Denmark, whereof she made great gain; but ere long was struck with thunder and died. The year ensuing, [*] Siward earl of Northumberland, with a great number of horse and foot, attended also by a strong fleet at the king’s appointment, made an expedition into Scotland, vanquished the tyrant Macbeth, slaying many thousands of Scots with those Normans that went thither, and placed Malcolm son of the Cambrian king in his stead; yet not without loss of his own son, and many other both English and Danes. Told of his son’s death, [†] he asked whether he received his death’s wound before or behind. When it was answered, before; “I am glad,” saith he, “and should not else have thought him, though my son, worthy of burial.” In the mean while King Edward being without issue to succeed him, sent Aldred bishop of Winchester with great presents to the emperor, entreating him to prevail with the king of Hungary, that Edward, the remaining son of his brother Edmund Ironside, might be sent into England. Siward but one year surviving his great victory, died at York; [‡] reported by Huntingdon a man of giant-like stature; and by his own demeanor at point of death manifested, of a rough and mere soldierly mind. For much disdaining to die in bed by a disease, not in the field fighting with his enemies, he caused himself completely armed, and weaponed with battleaxe and shield, to be set in a chair, whether to fight with death, if he could be so vain, or to meet him (when far other weapons and preparations were needful) in a martial bravery; but true fortitude glories not in the feats of war, as they are such, but as they serve to end war soonest by a victorious peace.

His earldom the king bestowed on Tosti the son of earl Godwin: and soon after, in a convention held at London, banished without visible cause, Huntingdon saith for treason, Algar the son of Leofric; who, passing into Ireland, soon returned with eighteen ships to Griffin prince of South Wales, requesting his aid against King Edward. He, assembling his powers, entered with him into Herefordshire; whom Radulf a timorous captain, son to the king’s sister, not by Eustace, but a former husband, met two miles distant from Hereford; and having horsed the English, who knew better to fight on foot, without stroke he with his French and Normans beginning to fly, taught the English by his example. Griffin and Algar, following the chase, slew many, wounded more, entered Hereford, slew seven canons defending the minster, burnt the monastery and reliques, then the city; killing some, leading captive others of the citizens, returned with great spoils; whereof King Edward having notice gathered a great army at Gloucester under the conduct of Harold, now earl of Kent, who strenuously pursuing Griffin entered Wales, and encamped beyond Straddale. But the enemy flying before him farther into the country, leaving there the greater part of his army with such as had charge to fight, if occasion were offered, with the rest he returned, and fortified Hereford with a wall and gates. Meanwhile Griffin and Algar, dreading the diligence of Harold, after many messages to and fro, concluded a peace with him. Algar, discharging his fleet with pay at West-Chester, came to the king, and was restored to his earldom. But Griffin with breach of faith, the next year [*] set upon Leofgar the bishop of Hereford and his clerks then at a place called Glastbrig, with Agelnorth viscount of the shire, and slew them; but Leofric, Harold, and King Edward, by force as is likeliest, though it be not said how, reduced him to peace. The next year, [†] Edward son of Edmund Ironside, for whom his uncle King Edward had sent to the emperor, came out of Hungary, designed successor to the crown; but within a few days after his coming died at London, leaving behind him Edgar Atheling his son, Margaret and Christiana his daughters. About the same time also died earl Leofric in a good old age, a man of no less virtue than power in his time, religious, prudent, and faithful to his country, happily wedded to Godiva, a woman of great praise. His son Algar found less favour with King Edward, again banished the year after his father’s death, [‡] but he again by the aid of Griffin and a fleet from Norway, maugre the king, soon recovered his earldom. The next year [§] Malcolm king of Scots, coming to visit King Edward, was brought on his way by Tosti the Northumbrian, to whom he swore brotherhood: yet the next year but one, ∥ while Tosti was gone to Rome with Aldred archbishop of York for his pall, this sworn brother, taking advantage of his absence, roughly harassed Northumberland. The year passing to an end without other matter of moment, save the frequent inroads and robberies of Griffin, whom no bounds of faith could restrain, King Edward sent against him after Christmas Harold now Duke of West-Saxons, [¶] with no great body of horse, from Gloucester, where he then kept his court; whose coming heard of Griffin not daring to abide, nor in any part of his land holding himself secure, escaped hardly by sea, ere Harold, coming to Rudeland, burnt his palace and ships there, returning to Gloucester the same day. But by the middle of May [**] setting out with a fleet from Bristow, he sailed about the most part of Wales, and met by his brother Tosti with many troops of horse, as the king had appointed, began to waste the country; but the Welsh giving pledges, yielded themselves, promised to become tributary, and banish Griffin their prince; who lurking somewhere was the next year [††] taken and slain by Griffin prince of North Wales; his head with the head and tackle of his ship sent to Harold, by him to the king, who of his gentleness made Blechgent and Rithwallon, or Rivallon, his two brothers, princes in his stead; they to Harold in behalf of the king swore fealty and tribute. Yet the next year [‡‡] Harold having built a fair house at a place called Portascith in Monmouthshire, and stored it with provision, that the king might lodge there in time of hunting, Caradoc, the son of Griffin slain the year before, [§§] came with a number of men, slew all he found there, and took away the provision. Soon after which the Northumbrians in a tumult at York beset the palace of Tosti their earl, slew more than two hundred of his soldiers and servants, pillaged his treasure, and put him to fly for his life. The cause of this insurrection they alledged to be, for that the queen Edith had commanded, in her brother Tosti’s behalf, Gospatric a nobleman of that country to be treacherously slain in the king’s court; and that Tosti himself the year before with like treachery had caused to be slain in his chamber Gamel and Ulf, two other of their noblemen, besides his intolerable exactions and oppressions. Then in a manner the whole country, coming up to complain of their grievances, met with Harold at Northampton, whom the king at Tosti’s request had sent to pacify the Northumbrians; but they laying open the cruelty of his government, and their own birthright of freedom not to endure the tyranny of any governor whatsoever, with absolute refusal to admit him again, and Harold hearing reason, all the accomplices of Tosti were expelled the earldom. He himself, banished the realm, went into Flanders; Morcar the son of Algar made earl in his stead. Huntingdon tells another cause of Tosti’s banishment, that one day at Windsor, while Harold reached the cup to King Edward, Tosti envying to see his younger brother in greater favour than himself, could not forbear to run furiously upon him, catching hold of his hair; the scuffle was soon parted by other attendants rushing between, and Tosti forbidden the court. He with continued fury riding to Hereford, where Harold had many servants, preparing an entertainment for the king, came to the house and set upon them with his followers; then lopping off hands, arms, legs of some, heads of others, threw them into buts of wine, meath or ale, which were laid in for the king’s drinking: and at his going away charged them to send him this word, that of other fresh meats he might bring with him to his farm what he pleased, but of souse he should find plenty provided ready for him: that for this barbarous act the king pronounced him banished; that the Northumbrians, taking advantage at the king’s displeasure and sentence against him, rose also to be revenged of his cruelties done to themselves. But this no way agrees; for why then should Harold or the king so much labour with the Northumbrians to readmit him, if he were a banished man for his crimes done before? About this time it happened, that Harold putting to sea one day for his pleasure, [*] in a fisherboat, from his manor at Boseham in Sussex, caught with a tempest too far off land was carried into Normandy; and by the earl of Pontiew, on whose coast he was driven, at his own request brought to duke William; who, entertaining him with great courtesy, so far won him, as to promise the duke by oath of his own accord, not only the castle of Dover then in his tenure, but the kingdom also after King Edward’s death to his utmost endeavour, thereupon betrothing the duke’s daughter then too young for marriage, and departing richly presented. Others say, that King Edward himself, after the death of Edward his nephew, sent Harold thither on purpose to acquaint duke William with his intention to bequeath him his kingdom: [†] but Malmsbury accounts the former story to be the truer. Ingulf writes, that King Edward now grown old, and perceiving Edgar his nephew both in body and in mind unfit to govern, especially against the pride and insolence of Godwin’s sons, who would never obey him; duke William on the other side of high merit, and his kinsman by the mother, had sent Robert archbishop of Canterbury, to acquaint the duke with his purpose, not long before Harold came thither. The former part may be true, that King Edward upon such considerations had sent one or other; but archbishop Robert was fled the land, and dead many years before. Eadmer and Simeon write, that Harold went of his own accord into Normandy, by the king’s permission or connivance, to get free his brother Wulnod and nephew Hacun the son of Swane, whom the king had taken hostages of Godwin, and sent into Normandy; that King Edward foretold Harold, his journey thither would be to the detriment of all England, and his own reproach; that duke William then acquainted Harold, how Edward ere his coming to the crown had promised, if ever he attained it, to leave duke William successor after him. Last of these Matthew Paris writes, that Harold, to get free of duke William, affirmed his coming thither not to have been by accident or force of tempest, but on set purpose, in that private manner to enter with him into secret confederacy: so variously are these things reported. After this King Edward grew sickly, [*] yet as he was able kept his Christmas at London, and was at the dedication of St. Peter’s church in Westminster, which he had rebuilt; but on the eve of Epiphany, or Twelfthtide, deceased much lamented, and in the church was entomed. That he was harmless and simple, is conjectured by his words in anger to a peasant, who had crossed his game, (for with hunting and hawking he was much delighted,) “by God and God’s mother,” said he, “I shall do you as shrewd a turn if I can;” observing that law maxim, the best of all his successors, “that the king of England can do no wrong.” The softness of his nature gave growth to factions of those about him, Normans especially and English; these complaining, that Robert the archbishop was a sower of dissension between the king and his people, a traducer of the English; the other side, that Godwin and his sons bore themselves arrogantly and proudly towards the king, usurping to themselves equal share in the government, ofttimes making sport with his simplicity; [†] that through their power in the land, they made no scruple to kill men of whose inheritance they took a liking, and so to take possession. The truth is, that Godwin and his sons did many things boisterously and violently, much against the king’s mind; which not able to resist, he had, as some say, his wife Edith Godwin’s daughter in such aversation, as in bed never to have touched her; whether for this cause, or mistaken chastity, not commendable; to inquire further, is not material. His laws held good and just, and long after desired by the English of their Norman kings, are yet extant. He is said to be at table not excessive, at festivals nothing puffed up with the costly robes he wore, which his queen with curious art had woven for him in gold. He was full of almsdeeds, and exhorted the monks to like charity. He is said to be the first English king that cured the disease thence called the king’s evil; yet Malmsbury blames them who attribute that cure to his royalty, not to his sanctity; said also to have cured certain blind men with the water wherein he hath washed his hands. A little before his death, lying speechless two days, the third day, after a deep sleep, he was heard to pray, that if it were a true vision, not an illusion which he had seen, God would give him strength to utter it, otherwise not. Then he related how he had seen two devout monks, whom he knew in Normandy to have lived and died well, who appearing told him they were sent messengers from God to foretel, that because the great ones of England, dukes, lords, bishops, and abbots, were not ministers of God but of the devil, God had delivered the land to their enemies; and when he desired, that he might reveal this vision, to the end they might repent, it was answered, they neither will repent, neither will God pardon them: at this relation others trembling, Stigand the simonious archbishop, whom Edward much to blame had suffered many years to sit primate in the church, is said to have laughed, as at the feverish dream of a doting old man; but the event proved true.

HAROLD, son of Earl Godwin.

HAROLD, whether by King Edward a little before his death ordained successor to the crown, as Simeon of Durham and others affirm; [*] or by the prevalence of his faction, excluding Edgar the right heir, grandchild to Edmund Ironside, as Malmsbury and Huntingdon agree; no sooner was the funeral of King Edward ended, but on the same day was elected and crowned king: and no sooner placed in the throne, but began to frame himself by all manner of compliances to gain affection, endeavoured to make good laws, repealed bad, became a great patron to church and churchmen, courteous and affable to all reputed good, a hater of evil doers, charged all his officers to punish thieves, robbers, and all disturbers of the peace, while he himself by sea and land laboured in the defence of his country: so good an actor is ambition. In the mean while a blazing star, seven mornings together, about the end of April was seen to stream terribly, not only over England, but other parts of the world; foretelling here, as was thought, the great changes approaching: plainliest prognosticated by Elmer, a monk of Malmsbury, who could not foresee, when time was, the breaking of his own legs for soaring too high. He in his youth strangely aspiring, had made and fitted wings to his hands and feet; with these on the top of a tower, spread out to gather air, he flew more than a furlong; but the wind being too high, came fluttering down, to the maiming of all his limbs; yet so conceited of his art, that he attributed the cause of his fall to the want of a tail, as birds have, which he forgot to make to his hinder parts. This story, though seeming otherwise too light in the midst of a sad narration, yet for the strangeness thereof, I thought worthy enough the placing, as I found it placed in my author. But to digress no father: Tosti the king’s brother coming from Flanders, full of envy at his younger brother’s advancement to the crown, resolved what he might to trouble his reign; forcing therefore them of Wight Isle to contribution, he sailed thence to Sandwich, committing piracies on the coast between. Harold, then residing at London, with a great number of ships drawn together, and of horse troops by land, prepares in person for Sandwich: whereof Tosti having notice directs his course with sixty ships towards Lindsey, [†] taking with him all the seamen he found, willing or unwilling; where he burnt many villages, and slew many of the inhabitants; but Edwin the Mercian duke, and Morcar his brother, the Northumbrian earl, with their forces on either side, soon drove him out of the country. Who thence betook him to Malcolm the Scottish king, and with him abode the whole summer.—About the same time duke William sending embassadors to admonish Harold of his promise and oath, to assist him in his plea to the kingdom, he made answer, that by the death of his daughter betrothed to him on that condition, he was absolved of his oath; [‡] or not dead, he could not take her now an outlandish woman, without consent of the realm; that it was presumptuously done, and not to be persisted in, if without consent or knowledge of the states, he had sworn away the right of the kingdom; that what he swore was to gain his liberty, being in a manner then his prisoner; that it was unreasonable in the duke, to require or expect of him the foregoing of a kingdom, conferred upon him with universal favour and acclamation of the people. To this flat denial he added contempt, sending the messengers back, saith Matthew Paris, on maimed horses. The duke, thus contemptuously put off, addresses himself to the pope, setting forth the justice of his cause; which Harold, whether through haughtiness of mind, or distrust, or that the ways to Rome were stopped, sought not to do. Duke William, besides the promise and oath of Harold, alleged that King Edward, by the advice of Seward, Godwin himself, and Stigand the archbishop, had given him the right of succession, and had sent him the son and nephew of Godwin, pledges of the gift: the pope sent to duke William, after this demonstration of his right, a consecrated banner. Whereupon he having with great care and choice got an army of tall and stout soldiers, under captains of great skill and mature age, came in August to the port of St. Valerie. Meanwhile Harold from London comes to Sandwich, there expecting his navy; which also coming, he sails to the Isle of Wight; and having heard of duke William’s preparations and readiness to invade him, kept good watch on the coast, and foot forces every where in fit places to guard the shore. But ere the middle of September, provision failing when it was most needed, both fleet and army return home. When on a sudden, Harold Harvager king of Norway, with a navy of more than five hundred great ships, [*] (others lessen them by two hundred, others augment them to a thousand,) appears at the mouth of the Tine; to whom earl Tosti with his ships came as was agreed between them; whence both uniting set sail with all speed, and entered the river Humber. Thence turning into Ouse, as far as Rical, landed, and won York by assault. At these tidings Harold with all his power hastes thitherward; but ere his coming, Edwin and Morcar at Fulford by York, on the north side of Ouse, about the feast of St. Matthew had given them battle; successfully at first, but overborn at length with numbers; and forced to turn their backs, more of them perished in the river than in the fight.

The Norwegians taking with them five hundred hostages out of York, and leaving there one hundred and fifty of their own, retired to their ships. But the fifth day after, King Harold with a great and well-appointed army coming to York, and at Stamford bridge, or Battle bridge on Darwent, assailing the Norwegians, after much bloodshed on both sides, cut off the greatest part of them, with Harvager their king, and Tosti his own brother. [†] But Olave the king’s son, and Paul earl of Orkney, left with many soldiers to guard the ships, surrendering themselves with hostages, and oath given never to return as enemies, he suffered freely to depart with twenty ships, and the small remnant of their army. One man [‡] of the Norwegians is not to be forgotten, who with incredible valor keeping the bridge a long hour against the whole English army, with his single resistance delayed their victory; and scorning offered life, till in the end no man daring to grapple with him, either dreaded as too strong, or contemned as one desperate, he was at length shot dead with an arrow; and by his fall opened the passage of pursuit to a complete victory. Wherewith Harold lifted up in mind, and forgetting now his former shows of popularity, defrauded his soldiers their due and well-deserved share of the spoils.

While these things passed in Northumberland, duke William lay still at St. Valerie; his ships were ready, but the wind served not for many days; which put the soldiery into much discouragement and murmur, taking this for an unlucky sign of their success; at last the wind came favourable, the duke first under sail awaited the rest at anchor, till all coming forth, the whole fleet of nine hundred ships with a prosperous gale arrived at Hastings. At his going out of the boat by a slip falling on his hands, to correct the omen, [§] a soldier standing by said aloud, that their duke had taken possession of England. Landed, he restrained his army from waste and spoil, saying that they ought to spare what was their own. But these things are related of Alexander and Cæsar, and I doubt thence borrowed by the monks to inlay their story. The duke for fifteen days after landing kept his men quiet within the camp, having taken the castle of Hastings, or built a fortress there. Harold secure the while, and proud of his new victory, thought all his enemies now under foot: but sitting jollily at dinner, news is brought him that duke William of Normandy with a great multitude of horse and foot, slingers and archers, besides other choice auxiliaries which he had hired in France, was arrived at Pevensey. Harold, who had expected him all the summer, but not so late in the year as now it was, for it was October, with his forces much diminished after two sore conflicts, and the departing of many others from him discontented, in great haste marches to London. Thence not tarrying for supplies, which were on their way towards him, hurries into Sussex, (for he was always in haste since the day of his coronation,) and ere the third part of his army could be well put in order, finds the duke about nine miles from Hastings, and now drawing nigh, sent spies before him to survey the strength and number of his enemies: them discovered, such the duke causing to be led about, and after well filled with meat and drink, sent back. They not otherwise brought word, that the duke’s army were most of them priests; for they saw their faces all over shaven; the English then using to let grow on their upper lip large mustachios, as did anciently the Britons. The king laughing answered, that they were not priests, but valiant and hardy soldiers. Therefore said Girtha his brother, a youth of noble courage and understanding above his age, “Forbear thou thyself to fight, who art obnoxious to duke William by oath, let us unsworn undergo the hazard of battle, who may justly fight in the defence of our country; thou, reserved to fitter time, mayest either reunite us flying, or revenge us dead.” The king not hearkening to this, lest it might seem to argue fear in him or a bad cause, with like resolution rejected the offers of duke William sent to him by a monk before the battle, with this only answer hastily delivered, “Let God judge between us.” The offers were these, that Harold would either lay down the sceptre, or hold it of him, or try his title with him by single combat in sight of both armies, or refer it to the pope. These rejected, both sides prepared to fight the next morning, the English from singing and drinking all night, the Normans from confession of their sins, and communion of the host. The English were in a strait disadvantageous place, so that many, discouraged with their ill ordering, scarce having room where to stand, slipped away before the onset, the rest in close order, with their battleaxes and shields, made an impenetrable squadron: the king himself with his brothers on foot stood by the royal standard, wherein the figure of a man fighting was inwoven with gold and precious stones. The Norman foot, most bowmen, made the foremost front, on either side wings of horse somewhat behind. The duke arming, and his corslet given him on the wrong side, said pleasantly, “The strength of my dukedom will be turned now into a kingdom.” Then the whole army singing the song of Rowland, the remembrance of whose exploits might hearten them, imploring lastly divine help, the battle began; and was fought sorely on either side: but the main body of English foot by no means would be broken, till the duke causing his men to feign flight, drew them out with desire of pursuit into open disorder, then turned suddenly upon them so routed by themselves, which wrought their overthrow, yet so they died not unmanfully, but turning oft upon their enemies, by the advantage of an upper ground, beat them down by heaps, and filled up a great ditch with their carcasses. Thus hung the victory wavering on either side from the third hour of day to evening; when Harold having maintained the fight with unspeakable courage and personal valor, shot into the head with an arrow, fell at length, and left his soldiers without heart longer to withstand the unwearied enemy. With Harold fell also his two brothers, Leofwin and Girtha, with them greatest part of the English nobility. His body lying dead a knight or soldier wounding on the thigh, was by the duke presently turned out of military service. Of Normans and French were slain no small number; the duke himself that day not a little hazarded his person, having had three choice horses killed under him. Victory obtained, and his dead carefully buried, the English also by permission, he sent the body of Harold to his mother without ransom, though she offered very much to redeem it; which having received she buried at Waltham, in a church built there by Harold. In the mean while, Edwin and Morcar, who had withdrawn themselves from Harold, hearing of his death, came to London; sending Aldgith the queen their sister with all speed to West-chester.—Aldred archbishop of York, and many of the nobles, with the Londoners, would have set up Edgar the right heir, and prepared themselves to fight for him; but Morcar and Edwin not liking the choice, who each of them expected to have been chosen before him, withdrew their forces, and returned home. Duke William, contrary to his former resolution, (if Florent of Worcester, and they who follow him, [*] say true,) wasting, burning, and slaying all in his way; or rather, as saith Malmsbury, not in hostile but in regal manner, came up to London, met at Barcham by Edgar, with the nobles, bishops, citizens, and at length Edwin and Morcar, who all submitted to him, gave hostages and swore fidelity, he to them promised peace and defence; yet permitted his men the while to burn and make prey. Coming to London with all his army, he was on Christmas-day solemnly crowned in the great church at Westminster, by Aldred archbishop of York, having first given his oath at the altar, in presence of all the people, to defend the church, well govern the people, maintain right law, prohibit rapine and unjust judgment. Thus the English, while they agreed not about the choice of their native king, were constrained to take the yoke of an outlandish conqueror. With what minds and by what course of life they had fitted themselves for this servitude, William of Malmsbury spares not to lay open. Not a few years before the Normans came, the clergy, though in Edward the Confessor’s days, had lost all good literature and religion, scarce able to read and understand their Latin service; he was a miracle to others who knew his grammar. The monks went clad in fine stuffs, and made no difference what they eat; which though in itself no fault, yet to their consciences was irreligious. The great men, given to gluttony and dissolute life, made a prey of the common people, abusing their daughters whom they had in service, then turning them off to the stews; the meaner sort tippling together night and day, spent all they had in drunkenness, attended with other vices which effeminate men’s minds. Whence it came to pass, that carried on with fury and rashness more than any true fortitude or skill of war, they gave to William their conqueror so easy a conquest. Not but that some few of all sorts were much better among them; but such was the generality. And as the long-suffering of God permits bad men to enjoy prosperous days with the good, so his severity ofttimes exempts not good men from their share in evil times with the bad.

If these were the causes of such misery and thraldom to those our ancestors, with what better close can be concluded, than here in fit season to remember this age in the midst of her security, to fear from like vices, without amendment, the revolution of like calamities?

OF TRUE RELIGION, HERESY, SCHISM, TOLERATION;

AND WHAT BEST MEANS MAY BE USED AGAINST THE GROWTH OF POPERY.

[ FIRST PUBLISHED 1673.]

IT is unknown to no man, who knows aught of concernment among us, that the increase of popery is at this day no small trouble and offence to greatest part of the nation; and the rejoicing of all good men that it is so: the more their rejoicing, that God hath given a heart to the people, to remember still their great and happy deliverance from popish thraldom, and to esteem so highly the precious benefit of his gospel, so freely and so peaceably enjoyed among them. Since, therefore, some have already in public with many considerable arguments exhorted the people, to beware the growth of this Romish weed; I thought it no less than a common duty, to lend my hand, how unable soever, to so good a purpose. I will not now enter into the labyrinth of councils and fathers, an entangled wood, which the papists love to fight in, not with hope of victory, but to obscure the shame of an open overthrow: which yet in that kind of combat, many heretofore, and one of late, hath eminently given them. And such manner of dispute with them to learned men is useful and very commendable. But I shall insist now on what is plainer to common apprehension, and what I have to say, without longer introduction.

True religion is the true worship and service of God, learnt and believed from the word of God only. No man or angel can know how God would be worshipped and served, unless God reveal it: he hath revealed and taught it us in the Holy Scriptures by inspired ministers, and in the gospel by his own Son and his apostles, with strictest command to reject all other traditions or additions whatsoever. According to that of St. Paul, “Though we or an angel from heaven preach any other gospel unto you, than that which we have preached unto you, let him be anathema, or accursed.” And Deuteronomy iv. 2: “Ye shall not add to the word which I command you, neither shall you diminish aught from it.” Revelation xxii. 18, 19: “If any man shall add, c. If any man shall take away from the words,” c. With good and religious reason therefore all protestant churches with one consent, and particularly the church of England in her thirty-nine articles, art. 6th, 19th, 20th, 21st, and elsewhere, maintain these two points, as the main principles of true religion; that the rule of true religion is the word of God only; and that their faith ought not to be an implicit faith, that is to believe, though as the church believes, against or without express authority of Scripture. And if all protestants, as universally as they hold these two principles, so attentively and religiously would observe them, they would avoid and cut off many debates and contentions, schisms and persecutions, which too oft have been among them, and more firmly unite against the common adversary. For hence it directly follows, that no true protestant can persecute, or not tolerate, his fellow-protestant, though dissenting from him in some opinions, but he must flatly deny and renounce these two his own main principles, whereon true religion is founded; while he compels his brother from that which he believes as the manifest word of God, to an implicit faith (which he himself condemns) to the endangering of his brother’s soul, whether by rash belief, or outward conformity: for “whatsoever is not of faith, is sin.”

I will now as briefly show what is false religion or heresy, which will be done as easily: for of contraries the definitions must needs be contrary.—Heresy therefore is a religion taken up and believed from the traditions of men, and additions to the word of God. Whence also it follows clearly, that of all known sects, or pretended religions, at this day in Christendom, popery is the only or the greatest heresy: and he who is so forward to brand all others for heretics, the obstinate papist, the only heretic. Hence one of their own famous writers found just cause to style the Roman church, “Mother of error, school of heresy.” And whereas the papist boasts himself to be a Roman Catholic, it is a mere contradiction, one of the pope’s bulls, as if he should say, universal particular, a catholic schismatic. For catholic in Greek signifies universal: and the Christian church was so called, as consisting of all nations to whom the gospel was to be preached, in contradistinction to the Jewish church, which consisted for the most part of Jews only.

Sects may be in a true church as well as in a false, when men follow the doctrine too much for the teacher’s sake, whom they think almost infallible; and this becomes through infirmity, implicit faith; and the name sectary pertains to such a disciple.

Schism is a rent or division in the church, when it comes to the separating of congregations; and may also happen to a true church, as well as to a false; yet in the true needs not tend to the breaking of communion, if they can agree in the right administration of that wherein they communicate, keeping their other opinions to themselves, not being destructive to faith. The Pharisees and Sadducees were two sects, yet both met together in their common worship of God at Jerusalem. But here the papists will angrily demand, What! are Lutherans, Calvinists, anabaptists, Socinians, Arminians, no heretics? I answer, all these may have some errors, but are no heretics. Heresy is in the will and choice professedly against Scripture; error is against the will, in misunderstanding the scripture after all sincere endeavours to understand it rightly: hence it was said well by one of the ancients, “Err I may, but a heretic I will not be.” It is a human frailty to err, and no man is infallible here on earth. But so long as all these profess to set the word of God only before them as the rule of faith and obedience; and use all diligence and sincerity of heart, by reading, by learning, by study, by prayer for illumination of the Holy Spirit, to understand the rule and obey it, they have done what man can do: God will assuredly pardon them, as he did the friends of Job; good and pious men, though much mistaken, as there it appears, in some points of doctrine. But some will say, with Christians it is otherwise, whom God hath promised by his Spirit to teach all things. True, all things absolutely necessary to salvation: but the hottest disputes among protestants, calmly and charitably inquired into, will be found less than such. The Lutheran holds consubstantiation; an error indeed, but not mortal. The Calvinist is taxed with predestination, and to make God the author of sin; not with any dishonourable thought of God, but it may be over-zealously asserting his absolute power, not without plea of Scripture. The anabaptists is accused of denying infants their right to baptism; again they say, they deny nothing but what the Scripture denies them. The Arian and Socinian are charged to dispute against the Trinity: they affirm to believe the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, according to Scripture and the apostolic creed; as for terms of trinity, triniunity, coessentiallity, tripersonality, and the like, they reject them as scholastic notions, not to be found in Scripture, which by a general protestant maxim is plain and perspicuous abundantly to explain its own meaning in the properest words, belonging to so high a matter, and so necessary to be known; a mystery indeed in their sophistic subtilties, but in Scripture a plain doctrine. Their other opinions are of less moment. They dispute the satisfaction of Christ, or rather the word “satisfaction,” as not Scriptural: but they acknowledge him both God and their Saviour. The Arminian lastly is condemned for setting up free will against free grace; but that imputation he disclaims in all his writings, and grounds himself largely upon Scripture only. It cannot be denied, that the authors or late revivers of all these sects or opinions were learned, worthy, zealous, and religious men, as appears by their lives written, and the same of their many eminent and learned followers, perfect and powerful in the Scriptures, holy and unblameable in their lives: and it cannot be imagined, that God would desert such painful and zealous labourers in his church, and ofttimes great sufferers for their conscience, to damnable errors and a reprobate sense, who had so often implored the assistance of his Spirit; but rather, having made no man infallible, that he hath pardoned their errors, and accepts their pious endeavours, sincerely searching all things according to the rule of Scripture, with such guidance and direction as they can obtain of God by prayer. What protestant then, who himself maintains the same principles, and disavows all implicit faith, would persecute, and not rather charitably tolerate, such men as these, unless he mean to abjure the principles of his own religion? If it be asked, how far they should be tolerated: I answer, doubtless equally, as being all protestants; that is, on all occasions to give account of their faith, either by arguing, preaching in their several assemblies, public writing, and the freedom of printing. For if the French and Polonian protestants enjoy all this liberty among papists, much more may a protestant justly expect it among protestants: and yet sometimes here among us, the one persecutes the other upon every slight pretence.

But he is wont to say, he enjoins only things indifferent. Let them be so still; who gave him authority to change their nature by enjoining them? if by his own principles, as is proved, he ought to tolerate controverted points of doctrine not slightly grounded on Scripture, much more ought he not impose things indifferent without Scripture. In religion nothing is indifferent, but, if it come once to be imposed, is either a command or a prohibition, and so consequently an addition to the word of God, which he professes to disallow. Besides, how unequal, how uncharitable must it needs be, to impose that which his conscience cannot urge him to impose, upon him whose conscience forbids him to obey! What can it be but love of contention for things not necessary to be done, to molest the conscience of his brother, who holds them necessary to be not done? To conclude, let such a one but call to mind his own principles above mentioned, and he must necessarily grant, that neither he can impose, nor the other believe or obey, aught in religion, but from the word of God only. More amply to understand this, may be read the 14th and 15th chapters to the Romans, and the contents of the 14th, set forth no doubt but with full authority of the church of England: the gloss is this: “Men may not contemn or condemn one the other for things indifferent.” And in the 6th article above mentioned, “Whatsoever is not read in Holy Scripture, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be required of any man as an article of faith, or necessary to salvation.” And certainly what is not so, is not to be required at all; as being an addition to the word of God expressly forbidden.

Thus this long and hot contest, whether protestants ought to tolerate one another, if men will be but rational and not partial, may be ended without need of more words to compose it.

Let us now inquire whether popery be tolerable or no. Popery is a double thing to deal with, and claims a twofold power, ecclesiastical and political, both usurped, and the one supporting the other.

But ecclesiastical is ever pretended to political. The pope by this mixed faculty pretends right to kingdoms and states, especially to this of England, thrones and unthrones kings, and absolves the people from their obedience to them; sometimes interdicts to whole nations the public worship of God, shutting up their churches: and was wont to drain away greatest part of the wealth of this then miserable land, as part of his patrimony, to maintain the pride and luxury of his court and prelates: and now, since, through the infinite mercy and favour of God, we have shaken off his Babylonish yoke, hath not ceased by his spies and agents, bulls and emissaries, once to destroy both king and parliament: perpetually to seduce, corrupt, and pervert as many as they can of the people. Whether, therefore, it be fit or reasonable, to tolerate men thus principled in religion towards the state, I submit it to the consideration of all magistrates, who are best able to provide for their own and the public safety. As for tolerating the exercise of their religion, supposing their state-activities not to be dangerous, I answer, that toleration is either public or private; and the exercise of their religion, as far as it is idolatrous, can be tolerated neither way: not publicly, without grievous and unsufferable scandal given to all conscientious beholders; not privately, without great offence to God, declared against all kind of idolatry, though secret. Ezek. viii. 7, 8: “And he brought me to the door of the court, and when I looked, behold, a hole in the wall. Then said he unto me, Son of man, dig now in the wall: and when I had digged, behold a door; and he said unto me, Go in, and behold the wicked abominations that they do here.” And ver. 12; “Then said he unto me, Son of man, hast thou seen what the ancients of the house of Israel do in the dark?” c. And it appears by the whole chapter, that God was no less offended with these secret idolatries, than with those in public; and no less provoked, than to bring on and hasten his judgments on the whole land for these also.

Having shown thus, that popery, as being idolatrous, is not to be tolerated either in public or private; it must be now thought how to remove it, and hinder the growth thereof, I mean in our natives, and not foreigners, privileged by the law of nations. Are we to punish them by corporal punishment, or fines in their estates, upon account of their religion? I suppose it stands not with the clemency of the gospel, more than what appertains to the security of the state: but first we must remove their idolatry, and all the furniture thereof, whether idols, or the mass wherein they adore their God under bread and wine: for the commandment forbids to adore, not only “any graven image, but the likeness of any thing in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the water under the earth; thou shalt not bow down to them, nor worship them, for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God.” If they say, that by removing their idols we violate their consciences, we have no warrant to regard conscience which is not grounded on Scripture: and they themselves confess in their late defences, that they hold not their images necessary to salvation, but only as they are enjoined them by tradition.

Shall we condescend to dispute with them? The Scripture is our only principle in religion; and by that only they will not be judged, but will add other principles of their own, which, forbidden by the word of God, we cannot assent to. And [in several places of the gospel] the common maxim also in logic is, “against them who deny principles, we are not to dispute.” Let them bound their disputations on the Scripture only, and an ordinary protestant, well read in the Bible, may turn and wind their doctors. They will not go about to prove their idolatries by the word of God, but turn to shifts and evasions, and frivolous distinctions: idols, they say, are laymen’s books, and a great means to stir up pious thoughts and devotion in the learnedest. I say, they are no means of God’s appointing, but plainly the contrary; let them hear the prophets; Jer. x. 8; “The stock is a doctrine of vanities.” Hab. ii. 18; “What profiteth the graven image, that the maker thereof hath graven it; the molten image and a teacher of lies?” But they allege in their late answers, that the laws of Moses, given only to the Jews, concern not us under the gospel; and remember not that idolatry is forbidden as expressly: but with these wiles and fallacies “compassing sea and land, like the pharisees of old, to make one proselyte,” they lead away privily many simple and ignorant souls, men and women, “and make them twofold more the children of hell than themselves,” Matt. xxiii. 15. But the apostle hath well warned us, I may say, from such deceivers as these, for their mystery was then working. “I beseech you, brethren,” saith he, “mark them which cause divisions and offences, contrary to the doctrine which ye have learned, and avoid them; for they that are such, serve not our Lord Jesus Christ, but their own belly, and by good words and fair speeches deceive the heart of the simple,” Rom. xvi. 17, 18.

The next means to hinder the growth of popery will be, to read duly and diligently the Holy Scriptures, which, as St. Paul saith to Timothy, who had known them from a child, “are able to make wise unto salvation.” And to the whole church of Colossi; “Let the word of Christ dwell in you plentifully, with all wisdom,” Col. iii. 16. The papal antichristian church permits not her laity to read the Bible in their own tongue: our church, on the contrary, hath proposed it to all men, and to this end translated it into English, with profitable notes on what is met with obscure, though what is most necessary to be known be still plainest; that all sorts and degrees of men, not understanding the original, may read it in their mother tongue. Neither let the countryman, the tradesman, the lawyer, the physician, the statesman, excuse himself by his much business from the studious reading thereof. Our Saviour saith, Luke x. 41, 42: “Thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful.” If they were asked, they would be loth to set earthly things, wealth or honour, before the wisdom of salvation. Yet most men in the course and practice of their lives are found to do so; and through unwillingness to take the pains of understanding their religion by their own diligent study, would fain be saved by a deputy. Hence comes implicit faith, ever learning and never taught, much hearing and small proficience, till want of fundamental knowledge easily turns to superstition or popery: therefore the apostle admonishes, Eph. iv. 14: “That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness whereby they lie in wait to deceive.” Every member of the church, at least of any breeding or capacity, so well ought to be grounded in spiritual knowledge, as, if need be, to examine their teachers themselves, Acts xvii. 11: “They searched the Scriptures daily, whether those things were so.” Rev. ii. 2: “Thou hast tried them which say they are apostles, and are not.” How should any private Christian try his teachers, unless he be well grounded himself in the rule of Scripture, by which he is taught. As therefore among papists, their ignorance in Scripture chiefly upholds popery; so among protestant people, the frequent and serious reading thereof will soonest pull popery down.

Another means to abate popery arises from the constant reading of Scripture, wherein believers, who agree in the main, are every where exhorted to mutual forbearance and charity one towards the other, though dissenting in some opinions. It is written, that the coat of our Saviour was without seam; whence some would infer, that there should be no division in the church of Christ. It should be so indeed; yet seams in the same cloth neither hurt the garment, nor misbecome it; and not only seams, but schisms will be while men are fallible: but if they who dissent in matters not essential to belief, while the common adversary is in the field, shall stand jarring and pelting at one another, they will be soon routed and subdued. The papist with open mouth makes much advantage of our several opinions; not that he is able to confute the worst of them, but that we by our continual jangle among ourselves make them worse than they are indeed. To save ourselves therefore, and resist the common enemy, it concerns us mainly to agree within ourselves, that with joint forces we may not only hold our own, but get ground: and why should we not? The gospel commands us to tolerate one another, though of various opinions, and hath promised a good and happy event thereof; Phil. iii. 15: “Let us, therefore, as many as be perfect, be thus minded; and if in any thing ye be otherwise minded, God shall reveal even this unto you.” And we are bid, I. Thess. v. 21; “Prove all things, hold fast that which is good.” St. Paul judged, that not only to tolerate, but to examine and prove all things, was no danger to our holding fast that which is good. How shall we prove all things, which includes all opinions at least founded on Scripture, unless we not only tolerate them, but patiently hear them, and seriously read them? If he who thinks himself in the truth professes to have learnt it, not by implicit faith, but by attentive study of the Scriptures, and full persuasion of heart; with what equity can he refuse to hear or read him, who demonstrates to have gained his knowledge by the same way? Is it a fair course to assert truth, by arrogating to himself the only freedom of speech, and stopping the mouths of others equally gifted? This is the direct way to bring in that papistical implicit faith, which we all disclaim. They pretend it would unsettle the weaker sort; the same groundless fear is pretended by the Romish clergy. At least then let them have leave to write in Latin, which the common people understand not; that what they hold may be discussed among the learned only. We suffer the idolatrous books of papists, without this fear, to be sold and read as common as our own: why not much rather of anabaptists, Arians, Arminians, and Socinians? There is no learned man but will confess he hath much profited by reading controversies, his senses awakened, his judgment sharpened, and the truth which he holds more firmly established. If then it be profitable for him to read, why should it not at least be tolerable and free for his adversary to write? In logic they teach, that contraries laid together more evidently appear: it follows then, that all controversy being permitted, falsehood will appear more false, and truth the more true; which must needs conduce much, not only to the confounding of popery, but to the general confirmation of unimplicit truth.

The last means to avoid popery is, to amend our lives: it is a general complaint, that this nation of late years is grown more numerously and excessively vicious than heretofore; pride, luxury, drunkenness, whoredom, cursing, swearing, bold and open atheism every where abounding: where these grow, no wonder if popery also grow apace. There is no man so wicked, but at some times his conscience will wring him with thoughts of another world, and the peril of his soul; the trouble and melancholy, which he conceives of true repentance and amendment, he endures not, but inclines rather to some carnal superstition, which may pacify and lull his conscience with some more pleasing doctrine. None more ready and officious to offer herself than the Romish, and opens wide her office, with all her faculties, to receive him; easy confession, easy absolution, pardons, indulgences, masses for him both quick and dead, Agnus Dei’s, relics, and the like: and he, instead of “working out his salvation with fear and trembling,” straight thinks in his heart, (like another kind of fool than he in the Psalms,) to bribe God as a corrupt judge; and by his proctor, some priest, or friar, to buy out his peace with money, which he cannot with his repentance. For God, when men sin outrageously, and will not be admonished, gives over chastising them, perhaps by pestilence, fire, sword, or famine, which may all turn to their good, and takes up his severest punishments, hardness, besottedness of heart, and idolatry, to their final perdition. Idolatry brought the heathen to heinous transgressions, Rom. ii. And heinous transgressions ofttimes bring the slight professors of true religion to gross idolatry: 1 Thess. ii. 11, 12: “For this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie, that they all might be damned who believe not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.” And Isaiah xliv. 18, speaking of idolaters, “They have not known nor understood, for he hath shut their eyes that they cannot see, and their hearts that they cannot understand.” Let us, therefore, using this last means, last here spoken of, but first to be done, amend our lives with all speed; lest through impenitency we run into that stupidity which we now seek all means so warily to avoid, the worst of superstitions, and the heaviest of all God’s judgments, popery.”

A BRIEF HISTORY OF MOSCOVIA,

AND OF OTHER LESS KNOWN COUNTRIES LYING EASTWARD OF RUSSIA AS FAR AS CATHAY.

GATHERED FROM THE WRITINGS OF SEVERAL EYE-WITNESSES.

[ FIRST PUBLISHED 1682.]

THE PREFACE.

THE study of geography is both profitable and delightful: but the writers thereof, though some of them exact enough in setting down longitudes and latitudes, yet in those other relations of manners, religion, government, and such like, accounted geographical, have for the most part missed their proportions. Some too brief and deficient satisfy not; others too voluminous and impertinent cloy and weary out the reader, while they tell long stories of absurd superstitions, ceremonies, quaint habits, and other petty circumstances little to the purpose. Whereby that which is useful, and only worth observation, in such a wood of words, is either overslipped, or soon forgotten; which perhaps brought into the mind of some men more learned and judicious, who had not the leisure or purpose to write an entire geography, yet at least to assay something in the description of one or two countries, which might be as a pattern or example to render others more cautious hereafter, who intended the whole work. And this perhaps induced Paulus Jovius to describe only Moscovy and Britain. Some such thoughts, many years since, led me at a vacant time to attempt the like argument, and I began with Moscovy, as being the most northern region of Europe reputed civil; and the more northern parts thereof first discovered by English voyagers. Wherein I saw I had by much the advantage of Jovius. What was scattered in many volumes, and observed at several times by eye-witnesses, with no cursory pains I laid together, to save the reader a far longer travail of wandering through so many desert authors; who yet with some delight drew me after them, from the eastern bounds of Russia, to the walls of Cathay, in several late journies made thither over land by Russians, who describe the countries in their way far otherwise than our common geographers. From proceeding further, other occasions diverted me. This Essay, such as it is, was thought by some, who knew of it, not amiss to be published; that so many things remarkable, dispersed before, now brought under one view, might not hazard to be otherwise lost, nor the labour lost of collecting them.

MOSCOVIA: OR, RELATIONS OF MOSCOVIA,

AS FAR AS HATH BEEN DISCOVERED BY ENGLISH VOYAGES; GATHERED FROM THE WRITINGS OF SEVERAL EYE-WITNESSES: AND THE OTHER LESS KNOWN COUNTRIES LYING EASTWARD OF RUSSIA AS FAR AS CATHAY, LATELY DISCOVERED AT SEVERAL TIMES BY THE RUSSIANS.

CHAPTER I.: A brief description.

THE empire of Moscovia, or as others call it Russia, is bounded on the north with Lapland and the ocean; southward by the Crim Tartar; on the west by Lithuania, Livonia, and Poland; on the east by the river Ob, or Oby, and the Nagayan Tartars on the Volga as fas as Astracan.

The north parts of this country are so barren, that the inhabitants fetch their corn a thousand miles; [*] and so cold in winter, that the very sap of their woodfuel burning on the fire, freezes at the brand’s end, where it drops. The mariners, which were left on shipboard in the first English voyage thither, in going up only from the cabins to the hatches, [†] had their breath so congealed by the cold, that they fell down as it were stifled. The bay of St. Nicholas, where they first put in, [‡] lieth in sixty-four degrees; called so from the abbey there built of wood, wherein are twenty monks, unlearned, as then they found them, and great drunkards: their church is fair, full of images and tapers. There are besides but six houses, whereof one built by the English. In the bay over against the abbey is Rose Island, [§] full of damask and red roses, violets, and wild rosemary; the isle is in circuit seven or eight miles; about the midst of May, the snow there is cleared, having two months been melting; then the ground in fourteen days is dry, and grass knee-deep within a month; after September frost returns, and snow a yard high: it hath a house built by the English near to a fresh fair spring. North-east of the abbey, on the other side of Duina, is the castle of Archangel, where the English have another house. The river Duina, beginning about seven hundred miles within the country, having first received Pinega, falls here into the sea, very large and swift, but shallow. It runneth pleasantly between hills on either side; beset like a wilderness with high fir and other trees. Their boats of timber, without any iron in them, are either to sail, or to be drawn up with ropes against the stream.

North-east beyond Archangel standeth Lampas, ∥ where twice a year is kept a great fair of Russes, Tartars, and Samoëds; and to the landward Mezen, and Slobotca, two towns of traffic between the river Pechora, or Petzora, and Duina: to seaward lies the cape of Candinos, and the island of Colgoieve, about thirty leagues from the bar of Pechory in sixty-nine degrees. [*]

The river Pechora or Petzora, holding his course through Siberia, how far the Russians thereabouts know not, runneth into the sea at seventy-two mouths, full of ice; abounding with swans, ducks, geese, and partridge, which they take in July, sell the feathers, and salt the bodies for winter provision. On this river spreading to a lake, stands the town of Pustozera in sixty-eight degrees, [†] having some eighty or a hundred houses, where certain merchants of Hull wintered in the year sixteen hundred and eleven. The town Pechora, small and poor, hath three churches. They traded there up the river four days’ journey to Oustzilma a small town of sixty houses. The Russians that have travelled say, that this river springs out of the mountains of Jougoria, and runs through Permia. Not far from the mouth thereof are the straits of Vaigats, of which hereafter: more eastward is the point of Naramzy, the next to that the river Ob; [‡] beyond which the Moscovites have extended lately their dominion. Touching the Riphæan mountains, whence Tanais was anciently thought to spring, our men could hear nothing; but rather that the whole country is champaign, and in the northermost part huge and desert woods of fir, abounding with black wolves, bears, buffs, and another beast called rossomakka, whose female bringeth forth by passing through some narrow place, as between two stakes, and so presseth her womb to a disburdening.

Travelling southward they found the country more pleasant, fair, and better inhabited, corn, pasture, meadows, and huge woods. Arkania (if it be not the same with Archangel) is a place of English trade, from whence a day’s journey distant, but from St. Nicholas a hundred versts, [§] Colmogro stands on the Duina; a great town not walled, but scattered. The English have here lands of their own, given them by the emperor, and fair houses: not far beyond, Pinega, running between rocks of alabaster and great woods, meets with Duina. From Colmogro to Usting are five hundred versts or little miles, an ancient city upon the confluence of Juga and Sucana into Duina, ∥ which there first receives his name. Thence continuing by water to Wologda, a great city so named of the river which passes through the midst; it hath a castle walled about with brick and stone, and many wooden churches, two for every parish, the one in winter to be heated, the other used in summer; this is a town of much traffic, a thousand miles from St. Nicholas. All this way by water no lodging is to be had but under open sky by the river side, and other provision only what they bring with them. From Wologda by sled they go to Yeraslave on the Volga, whose breadth is there at least a mile over, and thence runs two thousand seven hundred versts to the Caspian sea, [¶] having his head spring out of Bealozera, which is a lake, amidst whereof is built a strong tower, wherein the kings of Moscovy reserve their treasure in time of war. From this town to Rostove, then to Pereslave, a great town situate on a fair lake, thence to Mosco.

Between Yeraslave and Mosco, which is two hundred miles, the country is so fertile, so populous and full of villages, that in a forenoon seven or eight hundred sleds are usually seen coming with salt-fish, or laden back with corn. [**]

Mosco the chief city, lying in fifty-five degrees, distant from St. Nicholas fifteen hundred miles, is reputed to be greater than London with the suburbs, but rudely built; [*] their houses and churches most of timber, few of stone, their streets unpaved; it hath a fair castle four-square, upon a hill, two miles about, with brick walls very high, and some say eighteen foot thick, sixteen gates, and as many bulwarks; in the castle are kept the chief markets, and in winter on the river, being then firm ice. This river Moscua on the south-west side encloses the castle, wherein are nine fair churches with round gilded towers, and the emperor’s palace; which neither within nor without is equal for state to the king’s houses in England, but rather like our buildings of old fashion with small windows, some of glass, some with lattices, or iron bars.

They who travel from Mosco to the Caspian, go by water down the Moscua to the river Occa; [†] then by certain castles to Rezan, a famous city now ruinate; the tenth day to Nysnovogrod, where Occa falls into Volga, which the Tartars call Edel. From thence the eleventh day to Cazan a Tartar city of great wealth heretofore, now under the Russian; walled at first with timber and earth, but since by the emperor Vasiliwich with free stone. From Cazan, to the river Cama, falling into Volga from the province of Permia, the people dwelling on the left side are Gentiles, and live in woods without houses: [‡] beyond them to Astracan, Tartars of Mangat, and Nagay: on the right side those of Crimme. From Mosco to Astracan is about six hundred leagues. The town is situate in an island on a hill-side walled with earth, but the castle with earth and timber; the houses, except that of the governor, and some few others, poor and simple; the ground utterly barren, and without wood: they live there on fish, and sturgeon especially; which hanging up to dry in the streets and houses brings whole swarms of flies, and infection to the air, and oft great pestilence. This island in length twelve leagues, three in breadth, is the Russian limit toward the Caspian, which he keeps with a strong garrison, being twenty leagues from that sea, into which Volga falls at seventy mouths. From St. Nicholas, or from Mosco to the Caspian, they pass in forty-six days and nights, most part by water.

Westward from St. Nicholas twelve hundred miles is the city. [§] Novogrod fifty-eight degrees, the greatest mart town of all this dominion, and in bigness not inferior to Mosco. The way thither is through the western bottom of St. Nicholas bay, and so along the shore full of dangerous rocks to the monastery of Solofky, wherein are at least two hundred monks; the people thereabout in a manner savages, yet tenants to those monks. Thence to the dangerous river Owiga, wherein are waterfalls as steep as from a mountain, and by the violence of their descent kept from freezing: so that the boats are to be carried there a mile over land; which the tenants of that abbey did by command, and were guides to the merchants without taking any reward. Thence to the town Povensa, standing within a mile of the famous lake Onega three hundred and twenty miles long, and in some places seventy, at narrowest twenty-five broad, and of great depth. Thence by some monasteries to the river Swire; then into the lake Ladiscay much longer than Onega; after which into the river Volhusky, which through the midst of Novogrod runs into this lake, and this lake into the Baltic sound by Narva and Revel. Their other cities toward the western bound are Plesco, Smolensko, or Vobsco.

The emperor exerciseth absolute power; if any man die without male issue, his land returns to the emperor. ∥ Any rich man, who through age or other impotency is unable to serve the public, being informed of, is turned out of his estate, and forced with his family to live on a small pension, while some other more deserving is by the duke’s authority put into possession. The manner of informing the duke is thus: Your grace, saith one, hath such a subject, abounding with riches, but for the service of the state unmeet; and you have others poor and in want, but well able to do their country good service. Immediately the duke sends forth to inquire, and calling the rich man before him, Friend, saith he, you have too much living, and are unserviceable to your prince; less will serve you, and the rest maintain others who deserve more. The man thus called to impart his wealth, repines not, but humbly answers, that all he hath is God’s and the duke’s, as if he made restitution of what more justly was another’s, than parted with his own. Every gentleman hath rule and justice over his own tenants: if the tenants of two gentlemen agree not, they seek to compose it; if they cannot, each brings his tenant before the high judge of that country. They have no lawyers, but every man pleads his own cause, or else by bill or answer in writing delivers it with his own hands to the duke: yet justice, by corruption of inferior officers, is much perverted. Where other proof is wanted, they may try the matter by personal combat, or by champion. If a debtor be poor, he becomes bondman to the duke, who lets out his labour till it pay the debt; till then he remains in bondage. Another trial they have by lots. [*]

The revenues of the emperor are what he list, and what his subjects are able; and he omits not the coarsest means to raise them: for in every good town there is a drunken tavern, called a Cursemay, which the emperor either lets out to farm, or bestows on some duke, or gentleman, [†] in reward of his service, who for that time is lord of the whole town, robbing and spoiling at his pleasure, till being well enriched, he is sent at his own charge to the wars, and there squeezed of his ill-got wealth; by which means the waging of war is to the emperor little or nothing chargeable.

The Russian armeth not less in time of war than three hundred thousand men, [‡] half of whom he takes with him into the field, the rest bestows in garrisons on the borders. He presseth no husbandman or merchant, but the youth of the realm. He useth no foot, but such as are pioneers, or gunners, of both which sort thirty thousand. The rest being horsemen, are all archers, and ride with a short stirrup, after the Turkish. Their armour is a coat of plate, and a skull on their heads. Some of their coats are covered with velvet, or cloth of gold; for they desire to be gorgeous in arms, but the duke himself above measure; his pavilion covered with cloth of gold or silver, set with precious stones. They use little drums at the saddle-bow, instead of spurs, for at the sound thereof the horses run more swiftly.

They fight without order; [§] nor willingly give battle, but by stealth or ambush. Of cold and hard diet marvellously patient; for when the ground is covered with snow frozen a yard thick, the common soldier will lie in the field two months together without tent, or covering over head; only hangs up his mantle against that part from whence the weather drives, and kindling a little fire, lies him down before it, with his back under the wind: his drink, the cold stream mingled with oatmeal, and the same all his food: his horse, fed with green wood and bark, stands all this while in the open field, yet does his service. The emperor gives no pay at all, but to strangers; yet repays good deserts in war with certain lands during life; and they who oftenest are sent to the wars, think themselves most favoured, [*] though serving without wages. On the twelfth of December yearly, the emperor rides into the field, which is without the city, with all his nobility, on jennets and Turkey horses in great state; before him five thousand harquebusiers, who shoot at a bank of ice, till they beat it down; the ordnance, which they have very fair of all sorts, they plant against two wooden houses filled with earth at least thirty foot thick, and beginning with the smallest, shoot them all off thrice over, having beat those two houses flat. Above the rest six great cannon they have, whose bullet is a yard high, so that a man may see it flying: then out of mortar-pieces they shoot wildfire into the air. Thus the emperor having seen what his gunners can do, returns home in the same order.

They follow the Greek church, but with excess of superstitions: [†] their service is in the Russian tongue. They hold the ten commandments not to concern them, saying, that God gave them under the law, which Christ by his death on the cross hath abrogated: the eucharist they receive in both kinds. They observe four lents, have service in their churches daily, from two hours before dawn till evening; [‡] yet for whoredom, drunkenness, and extortion none worse than the clergy.

They have many great and rich monasteries, [§] where they keep great hospitality. That of Trojetes hath in it seven hundred friars, and is walled about with brick very strongly, having many pieces of brass ordnance on the walls; most of the lands, towns, and villages within forty miles belong to those monks, who are also as great merchants as any in the land. During Easter holydays when two friends meet, they take each other by the hand; one of them saying, The Lord is risen; the other answering, ∥ It is so of a truth; and then they kiss, whether men or women. The emperor esteemeth the metropolitan next to God, after our lady, and St. Nicholas, as being his spiritual officer, himself but his temporal. But the Muscovites [¶] that border on Tartaria are yet pagans.

When there is love between two, [**] the man, among other trifling gifts, sends to the woman a whip, to signify, if she offend, what she must expect; and it is a rule among them, that if the wife be not beaten once a week, she thinks herself not beloved, and is the worse; yet they are very obedient, and stir not forth, but at some seasons. Upon utter dislike, the husband divorces; which liberty no doubt they received first with their religion from the Greek church, [††] and the imperial laws.

Their dead they bury with new shoes on their feet, [‡‡] as to a long journey; and put letters testimonial in their hands to St. Nicholas, or St. Peter, that this was a Russe or Russes, and died in the true faith; which, as they believe, St. Peter having read, forthwith admits him into heaven.

They have no learning, [§§] nor will suffer to be among them; their greatest friendship is drinking; they are great talkers, liars, flatterers, and dissemblers. They delight in gross meats and noisome fish; their drink is better, being sundry sorts of meath; the best made with juice of a sweet and crimson berry called Maliena, growing also in France; ∥∥ other sorts with blackcherry, or divers other berries; another drink they use in the spring, drawn from the birch-tree root, whose sap after June dries up. But there are no people that live so miserably as the poor of Russia; if they have straw and water, they make shift to live; for straw dried and stamped in winter time is their bread; in summer grass and roots; at all times bark of trees is good meat with them; yet many of them die in the street for hunger, none relieving or regarding them.

When they are sent into foreign countries, [*] or that strangers come thither, they are very sumptuous in apparel, else the duke himself goes but meanly.

In winter they travel only upon sleds, [†] the ways being hard, and smooth with snow, the rivers all frozen: one horse with a sled will draw a man four hundred miles in three days; in summer the way is deep and travelling ill. The Russe of better sort goes not out in winter, but on his sled; in summer on his horse: in his sled he sits on a carpet, or a white bear’s skin; the sled drawn with a horse well decked, with many fox or wolf tails about his neck, guided by a boy on his back, other servants riding on the tail of the sled.

The Russian sea breeds a certain beast which they call a morse; [‡] who seeks his food on the rocks, climbing up with help of his teeth; whereof they make as great account as we of the elephant’s tooth.

CHAPTER II.: Of Samoëdia, Siberia, and other countries north-east, subject to the Muscovites.

NORTH-EAST of Russia lieth Samoëdia by the river Ob. This country was first discovered by Oneke a Russian; who first trading privately among them in rich furs, got great wealth, and the knowledge of their country; then revealed his discovery to Boris protector to Pheodor, showing how beneficial that country gained would be to the empire. Who sending embassadors among them gallantly attired, by fair means won their subjection to the empire, every head paying yearly two skins of richest sables. Those messengers traelling also two hundred leagues beyond Ob eastward, made report of pleasant countries, abounding with woods and fountains, and people riding on elks and loshes; others drawn on sleds by rein-deer; others by dogs as swift as deer. The Samoëds that came along with those messengers, returning to Mosco, admired the stateliness of that city, and were as much admired for excellent shooters, hitting every time the breadth of a penny as far distant as hardly could be discerned.

The river Ob is reported [§] by the Russes to be in breadth the sailing of a summer’s day; but full of islands and shoals, having neither woods, nor, till of late, inhabitants. Out of Ob they turn into the river Tawze. The Russians have here, since the Samoëds yielded them subjection, two governors, with three or four hundred gunners; have built villages and some small castles; all which place they call Mongozey or Molgomsay. ∥ Further upland they have also built other cities of wood, consisting chiefly of Poles, Tartars, and Russes, fugitive or condemned men; as Vergateria, Siber, whence the whole country is named, Tinna, thence Tobolsca on this side Ob, on the rivers Irtis, and Tobol, chief seat of the Russian governor; above that, Zergolta in an island of Ob, where they have a custom-house. Beyond that on the other side Ob, Narim, and Tooina, now a great city. [¶] Certain churches also are erected in those parts; but no man forced to religion; beyond Narim eastward on the river Telta is built the castle of Comgoscoi, and all this plantation began since the year 1590, with many other towns like these. And these are the countries from whence come all the sables and rich furs.

The Samoëds have no towns or certain places of abode, but up and down where they find moss for their deer; [*] they live in companies peaceably, and are governed by some of the ancientest amongst them, but are idolaters. They shoot wondrous cunningly; their arrow-heads are sharpened stones, or fish bones, which latter serve them also for needles; their thread being the sinews of certain small beasts, wherewith they sew the furs which clothe them; the furry side in summer outward, in winter inward. They have many wives, and their daughters they sell to him who bids most; which, if they be not liked, are turned back to their friends, the husband allowing only to the father what the marriage feast stood him in. Wives are brought to bed there by their husbands, and the next day go about as before. They till not the ground; but live on the flesh of those wild beasts which they hunt. They are the only guides to such as travel Jougoria, Siberia, or any of those north-east parts in winter; [†] being drawn on sleds with bucks riding post day and night, if it be moonlight, and lodge on the snow under tents of deer-skins, in whatever place they find enough of white moss to feed their sled-stags, turning them loose to dig it up themselves out of the deep snow: another Samoëd stepping to the next wood, brings in store of firing: round about which they lodge within their tents, leaving the top open to vent smoke; in which manner they are as warm as the stoves in Russia. They carry provision of meat with them, and partake besides of what fowl or venison the Samoëd kills with shooting by the way; their drink is melted snow. Two deer being yoked to a sled, riding post, will draw two hundred miles in twenty-four hours without resting, and laden with their stuff, will draw it thirty miles in twelve.

CHAPTER III.: Of Tingoësia, and the countries adjoining eastward, as far as Cathay.

BEYOND Narim and Comgoscoi [‡] the soldiers of those garrisons, travelling by appointment of the Russian governor in the year 1605, found many goodly countries not inhabited, many vast deserts and rivers; till at the end of ten weeks they spied certain cottages and herds, or companies of people, which came to them with reverent behaviour, and signified to the Samoëds and Tartars, which were guides to the Russian soldiers, that they were called Tingoësi; that their dwelling was on the great river Jenissey. This river is said to be far bigger than Ob, [§] distant from the mouth thereof four days and nights’ sailing; and likewise falls into the sea of Naramzie: it hath high mountains on the east, some of which cast out fire, to the west a plain and fertile country, which in the spring-time it overflows about seventy leagues; all that time the inhabitants keep them in the mountains, and then return with their cattle to the plain. The Tingoësi are a very gentle nation, they have great swoln throats, ∥ like those in Italy, that live under the Alps; at persuasion of the Samoëds they forthwith submitted to the Russian government: and at their request travelling the next year to discover still eastward, they came at length to a river, which the savages of that place call Pisida, [*] somewhat less than Jenissey; beyond which hearing ofttimes the tolling of brazen bells, and sometimes the noise of men and horses, they durst not pass over; they saw there certain sails afar off, square, and therefore supposed to be like Indian or China sails, and the rather for that they report that great guns have been heard shot off from those vessels. In April and May they were much delighted with the fair prospect of that country, replenished with many rare trees, plants, and flowers, beasts and fowl. Some think here to be the borders of Tangut in the north of Cathay. [†] Some of those Samoëds, about the year 1610, travelled so far till they came in view of a white city, and heard a great din of bells, and report there came to them men all armed in iron from head to foot. And in the year 1611, divers out of Cathay, and others from Alteen Czar, who styles himself the golden king, came and traded at Zergolta, or Surgoot, on the river Ob, bringing with them plates of silver. Whereupon Michael Pheodorowich the Russian emperor, in the year 1619, sent certain of his people from Tooma to Alteen, and Cathay, who returned with embassadors from those princes. These relate, [‡] that from Tooma in ten days and a half, three days whereof over a lake, where rubies and sapphires grow, they came to the Alteen king, or king of Alty; through his land in five weeks they passed into the country of Sheromugaly, or Mugalla, where reigned a queen called Manchica; whence in four days they came to the borders of Cathay, fenced with a stone wall, fifteen fathom high; along the side of which, having on the other hand many pretty towns belonging to Queen Manchica, they travelled ten days without seeing any on the wall, till they came to the gate; where they saw very great ordnance lying, and three thousand men in watch. They traffic with other nations at the gate, and very few at once are suffered to enter. They were travelling from Tooma to this gate twelve weeks; and from thence to the great city of Cathay ten days. Where being conducted to the house of embassadors, within a few days there came a secretary from King Tambur, with two hundred men well apparelled, and riding on asses, to feast them with divers sorts of wine, and to demand their message; but having brought no presents with them, they could not be admitted to his sight; only with his letter to the emperor they returned, as is aforesaid, to Tobolsca. They report, that the land of Mugalla reaches from Boghar to the north sea, [§] and hath many castles built of stone, foursquare, with towers at the corners covered with glazed tiles; and on the gates alarm-bells, or watch-bells, twenty pound weight of metal; their houses built also of stone, the ceilings cunningly painted with flowers of all colours. The people are idolaters; the country exceeding fruitful. They have asses and mules, but no horses. The people of Cathay say, that this great wall stretches from Boghar to the north sea, four months’ journey, with continual towers a slight shot distant from each other, and beacons on every tower; and that this wall is the bound between Mugalla and Cathay. In which are but five gates; those narrow and so low, that a horseman sitting upright cannot ride in. Next to the wall is the city Shirokalga; it hath a castle well furnished with short ordance and small shot, which they who keep watch on the gates, towers, and walls, duly at sun-set and rising discharge thrice over. The city abounds with rich merchandise, velvets, damasks, cloth of gold, and tissue, with many sorts of sugars. Like to this is the city Yara, their markets smell odoriferously with spices, and Tayth more rich than that. Shirooan yet more magnificent, half a day’s journey through, and exceeding populous. From hence to Cathaia the imperial city is two days’ journey, built of white stone, four-square, in circuit four days’ going, cornered with four white towers, very high and great, and others very fair along the wall, white intermingled with blue, and loop-holes furnished with ordnance. In the midst of this white city stands a castle built of magnet, where the king dwells, in a sumptuous palace, the top whereof is overlaid with gold. The city stands on even ground encompassed with the river Youga, seven days’ journey from the sea. The people are very fair, but not warlike, delighting most in rich traffic. These relations are referred hither, because we have them from Russians; who report also, that there is a sea beyond Ob, [*] so warm, that all kind of seafowl live thereabout as well in winter as in summer. Thus much briefly of the sea and lands between Russia and Cathay.

CHAPTER IV.: The succession of Moscovia dukes and emperors, taken out of their chroniles by a Polac, with some later additions. [†]

THE great dukes of Moscovy derive their pedigree, though without ground, from Augustus Cæsar: whom they fable to have sent certain of his kingdom to be governors over many remote provinces; and among them, Prussus over Prussia; him to have had his seat on the eastern Baltic shore by the river Wixel; of whom Rurek, Sinaus, and Truuor descended by the fourth generation, were by the Russians, living then without civil government, sent for in the year 573, to bear rule over them, at the persuasion of Gostomislius chief citizen of Novogrod. They therefore, taking with them Olechus their kinsman, divided those countries among themselves, and each in his province taught them civil government.

Ivor, son of Rurek, the rest dying without issue, became successor to them all; being left in nonage under the protection of Olechus. He took to wife Olha daughter to a citizen of Plesco, of whom he begat Stoslaus; but after that being slain by his enemies, Olha his wife went to Constantinople, and was there baptized Helena.

Stoslaus fought many battles with his enemies; but was at length by them slain, who made a cup of his scull, engraven with this sentence in gold; “Seeking after other men’s, he lost his own.” His sons were Teropulchus, Olega, and Volodimir.

Volodimir, having slain the other two, made himself sole lord of Russia; yet after that fact inclining to Christian religion, had to wife Anna sister of Basilius and Constantine Greek emperors; and with all his people, in the year 988, was baptized, and called Basilius. Howbeit Zonaras reporteth, that before that time Basilius the Greek emperor sent a bishop to them; at whose preaching they not being moved, but requiring a miracle, he after devout prayers, taking the book of gospel into his hands, threw it before them all into the fire; which remaining there unconsumed, they were converted.

Volodimir had eleven sons, among whom he divided his kingdom; Boristus and Glebus for their holy life registered saints; and their feast kept every year in November with great solemnity. The rest, through contention to have the sole government, ruined each other; leaving only Jaroslaus inheritor of all.

Volodimir, son of Jaroslaus, kept his residence in the ancient city Kiow upon the river Boristhenes. And after many conflicts with the sons of his uncles and having subdued all, was called Monomachus. He made war with Constantine the Greek emperor, wasted Thracia, and returning home with great spoils to prepare new war, was appeased by Constantine; who sent Neophytus bishop of Ephesus, and Eustathius abbot of Jerusalem, to present him with part of our Saviour’s cross, and other rich gifts, and to salute him by the name of Czar, or Cæsar: with whom he thenceforth entered into league and amity.

After him in order of descent Vuszevolodus, George, Demetrius.

Then George his son, who in the year 1237 was slain in battle by the Tartar prince Bathy, who subdued Muscovia, and made it tributary. From that time the Tartarians made such dukes of Russia, as they thought would be most pliable to their ends; of whom they required, as oft as embassadors came to him out of Tartary, to go out and meet them; and in his own court to stand bareheaded, while they sate and delivered their message. At which time the Tartars wasted also Polonia, Selesia, and Hungaria, till pope Innocent the Fourth obtained peace of them for five years. This Bathy, say the Russians, was the father of Tamerlane, whom they call Temirkutla.

Then succeeded Jaroslaus, the brother of George, then Alexander his son.

Daniel, the son of Alexander, was he who first made the city of Mosco his royal seat, builded the castle, and took on him the title of great duke.

John, the son of Daniel, was surnamed Kaleta, that word signifying a scrip, out of which, continually carried about with him, he was wont to deal his alms.

His son Simeon, dying without issue, left the kingdom to John his next brother; and he to his son Demetrius, who left two sons, Basilius and George.

Basilius reigning had a son of his own name, but doubting lest not of his own body, through the suspicion he had of his wife’s chastity, him he disinherits, and gives the dukedom to his brother George.

George, putting his nephew Basilius in prison, reigns; yet at his death, either through remorse, or other cause, surrenders him the dukedom.

Basilius, unexpectedly thus attaining his supposed right, enjoyed it not long in quiet; for Andrew and Demetrius, the two sons of George, counting it injury not to succed their father, made war upon him, and surprising him on a sudden, put out his eyes. Notwithstanding which, the boiarens, or nobles, kept their allegiance to the duke, though blind, whom therefore they called Cziemnox.

John Vasiliwich, his son, was the first who brought the Russian name out of obscurity into renown. To secure his own estate, he put to death as many of his kindred, as were likely to pretend; and styled himself great duke of Wolodimiria, Moscovia, Novogardia, Czar of all Russia. He won Plesco, the only walled city in all Muscovy, and Novogrod, the richest, from the Lithuanians, to whom they had been subject fifty years before; and from the latter carried home three hundred wagons laden with treasure. He had war with Alexander king of Poland, and with the Livonians; with him, on pretence of withdrawing his daughter Helena, whom he had to wife, from the Greek church to the Romish; with the Livonians for no other cause, but to enlarge his bounds: though he were often foiled by Plettebergius, great master of the Prussian knights. His wife was daughter to the duke of Tyversky; of her he begat John; and to him resigned his dukedom; giving him to wife the daughter of Stephen, palatine of Moldavia; by whom he had issue Demetrius, and deceased soon after. Vasiliwich, therefore, reassuming the dukedom, married a second wife Sophia, daughter to Thomas Palæologus: who is said to have received her dowry out of the pope’s treasury, upon promise of the duke to become Romish.

This princess, of a haughty mind, often complaining that she was married to the Tartar’s vassal, at length by continual persuasions, and by a wile, found means to ease her husband and his country of that yoke. For whereas till then the Tartar had his procurators, who dwelt in the very castle of Mosco, to oversee state affairs, she feigned that from heaven she had been warned, to build a temple to saint Nicholas on the same place where the Tartar agents had their house. Being therefore delivered of a son, she made it her request to the prince of Tartary, whom she had invited to the baptizing, that he would give her that house, which obtaining, she razed to the ground, and removed those overseers out of the castle; and so by degrees dispossessed them of all which they held in Russia. She prevailed also with her husband, to transfer the dukedom from Demetrius the son of John deceased, to Gabriel his eldest by her.

Gabriel, no sooner duke, but changed his name to Basilius, and set his mind to do nobly; he recovered great part of Moscovy from Vitoldus duke of Lithuania; and on the Boristhenes won Smolensko and many other cities in the year 1514. He divorced his first wife, and of Helena daughter to duke Glinski begat Juan Vasiliwich.

Juan Vasiliwich, being left a child, was committed to George his uncle and protector; at twenty-five years of age he vanquished the Tartars of Cazan and Astracan, bringing home with him their princes captive; made cruel war in Livonia, pretending right of inheritance. He seemed exceedingly devout; and whereas the Russians in their churches use out of zeal and reverence to knock their heads against the ground, his forehead was seldom free of swellings and bruises, and very often seen to bleed. The cause of his rigour in government he alleged to be the malice and treachery of his subjects. But some of the nobles, [*] incited by his cruelty, called in the Crim Tartar, who in the year 1571 broke into Russia, burnt Mosco to the ground. He reigned fifty-four years, had three sons, of which the eldest, being strook on a time by his father, with great grief thereof died; his other sons were Pheodor and Demetrius. In the time of Juan Vasiliwich the English came first by sea into the north parts of Russia.

Pheodor Juanowich, being under age, was left to the protection of Boris, brother to the young empress, and third son by adoption in the emperor’s will. [†] After forty days of mourning, the appointed time of coronation being come, the emperor issuing out of his palace, [‡] the whole clergy before him, entered with his nobility the church of Blaveshina or blessedness; whence after service to the church of Michael, then to our lady church, being the cathedral. In midst whereof a chair was placed, and most unvaluable garments put upon him; there also was the imperial crown set on his head by the metropolitan, who out of a small book in his hand read exhortations to the emperor of justice and peaceable government. After this, rising from his chair he was invested with an upper robe, so thick with orient pearls and stones, as weighed two hundred pounds, the train born up by six dukes; his staff imperial was of a unicorn’s horn three foot and a half long, beset with rich stones; his globe and six crowns carried before him by princes of the blood; his horse at the church door stood ready with a covering of embroidered pearl, saddle and all suitable, to the value of three hundred thousand marks. There was a kind of bridge made three ways, one hundred and fifty fathom long, three foot high, two fathom broad, whereon the emperor with his train went from one church to another above the infinite throng of people making loud acclamations: at the emperor’s returning from those churches they were spread underfoot with cloth of gold, the porches with red velvet, the bridges with scarlet and stammel cloth, all which, as the emperor passed by, were cut and snatched by them that stood next; besides new minted coins of gold and silver cast among the people. The empress in her palace was placed before a great open window in rich and shining robes, among her ladies. After this the emperor came into parliament, where he had a banquet served by his nobles in princely order; two standing on either side his chair with battleaxes of gold; three of the next rooms great and large, being set round with plate of gold and silver, from the ground up to the roof. This triumph lasted a week, wherein many royal pastimes were seen; after which, election was made of the nobles to new offices and dignities. The conclusion of all was a peal of one hundred and seventy brass ordnance two miles without the city, and twenty thousand harquebuzes twice over; and so the emperor with at least fifty thousand horse returned through the city to his palace, where all the nobility, officers, and merchants brought him rich presents. Shortly after the emperor, by direction of Boris, conquered the large country of Siberia, and took prisoner the king thereof; he removed also corrupt officers and former taxes. In sum, a great alteration in the government followed, yet all quietly and without tumult. These things reported abroad strook such awe into the neighbour kings, that the Crim Tartar, with his wives also, and many nobles valiant and personable men, came to visit the Russian. There came also twelve hundred Polish gentlemen, many Circassians, and people of other nations, to offer service; embassadors from the Turk, the Persian, Georgian, and other Tartar princes; from Almany, Poland, Sweden, Denmark. But this glory lasted not long, through the treachery of Boris, who procured the death first of Demetrius, then of the emperor himself, whereby the imperial race, after the succession of three hundred years was quite extinguished.

Boris adopted, as before was said, third son to Juan Vasiliwich, without impeachment now ascended the throne; but neither did he enjoy long what he had so wickedly compassed, divine revenge rising up against him a counterfeit of that Demetrius, whom he had caused to be murdered at Ouglets. [*] This upstart, strengthened with many Poles and Cossacks, appears in arms to claim his right out of the hands of Boris, who sent against him an army of two hundred thousand men, many of whom revolted to this Demetrius: Peter Basnam, the general, returning to Mosco with the empty triumph of a reported victory. But the enemy still advancing, Boris one day, after a plentiful meal, finding himself heavy and pained in the stomach, laid him down on his bed; but ere his doctors, who made great haste, came to him, was found speechless, and soon after died with grief, as is supposed, of his ill success against Demetrius. Before his death, though it were speedy, he would be shorn, and new christened. He had but one son, whom he loved so fondly, as not to suffer him out of sight; using to say he was lord and father of his son, and yet his servant, yea, his slave. To gain the people’s love, which he had lost by his ill getting the empire, he used two policies; first he caused Mosco to be fired in four places, that in the quenching thereof he might show his great care and tenderness of the people; among whom he likewise distributed so much of his bounty, as both new built their houses, and repaired their losses. At another time the people murmuring, that the great pestilence, which had then swept away a third part of the nation, was the punishment of their electing him, a murderer, to reign over them, he built galleries round about the utmost wall of Mosco, and there appointed for one whole month twenty thousand pound to be given to the poor, which well nigh stopped their mouths. After the death of Boris, Peter Basman their only hope and refuge, though a young man, was sent again to the wars, with him many English, Scots, French, and Dutch; who all with the other general Goleeche fell off to the new Demetrius, whose messengers, coming now to the suburbs of Mosco, were brought by the multitude to that spacious field before the castle gate, within which the council were then sitting, many of whom were by the people’s threatening called out, and constrained to hear the letters of Demetrius openly read: which, long ere the end wrought so with the multitude, that furiously they broke into the castle, laying violence on all they met; when straight appeared coming towards them two messengers of Demetrius formerly sent, pitifully whipped and roasted, which added to their rage. Then was the whole city in an uproar, all the great counsellors’ houses ransacked, especially of the Godonovas, the kindred and family of Boris. Such of the nobles that were best beloved by entreaty prevailed at length to put an end to this tumult. The empress, flying to a safer place, had her collar of pearl pulled from her neck; and by the next message command was given to secure her, with her son and daughter. Whereupon Demetrius by general consent was proclaimed emperor. The empress, now seeing all lost, counselled the prince her son to follow his father’s example, who, it seems, had dispatched himself by poison; and with a desperate courage beginning the deadly health, was pledged effectually by her son; but the daughter only sipping, escaped. Others ascribe this deed to the secret command of Demetrius, and self-murder imputed to them, to avoid the envy of such a command.

Demetrius Evanowich, for so he called himself, who succeeded, [*] was credibly reported the son of Gregory Peupoloy a Russe gentleman, and in his younger years to have been shorn a friar, but escaping from the monastery, to have travelled Germany and other countries, but chiefly Poland: where he attained to good sufficiency in arms and other experience; which raised in him such high thoughts, as, grounding on a common belief among the Russians that the young Demetrius was not dead, but conveyed away, and their hatred against Boris, on this foundation, with some other circumstances, to build his hopes no lower than an empire; which on his first discovery found acceptation so generally, as planted him at length on the royal seat: but not so firmly as the fair beginning promised; for in a short while the Russians finding themselves abused by an impostor, on the sixth day after his marriage, observing when his guard of Poles were most secure, rushing into the palace before break of day, dragged him out of his bed, and when he had confessed the fraud, pulled him to pieces; with him Peter Basman was also slain, and both their dead bodies laid open in the market-place. He was of no presence, but otherwise of a princely disposition; too bountiful, which occasioned some exactions; in other matters a great lover of justice, not unworthy the empire which he had gotten, and lost only through greatness of mind, neglecting the conspiracy, which he knew the Russians were plotting. Some say their hatred grew, for that they saw him alienated from the Russian manners and religion, having made Buchinskoy a learned protestant his secretary. Some report from Gilbert’s relation, who was a Scot, a captain of his guard, that lying on his bed awake, not long before the conspiracy, he saw the appearance of an aged man coming toward him, at which he rose, and called to them that watched; but they denied to have seen any such pass by them. He returning to his bed, and within an hour after, troubled again with the same apparition, sent for Buchinskoy, telling him he had now twice the same night seen an aged man, who at his second coming told him, that though he were a good prince of himself, yet for the injustice and oppression of his inferior ministers, his empire should be taken from him. The secretary counselled him to embrace true religion, affirming that for lack thereof his officers were so corrupt. The emperor seemed to be much moved, and to intend what was persuaded him. But a few days after, the other secretary, a Russian, came to him with a drawn sword, of which the emperor made slight at first; but he after bold words assaulted him, straight seconded by other conspirators, crying liberty. Gilbert, with many of the guard, oversuddenly surprised, retreated to Coluga, a town which they fortified; most of the other strangers were massacred, except the English, whose mediation saved also Buchinskoy. Shusky, who succeeded him, reports in a letter to king James otherwise of him; that his right name was Gryshca the son of Boughdan; that to escape punishment for villanies done, he turned friar, and fell at last to the black art; and fearing that the metropolitan intended therefore to imprison him, fled into Lettow; where by counsel of Sigismund the Poland king, he began to call himself Demetry of Onglitts; and by many libels and spies privily sent into Mosco, gave out the same; that many letters and messengers thereupon were sent from Boris into Poland, and from the patriarch, to acquaint him who the runagate was: but the Polanders giving them no credit, furnished him the more with arms and money, notwithstanding the league; and sent the palatine Sandamersko and other lords to accompany him into Russia, gaining also a prince of the Crim Tartars to his aid; that the army of Boris, hearing of his sudden death, yielded to this Gryshca, who, taking to wife a daughter of Sandamersko, attempted to root out the Russian clergy, and to bring in the Romish religion, for which purpose many Jesuits came along with him. Whereupon Shusky with the nobles and metropolitans, conspiring against him, in half a year gathered all the forces of Moscovia, and surprising him, found in writing under his own hand all these his intentions; letters also from the pope and cardinals to the same effect, not only to set up the religion of Rome, but to force it upon all, with death to them that refused.

Vasily Evanowich Shusky, [*] after the slaughter of Demetry or Gryshca, was elected emperor, having not long before been at the block for reporting to have seen the true Demetrius dead and buried; but Gryshca not only recalled him, but advanced him to be the instrument of his own ruin. He was then about the age of fifty; nobly descended, never married, of great wisdom reputed, a favourer of the English; for he saved them from rifling in the former tumults. Some say [†] he modestly refused the crown, till by lot four times together it fell to him; yet after that, growing jealous of his title, removed by poison and other means all the nobles, that were like to stand his rivals; and is said to have consulted with witches of the Samoëds, Lappians, and Tartarians, about the same fears; and being warned of one Michalowich, to have put to death three of that name, yet a fourth was reserved by fate to succeed him, being then a youth attendant in the court, one of those that held the golden axes, and least suspected. But before that time he also was supplanted by another reviving Demetrius brought in by the Poles; whose counterfeited hand, and strange relating of privatest circumstances, had almost deceived Gilbert himself, had not their persons been utterly unlike; but Gryshca’s wife so far believed him for her husband, as to receive him to her bed. Shusky, besieged in his castle of Mosco, was adventurously supplied with some powder and ammunition by the English; and with two thousand French, English and Scots, with other forces from Charles king of Sweden. The English, [*] after many miseries of cold and hunger, and assaults by the way, deserted by the French, yielded most of them to the Pole near Smolensko, and served him against the Russ. [†] Meanwhile this second Demetrius, being now rejected by the Poles, with those Russians that sided with him, laid siege to Mosco; Zolkiewsky, for Sigismund king of Poland, beleaguers on the other side with forty thousand men; whereof fifteen hundred English, Scotch, and French. Shusky, despairing success, betakes him to a monastery; but with the city is yielded to the Pole; who turns now his force against the counterfeit Demetrius; he seeking to fly is by a Tartar slain in his camp. Smolenkso held out a siege of two years, then surrendered. Shusky the emperor carried away into Poland, there ended miserably in prison. But before his departure out of Muscovy, the Polanders in his name sending for the chief nobility as to a last farewell, cause them to be entertained in a secret place and there dispatched: by this means the easier to subdue the people. Yet the Poles were starved at length out of those places in Mosco, which they had fortified. Wherein the Russians, who besieged them, found, as is reported, sixty barrels of man’s flesh powdered, being the bodies of such as died among them, or were slain in fight.

After which the empire of Russia broke to pieces, [‡] the prey of such as could catch, every one naming himself, and striving to be accounted, that Demetrius of Ouglitts. Some chose Uladislaus King Sigismund’s son, but he not accepting, they fell to a popular government; killing all the nobles under pretence of favouring the Poles. Some overtures of receiving them were made, as some say, to King James, and Sir John Meric and Sir William Russell employed therein. Thus Russia remaining in this confusion, it happened that a mean man, a butcher, dwelling in the north about Duina, inveighing against the baseness of their nobility, [§] and the corruption of officers, uttered words, that if they would but choose a faithful treasurer to pay well the soldiers, and a good general, (naming one Pozarsky, a poor gentleman, who after good service done, lived not far off retired and neglected,) that then he doubted not to drive out the Poles. The people assent, and choose that general; the butcher they make their treasurer; who both so well discharged their places, that with an army soon gathered they raise the siege of Mosco, which the Polanders had renewed; and with Boris Licin, another great soldier of that country, fall into consultation about the choice of an emperor, and choose at last Michalowich, or Michael Pheodorowich, the fatal youth, whose name Shusky so feared.

Michael Pheodorowich [*] thus elected by the valour of Pozarsky and Boris Licin, made them both generals of his forces, joining with them another great commander of the Cossacks, whose aid had much befriended him; the butcher also was made a counsellor of state. Finally, a peace was made up between the Russians and the Poles; and that partly by the mediation of King James.

CHAPTER V.: The first discovery of Russia by the north-east, 1553, with the English embassies, and entertainments at that court, until the year 1604.

THE discovery of Russia by the northern ocean, [†] made first, of any nation that we know, by Englishmen, might have seemed an enterprise almost heroic; if any higher end than the excessive love of gain and traffic had animated the design. Nevertheless, that in regard that many things not unprofitable to the knowledge of nature, and other observations, are hereby come to light, as good events ofttimes arise from evil occasions, it will not be the worst labour to relate briefly the beginning and prosecution of this adventurous voyage; until it became at last a familiar passage.

When our merchants perceived the commodities of England to be in small request abroad, and foreign merchandise to grow higher in esteem and value than before, they began to think with themselves how this might be remedied. And seeing how the Spaniards and Portugals had increased their wealth by discovery of new trades and countries, they resolved upon some new and strange navigation. At the same time Sebastian Chabota, a man for the knowledge of sea affairs much renowned in those days, happened to be in London. With him first they consult; and by his advice conclude to furnish out three ships for the search and discovery of the northern parts. And having heard that a certain worm is bred in that ocean, which many times eateth through the strongest oak, they contrive to cover some part of the keel of those ships with thin sheets of lead; and victual them for eighteen months; allowing equally to their journey, their stay, and their return. Arms also they provide, and store of munition, with sufficient captains and governors for so great an enterprise. To which among many, and some void of experience, that offered themselves, Sir Hugh Willoughby, a valiant gentleman, earnestly requested to have the charge. Of whom before all others both for his goodly personage, and singular skill in the services of war, they made choice to be admiral; and of Richard Chancelor, a man greatly esteemed for his skill, to be chief pilot. This man was brought up by Mr. Henry Sidney, afterwards deputy of Ireland, who coming where the adventurers were gathered together, though then a young man, with a grave and elegant speech commended Chancelor unto them.

After this, they omitted no inquiry after any person, that might inform them concerning those north-easterly parts, to which the voyage tended; and two Tartarians then of the king’s stable were sent for; but they were able to answer nothing to purpose. So after much debate it was concluded, that by the twentieth of May the ships should depart. Being come near Greenwich, where the court then lay, presently the courtiers came running out, the privy council at the windows, the rest on the towers and battlements. The mariners all apparelled in watchet, or skycoloured cloth, discharge their ordnance; the noise whereof, and of the people shouting, is answered from the hills and waters with as loud an echo. Only the good King Edward then sick beheld not this sight, but died soon after. From hence putting into Harwich, they staid long and lost much time. At length passing by Shetland, they kenned a far off Ægelands, being an innumerable sort of islands called Rost Islands in sixty-six degrees. Thence to Lofoot in sixty-eight, to Seinam in seventy degrees; these islands belong all to the crown of Denmark. Whence departing Sir Hugh Willoughby set out his flag, by which he called together the chief men of his other ships to counsel; where they conclude, in case they happened to be scattered by tempest, that Wardhouse, a noted haven in Finmark, be the appointed place of their meeting. The very same day afternoon so great a tempest arose, that the ships were some driven one way, some another, in great peril. The general with his loudest voice called to Chancelor not to be far from him; but in vain, for the admiral sailing much better than his ship, and bearing all her sails, was carried with great swiftness soon out of sight; but before that, the ship-boat, striking against her ship, was overwhelmed in view of the Bonaventure, whereof Chancelor was captain. The third ship also in the same storm was lost. [*] But Sir Hugh Willoughby escaping that storm, and wandering on those desolate seas till the eighteenth of September, put into a haven where they had weather as in the depth of winter; and there determining to abide till spring, sent out three men south-west to find inhabitants; who journied three days, but found none; then other three went westward four days journey, and lastly three south-east three days; but they all returning without news of people, or any sign of habitation, Sir Hugh with the company of his two ships abode there till January, as appears by a will since found in one of the ships; but then perished all with cold. This river or haven was Arzina in Lapland, near to Kegor, [†] where they were found dead the year after by certain Russian fishermen. Whereof the English agent at Mosco having notice, sent and recovered the ships with the dead bodies and most of the goods, and sent them for England; but the ships being unstaunch, as is supposed, by their two years wintering in Lapland, sunk by the way with their dead, and them also that brought them. But now Chancelor, with his ship and company thus left, shaped his course to Wardhouse, the place agreed on to expect the rest; where having staid seven days without tidings of them, he resolves at length to hold on his voyage; and sailed so far till he found no night, but continual day and sun clearly shining on that huge and vast sea for certain days. At length they enter into a great bay, named, as they knew after, from St. Nicholas; and spying a fisherboat, made after him to know what people they were. The fishermen amazed with the greatness of his ship, to them a strange and new sight, sought to fly; but overtaken, in great fear they prostrate themselves, and offer to kiss his feet; but he raising them up with all signs and gestures of courtesy, sought to win their friendship. They no sooner dismissed, but spread abroad the arrival of a strange nation, whose humanity they spake of with great affection; whereupon the people running together, with like return of all courteous usage receive them; offering them victuals freely, nor refusing to traffic, but for a loyal custom which bound them from that, without first the consent had of their king. After mutual demands of each other’s nation, they found themselves to be in Russia, where Juan Vasiliwich at that time reigned emperor. To whom privily the governor of that place sending notice of the strange guests that were arrived, held in the mean while our men in what suspense he could. The emperor well pleased with so unexpected a message, invites them to his court, offering them post horses at his own charge, or if the journey seemed over long, that they might freely traffic where they were. But ere this messenger could return, having lost his way, the Muscovites themselves loath that our men should depart, which they made show to do, furnished them with guides and other conveniences, to bring them to their king’s presence. Chancelor had now gone more than half his journey, when the sledman sent to court meets him on the way; delivers him the emperor’s letters; which when the Russes understood, so willing they were to obey the contents thereof, that they quarrelled and strove who should have the preferment to put his horses to the sled. So after a long and troublesome journey of fifteen hundred miles he arrived at Mosco. After he had remained in the city about twelve days, a messenger was sent to bring them to the king’s house. Being entered within the court gates, and brought into an outward chamber, they beheld there a very honourable company to the number of a hundred, sitting all apparelled in cloth of gold down to their ancles: next conducted to the chamber of presence, there sat the emperor on a lofty and very royal throne; on his head a diadem of gold, his robe all of goldsmith’s work, in his hand a chrystal sceptre garnished and beset with precious stones; no less was his countenance full of majesty. Beside him stood his chief secretary; on his other side the great commander of silence, both in cloth of gold; then sat his council of a hundred and fifty round about on high seats, clad all as richly. Chancelor, nothing abashed, made his obeisance to the emperor after the English manner. The emperor having taken and read his letters, after some inquiry of King Edward’s health, invited them to dinner, and till then dismissed them. But before dismission the secretary presented their present bareheaded; till which time they were all covered; and before admittance our men had charge not to speak, but when the emperor demanded aught. Having sat two hours in the secretary’s chamber, they were at length called in to dinner; where the emperor was set at table, now in a robe of silver, and another crown on his head. This place was called the golden palace, but without cause, for the Englishmen had seen many fairer; round about the room, but at a distance, were other long tables; in the midst a cupboard of huge and massy goblets, and other vessels of gold and silver; among the rest four great flaggons nigh two yards high, wrought in the top with devices of towers and dragons’ heads. The guests ascended to their tables by three steps; all apparelled in linen, and that lined with rich furs. The messes came in without order, but all in chargers of gold, both to the emperor, and to the rest that dined there, which were two hundred persons; on every board also were set cups of gold without number. The servitors, one hundred and forty, were likewise arrayed in gold, and waited with caps on their heads. They that are in high favour sit on the same bench with the emperor, but far off. Before meat came in, according to the custom of their kings, he sent to every guest a slice of bread; whom the officer naming, saith thus, John Basiliwich, emperor of Russ, c., doth reward thee with bread, at which words all men stand up. Then were swans in several pieces served in, each piece in a several dish, which the great duke sends about as the bread, and so likewise the drink. In dinner-time he twice changed his crown, his waiters thrice their apparel; to whom the emperor in like manner gives both bread and drink with his own hands; which they say is done to the intent that he may perfectly know his own household; and indeed when dinner was done, he called his nobles every one before him by name; and by this time candles were brought in, for it grew dark; and the English departed to their lodgings from dinner, an hour within night.

In the year fifteen hundred and fifty-five, [*] Chancelor made another voyage to this place with letters from Queen Mary; had a house in Mosco, and diet appointed him; and was soon admitted to the emperor’s presence in a large room spread with carpets; at his entering and salutation all stood up, the emperor only sitting, except when the queen’s name was read or spoken, for then he himself would rise: at dinner he sat bareheaded; his crown and rich cap standing on a pinnacle by. Chancelor returning for England, [†] Osep Napea, governor of Wologda, came in his ship embassador from the Russe; but suffering shipwreck in Pettislego, a bay in Scotland, Chancelor, who took more care to save the embassador than himself, was drowned, the ship rifled, and most of her lading made booty by the people thereabout.

In the year fifteen hundred and fifty-seven, [‡] Osep Napea returned into his country with Anthony Jenkinson, who had the command of four tall ships. He reports of a whirlpool between the Rost Islands and Lofoot called Maelstrand; which from half ebb to half flood is heard to make so terrible a noise, as shakes the door-rings of houses in those islands ten miles off; whales that come within the current thereof, make a pitiful cry; trees carried in and cast out again have the ends and boughs of them so beaten, as they seem like the stalks of bruised hemp. About Zeinam they saw many whales very monstrous, hard by their ships; whereof some by estimation sixty foot long; they roared hideously, it being then the time of their engendering. At Wardhouse, he saith, the cattle are fed with fish. Coming to Mosco, he found the emperor sitting aloft in a chair of state, richly crowned, a staff of gold in his hand wrought with costly stone. Distant from him sat his brother, and a youth the emperor’s son of Casan, whom the Russe had conquered; there dined with him diverse embassadors, Christian and heathen, diversely apparelled: his brother with some of the chief nobles sat with him at table: the guests were in all six hundred. In dinner-time came in six musicians; and standing in the midst, sung three several times, but with little or no delight to our men; there dined at the same time in other halls tow thousand Tartars, who came to serve the duke in his wars. The English were set at a small table by themselves, direct before the emperor; who sent them diverse bowls of wine and meath, and many dishes from his own hand: the messes were but mean, but the change of wines and several meaths were wonderful. As oft as they dined with the emperor, he sent for them in the morning, and invited them with his own mouth. On Christmas day being invited, [§] they had for other provision as before, but for store of gold and silver plate excessive; among which were twelve barrels of silver, hooped with fine gold, containing twelve gallons apiece.

In the year fifteen hundred and sixty was the first English traffic to the Narve in Livonia, till then concealed by Danskers and Lubeckers.

Fifteen hundred and sixty-one. The same Anthony Jenkinson made another voyage to Mosco; and arrived while the emperor was celebrating his marriage with a Circassian lady; during which time the city gates for three days were kept shut; and all men whatsoever straitly commanded to keep within their houses; except some of his household; the cause whereof is not known.

Fifteen hundred and sixty-six. He made again the same voyage; [*] which now men usually made in a month from London to St. Nicholas with good winds, being seven hundred and fifty leagues.

Fifteen hundred and sixty-eight. Thomas Randolf, Esq., went embassador to Muscovy, [†] from Queen Elizabeth; and in his passage by sea met nothing remarkable save great store of whales, whom they might see engendering together, and the spermaceti swimming on the water. At Colmogro he was met by a gentleman from the emperor, at whose charge he was conducted to Mosco: but met there by no man: not so much as the English; lodged in a fair house built for embassadors; but there confined upon some suspicion which the emperor had conceived; sent for at length after seventeen weeks’ delay, was fain to ride thither on a borrowed horse, his men on foot. In a chamber before the presence were sitting about three hundred persons, all in rich robes taken out of the emperor’s wardrobe for that day; they sat on three ranks of benches, rather for show than that the persons were of honour; being merchants, and other mean inhabitants. The embassador saluted them, but by them unsaluted passed on with his head covered. At the presence door being received by two which had been his guardians, and brought into the midst, he was there willed to stand still, and speak his message from the queen; at whose name the emperor stood up, and demanded her health: then giving the embassador his hand to kiss, fell to many questions. The present being delivered, which was a great silver bowl curiously graven; the emperor told him, he dined not that day openly because of great affairs; but, saith he, I will send thee my dinner, and augment thy allowance. And so dismissing him, sent a duke richly apparelled soon after to his lodging, with fifty persons, each of them carrying meat in silver dishes covered; which himself delivered into the embassador’s own hands, tasting first of every dish, and every sort of drink; that done, set him down with his company, took part, and went not thence unrewarded. The emperor sent back with this embassador another of his own called Andrew Savin.

Fifteen hundred and seventy-one. Jenkinson made a third voyage; but was staid long at Colmogro by reason of the plague in those parts; at length had audience where the court then was, near to Pereslave; to which place the emperor was returned from his Swedish war with ill success: and Mosco the same year had been wholly burnt by the Crim: in it the English house, and diverse English were smothered in the cellars, multitudes of people in the city perished, all that were young led captive with exceeding spoil.

Fifteen hundred and eighty-three. Juan Basiliwich [‡] having the year before sent his embassador Pheodor Andrewich about matters of commerce, the queen made choice of Sir Jerom Bowes, one of her household, to go into Russia; who being attended with more than forty persons, and accompanied with the Russe returning home, arrived at St. Nicholos. The Dutch by this time had intruded into the Muscovy trade, which by privilege long before had been granted solely to the English; and had corrupted to their side Shalkan the chancellor, with others of the great ones; who so wrought, that a creature of their own was sent to meet Sir Jerom at Colmogro, and to offer him occasions of dislike: until at Vologda he was received by another from the emperor; and at Heraslave by a duke well accompanied, who presented him with a coach and ten geldings. Two miles from Mosco met him four gentlemen with two hundred horse, who, after short salutation, told him what they had to say from the emperor, willing him to alight, which the embassador soon refused, unless they also lighted; whereon they stood long debating; at length agreed, great dispute followed, whose foot should first touch the ground. Their message delivered, and then embracing, they conducted the embassador to a house at Mosco, built for him purposely. At his going to court, he and his followers honourably mounted and apparelled, the emperor’s guard were set on either side all the way about six thousand shot. At the court gate met him four noblemen in cloth of gold, and rich fur caps, embroidered with pearl and stone; then four others of greater degree, in which passage there stood along the walls, and sat on benches, seven or eight hundred men in coloured satins and gold. At the presence door met him the chief herald, and with him all the great officers of court, who brought him where the emperor sat: there were set by him three crowns of Muscovy, Cazan, and Astracan: on each side stood two young noblemen, costly apparelled in white, each of them had a broad axe on his shoulder; on the benches round sat above an hundred noblemen. Having given the embassador his hand to kiss, and inquired of the queen’s health, he willed him to go sit in the place provided for him, nigh ten paces distant; from thence to send him the queen’s letters and present. Which the embassador thinking not reasonable stepped forward; but the chancellor meeting him, would have taken his letters; to whom the embassador said, that the queen had directed no letters to him; and so went on and delivered them to the emperor’s own hands; and after a short withdrawing into the council-chamber, where he had conference with some of the council, he was called in to dinner: about the midst whereof, the emperor standing up, drank a deep carouse to the queen’s health, and sent to the embassador a great bowl of Rhenish wine to pledge him. But at several times being called for to treat about affairs, and not yielding aught beyond his commission, the emperor not wont to be gainsaid, one day especially broke into passion, and with a stern countenance told him, he did not reckon the queen to be his fellow; for there are, quoth he, her betters. The embassador not holding it his part, whatever danger might ensue, to hear any derogate from the majesty of his prince, with like courage and countenance told him that the queen was equal to any in Christendom, who thought himself greatest; and wanted not means to offend her enemies whomsoever. Yea, quoth he, what sayest thou of the French and Spanish kings? I hold her, quoth the embassador, equal to either. Then what to the German emperor? Her father, quoth he, had the emperor in his pay. This answer misliked the duke so far, as that he told him, were he not an embassador, he would throw him out of doors. You may, said the embassador, do your will, for I am now fast in your country; but the queen, I doubt not, will know how to be revenged of any injury offered to her embassador. Whereat the emperor in great sudden bid him get home; and he with no more reverence than such usage required, saluted the emperor, and went his way. Notwithstanding this, the Muscovite, soon as his mood left him, spake to them that stood by many praises of the embassador, wishing he had such a servant, and presently after sent his chief secretary to tell him, that whatever had passed in words, yet for his great respect to the queen, he would shortly after dispatch him with honour and full contentment, and in the mean while he much enlarged his entertainment. He also desired, that the points of our religion might be set down, and caused them to be read to his nobility with much approbation. And as the year before he had sought in marriage the lady Mary Hastings, which took not effect, the lady and her friends excusing it, be now again renewed the motion to take to wife some one of the queen’s kinswomen, either by sending an embassage or going himself with his treasure into England. Now happy was that nobleman, whom Sir Jerom Bowes in public favoured; unhappy they who had opposed him: for the emperor had beaten Shalkan the chancellor very grievously for that cause, and threatened not to leave one of his race alive. But the emperor dying soon after of a surfeit, Shalkan, to whom then almost the whole government was committed, caused the embassador to remain close prisoner in his house nine weeks. Being sent for at length to have his dispatch, and slightly enough conducted to the council-chamber, he was told by Shalkan, that this emperor would condescend to no other agreements than were between his father and the queen before his coming: and so disarming both him and his company, brought them to the emperor with many affronts in their passage, for which there was no help but patience. The emperor, saying but over what the chancellor had said before, offered him a letter for the queen: which the embassador, knowing it contained nothing to the purpose of his embassy, refused, till he saw his danger grow too great; nor was he suffered to reply, or have his interpreter. Shalkan sent him word, that now the English emperor was dead; and hastened his departure, but with so many disgraces put upon him, as made him fear some mischief in his journey to the sea: having only one mean gentleman sent with him to be his convoy; he commanded the English merchants in the queen’s name to accompany him, but such was his danger, that they durst not. So arming himself and his followers in the best wise he could, against any outrage, he at length recovered the shore of St. Nicholas. Where he now resolved to send them back by his conduct some of the affronts which he had received. Ready therefore to take ship, he causes three or four of his valiantest and discreetest men to take the emperor’s letter, and disgraceful present, and to deliver it, or leave it at the lodging of his convoy, which they safely did; though followed with a great tumult of such as would have forced them to take it back.

Fifteen hundred and eighty-four. At the coronation of Pheodor the emperor, Jerom Horsey being then agent in Russia, and called for to court with one John de Wale, a merchant of the Netherlands and a subject of Spain, some of the nobles would have preferred the Fleming before the English. But to that our agent would in no case agree, saying he would rather have his legs cut off by the knees, than bring his present in course after a subject of Spain. The emperor and prince Boris perceiving the controversy, gave order to admit Horsey first: who was dismissed with large promises, and seventy messes with three carts of several meath sent after him.

Fifteen hundred and eighty-eight. Dr. Giles Fletcher went embassador from the queen to Pheodor then emperor; whose relations being judicious and exact are best read entirely by themselves. This emperor, [*] upon report of the great learning of John Dee the mathematician, invited him to Mosco, with offer of two thousand pounds a year, and from prince Boris one thousand marks; to have his provision from the emperor’s table, to be honourably received, and accounted as one of the chief men in the land. All which Dee accepted not.

One thousand six hundred and four. Sir Thomas Smith was sent embassador from King James to Boris then emperor; and staid some days at a place five miles from Mosco, till he was honourable received into the city; met on horseback by many thousands of gentlemen and nobles on both sides the way; where the embassador alighting from his coach, and mounted on his horse, rode with his trumpets sounding before him; till a gentleman of the emperor’s table brought him a gennet gorgeously trapped with gold, pearl, and stone, especially with a great chain of plated gold about his neck, and horses richly adorned for his followers. Then came three great noblemen with an interpreter offering a speech; but the embassador deeming it to be ceremony, with a brief compliment found means to put it by. Thus alighting all, they saluted, and gave hands mutually. Those three, after a tedious preamble of the emperor’s title thrice repeated, brought a several compliment of three words a piece, as namely, the first, To know how the king did; the next, How the embassador; the third, That there was a fair house provided him. Then on they went on either hand of the embassador, and about six thousand gallants behind them, still met within the city by more of greater quality to the very gate of his lodging: where fifty gunners were his daily guard both at home and abroad. The prestaves, or gentlemen assigned to have the care of his entertainment, were earnest to have had the embassador’s speech and message given them in writing, that the interpreter, as they pretended, might the better translate it; but he admonished them of their foolish demand. On the day of his audience, other gennets were sent him and his attendants to ride on, and two white palfreys to draw a rich chariot, which was parcel of the present; the rest whereof was carried by his followers through a lane of the emperor’s guard; many messengers posting up and down the while, till they came through the great castle, to the uttermost court gate. There met by a great duke, they were brought up stairs through a stone gallery, where stood on each hand many in fair coats of Persian stuff, velvet, and damask. The embassador by two other counsellors being led into the presence, after his obeisance done, was to stay and hear again the long title repeated; then the particular presents; and so delivered as much of his embassage as was then requisite. After which the emperor, arising from his throne, demanded of the king’s health; so did the young prince. The embassador then delivered his letters into the emperor’s own hand, though the chancellor offered to have taken them. He bore the majesty of a mighty emperor; his crown and sceptre of pure gold, a collar of pearls about his neck, his garment of crimson velvet embroidered with precious stone and gold. On his right side stood a fair globe of beaten gold on a pyramis with a cross upon it; to which, before he spake, turning a little he crossed himself. Not much less in splendour on another throne sate the prince. By the emperor stood two noblemen in cloth of silver, high caps of black fur, and chains of gold hanging to their feet; on their shoulders two poleaxes of gold; and two of silver by the prince; the ground was all covered with arras or tapestry. Dismissed, and brought in again to dinner, they saw the emperor and his son seated in state, ready to dine; each with a skull of pearl on their bare heads, their vestments changed. In the midst of this hall seemed to stand a pillar heaped round to a great height with massy plate curiously wrought with beasts, fishes, and fowl. The emperor’s table was served with two hundred noblemen in coats of gold; the prince’s table with young dukes of Cassan, Astracan, Siberia, Tartaria, and Circassia. The emperor sent from his table to the embassador thirty dishes of meat, to each a loaf of extraordinary fine bread. Then followed a number more of strange and rare dishes piled up by half dozens, with boiled, roast, and baked, most part of them besauced with garlic and onions. In midst of dinner calling the embassador up to him he drank the king’s health, who receiving it from his hand, returned to his place, and in the same cup, being of fair chrystal, pledged it with all his company. After dinner they were called up to drink of excellent and strong meath from the emperor’s hand; of which when many did but sip, he urged it not; saying he was best pleased with what was most for their health. Yet after that, the same day he sent a great and glorious duke, one of them that held the golden poleaxe, with his retinue, and sundry sorts of meath, to drink merrily with the embassador, which some of the English did, until the duke and his followers, lightheaded, but well rewarded with thirty yards of cloth of gold, and two standing cups, departed. At second audience the embassador had like reception as before: and being dismissed, had dinner sent after him with three hundred several dishes of fish, it being Lent, of such strangeness, greatness, and goodness, as scarce would be credible to report. The embassador departing was brought a mile out of the city with like honour as he was first met; where lighting from the emperor’s sled, he took him to his coach, made fast upon a sled; the rest to their sleds, an easy and pleasant passage.

- Names of the Authors from whence these Relations have been taken; being all either Eyewitnesses, or immediate Relaters from such as were.

- The journal of Sir Hugh Willoughby.

- Discourse of Richard Chancelor.

- Another of Clement Adams, taken from the mouth of Chancelor.

- Notes of Richard Johnson, servant of Chancelor.

- The Protonotaries Register.

- Two Letters of Mr. Henry Lane.

- Several voyages of Jenkinson.

- Southan and Sparks.

- The journal of Randolf the embassador.

- Another of Sir Jerom Bowes.

- The coronation of Pheodor, written by Jerom Horsey.

- Gourdon of Hull’s voyage to Pechora.

- The voyage of William Pursglove to Pechora.

- Of Josias Logan.

- Hessel Gerardus, out of Purchas, part 3. l. 3.

- Russian relations in Purch. 797. ibid. 806. ibid.

- The embassage of Sir Thomas Smith.

- Papers of Mr. Hackluit.

- Jansonius.

A DECLARATION OF LETTERS PATENTS,

FOR THE ELECTION OF THIS PRESENT KING OF POLAND, JOHN THE THIRD,

ELECTED ON THE 22d OF MAY LAST PAST, A. D. 1674.

CONTAINING THE REASONS OF THIS ELECTION, THE GREAT VIRTUES AND MERITS OF THE SAID SERENE ELECT, HIS EMINENT SERVICES IN WAR, ESPECIALLY IN HIS LAST GREAT VICTORY AGAINST THE TURKS AND TARTARS, WHEREOF MANY PARTICULARS ARE HERE RELATED, NOT PUBLISHED BEFORE.

NOW FAITHFULLY TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN COPY.

IN the name of the most Holy and Individual Trinity, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

WE, Andrew Trezebicki, bishop of Cracovia, duke of Severia, John Gembicki of Uladislau and Pomerania, c.; bishops to the number of ten.

Stanislaus Warszycki, Castellan of Cracovia; Alexander Michael Lubomirski of Cracovia, c.; palatines to the number of twenty-three.

Christopherus Grzymaltouski of Posnania, Alexander Gratus de Tarnow of Sandimer; castellans to the number of twenty-four.

Hiraleus Polubinski, high marshal of the great dukedom of Lithuania, Christopherus Pac, high chancellor of the great dukedom of Lithuania, senators and great officers, to the number of seventy-five.

WE declare by these our present letters unto all and single persons whom it may concern: our commonwealth, being again left widowed by the unseasonable death of that famous Michael late king of Poland, who, having scarce reigned full five years, on the tenth day of November, of the year last past, at Leopolis, changed his fading crown for one immortal; in the sense of so mournful a funeral and fresh calamity, yet with undaunted courage, mindful of herself in the midst of dangers, forebore not to seek remedies, that the world may understand she grows in the midst of her losses; it pleased her to begin her counsels of preserving her country, and delivering it from the utmost chances of an interreign, from the divine Deity, (as it were by the only motion of whose finger, it is easy that kingdoms be transferred from nation to nation, and kings from the lowest states to thrones;) and therefore the business was begun according to our country laws, and ancestors’ institution. After the convocation of all the states of the kingdom ended, in the month of February, at Warsaw, by the common consent of all those states, on the day decreed for the election the twentieth of April: at the report of this famous act, as though a trumpet had been sounded, and a trophy of virtue erected, the wishes and desires of foreign princes came forth of their own accord into the field of the Polonian liberty, in a famous strife of merits and goodwill towards the commonwealth, every one bringing their ornaments, advantages, and gifts to the commonwealth: but the commonwealth becoming more diligent by the prodigal ambition used in the last interreign, and factions, and disagreeings of minds, nor careless of the future, considered with herself whether firm or doubtful things were promised, and whether she should seem from the present state to transfer both the old and new honours of Poland into the possession of strangers, or the military glory, and their late unheard of victory over the Turks, and blood spilt in the war, upon the purple of some unwarlike prince; as if any one could so soon put on the love of the country, and that Poland was not so much an enemy to her own nation and fame, as to favour strangers more than her own; and valour being found in her, should suffer a guest of new power to wax proud in her: therefore she thenceforth turned her thoughts upon some one in her own nation, and at length abolished (as she began in the former election) that reproach cast upon her, under pretence of a secret maxim, “That none can be elected king of Poland but such as are born out of Poland;” neither did she seek long among her citizens whom she should prefer above the rest; (for this was no uncertain or suspended election, there was no place for delay;) for although in the equality of our nobles many might be elected, yet the virtue of a hero appeared above his equals: therefore the eyes and minds of all men were willingly, and by a certain divine instinct, turned upon the high mashal of the kingdom, captain of the army, John Sobietski. The admirable virtue of the man, the high power of marshal in the court, with his supreme command in arms, senatorial honour, with his civil modesty, the extraordinary splendour of his birth and fortune, with open courtesy, piety towards God, love to his fellow citizens in words and deeds; constancy, faithfulness, and clemency towards his very enemies, and what noble things soever can be said of a hero, did lay such golden chains on the minds and tongues of all, that the senate and people of Poland and of the great dukedom of Lithuania, with suffrages and agreeing voices named and chose him their king; not with his seeking or precipitate counsel, but with mature deliberations continued and extended till the third day.

Certainly it conduced much for the honour of the most serene elect, the confirmation of a free election, and the eternal praise of the people electing, that the great business of an age was not transacted in one day, or in the shadow of the night, or by one casual heat: for it was not right that a hero of the age should in a moment of time (and as it were by the cast of a die) be made a king, wheneas antiquity by an ancient proverb has delivered, “that Hercules was not begot in one night;” and it hath taught, that election should shine openly under a clear sky, in the open light.

The most serene elect took it modestly, that his nomination should be deferred till the third day, plainly showing to endeavour, lest his sudden facility of assent being suspected, might detract from their judgment, and the world might be enforced to believe by a more certain argument, that he that was so chosen was elected without his own ambition, or the envy of corrupted liberty; or was it by the appointed counsel of God, that this debate continued three whole days, from Saturday till Monday, as if the Cotimian victory (begun on the Saturday, and at length on the third day after accomplished, after the taking of the Cotimian castle) had been a lucky presage of his royal reward; or, as if with an auspicious omen, the third day of election had alluded to the regal name of JOHN the Third.

The famous glory of war paved his way to the crown, and confirmed the favour of suffrages to his most serene elect. He the first of all the Polonians showed that the Scythian swiftness (troublesome heretofore to all the monarchies in the world) might be repressed by a standing fight, and the terrible main battalion of the Turk might be broken and routed at one stroke. That we may pass by in silence the ancient rudiments of warfare, which he stoutly and gloriously managed under the conduct and authority of another, against the Swedes, Moscovites, Borussians, Transylvanians, and Cossacks: though about sixty cities taken by him from the Cossacks be less noised in the mouth of fame; yet these often and prosperous battles were a prelude to greatest victories in the memory of man. Myriads of Tartars had overrun within this six-years with their plundering troops the coast of Podolia, when a small force and some shattered legions were not sufficient against the hostile assault, yet our general knowing not how to yield, shut himself up (by a new stratagem of war) in Podhajecy, a strait castle, and fortified in haste, whereby he might exclude the cruel destruction, which was hastening into the bowels of the kingdom; by which means the Barbarian, deluded and routed, took conditions of peace; as if he had made his inroad for this only purpose, that he might bring to the most serene elect matter of glory, victory.

For these four last years the famous victories of Sobietski have signalized every year of his warlike command on the Cossacks and Tartarians both joined together; the most strong province of Braclavia, as far as it lies between Hypanis and Tyral, with their cities and warlike people, were won from the Cossack enemy.

And those things are beyond belief, which two years ago the most serene elect, after the taking of Camenick (being undaunted by the siege of Laopolis) performed to a miracle by the hardness and fortitude of the Polonian army, scarce consisting of three thousand men, in the continual course of five days and nights, sustaining life without any food, except wild herbs; setting upon the Tartarians, he made famous the names of Narulum, Niemicrovia, Konarnum, Kalussia, obscure towns before, by a great overthrow of the Barbarians. He slew three sultans of the Crim Tartars, descended of the royal Gietian family, and so trampled on that great force of the Scythians, that in these later years they could not regain their courage, nor recollect their forces. But the felicity of this last autumn exceeded all his victories; whenas the fortifications at Chocimum, famous of old, were possessed and fortified by above forty thousand Turks, in which three and forty years ago the Polonians had sustained and repressed the forces of the Ottoman family, drawn together out of Asia, Africa, and Europe, fell to the ground within a few hours, by the only (under God) imperatorious valour and prudence of Sobietski; for he counted it his chief part to go about the watches, order the stations, and personally to inspect the preparations of warlike ordnance, to encourage the soldiers with voice, hands, and countenance, wearied with hunger, badness of weather, and three days standing in arms; and he (which is most to be admired) on foot at the head of the foot forces, made through, and forced his way to the battery, hazarding his life devoted to God and his country; and thereupon made a cruel slaughter within the camp and fortifications of the enemy; while the desperation of the Turks whetted their valour, and he performed the part of a most provident and valiant captain: at which time three bashaws were slain, the fourth scarce passed with difficulty the swift river of Tyras; eight thousand janizaries, twenty thousand chosen spachies, besides the more common soldiers, were cut off; the whole camp with all their ammunition and great ordnance, besides the Assyrian and Phrygian wealth of luxurious Asia, were taken and pillaged; the famous castle of Cotimia, and the bridge over Tyras, strong fortresses, equal to castles on each side the river, were additions to the victory. Why therefore should not such renowned heroic valour be crowned with the legal reward of a diadem? All Christendom have gone before us in example, which, being arrived to the recovery of Jerusalem under the conduct of Godfrey of Bulloin, on their own accord gave him that kingdom, for that he first scaled the walls of that city. Our most serene elect is not inferior, for he first ascended two main fortresses of the enemy.

The moment of time adorns this victory unheard of in many ages, the most serene king Michael dying the day before, as it were signifying thereby that he gave way to so great valour, as if it were by his command and favour, that this conqueror might so much the more gloriusly succeed from the helmet to the crown, from the commander’s staff to the sceptre, from his lying in the field to the regal throne.

The commonwealth recalled the grateful and never to be forgotten memory of his renowned father, the most illustrious and excellent James Sobietski, castellan of Cracovia, a man to be written of with sedulous care; who by his golden eloquence in the public councils, and by his hand in the scene of war, had so often amplified the state of the commonwealth, and defended it with the arms of his family. Neither can we believe it happened without Divine Providence, that in the same place wherein forty years ago his renowned father, embassador of the Polonian commonwealth, had made peace and covenants with Cimanus the Turkish general, his great son should revenge with his sword the peace broke, Heaven itself upbraiding the perfidious enemy. The rest of his grandsires and great grandsires, and innumerable names of famous senators and great officers, have as it were brought forth light to the serene elect by the emulous greatness and glory of his mother’s descent, especially Stanislaus, Zelkievius, high chancellor of the kingdom, and general of the army, at whose grave in the neighbouring fields, in which by the Turkish rage in the year sixteen hundred and twenty he died, his victorious nephew took full revenge by so remarkable an overthrow of the enemy: the immortal valour and fatal fall of his most noble uncle Stanislaus Danilovitius in the year sixteen hundred and thirty-five, palatine of Russia, doubled the glory of his ancestors; whom desirous of honor, and not enduring the sluggish peace wherein Poland then slept secure, valour and youthful heat accited at his own expense and private forces into the Tauric fields; that by his footing, and the ancient warlike Polonian discipline, he might lead and point the way to these merits of Sobietski, and being slain by Cantimiz the Tartarian Cham, in revenge of his son by him slain, he might by his noble blood give lustre to this regal purple. Neither hath the people of Poland forgot the most illustrious Marcus Sobietski, elder brother of our most serene elect, who, when the Polonian army at Batto was routed by the Barbarians, although occasion was offered him of escape, yet chose rather to die in the overthrow of such valiant men, a sacrifice for his country, than to buy his life with a dishonourable retreat; perhaps the divine judgment so disposing, whose order is, that persons pass away and fail, and causes and events happen again the same; that by the repeated fate of the Huniades, the elder brother, of great hopes, removed by a lamented slaughter, might leave to his younger brother surviving the readier passage to the throne. That therefore which we pray may be happy, auspicious, and fortunate to our orthodox commonwealth, and to all christendom, with free and unanimous votes, none opposing, all consenting and applauding, by the right of our free election, notwithstanding the absence of those which have been called and not appeared; We being led by no private respect, but having only before our eyes the glory of God, the increase of the ancient catholic church, the safety of the commonwealth, and the dignity of the Polish nation and name, have thought fit to elect, create, and name, JOHN in Zolkiew and Zloczew Sobietski, supreme marshal general of the kingdom, general of the armies, governor of Neva, Bara, Strya, Loporovient, and Kalussien, most eminently adorned with so high endowments, merits, and splendour, to be KING of Poland, grand duke of Lithuania, Russia, Prussia, Mazovia, Samogitia, Kyovia, Volhinia, Padlachia, Podolia, Livonia, Smolensko, Severia, and Czerniechovia, as we have elected, created, declared, and named him: I the aforesaid bishop of Cracovia (the archiepiscopal see being vacant) exercising the office and authority of primate, and by consent of all the states, thrice demanded, opposed by none, by all and every one approved, conclude the election; promising faithfully, that we will always perform to the same most serene and potent elect prince, lord JOHN the Third, our king, the same faith, subjection, obedience, and loyalty, according to our rights and liberties, as we have performed to his blessed ancestor, as also that we will crown the same most serene elect in the next assembly at Cracovia, to that end ordained, as our true king and lord, with the regal diadem, with which the kings of Poland were wont to be crowned; and after the manner which the Roman Catholic church before-time hath observed in anointing and inaugurating kings, we will anoint and inaugurate him: yet so as he shall hold fast and observe first of all the rights, immunities both ecclesiastical and secular, granted and given unto us by his ancestor of blessed memory; as also these laws, which we ourselves in the time of this present and former interreign, according to the right of our liberty, and better preservation of the commonwealth, have established. And if, moreover, the most serene elect will bind himself by an oath, to perform the conditions concluded with those persons sent by his majesty before the exhibition of this present decree of election, and will provide in best manner for the performance of them by his authentic letters; which decree of election we, by divine aid desirous to put in execution, do send by common consent, to deliver it into the hand of the most serene elect, the most illustrious and reverend lord bishop of Cracovia, together with some senators and chief officers, and the illustrious and magnificent Benedictus Sapieha, treasurer of the court of the great dukedom of Lithuania, marshal of the equestrian order; committing to them the same decree of intimating an oath, upon the aforesaid premises, and receiving his subscription; and at length to give and deliver the same decree into the hands of the said elect, and to act and perform all other things which this affair requires; in assurance whereof the seals of the lords, senators, and those of the equestrian order deputed to sign, are here affixed.

Given by the hands of the most illustrious and reverend father in Christ, the lord Andrew Olszonski, bishop of Culma and Pomisania, high chancellor of the kingdom, in the general ordinary assembly of the kingdom, and great dukedom of Lithuania, for the election of the new king. Warsaw, the twenty-second day of May, in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and seventy-four.

In the presence of Franciscus Praskmouski, provost of Guesna, abbot of Sieciethovia, chief secretary of the kingdom; Joannes Malachowski, abbot of Mogila, referenda of the kingdom, c.; with other great officers of the kingdom and clergy, to the number of four-score and two. And the rest, many great officers, captains, secretaries, courtiers, and inhabitants of the kingdom, and great dukedom of Lithuania, gathered together at Warsaw to the present assembly of the election of the kingdom and great dukedom of Lithuania.

Assistants at the solemn oath taken of his sacred majesty on the fifth day of the month of June, in the palace at Warsaw, after the letters patents delivered upon the covenants, and agreements, or capitulations, the most reverend and excellent lord Francisco Bonvisi, archbishop of Thessalonica, apostolic nuncio; count Christopherus a Scaffgotsch, Cæcareus Tussanus de Forbin, de Jason, bishop of Marseilles in France, Joannes free-baron Hoverbec, from the marquis of Brandenburg, embassadors, and other envoys and ministers of state.

LETTERS OF STATE

TO MOST OF THE SOVEREIGN PRINCES AND REPUBLICS OF EUROPE,

DURING THE ADMINISTRATION OF THE COMMONWEALTH AND THE PROTECTORS OLIVER AND RICHARD CROMWELL.

LETTERS WRITTEN IN THE NAME OF THE PARLIAMENT.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. 10, 1649.

Westminster

The Senate and People of ENGLAND, to the most noble Senate of the city of HAMBOROUGH.

FOR how long a series of past years, and for what important reasons, the friendship entered into by our ancestors with your most noble city has continued to this day, we both willingly acknowledge, together with yourselves; nor is it a thing displeasing to us, frequently also to call to our remembrance. But as to what we understand by your letters dated the twenty-fifth of June, that some of our people deal not with that fidelity and probity, as they were wont to do in their trading and commerce among ye; we presently referred it to the consideration of certain persons well skilled in those matters, to the end they might make a more strict inquiry into the frauds of the clothiers, and other artificers of the woollen manufacture. And we farther promise, to take such effectual care, as to make you sensible of our unalterable intentions, to preserve sincerity and justice among ouselves, as also never to neglect any good offices of our kindness, that may redound to the welfare of your commonwealth. On the other hand, there is something likewise which we not only required, but which equity itself, and all the laws of God and man, demand of yourselves; that you will not only conserve inviolable to the merchants of our nation their privileges, but by your authority and power defend and protect their lives and estates, as it becomes your city to do. Which as we most earnestly desired in our former letters; so upon the repeated complaints of our merchants, that are daily made before us, we now more earnestly solicit and request it; they complaining, that their safety, and all that they have in the world, is again in great jeopardy among ye. For although they acknowledge themselves to have reaped some benefit for a short time of our former letters sent you, and to have had some respite from the injuries of a sort of profligate people; yet since the coming of the same Coc--m to your city, (of whom we complained before,) who pretends to be honoured with a sort of embassy from —, the son of the lately deceased king, they have been assaulted with all manner of ill language, threats, and naked swords of ruffians and homicides, and have wanted your accustomed protection and defence; insomuch, that when two or three of the merchants, together with the president of the society, were hurried away by surprise aboard a certain privateer, and that the rest implored your aid, yet they could not obtain any assistance from you, till the merchants themselves were forced to embody their own strength, and rescue from the hands of pirates the persons seized on in that river, of which your city is the mistress, not without extreme hazard of their lives. Nay, when they had fortunately brought them home again, and as it were by force of arms recovered them from an ignominous captivity, and carried the pirates themselves into custody; we are informed, that Coc--m was so audacious, as to demand the release of the pirates, and that the merchants might be delivered prisoners into his hands. We therefore again, and again, beseech and adjure you, if it be your intention, that contracts and leagues, and the very ancient commerce between both nations should be preserved, (the thing which you desire,) that our people may be able to assure themselves of some certain and firm support and reliance upon your word, your prudence, and authority; that you would lend them a favourable audience concerning these matters, and that you would inflict deserved punishment as well upon Coc--m, and the rest of his accomplices in that wicked act, as upon those who lately assaulted the preacher, hitherto unpunished, or command them to depart your territories; nor that you would believe, that expelled and exiled Tarquins are to be preferred before the friendship, and the wealth, and power of our republic. For if you do not carefully provide to the contrary, but that the enemies of our republic shall presume to think lawful the committing of any violences against us in your city, how unsafe, how ignominious the residence of our people there will be, do you consider with yourselves! These things we recommend to your prudence and equity, yourselves to the protection of Heaven.

Westminster

,

Aug. 10, 1649

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Jan. 4, 1649

To the Senate of HAMBOROUGH.

YOUR conspicuous favour in the doubtful condition of our affairs is now the reason, that after victory and prosperous success, we can no longer question your good-will and friendly inclination towards us. As for our parts, the war being almost now determined, and our enemies every where vanquished, we have deemed nothing more just, or more conducing to the firm establishment of the republic, than that they who by our means (the Almighty being always our captain and conductor) have either recovered their liberty, or obtained their lives and fortunes, after the pernicious ravages of a civil war, of our free gift and grace, should testify and pay in exchange to their magistrates allegiance and duty in a solemn manner, if need required: more especially when so many turbulent and exasperated persons, more than once received into protection, will make no end, either at home or abroad, of acting perfidiously, and raising new disturbances. To that purpose we took care, to enjoin a certain form of an oath, by which all who held any office in the commonwealth, or being fortified with the protection of the law, enjoyed both safety, ease, and all other conveniences of life, should bind themselves to obedience in words prescribed. This we also thought proper to be sent to all colonies abroad, or wherever else our people resided for the convenience of trade; to the end that the fidelity of those, over whom we are set, might be proved and known to us, as it is but reasonable and necessary. Which makes us wonder so much the more at what our merchants write from your city, that they are not permitted to execute our commands by some or other of your order and degree. Certainly what the most potent United Provinces of the Low Countries, most jealous of their power and their interests, never thought any way belonging to their inspection, namely, whether the English foreigners swore fidelity and allegiance to their magistrates at home, either in these or those words, how that should come to be so suspected and troublesome to your city, we must plainly acknowledge, that we do not understand. But this proceeding from the private inclinations or fears of some, whom certain vagabond Scots, expelled their country, are said to have enforced by menaces, on purpose to deter our merchants from swearing fidelity to us, we impute not to your city. Most earnestly therefore we entreat and conjure ye (for it is not now the interest of trade, but the honour of the republic itself that lies at stake) not to suffer any one among ye, who can have no reason to concern himself in this affair, to interpose his authority, whatever it be, with that supremacy which we challenge over our own subjects, not by the judgment and opinion of foreigners, but by the laws of our country; for who would not take it amiss, if we should forbid your Hamburghers, residing here, to swear fidelity to you, that are their magistrates at home? Farewel.

Jan. 4, 1649

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Feb. 4, 1649

Philip

Philip

To the most Serene and Potent Prince, PHILIP the Fourth, King of SPAIN: the Parliament of the Commonwealth of England, Greeting.

WE send to your majesty Anthony Ascham, a person of integrity, learned, and descended of an ancient family, to treat of matters very advantageous, as we hope, as well to the Spanish, as to the English nation. Wherefore in friendly manner we desire, that you would be pleased to grant, and order him a safe and honourable passage to your royal city, and the same in his return from thence, readily prepared to repay the kindness when occasion offers. Or if your majesty be otherwise inclined, that it may be signified to him with the soonest, what your pleasure is in this particular, and that he may be at liberty to depart without molestation.

Feb. 4, 1649

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Feb. 4, 1649

Westminster

Philip

To the most Serene and Potent Prince, PHILIP the Fourth, King of SPAIN. the Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, Greeting.

WHAT is the condition of our affairs, and by what heinous injuries provoked and broken, at length we began to think of recovering our liberty by force of arms; what constituted form of government we now make use of, can neither be concealed from your majesty, nor any other person, who has but cast an impartial eye upon our writings published on these occasions. Neither ought we to think it a difficult thing, among fit and proper judges of things, to render our fidelity, our equity, and patience, manifest to all men, and justly meriting their approbation; as also to defend our authority, honour, and grandeur, against the infamous tongues of exiles and fugitives. Now then, as to what is more the concern of foreign nations, after having subdued and vanquished the enemies of our country, through the miraculous assistance of Heaven, we openly and cordially profess ourselves readily prepared to have peace and friendship, more desirable than all enlargement of empire, with our neighbour nations. For these reasons we have sent into Spain, to your majesty, Anthony Ascham, of approved dexterity and probity, to treat with your majesty concerning friendship, and the accustomed commerce between both nations; or else, if it be your pleasure, to open a way for the ratifying of new articles and alliances. Our request therefore is, that you will grant him free liberty of access to your majesty, and give such order, that care may be taken of his safety and honour, while he resides a public minister with your majesty; to the end he may freely propose what he has in charge from us, for the benefit, as we hope, of both nations; and certify to us with the soonest, what are your majesty’s sentiments concerning these matters.

Westminster

,

Feb. 4, 1649

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Feb. 4, 1649

Westminster

John

John

To the most Serene Prince, JOHN the Fourth, King of PORTUGAL: the Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, Greeting.

AFTER we had suffered many, and those the utmost, mischiefs of a faithless peace, and intestine war, our being reduced to those exigencies, that if we had any regard to the safety of the republic, there was a necessity of altering for the chiefest part the form of government; is a thing which we make no question, is well known to your majesty, by what we have both publicly written and declared in justification of our proceedings. To which, as it is but reason, if credit might be rather given than to the most malicious calumnies of loose and wicked men; perhaps we should find those persons more amicably inclined, who now abroad have the worst sentiments of our actions. For as to what we justify ourselves to have justly and strenuously performed after the example of our ancestors, in pursuance of our rights, and for recovery of the native liberty of Englishmen, certainly it is not the work of human force, or wit to eradicate the perverse and obstinate opinions of people wickedly inclined, concerning what we have done. But after all, in reference to what is common to us with all foreign nations, and more for the general interest on both sides, we are willing to let the world know, that there is nothing which we more ardently desire, than that the friendship and commerce, which our people have been accustomed to maintain with all our neighbours, should be enlarged and settled in the most ample and solemn manner. And whereas our people have always driven a very great trade, and gainful to both nations, in your kingdom; we shall take care, as much as in us lies, that they may not meet with any impediment to interrupt their dealings. However, we foresee that all our industry will be in vain, if, as it is reported, the pirates and revolters of our nation shall be suffered to have refuge in your ports, and after they have taken and plundered the laden vessels of the English, shall be permitted to sell their goods by public outcries at Lisbon. To the end therefore that a more speedy remedy may be applied to ths growing mischief, and that we may be more clearly satisfied concerning the peace which we desire, we have sent to your majesty the most noble Charles Vane, under the character of our agent, with instructions and a commission, a plenary testimonial of the trust we have reposed, and the employment we have conferred upon him. Him therefore we most earnestly desire your majesty graciously to hear, to give him credit, and to take such order, that he may be safe in his person and his honour within the bounds of your dominions. These things, as they will be most acceptable to us, so we promise, whenever occasion offers, that the same offices of kindness to your majesty shall be mutually observed on all our parts.

Westminster

,

Feb. 4, 1649

.

John Milton

Milton, John

John

John

To the most Serene Prince, JOHN the Fourth, King of PORTUGAL: the Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, Greeting.

ALMOST daily and most grievous complaints are brought before us, that certain of our seamen and officers, who revolted from us the last year, and treacherously and wickedly carried away the ships with the command of which they were entrusted, and who, having made their escape from the port of Ireland, where, being blocked up for almost a whole summer together, they very narrowly avoided the punishment due to their crimes, they have now betaken themselves to the coast of Portugal, and the mouth of the river Tagus: that there they practise furious piracy, taking and plundering all the English vessels they meet with sailing to and fro upon the account of trade; and that all the adjoining seas are become almost impassable, by reason of their notorious and infamous robberies. To which increasing mischief unless a speedy remedy be applied, who does not see, but that there will be a final end of that vast trade so gainful to both nations, which our people were wont to drive with the Portuguese? Wherefore we again and again request your majesty, that you would command those pirates and revolters to depart the territories of Portugal: and that, if any pretended embassadors present themselves from *******, that you will not vouchsafe to give them audience, but that you will rather acknowledge us, upon whom the supreme power of England, by the conspicuous favour and assistance of the Almighty, is devolved; and that the ports and rivers of Portugal may not be barred and defended against your friends and confederates fleet, no less serviceable to your emolument than the trade of the English.

John Milton

Milton, John

March 28, 1650

Westminster

Leopold

Leopold

To the most Serene Prince LEOPOLD, Archduke of AUSTRIA, Governor of the SPANISH Low Countries, under King PHILIP.

SO soon as word was brought us, not without a most grievous complaint, that Jane Puckering, an heiress of an illustrious and opulent family, while yet by reason of her age she was under guardians, not far from the house wherein she then lived at Greenwich, was violently forced from the hands and embraces of her attendants; and of a sudden in a vessel to that purpose ready prepared, carried off into Flanders by the treachery of one Walsh, who has endeavoured all the ways imaginable, in contempt of law both human and divine, to constrain a wealthy virgin to marriage, even by terrifying her with menaces of present death: We deeming it proper to apply some speedy remedy to so enormous and unheard of piece of villany, gave orders to some persons to treat with the governors of Newport and Ostend (for the unfortunate captive was said to be landed in one of those two places) about rescuing the freeborn lady out of the hands of the ravisher. Who, both out of their singular humanity and love of virtue, lent their assisting aid to the young virgin in servitude, and by downright robbery rifled from her habitation: so that to avoid the violence of her imperious masters, she was as it were deposited in a nunnery, and committed to the charge of the governess of the society. Wherefore the same Walsh, to get her again into his clutches, has commenced a suit against her in the ecclesiastical court of the bishop of Ypre, pretending a matrimonial contract between him and her. Now in regard that both the ravisher and the ravished person are natives of our country, as by the witnesses upon their oaths abundantly appears; as also for that the splendid inheritance, after which most certainly the criminal chiefly gapes, lies within our territories; so that we conceive, that the whole cognizance and determination of this cause belongs solely to ourselves; therefore let him repair hither, he who calls himself the husband, here let him commence his suit, and demand the delivery of the person, whom he claims for his wife. In the mean time, this it is that we most earnestly request from your highness, which is no more than what we have already requested by our agent residing in Brussels, that you will permit an afflicted and many ways misused virgin, born of honest parents, but pirated out of her native country, to return, as far as lies in your power, with freedom and safety home again. This not only we, upon all opportunities offered, as readily prepared to return the same favour and kindness to your highness, but also humanity itself, and that same hatred of infamy, which ought to accompany all persons of virtue and courage, in defending the honour of the female sex, seem altogether jointly to require at your hands.

Westminster

,

March 28, 1650

.

John Milton

Milton, John

April 27, 1650

Westminster

John

John

To the most Serene Prince, JOHN the Fourth, King of Portugal.

UNDERSTANDING that your majesty had both honourably received our agent, and immediately given him a favourable audience, we though it became us to assure your majesty without delay, by speedy letters from us, that nothing could happen more acceptable to us, and that there is nothing which we have decreed more sacred, than not to violate by any word or deed of ours, not first provoked, the peace, the friendship, and commerce, now for some time settled between us and the greatest number of other foreign nations, and among the rest with the Portuguese. Nor did we send the English fleet to the mouth of the river Tagus with any other intention or design, than in pursuit of enemies so often put to flight, and for recovery of our vessels, which being carried away from their owners by force and treachery, the same rabble of fugitives conducted to your coasts, and even to Lisbon itself, as to the most certain fairs for the sale of their plunder. But we are apt to believe, that by this time almost all the Portuguese are abundantly convinced, from the flagitious manners of those people, of their audaciousness, their fury, and their madness. Which is the reason we are in hopes, that we shall more easily obtain from your majesty, first, that you will, as far as in you lies, be assistant to the most illustrious Edward Popham, whom we have made admiral of our new fleet, for the subduing those detested freebooters; and that you will no longer suffer them, together with their captain, not guests, but pirates, not merchants, but the pests of commerce, and violaters of the law of nations, to harbour in the ports and under the shelter of the fortresses of your kingdom; but that wherever the confines of Portugal extend themselves, you will command them to be expelled as well by land as by sea. Or if you are unwilling to proceed to that extremity, at least that with your leave it may be lawful for us, with our proper forces to assail our own revolters and sea robbers; and if it be the pleasure of Heaven, to reduce them into our power. This, as we have earnestly desired in our former letters, so now again with the greatest ardency and importunity we request of your majesty. By this, whether equity, or act of kindness, you will not only enlarge the fame of your justice over all well-governed and civil nations, but also in a great measure bind both us and the people of England, who never yet had other than a good opinion of the Portuguese, to yourself and to your subjects. Farewel.

Westminster

,

April 27, 1650

.

John Milton

Milton, John

April 2, 1650

Westminster

To the HAMBURGHERS.

MORE than once we have written concerning the controversies of the merchants, and some other things which more nearly concern the dignity of our republic, yet no answer has been returned. But understanding that affairs of that nature can hardly be determined by letters only, and that in the mean time certain seditious persons have been sent to your city by *******, authorized with no other commission than that of malice and audaciousness, who make it their business utterly to extirpate the ancient trade of our people in your city, especially of those whose fidelity to their country is most conspicuous; therefore we have commanded the worthy and most eminent Richard Bradshaw, to reside as our agent among ye; to the end he may be able more at large to treat and negotiate with your lordships such matters and affairs, as are interwoven with the benefit and advantages of both republics. Him therefore we request ye with the soonest to admit to a favourable audience; and that in all things that credit may be given to him, that honour paid him, as is usual in all countries, and among all nations, paid to those that bear his character.

Westminster

,

April 2, 1650

.

John Milton

Milton, John

May 31, 1650

Westminster

To the HAMBURGHERS.

MOST Noble, Magnificent, and Illustrious, our dearest Friends—That your sedulities in the reception of our agent were so cordial and so egregious, we both gladly understand, and earnestly exhort ye that you would persevere in your good will and affection towards us. And this we do with so much the greater vehemence, as being informed, that the same exiles of ours, concerning whom we have so frequently written, now carry themselves more insolently in your city than they were wont to do, and that they not only openly affront, but give out threatening language in a most despiteful manner against our resident. Therefore once more by these our letters we would have the safety of his person, and the honour due to his quality, recommended to your care. On the other side, if you inflict severe and timely punishment upon those fugitives and ruffians, as well the old ones as the new-comers, it will be most acceptable to us, and becoming your authority and prudence.

Westminster

,

May 31, 1650

.

John Milton

Milton, John

June 28th, 1650

Westminster

Philip

Philip

To PHILIP the Fourth, King of SPAIN.

TO our infinite sorrow we are given to understand, that Anthony Ascham, by us lately sent our agent to your majesty, and under that character most civilly and publicly received by your governors, upon his first coming to your royal city, naked of all defence and guard, was most bloodily murdered in a certain inn, together with John Baptista de Ripa his interpreter, butchered at the same time. Wherefore we most earnestly request your majesty, that deserved punishment may be speedily inflicted upon those parricides, already apprehended, as it is reported, and committed to custody; who have not only presumed to wound ourselves through his sides, but have also dared to stab, as it were, to the very heart, your faith of word and royal honour. So that we make no question, but what we so ardently desire would nevertheless be done effectually, by a prince of his own accord so just and pious, though nobody required it. As to what remains, we make it our further suit, that the breathless carcass may be delivered to his friends and attendants to be brought back and interred in his own country, and that such care may be taken for the security of those that remain alive, as is but requisite; till having obtained an answer to these letters, if it may be done, they shall return to us the witnesses of your piety and justice.

Westminster

,

June 28th, 1650

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Philip

Philip

To PHILIP the Fourth, King of SPAIN.

HOW heinously, and with what detestation, your majesty resented the villanous murder of our agent Anthony Ascham, and what has hitherto been done in the prosecution and punishment of his assassinates, we have been given to understand, as well by your majesty’s own letters, as from your ambassador don Alphonso de Cardenos. Nevertheless so often as we consider the horridness of that bloody fact, which utterly subverts the very foundations of correspondence and commerce, and of the privilege of embassadors, most sacred among all nations, so villanously violated without severity of punishment; we cannot but with utmost importunity repeat our most urgent suit to your majesty, that those parricides may with all the speed imaginable be brought to justice, and that you would not suffer their merited pains to be suspended any longer by any delay or pretence of religion. For though most certainly we highly value the friendship of a potent prince; yet it behoves us to use our utmost endeavours, that the authors of such an enormous parricide should receive the deserved reward of their impiety. Indeed, we cannot but with a greateful mind acknowledge that civility, of which by your command our people were not unsensible, as also your surprising affection for us, which lately your ambassador at large unfolded to us: nor will it be displeasing to us, to return the same good offices to your majesty, and the Spanish nation, whenever opportunity offers.—Nevertheless, if justice be not satisfied without delay, which we still most earnestly request, we see not upon what foundations a sincere and lasting friendship can subsist. For the preservation of which, however, we shall omit no just and laudable occasion; to which purpose we are likewise apt to believe, that the presence of your embassador does not a little conduce.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the SPANISH Embassador.

MOST Excellent Lord—The council of State, so soon as their weighty affairs would permit them, having carried into parliament the four writings, which it pleased your excellency to impart to the council upon the nineteenth of December last, have received in command from the parliament, to return this answer to the first head of those writings, touching the villanous assassinates of their late agent, Anthony Ascham.

The parliament have so long time, so often, and so justly demanded their being brought to deserved punishment, that there needs nothing further to be said on a thing of so great importance, wherein (as your excellency well observed) his royal majesty’s authority itself is so deeply concerned, that, unless justice be done upon such notorious offenders, all the foundations of human society, all the ways of preserving friendship among nations, of necessity must be overturned and abolished. Nor can we apprehend by any argument drawn from religion, that the blood of the innocent, shed by a propensely malicious murder, is not to be avenged. The parliament therefore once more most urgently presses, and expects from his royal majesty, according to their first demands, that satisfaction be given them effectually and sincerely in this matter.

J. Bradshaw

Bradshaw, J.

Nov. 7th, 1650

Westminster

Lord Anthony John Lewis de la Cerda

de la Cerda, Lord Anthony John Lewis

To the most Excellent LORD ANTHONY JOHN LEWIS DE LA CERDA, Duke of MEDINA CELI, Governor of ANDALUSIA: the Council of State constituted by authority of Parliament, Greeting.

WE have received advice from those most accomplished persons, whom we lately sent with our fleet into Portugal, in pursuit of traitors, and for the recovery of our vessels, that they were most civilly received by your excellency, as often as they happened to touch upon the coasts of Gallæcia, which is under your government, and assisted with all things necessary to those that perform long voyages. This civility of yours, as it was always most acceptable to us, so it is now more especially at this time, while we are sensible of the illwill of others in some places towards us without any just cause given on our side: therefore we make it our request to your illustrious lordship, that you will persevere in the same good-will and affection to us, and that you would continue your favour and assistance to our people, according to your wonted civility, as often as our ships put in to your harbours: and be assured, that there is nothing which we desire of your lordship in the way of kindness, which we shall not be ready to repay both to you and yours, whenever the like occasion shall be offered us.

Sealed with the seal of the council,

J. BRADSHAW , President.

Westminster

,

Nov. 7th, 1650

.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the Illustrious and Magnificent Senate of the City of DANTZICK.

MAGNIFICENT and most Noble Lords, our dearest Friends—Many letters are brought us from our merchants trading upon the coast of Borussia, wherein they complain of a grievous tribute imposed upon them in the grand council of the Polanders, enforcing them to pay the tenth part of all their goods for the relief of the king of Scots, our enemy. Which in regard it is plainly contrary to the law of nations, that guests and strangers should be dealt withal in such a manner; and most unjust, that they should be compelled to pay public stipends in a foreign commonwealth to him from whom they are, by God’s assistance, delivered at home; we make no question, but that out of respect to that liberty, which as we understand you yourselves enjoy, you will not suffer so heavy a burden to be laid on merchants in your city, wherein they have maintained a continual amity and commerce, to the extraordinary advantage of the place for many years together. If therefore you think it convenient, to undertake the protection of our merchants trading among ye, which we assuredly expect, as well from your prudence and equity, as from the dignity and grandeur of your city; we shall take that care, that you shall be sensible from time to time of our grateful acceptance of your kindness, as often as the Dantzickers shall have any dealings within our territories, or their ships, as frequently it happens, put into our ports.

Westminster

,

Febr. 6, 1650

.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the PORTUGAL Agent.

MOST Illustrious Lord—We received your letters dated from Hampton the fifteenth of this month, wherein you signify, that you are sent by the king of Portugal to the parliament of the commonwealth of England; but say not under what character, whether of embassador, or agent, or envoy, which we would willingly understand by your credential letters from the king, a copy of which you may send us with all the speed you can. We would also further know, whether you come with a plenary commission, to give us satisfaction for the injuries, and to make reparation for the damages, which your king has done this republic, protecting our enemy all the last summer in his harbours, and prohibiting the English fleet, then ready to assail rebels and fugitives, which our admiral had pursued so far; but never restraining the enemy from falling upon ours. If you return us word, that you have ample and full commission to give us satisfaction concerning all these matters, and send us withal a copy of your recommendatory letters, we shall then take care, that you may with all speed repair to us upon the Public Faith: at which time, when we have read the king’s letters, you shall have liberty freely to declare what further commands you have brought along with you.

William Lenthall

Lenthall, William

Jan. 20, 1651

Westminster

D. Ferdinand

Ferdinand, D.

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the most Serene Prince D. FERDINAND, Grand Duke of TUSCANY, c.

WE have received your highness’s letters, dated April twenty-two, sixteen hundred and fifty-one, and delivered to us by your resident, Signor Almeric Salvetti, wherein we readily perceive how greatly your highness favours the English name, and the value you have for this nation; which not only our merchants, that for many years have traded in your ports, but also certain of our young nobility, either travelling through your cities, or residing there for the improvement of their studies, both testify and confirm. Which as they are things most grateful and acceptable to us, we also on our parts make this request to your highness, that your serenity will persevere in your accustomed good-will and affection towards our merchants, and other citizens of our republic, travelling through the Tuscan territories. On the other side, we promise and undertake, as to what concerns the parliament, that nothing shall be wanting, which may any way conduce to the confirmation and establishment of that commerce and mutual friendship, that now has been of long continuance between both nations, and which it is our earnest wish and desire should be preserved to perpetuity, by all offices of humanity, civility, and mutual observance.

Sealed with the seal of the parliament, and subscribed by WILLIAM LENTHALL, speaker of the parliament of the commonwealth of England.

Westminster

,

Jan. 20, 1651

.

John Milton

Milton, John

March 12, 1651

Westminster

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the Illustrious and Magnificent Senate of the City of HAMBOROUGH.

Most Noble, Magnificent, and Illustrious, our dearest Friends—The parliament of the commonwealth of England, out of their earnest desire to continue and preserve the ancient friendship and mutual commerce between the English nation and your city, not long since sent thither Richard Bradshaw, Esq., with the character of our resident; and among other instructions tending to the same purpose, gave him an express charge to demand justice against certain persons within your jurisdiction, who endeavoured to murder the preacher belonging to the English society, and who likewise laid impious hands upon the deputy president, and some of the principal merchants of the same company, and hurried them away aboard a privateer. And although the aforesaid resident, upon his first reception and audience, made known to your lordships in a particular manner the commands which he received from us; upon which it was expected, that you would have made those criminals ere this a severe example of your justice; yet when we understood our expectations were not answered, considering with ourselves what danger both our people and their estates were in, if sufficient provision were not made for their security and protection against the malice of their enemies, we again sent orders to our aforesaid resident, to represent to your lordships our judgment upon the whole matter; as also to exhort and persuade ye, in the name of this republic, to be careful of preserving the friendship and alliance contracted between this commonwealth and your city, as also the traffic and commerce no less advantageous for the interest of both: and to that end, that you would not fail to protect our merchants, together with their privileges, from all violation, and more particularly against the insolences of one Garmes, who has carried himself contumeliously toward this republic, and publicly cited to the Chamber of Spire certain merchants of the English company residing in your city, to the great contempt of this commonwealth, and trouble of our merchants; for which we expect such reparation, as shall be consentaneous to equity and justice.

To treat of these heads, and whatever else more largely belongs to the common friendship of both republics, we have ordered our resident aforesaid to attend your lordships, requesting that ample credit may be given to him in such matters, as he shall propose relating to these affairs.

Westminster

,

March 12, 1651

.

Sealed with the parliament seal, and subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

March —, 1651

Westminster

Christiana

Christiana

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the most Serene CHRISTIANA, Queen of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c., Greeting.

Most Serene Queen—We have received and read your majesty’s letters to the parliament of England, dated from Stockholm, the twenty-sixth of September last, and delivered by Peter Spering Silvercroon; and there is nothing which we more vehemently and cordially desire, than that the ancient peace, traffic, and commerce of long continuance between the English and Swedes may prove diuturnal, and every day increase. Nor did we question, but that your majesty’s embassador was come amply instructed to make those proposals chiefly, which should be most for the interest and honour of both nations, and which we were no less readily prepared to have heard, and to have done effectually that which should have been thought most secure and beneficial on both sides. But it pleased the Supreme Moderator and Governor of all things, that before he had desired to be heard as to those matters, which he had in charge from your majesty to propound to the parliament, he departed this life, (whose loss we took with that heaviness and sorrow, as it became persons whom it no less behoved to acquiesce in the will of the Almighty,) whence it comes to pass, that we are prevented hitherto from knowing your majesty’s pleasure, and that there is a stop at present put to this negotiation. Wherefore we thought we could do no less than by these our letters, which we have given to our messenger on purpose sent with these unhappy tidings, to signify to your majesty, how acceptable your letters, how grateful your public minister were to the parliament of the commonwealth of England; as also how earnestly we expect your friendship, and how highly we shall value the amity of so great a princess; assuring your majesty, that we have those thoughts of increasing the commerce between this republic and your majesty’s kingdom, as we ought to have of a thing of the highest importance, which for that reason will be most acceptable to the parliament of the commonwealth of England. And so we recommend your majesty to the protection of the Divine Providence.

Westminster

,

March —, 1651

.

Sealed with the parliament seal, and subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

August —, 1651

Westminster

Philip

Philip

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the most Serene and Potent Prince, PHILIP the Fourth, King of SPAIN, Greeting.

THE merchants of this commonwealth, who trade in your majesty’s territories, make loud complaints of extraordinary violence and injuries offered them, and of new tributes imposed upon them by the governors and other officers of your ports and places where they traffic, and particularly in the Canary islands, and this against the articles of the league solemnly ratified by both nations on the account of trade; the truth of which complaints they have confirmed by oath. And they make it out before us, that unless they can enjoy their privileges, and that their losses be repaired; lastly, that except they may have some certain safeguard and protection for themselves and their estates against those violences and injuries, they can no longer traffic in those places. Which complaints of theirs being duly weighed by us, and believing the unjust proceedings of those ministers either not at all to have reached your knowledge, or else to have been untruly represented to your majesty, we deemed it convenient to send the complaints themselves, together with these our letters, to your majesty. Nor do we question, but that your majesty, as well out of your love of justice, as for the sake of that commerce no less gainful to your subjects than our people, will command your governors to desist from those unjust oppressions of our merchants, and so order it, that they may obtain speedy justice, and due satisfaction for those injuries done them by Don Pedro de Carillo de Guzman, and others; and that your majesty will take care, that the merchants aforesaid may reap the fruit of those articles; and be so far under your protection, that both their persons and their estates may be secure and free from all manner of injury and vexation. And this they believe they shall for the greatest part obtain if your majesty will be pleased to restore them that expedient, taken from them, of a judge-conservator, who may be able to defend them from a new consulship more uneasy to them; lest if no shelter from injustice be allowed them, there should follow a necessity of breaking off that commerce, which has hitherto brought great advantages to both nations, while the articles of the league are violated in such a manner.

Westminster

,

August —, 1651

.

John Milton

Milton, John

February —, 1652

Whitehall

Venice

Venice

To the most Serene Prince, the Duke of VENICE, and the most Illustrious Senate.

Most Serene Prince, most Illustrious Senate, our dearest Friends—Certain of our merchants, by name John Dickins, and Job Throckmorton, with others, have made their complaints to us, that upon the twenty-eighth of November, sixteen hundred and fifty-one, having seized upon a hundred butts of caviare in the vessel called the Swallow, riding in the Downs, Isaac Taylor master, which were their own proper goods, and laden aboard the same ship in the Muscovite Bay of Archangel, and this by the authority of our court of admiralty; in which court, the suit being there depending, they obtained a decree for the delivery of the said butts of caviare into their possession, they having first given security to abide by the sentence of that court: and that the said court, to the end the said suit might be brought to a conclusion, having written letters, according to custom, to the magistrates and judges of Venice; wherein they requested liberty to cite John Piatti to appear by his proctor in the English court of admiralty, where the suit depended, and prove his right: nevertheless, that the said Piatti and one David Rutts a Hollander, while this cause depends here in our court, put the said John Dickins, and those other merchants, to a vast deal of trouble about the said caviare, and solicit the seizure of their goods and estates as forfeited for debt. All which things, and whatever else has hitherto been done in our foresaid court is more at large set forth in those letters of request aforementioned; which after we had viewed, we thought proper to be transmitted to the most serene republic of Venice, to the end they might be assistant to our merchants in this cause. Upon the whole therefore, it is our earnest request to your highness, and the most illustrious senate, that not only those letters may obtain their due force and weight; but also, that the goods and estates of the merchants, which the foresaid Piatti and David Rutts have endeavoured to make liable to forfeiture, may be discharged; and that the said defendants may be referred hither to our court, to try what right they have in their claim to this caviare. Wherein your highness and the most serene republic will do as well what is most just in itself, as what is truly becoming the spotless amity between both republics: and lastly, what will gratefully be recompensed by the goodwill and kind offices of this republic, whenever occasions offer.

Whitehall

,

February —, 1652

.

Sealed with the seal of the council, and subscribed President of the council.

John Milton

Milton, John

March 21, 1652

Whitehall

To the Spanish Embassador.

Most Excellent Lord—The council of state, according to a command from the parliament, dated the second of March, having taken into serious deliberation your excellency’s paper of the fifteenth of February, delivered to the commissioners of this council, wherein it seemed good to your excellency to propose, that a reply might be given to two certain heads therein specified as previous, returns the following answer to your excellency.

The parliament, when they gave an answer to those things which were proposed by your excellency at your first audience, as also in those letters which they wrote to the most serene king of Spain, gave real and ample demonstrations, how grateful and how acceptable that friendship and that mutual alliance, which was offered by his royal majesty, and by yourself in his name, would be to them; and how fully they were resolved, as far as in them lay, to make the same returns of friendship and good offices.

After that, it seemed good to your excellency, at your first audience in council upon the nineteenth of December old style, to propound to this council, as a certain ground or method for an auspicious commencement of a stricter amity, that some of their body might be nominated, who might hear what your excellency had to propose; and who having well weighed the benefit, that might redound from thence, should speedily report the same to the council. To which request of yours that satisfaction might be given, the council appointed certain of their number to attend your excellency, which was done accordingly. But instead of those things which were expected to have been propounded, the conference produced no more than the above mentioned paper: to which the answer of the council is this.

When the parliament shall have declared their minds, and your excellency shall have made the progress as above expected, we shall be ready to confer with your excellency, and to treat of such matters as you shall propose in the name of the king your master, as well in reference to the friendship already concluded, as the entering into another more strict and binding; or as to any thing else, which shall be offered by ourselves in the name of this republic: and when we descend to particulars, we shall return such answers as are most proper, and the nature of the thing proposed shall require.

Whitehall

,

March 21, 1652

.

John Milton

Milton, John

April —, 1652

Westminster

Frederick

Frederick

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the most Serene Prince FREDERICK the Third, King of DENMARK, c. Greeting.

MOST Serene and Potent King—We have received your majesty’s letters, dated from Copenhagen the twenty-first of December last, and delivered to the parliament of the commonwealth of England by the noble Henry Willemsem Rosenwyng de Lynsacker, and most gladly perused them, with that affection of mind, which the matters therein propounded justly merit, and request your majesty to be fully persuaded of this, that the same inclinations, the same desires of continuing and preserving the ancient friendship, commerce, and alliance, for so many years maintained between England and Denmark, which are in your majesty, are also in us. Not being ignorant, that though it has pleased Divine Providence, beholding this nation with such a benign and favourable aspect, to change for the better the received form of the former government among us; nevertheless, that the same interests on both sides, the same common advantages, the same mutual alliance and free traffic, which produced the former leagues and confederacies between both nations, still endure and obtain their former force and virtue, and oblige both to make it their common study by rendering those leagues the most beneficial that may be to each other, to establish also a nearer and sounder friendship for the time to come. And if your majesty shall be pleased to pursue those counsels, which are manifested in your royal letters, the parliament will be ready to embrace the same with all alacrity and fidelity, and to contribute all those things to the utmost of their power, which they shall think may conduce to that end. And they persuade themselves, that your majesty for this reason will take those counsels in reference to this republic, which may facilitate the good success of those things propounded by your majesty to ourselves so desirous of your amity. In the mean time, the parliament wishes all happiness and prosperity to your majesty and people.

Under the seal of the parliament, and subscribed in its name, and by the authority of it, Speaker, c.

Westminster

,

April —, 1652

.

John Milton

Milton, John

April —, 1652

Westminster

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the most Illustrious and Magnificent, the Proconsuls and Senators of the HANSE TOWNS, Greeting.

MOST Noble, Magnificent, and Illustrious, our dearest Friends—The parliament of the commonwealth of England has both received and perused your letters of the sixteenth of January last, delivered by your public minister Leo ab Aysema, and by their authority have given him an audience; at what time he declared the cordial and friendly inclinations of your cities toward this republic, and desired that the ancient friendship might still remain on both sides. The parliament therefore, for their parts, declare and assure your lordships, that they deem nothing more grateful to themselves, than that the same friendship and alliance, which has hitherto been maintained between this nation and those cities, should be renewed, and firmly ratified; and that they will be ready, upon all occasions fitly offered, what they promise in words solemnly to perform in real deeds; and expect that their ancient friends and confederates should deal by them with the same truth and integrity. But as to those things, which your resident has more particularly in charge in regard they were by us referred entire to the council of state, and his proposals were to be there considered, they transacted with him there, and gave him such answers, as seemed most consentaneous to equity and reason, of which your resident is able to give you an account; whose prudence and conspicuous probity proclaim him worthy the public character by you conferred upon him.

Westminster

,

April —, 1652

.

Under the seal of the parliament, in the name, and by the authority of it, subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

April —, 1652

Westminster

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the Illustrious and Magnificent Senate of the City of HAMBOROUGH, Greeting.

MOST Noble, Magnificent, and Illustrious, our dearest Friends—The parliament of the commonwealth of England has received and perused your letters, dated from Hamborough the fifteenth of January last, and delivered by the noble Leo ab Aysema, yours and the rest of the Hanseatic cities resident, and by their own authority gave him audience; and as to what other particular commands he had from your city, they have referred them to the council of state, and gave them orders to receive his proposals, and to treat with him as soon as might be, concerning all such things as seemed to be just and equal: which was also done accordingly. And as the parliament has made it manifest, that they will have a due regard to what shall be proposed by your lordships, and have testified their singular good-will toward your city, by sending their resident thither, and commanding his abode there; so on the other side they expect, and deservedly require from your lordships, that the same equity be returned to them, in things which are to the benefit of this republic, either already proposed, or hereafter to be propounded by our said resident in their name to your city, anciently our friend and confederate.

Westminster

,

April —, 1652

.

Under the seal of the parliament, in the name, and by the authority of it, subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

July 29, 1652

Whitehall

Ferdinand

Ferdinand

The Council of State of the Republic of ENGLAND, to the most Serene Prince FERDINAND the Second, Grand Duke of TUSCANY, Greeting.

THE council of state being informed by letters from Charles Longland, who takes care of the affairs of the English in your highness’s court of Leghorn, that lately fourteen men of war belonging to the United Provinces came into that harbour, and openly threatened to sink or burn the English ships that were riding in your port; but that your Serenity, whose protection and succour the English merchants implored, gave command to the governor of Leghorn, that he should assist and defend the English vessels: they deemed it their duty to certify to your highness how acceptable that kindness and protection, which you so favourably afforded the English nation, was to this republic; and do promise your highness, that they will always keep in remembrance the merit of so deserving a favour, and will be ready upon all occasions to make the same returns of friendship and good offices to your people, and to do all things else, which may conduce to the preservation and continuance of the usual amity and commerce between both nations. And whereas the Dutch men of war, even in the time of treaty offered by themselves, were so highly perfidious as to fall upon our fleet in our own roads, (in which foul attempt, God, as most just arbiter, showed himself offended and opposite to their design,) but also in the ports of foreigners endeavoured to take or sink our merchant vessels; we thought it also necessary to send this declaration also of the parliament of the commonwealth of England to your highness, the publishing of which was occasioned by the controversies at present arisen between this republic and the United Provinces. By which your highness may easily perceive how unjust and contrary to all the laws of God and of nations those people have acted against this republic; and how cordially the parliament laboured, for the sake of public tranquillity, to have retained their pristine friendship and alliance.

Whitehall

,

July 29, 1652

.

In the name, and by the authority of the Council, subscribed, President.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the SPANISH Embassador.

MOST Excellent Lord—The council of state, upon mature deliberation of that paper which they received from your excellency, 27th May, 6th June, 1652, as also upon that which your excellency at your audience the 6 16 of this month delivered to the council, return this answer to both those papers: that the parliament, c. was always very desirous of preserving the firm friendship and good peace settled at present between this republic and his royal majesty of Spain, from the time that first your excellency signified the tendency of his majesty’s inclinations that way, and was always ready to ratify and confirm the same to the benefit and advantage of both nations. And this the council of state in the name, and by command of the parliament, in their papers ofttimes made known to your excellency; and particularly, according to your excellency’s desire, made choice of commissioners to attend and receive from your excellency such proposals as might conduce to the same purpose. At which meeting, instead of making such proposals, it seemed good to your excellency only to propound some general matters, as it were previous to a future conference, concerning which it seemed to the council that the parliament had in former papers fully made known their sentiments. Nevertheless for more ample and accumulative satisfaction, and to remove all scruples from your excellency concerning those matters which they at that time proposed, the council in that paper, dated 31 March, 10 April, declared themselves ready to come to a conference with your excellency, concerning those things which you had in charge from his royal majesty, as well in reference to the pristine amity, as to any farther negotiation; as also touching such matters as should be exhibited by us, in the name of this republic; and when we came to such particulars as were to the purpose, and the nature of the thing required, then to give convenient answers. To which it seemed good to your excellency to make no reply, nor to proceed any farther in that affair for almost two months. About that time the council received from your excellency your first paper, dated 27 May, 6 June, wherein you only made this proposal, that the articles of peace and league between the late King Charles and your master, dated the 6 16 of November, 1630, might be reviewed, and that the several heads of it might be either enlarged or left out, according to the present condition of times and things, and the late alteration of government. Which being no more than what we ourselves briefly and clearly signified in our foresaid paper of the 31 March, 10 April, the council expected, that some particular articles would have been propounded out of that league, with those amplifications and alterations of which you made mention; since otherwise it is impossible for us to return any other answer concerning this matter, than what we have already given. And whereas your excellency in your last paper seems to charge us with delay, the council therefore took a second review of the foresaid paper of the 27 May, 6 June, and of what was therein propounded, and are still of opinion, that they have fully satisfied your excellency in that former paper: to which they can only farther add, that so soon as your excellency shall be pleased, either out of the leagues already made, or in any other manner, to frame such conditions as shall be accommodated to the present state of things and times, upon which you desire to have the foundations of friendship laid on your side, they will immediately return you such answers as by them shall be thought just and reasonable, and which shall be sufficient testimonials, that the parliament still perseveres in the same desires of preserving an untainted and firm amity with the king your master, and that on their parts they will omit no honest endeavours, and worthy of themselves, to advance it to the highest perfection.

Furthermore, the council deems it to be a part of their duty, that your excellency should be put in mind of that paper of ours, dated January 30, 1651, to which in regard your excellency has returned no answer as yet, we press and expect that satisfaction be given to the parliament, as to what is therein mentioned.

John Milton

Milton, John

The answer of the Council of State to the Reply of the Lords Embassadors Extraordinary from the King of DENMARK and NORWAY, delivered to the Commissioners of the Council, to the Answer which the Council gave to their fourteen Demands.

TO the end that satisfaction may be given to the foresaid lords embassadors in reference to the answer of the council to the fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth article, the council consents, that this following clause shall be added at the end of their answers: that is to say, besides such colonies, islands, ports, and places, under the dominion of either party, to which it is by law provided that nobody shall resort upon the account of trade or commerce, unless upon special leave first obtained of that party to which that colony, island, port, or places belong.

The receiving of any person into any ship, that shall be driven in by stress of weather into the rivers, ports, or bays, belonging to either party, shall not render that vessel liable to any trouble or search, by the answer of the council to the eleventh article, as the aforesaid lords embassadors in their reply seem to have understood, unless it be where such a receiving shall be against the laws, statutes, or customs of that place where the vessel put in, wherein it seems to the council, that there is nothing of severity ordained, but what equally conduces to the security of both republics.

As to the proving of property of such ships and goods as shall be cast ashore by shipwreck, the council deems it necessary that an oath be administered in those courts which are already, or shall hereafter be constituted, where the claimers may be severally heard and every body’s right be determined and adjudged; which cannot be so clearly and strictly done by written certificates, whence many scruples and doubts may arise, and many frauds and deceits creep into that sort of proof, which it concerns both parties to prevent. The council also deems it just, that a certain time be prefixed, before which time, whoever does not prove himself the lawful owner of the said goods, shall be excluded, to avoid suits. But as to the manner of putting perishable goods to sale, that are cast ashore by shipwreck, the council thinks it meet to propose the of way selling by inch of candle, as being the most probable means to procure the true value of the goods for the best advantage of the proprietors. Nevertheless, if the foresaid lords embassadors shall propose any other method already found out, which may more properly conduce to this end, the council will be no hindrance, but that what is just may be put in practice. Neither is it to be understood, that the consideration of this matter shall put any stop to the treaty.

As to the punishment of those, who shall violate the propounded treaty, the council has made that addition, which is mentioned in their answer to the fourteenth article, for the greater force and efficacy of that article, and thereby to render the league itself more firm and lasting.

As to the last clause of the fourteenth article, we think it not proper to give our assent to those leagues and alliances, of which mention is made in the aforesaid answers, and which are only generally propounded, before it be more clearly apparent to us what they are. But when your excellencies shall be pleased to explain those matters more clearly to the council, we may be able to give a more express answer to those particulars.

John Milton

Milton, John

A Reply of the Council of State to the Answer of the foresaid Lords Embassadors, which was returned to the six Articles propounded by the Council aforesaid, in the name of the Republic of ENGLAND.

THE council, having viewed the commissions of the foresaid lords embassadors, giving them power to transact with the parliament or their commissioners, concerning all things expedient to be transacted in order to the reviving the old leagues, or adding new ones, believed indeed the foresaid lords to have been furnished with that authority, as to be able to return answers, and negotiate all things, as well such as should be propounded by this republic, as on the behalf of the king of Denmark and Norway, and so did not expect the replies, which it has pleased the foresaid lords embassadors to give to the first, second, third, and fifth demand of the council, whereby of necessity a stop will be put to this treaty, in regard it is but just in itself, and so resolved on in council, to comprehend the whole league, and to treat at the same time as well concerning those things which regard this republic, as those other matters, which concern the king of Denmark and Norway. Wherefore it is the earnest desire of the council, that your excellencies would be pleased to return an answer to our first, second, third, and fifth demand.

As to the fourth article concerning the customs of Gluckstadt, in regard they are now abolished, as your excellencies have mentioned in your answer, the council presses that their abrogation may be ratified by this treaty, lest they should be reimposed hereafter.

As to the sixth article concerning piracy, the council inserted it, as equally appertaining to the benefit of both, and to the establishing of trade in common, which is much disturbed by pirates and searobbers. And whereas the answer of the lords embassadors, as to this article, relates only to enemies, but makes no mention of pirates, the council therefore desires a more distinct reply to it.

And whereas the foresaid lords embassadors in their reply to the answer of the council have passed over both their tenth article, and the answer of the council to it; the council have thought it necessary to add this following article, to their following demands.

That the people and inhabitants of the republic of England trading into any kingdoms, regions, or territories of the king of Denmakr and Norway, shall not for the future pay any more customs, tribute, taxes, duties, or stipends, or in any other manner, than the people of the United Provinces, or any other foreign nation, that pays the least, coming in or going out of harbour; and shall enjoy the same, and as equally ample freedom, privileges, and immunities, both coming and going, and so long as they shall reside in the country, as also in fishing, trading, or in any other manner which any other people of a foreign nation enjoys, or may enjoy in the foresaid kingdoms, and throughout the whole dominions of the said king of Denmark and Norway: which privileges also the subjects of the king of Denmark and Norway shall equally enjoy throughout all the territories and dominions of the republic of England.

John Milton

Milton, John

Sept. —, 1652

Whitehall

Ferdinand

Ferdinand

The council of State of the Republic of ENGLAND, to the most Serene Prince, FERDINAND the Second, Grand Duke of TUSCANY, Greeting.

MOST Serene Prince, our dearest Friend—The council of State understanding, as well by your highness’s agent here residing, as by Charles Longland, chief factor for the English at Leghorn, with what affection and fidelity your highness undertook the protection of the English vessels putting into the port of Leghorn for shelter, against the Dutch men of war threatening them with nothing but ransack and destruction, by their letters of the twenty-ninth of July (which they hope are by this time come to your highness’s hands) have made known to your highness how grateful and how acceptable it was to them; and at the same time sent to your serenity a declaration of the parliament of the commonwealth of England, concerning the present differences between this Republic and the United Provinces.—And whereas the council has again been informed by the same Charles Longland, what further commands your highness gave for the security and defence of the English vessels, notwithstanding the opposite endeavours of the Dutch, they deemed this opportunity not to be passed over, to let your highness understand once more, how highly they esteem your justice and singular constancy in defending their vessels, and how acceptable they took so great a piece of service. Which being no mean testimony of your solid friendship and affection to this republic, your highness may assure yourself, that the same offices of kindness and goodwill towards your highness shall never be wanting in us; such as may be able to demonstrate how firmly we are resolved to cultivate both long and constantly, to the utmost of our power, that friendship which is between your serenity and this republic. In the mean time, we have expressly commanded all our ships, upon their entrance into your ports, not to fail of paying the accustomed salutes by firing their guns, and to give all other due honours to your highness.

Whitehall

,

Sept. —, 1652

.

Sealed with the Council-Seal, and subscribed, President.

John Milton

Milton, John

Nov. 11, 1652

Whitehall

Alphonso De Cardenas

De Cardenas, Alphonso

To the SPANISH Embassador, ALPHONSO DE CARDENAS.

MOST Excellent Lord—Your excellency’s letters of the 1 11 of November, 1652, delivered by your secretary, together with two petitions enclosed, concerning the ships, the Sampson and San Salvadore, were read in council. To which the council returns this answer, That the English man of war meeting with the aforesaid ships not in the Downs, as your excellency writes, but in the open sea, brought them into port as enemies’ ships, and therefore lawful prize; and the court of admiralty, to which it properly belongs to take cognizance of all causes of this nature, have undertaken to determine the right in dispute; where all parties concerned on both sides shall be fully and freely heard, and you may be assured that right shall take place. We have also sent your excellency’s request to the judges of that court, to the end we may more certainly understand what progress they have made in their proceeding to judgment. Of which, so soon as we are rightly informed, we shall take care that such orders shall be given in this matter, as shall correspond with justice, and become the friendship that is between this republic and your king. Nor are we less confident, that his royal majesty will by no means permit the goods of the enemies of this commonwealth to be concealed, and escape due confiscation under the shelter of being owned by his subjects.

Whitehall

,

Nov. 11, 1652

.

Sealed with the Council-Seal, and subscribed

William Masham, President.

John Milton

Milton, John

Nov. 11, 1652

Westminster

To the SPANISH Embassador.

MOST Excellent Lord—But lately the council has been informed by captain Badiley, admiral of the fleet of this republic in the Straits, that after he himself, together with three other men of war, had for two days together engaged eleven of the Dutch, put into Porto Longone, as well to repair the damages he had received in the fight, as also to supply himself with warlike ammunition; where the governor of the place performed all the good offices of a most just and courteous person, as well towards his own, as the rest of the men of war under his conduct. Now in regard that that same place is under the dominion of the most serene king of Spain, the council cannot but look upon the singular civility of that garrison to be the copious fruit of that stricter mutual amity so auspiciously commenced; and therefore deem it to be a part of their duty, to return their thanks to his majesty for a kindness so opportunely received, and desire your excellency to signify this to your most serene king, and to assure him, that the parliament of the commonwealth of England will be always ready to make the same returns of friendship and civility upon all occasions offered.

Westminster

,

Nov. 11, 1652

.

Sealed with the Council-Seal, and subscribed,

William Masham, President.

John Milton

Milton, John

Nov. 1652

Westminster

Ferdinand

Ferdinand

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the most Serene Prince FERDINAND the Second, Grand Duke of TUSCANY, Greeting.

MOST Serene Prince, our dearest Friend—The Parliament of the Commonwealth of England has received your letters dated from Florence, August 17, concerning the restitution of a certain ship laden with rice, which ship is claimed by captain Cardi of Leghorn. And though the judges of our admiralty have already pronounced sentence in that cause against the aforesaid Cardi, and that there be an appeal depending before the delegates; yet upon your highness’s request, the parliament, to testify how much they value the goodwill and alliance of a prince so much their friend, have given order to those who are entrusted with this affair, that the said ship, together with the rice, or at least the full price of it, be restored to the aforesaid captain Cardi; the fruit of which command his proctor here has effectually already reaped. And as your highness by favourably affording your patronage and protection to the ships of the English in your port of Leghorn, has in a more especial manner tied the parliament to your serenity; so will they, on the other side, take care, as often as opportunity offers, that all their offices of sincere friendship and goodwill towards your highness may be solidly effectual and permanent; withal recommending your highness to the divine benignity, and protection of the Almighty.

Westminster

,

Nov. 1652

.

Sealed with the Seal of the Commonwealth, and subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Nov. 6, 1652

Westminster

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the most Serene and Potent Prince, King of DENMARK, c.

MOST Serene and Potent King—The Parliament of the Commonwealth of England have received information from their admiral of that fleet so lately sent to Copenhagen, your majesty’s port, to convoy our merchants homeward bound, that the foresaid ships are not permitted to return along with him, as being detained by your majesty’s command; and upon his producing your royal letters, declaring your justifications of the matter of fact, the parliament denies, that the reasons laid down in those letters for the detaining of those ships are any way satisfactory to them. Therefore that some speedy remedy may be applied in a matter of so great moment, and so highly conducing to the prosperity of both nations, for preventing a greater perhaps ensuing mischief, the parliament have sent their resident at Hambrough, Richard Bradshaw, esquire, a person of great worth and known fidelity, with express commands to treat with your majesty, as their agent also in Denmark, concerning this affair: and therefore we entreat your majesty, to give him a favourable audience and ample credit in whatever he shall propose to your majesty, on our behalf, in reference to this matter; in the mean time recommending your majesty to the protection of Divine Providence.

Westminster

,

Nov. 6, 1652

.

Under the Seal of the Parliament, and in their Names, and by their Authority, subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Dec. 1652

Westminster

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, to the most Serene Prince, the Duke of VENICE, Greeting.

THE Parliament of the Commonwealth of England has received your highness’s letters, dated June 1, 1652, and delivered by Lorenzo Pallutio, wherein they not only gladly perceive both yours, and the cordial inclination of the senate towards this republic, but have willingly laid hold of this opportunity to declare their singular affection and goodwill towards the most Serene Republic of Venice; which they shall be always ready to make manifest both really and sincerely, as often as opportunity offers. To whom also all the ways and means, that shall be propounded to them for the preserving or increasing mutual friendship and alliance, shall be ever most acceptable. In the mean time we heartily pray, that all things prosperous, all things favourable, may befall your highness and the most serene Republic.

Westminster

,

Dec. 1652

.

Sealed with the Parliament Seal, and subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Dec. 14, 1652

Westminster

The Parliament of the Republic of ENGLAND, to the most Serene Prince, FERDINAND the Second, Grand Duke of TUSCANY, Greeting.

ALTHOUGH the parliament of the republic of England some time since redoubled their commands to all the chief captains and masters of ships arriving in the ports belonging to your highness, to carry themselves peacefully and civilly, and with becoming observance and duty to a most serene prince, whose friendship this republic so earnestly endeavours to preserve, as having been obliged by so many great kindnesses; an accident altogether unexpected has fallen out, through the insolence, as they hear, of captain Appleton, in the port of Leghorn, who offered violence to the sentinel then doing his duty upon the mole, against the faith and duty which he owes this republic, and in contempt of the reverence and honour which is justly owing to your highness: the relation of which action, as it was really committed, the parliament has understood by your letters of the seventh and ninth of December, dated from Florence; as also more at large by the most worthy Almeric Salvetti, your resident here. And they have so sincerely laid to heart your highness’s honour, which is the main concern of this complaint, that they have referred it to the Council of State, to take care that letters be sent to captain Appleton, to come away without stop or stay by land, in order to his giving an account of this unwonted and extraordinary act, (a copy of which letters is sent herewith enclosed,) who so soon as he shall arrive, and be accused of the fact, we promise, that such a course shall be taken with him, as may sufficiently testify that we no less heinously brook the violation of your right than the infringement of our own authority.

Moreover, upon mature debate concerning the recovered ship, called the Phœnix of Leghorn, which affair is also related and pressed by your highness and your resident here, to have been done by captain Appleton, contrary to promise given, whereby he was obliged not to fall upon even the Hollanders themselves within sight of the lantern; and that your highness, trusting to that faith, promised security to the Hollanders upon your word; and therefore that we ought to take care for the satisfaction of those, who suffer damage under the protection of your promise; the parliament begs of your excellency to be assured, that this fact, as it was committed without their advice or command, so it is most remote from their will and intention, that your highness should undergo any detriment or diminution of your honour by it. Rather they will make it their business, that some expedient may be found out for your satisfaction, according to the nature of the fact, upon examination of the whole matter. Which that they may so much the more fully understand, they deem it necessary, that captain Appleton himself should be heard, who was bound by the same faith, and is thought by your excellency at least to have consented to the violation of it; especially since he is so suddenly to return home. And so soon as the parliament has heard him, and have more at large conferred with your resident concerning this matter of no small moment, they will pronounce that sentence that shall be just, and consentaneous to that extreme goodwill, which they bear to your highness, and no way unworthy the favours by you conferred upon them. Of which that your highness might not make the least question in the mean time, we were willing to certify your highness by this express on purpose sent, that we shall omit no opportunity, to testify how greatly we value your friendship.

Westminster

,

Dec. 14, 1652

.

Sealed with the Parliament Seal, and subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

July —, 1653

Whitehall

Frederick

Frederick

The Council of State of the Republic of England, to the most Serene Prince, FREDERICK, Heir of NORWAY, Duke of SLESWICK, HOLSATIA, STORMARIA, DITMARSH, Count in OLDENBURGH, and DELMENHORST, Greeting.

THOUGH it has pleased the most wise God, and most merciful Moderator of all things, besides the burden which he laid upon us in common with our ancestors, to wage most just wars in defence of our liberty against tyrannical usurpation, signally also to succour us with those auspices and that divine assistance, beyond what he afforded to our predecessors, that we have been able not only to extinguish a civil war, but to extirpate the causes of it for the future, as also to repel the unexpected violences of foreign enemies; nevertheless, with grateful minds, as much as in us lies, acknowledging the same favour and benignity of the Supreme Deity towards us, we are not so puffed up with the success of our affairs, but that rather instructed in the singular justice and providence of God, and having had long experience of ourselves, we abominate the thoughts of war, if possible to be avoided, and most eagerly embrace peace with all men. Therefore, as hitherto we never were the first that violated or desired the violation of that friendship, or those ancient privileges of leagues, that have been ratified between us and any princes or people whatever; so your highness, in consideration of your ancient amity with the English, left us by our ancestors, may, with a most certain assurance, promise both yourself and your people all things equitable, and all things friendly from us. Lastly, as we highly value, which is no more than what is just and reasonable, the testimonies of your affection and good offices offered us, so we shall make it our business, that you may not at any time be sensible of the want of ours, either to yourself or yours. And so we most heartily recommend your highness to the omnipotent protection of the Almighty God.

Whitehall

,

July —, 1653

.

Sealed with the Council Seal, and subscribed, President.

Henry Scobel

Scobel, Henry

To the Count of OLDENBURGH.

MOST Illustrious Lord—The parliament of the commonwealth of ENGLAND have received an extraordinary congratulation from your excellency, most kindly and courteously delivered to us by word of mouth by Herman Mylius, your counsellor and doctor of laws: who wished all things lucky and prosperous, in your name, to the parliament and English interest, and desired that the friendship of this republic might remain inviolable within your territories. He also desired letters of safe conduct, to the end your subjects may the more securely trade and sail from place to place; together with our orders to our public ministers abroad, to be aiding and assisting to your excellency and your interests with their good offices and counsels. To which requests of his we willingly consented, and granted both our friendship, the letters desired, and our orders to our public ministers under the seal of the parliament. And though it be some months ago since your public minister first came to us, however that delay neither arose from any unwillingness on our part to assent to the request made in your excellency’s name, or that your deputy was at any time wanting in his sedulity, (whose solicitations were daily and earnest with all the diligence and importunity that became him, to the end he might be dispatched,) but only it happened so, that at that time the greatest and most weighty affairs of the republic were under debate and serious negotiation. Of which we thought meet to certify your illustrious lordship, lest any body, through a false construction of this delay, should think those favours unwillingly or hardly obtained, which were most gladly granted by the parliament of the commonwealth of England. In whose name these are commanded to be signed.

Henry Scobel, Clerk of the Parliament.

John Milton

Milton, John

Octob. 1653

Westminster

Landam Scultets

Scultets, Landam

To the most Illustrious and Noble Senators, SCULTETS, LANDAM, and Senators of the Evangelic Cantons of SWITZERLAND, ZURICK, BERN, GLARIS, BALE, SCHAFFHUSEN, APPENZEL, also the Confederates of the same Religion in the country of the GRISONS, of GENEVA, ST. GALL, MALHAUSEN, and BIENNE, our dearest friends;

YOUR letters, most illustrious lords and dearest confederates, dated December twenty-four, full of civility, goodwill, and singular affection towards us and our republic, and what ought always to be greater and more sacred to us, breathing fraternal and truly Christian charity, we have received. And in the first place, we return thanks to Almighty God, who has raised and established both you and so many noble cities, not so much intrenched and fortified with those enclosures of mountains, as with your innate fortitude, piety, most prudent and just administration of government, and the faith of mutual confederacies, to be a firm and inaccessible shelter for all the truly orthodox. Now then that you who over all Europe were the first of mortals, who after deluges of barbarous tyrants from the north, Heaven prospering your valour, recovered your liberty, and being obtained, for so many years have preserved it untainted, with no less prudence and moderation; that you should have such noble sentiments of our liberty recovered; that you, such sincere worshippers of the gospel, should be so constantly persuaded of our love and affection for the orthodox faith, is that which is most acceptable and welcome to us. But as to your exhorting us to peace, with a pious and affectionate intent, as we are fully assured, certainly such an admonition ought to be of great weight with us, as well in respect of the thing itself which you persuade, and which of all things is chiefly to be desired, as also for the great authority, which is to be allowed your lordships above others in this particular, who in the midst of loud tumultuous wars on every side enjoy the sweets of peace both at home and abroad, and have approved yourselves the best example to all others of embracing and improving peace; and lastly, for that you persuade us to the very thing, which we ourselves of our own accords, and that more than once, consulting as well our own, as the interest of the whole evangelical communion, have begged by embassadors, and other public ministers, namely, friendship and a most strict league with the United Provinces. But how they treated our embassadors sent to them to negotiate, not a bare peace, but a brotherly amity and most strict league; what provocations to war they afterwards gave us; how they fell upon us in our own roads, in the midst of their embassador’s negotiations for peace and allegiance, little dreaming any such violence; you will abundantly understand by our declaration set forth upon this subject, and sent you together with these our letters. But as for our parts, we are wholly intent upon this, by God’s assistance, though prosperous hitherto, so to carry ourselves, that we may neither attribute any thing to our own strength or forces, but all things to God alone, nor be insolently puffed up with our success; and we still retain the same ready inclinations to embrace all occasions of making a just and honest peace. In the mean time yourselves, illustrious and most excellent lords, in whom this noble and pious sedulity, out of mere evangelical affection, exerts itself to reconcile and pacify contending brethren, as ye are worthy of all applause among men, so doubtless will ye obtain the celestial reward of peace-makers with God; to whose supreme benignity and favour, we heartily recommend in our prayers both you and yours, no less ready to make returns of all good offices both of friends and brethren, if in any thing we may be serviceable to your lordships.

Westminster

,

Octob. 1653

.

Sealed with the Parliament Seal, and subscribed, Speaker, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the SPANISH Embassador.

MOST Illustrious Lord—Upon grievous complaints brought before us by Philip Noel, John Godal, and the society of merchants of Foy in England, that a certain ship of theirs called the Ann of Foy, an English ship by them fitted out and laden with their own goods, in her return home to the port of Foy about Michaelmas last, was unjustly and without any cause set upon and taken by a certain privateer of Ostend, Erasmus Bruer commander, and the seamen unworthily and barbarously used: the council of state wrote to the marquis of Leda concerning it, (a copy of which letter we also send enclosed to your excellency,) and expected from him, that without delay orders would have been given for the doing of justice in this matter. Nevertheless after all this, the foresaid Noel, together with the said company, make further heavy complaint, that although our letters were delivered to the marquis, and that those merchants from that time forward betook themselves to Bruges to the court there held for maritime causes, and there asserted and proved their right, and the verity of their cause, yet that justice was denied them; and that they were so hardly dealt with, that, though the cause had been ripe for trial above three months, nevertheless they could obtain no sentence from that court, but that their ship and goods are still detained, notwithstanding the great expenses they have been at in prosecuting their claim. Now your excellency well knows it to be contrary to the law of nations, of traffic, and that friendship which is at present settled between the English and Flemings, that any Ostender should take any English vessel, if bound for England with English goods; and that whatever was inhumanly and barbarously done to the English seamen by that commander, deserves a rigorous punishment. The council therefore recommends the whole matter to your excellency, and makes it their request, that you would write into Flanders concerning it, and take such speedy care, that this business may no longer be delayed, but that justice may be done in such a manner that the foresaid ship, together with the damages, costs, and interest, which the English have sustained and been out of purse, by reason of that illegal seizure, may be restored and made good to them by the authority of the court, or in some other way; and that care be taken, that hereafter no such violence be committed, but that the amity between our people and the Flemings may be preserved without any infringement.

Signed in the name, and by the command of the council of state, appointed by authority of parliament.

John Milton

Milton, John

Leda

Leda

To the Marquis of LEDA.

GREAT complaints are brought before us by Philip Noel, John Godal, and the company of Foy merchants, concerning a ship of theirs, called the Ann of Foy, which being an English vessel by them fitted out, and laden with their own goods, in her return home to her own port about Michaelmas last, was taken unawares by a freebooter of Ostend, Erasmus Bruer commander. It is also further related, that the Ostenders, when the ship was in their power, used the seamen too inhumanly, by setting lighted match to their fingers, and plunging the master of the ship in the sea till they almost drowned him, on purpose to extort a false confession from him, that the ship and goods belonged to the French. Which though the master and the rest of the ship’s crew resolutely denied, nevertheless the Ostenders carried away the ship and goods to their own port. These things, upon strict inquiry and examination of witnesses, have been made manifest in the admiralty court in England, as will appear by the copies of the affidavits herewith sent your lordship. Now in regard that that same ship, called the Ann of Foy, and all her lading of merchandise and goods, belong truly and properly to the English, so that there is no apparent reason why the Ostender should seize by force either the one or the other, much less carry away the master of the ship, and use the seamen so unmercifully: and whereas according to the law of nations, and in respect of the friendship between the Flemings and the English, that ship and goods ought to be restored: we make it our earnest request to your excellency, that the English may have speedy justice done, and that satisfaction may be given for their losses, to the end the traffic and friendship which is between the English and Flemings, may be long and inviolably preserved.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the SPANISH Embassador.

THE parliament of the commonwealth of England, understanding that several of the people of this city daily resort to the house of your excellency, and other embassadors and public ministers from foreign nations here residing, merely to hear mass, gave order to the council of state, to let your excellency understand, that whereas such resort is prohibited by the laws of the nation, and of very evil example in this our republic, and extremely scandalous; that they deem it their duty to take care that no such thing be permitted henceforward, and to prohibit all such assemblies for the future. Concerning which, it is our desire, that your excellency should have a fair advertisement, to the end that henceforth your excellency may be more careful of admitting any of the people of this republic to hear mass in your house. And as the parliament will diligently provide that your excellency’s rights and privileges shall be preserved inviolable, so they persuade themselves, that your excellency during your abode here, would by no means, that the laws of this republic should be violated by yourself or your attendants.

A Summary of the particular real Damages sustained by the E nglish Company, in many places of the E ast -I ndies , from the D utch Company in Holland.

1. T he damages comprehended in the sixteen articles, and formerly exhibited, amounting to 298,555 royals ½, of which is of our money

74,638 l. 15 s. 00 d.

2. We demand satisfaction to be given for the incomes of the island of Pularon, from the year sixteen hundred and twenty-two, to this time, of two hundred thousand royals ½, besides the future expense, till the right of jurisdiction over that island be restored in the same condition, as when it was wrested out of our hands, as was by league agreed to, amounting of our money to

50,000 l. 00 s. 00 d.

3. We demand satisfaction for all the merchandise, provision, and furniture taken away by the agents of the Dutch company in the Indies, or to them delivered, or to any of their ships bound thither, or returning home; which sum amounts to 80,635 royals, of our money

20,158 l. 00 s. 00 d.

4. We demand satisfaction for the customs of Dutch merchandise laden on board their ships in Persia, or landed there from the year sixteen hundred and twenty-four, as was granted us by the King of Persia, which we cannot value at less than fourscore thousand royals

20,000 l. 00 s. 00 d.

5. We demand satisfaction for four houses maliciously and unjustly burnt at Jocatra, together with the warehouses, magazines, and furniture, occasioned by the Dutch governor there, of all which we have information from the place itself, after we had exhibited our first complaints: the total of which damage we value at

50,000 l. 00 s. 00 d.

We demand satisfaction for thirty-two thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine pound of pepper, taken out of the ship Endymion, in sixteen hundred and forty-nine, the total of which damage amounts to

6,000 l. 00 s. 00 d.

220,796 l. 15 s. 00 d.

A Summary of some particular Damages sustained also from the D utch E ast -I ndia Company.

1. F or damages sustained by those who besieged Bantam, whence it came to pass, that for six years together we were excluded from that trade, and consequently from an opportunity of laying out in pepper six hundred thousand royals, with which we might have laden our homeward-bound ships; for want of which lading they rotted upon the coast of India. In the mean time our stock in India was wasted and consumed in mariners’ wages, provision, and other furniture; so that they could not value their loss at less than twenty hundred and four thousand royals.

£ 600,000 00 s. 00 d.

2. More for damages by reason of our due part lost of the fruits in the Molucca islands, Banda and Amboyna, from the time that by the slaughter of our men we were thence expelled, till the time that we shall be satisfiedfor our loss and expenses; which space of time, from the year sixteen hundred and twenty-two, to this present year sixteen hundred and fifty, for the yearly revenue of 250,000 lib. amounts in twenty-eight years to

£700,000 00 s. 00 d.

3. We demand satisfaction for one hundred and two thousand nine hundred and fifty-nine royals, taken from us by the Mogul’s people, whom the Dutch protected in such a manner, that we never could repair our losses out of the money or goods of that people, which lay in their junks, which we endeavoured to do, and was in our power, had not the Dutch unjustly defended them. Which lost money we could have trebled in Europe, and value at

£77,200 00 s. 00 d.

4. For the customs of Persia, the half part of which was by the king of Persia granted to the English, anno sixteen hundred and twenty-four. Which to the year sixteen hundred and twenty-nine, is valued at eight thousand royals; to which add the four thousand lib. which they are bound to pay since sixteen hundred and twenty-nine, which is now one-and-twenty years, and it makes up the sum of

£84,000 00 s. 00 d.

From the first account

£220,796 15 s. 00 d.

Sum total

£1,681,996 15 s. 00 d.

The interest from that time will far exceed the principal.

LETTERS WRITTEN IN THE NAME OF OLIVER THE PROTECTOR.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the Count of OLDENBURGH.

Most Illustrious Lord—By your letters dated January twenty, sixteen hundred and fifty-four, I have been given to understand, that the noble Frederick Matthias Wolisog and Christopher Griphiander were sent with certain commands from your illustrious lordship into England; who when they came to us, not only in your name congratulated our having taken upon us the government of the English republic, but also desired, that you and your territories might be comprehended in the peace which we are about to make with the Low Countries, and that we would confirm by our present authority the letters of safe conduct lately granted your lordship by the parliament. Therefore in the first place we return your lordship our hearty thanks for your friendly congratulation, as it becomes us; and these will let you know that we have readily granted your two requests. Nor shall you find us wanting upon any opportunity, which may at any time make manifest our affection to your lordship. And this we are apt to believe you will understand more at large from your agents, whose fidelity and diligence in this affair of yours, in our court, has been eminently conspicuous. As to what remains, we most heartily wish the blessings of prosperity and peace, both upon you and your affairs.

Your illustrious lordship’s most affectionate,

OLIVER, protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

June 29, 1654

Westminster

To the Count of OLDENBURGH.

Most Illustrious Lord—We received your letters, dated May the second, from Oldenburgh, most welcome upon more than one account; as well for that they were full of singular civility and goodwill towards us, as because they were delivered by the hand of the most illustrious count Anthony, your beloved son; which we look upon as so much the greater honour, as not having trusted to report, but with our own eyes, and by our own observation, discerned his virtues becoming such an illustrious extraction, his noble manners and inclinations, and lastly, his extraordinary affection toward ourselves. Nor is it to be questioned but he displays to his own people the same fair hopes at home, that he will approve himself the son of a most worthy and most excellent father, whose signal virtue and prudence has all along so managed affairs, that the whole territory of Oldenburgh for many years has enjoyed a profound peace, and all the blessings of tranquillity, in the midst of the raging confusions of war thundering on every side. What reason therefore why we should not value such a friendship, that can so wisely and providentially shun the enmity of all men? Lastly, most illustrious lord, it is for your magnificent present [*] that we return you thanks; but it is of right, and your merits claim, that we are cordially,

Westminster

,

June 29, 1654

.

Your illustrious lordship’s most affectionate,

OLIVER, c.

Superscribed, To the most Illustrious Lord, ANTHONY GUNTHER, count in Oldenburgh and Delmenhorst, lord in Jehvern and Kniphausen.

John Milton

Milton, John

July 4, 1654

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, and IRELAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, Great Prince of FINLAND, Duke of ESTHONIA, CARELIA, BREME, VERDEN, STETTIN in POMERANIA, CASSUBIA, and VANDALIA; Prince of RUGIA, Lord of INGRA, WISMARIA, as also Count PALATINE of the RHINE, and Duke of BAVARIA, CLEVES, and MONTS, c., Greeting.

Most Serene King—Though it be already divulged over all the world, that the kingdom of the Swedes is translated to your majesty with the extraordinary applause and desires of the people, and the free suffrages of all the orders of the realm; yet that your majesty should rather choose, that we should understand the welcome news by your most friendly letters, than by the common voice of fame, we thought no small argument both of your goodwill towards us, and of the honour done us among the first. Voluntarily therefore and of right we congratulate this accession of dignity to your egregious merits, and the most worthy guerdon of so much virtue. And that it may be lucky and prosperous to your majesty, to the nation of the Swedes, and the true Christian interest, which is also what you chiefly wish, with joint supplication we implore of God. And whereas your majesty assures us, that the preserving entire the league and alliance lately concluded between this republic and the kingdom of Sweden shall be so far your care, that the present amity may not only continue firm and inviolable, but, if possible, every day increase and grow to a higher perfection, to call it into question, would be a piece of impiety, after the word of so great a prince once interposed, whose surpassing fortitude has not only purchased your majesty an hereditary kingdom in a foreign land, but also could so far prevail, that the most august queen, the daughter of Gustavus, and a heroess so matchless in all degrees of praise and masculine renown, that many ages backward have not produced her equal, surrendered the most just possession of her empire to your majesty, neither expecting nor willing to accept it. Now therefore it is our main desire, your majesty should be every way assured, that your so singular affection toward us, and so eminent a signification of your mind, can be no other than most dear and welcome to us; and that no combat can offer itself to us more glorious, than such a one wherein we may, if possible, prove victorious in outdoing your majesty’s civility by our kind offices, that never shall be wanting.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

Westminster

,

July 4, 1654

.

OLIVER, protector of the commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Sept. 1654

Whitehall

Lewis Mendez de Hardo

de Hardo, Lewis Mendez

To the most Illustrious Lord, LEWIS MENDEZ de HARDO.

WHAT we have understood by your letters, most illustrious lord, that there is an embassador already nominated and appointed by the most serene king of Spain, on purpose to come and congratulate our having undertaken the government of the republic, is not only deservedly acceptable of itself, but rendered much more welcome and pleasing to us by your singular affection, and the speed of your civility, as being desirous we should understand it first of all from yourself. For, to be so beloved and approved by your lordship, who by your virtue and prudence have obtained so great authority with your prince, as to preside, his equal in mind, over all the most important affairs of that kingdom, ought to be so much the more pleasing to us, as well understanding that the judgment of a surpassing person cannot but be much to our honour and ornament. Now as to our cordial inclinations toward the king of Spain, and ready propensity to hold friendship with that kingdom, and increase it to a stricter perfection, we hope we have already satisfied the present embassador, and shall more amply satisfy the other so soon as he arrives. As to what remains, most illustrious lord, we heartily wish the dignity and favour, wherein you now flourish with your prince, perpetual to your lordship; and whatever affairs you carry on for the public good, may prosperously and happily succeed.

Your illustrious lordship’s most affectionate,

Whitehall

,

Sept. 1654

.

OLIVER, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Octob. 26, 1654

Whitehall

To the most Serene Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

BEING so well assured of your majesty’s good will towards me by your last letters, in answer to which I wrote back with the same affection, methinks I should do no more than what our mutual amity requires, if as I communicate my grateful tidings to reciprocal joy, so when contrary accidents fall out, that I should lay open the sense and grief of my mind to your majesty, as my dearest friend. For my part, this is my opinion of myself, that I am now advanced to this degree in the commonwealth, to the end I should consult in the first place and as much as in me lies, for the common peace of the protestants. Which is the reason, that of necessity it behoves me more grievously to lay to heart what we are sorry to hear concerning the bloody conflicts and mutual slaughters of the Bremeners and Swedes. But this I chiefly bewail, that being both our friends, they should so despitefully combat one against another, and with so much danger to the interests of the protestants; and that the peace of Munster, which it was thought would have proved an asylum and safeguard to all the protestants, should be the occasion of such an unfortunate war, that now the arms of the Swedes are turned upon those, whom but a little before, among the rest, they most stoutly defended for religion’s sake; and that this should be done more especially at this time, when the papists are said to persecute the reformed all over Germany, and to return to their intermitted for some time oppressions, and their pristine violences. Hearing therefore, that a truce for some days was made at Breme, I could not forbear signifying to your majesty, upon this opportunity offered, how cordially I desire, and how earnestly I implore the God of peace, that this truce may prove successfully happy for the good of both parties, and that it may conclude in a most firm peace, by a commodious accommodation on both sides. To which purpose, if your majesty judges that my assistance may any ways conduce, I most willingly offer and promise it, as in a thing, without question, most acceptable to the most holy God. In the mean time, from the bottom of my heart, I beseech the Almighty to direct and govern all your counsels for the common welfare of the Christian interest, which I make no doubt but that your majesty chiefly desires.

Whitehall

,

Octob. 26, 1654

.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

OLIVER, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Oct. 26, 1654

Whitehall

To the Magnificent and most Noble, the Consuls and Senators of the City of BREME.

BY your letters delivered to us by your resident Henry Oldenburgh, that there is a difference kindled between your city and a most potent neighbour, and to what straits you are thereby reduced, with so much the more trouble and grief we understand, by how much the more we love and embrace the city of Breme, so eminent above others for their profession of the orthodox faith. Neither is there any thing which we account more sacred in our wishes, than that the whole protestant name would knit and grow together in brotherly unity and concord. In the mean time, most certain it is, that the common enemy of the reformed rejoices at these our dissensions, and more haughtily every where exerts his fury. But in regard the controversy, which at present exercises your contending arms, is not within the power of our decision, we implore the Almighty God, that the truce begun may obtain a happy issue. Assuredly, as to what you desired, we have written to the king of the Swedes, exhorting him to peace and agreement, as being most chiefly grateful to Heaven, and have offered our assistance in so pious a work. On the other side, we likewise exhort yourselves to bear an equal mind, and by no means to refuse any honest conditions of reconciliation. And so we recommend your city to Divine Protection and Providence.

Your lordships’ most affectionate,

Whitehall

,

Oct. 26, 1654

.

OLIVER, protector of the commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

April —, 1654

Whitehall

OLIVER, Protector of the Republic of ENGLAND, To the most Illustrious Prince of TARENTUM.

YOUR love of religion apparently made known in your letters to us delivered, and your excelling piety and singular affection to the reformed churches, more especially considering the nobility and splendour of your character, and in a kingdom too, wherein there are so many and such abounding hopes proposed to all of eminent quality that revolt from the orthodox faith, so many miseries to be undergone by the resolute and constant, gave us an occasion of great joy and consolation of mind. Nor was it less grateful to us, that we had gained your good opinion, upon the same account of religion, which ought to render your highness most chiefly beloved and dear to ourselves. We call God to witness, that whatever hopes or expectations the churches according to your relation had of us, we may be able one day to give them satisfaction, if need require, or at least to demonstrate to all men, how much it is our desire never to fail them. Nor should we think any fruit of our labours, or of this dignity or supreme employment which we hold in our republic, greater than that we might be in a condition to be serviceable to the enlargement, or the welfare, or what is more sacred, to the peace of the reformed church. In the mean time, we exhort and beseech your lordship, to remain stedfast to the last minute in the orthodox religion, with the same resolution and constancy, as you profess it received from your ancestors with piety and zeal. Nor indeed can there be any thing more worthy yourself, or your religious parents, nor in consideration of what you have deserved of us, though we wish all things for your own sake, that we can wish more noble or advantageous to your lordship, than that you would take such methods, and apply yourself to such studies, that the churches, especially of your native country, under the discipline of which your birth and genius have rendered you illustriously happy, may be sensible of so much the more assured security in your protection, by how much you excel others in lustre and ability.

Whitehall

,

April —, 1654

.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1655

Whitehall

OLIVER, the Protector, c., To the most Serene Prince, IMMANUEL Duke of SAVOY, Prince of Piemont, Greeting.

MOST Serene Prince—Letters have been sent us from Geneva, as also from the Dauphinate, and many other places bordering upon your territories, wherein we are given to understand, that such of your royal highness’s subjects, as profess the reformed religion, are commanded by your edict, and by your authority, within three days after the promulgation of your edict, to depart their native seats and habitations, upon pain of capital punishment, and forfeiture of all their fortunes and estates, unless they will give security to relinquish their religion within twenty days, and embrace the Roman catholic faith. And that when they applied themselves to your royal highness in a most suppliant manner, imploring a revocation of the said edict, and that being received into pristine favour, they might be restored to the liberty granted them by your predecessors, a part of your army fell upon them, most cruelly slew several, put others in chains, and compelled the rest to fly into desert places, and to the mountains covered with snow, where some hundreds of families are reduced to such distress, that it is greatly to be feared, they will in a short time all miserably perish through cold and hunger. These things, when they were related to us, we could not choose but be touched with extreme grief and compassion for the sufferings and calamities of this afflicted people. Now in regard we must acknowledge ourselves linked together not only by the same tie of humanity, but by joint communion of the same religion, we thought it impossible for us to satisfy our duty to God, to brotherly charity, or our profession of the same religion, if we should only be affected with a bare sorrow for the misery and calamity of our brethren, and not contribute all our endeavours to relieve and succour them in their unexpected adversity, as much as in us lies. Therefore in a great measure we most earnestly beseech and conjure your royal highness, that you would call back to your thoughts the moderation of your most serene predecessors, and the liberty by them granted and confirmed from time to time to their subjects the Vaudois. In granting and confirming which, as they did that which without all question was most grateful to God, who has been pleased to reserve the jurisdiction and power over the conscience to himself alone, so there is no doubt, but that they had a due consideration of their subjects also, whom they found stout and most faithful in war, and always obedient in peace. And as your royal serenity in other things most laudably follows the footsteps of your immortal ancestors, so we again and again beseech your royal highness, not to swerve from the path wherein they trod in this particular; but that you would vouchsafe to abrogate both this edict, and whatsoever else may be decreed to the disturbance of your subjects upon the account of the reformed religion; that you would ratify to them their conceded privileges and pristine liberty, and command their losses to be repaired, and that an end be put to their oppressions. Which if your royal highness shall be pleased to see performed, you will do a thing most acceptable to God, revive and comfort the miserable in dire calamity, and most highly oblige all your neighbours, that profess the reformed religion, but more especially ourselves, who shall be bound to look upon your clemency and benignity toward your subjects as the fruit of our earnest solicitation. Which will both engage us to a reciprocal return of all good offices, and lay the solid foundations not only of establishing, but increasing, alliance and friendship between this republic and your dominions. Nor do we less promise this to ourselves from your justice and moderation; to which we beseech Almighty God to incline your mind and thoughts. And so we cordially implore just Heaven to bestow upon your highness and your people the blessings of peace and truth, and prosperous success in all your affairs.

Whitehall

May —, 1655

.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1655

Whitehall

OLIVER, Protector of the Republic of ENGLAND, To the most Serene Prince of TRANSILVANIA, Greeting.

MOST Serene Prince—By your letters of the sixteenth of November, sixteen hundred and fifty-four, you have made us sensible of your singular goodwill and affection towards us; and your envoy, who delivered those letters to us, more amply declared your desire of contracting alliance and friendship with us. Certainly for our parts we do not a little rejoice at this opportunity offered us, to declare and make manifest our affection to your highness, and how great a value we justly set upon your person. But after fame had reported to us your egregious merits and labours undertaken in behalf of the Christian republic, when you were pleased that all these things, and what you have farther in your thoughts to do in the defence and for promoting the Christian interest, should be in friendly manner imparted to us by letters from yourself, thus afforded us a more plentiful occasion of joy and satisfaction, to hear that God, in those remoter regions, had raised up to himself so potent and renowned a minister of his glory and provilence: and that this great minister of heaven, so famed for his courage and success, should be desirous to associate with us in the common defence of the protestant religion, at this time wickedly assailed by words and deeds. Nor is it to be questioned but that God, who has infused into us both, though separated by such a spacious interval of many climates, the same desires and thoughts of defending the orthodox religion, will be our instructor and author of the ways and means whereby we may be assistant and useful to ourselves and the rest of the reformed cities; provided we watch all opportunities, that God shall put into our hands, and be not wanting to lay hold of them.

In the mean time we cannot without an extreme and penetrating sorrow forbear putting your highness in mind, how unmercifully the duke of Savoy has persecuted his own subjects, professing the orthodox faith in certain valleys, at the feet of the Alps: whom he has not only constrained by a most severe edict, as many as refuse to embrace the catholic religion, to forsake their native habitations, goods, and estates, but has fallen upon them with his army, put several most cruelly to the sword, others more barbarously tormented to death, and driven the greatest number to the mountains, there to be consumed with cold and hunger, exposing their houses to the fury, and their goods to the plunder, of his executioners. These things, as they have already been related to your highness, so we readily assure ourselves, that so much cruelty cannot but be grievously displeasing to your ears, and that you will not be wanting to afford your aid and succour to those miserable wretches, if there be any that survive so many slaughters and calamities. For our parts, we have written to the duke of Savoy, beseeching him to remove his incensed anger from his subjects; as also to the king of France, that he would vouchsafe to do the same; and lastly, to the princes of the reformed religion, to the end they might understand our sentiments concerning so fell and savage a piece of cruelty. Which, though first begun upon those poor and helpless people, however threatens all that profess the same religion, and therefore imposes upon all a greater necessity of providing for themselves in general, and consulting the common safety; which is the course that we shall always follow, as God shall be pleased to direct us. Of which your highness may be assured, as also of our sincerity and affection to your serenity, whereby we are engaged to wish all prosperous success to your affairs, and a happy issue of all your enterprises and endeavours, in asserting the liberty of the gospel, and the worshippers of it.

Whitehall

,

May —, 1655

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Charles Gustavus Adolphus

Adolphus, Charles Gustavus

OLIVER, Protector, To the most Serene Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS, King of the SWEDES, Greeting.

WE make no question, but that the fame of that most rigid edict has reached your dominions, whereby the duke of Savoy has totally ruined his protestant subjects inhabiting the Alpine valleys, and commanded them to be exterminated from their native seats and habitations, unless they will give security to renounce their religion received from their forefathers, in exchange for the Roman catholic superstition, and that within twenty days at farthest: so that many being killed, the rest stripped to their skins, and exposed to most certain destruction, are now forced to wander over desert mountains, and through perpetual winter, together with their wives and children, half dead with cold and hunger: and that your majesty has laid it to heart, with a pious sorrow and compassionate consideration, we as little doubt. For that the protestant name and cause, although they differ among themselves in some things of little consequence, is nevertheless the same in general, and united in one common interest; the hatred of our adversaries, alike incensed against protestants, very easily demonstrates. Now there is nobody can be ignorant, that the kings of the Swedes have always joined with the reformed, carrying their victorious arms into Germany in defence of the protestants without distinction. Therefore we make it our chief request, and that in a more especial manner to your majesty, that you would solicit the duke of Savoy by letters; and, by interposing your intermediating authority, endeavour to avert the horrid cruelty of this edict, if possible, from people no less innocent than religious. For we think it superflous to admonish your majesty whither these rigorous beginnings tend, and what they threaten to all the protestants in general. But if he rather choose to listen to his anger, than to our joint entreaties and intercessions; if there be any tie, any charity or communion of religion to be believed and worshipped, upon consultations duly first communicated to your majesty, and the chief of the protestant princes, some other course is to be speedily taken, that such a numerous multitude of our innocent brethren may not miserably perish for want of succour and assistance. Which, in regard we make no question but that it is your majesty’s opinion and determination, there can be nothing in our opinion more prudently resolved, than to join our reputation, authority, counsel, forces, and whatever else is needful, with all the speed that may be, in pursuance of so pious a design. In the mean time, we beseech Almighty God to bless your majesty.

John Milton

Milton, John

OLIVER, Protector, c. To the High and Mighty Lords, the States of the UNITED PROVINCES.

WE make no question, but that you have already been informed of the duke of Savoy’s edict, set forth against his subjects inhabiting the valleys at the feet of the Alps, ancient professors of the orthodox faith; by which edict they are commanded to abandon their native habitations, stripped of all their fortunes, unless within twenty days they embrace the Roman faith; and with what cruelty the authority of this edict has raged against a needy and harmless people, many being slain by the soldiers, the rest plundered and driven from their houses, together with their wives and children, to combat cold and hunger among desert mountains, and perpetual snow.—These things with what commotion of mind you heard related, what a fellow-feeling of the calamities of brethren pierced your breasts, we readily conjectured from the depth of our own sorrow, which certainly is most heavy and afflictive. For being engaged together by the same tie of religion, no wonder we should be so deeply moved with the same affections upon the dreadful and underserved sufferings of our brethren. Besides, that your conspicuous piety and charity toward the orthodox, wherever overborne and oppressed, has been frequently experienced in the most urging straits and calamities of the churches. For my own part, unless my thoughts deceive me, there is nothing wherein I should desire more willingly to be overcome, than in goodwill and charity toward brethren of the same religion, afflicted and wronged in their quiet enjoyments; as being one that would be accounted always ready to prefer the peace and safety of the churches before my particular interests. So far therefore as hitherto lay in our power, we have written to the duke of Savoy, even almost to supplication, beseeching him, that he would admit into his breast more placid thoughts and kinder effects of his favour toward his most innocent subjects and suppliants; that he would restore the miserable to their habitations and estates, and grant them their pristine freedom in the exercise of their religion. Moreover, we wrote to the chiefest princes and magistrates of the protestants, whom we thought most nearly concerned in these matters, that they would lend us their assistance to entreat and pacify the duke of Savoy in their behalf. And we make no doubt now but you have done the same, and perhaps much more. For this so dangerous a precedent, and lately renewed severity of utmost cruelty toward the reformed, if the authors of it meet with prosperous success, to what apparent dangers it reduces our religion, we need not admonish your prudence. On the other side, if the duke shall once but permit himself to be atoned and won by our united applications, not only our afflicted brethren, but we ourselves shall reap the noble and abounding harvest and reward of this laborious undertaking. But if he still persist in the same obstinate resolutions of reducing to utmost extremity those people, (among whom our religion was either disseminated by the first doctors of the gospel, and preserved from the defilement of superstition, or else restored to its pristine sincerity long before other nations obtained that felicity,) and determines their utter extirpation and destruction; we are ready to take such other course and counsels with yourselves, in common with the rest of our reformed friends and confederates, as may be most necessary for the preservation of just and good men, upon the brink of inevitable ruin; and to make the duke himself sensible, that we can no longer neglect the heavy oppressions and calamities of our orthodox brethren. Farewel.

John Milton

Milton, John

May 19th, 1655

Westminster

To the Evangelic Cities of SWITZERLAND.

WE make no question, but the late calamity of the Piedmontois, professing our religion, reached your ears before the unwelcome news of it arrived with us: who being a people under the protection and jurisdiction of the duke of Savoy, and by a severe edict of their prince commanded to depart their native habitations, unless within three days they gave security to embrace the Roman religion, soon after were assailed by armed violence, that turned their dwellings into slaughter-houses, while others, without number, were terrified into banishment, where now naked and afflicted, without house or home, or any covering from the weather, and ready to perish through hunger and cold, they miserably wander thorough desert mountains, and depths of snow, together with their wives and children. And far less reason have we to doubt, but that so soon as they came to your knowledge, you laid these thing to heart, with a compassion no less sensible of their multiplied miseries than ourselves; the more deeply imprinted perhaps in your minds, as being next neighbours to the sufferers. Besides, that we have abundant proof of your singular love and affection for the orthodox faith, of your constancy in retaining it, and your fortitude in defending it. Seeing then, by the most strict communion of religion, that you, together with ourselves, are all brethren alike, or rather one body with those unfortunate people, of which no member can be afflicted without the feeling, without pain, without the detriment and hazard of the rest; we thought it convenient to write to your lordships concerning this matter, and let you understand, how much we believe it to be the general interest of us all, as much as in us lies, with our common aid and succour to relieve our exterminated and indigent brethren; and not only to take care for removing their miseries and afflictions, but also to provide, that the mischief spread no farther, nor encroach upon ourselves in general, encouraged by example and success. We have written letters to the duke of Savoy, wherein we have most earnestly besought him, out of his wonted clemency, to deal more gently and mildly with his most faithful subjects, and to restore them, almost ruined as they are, to their goods and habitations. And we are in hopes, that by these our entreaties, or rather by the united intercessions of us all, the most serene prince at length will be atoned, and grant what we have requested with so much importunity. But if his mind be obstinately bent to other determinations, we are ready to communicate our consultations with yours, by what most prevalent means to relieve and re-establish most innocent men, and our most dearly beloved brethren in Christ, tormented and overlaid with so many wrongs and oppressions; and preserve them from inevitable and undeserved ruin. Of whose welfare and safety, as I am assured, that you, according to your wonted piety, are most cordially tender; so for our own parts, we cannot but in our opinion prefer their preservation before our most important interests, even the safeguard of our own life.—Farewel.

O. P.

Westminster

,

May 19th, 1655

.

Superscribed, To the most Illustrious and Potent Lords, the Consuls and Senators of the Protestant Cantons and Confederate Cities of Switzerland, Greeting.

John Milton

Milton, John

July 29, 1655

Whitehall

Lewis

Lewis

To the most Serene and Potent Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene and Potent King—By your majesty’s letters, which you wrote in answer to ours of the twenty-fifth of May, we readily understand, that we failed not in our judgment, that the inhuman slaughter, and barbarous massacres of those men, who professed the reformed religion of Savoy, perpetrated by some of your regiments, were the effects neither of your orders nor commands. And it afforded us a singular occasion of joy, to hear that your majesty had so timely signified to your colonies and officers, whose violent precipitancy engaged them in those inhuman butcheries, without the encouragement of lawful allowance, how displeasing they were to your majesty; that you had admonished the duke himself to forbear such acts of cruelty; and that you had interposed with so much fidelity and humanity all the high veneration paid you in that court, your near alliance and authority, for restoring to their ancient abodes those unfortunate exiles. And it was our hopes, that that prince would in some measure have condescended to the good pleasure and intercessions of your majesty. But finding not any thing obtained, either by your own, nor the entreaties and importunities of other princes in the cause of the distressed, we deemed it not foreign from our duty, to send this noble person, under the character of our extraordinary envoy, to the duke of Savoy, more amply and fully to lay before him, how deeply sensible we are of such exasperated cruelties, inflicted upon the professors of the same religion with ourselves, and all this too out of a hatred of the same worship. And we have reason to hope a success of this negotiation so much the more prosperous, if your majesty would vouchsafe to employ your authority and assistance once again with so much the more urgent importunity; and as you have undertaken for those indigent people, that they will be faithful and obedient to their prince, so you would be graciously pleased to take care of their welfare and safety, that no farther oppressions of this nature, no more such dismal calamities, may be the portion of the innocent and peaceful. This being truly royal and just in itself, and highly agreeable to your benignity and clemency, which every where protects in soft security so many of your subjects professing the same religion, we cannot but expect, as it behoves us, from your majesty. Which act of yours, as it will more closely bind to your subjection all the protestants throughout your spacious dominions, whose affection and fidelity to your predecessors and yourself in most important distresses have been often conspicuously made known: so will it fully convince all foreign princes, that the advice or intention of your majesty were no way contributory to this prodigious violence, whatever inflamed your ministers and officers to promote it. More especially, if your majesty shall inflict deserved punishment upon those captains and ministers, who of their own authority, and to gratify their own wills, adventured the perpetrating such dreadful acts of inhumanity. In the mean while, since your majesty has assured us of your justly merited aversion to these most inhuman and cruel proceedings, we doubt not but you will afford a secure sanctuary and shelter within your kingdom to all those miserable exiles, that shall fly to your majesty for protection; and that you will not give permission to any of your subjects to assist the duke of Savoy to their prejudice. It remains that we make known to your majesty, how highly we esteem and value your friendship: in testimony of which, we farther affirm, there shall never be wanting upon all occasions the real assurances and effects of our protestation.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

Whitehall

,

July 29, 1655

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

July 29, 1655

Whitehall

To the most Eminent Lord, Cardinal MAZARINE.

MOST Eminent Lord Cardinal—Having deemed it necessary to send this noble person to the king with letters, a copy of which is here enclosed, we gave him also farther in charge, to salute your excellency in our name, as having intrusted to his fidelity certain other matters to be communicated to your eminency. In reference to which affairs, I entreat your eminency to give him entire credit, as being a person in whom I have reposed a more than ordinary confidence.

Your eminency’s most affectionate,

Whitehall

,

July 29, 1655

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1655

Whitehall

Frederick III

Frederick III

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, To the most Serene Prince, FREDERICK III., King of DENMARK, NORWAY, c.

WITH what a severe and unmerciful edict Immanuel duke of Savoy has expelled from their native seats his subjects inhabiting the valleys of Piedmont, men otherwise harmless, only for many years remarkably famous for embracing the purity of religion; and after a dreadful slaughter of some numbers, how he has exposed the rest to the hardships of those desert mountains, stripped to their skins, and barred from all relief, we believe your majesty has long since heard, and doubt not but your majesty is touched with a real commiseration of their sufferings, as becomes so puissant a defender and prince of the reformed faith: for indeed the institutions of Christian religion require, that whatever mischiefs and miseries any part of us undergo, it should behove us all to be deeply sensible of the same: nor does any man better than your majesty foresee, if we may be thought able to give a right conjecture of your piety and prudence, what dangers the success and example of this fact portend to ourselves in particular, and to the whole protestant name in general. We have written the more willingly to yourself, to the end we might assure your majesty, that the same sorrow, which we hope you have conceived for the calamity of our most innocent brethren, the same opinion, the same judgment you have of the whole matter, is plainly and sincerely our own. We have therefore sent our letters to the duke of Savoy, wherein we have most importunately besought him, to spare those miserable people, that implore his mercy, and that he would no longer suffer that dreadful edict to be in force; which if your majesty and the rest of the reformed princes would vouchsafe to do, as we are apt to believe they have already done, there is some hope, that the anger of the most serene duke may be assuaged, and that his indignation will relent upon the intercession and importunities of his neighbour princes. Or if he persist in his determinations, we protest ourselves ready, together with your majesty, and the rest of our confederates of the reformed religion, to take such speedy methods, as may enable us, as far as in us lies, to relieve the distresses of so many miserable creatures, and provide for their liberty and safety. In the mean time we beseech Almighty God to bless your majesty with all prosperity.

Whitehall

,

May —, 1655

.

John Milton

Milton, John

June 8, 1655

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Noble the Consuls and Senators of the City of GENEVA.

WE had before made known to your lordships our excessive sorrow for the heavy and unheard of calamities of the protestants, inhabiting the valleys of Piedmont, whom the duke of Savoy persecutes with so much cruelty; but that we made it our business, that you should at the same time understand, that we are not only affected with the multitude of their sufferings, but are using the utmost of our endeavours to relieve and comfort them in their distresses. To that purpose we have taken care for a gathering of alms to be made throughout this whole republic; which upon good grounds we expect will be such, as will demonstrate the affection of this nation toward their brethren, labouring under the burden of such horrid inhumanities; and that as the communion of religion is the same between both people, so the sense of their calamities is no less the same. In the mean time, while the collections of the money go forward, which in regard they will require some time to accomplish, and for that the wants and necessities of those deplorable people will admit of no delay, we thought it requisite to remit before-hand two thousand pounds of the value of England with all possible speed, to be distributed among such as shall be judged to be most in present need of comfort and succour. Now in regard we are not ignorant how deeply the miseries and wrongs of those most innocent people have affected yourselves, and that you will not think amiss of any labour or pains where you can be assisting to their relief, we made no scruple to commit the paying and distributing this sum of money to your care; and to give you this farther trouble, that according to your wonted piety and prudence, you would take care, that the said money may be distributed equally to the most necessitous, to the end that though the sum be small, yet there may be something to refresh and revive the most poor and needy, till we can afford them a more plentiful supply. And thus, not making any doubt but you will take in good part the trouble imposed upon ye, we beseech Almighty God to stir up the hearts of all his people professing the orthodox religion, to resolve upon the common defence of themselves, and the mutual assistance of each other against their imbittered and most implacable enemies: in the prosecution of which, we should rejoice that our helping hand might be any way serviceable to the church. Farewel.

Fifteen hundred pounds of the foresaid two thousand will be remitted by Gerard Hench from Paris, and the other five hundred pounds will be taken care of by letters from the lord Stoup.

June 8, 1655

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Decemb. —, 1655

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, the Duke of VENICE.

MOST Serene Prince—As it has been always a great occasion of rejoicing to us, whenever any prosperous success attended your arms, but more especially against the common enemy of the Christian name; so neither are we sorry for the late advantage gained by your fleet, though, as we understand, it happened not a little to the detriment of our people: for certain of our merchants, William and Daniel Williams, and Edward Beale, have set forth in a petition presented to us, that a ship of theirs, called the Great Prince, was lately sent by them with goods and merchandise to Constantinople, where the said ship was detained by the ministers of the Porte, to carry soldiers and provisions to Crete; and that the said ship being constrained to sail along with the same fleet of the Turks, which was set upon and vanquished by the galleys of the Venetians, was taken, carried away to Venice, and there adjudged lawful prize by the judges of the admiralty. Now therefore in regard the said ship was pressed by the Turks, and forced into their service without the knowledge or consent of the owners directly or indirectly obtained, and that it was impossible for her, being shipped with soldiers, to withdraw from the engagement, we most earnestly request your serenity, that you will remit that sentence of your admiralty, as a present to our friendship, and take such care, that the ship may be restored to the owners, no way deserving the displeasure of your republic by any act of theirs. In the obtaining of which request, more especially upon our intercession, while we find the merchants themselves so well assured of your clemency, it behoves us not to question it. And so we beseech the Almighty God to continue his prosperous blessings upon your noble designs, and the Venetian republic.

Your serenity’s and the Venetian republic’s most affectionate

Westminster

,

Decemb. —, 1655

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

December —, 1655

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

Most Serene King—Certain of our merchants, by name Samuel Mico, William Cockain, George Poyner, and several others, in a petition to us have set forth, That in the year 1650, they laded a ship of theirs, called the Unicorn, with goods of a very considerable value; and that the said ship being thus laden with silk, oil, and other merchandize, amounting to above thirty-four thousand of our pounds, was taken by the admiral and vice-admiral of your majesty’s fleet in the Mediterranean sea. Now it appears to us, that our people who were then in the ship, by reason there was at that time a peace between the French and us, that never had been violated in the least, were not willing to make any defence against your majesty’s royal ships, and therefore, overruled besides by the fair promises of the captains Paul and Terrery, who faithfully engaged to dismiss our people, they paid their obedience to the maritime laws, and produced their bills of lading. Moreover, we find that the merchants aforesaid sent their agent into France, to demand restitution of the said ship and goods: and then it was, that after above three years slipped away, when the suit was brought so far, that sentence of restitution or condemnation was to have been given, that his eminency cardinal Mazarine acknowledged to their factor Hugh Morel, the wrong that had been done the merchants, and undertook that satisfaction should be given, so soon as the league between the two nations, which was then under negotiation, should be ratified and confirmed. Nay, since that, his excellency M. de Bourdeaux, your majesty’s embassador, assured us in express words, by the command of your majesty and your council, That care should be taken of that ship and goods in a particular exception, apart from those controversies, for the decision of which a general provision was made by the league: of which promise, the embassador, now opportunely arrived here to solicit some business of his own, is a testimony no way to be questioned. Which being true, and the right of the merchants in redemanding their ship and goods so undeniably apparent, we most earnestly request your majesty, that they may meet with no delay in obtaining what is justly their due, but that your majesty will admit the grant of this favour, as the first fruits of our revived amity, and the lately renewed league between us. The refusal of which as we have no reason to doubt, so we beseech Almighty God to bless with all prosperity both your majesty and your kingdom.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

Westminster

,

December —, 1655

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

January —, 1655

Westminster

To the Evangelic Cities of SWITZERLAND.

IN what condition your affairs are, which is not the best, we are abundantly informed, as well by your public acts transmitted to us by our agent at Geneva, as also by your letters from Zuric, bearing date the twenty-seventh of December. Whereby, although we are sorry to find your peace, and such a lasting league of confederacy, broken; nevertheless since it appears to have happened through no fault of yours, we are in hopes that the iniquity and perverseness of your adversaries are contriving new occasions for ye to make known your long ago experienced fortitude and resolution in defence of the Evangelic faith. For as for those of the canton of Schwitz, who account it a capital crime for any person to embrace our religion, what they are might and main designing, and whose instigations have incensed them to resolutions of hostility against the orthodox religion, nobody can be ignorant, who has not yet forgot that most detestable slaughter of our brethren in Piedmont. Wherefore, most beloved friends, what you were always wont to be, with God’s assistance still continue, magnanimous and resolute; suffer not your privileges, your confederacies, the liberty of your consciences, your religion itself to be trampled under foot by the worshippers of idols; and so prepare yourselves, that you may not seem to be the defenders only of your own freedom and safety, but be ready likewise to aid and succour, as far as in you lies, your neighbouring brethren, more especially those most deplorable Piedmontois; as being certainly convinced of this, that a passage was lately intended to have been opened over their slaughtered bodies to your sides. As for our part be assured, that we are no less anxious and solicitous for your welfare and prosperity, than if this conflagration had broken forth in our republic; or as if the axes of the Schwitz Canton had been sharpened for our necks, or that their swords had been drawn against our breasts, as indeed they were against the bosoms of all the reformed. Therefore so soon as we were informed of the condition of your affairs, and the obstinate animosities of your enemies, advising with some sincere and honest persons, together with some ministers of the church most eminent for their piety, about sending to your assistance such succour as the present posture of our affairs would permit, we came to those results which our envoy Pell will impart to your consideration. In the mean time we cease not to implore the blessing of the Almighty upon all your counsels, and the protection of your most just cause, as well in war as in peace.

Your lordships and worships most affectionate,

Westminster

,

January —, 1655

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

February —, 1655

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, by the Grace of God King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, Great Prince of FINLAND, c.

Most Serene King—Seeing it is a thing well known to all men, that there ought to be a communication of concerns among friends, whether in prosperity or adversity; it cannot but be most grateful to us, that your majesty should vouchsafe to impart unto us by your letters the most pleasing and delightful part of your friendship, which is your joy. In regard it is a mark of singular civility, and truly royal, as not to live only to a man’s self, so neither to rejoice alone, unless he be sensible that his friends and confederates partake of his gladness. Certainly then, we have reason to rejoice for the birth of the young prince born to such an excellent king, and sent into the world to be the heir of his father’s glory and virtue; and this at such a lucky season, that we have no less cause to congratulate the royal parent with the memorable omen that befell the famous Philip of Macedon, who at the same time received the tidings of Alexander’s birth, and the conquest of the Illyrians. For we make no question, but the wresting of the kingdom of Poland from papal subjection, as it were a horn dismembered from the head of the beast, and the peace, so much desired by all good men, concluded with the duke of Brandenburgh, will be most highly conducing to the tranquillity and advantage of the church. Heaven grant a conclusion correspondent to such signal beginnings; and may the son be like the father in virtue, piety, and renown, obtained by great achievements. Which is that we wish may luckily come to pass, and which we beg of the Almighty, so propitious hitherto to your affairs.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

Westminster

,

February —, 1655

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the King of DENMARK.

Most Serene and Potent Prince—John Freeman and Philip Travess, citizens of this republic, by a petition presented to us, in their own and the name of several other merchants of London, have made a complaint, That whereas about the month of March, in the year 1653, they freighted a certain ship of Sunderburg, called the Saviour, Nicholas Weinskinks master, with woollen cloth, and other commodities to the value of above three thousand pound, with orders to the master, that he should sail directly up the Baltic for Dantzic, paying the usual tribute at Elsenore, to which purpose in particular they gave him money: nevertheless that the said master, perfidiously and contrary to the orders of the said merchants, slipping by Elsenore without paying the usual duty, thought to have proceeded in his voyage, but that the ship for this reason was immediately seized and detained with all her lading. After due consideration of which complaints, we wrote in favour of the merchants to your majesty’s embassador residing at London, who promised, as they say, that as soon as he returned to your majesty, he would take care that the merchants should be taken into consideration. But he being sent to negotiate your majesty’s affairs in other countries, the merchants attended upon him in vain, both before and after his departure; so that they were forced to send their agent to prosecute their right and claim at Copenhagen, and demand restitution of the ship and goods; but all the benefit they reaped by it was only to add more expenses to their former damages, and a great deal of labour and pains thrown away; the goods being condemned to confiscation, and still detained: whereas by the law of Denmark, as they set forth in their petition, the master is to be punished for his offence, and the ship to be condemned, but not the goods. And they look upon this misfortune to lie the more heavy upon them, in regard the duty which is to be paid at Elsenore, as they tell us, is but very small. Wherefore seeing our merchants seem to have given no cause of proscription, and for that the master confessed before his death, that this damage befell them only through his neglect; and the father of the master deceased, by his petition to your majesty, as we are given to understand, by laying all the blame on his son, has acquitted the merchants; we could not but believe the detaining of the said ship and goods to be most unjust; and therefore we are confident, that so soon as your majesty shall be rightly informed of the whole matter, you will not only disapprove of these oppressions of your ministers, but give command that they be called to an account, that the goods be restored to the owners or their factors, and reparation made them for the losses they have sustained. All which we most earnestly request of your majesty, as being no more than what is so just and consentaneous to reason, that a more equitable demand or more legal satisfaction cannot well be made, considering the justice of our merchants’ cause, and which your own subjects would think but fair and honest upon the like occasions.

John Milton

Milton, John

John

John

To the most Serene Prince, JOHN the Fourth, King of PORTUGAL, c.

Most Serene King—The peace and friendship which your majesty desired, by your noble and splendid embassy sent to us some time since, after certain negotiations begun by the parliament in whom the supreme power was vested at that time, as it was always most affectionately wished for by us, with the assistance of God, and that we might not be wanting in the administration of the government which we have now taken upon us, at length we brought to a happy conclusion, and as we hope, as a sacred act, have ratified it to perpetuity. And therefore we send back to your majesty your extraordinary embassador, the lord John Roderigo de Sita Meneses, count of Pennaguiada, a person both approved by your majesty’s judgment, and by us experienced to excel in civility, ingenuity, prudence, and fidelity, besides the merited applause which he has justly gained by accomplishing the ends of his embassy, which is the peace which he carries along with him to his country. But as to what we perceive by your letters dated from Lisbon the second of April, that is to say, how highly your majesty esteems our amity, how cordially you favour our advancement, and rejoice at our having taken the government of the republic upon us, which you are pleased to manifest by singular, testimonies of kindness and affection, we shall make it our business, that all the world may understand, by our readiness at all times to serve your majesty, that there could be nothing more acceptable or grateful to us. Nor are we less earnest in our prayers to God for your majesty’s safety, the welfare of your kingdom, and the prosperous success of your affairs.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

OLIVER, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

April 1, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the High and Mighty States of the UNITED PROVINCES.

MOST High and Mighty Lords, our Dearest Friends—Certain merchants, our countrymen, Thomas Bassel, Richard Beare, and others their copartners, have made their complaints before us, that a certain ship of theirs, the Edmund and John, in her voyage from the coast of Brazil to Lisbon, was set upon by a privateer of Flushing, called the Red Lion, commanded by Lambert Bartelson, but upon this condition, which the writing signed by Lambert himself testifies, that the ship and whatsoever goods belonged to the English should be restored at Flushing: where when the vessel arrived, the ship indeed with what peculiarly belonged to the seamen was restored, but the English merchants’ goods were detained and put forthwith to sale: for the merchants who had received the damage, when they had sued for their goods in the court of Flushing, after great expenses for five years together, lost their suit by the pronouncing of a most unjust sentence against them by those judges, of which some, being interested in the privateer, were both judges and adversaries, and no less criminal altogether. So that now they have no other hopes but only in your equity and uncorrupted faith, to which at last they fly for succour: and which they believed they should find the more inclinable to do them justice, if assisted by our recommendation. And men are surely to be pardoned, if, afraid of all things in so great a struggle for their estates, they rather call to mind what they have reason to fear from your authority and high power, than what they have to hope well of their cause, especially before sincere and upright judges: though for our parts we make no question, but that induced by your religion, your justice, your integrity, rather than by our entreaties, you will give that judgment which is just and equal, and truly becoming yourselves. God preserve both you and your republic to his own glory, and the defence and succour of his church.

Westminster

,

April 1, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

April 17, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, and IRELAND, c., To the Most Serene Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, Great Prince of FINLAND, Duke of ESTHONIA, CARELIA, BREME, VERDEN, STETTIN, POMERANIA, CASSUBIA, and VANDALIA, Prince of RUGIA, Lord of INGRIA and WISMARIA, Count Palatine of the RHINE, Duke of BAVARIA, JULIERS, CLEVES, and MONTS.

MOST Serene Prince—Peter Julius Coict having accomplished the affairs of his embassy with us, and so acquitted himself, that he is not by us to be dismissed without the ornament of his deserved praises, is now returning to your majesty. For he was most acceptable to us, as well and chiefly for your own sake, which ought with us to be of high consideration, as for his own deserts in the diligent acquittal of his trust. The recommendation therefore which we received from you in his behalf, we freely testify to have been made good by him, and deservedly given by yourself; as he on the other side is able with the same fidelity and integrity, to relate and most truly to declare our singular affection and observance toward your majesty. It remains for us to beseech the most merciful and all powerful God, to bless your majesty with all felicity, and perpetual course of victory over all the enemies of his church.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

Westminster

,

April 17, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the Most Serene and Potent Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene Prince—John Dethic, mayor of the city of London for this year, and William Wakefield, merchant, have made their addresses to us by way of petition, complaining, that about the middle of October, sixteen hundred and forty-nine, they freighted a certain ship called the Jonas of London, Jonas Lightfoot master, with goods that were to be sent to Ostend; which vessel was taken in the mouth of the river Thames by one White of Barking, a pirate, robbing upon the seas by virtue of a commission from the son of King Charles deceased, and carried to Dunkirk, then under the jurisdiction of the French. Now in regard that by your majesty’s edict in the year sixteen hundred and forty-seven, renewed in sixteen hundred and forty-nine, and by some other decrees in favour of the parliament of England, as they find it recorded, it was enacted, that no vessel or goods taken from the English, in the time of that war, should be carried into any of your majesty’s ports, to be there put to sale; they presently sent their factor Hugh Morel to Dunkirk, to demand restitution of the said ship and goods from M. Lestrade then governor of the town; more especially finding them in the place for the most part untouched, and neither exchanged or sold. To which the governor made answer, that the king had bestowed that government upon him of his free gift or service done the king in his wars, and therefore he would take care to make the best of the reward of his labour. So that having little to hope from an answer so unkind and unjust, after a great expense of time and money, the factor returned home. So that all the remaining hopes, which the petitioners have, seem wholly to depend upon your majesty’s justice and clemency, to which they thought they might have the more easy access by means of our letters; and therefore, that neither your clemency nor your justice may be wanting to people despoiled against all law and reason, and contrary to your repeated prohibitions, we make it our request. Wherein, if your majesty vouchsafe to gratify us, since there is nothing required but what is most just and equitable, we shall deem it as obtained rather from your innate integrity, than any entreaty of ours.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

Westminster

,

May —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the High and Mighty Lords, the States of the UNITED PROVINCES.

MOST High and Mighty Lords, our Dearest Friends—John Brown, Nicholas Williams, and others, citizens of London, have set forth in their petitions to us, that when they had every one brought in their proportions, and freighted a certain ship called the Good Hope of London, bound for the East Indies, they gave orders to their factor, to take up at Amsterdam two thousand four hundred Dutch pounds, to ensure the said ship; that afterwards this ship, in her voyage to the coast of India, was taken by a ship belonging to the East India Company; upon which they who had engaged to ensure the said vessel, refused to pay the money, and have for this six years by various delays eluded our merchants, who with extraordinary diligence, and at vast expenses, endeavoured the recovery of their just right. Which in regard it is an unjust grievance, that lies so heavy upon the petitioners, for that some of those who obliged themselves are dead or become insolvent; therefore that no farther losses may accrue to their former damages, we make it our earnest request to your lordships, that you will vouchsafe your integrity to be the harbour and refuge for people tossed so many years, and almost shipwrecked in your courts of justice, and that speedy judgment may be given according to the rules of equity and honesty in their cause, which they believe to be most just. In the mean time we wish you all prosperity to the glory of God, and the welfare of his church.

Your high and mighty lordships’ most affectionate,

Westminster

,

May —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the High and Mighty Lords, the States of the UNITED PROVINCES.

MOST High and Mighty Lords, our Dearest Friends—The same persons in whose behalf we wrote to your lordships in September the last year, Thomas and William Lower, the lawful heirs of Nicholas Lower deceased, make grievous complaints before us, that they are oppressed either by the favour or wealth of their adversaries, notwithstanding the justice of their cause; and when that would not suffice, although our letters were often pleaded in their behalf, they have not been able hitherto to obtain possession of the inheritance left them by their father’s will. From the court of Holland, where the suit was first commenced, they were sent to your court, and from thence hurried away into Zealand, (to which three places they carried our letters,) and now they are remanded, not unwillingly, back again to your supreme judicature; for where the supreme power is, there they expect supreme justice. If that hope fail them, eluded and frustrated, after being so long tossed from post to pillar for the recovery of their right, where at length to find a resting place they know not. For as to our letters, if they find no benefit of these the fourth time written, they can never promise themselves any advantage for the future from slighted papers. However it would be most acceptable to us, if yet at length, after so many contempts, the injured heirs might meet with some relief by a speedy and just judgment, if not out of respect to any reputation we have among ye, yet out of a regard to your own equity and justice. Of the last of which we make no question, and confidently presume you will allow the other to our friendship.

Your high and mighty lordships’ most affectionate,

Westminster

,

May —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

July —, 1656

Westminster

John

John

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, JOHN, King of PORTUGAL.

MOST Serene King—Whereas there is a considerable sum of money owing from certain Portugal merchants of the Brasile company to several English merchants, upon the account of freightage and demorage, in the years sixteen hundred and forty-nine, and sixteen hundred and fifty, which money is detained by the said company by your majesty’s command, the merchants before mentioned expected, that the said money should have been paid long since according to the articles of the last league, but now they are afraid of being debarred all hopes and means of recovering their debts; understanding your majesty has ordered, that what money was owing to them by the Brasile company shall be carried into your treasury, and that no more than one half of the duty of freightage shall be expended toward the payment of their debts; by which means the merchants will receive no more than the bare interest of their money, while at the same time they utterly lose their principal. Which we considering to be very severe and heavy upon them, and being overcome by their most reasonable supplications, have granted them these our letters to your majesty; chiefly requesting this at your hands, to take care that the aforesaid Brasile company may give speedy satisfaction to the merchants of this republic, and pay them not only the principal money which is owing to them, but the five years interest; as being both just in itself, and conformable to the league so lately concluded between us; which on their behalf in most friendly manner we request from your majesty.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

July —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth.

John Milton

Milton, John

July —, 1656

Westminster

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

OLIVER, Proctector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene King—As it is but just that we should highly value the friendship of your majesty, a prince so potent and so renowned for great achievements; so it is but equally reasonable that your extraordinary embassador, the most illustrious lord Christiern Bond, by whose sedulity and care a strict alliance is most sacredly and solemnly ratified between us, should be most acceptable to us, and no less deeply fixed in our esteem. Him therefore, having now most worthily accomplished his embassy, we thought it became us to send back to your majesty, though not without the high applause which the rest of his singular virtues merit; to the end, that he, who was before conspicious in your esteem and respect, may now be sensible of his having reaped still more abundant fruits of his sedulity and prudence from our recommendation. As for those things which yet remain to be transacted, we have determined in a short time to send an embassy to your majesty for the settling of those affairs. In the mean time, Almighty God preserve in safety so great a pillar of his church, and of Swedland’s welfare.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

July —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. —, 1656

Westminster

Lewis

Lewis

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene King, our most dear Friend and Confederate—Certain merchants of London, Richard Baker and others, have made their complaint in a petition to us, that a certain hired ship of theirs, called the Endeavour, William Jop master, laden at Teneriff with three hundred pipes of rich Canary, and bound from thence for London, in her voyage between Palma and that island, upon the twenty-first of November, in the year sixteen hundred and fifty-five, was taken by four French vessels, seeming ships of burden, but fitted and manned like privateers, under the command of Giles de la Roche their admiral; and carried with all their freight, and the greatest part of the seamen, to the East Indies, whither he pretended to be bound, (fourteen excepted, who were put ashore upon the coast of Guiney,) which the said Giles affirmed he did with that intent, that none of them might escape from so remote and barbarous a country to do him any harm by their testimony. For he confessed he had neither any commission to take the English vessels, neither had he taken any, as he might have done before, well knowing there was a firm peace at that time between the French and our republic: but in regard he had designed to revictual in Portugal, from whence he was driven by contrary winds, he was constrained to supply his necessities with what he found in that vessel; and believed the owners of his ships would satisfy the merchants for their loss. Now the loss of our merchants amounts to sixteen thousand English pounds, as will easily be made appear by witnesses upon oath. But if it shall be lawful, upon such trivial excuses as these, for pirates to violate the most religious acts of princes, and make a sport of merchants for their particular benefits, certainly the sanctity of leagues must fall to the ground, all faith and authority of princes will grow out of date, and be trampled under foot. Wherefore we not only request your majesty, but believe it mainly to concern your honour, that they, who have ventured upon so slight a pretence to violate the league and most sacred oath of their sovereign, should suffer the punishment due to such perfidiousness and daring insolence; and that in the mean time the owners of those ships, though to their loss, should be bound to satisfy our merchants for the vast detriment, which they have so wrongfully sustained. So may the Almighty long preserve your majesty, and support the interest of France against the common enemy of us both.

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

Aug. —, 1656

.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

OLIVER, Protector, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. —, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, To his Eminency Cardinal MAZARINE.

MOST Eminent Lord—Having an occasion to send letters to the king, we thought it likewise an offered opportunity to write to your eminency. For we could not think it proper to conceal the subject of our writing from the sole and only person, whose singular prudence governs the most important interests of the French nation, and the most weighty affairs of the kingdom with equal fidelity, counsel, and vigilance. Not without reason we complain, in short, to find that league by yourself, as it were a crime to doubt, most sacredly concluded, almost the very same day contemned and violated by one Giles a Frenchman, a petty admiral of four ships, and his associates, equally concerned, as your eminency will readily find by our letters to the king, and the demands themselves of our merchants. Nor is it unknown to your excellency, how much it concerns not only inferior magistrates, but even royal majesty itself, that those first violaters of solemn alliances should be severely punished. But they, perhaps, by this time being arrived in the East Indies, whither they pretended to be bound, enjoy in undisturbed possession the goods of our people as lawful prize won from an enemy, which they robbed and pillaged from the owners, contrary to all law, and the pledged faith of our late sacred league. However, this is that which we request from your eminency, that whatever goods were taken from our merchants by the admiral of those ships, as necessary for his voyage, may be restored by the owners of the same vessels, which was no more than what the rovers themselves thought just and equal; which, as we understand, it lies within your power to do, considering the authority and sway you bear in the kingdom.

Your eminency’s most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

Aug. —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. —, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most High and Mighty Lords, the States of the UNITED PROVINCES.

MOST High and Mighty Lords, our dearest Friends and Confederates—We make no doubt but that all men will bear us this testimony, that no considerations, in contracting foreign alliances, ever swayed us beyond those of defending the truth of religion, or that we accounted any thing more sacred, than to unite the minds of all the friends and protectors of the protestants, and of all others who at least were not their enemies. Whence it come to pass, that we are touched with so much the more grief of mind, to hear that the protestant princes and cities, whom it so much behoves to live in friendship and concord together, should begin to be so jealous of each other, and so ill disposed to mutual affection; more especially, that your lordships and the king of Sweden, than whom the orthodox faith has not more magnanimous and courageous defenders, nor our republic confederates more strictly conjoined in interests, should seem to remit of your confidence in each other; or rather, that there should appear some too apparent signs of tottering friendship and growing discord between ye. What the causes are, and what progress this alienation of your affection has made, we protest ourselves to be altogether ignorant. However, we cannot but conceive an extraordinary trouble of mind for these beginnings of the least dissension arisen among brethren, which infallibly must greatly endanger the protestant interests. Which if they should gather strength, how prejudicial it would prove to protestant churches, what an occasion of triumph it would afford our enemies, and more especially the Spaniards, cannot be unknown to your prudence, and most industrious experience of affairs. As for the Spaniards, it has already so enlivened their confidence, and raised their courage, that they made no scruple by their embassador residing in your territories, boldly to obtrude their counsels upon your lordships, and that in reference to the highest concerns of your republic; presuming partly with threats of renewing the war, to terrify, and partly with a false prospect of advantage to solicit your lordships, to forsake your ancient and most faithful friends, the English, French, and Danes, and enter into a strict confederacy with your old enemy, and once your domineering tyrant, now seemingly atoned; but, what is most to be feared, only at present treacherously fawning to advance his own designs. Certainly he who of an inveterate enemy lays hold of so slight an occasion of a sudden to become your counsellor, what is it that he would not take upon him? Where would his insolency stop, if once he could but see with his eyes, what now he only ruminates and labours in his thoughts; that is to say, division and a civil war among the protestants? We are not ignorant that your lordships, out of your deep wisdom, frequently revolve in your minds what the posture of all Europe is, and what more especially the condition of the protestants: that the cantons of Switzerland adhering to the orthodox faith are in daily expectation of new troubles to be raised by their countrymen embracing the popish ceremonies; scarcely recovered from that war, which for the sake of religion was kindled and blown up by the Spaniards, who supplied their enemies both with commanders and money: that the councils of the Spaniards are still contriving to continue the slaughter and destruction of the Piedmontois, which was cruelly put in execution the last year: that the protestants under the jurisdiction of the emperor are most grievously harassed, having much ado to keep possession of their native homes: that the king of Sweden, whom God, as we hope, has raised up to be a most stout defender of the orthodox faith, is at present waging with all the force of his kingdom a doubtful and bloody war with the most potent enemies of the reformed religion: that your own provinces are threatened with hostile confederacies of the princes your neighbours, headed by the Spaniards: and lastly, that we ourselves are busied in a war proclaimed against the king of Spain. In this posture of affairs, if any contest should happen between your lordships and the king of Sweden, how miserable would be the condition of all the reformed churches over all Europe, exposed to the cruelty and fury of unsanctified enemies! These cares not slightly seize us; and we hope your sentiments to be the same; and that out of your continued zeal for the common cause of the protestants, and to the end the present peace between brethren professing the same faith, the same hope of eternity, may be preserved inviolable, your lordships will accommodate your counsels to those considerations, which are to be preferred before all others; and that you will leave nothing neglected, that may conduce to the establishing tranquillity and union between your lordships and the king of Sweden. Wherein if we can any way be useful, as far as our authority, and the favour you bear us will sway your lordships, we freely offer our utmost assistance, prepared in like manner to be no less serviceable to the king of Sweden, to whom we design a speedy embassy, to the end we may declare our sentiments at large concerning these matters. We hope moreover, that God will bend your minds on both sides to moderate counsels, and so restrain your animosities, that no provocation may be given, either by the one or the other, to fester your differences to extremity; but that on the other side both parties will remove whatever may give offence or occasion of jealousy to the other. Which if you shall vouchsafe to do, you will disappoint your enemies, prove the consolation of your friends, and in the best manner provide for the welfare of your republic. And this we beseech you to be fully convinced of, that we shall use our utmost care to make appear, upon all occasions, our extraordinary affection and goodwill to the states of the United Provinces. And so we most earnestly implore the Almighty God to perpetuate his blessings of peace, wealth, and liberty, upon your republic; but above all things to preserve it always flourishing in the love of the Christian faith, and the true worship of his name.

Your high and mightinesses most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

Aug. —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

August —, 1656

Westminster

John

John

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, JOHN, King of PORTUGAL.

MOST Serene Prince—Upon the eleventh of July last, old style, we received by Thomas Maynard, the ratification of the peace negotiated at London by your extraordinary embassador; as also of the private and preliminary articles, all now confirmed by your majesty; and by our letters from Philip Meadows, our agent at Lisbon, dated the same time, we understand that our ratification also of the same peace and articles was by him, according to our orders sent him, delivered to your majesty: and thus the instruments of the forementioned ratification being mutually interchanged on both sides in the beginning of June last, there is now a firm and settled peace between both nations. And this pacification has given us no small occasion of joy and satisfaction, as believing it will prove to the common benefit of both nations, and to the no slight detriment of our common enemies, who as they found out a means to disturb the former league, so they left nothing neglected to have hindered the renewing of this. Nor do we question in the least that they will omit any occasion of creating new matter for scandals and jealousies between us. Which we however have constantly determined, as much as in us lies, to remove at a remote distance from our thoughts; rather we so earnestly desire, that this our alliance may beget a mutual confidence, greater every day than other, that we shall take them for our enemies, who shall by any artifices endeavour to molest the friendship by this peace established between ourselves and both our people. And we readily persuade ourselves, that your majesty’s thoughts and intentions are the same. And whereas it has pleased your majesty, by your letters dated the twenty-fourth of June, and some days after the delivery by our agent of the interchanged instrument of confirmed peace, to mention certain clauses of the league, of which you desired some little alteration, being of small moment to this republic, as your majesty believes, but of great importance to the kingdom of Portugal; we shall be ready to enter into a particular treaty in order to those proposals made by your majesty, or whatever else may conduce, in the judgment of both parties, to the farther establishment and more strongly fastening of the league: wherein we shall have those due considerations of your majesty and your subjects, as also of our own people, that all may be satisfied; and it shall be in your own choice, whether these things shall be negotiated at Lisbon, or at London. However, the league being now confirmed, and duly sealed with the seals of both nations, to alter any part of it would be the same thing as to annul the whole; which we are certainly assured your majesty by no means desires to do. We heartily wish all things lucky, all things prosperous to your majesty.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

August —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. —, 1656

Whitehall

John

John

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, JOHN, King of PORTUGAL.

MOST Serene King—We have received the unwelcome news of a wicked and inhuman attempt to have murdered our agent Philip Meadows, residing with your majesty, and by us sent upon the blessed errand of peace; the heinousness of which was such, that his preservation is only to be attributed to the protection of Heaven. And we are given to understand, by your letters dated the twenty-sixth of May last, and delivered to us by Thomas Maynard, that your majesty, justly incensed at the horridness of the fact, has commanded inquiry to be made after the criminals, to the end they may be brought to condign punishment: but we do not hear that any of the ruffians are yet apprehended, or that your commands have wrought any effect in this particular. Wherefore we thought it our duty openly to declare, how deeply we resent this barbarous outrage in part attempted, and in part committed: and therefore we make it our request to your majesty, that due punishment may be inflicted upon the authors, associates, and encouragers of this abominable fact. And to the end that this may be the more speedily accomplished, we farther demand, that persons of honesty and sincerity, wellwishers to the peace of both nations, may be entrusted with the examination of this business, that so a due scrutiny may be made into the bottom of this malicious contrivance, to the end both authors and assistants may be the more severely punished. Unless this be done, neither your majesty’s justice, nor the honour of this republic, can be vindicated; neither can there be any stable assurance of peace between both nations. We wish your majesty all things fortunate and prosperous.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Whitehall

,

Aug. —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. —, 1656

Westminster

Conde d’Odemira

d’Odemira, Conde

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Illustrious Lord, the CONDE D’ODEMIRA.

MOST Illustrious Lord—Your singular goodwill towards us and this republic has laid no mean obligation upon us, nor slightly tied us to acknowledgment. We readily perceived it by your letters of the twenty-fifth of June last, as also by those which we received from our agent Philip Meadows, sent into Portugal to conclude the peace in agitation, wherein he informed us of your extraordinary zeal and diligence to promote the pacification, of which we most joyfully received the last ratification; and we persuade ourselves, that your lordship will have no cause to repent either of your pains and diligence in procuring this peace, or of your goodwill to the English, or your fidelity towards the king, your sovereign; more especially considering the great hopes we have that this peace will be of high advantage to both nations, and not a little inconvenient to our enemies. The only accident that fell out unfortunate and mournful in this negotiation, was that unhallowed villany nefariously attempted upon the person of our agent, Philip Meadows: the concealed authors of which intended piece of inhumanity ought no less diligently to be sought after, and made examples to posterity, than the vilest of most openly detected assassinates. Nor can we doubt in the least of your king’s severity and justice in the punishment of a crime so horrid, nor of your care and sedulity to see, that there be no remissness of prosecution, as being a person bearing due veneration to the laws of God, and sanctity among men, and no less zealous to maintain the peace between both nations, which never can subsist if such inhuman barbarities as these escape unpunished and unrevenged. But your abhorrence and detestation of the fact is so well known, that there is no need of insisting any more at present upon this unpleasing subject. Therefore, having thus declared our goodwill and affection to your lordship, of which we shall be always ready to give apparent demonstrations, there nothing remains, but to implore the blessings of Divine favour and protection upon you, and all yours.

Your lordship’s most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

Aug. —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Common wealth of England, c

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. —, 1656

Westminster

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene King, our dearest Friend and Confederate—Being assured of your majesty’s concurrence both in thoughts and counsels for the defence of the protestant faith against the enemies of it, if ever, now at this time most dangerously vexatious; though we cannot but rejoice at your prosperous successes, and the daily tidings of your victories, yet on the other side we cannot but be as deeply afflicted, to meet with one thing that disturbs and interrupts our joy; we mean the bad news intermixed with so many welcome tidings, that the ancient friendship between your majesty and the States of the United Provinces looks with a dubious aspect, and that the mischief is exasperated to that height, especially in the Baltic sea, as seems to bode an unhappy rupture. We confess ourselves ignorant of the causes; but we too easily foresee, that the events, which God avert, will be fatal to the interests of the protestants. And therefore, as well in respect to that most strict alliance between us and your majesty, as out of that affection and love to the reformed religion, by which we all of us ought chiefly to be swayed, we thought it our duty, as we have most earnestly exhorted the States of the United Provinces to peace and moderation, so now to persuade your majesty to the same. The protestants have enemies every where enow and to spare, inflamed with inexorable revenge; they never were known to have conspired more perniciously to our destruction: witness the valleys of Piedmont, still reeking with the blood and slaughter of the miserable; witness Austria, lately turmoiled with the emperor’s edicts and proscriptions; witness Switzerland. But to what purpose is it, in many words to call back the bitter lamentations and remembrance of so many calamities? Who so ignorant, as not to know, that the counsels of the Spaniards, and the Roman pontiff, for these two years have filled all these places with conflagrations, slaughter, and vexation of the orthodox? If to these mischiefs there should happen an access of dissension among protestant brethren, more especially between two potent states, upon whose courage, wealth, and fortitude, so far as human strength may be relied upon, the support and hopes of all the reformed churches depend; of necessity the protestant religion must be in great jeopardy, if not upon the brink of destruction. On the other side, if the whole protestant name would but observe perpetual peace among themselves with that same brotherly union as becomes their profession, there would be no occasion to fear, what all the artifices or puissance of our enemies could do to hurt us, which our fraternal concord and harmony alone would easily repel and frustrate. And therefore we most earnestly request and beseech your majesty, to harbour in your mind propitious thoughts of peace, and inclinations ready bent to repair the breaches of your pristine friendship with the United Provinces, if in any part it may have accidentally suffered the decays of mistakes or misconstruction. If there be any thing wherein our labour, our fidelity, and diligence may be useful toward this composure, we offer and devote all to your service. And may the God of heaven favour and prosper your noble and pious resolutions, which together with all felicity, and a perpetual course of victory, we cordially wish your majesty.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

Aug. —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

September —, 1656

Whitehall

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the States of HOLLAND.

MOST High and Mighty Lords, our dearest Friends—It has been represented to us, by William Cooper, a minister of London, and our countryman, that John le Maire of Amsterdam, his father-in-law, about three and thirty years ago devised a project, by which the revenues of your republic might be very much advanced without any burden to the people, and made an agreement with John Vandenbrook, to share between them the reward, which they should obtain for their invention; which was the settling of a little seal to be made use of in all the provinces of your territories, and for which your High and Mightinesses promised to pay the said Vandenbrook and his heirs the yearly sum of three thousand gilders, or three hundred English pounds. Now although the use and method of this little seal has been found very easy and expeditious, and that ever since great incomes have thereby accrued to your High and Mightinesses, and some of your provinces, nevertheless nothing of the said reward, though with much importunity demanded, has been paid to this day; so that the said Vandenbrook and le Maire being tired out with long delays, the right of the said grant is devolved to the foresaid William Cooper our countryman; who, desirous to reap the fruit of his father-in-law’s industry, has petitioned us, that we would recommend his just demands to your High and Mightinesses, which we thought not reasonable to deny him. Wherefore, in most friendly wise, we request your High and Mightinesses favourably to hear the petition of the said William Cooper, and to take such care, that the reward and stipend, so well deserved, and by contract agreed and granted, may be paid him annually from this time forward, together with the arrears of the years already passed. Which not doubting but your High and Mightinesses will vouchsafe to perform, as what is no more than just and becoming your magnificence, we shall be ready to show the same favour to the petitions of your countrymen upon any occasion of the same nature, whenever presented to us.

Your High and Mightinesses most affectionate,

From our palace at

Whitehall

,

September —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonmonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

September —, 1656

Whitehall

Lewis

Lewis

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene King, our dearest Friend and Confederate—Against our will it is, that we so often trouble your majesty with the wrongs done by your subjects after a peace so lately renewed. But as we are fully persuaded, that your majesty disapproves their being committed, so neither can we be wanting to the complaints of our people. That the ship Anthony of Dieppe was legally taken before the league, manifestly appears by the sentence of the judges of our admiralty court. Part of the lading, that is to say, four thousand hides, Robert Brown, a merchant of London, fairly bought of those who were entrusted with the sale, as they themselves testify. The same merchant, after the peace was confirmed, carried to Dieppe about two hundred of the same hides, and there having sold them to a currier, thought to have received his money, but found it stopped and attached in the hands of his factor; and a suit being commenced against him, he could obtain no favour in that court; wherefore, we thought it proper to request your majesty, that the whole matter may be referred to your council, that so the said money may be discharged from an unjust and vexatious action. For if acts done and adjudged before the peace shall after peace renewed be called into question and controversy, we must look upon assurance of treaties to be a thing of little moment. Nor will there be any end of these complaints, if some of these violators of leagues be not made severe and timely examples to others. Which we hope your majesty will speedily take into your care. To whom God Almighty in the mean time vouchsafe his most holy protection.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our palace at

Whitehall

,

September —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

October —, 1656

Westminster

John

John

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, JOHN, King of PORTUGAL.

MOST Serene King—The peace being happily concluded between this republic and the kingdom of Portugal, and what refers to trade being duly provided for and ratified, we deemed it necessary to send to your majesty Thomas Maynard, from whom you will receive these letters, to reside in your dominions, under the character and employment of a consul, and to take care of the estates and interests of our merchants. Now in regard it may frequently so fall out, that he may be enforced to desire the privilege of free admission to your majesty, as well in matters of trade, as upon other occasions for the interest of our republic, we make it our request to your majesty, that you will vouchsafe him favourable access and audience, which we shall acknowledge as a singular demonstration and testimony of your majesty’s goodwill towards us. In the mean time we beseech Almighty God to bless your majesty with all prosperity.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our court at

Westminster

,

October —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

To the King of the SWEDES.

MOST Serene and Potent King—Although your majesty’s wonted and spontaneous favour and goodwill toward all deserving men be such, that all recommendations in their behalf may seem superfluous, yet we were unwilling to dismiss without our letters to your majesty this noble person, William Vavassour, knight, serving under your banners, and now returning to your majesty: which we have done so much the more willingly, being informed, that formerly following your majesty’s fortunate conduct, he had lost his blood in several combats, to assert the noble cause for which you fight. Insomuch, that the succeeding kings of Swedeland, in remuneration of his military skill, and bold achievements in war, rewarded him with lands and annual pensions, as the guerdons of his prowess. Nor do we question, but that he may be of great use to your majesty in your present wars, who has been so long conspicuous for his fidelity and experience in military affairs. It is our desire therefore, that he may be recommended to your majesty according to his merits; and we also further request, that he may be paid the arrears due to him. This, as it will be most acceptable to us, so we shall be ready upon the like occasion, whenever offered, to gratify your majesty, to whom we wish all happiness and prosperity.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

October —, 1656

Westminster

John

John

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, JOHN, King of PORTUGAL.

MOST Serene King, our dearest Friend and Confederate—Thomas Evans, a master of a ship and our countryman, has presented to us a petition, wherein he sets forth, that in the years 1649 and 1650 he served the Brasile company with his ship the Scipio, being a vessel of four hundred tons, and of which he was master; that the said ship was taken from him, with all the lading and furniture, by your majesty’s command; by which he has received great damage, besides the loss of six years gain arising out of such a stock. The commissioners by the league appointed on both sides for the deciding controversies valued the whole at seven thousand of our pounds, or twice as many milreys of Portugal money, as they made their report to us. Which loss falling so heavy upon the foresaid Thomas, and being constrained to make a voyage to Lisbon for the recovory of his estate, he humbly besought us, that we would grant him our letters to your majesty in favour of his demands.—We, therefore, (although we wrote the last year in the behalf of our merchants in general to whom the Brasile company was indebted, nevertheless that we may not be wanting to any that implore our aid,) request your majesty, in regard to that friendship which is between us, that consideration may be had of this man in particular, and that your majesty would give such orders to all your ministers and officers, that no obstacle may hinder him from demanding and recovering without delay what is owing to him from the Brasile company, or anytother persons. God Almighty bless your majesty with perpetual felicity, and grant that our friendship may long endure.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

October —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

October 16, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the Illustrious and Magnificent Senate of HAMBOROUGH.

MOST Noble, Magnificent, and Right Worshipful—James and Patrick Hays, subjects of this commonwealth, have made grievous complaint before us, That they, being lawful heirs of their brother Alexander who died intestate, were so declared by a sentence of your court pronounced in their behalf against their brother’s widow; and the estates of their deceased brother, together with the profits, only the widow’s dowry excepted, being adjudged to them by virtue of that sentence; nevertheless, to this very day they could never reap any benefit of their pains and expenses in obtaining the said judgment, notwithstanding their own declared right, and letters formerly written by King Charles in their behalf; for that the great power and wealth of Albert Van Eyzen, one of your chief magistrates, and with whom the greatest part of the goods was deposited, was an opposition too potent for them to surmount, while he strove all that in him lay that the goods might not be restored to the heirs. Thus disappointed and tired out with delays, and at length reduced to utmost poverty, they are become suppliants to us, that we would not forsake them, wronged and oppressed as they are in a confederated city. We therefore, believing it to be a chief part of our duty, not to suffer any countryman of ours in vain to desire our patronage and succour in distress, make this request to your lordships, which we are apt to think we may easily obtain from your city, That the sentence pronounced in behalf of the two brothers may be ratified and duly executed, according to the intents and purposes for which it was given; and that you will not suffer any longer delay of justice, by an appeal to the chamber of Spire, upon any pretence whatever: for we have required the opinions of our lawyers, which we have sent to your lordships fairly written and signed. But if entreaty and fair means will nothing avail, of necessity (and which is no more than according to the customary law of nations, though we are unwilling to come to that extremity) the severity of retaliation must take its course; which we hope your prudence will take care to prevent.

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

October 16, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Novemb. —, 1656

Westminster

Lewis

Lewis

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our dearest Friend and Confederate—We are apt to believe, that your majesty received our letters dated the 14th of May, of the last year, wherein we wrote that John Dethic, mayor of London that year, and William Waterford, merchant, had by their petition set forth, That a certain vessel called the Jonas, freighted with goods upon their account, and bound for Dunkirk, then under the jurisdiction of the French, was taken at the very mouth of the Thames, by a searover, pretending a commission from the son of the late King Charles: which being directly contrary to your edicts and the decrees of your council, that no English ship, taken by the enemies of the parliament, should be admitted into any of your ports, and there put to sale, they demanded restitution of the said ship and goods from M. Lestrade, then governor of the town, who returned them an answer no way becoming a person of his quality, or who pretended obedience to his sovereign; That the government was conferred upon him for his good service in the wars, and therefore he would make his best advantage of it, that is to say, by right or wrong; for that he seemed to drive at: as if he had received that government of your majesty’s free gift, to authorize him in the robbing your confederates, and contemning your edicts set forth in their favour. For what the King of France forbids his subjects any way to have a hand in, that the king’s governor has not only suffered to be committed in your ports, but he himself becomes the pirate, seizes the prey, and openly avouches the fact. With this answer therefore the merchants departed, altogether baffled and disappointed; and this we signified by our letters to your majesty the last year with little better success; for as yet we have received no reply to those letters. Of which we are apt to believe the reason was, because the governor was with the army in Flanders; but now he resides at Paris, or rather flutters unpunished about the city, and at court, enriched with the spoils of our merchants.—Once more therefore we make it our request to your majesty, which it is your majesty’s interest in the first place to take care of, that no person whatever may dare to justify the wrongs done to your majesty’s confederates by the contempt of your royal edicts. Nor can this cause be properly referred to the commissioners appointed for deciding common controversies on both sides; since in this case not only the rights of confederates, but your authority itself, and the veneration due to the royal name, are chiefly in dispute. And it would be a wonder, that merchants should be more troubled for their losses, than your majesty provoked at encroachments upon your honour. Which while you disdain to brook, with the same labour you will demonstrate, that you neither repent of your friendly edicts in favour of our republic, nor connived at the injuries done by your subjects, nor neglected to give due respect to our demands.

Your majesty’s most bounden by goodwill, by friendship and solemn league,

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth, c.

From our court at

Westminster

,

Novemb. —, 1656

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Dec. —, 1656

Whitehall

Frederic III

Frederic III

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, FREDERIC III., King of DENMARK, NORWAY, the VANDALS, and GOTHS; Duke of SLESWIC, HOLSATIA, STORMATIA, and DITHMARSH; Count in OLDENBURGH and DELMENHORST; c.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our dearest Friend and Confederate—We received your majesty’s letters dated the 16th of February, from Copenhagen, by the most worthy Simon de Pitkum, your majesty’s agent here residing. Which when we had perused, the demonstrations of your majesty’s goodwill towards us, and the importance of the matter concerning which you write, affected us to that degree, that we designed forthwith to send to your majesty some person, who being furnished with ample instructions from us, might more at large declare to your majesty our counsels in that affair. And though we have still the same resolutions, yet hitherto we have not been at leisure to think of a person proper to be entrusted with those commands, which the weight of the matter requires; though in a short time we hope to be more at liberty. In the mean while we thought it not convenient any longer to delay the letting your majesty understand, that the present condition of affairs in Europe has employed the greatest part of our care and thoughts; while for some years, to our great grief, we have beheld the protestant princes, and supreme magistrates of the reformed republics, (whom it rather behoves, as being engaged by the common tie of religion and safety, to combine and study all the ways imaginable conducing to mutual defence,) more and more at weakening variance among themselves, and jealous of each other’s actions and designs; putting their friends in fear, their enemies in hope, that the posture of affairs bodes rather enmity and discord, than a firm agreement of mind to defend and assist each other. And this solicitude has fixed itself so much the deeper in our thoughts, in regard there seems to appear some sparks of jealousy between your majesty and the king of Sweden; at least that there is not that conjunction of affections, which our love and goodwill in general toward the orthodox religion so importunately requires: your majesty, perhaps, suspecting that the trade of your dominions will be prejudiced by the king of Sweden; and on the other side, the king of Sweden being jealous, that by your means the war which he now wages is made more difficult, and that you oppose him in his contracting those alliances which he seeks. It is not unknown to your majesty, so eminent for your profound wisdom, how great the danger is that threatens the protestant religion, should such suspicions long continue between two such potent monarchs; more especially which God avert, if any symptom of hostility should break forth. However it be, for our parts, as we have earnestly exhorted the king of Sweden, and the states of the United Provinces to peace, and moderate counsels, (and are beyond expression glad to behold peace and concord renewed between them, for that the heads of that league are transmitted to us by their lordships the states-general,) so we thought it our duty, and chiefly becoming our friendship, not to conceal from your majesty what our sentiments are concerning these matters, (more especially being affectionately invited so to do by your majesty’s most friendly letters, which we look upon, and embrace, as a most singular testimony of your goodwill towards us,) but to lay before your eyes how great a necessity Divine Providence has imposed upon us all that profess the protestant religion, to study peace among ourselves, and that chiefly at this time, when our most embittered enemies seem to have on every side conspired our destruction. There is no necessity of calling to remembrance the valleys of Piedmont still besmeared with the blood and slaughter of the miserable inhabitants; nor Austria, tormented at the same time with the emperor’s decrees and proscriptions; nor the impetuous onsets of the popish upon the protestant Switzers. Who can be ignorant, that the artifices and machinations of the Spaniards, for some years last past, have filled all these places with the confused and blended havoc of fire and sword? To which unfortunate pile of miseries, if once the reformed brethren should come to add their own dissensions among themselves, and more especially two such potent monarchs, the chiefest part of our strength, and among whom so large a provision of the protestant security and puissance lies stored and hoarded up against times of danger, most certainly the interests of the protestants must go to ruin, and suffer a total and irrecoverable eclipse. On the other side, if peace continue firmly fixed between two such powerful neighbours, and the rest of the orthodox princes; if we would but make it our main study, to abide in brotherly concord, there would be no cause, by God’s assistance, to fear neither the force nor the subtilty of our enemies; all whose endeavours and laborious toils our union alone would be able to dissipate and frustrate. Nor do we question, but that your majesty, as you are freely willing, so your willingness will be constant in contributing your utmost assistance, to procure this blessed peace. To which purpose we shall be most ready to communicate and join our counsels with your majesty; professing a real and cordial friendship, and not only determined inviolably to observe the amity so auspiciously contracted between us, but, as God shall enable us, to bind our present alliance with a more strict and fraternal bond. In the mean time, the same eternal God grant all things prosperous and successful to your majesty.

Your majesty’s most closely united by friendship, alliance, and goodwill,

From our court at

Whitehall

,

Dec. —, 1656

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

March —, 1656

Westminster

William

William

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c. To the most Serene and Illustrious Prince and Lord, the Lord WILLIAM, Landgrave of HESSE, Prince of HEREFELDT, Count in CUTZENELLEBOGEN, Decia LIGENHAIN, WIDDA, and SCHAUNBURG, c.

MOST Serene Prince—We had returned an answer to your letters sent us now near a twelve month since, for which we beg your highness’s pardon, had not many, and those the most important affairs of the republic under our care, constrained us to this unwilling silence. For what letters could be more grateful to us, than those which are written from a most religious prince, descended from religious ancestors, in order to settle the peace of religion and the harmony of the church? which letters attribute to us the same inclinations, the same zeal to promote the peace of Christendom, not only in your own but in the opinion and judgment of almost all the Christian world, and which we are most highly glad to find so universally ascribed to ourselves. And how far our endeavours have been signal formerly throughout these three kingdoms, and what we have effected by our exhortations, by our sufferings, by our conduct, but chiefly by divine assistance, the greatest part of our people both well know, and are sensible of, in a deep tranquillity of their consciences. The same peace we have wished to the churches of Germany, whose dissensions have been too sharp, and of too long endurance; and by our agent Dury for many years in vain endeavouring the same reconciliation, we have cordially offered whatever might conduce on our part to the same purpose. We still persevere in the same determinations, and wish the same fraternal charity one among another, to those churches. But how difficult a task it is to settle peace among those sons of peace, as they give out themselves to be, to our extreme grief we more than abundantly understand. For that the reformed, and those of the Augustan confession, should cement together in a communion of one church, is hardly ever to be expected: it is impossible by force to prohibit either from defending their opinions, whether in private disputes, or by public writings; for force can never consist with ecclesiastical tranquillity. This only were to be wished, that they who differ, would suffer themselves to be entreated, that they would disagree more civilly, and with more moderation; and notwithstanding their disputes, love one another; not embittered against each other as enemies, but as brethren dissenting only in trifles, though in the fundamentals of faith most cordially agreeing. With inculcating and persuading these things, we shall never be wearied; beyond that, there is nothing allowed to human force or counsels: God will accomplish his own work in his own time. In the mean while, you, most serene prince, have left behind you a noble testimony of your affection to the churches, an eternal monument becoming the virtue of your ancestors, and an exemplar worthy to be followed by all princes. It only then remains for us to implore the merciful and great God to crown your highness with all the prosperity in other things which you can wish for; but not to change your mind, than which you cannot have a better, since a better cannot be, nor more piously devoted to his glory.

Westminster

,

March —, 1656

.

John Milton

Milton, John

March —, 1657

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, the Duke of COURLAND.

MOST Serene Prince—We have been abundantly satisfied of your affection to us, as well at other times, as when you kindly entertained our embassador in his journey to the duke of Muscovy, for some days together making a stop in your territories: now we are no less confident, that your highness will give us no less obliging testimonies of your justice and equity, as well out of your own goodnature, as at our request. For we are given to understand, that one John Johnson, a Scotsman, and master of a certain ship of yours, having faithfully discharged his duty for seven years together in the service of your highness, as to your highness is well known, at length delivered the said ship, called the Whale, in the mouth of the river, according as the custom is, to one of your pilots, by him to be carried safe into harbour. But it so fell out, that the pilot, being ignorant of his duty, though frequently warned and admonished by the said Johnson, as he has proved by several witnesses, the said ship ran aground and split to pieces, not through any fault of the master, but through the want of skill, or obstinacy of the pilot. Which being so, we make it our earnest request to your highness, that neither the said shipwreck may be imputed to the forementioned Johnson the master, nor that he may upon that account be deprived of the wages due to him; by the only enjoyment of which, he having lately suffered another misfortune at sea, he hopes however to support and comfort himself in the extremity of his wants.

From our court at

Westminster

,

March —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

April —, 1656

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Republic of ENGLAND, c., To the most Noble the Consuls and Senators of the Republic of DANTZICK.

MOST Noble and Magnificent, our dearest Friends—We have always esteemed your city flourishing in industry, wealth, and studious care to promote all useful arts and sciences, fit to be compared with any the most noble cities of Europe. Now in regard that in this war, that has been long hovering about your confines, you have rather chosen to side with the Polanders, than with the Swedes; we are most heartily desirous, that for the sake of that religion which you embrace, and of your ancient commerce with the English, you would chiefly adhere to those counsels, which may prove most agreeable to the glory of God, and the dignity and splendour of your city. Wherefore we entreat ye, for the sake of that friendship which has been long established between yourselves and the English nation, and if our reputation have obtained any favour or esteem among ye, to set at liberty Count Conismark, conspicuous among the principal of the Swedish captains, and a person singularly famed for his conduct in war, but by the treachery of his own people surprised at sea; wherein you will do no more than what the laws of war, not yet exasperated to the height, allow; or if you think this is not so agreeable to your interests, that you will however deem him worthy a more easy and less severe confinement. Which of these two favours soever you shall determine to grant us, you will certainly perform an act becoming the reputation of your city, and highly oblige besides the most famous warriors and most eminent captains of all parties: and lastly, lay upon ourselves an obligation not the meanest; and perhaps it may be worth your interest to gratify us.

From our court at

Westminster

,

April —, 1656

.

Your lordship’s affectionate,

OLIVER, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

April —, 1657

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, and IRELAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince and Lord, Emperor and Great Duke of all RUSSIA; sole Lord of VOLODOMARIA, MOSCOW and NOVOGRAGE; King of CAZAN, ASTRACAN, and SIBERIA; Lord of VOBSCOW, Great Duke of SMOLENSKO, TUERSCOY, and other Places; Lord and Great Duke of NOVOGROD, and the Lower Provinces of CHERNIGOY, REZANSCO, and others; Lord of all the NORTHERN CLIMES; also Lord of EVERSCO, CARTALINSCA, and many other Places.

ALL men know how ancient the friendship, and how vast the trade has been for a long train of years between the English nation and the people of your empire: but that singular virtue, most August Emperor, which in your majesty far outshines the glory of your ancestors, and the high opinion which all the neighbouring princes have of it, more especially moves us to pay a more than ordinary veneration and affection to your majesty, and to desire the imparting of some things to your consideration, which may conduce to the good of Christendom and your own interests. Wherefore, we have sent the most accomplished Richard Bradshaw, a person of whose fidelity, integrity, prudence, and experience in affairs, we are well assured, as having been employed by us in several other negotiations of this nature, under the character of our agent to your majesty; to the end he may more at large make known to your majesty our singular goodwill and high respect toward so puissant a monarch, and transact with your majesty concerning the matters above mentioned. Him therefore we request your majesty favourably to receive in our name, and as often as shall be requisite to grant him free access to your person, and no less gracious audience; and lastly, to give the same credit to him in all things which he shall propose or negotiate, as to ourselves, if we were personally present. And so we beseech Almighty God to bless your majesty and the Russian empire with all prosperity.

Your majesty’s most affectionate,

From our court at

Westminster

,

April —, 1657

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

August —, 1657

Westminster

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our dearest Friend and Confederate—The most honourable William Jepson, colonel of horse, and a senator in our parliament, who will have the honour to deliver these letters to your majesty, will make known to your majesty, with what disturbance and grief of mind we received the news of the fatal war broke out between your majesty and the King of Denmark, and how much it is our cordial and real endeavour, not to neglect any labour or duty of ours, as far as God enables us, that some speedy remedy may be applied to this growing mischief, and those calamities averted, which of necessity this war will bring upon the common cause of religion; more especially at this time, now that our adversaries unite their forces and pernicious counsels against the profession and professors of the orthodox faith. These and some other considerations of great importance to the benefit and public interest of both nations, have induced us to send this gentleman to your majesty, under the character of our extraordinary envoy. Whom we therefore desire your majesty kindly to receive, and to give credit to him in all things, which he shall have to impart to your majesty in our name; as being a person in whose fidelity and prudence we very much confide. We also farther request, That your majesty will be pleased fully to assure yourself of our goodwill and most undoubted zeal, as well toward your majesty, as for the prosperity of your affairs. Of which we shall be readily prepared with all imaginable willingness of mind to give unquestionable testimonies upon all occasions.

Your majesty’s friend, and most strictly counited confederate,

From our court at

Westminster

,

August —, 1657

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

August —, 1657

Whitehall

Frederic William

William, Frederic

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, the Lord FREDERIC WILLIAM, Marquis of BRANDENBURGH, High Chamberlain of the Imperial Empire, and Prince Elector, Duke of MAGDEBURG, PRUSSIA, JULIERS, CLEVES, MONTS, STETTIN, POMERANIA, of the CASSIUBIANS and VANDALS, as also of SILESIA, CROSNA, and CARNOVIA, Burgrave of NORRINBURG, Prince of HALBERSTADT and MINDA, Count of MARK and RAVENSBERG, Lord in RAVENSTEIN.

MOST Serene Prince, our dearest Friend and Confederate—Such is the fame of your highness’s virtue and prudence both in peace and war, and so loudly spread through all the world, that all the princes round about are ambitious of your friendship; nor does any one desire a more faithful or constant friend and associate: therefore to the end your highness may know, that we are also in the number of those that have the highest and most honourable thoughts of your person and merits, so well deserving of the commonwealth of Christendom; we have sent the most worthy colonel William Jepson, a senator in our parliament, in our name to kiss your highness’s hands; and withal to wish the continuance of all prosperity to your affairs, and in words at large to express our goodwill and affection to your serenity; and therefore make it our request, That you will vouchsafe to give him credit in those matters concerning which he has instructions to treat with your highness, as if all things were attested and confirmed by our personal presence.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

August —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. —, 1657

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Noble the Consuls and Senators of the City of HAMBOROUGH.

MOST Noble, most Magnificent, and Worthy—The most accomplished colonel William Jepson, a senator in our parliament, being sent by us to the most serene king of Sweden, is to travel through your city; and therefore we have given him in command, not to pass by your lordships unsaluted in our name; and withal to make it our request, That you will be ready to assist him upon whatsoever occasion he shall think it requisite to crave the aid of your authority and counsel. Which the more willingly you shall do, the more you shall find you have acquired our favour.

From our court at

Westminster

,

Aug. —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. —, 1657

Whitehall

To the most Noble, the Consuls and Senators of the City of BREME.

HOW great our affection is toward your city, how particular our goodwill, as well upon the account of your religion, as for the celebrated splendour of your city, as formerly you have found; so when occasion offers, you shall be further sensible. At present, in regard the most accomplished colonel William Jepson, a senator in our parliament, is to travel through Bremen with the character of our envoy extraordinary to the king of Sweden, it is our pleasure that he salute your lordships lovingly and friendly in our name; and that if any accident fall out, wherein your assistance and friendship may be serviceable to him, that he may have free admission to desire it, upon the score of our alliance. Wherein we are confident you will the less be wanting, by how much the more reason you will have to be assured of our singular love and kindness for your lordships.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

Aug. —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

August —, 1657

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Noble the Senators and Consuls of the City of LUBECK.

MOST noble, Magnificent, and Right Worshipful, our dearest Friends—Colonel William Jepson, a person of great honour, and a senator in our parliament, is to pass with the character of a public minister from your city to the king of Sweden, encamping not far from it. Wherefore we desire your lordships, that if occasion require, upon the account of the friendship and commerce between us, you will be assistant to him in his journey through your city, and the territories under your jurisdiction. As to what remains, it is our farther pleasure, that you be saluted in our name, and that you be assured of our goodwill and ready inclinations to serve your lordships.

From our court at

Westminster

,

August —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

August —, 1657

Whitehall

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the City of HAMBOROUGH.

MOST Noble, Magnificent, and Right Worshipful—Philip Meadows, who brings these letters to your lordships, is to travel through your city with the character of our agent to the king of Denmark. Therefore we most earnestly recommend him to your lordships, that if any occasion should happen for him to desire it, you would be ready to aid him with your authority and assistance: and we desire that this our recommendation may have the same weight at present with your lordships as formerly it wont to have; nor shall we be wanting to your lordships upon the same opportunities.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

August —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

August —, 1657

Westminster

Frederic

Frederic

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, FREDERIC, Heir of NORWAY, Duke of SLESWICK, HOLSATIA, and DITMARSH, Count in OLDENBURGH and DELMENHORST.

MOST Serene Prince, our dearest Friend—Colonel William Jepson, a person truly noble in his country, and a senator in our parliament, is sent by us, as our envoy extraordinary to the most serene king of Sweden; and may it prove happy and prosperous for the common peace and interests of Christendom! We have given him instructions, among other things, that in his journey, after he has kissed your serenity’s hands in our name, and declared our former goodwill and constant zeal for your welfare, to request of your serenity also, that being guarded with your authority, he may travel with safety and convenience through your territories. By which kind act of civility, your highness will in a greater measure oblige us to returns of answerable kindness.

From our court at

Westminster

,

August —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Sept. —, 1657

Westminster

Ferdinand

Ferdinand

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, FERDINAND, Great Duke of TUSCANY.

MOST Serene Great Duke, our dearest Friend—The company of our merchants trading to the eastern coasts of the Mediterranean sea, by their petition to us, have set forth, that William Ellis, master of a ship called the Little Lewis, being at Alexandria in Egypt, was hired by the Basha of Memphis, to carry rice, sugar, and coffee, either to Constantinople or Smyrna, for the use of the Grand Seignior; but that contrary to his faith and promise given, he bore away privately from the Ottoman fleet, and brought his ship and lading to Leghorn, where now he lives in possession of his prey. Which villanous act being of dangerous example, as exposing the Christian name to scandal, and the fortunes of our merchants living under the Turks to violence and ransac; we therefore make it our request to your highness, that you will give command, that the said master be apprehended and imprisoned, and that the vessel and goods may remain under seizure, till we shall have given notice of our care for the restitution of those goods to the sultan: assuring your highness of our readiness to make suitable returns of gratitude, whenever opportunity presents itself.

Your highness’s most affectionate,

From our court at

Westminster

,

Sept. —, 1657

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Sept. —, 1657

Westminster

Frederic William

William, Frederic

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, the Lord FREDERIC WILLIAM, Marquis of BRANDENBURGH, c.

MOST Serene Prince, our most dear Friend and Confederate—By our last letters to your highness, either already or shortly to be delivered by our embassador William Jepson, we have imparted the substance of our embassy to your highness; which we could not do without some mention of your great virtues, and demonstration of our good will and affection. Nevertheless, that we may not seem too superficially to have gilded over your transcending deservings of the protestant interests; we thought it proper to resume the same subject, and pay our respect and veneration, not more willingly, or with a greater fervency of mind, but somewhat more at large to your highness: and truly most deservedly, when daily information reaches our ears, that your faith and conscience, by all manner of artifices tempted and assailed, by all manner of arts and devices solicited, yet cannot be shaken, or by any violence be rent from your friendship and alliance with a most magnanimous prince and your confederate: and this, when the affairs of the Swedes are now reduced to that condition, that in adhering to their alliance, it is manifest, that your highness rather consults the common cause of the reformed religion, than your own advantage. And when your highness is almost surrounded and besieged by enemies either privately lurking, or almost at your gates; yet such is your constancy and resolution of mind, such your conduct and prowess becoming a great general, that the burthen and massy bulk of the whole affair, and the event of this important war, seems to rest and depend upon your sole determination. Wherefore your highness has no reason to question, but that you may rely upon our friendship and unfeigned affection; who should think ourselves worthy to be forsaken of all men’s good word, should we seem careless in the least of your unblemished fidelity, your constancy, and the rest of your applauded virtues; or should we pay less respect to your highness upon the common score of religion. As to those matters propounded by the most accomplished John Frederic Schlever, your counsellor and agent here residing, if hitherto we could not return an answer, such as we desired to do, though with all assiduity and diligence laboured by your agent; we entreat your highness to impute it to the present condition of our affairs, and to be assured, that there is nothing which we account more sacred, or more earnestly desire, than to be serviceable and assisting to your interests, so bound up with the cause of religion. In the mean time we beseech the God of mercy and power, that so signal a prowess and fortitude may never languish or be oppressed, nor be deprived the fruit and due applause of all your pious undertakings.

Your highness’s most affectionate,

From our court at

Westminster

,

Sept. —, 1657

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Oct. —, 1657

Westminster

M. De Bordeaux

de Bordeaux, M.

To the most Excellent Lord, M. DE BORDEAUX, Extraordinary Embassador from the Most Serene King of FRANCE.

MOST Excellent Lord—Lucas Lucie, merchant of London, has made his complaint to the most serene lord protector, concerning a certain ship of his, called the Mary; which in her voyage from Ireland to Bayonne, being driven by tempest into the port of St. John de Luz, was there detained by virtue of an arrest, at the suit of one Martin de Lazan: nor could she be discharged till the merchants had given security to stand a trial for the property of the said ship and lading. For Martin pretended to have a great sum of money owing to him by the parliament for several goods of his, which in the year 1642 were seized by authority of parliament, in a certain ship called the Sancta Clara. But it is manifest, that Martin was not the owner of the said goods, only that he prosecuted the claim of the true owner Richald and Iriat, together with his partner, whose name was Antonio Fernandez; and that upon the said Martin and Antonio’s falling out among themselves, the parliament decreed, that the said goods should be stopped till the law should decide to which of the two they were to be restored. Upon this, Anthony was desirous, that the action should proceed; on the other side, neither Martin, nor any body for him, has hitherto appeared in court: all which is evidently apparent by Lucas’s petition hereto annexed. So that it seems most unreasonable, that he who refused to try his pretended title with Antonio, to other men’s goods, in our own courts, should compel our people, and the true owners, to go to law for their own in a foreign dominion. And that the same is apparent to your excellency’s equity and prudence, the most serene lord protector makes no question; by whom I am therefore commanded in a particular manner, to recommend this fair and honest cause of Lucas Lucie to your excellency’s consideration; to the end that Martin, who neglects to try his pretended right here, may not under that pretence have an opportunity in the French dominions to deprive others of their rightful claims.

Your excellency’s most affectionate.

Westminster

,

Oct. —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Oct. —, 1657

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Duke and Senate of the Republic of VENICE.

MOST Serene Duke and Senate, our dearest Friends—So numerous are the tidings brought us from your fortunate successes against the Turks, that there is nothing wherein we have more frequent occasion to employ our pens, than in congratulating your serenities for some signal victory. For this so recently obtained, we give ye joy, as being not only most auspicious and seasonable to your republic; but, which is more glorious, so greatly tending to the deliverance of all the Christians groaning under Turkish servitude. More particularly we recommend to your serenity and the senate Thomas Galily, formerly master of the ship called the Relief, who for these five years together has been a slave; though this be not the first time we have interceded in his behalf, yet now we do it the more freely, as in a time of more than ordinary exultation. He having received your commands, to serve your republic with his ship, and engaging alone with several of the enemies’ galleys, sunk some, and made a great havoc among the rest: but at length his ship being burnt, the brave commander, and so well deserving of the Venetian republic, was taken, and ever since for five years together has endured a miserable bondage among the barbarians. To redeem himself he had not wherewithal; for whatsoever he had, that he makes out was owing to him by your highness and the senate, upon the account either of his ship, his goods, or for his wages. Now in regard he may not want relief, and for that the enemy refuses to discharge him upon any other condition, than by exchange of some other person of equal value and reputation to himself; we most earnestly entreat your highness, and the most serene senate; and the afflicted old man, father of the said Thomas, full of grief and tears, which not a little moved us, by our intercession begs, that in regard so many prosperous combats have made ye masters of so many Turkish prisoners, you will exchange some one of their number, whom the enemy will accept for so stout a seaman taken in your service, our countryman, and the only son of a most sorrowful father. Lastly, that whatsoever is due to him from the republic, upon the score of wages, or upon any other account, you will take care to see it paid to his father, or to whom he shall appoint to receive it.

The effect of our first request, or rather of your equity, was this, that the whole matter was examined, and upon an exact stating of the accounts the debt was agreed; but perhaps by reason of more important business intervening, no payment ensued upon it. Now the condition of the miserable creature admits of no longer delay; and therefore some endeavour must be used, if it be worth your while to desire his welfare, that he may speedily be delivered from the noisome stench of imprisonment. Which, as you flourish no less in justice, moderation, and prudence, than in military fame and victorious success, we are confident you will see done, of your own innate humanity and freewill, without any hesitation, without any incitement of ours. Now that you may long flourish, after a most potent enemy subdued, our daily prayers implore of the Almighty.

Your highness’s most affectionate,

From our court at

Westminster

,

Oct. —, 1657

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

Nov. —, 1657

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c. To the High and Mighty Lords, the States of the UNITED PROVINCES.

MOST High and Mighty Lords, our dearest Friends and Confederates—The most illustrious William Nuport, your extraordinary embassador for some years residing with us, is now returning to your lordships; but with this condition, that after this respite obtained from your lordships, he shall return again in a short time. For he has remained among us, in the discharge of his trust, with that fidelity, vigilance, prudence, and equity, that neither you nor we could desire greater virtue and probity in an embassador, and a person of unblemished reputation; with those inclinations and endeavours to preserve peace and friendship between us, without any fraud or dissimulation, that while he officiates the duty of your embassador, we do not find what occasion of scruple or offence can arise in either nation. And we should brook his departure with so much the more anxiety of mind, considering the present juncture of times and affairs, were we not assured, that no man can better or more faithfully declare and represent to your lordships, either the present condition of affairs, or our goodwill and affection to your government. Being therefore every way so excellent a person, and so very deserving both of yours and our republic, we request your lordships to receive him returning, such as we unwillingly dismiss him, laden with the real testimonials of our applauses. Almighty God grant all prosperity to your affairs, and perpetuate our friendship, to his glory, and the support of his orthodox church.

Your high and mightinesses most devoted.

From our court at

Westminster

,

Nov. —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

December —, 1657

Whitehall

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the High and Mighty Lords, the States of the UNITED PROVINCES.

MOST High and Mighty Lords, our dearest Friends and Confederates—George Downing is a person of eminent quality, and after a long trial of his fidelity, probity, and diligence, in several and various negotiations, well approved and valued by us. Him we have thought fitting to send to your lordships, dignified with the character of our agent, and amply furnished with our instructions. We therefore desire your lordships, to receive him kindly, and that so often as he shall signify that he has any thing to impart in our name to your lordships, you will admit him free audience, and give the same credit to him, and entrust him with whatsoever you have to communicate to us, which you may safely do, as if ourselves were personally present. And so we beseech Almighty God to bless your lordships, and your republic with all prosperity, to the glory of God and the support of his church.

Your high and mightinesses most affectionate,

From our court at

Whitehall

,

December —, 1657

.

OLIVER, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

December —, 1657

Westminster

To the States of HOLLAND.

THERE being an alliance between our republic and yours, and those affairs to be transacted on both sides that without an agent and interpreter, sent either by yourselves, or from us, matters of such great moment can hardly be adjusted to the advantage of both nations, we thought it conducing to the common good of both republics, to send George Downing, a person of eminent quality, and long in our knowledge and esteem for his undoubted fidelity, probity and diligence, in many and various negotiations, dignified with the character of our agent, to reside with your lordships, and chiefly to take care of those things, by which the peace between us may be preserved entire and diuturnal. Concerning which we have not only written to the States, but also thought it requisite to give notice also of the same to your lordships, supreme in the government of your province, and who make so considerable a part of the United Provinces; to the end you may give that reception to our resident which becomes him, and that whatever he transacts with your High and Mighty States, you may assure yourselves, shall be as firm and irrevocable, as if ourselves had been present in the negotiation. Now the most merciful God direct all your counsels and actions to his glory, and the peace of his church.

Westminster

,

December —, 1657

.

John Milton

Milton, John

December —, 1657

Westminster

Ferdinand

Ferdinand

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, FERDINAND, Great Duke of TUSCANY.

MOST Serene Great Duke, our much honoured Friend—Your highness’s letters, bearing date from Florence the 10th of November, gave us no small occasion of content and satisfaction; finding therein your good will towards us, so much the more conspicuous, by how much deeds than words, performances than promises, are the more certain marks of a cordial affection. For what we requested of your highness, that you would command the master of the Little Lewis, William Ellis, (who most ignominiously broke his faith with the Turks,) and the ship and goods to be seized and detained, till restitution should be made to the Turks, lest the Christian name should receive any blemish by thieveries of the like nature; all those things, and that too with an extraordinary zeal, as we most gladly understood before, your highness writes that you have seen diligently performed. We therefore return our thanks for the kindness received, and make it our farther request, that when the merchants have given security to satisfy the Turks, the master may be discharged, and the ship, together with her lading, be forthwith dismissed, to the end we may not seem to have had more care perhaps of the Turks’ interest, than our own countrymen. In the mean time, we take so kindly this surpassing favour done us by your highness, and most acceptable to us, that we should not refuse to be branded with ingratitude, if we should not ardently desire a speedy opportunity, with the same promtitude of mind, to gratify your highness, whereby we might be enabled to demonstrate our readiness to return the same good offices to so noble a benefactor upon all occasions.

Your highness’s most affectionate,

From our court at

Westminster

,

December —, 1657

.

OLIVER, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

March 30, 1658

Westminster

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince,

CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene and Potent Prince, our most Invincible Friend and Confederate—By your majesty’s letters, dated the 21st of February from your camp in Seland, we found many reasons to be affected with no small joy, as well for our own particular, as in regard of the whole Christian republic in general. In the first place, because the King of Denmark, being become an enemy, not induced thereto, as we are apt to believe, by his own inclinations or interests, but deluded by the artifices of our common adversaries, is reduced to that condition by your sudden eruption into the very heart of his kingdom, with very little bloodshed on either side, that, what was really true, he will at length be persuaded, that peace would have been more beneficial to him, than the war which he has entered into against your majesty. Then again, when he shall consider with himself, that he cannot obtain it by any more speedy means, than by making use of our assistance, long since offered him to procure a reconciliation, in regard your majesty so readily entreated by the letters only delivered by our agent, by such an easy concession of peace, most clearly made it apparent how highly you esteemed the intercession of our friendship, he will certainly apply himself to us; and then our interposition in so pious a work will chiefly require, that we should be the sole reconciler and almost author of that peace, so beneficial to the interests of the protestants; which, as we hope, will suddenly be accomplished. For when the enemies of religion shall despair of breaking your united forces by any other means than setting both your majesties at variance, then their own fears will overtake them, lest this unexpected conjunction, which we ardently desire, of your arms and minds, should turn to the destruction of them that were the kindlers of the war.—In the mean time, most magnanimous king, may your prowess go on and prosper; and the same felicity which the enemies of the church have admired in the progress of your achievements, and the steady career of your victories against a prince, now your confederate, the same by God’s assistance, may you enforce them to behold once more in their subversion.

From our Palace at

Westminster

,

March 30, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

April 7, 1658

Westminster

Ferdinand

Ferdinand

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, FERDINAND, Great Duke of TUSCANY.

MOST Serene Prince—The answer which we have given to your agent here residing, we believe, will fully satisfy your highness as to our admiral, who but lately put into your ports. In the mean time, John Hosier, master of a ship called the Owner, has set forth in a petition to us, that in April, 1656, he hired out his ship by a charty-party agreement, to one Joseph Arman, an Italian, who manifestly broke all the covenants therein contained; so that he was enforced, lest he should lose his ship and lading, together with his whole principal stock, openly to set forth the fraud of his freighter, after the manner of merchants; and when he had caused it to be registered by a public notary, to sue him at Leghorn. Joseph, on the other side, that he might make good one fraud by another, combining with two other litigious traders, upon a feigned pretence, by perjury, seized upon six thousand pieces of eight, the money of one Thomas Clutterbuck. But as for his part, the said Hosier, after great expenses and loss of time, could never obtain his right and due at Leghorn: nor durst he there appear in court, being threatened as he was, and waylaid by his adversaries. We therefore request your highness, that you would vouchsafe your assistance to this poor oppressed man, and according to your wonted justice, restrain the insolence of his adversary. For in vain are laws ordained for the government of cities by the authority of princes, if wrong and violence, when they cannot abrogate, shall be able by threats and terror to frustrate the refuge and sanctuary of the laws. However, we make no doubt, but that your highness will speedily take care to punish a daring boldness of this nature; beseeching Almighty God to bless your highness with peace and prosperity.

From our court at

Westminster

,

April 7, 1658

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John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1658

Westminster

Lewis

Lewis

To the most Serene and Potent Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene and Potent King, and most August Friend and Confederate—Your majesty may call to mind, that at the same time, when the renewing the league between us was in agitation, and no less auspiciously concluded, as the many advantages from thence accruing to both nations, and the many annoyances thence attending the common enemy, sufficiently testify; those dreadful butcheries befel the Piedmontois, and that we recommended, with great fervency of mind and compassion, their cause, on all sides forsaken and afflicted, to your commiseration and protection. Nor do we believe that your majesty of yourself, was wanting in a duty so pious, that we may not say, beseeming common humanity, as far as your authority, and the veneration due to your person, could prevail with the duke of Savoy. Certain we are, that neither ourselves, nor many other princes and cities, were wanting in our performances, by the interposition of embassies, letters, and entreaties. After a most bloody butchery of both sexes, and all ages, at length peace was granted, or rather a certain clandestine hostility covered over with the name of peace. The conditions of peace were agreed in your town of Pignerol; severe and hard, but such as those miserable and indigent creatures, after they had suffered all that could be endured that was oppressive and barbarous, would have been glad of, had they been but observed, as hard and unjust as they were. But by false constructions, and various evasions, the assurances of all these articles are eluded and violated; many are thrust out from their ancient abodes; many are forbid the exercise of their religion, new tributes are exacted, a new citadel is imposed upon them; from whence the soldiers frequently making excursions, either plunder or murder all they meet. Add to all this, that new levies are privately preparing against them, and all that embrace the protestant religion are commanded to depart by a prefixed day; so that all things seem to threaten the utter extermination of those deplorable wretches, whom the former massacre spared. Which I most earnestly beseech and conjure ye, most Christian king, by that RIGHT HAND which signed the league and friendship between us, by that same goodly ornament of your title of MOST CHRISTIAN, by no means to suffer, nor to permit such liberty of rage and fury uncontrolled, we will not say, in any prince, (for certainly such barbarous severity could never enter the breast of any prince, much less so tender in years, nor into the female thoughts of his mother,) but in those sanctified cut-throats, who, professing themselves to be the servants and disciples of our Saviour Christ, who came into the world to save sinners, abuse his meek and peaceful name and precepts to the most cruel slaughter of the innocent. Rescue, you that are able in your towering station, worthy to be able, rescue so many suppliants prostrate at your feet, from the hands of ruffians, who, lately drunk with blood, again thirst after it, and think it their safest way to throw the odium of their cruelty upon princes. But as for you, great prince, suffer not, while you reign, your titles, nor the confines of your kingdom, to be contaminated with this same Heaven-offending scandal, nor the peaceful gospel of Christ to be defiled with such abominable cruelty. Remember, that they submitted themselves to your grandfather Henry, most friendly to the protestants, when the victorious Lesdiguieres pursued the retreating Savoyard over the Alps. There is also an instrument of that submission registered among the public acts of your kingdom, wherein it is excepted and provided among other things, that from that time forward the Piedmontois should not be delivered over into the power of any ruler, but upon the same condition upon which your invincible grandfather received them into his protection. This protection of your grandfather these suppliants now implore from you as grandchild. It is your majesty’s part, to whom those people now belong, to give them that protection which they have chosen, by some exchange of habitation, if they desire it, and it may be done: or if that be a labour too difficult, at least to succour them with your patronage, your commiseration, and your admittance into sanctuary. And there are some reasons of state, to encourage your majesty not to refuse the Piedmontois a safe asylum in your kingdom: but I am unwilling that you, so great a king, should be induced to the defence and succour of the miserable by any other arguments than those of your ancestor’s pledged faith, your own piety, royal benignity, and magnanimity. Thus the immaculate and entire glory of a most egregious act will be your own, and you will find the Father of mercy, and his Son, King Christ, whose name and doctrine you have vindicated from nefarious inhumanity, so much the more favourable and propitious to your majesty, all your days. The God of mercy and power infuse into your majesty’s heart a resolution, to defend and save so many innocent Christians, and maintain your own honour.

Westminster

,

May —, 1658

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John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1658

Whitehall

To the Evangelic Cities of the SWITZERS.

ILLUSTRIOUS and most Noble Lords, our dearest Friends—How heavy and intolerable the sufferings of the Piedmontois, your most afflicted neighbours, have been, and how unmercifully they have been dealt with by their own prince, for the sake of their religion, by reason of the fellness of the cruelties, we almost tremble to remember, and thought it superfluous to put you in mind of those things, which are much better known to your lordships. We have also seen copies of the letters which your embassadors, promoters and witnesses of the peace concluded at Pignerol, wrote to the duke of Savoy, and the president of his council at Turin; wherein they set forth, and make it out, that all the conditions of the said peace are broken, and were rather a snare than a security to those miserable people. Which violation continued from the conclusion of the peace till this very moment, and still growing more heavy every day than other; unless they patiently endure, unless they lay themselves down to be trampled under foot, plashed like mortar, or abjure their religion, the same calamities, the same slaughters hang over their heads, which three years since made such a dreadful havoc of them, their wives and children; and which, if it must be undergone once more, will certainly prove the utter extirpation of their whole race. What shall such miserable creatures do? in whose behalf no intercession will avail, to whom no breathing time is allowed, nor any certain place of refuge. They have to do with wild beasts, or furies rather, upon whom the remembrance of their former murders has wrought no compassion upon their countrymen, no sense of humanity, nor satiated their ravenous thirst after blood. Most certainly these things are not to be endured, if we desire the safety of our brethren the Piedmontois, most ancient professors of the orthodox faith, or the welfare of our religion itself. As for ourselves so far remote, we have not been wanting to assist them as far as in us lay, nor shall we cease our future aid. But you, who not only lie so near adjoining, as to behold the butcheries, and to hear the outcries and shrieks of the distressed, but are also next exposed to the fury of the same enemies; consider for the sake of the immortal God, and that in time, what it behoves ye now to do: consult your prudence, your piety, and your fortitude; what succour, what relief and safeguard you are able, and are bound to afford your neighbours and brethren, who must else undoubtedly and speedily perish. Certainly the same religion is the cause, why the same enemies also seek your perdition; why, at the same time the last year, they meditated your ruin, by intestine broils among yourselves. It seems to be only in your power next under God, to prevent the extirpation of this most ancient scion of the purer religion, in those remainders of the primitive believers; whose preservation, now reduced to the very brink of utter ruin, if you neglect, beware that the next turn be not your own. These admonitions while we give ye freely, and out of brotherly love, we are not quite as yet cast down: for what lies only in our power so far distant, as we have hitherto, so shall we still employ our utmost endeavours, not only to procure the safety of our brethren upon the precipice of danger, but also to relieve their wants. May the Almighty God vouchsafe to both of us, that peace and tranquillity at home, that settlement of times and affairs, that we may be able to employ all our wealth and force, all our studies and counsels in the defence of his church against the rage and fury of her enemies.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

May —, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

To his Eminency Cardinal MAZARINE.

MOST Eminent Lord—The late grievous cruelties, and most bloody slaughters perpetrated upon the inhabitants of the valleys of Piedmont, within the duke of Savoy’s dominions, occasioned the writing of the enclosed letters to his majesty, and these other to your eminency. And as we make no doubt but that such tyranny, and inhumanities, so rigorously inflicted upon harmless and indigent people, are highly displeasing and offensive to the most serene king; so we readily persuade ourselves, that what we request from his majesty in behalf of those unfortunate creatures, your eminency will employ your endeavour and your favour to obtain, as an accumulation to our intercessions. Seeing there is nothing which has acquired more goodwill and affection to the French nation, among all the neighbouring professors of the reformed religion, than that liberty and those privileges, which by public acts and edicts are granted in that kingdom to the protestants. And this among others was one main reason why this republic so ardently desired the friendship and alliance of the French people. For the settling of which we are now treating with the king’s embassador, and have made those progresses, that the treaty is almost brought to a conclusion. Besides that, your eminency’s singular benignity and moderation, which in the management of the most important affairs of the kingdom you have always testified to the protestants of France, encourages us to expect what we promise to ourselves from your prudence and generosity; whereby you will not only lay the foundations of a stricter alliance between this republic and the kingdom of France, but oblige us in particular to returns of all good offices of civility and kindness: and of this we desire your eminency to rest assured.

Your eminency’s most affectionate.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1658

Whitehall

Lewis

Lewis

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene and Mighty King, our most August Friend and Confederate—It being the intention of Thomas viscount Falconbridge, our son-in-law, to travel into France, and no less his desire, out of his profound respect and veneration to your majesty, to be admitted to kiss your royal hands; though by reason of his pleasing conversation we are unwilling to part with him, nevertheless not doubting but he will in a short time return from the court of so great a prince, celebrated for the resort of so many prudent and courageous persons, more nobly prepared for great performances, and fully accomplished in whatsoever may be thought most laudable and virtuous, we did not think it fit to put a stop to his generous resolutions. And though he be a person, who, unless we deceive ourselves, carries his own recommendations about him, wheresoever he goes; yet if he shall find himself somewhat the more favoured by your majesty for our sake, we shall think ourselves honoured and obliged by the same kindness. God Almighty long preserve your majesty in safety, and continue a lasting peace between us, to the common good of the Christian world.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

May —, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1658

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Eminent Lord, Cardinal MAZARINE.

MOST Eminent Lord—Having recommended to the most serene king Thomas viscount Falconbridge our son-in-law, desirous to see France; we could not but acquaint your eminency with it, and recommend him in like manner to yourself, not ignorant of what moment and importance it will be to our recommendation first given him. For certainly, what benefit or advantage he shall reap by residing in your country, which he hopes will not be small, he cannot but be beholden for the greatest part of it to your favour and goodwill; whose single prudence and vigilancy supports and manages the grand affairs of that kingdom. Whatever therefore grateful obligation your eminency shall lay upon him, you may be assured you lay upon ourselves, and that we shall number it among your many kindnesses and civilities already shown us.

Westminster

,

May —, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1658

Whitehall

OLIVER, Protector, c., To the most Eminent Lord, Cardinal MAZARINE.

MOST Eminent Lord—Having sent the most illustrious Thomas Bellasis, viscount Falconbridge, our son-in-law, to congratulate the king upon his arrival in the camp at Dunkirk; I gave him order to attend and wish your eminency long life and health in our name, and to return thanks to your eminency, by whose fidelity, prudence, and vigilancy, it chiefly comes to pass, that the affairs of France are carried on with such success in several parts, but more especially in near adjoining Flanders, against our common enemy the Spaniard; from whom we hope that open and armed courage now will soon exact a rigorous account of all his frauds and treacheries. Which that it may be speedily done, we shall not be wanting, either with our forces, as far as in us lies, or with our prayers to Heaven.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

May —, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1658

Westminster

Lewis

Lewis

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene and Potent Prince, our most August Friend and Confederate—So soon as the news was brought us, that your majesty was arrived in your camp, and was sate down with so considerable an army before Dunkirk, that infamous nest of pirates, and place of refuge for searobbers, we were greatly overjoyed, in certain assurance that in a short time now, with God’s assistance, the seas will be more open and less infested by those plundering rovers; and that your majesty, by your military prowess, will now take speedy vengeance of the Spanish frauds; by whom one captain was by gold corrupted to the betraying of Hesden, another treacherously surprised at Ostend. We therefore send the most noble Thomas viscount Falconbridge, our son-in-law, to congratulate your majesty’s arrival in your camp so near us, and that your majesty may understand from his own lips, with what affection we labour the prosperity of your achievements, not only with our united forces, but our cordial prayers, that God would long preserve your majesty, and perpetuate our established friendship, to the common good of the Christian world.

From our court at

Westminster

,

May —, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

May —, 1658

Whitehall

Ferdinand

Ferdinand

To the most Serene Prince, FERDINAND, Grand Duke of TUSCANY.

MOST Serene Great Duke—In regard your highness in your letters has ever signified your extraordinary affection toward us, we are not a little grieved, that either it should be so obscurely imparted to your governors and ministers, or by them so ill interpreted, that we can reap no benefit or sign of it in your port of Leghorn, where your friendship towards us ought to be most clearly and truly understood: rather, that we should find the minds of your subjects daily more averse and hostile in their demeanour toward us. For how unkindly our fleet was lately treated at Leghorn, how little accommodated with necessary supplies, in what a hostile manner twice constrained to depart the harbour, we are sufficiently given to understand, as well from undoubted witnesses upon the place, as from our admiral himself, to whose relation we cannot but give credit, when we have thought him worthy to command our fleet. Upon his first arrival in January, after he had caused our letters to be delivered to your highness, and all offices of civility had passed between our people and yours; when he desired the accommodation of Porto Ferraro; answer was made, it could not be granted, lest the king of Spain, that is to say our enemy, should be offended. And yet what is there which a prince in friendship more frequently allows to his confederate, than free entrance into his ports and harbours? Or what is there that we can expect from a friendship of this nature, more ready to do us unkindness than befriend us, or aid us with the smallest assistance, for fear of provoking the displeasure of our enemies? At first indeed, prattic was allowed, though only to two or three of our seamen out of every ship, who had the favour to go ashore. But soon after, it being noised in the town, that our ships had taken a Dutch vessel laden with corn for Spain, that little prattic we had was prohibited; Longland the English consul was not permitted to go aboard the fleet; the liberty of taking in fresh water, which is ever free to all that are not open enemies, was not suffered, but under armed guards, at a severe rate; and our merchants, which reside in the town to the vast emolument of your people, were forbid to visit their countrymen, or assist them in the least. Upon his last arrival, toward the latter end of March, nobody was suffered to come ashore. The fifth day after, when our admiral had taken a small Neapolitan vessel, which fell into our hands by chance, above two hundred great shot were made at our fleet from the town, though without any damage to us. Which was an argument, that what provoked your governors without a cause, as if the rights of your harbour had been violated, was done out at sea, at a great distance from your town, or the jurisdiction of your castle. Presently our long boats, sent to take in fresh water, were assailed in the port, and one taken and detained; which being redemanded, answer was made, that neither the skiff nor the seamen should be restored, unless the Neapolitan vessel were dismissed; though certain it is, that she was taken in the open sea, where it was lawful to seize her. So that ours, after many inconveniences suffered, were forced at length to set sail, and leave behind them the provision, for which they had paid ready money. These things if they were not done by your highness’s consent and command, as we hope they were not, we desire you would make it appear by the punishment of the governor, who so easily presumed to violate his master’s alliances; but if they were done with your highness’s approbation and order, we would have your highness understand, that as we always had a singular value for your friendship, so we have learnt to distinguish between injuries and acts of kindness.

Your good friend, so far as we may,

From our court at

Whitehall

,

May —, 1658

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

John Milton

Milton, John

June —, 1658

Westminster

Lewis

Lewis

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene and Potent Prince, our most August Confederate and Friend—By so speedily repaying our profound respect to your majesty, with an accumulation of honour, by such an illustrious embassy to our court; you have not only made known to us, but to all the people of England, your singular benignity and generosity of mind, but also how much you favour our reputation and dignity: for which we return our most cordial thanks to your majesty, as justly you have merited from us. As for the victory which God has given, most fortunate, to our united forces against our enemies, we rejoice with your majesty for it; and that our people in that battle were not wanting to your assistance, nor the military glory of their ancestors, nor their own pristine fortitude, is most grateful to us. As for Dunkirk, which, as your majesty wrote, you were in hopes was near surrender: it is a great addition to our joy, to hear from your majesty such speedy tidings, that it is absolutely now in your victorious hands; and we hope moreover, that the loss of one city will not suffice to repay the twofold treachery of the Spaniard, but that your majesty will in a short time write us the welcome news of the surrender also of the other town. As to your promise, that you will take care of our interest, we mistrust it not in the least, upon the word of a most excellent king, and our most assured friend, confirmed withal by your embassador, the most accomplished duke of Crequi. Lastly, we beseech Almighty God to prosper your majesty and the affairs of France, both in peace and war.

Westminster

,

June —, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

June —, 1658

Whitehall

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Eminent Lord, Cardinal MAZARINE.

MOST Eminent Lord—While we are returning thanks to the most serene king, who to honour and congratulate us, as also to intermix his joy with ours for the late glorious victory, has sent a splendid embassy to our court; we should be ungrateful, should we not also by our letters pay our due acknowledgments to your eminency; who, to testify your goodwill towards us, and how much you make it your study to do us all the honour which lies within your power, have sent your nephew to us, a most excellent and most accomplished young gentleman; and if you had any nearer relation, or any person whom you valued more, would have sent him more especially to us, as you declare in your letters; adding withal the reason, which, coming from so great a personage, we deem no small advantage to our praise and ornament; that is to say, to the end that they, who are most nearly related to your eminency in blood, might learn to imitate your eminency, in showing respect and honour to our person. And we would have it not to be their meanest strife to follow your example of civility, candour, and friendship to us; since there are not more conspicuous examples of extraordinary prudence and virtue to be imitated than in your eminency; from whence they may learn with equal renown to govern kingdoms, and manage the most important affairs of the world. Which that your eminency may long and happily administer, to the prosperity of the whole realm of France, to the common good of the whole Christian republic, and your own glory, we shall never be wanting in our prayers to implore.

Your excellency’s most affectionate.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

June —, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

June —, 1658

Whitehall

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene and Potent Prince, our dearest Confederate and Friend—As often as we behold the busy counsels, and various artifices of the common enemies of religion, so often do we revolve in our minds how necessary it would be, and how much for the safety of the Christian world, that the protestant princes, and most especially your majesty, should be united with our republic in a most strict and solemn confederacy. Which how ardently and zealously it has been sought by ourselves, how acceptable it would have been to us, if ours, and the affairs of Swedeland, had been in that posture and condition, if the said league could have been sacredly concluded to the good liking of both, and that the one could have been a seasonable succour to the other, we declared to your embassadors, when first they entered into treaty with us upon this subject. Nor were they wanting in their duty; but the same prudence which they were wont to show in other things, the same wisdom and sedulity they made known in this affair. But such was the perfidiousness of our wicked and restless countrymen at home, who, being often received into our protection, ceased not however to machinate new disturbances, and to resume their formerly often frustrated and dissipated conspiracies with our enemies the Spaniards, that being altogether taken up with the preservation of ourselves from surrounding dangers, we could not bend our whole care, and our entire forces, as we wished we could have done, to defend the common cause of religion. Nevertheless what lay in our power we have already zealously performed: and whatever for the future may conduce to your majesty’s interests, we shall not only show ourselves willing, but industrious to carry on, in union with your majesty, upon all occasions. In the mean time we most gladly congratulate your majesty’s victories, most prudently and courageously achieved, and in our daily prayers implore Almighty God long to continue to your majesty a steady course of conquest and felicity, to the glory of his name.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

June —, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Aug. 1658

Westminster

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, the King of PORTUGAL.

MOST Serene King, our Friend and Confederate—John Buffield, of London, merchant, hath set forth in a petition to us, that in the year 1649, he delivered certain goods to Anthony, John, and Manuel Ferdinando Castaneo, merchants in Tamira, to the end that after they had sold them, they might give him a just account, according to the custom of merchants; after which, in his voyage for England, he fell into the hands of pirates; and being plundered by them, received no small damage. Upon this news, Anthony and Manuel, believing he had been killed, presently looked upon the goods as their own, and still detain them in their hands, refusing to come to any account; covering this fraud of theirs with a sequestration of English goods, that soon after ensued. So that he was forced the last year, in the middle of winter, to return to Portugal and demand his goods, but all in vain. For that the said John and Anthony could by no fair means be persuaded, either to deliver the said goods or come to any account; and which is more to be admired, justified their private detention of the goods by the public attainder. Finding therefore that being a stranger, he should get nothing by contending with the inhabitants of Tamira in their own country, he betook himself for justice to your majesty: humbly demanded the judgment of the conservator, appointed to determine the causes of the English; but was sent back to the cognizance of that court, from which he had appealed. Which though in itself not unjust, yet seeing it is evident, that the merchants of Tamira make an ill use of your public edict to justify their own private cozenage, we make it our earnest request to your majesty, that according to your wonted clemency you would rather refer to the conservator, being the proper judge in these cases, the cause of this poor man afflicted by many casualties, and reduced to utmost poverty; to the end he may recover the remainder of his fortunes from the faithless partnership of those people. Which when you rightly understand the business, we make no question, but will be no less pleasing to your majesty to see done, than to ourselves.

From our court at

Westminster

,

Aug. 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Westminster

To the most Serene Prince, LEOPOLD, Archduke of AUSTRIA, Governor of the Law Countries under PHILIP King of SPAIN.

MOST Serene Lord—Charles Harbord, knight, has set forth in his petition to us, that having sent certain goods and household-stuff out of Holland to Bruges under your jurisdiction, he is in great danger of having them arrested out of his hands by force and violence. For that those goods were sent him out of England in the year 1643, by the earl of Suffolk, for whom he stood bound in a great sum of money, to the end he might have wherewithal to satisfy himself, should he be compelled to pay the debt. Which goods are now in the possession of Richard Greenville, knight, who broke open the doors of the place where they were in custody, and made a violent seizure of the same, under pretence of we know not what due to him from Theophilus earl of Suffolk, by virtue of a certain decree of our court of chancery, to which those goods, as being the earl’s, were justly liable; whereas by our laws, neither the earl now living, whose goods they are, is bound by that decree, neither ought the goods to be seized or detained; which the sentence of that court, now sent to your serenity, together with these letters, positively declares and proves. Which letters the said Charles Harbord has desired of us, to the end we would make it our request to your highness, that the said goods may be forthwith discharged from the violent seizure, and no less unjust action of the said Richard Greenville, in regard it is apparently against the custom and law of nations, that any person should be allowed the liberties to sue in a foreign jurisdiction upon a plaint, wherein he can have no relief in the country where the cause of action first arose. Therefore the reason of justice itself, and your far celebrated equanimity encouraged us to recommend this cause to your highness; assuring your highness, that whenever any dispute shall happen in our courts concerning the rights and properties of your people, you shall ever find us ready and quick in our returns of favour.

Your highness’s most affectionate,

Westminster

.

OLIVER, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c.

LETTERS WRITTEN IN THE NAME OF RICHARD, PROTECTOR.

John Milton

Milton, John

Sept. 5, 1658

Whitehall

Lewis

Lewis

RICHARD, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our Friend and Confederate—So soon as our most serene father, Oliver, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, by the will of God so ordaining, departed this life upon the third of September, we being lawfully declared his successor in the supreme magistracy, though in the extremity of tears and sadness, could do no less than with the first opportunity by these our letters make known a matter of this concernment to your majesty; by whom, as you have been a most cordial friend to our father and this republic, we are confident the mournful and unexpected tidings will be as sorrowfully received. Our business now is, to request your majesty, that you would have such an opinion of us, as of one who has determined nothing more religiously and constantly, than to observe the friendship and confederacy contracted between your majesty and our renowned father: and with the same zeal and goodwill to confirm and establish the leagues by him concluded, and to carry on the same counsels and interests with your majesty. To which intent it is our pleasure that our embassador, residing at your court, be empowered by the same commission as formerly; that you will give the same credit to what he transacts in our name, as if it had been done by ourselves. In the mean time we wish your majesty all prosperity.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

Sept. 5, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Sept. 1658

Westminster

To the most Eminent Lord Cardinal MAZARINE.

THOUGH nothing could fall out more bitter and grievous to us, than to write the mournful news of our most serene and most renowned father’s death; nevertheless, in regard we cannot be ignorant of the high esteem which he had for your eminency, and the great value which you had for him; nor have any reason to doubt but that your eminency, upon whose care the prosperity of France depends, will no less bewail the loss of your constant friend, and most united confederate; we thought it of great moment, by these our letters, to make known this accident so deeply to be lamented, as well to your eminency as to the king; and to assure your eminency, which is but reason, that we shall most religiously observe all those things which our father of most serene memory was bound by the league to see confirmed and ratified: and shall make it our business, that in the midst of your mourning for a friend so faithful and flourishing in all virtuous applause, there may be nothing wanting to preserve the faith of our confederacy. For the conservation of which on your part also, to the good of both nations, may God Almighty long preserve your eminency.

Westminster

,

Sept. 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

October, 1658

Westminster

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

RICHARD, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., to the most Serene Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our Friend and Confederate—When we consider with ourselves that it will be a difficult matter for us to be imitators of our father’s virtues, unless we should observe and endeavour to hold the same confederacies which he by his prowess acquired, and out of his singular judgment thought most worthy to be embraced and observed; your majesty has no reason to doubt, that it behoves us to pay the same tribute of affection and goodwill, which our father of most serene memory always paid to your majesty. Therefore, although in this beginning of our government and dignity I may not find our affairs in that condition, as at present to answer to some particulars which your embassadors have proposed, yet it is our resolution to continue the league concluded by our father with your majesty, and to enter ourselves into a stricter engagement; and so soon as we shall rightly understand the state of affairs on both sides, we shall always be ready on our part to treat of those things, which shall be most chiefly for the united benefit of both republics. In the mean time, God long preserve your majesty to his glory, and the defence and safeguard of his orthodox church.

From our court at

Westminster

,

October, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

October 13, 1658

Westminster

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

RICHARD, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our Friend and Confederate—We have received two letters from your majesty, the one by your envoy, the other transmitted to us from our resident Philip Meadows, whereby we not only understood your majesty’s unfeigned grief for the death of our most serene father, in expressions setting forth the real thoughts of your mind, and how highly your majesty esteemed his prowess and friendship, but also what great hopes your majesty conceived of ourselves advanced in his room. And certainly, as an accumulation of paternal honour in deeming us worthy to succeed him, nothing more noble, more illustrious, could befall us than the judgment of such a prince; nothing more fortunately auspicious could happen to us, at our first entrance upon the government, than such a congratulator; nothing, lastly, that could more vehemently incite us to take possession of our father’s virtues, as our lawful inheritance, than the encouragement of so great a king. As to what concerns your majesty’s interests, already under consideration between us, in reference to the common cause of the protestants, we would have your majesty have those thoughts of us, that since, we came to the helm of this republic, though the condition of our affairs be such at present, that they chiefly require our utmost diligence, care, and vigilancy at home, yet that we hold nothing more sacred, and that there is not any thing more determined by us, than, as much as in us lies, never to be wanting to the league concluded by our father with your majesty. To that end we have taken care to send a fleet into the Baltic sea, with those instructions which our agent, to that purpose empowered by us, will communicate to your majesty; whom God preserve in long safety, and prosper with success in defence of his orthodox religion.

From our court at

Westminster

,

October 13, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

October, 1658

Whitehall

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

RICHARD, Protector, To the most Serene and Potent Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our Friend and Confederate—We send to your majesty, nor could we send a present more worthy or more excellent, the truly brave and truly noble Sir George Ascue, knight, not only famed in war, and more especially for his experience in sea-affairs, approved and tried in many desperate engagements; but also endued with singular probity, modesty, ingenuity, learning, and for the sweetness of his disposition caressed by all men; and which is the sum of all, now desirous to serve under the banners of your majesty, so renowned over all the world for your military prowess. And we would have your majesty be fully assured, that whatsoever high employment you confer upon him, wherein fidelity, fortitude, experience, may shine forth in their true lustre, you cannot entrust a person more faithful, more courageous, nor easily more skilful. Moreover, as to those things we have given him in charge to communicate to your majesty, we request that he may have quick access, and favourable audience, and that you will vouchsafe the same credit to him as to ourselves if personally present: lastly that you will give him that honour as you shall judge becoming a person dignified with his own merits and our recommendation. Now God Almighty prosper all your affairs with happy success to his own glory, and the safeguard of his orthodox church.

From our court at

Whitehall

,

October, 1658

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

RICHARD, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our dearest Friend and Confederate—Samuel Piggot of London, merchant, in a petition to us, sets forth, that he lately sent from London into France, upon the account of trade, two vessels, the one called the Post, Tiddie Jacob master, the other the Water-Dog, Garbrand Peters master. That from France, being laden with salt, they sailed for Amsterdam; at Amsterdam the one took in ballast only; the other laden with herrings, in copartnership with one Peter Heinbergh, sailed away for Stettin in Pomerania, which is under your jurisdiction, there to unlade her freight; but now he hears that both those vessels are detained somewhere in the Baltic sea by your forces; notwithstanding that he took care to send a writing with both those ships, sealed with the seal of the admiralty-court, by which it appeared that he alone was the lawful owner of both the vessels and goods, that part excepted which belonged to Heinbergh. Of all which, in regard he has made full proof before us, we make it our request to your majesty, (to prevent the ruin and utter shipwreck of the poor man’s estate, by the loss of two ships at one time,) that you would command your officers to take care for the speedy discharge of the said vessels. God long preserve your majesty to his own glory, and the safeguard of his orthodox church.

John Milton

Milton, John

January 27, 1659

Westminster

RICHARD, Protector of the Commonwealth of England, c., To the high and mighty Lords, the States of WESTFRIEZLAND.

MOST High and Mighty Lords, our dearest Friends and Confederates—Mary Grinder, widow, in a petition presented to us, has made a most grievous complaint, that whereas Thomas Killegrew, a commander in your service, has owed her for these eighteen years a considerable sum of money, she can by her agents neither bring him to pay the said money, nor to try his title at law to the same, if he has any. Which that he may not be compelled to do by the widow’s attorney, he has petitioned your highnesses, that nobody may be suffered to sue him for any money that he owes in England. But should we signify no more than only this to your highnesses, that she is a widow, that she is in great want, the mother of many small children, which her creditor endeavours to deprive of almost all that little support they have in this world, we cannot believe we need make use of any greater arguments to your lordships, so well acquainted with those divine precepts forbidding the oppression of the widow and the fatherless, to persuade ye not to grant any such privilege, upon a bare petition, to the fraudulent subverter of the widow’s right; and which for the same reason we assure ourselves you will never admit.

From our court at

Westminster

,

January 27, 1659

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Feb. 18, 1659

Westminster

Lewis

Lewis

RICHARD, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, LEWIS, King of FRANCE.

MOST Serene and Potent Prince, our most August Confederate and Friend—We have been given to understand, and that to our no small grief, that several protestant churches in Provence were so maliciously affronted and disturbed by a certain turbulent humourist, that the magistrates at Grenoble, who are the proper judges of such causes, thought him worthy of exemplary punishment; but that the convention of the clergy, which was held not far from those places, obtained of your majesty, that the whole matter should be removed up to Paris, there to be heard before your royal council. But they not having as yet made any determination in the business, those churches, and more especially that of Yvoire, are forbid to meet for the worship of God. Most earnestly therefore we request your majesty, that in the first place you would not prohibit those from preaching in public, whose prayers to God for your safety and the prosperity of your kingdom you are so free to suffer; then, that the sentence given against that impertinent disturber of divine service, by the proper judges of those causes at Grenoble, may be duly put in execution. God long preserve your majesty in safety and prosperity; to the end that, if you have any good opinion of our prayers, or think them prevalent with God, you may be speedily induced to suffer the same to be publicly put up to heaven by those churches, now forbid their wonted meetings.

Westminster

,

Feb. 18, 1659

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Feb. 29, 1659

Westminster

To the most Eminent Lord Cardinal MAZARINE.

MOST Eminent Lord Cardinal—The most illustrious lady, late wife of the deceased duke of Richmond, is now going into France, together with the young duke, her son, with an intention to reside there for some time. We therefore most earnestly request your eminency, that if any thing fall out, wherein your authority, favour, and patronage may be assisting to them, as strangers, you would vouchsafe to protect their dignity, and to indulge the recommendation of it not the meanest, in such a manner, that if any addition can be made to your civility towards all people, especially of illustrious descent, we may be sensible our letters have obtained it. Withal, your excellency may assure yourself, your recommendation, whenever you require the like from us, shall be of equal force and value in our esteem and care.

Westminster

,

Feb. 29, 1659

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Feb. 23, 1659

Westminster

John

John

RICHARD, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, JOHN, King of PORTUGAL.

MOST Serene and Potent Prince, our Friend and Confederate—Although there are many things which we are bound to impart by writing to a king our friend, and in strict confederacy with our republic, yet there is nothing which we ever did more willingly, than what we do at this present, by these our letters to congratulate this last victory, so glorious to the kingdom of Portugal, obtained against our common enemy the Spaniard. By which, how great an advantage will accrue not only to your own but to the peace and repose of all Europe, and that perhaps for many years, there is nobody but understands. But there is one thing more, wherein we must acknowledge your majesty’s justice, the most certain pledge of victory; that satisfaction has been given by the commissioners appointed at London, according to the 24th article of the league, to our merchants, whose vessels were hired by the Brazil company. Only there is one among them still remaining, Alexander Bence of London, merchant, whose ship called the Three Brothers, John Wilks master, being hired and laden, and having performed two voyages for the said company, yet still they refuse to pay him his wages according to their covenants; when the rest that only performed single voyages are already paid. Which why it should be done, we cannot understand, unless those people think, in their judgment, that person more worthy of his hire, who did them only single service, than he who earned his wages twice. We therefore earnestly request your majesty, that satisfaction may be given, for his service truly performed, to this same single Alexander, to whom a double stipend is due; and that, by virtue of your royal authority, you would prefix the Brazil company as short a day as may be, for the payment of his just due, and repairing his losses; seeing that their delays have been the occasion, that the loss sustained by the merchant has very near exceeded the money itself which is owing for his wages. So God continue your majesty’s prosperous successes against the common enemy.

From our court at

Westminster

,

Feb. 23, 1659

.

John Milton

Milton, John

Feb. 25, 1659

Westminster

RICHARD, Protector of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Eminent Lord Cardinal MAZARINE.

MOST Eminent Lord—By letters to your eminency, about eight months since, dated June 13, we recommended to your eminency the cause of Peter Pet, a person of singular probity, and in all naval sciences most useful both to us and our republic. His ship called the Edward, in the year 1646, as we formerly wrote, was taken in the mouth of the Thames by one Bascon, and sold in the port of Boulogne; and though the king in his royal council the 4th of November, 1647, decreed, that what money the council should think fitting to be given in recompense of the loss, should be forthwith paid in satisfaction to the owner; nevertheless, as he sets forth, he could never reap the benefit of that order. Now in regard we make no question but that your eminency, at our desire, gave strict command for the speedy execution of that decree; we make it therefore our renewed request, that you would vouchsafe to examine where the impediment lies, or through whose neglect or contumacy it came to pass, that in ten years time the king’s decree was not obeyed; and employ your authority so effectually, that the money then decreed, which we thought long since satisfied, may be speedily demanded and paid to our petitioner. Thus your eminency will perform an act most grateful to justice, and lay moreover a singular obligation upon ourselves.

From our court at

Westminster

,

Feb. 25, 1659

.

The two following Letters, after the Deposal of RICHARD, were written in the Name of the Parliament Restored.

John Milton

Milton, John

May 15, 1659

Westminster

Charles Gustavus

Gustavus, Charles

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene and Potent Prince, CHARLES GUSTAVUS, King of the SWEDES, GOTHS, and VANDALS, c.

MOST Serene and Potent King, our dearest Friend—Since it has pleased the most merciful and omnipotent God, at whose disposal only the revolutions of all kingdoms and republics are, to restore us to our pristine authority, and the supreme administration of the English affairs; we thought it convenient in the first place to make it known to your majesty; and to signify moreover as well our extraordinary affection to your majesty, so potent a protestant prince, as also our most fervent zeal to promote the peace between your majesty and the king of Denmark, another most powerful protestant king, not to be reconciled without our assistance, and the good offices of our affection. Our pleasure therefore is, that our extraordinary envoy, Philip Meadows, be continued in the same employment with your majesty, with which he has been hitherto intrusted from this republic. To which end we empower him by these our letters to make proposals, act, and negotiate with your majesty, in the same manner as was granted him by his last recommendations: and whatsoever he shall transact and conclude in our name, we faithfully promise and engage, by God’s assistance, to confirm and ratify. The same God long support your majesty, the pillar and support of the protestant interests.

WILLIAM LENTHAL,

Speaker of the Parliament of the Commonwealth of England.

Westminster

,

May 15, 1659

.

John Milton

Milton, John

May 15, 1659

Westminster

Frederick

Frederick

The Parliament of the Commonwealth of ENGLAND, c., To the most Serene Prince, FREDERICK, King of DENMARK.

MOST Serene King, and most dear Friend—Seeing it now is come to pass, that by the will and pleasure of the most merciful and powerful God, the supreme moderator of all things, we are restored to our pristine place and dignity, in the administration of the public affairs, we thought it convenient in the first place, that a revolution of this government should not be concealed from your majesty’s notice, a prince both our neighbour and confederate; and withal to signify how much we lay to heart your ill success: which you will easily perceive by our zeal and diligence, that never shall be wanting in us to promote and accomplish a reconciliation between your majesty and the king of Sweden. And therefore we have commanded our extraordinary envoy with the most serene king of Sweden, Philip Meadows, to attend your majesty, in our name, in order to these matters, and to impart, propound, act, and negotiate such things as we have given him in charge to communicate to your majesty: and what credit you shall give to him in this his employment, we request your majesty to believe it given to ourselves. God Almighty grant your majesty a happy and joyful deliverance out of all your difficulties and afflicting troubles, under which you stand so undauntedly supported by your fortitude and magnanimity.

WILLIAM LENTHAL,

Speaker of the Parliament of the Commonwealth of England.

Westminster

,

May 15, 1659

.

A MANIFESTO OF THE LORD PROTECTOR OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, IRELAND, c.

PUBLISHED BY CONSENT AND ADVICE OF HIS COUNCIL.

WHEREIN IS SHOWN THE REASONABLENESS OF THE CAUSE OF THIS REPUBLIC AGAINST THE DEPREDATIONS OF THE SPANIARDS.

[ WRITTEN IN LATIN BY JOHN MILTON, AND FIRST PRINTED IN 1655: TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH IN 1738. ]

THAT the motives whereby we have been lately induced to make an attack upon certain islands in the West Indies, which have been now for some time in the hands of the Spaniards, are exceeding just and reasonable, every one will easily see, who considers in what a hostile manner that king and his subjects have all along, in those parts of America, treated the English nation; which behaviour of theirs as it was very unjust at the beginning, so ever since with the same injustice they have persevered in it, in a direct contrariety to the common law of nations, and to particular articles of alliance made betwixt the two kingdoms.

It must indeed be acknowledged, the English for some years past have either patiently borne with these injuries, or only defended themselves; which may possibly give occasion to some to look upon that late expedition of our fleet to the West Indies, as a war voluntarily begun by us, instead of considering that this war was first begun and raised by the Spaniards themselves, as in reality it will be found to be, and (though this republic have done all that lay in their power to establish peace and commerce in those parts) hitherto kept up and carried on by them with the greatest eagerness.

That the Spaniards themselves are the occasion of this war, will evidently appear to every one who considers how, as oft as they find opportunity, without any just cause, and without being provoked to it by any injury received, they are continually murdering, and sometimes even in cold blood butchering, any of our countrymen in America they think fit; while in the mean time they seize upon their goods and fortunes, demolish their houses and plantations, take any of their ships they happen to meet with in those seas, and treat the sailors as enemies, nay, even as pirates. For they give that opprobious name to all, except those of their own nation, who venture to sail in those seas. Nor do they pretend any other or better right for so doing, than a certain ridiculous gift of the pope on which they rely, and because they were the first discoverers of some parts of that western region: by virtue of which name and title, which they arrogate to themselves, they maintain that the whole power and government of that western world is lodged only in their hands. Of which very absurd title we shall have occasion to speak more fully, when we come to consider the causes assigned by the Spaniards for their thinking themselves at liberty to exercise all sorts of hostilities against our countrymen in America, to such a degree, that whoever are driven upon those coasts by stress of weather or shipwreck, or any other accident, are not only clapt in chains by them as prisoners, but are even made slaves; while they, notwithstanding all this, are so unreasonable as to think, that the peace is broken, and very much violated by the English; and that even in Europe, if they attempt any thing against them in those parts, with a view to make reprisals, and to demand restitution of their goods.

But though the king of Spain’s embassadors in our country, depending on a Spanish faction which had always a very considerable influence in the last king’s council, as well as his father’s, did not scruple to make a great many unreasonable complaints and ridiculous demands upon the most trivial accounts, whenever the English did any thing of this kind; yet those princes, though too much attached to the Spaniards, would by no means have the hands of their subjects bound up, when the Spaniards thought they should have the free use of theirs. On the contrary, they allowed their subjects to repel force by force, and to consider such of the Spaniards, as could not be brought at any rate to keep the peace in those parts, as enemies. So that about the year 1640, when this affair was debated in the last king’s council, and when the Spanish embassador desired that some ships bound for America, lying in the mouth of the river, and just ready to weigh anchor, should be stopt, as being capable of doing mischief to the Spaniards in that part of the world; and when at the same time he refused the English, who asked it of him by some members of the council appointed for that purpose, the privilege of trading to the West Indies, it was nevertheless resolved upon, that these ships should pursue their intended voyage, which accordingly they did.

Thus far the aforesaid princes were not wanting to their subjects, when they made war in those places privately for their own interest, though, by reason of the power of the above-mentioned Spanish faction, they would not espouse their cause publicly, in the way they ought to have done, and in a manner suitable to the ancient glory of the English nation. And certainly, it would have been the most unbecoming and disgraceful thing in the world for us, who by the kind providence of God had in our possession so many ships equipped and furnished with every thing requisite to a war by sea, to have suffered these ships rather to have grown worm-eaten and rot at home for want of use, than to have been employed in avenging the blood of the English, as well as that of the poor Indians, which in those places has been so unjustly, so cruelly, and so often shed by the hands of the Spaniards: since God has made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, having determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation. And surely God will one time or other take vengeance on the Spaniards, who have shed so much innocent blood, who have made such terrible havoc among the poor Indians, slain so many thousands of them with the utmost barbarity, done them so many injuries, and harassed and persecuted them in such a miserable manner, whatever time that may happen, and by whose hand soever it may be executed.

But in order to justify our conduct, there is no need of having recourse to the common relation that men have to one another, which is no other than that of brethren, whereby all great and extraordinary wrongs done to particular persons ought to be considered as in a manner done to all the rest of the human race; since their having so often robbed and murdered our own countrymen was cause sufficient of itself, for our having undertaken that late expedition, and has given us abundant reason to avenge ourselves on that people; to pass by at present a great many other reasons, and to take into consideration our own safety for the future, and likewise that of our allies, especially those among them who are of the orthodox religion; and to omit several other causes, whereby we were prompted to this expedition, of which we have no need at present to give a particular enumeration, since our principal design at this time is to declare and show to the world the justice and equity of the thing itself, and not to reckon up all the particular causes of it. And that we may do this with the greater perspicuity, and explain generals by particulars, we must cast our eyes back a little upon things that are past, and strictly examine all the transactions betwixt the English and Spaniards, consider what has been the state of affairs on both sides, so far as may respect the mutual relation of the two kingdoms, both since the first discovery of America, and since the reformation: which two great events, as they happened much about the same time, so they produced every where vast changes and revolutions, especially among the English and Spaniards, who since that time have conducted and managed their affairs in a very different, if not quite contrary, way to what they did formerly. For though the last king and his father, against the will of almost all their subjects, patched up any way two leagues with the Spaniards; yet the different turns of the two nations, proceeding from the difference of their religious principles, and the perpetual dissensions that were in the West Indies, together with the jealousies and suspicions which the Spaniards had all along of the English, (being always mightily afraid of losing their treasures in America,) have not only frustrated all the late attempts made by this commonwealth to obtain a peace upon reasonable and honourable terms, but were likewise the principal reasons why Philip II., in Queen Elizabeth’s reign, broke that ancient league, that had subsisted so long, without any violation, betwixt this nation and his ancestors of the house of Burgundy and Castile; and having made war upon that queen, proposed to subdue this whole nation: which very thing in the year 1588 he attempted with all his might, while in the mean time he was treating about the establishment of a peace; which certainly cannot but be still deeply rooted in the minds of the English, and will not easily be extirpated. And though after that there was some kind of peace and commerce in Europe, (and it was of such sort that no Englishman durst profess his own religion within any part of the Spanish dominions, or have the Holy Bible in his house, or even aboard a ship,) yet in the West Indies the Spaniard from that time has never allowed them either to enjoy peace, or to have the privilege of trading; contrary to what was expressly stipulated concerning both these things in that league of the year 1542, concluded between Henry VIII. king of England, and the emperor Charles V., in which peace and free commerce were expressly established between these two princes and their people, through every part of their respective dominions, through all their ports and territories, without any exception of the West Indies, which was then subject to that emperor.

But as to that article, of a peace to be maintained on the part of both nations through all the countries of the world; this is indeed plainly contained in all the treaties of peace that were ever betwixt them, nor is there any exception relating to commerce in any of these treaties, till that which was made in the year 1604, with which that in the year 1630 does perfectly agree. In which two last treaties it was resolved upon, that both nations should have a privilege of trading in every part of one another’s dominions, in all those places, where, before the war between Philip II. king of Spain, and Elizabeth queen of England, there was any commerce, according to what was usual and customary in ancient alliances and treaties made before that time. These are the very individual words of those treaties, which do plainly leave the matter dubious and uncertain, and so King James was satisfied to make peace with Spain any how, since he only renewed the very same treaty which had been concluded a little before the death of Queen Elizabeth, who charged her deputies when it was in agitation, among other things, to insist warmly on having a privilege of trading to the West Indies.

But King James, who was mightily desirous of making peace with the Spaniards, was content to leave that clause so expressed, as both parties might explain it their own way, and as they judged would be most for their own advantage; though these words, “According to what is usual and customary in ancient alliances and treaties,” are so to be understood as it is reasonable they should, according to what in justice ought to be done, and not according to what has been done on the part of the Spaniards, to their manifest violation, (which has afforded perpetual matter of complaint to the English, and has been an occasion of continual quarrels betwixt the two nations,) it is most evident from the express words of ancient treaties, that the English had a privilege both of peace and commerce, through all the Spanish dominions.

Moreover, if the way of observing ancient treaties and agreements is to be taken from their manifest violation, the Spaniards have some pretence for explaining that clause, in the last treaties, as debarring the English from all manner of commerce in these parts. And for all that, during one half the time that intervened betwixt the foresaid treaty in the year 1542, and the beginning of the war betwixt Philip II, and Elizabeth, so far as we can judge from the manner in which things were carried on, it would appear that trading in these places was as much allowed as prohibited. But when the Spaniards would permit no commerce at all, they and the English came from the exchange of goods to that of blows and wounds; and this not only before the war broke out betwixt Philip and Elizabeth, but likewise after a peace was made in the year 1604 by King James, and another by his son in 1630, and yet so as not to stop the course of trade through Europe. However, the king of Spain, after this late interruption of our trade, has now judged that the contests in America may be extended to Europe itself.

But we neither insist on the interpretation of treaties, nor the right of commerce by virtue of these treaties, or on any other account, as if this contest of ours with Spain were necessarily to be founded on these. This is built on the clearest and most evident reasons in the world, as will presently appear. Nevertheless, there are some things of such a nature, that though it be not so necessary to found a war upon them, yet they may very justly be obstacles to the establishing of a peace, or at least to the renewing of an alliance, in which these things are not granted, which have either been granted in former pactions, or may reasonably be requested. And this may serve as an answer to that question; Why, since we have renewed the ancient treaties we had formerly made with all other nations, we have not done the same with Spain? And may serve to convince the world, that in the articles of alliance we have not, as is objected, demanded his right eye, far less both eyes, by our refusing to be liable to the cruel and bloody inquisition in those places where we have been allowed to traffic, but have only insisted upon having such a privilege of carrying on trade, as we were not to be deprived of, either by ancient treaties, or the law of nature. For though the king of Spain has assumed to himself a power of prescribing us the laws and bounds of commerce, by authority of a law made by the pope, whereby he discharges all traffic with Turks, Jews, and other infidels: [*] and though under this pretence, even in time of peace, his ships of war, in other places besides the West Indies, have taken and plundered our ships; and though by the same authority of the pope, and under pretence of a certain gift he has from him, he claims the Indians for his subjects, as if forsooth they also were subject unto him, who are neither under his authority nor protection: yet we maintain, that neither the pope nor the king of Spain is invested with any such power, as either to rob them of their liberty, or us of the privilege of conversing and trading with them, which we have by the law of nature and nations, but especially with those who, as we formerly observed, are not under the power and government of the king of Spain.

Another obstacle to our renewing an alliance with Spain is sufficiently manifest, and at the same time very remarkable; which is this, that any of our embassadors and public ministers who are sent into that kingdom, either for the sake of cultivating a good understanding, or about any other business, betwixt the two commonwealths, are altogether uncertain of their lives, the king being tied down to such opinions, as hinder him from providing for their safety against murderers, so as they may not be always in the most imminent danger; whose privileges, in order to keep up and preserve friendship between princes and commonwealths, have by the law of nations been always considered as inviolable, and as a thing much more sacred than those altars of refuge, whose privileges, built on the authority of the pope and the church of Rome, have been hitherto applied to elude the force of laws and justice, which we demanded should be put in execution against the murderers of Mr. Anthony Ascham, who was sent by this republic into Spain, to procure and establish friendship betwixt the two nations. For which barbarous murder there has never yet been any satisfaction made, nor punishment inflicted on the authors of it, nor could this ever be obtained, though it was demanded by the parliament; [†] and in their name several times urged with the greatest warmth by the council of state. And this has been hitherto one continued obstacle, and a very just one too, to the renewing of an alliance betwixt the two nations; nay, if we consider how other nations have frequently acted in like cases, it may be considered as a very just cause for a war.

But as to the disputes that have arisen in the West Indies, though we, both in the continent itself, and in the islands, have plantations as well as they, and have as good, nay, a better right to possess them, than the Spaniards have to possess theirs, and though we have a right to trade in those seas, equally good with theirs; yet without any reason, or any damage sustained, and that when there was not the least dispute about commerce, they have been continually invading our colonies in a hostile way, killing our men, taking our ships, robbing us of our goods, laying waste our houses and fields, imprisoning and enslaving our people: this they have been doing all along till these present times, wherein they have of late engaged in an expedition against them.

For which reason, contrary to what used to be done formerly in the like case, they have detained our ships and merchants, and confiscated their goods almost every where through the Spanish dominions: so that whether we turn our eyes to America or Europe, they alone are undoubtedly to be considered as the authors of the war, and the cause of all the inconveniences and all the bloodshed with which it may possibly be attended.

There are a great many instances of the most cruel and barbarous treatment, the English have perpetually met with from the Spaniards in the West Indies; and that even in time of peace, both since the year 1604, when the peace was patched up by King James, till the time that the war broke out again, and since that last peace, which was concluded in the year 1630, to this very day. We shall only mention a few of them. [*]

After a peace was concluded in the year 1605, a ship called the Mary, Ambrose Birch commander, was trading on the north coast of Hispaniola: the master being allured with promises of a safe and free commerce, by one father John and six of his accomplices, to go ashore to see some goods, twelve Spaniards in the mean time while going aboard to see the English goods, while the English suspecting no frauds were showing them their wares, the priest giving a signal from the shore, the Spaniards every man drew his dagger, and stabbed all the English that were in the ship, except two who leaped into the sea, and the rest ashore were put to death with an unparalleled cruelty; the master himself stript of his clothes, and fastened to a tree, was exposed naked to be bit by the flies and vermin. And after he had continued in this miserable case for the space of twenty hours, a negro hearing his groans came to the place, and as he was just on the point of expiring, stabbed him with a spear. This ship with her goods was valued at £5400.

Another ship called the Archer was taken at St. Domingo, and all the sailors put to death. She was reckoned worth £1300.

Another ship, called the Friendship of London, with her loading, was taken by Lodowic Fajard, admiral of the Spanish fleet, all her goods confiscated, and the merchants and mariners thrown into the sea, except one boy who was reserved for a slave. This ship with her loading was estimated at £1500.

The sailors going ashore out of another ship, called the Scorn, (the Spaniards having solemnly sworn they would do them no prejudice,) were all nevertheless bound to trees, and strangled. The ship with all her goods was seized, and the merchants, to whom she belonged, lost at this time £1500.

In the year 1606, a ship called the Neptune, was taken at Tortuga, by the Spanish guarda costas, valued at £4300. [*]

The same year, another ship, called the Lark, was taken by Lodowic Fajard, and confiscated with all her loading, valued at £4570.

Another, called the Castor and Pollux, was taken by the Spaniards at Florida, by whom she was confiscated, and all her sailors either killed or made slaves; for they were never heard of afterwards. This vessel with her loading was valued at £15000. [†]

In the year 1608, a Plymouth ship called the Richard, commanded by Henry Challins, fitted out at the expense of Lord Popham, lord chief justice of England, Ferdinand Gorges knight, and others, to go to Virginia, happening to be driven by stress of weather upon the southern part of the Canary islands, in her way from thence to the coast of Virginia, she chanced to fall in with eleven Spanish ships returning from St. Domingo, who seized her; and though the captain, to rescue himself out of their hands, produced a royal passport, yet the ship with all her goods was confiscated, the captain himself barbarously used by them and sent to the galleys. This was a damage of more than £2500.

A ship, called the Aid, was served much the same way by Lodowic Fajard, having been taken under pretence of friendship; she too with her goods was confiscated, and all the sailors sent to the galleys, where some were cudgelled to death for refusing to ply the oars. Which vessel with her goods, by the Spaniards’ own estimation, was worth £7000.

The same year another ship, called the Gallant Anne, William Curry commander, as she was trading at Hispaniola, was likewise confiscated with all her goods, and all the sailors hanged; each of them, by way of ridicule, having a piece of paper sewed to his coat, which had these words written upon it, “Why came ye hither?” This ship with her burden was valued at £8000. These instances do sufficiently show what kind of peace the Spaniards maintained with us during the reign of King James, who was always very much afraid of breaking the peace with them. And we may also plainly discover the same acts of hostility and barbarous treatment ever since the last peace, which was made in the year 1630, to this very day. For this end we will first speak a little of those colonies, that were planted by some noblemen of this nation, in the isle of Catelina, which they call the isle of Providence, and the island of Tortuga, by them called the island of Association. These islands about the year 1629, being then quite uninhabited, having neither men nor cattle in them, were seized by the English, who at that time were at war with the Spaniards. The year following, when peace was established betwixt the two nations, the Spaniards having made no exception about these islands, King Charles, in a charter under the great seal of England, declared himself master of the isle of Providence and some other islands adjacent to it, which he thought no way inconsistent with his peace, and gave them in possession to some noblemen and their heirs, and next year he extended this grant to the isle of Tortuga.

And though the above-mentioned planters had got possession of these islands by the king’s grant, and though this grant was exceeding well founded, first on the law of nature, since neither the Spaniards, nor any other people whatever, were in possession of these places when they seized them; and secondly, on the right of war, since they were taken possession of in time of war, and were not excepted in the articles of peace, whence it follows from the second article of the last treaty, that the title of the Spaniards to these islands (even supposing they had had one) was made null by their own consent: and though likewise, neither the aforesaid company of planters in general, nor any one of them in particular by any action of theirs, had given any just cause of offence, either to the king of Spain or to any of his subjects, till they had first in a violent manner attacked our ships and colonies, and had slain several of the English, and set fire to their houses: yet the Spaniards, being firmly resolved to break the peace in these places, about the twenty-second of January 1632, without any the least provocation, betwixt the isle of Tortuga and the cape of Florida, in a hostile manner fell upon a certain ship belonging to the company, called the Sea-Flower, on her return from the isle of Providence, in which engagement they slew some of the men aboard that ship, and wounded others.

After this, about the year 1634, the isle of Tortuga was attacked by four ships belonging to the Spaniards, without any injury done on the part of the English, in which attack upwards of sixty were slain, many wounded and taken prisoners, their houses burnt down and quite demolished, their most valuable goods carried off by the Spaniards, and the English almost wholly driven out of that island; of whom some were hanged, others carried to the Havanna, and detained in the most abject slavery. One Grymes, who had been a gunner in Tortuga, was distinguished from the rest, by a death remarkably cruel. Some of them flying for refuge to a certain desert island called Santa Cruz, were again set upon by the Spaniards, who even pursued them thither with three galleys in the month of March 1636, of whom forty were killed, and the rest taken prisoners, and used with the utmost barbarity.

In the year 1635, July 24th, the Spaniards, with two great ships and one galley, made likewise an attack upon the isle of Providence, and they fought for several hours, but at that time they were repulsed and forced to give over their enterprise. However, they attempted the same thing a second time, about the year 1640, with twelve ships, some large, and some of a lesser size, whereof the admiral’s ship was called the Armadillo of Carthagena, one of the greater galleys of the royal plate-fleet, and having sent a great number of soldiers ashore, they were confident of making themselves masters of the whole island; but yet were repulsed with a great deal of damage, and forced to retreat. Nevertheless, having equipped another fleet, they returned a little after, when the planters, at variance among themselves, did not so much employ their thoughts about what method they should take to defend themselves, as about the terms upon which they might most advantageously surrender; which terms, upon their giving up the island, they found no difficulty to obtain. But the island was by this means wrested out of the hands both of the planters and the commonwealth, of whom the former sustained the loss of more than £80,000, and the latter, besides the loss of the island, hereby received a very open and public affront. After the Spaniards had thus made themselves masters of the isle of Providence, a ship bringing some passengers hither, who wanted to transport themselves to this place from New-England, the Spaniards by stratagem having found means to get her brought within gun-shot, (the people in the ship knowing nothing of their late conquest of that island,) she was in great danger of being taken, and with very much difficulty rescued herself; the master of the ship, a very honest and worthy man, was killed by a bullet-shot from the island.

Nor were the Spaniards content to confine the acts of hostility, which they have exercised upon the people of that colony, within the boundaries of America, but have also treated them in the same hostile manner in Europe. For in the year 1638, December 25th, a ship belonging to that same company, called the Providence, Thomas Newman commander, two leagues from Dungeness on the very coast of England, was assaulted and taken by Sprengfeld, captain of a privateer belonging to Dunkirk, to which place this ship was brought, and her cargo detained, which even by the computation of many persons in that place, was reckoned to amount to the sum of £30,000. As for the sailors, some were slain, some wounded, and the rest, after having been treated with the greatest inhumanity in their own ship, were hurried away to Dunkirk, where they met with much the same usage, till they found some way to make their escape; and though the owners demanded satisfaction in the most earnest manner, and the last king by his resident Mr. Balthaser Gerber, and both by letters written with his own hand, and the hand of secretary Coke, asked reparation on their behalf; yet they could neither procure the restitution of their goods, nor the least compensation for these losses.

But there are other examples of the Spanish cruelty, which are of a later date, and still more shocking; such as that of their coming from Porto-Rico and attacking Santa Cruz about the year 1651, an island that was not formerly inhabited, but at that time possessed by an English colony governed by Nicol. Philips, who with about an hundred more of the colony was barbarously murdered by the hands of the Spaniards, who besides this attacked the ships in the harbour, plundered their houses and razed them from the very foundation; and when they could find no more to sacrifice to their fury, (the rest of the inhabitants having fled to the woods,) returning to Porto-Rico, they gave the miserable remnant, who were well nigh famished, time to remove from Santa Cruz, and to betake themselves to some other neighbouring islands. But a little time thereafter, they returned in quest and pursuit of those who skulked in the woods; but they had the good fortune to find a way of making their escape, and stealing away privately to other islands.

In the same year 1631, a ship belonging to John Turner being driven into the harbour of Cumanagola by tempestuous winds, was seized by the governor of that place, and confiscated with all her lading.

The same was done to captain Cranley’s ship and her goods. [*]

And in the year 1650, a certain vessel pertaining to Samuel Wilson, loaden with horses, was taken on the high seas in her way to Barbadoes, and carried to the Havanna. Both the ship and her goods were confiscated, most of the sailors imprisoned, and like slaves obliged to work at the fortifications.

The same hardships were endured by the sailors aboard a certain ship of Barnstable about two years since, which in her return from some of our plantations in the Carribee islands, springing a leak hard by Hispaniola, the sailors to save themselves, being obliged to get into the long boat, got ashore, where they were all made slaves, and obliged to work at the fortications.

By these, and many more examples of the same kind too long to be reckoned up, it is abundantly evident, the king of Spain and his subjects think they are no way bound by any condition of peace to be performed to us on their part in these places, since they have habitually exercised all sorts of hostilities against us, nay have even done such things as are more insufferable, and more grievous, than open acts of hostility; and since that cruelty, with which they usually treat the English in America, is so contrary to the articles of peace, that it does not so much as seem suitable to the laws of the most bloody war: however, in that embargo of the king of Spain, by which he orders our merchant ships and their goods to be seized and confiscated, the whole blame is laid upon the English, whom he brands with the odious names of treaty-breakers and violators of the most sacred peace, and likewise of free commerce, which he pretends to have so religiously maintained on his part, and gives out that we have violated the laws of peace and commerce with such strange and professed hostility, that we attempted to besiege the town of St. Domingo in the isle of Hispaniola. Which is the only cause he offers, why the goods of the English are confiscated in Spain, and the trading people confined; though this is likewise aggravated by his boasted humanity; for he maintains that he in the most friendly way received our fleets into his harbours, [†] where it could be of any advantage for them to enter, and that his ministers did not at all require of us a strict observance of the articles of peace, that were agreed to by the two crowns, which forbid both parties to enter a harbour with more than six or eight ships of war.

But as he, by talking in this strain, acquits our fleets of all trespasses and violations of treaty in these harbours, since if any such thing as is objected has been done and passed over, it has been done by the allowance of himself and his ministers; and as it is exceeding manifest, that he has not been so favourable for nought, if he will but reflect with himself what vast profits he has received from our fleets, so on the other hand, that the king and his ministers have not at all in fact observed the agreements he speaks of, in the twenty-third article of which, the following provision is made in the most express terms; “That if any differences should happen to arise betwixt the two commonwealths, the subjects on both sides should be advertised, that they should have six months from the time of the advertisement to transport their effects, during which time there should be no arrest, interrupting, or damaging, of any man’s person or goods.” In which affair, the king truly has shown but very little regard to those contracts, which he charges us with having broken, as appears from that late confiscation of our goods. But what he declares in that edict concerning the acts of hostility committed in the West Indies, their being to be considered as a violation of peace and free commerce in these parts, is a new and quite different explanation from what has ever been propounded hitherto by either of the two republics, though both parties have frequently had occasions to declare their judgment about this matter.

But seeing the king of Spain has declared both by word and deed, that the articles of peace ought to be thus understood, it follows, that by so many acts of hostility committed against the English in these parts, and which first began on his side, and have been continued from the very time of the last concluded treaty, as was formerly observed, to this very day; hence I say it follows, that he seems to be convinced, that the sacred bonds of friendship have been first broken on his side. Which thing is so clear and manifest, that our adversaries themselves in this controversy are ashamed to deny the fact, and choose rather to dispute with us concerning the right of possession; which must be in the following manner: as the king of Spain, among his other titles, has assumed that of king of the Indies, so they affirm, that the whole Indies and Indian sea, both south and north, belong to him, and that they are all enemies and pirates, who approach these places without his commission. Which if it were true, both we and all other nations ought to leave and restore to him all our possessions there, and having brought back whatever colonies we have sent thither, should beg his pardon for the injury we have done him; but if we consider a little more narrowly the truth and reasonableness of this title, we shall find that it is built upon a very slender and weak foundation, to have such a vast pile of war and contentions erected upon it, as the present is likely to be. They pretend to have a double title, one founded upon the pope’s gift, and another upon their having first discovered those places. As to the first, we know the pope has been always very liberal in his gifts of kingdoms and countries, but in the mean time we cannot but think, that in so doing, he acts in a very different manner from him, whose vicar he professes himself, who would not so much as allow himself to be appointed a judge in the dividing of inheritances, far less give any one whole kingdoms at his pleasure, like the pope, who has thought fit to make a present of England, Ireland, and some other kingdoms.

But we deny his being invested with any such authority, nor do we think there is any nation so void of understanding, as to think that so great power is lodged in him, or that the Spaniards would believe this or acquiesce in it, if he should require them to yield up as much as he has bestowed. But if the French and others, who acknowledge the pope’s authority in ecclesiastical matters, have no regard to this title of the Spaniards, it cannot be expected we should think of it any other wise. And so we leave this point, as not deserving a fuller answer.

Nor is the other title of any greater weight, as if the Spaniards in consequence of their having first discovered some few parts of America, and given names to some islands, rivers, and promontories, had for this reason lawfully acquired the government and dominion of that new world. But such an imaginary title founded on such a silly pretence, without being in possession, cannot possibly create any true and lawful right. The best right of possession in America is that which is founded on one’s having planted colonies there, and settled in such places as had either no inhabitants, or by the consent of the inhabitants, if there were any; or at least, in some of the wild and uncultivated places of their country, which they were not numerous enough to replenish and improve; since God has created this earth for the use of men, and ordered them to replenish it throughout.

If this be true, as the Spaniards will be found to hold their possessions there very unjustly, having purchased all of them against the will of the inhabitants, and as it were plucked them out of their very bowels, having laid the foundations of their empire in that place, in the blood of the poor natives, and rendered several large islands and countries, that were in a tolerable case when they found them, so many barren desarts, and rooted out all the inhabitants there; so the English hold their possessions there by the best right imaginable, especially those islands where the Spaniards have fallen upon their colonies, and quite demolished them; which islands had no other inhabitants at all, or if they had, they were all slain by the Spaniards who had likewise deserted these places, and left them without any to improve or cultivate them: so that by the law of nature and nations they belong to any who think fit to take possession of them, according to that common and well-known maxim in law, “Such things as belong to none, and such as are abandoned by their former possessors, become his property who first seizes them.” Although, granting that we had beat the Spaniards out of those places where we have planted our colonies, out of which they had at first expelled the inhabitants, we should have possessed them with better right, as the avengers of the murder of that people, and of the injuries sustained by them, than the Spaniards their oppressors and murderers. But since we have settled our colonies in such places as were neither possessed by the natives nor the Spaniards, they having left behind them neither houses nor cattle, nor any thing that could by any means keep up the right of possession, the justness of our title to these places was so much the more evident, and the injuries done us by the Spaniards so much the more manifest, especially our right to those places that were seized while the two nations were at war with each other, such as the isles of Providence and Tortuga, which if the Spaniards could have shown to be theirs by any former title which they have not yet produced, yet since they have not done it in the last treaty of peace, by the second article of this treaty, they have for the future cut themselves off from all such pretence, and if they had any right, have now lost it. It is unnecessary to talk any further upon this argument.

There is no intelligent person but will easily see how empty and weak those reasons are, that the Spaniard has for claiming to himself alone an empire of such a vast and prodigious extent. But we have said this much, in order to show the weakness of those pretences, whereby the Spaniards endeavour to justify themselves for having treated us with so much cruelty and barbarity in the West Indies, for having enslaved, hanged, drowned, tortured, and put to death our countrymen, robbed them of their ships and goods, and demolished our colonies, even in the time of profound peace, and that without any injury received on their part: which cruel usage and havoc, made among our people, and such as were of the same orthodox faith with them, as oft as the English call to remembrance, they cannot miss to think that their former glory is quite gone, and their ships of war become entirely useless, if they suffer themselves to be any longer treated in such a disgraceful manner: and moreover, to be not only excluded from all free commerce in so great and opulent a part of the world, but likewise to be looked upon as pirates and robbers, and punished in the same manner as they, if they presume to sail those seas, or so much as look that way: or, in fine, have any intercourse or dealing even with their own colonies that are settled there.

Concerning the bloody Spanish inquisition we shall say nothing, this being a controversy common to all protestants, nor shall we speak of the many seminaries of English priests and Jesuits nestling under the protection of the Spaniards, which is a perpetual cause of stumbling, and very great danger to the commonwealth; since what we principally propose is, to show the grounds and reasons of the controversies in the West Indies, and we are confident we have made it plain to all, who weigh things fairly and impartially, that necessity, honour, and justice, have prompted us to undertake this late expedition. First, we have been prompted to it by necessity; it being absolutely necessary to go to war with the Spaniards, since they will not allow us to be at peace with them: and then honour, and justice, seeing we cannot pretend to either of these, if we sit still and suffer such unsufferable injuries to be done our countrymen, as those we have shown to have been done them in the West Indies.

And truly they see but a very little way, who form their notion of the designs and intentions of the Spaniards, according to that friendly aspect, with which the present declension of their affairs has obliged them to look upon us in these parts of the world, (that face which they have put on being only a false one,) for it is certain they have the same mind, and the very same desires, which they had in the year 1588, when they endeavoured to subdue this whole island; nay, it is certain their hatred is more inflamed, and their jealousies and suspicions more increased by this change of the state of our affairs, and of the form of our republic. But if we omit this opportunity, which by reason of some things that have lately happened, may perhaps give us an occasion to fall upon some way, whereby through the assistance of God we may provide for our safety, against this old and implacable enemy of our religion and country; it may happen, he will recover such a degree of strength, as will render him as formidable and hard to be endured as before. One thing is certain, he always will and cannot but have the greatest indignation against us. Meanwhile, if we suffer such grievous injuries to be done our countrymen in the West Indies, without any satisfaction or revenge; if we suffer ourselves to be wholly excluded from that so considerable a part of the world; if we suffer our malicious and inveterate enemy (especially now, after he has made peace with the Dutch) to carry off without molestation, from the West Indies, those prodigious treasures, whereby he may repair his present damages, and again bring his affairs to such a prosperous and happy condition, as to deliberate with himself a second time, what he was thinking upon in the year 1588; namely, whether it would be more adviseable to begin with subduing England, in order to recover the United Provinces, or with them, in order to reduce England under his subjection: without doubt he will not find fewer, but more, causes why he should begin with England. And if God should at any time permit those intentions of his to have their desired effect, we have good ground to expect, that the residue of that cruel havoc, he made among our brethren at the foot of the Alps, will be first exercised upon us, and after that upon all protestants; which, if we may give credit to the complaints that were made by those poor orthodox Christians, was first designed and contrived in the court of Spain, by those friars whom they call missionaries.

All these things being considered, we hope the time will come, when all, but especially true Englishmen, will rather lay aside their private animosities among themselves, and renounce their own proper advantages, than through an excessive desire of that small profit to be made by trading to Spain, (which cannot be obtained but upon such conditions as are dishonourable and in some sort unlawful, and which may likewise be got some other way,) expose, as they now do, to the utmost danger, the souls of many young traders, by those terms upon which they now live and trade there, and suffer the lives and fortunes of many Christian brethren in America, and in fine, the honour of this whole nation, to be exposed, and, what of all is the most momentous and important, let slip out of their hands the most notable opportunities of promoting the glory of God, and enlarging the bounds of Christ’s kingdom: which, we do not doubt, will appear to be the chief end of our late expedition into the West Indies against the Spaniards, to all who are free of those prejudices which hinder people from clearly discerning the truth.

THE SECOND DEFENCE OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND, AGAINST AN ANONYMOUS LIBEL

ENTITLED “THE ROYAL BLOOD CRYING TO HEAVEN FOR VENGEANCE ON THE ENGLISH PARRICIDES.”

TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN,

BY ROBERT FELLOWES, A. M. OXON.

A GRATEFUL recollection of the divine goodness, is the first of human obligations; and extraordinary favours demand more solemn and devout acknowledgments; with such acknowledgments I feel it my duty to begin this work. First, because I was born at a time, when the virtue of my fellow-citizens, far exceeding that of their progenitors in greatness of soul and vigour of enterprise, having invoked heaven to witness the justice of their cause, and been clearly governed by its directions, has succeeded in delivering the commonwealth from the most grievous tyranny, and religion from the most ignominious degradation. And next, because when there suddenly arose many who, as is usual with the vulgar, basely calumniated the most illustrious achievements, and when one eminent above the rest, inflated with literary pride, and the zealous applauses of his partisans, had in a scandalous publication, which was particularly levelled against me, nefariously undertaken to plead the cause of despotism, I who was neither deemed unequal to so renowned an adversary, nor to so great a subject, was particularly selected by the deliverers of our country, and by the general suffrage of the public, openly to vindicate the rights of the English nation, and consequently of liberty itself. Lastly, because in a matter of so much moment, and which excited such ardent expectations, I did not disappoint the hopes nor the opinions of my fellow-citizens; while men of learning and eminence abroad honoured me with unmingled approbation; while I obtained such a victory over my opponent, that notwithstanding his unparalleled assurance, he was obliged to quit the field with his courage broken and his reputation lost; and for the three years which he lived afterwards, much as he menaced and furiously as he raved, he gave me no further trouble, except that he procured the paltry aid of some despicable hirelings, and suborned some of his silly and extravagant admirers, to support him under the weight of the unexpected and recent disgrace which he had experienced. This will immediately appear. Such are the signal favours which I ascribe to the divine beneficence, and which I thought it right devoutly to commemorate, not only that I might discharge a debt of gratitude, but particularly because they seem auspicious to the success of my present undertaking. For who is there, who does not identify the honour of his country with his own? And what can conduce more to the beauty or glory of one’s country, than the recovery, not only of its civil but its religious liberty? And what nation or state ever obtained both, by more successful or more valorous exertion? For fortitude is seen resplendent, not only in the field of battle and amid the clash of arms, but displays its energy under every difficulty and against every assailant. Those Greeks and Romans, who are the objects of our admiration, employed hardly any other virtue in the extirpation of tyrants, than that love of liberty which made them prompt in seizing the sword, and gave them strength to use it. With facility they accomplished the undertaking, amid the general shout of praise and joy; nor did they engage in the attempt so much as an enterprise of perilous and doubtful issue, as in a contest the most glorious in which virtue could be signalized; which infallibly led to present recompence; which bound their brows with wreaths of laurel, and consigned their memories to immortal fame. For as yet, tyrants were not beheld with a superstitious reverence; as yet they were not regarded with tenderness and complacency, as the vicegerents or deputies of Christ, as they have suddenly professed to be; as yet the vulgar, stupified by the subtle casuistry of the priest, had not degenerated into a state of barbarism, more gross than that which disgraces the most senseless natives of Hindostan. For these make mischievous demons, whose malice they cannot resist, the objects of their religious adoration; while those elevate impotent tyrants, in order to shield them from destruction, into the rank of gods; and to their own cost, consecrate the pests of the human race. But against this dark array of long received opinions, superstitions, obloquy, and fears, which some dread even more than the enemy himself, the English had to contend; and all this, under the light of better information, and favoured by an impulse from above, they overcame with such singular enthusiasm and bravery, that, great as were the numbers engaged in the contest, the grandeur of conception, and loftiness of spirit which were universally displayed, merited for each individual more than a mediocrity of fame; and Britain, which was formerly styled the hotbed of tyranny, will hereafter deserve to be celebrated for endless ages, as a soil most genial to the growth of liberty. During the mighty struggle, no anarchy, no licentiousness was seen; no illusions of glory, no extravagant emulation of the ancients inflamed them with a thirst for ideal liberty; but the rectitude of their lives, and the sobriety of their habits, taught them the only true and safe road to real liberty; and they took up arms only to defend the sanctity of the laws, and the rights of conscience. Relying on the divine assistance, they used every honourable exertion to break the yoke of slavery; of the praise of which, though I claim no share to myself, yet I can easily repel any charge which may be adduced against me, either of want of courage, or want of zeal. For though I did not participate in the toils or dangers of the war, yet I was at the same time engaged in a service not less hazardous to myself, and more beneficial to my fellow-citizens; nor, in the adverse turns of our affairs, did I ever betray any symptoms of pusillanimity and dejection; or show myself more afraid than became me, of malice or of death: for since from my youth I was devoted to the pursuits of literature, and my mind had always been stronger than my body, I did not court the labours of a camp, in which any common person would have been of more service than myself, but resorted to that employment in which my exertions were likely to be of most avail. Thus, with the better part of my frame, I contributed as much as possible to the good of my country, and to the success of the glorious cause in which we were engaged; and I thought, that if God willed the success of such glorious achievements, it was equally agreeable to his will, that there should be others by whom those achievements should be recorded with dignity and elegance; and that the truth, which had been defended by arms, should also be defended by reason; which is the best and only legitimate means of defending it. Hence, while I applaud those who were victorious in the field, I will not complain of the province which was assigned me; but rather congratulate myself upon it, and thank the author of all good for having placed me in a station, which may be an object of envy to others, rather than of regret to myself. I am far from wishing to make any vain or arrogant comparisons, or to speak ostentatiously of myself, but, in a cause so great and glorious, and particularly on an occasion when I am called by the general suffrage to defend the very defenders of that cause; I can hardly refrain from assuming a more lofty and swelling tone, than the simplicity of an exordium may seem to justify: and much as I may be surpassed in the powers of eloquence, and copiousness of diction, by the illustrious orators of antiquity; yet the subject of which I treat, was never surpassed in any age, in dignity or in interest. It has excited such general and such ardent expectation, that I imagine myself not in the forum or on the rostra, surrounded only by the people of Athens or of Rome; but about to address in this as I did in my former defence, the whole collective body of people, cities, states, and councils of the wise and eminent, through the wide expanse of anxious and listening Europe. I seem to survey as from a towering height, the far extended tracts of sea and land, and innumerable crowds of spectators, betraying in their looks the liveliest interest, and sensations the most congenial with my own. Here I behold the stout and manly prowess of the Germans, disdaining servitude; there the generous and lively impetuosity of the French; on this side, the calm and stately valour of the Spaniard; on that, the composed and wary magnanimity of the Italian. Of all the lovers of liberty and virtue, the magnanimous and the wise, in whatever quarter they may be found, some secretly favour, others openly approve; some greet me with congratulations and applause; others, who had long been proof against conviction, at last yield themselves captive to the force of truth. Surrounded by congregated multitudes, I now imagine, that, from the columns of Hercules to the Indian ocean, I behold the nations of the earth recovering that liberty which they so long had lost; and that the people of this island are transporting to other countries a plant of more beneficial qualities, and more noble growth, than that which Triptolemus is reported to have carried from region to region; that they are disseminating the blessings of civilization and freedom among cities, kingdoms and nations. Nor shall I approach unknown, nor perhaps unloved, if it be told that I am the same person who engaged in single combat that fierce advocate of despotism; till then reputed invincible in the opinion of many, and in his own conceit; who insolently challenged us and our armies to the combat; but whom, while I repelled his virulence, I silenced with his own weapons; and over whom, if I may trust to the opinions of impartial judges, I gained a complete and glorious victory. That this is the plain unvarnished fact appears from this; that, after the most noble queen of Sweden, than whom there neither is nor ever was a personage more attached to literature and to learned men, had invited Salmasius or Salmasia (for to which sex he belonged is a matter of uncertainty) to her court, where he was received with great distinction, my defence suddenly surprized him in the midst of his security. It was generally read, and by the queen among the rest, who, attentive to the dignity of her station, let the stranger experience no diminution of her former kindness and munificence.

But, with respect to the rest, if I may assert what has been often told, and was matter of public notoriety, such a change was instantly effected in the public sentiment, that he, who but yesterday flourished in the highest degree of favour, seemed to day to wither in neglect; and soon after receiving permission to depart, he left it doubtful among many, whether he were more honoured when he came, or more disgraced when he went away; and even in other places it is clear, that it occasioned no small loss to his reputation; and all this I have mentioned, not from any futile motives of vanity or ostentation, but that I might clearly show, as I proposed in the beginning, what momentous reasons I had for commencing this work with an effusion of gratitude to the Father of the universe. Such a preface was most honourable and appropriate, in which I might prove, by an enumeration of particulars, that I had not been without my share of human misery; but that I had, at the same time, experienced singular marks of the divine regard; that in topics of the highest concern, the most connected with the exigencies of my country, and the most beneficial to civil and religious liberty; the supreme wisdom and beneficence had invigorated and enlarged my faculties, to defend the dearest interests, not merely of one people, but of the whole human race, against the enemies of human liberty; as it were in a full concourse of all the nations on the earth: And I again invoke the same Almighty Being, that I may still be able with the same integrity, the same diligence, and the same success, to defend those actions which have been so gloriously achieved; while I vindicate the authors as well as myself, whose name has been associated with theirs, not so much for the sake of honour as disgrace, from unmerited ignominy and reproach; but if there are any, who think that it would have been better to have passed over these in silent contempt, I should agree with them, if they had been dispersed only among those who were thoroughly acquainted with our principles and our conduct; but, how were strangers to discover the false assertions of our adversaries? When proper pains have been taken to make the vindication as extensive as the calumny, I think that they will cease to think ill of us, and that he will be ashamed of the falsehoods which he has promulgated; but, if he be past the feeling of shame, we may then well leave him to contempt. I should sooner have prepared an answer to his invective, if he had not entrenched himself in unfounded rumours and frequent denunciations that Salmasius was labouring at the anvil, and fabricating new libels against us, which would soon make their appearance; by which he obtained only a short delay of vengeance and of punishment; for I thought it right to reserve my whole strength unimpaired against the more potent adversary. But the conflict between me and Salmasius is now finally terminated by his death; and I will not write against the dead; nor will I reproach him with the loss of life as he did me with the loss of sight; though there are some, who impute his death to the penetrating severity of my strictures, which he rendered only the more sharp by his endeavours to resist. When he saw the work which he had in hand proceed slowly on, the time of reply elapsed, the public curiosity subsided, his fame marred, and his reputation lost; the favour of the princes, whose cause he had so ill-defended, alienated, he was destroyed after three years of grief rather by the force of depression than disease. However this may be, if I must wage even a posthumous war with an enemy whose strength I so well know, whose most vigorous and impetuous attacks I so easily sustained, there seems no reason why I should dread the languid exertions of his dying hour.

But now, at last, let us come to this thing, whatever it may be, that provokes us to the combat; though I hear, indeed, the cry not of the royal blood, as the title pretends, but that of some skulking and drivelling miscreant. Well, I beseech, who are you? a man, or nobody at all? Certainly one of the dregs of men, for even slaves are not without a name. Shall I always have to contend with anonymous scribblers? though they would willingly indeed pass for kings’ men, but I much doubt whether they can make kings believe that they are. The followers and friends of kings are not ashamed of kings. How then are these the friends of kings? They make no contributions; they more willingly receive them; they will not even lend their names to the support of the royal cause. What then? they support it by their pen; but even this service they have not sufficient liberality to render gratuitously to their kings; nor have they the courage to affix their names to their productions. But though, O anonymous Sirs! I might plead the example of your Claudius, who composed a plausible work concerning the rights of kings, but without having respect enough either for me or for the subject to put his name to the production. I should think it scandalous to undertake the discussion of so weighty a subject, while I concealed my name. What I, in a republic, openly attempt against kings, why do you in a monarchy, and under the patronage of kings, not dare to do except clandestinely and by stealth? Why do you, trembling with apprehension in the midst of security, and seeking darkness in the midst of light, depreciate the power and the majesty of sovereigns by a cowardice, which must excite both hatred and distrust? Do you suspect that you have no protection in the power of kings? But surely, thus skulking in obscurity and prowling in disguise, you seem to have come not so much as advocates to maintain the right of kings as thieves to rob the treasury. What I am, I ingenuously profess to be. The prerogative which I deny to kings, I would persist in denying in any legitimate monarchy; for no sovereign could injure me without first condemning himself by a confession of his despotism. If I inveigh against tyrants, what is this to kings? whom I am far from associating with tyrants. As much as an honest man differs from a rogue, so much I contend that a king differs from a tyrant. Whence it is clear, that a tyrant is so far from being a king, that he is always in direct opposition to a king. And he who peruses the records of history, will find that more kings have been subverted by tyrants than by their subjects. He, therefore, who would authorise the destruction of tyrants, does not authorise the destruction of kings, but of the most inveterate enemies to kings. But that right, which you concede to kings, the right of doing what they please, is not justice, but injustice, ruin and despair. By that envenomed present you yourselves destroy those, whom you extol as if they were above the reach of danger and oppression; and you quite obliterate the difference between a king and a tyrant, if you invest both with the same arbitrary power. For, if a king does not exercise that power, (and no king will exercise it as long as he is not a tyrant,) the power must be ascribed, not to the king, but to the individual. For, what can be imagined more absurd than that regal prerogative, which, if any one uses, as often as he wishes to act the king, so often he ceases to be an honest man; and as often as he chooses to be an honest man, so often he must evince that he is not a king? Can any more bitter reproach be cast upon kings? He who maintains this prerogative, must himself be a monster of injustice and iniquity; for how can there be a worse person than him, who must himself first verify the exaggerated picture of atrocity which he delineates.” But if every good man, as an ancient sect of philosophers magnificently taught, is a king, it follows that every bad one is, according to his capacity, a tyrant; nor does the name of tyrant signify any thing soaring or illustrious, but the meanest reptile on the earth; for in proportion as he is great, he is contemptible and abject. Others are vicious only for themselves: but tyrants are vicious, not only for themselves, but are even involuntarily obliged to participate in the crimes of their importunate menials and favourites, and to entrust certain portions of their despotism to the vilest of their dependants. Tyrants are thus the most abject of slaves, for they are the servants of those who are themselves in servitude. This name therefore may be rightly applied to the most insignificant pugilist of tyranny, or even to this brawler; who, why he should strenuously clamour for the interests of despotism, will sufficiently appear from what has been said already, and what will be said in the sequel; as also why this hireling chooses to conceal his name. Treading in the steps of Salmasius, he has prostituted his cry for the royal blood, and either blushing for the disgrace of his erudition, or the flagitiousness of his life, it is not strange that he should wish to be concealed; or perhaps he is watching an opportunity, wherever he may scent some richer odours of emolument, to desert the cause of kings, and transfer his services to some future republic. This was the manner of Salmasius, who, captivated by the love of gain, apostatised, even when sinking in years, from the orthodox to the episcopalians, from the popular party to the royalists. Thou brawler, then, from the stews, who thou art thou in vain endeavourest to conceal; believe me, you will be dragged to light, nor will the helmet of Pluto any longer serve you for a disguise. And you will swear downright, as long as you live, either that I am not blind, or that I was quicksighted enough to detect you in the labyrinth of imposture. Attend then, while I relate who he is, from whom descended, by what expectations he was led, or by what blandishments soothed to advocate the royal cause.

There is one More, part Frenchman and part Scot, so that one country, or one people, cannot be quite overwhelmed with the whole infamy of his extraction; an unprincipled miscreant, and proved not only by the general testimony of his enemies, but even by that of his dearest friends, whom he has alienated by his insincerity, to be a monster of perfidy, falsehood, ingratitude, and malevolence, the perpetual slanderer, not only of men, but of women, whose chastity he is no more accustomed to regard than their reputation. To pass over the more obscure transactions of his youth, he first made his appearance as a teacher of the Greek language at Geneva; where he could not divest himself either of the knave or fool; but where, even while secretly conscious, though perhaps not yet publicly convicted of so many enormities, he had the audacity to solicit the office of pastor in the church, and to profane the character by his crimes. But his debaucheries, his pride, and the general profligacies of his conduct, could not long escape the censure of the Presbyters; after being condemned for many heresies, which he basely recanted, and to which he still as impiously adhered, he was at last openly found guilty of adultery. He had conceived a violent passion for the maid-servant of his host, and even after she was married to another, did not cease to solicit the gratification of his lust. The neighbours often observed them together in close converse under a shed in the garden. But you will say this might have no reference to any criminal amours; he might have conversed upon horticulture, and have read lectures on the art, to the untutored and curious girl; he might one while have praised the beauty of the parterres, or regretted the absence of shade; he might have inserted a mulberry in a fig, and thence have rapidly raised a progeny of sycamores; a cooling bower; and might then have taught the art of grafting to the fair. All this and more he might, no doubt, have done. But all this would not satisfy the Presbyters, who passed sentence on him as an adulterer, and judged him unworthy of the ecclesiastical functions. The heads of those, and other accusations of the like kind, are still preserved in the public library at Geneva. But, even after this had become matter of public notoriety, he was invited, at the instance of Salmasius, to officiate in the French church at Middleburgh. This gave great offence to Spanheim, a man of singular erudition and integrity; who was well acquainted with his character at Geneva, though at last, but not without the most violent opposition, he succeeded in obtaining letters testimonial from the Genevese, but these only on the condition that he should leave the place, and couched in expressions rather bordering on censure than on praise. As soon as he arrived in Holland, he went to pay his respects to Salmasius; where he immediately cast his libidinous looks on his wife’s maid, whose name was Pontia; for the fellow’s lust is always inflamed by cooks and waiting-maids; hence he began to pay assiduous court to Salmasius, and, as often as he had opportunity, to Pontia. I know not whether Salmasius, taken by the busy attentions and unintermitted adulation of More, or More thinking that it would favour his purpose of meeting Pontia, which first caused their conversation to turn on the answer of Milton to Salmasius. But, however this might be, More undertook to defend Salmasius, and Salmasius promises to obtain for More the divinity-chair in that city. Besides this, More promises himself other sweets in his clandestine amour with Pontia; for, under pretext of consulting Salmasius in the prosecution of this work, he had free admission to the house at all hours of the night or day. And, as formerly Pyramus was changed into a mulberry tree, so More [*] seems suddenly transformed into Pyramus; but in proportion as he was more criminal, so he was more fortunate than that youth. He had no occasion to seek for a chink in the wall; he had every facility for carrying on his intrigue with his Thisbe under the same roof. He promises her marriage; and, under the lure of this promise, violates her chastity. O shame! a minister of the gospel abuses the confidence of friendship to commit this atrocious crime. From this amour no common prodigy accrued; for both man and woman suffered the pains of parturition: Pontia conceived a morill, [*] which long afforded employment to the natural disquisitions of Salmasius; More, the barren and windy egg; from which issued that flatulent cry of the royal blood. The sight of this egg indeed, at first, caused our monarchy-men, who were famishing in Belgium, to lick their chops; but the shell was no sooner broken, than they loathed the addle and putrid contents; for More, not a little elated with his conception, and thinking that he had obliged the whole Orange faction, had begun to anticipate a new accession of professorships and chairs, when he deserted his poor pregnant Pontia, as beneath his notice, to indigence and misfortune. She complained to the synod and the magistrates, of the injuries and the treachery which she had experienced. Thus the matter was brought to light, and afforded subject for merriment and observation in almost all places and companies. Hence some ingenious person wrote this distich,

- Galli ex concubitu gravidam te, Pontia, Mori,

- Quis bene moratam morigeramque negat? [†]

- O Pontia, teeming with More’s Gallic seed,

- You have been Mor’d enough, and no more need.

Pontia alone was not seen to smile; but she gained nothing by complaint; for the cry of the royal blood soon overwhelmed the clamour about the rape, and the cries of the ruined fair. Salmasius deeply resented the injury and insult which were thus offered to himself and his family; and the derision to which he was exposed by his courteous and admiring friend; and perhaps this misfortune, added to his other mishaps in the royal causes, might have contributed to accelerate his end. But on this hereafter. In the mean time, Salmasius, with the fate of Salmasia, (for the fable is as appropriate as the name,) little thinking that in More he had got an hermaphrodite associate, as incapable of parturition as of procreation, without knowing what he had begot for him in the house, fondles the fruit of his travail, the book in which he was styled Great; justly perhaps in his own opinion, but very unfitly and ridiculously in that of other people. He hastens to the printer; and, in vain endeavouring to keep possession of the fame which was vanishing from his grasp, he anxiously attends as a midwife the public delivery of those praises, or rather vile flatteries, which he had so rapaciously sought this fellow and others to bestow. For this purpose Flaccus seemed the most proper person that could be found; him he readily persuades, not only to print the book, which nobody would have blamed, but also publicly to profess himself the author of a letter to Charles, filled with the most calumnious aspersions against me, whom he had never known. But when I show, as I can from good authority, how he has acted towards others, it will be the less astonishing why he should so readily be prevailed on to commence such a wanton and unprovoked attack upon me; and with so little consideration, to father another’s extravagance of slander and invective. Flaccus, whose country is unknown, was an itinerant bookseller, a notorious prodigal and cheat; for a long time he carried on a clandestine trade in London; from which city, after practising innumerable frauds, he ran away in debt. He afterwards lived at Paris, during the whole reign of James, an object of distrust and a monster of extortion. From this place he made his escape; and now does not dare to approach within many miles; at present he makes his appearance as a regenerated bookseller at the Hague, ready to perform any nefarious and dirty work to which he may be invited. And as a proof how little he cares what he says or what he does, there is nothing so sacred which a trifling bribe would not tempt him to betray; and I shall bring forward his own confession to show that his virulence against me was not prompted, as might be supposed, by any zeal for the public good. When he found that what I had written against Salmasius had a considerable sale, he writes to some of my friends to persuade me to let any future publication of mine issue from his press; and promises a great degree of elegance in the typographical execution. I replied, that I had, at that time, no work by me ready for the press. But lo! he, who had lately made me such an officious proffer of his services, soon appears, not only as the printer, but the (suborned) author of a most scandalous libel upon my character. My friends express their indignation; he replies with unabashed effrontery, that he is quite astonished at their simplicity and ignorance of the world, in supposing that he should suffer any notions of right or wrong to disturb his calculations of profit, and his speculations of gain: that he had received that letter from Salmasius, together with the book; that he begged him to publish it on his own account, in the way he had done; and that, if Milton or any other person thought fit to write an answer, he should have no hesitation in printing it, if they would employ him in the business. This was nothing else than to say that he would readily publish an invective against Salmasius, or King Charles; for the reply could relate to no other persons. It is needless to say more. I have unmasked the man; I proceed to others; for he is not the only one who has served to embellish this tragic cry of the royal blood. Here then are the actors in the drama. The brawling prolocutor, the profligate Flaccus, or, if you had rather, Salmasius, habited in the mask and cloak of Flaccus, two poetasters drunk with stale beer, and More famed for adultery and rape. A marvellous company of tragedians! and an honest set for me to engage! But as such a cause was not likely to procure adversaries of a different stamp; let us now proceed to the attack of the individuals, such as they are; only first premising that, if any one think my refutation wanting in gravity, he should recollect, that I have not to contend with a weighty foe, but only a merry-andrew host; and that in such a work, instead of labouring to give it throughout the highest polish of elegance, it was right to consider what diction might be most appropriate to such a crew.

The Royal Blood crying to heaven for vengeance on the English parricides.

Your narrative, O More, would have had a greater appearance of truth, if you had first shown that his blood was not justly shed. But as in the first dawn of the reformation, the monks, from their dearth of argument, had recourse to spectres and other impositions, so you, when nothing else will stand you in any stead, call in the aid of voices which were never heard, and superstitious tricks that have long been out of date. You would not readily give any of us credit for having heard a voice from heaven; but I could with little difficulty believe that you did actually hear a voice from hell. Yet, I beseech you, who heard this cry of the royal blood? Yourself? Mere trash; for first you never hear any thing good. [*] But that cry which mounts to heaven, if any but God hear, it can only be the upright and the pure; who, themselves, unstained with crimes, may well denounce the divine vengeance against the guilty. But how could you possibly hear it? or, as a catamite, would you write a satire against lust? For you seem, at the same time, to have fabricated this miraculous cry to heaven, and to have consummated your amour with Pontia. There are not only many impediments in your sense, but many evil incrustations about your heart, which would for ever prevent such cries from reaching your ears: and if nothing else did, the many cries which are continually ascending to heaven against your own enormities would be sufficient for the purpose. The voice of that harlot, whom you debauched in the garden, and who complains that you, her religious teacher, was the author of her seduction, demands vengeance against you. Vengeance is demanded against you by the husband, whose nuptial bed you defiled; it is demanded by Pontia, to whom you perjured your nuptial vow; it is demanded by that little innocent whom you caused to be born in shame, and then left to perish without support.—All these different cries for vengeance on your guilty head are continually ascending to the throne of God; which if you do not hear, it is certain that the cry of the royal blood you could never have heard. Thus your book, instead of the royal blood crying to heaven, might more fitly be entitled “More’s lascivious neighing for his Pontia.” Of that tiresome and addle epistle which follows, part is devoted to Charles, part to Milton, to exalt the one, and to vilify the other. Take a specimen from the beginning: “The dominions of Charles,” he says, “were thrown into the sacrilegious hands of parricides and Deicides.” I shall not stay to consider whether this rant be the product of Salmasius, of More, or of Flaccus. But this, which makes others laugh, may well make Charles rave; for a little after he says that “no one was more devoted to the interests of Charles.” What truly! was there no one more devoted to his interests than you, who offered to publish and to circulate the invectives of his enemies? How wretched and forlorn must be the situation of Charles, if a scoundrel of a printer dare to rank himself among his most confidential friends? Wretched indeed must he be, if the perfidious Flaccus equal his dearest friends in fidelity and affection! But could the fellow have spoken any thing either more arrogantly of himself, or more contemptuously of the king and the king’s friends? Nor is it less ridiculous that a low-lived mechanic should be brought upon the stage to philosophise on the principles of government, and the virtues of kings; and to speak in a tone as lofty as even Salmasius or More. But indeed on this as well as other occasions I have discovered evident indications that Salmasius, notwithstanding the multiplicity of his reading, was a man of puerile judgment, and without any knowledge of the world; for though he must have read that the chief magistrates, in the well-arranged government of Sparta, were always wont to ascribe to some virtuous citizen the merit of every good saying which the worthless and the profligate might occasionally pronounce, he has shown himself so utterly ignorant of all that is called propriety, as to ascribe to the vilest of men, sentiments which could become only the good and wise. Keep up your spirits, Charles; for the old rogue Flaccus, whose faith in providence is so great, tells you not to be depressed. Do not succumb under so many sufferings. Flaccus, the most unprincipled prodigal, who so soon lost all that he ever had, tells you not to despond when all is lost. Make the best of your ill-starred fortune. And can you help making the best of it, when he advises, who, for so many years, by every species of peculation and iniquity, has been wont to subsist on the fortunes of others? “Drink deep of wisdom, for you are plunged in wisdom’s pool.” So counsels, so directs jolly Flaccus, the unrivalled preceptor of kings, who, seizing the leathern flaggon with his ink-smeared hands, drinks among his fellow workmen a huge draught to the success of your philosophy. This dares Flaccus, your incomparable partizan, who signs his name to admonitions, which Salmasius, which More, and your other advocates, have too little courage, or too much pride, to own. For, as often as you have any need of admonition or defence, they are always anonymously wise or brave; and at another’s hazard rather than their own.

Let this fellow therefore, whoever he may be, cease to make a barren boast of his vigorous and animated eloquence; for the author truly “fears to divulge his name, which has become so renowned by the exertions of his genius.” But he had not the courage, even in that work which was to avenge the royal blood, to prefix a dedication to Charles without the vicarious aid of Flaccus, in whose words he was contented to say that, “if it might be permitted, he would dedicate the book to his majesty without a name.” Thus having done with Charles, he next puts himself in a menacing posture against me. “After this proæmium” the wonderful “Salmasius will make the trumpet blow a deadly blast.” You announce a new kind of harmony; for to the terrors of that loud-sounding instrument no symphony bears so close a resemblance as that which is produced by accumulated flatulency. But I advise Salmasius not to raise the notes of this trumpet to too high a pitch; for, the louder the tones, the more he will expose himself to a slap on the chops; which while both his cheeks ring, will give a delightful flow to his well-proportioned melodies. You chatter on, “who has not his equal, nor near his equal, in the whole literary and scientific world.” What assurance! Ye men of erudition, scattered over the world, can you think it possible that a preference over you all should be given to a grammatical louse, whose only treasure of merit, and hope of fame, consisted in a glossary; and who would at last be found to deserve nothing but contempt, if a comparison were instituted between him and men really learned. But this would not be affirmed by any except the lowest driveller, more destitute of understanding than even Flaccus himself. “And who has now employed in the service of your majesty, a stupendous mass of erudition, illuminated by a genius quite divine.” If you recollect what I said above, that Salmasius took this letter which was either written by himself or one of his creatures, to the printer, and intreated the servile artificer to affix his own name to the publication, you will discover the indisputable marks of a mind truly grovelling and contemptible; basely wooing a panegyrick on itself, and sedulously procuring, even from a fool, an unbounded prodigality of praise. “An incomparable and immortal work, which it is fruitless to revile, and in which it must astonish even the regular practitioners of the law, how a Frenchman should so soon bring himself to understand and to explain the English history, the laws, statutes, records, c.” Indeed how little he understood our laws, and how much he spoke at random on the subject, we have produced abundant evidence to show. “But he will soon, in another impression which he is preparing against the rebels, stop the mouths of revilers, and chastise Milton according to his deserts.” You, therefore, as that little avant courier of a fish, run before the Salmasian whale, which threatens an attack upon our coast; we sharpen our harpoons to elicit any oil or gall which his impetuous vengeance may contain. In the mean time we admire the more than Pythagorean tenderness of this prodigy of a man, who compassionating animals, and particularly fish, to whose flesh even Lent shows no indulgence, destined so many volumes to the decent apparelling of myriads of poor sprats and herrings, and bequeathed by will a paper coat to each.

- Rejoice, ye herrings, and ye ocean fry,

- Who, in cold winter, shiver in the sea;

- The knight, Salmasius, pitying your hard lot,

- Bounteous intends your nakedness to clothe.

- And, lavish of his paper, is preparing

- Chartaceous jackets to invest you all.

- Jackets resplendent with his arms and fame,

- Exultingly parade the fishy mart,

- And sing his praise with checquered livery,

- That well might serve to grace the letter’d store

- Of those, who pick their noses and ne’er read.

This I wrote on the long expected edition of his far-famed work; in printing which he was strenuously engaged, while you, sir, were polluting his house by your scandalous amour with Pontia. And Salmasius appears to have long and industriously applied himself to the execution; for only a few days before his death, when a learned person, from whom I received the information, sent to ask him when he would publish the second part of his argument against the supremacy of the pope; he replied, that he should not return to that work till he had completed his labours against Milton. Thus I was preferred before the pope; and that supremacy which he denied to him in the church, he gratuitously bestowed on me in his resentment.—Thus I seem to have furnished a timely succour against his subversion of the papacy; and to have saved the Roman capital from the irruption of a second Catiline, not indeed like the Consul Tully, by the fasces of office, or the premonitions of a dream, but by very different means. Surely many cardinals’ caps will be due to me on this account; and I fear lest the Roman Pontiff, by the transfer of a title, which lately belonged to our kings, should salute me with the appellation of Defender of the Faith. You see under what a cloud of disgrace Salmasius laboured to depress me. But ought he to have relinquished a post of honourable exertion to mingle in foreign controversies, or to have deserted the service of the church for political and external discussions, in which he had no knowledge and no concern? Ought he to have made a truce with the pope? and, what was most base of all, after the utmost bitterness of hostility, to have sought a reconciliation with the bishops? Let us now come to the charges which were brought against myself. Is there any thing reprehensible in my manners or my conduct? Surely nothing. What no one, not totally divested of all generous sensibility, would have done, he reproaches me with want of beauty and loss of sight.

A monster huge and hideous, void of sight.

I certainly never supposed that I should have been obliged to enter into a competition for beauty with the Cyclops; but he immediately corrects himself, and says, “though not indeed huge, for there cannot be a more spare, shrivelled and bloodless form.” It is of no moment to say any thing of personal appearance, yet lest (as the Spanish vulgar, implicitly confiding in the relations of their priests, believe of heretics) any one, from the representations of my enemies, should be let to imagine that I have either the head of a dog, or the horn of a rhinoceros, I will say something on the subject, that I may have an opportunity of paying my grateful acknowledgments to the Deity, and of refuting the most shameless lies. I do not believe that I was ever once noted for deformity, by any one who ever saw me; but the praise of beauty I am not anxious to obtain. My stature certainly is not tall; but it rather approaches the middle than the diminutive. Yet what if it were diminutive, when so many men, illustrious both in peace and war, have been the same? And how can that be called diminutive, which is great enough for every virtuous achievement? Nor, though very thin, was I ever deficient in courage or in strength; and I was wont constantly to exercise myself in the use of the sword, as long as it comported with my habits and my years. Armed with this weapon, as I usually was, I should have thought myself quite a match for any one, though much stronger than myself; and I felt perfectly secure against the assault of any open enemy. At this moment I have the same courage, the same strength, though not the same eyes; yet so little do they betray any external appearance of injury, that they are as unclouded and bright as the eyes of those who most distinctly see. In this instance alone I am a dissembler against my will. My face, which is said to indicate a total privation of blood, is of a complexion entirely opposite to the pale and cadaverous; so that, though I am more than forty years old, there is scarcely any one to whom I do not appear ten years younger than I am; and the smoothness of my skin is not, in the least, affected by the wrinkles of age. If there be one particle of falsehood in this relation, I should deservedly incur the ridicule of many thousands of my countrymen, and even many foreigners to whom I am personally known. But if he, in a matter so foreign to his purpose, shall be found to have asserted so many shameless and gratuitous falsehoods, you may the more readily estimate the quantity of his veracity on other topics. Thus much necessity compelled me to assert concerning my personal appearance. Respecting yours, though I have been informed that it is most insignificant and contemptible, a perfect mirror of the worthlessness of your character and the malevolence of your heart, I say nothing, and no one will be anxious that any thing should be said. I wish that I could with equal facility refute what this barbarous opponent has said of my blindness; but I cannot do it; and I must submit to the affliction. It is not so wretched to be blind, as it is not to be capable of enduring blindness. But why should I not endure a misfortune, which it behoves every one to be prepared to endure if it should happen; which may, in the common course of things, happen to any man; and which has been known to happen to the most distinguished and virtuous persons in history. Shall I mention those wise and ancient bards, whose misfortunes the gods are said to have compensated by superior endowments, and whom men so much revered, that they chose rather to impute their want of sight to the injustice of heaven than to their own want of innocence or virtue? What is reported of the Augur Tiregias is well known; of whom Apollonius sung thus in his Argonauts;

- To men he dar’d the will divine disclose,

- Nor fear’d what Jove might in his wrath impose.

- The gods assigned him age, without decay,

- But snatch’d the blessing of his sight away.

But God himself is truth; in propagating which, as men display a greater integrity and zeal, they approach nearer to the similitude of God, and possess a greater portion of his love. We cannot suppose the Deity envious of truth, or unwilling that it should be freely communicated to mankind.—The loss of sight, therefore, which this inspired sage, who was so eager in promoting knowledge among men, sustained, cannot be considered as a judicial punishment. Or shall I mention those worthies who were as distinguished for wisdom in the cabinet, as for valour in the field? And first, Timoleon of Corinth, who delivered his city and all Sicily from the yoke of slavery; than whom there never lived, in any age, a more virtuous man, or a more incorrupt statesman. Next Appius Claudius, whose discreet counsels in the senate, though they could not restore sight to his own eyes, saved Italy from the formidable inroads of Pyrrhus: then Cæcilius Metellus the high priest, who lost his sight, while he saved, not only the city, but the palladium, the protection of the city, and the most sacred relics, from the destruction of the flames. On other occasions Providence has indeed given conspicuous proofs of its regard for such singular exertions of patriotism and virtue; what, therefore, happened to so great and so good a man, I can hardly place in the catalogue of misfortunes. Why should I mention others of later times, as Dandolo of Venice, the incomparable Doge; or Boemar Zisca, the bravest of generals, and the champion of the cross; or Jerome Zanchius, and some other theologians of the highest reputation?—For it is evident that the Patriarch Isaac, than whom no man ever enjoyed more of the divine regard, lived blind for many years; and perhaps also his son Jacob, who was equally an object of the divine benevolence. And in short, did not our Saviour himself clearly declare that that poor man whom he restored to sight, had not been born blind, either on account of his own sins or those of his progenitors? And with respect to myself, though I have accurately examined my conduct, and scrutinized my soul, I call thee, O God, the searcher of hearts, to witness, that I am not conscious, either in the more early or in the later periods of my life, of having committed any enormity, which might deservedly have marked me out as a fit object for such a calamitous visitation.

But since my enemies boast that this affliction is only a retribution for the transgressions of my pen, I again invoke the Almighty to witness, that I never, at any time, wrote any thing which I did not think agreeable to truth, to justice, and to piety. This was my persuasion then, and I feel the same persuasion now. Nor was I ever prompted to such exertions by the influence of ambition, by the lust of lucre or of praise; it was only by the conviction of duty and the feeling of patriotism, a disinterested passion for the extension of civil and religious liberty.

Thus, therefore, when I was publicly solicited to write a reply to the defence of the royal cause, when I had to contend with the pressure of sickness, and with the apprehension of soon losing the sight of my remaining eye, and when my medical attendants clearly announced, that if I did engage in the work, it would be irreparably lost, their premonitions caused no hesitation, and inspired no dismay. I would not have listened to the voice even of Esculapius himself from the shrine of Epidauris, in preference to the suggestions of the heavenly monitor within my breast; my resolution was unshaken, though the alternative was either the loss of my sight or the desertion of my duty; and I called to mind those two destinies, which the oracle of Delphi announced to the son of Thetis.

- Two fates may lead me to the realms of night;

- If staying here, around Troy’s wall I fight,

- To my dear home no more must I return;

- But lasting glory will adorn my urn.

- But, if I withdraw from the martial strife,

- Short is my fame, but long will be my life.

- — Il. ix.

I considered that many had purchased a less good by a greater evil, the meed of glory by the loss of life; but that I might procure great good by little suffering; that though I am blind, I might still discharge the most honourable duties, the performance of which, as it is something more durable than glory, ought to be an object of superior admiration and esteem; I resolved, therefore, to make the short interval of sight, which was left me to enjoy, as beneficial as possible to the public interest. Thus it is clear, by what motives I was governed in the measures which I took, and the losses which I sustained. Let then the calumniators of the divine goodness cease to revile, or to make me the object of their superstitious imaginations. Let them consider, that my situation, such as it is, is neither an object of my shame or my regret, that my resolutions are too firm to be shaken, that I am not depressed by any sense of the divine displeasure; that, on the other hand, in the most momentous periods, I have had full experience of the divine favour and protection; and that, in the solace and the strength which have been infused into me from above, I have been enabled to do the will of God; that I may oftener think on what he has bestowed, than on what he has withheld; that, in short, I am unwilling to exchange my consciousness of rectitude with that of any other person; and that I feel the recollection a treasured store of tranquillity and delight. But, if the choice were necessary, I would, Sir, prefer my blindness to yours: yours is a cloud spread over the mind, which darkens both the light of reason and of conscience; mine keeps from my view only the coloured surfaces of things, while it leaves me at liberty to contemplate the beauty and stability of virtue and of truth. How many things are there besides, which I would not willingly see; how many which I must see against my will; and how few which I feel any anxiety to see! There is, as the apostle has remarked, a way to strength through weakness. Let me then be the most feeble creature alive, as long as that feebleness serves to invigorate the energies of my rational and immortal spirit; as long as in that obscurity, in which I am enveloped, the light of the divine presence more clearly shines; then, in the proportion as I am weak, I shall be invincibly strong; and in proportion as I am blind, I shall more clearly see. O! that I may thus be perfected by feebleness, and irradiated by obscurity! And, indeed, in my blindness, I enjoy in no inconsiderable degree the favour of the Deity; who regards me with more tenderness and compassion in proportion as I am able to behold nothing but himself. Alas! for him who insults me, who maligns and merits public execration! For the divine law not only shields me from injury, but almost renders me too sacred to attack; not indeed so much from the privation of my sight, as from the overshadowing of those heavenly wings, which seem to have occasioned this obscurity; and which, when occasioned, he is wont to illuminate with an interior light, more precious and more pure. To this I ascribe the more tender assiduities of my friends, their soothing attentions, their kind visits, their reverential observances; among whom there are some with whom I may interchange the Pyladean and Thesian dialogue of inseparable friends.

Orest. Proceed, and be rudder of my feet, by showing me the most endearing love.

Eurip. in Orest.

And in another place,

- Lend your hand to your devoted friend,

- Throw your arm round my neck, and I will conduct you on the way.

This extraordinary kindness which I experience, cannot be any fortuitous combination; and friends, such as mine, do not suppose that all the virtues of a man are contained in his eyes. Nor do the persons of principal distinction in the commonwealth suffer me to be bereaved of comfort, when they see me bereaved of sight, amid the exertions which I made, the zeal which I showed, and the dangers which I run for the liberty which I love. But, soberly reflecting on the casualties of human life, they show me favour and indulgence as to a soldier who has served his time; and kindly concede to me an exemption from care and toil. They do not strip me of the badges of honour which I have once worn; they do not deprive me of the places of public trust to which I have been appointed; they do not abridge my salary or emoluments; which, though I may not do so much to deserve as I did formerly, they are too considerate and too kind to take away; and in short they honour me as much, as the Athenians did those whom they determined to support at the public expence in the Prytaneum. Thus, while both God and man unite in solacing me under the weight of my affliction, let no one lament my loss of sight in so honourable a cause. And let me not indulge in unavailing grief; or want the courage either to despise the revilers of my blindness, or the forbearance easily to pardon the offence. I return to you, Sir, whoever you may be, who, with a remarkable inconsistency, seem to consider me at one time as a giant, and at another as a dwarf. You end with expressing your wish, that the United Provinces may with as much ease, and as much success, put an end to this war, as Salmasius will put an end to Milton. To which wish, if I were cheerfully to assent, I think that I should not omen ill, nor ill implore for our success, or for the English interest.

But lo! again a dissonant and hissing cry! It seems as if a flock of geese were passing through the air. I now perceive what it is; the cry has no tragic tones; the chorus makes its appearance; when lo! two poetasters, if two there be, as diverse in colour as in form. Shall I call it a Sphinx, or that poetical monster of Horace, with a woman’s head and as ass’s neck, covered with motley plumes, and made up of limbs taken from every species of animals? Yes, that is the very thing! It is surely some rhapsodist or other, dressed out in scraps of verses with poetic rags; though it is uncertain whether there be one or two; for there is not the mention of a name. True poets are the objects of my reverence and my love, and the constant sources of my delight. I know that the most of them, from the earliest times to those of Buchanan, have been the strenuous enemies of despotism; but these pedlars and milliners of verse, who can bear? They applaud and they revile as it may happen, as gain, or passion, or the bottle may incite, without choice, discrimination, judgment, or moderation, princes and plebeians, the literate and illiterate, honest men and knaves. They heap together such a motley, indigested, and putrid mass of adulation, that it would be better to be prosecuted with contempt, than loaded with such praise. And he, whom they revile, should think it no small honour, that he has incurred the displeasure of such absurd and foolish miscreants. I doubt whether the first, if there be two, be a poet or a mason; for he so bedaubs the face of Salmasius, that he hardly leaves the space of a hair without a coating of plaster. He represents the giant-warring hero, riding in his triumphal car, brandishing the spear, the cestus, and all the foppery of war, attended by all the learned who walk on foot, but at an awful distance behind his chariot; since he is feigned to “have been commissioned by the Deity to heal the distractions of the world, and with an impenetrable shield, to protect kings in the possession of their rights, and in the splendour of their sovereignty.” Salmasius must surely have been doating in a state of second infancy, when he could be so much taken by this encomium, as to cause it immediately to be published to the world. The poet must have been a miserable drudge, and without any feeling of propriety, to lavish such a prodigality of praise on a grammarian; a race of men who have been always thought to act as a sort of subordinate and menial part to the bard. The other does not make verses, but is stark mad; himself more raving than all the enthusiasts, who are the objects of his furious invective. As if he were the hangman in the employ of Salmasius, like the son of Dama, he invokes the Horatii and Cadmus; then, intoxicated with hellebore, he disgorges a whole cistern of abuse, which an index to Plautus shows him where to pilfer from the mouths of mountebanks and slaves. You would suppose, that his language was rather Oscan than Latin; or that he was croaking like the frog of a slimy pool. Then to show you how much he is a master of iambics, he makes two false quantities in a single word; making one syllable long, where it ought to be short, and another short, where it ought to be long.

Hi trucidato rege per horrendum nefas.

Take away, O ass! those panniers of airy nothingness; and speak, if you can, three words that have an affinity to common sense; if it be possible for the tumid pumpkin of your skull to discover for a moment any thing like the reality of intellect. In the mean time, I abandon the pedagogue to the rods of his scholars. Do you go on to revile me as worse than Cromwell, since you cannot pay me a higher compliment. But shall I call you a friend, a fool, or an insidious foe? Friend you cannot be, for your language is that of an enemy. How then could you be such an egregious fool, as, in the orgasms of your virulence, to assign me the post of pre-eminence above so great a personage? For do you not perceive, or do you think me too dull to discern, that the violence of your hostility only serves to augment the splendour of my patriotism; and that the topics of my panegyric must be as numerous as your subjects of reproach. If I am most the object of your aversion, it is because you have most felt the force of my blows; because I have been the greatest obstacle in the way of your success. This proves that I have deserved well of my country; for the testimony of an enemy, however suspicious on other occasions, may be safely trusted with respect to his own sensations of resentment. Do you not remember that the poet, in the contest which ensued between Ajax and Ulysses, for the arms of Achilles, leaves the matter according to the opinion of Nestor, to the decision, not of their Grecian friends, but of their Trojan foes

To the cool Trojans let us leave the cause.

And a little after,

- What sober justice dictates they’ll decree,

- From love and every partial bias free;

- For all the Greeks alike incur their hate,

- Alike the authors of their ruin’d state.

Thus says Q. Calaber. You must therefore be insidiously studious to oppress me with the public indignation; and thus you corrupt and pervert the open and manly vigour of an enemy, by the treacherous and inveterate indignity of your disposition; and you show yourself, not only the worst of men, but the basest of enemies. But, good Sir, I will by no means frustrate your endeavours: for, though I may wish to rival Ulysses in the merits of his patriotism, I am yet no competitor for the arms of Achilles. I am not solicitous for an Elysium painted on a shield, which others may see me brandish in the contest; but I desire to bear upon my shoulders a real not a painted weight, of which I may feel the pressure, but which may be imperceptible to others. For since I cherish no private rancour, nor hostility against any man, nor any man that I know of against me, I am well contented, for the sake of the public interest, to be so much aspersed and so much reviled. Nor, while I sustain the greatest weight of the disgrace, do I complain because I have the smallest share of the profit or the praise; for I am content to do what is virtuous, for the sake of the action itself, without any sinister expectations. Let others look to that; but do you, Sir, know, that my hands were never soiled with the guilt of peculation; and that I never was even a shilling the richer by those exertions, which you most vehemently traduce. Here More again begins, and in his second epistle assigns the reasons for his writing; to whom? Why, truly, More, the perpetrator of adultery and rape, addresses “the lover of Christianity.” You promise, Sir, a most pious epistle; but now for the reasons why you wrote. “That the anxious and attentive nations of Europe, and particularly the members of the reformed religion in France, might be made acquainted with the parricide and the parricides,” c. The French, and even the protestants themselves, were up in arms against the established laws; what they would have done farther if they had met with as much success as we have, cannot be known; but certainly their kings, if we may trust the accounts of those transactions, feared as much from them as ours did from us; nor could they help doing it, when they considered the tone of their manifestos, and the violence of their threats. Let them not therefore, whatever you may pretend, boast too much for themselves, nor judge too illiberally of us. He proceeds, “Indeed I have been in such habits of intimacy with persons of the first character in England.” Those who are the best in his eyes, will be found the worst in those of other people. “That I do not hesitate to assert, that I am intimately acquainted with the vices, the principles, and the lives of those monsters in the shape of men.” I thought that you had had acquaintance with none but bawds and whores; but you also thoroughly know what monsters are. “My English friends readily prevailed upon me to suppress my name,” and this was discreetly done; for they thus hoped to derive more advantage from the effrontery of your assertions, and less harm from the profligacy of your character. They knew you well, they remembered your honest custody of the fruit in the garden; and that, even when become a shorn and polished priest, you could not keep your hands off Pontia. And surely not without reason; for if the word carnifex be derived, a conficiendâ carne, why may not you, by doing for Pontia, from a priest become a Pontifex. Though they could not but know this, and you could not be ignorant of it, yet, with an impiety that merits execration, and an assurance that surpasses belief, you openly assert, that you were studious only to vindicate the glory of God; and, at the same time, you inveigh against the hypocrisy of others, when there never was a more notorious mercenary, or unprincipled hypocrite, than yourself. In narrating the series of transactions, you say that you have derived great assistance from other writers, and particularly from the exposure of the late disturbances in England. Surely, Sir, you must be very deficient in discretion and capacity; when after so much parade and noise, you bring forward nothing of your own, but can deduce against us only some writers among the royalists, who may justly be suspected; but without an implicit reliance in whose veracity you cannot proceed a step. If there be occasion, we will refute those writers, and set aside one confutation by another; we will not answer them by you, but you by them. What you have produced of your own, you will find it difficult to defend; which, while it indicates a mind utterly void of all religious principles, every good man will shudder while he reads. “The love of God, and a lively sense of the insult that has been offered to his holy name, compels me to lift up my suppliant hands to heaven.” Hide, O hide those hands, so foully stained with lust and rapine; nor, with hands such as those, attempt to touch the throne of God, with which you have so often polluted the rites of his religion, and the altars of his worship. The divine vengeance which you so lavishly imprecate on others, you will find at last that you have been invoking on yourself. Hitherto we have had only the prelude to the cry, but (now it is going to occupy the principal, and almost sole part in the drama) it swells the cheek and strains the jaws in the act of mounting to heaven; whither, if it ascend, it will resound most effectually against the brawling More. “Since the majesty of kings has in all ages been held sacred,” c. You attack me, Sir, with much common-place abuse, and many malicious observations which are quite irrevalent to the purpose; for the murder of a king, and the punishment of a tyrant, are not the same thing; but do differ, and will for ever differ, as long as sense and reason, justice and equity, the knowledge of right and wrong, shall prevail among men. But enough, and more than enough, has been said on this subject; nor shall I suffer you, who have in vain assaulted me with so many senseless imprecations, at last to bring about my end with a plethory of disgust. You then say some fine things on patience and on virtue. But,

- You talk on virtue, while on vice you pore,

- And preach most chaste discourses while you whore.

You say that “all the protestants, particularly those in the Low Countries and France, are struck with horror at the crime which we have committed;” and immediately after, that “good men would every where think and speak differently on the subject.” That you should be at variance with yourself is a matter of little moment; but what follows is of a more shocking and atrocious cast. You say that “the wickedness of the Jews, who crucified Christ, was nothing compared with ours, whether you regard the intentions of the parties, or the effects of the crime.” Maniac; do you, a minister of Jesus, think so lightly of his crucifixion, as to have the audacity to assert, that the destruction of any king, whatever might be the intentions, or the effect, is equally atrocious? The Jews had the clearest and most convincing proofs that Jesus was the Son of God; but how could we possibly be led to believe, that Charles was not a tyrant? To diminish the enormity of the guilt, you very absurdly make mention of the effect; but I always observe, that the royalists, in proportion to their bigotry, are ready to depreciate the sufferings of Christ, in order to exalt those of their king; yet as they assert, that we ought principally to obey him for Christ’s sake, they show that they cherish no sincere regard either for Christ or for the king; and that they make their irrational and superstitious devotion to kings, only a pretext to conceal their ambitious, their sinister and interested views. “Salmasius, therefore, that great sovereign of literature, advanced to the combat!” Cease, Sir, I beseech you, to disgust us with the application of such an epithet as “great” to Salmasius; which you may repeat a thousand times, without ever persuading any one that Salmasius was great; though you may, that More was little; a worthless scribbler, who, quite ignorant of propriety, lavished the appellation of great without any fitness or discrimination. To grammarians and critics, who are principally occupied in editing the works of others, or in correcting the errors of copyists, we willingly concede the palm of industry and erudition; but we never bestow on them the surname of great. He alone is worthy of the appellation, who either does great things, or teaches how they may be done, or describes them with a suitable majesty when they have been done; but those only are great things, which tend to render life more happy, which increase the innocent enjoyments and comforts of existence, or which pave the way to a state of future bliss more permament and more pure. But has Salmasius done any thing like this? Nothing at all; what, that is great, has he ever either taught or related? unless perhaps you except his writings against the bishops, and the supremacy of the pope; the merit of which he entirely effaced by his subsequent recantations; by the habits of his life, and his vindications of episcopacy. He, therefore, cannot fitly be termed a great writer, who either never wrote any thing great, or who basely recanted the best work that he ever wrote. He is welcome for me, to be “the sovereign of literature,” and of the A, B, C; but you are not content with having him the “sovereign of literature,” but must exalt him to be “the patron of kings;” and a patron well fitted to adorn such a station of sublimity. You have certainly shown yourself very solicitous to promote the honour of kings, when in addition to their other illustrious titles, you would subjoin that of “the clients of Claud Salmasius.” On this condition, O sovereigns of the world, you may be released from every restraint upon your power; if you will but do homage to Salmasius the grammarian, and make your sceptres bend beneath his rod. “To him kings will be indebted, as long as the world lasts, for the vindication of their honour, and the existence of their power.” Attend, ye sovereigns! he who composes for you his beggarly defence, and who defends what no one attacked, has the arrogance to impute to himself the continuance of your dignity and your power. Such has been the effect of provoking this insolent grammarian from his cabinet of worms and moth, to support the cause of kings. “To whom the altar will be as much indebted as the throne;” not indeed for the protection, but for the scandalous desertion of its interests. Now, you lavish your panegyric in the defence of the royal cause; “you admire the genius, the erudition, the boundless diversity of matter, the intimate acquaintance with sacred and profane usages and laws, the impetuous volubility of diction, the limpid eloquence, which characterise that golden work.” Though I contend that the work is deficient in all these qualities; (for what has Salmasius to do with eloquence?) yet that it was a truly golden composition, I am willing a hundred times to acknowledge; for it cost Charles as many guineas, without mentioning the sums which the author received from the Prince of Orange. “The great man never appeared more mighty in his strength; Salmasius was never more himself.” He was truly so great that he burst; for we have seen how great he was in his former work; and shall perhaps see in what he may have left behind him on the same subject. I do not deny that Salmasius, on the first appearance of his book, was the general topic of conversation, and that he was in high favour with the royalists; that he was invited by the most august queen of Sweden, and received the most munificent presents; and, in short, that in the whole dispute, every circumstance was favourable to Salmasius and hostile to me. Men in general entertained the highest opinion of his erudition, the celebrity of which, he had been accumulating for many years, by many voluminous and massy publications, not indeed of any practical utility, but relating to the most abtruse discussions, and crammed with quotations from the most illustrious authors. Nothing is so apt as this to excite the astonishment of the literary vulgar. Who I was, no one in that country had ever known; his work had excited an impatient curiosity, which was increased by the magnitude of the subject. I had no means of exciting a similar interest, or a like ardour of expectation. Many indeed endeavoured to dissuade me from engaging with such a veteran; some from envy, lest I should, at any rate, gather some glory from the conflict with so mighty an adversary; others from fear, lest my defeat should prove injurious to myself, and to the acuse which I have undertaken to defend. Salmasius was invigorated and cheered by the specious plausibility of his subject, by the inveterate prejudices, or rather rooted superstitions, of the vulgar, in favour of kingly power. All these were adverse to my undertaking, and impediments to my success; and it is the less surprising, that my answer, on its first appearance, should be less eagerly read, except by those who were anxious to learn, who had the inconsiderate audacity to enter the lists with Salmasius.

But the work soon excited general approbation and delight; the author was lost sight of in the blaze of truth; and Salmasius, who had so lately been towering on the pinnacle of distinction, stripped of the mask which he had worn, soon dwindled into insignificance and contempt; from which, as long as he lived, he could never afterwards emerge, or recover his former consequence. But your penetrating mind, O! Serene queen of Sweden, soon detected his imposture; and, with a magnanimity almost above human, you taught sovereigns and the world to prefer truth to the interested clamours of faction. For though the splendour of his erudition, and the celebrity which he had acquired in the defence of the royal cause, had induced you to honour him with many marks of distinction, yet, when my answer appeared, which you perused with singular equanimity, you perceived that he had been convicted of the most palpable effrontery and misrepresentation; that he had betrayed the utmost indiscretion and intemperance, that he had uttered many falsehoods, many inconsistencies and contradictions. On this account as it is said, you had him called into your presence; but when he was unable to vindicate himself, you were so visibly offended, that from that time, you neither showed him the same attentions, nor held his talents nor his learning in the same esteem; and, what was entirely unexpected, you manifested a disposition to favour his adversary. You denied that what I had written against tyrants could have any reference to you; whence, in your own breast you enjoyed the sweets, and among others the fame, of a good conscience. For, since the whole tenor of your conduct sufficiently proves, that you are no tyrant, this unreserved expression of your sentiments makes it still more clear, that you are not even conscious to yourself of being one. How happy am I beyond my utmost expectations! (for to the praise of eloquence, except as far as eloquence consists in the force of truth, I lay no claim,) that, when the critical exigences of my country demanded that I should undertake the arduous and invidious task of impugning the rights of kings, I should meet with so illustrious, so truly a royal evidence to my integrity, and to this truth, that I had not written a word against kings, but only against tyrants, the spots and the pests of royalty! But you, O Augusta, possessed not only so much magnanimity, but were so irradiated by the glorious beams of wisdom and of virtue, that you not only read with patience, with incredible impartiality, with a serene complacency of countenance, what might seem to be levelled against your rights and dignity; but expressed such an opinion of the defender of those rights, as may well be considered an application of the palm of victory to his opponent. You, O queen! will for ever be the object of my homage, my veneration, and my love; for it was your greatness of soul, so honourable to yourself and so auspicious to me, which served to efface the unfavourable impression against me at other courts, and to rescue me from the evil surmises of other sovereigns. What a high and favourable opinion must foreigners conceive, and your own subject forever entertain, of your impartiality and justice, when, in a matter which so nearly interested the fate of sovereigns and the rights of your crown, they saw you sit down to the discussion, with as much equanimity and composure, as you would to determine a dispute between two private individuals. It was not in vain that you made such large collections of books, and so many monuments of learning; not indeed, that they could contribute much to your instruction, but because they so well teach your subjects to appreciate the merits of your reign, and the rare excellence of your virtue and your wisdom. For the Divinity himself seems to have inspired you with a love of wisdom, and a thirst for improvement, beyond what any books ever could have produced. It excites our astonishment to see a force of intellect so truly divine, a particle of celestial flame so resplendently pure, in a region so remote; of which an atmosphere, so darkened with clouds, and so chilled with frosts, could not extinguish the light, nor repress the operations. The rocky and barren soil, which is often as unfavourable to the growth of genius as of plants, has not impeded the maturation of your faculties; and that country, so rich in metallic ore, which appears like a cruel step-mother to others, seems to have been a fostering parent to you; and after the most strenuous attempts to have at last produced a progeny of pure gold. I would invoke you, Christina! as the only child of the renowned and victorious Adolphus, if your merit did not as much eclipse his, as wisdom excels strength, and the arts of peace the havoc of war. Henceforth, the queen of the south will not be alone renowned in history; for there is a queen of the north, who would not only be worthy to appear in the court of the wise king of the Jews, or any king of equal wisdom; but to whose court others may from all parts repair, to behold so fair a heroine, so bright a pattern of all the royal virtues; and to the crown of whose praise this may well be added, that neither in her conduct nor her appearance, is there any of the forbidding reserve, or the ostentatious parade of royalty. She herself seems the least conscious of her own attributes of sovereignty; and her thoughts are always fixed on something greater and more sublime than the glitter of a crown. In this respect, her example may well make innumerable kings hide their diminished heads. She may, if such is the fatality of the Swedish nation, abdicate the sovereignty, but she can never lay aside the queen; for her reign has proved, that she is fit to govern, not only Sweden, but the world.

This tribute of praise, to so highly meritorious a queen, there is, I trust, no one who will not applaud; and which if others did not pay, I could not have withheld, without the imputation of the most heinous ingratitude. For, whether it be owing to the benign aspects of the planets, or to the secret sympathies and affinities of things, I cannot too much extol my good fortune, in having found, in a region so remote, a patron so impartial and so kind, whom of all I least expected, but of all the most desired. But now we will return, from this digression, to a quite different theme. You say, that “we were thrown into the most furious commotion on hearing of the royal defence, and that we looked around for some servile pedagogue, who might employ his venal pen in the vindication of the parricides.” This is the mere effusion of your spite; for you must recollect, that, when the royalists were in search of a hawker for their lies, and a retailer of their malice, they applied to the grammarian Salmasius, who if he were not a menial, could never resist a bribe; who not only readily sold them his present work, but his good intentions for the future. And you must remember, that when Salmasius was anxiously ruminating, how he might re-establish his ruined character, and obliterate his shame, he was, by a certain retributive fatality, directed to you, who were then not officiating as a minister at Geneva, from which place you had been expelled, but as a worshipper of Priapus, of whose lascivious rites you made his house the shrine. Hence, nauseating those praises, which you had bestowed with so much extravagance, and which he had purchased with so much disgrace, his friendship was converted into the most inveterate hostility, and he cursed his panegyrist even in his dying hour. “They fixed upon one John Milton, a great hero truly, to oppose Salmasius.” I did not know that I was a hero, though you perchance may be the progeny of some frail heroine, for you are nothing but a compound of iniquity. When I consider the good of the commonwealth, I may indeed lament, that I alone was selected to defend the people of England, though I could not readily have endured an associate in the fame. You say, that it is a matter of uncertainty who and whence I am. The same uncertainty attached to Homer and Demosthenes. Indeed, I had been early taught to hold my tongue and to say nothing; which Salmasius never could; and I accordingly buried those things within my breast, which if I had pleased to disclose, I could then have obtained as much celebrity as I now possess. But I was not eager to hasten the tardy steps of fame; nor willing to appear in public till a proper opportunity offered. For I did not regard the fame of any thing so much, as the proper time for the execution. Hence it happened, that I had not long been known to many, before Salmasius begun to know himself. “Whether he be a man or a worm!” Truly, I would rather be a worm in the way that David expresses it (“I am a worm and no man,”) than that my bosom, like yours, should be the seat of a never-dying worm. You say, that “the fellow, having been expelled from the University of Cambridge, on account of his atrocities, had fled his country in disgrace and travelled into Italy.” Hence we may discern what little reliance can be placed on the veracity of those, from whom you derived your information; for all, who know me, know, that in this place, both you and they have uttered the most abominable falsehoods; as I shall soon make more fully appear. But, when I was expelled from Cambridge, why should I rather travel into Italy, than into France or Holland? where you, though a minister of the Gospel, and yet so vile a miscreant, not only enjoy impunity, but, to the great scandal of the church, pollute the pulpit and the altar by your presence. But why, Sir, into Italy? Was it that, like another Saturn, I might find a hiding-place in Latium? No, it was because I well knew, and have since experienced, that Italy, instead of being, as you suppose, the general receptacle of vice, was the seat of civilization and the hospitable domicile of every species of erudition. “When he returned, he wrote his book on divorce.” I wrote nothing more than what Bucer on the Kingdom of Christ, Fagius on Deuteronomy, and Erasmus on the First Epistle to the Corinthians, which was more particularly designed for the instruction of the English, had written before me, for the most useful purposes and with the most disinterested views. Why what was not reprehensible in them, should constitute a charge of criminality against me, I cannot understand; though I regret that I published this work in English; for then it would not have been exposed to the view of those common readers, who are wont to be as ignorant of their own blessings, as they are insensible to others’ sufferings. But shall you, base miscreant, set up a cry about divorce, who, having debauched Pontia, under the most solemn assurances of marriage, afterwards divorced her in a manner the most unprincipled and inhuman? And yet this servant of Salmasius is said to have been an Englishwoman, and a staunch royalist; so that you seem to have wooed her as a piece of royalty, and to have deserted her as the image of a republic (res publica,) though you were the author of her degradation to that state of publicity, and, after having allured her from the service of Salmasius, reduced her to the condition of a public prostitute. In this manner, devotedly attached as you are to royalty, you are said to have founded many republics (res publicas) in one city, or to have undertaken the management of their concerns, after they have been founded by others. Such have been your divorces, or rather diversions, after which you proceed, as a ruffian, to attack my character. You now return to the invention of fresh lies. “When the conspirators were debating on the capital punishment of the king, he wrote to them, and, while they were wavering and irresolute, brought them over to determine on his death.” But I neither wrote to them, nor could I have influenced the execution; for they had previously determined on the measure, without consulting me. But I will say more on this subject hereafter, as also on the publication of the Iconoclast.

The fellow, (shall I call him a man, or only the excrement of a man,) next proceeding from his adulteries with servant maids and scullions, to the adulteration of the truth, endeavoured, by artfully fabricating a series of lies, to render me infamous abroad. I must therefore crave the indulgence of the reader, if I have said already, or shall say hereafter, more of myself than I wish to say; that, if I cannot prevent the blindness of my eyes, the oblivion or the defamation of my name, I may at least rescue my life from that species of obscurity, which is the associate of unprincipled depravity. This it will be necessary for me to do on more accounts than one; first, that so many good and learned men among the neighbouring nations, who read my works, may not be induced by this fellow’s calumnies, to alter the favourable opinion which they have formed of me; but may be persuaded that I am not one who ever disgraced beauty of sentiment by deformity of conduct, or the maxims of a free-man by the actions of a slave; and that the whole tenor of my life has, by the grace of God, hitherto been unsullied by enormity or crime.

Next that those illustrious worthies, who are the objects of my praise, may know that nothing could afflict me with more shame than to have any vices of mine diminish the force or lessen the value of my panegyric upon them; and lastly, that the people of England, whom fate, or duty, or their own virtues, have incited me to defend, may be convinced from the purity and integrity of my life, that my defence, if it do not redound to their honour, can never be considered as their disgrace. I will now mention who and whence I am. I was born at London, of an honest family; my father was distinguished by the undeviating integrity of his life; my mother by the esteem in which she was held, and the alms which she bestowed. My father destined me from a child to the pursuits of literature; and my appetite for knowledge was so voracious, that from twelve years of age, I hardly ever left my studies, or went to bed before midnight. This primarily led to my loss of sight. My eyes were naturally weak, and I was subject to frequent head-aches; which, however, could not chill the ardour of my curiosity, or retard the progress of my improvement. My father had me daily instructed in the grammar school, and by other masters at home. He then, after I had acquired a proficiency in various languages, and had made a considerable progress in philosophy, sent me to the University of Cambridge. Here I passed seven years in the usual course of instruction and study, with the approbation of the good, and without any stain upon my character, till I took the degree of Master of Arts. After this I did not, as this miscreant feigns, run away into Italy, but of my own accord retired to my father’s house, whither I was accompanied by the regrets of most of the fellows of the college, who showed me no common marks of friendship and esteem.

On my father’s estate, where he had determined to pass the remainder of his days, I enjoyed an interval of uninterrupted leisure, which I entirely devoted to the perusal of the Greek and Latin classics; though I occasionally visited the metropolis, either for the sake of purchasing books, or of learning something new in mathematics or in music, in which I, at that time, found a source of pleasure and amusement. In this manner I spent five years till my mother’s death, I then became anxious to visit foreign parts, and particularly Italy. My father gave me his permission, and I left home with one servant. On my departure the celebrated Henry Wootton, who had been King James’s embassador at Venice, gave me a signal proof of his regard, in an elegant letter which he wrote, breathing not only the warmest friendship, but containing some maxims of conduct which I found very useful in my travels. The noble Thomas Scudamore, King Charles’s embassador, to whom I carried letters of recommendation, received me most courteously at Paris. His lordship gave me a card of introduction to the learned Hugo Grotius, at that time embassador from the queen of Sweden to the French court; whose acquaintance I anxiously desired, and to whose house I was accompanied by some of his lordship’s friends. A few days after, when I set out for Italy, he gave me letters to the English merchants on my route, that they might show me any civilities in their power. Taking ship at Nice, I arrived at Genoa, and afterwards visited Leghorn, Pisa, and Florence. In the latter city, which I have always more particularly esteemed for the elegance of its dialect, its genius, and its taste, I stopped about two months; when I contracted an intimacy with many persons of rank and learning; and was a constant attendant at their literary parties; a practice which prevails there, and tends so much to the diffusion of knowledge and the preservation of friendship. No time will ever abolish the agreeable recollections which I cherish of Jacob Gaddi, Carolo Dati, Frescobaldo, Cultellero, Bonomatthai, Clementillo, Francisco, and many others. From Florence I went to Siena, thence to Rome, where, after I had spent about two months in viewing the antiquities of that renowned city, where I experienced the most friendly attentions from Lucas Holstein, and other learned and ingenious men, I continued my route to Naples. There I was introduced by a certain recluse, with whom I had travelled from Rome, to John Baptista Manso, Marquis of Villa, a nobleman of distinguished rank and authority, to whom Torquato Tasso, the illustrious poet, inscribed his book on friendship. During my stay, he gave me singular proofs of his regard; he himself conducted me round the city and to the palace of the viceroy; and more than once paid me a visit at my lodgings. On my departure he gravely apologized for not having shown me more civility, which he said he had been restrained from doing, because I had spoken with so little reserve on matters of religion.

When I was preparing to pass over into Sicily and Greece, the melancholy intelligence which I received, of the civil commotions in England, made me alter my purpose; for I thought it base to be travelling for amusement abroad, while my fellow-citizens were fighting for liberty at home.—While I was on my way back to Rome, some merchants informed me that the English Jesuits had formed a plot against me if I returned to Rome, because I had spoken too freely on religion; for it was a rule which I laid down to myself in those places, never to be the first to begin any conversation on religion; but if any questions were put to me concerning my faith, to declare it without any reserve or fear. I nevertheless returned to Rome. I took no steps to conceal either my person or my character; and for about the space of two months, I again openly defended, as I had done before, the reformed religion in the very metropolis of popery. By the favour of God, I got safe back to Florence, where I was received with as much affection as if I had returned to my native country. There I stopped as many months as I had done before, except that I made an excursion for a few days to Lucca; and crossing the Apennines, passed through Bologna and Ferrara to Venice. After I had spent a month in surveying the curiosities of this city, and had put on board a ship the books which I had collected in Italy, I proceeded through Verona and Milan, and along the Leman lake to Geneva. The mention of this city brings to my recollection the slandering More, and makes me again call the Deity to witness, that in all those places, in which vice meets with so little discouragement, and is practised with so little shame, I never once deviated from the paths of integrity and virtue, and perpetually reflected that, though my conduct might escape the notice of men, it could not elude the inspection of God.

At Geneva I held daily conferences with John Deodati, the learned professor of Theology. Then pursuing my former route through France, I returned to my native country, after an absence of one year and about three months; at the time when Charles, having broken the peace, was renewing what is called the episcopal war with the Scots; in which the royalists being routed in the first encounter, and the English being universally and justly disaffected, the necessity of his affairs at last obliged him to convene a parliament. As soon as I was able, I hired a spacious house in the city for myself and my books; where I again with rapture renewed my literary pursuits, and where I calmly awaited the issue of the contest, which I trusted to the wise conduct of Providence, and to the courage of the people. The vigor of the parliament had begun to humble the pride of the bishops. As long as the liberty of speech was no longer subject to control, all mouths began to be opened against the bishops; some complained of the vices of the individuals, others of those of the order. They said that it was unjust that they alone should differ from the model of other reformed churches; that the government of the church should be according to the pattern of other churches, and particularly the word of God. This awakened all my attention and my zeal—I saw that a way was opening for the establishment of real liberty; that the foundation was laying for the deliverance of man from the yoke of slavery and superstition; that the principles of religion, which were the first objects of our care, would exert a salutary influence on the manners and constitution of the republic; and as I had from my youth studied the distinctions between religious and civil rights, I perceived that if I ever wished to be of use, I ought at least not to be wanting to my country, to the church, and to so many of my fellow Christians, in a crisis of so much danger; I therefore determined to relinquish the other pursuits in which I was engaged, and to transfer the whole force of my talents and my industry to this one important object. I accordingly wrote two books to a friend concerning the reformation of the church of England. Afterwards, when two bishops of superior distinction vindicated their privileges against some principal ministers, I thought that on those topics, to the consideration of which I was led solely by my love of truth, and my reverence for Christianity, I should not probably write worse than those, who were contending only for their own emoluments and usurpations. I therefore answered the one in two books, of which the first is inscribed, Concerning Prelatical Episcopacy, and the other Concerning the Mode of Ecclesiastical Government; and I replied to the other in some Animadversions, and soon after in an Apology. On this occasion it was supposed that I brought a timely succour to the ministers, who were hardly a match for the eloquence of their opponents; and from that time I was actively employed in refuting any answers that appeared. When the bishops could no longer resist the multitude of their assailants, I had leisure to turn my thoughts to other subjects; to the promotion of real and substantial liberty; which is rather to be sought from within than from without; and whose existence depends, not so much on the terror of the sword, as on sobriety of conduct and integrity of life.

When, therefore, I perceived that there were three species of liberty which are essential to the happiness of social life; religious, domestic, and civil; and as I had already written concerning the first, and the magistrates were strenuously active in obtaining the third, I determined to turn my attention to the second, or the domestic species. As this seemed to involve three material questions, the conditions of the conjugal tie, the education of the children, and the free publication of the thoughts, I made them objects of distinct consideration. I explained my sentiments, not only concerning the solemnization of the marriage, but the dissolution, if circumstances rendered it necessary; and I drew my arguments from the divine law, which Christ did not abolish, or publish another more grievous than that of Moses. I stated my own opinions, and those of others, concerning the exclusive exception of fornication, which our illustrious Selden has since, in his Hebrew Wife, more copiously discussed; for he in vain makes a vaunt of liberty in the senate or in the forum, who languishes under the vilest servitude, to an inferior at home. On this subject, therefore, I published some books which were more particularly necessary at that time when man and wife were often the most inveterate foes, when the man often staid to take care of his children at home, while the mother of the family was seen in the camp of the enemy, threatening death and destruction to her husband. I then discussed the principles of education in a summary manner, but sufficiently copious for those who attend seriously to the subject; than which nothing can be more necessary to principle the minds of men in virtue, the only genuine source of political and individual liberty, the only true safeguard of states, the bulwark of their prosperity and renown. Lastly, I wrote my Areopagitica, in order to deliver the press from the restraints with which it was encumbered; that the power of determining what was true and what was false, what ought to be published and what to be suppressed, might no longer be entrusted to a few illiterate and illiberal individuals, who refused their sanction to any work, which contained views or sentiments at all above the level of the vulgar superstition.

On the last species of civil liberty, I said nothing; because I saw that sufficient attention was paid to it by the magistrates; nor did I write any thing on the prerogative of the crown, till the king, voted an enemy by the parliament, and vanquished in the field, was summoned before the tribunal which condemned him to lose his head. But when, at length, some presbyterian ministers, who had formerly been the most bitter enemies to Charles, became jealous of the growth of the Independents, and of their ascendancy in the parliament, most tumultuously clamoured against the sentence, and did all in their power to prevent the execution, though they were not angry, so much on account of the act itself, as because it was not the act of their party; and when they dared to affirm, that the doctrine of the protestants, and of all the reformed churches, was abhorrent to such an atrocious proceeding against kings; I thought, that it became me to oppose such a glaring falsehood; and accordingly, without any immediate or personal application to Charles, I showed, in an abstract consideration of the question, what might lawfully be done against tyrants; and in support of what I advanced, produced the opinions of the most celebrated divines, while I vehemently inveighed against the egregious ignorance or effrontery of men, who professed better things, and from whom better things might have been expected. That book did not make its appearance till after the death of Charles, and was written rather to reconcile the minds of the people to the event, than to discuss the legitimacy of that particular sentence which concerned the magistrates, and which was already executed.

Such were the fruits of my private studies, which I gratuitously presented to the church and to the state; and for which I was recompensed by nothing but impunity; though the actions themselves procured me peace of conscience; and the approbation of the good; while I exercised that freedom of discussion which I loved. Others, without labour or desert, got possession of honours and emoluments; but no one ever knew me, either soliciting any thing myself, or through the medium of my friends; ever beheld me in a supplicating posture at the doors of the senate, or the levees of the great. I usually kept myself secluded at home, where my own property, part of which had been withheld during the civil commotions, and part of which had been absorbed in the oppressive contributions which I had to sustain, afforded me a scanty subsistence. When I was released from these engagements, and thought that I was about to enjoy an interval of uninterrupted ease, I turned my thoughts to a continued history of my country, from the earliest times to the present period. I had already finished four books, when after the subversion of the monarchy, and the establishment of a republic, I was surprised by an invitation from the council of state, who desired my services in the office for foreign affairs. A book appeared soon after, which was ascribed to the king, and contained the most invidious charges against the parliament. I was ordered to answer it; and opposed the Iconoclast to his Icon. I did not insult over fallen majesty as is pretended; I only preferred Queen Truth to King Charles. The charge of insult, which I saw that the malevolent would urge, I was at some pains to remove in the beginning of the work; and as often as possible in other places. Salmasius then appeared, to whom they were not, as More says, long in looking about for an opponent, but immediately appointed me, who happened at the time to be present in the council. I have thus, Sir, given some account of myself, in order to stop your mouth, and to remove any prejudices which your falsehoods and misrepresentations might cause even good men to entertain against me. I tell thee then, thou mass of corruption, to hold thy peace; for the more you malign, the more you will compel me to confute; which will only serve to render your iniquity more glaring, and my integrity more manifest. I had reproved Salmasius, because he was a foreigner, for meddling with our affairs; but you exclaim “that the defence intimately concerns those who are not English.” Why? you say, that “the English may be supposed to be governed more by the spirit of party; but that the French will naturally pay more attention to the measures than the men.” To which I retort, as before, that no remote foreigner, as you are, would have interfered in the distractions of our country, if he were not influenced by the most sinister considerations.

I have already proved, that Salmasius was bribed; it is evident that you obtained the professional chair through the interest of Salmasius, and the Orange faction; and what is worse, you were debauching Pontia, at the same moment that you were defaming the parliament.

But the reason which you assign, why foreigners are the best judges in this business, is quite ridiculous; for if the English are carried away by party zeal, you, who make them your only guides, must certainly be infected by their antipathies. And if the English deserve no credit in their own cause, you must deserve much less, who have no knowledge whatever of our affairs, except what you derive from them, who, according to your own confession, ought not to be believed. Here again you launch out into the praises of the great Salmasius. Great he certainly was, whom you employed as a sort of pimp, to procure his servant girl. You praise him nevertheless: but he saw reason to curse you before his death, and a thousand times blamed himself for not giving more credit to the account of your atrocities, which he had received from Spanheim, a venerable divine. You are now worked into a fury, and assert, that Salmasius had long lost the use of his reason. You demand the first post in clamour and in rage, and yet assign the precedence in obloquy and abuse to Salmasius; “not because he is violent in his language, but because he is Salmasius.” O trifler! you, I suppose, learned this casuistry when you courted Pontia. Hence your clamour is taught to quibble and to whine; hence, foaming with menace, “you shall experience at last,” you say, “O base brutes, what my pen can do.” Shall we dread you, O libidinous adulterer, or your pen, which is an object of dread only to cooks and chambermaids? For if any one should hold up only his finger when he detects you in your criminal amours, you would think it well if you escaped without your back being broken, or your body dismembered. “I am not so foolish,” you say, “as to attempt the execution of a work, that was begun by Salmasius,” but such a work, if he had not been void of understanding, he would never have attempted; you therefore seem jocosely to give the preference to Salmasius over yourself in want of brains.

But you say, that “it is your province to invoke the vengeance of heaven on the murderers of the king;” which may be done by persons without any great share of erudition. Cry, shout, and brawl; continue to act the hypocrite, mouth religion, and practise lust. This God of vengeance whom you implore, will, believe me, one day arise in wrath, when he will begin with exterminating you, who are the servant of the devil, and the disgrace and pest of the reformed religion. To many, who blame the bitter invectives of Salmasius, you reply, that “this was the right way to deal with parricides, and such monsters of deformity.” I am obliged to you for thus teaching me in what manner yourself and your associate friends ought to be treated; and for furnishing me with so fair a pretext for severity. Now since you have no argument to produce, and the rights of kings, with whatever show of argument, had been already defended by Salmasius, your contumely and your rage evaporate in some miserable tales, some of which you have new-modelled from Salmasius, and interpolated others from that most confutable “confutation” of some anonymous scribbler who deserted not only his country but his name; and to the principal points of which, as I have already replied in my Iconoclast and my answers to Salmasius, no further reply can be necessary. Shall I always be compelled to go the same round, and answer every tautology of slanderous abuse? I will not do it; nor will I so misemploy my labour or my time. If any one think that his prostituted cries, his venal lamentations and frivolous declamation, deserve any credit, he is welcome for me to think so; for I have nothing to fear from such precipitate credulity. But I will just touch on a few of his points of attack, which may serve as a specimen of the rest, and give some insight into the character of the man and of the work. After having babbled a good deal of his exotic ignorance about the incorporation of the House of Commons and the House of Peers in one assembly, (a measure which no one in his senses would disapprove,) he says, that “this equality, introduced into the state, would naturally lead to the introduction of the same into the church; for episcopacy still remained, and if this be not downright anabaptism, I don’t know what is.” Who would have expected this from a Gallic minister and divine? I should hardly think that he knew what baptism is, who did not know what anabaptism is, if this were not. But if we will call things by their proper names, equality in the state is not anabaptism, but democracy, a far more ancient thing; and equality in the church is the practice of the apostles. But “episcopacy still remained.” We confess that it did; and Geneva still remained, though that city had consulted the interests of religion, in expelling both her bishop and her lawful chief; and why should we be condemned for what they are approved? But you wish, Sir, to take vengeance upon the Genevese, by whom it is uncertain whether you were dismissed with ignominy, or openly excommunicated on account of your impieties. It is clear that you, with your friend Salmasius, apostatized from this evangelical form of church-government, and took refuge among the episcopalians. “Then,” you say, “the republic passed into the hands of our levelling crew, so that it is evident that the same spirit prevailed at that time, which in the eighth year had perpetrated the impious murder of the king. Therefore the same spirit, as it seems, constituted your ministers, and perpetrated the parricide.” Go on, as you have begun, to eructate the rage of your apostacy. You say that “there were not more than three petitions which demanded the punishment of the king.” This is notoriously false. Those who have written an account of these transactions, mention not only three petitions of the kind, but many from different counties and from the armies in the course of one month; and three were presented in one day. You know how deliberately the matter was discussed in the senate, and that the people, suspecting them of too much lenity, resorted to petitioning, in order to put an end to their delays. How many thousands were there of the same opinion, who considered it to be either officious or superfluous to instigate the determination of the senate? I was one of these, though I made no secret of my sentiments. But suppose that the high rank of the accused had awed every tongue into silence, ought the parliament to have abstained from a decision, or have awaited the assent of the people, on which depended the issue of such momentous deliberations? For the supreme council of the nation was appointed by the people to curb the despotism of the king: and if on his capture, after the savage war which he had made, they had referred the question of his punishment to the decision of the people, and if they had acquitted him, what would those, who had so courageously restored our liberties, seem to have done, but to have furnished the king with the means of effecting their own destruction? Or if, after having been invested with full power to act as they thought best on the most momentous points, they should be compelled to refer to the multitude a question which far exceeded their capacity, and which they, conscious of their ignorance, had previously referred to the determination of the senate, where could this alternation of references and appeals have stopped? Where could we have found a place of rest in this turbulent eddy? How could we have procured any stability amid so much inconstancy, any security amid so much distraction? What if they had demanded the restoration of Charles to the crown? And such was the drift of some menaces, rather than petitions, which were presented by a few seditious persons, whose hatred one while, and whose compassion another, was wont to be equally senseless and malicious. Were we to make any account of these? “Who,” as you say, “in order to set on foot a conference with the king, flocked from all parts of the country to the doors of the parliament-house, where many of them were put to death by the soldiery, according to the order of the senators.”

Some inhabitants of Surry, either incited by the malicious suggestions of others, or by their own disorderly inclinations, paraded the city with a petition, in a state of tumult and intoxication. They proceeded in a body to assail the doors of the house; they beat off the guard, and, without the smallest provocation, killed one man who was stationed at the door. Hence they were deservedly driven by violence; and two or three of their number were slain, breathing the fumes of intemperance more than the love of liberty. You every where concede, that “the Independents were superior, not in numbers, but in discipline and in courage.” Hence I contend that they well deserved the superiority which they acquired; for nothing is more agreeable to the order of nature, or more for the interest of mankind, than that the less should yield to the greater, not in numbers, but in wisdom and in virtue. Those who excel in prudence, in experience, in industry and courage, however few they may be, will in my opinion finally constitute the majority, and every where have the ascendant. You intersperse many remarks on Cromwell, which I shall examine below; the rest I have replied to in my answer to Salmasius. Nor do you omit to mention the trial of the king, though your great rhetorician had made that the theme of his miserable declamation. You say that the peers, that is, in a great measure the pageants and courtiers of the king, were averse to the trial. I have shown in the other work the futility of this remark. “Then that the judges were erased, because they had given it as their opinion, that a king of England could not, by the law of England, be put upon his trial.” I know not what they then answered; I only know what they approve and vindicate. It is no uncommon, though a disreputable thing, for judges to be swayed by fear. “An obscure and insolent scoundrel was accordingly placed at the head of the base and iniquitous commission.” It is not surprising that you, who are contaminated by so many vices and crimes, who are a compound of whatever is most impure and vile, whose conscience has become a sort of fungus utterly devoid of sensibility, who are so notorious for atheism, for sacrilege and cruelty, should dare to vent your calumnies on the most worthy and illustrious names. But, though your abuse is the highest praise, yet I will never seem to abandon the excellent personage, the friend whom I most revere, to the torrent of your defamation. I will vindicate him from the unprincipled and intemperate obloquy of the fugitives and the Mores, which he would never have incurred, if he had not shown so much zeal for the good of the commonwealth. John Bradshaw (a name, which will be repeated with applause wherever liberty is cherished or is known) was sprung from a noble family. All his early life he sedulously employed in making himself acquainted with the laws of his country; he then practised with singular success and reputation at the bar; he showed himself an intrepid and unwearied advocate for the liberties of the people: he took an active part in the most momentous affairs of the state, and occasionally discharged the functions of a judge with the most inviolable integrity. At last when he was intreated by the parliament to preside in the trial of the king, he did not refuse the dangerous office. To a profound knowledge of the law, he added the most comprehensive views, the most generous sentiments, manners the most obliging and the most pure. Hence he discharged that office with a propriety almost without a parallel; he inspired both respect and awe; and, though menaced by the daggers of so many assassins, he conducted himself with so much consistency and gravity, with so much presence of mind and so much dignity of demeanour, that he seems to have been purposely destined by Providence for that part which he so nobly acted on the theatre of the world. And his glory is as much exalted above that of all other tyrannicides, as it is both more humane, more just, and more strikingly grand, judicially to condemn a tyrant, than to put him to death without a trial. In other respects, there was no forbidding austerity, no moroseness in his manner; he was courteous and benign; but the great character, which he then sustained, he with perfect consistency still sustains, so that you would suppose that, not only then, but in every future period of his life, he was sitting in judgment upon the king. In the public business his activity is unwearied; and he alone is equal to a host. At home his hospitality is as splendid as his fortune will permit; in his friendships there is the most inflexible fidelity; and no one more readily discerns merit, or more liberally rewards it. Men of piety and learning, ingenious persons in all professions, those who have been distinguished by their courage or their misfortunes, are free to participate his bounty; and if they want not his bounty, they are sure to share his friendship and esteem. He never ceases to extol the merits of others, or to conceal his own; and no one was ever more ready to accept the excuses, or to pardon the hostility, of his political opponents. If he undertake to plead the cause of the oppressed, to solicit the favour or deprecate the resentment of the powerful, to reprove the public ingratitude towards any particular individual, his address and his perseverance are beyond all praise. On such occasions no one could desire a patron or a friend more able, more zealous, or more eloquent. No menace could divert him from his purpose; no intimidation on the one hand, and no promise of emolument or promotion on the other, could alter the serenity of his countenance, or shake the firmness of his soul. By these virtues, which endeared him to his friends and commanded the respect even of his enemies, he, Sir, has acquired a name, which, while you and such as you are mouldering in oblivion, will flourish in every age and in every country in the world. But I must proceed; the king was condemned to lose his head. “Against this atrocity almost all the pulpits in London thundered out their censures.” We are not to be so easily scared by that thunder upon wood. We remember the fate of Salmoneous, and trust that these persons will one day see cause to repent of their fulminating temerity. These were the very persons, who so lately, and with such vehemence, fulminated their censures against pluralists and non-residents. But some of these persons having grasped three, and others four, of the livings, from which they had fulminated the episcopal clergy, they hence became non-residents themselves, guilty of the very sin against which they had inveighed, and the victims of their own fulminating rage. Nor have they any longer a spark of shame; they are now grown zealous abettors of the divine right of tythes; and truly as their thirst for tythes is so insatiable, they should be quite gorged with the commodity, and ordered to have, not only a tenth part of the fruits of the earth, but of the waves of the sea. They were the first to counsel a war of extermination against the king; but when the king was made prisoner, after having been convicted, according to their own repeated declarations, as the author of so much misery and bloodshed, they affected to compassionate his situation. Thus, in their pulpits, as in an auction room, they retail what wares and trumpery they please to the people; and what is worse, they reclaim what they have already sold. But “the Scots demanded that the king should be restored to them, and mention the promises of the parliament, when they delivered up the king to the English.” But I can prove, from the confession of the Scots themselves, that no such promise was given when the king was delivered up; and it would have been disgraceful for the English to have entered into any such stipulations with the Scotch troops, who were mercenaries in their pay. Why? Because the answer of the parliament to the representations of the Scotch, which was published on the fifteenth of March, clearly denies, that any assurances whatever were given respecting the treatment of the king; for they would have disdained to have submitted to such limitations of their right. But “they demanded that the king should be restored to them.” These tender-hearted persons, I suppose, were melted with compassion, and could no longer endure the regrets of royalty; though on several occasions, in which the subject had been discussed in parliament, they had unanimously agreed that the king might be deprived of his crown for three principal reasons; the despotism of his government, his alienation of the royal domains, and the desertion of his subjects. In the parliament, which was held at Perth, it was asked, Is the king, who is evidently an enemy to the saints, to be excommunicated from the society of the faithful? But before they could come to any decision on this question, Montrose advanced with his troops and dispersed the convention. The same persons, in their answer to General Cromwell, 1650, confess that he was justly punished, but that there was an informality in the proceedings, because they had no share in the commission which condemned him. This transaction, therefore, which was so atrocious, without their participation, would have been highly patriotic with it; as if the distinctions of right and wrong, of justice and injustice, depend on their arbitrary disposition, or their capricious inclinations. If the king had been restored to them, would he have experienced greater clemency and moderation? But “the Scotch Delegates had first brought this answer from the English Parliament, that they were unwilling to alter the form of the English Government; though they afterwards answered that they had changed their former determination, and would adopt such measures as the public interest seemed to require:” and this answer was discreet and wise. What do you infer from hence? “This change of sentiment,” you say, “was contrary to every engagement, to every stipulation, and to common sense.” To such common sense as yours it may be adverse, who do not know the difference between a gratuitous promise and a solemn and positive engagement. The English freely state to the Scots, what they were under no obligation to do, the sentiments which they then entertained respecting the future form of their government; but the safety of the state soon persuaded them to embrace a different policy, if they would not violate the solemn assurances which they had given to the people. And which, do you think, was most binding on their consciences; their gratuitous reply to the Scotch Delegates, concerning the future form of their constitution, or the necessary oath which they had taken, the solemn engagement into which they had entered with the people, to establish the liberties of their country? But that a parliament or a senate may alter their resolutions according to circumstances, as you deem whatever I assert to be mere anabaptistical extravagance, I shall endeavour to show you from the authority of Cicero in his oration for Plancius. “We should all stand, as it were, in some circular section of the commonwealth; in which since it is liable to a rotatory motion, we should choose that position to which the public interest seems to direct us: and this immediately, for I do not think it a mark of inconstancy to accomodate our measures, as we do the course which we steer at sea, to the winds and storms of the political horizon.” It is a maxim, which I have found justified by observation, by experience, and by books, by the examples of the wisest and most illustrious characters in this and in other countries, “that the same men are not always bound to defend the same opinions, but only such as the circumstances of the country, the current of popular opinion, and the preservation of peace, seem to render necessary.” Such were the sentiments of Tully; though you, Sir, would rather prefer those of Hortensius; such were the sentiments of those ages in which political wisdom flourished most; and which I deem it wise in the anabaptists to adopt. I could mention many other practices which are condemned as anabaptistical by these stripling teachers, and their chief Salmasius, who must be regarded as an illiterate dunce, if we look to things rather than to words. But you say that “the high and mighty chiefs of the United States of Holland most strenuously laboured, though to no purpose, both by supplications and by the offer of a ransom, to save the sacred life of the king.” Thus to wish to buy off justice was the same as not to will the safety of the king; but they soon learned that we were not all merchants, and that the parliament of England was not a venal crew.

With respect to the condemnation of the king, you say that “in order that the sufferings of Charles might be more nearly assimilated to those of Christ, he was exposed to the redoubled mockery of the soldiery.” The sufferings of Christ were indeed more like those of malefactors, than the sufferings of Christ were like those of Christ; though many comparisons of this kind were hawked about by those who were zealous in forging any lie, or devising any imposture that might tend to excite the popular indignation. But suppose that some of the common soldiers did behave with a little too much insolence, that consideration does not constitute the demerit of the execution. I never before heard, nor did I ever meet with any person who had heard, that “a person, who implored God to have mercy on the king as he was passing to the scaffold, was instantly put to death in the presence of the monarch.” I caused inquiries on the subject to be made of the officer who had the command of the guard during the whole time of the execution, and who hardly ever lost sight of the king’s person for a moment; and he positively declared that he had never heard this before, and that he knew it to be utterly destitute of foundation. Hence we may learn what credit is due to your narrative in other particulars; for you will be found not to discover much more veracity in your endeavours to procure affection and respect for Charles after his death, than in your exertions to make us objects of general and unmerited detestation. You say that “on the fatal scaffold, the king was heard twice to sigh out to the bishop of London, remember! remember!” The judges were all in anxiety to know what the words, so emphatically repeated, meant; the bishop, according to your account, was sent for, and with a menace ordered to declare to what the reiterated admonition might allude. He, at first, with a preconcerted dissimulation, pleaded his sense of delicacy, and refused to divulge the secret. When they became more impatient, he at last disclosed, as if by constraint, and under the influence of fear, what he would not for the world have had unknown. “The king,” said he, “ordered me, if I could gain access to his son, to inform him that it was the last injunction of his dying father, that, if he were ever restored to his power and crown, he should pardon you, the authors of his death. This was what his majesty again and again commanded me to remember.” Which shall I say? that the king discovered most piety, or the bishop most deceit? who with so little difficulty consented to disclose a secret, which on the very scaffold was so mysteriously entrusted to him, for the purpose of disclosure? But O! model of taciturnity! Charles had long since left this injunction, among others, to his son, in his “Icon Basilicon,” a book which was evidently written for this express purpose, that this secret, which had been so ostentatiously enveloped in obscurity, might be divulged with the utmost dispatch, and circulated with the utmost diligence. But I clearly see that you are determined to obtrude upon the ignorant some paragon of perfection, if not quite like Charles Stuart, at least some hyperborean and fabled hero, decorated with all the showy varnish of imposture; and that you tricked out this fiction, and embellished it with the effusions of sensibility, in order to entrap the attention of the populace. But though I do not deny but that one or two of the commissioners might perhaps have briefly interrogated the bishop on this subject, I do not find that he was either purposely called before them, or deliberately and scrupulously interrogated, as if it were a matter of their general solicitude and care. But let us grant that Charles, on the scaffold, did deliver to the bishop these dying injunctions to his son to pardon the authors of his death; what did he do more than others have done in similar situations? How few persons are there about to die upon a scaffold, and to close for ever the tragedy of life, when they must forcibly feel that vanity of every thing human, who would not do the same; who would not, when on the point of leaving the stage of life, cheerfully lay aside their animosities, their resentments, their aversions, or at least, pretend to do it, in order to excite compassion, or to leave behind them an opinion of their innocence? That Charles acted the hypocrite on this occasion, and that he never did sincerely, and from his heart, deliver any injunction to his son to pardon the authors of his death, or that his private were at variance with his public admonitions, may be proved by arguments of no small weight. For otherwise the son, who, in other respects was sufficiently obsequious to his father, would doubtlessly have obeyed this his most momentous and dying injunction, so religiously conveyed to him by the bishop. But how did he obey it, when two of our embassadors, the one in Holland, the other in Spain, neither of whom had any share in the destruction of the king, were put to death by his orders or his influence? And has he not indeed more than once openly declared in his public memorials, that nothing should induce him to pardon the murderers of his father? Consider, therefore, whether this narrative of yours be likely to be true, which, the more it commends the father, reviles the son. Next, digressing from your purpose, you not only make the royal blood invoke the vengeance of heaven, but the people clamour against the parliament. You forget your own enormities at home, to engage in foreign considerations, in which you have no concern. Vile wretch, would the people ever employ you to plead their cause, whose breath is steaming with the effluvia of venereal putrescence? You ascribe to the people the clamours of fugitives and profligates; and, like a juggler on a stage, you imitate the shrieks and cries of the most hideous brutes. Who denies, that there may be times, in which the vicious may constitute the majority of the citizens, who would rather follow Cataline or Antony, than the more virtuous part of the senate? But are not good citizens on this account to oppose the bad with vigour and decision? Ought they not to be less deterred by the smallness of their numbers, than they are animated by the goodness of their cause? Your beautiful scrap of declamation for the people of England, that it may not perish beyond recovery, I would advise you to insert in the Annals of Volusius; we do not want the savoury effusions of such a lecherous rhetorician. Next we are called to account for our injuries to the church. “The army is a Hydra-headed monster of accumulated heresies.” Those who speak the truth, acknowledge that our army excels all others, not only in courage, but in virtue and in piety. Other camps are the scenes of gambling, swearing, riot, and debauchery; in ours, the troops employ what leisure they have in searching the Scriptures and hearing the word; nor is there one, who thinks it more honourable to vanquish the enemy than to propagate the truth; and they not only carry on a military warfare against their enemies, but an evangelical one against themselves. And indeed if we consider the proper objects of war, what employment can be more becoming soldiers, who are raised to defend the laws, to be the support of our political and religious institutions? Ought they not then to be less conspicuous for ferocity than for the civil and the softer virtues, and to consider it as their true and proper destination, not merely to sow the seeds of strife, and reap the harvest of destruction, but to procure peace and security for the whole human race? If there be any, who either from the mistakes of others, or the infirmities of their own minds, deviate from these noble ends, we ought not to punish them with the sword, but rather labour to reform them by reason, by admonition, by pious supplications to God, to whom alone it belongs to dispel all the errors of the mind, and to impart to whom he will the celestial light of truth. We approve no heresies which are truly such; we do not even tolerate some; we wish them extirpated, but by those means which are best suited to the purpose; by reason and instruction, the only safe remedies for disorders of the mind; and not by the knife or the scourge, as if they were seated in the body. You say that “we have done another and equal injury to the temporal property of the church.” Ask the protestants of Holland, and even of Upper Germany, whether they ever spared the possessions of the church, against whom the Austrian Prince, as often as he makes war, hardly ever seeks for any other pretext than the restitution of the ecclesiastical domains. But that property did not belong to the church so much as the ecclesiastics, who, in this sense, might most justly be denominated church-men; indeed they might have been more fully termed wolves than any thing else; but could there be any impiety in applying to the necessary exigencies of a war which they themselves had occasioned, and which we had no other resource for carrying on, the property of these wolves, or rather the accumulated ravages of so many ages of ignorance and superstition? But it was expected that the wealth which was ravished from the bishops would be distributed among the parochial clergy. They expected, I know, and they desired, that the whole should be diffused among them; for there is no abyss so deep which it is not more easy to fill, than it is to satiate the rapacity of the clergy. In other places there may be an incompetent provision for the clergy; but ours have an abundant maintenance; they ought to be called sheep, rather than shepherds; they themselves are fed more than they feed others; every thing is fat around them, so that even their heads seem to swim in fat. They are stuffed with tythes in a way disapproved by the rest of the reformed churches; and they have so little trust in God, that they choose to extort a maintenance, rather by judicial force, and magisterial authority, than to owe it to divine providence, or the gratitude and benevolence of their congregations. And, besides all this, they are so frequently entertained by their pious auditors of both sexes, that they hardly know what it is to dine or sup at home. Hence they luxuriate in superfluities, rather than languish in want; their wives and children vie with the wives and children of the rich in luxury and refinement; and to have increased this tendency to prodigality, by an addition to their revenue, would have been the same as to infuse new poison into the church; a sort of pestilential malady, the introduction of which a voice from heaven lamented under Constantine. We have next to give an account of our enormities towards God, which principally concern our trust in the divine assistance, our prayers and fasts. But, vile miscreant! I will refute you out of your own mouth; and retort upon you that text of the apostle, “Who art thou that judgest another man’s servant?” Before our own master let us stand or fall. I will add also that saying of the prophet, “When I afflict my soul with fasting, this is turned to my reproach.” The rest of your delirious effusions on this subject, which no one will take the trouble to read twice, I should do wrong to detail. Nor are those things more to the purpose, which you brawl out concerning our successes. Beware, Sir, beware, lest, after your Pontian toils, you should swell into a polypus of corpulency; and we need be under apprehensions, lest as the great Salmasius lately did, you should chill the baths. On the nature of success I will say a few words. Success neither proves a cause to be good, nor indicates it to be bad; and we demand that our cause should not be judged by the event, but the event by the cause. You now enter on political discussions, the injuries which we have done to all kings, and to all people. What injuries? for we never intended any; the affairs of our own government alone occupied our attention, we neglected those of others; we do not envy the good that may have accrued from our example, and we can ascribe the evil only to the abuse or misapplication of our principles. But, what kings or people ever appointed you to proclaim their injuries? Indeed others have heard their orators and embassadors in the senate, and I have often heard them in the council, not only not complaining of any grievances, but voluntarily suing for our friendship and alliance. In the name of their kings and princes, they have often congratulated us on the state of our affairs, praying for the stability of our government, and the continuance of our prosperity. This was not the language of hostility or hatred, as you assert; and you must either necessarily be convicted of falsehood, at which you never stick, or kings themselves of an insincerity and dissimulation, the most humiliating and most base. But you object to our confession, that we had set a salutary example to all people, and a formidable one to all tyrants. This is surely as heinous a crime as if any one were to say,

Advis’d, learn Justice, and revere the gods.

Could any thing be uttered more pernicious? This was the language of Cromwell to the Scots after the battle of Dunbar. And worthy indeed was it of him and of that noble victory. “The infamous pages of Milton abound with the same noisome ingredients.” You always associate me with some illustrious colleague; and, on this occasion, you make me his equal, if not his superior; so that I might on this account think myself most honoured by you, if any thing honourable could proceed from you. “But those pages,” you say, “were burnt at Paris by the hands of the common hangman, and by the orders of the parliament.” I find that this was by no means done by the senate, but by one of the city officers, of what description I know not, but at the instigation of the clergy, those indolent vermin, who saw at a distance the fate which menaced, and which, I pray, may one day overtake their gluttony and extravagance. Do you imagine that we, in our turn, could not have burnt Salmasius’s defence of the king? I could myself easily have obtained this permission from the magistrates, if I had thought that it merited any thing but contempt. You, in your endeavours to extinguish one fire by another, have only erected an Herculean pile, from which I shall rise with more lustre and renown; we with more discretion, did not think it right to communicate any animating heat to the icy chilliness of the royal vindication. But I wonder that the Thoulousians should have become so degenerate, that a defence of religion and of liberty should be burnt in a city, in which, under the Counts of Raymond, religion and liberty were formerly so nobly defended. “And I wish,” you say, “that the writer had been burned as well.” Is this your disposition, slave? But you have taken good care that I should not indulge a similar wish towards you; for you have been long wasting in blacker flames. Your conscience is scorched by the flames of adultery and rape, and of those perjuries, by the help of which you debauched an unsuspecting girl, to whom you promised marriage, and then abandoned to despair. You are writhing under the flames of that mercenary passion, which impelled you, though covered with crimes, to lust after the functions of the priesthood, and to pollute the consecrated elements with your incestuous touch. While you are acting the hypocrite, you utter the most horrid imprecations against hypocrisy; and every sentence of condemnation only serves to condemn yourself. Such are the atrocities, such the infamy, with which you are all on fire; these are the infuriated flames, by which you are tormented night and day; and you suffer a punishment, than which even your bitterest foe could not invoke one more severe. In the mean time, not one hair of my head is singed by the conflagrations which you kindle; but those affronts are balanced by much delight, and many sweets. One tribunal perhaps, or a single Parisian executioner, under some unlucky bias, burnt my book; but nevertheless, how many good and wise men through all France read it, cherished and admired it? How many, through the spacious tracts of Germany, the domicile of freedom, and wherever any traces of freedom yet remain? Moreover Greece itself, and Athens, the eye of Greece, mingles its applause in the voice of its noble Philyras. And this I can truly say, that, as soon as my defence appeared, and had begun to excite the public curiosity, there was no public functionary of any prince or state then in the city, who did not congratulate me when we accidentally met, who did not desire my company at his house or visit me at mine. But it would be wrong not to mention you, O Adrian Paul, the honour and the ornament of Holland, who, dispatched on a splendid embassy to us, though I had never the pleasure of seeing you, sent me frequent assurances of your extraordinary predilection and regard. This it often delights me to recollect, and which could never have happened without the special appointment of the Deity, that royalty itself courteously favoured me, who had apparently written against kings; and afforded to my integrity and veracity, a testimony next to the divine. For, why should I fear to say this, when I consider how zealously and how highly all persons extol that illustrious queen? Nor do I think, that he who was the wisest of the Athenians, and with whom I by no means wish to compare myself, was more honoured by the testimony of the Pythian oracle, than I am by the approbation of such a queen. If this had happened to me, when a young man, and orators might have taken the same liberties as poets, I should not have hesitated to prefer my fate to that of some of the gods themselves; for, while they contended for the prize of beauty or harmony before a human judge, I, in the most glorious of all contests, had the palm of victory adjudged to me by the voice of an immortal. Thus honoured and caressed, no one but a common hangman would dare to treat me with disrespect; and such an one has both done it and caused it to be done. Here you take great pains, as Salmasius had done before, to prevent us from justifying our struggles for liberty by the example of the Dutch; but the same answer will serve for both. They are mistaken who think that we want any example to direct us. We often found it necessary to cherish and support, but never to rival, the Dutch in their struggles for liberty. If any extraordinary courage in the defence of liberty be requisite, we are wont, not to follow others, but to go before them and to lead the way. But you also employ the most paltry oratory, and the most flimsy argument, to induce the French to go to war with us. “The spirit of the French,” you say, “will never deign to receive our embassadors.” It has deigned, which is much more, voluntarily to send embassadors three or four times to us. The French, therefore, are as noble minded as usual; but you are degenerate and spurious, and your politics betray as much ignorance as falsehood. Hence you attempt to demonstrate that “the negotiation of the United States was purposely protracted, because they wished neither to treat with us, nor to go to war with us.” But it certainly behoves their High Mightinesses not to suffer their counsels to be thus exposed, and, I may say, traduced by a Genevese fugitive; who, if they suffer him any longer to remain among them, will not only debauch their women but their counsels. For they profess the most unfeigned amity; and have lately renewed a peace with us, of which it is the wish of all good men that it may be perpetual. “It was pleasant,” he says, “to see how those ruffian embassadors,” he means the English, “had to contend with the mockery and the menace of the English royalists, but chiefly of the Dutch.” If we had not thoroughly known to whom the murder of our former embassador, Dorislaus, and the affronts which were offered to our two other embassadors are to be ascribed, we might well exclaim, lo! a slanderous informant, who falsely accuses the very persons by whose bounty he is fed! Will you any longer, O Batavians! cherish and support a man, who, not contented with practising the most infamous debaucheries in the church, wishes to introduce the most sanguinary butchery into the state; who not only exposes you to violate the laws of nations, but falsely imputes to you the guilt of such violations?

The last head of his accusations is, “our injuries to the reformed churches.” But how our injuries towards them, rather than theirs towards us? For if you recur to examples, and turn over the annals of history from the Waldenses and the Thoulousians to the famine of Rochelle, you will find that we, of all churches, have been the last to take up arms against tyranny; but the first “to bring the tyrant to a scaffold.” Truly, because we were the first who had it in our power; and I think that they hardly know what they would have done if they had experienced similar opportunities. Indeed I am of opinion, that he against whom we wage war, must necessarily, and as long as we have any use of reason, be judged an enemy; but it has always been as lawful to put an enemy to death, as to attack him with the sword. Since then a tyrant is not only our enemy, but the public enemy of mankind; he may certainly be put to death with as much justice on the scaffold, as he is opposed with arms in the field. Nor is this only my opinion, or one of recent date; for common sense has long since dictated the same to others. Hence Tully, in his oration for Rabirius, declares, “If it were criminal to put Saturninus to death, arms could not, without a crime, have been taken up against Saturninus; but if you allow the justice of taking up arms against him, you must allow the justice of putting him to death.” I have said a good deal on this subject at other times and in other places, and the thing is clear enough in itself; from which you may conjecture what the French would have done if they had the power. I add, moreover, that those who oppose a tyrant in the field, do all in their power to put him to death; indeed, whatever sophistry they may use, they have already morally put him to death. But this doctrine is not to be imputed to us more than to the French, whom you wish to exempt from the imputation. For whence issued that work of “Franco Gallia,” except from Gaul, or “the defence against tyranny?” A book which is commonly ascribed to Beza. Whence others which Thaunus mentions? But as if I were the only author of the doctrine, you say, “Milton makes a pother about that, whose raving spirit I would have chastised as it deserves.”—You would have chastised, miscreant? You, whose atrocious proceedings, if the church of Middleburgh, which was disgraced by your impieties, had punished as they deserved, it would long since have committed you to the keeping of the devil; and if the civil power had rewarded you according to your desert, you would long ago have expiated your adulteries on a gibbet. And the hour of expiation seems on the point of arriving; for, as I hear, the church of Middleburgh, awakening to a right sense of your enormities and of its own disgrace, has expelled such a priest of lechery from her communion, and devoted you to perdition. Hence, the magistrates of Amsterdam have excluded you from the pulpit, that pious ears may no longer be scandalized, by hearing the sounds of your profligate effrontery in the bosom of the sanctuary. Your Greek professorship is now all that is left you; and this you will soon lose, except one single letter, of which you will not be the professor, but the pupil, pensile from the top [Editor: illegible character]. Nor do I omen this in rage; I express only the truth; for I am so far from being offended with such revilers as you, that I would always wish for such persons to revile me; and I esteem it a mark of the divine benevolence, that those, who have most bitterly inveighed against me, have usually been persons whose abuse is praise, and whose praise is infamy. But what served to restrain the irruption of such impotence of rage? “Unless,” you say, “I have been fearful of encroaching on the province of the great Salmasius, to whom I relinquish the undivided praise of victory over his great antagonist.”—Since indeed you now profess to consider me great, as well as him, you will find the difficulties of your undertaking increased, particularly since his death; though I feel very little solicitude about the victory, as long as truth prevails. In the mean time you exclaim, that “we are converting parricide into an article of faith, to which they secretly desire, though they do not openly dare to ascribe, the unanimous consent of the reformed churches; and Milton says, that it was the doctrine of the greatest theologians, who were the principal authors of the reformation.” It was, I say; as I have more fully shown in the tenure of kings and magistrates, and in other places. But now we are become scrupulous about doing what has been so often done. In that work, I have cited passages from Luther, Zuinglius, Calvin, Bucer, Martyr, Paræus, and lastly, from that Knox, who you say alone countenances the doctrine which all the reformed churches at that time, and particularly those of France, condemned. And he himself affirms, as I have there explained, that he derived the doctrine from Calvin and other eminent theologians at that time, with whom he was in habits of familiarity and friendship. And in the same work you will find the same opinions supported by the authorities of some of our more pure and disinterested divines, during the reigns of Mary and Elizabeth. You conclude your work with a prolix effusion of your devotional abominations to the Deity. You dare to lift up your adulterous eyes and your obdurate heart to heaven! I will throw no impediments in your way, but leave you to yourself; for your impiety is great beyond the possibility of increase.

I now return, as I promised, to produce the principal accusations against Cromwell, that I may show what little consideration particulars deserve, when the whole taken together is so frivolous and absurd. “He declared in the presence of many witnesses, that it was his intention to subvert every monarchy, and exterminate every king.” We have often seen before what credit is due to your assertions; perhaps one of the emigrants ascribed this saying to Cromwell. Of the many witnesses, you do not mention the name of a single one; but aspersions, so destitute of proof, must be destitute of permanence. Cromwell was never found to be boastful of his actual exploits: and much less is he wont to employ any ostentatiousness of promise or arrogance of menace respecting achievements which were never performed, and the performance of which would be so difficult. Those, therefore, who furnished you with this piece of information, must have been liars rather from a spontaneous impulse or a constitutional propensity, than from deliberate intention, or they would never have invented a saying so contrary to his character and disposition. But the kings, whose trembling apprehensions and vigilant precautions you labour to excite, instead of accommodating their policy to the opinions which may be casually uttered in the street, had better enter on the consideration of the subject in a manner more suitable to its dignity, and more likely to throw light upon their interests. Another accusation is, that Cromwell had persuaded “the king secretly to withdraw himself into the Isle of Wight.” It is well known that the affairs of Charles were often rendered desperate in other ways, and thrice by flight; first, when he fled from London to York, next, when he took refuge among the Scotch in the pay of England, and lastly, when he retired to the Isle of Wight. But “Cromwell persuaded this last measure.” This is to be sure beyond all possibility of doubt; but I wonder that the royalists should lavish such an abundance of praise respecting the prudence of Charles, who seems scarce ever to have had a will of his own. For whether he was among his friends or his enemies, in the court or in the camp, he was generally the mere puppet of others; at one time of his wife, at another of his bishops, now of his nobles, then of his troops, and last of all, of the enemy. And he seems, for the most part, to have followed the worst counsels, and those too of the worst advisers. Charles is the victim of persuasion, Charles the dupe of imposition, Charles the pageant of delusion; he is intimidated by fear or dazzled by hope; and carried about here and there, the common prey of every faction, whether they be friends or foes. Let them either erase these facts from their writings, or cease to extol the sagacity of Charles. Though therefore a superior degree of penetration is an honourable distinction, yet when a country is torn with factions, it is not without its inconveniences; and the most discreet and cautious are most exposed to the calumnies of opposite factions. This often proved an obstacle in the way of Cromwell. Hence the presbyterians, and hence the enemy, impute every harsh treatment which they experience, not to the parliament but to Cromwell alone. They do not even hesitate to ascribe their own indiscretions and miscarriages to the fraud and treachery of Cromwell; against him every invective is levelled, and every censure passed. Indeed the flight of Charles to the Isle of Wight, which took place while Cromwell was at a distance, and was so sudden and unexpected, that he acquainted by letter every member then in the metropolis with the extraordinary occurrence. But this was the state of the case. The king, alarmed by the clamours of the whole army, which, neither softened by his intreaties nor his promises, had begun to demand his punishment, he determined to make his escape in the night with two trusty followers. But more determined to fly, than rightly knowing where to fly, he was induced, either by the ignorance or the cowardice of his attendants, to surrender himself to Hammond, governor of the Isle of Wight, whence he thought that he might easily be conveyed by ship into France or Holland. This is what I have learned concerning the king’s flight to the Isle of Wight, from those who possessed the readiest means of obtaining information. This is also one of the criminal charges; that “the English under Cromwell procured a great victory over the Scots.” Not “procured,” Sir, but, without any solecism, gloriously achieved. But consider how sanguinary that battle must have been, the mere idea of which excited such trembling apprehensions, that you could not mention it without striking your head against Priscian’s pate. But let us see what was the great crime in Cromwell in having gained such a complete victory over the Scots, who were menacing England with invasion, with the loss of her independence. “During this confusion, while Cromwell is absent with the army:” yes, while he was engaged in subduing an enemy, who had marched into the very heart of the kingdom, and menaced the safety of the parliament: while he was employed in reducing the revolted Welsh to their obedience, whom he vanquished wherever he could overtake, and dispersed wherever he could find; the presbyterians “began to conceive a disgust against Cromwell.” Here you speak the truth. While he is repelling the common enemy at the hazard of his life, and bravely defending their interests abroad, they are conspiring to ruin his reputation at home, and suborn one Huntington to take away his life. Does not this atrocious instance of ingratitude excite our abhorrence and our rage? By their instigation a mob of worthless people, reeking from the taverns and the stews, besieges the doors of the parliament, and (O indignity) compels them by clamour and intimidation, to vote such measures as they chose to dictate. And we should now have seen our Camillus, on his return from Scotland, after all his triumphs, and all his toils, either driven into exile, or put to an ignominious death, if General Fairfax had not openly remonstrated against the disgrace of his invincible lieutenant; if the whole army, which had itself experienced a good deal of ill-treatment, had not interposed to prevent such atrocious proceedings. Entering the metropolis, they quelled the citizens without much difficulty; they deservedly expelled from the senate those members who favoured the hostile Scotch; the rest, delivered from the insolence of the rabble, broke off the conference which had begun with the king in the Isle of Wight, contrary to the express orders of the parliament. But Huntington the accuser was left to himself; and at last, struck with remorse, solicited the forgiveness of Cromwell, and confessed by whom he had been suborned. These are the principal charges, except those to which I have replied above, which are brought forward against this noble deliverer of his country. Of how little force they are, is very apparent. But, in speaking of such a man, who has merited so well of his country, I should do nothing, if I only exculpated him from crimes; particularly since it not only so nearly concerns the country, but even myself, who am so closely implicated in the same disgrace, to evince to all nations, and as far as I can, to all ages, the excellence of his character, and the splendour of his renown. Oliver Cromwell was sprung from a line of illustrious ancestors, who were distinguished for the civil functions which they sustained under the monarchy, and still more for the part which they took in restoring and establishing true religion in this country. In the vigour and maturity of his life, which he passed in retirement, he was conspicuous for nothing more than for the strictness of his religious habits and the innocence of his life; and he had tacitly cherished in his breast that flame of piety which was afterwards to stand him in so much stead on the greatest occasions, and in the most critical exigencies. In the last parliament which was called by the king, he was elected to represent his native town; when he soon became distinguished by the justness of his opinions, and the vigour and decision of his counsels. When the sword was drawn, he offered his services, and was appointed to a troop of horse, whose numbers were soon increased by the pious and the good, who flocked from all quarters to his standard; and in a short time he almost surpassed the greatest generals in the magnitude and the rapidity of his achievements. Nor is this surprising; for he was a soldier disciplined to perfection in the knowledge of himself. He had either extinguished, or by habit had learned to subdue, the whole host of vain hopes, fears, and passions, which infest the soul. He first acquired the government of himself, and over himself acquired the most signal victories; so that on the first day he took the field against the external enemy, he was a veteran in arms, consummately practised in the toils and exigencies of war. It is not possible for me in the narrow limits in which I circumscribe myself on this occasion, to enumerate the many towns which he has taken, the many battles which he has won. The whole surface of the British empire has been the scene of his exploits, and the theatre of his triumphs; which alone would furnish ample materials for a history, and want a copiousness of narration not inferior to the magnitude and diversity of the transactions. This alone seems to be a sufficient proof of his extraordinary and almost supernatural virtue, that by the vigour of his genius, or the excellence of his discipline, adapted, not more to the necessities of war, than to the precepts of Christianity, the good and the brave were from all quarters attracted to his camp, not only as to the best school of military talents, but of piety and virtue; and that during the whole war, and the occasional intervals of peace, amid so many vicissitudes of faction and of events, he retained and still retains the obedience of his troops, not by largesses or indulgence, but by his sole authority, and the regularity of his pay. In this instance his fame may rival that of Cyrus, of Epaminondas, or any of the great generals of antiquity. Hence he collected an army as numerous and as well equipped as any one ever did in so short a time; which was uniformly obedient to his orders, and dear to the affections of the citizens; which was formidable to the enemy in the field, but never cruel to those who laid down their arms; which committed no lawless ravages on the persons or the property of the inhabitants; who, when they compared their conduct with the turbulence, the intemperance, the impiety, and the debauchery of the royalists, were wont to salute them as friends, and to consider them as guests. They were a stay to the good, a terror to the evil, and the warmest advocates for every exertion of piety and virtue. Nor would it be right to pass over the name of Fairfax, who united the utmost fortitude with the utmost courage; and the spotless innocence of whose life seemed to point him out as the peculiar favourite of heaven. Justly indeed may you be excited to receive this wreath of praise; though you have retired as much as possible from the world, and seek those shades of privacy which were the delight of Scipio. Nor was it only the enemy whom you subdued; but you have triumphed over that flame of ambition and that lust of glory, which are wont to make the best and the greatest of men their slaves. The purity of your virtues and the splendour of your actions consecrate those sweets of ease which you enjoy; and which constitute the wished for haven of the toils of man. Such was the ease which, when the heroes of antiquity possessed, after a life of exertion and glory, not greater than yours, the poets, in despair of finding ideas or expressions better suited to the subject, feigned that they were received into heaven, and invited to recline at the tables of the gods. But whether it were your health, which I principally believe, or any other motive which caused you to retire, of this I am convinced, that nothing could have induced you to relinquish the service of your country, if you had not known that in your successor liberty would meet with a protector, and England with a stay to its safety, and a pillar to its glory. For, while you, O Cromwell, are left among us, he hardly shows a proper confidence in the Supreme, who distrusts the security of England; when he sees that you are in so special a manner the favoured object of the divine regard. But there was another department of the war, which was destined for your exclusive exertions.

Without entering into any length of detail, I will, if possible, describe some of the most memorable actions, with as much brevity as you performed them with celerity. After the loss of all Ireland, with the exception of one city, you in one battle immediately discomfited the forces of the rebels: and were busily employed in settling the country, when you were suddenly recalled to the war in Scotland. Hence you proceeded with unwearied diligence against the Scots, who were on the point of making an irruption into England with the king in their train: and in about the space of one year you entirely subdued, and added to the English dominion, that kingdom which all our monarchs, during a period of 800 years, had in vain struggled to subject. In one battle you almost annihilated the remainder of their forces, who in a fit of desperation, had made a sudden incursion into England, then almost destitute of garrisons, and got as far as Worcester; where you came up with them by forced marches, and captured almost the whole of their nobility. A profound peace ensued; when we found, though indeed not then for the first time, that you was as wise in the cabinet as valiant in the field. It was your constant endeavour in the senate either to induce them to adhere to those treaties which they had entered into with the enemy, or speedily to adjust others which promised to be beneficial to the country. But when you saw that the business was artfully procrastinated, that every one was more intent on his own selfish interest than on the public good, that the people complained of the disappointments which they had experienced, and the fallacious promises by which they had been gulled, that they were the dupes of a few overbearing individuals, you put an end to their domination. A new parliament is summoned: and the right of election given to those to whom it was expedient. They meet; but do nothing; and, after having wearied themselves by their mutual dissensions, and fully exposed their incapacity to the observation of the country, they consent to a voluntary dissolution. In this state of desolation, to which we were reduced, you, O Cromwell! alone remained to conduct the government, and to save the country. We all willingly yield the palm of sovereignty to your unrivalled ability and virtue, except the few among us, who, either ambitious of honours which they have not the capacity to sustain, or who envy those which are conferred on one more worthy than themselves, or else who do not know that nothing in the world is more pleasing to God, more agreeable to reason, more politically just, or more generally useful, than that the supreme power should be vested in the best and the wisest of men. Such, O Cromwell, all acknowledge you to be; such are the services which you have rendered, as the leader of our councils, the general of our armies, and the father of your country. For this is the tender appellation by which all the good among us salute you from the very soul. Other names you neither have nor could endure; and you deservedly reject that pomp of title which attracts the gaze and admiration of the multitude. For what is a title but a certain definite mode of dignity; but actions such as yours surpass, not only the bounds of our admiration, but our titles; and like the points of pyramids, which are lost in the clouds, they soar above the possibilities of titular commendation. But since, though it be not fit, it may be expedient, that the highest pitch of virtue should be circumscribed within the bounds of some human appellation, you endured to receive, for the public good, a title most like to that of the father of your country; not to exalt, but rather to bring you nearer to the level of ordinary men; the title of king was unworthy the transcendant majesty of your character. For if you had been captivated by a name over which, as a private man, you had so completely triumphed and crumbled into dust, you would have been doing the same thing as if, after having subdued some idolatrous nation by the help of the true God, you should afterwards fall down and worship the gods which you had vanquished. Do you then, Sir, continue your course with the same unrivalled magnanimity; it sits well upon you;—to you our country owes its liberties, nor can you sustain a character at once more momentous and more august than that of the author, the guardian, and the preserver of our liberties; and hence you have not only eclipsed the achievements of all our kings, but even those which have been fabled of our heroes. Often reflect what a dear pledge the beloved land of your nativity has entrusted to your care; and that liberty which she once expected only from the chosen flower of her talents and her virtues, she now expects from you only, and by you only hopes to obtain. Revere the fond expectations which we cherish, the solicitudes of your anxious country; revere the looks and the wounds of your brave companions in arms, who, under your banners, have so strenuously fought for liberty; revere the shades of those who perished in the contest; revere also the opinions and the hopes which foreign states entertain concerning us, who promise to themselves so many advantages from that liberty, which we have so bravely acquired, from the establishment of that new government, which has begun to shed its splendour on the world, which, if it be suffered to vanish like a dream, would involve us in the deepest abyss of shame; and lastly, revere yourself; and, after having endured so many sufferings and encountered so many perils for the sake of liberty, do not suffer it, now it is obtained, either to be violated by yourself, or in any one instance impaired by others. You cannot be truly free, unless we are free too; for such is the nature of things, that he, who entrenches on the liberty of others, is the first to lose his own and become a slave. But, if you, who have hitherto been the patron and tutelary genius of liberty, if you, who are exceeded by no one in justice, in piety, and goodness, should hereafter invade that liberty, which you have defended, your conduct must be fatally operative, not only against the cause of liberty, but the general interests of piety and virtue. Your integrity and virtue will appear to have evaporated, your faith in religion to have been small; your character with posterity will dwindle into insignificance, by which a most destructive blow will be levelled against the happiness of mankind. The work which you have undertaken is of incalculable moment, which will thoroughly sift and expose every principle and sensation of your heart, which will fully display the vigour and genius of your character, which will evince whether you really possess those great qualities of piety, fidelity, justice, and self-denial, which made us believe that you were elevated by the special direction of the Deity to the highest pinnacle of power. At once wisely and discreetly to hold the sceptre over three powerful nations, to persuade people to relinquish inveterate and corrupt for new and more beneficial maxims and institutions, to penetrate into the remotest parts of the country, to have the mind present and operative in every quarter, to watch against surprise, to provide against danger, to reject the blandishments of pleasure and the pomp of power;—these are exertions compared with which the labour of war is mere pastime; which will require every energy and employ every faculty that you possess; which demand a man supported from above, and almost instructed by immediate inspiration. These and more than these are, no doubt, the objects which occupy your attention and engross your soul; as well as the means by which you may accomplish these important ends, and render our liberty at once more ample and more secure. And this you can, in my opinion, in no other way so readily effect, as by associating in your councils the companions of your dangers and your toils; men of exemplary modesty, integrity, and courage; whose hearts have not been hardened in cruelty, and rendered insensible to pity by the sight of so much ravage and so much death, but whom it has rather inspired with the love of justice, with a respect for religion, and with the feeling of compassion, and who are more zealously interested in the preservation of liberty, in proportion as they have encountered more perils in its defence. They are not strangers or foreigners, a hireling rout scraped together from the dregs of the people, but for the most part, men of the better conditions in life, of families not disgraced, if not ennobled, of fortunes either ample or moderate; and what if some among them are recommended by their poverty? for it was not the lust of ravage which brought them into the field; it was the calamitous aspect of the times, which, in the most critical circumstances, and often amid the most disastrous turns of fortune, roused them to attempt the deliverance of their country from the fangs of despotism. They were men prepared, not only to debate, but to fight; not only to argue in the senate, but to engage the enemy in the field. But unless we will continually cherish indefinite and illusory expectations, I see not in whom we can place any confidence, if not in these men and such as these. We have the surest and most indubitable pledge of their fidelity in this, that they have already exposed themselves to death in the service of their country; of their piety in this, that they have been always wont to ascribe the whole glory of their successes to the favour of the Deity, whose help they have so suppliantly implored, and so conspicuously obtained; of their justice in this, that they even brought the king to trial, and when his guilt was proved, refused to save his life; of their moderation in our own uniform experience of its effects, and because, if by any outrage, they should disturb the peace which they have procured, they themselves will be the first to feel the miseries which it will occasion, the first to meet the havoc of the sword, and the first again to risk their lives for all those comforts and distinctions which they have so happily acquired; and lastly, of their fortitude in this, that there is no instance of any people who ever recovered their liberty with so much courage and success; and therefore let us not suppose, that there can be any persons who will be more zealous in preserving it. I now feel myself irresistibly compelled to commemorate the names of some of those who have most conspicuously signalized themselves in these times: and first thine, O Fleetwood! whom I have known from a boy, to the present blooming maturity of your military fame, to have been inferior to none in humanity, in gentleness, in benignity of disposition, whose intrepidity in the combat, and whose clemency in victory, have been acknowledged even by the enemy: next thine, O Lambert! who, with a mere handful of men, checked the progress, and sustained the attack, of the duke of Hamilton, who was attended with the whole flower and vigour of the Scottish youth: next thine, O Desborough! and thine, O Hawley! who wast always conspicuous in the heat of the combat, and the thickest of the fight; thine, O Overton! who hast been most endeared to me now for so many years by the similitude of our studies, the suavity of your manners, and the more than fraternal sympathy of our hearts; you, who in the memorable battle of Marston Moor, when our left wing was put to the rout, were beheld with admiration, making head against the enemy with your infantry and repelling his attack, amid the thickest of the carnage; and lastly, you, who in the Scotch war, when under the auspices of Cromwell, occupied the coast of Fife, opened a passage beyond Sterling, and made the Scotch of the west, and of the north, and even the remotest Orkneys, confess your humanity, and submit to your power. Besides these, I will mention some as celebrated for their political wisdom and their civil virtues, whom you, Sir, have admitted into your councils, and who are known to me by friendship or by fame. Whitlocke, Pickering, Strickland, Sydenham, Sydney, (a name indissolubly attached to the interests of liberty,) Montacute, Laurence, both of highly cultivated minds and polished taste; besides many other citizens of singular merit, some of whom were distinguished by their exertions in the senate, and others in the field. To these men, whose talents are so splendid, and whose worth has been so thoroughly tried, you would without doubt do right to trust the protection of our liberties; nor would it be easy to say to whom they might more safely be entrusted.

Then, if you leave the church to its own government, and relieve yourself and the other public functionaries from a charge so onerous, and so incompatible with your functions; and will no longer suffer two powers, so different as the civil and the ecclesiastical, to commit fornication together, and by their mutual and delusive aids in appearance to strengthen, but in reality to weaken and finally to subvert, each other; if you shall remove all power of persecution out of the church, (but persecution will never cease, so long as men are bribed to preach the gospel by a mercenary salary, which is forcibly extorted rather than gratuitously bestowed, which serves only to poison religion, and to strangle truth,) you will then effectually have cast those money-changers out of the temple, who do not merely truckle with doves, but with the dove itself, with the Spirit of the Most High. Then since there are often in a republic men who have the same itch for making a multiplicity of laws, as some poetasters have for making many verses; and since laws are usually worse in proportion as they are more numerous, if you shall not enact so many new laws as you abolish old, which do not operate so much as warnings against evil, as impediments in the way of good; and if you shall retain only those which are necessary, which do not confound the distinctions of good and evil, which, while they prevent the frauds of the wicked, do not prohibit the innocent freedoms of the good, which punish crimes, without interdicting those things which are lawful, only on account of the abuses to which they may occasionally be exposed. For the intention of laws is to check the commission of vice, but liberty is the best school of virtue, and affords the strongest encouragements to the practice. Then if you make a better provision for the education of our youth than has hitherto been made, if you prevent the promiscuous instruction of the docile and the indocile, of the idle and the diligent, at the public cost, but reserve the rewards of learning for the learned, and of merit for the meritorious. If you permit the free discussion of truth without any hazard to the author, or any subjection to the caprice of an individual, which is the best way to make truth flourish and knowledge abound, the censure of the half-learned, the envy, the pusillanimity, or the prejudice which measures the discoveries of others, and in short every degree of wisdom, by the measure of its own capacity, will be prevented from doling out information to us according to their own arbitrary choice. Lastly, if you shall not dread to hear any truth, or any falsehood, whatever it may be, but if you shall least of all listen to those, who think that they can never be free, till the liberties of others depend on their caprice, and who attempt nothing with so much zeal and vehemence, as to fetter, not only the bodies but the minds of men, who labour to introduce into the state the worst of all tyrannies, the tyranny of their own depraved habits and pernicious opinions; you will always be dear to those who think not merely that their own sect or faction, but that all citizens of all descriptions should enjoy equal rights and equal laws. If there be any one who thinks that this is not liberty enough, he appears to me to be rather inflamed with the lust of ambition, or of anarchy, than with the love of a genuine and well regulated liberty; and particularly since the circumstances of the country, which has been so convulsed by the storms of faction, which are yet hardly still, do not permit us to adopt a more perfect or desirable form of government.

For it is of no little consequence, O citizens, by what principles you are governed, either in acquiring liberty, or in retaining it when acquired. And unless that liberty, which is of such a kind as arms can neither procure nor take away, which alone is the fruit of piety, of justice, of temperance, and unadulterated virtue, shall have taken deep root in your minds and hearts, there will not long be wanting one who will snatch from you by treachery what you have acquired by arms. War has made many great whom peace makes small. If after being released from the toils of war, you neglect the arts of peace, if your peace and your liberty be a state of warfare, if war be your only virtue, the summit of your praise, you will, believe me, soon find peace the most adverse to your interests. Your peace will be only a more distressing war; and that which you imagined liberty will prove the worst of slavery. Unless by the means of piety, not frothy and loquacious, but operative, unadulterated, and sincere, you clear the horizon of the mind from those mists of superstition, which arise from the ignorance of true religion, you will always have those who will bend your necks to the yoke as if you were brutes, who notwithstanding all your triumphs will put you up to the highest bidder, as if you were mere booty made in war; and will find an exuberant source of wealth in your ignorance and superstition. Unless you will subjugate the propensity to avarice, to ambition, and sensuality, and expel all luxury from yourselves and from your families, you will find that you have cherished a more stubborn and intractable despot at home, than you ever encountered in the field; and even your very bowels will be continually teeming with an intolerable progeny of tyrants. Let these be the first enemies whom you subdue; this constitutes the campaign of peace; these are triumphs, difficult indeed, but bloodless, and far more honourable than those trophies, which are purchased only by slaughter and by rapine. Unless you are victors in this service, it is in vain that you have been victorious over the despotic enemy in the field. For if you think that it is a more grand, a more beneficial, or a more wise policy, to invent subtle expedients for increasing the revenue, to multiply our naval and military force, to rival in craft the ambassadors of foreign states, to form skilful treaties and alliances, than to administer unpolluted justice to the people, to redress the injured, and to succour the distressed, and speedily to restore to every one his own, you are involved in a cloud of error; and too late will you perceive, when the illusion of those mighty benefits has vanished, that in neglecting these, which you now think inferior considerations, you have only been precipitating your own ruin and despair. The fidelity of enemies and allies is frail and perishing, unless it be cemented by the principles of justice; that wealth and those honours, which most covet, readily change masters; they forsake the idle and repair where virtue, where industry, where patience flourish most. Thus nation precipitates the downfall of nation; thus the more sound part of one people subverts the more corrupt; thus you obtained the ascendant over the royalists. If you plunge into the same depravity, if you imitate their excesses, and hanker after the same vanities, you will become royalists as well as they, and liable to be subdued by the same enemies, or by others in your turn; who, placing their reliance on the same religious principles, the same patience, the same integrity and discretion which made you strong, will deservedly triumph over you, who are immersed in debauchery, in the luxury and the sloth of kings. Then, as if God was weary of protecting you, you will be seen to have passed through the fire that you might perish in the smoke; the contempt which you will then experience will be great as the admiration which you now enjoy; and, what may in future profit others, but cannot benefit yourselves, you will leave a salutary proof what great things the solid reality of virtue and of piety might have effected, when the mere counterfeit and varnished resemblance could attempt such mighty achievements, and make such considerable advances towards the execution. For if, either through your want of knowledge, your want of constancy, or your want of virtue, attempts so noble, and actions so glorious, have had an issue so unfortunate, it does not therefore follow, that better men should be either less daring in their projects or less sanguine in their hopes. But from such an abyss of corruption into which you so readily fall, no one, not even Cromwell himself, nor a whole nation of Brutuses, if they were alive, could deliver you if they would, or would deliver you if they could. For who would vindicate your right of unrestrained suffrage, or of choosing what representatives you liked best, merely that you might elect the creatures of your own faction, whoever they might be, or him, however small might be his worth, who would give you the most lavish feasts, and enable you to drink to the greatest excess? Thus not wisdom and authority, but turbulence and gluttony, would soon exalt the vilest miscreants from our taverns and our brothels, from our towns and villages, to the rank and dignity of senators. For, should the management of the republic be entrusted to persons to whom no one would willingly entrust the management of his private concerns; and the treasury of the state be left to the care of those who had lavished their own fortunes in an infamous prodigality? Should they have the charge of the public purse, which they would soon convert into a private, by their unprincipled peculations? Are they fit to be the legislators of a whole people who themselves know not what law, what reason, what right and wrong, what crooked and straight, what licit and illicit means? who think that all power consists in outrage, all dignity in the parade of insolence? who neglect every other consideration for the corrupt gratification of their friendships, or the prosecution of their resentments? who disperse their own relations and creatures through the provinces, for the sake of levying taxes and confiscating goods; men, for the greater part the most profligate and vile, who buy up for themselves what they pretend to expose to sale, who thence collect an exorbitant mass of wealth, which they fraudulently divert from the public service; who thus spread their pillage through the country, and in a moment emerge from penury and rags, to a state of splendour and of wealth? Who could endure such thievish servants, such vicegerents of their lords? Who could believe that the masters and the patrons of a banditti could be the proper guardians of liberty? or who would suppose that he should ever be made one hair more free by such a set of public functionaries, (though they might amount to five hundred elected in this manner from the counties and boroughs,) when among them who are the very guardians of liberty, and to whose custody it is committed, there must be so many, who know not either how to use or to enjoy liberty, who either understand the principles or merit the possession? But what is worthy of remark, those who are the most unworthy of liberty, are wont to behave most ungratefully towards their deliverers. Among such persons, who would be willing either to fight for liberty, or to encounter the least peril in its defence? It is not agreeable to the nature of things, that such persons ever should be free. However much they may brawl about liberty, they are slaves, both at home and abroad, but without perceiving it; and when they do perceive it, like unruly horses that are impatient of the bit, they will endeavour to throw off the yoke, not from the love of genuine liberty, (which a good man only loves and knows how to obtain,) but from the impulses of pride and little passions. But though they often attempt it by arms, they will make no advances to the execution; they may change their masters, but will never be able to get rid of their servitude. This often happened to the ancient Romans, wasted by excess, and enervated by luxury: and it has still more so been the fate of the moderns; when after a long interval of years they aspired under the auspices of Crescentius, Nomentanus, and afterwards of Nicolas Rentius, who had assumed the title of Tribune of the People, to restore the splendour and re-establish the government of ancient Rome. For, instead of fretting with vexation, or thinking that you can lay the blame on any one but yourselves, know that to be free is the same thing as to be pious, to be wise, to be temperate and just, to be frugal and abstinent, and lastly, to be magnanimous and brave; so to be the opposite of all these is the same as to be a slave; and it usually happens by the appointment, and as it were retributive justice, of the Deity, that that people which cannot govern themselves, and moderate their passions, but crouch under the slavery of their lusts, should be delivered up to the sway of those whom they abhor, and made to submit to an involuntary servitude.

It is also sanctioned by the dictates of justice and by the constitution of nature, that he, who from the imbecility or derangement of his intellect is incapable of governing himself, should, like a minor, be committed to the government of another; and least of all, should he be appointed to superintend the affairs of others or the interest of the state. You therefore, who wish to remain free, either instantly be wise, or, as soon as possible, cease to be fools; if you think slavery an intolerable evil, learn obedience to reason and the government of yourselves; and finally bid adieu to your dissensions, your jealousies, your superstitions, your outrages, your rapine, and your lusts. Unless you will spare no pains to effect this, you must be judged unfit, both by God and mankind, to be entrusted with the possession of liberty and the administration of the government; but will rather, like a nation in a state of pupillage, want some active and courageous guardian to undertake the management of your affairs. With respect to myself, whatever turn things may take, I thought that my exertions on the present occasion would be serviceable to my country, and as they have been cheerfully bestowed, I hope that they have not been bestowed in vain. And I have not circumscribed my defence of liberty within any petty circle around me, but have made it so general and comprehensive, that the justice and the reasonableness of such uncommon occurrences explained and defended, both among my countrymen and among foreigners, and which all good men cannot but approve, may serve to exalt the glory of my country, and to excite the imitation of posterity. If the conclusion do not answer to the beginning, that is their concern; I have delivered my testimony, I would almost say, have erected a monument, that will not readily be destroyed, to the reality of those singular and mighty achievements, which were above all praise. As the Epic Poet, who adheres at all to the rules of that species of composition, does not profess to describe the whole life of the hero whom he celebrates, but only some particular action of his life, as the resentment of Achilles at Troy, the return of Ulysses, or the coming of Æneas into Italy; so it will be sufficient, either for my justification or apology, that I have heroically celebrated at least one exploit of my countrymen; I pass by the rest, for who could recite the achievements of a whole people? If after such a display of courage and of vigor, you basely relinquish the path of virtue, if you do any thing unworthy of yourselves, posterity will sit in judgment on your conduct. They will see that the foundations were well laid; that the beginning (nay it was more than a beginning) was glorious; but, with deep emotions of concern will they regret, that those were wanting who might have completed the structure. They will lament that perseverance was not conjoined with such exertions and such virtues. They will see that there was a rich harvest of glory, and an opportunity afforded for the greatest achievements, but that men only were wanting for the execution; while they were not wanting who could rightly counsel, exhort, inspire, and bind an unfading wreath of praise round the brows of the illustrious actors in so glorious a scene.

FAMILIAR EPISTLES,

TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN, BY ROBERT FELLOWES, A. M. OXON.

I.: To his Tutor THOMAS JURE.

THOUGH I had determined, my excellent tutor, to write you an epistle in verse, yet I could not satisfy myself without sending also another in prose. For the emotions of my gratitude, which your services so justly inspire, are too expansive and too warm to be expressed in the confined limits of poetical metre; they demand the unconstrained freedom of prose, or rather the exuberant richness of Asiatic phraseology. Though it would far exceed my power accurately to describe how much I am obliged to you, even if I could drain dry all the sources of eloquence, or exhaust all the topics of discourse which Aristotle or the famed Parisian Logician has collected. You complain with truth, that my letters have been very few and very short; but I do not grieve at the omission of so pleasurable a duty, so much as I rejoice at having such a place in your regard as makes you anxious often to heat from me. I beseech you not to take it amiss, that I have not now written to you for more than three years; but with your usual benignity and candour to impute it rather to circumstances than to inclination. For heaven knows, that I regard you as a parent, that I have always treated you with the utmost respect, and that I was unwilling to teaze you with my compositions. And I was anxious that if my letters had nothing else to recommend them, they might be recommended by their rarity. And lastly, since the ardour of my regard makes me imagine that you are always present, that I hear your voice and contemplate your looks; and as thus (which is usually the case with lovers) I charm away my grief by the illusion of your presence, I was afraid when I wrote to you the idea of your distant separation should forcibly rush upon my mind; and that the pain of your absence, which was almost soothed into quiescence, should revive and disperse the pleasurable dream. I long since received your desirable present of the Hebrew Bible. I wrote this at my lodgings in this city, not as usual, surrounded by my books. If therefore there be any thing in this letter which either fails to give pleasure, or which frustrates expectation, it shall be compensated by a more elaborate composition as soon as I return to the dwelling of the Muses.

London, March 26, 1625.

II.: To ALEXANDER GILL.

I RECEIVED your letters and your poem, with which I was highly delighted, and in which I discover the majesty of a poet, and the style of Virgil. I knew how impossible it would be for a person of your genius entirely to divert his mind from the culture of the Muses, and to extinguish those heavenly emotions, and that sacred and ethereal fire which is kindled in your heart. For what Claudian said of himself may be said of you, your “whole soul is instinct with the fire of Apollo.” If therefore, on this occasion, you have broken your own promises, I here commend the want of constancy which you mention; I commend the want of virtue, if any want of virtue there be. But, in referring the merits of your poem to my judgment, you confer on me as great an honour as the gods would if the contending musical immortals had called me in to adjudge the palm of victory; as poets babble that it formerly fell to the lot of Imolus the guardian of the Lydian mount. I know not whether I ought to congratulate Henry Nassau more on the capture of the city or the composition of your poems. For I think that this victory produced nothing more entitled to distinction and to fame than your poem. But since you celebrate the successes of our allies in lays so harmonious and energetic, what may we not expect when our own successes call for the congratulations of your muse? Adieu, learned Sir, and believe me greatly obliged by the favour of your verses.

London, May 20, 1628.

III.: To the Same.

IN my former letter I did not so much answer yours as deprecate the obligation of then answering it; and therefore at the time I tacitly promised that you should soon receive another, in which I would reply at length to your friendly challenge. But, though I had not promised this, it would most justly be your due, since one of your letters is full worth two of mine, or rather, on an accurate computation, worth a hundred. When your letter arrived, I was strenuously engaged in that work concerning which I had given you some obscure hints, and the execution of which could not be delayed. One of the fellows of our college, who was to be the respondent in a philosophical disputation for his degree, engaged me to furnish him with some verses, which are annually required on this occasion; since he himself had long neglected such frivolous pursuits, and was then intent on more serious studies. Of these verses I sent you a printed copy, since I knew both your discriminating taste in poetry, and your candid allowances for poetry like mine. If you will in your turn deign to communicate to me any of your productions, you will, I can assure you, find no one to whom they will give more delight, or who will more impartially endeavour to estimate their worth. For as often as I recollect the topics of your conversation, (the loss of which I regret even in this seminary of erudition,) I cannot help painfully reflecting on what advantages I am deprived by your absence, since I never left your company without an increase of knowledge, and always had recourse to your mind as to an emporium of literature. Among us, as far as I know, there are only two or three, who without any acquaintance with criticism or philosophy, do not instantly engage with raw and untutored judgments in the study of theology; and of this they acquire only a slender smattering, not more than sufficient to enable them to patch together a sermon with scraps pilfered, with little discrimination, from this author and from that. Hence I fear, lest our clergy should relapse into the sacerdotal ignorance of a former age. Since I find so few associates in study here, I should instantly direct my steps to London, if I had not determined to spend the summer vacation in the depths of literary solitude, and, as it were, hide myself in the chamber of the muses. As you do this every day, it would be injustice in me any longer to divert your attention or engross your time. Adieu.

Cambridge, July 2, 1628.

IV.: To THOMAS JURE.

ON reading your letter, my excellent tutor, I find only one superflous passage, an apology for not writing to me sooner; for though nothing gives me more pleasure than to hear from you, how can I or ought I to expect that you should always have leisure enough from more serious and more sacred engagements to write to me; particularly when it is kindness, and not duty, which prompts you to write? Your many recent services must prevent me from entertaining any suspicion of your forgetfulness or neglect. Nor do I see how you could possibly forget one on whom you had conferred so many favours. Having an invitation into your part of the country in the spring, I shall readily accept it, that I may enjoy the deliciousness of the season as well as that of your conversation; and that I may withdraw myself for a short time from the tumult of the city to your rural mansion, as to the renowned portico of Zeno, or Tusculan of Tully, where you live on your little farm with a moderate fortune, but a princely mind; and where you practise the contempt, and triumph over the temptations of ambition, pomp, luxury, and all that follows the chariot of fortune, or attracts the gaze and admiration of the thoughtless multitude. I hope that you who deprecated the blame of delay, will pardon me for my precipitance; for, after deferring this letter to the last, I chose rather to write a few lines, however deficient in elegance, than to say nothing at all. Adieu, reverend sir.

Cambridge, July 21, 1628.

V.: To ALEXANDER GILL.

IF you had made me a present of a piece of plate, or any other valuable which excites the admiration of mankind, I should not be ashamed in my turn to remunerate you, as far as my circumstances would permit. But since you, the day before yesterday, presented me with an elegant and beautiful poem in Hendecasyllabic verse, which far exceeds the worth of gold, you have increased my solicitude to discover in what manner I may requite the favour of so acceptable a gift. I had by me at the time no compositions in a like style which I thought at all fit to come in competition with the excellence of your performance. I send you therefore a composition which is not entirely my own, but the production of a truly inspired bard, from whom I last week rendered this ode into Greek Heroic verse, as I was lying in bed before the day dawned, without any previous deliberation, but with a certain impelling faculty, for which I know not how to account. By his help who does not less surpass you in his subject than you do me in the execution, I have sent something which may serve to restore the equilibrium between us. If you see reason to find fault with any particular passage, I must inform you that, from the time I left your school, this is the first and the last piece I have ever composed in Greek; since, as you know, I have attended more to Latin and to English composition. He who at this time employs his labour and his time in writing Greek, is in danger of writing what will never be read. Adieu, and expect to see me, God willing, at London on Monday among the booksellers. In the mean time, if you have interest enough with that Doctor who is the master of the college to promote my business, I beseech you to see him as soon as possible, and to act as your friendship for me may prompt.

From my villa, Dec. 4, 1634.

VI.: To CAROLO DEODATI.

I CLEARLY see that you are determined not to be overcome in silence; if this be so, you shall have the palm of victory, for I will write first. Though if the reasons which make each of us so long in writing to the other should ever be judicially examined, it will appear that I have many more excuses for not writing than you. For it is well known, and you well know, that I am naturally slow in writing, and averse to write; while you, either from disposition or from habit, seem to have little reluctance in engaging in these literary (προσϕωνησεις) allocutions. It is also in my favour, that your method of study is such as to admit of frequent interruptions, in which you visit your friends, write letters, or go abroad; but it is my way to suffer no impediment, no love of ease, no avocation whatever, to chill the ardour, to break the continuity, or divert the completion of my literary pursuits. From this and no other reasons it often happens that I do not readily employ my pen in any gratuitous exertions; but I am not, nevertheless, my dear Deodati, a very sluggish correspondent; nor has it at any time happened that I ever left any letter of yours unanswered till another came. So I hear that you write to the bookseller, and often to your brother, either of whom, from their nearness, would readily have forwarded any communication from you to me. But what I blame you for is, for not keeping your promise of paying me a visit when you left the city; a promise which, if it had once occurred to your thoughts, would certainly have forcibly suggested the necessity of writing. These are my reasons for expostulation and censure. You will look to your own defence. But what can occasion your silence? Is it ill health? Are there in those parts any literati with whom you may play and prattle as we used to do? When do you return? How long do you mean to stay among the Hyperboreans? I wish you would give me an answer to each of these questions; and that you may not suppose that I am quite unconcerned about what relates to you, I must inform you that in the beginning of the autumn I went out of my way to see your brother, in order to learn how you did. And lately when I was accidentally informed in London that you were in town, I instantly hastened to your lodgings; but it was only the shadow of a dream, for you were no where to be found. Wherefore, as soon as you can do it without any inconvenience to yourself, I beseech you to take up your quarters where we may at least be able occasionally to visit one another; for I hope that you would not be a different neighbour to us in the country than you are in town. But this is as it pleases God. I have much to say to you concerning myself and my studies, but I would rather do it when we meet, and as to-morrow I am about to return into the country, and am busy in making preparations for my journey, I have but just time to scribble this. Adieu.

London, Sept. 7, 1637.

VII.: To the Same.

MOST of my other friends think it enough to give me one farewell in their letters, but I see why you do it so often; for you give me to understand that your medical authority is now added to the potency, and subservient to the completion, of those general expressions of good-will which are nothing but words and air. You wish me my health six hundred times, in as great a quantity as I can wish, as I am able to bear, or even more than this. Truly, you should be appointed butler to the house of Health, whose stores you so lavishly bestow; or at least Health should become your parasite, since you so lord it over her, and command her at your pleasure. I send you therefore my congratulations and my thanks, both on account of your friendship and your skill. I was long kept waiting in expectation of a letter from you, which you had engaged to write; but when no letter came my old regard for you suffered not, I can assure you, the smallest diminution, for I had supposed that the same apology for remissness, which you had employed in the beginning of our correspondence, you would again employ. This was a supposition agreeable to truth and to the intimacy between us. For I do not think that true friendship consists in the frequency of letters or in professions of regard, which may be counterfeited; but it is so deeply rooted in the heart and affections, as to support itself against the rudest blast; and when it originates in sincerity and virtue, it may remain through life without suspicion and without blame, even when there is no longer any reciprocal interchange of kindnesses. For the cherishing aliment of a friendship such as this, there is not so much need of letters as of a lively recollection of each other’s virtues. And though you have not written, you have something that may supply the omission: your probity writes to me in your stead; it is a letter ready written on the innermost membrane of the heart; the simplicity of your manners, and the rectitude of your principles, serve as correspondents in your place; your genius, which is above the common level, writes, and serves in a still greater degree to endear you to me. But now you have got possession of this despotic citadel of medicine, do not alarm me with the menace of being obliged to repay those six hundred healths which you have bestowed, if I should, which God forbid, ever forfeit your friendship. Remove that formidable battery which you seem to have placed upon my breast to keep off all sickness but what comes by your permission. But that you may not indulge any excess of menace I must inform you, that I cannot help loving you such as you are; for whatever the Deity may have bestowed upon me in other respects, he has certainly inspired me, if any ever were inspired, with a passion for the good and fair. Nor did Ceres, according to the fable, ever seek her daughter Proserpine with such unceasing solicitude as I have sought this τοῦ ϰαλοῦ ἰδέαν, this perfect model of the beautiful in all the forms and appearances of things (πολλαιγαρ γορϕαι των Δαιμονιων, many are the forms of the divinities.) I am wont day and night to continue my search; and I follow in the way in which you go before. Hence, I feel an irresistible impulse to cultivate the friendship of him, who, despising the prejudiced and false conceptions of the vulgar, dares to think, to speak, and to be that which the highest wisdom has in every age taught to be the best. But if my disposition or my destiny were such that I could without any conflict or any toil emerge to the highest pitch of distinction and of praise; there would nevertheless be no prohibition, either human or divine, against my constantly cherishing and revering those, who have either obtained the same degree of glory, or are successfully labouring to obtain it.

But now I am sure that you wish me to gratify your curiosity, and to let you know what I have been doing or am meditating to do. Hear me, my Deodati, and suffer me for a moment to speak without blushing in a more lofty strain. Do you ask what I am meditating? by the help of heaven, an immortality of fame. But what am I doing? πτεροϕυῶ, I am letting my wings grow and preparing to fly; but my Pegasus has not yet feathers enough to soar aloft in the fields of air. I will now tell you seriously what I design; to take chambers in one of the inns of court, where I may have the benefit of a pleasant and shady walk; and where with a few associates, I may enjoy more comfort when I choose to stay at home, and have a more elegant society when I choose to go abroad. In my present situation, you know in what obscurity I am buried, and to what inconveniences I am exposed. You shall likewise have some information respecting my studies. I went through the perusal of the Greek authors, to the time when they ceased to be Greeks; I was long employed in unravelling the obscure history of the Italians, under the Lombards, the Franks, and Germans, to the time when they received their liberty from Rodolphus king of Germany. From that time it will be better to read separately the particular transactions of each state. But how are you employed? How long will you attend to your domestic ties, and forget your city connections? But unless this novercal hostility be more inveterate than that of the Dacian or Sarmacian, you will feel it a duty to visit me in my winter quarters. In the mean time, if you can do it without inconvenience, I will thank you to send me Justinian the historian of Venice. I will either keep it carefully till your arrival, or, if you had rather, will soon send it back again. Adieu.

London, Sept. 23, 1637.

VIII.: To BENEDITTO BONOMATTAI, a Florentine.

I AM glad to hear, my dear Bonomattai, that you are preparing new institutes of your native language, and have just brought the work to a conclusion. The way to fame which you have chosen, is the same as that which some persons of the first genius have embraced; and your fellowcitizens seem ardently to expect that you will either illustrate or amplify, or at least polish and methodize, the labours of your predecessors. By such a work you will lay your countrymen under no common obligation, which they will be ungrateful if they do not acknowledge. For I hold him to deserve the highest praise who fixes the principles and forms the manners of a state, and makes the wisdom of his administration conspicuous both at home and abroad. But I assign the second place to him, who endeavours by precepts and by rules to perpetuate that style and idiom of speech and composition, which have flourished in the purest periods of the language, and who, as it were, throws up such a trench around it, that people may be prevented from going beyond the boundary almost by the terrors of a Romulean prohibition. If we compare the benefits which each of these confer, we shall find that the former alone can render the intercourse of the citizens just and conscientious, but that the last gives that gentility, that elegance, that refinement, which are next to be desired. The one inspires lofty courage and intrepid ardour against the invasion of an enemy; the other exerts himself to annihilate that barbarism which commits more extensive ravages on the minds of men, which is the intestine enemy of genius and literature, by the taste which he inspires, and the good authors which he causes to be read. Nor do I think it a matter of little moment whether the language of a people be vitiated or refined, whether the popular idiom be erroneous or correct. This consideration was more than once found salutary at Athens. It is the opinion of Plato, that changes in the dress and habits of the citizens portend great commotions and changes in the state; and I am inclined to believe, that when the language in common use in any country becomes irregular and depraved, it is followed by their ruin or their degradation. For what do terms used without skill or meaning, which are at once corrupt and misapplied, denote, but a people listless, supine, and ripe for servitude? On the contrary, we have never heard of any people or state which has not flourished in some degree of prosperity, as long as their language has retained its elegance and its purity. Hence, my Beneditto, you may be induced to proceed in executing a work so useful to your country, and may clearly see what an honourable and permanent claim you will have to the approbation and the gratitude of your fellowcitizens. Thus much I have said, not to make you acquainted with that of which you were ignorant, but because I was persuaded that you are more intent on serving your country than in considering the just title which you have to its remuneration. I will now mention the favourable opportunity which you have, if you wish to embrace it, of obliging foreigners, among whom there is no one at all conspicuous for genius or for elegance, who does not make the Tuscan language his delight, and indeed consider it as an essential part of education, particularly if he be only slightly tinctured with the literature of Greece or of Rome. I, who certainly have not merely wetted the tip of my lips in the stream of those languages, but, in proportion to my years, have swallowed the most copious draughts, can yet sometimes retire with avidity and delight to feast on Dante, Petrarch, and many others; nor has Athens itself been able to confine me to the transparent wave of its Ilissus, nor ancient Rome to the banks of its Tiber, so as to prevent my visiting with delight the stream of the Arno, and the hills of Fæsolæ. A stranger from the shores of the farthest ocean, I have now spent some days among you, and am become quite enamoured of your nation. Consider whether there were sufficient reason for my preference, that you may more readily remember what I so earnestly importune; that you would, for the sake of foreigners, add something to the grammar which you have begun, and indeed almost finished, concerning the right pronunciation of the language, and made as easy as the nature of the subject will admit. The other critics in your language seem to this day to have had no other design than to satisfy their own countrymen, without taking any concern about any body else. Though I think that they would have provided better for their own reputation, and for the glory of the Italian language, if they had delivered their precepts in such a manner as if it was for the interest of all men to learn their language. But, for all them, we might think that you Italians wished to confine your wisdom within the pomærium of the Alps. This praise therefore, which no one has anticipated, will be entirely yours immaculate and pure; nor will it be less so if you will be at the pains to point out who may justly claim the second rank of fame after the renowned chiefs of the Florentine literature; who excels in the dignity of tragedy, or the festivity and elegance of comedy; who has shown acuteness of remark or depth of reflection in his epistles or dialogues; to whom belongs the grandeur of the historic style. Thus it will be easy for the student to choose the best writers in every department; and if he wishes to extend his researches farther, he will know which way to take. Among the ancients you will in this respect find Cicero and Fabius deserving of your imitation; but I know not one of your own countrymen who does. But though I think as often as I have mentioned this subject that your courtesy and benignity have induced you to comply with my request, I am unwilling that those qualities should deprive you of the homage of a more polished and elaborate entreaty. For since your singular modesty is so apt to depreciate your own performances; the dignity of the subject, and my respect for you, will not suffer me to rate them below their worth. And it is certainly just that he who shows the greatest facility in complying with a request should not receive the less honour on account of his compliance. On this occasion I have employed the Latin rather than your own language, that I might in Latin confess my imperfect acquaintance with that language which I wish you by your precepts to embellish and adorn. And I hoped that if I invoked the venerable Latian mother, hoary with years, and crowned with the respect of ages, to plead the cause of her daughter, I should give to my request a force and authority which nothing could resist. Adieu.

Florence, Sept. 10, 1638.

IX.: To LUKE HOLSTEIN, in the Vatican at Rome.

THOUGH in my passage through Italy, many persons have honoured me with singular and memorable proofs of their civility and friendship, yet on so short an acquaintance, I know not whether I can truly say that any one ever gave me stronger marks of his regard than yourself. For, when I went to visit you in the Vatican, though I was not at all known to you, except perhaps from the incidental mention of Alexander Cherion, you received me with the utmost affability and kindness. You afterwards obligingly admitted me into the Museum, you permitted me to see the precious repository of literature, and many Greek MSS., adorned with your own observations; some of which have never yet seen the light, but seem, like the spirits in Virgil,

- In a green valley the pent spirits lay,

- Impatient to behold the realms of day,

to demand the parturient labours of the press. Some of them you have already published, which are greedily received by the learned. You presented me with copies of these on my departure. And I cannot but impute it to your kind mention of me to the noble Cardinal Francisco Barberino, that at a grand musical entertainment which he gave, he waited for me at the door, sought me out among the crowd, took me by the hand, and introduced me into the palace with every mark of the most flattering distinction. When I went the next day to render him my acknowledgments for this his gracious condescension, it was you who obtained me an interview, in which I experienced a degree of civility and kindness greater than I had any reason to expect from a person of his high dignity and character. I know not, most learned Holstein, whether I am the only Englishman to whom you have shown so much friendship and regard, or whether you are led to show the same to all my countrymen, from a recollection of the three years which you passed at the university of Oxford. If this be the case, you generously pay to our dear England the fees of her education; and you both deserve the grateful acknowledgments of each individual in particular, and of our country in general. But if this distinction was shown exclusively to me, if you selected me as worthy of your friendship, I congratulate myself on your preference, while I think your candour greater than my desert.

I strenuously urged my friends, according to your instructions, to inspect the Codex Mediceus; though they have at present but little hope of being able to do it. For in that library nothing can be transcribed, nor even a pen put to paper, without permission being previously obtained; but they say that there is at Rome one John Baptista Donio, who is daily expected at Florence, where he has been invited to read lectures on the Greek language, and by whom you may easily obtain the object of your wishes. It would indeed have been far more grateful to me if I could have been at all instrumental in promoting those honourable and illustrious pursuits in which you are engaged; and which it behoves all men, on all occasions and in all circumstances, to promote. I add that you will lay me under new obligations if you will express my warmest acknowledgments, and my most respectful compliments, to the most noble Cardinal, whose great virtues and whose honest zeal, so favourable to the encouragement of all the liberal arts, are the constant objects of my admiration. Nor can I look without reverence on that mild, and if I may so speak, that lowly, loftiness of mind, which is exalted by its own humiliation, and to which we may apply a verse in the Ceres of Callimachus,

- Ι’θματα μαν χέρσω ϰεϕαλαδε’ οἱ άπτετ’ ὀλύμπω.

- On th’ earth he treads, but to the heavens he soars.

His conduct may serve to show other princes that a forbidding superciliousness and a dazzling parade of power are quite incompatible with real magnanimity. Nor do I think that while he lives any one will regret the loss of the Esti, the Farnese or the Medici, who formerly espoused with so much zeal the patronage of literature. Adieu, most learned Holstein, and if you think me worthy of the honour, rank me, I beseech you, for the future, wherever I may be, among those who are most attached to you and to the studies in which you are engaged.

Florence, March 30, 1639.

X.: To CAROLO DEODATI, a Florentine Noble.

I DERIVED, my dear Charles, from the unexpected receipt of your letter, a pleasure greater than I can express; but of which you may have some notion from the pain with which it was attended; and without a mixture of which hardly any great pleasure is conceded to mankind. While I was perusing the first lines of yours, in which the elegance of expression seems to contest the palm with the tenderness of friendship, I felt nothing but an unmingled purity of joy, particularly when I found you labouring to make friendship win the prize. But as soon as I came to that passage in which you tell me that you had previously sent me three letters which must have been lost, then the simplicity of my joy began to be imbued with grief and agitated with regret. But something more disastrous soon appears. It is often a subject of sorrowful reflection to me, that those with whom I have been either fortuitously or legally associated by contiguity of place, or some tie of little moment, are continually at hand to infest my home, to stun me with their noise and waste me with vexation, while those who are endeared to me by the closest sympathy of manners, of tastes and pursuits, are almost all withheld from my embrace either by death or an insuperable distance of place; and have for the most part been so rapidly hurried from my sight, that my prospects seem continually solitary, and my heart perpetually desolate. With a lively pleasure do I read your anxious inquiries about my health since I left Florence, and your unintermitted recollections of our intimacy. Those recollection have been reciprocal, though I thought that they had been cherished by me alone. I would not conceal from you that my departure excited in me the most poignant sensations of uneasiness, which revive with increased force as often as I recollect that I left so many companions so engaging, and so many friends so kind, collected in one city; which is, alas, so far removed; which imperious circumstances compelled me to quit against my inclination, but which was and is to me most dear. I appeal to the tomb of Damon, which I shall ever cherish and revere; his death occasioned the most bitter sorrow and regret, which I could find no more easy way to mitigate than by recalling the memory of those times, when, with those persons, and particularly with you, I tasted bliss without alloy. This you would have known long since, if you received my poem on that occasion. I had it carefully sent, that whatever poetical merit it might possess, the few verses which are included in the manner of an emblem might afford no doubtful proof of my love for you. I thought that by this means I should entice you or some other persons to write; for if I wrote first it seemed necessary that I should write to all, as if I wrote to one exclusively I feared that I should give offence to the rest; since I hope that many are still left who might justly claim the performance of this duty. But you, by first addressing me in a manner so truly friendly, and by a triple repetition of epistolary kindness, have laid me under an obligation to write to you, and have exonerated me from the censure of those to whom I do not write. Though I must confess that I found other reasons for silence in these convulsions which my country has experienced since my return home, which necessarily diverted my attention from the prosecution of my studies to the preservation of my property and my life. For can you imagine that I could have leisure to taste the sweets of literary ease while so many battles were fought, so much blood shed, and while so much ravage prevailed among my fellow-citizens? But even in the midst of this tempestuous period, I have published several works in my native language, which if they had not been written in English, I should have pleasure in sending to you, whose judgment I so much revere. My Latin poems I will soon send as you desire; and this I should have done long ago without being desired, if I had not suspected that some rather harsh expressions which they contained against the Roman pontiff would have rendered them less pleasing to your ears. Now I request whenever I mention the rites of your religion in my own way, that you will prevail on your friends (for I am under no apprehensions from you) to show me the same indulgence not only which they did to Aligerius and to Petrarch on a similar occasion, but which you did formerly with such singular benevolence to the freedom of my conversation on topics of religion. With pleasure I perused your description of the funeral of King Louis. I do not acknowledge the inspiration of that vulgar and mercenary Mercury whom you jocosely profess to worship, but of that Mercury who excels in eloquence, who is dear to the Muses and the patron of men of genius. It remains for us to hit upon some method by which our correspondence may in future be carried on with greater regularity and fewer interruptions. This does not seem very difficult, when we have so many merchants who trade so extensively with us; whose agents pass to and fro every week, and whose ships are sailing backward and forward almost as often. In the mean time, my dear Charles, farewell, and present my kind wishes to Cultellino, Francisco, Trescobaldo, Maltatesto, the younger Clemantillo, and every other inquiring friend, and to all the members of the Gaddian academy. Adieu.

London, April 21, 1647.

XI.: To HERMANN MILLES, Secretary to the Count of Oldenburgh.

BEFORE I return any answer, most noble Hermann, to your letter which I received on the 17th of December, I will first explain the reasons why I did not write before, that you may not impute to me the blame of a silence which has so long continued. First, the delay was occasioned by ill-health, whose hostilities I have now almost perpetually to combat; next, by a cause of ill-health, a necessary and sudden removal to another house, which had accidentally begun to take place on the day that your letter arrived; and lastly, by shame that I had no intelligence concerning your business, which I thought that it would be agreeable to communicate. For the day before yesterday when I accidentally met the Lord Frost, and anxiously inquired of him whether any answer to you had been resolved on? (for the state of my health often kept me from the council;) he replied with not without emotion, that nothing had been resolved on, and that he could make no progress in expediting the business. I thought it therefore better to be silent for a time, than immediately to write what I knew that it would be irksome for you to hear, but rather to wait till I should have the pleasure to communicate what I was sure it would give you so much pleasure to know. This I hope that I have to-day accomplished; for when I had more than once reminded the president of your business, he replied that to-morrow they would discuss what answer they should give. If I am the first, as I endeavoured, to give you intelligence of this event, I think that it will contribute greatly to your satisfaction, and will serve as a specimen of my zeal for the promotion of your interests.

Westminster.

XII.: To the renowned LEONARD PHILARA, the Athenian.

I WAS in some measure made acquainted, most accomplished Philara, with your good will towards me, and with your favourable opinion of my defence of the people of England, by your letters to the Lord Auger, a person so renowned for his singular integrity in executing the embassies of the republic. I then received your compliments with your picture and an eulogy worthy of your virtues; and, lastly, a letter full of civility and kindness. I who am not wont to despise the genius of the German, the Dane, and Swede, could not but set the highest value on your applause, who were born at Athens itself, and who after having happily finished your studies in Italy, obtained the most splendid distinctions and the highest honours. For if Alexander the Great, when waging war in the distant East, declared that he encountered so many dangers and so many trials for the sake of having his praises celebrated by the Athenians, ought not I to congratulate myself on receiving the praises of a man in whom alone the talents and the virtues of the ancient Athenians seem to recover their freshness and their strength after so long an interval of corruption and decay. To the writings of those illustrious men which your city has produced, in the perusal of which I have been occupied from my youth, it is with pleasure I confess that I am indebted for all my proficiency in literature. Did I possess their command of language and their force of persuasion, I should feel the highest satisfaction in employing them to excite our armies and our fleets to deliver Greece, the parent of eloquence, from the despotism of the Ottomans. Such is the enterprise in which you seem to wish to implore my aid. And what did formerly men of the greatest courage and eloquence deem more noble or more glorious, than by their orations or their valour to assert the liberty and independence of the Greeks? But we ought besides to attempt, what is, I think, of the greatest moment, to inflame the present Greeks with an ardent desire to emulate the virtue, the industry, the patience of their ancient progenitors; and this we cannot hope to see effected by any one but yourself, and for which you seem adapted by the splendour of your patriotism, combined with so much discretion, so much skill in war, and such an unquenchable thirst for the recovery of your ancient liberty. Nor do I think that the Greeks would be wanting to themselves, nor that any other people would be wanting to the Greeks. Adieu.

London, Jan. 1652.

XIII.: To RICHARD HETH.

IF I were able, my excellent friend, to render you any service in the promotion of your studies, which at best could have been but very small, I rejoice on more accounts than one, that that service, though so long unknown, was bestowed on so fruitful and so genial a soil, which has produced an honest pastor to the church, a good citizen to our country, and to me a most acceptable friend. Of this I am well aware, not only from the general habits of your life, but from the justness of your religious and political opinions, and particularly from the extraordinary ardour of your gratitude, which no absence, no change of circumstances, or lapse of time, can either extinguish or impair. Nor is it possible, till you have made a more than ordinary progress in virtue, in piety, and the improvement of the mind and heart, to feel so much gratitude towards those who have in the least assisted you in the acquisition. Wherefore, my pupil, a name which with your leave I will employ, be assured that you are among the first objects of my regard; nor would any thing be more agreeable to me, if your circumstances permit as much as your inclination, than to have you take up your abode somewhere in my neighbourhood, where we may often see each other, and mutually profit by the reciprocations of kindness and of literature. But this must be as God pleases, and as you think best. Your future communications may, if you please, be in our own language, lost (though you are no mean proficient in Latin composition) the labour of writing should make each of us more averse to write; and that we may freely disclose every sensation of our hearts without being impeded by the shackles of a foreign language. You may safely entrust the care of your letters to any servant of that family which you mention. Adieu.

Westminster, Dec. 13, 1652.

XIV.: To HENRY OLDENBURGH, Aulic Counsellor to the Senate of Bremen.

I RECEIVED your former letters, most accomplished sir, at the moment when your clerk was at the point of setting out on his return, so that I had no power of returning you an answer at that time. This some unexpected engagements concurred to delay, or I should not have sent you my Defence without any compliment or apology; and I have since received another letter from you in which you return me more ample acknowledgments than the present deserved. And I had more than once an intention of substituting our English for your Latin, that you, who have studied our language with more accuracy and success than any foreigner with whom I am acquainted, might lose no opportunity of writing it, which I think that you would do with equal elegance and correctness. But in this respect you shall act as you feel inclined. With respect to the subject of your letter you are clearly of my opinion, that that cry to heaven could not have been audible by any human being, which only serves the more palpably to show the effrontery of him who affirms with so much audacity that he heard it. Who he was you have caused a doubt, though long since in some conversations which we had on the subject just after your return from Holland, you seemed to have no doubt but that More was the author to whom the composition was in those parts unanimously ascribed. If you have received any more authentic information on this subject, I wish that you would acquaint me with it. With respect to the mode of handling the subject I would willingly agree with you, and what could more readily persuade me to do it than the unfeigned approbation of persons so zealously attached to me as you are; if my health, and the deprivation of my sight, which is more grievous than all the infirmities of age, or of the cries of these impostors will permit, I shall readily be led to engage in other undertakings, though I know not whether they can be more noble or more useful; for what can be more noble or more useful than to vindicate the liberty of man? An inactive indolence was never my delight, but this unexpected contest with the enemies of liberty has involuntarily withdrawn my attention from very different and more pleasurable pursuits. What I have done, and which I was under an obligation to do, I feel no reason to regret, and I am far from thinking, as you seem to suppose, that I have laboured in vain. But more on this at another opportunity. At present adieu, most learned sir, and number me among your friends.

Westminster, July 6, 1654.

XV.: To LEONARD PHILARA, the Athenian.

I HAVE always been devotedly attached to the literature of Greece, and particularly to that of your Athens; and have never ceased to cherish the persuasion that that city would one day make me ample recompense for the warmth of my regard. The ancient genius of your renowned country has favoured the completion of my prophecy in presenting me with your friendship and esteem. Though I was known to you only by my writings, and we were removed to such a distance from each other, you most courteously addressed me by letter; and when you unexpectedly came to London, and saw me who could no longer see, my affliction, which causes none to regard me with greater admiration, and perhaps many even with feelings of contempt, excited your tenderest sympathy and concern. You would not suffer me to abandon the hope of recovering my sight, and informed me that you had an intimate friend at Paris, Doctor Thevenot, who was particularly celebrated in disorders of the eyes, whom you would consult about mine, if I would enable you to lay before him the causes and symptoms of the complaint. I will do what you desire, lest I should seem to reject that aid which perhaps may be offered me by heaven. It is now, I think, about ten years since I perceived my vision to grow weak and dull; and, at the same time, I was troubled with pain in my kidneys and bowels, accompanied with flatulency. In the morning, if I began to read, as was my custom, my eyes instantly ached intensely, but were refreshed after a little corporeal exercise. The candle which I looked at, seemed as it were encircled with a rainbow. Not long after the sight in the left part of the left eye, (which I lost some years before the other) became quite obscured, and prevented me from discerning any object on that side. The sight in my other eye has now been gradually and sensibly vanishing away for about three years; some months before it had entirely perished, though I stood motionless, every thing which I looked at seemed in motion to and fro. A stiff cloudy vapour seemed to have settled on my forehead and temples, which usually occasions a sort of somnolent pressure upon my eyes, and particularly from dinner till the evening. So that I often recollect what is said of the poet Phineas in the Argonautics;

- A stupor deep his cloudy temples bound,

- And when he walk’d he seem’d as whirling round,

- Or in a feeble trance he speechless lay.

I ought not to omit that, while I had any sight left, as soon as I lay down on my bed and turned on either side, a flood of light used to gush from my closed eyelids. Then, as my sight became daily more impaired, the colours became more faint, and were emitted with a certain inward crackling sound; but at present every species of illumination being, as it were, extinguished, there is diffused around me nothing but darkness, or darkness mingled and streaked with an ashy brown. Yet the darkness in which I am perpetually immersed, seems always, both by night and day, to approach nearer to white than black; and when the eye is rolling in its socket, it admits a little particle of light as through a chink. And though your physician may kindle a small ray of hope, yet I make up my mind to the malady as quite incurable; and I often reflect, that as the wise man admonishes, days of darkness are destined to each of us, the darkness which I experience, less oppressive than that of the tomb, is, owing to the singular goodness of the Deity, passed amid the pursuits of literature and the cheering salutations of friendship. But if, as is written, man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth from the mouth of God, why may not any one acquiesce in the privation of his sight, when God has so amply furnished his mind and his conscience with eyes. While he so tenderly provides for me, while he so graciously leads me by the hand and conducts me on the way, I will, since it is his pleasure, rather rejoice than repine at being blind. And, my dear Philara, whatever may be the event, I wish you adieu with no less courage and composure than if I had the eyes of a lynx.

Westminster, Sept. 28, 1654.

XVI.: To LEO of Aizema.

IT is with great pleasure I find that you still retain the same regard for me which you indicated while among us. With respect to the book concerning divorce, which you say that you had engaged some one to turn into Dutch, I would rather that you had engaged him to turn it into Latin. For I have already experienced how the vulgar are wont to receive opinions which are not agreeable to vulgar prejudice. I formerly wrote three treatises on this subject; one in two books, in which the doctrine of divorce is diffusely discussed; another which is entitled Tetrachordon, in which the four principal passages in scripture relative to the doctrine are explained; a third, Colasterion, which contains an answer to some vulgar sciolist. I know not which of these treatises or which edition you have engaged him to translate. The first treatise has been twice published, and the second edition is much enlarged. If you have not already received this information, or wish me to send you the more correct edition or the other treatises, I shall do it immediately, and with pleasure. For I do not wish at present that they should receive any alterations or additions. If you persist in your present purpose, I wish you a faithful translator and every success.

Westminster, Feb. 5, 1654.

XVII.: To EZECHIEL SPANHEIM, of Geneva.

I KNOW not how it happened that your letters were not delivered to me for three months after they were written. I hope that mine will have a more expeditious conveyance: for, owing to various engagements, I have put off writing from day to day till I perceive that almost another three months have elapsed. But I would not wish you to suppose that my regard for you has experienced any diminution; but that it has rather increased in proportion as I have more frequently thought of discharging this epistolary debt. The tardy performance of this duty seems to admit of this excuse, that when it is performed after so long a lapse of time it is only a more clear confession that it was due. You are quite right in the supposition that I shall not be surprised at receiving the salutations of a foreigner, and you may be assured that it is my maxim, to consider and to treat no good man as a stranger; that you are such I am well persuaded, both because you are the son of a father highly celebrated for his erudition and his piety; and because all good men think you good; and lastly, because you hate the bad. With such persons since it has also been my lot to be at war, Calandrinus very obligingly signified to you, that it would be highly grateful to me if you would lend me your assistance against our common enemy. That you have kindly done in your present letter, of which I have taken the liberty, without mentioning the author’s name, to insert a part in my Defence. This work I will send you as soon as possible after the publication; in the mean time do you direct your letters to me under cover to Turettin a Genoese, living at London, and through whom we may conveniently carry on our correspondence. Be assured that you rank high in my esteem, and that I wish for nothing more than your regard.

Westminster, March 24, 1654.

XVIII.: To HENRY OLDENBURGH, Aulic Counsellor to the Senate of Bremen.

YOUR letters which young Ranley brought, found me so much employed that I am compelled to be more brief than I could wish. You have most faithfully fulfilled those promises to write which you made me when you went away. No honest man could discharge his debts with more rigid punctuality. I congratulate you on your retirement, because it gives pleasure to you though it is a loss to me; and I admire that felicity of genius, which can so readily leave the factions or the diversions of the city for contemplations the most serious and sublime. I see not what advantage you can have in that retirement except in an access to a multitude of books; the associates in study whom you have found there, were I believe, rather made students by their own natural inclinations, than by the discipline of the place. But perhaps I am less partial to the place because it detains you, whose absence I regret. You rightly observe that there are too many there who pollute all learning, divine and human, by their frivolous subtleties and barren disputations; and who seem to do nothing to deserve the salary which they receive. But you are not so unwise. Those ancient records of the Sinese from the period of the deluge, which you say are promised by the Jesuit Martinius, are no doubt on account of their novelty expected with avidity; but I do not see what authority or support they can add to the books of Moses. Our friend to whom you begged to be remembered sends his compliments. Adieu.

Westminster, June 25, 1656.

XIX.: To the noble Youth, RICHARD JONES.

AS often as I have taken up the pen to answer your last letter, some sudden interruptions have occurred to prevent the completion of my purpose. I afterwards heard that you had made an excursion to the adjoining country. As your excellent mother is on the eve of departing for Ireland, whose loss we have both no small occasion to regret, and who has to me supplied the place of every relative, will herself be the bearer of these letters to you. You may rest assured of my regard, and be persuaded that it will increase in proportion as I see an increasing improvement in your heart and mind. This, by the blessing of God, you have solemnly pledged yourself to accomplish. I am pleased with this fair promise of yourself, which I trust you will never violate. Though you write that you are pleased with Oxford, you will not induce me to believe that Oxford has made you wiser or better. Of that I require very different proof. I would not have you lavish your admiration on the triumphs of the chiefs whom you extol, and things of that nature in which force is of most avail. For why need we wonder if the wethers of our country are born with horns which may batter down cities and towns? Do you learn to estimate great characters, not by the quantity of their animal strength, but by the habitual justice and temperance of their conduct. Adieu, and make my best respects to the accomplished Henry Oldenburgh, your college chum.

Westminster, Sept. 21, 1656.

XX.: To the accomplished Youth PETER HEINBACH.

YOU have abundantly discharged all the promises which you made me, except that respecting your return, which you promised should take place at farthest within two months. But if my regard for you do not make me err in my calculation, you have been absent almost three months. You have done all that I desired respecting the atlas, of which I wished to know the lowest price. You say it is an hundred and thirty florins, which I think is enough to purchase the mountain of that name. But such is the present rage for typographical luxury, that the furniture of a library hardly costs less than that of a villa. Paintings and engravings are of little use to me. While I roll my blind eyes about the world, I fear lest I should seem to lament the privation of sight in proportion to the exorbitance of the price for which I should have purchased the book. Do you endeavour to learn in how many volumes the entire work is contained; and of the two editions, whether that of Blaeu or Janson be the most accurate and complete. This I hope rather to hear verbally from yourself on your return, which will soon take place, than to trouble you to give me the information by another letter. In the mean time adieu, and return as soon as possible.

Westminster, Nov. 8, 1656.

XXI.: To the accomplished EMERIC BIGOT.

I WAS highly gratified by the distinguished marks of attention which you paid me on coming into England, and this gratification is considerably increased by your kind epistolary inquiries after so long an interval. The favourable opinions of others might have prompted your first visit, but you would hardly have taken the trouble to write if you had not been prompted by your own judgment or benevolence. Hence I think I may justly congratulate myself; many have been celebrated for their compositions whose common conversation and intercourse have betrayed no marks of sublimity or genius. But, as far as possible, I will endeavour to seem equal in thought and speech to what I have well written, if I have written any thing well; and while I add to the dignity of what I have written, I will, at the same time, derive from my writings a greater splendour of reputation. Thus I shall not seem to have borrowed the excellence of my literary compositions from others so much as to have drawn it pure and unmingled from the resources of my own mind, and the force of my own conceptions. It gives me pleasure that you are convinced of the tranquillity which I possess under this afflicting privation of sight, as well as of the civility and kindness with which I receive those who visit me from other countries. And indeed why should I not submit with complacency to this loss of sight, which seems only withdrawn from the body without, to increase the sight of the mind within. Hence books have not incurred my resentment, nor do I intermit the study of books, though they have inflicted so heavy a penalty on me for my attachment; the example of Telephus king of Micia, who did not refuse to receive a cure from the same weapon by which he had been wounded, admonished me not to be so morose. With respect to the book which you have concerning the mode of holding parliaments, I have taken care to have the passages which were marked, either amended, or, if they were doubtful, confirmed by a MS. of the illustrious Lord Bradshaw; and from one of the Cotton MSS. as you will perceive from the paper which I have returned. I sent some one to inquire of the keeper of the Records in the Tower, who is my intimate friend, whether the original of this work be extant in that collection, and he replied that there was no copy in the repository. I am reciprocally obliged to you for your assistance in procuring me books. My Byzantine History wants Theophanis Chronographia Græc. Lat. fol. Constant. Manassis Breviarium Historicum, and Codini Excerpta de Antiquit. C. P. Græc. Lat. Anastasii Bibliothecarii Hist. and Vitæ Rom. Pontific. fol. to which I beg you to add Michael Glycas and John Sinnam, and the continuator of Anna Comnena, if they have already issued from the same press. I need not request you to purchase them as cheap as possible. There is no occasion to do this to a man of your discretion, and the price of those books is fixed and known to all. Dr. Stuppe has undertook to pay you the money, and to get them conveyed in the most commodious way. Accept my best wishes. Adieu.

Westminster, March 24, 1658.

XXII.: To the noble Youth RICHARD JONES.

I DID not receive your letter till some time after it was written; it lay fifteen days at your mother’s. With pleasure I perceive the emotions of your attachment and your gratitude. I have never ceased to promote the culture of your genius, and to justify the favourable opinion which your excellent mother entertains of me, and the confidence she places in me, by benevolence the most pure and counsels the most sincere. In that agreeable and healthy spot, to which you have retired, there are books enough for the purposes of academical education. If beauty of situation contributed as much to improve the wit of the inhabitants as it does to please the eye, the felicity of that place would be complete. The library there is rich in books, but unless the minds of the students be improved by a more rational mode of education, it may better deserve the name of a book-repository than of a library. You justly acknowledge that all these helps to learning should be associated with a taste for literature, and with diligence in the cultivation. Take care that I may never have occasion to blame you for deviating from that opinion. And this you will really avoid if you will diligently obey the weighty and friendly precepts of the accomplished Henry Oldenburgh, your associate and friend. Adieu, my dearest Richard, and let me incite you like another Timothy to the practice of virtue and of piety, by the example of your mother, who is the best of women.

Westminster.

XXIII.: To the illustrious Lord HENRY DE BRAS.

I SEE, my Lord, that you, unlike most of our modern youth who pass through foreign countries, wisely travel, like the ancient philosophers, for the sake of completing your juvenile studies, and of picking up knowledge wherever it may be found. Though as often as I consider the excellence of what you write, you appear to me to have gone among foreigners not so much for the sake of procuring erudition yourself, as of imparting it to others, and rather to exchange than to purchase a stock of literature. I wish it were as easy for me in every way to promote the increase of your knowledge, and the improvement of your intellect, as it is pleasing and flattering to me to have that assistance requested by talents and genius like yours. I have never attempted, and I should never dare to attempt, to solve those difficulties as you request, which seem to have cast a cloud over the writers of history for so many ages.

Of Sallust I will speak as you desire without any hesitation or reserve. I prefer him to any of the Latin historians; which was also the general opinion of the ancients. Your favourite Tacitus deserves his meed of praise; but his highest praise in my opinion, consists in his having imitated Sallust with all his might. By my conversation with you on this subject I seem, as far as I can guess from your letter, to have inspired you with sentiments very similar to my own, concerning that most energetic and animated writer. As he in the beginning of his Catilinarian war asserted that there was the greatest difficulty in historical composition, because the style should correspond with the nature of the narrative, you ask me how a writer of history may best attain that excellence. My opinion is that he who would describe actions and events in a way suited to their dignity and importance, ought to write with a mind endued with a spirit, and enlarged by an experience, as extensive as the actors in the scene, that he may have a capacity properly to comprehend and to estimate the most momentous affairs, and to relate them, when comprehended, with energy and distinctness, with purity and perspicuity of diction. The decorations of style I do not greatly heed; for I require an historian and not a rhetorician. I do not want frequent interspersions of sentiment, or prolix dissertations on transactions, which interrupt the series of events, and cause the historian to entrench on the office of the politician, who if in explaining counsels, and explaining facts, he follows truth rather than his own partialities and conjectures, excites the disgust or the aversion of his party. I will add a remark of Sallust, and which was one of the excellencies which he himself commended in Cato, that he should be able to say much in a few words; a perfection which I think that no one can attain without the most discriminating judgment and a peculiar degree of moderation. There are many in whom you have not to regret either elegance of diction or copiousness of narrative, who have yet united copiousness with brevity. And among these Sallust is in my opinion the chief of the Latin writers. Such are the virtues which I think that every historian ought to possess who would proportion his style to the facts which he records. But why do I mention this to you? When such is your genius that you need not my advice, and when such is your proficiency that if it goes on increasing you will soon not be able to consult any one more learned than yourself. To the increase of that proficiency, though no exhortations can be necessary to stimulate your exertions, yet that I may not seem entirely to frustrate your expectations, I will beseech you with all my affection, all my authority, and all my zeal, to let nothing relax your diligence, or chill the ardour of your pursuit. Adieu! and may you ever successfully labour in the path of wisdom and of virtue.

Westminster, July 15, 1657.

XXIV.: To HENRY OLDENBURGH.

I REJOICE to hear of your safe arrival at Saumur, which is, I believe, the place of your destination. You cannot doubt of the pleasure which this intelligence has given me, when you consider how much I love your virtues and approve the object of your journey, I had much rather that some other person had heard in the boat of Charon than you on the waters of the Charent, that so infamous a priest was called in to instruct so illustrious a church. For I much fear that he will experience the most bitter disappointment who thinks ever to get to heaven under the auspices of so profligate a guide. Alas! for that church where the ministers endeavour to please only the ear; ministers whom the church, if it desires a real reformation, ought rather to expel than to choose. You have done right, and not only according to my opinion but that of Horace, by not communicating my writings to any but to those who expressed a desire to see them.

- Do not my works, importunately rude,

- Disgrace by pert endeavours to intrude.

A learned friend of mine who past the last summer at Saumur, informed me that that book was in great request in those parts. I sent him only one copy; he wrote back that the perusal of it had afforded the highest satisfaction to some of the learned there. If I had not thought that I should oblige them I should have spared this trouble to you and this expense to myself.

- If my books chance to prove a weary load,

- Rather than bear them further, leave them on the road.

I have, as you desired me, presented your kind wishes to our friend Lawrence. There is nothing that I wish more than that you and your pupil may have your health and return to us soon as possible after having effected the object of your wishes.

Westminster, Aug. 1, 1657.

XXV.: To the noble Youth RICHARD JONES.

I REJOICE to hear that you accomplished so long a journey with so little inconvenience, and what redounds so much to your credit that, despising the luxuries of Paris, you hastened with so much celerity where you might enjoy the pleasures of literature and the conversation of the learned. As long as you please you will there be in a haven of security; in other places you will have to guard against the shoals of treachery and the syrens’ songs. I would not wish you to thirst too much after the vintage of Saumur, but resolve to dilute the Bacchanalian stream with more than a fifth part of the chrystal liquor of the Parnassian fount. But in this respect, without my injunctions, you have an excellent preceptor whom you cannot do better than obey; and by obeying whom you will give the highest satisfaction to your excellent mother, and daily increase in her regard and love. That you may have power to do this you should daily ask help from above. Adieu, and endeavour to return as much improved as possible, both in virtue and erudition. This will give me more than ordinary pleasure.

Westminster, Aug. 1, 1657.

XXVI.: To the illustrious Lord HENRY DE BRAS.

SOME engagements, most noble Lord, have prevented me from answering your letter so soon as I could wish. I wished to have done it the sooner because I saw that your letter, so full of erudition, left me less occasion for sending you my advice (which I believe that you desire more out of compliment to me than of any benefit to yourself) than my congratulations. First, I congratulate myself on having been so fortunate in characterising the merits of Sallust as to have excited you to the assiduous perusal of that author, who is so full of wisdom, and who may be read with so much advantage. Of him I will venture to assert what Quintilian said of Cicero, that he who loves Sallust is no mean proficient in historical composition. That precept of Aristotle in the third book of his rhetoric, which you wish me to explain, relates to the morality of the reflections and the fidelity of the narrative. It appears to me to need little comment, except that it should be appropriated not to the compositions of rhetoric but of history. For the offices of a rhetorician and an historian are as different as the arts which they profess. Polybius, Halicarnassus, Diodorus, Cicero, Lucian, and many others, whose works are interspersed with precepts on the subject, will better teach you what are the duties of an historian. I wish you every success in your travels and pursuits. Adieu.

Westminster, Dec. 16, 1657.

XXVII.: To the accomplished PETER HEINBACH.

I RECEIVED your letter from the Hague the 18th December, which, as your convenience seems to require, I answer the same day on which it was received. In this letter, after returning me thanks for some favours which I am not conscious of having done, but which my regard for you makes me wish to have been real, you ask me to recommend you, through the medium of D. Lawrence, to him who is appointed our agent in Holland. This I grieve that I am not able to do, both on account of my little familiarity with those who have favours to bestow, since I have more pleasure in keeping myself at home, and because I believe that he is already on his voyage, and has in his company a person in the office of secretary, which you are anxious to obtain. But the bearer of this is on the eve of his departure. Adieu.

Westminster, Dec. 18, 1657.

XXVIII.: To JOHN BADIAUS, Minister of the Church of Orange.

MOST excellent and reverend sir, I believe that our friend Durius will take upon himself the blame of my not writing to you sooner. After he had showed me that paper which you wished me to read concerning what I had done and suffered for the sake of the gospel, I wrote this letter as soon as possible, intending to send it by the first conveyance, since I was fearful that you might consider a longer silence as neglect. In the mean time I am under the greatest obligations to your friend Molin, for procuring me the esteem of the virtuous in those parts by the zeal of his friendship and the warmth of his praise; and though I am not ignorant that the contest in which I was engaged with so great an adversary, that the celebrity of the subject and the style of the composition had far and wide diffused my fame, yet I think that I can be famous only in proportion as I enjoy the approbation of the good. I clearly see that you are of the same opinion; so many are the toils you have endured, so many are the enemies whom you have provoked by your disinterested zeal in defence of the Christian doctrine; and you act with so much intrepidity as to show, that instead of courting the applause of bad men, you do not fear to excite their most inveterate hate and their most bitter maledictions. Oh happy are you whom, out of so many thousands of the wise and learned, Providence has rescued from the very brink of destruction, and selected to bear a distinguished and intrepid testimony to the truth of the gospel. I have now reasons for thinking that it was a singular mercy that I did not write to you sooner; for when I understood by your letters that, threatened on all sides by the malice of your enemies, you were looking round for a place of refuge, to which you might fly in the last extremity of danger, and that you had fixed on England as the object of your wishes, I was considerably gratified, because it gave me the hope of enjoying your company, and because I was happy to find you think so favourably of my country; but I lamented that, particularly owing to your ignorance of our language, I did not see any chance of a decent provision being made for you among us. The death of an old French minister has since very opportunely occurred. The principal persons of his congregation (from whom I have received this communication) anxiously wish, or rather invite you to be chosen in his place; they have determined to pay the expenses of your journey, to provide for you as large a salary as any of the French ministers receive, and to let you want nothing which can contribute to the cheerful discharge of your ecclesiastical function. Fly, I beseech you, as soon as possible, reverend sir, to those who are so desirous of seeing you, and where you will reap a harvest, not rich indeed in temporal delights, but in numerous opportunities to improve the hearts and to save the souls of men; and be assured that your arrival is warmly desired by all good men. Adieu.

Westminster, April 1, 1659.

XXIX.: To HENRY OLDENBURGH.

THE indulgence which you beg for yourself, you will rather have to bestow on me, whose turn, if I remember, it was to write. My regard for you has, believe me, suffered no diminution; but either my studies or my domestic cares, or perhaps my indolence in writing, have made me guilty of this omission of duty. I am, by God’s help, as well as usual. I am not willing, as you wish me, to compile a history of our troubles; for they seem rather to require oblivion than commemoration; nor have we so much need of a person to compose a history of our troubles as happily to settle them. I fear with you lest our civil dissensions, or rather maniacal agitation should expose us to the attack of the lately confederated enemies of religion and of liberty; but those enemies could not inflict a deeper wound upon religion than we ourselves have long since done by our follies and our crimes. But whatever disturbances kings and cardinals may meditate and contrive, I trust that God will not suffer the machinations and the violence of our enemies to succeed according to their expectations. I pray that the protestant synod, which you say is soon to meet at Leyden, may have a happy termination, which has never yet happened to any synod that has ever met before. But the termination of this might be called happy, if it decreed nothing else but the expulsion of More. As soon as my posthumous adversary shall make his appearance I request you to give me the earliest information. Adieu.

Westminster, Dec. 20, 1659.

XXX.: To the noble Youth RICHARD JONES.

YOU send me a most modest apology for not writing sooner, when you might more justly have accused me of the same offence; so that I hardly know whether I should choose that you had not committed the offence or not written the apology. Never for a moment believe that I measure your gratitude, if any gratitude be due to me, by the assiduity of your epistolary communications. I shall perceive all the ardour your gratitude, since you will extol the merit of my services, not so much in the frequency of your letters as in the excellence of your habits, and the degree of your moral and intellectual proficiency. On the the theatre of the world on which you have entered, you have rightly chosen the path of virtue; but know there is a path common to virtue and to vice; and that it behoves you to advance where the way divides. Leaving the common track of pleasure and amusement, you should cheerfully encounter the toils and the dangers of that steep and rugged way which leads to the pinnacle of virtue. This, believe me, you will accomplish with more facility since you have got a guide of so much integrity and skill. Adieu.

Westminster, Dec. 20, 1659.

XXXI.: To the accomplished PETER HEINBACH, Counsellor to the Elector of Brandenburg.

IT is not strange as you write that report should have induced you to believe, that I had perished among the numbers of my countrymen who fell in a year so fatally visited by the ravages of the plague. If that rumour sprung as it seems out of a solicitude for my safety, I consider it as no unpleasing indication of the esteem in which I am held among you. But by the goodness of God, who provided for me a place of refuge in the country, I yet enjoy both life and health; which, as long as they contiuue, I shall be happy to employ in any useful undertaking. It gives me pleasure to think, that after so long an interval I have again occurred to your remembrance; though, owing to the luxuriance of your praise, you seem almost to lead me to suspect that you had quite forgotten one in whom you say that you admire the union of so many virtues; from such an union I might dread too numerous a progeny, if it were not evident that the virtues flourish most in penury and distress. But one of those virtues has made me but an ill return for her hospitable reception in my breast; for what you term policy, and which I wish that you had rather called patriotic piety, has, if I may so say, almost left me, who was charmed with so sweet a sound, without a country. The other virtues harmoniously agree. Our country is wherever we are well off. I will conclude after first begging you if there be any errors in the diction or the punctuation to impute it to the boy who wrote this, who is quite ignorant of Latin, and to whom I was, with no little vexation, obliged to dictate not the words, but, one by one, the letters of which they were composed. I rejoice to find that your virtues and talents, of which I saw the fair promise in your youth, have raised you to so honourable a situation under the prince; and I wish you every good which you can enjoy. Adieu.

London, Aug. 15, 1666.

THE END.

*

This translation of the author’s “Defensio pro Populo Anglicano,” Mr. Toland ascribes to Mr. Washington, a gentleman of the Temple.

*

Salmasius was once an advocate, that is, a counsellor at law.

*

Lupus in Latin signifies a wolf.

*

St. Lou, in Latin, Sanctus Lupus, Saint Wolf, is the name of a place in France, where Salmasius had some small estate, and was called so from St. Lupus, a German bishop, who with St. German came over into England, Anno Dom. 429.

*

Prynne.

*

Monk.

*

Cæs. l. 6.

*

Hollinshed.

†

Henry of Huntingdon, Matthew of Westminster.

*

Called now Carlisle.

*

Matth. Westm.

†

Huntingd. l. i.

‡

Verstegan denies this; and says it was called so by the Saxons, from Lud, in our ancient language, people, and gate quasi porta populi; of all the gates of the city, that having the greatest passage of people; especially before Newgate was built, which was about the reign of Henry II.

*

Suet. vit. Cæs.

†

Year before Christ 53.

‡

Cæs. Com. l. 1.

§

Cæs. Com. l. 4.

*

Cic. Att. l. 4. Ep. 17.

†

Camden.

*

Valer. Max. Plutarch.

†

In Cæsaribus.

*

Dion, Cæsar Com. 5.

†

Before the birth of Christ, 52.

*

Camden.

*

Pliny.

*

Oros. lib. 6, c. 7 and 8.

†

Dion, Mela, Cæsar.

‡

Herodian.

§

Dion.

∥

Herodian.

¶

Solinus.

**

Cæsar.

††

Tacitus, Diodor, Strabo, Lucan.

‡‡

Tacitus.

§§

Cæsar.

*

Strabo, l. 2.

†

Year before the birth of Christ, 32.

‡

Dion, l. 49; year before the birth of Christ, 25: Dion l. 53, 24.

§

Strabo, l. 4.

∥

Tacit. an. l. 2.

¶

Year after the birth of Christ, 16. Dion. Sueton. Cal. Ano. Dom. 40.

*

Dion.

†

43. Sueton.

*

Dion, l. 62. Tacit. an. 14, 44.

†

Sueton. Claud. 5, 24

‡

Sueton. Vesp. Dio. l. 60, 47.

§

50. Tacit. an. 12.

∥

Eutropius.

*

Tacit. vit. Agric.

*

Tacit. vit. Agric.

†

Tacit. Hist. 3. Sueton.

*

Dion.

*

Dion. l. 62.

†

Dion.

*

Dion.

†

Tacit. vit. Agric.

*

Tac. hist. l. 1, and vit. Agric. Anno post Christ. 69.

†

Tacit. hist. 2. and vit. Agric.

‡

Calvis.

§

Tacit. hist. 3, and vit. Agric.

∥

Post Christ. 79.

*

Post Christ. 80.

†

Dion. l. 66. Post Christ. 82.

‡

Post Christ. 83.

§

Post Christ. 84.

*

Dion. l. 66.

†

Post Christ. 85.

*

Camden. Juven. sat. 2.

†

Eutrop. l. 7.

‡

Dion. l. 66.

§

Post Christ. 86.

∥

Spartianus in vit. Hadrian.

¶

Post Christ. 122. Spartianus ibid.

**

Camden.

††

Pausan. archad.

‡‡

Cap. vit. Ant. Post Christ. 144.

§§

Post Christ. 162. Digest. l. 36.

∥∥

Beda.

*

Post Christ. 181.

†

Nennius.

‡

Geoff. Mon.

§

Dion. l. 72.

∥

Post Christ. 183.

¶

Lamprid. in comm. Post Christ. 186.

**

Capitolin. in Pert.

*

Capitolin. in Alb.

†

Post Christ. 193.

‡

Dion. Did. Jul.

§

Spartian. in Sever.

∥

Herod. l. 3.

¶

Ibid.

**

Digest, l. 28. tit. 6.

††

Dion.

‡‡

Herod. l. 3.

§§

Post Christ. 208.

∥∥

Post Christ. 209.

¶¶

Dion.

*

Post Christ. 210. Spartianus in Sever.

†

Eutropii Pean. Oros. l. 7. Cassid. Chro.

‡

Buchanan.

§

Cæsar.

∥

Post Christ. 211. Spartianus in Sever.

¶

Post Christ. 242. Camb. Cumber.

**

Post Christ. 259. Eumen. Paneg. Const.

††

Post Christ. 267. Camden, Gildas, Hieronym.

‡‡

Post Christ. 282. Vopisc. in Bonas.

*

Zozim. l. l.

†

Camd.

‡

Zozimus.

§

Post Christ. 283. Vopisc. in Carin.

∥

Post Christ. 284. Aurel. Victor. de Cæsar.

¶

Post Christ. 285. Eutrop. Oros.

**

Eumen. Paneg. 2.

††

Post Christ 286.

‡‡

Victor Eutrop.

§§

Post Christ. 291.

∥∥

Buchanan.

¶¶

Paneg. 2.

***

Paneg. Sigonius.

*

Post Christ. 292.

†

Camd. ex Nin. Eumen. Pan. 3. Oros. l. 7. c. 25.

‡

Eumen.

§

Gildas.

∥

Author, ign. post Marcellin. Valesii. Post Christ. 306. Eutrop. Eumen. idem. Auth. ignot.

*

Idem vit. Auth. ignot. Euseb. Const. Oros. l. 7. 25 cap. Cass. Chron.

†

Post Christ. 307. Sigon.

‡

Post Christ. 311. Camd. Ammian. l. 20. and in cum Valesius.

§

Post Christ. 340. Libanius in Basilico.

∥

Post Christ. 343. Camd. ex Firmico.

¶

Post Christ. 350. Camden.

**

Post Christ. 353. Ammian.

††

Post Christ. 359.

‡‡

Liban. Or. 10. Zozim. l. 3. Marcel. l. 18.

§§

Amm. l. 23.

∥∥

Post Christ. 360. Amm. l. 20.

*

Post Christ. 364. Amm. l. 26, 27.

†

Post Christ. 367.

‡

Post Christ. 368 Amm. l. 28. Zozim. l. 4.

§

Post Christ. 373. Amm. l. 29.

*

Zozim. l. 4. Sigon.

†

Pros. Aquitanic. Chron. Post Christ. 383.

‡

Gildas. Post Christ. 388. Beda Ninn.

§

Post Christ. 389.

∥

Socrat. l. 7. Claudian de laud. Stil. l. 2. and de Bello Get.

¶

Post Christ. 402.

**

Ethelwerd Sax. an. Bede epit. in the year 565; and Bede, l. 2. c. 4.

††

Oros. l. 1. c. 2.

‡‡

Post Christ. 405.

§§

Post Christ. 407. Zozim. l. 6.

∥∥

Sozom. l. 9.

*

Oros. l. 7.

†

Post Christ. 408.

‡

Post Christ. 409.

§

Sozom. l. 9.

∥

Olympiodor. apud Photium.

¶

Gildas, Beda, Zozim. l. 6.

**

Procopius Vandalic.

*

Calvis. Sigon.

†

The following paragraphs, within crotchets, have been omitted in all the former editions of our author’s History of Britain, except that published in the collection of his works, 1738, 2 vol. folio, and the subsequent edition in quarto.

*

Gild. Bede. Malins.

†

Zozim. l. 6.

‡

Post Christ. 418.

§

Ethelwerd. annal. Sax.

∥

Gildas. Post Christ. 422.

¶

Diaconus, l. 14.

**

Bede, l. 1. c. 2.

††

Gildas.

‡‡

Post Christ. 423.

§§

Bede, ibid. Gildas.

*

Blond. Sabellic.

†

Buch. l. 5.

‡

Gildas, Bede.

§

Bede.

∥

Constantius

¶

Post Christ. 426. Prosp. Aquit. Matth. West. ad ann. 446.

*

Post Christ. 430.

†

Constant. vit. German.

‡

Usser. Primod. p. 333.

§

Post Christ. 431. Prosp. Aquit. Athelwerd.

∥

Florent. Gild. Bede.

¶

Malmsbury, l. i. c. i. p. 8. Post Christ. 446.

*

Gildas.

†

Post Christ. 447. Constant. Bede.

†

Post Christ. 448. Sigon. Gildas.

*

Malms. l. 1.

†

Notitiæ imperii.

‡

Forent Wigorn. ad. an. 370.

§

Ethelwerd.

*

Ethelwerd. Malmsb. Witichind. gest. Sax. l. 1.

†

Malms.

‡

Witichind.

§

Gildas.

∥

Bede.

¶

Post Christ. 450. Nennius. Malms.

**

Malms.

††

Henry Huntingd.

‡‡

Ethelwerd.

§§

Bed. Nen.

∥∥

Nenn.

*

Gildas, Bed. Nenn.

†

Primord. p. 418.

‡

Malms. l. 1. c. 1.

§

Hunting. l 1.

∥

Nenn. Malmsb.

*

Nenn.

†

Gildas.

‡

Nenn.

§

Post Christ. 455. Bede. Ethelwerd. Florent. Annal. Sax.

∥

The kingdom of Kent.

¶

Post Christ. 457.

**

Post Christ. 465.

††

Post Christ. 473.

‡‡

Nennius.

*

Malms.

†

Min. ex legend St. Ger. Galfrid. Monmouth.

‡

Gildas. Bed.

*

Nenn.

†

Post Christ. 477. Sax. an. Ethelw. Florent.

‡

Post Christ. 485. Florent.

§

Huntingd.

∥

Post Christ. 489. Malms. Bed. l. 2. c. 5.

¶

Post Christ. 492. Camden.

**

The kingdom of South-Saxons.

††

Bed. l. 1. c. 15 and l. 2. c. 5.

‡‡

Sax. ann. omn.

§§

Post Christ. 495.

∥∥

Post Christ. 501 Sax. an omn. Huntingdon.

¶¶

Post. Christ. 508. Ann. omn. Huntingd. Camden. Uss. Primord.

*

Post Christ. 514. An. omn.

†

Huntingdon.

‡

The kingdom of East-Angles.

§

Malmsb. l. 1. c. 5. Bed. l. 1. c. 15.

∥

Huntingd. l. 2. p. 313, 315.

¶

Bed. l. 2. c. 15.

**

Malms. l. 1. c. 6.

††

Post Christ. 519.

‡‡

Sax. ann. omn. 527.

*

Nenn.

†

Caradoc. Llancarvon. vit. Gild.

‡

Malms. antiquit. Glaston. Post Christ. 529.

§

Primord. p. 468. Polychronic. l. 5. c. 6.

*

Gildas.

†

Post Christ. 530. Sax. an. omn.

‡

Post Christ. 534.

§

Post Christ. 514.

∥

Post Christ. 547. Annal. omn. Bed. Epit. Malms.

*

Malms.

†

Post Christ. 552. Annal. omn.

‡

Post Christ. 556. Camden.

§

Post Christ. 560. Annal Florent.

∥

Post Christ. 561.

¶

Malms.

**

Ann. omn. Post Christ. 568.

††

Gildas.

*

Primord. p. 444.

*

Post Christ. 571. Camden. Annal. omn.

†

Post Christ. 577.

*

Post Christ. 584.

†

Huntingd.

‡

The kingdom of Mercia. Huntingd. Matt. Westm.

§

Malmsb. i. 1. c. 3.

∥

Florent. ad ann. Post Christ. 559

¶

Post Christ. 588. Annal. omn.

**

Post Christ. 592. Florent. Bed. l. 2. c. 3. Malms. Florent. Sax. ann.

††

Post Christ. 593.

*

Bed. Malms.

†

Bed. l. 1. c. 25.

‡

Bed. l. 1. c. 22.

§

Bed. l. 2. c. 1

∥

Malms. l. 1. c. 3.

¶

Post Christ. 596.

*

Post Christ. 597.

†

Post Christ. 598.

‡

Bed. l. 2. c. 5.

§

Sax. ann. Malms. Post Christ. 601.

∥

Bed. l. i. c. 27.

*

Bed. l. 2. c. 34.

†

Post Christ. 603.

‡

Post Christ. 604. Bed. l. 2. c. 3.

*

Spelman. Concil. p. 108.

†

Sax. ann. Hunting. Post Christ. 607.

*

Malms. gest. pont. l. 1.

†

Sax. ann.

‡

Post Christ. 611. Sax. ann. Malm.

§

Post Christ 614. Camd.

∥

Post Christ. 616. Sax. an.

¶

Malms.

*

Post Christ. 617.

†

Malms. l. 1. c. 3.

‡

Camden.

§

Bed. 1. 2. c. 15.

∥

Post Christ. 626.

¶

Post Christ. 625.

*

Post Christ. 627.

†

Post Christ. 629. Sax. ann.

*

Post Christ. 632. Sax. ann.

†

Florent. Genealog.

‡

Post Christ. 633

§

Post Christ. 634.

*

Post Christ. 635. Sax an.

†

Post Christ. 636.

‡

Post Christ. 640.

§

Mat. West.

∥

Post Christ. 642.

¶

Camden.

**

Bed. l. 3. c. 14.

††

Post Christ. 643. Sax an.

*

Post Christ. 645. Sax an.

†

Post Christ. 648.

‡

Post Christ. 651. Bede.

§

Bed. l. 3. c. 7. Post Christ. 652.

∥

Post Christ. 633.

¶

Post Christ. 654. Sax. an.

*

Post Christ. 655.

†

Bed. l. 3. c. 16.

‡

Camd

§

Camden.

∥

Mat. West.

*

Bed. l. 3. c. 22.

†

Post Christ. 658 Sax. ann.

‡

Post Christ. 659. Sax. ann

§

Post Christ. 661. Sax. ann.

∥

Post Christ. 664. Bed.

¶

Malms.

**

Post Christ. 668. Sax. ann.

††

Post Christ. 670. Sax. ann.

*

Post Christ. 673. Sax. ann.

†

Malms.

‡

Bed. l 4. c. 12.

§

Post Christ 674. Bed. l. 4. c. 12.

∥

Sax. an.

¶

Malms. Post Christ. 676.

**

Bed. l. 4. c. 12.

††

Post Christ. 678.

‡‡

Post Christ. 679.

§§

Bed. l. 4. c. 13. Camden.

∥∥

Post Christ. 681. Sax. an.

*

Post Christ. 683. Sax. an.

†

Bed. l. 4. c. 15.

‡

Malms. Post Christ. 684.

§

Bed. l. 4. c. 15.

∥

Post Christ. 685. Malms.

¶

Sax. an. Malms.

**

Post Christ. 686.

††

Post Christ. 687.

‡‡

Bed.

*

Post Christ. 689.

†

Malms. Sax. an. Ethelwerd.

‡

Post Christ. 694.

*

Post Christ. 697.

†

Post Christ. 698.

‡

Post Christ. 704.

§

Post Christ. 705.

∥

Post Christ. 709.

¶

Post Christ. 710. Sax. Annal.

**

Huntingd. Post Christ. 711.

††

Bed. Epid. Post Christ. 715.

‡‡

Sax. an. Huntingd. Post Christ. 716.

§§

Post Christ. 718.

∥∥

L. 5. c. 9. Post Christ. 725.

¶¶

Post Christ. 728.

***

Bed. l. 5. c. 24.

*

Bede, Post Christ. 731.

†

Post Christ. 733. Sax. an.

*

Ethelwerd.

†

Post Christ. 735.

‡

Post Christ. 738. Malms.

§

Post Christ. 740.

∥

Post Christ. 741. Malmsb. Sax. ann.

¶

Post Christ. 743. Sim. Dun.

**

Post Christ. 744. Hoved. Malms. Sax. ann.

††

Post Christ. 746.

‡‡

Post Christ. 748. Sax. ann. Huntingd.

§§

Post Christ. 750.

∥∥

Huntingd. Post Christ. 752. Camd.

¶¶

Post Christ. 753.

*

Sax. an. Post Christ. 754. Malms.

†

Post Christ. 755.

‡

Huntingdon.

§

Post Christ. 756. Camd.

∥

Camd.

¶

Post Christ. 757. Sax. ann. Epit. Bed. Sim. Dun.

**

Post Christ. 758.

††

Sim. Dun. Eccles. l. 2.

‡‡

Post Christ. 759.

§§

Post Christ. 762. Sim. Dun. Mat. West.

∥∥

Post Christ. 765. Sim Dun.

¶¶

Post Christ. 569.

***

Post Christ. 774. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 775. Sax. an.

†

Post Christ. 778. Sim. Dun.

‡

Post Christ 780. Sim. Dun.

§

Post Christ. 786. Ethelwerd. Malms.

∥

Sax. an. Camd

¶

Post Christ. 788. Sim. Dua. Malms.

**

Camd.

††

Malms.

‡‡

Sim Dun. Post Christ. 789.

*

Pontan. l. 3.

†

Ibid. l. 4.

‡

Sim. Dun. Post Christ. 790.

§

Post Christ. 791. Sim. Dun.

∥

Camd.

¶

Post Christ. 792. Sim. Dun. Eocles. l. 2.

**

Post Christ. 793. Sim. Dun.

††

Post Christ. 794. Malms.

*

Asser. Men. Sim. Dun.

†

Post Christ. 796. Sim. Dun.

‡

Post Christ. 798. Sim. Dun.

§

Post Christ. 800.

∥

Malms.

*

Sax. an.

†

Post Christ. 801. Sim. Dun.

‡

Malms. l. 2. Asser.

§

Post Christ. 802. Sim. Dun.

∥

Post Christ. 805. Malms. Sax. an.

¶

Post Christ. 806. Huntingd. Sim. Dun.

**

Post Christ. 808. Mat. West.

††

Post Christ. 809.

*

Sim. Dun. Post Christ. 813. Sax. an.

†

Post Christ. 819. Sax. an.

‡

Malms.

§

Post Christ. 820. Ingulf.

∥

Post Christ. 823. Sax. an.

¶

Florent. Genealog. Bed. l. 2 c. 15.

*

Camden. Post Christ. 825. Ingulf.

†

Post Christ. 827.

‡

Post Christ.828. Mat. West.

*

Calvisius.

†

Pontan. Hist. Dan.

‡

Post Christ. 832. Sax. ann.

§

Post Christ. 833. Sax. ann.

∥

Post Christ. 835. Sax. ann. Pontan. Hist. Dan. l. 4.

*

Post Christ. 836. Sax. ann.

†

Mat. West.

‡

Post Christ. 837. Sax. ann.

§

Post Christ. 838. Sax. ann.

∥

Post Christ. 839. Sax. ann.

¶

Post Christ. 840. Sax. ann. Sim. Dun. Mat. West.

**

Post Christ. 844.

††

Post Christ. 845. Sax. ann.

‡‡

Post Christ. 851. Sax. ann. Asser.

§§

Huntingd. Mat. West.

*

Post Christ. 853. Sax. an. Asser.

†

Malms. Post Christ. 854. Sax. an.

‡

Post Christ. 855. Asser.

§

Asser.

∥

Post Christ. 857.

*

Mat. West.

†

Malms. Suithine.

‡

Sigon. de regn. Ital. l. 5.

§

Asser.

∥

Asser. Malms. Sim. Dun.

¶

Post Christ. 860. Sax an.

*

Post Christ. 865. Sax. an.

†

Post Christ. 866. Sax. an. Huntingd.

‡

Post Christ. 867. Sax. an.

§

Asser.

∥

Post Christ. 868.

¶

Asser.

**

Post Christ. 869. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 870. Ingulf.

†

Post Christ. 871. Sax. an.

‡

Asser.

*

Pontan. Hist. Dan. l. 4.

†

Camden.

‡

Post Christ. 872. Sax an.

§

Post Christ. 873. Sax an. Camd.

∥

Post Christ. 874. Sax. an.

¶

Post Christ. 875. Sax. an.

*

Post Christ. 876. Sax. an.

†

Florent.

‡

Florent.

§

Post Christ. 877. Sax. an.

∥

Asser.

¶

Post Christ. 878. Sax. an.

**

Sim. Dun.

††

Asser.

‡‡

Camden.

§§

Camden.

*

Post Christ. 879. Sax. an.

†

Post Christ. 882. Sax. an.

‡

Post Christ. 885 Sax. an.

§

Sim. Dun.

∥

Post Christ. 886. Sax. an.

¶

Sim. Dun.

**

Post Christ. 893. Sax. an.

††

Post Christ. 894. Sax. an.

*

Camden.

†

Post Christ. 895. Sax. an.

‡

Sim. Dun. Florent.

§

Post Christ. 896. Sax. an.

*

Post Christ. 897. Sax. an.

†

Post Christ. 900. Asser.

*

Malms.

†

Ibid.

‡

Hunting.

§

Post Christ. 901. Sax. an.

*

Post Christ. 902.

†

Post Christ. 905. Sax. an.

‡

Post Christ. 907. Sax. an.

§

Post Christ. 910. Sax. an.

∥

Post Christ. 911. Sax. an.

¶

Ethelwerd 2 an.

**

Post Christ. 917. Sax.

††

Post Christ. 913. Sax. an.

‡‡

Post Christ. 917. Sax. an.

*

Huntingd. Camd.

†

Post Christ. 919. Sax. an.

‡

Post Christ. 919. Sax. an.

§

Post Christ. 920. Sax. an.

∥

Post Christ. 921. Sax. an.

*

Post Christ. 922. Sax. an.

†

Post Christ. 923. Sax. an.

‡

Post Christ. 924.

§

Buch. l. 6.

∥

Buch. l. 6.

*

Post. Christ. 925. Sax. an. Huntingd. Mat. West.

†

Sim. Dun.

‡

Post Christ. 926.

§

Malms.

∥

Sim. Dun.

¶

Malms. Mat. West.

**

Post Christ. 927 Sax. an.

††

Post Christ. 933. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 934. Sax an. Sim. Dun.

†

Florent.

‡

Florent. Sim. Dun.

§

Post Christ. 938. Sax an. Malms.

*

Post Christ. 941. Sax. an. Malme. Ingulf.

*

Post Christ. 942. Sax. an.

*

Post Christ. 944. Sax. an.

†

Post Christ. 945. Sax. an.

‡

Post Christ. 946. Sax. an.

§

Post Christ. 950. Sim. Dun.

∥

Hoved.

¶

Post Christ. 953. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 955. Sim. Dun.

†

Ethelwerd.

‡

Mat. West.

§

Post Christ. 956

∥

Hoved.

¶

Post Christ. 955. Sax. an.

**

Post Christ. 958. Mat. West.

††

Post Christ. 959. Malms.

‡‡

Mat. West.

*

Post Christ. 973. Sax. an. Ingulf.

†

Post Christ. 974. Sax. an.

‡

Post Christ. 975.

*

Florent. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 978. Malms.

†

Post Christ. 979. Malms.

‡

Florent. Sim. Dun.

§

Sim Dun.

∥

Post Christ. 982. Malms.

¶

Eadmer. Florent.

**

Hoveden.

††

Sim. Dun. Hoved.

‡‡

Post Christ. 986. Malms. Ingulf.

*

Post Christ. 987. Malms.

†

Post Christ. 988. Malms.

‡

Post Christ. 991. Sim. Dun.

§

Post Christ. 993. Sim. Dun.

∥

Florent. Huntingd.

¶

Post Christ. 994. Sim. Dun.

*

Malms.

†

Malms.

‡

Huntingd.

§

Post Christ. 997. Sim. Dun.

∥

Post Christ. 998. Sim. Dun.

¶

Post Christ. 999. Sim. Dun.

**

Post Christ. 1000. Sim. Dun.

††

Post Christ. 1001. Sim. Dun.

‡‡

Post Christ. 1002. Sim. Dun.

*

Malms.

†

Calvis.

‡

Florent. Huntingd.

§

Calvis.

∥

Mat. West.

¶

Post Christ. 1003. Sim. Dun.

**

Post Christ. 1004. Sim. Dun.

††

Post Christ. 1005. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 1006. Sim. Dun.

†

Florent.

‡

Post Christ. 1007. Sim. Dun.

§

Post Christ. 1008. Sim. Dun.

∥

Post Christ. 1009. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 1010. Sim. Dun. Florent.

†

Huntingd.

‡

Post Christ. 1011 Sim Dun.

*

Eadmer. Malms.

†

Post Christ. 1012. Sim. Dun.

‡

Eadmer.

§

Post Christ. 1013. Sim. Dun.

*

Malms.

†

Post Christ. 1014. Sim. Dun. Mat. West.

‡

Post Christ. 1015. Sim. Dun.

§

Malms.

∥

Leges Edw. Conf. Tit. deduct. Norm.

*

Encom. Em.

†

Camd.

‡

Post Christ. 1016. Sim. Dun.

*

Florent. Aelred in the life of Edw. Conf.

†

Florent. Sim. Dun.

‡

Malms.

*

Camd.

†

Camd.

‡

Camd.

*

Post Christ. 1017. Sim. Dun. Sax. an.

*

Encom. Em. Ingulf.

†

Post Christ. 1018. Sim. Dun. Huntingd. Mat. West.

‡

Post Christ. 1019. Sim. Dun.

§

Post Christ. 1020. Sim. Dun.

∥

Post Christ. 1021. Sim. Dun. Malms.

¶

Post Christ. 1028. Sim. Dun.

**

Post Christ. 1029. Sim. Dun.

††

Post Christ. 1030. Sim. Dun.

‡‡

Post Christ. 1031. Sim. Dun.

§§

Huntingd.

∥∥

Post Christ. 1032. Sim. Dun.

*

Huntingd.

†

Post Christ. 1035. Sim. Dun.

‡

Florent.

§

Florent.

∥

Malms.

*

Florent. Brompton. Huntingd. Mat. West.

†

Encom. Em.

‡

Post Christ. 1036 Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 1039. Sim. Dun. Huntingd.

†

Post Christ. 1040. Sim Dun. Malma.

*

Malms.

†

Post Christ. 1041. Sim. Dun.

‡

Post Christ. 1042. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 1043. Sim. Dun.

†

Malms.

‡

Post Christ. 1045. Sim. Dun.

§

Post Christ. 1046. Sim. Dun.

∥

Post Christ. 1047. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 1048. Sim. Dun.

†

Post Christ. 1049. Sim. Dun.

‡

Malms.

§

Post Christ. 1051. Sim. Dun. Ingulf.

*

Malms.

*

Sim. Dun.

†

Malms.

‡

Post Christ. 1052. Sim. Dun.

*

Malms.

†

Post Christ. 1053. Sim. Dun.

*

Post Christ. 1054. Sim. Dun.

†

Huntingd.

‡

Post Christ. 1055. Sim Dun.

*

Post Christ. 1056. Sim. Dun.

†

Post Christ. 1057. Sim. Dun.

‡

Post Christ. 1058. Sim. Dun.

§

Post Christ. 1059.

∥

Post Christ. 1061. Sim. Dun.

¶

Post Christ. 1062. Sim. Dun.

**

Post Christ. 1063. Sim. Dun.

††

Post Christ. 1064. Sim. Dun.

‡‡

Post Christ. 1065.

§§

Camden.

*

Malms.

†

Legs. Ed. Conf. Tit. Lex. Noricor.

*

Post Christ. 1065. Sim. Dun.

†

Huntingd.

*

Hoved. Florent.

†

Malms.

‡

Eadmer.

*

Malms. Matt Paris.

†

Camd.

‡

Malms.

§

Sim Dun.

*

Sim. Dun.

*

Hack. 251.

†

Ibid. vol. i. 248.

‡

Ibid. 376.

§

Ibid. 365.

∥

Ibid. 284

*

Purc. part 3. 533.

†

Ibid. Purc.

‡

Purc. 549, 445, 551.

§

Hack. 376.

∥

Ibid. 312.

¶

Ibid. 377, 248.

**

Ibid. 251. 335.

*

Hack. 313.

†

Ibid. 325.

‡

Ibid. 334.

§

Ibid. 365.

∥

Ibid. 240.

*

Hack. 309.

†

Ibid. 314.

‡

Ibid. 239, 250.

§

Ibid. 314, 250.

*

Hack. 316.

†

Ibid. 253.

‡

Ibid. 242, 321.

§

Ibid. 320.

∥

Ibid. 318.

¶

Ibid. 320, 254.

**

Ibid. 322.

††

Ibid. 314.

‡‡

Ibid. 242, 254, 323.

§§

Ibid. 241, 314.

∥∥

Ibid. 323.

*

Hack. 239.

†

Ibid. 314.

‡

Ibid. 252.

§

Purch. part 3. p. 543, 540.

∥

Ibid. 524, 526.

¶

Purch. part 3. p. 526, 527.

*

Purch. 522, 555.

†

Ibid. 548.

‡

Purch. part 3. p. 527.

§

Ibid. 527, 551, 546, 52[Editor: illegible character]

∥

Ibid.

*

Purch. 528

†

Ibid. 543, 546.

‡

Ibid. 797.

§

Ibid. 799.

*

Purch. p. 806.

†

Hack. vol. i. p. 221.

*

Horsey’s Observations.

†

Haok. vol. 466.

‡

Horsey.

*

Post Christ. 1604 Purch. part. 3. p. 750.

*

Purch. part 3. p. 764.

*

Post Christ. 1606.

†

Purch. part 3. p. 769, c.

*

Post Christ. 1609.

†

Purch. 779.

‡

Post Christ. 1612.

§

Purch. part. 3. 790.

*

Post Christ. 1613.

†

Hac. vol. i. 243, 234.

*

Hac. 235.

†

Ibid. 464.

*

Hack. 258, 263, 465.

†

Ibid. 286.

‡

Ibid. 310, c.

§

Ibid. 317.

*

Hack. 311.

†

Ibid. 373

‡

Ibid. vol. i. 458.

*

Hack. 508.

*

The horses which threw him out of the coach-box.

*

William Stephens of Bristol and some other London merchants, in the years 1606 and 1607, trading with those people who live on the coast of Morocco, with three vessels, some ships belonging to the king of Spain that were pirating along these coasts, having come upon them in the bay of Saffia and the harbour of Santa Cruz, while they were lying at anchor, plundered them, without giving any other reason for their doing it, than this, that the king their master would not allow of any commerce with infidels: and the loss these merchants sustained at that time was computed at more than £2000.

†

This is evident from the parliament’s letter, signed by the hand of the Speaker, to the King of Spain, in the month of January, 1650, the words whereof are as follow—“We demand of your majesty, and insist upon it, that public justice be at length satisfied for the barbarous murder of Anthony Ascham our resident at your court, and the rather, that after we have seen condign punishment inflicted on the authors of such a detestable crime, we may be in no fear hereafter to send our embassador to your royal court, to lay before you such things as may be equally advantageous to your majesty and our commonwealth. On the contrary, if we should suffer that blood, the shedding whereof was a thing in many respects so remarkably horrible, to pass unrevenged, we must of necessity be partakers in that detestable crime in the sight of God, our only deliverer and the eternal fountain of our mercies, and in the eye of the whole English nation; especially if ever we should send any other of our countrymen into that kingdom, where murder is allowed to go quite unpunished. But we have so great an opinion of your majesty, that we will not easily be brought to believe that your royal authority is subjected to any other power superior to it within your own dominions.”

*

As a ship called the Ulysses was trading along the coast of Guiana, the merchants and sailors happened to go ashore, by the persuasion of Berry, governor of that place, who had promised, nay, even sworn that they should receive no hurt; nevertheless there were thirty of them taken and committed to prison. Upon which the governor writes a letter to the merchant, acquainting him, that he had indeed taken thirty of his men, and that because some foreigners, who had come there to trade with them, had defrauded him of 20,000 ducats, which, if he would send him, he swore he would restore all his men, and allow him the liberty of commerce. The merchant sent him the sum he demanded, part in ready money, part in goods, which after the governor had received, he ordered all the thirty men to be fastened to trees and strangled, except the chirurgeon, who was reserved, to cure the governor of a certain disease. This ransom, together with other damages sustained there, was computed at £7000.

*

John Davis lost two ships with all their goods, and the Spaniards slew all the men that were aboard of them, to the entire loss of that voyage, and this was computed at £3500.

†

Another ship belonging to some London merchants, John Lock commander, was taken by the Spanish fleet, at the isle of Tortuga, because she had been trading there, and had felled some trees; for this she was confiscated, most of the sailors put to death and the rest condemned to the galleys. This was esteemed a loss of £5300.

*

And also to one belonging to John Bland, commanded by Nichol. Philips, in the very same harbour.

†

But Swanley, our admiral, was not so civilly treated in Sicily, in the harbour of Drepano, when in the year 1653, about the month of June, his ship called the Henry Bonaventure, together with a large and very rich Dutch ship called the Peter, which he had taken, was by the treachery of the Spanish governor in that place, taken by seven Dutch ships, under the command of the younger Trump in the very harbour, no further than a small gun’s shot from the bulwarks, whereby the merchants, to whom that ship belonged, lost more than £63,000.

*

Morus, the Latin name for mulberry.

*

A little More, or mulberry.

†

It is impossible to give a literally exact rendering of this; I have played upon the name as well as I could in English.—R. F.

*

Latin, male audis. There is a play upon the words.

Table of Contents

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Copyright and Fair Use

A DEFENCE OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND, IN ANSWER TO SALMASIUS’S DEFENCE OF THE KING.*

THE PREFACE.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

A TREATISE OF CIVIL POWER IN ECCLESIASTICAL CAUSES; SHOWING THAT IT IS NOT LAWFUL FOR ANY POWER ON EARTH TO COMPEL IN MATTERS OF RELIGION.

A TREATISE OF CIVIL POWER IN ECCLESIASTICAL CAUSES.

CONSIDERATIONS TOUCHING THE LIKELIEST MEANS TO REMOVE HIRELINGS OUT OF THE CHURCH. WHEREIN IS ALSO DISCOURSED OF TITHES, CHURCH-FEES, AND CHURCH-REVENUES; AND WHETHER ANY MAINTENANCE OF MINISTERS CAN BE SETTLED BY LAW.

CONSIDERATIONS TOUCHING THE LIKELIEST MEANS TO REMOVE HIRELINGS OUT OF THE CHURCH.

A LETTER TO A FRIEND CONCERNING THE RUPTURES OF THE COMMONWEALTH.

THE PRESENT MEANS AND BRIEF DELINEATION OF A FREE COMMONWEALTH, EASY TO BE PUT IN PRACTICE, AND WITHOUT DELAY.

THE READY AND EASY WAY TO ESTABLISH A FREE COMMONWEALTH, AND THE EXCELLENCE THEREOF, COMPARED WITH THE INCONVENIENCIES AND DANGERS OF READMITTING KINGSHIP IN THIS NATION.

BRIEF NOTES UPON A LATE SERMON, TITLED, THE FEAR OF GOD AND THE KING.

THE TEXT.

THE HISTORY OF BRITAIN, THAT PART ESPECIALLY NOW CALLED ENGLAND, FROM THE FIRST TRADITIONAL BEGINNING, CONTINUED TO THE NORMAN CONQUEST:—COLLECTED OUT OF THE ANCIENTEST AND BEST AUTHORS THEREOF.

THE FIRST BOOK.

THE SECOND BOOK.

THE THIRD BOOK.

THE FOURTH BOOK.

THE FIFTH BOOK.

ECBERT.

ETHELWOLF.

ETHELBALD AND ETHELBERT.

ETHELBERT ALONE.

ETHELRED.

ALFRED.

EDWARD THE ELDER.

ATHELSTAN.

EDMUND.

EDRED.

EDWI.

EDGAR.

THE SIXTH BOOK.

EDWARD THE YOUNGER.

ETHELRED.

EDMUND IRONSIDE.

CANUTE, OR KNUTE.

HAROLD.

HARDECNUTE.

EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.

HAROLD, son of Earl Godwin.

OF TRUE RELIGION, HERESY, SCHISM, TOLERATION; AND WHAT BEST MEANS MAY BE USED AGAINST THE GROWTH OF POPERY.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF MOSCOVIA, AND OF OTHER LESS KNOWN COUNTRIES LYING EASTWARD OF RUSSIA AS FAR AS CATHAY.

THE PREFACE.

MOSCOVIA: OR, RELATIONS OF MOSCOVIA, AS FAR AS HATH BEEN DISCOVERED BY ENGLISH VOYAGES; GATHERED FROM THE WRITINGS OF SEVERAL EYE-WITNESSES: AND THE OTHER LESS KNOWN COUNTRIES LYING EASTWARD OF RUSSIA AS FAR AS CATHAY, LATELY DISCOVERED AT SEVERAL TIMES BY THE RUSSIANS.

CHAPTER I.: A brief description.

CHAPTER II.: Of Samoëdia, Siberia, and other countries north-east, subject to the Muscovites.

CHAPTER III.: Of Tingoësia, and the countries adjoining eastward, as far as Cathay.

CHAPTER IV.: The succession of Moscovia dukes and emperors, taken out of their chroniles by a Polac, with some later additions.†

CHAPTER V.: The first discovery of Russia by the north-east, 1553, with the English embassies, and entertainments at that court, until the year 1604.

A DECLARATION OF LETTERS PATENTS, FOR THE ELECTION OF THIS PRESENT KING OF POLAND, JOHN THE THIRD, ELECTED ON THE 22d OF MAY LAST PAST, A. D. 1674.

LETTERS OF STATE TO MOST OF THE SOVEREIGN PRINCES AND REPUBLICS OF EUROPE, DURING THE ADMINISTRATION OF THE COMMONWEALTH AND THE PROTECTORS OLIVER AND RICHARD CROMWELL.

LETTERS WRITTEN IN THE NAME OF THE PARLIAMENT.

LETTERS WRITTEN IN THE NAME OF OLIVER THE PROTECTOR.

LETTERS WRITTEN IN THE NAME OF RICHARD, PROTECTOR.

A MANIFESTO OF THE LORD PROTECTOR OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, IRELAND, c.

THE SECOND DEFENCE OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND, AGAINST AN ANONYMOUS LIBEL ENTITLED “THE ROYAL BLOOD CRYING TO HEAVEN FOR VENGEANCE ON THE ENGLISH PARRICIDES.”

The Royal Blood crying to heaven for vengeance on the English parricides.

FAMILIAR EPISTLES, TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN, BY ROBERT FELLOWES, A. M. OXON.

I.: To his Tutor Thomas Jure.

II.: To Alexander Gill.

III.: To the Same.

IV.: To Thomas Jure.

V.: To Alexander Gill.

VI.: To Carolo Deodati.

VII.: To the Same.

VIII.: To Beneditto Bonomattai, a Florentine.

IX.: To Luke Holstein, in the Vatican at Rome.

X.: To Carolo Deodati, a Florentine Noble.

XI.: To Hermann Milles, Secretary to the Count of Oldenburgh.

XII.: To the renowned Leonard Philara, the Athenian.

XIII.: To Richard Heth.

XIV.: To Henry Oldenburgh, Aulic Counsellor to the Senate of Bremen.

XV.: To Leonard Philara, the Athenian.

XVI.: To Leo of Aizema.

XVII.: To Ezechiel Spanheim, of Geneva.

XVIII.: To Henry Oldenburgh, Aulic Counsellor to the Senate of Bremen.

XIX.: To the noble Youth, Richard Jones.

XX.: To the accomplished Youth Peter Heinbach.

XXI.: To the accomplished Emeric Bigot.

XXII.: To the noble Youth Richard Jones.

XXIII.: To the illustrious Lord Henry de Bras.

XXIV.: To Henry Oldenburgh.

XXV.: To the noble Youth Richard Jones.

XXVI.: To the illustrious Lord Henry de Bras.

XXVII.: To the accomplished Peter Heinbach.

XXVIII.: To John Badiaus, Minister of the Church of Orange.

XXIX.: To Henry Oldenburgh.

XXX.: To the noble Youth Richard Jones.

XXXI.: To the accomplished Peter Heinbach, Counsellor to the Elector of Brandenburg.