ye" heal LOS DUKE UNIVERSITY DIVINITY SCHOOL LIBRARY ¥ THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH AND FOREIGN REFORMERS. BY WILLIAM GILPIN, M.A. ——- PREBENDARY OF SALISBURY, AND VICAR OF BOLDRE, IN NEW FOREST. A NEW EDITION. PPEPLIOPIPPL LORS IN TWO VOLUMES, VOL, II. PIPL EL ELO LOL OPIS London: PRINTED FOR F. C, & J. RIVINGTON, Booksellers to the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge ; NO. 62, ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD, AND NO. 3, WATERLOO-PLACE, PALL-MALL. 1819. ‘ Rats a ei oh ae r : { iG) none UWA Vous ‘TORAH TL. VRR: } - . eh ne s : ny Ml i 3 BMI 10?. Oe . i % + | kk LOE Kk f. ri me Na he: . , . My 2 Fe : oe Teal ¢ : 4 x ee MOTOAWIA. bs ‘ bad , 5 : ¥ ’ ’ 4 ’ * ay Pen Wiha: Wb ed at hb es ve UA RLS hath? roe te (Liat HOW AO-8° Ee 4; URES OC RALU EE Bie viensr) fo) Printed by R. Gilbert, St. John’s S CONTENTS. | a ‘Les gre SOLE ersIt ere VOL. Ii. - eeperecrsecet oe Secr. I.—Circumstances of archbishop Cranmer’s birth and early youth—short view of the progress of the Reformation—comparison between Luther and Erasmus—Cranmer’s mode of study, and aca- demical life eeoreceseeeosceeoseseseeesssessse 2 Scr. II].—King Henry’s divorce—Cranmer’s opi- nion of the proper way of managing it—the conse- quences and success of that opinion—remarks oa Cranmer’s behaviour in this matter—he becomes more convinced of the necessity of a reformation 7 Secr. HI,—He is promoted to the see of Canterbury —finishes the business of the divorce -+++eeeees 13 - Sect. 1V.—Unsuccessful endeavours of Francis I. to bring about a reconciliation between Engiand and Rome—efforts of the popish partyin England-+-- 16 Sect, V.—Act of supremacy—deaths of More and Fisher—and of the queen—the archbishop’s con- _duct in this affair censured ++++e+seeeeerecces 20: Sect. Vi.—Has no associates in his schemes of re=" formation—the difficulties he met with—the first steps he took—the deplorable state of preaching Sect. VII.—Progress of the Reformation—Lam- bert’s disputation—the Bible translated—the arch- bishop opposes the king in the affair of monasteries $4 VoL. Il. a bo Or Vi CONTENTS. PAGE Seer. VIII.—Prevalence of the popish party—cha- racter of the bishop of Winchester—act of the six articles~the archbishop’s opposition to it—extra- ordinary visit paid him at Lambeth—sends the argu- ments he used against the six articles to the king Secr. IX.—Death of the earl of Essex—story of a country priest—the archbishop, unsupported, op- poses the popish Party sss erence cerececccces Sect. X.—Discovery of the queen’s incontinence— visitation of All-souls college—the archbishop’s connection with the earl of Cassilis .-+-+++eeee+s Sect. XI.—Attempts of his enemies against him— treachery of Thorndon and Barbar—bishop of Win- chester’s letter to lhira—death of Charles Brandon —new attempts to commit the archbishop to the tower Peer os eH eo eso ee eee BeBe ee Boe ees Foes Stct. XIJ.—Sir Thomas Seymour’s calumny—the archbishop’s letter to sir William Cecil—the king gives him three pelicans for his arms—duke of Nor- folk’s attainder— death of Henry VIII. «e+++e+s Secr. XIII.—Steps towards a Reformation—suppli- cation of the commons—bishop of Winchester’s opposition, and imprisonment «++eeeeseeeesees Secr, XIV,—Farther progress of Reformation—the archbishop opposes the measures of the Court—in- terests himself in favour of the universities «++. ++ Sect. XV.—Death of Bocher and Paris—the arch- bishop’s conduct in that affair greatly censured— his friendship and generosity to oppressed refor- MELTS sere sees verse voee coseesesnecesesesees Sect. XVI.— Insurrection in Devonshire—the arch- bishop answers the petition of the insurgents relat- Ing.to religion +++.s+ ceecee seesce veeses sees Sect. XVI1.—He attenipts to unite the protestant churches, jbut in Wain’ Hc «/s c:s:cia'sin’s sie dee reine ae Secr, XVIII.—Frames articles of religion, to restrain the clergy—explanation of the 17th and 18th ar- LICIES! -:9/c,0/001s/o)s10-0 w oie (00 “ais © clwle islaintalaiea ween nn Secr. XIX.—His exemplary conduct in his episcopal Character seeeveveee...ceeeeesseeeseveeces 4 36 4) 46 49 60 66 69 81 86 CONTENTS. Sect. XX.—Intrigues of the duke of Northumber- land—death of the protector—the archbishop loses all. his interest at court—exclusion of the princess Mary—death of Edward VI. -+++-+200 sseece Sect. XXI.—The archbishop’s declaration against: the mass—his imprisonment—refuses to escape— temper of the government—death of Northumber- land, and of sir Thomas Palmer seeeeeeesseees Secr. XXII.—Convocation meets—the archbishop removed to Oxford—disputation there—Taylor’s letter—state of religious affairs +e+++++e+eeee- Secr. XXIII.—Account of an extraordinary dispute among the protestant prisoners—condition of the English exiles eeeees ee Sect. XX1V.—Death of the bishops of London and Worcester—thearchbishop condemned—degraded —his letter to the quecn—artifices of the papists— his recantation «++ese secces ceveesvevccssses Sect. XXV.—His great contrition—the circum- stances of his death «cesses soccce cess cecserce Secr. XXVI.—His industry —learning—and habits of life—account of his MSS, «++e..+.-e> cease Sect. XXVII.—His qualifications as a reformer— comparison between him and archbishop Laud -- Sect. XXVIII.—His character in private life—his regulations to restrain the expences of the clergy —objections of the papists—his family «++..... LIFE OF BERNARD GILPIN. Sect. I.—Mr. Gilpin’s education and conversion -+ Sect. I1.—Obtains a benefice—resigns it, and goes abroad Pesesecesese eeeteesseseenrese e@esseeens Sect. III.—His studies there, and his return to Eng- 7 land eeress eee aee e@eeser esse Sect. IV.—His behaviour in his parish ; and the per- secution of his enemieSeeseesseee seecesscee Sect. V.—Queen Mary’s death—the bishoprick of Carlisle offered to Mr. Gilpin—He founds a school vi PAGE 89 93 96 158 174 vill CONTENTS, = PAGE Sect. VI.—Applications made to him by the dissen- ters, and likewise by the papists ....eeeseeeeee 193) Sect. VII.—His behaviour as a clergyman ++++++ 208 Secr. VIII.—His hospitality and manner of living 224 - Sect. IX.—The last scenes of his life++s++++e++++ 230 A Sermon by Mr. Gilpin, preached before Edward VI, in the court at Greenwich © coeseesevess** 259: OF ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. SECTION If. Tuomas CRANMER was born at Aslacton, in Nottinghamshire, on the second of July, 1489. His father was a gentleman of smali fortune; but the head of a family which had long lived in reputation in those parts. He was a lover of country diver- sions ; and seems to have given his son an early taste for them. The circumstances indeed of Mr. Cranmer’s yeutli were not such, as usually usher in the life of a scho- Jar. No mancould manage a pack of hounds better ; _ or handle the long-bow with more dexterity ; or with the cross-bow take a surer aun. . In horsemanship he so excelled, that after he was an archbishop, he scrupled not to ride the roughest horse im his stables. But amusements with him were only relaxations. He gave himself up to study with equal eagerness ; and his proficiency in country diversions shewed merely the versatility of his genius. The experi- . ment, however, is ater ; and the example not VOL. II. B 2 The Igfe of Archbishop Cranmer. to be followed by those, who are not well assured they have his strength of parts, and steadiness of temper to secure them from an extreme. At the usual age Mr. Cranmer was sent to Cam- bridge; which was not then the seat of the muses. Schoolmen were the classics of that age; and no- thing was heard from the chairs either of science, or religion, but what would have inspired an improved mind with disgust. This solemn trifling, which was then called learning, engaged Mr. Cranmer at least ten years. . About the year 1520 Martin Luther began first to draw the attention of mankind. Many reformers, before his day, particularly Wicliff, Huss, and Je- rome of Prague, at different periods, had seen, and exposed with great acuteness, and strength of argu- ment, the corruptions of the church of Rome. Eut it pleased God to use these inquisitive minds only as the dawning of that day, which he intended gradually to open. ‘The corruptions of the church therefore having not yet received any effectual check, conti- , nued to spread; and, in the days of Luther, had grown to an enormous height. Venality, and rapa- city were the reigning characteristics of the sovereign pontiff; and of that band of ecclesiastics, who re- tained under him. The very idea of religion wes lost; except where it was necessary te uphold some parading ceremonies of the church ; which were a'l the remains now left of Christianity. Morals weie never thought of; and so far were the ruling powers from being hurt by the scandalous lives of the clergy, that they invented every method to exempt them from the jurisdiction of all courts, except their own. In them, every trespass found the gentlest treatment. An easy fine would satisfy even for murder. Nor is it surprising, that the inferior clergy should lay aside all decency of manners, when they looked up to such pontiffs, as had long filled St. Peter’s chair; particularly Alexander VI. and Julius II. The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 3 Even Leo X. flattered by the wits of the age, as the reyivor, and patron of arts, and letters, though an elegant prince, was a detestable ecclesiastic *. We need not wonder therefore, if so complex a system of corruption, as the Roman hierarchy ap- ‘pears to have been, at that time, needed little de- veloping. Luther’s doctrines spread rapidly through Germany: and though it was the single corruption of indulgences, which gave the first impulse to this disgust ; yet from one error the minds of men pre- sently passed to another; and the tenets of Luther were eagerly embraced, not only by the lower classes of people; but even by some of the princes of the empire; particularly by the elector of Saxony, one of the best, and by his sufferings shewn to be, one of the most magnanimous, princes of his time. But though the ardent, and intrepid spirit of Luther had thus awakened a great part of Germany from its lethargy; yet his opinions found their way but leisurely into other parts of Europe. In Eng- land they were rece:ved with great caution. Serious men began to see ihe corruptions of the clergy; but they were afraid to question the infallibility of the pope. ‘They were convinced ef the propriety of seeking truth in the bible: but examined with great timidity the doctrines it contained. Indeed, as far as appears, the writings of Erasmus introduced the first idea of systematic reformation in England. This reformer was a man of a very diffe- rent temper from Luther: and yet in bis way per- haps he contributed 2s much to discountenance the corruptions of the Romish church. Luther, fearless in the path of truth, was animated, rather than daunted, by opposition. Erasmus, cau- * They who wish to see the causes, which advanced the reformation, drawn out at length, may find them de- tailed with great perspicuity and elegance in the life of ‘Charles V. by Dr. Robertson. Vol. II. page 147, oct, ed. B2 Y wa — ee The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. tious, and respectful to authority, shrank from dan- ger; and sought truth only in the regions of tran- quillity. Luther, in vehement language, talked of extirpating error, root and branch.—Erasmus wished only to open the eyes of men; and to leave them by degrees to reform themselves: he satisfied himself with exposing what was wrong; but did not presume to point out what was right. Luther's opposition ran ever in the form of fierce invective, or serious argument. Erasmus, though always in earnest, chose commonly to clothe his sentiments in ridicule. Luther was remarkable for the boldness of his mea- sures ; and a course of intrepid action: while Eras- _ mus, trusting to his pen, never ventured abroad as the champion of religion; but defended it from his closet: and the art of printing getting then into use, his opinions soon made their way into the different parts of Europe. Thus it happened, through the providence of God, that these two men, though in different ways, were equally adapted to the work of reformation. If Luther were the more spirited reformer on the spot ; Erasmus was better qualified to make proselytes at a distance. If Luther’s rough, and popular address were better suited to the muititude; the polished style, and elegant composition of Erasmus, found readier access to the gentleman, and the scholar. The works of this celebrated writer began to be received in England at the time, when Mr. ‘Cranmer was a student at Cambridge ; and all men, who pre- tended to genius, learning, or liberality of sentiment, read them with avidity. ‘fo the general scholar, they opened a new idea—that of thinking for himself ; and to the student in divinity, they pointed out the Scriptures as the only source of religious truth. The sophistry of the schools began apace to lose credit ; and the universities soon produced genious men, who thought they could not employ their time better, than in studying the naked text of the Scriptures, The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 5 which at length drew on a freedom of inquiry. These students were commonly known by the name of Scripturists. Mr. Cranmer ranked himself very early in this class of men; and with great assiduity applied to the study of the Scriptures. ‘The more he studied, the more enlightened he grew: he daily saw more rea- sons for rejecting the false aids, in which he confided ; and began to entertain many doubts, and suspicions, which he yet kept to himself. _ His mode of study was calculated for improvement, rather than for ostentation. He read few books ; but made himself a thorough master of those, he did read. A general scholar he thought another name for asuperficial one. His character as a student, is thus marked by one of his biographers. ‘‘ In per- , currendis, conferendisque scriptorum judiciis, tardus quidem lector, sed vehemens erat observator. Sine calamo nunquam ad scriptoris cujusquam Jibrum ac- cessit: itatamen ut memoriam interim, haud minus quam calamum, exerceret *.” An imprudent marriage, at this early period of his life, interrupted his- studies; and threw him out of his preferment in Jesus college; of which he had been elected a fellow. He was now reduced to dif- ficult circumstances. The slender income of a lec- tureship, which he obtained in Magdalen college, seems to have been the whole of what he now en- joyed. But though it produced him little emolument, it tended greatly to increase his reputation. His lectures, which which were considered as ingenious and learned compositions, were always attended by a numerous -academical audience of every descrip- tion. They were chiefly directed against the Ro- mish superstitions. ‘‘ He rubbed the galled backs,” says Fuller, ‘‘ and curried the lazy hides of many an -idle and ignorant friar.” I know not that these ex- * Melch, Adam vite Theol. BS ~ 6 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. pressions give us a just idea of Mr, Cranmer’s ta-. lents. They imply a sarcastic manner which was not his. Strong sense, and argument were the only weapons he employed. He had searce been married a year, when his wife died: and such was his reputation in the university, and particularly in his own college, that, on this event, he was re-elected into his former station. He had soon an opportunity of shewing his grati- tude. Some agents of Cardinal Wolsey being em- ployed to draw together a body of learned men from both the universities to fill the college of Christ- church in Oxford, which that prelate had just founded ; Mr..-Cranmer, among others, was applied to; but he did not care to leave his old friends, to whom he had- been lately so much obliged; though a better in- come was offered, and a more promising road to pre- ferment. ; In the year 1526* he took the degree of doctor in divinity. ‘The Scripturists, it is evident, had great influence in the university at this time; as we find Dr. Cranmer appointed one ef the examiners in theology. In this situation he did very eminent service to religion by allowing no student to proceed to his de- gree, who did not appear to be well acquainted with the Scriptures. His strictness however was tempered with so much gentleness, and benignity; that the disappointed candidate, unless a very disingenuous man, plainly saw, that the examiner's conscience drew from him a reluctant severity. The university however soon felt the good effeets of Dr. Cranmer’s attention. The young divines caught a new object of pursuit; and entirely changed their mode of study. He woud often afterwards say, that in the course of his life, he had met with: many eminent scholars, who had told him with great * Strype is mistaken in fixing it in 1523, The Life of Archbiskop Cranmery vi ingenuity, how much they thought themselves obliged 5 J y 8 § to him for the check he had formerly given them at: Cambridge, ‘“‘ Had it not been for that, they would add, we might have persisted, all our lives, in our early prejudices.” SECTION If. While Dr. Cranmer was thus employed, about the year 1529, an epidemical distemper, attended with. many symptoms like the plague, broke out at Cam- bridge. A great alarm was spread: the schools were shut up, and every man endeavoured to provide. for his own safety by flight. Dr. Cranmer retired. into Essex, to the house of Mr. Cressy, a gentleman of fortune at Waltham; whose sons had been his pupils at Cambridge ; and whose education he still continued to superintend. These circumstances were the foundation of all his future fortunes. That great ecclesiastical! cause, king Henry’s di- vorce, was at this time in agitaticn.. The legatine court, which should have decided that business, was just dissolved, and had left the affair in its old uncertainty. Henry’s devotion to the see of Rome had made him thus far submit with patience to its delays.— But his eyes were now in a great measure opened. He began to see that Clement, whose character was a compound of dissimulation and timidity, had been acting a double part ; and that while he openly pre- tended every thing in favour of the divorce, he was in fact no other than the dupe,of the emperor. With this clue the English ministry was able to unravel the mazes of the pope’s duplicity: and this last affair, the dissolution of the legatine court, and the avocation of the cause to Rome, after so many af- fected delays, at length convinced even Henry kim- self, that the pope meant nothing in earnest, BA 8 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. While the monarch, vexed at this new disappoint- ment, was revolying in his mind the indignities he had suffered, he relaxed himself with a-short jour- ney, or progress (as these journies were then called) through some of the southern counties. On his return, he spent a night at Waltham; where his retinue, as was usual on such oceasions, were lodged among the neighbouring gentlemen. Fox, provost of King’s college in Oxford, and Gardiner, after- ~ wards the celebrated bishop of Winchester, then attended the king; and were invited, with some others, to the house of Mr. Cressy, where they passed the evening with Dr. Cranmer. The converstion turned on the only topic which was then discussed among courtiers, the unhandsome behaviour of the court of Rome: and on all sides the pope's dissimu- lation, and the king’s forbearance, were spoken of with acrimony and admiration. ‘ Dr. Cranmer, who seemed to have digested the whole business in his mind, said, he thought a method : might be pursued, which would tend to bring the matter to ahappy issue. When all with great eager-. ‘ness desired to know what he meant, he told them, his idea was, to collect the opinions of all the ani- versities in Europe on this simple question, Whether it was lawful to marry a brother's wife! Their ap- probation of the marriage, he -said, would satisfy - the king’s scruples; or their disapprobation of it would bring the pope to a decision. Br. Cranmer’s opinion seemed very plausible both to Fox, and Gardiner; who failed not, the next morning, to mention it to the king. Itstruck Henry at once; who, with that indelicacy which was natu- ral to him, cried out with an oath, that ‘ Cranmer had gotten the right sow by the ear.” He was immediately sent for; and had a long conference with the king; which ended in Henry’s commands to put bis sentiments in writing, both with \ The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 9 regard to the divorce itself; and the manner in which he proposed to conduct it. The great merit of Dr. Cranmer’s proposal, which is not immediately evident, seems to consist, not so much in changing tke judges, as in narrowing the question. Instead of inquiring whether the pope’s dis- pensation gave legality to Henry’s marriage with his brother’s wife ? he wished to inquire simply, whether such a marriage was not contradictory to the divine commands? [f the universities determined that it was not so, the king must then give up his scruples, and keep his wife. Of this however he was under no apprehension. Butif the universities determined ‘that such a marriage was unlawful, the king might then, if the pope were refractory, do without him; saying the marriage was in itself null. Henry therefore being resolved to adopt this new plan, began next to adjust the proper mode of exe- cuting it. He read Dr. Cranmer’ papers with great attention ; and was persuaded that he, who had shewn himself so much a maste~ of the case, was the only person, in whose management of it, he could ~ thoroughly confide. At the same time he thought an obscure ecclesiastic had not dignity of character enough to represent his person abroad.. He joined therefore in commission with him, the earl of Wiit- shire and the bishop of London ; recommending him, in a particular manner, to the friendship of the former. The Earl of Wiltshire, with whom Dr. Cranmer _ ever afterwards maintained a strict friendship, was one of the greatest ornaments of the English court. In a public character he had appeared to advan= - tage, once in Spain, and a second time in Germany, At home he had berne with equal credit, the offices of treasurer of the household, and lord privy seal. In private life, his manners were very amiable. He was one of the most‘learned men of his age: and one of the best philosophers: and though a cour- tier, and a stetesman, had employed much of his . BS 10 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. time in the study of the Scriptures, which he made the rule of his life. To his request it was owing, that Erasmus composed his valuable treatise on a preparation for death. But what still made this excellent man more celebrated than all his virtues, was his being the father of Ann Boleyn; who was. at this time well known to be the intended consort of Henry. In the year 1530, the three commissioners set out on this extraordinary occasion ; bending their course first to Italy, where they found. success in some of the universities, which were even dependent on the pope. Dr. Cranmer offered to dispute the matter fairly in the Rota. “ The pope, at first, was very angry; declaring to those about him, that he would not suffer his power. to be discussed by friars; alluding probably to the undignified character of Dr. Cranmer But finding afterwards of what consequence he was, he became very desirous of attaching him to his interest; and with this view conferred on him the-office of peniten- tiary general of England, with full powers to bind and loose. Dr. Cranmer could not avoid accepting’ the pope’s favour; but as it was a power he never meant to use, he considered it as a very insignificant sinecure. At the end of the first year, the three delegates having traversed the universities of Italy, the com- mission was dissolved; and a new one made out, directed solely to Dr. Cranmer, who was stiled Consiharius regis, et ad Casarem orator. Tt bears date, January 24, 1531. No disgust seems. to have | been taken in the other commissioners; but as Dr. Cranmer was the person, on whom the king chiefly — relied, it is probable he had from the first, deter-_ mined to intrust the matter solely to him, as soon as his character had acquired a little consequence, Very great success attended his commission. Few scruples were raised ; and he had little more to do, than to collect the hands and seals of such universi< The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 1L. ties as favoured the king’s intentions ; which were on the matter, almost all he applied to. This expedition so readily projected, and so cheer- fally undertaken, does not perhaps place Dr. Cran- mer in the most advantageous point of light. There were good political reasons, no_doubt, to induce the King to wish for a divorce. His marriage with Ca- tharine was by no means generally approved, either at home, or abroad: the legitimacy of Mary, in trea- ties of marriage with neighbouring princes, had been questioned : and the terrible effects of the late civil wars in England, occasioned by disputed titles, were wounds not yet entirely healed. Male issue to the king, which might prevent such consequences, was therefore very desirable to all men. : Hie eer But reasons of state, however admissible in 4 cabinet, should never be supposed to influence a churchman. We allow that Dr. Cranmer might think the marriage wrong: but though it possibly might be a point of conscience with the king, it could however be none with bim; and there was manifestly a difference between advising not to doa thing ; and advising to undo it, when already done; at Jeast in a matier of so disputable a nature. He knew that, in the Old Testament, the marriage of a sister was allowed, and among the patriarchs often practised : and that the marriage of a brother’s wife; was, in some cases enjomed. The New Testament was silent on the subject. There could therefore be no moral turpitude in it: nor any thing but the com- men law, and uszge of nations to restrain it. On the other hand, the baseness, and ungenerous behaviour, which followed the contrary pa:t, were eyident at sight. To repudiate a woman, with when the king had cohabitéd near twenty years as his wife; and to illegitimate a daughter, bred up in the highest expectations, and now marriageable, were acts of such cruelty, that it seems to indicate a want of feeling to be in any degree accessary to them: BG tS. 12 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. To this may be added, that the notoriety of the kings passion for Ann Boleyn, which all men believed to be —if not the first mover, at least the principal spring of his pretended scruples, threw a very indelicate - , imputation on all who had any concern in the affair. No serious churchman, one would imagine, could be fond of the idea of administering to the king’s passions. [tis with concern therefore, that we see 2 man of Dr. Cranmer’s integrity and simplicity of manners, acti#g so much out ‘of character, as to compound an afliir of this kind, if not with his con- science, at least with all delicacy of sentiment; and to parade through Europe, in the quality of an am- bassador, defending every where the king’s pious intentions. But the cause animated him. With the illegality of the king’s marriage, he endeavoured virtually to establish the insufficiency of the pope’s dispensation ; and the latter wes an argument so near his heart, that it seems to have added merit to the former. _ We. cannot indeed account for his embarking so zealously in this business, without supposing his principal motive was to free his country from the tyranny of Rome, to which this step very evidently led. So desirable an end would, in some degree, he might imagine, sanctify the means. This was not the only foreign business in which Dr, Cranmer was employed. He was entrusted with many private dispatches from the king. He had matters of trade also to negotiate for the mer- chants of England. Once he was obliged to furnish himself .with.camp equipage, and attend the empe- ror, who had taken the field against the Turks. In every employment he shewed himself to be a man, whose knowledge was by no means totally confined to his profession; but was of a more general cast, than the simplicity of his character led men to suppose. If Dr. Cranmer began to think favourably of the The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 15 reformation before he left England, he became during his stay abroad, an entire conyert. That freedom, with which men discussed religious opinions in Ger- many, was very agreeable to a man of his liberal turn ; and he felt himself every day sitting looser to those prejudices, which had hitherto involved him. Osiander,whom he found atNuremburgh, contributed, among others, very much to enlighten his mind. The unrestrained conversation of this reformer appeared to him,;at first, as a kind of libertinism: it sounded ~ harshly in his ear: and he would ask, if such an Opi- nion were false, how it could possibly possess itself of the minds of the greatést, and most learned men of all ages, through such a tract of time? Osiander carried him boldly still higher into antiquity. Tell me rot, said he, what Austin says, and Jerome; but what Peter says, and Paul. Read your bible ; and say honestly, whether such and such doctrines are not plainly repugnant te such and such passages of Scripture? ; SECTION Iif. In the midst of these researches, the attention of Dr. Cranmer was suddenly recalled to other objects. - He received a message, informing him, that the king imtended to reward his services by bestowing on bim the sce of Canterbury, then vacant by the death of Dr. Warhan. . Whatever exalted ideas Dr. Cranmer might enter- tai from the king’s favour, it is very certain he was both surprised and perplexed at this message. Twe things especially occurred to him as matter of great difficulty. The first was the oath he was obliged to take to the pope, which appeared to him as an insuperable obstacle. The ether was a more private concern. He had engaged abroad in a second mar- riage ; and however liberal his own sentiments might t > : 14 Fhe Life of Archbishop Cranmer. be on that subject, he knew the prejudices of the world ran strongly against him. I call them preju- dices only, because I think it does not appear, that the secular clergy, at that time, were absolutely re- quired to take the vow of celibacy. Whether he urged his scruples. to the king (who in a matrimonial business could not surely be a rigid casuist) does not appear. It is certain, however, that the affair of the marriage was made easy to him ; and that the king’s message brought him imme- diately to England. History does not fix the time of his return with any precision. Lord Herbert says, he was present at the king’s marriage with Ann Bo- leyn; which the latest accounts celebrate on the 25th of January, 1533. Archbishop Parker says, he actually performed the ceremony. Fox says, it was impossible, for he was certainly then in Ger- many. ‘The controversy is scarce worth deciding. In however contemptible a light the pope’s autho- rity was at this time considered, the new archbishop it seems, could not legally be consecrated without bulls from Rome. Henry, it may be imagined, might have dispensed with this form; but te get rid of forms is often the Jast work of reformation. The price of the commodity however was greatly fallen. Fhe popes formerly exacted more than a thousand pounds of our money, for their bulls of consecration; but the new archbishop, or rather the king, who seems to have managed the matter, contrived to procure them for less than half that sam. | With regard to the oath of fidelity to the pope, which the archbishop was obliged to take at his consecration, he protested, that he took it in no sense, but such as was wholly consistent with the laws. of God—the king’s prerogative—and the sta- tutes of the realm—that he did not bind himself from speaking his mind freely in matters of religion—the government of the church; and the rights of the crown—and that he meant, on all occasions, te oppose- ihe pope’s illegal authority ; and condemn his errors. The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 15 This oath, taken in a sense so very opposite to its real intention, has often been alleged against the archbishop ; and indeed it seems rather to injure the feelings of adelicate mind, His friends how- ever suppose they sufficiently apologize for his beha- viour, by observing, that he made his exceptions in an open manner, without any mental reservation ; and that he fully satisfied those, who were empowered to administer the oath. Thus was a private churchman raised, at one step, to the first dignity of his profession ; and though the truth of history hath obliged us to confess, that he took some steps not quite so direct as might be wished, in this hasty advancement; yet we cannot by any means consider him as a man who had formed any settled plans of ambition, which he was resolved. at all hazards to support; but that in what he did amiss, he was rather violently borne down by the king’s authority. His mildness and simplicity were unequally matched with the impetuosity of Henry; who having no scruples of his own, considered little the scruples of others. To this may be added, that the primate thought himself strongly attached by gratitude to his prince. And indeed the errors of this excellent person, as we sliall have other occa- sions to observe, were less owing to the temptations of vice, than to the weakness ofsome unguarded vir tue.—Thus much at least may be said in apology for those parts of his conduct at this time, which seem rather to require one. As to the king, his placing so good a man at the. head of the church, deserves little praise. If we may judge from the general tenor of his character, which was throughout unprincipled, and. inconsist- ent, he.meant nothing more than to advance a man, who. had shewn himself so ready a casuist; and was able to take so vigorous. a part against the church of Rome, which Henry was at this time determined to oppose, | ; 16 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. Very soon after his consecration, the primate was callud on to finish the great cause of the divorce yi passing a final sentence. The queen had retired to Ampthill, a royal man- sion near St. Albans; where she lived with great discretion; and drew the pity and respect of the whole nation by the decency, and dignity of her suf- ferings. The town of Dunstable, which lay almost in sight of her windows, was appointed by Henry, with "his usual indelicacy, as the place where the archbishop, and his associates were to sit in consis- tery. As Henry well knew the queen would not answer the summons ; the vicinity of the place, being of no consequence, had the appearance of an addi- tional affront. _ The queen treated the summons she received, with that indignation which was expected ; and being pronounced contumacious, a final sentence of divorée was passed. There was somethirg also very indelicate in plac- ing the primate at the head of this court, as he had already taken so principal a part in.the cause. It » gave great offence to the queen, and shocked the archbishop himseif: bet Henry, who had no idea of decency, would hear no reason against it. Within a few weeks after the divorce, on the 7th of September, 1533, the princess Elizabeth was born; and the king ordered the archbishop to-be her godfather. “# SECTION iV. The definitive sentence which had passed in Eng- land, it may easily be supposed, occasioned much clamour at Rome, where menaces of excommuni- cation, in a very lofty tone, were thrown out. In return, the king and the primate joined in an appeal to a general council, a theme then very popular; The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 17 both among protestants and papists. This appeal they notified to the pope, who was then at Aiar- seilles. It was entrusted to the care of Bonner, afterwards the celebrated bishop of London; whe executed his commission with his usual vehemence. The incensed pope, on the other hand, equally impe- taous, talked of throwing the minister headlong into a cauldron of molten lead: on which Bonner, alarmed at the idea, precipitately retired. Francis I. was, at this time, joined in bonds of the strictest amity with England. The part which Henry had taken in the affairs of Europe, after the fatal battle of Pavia, had rivettedthe generous heart of the French monarch to him with more than poli- tical friendship. Francis had seen with real concern, the progress of the breach between Henry and the see of Rome; and had resolved to take this oppor- tunity of an interview with the pope, to endeavour to repay his obligations to the king of England, by bringing his disagreeable difference with the pontiff, if possible, to an accommodation. He made the attempt: but found the pope full ef resentment; and it was with the utmost difficulty, that he at length prevailed on him to promise, that Henry might still expect a favourable sentence frem the conclave, if he would make his submission before a short da¥, which was appointed... But this was only half thé obstacle. Henry was as lofty as the pope; and could as ill breok submission, as the other could bear controul. There happened to be in the French king’s retinue at Marseilles, 2 churchman of very eminent abilities, Bellay, bishop ef Bayonne.’ An accidental circum- stance had just thrown the eyes of all men upon him. The night before the pope made his public entrance, it was discovered, that the president of the parlia- ment, who had been appoimted to receive him with a latin oration, had unluckily chosen a subject which would certainly give the pontiff offence: and yet 18 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer- there was no time for a new composition. In this: article of extremity, when the whole business of the ceremonial was deranged, Bellay offered his service ~ to speak extempore ; and did it with such uncommon propriety and elegance, that he was marked from that time, as a man of the first genius in France. : This person the French king made choice of to per-- suade Henry into the agreement he had just made. with the pope. The bishop knew mankind, and could. adapt himself to their foibles. Henry was well tine- tured with the erudition of those times.; and affected. greatly the character of being the patron of learning. Bellay knew him thoroughly ; and drawing the dis-. course from business. to letters, would often put him. in mind of the great reputation he had in Europe for learning, and how much the whole catholic cause was. indebted to his pen. By artfully insinuating these topics, he at length engaged Henry to accept the-- accommodation, which Francis had made for him ;. and to send a courier with his submission to Rome. This treaty with the pope was not transacted so secretly, but in part it transpired, and gave the first. alarm to the protestant party ; whom it entirely con-. vinced of the fickleness of the king’s temper, and of the slender grounds they had for the certainty even. of a bare toleration. None was more distressed than the archbishop: but with his usual calmness, and cautien he held his peace; and trusted for the. protection of religion to that Almighty Hand, which had begun the reformation of it. In this suspense the minds of men remained man weeks; and they whose principles waited on every. change, began already to waver ; and to talk publicly of the precipitancy of the late innovations, which ran. the risk of throwing the kingdom into such a ferment,. as could not easily be allayed. At length the long expected courier arrived from Rome; and produced a new agitation in the minds. of men. All! was now declared to be over; and such The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 18 a breach made with the pope, as could never again be healed. The account of the matter was this, Contrary winds had detained the courier, it seems, beyond his day. The bishop of Bayonne, (who, after all his ser- vices in England, had himself undertaken a voyage to. Rome>to negotiate with the pope) pressed his holiness to make some allowance for the uncertainty and danger of winds and seas ; especially as it was then in the depth of winter: and to suspend a defi- nitive sentence for one week only. But the empe- ror’s influence, and the pope’s own irascible temper prevailed for hastier measures. Nay, even the usual forms of business were accelérated; and after a shorter heariug than, in such a case, was commonly allowed, a definitive senteice was passed, confirming the king’s marriage with Catharine; and declaring him excommunicated, if he did not put away his present queen. Two days after the definitive sentence had passed, the king’s submission arrived. 'The pope stood aghast: but it was now too late; the sentence could not be reviewed; the cardinals of the opposition holding firm 1o the established rules of the conclave. If any event could authorize man to point out the immediate finger of God, this certainly might. Many historians have entertained doubts of the king’s sincerity in this business; and it is certain the parliament, at this time, was beginning to take mea- sures not very agreeable to the popish interest. But however this may be reconciled, it is difficult to say, what Henry’s meaning could be, if it was not pure. He had already felt his own strength ; and was under no necessity either to amuse or temporize: nor was - duplicity among those faults, which are commonly laid to bis charge. While affairs with the court of Reme were thus depending, the emissaries of the popish party allowed themselves unbridled licence in England, We are. 20 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. amazed that such a prince as Henry could bear to be told in his own chapel, That unless he restored religion, dogs should lick his blood, as they had licked the blood of Ahab. But there was a grossness in the manners of those times, which we must carry along with us iu all our inquiries into them. The actions of men were perhaps more restrained than they are now; their tongues were certainly more licentious; and Henry, who had no idea of delicacy himself, was less offended, than might be imagined, at the gross indelicacy of others. . But of ail the efforts of the popish clergy at this , time, the delusions of the maid of Kent were the most extraordinary. This enthusiast, falling into artful hands, was managed in such a way, as to draw the attention of thewhole kmgdom. Her prophecies were uttered in very free language; and she poured the vengeance of heaven, with a very liberal hand, on the king, and his abettors. Her impostures were at length detected; and she suffered death with her accomplices. SECTION V. The parliament, in the mean time, took vigorous measures in suppoit of religious liberty. Such a spirit was raised in the commons, that they debated freely on the great question of the supremacy of the pope—a question which, if ever moved before, had been always treated with the utmost distance and timidity. It was carried however now against the see of Rome, with a very high hand. © In elder times, when parliaments questioned only some exorbitant claim of the pope—his power to raise money in England, or to confer benefices on — foreigners ; however spirited such inquiries appeared at the time, posterity saw they had been carried on without foresight, A few branches might be lopped The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 2 off, but as the trunk itself was left startding, it was able, at the returning season, to shoot as vigorously as before. ’ One would have imagined, that an act so destruc- tive of popery, as the act of supremacy, would at least have been retarded by some dissentient voices, among so many who were friends to the see of Rome in their hearts. But though it met with opposition, yet it was much less opposed than could have been imagined ; and by few persons of consequence. Lee of York, Tunstal of Durham, and Stokesly of Len- don, all papists, and two of them bigoted, acceded to it. Gardiner was even strenuous in its support. **The realm and the church, (said he, with that sub- tilty which is characteristic in him) consist of the same people. And as the king is head of the — he must therefore be head of the church.” This act was obtained chiefly by the abilities of the primate, who discovered such a fund of learning, and good sense on the question, aud delivered his sentiments in such a flow of natural and easy elo- quence, that he silenced opposition, and gave his cause all the lustre, which reason and argument could give. When the prejudices of men began to cool, and the consequences of this very important act were seriously considered, all sober men of every denomi- nation acknowledged the utility of it. They hoped © a more orderly clergy would now succeed ; -whose manners might be more easily mspected ; and whose conduct would be amenable to civil authority. They hoped an end would now be put to those contesis between the civil and ecclesiastical powers, which had often cost the nation so dear. ‘They saw a way opened for the redress of many grievances, which could not easily approach the court of Rome at so remote a distance, and so intrenched in furms. In short they saw a variety of advantages from the simplicity of the government, as it was now estab- 22 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer.’ lished ; and from the abolition of that gross alsur- dity in every political system, an ¢mperium in imperto. The protestants had still farther cause for rejoic- ing. They considered this act as the only thing, which could open a way to reformation. For though in itself it had no immediate connexion either with doctrine or discipline, yet without it no step could be taken towards tlie reformation of either. Besides, they thought the abrogation of the decretals was a great step towards the int: oduction of the bible; and imagined they should he able, through so wide a breach, to push out every error, and every corrup- tion of the church. When this celebrated act passed, another, as a kind of appendage to it, passed also—the act of succession ; which settled the crown on the children of the present queen; declaring Mary, the daughter ‘of Catbarine, in effect illegitimate. This act involved in ruin two excellent men. Fisher, bishop of Rochester, and Sir Thomas More. The parliament kad declared the denial of the king’s supremacy to be high treason: and imposed a test cath to be taken by all people in office; and indeed universally, if required. Fisher refused it, and More, when questioned, talked in very ambiguous language. He might as well have spoken plainly. Henry, impatient of controul, considered h‘s ambi- cuity as guilt. The primate laboured with every application of his interest and talents, to preserve these victims of lawless power. With More he had lived on terms of great familiarity ; and was prompted to-employ even casuistyy to save him. ‘On one hand, said he, you are doubtful as to the point in question. On the other, you are certain, you ought to obey your prince. Let doubt then give way to certainty.”—More smiled, and laid his head upon the block. This was not the only innocent blood, which was -shed at this time. That queen, for whose sake I - Lhe Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 23 Henry had put away a wife with whom he had lived twenty years, was herself in little more than three, become the object of his aversion; and was con- _demned to death on the merest surmise. A few un- ‘guarded expressions were the utmost, that could be proved against her. She was a lady of a gay and lively temper ; and in such dispositions, little verbal levities are not only consistent with the purest manners; but even sometimes perhaps indicative of them. Henry however wished not to find her innocent; and indiscretion had the force of crime. Among the many suspicicus circumstances, which attended this very mysterious affair, it was not one of the least, that during the discussion of it, the - archbishop was directed, by an order from the king, to keep his house at Lambeth. The popish party were universally bent against the queen; and it was supposed, were afraid of the primate’s interpusition and influence. Henry however, when it served bis purpose, in- troduced him as an actor in the affair. The life of the queen was not all the king aimed at. Her daughter, the lady Elizabeth, must also be declared illegitimate, to make way for the posterity of his future consort. To this end, he resulved, on the strength of some surmise of a precontract, to be divorced from her, before he put her to death. But - though the earl of Northumberland, who was sup- posed to be the other party, made the most solemn allegations, that no such contract had ever existed, - yet the king was determined she should be found guilty ; and the arckbishop was to be his instrument. To him, it is said, the queen made a private confes- sion of her crimes ; and the comment of history on her confession is, that having been sentenced to be burnt, or beheaded, as the king pleased, she was terrified into a confession to avoid the more rigorous - part of the sentence. On the strength however of 24 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. this confession, the archbishop passed a sentence of divorce. Immediately after this sentence, she was beheaded; and the king, void of every idea, not only of feeling, but of decency, the very next day, married Jane Seymour. By this precipitancy however he made a better apology for the unfortunate Ann Boleyn, than- the most zealous of her advocates could have done. When we consider the whole of this black affair— the want of legal evidence to prove any crime—yet a sentence of death passed in consequence of that insufficient proof—a precontract supposed, which was to void the marriage—and yet the crime of adultery still charged—the terrifying mode of the sentence—and above all, the king’s known attach- ment to anether lady—we are surprised to find a man of the archbishop’s character, submitting in any _ shape, to be an actor in so complicated a scene of barbarism, cruelty, absurdity, and injustice. The’ confession had certainly all the appearance of being extorted—by both parties the contract was denied on oath—and if both parties had even confessed it, it is probablé that the archbishop might have found strong arguments to prove, in any other mstance, that a consummated marriage was a more mviolable bond than a precontract; and still more so, if the parties first contracting had given up their mutual vows. ‘The whole, in short, has the appearance of a dishonest submission to a tyrant’s passions; and we can apologize for it only as we have done for some other of this prelate’s compliances, by supposing that his meekness was violently borne dewn by the king’s impetuosity. indeed the plenitude of a king’s power was never so thoroughly impressed on the minds of men, as in this reign; though it took, in future reigns, as far as such jargon can do, in a more systemized form. The Vox Dei, which was afterwards too freely sup- posed to “ies the people, was however now The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. pa supposed to issue solely from the throne. When therefore we find these great condescensions te a prince, in men of eminent characters, we must nct measure them by the liberal notions of later times; but must make some allowances for those high ideas of kingly power, which prevailed in those periods, in which they lived. It is true, we are told, the primate made a spi- rited application to the king in the queen’s fayeur : but on this apology, itis probable, none of his ad- yocates will be very forward to expatiate. The more mmuocent he thought her, the more guilty he must think himself. E How far his acting ex officio was an apology, let those define, who thmk themselves obliged to per- form the functions of an office, which requires unlaw- ful deeds. - SECTION VI. Queen Ann’s death was considered by the popish party as the signal of victory. They had little con- ception, that the protestants could unite under any other leader, who could have interest with the king. But they formed a wrong judgment; and had the mortification to see the primate’s influence in no degree diminished. All therefore, who wished well to a reformation, looked up to him, as the only person who was capable of conducting it. And indeed he _ was every way qualified to answer their wishes. By | prudent caution, discreet forbearance, and pure sim- plicity of manners, he was able to oppose and coun- teract the designs of some of the most artful men of his time. For there are seasons when simplicity will have the advantage of art; and will mislead | even the designing man; who judging from his own feelings, considers a plain and open behaviqur asa “mask. vou. II. c — 26 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer: It was very necessary indeed that the protestant cause should have at least one able leader: for ex- cept the archbishop himself, there was not a man who favoured it, and had the power to conduct it. The earl of Essex, it is true, who was then secretary of state, was a man of great ability. No one had taken a juster measure of the times ; or understood with more exactness, that difficult part of the minis- terial office, the management of parties. But Essex sat at another helm, which called for all his address ; and he could rarely assist the archbishop, however well inclined, exeept when the affairs of the church. coincided with the business of the state: nor was he enough acquainted with theological matters to give a consequential opinion in any of the intended alterations of religion. Among the bishops of those times, who favoured the reformation, were Latimer, bishop of Worcester, Shaxton, of Salisbury, and Barlow, of St. David's. These were the primate’s natural coadjutors; but none of them was able to give him any material assistance. Latimer possessed every virtue that could adorn a Christian prelate. No man opposed vice more successfully ; or kept the clergy. of his diocese in better order. But in traversing the arts of party, he had no address. Perfectly sincere himself, he had little comprehension of the duplicity of others ; and seemed to think that nothing was requisite to give either a party, or an individual a proper direc- tion, but a genuine display of truth. He considered only what was right to be done ; not what the times could bear. Shaxton had lived more in the world than Lati- mer ; but was still a worse associate to the archbishop. He had an unaccommodating sourness about him; which was continually taking or giving offence. His moroseness was marked strongly in the lines of his visage; which almost prejudiced men at sight against : The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 27 every proposal he could make. Nor was he without a tincture of pride, and self-importance ; which are bad in any man, worse in.a churchman, and worst of all in a reformer. Barlow was as little depended on by the archbishop as either of the other. He was a man of sense and learning ; but was so indiscreet, so totally unguarded, and his conversation so full of levity, that the pri- mate was always afraid of any communication with him on matters of business: and would sometimes say, on coming to the conclusion of a long debate, “‘ This is all very true ; but my brother Barlow, in half an hour, will teach the world to believe it is but a jest.” Perhaps indeed it was not to be regretted, that the primate had no associate. Under the wise coun- sels of one prudent man, the arduous business of reformation probably prospered better, than it could have done in the hands of many. In the whole sys- tem of human affairs, it is certainly the nicest point to conduct the religious opinions of the public. The more quietly and gently every change is introduced, the better. Altercation is fatal to the attempt; and altercation is generally found in a multiplicity of voices. A multiplicity of opinions succeeds a mui- tiplicity of voices. ‘The passions armed with reli- gious zeal soon enter the lists; and all is presently confusion. The wisdom and decisive judgment of a single leader prevented this. By attending carefully to times and seasons, and throwing out only such inno- vations as he found men were able to bear, the pru- dent archbishop introduced imperceptibly the most consequential changes. te i His difficulties however were very great. To orm a religious establishment out of the general onfusion, in which all things were now involved, ppeared a work of infinite perplexity. That flux f opinions, which the neiepaetion occasioned, was c 38 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. an endless source of discord: and the more men teceded from that central point of authority, whieh had drawn them together; the wider they spread from each other. Every man had his favourite tenet, in which he thought the sum of Christianity consisted ; little sects began to form themselves; and the pri- mate soon found how impossible it was to impress the large idea of religion upon the narrow mind of arty. ; , : The same diversity of opinion which distracted the people, was found among the leaders. Every one had his own creed; and the mischief was, that no man thought it a hardship to impose his own creed on others. Some thought the ceremonies only of the Romish church were antichristian ; and adhered with firmness to its doctrines. Others re- jected the doctrines; but were dazzled with the splendour of its ceremonies. Some again thought it prudent, as a conciliating measure, to retain every thing that could be retained with innocence : while others cried out loudly for utter extirpation ; and thought the farther they got from popery, the nearer they advanced to truth. The difficulties, in the way of reformation, which arose thus from the different opinions of protestants, were still greatly increased by the opposition of papists. This large body of men, it may easily be imagined, were more than ordinarily inflamed by the turn which affairs were likely to take against them. If they were before formidable for their numbers, they now became more so, when embodied in a suffering cause, supporting one common end, and availing themselves of all those arts, which are gene- rally made use of by the instruments of declining party. Among these arts, the most ebvious, and the most effectual was, to foment jealousy and discord| among the various sectaries of the new religion; a sh which of themselves they were sufficiently incline But the difficulties, which arose from the popi The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 2 party, would have been more easily surmounted, if the king had not been at its head. The fame which Henry had acquired, as defender of the faith, had invariably attached his haughty mind to the doctrines of popery. The supremacy indeed flattered his ambition; and he was glad, as far as that was an object, to coincide with the circumstances of the times; but he was careful to have it believed, that he was no convert to the opinions of the new faith ; and that his heart had not received the least impression against the religion of his forefathers. Whatever advantage therefore the protestants gained during this reign, they were entirely indebted for it, either to the pride, the caprice, or the interest of the king. Amidst all these difficulties, the archbishop en- deavoured gradually to mature in his own breast every part-of the great scheme he had in view, before he ventured to bring it forward. He began, in the spirit of equity, with redressing the abuses of his own courts; though together with these abuses, he retrenched his own fees; and those of his officers. This gave the public an early and favourable impression of his designs. The great number of idle holidays, with which the calendar was charged, became the next object of his censure. The archbishop himself, to the astonish- ment of those around him, sat down toa hot supper on the eve of St. Thomas of Canterbury. As these holidays interfered with.seed time and harvest, it was generally not unpopular to abolish them. It was popular also, as well as highly necessary, to regulate the public discourses of the clergy. The pulpit eloquence indeed of that time, was little more _than a gross attempt to exalt the power of the chureh. The good archbishop saw its abuse ; and endeavoured to make it the vehicle of instruction. But the regula- tions he had'yet made werefew. With his usual cau- | tion he felt his ground as he proceeded; and it was cs 30 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. not till long afterwards, that he completed his inten- tion on this head, by the publication of the homilies. How exceedingly a reformation in preaching was wanted, we may judge from the following extracts from sermons, which we may suppose were the best the times produced, as they were thought worthy of being made public. In one of these sermons, the priest inveighing against irreverence to the ministers of religion, tells the following story: ‘‘ St. Austin,” says he, ‘‘saw two women prating together in the pope’s chapel, and the fiend sitting in their necks, writing a long roll of what the women said. Pre- sently letting it fall, St. Austin took it up; and asking the women what they had said, they answered, only a few paternosters. Then St. Austin read the: bill, and there was never a good word in it.”—In another sermon we are told, “‘ that four men had stolen an abbot’s ox. The abbot did a sentence, and cursed them. Three of them were shriven, and asked mercy. The fourth died without being ab- solved. . So when he was dead, his spirit walked by night, and scared all who stirred from their houses after sun set. It happened that once, as a priest went in the night, with God's body, toa sick man, the spirit met him, and told him who he was, and why he walked ; and prayed the priest to tell his wife to make amends to the abbot, that he might absolve him ; for he could have no rest till then. So this was done, and the poor soul at length went to rest.”—In a sermon upon the mass, the people are told, that, among the benefits arising from it, “ On the day they hear it, all idle oaths, and forgotten sins shall be forgiven. On that day they shall not lose their sight; nor die a sudden death ; nor wax aged: and every step thitherward, and homeward, an angel shall reckon.” —The immediate tendency of such discourses was obvious. The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 31 SECTION VIL. Thus far the primate, however cautious, ventured with less hesitation. What he had yet done was little more, than fell under his own proper authority. But it required more address to strip the popular opinions of the times of that error, and absurdity, which adhered to them. Some steps however were taken, which at least narrowed a few of the grossest of the popish doctrines. Tradition was not expressly disavowed ; but the bible, and creeds were made the rule of faith.— Images were not forbidden ; but the people were in- structed to consider them only as incentives of de- votion.—Prayers to saints were allowed ; but Christ’s sole mediation with the Father was insisted on.— Sprinkling holy water, scattering ashes, and creeping to the cross, were tolerated; but the people were assured, they made no atonement for sin.—The ex- istence of purgatory was not disputed ; but all in- dulgences, and mercenary pardons were declared invalid. How far indeed the archbishop himself was en- lightened, cannot easily be known at this day ; but it is probable, that whatever had been his own pri- vate opinions, he would not have ventured farther in public than he now did. The doctrine of transubstantiation was left pre- cisely asit stood. Our ecclesiastic writers all agree, that the primate himself held that opinion, till within a few years of his death ; which is the more surprising as Wicliff, near two centuries before, had said much to bring it into discredit. How firmly attached the primate was to it, at this time, appeared on the fol- lowing occasion. _ John Lambert, a man of eminent piety, having de- nied the real presence, was cited before the arch- c4 4 32 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. bishop ; who with a mixture of mildness and gravity, expostulated with him, on his maintaining so unscrip- tural an error. Lambert retired modestly; but it appearing afterwards, that he was not converted, the affair was carried before the king. ‘The king, resolv- ing himself to confute so notorious a heretic, cited him to enter into free debate on the subject. The royal pedant entered the place of combat, sur- rounded by his bishops, and nobles. ‘The archbishop sat at his right hand, and assisted at this very extra- ordinary disputation, Lambert being confounded with an assembly so little suited to the freedom of — debate, yielded an easy victory to the king; who triumphing over him in the true spirit of a polemic ; condemned him to the stake. We do not find that the archbishop took any part in his death; it were to be wished he had rid his hands of the disputation like~ wise. The primate shewed the same attachment to the doctrine of transubstantiation on another occasion. Vadian, a learned foreigner, having written a treatise against the corporeal presence, thought it a proper work for the archbishop of Canterbury to patronize, and presented it to him ; concluding that his grace’s opinions on that subject, were as liberal as his own. But the archbishop was not a little displeased. He informed Vadian, that his book had not made a con- vert of him; and that he was hurt with the idea - of being thought the patron of such unseriptural opinions. In the year 1538, the archbishop finished a great work, which he had long had _in hand, the printing. of an English bible. Wicliff was the first Englishman who undertook to render the Holy Scriptures into his native tongue. Bat Wicliff’s translation was now obsolete; and to be found only as a matter of curiosity in a few libra- ries. In the year 1526 Tindal translated and printed the New Testament in the low countries. But his The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 33 translation, which was rather a hasty performance, Was very incorrect ; and nobody was more sensible of its deficiencies than Tindal himself. He was pub- lic spirited enough to have amended the faults of it, by a new edition - but his fmances were too scanty forsuch an undertaking. The zeal of Tunstal bishop of Durham, furnished him the means. Tonstal, though a papist, was the most moderate of men; and being desirous of removing a stumbling bleck as quietly as possible, he privately bought up the whole impression at his own expence, and burnt it*. This money being returned into Tindal’s hands, en- abled him to republish his work in a more correct form. By the great industry however of the popish party this edition also was in a good measure sup- pressed: and indeed it was at best an maccurate translation ; being the performance only of a single man, who laboured also under many disadvantages. This version however, inaccurate as it was, the archbishop made the basis of the work, he now im- tended ; and the method he took, was to send por- tions of it te be corrected by the bishops, and other _ learned divines ; reserving to himself the revisal ef - the whole. Stokesley, bishop of London, was the only prelate, who refused bis contribution. “< It is no wonder,” (said one of the archbishop’s chaplams, with more * A copy of this impression, supposed to be the only copy remaining, was picked up by one of the late lord Oxford's collectors ; and was esteemed so valuable a pur- chase by his lordship, that it is said he settled 20/. 2 year - for life on the person who procared it. Lord Oxford's li- brary being afterwards purchased by Osborn, at Grey’s Inn gate, this curious book was marked by the undiscern- ing beokseller at fifteen shillings only ; at which price Mr. Ames bought it. When Mr. Ames’s books were _ offered to the public by Mr. Lanford, in May 1760, this _ book was sold by auction for fourteen guineas and 2 half. _ In whose hands it is now, I have not heard, : co ' 34 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. humour than charity) ‘‘ that my lord of London re- fuses to have any hand in this business: itis a testa- ment, in which he knows well he hath no legacy.” This bible, through the means of the lord Essex, was licensed by the king ; and fixed to a desk in all paro- chial churches. The ardour, with which, we are informed, men flocked to read it, is incredible. They, who could, purchased it; and they who could not, crowded to read it, or to hear it read, in churghes; where it was common to see little assemblies of mechanics meeting together for that purpose after the labour of the day. Many even learned to read in their old age, that they might have the pleasure of instructing themselves from the Scriptures. “Mr. Fox mentions two apprentices, who joined, each his little stock, and bought a bible, which at every interval of leisure, they read ; but being afraid of their master, who was a zealous papist, they kept it under the straw of their bed. Such was the extacy of joy, with which this blessing was received at that time—when it was uncommon. Soon afterwards, under the authority of convoca- tion, the archbishop took a farther step. The creed, the Lord’s prayer, and the ten commandments were allowed to be taught in English. A plain exposi- tion also of the more obvious points of faith, and practice, was published in a treatise, which was ge- nerally called the bishop’s book, from the hands, through which it went: its real title was, The Insti- tution of a Christian Man. It was afterwards en- Jarged, and published under the royal license; and then became the king’s book. These were the principal steps, which the arch- bishop tock in the business of reformation—all taken _ between the years 1533 and 1538. His difficult cir- cumstances allowed no more. It is wonderful in- deed he did so much: for exceptin the matters of su- premacy, and transubstantiation, the king and he had The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 35 very. different sentiments on every topic of religion, and the passions of Henry, those gusts of whirlwind:: made it dangerous for any one to oppose him. But the archbishop, though he tried this hardy experiment oftener than once, never lost his favour.—In the bu- siness of monasteries he risked it most. * Henry had already laid his rapacious hands on some of the smaller houses ; and finding the prey al- luring, he determined to make a second, and more daring attempt. The larger houses afforded his ava- rice a more ample range. The affair was brought into parliament; and men seemed to think, they were at liberty to speak their opinions freely. They agreed, that the wealth of the church was a dead weight on the nation—that it debauched the clergy ; and drained the people—and that it was just, and right, to lay public hands on this useless mass of treasure.—At the same time having been shoeked at seeing the king appropriate to himself, as he had lately done, the piety of ages; or lavish it in wanton _ donations on the avarice of his courtiers; they cried, «* Let us strip the clergy of their wealth; but let us pass a law, that it may be employed in some national service.” . Of the party which held this language, the arch- bishop was at the head. With great earnestness he spoke in this cause; and proposed various schemes for throwing this mass of sacred treasure into some useful channel. He mentioned the endowment of schools ; the maintenance of scholars at the univer- sities ; the foundation of hospitals, and alms-houses: “* Nay, rather, said he, than suffer it tabe consumed in private channels, let us expend it on high-roads.” One of his schemes was new; and seems to have been happily conceived. He proposed to institute colleges of priests in every cathedral, composed of students, just removed, and well recommended, from the universities. Here they were to apply them- selves to divinity under sarge of the bishops: who. c 36 ‘The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. being thus acquainted with their worth and abilities, might collate them from these seminaries to paro- chial charges. But this, and all his other beneficial schemes were overruled. The king was determined to apply this wealth to other uses; and hinted his intentions to the house in a very intelligible manner. The royal hint gave a sudden change to the deliberations of parliament. Every man trembled at the idea of opposition. Simple terror effected then, what ve- nality hath since effected. Essex immediately gave way. ‘The boldest speakers were silent. ‘The pri- mate’s was the last mouth, which opened in this cause.— His honest zeal shewed the goodness of his heart ; and that was the reward of his labour. - SECTION VIiI. The opposition, which the king met with in this business from the protestant party, is thought by many historians to have lessened the archhishop’s influence ; and to have thrown weight, at this time, into the opposite scale. It is certain, the bishop of Winchester, and other leaders ‘of the popish party, began now to assume unusual spirits, and to appear with more importance at court. ‘ The bishop of Winchester was one of those mot- ley ministers, half statesman, and half ecclesiastic, which were common in those needy times, when the revenues of the church were necessary to support the servants of the crown. It was an invidious sup- port; and often fastened the odium of an indecorum on the king’s ministers; who had, as ministers al- ways have, opposition enough to parry in the com- mon course of business ; and it is very probable, that Gardiner, on this very ground, hath met with harder measure in history, than he niight otherwise haye done. ) 7 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 37 He is represented as having nothing of a church- man about him, but the name of a bishop. He had been bred to business from his earliest youth; and was thoroughly versed in all the wiles of men, considered either as individuals, or embodied im parties. He knew all the modes of access to every foible of the human heart; his own in the meantime, dark, and impenetrable. ‘ He was a man, who,” as Lloyd quaintly says, “‘ was to be traced like the fox; and like the Hebrew, to be read backwards :” and though the insidious cast of his eye indicated, that he was al- ways lying in wait: yet his strong sense, and per- suasive manner, inclined men to believe he was al- ways sincere; as better reasons could hardly be given, than he had ready on every. occasion. He was as little troubled with scruples, as any man, who thought it not proper entirely to throw off decency. What moral virtues, and what natural feelings he had, were all under the influence of ambition; and were accompanied by a happy lubricity of conscience, which ran glibly over every obstacle.—Such is the ortrait, which historians have given us of this man ; and theugh the colouring may be more heightened in some than in others; yet the same turn of feature is found in all. 5 This prelate being at the head of the popish party, and aided by the duke of Norfolk’s influence, thought- he hud now an opportunity to strike a blow, which might be fatal to the protestant cause. The times favouring him, he insinuated to the king, that the measures he was now pursuing had placed him in a. very precarious situation with regard to foreign powers—that the German protestants would in all probability be crushed—and that if this should be the case, it was very likely from the temper and sita- ation of men and things, that his majesty would see a very formidable league excited against him by the popish princes—that it was prudent.at least to guard against such an event—and that it might easily be 38 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. done by enacting some laws in favour of the old re- ligion, which might shew Christendom, that he had: not set his face against the church; but only against the supremacy of the pope. This language in a prudential light, was more than plausible; and it had its full effect on Henry ; especially as it coincided with his own apprehensions. ' For the enterprizing spirit of Charles V. then in league with the pope, seemed to be carrying every thing with a full tide of success in Germany ; and to have nothing so much in contemplation as to re- establish, through Europe, the spiritual dominion of the pope. : An alteration in the public faith was then a matter of easy decision. ‘The king’s inclination alone was sufficient to enforce it. ‘The duke of Norfolk there- ‘ fore, as had been agreed, informed the house of the king’s wish to shew his regard to the old religion ; and as it would be agreeable to his majesty to have every body think as he did, the duke presumed, that. nobody wished to think otherwise. The king’s ideas were received with reverence, and the whole house became immediately zealous papists ; and passed an act, which had been framed by Gardiner, in favour of some of the more peculiar doctrines of the Roman church—transubstantiation —communion in one kind—vows of chastity,—the celibacy of the clergy—private masses—and auricu- lar confession. This act, which passed im the year 1539, is known by the name of the act of the six articles ; and was guarded according to the supposed degrees of guilt, by fines, forfeitures, imprisonment, and death. | . The goed archbishop never appeared in a more truly Christian light, than on this occasion. In the midst of so general a defection, (for there were num- bers in the house, who had hitherto shewn great for- wardness in reformation), he-alone made a stand. Three days he maintained his ground; and baffled The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 39 the arguments of all opposers. But argument was not their weapon ; and the archbishop saw himself -obliged to sink under superior power. Henry or- dered him to leave the house. The primate refused : ** It was God’s cause, he said, and not man’s.” And when he could do no more, he boldly entered his pre- test.—Such an instance of fortitude is sufficient to wipe off many of those courtly stains, which have fastened on his memory. As the primate himself was a married man, it hath been said, he was particularly interested in this op- position: and it is certain, that as soon as the act passed, he sent his wife, who was a niece of Osian- der’s, intoGermany. But Mr. Strype gives us good reason to believe that his chief objection to any of these articles, was the cruelty of the penalties, with_ which they were guarded; so alien, he thought, to the spirit of Christianity. Itis amazing that the very extraordinary freedom, which the archbishop took on this occasion, did not entirely ruin him in the king’s favour. Indeed all men expected to have seen him sent immediately to the tower. But Henry’s regard for him was so far from being lessened, that he ordered the duke of Norfolk, with the earl of Essex, and others, to dine with him the next day at Lambeth ; and comfort him, as the king phrased it, under his disappointment.— “* My lord archbishop,” said Essex, ‘‘ you were born in a happy hour. Youcan do nothing amiss. Were I to do half of what you have done, my head must answer it:’—A prophetic speech, as it afterwards appeared! This singular visit, at Lambeth, though so well in- tended by the king, was the source of great morti- fication to all. The conversation, after dinner, fall- ing on the late ministry, and Wolsey’s name being - mentioned, Essex could not forbear drawing a paral- lel between the archbishop and the cardinal. The cardinal, said he, through the violence of his temper 40 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. in managing a debate, would often change his friends into enemies: whereas the mildness of the archbi- shop often makes his enemies his friends. Thé duke of Norfolk adopted the remark ; and surely, (said he with a sarcastic sneer,) nobody knew the cardinal better than my lord Essex, who was once his menial. Essex answered with some wrath, that he was not the only person in company, who had served the car- dinal; at least, who had shewn an inclination to serve him: for if fame spoke truth, the great duke of Norfolk himself had offered to be the cardinal’s ad- miral, if ever he should attain the papacy. The duke of Norfolk firing at this, started up, and with a vehe- ment oath, cried out, he lyed. ~ Essex preparing’ to resent the affront, the archbishop got up, and with the rest of the company interfering, composed the quarrel at that time: but the duke laid it up in one of those secret chambers of his memory, where those affronts are registered, which nothing but blood can expiate. The arguments, which the archbishop had used in parliament against the act of the six articles, had been represented to the king in so strong a light, that he expressed a great desire to see them; and the archbishop accordingly had them fairly copied out for his mspection. The fate of the'volume, in which they were contained, occasioned some per plexity. Among the amusements of the English esti of those” times, that of bear-baiting on the river Thames was in high esteem. In this diversion Henry happened to he engaged, when the archbishop’s secretary took boat at Lambeth, charged with his master’s book to Westminster. The waterman had orders to keep as far as possible frem the tumult; but whether led by curiosity to see the pastime, or through some unavoidable accident, he found him- self presently in the midst of the crowd; and by a mischance still greater, the bear making directly to The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 4b his boat; climbed up the side, and overset it. The secretary was soon taken up; but recovering from his surprize, he found he had lost his book. He hoped it might have sunk to the bottom ; but he dis- covered afterwards, that it had fallen into the hands of some ignorant persons, who had conveyed it to a popish priest. The priest conceiving it to be asatire on the six articles, determined to carry it to the coun- cil. The secretary, im the mean time, suspecting what might happen, applied to lord Essex, as his master’s friend. He had scarce told his story, when ‘the priest appeared, at the door of the council-cham- ber, with the book under his arm. Lord Essex ad- dressing him in an angry tone, and telling him that the book belonged to a privy-counsellor ; the priest delivered it up, with many humble gesticulations ; and was glad to get off without farther question. SECTION IX. The act of the six articles, was a signal to the whole popish party. -They now plainly saw . their power; and had only to exert it properly. The parliament and convocation were the scenes of action. Here the primate almost singly opposed them. A few of the bishops lent him aid; but it was feeble. They were either uninterested in the cause; or men of no abilities in business. One or two of them, from whom he expected assistance, deserted him. But the severest loss he felt, at this time, was that of his great friend, the earl of Essex. The interest of that eminent statesman declined with that of the protestants ; and he paid at the block, the penalty, of his master’s offences. The dissolution of monasteries had given general disgust. The alms, and hospitality. of the monks, indiscriminately ad- ministered, had through a course of ages‘ invited sloth ; and these channels of ready supply being now 42 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. stopped, the necessitous found it irksome to exchange a life of idleness for a life of industry. A general discontent soon finds a mouth to express it. Clamour grew loud; and the king's government uneasy. Something must necessarily be done. Among all the arts of expediency laid up in the cabinets of princes, the readiest is to sacrifice a mi- nister. The death of Cromwell was represented to the king as the best mean of composing the people. But though prudential reasons may necessitate a prince to discard a minister, yet guilt only, and that nicely examined, can authorize an actof blood. The hand of a tyrant however generally throws aside the balance. It is a nice machine; and requires pains, and temper to adjust it. ‘The sword is an instrument more decisive ; and of easier dispatch. Henry’s was always stained with blood—often with innocent blood—but never with blood more innocent than that of Essex. Among the many friends of this great man, several of whom had tasted largely of his bounty, not a single person endeavoured to avert his ruin, but the pri- mate. He with generous friendship wrote to the king ; united himself to the falling minister ; and en- deavoured, at the hazard of his own safety, to inspire his royal master with ideas of justice. But the fate of Essex was decreed; and so light a thing, as a whisper from the still voice of justice, could not avert it.—History unites in marking the duke of Norfolk, and the bishop of Winchester, as the secret contrivers of this base affair. The primate and Essex had ever maintained a uniform friendship for each other, through every period of their power. It wasafriendship pure from jealousy on both sides. Amidst all the jarrings of court faction, nothing ever disturbed it. Each knew the integrity of the other’s intentions; and each sup- ported the other's schemes with an exertion of all his interest. In some things perhaps the zeal of Essex The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 48 for his friend was apt to carry him too far; and the primate had oftener than once occasion to repress it. A priest near Scarborough, sitting among his com- panions, over his beer, at the door of a country ale- house ; and somebody happening to mention the arch- bishop ; ‘‘ That man,” said the priest, “as great as he is now, was once but an ostler; and has no more learning, than the goslings yonder on the green.” Essex, who had his spies in every quarter, was in- - formed of what the priest had said. A messenger was immediately dispatched. for him; and he was lodged in the Fleet. Some months elapsed, when the archbishop, who was entirely ignorant of the affair, received a petition from the poor priest, full of penitence for his impra- dence, and of supplication for mercy.’ The primate having inquired into the business sent forhim. “I hear,” said he, “‘ you have accused me of many things; and among others, of my being a very ignorant man. You have now an opportunity of setting your neighbours right in this matter; and may examine me, if you please.” The priest, in great confusion, besought his grace to pardon him: he never would offend im the same way again. “* Well then,” says the archbishop, “‘ since you will not examine me, let me examine you.” The priest was thunder-struck ; making many ex- cuses; and owning he was not much learned in book- matters. : The archbishop told him, he should not then go very deep; and asked him two or three of the plamest questions im the bible; Who was David's father? and who was Solomon’s? The priest confused at his own ignorance, stood speechless. ““You see,” said the archbishop, ‘* how your aceu- sation of me, rises against yourself. You are an ad- mirable judge of Jearning and learned men— Well, 44 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. my friend I had no hand in bringimg you here, and have no desire to keep you. Get home; and if you are an ignorant man, learn at least to be an honest one.” Soon after, the earl of Essex came to the primate ; and with some warmth told him, he might for the future fight his own battles—that he had intended to have made the priest do penance at Paul’s cross ; but his grace’s misjudged lenity had prevented him. ‘“* My good lord,” said the primate, taking him by the hand, “ be not offended. I have examined the man myself; and be assured from me he is neither worth your notice, nor mine.” Notwithstanding however the loss of his great as- sociate, the archbishop did not despair. An attempt was made in convocation to revive some popish cere- monies. A sort of ritual was produced, which con- sisted of ninety articles. The archbishop unaided went through the whole; and reasoned with such strength of argument as brought over many to his opinion. Whom he could not convince, he silenced. The next field in which he appeared was the house of lords; where he himself made the attack, by bringing in a bill to mitigate the penalties of the six articles. This was a bold attempt, and drew on him the whole force of opposition. 'The bishops of Rochester and Hereford, who had promised to assist him, gave way as the debate grew warm ; and begged the archbishop to follow their example. It was in vain, they told him, to persist : he could not benefit his cause ; but he might ruin himself. The archbishop, with that spirit which he always exerted, where reli- gion was concerned, declared himself careless of any consequence. His perseverance had an effect, which he darst not have hoped for. ‘The laity were entirely ex- empted from the penalties of the act; and the clergy were in no danger, till after the third conviction. The primate obtained also, that no offences should The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. _— 46 be cognizable, after they had lain dormant a year. It is not improbable that he was indebted for this victory to the book, which he had sent to the king ; the rigour of whose opinions it might, in some degree, have qualified. In another effort also the primate obtained an advantage. He prevailed with the king to allow tie use of a few prayers in the English tongue: which was the first attempt of the kind, that had been made. On the other hand, he had the mortification to see ~ the use of the bible taken'away. Winchester brought the affair into convocation. In the debate which ensued, the translation was chiefly objected to, “ Let the people have their bible,” said Winchester, “ but let it be a correct one; and let not error and heresy be spread by authority.” He proposed therefore to have the bible carefully examined; and with this view te have it put into the hands of the bishops ; where he doubted not he had influence to suspend it, aslong ashe pleased. ‘The primate saw his policy, and with all his weight opposed him. He wished to preserve the present translation even with all its inaccuracies; which he thought better than to run the risk of a2 new one. But he could not prevail. One point however he gained. Instead of putting the Bible into the hands of the bishops; he got it put into the hands of the two universities, which he supposed would be less subject to popish influence. He was right in his conjecture; for the universi- ties were very speedy in their revision. But the primate had the old battle to fight again. Though a more correct bible was produced, yet the same oppo- sition was still made to its publication; and new tepics of argument were introduced, ‘The arch- bishop however, had now encouraged a considerable party to second him; and the affair was combated with great vigour. But the opposition of the popish party became so formidable, that the archbishop was again entirely deserted. Single however, as he had 46 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. done before, he still bore up against his adversaries; and persevered, till by dint of perseverance he ob- tained a limited use of the Bible, though it was never publicly affowed during the remainder of Henry’s reign. ‘ SECTION X. ae While the primate was acting this great and noble part in parliament, an unexpected event placed him in a very delicate and dangerous situation. At an early hour, in the morning, an unknown person of the name of Lascelles, disired a secret ad- mittance to him; and with much hesitation opened an affair, which the archbishop would often say, gave his spirits a greater agitation than he ever felt before, or after.—The affair was no less than the discovery of the queen’s incontinence. : The primate, with his usual caution, weighed the information ; and the proof on which it rested; and he had the more time for deliberation, as the king was then on a progress. If the information were. justly founded, it was both wrong, and dangerous, to conceal it—if unjustly, it was equally so to divulge it. The dilemma was difficult. The business was perplexed also by a circumstance of peculiar delicacy. The queen was niece to the duke of Norfolk, who was at the head of the popish party ; and the good primate, who had seen with what sinister arts that class of men had carried on their schemes, was apprehensive, that such a story as this might have too much the air of retaliation, and the malignity of party; and if it should prove false, would fix an imputation on his character, which he had ever been careful to avoid. His enemies, he knew, were always on the watch against him; and might, for ought he knew, have taken this very me- thod of doing him an injury. a The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 47 _ Thus distracted bya view of the affair in every light, he went at last to the lord chancellor, and the earl of Hertford, whom the king had left with a commis- sion of regeney, during his absence; and to them he unbosomed his distress. After the first impression of terror was over, with which the privacy of such an affair naturally struck every one, who was connected with the tyrant, the chancellor, and lord Hertford were both of an opi- nion, that as the affair rested on such undoubted evidence, it was less hazardous to divulge, than to conceal it. This point being settled, the more ardu- ous one still remained, of informing the king. The primate thought it best, that all three should jom in the information ; and give it that weight, which no single person could give. Thetwo lords, on the other hand, were of a different opinion. As the intel- ligence, they said, had been given to the primate, and they had only been consulted, the information would come most naturally from him. Besides, they remarked, it was more respectful to keep a matter of so delicate a nature im a single hand; and if so, the primate’s ecclesiastical character, and well known judgment made him the properest messenger of bad news; as when he had given the wound, he could pour in balm to heal it—in conclusion, the meekness of the archbishop gave way; and he took upon him- self alone, the task of carrying the unwelcome truth to the*king. ° It was indeed an unwelcome truth. The king at _ this time, had so little conception of the queen’s dis- : honesty, and loved her with such entire affection, that _ he had lately given public thanks for the happiness _ he enjoyed with her. ‘ The method which the primate took, was to draw up the whole affair on paper, with all the evidence, on which it rested, and present it to the king in _ Henry took the information ane may suppose 48 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. he would. His fury broke out in vehement execra- tions and threats against these who had been the ‘contrivers of such villany. And yet even in his rage he seems to have spared the archbishop, as a man who might be imposed on; but could not intend deceit. By degrees however, as his royal fury sub- sided, and he examined the evidence coolly, it made a deep impression on him; and passions of another kind began to rise. In short, the queen and her accomplices were tried, condemned, and executed. A little before her death, she confessed her guilt to the archbishop ; and the full voice of history bears testimony to the justice of her sentence. About the time in which the archbishop was con- cemed in this affair, he was engaged in another, almost equally invidious ; the visitation of All-souls- college in Oxford. That society was in much dis- order. Their dissensions gave great offence; and the irregularity of their manners still greater. ‘They are taxed, in the language of those times, with their scandalous compotations, commessations, and ingur- gitations. The archbishop, as visitor, was called in by one of the contending parties ; and he found it no easy matter to compose their heats and restore good manners. With his usual vigour he went through the disagreeable task ; and having mixed as much lenity as possible, with his censures, he reviewed their statutes; and made such additions as he hoped would prevent any misbehaviour for the future. ha In the year 1542, which was the year after these troublesome affairs, happened the battle of Solway- moss; where the Scottish army received a total defeat. Many of their nobility being taken prisoners, were sent to London, and committed to the care of the most considerable persons about the court. The earl of Cassilis was sent to Lambeth, Here he © found himself in a school of philosophy and religion ; where every thing great and noble, and liberal, abounded. Cassilis himself had a turn for litera- The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 49 ture ; and soon became enamoured with this amiable suciety. The gentleness, and benevolence of the arch- bishop, in particular attracted his esteem; and brought him to think more favourably of the reformers ;-to whose opinions he soon became a thorongh convert. Scotland had not yet received the tenets of the re- formation: and the archbishop would often say, ‘‘ That when it should please God to enlighten that country, he hoped the intimacy which had subsisted between him and the earl of Cassilis, might not wholly be with- out effect.” And in fact it proved so: for some years afterwards, when the reformed opinions got footing in Scotland, nebody contributed so much to establish them, as that nobleman. SECTION XI. Thought it might be supposed that the queen’s death would have weakened the popish cause, yet we do not find that it produced any sucheffect. Many remarked, that after the first heat of the rupture with Rome, the king had been gradually returning towards it; and that, with regard to all the doctrines of popery, he was at this time more zealous than he had ever been: and they accounted for it very plau- sibly, by observing, that as his passions began to cool, the religious fear tock more possession of him. The pop ish party, it is certain, at this period, as~ sumed unusual spirits; and thought they had influ- ence enough to obtain any point. One morning the primate was surprised with a message from the king, who lay off Lambeth in his barge, and wished immediately to speak with him. As “he came on board, the king called out, ‘‘ I can ‘now inform you who is the greatest heretic in Kent :” and ordering the barge to row gently up the river, he seated the archbishop by him, and produced a large book, which he said contained an accusation VOL, II. 50 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. of several of the Kentish ministers against their diocesan. The archbishop, who was not very present in the article of surprize, gazed first at the king, and then at the book, and could not, in-some minutes, collect an answer. The king bad him not be distressed: ‘“«T consider the affair, said he, merely as a combina- tion .of your enemies ; and as such I shall treat it.” Commissioners were soon after appointed to exa- mine the evidence against the primate; and at tke head of the board, the king, with -his usual indeli- cacy, placed the primate himself. The archbishep was shocked at this designation ; and could barely be prevailed on to appear once at the opening of the com- mission. It sufficiently shewed however, how the King steod affected; and saved the Archbishop's advocates the trouble of any laboured defence. Each of the accusers endeavoured, with what art he was able, to withdraw himself from a business. which was likely to bring him so ungrateful a return. The chief contriver of this whele affair was the bishop of Winchester, who with great assiduity, had cellected a variety of passages from sermons, and other discourses in which it was supposed, the arch- bishop had shewn more regard to the new learning, (as protestantism was called) and the professors of it, than the Jaws then in force allowed. Among other agents whom Winchester employed, he drew over by his insinuating arts two persons, who were very nearly connected with the archbishop himself; Dr. Tho:ndon, suffragan of Dover, and Dr. Barber, a civilian. Each of them had been pro- moted by the archbishop, and held an office under him ; and both had been always treated by him on the footing of intimate friends. Barber even lived in his house; and had a pension settled on him, that: he might be ready with his advice on every occasion. When the proofs therefore, of this confederacy were put into the primate’s hands, we may suppose his The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 51 astonishment on finding a letter from each of these persons, containing a variety of matter against him, which his familiarity, and unreserved freedom with them had easily furnished. Soon afterwards, when these two persons hap- pened both to be with the archbishop, at his house at Beckesburne; “‘Come your ways with me, said he, leading them into his study; I must have your advice in a certain matter.” When he had carried them to a retired window in the room, ‘‘ You twain, he resumed, be men in whom I have had much trust; and you must now give me some council, I have been shamefully abused by one or twain, to whom I have shewed all my secrets. And the matter is so fallen out, that they have not only disclosed my se- crets, but also have taken upon them to accuse me of heresy ; and are become witnesses against me. If require you therefore to advise me, how [I shall be- have myself to them. You are both my friends; what say you to the matter ?” Whether they had any suspicion of the archbishop’s meaning, does not appear: /As the question how- ever was put, they could not avoid pronouncing with great severity against such villainy. The primate then drawing the letters from his besom, “‘ Know you, said he, these papers, my masters?—You have condemned yourselves. God make you both good -men. I never deserved this at your hands. If such men as you are not to be trusted, there is no fidelity to be found. I fear my left hand will accuse my right.” Having said this, he added after a pause, that they might rest assured, he would take no steps to punish their baseness: but he thought it fit to dis- charge them from his service. The king however treated the archbishop’s ac- users with more severity ; and threw many of them into prison. This alarming Gardiner, he wrote a fetter to the primate in the following abject style. ‘‘Gentle father, I have. not borne so tender a ; D2 52 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. heart towards you, as a true child ought to bear; though you never gave me occasion otherwise ; but rather by benefits provoked me to the contrary. I ask mercy of you with as contrite a heart, as ever David asked of God.—I desire you to remember the prodigal child. Iam full sorry for my fault; heartily confessing my rashness, and indeliberate doings. Forgive me this fault; and you shall never hereafter perceive, but that at all times I shall be as obedient, as ever was child to his natural father. Iam yours, and shail be yours; and that truly while Ilive. Good father, Ihave given myself unto you, heart, body, and service. And now remember that I am your true servant.” This letter, though it appears from Winchester’s future life, to have been a mere artifice, so wrought on the gentle nature of the primate, that hearing the king was resolved tu lay Winchester’s letters before the house of lords, he went to him, and at length prevailed on him, not to give the bishop any further trouble; but to let the matter drop. The event of this accusation checked the ardour of the archbishop’s enemies for some time; but it revived again in about two years, on the death of Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk. With this nobleman the king had preserved, “through life, a friendship, of which it was not thought his heart was susceptible; and on hearing of his death, he pronounced a short eulogy on‘his memory, which was beyond the most laboured panygeric. The news was brought him in council: ‘‘ God rest his soul! (said the king, with much emotion :) he was an honest man. [ have known him long; and never knew him speak a bad word behind the back of any man.” Then turning round the board with a sarcastic air, ‘“‘ Of which of you my lords, added he, can [ say as much?” The duke’s amiable manners had long engaged the esteem of the archbishop ; whose virtues, in Teturn, The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 33 were equally admired by the duke. A very sincere friendship subsisted hetween them; and it was thought the persuasive arguments of the primate had drawn the duke to think favourably of the reformers, whose friend and patron he was generally esteemed. Though the duke had ever been a cau‘ious man, and interfered little in public affairs, yet considering his favour with the king, the popish party thought his death of great advantage to their cause. They conceived, that it might both weaken the protestant interest ; and tend also to lessen the king’s regard for the primate. Elated with these hopes, the bishop of Winches- ter and his emissaries, beset the king, now yielding to age and infirmity; and endeavoured to awaken his religious fears. ‘‘ In vain might wise laws strug- gle with heresies, if the patrons of those heresies were above law. Of his majesty alone redress could be had. He was God’s vicegerent, to rectify the abuses of the times; and might be assured, the sword was not put into his hands in yain: he was accountable for the trust.” From hints they proceeded to plainer language ;. ‘and at length, in direct words, informed the king, that while the archbishop sat in council, nothing effectual could be consulted about religion. They prayed his majesty therefore to give leave for the primate to be sent to the Tower ; and it would then be seen how ample a charge against him would ap- 8 The king pondered, and consented. That very evening, as it grew dark, Henry sent for the archbishop to Whitehall. He was walking pen- sively in a long gallery, when the archbishop entered, “«My lord of Canterbury,” said the king, ‘‘ I have given permission to have you sent to the tower. Some lords of council. have dealt with me to that purpose. They have grievous things to lay to your charge, which they dare not utter, while you have free ad- mission to the board.” D3 54 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. The archbishop expressed his readiness to have his conduct inquired into, in whatever manner the king thought fit: and offered to go, with great ala- crity, to the Tower, till he had fully answered the accusations of his adversaries. The king interrupting him, as his manner was, with a burst of yociferation, expressed his surprize at the primate’s simplicity : but immediately soiten- ing his voice told him, that it was much easier to keep him from the Tower, than to deliver him out of it. ‘* You will be sent for, said he, in the morn- ing, by the council; and dealt with haughtily. If the lords talk of committing you, desire you may first hear your accusers. If they deny this, appeal to me; and take this ring, which you may shew them as a token.” At eight the next morning, the archbishop was accordingly called before the council ; and was kept some time standing at the door. Being admitted, he punctually followed the king’s direttions; and when the lords insisted on sending him to the Tower, he appealed to the king, whe had taken the affair, he told them, into his own hands. As he said this, he produced the ring, which was a token very well known. Every one present was confounded ; and the lord Russel starting up, cried out with an oath, ‘‘ I told you my lords, how it would be; and that the king would never suffer him to be committed.” When the affair was brought before the king, he made a short business of it. Striding haughtily round the room, and throwing an eye of indignation, first on one, and then on another: ‘I thought, said he, I had_a discreet council; but I see I am de- « ceived. How have ye handled here my lord of Can- terbury? What made ye of him? a slave; shutting — him out of the council chamber among serving men. —I would have you to understand, by the faith I owe to God, (laying his hand solemnly on his breast) The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 55 that if a prince can be beholden to a subject, I am to my lord of Canterbury ; whom I account as faith- ful a man towards his prince, as ever was prelate in this realm: and one to whom I am sundry ways beholden: and therefore he that loveth me, will re- gard him.” . Having said, this he strode out; and left the lords endeavouring which should apologize to the primate in the highest strain of compliment. Next day the king sent several of them, as was customary with him, after such dissensions, to dine with the archbishop at Tambeth. There is something singular in this whole affair. It is difficult to say, whether Henry was at first in ear- nest, and afterwards changed his resolution ; or whe- ther he took this method to check the forwardness of the archbishop’s enemies. While this scene was acting im the council, a part of the same plan was preparing in parliament. There sir John Goswick, in a studied harangue, accused the archbishop of being an uphelder of here- tical opinions ; with which he bad greatly infected the county of Kent. Henry being informed of this motion, called a gentleman in waiting, and sent sir John this message: ‘‘ Tell that varlet Goswick, that if he do not presently reconcile himself to my lord of Canterbury, 1 will punish him for the example of others. What knows he of my lord’s preaching in Kent? was not he, at that time, in Bedfordshire?” —The message was very intelligible; and had its full effect. SECTION XII. . But it was not only in matters of religion that every advantage was taken against the archbishop ; the most trivial cavils were often made. He had enemies ready for any species of calumny; and Sir D4 ° 56° The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. Thomas Seymour, who had abilities to object to nothing else, was able to object to the meanness of his house-keeping. On this head, he threw out insi- nuations to theking. Henry heard him with apparent indifference ; and carelessly answered, “ Ay! Sey- mour? and does my lord of Canterbury keep as little hospitality, as you say? In good faith, I thought the contrary.” The king said no more, but took an early oppor- tunity to send Sir Thomas, on some frivolous mes- sage, to Lambeth, about dinner-time. When he came there, he was carried through the great hall, where a bountiful table was spread, though only in its ordi- nary manner. From thence he was conducted up stairs to the archbishop, where he found a large com- pany just sitting down to dinner; among whom the archbishop, in his usual hearty manner, insisted that Sir Thomas should take a place. The next time the king saw him, “ Well, said he, Seymour, what cheer had you at Lambeth! for I suppose my Lord would keep you to dine.” ‘The poor man, confounded at the question, and seeing plainly the king’s meaning, threw himself at his feet, and begged his majesty to pardon the foul slander, with which he had aspersed the archbishop, He then frankly mentioned all he had seen; and concluded with saying, he believed nobody in the realm, except his highness himself, kept such a table. «‘ Ah! good man! said the king; all he hath, he spendeth in house-keeping : and if he now keep such a table, as you say, it being neither term, nor par- liament, he is meetly visited, at those times, I war- rant you.—But,” added the king, assuming a severer tone, ‘‘ I know the bottom of all these falsities. You want to have a finger in church matters, do you? But you may set your heart at rest: while I am king, there shall be no such doings.” These insinuations with regard t6 the archbishop’s great economy, seem, in some degree, to have been The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 57 credited by Sir William Cecil ;, who, ina letter, told the primate freely, what was current at court—that he, and all the bishops were immensely rich—and that they had nothing in view, but raising princely. fortunes for their families —The archbishop’s answer - to Cecil is so ingenuous, and bears so strong a stamp- of honesty, that it is well worth transcribing. ; *« After my hearty commendations and thanks, as well for your gentle letter, as for the copy of the pacification; and for your good remembrance of the two matters, which I desired you not to forget; the one concerning the bishop of Cologn’s letters; and the other concerning Mr. Mowse; for whom I give you my most hearty thanks. ; “As for your admonition, I take it most thank-- fully; as I have ever been most glad to be admo-- nished by all my friends; accounting no.man so. foolish, as he that will not. bear friendly admonition.. For myself, I fear not that saying of St. Paul, which you quote against me, half so much: as.I do stark beggary. I took not so much care about my living,. when I was a scholar at Cambridge,. as at this. present: and if a good auditor had my accounts, he would find no great surplusage-to grow. rich. on.. “ As to the rest of the bishops, they. are all beggars,. except one man; and I dare well say, he is not very rich. If I knew any bishop that were covetous, [ would surely admonish him. “To be short, I am not so doted as to set my mind upon things here; which I can neither tarry long with, nor carry away with me. If time would. have served, I would have written longer ;. but your. servant making haste, compelleth me to leave off; beseeching almighty God to preserve the king, and. ail his council ; and send him well from his progress. Your own ever,. ~-T..Cantuar.” DoS. 58 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. These invidious reports, with regard to the avarice of the bishops, are commonly aseribed to the avarice of the courtiers; who were desirous of adding the revenues of the bishopricks to the spoils of the monas- teries. The wealth of the bishops therefore, was the fashionable court-topic of that day: and every patriot declaimed on the expediency of stripping them of their temporalities, and settling pensions on them; that they might not be encumbered with se- cular affairs. Henry knew well the meaning of this language ; and alluded to it, when he told Sir Thomas Seymour he sented to have a finger in church matters. But though Henry would not allow his courtiers to strip the clergy of their possessions, he was very well inclined to do it himself. His method was, to oblige the bishops to make disadvantageous exchanges with crown lands. In this way he stripped the see ef Canterbury, during archbishop Cranmer’s time, of 1507. of annual rent; and the archbishop would often + hint, that if he were less hospitable than his prede- cessors, a reason might be given. f During the short remainder of Henry’s reign, the archbishop met with no farther disturbance of any kind; his enemies being now convinced of the king’s * resolution to skreen him from all attacks. Indeed the protection which Henry at all times afforded him, 3a opposition to his own irritable and implacable tem- per, the genius of his religion, and the bias of bigotry, makes one of those strange contradictions, which we © sometimes meet with, but cannot account for, in the characters of men. It is somewhat singular that Henry, on one of these late attacks, observing the mildness of the primate’s temper, the acrimony of his adversaries, and the danger he must necessarily run, when de- prived of the protection of his prince, gave him for his arms, as if in the spirit of foresight, three pe- ~ licans feeding their young with their ewn blood: and ~ ‘The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 59 added, i an odd jumble of coarse metaphor, ‘‘ That he was likely to be tasted, if he stood to his tackling.” The last act of this reign was an act of bleod ; and gave the archbishop a noble opportunity of shewing how well he had learned that great Christian lesson | of forgiving an enemy. ‘ Almost without the shadow of justice, Henry hed given directions to have the duke of Norfolk attainted by an act of parliament. The king’s mandate stood in lieu of guilt; and the bill passed the house with great ease. ‘ No man, except the bishop of Winchester, had been so great an enemy to the archhishop, as the duke of Norfolk. He had always thwarted the pri- mate’s measures ; and oftener than once had prac- tised against his life. How many would have seen with secret pleasure the workings of -Previdence against so rancorous an enemy; satisfied in having themselves no hand in his unjust fate! But the archbishop saw the affair in another light: he saw it with horror; and although the king had in a par=- ticular manner interested himself in this business, the primate opposed the bill with all his might ; and when his opposition was vain, he left the house with indig- nation; and retired to Croydon. While the king was pushing on the attainder of the duke of Norfolk, with such unjust and cruel preci- pitancy, he was himself hastening apace to the grave. He had long been an object of disgust and terror. His body was become a mass of fcetid humours ; and his temper was so brutal, that if he had not . been diverted by a stratagem, he would have .put. his queen to death, only for differing from him on a ‘point of theology—a queen too, whose daily employ- ‘ment it was, to-sit for hours on her knees before him, dressing the offensive ulcers of his legs. His ‘attendants approached him with trembling. One or two of them ran the risk of losing their heads, only "for intimating their fears about his health, It was D6 60 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. prognosticating his death, and amounted nearly to high-treason. Disease at length subdued this brutal spirit. When he was now almost in the article of death, Sir An- thony Denny ventured to hint, with great delicacy, that his physicians thought his majesty’s life in some danger. Henry took the admonition patiently, for he felt nature speaking a less ceremonious language within. He was just able to order the archbishop to be called. When the primate came, he found the king speech- less, extended on a couch, his eyes glazed and motionless. His attendants had ventured now to throw offali disguise; and the real sentiments of the heart, on this great occasion, were visible on every enlightened countenance. The archbishop’s sensa- tions were very different. His were the painful feelings, which arise from pity mingled with a high sense of gratitude, where there could be no real esteem; and where, in an hour of the greatest dis- tress, there was no possibility of being of service. With an eye melting in tenderness, he leaned over - the dying king ; and sympathized with every pang. Henry did not yet seem entirely deprived of imtellect. The primate begged him to give some sign of his dying in the faith of Christ. Henry madean effort to grasp his hand, and expired. SECTION XIII. The death of Henry, which happened in the year 1547, opened a new scene. On producing his will, it appeared that sixteen of the leading men of the kingdom were appointed regents. ‘They were res- trained.by many limitations; but under these, a majority were allowed io govern the kingdomas they thought fit. This happy clause overturned all the — rest. Henry had composed the regents as equally The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 61 as he could, of both parties in religion ; and hoped, that by keeping things, during his son’s minority, in the same hesitating situation, in which he had left them, he might prevent their running into extremes. But it happened otherwise. A majority plainly in- clined to the protestant cause, either from conscience, or interest ; and they thought themselves fully autho- rized by the precept of the will, to govern the king- -dom as they thought fit. 'The earl of Hertford, the king’s uncle, was created duke of Somerset, and chosen protector. The other regents immediately became cyphers. The archbishop, though placed at the head of the regency, rarely interfered with state affairs; and gave little interruption to the ambition of his com- peers. In ecclesiastical matters he took the lead ; and every thing that was dene in this department, during Edward’s reign, may be considered as done by his authority. But it would interfere too much with the nature of such a work as this, to enter into a minute detail of all the changes, which were made in religion. Such a detail appears more properly in works appro- priated to these inquiries*. Here it is proposed only to illustrate the character of this excellent pre- late ; and it will be enough to touch so far on the. changes he made, as tu throw a proper light on his wisdom, prudence, learning, moderation, and firmness. The first step he tuok, regarded the settlement of the supremacy; a point which he had exceed- ingly at heart, as the foundation of every thing else. He formally therefore petitioned the young king, that as he had exercised the office of arch- bishop under his father, he might be permitted to exercise it under him: and he would perform no episcopal duty, till his. new licence was. made out.— * See Jewell’s Apology, Burnet’s Hist. of the Reform. _ Heylin’s Eccles. Hist. &c. 62 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. This example he proposed should be inforced on the clergy. Thus authorized, he proceeded to the affairs of religion. But before any thing was done, he thought it right to shew the necessity of doing something: and to this purpose a general visitation was made. Abuses of ail kinds were inquired into—corrupt doctrines; corrupt practices ; superstitious ceremo- nies ; the lives of the clergy; and the manners of the laity. The visitors had authority to proceed a step farther. In flagrant cases a few censures were passed ; and a few injunctions given. ‘The idea was. to restrain, rather than to abolish the old system. Among other things it was thought expedient te suspend preaching. Amidst the licence of the times, no species of it deserved more reproof, than that which lad gotten posséssion of the palpit. Many of the monks had been secularized ; and bringing with them into their churches their old monastic ideas, the popular divinity of those times was, if possible, more opposite to Scripture, and more offensive to common sense, than it had ever been in the darkest reign of popery. In the room of preaching, a book of homilies was published, and ordered to be read in churches. The use of Scripture also was allowed ; and that the people might have an explanation of it at hand, the commentary of Erasmus was autho- rized.—These changes had great efficacy ; moderate as they appeared, and aiming rather to undermine the foundations of pepery, than to overturn them by any open assault. . ; The minds of the people indeed were, in a good degree, prepared for them ; and it is said, nothing contributed more to loosen their prejudices, thana popular paper, which was published, about the close of the late reign, intitled, T%e supplication of the poor commons to the king. It was levelled chiefly at the ignorance and immorality of the Romish clergy ; ye VGae The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 63 and being written in a masterly manner, and inter- spersed with a variety of lively anecdotes, it was much read; and tended greatly to give the people just ideas of the clerical office. Among other stories, the followimg very curious one is related. “A certain court-chaplain, who had great. prefer- ment, ebseryed, as he was travelling, a church upon a fair hill, beset with groves and fields, the green meadows lying beneath on the banks of a river, gar- nished with willows, poplars, and alders. He was mightily taken with the place, and calling out to his servant, Robin, said he, this benefice standeth plea- santly. I would it were mine. Why Sir, said his servant, it is yours; and immediately named the parish—If your highness had so many swine in this realm as yeu have men, would you commit the keep- ing of them io such swine-herds, as did not know their swine cots, when they saw them !” The dread in which the Romish clergy were at. that time thrown, from what had been already done, is strongly expressed in the following language. “These dumb dogs have learned to fawn upon them who bring them bread ; and to be wonderful frisky when they are cherished: but if they be once bid to couch, they draw the tail between their legs, and get them strait to their kennel: and then come who will, they stir no more, till they hear their sire pepe ery oat, hey, cut, or long tail. So afraid are they of stripes, and lest they should be tied up so short, that _ they cannot range abroad ; nor worry, now and then, a lamb.” Then follows a long account of their rapacity, of which many instances are given. Among others, we _ are told, ‘it was no rare thing to see poor people beg at Easter, to pay for the sacrament when they receive it. Nor is it less common to see men beg for dead bodies, that they may pay the priest’s dues. It is not long since, in the city of London, a dead ‘body was brought to the church to be buried ; being 64 . The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. so poor, that it was almost quite naked. But these charitable men, who teach us, that it is one of the works of mercy to bury the dead, would not bury this dead corpse, without their dues. So they caused it to be carried into the street, till the poor peo- ple, who dwelled there, begged so much as the dues came to.” The apostrophe of-these suppliants to the king,. was very noble and spirited. “ If yousuffer Christ's poor members to be thus oppressed, expect the righ- teous judgment of God for your negligence. Be. merciful therefore to yourself, as wellas to us. En- danger not your own soul by the suffering of us poor commons, Remember that your hoar hairs are a token, that nature maketh haste to absolve your life. Defer not then, most dread sovereign, the reforma- tion of these enormities. For the wound is even unto death. Whoredom is more esteemed than wed-- lock. Simony hath lost its name. Usury is lawful gains. What example of life do the people shew this day, which declares us more to be the people of God, than Jews and Mahometans ;” The leaders of the popish party easily saw the tendency of the primate’s measures ; and gave them what opposition they were able. The bishop of Winchester never appeared in a more becoming light. With equal firmness and plausibility he re- monstrated. ‘‘'The commencement of a minority, he said, was not a time to introduce novelties. To alter the religion of a country was a serious busi- ness; and required the utmost deliberation. No act of legislature, he observed, had yet passed; and it was great presumption to publish things. under the king’s name, with which it was well. known neither. he nor the protector were at all acquainted. But even if bare decency were consulted, it was very offen- sive to all sober men to see the wisdom of Ages cancelled in a few months.—The paraphrase of. Erasmus, he remarked, was written at a time when The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 65 the pen of that writer was very licentious. It con- tained many points of doctrine, which he presumed the protestants themselves would not willingly incul- cate; and he would maintain, that it contradicted the homilies in many particulars.’ As for the homilies, though he did not doubt their being well intended, yet they were certainly very inaccurate composi- tions ; and ran into length on many curious points of doctrine, which tended rather to mislead, than to inform the people.—For himself he said, he was careless of all consequences, which the freedom of _his speech might draw upon him. The last scene of his life was now on the stage; and he only wished to conclude it properly.” There was an energy and greatness in this lan- guage, superior to any thing that had ever fallen from Gardiner: and if that had been the last scene of his life, we must have acknowledged the dignity of its conclusion. In his objections also, there was more than a shew of reasoning ; and the promoters of reformation had but an indifferent ground for a defence. They answered with the plainness and ~ simplicity of honest men (which was the best defence they could make), that they were assured their amend- ments were right on the whole; and that if some things were objectionable, these two should be ‘amended as soon as possible. ‘ This was a better answer, and more in the spirit of reformation, than their replying, as they afterwards. did, to the arguments of Winchester, by throwing him into prison. This violent measure may well be reckoned among the errors of those times. The archbishop indeed, does not appear to have had any hand in this affair. It issued solely from the couwcil ; and was intended probably to remove Winchester from the parliament, which was then about to be assembled. In every light, political or religious, it was a harsh discordant measure ; and very unworthy of the liberal cause which it was intended to serve, 66 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer: SECTION XIV. On the 4th of November, 1547, about nine months’ after Henry's death, a parliament was assembled ;, and the leaders of the protestant cause hoped to. make it the instrument of still more essential altera- tions than any they had yet made. Indeed the bias. ef the nation leaned more to this side. Such 2 change appeared in the opinions of men, since the last parliament of Henry, that no one could imagine the two assemblies were composed of the same peo- ple. Imevery debate the protestant took the-lead ; *and drew over a majority. In that age of novelty, when the general principles of men were unfixed, it was an easy matter to persuade those, who were in- capable of rational inquiry. ‘The convocation, ani-- mated by the archbishop, shewed the same spirit; and digested business for the parliament. The act of the six articles was repealed : communion in beth, kinds was allowed; tradition was discredited ; lent. was considered as a political institution : the liturgy was ordered to be new modelled; an easy catechism. to be framed ; and the canon law to be reformed. These things however were not all done at this time: but I mention them tegether as the principal. acts of parliament and of conyecation, during this. short reign. In framing the catechism, and new modelling the liturgy, and the canon law, the archbishop had the chief hand. The last indeed he had attempted in the late reign: but the prevalence of the popish. party obliged him to leave that useful work unfinished. He now undertook. it in earnest: and not being sa- tisfied with making it an accurate and judicious: performance, he endeayoured to make it even ele- gant. Dr. Haddon was esteemed at that time, the best latinist in England ; and the archbishop engaged The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 6F him to revise the language of his performance. Se- yeral of Haddon’s corrections may yet be seen in the original manuscript ; which is still extant in Bennet- coliege, in Cambridge. Mulierum a partu, is al- tered into Levatarum puerperarum: and cuicung hoc prerogalivum est, into cuicung hoc peculiare jus tribuitur, quod prerogativum vocant.—But such was the fatality attending this useful work, that it was prevented taking effect in Edward’s, as it had been ‘in Henry’s reign; it was pot sufficiently pre- pared to be brought forward, befcre that king’s - immature death. The archbishop endeavoured also to confine the office of confirmation, as much as he could to aduits. He saw little use in administering it to children. But when people were come to years of discretion ;. and seriously desired to renew their baptismal vow,. he thought the solemnity of such an ordinance, at that time, might make a strong impression. Some other changes he made of smaller import; _ but still with that admirable caution and prudence, _ which marked all his proceedings. His caution however, did not pass wholly uncen- sured. Many of his friends conceived that he might have taken hastier steps. The zeal of Calvin, in particular took offence. That reformer wrote his sentiments very freely to the archbishep ; and wished him to push matters with a little more spirit. He put him in mind of his age, which could not long allow him to continue his useful! labours ; and feared, that on his death, an opportunity would be lost, which might never be recovered. The archbishop answered his letters with great kindness—reminded him of the many difficulties he iad still to oppose; and endeavoured to convince him of the great impru- dence of less cautious measures. _ While the primate was thus abolishing the essen- tials of popery, it may be supposed, he did not suffer its pageantry to pass unobserved. The frequency of processions was become a great 68 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. abuse. Men began to think nothing was religion, but what was an object of sight. This shews how much they have to answer for, who introduce need- less ceremonies into the offices of any religious establishment. The minds of the people at the time we are now describing, facinated with the pomp and splendour, saw with less reluctance the foundations of popery shaken, than the ostentatious ceremonies abo- lished, of carrying palms on Palm-Sunday, or ashes on Ash-W ednesday. Mr. Hume, treating these alterations with levity, attributes them to the morose humour of the re- formers ; and insinuates that it is happy when super- stition, (which is generally with him another word for religion), takes this inoffensive turn.— When Mr. Hume rears the standard of infidelity, and boldly combats the truths of religion, he acts openly and honestly : but when he scatters his careless insinua- tions, as he traverses the paths of history, we cha- racterize him as a dark insidious enemy, During the debates on these subjects, a very extraordinary phenomenon appeared in the house of lords—the archbishop of Canterbury at the head of the popish peers, and popish bishops, contending eagerly against the whole force of the protestant interest. The point in dispute, was the propriety of granting a large parcel of collegiate and chantry lands to the king’s use. Had it been intended to employ this grant iu any useful work, the archbishop. would readily have given his vote for ii: but he knew well what direction it would take; and he wished the lands rather to continue as they were, hoping for better times, than have them fall into the hands of rapacious courtiers. He had the mortification how- ever, to see his opponents prevail. While this bill was depending in the house, the two universities, which were clearly comprehended in the letter of it, became very apprehensive; and made powerful intercession at court to avert the : The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 69 danger. Whether the primate interested himself in their favour on this occasion, does not appear: it is rather probable that he did, as we find him interest- ing himself for them on many other occasions. They were, at that time, little more than nurseries of sloth, superstition, and ignorance ; and not many degrees raised above the monkish institutions, which had lately been suppressed. Many ingenious men, and scholars of great reputation were among them ; but they were yet so thinly scattered in the several culleges, as to have little influence in forming the general character of the universities: and they who wished well te these foundations, easily saw this cor- ruptioa must terminate in their ruin ; and desired to avert it. The archbishop always thought himself much interested in the welfare of both the universi- ties, but of Cambridge in particular ; and though he does net appear to have had any legal power tiere, . yet such was his interest at court, and such was the general dependence of the more eminent members of that society upon him, that scarce any thing was done there, either of a public or a private nature, - without consulting him. It was his chief endeavour to encourage, as much as possible, a spirit of in- quiry; and to rouse tie students from the slumber of their predecessors ; well knowing, the liberias philosophandi was the great mean of detecting error, and that true learning could never be at variance with true religion. Aschkam, and Cheke, two of the most elegant scholars of that age, were chiefly relied on, and consulted by the archbishop in this work. SECTION XV. While the primate was acting this great and good part, and on all occasions discovering the utmost mildness and caadour; the truth of history _ calls on us to acknowledge, that on one unhappy 70 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. occasion, he appeared under a very different cha- racter, that of a bigoted persecutor. It is very true indeed, that he went not voluntarily into this busi- ness; but acted under a commission to inquire into heretical opinions. ' When the errors of the church of Rome were seru- tinized ; private judgment, although the basis of all liberal inquiry, gave birth, as might naturally be supposed, to a variety of strange enthusiastic opi- nions. Many of these were unquestionably absurd enough; and some of them destructive of moral goodness: as that the elect could not sin—that although the outward man might transgress, the inward man remained immaculate—that the regene- rate have aright to what they want ; and some others equally detestable.—They were opinions however of a less offensive nature, that drew upon them the archbishop’s severity. Joan Becher, and George Paris, were accused, though at different times, one for denying the huma- nity of Christ, the other for denying his divinity. They were both tried, and condemned to the stake: and the archbishop not only consented to these acts of blood, but even persuaded the aversion of the young king into a compliance. ‘ Your majesty must distinguish (said he, informing his royal pupil’s conscience) between common opinions, and such as are the essential articles of faith. These latter we must on no account suffer to be opposed.” It is true these doctrines, especially the latter, in the opinion of the generality of Christians, are sub- versive of the fundamentals of Christianity. To deny the divinity of Christ seems to oppose the gene- ral idea which the Scriptures hold out of our redemp- tion. On the other hand, many particular passages which describe the humanity of Christ, seem to favour the doctrine; and some there are, who hold it even in this enlightened age. At worst therefore, we must consider it as an erroneous opinion. ‘To s | | The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 71 call it heresy, when attended with a good life, is cer- tainly a great breach of Christian charity. Is it not then astonishing, that a man of the archbishop’s candour, could not give it a little more indulgence? If any opinions can demand the secular arm, it must - besuch only, as lead to actions which injure the peace of society. We are surprised also at seeing the archbishop so far depreciate his, own cause, as to suppose that one man incurred guilt by acting on the same principles, which entitled another to applause : and that he, who in the opinion of one church, was the greatest of schismatics himself, should not, even in common justice indulge, in all the more speculative -points.of religion, toleration to others. Nothing even plausible can be suggested in de- fence of the archbishop on this occasion, except only that the spirit of popery was not yet wholly repressed. ; bal There are however, among protestant writers, at this day, some who have undertaken his vindication. But I spare their indiscretion. Let the horrid act be universally disclaimed. 'To palliateis to participate. With indignation let it be recorded, as what above all other things, has disgraced that religious liberty, which our ancestars in most.other respects so nobly purchased. : _ From this disagreeable view of the archbishop, let us endeavour to bring ourselves again in temper with him, by viewing him as the friend and patron of the distressed. ‘The suffering professors of protes- _ tantism, who were scattered in great numbers about ] i] _ the various countries of Europe, were always sure of an asylum with him. His palace at Lambeth might be called ‘a seminary of learned men ; the greater © _ part of whom persecution had driven from home. Here among other celebrated reformers, Martyr, Bucer, Aless, Phage, found sanctuary. Martyr, Bucer, and Phage were liberally pensioned by the -archbishop, till he could-otherwise provide for them. 72 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. It was his wish to fix them in the two universities, where he hoped their great knowledge, and spirit of inquiry, would forward his designs of restoring learning : and he at Jength obtained professorships for them all. Bucer and Phage were settled at Cam- bridge ; where they only shewed what might have been expected from them, both dying within a few months after their arrival. But at Oxford, Martyr acted a very conspicuous part ; and contributed to introduce among the students there, a very liberal mode of thinking. Aless had been driven from Scotland, his native country, for the novelty of his opinions. The cause in which he suffered, added to his abilities and learn- ing, so far recommended him to the university of Leipsic,. to which he retired, that he was chosen a professor there. -Atthis place he became acquainted ‘ with Mefancthon, who having written a treatise on some part of the controversy between the papists and protestants, was desirous of consulting the arch- bishop on a few points ; and engaged Aless, other- wise not averse to the employment, to undertake a voyage into England for that purpose. In the course of the conference, the archbishop was so much taken with his simplicity and learning, that he settled a pension on him, and retained him in his family. The misfortunes of the times drew Alasco also into England, where the archbishop became an early patron to him ; and shewed on this occasion at least, the candour and liberality of his sentiments, by per- mitting a person, who held many opinions very dif- ferent from his own, to collect his brethren, and such as chose to communicate with him, into a church. At the head of this little assembly Alasco long pre- sided; exhibiting an eminent example of piety, and decency of manners, Among other learned foreigners John Sleiden was under particular obligations to the archbishop. Slei- The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 73 den was at that time engaged in writing the history of the reformation; a work from which much was expected ; and which the archbishop, by allowing iin a pension, and opportunities of study, enabled him to prosecute with less difficulty than had attended the beginning of his labours. Leland, the first British antiquarian, was also among the primate’s particular friends. Leland had a wonderful facility in learning languages ; and was esteemed the first linguist in Europe. The arch- bishop soon took notice of him, and with his usual discernment, recommended him to be the king’s li- brarian. His genius threw him on the study of anti- quities ; and his opportunities, on those of his own country: the archbishop, in the mean time, by pro- curing preferment for him, enabled him to make those inquiries, to which his countrymen have been so much indebted. Among others, who were under obligations to the archbishop’s generosity, was the amiable bishop Lati- mer; who not choosing to be reinstated in his oid bishoprick, and having made but an indifferent pro- vision for his future necessities, spent a great part of his latter life with the archbishop at Lambeth. Besides this intimacy with learned men at home, the archbishop held a constant correspondence with most of the learned men in Europe. ‘The great patron of Erasmus had been archbishop Warbam ; than whom, to give popery its due, few churchmen of those times led a more apostolical life. When Cranmer succeeded Warham, Erasmus was in the decline of age. He found however, during the short time he lived, as beneficent a friend under _the new archbishop, as he had lost in the old one. The primate corresponded also with Osiander‘ 'Melancthon, and Calvin. His foreign correspon- _ dence indeed was so large, that he appointed a per-— po with a salary at Canterbury, whose chief em- ‘ployment it was to forward, and receive his packets. VOL. II, Sa 74 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. Among the most eminent of his correspondents was Herman, archbishop and elector of Cologn. This prelate had been early impressed with the princi- ples of the reformation by Melancthon; and had used all his influence to intrcduce them in his electorate. But he met with powerful opposition ; the pope and emperor combining against him, the former in his spiritual, the latter in his temporal capacity. So potent a combination crushed him. Terms indeed were offered ; but he would hearken to no dishonour- able compromise. ‘‘ Nothing, he would say, can happen to me unexpectedly: I have long since forti- fied my mind against every event.” Instead of a _ splendid life therefore, at variance with his opinions, he chose a private station; in which he enjoyed the pleasures of study ; the friendship of good men ; and the tranquillity ofa good conscience. Q SECTION XVI. In the year 1549, the archbishop was engaged in a controversy of a very singular kind, on the following occasion. _ The dissolution of monasteries, having thrown the landed interest of the nation into new hands, introduced also a new kind of culture; which at first occasioned a scarcity. Mr. Hume, speaking of this matter, with great judgment remarks, “ that no abuse in civil society is so great, as not to be attended with a variety of beneficial consequences ; and in the beginnings of reformation, the loss of these advantages is always felt very sensibly; while the benefit resulting from the change, is the slow effect of time: and is seldom perceived by the bulk of a na- tion.” Thus on the present occasion, the bad effects of anew mode of culture were experienced, before) ‘ its advantages took place ; and the people expressing} dissatisfaction in all parts, in some flamed out into The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 75 acts of violence. Among other insurrections, one in Devonshire was very formidable. The, insurgents felt the effects of famine, but in an age of ignorance they could not trace the cause. The discontented priests, who swarmed about the country, presently assigned one. ‘‘’The famine was a judgment for the abolition of the holy catholic religion ; and till that was restored, the people must not Took either for seed-time, or harvest.” Such language changed riotinto enthusiasm. The banner of the cross was reared ; and the insurgents, marking themselves with the five wounds of Christ, called their march, the pilgrimage of grace. Their first attempt was on Exeter, which they sur- rounded with their tumultuary forces. The town was reduced to extremity ; but still resisted ; encou- raged chiefly by a brave old townsman, who bringing all his provision into the street, “ Here, cried he, my fellow citizens, take what I have, among you. For myself, I will fight with one arm, and feed on the other, rather than suffer these ruffians to enter.” As the rebels were thus checked by the firmness of Exeter, they employed this time of inactivity in sending petitions and articles to the king, in which they demanded, the ceremonies of the “popish wor- ship to be restored—the new liturgy to be abolished —the use of the bible to be forbidden—and, in short, every thing to be undone, that had already been done. General answers were given to these demands ; but the rebels continuing still unsatisfied Lord Russel was sent against them with a body of forces. He fell on them, as they lay before Exeter; and gave them a severe defeat. But though their spirit was broken, their prejudices continued. The archbishop therefore engaged in the _ humane part of. bringing them to reason: hoping _ that their sufferings had, by this time, abated the ar- dour of their zeal. The articles of their petitions, relating to religion, E2 a 76 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. which were fifteen in number, the archbishop under- took to answer.. The first rough draught of this work, which is of considerable leneth, is sti!l extant in the library of Benet-college, in Cambridge, and is published by Mr. Strype in his appendix to the life of archbiskop Cranmer. It contains a very exten- sive compass of learning; and is written with great strength of argument: but its principal recommend- ation is, its being so admirably adapted to the capa- city of those, to whom it was addressed. Nothing can shew more judgment or knowledge of the man- ners of the lower people —I shall give the reader a few passages from this very masterly work, as a specimen. The rekel articles begin with the phrase, We will have. «In the first plece, says the archbishop, I dislike your beginning. Is it the fashion of subjects to say to their prince, We will have? Would any of you, that be householders, be content that your servants should come upon you with harness on their hacks, and swords in their hands, and say, /Ve will have? “* But leaving your rade and unhandsome manner of speech, I will come to the point. You say, you will have all the holy decrees to be observed. But { dare say, very few, or none of you, understand what you ask. Do you know what the holy decrees be? As holy as they may be called, they be indeed so wicked and full of tyranny, that the like were never devised. I shall rehearse some of them, that you may see how holy they be.—One decree sayth, That all the decrees of the bishop of Rome ought to be — kept as God’s word, Another, that whosoever re- ceiveth not the decrees of the bishop of Rome, his sin shall never be forgiven. A third, that although the bishop of Rome regard neither his own salvation, — nor any man’s else, but puts down with hiinself, headlong innumerable people, by heaps, into hell ; yet may no mortal man presume to reprove him there-~ The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 77 fore. I cannot think that you be so far from all goc- liness, as to desire decrees, which be so blasphemous to God; and so far from all equity and reason. For I dare say, that the subtle papists when they moved you to stand in this article, that all holy decrees ’ should be observed, never shewed you these decrees : for if they had, they knew right weli, you wou!d never have consented to this article. « But now let me shew you, what a miserable case you should bring yourselves into, if the king’s majesty should assent unto this_first article. For among these decrees, one is, that no priest shall be sued before a temporal judge for any manner of cause, or crime; but before his bishop only. Ano- ther is, that a priest may sue a temporal man either before a temporal, or a spiritual judge, at his plea- sure. I cannot deny, but these be good and bene- ficial decrees for the liberty of the clergy. But I suppose none of you will think it an indifferent de- cree ; that a priest shall sue you, where he list: but if he had slain one of your sons or brothers, you could have no remedy against him ; but only betore the bishop. What mean these papistical priests, think you, that stirred you up to ask such decrees to be observed, but craftily to bring you under their subjection ; and that you yourselves ignorantly ask- ing ye wist not what, should put your heads under their girdles. “« Surely, if ye had known these decrees, when ye consented to this article, ye would have torn the ar- ticle in pieces: for by this article ye would have all the ancient laws of the realm to cease, and those de- crees come in theirroom. Or otherwise, by your own article ye would condemn yourselves to be heretics. “ How ye be bewitched by these false papists? Why do ye suffer them to abuse you by their subtlety? Why do ye not send them to the king, like errant traitors, saying unto him, ‘ Most mighty prince, we 78 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. present here unto you heinous traitors against your majesty, and great deceivers of us, your true sub- jects. We have erred; and by ignorance have been seduced to ask, we wist not what. Have pity on our ignorance ; and punish these abominable traitors.’ ‘“* What was in your minds to ask such a thing as this? and so presumptuously to say, We will have it? I trust there be not in you so much malice, and devil- ishness, as the article containeth: but that you have been artfully suborned by wicked papists to ask, you ‘know not what. “* Tf you had asked, that the word of God might be duly observed, and kept in this realm, all that be godly would have commended you, But as you ask . Romish decrees to be observed, there is no godly Englishman, that will consent to your article. But ‘clean contrary, a great number of godly persons within this realm, for the love of God, be daily hum- ble suitors to the king’s majesty, that he will weed out of his realm all popish decrees, laws, and canons, and whatsoever else is contrary to God’s word. And is any of you so far from reason, as to think he will hearken to you, who say, /Ve will have Romish laws ; and turn his ear from them, who are humble suitors for God’s word?” ! From these few extracts, which are taken from the archbishop’s answer to the first article, the reader may judge, in how admirable a way he answered the remaining fourteen. ‘The whole work indeed may be a model to those, who wish to make themselves masters of that mode of reasoning, which is adapted. to the people. SECTION XVII. The extensive correspondence abroad,in which the archbishop was engaged, and the many applications, he received from all parts, put him, at this time, The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 79 (about the year 1546) on a scheme, which he had greatly at heart—the union of all the protestant churches in Europe. _ They were all united against the pretensions of the church of Rome: but in no other point were they - perfectly harmonious. Their widest differences how- ever regarded the sacraments, divine decrees, and church government. On each of these heads they held their several opinions with obstinacy enough on all sides. Of these dissensions the papists took the advan- tage. *‘ Let the protestants alone, (was the cry) they will soon quarrel with the same acrimony among themselves, which they have already shewm towards us: and it will presently appear; that there can be no criterion of religion ; nor peace to Christendom, but in the bosom of a mother-church.” ; Such sarcastic reflections hurt the archbishop ; as he conceived they injured religion. He earnestly wished therefore to remove this block of offence; and te give the cause he revered, that support, which next to truth, he thought union alone could give it. How noble would be tie coalition, he would say, if- all the members of protestantism should unite in one mode of church government ; and in one. confession of faith ! In the southern parts of France, in Holland, and in Germany, the reformation flourished chiefly under Calvin, Bullinger, and Melancthon. To these emi- nent reformers the archbishop applied with muck earnestness ; intreating them to join their endeavours with his, in forwarding this great scheme; and pro- posed England as a place, where they might hold their consultations with the most convenience, and the most security. ‘ihe good archbishop wanted the experience of later times to convince him how great an impossibility he attempted. He was not aware that when private judgment becomes the cri- terion, it will shew itself of course in different creeds, EA 80 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. in different modes of worship, and in different forms of church government; which latter will always take their complexion from the state-—How little could be expected from this interview, Melancthon’s an- swer might early have convinced him. ‘That re- former, in strong language, applauded the primate’s intention, and heartily wished it might succeed. ** But, added he, the model you ought to go upon, is certainly that confession of faith, which we signed at Augsburg.”—However liberal that confession might be, there was certainly no liberality in the im- position of it. fo. Calvin seems to have expected very little from this busmess. He answers only in general terms. He professes that he would cross ten seas with cheer- fulness for the good of Christendom, or of the church of England alone ; but, in the present case, he pleads his inability; and recommends the whole business to the hands of God.—This reformer saw deeper into the affair, than our good archbishop: he not only saw the impracticability of it; but probably thought, with many other learned men, that if the thing had even heen practicable, it was by no means advisable: as different sects would naturally be a eheck on each other, and might preserve the church of Christ from those impurities, which the despotism of the Roman hierarchy had unquestionably introduced ; and which another despotic hierarchy might introduce again. During the course of this projected union, a ques- tion arose of great importance; and which indeed threw many difficulties in the very vestibule of it. ‘Phe question was, whether, in drawing up a confes- sion of faith, definite or general terms, should be adopted? The primate, with his usnal. candour, pleaded for the greatest latitude. ‘ Let us leave the portal,” said he, ‘‘ as wide as we can; and ex- clude none, whom it is in our power to comprehend.” He was opposed in this argument chiefly by Melanc- thon; who, though a mild and gentle reformer on The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. 81 most eccasions, wrote with too much animosity on this; making up in zeal, what he wanted in candonr. Here ended the projected union of the protestant churches. The troublesome times, which alterwards broke out in. England, put an end to all farther thoughts of the design; alter the achbishop had la- boured in it full two years to no purpose. SECTION XVIII. But although the primate’s moderation failed of its effect abroad, it had fuller scope among the sec- taries at home. Whea the bible was first opened, after men had so long been deprived of it, they were satisfied with reading it simply, and gathering from it a rule of lite and manners ; overlooking questions of difficulty in the general comfort derived from its promises ; and troubling nobody with their particular opinions. This is ever the golden age of religion. But men seon begin to look higher. The vulgar can read their bibles ; and learn their duty. The learned must do something more. ‘They must uurave! knotty points : they must broach novel doctrines ; which the people must be made to receive, as points of importance: they must contradict, and oppose: they must shew themselyes, in short, to be able champions of reli- gion; and fit to appear at the head of sectaries. Much of this spirit had already gotten abroad in Engiand ; and a variety of causes concurred in stirring itup. Besides the different tenets, which began to appear among the English protestants themselves ; disgusted p pists artfully threw in their subtleties and distinctiens _ and a multitude of religienists from _ Germany, Sw:izerland, and Holland, led by their _ pastors, brought over with them muliifarious and contradictory creeds. It was then as common for men to migrate for the sake of religion, as it is now EO 82 The Life of Archbishop Cranmer. for the sake of trade. Ina word, all this mass, di- gesting together, began to ferment. If sectaries (united in leading principles, and dif- fering only in a few indifferent forms, or speculative points) would keep their opinions to themselves ; their differences, as Calvin seemed to think, might serve the cause of religion, instead of injuring it. But the forwardness of teachers in imposing all their own whimsical dogmas on others, instead of keeping to the great truths of religion, is the grand mischief. It is this, which distracts the people; who being thus accustomed to hear a different doctrine every day, begin to think of religion itself, which appears so variable an object, with less reverence.—Much of this intemperate zeal had at this time possessed the teachers of religion; and it became very evident, that practical Christianity had lost ground ; in pro- portion, as the science of theology was more studied. To provide for the peace of the church, in oppo- sition to this growing evil, the council appointed the archbishop to draw up a set of articles. ‘The affair was delicate. The liberty of private judgment being the basis of the late secession from the church of Rome, every restraint upon it seemed an opposition to the leading principle of the reformation. a merciful God would regard the difficulties he had to struggle with, and exact nothing from him beyond his power—every thing in his power he was determined todo. Agree- ably to this resolution, he went on with the examina- tion of religious mattliers, omitting nothing that could contribute to his due information. While he was engaged in this work, an event fell out, which gave the last shock to his old pre- judices. Europe had now been so long distracted by reli- gious dissensions, that it was universally thought ne- cessary to summon a general council, which might deliberate on the best expedients to remove them. This prevailing desire was listened to very heed- lessly at Rome. -A scrutiny into religious matters was an alarming thing to every true papist. The consequence was easily foreseen; and the prudent pope was very unwilling to have the peul stirred, lest it should be too evident how much it wanted cleansing. But discontent and clamour running high, and nothing appearing likely to appease the uniyersal murmur but a council, one was at length convened at Trent. The pope had now recourse to an after-game. Since he could not ayoid this dreaded 186 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. council, he contrived however to manage the mem- «bers of it with such address, that his power, far from being shaken by them, was in fact only the more confirmed. Instead of repairing what was decayed, their only care was to prop the old ruin as it stood, But among all the measures then taken in support of ecclesiastical tyranny, the completest was a bold decree, that the traditions of the church should be esteemed of equal authority’ with the Scriptures. themselves. , A determination of so extraordinary a nature was’ received with astonishment by every well-wisher to religion. ‘‘ All opportunity (the reformers. cried out) is now lost! Since traditions are equal with Scripture, and these traditions are in the hands of the conclave, it cannot be doubted, whose sense they willalways speak. The Romanists have now a fund of authority for all their extravagancies. Alas! in- stead of stopping the breach, they have now so far widened it, as to destroy all hope of its ever closmg again. Mr. Gilpin, among’ the rest, took great offence at these proceedings. Hitherto, notwithstanding bis objections to popery, there was something in an es- tablished church which he knew not how to get over. The word schism greatly perplexed him: nor could he easily persuade himself of the lawfulness of a se- paration from the church of Rome, corrupt as she was in other respects, while she professed to draw her rule of faith from the Scriptures. But when he found, by the publication of the council of Trent, that she had carried her authority to such an height of arrogance as to set up her own unwritten word. against the Scriptures ; it was high time, he thought, for all sincere Christians to take the alarm. ‘The designs of the papists were now too plain; and if they meant well to religion, they meant it in such a manner, that a good conscience could not comply with them. For himself, he was obliged. to con- 4 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 137 clude, from this direct opposition of their own au- thority to the authority of Scripture, that their sole view was to establish their decliniag power: nor could he otherwise consider popery than as a perplexed system of priest-craft, superstition, and bigotry; a religion converted into a trade, and used only as a cloak for the tyranny and avarice of its professors. In a word, he thought it now suffigiently evident, that the church of Rome was plainly antichristian ; and that, as such, there was an absolute necessity laid upon every true believer to forsake her com- munion. Such were the cautious steps Mr. Gilpin touk be- fore he declared himself.a protestant. His more than ordinary candour and sincerity, through this. whole affair, met with much applause, and gained him great esteem. Many years afterwards the earls of Bedford and Leicester, having heard. there was something very uncommon in his manner of proceed- ing on this occasion, wanted te be more acquainted with the circumstances of it; and for that purpose applied to Mr. George Gilpin, Bernard’s brother, who was on terms of great intimacy with those two noblemen, and then in London. Accordingly this gentleman, taking the opportunity of a visit to his friends in the north, persuaded his brother to give him in writing an exact account of the progress of his change irom the Romish religion. - Mr. Gilpin’s letter on this occasion is still extant. As it will give a truer idea of his ingenuity and cau- tion in this affair, than any narrative can, and as it hath besides a nobie strain of piety to recommend it, I shall here transcribe the greatest part of it. It was written indeed many years after the time now treated of, and touches upon several facts not yet taken notice of; but its reference to the present subject makes this the properest place for laying it betore the reader, | 138 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. ‘* You require me to write, ina long discourse, the manner of my conversion from superstition to the light of the Gospel; which, I think you know, was not in afew years. As time and health will permit, I will hide nothing from you, confessing my own shame, and yet hoping with the apostle, ‘ I have obtained mercy, because i did it ignorantly.’ ‘* In king Edward’s time I was brought to dispute against some assertions of Peter Martyr; although Thave ever been given to eschew, so far as I might, controversies and disputations. Being but a young student, and finding my groundwork not so sure as I supposed, I went first to the bishop of Durham*, who told me that ‘ Innocent the third was much overseen, to make transubstantiation an article of faith. He found great fault with the pope for indul- gencies, and other things. «* After, I went to Dr. Redman, in whom TI had great trust for the fame of his virtue and learning: He teld:me, ‘The communion-beok was very godly, and agreeable to the Gospel.’ These things made me to muse. a «* Afterwards one of. the fellows of the ‘Queen’s-- college told me, he heard Dr. Chedsey say among his friends, ‘ The protestants must yield to us in grants ing the presence of Christ in the sacrament, and we must yield to them in the opinion of transubstantia= tion; so shall we accord.’ i “Dr. Weston made a long sermon in defence of the communion in both kinds. *« Mr. Morgan told me, that Mr. Ware, a nl most famous both for life and learning, had told him before his death, that ‘ The chief sacrifice of the church of God was the sacrifice of thanksgiving! This was his answer, when I desired to-know what miglit be said for the sacrifice of the mass. ! * Cuthbert Tunstal. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 1139 “ The best learned bishops likewise of this realm at that time withstocd the supremacy of the pope, both with words and writing. * Mr. Harding coming newly from Italy, in a long and notable sermon did so lively set forth, and paint in their colours, the friars, and unlearned bishops as- sembled at Trent in council, that he much diminished in me, and many others, the confidence we had in general councils. “* All these things, and many more, gave me oc- casion to search both the Scriptures and antient fathers: whereby I began to see many great abuses, and some enormities, used and maintained in popery ; and to like well of sundry reformations on the other side. ** Afterwards, in three years’ space, I saw so much gross idolatry at Paris, Antwerp, and other places, that made me to mislike more and more the popish doctrines ; especially because the learned men dis- allowed image-worship in their schools, and suffered it so grossly in their churches. ** As I could with small knowledge, I examined the mass: the greatest fault I then found was. teo much reverence and gross worshipping of the gaping people; because I believed not transubstantiation. Likewise my conscience was grieved at the receiy- ing of the priest alone. Yet at length I said massa few times as closely as I could. “« reasoned with certain that were learned of my acquaintance, why there was no reformation of these gross enormities about images, reliques, pilgrimages, buying mass and trentals, with many other things, which in king Edward’s time the Catholics (so -alled) did not only grant to be far amiss, but also promised that the church should be reformed, if ever the authority came into their hands again. When I asked when this reformation was to begin, in hope whereof I was the more willing to return from Paris, 140 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. I was answered, ‘ We may not grant to the ignorant people, that any of these things hath been amiss: if we do, they will straight infer other things may be amiss as well as these, and still go further and fur, ther.—This grieved me, and made me seek fi quietness in God’s word: no where else I could fi any stay. y “« After this, in two or three sermons at New: castle, [began to utter my conscience more plainly when thirteen or fourteen articles were drawn against me, and sent to the bishop. Here my a versaries of the clergy, whom I had sore offende by speaking against their pluralities, had that whiel they looked for. They caused the bishop to a me in their presence, and examine me touching tl sacrament. The bishop shewed favour so far, | trust, as he durst; urging’ me nothing with 7 substantiation, but only with the real presence which I granted, and so was delivered at that tir For the real presence, I was not then resolved; b took it to be a mystery above my capacity: yet “ conscience was somewhat wounded for granting fore them in plain words the thing whereof I stoor _in doubt. ‘ “ After queen Mary’s death I began to utter mind move plainly. Before (f must needs confi my weakness) ignorance, and fear of enemies, h somewhat restrained me. ‘* Thus, in process of time, I grew to he stronge and stronger ; yet many grievous temptations a doubts have i had, which many nights have reaved me of sleep. ‘* My nature hath evermore fled controversy § much as i could. My delight and desire hat been to preach Christ, and our salvation by hit in simplicity and truth ; and to comfort myself wit the sweet promises of the Gospel, and in prayer. ~ “‘ Thave been always scrupulous, and trouble 8 & The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 141 either in subscribing, or swearing to any thing, be- side the Scriptures, and articles of our belief, be- cause the Scripture ought ever to have a pre-emi- nence above man’s writings.—I remember, when I went for orders to the bishop of Oxford, his chap- lain ministered an oath to allow all such ordinances as were set forth, or should be set forth in time to come: which oath when we considered better of it, what it was to swear to things to come, we knew not what, it troubled not only me, but nine or ten more with me, men of much better learning than I was. I, for my part, resolved after that to swear to no writing but with exception, as it agreed with the word of God.—What trouble I had when the vath was ministered by the bishops for the book of articles, agreed upon in 1562 and 1751, I have opened for quietness and discharge of my conscience in another writing.—And certainly, since I took this order to open my faults in writing *, not pausing who knew them, so it might edify myself or others, I have found great ease and quietness of con- science ; and am daily more edified, comforted, and confirmed, in reading the Scriptures. And this I praise God for, that when E was most troubled, and weakest of all, my faith in God’s mercy was so strong, that if I should then have departed this life, I had, and have, a sure trust, that none of these doubts would have hindered my salvation. I hold fast one entence of St. Paul, ‘I have obtained mercy, in ne I did it in ignorance: and another of Job, ‘ If the Lord put me to death, yet will I trust in him’ —Yet have I prayed God’s mercy many times for _ *In another letter he thus speaks, “I never had doubts in religion in all my life, nor ever dissembled in all my life, or committed any fault, which, so far as I thought it might edify, or do good to others, and so far © my remembrance served, I could not well find in my keart to confess before all the world.” | | | | 142 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. all these offences, infirmities; and ignorances; and so F will do so still, so long as I have to live in this world.” SECTION II. We left Mr. Gilpin at Christ-church college in Oxford, now fully convinced of the errors of popery. An academic life, affording him most leisure for study, was the life he was most inclined to. He had too just a sense of the duty of a clergyman to be unacquainted with the qualifications requisite for its discharge; and too mean an opinion of ‘himself to think he was yet master of them. He thought more learning was necessary in that. controversial age than he had yet acquired: and his chief argu- ment with his friends, who were continually solicit- ing him to leave the university, was that he was not} yet enough instructed in religion himself to, be a teacher of it to others. It was an arduous task, he said, especially at that time; and protestantism could not suffer more, than by the rawness and in- experience of its teachers. ane These thoughts continued him at Oxford till, the thirty-fifth year of his age. About that time th vicarage of Norton, in the diecese of Durham, falling vacant, his friends, who had interest to ob= tain it for him, renewed their. solicitations, and at” length prevailed on him to accept it*. Accord-) ingly a) presentation passed in his fayour, which) - * « While I was thus busied, I was drawn by certain’ friends to accept a benefice, being very unwilling there-— unto. If I offended God in taking such a charge before” I was better learned, and better resolved in religion, Ty cry God mercy; and I doubt not but I have found mercy” in his sight.” Extract of a letter from Bernard-Gilpin® to his brother. 3 0) Sa The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 143 bears date, among king Edward’s grants, Novem- ber, 1552. Before he went to reside, he was appointed to preach before the king, at Greenwich. Strype, in 1is annals, seems to intimate, that Mr. Gilpm was at that time famous for his preaching™in the north, mid that it was on this account he was called on to sreach at court. But there is little authority for this. He does not seem to have been yet a preacher ut all; at least, of any note. It is rather probable, he only reason of his being sent to on this occasion, was that he might give a public testimony of his eing well inclined to the Reformation: for the 1eads of the protestant party were at this time very scrupulous in the disposal of livings. ‘‘ It was then ordered,” says Heylin, in his Church-history, “ that 10ne should be presented unto any benefice in the lonation of the crown, till he had first preached be- ore the king, and thereby passed his judgment and .pprobation.” The reigning vice of that age, as its historians estify, was avarice, or more properly rapine. At_ ourt all things were venal; employments, honours, avours of every kind. In the room of law and jus- ice, gross bribery and wrong were common; in rade, grievous extortions and frauds. Every where ind every way the poor were vexed. But in the ountry this rapacity was most observed, where the ppressions exercised were’ so intolerable, that the receding year had seen great heats and murmur- ngs among the = and some counties even in rms. Of these things the preachers most in earnest poke with great freedom; particularly bishop La- imer, who was the Cato of that age. Among jthers Mr. Gilpin thought it became him. to take 1otice of evils so much “complained of : accordingly 1e made the avarice of the times his subject upon he present occasion: resolving with an honest free- 144 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. dom to censure corruption, in whatever rank of met he observed it. As he thought nothing his interest, buat what wa: also his duty, he was swayed neither by hope no fear. He considered himself in some degree charge able with those vices, which he knew were prevail ing, and failed to rebuke.—A freedom of this natar the times however allowed: for how little soeve there might be of the reality of virtue, there wa certainly much of the profession of it: public dg ference at least was paid to it. Mr. Gilpin’s plainness therefore was very “a taken, and recommended him to the notice of man persons of the first rank ; particularly to Sir Franei Russel, and Sir Robert Dudley, afterwards the earl of Bedford and Leicester ; who from that time pre fessed a great regard for him: and, when in power were always ready to patronize him. These two noblemen were both great patrons 6 virtue and letters; but with very different views, a they were indeed very different men. Bedford appeared at court with all the advantage of birth. His father, the first earl of that name was one of the greatest’men of his age, eminent fo unspotted honesty, and superior talents in war an peace. His son pursued his steps, and though h wanted his father’s great abilities, he was owerall wise and an honest man, and acted afterwards | considerable part in setiling the Reformation unde Elizabeth ; to whose court he-was a very great orna ment. He was a friend to merit from the real loy he bore to virtue. Leicester, however accomplished in many respect was a man of ambiguous character. He was how ever a great master in the arts of dissimulation ; am could act, what he always attempted, even the wors part plausibly. He courted good men for the oredi of their acquaintance. These noblemen were Mr. Gilpin’s chief patrons- The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 145 voluntary patrons, whom no application on his part Gi baie received their offered friendship with humility and eratitude, never intending to put it to a trial. This backwardness proceeded chiefly from am utter aversion to all solicitation for church prefer- ment. The lord Bedford’s interest indeed he scru- pled not to solicit occasionally for his friends - but he never once asked, though much courted to it, any favour of the earl of Leicester. Mr. Gilpin is said likewise at this time to have been taken notice of by secretary Cecil, afterwards lord Burleigh, who obtained for him a general li- cence for preaching. In granting these licences great caution was then used: none but men of ap- proved worth could apply for them with success Upon looking over king Edward’s grants, it does not appear there were more than two or three and twenty thus licenced during that king’s reign. Among these were the bishops Jewel, Grindal, and While Mr. Gilpin was at London, he frequently visited Cuthbert Tunstal, bishop of Durham, who was his uncle, and had always expressed a great re- gard for him. It is probable indeed, that his pa- rents, in bringing him up to the church, might have a view to the bishop’s favour: but Tumstal was at this time im no capacity to serve him. During the reign of Henry the eighth, this pre- late had lived im great credit at court ; was esteemed a man of abilities, a good scholar, and an able states- man. His sovereign knew his worth, advanced him to the see of Durham, employed him much at home and abroad ; and at his death left him, during the minority, one of the regents of the kingdom. But m the succeeding reign his interest lessened. He was not altogether satisfied with the changes daily nade in religion: and though he was enough in- slined to give up some of the grosser tenets of po- very, yet in general he favoured it, and was always ‘VOL, Il. H 146 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. in great esteem with the Romish party. This occa sioned their making him privy to some treasonabk designs ; which, in his cautious way, he neithe concurred in nor betrayed. The plot miscarried the bishop was indeed suspected, but nothing ap _peared. Some time afterwards when the duke o Somerset's papers were seized, an unlucky lette was found, which fully detected his knowledge the matter. He was called immediately before thi council, tried by a special commission, found guil of misprision of treason, deprived, and committed { _the tower. Mr. Gilpin, having now stayed as long in Londo _as his .business required, repaired to his parish and immediately entered upon the duties of it. : failed not, as occasion required, to use the king’ Jicence in other parts of the country; but his ow: parish he considered as the place where his chie -eare was due. Here he made it his principal deavour to inculcate moral virtue; and to icooal from those vices, which he observed most preva lent. He seldom handled controversial points ; be ing afraid, lest, endeavouring to instruct, he migh only mislead. For, however resolved he was agai opery, he yet saw not the protestant cause in i full strength; and was still scarcely settled in so of his religious opinions. Hence by degrees a dif fidence of himself arose, which gave him great un -easiness. He thought he had engaged too soon his office—that he could not sufliciently discharge it—that he should not rest in giving his hearer only moral instructions—that, overspread as country was with popish doctrines, he did ill to pre tend to be a teacher of religion, if he were unable t oppose such errors. a ‘these thoughts made every day a greater impreg sion upon-him. At length, quite unhappy, he gay bishop Tunstal an account of his situation. The bishop, whe was the farthest of avy man from 4 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 147 bigot, and liked him not the worse for his freedom of inquiry, told him, As he was so uneasy, it was his advice, that be should think of nothing till he had fixed his religion: and that, in his opinion, he could not do better than put his parish into the hands of some person, in whom he could confide, and spend a year or two in Germany, France, and Helland ; by which means he might have an oppor-. tunity of conversing with some of the most eminent professors on both sides of the question. He ac- quainted him likewise, that his going abroad at this time would do him also a considerable service : for, during his confinement, he had written two or three books, particularly one upon the Lord’s Supper, which he had a desire to publish ; and as this could not be done so conveniently at home, he would be glad to have it done under his inspection at Paris. _ This letter gave Mr. Gilpin much satisfaction : it just proposed his own wish. A conference with some of the learned men abroad was what his heart had long been set on. Only he had one objection to the scheme ; he was afraid it might prove too expensive. As to that, the bishop wrote, his benefice would do something towards his maintenance; and defi- _ciencies he would supply. _ But this did not remove the difficulty. Mr. Gil- in’s notions of the pastoral care were so strict, that ae thought no excuse could justify non-residence ‘er so considerable a time as he intended to be broad. He could not therefore think of support- ng himself with any part of the income of his liy- ag. However, abroad he was determined to go; und resolved, if he staid the shorter time, to rely mly upon his frugal management of the little money e bad ; and to leave the rest to the bishop’s gene- osity. Having resigned his livieg therefore in favour of person, withavhose abilities, and inclinations to ischarge the duties of it, he was well acquainted, H.2 - 148 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. he set out for London, to receive his last orders from the bishop, and to embark. The account of his resignation got to town before him; and gave the bishop, anxious for his nephew's thriving in the world, great concern. ‘ Here are your friends,” says he, ‘ endeavouring to provide for you; and you are taking every method to frus- trate their endeavours. But be warned: by these courses, depend upon it, you will bring yourself pre- sently to a morsel of bread.” Mr. Gilpin begged the bishop would attribute what he had done to a scrupulous conscience, which really would not per- mit him to act otherwise, ‘‘ Conscience !” replied the bishop ; “‘ why you might have had a dispensa- tion.” ‘‘ Will any dispensation,” answered Mr. Gil- pin, ‘‘ restrain the tempter from endeavouring in my absence, to corrupt the people committed to my care? Alas! I fear it would be but an ill excuse for the harm done my flock, if I should say, when God shall call me to an account for my stewardship, that I was absent by dispensation.” This reply put the bishop a little out of humour; but his disgust was soon over, and this instance of Mr. Gilpin’s since- rity raised him still higher im his uncle’s esteem. The bishop would frequently howevey chide him, as Mr. Gilpin afterwards would tell his friends, for these qualms of conscience ; and would be often re- minding him, that, if he did not look better to his interest, he would certainly die a beggar. The bishop, putting into his hands the books he had written, gave him his last instructions, and parted with him in very good humour. So he took the first opportunity of embarking for Holland. SECTION III. . Upon his landing, he went immediately to Mechlin, to visit his brother George, who was at that time pursuing his studies there, The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 149 This visit was probably on a religious account ; for George, though a man of virtue and learning, seems to have been a zealous papist. What in- fluence his brother Bernard had over him does not appear. We meet with him however soon after- wards a warm advocate for the Reformation ; to for- ward which, he translated, from the Dutch into English, a very keen satire against popery, entitled, The Beehive of the Roman Church. Upon Eliza- beth’s accession, he applied himself to state affairs ; for which indeed he was now preparing himself at Mechlin, where the civil law was much studied. The earl of Bedford brought him to court; where he was soon taken notice of by the queen; to whom he so well recommended himself by his dexterity in business, that she made great use of him in her negociations with the states of Holland, and kept him many years in a public character in that country, where he was in great esteem for his abilities and integrity. We often find his name im the accounts of those transactions. Molloy particularly, speaking of some affairs then in agitation, makes honourable mention of him. ‘* The Hans-towns,” says he, “‘ procured, by an imperial edict, that the English merchants associated in Embden and other places, should be adjudged monopolists ; which was done by Suderman, a great civilian. There was there at that time for the queen as nimble a man as Suder- man, and he had the chancellor of Embden to second him ; yet they could not stop the edict. But Gilpin played his cards so well, that he prevailed, the im- perial ban should not be published till after the diet ; and that in the mean time his imperial majesty should send an ambassador to England, to advertise the queen of the edict.” Mr. Gilpin having staid a few weeks with his brother at Mechlin, went afterwards to Louvain, where he resolved to settle for some time. He made frequent excursions to Antwerp, Ghent, Brussels, H3 150 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. and other places in the Low Countries ; where he would spend a few weeks among those of any repu- tation, whether papists or protestants: but he made Louvain his place of residence, for which city he always sees a more than commen. affection. And indeed it was a*most agreeable and commo- dious retreat for a scholar; enjoying ail the advan- tages of situation, and affording the best opportuni- ties for study. Louvain is one of the chief towns of Brabant. It had formerly been the centre of a very considerable woollen trade. More than four thousand looms were daily at work in it, each of which employed near forty people. But.its trade declining, it grew more beautiful, as it became less populous. Elegant houses were built, and spacious waiks laid out within the walls of the town; the river Dyle, which flowed through the midst of it, affording the inhabitants many opportunities of shewing their taste: Upen an eminence at one end stands the castle, a venerable old buildiag, rising out of the midst of a vineyard. dis battlements are, much frequented for the sake ef the noble prospect they command over the coun- try. ‘The elegance of this situation made Louvain the scat of politeness. Hither the men of taste and leisure from all parts repaired; where instead of the noise and hurry of trade, so common in the towns of Flanders, they enjoyed acalm retreat, and the agree- able interchange of solitude and company. ” But what endeared Leuvain. most to a scholar, was the noble seminary established there by John, the fourth duke of Brabant, witha view to keep up the credit ef one of his chie? towns, upon the decay of the woollen manulacture. It consists of many colleges, in each of whica philosophy was taught by two pro- fessors, who read two hours cach nrorning. ‘The scholars had the rest of the day to commit to writing - what they heard. At the time Mr. Gilpin was at Louvain, it was The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 15E one of the chief places for students in divinity. Some of the most eminent divines on both sides of the question resided there; and the most important topics of religion were discussed with great freedom. Mr. Gilpin’s first business here was to get himself introduced to those of any reputation for learning ; to whem his own address and attainments were no mean recommendation, and supplied the place of a long acquaintance. He was present at all public readings and disputations : he committed every thing material to writing ; all his opinions he re-examined ; proposed his doubts in private to his friends; and im every respect made the best use of his time. He now began to have juster notiens of the doc-- trines of the refurmed: he saw things in a clearer and a stronger light: and felt a satisfaction in the change he had made, to which he liad hitherto been a stranger. While he was thus pursing his studies, he and all the protestants in those parts were suddenly alarmed with melancholy news from England—king Edward’s death—the lady Jane’s fall—and queen Mary’s aceession, whose bigotry was well known,. and in whem the signs of a persecuting spirit already appeared. This bad news came however attended witi one- agreeable circumstance; an account of bishop Tun- stal’s release from the Tower, and re-establishment in his bishoprick. » Soon afterwards Mr. Gilpin received a letter from. his brother George, intreating him to come imime— diately to Mechlin; for he had an affair of conse- quence to communicate to him, which absolutely required an interview. When he came thither, he found his brother had received’ a letter from the. bishop, informing him that he had a benefice of con- siderable value vacant in his diocese, which he wished be could persuade his brother Bernard to accept; H4 152 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. imagining he might by this time have gotten over his former scruples. George knew he had a difficult province to manage; but determined to try his influence. He begged his brother, therefore, to consider, ‘‘ That he could not stay so long abroad for want of money, as he might probably chuse—that he had already offended the bishop—and that a second refusal might occasion an entire breach with him—that if it did not, yet the bishop was now an old man—such benefices were not every day to be had—and after the bishop’s death, he was not likely to meet with a friend, who would thus press him to accept a living.” But nothing would do: Bernard continued unmoved, and gave one answer to all his brother’s arguments, ‘‘'That his conscience would not suffer him to comply.” George answered, ‘‘ He might have his living as well taken care of, as if himself were there: besides, says he, you have a bishop approving and advising the step I recommend; what would you desire more ?” ** If a bishop’s judgment,” said Bernard, ‘‘ was to be the rule of my actions, I should comply, but as I am to stand or fall by my own, the case is different.” In short, George was obliged to desist, and Bernard returned to Louvain, rather vexed that he had lost so much time on what appeared to him so trifling an occasion. He thought it however his duty to give ‘the bishop his reasons for not accepting his kind offer, which he did in the following letter : : “Right honourable, and my singular good master, myduty remembered in most humble manner, pleaseth it your honour to be informed, that of late my bro- ther wrote to me, that in any wise I must meet him at Mechlin; for he must debate with me urgent a airs, such as could not be dispatched by writing. When we met, I perceived it was nothing else but to see if he could persuade me to take a benefice, and to continue in study at the university: which if I had known to be the cause of his sending for The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 153 me, I should not have needed to interrupt my study te meet him ; for I have so long debated that matter with learned men, especially with the holy prophets, and most ancient and godly writers since Christ's time, that.I trust, so long as I have to live, never to burden my conscience with having a benefice, and lying from it. My brother said, that your lordship had written to him, that you would gladly bestow one on me; and that your lordship thought (and so did other of my friends, of which he was one) that I was much too scrupulous in that point. Where- unto I always say, If 1 be too scrupulous (as I cannot think that Iam) the matter is such, that I had rather my conscience were therein a great deal too strait, than a little too large: for Iam seriously persuaded, that I shall never offend God by refusing to have a benefice and lie from it, so long as I judge not evil of others; which I trust I shall not, but rather pray God daily, that all who have cures may dis- charge their office in his sight, as may tend most to his glory, and the profit of his church. He replied against me, that your lordship would give me no benefice, but what you would see discharged in my absence as well, or better than I could discharge it myself. Whereunto I answered, that I would be ‘sorry, if I thought not there were many thousands in England more able to discharge a cure than I find myself; and therefore I desire, they may both take the cure and the profit also, that they may be able to feed the body and the soul both, as I think all pastors are bounden. As for me, I can never persuade myself to take the profit and let another take the pains: for if he should teach and preach as faithfully as ever St. Austin did, yet should IE not think myself discharged. And if I should strain my conscience herein, and strive with it to remain here, or in any other university, with such a condition, the “unquietness of my conscience would not suffer me to ‘profit in study at all. | HO 154 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. *« ¥ am here, at this present, I thank God, very well placed for study among a company of learned men, joining to the friars minors ; having free ac- cess at all times to a notable library among the friars, men both well learned and studious. I have entered acquaintance with divers of the best learned in the town; and for my part was never more desirous to learn in all my life than at this present, Wherefore I am bold, knowing your lordship’s singular good will towards me, to open my mind thus rudely and plainly under your goodness, most humbly beseech- amg you to suffer me to live without charge, that I may study quietly. is ** And whereas. I know well yeur lordship is care- ful how I should live, if God should call your lord- ship, being now aged, I desire you let not that care trouble you: for, if I had no other shift, I could get a lectureship, I know, shortly, either in this univer- sity, or at least in some abbey hereby ; where ; should not lose my time: and this kind of life, i God he pleased, I desire before any benefice. And thus I pray Christ always te have your lordship in his blessed keeping. f «« By your lordship’s humble scholar a ** and chaplain, ‘" “* BERNARD GILPIN. « Louvain, Nov. 22, 1554.” ‘4 q The bishop was not offended at this letter. The unaffected piety of it disarmed all resentment ; and led him rather to admire a behaviour, in which the motives of conscience shewed themselves so superiot to those of interest. ‘‘ Which of our modern gaping rooks,” exclaims the bishop of Chichester, “‘ could endeavour with more industry to. obtain a benefice, than this man did to avoid one!” 4 Mr. Gilpin having got over this troublesome affait (for solicitations of this kind gave him of all thing: the most trouble) continued some time longer a + + The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 155 Lonvyain, daily improving in religious knowledge. His own opinions he kept to himself, industriously endeayouring to make himself acquainted with the opinions of others, and the arguments upen which they were grounded. While he stayed in the Low Countries, he was greatly affected with the melancholy sight of crowds of his dejected countrymen arriving daily in those parts from the bloody scene then acting in England. These unhappy exiles however soon recovered their spirits, and, dispersing into various towns, cheerfully applied themselves, each as his profession: led, to gain an honest livelihood.. The meaner sort exer- cised their crafts; the learned taught schools, read lectures, and corrected presses; at Basil particularly, where the ingenious Operin was then carrying print- ing to great perfection. Their commendable endea- yours to make themselves not’ quite a burden to those who entertained them were suitably rewarded. The seyeral towns of Germany and Holland, finding their advantage in these strangers, shewed them ail ima- ginable civility : many private persons likewise con- tributed to their aid: but, above all others, the gene- rous duke of Wirtemburgh distinguished himself. in their favour; whose bounty to the English at Stras- burgh and Franckfort should never pass unremem- ered, where these things are mentioned. Nor was Mr. Gilpin:a little pleased to find, that however un- able he was personally to assist them, his large ac- quaintance in the country furnished him with the means of being useful to many of them by serviceable pages dations: ’ _ Mr. Gilpin had been now two years in Flanders; and had made himself perfect master of the contro- versy, as it was there handled. He left Louvain. therefore, and took a journey to Paris. When he got to Paris, the first thing he set about as printing the bishop of Durbam’s book. This pare hath been observed, was a very modegate> H 6. F oq ™ | 156 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. man ; no favourer of Protestantism, yet no friend to some of the grosser tenets of the Romish church ; particularly to its extravagant doctrine of the sacra- ment of the Lord’s Supper: and this book, which — shewed the moderation of its author, gave much offence to all the more zealous Papists; and drew many severe reproaches on Mr. Gilpin, who was_ generally supposed to have corrupted the bishop’s work. Of what was said his friends gave lim notice, particularly Francis Wicliff; who desired, if the charge was unjust, that he would purge himself of it. Mr. Gilpin told him, that was easily done: and opening a desk, ‘‘ See here, (says he,) a letter from my lord of Durham himself in which he thanks me for my care and fidelity in this business.” While Mr. Gilpin staid at Paris, he lodged with Vascosan, an eminent printer, to whom he had been recommended by his friends in the Netherlands. This learned man shewed him great regard, did him many friendly offices, and introduced him to the most considerable men in that city. Here Popery became quite his aversion: he saw more of its superstition and craft than he had yet seen ; the former among the people, the latter among the priests, who scrupled not to avow, how little truth was their concern. He would frequently ask, “¢ Whether such and such bad consequences might not arise from such and such doctrines?” But he was always answered, “ That was not to be regarded —the church could not subsist without them—and little inconveniences must be borne with.” At Paris he found his old acquaintance Mr. Neal, of New-college; who always favoured Popery, and was now become a bigot to it. Mr. Gilpin often expressed to him the concern he had on this account; and approved his friendship, by the earnest desire he shewed to make him see his errors; but Neal was not of atemper to be wrought on. As an instance of popish sophistry and prejadice, 8 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 157 Mr. Gilpin would sometimes relate a conversation about image-worship, which he once had with this person at Paris. He was observing to him the great absurdity of the Romanists, in condemning idolatry, and yet countenancing such an use of images, as must necessarily draw the people into it. For his part, he said, he knew not how a Christian could allow himself in kneeling to-an image; and asked Neal, whether, in his conscience, he did not think it the idolatry forbidden in the second commandment ? Neal was for distinguishing between an idol and an image: the images of saints, he said were not idols ; and therefore the reverence paid to them could not be idolatry. Mr. Gilpin observed, that in the se- cond.commandment there was no mention made of an idol: the prohibition was, “‘ Bow not down to the likeness of any created thing.” And what is it, said he, that makes an idol? The workman makes the resemblance of a human creature: the image thus made is no idol: it is worship that makes it one. Hence the apostle says, “‘ an idol is nothing”—a mere creature of the imagination. The distinction there- fore between Latria and Doulia is to no purpose: it is made void by the express words, “‘ Thou shalt not bow down unto them.” ‘The very posture of adora- tion, he observed, was forbidden; and that at least the Romanists every where practised.—To all this Neal had only one general answer: “ You may say what you please ; but these things are established by the church, and cannot be altered.” This Neal was the man, who, being afterwards chaplain to bishop Bonner, distinguished himself by - being the sole voucher of the very improbable and silly story of the nag’s-head consecration. Mr. Gilpin having spent three years abroad, was now fully satisfied in all his more considerable scruples. He wanted no farther conviction of the bad tendency of popery: he saw the necessity of some reforma- tion; and began to think every day more favourably 158 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. of the present one. The doctrine of the corporak presence indeed he had not yet fully considered ; but he looked upon it as a mystery, which it rather be- came him to acquiesce in, than examine. The prin- cipal end of his going abroad being thus answered, he was desirous of returning home. The Marian persecution ‘still raged. His friends therefore, with great earnestness, dissuaded him from his design. They represented the danger he would be in at this juncture in England—pressed him to wait for happier times—and suggested, that it was little less than madness to think of going to a place, from whence all, of his sentiments, were endeayour-- ing to withdraw themselves. ‘But it is most probable, that his purpose to return at this time was in pursuance of the bishop of Dur-. ham’s advice; who, finding the infirmities of age increase upon him, and believing his nephew totally unqualified to advance himself in life, might be de- sirous of providing for him before his death ; and hoped that his. power, in that remote part of the Kingdom,. would be a sufficient protection for him against his enemies. It is however certain, that. he came into England during the heat of the per-- secution.. SECTION IV.. Upon his arrival in. England, he went immediately. to the bishop of Durham, who was then in his dio~ cese. Here this humane prelate kept himself with- drawn during most of that violent reign, to avoid having any hand in measures which he abhorred. When he left London, upon his release from the. tower, he was straitly charged with the extirpation of | heresy in his diocese: and was given to understand, . that severity. would be the unly allowed test of his zeal. The Life of Bernard Gilpia. 159 These instructions he received in the spirit they were given; threatening, that heretics should no where find a warmer reception than at Durham; and it was thought indeed the protestants would hardly meet with much favour from him, as they had shewn him so little. But nothing was further from his in- tention than persecution ; insomuch that his was al- most the only diocese, where the peor protestants enjoyed any repose. When most of the other bi- shops sent in large accounts of their services to re- ligion, very lame accounts cate from Durham: they were filled with high encomiums of the orthodoxy of the diocese, interspersed here and there with the trial of an heretic ; but either the depositions against him were not sufficiently proved; or there were great hopes of his recantation—no mention. was made of any burnings. ‘The following story of his lenity we have from Mr. Fox. A person had been accused to him of heresy, whom he had slightly ex- amined, and dismissed. His chancellor thinking him too fayourable, pressed for a further examina- tion: the bishop answered, ‘‘ We have hitherto lived peaceably among our neighbours: let us con- tinue so, and net bring this man’s blood upon us.” A behaviour of this kind was but ill relished by the zealous council; and the bishop lay deservedly under | the calumny of being not actuated by true Romish | principles. Such was the state of the diocese of Durham, when Mr. Gilpin came there. The bishop received him with great friendship ; and, within a very little time, gave him the archdeaconry of Durham; to which the Rectory of Easington was annexed. It is probable, that if Mr. Gilpin came home by the bishop’s advice, this preferment was then vacant, or seon expected to be so. Upon removing to his parish, he found it in great disorder. With a firm resolution therefore of doing what good he could in it, he set himself in earnest 160 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. to reprove vice publicly and privately; to encou- rage virtue ; and to explain the nature of true reli- gion, with a freedom by no means suited to those dangerous times. Very material objections were then made to the clergy of those parts. ‘The reformation, which ad-— vanced but slowly in England, had made least pro-— gress in the north. ‘The ecclesiastics there wanted — not a popish reign to authorize their superstition. — But this was their best side. Their manners were scandalous: the pasto:al care was totally neglected ;_ and it is hard to say, whether vice or ignorance was more remarkable in them. All over England indeed the church was very ill supplied with ministers. ‘‘ As for the inferior clergy, (says Fuller,) the best that could be gotten, were placed in pastoral charges. Alas! tolerability was eminency in that age. A rush candle seemed a torch where no brighter light was ever seen before. — Surely preaching now ran very low, if it be true what I read, that Mr. Tavernour, of Water-Eaton in Oxfordshire, high-sheriff of the county, came in pure charity, not ostentation, and gave the scholars a sermon in St. Mary’s, with his gold chain about his neck, and his sword by his side.” Nor can we imagine, that the high-sheriff himself contributed much to advance the art of preaching, © if we may judge of his oratory by a specimen of it still preserved. <‘‘ Arriving, (says he), at the mount of St. Mary in the stony stage where I now stand, I have brought you some fine biscuits, baked in the oven of charity, and carefully conserved for the _chickens of the church, the sparrows of the spirit, — and the sweet swallows of salvation.” We may judge likewise of the state of learning at that time among the clergy, from the accounts still preserved of sonie archidiaconal visitations. ‘‘ La- tiné verba aliquot intelligit, non sententiam; Latiné utcungue intelligit ; Latiné pauca intelligit ;’? were The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 161 the expressions generally made use of to characterise them in this particular. How much, in the north especially, the pastoral care was neglected, we may judge from an account given us of the clergy of those parts, by a bishop of Durham, in a letter still preserved, to an arch- | bishop of Canterbury. “It is lamentable, (says he), to see how negli- gently they say any service, and how seldom. Your cures are all, except Rochdale, as far out of order as any of the country. Whalley hath as ill a vicar as the worst. The bishop of Man liveth here at ease, and as merry as pope Joan. The bishop of Chester hath compounded with my lord of York for his visitation, and gathereth up the money by his | servants: but never a word spoken of any visitation or reformation ; and that, he saith, he doth out of | friendship, because he will not trouble the country, nor put them to charge in calling them together.” This corruption among his brethren gave Mr. Gil- pin great concern. ‘‘ The insatiable covetousness (to use his own words) joined with the pride, carnal liberty, and other vices, which reign at this time \in all estates, but especially among us priests, who ought to be the salt of the earth, breaks me many a sleep.” He determined therefore to do all in his power to effect a reformation ; or, if that were im- possible, to protest however against what he could not alter. He considered, that one of his offices obliged him to take the same care of the manners of the clergy, as the other did of those of the laity; and as he never received an office without a design of doing his duty in it, he resolved to behave as an _archdeacon ought. Accordingly he took every opportunity of reprov- ing the enormities he remarked. The more inge- _nuous of the inferior clergy he endeavoured to bring by gentler methods to their duty: the obstinate he would rebuke with all authority. And as he feared . - 162 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. no man in the cause of religion, No man’s family or fortune could exempt him from his notice. At visi- tations particularly, and wherever his audience was chiefly clerical, he would express himself against every thing he cbserved amiss, with a zeal, which might have been thought affected in one of a less approved sincerity. ‘ it was an opinion of his, that non-residence and pluralities were the principal sources of corruption among churchmen. We need not wonder therefore, if we find him inveighing against them with the greatest earnestness. It must be owned indeed, they were at that time shamefully in use. _ It was no uneommon thing for a clergyman in those days to hold three, and sometimes’ four livings together. Mr. Strype mentions one person who held five. His’ name was Blage: he was a batchelor in divinity; and held at one time, St. Dunstan’s in the West, ‘Whiston and Doncaster in Yorkshire, Rugby im Warwickshire, and Barnet in Middlesex. ‘Such enormities went tothe heart of the pious archdeacon 5 and were'the constant subjects of his reproof. Some- times he would shew how wrong they were in them- selves, as: absolutely contrary to “the design of endow- ments, at other times how injurious to the rest of the order: ‘* While three parts out of four of the clergy, in his manner of speaking, were picking what they could get off a common, the rest were growing wanton with stall-feeding.” But his great argument against them was, the. prejudice they did religion. Tt was reasonable, (he said,) to think a parish would be better taken care of by the priest, who received the whole income; than by the curate, who received only a very small part; and would it might easily be imagined, too often proportion his pains to his allowance.” Besides, he thought, one man’s engrossing, what in all reason belonged to two, ‘perhaps three or four, agreed very ill with the: simple manners, and sequestered life of a minister The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 163 of Christ ; and gave an example which tended more to the discredit of religion, thar all the preaching in the world to its advancement. With equal freedom he likewise censured their private vices: frequently drawing the character of a bad clergyman, and dwelling upon suca irregulari- ties as he knew gave most offence in the ecclesias- tics of those parts, The prudent bishop, o besetting the forwardness of his zeal, failed not to ‘urnish him with cautions in abundance; often reminding him bow piudently he ought to behave, where, with all his prudence, he should scarce avoid giving offeace—and his enemies, he said, could never want a handle against him, while popery reigned with so much severity. But such representations of danger bad no effect upon him. The common maxims indeed of worldly prudence, he knew, were against him; but the ex- amples he fonnd in Scripture of holy men, who with equal freedom opposed vice, and in times as dan- gerous, wrought strongly with him. If bis endea- ‘vours were at all serviceable to religion, if they only set some bounds to vice, he thought it criminal to check them through any motives of fear. It was his opinion, that when an employment was accepted, it should be accepted in all its parts: he thought nothing was a greater breach of trust, or more de- structive of common good, than to consider public oflices only as private emoluments. It is however a little surprizing, that the bishop ‘of Durham, who knew the world so well, should net foresee how much be must necessarily expose his nephew to the popish party, by placing- him in such a station. He knew he could not temporize; be he must know, that without temporizing, he would soon be obnoxious to those in power; with bore persecuting principles he was well acquainted. Had he proyided tor him in a way,. which had no connexion with the clergy, it is probable he might 164 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. have avoided those dangers in which we shall ‘im- mediately find him. For his free reproofs soon roused the ecclesiastics of those parts against him, and put them upon every method in their power to remove so inconvenient an enquirer. It was pre- sently the popular clamour, ‘‘ That he was an enemy to the church—ascandalizerof the clergy—a preacher of damnable doctrines—and that religion must suffer from the heresies he was daily broaching, if they spared him any longer.” ‘* After I entered upon the parsonage of Easington, (says he, in a letter to his brother,) and began to preach, [ soon procured me many mighty and grievous adversaries, for that I preached against pluralities and non-residence. Some said, all that preached that doctrine became heretics soon after.—Others found great fault, for that I preached repentance and salvation by Christ; and did not make whole sermons, as they did, about transubstantiation, purgatory, holy-water, images, prayers to saints, and such like.” Thus, in short, he had raised a flame, which no- thing but his blood could quench. Many articles were drawn up against him, and he was accused in form before the bishop of Durham. . This prosecution was managed chiefly by one Dunstal, a priest in those parts, who had always distinguished himself as the archdeacon’s enemy: and as it was imagined the bishop’s very great re- gard for Mr. Gilpin might probably obstruct their designs, this person had been long employed by the party to work underhand, and prejudice the bishop against him. Happy was it for him, that the prelate had as much discernment as humanity. He knew what men and times would bear ; and easily found a method to pro- tect his friend without endangering himself. When the cause came before him, ‘‘ He was sorry to hear, that a person he had so great a regard fot should be accused of heresy—that indeed himseli The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 165 had not been without some suspicion of his leaning a little that way—but he had still been in hopes there was nothing in his opinions of any dangerous conse- quence to religion.—He should however be fairly examined ; and if he appeared to be guilty, he should find a very severe judge in the bishop of Durham. By this management the bishop got the affair into his own hands: and taking care to press his accused friend in points only, in which he knew him able to bear examination, he brought him off innocent; telling the accusers, ‘‘ He was afraid they had been too forward in their zeal for religion—and that heresy was such a crime, as no man ought to be charged with but on the strongest proof.” _ The malice of his enemies could not however rest. His character at least was in their power; for they had great influence upon the populace, of which they failed not to make the worst use, by infusing into those, who were open to hasty impressions, sach sentiments as they knew most likely to inflame them. Several of his papers, yet remaining, shew what candid interpreters they were of words and actions, which could possibly be wrested to any bad Meaning: one letter particularly, in which with great mildness he endeavours to free himself from the slanders of some of his enemies, who had reported him to have affirmed, ‘It was as lawful to have two wives as two livings.” He remembered _indeed he had once been asked, ‘‘ Whether of the two was worse?” and that he had carelessly answered, “ He thought them both bad:” but to extend this to his affirming, “ They were both equally bad,” was Peering his) meaning, he thought ina very disin- _ genuous manner. The great fatigue and constant opposition which | Mr. Gilpin thus underwent, were, in the end, he “found, too much for him.—He acquainted the bishop, ) therefore, ‘“‘ That he must resign either his archdea- | Sonry, or his parish,—that he would with the greatest 166 ' The Life of Bernard Gilpin. readiness do his duty in which soever his lordshig thought him best qualified for; but he was not able to do it in both."—“ Have | not repeatedly told you, said the bishop, “ that you will diea beggar? De. pend upon it you will, if you saffer your conscience to raise such unreasonable scruples. ‘The archdea. conry and the living cannot be separated : the incom of the former is not a support without that of the latter. I found them united, and am determined tt leave them so.” In consequence of the bishop’s refusal to let bim keep either of them single, he most probably re- signed them both: for we find him about this time without any office in the church.—During his being thus unemployed, he lived with the bishop as one of his chaplains. But even in this situation he found the malice of his enemies still pursuing him. The defeat they had received did not prevent their seeking every opportunity of attacking him again. He avoided them as much as possible; and they, on the other hand, contrived to meet him as frequently as they could; urging him continually upon some contro- verted point of religion, in contradiction often to the most obvious rules of decency and good manners. The bishop of Chichester gives us the particulars of one of these disputes; which, he says, he had often heard his kinsman, Anthony Carleton, speak of, who lived at that time in the bishop of Durham’s family. A Some of the bishop’s chaplains getting about him in their accustomed manner, one of them asked hint his epinion of the writings of Luther: Mr: Gilpin answered, ‘“‘ He had never read them: that his method had always been to study the Scriptures, and the expositions of the fathers upon them; but for the writings of modern divines, he was not so well acquainted with them.” One of the chaplains, in a sneering manner, commended that as a right way The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 167 ef proceeding ; and added, ‘‘ That if all men were of Mr. Gilpin’s opinion, aan had the same venera- tion for antiquity, the peace of the church would no longer be disturbed with any of these novel teachers.” « But suppose,” said Mr. Gilpin, “ these novel teachers have the sense of antiquity on their side; what shall we say then? Shall the antient doctrine be rejected, because of the novel teacher 2” This not satistying them, they began to urge him far- ther. ‘‘ Pray,” said one of them, “‘ what are your thoughts about the real presence ?” Mx. Gilpin an- swered, «That he really knew nothing of weight to object against it: but he though it too mysterious a subject “to bear a dispute,” “But do you believe transubstantiation?” “I believe every thing con- tained in the word of God.” ‘‘ But do you believe as the church believes?” ‘‘ Pray,” said Mr. Gilpin, *‘is the catholic faith unchangeable!” ‘‘ Undoubt- edly it is.” “But the church “did not always hold transubstantiation as an article of faith.” ‘* When did it not hold it so?” “ Before the time of Peter Lombard, who first introduced it: and even since his time it hath undergone an alteration. Pray tell me, is not the bread in the sacrament converted into both the body and blood of Christ?” ‘* Undoubt- edly itis.” ‘* But,” said Mr. Gilpin, ‘‘ Peter Lom- bard himself did not believe that: for in the eleventh cbapter of his fourth book, I yery well remember he saith expressly, ‘There is no transubstantiation bat of bread into flesh, aud wine into blood.’ And now, I beg you will tell me how you reconcile these things with the unchangeableness of the catho- ic faith?” The chaplains had nothing to answer: for the words of Lombard indeed plainly denied, ‘that im the transubstantiated bread there was any blood. Mr. Gilpin, observing their confusion, went on: “‘It appears then that transubstantiation was ‘never heard of in the church, before the time of Peter Lombard: aman might haye been a good ca- 168 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. tholic without acknowledging that doctrine till then: afterwards, for along time, the only meaning of i was, a conversion of the bread into flesh, and the wine into blood: and thus it remained, till Thomas Aquinas introduced his notion of concomitancy ; ai which time this doctrine underwent another change: both flesh and blood were then, it seems, contained really and substantially in the bread alone.—Alas! alas! I am afraid these are the novel opinions tha have got in amongst us: the catholic faith, we are both agreed, is unchangeable.” The bishop was sitting before the fire in the same chamber, where this conversation happened; and leaning back im hi chair, overheard it. When it was over he got up. and turning to his chaplains, said to them, with some emotion, ‘‘ Come, come, leave him, leave him, I find he has more learning than all of you put together.” How long Mr. Gilpin remained unbeneficed, doth not appear. It could not however be very long, be cause the rectory of Houghton-le-spring fell vacant before Easington, and the archdeaconry, were dis- posed of; and the bishop, in a jocular way, made him an offer of all the three. But that offer it was not likely he would listen to. He thanked the bishop however, and accepted Houghton. _ | This rectory was indeed of considerable value, bul the duty of it was proportionably laborious. It was so extensive, that it contained no less than fourteen villages: and having been as much neglected in that dark age, as the cures in the north then ordi- narily were, popery had produced its full growth of superstition. Scarce any traces, indeed, of “7 Christianity were left. Nay, what little religion mained, was even popery itself corrupted. All its idle ceremonies were carried higher in the north, than in any other part of the kingdom; and were more considered as the essentials of religion. How entirely this barbarous people were excluded from all means of better information, appears from hence, The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 169 that in that part of the kingdom, through the de- signed neglect of the bishops and: justices of the peace, king Edward’s proclamations for a change of worship, had not even been heard of at the time of that prince’s death. Such was the condition of the parish of Houghton, when it was committed to Mr. Gilpin’s care. He was grieved to see ignorance and vice so lamentably prevail: but he did not despair. He implored the assistance of God; and his sincere endeavours met with it. The people crouded about him, and heard him with attention, perceiving him a teacher of a different kind from those, to whom they had hitherto been accustomed. Upon his taking possession of Houghton, it was some mortification to him, that he could not imme- diately reside. His parsonage-house was gone en- tirely to decay ; and some time was required to make it habitable. Part of it was fitted up as soon as possible for his reception: but he continued improv- ing and enlarging it, till it became suitable to his hospitable temper, a proper habitation for a man who never intended to keep what he had to himself. ‘‘ His house,” says the bishop of Chichester, “was like a Dishop’s palace; superior indeed to most bishops’ houses, with respect both to the largeness of the building, and the elegance of the situation.”: Soon after this late instance of the bishop’s favour ‘to him, ancther opportunity offered, by which this generous patron hoped still farther to improve his for- tmme. A stall in the cathedral of Durham was vacant, which he urged Mr. Gilpin in the most ‘friendly manner to accept; telling him, ‘There lay not the same objection to this as to the archdeaconry —that it was quite a sinecure—and that he could have no reasonable pretence for refusing it.” But Mr. Gilpin resolving not to accept it, told the bishop, “That by his bounty he had already more wealth, than, he was afraid, he could give a good account VOL. II. I 170 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. of. He begged therefore, he might not have anad- ditional charge ; but that his lordship would ratlier bestow this preferment on one by whom it was more wanted.” The bishop knew by long experience it was in vain to press him to what he did not approve ; so there was no more said of the prebeud. Though he lived now retired, and gave no offence to the clergy, their malice still pursued him. They observed, with indignation the strong oppositioa ‘between his life and theirs. His care and labour were a standing satire upon their negligence and sloth; and it was the language of their hearts, “‘ By so living thou reproachest us.” In a word, they were determined, if possible, to remove so disagreeable a contrast. ; J But they had not the easiest part tomanage. The country favoured him; the bishop was his friend ; and no good man hisenemy. However, what malice could co was not wanting: every engine was set at work ; and base em‘ssaries employed in all parts to seek out matter for an accusation of him. Of all this Mr. Gilpin was sensible, and behaved as cau- tiously as he thought consistent with his duty; in- deed more cautiously than he could afterwards ap- prove: for, in his future life, he would often tax his behaviour at this time with weakness and cowardice *. But had his caution been greater against such vigilant enemies, it had probably been still incfiec- tual. The eyes of numbers were constantly upon him, and scarce an action of his life escaped them. Of this malicious industry we have the following instance. / A woman in a dangerous labour, imploring God's assistance, was rebuked by those around her for not rather praying to the Virgin Mary. Alarmed by her danger, and greatly desirous of knowing whether God or the Virgin was more likely to assist-her, she ~ * See page 140. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. — ‘171 begged. “The great preacher lately come from abroad, might be sent for: she was sure he would come, and could tell her what she should do.” Mr, Gilpin told her, ‘‘ He durst not persuade her to call upon the Virgin Mary; but in praying to God, she might be sure she did right—that there were many express commands in Scripture for it—and that God would certainly hear them who prayed earnestly to him.”- Mr. Gilpin was afterwards surprized to find that even this private transaction had not escaped the vigilance of his enemies. By so unwearied an industry such a number of articles were in a short time got together, as, it was thought, could not fail to crash him. He was for- ma!ly accused therefore, and brought once more be- fore the bishop of Durham. How the bishop be- haved at this time we are not particularly informed. But no man knew better how to act upon an emer- gency. It is probable he would vary his. manage- ment; but it is certain Mr. Gilpin was acquitted. The malice of his enemies succeeded however in part; for the bishop’s faveur to him from this time visibly declined. The bishop was a prudent man; and when he found that his. kinsman’s piety (carried, as he thought, in many instances, to ex- cess) began to involve himself in inconveniences and suspicions: it is not unlikely that he might judge his friendship had led him too far from his own prudential maxims of behaviour, and that he might resolve to endanger his quiet no longer for the sake of a man whose obstinacy was insuperabie *. * About Easter I was accused again before the bi hop, i many articles, both from York and Durham: but these could take no farther hold against me, than only to make the bishop te blot me out of his testament; and to make the vulgar people speak evil of me. For losing the dis- posal of the bishop’s goods, I thought I was well unbur- thened; and for the people’s favour, to the end I might 12 - 172 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. This was not less than Mr. Gilpin expected. He acknowledged his great obligations to the bishop; was sorry to see him disgusted; and would have given up any thing to have satisfied him, except his conscience. His enemies, in the mean time, were not thus silenced. 'Though they had been defeated a second time, they were still determined to preceed. But as they had found the bishop of Durham could not be wrought on as they wished, they resolved to carry their accusation elsewhere. Thirty-two articles were accordingly drawn up against him; and laid before Bonner of London. Here they went the right way to work. Bonner at once took fire; extolled. their laudable concern for religion, and promised that the heretic should be at a stake ina fertnight. Mr. Gilpin’s friends in London trembled for his safety, and instantly dispatched a message—that he had not a:moment to lose. The messenger did not surprise him. He had long been preparing himself to suffer for the truth, and he now determined not to decline it. It was in some sort, he thought, denying his faith, to be backward m giving the best testimony to it: and as it was the principal business of his life to promote religion, if he could better effect this by his death, it was his wish to die. He received the account, therefore, with great composure: and calling up William Airay, a favous rite domestic, who had long served him as his steward; and laying his hand upon “his shoulder, “ At length,” says he, ‘‘they have prevailed against me—I am accused to the bishop of London, from whom there will be no escaping—God forgive their malice, and more edify in preaching (otherwise I did not covet it I'trusted time, through God’s goodness, would bring it again. Extract of a letter from Bernard Gilpin to his brother. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 173 grant me strength to undergo the trial.” He then ordered his servant to provide along garment for him, in which he might go decently to the stake; and desired it might be made ready with all expedi- tion; “ For I know not,” says he, ‘‘ how soon I may have occasion for it.” As soon as this garment was provided, it is said, he used to put it on every day till the bishop’s mes- sengers apprehended him. His friends in the mean time failed not to inter- pose ; earnestly beseeching him, while he had yet an opportunity, to provide for his safety. Buthe begged them not to press him longer on that subject: should he even attempt it, he said, he believed it would hardly be in his power to escape; for he questioned not but all his motions were very narrowly observed.— Besides, he would ask, how they could imagine he would prefer the miserable life of an exile, before the joyful death of a martyr? ‘‘ Be assured,” says he, ‘1 shouid never have thrown myself voluntarily into the hands of my enemies; but I am fully deter- mined to persevere in doing my duty, and shail take no measures to avoid them.” | In a few days the messengers apprehended him, and put an end to these solicitations. In his way to Londen, it-is said, he broke his leg, which put astop for some time to his journey. The persons, in whose custody he was, took occasion thence, maliciously to retort upon him aa observation he would frequently make, “ That nothing happers to us but what is intended for our good ;” asking him, “ Whether he thought his broken lez was so intended?” He answered meekly, “‘He made no question but it was.” And indeed so it proved in the strictest sense: for before he was able to travel, queen Mary died, and he was set at liberty. Whatever truth there may be’ in this relation, - which depends only on a tradition of the family ; thas 13 ; 174 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. much is certain: the account of the queen’s death met him upon the road, and ree a er to any farther prosecution. SECTION V. Mr. Gilpin thus providentially rescued from his enemies, returned to Houghton through erouds of people, expressing the utmost joy, and blessing God for his deliverance. Elizabeth’s accession freed him now from all res- traint, and allowed him the liberty he had long wished for, of speaking his mind plainly to his parishioners : though nobody but himself thought the reserve he had hitherto used at all faulty. It was now his friend the bishop of Durham’s turn to suffer. He and some other bishops refusing the oath of supremacy, were deprived and committed to the tower. But this severity soon relaxed: to the bishop of Durham especially, the government shewed as much lenity as was thought consistent with the reformation then carrying on. He was recommended to the care of the archbishop of Canterbury; with whom he spent in great tranquillity the short re- mainder of a very long life. This prelate had seen as great a variety of fortune as most men; he had lived in difficult and. in easy times ; he had known both protestants and papists in power; and yet from all parties, and in all revolu- tions of government, he had found favour. The truth is, he was well versed in the art of temporiz- ing, and possessed a large share of that complying philosophy, which taking offence at nothing, can adapt itself to all things. When Henry the eighth began to innovate, the bishop of Durham had ne scruples. When his son went farther, still the bishop was quiet, and owed indeed his confinement at the close of that reign to his desire of continuing The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 175 so. Again, when queen Mary reversed what they had done, with this too the bishop was satisfied, and forgot all his former professions. Thus much how~ eyer may justly be said of him, that upon all occa- sions, and where no secular ends were in view, he shewed himself a man of great moderation: and whether in his heart he was more papist or protes- tant, to arbitrary proceedings however in either per- suasion he was wholly averse. Thus he thought things were carried too far on one side in king Ed- ward's time, and too far on the other in queen Mary’s: with both reigns he was dissatisfied, though he was too great a lover of his ease to oppose them. But as his days shortened, his conscience grew more tender, and what he had done for king Henry and king Edward, he refused to do again for queen Eli- zabeth. ‘Though the bishop of Salisbury is of opi- nion, he was not withheld by any scruples, but such as a sense of decency raised, from complying with that princess ; he was very old, and thought it looked better to undergo the same fate with his brethren, than to be still changing ®. And this is the rather probable, because many historians say, the late reign had given him a great disgust to popery ; and that he would often own to archbishop Parker, he began to think every day more. favourably of the reformers. —In private life his manners were very commend- able. He had an absolute command over himself; atemper which no accident coull discompose; great humanity, and great cood nature. In learning, few of his contemporaries were equal to him; none more ready to patronize it.. Of the offices of friend- ship, he was a strict observer; and was not only a favourer, but a zealous encourager of good men. In _ aword, where he was not immediately under the in- fluence of court-maxims, he gave the example of a true Christian bishop. -* See Burnet’s History of the Reformation. 14 176, The Life of Bernard.Gilpin. Mr. Gilpin, though deprived of the assistance of this great prelate, soon experienced however, that worth like his could never be left friendless. His merit raised him friends wherever he was known ; and though his piety was such, that he never pro- posed reputation as the ead of his actions; yet perhaps few of his profession stood at this time higher in the public esteem. ‘‘ He was respected,” says the bishop of Chichester, “‘ not only by the more eminent churchmen, but by those of the first rank in the nation.” When the popish bishops were deprived, and many sees became vacant, Mr. Gilpin’s frends at court, particularly the earl of Bedford, thought it a good opportunity to use their interest in his favour. He was recommended accordingly to the queen, as a proper person for one of the void bishoprics: on which, as he was a north-countryman, she nominated him to that of Carlisle; and the earl took immediate care that a congé d’elire, with her majesty’s recom- mendation of him, should be sent down to the dean- and chapter of that see. Mr. Gilpin, who knew nothing of what was going forward in his favour, was greatly surprised at this unexpected honour ; yet could not by any means persuade himself to accept it. Hesent a messenger therefore with a letter to to the earl, expressing his great obligations to her majesty and his lordship for their favourable sentiments of hin—but begged they would excuse his accepting theirintended kindness— they had really thought of placing him ina station which he did not merit—he must therefore remove from himself a burden to which he, who was best acquainted with his own weakness, knew himself unequal—in the mean time he would not fail to do his utmost for the service of religion in an inferior employment. The earl, upon the receipt of this letter, went immediately to Dr. Sandys, bishop of Worcester, | The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 177 who was then in London. As this prelate was in- timately acquainted with Mr. Gilpin, and, as the bishop of Chichester says, nearly related to him, the earl supposed he could not be without his influence over him; and therefore earnestly desired he would endeavour to persuade his friend to think less meanly of himself. The bishop readily undertook the office, and wrote the following letter to Mr. Gilpin*. ** My much respected kinsman, regarding not so much your private interest, as the interest of reli- gion, I did what I could, that the bishopric of Car- lisle, might be secured to you: and the just charac- ter I gave of you to the queen has, I doubt not, had some weight with her majesty in her promotion of you to that see; which not to mention the honour of ‘it, will enable you to be of the utmost service to the church of Christ.—i am not ignorant how much rather you chuse a private station: but if you con- sider the condition of the church at this time, you cannot, I think, with a good conscience, refuse this burden ; especially as it is in a part of the kingdom, where no man is thought fitter than yourself to be of service to religion. Wherefore I charge you before God, and as you will answer to him, that laying ail excuses aside, you refuse not to assist your country, and do what service you can to the church of God.— In the mean time, 1 can inform you, that by the queen’s favour you will have the bishopric just im the condition in which Dr. Oglethorpe leit it; nothing shall be taken from it, as hath been from some cthers. Wherefore exhorting and beseeching you to be obe- dient to God's call herein, and not to neglect the duty of your function, I commend both you and this whole business io the divine providence. Your kins- man and brother, “ EDWIN WORCESTER.” London, April 4, 1560. * The original is lost, but the bishop of Chichester has preserved a latin translation of it, from which this is taken, 1d 178 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. This letter, notwithstanding the pressing manner in which it is written, was without effect. Mr Gilpin returned his thanks; but as for the bishopric, he was determined, and he thought for very good reasons, not to accept it. Norcould all the persua- sions of his friends alter this resolution. Had he, they asked him, any scruple of conscience about it? —In one sense he had: ‘“* The case,” says he, “ is truly this: if any other bishopric, besides Carlisle, had been offered to me, I possibly might have ac- cepted it: but in that diocese I have so many friends and acquaintance, of whom I have not the best opi- nion, that I must either connive at many irregulari- ties, or draw upon myself so much hatred, that L should be less able to do good there than any one else.” Mr. Gilpin thus persisting in his refusal, the bi- shopric was at length given to Dr. Best, a man by no means undeserving of it. This prelate soon “found he had entered upon a very disagreable and vexatious office. His cathe- dral was filled with an illiterate set of men, who had been formerly monks: ‘“‘ For,” as Camden tells us, “the greater part of the popish priests thought it would turn to better account to renounce the pope's authority, and swear allegiance to the queen, were it for no other end than the exclusion of protestants out of their churches, and the relief of such of their own party, who had been displaced. This they judged a piece of discretion highly meritorious, and hoped the pope would be so good as dispense with their oath on such an occasion.” The diocese of Carlisle was much in this situation; and indeed the people there were as strongly inclined to the super- stitions of popery as the priests. This disposition of the country, whetted by the prelate’s rigid oppo- sition, who was not a man the most happily qualified to manage unruly tempers, began to shew itself in very violent effects. ‘The whole diocese was soom The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 179 ina flame; and the bishop, after two years’ resi- dence, was obliged to repair to London, and make a formal complaint to his superiors. This yexation which the popish party was likely to give to any one placed in the see of Carlisle, is ima- gined, by the archbishop Grindal’s life, to be a prin- cipal reason why Mr. Gilpin refused it. But this }would have been as good areasen for his refusing the rectory of Houghton, cr any other employment in the charch : for popery prevailed universally over the country; and he could be placed no where in the north without experiencing a toilsome opposition to the bigotry and prejudices of it. But his own ease and convenience were never motives of the least weight with him, when any service to mankind could be balanced against them. __ The accounts given us by bishop Nicholson and Dr. Heylin of Mr. Gilpin’s bebaviour on this occa- sion are still more disingenuous: they both ascribe it chiefly to lucrative motives. The * former inti- mates, that the good man knew what he was about, when he refused to part with the rectory of Houghton for the bishopric of Carlisle: the + latter supposes that all his scruples would have vanished, m‘ght he have had the old temporalities uadiminished. Both these writers seem to have been very little acquainted with Mr. Gilpin’s character, in which disinterested- ness bore so principal a part: it will hereafter ap- pear, that he considered his income in no other light than that of a fund to be managed for the common good. ‘The bishop’s insinuation therefore is contra- dicted by every action of Mr. Gilpin’s life: and as for Dr. Heylin’s, it is most notoriously false ; for the bishopric was offered to him with the old temporali- ties undiminished t. There were not wanting same who attributed his * In his historical library. + In his church history, { See the bishop of Worcester’s letter, p. 177. 16 td 180 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. refusal of the bishopric to unfavourable sentiments of episcopacy. But neither for this was there any good foundation. He was indeed far from being a bigot to that or any other form of church govern- ment, esteeming a good life, which might be led under any of them, the best evidence of a Christian. Yet he seems to have thought most favourably of the episcopal form ; as will appear afterwards, when notice is taken of the endeavours of the dissenters to draw him to their party. The year after his refusal of the bishopric of Car- lisle, an offer of another kind was made bim. The provostship of Queen’s-college in Oxford be- coming vacant soon after Elizabeth's accession ; and the fellows who were strongly attached to popery, being abcut to chuse a person inclimed the same way the queen, with their visitor the archbis .op of York, interposed, and imsisted on their electing Dr Francis. The fellows were much out ef lmmour a this preceeding ; and the affair made some no‘se ir the university, where the popish party was very} strong. At length however the queen's recommen ‘dation took effect. But though the fellows had thus chosen the person recommended to them, yet thei behaviour was so undutiful towards him, that he was soon weary of his office; and in less than a year bé gan to think of resigning it. Mr. Gilpin was. the person he turned ‘his thoughts on for a successor, apprehending that such a change would not be um pleasing to the fellows, and very agreeable to thie cueen. He made him an offer therefore of resign: ing in his favour: but not succeeding the first time, he wrote again; begging at least that he would re commend to him some proper person, and .assuring him with what readiness lie would acquiesce in_ his choice. His second letter is still preserved. - ‘«« After my hearty commendations: meaning te leave the place which I occupy in the Queen’s-cuilege at Oxford, and being desirous to prefer some honest The Life of Bernard Gilpin. ISL learned, godly, and eligible person to that office, I thought good yet once again to offer the provestship thereof unto you: which if it please you to accept, I shall be glad upon the sight of your letters, written to that end, to move the fellows, whom I know do mean you marvellously well. But, and if you pro- pose not to encumber yourself with so small a por- tioa in unquietness (so may J justly call it) I shall wait your advice upon whom I may confer the same, whom you think mete and eligible thereunto: and I shall be ready to follow your advice upon the receiv- ing of your letters, wherewith I pray you speedily to certify me. ‘* By yours to command, “THOMAS FRANCIS. Oxford, December 17, 1561. ’ 09 How Mr. Gilpin answered this letter doth net ap- _ pear; nor whether he recommended a successor to the dissatisfied provost: this only is certain, that he refused the offer himself. Thus having had in his option almost every kind of preferment which an ecclesiastic. is capable of holding, he sat down with one living, which gratified the utmost of his desires—for he found it afforded him as many opportunities of doing good, as he was able to make use of. Soon after Elizabeth’s accession, a general visita- tion was held. Anassembly of divines, among whom were Parker, Grindal, and Sandys, having finished a body of injunctions and articles, commissions were issued out, empowering proper persons to inforce them; the oath of supremacy was_to be tendered to the clergy, and_a subscription imposed. When the visitors came to Durham, Mr. Gilpin was sent to, and requested to preach before the clergy there, against the pope’s supremacy. ‘To this he had no objection: but he did not like the thoughts of sub- scribing, having some doubts with regard to one or 182 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. . more of the articles. His curate having not these scruples, he hoped that his subscription might satisfy the visitors. But he was mistaken; for the next day, when the clergy were assembled to subscribe, as an instance of respect, Mr. Gilpin was first called upon. ‘The emergency allowed him no time for re- flection. He just considered with himself, that upon the whole, these alterations in religion were cer- tainly right—that he doubted only ia a few imma- terial pomts—and that if he should refuse, it might keep others back. He then took up the pen, and, with some hesitation, at length subseribed. After- wards retiring, he sent a letter to the visitors, ac- . quainting them in what sense he subscribed the ar- ticles ; which they accepted very favourably. The great ignorance which at this time prevailed over the nation, afforded a melancholy prospect to all who had the interest of religion at heart. To it was owing that gross superstition which kept refor- mation every where so long at a stand; a supersti- tion which was like to continue; for all the channels, through which knowledge could flow, were choaked up. There were few schools im the nation; and these as ill supplied as they were endowed. The universities were in the hands of bigots, collecting their strength to defend absurdities to the utter neg- lect of all gcod learning. At Cambridge indeed some advances in useful literature were made; Sir John Cheke, Roger Ascham*, and a few others, * Sir John Cheke was fellow of St. John’s, and after- wards tutor to Edward the Sixth. In queen Mary’s time he fled into Germany ; but by a trick was brought home, and recanted to save his life; ‘“* A great example (says Lloyd in his state worthies) of parts and ingenuity, of frailty and infirmity, of repentance and piety.” Roger Ascham was fellow of the same college ; and professor of oratory in the university ; afterwards tutor and secretary to queen Elizabeth. He was a man of great learning; honesty, and indiscretion. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 183 having boldly struck out a new path through that wilderness of- false science, which involved them: but they were yet lazily followed. The very bad consequences which could not but be feared from this extreme ignorance, turned the endeavours of all well-wishers to the progress of true religion upon the most probable methods to re- move it. ‘The queen herself was greatly interested in this matter, and earnestly recommended it to the care of her council; who began to vie with each other in their endeavours to root out false science, as they had already done false religion. No good work ever went forward, which Mr, Gilpin did not promote, as far as he was able. In this he joined to the utmost of his abilities—as was commonly indeed thought, beyond them. His man- ner of living was the most ailluent, and generous : his hospitality made daily a large demand upen him ; and his bounty and charities a much larger. © His acquaintance therefore cculd not but wonder to find him, amidst such great expences, entertaining the design of building and endowing a grammar-school : a design however which his exact economy enabled him to accomplish. The effects of his endowment were very quickly seen. His school was no sooner opened than it be- gan to flourish, and afford the agreeable prospect of a succeeding generation rising above the ignorance and errors of their forefathers. That such might be its effects, no care on his part was wanting. He not only placed able masters in his school, whom he procured from Oxford, but him- self likewise constantly inspected it. And that en- couragement might quicken the application ef his boys, he teok particular notice cf the most forward : ke would call them his own scholars, and would send for them into his study, and there instruct them him- self.—Often when he met a poor boy upon the road, he would make trial of his capacity by a few ques- 184 The Life of Bernard Gulp. tions; and if he found it such as pleased him, he would provide for his education. Nor did his care end here. From school he sent several to the universities, where he maintained them at his own expence. To others, who were in- circumstances to do something for themselves, he would give the farther assistance they needed»; and thus induced many parents to allow their children a. liberal education, who were otherwise unequal, or perhaps disinclined, to it. While the church was in possession of its immense wealth, the universities were always full: but when this was taken away, it soon appeared that the muses, unportioned, had very few charms. In king Edward’s reign, bishop Latimer calculated, that even in that short space of time since the alienation of the church-lands, the two universities were diminished by above ten thousand persons ; a number almost incredible. Nor did Mr. Gilpin think it enough to afford the means only of an academical education to these young people, but endeavoured with the utmost care to make it as beneficial to them as he could. He still considered himself as their proper guardian; and seemed to think himself bound to the public for their being made useful members of it, as far as it lay in his power to make them so. With this view he held a punctual correspondence with their tutors; and made the youths themselves likewise frequently write to him, and give him an account of their studies, Several of their letters, chiefly preserved by having * something of Mr. Gilpin’s written upon their backs, still remain, and shew in how great veneration he was held among them*. So solicitous indeed was — * Anextract from one of these letters is worth preserv- --ing.. It contains a curious account of that remarkable sickness in Oxford, which succeeded the black assize, as it was afterwards called. The original is in latin, “: The terrible distemper among us,-of which you have: The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 185 he about them, knowing the many temptations to which their age and situation exposed them, that once every other year, he generally made a journey to the universities, to inspect their behaviour, Nor was this uncommon care unrewarded. Few of his. scholars miscarried: ‘‘ Many of them,” says the bishop of Chichester, ‘‘ became great ornaments to the church; and very exemplary instances of piety.” -. Among those of any note, who were educated by him, I find these three particularly mentioned ; Henry Ayray, George Carleton, and Hugh Brough- ton. : undoubtedly heard, hath made it indeed a dreadful time tous. During the first six days there died ninety-five; seventy of whom were scholars. This is not conjecture, but appears from the mayor’s list. The infection does not confine itself to the town, but begins to spread in the country; where, if our accounts are true, it hath carried off numbers of people: amongst them poor Mr. Roberts. Those who are seized with it, are in the utmost torment + their bowels are burnt up: they call earnestly for drink : they cannot bear the touch of clothes: they intreat the standers by to throw cold water upon them: sometimes they are quite mad; rise upon their keepers ; run naked out of houses; and often endeavour to put an end to their lives.—The physicians are confounded, declaring they have met with nothing similar either in their reading or practice. Yet many of them give this distemper a name, though they have done nothing to shew they are at all acquainted with its nature. The greater part of them, I am told, have now left the town, either out of fear for themselves, or conscious that they can do no good.— This dreadful distemper is now generally attributed to some jail infection, brought into court at the assizes: for it is remarkable, that the first infected were those only who had been there.—Few women or old men have died.— God be thanked, the rage of this pestilence is now much abated. It is still among us in some degree, but its effects appear every day weaker.” 186 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. Henry Ayray became afterwards provost of Queen’s-college in Oxford; where he was in great esteem for his abilities, and exemplary life. ’ George Carleton was a man of: worth and learn- ing, and very deservedly promoted. to the see of Chichester. It might have been added, that he was much caressed and employed by James I. but the favours of that undistinguished monarch reflected no great honour upon the objects of them. To this good prelate the world is chiefly indebted for these memorials of Mr. Gilpin’s life. ‘§ Hugh Broughton, was indeed famous in his time, and as a man of letters esteemed by many, but in every other light despicable. He wes a remarkable instance of the danger of learning without common sense. During the younger part of his life he con- fined himself to a college library, where his trifling genius engaged him chiefly in rahbinical learning, in which he made a notable progress. ‘Thus accom- plished, he came abroad, with an opinioa of himself equalled only by his sovereign contempt for others. As he wanted that modest diffidence which is the natural guard of a person unacquainted with the world, he soon involved himself indifficulties: Lon- don was the scene where he first exposed’ himself. Here for some time he paid a servile court to the vulgar, in the capacity of a popular preacher: but afterwards giving a freer scope’ to his vanity, he set up aconventicle ; where assuming the air of an ori- ginal, he treated the opinions of the times, and all who maintained them, with an insufferable insolence and scurrility. Disappointed of his expected pre- ferment, and thoroughly mortified that his merit had been so long disregarded, he withdrew into Ger- many. Thither he carried his old temper, attack- ing Jews in synagogues, and papists in mass-houses. But he was soon glad to return into England; where having lived out all his credit, and become the The Life of Bernard Gilpin. _—- 187 jest even of the stage*, he died—a standing mionu- ment of the folly of applying learning to the purposes of vanity, rather than the moral ends of life +. _ * See the Alchymist of Ben Jonson; act 2. se, 3. and act 4. sc. 5.—The Fox; act 2. sc. 2. + The following elegy upon Mr. Broughton’s death, written in the year 1612, I met with accidentally. The reader will not be displeased with it, as it is a very beau- tiful composition, and serves likewise: to illustrate Mr. Broughton’s character ; for though meant as an enco- mium, it is rather a satire upon him for employing himself in matters of mere curiosity, in the most trifling studies, which belonged to his profession. A comely dame in sorrow’s garments drest, Where chrystal-sliding Thames doth gently creep,, With her soft palm did beat her ivory breast, And rent her yellow locks ; her rosy cheek She in a flood of briny tears did steep: Rachel she seemed, old Israel’s beauteous wife, Mourning her sons, whose silver cord of life Was cut by murd’rous Herod’s fell and bloody knife. Between her lily hands the virgin held Two testaments; the one defaced with rust, Vanquisht with time, and overgrown with eld, All stained with careless spots, all soiled with, dust ; It seemed the same the which Jehovah earst With his celestial finger did engrave, And on the top of smoaking Sinai gave To him, whom Pharoah’s daughter found in watery cave. The other seemed fresh, and fairly clad In velvet cover, filleted with gold ; White bullions and crimson ties it had : Its pumic’d leaves were seemly to behold : That spotless Lamb, which trait’rous Judas sold, With sacred stain, fresh issuing from his side, Them gilt, when in Jerusalem he dyed, For to redeem his dearest love, his beauteous bride. 188 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. But to return: while Mr. Gilpin was ‘engaged in settling his school, he was for some time interrupted a Theology, for so men called the maid, Upon these volumes cast her melting eyes: s° And no ae now,” quoth she, ** since Broughton’s ead, . Find out the treasure, which within you lies, ; Shadowed in high and heavenly mysteries ? y Ah! who shall now,” quoth she, “ to others tell How earth’s great ancestor, old Adam fell, , . Banished from flowery Eden, where he once did dwell? — «*’What meant that monstrous man, whom Babel’s king” Did in a troubled slumber once behold, Like huge Goliah, slain by David’s sling, Whose dreadful head, and curled locks were gold, With breasts and mighty arms of silver mould; é' Whose swelling belly and large sides were brass, Whose legs were iron, feet of mingled mass, Of which one part was clay, the other iron was ! «« What meant the lion, plumed in eagle's wings: What meant the bear, that in his horrid jaw Three ribs of some devoured carcase brings : What meant the leopard, which Belshazzar saw, With dreadful mouth and with a murdering paw ; And what that all-devouring horned beast With iron teeth, and with his horrid crest, All this, and much besides, by Broughton was exprest. «* Twas he that branched Messiah’s sacred stem In curious knots, and traced his earthly race From princely Adam to the noble Sem, So down to him that held Coniah’s place, And from his son to Mary full of grace, A heavenly maid, a blessed virgin wife, Who highly favoured, gave the precious life, The ransom of a world from sin and Satan’s strife. «<’Twas he that graved the names of Jacob’s sons In that mysterious plate on Aaron’s breast ; The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 189 . bya rebellion which broke out in the north. The popish party, which had given so much disturbance Reuben in sardius, which as water runs ; In topaz Simeon, baser than the rest; In emerald Levi, for his doctrine best: Judah in carbuncle, like heaven’s bright eye And Issachar in saphire’s azure die ; In ruby Zabulon, which near the sea doth lie ; “« Dan in the flowery hyacinth is cut ; In agate Napthali; and warlike Gad In bloody amethyst: Ashur is put In crysolite : the beryl Joseph had ; Young Berjamin, old Jacob’s sweetest lad, The onyx: each within his several stone Our great Bezaleol carved, who now is gone To praise the Lamb, and him who siis upon the throne. «¢ Ye sacred Muses, that on Siloah sing, And in celestial dew do dip your quill, The which your Pheebus, mighty Etohim, In silyer-streaming channels doth distill From top of Hermon, and of Sion hill, As you your great Creator’s praise rehearse, Ah! lend one broken sigh, one broken verse, One doleful-tuned hymn to deck his sable hearse. *« And you, poor Jews, the issue of old Sem, Who did in honey flowing Canaan dwell, And swayed the sceptre of Jerusalem, Until some snaky fury, sent from hell, Did you enrage with spite and malice fell To put your Lord to death—ah! now repent For murdering that Lord—ah ! now lament His death, who would have brought you into Japhet’s tent. “ Ye learned clerks, that covet Adam’s tongue, Long time preserv d in Heber’s holy line, After th’ emprize of that heav’n-scaling throng, Which sought above the dew-steep’d clouds to climb 9 190, The Life of Bernard Gilpin. to Elizabeth's reign, made at this time.a fresh effort. Two factious spirits, the earls of Westmoreland, and Northumberland, inflamed by the seditious whispers of a Romish emissary, were drawn from their allegiance. The watchful ministry soon sus- pected them; and the queen, with her usual fore- sight, appointed a short day for their appearance at court, obliged them, yet unprepared, to take arms. (Such hateful pride was found in earthly slime) Do you lament this wondrous learned man, Who, tuneful as the silver-pinion’d swan, Canaan’s rich language in perfection sang. ** He knew the Greek, plenteous in words and sense, The Chaldee wise, the Arabic profound, The Latin pleasing with its eloquence, The braving Spanish with its lofty sound, The Tuscan grave with many a laurel crown’d, The lisping French that fits a lady vain, The German, like the people, rough and plain, The English full ard rich, his native country’s strain. “ Ah! Scottish Ishmaels, do not offer wrong Unto his quiet urn; do not defame ‘Lhe silver sound of that harmonious tongue : Peace, dirty mouths, be quieted by shame, Nor vent your gall upon a dead man’s name. O wake, ye west-winds; come, ye south, and blow ; With your myrth-breathing mouths sweet odours throw Into the scented air round Broughton’s tomb below.” This said, the virgin vanished away, Meanwhile heaven put its darkest mantle on ; The moon obscured withheld her silver ray ; No twinkling star with cheerful lustre shone, But sable night lowered from her ebon throne. — Yet sorrow cease; tho’ he’s no longer ours, Still, still he lives in yon celestial bowers, And reigns triumphant with a choir of heavenly powers. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 191 Mr. Gilpin had observed the fire gathering befire the flame burst out; and knowing what zealots wou'd soon approach him, he thought it prudent to with- draw. Having given proper advice thereiore to his masters and scholzs, he took the opportunity to make ajourney to Oxford.” The rebels in the mean time published their ma- nifesto, and appeared in arms ; displaying in their banners a chalice, and the five wounds of Christ, and enthusiastically brandishing a cross before them. In this order they marched to Bernard-castle, which surrendered to them. ‘They next surprized Dur- ham; where they burned all the bibles they could find, and had mass said publicly in the cathedral. The country around felt their rage. Many of them ravaged as far as Ifoughton. Here they found much booty: the harvest was just over; the barns were full; the grounds well stocked with fatted cattle. Every thing became their prey; and what was de- signed to spread a winter’s gladness through a coun- try, was in a moment wasted by these -ravagers, _ But themselves soon feit the consternation they occasioned. The appreach of the earl of Sussex with a numerous army was now confirmed. Every rumour brought him nearer. Their fears propor- tionally increased, they mutinied, threw down their arms, and dispersed. 'The country being generally loyal, many were taken, and imprisoned at Durham and Newcastle; where Sir George Bowes was com- missioned to try them. . Here Mr. Gilpin had an opportunity of shewing his humanity. Sir George had received personal iil treatment from them; and the clamouys of a plun- dered country demanded the utmost legal severity : and indeed the utmost legal severity. was exercised, to the great indignation of all, who were not wholly bent on revenge. This induced Mr. Gilpin to interpose. _ He represented to the marshal the true state of the «country, “ That, in general, the people were well 192 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. affected ; but being extremely ignorant, many of them had been seduced by idle stories, which the rebels had propagated, making them believe they took up arms for the queen’s service.” Persuaded by wvat he said, or paying a deference to his charac- ter, the marshal grew more mild; and shewed in- stances of mercy, not expected from him. About this time Mr. Gilpin lost one of the most intimate friends he ever had, Dr. Pilkington, bishop of Durham; a man much admired for his learning, but more esteemed for the integrity of his life. He - -was bred at Cambridge, where he was many years” master of St. Jolm’s college. Here he was first taken notice of for a freedom of speech which drew upon him queen Mary’s resentment. But he had the gocd fortune to escape the inquisition of those times. In the succeeding reign he recommended himself by an exposition of “the book of Haggai, or rather by an ingenious application of it to the reformation in religion then designing. He was afterwards intro- duced to the queen ; and being found a man of true moderation, the reformed temper then looked for, aud of abilities not unequal to the charge, he was promoted to the see of Durham. Having taken upon him this trust, he made it the endeavour of his life to fulfil it. He withdrew himself immediately from all state avocations, and court dependencies, in which indeed he had never been much inyolved, and applied himself wholly to the duties of his function ; ¥ promoting religion rather by his own exaniple, than by the use of 1 proper discipline, in which he was thought too remiss.—At Durham he became ae- quainted with Mr. Gilpin. Their minds, intent on the same pursuits, easily blended. It was a pure friendship, in which interest had no share ; for the ene had nothing to ask, the other had nothing to re- ceive. When business did not require their being separate, they were generally together ; sometimes at Bishop-Awkland, and as often at ‘Houghton. At The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 193 these meetings they consulted many pious designs. Induced by Mr. Gilpin’s example, the bishop founded a school at the place of his nativity in Lancashire ; the statutes of which he brought to his friend to re- vise and correct. : SECTION VI. Mr. Gilpin’s blameless life, his reputation in the world, his piety, his learning, and that uncommon re- gard for truth, which he had always discovered, made it the desire of persons of all religious persua- sions to get him of their party, and have their cause credited ‘by his authority. The dissenters made early proposals to him. The reformation had scarce obtained a legal settle- ment under Elizabeth, when that party appeared. Its origin was this. The English protestants, whom the Marian perse- eution had driven from home, flying in great bodies into Germany and Switzerland, settled at Frankfort, Strasburgh, Arrow, Zuric, and Geneva. Of all these places Frankfort afforded them the kindest re- ception. Here, by the favour of the magistracy, they obtained the joint use of a church with the dis- tressed protestants of France, to, whom likewise Frankfort at that time afforded protection. These were chiefly Calvinists. Religious prejudicés be- tween both parties were however here laid aside. Their circumstances as fellow-exiles in a ‘foreign land, and fellow-sufferers in a common cause, in- spired them with mutual tenderness: in one great opposition all others subsided; and protestant and apist became the only distinction. In a word,, the English thinking their own church now dissolved, haying no material objections, and being the less body, for the sake of peace and convenience, receded. from their liturgy, and conformed to the French. VOL, H. re 194 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. Some authors indeed mention this as an imposed condition. Be it however as it will, the coalition was no sooner known, than it gave the highest of- fence to many of the English settled in other parts. *“¥t was scandalous,” they exclaimed, “‘ to shew so little regard to an establishment which was formed with so much wisdom, was so well calculated for all the ends of religion, and for which their poor brethren in England were at that time laying down their lives.” The truth of the case was, the argwment had been before moved; and this was only the re- kindling of that flame which John a Lasco had for- merly raised*. An opposition so very unseasonable, produced, as such oppositions generally do, the worst effects. Besides the scandal it every where gave, it engaged the Frankfort English in a formal defence of their proceedings ; and their passions being excited, they began at length to maintain on principle, what they at first espoused only for con- venience. Accordingly, when they came home, they revived the dispute with bitterness enough ; and be- came then as unreasonable in molesting, as they had before been unreasonably molested. Subtle men will never be wanting, who have their sinister ends to serve by party-quarrels. And thus some ambi- tious spirits among the dissenters, wanting to make themselves considerable, blew up the flame with great vehemence: ‘It was as good,” they exclaimed, & not to begin a reformation, as not to go through with it—the church of England was not half reformed —its doctrines indeed were tolerable, but its cere- monies and government were popish and unchristian ; * John a Lasco was a native of Poland; from whenee being driven on the account of his religion, he retired into England; where, by the favour of Edward the Sixth, he was 5 allowed to open a church for the.use of those of his. own persuasion. But he made only a bad use of this in= dulgence; interfering very impertinently in ~ ecclesi-- astical controversies then on foot. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 195 —it was in vain to boast of. having thrown off the Romish yoke abroad, while the nation groaned under a lordly hierarchy at home—and for them- selves, as they had been sufferers in the cause of re- ligion, they thought it was but right they should be consulted about the settlement of it.” This impru- dent language was a melancholy presage to all who had real Christianity at heart. It was answered, ** That things were now legally settled—that what- ever could give just offence to the scrupulous had been, it was thought, removed—that if they could not conform, a quiet non-conformity would be tole- rated—and that the many inconveniences attending even that change, which was absolutely necessary, made it yery disagreeable to think of another, which was not so.” The lord Burleigh endeavoured to convince them how impossible it was in things of this nature to give universal satisfaction, by shewing them that even among themselves they could not agree upon: the terms of an accommodation. And Sir Francis Walsingham proposed to them from the queen, that a few things in the Established Church, to which they most objected, should be abolished. But they answered loftily, in the language of Moses, * That not an hoof should be left behind.” This ir- reconcileable temper gave great offence not only to the churchmen, but to-the more serious of their own persuasion. The government from this time slight- ing them, they appealed to the people; and by the popular artifice of decrying authority, they soon be- came considerable.—Such were the beginnings of those dissentions which our prudent forefathers en- tailed on their posterity ! ' The dissenters havmg tlius formed their party -among the people, endeavoured 1o strengthen it by soliciting every where the most creditable persons in favour of it. Very early applications were made to Mr. Gilpin. His refusal of the bishopric of Carlisle had given them favourable sentiments of him, and k 2 196 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. great hopes that in his heart he had no dislike’ to their cause. But they soon found their mistake. He was wholly dissatisfied with their proceedings. Religious disputes were in his opinion of such dan- gerous consequence, that he always thought when true Christianity, under any form of church govern- ment, was once established in a country, that form ought not to be altered, unless blameable in some very material points. ‘‘ The reformation,” he said, “was just: essentials were there concerned. But at present he saw no ground for dissatisfaction. The church of England, he thought, gave no reason- able offence. Some things there might be in it, which had been perhaps as well avoided *: but to * It is probable he here means particularly the use of vestments, which gave a good deal of offence at that time. —Bishop Burnet, speaking of some letters he saw at Zurich between Bullinger and some of the reformed bi- shops, has the following paragraph, which it will not be improper to quote at length, as it gives us a good idea of those times. . “ Most of these letters contain only the general news, but some were more important, and relate to the disputes’ then on foot concerning the habits of the clergy, which gave the first beginnings to our unhappy divisions; and~ by the letters, of which I read the originals, it appears that the bishops preserved their ancient habits rather in~ compliance with the queen’s inclinations, than out of any liking they had to them: so far were they trom liking” them, that they plainly expressed their dislike of them, Jewel, in a letter bearing date the 8th of February, 1566, — wishes that the vestments, together with all the other remains of popery, might be thrown both out of their churches, and out of the minds of the people, and laments the queen’s fixedness to them: so that she would suffer no change to be made.—And in January the same year, Sandys writes to the same purpose. ‘ Contenditur de~ vestibus papisticis utendis vel non utendis, dabit Deus his” quoque finem.’ Disputes are now on foot concerning the — popish vestments, whether they should be used or not, The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 197 disturb the peace of a nation for such trifles,” he thought, ‘“‘ was quite unchristian.”"—And indeed what appeared to him chiefly blameable in the dis- but God will put an end to these things.—Horn, bishop of Winchester went further: for ina letter dated July 16, 1565, he writes of the act concerning the habits with great regret; and expresses some hopes that it might be repealed next session of parliament, if the popish party did not hinder it; and he seems to stand in doubt whether he should conform himself to it or not, upon which he desires Bullinger’s advice. And in many letters writ on that subject, it is asserted, that both Cranmer and Ridley intended to procure an act for abolishing the habits, and that they only defended their lawfulness, but not their fitness, and therefore they blamed private persons that refused to obey the laws.—Grindal in a letter dated the 27th of August, 1566, writes, that all the bishops, who had been beyond the sea, had at their return dealt with the queen to let the’ matter of the habits fall: but she was So prepossessed, that though they had all endeavoured to divert her from prosecuting that matter, she continued still inflexible. This had made them resolve to submit to the laws, and to wait for a fit opportunity to reverse them. He laments the ill effects of the opposition that some had made to them, which had extremely irritated the queen’s spirit, so that she was now much more heated in those matters than formerly ; he also thanks Bullinger for the letter he had writ, justifying the lawful use of the habits, which, he says, had done great service.—Cox, bishop of Ely, in one of his letters, laments the aversion that they found in the parliament to all the propositions that were made for the reformation of abuses.—Jewel, in a letter dated the 22d of May, 1559, writes that the queen refused to be called head of the church, and adds, that that title could not justly be given to any mortal, it being due only to Christ ; and that such titles had been so much abused by Antichrist, that they ought not to be any longer con- tinued.—On all these passages I will make no reflections here; for I set them down only to shew what was the sense of our chief churchmen at that time concerning K3 198 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. senters, was, that heat of temper, with which they propagated their opinions, and treated those who differed from them. Neither episcopal nor presby- terian government, nor caps, nor surplices, nor any external things, were matters with him half so inte- resting, as peace and charity among Christians : and this was his constant topic in all his occasional con- versations with that party. Such however was the opinion they entertained of him, «hat notwithstanding these casual intimations of his dislike to them, they still persisted in their en- deavours to gain him to their side. The chief of them failed not to set before him what they had to say of most weight against the established discipline; and a person of esteemed abilities among them came on purpose from Cambridge to discourse with him on the best form of ecclesiastical government. But this agent did his cause little credit. With no great learning he had an insupportable vanity; and seemed to take it for granted, that himself and Calvin were the two greatest men in the world. His discourse had nothing of argumentin it; an indecent invective © against episcopacy was the sum of it. He was so_ full of himself, that Mr. Gilpin thought it to no pur- pose to reason with him, and therefore avoided: what ever could lead them into a dispute. Some time after Mr. Gilpin heard, that his late visitant had reported him to have affirmed, speaking about the primitive times, that ‘‘ the virtues of the moderns were not equal even to the infirmities of the fathers.” He said indeed he remembered some such thing coming from him; but not m the pointed man- ner in which it was represented. His adversary had been decrying the fathers greatly, declaring those matters, which have since engaged us in such warm and angry disputes; and this may be no inconsiderable instruction to one that intends to write the history of that time.”—Dr, Burnet’s Travels, let. 1. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 19% there weré men in this age much their superiersx plainly intimating whom he principally intended. Such arrogance, Mr. Gilpin said, he was desirous to. mortify; and meant it of such moderns as him, when. he asserted that their virtués were not equal to the infirmities of the fathers. The success the dissenéers had met with in their | private applications, encouraged them to try what farther might be had by a public attack on the na- tional church. Their great champion was Br. Cart= wright, who wrote with much bitterness against it. His book was immediately dispersed over the nation, received by the party with loud acclamations, and every where considered as unanswerable. Soon after it was published,. it was-zealously pat into Mr. Gilpin’s hands. The gentleman who sent it, one Dr. Bireh,-a-warm: friend. to- the principles: _ advanced in it, desired he would read it carefully: and communicate to him his. remarks, But very impatient for them, he sent a messenger, befere Mr. Gilpin had vead the book half through. He returned it however, with the following lines, which shew his opinion, of church-government in general. ; «© Multa quidem legi, sed’ plura legenda reliqui ;: Posthac, cum dabitur copia, cuncta legam. Optant: ut Careat maculis ecclesia cunctis; Preesens vita negat; vita futura dabit.” Though Mr. Gilpin- was thus greatly dissatisfied. with the disorderly zeal which. the more violent of the dissenters expressed; attended, as he observed it was, with such fatal consequences, he confined however, his dislike to their errors; to their persons he bore not the least ill-wiil. Nay, one of the most intimate friends he ever had was Mr. Lever, a minis- ter of their persuasion, and a sufferer in their cause;. Tihiis gentieman had been head of a college in Cam- bridge, and afterwards prebendary of Durham, and: kK 4 200 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. master of Sherborn hospital. He was a man of good’ parts, considerable learning, and very exemplary piety ; and had been esteemed in king Edward’s time an eminent and bold preacher. Durmg the succeed- ing confusion he settled at Arrow in Switzerland, where he was teacher to a congregation of English. exiles. Here he became a favourer of Calvin’s _ Opinions ; and at his return home was considered as one of the principal of the dissenting party. The very great indiscretions already mentioned, of a few violent men, soon made that whole party obnoxious to the government; to which nothing perhaps con- tributed more than the seditious application of that doctrine to Elizabeth, which had been formerly pro- pagated against female government by Knox and Goodman in the reign of her sister. This was touch- ing that jealous queen in a very sensible part ; and induced her, perhaps too rigorously, though she was really ill used, to press uniformity.—Among others Mr. Lever suffered: he was’ convened before the archbishop of York, and deprived of his ecclesias- tical preferment. Many of the cooler churchmen thought him hardly dealt with, as he was really a moderate man, and not forward in opposing the re- — ceived opinions. ie Mr. Gilpin was among those who pitied his treat- ment; nor did he scruple to express his usual regard for him, though it was not a thing the most agreeable to his superiors. But he had too much honour to sacrifice friendship to popular prejudice; and thought, that they, who agreed in essentials, should not be estranged from each other for their different senti~ ments on points of less importance. As Mr. Gilpin was thus solicited on one hand by the dissenters, so was he on the other by the papists. It had long been a mortification to all the well-mean- — ing of that persuasion, that so good a man had left their communion; and no methods were left untried to bring him back, But his change had been a work The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 201 of too much caution to be repented of: so that all their endeavours proved, as it was easy to suppose they would, ineffectual. A letter of his, written upon an occasion of this kind, may here not improperly be inserted, to shew how well satisfied he was at this time with having left the church of Rome; and how unlikely it was that he should ever again become a member of it. I wish I could give this letter in its original simpli- city. The manuscript indeed is still extant; but it is so mutilated, that it is impossible to transcribe a fair copy. The bishopof Chichester however hath given a Latin translation of it, from which I shall take as much asis worth preserving. It was written ‘i answer to a long Jetter from one Mr. Gelthorpe, arelation of Mr. Gilpin’s, who being a warm papist himself, was very uneasy that his kinsman and friend should be a protestant ; concluding his letter thus: ““_________Now, I beseech you, remember what God hath called you to; and beware of passionate doings. 1 know you have suffered under great slanders and evil reports ; yet you may, by God’s grace, bridle all affections, and be an upright man. The report of you is great at London, and in all other places; so that in my opinion you shall in these days, even shortly, either do much good, leaning to the truth; or else (which I pray God turn away from us!) you shall do as much evil to the church as ever Arius did.” To this letter the following was Mr. Gilpin’s answer. ieyrts “TI received your letter when I had-very little time to answer it, as the bearer can inform you. I did not care however to send him back without some return, though in the latter part of your letter you say enough to tempt me te.do so. For what encou- _ ragement have I to write, when you tell me, you are predetermined not to be perstaded! It could not ‘but damp the prophet’s zeal, when he -cried out, 1 en 262 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. ‘ Hear the werd of the Lord; to be answered bya stubborn people, ‘ We will not hear.—But let us leave events toGod, who can soften the heart of man, and give sense to the deaf adder, which shutteth her ears. “You look back, you say, upon past ages. But how far? If you would carry your view as high as Christ, and his apostles; nay, only as high as the primitive times, and examine them without pre- judice ; you could not but see a strange alteration of things, and acknowledge that a thousand errers and absurdities have crept into the church, while men slept. “‘ It grieves me to hear you talk of your concern for the suppression of abbies and monasteries; num- bers even of your own communion have confessed, that it was impossible for them to stand longer. ‘Taey were grown into such monstrous sanctuaries, of vice, that their cry, no doubt, like that of Sodom, ascended into the ears of God. Besides, consider what pests they were to all good learning and reli- gion; how they preyed upon all the rectories in the kingdom ; amassing to themselves, for the support of their vices, that wealth, which was meant by pious founders for the maintenance of industrious clergy- men. ‘« Fe that cometh to God, you say, must believe. Without doubt: but I would have you consider, that religious faith can have no foundation but the word “ef God. He, whose creed is founded upon bulls, indulgences, and such trumpery, can have no true faith. All these things will vanish, where the word of God hath efficacy. “You say, you cannot see any thing in the Ro- mish church contrary to the Gospel: I should think, if you Icoked narrowly into it, you might see the Gospel entirely rejected ; and in its recom, legends, traditions, and a thousand other absurdities intro- cuced.—But this is an extensive subject, and I have ‘The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 205 little leisure. Some other time probably I may write more largely upon these points. May God in the mean time open your eyes to see ‘the abomination of the city upon seven hills.’ Rev. xvii. Consult St. Jerome upon this passage. » “You use the phrase, ‘If you should now begin to drink of another cup; whereas you never drank of any cup at all. Howcan you defend, I would gladly know, this single corraption:; or reconcile it with that express command of Christ, ‘ Drink ye all of this; Lam sure, if you can defend it, it was more than any of your learned doctors at Louvain couid do, as I myself-can witness.- ** As to our being called heretics, and:avoided by. you, we are extremely indifferent: we appeal from your uncharitable censures- to Almighty God ; and say with St. Paul, ‘we little esteem-to be: judged of you, itis the Lord who judgeth us.’ ‘** But you say it is dangerous to hear us:. So said the persecutors of St. Stephen,.and stopped their ears. So likewise Amaziah behaved to the prophet Amos.. David likewise speaks of such men, com- paring them ‘to the deaf adder, which stoppeth her ears. And we have instances of the same kind of bigotry in the writings of the evangelists; where we often read of men, whose minds the god of this world hath blinded. *« As for the terrible threatenings of your bishop, we are under no apprehension from. them. ‘They are calculated only for the nursery. Erasmus preo- perly calls them bruta fulmina. If the pope and his cardinals, who curse us with so much bitterness, were like Peter and Paul; if they discovered that fervent charity, that extensive benevolence, and noble zeal in their master’s cause, which distinguished those apostles, then were there some reason to dread their censures: but alas! they have changed the humility ef Peter into the pride of Lucifer ;. the labours and K.6. 204 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. poverty of Apostles into the sloth and luxury of eas- tern monarchs. “T am far from thinking there is no difference — between consubstantiality and transubstantiation. The former undoubtedly hath many texts of Scrip- ture for its support ; the latter certainly none: nay, it hath so confounded many of its most zealous as- sertors, Scotus, Occam, Biel, and others, that it is plain how perplexed they are to get over the many difficulties that arisefrom it. Indeed Scotus thought, as bishop Tunstal would ingenuously confess, that the church had better make use of some less la- boured exposition of those wordsin Scripture. And the good bishop himself likewise, though he would have men speak reverently of the sacrament, as the primitive church did, yet always said that transub- stantiation might well have been let alone. As to what Mr. Chedsey said, ‘‘ That the catholics would do well to give way in the article of transubstantia- tion, I cannot s:y I heard him speak the words myself, but I had them from a person who did. 4 “‘T am far from agreeing with you, that the lives of so many vicious popes should be passed over in silence. If the vices of churchmen should thus be concealed, I know not how you will defend Christ for rebuking the pharisees, who were the holy fa- thers of those times : or the prophet Isaiah, who is for having good and evil distinguished; and ‘denounces a curse upon those, ‘ wha call him holy that is not holy: or St. Bernard likewise, who scruples not to call some wicked priests in his time the ministers of Antichrist. Such examples may excuse us. ‘“‘ Five sacraments, you say, are rejected by us. You mistake: we use them still as the Scripture authorizes. Nay, even to the name of sacrament we have no objection; only suffer us to. give our own explanation of it. I find washing of feet, and many other things of the same kind, are > called sacraments The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 205 by some old writers; but the fathers, and some of the best of the schoolmen are of opinion, that only bap- tism and the Lord’s Supper can properly be called sacraments. “T am surprised to hear you establish on a few easy passages in St. Paul, the several ridiculous ceremonies of the mass ; surely you cannot be igno- rant, that most of them were invented long atter- wards by the bishops of Rome—How much you ob- serve St. Paul upon other occasions, is evident from your strange abuse of the institution of bread and wine. There it signifies nothing what the apostle says: tradition is the better authority: : ** You tell me you can prove the use of prayers for the dead from Scripture. I know you mean the book of Maccabees. But our church follows the opinion of the fathers in saying, that these books are profit- able for manners, but not to be used in establishing doctrines. ‘St. Austin, you say, doubts whether there be not a purgatory. And so because he doubts it, the church of Rome establisheth it as an article of faith. Now I think if she had reasoned right from the saint's doubts, she should at least have left it indif- ferent. Faith, you know St. James says, ought not to waver. The bishop of Rochester, who was a diligent searcher into antiquity, says, that among the antients there is little or no mention made of purga- tory. For myself, I am apt to think, it was first intro- duced by that grand popish traffick of indulgences. ‘“As to what you say about the invocation of saints, St. Austin, you know, himself exhorteth his readers not to ground their faith upon his writings, but on the Scriptures. And indeed, I think, there is nothing in the whole word of God more plainly’ declared to us than this, that God alone must be the object of our adoration. ‘ How shall. they call on him,’ saith St. Paul, ‘in whom they have not be- lieved? If we believe in one God only, why should 6 206 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. we pray to any more? The popish distinction be- tween invocation and adyocation, is poor sophistry. As we are told, we must pray only to one God, so we read likewise of only one advocate with the father, Jesus Christ the righteous.—You say you believe in the communion of saints ; and infer, that no com-- munion with them can subsist, unless we pray to them: but our church understands quite another thing by the communion of saints: for the word saint is a common Scripture epithet for a good Christian; nor doth it once signify,.in either testament, as far as I can remember, a departed soul : nay, sometimes the words are very express, as in the sixteenth psalm,. *'Yo the saints which be on earth.” If any man ever had a communion with the saints in heaven, surely David had it: but he never speaks of any commus nion with which he was acquainted, but with the saints on earth.— And thus likewise St: Jobn speaks, . ‘What we bave seen and known, that declare we unto you, that you may have fellowship, or commu- nion with us, and that our communion may be with: God, and with his son Jesus Christ”. 1 John i.3.. All the members of the church of Christ have com- munion among themselves : which communion con- sists chiefly in mutual prayers and preaching. -Se- _ condly, the church of Christ hath communion with. the father and the son, or with the father through: the son. _That such communion as this exists, we have good authority ;. but nonevat all for a belief in a communion with departed souls: these, as L ob-. served before, are never in Scripture called saints ; but generally described by seme such periphrasis as “The congregation: of the first-born in heaven; or,. ‘ the spirits of just men made perfect.’ In the next world probably with these likewise we may have communion ; but they: who expect it in this, must either bring Scripture for what they say, or come: under our Saviour’s censure, ‘In vain do ye worship- me, teaching for doctrines the traditions of men/ The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 207 Matt. xv. 9.—Indeed, by the custom of late ages- departed souls are called saints; but I hope I need: not inform you: that the Holy Scripture is a more proper directory, than the custom of any age—But it is needless to dispute upon this point,. because eyen the most zealous defenders of it acknowledge. it to bea thing indifferent, whether we pray imme- diately to God, or through the mediation of saints.. And if it be a thing indifferent, sure a wise man knows what to do. “As for what you say about images, and fasting, . (the proper use of which latter God forbid that I- should say any thing against) together with your arguments in favour of reliques, and exorcisms, I could without any sort of difficulty reply to them: but at this time you really must excuse me: it is not an apology of course when I assure you, that Iam nowextremely busy. You will the more easily. believe me, when I tell you [ am at present without a curate ;. and that I am likewise a good deal out of order, and hardly able to undergo the necessary fati- gues of my office.. “As to your not choosing to come to Houghton: on a Sunday for fear of offending my people, to say the truth, except you will come to church, which- I think you might do very well, I should not much. desire to see you on that day; for country people are strangely given to copy a bad example; and will unlearn more in a day, than they have been: learning for a month.—You must excuse my free- dom: you know my heart; and_ how gladly I would have it tosay, ‘Of those whom thou gavest'me have I lost none.’ But on any other day, or if you will come on Sunday night, and stay a week with me, I shall be glad to see you. We may then talk over these things with more freedom: and though, as I observed before, the latter part of your letter gives. me no great encouragement, yet I will endeavour to have a better hope of you, than you have of your- = 208 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. self. St. Paul, in the early part of his life, was fully persuaded that he should diea pharisee, and an enemy _ to the cross of Christ: but there was a reserve of — mercy in store for him; and through God’s grace, | his heart became .so changed, that he suffered per- secution himself for that name, which it had been — before his ambition to persecute. a. “‘ Maythe great God of heaven make you an object of the same mercy, and by the spirit of knowledge Jead your mind into all truth. “Tam, &e. ‘““ BERNARD GILPIN.” SECTION VII. The public generally sees us in disguise: the case is, we ordinarily pay. a greaterdeference tothe world’s — opinion than to our own consciences. Hencea man’s real merit is very improperly estimated from the more exposed part of his behaviour.. The passages of Mr. Gilpin’s life already col- lected, are chiefly of a public nature; if we may thus call any action of a life so private. To place his merit therefore in its truest light, it will be neces- sary to accompany him in his retirement; and view his ordinary behaviour, from which all restraint was taken off. When he first took upon him the care of a parish, he set himself to consider how he might best per- — form the charge intrusted to him. The pastoral care care he saw, was much neglected: the greater part of the clergy, he.could not but observe, were scan- dalously negligent of it; and even they, who seemed desirous of being accounted serious in the discharge of their ministry, too often, he thought, considered it ina light widely different from its true one. Some, he observed, made it consist in asserting the rights — The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 209. of the church, and the dignity of their function: others, in a strenuous opposition to the preyailing sectaries, anda zealous attachment to the established church-government ;. a third sort, in examining the speculative points, and mystical parts of religion: few of them in the mean time considering, either in what the true dignity of the ministerial character con- sisted ; or the only end fer which church-government was at all established; or the practical influence, which can alone make speculative points worth our attention.— All] this he observed with concern, re- solving to pursue a different path, and to follow the Jandable example of those few, who made the pas~ toral care to consist in a strenuous endeavour to | amend the lives of those they were concerned with, and to promote their truest happiness both here and hereafter. The strange disorder of that part of the country where his lot fell, hath already been observed. The extreme of ignorance, and of course.of superstition, was its characteristic. The great care of Parker, archbishop of Canterbury, his frequent and strict visitations, his severe inquiries into the ministry of the clergy, and manners of the laity, had made a very visible alteration in the southern parts of England; but in the north, reformation went on but sluggishly. The indolent archbishop of York slept oyer his pro- vince. In what great disorder the good bishop Grin- dal found it, upon his translation thithér, in the year 1570, appears from his episcopal injunctions, amon ' which itis ordered, that no pedlar-should be admitted to sell his wares in the church porch m time of service—that parish clerks should be able to read— that no lords of misrule, or summer lords and ladies, or any disguised persons, morrice-dancers, or others, should come irreverently into the church, or play any unseemly parts with scoffs, jests, wanton gestures, or ribald talk, in the time of divine service.—From 210 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. these things we may conceive the state of the parisly of Houghton, when Mr. Gilpin came there. He set out with making it his endeayour to gain: the affection of his parishioners.» Many of his papers shew how material a point he considered: this. To succeed in it however he used'no servile:compliances : he would have his means good, as. weil as his ends. His behaviour was free without familiarity; and in- sinuating without art: he condescended to the weak, bore with the pass vnate;, complied with the scrupu- lous ; and in a truly apostolic manner, ‘“ became all things to all men.” By these means he gained migh= tily upen his neighbours, and convinced them how heartily he was their friend. . ; To his humanity and courtesy headed an unwea+ ried application to the daties_of his function. He was not satisfied with the advice he gave in public, but used to instruct in private; and brought his- parishioners to come to him with their doubts and. difficulties. He had an engaging manner towards those,. whom he-thought well-disposed : nay his very reproof was so conducted, that it seldom gave offence; the becoming gentleness with which it was urged. made it always appearthe effect of friendship. ‘Thus laying himself out in admonishing the vicious, and encouraging the well-intentioned, in a few years he — madea greater change in his neighbourhood, than: could well have: been imagined—a remarkable in- stance,. what reformation a single: man: may effect, when he hath it earnestly at heart: But his hopes were not so much:in the present, as in the succeeding generation. It was.an easier task}. he found, to prevent vice than te correct it: to form. good habits-in the young, than to amend bad habits in the old.. He laid out much ef. his time therefere - in an endeavour to improve the minds of the younger part of his parish. Nor did he only take notice of those within his school, but in general. extended his: The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 211 care through the whole place: suffering none to grow up in an ignorance of their duty: bat pressing it as the wisest part to mix religion with their labour; and amidst the cares of this life to have a constant eye upon the next. Nor did he omit whatever besides might be of service to his parishioners. He was very assiduous in preventing law suits among them. His hall was often thronged with peo- ple who.came to himwith their differences. He was not indeed much acquainted with law, but he could decide equitably, and that satisfied: nor could his sovereign’s commission have given more weight than his own character gave him. He had a just concern for all under aflliction ; and was a much readier visitant at the house of mourning, than at that of feasting : and his large fund of read- ing and experience always furnished something that was properly affecting. Hence he was considered as a good angel by all in distress.\— When the infir- mities of age came upon him, and he grew less able to endure exercise, it was his custom to write letters of consolation to such as were in affliction *. * The following letter of this kind the reader may per haps think worth his perusal. s After my most: due commendations, I beseech you, gentle Mrs. Carr, diligently to call to mind how merci- fully God hath dealt with you in many respects. He hath given you a gentleman of worship to be your hus- band; one that I know loveth you dearly, as a Christian man should love his wife. And by him God hath blessed you with a goodly family of children, which both you and your husband must take to be the favourable and free gift of God.— But, good Mrs. Carr, you must understand that both that gift of God, and all others, and we ourselves are in his hands: he takes what he will, whom he _ will, and when he will; and whomsoever he taketh, in youth, or in age, we must fully persuade ourselves, that he ordereth all things for the best. We may not murmur,. 212 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. He used to interpose likewisein all acts of oppres- sion; and his authority was such, that it generally put. a stop to them. or think much at any of his doings: but must learn to speak from our hearts the petition of the Lord’s Prayer, * Thy will be done on earth, as itisin heaven.’ It is unto this holy obedience that St. Peter calleth all Christians, saying ‘Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God.’—This godly submission did cause the holy patriarch Job, when it pleased God to take from him not only one, but all his children, seven brethren and sisters, upon one day, never to grieve himself with what God had done, but meekly to say, ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord.’—And here I would have you, good Mrs. Carr, to consider, how small cause you have to mourn, or fall.into a deep sorrow, in comparison of the holy patriarch. God hath taken from you only one young daughter, and hath left you a goodly family of children, which, I trust, with good edu- cation, will prove a blessed comfort to you.—This exam- ple of Job, and other examples in holy Scripture, being written (as the apostle saith) for our admonition,. I must needs declare you to be worthy of great blame, if you continue any space in such great sorrow and heaviness, as I hear you take for your young daughter. St. Peter saith, that Christ Jesus suffered forus most cruel torments, and last of all a most cruel death, ‘to leave us an exam- ple, that all who believe in him should follow his blessed steps:’ that is, to bear his cross, to be armed'with all patience, whensoever we lose any thing that we love in this world. And the same apostle saith, ‘Seeing Christ hath suffered for us in his body, all you that are Christians must be armed with the same thought.’ Furthermore the Scripture saith, that unto us it is given not only to be- lieve in Christ, but also to suffer for his sake. And St. Paul, in the viiith to the Romans, hatha most comfortable sentence to all that will learn to suffer with him; and a most fearful sentence to all those that refuse to.suffer with him, and to bear his cross; ‘'lhe spirit,’ saith he, ‘ bear- eth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 213 A person against whom the country at that time exclaimed very much, was one Mr. Barns, a near relation, if not a brother of Dr. Barns, bishop of Durham, who raised him through some inferior posts ~ to the chancellorship of -his diocese. Between this God; and if children, then heirs, heirs of God, and fellow-heirs with Christ ; (it followeth) ‘if so be that we suffer together with him, that we may also be glo- rified with him.’ And St. Paul, in the first chapter of the second to the Corinthians, saith to all the faithful, “As ye are companions of those things, which Christ hath suffered, so shall ye be companions of his consola- tions.’—All these things considered, I doubt not, good Mrs. Carr, but that you will arm yourself with patience, and bear Christ’s cross, learning to suffer for his sake, and that, were it a greater loss than you have, God be praised, as yet sustained.— Let your faith overcome your sorrow. St. Paul writing to the Thessalonians concern- ing the dead (who, he saith, have but fallen asleep) for- biddeth them not to mourn, but utterly forbiddeth them to mourn like gentiles, and infidels, who have no hope in Christ. And the wise man, (Ecclus. xxii.) doth exhort us to mourn over the dead, so it be but for a little space: ‘ Weep,’ saith he, ‘ for the dead, but only for a little time, because they are gone to their rest.’ So you see there is an unreasonable mourning of them that want faith ; aud there is also a temperate and lawful mourning of them that have a stedfast belief in Christ, and his pro- mises, ‘which (St. John saith) overcometh all the temp- tations (that is, the troubles) of the world.’ I trust verily, good Mrs. Carr, that your mourning being temperate will snew itself to be a faithful, not a faithless mourning ; which latter I pray Almighty God to keep from you—But I fear'to be tedious. I trust one day I shall be able to come unto you myself. In the mean space, and ever- more, I shall pray that the God of all consolation may ° comfort you in all your troubles. “ Your loving friend in Christ “ BERNARD GILPIN.” Houghton, May 31, 1583. 214 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. man and Mr. Gilpin, there was a perpetual opposi- tion for many years; the latter endeavouring to counteract the former, and to be the redressor of those injuries, of which he was the author. Several traces of these contests still remain among Mr. Gil- pin’s papers ; from which it appears what a constant ¢heck upon his designs Mr. Barns found him; though he was always treated in a mild and affectionate manner. “‘It will be but a very ‘few years,” Mr. Gilpin tells him, (concluding aletter written in favour of three orphans, whom Mr. Barns had defrauded of their patrimony) “before you and I must give up our great accounts. I pray God give us both the grace to have them in a constant readiness. A may you take what I have written in as friendly a manner as it is meant. My daily prayers are made for you to Almighty God, whom I beseech evermore to preserve you.” - Thus he lived in his parish, careful only to dis- charge his duty: no fatigue or difficulty could excuse him to himself for the omission of any part of it: the religious improvement of his people was his princi- pal endeavour, and the success of this endeavour his principal happiness. Notwitsthanding however, all this painful industry, and the large scope it had in so extended a parish, he thought the sphere of his labours yettoo confined. It grieved him to see every where in the parishes around him so much ignorance and superstition; occasioned by the very great neglect of the pastoral care in those parts. How ill supplied the northern churches at this time were, hath already been ob- served ; and will still appear in a stronger light, if we compare the state of these churches with that of those in the southern parts of the island, which were universally allowed to have been less neglected. Of one diocese, that of Ely, where the clergy do not appear to have been uncommonly remiss, we have a curious account still preserved: it contained one The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 215 hundred and fifty-six parishes ; of which forty-seven had no ministers at all, fifty-seven were in the hands of careless non-residents, and only the remaining fifty-two were regularly served. The very bad consequences arising from this shameful remissness among the clergy, induced Mr. Gilpin to supply, as far as he could, what was waat- ing in others. Every year therefore he used regu- larly to visit the most neglected parishes in Nor- thumberland, Yorkshire, Cheshire, Westmoreland, and Cumberland: and that his own parish, in the mean time might not suffer, he had a constant assis- tant. In each place he stayed two or three days, and his method was, to call the people about him, and lay before them, in as plain a way as possible, the danger of leading wicked and careless lives— explaining to them the nature of true religion—in- structing them in the duties they owed to God, them neighbour and themselves—and shewing them how greatly a religious conduct would contribute to their present as well as future happiness. When a preacher, though the merest rhapsodist, seems to speak from his heart, what he says will be listened to. The appearance of his being truly in earnest, will dispose men at least to give him a fair hearing. Hence Mr. Gilpin, who had all the warmth of an enthusiast, though under the direction of a very. calm judgment, never wanted an audience even in the wildest parts ; where he roused many to a sense of religion, who had contracted the most inveterate habits of inattention. One thing be practised, which shewed"the best disposed heart. Wherever he came, he used to Visit the jails and places of confinement, (few in the kingdom having at that time any appointed minister;) and by his labours, and affectionate manner of be- having, he is said to have refurmed many very aban- doned persons in those places. He would employ his interest likewise for such crimiaals, whose cases 216 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. he thought attended with any hard circumstances, and often procured pardons for them. There is a tract of country upon the border of Northumberland, called Reads-dale and Tine- dale ; of: all barbarous places i in the north, at that time the most barbarous. The following description of this wild country we have from Mr. Camden: *“ At Walwick, North Tyne crosses the Roman wall. It rises in the mountains on the borders of England and Scotland; and first running eastward, waters Tine-dale, which hath thence its name, and afterwards embracing the river Read, which falling from the steep hill of Readsquire, where the lord- wardens of the eastern marches used to determine the disputes of the borderers, gives its name toa valley, too thinly inhabited, by reason of the fre- quent robberies committed there. Both these dales breed notable bogtrotters, and have such boggy- topped mountains, as are not to be crossed by ordi- nary horsemen. We wonder too see so many heaps of stones in them, which the neighbourhood believe to be thrown together in memory of some persons there slain. There are also in both of them man ruins of old forts. ‘The Umfranvils held Reads-dale, as doomsday-book informs us, in fee and knights’ service for guarding the dale from robberies. All over these wastes you see, as it were, the ancient Nomades, amartial peop/e, who from Aprilto August — lie in little tents, which they call sheals or shealings, here and there dispersed among their flocks.” Before the union, thiscountry was generally called the debateable land, as subject by turns to England and Scotland, and the common theatre where the two nations were continually acting a variety of bloody scenes. It was inhabited, as Mr. Camden hath just informed us, by a kind of desperate ban- ditti, rendered fierce and active by constant alarms, They lived by theft; used to plunder. on both sides of the barrier, and what they plundered on one, they~ The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 217 exposed to sale on the other; by that evasion esceping justice. Such adepts were they in the art of thieve ing, that they could twist a cow’s horp, or mark a horse, so as its owners could not knowit; and so subtle, that no vigilance could guard against them. For these arts they were long afterwards famous. A person telling king James a surprising story of a cow that had been driven from the north of Scotland into the south of England, and escaping: from the herd, had found her way home; ‘“‘ The most surpriz- ing part of the story,’ the king replied, ‘ you lay least stress on, that she passed unstolen through the debateable land.” In this dreadful country, where no man would even travel that could help it, Mr. Gilpin never failed to spend some part of every year. He gene- rally chose the holydays of Christmas for his jour- ney, because he found the people at that season most disengaged, and most easily assembled. He had set places for preaching, which were as regu- larly attended, as the assize-towns of a circuit. If he came where there was a church, he made use of it: if not, of barns, or any other large building ; where great crouds of people were-sure to attend him, some for his instructions, and others for his charity. This was a very difficult and laborious employ- ment. ‘The badness of the weather and the badness of the reads through a mountainous country, and at that season covered with snow, exposed him often to great hardships. Sometimes he was oyertaken hy the night, (the country being in many places desolate for several miles tegether,) and, as the bishop of Chichester relates, obliged to lodge in the cold: at such times he would make his servant ride about with his horses, whilst himself on foot used as much exercise as his age and the fatigues of the preceding day would permit.—All this he cheerfully underwent; esteeming such sufferings well compen- ) YOU. 1H. 218 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. sated by the advantages which he hoped might accrue from them to his uninstructed fellow-creatures. Our Saxon ancestors had a great aversion to the tedious forms of law. They chose rather to deter- mine their disputes in a more concise manner, plead- ing generally with their swords. ‘‘ Let every dispute be decided by the sword,” was a Saxon law. A piece of ground was described, and covered with mats: here the plaintiff and defendant tried their cause. If either of them was driven from this houn- dary, he was obliged to redeem his life by three marks. He whose blood first stained the ground, lost his suit *. . This custom still prevailed on the borders, where Saxon barbarism held its latest possession. These wild Northumbrians indeed went beyond the ferocity of their ancestors. They were not content with a duel: each contending party used to muster what adherents he could, and commence a kind of petty war}. So that a private gradge would often occa- sion much bloodshed. It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on foot, when Mr. Gilpin was at Rothbury. During the two or three first days of his preaching, the con- tending parties observed some decorum, and never appeared at church together. At length however * See Spelman, Nicholson, and other inquirers into the antiquities of those times. + The people of this country have had one very barbarous custom among them. If any two be displeased, they ex- pect no law, but bang it out bravely, one and his kindred against the other and his. They will subject themselves to no justice, but in an inhuman and barbarous manner, fight and kill one another. They run together in clans, as they term it, or names. This fighting they call their deadly feides. Of late, since the union of both kingdoms, this heathenish custom is repressed, and good laws made against such barbarous and unchristian misdemeanours. Survey of Newcastle, Harleyan Miscellany, vol. 3. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 219 they met. One party had been early at church, and just as Mr. Gilpin had began his sermon, the other entered. They stood not long silent. Inflamed at the sight of each other, they began to clash their weapons, for they were all armed with javelins and swords, and mutually approached. Awed however by the sacredness of the place, the tumultin some degree ceased. Mr. Gilpin proceeded: when again the combatants began to brandish their weapons, and draw towards each other. As a fray seemed near, Mr. Gilpin stepped from the pulpit, went between them, and addressing the leaders, put an end to the quarrel for the present ; but could not effect an entire reconciliation. They promised however, that till the sermon was over, they would make no more disturb- ance. He then went again into the pulpit, and spent the rest of the time in endeavouring to make them ashamed of what they had done. His beha- viour and discourse affected them so much, that at, his farther entreaty, they promised to ferbear all acts of hostility, while he continued in the country. And so much respected was he among them, that _ whoever was in fear of his enemy, or, in the usual - phrase, of his deadly foe, used to resort where Mr. Gilpinwas,esteeming his presence the best protection. One sunday morning coming to a church in those parts before the people were assembled, he observed a glove hanging up, and was informed by the sexton, that it was meant as a challenge to any one that should take it down. Mr. Gilpin ordered the sex- ten to reach it to him; but upon his utterly refusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and put in his: breast. When the people were assembled, he went into the pulpit; and before he concluded nis sermon, took occasion to rebuke them severely for these inhuman challenges. ‘‘ I hear,” saith he, “‘ that one among you hath hanged up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one who taketh it down; see, I have taken it down:” and pulling | L2 : : 220 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. out the glove, he held it up to the congregation ; and then shewed them how unsuitable such savage prac- tices were to the profession of Christianity ; using such persuasives to mutual love, ashe thought would most affect them. The disinterested pains he thus took among these barbarous people, and the good offices he was al- ways ready to do them, drew from them the sin- cerest expressions of gratitude. Imdeed he was little less than adored, and might have brought the whele country almost to what he pleased.—How greatly his name was revered among them one in- stance will shew. By the carelessness of his servant, his horses were one day stolen. The news was quickly propagated, and every cne expressed the highest indignation at the fact. The thief was rejoicing over his prize, when hy the report of the country he found whose horses he had taken. Terrified at what he had done, le instantly came trembling back, confessed the fact, returned the horses, and declared he be- lieved the devil would have seized him directly, had he carried them off, knowing them to have been Mr. Gilpin’s. Thus I have brought together what particulars remain of this excellent man’s behaviour as a mi- nister of the Gospel. ‘They discover so very good a heart, so strong a sense of duty, and so strict a regard to it in every instance, as would have been admired even in primitive times: the corruptions now prevailing may perhaps make their truth ques- tionable; but they are all either taken from his life — written by the bishop of Chichester, or from papers of undoubted authority *.—His own testimony to * These papers were lent to the author by the late worthy rector of Houghton, Dr. Stonhewer ; and are still _ probably preserved in the parsonage house. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 221 what hath been said shall be subjoined in the follow- ing extract. “Tam at present,” says he, (apologizing toa friend) “ much charged with business, orrather overcharged. I amat first “oreatly burdened about seeing the lands made sure to the school; which are not so yet, and are in great danger to be lost, if God should cal! me afore they are assured. Moreover I have assigned to preach twelve sermons at other parishes, beside my own; and likewise am earmestly looked for at a number of Spiele :k in Northumbe:laud, more than I canvisit. Beside I am continually eacumbered with many guests and acquaintance, whom | may not well refuse. And often I am called upon by many of my parishioners, to set them at one, whea they cannot agree. And every day Iam sore charged and troubled with many servants and workfolks, which is no small trouble to me; for the buildings and reparations in this wide house will never have an end.” I shall conclude this section with an instance of that resolution, and spirit, which on each proper occasion he failed not to exert; and by which he always maintained thatindependence and real dignity which became his station. He received a message one day, from Dr. Barns, bishop of Durham, appointing him to preach a visi- tation sermon the sunday following.. It happened he was then preparing for his journey into Reads- dale and Tine-dale; and acquainted the bishop with the necessity of his keeping that appointment, beg- ing his lordship would at that time excuse him. His servant informed him that the bishop had received his message, but returned no answer. Concluding him therefore satisfied, he set out on his journey: but to his great surprize, when he came. home, he found himself suspended; some persons, through enmity to him, having put the bishop upon this hasty step. A few days after he received an order to meet. L3 222 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. the bishop at Chester, a town in the diocese of Durham, where the bishops of that see formerly resided. . Here many of the clergy were assembled, and Mr. Gilpin was ordered by the bishop to preach that day before them. He made his apology; he had come wholly unprepared—besides he was sus-~ pended, and thereby excluded from the pulpit.. The bishop answered, he took off his suspension. But Mr. Gilpin still begged to be excused—he had brought no sermon with him, and hoped none would be required from him. Eut the biskop would take no excuse; telling him, that as he had been a preacher so long, he must be able to say enough to the purpose without any previous meditation. Mr. Gilpin persisting in his refusal, the bishop at length grew warm, and required him upon his canonical obedience to go immediately into the pulpit. After a little delay therefore, he went up; and though he observed several taking notes of what he said, he pro- ceeded without the least hesitation. The ecclesiastical court of Durham was at this time very scandalously governed. ‘That Mr. Barns presided over it, who hath already been mentioned ; and who made it indeed little better than an office for granting indulgences. The bishop was a well- meaning, weak man; irresolute, and wholly in the hands of others. Every thing was managed by his relation the chancellor ; whose venality, and the irre- gularities occasioned by it, were most noterious. The opportunity now afforded him, Mr. Gilpin thought no unfavourable one to open the bishop's eyes; and induce him to exert himself where there was so great reason for it. Private infermation had often been given him without any suecess: Mr, Gil- pin was now resolved therefore to venture upon a_ public application to him. Accordingly, before he concluded his sermon, he turned towards the bishop, to whom he thus addressed himself. “My discourse, now, reverend father, must he The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 228 directed to you. God hath exalted you to be the bishop of this diocese, and requireth an account of your government thereof. A reformatian of all those matters which are amiss in this church, is ex- pected at your hands. And now, lest perhaps, while it is apparent, that so many enormities are committed every where, your lordship should make answer, that you had ne notice of them given you, and that these ‘things neyer came to your iro ledge,” for this it seems was the bishop’s common apology to all complainants, ‘‘ behold I bring these things to your knowledge this day. Say not then that these crimes have been committed by the fault of others, without your knowledge: for whatever either your- self shall do in person, or suffer through your con- nivance to be done by others, is wholly your own.. Therefore in the presence of Ged, his angels, and men, [ pronounce you to be the author of: all these evils: yea, and in that strict day of the general ac- count, [ will be a witness to testify against you, that all these things have come: to your knowledge by my means: and all these men. shall bear witness. thereof, who have heard me speak unto you this day.” This freedom alarmed every one. As Mr. Gilpin went out of the church, his friends gathered round him, kindly reproaching him for what he had done.— “The bishop hath now got that advantage over him which he had long sought after—and if he had in- jured him before without provocation, what would he do now, so greatly exasperated?” Mr. Gilpia walked on, gently keeping them off with his hand, _and assuring them, that if his discourse should do the service he intended by it, he was reg ardless what ihe consequence might be to himself. During that day nothing else was talked of. Every ene commended what had. been said, but was appre- hensive for the speaker. Those about the bishop waited in silent expectation, when his resentment would break out. ; L4 - 224 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. After dimmer, Mr. Gilpin went up to the bishop, to pay his compliments to him, before he went home. ‘* Sir,” said the bishop, ‘ I propose to wait upon you home myself.— This he accordingly did: and as seon ~ as Mr. Gilpin had carried him into a parlour, the bishop turned suddenly round, and seizing him eagerly by the hand, ‘* Father Gilpin,” says he to him, ‘‘ T acknowledge you are fitter to be the Bishop of Durham than I am te be parson of this church of yours.—I ask forgiveness for past injuries— Forgive me, father.—I know you have enemies; but while I live bishop of Durham, be secure, none of them shall cause you any farther trouble.” SECTION VIII. Though Mr. Gilpin was chiefly selicitous about the morals of those committed to his care, he omitied not however te promote, as far 2s he could, their teim- poral happiness. What wealth he had, was entirely laid out m charity and hespitelity. The value of his living was about four hundred pounds a year: an income which, however consider- able at that time, was yet in appearance very unpro- portionate to the generous things he did; imdeed he could not have done them, unless his frugality had been equal to his generosity. ¥n_ building a school, and purchasing lands for the naintenance of a master and usher, he expended above five hundred pounds. As there was so great a resort of young people to this scheel, that in a little time the town was not able to accommodate them, be put himself to the inconvenience of fittng up a part of his own house for that purpose, where he seldom bad fewer than twenty or thirty children, Some of these were the sons of persons of distinction, whom he boarded at easy rates: but the greater part were poor children, who could not so easily get them- . The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 225 selyes boarded in the town; and whom he not only- educated, but clothed and maintained: he was at. the expence likewise of boarding in the town many other poor children. He used to bring several every year from the different parts where he preached, particularly Reads-dale and Tine-dale; which places. he was at great pains in civilizing, and contributed. not alittle towards rooting out that barbarism, which every year prevailed less among them. For the maintenance of poor scholars at the uni-- versities, he yearly set apart sixty pounds. This, sum he always laid out, often mere. His common allowance to each scholar was. about ten pounds a year: which for a sober youth was at that time a. very sufficient maintenance: so.that-he never main- tained fewer than six. By his will it appears, that at his. death he had nine upen his list; whom he took care to provide for during their stay at the uni- < versity. . Every Thursday throughout the year, a very large quantity.of meat was dressed wholly for the poor ; and every day, they had what quantity of broth they, wanted.. Twenty-four of ‘the poorest were his con- stant pensioners.. Four times in the year, a dinner was provided for them, when they received from his steward a certain quantity of corn, and a sum of. money: and at Christmas, they bad always an ox. divided among them. Wherever he heard of ¢ any in distress, whether of his own parish, or any other, he was sure to relieve them. tn his walks abroad, he would frequently bring home with him. poor. people, and send them away clothed as well as fed. He took great pains:to info:m himself of: the cir- cumstances of his neighbours, tiat the modesty of’ the sufferer might not prevent his relief. But the money best laid out was, in his opinion, that which encouraged industry. It was one of his greatest pleasures to make up the losses of his labo- Lo. i 226 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. rious neighbours, and prevent their sinking under them. If a poor man had lost a beast, he would send him another in its room: or if any farmer had had a bad year, he would make him an abatement in his tithes. Thus, as far as he was able, he took the misfortunes of his parish upon himself; and ike a true shepherd exposed himself for his flock. ; But of all kinds of industrious poor, he was most forward to assist those who had large families ; such never failed to meet with his bounty, when they wanted to settle their children in the world. In the distant parishes where he preached, as well as in his own neighbourhood, his generosity and benevolence were continually shewing themselves ; particularly in the desolate parts of Northumber- land: “ When he began his journey,” says an old manuscript life of him, ‘‘ he would have ten pounds - in his purse ; and at his coming home he would be twenty nobles in debt, which he would always pay within a fortnight after.”—In the jails he visited, he was not only careful to give the prisoners proper in- structions, but used to purchase for them likewise what necessaries they wanted. Even upon the public road he never Jet slip an opportunity of doing good. ften has he been known to take off his cloak, and give it to an half naked traveller : and when he has had scaree money enough in his pocket to provide himself a dinner, yet would he give away part of that little, or the whole, if he found any who seemed to stand in need ~ of it. Of this benevolent temper the following in- stance is preserved. One day returning home, he saw in a field several people crouding together ; and judging that something more than ordinary had hap- pened, he rode up to them, and found that one of the horses in a team had suddenly dropped down, which they were endeavouring to raise; but in vain: for the horse was dead. The owner of it seeming much dejected with his misfertune, and declarmg. - The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 227 how grievous a loss it was to him, Mr. Gilpin bade him not be disheartened ; ‘‘ I'll let you have,” says he, “ honest man, that horse of mine,” and pointed to his servant’s—-“-Ah! master,” replied the coun- tryman, “ my pocket will not reach such a beast as that.”—-‘ Come, come,” said Mr. Gilpin, ‘‘ take him, take him ; and when I demand my money, then thou shalt pay me.” . His hospitable manner of living was the adimira- tion of the whole country. He spent in his family every fortnight, forty bushels of corn, twenty bushels of malt, and a whole ox; besides a proportional quantity of other kinds of provision. ; Strangers and travellers found a chearful recep- tion. All were welcome that came; and even their beasts had so much care taken of them, that it was humorously said,. “‘ If a horse was turned loose in any part of the country, it would immediately make its way to the rector of Houghton’s.” j Every Sunday from Michaelmas till Easter, was a sort of a public day with him. During this season, he expected to see all his parishioners and their. families. For their reception, he had three tables well covered: the first was for gentlemen, the se- cond for husbandmen and farmers, and the third for day-labourers.—This piece of hospitality he never omitted, even when losses, or a scarcity of provi- sion, made its continuance rather difficult to him. He thought it his daty, and that was a deciding motive. ‘“‘ If you should, as you threaten, (says he in a letter to his old enemy chancellor Barns) give out a sequestration of my benefice, you shall do me a greater favour than you are aware of. For at this’ time | am run in no small debt. I want likewise provision. of victuals. Where I have had, against Michaelmas, six or seven fat oxen, and five or six: fat cows, I have now neither cow nor ox, but must: seek all from the shambles. A sequestration given out, I may with honesty break up house for a space 228 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. which will save me twenty or thirty pounds in my purse. But I trust you will think better of this matter.” ‘* These times, (says he, in another letter} make me so tired of house-keeping, that I would | were ~ discharged from it, if it could be with a clear con- science.’ Even when he was absent, no alteration was made in his family-expences : the poor were fed as usual, and his neighbours entertained. He was always glad of the company of men of worth and letters, who used much to frequent his house. This sociable temper led him into a very large acquaintance ; which, as he could not select his company, became very inconyenient to him when he grew old. I shall close this account of bis manner of living with a story, which does no little honour to his house- keeping. Some affairs in Scotland obliging queen Eliza- beth to send thither her treasurer, the lord Burleigh, he resolved to take the opportunity of his return to pay a visit to Mr. Gilpin. Hurried as he was, he could not resist the desire of seeing a man, whose yiaine was every where so respectfully mentioned. His free discourse from the pulpit to king Edward’s court, had early recommended him to this noble person; since which time, the great distance be- tween them had wholly interrupted their acquaint- ance. ‘The treasurer's return was so sudden, that he had not time to give any notice of his mtended visit. But the economy of so plentiful a heuse as Mr. Gilpin’s was not easily disconcerted. He re- ceived his noble guest with so much true polite- ness, and. treated him and his whole retinue in so. affluent and generous a maiimer, that the treasurer would often afterwards say, ‘‘ He could hardly have expected more at Lambeth.” While lord Bur- leigh stayed at Houghton, he took great pains by 3 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 229 his own, and the observation of his domestics, to-- acquaint himself with the order and regularity with which every thing.in that house was managed. It contained a very large family ; and was besides con- tinually crouded with persons of all kinds, gentle- men, scholars, workmen, farmers, and poor people: yet there was never any confusion ; every one was immediately carried into proper apartments, and entertained, directed, or relieved, as his particular business required. It could not but please this wise lord, who was so well acquainted with the effects of order and regularity in the highest sphere, to observe them in this humble one. Here tco he saw true simplicity of manners, and every social virtue regulated by exact prudence. ‘The states- i2an began to unbend, and he could not without an— envious eye, compare the unquiet scenes of vice and vanity in which he was engaged, with the calmness of this amiable retreat. At length with reluctance he took his leave; and with all the warmth of .affec- tion embracing his much respected friend, he told him, “ He Lad heard great things in his commenda- tion, but he had now seen what far exceeded all that he had heard. If, (added he) Mr. Gilpin, I can ever be of any service to you at court, or elsewhere, use me with ail freedom as one you may depend on.” When he had mounted Raintor-hill, which rises about a mile from Lioughten, and commands the vale, he turned his horse to take one more view of the piace: and having kept his eye fixed upon it for some time, his reverie broke out into this ex-, clamation: ‘‘ There is the enjoyment of life indeed ! —who can blame that man for not accepting a bi- shopric !—what doth he want. to make him greater, or happier, or more useful to mankind !” 230 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. SECTION IX. The last business in which Mr. Gilpin engaged, was the settlement of his school. It answered his expectations so well by the good it did in the country, that when he grew o'd, it became his chief concern. His infirmities obliged him now to relax a little from those very great fatigues he had un- dergone abroad, and to draw his engagements: nearer home. His school, situated near his house, afforded him, when most infirm, an employment; and he thought he could hardly die in peace till he had settled it to bis mind. What he had prin- cipally at heart, was to compose a set of good sta~. tutes, to provide it a better endowment, and to fix all by a charter. As to the statutes, he was daily employed in cor- recting, adding to, and altering, those he had drawn up; advising with his friends, and doing all in his power to prevent any future abuse of his. charity. ' With regard to a better endowment, it was not indeed in his own power to do any thing more. His exhibitions, his other charities, and his generous. manner of living, made yearly such large demands upon him, which increased as he grew old, that it became then impossible for him to lay up any thing.. He would gladly have contracted his hospitality,. which he thought his least useful expence; but when he considered, that he might probably by. that means lose much of the esteem of the people,. he could not prevail with himself to do it. Thus. unable. to do any thing. more from his own purse, , he turned his eyes upon his friends. There was a gentleman in his neighbourhood, John Heath, Esquire, of Kepeir, with whom Mr. + The Life of Bernard Gilpin. —s-- 231 Gilpin had lived for many years in great intimacy. He was a man of uncommon worth, was master of a plentiful fortune, and had an inclination to put it to the best uses. He was besides a man of letters, and an encourager of learning. To this gentleman Mr. Gilpin applied in favour of his school: Mr. Heath came with great readiness into the scheme proposed to him, and doubled the original endow- ment. Mr. Gilpin prevailed upon some others likewise to contribute their assistance, so that the revenues of the school became at length answerable to his wishes. Having thus obtained a sufficient endowment, he began next to think of a charter. For this he ap- plied to his friend the earl of Bedford ; from whom are preserved the two following letters on that subject. “« To my very loving friend Mr. Bernard Gilpin. “« After my hearty commendations: I have re- ceived your letter of the Lith of Jast month ;-and besides the good news of your health, am glad also to hear of your well-doing in those parts, which want such men as you to call the rude sort to the knowledge and contimuance of their duties towards God, and their prince ; whereof there is great lack. —Concerning your suit moved at Windsor, the troubles that have since happened have been so many and so great, that no convenient time hath served to prosecute the same ; and the bill given in, I doubt, is lost. So that for more surety, it were good you sent up another copy: and I will do my best endeavours to bring it to pass. I will like- wise do what I can to get some of those county for- feitures to be granted by her majesty, for the fur- therance of your good purpose—Here is no news to write to you: as for things in the north, you have Ahem there: and albeit it hath been said, that a peace is concluded in France, yet it is not so—And 232 The Life of Bernard Gilpin so wishing your health and well to do, I do hereby thank you for your gentle letter, and so commit you to God. ‘Your assured friend, “ F, BEDFORD.” ** Lendon, May 3, 1570.” ; ‘“« After. my very hearty commendations :. hoping. in. God you are in good health, who as he hath well begun in you, so may he Keep and continue. you a good member in. his church.—I have moved: the gueen’s majesty for your school; and afterwards the bill was delivered to Mr. Secretary Walsing- ham, a very good. and godly. gentleman, who pro- cured the same to be sioned, as I think yow have before this heard by your brother. Assuredly you did very well and honestly therein, and have de~ served great commendations: a thing most neces- sary iu those parts is this of all ether, for the well- bringing up of youth, and training them in learning, and: goodness,—In_ any thing that I may stand you in stead, I pray you he bold to.use me, whem you may assure yourself to remain ready to do you any- good that T can:—So for this. time I commend you. _ to God. **-Your assured friend, ‘oi! rag HT ” ‘“* Russel-place, March 26, 1571.” One of Mr. Gilpin’s. last good actions, was his. endeavour-to convert a young jesuit. A friend of his, Mr. Genison of Neweastle, had taken into _his.. house a brother's son, who having been some time: in. Italy, and there inveigled by the jesuits, whor were then. growing into repute, had been takem ito their order. His time of discipline being over, he was sent into England, whither he br ought with: him the zeal of anovice.. His uncle, a man of plain: The Life of Bernard Gilpin. = 238 good scnse, being greatly afflicted that his nephew was not only hecome a papist, but a jesuit, said what he could to recover him from his errors. But the young man had his distinctions too ready to be influenced by his uncle’s arguments. The cld gen- tleman therefcre not knowing what to do with him- self, at length thought of Mr. Gilpin. To him he wrote, and earnestiy intreated him, if he bad any friendship for him, to try what impression he could make upon his nephew. Mr. Gilpin had little hopes of success from what he had peed of the young man’s character; and still less when he saw him. He was natuara'!ly very full of himself, and this turn his education had increased. Instead of examining attentively what was said, and giving pertinent answers, he was still running from the point, advancing his own tenets, and defending them by strained interpretations of Scripture, and the grossest misapplication of it. ‘The truth was, he wanted to signalize himself by making some eminent convert ; “and his vanity led him to expect, ‘that he might bring over Mr. Gilpin. This was in- deed his chief purpose m coming to yan When he failed in this, he did what he could to corrupt the servants, id such of the scholars and country people as came in his way. He became at length cso very disagreeable, that Mr. Gilpin was obliged to desire his uncle to send for him again. His letter upon the occasion discovers so much ho- nesty of heart, and so beautiful a simplicity of man- _hers, that it deserves very well to be inserted. ‘* T trust, sir, you remember that when you first spake to me about your brother's son, your ‘promise was, that I should ‘have a licence from the bishop, for my warrant. Rut that is not done. Where- fore you must either get one yourself, or suffer me. For our curate and churchwardens are sworn to present, if any be in the parish, which utterly re- fuse to come to church. I only desired him that he 234 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. ‘would come into the quire in the sermon-time, but half an hour; which he utterly refused, and willed me to speak no more of it. He is indeed fixed im his errors; and I have perceived by his talk, that his coming here was not to learn, but to teach: for thinking to find me half a papist, he trusted to win me over entirely. But whereas, I trust in God, I have put him clearly from that hope; yet I stand in great danger, that he shall do much hurt in my house, or in the parish; for he cometh furnished with all the learning of the het college of jesuits. They have found cut, I perceive, certain exposi- tions of the Old Testament, never heard of before, fo prove the invocation of saints from Abraham, Isaac, and Jaccb. He will not grant that any thing hath been wrong in the church of Rome; the most abominable errors of indulgences, pardons, false miracles, and false reliques, pilgrimages, and. such like, he can find them all in the Gospel; and will have them all to be good and holy.—For my part, I have determined myself otherwise: age and want of memory compel me to take my leave of this wretched world; and at this time of life not to study answers to such trumpery, and new inven- tions ; seeing I was never any disputer in all my life. I trust there be learned men enough in the universities, who will sufficiently answer all that ever they can bring that is worth answerig.— Wherefore, good Mr. Genison, seeing your cousin is. fixed in his errors, as he plainly confesseth, help to ease me of this burthen, that I may with quiet- ness apply to my vocation. Iam sent for to preach in divers places, but I cannot go from home, so long as he is here. People in these evil days are given to learn more superstition in a week, than true religion in seven years.—But if notwithstand- ing you are desirous to have him tarry two or three weeks longer, I must needs have licence from the bishop: whether you will get the same, or I must,. The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 235 I refer to your good pleasere.—And so I pray God to preserve youeyermore. Your loving friend to his power. BERNARD GILPIN.” Notwithstanding what is said in this letter, it seems probable, that Mr. Gilpin’s arguments atlength made some impression upon the young-man: for he entered afterwards into a serious dispute ia writing with him ; which he would scarce have engaged in, unless the jesuit had shewn greater willingness to . discover truth, than what had yet appeared. ‘« As sickness, sores, and other troubles,” says Mr. Gilpin to him in a letter, ‘‘ would suffer me, i have answered your objections out of St. Austin: and the chief of them, I trust, are answered to the contentation of such as are willing to stay their conscience upon God and his word, and not upon man’s yain inventions, wherein they shall find no rest of conscience, nor quietness of mind.— When leisure will serve to finish the residue, I will send them unto you. In the mean time I pray God to illuminate your eyes with his heavenly light, and to guide your feet into the way of peace.” In the latter part of his life, Mr. Gilpin went through his duty with great difficulty. His health was much impaired. The extreme fatigue he had undergone during so many years, had now quite broke his constitution. bus he complains in a letter to a friend: ‘‘To sustain all these travels and troubles, I have a very weak body, subject to many diseases: by the monitions whereof, I am daily warned to remember death. My greatest grief of all is, that my memory is quite decayed: my sight faileth; my hearing faileth; with other ailments, more than I can well express.” While he was thus struggling with an advanced age, and impaired constitution, he met with an acci- dent which entirely destroyed his health, Ashe was 236 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. crossing the market place at Durham, an ox ran at him, and pushed him down with such violence, that it was imagined the bruises he received would have eccasioned his death. He lay loug confined; and though he again got abroad, he never recovered even the little strength he had before, and continued lame as long as he lived. But accidents of this kind were no very formidable trials to a mind so well tem- pered ashis. It was a persuasion he had long enter-_ tained, that misfortunes areintended by providence to remind us of our neglected duty: and thus he always used them, making self-examination the constant attendant upon whatever calamities befel him. To this it was owing that he was never dejected by mis- fortunes; but received them rather with thankfulness than repining. . But sickness was not the only distress which the declining years of this excellent man had to struggle with. As age and infirmity began to lessen that weight and influence he once had, the malice and opposition of his enemies of course prevailed more. Cf what frivclous pretences they availed them- selves, and with what temper he bore their malice, the fcliowing letters will shew better than any nar- rative. **F am very sorry, Mr. Wren, to hear that you should fall into such unlawful contention with any one; and that, to maintain an evil cause, you should make an untrue report of me. I am very glad however, that the two other false reports, if it be as yousay, were not raised by you: one, that I should make the marriage of ministers unlawful ; the other, that I should make their children bastards. Whereas certainly it is known, that long ago I was accused belore bishop 'Tunstal for speaking in favour of priests’ marriage: since which time } have never altered my mind; but in my sermons in this country, Northumberland, Westmoreland, Cumberland York- shire, and Lancashire, | have, as opportunity served, The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 237 spoken in defence of priests’ marriage. And allow- ing their marriage. I trust no mas will believe that ¥ shvuld make their children bastards. “You say I am called hypocrite; I know I am so ef divers. How they will answer God’s law therein, Lleave to their own conscience. But verily for my own part I can thank them; for when I hear it, f trust in God, I gain not a little thereby in studying clearly to subdue that vice; which I have strived against ever since I studied the Holy Scriptures. And I suppose very few or no preachers in England have preached oftener against that vice than I; and that, as I trust, with a clear conscience. « But to make an end at this time (because this bearer can shew you what small time I have, being sore overcharged with manifold studies and busi- nesses) it is time, good Mr. Wren, both for you and me (age and sundry diseases, messengers of death, giving us warning) more deeply to ripe our own con- sciences, and more diligently to search our own faults, and to leave off from curious hearkening and espying of other men’s: especially when it breedeth contention, and can in no wise edify, I pray you read St. James, the latter part of the third chapter, and there learn from whence cometh contenticus wisdom. And this, I beseech you, remember, that it is not long since God did most mercifully visit you with great sickness. At that time I doubt not but you lamented sore your duty forgotten in your life past; and for the time to come, if God would restore you to your health, I trust you promised a godly repentance, and reformation of life. Good Mr. Wren, if you have somewhat forgotten that godly mind, pray to God to bring it again; and being had, keep it. Pray in faith, and St. James saith, God will hear you; whom I beseech evermore to haye you in his blessed keeping. “« Your loving friend to his power, ““ BeRNARD Giri.” 238 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. “« After my most hearty and due commendations } having heard that Sir William Mitchell, one of your brother’s executors, reported evil of me in sundry places, bruiting abroad, that I withhold from him great sums of money; and I know nothing where- fore, but for sixteen boeks which I had of your bro- ther, being to return either the price or the books again; I heartily beseech you, seeing that you are joined executor likewise, that you will let me know by this bearer, William Ayray, if you can find any thing in any writings or accounts of your brother, that can be lawfully demanded of me ; and, God will- ing, it shall be paid or I be much older. If, as I believe, I be debtor for nothing else, saving the sixteen books, whereof I know no price, [I have given this bearer, my servant, such instructions, that he will either satisfy you, or I will make return of the books.—I pray Almighty God to have you ever in his blessed keeping. ~Your loving friend to his power. BERNARD GILPIN.” But of all his enemies, the most active were Hugh Broughton, and chancellor Barns. Broughton acted the basest and most ungrateful part. Mr. Gilpin had educated and maintained him both at school and at the university, and had always shewn him every civility in his power. Yet this man was afterwards vile enough to endeavour to supplant the very patron who raised him. He had craftily insinuated himself into the bishop ef Dur- ham’s favour, and thought he steod fair for the first vacant preferment; and as Houghton was then the best thing in the bishop’s gift, he had fixed his eye uponit Mr. Gilpin was old and infirm, and in — all probability, could enjoy it but a very few years, yet Broughton bad not patience to let him spend the remainder of his age inpeace. He knew the bishop was easily imposed on, and found means to prejudice The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 239 him against Mr. Gilpin. To this was owing, as appeared afterwards, the affair of the suspension already mentioned, and some other instances of the bishop’s displeasure. But in the end, poor Brough- - ton had the mortification to see his indirect measures unravelled. The bishop saw his error, was recon- _ciled to Mr. Gilpin, and continued ever afterwards his steady friend: and Broughton finding himself neglected, left Durham to seek his fortune elsewhere. Chancellor Barns was indeed a more generous, as he was a more open enemy. Besides, what he did, was in some measure in his own defence; for it must be owned Mr. Gilpin was very troublesome to him in all his designs*, and generally made the first attack. After the affair at Chester however, the chancellor Jaid aside all decency; and from that time, nothing in his power that was disobliging was omitted. But his malice had no other effect, than to give Mr. Gilpin an opportunity of proving how well he had learned the Christian lessons of meek- ness: though at the same time how becomingly he could exert a decent spirit, when it was needful; and shew, by tempering charity with his dispieasure, that he could be angry and yet not sin. To this happy temper the following letters bear testimony. “« Right worshipful, after my due commendations ; these are to certify you, that my curate paying for me at the last visitation forty-six shillings, paid more than he ought to haye done by about a noble. As for the money I speak not: I pray God that it may do my lord much good. But I should be very sorry, that through my default it should remain an everlasting burthen to my successors. Wherefore I beseech you let it not be made a precedent; and - for. my time, if I live till the next visitation, which I look not for, I will not refuse to pay it no more than I do now, so that care be taken my successors pay no more after me than that which is due, which * See Section VII. 240 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. { take to be fourpence for every pound in the queen's majesty’s books.— But you say I must needs pay it, and my successors also, because it is found in a cer- tain rate book of bishop Pilkington. As for that JT am able to say, and { trust I can bring witness, that bishop Pilkington at his first visitation; cleaily forgave me all the sum, in consideration, -as I was told, of my travel in Northumberland’: and after that, at his other two visitations, I made no let, but suffered his officers just to take what they would. But my trust is, that your worship will not burthen my saccessors for this my simplicity or folly, term it which you will.—Seeing then that I have so much reason, they do me wrong who say I wrangled at the last visitation: for God is my witness, I love not differences of any kind.—I pray God to have you in his blessed keeping. “ Yours to his power, “ BERNARD GILPIN.” “YT marvel, Mr. Barns, that you should use me in this manner, I seeking and studying to use you well in all things.— About two or three years ago, at my lord’s visitation, when you took of others a groat in the pound (as you can take no more) you made me pay above my due; for the which, if I had sought remedy by the statute against extortion, I trust the statute would have stood for me.—After that, the subsidy being gathered, my servant, by oversight, not examining carefully the book, paid a certain sum that was not due, I think it was about twenty shil- ings; but sure I could never get it restored to this day: —Now you seek unjustly 1 to charge my living for my curate; which seeing it hath never been de- manded before, some will think you seek it for your own purse. J pay unto the queen’s majesty (God save her grace) as duly, and with as good a will as any subject, twenty-three pounds, twelve shillings, by the year. But if you. still continue resolved to | The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 241 charge: me with this six pounds, I promise you, before I pay it, I will spend five marks in defence of my right.—But I trust after good advertisement you will Jet this new suit drop. I pray God Almighty to keep you evermore. “ Your loving friend to his power, ‘¢ BERNARD GILPIN.” This load of calumny, ingratitude, and ill-usage, may justly be supposed heavy upon him, already sinking under a weight of years: yet he bore it with great fortitude; strengthening himself with such consolations, as a good Christian hath in reserve for all extremities. His resignation was not long exercised. About the beginning of February, in the year 1583, he found himself so very weak, that he was sensible his end must be drawing near. He told his friends his | apprehensions ; and spoke of his death with that happy composure which always attends the conclu- sion of a good life, He was soon after confined to his chamber. His senses continued perfect to the | last. Of the manner of his taking leave of the world, _we have this account. | A few days before his death, he ordered himself _to be raised in his bed; and sending for several poor people, who had been his pensioners, he told | them, he found he was going out of the world—he hoped they would be his witnesses at the great day that he had endeavoured to do his duty among | them—and he prayed God to remember them after |he was gone—he would not have them weep for him: if ever he had told them any thing good, he | would have them remember that in his stead.— Above all things, he exhorted them to fear God, | and keep his commandments; telling them, if they | would do this, they could never’be left comfortless. | _ He next ordered his oo to be called in: te | VOL. Il, 242 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. these likewise he made a short speech, reminding them, that this was their time, if they had any desire to qualify themselves for being of use in the world— that learning was well worth their attention, but virtue was much more so. He next exhorted his servants; and then sent for several persons, who had not heretofore profited by his advice, as he had wished; and upon whom he imagined his dying words might have a_ better effect. His speech began to falter before he finished his exhortations. 'The remaining hours of his life, he spent in prayer, and broken conversation with some select friends, mentioning often the consola- tions of Christianity—and declaring that nothing else could bring a man peace at the last. He died on the fourth of March, 1583, in the 66th year of his age. I shall conclude this account of him with a few ob- servations upon his. character ; and some incidents, which could not properly be mtroduced in any part of the narration. His person was tall and slender, in the ornament of which he was at no pains, He had a particular aversion to the fopperies of dress.—In his diet he was very temperate, rather abstemious. His parts were very good. His imagination, memory, and judgment, were lively, retentive and solid. ' His acquirements were as considerable. By an unwearied application he had amassed a great store of knowledge ; and was ignorant of no, part of learn- ing at that time m esteem: in languages, history, and divinity he particularly excelled. He read poetry with a good taste; himself, as the bishop of Chiches- ter relates, no mean poet. But he laid out little time in the pursuit of any study foreign to his pro- fession. . le . His temper was miturally warm; and in his youth we meet with instances of his giving way to passion; a The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 243 but he soon got more command of himself, and at: length entirely corrected that infirmity. His disposition was serious, yet among his parti- cular friends he was commonly cheerful, sometimes facetious. His general behaviour was very affable. His severity had no object but himself; to others he was humble candid and indulgent. Never did virtue sit with greater ease on any one, had less of morose- ness, or could mix more agreeably with whatever was imnocent in common life. He had a most extraordinary skill in the art of managing a fortune. He considered himself merely as a steward for other people; and took care there- fore that his own desires never exceeded what calm reason could justify. Extravagance with him was another word for injustice. Amidst all his business he found leisure to look into his affairs; well know- ing that frugality is the support of charity. His intimacies were few. Yet where he professed a particular friendship, he was a religious observer _of its offices. Of this the following relation is an instance. Through his application the dean and chapter of Durham had bestowed a living upon one of his friends. Soon after Mr. Gilpin was nomi-- nated a referee in a dispute between them and the archbishop of York : but for some particular reasons he excused himself*. This irritated the dean and chapter so much, that out of mere pique at him they * The chapter of Durham was in great disorder, and in ‘many instances much complained of, Sandys, archbishop of York, undertook to visit them: but Wittingham, the dean withstood him ; having prevailed upon the lord pre- sident of the north to second him. The archbishop com- plained to the council; upon which a commission was issued out by the lord keeper, empowering certain per-— sons to examine the case; among whom Mr. Gilpin was mamed., ‘His reason for not acting was, most probably, because he thought the dean and chapter in the wrong, | M2 244 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. took away two thirds from the allowance they had assigned to his friend. He did what he could to pacify them; but his utmost endeayours proving fruitless, he insisted upon his friend’s accepting from him a yearly satisfaction for his loss *. At another timea friend desired he would request the bishop of Durham to lend him a sum of money ; he made the application; but not succeeding, he wrote thus to his friend: ‘‘ My lord hath lent.to so very many, (which I believe is true) that you must * «To Dr. Wilson. « Right worshipful, whereas I hear your worship named of many to the Deanery of Durham, these are most humbly to beseech you (if it shall please God so to bless that house) that you will help, as I trust God you may, to redress, among sundry enormities, one which hath happened a year ago or more.—The dean and chapter of Durham aré parsons of a parish in Northumberland, called Ellingham. The living was better than thirty pounds a year. Our school-master of Houghton, a scholar of Ox- ford, made labour for it. At his suit, and mine together, it was granted ; as we judged, with all such commodities as the last incumbent, and others before had had. But soon after, the dean and chapter took away from the vicar as good as twenty pounds a year; so that the poor man, having wife and children, might have begged, if E and other friends had not holpen him: Ged knoweth it hath been a costly matter tome. But my trust now is, that your worship, knowing the matter, will be willing to help it, and may help it; for the present possessor, Mr. Setby, hath nothing to shew but a promise from Mr. Whit- tingham, whereunto the chapter would never consent. Mr. Ralph Lever can inform you of all the matter. your worship can help it, surely you cannot do a better deed. Would to God all violent workers of injuries wer resisted! If God should send you into this country, 1 trust to be better known to your worship. I pray God preserve you evermore. By your’s to his power. i Houghton, Brernarp GIbpin,” id July 11, 1579. ; — The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 245 pardon him for not sending you the money. I pray you trouble him no more; and I trust by little and little I can make up the sum myself.” s He was the most candid interpreter of the words and actions of others: where he plainly saw failings, he would make every possible allowance for them. He used to express a particular indignation at slan- der ; often saying, it deserved the gallows more than theft. For himself, he was remarkably guarded -when he spoke of others: he considered common fame as the falsest medium, and a man’s reputation as his most valuable property. His sincerity was such as became his other vir- tues. He had the strictest regard to. truth, of which his whole life was only one instance. All little arts and sinister practices, those ingredients of worldly prudence, he disdained. His persever- ance in so commendable a part, in whatever diffi- culties it might at first involve him, in the end raised his character above malice and envy, and gave him that weight and influencein every thing he undertook, which nothing but an approved integrity can give. Whatever his other virtues were, their lustre was greatly increased by his humility. To conquer re- ligious pride is one of the best effects of religion; an effect which his religion, in the most amiable manner produced. But the most distinguished parts of the character of this amiable man were his conscientious discharge of the duties of a clergyman, his extensive benevo- Jence, and his exalted piety. As to the discharge of his function, no man could be more strongly influenced by what he thought the _ duties ofit. The motives of convenience, or present interest had no kind of weight with him. As the | income was no part of his concern, he only consi- dered the office; which he thought such a charge as | a man would rather dread than’ solicit: but when providence called him to it (for what was not pro- M3 246 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. cured by any endeavours of his own, he could not but ascribe to providence) he accepted it, though with reluctance. He then shewed, that if a sense of the importance of his office made him distrust his abi- lities, it made him more diligent in exerting them- When he undertook tke care of a parish, it imme- diately engrossed his whole attention. The plea- sures of life he totally relinquished; in a great degree even his favourite pursuits of learning. This was the more commendable in him, as he had always a strong inclination for retirement, and was often violently tempted to shut himself up in some univer- sity at home or abroad, and live there sequestered from the world. But his conscience corrected his inclination; as he thought the life of a mere recluse ‘by no means agreeable to the active principles of Christianity. Nay, the very repose to which his age laid claim, he would not indulge; but, as long as he had strength sufficient, persevered in the la- borious practice of such methods of instruction, as he imagined would most benefit those under his care.—Of popular applause he was regardless, so far as mere reputation was concerned: but as the favour of the multitude was one step towards gain- ing their attention, in that light he valued it. He reproved vice, wherever he observed it, with the utmost freedom. As he was contented in his station, and superior to all dependence, he avoided the danger of being tempted to an unbecoming com- pliance: and whether he reproved in public or ip private, his unblameable life, and the seriousness with which he spoke, gave an irresistible weight to ‘what hesaid. He studied the low capacities of the people among whom he lived, and knew how to adapt his arguments to their apprehensions. Hence the effects that his preaching had upon them are said to have been often very surprising. In particular it is related, that as he was once recommending ho- nesty in apart of the country notoriously addicted to The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 247 thieving, a man struck with the warmth and earnest- ness with which he spoke, stood up in the midst ofa large congregation, and freely confessed his disho- nesty, and how heartily he repented of it. With regard to his benevolence, ne man certainly had ever more disinterested views, or made the com- mon good more the study of his life; whichwas indeed the best comment upon the great Christian princi- ple of universal charity. He called nothing his owr ; there was nothing he could not readily part with for the service of others. In his charitable distributions he had no measure but the bounds of his income, of which the least portion was always laid out on himself. Nor did he give as if he was granting a favour, but as if he was paying a debt: all obsequious service the generosity of his heart disdained. He was the more particularly careful to give away in his lifetime whatever he could save for the poor, as he had often seen and regretted the abuse of posthumous charities. ‘‘It is my design at my de- parture, (says he, writing to a friend) to leave no more behind me, but to bury me, and pay my debts.” What little he did leave*, (which was little) ' * The following are a few extracts from his will, which perhaps may not be unacceptable to the reader. | ‘First, I bequeath and commend my soul unto the hands of Almighty God, my creator ; not trusting in mine own merits, which am of myself a most wretched sinner, but only in the mercy of God, and in the merits of Jesus Christ my Redeemer and my Saviour.—My body I com- mit to be buried in the parish-church or church-yard, wheresoever it shall please God to call me to his mercy. —For the disposition of my goods, first, I will that all my debts be truly paid with all speed; which I shall gather, and set after this my last will—My debts once dis- charged, of what remaineth I give and bequeath * * * (here follow legacies to the poor of nine parishes)—Likewise I give to the poor of Houghton parish the great new ark for _ corn, to provide them groats in winter; and if none will M4 248 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. beside bis stock, and household furniture, and the arrears of his tythes, he left wholly to the poor, de- make that provision, let it be sold, and the price dealt among them.—Likewise, I give to the Queen's college, in Oxford, all such books as shall have written upon the first leaf, Bernardus Gilpin Reginensi collegio, D.D. and all such books as shall have written upon the first ‘leaf Jo- hannes Newton Reginensi collegio, D. D. and likewise all the books that Mr. Hugh Broughton hath of mine, viz. Eusebius, Greek, in two volumes; and Josephus, Greek, in one volume, and certain other books; J trust he will withhold none of them.—Also I give to Keipier school in Houghton, all such books as shall have the name of it in the first leaf.—Also I give to my successor, and to his successors after him, first, the great new brewing lead in the brewhouse, with the guile-fat, and mash-fat; likewise in the kiln a large new steep-lead, which receives a chal- dron of corn at once; likewise in the larder-house one great salting-tub, which will hold four oxen or more: likewise in the great chamber over the parlour one long table, and a shorter, standing upon joined frames; like- wise in the parlour one long table upon a joined frame, with the form; likewise in the hall three tables standing fast, with their forms to them: likewise * * * [here fol- low a great many other pieces of furniture, materials for building, unwrought timber, lime, slate, &e.] In con- sideration of all these, and of my exceeding great charges in building and reparations since my first coming to this parsonage, which I think with a safe conscience I may well say amounteth to 300 pounds, if I say no more. I trust my successor will not demand any thing for dilapi- dations: and if he should, I doubt nothing but that the, bishop of Durham will persuade him to be content with reason, and to do all things with charity : and if charity may bear rule, I doubt not but all dilapidations will fall. —And here I most earnestly desire my successor not _ only to let all dilapidations fall, upon these considerations, and also in favour of the poor, upon whom chiefly my goods are bestowed in’ this testament: but also that he — will be a continual defender and maintainer of Keipiers ee The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 249 ducting a few slight tokens of remembrance that he bequeathed to his' friends. school in Houghton, both in seeing-the statutes well kept, and the children brought up in virtue and learning ; which if he do, I doubt not but God shall prosper him the better in all things he taketh’ in hand.—Moreover I give to the poor of Houghton, twenty pounds and nine of my oxen’: the other nine I bequeath to my three executors :—like+ wise I give to the right reverend’ Richard, lord bishop of Durham, for a simple token of remembrance, three silver Spoons with acorns ; the history of Paulus Jovius; and the works of Calvin;—also I give unto John Heath, esquire, for a like remembrance, other two silver spoons with acorns of the same weight; and also the history of John Sleden in Latin—to Mrs. Heath I give my English chronicle of Fabian: also: I, give to Richard Bellasis, esquire, for alike remembrance,, other two silver spoons with acorns of the same. fashion; and. also my_ history called Novus Orbis.—And I most humbly beseech these three men: of honour and worship, that for God’s cause they will take so, much pains as. to become supervisors of this my last will and testament,, which being a work of Christian charity, I trust verily they will mot refuse.. And above all) other things) I: most; humbly beseech them.to take into their tuition and governance all the lands and revenues belonging’ to Keipier school, and all deeds; evi- dences, gifts, and other writings, which are to shew for the same. All theright and title to these lands I give up wholly into their power, for the good maintenance of the said school.—And for as much as these lands are not so surely established as I could. wish, I give unto Keipier school twenty pounds, which I desire the bishop of Dur- ham to take into his hands,. and to bestow as he shall see fit, upon men learned:in the laws.—All the rest. of my goods and chattels, I will that they be divided into two équal parts, and the one’ of. them to, be given to the poor of Houghton, the other to scholars and students in-Ox- ford,, whose names: are Ric. Wharton, Ste. Coperthwait, Geo; Carleton, Ralph. Ironside, Ewan Eyray,, Wil. Cayrnis, Hen, Ayray,) Fr. Reisely, 2nd Tho. Collisen. MO ly 250 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. Such instances of benevolence gained him the title of the father of the poor; and made his memory revered long afterwards in the country where he lived*. But no part of his character was more conspicu- ous than his piety. It hath been largely shewn with what temper, sincerity, and earnestness, he examined the controverted points of religion, and settled his own opinions. He thought religion his principal concern; and of course made the attain- These I will be relieved as mine executors shall see need- ful, a year, two, or three, as the sum will arise.—And for my three executors, for as much as I have been beneficial to them in my life time, so far as a good conscience would permit me, and sometime further (but God I trust hath forgiven me) Iwill, and I doubt not but they will agree to the same, that they be content with the nine oxen. And if any gains do arise from the sale of my goods, as I think I have prized them under the worth, I will they shall have that amongst them; only I earnestly request and desire them to be goodjto my poor neighbours of the parish, being desirous to buy such things as they stand most in need of.”? * A monument in the chancel of Houghton church isa . remarkable instance of this.—It is erected to the memory of Mr. Davenport, a worthy rector of that parish ; whom his encomiast thus celebrates. “ If the soul’s transmigration were believ’d, You’d say, good Gilpin’s soul he had received, And with as liberal hand did give or more, His daily charity unto the poor: For which with him, we doubt not, he’s possest Of righteous men’s reward, eternal rest.” Whatever becomes of the notion of the soul’s transmi- gration, one would imagine however that Mr. Gilpin’s — example at least had its influence upon the rectors of Houghton ; for perhaps few parishes in England can boast such a succession of worthy pastors, as that parish can, isnce Mr. Gilpin’s death, 8 The Life of BernardGilpin. 251 ment of it his principal study: he knew no other end of religion but an holy life; and therefore in all his enquiries about it, he considered himself as looking after truths which were to influence his future conduct, and make him a betterman. Ac- cordingly, when his religious persuasion was once settled, he made the doctrines hc embraced the invariable rule of his life: all his moral virtues be- eame Christian; were formed upon such motives, and respected such ends as Christianity recom- mended. It was his daily care to conform himself to the will of God; upon whose providence he abso- lutely depended in all conditions of life; resigned, easy, and cheerful under whatsoever misfortunes he might meet with. He had some peculiar, though, it may be, just notions with regard to a particular providence. He thought all misfortunes, which our wn indiscretions did not immediately draw upon us, were sent directly from God, to bring us to a sense of our misbehaviour, and quicken us in a virtuous course ; accordingly at such times he used with more than ordinary attention te examine his past conduct, and endeavyomr to find out in what point of duty he had been defective. To the opinions of others, however different from his own, he was most indulgent. He thought mode- ration one of the mest genuine effects of true piety. It hath already appeared from his intercourse with the dissenters, how great an enemy he was to all intole- rant principles ; how wrong he thought it on one hand to oppose an established church, and on the other to molest a quiet separatist. ‘ His life was wholly guided by a conscience the most religiously scrupulous. IE cannot forbear in- serting an instance of its extreme sensibility, though it may be thought perhaps rather to carry a degree of weakness with it. Hehad behaved in some par- ticular, with regard to his parish, in a manner which gave him great concern. . His conscience was so M 252 The Life of Bernard Gilpin. much alarmed at what he had done, that nothing he was able to allege to himself in his excuse was able to make him easy. At length he determined to lay open the whole case to the bishop of Durham, — his diocesan, and to. surrender up his living, or sub- mit to any censure, which the bishop might think his fault deserved. . Without thus bringing himself to justice, he said, he never could haye recovered his peace of mind *. 159 * His letter upon this occasion to the, bishop is notiex- tant, nor doth it appear what the fault was: the following letter relates. to it. i yreasb ui “ Grace and peace in. Jesus Christ.: if any man be vexed in body or mind, you know itis a very grievous thing: to . have no comforter; which hath constrained me to disclose unte you (not doubting but. to have both your comfort and help, and to have it kept most secret) that thing, which, besides to you, [ never opened to any living crea- ture. In this inclosed letter I have opened my grief and weakness of conscience unto my lord; beseeching you, if opportunity will serve, to: deliver it.. Howbeit, if either he should be‘pained with sickness, or you would'first by writing that I'should have your advice, or you'see any — other cause why to stay the delivery, I refer albto your wisdom. But it you have opportunity to my, lord, L hope by you. to know speedily some part, of his pleasure. I trust, my case weighed, he will. rather. think me to be pitied, than. had. in. hatred. How, tender. a thimg con- science is, 1 have found by too good .experience.. I have found moreover, that as it is easily wounded, so it is with difficulty healed. And for my own part, I speak from my heart, I would rather be often wounded in my body, than ence in my mind. Which. things considered, I trust you will bear with my weakness. But you may object, I have continued weak very long; which fault certainly I find with myself: but for this T aceuse my ewn slowness beth in studyand ‘prayer ; which by God's grace, as far as: my weak body will serve, hereafter shall be amended: for: certainly those two are the: chief instru- ments, whereby. Ihave sure: trust that God of his good- mess will make me strong.’* The Life of Bernard Gilpin. 253 Such was the life and character of this excellent man. A conduct so agreeable to the strictest rules of religion, gained him among his contemporaries the title of the Northern Apostle. And indeed the parallel was striking ; his quitting corrupt doctrines, in the utmost reverence of which he had been edu- cated; the persecutions he met with for the sake of his integrity; the danger he often ran of martyr- dom; his contempt of the world; his unwearied application to the business of his calling ; the exten- sive field, in which his labours were employed; and the boldness and freedom with which he reproved the guilty, whatever their fortunes or stations were, might justly characterize him a truly apostolical person. Viewed with such a life, how mean and contemp- _ tible do the idle amusements of the world appear ! How trifling that uninterrupted succession of serious folly which engages so great a part of mankind ; while each real concern of life is crouded into so small a compass. How much more nobly doth that person act, who can separate appearances from realities ; and maintain with firmness each worthy resolution that he forms; persevering steadily like this excellent man, in the conscientious discharge of the duties of that station, whatever that station is, in which providence hath placed him! zm Bem g ty a5 i cast ae aa 2 - Cm Matlad taht bs votverioda! " ay Nita d , ie | “he eer weteen . Neate ined inte niyenetoti “48 cca Mxbs avochatind sree: La ies deeb eel hwlte, Stites pert ‘ie’. evadiber!s oa c id ouaseueite wall. sobPrie adi ~opatane: aikt é-gatilgo aid Yo: dae iti \niebr nba sya wn. etl b peers ed regen dere . eet) nije arti sty tei % sites A iid ide Borg ¥ , OR Qhat bahia uh pid h att ob Yidow, onc, nme Ct en Reg ee olen PH PORTA AR A Gilit pe wt oe. ust POKER a vetted ert aaviapi name> lb Ke gi ‘ ane sored inate. sisal 5). onbavaiel tinal ons aN Ry. bah Prk SERMON, PREACHED IN THE COURT AT GREENWICH, BEFORE KING EDWARD VI. THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY, M.D.LII. PIPOPSPOLP LOPE LOS - BY BERNARD GILPIN, B.D. ALLA (MANS ant rt Resi, 2 = re ‘ ty .f FA v - 4 i eae A - Fi ' “ r ‘ * t ’ "eA rJ - ahs) FF <> eae J ih Tue following sermon is the only revised composition of Mr. Gilpin’s that survived him ; for which reason I thought it right to give it to the reader. It was thought in king Edward’s time a very pathetic strain of eloquence ; and well adapted to the irregularities which pre- vailed in the licentious court of that prince. It hath since been taken notice of by most of the writers who treat of the ecclesiastical affairs of those times, and is mentioned by them as a remarkable instance of that commendable zeal, and noble freedom, which the illustrious reformers of our church then exerted in the cause of virtue and religion.—But I will leave it to recommend itself. heviver yuo ‘od! af Gone i (is iti! boyitrnue peel aught Pak Oe sum. of skit a _ oh big phe istiniteel DOTTY tai To Figo at To teorn. yd to -saolr AOR 1) iethe levilentesiass od 9 26 aradt yd. bonoiiaond abe oldabnomaias aay’ Yo som . ’ ‘ ’ . ‘ - ‘ fe ~ 7 Bees ‘ ’ , a 5 att bt { s ; 2 a ey ue " f ee ' * & rien ty ‘ ~ eye: ; hie Aue. -* og” ry eg if ] ‘ > 5 » A SERMON, &c. Sr. LuKE ii. 41—50 Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year, at _ the feast of the passover. And when he was twelve years old, and they were come up to Jeru- salem, after the custom of the feast, and had Jinished the days thereof; as they returned, the child Jesus remained in Jerusalem; and Joseph knew not of it, nor his mother. But they, suppos- ing that he had been in the compauy, went aday’s journey; and sought him amongst their kinsfolk and acquaintance. And when they found him not, they turned back to Jerusalem, and sought him. And it came to pass, three days after, that they found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors; both hearing them, and asking them questions. And all that heard him were astonished at his understanding and answers. So when they saw him, they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? Behold thy father and I have sought thee with heavy hearts. Then he said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? Know ye not that I must go about my father’s business? But they understood not the word that he spake unto them. - Forasmuci as the whole Gospel is more full of matter, and plenteous in mysteries, than that it can well be discussed within the limits of one sermon, 260 : A Sermon. I have taken, for this time, to treat upon this one sentence spoken by Christ unto his parents, ‘‘ Know ye not that I must go about my father’s business!” being content to omit the rest; taking only so much as shall suffice to declare the occasion whereupon he spake these words, for the fuller understanding of the same. Ye shall therefore understand, that when our Sa- viour was come to the age of twelve years, giving attendance upen his parents to Jerusalem, at the solemn feast of Easter, whither they yearly did re- pair at that time of sincere devotion, and for the obedience of the law; after that Joseph and Mary had devoutly passed the days of the feast, and were: returned home, it came to pass, (not through blind fortune, but by God’s providence, that his glory might appear) that the blessed son Jesus tarried behind at Jerusalem; and while his parents, either not taking good heed of him, or else going apart insundry companies, either of them trusting he had been with the other, they went one day’s journey before they missed him: but alter he was found wanting, they sought him diligently among their kinsfolk and acquaintance, but found him not; which was undoubtedly unto them a very cress of bit- ter affliction. So doth God many times exercise his elect and chosen with adversity, for their trial, and to keep them in humility. When they were refurned to Jerusalem, and had leng sought him with sorrowful hearts, after three days they found him in the temple. Here then, by the way, methinks the Holy Ghost teacheth us this spiritual doctrine: so long as we seek Christ in our own kinsfolk, that is, our own inventions and devices, we find him not; but to find Christ, we must accompany these godly persons, Joseph and Mary, unto the temple of his holy word; there Christ is found unto so many as seek him, with such humble spirits and meek hearts as A Sermon.. 261 Juseph and Mary did. They found him in the temple, not idly occupied as many are, not mum- bling things he understood not, sine mente sonum, a confussd sound without knowledge; but they found him occupied in his heavenly father’s business, as all men should be in the temple, either in speaking to God by humble and hearty prayer, or hearing God speaking to them in his most blessed word, So was Chirist cccupied amongst learned men, and opposing them.—Where he teacheth us, to be always as glad to learn as to teach. Itis a probable conjecture, that he opened to them the Scriptures which spake of Messias, a matter then in controversy. But whatsoever their matter was, the evangelist saith, “he made them all astonished at his under- standing and answers.” So the glory of bis godhead even then began to shine. Where we may mark the wonderful power of the Gospel: even the hard+ hearted that will net receive it, the bright beams of the truth, shining therein maketh astonished. it causeth also the godly to marvel, as Mary and Jo- seph; but their admiration always ended with joy, Yet notwithstanding his heavenly majesty made all men to wonder, his mother thought she had some cause to espostulate with him for the great fear he had brought upon them, casting theminto a dungeon of sorrows ; and complaining, said, “‘Son, why hast thou, &c.” She seemed to charge him with the breach of the first precept of the second table, that he had not well entreated his parents. But Christ so shaped his answer, that he taketh away all her complaint ; teaching us, how the precepts of the second table may not be understood in any wise to _ be a hindrance to the first. ‘‘ Wist ye not that I must go about my father’s business?” Where our duty and service to God cometh in place, all human service and obedience, which might be a hindrance thereto, to whomsoever it be, father or mother, king or Cesar, must stand back and give place, Besides. 262 A Sermon. this, he teacheth us here a most necessary lesson for all men to know and bear away, which is, that his whole life and death was nothing else but a perfect obedience to the will of his heavenly father, and that he was always most busily occupied therein : and teacheth us, that if we look by adoption to be brethren and coheirs with Christ of his father’s king- dom, we must also with our master and lord yield up ourselves wholly to our heavenly father’s will, and always be occupied in his business. ‘‘I have given you an example, that ye should do even as I have done to you.” Which lesson being so necessary of all Christians to be kept, and the breach thereof the cause of all iniquity, I thought it good to pass over other places of ghostly instruction which this Gospel might minister, and to tarry upon this one sentence, “‘ Know ye not that I must go about my father’s business?” Intending to shew in order, how all estates of men, the clergy, the nobility, and the commonalty, are under the band of this obliga- tion, oportet, we must, and ought of necessity to be occupied in our heavenly father’s business. —But first of all, mistrusting wholly mine own strength, Torkve aid of you by your devout prayers. Know ye not that I must go about my Father's Business? AFTER that our first parents, through disobedi- ence and sin, had blotted and disfigured the lively image of God, whereunto they were created, and might have lived alway in a conformity to the will of God; man was never able to apply himself to God his father’s business, nor yet so much as to know what appertained thereto. ‘The natural man,’ saith St. Paul, ‘ perceiveth not the things of the spirit of God, » till Christ, the very sure image of God the ithe? did come down, and took man’s nature upon him; which descent, as he declareth, A Sermon. . 263 was to fulfil for us the will of his father, that ‘like as by disobedience of one man, many were made sinners; suv by the obedience of one (Christ) many might be made righteous, what time as he became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.” Which obedience, lest carnal men should challenge to suffice for them, howsoever their life be a conti- nual rebellion against God and his holy will, such as there be a great number, and have been in all ages, St. Paul wipeth them clean away, saying, ‘Christ hath become salvation, not to all, but to all that obey him.” Let no man therefore flatter and deceive himself. If we will challenge the name of Christ’s disciples, if we will worthily possess the glorious name of Christians, we must learn this lesson of our master, to be occupied in our heavenly father’s busi- ness ; which is, to fly our own will, which is a wicked and wanton will, and wholly to conform ourselves to his will, saying, as we are taught, ‘‘ thy will be done: which,” as St. Augustine saith, ‘the fleshly man, the covetous, adulterous, ravenous, or deceit- fal man, can never say but with his lips, because in his heart he preferreth his own cursed will, setting aside the will of God.” Now forasmuch as the greatest part of the world hath at this day forsaken their father’s business, applying their own, and are altogether drowned in sin; for, ‘‘ the whole head is sick, and the whole heartis heavy: from the sole of the foot to the head, there is nothing whole therein,” and as St. Paul saith, ‘‘all seek their own, and not that which is Jesus Christ’s;’ and as I am here ascended into the high hill of Sion, the highest hill in all this realm, I must needs, as it is given me in commission, “cry aloud and spare not; lift up my voice like a trumpet, and shew the people their transgressions.” I must cry unto all estates, as well of the ecclesiastical ministry, as of the civil governance, with the vulgar people. 264 ‘ A Sermon. But forasmuch as example of holy Scriptures, with experience of Christ’s church in all ages, hath taught us that the fall of priests is the fall of the people ; and contrarywise, the integrity of them is the preservation of the whole flock ; and the ministers, as Christ saith, being ‘‘ the light of his mystical body, if the light be turned into darkness, there must needs follow great darkness in the whole body;” I think it fit to begin with them, who seem to have brought blindness into the whole body, making men to forget their heavenly father’s busmess: they which should have kept the candle still burning, these will I chiefly examine in that business which Christ so earnestly committed to all pastors before his ascension, when he demanded thrice of Peter if he loved him; and every time upon Peter’s confes- sion, enjoined him straightly to feed his lambs and sheep ; wherein we have the true trial of all minis- ters who love Christ, and apply his business. But to consider how it hath been forgotten in the church many years, it might make a Christian’s heart to bleed. He that wrote the general chronicle of ages, when he cometh to the time of John VIII. and Martin II. bishops of Rome about six hundred years ago, conferring the golden ages going before, with the iniquity of that time, when through ambi- tion, avarice, and contention, the office of setting forth God’s word was brought to an utter contempt, and trodden under foot, in token whereof the Bible was made the bishop’s footstool, he falleth to a sudden exclamation, and complaineth thus with the lamenta- ble voice of the prophet Jeremy, “‘O Lord God, how is the gold become so dim? How is the goodly colour of it so changed? O most ungracious time,” saith he, “‘ wherein the holy man faileth, or is not. All truths are diminished from the sons of men: there are no godly men left: the faithful are worn out among the children of men.” In that time, as it appeared both by this history and others, ambition and q ——— | A Sermon. 265 greedy avarice hath taught ministers to seek and contead for livings, who might climb the highest by utter contempt of their office, and our heavenly Father’s business: and so to make Christ’s flock a ready prey for the devil, “ who goeth about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” Then the bishop of Rome, abusing always Peter's keys to fill Judas’s satchels, dispensed with all pre- lates that brought any money in obeying Christ’s commission given to Peter, ‘‘ Feed, feed my lambs and my sheep ;” and stretched it so largely, that instead of feeding Christ's lambs and sheep, he allowed them to feed hawks, hounds, and horses, I will not say harlots. Then, instead of fishers of men, he made them to become fishers of benefices and fat livings. He brought preaching into such a con- tempt, that it was accounted a great absurdity for a cardinal to preach, after he had once bestrid his mule. But let us see alter, how this evil increased. St. Bernard in his time, about two hundred years after, lamented that when open persecution of tyrants and heretics were ceased in the church, then another persecuticn, far worse, and more noisome to Christ's Gospel, did succeed ; when the ministers, Christ’s own friends by pretence, were turnedinto persecutors, “* My lovers and my kinsmen stand aside from my plague: and my kinsmen stand afar off.” The ini- quity of the church, saith Bernard, began at the elders.—‘‘ Alas, alas, O Lord God, they are the foremost in persecuting of thee, which are thought to love the chiefest place or pre-eminence in the church.” ‘This complaint, with much more teo long to be rehearsed, against the prelates of Rome, made St. Bernard in his time, nothing afraid in the same place to call them antichrists; and for murdering of silly souls, redeemed with Christ’s precious blood, he maketh them more cruel persecutors of Christ, than the Jews which shed his blood. If the iniquity of Rome, four hundred years ago VOL. II. 266 A Sermon. was so great, and since hath not a little increased, it was high time that God should open the eyes of some Christian princes, to see the great abuses and enoriities of Romish bisheps, and to deliver Christ's Gospel out of captivity, and to bring down his horns, whose pride, if he might have had success in his ty- vanny, began to ascend with Lucifer above the stars. It is not many yearsago, that a champion of theirs, nained Pelagius, writing against Marsilius Paduanus in defence of Rome, hath not been ashamed to leave in writing, that the pope (quodammodo, after a sort) doth participate both natures, the godhead and man- hood, with Christ; and that he may not be judged of the emperor, because he is not a mere man, but as a God upon earth; and God, saith he, may not be judged of man. What intolerable blas- phemy is this? If I had not read it myself, I could _ scarcely believe any such blasphemy to proceed from him which professeth Christ. Do you not perceive plainly the hissing and_ poison pf the old serpent, when he tempted our first parents, and promised they should become like Gods? A vile wretched creature, worms meat, forgetting his esfate, must become a God upon earth.—Such Gods sha'l follow Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, into the pit of damnation. But some will say, what should we speak so mach of the bishop of Rome? Is he not gone? His power takea away? If preachers would let him alene, the people would soon forget him. ‘Truly, for my part, if ihad that gift, strength, and calling, I had rather (though J were sure to smart therefore) speak against his enormitics in Rome, than to speak of them here: and I think vo man beareth, at Jeast | am sure no man ought to bear, any malice or evil against his person. in speaking against his vice and iniquity : ‘“We fight not,” saith St. Paul, “‘ against flesh and blcod ; but we fight against the prince of darkness,” &e. When any wicked man, adversary to God and his word, assaileth us, we must take Lim for-no other but as an instrument of the devil, and Satan himself A Sermon, 267 to be ourenemy, and none other; and even as when n enemy assaileth us on horseback, we wish to overthrow the enemy and win the horse, which may be profitable to us; so if the devil could be cast out of such instruments as he hath in Rome, the men would become profitable members of Christ. But if the devil sit so fast in the saddle, that he cannot be turned out, we cannot amend it. Yet our duty is to pray unto God for them; and to hate none of God’s creatures, but rather that which Satan hath depraved, ‘if peradventure God. will turn their hearts.” But notwithstanding, their faults onght to be chiefly told them in their presence; yet not there only, but even here amongst us also. Although it come not to their ears, it is not a little expedient oftentimes to cry and thunder against their errom and vices ; chiefly, that so oft as we hear it, we may give God thal, as we are most bounden, for our del: verance from that captivity of Babylon, as St. Peter himself, by the mind of ancient writers, called it. Examples hereof we have in the Scriptures: the song of the Israelites, after their deliverance cut of Egypt; and afterwards, when they were delivered by Deborah from the tyranny of Sisera; and after the deliverance from Holofernes by Judith. We must be thankfal, lest for our unthankfulness God suffer us to fall into a worse bondage than ever we were in.—But most of all‘it is profitable, that we may from cur hearts rexounce with Babylon all the vices of Babylon. For what did profit the deliver- ance out of Egypt, to those that did still carry Egypt in their minds through the desert? “What did it avail the deliverance out of Babylon, to those that did bring Babylon home to Jerusalem? I fear me, yet in England a great many, like fleshly Israelites, are weary of the swect manna of tie Gospel, and savour of the fleshly Egypt, desiring to live still under the bondage of Pharaoh. N2 268 A Sermon. But most of all, it is expedient now for my pur- pose to speak of that sea, from whence, so far as ever I could learn, those intolerable abuses have overflown, and are come among us; which as yet are great enemies to Christ's Gospel here in England, making his ministers to set aside his business: such abuses as cannot yet be driven away, nor sent home to Rome to their father : I mean dispensations for plu- ralities, and totquots, with dispensations for non- residents, which avarice and idleness transported hither from Rome. But for that they savour sweet for a time to carnal men, they have so many patrons, that they cannot be driven away with other abuses. - And because they are accounted to stand by law, they are used as cloaks for iniquity. ‘These may well be likened unto these fatlings which Saul, against God’s commandment, did keep alive when he van- quished the Amalekites. And traly, till there be ordained some godly laws to banish these, with other abuses, God’s wrath is kindled against us to destroy all such as are maintainers of them. So long as it shall be lawful for men to have so many livings as they can get, and discharge never a one; and so long as men may have livings to lie where they will in idleness, far from their cure, fatting themselves like the devil’s porklings, and letting a thousand souls perish for lack of spiritual food, God’s - business shall‘never be weil applied, nor his Gospel have success in England. It is pity that ever it should be needful to wish any laws to be made by man, to bring ministers of God’s word to do their duty, being so plamly ex- pressed in God's law. If our hearts were not har- dened more than Pharaoh’s, our judgment more blinded with insensibleness of heavenly things than the Sodomites, we should tremble and quake more at one threatening of God’s vengeance against negligent pastors that feed themselves and set aside their hea- venly Father’s business, whereof the Scripture is A Sermon. ji 269 full in every place, than we should fear all the powers upon earth, which, as Christ saith, having power only of the body, cannot hurt the soul.—O Lord, how dare men be so bold as to take on them the name of Christ’s miuisters, and utterly refuse the work of their ministry, by leaving their flock, God’s word beirg so plain against them! I one not so mach at blind bayards, which never take God’s book in hand; ignorance hath blinded them: they know not the price of man’s soul ; but truly, I could never enough maryel at learned men, which read the Scriptures, where their hearts and understanding should be, when they read almost in every leaf of Scripture, besides all antient writers; their own sharp sentence and judgment, which a whole day were too little to bring them in.—C mer- ciful God, where be their eyes to see, their ears to hear ; Do they think there is a Ged which is not master of his word? I will let pass how they are called of the Holy Ghost by most odious names, thieves, robbers, hypocrites, idols, wolves, dumb dogs, with many such like, worthy their deserts. I will only declare, which methinks might suffice if there were no more, how the Scripture maketh them most cruel murderers, and guilty of blood. In the thirty fourth of Ecclesiasticus it is written, ‘The bread of the needfulis the life of the poor; he that 'defraudeth them thereof is a man of blood.” If this sentence be true iu them that defraud the needy of their corporal food, how much more are they which withhold the food of the soul, being the worthier part of man, guilty of bloed? "And vee SSS God, by his prophet Ezekiel, telleth them, ‘‘So many as perish by their negligence, their blood shall be re- guired at their hands, as men guilty of blood.” Now let them consider, that if the blood of Abel, one man, cried up unto heaven for vengeance against Cain, what-a horrible ery shall the blood of a “thon- sand souls make before the throne of God asking N3 270 A Sermon. vengeance against that wicked pastor, which most cruelly hath hungered ikem to death, in withholding from them the focd of life? The gold they lay up yearly, brought far off by farmers; their rings and _ jewels; their fine apparel; their beds they lie on; their meat and drink, being the spoil of the pcor ; cry all for vengeance: the stones in the wall, the timber over their heads, cry for vengeance. Alas, how far are they irom excusing themselves with St. Paul, saying to the people of Ephesus, “ I take you to record. this day, 1 am pure from the blood of all men; for I have spared no labour, but have shewed all the counsel of God unto you.” But alas, these men may rather say, that they have kept counsel of God’s counsel: and where St. Paul preached publicly, and by houses, these men keep silence, lest they should disquiet the devil in his fort; of whom Christ saith, “‘ Whén a strong man armed watcheth his house, the things that he pos- sesseth are in peace.” They say with the evil ser- _ vant, “My master is long a coming, and so beats his f low-servants,” like ciuel murderers and tyrants, whose judgment shall be straiter than any Pharaoh, Nero, or Domitian, that ever reigned. But alas, it helpeth nothing to call or cry upon them, “They have hardened their hearts as an adamant stone.” Lazarus Lath lain so long buried and stinking in worldly lusts and sensualities, the preacher cannot call him out, nor yet remove the gravestone.— W hat shall I then do?—I must call unto you, most noble prince, and Christ’s anointed. I am * come this day to preach to the king, and to those which be in authority under him. Iam very sorry they should be absent, which ought to give example, and encourage others to the hearing of God's word: and I am the moré sorry for that other preachers before me complain much of their absence, * The king being absent, these words were added extempore. A Sermon. 7a But you will say they have weighty affairs im hand. Alas, bath God any ¢ ‘oreater business than this? If I could cry with the voice of Stentor, E would make them hear in their chambers ; but in their absence £ will speak to their seats, as if they weve present. IT will call unto you, noble prince, as Christ’s anointed. Christ’s little flock here in England, which he hath commiited to your charge, which wander by many thousands, as sheep having no pastors: they ery all unto you for succour, to send tuem home their shepherds, ‘to the end that for things corporal, they may receive things spiritual; and to let one pastor have one only competent living, which he may dis- charge. ‘They call upon you to expel and drive away the great drones, which in idleness deyeur other men’s labour: that after St. Paul’s rule, “He that will not labour, be not suffered to eat. The little ones have asked bread, &c.” Christ's little ones have hungered aud called for the food of the Gospel a long time, and none there was to give it them. Now “they cry unto you, take heed yeu tarn not your ears from them, lest their blcod be re- quired at your hands also, and lest God turn his ears from you. Samuel spake unto Saul fearful words, ‘‘ Because thou hast cast away the word of the Lord, the Lord hath therefore cast away thee from being king.” You are made of God a pastor, a pastor of pastors. When David was anointed king of Israel, God said, ‘‘Thou shalt feed my people Israel.” You must feed, and that is, to see that all pastors do their dnity. The eye of the master hath gieat strength. Your grace’s eye to look through your realm, and see that watchmen sléep not, shall be worth a great number of preachers. They call unto you to "awake not only neglige:t pastors, but also to take away other enormities, which have fol- lowed in heaps upon those evils, pluralities and non- residents. it might have time, I think I should be able to n4 272 A Sermon. prove, that the great swarm of evils which reign at this day, have flowed from those fountains, or rather puddles. But I will only speak of the great abuses which by spoil or robbery do hide the Gospel, how they have ensued. First of all, the dispensations of non-residents have brought forth farming of benefices to gentle- men, laymen, wherein they have found such sweet- ness, and worldly wealth, that preachers cannot have them, they will be perpetual farmers; which hath opened a gap for the heathen, as David saith, or else for cloaked Christians, much worse than the heathen, who have entered into Christ's inheri‘ance, spoiled his holy temple, and robbed his Gospel. Such seem to make compvsition with our gieat enemy Satane the idle pastor saying, give to me riches, take the rest to thy share; whom Satan an- swereth, if thou wilt betray to me the souls, take riches for thy part. Another gap hath been opened, for that the learned have not done their duties, no more than the un- learned ; hereby Christ’s vineyard hath been utterly spoiled. Patrons see that none do their duty. They think as good to put in asses as men. The bishops were never so liberal in making of lewd priests, but they are as liberal in making lewd vicars. I dare say, if such a monster as Dervell Gatherel, the idol of Wales, burut in Smithfield, should have set his hand to a bill to let the patron take the greatest part of the profits, he might have had a benefice. There is never any question how he can occupy himself in God’s business. Jobn Gerson a learned man in his time, witnesseth, that whosoever in that time was admitted to a benefice in France, must answer to this question, Scis utrumque testamentum ? Knowest thou the Old Testament and the New? And the ignorant was put back. But wiih these men, it skilleth not, if he never opened the Bible, so winch the meeter for their purpose, as he is not able A Sermon. 273 to speak against their abuses, but will suffer them to sleep in their sin.—And will you ‘see what prepos- terous judgment they use? For all worldly offices they search meet and convenient men ; only Christian souls, so dearly bought, are committed without res- pect, tomen not worthy to keep sheep. ' Your grace hath sent forth surveyors, as mest needful it was, to see there should be no deceit in payment of pensions, and other offices abroad : would to Gud you would also send forth surveyors to see how benefices are bestowed and used; how Christ and his Gospel are rubbed and dishcnoured, to the great decay of your realm and commonwealth: you should find a small number of patrons that bestow rightly their livings, seeking God's giory, and that his work and business may be rightly applied, without simony, or seeking their own profit. For first, it is almost general, to reserve the farm- ing to himself, or his friend ; ; and to eepons the rent at his own pleasure.—But worse than this, a great number never farm them at all, but keep them as their own lands, and give some three-halfpenny priest a curate’s wages, nine or ten pounds. Even as Jeroboam made priests of his own for‘his hill-altars, to sacrifice to his calves, that the people should not go up to Jerusalem. These Jeroboams will never let the people ascend to Jerusalem, to find Christ in- the temple of his word. They began first with par- sonages, and seemed to have some conscience to- wards vicarages ; but now their hearts be so har- dened, all is fish that cometh to the net. Gentlemen are parsons and vicars both, nothing can escape them. There be.vicarages about London, having a thousand people, so spoiled; whereby it may appear what is done further off.—Your grace may find also, where gentlemen keep in their hands livings of forty or fifty pounds, and give one that never cometh there five or six pounds. Some change the ground of the- benefice with their tenants, to. the intent, if it be NO Q74 A Sermon. called for, the tenant shall lose it and not they. Ts not this a godly patron?—It shall appear also, I could name the place, where a living of an hundred marks by the year, if I say not pounds, bath been sold for many years, I suppose an hundred save one, and so continueth still.—O good St. Ambrose, if thou hadst been bishop there, thou wouldst never have suffered such wolves to devour the flock. It may well be called a devouring ; for this living in a godly learned pastor's hand might have refreshed five hundred in a year with ghostly food; and all the country about with God’s word ; which, as I perceiye, in twenty miles’ compass hath scarce one men to preach; and yet no place in England more needful, for boys and girls of fourteen or fifteen years old cannot say the Lord’s prayer. Shall such in- jury to Christ and Lis Gospel be suffered in a Chris- tian realm? That one enormity crieth fcr vengeance till it be redressed.—What shall I speak? Your noblemen reward their servants with livings ap- pointed for the Gospel. Certainly I marvel that God holdeth his hand, that he destroyeth them not with Nadab and Abihu. Let them not abuse God’s patience ; for if they do not shortly repent, and bes- tow their livings better, both master and man shall barn in hell fire. I am not able to rehearse, nor yet any man know- eth all the abuses which the simoniacs, ambitious and idle pastors, have brought unto your realm ; by _ whose evil example ravenous wolves, painted Chris- tians, hypocrites, bave entered and defiled the sanc- tuary ; spoiled Christ and his Gospel, to the des- truction of his flock. How great enemies they be to Christ, by keeping away his Gospel, it shall ap- pear, if ye consider what gross superstition and blindness remaineth still among the people, only through lack of faithful preachers. I pass over much infidelity, idolatry, sorcery, charming, witch- crafts, conjuring, trusting in figures, with such other A Sermon: . 275 trumpery, which lurk in.corners,.and began of late to come abroad only for lack of preaching. Come to the ministration of the Sacraments, set forth now by common authority after the first institution. They think baptism is not effectual, because it wanteth man’s tradition. They are not taught how the Apos- tles baptised. A great number think it is a great offence to take the Sacrament of Christ’s body in their hands, that have no conscience to receive it with blasphemous mouths, with malicious hearts, full of all uncleanness. These come to it by threes of custom, without any spiritual hunger, and know not the end wherefore it was instituted. They come to the church to feed their eyes, and not their souls ; they are not taught that no visible thing is to be worshipped; and for because they see not in the church the shining pomp. and pleasing variety (as they thought it) of painted cloths, candlesticks, . images, altars,. lamps, and tapers, they say, as good” to go into a barn; nothing esteeming Christ which speaketh to them in his Holy Word, neither his Holy Sacrament reduced to the first institution.. To be short, the people are now, even as the Jews were at Christ's coming, altogether occupied in external holiness and culture, without-any feeling of true holi- ness, or of the true worship of God in spirit and. truth, without the which ali other is mere hypocrisy. - Many thousands know not:what this meaneth; but seek Christ still among their kindred, in man’s inven- tions, where they can never find him.. As the Jews preferred man’s. traditions. before God's. command-.- ments, even so itis now. Men: think it a greater offence to break a fasting day, or work upon a saint's - day, than to abstain from profitable labour, and turn it to Bacchus’s feasts, exercising more ungodliness that’ day than all the week, despising or soon weary. ef God's word.—All this, with much more, cometh through lack of preaching, as experience trieth. where godly pastors TT cannot much be. mar-- NO. 276 A Sermon. velled, if the simple and ignorant people, by some wicked heads and firebrands of hell, be sometimes seduced to rebel against their prince and lawful magistrates, seeing they are never taught to know their obedience and duty to their king and sovereign, so straitly commanded in God’s law. But there hangeth over us a great evil, if your grace do not help it in time; the deyil gceth about by these cormorants that devour these livings appointed for the Gospel, to make a fortress and bulwark to keep learned pastors from the flock: that is, so to decay learning, that there shall be none learned to commit the flock unto. For by reason livings appointed for the ministry for the most part are either robbed of the best part, or clean taken away ; almost none have any zeal or devotion to put their children to school, but to learn to write, to make them apprentices, or else to have then lawyers. Look upon the two wells - of this realm, Oxford and Cambridge; they are almost dried up. The cruel Philistines abroad, enemies to Christ’s Gospel, have stopped up the springs of faithful Abraham. ‘The decay of students ~ is so great, there are scarce left of every thousand an handred. If they decay so fast in seven years more, there will be almest none at all; and then may the devil make a triumph. This matter re- quireth speedy redress. ‘The miseries of your peo- ple cry upan you, noble prince, and Christ for his flock crieth te you his anointed, to defend his lambs. from these ravenous wolves, that reb and spoil his vineyard ; by whose malicious endeavour, if your grace do not speedily resist, there is entering into England more blind ignorance, superstition, and infidelity, than ever was under the Remish bishop. Your realin (which Lam sorry to speak) shall become more barbarous than Scythia; which, less God Al- mighty lay to your grace’s charge, for suffering the sword given to you for the maintenance of the Gos- pel to tie rusting in the sheath, bestir now yourself 9 A Sermon. 277 in your heavenly father’s business; withstanding these cormorants by godly laws, which rob Christ’s Gospel and tread it down. ‘They eat up God’s people as it were bread.” Your grace shall have more true renown and glory before God, by defend- ing Christ’s Gospel against them, than by conquer- ing all Africa. You shall do God more service by resisting this tyranny of the devil and his members, than by vanquishing the great'Turk. Cut first away the occasions of all this mischief, dispensations for pluralities, and totquots for non-residents. Suffer no longer the tithes of the farthest parts of England to be paid at Paul’s font. Cause every pastor, as his living will extend, to keep hospitality.—But many think themselves excused for a year or two, be- cause their livings are taken away the first year ; which undoubtedly doth not excuse them for their presence: [ had rather beg or borrow of my friends, to help me to meat and cloaths, than suffer the devil to have such liberty one year. Itis no small num ber of souls that may_perish by one year’s absence. Moses was from the people but forty days, and they fell to idolatry. Howbeit, forasmuch as the Scripture doth allow the minister a living the first year also. (‘‘ He that serveth at the altar, let him live of tbe altar;” and again, ‘ Thou shalt not muzzle the Ox that treadeth out the corn.”) Ido not doubt, but after your grace, with the advice of your honourable council, have considered how much it may set forth God’s glory,- how many souls may be delivered fiom the devil by sending pastors to their livings the first month, and sui- fering them to have no cloak of absence, you will soon restore the first year’s living, which in my conscience was wrongfully taken away at the first, as I suppose, by the bishop of Rome. But 1 doubt -not, if all were well redressed to this, that this also should soon be amended, Wherefore, here I will desire God to assist your grace in the advancement of his 278 A Sermon. Gospel, which, like unto Josias, you liave helped to. bring to light where it lay hid. But yet it is not heard of all your people. A thousand pulpits in England are covered with dust. Some have not had four sermons these fifteen or sixteen years, since friars. left their limitations ; and few of those were worthy the name of sermons.. Now therefore, that your glory may be perfect, all men’s expectation is, that whatsoever any flat- terers, or enemies to God’s word should labour to the. contrary for their own lucre; your grace will take away all such lets and abuses, as hinder the setting forth of God’s most holy word, and withstand all, such robbers, as spoil his. sanctuary ;. travelling to send pastors home to their flocks, to feed Christ's lambs and sheep, that all may be occupied in their heavenly father’s business. And for this-your travel, as St. Peter saith, ‘‘ when the prince of all pastors. shall appear, you shall receive an incorruptible crown of glory.” ' And thus far concerning the ecclesiastical ministry... But now to come to the civil governance, the nobility, magistrates, and officers; all these must at’ all times remember, they must be occupied “ in their heavenly father’s business.” They have re-_ ceived all their nobility, power, dominion, authority and offices, of God; which are excellent and heroi-- cal gifts: and if they be occupied in God’s business, it shall redound to his glory, and the wealth of his people; but if they fall from his business, and follow their own will, or rather the will of Satan, the prince of darkness, and father of all the children of darkness, then shall all these glorious titles turn them to names of confusion. For falling unto un- godliness, and framing themselves to the shape and fashion of this world, nobility is turned into vile- slavery and bondage of sin, power and dominion. re turned into tyranny, authority is become a sword: Ley A Sermon. 279 of mischief in a madman’s hand, all majesty and honour is turned into misery, shame, and confusion ; and eyen the higher men be, while they serve sin, the more notable is their vice, and more pestiferous to infect by evil examples; because all mens’ eyes are bent to behold their doings. ‘‘ Every fault of the mind is so much more evident, as the party is more notable who hath it,” saith Juvenal. For the worthier the person is which offendeth, the more his ‘offence is noted of others; secing that virtue in all whom God hath exalted is the maintainer of their dignity, without the which they fail from it. It shall be most needful for:them to embrace virtue, and chiefly humility, which is the keeper of all virtues ; which may putthem ever inremembrance from whence power is given them, for what end, who is above them, a judge, an examiner of all their Goings, who cannot be deceived. But as dignity eoeth | now-a- days, climb who may climb highest, every man exalteth himself, and tarrieth not the calling of God. Hiumility is taken for no keeper, but for an utter enemy to nobility. As I heard of a wicked climber und exalter of himself, who hearing the sentence of Christ in the Gospel, “He that humbleth himself shall be exalted,” he most blasphemously against God's holy word said, “ Sure it was not true; for if 3,” said he, “Shad not put forth, nor advanced my- self, but followed this rule, I bad never come to this dignity :’ for which blasphemy, the vengeance of God smote him with sudden death. . I fear me a great number are ih England, which though in words they deny not this sentence. of Christ’s, yet inwardly they can scarce digest.it; else certainly they would neyer seek so ambitiously to advance themselves, to climb by their own might, tnealled; never seeking the public weal, but rather the destruction thereof, for their private wealth and lucre ; which causeth us to have so many eyil ma- gistrates, For all the while that men gather goods 280 A Sermon. unjustly, by polling, pilling, usury, extortion, and simony, and therewith seek to climb with bribes and buying of offices, it is scarce possible for such to be wholesome magistrates. ‘They enter in at the window (which is used as well in civil government ~ as in ecclesiastical) and therefore may Christ's words well be verified, ‘‘ He that entereth not in at the door into the sheepfold, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and arobber.” And Isaiah’s complaint against Jerusalem taketh place among us, “« Thy princes are wicked, and companions of thieves; they love gifts altogether, and gape for rewards: as for the fatherless, they help not him in his right, neither will they let the widows cause come before them.” ‘They will not know their office to be or- dained of God, for the wealth and defence of all innocents, for the aid of all that be in misery. The time is come that Solomon speaketh of, ‘*‘ When the wicked man bears rule, the people shall mourn.” When had ever the people such cause to mourn as now, when the greatest number of all magistrates are occupied in their own business ; seeking rather the misery of the people, than to take it away; ra- ther to oppress them, than to defend them. ‘Their hands be ready to receive their money, to rob and spoil them; but their ears are shut from hearing their complaints, they are blind to behold their cala- mities. Look in all countries how lady Avarice hath set on work altogether, mighty men, gentlemen, and rich men, to rob and spoil the poor; to turn them from their livings and from their right ; forever the weak- est go to the wall. And being thus tormented, and put from their right at home, they come fo London in great numbers, as to a place where justice should be tad, and- there they can have none. They are suitors to great men, and cannot come to their speech; their servants must have bribes, and that no small ones; ‘‘ all love bribes.” But such as ke so + A Sermon. | 281 dainty to hear the poor, let them take heed lest God make it as strange to them when they shall call: for as Solomon saith, “‘ Whoso stoppeth his ear at the crying of the poor, he shall cry and not be heard.” We find that poor men might come to complain of their wrongs to the king’s own person. King Joram, although he was one of the sons of Ahab (no good king) yet heard the poor widow's cause, and caused her to have right: such was the use then.—I would to God that all noblemen would diligently note that chapter, and foliow the exam- ple: it would not then be so hard for the poor to have access to them ; nor coming to their presence, they should not be made so astonished and even speechless with terrible looks, but should mercifully and lovingly be heard, and succoured gladly for Christ’s love, considering we are the members of his body; even as my hand would be glad to help my foot when it is annoyed.—O with what glad hearts and clear consciences might noblemen go to rest, when they had bestowed the whole day in hearing Christ himself complain in his members, and redressing his wrongs! But alas! for lack hereof, poor people are driven to seek their right among the lawyers; and there, as the prophet Joel saith, look what the caterpillars had left in their robbery and oppression at home, all that doth the greedy locusts, the lawyers, devour in London: they laugh with the money which maketh others to weep: and thusare the poor robbed on every side withuut redress, and that of such as seem to have authority thereto. : When Christ suffered his passion, there was one Barabbas, St. Matthew calied him a notable thief, a gentleman thief, such as rob now-a-days in velvet coats ; the other two were obscure thieves, and nothing famous. The rustical thieves were hanged, and Barabbas was delivered. Even so now-a-days, the little thieves are hanged that steal of necessity, but 282 A Sermcen. the great Barabbases have free liberty to rob and to spoil without all measure, in the midst of the city. The poor pirate said to Alexander, *‘ We rob but afew in a sh’p, but thou robbest whole countries and kingdoms.’—Alas, silly poor members of Christ, how you be skorn, oppressed, pulled, halled te and fro on every side: who cannot but lament, if bis heart be not of flmt! There be a great number every term, aud many continually, which lamentaLly complain for lack of justice, but all in vain. They spend that which they had left, and many times more; whose ill-success here causeth thousands to tarry at home beggars, and lose their right—and so it were better, than here to sell their coats: for this we see, be the poor man’s cause neyer so mani-~ fest atruth, the rich shall for money find six or seven councellors, that shall stand with subtleties and se- phisms to cloak an evil matter, and hide a known truth.—A_piteous case in a Christian commonwealth ! Alas, that ever manifest falsehood should be main- tained, where the God of truth ought to be honoured ! -—But let them alone; they are occupied in their father’s business, even the prinee of darkness: “ you are of your father the devil.’ Yet I cannot soleave them: I must needs cry on God’s behalf to his patrons of justice, to you most redoubted prince, whom God hath made his minister for their defence, with all those whom God hath ~ placed in authority under you. Look upon their misery, for this is our heavenly father’s business to. you, appointed by his Holy Word. When I come among the people, I call upon them, as my duty is, for service, duty, and obedience unto their prince, to all magistrates, to their lords, and to all that be putin authority over them ; I let them hear their ow n faults: But in this place my duty is, and my con- ’ science upon God’s word bindeth me, seeing them so miserably, so wrongfully, so cruelly intreated on. every side, in God’s behalf to plead their cause ; A Sermon. 283 not by furce of man’s law, but by God’s word, as an intercessor. For as they are debtors unto you, and other magistrates, for love, fear, service, and obe- dience under God; so are yeu debtors unto them for love, protection, for justice and equity, mercy and pity. If you deny them these, tley must suffer, but God shall revenge them. ‘‘ He standeth,” saith David, “in the congregation of gods, and as a judge among gods.” ‘Take heed all you that be counted as gods, God’s ministers on earth; you have one God judge over you, who, as he saith in the same psalm, sharply rebuketh ungodly rulers for accepting of persons of the ungodly; so he telleth Christian magistrates their true duties and business in plain words, ‘‘ Defend the poor and needy, see that such as be in necessity have right, deliver the outcast and poor, save them from the hands of the ungodly.” Here have all noblemen and Christian ‘magistrates most lively set forth to them their hea- venly father’s business, wherein he would have them continually occupied :— would to God the whole psalm were graven in their hearts! ‘Truly for lack that this business is not applied, but the poor despised in all places, it hath given such boldness to covetous cormorants abroad, that how their robberies, extortion, and open oppression, hath no end ner limits, no banks can keep in their violence. As for turning poor men out of their holds, they take it for no offence, but say, their land is their owa; and forget altogether that ‘‘ the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof.” They tam them out of their shrouds as mice. Thousands in England, through such beg now from door to door, which have kept honest houses. These cry daily to God for vengeance, both against the great Nimrod’s workers thereof, and their maintainers. There be so many mighty Nimrods in England, mighty hun- ters, that hunt for possessions and lordships, that poor men are daily hunted eut of their livings; there - 284 A Sermon. is no covert or den can keep them safe. These Nimrods haye such quick smelling hounds, they can lie at London and turn men out of their farms and tenements an hundred, some two hundred miles off. —O Lord, when wicked Ahab hunted after Naboth’s vineyard, he could not, though he were a king, ob- tain that prey, till cursed Jezebel (as women oft- times have shrewd wits) took the matter in hand: so hard a thing it was then to wring a man from his father’s inheritance, which now a mean man will take in hand. And now our valiant Nimrods can compass the matter without the help of Jezebels ; yet hath England even now a great number of Jeze- bels, which to maintain their intolerable pride, their golden heads, will not stick to put to their wicked hands.—O Lord, what number of such op- pressors, worse than Ahab, are in England, which “* sell the poor for a pair of shoes ;” of whom if God should serve but three or four, as he did Ahab, and make the dogs lap the blood of them, I think it would cause a great number to beware of extortion, to beware of oppression: and yet escaping temporal punishments, they are certain by God’s word, their blood is reserved for hell-hounds, which they nothing fear. A pitiful case, and great blindness, that hear- ing God’s word, man should more fear temporal pu- nishment than everlasting. Yet hath England had of late some terrille exam- ples of God’s wrath in sudden and strange deaths, of such as join field to field, and house to house: great pity they were not chronicled to the terror of others, which fear neither God nor man; so har- dened in sin, that they seek not to hide it, but rather are such as glory in their mischief. Which maketh me oftentimes to remember a writer in our time, Musculus, upon St. Matthew’s Gospel, which marvelled much at the subtle and manifold working of Satan; how he after the expelling of superstition and hypocrisy, travelleth most busily to A Sermon. 985 bring in open impiety: that whereas before, men feared mer, though not God, now a great number fear neither God nor man: the most wicked are counted most manlike, and innocency holden beast- liness. ; Yet may we not say, hypocrisy is expelled: for as many of these Ahabs as signify they favour God’s word by reading or hearing it, or with prayer, ‘** honouring him,” as Christ saith, ‘ with their lips, their hearts being far from him,” are as detestable hypocrites as ever were covered in cowl or cloister. I cannot liken them better than to the Jews that said to Christ, ‘Hail, king of the Jews.” What their painted friendship is, and how of Christ it is esteemed, St. Austin setteth forth by an apt simi- litude: ‘‘ Even as,” saith he, ‘‘a man should come up to embrace thee, to kiss and honour thee upward, and beneath, with a pair of shoes beaten fall of nails, tread upon thy bare feot; the head shall des- pise the honour done unto it, and for the foot that smarteth say, Why treadest thou upon me? So when feigned gospellers honour Christ our head sit- ing in heaven, and oppress his members on earth, the head shall speak for the feet that smart, and say, ‘why treadest thou on me?” Paul had a zeal towards God, but he did tread upon Christ’s feet on earth, for whom the head cried forth of heaven, “ Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?” Although Christ sitteth at the right hand of his father, yet lieth he in earth, he suffereth all calamities here on earth, he is many times evil intreated here on earth. Would to God we could bear away this brief and short lesson, that what we do to his members upon earth, we do to him; it would bring men from op- -pression to shew mercy, without which no man can obtain mercy. If they would remember how the rich glutton was damned in hell, not, as we read, for any violence, but for not showing mercy, they might soon gather how sharp judgment remaineth for them, 286 A Sermon. which are not onty unmerciful, bat also violently add thereunto oppression; who are so far from mercy that their hearts will serve them to destroy whole towns; they would wish all the people destroyed, to have all. the fields brought to a sheep pasture. O cruel mercy! It is like to the mercy of a bishop of Magunce in Germayy, named Hatto, which, as the clironicles mention, five hundred years ago, in time of a great dearth, called all the poor people in all the whole country into a great barn, pretending to make a great dole; but having them sure, he fired the barn, and burnt them all up, saying, ‘‘'These be the mice which devour up the corn.” This was a policy to make bread more cheap, but for this unmerciful mercy, God made him an example for all unnerciful men to the world’s end; for a multitude of rats came and devoured himin such terrible sort, that where his name was written in windows, walls or hangings, they never ceased till it were razed out. —Soine, peradven‘ure, shrink to hear such cruelty : but doubtless there is almost daily as great cruelty practised among us by suchblood-suckers, as being in- fected with the great dropsy of avarice, alway drink- ing and ever a-thirst, by famishing poor people, drinking up their blood, and with long continuance therein, torment them more grievously than he that burnt them all in one hour. ; Now seeing, as I said, this cruelty, robbery, and extortion, groweth daily to such intolerable excess, and overiloweth this realm, because it is not punished nor restrained; it is high time for all those magis- trates that fear God, not only to abstain from this evil themselves, but to resist it also. It is God's business, he hath commanded it, and will straitly require it. Would to God all noblemen would be- ware by the example of Saul. He was commanded to apply God’s business, “‘Go and smite Amalek, and have no con:passion on them,” &c. he left his busimess undone, spared Amalek, and the fairest of . A Sermon, 237 the beasts: but for this negligence he received of Semuel a sorrowful message trom God; “ because thou hast cast away the word of the Lord, he hath cas thee off also from being king.” Evenso in every Christian commonwealth, God hath commanded rulers to destroy Amalek, all extortion, oppression, and robbery, to defend the needy and all innocents. If they look not to this business, but suffer Amalek to live, not only to live, but to grow in might; so truly as God liveth, he shall cast theni off, they shall not be his magistrates. But let it once be known, that not only our most noble king, whose godly example is a lantern to all other, but that also ail his nobles about him have wholly bent themselves in his business, to withstand all violence, and to oppose all oppression, for defence of God’s people; that the wicked Ahabs might know, that God had in England a great number of pastors, patrons, feeders and cherishers of his people: it should do that which the fear of God cannot do: that is, stop the great rage of violence, oppres- sion, and extortion: which taken away, would pluck from many their vanity in seperfluous and monstrous apparel, sumptuous building, such as seek to bring paradise into earth, being” the greatest causes of all oppressien and spoiling of poor people ; which most unchristian vanities, and blind affections, never reigned so much in all estates in England as at this day. It was a notable saying of Charles V. emperor of that name, to the duke of Venice, when he had seen his princely palace ; when the duke looked that he should have praised it exceedingly, Charles gave it none other commendation but tuis, “‘ Hee sunt que faciunt invites mori: These earthly vanities,” said he, ‘‘ are what make us loth to die.” A truer sentence could not well be. spoken by any man. | could wish we would look on all our buildings, when the beauty thereof so increaseth, that it would grieve us to depart from it, and to remember with all the 3S 288 A saiae holy patriarchs, and with St. Paul say, that.‘‘ we have not here a continuing city, but we seek one to come.” But truly methinks now in England, for our vain delight in curious buildings, God hath plagued us, as he did the builders of Babel, not with the confu- sion of tongues, but with the confusion of wits. Our fancies can never be pleased: pluck down and set up, and when it contenteth us not, down with it again. Our minds are never contented, nor ever shall be, while we seek felicity where it is not. Would God every one would consider what a hell it should be to all that vainly delight herein, when death shall with great violence pluck them from their earthly heaven. Moreover, extortion taken away shall soon abate the unmeasurable excess in costly fare. It would also abate the intolerable excess in apparel, which causeth us to have robbers in velvet coats, with St. Martin’s chains. — But I must for lack of time pass over these enormities, which alone give matter enough for whole sermons: I leave them for others which shall follow, more able to paint out such monsters in their colours. * And here in conclusion, I desire all noblemen and godly magistrates, deeply to ponder and revolve in their memory what acceptable service they may do, chiefly to God, and secondly to the king’s majesty, and his whole realm, in employing their whole study how to resist all such as spoil Christ’s people, whom he so tenderly loved, that he shed his blood for them. Virtue joined with nobility spreadeth her beams over a whole realm. And so your diligence in God’s business shall soon inflame ail other to follow your example, that all may occupy themselves in God’s business. But now that I have hitherto charged the ecclesias- tical ministers, and after, the civil governors, and all rich and mighty men with negligence in God’s bisi- ness; methinks F do hear the inferior members re- A Sermon. 289 joice and flatter themselves, as if all were taken from them, and they left clear in God’s sight: but if they consider their estate by God’s word, they shall find small cause to advance themselves. For God’s word plainly telleth us, both that evil and dumb pastors, and wicked rulers and magistrates, are sent of God, as a plague and punishment for the sins of the people; and therefore, both Isaiah and Hosea, after the most terrible threatenings of God’s vengeance for sin, bring it in as a most griey- .ous plague of all, that even the priests which should call them from sin, shall become as evil as the peo- ple. Which plague St. Bernard said in his time was come with a vengeance, for because the priests were much worse than the people. And Amas, asa most grievous punishment of all other, threateneth hunger, not of bread, but of hearing God’s word. And concerning the civil magistrates, it is plain in Job, that for the sins of the people God raiseth hy- pocrites to reign over them; that is to say, such as have the bare names of governors and protectors, and are indeed destroyers, oppressors of the people, sub- yerters of the law, and of all equity. And seeing it is so, so many as feel the grief and smart of this plague, ought not to murmur against other; but patiently suffer, and be offended with their own sins, which have deserved this scourge, and much more; and study for amendment, that God may take it away. For if they continue as they do to murmur against God and their rulers, as the Israel- ites did, to provoke daily his anger by multiplying - sin in his sight, with envy, malice, deceit, backbiting, swearing, fornication, and with utter contempt of his word ; he shall for their punishment so multiply the number of evil governors, unjust judges, justices, and officers, that as it was spoken by a jester in the em- peror Claudius’s time, the images of good magistrates may all he graven in one ring. _ God hath cause greatly to be displeased with all VOL. II. O 290 A Sermon. estates. When every man should look upon his own faults to seek amendment, as it is a proverb lately sprung up, ‘‘ No man amendeth himself, but every man seeketh to amend other,” and all the while no- thing is amended. Gentlemen say, the commonalty live too well at ease, they grow every day to be gen- tlemen, and know not themselves: their horns must be cut shorter, by raising their rents, by fines, and by plucking away their pastures—The mean men, they murmur and grudge, and say, the gentlemen have all, and there were never so many gentlemen, and so little gentleness: and by their natural logic you shall hear them réason, how improperly these two conju- gata, these yoke fellows, gentlemen and gentleness, are banished so far asunder: and they lay all the misery of this commonwealth upon the gentlemen’s shoulders.—But alas, good Christians, this is not the way of amendment: “‘ If ye bite and devour one ano- ther,” as St. Paul saith, ‘‘take ye heed lest ye be consumed one of another.” Histories make mention of a people called An- thropophagi, eaters of men, which all men’s hearts abhor to hear of, and yet alas, by St. Paul's rule, England is full of such man-eaters. Every man — envieth another, every man biteth and gnaweth upon another with venomous adders’ tongues, far more noi- some than any teeth. And whereof cometh it? Covetousness is the root of all; every man scratch- eth and pilleth from other ; every man would suck the blood of other ; every man encroacheth upon ano- ther. Covetousness hath cut away the large wings of charity, and plucketh all to herself; she is never satisfied; she hath chested all the-old gold in Eng- land, and much of the new; she “hath made that there was never more idolatry in England than at this day ; but the idols are hid, they comenot-abroad. —Alas, noble prince, the images of your ancestors graven in gold, and yours also, contrary to your ‘mind, are worshipped as gods; while the poor 3 A Sermon. 291 lively images of Christ perish in the streets through hunger and cold. This cometh when covetousness hath banished from amongst us Christian charity ; when, like most unthankful children, we have forgot- ten Christ’s last will, which he so often before his : passion did inculcate, ‘‘ Love one another.” And herein we shew ourselves worse than any carnal sons ; be they never so unkind, yet alway they remember the last words of their earthly parents. Nay rather I may say, we are much worse than the brute beasts: of whom, when we consider how won- derfully nature hath framed them to concord and unity, to preserve and help one another of their own kind, it may make us utterly to be ashamed. The harts swimming, with much pain bear up their heads in the water; for the remedy whereof, every one layeth his head upon the hinder part of another: when the foremost, having no stay, is sore weary, he cometh behind, and thus every one in his course - taketh pain for the whole herd.—If men, endued with reason, would learn of these unreasonable crea- tures this lesson, to help one another, as we are com- manded by St. Paul, saying, “‘ Bear ye one another's burthen, and so you shall fulfil the law of Christ,” how soon then shall charity, the bond of perfection, which seeketh not her own, but rather to profit others, be so spread among all degrees, that our com- monwealth shall flourish in all godliness? But alas! _we see that all goeth contrary. For while all men, as St. Paul saith, ‘seek the things that be their own, and not other men’s, not things which appertain to Christ,” self-love, and love of private commo- dity, hath banished charity, and love to the com- monwealth. And if we should seek the cause and ground of all these evils, why God’s business is so neglected among all estates and degrees, I think it would ap- pear to be ignorance of his will. For if Mary and Joseph, so godly and devout a couple, understood 02 292 A Sermon. not for a time Christ’s saying, ‘ Wist ye not that I must go about my Father's business?” as St. Luke saith, “they understood not that saying,” what marvel is it, if we, living so carnally, and drowned in worldly pleasures, and framed to the shape of this world, be ignorant in our heavenly Father’s business, and therefore cannot well apply it? But shall we think this to be very strange? Many apply not God’s business nor bis will, which yet would disdain to be counted ignorant therein. But undoubtedly, good Christians, it is an infallible verity, that negligence im performing God’s will cometh of ignorance. It is all one to know God and his will; and St. John saith plainly, ‘‘He that loveth not, knoweth not God.” For if he do know God, he cannot but love him ; and love is always occupied in God’s business. . By this rule St. Augustine proveth, we cannot keep the first precept perfectly, to love God, so well as we ought to do while we are in this mortal life: © for all our love cometh of knowledge, but in this life our knowledge is imperfect. And thus St. Augus- tine’s rule, grounded upon St. John, is true, ‘‘ That so far as we do know God, so far we love him; and so they that love him nothing at all, they know him nothing at all, although they seem to have never so much windy knowledge, puffing up their stomachs with presumption,” as the apostle saith, “‘ Know- ledge maketh a man swell:” so that if a man hath studied the Scripture all his life long, and learned the whole Bible by heart, and yet have no love, he is ignorant of God’s will. The poor man that never opened book, if the love of God be shed abroad in his heart by the Holy Ghost, overcometh him in the knowledge of God’s will. The godly Pembus, of whom we read in ecclesiastical history, when he was first taught the first verse of the thirty-ninth psalm, **T have said, I will take heed to my ways, that I offend not in my tongue,” refused a long time to take out a new lesson, judging his first lesson to be un- A Sermon. 293 learned, till he could perfectly practise it by an holy conversation. So ought we always to make our ac- count to have learned God’s word, only when we have learned charity and obedience. But this knowledge, though it lack in many learned, yet ordinarily it cometh by hearing God’s word, ‘‘ Faith cometh of hearing, and hearing of the word of God,” Wherefore, as I said, their case is to be lamented, which would gladly hear God’s word, and can have no preachers. Then may we say, God hath abundantly poured his grace among us, that have his Gospel so clearly set forth unto us, and have such opportunity, that there wanteth nothing but ears to hear: we must have ears to let it sink into our hearts. But, O men, thrice unhappy, and chil- dren of greater damnation, if we harden our hearts, and receive such abundance of grace in vain. ‘ The earth,” saith St. Paul, ‘‘ which after the rain bring- eth forth thorns and briars, is reproved, and is nigh unto cursing, whose end is to be burned.” Would God all that be in the court, that will not vouchsafe (having so many godly sermons) to come forth out of the hall into the chapel to hear them, would remember what a heavy stroke of God’s ven- geance hangeth over all their heads that contemn his word; and over those in all places, which had rather be idle, and many times ungodly occupied in wanton and wicked pastimes; than, comé,to,, the church ; profaning the sabbath day, appointed for the service of God, and the hearing of his; word, bestowing it more wickedly than many of the Gen- tiles. Yet if they would come to the sermons, thoogh their hearts were not well disposed, God’s word might win them, as St. Augustine was wonj by the preach- ing of St. Ambrose, when he came only to hear hie sweet voice and eloquence. O that they knew what dishonour they did to Christ, that esteem him so light, to prefer vain, nay, I say wicked things, to the hearing of his holy word. Are not rhese they, as St. Paul saith, ‘“ which tread under foot the son of 294 A Sermon. x God, count the blood of his Testament, wherein they are sanctified, an unholy thing; and do-despite to the Spirit of Grace?” O Lord, how canst thou hold thy hands from punishing this unthankfulness ? Cer- tainly I think all other wickedness, compared to this, is shadowed, and seemeth to be less. I would to God we would remember many times the plagues and tokens of God’s extreme wrath that came upon the Jews, when first unthankfully they rejected Christ, and after his word; when they were destroyed by Titus and Vespasian,.such a plague as never came upon any other country. And look on their vices ; there reigned avarice, ambition, pride, extortion, envy, adultery; but these reigned also in other countries about, where no such ven- geance did light: but then did God thus exercise his wrath upon them to the terror of all other, for contempt of his holy word, and for their unthankful- ~ ness ; which being called so many ways by his pro- phets, by himself, by the apostles, still hardened their hearts : this exceeded all other wickedness in the world. Now if as great unthankfulness be found in many of us towards Christ and his Gospel, set forth so plainly unto us, how can we, without speedy repentance, but look for the terrible stroke of ven- geance. ‘‘ God (saith Valerius Maximus) hath feet of wool; he cometh slowly to punish, but he hath hands of iron; when he cometh, he striketh sore.” Philip, king of Macedonia, hearing of one in his kingdom, which refused most unthankfully to receive a stranger, (of whom before he had been succoured in shipwreck) in extreme need; for a !worthy punishment, caused to be printed in his fore- -headwith’an. hot iron, these two words, “ Ingratus shospes,” an unthankful guest. O Lord, if we con- | isider when we were strangers from God, in the ship- owreck of.-sin, how mercifully:Christ hath delivered cus,-and: borne our. sins upon his body; if after all ethis; we most-unthankfully refuse to receive him, -by Mile < +: = heel SD ae = A Sermon. 295 refusing his word, may we not think ourselves wor- thy many hot irons to print our unthankfulness to our shame? And undoubtedly, so many as continue thus unthankful, though it be not written in their foreheads, to put them to worldly shame, yet shall it be graven in their conscience, to their everlasting confusion and damnation, when “‘ the books ofevery man’s conscience shall be lain open,” as Daniel saith. Their judgment shall be more strait than that of Sodom and Gomorrah. Leeas ail then from the high- est to the lowest, pray with one accord, that God may soften and prepare our hearts with meekness, and humility, and thankfulness, to embrace his Gos- pel, and his holy word; which shall instruct us in his holy will, and teach us to know his business, every man in his vocation, “‘ that, as St. Paul saith, every man may give attendance to themselves, and to the - flock, wherein the Holy Ghost hath made them over- seers, to feed the congregation of God which he hath purchased with his blood,” that all ravenous wolves may be turned to good shepherds. So that Christ’s ministers may enjoy the portion assigned for the Gospel; that all magistrates and governors may give their whole study to the public weal, and not to their private wealth; that they may be maintain- ers of justice, and punishers of wrong ; and that all inferiors may live in due obedience, meekly content- ing themselves every one in their vocation, without murmuring or grudging ; that under Christ, and our noble prince, his minister here on earth, we all being knit together with Christian charity, the bond of perfection, may so fasten our eyes upon God’s word, that it may continually be a lantern to our feet, to guide our journey through the desert and dark wil- derness of this world, that our eyes be never so blinded with shadows of worldly things, as to make us embrace life, deceitful and temporal felicity, for that -which is true, steadfast, and everlasting ; that this candle, which shineth now, as St. Paul saith, “as 296 A Sermon. through a glass darkly,” when that which is imper- fect shall be taken away, may present us to that clear light, which never is shadowed with any dark- ness ; that we may behold that blessed sight of the glorious Trinity, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, to whom be all praise, alt honour, and glory, world without end. lida THE END. 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