PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 BY THE HEIRS OF THE LATE 
 
 professor *>enrg Carrinston Blejanoer, 2>.S>„ XX.D. 
 
 793/ 
 
'the 
 
 LIVES 
 
 OF 
 
 REFORMERS, 
 
 BY WILLIAM GILPIN, M.A. 
 
 PREBENDARY OF SALISBURY, AND VICAR OF BOLDRE.. 
 IN NEW FOREST. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND. 
 
 1809. 
 
G. Woodfah., Printer, 
 Paternoster-row. 
 
THE 
 
 LIVES 
 
 OF 
 
 THOMAS CRANMER, 
 
 ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY; 
 
 BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 
 Princeton Theological Seminary Library 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/livesofreformers02gilp 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 Pags, 
 Section 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 acade- 
 mical life 1 
 
 Sect. II. — King Henry's divorce — Cranmer's opinion 
 of the proper way of managing it — the consequences 
 and success of that opinion — remarks on Cranmer's 
 behaviour in this matter — he becomes more con- 
 vinced of the necessity of a reformation - Q 
 
 Sect. III. — He is promoted to the see of Canterbury- 
 finishes the business of the divorce - 18 
 
 Sect. IV. — Unsuccessful endeavours of Francis I. to 
 bring about a reconciliation between England and 
 Rome — efforts of the popish party in England '23 
 
 Sect. V. — Act of supremacy — deaths of More and 
 Fisher — and of the queen — the archbishop's conduct 
 in this affair censured 28 
 
 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 35 
 
 Sect. VII. — Progress of the reformation — Lambert's 
 
 dis- 
 
Tiii CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 disputation — the bible translated — the archbishop 
 
 opposes the king in the affair of monasteries - 43 
 
 Sect. VIII. — Prevalence of the popish party — charac- 
 ter of the bishop of Winchester — act of the six 
 articles — the archbishop's opposition to it — extraor- 
 dinary visit paid him at Lambeth — sends the argu- 
 ments he used against the six articles, to the king 50 
 
 Sect. IX. — Death of the earl of Essex — story of a 
 country priest — the archbishop, unsupported, op- 
 poses the popish party 57 
 
 SeCT. X. — Discovery of the queen's incontinence— visi- 
 tation of All-souls' college — the archbishop's con- 
 nection with the earl of Cassilis 64 
 
 Sect. XI. — Attempts of his enemies against him — trea- 
 chery of Thorndon and Barbar— bishop of Winches- 
 ter's letter to him — death of Charles Brandon — new 
 attempts to commit the archbishop to the tower 63 
 
 Sect. XII. — 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 77 
 
 Sect. XIII.— Steps towards a reformation — supplica- 
 tion of the commons— bishop of Winchester's oppo- 
 sition, and imprisonment - - - S4 
 
 Sect. XIV. — Farther progress of reformation— the 
 archbishop opposes the measures of the Court— in- 
 terests himself in favour of the universities - - 92 
 
 Sect. XV. — Death of Bocher and Paris — the archbi- 
 shop's conduct in that affair greatly censured— his 
 friendship and generosity to oppressed reformers 9$ 
 
 Sect. XVI. — Insurrection in Devonshire— the arch- 
 bishop answers the petition of the insurgents relating 
 to religion - - - - 104 
 
 Sect. XVII. — He attempts to unite the protestant 
 churches— but in vain - - - 111 
 
 .Sect. XVIII^— Frames articles of religion to restrain 
 
 the 
 
CONTENTS. ix 
 
 Page, 
 ihe clergy — explanation »f the 17th and 18th ar- 
 ticles - - - - - 114. 
 
 Sect. XIX. — His exemplary conduct in his episcopal 
 character ----- 121 
 
 Sect. XX. — Intrigues of the duke of Northumberland 
 — death of the protector — the archbishop loses all his 
 interest at court — exclusion of the princess Mary- 
 death of Edward VI. - 126 
 
 Sect. XXI. — The archbishop's declaration agaiust the 
 mass— his imprisonment — refuses to escape — temper 
 of the government — death of Northumberland, and 
 of sir Thomas Palmer - - 131 
 
 Sect. XXII. — Convocation meets — the archbishop re- 
 moved to Oxford — disputation there — Taylor's letter 
 —state of religious affairs. - - 137 
 
 Sect. XXIII. — Account of an extraordinary dispute 
 among the protestant prisoners — condition of the 
 English exiles ... 14.4. 
 
 Sect. XXIV. — Death of the bishops of London and 
 Worcester — the archbishop condemned — degraded — 
 his letter to the queen — artifices of the papists— his 
 recantation - - 143 
 
 Sect. XXV. — His great contrition — the circumstances 
 of his death - - - 154 
 
 Sect. XXVI. — His industry — learning — and habits of 
 life — account of his M.SS. - 163 
 
 Sect. XXVIL — His qualifications as a reformer — com- 
 parison between him and archb;shop Laud - 166 
 
 &ect. XXVIII. — His character in private life — his re- 
 gulations to restrain the expences of the clergy — ob- 
 jections of the papists-— his family - - 171 
 
 LIFE OF BEftNARD GILPIN. 179 
 
 .Sect. I. — Mr. Gilpin's education and conversion ib. 
 
 Sect* II. — Obtains a benefice — resigns it, and goes 
 abroad - - - - - 201 
 
 Sect. 
 
x CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 Sect. III.— His studies there, and his return to Eng- 
 land ----- 210 
 Sect. IV. — His behaviour in his parish ; and the per- 
 secution of his enemies - 223 
 Sect. V. — Queen Mary's death — the bishoprick of 
 
 Carlisle offered to Mr. Gilpin. — He founds a school 245 
 Sect.VI. — Applications made to him by the dissen- 
 ters, and likewise by the papists - - 270 
 Sect. VII. — His behaviour as a clergyman - 291 
 Sect. VIII. — His hospitality and manner of living 313 
 Sect. IX. — The last srenes of his life - - 320 
 A Sermon by Mr. Gilpin, preached before Edward VI. 
 in the court at Greenwich. - 353 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE character of archbishop Cranme? 
 hath been equally the subject of exaggerated 
 praise; and of undeserved censure. The 
 protestant is as little inclined to acknow- 
 ledge, that he had any failing; as the papist 
 is to allow him any virtue. The historian 
 therefore, who means to be impartial, will 
 often, of course, give offence to the warmer 
 advocates of both sides. 
 
 At the hazard however of this I have 
 endeavoured to do justice as well to the 
 failings, as virtues . of this celebrated re- 
 former. Every cause, in which truth is 
 concerned, is the better, I should think, 
 for having all things but truth sifted from 
 it. And in discriminating the lights and 
 
 6 
 
Xli PREFACE. 
 
 shades of a character, the greater the cha- 
 racter is, the nicer should be the dis- 
 crimination : for the very foibles of an ami- 
 able man are fascinating. Queen Elizabeth 
 used to tell the artists, who drew her pic- 
 ture, that she did not like shade : it was a 
 mere accident. — It may be so : but, it is 
 such an accident, that the truth of portrait 
 
 cannot be had without it. Besides, by 
 
 impartial treatment, you add respect to the 
 character you represent. General applause 
 is always suspected: while just censure gives 
 weight to praise. 
 
 But the question recurs, Is your censure 
 just? 
 
 In censuring some parts of the arch- 
 bishop's conduct, particularly his intole- 
 rant principles, I have little doubt of having 
 the genera] sense of good men on my side. 
 
 As to the indelicacies, and improprieties 
 ©f his behaviour, I can only appeal to my 
 own feelings. What I should not wish to 
 approve in myself, I cannot but censure in 
 
PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 another. I always however give my reasons ; 
 and if they have no weight, they must be 
 dismissed. Archbishop Cranmer certainly 
 filled one of the most difficult stations, con- 
 sidering all its circumstances, in which a 
 man could be placed; and the only matter 
 of surprize is, that the false steps he made 
 tvere so few. 
 
 One thing more let me add, we shall not 
 easily find a character, that can allow de- 
 ductions so well. His virtues so far out- 
 weigh his failings; that, on the whole, we 
 may esteem him one of the first persons of 
 the age, in which he lived. His public life 
 contains an important part of ecclesiastical 
 history; and his private life, an admirable 
 lesson of clerical instruction. — To this let the 
 ministers of the gospel chiefly attend; and 
 instead of thinking too harshly of his fail- 
 ings ; let us endeavour to bring as much se- 
 riousness, and real concern tor Christianity, 
 as he did, into all the duties, and offices of 
 religion. 3 
 
XIV PREFACE. 
 
 In composing the following work, I claim 
 little merit, but that of digesting, and re- 
 ducing within a narrower compass, the la- 
 bours of others. I have had little assistance 
 except from common printed accounts. The 
 works of Mr. Strype, an historian of great 
 integrity, have been my principal guide : 
 whose authority, in doubtful points, I have 
 generally preferred. 
 
 In gratitude also I must acknowledge par- 
 ticular obligation to the late Mr. Jones of 
 Welwin; the learned friend, and, (I believe,) 
 the executor, of the celebrated author of 
 the Night-thoughts. — But I never was per- 
 sonally acquainted with him. 
 
 This gentleman had once entertained the 
 design of writing the life of archbishop 
 Cranmer; and with this intention had 
 made considerable collections: but laying 
 his design aside, he was so obliging as to 
 put his papers, near twenty years ago, into 
 my hands, 
 
PREFACE. XV 
 
 We had both, I found, drawn from the 
 same authorities; only I had the mortifica- 
 tion to observe, that he had been much the 
 more industrious compiler. He had also, 
 through the means of several of his learned 
 friends at Cambridge, particularly the late 
 Dr. Baker, gained access to many sources of 
 information, less obvious to common in- 
 quirers. 
 
 Our plans too rather differed. His was 
 chiefly to explain the opinions of the arch- 
 bishop : mine attempts rather to illustrate 
 his character. Notwithstanding however 
 this difference, Mr. Jones's papers were of 
 considerable use to me. 
 
 I have now deposited them agreeably to 
 his last will, in the library of Dr. Williams 
 in Red-cross-street, London. 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ARCHBISHOP CRANMER 
 
 SECTION I 
 
 1HOMAS CRANMER was born at Aslacton, in 
 Nottinghamshire, on the second of July, 1489. 
 His father was a gentleman of small fortune; but 
 the head of a family which had long lived in re- 
 putation in those parts. He was a lover of coun- 
 try diversions ; and seems to have given his son 
 an early taste for them. 
 
 The circumstances indeed of Mr. Cranmer's youth 
 were not such, as usually usher in the life of a scho- 
 lar. No man could manage a pack of hounds better; 
 or handle the long-bow with more dexterity; or 
 with the cross-bow take a surer aim. In horse- 
 manship he so excelled, that after he was an arch- 
 bishop, he scrupled not to ride the roughest horse 
 in his stables. 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
6 , THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 expe- 
 riment, however, is dangerous; and the example 
 not to be followed by those, who are not well 
 assured they have his strength of parts, and steadi- 
 ness 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 
 nothing was heard from the chairs either of science, 
 or religion, but what would have inspired an im- 
 proved mind with disgust. This solemn trifling, 
 which was then called learning, engaged Ml 
 Cranmer at least ten years. 
 
 About the year 1520 Martin Luther began first 
 to draw the attention of mankind. Many reform- 
 ers, before his day, particularly WiclifJ] Huss, and 
 Jerome of Prague, at different periods, had seen, 
 and exposed with great acuteness, and strength of 
 argument, the corruptions of the church of Rome. 
 But 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, continued to spread; and, in the days of 
 Luther, had grown to an enormous height. Vena- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMF.kJ & 
 
 lity, and rapacity were the reigning characteristics 
 of the sovereign pontiff,* and of that band of ec- 
 clesiastics, who retained under him. The very 
 idea of religion was lost; except where it was ne- 
 cessary to uphold some parading ceremonies of 
 the church; which were all the remains now left 
 of Christianity. Morals were 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. Even Leo X, flattered by the wits of the age, 
 as the revivor, and patron of arts, and letters, 
 though an elegant prince, was a detestable eccle- 
 siastic*. 
 
 We need not wonder therefore, if so complex 
 a system of corruption, as the Roman hierarchy 
 appears to have been, at that time, needed little 
 developing. Luther's doctrines spread rapidly 
 through Germany: and though it was the single 
 
 * They who wish to see the causes, which advanced the 
 reformation, drawn out at length, may find them detailed 
 •with great perspicuity, and elegance in the life of Charles V. 
 by Dr, Robertson. Vol. II. page 147, oct. ed. 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 corruption of indulgences, which gave the first 
 impure to this disgust; vet from one error the 
 minds of men presently 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 
 bv the elector of Saxony, one of the best, and by 
 his sufferings shewn to be, one of the most mag- 
 nanimous, princes of his time. 
 
 But though the ardent, and intrepid sp'rit of 
 Luther had thus awakened a great pnrt of Germany 
 frem its lethargy; yet his opinions found their way 
 but leisurely into other parts of Europe. In Eng- 
 land they were received with great caution. Seri- 
 ous men began to >ee the corruptions of the 
 clergy; but thev were afraid to question the in- 
 fallibility of the pope. Thev were convinced of 
 the propriety of seeking truth in the bible: but 
 examined with great timidity the doctrines it con- - 
 tained. 
 
 Indeed., as far as appears, the writings of Eras- 
 mus introduced the first idea of systematic refor- 
 mation in England. This reformer was a man of 
 a very different temper from Luther: and vet in 
 his way perhaps he contributed a< much to dis- 
 countenance the corruptions of the Romish church. 
 
 Luther, fearless in the path of truth, was ani- 
 mated, rather than daunted, by opposition. Eras- 
 mus, cautious, and respectful to authoritv. shrank 
 from danger; and sought truth only in the regions 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. O 
 
 of tranquillity. Luther, in vehement language, 
 talked of extirpating error, root and branch. — 
 Erasmus wished only to open the eyes of men; 
 and to leaye them by decrees to reform them- 
 selves: 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 alwavs in earnest, chose com- 
 monly to clothe his sentiments in ridicule. Luther 
 was remarkable for the boldness of his measures; 
 and a course of intrepid action: while Erasmus, 
 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 proyidence 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 pro- 
 selytes at a distance. If Luther's rough, and po- 
 pular address were better suited to the multitude; 
 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 
 
6 THE LIFE OF 
 
 received in England at the time, when Mr. Cran- 
 mer was a student at Cambridge; and all men, 
 who pretended to genius, learning, or liberality 
 of sentiment, read them with avidity. To the 
 general scholar, they opened a new idea — that of 
 thinking for himself; and to the student in divi- 
 nity, they pointed out the scriptures as the only 
 source of religious truth. The sophistry of the 
 schools began apace to lose credit; and the uni- 
 versities soon produced ingenious men, who 
 thought they could not employ their time better, 
 than in studying the naked text of the scriptures, 
 which at length drew on a freedom of inquiry. 
 These students were commonly known by the 
 name of scripturists. s 
 
 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 
 reasons 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 improve- 
 ment, 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 a superficial one. His character 
 as a student, is thus marked by one of his bio- 
 graphers. " In percurrendis, conferendisque 
 fcjcriptorum judiciis, tardus quidem lector, sed ve- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CBANMER. 
 
 hemens erat observator. Sine calamo nunquam 
 ad scriptoris cujusquam librum accessit: ita tamen 
 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 re- 
 duced to difficult circumstances. The slender inr 
 come of a lectureship, which he obtained in Mag- 
 dalen college, seems to have been the whole of 
 what he now enjoyed. But though it produced 
 him little emolument, it tended greatly to increase 
 his reputation. His lectures, which were consi- 
 dered as ingenious, and learned compositions, were 
 always attended by a numerous academical audi- 
 ence of every description, They were chiefly 
 directed against the Romish superstitions. " He 
 rubbed the galled backs," says Fuller, " and cur- 
 ried the lazy hides of many an idle, and ignorant 
 friar." I know not that these expressions give us 
 a just idea of Mr. Cranmer's talents. They im- 
 ply a sarcastic manner which was not his. Strong 
 sense, and argument were the only weapons he 
 employed. 
 
 H'e had scarce been married a year, when his 
 
 f Melcb. Adam vitse Theol, 
 
8v TriE LIFE OF 
 
 wife died : and such was his reputation in the unif 
 versity, 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 gra- 
 titude. Some agents of Cardinal Woolsey being 
 employed 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 income was offered, and 
 a more promising road to preferment. 
 
 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 of the exami- 
 ners in theology. 
 
 In this situation he did very eminent service to 
 religion by allowing no student to proceed to his 
 degree, 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 dis- 
 ingenuous man, plainly saw, that the examiner's 
 conscience drew from him a reluctant severity. 
 
 The university however soon felt the good effects 
 
 * Strype is mistaken in fixing it in 1523. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CJU.NMER. 9 
 
 o r Dr. Cramner's attention. The young divines 
 caught a new object of pursuit; and entirely 
 changed their mode of study. He would oftea 
 afterwards say, that in the course of his life, he 
 had met with manv eminent scholars, who had told 
 hini with great ingenuity, how much they thought 
 themselves obliged to him for the check he had 
 formerly given them at Cambridge, " Had it not 
 not been for that, they would add, we might have 
 persisted, all our lives, in our early prejudices." 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 While Dr. Cranmer was thus employed, about 
 the year 1529, an epidemical distemper, attended 
 with many symptoms like the plague, broke out 
 at Cambridge. A great alarm was spread : the 
 schools were shut up, and every man endeavoured 
 to provide for his own safety by flight. Dr. Cran- 
 mer retired into Essex, to the house of Mr. Cres^y, 
 a gentleman of fortune at Waltham; whose sons 
 had fyeen 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 
 
10 THE LIFE OF 
 
 divorce, was at this time in agitation. The lega- 
 tine court, which should have decided that busi- 
 ness, 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 pretended every thing in favour of the di- 
 vorce, 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 du- 
 plicity: and this last affair, the dissolution of the 
 legatine court, and the avocation of the cause to 
 Rome, after so many affected delays, at length 
 convinced even Henry himself, that the pope 
 meant nothing in earnest. 
 
 While the monarch, vexed at this new disap- 
 pointment, was revolving in his mind the indigni- 
 ties he had suffered, he relaxed himself with a 
 short journey, or progress (as these journeys 
 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 
 occasions, were lodged among the neighbouring 
 gentlemen. Fox, provost of King's college in 
 Cambridge, and Gardiner, afterwards the cele- 
 brated bishop of Winchester, then attended the 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMEB. H 
 
 Icing; and were invited, with some others, to the 
 house of Mr. Cressy, where they passed the even- 
 ing with Dr. Cranmer. The conversation 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 dissi- 
 mulation, 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 a happy issue. When all with 
 great eagerness desired to know, what he meant, 
 he told them, his idea was, to collect the opinions 
 of all the universities in Europe on this simple 
 question, Whether it was lawful to marry a bro- 
 ther's wife ? Their approbation of the marriage, 
 he said, would satisfy the king's scruples ; or their 
 disapprobation of it would bring the pope to a 
 decision. 
 
 Dr. Cranmer's opinion seemed very plausible 
 both to Fox, and Gardiner; who failed not, the 
 next morning, to mention it to the king. It 
 struck Henry at once; who with that indelicacy 
 which was natural to him, cried out with an oath, 
 that t( 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 his sentiments in writing, both 
 
12 THE LIFE OF 
 
 with 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 con- 
 sist, not so much in changing the judge?, as in 
 narrowing the question. Instead of inquiring, 
 whether the pope's dispensation gave legality to 
 Henry's marriage with his brother's wife ? he 
 wished to inquire simply, whether such a mar- 
 riage was not contradictory to the divine com- 
 mands ? If 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. But if the uni- 
 versities determined that such a marriage was un- 
 lawful ; 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 executing it. He read Dr. Cranmer's papers 
 with great attention ; and was persuaded, that he, 
 who had shewn himself so much a master of the 
 case, was the only person, in whose management 
 of it, lie could thoroughly confide. At the same 
 time he thought an obscure ecclesiastic had not 
 dignity of character enough to represent his per- 
 son abroad. He joined therefore in commission 
 with him the earl of Wiltshire, and the bishop of 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRAN'MER. 13 
 
 London ; recommending him, in a particular man- 
 ner/to the friendship of the former. 
 
 The Earl of Wiltshire, with whom Dr. Cran- 
 mer ever afterwards maintained a strict friendship, 
 was one of the greatest ornaments of the English 
 court. In a public character he had appeared to 
 advantage, once in Spain, and a second time in 
 Germany. At home he had borne with equal 
 credit, the offices of treasurer of the house-hold, 
 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 ftest phi- 
 losophers : and though a courtier, and a statesman, 
 had employed much of his time in the study of 
 the scriptures, which he made the rule of his life. 
 To his request it was owing, that Erasmus com- 
 posed 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 Bolleyn ; 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. 
 
14 THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 find- 
 ing 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 penitentiary-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 con- 
 sidered It as a very insignificant sine-cure. 
 
 At the end of the first year, the three delegates 
 having traversed the universities of Italy, the 
 commission was dissolved ; and a new one made 
 out, directed solely to Dr. Cranmer, who was 
 stiled Consiliarius regis, et ad Cassarem orator. 
 It bears date January 24, 1531. No disgust 
 seems to have been taken at the other commis- 
 sioners ; but as Dr. Cranmer was the person, on 
 whom the king chiefly relied, it is probable he had 
 from the first, determined 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 
 universities, as favoured the king's intentions; 
 which were, on the matter, almost all he applied 
 to. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 15 
 
 This expedition so readily projected, and so 
 chearfully undertaken, does not perhaps place 
 Dr. Cranmer 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 Catharine was by no means 
 generally approved, either at home, or abroad: 
 the legitimacy of Mary, in treaties 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. 
 
 But reasons of state, however admissible in a 
 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 him ; and there was 
 manifestly a difference between advising not to do 
 a thing ; and advising to undo it, when already 
 done ; at least in a matter 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, enjoined. 
 The new testament was silent on the subject, 
 6 
 
Iff 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 There could therefore be no moral turpitude iii 
 it : nor any thing but the common law, and usage 
 of nations to restrain it. 
 
 On the other hand, the baseness, and ungene- 
 rous behaviour, which followed the contrary part, 
 were evident at sight. To repudiate a woman, 
 with whom the king had cohabited near twenty 
 years as his wife; and to illegitimate a daughter, 
 bred up in the highest expectations, and now mar- 
 riageable, were acts of such cruelty, that it seems 
 to indicate a want of feeling to be in any degree 
 accessory to them. To this may be added, that 
 the notoriety of the king's passion for Ann Bol- 
 leyn, which all men believed to be — if not the 
 first mover, at least the principal spring of his 
 pretended scruples, threw a very indelicate impu- 
 tation 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. It is with concern therefore that we 
 see a man of Dr. Cranmer's integrity and sim- 
 plicity of manners, acting so much out of cha- 
 racter, as to compound an affair of this kind, if not 
 with his conscience, at least with all delicacy of 
 sentiment ; and to parade through Europe, in the 
 quality of an ambassador 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 dis- 
 2 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 17 
 
 pensation ; and the latter was 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 desireable 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 negociate for the 
 merchants of England. Once he was obliged 
 to furnish himself with camp-equipage, and attend 
 the emperor, 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 pr6fession ; but w r as of a more 
 general cast, than the simplicity of his character 
 led men to suppose. 
 
 If Dr. Cranmer began to think favourably of 
 the reformation before he left England, he became 
 during his stay abroad, an entire convert. That 
 freedom, with which men discussed religious opi- 
 nions in Germany, was very agreeable to a man 
 
 VOL. II. C 
 
18 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of his liberal turn ; and he felt himself every day 
 sitting looser to those prejudices, which had hi- 
 therto involved him. Osiander, whom he found at 
 Nuremburgh, contributed, among others, very much 
 to enlighten his mind. The unrestrained conversa- 
 tion 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 opinion were 
 false, how it could possibly possess itself of the 
 minds of the greatest, and most learned men of 
 all ages, through such a tract of time ? Osiander 
 carried him boldly still higher into antiquity. Tell 
 me not, 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 to such and such pas- 
 sages of scripture ? 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 In the midst of these researches the attention of 
 Dr. Cranmer was suddenly recalled to other ob- 
 jects. He received a message, informing him, 
 that the king intended to reward his services by 
 bestowing on him the see of Canterbury, then 
 vacant by the death of Dr. Warham. 
 
 Whatever exalted ideas Dr. Cranmer might en 
 tertain from, the king's favour, it is very certain he. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER, 19 
 
 "was both surprized and perplexed at this message. 
 Two 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 other was a more 
 private concern. He had engaged abroad in a 
 second marriage ; and however liberal his own 
 sentiments might be on that subject, he knew the 
 prejudices of the world ran strongly against him. 
 I call them prejudices only, because, I think, it does 
 not appear, that the secular clergy, at that time, 
 were absolutely required 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 immediately to England. History does not fix 
 the time of his return with any precision. Lord 
 Herbert says, he was present at the king's mar- 
 riage with Ann Bolleyn ; which the latest ac- 
 counts 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 Germany. The contro- 
 versy is scarce worth deciding. 
 
 In however contemptible a light the pope's au- 
 thority \s T as, at this time, considered, the new arch- 
 bishop, it seems, could not legally be consecrated 
 without bulls from Rome. Henry, it may be 
 
 c2 
 
20 THE LIFE OP 
 
 imagined, might have dispensed with this form; 
 but to get rid of forms is often the last work of re- 
 formation. The price of the commodity howevefr 
 was greatly fallen. The popes formerly exacted 
 more than a thousand pounds of our money, for 
 their bulls of consecration ; but the new arch- 
 bishop, or rather the king, who seems to have 
 managed the matter, contrived to procure them 
 for less than half that sum. 
 
 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 
 statutes of the realm — that he did not bind him- 
 self 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, to oppose the pope's illegal authority ; 
 and condemn his errors. 
 
 This oath, taken in a sense so verv opposite to 
 Its real intention, has often been alledged against 
 the archbishop; and indeed it seems rather to injure 
 the feelings of a delicate mind. His friends 
 however suppose they sufficiently apologize for 
 his behaviour, by observing, that he made his ex- 
 ceptions in an open manner, without any mental 
 reservation ; and that he fully satisfied those, who 
 were empowered to administer the oath. 
 
 Thus nas a private churchman raised, at one 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 21 
 
 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 advance- 
 ment; 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 un- 
 equally 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 shall 
 have other occasions to observe, were less owing 
 to the temptations of ,vice, than to the weakness of 
 some unguarded virtue. — 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 cha- 
 racter, which was throughout unprincipled, and in- 
 consistent, he meant nothing more than to ad- 
 vance 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. 
 
THE LIFE OP 
 
 Very soon after his consecration, the primate 
 was called on to finish the great cause of the 
 divorce by passing a final sentence. 
 
 The queen had retired to Ampthill, a royal 
 mansion near St. Alban's ; where she lived with 
 great discretion ; and drew the pity and respect of 
 the whole nation by the decency, and dignity of 
 her sufferings. 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 consistory. As Henry well knew the queen 
 would not answer the summons ; the vicinity of 
 the place, being of no consequence, had the ap- 
 pearance of an additional affront. 
 
 The queen treated the summons she received, 
 with that indignation which was expected ; and 
 being pronou. ced contumacious, a final sentence 
 of divorce was passed. 
 
 There was something also very indelicate in 
 placing 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 himself: but Henry, who 
 had no idea of decency, would hear no reason 
 against it, 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 23 
 
 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 
 England, it may easily be supposed, occasioned 
 much clamour at Rome, where menaces of ex- * 
 communication, 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 ; both among protestants, and papists. 
 This appeal they notified to the pope, who was then 
 at Marseilles. It was entrusted to the care of 
 Bonner, afterwards the celebrated bishop of Lon- 
 don ; who executed his commission with his usual 
 vehemence. The incensed pope, on the other 
 hand, equally impetuous, talked of throwing the 
 minister headlong into a cauldron of molten lead : 
 on which, Bonner, alarmed at the idea, preci- 
 pitately 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 rivetted the generous 
 heart of the French monarch to him with more 
 
2i THE LIFE OF 
 
 than political 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 opportunity 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 ac- 
 commodation. He made the attempt : but found 
 the pope full of 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 from the conclave, if he 
 would make his submission before a short day, 
 which was appointed. But this was only half the 
 obstacle. Henry was as lofty as the pope; and 
 could as ill brook submission, as the other could 
 bear controul. 
 
 There happened to be in the French king's 
 retinue at Marseilles, a churchman of very emi- 
 nent abilities, Bellay, Bishop of Bnyonne. An 
 accidental circumstance 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 parliament, who had been ap- 
 pointed to receive him with a Latin oration, had un- 
 luckily chosen a subject which would certainly give 
 pOntifl offence: and yet 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 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. %D 
 
 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 persuade Henry into the agreement, he had 
 just made with the pope. The bishop knew man- 
 kind, and could adapt himself to their foibles. 
 Henry was well tinctured with the erudition of 
 those times ; and affected greatly the character of 
 being a patron of learning. Bellay knew him 
 thoroughly ; and drawing the discourse from busi- 
 ness 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 in- 
 debted 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 en- 
 tirely convinced 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 caution he held his peace; 
 and trusted for the protection of religion to that 
 Almighty Hand, which had begun the reformation 
 ofit. 
 
 In this suspence the minds of men remained 
 
26 THE LIFE OP 
 
 many weeks ; and they whose principles waited on 
 every change, began already to waver; and to 
 talk publicly of the precipitancy of the late in- 
 novations, which ran the risk of throwing the king- 
 dom into such a ferment, as could not easily be al- 
 layed. 
 
 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 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 services in England, had himself undertaken a 
 voyage to Rome to negociate 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 definitive sentence for one week 
 only. But the emperor's influence, and the pope's 
 own irascible temper prevailed for hastier mea- 
 sures. Nay even the usual forms of business 
 were accelerated ; and after a shorter hearing than, 
 in such a case, was commonly allowed, a definitive 
 sentence was passed, confirming the king's mar- 
 riage with Catharine ; and declaring him excom- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMES. 27 
 
 municated, 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 sen- 
 tence could not be reviewed ; the cardinals of the 
 opposition holding firm to the established rules of 
 the conclave. — If any event could authorize man 
 to point out the immediate finger of God, this cer- 
 tainly 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 measures 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 his 
 charge. 
 
 While affairs with the court of Rome were thus 
 depending, the emissaries of the popish party 
 allowed themselves unbridled licence in England. 
 We are 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 
 
28 THE LIFE OF 
 
 was a grossness in the manners of those times, 
 •which we must carry along with us in 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 all 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 the whole kingdom. 
 Her prophecies were uttered in very free lan- 
 guage ; 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 support of religious liberty. Such 
 a spirit was raised in the commons, that they de- 
 bated freely on the great question of the su- 
 premacy of the pope — a question, which, if ever 
 moved before, had been always treated with the 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 29 
 
 utmost distance and timidity. It was carried how- 
 ever 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 off: but as the trunk 
 itself was left standing, it was able, at the re- 
 turning season, to shoot as vigorously as before. 
 
 One would have imagined, that an act so de- 
 structive of popery, as the act of supremacy, 
 would, at least, have been retarded by some dis- 
 senting 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 London, 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 subtilty which 
 was characteristic in him) consist of the same 
 people. And as the king is head of the realm: 
 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 ; and 
 
30 THE LIFE OF 
 
 delivered his sentiments in such a flow of natural 
 and easy eloquence, 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 denomination acknowledged the utility of it. 
 They hoped a more orderly clergy would now sue-- 
 ceed ; whose manners might be more easily in- 
 spected ; and whose conduct would be amenable 
 to civil authority. They hoped an end would 
 now be put to those contests 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 forms. In short, 
 they foresaw a variety of advantages from the sim- 
 plicity of the government, as it was now esta- 
 blished ; and from the abolition of that gross 
 absurdity in every political system, an imperium 
 in imperio. 
 
 The protectants had still farther cause for re- 
 joicing. They considered this act, as the only, 
 thing, which could open a way to reformation. 
 For though in itself it had no immediate con- 
 nection either with doctrine, or discipline ; yet 
 without it, no step could be taken towards the 
 reformation of either. Besides, they thought the 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 3 1 
 
 abrogation of the decretals was a great step to- 
 wards the introduction of the bible ; and ima- 
 gined, they should be able, through so wide a 
 breach, to push out every error, and every cor- 
 ruption 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 chil- 
 dren of the present queen ; declaring Maty, the 
 daughter of Catharine, in effect illegitimate. 
 
 This act involved in ruin two excellent men, 
 Fisher bishop of Rochester, and Sir Thomas More. 
 The parliament had declared the denial of the 
 king's supremacy to be high treason : and imposed 
 a test oath to be taken by all people in office ; 
 and indeed universally, if required. Fisher re- 
 fused it ; and More, when questioned, talked in 
 very ambiguous language. He might as well have 
 spoken plainly. Henry, impatient of controul, 
 considered his ambiguity 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 famliarity; and was prompted to employ 
 even casuistry to save him. (< On one hand, 
 said he, you are doubtful as to the point in ques- 
 tion. On the other, you are certain, you ought to 
 obey your prince. Let doubt then give way 
 
32 THE LIFE OP 
 
 to certaiiiiy." — More smiled, and laid his head 
 UDon the block. 
 
 This was hot the only innocent blood, which 
 was shed at this time. That queen, for whose sake 
 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 
 condemned to death on the merest surmise. A 
 few unguarded 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 suspicious 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 interposition and influence. 
 
 Henry however, when it served his purpose, 
 
 introduced 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 
 
 1 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 33 
 
 he declared illegitimate,, to make way for the 
 posterity of his future consort. To this end, he 
 resolved, 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 North- 
 umberland, who was supposed 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 
 archbishop was to be his instrument. To him, 
 it is said, the queen made a private confession 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 rigor- 
 ous part of the sentence. On the strength how- 
 ever of this confession, the archbishop passed a 
 sentence of divorce. 
 
 Immediately after this sentence, she was be- 
 headed ; 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 unfor- 
 tunate Ann Bolleyn, 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 con- 
 sequence of that insufficient proof — a precontract 
 supposed, which was to void the marriage — and 
 
 VOL. II, & 
 
34 THE LIFE Of 
 
 yet the crime of adultery still charged — the ter- 
 rifying mode of the sentence — and above all the 
 king's known attachment to another lady — we are 
 surprized to find a man of the archbishop's cha- 
 racter submitting, in any shape, to be an actor in 
 so complicated a scene of barbarism, cruelty, 
 absurdity, and injustice. The confession had cer- 
 tainly 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 
 probable, that the archbishop might have found 
 strong arguments to prove, in any other instance, 
 that a consummated marriage was a more in- 
 violable 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 down by the king's impe- 
 tuosity. 
 
 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, a more systemized 
 form. The Vox Dei, which was afterwards too 
 freely supposed to issue from the people, was 
 however now supposed to issue solely from the 
 throne. When therefore we find these great con- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 35 
 
 descensions to a prince in men of eminent cha- 
 racters, we must not measure them by the liberal 
 notions of later times ,* but must make some al- 
 lowances 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 
 spirited application to the king in the queen's fa- 
 vour : but on this apology, it is probable, none of 
 his advocates will be very forward to expatiate. 
 The more innocent he thought her, the more guilty 
 he must think himself, 
 
 How far his acting ex officio was an apology, 
 let those define, who think themselves obliged to 
 perform the functions of an office, which requires 
 unlawful deeds. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 Queen Ann's death was considered by the popish 
 party as the signal of victory. They had little 
 conception, 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 
 
36 THE LIFE OF 
 
 it. And indeed he was every way qualified td 
 answer their wishes. By prudent caution, discrete 
 forbearance, and pure simplicity of manners, he 
 was able to oppose and counteract 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 feel- 
 ings, considers a plain and open behaviour as a 
 mask. 
 
 It was very necessary indeed that the protestant 
 cause should have at least one able leader : for 
 except 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 
 of great ability. No one had taken a juster mea- 
 sure of the times ; or understood with more ex- 
 actness, that difficult part of the ministerial office, 
 the management of parties. But Essex sat at 
 another helm, which called for all his address ; 
 and he could rarely assist the archbishop, how- 
 ever well-inclined, except 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 fa- 
 voured the reformation, were Latimer bishop of 
 Worcester, Shaxton of Salisbury, and Barlow of 
 St. David's. These were the primate's natural 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 37 
 
 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 direction, 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 La- 
 timer; but was still a worse associate to the arch- 
 bishop. He had an unaccommodating sourness 
 about him ; which was continually taking, or giv- 
 ing offence. His moroseness was marked strongly 
 in the lines of his visage ; which almost pre- 
 judiced men at sight against 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 arch- 
 bishop as either of the other. He was a man 
 of sense and learning; but was so indiscrete, 
 so totally unguarded, and his conversation so full 
 of levity, that the primate was always afraid of 
 any communication with him on matters of bi\- 
 
38 THE LIFE OP 
 
 siness : 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 
 councils of one prudent man the arduous business 
 of reformation probably prospered better, than 
 jt could have done in the hands of many. In the 
 whole system 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. Alter? 
 cation is fatal to the attempt ; and altercation 
 is generally found in a multiplicity of voices. 
 A multiplicity of opinions succeeds a multiplicity 
 of voices. The passions armed with religious 
 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 
 innovations as he found men were able to bear, 
 the prudent, archbishop introduced imperceptibly 
 the most consequential changes. 
 
 His difficulties however were very great. To 
 form a religious establishment out of the general 
 confusion, in which all things were now involved, 
 appeared a work of infinite perplexity, That flux 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 39 
 
 of opinions, which the reformation occasioned, was 
 an endless source of discord : and the more men 
 receded from that central point of authority, which 
 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 primate soon found how impossible it was 
 to impress the large idea of religion upon the nar- 
 row mind of party. 
 
 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 
 rejected the doctrines ; but were dazzled with the 
 splendor of its ceremonies. Some again thought 
 it prudent, as a conciliating measure, to retain 
 every thing that could be retained with inno- 
 cence : 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 
 
40 THE LIFE OF 
 
 affairs were likely to take against them. If they 
 were before formidable for their numbers, they 
 now became more so, when embodied in a suffer- 
 ing cause, supporting one common end, and avail- 
 ing themselves of all those arts which are generally 
 made use of by the instruments of declining- 
 party. Among these arts, the most obvious, and 
 the most effectual, was, to foment Jealousy, and 
 discord among the various sectaries of the new 
 religion ; to which of themselves they were suffi- 
 ciently inclined. 
 
 But the difficulties, which arose from the popish 
 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 circum- 
 stances of the times : but he was careful to have it 
 believed, that he was n© 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- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 41 
 
 deavourecl 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 re- 
 dressing 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 
 astonishment of those around him, sat down to a 
 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 church. The good archbishop saw its 
 abuse ; and endeavoured to make it the vehicle of 
 instruction. But the regulations he yet made were 
 few. With his usual caution he felt his ground, as 
 he proceeded ; and it was not till long afterwards, 
 that he completed his intention on this head, by 
 the publication of the homilies. 
 
 How exceedingly a reformation in preaching 
 was wanted, we may judge from the following 
 
42 THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 irre- 
 verence to the ministers of religion, tells the fol- 
 lowing 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. Presently letting it fall, 
 St. Austin took it up ; and asking the women, what 
 they had said, they answered, Only a few pater- 
 nosters. 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 absolved. 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, to a 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 da> 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMES. 43 
 
 they shall not lose their sight ; nor die a sudden 
 death ; nor wax aged : and every step thither- 
 ward, and homeward, an angel shall reckon." — 
 The immediate tendency of such discourses was 
 obvious. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 Thus far the primate, however cautious, ven- 
 tured with less hesitation. What he had yet done 
 was little more, than fell under his own proper au- 
 thority. 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 5 ; but the 
 bible, and creeds were made the rule of faith. — 
 Images were not forbidden • but the people were 
 instructed to consider them only as incentives 
 of devotion. — 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 atone- 
 ment for sin. — The existence of purgatory was 
 not disputed ; but all indigences, and mercenary 
 pardons were declared invalid. 
 
44 TfIE LIFE ° p 
 
 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 
 private opinions, he would not have ventured 
 farther in public than he now did. 
 
 The doctrine of transubstantiation was left pre- 
 cisely as it stood. Our ecclesiastical 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 following occasion. 
 
 John Lambert, a man of eminent piety, having 
 denied the real presence, was cited before the 
 archbishop; who with a mixture of mildness and 
 gravity, expostulated with him, on his maintaining 
 so unscriptural an error. Lambert retired mo- 
 destly; but it appearing afterwards, that he was 
 not converted, the affair was carried before the 
 king. The king, resolving 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, surrounded by his bishops, 
 and nobles. The archbishop sat at his right hand, 
 and assisted at this very extraordinary 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 
 
ARCtfBISllOP CRANMER. 45 
 
 him to the stake. We do not find that the arch- 
 bishop took any part in his death ; it were to be 
 wished he had rid his hands of the disputation 
 likewise. 
 
 The primate shewed the same attachment to the 
 doctrine of transubstantiation on another occasion. 
 Vadian, a learned foreigner, having written a trea- 
 tise 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 convert of him ; and that he 
 was hurt with the idea of being thought the patron 
 of such unscriptural 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 under- 
 took to render the holy scriptures into his native 
 tongue. But WiclifTs translation was now obso- 
 lete ; and to be found only as a matter of cu- 
 riosity in a few libraries. In the year 1526 Tindal 
 translated and printed the new testament in the 
 low countries. But his translation, which was 
 rather a hasty performance, was very incorrect ; 
 and nobody was more sensible of its deficiencies 
 
46 The life op 
 
 than Tindal himself. He was public spirited 
 enough to have amended the faults of it, by a new 
 edition : but his finances were too scanty for such 
 an undertaking. The zeal of Tunstal bishop of 
 Durham, furnished him the means. Tunstal, 
 though a papist, was the most moderate of men ; 
 and being desirous of removing a stumbling block 
 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, enabled him to republish his work in a 
 more correct form. By the great industry how- 
 ever of the popish party this edition also was in a 
 good measure suppressed : and indeed it was at 
 best an inaccurate translation ; being the per- 
 formance 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 
 
 * A copy of this impression, supposed to be the only 
 copy remaining, was picked up by one of the late lord Ox- 
 ford's collectors ; and was esteemed so valuable a purchase 
 by his lordship, that it is said he settled 20/. a year for life 
 on the person who procured it. Lord Oxford's library be- 
 ing afterwards purchased by Osborn, at Grey's Inn gate, 
 this curious book was marked by the undiscerning book- 
 seller at fifteen shillings only; at which price Mr. Ames 
 bought it. When Mr. Ames's books were offered to the 
 public by Mr. Langford, in May 176*0, this book was sold by 
 auction for fourteen guineas and a half. In whose hands it 
 is now, I have not heard. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 4? 
 
 intended; and the method he took, was to send 
 portions of it to be corrected by the bishops, and 
 other learned divines; reserving to himself the re- 
 visal of the whole. 
 
 Stokesley, bishop of London, was the only pre- 
 late, who refused his contribution. " It is no 
 wonder," (said one of the archbishop's chaplains, 
 with more humour than charity) " that my lord 
 of London refuses to have any hand in this busi- 
 ness: it is a testament, 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 parochial 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, crouded to 
 read it, or to hear it read, in churches ; 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 in- 
 structing 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 convo- 
 
4:9 THE LIFE Ot 
 
 cation, the archbishop took a farther step. The 
 creed, the Lord's prayer, and the ten command- 
 ments were allowed to be taught in English. A 
 plain exposition also of the more obvious points 
 of faith, and practice, was published in a treatise, 
 which was generally called the bishop's book, from 
 the hands, through which it went : its real title was, 
 The institution of a Christian man It was af- 
 terwards enlarged, and published under the royal 
 license ; and then became the king's book. 
 
 These were the principal steps, which the arch- 
 bishop took in the business of reformation — all 
 taken between the years 1533 and 1538. His 
 difficult circumstances allowed no more. It is 
 wonderful indeed he did so much : for except 
 in the matters of supremacy, and transubstantia- 
 tion, the king, and he had very different sentiments 
 on every topic of religion : and the passions of 
 Henry, those gusts of whirlwind, made it dan- 
 gerous for any one to oppose him. But the arch- 
 bishop, though he tried this hardy experiment 
 oftener than once, never lost his favour. — In the 
 business of monasteries he risked it most. 
 
 Henry had already laid his rapacious hands on 
 some of the smaller houses ; and finding the prey 
 alluring, he determined to make a second, and 
 more daring attempt. The larger houses afforded 
 his avarice a more ample range. The affair was 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER, 49 
 
 "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 rig) t, to lay public 
 hands on this useless mass of treasure. — At the 
 same time having been shocked 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 scho- 
 lars at the universities ; the foundation of hospi- 
 tals, and alms-houses : cc Nay, rather, said he, 
 than suffer it to be consumed in private channels, 
 let us expend it on high-roads."' f 
 
 One of his schemes was new; and seems to 
 have been happily conceived. He proposed to 
 institute colleges of priests in everv cathedral, 
 composed of students, just removed, and well 
 recommended, from the universities. Here they 
 were to apply themselves to divinity under the 
 
 VOL. IT. 3E 
 
50 THE LIFE OF 
 
 eye of the bishops ; who being thus acquainted 
 with their worth and abilities, might collate them 
 from these seminaries to parochial 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 man- 
 ner. 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 venality hath since effected. Essex 
 immediately gave way. The boldest speakers 
 were silent. The primate'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 archbishop'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. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 51 
 
 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 sup- 
 port the servants of the crown. It was an in- 
 vidious support ; and often fastened the odium of 
 an indecorum on the king's ministers ; who had, as 
 ministers always have, opposition enough to parry 
 in the common course of business : and it is very 
 probable, that Gardiner, on this very ground, hath 
 met with harder measure in history, than he might 
 otherwise have done. 
 
 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 in 
 parties. He knew all the modes of access to every 
 foible of the human heart ; his own in the mean 
 time, 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 always lying in wait: 
 yet his strong sense, and persuasive runner, in- 
 clined men to believe he was always 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 
 e % 
 
52 THE LIFE OF 
 
 moral virtues, and what natural feelings he had, 
 were all under the influence of ambition ; and 
 were accompanied by a happy lubricity of con- 
 science, which ran glibly over every obstacle. — 
 Such is the portrait, which historians have given 
 us of this man ; and though the colouring may be 
 more heightened in some than in others ; yet the 
 same turn of feature is found in all. 
 
 This prelate being at the head of the popish 
 party, and aided by the duke of Norfolk's influence, 
 thought he had 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 pro- 
 testants would in all probability be crushed — and 
 that if this should be the case, it was very likely 
 from the temper and situation 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 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 apprehen- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CKANMF.R. 53 
 
 sions. For the enterprizing spirit of Charles V, 
 then in league with the pope, seemed to be car- 
 rying every thing with a full tide of success in 
 Germany ; and to have nothing so much in con- 
 templation 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 therefore, 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 other- 
 wise. 
 
 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 pecu- 
 liar doctrines of the Roman church — transubstan- 
 tiation — communion in one kind — vows of chas- 
 tity, — the celibacy of the clergy — private masses 
 — and auricular confession. This act, which passed 
 in the year 15-39, is known by the name of the 
 act of the six articles ; and was guarded accord- 
 ing to the supposed degrees of guilt, by fines, 
 forfeitures, imprisonment, and death. 
 
 The good archbishop never appeared in a more 
 truly Christian light, than on this occasion. In the 
 midst of so general a defection, (for there were 
 
54 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 number.? in the house, who had hitherto shewn 
 great forwardness in reformation), he alone made 
 a stand. Three days he maintained his ground ; 
 and baffled the arguments of all opposers. But 
 argument was not their weapon ; and the arch- 
 bishop saw himself obliged to sink under superior 
 power. Henry ordered 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 protest. — 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 opposition : and it is certain, that as soon 
 as the act passed, he sent his wife, who was a 
 niece of Osiander's, into Germany. 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. 
 
 It is amazing that the very extraordinary free- 
 dom, 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 
 be ordered the duke of Norfolk, with the eari 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 55 
 
 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 arch- 
 bishop, said Essex, you were born in a happy hour, 
 You can 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 
 intended by the king, was the source of great 
 mortification to all. The conversation, after din- 
 ner, falling on the late ministry, and Woolsey's 
 name being mentioned, Essex could not forbear 
 drawing a parallel between the archbishop and the 
 cardinal. The cardinal, said he, through the vio- 
 lence of his temper in managing a debate, would 
 often change his friends into enemies : whereas 
 the mildness of the archbishop often makes his 
 enemies, his friends. The duke of Norfolk adopt- 
 ed the remark; and surely, (said he with a sar- 
 castic sneer, ) nobody knew the cardinal better than 
 my lord Essex, who was once his menial. Essex 
 answered with some warmth, 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 admiral, if ever he should attain the 
 papacy. The duke of Norfolk firing at this, 
 started up, and with a vehement oath, cried out, 
 he l.yed. Essex preparing to resent the affront, 
 4 
 
56 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 memcry, where those af- 
 fronts 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 
 fairlv copied out for his inspection. The fate 
 of the volume, in which they were contained, 
 occasioned some perplexity. 
 
 Among the amusements of the English mo- 
 narchs of those times, that of bear-baiting on 
 the river Thames was in high esteem. In this 
 diversion Henry happened to be 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 pos- 
 sible from the tumult; but whether led by cu- 
 riosity to see the pastime, or through some un- 
 avoidable accident, he found himself presently 
 in the midst of the croud; and by a mischance 
 still greater, the bear making directly to his boat ; 
 climbed up the side, and overset it. The secretary 
 was soon taken up ; but recovering from his sur- 
 prize, he found he had lost his book. He hoped 
 it might have sunk to the bottom ; but he dis- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 57 
 
 covered afterwards, that it had fallen into the 
 hands of some ignorant persons, who had con- 
 veyed it to a popish priest. The priest conceiv- 
 ing it to be a satire on the six articles, determined 
 to carry it to the council. The secretary, in the 
 mean time, suspecting what might happen, ap- 
 plied to lord Essex, as his master's friend. He 
 had scarce told his story, when the priest ap- 
 peared, at the door of the council-chamber, with 
 the book under his arm. Lord Essex addressing 
 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 single 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 assist- 
 ance, deserted him. But the severest loss he felt, 
 
58 
 
 THE LIFE OT 
 
 at this time, was that of his great friend, the earl 
 of Essex. 
 
 The interest of that eminent statesman de- 
 clined with that of the prctestants ; 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 administered, had through a 
 course of ages invited sloth ; and these channels 
 of ready supply being now stopped, the neces- 
 sitous found it irksome to exchange a life of idle- 
 ness for a life of industry. A general discontent 
 soon finds a mouth to express it. Clamour grew 
 loud ; and the king's government, uneasy. Some- 
 thing must necessarily be done. 
 
 Among all the arts of expediency laid up in 
 the cabinets of princes, the readiest is to sacrifice 
 a minister. The death of Cromwell was repre- 
 sented 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 
 act of blood. The hand of a tyrant however gene- 
 rally 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 maiv 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMEK. 59 
 
 several of whom had tasted largely of his bounty, 
 pot a single person endeavoured to avert his ruin, 
 but the primate. He with generous friendship 
 wrote to the king; united himself with the falling' 
 minister ; and endeavoured, at the hazard of his 
 own safety, to inspire his royal master with 
 ideas of justice. But the fate of Essex, was de^ 
 creed ; 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 was a friendship 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 inten- 
 tions ; and each supported the other's schemes 
 with an exertion of all his interest. In some 
 things perhaps the zeal of Essex 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 
 companions, over his beer, at the door of a coun- 
 try ale-house ; and somebody happening to men- 
 tion the archbishop ; (C That man, said the priest, 
 as great as he is now, was once but an ostler ; 
 and has no more learning, than the goslings yon* 
 der on the green." Essex, who had his spies in 
 
60 THE LIFE OP 
 
 every quarter, was informed of what the priest 
 had said. A messenger was immediately dispatch- 
 ed 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 imprudence, and of supplication for mercy. 
 
 The primate having inquired into the business 
 sent for him. " I hear, said he, you have ac- 
 cused 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 in 
 the same way again. 
 
 " Well then, says the archbishop, since you 
 will not examine me, let me examine you." 
 
 The priest was thunderstruck ; making many 
 excuses; 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 
 plainest questions in the bible ; Who was David's 
 father ? and wfeo was Solomon's ? 
 
 The priest confused at his own ignorance, stood 
 speechless. 
 
 n You sec, said the archbishop how your accu- 
 sation of me, rises against yourself. You arc an 
 admirable judge of learning and learned men.— 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 61 
 
 Well, my friend I had no hand in bringing 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 pri- 
 mate ; 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 offe.ided. 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 
 associate, the archbishop did not despair. An at- 
 tempt was made in convocation to revive some 
 popish ceremonies. A sort of ritual was produced, 
 which consisted of ninety articles. The arch- 
 bishop 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 
 
6$ The life of 
 
 bishops of Rochester and Hereford, who had pro- 
 mised 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 religion was 
 concerned, declared himself careless of any con- 
 sequence. 
 
 His perseverance had an effect, which he durst not 
 have hoped for. The laity were entirely exempted 
 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 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 de- 
 gree, have qualified. 
 
 In another effort also the primate obtained an 
 advantage. He prevailed with the king to allow 
 the 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 de- 
 bate which ensued, the translation was chiefly ob- 
 jected to, " Let the people have their bible, said 
 Winchester, but let it be a correct one ; and let not 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 63 
 
 error and heresy be spread by authority." He 
 proposed therefore to have the bible carefully ex- 
 amined ; and with this view to have it put into the 
 hands of the bishops ; where he doubted not he 
 had influence to suspend it, as long as he 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 a new 
 one. But he could not prevail. One point how- 
 ever 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 univer- 
 sities 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 
 opposition was still made to its publication ; and 
 new topics 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 arch- 
 bishop was again entirely deserted. Single how- 
 ever, as he had done before, he still bore up 
 against his adversaries; and persevered, till by dint 
 of perseverance he obtained a limited use of the 
 bible, though it was never publicly allowed during 
 the remainder of Henry's reign. 
 
G4 THE LIFE OF 
 
 SECTION X. 
 
 While the primate was acting this great and 
 noble part in parliament, an unexpected event 
 placed him in a very delicate and dangerous situa- 
 tion. 
 
 At an early hour, in the morning, an unknown 
 person, of the name of Lascelles, desired a secret 
 admittance 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 dan- 
 gerous, to conceal it — if unjustly, it was equally 
 so to divulire it. The dilemma was difficult. 
 
 The business was perplexed also by a circum- 
 stance 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 
 
 I 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMEK, G5 
 
 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 alwavs 
 on the watch against him ; and might, for aught 
 he knew, have taken this very method of doing 
 him an injury: 
 
 Thus distracted by a 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 
 commission of regency, 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 opinion, that as the affair rested on such 
 undoubted evidence, it was less hazardous to di- 
 vulge, than to conceal it. This point being 
 settled, the more arduous one still remained of in- 
 forming the king. The primate thought it best, 
 that all three should join in the information; and 
 give it that weight, which no single person could 
 give. The two lords, on the other hand, were of a 
 different opinion. As the intelligence, 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 in a single hand ; and if so, the pri- 
 
 VOL, II. f 
 
66 THE LIFE OF 
 
 mate'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 meek- 
 ness of the archbishop gave way ; and he took 
 upon himself alone the task of carrying the unwel- 
 come truth to the king. 
 
 It was indeed an unwelcome truth. The king 
 at this time, had so little conception of the queen's 
 dishonesty, and loved her with such entire af- 
 fection, 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 private. 
 
 Henry took the information, as we may suppose 
 he would. His fury broke out in vehement exe- 
 crations, and threats against those, who had been 
 the contrivers of such villainy. 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 subsided, and he examined the evi- 
 dence 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 ; 
 
ARCHBISHOP CEANMER. 67 
 
 and the full voice of history bears testimony io 
 the justice of her sentence. 
 
 About the time, in which the archbishop was 
 concerned in this affair, he was engaged in an- 
 other, almost equally invidious; the visitation 
 of All-souls-college in Oxford. That society was 
 in much disorder. Their dissentions gave great 
 offence ; and the irregularity of their manners, 
 still greater. They are taxed, in the language 
 of those times, with their scandalous compo- 
 tatiojis, commessations, and ingurgitations. 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. 
 
 In the year 1542, which was the year after 
 these troublesome affairs, happened the battle of 
 Solway-moss; where the Scotish 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 
 
 f2 
 
68 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 literature ; and soon be- 
 came enamoured with this amiable society. The 
 gentleness, and benevolence of the archbishop 
 In particular attracted his esteem ; and brought 
 him to think more favourably of the reformers ; to 
 whose opinions he soon became a thorough con- 
 vert. Scotland had not yet received the tenets of 
 the reformation : 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 without effect." And in fact 
 it proved so : for some years afterwards, when the 
 reformed opinions got footing in Scotland, no- 
 body contributed so much to establish them, as 
 that nobleman. 
 
 SECTION XL 
 
 Though it might be supposed that the queen's 
 death would have weakened the popish cause, yet 
 we do not find, that it produced any such effect. 
 Many remarked, that after the first heat of the 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 69 
 
 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 ac- 
 counted for it very plausibly by observing, that as 
 his passions began to cool, the religious fear took 
 more possession of him. 
 
 The popish party, it is certain, at this period 
 assumed unusual spirits ; and thought they had in- 
 fluence 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, 
 tc I can now inform you, who is the greatest he- 
 retic 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 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 : " I consider the affair, said he, merely 
 as a combination of your enemies ; and as such I 
 shall treat it." 
 
 Commissioners were soon after appointed to ex- 
 amine the evidence against the primate ; and at the 
 head of the board the king, with his usual inc'elicacy, 
 
70 THE LIFE Of 
 
 placed the primate himself. The archbishop was 
 shocked at this designation ; and could barely be 
 prevailed on to appear once at the opening of the 
 commission. It sufficiently shewed however, how 
 the king stood 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 whole affair was the 
 bishop of Winchester, who with great assiduity, 
 had collected a variety of passages from sermons, 
 and other discourses in which it was supposed, the 
 archbishop had shewn more regard to the new 
 learning (as protestantism was called) and the 
 professors of it, than the laws then in force al- 
 lowed. 
 
 Among other agents whom Winchester em- 
 ployed, he drew over by his insinuating arts, two 
 persons, who were very nearly connected with 
 the archbishop himself; Dr. Thorndon, suffragan 
 of Dover, and Dr. Barber, a civilian. Each of 
 them had been promoted 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 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 71 
 
 the primate's hands, we may suppose his astonish- 
 ment on finding a letter from each of these per- 
 sons, 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. 1 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 secrets ; but also have taken 
 upon them to accuse me of heresy; and are be- 
 come witnesses against me. I require you there- 
 fore to advise me, how I shall behave myself to 
 them. You are both my friends ; what say you 
 to the matter?" 
 
 Whether they had any suspicion of the arch- 
 bishop's meaning, does not appear : As the ques- 
 tion however was put, they could not avoid pro- 
 nouncing with great severity against such villainy. 
 The primate then drawing the letters from his bo- 
 som, " Know you, said he, these papers, my mas- 
 ters ? — You have condemned yourselves. God 
 make you both good men. I never deserved this 
 
72 THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 discharge them 
 from his service. 
 
 The king however treated the archbishop's ac- 
 cusers with more severity ; and threw many of 
 them into prison. This alarming Gardiner, he 
 wrote a letter to the primate in the following ab- 
 ject style. 
 
 " Gentle father, I have not borne so tender a 
 " 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 con- 
 " trary. I ask mercy of you with as contrite a 
 " heart, as ever David asked of God. — I desire you 
 " to remember the prodigal child. I am full sorry 
 <l 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. I am your's, and 
 " shall be your's ; and that truly while I live. 
 iC Good father, I have 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 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 73 
 
 on the gentle nature of the primate, that hearing 
 the king was resolved to 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 ar- 
 dour 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 
 panegyric. The news was brought to him in coun- 
 cil : "God rest his soul! (said the king, with 
 much emotion : ) he was an honest man. I have 
 known him long ; and never knew him speak a bad 
 word behind the back of any man." Then turn- 
 ing round the board with a sarcastic air, " Of which 
 of you, my lords, added he, can I say as much ?" 
 
 The duke's amiable manners had long engaged 
 the esteem of the archbishop ; whose virtues, in 
 return, were equally admired by the duke. A 
 Very sincere friendship subsisted between them ; 
 and it was thought the persuasive arguments of 
 fhe primate had drawn the duke to think favour- 
 
74 THE LIFE OP 
 
 abiy of the reformers, whose friend and patron, 
 he was generally esteemed. 
 
 Though the duke had ever been a cautious man ; 
 and interfered little in public affairs ; yet con- 
 sidering 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 yield- 
 ing to age and infirmity ; and endeavoured to 
 awaken his religious fears. " In vain might wise 
 " laws struggle with heresies, if the patrons of 
 " those heresies were above law. Of his majesty 
 " alone redress could be had. He was God's vice- 
 " gerent to rectify the abuses of the times ; and 
 " might be assured, the sword was not put into 
 " his hands in vain : 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 appear. The king pondered, and con- 
 sented. 
 
 That very evening as it grew dark, Henry sent 
 
AfcCHBISHOP CRANMER. 73 
 
 for the archbishop to Whitehall. He was walking 
 pensively in a long gallery, when the archbishop 
 entered. " My lord of Canterbury, s?.id 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 admission to the board." 
 
 The archbishop expressed his readiness to 
 have his conduct inquired into, in whatever 
 manner the king thought fit : and offered to go, 
 with great alacrity, 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 vociferation, expressed his surprize at 
 the primate's simplicity : but immediately soften- 
 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 
 '•' morning, by the council; and dealt with haugh- 
 <( tily. If the lords talk of committing y°n, de- 
 " sire you may first hear your accusers. If they 
 " deny this, appeal to me ; and take this ring ; 
 
 II 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 ad- 
 mitted, he punctually followed the king's direc- 
 tions ; and when the lords insisted on sending him 
 to the Tower, he appealed to the king, who had 
 
76 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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, 
 f 6 I told you, my lords, how it would be ; and that 
 " the king would never suffer him to be com* 
 f mitted." 
 
 When the affair was brought before the king, 
 he made a short business of it. Striding haugh- 
 tily round the room, and throwing an eye of in- 
 dignation, first on one, and then on another ; " I 
 thought, said he, I had a discreet council ; but I see 
 I am deceived. How have ye handled here my 
 lord of Canterbury ? What made ye of him ? a 
 slave ; shutting him out of the council chamber 
 among serving men. — I would have you to under- 
 stand, by the faith I owe to God, (laying his hand 
 solemnly on his breast) that if a prince can 
 be beholden to a subject, I am to my lord of Can- 
 terbury ; whom I account as faithful a man to- 
 wards 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 regard him." 
 
 Having said this he strode out ; and left the lords 
 endeavouring which should apologize to the pri- 
 mate in the highest strain of compliment. 
 Next day the king sent several of them, as was 
 customary with him, after such distentions, to 
 dine with the archbishop at Lambeth. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRAMMER. 'i i 
 
 There is something singular in this whole affair. 
 It is difficult to say, whether Henry was at iirst in 
 earnest, and afterwards changed his resolution ; or 
 whether he took this method to check the forward- 
 ness of the archbishop's enemies. 
 
 While this scene was acting in 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 upholder of 
 heretical opinions ; with which he had greatly in- 
 fected 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, I 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 mes- 
 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 Thomas Seymour, who had abilities to object 
 
78 THE LIFE OT 
 
 to nothing else, was able to object to the meanness 
 of his house-keeping. On this head, he threw* 
 out insinuations to the kino;. Henrv heard him 
 with apparent indifference; and carelessly an- 
 swered ; " Ay ! Seymour ! 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 opportu- 
 nity to send Sir Thomas on some frivolous message, 
 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 
 ordinary manner. From thence he was conducted 
 up stairs to the archbishop, where he found a large 
 company 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 him- 
 self 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 
 
ARCHBISHOP CKANMFJR. 7$ 
 
 keep such a table,, as you say, it being neither 
 term, nor parliament, he is meetly visited, at 
 those times, I warrant you. — But," added the 
 king, assuming a severer tone, " I know the bot- 
 tom 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 doinos." 
 
 These insinuations with regard to the arch- 
 bishop's great ceconomy, seem in some degree to 
 have been credited by Sir William Cecil; who in 
 a letter, told the primate freely, what was current 
 at court — that he, and all the bishops were im- 
 mensely 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 remem- 
 " brance of the two matters, which I desired you 
 " not to forget; the one concerning the bishop oi 
 " Colognes letters; and the other concerning Mr. 
 '; Mowse; for whom I give you my most hearty 
 (C thanks. 
 
 " As for your admonition, I take it most thank- 
 " fully; as I have ever been most glad to be 
 " admonished by all my friends; accounting no 
 f( man so foolish, as he that will not bear friendly 
 
SO tHE LITE OF 
 
 " 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 
 * f beggars, except one man; and I dare well say, 
 " he is not very rich. If I knew any bishop that 
 " were covetous, I 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, com- 
 " pelleth me to leave off; beseeching almighty 
 " God to preserve the king, and all his council; 
 " and send him well from his progress. 
 " Your own ever, 
 
 " T. Cantuar." 
 
 These invidious reports with regard to the 
 avarice of the bishops, are commonly ascribed to 
 the avarice of the courtiers; who were desirous of 
 adding the revenues of the bishopricks to the 
 spoils of the monasteries. 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 tempora- 
 
ARCEBISHOP CRANMEK. 81 
 
 lities, and settling pensions on them; that they 
 might not be incumbered with secular affairs. 
 
 Henry knew well the meaning of this language; 
 and alluded to it, when he told Sir Thomas Sey- 
 mour, he wanted 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 disadvantage- 
 ous exchanges with crown lands. In this way he 
 stripped the see of Canterbury, during archbishop 
 Cranmer's time, of J 50/. of annual rent; and the 
 archbishop would often hint, that if he were less 
 hospitable than his predecessors, a reason might 
 be given. 
 
 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, in opposition to his own 
 irritable and implacable temper, 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 cha- 
 racters of men. 
 
 vol. it. c 
 
82 THE LIFE Of 
 
 It is somewhat singular, that Henry, on one of 
 these late attacks, observing the mildness of the 
 primate's temper, the acrimony of his adversa- 
 ries, and the danger he must necessarily run, 
 when deprived of the protection of his prince, 
 gave him for his arms, as if in the spirit of fore- 
 sight, three pelicans feeding their young with 
 their own blood: and added, in an odd jumble of 
 coarse metaphor, " That he was likely to be 
 tc tasted, if he stood to his tackling." 
 
 The last act of this reign was an act of blood; 
 and gave the archbishop a noble opportunity of 
 shewing how well he had learned that great Chris- 
 tian lesson of forgiving an enemy. 
 
 Almost without the shadow of justice, Henry 
 had 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 archbishop, as 
 the duke of Norfolk. He had always thwarted 
 the primate's measures; and oftener than once 
 had practised against his life. How many would 
 have seen with secret pleasure the workings of 
 Providence against so rancorous an enemy; satis- 
 fied in having themselves no hand in his unjust 
 fate ! But the archbishop saw the affair in another 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANKIER, 83 
 
 light: he saw it with horror; and although the 
 king had in a particular manner interested him- 
 self in this business, the primate opposed the bill 
 with all his might; and when his opposition was 
 vain, he left the house with indignation; and 
 retired to Croydon. 
 
 While the king was pushing on the attainder 
 of the duke of Norfolk, with such unjust, and 
 cruel precipitancy, he w 7 as himself hastening 
 apace to the grave. He had long been an object 
 of disgust, and terror. His body was become a 
 mass of fetid humours; and his temper was so 
 brutal, that if he had not been diverted by a stra- 
 tagem, he would have put his queen to death, only 
 for differing from him on a point of theology — a 
 queen too, whose daily employment it was, to 
 sit for hours on her knees before him, dressing 
 the offensive ulcers of his legs. His attendants 
 approached him w r ith trembling. One or two of 
 them ran the risk of losing their heads, only for 
 intimating their fears about his health. It was 
 prognosticating his death and amounted nearly 
 to high-treason. 
 
 Disease at length subdued this brutal spirit. 
 When he w T as now almost in the article of death, 
 Sir Anthony Denny ventured to hint, with great 
 delicacy, that his physicians thought his majesty's 
 life in some danger. Henry took the admonition 
 
 * 2 
 
81 THE LIFE OF 
 
 patiently, for he felt nature speaking a less cere* 
 monious language within. He was just able to 
 order the archbishop to be called. 
 
 When the primate came, he found the king 
 speechless, extended on a couch, his eyes glazed, 
 and motionless. His attendants had ventured now 
 to throw off all disguise; and the real sentiments 
 of the heart, on this great occasion, were visible 
 on every inlightened countenance. The arch- 
 bishop's sensations 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 distress, there was no possibility of be- 
 ing of service. With an eye melting in tender- 
 ness, he leaned over the dying king; and sym- 
 pathized with every pang. Henry did not yet 
 seem entirely deprived of intellect. The primate 
 begged him to give some sign of his dying in 
 the faith of Christ. Henry made an 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 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 85 
 
 men of the kingdom were appointed regents. 
 They were restrained by many limitations; but 
 under these, a majority were allowed to govern 
 the kingdom as they thought Jit. This happy 
 clause overturned all the rest. Henry had com- 
 posed the regents, as equally 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 
 inclined to the protestant cause, either from con- 
 science, or interest; and they thought themselves 
 fully authorized by the precept of the will, to 
 govern the kingdom as they th&itght 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 
 compeers. In ecclesiastical matters he took the 
 lead: and every thing, that was done, in this 
 department, during Edward's reign, may be conr 
 sidered 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 de- 
 tail of all the changes, which were] made in re- 
 4 
 
86 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ligion. Such a detail appears more properly in 
 works appropriated to these inquiries*. Here it 
 is proposed only to illustrate the character of this 
 excellent prelate; and it will be enough to touch 
 so far on the changes he made, as to throw a 
 proper light on his wisdom, prudence, learning, 
 moderation, and firmness. 
 
 The first step he took, 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. — This example, he proposed should be in- 
 forced 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 visi- 
 tation was made. Abuses of all kinds were in- 
 quired into— corrupt doctrines ; corrupt practices; 
 superstitious ceremonies ; the lives of the clergy ; 
 and the manners of the laity. The visitors had 
 
 * See Jewel's apology, Burnet's hist, of the reform. Ke> 
 Im's er.cles. hist &c. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. $7 
 
 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 svstem. 
 
 Among other things it was thought expedient 
 to suspend preaching. Amidst the licence of the 
 times, no species of it deserved more reproof, 
 than that which had gotten possession of the 
 pulpit. 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 authorized. — These changes had great 
 efficacy; moderate as they appeared, and aiming 
 rather to undermine the foundations of popery, 
 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 preju- 
 dices, than a popular paper, which was pub- 
 lished, about the close of the late reign, in titled* 
 
88 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The supplication of the poor commons to: the 
 king. It was levelled chiefly at the ignorance, 
 and immorality of the Romish clergy; and being 
 written in a masterly manner; and interspersed 
 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 following very curious one is related. 
 " A certain court-chaplain, who had great prefer- 
 " ment, observed, as he was travelling, a church 
 " upon a fair hill, beset with groves, and fieids, 
 " the green meadows lying beneath on the banks 
 " of a river, garnished with willows, poplars, 
 " and alders. He was mightily taken with the 
 " place, and calling out to his servant, Robin, 
 " said he, this benefice standeth pleasantly. I 
 " would it were mine. Why, Sir, said his ser- 
 Y vant, it is your's; and immediately named 
 il the parish — If your highness had so many 
 (C swine in this realm, as yon have men, would 
 " you commit the keeping of them to such swine- 
 ef 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 lan- 
 guage. u 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 conchy they draw the tail 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 89 
 
 ? between their legs, and get them strait to theit 
 " kennel: and then, come who will, they stir no 
 " more, till they hear their sire pope cry out, 
 " hey, cut, or long tail. So afraid are they of 
 re stripes, and lest they should be tied up so short 
 " that they cannot range abroad ; nor worry, now 
 ff and then, a lamb." 
 
 Then follows a long account of their rapacity, 
 pf which many instances are given. Among 
 others, we are told, " it was no rare thing to see 
 " f poor people beg at Easter, to pay for the sacra- 
 " ment, when they receive it. Nor is it less 
 " common to see men beg for dead bodies, that 
 cc they may pay the priest's dues. It is not long 
 " since, in the city of London, a dead body was 
 ie brought to the church to be buried; being so 
 (( poor, that it was almost quite naked. But these 
 ec charitable men, who teach us, that it is one of 
 " the works of mercy to bury the dead, would 
 " not bury this dead corps, without their dues. 
 " So they caused it to be carried into the street, 
 " till the poor people, who dwelled there, beg- 
 cc ged so much as the dues came to." 
 
 The apostrophe of these suppliants to the king 
 was very noble, and spirited. {{ If you suffer 
 " Christ's poor members to be thus oppressed, 
 " expect the righteous judgment of God for your 
 " negligence. Be merciful therefore to yourself, 
 " as well as to us. Endanger not your own soul 
 sc by the suffering of us poor commons. Remem- 
 
90 THE LIFE OF 
 
 i ber that your hoar hairs are a token, that nature 
 & maketh haste to absolve your life. Defer not 
 " then, most dread sovereign, the reformation 
 K of these enormities. For the wound is even 
 w unto death. Whoredom is more esteemed than 
 (e wedlock. Simony hath lost its name. Usury 
 " is lawful gains. What example of life do the 
 fi people shew this day, which declares us more 
 ?f to be the people of God, than Jews, and Ma- 
 " hometans?" 
 
 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 
 
 remonstrated. " The commencement of a mi- 
 
 " nority, be said, was not a time to introduce 
 
 " novelties. To alter the religion of a country 
 
 " was a serious business; and required the utmost 
 
 cc deliberation. No act of legislature, he ob- 
 
 ?' served, had yet passed; and it was great pre- 
 
 " sumption to publish things under the king '5 
 
 " name; with which, it was well known, neither 
 
 • c he, nor the protector, were at all acquainted. 
 
 ■"' But even if bare decency were consulted, it 
 
 " was very offensive to all sober men to see the 
 
 " wisdom of ages cancelled in a few months. — 
 
 *' The paraphrase of Erasmus, he remarked, wa,s 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 91 
 
 f ? written at a time, when the pen of that writer 
 " was very licentious. It contained many points 
 " of doctrine, which, he presumed, the protes- 
 " tants themselves would not willingly inculcate; 
 " and he would maintain, that it contradicted the 
 " homilies in many particulars. As for the ho- 
 f milies, though he did not doubt their being 
 f* well intended, yet they were certainly very 
 " inaccurate compositions; and ran into length 
 " on many curious points of doctrine, which 
 " tended rather to mislead, than to inform the 
 V people. — For himself, he said, he was care- 
 s' less 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 
 f only wished to conclude it properly." 
 
 There was an energy, and greatness in this 
 language, superior to any thing, that had ever 
 fallen from Gardiner: and if that had been 
 the last scene of his life, we must have acknow- 
 ledged the dignity of it's conclusion. In his ob- 
 jections also there was more than a shew of rea- 
 soning; and the promoters of reformation Had but 
 an indifferent ground for a defence. They an- 
 swered with the plainness and simplicity of honest 
 men (which was the best defence they could 
 make), that they were assured their amendments 
 were right on the whole; and that if some things 
 were objectionable, these too should be amended, 
 as soon as possible, 
 
92 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 council; and was intended 
 probably to remove Winchester from the parlia- 
 ment, 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. 
 
 SECTION XIV. 
 
 On the 4th of November 1547, about nine 
 months after Henry's death, a parliament was 
 assembled; and the leaders of ihe protestant cause 
 hoped to make it the instrument of still more es- 
 sential alterations, than any they had yet made. 
 Indeed, the bias of the nation leaned more to this 
 side. Such a change appeared in the opinions of 
 men, since the last parliament of Henry, that no 
 one could imagine the two assemblies were com- 
 posed of the same people. In every debate the 
 protestant took the lead; and drew over a majo- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 93 
 
 rity. In that age of novelty, when the genera! 
 principles of men were unfixed, it was an easv 
 matter to persuade those, who were incapable of 
 rational inquiry. The convocation, animated by 
 the archbishop, shewed the same spirit; and di- 
 gested business for the parliament. The act of 
 the six articles was repealed: communion in both 
 kinds was allowed: tradition was discredited: lent 
 was considered as a political institution: the li- 
 turgy 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 together, as the prin- 
 cipal acts of parliament, and of convocation, 
 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 at- 
 tempted 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 satisfied with making it an accurate, 
 and judicious performance, he endeavoured to 
 make it even elegant. Dr. Haddon was esteemed 
 at that time, the best latinist in England; and the 
 archbishop engaged him to revise the language of 
 his performance. Several of Had Jon's corrections 
 may yet be seen in the original manuscript ; which 
 is still extant in Bennet-colles/e in Cambridge. 
 
94 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Mulierum a pariu; is altered into Levdtarum 
 puerperarum: and cuicunq hoc prcerogativunt 
 est, into cuicunq hoe peculiar e jus tribuitur, quod 
 prccrogativnm voccmt. — 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 rot sufficiently prepared to 
 be brought forward, before that king's immature, 
 death. 
 
 The archbishop endeavoured also to confine the 
 office of confirmation, as much as he could to 
 adults. 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 pru- 
 dence, which marked all his proceedings. 
 
 His caution however did not pass wholly un- 
 censured. Many of his friends conceived, that he 
 might have taken hastier steps. The zeal of Cal- 
 vin in particular took offence. That reformer 
 wrote his sentiments very freely to the arch- 
 bishop; 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 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 95 
 
 useful labours ; and feared, that on his death, an 
 opportunity would be lost, which might never be 
 recovered. The archbishop answered his letter 
 with great kindness — reminded him of the many 
 difficulties he had still to oppose; and endeavoured 
 to convince him of the great imprudence of less 
 cautious measures. 
 
 While the primate was thus abolishing the es- 
 sentials of popery, it may be supposed, he did 
 not suffer it's pageantry to pass unobserved. 
 
 The frequency of processions was become a 
 great 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 needless ceremonies into the offices of 
 any religious establishment. The minds of the 
 people at the time we are now describing, fasci- 
 nated with pomp, and splendor, saw with less 
 reluctance the foundations of popery shaken, than 
 the ostentatious ceremonies abolished of carrying 
 palms on Palm-Sunday, or ashes on Ash-Wednes- 
 day. 
 
 Mr. Hume treating these alterations with levity, 
 attributes them to the morose humour of the re- 
 formers; and insinuates, that it is happy when 
 superstition, (which is generally with him another 
 word for religion ), takes this inoffensive turn. — 
 When Mr. Hume rears the standard -of infidelitv, 
 
96 THE LIFE Or 
 
 and boldly combats the truths of religion, he acts 
 openly, and honestly : but when he scatters his 
 careless insinuations, as he traverses the paths of 
 history, we characterize 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 colle- 
 giate, and chantry lands to the king's use. Had 
 It been intended to employ this grant in any use* 
 ful work, the archbishop would readily have given 
 his vote for it : 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 however to 
 see his opponents prevail. 
 
 While this bill was depending in the hotlse > 
 the two universities, which were clearly compre- 
 hended in the letter of it, became very apprehen- 
 sive; and made powerful intercession at court to 
 avert the danger. Whether the primate interested 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 97 
 
 himself in their favour on this occasion, does not 
 appear: it is rather probable that he did, as we 
 find him interesting himself for them on many 
 other occasions. 
 
 They were, at that time, little more than nur- 
 series of sloth, superstition, and ignorance; and not 
 many degrees raised above the monkish institu- 
 tions, 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 colleges, as to have little 
 influence in forming the general character of the 
 universities: and they who wished well to these 
 foundations, easily saw this corruption must ter- 
 minate in their ruin ; and desired to avert it. The 
 archbishop always thought himself much interested 
 in the welfare of both the universities, but of 
 Cambridge in particular; and though he does not 
 appear to have had any legal power there, yet such 
 was his interest at court, and such was the gene- 
 ral 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 endea- 
 vour to encourage, as much as possible, a spirit 
 of inquiry; and to rouse the students from the 
 slumber of their predecessors; well knowing, the 
 libcrtas philosophandi was the great mean of de- 
 tecting error, and that true learning could never 
 be at variance with true religion. Ascham, and 
 
 VOL. II, H 
 
98 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 candour; the truth of history 
 calls on us to acknowledge, that on one unhappy 
 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 
 business; but acted under a commission to inquire 
 into heretical opinions. 
 
 When the errors of the church of Rome were 
 scrutinized; private judgment, although the basis 
 of all liberal inquiry, gave birth, as might na- 
 turally be supposed, to a variety of strange en- 
 thusiastic opinions. Many of these were unques- 
 tionably absurd enough ; and some of them destruc- 
 tive of moral goodness: as that, the elect could not 
 sin — that although the outward man might trans- 
 gress, the inward man remained immaculate — 
 that the regenerate have a right to what they want ; 
 and some others equally detestable. — They were 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 99 
 
 ©pinions however of a less offensive nature, that 
 drew upon them the archbishop's severity. 
 
 Joan Bocher, and George Paris were accused, 
 though at different times, one for denying the 
 humanity of Christ; the other for denying his 
 divinity. They were both tried and condemned 
 to the stake : and the archbishop not only con- 
 sented to these acts of blood; but even persuaded 
 the aversion of the young king into a compli- 
 ance. " 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 ac- 
 count suffer to be opposed." 
 
 It is true, these doctrines, especially the latter, 
 in the opinion of the generality of christians, are 
 subversive of the fundamentals of Christianity. 
 To deny the divinity of Christ seems to oppose 
 the general idea which the scriptures hold out of 
 our redemption. On the other hand, many parti- 
 cular 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 call it heresy, when at- 
 tended with a good life, is certainly 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 de- 
 mand the secular arm, it must be such only, as 
 
 *2 
 
100 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lead to actions, which injure the peace of society. 
 We are surprized 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 
 defence of the archbishop on this occasion ; ex- 
 cept only that the spirit of popery was not yet 
 wholly repressed. 
 
 There are however, among protestant writers 
 at this day, some who have undertaken his vindi- 
 cation. But I spare their indiscretion. Let the 
 horrid act be universally disclaimed. To palliate. 
 is, to participate. With indignation let it be re- 
 corded, as what above all other things has dis- 
 graced that religious liberty, which our ancestors 
 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 
 protestantism, who were scattered in great num- 
 bers about the various countries of Europe, were 
 always sure of an asylum with him. His palace 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 
 
 101 
 
 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 foiuid 
 sanctuary. Martyr, Bucer, and Phage were li- 
 berally pensioned by the archbishop, till he could 
 otherwise provide for them, 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 length obtained professorships for them all. 
 Bucer and Phage, were settled at Cambridge ; 
 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 in- 
 troduce 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 learning, so far recommended him to the 
 university of Leipsic, to which he retired, that 
 he was chosen a professor there. At this place 
 he became acquainted with Melancthon, who 
 having written a treatise on some part of the 
 controversy between the papists, and protestants, 
 was desirous of consulting the archbishop on a 
 few points; and engaged Aless, otherwise not 
 averse to the employment, to undertake a voyage 
 
103 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 fa- 
 mily. 
 
 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 senti- 
 ments, by permitting a person, who held many 
 opinions very different 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 presided; exhibiting 
 an eminent example of piety, and decency of 
 manners. 
 
 Among other learned foreigners John Sleiden 
 was under particular obligations to the archbishop 1 ". 
 Sleiden 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 him a pension, and opportunities 
 of study, enabled him to prosecute with less diffi- 
 culty, than had attended the beginning of his la- 
 bours. 
 
 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, 
 Jhe archbishop soon took notice of him,, and 
 1 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 103 
 
 with his usual discernment, recommended him to 
 be the king's librarian. His genius threw him on 
 the study of antiquities ; and his opportunities, on 
 those of his own country : the archbishop, in the 
 mean time, by procuring 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 bi- 
 shop Latimer ; who not choosing to be reinstated 
 in his old bishoprick, and having made but an in- 
 different provision 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 arch- 
 bishop Warham ; than whom, to give popery 
 its due, few churchmen of those times led a more 
 apostolical life. When Cranmer succeeded War- 
 ham, Erasmus was in the decline of age. He 
 found, however, during the short time he lived, 
 as beneficent a friend under the new archbi- 
 shop, 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 
 person with a salary at Canterbury, whose chief 
 
104 THE LIFE OP 
 
 employment it was, to forward, and receive hw 
 packets. 
 
 Among the most eminent of his correspon- 
 dents was Herman, archbishop and elector of 
 Cologn. This prelate had been early impressed 
 with the principles of the reformation by Me- 
 lancthon ; and had used all his influence to intro- 
 duce them in his electorate. But he met with 
 powerful opposition ; the pope and emperor com- 
 bining against him, the former in his spiritual, 
 the latter in his temporal capacity. So potent a 
 combination crushed him. Terms indeed were 
 ofiered ; but he would hearken to no dishonour- 
 able compromise. " Nothing, he would say, can 
 " happen to me unexpectedly : I have long since 
 f fortified my mind against every event/' In- 
 stead 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 of a good con- 
 science. 
 
 SECTION XVI. 
 
 In the year 1549, the archbishop was engaged in 
 a controversy of a very singular kind, on the fol- 
 lowing occasion. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 105 
 
 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 con- 
 '.' sequences ; and in the beginnings of reforma- 
 " tion, 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 nation." 
 Thus, on the present occasion, the bad effects of a 
 new mode of culture were experienced, before its 
 advantages took place ; and the people expressing 
 dissatisfaction in all parts, in some flamed out into 
 acts of violence. Among other insurrections, one 
 in Devonshire was very formidable. The insur- 
 gents felt the effects of famine, but in an age 
 of ignorance they could not trace the cause. The 
 discontented priests, who swarmed about the coun- 
 try, presently assigned one. " The famine was a 
 " judgment for the abolition of the holy catholic 
 e( religion ; and till that was restored, the people 
 e: must not look either for seed-time, or harvest." 
 
 Such language changed riot into enthusiasm. 
 The banner of the cross was reared ; and the in- 
 surgent*, marking themselves with the five wounds 
 of Christ, called their march, the pilgrimage of 
 grace, 
 
106 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Their first attempt was on Exeter, which they 
 surrounded with their tumultuary forces. The 
 town was reduced to extremity; but still resisted; 
 encouraged 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 worship to be restored — the new liturgy to 
 be abolished- — t^e 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 pre- 
 judices continued. The archbishop therefore en- 
 gaged in the humane part of bringing them to 
 reason : hoping that their sufferings had, by this 
 time; abated the ardour of their zeal. 
 
 The articles of their petitions, relating to reli- 
 gion, which were fifteen in number, the archbishop 
 undertook to answer. The first rough draught of 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 107 
 
 this work, which is of considerable length, is still 
 extant in the library of Benet-college, in Cam- 
 bridge, and is published by Mr. Strype in his ap- 
 pendix to the life of archbishop Cranmer. It con- 
 tains a very extensive compass of learning ; and 
 Is written with great strength of argument : but its 
 principal recommendation is, its being so ad- 
 mirably adapted to the capacity of those, to whom 
 it was addressed. Nothing can shew more judg- 
 ment or knowledge of the manners of the lower 
 people. — I shall give the reader a few passages 
 from this very masterly work, as a specimen. 
 
 The rebel articles begin with the phrase, We 
 will have. 
 
 " In the first place, says the archbishop, I dis- 
 like your beginning. Is it the fashion of sub- 
 jects to say to their prince, We u ill have? Would 
 any of you, that be householders, be content that 
 your servants should come upon you with harness 
 on their backs, and swords in their hands, and say, 
 We will have ? 
 
 " But leaving your rude ,and unhandsome man- 
 ner of speech, I will come to the point. You say 
 you will have all the holy decrees to he observed. 
 But I dare say, very few, or none of you, under- 
 st?nd 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 
 
108 THE LIFE OT 
 
 decree sayth, That all the decrees of the bishop 
 of Rome ought to be kept as God' sword. Ano- 
 ther, that whosoever receiveth not the decrees of 
 the bishop of Rome, his sin shall never be for- 
 given. A third, that although the bishop of Rome 
 regard neither his own salvation, nor any man's 
 else, but puts down with himself, headlong in- 
 numerable people, by heaps, into hell ; yet may 
 no mortal man presume to reprove him there- 
 fore. I cannot think that you be so tfar from all 
 godliness, as to desire decrees, which be so blas- 
 phemous 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 well, you would 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 ar- 
 ticle. 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. Another is, that a priest may sue a 
 temporal man either before a temporal, or a 
 spiritual judge, at his pleasure. I cannot deny, 
 but these be good, and beneficial decrees for the 
 liberty of the clergy. But I suppose none of you 
 wili think it an indifferent decree; that a priest 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 105 
 
 <hall 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 before 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 
 asking 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 article in pieces : for by this article ye would 
 have all the ancient laws of the realm to cease, 
 and those decrees come in their room. Or other- 
 wise, 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 present here unto 
 ' you heinous traitors against your majesty, and 
 1 great deceivers of us, your true subjects. We 
 f have erred; and by ignorance have been se- 
 
 * duced 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 f I trust there be not in you so much malice. 
 
110 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and devilishness, as the article containeth: but 
 that you have been artfully suborned by wicked 
 papists to ask, you know not what. 
 
 " If 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 humble suitors to the king's ma- 
 jesty, 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, We '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 rea- 
 soning, which is adapted to the people. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMEK. HI 
 
 SECTION XVII. 
 
 The extensive correspondence abroad, in which 
 the archbishop was engaged, and the many ap- 
 plications, he received from all parts, put him, at 
 this time, (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 differ- 
 ences however 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 dissentions the papists took the ad- 
 vantage. " Let the protestants alone, (was the 
 " cry) they will soon quarrel with the same 
 sc acrimony among themselves, which they have 
 " already shewn towards us : and it will presently 
 " appear; that there can be no criterion of re- 
 " ligion ; 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 ear- 
 nestly wished therefore to remove this block of 
 offence ; and to give the cause he revered, that 
 
112 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 support, which next to truth, he thought union 
 alone could give it. How noble would be the 
 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, Bullenger, and Melancthon. To 
 these eminent reformers the archbishop applied 
 with much earnestness ; intreating them to join 
 their endeavours with his, in forwarding this great 
 scheme ; and proposed England as a place, where 
 they might hold their consultations with the most 
 convenience, and the most security. The 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 criterion, it will 
 shew itself of course in different creeds, in dif- 
 ferent 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, Melan- 
 cthon's answer might early have convinced him. 
 That reformer, 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 Ausburgh." — However li- 
 beral that confession might be, there was certainly 
 no liberality in the imposition of it. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 113 
 
 Calvin seems to have expected very little from 
 this business. He answers only in general terms. 
 He professes that he would cross ten seas with 
 chearfulness 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 impracti- 
 cability of it; but probably thought, with many 
 other learned men, that if the thing had even 
 been practicable, it was by no means adviseable: 
 as different sects would naturally be a check on 
 each other, and might preserve the church of 
 Christ from those impurities, which the despotism 
 of the Roman hierarchy had unquestionably intro- 
 duced ; and which another despotic hierarchy 
 might introduce again. 
 
 During the course of this projected union, a 
 question arose of great importance; and which 
 indeed threw many difficulties in the very vestibule 
 of it. The question was, whether, in drawing up 
 -a confession of faith, definite, or general terms, 
 should be adopted ? The primate, with his usual 
 candour, pleaded for the greatest latitude. " Let 
 " us leave the portal," said he, " as wide a<T we 
 " can; and exclude none, whom it is in our power 
 " to comprehend." He was opposed in this argu- 
 
 VOL. II. ' I 
 
114 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ment chiefly by Melancthon; who, though a mild 
 and gentle reformer on most occasions, wrote with 
 too much animosity on this; making up in zeal, 
 what he wanted in candour. 
 
 Here ended the projected union of the protestant 
 churches. The troublesome times, which after- 
 wards broke out in England, put an end to all 
 farther thoughts of the design; after the arch- 
 bishop had laboured 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 
 sectaries at home. 
 
 When 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 life and manners; overlooking questions of 
 difficulty in the general comfort derived from its 
 promises; and troubling nobody with their parti- 
 cular opinions. This is ever the golden age of 
 religion. But men soon begin to look higher. 
 The vulgar can read their bibles; and learn their 
 duty. The learned must do something more. 
 They must unravel knotty points: they must 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANTMER. H5 
 
 broach novel-doctrines; which the people must 
 be made to receive, as points of importance: 
 they must contradict, and oppose: they must shew 
 themselves, in short, to be able champions of re- 
 ligion; and fit to appear at the head of sectaries. 
 Much of this spirit had already gotten abroad in 
 England; and a variety of causes concurred in 
 stirring it up. Besides the different tenets, which 
 began to appear among the English protestants 
 themselves; disgusted papists artfully threw in 
 their subtleties, and distinctions; and a multi- 
 tude of religionists from Germany, Switzerland, 
 and Holland, led by their pastors, brought over 
 with them multifarious and contradictory creeds. 
 It was then as common for men to migrate for the 
 sake of religion, as it is now for the sake of trade. 
 In a word, all this mass, digesting together, be- 
 gan to ferment. 
 
 If sectaries (united in leading principles, and 
 differing only in a few indifferent forms, or spe- 
 culative 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 re- 
 ligion itself, which appears so variable an object, 
 
 i2 
 
116 THE LIFE OP 
 
 with less reverence. — Much of this intemperate 
 zeal had at this time possessed the teachers of re- 
 ligion ; and it became very evident, that practical 
 Christianity had lost ground; in proportion, as the 
 science of theology was more studied. 
 
 To provide for the peace of the church, in op- 
 position to this growing evil, the council appoint- 
 ed 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 restraint however on the 
 clergy seemed to be no breach of liberty. It 
 was only what every church might justly impose. 
 Nothing more therefore was intended on this oc- 
 casion, but to draw such a line, as would keep 
 pastors within the pale of their own congrega- 
 tions; or at least prevent their disturbing the es- 
 tablished church. 
 
 Among the various opinions, which distracted 
 men at this time, besides the tenets of popery, 
 which were yet far from being silenced, were 
 those concerning justification, faith, good works, 
 free' will, and predestination. 
 
 The doctrine of supererogation, and the scanda- 
 lous sale of indulgences, had brought good works 
 into such discredit, that many well disposed 
 teachers, with a view to oppose this evil the 
 more effectually, laid the chief stress on faith. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 117 
 
 The Antinomian pastors, refining on this, denied 
 the benefit of any works at all. This again gave 
 just offence to others; who to ricl themselves of 
 this mischief, ran into the other extreme; and 
 not content with shewing the necessity of good 
 works, they inculcated their meritorious, and suf- 
 ficient efficacy. 
 
 Again, on the topics of free will, and predes- 
 tination, the same variety of opinions distracted 
 the people. Some teachers left the will at perfect 
 liberty. Others thought it more scriptural to allow 
 it only free to sin; while good works, they con- 
 ceived, proceeded merely from the grace of God. 
 Others again, and in particular a . sect stiled the 
 Gospellers, would admit no qualifying at all in the 
 doctrine of predestination; but resolved all into 
 the absolute decrees of God. 
 
 Amidst this variety of doctrine, the archbishop 
 endeavoured to draw up such a set of articles, as 
 would best provide for the peace of the church. 
 It was a nice affair, and he thought it prudent on 
 this occasion, as he had clone before on a similar 
 one, to use such moderation, perhaps such well- 
 timed ambiguity, as might give as little offence 
 as possible. 
 
 Such was the origin of that celebrated test of 
 orthodoxv, which is now known by the name 
 of the 39 articles of the church of England. — 
 Those framed by the archbishop indeed consisted 
 pf 42: but in all succeeding settlements of the 
 
118 THF LIFE OF 
 
 church, what was now composed on this head, 
 was not only made the groundwork; but was, in 
 many parts, almost verbatim retained. 
 
 In this work it is not known that the archbishop 
 had any coadjutor. It is improbable however that 
 a man of his candour and modesty would engage 
 in a work of this kind without many consultations 
 with his friends: and it is commonly supposed, 
 that Ridley, bishop of London, was particularly 
 useful to him. Ridley was a man of exemplary 
 piety, and learning; and what was still more ne- 
 cessary in the present work, a man of sound judg^ 
 ment, and great moderation. 
 
 The chief objection, at this time of day, against 
 the articles, seems to be their treating at all of 
 matters of such mysterious import. Let us endea- 
 vour, to settle, as we please, the doctrines of fore- 
 knowledge, predestination, and other points, 
 equally abstruse; we shall find ourselves, at the 
 close of the argument, only where we began. As 
 these deep questions however were the chief 
 points debated at that time, the archbishop was 
 under a necessity of taking notice of them. At 
 this day it is less necessary; and therefore articles 
 accommodated to the present times, would proba- 
 bly be formed on a different plan. Few will think 
 the articles thus framed by archbishop Cranmer, 
 in the infancy of the church, are complete, and 
 perfect: though every candid person will see many 
 difficulties, that would follow an attempt to mak« 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 119 
 
 them more so. If such an attempt could be suc- 
 cessfully prosecuted, no doubt all good men would 
 rejoice in it. In the mean time, they will admire 
 the wisdom, and moderation of that person, who 
 framed them, as they are, in the midst of so much 
 prejudice, confusion, and contrariety of opinion. 
 
 One of the most offensive articles, to subscri- 
 bers in general, is the 1 7th on predestination and 
 election. But its title is its most offensive part. 
 It is certainly to be wished, that such doctrines 
 had been left untouched; as they seem to be mat- 
 ters only of private opinion. But whatever were 
 the archbishop's real sentiments on this subject, 
 he seems to have been very hesitating, and per- 
 haps intentionally ambiguous, in the imposition 
 of them on others. The severe doctrine of repro- 
 bation seems to be strongly disavowed under the 
 pointed terms of a most dangerous downfall, 
 leading to desperation, or unclean livi?ig. And 
 how it is possible to hold an absolute election, 
 without mixing with it the doctrine of reprobation, 
 is not easy to conceive. Yet still, as if the article, 
 in the matter of election, had gone too far, it con- 
 cludes with asserting, that we must receive God's 
 promises, in such wise as then be generally set 
 forth in holy scripture. So that, in fact, the arti- 
 cle, fairly analyzed, seems to assert nothing, after 
 all its circumlocution, but that the doctrine of re- 
 probation is very pernicious; and that as to God's 
 election, and promises, whatever may be said 
 
120 THE LIFE OF 
 
 about them., we must resolve all at last into a be- 
 lief of what is generally said in scripture. 
 
 But whatever imperfections the articles may 
 really have; they have been charged with many, 
 which they certainly have not. Of one very great 
 instance of disingenuity I cannot forbear taking 
 notice. It is contained in a celebrated writer on 
 English history, whose acrimony on all occasions, 
 in which religion is concerned, I have already 
 remarked. After throwing out many severe 
 things against the spirit of the reformers at this 
 time, and giving his reader an idea of the articles, 
 which archbishop Cranmer now composed. — 
 " Care," says he, " is taken to inculcate not 
 " only, that no heathen, however virtuous, can 
 " escape an endless state of the most exquisite 
 ee misery; but also, that any one who presumes 
 <e to maintain, that a pagan can possibly be saved, 
 *' is himself exposed to the penalty of eternal 
 (l perdition*." 
 
 The article alluded to in this passage, he tells 
 us, is the I8th. Now the truth of the matter is, 
 that this article has nothing at all to do with the 
 heathen world, either here, or hereafter. It does 
 not in any shape even hint at them. The early 
 reformers most probably supposed, as all charita- 
 ble christians do now, that the heathen world were 
 as much the objects of God's mere)', as christians 
 
 * Hume's hist, 4to. Vol. III. p. 33*. 1st. edition. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 121 
 
 themselves; and that Christ, who is called the 
 lamb slain, from the foundation cf the world, 
 died for their sins, as well as ours: The article 
 barely asserts, that no religion can promise sal- 
 vation to mankind, except the christian; which is 
 so far from damning pagans, that it virtually im- 
 plies, Christ died for them, as well as for us. 
 
 SECTION XIX. 
 
 Nor was this good prelate so intirely ingrossed 
 by his cares for the general welfare of the church, 
 as not to pay a close attention to the particular 
 affairs of his own province. He made himself 
 well acquainted with the characters of all the 
 clergy in his district His visitations were not 
 things of course; but strict scrutinies into the 
 state of ministers, and their parishes. In disposing 
 cf his benefices, he endeavoured, as much as he 
 could, to suit the pastor to his flock. After his 
 death was found, among his papers, a list of se- 
 veral towns thus indorsed: Memorandum ; these 
 towns to have learned ministers. In these places, 
 it is probable, he knew the people were more than 
 commonly addicted to popery: or that they had 
 gotten among them some popish priests of more 
 than ordinary subtlety, who had misled them. 
 
122 THE LIFE OF 
 
 He was very exact also in the residence of the 
 clergy; and granted dispensations with caution. 
 He had a strict eye also on their doctrine. To 
 some he recommended the homilies; and to others 
 proper topics for their discourses. 
 
 He himself also preached often, wherever he 
 visited. In his sermons to the people he was 
 very plain and instructive; insisting chiefly on 
 the essentials of Christianity. In his sermons at 
 court, or on public occasions, he would declaim, 
 with great freedom and spirit, against the reign- 
 ing vices of the times. His idea, however just, 
 seems to have been, that the lower orders wanted 
 principles more than practice ; and the higher, 
 practice more than principles. 
 
 Sir Richard Morrison, a gentleman who had 
 been much employed in embassies abroad, both 
 under Henry the eighth and Edward the sixth, 
 gives us this character of the archbishop's ser- 
 mons, of which he was a frequent auditor. 
 tc The subjects of his sermons, for the most part, 
 " were, from whence salvation is to be fetched ; 
 " and on whom the confidence of man ought to 
 " lean. They insisted much on doctrines of faith; 
 " and works; and taught what the fruits of faith 
 " were; and what place was to be given to works. 
 " They instructed men in the duties they owed 
 " their neighbour; and that every one was our 
 " neighbour, to whom we might any way do good. 
 
 3 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 123 
 
 f They declared, what men ought to think of 
 " themselves, after they had done all; and lastly, 
 " what promises Christ hath made ; and who they 
 " are, to whom he will make them good. Thus 
 te he brought in the true preaching of the gospel, 
 " altogether different from the ordinary way of 
 " preaching in those days, which was to treat 
 " concerning saints — to tell legendary tales of 
 " them— and to report miracles wrought for the 
 u confirmation of transubstantiation and other 
 " popish corruptions. And such a heat of con- 
 M viction accompanied his sermons, that the peo- 
 " pie departed from them with minds possest of a 
 " great hatred of vice; and burning with a desire 
 " of virtue." 
 
 Bishop Burnet also, who had seen the greatest 
 part of a sermon, which the archbishop had 
 preached at court, on a fast day, in the year 
 1549, tells us, that " it is a very plain, impartial 
 <f discourse; without any shew of learning, or 
 " conceits of wit. He severely expostulates, in 
 " the name of God, with his hearers for their il! 
 (C lives, their blasphemies, adulteries, mutual ha- 
 " tred, oppression, and contempt of the gospel; 
 " and complains of the slackness of government 
 <( in punishing these sins; by which it became, 
 " in some sort, guilty of them." — From this ac- 
 count of the archbishop's preaching, it seems, that 
 whatever speculative opinions he might hold, no 
 
m 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 man could have a juster idea of the great truths of 
 the gospel; nor of those topics, on which its mi- 
 
 nisters ought chiefly to insist. 
 
 Nor did his own diocese alone ingross his care. 
 His advice was generally taken in filling up vacant 
 sees in his province. He lived, of course, harmo- 
 niously with all his bishops; and was seconded by 
 them in all his schemes of reformation. He re- 
 commended nothing more seriouslv to them, 
 than to examine candidates for holy orders with 
 the greatest care; and to follow the apostle's ad- 
 vice in laying hands suddenly on no man. 
 
 It was common at that time, when any see be- 
 came vacant, for every courtier to be on the 
 watch to procure some rich grant out of its tem- 
 poralities. The archbishop was as watchful on the 
 other side ; and when any scheme of this kind was 
 on foot, he was generally successful in traversing 
 it. 
 
 He was commonly consulted also in the choice 
 of Irish bishops. We have many of his recom- 
 mendations still extant. " The foremost, (says 
 te he, on an occasion of this kind,) of those, I 
 " propose, is Mr. Whitebread of Hadley, whom I 
 " take, for his good knowledge, special honesty, 
 " fervent zeal, and polite wisdom, to be most 
 " mete. Next to him Mr. Richard Turner, who 
 " besides that he is witty, and merry withal; ( qua- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRAMMER. 125 
 
 ** lities not unbecoming the gravity of a clergy- 
 " man, if they be discretely used) has nothing 
 " more at heart than Jesus Christ, and his religion; 
 " and in lively preaching of the word declareth 
 " such diligence, faithfulness, and wisdom, as 
 rc for the same deserveth much commendation. 
 " There is also one Mr. Whitacre, a man both 
 " wise, and well learned, chaplain to the bishop 
 " of Winchester, very mete for that office; if he 
 " might be persuaded to take it upon him." 
 
 Nor did the good primate confine his cares even 
 to those of his own country : he extended them 
 to the reformers of all nations, French, Dutch, 
 Italians, and Spaniards, who had fled to England 
 on account of religion. To him they all applied 
 for that assistance, which he readily afforded. — 
 He was at great pains in forming them into diffe- 
 rent societies ; and in procuring churches and lit- 
 tle establishments for them; in which, without 
 any restraint, they chose their own pastors, and 
 united in their own mode of worship. 
 
 This kindness was afterwards remembered: and 
 when England became a persecuted country, con- 
 tributed not a little to procure for its refugees, in 
 many places, that generous treatment, which it 
 had once afforded. 
 
\ 
 
 125 THE LIFE OF 
 
 SECTION XX. 
 
 After a successful administration, the protector 
 Somerset, unhappily assuming too much conse- 
 quence, exposed himself to an envious party, 
 which had long been collecting against him. It 
 was formed under the machinations of the Earl of 
 Warwick, afterwards duke of Northumberland; a 
 man totally unprincipled; guided only by his am- 
 bition ; and equally versed in the arts of attaching 
 a party, and supplanting a rival. All the pro- 
 tector's friends, one after another, he drew from 
 him by specious pretences; and when he made 
 his first grand movement in the secession to Ely- 
 house, he had the pleasure to look round the as- 
 sembly, and see, that scarce one man of conse- 
 quence was absent, except the archbishop of Can- 
 terbury. 
 
 Him no arts of seduction could allure. He 
 knew Northumberland's bad designs; and Somer- 
 set's honest meanings. Each had ambition: but 
 while that of Somerset was gratified with a few 
 trivial trappings, Northumberland's dark schemes 
 threatened ruin to the empire. 
 
 Nor was the primate merely neutral in this 
 affair. He wrote to the seditious chiefs at Ely- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CSAKMER. 127 
 
 house with such a spirit, as shook their resolu- 
 tions,* and would have broken the confederacy, 
 had it been headed by a less daring leader, than 
 the duke of Northumberland. It appears from the 
 primate's letter, that he was more intimately ac- 
 quainted with those secret springs, which govern- 
 ed their motions, than they could have wished, or 
 supposed. 
 
 But although the primate's remonstrance pro- 
 bably checked Northumberland's designs, as his 
 first manoeuvres seem evidently marked with irre- 
 solution ; yet he gave way only to attack with 
 greater vigour: and, in the end, Somerset, though 
 allied to the crown, shrouded by the affection of 
 his prince, the favour of the people, and his own 
 innocence, was unable to grapple with the perni- 
 cious arts of this subtle rival; and was brought to 
 the scaffold for the foibles, and inaccuracies of his 
 life, which were magnified into crimes. 
 
 After the duke of Somerset's death, the arch- 
 bishop had no weight in public affairs. North- 
 umberland was as little the patron of religion, as 
 he had hitherto been of public peace ; and though 
 he found it convenient to make protestantism his 
 profession; yet all men knew, that, neither it, 
 nor any species of religion, had possession of his 
 heart. 
 
12S THE LIFE O? 
 
 The archbishop and he were never on terms. 
 Often would Cecil say, " Your grace must tem- 
 " porize with this man, or we shall do nothing." 
 As often would the primate answer, " He would 
 tc endeavour to do his utmost." But the integrity 
 of his heart generally faltered in the attempt. 
 
 It was a difficult matter indeed, to keep terms 
 with Northumberland. The archbishop had every 
 reason to think him as much his own private enemy, 
 as the enemy of the public. The ears of the 
 young king were continually beset with the duke's 
 insinuations: and though Edward was not forward 
 in listening to any stories against the primate; 
 yet enough was said to weaken all the counsels, 
 and defeat all the plans, which he proposed. 
 
 Among the many mortifications, which he met 
 with from Northumberland, it went nearest his 
 heart to see the little care, that was taken in filling 
 vacant sees, and other great benefices of the 
 church. His own recommendations of proper 
 persons had little weight; and he was grieved to 
 find all those low interests prevailing, which would 
 of course introduce great indifference among the 
 ministers of religion, It was the constant endea- 
 vour of Northumberland to keep the king, as 
 little as possible acquainted with business of every 
 kind; and as much out of the way of those, who 
 were likely to give him information. Among all 
 the old ministers, none but Cecil had access to 
 the cabinet — Cecil, whose courtly arts carried him 
 1 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 129 
 
 to the very limits of sincerity — perhaps rather be- 
 yond them. With him the archbishop intrusted 
 a list of such persons, as he thought most proper 
 to succeed to any vacancy ; and the wary minister, 
 by observing opportunities, obtained preferment 
 for many of them. 
 
 The last affair of a public nature, in which the 
 archbishop was engaged, during this short reign, 
 was the exclusion of the princess Mary, in favour 
 of Lady Jane Grey. Friend as he was to the refor- 
 mation, he opposed this violent measure with all his 
 might; and pleaded the oath he had taken in favour 
 of the princess. The whole power of Northumber- 
 land had no weight with him. The king himself 
 who had been wrought into a thorough conviction 
 of the utility of excluding his sister, assailed him 
 with every argument, that tenderness, and affec- 
 tion could suggest. The primate's constancy at 
 length gave way ; and he consented to hear the 
 matter explained by the nidges of the realm. The 
 judges of the realm with great learning shewed 
 him, that his late oath could not lawfully bind 
 him. The archbishop modestly professed his ig- 
 norance of law ; and took a new one : while the 
 friends of his memory wish they had any veil to 
 throw over his conduct in this discreditable affair; 
 which became afterwards indeed a source of the 
 deepest affliction to himself. 
 
 VOL. II. k 
 
130 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Northumberland's great plan was now matured. 
 The king, who had thus far been an instrument, 
 became, from this time, an incumbrance; and was 
 laid aside with as little ceremony, as if he had 
 been an actor in a drama. Thus at least run the 
 suspicions of history. 
 
 The king's death was a very sincere affliction to 
 the archbishop, not only as a public calamity; but 
 as a private loss. The archbishop was his god- 
 father, and loved him with a parent's affection; 
 and though his high station would not allow him 
 to take any part in the prince's education, yet 
 Ciieke, and all his other tutors, thought themselves 
 in some degree accountable to the archbishop; 
 and used to acquaint him with the progress of 
 their royal pupil. We have a letter from Dr. Cox 
 still preserved; in which he tells the archbishop, 
 in the language of the times, " that the prince 
 " discovered great towardness, and all honest 
 " qualities : that he should be taken as a singular 
 (i gift of God: that he read Cato, Vives, and 
 <( Esop; and that he conned very pleasantly." 
 
 Erasmus's character of him is rather curious. 
 Erasmus seems to have known little more, than 
 that he was a very modest boy. But as he wa3 a 
 king likewise, the panegyrist thought it proper to 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 131 
 
 cloath his sentiment (for he had but one) in 
 great pomp, and variety of expression. " Senex, 
 :c juvenis convictu, factus sum melior, ac sobrie- 
 " tatem, temperantiam, verecundiam, linguae mo- 
 <{ derationem, modestiam, puclicitiam, integrita- 
 rc tern, quam juvenis a sene discere debuerat, a 
 " juvene senex didici." 
 
 SECTION XXI. 
 
 After the death of Edward, which happened in 
 the summer of the year 1553, we find the arch- 
 bishop engaged in all the irresolute measures, suc- 
 ceeding that period, till the settlement of Mary, 
 With the commencement of her reign his troubles 
 began. 
 
 When he observed the turn, which affairs were 
 likely to take, one of the first things he did, was to 
 order his steward to pay every farthing that he owed; 
 saying, " In a short time perhaps we may not be 
 t( able." When the accounts and receipts were 
 brought to him, M I thank God, said he, I am now 
 " mine own man ; and with God's help am able 
 " to answer all the world, and all worldly adver- 
 " skies." 
 
 k 3 
 
1SE THE LIFE OF 
 
 He was first assaulted, as is usual, by calumny, 
 and invective. A thousand stories were propa- 
 gated; which were founded commonly on 9ome 
 little known circumstance, or occurrence ; and 
 half the story being true, gave a degree of credit 
 to the other half, which was false. Many of these 
 reports he suffered to die away unnoticed; leav- 
 ing his life and actions to confute them. But one, 
 which concerned the interests of religion, he 
 thought it proper to obviate in a public manner. 
 The affair was this. 
 
 Mass, it seems, had been said in the cathedral 
 church of Canterbury by some zealous priest, im- 
 mediately on the change of government; and the 
 report ran, that it had been done by the archbi- 
 shop's order: as indeed, before any thing was le- 
 gally altered, it could not well be supposed other- 
 wise. Many people believed it, who were much 
 hurt with it; and the primate was surprized to find, 
 with what malicious expedition a story, so wholly 
 opposite to the character he had ever maintained, 
 could circulate not only among his enemies, but 
 among his friends. 
 
 He determined therefore to stop it; and im- 
 mediately drew up, and published, a declaration, 
 in which he expressed his abhorrence of the mass 
 as a species of idolatry — and professed his intire 
 approbation of all the changes, that had been made 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 133 
 
 in the last reign. This paper was considered, by 
 the advocates for reformation, as an instance of 
 true christian fortitude, well becoming the first 
 protestant ecclesiastic. By worldly men, it was 
 looked on as a piece of indiscrete, and intempe- 
 rate zeal*. 
 
 It was however more than the temper of the 
 government could bear. The archbishop was 
 called before the Star-chamber, severely ques- 
 tioned, and thrown into the Tower. The objected 
 crime was treason : but his late bold declaration 
 had, at least, precipitated the measure. The par- 
 liament made no difficulty in attainting him: and 
 indeed his compliance in the affair of Lady Jane 
 was a very justifiable foundation for an attainder. 
 
 This was a measure, which was little expected 
 by the archbishop; and touched him nearer than 
 any thing could have done. If he had suffered 
 for his doctrines, he might have had the comfort 
 of a good conscience; but to suffer as an evil- 
 doer, was a mortification he could not bear. 
 
 It was true, indeed, that the queen had pardoned 
 many, who were more concerned in the late set- 
 tlement of the crown in favour of Lady Jane, than 
 he had been. Few indeed, who were at all obr 
 noxious, could be less so: and his services to 
 
 • " It was by his own indiscrete zeal, that he brought 
 " on himself the first violence, and persecution." 
 
 Hume's reign of Mary. Chap. I. 
 
134 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Mary, in the time of her father, which were fre- 
 quent, and disinterested, deserved surely a grate- 
 ful remembrance. But his remonstrances, though 
 couched in the humblest, and most penitent lan- 
 guage, had for some time, no effect. At length 
 however he obtained his pardon; most probably 
 because it was more agreeable to the genius of the 
 government, that he should suffer for heresy, than 
 for treason. On the former pretence, he was still 
 confined. 
 
 He might however have avoided question either 
 on one account, or the other; if he could have 
 prevailed with himself to leave the kingdom ; as 
 many church-men had done. Even after his im- 
 prisonment, he might probably have found the 
 means of an escape. Some indeed- imagined, it 
 was what his greatest enemies desired, as the 
 easiest means of getting the disposal of the see of 
 Canterbury. But from the beginning, he never 
 would think of flight; and all the persuasions and 
 tears of his friends were ineffectual. " Had I 
 " been in any other station, (he would say) ex- 
 " cept this, in which Providence hath placed me, 
 " I should certainly have fled. I approve the 
 " flight of others. If we are persecuted in one 
 " city, we are authorized to fly to another. But 
 " I am the only person in the kingdom, who can- 
 ee not do it with decency. I have had the princi- 
 P pal hand in all the changes of the last reign. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 135 
 
 "' and I cannot, without great impropriety, avoid 
 " appearing in their defence." 
 
 The gloomy temper of the government, in the 
 mean while, became wholly apparent. So much 
 violence attended every proceeding, in which reli- 
 gion was concerned, that it was easy to foresee, no 
 measures either of charily, or of decency, would 
 be observed. The queen delighted in being 
 called a virgin sent from heaven to revenge the 
 cause of God. Under such a title nothing but 
 bigotry, superstition, and all their dire effects, 
 could be expected. 
 
 How well Gardiner, who was her chief minister, 
 was qualified to correct the sternness of her tem- 
 per, may be conceived from an anecdote, still 
 preserved among the gross improprieties of those 
 times. His almoner going one day to the Fleet- 
 prison, then full of protestants, with a basket of 
 bread from the bishop, forbad the keeper, at his 
 peril, to give one morsel of it to any of the 
 heretics : If you do, added he, w my lord will 
 certainly do you some shrewd turn." 
 
 Rigorous however as Marv was in the affairs of 
 religion, in state matters she was lenient enough. 
 No blood was shed, but of those whose offences 
 placed them clearly beyond mercy. 
 
 The duke of Northumberland was the first vie- 
 
136 THE LIFE CrF 
 
 tim ; than whom no man ever suffered more un* 
 lamented. 
 
 The archbishop had the satisfaction to hear that 
 his friend Sir Thomas Palmer, died in the pro- 
 testant faith; though he had been persuaded, 
 with other state-prisoners, to hear mass. 
 
 Palmer was one of the best bred men of the age, 
 in which he lived. To his accomplishments, both 
 natural and acquired, he had added the advantages 
 of foreign travel; which was rare in those days. His 
 youth had been spent with too much licence; ancj 
 he had been greatly misled by the insidious arts 
 of Northumberland: but in other respects he was 
 well esteemed; and in his latter life especially 
 seems to have added the virtues of a christian to 
 the accomplishments of a gentleman. " I have 
 *' learned more (said he, as he stood on the 
 <c scaffold) in a dark corner of the Tower, than 
 " in travelling round Europe." Then walking 
 up to the ax, stained with the blood of Northum- 
 berland, who had just suffered, *« I thank Godj 
 C( (said he) I am not afraid to die." 
 
 SECTION XXII. 
 
 While this scene of blood was acting, the arch- 
 bishop continued in the Tower,' still unmolested. 
 
ABCHBISHOP CRANMER. 137 
 
 The lenity of the government towards him, was 
 matter of general surprize; as the public com- 
 monly supposed he would have been the first vic- 
 tim. But many things remained yet to te ad- 
 justed. The great point however was to give a 
 triumph to'popery in a public disputation. 
 
 In the year 1553,, a convocation met at St. 
 Paul's, by the queen's order, to settle the doc- 
 trine of the real presence by a fair, and candid 
 disquisition. Weston, dean of Westminster, was 
 chosen prolocutor. A few articles were proposed 
 for subscription: and the disputation was ad- 
 journed to Oxford; where it was intended, that 
 the three bishops, Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, 
 should enter the lists with a select body of popish 
 disputants. 
 
 These fellow-sufferers were all at that time, 
 confined together in a small apartment in the 
 Tower. Their straitened accommodations how- 
 ever were amply made up to them by the comfort 
 of each other's company. They carried their 
 bibles with them; and on these they employed 
 their prison hours; fortifying their faith, and ex- 
 tracting topics of consolation. These are the 
 scenes, in which we are to look for the triumphs 
 of religion. Where its great principles are firmly- 
 rooted in the heart, human joys, and human griefs, 
 and human fears, are trivial things. 
 
US TKE LIFE OF 
 
 The convocation had been adjourned to the 
 end of the year 1553: but the several members 
 of it did not meet at Oxford, till the following 
 April. There also, at the same time, the three 
 bishops were carried by the lord Williams of 
 Thame. 
 
 From their treatment, on this occasion, it was 
 easy to foresee, what measures, they were likely 
 to expect. They had hitherto been confined, it 
 is true, in a very narrow compass; but as the 
 Tower was then crouded with prisoners, better 
 accommodations could not well be allowed. In 
 other respects however they had received marks 
 of attention. What they wanted, had been rea- 
 dily furnished; and their own servants were suf- 
 fered to attend them. 
 
 But as soon as this new measure took place, 
 they experienced a different treatment. The lit- 
 tle baggage they had, was stopped: their servants 
 were discharged: they were conducted to Oxford 
 with ignominy; and were thrown into the com- 
 mon jail. 
 
 The time appointed for the grand disputation 
 at length arrived. Delegates from both universi- 
 ties joined the members of convocation; and the 
 whole body, to the number of thirty-three, as- 
 
 i 
 
ARCHBISHOP CSANMER. 139 
 
 sembled at St. Mary's church. There being dress- 
 ed in their academical robes,, they seated them- 
 selves in great state, around the high altar, and 
 the archbishop was sent for. He was brought into 
 the charch by the mayor, and bailiffs, under the 
 guard of a company of billmen. They who had 
 known him in his better days, saw him now 
 greatly changed. Instead of that glow of health 
 upon his cheek; that brisk, and active step, which 
 shewed the vigour of his constitution; he was 
 now become, through ill-usage, and confinement, 
 a pale, infeebled old man. Clad in a plain habit, 
 with a staff in his hand; he came forward, through 
 an opening in the croud, paying the prolocu- 
 tor, and ,his assessors, great respect. They of- 
 fered him a seat : but he declined it. 
 
 The prolocutor then addressed him, on the 
 happiness of religious unity ; and told him, the 
 intention of the present meeting was to draw him 
 if possible, again to the church. " These articles, 
 " (said he, holding out a paper), were agreed 
 '■ on by convocation, which, we hope, you will 
 <s have no objection to subscribe." 
 
 The archbishop, receiving the paper, joined 
 the prolocutor in a most ardent wish for chris- 
 tian unity; when it could be obtained, he said, 
 with a good conscience. 
 
 Having read the articles, which contained the 
 doctrine of the real presence, drawn up, accord- 
 jog to the determination of the church of Rome; 
 
140 THE LIFE OF ' 
 
 he shook his head, and said, he feared that paper 
 would not afford a sufficient foundation for the 
 religious unity, which all so much desired. He 
 offered however, if the paper were left in his 
 hands, to give a fuller answer to it by the next 
 morning. This was permitted. At the same 
 time, it was agreed, that each point of difference 
 should afterwards be the subject of a regular dis-* 
 putation. 
 
 On the next day, which was Sunday, the arch- 
 bishop declared in writing, his sense of the arti- 
 cles; and the Monday following was appointed to 
 discuss the questions, on which the two parties 
 differed. 
 
 I mean not however here to enter into a detail 
 of this disputation ; which was carried into great 
 length; and at this day would be tedious, unin- 
 teresting, and uninstructive. Neither archbishop 
 Cranmer, nor bishop Ridley, I think, acted with 
 so much propriety on this occasion, as bishop La- 
 timer. The papists, it seems, pushed them with 
 the authority of the fathers; some of whom talk of 
 the sacrament of the Lord's supper in a language, 
 to speak slightly of it, uncommonly figurative. 
 Cranmer and Ridley not caring to deny so res- 
 pectable an authority, seem to have been at a loss 
 how to evade it: while Latimer with more chris- 
 tian simplicity, rid himself of the difficulty at once; 
 4 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 141 
 
 " I lay no stress on the fathers, (said he), ex- 
 " cept when they lay a stress on scripture." 
 
 At the close of the disputation the archbishop 
 complained greatly of the shortness of the time 
 allowed for discussing a subject of such import- 
 ance: and wished also, that he might be allowed 
 to oppose, as well as to answer; which was abso- 
 lutely necessary, he said, in a fair discussion of a 
 question. But he was not heard on either of these 
 points: from which, he observed, it evidently ap- 
 peared, that nothing less was intended, than a fair 
 investigation of truth, 
 
 But in whatever light the arguments of these 
 protestant bishops may appear at this day, their 
 christian fortitude will ever be admired. In their 
 own times it was thought matter of great rejoicing, 
 and christian triumph. Soon after the disputation 
 was over, the three bishops received the following 
 spirited letter from Dr. Taylor, in the name of all 
 their suffering brethren. 
 
 " Right reverend fathers in the Lord, I wish 
 " you to enjoy continually God's grace and peace 
 " through Jesus Christ. And God be praised for 
 " this your most excellent promotion, which ye 
 " are called unto at present; that is, that ye arc 
 " counted worthy to be allowed among the num- 
 " ber of Christ's records, and witnesses. Eng 
 " land hath had but a very few learned bishop? 
 
142 THE LIFE OF 
 
 fC that would stick to Christ ad ignem. Ondfe 
 " again I thank God heartily in Christ for your 
 " most happy onset, most valiant proceeding, 
 l( most constant suffering of all such infamies, 
 <f hissings, clappings, taunts, open rebukes, loss 
 " of living, and liberty, for the defence of God's 
 " cause, truth, and glory. I cannot utter with 
 " pen how I rejoice in my heart for you three 
 " such captains in the foreward, under Christ's 
 " cross, in such a skirmish when not only one or 
 " two of our dear Redeemer's strong holds are 
 " besieged; but all his chief castles, ordained for 
 <e our safeguard, are traitorously impugned. This 
 " your enterprize, irf the sight of all that be in 
 " heaven; and of all God's people on earth, is 
 " most pleasant to beheld. This is another sort 
 K of nobility, than to be in the forefront in 
 <c worldly warfares. For God's sake pray for us, 
 " for we fail not daily to pray for you. We are 
 " stronger, and stronger in the Lord; His name 
 " be praised .! And we doubt not, but ye be so 
 " in Christ's own sweet school. Heaven is all; 
 " and wholly of our side. Therefore gaudete in 
 tc Domino semper; & iterum gaudete, & ex- 
 " ultate. 
 
 11 Your assured in Christ, 
 
 « Rowland Taylor." 
 On the 26th of April 1554, the archbishop was 
 condemned. Prom that time, a more rigorous 
 treatment, than he had yet experienced, took 
 
' ARCHBISHOP CHANMER. 1 $3 
 
 place. It is said, he was scarce allowed the ne- 
 cessaries of life; though it is probable such ac- 
 counts may be exaggerated. His wants however 
 could not be well answered, if we may judge from 
 an anecdote still preserved ; which informs us that 
 he received with great thankfulness, a small supply 
 of linen, sent him privately by a friend in Lon- 
 don. 
 
 On the 11th of November following, a new 
 parliament met; which the protestants of those 
 times supposed, was made pliant by Spanish gold. 
 But there is no occasion for the surmise; parlia- 
 ments in those days had little idea of opposing the 
 inclinations of the court. 
 
 By this parliament the pope's legate was in- 
 vited into England: and on his arrival, the nation 
 was reconciled in form to the holy see; the legate 
 absolving all the perjuries, schisms, and heresies, 
 of which the parliament, and the convocation had 
 been guilty. 
 
 After this, religious affairs were modelled. The 
 latin service was restored ; the use of the scrip- 
 tures abrogated ; and popish priests appeared in 
 public with that consequence, which the govern- 
 ment allowed. Bishop Ridley, characterizing the 
 times, says Papismus apudnos ubiq; inpleno suo 
 antique robore regnat. 
 
 Among other instances of popish zeal, the arch- 
 bishop was informed, that his book on the sacra- 
 ment had been publicly burnt, " Ah ! (said he,) 
 
144 THE LIFE Of 
 
 " they have honoured it more than it deserved : t 
 * f hear they burnt it with the new testament." 
 And indeed this was the fact: for they burnt a 1 ! 
 the same time, the late translation of the testa- 
 ment; on the pretence that it was spurious. 
 
 The convocation in the mean time petitioned 
 for a revival of the sanguinary laws. They had 
 already been anticipated; and several protestants 
 had been put to death, without any colour of 
 justice ; and when a member of the convocation, 
 with more candour than his brethren, observed, 
 that the proceedings against these people could 
 riot be justified, " Why then," said the prolo- 
 cutor tauntingly, ,c let their friends sue for re- 
 " dress." — This parliament however put things 
 on a different establishment; and the favourers 
 of persecution were now allowed legally to fol-* 
 low their inclinations. 
 
 SECTION XXIII. 
 
 While the protestant sufferers were lingering 
 in various prisons, a very unseasonable dispute 
 got footing among some of the warmest of them, 
 on the arduous subject of free-will, and predes- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 145 
 
 tination. It was carried on with such animosity, 
 that confessions were drawn up on both sides; 
 and signed by numbers, who were at that time 
 even under sentence of death. Each party cla- 
 moured loud, that their antagonists were likely to 
 do more harm in the christian world, than the 
 papists themselves; in as much as their opinions 
 were as bad, and their example much better. 
 Nay to such a height of phrenzy did their con- 
 tentions run, that the keeper of the Mar»halsea 
 was often obliged to separate them. 
 
 During the course of this ill-timed controversy, 
 the archbishop was applied to, for his countenance, 
 by the predestinarians, to whose tenets he was 
 thought most inclined. But the prudent primate 
 discountenanced both parties, as much as he 
 could; considering, no doubt, such controversies 
 to be especially ill-judged among dying men. 
 
 Nor were the endeavours of others wanting to 
 calm the rage of this offensive zeal. Many of 
 their more moderate brethren endeavoured to set 
 before them the impropriety of their behaviour: 
 .and one of them put the matter in a very strong 
 light: " There should be no more bitterness, (said 
 " he,) in a christian controversy, than in a love 
 " letter." Philpot, afterwards an eminent mar- 
 tyr, wrote a very pathetic dissuasive, to them on 
 this subject; exhorting them " to meet each other 
 " with the kiss of charity — to reach out chearfully 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
146 THE LIFE 0* 
 
 m the hand of peace — to take up their cross toge- 
 " ther, and ascend mount Calvary with hearts full 
 " of benevolence." 
 
 I give a detail of this strange dispute, both as 
 a curious anecdote of human nature, and as a very 
 instructive lesson. If a speculative opinion could 
 fasten with so much violence, and produce so 
 much animosity, in the minds of pious men, suf- 
 fering together in one common cause, and even 
 in the article, as it were, of death — how cautious 
 ought they to be on polemical subjects, who have 
 perhaps less piety, who live at their ease, and are 
 not tied by any of these strong obligations to for- 
 bearance. 
 
 While the English protestants were thus suffer- 
 ing at home, such of them as had the good for- 
 tune to escape abroad, enjoyed more repose. — 
 Among the Lutherans indeed they met with some 
 unkind treatment. Their liberal tenets, with re- 
 gard to the Lord's supper, were very disgusting to 
 those reformers, who still maintained the doctrine 
 of transubstantiation. The leaders however of the 
 Lutheran churches, particularly Melancthon, who 
 was a man of candour and moderation, brought 
 their hearers to a better temper; and instructed 
 the populace at Wesel, and Francford, where this 
 inhospitable disposition chiefly appeared, that 
 although the English exiles might differ from them 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 147 
 
 in a few points; they were however embarked 
 with them in the same common cause of religious 
 liberty; and ought certainly to be treated as 
 brethren. 
 
 At Basil, John Fox designed, and almost finished 
 his Acts and monuments of the church. The 
 industry of this man is astonishing. He was prin- 
 cipal corrector to one of the greatest printing 
 houses in Europe; that of Operin at Basil. But 
 notwithstanding his daily employment/ he found 
 leisure to carry on this vast work: and what is 
 still more, though he was not able to keep a ser- 
 vant to do his menial offices, the whole was 
 transcribed with his own hand. From a work of 
 this kind, we are not led to expect any elegance: 
 yet they who have examined this writer with most 
 accuracy, have acknowledged, that although his 
 zeal may have led him into some exaggerated ac-» 
 counts, where he relies only on hearsay; yet in 
 all matters, where he appeals to authority, or re- 
 cord, he may be fully depended on. 
 
 At Strasburgh, bishop Jewel laid the plan of his 
 excellent Apology for the church of England; 
 though he did not finish it till happier times — a 
 work, in which its many admirers found it hard 
 to say, whether candour, and humanity; or sense, 
 learning, and a well-tempered zeal for religion, 
 were more conspicuous. 
 
 Here too William Turner, physician to the pro- 
 tector Somerset, published a work, intitled A dis- 
 
 i2 
 
148 THE LIFE OP 
 
 pensatory of spiritual physic. It was levelled 
 against the papists; and was written with a sarcas- 
 tic vein of humour. Such sallies of wit and ridi- 
 cule, though rather below the dignity of suffering 
 religion, served however to divert the universal 
 melancholy, which reigned at that time. Turner 
 published also another work of the same kind, 
 which he called, The hunting of the Romish fox. 
 The celebrated Scotch reformer, John Knox, 
 published also, at this time, an exhortation to the 
 people of England, suited to their calamitous state. 
 It abounds more with enthusiasm, than manly 
 sense. Knox had thus early put in his preten- 
 sions to a prophetic spirit, which flowed after- 
 wards in more plentiful effusions from him. 
 
 SECTION XXIV. 
 
 A full year had now elapsed, since the arch- 
 bishop's disputation at Oxford, and condemna- 
 'tion for heresy. During this interval the Spirit 
 of persecution, with a fiery sword in one hand, 
 and a cross in the other, was let loose in all 
 its terrors. The progress however of this vio- 
 lent reign marks only the Almighty's ordinary 
 mode of providence. When the christian religion 
 was first preached, the malice of its enemies im- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 149 
 
 mediately arose, as if to try, and prove it; and 
 seal its truth by the blood of its martyrs. And 
 now when religion was restored, after so long 
 an age of darkness, the providence of God seemed 
 to direct in the same manner that it should be 
 purified and proved by persecution. 
 
 Among the numbers, at this time, who died for 
 their religion, were the bishops of London and 
 Worce^r; who were delivered over to the secular 
 arm under a commission from Pole the cardinal- 
 legate. 
 
 As they were carried to the stake, they passed 
 under the window of the prison, in which the arch- 
 bishop was confined; and looked up for a parting 
 view. The archbishop was engaged at that time, 
 in a conference with a Spanish friar; but hearing 
 a tumult in the street, he came to the window. 
 They were not yet out of sight. He just lifted up 
 his eyes and hands, and sent after the venerable 
 sufferers, a fervent ejaculation for God's assistance 
 in this last great trial. 
 
 More ceremony however was thought necessary 
 in the primate's case, than had been used in 
 theirs. Pole's authority was not sufficient. A 
 commission therefore was sent for to Rome. 
 
 In virtue of this commission, the archbishop 
 was convened before the bishop of Gloucester, 
 to whom it was delegated, on the 12th of Septem- 
 
150 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ber, 1555. His books, and opinions; his mar- 
 riage, and invasion of the privileges of the so- 
 vereign pontiff, were all summarily recapitulated; 
 and he was cited to appear at Rome in eighty 
 days, and answer for himself. As he* did not 
 appear in that time, he was declared contuma- 
 cious; and a commission was dispatched to Eng- 
 land, to degrade, and deliver him over to the 
 secular arm. • 
 
 Many of our historians exclaim loudly at the 
 absurdity of declaring him contumacious for not 
 appearing at Rome; when jt was well known, 
 that, during the whole time, he was detained a 
 prisoner at Oxford. And, no doubt, the thing 
 bears the face of absurdity. But it would be 
 endless to censure, and deride, all the formalities 
 of law, which are pertinaciously retained in everr 
 country, after the real use hath expired. 
 
 The ceremony of his degradation was performed 
 by Thirlby bishop of Ely. 
 
 Thirlby, in Cranmer's better days, had been 
 honoured with his particular friendship, and owed 
 him many obligations. Besides those of greater 
 value, in the way of preferment, " there was 
 " nothing he was master of, (we are informed) 
 " which was not at Thirlby 's command. Jewel, 
 " plate, instrument, map, horse, or any thing 
 " else, though a present from the king, if his 
 " friend once took a fancy to it; the generous 
 ° archbishop would immediately give it him, 
 
ARCHEJSHOP CRANMER. } 51 
 
 u And though many times the doctor for civility's 
 " sake would instantly refuse it; yet Cranmer 
 " would send "t him the next day by a special 
 " message. Insomuch that it grew into a proverb, 
 ** that Dr. Thirlby's' commendation of any thing 
 (( to my lord of Canterbury, was a plain winning 
 tc or obtaining it." 
 
 As this man therefore had long been so much 
 attached to the archbishop, it was thought proper 
 by his new friends, that he should give an extra- 
 ordinary test of his zeal. For this reason the ce-? 
 remony of the degradation was committed to him. 
 He had undertaken however too hard a task. The 
 mild benevolence of the primate, which shone 
 forth with great dignity, though he stood drest in 
 all the mock pageantry of canvas robes, struck the 
 old apostate to the heart. Ail the past came throb- 
 bing into his breast; and a few repentant drops 
 began to trickle down the furrows of his aged 
 cheek. The archbishop gently exhorted him not 
 to suffer his private affections to overpower his 
 public. J^t length, one by one, the canvas trap- 
 pings were taken off, amidst the taunts, and exul- 
 tations of Bonner, bishop of Londpn, who was 
 present at the ceremony. The archbishop made 
 $ome hesitation when they took his crozier out 
 of his hands; and appealed as others had done, to 
 {he next general council. 
 
 Thus degraded, he was attired in a plain frieze^ 
 gown, the common habit of a yeoman at that 
 
153 THE LIFE OP 
 
 time; and had, what was then called, a town's^ 
 maris cap, put upon his head. In this garb, he 
 was carried back to prison; Bonner crying after 
 him, " He is now no longer my lord ! — He is now 
 " no longer my lord!" 
 
 Full of that indignation, which public wrongs, 
 not private, inspired, he wrote a letter from his 
 prison to the queen; in which he expostulated 
 with her for sinking the dignity of the crown of 
 England to such a degree, as to have recourse to 
 foreigners for justice on her own subjects. He 
 shewed her, with great force of reason, the many 
 inconveniences, which arose from thus submitting 
 to a foreign yoke; and opened the designs of the 
 clergy, who had introduced, he told her, this 
 slavery again, with the sole view of establishing 
 themselves in their ancient independent state. 
 He put her in mind also of the oath she had taken 
 to her own kingdom; and of the oath which she 
 had taken to the pope ; and begged her. to con- 
 sider, whether there was not some contradiction 
 between them. — He concluded with telling her, 
 that he thought it his duty to enter his protest 
 against the destructive measures, which her go- 
 vernment was then pursuing. 
 
 This letter was carried to the queen by the 
 bailiffs of Oxford. She immediately put it into 
 the hands of cardinal Pole; with whom she seems, 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 153 
 
 on all occasion^ to have left the disposal of her 
 conscience. Pole in a letter, dated from St. 
 James's, November 6, 1555, answered it at full 
 length. His very elaborate discourse on this oc- 
 casion makes the 89th article of Mr. Strype's ap- 
 pendix. 
 
 From the time of Cranmer's degradation, the 
 behaviour of the popish party towards him, was 
 totally changed. Every one, who now ap- 
 proached him, put on an air of civility, and 
 respect. Elegant entertainments were made for 
 him. He was invited frequently by the dean of 
 Christ-church to parties at bowls; an exercise, of 
 which he had always been fond : and no liberty, 
 or indulgence, which he could desire, was denied. 
 In the midst of these amusements, he was given 
 to understand, that the queen was greatly disposed 
 to save him: but that she had often been heard to 
 say, she would either have Cranmer a catholic, or 
 no Cranmer at all — that, in short, they were au- 
 thorized in assuring him, that if he would only 
 conform to the present changes in religion, he 
 might, if he pleased, assume his former dignity — 
 or, if he declined that, he might enjoy a liberal 
 pension in retirement. 
 
 Among all the instances of diabolical cruelty 
 we scarce find a greater than this. The whole 
 rage of the popish party seemed to be centered 
 
 4 
 
154 THE LIFE OP 
 
 against this upright man. His soul they had 
 damned : his body they were determined to burn ; 
 and to complete their triumph, they wanted only 
 to blast his reputation. With this view, these 
 wicked arts were put in practice against him; 
 which succeeded, alas ! too well. Cranmer, who 
 was sufficiently armed against the utmost rage and 
 malice of his open, enemies, was drawn aside by 
 the delusions of his false friends. After the con- 
 finement of a full year within the melancholy 
 walls of a gloomy prison, this sudden return into 
 social commerce dissipated the firm resolves of 
 bis soul. A love of life, which he had now well 
 mastered, began insensibly to grow upon him. 
 A paper was offered him, importing his assent to 
 the tenets of popery; and in an evil hour his bet-? 
 ter resolutions giving way, he signed the fataj 
 fUiare, 
 
 SECTION XXV. 
 
 Cranmer's recantation was received by the po^ 
 pish party with joy beyond expression. It was 
 immediately printed and published; and their 
 cruel work wanting now only its last finishing 
 stroke, a warrant was expedited for his execution, 
 as soon as possible: while he himself was yet kept 
 ignorant of their purpose. 
 3 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 355 
 
 Some writers say, that the recantation was pub- 
 lished unfairly; and a modern attempt has been 
 made to invalidate that recantation, which the 
 papists sent abroad*. 
 
 But even on a supposition this had been the 
 case, as, in some degree, it probably might, yet 
 a very poor defence can be established, on this 
 ground. Cranmer certainly subscribed his assent 
 to the tenets of poperv in general terms: and un^- 
 less the zeal of his friends could rid his memory 
 of that stain, it is of little consequence to say, 
 he did not subscribe them in the detail. A much 
 better apology may be grounded on the weakness 
 of human nature. They, who look into themselves, 
 must pitv him; and wish to throw over him the 
 skirts of that tender veil, with which the great 
 Friend of mankind once skreened the infirmities 
 of the well-intentioned: the spirit vas billing, 
 but thejiesh was weak. 
 
 But no apology could vindicate him to himself. 
 In his own judgment, he was fully convicted. 
 Instead of that joy, which gives serenity to the 
 dying martyr; his breast was a devoted prey to 
 Contrition and woe. A rescued life a forded him 
 no comfort. He had never till now felt the power 
 pf his enemies. Stung with remorse and horror 
 at what he had done, he consumed his days, and 
 
 * See Whiston's enquiry into the evidence of archbishop 
 Cranmer's recantation. 
 
156 THE LIFE OP 
 
 nights in anguish. v I have denied the faith: 
 " I have pierced myself through with many 
 et sorrows;" were the melancholy notes, which 
 took possession of his mind; and rang in his ears a 
 constant alarm. Then would recur, in a full tide 
 of compunction, the aggravating thoughts — that 
 he, who had been chiefly instrumental in bringing 
 in the true faith, should be among those who 
 had deserted it — that he, who had been so long 
 the leader of others, should now set them so 
 dreadful an example — and that he, who had al- 
 ways been looked up to with respect, should at 
 length be lost, and abandoned among the herd of 
 apostates ! 
 
 Overwhelmed with grief, and perplexity, which- 
 ever way he turned his eyes, he saw no ray of 
 comfort }e^t. To persevere in his recantation, 
 was an insupportable thought: to retract it, was 
 scarce possible. His paper was abroad in the 
 world; and he himself was in the hands of men, 
 who could easily prevent his publishing, or 
 speaking, any thing counter to it; if they should 
 suspect he had such an intention. 
 
 He had yet received no intimation of his death; 
 though it was now the 20th of March; and by the 
 purport of the warrant, he was to be executed 
 the next dav 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRASfMrR. 157 
 
 That evening Dr. Cole, one of the heads of the 
 popish party, came to him; and from the insi- 
 dious, and ambiguous discourse of this person, 
 he had the first intimation, though yet no direct 
 one, of what his enemies intended. 
 
 After Cole had left him, he spent the remaining 
 part of the evening in drawing up a repentant 
 speech, together with a full confession of his 
 apostacy; resolving to take the best opportunity 
 to speak or publish it; which he supposed indeed 
 the stake would first give him. But, beyond his 
 expectation, a better was afforded. 
 
 It was intended, that he should be carried im- 
 mediately from prison to the stake; where a ser- 
 mon was to be preached. But the morning of 
 the appointed day being wet, and stormy, the 
 ceremony was performed under cover. 
 
 About nine o'clock the lord Williams of Thame, 
 attended by the magistrates of Oxford, received 
 him at the prison-gate; and conveyed him to 
 St. Mary's church; where he found a croudcd 
 audience waiting for him. — He was conducted to 
 an elevated place, in public view, opposite to 
 the pulpit. 
 
 He had scarce time to reflect a moment on the 
 dreadful scene, which he saw preparing for him.. 
 when the vice-chancellor, and heads of houses, 
 
15S Bill LIFE OF 
 
 with a numerous train of doctors, and professors,, 
 entered the church. Among them was Dr. Cole, 
 who paying his respects to the vice-chancellor, 
 ascended the pulpit, 
 
 Cole was a man of abilities; and was considered, 
 according to the mode of those times, as an ele- 
 gant scholar. His discourse indeed seems to have 
 been an excellent piece of oratory. 
 
 After a proper preface, he shewed the reasons, 
 why it was thought necessary to put the unhappy 
 person before them to death, notwithstanding his 
 recantation. On this head he dwelt largely, and 
 said full as much, as so bad a cause could be 
 supposed to bear. Then turning to his audience, 
 he very pathetically exhorted them to fear God, 
 and tremble; taking occasion from the example 
 before their eyes, to remind them of the instability 
 of all human things ; and of the great duty of 
 holding fast their profession without wavering. 
 This venerable man, said he, once a peer, a privy- 
 counsellor, an archbishop, and the second person 
 in the realm, renounced his faith, and is now 
 fallen below the low T est. 
 
 He addressed himself* last to the degraded pri- 
 mate himself. He condoled with him in his pre- 
 sent calamitous circumstances; and exhorted him 
 to support with fortitude his last worldly trial. 
 
 Cranmer's behaviour, during this discourse, 
 cannot \te better described, than in the words of a 
 
ARCHBISHOP CfcANMER, 159 
 
 person present; who, though a papist, seems to 
 have been a very impartial spectator*. 
 
 " It is doleful, (says he,) to describe his be- 
 " haviour; his sorrowful countenance; his heavy 
 " cheer; his face bedewed with tears; sometimes 
 " lifting up his eyes to heaven in hope ; some- 
 " times casting them down to the earth for shame, 
 " To be brief, he was an image of sorrow. The 
 " dolor of his heart burst out continually at his 
 " eyes in gushes of tears: yet he retained ever a 
 " quiet, and grave behaviour; which increased 
 " the pity in men's hearts, who unfeignedly 
 " loved him, hoping it had been his repentance 
 ** for his transgressions." 
 
 The preacher having concluded his sermon, 
 turned round to the whole audience; and, with 
 an air of great dignity, desired all, who were 
 present, to join with him in silent prayers for the 
 unhappy man before them. 
 
 A solemn stillness ensued. Every eye, and 
 every hand were instantly lifted up to heaven. 
 
 Some minutes having been spent in this affect- 
 ing manner, the degraded primate, who had fallen 
 also on his knees, arose in all the dignity of 
 sorrow; and thus addressed his audience. 
 
 * The letter, from which most of the following account 
 is taken, was found among Fox's MSS. and is taken notice 
 of by istrype. 
 
160 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 w I had myself intended to have desired your 
 " prayers. My desires have been anticipated; 
 " and I return you, all that a dying man can give, 
 " my sincerest thanks. — To your prayers for me, 
 " let me add my own/' 
 
 He then, with great fervour of devotion, broke 
 out into this pathetic exclamation. 
 
 " O Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, have mercy 
 " on me, a miserable sinner. I who have of- 
 <c fended heaven, and earth more grievously, 
 " than tongue can express, whither shall I fly for 
 " succour ? — On earth all refuge fails me. To- 
 " wards heaven I am ashamed to lift my eyes. — 
 " What shall I then do ? Shall I despair ?— God 
 " forbid! — O gocd Gcd! thou art merciful, and 
 " refusest none, who come unto Thee for succour. 
 " To Thee therefore I fly. Before Thee I humble 
 " myself. — My sins are great: have mercy upon 
 ff me! O blessed Redeemer! who assumed not a 
 " mortal shape for small offences— who died not 
 " to atone for venial sins — Accept a penitent heart, 
 " though stained with the foulest offences. Have 
 " mercy upon me, O God! whose property is 
 " always to have mercy. My sins are great : but 
 " Thy mercy is still greater. — O Lord, for Christ's 
 " sake, hear me — hear me, most gracious God!" 
 
 While he thus prayed, the people spontaneously 
 caught the fervour; and joined audibly with him. 
 The whole scene was highly solemn, and af- 
 fecting. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRAXMER. l6l 
 
 Having concluded his prayer, he rose from 
 his knees ; and taking a paper from his bosom, 
 continued his speech to this effect. 
 
 " It is now, my brethren, no time to dissemble. 
 " I stand upon the verge of life — a vast eternity 
 se is before me. — What my fears are, or what my 
 " hopes, it matters not here to unfold. For one 
 " action of my life at least I am accountable to 
 " the world — my late shameful subscription to opi- 
 " ntons, which are wholly opposite to my real sen- 
 •* timents. Before this congregation I solemnly 
 " declare, that the fear of death alone induced me 
 " to this ignominious action — that it hath cost 
 fC me many bitter tears — that in my heart I totally 
 " reject the pope, and doctrines of the church of 
 " Rome — and that"— 
 
 As he was continuing his speech, the whole 
 assembly was in an uproar. Lord Williams gave 
 the first impulse to the tumult; crying aloud, 
 " Stop the audacious heretic." On which several 
 priests and friars, rushing from different parts of 
 the church, with great eagerness seized him; 
 pulled him from his seat; dragged him into the 
 street; and with much indecent precipitation, 
 hurried him to the stake, which was already pre- 
 pared. Executioners were on the spot, who se- 
 curing him with a chain, piled the faggots in 
 order round him. 
 
 As he stood thus, with all the horrid apparatus 
 of death about him, amidst taunts, revilings, and 
 
 ?©L. II. M 
 
162 THE LITE OP 
 
 execrations, he alone maintained a dispassionate 
 behaviour. Having now discharged his con- 
 science, his mind grew lighter; and he seemed to 
 feel, even in these circumstances, an inward sa- 
 tisfaction, to which he had long been a stranger: 
 His countenance was not fixed, as before, in ab- 
 ject sorrow, on the ground; he looked round him 
 with eyes full of sweetness, and benignity, as if at 
 peace with all the world. 
 
 A torch being put to the pile, he was presently 
 involved in a burst of smoke, and crackling flame: 
 but on the side next the wind, he was distinctly 
 seen, before the fire reached him, to thrust hii 
 right hand into it, and to hold it there with asto- 
 nishing firmness; crying out, " This hand hath 
 " offended! This hand hath offended!"— When 
 we see human nature struggling so nobly with 
 such uncommon sufferings, it is a pleasing re- 
 flection, that, through the assistance of God, there 
 is a firmness in the mind of man, which will sup- 
 port him under trials, in appearance beyond his 
 strength* 
 
 His sufferings were soon over. The fire rising 
 intensely round him, and a thick smoke involving 
 him, it was supposed he was presently dead. 
 " His patience in his torment, (says the author of 
 " the letter I have just quoted) and his courage 
 " in dying, if it had been in testimony of the 
 <e truth, as it was of falshood, I should worthily 
 " have commended; and have matched it with 
 
 3 
 
ARCHBISHOP CHANCER. 163 
 
 ct the fame of any father of ancient time. Surely 
 '*' his death grieved every one. Some pitied his 
 " body tormented by the fire; Others pitied his 
 es soul, lost without redemption for ever. His 
 " friends sorrowed for love; his enemies for pity; 
 " and strangers through humanity." 
 
 The story of his heart's remaining nhconsumed 
 in the midst of the fire, seems to be an instance 1 
 of that credulous zeal, which we have often seen 
 lighted at the flames of dying martyrs. 
 
 SECTION XXVL 
 
 &uch was the end of Thomas Cranmer, arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, in the 67th year of his age, 
 after he had presided over the church of England 
 above twenty years. 
 
 In whatever point of light we view this extra- 
 ordinary man, he is equally the object of our 
 admiration. 
 
 His industry, and attention were astonishing. 
 When we consider him as a scholar, his learning 
 Was so profound; and the treatises, which he" 
 Wrote, were so numerous, that we cannot conceive 
 he had any time for business. And yet when we 
 consider the various scenes of active life, in which 
 he was engaged — in the council— -in the convoca-* 
 
 M 2 
 
164 TKE LIFE OF 
 
 tion — in the parliament — in his diocess — and even 
 in his own house, where he had a constant resort 
 of learned men, or suitors; we are surprised how 
 he procured time for study. 
 
 He never indeed could have gone through his 
 daily employments, had he not been the best 
 ceconomist of his time. 
 
 He rose commonly at five o'clock ; and con- 
 tinued in his study till nine : These early hours, 
 he would say, were the only hours he could call 
 his own. After breakfast he generally spent the 
 remainder of the morning either in public, or 
 private business. His chapel-hour was eleven ; 
 and his dinner-hour twelve. After dinner he 
 spent an hour either in conversation with his 
 Friends; in playing at chess; or in, what he liked 
 better, overlooking a chess-board. He then re- 
 tired again to his study, till his chapel-bell rang at 
 five. After prayers, he generally walked till six, 
 which was, in those times, the hour of supper. 
 His evening meal was sparing. Often he eat 
 nothing: and when that was the case, it was his 
 usual custom, as he sat down to table, to draw on a 
 pair of gloves; which was as much as to say, that 
 his hands had nothing to do. After supper, he 
 spent an hour in walking, and another in his study, 
 retiring to his bed-chamber about nine. 
 
 This was his usual mode of living, when he was 
 most vacant ; but very ofteiV his afternoons as well 
 as his mornings, were engaged in business. To 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 165 
 
 this his chess-hour after dinner was commonly 
 first assigned, and the remainder of the afternoon, 
 as the occasion required. He generally however 
 contrived, if possible, even in the busiest day, to 
 devote some proportion of his time to his books, 
 besides the morning. And Mr. Fox tells us, he 
 always accustomed himself to read and write in 
 a standing posture; esteeming constant sitting 
 very pernicious to a studious man. 
 
 His learning was chiefly confined to his profes- 
 sion. He had applied himself in Cambridge to 
 the study of the Greek and Hebrew languages ; 
 which though esteemed at that time as the 
 mark of heresy, appeared to him the only sources 
 of attaining a critical knowledge of the scriptures. 
 He had so accurately studied canon-law ; that he 
 was esteemed the best canonist in England : and 
 his reading in theology was so extensive, and his 
 collections from the fathers so very voluminous, 
 that there were few points, in which he was not 
 accurately informed ; and on which he could not 
 give the opinions of the several ages of the church 
 from the times of the apostles. " If I had not 
 ie seen with my own eyes, says Peter Martyr, I 
 <e could not easily have believed, with what in- 
 ie finite pains and labour, he had digested his great 
 *? reading into particular chapters, under the 
 ° heads of councils, canons, decrees, &c." 
 
 His parts were solid, rather than shining; and 
 [lis memory such, that it might be called an index 
 
166 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to the books he had read; and the collections he 
 had made. 
 
 Henry the eighth had such an opinion of him, as 
 a casuist, that he would often say, " He could 
 have no difficulty, while Cranmer was at his 
 elbow." And indeed we cannot better account for 
 the constant regard, which that capricious mo- 
 narch shewed him, than by supposing it pro- 
 ceeded from the opinion the king had of the 
 archbishop's being so useful to him. It was not 
 an unusual thing for Henry to send him a case of 
 conscience at night (and Henry's conscience was 
 very often troubled) desiring an answer the next 
 morning. On such slender notice, we are told, 
 the archbishop would often collect the opinions of 
 twenty, or thirty writers on the subject ; and with- 
 in the limited time would send all the extracts, 
 together with his own conclusion on the whole. 
 
 Henry, who was deeper in school-divinity, than 
 in any other kind of learning, would take great 
 pleasure also in disputing with the archbishop ; 
 and notwithstanding the roughness of his manners, 
 would often indulge that sort of familiarity, which 
 emboldened those about him, to use freedom with 
 him. The archbishop at least was seldom under 
 any difficulty on that head ; while the king on his 
 part always paid much deference to the primate's 
 learning and abilities, (though the primate was the 
 only person to whom he did pay any deference) 
 and would sometimes do it at the expence of those, 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMBR. 167 
 
 who thought themselves on an equality with the 
 most learned. The bishop of Winchester in par- 
 ticular the king would sometimes delight to mor- 
 tify ; and to set him on the wrong side of a com- 
 parison with the archbishop. — We have an instance 
 preserved. 
 
 The king once engaged the two prelates in a 
 dispute on the authority of the apostolical canons; 
 in which he himself bore a part. The archbishop 
 sustained the negative. As the dispute proceeded, 
 the king, either sensible of the primate's supe- 
 riority, or affecting to appear so, cried out, " Come, 
 " come, bishop Winchester, we must leave him, we 
 " must leave him : He is too old a truant for either 
 * of us." 
 
 He was a sensible writer; rather nervous, than 
 elegant. His writings were entirely confined to 
 the great controversy, which then subsisted ; and 
 contain the whole sum of the theological learning 
 of those times. 
 
 His library was filled with a very noble collec- 
 tion of books ; and was open to all men of letters. 
 " I meet with authors here, Roger Ascham would 
 * ( say, which the two universities cannot furnish." 
 
 At the archbishop's death the greater part of his 
 original MSS, were left at his palace of Ford near 
 Canterbury ; where they fell into the hands of his 
 enemies. 
 
 In the days of Elizabeth, archbishop Parker, 
 who had an intimation, that many of them were 
 still in being, obtained an order from Lord Bur- 
 
186 THE LIFE OP 
 
 leigh, then secretary of state, in the year 1563, to 
 search for them in all suspected places ; and reco-? 
 yered a great number of them. They found their 
 way afterwards into some of the principal libraries 
 of England ; but the greatest collection of them 
 ■were deposited in Bene't-college in Cambridge. 
 
 SECTION XXVII. 
 
 But the light, in which archbishop Cranmer ap- 
 pears to most advantage, is in that of a reformer, 
 conducting the great work of a religious establish 
 ment ; for which he seems to have had all the ne- 
 cessary qualifications. He was candid, liberal, 
 and open to truth in a great degree. Many of his 
 opinions he reconsidered and altered; even in his, 
 advanced age. Nor was he ever ashamed of own- 
 ing it ; which is in effect, he thought, being 
 ashamed of owning, that a man is wiser to-day 
 than he was yesterday. When his old tenets with 
 regard to the Lord's supper, were objected to 
 him; he replied with great simplicity; " I grant 
 " that formerly I believed otherwise than I do now ; 
 " and so I did, until my lord of London ( Dr. Rid-* 
 u ley) did confer with me, and by sundry argu-r 
 <c m en ts and authorities of doctors, draw me quite 
 " from my persuasion." 
 
 To t.\e opinions of others also he was very in- 
 dulgent. One fact indeed, mentioned in his life, 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMEB. 169 
 
 the death of G. Paris is a glaring instance of the 
 contrary. Something, no doubt, so good a man 
 would have to say for himself, if we could hear 
 his plea, in vindication of so barbarous, and horrid 
 a piece of bigotry : but as the naked fact now 
 stands, we can only express our astonishment, that 
 a single action should so grossly run counter to 
 every other action of his life. 
 
 The uncommon caution of his temper likewise 
 qualified him greatly as a reformer. In his con- 
 versation he was remarkably guarded. " Three 
 " words of his," says Lloyd, " could do more, than 
 " three hours discourse of others." In acting he 
 always felt his ground, as he proceeded; and had 
 the singular wisdom to forbear attempting things, 
 however desirable, which could not be attained. 
 He rarely admitted any circumstances into his 
 schemes, which ought to have been left out; and 
 as rarely left out any which ought to have been ad- 
 mitted. Hence it was, that he so happily accom- 
 plished the most difficult of all works, that of 
 loosening the prejudices of mankind. Hence it was, 
 also, that the ground which he took, was so firm, as 
 scarce to leave any part of the foundation he laid, 
 under the necessity of being strengthened. 
 
 The sweetness of his manners also contributed 
 not a little to the completion of his designs. He 
 was a man of a most amiable disposition. His 
 countenance was always enlightened with that 
 chearful gmile, that made every body approach 
 . 1 
 
17© THE LIFE OF 
 
 him with pleasure. It is indeed surprizing, how 
 much he was beloved, and how few enemies he 
 made, when we consider that his whole life was a 
 constant opposition to the opinions and prejudices 
 of the times. Whom he could not persuade, he 
 never disobliged. A harsh measure he considered 
 only as another name for an imprudent one. 
 When he could not go on smoothly, he would 
 retreat a few steps; and take other ground, till he 
 perceived the obstruction was removed. 
 
 The composure of his temper was another happy 
 ingredient in hh character as a reformer. It was 
 rarely on any occasion either raised or depressed. 
 His features were by no means an index to the 
 times. His most intimate friends could form no 
 conjecture from his outward behaviour ( which was 
 always flowing with benignity) whether he had 
 met with any thing either in parliament, or in 
 council, to disturb him. 
 
 One can scarce on this occasion avoid a compa- 
 rison between him, and his successor archbishop 
 Laud. Both were good men — both were equally 
 zealous for religion — and both were engaged in 
 the work of reformation. — I mean not to enter 
 into the affair of introducing episcopacy in Scot- 
 land; nor to throw any favourable light on the 
 ecclesiastical views of those times. I am at pre- 
 sent only considering the measures which the two 
 
ARCHBISI10P CRANMER. 171 
 
 archbishops took in forwarding their respective 
 plans. While Cranmer pursued his with that cau- 
 tion arid temper, which we have just been ex- 
 amining; Laud, in the violence of his integrity, 
 (for he was certainly a well-meaning man) mak- 
 ing allowances neither for men, nor opinions, 
 was determined to carryall before him. The con- 
 sequence was, that he did nothing, which he at- 
 tempted; while Cranmer did every thing. And 
 it is probable, that if Henry had chosen such an 
 instrument as Laud, he would have miscarried 
 in his point: while Charles with such a primate 
 as Cranmer, would either have been successful in 
 his schemes, or at least have avoided the fatal 
 consequences that ensued. — But I speak of these 
 things 1 merely as a politician. Providence, no 
 doubt, over ruling the ways of men, raises up, 
 on all occasions, such instruments as are most 
 proper to carry on its schemes ; sometimes by 
 promoting, and sometimes by defeating, the pur- 
 poses of mankind. 
 
 SECTION XXVIII. 
 
 Nor was the good archbishop less formed for a 
 private, than a public station. While we revere 
 the virtues of the reformer, we admire the minister 
 of the gospel. 
 
172 THE LIFE Or 
 
 His humility was truly apostolical. He was 
 averse to the sounding titles of the clergy; and 
 when these things, among others, were settled, 
 he would often say, " We might well do without 
 " them." A familiar expression of his, on an 
 occasion of this kind, was often afterwards re- 
 membered. He had signed himself in some public 
 instrument, as he was obliged indeed legally to do, 
 by the style of primate of all England. At this 
 the bishop of Winchester took great offence: inti- 
 mating, that there was no necessity for that inno- 
 vation; and throwing out a hint, as if it were an 
 encroachment on the king's supremacy. " God 
 f knows," said the archbishop, (when he heard 
 of the invidious things, which Winchester had 
 said) " I value the title of primate, no more than 
 " I do the paring of an apple.'' The expression 
 was afterwards often quoted by those, who were 
 disinclined to all dignities in the church; which 
 they would call in contempt the parings, of Cran* 
 mcrs apples. 
 
 The placability of his temper was equal to his 
 humility. No man ever possessed more christian 
 charity. The least sign of penitence in an enemy 
 restored him immediately to favour; and the arch- 
 bishop was glad of an opportunity of shewing the 
 sincerity of his reconciliation. This was so well 
 known to be a part of his character, that the arch* 
 bit&op of York having long, in \.in, desired his 
 concurrence in a business, to which Cranmer was 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRAMMER. 173 
 
 averse; ** Well, my lord, (said York,) if I cannot 
 " have my suit in one way, I will in another. I 
 " shall presently do your grace some shrewd 
 " turn; and then, I doubt not, but I can manage 
 " so, as to obtain my request." 
 
 But the archbishop's mildness and placability 
 never appeared in so strong a light, as when con- 
 trasted, as they often were, with the vehemence 
 of Henry's passions. 
 
 A person of great rank at court, who was the 
 archbishop's secret enemy, and had oftener than 
 once done him ill offices, came to him, one day, 
 to request his interest with the king. The pri- 
 mate with great readiness undertook his cause. 
 " Do you know," said the king, surprized at his 
 request, ff for whom you are making suit? Are 
 you acquainted with the man's disposition towards 
 you?" " I always took him, (said the arch- 
 bishop,) for my friend." " No, (replied the 
 king;) he is your mortal enemy: and so far am I 
 from granting his request, that I command you, 
 when you see him next, to call him knave." The 
 archbishop begged his majesty would not oblige 
 him to use language so little becoming a christian 
 bishop. But Henry vociferated again, " I com- 
 mand yon, I say, to call him knave; and tell him 
 that I ordered you." The primate however could 
 not be persuaded, by all his majesty's eloquence, 
 to call the man knave: and the king, though in 
 
174 THE LIFE OT 
 
 great agitation at first, was obliged, at last, to give, 
 up the matter with a smile. 
 
 He was a very amiable master in his family; 
 and admirably preserved the difficult medium be- 
 tween indulgence, and restraint. He had, accord- 
 ing to the custom of the times, a very numerous 
 retinue; among whom the most exact order was 
 observed. Every week the steward of his house- 
 hold held a kind of court in the great hall of his 
 palace, in which all family affairs were settled; 
 servants' wages were paid ; complai its were heard; 
 and faults examined. Delinquents were publicly 
 rebuked ; and after the third admonition dis- 
 charged. 
 
 His hospitality and charities were great, and 
 noble: equal to his station; greater often than his 
 abilities. 
 
 A plentiful table w T as among the virtues of 
 those days. His was always bountifully covered. 
 In an upper room was spread his own ; where he 
 seldom wanted company of the first distinction. 
 Here a great many learned foreigners were daily 
 entertained; and partook of his bounty. In his 
 great hall a long table was plentifully covered, 
 every day, for guests, and strangers of a lower 
 rank; at the upper end of which were three 
 smaller tables, designed for his own officers; and 
 inferior gentlemen. 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMER. 175 
 
 The learned Tremellius, who had himself often 
 been an eye-witness of the archbishop's hospitality, 
 gives this character of it: " Arcliiepiscopi domus, 
 publicum erat doctis, et piis omnibus hospitium ; 
 quod ipse hospes, Meccenas, ct pater, talibus 
 semper pater e voluit, quoad vixit, aut potuit; 
 homo *iAOHENos nee minus 4>iAOAoros. 
 
 We have seen his character aspersed for want of 
 hospitality*. In part the aspersion might have 
 arisen from an attempt he made, with the assist- 
 ance of the other bishops, to regulate the tables 
 of the clergy; which had lately taken an expensive 
 turn. This expence was introduced by the regular 
 clergy, who could not lay aside the hospitable 
 ideas of their monasteries; though a country bene- 
 fice would by no means support them. The regu- 
 lations published on this occasion, ordered, that 
 <s an archbishop's table should not exceed six 
 " divers kinds of flesh; or as many of fish, on 
 " fish-days. — A bishop's should not exceed five: 
 " a dean's four: and none, under that degree, 
 " should exceed three. In a second course, an 
 " archbishop was allowed four dishes — a bishop 
 " three — all others two — as custards, tarts, fritters, 
 " cheese, apples and pears. But if any inferior 
 " should entertain a superior, either of the clergy, 
 " or laity, he might make provision according to 
 " the degree of his guest. If any archbishop, or 
 
 * See page 78. 
 
176 THE LIFE OP 
 
 " other ecclesiastic, entertained an ambassador, h& 
 " diet need not be limited.- — It was farther or- 1 - 
 " dered, that of the greater fish, or fowl, as had* 
 " doc, pike, tench, cranes, turkies, swans, there 
 *' should only be one in a dish: of less kinds, as 
 " capons, pheasants, wood-cocks, but two. Of 
 " the still less fowls, an archbishop might have 
 " three; all under him only two." 
 
 Among other instances of the archbishop's 
 charity, we have one recorded, which was truly 
 noble. After the destruction of monasteries, and 
 before hospitals were erected, the nation saw no 
 species of greater misery, than that of wounded, 
 and disbanded soldiers. For the use of such mi- 
 serable objects, as were landed on the southern 
 coasts of the island, the archbishop fitted up his 
 manor-house of Beckesburn in Kent. He formed 
 it indeed into a complete hospital; appointing a 
 physician, a surgeon, nurses; and every thing 
 proper, as well for food, as physic. Nor did his 
 charity stop here. Each man, on his recovery, 
 was furnished with money to carry him home, in 
 proportion to the distance of his abode. 
 
 To obviate all the cavils of the papists against 
 archbishop Cranmer, would be to enter into the 
 general argument against them. His apostacy, 
 his marriage, and his opinions, are questions all 
 of common controversy. On the particular mis- 
 
ARCHBISHOP CRANMEB. 177 
 
 carriages of his life I have every where touched 
 as they occurred; and have by no means spared 
 them, when they appeared to deserve censure. 
 The general objection, which seems to bear the 
 heaviest upon him, is founded on the pliancy of 
 his temper. Saunders, one of the bitterest of 
 his enemies, sarcastically calls him Henricianus; 
 and his friends indeed find it no easy matter to 
 wipe off these courtly stains. Without question, 
 many instances of great condescension in his cha- 
 racter strike us; but a blind submission to the 
 will of princes wa9 probably considered among 
 the christian virtues of those days. 
 
 On the other hand, when we see him singly, 
 and frequently, oppose the fury of an inilair.ed 
 tyrant — when we see him make that noble stand 
 against bigotry in the affair of the six articles—* 
 or when we see him the only person, who durst 
 inform a passionate, and jealous prince of the in- 
 fidelity of a favourite wife, we cannot but allow, 
 there was great firmness in his character; and 
 must suppose, that he drew a line in his own con- 
 science to direct him, in what matters he ought, 
 and in what matters he ought not, to comply with 
 his prince's will. 
 
 He left behind him a widow and children ; but 
 as he always kept his family in obscurity, for pru- 
 dential reasons, we know little about them. They 
 
 VOL. u, N 
 
178 . THE LIFE, &C. 
 
 had been kindly provided for, by Henry the eighth, 
 who without any solicitation from the primate 
 himself, gave him a considerable grant from the 
 abbey of Welbeck in Nottinghamshire; which his 
 family enjoyed after his decease. King Edward 
 made some addition to his private fortune: and his 
 heirs were restored in blood by an act of parlia- 
 ment, in the reign of Elizabeth, 
 
 
 
 THE END. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 

 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 
 OF 
 
 
 BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 V 
 
 ~1 
 
 SECTION U 
 
 BERNARD GILPIN was born in the year 1517, 
 about the middle of the reign of Henry the eighth. 
 His forefathers had been seated at Kentmire-hall, 
 in Westmoreland, from the time of king John; 
 in whose reign this estate had been given by the 
 baron of Kendal to Richard Gilpin, as a reward for 
 services thought very considerable. Carleton, 
 bishop of Chichester, who wrote the life of Ber- 
 nard Gilpin, mentions this Richard as a person 
 eminent in his time, both in a civil and military 
 capacity; and gives us a story, told indeed with a 
 fabulous air, of his killing a wild boar, which ter- 
 ribly infested those parts. From this gentleman 
 the estate of Kentmire descended to the father of 
 
 N % 
 
ISO 
 
 THE LIFI OF 
 
 Bernard, Edwin Gilpin; who became prematurely 
 possessed of it by the death of an elder brother, 
 killed at the battle of Bosworth. 
 
 Edwin Gilpin had several children, of which 
 Bernard was one of the youngest ; an unhappy 
 circumstance in that age, which, giving little en- 
 couragement to the liberal arts, and less to com- 
 merce, restrained the genius and industry of 
 younger brothers. No way indeed was commonly 
 opeu to their fortunes, but the church or the camp. 
 The inconvenience however was less to Mr. Gilpin 
 than to others ; for that way was open, to which 
 his disposition most led him. From his earliest 
 youth he was inclined to a contemplative life; 
 and possessed perhaps as great a share of consti- 
 tutional virtue, as any man eyer had. The ob- 
 servation of these things led his parents early to 
 intend him for the church. 
 
 The bishop of Chichester hath preserved a story 
 of him in his infancy, which shews how soon he 
 could discern not only the immorality, but the 
 isdecorum of an action. 
 
 A begging frier came on a Saturday evening to 
 his father's house; where, according to the custom 
 of those times, he was received with great hospi- 
 tality. The plenty set before him was a tempta- 
 tion too strong for his virtue; of which he had 
 not sufficient to save appearances. The next 
 morning however he ordered the bell to toll, and 
 from the pulpit expressed himself with great ve- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 181 
 
 hemence against the debauchery of the times, and 
 particularly against drunkenness. Mr. Gilpin, 
 who was then a child upon his mother's knee, 
 seemed for some time exceedingly affected with 
 the frier's discourse; and at length, with the ut- 
 most indignation, cried out, n He wondered how 
 that man could preach against drunkenness, when 
 he himself had been drunk only the night before." 
 
 Instances of this kind soon discovered the seri- 
 ousness of his disposition, and gave his parents an 
 early presage of his future piety. ; 
 
 His first years were spent at a grammar school; 
 where, agreeably to the compliment'-which history 
 generally pays to such as afterwards become emi- 
 nent, we are told he soon distinguished himself. 
 
 From school he was removed to Oxford, where 
 it was judged learning was most encouraged: 
 though indeed both the universities were at that 
 time the seats of ignorance and superstition ; and 
 what study was encouraged was confined to per- 
 plexed systems of logic, and the subtilties of 
 school divinity. So <that the best education of 
 those times was only calculated for very slender 
 improvements in real learning. 
 
 At the age however of sixteen, Mr. Gilpin war 
 entered, upon the foundation, at Queen's college 
 in Oxford; where we are informed his industry 
 was very great, and easily reaped what knowledge 
 the soil produced. 
 
18£ THE LIFE OF 
 
 Erasmus about this time drew the attention of 
 the learned world. With a noble freedom he 
 shook off the prejudices of his education, boldly 
 attacked the reigning superstitions of popery, and 
 exposed the lazy and illiterate churchmen of those 
 days. Such a behaviour could not but procure 
 him many enemies; and provoked objections to 
 whatever he could write. At Oxford particularly 
 he was far from being in general esteem. Our 
 young student had however too much of the true 
 spirit of a scholar to take any thing upon trust, or 
 to be prejudiced against an author from popular 
 exceptions. Without listening therefore to what 
 was said, he took Erasmus into his hands, and 
 quickly discovered in him a treasure of real learn- 
 ing, which he had in vain sought after in the 
 writings then most in esteem. 
 
 But as he had now determined to apply himself 
 to divinity, he made the scriptures his chief study; 
 and set himself with great industry upon gaining 
 a thorough knowledge of the Greek and Hebrew 
 languages; in the study of which he was much 
 assisted by Mr. Neal, a fellow of New-college, and 
 afterwards professor of Hebrew in Oxford. 
 
 He had not been long in the university, before 
 he was taken notice of. Pie was thought a young 
 man of good part?, and considerable learning; and 
 they who were not so well qualified to judge in 
 either of these points, admired and loved him for 
 the sweetness of his disposition, and the unaffected 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 183 
 
 sincerity of his manners. At the usual term he 
 took the degree of master of arts, and about the 
 same time was elected fellow of his college. 
 
 The reformed doctrines had hitherto made no 
 progress in England ; and, as Mr. Gilpin had been 
 bred up in the Romish church, he still continued 
 a member of it. But though in appearance he 
 was not dissatisfied with popery; yet it is not 
 improbable that at this time he had his suspicions 
 of it. The writings of Erasmus had put him 
 upon freer inquiries than were common in those 
 days. He had the discretion however to keep to 
 himself whatever doubts they might have raised in 
 him ; and before he said any thing which might 
 shake the faith of others, he determined to esta- 
 blish his own. 
 
 He had not long been settled in his fellowship, 
 before a public testimony was given to the repu- 
 tation he had acquired. 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey was now at the head of affairs; 
 a minister, who notwithstanding his many vices, 
 entertained many noble designs. He saw the cor- 
 rupt state of monkery in the nation, was scan- 
 dalized at it, and began to think of some me- 
 thod to check its progress. The monastic reve- 
 nues he was convinced might easily be applied 
 to better uses; particularly in raising the credit 
 of the universities. He was resolved therefore 
 to make a trial; and with this view obtained bulls 
 for the suppression of several monasteries. Being 
 
184 THE LIFE OF^ 
 
 thus enabled to carry on his design, he laid the 
 foundation of Christ-church college in Oxford ; 
 and about this time finished it. But his care ex- 
 tending farther than a mere endowment, he had 
 his agents in many of the universities of Europe, 
 to procure men of eminence, whom he might 
 transplant thither; and copies of the best books 
 then extant: for he designed that his college 
 should be the means of the restoration of learning 
 in England. Mr. Gilpin's character was then so 
 great, that he was one of the first in Oxford to 
 whom the cardinal's agents applied. He accepted 
 their proposal, and removed to Christ-church. 
 
 Here he continued his former studies; from the 
 nature of which, and the ingenuity and honesty 
 of his disposition, it is highly probable he might 
 in time have been led by his own reasonings to 
 that discovery of truth he aimed at; but provi- 
 dence rewarded a pious endeavour by throwing 
 in his way the means of an earlier attainment of it. 
 
 King Henry the eighth was now dead; and his 
 young successor began in earnest to support that 
 cause, which his father had only so far encouraged 
 as it contributed to replenish an exhausted exche- 
 quer, and gratify that pique, which he had taken 
 at the holy see. Under this prince's patronage 
 Peter Martyr went to Oxford, where he read di- 
 vinity-lectures in a strain to which the university 
 had been little accustomed. He began with the 
 corporal presence; the refutation of which error, 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 185 
 
 as it was one of the earliest of popery, he thought 
 would much shock the credit of the Romish Church. 
 This was looked on as a declaration of war. The 
 bigoted were immediately in a flame: " If these 
 novelties prevailed, the peace of the church was 
 at an end — nothing but confusion must ensue — 
 religion was utterlv ruined." While this was the 
 popular clamour, the heads of the popish party 
 began to rouse from an indolence they had long 
 indulged, and to set about a more formidable 
 opposition. The chief of them were Chedsey, 
 Morgan, and Tresham; men not unlearned for 
 the times, but whose bigotry at least kept pace 
 with their learning. 
 
 The history of this religious war is foreign to 
 our purpose. We are no otherwise concerned in 
 it, than as it relates to Mr. Gilpin. His credit in 
 the university was then so considerable, that we 
 find the popish party solicitous to engage him to 
 side publicly with them; and pressing applications 
 were accordingly made. But they found his zeal 
 of a much cooler temper than their own. He 
 was not indeed satisfied with the reformers, hav- 
 ing wanted hitherto the opportunities of acquaint- 
 ing himself with their arguments : but, on the 
 other hand, he had never been a bigoted papist; 
 and had, it seems, lately discovered, through a 
 dispute he had been engaged in wmi Dr. Hooper, 
 afterwards bishop of Worcester, that several of 
 the Romish doctrines were not so well supported 
 6 
 
186 THE LIFE OF 
 
 by scripture as was commonly imagined. While 
 his mind was in so unsettled a condition, he 
 thought himself but ill qualified to espouse either 
 side publicly. His inclination rather led him to 
 stand by, an unprejudiced observer; and to em- 
 brace truth, whether he found her among protes- 
 tants or papists. Such importunity was however 
 used with him, that at length he yielded, which 
 was matter of triumph to his party ; and he ap- 
 peared the next day against Peter Martyr. 
 
 Entering thus into a controversy against his 
 inclination, he determined however to make it as 
 useful to himself as he could. By bringing his 
 old opinions to the test, he hoped at least he 
 might discover, whether it was only the stamp 
 of antiquity upon them, or their own intrinsic 
 worth, that gave them that value, at which they 
 had been hitherto rated. He resolved therefore to 
 lay aside, as much as possible, the temper of a 
 caviller; and to place truth before him as the sole 
 object of his pursuit, from which he was deter- 
 mined to be drawn aside neither by prejudice nor 
 by novelty. 
 
 But he soon found his adversary's arguments too 
 strong for him : they came authorized from the 
 holy writings in so forcible a manner, that he 
 could not but acknowledge them of a nature quite 
 different from the wire drawn proofs, and strained 
 interpretations of scripture, in which he had hi- 
 therto acquiesced. We need not therefore won- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN, 187 
 
 der, if the disputation was soon over. Mr. Gilpin 
 had nothing of that pride of heart, through which 
 men often defend suspected opinions; but gave 
 up his cause with that grace which always attends 
 sincerity. He owned publicly, that he could not 
 maintain it; and determined to enter into no more 
 controversies till he had gained the full information 
 of which he was in pursuit. 
 
 This ingenuous regard for truth was shewn in 
 the more advantageous light by the bigotry of 
 his fellow disputants; whose inflamed zeal, and 
 fierceness of temper, discovered little of the scho- 
 lar, and less of the christian. In his conduct ap- 
 peared an honest desire of information only ; in 
 theirs, the pride of opposition struggling against 
 conviction. 
 
 Peter Martyr took notice of this difference of 
 behaviour, and would frequently say, that, " As 
 for Chedsey, Morgan, and the rest of those hot- 
 headed zealots, he could not in truth be much 
 concerned about them; but Gilpin seemed a man 
 of such uprightness of intention, and so much 
 sincerity, both in his words and actions, that it 
 went to his heart to see him still involved in pre- 
 judice and error. The rest, he thought, were only 
 a trifling, light sort of men, led into an opposition 
 more by vain glory, arid a desire to distinguish 
 themselves, and support their party, than through 
 any better motives; but Mr. Gilpin's ingenuity of 
 behaviour, and irreproachable life, left room for 
 
188 THE UFE OP 
 
 no such suspicion with regard to him; and he 
 could not but own, he considered his espousing 
 any cause as a very great credit to it." He would 
 often likewise tell his friends, " It was the subject 
 of his daily prayers, that God would be pleased 
 at length to touch the heart of this pious papist 
 with the knowledge of true religion." — And he 
 prayed not in vain; for Mr. Gilpin, from this 
 time, became every day more reconciled to the 
 reformers. 
 
 Having been thus staggered by his adversary's 
 arguments, the first step he took, after he had 
 implored the divine assistance, was to recollect, 
 and carefully commit to paper, the substance of 
 what had passed in this controversy; and of those 
 points, in which he had been hardest pressed, he 
 resolved to enter into the strictest examination. 
 
 But before he could reconcile himself to this 
 work, many distracting scruples arose in his 
 mind. Though he could not but discover some- 
 thing questionable in many of his old opinions; 
 yet when he considered they were still deeply 
 rooted in the minds of almost the whole nation, 
 embraced by the greatest part of Europe, and had 
 been through many centuries supported by the 
 authority of princes and councils, he thought 
 great deference was due to so awful a majority, 
 and could not without much perplexity, think of 
 making his own private judgment a test of the 
 public faith. His suspicions however forced him 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 189 
 
 at length upon an examination ; though with a 
 design, it is probable, to confirm, rather than 
 confute his old opinions. But he soon found that 
 to be an impossible task. The more he considered 
 the tenets of popery, the less defensible they ap- 
 peared. If he tried them by reason, he found 
 them utterly unable to stand that proof; and if he 
 endeavoured to reconcile them with scripture, he 
 could not but observe, by what unnatural inter- 
 pretations it was only to be effected. 
 
 He endeavoured likewise to acquaint himself 
 with the history of popery, that he might dis- 
 cover in what age its several questioned doctrines 
 first appeared. From this search into antiquity 
 he observed, that none of them obtained in the 
 earlier and purer ages of th$ Christian church, 
 but were all the inventions of later times, when 
 ignorance and credulity prevailed, and gave suf- 
 ficient opportunity for designing men to establish 
 any creed that suited them. 
 
 Seven sacraments, he found, had never been 
 heard of bef6re the time of Peter Lombard ; which 
 was above eleven hundred years after Christ. 
 
 The denial of the cup to the laity appeared 
 plainly a doctrine intended, in corrupt times, to 
 give a mysterious superiority to the clergy. No 
 traces of it could be found till near a thousand 
 years after the sacrament was first instituted. 
 
 The doctrine of transubstantiation took it^ r'^e 
 indeed sooner; but not however till the eighth 
 
190 THE LIFE OF 
 
 century : at which time also the notion of the lord's 
 supper being a propitiatory sacrifice was first 
 heard of. 
 
 Very late also appeared the doctrine of an 
 action's being morally good., without any regard 
 to the intention of the doer; commonly called the 
 doctrine of the opus operatum. It seemed plainly 
 intended for no other end but to enrich its teachers. 
 
 Thus, into whatever part of popery he examin- 
 ed, he found great abuses: the true simplicity and 
 spirit of Christianity were gone; totally lost in 
 the inventions of men. But what he first began 
 to object to in the popish creed, and was most 
 disgusted at, were indulgences*, prayers before 
 images, and disallowing .the public use of the 
 scripture. 
 
 The rites and ceremonies of the Romish church 
 pleased him as little as its doctrines: many of 
 them appeared trifling; many of them ridiculous; 
 and not a few plainly impious. That affected 
 ostentation, and theatrical pomp, which accom- 
 panied them all, seemed a strange deviation from 
 the simplicity of apostolic times; and had, he 
 could not but observe, the worst influence upon 
 the people, as it led them from the practice of 
 virtue, to put their trust in outward performances. 
 
 They who have been bred up in a purer reli- 
 gion, may perhaps wonder, that a man of so much 
 sense and learning, and especially of so much 
 honesty and sincerity, needed so long a course of 
 
BERNARD GILMN. 
 
 191 
 
 reasoning to discover errors of so gross a kind. 
 But if his conduct may not be accounted for by- 
 prejudice, it was however such as will always be 
 expected from a fair mind in the same circum- 
 stances. The matter under his consideration was 
 of the last importance ; it required therefore the 
 utmost caution. His good sense led him early to 
 doubt; yet, considering what an established creed 
 his doubts opposed, his humility made those very 
 doubts suspected. He knew not indeed how to 
 proceed: he was distracted by a thousand scruples: 
 the fault might be in himself — or, it might be in 
 his religion — papist and protestant could not both 
 be in the right — either might be in the wrong — 
 yet each had something to say that was plausible. 
 He hoped however that a merciful God would re- 
 gard the difficulties he had to struggle with, and 
 exact nothing from him beyond his power — every 
 thing in his power he was determined to do. 
 Agreeably to this resolution, he went on with the 
 examination of religious matters, 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- 
 jr.dices. 
 
 Europe had now been so long distracted by re- 
 ligious dissentions, that it was universally thought 
 necessary to summon a general council, which 
 might deliberate on the best expedients to remove 
 them. This prevailing desire was listened to very 
 
 1 
 
193 THI LIFE 07 
 
 heedlessly at Rome. A scrutiny into religious 
 matters was an alarming thing to every true pa- 
 pist. The consequence wa? easily fore; sen ; and 
 the prudent pope was very Unwilling to have 
 the pool stirred, lest it should be too evident how 
 much it wanted cleansing. But discontent and 
 clamour running high, arid nothing appearing 
 likely to appease the universal murmur but a 
 council, one was at length convened at Trentt 
 The pope bad new rccoi rse to an after-game. 
 Since he could not avoid this dreaded council, he 
 contrived however to manage the members of it 
 with such address, that his power, far from being 
 shaken by them, was in fact only the more con- 
 firmed. Instead of repairing what was decayed, 
 their only care was to prop the eld ruin as it 
 stood. But among all the measures then taken 
 in support of ecclesiastical tyranny, the com- 
 pletest 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 wellr 
 wisher to religion. ce All opportunity (the re- 
 formers 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 will always speak. The Roman- 
 ists have now a fund of authority for all their ex- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 19$ 
 
 travagancies. Alas! instead of stopping the 
 breach, they have now so far widened it, as to de- 
 stroy ail hope of its ever closing again." 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, airong the rest, took great offence 
 at these proceedings. Hitherto, notwithstanding 
 his objections to popery, there was something in 
 an established church which he ^aev; not how to 
 get over. The word schism greatly perplexed 
 him: nor could he easily persuade himself of the 
 lawfulness of a separation from the church of Rome, 
 corrupt as she was in other respects, while s u e 
 professed to draw her rule of faith from the r;rrip- 
 tures. But when he found, by the publication of 
 the council of Trent, that she had carried her au- 
 thority 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 Chris- 
 tians to take the alarm. The designs of the papists 
 were now too phin; 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 conclude, from 
 this direct opposition of their own authority to the 
 authority of scripture, that their sole view was 
 to establish their declining 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. 
 
 VOL. II. o 
 
}94 THE LIFE OP 
 
 In a word, he thought it now sufficiently 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 took 
 before 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 man- 
 ner of proceeding on this occasion, wanted to 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 in- 
 timacy 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 from 
 the Romish religion. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin's letter on this occasion is still ex- 
 tant. As it will give a truer idea of his ingenuity 
 and caution in this affair, than any narrative can, 
 and as it hath besides a noble 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 
 
BERNARB GILPIN. 195 
 
 several facts not yet taken notice of; but its re- 
 ference to the present subject makes this the pro- 
 perest place for laying it before the reader. 
 
 " You require me to write, in a long discourse, 
 " the manner of my conversion from superstition 
 " to the light of the gospel ; which, I think you 
 " know, was not in a few 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 dis- 
 " pute against some assertions of Peter Martyr ; 
 " although I have ever been given to eschew, so 
 H far as I might, controversies and disputations. 
 te 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 f 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 I 
 u had great trust for the fame of his virtue and 
 " learning. He told me, e The communion-book 
 " was very godly, and agreeable to the gospel/ 
 " These things made me to muse. 
 
 • CuthbertTunstall. 
 o % 
 
196 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " Afterwards one of the fellows of the QueenV 
 " college told me, he heard Dr, Chedsey say 
 " among his friends, ' The protestants must yield 
 " to us in granting the presence of Christ in the 
 " sacrament, and we must yield to them in the 
 " opinion of transubstantiation; so shall we accord.' 
 
 " Dr. Weston made a long sermon in defence 
 " of the communion in both kinds. 
 
 " Mr. Morgan told me, that Mr. Ware, a man 
 '* most famous both for life and learning, had 
 "told him before his death, that * The chief sa- 
 " crifice of the church of God was the sacrifice 
 '•■ of thanksgiving.' This was his answer, when 
 % I desired to know what might be said for the 
 " sacrifice of the mass. 
 
 w The best learned bishops likewise of this 
 " realm at that time withstood 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 friers, and un- 
 " learned bishops assembled at Trent in council, 
 " that he much diminished in me, and many 
 " others, the confidence we had in general coun- 
 9. cik 
 
 " All these things, and many more, gave me 
 '"' occasion to search both the scriptures and an* 
 i( tient fathers: whereby I began to see many 
 " great abuses, and some enormities, used and 
 u maintained in popery; and to like well of sun- 
 u dry reformations on the other side. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 197 
 
 " 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 disallowed 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 too 
 
 * much reverence and gross worshiping of the 
 " gaping people ; because I believed not transub- 
 " stantiation. Likewise my conscience was griev- 
 v ed at the receiving of the priest alone. Yet at 
 " length I said mass a few times as closely as I 
 " could. 
 
 " I reasoned with certain that were learned of 
 ( ' my acquaintance, why there was no reformation 
 " of these gross enormities about images, reliques, 
 <e pilgrimages, buying mass and trentals, with 
 " many other things, which in king Edward's time 
 " the catholics (so called) 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 
 <c reformation was to begin, in hope whereof I was 
 
 * the more willing to return from Paris, I was 
 " answered, ' We may not grant to the ignorant 
 " people, that any of these things hath been amiss: 
 " if we do, they will strait infer other things may 
 f( be amiss as well as these, and still go further 
 
19S THE LIFE OP 
 
 €t and further.' — This grieved me, and made me 
 " seek for quietness in God's word: no where eise 
 ** I could rind any stay 
 
 " After this, in two or three sermons at New- 
 " castle, I began to uHer my conscience more 
 " plainly : when thirteen or fourteen articles were 
 " drawn up against me, and sent to the bishop. 
 " Here my adversaries of the clergy, whom I had 
 " sore offended by speaking against their plurali- 
 " ties, had that which they looked for. They caused 
 " the bishop to call me in their presence, and'ex- 
 " amine me touching the sacrament. The bishop 
 f{ shewed favour so far, I trust, as he durst; urg : ng 
 " me nothing with transubstantiation, but only 
 " with the real presence, which I granted, and 
 " so was delivered at that time. For the real pre- 
 " sence, I was not then resolved ; but took it to be 
 " a mystery above my capacity: yet my con- 
 " science was somewhat wounded for granting be- 
 " fore them in plain words the thing whereof I 
 ct stood in doubt. 
 
 * e After queen Mary's death I began to utter my 
 " mind more plainly. Before (I must needs con- 
 " fess my weakness) ignorance, and fear of ene- 
 ** mies, had somewhat restrained me. 
 
 fe Thus, in process of time, I grew to be stronger 
 " and stronger; yet many grievous temptations 
 ct and doubts have I had, .which many nights have 
 " bereaved me of sleep. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 199 
 
 w My nature hath evermore fled controversy so 
 ** much as I could. My delight and desire hath 
 '* been to preach Christ, and our salvation by him, 
 " in simplicity and truth ; and to comfort myself 
 " with the sweet promises of the gospel, and in 
 " prayer. 
 
 tf I have been always scrupulous, and troubled 
 " either in subscribing, or swearing to any thing, 
 
 * beside the scriptures, and articles of our belief, 
 te because the scripture ought ever to have a pre < 
 
 * eminence above man's writings. — I remember, 
 " when I went for orders to the bishop of Oxford, 
 " his chaplain 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 con- 
 M sidered better cf 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 
 " oath was ministered by the bishops for the book 
 " of articles, agreed upon in 1562 and 1571, 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 
 
 * In another letter he thus speaks, " I never had doubts 
 
200 THE LIFE OF 
 
 <f might edify myself or others, I have found 
 tf great ease and quietness of conscience; and am 
 <: daily more edified, comforted, and confirmed, in 
 " reading the scriptures. And this I praise God 
 H for, that when I was most troubled, and weakest 
 " of all, rr.y faith in God's mercy was so strong, 
 *f tba* 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 
 ec hold fast one sentence of St. Paul, ' I have ob- 
 (e tained mercy, in that I did it in ignorance:' 
 " and another of Job, ' If the Lord put me to 
 " death, yet wiH I trust in him/ — Yet have I 
 (C prayed God's mercy many times for all these 
 " criences, infirmities, and ignorances; and so I 
 " w ; ll do so still, so long as I have to live in this 
 « world," 
 
 " in religion in all my life, nor ever dissembled in all my 
 " li e, or committed any fault, which, so far as I thought 
 " it might edify, or do good to others, and so far as my 
 " remembrance served, I could not well find in my heart 
 s< to confess before all the world." 
 
BERNARD GlLHN. 2Q1 
 
 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 requi- 
 site 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 con- 
 troversial age than he had yet acquired: and his 
 chief argument with his friends, who were conti- 
 nually soliciting 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 inexperience of its teachers. 
 
 These thoughts continued him at Oxford till the 
 thirty-fifth year of his age. About that time the 
 vicarage of Norton, in the diocess of Durham, 
 falling vacant, his friends, who had interest to 
 obtain it for him, renewed their solicitations, and 
 
202 THE LIFE or 
 
 at length prevailed on him to accept it.* Ac- 
 cordingly a presentation passed in his favour, 
 which bears date, among king Edward's grants, 
 November, 1552. 
 
 Before he went to reside, he was appointed to 
 preach before the king, at Greenwich. Strype, 
 in his annals, seems to intimate, that Mr. Gilpin 
 was at that time famous for his preaching in the 
 north, and that it was on this account he was 
 called on to preach at court. But there is little 
 authority for this. He does not seem to have 
 been yet a preacher at all; at least, of any note. 
 It is rather probable, the only reason of his being 
 sent to on this occasion, was that he might give 
 a public testimony of his being well inclined to 
 the reformation: for the heads 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 none should 
 " be presented unto any benefice in the donation 
 u of the crown, till he had ftrst preached before 
 " the king, and thereby passed his judgment and 
 " approbation." 
 
 * While I was thus busied, I was drawn by certain 
 friends to accept a benefice, being very unwilling thereunto. 
 If I offended God in taking such a charge before I was bet- 
 ter learned, and better resolved in religion, I cry God 
 tnercy; and I doubt not but I have-found mercy in his 
 Bight. Extract of a letter from Bernard Gilpiu to his 
 brother* 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 203 
 
 The reigning vice of that age, as its historians 
 testify, was avarice, or more properly rapine. 
 At court ali things were venal; employments, 
 honour?, favours of every kind. In the room of 
 law and justice, gross bribery and wrong were 
 common; in trade, grievous extortions and frauds. 
 Everv where and every way the poor were vexed. 
 But in the country this rapacity was most observed, 
 where the oppressions exercised were so intolera- 
 ble, that the preceding year had seen great heats 
 and murmurings among the people, and some 
 counties even in arms. 
 
 Of these things the preachers most in earnest 
 spoke with great freedom; particularly bishop 
 Latimer, who was the Cato of that age. Among 
 others Mr. Gilpin thought it became him to take 
 notice of evils so much complained of: accordingly 
 he made the avarice of the times his subject upon 
 the present occasion: resolving with an honest 
 freedom to censure corruption, in whatever rank 
 of men he observed it. 
 
 As he thought nothing his interest, but what 
 was also his duty, he was swayed neither by hope 
 nor fear. He considered himself in some degree 
 chargeable with those vices, which he knew were 
 prevailing, and failed to rebuke. — A freedom of 
 this nature the times however allowed: for how 
 little soever there might be of the reality of vir- 
 tue, there was certainly much of the profession 
 of it; public deference at least was paid to it. 
 I 
 
204 THE LIFE OP 
 
 Mr. Gilpin's plainness therefore was very well 
 taken, and recommended him to the notice of 
 many persons of the first rank; particularly to 
 Sir Francis Russel, and Sir Robert Dudley, after- 
 wards the earls of Bedford and Leicester; who 
 from that time professed a great regard for him; 
 and, when in power, were always ready to patro- 
 nize him. 
 
 These two noblemen were both great patrons 
 of virtue and letters; but with very different views, 
 as they were indeed very different men. 
 
 Bedford appeared at court with all the advan- 
 tages of birth. His father, the first earl of that 
 name, was one of the greatest men of his age, 
 eminent for unspotted honesty, and superior ta- 
 lents in war and peace. His son pursued his steps, 
 and though he wanted his father's great abilities, 
 he was however a wise and an honest man,, and 
 acted afterwards a considerable part in settling the 
 reformation under Elizabeth; to whose court he 
 was a very great ornament. He was a friend to 
 merit from the real love he bore to virtue. 
 
 Leicester, however accomplished in many re- 
 spects, was a man of ambiguous character. He 
 was however a great master in the arts of dissimu- 
 lation ; and could act, what he always attempted, 
 even the worst part plausibly. He courted good 
 men for the credit of their acquaintance. 
 
 These noblemen were Mr. Gilpin's chief pa- 
 trons — voluntary patrons, whom no application 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 205 
 
 on his part engaged. He received their offered 
 friendship with humility and gratitude, never in- 
 tending to put it to a trial. This backwardness 
 proceeded chiefly from an utter aversion to all 
 solicitation for church preferment. The lord 
 Bedford's interest indeed he scrupled 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 
 licence for preaching. In granting these licences 
 great caution was then used : none but men of 
 approved 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 
 Coverdale. 
 
 While Mr. Gilpin was at London, he frequently 
 visited Cuthbert Tunstal bishop of Durham, who 
 was his uncle, and had always expressed a great 
 regard for him. It is probable indeed, that his 
 parents, in bringing him up to the church, might 
 have a view to the bishop's favour : but Tunstal 
 was at this time in no capacitv to serve him. 
 
 During the reign of Henry the eighth, this pre- 
 late had lived in great credit at court ; was 
 esteemed a man of abilities, a good scholar, and 
 
506 THE LIFE OF 
 
 an able statesman. 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 in the succeeding reign 
 his interest lessened. He was not altogether sa- 
 tisfied with the changes daily made in religion : 
 and though he was enough inclined to give up 
 some of the grosser tenets of popery, yet in gene- 
 ral he favoured it, and was always in great esteem 
 with the Romish party. This occasioned their 
 making him privy to some treasonable designs ; 
 which, in his cautious way, he neither concurred 
 in nor betrayed. The plot miscarried : the bishop 
 was indeed suspected, but nothing appeared. 
 Some time afterwards when the duke of Somer- 
 set's papers were seized, an unlucky letter was 
 found, wbich fully detected his knowledge .of the 
 matter. He was called immediately before the 
 council, tried by a special commission, found 
 guilty of misprision of treason, deprived, and com- 
 mitted to the tower. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, having now stayed as long in Lon- 
 don as his business required, repaired to his 
 parish ; and immediately entered upon the duties 
 of it. He failed not, as occasion required, to use 
 the king's licence in other parts of the country; 
 but his own parish he considered as the place 
 where his chief care was due. Here he made it 
 his principal endeavour to inculcate moral virtue; 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 207 
 
 and to dissuade from those vices, which he ob- 
 served most prevalent. He seldom handled con- 
 troversial points ; being afraid, lest, endeavouring 
 to instruct, he might only mislead. For, however 
 resolved he was against popery, he yet saw not the 
 protestant cause in its full strength ; and was stili 
 scarcely settled in some of his religious opinions. 
 Hence by degrees a diffidence of himself arose, 
 which gave him great uneasiness. He thought he 
 had engaged too soon in his office — that he could 
 not sufficiently discharge it — that he should not 
 rest in giving his hearers only moral instructions 
 —that, overspread as the country was with popish 
 doctrines, he did ill to pretend to be a teacher of 
 religion, if he were unable to oppose such errors. 
 
 These thoughts made every day a greater im- 
 pression upon him. At length, quite unhappy, he 
 gave bishop Tunstal an account of his situation. 
 The bishop, who was the farthest of any man from 
 a bigot, and liked him not the worse for his free- 
 dom of inquiry, told him, As he was so uneasy, it 
 was his advice, that he 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 
 Holland ; by which means he might have an oppor- 
 tunity of conversing with some of the most emi- 
 nent professors on both sides of the question. He 
 acquainted him likewise, that his going abroad at 
 
20S TKZ LIFE 'OT 
 
 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 sup- 
 per, 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. 
 Gilpin's notions of the pastoral care were so strict, 
 that he thought no excuse could justify non-resi- 
 dence for so considerable a time as he intended to 
 be abroad. He could not therefore think of sup- 
 porting himself with any part of the income of his 
 living. However, abroad he was determined to go; 
 and resolved, if he staid the shorter time, to rely 
 only upon his own frugal management of the 
 little money he had; and to leave the rest to the 
 bishop's generosity. \ 
 
 Having resigned his living therefore in favour of 
 a person, with whose abilities, and inclinations to 
 discharge the duties of it, he wa$ well acquainted. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 209 
 
 he set out for London, to receive his last orders 
 from the bishop, and to embark; 
 
 The account of his resignation got to town be- 
 fore him ; and gave the bishop, anxious for his ne- 
 phew's thriving in the world, great concern. 
 " Here are your friends/' says he, "endeavouring to 
 provide for you; and you are taking every me- 
 thod to frustrate their endeavours. But be warned : 
 by these courses, depend upon it, you will bring 
 yourself presently to a morsel of bread." Mr. Gilpin 
 begged the bishop would attribute what he had done 
 to a scrupulous conscience, which really would not 
 permit him to act otherwise. " Conscience!" re- 
 plied the bishop ; " why you might have had a dis- 
 pensation." "Will any dispensation," answered Mr. 
 Gilpin, "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 sincerity raised him still higher in his 
 uncle's esteem. The bishop would frequently 
 however chide him, as Mr. Gilpin afterwards would 
 tell his friends, for these qualms of conscience ; 
 and would be often reminding him, that, if he did 
 not look better to his interest, he would certainly 
 die a beggar. 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
210 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 Mech- 
 lin, to visit his brother George, who was at that 
 time pursuing his studies there. 
 
 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 afterwards 
 a warm advocate for the reformation ; to forward 
 which, he translated, from the Dutch into English, 
 a very keen satyr against popery, entitled, The 
 beehive of the Roman church. Upon Elizabeth'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 ii\ 
 1 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 211 
 
 that country, where he was in great esteem for his 
 abilities and integrity. We often find his name in 
 the accounts of those transactions. Molloy par- 
 ticularly, speaking of some affairs then in agita- 
 tion, makes honourable mention of him. w The 
 ct hans-towns," says he, " procured, by an imperial 
 v 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 Suderman and 
 " he had ttje chancellor of Embden to second 
 " him ; yet they could not stop the edict. But 
 " Gilpin played his cards so well, that he prevailed, 
 " the imperial ban should not be published till 
 c< 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, and other places in the Low Countries ; 
 where he would spend a few weeks among those 
 of any reputation, whether papists or protestants t 
 but he made Louvain his place of residence, for 
 which city he always expressed a more than com- 
 mon affection. And indeed it was a most agree- 
 able and commodious retreat for a scholar; enjoy- 
 ■""' p 2 
 
21 % THE LIFE OF 
 
 ing all the advantages of situation, and affording 
 the best opportunities for study. 
 
 Louvain is one of the chief towns of Brabant. 
 It had formerly been the centre of a very consi- 
 derable woollen trade. More than four thousand 
 looms were daily at work in it, each of which 
 employed near forty people. But its trade de- 
 clining, it grew more beautiful, as it became less 
 populous. Elegant houses were built, and spaci- 
 ous walks 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. Upon an eminence at one 
 end stands the castle, a venerable old building, 
 rising out of the midst of a vineyard. Its battle- 
 ments are much frequented for the sake of the 
 noble prospect they command over the country. 
 The elegance of this situation made Louvain the 
 seat 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 a calm retreat, 
 and the agreeable interchange of solitude and 
 company. But what endeared Louvain most to 
 a scholar, was the noble seminary established there 
 by John, the fourth duke of Brabant, with a view 
 to keep up the credit of one of his chief towns 
 upon the decay of the woollen manufacture. It 
 consists of many colleges, in each of which phi- 
 losophy was taught by two professors, who read 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 ns 
 
 two hours each morning. 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 
 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 im- 
 portant 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 whom 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 in every respect made the best use 
 of his time. 
 
 He now began to have juster notions of the 
 doctrines of the reformed : he saw things in a 
 clearer and a stronger light ; and felt a satisfaction 
 in the change he had made, to which he had hither- 
 to been a stranger. 
 
 While he was thus pursuing his studies, he and 
 all the protestants in those parts were suddenly 
 alarmed with melancholy news from England — 
 kins; Edward's death — the ladv Jane's fall — and 
 queen Mary's accession, whose bigotry was well 
 
214 . THE LIFE OF 
 
 known, and in whom the signs of a persecuting 
 spirit already appeared. 
 
 This bad news came however attended with one 
 agreeable circumstance ; an account of bishop 
 Tunstal's release from the tower, and re-establish- 
 ment in his bishoprick. 
 
 Soon afterwards Mr. Gilpin received a letter 
 from his brother George, intreating him to come 
 •immediately to Mechlin ; for he had an affair of 
 consequence to communicate to him, which abso- 
 lutely 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 considerable value vacant in his dio- 
 cess, which he wished he could persuade his bn> 
 ther Bernard to accept ; 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 rer 
 fusal 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 215 
 
 to all his brother's arguments, " That his con- 
 science 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 dif- 
 ferent." 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 oiler, which he did in the 
 following letter : 
 
 " Right honourable, and my singular good 
 " master, my duty remembered in most humble 
 " manner, pleaseth it your honour to be informed, 
 " that of late my brother wrote to me, that in 
 " any wise I must meet him at Mechlin ; for 
 " he must debate with me urgent affairs, 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 
 H sending for me, I should not have needed to 
 " interrupt my study to meet him ; for I have 
 u so long debated that matter with learned men, 
 
216 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 lord- 
 ship thought (and so did other of my friends, of 
 which he was one) that I was much too scru- 
 pulous in that point. Whereunto I alwavs say, If I 
 be too scrupulous ( as I cannot think that I am ) the 
 matter is such, that I had rather my conscience were 
 therein a great deal too strait, than a little too 
 large : for I am seriously persuaded, that I shall 
 never offend God by refusing to have a bene- 
 fice, 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 
 discharge 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 sorrv, 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 21 7 
 
 " 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 I not think myself discharged. And if 
 " I should strain my conscience herein, and strive 
 " with it to remain here, or in any other uni- 
 iC versity, with such a condition, the unquietness 
 (C of my conscience would not suffer me to profit 
 " in study at all. 
 
 " I am here, at this present, I thank God, very 
 " well placed for study among a company of 
 " learned men, joining to the friers minors ; hav- 
 " ing free access at all times to a notable library 
 U among the friers, 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 ana 
 " bold, knowing your lordship's singular good 
 *.' will towards me, to open my mind thus rudely 
 " and plainly unto your goodness, most humbly 
 " beseeching you to suffer me to live without 
 ','■ charge, that I may study quietly. 
 
 " And whereas I know well your lordship is 
 " careful how I should live, if God should call 
 " your lordship, being now aged, I desire you 
 f* let not that care trouble you : for, if I had 
 " no other shift, I could get a lectureship, I know, 
 " shortly, either in this university, or at least in some 
 t 1 abbey hereby; where I should not lose my 
 
£18 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " time: and this kind of life, if God be pleased, 
 " I desire before any benefice. And thus I pray 
 " Christ always to have your lordship in his 
 " blessed keeping. 
 
 " By your lordship's humble scholar 
 " and chaplain, 
 
 * Bernard GiLr-iN. 
 " Louvain, Nov. %% 1554." 
 
 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 
 superior to those of interest. " Which of our 
 " modern gaping rooks, exclaims the bishop of 
 " Chichester, could endeavour with more in- 
 " dustry to obtain a benefice, than this man did 
 tl to avoid one !" 
 
 Mr. Gilpin having got over this troublesome 
 affair (for solicitations of this kind gave him of 
 all things the most trouble) continued some time 
 longer at Louvain, daily improving in religious 
 knowledge. His own opinions he kept to himself, 
 industriously endeavouring to make himself ac- 
 quainted with the opinions of others, and the argu- 
 ments upon which they were grounded. 
 
 While he stayed in the Low Countries, he was 
 greatly affected with the melancholy sight of 
 crouds of his dejected countrymen arriving daily 
 in those parts from the bloody scene then acting 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 219 
 
 in England. These unhappy exiles however soon 
 recovered their spirits, and, dispersing into various 
 towns, chearfully applied themselves, each as his 
 profession led, to gain an honest livelihood. The 
 meaner ?ort exercised their crafts; the learned 
 taught schools, read lectures, and corrected 
 presses; at Basil particularly, where the ingenious 
 Operin was then carrying printing to great per- 
 fection. Their commendable endeavours to make 
 themselves not quite a burden to those who enter- 
 tained them were suitably rewarded. The several 
 towns of Germany and Holland, finding their ad- 
 vantage in these strangers, shewed them all ima- 
 ginable civility: many private persons likewise 
 contributed to their aid: but, above all others, 
 the generous duke of Wirtemburgh distinguished 
 himself in their favour; whose bounty to the Eng- 
 lish at Strasburgh and Franckfort should never pass 
 unremembered, where these things are mention- 
 ed. Nor was Mr. Gilpin a little pleased to find, 
 that, however unable he was personally to assist 
 them, his large acquaintance in the country fur- 
 nished him with the means of being useful to many 
 of them by serviceable recommendations. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin had been now two years in Flanders; 
 and had made himself perfect master of the con* 
 troversy, as it was there handled. He left Lou- 
 vain therefore, and took a journey to Paris. 
 
 When he got to Paris, the first thing he set 
 about was printing the bishop of Durham's book. 
 
220 THE LIFE OP 
 
 This prelate, as hath been observed, was a very- 
 moderate man; no favourer of protestantism, yet 
 no friend to some of the grosser tenets of the Ro- 
 mish church; particularly to its extravagant doc- 
 trine of the sacrament 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 cor- 
 rupted the bishop's work. Of what was said his 
 friends gave him notice, particularly Francis 
 WicIifF; 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 Nether- 
 lands. This learned man shewed him great re- 
 gard, 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 fre- 
 quently ask, " Whether such and such bad conse- 
 quences might not arise from such and such doc- 
 4 
 
EERNARD GILPIN. 221 
 
 trines ?" But he was always answered, " That 
 was not to be regarded — the church could not sub- 
 sist without them — and little inconveniences must 
 be borne with." 
 
 At Paris he found his old acquaintance Mr. 
 Neal, of New-college; who always favoured po- 
 pery, 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 a temper to be 
 wrought on. 
 
 As an instance of popish sophistry and preju- 
 dice, Mr. Gilpin would sometimes relate a conver- 
 sation about image-worship, which he once had 
 with this person at Paris. He was observing to 
 him the great absurdity of the Romanists, in con- 
 demning idolatry, and yet countenancing such an 
 use of images, as must necessarily draw the peo- 
 ple 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 con- 
 science, he did net think it the idolatry forbidden 
 in the second commandment? Neal was for dis- 
 tinguishing 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 second 
 commandment there was no mention made of an 
 idol: the prohibition was, ff JBow not down to the 
 
222 TITE LIFE OF 
 
 likeness of any created thing. " And what is if, 
 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 no- 
 thing" — a mere creature of the imagination. The 
 distinction therefore between Latria and Doulia is 
 to no purpose : it is made vo.d by the express 
 words, ** Thou shalt not bow down unto them." 
 The very posture of adoration, 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 consider- 
 able scruples. He wanted no farther conviction 
 of the bad tendency of popery: he saw the ne- 
 cessity of some reformation; and began to think 
 every day more favourably of the present one. 
 The doctrine of the corporal presence indeed he 
 had not yet fully considered; but he looked upon 
 it as a mystery, which it rather became him to 
 acquiesce in, than examine*. The principal end. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 223 
 
 of his going abroad being thus answered, he wa£ 
 desirous of returning home. 
 
 The Marian persecution still raged. His friends 
 therefore, with great earnestness, dissuaded him 
 from his design. They represented the dan- 
 ger he would be in at this jucture in England — 
 pressed him to wait for happier times — and sug- 
 gested, that it was little less than madness to 
 think of going to a place, from whence all, of 
 his sentiments, were endeavouring to withdraw 
 themselves. 
 
 But it is most probable, that his purpose to re- 
 turn at this time was in pursuance of the bishop of 
 Durham's advice; who, finding the infirmities of 
 age increase upon him, and believing his nephew 
 totally unqualified to advance himself in life, 
 -jnight be desirous of providing for him before his 
 death; and hoped that his power, in that remote 
 part of the kingdom, would be a sufficient protec- 
 tion for him against his enemies. It is however 
 certain, that he cane into England during the 
 heat of the persecution. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Upon his arrival in England, he went im- 
 mediately to the bishop of Durham, who was then 
 
224 THE LIFE OT 
 
 in his diocess. Here this humane prelate kepi 
 himself withdrawn 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 extir- 
 pation of heresy in his diocess ; and was given to 
 understand, that severity would be the only allowed 
 test of his zeal. These instructions he received in 
 the spirit they were given; threatening, that he- 
 retics should no where find a wanner 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 intention than perse- 
 cution; insomuch that his was almost the only 
 diocess, where the poor protestants enjoyed any 
 repose. When most of the other bishops sent in 
 large accounts of their services to religion, very 
 lame accounts came from Durham: they were 
 filled with high encomiums of the orthodoxy of 
 the diocess, 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 examined, and dismissed. His chancellor 
 thinking him too favourable, pressed for a further 
 
BERNARD C-ILFIN. 225 
 
 examination: the bishop answered, " We have hi- 
 therto lived peaceably among our neighbours: 
 let us continue so, and not bring this man's blood 
 upon us." A behaviour of this kind was but ill re- 
 lished by the zealous council; and the bishop lay 
 deservedly under the calumny of being not actu- 
 ated by true Romish principles. 
 
 Such was the state of the diocess 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 va- 
 cant, or soon 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 to reprove vice publicly and privately; 
 to encourage virtue; and to explain the nature of 
 true religion, 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 
 advanced but slowly in England, had made least 
 progress in the north. The ecclesiastics there 
 wanted not a popish reign to authorize their su- 
 perstition. But this was their best side. Their 
 manners were scandalous : the pastoral care was 
 
 VOL. II. 0. 
 
2^6 THE LIFE or 
 
 totally neglected; and it is hard ro 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 
 <l candle seemed a torch where no brighter light 
 " was ever seen before. Surely preaching now 
 fi ran very low, if it be true what I read, that Mr, 
 <c Tavernour, of Water-Eaton in Oxfordshire, high- 
 " sheriff of the county, came in pure charity, 
 ft 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 him- 
 self contributed much to advance the art of 
 preaching, if we may judge of his oratory by a 
 specimen of it still preserved. t( Arriving, (says 
 " he) at the mount of St. Mary in the stony stage 
 * ( where I now stand, I have brought you some 
 " fine biskets, baked in the oven of charity, and 
 " carefully conserved for the chickens of the 
 " church, the sparrows of the spirit, and the sw r eet 
 " swallows of salvation." 
 
 We may judge likewise of the state of learning 
 at that time among the clergy, from the accounts 
 still preserved of some archidiaconal visitations, 
 u Latine verba aliquot intelligit 3 non sententiam; 
 
BERNARD GILPIN, 227 
 
 Latine utcimque intelligit; Latine pauca intelli- 
 git;" were 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 ac- 
 count given us of the clergy of those parts, by a 
 bishop of Durham, in a letter still preserved, to 
 an archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 " It is lamentable, (says he) to see how neg- 
 11 ligently they say any service, .and how seldom. 
 " Your cures are all, except Rachdale, 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, 
 Gilpin great concern. " The insatiable covetous- 
 fc ness (to use his own words) joined with the 
 " pride, carnal liberty, and other vices, which 
 " reign at this time in all estates, but especially 
 if among us priests, who ought to be the salt of 
 w the earth, breaks me many a sleep." He de- 
 termined therefore to do all in his power to effect 
 a reformation; or, if that were impossible, fa 
 
 ft 2 
 
228 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 arch- 
 deacon ought. 
 
 Accordingly he took every opportunity of re- 
 proving the enormities he remarked. The more 
 ingenuous of the inferior clergy he endeavoured to 
 bring by gentler methods to their duty : the obsti- 
 nate he would rebuke with all authority. And as 
 he feared no man in the cause of religion, no man's 
 family or fortune could exempt him from his no- 
 tice. At visitations particularly, and wherever 
 his audience was chiefly clerical, he would ex- 
 press himself against every thing he observed 
 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 there- 
 fore, if we find him inveighing against (hem with 
 the greatest earnestness. It must be owned in- 
 deed, they were at that time shamefully in use. 
 It was no uncommon thing for a clergyman in 
 those days to hold three, and sometimes four liv- 
 ings together. Mr. Strype mentions one person 
 who held five. His name ~\fas Blage : he was a 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 229 
 
 batchelor in divinity; and held at one time, St. 
 Dunstan's in the West, Whiston and Doncaster in 
 Yorkshire, Rugby in Warwickshire, and Barnet in 
 Middlesex. Such enormities went to the heart of 
 the pious archdeacon; and were the constant sub- 
 jects of his reproof. Sometimes he would shew 
 how wrong they were in themselves, as absolutely 
 contrary to the design of endowments; 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 argu- 
 ment against them was, the prejudice they did 
 religion. " It 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." Be- 
 sides, 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 se- 
 questered life of a minister of Christ; and gave an 
 example which tended more to the discredit of 
 religion, than 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 such irregu- 
 

 THE LIFE OF 
 
 larities as he knew gave most offence in the ec- 
 clesiastics of those parts. 
 
 The prudent bishop,, observing the forwardneiw 
 of his zeal, failed not to furnish him with cautions 
 in abundance; often reminding him how pru- 
 dently he ought to behave, where, with all his 
 prudence, he should scarce avoid giving offence — 
 and his enemies, he said, could never want a 
 handle against him, while popery reigned with :o 
 much severity. 
 
 But such representations of danger had no effect 
 upon him. The common maxims indeed of worldly 
 prudence, he knew, were against him: but the 
 examples he found in scripture of holy men, who 
 with equal freedom opposed vice, and in times as 
 dangerous, wrought strongly with him. If his en- 
 deavours were at all serviceable to religion, if they 
 only set some bounds to vice, he thought it crimi- 
 nal 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 destructive of common good, than to con- 
 sider public offices only as private emoluments. 
 
 It is however a little surprizing, that the bishop 
 of Durham, who knew the world 90 well, should 
 not foresee how much he must necessarily expose 
 his nephew to the popish party, by placing him 
 in such a station. He knew he could not tempo- 
 rize; and he must know, that without temporiz- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 231 
 
 nig, he would soon be obnoxious to those in 
 power; with whose persecuting principles he way 
 well acquainted. Had he provided for him in a 
 way, which had no connexion with the clergy, 
 it is probable he might have avoided those dangers 
 in which we shall immediately find him. For his 
 Free reproofs soon roused the ecclesiastics of those 
 /parts against him, and put them upon every me- 
 thod in their power to remove so inconvenient an 
 enquirer. It was presently the popular clamour, 
 " That he was an enemy to the church — a scanda- 
 lizer of the clergy — a preacher of damnable doc- 
 trines — 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, I soon 
 <c procured me many mighty and grievous adver- 
 " saries, for that I preached against pluralities and 
 <c 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 
 et make whole sermons, as they did, about tran- 
 fC substantiation, purgatory, holy-water, images, 
 " prayers to saints, and such like." 
 
 Thus, in short, he had raised a flame, which 
 nothing but his blood could quench. Many ar- 
 ticles were drawn up against him, and he was ac- 
 cused in form before the bishop of Durham. 
 
232 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 protect his friend without endangering 
 himself. . 
 
 When the cause came before him, cc He was 
 sorry to hear, that a person he had so great a re- 
 gard for should be accused of heresy — that indeed 
 himself 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 consequence 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 reli- 
 gion — and that heresy was such a crime, as no- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 233 
 
 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, such 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 par- 
 ticularly., in which with great mildness he endea- 
 vours to free himself from the slanders of some 
 of his enemies, who had reported him to have 
 affirmed, cc 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 an- 
 swered, " He thought them both bad :" but io 
 extend this to his affirming, " They were both 
 equally bad," was perverting his meaning, he 
 thought, in a very disingenuous 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, w That he must resign either 
 his archdeaconry, or his parish — that he would 
 with the greatest readiness do his duty in which 
 soever his lordship thought him best qualified for; 
 
234 THE LIFF OP 
 
 but he was not abl« to do it in both.'' — '* Have 1 
 not repeatedly fold you/' said the bishop, " that 
 von will die a beggar? Depend upon it you will, 
 if you suffer your conscience to raise such unrea- 
 sonable scruples. The archdeaconry and the liv- 
 ing cannot, be separated: the income of the former 
 is not a support without that of the latter. I 
 found them united, and am determined to leave 
 them so." 
 
 In consequence of the bishop's refusal to let him 
 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 
 bjing 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 fre- 
 quently as they could; urging him continually 
 upon some controverted point of religion, in con- 
 tradiction often to the most obvious rules of de- 
 cency and good manners. 
 
 The bishop of Chichester gives us the particu- 
 lars 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. 
 6 
 
rn'.NWtfD Gii.riN. 
 
 Z3i 
 
 Some of the bishop's chaplains getting about 
 him in their accustomed manned one of them 
 asked him his opinion of the writings of Luther: 
 Mr. Gilpin answered, " He had never rend them: 
 that his method had always been to study the scrip- 
 tures, 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 of proceeding; and added, 
 " That if all men were of Mr. Gilpin's opinion, 
 and had the same veneration for antiquity, the 
 peace of the church would no longer be disturbed 
 with anv of these novel teachers." *' But sup- 
 pose," 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?" This 
 not satisfying them, they began to urge him far- 
 ther. " Prav," said one of them, " what are 
 your thoughts about the real presence?" Mr. 
 Gilpin answered, M That he really knew nothing 
 of weight to object against it: but he thought it. 
 too mysterious a subject to bear a dispute/' ft But 
 do you believe transubstantiation ?" " I believe 
 every thing contained in the word of God." (< But 
 do you believe as the church believes?" " Pray," 
 said Mr. Gilpin, " is the catholic faith unchange- 
 able?" " Undoubtedly it is." " But the church 
 did not always hold transubstantiation as an article 
 
*236 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of faith." ? When did it not hrld it so?" " Be- 
 fore the time of Peter Lomba:^, who first intro- 
 duced it: and even since hi.; tune it hath under- 
 gone an alteration. Pray, tell me; is not the 
 bread in the sacrament converted into both the 
 body and blood of Christ ?" " Undoubtedly it 
 is." " But/' said Mr. Gilpin, " Peter Lombard 
 himself did rot believe that: for in the eleventh 
 chapter of his fourth book, I very well remember, 
 he saith expressly, ' There is no transubstantiation 
 e but of bread into flesh, and wine into blood.' 
 And now, I beg you will tell me how you recon- 
 cile these things with the unchaneeableness of the 
 catholic faith ?" The chaplains bad nothing to 
 answer: for the words of Lombard indeed plainly 
 denied, that in the transubstantiated bread there 
 was any blood. Mr. Gilpin, observing their con- 
 fusion, went on : " It appears then, that transub- 
 stantiation was never heard of in the church be- 
 fore the time of Peter Lombard : a" man might 
 .have been a good catholic without acknowledging 
 that doctrine till then : afterwards for a long time, 
 the only meaning of it was, a conversion of the 
 bread into flesh, and the wine into blood: and 
 thus it remained, till Thomas Aquinas introduced 
 his notion of coiicomitancy; at 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 
 I am afraid these are the novel opinions that have 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 237 
 
 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 in his 
 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, because the rectory of Houghton-le-spring 
 fell vacant, before Easington, and the archdea- 
 conry, were disposed 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, 
 but the duty of it was proportionably laborious. 
 It was so extensive, that it contained no less than 
 fourteen villages: and having been as much neg- 
 lected in that dark age, as the cures in the north 
 then ordinarily were, popery had produced its full 
 growth of superstition. Scarce any traces indeed 
 of true Christianity were left. Nay, what little re- 
 ligion remained, was even popery itself corrupted. 
 All its idle ceremonies were carried higher in the 
 north, than in any other part of the kingdom ; and 
 
238 THE LIFE OF 
 
 were more considered as the essentials of religion. 
 How entirely this barbarous people were excluded 
 from all means of better information, appears 
 from hence, that in that part of the kingdom, 
 through the designed neglect of the bishop:-; 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 Hough- 
 ton when it was committed to Mr. Gilpin's care. 
 He was grieved to see ignorance and vice so la- 
 mentably prevail : but he did not despair. He im- 
 plored the assistance of God; and his sincere en- 
 deavours 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 im- 
 mediately reside. His parsonage-house was gone 
 entirely 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 
 improving 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 Chi- 
 chester, " was like a bishop's palace; superior in- 
 " deed to most bishops' houses with respect both 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 233 
 
 " to the largeness of the building, and the e;e- 
 " gance of the situation.' - 
 
 Soon after this late instance of the bishop's fa- 
 vour to -him, another opportunity offered, by 
 which this generous patron hoped still further to 
 improve his fortune. 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, c; That by his bounty 
 he had already more wealth, than, he was afraid, 
 he could give a good account of. He begged 
 therefore he might not have an additional charge ; 
 but that his lordship would rather bestow this 
 preferment on cue 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 prebend. 
 
 Though he lived now retired, and gave no of- 
 fence to the clergy, their malice still pursued 
 him. They observed with indignation the strong 
 opposition between his life and theirs. His care 
 and labour were a standing satire upon their neg- 
 ligence 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 re- 
 move so disagreeable a contrast. 
 
no 
 
 THE LIFE OP 
 
 But they had not the easiest part to manage. 
 The country favoured him; the bishop was his 
 friend; and no good man his enemy. However, 
 what malice could do was not wanting: every en- 
 gine was set at work ; and b?.se emissaries em- 
 ployed in all parts to seek out matter for an accu- 
 sation of him. Of all this Mr. Gilpin was sensible, 
 and behaved as cautiously as he thought consistent 
 with his duty; indeed more cautiously than he 
 could afterwards approve: 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 inef- 
 fectual. The eyes of numbers were constantly 
 upon him, and scarce an action of his life es- 
 caped 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 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, 
 
 * See page 198. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 241 
 
 u He durst not persuade her to call upon the vir- 
 gin 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 crush him. He 
 was formally accused therefore, and brought once 
 more before the bishop of Durham. How the 
 bishop behaved at this time we are not particu- 
 larly informed. But no man knew better how 
 to act upon an emergency. It is probable he 
 would vary his management; but it is certain Mr. 
 Gilpin was acquitted. 
 
 The malice of his enemies succeeded however 
 in part; for the bishop's favour 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 in- 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
$42 The li^e of 
 
 superable.* This was not less than Mr. Gilpin 
 expected. He acknowledged his great obliga-* 
 tions to the bishop; was sorry to see him dis- 
 gusted; 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 se- 
 cond time, they were still determined to proceed. 
 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 re- 
 ligion ; and promised that the heretic should be 
 at a stake in a fortnight. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin's friends m London, trembled for 
 bis safety, and instantly dispatched a message — ■ 
 that he bad not a moment to lose. 
 
 * About easier 1 was accused again before the bishop, itf 
 many articles, both from York and Durham: but these 
 could take no farther hold against me, than only to make 
 the bishop to blot me out of his testament; and to make the 
 vulgar people speak evil of me. For losing the disposal of 
 the bishop's goods, I thought I was well unburthened; and 
 for the people's favour, to the end I might more edify in* 
 preaching (otherwise I did not covet it) I trusted time r 
 through God's goodness, would bring it again. Extract of 
 «. letter from Bernard GiJpin to his brother. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 243 
 
 The messenger did not surprize 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 in giving the best testimony to it: and 
 as it was the principal business of his life to pro- 
 mote 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 fa- 
 vourite 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 Lon- 
 don, from whom there will be no escaping — God 
 forgive their malice, and grant me strength to un- 
 dergo the trial." He then ordered his servant to 
 provide a long garment for him, in which he 
 might go decently to the stake; and desired it 
 might be made ready with all expedition; " For I 
 know not," says he, " how soon I may have occa- 
 sion for it." 
 
 As soon as this garment was provided, it is said, 
 he used to put it on every day till the bishop's 
 messengers apprehended him. 
 
 His friends in the mean time failed not to in- 
 terpose ; earnestly beseeching him, while he had 
 yet an opportunity, to provide for his safety. But 
 he begged them not to press him longer on that 
 subject; should he even attempt it, he said, he 
 
 B % 
 
S44 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 mi- 
 serable life of an exile, before the joyful death 
 of a martyr ? " Be assured/' says he, " I should 
 never have thrown myself voluntarily into the 
 hands of my enemies; but I am fully determined 
 to persevere in doing my duty, and shall 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 London, it is said, he broke his 
 ]eg } which put a stop for some time to his jour- 
 ney. The persons, in whose custody he was, 
 took occasion thence, maliciously to retort upon 
 him an observation he would frequently make, 
 " That nothing happens to us but what is in- 
 tended for our good;" asking him, " Whether he 
 thought his broken leg 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 in the family; 
 thus much is certain: the account of the queen's 
 death met him upon the road, and put a stop to 
 any farther prosecution. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 315 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, thus providentially rescued from his 
 enemies, returned to Houghton through crouds 
 of people, expressing the utmost joy, and blessing 
 God for his deliverance, 
 
 Elizabeth's accession freed him now from all 
 restraint, 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, re- 
 fusing 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 tran- 
 quility the short remainder of a very long life. 
 
 This prelate had seen as great a varietv of for- 
 tune as most men; he had lived in difficult and in 
 cs5y times; he had known both protectants and 
 papists in power; and yet from all parties, and in 
 
2i6 THE LlfE Of 
 
 all revolutions of government, he had found fa- 
 vour. The truth is, he was well versed in the 
 arts of temporizing; and possessed a large share 
 of that complying philosophy, which taking of- 
 fence at nothing, can adapt itself to all things. 
 When Henry the eighth began to innovate, the 
 bishop of Durham had no scruples. When his 
 son went farther, still the bishop was quiet, and 
 owed indeed his confinement at the close of that 
 yeign to his desire of continuing 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 however may 
 justly be said of him, that upon all occasions, 
 and where no secular ends were in view, he 
 shewed himsulf a man of great moderation : and 
 whether in his heart he was more papist or pro- 
 testant, to arbitrary proceedings however in either 
 persuasion he was wholly averse. Thus he thought 
 things were carried too far on one side in king 
 Edward's time, find 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 op- 
 pose them. But as his days shortened, his con- 
 science grew more tender, and what he had 
 done for king Henry and king Edward, he re- 
 fused to do again for queen Elizabeth. Though 
 the bishop of Salisbury is of opinion, he was not 
 withheld by any scruples, but such as a sense of 
 Recency raised, from complying with that prin- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 247 
 
 cess : he was very old, and thought it looked bet- 
 ter 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 commendable. He had an absolute com- 
 mand over himself; a temper which no accident 
 could discompose; great humanity, and great 
 good nature. In learning, few of his content 
 poraries were equal to him; none more ready 
 to patronize it. Of the offices of friendship he 
 was a strict observer; and was not only a fa~ 
 vourer, but a zealous encourager of good men. 
 In a word, where he was not immediately un- 
 der the influence of court-maxims, he gave the 
 example of a true christian bishop. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, through deprived of the assistance 
 of this great prelate, soon experienced however, 
 that worth like his could never be left friend- 
 less. His merit raised him friends wherever he 
 was known ; and though his piety was such, 
 that he never proposed reputation as the end of 
 his actions; yet perhaps few of his profession 
 stood at this time higher in the public esteem. 
 i( He was respected," says the bishop of Chi* 
 
 * See Burnet's history of the reformatioot 
 3 
 
248 THE LIFE OP 
 
 Chester, " not only by the more eminent church- 
 " men, but by those of the first rank in the 
 " nation." 
 
 When the popish bishops were deprived, and 
 many sees became vacant, Mr. Gilpin's friends 
 at court, particu. any the earl of Bedford, thought 
 it a good opportunity to use their interest in his 
 favour. He was recommenced accordingly to the 
 queen as a proper person for one of the void 
 bishoprics: on which, as he was a north-country 
 man, she nominated him to that of Carlisle; and 
 the e^rl took immediate care that a conge d'elire, 
 with her majesty's recommendation uf him, should 
 be sent down to the dean and chapter of that 
 see. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin, who knew iiptnii)g of what v. as go- 
 ing forward in his favour, was greatly surprised at 
 this unexpected honour; yet could not by any 
 means persuac.e himself to accept it. He sent a 
 messenger therefore with a letter to the earl, ex- 
 pressing his great obligations to her majesty and 
 hir lordship for their favourable sentiments of him 
 — but begged they would excuse his accepting 
 their intended kindness — they had really thought 
 of placing him in a 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. 
 
BF.RNAKD GILPIN. 249 
 
 The earl, upon the receipt of this letter, went 
 immediately to Dr. Sandys, bishop of Worcester, 
 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 in- 
 fluence over him; and therefore earnestly desired 
 he would endeavour to persuade his friend to think 
 less meanly of himself. The bishop readily un- 
 dertook 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 
 religion, I did what I could, that the bishopric 
 of Carlisle might be secured to you: and the 
 just character I gave of ycu 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 consider the condi- 
 tion of the church at this time, you cannot, I 
 think, with a good conscience, refuse this bur- 
 den; especially as it is in a part of the king- 
 dom, where no man is thought fitter than your- 
 self to be of service to religion. Wherefore I 
 
 * The original is lost, but the bishop of Chichester has 
 preserved a latin translation of it, from which this is taken. 
 
$50 the Lire or 
 
 " charge you before God, and as you will answer 
 " to him, that laying all excuses aside, you refuse 
 " not to assist your country, and do what sefc» 
 " vice you can to the church of God. — In the 
 <c mean time, I can inform you, that by the 
 *' queen's favour you will have the bishopric just 
 " in the condition in which Dr. Oglethorpe left 
 " it; nothing shall be taken from it, as hath been 
 te from some others. Wherefore exhorting and 
 " beseeching you to be obedient to God's call 
 " herein, and not to neglect the duty of your 
 * f function, I commend both you and this whole 
 " business to the divine providence. Your kins-^ 
 " man and brother, 
 
 " Edwjn Worcester." 
 London, April 4, 1560. 
 
 This letter, notwithstanding the pressing man- 
 ner 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. Nor 
 could all the persuasions 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 accepted it: but in that 
 diocess I have so many friends and acquaintance, 
 ©f whom I have not the best opinion, that I must 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. Q5I 
 
 (either connive at many irregularities, or draw 
 upon myself so much hatred, that I should be less 
 able to do good there than any one else." 
 
 Mr. Gilpin thus persisting in his refusal, the 
 bishopric 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 disagreeable and vexatious office. His cath- 
 edral was filled with an illiterate set of men, who 
 had been formerly monks: tf For," as Camden 
 tells us, " the greater part of the popish priests 
 (t thought it would turn to better account to re- 
 il nounce the pope's authority, and swear allegiance 
 " f 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 
 se pope would be so good as dispense with their 
 uf oath on such an occasion." The diocess of 
 Carlisle was much in this situation ; and indeed 
 the people there were as strongly inclined to the 
 superstitions of popery as the priests. This dis- 
 position of the country, whetted by the prelate's 
 rigid opposition, who was not a man the most 
 happily qualified to manage unruly tempers, be- 
 gan to shew itself in very violent effects. The 
 whole diocess was soon in a flame; and the bishop, 
 after two years' residence, was obliged to repair 
 
25S THE LIFE OP 
 
 to London, and make a formal complaint to his 
 superiors. 
 
 This vexation which the popish party was likely 
 to give to any one placed in the see of Carlisle, 
 is imagined, by the author of archbishop Grindak's 
 life, to be a principal reason why Mr. Giloin re- 
 fused it. But this would have been as £ood a reason 
 for his refusing the rectory of Houghton, or any 
 other employment in the church: for popery pre- 
 vailed universally over the country; and he could 
 be placed no where in the north without expe- 
 riencing a toilsome opposition to the bigotry and 
 prejudices of it. But his own ease and conveni- 
 ence were never motives of the least weight with 
 him, when any service to mankind could be ba- 
 lanced against them. 
 
 The accounts given us by bishop Nicholson and 
 Dr. Heylin of Mr. Gilpin's behaviour 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 f latter 
 supposes that all bis scruples would have vanished, 
 might he have had the old temporalities undimi- 
 nished. Both these writers seem to have been 
 very little acquainted with Mr. Gilpin's character, 
 
 * In bis historical library. + In his church history, 
 
 1 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 253 
 
 in which disinterestedness bore so principal a part: 
 it will hereafter appear, that he considered his in- 
 come in no other light than that of a fund to be 
 managed for the common good. The bishop's in- 
 sinuation therefore is contradicted by every action 
 of Mr. Gilpin's life: and as for Dr. He\lin's, it is 
 most notoriously false; for the bishopric was 
 offered to him with the old temporalities undi- 
 minished.* 
 
 There were not wanting some who attributed his 
 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 anv other form of church go- 
 vernment, 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 
 Carlisle, an oiler of another kind was made him. 
 
 The provostship of Queens-college in Oxford 
 becoming vacant soon after Elizabeth's accession ; 
 and the fellows who were strongly attached to 
 popery, being about to chuse a person inclined 
 the same way, the queen, with their visitor the 
 archbishop of York, interposed, and insisted on 
 
 * See the bishop of Worcester'? letter, p. 24$. 
 
254 
 
 THE LIFE OP 
 
 their electing Dr. Francis. The fellows were* 
 much out of humour at this proceeding; and the 
 affair made some lioise in the university, where 
 the popish party was very strong. At length how- 
 ever the queen's recommendation took effect. But 
 though the fellows had thus chosen the person re- 
 commended to them, yet their behaviour was so 
 undutiful towards him, that he was sOon weary 
 of his office; and in less than a year began 
 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 
 unpleasing to the fellows, and very agreea^e to 
 the queers He made him an offer therefore of 
 resigning in his favour: but not succeeding the 
 Jirst time, he wrote again; begging at least that! 
 he would recommend to him some proper person, 
 and Assuring him with what readiness he would 
 acquiesce in his choke. His second letter is still 
 preserved. 
 
 " After my hearty commendations: meaning to 
 sc leave the place which I occupy in the Queen's- 
 " college at Oxford, and being desirous to prefer 
 c! some honest, -learned, godly, and eligible person 
 '* to that office,' I thought good yet once again to 
 ".offer the provostship thereof unto you: which 
 r * 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 meau 
 
i'KKNAAfl GILPIN. 25Df 
 
 €i you marvelously well. But, and if you propose 
 ** not to encumber yourself with so small a portion 
 " in unquietness (so may I justly call it) I shall 
 <e wait your advice upon whom I may confer the 
 " same, whom you think mete and eligible there- 
 " unto: and I shall be ready to follow your 
 " advice upon the receiving of your letters, 
 '* wherewith I pray you speedily to certify me. 
 " By yours to command, 
 
 " Thomas Fkancis." 
 Oxford* December 17, 1561. 
 
 Jlow Mr. Gilpin answered this letter doth not 
 appear; 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 visi- 
 tation was held. An assembly of divines, among 
 whom were Parker, Grindal, and Sandys, having 
 finished a body of injunctions and articles, commis- 
 sions were issued out, impowering proper persons 
 to inforce them: the oath ©f 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 
 
256 THE LIFE OP 
 
 clergy there, against the pope's supremacy. To 
 this he had no objection: but he did not like the 
 thoughts of subscribing, having some doubts with 
 regard to one or more of the articles. His curate 
 having not these scruples, he hoped that his sub- 
 scription 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 reflection. 
 He just considered with himself, that upon the 
 whole, these alterations in religion were certainly 
 right — that he doubted only in a few immaterial 
 points — and that if he should refuse, it might 
 keep others back. He then took up the pen, and, 
 with some hesitation, at length subscribed. Af- 
 terwards retiring, he sent a letter to the visitors, 
 acquainting them in what sense he subscribed the 
 articles; which they accepted very favourably. 
 
 The great ignorance which at this time pre- 
 vailed 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 reformation every where so long at a 
 stand; a superstition which was like to continue; 
 for all the channel:-, through which knowledge 
 could flow, were choaked up. There were few 
 schools in the nation; and these as ill supplied as- 
 they were endowed. The universities were in the 
 hands of bigots, collecting their strength to defend 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 257 
 
 absurdities to the utter neglect of all good learn- 
 ing. At Cambridge indeed some advances in use- 
 ful literature were made; Sir John Cheke, Roger 
 Ascham, * and a few others, having boldly struck 
 out a new path th : .\at 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 remove it. The queen herself was greatly in- 
 terested in this matter, and earnestly recommended 
 it to the care of her council; who began to vie 
 with each ot. er 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 
 
 * Sir John Cheke was fellow of St. John's, and after- 
 wards tutor to Edward the sixth. In queen Mary's time he 
 tied 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 piofessor of oratory ia the 
 university; afterwards tutor and secretary to queen Eliza- 
 beth. He was a man of great learning, honesty, and in-« 
 discretion. 
 
 VOL. II. S 
 
258 THE LIFE OP 
 
 was commonly indeed thought, beyond them. 
 His manner of living was the most affluent, and 
 generous: his hospitality made daily a large de- 
 mand upon him; and his bounty and charities a 
 much larger. His acquaintance therefore could 
 not but wonder to find him, amidst such great ex- 
 pences, entertaining the design of building and 
 endowing a grammar-school: a design however 
 which his exact economy enabled him to accom- 
 plish. 
 
 The effects of his endowment were very quickly 
 seen. His school was no sooner opened than it 
 began to flourish, and to 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 mas- 
 ters in his school, whom he procured from Oxford, 
 but himself likewise constantly inspected it. And 
 that encouragement might quicken the application 
 of his boys, he took particular notice of the most 
 forward: he would call them his own scholars, and 
 would send for them into his study, and there 
 instruct them himself. — Often when he met a poor 
 boy upon the road, he would make trial of his 
 capacity by a few questions; 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 main- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 259 
 
 tained them at his own expence. To others, who 
 were in circumstances to do something for them- 
 selves, 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 guar- 
 dian; and seemed to think himself bound to the 
 public for their being made useful members of it a 
 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 aa 
 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 hfe was held 
 
 s2 
 
260 THE LIFE OP 
 
 among them.* So solicitous indeed was 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 exemplar)' 
 " instances of piety." 
 
 * An extract from one of these letters is worth preserv- 
 ing. It contains a curious account of that remarkable sick- 
 ness 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 
 M undoubtedly heard, hath made it indeed a dreadful time 
 " to us. 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 
 11 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 cloaths: 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 ihem give this distemper a name, 
 " though they have done nothing to shew they are at all 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 2(3 1 
 
 Among those of any note, who were educated 
 by him, I find these three particularly mentioned; 
 Henry Ayray, George Carleton, and Hugh Brough- 
 ton. 
 
 Henry Ay ray became afterwards provost of 
 Qneen'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 undistinguishing 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 was a re- 
 markable instance of the danger of learning with- 
 out common sense. During the younger part of 
 
 " 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, b»i its 
 " effects appear every day weaker." 
 
262 THE LIFE OP 
 
 his life he confined himself to a college library, 
 where his trifling genius engaged him chiefly in 
 rabbinical learning, in which he made a notable 
 progress. Thus accomplished, he came abroad, 
 with an opinion 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 in difficulties. London 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 after- 
 wards giving a freer scope to his vanity, he set up 
 a conventicle; where assuming the air of an ori- 
 ginal, he treated the opinions of the times, and 
 all who maintained them, with an insufferable in- 
 solence and scurrility. Disappointed of his ex- 
 pected preferment, and thoroughly mortified that 
 his merit had been so long disregarded, he with- 
 drew into Germany. Thither he carried his old 
 temper, attacking jews in synagogues, and pa- 
 pists in mass-houses. But he was soon glad to 
 return into England; w^here having lived out all 
 his credit, and become the jest even of the stage,* 
 he died — a standing monument of the folly of 
 applying learning to the purposes of vanity, 
 rather than the moral ends of life.f 
 
 • See the Alcbymist of Ben Jonson; act 2- sc. 3. and 
 act 4. sc 5. — The Fox; act 2. sc. 2. 
 
 t Tlje following elegy upon Mr. Broughton's death, writ- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 363 
 
 But to return: while Mr. Gilpin was engaged 
 in settling his school, he was for some time inter- 
 
 ten in the year 16*12, I met with accidentally. The reader 
 will not be displeased with it, as it is a very beautiful com- 
 position, and serves likewise to illustrate Mr. Broughton'e 
 character; for though meant as an encomium, 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 mtird'rous Herod's fell and bloody knife. 
 
 Between her lilly 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 j 
 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 trail'rous Judas sold, 
 
264 THE LIFE OF 
 
 rupted by a rebellion which broke out in the 
 north. The popish party, which had given so 
 
 With sacred stain, fresh issuing from his side, 
 Them gilt, when in Jerusalem he dyed, 
 For to redeem his dearest love, his beauteous bride. 
 
 Theology, for so men called the maid, 
 Upon these volumes cast her melting eyes: 
 " And who shall now," quothsne," sinceBroughton'sdead, 
 " Find out the treasure, which within you lies, 
 " Shadowed in high and heavenly mysteries ? 
 " 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; 
 " 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 265 
 
 much disturbance to Elizabeth's reign, made at 
 this time a fresh effort. Two factious spirits^ the 
 
 41 From princely Adam to the noble Sem, 
 u 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: 
 " Reuben in sardius, which as water runs; 
 " In topaz Simeon, baser than the rest; 
 w 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 agat Napthali; and warlike Gad 
 " In bloody amethyst: i$?bur is put 
 " In crysolite: the beryl Joseph had; 
 " Young Benjamin, old Jacob's sweetest lad, 
 " The ony::: each within his several stone 
 " Our great Bezaleol carved, who now is gone 
 " To praise the lamb, and him who sits upon the throne. 
 
 u Ye sacred Muses, that on Siloah sing, 
 " And in celestial dew do dip your quill, 
 " The which your Phoebus, mighty Elohim, 
 " In silver-streaming channels doth distill 
 11 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. 
 
266 THE LIFE OF 
 
 carls of Westmoreland, and Northumberland, in- 
 flamed by the seditious whispers of a Romish 
 
 ** And you, poor Jews, the issue of old Sem, 
 " Who did in honey flowing Canaan dwell, 
 u And swayed the sceptre of Jerusalem, 
 " Untill some snaky fury, 6ent from hell, 
 •' Did you enrage with spite and malice fell 
 ** To put your lord to death— ;.h ! 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'nscaling throng, 
 " Which sought above the dew-steep'd clouds to climb 
 " (Such hateful pride was found in earthy slime) 
 *' Do you lament this wondrous learned man, 
 u Who, tuneful as the silver-pinion'd swan, 
 u Canaan's rich language in perfection sang. 
 
 " He knew the Greek, plenteous in words and sense, 
 *' TheCaldee 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, 
 w The lisping French that fits a lady vain, 
 " The German, like the people, rough and plain, 
 " Tlie English full and rich, his native country's strain. 
 
 " Ah! Scottish Ishmaels, do not offer wrong 
 " Unto his quiet urn; do not defame 
 " The silver sound of that harmonious tongue: 
 11 Peace, dirty mouths, be quieted by shame, 
 ** Nor vent your gall upon a dead man's name. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 267 
 
 emissary, were drawn from their allegiance. The 
 watchful ministry soon suspected them; and the 
 queen, with her usual foresight, appointing a 
 short day for their appearance at court, obliged 
 them, yet unprepared, to take arms. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin had observed the fire gathering be- 
 fore the flame burst out; and knowing what 
 zealots would soon approach him, he thought it 
 prudent to withdraw. Having given proper advice 
 therefore to his masters and scholars, he took the 
 opportunity to make a journey to Oxford. 
 
 The rebels in the mean time published their 
 manifesto, 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 Durham; where they burned all 
 the bibles they could find, and had mass said pub- 
 
 ** 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 chearful 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 t 
 
 4 
 
26S THE LIFE OV 
 
 licly in the cathedral. The country around felt 
 their rage. Many of them ravaged as far as 
 Houghton. 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 designed 
 to spread a winter's gladness through a country, 
 was in a moment wasted by these ravagers. 
 
 But themselves soon felt the consternation they 
 occasioned. The approach 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 
 JSowes was commissioned to try them. 
 
 Here Mr. Gilpin had an opportunity of shewing 
 his humanity. Sir George had received personal 
 ill treatment from them; and the clamours of a 
 plundered 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 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 283 
 
 arms for the queen's service." Persuaded by what 
 he said, or paying a deference to his character, 
 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. John's college. 
 Here he was first taken notice of for a freedom of 
 speech which drew upon him queen Mary's re- 
 sentment. But he had the good 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 introduced to 
 the queen; and being found a man of true mode- 
 ration, the reforming temper then looked for, and 
 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. lie withdrew himself imme- 
 diately from all state avocations, and court depen- 
 dencies, in which indeed he had never been much 
 involved, and applied himself wholly to the duties 
 of his function ; promoting religion rather by his 
 own example, than by the use of proper disci- 
 pline, in which he was thought too remits. — \t 
 
270 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Durham he became acquainted with Mr. Gilpin. 
 Their minds, intent on the same pursuits, easily 
 blended. It was a pure friendship, in which in- 
 terest had no share ; for the one had nothing to ask, 
 the other had nothing to receive. When business 
 did not require their being separate, they were 
 generally together; sometimes at Bishop-Awkland, 
 and as often at Houghton. At these meetings 
 they consulted many pious des : gns. 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 
 revise and correct. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin's blameless life, his reputation in 
 the world, his piety, his learning, and that un- 
 common regard for truth, which he had always 
 discovered, made it the desire of persons of all 
 religious persuasions 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. 
 
BEKNARD GILPIN. 271 
 
 The English protestants, whom the Marian per- 
 secution had driven from home, flying in great 
 bodies into Germany and Switzerland, settled at 
 Frankfort, Strasburgh, Arrow, Zuric, and Geneva, 
 Of 511 these places Frankfort afforded them the 
 kindest reception. Here, by the favour of the 
 magistracy, they obtained the joint use of a 
 church with the distressed protectants of France, 
 to whom likewise Frankfort at that time afforded 
 protection. These were chiefly Calvinists. Reli- 
 gious prejudices between bo.h parties were how- 
 ever here laid aside. Their circumstances as fel- 
 low-exiles in a foreign land, and fellow-sufferers in 
 a common cause, inspired them with mutual ten- 
 derness: in one great opposition all others sub- 
 sided ; and protestant and papist became the only 
 distinction. In a word, the English thinking 
 their own church now dissolved, having no ma- 
 terial objections, and being the less body, for the 
 sake of peace and convenience, receded from their 
 liturgy, and conformed to the French. Some 
 authors indeed mention this as an imposed condi- 
 tion. Be it however as it will, the coalition was 
 no sooner known, than it gzxe the highest offence 
 to many of the English settled in other parts. 
 " It was scandalous," they exclaimed, *' to shew 
 so little regard to an establishment which was 
 formed with so much wisdom, was so well cal- 
 culated for all the ends of religion, and for which 
 their poor brethren in England were at that time 
 
§72 THE LIFE OF 
 
 laying down their lives." The truth of the case 
 •was, the argument had been before moved; and 
 this was only the rekindling of that flame which 
 John a Lasco had formerly raised.* An opposition 
 so very unseasonable produced, as such oppo- 
 sitions generally do, the wcrst 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 convenience. 
 Accordingly, when they came home, they revived 
 the dispute with bitterness enough; and became 
 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 am- 
 bitious 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 tc- 
 
 * John a Lasco was a native of Poland; from whence be- 
 ing driven on the account of his religion, he retired into Eng- 
 land; where, by the favour of Edward the sixth, he was 
 allowed to open a church for the use of those of his own per- 
 suasion. But he made only a bad use of this indulgence; 
 interfering very impertinently in the ecclesiastical contro- 
 versies then on foot. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN, 213 
 
 \ 
 
 lerable, but its ceremonies and government were 
 popish and unchristian — 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 themselves, as they had been suf- 
 ferers in the cause of religion, they thought it was 
 but right they should be consulted about the set- 
 tlement of it." This imprudent language was a 
 melancholy presage to all who had real Christianity 
 at heart. It was answered, " That things were 
 now legally settled — that whatever 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 tolerated — and 
 that the many inconveniences attending even that 
 change, which was absolutely necessary, made it 
 very disagreeable to think of another, which was 
 not so." The lord Burleigh endeavoured to con- 
 vince 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, i( That not an hoof should be 
 left behind." This irreConcileable temper gave 
 great offence not only to the churchmen, but to 
 the more serious of their own persuasion, The 
 
 VOL. II. t 
 
274 THE LIFE OF 
 
 government from this time slighting them, they 
 appealed to the people; and by the popular artifice 
 of decrying authority, they soon became consider- 
 able. — Such were the beginnings of those dissen- 
 tions which our prudent forefathers entailed on 
 their posterity ! 
 
 The dissenters having thus formed their party 
 among the people, endeavoured to 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 great hopes that in his 
 heart he had no dislike to their cause. But they 
 soon found their mistake. He was wholly dissatis- 
 fied with their proceedings. Religious disputes 
 were in his opinion of such dangerous conse- 
 quence, that he always thought when true Chris- 
 tianity, under any form of church government, 
 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 
 reasonable offence. Some things there might be 
 in it, which had been perhaps as well avoided:* 
 
 * It is probable he here means particularly the use of vest- 
 ments, which gave a good deal of offence at that time.— 
 
EERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 275 
 
 but to disturb the peace of a nation for such 
 trifles/' he thought, " was quite unchristian/' — 
 
 Bishop Burnet, speaking of some letters he saw at Zurick 
 between Bullinger and some of the reformed bishops, 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 let- 
 '*- ters, of which I read the originals, it appears that the bi- 
 " shops preserved their antient habits rather in compliance 
 <* with the queen's inclinations, than out of any liking they 
 " had to them; so far were they from liking them, that they 
 " plainly expressed their dislike of them. Jewel, in a letter 
 " bearing date the Sth of February, 156'6, 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 rinem.' Disputes are 
 " now on foot concerning the popish vestments, whether 
 " they should be used or not, but God will put an end to 
 " these things.— Horn bishop of Winchester went further: 
 " for in a letter dated July lo", 15tj5, he writes of the act 
 " concerning the habits with great regret; and expresses 
 " gome hopes that it might be repealed next session of par- 
 " liament, if the popish party did not hinder it; and he 
 ** seems to stand in doubt whether he should conform him- 
 " self to it or not, upon which he desires Bullinger's advice. 
 " And in many letters writ on that subject, it is asserted, 
 M that both Cranmer and Ridley intended to procure an act 
 
 t2 
 
276 fHE LIFE OP 
 
 And indeed what appeared to him chiefly blame- 
 able in the dissenters, was, that heat of temper. 
 
 " 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, justify- 
 11 ing 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 continued. — On all these pas- 
 " sages 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 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. 3. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 277 
 
 with which they propagated their opinions, an4 
 treated those who differed from them. Neither 
 episcopal nor presbyterian government, nor caps, 
 nor surplices, nor any external things, were mat- 
 ters with him half so interesting, as peace and 
 charity among christians: and this was his constant 
 topic in all his occasional conversations with that 
 party. 
 
 Such however was the opinion they entertained 
 of him, that notwithstanding these casual intima- 
 tions of his dislike to them, they still persisted in 
 their endeavours 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 esta- 
 blished 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 argument in it; an 
 indecent invective against episcopacy was the sum 
 of it. He was so full of himself, that Mr. Gilpin 
 thought it to no purpose to reason with him, and 
 therefore avoided whatever could lead them into 3 
 dispute. 
 
 Some time after Mr. Gilpin heard, that his iate 
 visitant had reported him to have affirmed, speak- 
 
278 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ing about the primitive times, that " the virtues of 
 the moderns were not equal even to the infirmi- 
 ties of the fathers." He said indeed he remem- 
 bered some such thing coming from him; but not 
 in the pointed manner in which it was represented. 
 His adversary had been decrying the fathers 
 greatly, declaring there were men in this age 
 much their superiors, 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 
 virtues were not equal to the infirmities of the 
 fathers. 
 
 The success the dissenters had met with in their 
 private applications, encouraged them to try what 
 farther might be had by a public attack on the 
 national church. Their great champion was Dr. 
 Cartwright, who wrote with much bitterness against 
 it. His book was immediately dispersed over the 
 nation, received by the party with loud acclama- 
 tions, and every where considered by them as. 
 unanswerable. 
 
 Soon after it was published, it was zealously 
 put into Mr. Gilpin's hands. The gentleman who 
 sent it, .one Dr. Birch, 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, 
 before Mr. Gilpin had read the book half through. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. ^79 
 
 He returned it however with the following lines, 
 which shew his opinion of church-government in 
 general. 
 
 t$ Multa quidem legi, sed plura legenda reliqui; 
 
 <c Posthac, cum dabitur copia, cuncta legam. 
 " Optant ut careat maculis ecclesia cunctis ; 
 
 " Prsesens 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-will. Nay, one of the 
 most intimate friends he ever had was Mr. Lever, 
 a minister of their persuasion, and a sufferer in 
 their cause. 
 
 This gentleman had been head of a college in 
 Cambridge, and afterwards prebendary of Durham, 
 and 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. 
 During the succeeding 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, 
 
280 * HE ™ f E of 
 
 already mentioned, of a few violent men, soon 
 made that whole party obnoxious to the govern- 
 ment ; to which nothing perhaps contributed more 
 than the seditious application of that doctrine to 
 Elizabeth, which had been formerly propagated 
 against female government by Knox and Goodman 
 in the reign of her sister. This was touching 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 arch- 
 bishop of York, and deprived of his ecclesiastical 
 preferment. Many of the cooler churchmen 
 thought him hardly dealt with, as he was really 
 a moderate man, and not forward in opposing the 
 received opinions. 
 
 Mr. Gilpin was among those who pitied his 
 treatment; 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 sentiments 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-meaning of that persuasion, that so good 
 a man had left their communion; and no methods 
 
 4 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. S81 
 
 were left untried to bring him back. But his 
 change had been a work 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 
 pf it. I wish I could give this letter in its original 
 simplicity. The manuscript indeed is still extant; 
 but it is so mutilated, that it is impossible to 
 transcribe a fair copy. The bishop of Chichester 
 jfiowever hath given a Latin translation of it, from 
 which I shall take as much as is worth preserving. 
 It was written in answer to a long letter from one 
 Mr. Gelthorpe, a relation 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: 
 
 *e 
 
 <c Now, I beseech you, remember what 
 
 " God hath called you to; and beware of passion- 
 " ate doings. I 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 
 iC opinion you shall in these days, even shortly, 
 E either do much good, leaning to the truth ; or 
 
2S2 THE LIFE O? 
 
 c: 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. 
 
 f I 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 with- 
 ■ ( out some re-turn, though in the latter part of 
 te your letter you say enough to tempt me to do 
 " so. For what encouragement have I to write, 
 " when you tell me, you are predetermined not 
 " to be persuaded? It could not but damp the 
 " prophet's zeal, when he cried out, ' Hear the 
 ■' word of the Lord;' to be answered by a stub- 
 " born people, ' We will not hear.' — But let us 
 " leave events to God, who can soften the heart 
 f of man, and give sense to the deaf adder^ 
 " which shutteth her ears. 
 
 " You look back, ycu say, upon past ages. 
 " But how far? If you would carry your view as 
 ff high as Christ,, and his apostles; nay, only as 
 " high as the primitive times^ and examine them 
 ft without prejudice; you could not but see a 
 ft strange alteration of things, and acknowledge 
 (e that a thousand errors and absurdities have 
 ft crept into the church, while men slept. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 ■' It grieves me to hear you talk of your con- 
 c cern for the suppression of ahbies and monaste- 
 " Ties: numbers even of your own communion 
 f have confessed, that it was impossible for them 
 " to stand longer. They 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 religion; how 
 " they preyed upon all the rectories in the king- 
 " dom; amassing to themselves, for the support 
 f of their vices, that wealth, which was meant by 
 f pious founders for the maintenance of indus- 
 " trious clergymen. 
 
 " He that cometh to God, you say, must be- 
 " lieve. Without doubt: but I Would have you 
 " consider, that religious faith can have no foun- 
 f dation but the word of 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 
 f Romish church contrary to the gospel: I should 
 " think, if you looked narrowly into it, you might 
 " see the gospel intirely rejected; and in its room 
 if legends, traditions, and a thousand other absur- 
 e< dities introduced. — But this is an extensive 
 " subject, and I have little leisure. Some other 
 
284 TUE LIFE OP 
 
 " time probably I may write more largely upon 
 " these points. May God in the mean time open 
 " your eyes to see ' the abominations of the city 
 " upon seven hills.' Rev. 17. Consult St. Jerome 
 " upon this passage. 
 
 f- You use the phrase, ' If you should now 
 P begin to drink of another cup:' whereas you 
 " never drank of any cup at all. How can you 
 " defend, 1 would gladly know, this single cor^ 
 " ruption; or reconcile it with that express com- 
 ** mand of Christ, 'Drink ye all of this;' I am 
 " sure, if you can defend it, it was more than 
 " any of your learned doctors at Louvain could 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, e we 
 ee little esteem to be judged of you, it is the Lord 
 w 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, comparing 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, 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 2$5 
 
 *' As for the terrible threatnings of your bishop, 
 " we are under no apprehension from them. 
 " They are calculated only for the nursery. 
 " Erasmus, properly 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 
 te their master's cause, which distinguished those 
 " apostles, then were there some reason to dread 
 " their censures: but alas! they have changed 
 " the humility of Peter into the pride of Lucifer; 
 " the labours and poverty of apostles intb the 
 " sloth and luxury of eastern monarchs. 
 
 " I am far from thinking there is no difference 
 " between consubstantiality and transubstantiation. 
 " The former undoubtedly hath many texts of 
 " scripture for its support; the latter certainly 
 " none: nay, it hath so confounded many of its 
 " most zealous assertors, Scotus, Occam, Biel, and 
 *' others, that it is plain how perplexed they are to 
 " get over the many difficulties that arise from it, 
 11 Indeed Scotus thought, as bishop Tunstal would 
 " ingenuously confess, that the church had better 
 " make use of some less laboured exposition of 
 " those words in scripture. And the good bishop 
 " himself likewise, though he would have men 
 " speak reverently of the sacrament, as the primi- 
 is tive church did, vet alwavs gaid that transub- 
 
286 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 u 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 
 " transubstantiation,' 1 cannot say I heard him 
 " speak the words myself, but I had them from a 
 " person who did. 
 
 " I am far from agreeing with yon, 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 fathers of those times: or 
 " the prophet Isaiah, who is for having good and 
 " evil distinguished; and denounces a curse upon 
 " those, ' who call him holy that is not holy:' or 
 " St. Bernard likewise, who scruples not to call 
 ff some wicked priests in his time the ministers of 
 fr Antichrist. Such examples may excuse us. 
 
 " Five sacraments, you say, are rejected by us. 
 " You mistake : we use them still as the scripture 
 <e authorizes. Nay, even to the name of sacra- 
 (C ment 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 by some old writers; but 
 ", the fathers, and some of the best of the school- 
 " men, are of opinion, that only baptism and the 
 <c Lord's supper can properly, be called sacra- 
 " ments. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 287 
 
 I 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 
 " ignorant, that most of them were invented long 
 " afterwards by the bishops of Rome. — How much 
 " you observe 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 
 M the book of Maccabees. But our church follows 
 ** the opinion of the fathers in saying, that these 
 " books are profitable for manners, but not to be 
 " used in establishing doctrines. 
 
 " St. Austin, you say, doubts whether there be 
 rt not a purgatory. And so because he doubts it, 
 t( the church of Rome hath established it as an ar- 
 " tide of faith. Now I think if she had reasoned 
 *' right from the saint's doubts, she should at least 
 ** have left it indifferent. 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 purgatory. For 
 " myself, I am apt to think, it was first intro- 
 " duced by that grand popish traffick of indul- 
 " gences. 
 
 " As to what you say about the invocation of 
 " saints, St. Austin, you know, himself exhorteth 
 
 6 
 
f2S8 THE LIFE Of 
 
 his readers not to ground their faith upon his 
 writings, but on the scriptures. And indeed, 
 I think, th^re is nothing in the whole word of 
 God more plainly declared to us than this, that 
 God alone must be the object of our adora- 
 tion. ' How shall they call on him,' saith St. 
 Paul, ' in whom they have not believed?' If we 
 believe in one God only, why should we pray 
 to any more? The popish distinction between 
 invocation and advocation, is poor sophistry. 
 As we are told, we must pray only to one God; 
 so we read J ike wise of only one advocate with 
 the father, Jesus Christ the righteous. — You 
 say you believe in the communion of saints; 
 and infer, that no communion with them can 
 subsist, unless we pray to them : but our church 
 understands quite another thing by the com- 
 munion of saints: for the word saint is a com- 
 mon scripture epithet for a good christian; nor 
 doth it once signify, in either testament, as far 
 as I can remember, a departed soul : nay, some- 
 times the words are very express, as in the six- 
 teenth psalm, e To 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 communion with which he 
 was acquainted, but with the saints on earth. — 
 And thus likewise St. John speaks, ' What we 
 have seen and known, that declare we unto you, 
 that you may have fellowship, or communion. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN, 289 
 
 r * with us, and that our communion may be with 
 f God, and with his son Jesus Christ.' 1 John, 
 (C i. 3. All the members of the church of Christ. 
 (( have communion among themselves: which 
 " communion consists chiefly in mutual prayers 
 " and preaching. Secondly, the church of Christ 
 " hath communion with the father and the son, 
 n or with the father through the son. That such 
 " communion as this exists, we have good autho- 
 n rity; but none at all for a belief in a commu- 
 nion with departed souls: these, as I observed 
 before, are never in scripture called saints * t 
 ** but generally described by some such periphra- 
 " sis, as, ' The congregation of the first-born in 
 " heaven;' or, e 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 scrip- 
 " ture for what they say, or come under our 
 " Saviour's censure, * In vain do ye worship me, 
 " teaching for doctrines the traditions of men/ 
 (e 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 even the most zealous de- 
 n fenders of it acknowledge it to be a thing in- 
 * different; whether we pray immediately to God, 
 
 VOL. II. V 
 
290 TIIE LIFE OF > 
 
 u 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 I am now extremely busy. 
 " You will the more easily believe me, when I 
 " tell you that I am at present without a curate; 
 tt and that I am likewise a good deal out of 
 •* order, and hardly able to undergo the necessary 
 " fatigues of my office. 
 
 " As to your not chusing 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 
 <e 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 freedom : you know my 
 " heart; and how gladly I would have it to 
 "say, *' 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 291 
 
 u 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 encourage- 
 " ment, yet I will endeavour to have a better 
 " hope of you, than you have of yourself. St. 
 " Paul, in the early part of his life, was fully 
 <c persuaded that he should die a pharisee, and an 
 " enemy to the cross of Christ: but there was a 
 ei reserve of mercy in store for him; and through 
 " God's grace his heart became so changed, that 
 " he suffered persecution himself for that name, 
 " which it had been before his ambition to per- 
 " sec ute. 
 
 " May the great God of heaven make you an 
 " object of the same mercy, and by the spirit of 
 (< knowledge lead your mind into all truth. 
 " I am, &c. 
 
 ff Bernard Gilpin," 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 The public generally sees us in disguise: the 
 case is, we ordinarily pay a greater deference to 
 the world's opinion, than to our own consciences,, 
 
 u 2 
 
292 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Hence a man's real merit is very improperly es- 
 timated from the more exposed part of his be- 
 haviour. 
 
 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 necessary 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 pa- 
 rish, he set himself to consider how he might best 
 perform the charge intrusted to him. The pasto- 
 ral care he saw was much neglected: the greater 
 part of the clergy, he could not but observe, 
 were scandalously 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 lit a light widely different 
 from its true one. Some, he observed, made it 
 consist in asserting the rights of the church, and 
 the dignity of their function ; others, in a strenu- 
 ous opposition to the prevailing sectaries, and a zea- 
 lous attachment to the established church-govern- 
 ment; 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 consisted ; 
 or the only end for which church-government was 
 at all established; or the practical influence, 
 
EERNARB GILPIN. 29$ 
 
 which can alone make speculative points worth 
 our attention. — All this he observed, with concern, 
 resolving to pursue a different path, and to follow 
 the laudable example of those few, who made the 
 pastoral 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 super- 
 stition, 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 over his province. In what great 
 disorder the good bishop Grindal found it, upon 
 his translation thither, in the year 1570, appears 
 from his episcopal injunctions, among which it is 
 ordered, that no pedlar should be admitted to 
 sell his wares in the church porch in 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 
 
294 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the time of divine service. — From these things 
 we may conceive the state of the parish of 
 Houghton, when Mr. Gilpin came there. 
 
 He set out with making it his endeavour to o^ain 
 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 
 well as his end. His behaviour was free without 
 familiarity; and insinuating without art: he con- 
 descended to the weak, bore with the passionate, 
 complied with the scrupulous; and in a truly 
 apostolic manner, " became all things to all men." 
 By these means he gained mightily upon his 
 neighbours, and convinced them how heartily he 
 was their friend. 
 
 To this humanity and courtesy he added an 
 unwearied application to the duties of his function. 
 He was not satisfied with tae 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 engag-ine: 
 manner towards those, whom he thought well- 
 disposed : nay his very reproof was so conducted, 
 that it seldom gave offence; the becoming gentle- 
 ness with which it was urged made it always appear 
 the effect of friendship. Thus laying himself out 
 in admonishing the vicious, and encouraging the 
 well-intentioned, in a few years he made a greater 
 change in his neighbourhood, than could well 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. §95 
 
 have been imagined — a remarkable instance, 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 to correct it: 
 to form good habits in the young, than to amend 
 bad habits in the old. He laid out much of his 
 time therefore 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 care through the 
 whole place : suffering none to grow up in an 
 ignorance of their duty: but 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 
 people who came to him with their differences. 
 He was not indeed much acquainted with law^ 
 Dut he could decide equitably, and that satisfied: 
 nor could his sovereign's commission have given 
 him more weight than his own character gave 
 him. 
 
 He had a just concern for all under affliction j 
 and was a much readier visitant at the house of 
 mourning, than at that of feasting : and his large 
 
296 THE LIFE or 
 
 fund of reading and experience always furnished 
 something that was properly affecting. Hence he 
 was considered as a good angel by all in distress.-— 
 When the infirmities of age came upon him, 
 and he grew4ess 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 perhaps 
 think worth his perusal. 
 
 (C After my most due commendations, I beseech you, 
 <' gentle Mrs. Carr, diligently to call to mind how mercifully 
 " God hath dealt with you in many respects. He hath 
 " given you a genrleman of worship to be your husband; 
 " one that I know loveth you dearly, as a christian man 
 v 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 
 11 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 or- 
 f* dereth all things for the best. We may not murmur, or 
 * l think much at any of his doings: but must learn to, speak. 
 " from our hearts the petition of the Lord's prayer, ' Thy will 
 " bedone on earth as it is in hea\en.' It is unto this holy obe- 
 " dience that St. Peter calleth ali christians, saying, ' Hum- 
 " ble yourselves under the mighty hand of God.* — This, 
 " godly submission did cause the holy patriarch Job, whea it 
 '*. pleased God to take from him not only one, but all his chil- 
 " dren, seven brethren and sisters, upon one day, never to 
 ie grieve himself with what God had done, but meekly to, 
 H pay, * The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken a\vay t 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 297 
 
 He used to interpose likewise in all acts of 
 oppres-ion; and his authority was such, that it 
 generally put a stop to them. 
 
 *' blessed be the na'ne 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 compa- 
 
 " nson ot the holy patriarch. God hath taken from you 
 
 " only one young daughter, and hath left you a goodly fa- 
 
 " mily of children, which, 1 trust, with good education, will 
 
 *' prove a blessed comfort to you.— i his example of Job 
 
 t( and other examples in holy scripture, being written (as 
 
 '* the apostle saith) fur our admonition, I must needs de- 
 
 <c clare vou to be worthy of great blame, if you continue 
 
 " any space in such great sorrow and heaviness, as I hear 
 
 t( you take for your young daughter. St. Peter saith, that 
 
 u Christ Jesus suffered for us most cruel torments, and last 
 
 ** of all a most cruel death, ' to leave us an example, that 
 
 " all that 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, ' SeeingChrist 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 believe in Christ, but 
 
 " also to suffer for his sake. And . c t Paul, in the 8th to the 
 
 *' Romans, hath a 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 
 
 I* cross: ' The spirit,' saith he, ' beareth witness with our 
 
 " spirit, that we are the children of 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, 
 
 1* that we may also be glorified with him.' And St. Paul, 
 
 (e in the first chapter of the second to the Corinthians, saith 
 
 3 
 
298 THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 
 
 " to all the faithful, ' As ye are companions of these things, 
 " which Christ hath suffered, so shall }-e be companions of 
 " his consolations.' — 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 con- 
 •* cerning the dead (who, he saith, have but fallen asleep) 
 " forbiddeth them not to mourn, but utterly forbiddeth 
 " them to mourn like gentiles, and infidels, who have no 
 ec 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 
 tc little time, because they are gone to their rest.' So you 
 " see there is an unreasonable mourning of them that want 
 " faith; and 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- 
 " tatiens (that is, the troubles) of the world.' I trust verily, 
 " good Mrs. Carr, that your mourning being temperate will 
 " shew 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 I 
 ** comfort you in all your troubles. 
 
 " Your loving friend in Christ, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 Houghton, Nun 31, )J83 C 
 
BEENARD GILPIN. 299 
 
 posts to the chancellorship of hisdiocess. Between 
 this man and Mr. Gilpin there was a perpetual 
 opposition for many years; the latter endeavouring 
 to counteract the former, a.d to be the redresser 
 of those injuries, of which he was the author. 
 Several traces of these contests still remain among 
 Mr. Gilpin's papers; from which it appears what 
 a constant check upon his designs Mr. Barns 
 found him; though he was always treated in a 
 mild, and even affectionate manner. " It will be 
 V but a very few vears," Mr. Gilpin tells him, ( con- 
 cluding a letter written in favour of three orphans, 
 whom Mr. Barns had defrauded of their patrimony) 
 se before you and I must give up our great ac- 
 " counts. I pray God give us both the grace to 
 " have them in a constant readiness. And may 
 "" you take what I have written in as friendly a 
 * f manner as it is meant. My daily prayers are 
 f 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 ex- 
 cuse him to himself for the omission of any part 
 of it: the religious improvement of his people was 
 his principal endeavour, and the success of this 
 endeavour his principal happiness. 
 
 Notwithstanding however all this painful in- 
 dustry, arid the large scope it had in so extended a 
 parish, he thought the sphere of his labours yet too 
 confined. It grieved him to see every where in the 
 
 4 
 
300 THE LIFE OF 
 
 parishes around him so much ignorance and su- 
 perstition; occasioned by the very great neglect 
 of the pastoral care in those parts. How ill sup- 
 plied the northern churches at this time were, 
 hath already been observed ; 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 diocess, 
 that of Ely, where the clergy do not appear to 
 have been uncommonly remiss, we have a curious 
 account still preserved: it contained one 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 wanting in others. Every year therefore he 
 used regularly to visit the most neglected parishes 
 in Northumberland, Yorkshire, Cheshire, West- 
 moreland, and Cumberland: and that his own 
 parish, in the mean time might not suffer, he had 
 a constant assistant. 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 — instructing them in the 
 
BEfcNAUD GILPIN. SOl 
 
 duties they owed to God, their neighbour, and 
 themselves — and shewing them how greatly a 
 religious conduct would contribute to their pre- 
 sent as well as future happiness. 
 
 When a preacher, though the merest rhapsodist, 
 keems 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 con- 
 tracted the most inveterate habits of inattention. 
 
 One thing he practised, which shewed the best 
 disposed heart. Where ever 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 behaving, he is said to have reformed 
 many very abandoned persons in those places. 
 He would emplo}^ his' interest likewise for such 
 criminals, whose cases he thought attended with 
 any hard circumstances, and often procured par- 
 dons for them. 
 
 There is a tract of country upon the border of 
 Northumberland, called Reads-dale and Tine-dale; 
 of all barbarous places in the north, at that time 
 the most barbarous. The following description of 
 this wild country we have from Mr. Camden: 
 
302 *he iini 6* 
 
 * At Walwick aorth Tine crosses the Romait 
 " 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 
 u Readsquire, where the lord-wardens of the 
 " eastern marches used to determine the disputes 
 " of the borderers, gives its name to a valley, too 
 " thinly inhabited, by reason of the frequent rob- 
 " beries committed there. Both these dales breed 
 " notable bogtrotters, and have such boggy- 
 " topped mountains, as are not to be crossed by 
 " ordinary horsemen. We wonder to see so many 
 " heaps of stones in them, which the neighbour- 
 " hood believe to be thrown together in memory 
 " of some persons there slain. There are also in 
 " both of them many ruins of old forts. The 
 " Umfranvils held Reads-dale, as doomsday-book 
 " informs us, in fee and knight's service for 
 " guarding the dale from robberies. All over 
 " these wastes you see, as it. were, the ancient 
 " Nomades, a martial people, who from April to 
 " August lie in little tents, which they call sheals 
 ec or shealings, here and there dispersed among 
 " their flocks." 
 
 Before the union this country was generally call- 
 ed the debateable land, as subject by turns to Eng- 
 land and Scotland, and the common theatre where 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 303 
 
 the two nations were continually acting a variety 
 of bloody scenes. It was inhabited, as Mr. Cam- 
 den hath just informed us, by a kind of desperate 
 banditti, 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 exposed to sale on the other; by 
 that evasion escaping justice. Such adepts were 
 they in the art of thieving, that they could twist a 
 cow's horn, or mark a hor.se, so as its owners 
 could not know it; and so subtle, that no vigilance 
 could guard against them. For these arts they 
 were long afterwards famous. A person telling 
 king James a surprizing 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 surprizing part 
 of the story," the king replied, " you lay least 
 stress on, that she passed unstclen through the 
 debatcable 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 ge- 
 nerally chose the holidays of Christmas for his 
 journey, because he found the people at that sea- 
 son most disengaged, and most easily assembled. 
 lie had set places for preaching, which were as 
 regularly attended, as the assize-towns of a circuit. 
 If he came where there was a church, he made use 
 
304 THE LIFE OP 
 
 of it: if not, of barns, or Tiny ether 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 bad- 
 ness of the roads through a mountainous country, 
 and at that season covered with snow, exDosed him 
 often to great hardships. Sometimes he was over- 
 taken by the night, (the country being in many 
 places desolate for several miles together, ) and, as 
 the bishop of Chichester relates, obliged to lodge 
 in the cold : at such times he would make his ser- 
 vant ride about with his horses, whilst himself on 
 foot used as much exercise as his age and the fa- 
 tigues of the preceding day would permit. — All 
 this he chearfully underwent; esteeming such 
 sufferings well- compensated by the advantages 
 which he hoped might accrue from them to his un- 
 instructed fellow-creatures. 
 
 Our Saxon ancestors had a great aversion to the 
 tedious forms of law. They chose rather to de- 
 termine their disputes in a more concise manner, 
 pleading generally with their swords. " Let every 
 " dispute be decided by the sword," was a Saxon 
 law. A piece of ground was described, and co- 
 vered with mats: here the plaintiff and defendant 
 tried their cause. If either of them was driven 
 from this boundary, he was obliged to redeem his 
 
BEflKARD GILPIN, 305 
 
 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.f So that a private grudge 
 would often occasion 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 
 contending parties observed some decorum, and 
 never appeared at church together. At length 
 however they met. One party had been early at 
 church, and just as Mr. Gilpin began his sermon, 
 the other entered. They stood not long silent. 
 
 * See Spelman, Nicholson, and other enquirers into the 
 antiquities of those times. 
 
 f 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, er 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 bar- 
 barous and unchristian misdemeanours. Survey of New- 
 castle, Harleyan miscellany, vol.3. 
 
 VOL. II. X 
 
306 THE LIFE Of 
 
 Inflamed at the sight of each other, they begin to 
 clash their weapons, for they were all armed with 
 javelins and swords, and mutually approach. 
 Awed however by the sacredness of the place, 
 the tumult in some degree ceased. Mr. Gilpin 
 proceeded: when again the combatants began feo 
 brandish their weapons, and draw towards each 
 other. As a fray seemed near, Mr. Gilpin stepped 
 from the pulpit, went between them, and ad~ 
 dressing 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 
 disturbance. He then went again into the 
 pulpit, and spent the rest of the time in endea- 
 vouring to make them ashamed of what they had 
 done. His behaviour and discourse affected them 
 so much, that at his farther entreaty, they pro- 
 mised to forbear all acts of hostility, while he con- 
 tinued 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. Gilpin was, esteem- 
 ing 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 cUwoi. Mr. Gilpin ordered 
 the sexton to reach it to him; but upon his utterly 
 
BERNARD CIL?IN. 307 
 
 t efusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and 
 put it in his breast. When the people ^ere as- 
 sembled, he went into the pulpit; and before he 
 concluded hi- sermon, took occ.sion 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 out the glove, he held 
 it up to the congregation ; and then shewed them 
 ho.w unsuitable such savage practices were to the 
 profession of Christianity; using such persuasives 
 to mutual love as he thought would most affect 
 them. 
 
 The disinterested pains he thus took among 
 these barbarous people, and the good offices he 
 was always ready to do them, drew from them the 
 sincerest expressions of gratitude. Indeed he was 
 little less than adored, and might have brought 
 the whole country almost to what he pleased. — 
 How greatly his name was revered among them 
 one instance will shew. 
 
 By the carelessness of his servant, his horses 
 •were one day stolen. The news was quickly pro- 
 pagated, and every one expressed the highest 
 indignation at the fact, The thief was rejoicing 
 over his prize, when by the report of the country 
 he found whose horses he had taken. Terrified 
 at what he had done, he instantly came trembling 
 back, confessed the fact, returned the horses, and 
 
 * % 
 
308 TfflS LIFE Of 
 
 declared he believed 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 .-trong 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 
 questionable; 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 what hath been said shall be sub- 
 joined in the following- extract. 
 
 " I am at present," says he, (apologizing to a 
 friend) " much charged with business, or rather 
 " overcharged. I am first greatly 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 call me afore they are 
 " assured. Moreover I have assigned to preach 
 '* twelve sermons at other parishes, beside my 
 " own; and likewise am earnestly looked for at a 
 4f number of parishes in Northumberland, more 
 
 * These papers were lent to the author hy the late worthy 
 rector of Houghton, Dr. Stonhewer; and are still probably 
 • - ■ -ved in the parsonage house. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 309 
 
 ** than I can visit. Beside, I am continually en- 
 te cumbered with many guests and acquaintance, 
 " whom I may not well refuse. And often I am 
 * e called upon by many of my parishioners, to set 
 " them at one, when they cannot agree. And 
 " every day I am sore charged and troubled with 
 V. 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.^ach proper 
 occasion he failed not to exert; and by which he 
 always maintained that independency and real dig- 
 nity which became his station. 
 
 Fie received a message one day from Dr. Barns, 
 bishop of Durham, appointing him to preach a 
 visitation sermon the Sunday following. It hap- 
 pened he was then preparing for his journey into 
 Reads-dale and Tine-dale ; and acquainted the 
 bishop with the necessity of his keeping that ap- 
 pointment, begging 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 the bishop at Chester, a 
 town in the diocess of Durham, where the bishops 
 
 3 
 
310 THE LIFE Of 
 
 of that see formerly resided. Here many of the 
 clergy were assembled, and Mr. Gilpin was order- 
 ed by the bishop to preach that day before them. 
 He made his apology ; he had come wholly un- 
 prepared — besides he was suspended, 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 ser- 
 mon with him, and hoped none would be required 
 from him. But the bishop would take no excuse; 
 telling hi n, that as ne had been a preacher so long, 
 fee must be able to say enough to the purpose 
 without any previou meditation. Mr. Gilpin per- 
 sisting in his refusal, the bishop at lengt i.;rew 
 warm, and required him upon hid car^vni* ■ be- 
 dience to go nan ediatelv into the pulj' if After 
 a little lelay therefore, he went up; and t.iough 
 he ob-ervf ] several taking notes of what he said, 
 he proceeded without th^ least hesitation. 
 
 Tae ecileeta tical court of Durham was at this 
 time very i c an Salously governed. That Mr. Barns 
 pre&id' ^ over it, who hath already been mentioned ; 
 and who made it indeed little better than an office 
 for granting indulgences. The b'-hop was a well- 
 meaning, wea » ; in nlute, and wholly in the 
 h- ' of other*. Every thing was managed by 
 his r* ion the chancellor; whose vitality, and 
 the irregularities occasioned by it, were mqst no T 
 torious. 
 
 The opportunity now afforded him Mr. Gilpin 
 1 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 21 i 
 
 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 inforr 
 mation had often been given him without any suc- 
 cess: Mr. Gilpin was now resolved therefore to 
 venture upon a public application to him. Ac- 
 cordingly, before he concluded his sermon, he 
 turned towards the bishop, to whom he thus ad- 
 dressed himself. 
 
 " My discourse, now, reverend father, must be 
 H directed to you. God hath exalted you to be 
 " the bishop of this diocess, and requireth an 
 " account of your government thereof. A re- 
 <f formation of all those matters which are amis* 
 " in this church, is expected 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 
 " no notice of them given you, and that these 
 " things never came to your knowledge," for this 
 it seems was the bishop's common apology to all 
 complainants, " behold I bring these things to your 
 ff knowledge this day. Say not then that these 
 (t crimes have been committed by the fault of others 
 ct without your knowledge: for whatever either 
 <f yourself shall do in person, or suffer through 
 " your connivance to be done by others, is wholly 
 il your own. Therefore in the presence of God, 
 " his angels, and men, I pronounce you to be the 
 * author of aU these evils : yea, arjd in that stricf 
 
312 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " day of the general account, I 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 
 ce heard me speak unto you this day." 
 
 This freedom alarmed every one. As Mr. Gil- 
 pin went out of the church, his friends gathered 
 round him, kindly reproaching him for what he had 
 done. — " The bishop had now gr>t that advantage 
 " over him which he had long sought after — 
 % and if he had injured him before without provo- 
 < f cation, what would he do now, so greatly ex- 
 iC asperated ?" Mr. Gilpin 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 regardless what the con-* 
 sequence might be to himself. 
 
 During that day nothing else was talked of. 
 Every one commended what had been said, but was 
 apprehensive for the speaker. Those about the 
 bishop waited in silent expectation, when his re- 
 sentment would break out. 
 
 After dinner, Mr. Gilpin went up to the bishop, 
 |0 pay his compliments to him, before he went home. 
 V Sir," said the bishop, " I propose to wait upon you 
 home myself." — -This he accordingly did : and as 
 soon 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 
 so Uim, " I acknowledge you are fitter to be the 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 313 
 
 Bishop of Durham than I am to be parson of this 
 churcn of yours. — I ask forgiveness for past in- 
 juries — Forgive me, father. — I know you have 
 enemies; but while I live bishop of Durham, be 
 secure, none of them shall cause you any further 
 trouble." 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 
 Though Mr. Gilpin was chiefly solicitous about 
 the morals of those committed to his care, he 
 omitted not however to promote, as far as he 
 could, their temporal happiness. What wealth 
 he had, was entirely laid out in charity and hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 The value of his living was about four hundred 
 pounds a year: an income which, however con- 
 siderable at that time, was yet in appearance very 
 unproportionate to the generous things he did : 
 indeed he could not have done them, unless his 
 frugality had been equal to his generosity. 
 
 In building a sch iol, and purchasing lands for 
 the maintenance of a master and usher, he ex- 
 pended above five hundred pounds. As there was 
 so great a resort of young people to this school, 
 that in a little time the town was not able to ac- 
 commodate them, he put himself to the inconve- 
 nience of fitting up a part of his own house for 
 that purpose, where he seldom had fewer than 
 
314 THE LIFE 07 
 
 twenty or thirty children. Some of these were 
 the sons of persons of distinction, whom he board- 
 ed at easy rates : hut the greater part were poor 
 children, who could not so easily get themselves 
 boarded in the town ; and whom he not only edu- ' 
 cated, 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 a little towards rooting out 
 that barbarism, which every year prevailed less 
 among them. 
 
 For the maintenance of poor scholars at the 
 universities, he yearly set apart sixty pounds. 
 This sum he always laid out, often more. His com- 
 mon 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 maintained fewer than six. By his will 
 it appears, that at his death he had nine upon his 
 list ; whom he took care to provide for during 
 their stay at the university. 
 
 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 constant 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 
 
SEftKARD GILPW. SI* 
 
 sum of money ' and at Christmas, they had always 
 an ox divided among them. 
 
 Wherever he heard of any in distress, whe- 
 ther of his own parish, or any other, he was sure 
 to reMeve them. In his walks abroad, he would 
 frequently bring home with him poor people, and 
 send them away closed as well as fed. 
 
 He took great pains to inform himself of the 
 circumstances of his neighbours, that 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 
 laborious 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 like a true shepherd exposed himself 
 for his flock. 
 
 But of all kinds of industrious poor, he was 
 most forward to as«ist those who had large fami- 
 lies; 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 them- 
 selves ; particularly in the desolate parts of North- 
 
316 THE LIFE Of 
 
 umberland : " When he began his journey," says 
 an old manuscript life of iiim, " 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 instructions, but used 
 to purchase for them likewise what necessaries 
 they wanted. 
 
 Even upon the public read he never let slip an 
 opportunity of doing good. Often has he been 
 known to take off his cloak, and give it to an half 
 naked traveller : and when he has had scarce mo- 
 ney 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 instance is preserved. One day 
 returning home, he saw in a field several people 
 crouding together; and judging that something 
 more than ordinary had happened, 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 misfortune, and declaring 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN, 317 
 
 countryman, "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 admi- 
 ration of the whole country. He spent in his fa- 
 mily every fortnight, forty bushels of corn, twenty 
 bushels of malt, and a whole ox ; besides a pro- 
 portional 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 
 humourously said, " If a horse was turned loose in 
 any part of the country, it would immediately make 
 ks way to the rector of Houghton's." 
 
 Every Sunday from Michaelmas till Easter, was 
 a sort of a public day with him. During this sea- 
 son, 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 second for husbandmen and farmers, and the 
 third for day-labourers. — This piece of hospitality 
 he never omitted, even when losses, or a scarcity 
 of provision, made its continuance rather difficult 
 to him. He thought it his duty, and that was a 
 deciding motive. * If you should, as you threaten, 
 *' (says he in a letter to his old enemy chancellor 
 tc Barns) give out a sequestration of my benefice, 
 " you shall do me a greater favour than you are 
 " aware of. For at this time I am run in no small 
 
318 THE LIFF 09 
 
 " debt. I want likewise provision of victual?, 
 ** Where I have had, against Michaelmas, six or 
 " seven fat oxen, and five or six fat cows, I have 
 m 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, 
 f which will save me twenty or thirty pounds in 
 ** my purse. But I trust you will think better of 
 " this matter." 
 
 ie These times, (says he, in another letter) 
 " make me so tired of house-keeping, that I 
 
 ■ would I were discharged from it, if it could be 
 " with a clear conscience.'* 
 
 Even when he was absent, no alteration was 
 made in his family-expences : the poor was 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 hit 
 house. This sociable temper led him into a very 
 large acquaintance; which, as he could not select 
 his company, became very inconvenient to him 
 when he grew old. 
 
 I shall close this account of his manner of living 
 with a story, which does no little honour to hi» 
 he use- keeping. 
 
 Some affairs in Scotland obliging queen Eliza-* 
 beth to send thither her treasurer, the lord Bur* 
 leigh, he resolved to take t.-e opportunity of hi* 
 return to pay a visit to Mr. Gilpin. Hurried as he 
 was, he could not resist the desire of seeing a man. 
 
BERNARD CILPIN. 319 
 
 whose name was every where so respectfully men- 
 tioned. 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 between them had wholly interrupted 
 their acquaintance. The treasurer's return was so 
 sudden, that he had not time to give any notice 
 of his intended visit. But the economy of so 
 plentiful a house as Mr. Gilpin's was not easily 
 disconcerted. He received his noble guest with 
 so much true politeness, and treated him and his 
 whole retinue in so affluent and generous a man- 
 ner, that the treasurer would often afterwards say, 
 " He could hardly have expected more at Lam- 
 beth." While lord Burleigh stayed at Houghton, 
 he took great pains by his own, and the observa- 
 tion -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 continually crouded 
 with persons of all kinds, gentlemen, scholars, 
 workmen, farmers, and poor people: yet there 
 was never any confusion; every one was imme- 
 diately carried into proper apartments, and enter- 
 tained, directed, or relieved, as his particular bu- 
 siness 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 too 
 he saw ttv.e simplicity of manners, and every so- 
 
320 THE LIFE OF 
 
 cial virtue regulated by exact prudence. The 
 statesman began to unbend, and he could not 
 ■without an envious eye, compare the unquiet 
 scenes of vice and vanity in which he was en- 
 gaged, with the calmness of this amiable retreat. 
 At length with reluctance he took his leave; and 
 with all the warmth of affection embracing his 
 much respected friend, he told him, " He had 
 heard great things in his commendation, 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 all freedom as one you may depend on." 
 When he had mounted Rainton-hill, which rises 
 about a mile from Houghton, and commands the 
 vale, he turned his horse to take one more view of 
 the place: and having kept his eye fixed upon it 
 for some time, his reverie broke out into this 
 exclamation: " There is the enjoyment of life 
 indeed ! — who can blame that man for not accept- 
 ing a bishopric ! — what doth he want to make him 
 greater, or happier, or more useful to mankind 1" 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 The last business in which Mr. Gilpin engaged, 
 was the settlement of his school. It answered his 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 321 
 
 expectations so well by the good it did in the 
 'country, that when he grew old, it became his 
 chief concern. His infirmities obliged him now 
 to relax a little from those very great fatigues he 
 had undergone abroad, and to draw his engage- 
 ments nearer home. His school, situated near his 
 house, afforded him, when most infirm, an em- 
 ployment; and he thought he could hardly die in 
 peace till he had settled it to his mind. What he 
 had principally at heart, was to compose a set of 
 good statutes, to provide it a better endowment; 
 and to fix all by a charter. 
 
 As to the statutes, he was daily employed in 
 correcting, 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 gene- 
 rous manner of living, made yearly such large de- 
 mands 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 ex- 
 pence; 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 
 
 ^OL. II; Y 
 
322 THE LIFE OP 
 
 from his own purse, he turned his eyes upon his 
 friends. 
 
 There was a gentleman in his neighbourhood, 
 John Heath, esquire, of Kepier, with whom Mr. 
 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 let- 
 ters, 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 endowment. 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 applied to his friend the earl of Bedford; 
 from whom are preserved the two following let- 
 ters on that subject. 
 
 To my very loving friend Mr. Bernard Gilpin. 
 
 <r After my hearty commendations : I have re- 
 " ceived your letter of the 11th of last 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 continuance of 
 
MENARD GILPIN. S2S 
 
 ** their duties towards God, and their prince; 
 " whereof there is great lack. — Concerning your 
 ** suit moved at Windsor, the troubles that have 
 * f since happened have been so many and so 
 <c great, that no convenient time hath served to 
 £S prosecute the same; and the bill given in, I 
 c< 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 likewise do what I can to get some of those 
 " county forfeitures to be granted by her majesty, 
 " for the furtherance of your good purpose — Here 
 " is no news t6 write to you: as for things in the 
 <c north, you have them there: and albeit it hath 
 " been said, that a peace is concluded in France, 
 " yet it is not so. — And so wishing your health 
 i( and well to do, I do hereby thank you for your 
 Ci gentle letter, and so commit you to God. 
 " Your assured friend, 
 
 " F. Bedford/* 
 London, May 3, 1570. 
 
 '** After my very hearty Commendations: hop- 
 cc ing in God you are in good health, who as he 
 ** hath well begun in you, so may he keep and 
 fC continue you a good member in his church. — 
 " I have moved the queen's majesty for your 
 fe school; and afterwards the bill was delivered 
 t: to Mr. secretary Walsingham, a very good and 
 " godly gentleman, who procured the same to be 
 
324: THE LIFE Of 
 
 " signed, as I think you have before this heard by 
 " your brother. Assuredly you did very well and 
 " honestly therein, and have deserved great com- 
 " raendations: a thing most necessary in those 
 *' parts is this of all other, 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 be bold to use me, whom 
 " you may assure yourself to remain ready to do 
 " you any good that I can. — So for this time I 
 '* commend you to God. 
 
 " Your assured friend, 
 
 ", F. Bedford." 
 Mussel-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 Newcastle, had taken into his 
 house a brother's son, who having been some time 
 in Italy, and there inveigled by the Jesuits, wh© 
 were then growing into repute, had been taken 
 into their order. His time of discipline being 
 over, he was sent into England, whither he brought 
 with him the zeal of a novice. His uncle, a man 
 of plain good sense, being greatly afflicted that 
 his nephew was not only become 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 old gentleman therefore not knowing what to 
 
ilRNAED GILPIN. 225 
 
 do with him himself, at length thought of Mr. 
 Gilpin. To him he wrote, and earnestly intreated 
 him, if he had any friendship for him, to try what 
 impression he could make upon his nephew. Mr. 
 Gilpin had little hopes cf success from what he had 
 heard of the young man's character; and still Ie3S 
 when he saw him. He was naturally 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 va- 
 nity led him to expect, that he might bring 
 over Mr. Gilpin. This was indeed his chief pur- 
 pose in coming to Houghton. When he failed 
 in this, he did what he could to corrupt the ser- 
 vants, and such of the scholars and country peo- 
 ple as came in his way. He became at length 
 so 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 
 manners, that it deserves very well to be inserted. 
 
 " I 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 
 
3%6 THE LIFE Off 
 
 the bishop, for my warrant. But that is not 
 done. Wherefore 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 refuse to come to 
 church. I only desired him that he 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 in 
 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 learn- 
 ing of the hot college of Jesuits. They have 
 found out, I perceive, certain expositions of 
 the old testament, never heard of before, to 
 prove the invocation of saints from Abraham, 
 Isaac, and Jacob. He will not grant that any 
 thing hath been wrong in the church of Rome; 
 the most abominable errors of indulgences, par- 
 dons, false miracles, and false reliques, pilgri- 
 mages, and such like, he ran 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 327 
 
 * v compel me to take my leave of this wretched 
 
 * world; and at this time of life not to study 
 tc answers to such trumpery, and new inventions ; 
 
 * seeing I was never any disputer in all my life. 
 " I trust there be learned men enough in the uni- 
 
 * versifies, who will sufficiently answer all that 
 " ever they can bring that is worth answering. — 
 " Wherefore, good Mr. Genison, seeing your 
 *• cousin is fixed in his errors, as he plainly con- 
 " fesseth, help to ease me of this burthen, that 
 
 * I may with quietness apply to my vocation. I 
 (< am sent for to preach in divers places, but I 
 " cannot go from home, so long as he is here. 
 c< People in these evil days are given to learn more 
 
 * superstition in a week, than true religion in 
 " seven years. — But if notwithstanding you are 
 a 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, I refer to your good pleasure. — And so 
 
 * I pray God to preserve you evermore. Your 
 " loving friend to his power, 
 
 " Bernard GiLriN.'* 
 
 Notwithstanding what is said in this letter, it 
 seems probable, that Mr. Gilpin's arguments at 
 length made some impression upon the young 
 man: for he entered afterwards into a serious dis- 
 pute in writing with him ; which he would scarce 
 
 3 
 
32$ THE LIFE OP 
 
 have engaged in, unless the Jesuit had shewn 
 greater willingness to discover truth, than what 
 had yet appeared. 
 
 " As sickness, sores, and other troubles," sayg 
 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 
 u the con ten tat ion of such as are willing to stay 
 " their conscience upon God and his word, an$ 
 " not upon man's vain inventions, wherein they 
 " shall find no rest of conscience, m r qvietness 
 f* of mind. — When leisure will serve to finish the 
 '.' residue, I will send them unto yon. In the; 
 (< mean time I pray God to illuminate your eyes 
 " with his heavenly light, and to guide your i'eet 
 " into the way of peace." 
 
 In t^e 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 curing so many years, had now quite 
 broke his constitution. Thus. he complains in a 
 letter to a friend: " To sustain ail these travels 
 " and troubles I have a very weak bodv, subject 
 " to many diseases; by the monitions whereof, I 
 se am daily warned to remember death. My 
 " greatest grief of all is, that my memory is quite 
 "' decayed: my sight faileth; my hearing faileth; 
 <f with other ailments, more than I can well ex* 
 '/ press." 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 329 
 
 W ile be was thus struggling with an advanced 
 £ge, and impaired constitution, he met with an 
 accident, which entirely destroyed his health. As 
 Jie was 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 re- 
 ceived would have occasioned his death. He lay 
 long confined; and though he again get 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 tempered as his. It was 
 a persuasion he had long entertained, that misfor- 
 fortunes are intended by providence to remind us 
 of our neglected duty: and thus he always used 
 them, making self-examination the constant at- 
 tendant upon whatever calamities befel him. To 
 this it was owing that he was never dejected by 
 misfortunes; but received them rather with thank- 
 fulness than repining. 
 
 But sickness was not the only distress which the 
 declining vears of this excellent man had to strua- 
 gle 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. 
 
 Of what frivolous pretences they availed them- 
 selves, and with what temper he bore their malice, 
 the following letters will shew better than any nar- 
 rative. 
 
330 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " I am very sorry, Mr. Wren, to hear that you 
 *f 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 you say, were not raised by 
 " you: one, that I should make the marriage of 
 %e ministers unlawful; the other, that I should 
 f make their children bastards. Whereas cer- 
 " tainly it is known, that long ago I was accused 
 " before bishop Tunstal for speaking in favour of 
 "f priests' marriage: since which time I have never 
 *' altered my mind; but in my sermons in this 
 " country, Northumberland, Westmoreland, Cum- 
 '*■ berland, Yorkshire, and Lancashire, I have, as 
 " opportunity served, spoken in defence of 
 " priests' marriage. And allowing their marriage, 
 " I trust no man will believe that I should make 
 " their children bastards. 
 
 " You say I am called hypocrite; I know I am 
 " so of divers. How they will answer God's law 
 " therein, I leave to their own conscience. But 
 " verily for my own part I can thank them ; for 
 ". when I hear it, I trust in God, I gain not a lit- 
 " tie thereby in studying clearly to subdue that 
 " vice; which I have strived against ever sine* I 
 " studied the holy scriptures. And 1 suppose 
 " very few or no preachers in England have 
 " preached oftener against that vice than I; ana 
 " that, as I trust, with a clear conscience. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 33^ 
 
 " But to make an end at this time (because 
 1f this bearer can shew you what small time I have, 
 " being sore overcharged with manifold studies 
 f* and businesses) it is time, good Mr. Wren, both 
 " for you and me (age and sundry diseases, mes- 
 *' sengers of death, giving us warning) more 
 " deeply to ripe our own consciences, and more 
 " diligently to search our own faults, and to leave 
 " off from curious hearkening and espying of 
 f other men's : especially when it breedeth con- 
 " tention, and can in no wise edify. I pray you 
 " read St. James, the latter part of the third chap- 
 " ter, and there learn from whence cometh con- 
 rf tentious wisdom. And this, I beseech you, 
 If remember, that it is not long since God did 
 f' 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 re- 
 " pentance, 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 have you in his blessed keeping. 
 " Your loving friend to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
383 THE LIFE Oy 
 
 " After my most hearty ukI due commenda* 
 " tions; 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 wherefore, but for sixteen 
 
 * books which I had of your brother, 'ieing to re- 
 " turn either the price or the books again; I 
 " heartily beseech you, seeing that you are join- 
 " ed executor likewise, that you will let me know 
 rt by this bearer, William Ayray, if you can find 
 " any .thing in any writings or accounts of your 
 * f brother, that can be lawfully demanded of me, 
 " and, God willing, it shall be paid or I be much 
 " elder. 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 — 1 pray 
 " almighty God to have you ever in his blessed 
 " keeping. Your loving friend to his power. 
 
 a Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 But of all his enemies the most active were 
 Hugh Broughton, and chancellor Barns. 
 
 Broughton acted the basest and most ungrate- 
 ful part. Mr. Gilpin had educated and maintain- 
 ed 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 333 
 
 endeavour to supplant the very patron who 
 raised him. He had craftily insinuated himself 
 into the bishop of Durham's favour, and thought 
 he stood fair for the first vacant preferment; 
 and as Houghton was then the best thing in the 
 bishop's gift, he had fixed his eye upon it. Mr* 
 Gilpin was old and infirm, and in all probability 
 could enjoy it but a very few years; yet Broughton 
 had not patience to let him spend the remainder 
 of his age in peace. He knew the bishop was 
 easily imposed on, and found means to prejudice 
 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 
 Broughton had the mortification to see his in- 
 direct measures unravelled. The bishop saw his 
 error, was reconciled to Mr. Gilpin, and conti- 
 nued ever afterwards his steady friend: and 
 Broughton finding himself neglected, left Dur- 
 ham to seek his fortune elsewhere. 
 
 Chancellor Barns was indeed a more generous,, 
 as he was an open enemy. Besides, what he 
 did,, was in some measure in his own defence; 
 for it must be owned Mr. Gilpin was very trou- 
 blesome to him in all his designs, * and gene- 
 rally made the first attack. After the affair at 
 Chester, however, the chancellor laid aside all 
 
 • See Section 7, 
 
334 THE LIFE OF 
 
 decency; and from that time, nothing in hi£ 
 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 
 Iiad learned the christian lessons of meekness : 
 though at the same time how becomingly he 
 could exert a decent spirit, when it was needful; 
 and shew, by tempering charity with his displea- 
 sure, that he could be angry and yet not sin. 
 To this happy temper the following letters bear 1 
 testimony. 
 
 " Right worshipful, after my due commenda- 
 ** tions; these are to certify you, that my curate 
 " paying for me at the last visitation forty-six 
 " shillings, paid more than he ought to have 
 " 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. Where* 
 " fore I beseech you let it not be made a prece- 
 " dent; 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 I take to be four 
 cc pence 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-» 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 33§ 
 
 ** tain rate-book of bishop Pilkington. As for 
 cc that I am able to say, and I trust I can bring 
 (C witness, that bishop Pilkington at his first visi- 
 ** tation clearly forgave me all the sum, in con- 
 " sideration, as I was told, of my travel in Nor- 
 " thumberland ; and after that, at his other two 
 '* visitations, I made no let, but suffered his of- 
 tc fleers just to take what they would. But my 
 (e trust is, that your worship will not burthen, 
 <c my successors 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 
 e{ wrangled at the last visitation : for God is my 
 ff witness, I love not differences of any kind. — I 
 " pray God to have you in his blessed keeping. 
 " Yours to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 r l I 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 
 ee 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 
 
$36 THE LIFE OV 
 
 " was about twenty shillings; but sure 1 could 
 •* never get it restored to this day.- — Now you 
 " seek unjustly to charge my living for my ctf- 
 " rate; which seeing it hath never been demanded 
 " before, some will think you seek it for your 
 " own purse. I pay unto the queens 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 con- 
 " tinue resolved to 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 advisement you will let this new suit drop... 
 " I pray God almighty to keep you ever-more. 
 " Your loving friend to his power, 
 
 " Bernard Gilpin." 
 
 This load of calumny, ingratitude, and ill usage, 
 may justly be supposed heavy upon him, already 
 linking under a weight of years: yet he bore it 
 with great fortitude; strengthening himself with 
 such consolations, as a good christian hath in re- 
 serve 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 
 conclusion of a good life. He was soon after con* 
 
BERNARD GILFItf. 32? 
 
 fined to his chamber. His senses continued per- 
 fect to the last. Of the manner of his taking 
 leave of the world, we have this account. 
 
 A few davs before his death, he ordered him- 
 self to be raised in his bed: and sending for se- 
 vend 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 remem- 
 ber them after he was gone-HHe would not have 
 them weep for him: if ever he had told them 
 any thing good, he would have them remem- 
 ber that in his stead. — Above all things, he 
 exhorted them to fear God, and keep his com- 
 mandments; telling them, if they would do this, 
 they could never be left comfortless. 
 
 He next ordered his scholars to be called in: to 
 tliese 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 at- 
 tention, but virtue was much more so. 
 
 He next exhorted his servants; and then sent 
 for several persons, who had not heretofore pro- 
 fited by his advice, as he had wished; and upon 
 whom he imagined his dying words might have a 
 better effect. Hfs speech began to falter before 
 he finisher! hm exhortations. The remaining hours 
 of his life he spent in prayer, and broken conver- 
 
 VOL. II. 2 
 
338 THE LIFE OF 
 
 sation with some select friends, mentioning often 
 the consolations 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 G6th year of his age. 
 
 I shall conclude this account of him with a 
 few observations upon his character; and some 
 incidents, which could not properly be intro- 
 duced in any part of the narration. 
 
 His person was tall and slender, in the orna- 
 ment of which he was at no pains. He had a 
 particular aversion to the fepperies of dress. — 
 In his diet he was very temperate, rather ab- 
 stemious. 
 
 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 h d amassed a 
 great store of knowledge; and was ignorant of 
 no part of learning at that time in esteem : 
 in languages, history, and divinity he particu- 
 larly excelled. He read poetry with a good 
 taste; himself, as the bishop of Chichester re- 
 lates, no mean poet. But he laid out little 
 time in the pursuit of any study foreign to 
 his profession. 
 
 His temper was naturally warm; and in his 
 youth we meet with instances of his giving way to 
 passion; but he soon got more command of him- 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 339 
 
 self, and at length entirely corrected that in- 
 firmity. 
 
 His disposition was serious, yet among his par- 
 ticular friends he was comnooly cheerful, some- 
 times facetious. His general behaviour was very 
 affable. His severity had no object but himself: 
 toothers he was humble, candid, and ind Igont. 
 Never did virtue sit with greater ease on any one, 
 had less of moroseness, or could mix more agree- 
 ably with whatever was innocent in common life. 
 
 He had a most extraordinary skill in th art of 
 managing a fortune. He considered himself bare- 
 ly as a steward for other people ; and took care 
 therefore that his own desires never exceeded what 
 calm reason could justify. Extravagance with him 
 was another word for injustice. Amidst all hrs 
 business he found leisure to look into his affairs ; 
 well knowing that frugality is the support of charity. 
 
 His intimacies w^re few. Yet where he pro- 
 fessed a particular friendship, he was a religious 
 observer of its offices. Of this the following rela- 
 tion is an instance. Through his application the 
 dean and chapter of Durham had bestowed a 
 living upon one of is friends. Soon after Mr. 
 Gilpin was nominated a referee in a dispute be- 
 tween them and the archbishop of York : but for 
 some particular reasons he excused himself*. 
 
 * TLe chapter of Durham was in great disorder, and in 
 many instances much complained of. Sandys, archbishop 
 of York, undertook to visit tnem : but Whittingham, the 
 
 z2 
 
340 THE LIFE OP 
 
 This irritated the dean and chapter so much, that 
 out of mere pique at him they took away two 
 thirds from the allowance they had assigned to his 
 friend. He did what he could to pacify them ; but 
 his utmost endeavours proving fruitless, he in- 
 sisted upon his friend's accepting from him a 
 yearly satisfaction for his loss*. 
 
 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 persons to ex- 
 amine the case; among whom Mr. Gilpin was named. His 
 reason for not acting was, most probably because he thought 
 the dean and chapter in the wrong. 
 
 * " 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 are parsons of a parish in Northumberland, called 
 H Ellingham. The living was better than thirty pounds a 
 " year. Our school-master of Houghton, a scholar of Ox- 
 u 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 
 " yicar as good as twenty pounds a year ; so that the poor 
 " man, having wife and children, might have begged, if I 
 " and other friends had not holpen him : God knoweth it 
 " hath been a costly matter to me. 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. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 34 1 
 
 At another time a friend desired he would re- 
 quest the bishop of Durham to lend him a sum of 
 money : he made the application ; but not succeed- 
 ing, he wrote thus to his friend : " My lord hath 
 " lent to so very many, (which I believe is true) 
 " that you must pardon him for not sending you 
 " the money. I pray you trouble him no more ; 
 rf and I trust by little and little I can make up the 
 " sum myself." 
 
 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 indig- 
 nation at slander ; often saying, it deserved tbe 
 gallows more than theft. For himself, he was 
 remarkably guarded when he spoke of others : 
 he considered common fame as the falsest me- 
 dium, 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 
 
 " Selby, hath nothing to shew but a promise from Mr. Whit- 
 41 tingham, whereunto the chapter would never consent. 
 44 Mr. Ralph Lever can inform you of all the matter. If 
 " your worship can help it, surely you cannot do a better 
 " deed. Would to God all violent workers of injuries were 
 " resisted ! If God should send you into this country, I 
 " trust to be better known to your worship. I pray God 
 44 preserve you evermore. By your's to his power. 
 
 44 Houghton. " Bernard Gilpin. 
 
 " July 11, 1579." 
 
342 THE LIFE Of 
 
 which his whole life was only one instance. All 
 lift;? art- a»d sinister practices, those ingredients 
 of worldly prudence, he disdained. His perse- 
 verance in so commendable a part, in whatever 
 difficulties it might at first involve him, in the end 
 raised his character above maiice and envy, and 
 gave him that weight and influence in every thing 
 he undertook, which nothing but an approved inte- 
 grity 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 charac- 
 ter of this amiable man were his conscientious 
 discharge of the duties of a clergyman, his exten- 
 sive benevolence, and his exalted piety. 
 
 As to the discharge of his function, no man 
 could be more strongly influenced by what he 
 thought the duties of it. The motives of conve- 
 nience, or present interest, had no kind of weight 
 with him. As the income was no part of his con- 
 cern, he only considered the office ; which he 
 thought such a charge as a man would rather dread 
 than solicit : but when providence called him to it 
 (for wl.at was not procured 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 q£ his 
 
1ERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 343 
 
 office made him distrust his abilities, it made him 
 most diligent in exerting them When he under- 
 took the care of a parish, it immediately engrossed 
 his whole attention. The pleasures of life he to- 
 tally relinquished ; in a great degree even his fa- 
 vourite pursuits of learning. This was the more 
 commendable in him, as he had always a strong in- 
 clination for retirement, and was often violently 
 tempted to shut himself up in some university at 
 home or abroad, and live there sequestered from 
 the world. But his conscience corrected his incli- 
 nation ; 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 
 gaining 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 
 compliance : and whether he reproved in public 
 or in private, his unblameable life, and the seri- 
 ousness with which he spoke, gave an irresistible 
 weight to what he said. He studied the low ca« 
 
344 THE life or 
 
 parities of the people among whom he lived, and 
 knew how to adapt his arguments to their appre- 
 hensions. 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 honesty in a part of the 
 country notoriously addicted to thieving, a man 
 struck v/ith the warmth and earnestness with which 
 he spoke, stood up in the midst of a large congre- 
 gation, and freely confessed his dishonesty, and 
 how heartily he repented of it. 
 
 With regard to his benevolence, no man cer- 
 tainly had ever more disinterested views, or made 
 the common good more the study of his life; 
 which was indeed the best comment upon the 
 great christian principle of universal charity. He 
 called nothing his own ; 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. 
 Nar 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 
 " departure, (says he, writing to a friend) to leave 
 6( no more behind v me, but to bury me, and pay 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 
 
 34$ 
 
 " my debts." What little he did leave*, (which 
 was little beside his stock, and household furni- 
 
 # 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 ail my 
 
 " debts be truly paid with all speed ; which I shail gather, 
 
 " and set after this my last will. — My debts once discharg- 
 
 " ed, of what remaineth I give and bequeath * * * (here 
 
 t* follow legacies to the poor of nine parishes.)— Likewise I 
 
 f* give to the poor of Houghton parish the great new ark for 
 
 '* corn, to provide them groats in winter ; and if none will 
 
 " make that provision, let it be sold, and the price dealt 
 
 f! among them. — Likewise 1 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 ; I trust he will 
 
 •* withhold none of them. — Also I give to Keipier school in 
 
 " Hjugbton, all such books as shall have the name of it in 
 
 " the first leaf. — Also I give to my successor, and to his 
 
 11 successors after him, first, the great new brewing lead in 
 
 w the brewhouse, with the gile-fat, and mash-fat; likewise 
 
 " in the kiln a large new steep-lead, which receives a cjbal- 
 
 " dron of corn at once ; likewise in the larder-house oue 
 
 " great salting-tub, which will hold four oxen or more : 
 
345 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ture, and the arrears of his tythes, he left wholly 
 to the poor, deducting a few slight tokens of 
 remembrance that he bequeathed to his friends. 
 
 u likewise in the great chamber over the parlour one long 
 
 " table, and a shorter, standing upon joined frames; Jike- 
 
 " wise in the parlour one long tabie upon a joined frame? 
 
 " with the form ; likewise in the hall three tables standing 
 
 " fast, with their forms to them : likewise * * * [nere fol- 
 
 u low a great many other pieces of furniture, materials for 
 
 " building, unwrought timber, lime, slate, &c] 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 dtlapi- 
 
 " pidations : and if he should, I doubt nothing but thai (he 
 
 f bishop of Durham will persuade him to be tout' rtt with 
 
 " reason, and to do all things with chanty : anil ii charity 
 
 " may bear rule, I doubt not hut all dilapidations will fall. 
 
 M — And here I most earnestly desire mv successoi not 
 
 " onlv to let all delipidaticns fall upon tl ese considerations, 
 
 " and also in favour of the poor, upon whom chiefly my 
 
 " goods are bestowed in thie testament ; but ako that he 
 
 " will be a continual defender, and maintainer of Keipier- 
 
 " 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 bisho f 
 
 " 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 spoon? 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 347 
 
 Such instances of benevolence gained him the 
 title of the father of the poor; and made his me- 
 
 " with acorns of the same weight; and also the historv of 
 " John Sleden in Latin-*-lo Mrs. Heath I give my English 
 ** chronicle of Fabian: also I give to Richard Bellasis, 
 •' esquirr, for a like remembrance, other two silver spoons 
 " with acorns of the same fashion: and also mv historv 
 " 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 tes f ament, which being a work of 
 " christian charity, I trust verify they will not refuse. And 
 *' above all other things I most humbly beseech them to 
 tl take into their tuition and governance all the lands and 
 " revenues belonging to Keipier school, and all deeds, evi- 
 " deuces, gifts, and other writings, which are to shew for 
 " the same. All the right 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 thrse lands are not so 
 ° surely established as I could wish, I give unto Keipier 
 " school twenty pounds, which I desire the Lishop of Dur- 
 ** ham to take into his hands, and to bestow a6 he shall see 
 " fit, upon men learned in the laws. — .11 the rest of my 
 " goods and chattels, I will that they be divided into two 
 '* equal 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, Will. 
 u Cayms, Hen. Ayray, Fr. Reisely, and Tho. Coliison. 
 " These \ will be relieved as mine excutors shall see need- 
 M ful, a year, two, or three, as the sum wih arise.— Ani for 
 i{ my three executors, for as much as I have been beneficial 
 " to them in my life-time, ;o far as a good conscience would 
 " permit me, and sometime further (brut God I trust hath 
 
 6 
 
34S THE LIFE OF 
 
 mory revered long afterwards in the country where 
 he lived.* 
 
 But no part of his character was more conspi- 
 cuous 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. Ke thought religion his 
 principal concern; and of course made the attain- 
 ment of it his principal study: He knew no other 
 
 '* forgiven me) I will, and I doubt not but tbey 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 good to my poor neighbours of the 
 " parish, being desirous to buy such things as they stand 
 u most in need of." 
 
 * A monument hi the chancel of Houghton church is a 
 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 belie v'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 transmigra- 
 tion, one would imagine however that Mr. Gilpin's exam- 
 ple at least had its influence upon the rectors of Houghton; 
 for perhaps few parishes in England can boast such a suc- 
 cession of worthy pastors, as that parish can, since Mr* 
 Gilpin's death. 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. 349 
 
 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 hi3 
 future conduct, and make him a better man. Ac- 
 cordingly, when his religious persuasion was once 
 settled, he made the doctrines he embraced tfte 
 invariable rule of his life: all his moral virtues 
 became christian; were formed upon such mo- 
 tives, and respected such ends, as Christianity 
 recommended. It was his daily care to conform 
 himself to the will of God,* upon, whose provi- 
 dence he absolutely 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 re- 
 gard to a particular providence. He thought all 
 misfortunes, which our own indiscretions did net 
 immediately draw upon us, were sent directly 
 from God, to bring us to a sense of cur misbeha- 
 viour, and quicken us in a virtuous course; ac- 
 cordingly at such times he used with more than 
 ordinary attention to examine his past conduct, 
 and endeavour to find out in what point of duty 
 he had been defective. 
 
 To the opinions of others, however different 
 from his own, he was rriost indulgent. He thought 
 moderation one of the most genuine effects of 
 true piety. It hath already appeared from his in- 
 tercourse with the dissenters, how great an enemy 
 he was to all intolerant principles; how wrong he 
 
 4 
 
350 TR£> LIFE OP 
 
 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. I 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. 1 e had behaved in 
 some particular, with regard to his parish, in a 
 manner which gave him great concern. His con- 
 science was so 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 submit to any censure, which the 
 bishop might think his fault deserved. Without 
 thus bringing himself to justice, he said, he never 
 could have recovered his peace of mind.* 
 
 * His letter upon this occasion to the bishop is not extant, 
 nor doth it appear what the fault was: the following letter 
 relates to it. 
 
 " Grace and peace in Jesus Christ: if any man be vexed 
 
 " in body or mind, you know it is a very grievous thing to 
 
 " have no comforter; which hath constrained me to disclose 
 
 " unto you (not doubting but to have both your comfort 
 
 " and help, and to have it kept most secret) that thing, 
 
 " which, besides to you, I 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 
 
BERNARD GILPIN. dbk 
 
 Such was the life and character of this excel- 
 le -it man. A conduct so agreeable to the strictest 
 rju-iCS of religion gained him among his contem- 
 poraries the title of the Northern Apostle. And 
 indeed the panilel wai striking; his quitting cor- 
 rupt doctrines, i i the utmost reverence of which 
 he had been educated; the persecutions he met 
 with for the sake of his integrity; the danger he 
 often ran of martyrdom; his contempt of the 
 world; his unwearied application to the business 
 of his calling; the extensive field, in which his 
 
 " 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 all to your 
 
 " wisdom. But if you have opportunity to my lord, I hope 
 
 " by you to know speedily some part of his pleasure. I 
 
 " trust, my case weighed, be will rather think me to be 
 
 " pitied than had in hatred. How tender a thing conscience 
 
 '* is, I have found by too good experience. I have found 
 
 " m( reover, that as u is easily wounded, so it is with dif» 
 
 ** ficuky healed. And fur my own part, I speak from my 
 
 ° heart, I would rather be often wound°d in my body, 
 
 " than once in my mind. Which things considered, I 
 
 " trust you wil. cear w ith my weakness. But you may 
 
 " • bject, I have continued weak very long; which fault 
 
 " certainly I find with myself: but for this I accuse my own 
 
 *' slowness both hi study and prayer; which by God's grace, 
 
 " as far as niy weak hoc-y will serve, hereafter shall be 
 
 " erne ded: fur certain:* those two ate the chief instru- 
 
 " ments, whereby I have c ure trust that God of his good- 
 
 " aess will make me strong." 
 
352 THE LIFE OF, &C. 
 
 labours were employed; and the boldness and 
 freedom "with which he reproved the guilty, what- 
 ever their fortunes or stations were, might justly 
 characterize him a truly apostolical person. 
 
 Viewed with such a life, how mean and con- 
 temptible do the idle amusements of the world ap- 
 pear ! How trifling that uninterrupted succession 
 of serious folly which engages so great a part of 
 mankind; while each real concern of li'e is crouded 
 into so small a compass. How much more nobly 
 doth that person act, who can separate appear- 
 ances from realities; and maintain with firmness 
 each worthy resolution that he forms; persevering 
 Steadily like this excellent man, in the conscien- 
 tious discharge of the duties of that station, what- 
 ever that station is, in which providence hat-i 
 placed him ! 
 
SERMON, 
 
 FREACHED Ni 
 
 THE COURT AT GREENWICH, 
 
 KING EDWARD VI. 
 
 THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY, MDLII. 
 
 By BERNARD GILPIN, B.D. 
 
 VOL. II. A A 
 
[ 355 ] 
 
 1 HE following sermon is the only revised com- 
 position 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 prevailed 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, 
 
 a a2 
 
: 
 
£ 357 ] 
 
 St. Luke, II. if er. 41,-50. 
 
 " Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year, 
 tf at the feast of the passover. And when he 
 ' f Was twelve years old, and they were come 
 " up to Jerusalem, after the custom of the feast, 
 " and had finished the days thereof; as they re- 
 " turned, the child Jesus remained in Jerusa- 
 " lem; and Joseph knew act of it, nor his 
 " mother. But they, supposing that he had 
 " been in the company, went a day's journey; 
 " and sought him amongst their kinsfolk and ac- 
 4C quaintance. 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 
 ff he^rd him were astonished at his under- 
 " standing and answers. So when they saw 
 ie him, they were amazed: and his mother 
 " said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus 
 :t dealt with us ? Behold, thy father and I 
 " have sought thee with heavy hearts. Then 
 " said he 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." 
 
35S a sermon;. 
 
 r ORASMUCH 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, I have taken, for this time, to treat upon 
 this one sentence spoken by Christ unto his pa- 
 rents, " 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 de- 
 clare the occasion whereupon he ppake these 
 words, for the fuller understanding of the same. 
 
 Ye shall therefore understand, that when our 
 Saviour was come to the age of twelve years, 
 giving attendance upon his parents to Jerusalem, 
 at the solemn feast of easter, whither they yearly 
 did repair 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 in sundry companies, either of 
 them trusting he had been with the other, they 
 went one day's journey before they missed him: 
 but after he was found wanting, they sought him 
 diligently among, their kinsfolk and acquaintance, 
 but found him not; which was undoubtedly unto 
 them a very cross of bitter affliction. So doth 
 
A 8IRM0N- 359 
 
 God many times exercise his elect and chosen with 
 adversity, for their trial, and to keep them in hu- 
 mility. When they were returned to Jerusalem, 
 and had long 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 
 Jioly word; there Christ is found unto so many as 
 seek him, with such humble spirits and meek 
 hearts as Joseph and Mary did. They found him 
 in the temple, not idly occupied as many are, 
 not mumbling things he understood not, sin<* 
 mente sonum, a confused sourid without know- 
 ledge; but they found him occupied in his heavenly 
 father's business, as all men should be in the tem- 
 ple, either in speaking to God by humble and 
 hearty prayer, or hearing God speaking tcr them 
 in his most blessed word. So was Christ occupied 
 amongst learned men, and opposing them.— 
 Where he teacheth us, to be always as glad to 
 learn as to teach. It is 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 uhderstand- 
 f ing and answers/' So the glory of his godhead 
 
36Q A SERMON.' 
 
 even then began to shine. Where we may maris 
 the wonderful power of the gospel : even the hard- 
 hearted that will not receive it, the bright beam* 
 of the truth shining therein maketh astonished. 
 It causeth also the godly to marvel, as Mary and 
 Joseph; but their admiration always ended with 
 
 Yet notwithstanding his heavenly majesty made 
 all men to wonder, his mother thought she had 
 some cause to expostulate with him for the gr»-at 
 fear he had brought upon them, casting them into 
 a dungeon of sorrows; and complaining, said, 
 ** Son, why hast thou, &c." She seemed to 
 charge him with the breach of the fiyst precept 
 of the second table, that he had not well in treated 
 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 ser- 
 vice 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 this, he teacheth us here a most neces- 
 sary lesson for all men to know and bear away, 
 which is, that his whole life and death was no- 
 thing else but a perfect obedience to the will 
 of his heavenly father, and that he was always 
 
A SERMON. 361 
 
 most busily occupied therein : and teacheth us, 
 that if we look by adoption to be brethren and 
 coheirs with Christ of his father's kingdom, 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 in- 
 struction which this gospel might minister, and to 
 tarry upon this one sentence, " Know ye not that 
 ce I must go about my father's business?" In- 
 tending to shew in order, how all estates of men, 
 the clergy, the nobility, and the commonalty, are 
 under the band of this obligation, oportet, we 
 must, and ought of necessity to be occupied in 
 our heavenly father's business. — But first of all, 
 mistrusting whollv mine own strength, I crave aid 
 of you by your devout prayers. 
 
 f Know ye not that I must go about my father's 
 " business?" 
 
 XxFTER 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 
 
362 A SERMON. 
 
 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 natu- 
 " ral man," saith St. Paul, " perceiveth not the 
 " things of the spirit of God/' till Christ, the 
 very true image of God the father, did come 
 down, and took man's nature upon him; which 
 descent, as he declareth, was to fulfil for us the 
 will of his father, that " like as by disobedience 
 * of one man, many were made sinners; so by 
 " the obedience of one (Christ) many might be 
 * f made righteous, what time as he became obedi- 
 ** ent unto death, even the death of the cross." 
 Which obedience, lest carnal men should chal- 
 lenge to suffice for them, howsoever their life be 
 a continual 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 mas- 
 ter, to be occupied in our heavenly father's bu- 
 siness; which is, to fly our own will, which is a 1 
 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. 
 
A SERMON. 363 
 
 * ravenous, or deceitful man, can never say, 
 " but with his lips, because in his heart he pre- 
 " ferreth his own cursed will, setting aside the 
 '< will of God." 
 
 Now forsomuch as the greatest part of the 
 world hath at this day forsaken their father's busi- 
 ness, applying their own, and are altogether 
 drowned in sin ; for, " the whole head is sick, 
 " and the whole heart is heavy : from the sole of 
 " the foot to the head, there is nothing whole 
 " therein," and as St. Paul saith, " all seek theiF 
 •* own, and not that which is Jesus Christ's;" and 
 as I nm 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 vul- 
 gar people. 
 
 But forasmuch as example of holy scriptures, 
 with experience of Ch^ t'- cnurch in all ages, hath 
 taught us that th? fall of prfests is the fall of the 
 people; and contrari Ise, !;e integrity of them is 
 the preservation of the w rl? fiock; and the mi- 
 nisters, as Christ saith, being " the light of his 
 " mystical t -rly, if the light be turned into dark-. 
 <c ness, there must needs follow great darkness in 
 " the whole body;" I think it fit to begin witljt 
 them, who seem to have brought blindness into. 
 
$6$ 4 WBRWMTJ 
 
 the whole body, making men to forget their hea- 
 venly father's business: 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 confession, en- 
 joined him straightly to feed his lambs and sheep: 
 wherein we have the true trial of all ministers 
 who love Christ, and apply his business. 
 
 But to consider how it hath been forgotten in; 
 the church many years, it might make a Chris- 
 tian'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 ambition, 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 lamentable voice of the 
 prophet Jeremy, ? O lord God, how is the gold 
 " become so dim? How is the goodly colour of 
 cc it so changed? O most ungracious time," 
 saith he, iC 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 1 the children of men." In 
 
A SERMON. -iftiS 
 
 that time, as it appeared both by this history and 1 . 
 Others, ambition and greedy avarice had taught 
 ministers to seek and contend 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, 
 f? who goeth about like a roaring lion, seeking 
 " whom he may devour." 
 
 Then the bishop of Rome, abusing always Pe- 
 ter's keys to fill Judas's satchels, dispensed with 
 all prelates 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 preach- 
 ing into such a contempt, that it was accounted a 
 great absurdity for a cardinal to preach, after he 
 liad once bestrid his mule. 
 
 But let us see after, how this evil increased. 
 St. Bernard in his time, about two hundred years 
 after, lamented that when open persecution of 
 tyrants and heretics was ceased in the church, then 
 another persecution, far worse, and more noisome 
 to Christ's gospel, did succeed; when the minis- 
 ters, Christ's own friends by pretence, were 
 turned into persecutors; " My lovers and ray 
 
366 A SERMON. 
 
 " kinsmen stand aside from my plague: and my 
 " kinsmen stand afar off." The iniquity 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 too 
 long to be rehearsed, against the prelates of 
 Home, 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, was so great, and since hath not a little in' 
 creased, it was high time that God should open 
 the eyes of some christian princes, to see the 
 gre?t abuses and enormities of Romish bishops, 
 and to deliver Christ's gospel out of capti- 
 vity, and to bring down his horns, whose pride, 
 jf he might have had success in his tyranny, be-i 
 gan to ascend with Lucifer above the stars. 
 
 It is not many years ago, that a champion of 
 theirs, named Pelagius, writing against Marsilius 
 Paduanus in defence of Rome, hath not been 
 ashamed to leave in writing, that the pope (quo- 
 dammodo, after a sort ) dcth participate both na- 
 tureSj the godhead and manhood, with Christ; 
 
A SERMON. 367 
 
 end that he may not be judged of the emperor, 
 because he is not a meer man, but as a God upon 
 earth; and God, saith he, may not be judged of 
 man. What intolerable blasphemy 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 of the old serpent, when 
 he tempted our first parents, and promised they 
 should become like Gods ? A vile wretched crea*r 
 ture, worms' meat, forgetting his estate, must be- 
 come a God upon earth. — Such Gods shall follow 
 Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, into the pit of dam- 
 nation. 
 
 But some will say, "What should we speak so 
 much of the bishop of Rome? Is he not gone? 
 His power taken away ? If preachers would let 
 him alone, the people would soon forget him. 
 Truly, for my part, if I had that gift, strength, 
 and calling, I had rather (though I were sure to 
 smart therefore) speak against his enormities in 
 Rome, than to speak of them here: and I think no 
 man beareth, at least I am sure no man ought to 
 bear, any malice or evil against his person, in 
 speaking against his vice and iniquity^ (< We 
 V fight not," saith St. Paul, ** against flesh and 
 W blood; but we fight against the prince of dark- 
 " ness. Sec," When any wicked man, adversary 
 to God and his word, assaileth us, we must tske 
 him for no other but as an instrument of the devil, 
 
368 ■* SERMON. 
 
 and Satan himself to be our enemy, and 
 other; and even as when an 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 instru- 
 ments as he hath in Rome, the men would be- 
 come 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 Gcd's creatures, but rather that which Satan 
 hath depraved, " if peradventure God will turn 
 " their hearts." 
 
 But notwithstanding, their faults ought 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 expe- 
 dient oftentimes to cry and thunder against their 
 errors and vices; chiefly, that so oft as we hear it, 
 v;e may give God thanks, as we are most bounden, 
 for our deliverance 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 oat of Egypt; and afterwards, 
 when they were delivered by Debora from the 
 tyranny of Sisera ; and after the deliverance from 
 Holofernes by Judith. We must be thankful, lest 
 for our unthankfulness God suffer us to fall into a 
 worse bondage than ever we were in.— -But most 
 
 3 
 
A SERMON. 369 
 
 of all it is profitable, that we may from our hearts 
 renounce with Babylon all the vices of Babylon. 
 For what did profit the deliverance out of Egypt, 
 to those that did still carry Egypt in their minds 
 through the desart? What did it avail the deli- 
 verance 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 sweet manna of the gospel, and 
 savour of the fleshly Egypt, desiring to live still 
 under the bondage of Pharaoh. 
 
 But most of all it is expedient how for my 
 purpose 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 busi- 
 ness: such abuses as cannot yet be driven away s 
 nor sent home to Rome to their father: I mean 
 dispensations for pluralities, 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 awav 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 those fatlings which 
 Saul, against God's commandment, did keep alive 
 when he vanquished the Amalekites. And truly, 
 
 vol, h. u « 
 
#70 A. SERMOK. 
 
 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 pe- 
 rish for lack of spiritual food, God's business shall 
 never be well applied, nor his gospel have suc- 
 cess 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 plainly 
 expressed in God's law. If our hearts were not 
 hardened 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 heavenly father's business, 
 whereof the scripture is 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 ministers, and utterly refuse the work of 
 their ministry, by leaving their flock, God's word 
 o s*:i!g so plain against them ! 
 
A SERMON. 
 
 371 
 
 I marvel not so much 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 marvel at 
 learned men, which read the scriptures, where 
 their hearts and understanding should be, when 
 they read almost in every leaf of scripture, bed- 
 sides all antient writers, their own sharp sentence 
 and judgment, which a whole day were too little 
 to bring them in. — O merciful God, where be their 
 eyes to see, their ears to hear! Do they think 
 there is a God 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 murtherers, 
 and guilty of blood. In the thirty-fourth of Ec- 
 clesiasticus it is written, " The bread of the need- 
 " ful is the life of the poor; he that defraudeth 
 " them thereof is a man of blood." If this sen- 
 tence be true in 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 blood? And 
 therefore God, by his prophet Ezekiel, telleth 
 them, " So many as perish by their negligence, 
 " their blood shall be required at their hands, as 
 " men guilty of blood." Now let them consider, 
 b m % 
 
572 A SFRMON. 
 
 that if the blood of Abel, one man, cried up Utlt& 
 heaven for vengeance against Cain, what a h orri- 
 ble cry shall the blood of a thousand souls make 
 before the throne of God, asking vengeance 
 against that wicked pastor, which most cruelly hath 
 hungered them to death, in withholding from them 
 the food 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 poor; cry 
 all for vengeance: the stones in the wall, the lim- 
 ber over their heads, cry for vengeance. 
 
 Alas, how far are they from excusing them- 
 selves with St. Paul, saying to the people of 
 Ephesus, " I take you to record this day, I am 
 <c 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 pub- 
 licly, and by houses, these men keep silence, 
 lest they should disquiet the devil in his fort; of 
 whom Christ saith, " When a strong man armed 
 " watcheth his house, the things that he pos- 
 *' sesseth are in peace." They say with the evil 
 servant, " My master is long a coming, and so 
 " beats his fellow-servants," like cruel murtherers 
 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 ada- 
 
A SERMON. 373 
 
 * r mant stone." Lazarus hath lain so long buried 
 and stinking in worldly lusts and sensualities, the 
 preacher cannot call him out, nor yet remove the 
 gravestone. — What 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. I am 
 very sorry they should be absent, which ought to 
 give example, and encourage others to the hear- 
 ing of God's word: and I am the more sorry for 
 that other preachers before me complain much of 
 their absence. But you will say they have weighty 
 affairs in hand. Alas, hath God any greater bu- 
 siness than this? If I could cry with the voice of 
 Stentor, I would make them hear in their cham- 
 bers; but in their absence I will speak to their 
 seats, as if they were present. 
 
 I will call unto you, noble prince, as Christ's 
 anointed. Christ's little flock here in England, 
 which he hath committed to your charge, which 
 wander by many thousands as sheep having no 
 pastors: thev cry nil unto you for succour, to send 
 them home their shepherds, to the end that for 
 things corporal, they may receive spiritual; and 
 to let one pastor have one only competent living, 
 which he mav discharge. Thev call unon von to 
 
 * The king being absent these words wove ad led ejftera- 
 pore, 
 
374 A SE&MOiS. 
 
 expel and drive away the great drones, which in 
 idleness devour other men's labour; that after St. 
 Paul's rule, " He that will not labour, be not suf- 
 i( fered to eat. The little ones have asked bread, 
 w &c." Christ's little ones have hungered and 
 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 you turn not your ears 
 from them, lest their blood be required 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 pas-< 
 tor 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 duty. The eye of the 
 master hath great strength, Your grace's eye to 
 look through your realm, and see that watchmen 
 sleep not, shall be worth a great number of 
 preachers. They call unto you to awake not 
 only negligent pastors, but also to take away other 
 enormities, which have followed in heaps upon 
 those evils, pluralities and non-residents. 
 
 If I might have time, I think I should be able 
 to prove, that the great swarm of evils which 
 reign at this day, have flowed from those foun-?. 
 tains, or rather puddles. But I will only speak of 
 
A SERMON, 375 
 
 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 broug t forth farming of benefices to gentle- 
 men, laymen, wherein they have found such 
 sweetness and worldly wealth, that preachers can- 
 not have them, they will be perpetual farmers; 
 which hath opened a gap for the heathen, as Da- 
 vid saith, or else for cloaked christians, much 
 worse than the heathen, who have entered into 
 Christ's inheritance, spoiled his holy temple, and 
 robbed his gospel. Such seem to make composi- 
 tion with our great enemy Satan: the idle pastor 
 saying, Give to me riches, take the rest to thy 
 share; whom Satan answereth, 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 unlearned; 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, burnt in 
 ^mithfield, 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. John Gerson, a learned man m h 
 
376 A SERMON, 
 
 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 with these 
 men, it skilleth not if he never opened the bible, 
 so much the meeter for their purpose, as he is 
 not able to speak against their abuses, but will 
 suffer them to sleep in their sin.— And will you 
 see what preposterous judgment they use ? For 
 all worldly offices they search meet and convenient 
 men ; only christian souls, so dearly bought, are 
 committed without respect, to men not worthy to 
 keep sheep. 
 
 Your grace hath sent forth surveyors, as most 
 needful it was, to see there should be no deceit 
 in payment of pensions, and other offices abroad : 
 would to God you would also send forth surveyors 
 to see how benefices are bestowed and used; how 
 Christ and his gospel are robbed and dishonoured, 
 to the great decay of your realm and common- 
 wealth: you should find a small number of patrons 
 that bestow rightly their livings, seeking pod's 
 glory, 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 
 farming to himself, or his friend; and to appoint 
 the rent at his own pleasure. — But worse than this, 
 a great number never farm them at all, but keep 
 
A SERMON. 377 
 
 jihem 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 parsonages, and 
 seemed to have some conscience towards vicar- 
 ages; but now their hearts be so hardened, all is 
 fish that cometh to the net. Gentlemen are par- 
 sons and vicars both, nothing can escape them. 
 There be vicarages about London, having a thou- 
 sand 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 called for, the tenant shall 
 lose it and not they. Is not this a godly patron ? — 
 It shall appear also, 1 could name the place, where 
 a living of an hundred marks by the year, if I say 
 not pounds, hath been sold for many years, I sup- 
 pose 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 pas- 
 tor's hand might have refreshed five hundred in a 
 
37$ A SERMON. 
 
 year with ghostly food, and all the country about 
 with God's word; which, as I perceive, in twenty 
 miles' compass hath scarce one man 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 injury to Christ 
 and his gospel be suffered in a christian realm ? 
 That one enormity crieth for vengeance till it be 
 redressed. — What shall I speak ? Your noblemen 
 reward their servants with livings appointed 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 bestow their 
 livings better, both master and man shall burn in 
 hell fire. 
 
 I am not able to rehearse, nor yet any man 
 knoweth all the abuses which the simoniacs, am- 
 bitious and idle pastors, have brought unto your 
 realm; by whose evil example ravenous wolves, 
 painted christians, hypocrites, have entered and 
 defiled the sanctuary, spoiled Christ and his gospel, 
 to the destruction of his flock. How great ene- 
 mies they be to Christ, by keeping away his 
 gospel, it shall appear, 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, witchcrafts, conjuring, trusting in 
 figures, wifth such other trumpery, which lurk 
 
A SEEMON. 373 
 
 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 au- 
 thority after the first institution. They think bap- 
 tism is not effectual, because it wanteth man's 
 tradition. They are not taught how the apostles 
 baptized. A great number think it is a great of- 
 fence to take the sacrament of Christ's body in 
 their hands, that have no conscience to receive 
 it with blasphemous mouths, with malicious hearts, 
 fi >f all uncleanness. These come to it by threes 
 cf 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 pleas- 
 ing variety (as they thought it) of painted cloths, 
 candlesticks, images, altars, lamps, and tapers, 
 they say, as good to go into a barn; nothing es- 
 teeming 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 cul- 
 ture, without any feeling of true holiness, or of 
 the true worship of God in spirit and truth, with- 
 out the which all other is mere hypocrisy. Many 
 thousands know not what this meaneth; but seek 
 Christ still among their kindred, in man's inven- 
 
380 A SERMON. 
 
 tions, where they can never find him. As the 
 Jews preferred man's traditions before God's com- 
 mandments, even so it is 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, des- 
 pising or soon weary of God's word. — All this, 
 with much more, cometh through lack of preach- 
 ing, as experience trieth where godly pastors 
 be. — It cannot much be marvelled, if the simple 
 and ignorant people, by some wicked he ads 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 devil goeth 
 about by these cormorants that devour these liv- 
 ings 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 Mock 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 them lawyers. Look upon ^he 
 
A SERMON. 381 
 
 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 hundred. If they decay so fast in 
 seven years more, there will be almost none at 
 all; and thun may the devil make a triumph. This 
 matter requireth speedy redress. The miseries of 
 your people cry upon you, noble prince, and 
 Christ for his flock crieth to you his anointed, to 
 defend his lambs from these ravenous wolves that 
 rob and spoil his vineyard; by whose malicious en- 
 deavour, if your grace do not speedily resist, there 
 is entering into England more blind ignorance, 
 superstition, and infidelity, than ever was under 
 the Romish bishop. Your realm (which I am 
 _sorry to speak) shall become more barbarous than 
 Scythia; which, lest God almighty lay to your 
 grace's charge, for suffering the sword given to 
 you for the maintenance of the gospel to lie rust- 
 ing in the sheath, bestir now yourself in your hea- 
 venly father's business; withstanding these cor- 
 morants 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 defending 
 Christ's gospel against them, than by conquering 
 all Africa. You shall do God more service by 
 resisting this tyranny of the devil and his members,. 
 
388 A SERMON. 
 
 than by vanquishing the great Turk. Cut first awsy 
 the occasions of all this mischief, dispensations for 
 pluralities, and totquots for non-residents. Sutler 
 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 hospi- 
 talitv. — But many think themselves excused for a 
 year or two, because their livings are t^ken away 
 the first year; which undoubtedly doth not excuse 
 them for their presence, I had rather beg or bor- 
 row of my friends., to help me to meat and cloaths, 
 than suffer the devil to have sue!; liberty one year. 
 It is no small number 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 the altar;" 
 and again, " Thou shall not muzzle the ox that 
 " treadeth out the corn.") I do not doubt, but 
 after your grace, with the advice of your honour- 
 able council, have considered how much it may 
 set forth God's glory, how many souls may be 
 delivered from the devil by sending pastors to 
 their livings the first month, and suffering 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 I doubt not, if all 
 were well redressed to this, that this also should 
 
A SERMON. 383 
 
 soon be amended. Wherefore, here I will desire 
 God to assist vour grace in the advancement of 
 his gospel, which, like unto Josias, you have 
 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 li- 
 mitations; 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 flatterers, 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 
 u appear, you shall receive an incorruptible 
 " crown of glory." 
 
 And thus far concerning the ecclesiastical mi- 
 nistry. 
 
 But now to come to the civil governance, the 
 n obi lit v, magistrates, and officers; all these must 
 at all times remember, " they must be occupied 
 s{ in their heavenly father's business." They 
 
384 A SERMON. 
 
 have received all their nobility, power, dominion, 
 authority and offices of God; which are excellent 
 and heroical gifts : and if they be occupied in 
 God's business, it shall redound to his glory, and 
 the wealth cf 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 ungodliness, and framing them- 
 selves to the shape and fashion of this world, no- 
 bility is turned into vile slavery and bondage of 
 sin, power and dominion are turned into tyranny, 
 authority is become a sword of mischief in a mad- 
 man's hand, all majesty and honour is turned into 
 misery, shame, and confusion; and even the higher 
 men be, while they serve sin, the more nota- 
 ble is their vice, and more pestiferous to infect 
 by evil examples ; because all men's eyes are bent 
 to behold their doings. " Every fault of the 
 i( 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; seeing that 
 virtue in all whom God hath exalted is the main- 
 tainer of their dignity, without the which they fall 
 from it. It shall be most needful for them to em- 
 brace virtue, and chiefly humility, which is the 
 keeper of all virtues ; which may put them ever 
 in remembrance from whence power is given 
 
A SEEM ON. 385 
 
 them, for what end, who is above them, a judge, 
 an examiner of all their doings, who cannot be 
 deceived. But as dignity goeth now a days, climb 
 who may climb highest, every man exalteth him- 
 self, and tarrieth not the calling of God. Hu- 
 mility is taken for no keeper, but for an utter 
 enemy to nobility. As I heard of a wicked clim- 
 ber and exalter of himself, who hearing the sen- 
 tence of Christ in the gospel, " He that humbleth 
 " himself shall be exalted/' he most blasphe- 
 mously against God's holy word said, " Sure it was 
 " not true; for if I," said he, " had not put forth, 
 " nor advanced myself, but followed this rule, I 
 *' had never come to this dignity;" for which 
 blasphemy, the vengeance of God smote him with 
 Sudden death. 
 
 I fear me a great number are in England, 
 which though in words they deny not this sen- 
 tence of Christ's, yet inwardly they can scarce 
 digest it; else certainly they would never seek 
 so ambitiously to advance themselves, to climb by 
 their own might, uncalled; never seeking the 
 public weal, but rather the destruction thereof, 
 for their private wealth and lucre; which causeth 
 us to have so many evil magistrates. For all the 
 while that men gather goods unjustly, by polling, 
 pilling, usury, extortion, and simony, and there- 
 with seek to climb with bribes and buvina: of 
 offices, it is scarce possible for such to be whole- 
 some magistrates. They enter in at the window 
 
 VOL. II. c c 
 
586 A SERMON. 
 
 (which is used as well in civil government as \& 
 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 a robber." 
 And Isaiah's complaint against Jerusalem taketh 
 place among us, "Thy princes are wicked, and 
 " companions of thieves; they love gifts alto- 
 " gether, and gape for rewards: as for the fa- 
 " therless, they help not him in his right, neither" 
 " will they let the widow's cause come before 
 " them," They will not know their office to be 
 ordained 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, 
 <l When the wicked man bears rule, the people 
 u 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 busi- 
 ness; seeking rather the misery of the people, 
 than to take it away ; rather 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 calamities. 
 
 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 ; for ever 
 the weakest go to the wall. And being thus tor- 
 
a sutMoN." 387 
 
 Rented, and put from their right at home, they 
 iome to London in great numbers, as to a place 
 -"where justice should be had, 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 be so dainty to hear the 
 poor, let them take heed lest God make it as 
 strange to them when they shall call : for as Solo- 
 mon saith, u 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> 
 iand caused her to have right: such was the use 
 then. — I would to God that all noblemen would 
 diligently note that chapter, and follow the ex- 
 ample: it would not then be so hard for the poor 
 to have access to them; nor coming to their pre- 
 sence, 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 
 he 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 
 c c % 
 
388 A SERMON. 
 
 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, de- 
 vour at London : they laugh with the money which 
 maketh others to weep: and thus are the poor 
 robbed on every side without redress, and that of 
 such as seem to have authority thereto. 
 
 When Christ suffered his passion, there was one 
 Barabbas, Sr. Matthew called him a notable thief, 
 a gentleman thief, such as rob now-a-days in vel- 
 vet 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 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 a few in a ship, but thou robbest whole 
 Countries and kingdoms." — Alas, silly poor mem- 
 bers of Christ, how v ou be shorn, oppressed, pulled, 
 hailed to and fro on every side; who cannot 
 but lament, if his heart be not of flint ! There be 
 a great number every term, and many continually, 
 which lamentably 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 
 
A SERMON. 
 
 389 
 
 man's cause never so manifest a truth, the rich shall 
 for money find six or seven counsellors that shall 
 stand with subtleties and sophisms to cloak an evil 
 matter, and hide a known truth. — A piteous case 
 in a christian commonwealth ! Alas, that ever 
 manifest falsehood should be maintained, where the 
 God of truth ought to be honoured ! — But let them 
 alone; they are occupied in their father's business, 
 even the prince of darkness: " you are of your 
 ** father the devil. " 
 
 Yet I cannot so leave 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 
 <jod 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 magis- 
 trates, to their lords, and to all that be put in 
 authority over them; I let them hear their own 
 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; not by force 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 obedience under God; so are you 
 again debtors unto them for love, protection, for 
 
§90 X SERMON. 
 
 justice and equity, mercy and pity. If you deny 
 them these, they must suffer, but God shall re-* 
 venge them. " He standeth," saith David, u 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 ac-e 
 cepting 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 
 ce of the ungodly." Here have all noblemen 
 and christian magistrates most lively set forth to 
 them their heavenly fat* er'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 
 now their robberies, extortion, and open oppres- 
 sion, hath no end nor 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 own ; and forget altogether 
 that " the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness 
 " thereof." They turn them out of their shroud? 
 as mice, Thousands in England, through such. 
 
A SERMON, 
 
 391 
 
 beg now from door to door, which have kept ho- 
 nest houses. These cry daily to God for vengeance, 
 both against the great Nimrods, workers thereof, 
 and their maintainers. There be so many mighty 
 Nimrods in England, mighty hunters, that hunt 
 for possessions and lordships, that poor men are 
 daily hunted out of their livings; there. is no 
 covert or den can keep them safe. These Nim- 
 rods have such quick smelling hounds, they can 
 lie at London and turn men out of their farms and 
 tenements an hundred, some two hundred miles 
 oft*. — O Lord, when wicked Ahab hunted after 
 Naboth's vineyard, he could not, though he were 
 a king, obtain that prey, till cursed Jezebel (as 
 women oft-times have shrewd wits) took the mat- 
 ter 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 va- 
 liant Nimrods can compass the matter without the 
 help of Jezebels; yet hath England even now a 
 great number of Jezebels, which to maintain their 
 intolerable pride, their golden heads, will not 
 stick to put to their wicked hands. — -O Lord, what 
 a number of such oppressors, 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 
 numbef to beware of extortion, to beware of op- 
 pression : and yet escaping temporal punishments^ 
 
392 A SERMON, 
 
 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 hearing 
 God's word, man should more fear temporal pu- 
 nishment than everlasting. 
 
 Yet hath England had of late some terrible ex-* 
 amples 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 hardened 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 wri- 
 ter in our time, Musculus, upon St. Matthew's 
 gospel, which marvelled much at the subtle and 
 manifold working of Satan; how he after the ex- 
 pelling of superstition and hypocrisy, traveleth 
 most busily to bring in open impiety: that 
 whereas before, men feared men, though not 
 God; now a great number fear neither God nor 
 man: the most wicked are counted most manlike, 
 and innocency holden beastliness. 
 
 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 cloyster. I cannot liken them better than 
 to the Jews, that said to Christ, ". Hail, king of 
 
A SERMON. 393 
 
 (e the Jews " What their painted friendship is, 
 and how of Christ it is esteemed, St. Austin setteth 
 forth by an apt similitude: " 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 full of nails, tread upon thy 
 ° bare foot; the head shall despise the honour 
 ts done unto it, and for the foot that smarteth, 
 " say, Why treadest thou upon me? So when 
 '* feigned gospellers honour Christ our head sit- 
 <( ting in heaven, and oppress' his members on 
 " earth, the head shall speak for the feet that 
 <c 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 perse- 
 <c cutest 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 oppression to shew mercy, without which 
 no man can obtain mercy. If they would re- 
 member how the rich glutton was damned in hell, 
 not as we read for any violence," but for not 
 shewing mercy, they might soon gather how 
 sharp judgment remaineth for them, which are 
 not only unmerciful, but also violently add 
 
394; A SERMON. 
 
 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 Germany, named Hatto, 
 ' which, as the chronicles 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 unmerci- 
 ful mercy, God made him an example for all un- 
 merciful men to the world's end; for a multitude 
 of rats came and devoured him in such terrible 
 sort, that where his name was written in windows, 
 walls or hangings, they never ceased till it were 
 razed out. — Some peradventure shrink to hear 
 such cruelty: but doubtless there is almost daily 
 as great cruelty practised among us by such blood- 
 suckers, as being infected with the great drOpsy 
 of avarice, alway drinking and ever a-thirst, by 
 famishing poor people, drinking up their bloody 
 and with long continuance therein, torment them 
 more grievously than He that burnt them all in 
 one hour. 
 
 Now seeing, *s I said, this cruelty, robbery, 
 and extortion, groweth daily to such intolerable 
 
A SERMON, $95 
 
 excess, and overfloweth this realm, because it is 
 not purished nor restrained; it is high time for 
 all those roagistrates 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 beware by the example of Saul. 
 He was commanded to apply God's business, " Go 
 " and smite Amalek, and have no compassion 
 ■' on them," &c. he left his business undone, 
 spared Amalek, and the fairest of the beasts: but 
 for this negligence he received of Samuel a sor- 
 rowful message from God; tc because thou hast 
 ■ s cast away the word of the Lcrd, he hath cast 
 ■ ( thee off also from being king." Even so in every 
 christian commonwealth, God hath commanded 
 rulers to destroy Amalek, all extortion, oppres- 
 sion, 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 them 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 lan- 
 tern to all other, but that also all his nobles about 
 him have wholly bent themselves in> his busi- 
 ness, 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. 
 
396 A SERMON. 
 
 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, oppression, and extor- 
 tion : which taken away, would pluck from many 
 their vanity in superfluous and monstrous apparel, 
 sumptuous building, such as seek to bring Para- 
 dise into earth, being the greatest causes of all 
 oppression 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 ex- 
 ceedingly, Charles gave it none other commen- 
 dation but this, " Hsec sunt quas faciunt invitos 
 " mori: These earthly vanities," said he, u are 
 " what make us loth to die." A truer sentence 
 could not well be spoken by any man. 1 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 holy patriarchs, and with St. Paul say, 
 that " we have not here a continuing city, but 
 " we seek one to come." 
 
 But tculy 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 
 confusion of tongues, but with the confusion of 
 wits. Our fancies can never be pleased : pluck 
 
A. SERMON. 397 
 
 down and set up, and when it contenteth us not, 
 down with it again, Our minds are never con- 
 tented, 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 mat- 
 ter 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 re- 
 volve in their memory what acceptable service 
 they may do, chiefly to God, and secondly to the 
 king's majesty, and his whole realm, in employ- 
 ing 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 no- 
 bility spreadeth her beams over a whole realm. 
 And so your diligence in God's business shall soon 
 inflame all other to follow your example, that all 
 may occupy themselves in God's business. 
 
 But now that I have hitherto charged the eccle- 
 siastical ministers, and after, the civil governors, 
 
333 A SERMON, 
 
 and all rich and mighty men with negligence fc 
 God's business; methinks I do hear the inferior 
 members rejoice and flatter themselves, as if all 
 were taken from them> and they left clear in God's 
 r-ight: but if they consider their estate by God's 
 word, they shall find small cause to advance them- 
 selves. 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 there- 
 fore, both Isaiah and Hosea, after the most terri- 
 ble threatenings of God's vengeance for sin, bring 
 it in as a most grievous plague of all, that even 
 the priests, which should call them from sin> shall 
 become as evil as the people. Which plague St. 
 Bernard said in his time was come with a ven-* 
 geance, for because the priests were much worse 
 than the people. And Amos> as a most grievous 
 punishment of all other, threateneth hunger, not 
 of bread, but of hearing God's word. And con-*- 
 cerning 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 peo* 
 pie, subverters 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 offend- 
 ed with their own sins, which Lave deserved this 
 
A SERMON. 
 
 399 
 
 scourge, and much more; and study for amend- 
 ment, that God may take it away. For if they 
 continue as they do, to murmur against God and 
 their rulers, as the Israelites did, to provoke daily 
 his anger by multiplying sin in his sight, with 
 envy, malice, deceit, backbiting, swearing, for- 
 nication, 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 emperor Claudius's time, the images of good 
 magistrates may all be graven in one ring- 
 God hath cause greatly to be displeased with 
 all estates. When every man should look upon 
 his own faults to seek amendment, as it is a pro- 
 verb lately sprung up, " No man amendeth him- 
 *' self, but every man seeketh to amend other," 
 and all the while nothing is amended. Gentle- 
 men say, the commonalty live too well at ease,, 
 they grow every day to be gentlemen, 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 mur- 
 mur 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 reason, how improperly 
 these two conjugata, these yoke fellows, gentla- 
 men and gentleness, are banished so far asunder: 
 and they lay all the misery of this ioramon- 
 
 3 
 
400 A SERMON. 
 
 wealth upon the gentlemen's shoulders. — But alas., 
 good christians, this is not the way of amend- 
 ment : " If ye bite and devour one another/' as St. 
 Paul saith, - c take ye heed lest ye be consumed 
 M 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 noisome than anv teeth. And whereof 
 cometh it ? Covetousness is the root of all ; every 
 man scratcheth and pilleth from other ; every man 
 would suck the blood of other; every man en- 
 croacheth upon another. 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 England, 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 come not abroad. — Alas, noble prince, the 
 images of your ancestors graven in gold, and 
 yours also, contrary to your mind, are wor- 
 shipped as Gods; while the poor lively images of 
 Christ perish in the streets through hunger and 
 cold. This cometh when covetousness hath ba- 
 nished from amongst us christian charity ; when, 
 like most unthankful children, we have forgotten 
 
 4 
 
A SERMON. 
 
 401 
 
 Christ's last will, which he so often before his pas- 
 sion 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 pa- 
 rents. Nay rather I may say, we are much worse 
 than the brute beasts; of whom, when we con- 
 sider how wonderfully nature hath framed them to 
 concord and unity, to preserve and help one an- 
 other of their own kind, it may make us utterly to 
 to be ashamed. The harts swimming, with much 
 pain bear up their heads in the water ; for the 
 remedy whererof, 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 creatures this 
 lesson, to help one another, as we are commanded 
 by St. Paul, saying, " Bear ye one another's bur- 
 " then, and so you shall fulfil the law, of Christ," 
 how soon then should charity, the bond of per- 
 fection, which seeketh not her own, but rather 
 to profit others, be so spread among a 1 degrees, 
 that our commonwealth should flourish in all 
 godliness ? But alas ! w T e see that all goeth con- 
 trary. For while all men, as St. Paul saith, " seek 
 <e the things that be their own, and not other 
 " men's, not things which appertain to Christ," 
 
 VOL. II. D D 
 
402 A SERMON. 
 
 self-love, and love of private commodity, hath ba- 
 nished charity, and love to the commonwealth. 
 
 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 
 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 his will, which 
 yet would disdain to be counted ignorant therein. 
 But undoubtedly, good christians, it is an infallible 
 verity, that negligence in 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, knov/eth 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. Augustine's rule, grounded upon St. John, is 
 
A SERMON. 40& 
 
 true,, " That so far as we do know God, so far we 
 * love him; and so they that love him nothing 
 r * at all, they know him nothing at all, although 
 ** they seem to have never so much windy know- 
 " ledge, puffing up their stomachs with presump- 
 " tion," as the apostle saith, " Knowledge 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 igno- 
 rant 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 Pem- 
 bus, of whom we read in ecclesiastical history, 
 when he was first taught the first verse of the 
 thirty-ninth psalm, " I 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, judg- 
 ing his first lesson to be unlearned, till he could 
 perfectly practise it by an holy conversation. So 
 ought we always to make our account 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 
 dd2 
 
404 A SERMON. 
 
 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 children of greater damnation, 
 if we harden our hearts, and receive such abun- 
 dance of grace in vain. " The earth," saith St. 
 Paul, " which after the rain bringeth forth thorns 
 u 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 vengeance 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 come to the church ; profaning the 
 sabbath day, appointed for the service of God, and 
 the hearing of his wo^d, bestowing it more wickedly 
 than many of the Gentiles. Yet if they would 
 come to the sermons, though their hearts were not 
 well disposed, God's word might win them, as St. 
 Augustine was won by the preaching of St. Am- 
 brose, when he came only to hear his 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 hear- 
 ing of nis holy word. Are not these they, as 
 $t. Paul saith, " which tread under foot the son of 
 
A SERMON. 405 
 
 " God, count the blood of his testament, wherein 
 "t hey are sanctified, an unholy thing ; and docle- 
 " spite tc the spirit of Grace ?" O Lord, how canst 
 thou hold thy hands from punishing this unthankful- 
 ness ? Certainly I think all other wickedness com- 
 pared 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 Jew?, 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 vengeance 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 unthankfulness ; which 
 being called so many ways, by his prophets, 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 re- 
 pentance, 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 cue in 
 
405 A SERMON. 
 
 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 
 forehead with an hot iron these two words, " In- 
 gratus ho-pes," an unthankful guest. O Lord, 
 if we consider when we were strangers from God, 
 in the shipwreck of sin, how mercifully Christ 
 hath delivered us, and borne our sins upon his 
 body ; if after all this, we most unthankfully refuse 
 to receive him, by refusing his word, may we not 
 think ourselves worthy many hot irons to print our 
 "un thankfulness 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 con- 
 science, to their everlasting confusion and dam- 
 nation, when " the books of every man's con- 
 science shall be laid open," as Daniel saith. Their 
 judgment shall be more strait than that of Sodom 
 and Gomorrah. Let us all then from the highest 
 to the lowest, pray with one accord, that God may 
 soften and prepare our hearts with meekness, and 
 humility, and thankfulness, to embrace his gospel, 
 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 overseers, to feed the congregation of God 
 
 1 
 
A SERMON. 
 
 407 
 
 " 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 pub- 
 lic weal, and not to their private wealth ; that they 
 may be maintainers of justice, and punishers of 
 wrong ; and that all inferiors may live in due obe- 
 dience, meekly contenting themselves every one in 
 their vocation, without murmuring or grudging ; 
 that under Christ, and our noble prince, his mi- 
 nister 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 thedesart and dark wilderness 
 of this world, that our eyes be never so blinded 
 with shadows of worldly things, as to make us em- 
 brace life, deceitful and temporal felicity, for that 
 which is true, stedfast, and everlasting ; that this 
 candle which shineth now, as St. Paul saith, " as 
 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 
 darkness ; that we may behold that blessed sight of 
 the glorious Trinity, the Father, the Son, and the 
 holy Ghost, to whom be all praise, all honour, and 
 glory, world without end. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
<S. WoODFAT.t, Pfjirer, 
 
 PaUruovttr-row. 
 
k^»