Hollinshed in his chronicle, vol 2, p. 955, gives a very full account of it. Sir Thomas Moils, knight, then Speaker of the House, gave a special order to the Serjeant of the Parliament to repair to the Compter, and there demand the delivery of the prisoner. But notwithstanding this high authority, the officers in the city refused to obey the command, and after many altercations, they absolutely resisted the Serjeant, upon which a fray ensued within the Compter-gates, between Ferrars and the officers, not without mutual hurt, so that the Serjeant was driven to defend himself with his mace of arms, and had the crown of it broken with warding off a stroke; the Sheriffs of London so far from appeasing, fomented the quarrel, and with insolent language refused to deliver their prisoner: Upon which the Serjeant, thus abused, returned to the House and related what had happened. This circ.u.mstance so exasperated the Burgesses, that they all rose and went into the Upper House, and declared they would transact no more business till their Member was restored to them. They then commanded their Serjeant again to go to the Compter with his mace, and make a second demand by their authority.--The Sheriffs hearing that the Upper House hid concerned themselves in it, and being afraid of their resentment, restored the prisoner before the Serjeant had time to return to the Compter; but this did not satisfy the Burgesses, they summoned the Sheriffs before them, together with one White, who in contempt of their dignity had taken out a writ against Ferrars, and as a punishment for their insolence, they were sent to the Tower; and ever since that period, the power and privilege of the Commons have been on the increase.
Ferrars continued in high favour with Henry during the remainder of his reign, and seems to have stood upon good terms with Somerset Lord Protector in the beginning of Edward VI. since it appears that he attended the Protector in quality of one of the Commissioners of the Army, in his expedition into Scotland in 1548,[4] which, perhaps, might be owing to his being about the person of Prince Edward in his father"s life-time. Another instance of this happened about four years afterwards, at a very critical juncture, for when the unfortunate Duke of Somerset lay under sentence of death, and it was observed that the people murmured and often gave testimonies of discontent, and that the King himself was very uneasy, those about him studied every method to quiet and amuse the one, to entertain and divert the other[5]. In order to this, at the entrance of Christmas holidays, Mr. Ferrars was proclaimed Lord Misrule, that is a kind of Prince of sports and pastimes, which office he discharged for twelve days together at Greenwich with great magnificence and address, and entirely to the King"s satisfaction.
In this character, attended by the politest part of the Court, he made an excursion to London, where he was splendidly entertained by the Lord Mayor, and when he took his leave he had presents given him in token of respect. But notwithstanding he made so great figure in the diversions at court, yet he was no idle spectator of political affairs, and maintained his reputation with the learned world. He wrote the reign of Queen Mary, which tho" published in the name of Richard Grafton, in his chronicles; yet was certainly the performance of Ferrars, according to the annals of Stow, p. 632, whose authority in this case is very high. Our author was an historian, a lawyer, and a politician even in his poetry, as appears from these pieces of his which are inserted in the Mirror of Magistrates, and which are not inferior to any others that have found a place there[6]. In the early part of his life he wrote some tracts on his own profession, which gained him great reputation, and which discover that he was a lover of liberty, and not disposed to sacrifice to the crown the rights and properties of the subject. It seldom happens that when a man often changes his situation, or is forced to do so, that he continues to preserve the good opinion of different parties, but this was a happiness which Ferrars enjoyed. He was consulted by the learned as a candid critic, admired and loved by all who conversed with him.
With respect to the time of our author"s death, we cannot be absolutely certain; all we know is, that he died in the year 1579, at his house in Flamstead in Hertfordshire, and was buried in the parish church; for as Wood informs us, on the eighteenth of May the same year a commission was granted from the prerogative, to administer the goods, debts, chattles, etc. of George Ferrars lately deceased[7].
None of our authors deliver any thing as to Mr. Ferrars"s religion, but it is highly probable that he was a zealous Protestant: not from his accepting grants of Abbey-lands, for that is but a precarious proof, but from his coming into the world under the protection of Thomas Lord Cromwell, who was certainly persuaded of the truth of the protestant religion.
Having this occasion to mention Thomas Lord Cromwell, the famous Earl of Ess.e.x, who was our author"s warmest patron, I am persuaded my readers will forgive me a digression which will open to them the n.o.blest instance of grat.i.tude and honour in that worthy n.o.bleman, that ever adorned the page of an historian, and which has been told with rapture by all who have writ of the times, particularly by Dr. Burnet in his history of the Reformation, and Fox in his Martyrology.--Thomas Lord Cromwell was the son of a Blacksmith at Putney, and was a soldier under the duke of Bourbon at the sacking of Rome in the year 1527.
While he was abroad in a military character, in a very low station, he fell sick, and was unable to follow the army; he was observed one day by an Italian merchant to walk very pensive, and had all the appearance of penury and wretchedness: The merchant enquired of him the place of his birth, and fortune, and upon conversing with Cromwell, was so well pleased with the account he gave of himself, that he supplied him with money and credit to carry him to England.
Cromwell afterwards made the most rapid progress in state-preferments ever known. Honours were multiplied thick upon him, and he came to have the dispensing of his sovereign"s bounty. It happened, that this Italian merchant"s circ.u.mstances decayed, and he came to England to sollicit the payment of some debts due to him by his correspondents; who finding him necessitous, were disposed to put him off, and take the advantage of his want, to avoid payment. This not a little embarra.s.sed the foreigner, who was now in a situation forlorn enough.
As providence would have it, lord Cromwell, then Earl of Ess.e.x, riding to court, saw this merchant walking with a dejected countenance, which put him in mind of his former situation. He immediately ordered one of his attendants to desire the merchant to come to his house. His lordship asked the merchant whether he knew him? he answered no: Cromwell then related the circ.u.mstance of the merchant"s relieving a certain Englishman; and asked if he remembered it? The merchant answered, that he had always made it his business to do good, but did not remember that circ.u.mstance.--His lordship then enquired the reason of his coming to England, and upon the merchant"s telling him his story, he so interested himself, as soon to procure the payment of all his debts.--Cromwell then informed the merchant, that he was himself the person he had thus relieved; and for every Ducat which the merchant had given him, he returned to the value of a hundred, telling him, that this was the payment of his debt. He then made him a munificent present, and asked him whether he chose to settle in England, or return to his own country. The foreigner chose the latter, and returned to spend the remainder of his days in competence and quiet, after having experienced in lord Ess.e.x as high an instance of generosity and grat.i.tude as perhaps ever was known. This n.o.ble act of his lordship, employed, says Burnet, the pens of the belt writers at that time in panegyrics on so great a behaviour; the finest poets praised him; his most violent enemies could not help admiring him, and latest posterity shall hold the name of him in veneration, who was capable of so generous an act of honour. But to return to Ferrars.
In our author"s history of the reign of Queen Mary, tho" he shews himself a great admirer of the personal virtues of that Princess, and a very discerning and able historian, yet it is every where evident that he was attached to the protestant interest; but more especially in the learned account he gives of Archbishop Cranmer"s death, and Sir Thomas Wyat"s insurrection[8]. The works of this author which are printed in the Mirror of Magistrates, are as follow;
The Fall of Robert Tresilian, Chief Justice of England, for misconstruing the laws, and expounding them to serve the prince"s affections.
The Tragedy, or unlawful murther of Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester.
The Tragedy of Richard II.
The Story of Dame Eleanor Cobham, d.u.c.h.ess of Gloucester.
The Story of Humphry Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester, Protector of England.
The Tragedy of Edmund Duke of Somerset.
Among these the Complaints of Eleanor Cobham, d.u.c.h.ess of Gloucester, who was banished for consulting Conjurers and Fortune-tellers about the Life of King Henry VI. and whose exile quickly made way for the murder of her husband, has of all his compositions been most admired; and from this I shall quote a few lines which that Lady speaks.
The Isle of Man was the appointed place, To penance me for ever in exile;
Thither in haste, they posted me apace, And doubting "scape, they pined me in a pyle, Close by myself; in care alas the while.
There felt I first poor prisoner"s hungry fare, Much want, things skant, and stone walls, hard and bare.
The chaunge was straunge from silke and cloth of gold To rugged fryze, my carca.s.s for to cloath; From prince"s fare, and dainties hot and cold, To rotten fish, and meats that one would loath: The diet and dressing were much alike boath: Bedding and lodging were all alike fine, Such down it was as served well for swyne.
[Footnote 1: From ma.n.u.script note on the art of poetry.]
[Footnote 2: Biog. Brit. p. 1922.]
[Footnote 3: Willis not.i.tia Parliam. vol 2. p. 295.]
[Footnote 4: Patten"s Journal of the Scotch expedition, p. 13.]
[Footnote 5: Stow"s Annal. p. 608.]
[Footnote 6: Lond. 40.]
[Footnote 7: Athen. Oxon. vol. I. col. 146.]
[Footnote 8: Grafton"s Chron. p. 1350, 1351.]
Sir PHILIP SIDNEY.
This great ornament to human nature, to literature, and to Britain, was the son of Sir Henry Sidney, knight of the Garter, and three times Lord Deputy of Ireland, and of lady Mary Dudley, daughter to the duke of Northumberland, and nephew to that great favourite, Robert, earl of Leicester.
Oxford had the honour of his education, under the tuition of Dr.
Thomas Thornton, canon of Christ Church. At the university he remained till he was 17 years of age, and in June 1572 set out on his travels.
On the 24th of August following, when the ma.s.sacre fell out at Paris, he was then there, [1] and with other Englishmen took shelter in Sir Francis Walsingham"s house, her Majesty"s amba.s.sador at that court.
When this storm subsided, he departed from Paris, went through Lorrain, and by Strasburgh and Heydelburgh, to Francfort, in September or October following; where he settled for some time, and was entertained, agent for the duke of Saxony. At his return, her Majesty was one of the first who distinguished his great abilities, and, as proud of so rich a treasure, she sent him amba.s.sador to Rodolph the emperor, to condole him on the death of Maximilian, and also to other princes of Germany. The next year, 1577, he went to the court of that gallant prince Don John de Austria, Viceroy in the low countries for the king of Spain. Don John was the proudest man in his time; haughty and imperious in his behaviour, and always used the foreign amba.s.sadors, who came to his court, with unsufferable insolence and superiority: At first he paid but little respect to Sidney on account of his youth, and seeming inexperience; but having had occasion to hear him talk, and give some account of the manners of every court where he had been, he was so struck with his vivacity, the propriety of his observations, and the l.u.s.tre of his parts, that he ever afterwards used him with familiarity, and paid him more respect in his private character, than he did to any amba.s.sador from whatever court.
Some years after this, Wood observes, that in a book called Cabala, he set forth his reasons why the marriage of the queen with the duke of Anjou was disadvantageous to the nation. This address was written at the desire of the earl of Leicester, his uncle; upon which, a quarrel happened between him and the earl of Oxford, which perhaps occasioned his retirement from court for two years, when he wrote that renowned romance called Arcadia. We find him again in high favour, when the treaty of marriage was renewed; he was engaged with Sir Fulk Greville in tilting, for the diversion of the court; and at the departure of the duke of Anjou from England, he attended him to Antwerp [2].
On the 8th of January, 1582, he received the honour of knighthood from the queen; and in the beginning of the year 1585, he designed an expedition with Sir Francis Drake into America; but being hindered by the Queen, who thought the court would be deficient without him, he was made Governor of Flushing, (about that time delivered to the Queen for one of the cautionary-towns) and General of the Horse. In both these places of important trust, his behaviour in point of prudence and valour was irreproachable, and gained additional honour to his country, especially when in July 1586 he surprized Axil, and preserved the lives and reputation of the English army, at the enterprise of Gravelin. About that time he was in election for the crown of Poland, but the queen refused to promote this his glorious advancement, not from jealousy, but from the fear of losing the jewel of her times. He united the statesman, the scholar and the soldier; and as by the one, he purchased fame and honour in his life, so by the other, he has acquired immortality after death.
In the year 1586, when that unfortunate stand was made against the Spaniards before Zutphen, the 22d of September, when he was getting upon the third horse, having had two slain under him before, he was wounded with a musket-shot out of the trenches, which broke the bone of his thigh. The horse he rode upon was rather furiously choleric, than bravely proud, so forced him to forsake the field, but not his back, as the n.o.blest and fittest bier (says lord Brook) to carry a martial commander to his grave. In this progress, pa.s.sing along by the rest of the army where his uncle the [3] General was, and being faint with excess of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought him; but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, who had been wounded at the same time, wishfully cast up his eyes at the bottle; whereupon Sir Philip took it from his own mouth before he drank, and delivered it to the poor man, with these words, "thy necessity is yet greater than mine;" and when he had a.s.sisted this poor soldier and fellow sufferer, as he called him, he was presently carried to Arnheim, where the princ.i.p.al surgeons of the camp attended him.
This generous behaviour of our gallant knight, ought not to pa.s.s without a panegyric. All his deeds of bravery, his politeness, his learning, and courtly accomplishments, do not reflect so much honour upon him, as this one disinterested, truly heroic action: It discovered so tender and benevolent a nature; a mind so fortified against pain; a heart so overflowing with generous sentiments, to relieve, in opposition to the violent call of his own necessities, a poor man languishing in the same distress, before himself, that as none can read it without the highest admiration of the wounded hero, so none I hope will think me extravagant in thus endeavouring to extol it. Bravery is often const.i.tutional; fame may be the motive to feats of arms, a statesman and a courtier may act from interest; but a sacrifice so generous as this, can be made by none but those who are good as well as great, who are n.o.ble-minded, and gloriously compa.s.sionate, like Sidney.
When the surgeons began to dress his wound, he told them, that while his strength was yet entire, his body free from a fever, and his mind able to endure, they might freely use their art; cut and search to the bottom; but if they should neglect their art, and renew torments in the declination of nature, their ignorance, or over-tenderness would prove a kind of tyranny to their friend, and reflect no honour upon themselves.
For some time they had great hopes of his recovery; and so zealous were they to promote it, and overjoyed at its seeming approach, that they spread the report of it, which soon reached London, and diffused the most general joy at Court that ever was known.
At the same time count Hollock was under the care of a most excellent surgeon, for a wound in his throat by a musket shot; yet he neglected his own extremity to save his friend, and for that purpose sent him to Sir Philip. This surgeon notwithstanding, out of love to his master, returning one day to dress his wound, the count cheerfully asked him how Sir Philip did? he answered with a dejected look, that he was not well: At these words the count, as having more sense of his friend"s wound than his own, cried out, "Away villain, never see my face again till you bring better news of that gentleman"s recovery, for whose redemption, many such as I were happily lost."
Finding all the efforts of the surgeons in vain, he began to put no more confidence in their skill, and resigned himself with heroic patience to his fate. He called the ministers to him, who were all excellent men of different nations, and before them made such a confession of Christian faith, as no book, but the heart, can truly and feelingly deliver. Then calling for his will, and settling his temporal affairs, the last scene of this tragedy, was the parting between the two brothers. Sir Philip exerted all his soul in endeavouring to suppress his sorrow, in which affection and nature were too powerful for him, while the other demonstrated his tenderness by immoderate transports of grief, a weakness which every tender breast will easily forgive, who have ever felt the pangs of parting from a brother; and a brother of Sir Philip Sidney"s worth, demanded still additional sorrow. He took his leave with these admonishing words, "My dear, much loved, honoured brother, love my memory; cherish my friends; their faith to me may a.s.sure you they are honest. But above all, govern your will and affections, by the will and word of your Creator. In me, beholding the end of this world with all her vanities." And with this farewel he desired the company to lead him away.
After his death, which happened on the 16th of October, the States of Zealand became suitors to his Majesty, and his n.o.ble friends, that they might have the honour of burying his body at the public expence of their government,[4] but in this they were denied; for soon after, his body was brought to Flushing, and being embarked with great solemnity on the 1st of November, landed at Tower Wharf on the 6th of the same month; and the 16th of February following, after having lain in state, it was magnificently deposited in St. Paul"s Cathedral.
As the funeral of many princes has not exceeded it in solemnity, so few have equalled it in the undissembled sorrow for his loss[5] King James writ an epitaph upon him, and the Muses of Oxford lamenting him, composed elegies to his memory. It may be justly said of this great man, what a celebrated poet now living has applied to Archbishop Laud,
Around his tomb did art and genius weep, Beauty, wit, piety, and bravery, were undissembled mourners.
He left behind him one child named Elizabeth, (married to the earl of Rutland) whom he had by Sir Francis Walsingham"s daughter, and who unfortunately died without issue to perpetuate the living virtues of her ill.u.s.trious family. She is said to have been excessively beautiful; that she married the earl of Rutland by authority, but that her affections were dedicated to the earl of Ess.e.x, and as Queen Elizabeth was in love with that n.o.bleman, she became very jealous of this charming countess. It has been commonly reported[6] that Sir Philip, some hours before his death, enjoyned a near friend to consign his works to the flames. What promise his friend returned is uncertain, but if he broke his word to befriend the public, posterity has thank"d him, and every future age will with grat.i.tude acknowledge the favour.
Of all his works his Arcadia is the most celebrated; it is dedicated to his sister the countess of Pembroke, who was a Lady of as fine a character, and as equally finished in every female accomplishment, as her brother in the manly. She lived to a good old age, and died in 1621. Ben Johnson has wrote an epitaph upon her, so inimitably excellent, that I cannot resist the temptation of inserting it here.
She was buried in the Cathedral Church of Salisbury, among the graves of the family of the Pembrokes.
EPITAPH.
Underneath this marble hea.r.s.e, Lyes the subject of all verse, Sidney"s sister, Pembroke"s mother, Death e"re thou hast killed another, Learned and fair, and good as she, Time shall throw his dart at thee.
The Arcadia was printed first in 1613 in 4to; it has been translated into almost every language. As the ancient aegyptians presented secrets under their mystical hyeroglyphics, so that an easy figure was exhibited to the eye, and a higher notion couched under it to the judgment, so all the Arcadia is a continual grove of morality, shadowing moral and political truths under the plain and striking emblems of lovers, so that the reader may be deceived, but not hurt, and happily surprized to more knowledge than he expected.
Besides the celebrated Arcadia, Sir Philip wrote,