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THE HISTORY
OF
THOMAS ELLWOOD
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY MORLEY
LL.D., PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON
LONDON
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MORLEY'S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY.
VOLUMES ALREADY PUBLISHED.
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS.
PLA YS FROM MOLIERE. By English Dramatists.
MARLO WES FA USTUS & GOETHE'S FA UST.
CHRONICLE OF THE CID.
RABELAIS' GARGANTUA and the HEROIC
DEEDS OF PANTAGRUEL.
THE PRINCE. By MACHIAVELLI.
BACON'S ESSAYS.
DEFOE'S JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR.
LOCKE ON CIVIL GOVERNMENTS? FILMER'S
" PA TRIARCHA."
SCOTT'S DEMONOLOGY and WITCHCRAFT.
DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.
BUTLER'S ANALOGY OF RELIGION.
HERRICK'S HESPERIDES.
COLERIDGE'S TABLE-TALK.
BOCCACCIO'S DECAMERON.
STERNE'S TRISTRAM SHANDY.
CHAPMAN'S HOMER'S ILIAD.
MEDIAEVAL TALES.
VOLTAIRE'S CANDIDE & JOHNSON'S
RASSELAS
PLA YS and POEMS by BEN JONSON.
LEVIATHAN. By THOMAS HOBBES.
HUDIBRAS. By SAMUEL BUTLER.
IDEAL COMMONWEALTHS.
CAVENDISH'S LIFE OF WOLSEY.
DON QUIXOTE. IN Two VOLUMES.
BURLESQUE PLA YS and POEMS.
DANTE'S DIVINE COMEDY. LONGFELLOW'S
TRANSLATION.
GOLDSMITH'S VICAR of WAKEFIELD, PLAYS
and POP. MS.
FABLES and PROVERBS from the SANSKRIT.
CHARLES LAMB'S ESS A YS OF ELI A.
THE HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
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INTRODUCTION,
THE life of the simple Quaker, Thomas Ellwood, to whom the pomps
and shows of earth were nowhere so vain as in association with the
spiritual life of man, may serve as companion to another volume in this
Library, the " Life of Wolsey " by George Cavendish, who, as a gentle-
man of the great prelate's household, made part of his pomp, but had
a heart to love him in his pride and in his fall. " The History of
Thomas Ellwood, written by Himself," is interesting for the frankness
with which it makes Thomas Ellwood himself known to us ; and again,
for the same frank simplicity that brings us nearer than books usually
bring us to a living knowledge of some features of a bygone time ; and
yet again, because it helps us a little to come near to Milton in his daily
life. He would be a good novelist who could invent as pleasant a book
as this unaffected record of a quiet life touched by great influences in
eventful times.
Thomas Ellwood, who was born in 1639, in the reign of Charles the
First, carried the story of his life in this book to the year 1683, when he
was forty-four years old. He outlived the days of trouble here recorded,
enjoyed many years of peace, and died, near the end of Queen Anne's
reign, aged 74, on the first of March 1713, in his house at Hunger Hill,
by Amersham. He was eleven years younger than John Bunyan, and
fifteen years younger than George Fox, the founder of that faithful
band of worshippers known as the Society of Friends. They turned
from all forms and ceremonies that involved untruth or insincerity,
saw the temple of God in man's body, and, as Saint Paul said
to the Corinthians, " Know ye not that ye are the temple of God,
and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you," they sought to bring
Christ into their hearts, and speak and act as if Christ was within
governing their words and actions. They would have no formal prayers,
no formal preaching, but sought to speak with each other as the Spirit
prompted, soul to soul. They would not, when our plural pronoun
" you " was still only plural, speak to one man as if he were two or more.
They swore not at all ; but their " Yea " and " Nay" were known to
be more binding than the oaths of many of their persecutors. And as
they would not go through the required form of swearing allegiance to
6 INTRODUCTION.
the Government whenever called upon to do so, they were continually
liable to penalties of imprisonment when imprisonment too often meant
jail fever, misery, and death. George Fox began his teaching when
Ellwood was eight years old. Ellwood was ten years old when Fox
was first imprisoned at Nottingham, and the offences of his followers
against established forms led, as he says, to " great rage, blows, punch-
ngs, beatings, and imprisonments." Of what this rage meant, and of
the spirit in which it was endured, we learn much from the History of
Thomas Ellwood.
Isaac Penington, whose influence upon young Ellwood's mind is often
referred to in this book, was born in the year of Shakespeare's death,
and had joined the Society of Friends in 1658, when his own age was
forty-two and Eilvvood's was nineteen. He was the son of Alderman
Isaac Penington, a Puritan member for the City of London, who
announced, at a time in the year 1640 when the Parliament was in sore
need of money, that his constituents had subscribed ,21,000 to a loan,
which the members of the House then raised to .90,000, by rising, one
after another, to give their personal bonds each for a thousand pounds.
Isaac Penington the son, whom Ellwood loved as a friend and reve-
renced as a father, became a foremost worker and writer in the Society
of Friends. In a note upon him, written after his death, Thomas
Ellwood said that " in his family he was a true pattern of goodness
and piety ; to his wife he was a most affectionate husband ; to his
children, a loving and tender father ; to his servants, a mild and gentle
master ; to his friends, a firm and fast friend ; to the poor, compas-
sionate and open-hearted ; and to all, courteous and kind." In 1661 he
was committed to Aylesbury gaol for worshipping God in his own
house (holding a conventicle), " where," says Ellwood in that little tes-
timony which he wrote after his friend's death, "for seventeen weeks,
great part of it in winter, he was kept in a cold and very incommodious
room, without a chimney ; from which hard usage his tender body con-
tracted so great and violent a distemper that, for several weeks after, he
was not able to turn himself in bed." " His second imprisonment," says
Ellwood, "was in the year 1664, being taken out of a meeting, when he
with others were peaceably waiting on the Lord, and sent to Aylesbury
gaol, where he again remained a prisoner between seventeen and
eighteen weeks.
" His third imprisonment was in the year 1665, being taken up, with
many others, in the open street of Amersham, as they were carrying and
accompanying the body of a deceased Friend to the grave. From
hence he was sent again to Aylesbury gaol ; but this commitment being
in order to banishment, was but for a month, or thereabouts.
" His fourth imprisonment was in the same year 1665, about a month
INTRODUCTION. 7
after his releasement from the former. Hitherto his commitment had
been by the civil magistrates ; but now, that he might experience the
severity of each, he fell into the military hands. A rude soldier, with-
out any other warrant than what he carried in his scabbard, came to his
house, and told him he came to fetch him before Sir Philip Palmer,
one of the deputy-lieutenants of the county. lie meekly went, and was
by him sent with a guard of soldiers to Aylesbury gaol, with a kind of
mittimus, importing ' That the gaoler should receive and keep him in
safe custody during the pleasure of the Earl of Bridgewater,' who had,
it seems, conceived so great, as well as unjust, displeasure against this
innocent mnn, that, although (it being the sickness year) the plague was
suspected to be in the gaol, he would not be prevailed with only to
permit Isaac Penington to be removed to another house in the town,
and there kept prisoner until the gaol was clear. Afterwards, a prisoner
dying in the gaol of the plague, the gaoler's wife, her husband being
absent, gave leave to Isaac Penington to remove to another house,
where he was shut up for six weeks; after which, by the procurement
of the Earl of Ancram, a release was sent from the said Philip Palmer,
by which he was discharged, after he had suffered imprisonment three-
quarters of a year, with apparent hazard of his life, and that for no
offence."
This was not the end of the troubles of Elhvood's patron and friend
lie had been home only three weeks when "the said Philip Palmer"
seized him again, dragged him out of bed, sent him, without any cause
shown, to Aylesbury gaol, and kept him a year and a half prisoner " in
rooms so cold, damp, and unhealthy, that it went very near to cost him
his life, and procured him so great a distemper that he lay weak of it
several months. At length a relation of his wife, by an habeas corpus,
removed him to the King's Bench bar, where (with the wonder of the
court that a man should be so long imprisoned for nothing) he was at
last released in the year 1668." " Paradise Lost " had appeared in the
year before. Yet a sixth imprisonment followed in 1670, when
Penington, visiting some Friends in Reading gaol, was seized and
carried before Sir William Armorer, a justice of the peace, who sent
him back to share their sufferings. Penington died in 1679.
Of Thomas Elhvood's experience as reader to Milton, and of Milton's
regard for the gentle Quaker, the book tells its own tale. I will only
add one comment upon an often-quoted incident that it contains.
When Milton gave his young friend then twenty-six years old the
manuscript of " Paradise Lost " to read, his desire could only have
been to learn what comprehension of his purpose there would be in a
young man sincerely religious, as intelligent as most, and with a taste
for verse, though not much of a poet. The observation Ellwood made,
8 INTRODUCTION.
of which he is proud because of its consequence, might well cause
Milton to be silent for a little while, and then change the conversation.
It showed that the whole aim of the poem had been missed. Its crown
is in the story of redemption, Paradise Found, 'the better Eden, the
" Paradise within thee, happier far." Milton had applied his test, and
learnt what every great poet has to learn that he must trust more to
the vague impression of truth, beauty, and high thought, that can be
made upon thousands of right-hearted men and women, than to the
clear, full understanding of his work. The noblest aims of the true
artist can make themselves felt by all, though understood by few. Few
know the secrets of the sunshine, although all draw new life from the
sun. When Milton who, with his habitual gentleness, never allowed
Ellwood to suspect that he had missed the whole purpose of " Paradise
L os t" showed him "Paradise Regained," and made him happy by
telling him that he caused it to be written ; he showed him a poem
that expanded the closing thought of "Paradise Lost" into an image
of the Paradise within, that is to be obtained only by an imitation of
Christ under all forms of our temptation.
Of Ellwood's life after the year in which he ends his own account of
it, let it suffice to say, that he wrote earnest, gentle books in support
of his opinions and against the persecution of them. He lived retired
until the year 1688, and occupied himself with an attempt at a Davideis,
a Life of David in verse. He had not then seen Cowley's. Ellwood
carried on his verses to the end of David's life, and published them in
1712. When George Fox died, in 1690, Thomas Ellwood transcribed
his journal for the press, and printed it next year in folio, prefixing an
account of Fox. He was engaged afterwards in controversy with George
Keith, a seceder from the Friends. His intellectual activity continued
unabated to the end. In 1709 he suffered distraint for tithes ; goods to
the value of 24. los. being taken for a due of about 14, after which
the distrainers ' ' brought him still in debt, and wanted more. "
Ellwood's life was healthy, except that he was asthmatic towards the
end. His wife died five years before him. Of her, J. Wyeth, citizen of
London, who was the editor of " Ellwood's History of his Life," and
wrote its sequel, says that she was "a solid, weighty woman." But
the context shows that he means those adjectives to be read in a spiritual
sense. ''The liberal soul shall be made fat," says Solomon.
H. M.
Novemhr 1885.
THE
HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
ALTHOUGH my station, not being so eminent either
in the church of Christ or in the world as others who
have moved in higher orbs, may not afford such con-
siderable remarks as theirs, yet inasmuch as in the
course of my travels through this vale of tears I have
passed through various and some uncommon ex-
ercises, which the Lord hath been graciously pleased
to support me under and conduct me through, I
hold it a matter excusable at least, if not com-
mendable, to give the world some little account of
my life, that in recounting the many deliverances and
preservations which the Lord hath vouchsafed to
work for me, both I, by a grateful acknowledgment
thereof and return of thanksgivings unto him therefor,
may in some measure set forth His abundant goodness
to me, and others, whose lot it may be to tread the
I o HIS TOR Y OF THOMA S ELL WO OD.
same path and fall into the same or like exercises,
may be encouraged to persevere in the way of
holiness, and with full assurance of mind to trust in
the Lord, whatsoever trials may befall them.
To begin therefore with mine own beginning, I
was born in the year of our Lord 1639, about the
beginning of the eighth month, so far as I have been
able to inform myself, for the parish register, which
relates to the time not of birth but of baptism, as
they call it, is not to be relied on.
The place of my birth was a little country town
called Crowell, situate in the upper side of Oxford-
shire, three miles eastward from Thame, the nearest
market town.
My father's name was Walter Ellwood, and my
mother's maiden name was Elizabeth Potman, both
well descended, but of declining families. So that
what my father possessed (which was a pretty estate
in lands, and more as I have heard in moneys) he
received, as he had done his name Walter, from his
grandfather Walter Gray, whose daughter and only
child was his mother.
In my very infancy, when I was but about two
years old, I was carried to London ; for the civil
war between King and Parliament breaking then
forth, my father, who favoured the Parliament side,
though he took not arms, not holding himself safe at
his country habitation, which lay too near some gar-
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 1
risons of the King's, betook himself to London, that
city then holding for the Parliament.
There was I bred up, though not without much
difficulty, the city air not agreeing with my tender
constitution, and there continued until Oxford was
surrendered, and the war in appearance ended.
In this time my parents contracted an acquaintance
and intimate friendship with the Lady Springett, who
being then the widow of Sir William Springett, who
died in the Parliament service, was afterwards the wife
of Isaac Penington, eldest son of Alderman Pening-
ton, of London. And this friendship devolving from
the parents to the children, I became an early and
particular playfellow to her daughter Gulielma ; being
admitted, as such, to ride with her in her little coach,
drawn by her footman about Lincoln's Inn Fields.
I mention this in this place because the continua-
tion of that acquaintance and friendship, having been
an occasional means of my being afterwards brought
to the knowledge of the blessed TRUTH, I shall
have frequent cause, in the course of the following
discourse, to make honourable mention of that
family, to which I am under so many and great
obligations.
Soon after the surrender of Oxford my father re-
turned to his estate at Crowell, which by that time
he might have need enough to look after, having spent,
I suppose, the greatest part of the moneys which had
1 2 HIS TOR Y OF THOMA S ELL WOOD.
been left him by his grandfather in maintaining him-
self and his family at a high rate in London.
My elder brother (for I had one brother and two
sisters, all elder than myself) was, while we lived in
London, boarded at a private school, in the house of
one Francis Atkinson, at a place called Hadley, near
Barnet, in Hertfordshire, where he had made some
good proficiency in the Latin and French tongues.
But after we had left the city, and were re-settled in
the country, he was taken from that private school
and sent to the free school at Thame, in Oxfordshire.
Thither also was I sent as soon as my tender age
would permit ; for I was indeed but young when I
went, and yet seemed younger than I was, by reason
of my low and little stature. For it was held for
some years a doubtful point whether I should not
have proved a dwarf. But after I was arrived at the
fifteenth year of my age, or thereabouts, I began to
shoot up, and gave not up growing till I had attained
the middle size and stature of men.
At this school, which at that time was in good
reputation, I profited apace, having then a natural
propensity to learning; so that at the first reading
over of my lesson I commonly made myself master of
it ; and yet, which is strange to think of, few boys in
the school wore out more birch than I. For though I
was never, that I remember, whipped upon the score
of not having my lesson ready, or of not saying it
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 13
well, yet being a little busy boy, full of spirit, of a
working head and active hand, I could not easily con-
form myself to the grave and sober rules and, as I
then thought, severe orders of the school, but
was often playing one waggish prank or other among
my fellow-scholars, which subjected me to correction,
so that I have come nnder the discipline of the rod
twice in a forenoon ; which yet brake no bones.
Had I been continued at this school, and in due
time preferred to a higher, I might in likelihood
have been a scholar, for I was observed to have a
genius apt to learn. But my father having, so soon as
the republican government began to settle, accepted
the office of a justice of the peace (which was no way
beneficial, but merely honorary, and every way ex-
pensive), and put himself into a port and course of
living agreeably thereunto, and having also removed
my brother from Thame school to Merton College in
Oxford, and entered him there in the highest and
most chargeable condition of a Fellow Commoner, he
found it needful to retrench his expenses elsewhere,
the hurt of which fell upon me. For he thereupon
took me from school, to save the charge of maintain-
ing me there ; which was somewhat like plucking
green fruit from the tree, and laying it by before it
was come to its due ripeness, which will thenceforth
shrink and wither, and lose that little juice and relish
which it began to have.
14 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD,
Even so it fared with me. For being taken home
when I was but young, and before I was well settled
in my studies (though I had made a good progress
in the Latin tongue, and was entered in the Greek)
being left too much to myself, to ply or play with my
books, or without them, as I pleased, I soon shook
hands with my books by shaking my books out of
my hands, and laying them by degrees quite aside,
and addicted myself to such youthful sports and
pleasures as the place afforded and my condition
could reach unto.
By this means, in a little time I began to lose that
little learning I had acquired at school, and by a
continued disuse of my books became at length so
utterly a stranger to learning, that I could not have
read, far less have understood, a sentence in Latin :
which I was so sensible of that I warily avoided
reading to others, even in an English book, lest, if I
should meet with a Latin word, I should shame my-
self by mispronouncing it.
Thus I went on, taking my swing in such vain
courses as were accounted harmless recreations, enter-
taining my companions and familiar acquaintance
with pleasant discourses in our conversations, by the
mere force of mother-wit and natural parts, without
the help of school cultivation ; and was accounted
good company too.
But I always sorted myself with persons of inge-
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. \ 5
nuity, temperance, and sobriety ; for I loathed scur-
rilities in conversation, and had a natural aversion to
immoderate drinking. So that in the time of my
greatest vanity I was preserved from profaneness
and the grosser evils of the world, which rendered me
acceptable to persons of the best note in that country
then. I often waited on the Lord Wenman at his
house, Thame Park, about two miles from Crowell,
where I lived ; to whose favour I held myself entitled
in a twofold respect, both as my mother was nearly
related to his lady, and as he had been pleased to
bestow his name upon me, when he made large pro-
mises for me at the font. He was a person of great
honour and virtue, and always gave me a kind recep-
tion at his table, how often soever I came. And I
have cause to think I should have received from this
lord some advantageous preferment in this world, as
soon as he had found me capable of it (though be-
twixt him and my father there was not then so good
an understanding as might have been wished), had I
not been, in a little time after, called into the service
of the best and highest Lord, and thereby lost the
favour of all my friends, relations, and acquaintance
of this world. To the account of which most happy
exchange I hasten, and therefore willingly pass over
many particularities of my youthful life. Yet one
passage I am willing to mention, for the effect it had
upon me afterwards, which was thus.
1 6 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
My father being then in the Commission of the
Peace, and going to a Petty Sessions at Watlington, I
waited on him thither. And when we came near the
town, the coachman, seeing a nearer and easier way
(than the common road) through a corn-field, and
that it was wide enough for the wheels to run without
damaging the corn, turned down there ; which being
observed by a husbandman who was at plough not
far off, he ran to us, and stopping the coach, poured
forth a mouthful of complaints, in none of the best
language, for driving over the corn. My father mildly
answered him, "That if there was an offence com-
mitted, he must rather impute it to his servant than
himself, since he neither directed him to drive that
way, nor knew which way he drove. " Yet added,
" That he was going to such an inn at the town,
whither if he came he would make him full satisfac-
tion for whatsoever damage he had sustained thereby. "
And so on we went, the man venting his discontent,
as he went back, in angry accents. At the town,
upon inquiry, we understood that it was a way often
used, and without damage, being broad enough ; but
that it was not the common road, which yet lay not
far from it, and was also good enough ; wherefore my
father bid his man drive home that way.
It was late in the evening when we returned, and
very dark ; and this quarrelsome man, who had
troubled himself and us in the morning, having gotten
WRIT? 'EN B Y HIMSELF. 1 7
another lusty fellow like himself to assist him, way-
lard us in the night, expecting we would return the
same way we came. But when they found we did
not, bat took the common way, they, angry that they
were disappointed, and loth to lose their purpose
(which was to put an abuse upon us), coasted over to
us in the dark, and laying hold on the horses' 1 bridles,
stopped them from going on. My father, asking his
man what the reason was that he went not on, was
answered, " That there were two men at the horses'
heads, who held them back, and would not suffer them
to go forward. " Whereupon my father, opening the
boot, stepped out, and I followed close at his heels.
Going up to the place where the men stood, he de-
manded of them the meaning of this assault. They
said, " We were upon the corn, " We knew by the
route we were not on the corn, but in the common
way, and told them so ; but they told us, " They were
resolved they would not let us go on any farther, but
would make us go back again. " My father en-
deavoured by gentle reasoning to persuade them to
forbear, and not run themselves farther into the dan-
ger of the law, which they were run too far into
already ; but they rather derided him for it. Seeing
therefore fair means would not work upon them, he
spake more roughly to them, charging them to deliver
their clubs (for each of them had a great club in his
hand, somewhat like those which are called quarter-
i8 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
staves) : they thereupon, laughing, told him, " The/
did not bring them thither for that end." There-
upon my father, turning his head to me, said, "Tom,
disarm them."
I stood ready at his elbow*, waiting only for the
word of command. For being naturally of a bold
spirit, full then of youthful heat, and that, too, height-
ened by the sense I had, not only of the abuse, but
insolent behaviour of those rude fellows, my blood
began to boil, and my fingers itched, as the saying is,
to be dealing with them. Wherefore, stepping boldly
forward to lay hold on the staff of him that was
nearest to me, I said, " Sirrah, deliver your weapon."
He thereupon raised his club, which was big enough
to have knocked down an ox, intending no doubt to
have knocked me down with it, as probably he would
have done, had I not, in the twinkling of an eye,
whipped out my rapier, and made a pass upon him.
I could not have failed running of him through up to
the hilt had he stood his ground, but the sudden and
unexpected sight of my bright blade glittering in the
dark night, did so amaze and terrify the man, that,
slipping aside, he avoided my thrust, and letting his
staff sink, betook himself to his heels for safety ;
which his companion seeing, fled also. I followed
the former as fast as I could, but timor addidit alas
(fear gave him wings), and made him swiftly fly; so
that, although I was accounted very nimble, yet the
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 9
farther we ran the more ground he gained on me ; so
that I could not overtake him, which made me think
he took shelter under some bush, which he knew
where to find, though I did not. Meanwhile, the
coachman, who had sufficiently the outside of a man,
excused himself from intermeddling under pretence
that he durst not leave his horses, and so left me to
shift for myself ; and I was gone so far beyond my
knowledge, that I understood not which way I was to
go, till by halloing, and being halloed to again, I
was directed where to find my company.
We had easy means to have found out who these
men were (the principal of them having been in the
daytime at the inn, and both quarrelled with the
coachman, and threatened to be even with him when
he went back) ; but since they came off no better in
their attempt, my father thought it better not to
know them, than to oblige himself to a prosecution
of them.
At that time, and for a good while after, I had no
regret upon my mind for what I had done, and
designed to have done, in this case, but went on in a
sort of bravery, resolving to kill, if I could, any man
that should make the like attempt or put any affront
on us ; and for that reason seldom went afterwards
upon those public services without a loaded pistol in
my pocket. But when it pleased the Lord, in his
infinite goodness, to call me out of the spirit and
20 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
ways of the world, and give me the knowledge of his
saving truth, whereby the actions of my fore-past life
were set in order before me, a sort of horror seized on
me, when I considered how near I had been to the
staining of my hands with human blood. And when-
soever afterwards I went that way, and indeed as often
since as the matter has come into my remembrance,
my soul has blessed the Lord for my deliverance, and
thanksgivings and praises have arisen in my heart (as
now at the relating of it, they do) to Him who preserved
and withheld me from shedding man's blood. Which
is the reason for which I have given this account of
that action, that others may be warned by it.
About this time my dear and honoured mother,
who was indeed a woman of singular worth and
virtue, departed this life, having a little before heard
of the death of her eldest son, who (falling under the
displeasure of my father for refusing to resign his in-
terest in an estate which my father sold, and thereupon
desiring that he might have leave to travel, in hopes
that time and absence might work a reconciliation)
went into Ireland with a person powerful there in
those times, by whose means he was quickly pre-
ferred to a place of trust and profit, but lived not long
to enjoy it.
I mentioned before, that during my father's abode
in London, in the time of the civil wars, he contracted
a friendship with the Lady Springett, then a widow,
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 2 1
and afterwards married to Isaac Penington, Esq., to
continue which he sometimes visited them at their
country lodgings, as at Datchet, and at Causham
Lodge, near Reading. And having heard that they
were come to live upon their own estate at Chalfont,
in Buckinghamshire, about fifteen miles from Crowell,
he went one day to visit them there, and to return at
night, taking me with him.
But very much surprised we were when, being
come thither, we first heard, then found, they were
become Quakers ; a people we had no knowledge of,
and a name we had till then scarce heard of.
So great a change, from a free, debonair, and
courtly sort of behaviour, which we formerly had
found them in, to so strict a gravity as they now
received us with did not a little amuse us, and
disappoint our expectation of such a pleasant visit as
we used to have, and had now promised ourselves.
Nor could my father have any opportunity, by a pri-
vate conference with them, to understand the ground
or occasion of this change, there being some other
strangers with them (related to Isaac Penington), who
came that morning from London to visit them also.
For my part I sought and at length found means
to cast myself into the company of the daughter,
whom I found gathering some flowers in the garden,
attended by her maid, who was also a Quaker. But
when I addressed myself to her after my accustomed
22 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
manner, with intention to engage her in some dis-
course which might introduce conversation on the foot-
ing of our former acquaintance, though she treated me
with a courteous mien, yet, as young as she was, the
gravity of her look and behaviour struck such an awe
upon me, that I found myself not so much master of
myself as to pursue any further converse with her.
Wherefore, asking pardon for my boldness in having
intruded myself into her private walks, I withdrew,
not without some disorder (as I thought at least)
of mind.
We stayed dinner, which was very handsome, and
lacked nothing to recommend it to me but the want
of mirth and pleasant discourse, which we could
neither have with them, nor by reason of them, with
one another amongst ourselves ; the weightiness that
was upon their spirits and countenances keeping down
the lightness that would have been up in us. We
stayed, notwithstanding, till the rest of the company
took leave of them, and then we also, doing the same,
returned, not greatly satisfied with our journey, nor
knowing what in particular to find fault with.
Yet this good effect that visit had upon my father,
who was then in the Commission of the Peace, that it
disposed him to a more favourable opinion of and
carriage towards those people when they came in his
way, as not long after one of them did. For a yonng
man, who lived in Buckinghamshire, came on a first-
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 23
day to the church (so called) at a town called Chinner,
a mile from Crowell, having, it seems, a pressure on
his mind to say something to the minister of that
parish. He being an acquaintance of mine, drew me
sometimes to hear him, as it did then. The young
man stood in the aisle before the pulpit all the time of
the sermon, not speaking a word till the sermon and
prayer after it were ended, and then spoke a few words
to the priest, of which all that I could hear was,
"That the prayer of the wicked is abomination to
the Lord, and that God heareth not sinners."
Somewhat more, I think, he did say, which I could
not distinctly hear for the noise the people made ; and
more probably he would have said, had he not been
interrupted by the officers, who took him into custody,
and led him out in order to carry him before my
father.
When I understood that, I hastened home, that I
might give my father a fair account of the matter
before they came. I told him the young man behaved
himself quietly and peaceably, spoke not a word till
the minister had quite done his service, and that what
he then spoke was but short, and was delivered with-
out, passion or ill language. This I knew would fur-
nish my father with a fair ground whereon to
discharge the man if he would.
And accordingly when they came, and made a
high complaint against the man (who said little for
24 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
himself), my father, having examined the officers who
brought him what the words that he spoke were
(which they did not well agree in), and at what time
he spoke them (which they all agreed to be after
the minister had done), and then, whether he gave the
minister any reviling language, or endeavoured to
raise a tumult among the people (which they could
not charge him with) ; not finding that he had broken
the law, he counselled the young man to be careful
that he did not make or occasion any public disturb-
ance, and so dismissed him ; which I was glad of.
Some time after this, my father, having gotten some
further account of the people called Quakers, and
being desirous to be informed concerning their prin-
ciples, made another visit to Isaac Penington and his
wife, at their house called the Grange, in Peter's
Chalfont, and took both my sisters and me with
him.
It was in the tenth month, in the year 1659, that
we went thither, where we found a very kind recep-
tion, and tarried some days ; one day at least the
longer, for that while we were there a meeting was
appointed at a place about a mile from thence, to
which we were invited to go, and willingly went.
It was held in a farm-house called the Grove,
which having formerly been a gentleman's seat, had a
very large hall, and that well filled.
To this meeting came Edward Burrough, besides
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 25
other preachers, as Thomas Curtis and James Naylor,
but none spoke there at that time but Edward Bur-
rough, next to whom, as it were under him, it was
my lot to sit on a stool by the side of a long table on
which he sat, and I drank in his words with desire ;
for they not only answered my understanding, but
warmed my heart with a certain heat, which I had
not till then felt from the ministry of any man.
When the meeting was ended our friends took us
home with them again ; and after supper, the evenings
being long, the servants of the family (who were
Quakers) were called in, and we all sat down in
silence. But long we had not so sat before
Edward Burrough began to speak among us. And
although he spoke not long, yet what he said did
touch, as I suppose, my father's (religious) copyhold,
as the phrase is. And he having been from his youth
a professor, though not joined in that which is called
close communion with any one sort, and valuing
himself upon the knowledge he esteemed himself to
have in the various notions of each profession, thought
he had now a fair opportunity to display his knowledge,
and thereupon began to make objections against what
had been delivered.
The subject of the discourse was, " The universal
free grace of God to all mankind," to which he
opposed the Calvinistic tenet of particular and per-
sonal predestination ; in defence of which indefen-
26 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
sible notion he found himself more at a loss than he
expected. Edward Burrough said not much to him
upon it, though what he said was close and cogent ;
but James Naylor interposing, handled the subject
with so much perspicuity and clear demonstration,
that his reasoning seemed to be irresistible ; and so I
suppose my father found it, which made him willing
to drop the discourse.
As for Edward Burrough, he was a brisk young
man, of a ready tongue, and might have been, for
aught I then knew, a scholar, which made me the less
to admire his way of reasoning. But what dropt
from James Naylor had the greater force upon me,
because he looked but like a plain simple country-
man, having the appearance of a husbandman or a
shepherd.
As my father was not able to maintain the argu-
ment on his side, so neither did they seem willing to
drive it to an extremity on their side ; but treat-
ing him in a soft and gentle manner, did after a while
let fall the discourse, and then we withdrew to our
respective chambers.
The next morning we prepared to return home
(that is, my father, my younger sister, and myself,
for my elder sister was gone before by the stage-
coach to London), and when, having taken our leaves
of our friends, we went forth, they, with Edward
Burrough, accompanying us to the gate, he there
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 27
directed his speech in a few words to each of us
severally, according to the sense he had of our several
conditions. And when we were gone off, and they
gone in again, they asking him what he thought of us,
lie answered them, as they afterwards told me, to this
effect : " As for the old man, he is settled on his lees,
and the young woman is light and airy ; but the
young man is reached, and may do well if he does
not lose it." And surely that which he said to me, or
rather that spirit in which he spoke it, took such fast
hold on me, that I felt sadness and trouble come over
me, though I did not distinctly understand what I
was troubled for. I knew not what I ailed, but I
knew I ailed something more than ordinary, and my
heart was very heavy.
I found it was not so with my father and sister,
for as I rode after the coach I eould hear them talk
pleasantly one to the other ; but they could not discern
how it was with me, because I, riding on horseback,
kept much out of sight.
By the time we got home it was night ; and the
next day, being the first day of the week, I went in
the afternoon to hear the minister of Chinner, and
this was the last time I ever went to hear any of that
function. After the sermon I went with him to his
house, and in a freedom of discourse, which, from a
certain intimacy that was between us, I commonly
used with him, told him where I had been, what com-
28 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
pany I had met with there, and what observations I
had made to myself thereupon. He seemed to under--
stand as little of them as I had done before, and
civilly abstained from casting any unhandsome reflec-
tions on them.
I had a desire to go to another meeting of the
Quakers, and bade my father's man inquire if there
was any in the country thereabouts. He thereupon
told me he had heard at Isaac Penington's that there
was to be a meeting at High Wycombe on Thursday
next
Thither therefore I went, though it was seven
miles from me; and that I might be" rather thought
to go out a-coursing than to a meeting, I let my
greyhound run by my horse's side.
When I came there, and had set up my horse at an
inn, I was at a loss how to find the house where the
meeting was to be. I knew it not, and was ashamed
to ask after it ; wherefore, having ordered the ostler
to take care of my dog, I went into the street and
stood at the inn gate, musing with myself what course
to take. But I had not stood long ere I saw a
horseman riding along the street, whom I remembered
I had seen before at Isaac Penington's, and he put up
his horse at the same inn. Him therefore I resolved
to follow, supposing he was going to the meeting, as
indeed he was.
Being come to the house, which proved to be John
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 1$
Raunce's, I saw the people sitting together in an
outer room ; wherefore I stepped in and sat down on
the first void seat, the end of a bench just within the
door, having my sword by my side and black clothes
on, which drew some eyes upon me. It was not long
ere one stood up and spoke, whom I was afterwards
well acquainted with ; his name was Samuel Thornton,
and what he said was very suitable and of good ser-
vice to me, for it reached home as if it had been
directed to me.
As soon as ever the meeting was ended and the
people began to rise, I, being next the door, stepped
out quickly, and hastening to my inn, took horse im-
mediately homewards, and (so far as I remember) my
having been gone was not taken notice of by my
father.
This latter meeting was like the clinching of a nail,
confirming and fastening in my mind those good prin-
ciples which had sunk into me at the former. My
understanding began to open, and I felt some stirrings
in my breast, tending to the work of a new creation
in me. The general trouble and confusion of mind,
which had for some days lain heavy upon me and
pressed me down, without a distinct discovery of the
particular cause for which it came, began now to wear
off, and some glimmerings of light began to break
forth in me, which let me see my inward state and
condition towards God. The light, which before
55 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
had shone in my darkness, and the darkness could
not comprehend it, began now to shine out of dark-
ness, and in some measure discovered to me what it
was that had before clouded me and brought that
sadness and trouble upon me. And now I saw that
although I had been in a great degree preserved from
the common immoralities and gross pollutions of the
world, yet the spirit of the world had hitherto ruled
in me, and led me into pride, flattery, vanity, and
superfluity, all which was naught. I found there
were many plants growing in me which were not of
the heavenly Father's planting, and that all these, of
whatever sort or kind they were, or how specious
soever they might appear, must be plucked up.
Now was all my former life ripped up, and my sins
by degrees were set in order before me. And though
they looked not with so black a hue and so deep a
dye as those of the lewdest sort of people did, yet I
found that all sin (even that which had the fairest or
finest show, as well as that which was more coarse and
foul) brought guilt, and with and for guilt, condemna-
tion on the soul that sinned. This I felt, and was
greatly bowed down under the sense thereof.
Now also did I receive a new law an inward law
superadded to the outward the law of the spirit of
life in Christ Jesus, which wrought in me against all
evil, not only in deed and in word, but even in
thought also ; so that everything was brought to
/ J 'KITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 3 1
judgment, and judgment passed upon all. So that I
could not any longer go on in my former ways and
course of life, for when I did, judgment took hold
upon me for it.
Thus the Lord was graciously pleased to deal with
me in somewhat like manner as he had dealt with
his people Israel of old when they had transgressed
his righteous law, whom by his prophet he called
back, required to put away the evil of their doings,
bidding them first cease to do evil, then learn to do
well, before he would admit them to reason with him,
and before he would impart to them the effects of his
free mercy. (Isaiah i. 16, 17.)
I was now required by this inward and spiritual law
(the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus) to put
away the evil of my doings, and to cease to do evil ;
and what in particular the evil was which I was
required to put away and to cease from, that measure
of the divine light which was now manifested in me
discovered to me, and what the light made manifest
to be evil, judgment passed upon.
So that here began to be a way cast up before me
for me to walk in a direct and plain way, so plain
that a wayfaring man, how weak and simple soever
(though a fool to the wisdom and in the judgment of
the world) could not err while he continued to walk
in it, the error coming in by his going out of it. And
this way with respect to me I saw was that measure
32 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLVVOOD.
of divine light which was manifested in me, by which
the evil of my doings which I was to put away and to
cease from was discovered to me.
By this divine light, then, I saw that though I had
not the evil of the common uncleanness, debauchery,
profaneness, and pollutions of the world to put away,
because I had, through the great goodness of God
and a civil education, been preserved out of those
grosser evils, yet I had many other evils to put away
and to cease from ; some of which were not by the
world, which lies in wickedness (i John v. 19), ac-
counted evils ; but by the light of Christ were made
manifest to me to be evils, and as such condemned
in me.
As particularly those fruits and effects of pride
that discover themselves in the vanity and superfluity
of apparel ; which I, as far as my ability would
extend to, took, alas ! too much delight in. This
evil of my doings I was required to put away and
cease from ; and judgment la}' upon me till I did so.
Wherefore, in obedience to the inward law, which
agreed with the outward (i Tim. ii. 9 ; I Pet. iii. 3 ;
i Tim. vi. 8; James i. 21), I took off from my
apparel those unnecessary trimmings of lace, ribbons,
and useless buttons, which had no real service, but
were set on only for that which was by mistake called
ornament ; and I ceased to wear rings.
Again, the giving of flattering titles to men
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 33
between whom and me there was not any relation to
which such titles could be pretended to belong. This
was an evil I had been much addicted to, and was
accounted a ready artist in ; therefore this evil also
was I required to put away and cease from. So that
thenceforward I durst not say, Sir, Master, My Lord,
Madam (or My Dame) ; or say Your Servant to any
one to whom I did not stand in the real relation of a
servant, which I had never done to any.
Again, respect of persons, in uncovering the
head and bowing the knee or body in salutation, was
a practice I had been much in the use of; and this,
being one of the vain customs of the world, introduced
by the spirit of the world, instead of the true honour
which this is a false representation of, and used in
deceit as a token of respect by persons one to another,
who bear no real respect one to another ; and
besides, this being a type and proper emblem of that
divine honour which all ought to pay to Almighty
God, and which all of all sorts, who take upon them
the Christian name, appear in when they offer their
prayers to Him, and therefore should not be given to
men ; I found this to be one of those evils which I
had been too long doing; therefore I was now roquired
to put it away and cease from it.
Again, the corrupt and unsound form of speaking
in the plural number to a single person, you to one,
instead of thou, contrary to the pure, plain, and
B
34 HISTOR Y OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
single language of truth, thou to one, and you to
more than one, which had always been used by God to
men, and men to God, as well as one to another, from
the oldest record of time till corrupt men, for corrupt
ends, in later and corrupt times, to flatter, fawn, and
work upon the corrupt nature in men, brought in
that false and senseless way of speaking you to one,
which has since corrupted the modern languages,
and hath greatly debased the spirits and depraved
the manners of men ; this evil custom I had been
as forward in as others, and this I was now called out
of and required to cease from.
These and many more evil customs which had
sprung up in the night of darkness and general
apostacy from the truth and true religion, were
now, by the inshining of this pure ray of divine light
in my conscience, gradually discovered to me to be
what I ought to cease from, shun, and stand a witness
against.
But so subtly and withal so powerfully did the
enemy work upon the weak part in me, as to persuade
me that in these things I ought to make a difference
between my father and all other men ; and that there-
fore, though I did disuse these tokens of respect to
others, yet I ought still to use them towards him, as
he was my father. And so far did this wile of his
prevail upon me, through a fear lest I should do amiss
in withdrawing any sort of respect or honour from my
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 35
father which was due unto him, that being thereby
beguiled, I continued for a while to demean myself in
the same manner towards him, with respect both to
language and gesture, as I had always done before.
And so long as I did so (standing bnre before him,
and giving him the accustomed language) he did not
express whatever he thought any dislike of me.
But as to myself and the work begun in me, I
found it was not enough for me to cease to do evil,
though that was a good and a great step. I had
another lesson before me, which was to learn to do
well ; which I could by no means do till I had given
up w-ith full purpose of mind to cease from doing evil.
And when I had done that, the enemy took advan-
tage of my weakness to mislead me again.
For whereas I ought to have waited in the light
for direction and guidance into and in the way of
well-doing, and not to have moved till the divine
Spirit (a manifestation of which the Lord has been
pleased to give unto me for me to profit with or by),
the enemy, transforming himself into the appearance
of an angel of light, offered himself in that appearance
to be my guide and leader into the performance of
religious exercises. And I not then knowing the
wiles of Satan, and being eager to be doing some
acceptable service to God, too readily yielded myself
to the conduct of my enemy instead of my friend.
He thereupon, humouring the warmth and zeal of
36 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
my spirit, put me upon religious performances in my
own will, in my own time, and in my own strength ;
which in themselves were good, and would have been
profitable unto me and acceptable unto the Lord, if
they had been performed in His will, in His time, and
in the ability which He gives. But being wrought in
the will of man and at the prompting of the evil one,
no wonder that it did me hurt instead of good.
I read abundantly in the Bible, and would set my-
self tasks in reading, enjoining myself to read so many
chapters, sometimes a whole book or long epistle, at
a time. And I thought that time well spent, though
I was not much the wiser for what I had read, reading
it too cursorily, and without the true Guide, the Holy
Spirit, which alone could open the understanding and
give the true sense of what was read.
I prayed often, and drew out my prayers to a great
length, and appointed unto myself certain set times
to pray at, and a certain number of prayers to say in
a day : we knew not meanwhile what true prayer was,
which stands not in words, though the words which
are uttered in the movings of the Holy Spirit are
very available, but in the breathing of the soul to the
heavenly Father through the operation of the Holy
Spirit, who maketh intercession sometimes in words
and sometimes with sighs and groans only, which the
Lord vouchsafes to hear and answer.
This will- worship, which all is that is performed in
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 37
the will of man and not in the movings of the Holy
Spirit, was a great hurt to me, and hindrance of my
spiritual growth in the way of truth. But my
heavenly Father, who knew the sincerity of my soul
to Him and the hearty desire I had to serve Him, had
compassion on me, and in due time was graciously
pleased to illuminate my understanding further, and
to open in me an eye to discern the false spirit, and
its way of working from the true, and to reject the
former and cleave to the latter.
But though the enemy had by his subtlety gained
such advantages over me, yet I went on notwithstand-
ing, and firmly persisted in my godly resolution of
ceasing from and denying those things which I was
now convinced in my conscience were evil. And on
this account a great trial came quickly on me ; for
the general Quarter Sessions for the Peace coming on,
my father, willing to excuse himself from a dirty
journey, commanded me to get up betimes and go
to Oxford, and deliver in the recognisances he had
taken, and bring him an account what justices were
on the bench, and what principal pleas were before
them; which he knew I knew how to do, having often
attended him on those services.
I, who knew how it stood with me better than he
did, felt a weight come over me as soon as he had
spoken the word ; for I presently saw it would bring
a very great exercise upon me. But having never
38 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
resisted his will in anything that was lawful, as this
was, I attempted not to make any excuse, but order-
ing a horse to be ready for me early in the morning,
I went to bed, having great strugglings in my breast.
For the enemy came in upon me like a flood, and
set many difficulties before me, swelling them up to
the highest pitch, by representing them as mountains
which I should never be able to get over ; and alas !
that faith which could remove such mountains, and
cast them into the sea, was but very small and weak
in me.
He cast into my mind not only how I should
behave myself in court and dispatch the business I
was sent about, but how I should demean myself
towards my acquaintance, of which I had many in
that city, with whom I was wont to be jolly ; whereas
now I could not put off my hat, nor bow to any of
them, nor give them their honorary titles (as they are
called), nor use the corrupt language of you to any
one of them, but must keep to the plain and true
language of tJiou and thce.
Much of this nature revolved in my mind, thrown
in by the enemy to discourage and cast me down,
And I had none to have recourse to for counsel or
help, but to the Lord alone ; to whom therefore I
poured forth my supplications, with earnest cries and
breathings of soul, that He, in whom all power was,
would enable me to go through this great exercise*
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 39
and keep me faithful to Himself therein. And after
some time He was pleased to compose my mind to
stillness, and I went to rest.
Early next morning I got up, and found my spirit
pretty calm and quiet, yet not without a fear upon
me lest I should slip and let fall the testimony which
I had to bear. And as I rode a frequent cry ran
through me to the Lord, in this wise : " Oh, my God,
preserve me faithful, whatever befalls me : suffer me
not to be drawn into evil, how much scorn and con-
tempt soever may be cast upon me."
Thus was my spirit exercised on the way almost
continually ; and when I was come within a mile or,
two of the city, whom should I meet upon the way
coming from thence but Edward Burrough. I rode
in a montero-cap (a dress more used then than now),
and so did he ; and because the weather was exceed-
ingly sharp, we both had drawn our caps down, to
shelter our faces from the cold, and by that means
neither of us knew the other, but passed by without
taking notice one of the other; till a few days after,
meeting again, and observing each other's dress, we
recollected where we had so lately met. Then thought
I with myself, oh, how glad should I have been of a
word of encouragement and counsel from him when I
was under that weighty exercise of mind ! But the
Lord saw it was not good for me, that my reliance
might be wholly upon Him, and not on man.
40 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
When I had set up my horse I went directly to the
hall where the sessions were held, where I had .been
but a very little while before a knot of my old
acquaintances, espying me, came to me. One of these
was a scholar in his gown, another a surgeon of that
city (both my school-fellows and fellow-boarders at
Thame school), and the third a country gentleman
with whom I had long been very familiar.
When they were come up to me they all saluted
me after the usual manner, pulling off their hats and
bowing, and saying, " Your humble servant, sir,"
expecting no doubt the like from me. But when
they saw me stand still, not moving my cap, nor
bowing my knee in way of congee to them, they were
amazed, and looked first one upon another, then upon
me, and then one upon another again, for a while,
without speaking a word.
At length the surgeon, a brisk young man, who
stood nearest to me, clapping his hand in a familiar
way upon my shoulder, and smiling on me, said,
" What, Tom ! a Quaker ? " To which I readily and
cheerfully answered, "Yes, a Quaker." And as the
words passed out of my mouth I felt joy spring in
my heart ; for I rejoiced that I had not been drawn
out by them into a compliance with them, and that
I had strength and boldness given me to confess my-
self to be one of that despised people.
They stayed not long with me nor said any more,
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 4 1
that I remember to me ; but looking somewhat con-
fusedly one upon another, after a while took their leave
of me, going off in the same ceremonious manner as
they came on.
After they were gone I walked a while about the
hall, and went up nearer to the court, to observe both
what justices were on the bench and what business
they had before them. And I went in fear, not of
what they could or would have done to me if they
should have taken notice of me, but lest I should be
surprised, and drawn unwarily into that which I was
to keep out of.
It was not long before the court adjourned to go to
dinner, and that time I took to go to the Clerk of the
Peace at his house, whom I was well acquainted with.
So soon as I came into the room where he was he
came and met me, and saluted me after his manner ;
for he had a great respect for my father and a kind
regard for me. And though he was at first somewhat
startled at my carriage and language, yet he treated
me very civilly, without any reflection or show of
lightness. I delivered him the recognisances which
my father had sent, and having done the business I
came upon, withdrew, and went to my inn to refresh
myself, and then to return home.
But when I was ready to take horse, looking out
into the street, I saw two or three justices standing
just in the way where I was to ride. This brought a
42 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
fresh concern upon me. I knew if they saw me they
would know me ; and I concluded, if they knew me,
they would stop me and inquire after my father, and
I doubted how I should come off with them.
This doubting brought weakness on me, and that
weakness led to contrivance how I might avoid this
trial. I knew the city pretty well, and remembered
there was a back way, which though somewhat about,
would bring me out of town without passing by those
justices ; yet loth I was to go that way. Wherefore
I stayed a pretty time, in hopes they would have
parted company, or removed to some other place out
of my way. But when I had waited until I was un-
easy for losing so much time, having entered into
reasonings with flesh and blood, the weakness pre-
vailed over me, and away I went the back way, which
brought trouble and grief upon my spirit for having
shunned the cross.
But the Lord looked on me with a tender eye, and
seeing my heart was right to Him, and that what I had
done was merely through weakness and fear of falling,
and that I was sensible of my failing therein, and
sorry for it, He was graciously pleased to pass it by,
and speak peace to me again. So that before I got
home, as when I went in the morning, my heart was
full of breathing prayer to the Lord, that He would
vouchsafe to be with me, and uphold and carry me
through that day's exercise ; so now at my return in
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 43
the evening, my heart was full of thankful acknow-
ledgments and praises unto Him for His great good-
ness and favour to me, in having thus far preserved
and kept me from falling into anything that might
have brought dishonour to His holy name, which I
had now taken on me.
But notwithstanding that it was thus with me, and
that I found peace and acceptance with the Lord in
some good degree, according to my obedience to the
convictions I had received by His holy Spirit in me,
yet was not the veil so done away, or fully rent, but
that there still remained a cloud upon my understand-
ing with respect to my carriage towards my father.
And that notion which the enemy had brought into
my mind, that I ought to put such a difference be-
tween him and all others as that, on account of the
paternal relation, I should still deport myself towards
him, both in gesture and language, as I had always
heretofore done, did yet prevail with me. So that
when I came home I went to my father bareheaded,
as I used to do, and gave him a particular account of
the business he had given me in command, in such
manner that he, observing no alteration in my car-
riage towards him, found no cause to take offence
at me.
I had felt for some time before an earnest desire of
mind to go again to Isaac Penington's, and I began
to question whether, when my father should come (as
44 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
I concluded ere long he would) to understand I in-
clined to settle among the people called Quakers, he
would permit me the command of his horses, as
before. Wherefore, in the morning when I went to
Oxford I gave directions to a servant of his to go
that day to a gentleman of my acquaintance, who I
knew had a riding nag to put off either by sale or to
be kept for his work, and desired him, in my name,
to send him to me ; which he did, and I found him in
the stable when I came home.
On this nag I designed to ride next day to Isaac
Penington's, and in order thereunto arose betimes and
got myself ready for the journey ; but because I would
pay all due respect to my father, and not go without
his consent, or knowledge at the least, I sent one up
to him (for he was not yet stirring) to acquaint him
that I had a purpose to go to Isaac Penington's, and
desired to know if he pleased to command me any
service to them. He sent me word he would speak
with me before I went, and would have me come up
to him, which I did, and stood by his bedside.
Then, in a mild and gentle tone, he said : " I un-
derstand you have a mind to go to Mr. Penington's/'
I answered, " I have so." " Why," said he, " I wonder
why you should. You were there, you know, but a
few days ago, and unless you had business with them,
don't you think it will look oddly?"! said, "I
thought not." " I doubt," said he, " you'll tire them
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 45
with your company, and make them think they shall
be troubled with you." " If," replied I, " I find any-
thing of that, I'll make the shorter stay."" But,"
said he, "can you propose any sort of business with
them, more than a mere visit ? " " Yes," said I, " I
propose to myself not only to see them, but to have
some discourse with them." " Why," said he, in a
tone a little harsher, " I hope you don't incline to be
of their way." " Truly," answered I, " I like them
and their way very well, so far as I yet understand
it ; and I am willing to go to them that I may under-
stand it better."
Thereupon he began to reckon up a beadroll of
faults against the Quakers, telling me they were a
rude, unmannerly people, that would not give civil
respect or honour to their superiors, no not to magis-
trates ; that they held many dangerous principles ;
that they were an immodest shameless people ; and
that one of them stripped himself stark naked, and
went in that unseemly manner about the streets, at
fairs and on market days, in great towns.
To all the other charges I answered only, " That
perhaps they might be either misreported or misun-
derstood, as the best of people had sometimes been."
But to the last charge of going naked, a particular
answer, by way of instance, was just then brought
into my mind and put into my mouth, which I had
not thought of before, and that was the example of
46 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
Isaiah, who went naked among the people for a long
time (Isaiah xx. 4). "Ay," said my father, "but
you must consider that he was a prophet of the Lord,
and had an express command from God to go so."
" Yes, sir," replied I, " I do consider that ; but I
consider also, that the Jews, among whom he lived,
did not own him for a prophet, nor believe that he
had such a command from God. And," added I,
" how know we but that this Quaker may be a pro-
phet too, and might be commanded to do as he did,
for some reason which we understand not ?"
This put my father to a stand ; so that, letting fall
his charges against the Quakers, he only said, "I
would wish you not to go so soon, but take a little
time to consider of it ; you may visit Mr. Penington
hereafter." " Nay, sir," replied I, "pray don't hinder
my going now, for I have so strong a desire to go
that I do not well know how to forbear." And as I
spoke those words, I withdrew gently to the chamber
door, and then hastening down stairs, went imme-
diately to the stable, where finding my horse ready
bridled, I forthwith mounted, and went off, lest I
should receive a countermand.
This discourse with my father had cast me some-
what back in my journey, and it being fifteen long
miles thither, the ways bad, and my nag but small, it
was in the afternoon that I got thither. And under-
standing by the servant that took my horse that there
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 47
was then a meeting in the house (as there was weekly
on that day, which was the fourth day of the week,
though till then I understood it not), I hastened in,
and knowing the rooms, went directly to the little
parlour, where I found a few friends sitting together
in silence, and I sat down among them well satisfied,
though without words.
When the meeting was ended, and those of the
company who were strangers withdrawn, I addressed
myself to Isaac Penington and his wife, who received
me courteously ; but not knowing what exercise I had
been in, and yet was under, nor having heard any-
thing of me since I had been there before in another
garb, were not forward at first to lay sudden hands on
me, which I observed, and did not dislike. But as
they came to see a change in me, not in habit only,
but in gesture, speech, and carriage, and, which was
more, in countenance also (for the exercise I had
passed through, and yet was under, had imprinted a
visible character of gravity upon my face), they were
exceedingly kind and tender towards me.
There was then in the family a friend, whose name
was Anne Curtis, the wife of Thomas Curtis, of
Reading, who was come upon a visit to them, and
particularly to see Mary Penington's daughter Guli,
who had been ill of the small-pox since I had been
there before. Betwixt Mary Penington and this
friend I observed some private discourse and whisper-
48 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLIVOOD.
ings, and I had an apprehension that it was upon
something that concerned me. Wherefore I took
the freedom to ask Mary Penington if my coming
thither had occasioned any inconvenience in the
family. She asked me if I had had the small-pox ; I
told her no. She then told me her daughter had
newly had them, and though she was well recovered
of them, she had not as yet been down amongst them,
but intended to have come down and sat with them
in the parlour that evening, yet would rather forbear
till another time, than endanger me ; and that that was
the matter they had been discoursing of. I assured
her that I had always been, and then more especially
was/ free from any apprehension of danger in that
respect, and therefore entreated that her daughter
might come down. And although they were some-
what unwilling to yield to it, in regard to me, yet my
importunity prevailed, and after supper she did come
down and sit with us ; and though the marks of the
distemper were fresh upon her, yet they made no im-
pression upon me, faith keeping out fear.
We spent much of the evening in ret i redness of
mind, our spirits being weightily gathered inward, so
that not much discourse passed among us ; neither
they to me, nor I to them offered any occasion. Yet
I had good satisfaction in that stillness, feeling my
spirit drawn near to the Lord, and to them therein.
Before I went to bed thev let me know that there
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 49
was to be a meeting at Wycombe next day, and that
some of the family would go to it. I was very glad
of it, for I greatly desired to go to meetings, and this
fell very aptly, it being jn my way home. Next
morning Isaac Penington himself went, having Anne
Curtis with him, and I accompanied them.
At Wycombe we met with Edward Burrough, who
came from Oxford thither that day that I, going
thither, met him on the way ; and having both our
monter-caps on, we recollected that we had met, and
passed by each other on the road unknown.
This was a monthly meeting, consisting of friends
chiefly, who gathered to it from several parts of the
country thereabouts, so that it was pretty large, and
was held in a fair room in Jeremiah Stevens' house ;
the room where I had been at a meeting before, in
John Raunce's house, being too little to receive us.
A very good meeting was this in itself and to me.
Edward Burrough's ministry came forth among us in
life and power, and the assembly was covered there-
with. I also, according to my small capacity, had a
share therein ; for I felt some of that divine power
working my spirit into a great tenderness, and not
only confirming me in the course I had already en-
tered, and strengthening me to go on therein, but
rending also the veil somewhat further, and clearing
my understanding in some other things which I had
not seen before. For the Lord was pleased to make
50 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOB.
His discoveries to me by degrees, that the sight of
too great a work, and too many enemies to encounter
with at once, might not discourage me and make me
faint.
When the meeting was ended, the friends of the
town taking notice that I was the man that had been
at their meeting the week before, whom they then
did not know, some of them came and spoke lovingly
to me, and would have had me stay with them ; but
Edward Burrough going home with Isaac Penington,
he invited me to go back with him, which I willingly
consented to, for the love I had more particularly
to Edward Burrough, through whose ministry I had
received the first awakening stroke, drew me to desire
his company ; and so away we rode together.
But I was somewhat disappointed of my expecta-
tion, for I hoped he would have given me both oppor-
tunity and encouragement to have opened myself to
him, and to have poured forth my complaints, fears,
doubts, and questionings into his bosom. But he,
being sensible that I was truly reached, and that the
witness of God was raised and the work of God
rightly begun in me, chose to leave me to the guidance
of the good Spirit in myself (the Counsellor that
could resolve all doubts), that I might not have any
dependence on man. Wherefore, although he was
naturally of an open and free temper and carriage,
and was afterwards always very familiar and afFec-
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 5 1
tionately kind to me, yet at this time he kept him-
self somewhat reserved, and showed only common
kindness to me.
Next day we parted, he for London, I for home,
under a very great weight and exercise upon my
spirit. For I now saw, in and by the farther openings
of the Divine light in me, that the enemy, by his
false reasonings, had beguiled and misled me with
respect to my carriage towards my father. For I
now clearly saw that the honour due to parents did
not consist in uncovering the head and bowing the
body to them, but in a ready obedience to their law-
ful commands, and in performing all needful services
unto them. Wherefore, as I was greatly troubled
for what I already had done in that case, though
it was through ignorance, so I plainly felt I could
no longer continue therein without drawing upon
myself the guilt of wilful disobedience, which I well
knew would draw after it divine displeasure and
judgment.
Hereupon the enemy assaulted me afresh, setting
before me the danger I should run myself into of
provoking my father to use seventy towards me ; and
perhaps to be casting me utterly off. But over this
temptation the Lord, who I cried unto, supported me,
and gave me faith to believe that He would bear me
through whatever might befall me on that account.
Wherefore I resolved, in the strength which He should
52 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
give me to be faithful to his requirings, whatever
might come of it.
Thus labouring under various exercises on the way,
I at length got home, expecting I should have but a
rough reception from my father. But when I came
home, I understood my father was from home ;
wherefore I sat down by the fire in the kitchen,
keeping my mind retired to the Lord, with breathings
of spirit to Him, that I might be preserved from
falling.
After some time I heard the coach drive in, which
put me into a little fear, and a sort of shivering came
over me. But by that time he was alighted and come
in I had pretty well recovered myself ; and as soon
as I saw him I rose up and advanced a step or two
towards him, with my head covered, and said, " Isaac
Penington and his wife remember their loves to thee."
He made a stop to hear what I said, and observing
that I did not stand bare, and that I used the word
thee to him, he, with a stern countenance, and tone
that spake high displeasure, only said, " I shall talk
with you, sir, another time ; " and so hastening from
me, went into the parlour, and I saw him no more that
night.
Though I foresaw there was a storm arising, the
apprehension of which was uneasy to me, yet the
peace which I felt in my own breast raised in me a
return of thanksgiving to the Lord for His gracious
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 53
supporting band, which had thus far carried me
through this exercise ; with humble cries in spirit to
Him that He would vouchsafe to stand by me in it
to the end, and uphold me, that I might not fall.
My spirit longed to be among friends, and to be at
some meeting with them on the first day, which now
drew on, this being the sixth-day night. Wherefore
I purposed to go to Oxford on the morrow (which
was the seventh day of the week), having heard there
was a meeting there. Accordingly, having ordered
my horse to be made ready betimes, I got up in the
morning and made myself ready also. Yet before I
would go (that I might be as observant to my father
as possibly I could) I desired my sister to go up to
him in his chamber, and acquaint him that I had a
mind to go to Oxford, and desired to know if he
pleased to command me any service there. He bid
her tell me he would not have me go till he had
spoken with me ; and getting up immediately, he
hastened down to me before he was quite dressed.
As soon as he saw me standing with my hat on,
his passion transporting him, he fell upon me with
both his fists, and having by that means somewhat
vented his anger, he plucked off my hat and threw it
away. Then stepping hastily out to the stable, and
seeing my borrowed nag stand ready saddled and
bridled, he asked his man whence that horse came ;
who telling him he fetched it from Mr. Such-an-
54 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWQOD.
one's ; " Then ride him presently back," said my
father, " and tell Mr. I desire he will never lend
my son a horse again unless he brings a note from
me,"
The poor fellow, who loved me well, would fain
have made excuses and delays ; but my father was
positive in his command, and so urgent, that he would
not let him stay so much as to take his breakfast
(though he had five miles to ride), nor would he him-
self stir from the stable till he had seen the man
mounted and gone.
Then coming in, he went up into his chamber to
make himself more fully ready, thinking he had me
safe enough now my horse was gone ; for I took so
much delight in riding that I seldom went on
foot.
But while he was dressing himself in his chamber
I (who understood what had been done), changing my
boots for shoes, took another hat, and acquainting
my sister, who loved me very well, and whom I could
confide in, whither I meant to go, went out privately,
and walked away to Wycombe, having seven long
miles thither, which yet seemed little and easy to me,
from the desire I had to be among friends.
As thus I travelled all alone, under a load of grief,
from the sense I had of the opposition and hardship I
was to expect from my father, the enemy took advan-
tage to assault me again, casting a doubt into my
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 5 5
mind whether I had done well in thus coming
away from my father without his leave or know-
ledge.
I was quiet and peaceable in my spirit before this
question was darted into me ; but after that, distur-
bance and trouble seized upon me, so that I was at a
stand what to do whether to go forward or backward.
Fear of offending inclined me to go back, but desire
of the meeting, and to be with friends, pressed me to
go forward.
I stood still awhile to consider and weigh as well
as I could the matter. I was sensibly satisfied that I
had not left my father with any intention of unduti-
fulness or disrespect to him, but merely in obedience
to that drawing of spirit, which I was persuaded was
of the Lord, to join with his people in worshipping
Him ; and this made me easy.
But then the enemy, to make me uneasy again,
objected, " But how could that drawing be of the
Lord which drew me to disobey my father ? "
I considered thereupon the extent of paternal power,
which I found was not wholly arbitrary and unlimited,
but had bounds set unto it ; so that as in civil matters
it was restrained to things lawful, so in spiritual and
religious cases it had not a compulsory power over
conscience, which ought to be subject to the heavenly
Father. And therefore, though obedience to parents
be enjoined to children, yet it is with this limitation
56 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
[in the Lord} : " Children, obey your parents in the
Lord ; for this is right" (i Pet. vu i).
This turned the scale for going forward, and so on
I went. And yet I was not wholly free from some
fluctuations of mind, from the besettings of the enemy.
Wherefore, although I knew that outward signs did
not properly belong to the gospel dispensation, yet
for my better assurance I did, in fear and great hu-
mility, beseech the Lord that he would be pleased
so far to condescend to the weakness of his servant
as to give me a sign by which I might certainly know
whether my way was right before Him or not.
The sign which I asked was, " That if I had done
wrong in coming as I did, I might be rejected or but
coldly received at the place I was going to ; but if this
mine undertaking was right in His sight, He would give
me favour with them I went to, so that they should
receive me with hearty kindness and demonstrations
of love " Accordingly, when I came to John Ranee's
house (which, being so much a stranger to all, I chose
to go to, because I understood the meeting was com-
monly held there), they received me with more than
ordinary kindness, especially Frances Ranee, John
Ranee's then wife, who was both a grave and motherly
woman, and had a hearty love to truth, and tenderness
towards all that in sincerity sought after it. And this
so kind reception, confirming me in the belief that my
undertaking was approved of by the Lord, gave great
WRITTENBY HIMSELF. 57
satisfaction and ease to my mind ; and I was thankful
to the Lord therefor.
Thus it fared with me there ; but at home it fared
otherwise with my father. He, supposing I had be-
taken myself to my chamber when he took my hat
from me, made no inquiry after me till evening came ;
and then, sitting by the fire and considering that the
weather was very cold, he said to my sister, who sat
by him : " Go up to your brother's chamber, and call
him down ; it may be he will sit there else, in a sullen
fit, till he has caught cold." "Alas! sir," said she,
*' he is not in his chamber, nor in the house neither."
At that my farther, starting, said : " Why, where is he
then ? " " I know not, sir," said she, " where he is; but
I know that when he saw you had sent away his horse
he put on shoes, and went out on foot, and I have not
seen him since. And indeed, sir," added she, " I
don't wonder at his going away, considering how you
used him. " This put my father into a great fright
doubting I was gone quite away ; and so great a pas-
sion of grief seized on him, that he forebore not to weep,
and to cry out aloud, so that the family heard him :
" Oh, my son ! I shall never see him more ; for he is of
so bold and resolute a spirit that he will run himself into
danger, and so may be thrown into some gaol or other,
where he may lie and die before I can hear of him. "
Then bidding her light him up to his chamber, he
went immediately to bed, where he lay restless and
58 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
groaning, and often bemoaning himself and me, for
the greater part of the night.
Next morning my sister sent a man (whom for his
love to me she knew she could trust) to give me this
account ; and though by him she sent me also fresh
linen for my use, in case I should go farther or stay
out longer, yet she desired me to come home as soon
as I could.
This account was very uneasy to me. I was much
grieved that I had occasioned so much grief to my
father ; and I would have returned that evening after
the meeting, but the Friends would not permit it, for
the meeting would in all likelihood end late, the days
being short, and the way was long and dirty. And
besides, John Ranee told me that he had something
on his mind to speak to my father, and that if I would
stay till the next day he would go down with me,
hoping, perhaps, that while my father was under this
sorrow for me he might work some good upon him.
Hereupon concluding to stay till the morrow, I dis-
missed the man with the things he brought, bidding
him tell my sister I intended, God willing, to return
home to-morrow, and charging him not to let any-
body else know that he had seen me, or where he had
been.
Next morning John Ranee and I set out, and when
we were come to the end of the town we agreed that
he should go before and knock at the great gate, and
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 59
I would come a little after, and go in by the back
way. He did so ; and when a servant came to open
the gate he asked if the Justice was at home. She
told him, Yes ; and desiring him to come in and sit
down in the hall, went and acquainted her master
that there was one who desired to speak with
him. He, supposing it was one that came for justice,
went readily into the hall to him ; but he was not a
little surprised when he found it was a Quaker. Yet
not knowing on what account he came, he stayed to
hear his business; but when he found it was about
me he fell somewhat sharply on him.
In this time I was come by the back way into the
kitchen, and hearing my father's voice so loud, I
began to doubt things wrought not well ; but I was
soon assured of that. For my father having quickly
enough of a Quaker's company, left John Ranee in
the hall, and came into the kitchen, where he was
more surprised to find me.
The sight of my hat upon my head made him pre-
sently forget that I was that son of his whom he had
so lately lamented as lost ; and his passion of grief
turning into anger, he could not contain himself, but
running upon me with both his hands, first violently
snatched off my hat and threw it away, then giving
me some buffets on my head, he said, " Sirrah, get
you up to your chamber."
I forthwith went, he following me at the heels, and
60 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
now and then giving me a whirret on the ear, which,
the way to my chamber lying through the hall where
John Ranee was, he, poor man, might see and be
sorry for (as I doubt not but he was), but could not
help me.
This was surely an unaccountable thing, that my
father should but a day before express so high a
sorrow for me, as fearing he should never see me any
more, and yet now, so soon as he did see me, should
fly upon me with such violence, and that only because
I did not put off my hat, which he knew I did not
put on in disrespect to him, but upon a religious prin-
ciple. But as this hat-honour (as it was accounted)
was grown to be a great idol, in those times more
especially, so the Lord was pleased to engage His
servants in a steady testimony against it, what suffer-
ing soever was brought upon them for it. And
though some who have been called into the Lord's
vineyard at later hours, and since the heat of that day
hath been much over, may be apt to account this
testimony a small thing to suffer so much upon, as
some have done, not only to beating, but to fines and
long and hard imprisonments ; yet they who, in those
times were faithfully exercised in and under it, durst
not despise the day of small things, as knowing that
he who should do so would not be thought worthy to
be concerned in higher testimonies.
I had now lost one of my hats, and I had but one
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 61
more. That therefore I put on, but did not keep it
long ; for the next time my father saw it on my head
he tore it violently from me, and laid it up with the
other, I knew not where. Wherefore I put on my
montero-cap, which was all I had left to wear on my
head, and it was but a very little while that I had
that to wear, for as soon as my father came where I
was I lost that also. And now I was forced to go
bareheaded w.herever I had occasion to go, within
doors and without.
This was in the eleventh month, called January,
and the weather sharp ; so that I, who had been bred
up more tenderly, took so great a cold in my head
that my face and head were much swollen, and my
gums had on them boils so sore that I could neither
chew meat nor without difficulty swallow liquids. It
held long, and I underwent much pain, without much
pity except from my poor sister, who did what she
could to give me ease ; and at length, by frequent
applications of figs and stoned raisins roasted, and
laid to the boils as hot as I could bear them, they
ripened fit for lancing, and soon after sunk ; then I
had ease.
Now was I laid up as a kind of prisoner for the rest
of the winter, having no means to go forth among
friends, nor they liberty to come to me. Wherefore
I spent the time much in my chamber in waiting on
the Lord, and in reading, mostly in the Bible.
62 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
But whenever I had occasion to speak to my father,
though I had no hat now to offend him, yet my lan-
guage did as much ; for I durst not say " you " to him,
but " thou " or " thee," as the occasion required, and
then would he be sure to fall on me with his fists.
At one of these times, I remember, when he had
beaten me in that manner, he commanded me, as he
commonly did at such times, to go to my chamber,
which I did, and he followed me to the bottom of the
stairs. Being come thither, he gave me a parting
blow, and in a very angry tone said : " Sirrah, if ever
I hear you say ' thou ' or ' thee ' to me again, I'll strike
your teeth down your throat." I was greatly grieved
to hear him say so. And feeling a word rise in my
heart unto him, I turned again, and calmly said unto
him : " Would it not be just if God should serve thee
so, when thou sayest Thou or Thee to Him ? "
Though his hand was up, I saw it sink and his coun-
tenance fall, and he turned away and left me stand-
ing there. But I, notwithstanding, went up into my
chamber, and cried unto the Lord, earnestly beseech-
ing Him that He would be pleased to open my
father's eyes, that he might see whom he fought
against, and for what ; and that He would turn his
heart.
After this I had a pretty time of rest and quiet
from these disturbances, my father not saying any-
thing to me, nor giving me occasion to say anything
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 63
to him. But I was still under a kind of confinement,
unless I would have run about the country bareheaded
like a madman, which I did not see it was my place
to do. For I found that, although to be abroad and
at liberty among my friends would have been more
pleasant to me, yet home was at present my proper
place, a school in which I was to learn with patience
to bear the cross ; and I willingly submitted to it.
But after some time a fresh storm, more fierce and
sharp than any before, arose and fell upon me ; the
occasion thereof was this : My father, having been in
his younger years, more especially while he lived in
London, a constant hearer of those who are called
Puritan preachers, had stored up a pretty stock of
Scripture knowledge, did sometimes (not constantly,
nor very often) cause his family to come together on
a first day in the evening, and expound a chapter to
them, and pray. His family now, as well as his
estate, was lessened ; for my mother was dead, my
brother gone, and my elder sister at London ; and
having put off his husbandry, he had put off with it
most of his servants, so that he had now but one man-
and one maid-servant. It so fell out that on a first-
day night he bade my sister, who sat with him in the
parlour, call in the servants to prayer.
Whether this was done as a trial upon me or no,
I know not, but a trial it proved to me ; for they,
loving me very well and disliking my father's carriage
64 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
to me, made no haste to go in, but stayed a second
summons. This so offended him that when at length
they did go in, he, instead of going to prayer, ex-
amined them why they came not in when they were
first called ; and the answer they gave him being such
as rather heightened than abated his displeasure, he
with an angry tone said : " Call in that fellow " (mean-
ing me, who was left alone in the kitchen), "for he
is the cause of all this." They, as they were back-
ward to go in themselves, so were not forward to call
me in, fearing the effect of my father's displeasure
would fall upon me, as soon it did, for I, hearing what
was said, and not staying for the call, went in of myself.
And as soon as I was come in, my father discharged
his displeasure on me in very sharp and bitter expres-
sions, which drew from me (in the grief of my heart, to
see him so transported with passion) these few words :
" They that can pray with such a spirit, let them ; for
my part, I cannot." With that my father flew upon
me with both his fists, and not thinking that suffi-
cient, stepped hastily to the place where his cane
stood, and catching that up, laid on me, I thought,
with all his strength. And I, being bareheaded,
thought his blows must needs have broken my skull
had I not laid mine arm over my head to defend it.
His man seeing this, and not able to contain him-
self, stepped in between us, and laying hold on the
cane, by strength of hand held it so fast, that though
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 65
he attempted not to take it away, yet he withheld
my father from striking with it, which did but enrage
him the more. I disliked this in the man, and bade
him let go the cane and begone, which he imme-
diately did, and turning to be gone, had a blow on his
shoulders for his pains, which did not much hurt him.
But now my sister, fearing lest my father should
fall upon me again, besought him to forbear, adding :
" Indeed, sir, if you strike him any more, I will throw
open the casement and cry out murder, for I am
kfraid you will kill my brother." This stopped his
hand, and after some threatening speeches he com-
manded me to get to my chamber which I did, as I
always did whenever he bade me.
Thither, soon after, my sister followed me, to see my
arm and dress it, for it was indeed very much bruised
and swelled between the wrist and the elbow, and in
some places the skin was broken and beaten off. But
though it was very sore, and I felt for some time much
pain in it, yet I had peace and quietness in my mind,
being more grieved for my father than for myself, who
I knew had hurt himself more than me.
This was, so far as I remember, the last time that
ever my father called his family to prayer ; and this
was also the last time that he ever fell, so severely at
least, upon me.
Soon after this my elder sister, who in all the time
of these exercises of mine had been at London,
C
66 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
returned home, much troubled to find me a Quaker, a
name of reproach and great contempt then, and she,
being at London, had received, I suppose, the worst
character of them. Yet though she disliked the
people, her affectionate regard for me made her rather
pity than despise me, and the more when she under-
stood what hard usage I had met with.
The rest of the winter I spent in a lonesome soli-
tary life, having none to converse with, none to un-
bosom myself unto, none to ask counsel of, none to
seek relief from, but the Lord alone, who yet was
more than all. And yet the company and society of
faithful and judicious friends would, I thought, have
been very welcome as well as helpful to me in my
spiritual travail, in which I thought I made slow pro-
gress, my soul breathing after further attainments,
the sense of which drew from me the following lines :
The winter tree
Resembles me,
Whose sap lies in its root :
The spring draws nigh ;
As it, so I
Shall bud, I hope, and shoot.
At length it pleased the Lord to move Isaac Pen-
ington and his wife to make a visit to my father, and
see how it fared with me ; and very welcome they
were to me, whatever they were to him ; to whom I
doubt not but they would have been more welcome
had it not been for me.
They tarried with us all night, and much discourse
WR1 7 TEN B Y HIMSELF. 67
they had with my father, both about the principles of
truth in general, and me in particular, which I was
not privy to. But one thing I remember I afterwards
heard of, which was this :
When my father and I were at their house some
months before, Mary Penington, in some discourse
between them, had told him how hardly her hus-
band's father (Alderman Penington) had dealt with
him about his hat ; which my father (little then think-
ing that it would, and so soon too, be his own case)
did very much censure the alderman for, wondering
that so wise a man as he was should take notice of
such a trivial thing as the putting off or keeping on a
hat ; and he spared not to blame him liberally for it.
This gave her a handle to take hold of him by ;
and having had an ancient acquaintance with him,
and he having always had a high opinion of and
respect for her, she, who was a woman of great wis-
dom, of ready speech, and of a well-resolved spirit,
did press so close upon him with this home argument,
that he was utterly at a loss how to defend himself.
After dinner next day, when they were ready to
take coach to return home, she desired my father that,
since my company was so little acceptable to him, he
would give me leave to go and spend some time with
them, where I should be sure to be welcome.
He was very unwilling I should go, and made
C 2
68 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
many objections against it, all which she answered and
removed so clearly, that not finding what excuse
further to allege, he at length left it to me, and I soon
turned the scale for going.
We were come to the coach-side before this was
concluded on, and I was ready to step in, when one
of my sisters privately put my father in mind that I
had never a hat on. That- somewhat startled him,
for he did not think it fit I should go from home (and
that so far and to stay abroad) without a hat. Where-
fore he whispered to her to fetch me a hat, and he
entertained them with some discourse in the mean-
time. But as soon as he saw the hat coming he
would not stay till it came, lest I should put it on
before him, but breaking off his discourse abruptly,
took his leave of them, and hastened in before the
hat was brought to me.
I had not one penny of money about me, nor in-
deed elsewhere ; for my father, so soon as he saw
that I would be a Quaker, took from me both what
money I had and everything of value, or that would
have made money, as some plate, buttons, rings, &c.,
pretending that he would keep them for me till I
came to myself again, lest I should destroy them.
But as I had no money, so being among my friends
I had no need of any, nor ever hankered after it ;
though once upon a particular occasion I had liked
to have wanted it. The case was this :
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 69
I had been at Reading, and set out from thence on
the first day of the week, in the morning, intending
to reach (as in point of time I well might) Isaac
Penington's, where the meeting was to be that day ;
but when I came to Maidenhead, a thoroughfare
town on the way, I was stopped by the watch for
riding on that day.
The watchman, laying hold on the bridle, told me
I must go with him to the constable ; and accordingly
I, making no resistance, suffered him to lead my horse
to the constable's door. When we were come there
the constable told me I must go before the warden,
who was the chief officer of that town, and bade the
watchman bring me on, himself walking before.
Being come to the warden's door, the constable
knocked, and desired to speak with Mr. Warden.
He thereupon quickly coming to the door, the con-
stable said : " Sir, I have brought a man here to you
whom the watch took riding through the town/'
The warden was a budge old man ; and I looked
somewhat big too, having a good gelding under me,
and a good riding-coat on my back, both which my
friend Isaac Penington had kindly accommodated me
with for that journey.
The warden therefore taking me to be (as the
saying is) somebody, put off his hat and made a low
congee to me ; but when he saw that I sat still, and
neither bowed to him nor moved my hat, he gave a
70 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
start, and said to the constable : " You said you had
brought a man, but he don't behave like a man."
I sat still upon my horse and said not a word, but
kept my mind retired to the Lord, waiting to see what
this would come to.
The warden then began to examine me, asking me
whence I came and whither I was going ; I told him
I came from Reading and was going to Chalfont.
He asked me why I did travel on that day; I told
him I did not know that it would give any offence
barely to ride or to walk on that day, so long as I did
not carry or drive any carriage or horses laden with
burthens. " Why," said he, " if your business was
urgent, did you not take a pass from the mayor of
Reading ?" "Because," replied I, " I did not know
nor think I should have needed one." " Well/' said
he, " I will not talk with you now, because it is time
to go to church, but I will examine you further
anon." And turning to the constable, " Have him,"
said he, " to an inn, and bring him before me after
dinner."
The naming of an inn put me in mind that such
public-houses were places of expense, and I knew I
had no money to defray it ; wherefore I said to the
warden : " Before thou sendest me to an inn, which
may occasion some expense, I think it needful to
acquaint thee that I have no money."
At that the warden started again, and turning
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 7 1
quickly upon me, said : " How ! no money ! How
can that be ? You don't look like a man that has no
money." " However I look/' said I, " I tell thee the
truth, that I have no money ; and I tell it to forewarn
thee, that thou mayest not bring any charge upon the
town." " I wonder," said he, " what art you have got,
that you can travel without money ; you can do
more, I assure you, than I can."
I making no answer, he went on and said : " Well,
well ! but if you have no money, you have a good
horse under you, and we can distrain him for the
charge." " But/' said I, <f the horse is not mine."
" No," said he ; " but you have a good coat on your
back, and that I hope is your own." " No," said I,
" but it is not, for I borrowed both the horse and the
coat."
With that the warden, holding up his hands and
smiling, said : " Bless me ! I never met with such a
man as you are before. What ! were you set out by
the parish ? " Then turning to the constable, he
said : " Have him to the Greyhound, and bid the
people be civil to him." Accordingly, to the Grey-
hound I was led, my horse set up, and I put into a
la-rge room, and some account, I suppose, given of me
to the people of the house.
This was new work to me, and what the issue of
it would be I could not foresee ; but being left there
alone, I sat down, and retired in spirit to the Lord,
72 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
in whom alone my strength and safety were, and
begged support of Him ; even that He would be
pleased to give me wisdom and words to answer the
warden when I should come to be examined again
before him.
After some time, having pen, ink, and paper about
me, I set myself to write what I thought might be
proper, if occasion served, to give the warden ; and
while I was writing, the master of the house, being
come home from his worship, sent the tapster to me
to invite me to dine with him. I bid him tell his
master that I had not any money to pay for my
dinner. He sent the man again to tell me I should
be welcome to dine with him though I had no money.
I desired him to tell his master " that I was very
sensible of his civility and kindness in so courteously
inviting me to his table, but I had not freedom to
eat of his meat unless I could have paid for it."
So he went on with his dinner, and I with my
writing.
But before I had finished what was on my mind to
write, the constable came again, bringing with him
his fellow-constable. This was a brisk genteel young
man, a shopkeeper in the town, whose name was
Cherry. They saluted me very civilly, and told me
they were come Vo have me before the warden. This
put an end to my writing, which I put into my pocket,
and went along with them.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 73
Being come to the warden's, he asked me again
the same questions he had asked me before ; to which
I gave him the like answers. Then he told me the
penalty I had incurred, which he said was either to
pay so much money or lie so many hours in the
stocks, and asked me which I would choose ; I replied,
" I shall not choose either. And," said I, " I have
told thee already that I have no money ; though if I
had, I could not so far acknowledge myself an
offender as to pay any. But as to lying in the stocks,
I am in thy power, to do unto me what it shall please
the Lord to suffer thee."
When he heard that he paused awhile, and then
told me, " He considered that I was but a young
man, and might not perhaps understand the danger
I had brought myself into, and therefore he would
not use the severity of the law upon me ; but, in
hopes that I would be wiser hereafter, he would pass
by this offence and discharge me."
Then putting on a countenance of the greatest
gravity, he said to me : " But, young man, I would
have you know that you have not only broken the
law of the land, but the law of God also ; and
therefore you ought to ask His forgiveness, for you
have highly offended Him." " That," said I, " I would
most willingly do if I were sensible that in this case
I had offended Him by breaking any law of His."
"Why," said he, "do you question that?" "Yes
74 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
truly/' said I ; " for I do not know that any law of
God doth forbid me to ride on this day."
" No !" said he: " that's strange. Where, I wonder,
was you bred ? You can read, can't you ? " " Yes,"
said I, " that I can."" Don't you then read," said he,
"the commandment, 'Remember the Sabbath-day
to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour and do
all thy work ; but the seventh day is the Sabbath
of the Lord ; in it thou shalt not do any work.' "
" Yes," replied I, " I have both read it often, and re-
member it very well. But that command was given
to the Jews, not to Christians ; and this is not that
day, for that was the seventh day, but this is the
first." " How," said he, " do you know the days
of the week no better ? You had need then be better
taught."
Here the younger constable, whose name was
Cherry, interposing, said : " Mr. Warden, the gentle-
man is in the right as to that, for this is the first day
of the week, and not the seventh."
This the old warden took in dudgeon, and looking
severely on the constable, said : " What ! do you take
upon you to teach me ? I'll have you know I will not
be taught by you." "As you please for that, sir,"
said the constable ; " but I am sure you are mistaken
in this point ; for Saturday I know is the seventh day,
and you know yesterday was Saturday."
This made the warden hot and testy, and put him
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 75
almost out of all patience, so that I feared it would
have come to a downright quarrel betwixt them, for
both were confident and neither would yield ; and
so earnestly were they engaged in the contest, that
there was no room for me to put in a word between
them.
At length the old man, having talked himself out
of wind, stood still awhile as it were to take breath,
and then bethinking himself of me, he turned to me
and said : " You are discharged, and may take your
liberty to go about your occasions. " " But/' said I,
" I desire my horse may be discharged too, else I
know not how to go." " Ay, ay," said he, " you shall
have your horse ; " and turning to the other constable,
who had not offended him, he said : " Go, see that his
horse be delivered to him."
Away thereupon went I with that constable, leaving
the old warden and the young constable to compose
their difference as they could. Being come to the
inn, the constable called for my horse to be brought
out ; which done, I immediately mounted, and began
to set forward. But the hostler, not knowing the
condition of my pocket, said modestly to me : " Sir,
don't you forget to pay for your horse's standing ? "
" No, truly," said I, " I don't forget it ; but I have no
money to pay it with, and so I told the warden before."
" Well, hold your tongue," said the constable to the
hostler; "I'll see you paid/' Then opening the gate,
76 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
they let me out, the constable wishing me a good
journey, and through the town I rode without further
molestation ; though it was as much sabbath, I
thought, when I went out as it was when I came in.
A secret joy arose in me as I rode on the way, for
that I had been preserved from doing or saying any-
thing which might give the adversaries of truth
advantage against it, or the friends of it ; and praises
sprang in my thankful heart to the Lord, my pre-
server.
It added also not a little to my joy 'that I felt the
Lord near unto me, by his witness in my heart, to
check and warn me ; and my spirit was so far sub-
jected to him as readily to take warning, and stop at
his check ; an instance of both that very morning
I had.
For as I rode between Reading and Maidenhead
I saw lying in my way the scabbard of a hanger,
which, having lost its hook, had slipped off, I suppose,
and dropped from the side of the wearer ; and it had
in it a pair of knives, whose hafts being inlaid with
silver, seemed to be of some value. I alighted and
took it up, and clapping it between my thigh and the
saddle, rode on a little way ; but I quickly found it
too heavy for me, and the reprover in me soon began
to check. The word arose in me, " What hast thou
to do with that ? Doth it belong to thee ? " I felt
I had done amiss in taking it ; wherefore I turned
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 77
back to the place where it lay, and laid it down where
I found it. And when afterwards I was stopped and
seized on at Maidenhead, I saw there was a Provi-
dence in not bringing it with me; which, if it should
have been found (as it needs must) under my coat
when I came to be unhorsed, might have raised
some evil suspicion or sinister thoughts concerning
me.
The stop I met with at Maidenhead had spent me
so much time that when I came to Isaac Penington's
the meeting there was half over, which gave them
occasion after meeting to inquire of me if anything
had befallen me on the way which had caused me to
come so late : whereupon I related to them what
exercise I had met with, and how the Lord had helped
me through it : which when they had heard, they re-
joiced with me, and for my sake.
Great was the love and manifold the kindness
which I received from these my worthy friends, Isaac
and Mary Penington, while I abode in their family.
They were indeed as affectionate parents and tender
nurses to me in this time of my religious childhood.
For besides their weighty and seasonable counsels
and exemplary conversations, they furnished me with
means to go to the other meetings of Friends in that
country, when the meeting was not in their own
house. And indeed, the time I stayed with them was
so well spent, that it not only yielded great satisfac-
78 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
tion to my mind but turned in good measure to my
spiritual advantage in the truth.
But that I might not, on the one hand, bear too
hard upon my friends, nor on the other hand forget
the house of thraldom, after I had staid with them
some six or seven weeks (from the time called Easter
to the time 'called Whitsuntide) I took my leave of
them to depart home, intending to walk to Wycombe
in one day, and from thence home in another.
That day that I came home I did not see my
father, nor until noon the next day, when I went into
the parlour, where he was, to take my usual place at
dinner.
As soon as I came in I observed by my father's
countenance that my hat was still an offence to him ;
but when I was sat down, and before I had eaten
anything, he made me understand it more fully by
saying to me, but in a milder tone than he had for-
merly used to speak to me in, " If you cannot content
yourself to come to dinner withont your hive on your
head (so he called my hat), pray rise, and go take
your dinner somewhere else."
Upon these words I arose from the table, and
leaving the room went into the kitchen, where I
stayed till the servants went to dinner, and then sat
down very contentedly with them, Yet I suppose
my father might intend that I should have gone into
some other room, and there ha,ve eaten by myself
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 79
but I chose rather to eat with the servants, and did
so from thenceforward so long as he and I lived to-
gether. And from this time he rather chose, as I
thought, to avoid seeing me than to renew the quarrel
about my hat.
My sisters, meanwhile observing my weariness in
words and behaviour, and being satisfied, I suppose,
that I acted upon a principle of religion and con-
science, carried themselves very kindly to me, and did
what they could to mitigate my father's displeasure
against me. So that I now enjoyed much more quiet
at home, and took more liberty to go abroad amongst
my friends, than I had done or could do before. And
having informed myself where any meetings of Friends
were holden, within a reasonable distance from me, I
resorted to them.
At first I went to a town called Hoddenham, in
Buckinghamshire, five miles from my father's, where,
at the house of one Belson, a few who were called
Quakers did' meet sometimes on a first day of the
week ; but I found little satisfaction there. After-
wards, upon further inquiry, I understood there was
a settled meeting at a little village called Meadle,
about four long miles from me, in the house of one
John White, which is continued there still ; and to
that thenceforward I constantly went while I abode
in that country, and was able. Many a sore- day's
travel have I had thither and back again, being com-
80 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
monly in the winter time (how fair soever the weather
was overhead) wet up to the ankles at least ; yet,
through the goodness of the Lord to me, I was pre-
served in health.
A little meeting also there was on the fourth day of
the week at a town called Bledlow (two miles from
me), in the house of one Thomas Saunders, who
professed the truth ; but his wife, whose name was
Damaris, did possess it (she being a woman of great
sincerity and lively sense), and to that meeting also I
usually went.
But though I took this liberty for the service of
God, that I might worship Him in the assemblies of
His people, yet did I not use it upon other occasions,
but spent my time on other days for the most part in
my chamber, in retiredness of mind, waiting on the
Lord. And the Lord was graciously pleased to visit
me, by His quickening spirit and life, so that I came
to feel the operation of His power in my heart, work-
ing out that which was contrary to His will, and giving
me, in measure, dominion over it.
And as my spirit was kept in due subjection to
this divine power, I grew into a nearer acquaintance
with the Lord ; and the Lord vouchsafed to speak unto
me in the inward of my soul, and to open my under-
standing in His fear, to receive counsel from Him ; so
that I not only at some times heard His voice, but
could distinguish His voice from that of the enemy.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 8 1
As thus I daily waited on the Lord a weighty and
unusual exercise came upon me, which bowed my
spirit very low before the Lord. I had seen, in the
light of the Lord, the horrible guilt of those deceitful
priests, of divers sorts and denominations, who made
a trade of preaching, and for filthy lucre sake held the
people always learning ; yet so taught them as that,
by their teaching and ministry, they were never able
to come to the knowledge, much less to the acknow-
ledgment, of the truth ; for as they themselves hated
the light, because their own deeds were evil, so by
reviling, reproaching, and blaspheming the true light,
wherewith every man that cometh into the world is
enlightened (John i. 9), they begat in the people a
disesteem of the light, and laboured as much as in
them lay to keep their hearers in the darkness, that
they might not be turned to the light in themselves,
lest by the light they should discover the wickedness
of these their deceitful teachers, and turn from them.
Against this practice of these false teachers the
zeal of the Lord had flamed in my breast for some
time ; and now the burthen of the word of the Lord
against them fell heavily upon me, with command to
proclaim his controversy against them.
Fain would I have been excused from this service,
which I judged too heavy for me ; wherefore I be-
sought the Lord to take this weight from off me, who
was in every respect but young, and lay it upon
82 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLIVOOD,
some other of His servants, of whom he had many,
who were much more able and fit for it. But the
Lord would not be entreated, but continued the
burden upon me with greater weight ; requiring
obedience from me, and promising to assist me
therein. Whereupon I arose from my bed, and in
the fear and dread of the Lord committed to writing
what He, in the motion of His divine Spirit, dictated
to me to write. When I had done it, though the
sharpness of the message therein delivered was hard
to my nature to be the publisher of, yet I found accept-
ance with the Lord in my obedience to His will, and
His peace filled my heart. As soon as I could I
communicated to my friends what I had written ;
and it was printed in the year 1660, in one sheet of
paper, under the title of " An Alarm to the Priests ;
or, A Message from Heaven to Forewarn them/' &c.
Some time after the publishing of this paper, having
occasion to go to London, I went to visit George Fox
the younger, who with another Friend was then a
prisoner in a messenger's hands. I had never seen
him, nor he me before; yet this paper lying on the
table before him, he, pointing to it, asked me if I was
the person that wrote it. I told him I was. " It's
much," said the other Friend, " that they bear it."
" It is/' replied he, " their portion, and they must
bear it."
While I was then in London I went to a little
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 83
meeting of Friends which was then held in the house
of one Humphrey Bache, a goldsmith, at the sign of
the Snail, in Tower Street. It was then a very
troublesome time, not from the government, but from
the rabble of boys and rude people, who upon the
turn of the time (at the return of the King) took
liberty to be very abusive.
When the meeting ended, a pretty number of these
unruly folk were got together at the door, ready to
receive the Friends as they came forth, not only with
evil words, but with blows ; which I saw they be-
stowed freely on some of them that were gone out
before me, and expected I should have my share of
when I came amongst them. But, quite contrary to
my expectation, when I came out, they said one to
another, " Let him alone ; don't meddle with him ;
he is no Quaker, I'll warrant you.
This struck me, and was worse to me than if they
had laid their fists on me, as they did on others. I
was troubled to think what the matter was, or what
these rude people saw in me that made them not take
me for a Quaker. And upon a close examination of
myself, with respect to my habit and deportment, I
could not find anything to place it on, but that I had
then on my head a large montero-cap of black velvet,
the skirt of which being turned up in folds, looked, it
seems, somewhat above the then common garb of a
Quaker ; and this put me out of conceit with my cap.
84 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
I came at this time to London from Isaac Pening-
ton's, and thither I went again in my way home;
and while I stayed there, amongst other Friends who
came thither, Thomas Loe, of Oxford, was one. A
faithful and diligent labourer he was in the work of
the Lord, and an excellent ministerial gift he had.
And I, in my zeal for truth, being very desirous that
my neighbours might have the opportunity of hearing
the gospel, the glad tidings of salvation, livingly and
powerfully preached among them, entered into com-
munication with him about it ; offering to procure
some convenient place in the town where I lived for
a meeting to be held, and to invite my neighbours to
it, if he could give me any ground to expect his
company at it. He told me he was not at his own
command, but at the Lord's, and he knew not how
He might dispose of him ; but wished me, if I found
when I was come home that the thing continued with
weight upon my mind, and that I could get a fit
place for a meeting, I would advertise him of it by
a few lines directed to him in Oxford, whither he
was then going, and he might then let me know how
his freedom stood in that matter.
When therefore I was come home, and had treated
with a neighbour for a place to have a meeting in, I
wrote to my friend Thomas Loe, to acquaint him
that I had procured a place for a meeting, and would
invite company to it, if he would fix the time,
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF 85
and give me some ground to hope that he would
be at it.
This letter I sent by a neighbour to Thame to be
given to a dyer of Oxford, who constantly kept
Thame market, with whom I was pretty well ac-
quainted, having sometimes formerly used him not
only in his way of trade, but to carry letters between
my brother and me when he was a student in that
University, for which he was always paid ; and had
been so careful in the delivery that our letters had
always gone safe until now. But this time (Provi-
dence so ordering, or at least for my trial permitting
it) this letter of mine, instead of being delivered ac-
cording to its direction, was seized and carried, as I
was told, to the Lord Faulkland, who was then called
Lord Lieutenant of that county.
The occasion of this stopping of letters at that time
was that mad prank of those infatuated fifth-mon-
archy men, who from their meeting-house in Coleman
Street, London, breaking forth in arms, under the
command of their chieftain Venner, made an insur-
rection in the city, on pretence of setting up the
kingdom of Jesus, who, it is said, they expected
would come down from heaven to be their leader ;
so little understood they the nature of his kingdom,
though he himself had declared it was not of this
world.
The King, a little before his arrival in England,
86 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
had by his declaration from Breda given assurance
of liberty to tender consciences, and that no man
should be disquieted or called in question for dif-
ference of opinion in matters of religion which do not
disturb the peace of the kingdom. Upon this assur-
ance dissenters of all sorts relied, and held themselves
secure. But now, by this frantic action of a few
hot-brained men, the King was by some holden
discharged from his royal word and promise, in his
foregoing declaration publicly given. And hereupon
letters were intercepted and broken open, for discovery
of suspected plots and designs against the government ;
and not only dissenters meetings' of all sorts, without
distinction, were disturbed, but very many were im-
prisoned in most parts throughout the nation ; and
great search there was in all countries for suspected
persons, who, if not found at meetings, were fetched
in from their own houses.
The Lord Lieutenant (so called) of Oxfordshire
had on this occasion taken Thomas Loe and many
others of our friends at a meeting, and sent them
prisoners to Oxford Castle, just before my letter was
brought to his hand, wherein I had invited Thomas
Loe to a meeting ; and he, putting the worst construc-
tion upon it, as if I, a poor simple lad, had intended
a seditious meeting, in order to raise rebellion, ordered
two of the deputy-lieutenants who lived nearest to
me to send a party of horse to fetch me in.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 87
Accordingly, while I wholly ignorant of what had
passed at Oxford, was in daily expectation of an
agreeable answer to my letter, came a party of horse
one morning to my father's gate, and asked for me.
It so fell out that my father was at that time from
home, I think in London ; whereupon he that com-
manded the party alighted and came in. My eldest
sister, hearing the noise of soldiers, came hastily up
into my chamber, and told me there were soldiers
below, who inquired for me. I forthwith went down
to them, and found the commander was a barber of
Tharne, and one who had always been my barber till
I was a Quaker. His name was Whately, a bold
brisk fellow.
I asked him what his business was with me : he
told me I must go with him. I demanded to see his
warrant : he laid his hand on his sword, and said that
was his warrant. I told him though that was not a
legal warrant, yet I would not dispute it, but was
ready to bear injuries. He told me he could not help
it ; he was commanded to bring me forthwith before
the deputy-lieutenants, and therefore desired me to
order a horse to be got ready, because he was in
haste. I let him know I had no horse of my own,
and would not meddle with any of my father's horses,
in his absence especially ; and that therefore, if he
would have me with him, he must carry me as he
could.
88 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
He thereupon taking my sister aside, told her he
found I was resolute, and his orders were peremptory ;
wherefore he desired that she would give order for a
horse to be made ready for me, for otherwise he should
be forced to mount me behind a trooper, which would
be very unsuitable for me, and which he was very
unwilling to do. She thereupon ordered a horse to
be got ready, upon which, when I had taken leave of
my sisters, I mounted, and went off, not knowing
whither he intended to carry me.
He had orders, it seems, to take some others also
in a neighbouring village, whose names he had, but
their houses he did not know. Wherefore, as we rode
he asked me if I knew such and such men (whom he
named) and where they lived ; and when he under-
stood that I knew them, he desired me to show him
their houses. " No/' said I, " I scorn to be an
informer against my neighbours, to bring them into
trouble." He thereupon, riding to and fro, found by
inquiry most of their houses ; but, as it happened,
found none of them at home, at which I was glad.
At length he brought me to the house of one called
Esquire Clark, of Weston, by Thame, who, being
afterwards knighted, was called Sir John Clark ; a
jolly man, too much addicted to drinking in soberer
times, but was now grown more licentious that way,
as the times did now more favour debauchery. He
and I had known one another for some years, though
WRITTEN B Y HIMSEL F. 89
not very intimately, having met sometimes at the
Lord Wenman's table
This Clark was one of the deputy-lieutenants
whom I was to be brought before ; and he had
gotten another thither to join with him in tendering
me the oaths, whom I knew only by name and cha-
racter ; he was called Esquire Knowls, of Grays, by
Henley, and reputed a man of better morals than the
other.
I was brought into the hall, and kept there ; and as
Quakers were not so common then as they now are
(and indeed even yet, the more is the pity, they are
not common in that part of the country), I was made
a spectacle and gazing-stock to the family, and by
divers I was diversely set upon. Some spake to me
courteously, with appearance of compassion ; others
ruggedly, with evident tokens of wrath and scorn.
But though I gave them the hearing of what they said,
which I could not well avoid, yet I said little to them ;
but keeping my mind as well retired as I could, I
breathed to the Lord for help and strength from Him,
to bear me up and carry me through this trial, that I
might not sink under it, or be prevailed on by any
means, fair or foul, to do anything that might dis-
honour or displease my God.
At length came forth the justices themselves (for so
they were, as well as lieutenants), and after they had
saluted me, they discoursed with me pretty familiarly ;
90 HIS TORY OF THOMA S ELL WO OD.
and though Clark would sometimes be a little jocular
and waggish (which was somewhat natural to him),
yet Knowls treated me very civilly, not seeming to
take any offence at my not standing bare before him.
And when a young priest, who as I understood was
chaplain in the family, took upon him pragmatically
to reprove me for standing with my hat on before the
magistrates, and snatched my hat from off my head,
Knowls, in a pleasant manner, corrected him, telling
him that he mistook himself in taking a cap for a hat
(for mine was a montero-cap), and bade him give it
me again ; which he (though unwillingly) doing, I
forthwith put it on my head again, and thenceforward
none meddled with me about it.
Then they began to examine me, putting divers
questions to me relating to the present disturbances
in the nation, occasioned by the late foolish insurrec-
tion of those frantic fifth-monarchy men. To all which
I readily answered, according to the simplicity of my
heart and innocency of my hands, for I had neither
done nor thought any evil against the government.
But they endeavoured to affright me with threats of
danger, telling me (with inuendoes) that for all my
pretence of innocency there was high matter against
me, which, if I would stand out, would be brought
forth, and that under my own hand. I knew not
what they meant by this ; but I knew my innocency,
and kept to it.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 91
At length, when they saw I regarded not their
threats in general, they asked me if I knew one
Thomas Loe, and had written of late to him. I
then remembered my letter, which till then I had
not thought of, and thereupon frankly told them that
I did both know Thomas Loe and had lately written
to him ; but that as I knew I had written no hurt, so
I did not fear any danger from that letter. They
shook their heads, and said, " It was dangerous to
write letters to appoint meetings in such troublesome
times."
They added, that by appointing a meeting, and en-
deavouring to gather a concourse of people together,
in such a juncture especially as this was, I had ren-
dered myself a dangerous person. And therefore they
could do no less than tender me the oaths of alle-
giance and supremacy, which therefore they required
me to take.
I told them if I could take any oath at all, I would
take the oath of allegiance, for I owed allegiance to
the King ; but I durst not take any oath, because my
Lord and Master Jesus Christ had commanded me
not to swear at all ; and if I brake His command I
should thereby both dishonour and displease Him.
Hereupon they undertook to reason with me, and
used many words to persuade me that that command
of Christ related only to common and profane
swearing, not to swearing before a magistrate. I
92 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
heard them, and saw the weakness of their arguing?,
but did not return them any answer ; for I found my
present business was not to dispute, but to suffer ; and
that it was not safe for me, in this my weak and
childish state especially, to enter into reasonings with
sharp, quick, witty, and learned men, lest I might
thereby hurt both the cause of truth, which I was to
bear witness to, and myself; therefore I chose rather
to be a fool, and let them triumph over me, than by
my weakness give them advantage to triumph over
the truth. And my spirit being closely exercised in
a deep travail towards the Lord, I earnestly begged
of Him that He would be pleased to keep me faithful
to the testimony He had committed to me, and not
suffer me to be taken in any of the snares which the
enemy laid for me. And, blessed be His holy name,
He heard my cries, and preserved me out of them.
When the justices saw they could not bow me to
their wills, they told me they must send me to prison.
I told them I was contented to suffer whatsoever the
Lord should suffer them to inflict upon me. Where-
upon they withdrew into the parlour, to consult to-
gether what to do with me, leaving me meanwhile to
be gazed on in the hall.
After a pretty long stay they came forth to me
again with a great show of kindness, telling me they
v/ere very unwilling to send me to gaol, but would
be as favourable to me as possibly they could, and
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 93
that if I would take the oaths, they would pass by all
the other matter which they had against me. I told
them I knew they could not justly have anything
against me, for I had neither done nor intended any-
thing against the government, or against them. And
as to the oaths, I assured them that my refusing them
was merely matter of conscience to me, and that I
durst not take any oath whatsoever, if it were to save
my life.
When they heard this they left me again, and went
and signed a mittimus to send me to prison at Ox-
ford, and charged one of the troopers that brought
me thither, who was one of the newly-raised militia
troop, to convey me safe to Oxford. But before we
departed they called the trooper aside, and gave him
private instructions what he should do with me, which
X knew nothing of till I came thither, but expected I
should go directly to the castle.
It was almost dark when we took horse, and we had
about nine or ten miles to ride, the weather thick and
cold (for it was about the beginning of the twelfth
month), and I had no boots, being snatched away
from home on a sudden, which made me not care to
ride very fast. And my guard, who was a tradesman
in Thame, having confidence in me that I would not
give him the slip, jogged on without heeding how I
followed him.
When I was gone about a mile on the way I over-
94 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
took my father's man, who, without my knowledge,
had followed me at a distance to Weston, and waited
there abroad in the stables till he understood by some
of the servants that 1 was to go to Oxford ; and then
ran before, resolving not to leave me till he saw what
they would do with me.
I would have had him return home, but he desired
me not to send him back, but let him run on until I
came to Oxford. I considered that it was a token of
the fellow's affectionate kindness to me, and that
possibly I might send my horse home by him ; and
thereupon stopping my horse I bid him, if he would
go on, get up behind me. He modestly refused,
telling me he could run as fast as I rode. But when
I told him if he would not ride he should not go
forward, he, rather than leave me, leaped up behind
me, and on we went.
But he was not willing I should have gone at all.
He had a great cudgel in his hand, and a strong arm
to use it ; and being a stout fellow, he had a great
mind to fight the trooper, and rescue me. Wherefore
he desired me to turn my horse and ride off, and
if the trooper offered to pursue, leave him to deal
with him.
I checked him sharply for that, and charged him to
be quiet, and not think hardly of the poor trooper,
who could do no other nor less than he did ; and who,
though he had an ill journey in going with me, carried
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 95
himself civilly to me. I told him also that I had no
need to fly, for I had done nothing that would bring
guilt or fear upon me, neither did I go with an ill-
will ; and this quieted the man. So on we went, but
were so far cast behind the trooper, that we had lost
both sight and hearing of him, and I was fain to mend
my pace to get up to him again.
We came pretty late into Oxford on the seventh
day of the week, which was the market day ; and,
contrary to my expectation (which was to have been
carried to the castle), my trooper stopped in the High
Street, and calling at a shop asked for the master of
the house, who coming to the door, he delivered to
him the mittimus, and with it a letter from the
deputy-lieutenants (or one of them), which when he
had read he asked where the prisoner was. Where-
upon the soldier pointing to me, he desired me to alight
and come in. which when I did he received me civilly.
The trooper, being discharged of his prisoner,
marched back, and my father's man, seeing me settled
in better quarters than he expected, mounted my
horse and went off with him.
I did not presently understand the quality of my
keeper, but I found him a genteel courteous man, by
trade a linen-draper ; and, as I afterwards under-
stood, he was City Marshal, had a command in the
county troop, and was a person of good repute in the
place : his name was Galloway.
96 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
Whether I was committed to him out of regard to
my father, that I might not be thrust into a common
gaol, or out of a politic design to keep me from the
conversation of my friends, in hopes that I might be
drawn to abandon this profession, which I had but
lately taken up, I do not know. But this I know,
that though I wanted no civil treatment nor, kind
accommodations where I was, yet after once I under-
stood that many Friends were prisoners in the castle,
and amongst the rest Thomas Loe, I had much rather
have been among them there, with all the incon-
veniences they underwent, than where I was with the
best entertainment. But this was my present lot, and
therefore with this I endeavoured to be content.
It was quickly known in the city that a Quaker
was brought in prisoner, and committed to the
Marshal. Whereupon (the men Friends being gene-
rally prisoners already in the castle) some of the
women Friends came to me to inquire after me, and
to visit me ; as Silas Norton's wife, and Thomas
Loe's wife, who were sisters, and another woman
Friend, who lived in the same street where I was,
whose husband was not a Quaker, but kindly affected
towards them, a baker by trade, and his name, as I
remember, Ryland.
By some of these an account was soon given to the
Friends who were prisoners in the castle of my being
taken up and brought prisoner to the Marshal's;
WRITTEN & Y HIMSELF. 97
whereupon it pleased the Lord to move on the heart
of my dear friend Thomas Loe to salute me with a
tender and affectionate letter in the following terms :
" MY BELOVED FRIEND,
" In the truth and love of the Lord Jesus, by which
life and salvation is revealed in the saints, is my dear
love unto thee, and in much tenderness do I salute
thee. And, dear heart, a time of trial God hath per-
mitted to come upon us, to try our faith and love to
Him ; and this will work for the good of them that
through patience endure to the end. And I believe
God will be glorified through our sufferings, and His
name will be exalted in the patience and long-suffer-
ing of His chosen. When I heard that thou wast
called into this trial, with the servants of the Most
High, to give thy testimony to the truth of what we
have believed, it came into my heart to write unto thee,
and to greet thee with the embraces of the power of
an endless life, where our faith stands, and unity is
felt with the saints for ever. Well, my dear friend,
let us live in the pure counsel of the Lord, and dwell
in His strength, which gives us power and sufficiency
to endure all things for His name's sake ; and then
our crown and reward will be with the Lord for ever,
and the blessings of His heavenly kingdom will be
our portion. Oh dear heart, let us give up all freely
into the will of God, that God may be glorified by
D
98 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
us, and we comforted together in the Lord Jesus ;
which is the desire of my soul, who am thy dear and
loving friend in the eternal truth,
"THOMAS LOE.
" We are more than forty here, who suffer inno-
cently for the testimony of a good conscience, because
we cannot swear, and break Christ's commands ; and
we are all well, and the blessing and presence of God
is with us. Friends here salute thee. Farewell !
The power and the wisdom of the Lord God be with
thee. Amen."
Greatly was my spirit refreshed and my heart
gladdened, at the reading of this consoling letter from
my friend ; and my soul blessed the Lord for His love
and tender goodness to me in moving His servant to
write thus unto me.
But I had cause soon after to double and redouble
my thankful acknowledgment to the Lord my God,
who put it into the heart of my dear friend Isaac
Penington also to visit me with some encouraging
lines from Aylesbury Gaol, where he was then a pri-
soner; and from whence (having heard that I was
carried prisoner to Oxford) he thus saluted me :
" DEAR THOMAS,
" Great hath been the Lord's goodness to thee in
calling thee out of that path of vanity and death
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 99
wherein thou wast running towards destruction ; to
give thee a living name, and an inheritance of life
among His people ; which certainly will be the end of
thy faith in Him and obedience to Him. And let
it not be a light thing in thine eyes that He now
accounteth thee worthy to suffer among His choice
lambs, that He might make thy crown weightier and
thy inheritance the fuller. Oh that that eye and heart
may be kept open in thee which knoweth the value
of these things, and that thou mayst be kept close
to the feelings of the life, that thou mayst be fresh in
thy spirit in the midst of thy sufferings, and mayst
reap the benefit of them ; finding that pared off
thereby which hindereth the bubblings of the ever-
lasting springs, and maketh unfit for the breaking
forth and enjoyment of the pure power ! This is the
brief salutation of my dear love to thee, which desireth
thy strength and settlement in the power, and the
utter weakening of thee as to self. My dear love is
to thee, with dear Thomas Goodyare and the rest of
imprisoned Friends.
" I remain thine in the truth, to which the Lord
my God preserve thee single and faithful.
" I. PENINGTON.
" From Aylesbury Gaol,
the i4th of the I2th month, 1660."
Though these epistolary visits in the love of God
were very comfortable and confirming to me, and my
D 3.
ioo HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
heart was thankful to the Lord for them, yet I longed
after personal conversation with Friends, and it was
hard, I thought, that there should be so many faithful
servants of God so near me, yet I should not be per-
mitted to come at them, to enjoy their company, and
reap both the pleasure and benefit of their sweet
society.
For although my Marshal-keeper was very kind to
me, and allowed me the liberty of his house, yet he
was not willing I should be seen abroad ; the rather,
perhaps, because he understood I had been pretty
well known in that city. Yet once the friendly baker
got him to let me step over to his house, and once
(and but once) I prevailed with him to let me visit
my friends in the castle ; but it was with these con-
ditions, that I should not go forth till it was dark,
that I would muffle myself up in my cloak, and that
I would not stay out late : all which I punctually
observed.
When I came thither, though there were many
Friends prisoners, I scarce knew one of them by face,
except Thomas Loe, whom I had once seen at Isaac
Penington's ; nor did any of them know me, though
they had generally heard that such a young man as
I was convinced of the truth, and come among Friends.
Our salutation to each other was very grave and
solemn, nor did we entertain one another with much
talk, or with common discourses ; but most of the
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 101
little time I had with them was spent in a silent
retiredness of spirit, waiting upon the Lord. Yet be-
fore we parted we imparted one to another some of
the exercises we had gone through ; and they seeming
willing to understand the ground and manner of my
commitment, I gave them a brief account thereof,
letting Thomas Loe more particularly know that I
had directed a letter to him, which having fallen into
the hand of the Lord Lieutenant, was (so far as I
could learn) the immediate cause of my being taken
up-
Having stayed with them as long as my limited time
would permit (which I thought was but very short),
that I might keep touch with my keeper and come
home in due time, I took leave of my friends there,
and with mutual embraces parting, returned to my
(in some sense more easy, but in others less easy)
prison, where after this I stayed not long before I was
brought back to my father's house.
For after my father was come home, who, as I ob-
served before, was from home when I was taken, he
applied himself to those justices that had committed
me, and not having disobliged them when he was in
office, easily obtained to have me sent home, which
between him and them was thus contrived.
There was about this time a general muster and
training of the militia forces at Oxford, whither on
that occasion came the Lord Lieutenant and deputy-
102 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
lieutenants of the county, of which number they who
committed me were two.
When they had been awhile together, and the
Marshal with them, he stepped suddenly in, and in
haste told me I must get ready quickly to go out of
town, and that a soldier would come by and bye to go
with me. This said, he hastened to them again, not
giving me any intimation how I was to go, or whither.
I needed not much time to get ready in ; but I was
uneasy in thinking what the Friends of the town would
think of this my sudden and private removal ; and I
feared lest any report should be raised that I had
purchased my liberty by an unfaithful compliance.
"Wherefore I was in care how to speak with some
Friends about it ; and that friendly baker, whose wife
was a Friend, living on the other side of the street at
a little distance, I went out at a back door, intending
to step over the way to their house, and return imme-
diately.
It so fell out that some of the lieutenants (of
whom Esquire Clark, who committed me, was one)
were standing in the balcony at a great inn or tavern,
just over the place where I was to go by; and he
spying me, called out to the soldiers, who stood thick
in the street, to stop me. They being generally
gentlemen's servants, and many of them knowing me,
did civilly forbear to lay hold on me, but calling
modestly after me, said, " Stay, sir, stay ; pray come
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 103
back." I heard, but was not willing to hear, there-
fore rather mended my pace, that I might have got
within the door. But he calling earnestly after me,
and charging them to stop me, some of them were
fain to run, and laying hold on me before I could
open the door, brought me back to my place again.
Being thus disappointed, I took a pen and ink, and
wrote a few lines, which I sealed up, and gave to the
apprentice in the shop, who had carried himself hand-
somely towards me, and desired him to deliver it to
that Friend who was their neighbour, which he pro-
mised to do.
By the time I had done this came the soldier that
was appointed to conduct me out of town. I knew
the man, for he lived within a mile of me, being,
through poverty, reduced to keep an ale-house ; but
he had lived in better fashion, having kept an inn at
Thame, and by that means knew how to behave him-
self civilly, and did so to me.
He told me he was ordered to wait on me to
Wheatley, and to tarry there at such an inn, until
Esquire Clark came thither, who would then take me
home with him in his coach. Accordingly to Wheat-
ley we walked (which is from Oxford some four or
five miles), and long we had not been there before
Clark and a great company of men came in.
He alighted, and stayed awhile to eat and drink
(though he came but from Oxford), and invited me to
104 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
eat with him ; but I, though I had need enough,
refused it ; for indeed their conversation was a burthen
to my life, and made me often think of and pity
good Lot.
He seemed, at that time, to be in a sort of mixed
temper, between pleasantness and sourness. He
would sometimes joke (which was natural to him),
and cast out a jesting flirt at me ; but he would rail
maliciously against the Quakers. " If," said he to
me, " the King would authorise me to do it, I would
not leave a Quaker alive in England, except you. I
would make no more," added he, " to set my pistol to
their ears and shoot them through the head, than I
would to kill a dog." I told him I was sorry he had
so ill an opinion of the Quakers, but I was glad he
had no cause for it, and I hoped he would be of a
better mind.
I had in my hand a little walking-stick with a head
on it, which he commended, and took out of my
hand to look at it ; but I saw his intention was to
search it, whether it had a tuck in it, for he tried to
have drawn the head ; but when he found it was fast
he returned it to me.
He told me I should ride with him to his house in
his coach, which was nothing pleasant to me ; for I
had rather have gone on foot (as bad as the ways
were), that I might have been out of his company.
Wherefore I took no notice of any kindness in the
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 105
offer, but only answered I was at his disposal, not
mine own.
But when we were ready to go the Marshal came
to me, and told me if I pleased I should ride his horse,
and he would go in the coach with Mr. Clark. I was
glad of the offer, and only told him he should take
out his pistols then, for I would not ride with them.
He took them out, and laid them in the coach by
him, and away we went.
It was a very fine beast that I was set on, by much
the best in the company. But though she was very
tall, yet the ways being very foul, I found it needful,
as soon as I was out of town, to alight and take up
the stirrups. Meanwhile, they driving hard on,
I was so far behind, that being at length missed
by the company, a soldier was sent back to look
after me.
As soon as I had fitted my stirrups and was
remounted I gave the rein to my mare, which
being courageous and nimble, and impatient of
delay, made great speed to recover the company ;
and in a narrow passage the soldier, who was my
barber, that had fetched me from home, and I
met upon so brisk a gallop that we had enough to
do on either side to pull up our horses and avoid
a brush.
When we were come to Weston, where Esquire
Clark lived, he took the Marshal and some others
io6 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
with him into the parlour; but I was left in the
hall, to be exposed a second time for the family to
gaze on.
At length himself came out to me, leading in his
hand a beloved daughter of his, a young woman of
about eighteen years of age, who wanted nothing to
have made her comely but gravity. An airy piece
she was, and very merry she made herself at me. And
when they had made themselves as much sport with
me as they would, the Marshal took his leave of them,
and mounting me on a horse of Clark's had me home
to my father's that night.
Next morning, before the Marshal went away, my
father and he consulted together how to entangle me.
I felt there were snares laid, but I did not know in
what manner or to what end till the Marshal was
ready to go. And then, coming where I was to take
his leave of me, he desired me to take notice, that
although he had brought me home to my father's
house again, yet I was not discharged from my impri-
sonment, but was his prisoner still ; and that he had
committed me to the care of my father, to see me
forthcoming whenever I should be called for. And
therefore he expected I should in all things observe
my father's orders, and not go out at any time from
the house without his leave.
Now I plainly saw the snare, and to what end it
was laid ; and I asked him if this device was not con-
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. \ 07
trived to keep me from going to meetings ; he said I
must not go to meetings. Whereupon I desired him
to take notice that I would not own myself a prisoner
to any man while I continued here ; that if he had
power to detain me prisoner, he might take me back
again with him if he would, and I should not refuse to
go with him. But I bade him assure himself, that while
I was at home I would take my liberty both to go
to meetings and to visit Friends. He smiled, and said
if I would be resolute he could not help it ; and so
took his leave of me.
By this I perceived that the plot was of my father's
laying, to have brought me under such an engagement
as should have tied me from going to meetings ; and
thereupon I expected I should have a new exercise
from my father.
It was the constant manner of my father to have all
the keys of the out-doors of his house (which were
four, and those linked upon a chain) brought up into
his chamber every night, and fetched out from thence
in the morning; so that none could come in or go
out in the night without his knowledge.
I knowing this, suspected that if I got not out
before my father came down I should be stopped
from going out at all that day. Wherefore (the pas-
sage from my chamber lying by his chamber door) I
went down softly without my shoes, and as soon as
the maid had opened the door I went out (though too
io8 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
early), and walked towards the meeting at Meadle,
four long miles off.
I expected to have been talked with about it when
I came home, but heard nothing of it, my father re-
solving to watch me better next time.
This I was aware of; and therefore on the next
first day I got up early, went down softly, and
hid myself in a back room before the maid was
stirring.
When she was up she went into my father's
chamber for the keys ; but he bade her leave them till
he was up, and he would bring them down himself;
which he did, and tarried in the kitchen, through
which he expected I would go.
The manner was, that when the common doors
were opened the keys were hung upon a pin in the
hall. While therefore my father stayed in the kitchen
expecting my coming, I, stepping gently out of the
room where I was, reached the keys, and opening
another door, not often used, slipped out, and so
got away.
I thought I had gone off undiscovered ; but
whether my father saw me through the window, or
by what means he knew of my going, I know not ;
but I had gone but a little way before I saw him
coming after me.
The sight of him put me to a stand in my mind
whether I should go on or stop. Had it been in any
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 109
other case than that of going to a meeting I could
not in any wise have gone a step farther. But I con-
sidered that the intent of my father's endeavouring to
stop me was to hinder me from obeying the call of
my heavenly Father, and to stop me from going to
worship Him in the assembly of His people ; upon
this I found it my duty to go on, and observing that
my father gained ground upon me, I somewhat
mended my pace.
This he observing, mended his pace also, and at
length ran. Whereupon I ran also, and a fair course
we had through a large meadow of his which lay
behind his house and out of sight of the town. He
was not, I suppose, then above fifty years of age, and
being ligkt of body and nimble of foot, he held me
to it for a while. But afterwards slacking his pace to
take breath, and observing that I had gotten ground
of him, he turned back aud went home ; and, as I
afterwards understood, telling my sisters how I had
served him, he said, "Nay, if he will take so much
pains to go, let him go if he will." And from that
time forward he never attempted to stop me, but left
me to my liberty, to go when and whither I would ;
yet kept me at the usual distance, avoiding the sight
of me as much as he could, as not able to bear the
sight of my hat on, nor willing to contend with me
again about it.
Nor was it long after this before I was left not only
no HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
to myself, but in a manner by myself; for the time
appointed for the coronation of the King (which was
the 23rd of the second month, called April) drawing
on, my father, taking my two sisters with him, went
up to London some time before, that they might be
there in readiness, and put themselves into a condi-
tion to see so great a solemnity, leaving nobody in
the house but myself and a couple of servants. And
though this was intended only for a visit on that
occasion, yet it proved the breaking of the family ;
for he bestowed both his daughters there in marriage,
and took lodgings for himself, so that afterwards they
never returned to settle at Crowell.
Being now at liberty, I walked over to Aylesbury,
with some other Friends, to visit my dear friend Isaac
Penington, who was still a prisoner there. With him
I found dear John Whitehead, and between sixty and
seventy more, being well nigh all the men Friends that
were then in the county of Bucks ; many of them
were taken out of their houses by armed men, and
sent to prison., as I had been, for refusing to swear.
Most of these were thrust into an old room behind
the gaol, which had anciently been a malt-house, but
was now so decayed that it was scarce fit for a dog-
house ; and so open it lay, that the prisoners might
have gone out at pleasure. But these were purposely
put there, in confidence that they would not go out,
that there might be room in the prison for others, of
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 1 1
other professions and names, whom the gaoler did not
trust there.
While this imprisonment lasted, which was for some
months, I went afterwards thither sometimes to visit
my suffering brethren ; and because it was a pretty
long way (some eight or nine miles), too far to be
walked forward and backward in one day, I some-
times stayed a day or two there, and lay in the malt'
house among my friends, with whom I delighted
to be.
After this imprisonment was over, I went some-
times to Isaac Penington's house at Chalfont, to visit
that family, and the Friends thereabouts. There was
then a meeting for the most part twice a week in his
house ; but one first-day in four there was a more
general meeting (which was thence called the monthly
meeting) to which resorted most of the Friends of
other adjacent meetings ; and to that I usually went,
and sometimes made some stay there.
Here I came acquainted with a friend of London,
whose name was Richard Greenaway, by trade a
tailor, a very honest man, and one who had received
a gift for the ministry.
He having been formerly in other professions of
religion, had then been acquainted with one John
Ovy, of Watlington, in Oxfordshire, a man of some
note among the professors there, and understanding
upon inquiry that I knew him, he had some discourse
112 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
with me about him ; the result whereof was, that he,
having an intention then shortly to visit some meet-
ings of Friends in this county and the adjoining parts
of Oxfordshire and Berkshire, invited me to meet him
(upon notice given), and to bear him company in that
journey ; and in the way bring him to John Ovy's
house, with whom I was well acquainted ; which I
did.
We were kindly received, the man and his wife
being very glad to see both their old friend Richard
Greenaway and me also, whom they had been very
well acquainted with formerly, but had never seen me
since I was a Quaker.
Here we tarried that night, and in the evening had
a little meeting there with some few of John Ovy's
people, amongst whom Richard Greenaway declared
the truth ; which they attentively heard, and did not
oppose, which at that time of day we reckoned was
pretty well, for many were apt to cavil.
This visit gave John Ovy an opportunity to inquire
of me after Isaac Penington, whose writings (those
which he had written before he came among Friends)
he had read, and had a great esteem of, and he ex-
pressed a desire to see him, that he might have some
discourse with him, if he knew how. Whereupon I
told him that if he would take the pains to go to his
house I would bear him company thither, introduce
him, and engage he should have a kind reception.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 1 3
This pleased him much ; and he embracing the
offer, I undertook to give him notice of a suitable
time, which after I had gone this little journey with
my friend Richard Greenaway and was returned, I
did, making choice of the monthly meeting to go to.
We met by appointment at Stoken Church, with
our staves in our hands, like a couple of pilgrims,
intending to walk on foot ; and having taken some
refreshment and rest at Wycombe, went on cheerfully
in the afternoon, entertaining each other with grave
and religious discourse, which made the walk the
easier, and so reached thither in good time, on the
seventh day of the week.
I gave my friends an account who this person was
whom I had brought to visit them, and the ground of
his visit. He had been a professor of religion from
his childhood to his old age (for he was now both
grey-headed and elderly), and was a teacher at this
time, and had long been so amongst a people, whether
Independents or Baptists I do not well remember.
And so well thought of he was, for his zeal and
honesty, that in those late professing times he was
thrust into the Commission of the Peace, and thereby
lifted up on the Bench ; which neither became him
nor he it, for he wanted indeed most of the qualifica-
tions requisite for a Justice of the Peace : an estate to
defray the charge of the office and to bear him up in
a course of living above contempt ; a competent
114 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
knowledge in the laws, and a presence of mind or body,
or both, to keep offenders in some awe ; in all which
he was deficient ; for he was but a fellmonger by
trade, accustomed to ride upon his pack of skins, and
had very little estate, as little knowledge of the law,
and of but a mean presence and appearance to look
on. But as my father, I suppose, was the means of
getting him put into the Commission, so he, I know,
did what he could to countenance him in it, and help
him through it at every turn, till that turn came (at
the King's return) which turned them both out to-
gether.
My friends received me in affectionate kindness,
and my companion with courteous civility. The
evening was spent in common but grave conversation ;
for it was not a proper season for private discourse, both
as we were somewhat weary with our walk, and there
were other companies of Friends come into the family,
to be at the meeting next day.
But in the morning I took John Ovy into a private
walk, in a pleasant grove near the house, whither
Isaac Penington came to us ; and there in discourse
both answered all his questions, objections, and doubts,
and opened to him the principles of truth, to his
both admiration and present satisfaction. Which
done, we went in to take some refreshment before the
meeting began.
Of those Friends who were come overnight in
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 1 5
order to be at the meeting, there was Isaac's brother,
William Penington, a merchant of London, and
with him a Friend (whose name I have forgotten), a
grocer of Colchester, in Essex ; and there was also
our friend George Whitehead, whom I had not, that
I remember, seen before.
The nation had been in a ferment ever since that
mad action of the frantic fifth-monarchy men, and
was not yet settled ; but storms, like thunder-showers,
flew here and there by coast, so that we could not
promise ourselves any safety or quiet in our meetings.
And though they had escaped disturbance for some
little time before, yet so it fell out that a party of
horse were appointed to come and break up the meet-
ing that day, though we knew nothing of it till we
heard and saw them.
The meeting was scarce fully gathered when they
came ; but we that were in the family, and many
others, were settled in it in great peace and stillness,
when on a sudden the prancing of the horses gave
notice that a disturbance was at hand.
We all sat still in our places, except my companion
John Ovy, who sat next to me. But he being of a
profession that approved Peter's advice to his Lord,
" to save himself/' soon took the alarm, and with the
nimbleness of a stripling, cutting a caper over the
form that stood before him, ran quickly out at a pri-
vate door, which he had before observed, which led
1 16 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
through the parlour into the gardens, and from thence
into an orchard ; where he hid himself in a place so
obscure, and withal so convenient for his intelligence
by observation of what passed, that no one of the
family could scarce have found a likelier.
By the time he was got into his burrow came the
soldiers in, being a party of the county troop, com-
manded by Matthew Archdale of Wycombe. He
behaved himself civilly, and said he was commanded
to break up the meeting, and carry the men before a
justice of the peace ; but he said he would not take
all ; and thereupon began to pick and choose, chiefly
as his eye guided him, for I suppose he knew very
few.
He took Isaac Penington and his brother, George
Whitehead, and the Friend of Colchester, and me,
with three or four more of the county, who belonged
to that meeting.
He was not fond of the work, and that made him
take no more ; but he must take some, he said, and
bade us provide to go with him before Sir William
Boyer of Denham, who was a justice of the peace.
Isaac Penington being but weakly, rode, but the rest
of us walked thither, it being about four miles.
When we came there the Justice carried himself
civilly to us all, courteously to Isaac Penington as
being a gentleman of his neighbourhood ; and there
was nothing charged against us but that we were
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 1 7
met together without word or deed. Yet this being
contrary to a late proclamation, given forth upon the
rising of the fifth-monarchy men, whereby all dissen-
ters' meetings were forbidden, the Justice could do no
less than take notice of us.
Wherefore he examined all of us whom he did
not personally know, asking our names and the
places of our respective habitations. But when he
had them, and considered from what distant parts of
the nation we came, he was amazed ; for George
Whitehead was of Westmoreland, in the north of
England ; the grocer was of Essex ; I was of Oxford-
shire ; and William Penington was of London.
Hereupon he told us that our case looked ill, and
he was sorry for it : " for how," said he, " can it be
imagined that so many could jump altogether at one
time and place, from such remote quarters and parts
of the kingdom, if it was not by combination and
appointment ? "
He was answered that we were so far from coming
thither by agreement or appointment, that none of us
knew of the others' coming, and for the most of us,
we had never seen one another before ; and that
therefore he might impute it to chance, or, if he
pleased, to Providence.
He urged upon us that an insurrection had been
lately made by armed men, who pretended to be more
religious than others ; that that insurrection had been
1 1 8 HIS TOR Y OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
plotted and contrived in their meeting-house, where
they assembled under colour of worshipping God ;
that in their meeting-house they hid their arms, and
armed themselves, and out of their meeting-house
issued forth in arms, and killed many ; so that the
government could not be safe unless such meetings
were suppressed.
We replied, we hoped he would distinguish and
make a difference between the guilty and the inno-
cent, and between those who were principled for
fighting and those who were principled against it,
which we were, and had been always known to be so ;
that our meetings were public, our doors standing
open to all comers, of all ages, sexes, and persuasions,
men, women, and children, and those that were not of
our religion, as well as those that were ; and that it was
next to madness for people to plot in such meetings.
He told us we must find sureties for our good
behaviour, and to answer our contempt of the King's
proclamation at the next general Quarter Sessions,
or else he must commit us.
We told him that, knowing our innocency and that
we -had not misbehaved ourselves, nor did meet in
contempt of the King's authority, but purely in
obedience to the Lord's requirings to worship Him,
which we held ourselves in duty bound to do, we
could not consent to be bound, for that would imply
guilt which we were free from.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 119
"Then," said he, "I must commit you;" and or-
dered his clerk to make a mittimus. And divers
mittimuses were made, but none of them would
hold ; for still, when they came to be read, we found
such flaws in them as made him throw them aside,
and write more.
He had his eye often upon me, for I was a young
man, and had at that time a black suit on. At length
he bid me follow him, and went into a private room
and shut the door upon me.
I knew not what he meant by this ; but I cried in
spirit to the Lord, that he would be pleased to be a
mouth and wisdom to me, and keep me from being
entangled in any snare.
He asked me many questions concerning my birth,
my education, rny acquaintance in Oxfordshire, par-
ticularly what men of note I knew there ; to all
which I gave him brief but plain and true answers,
naming several families of the best rank in that part
of the county where I dwelt.
He asked me how long I had been of this way,
and how I came to be of it. Which when I had
given him some account of, he began to persuade me
to leave it, and return to the right way the Church,
as he called it. I desired him to spare his pains in
that respect, and forbear any discourse of that kind,
for that I was fully satisfied the way I was in was the
right way, and hoped the Lord would so preserve me
120 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
in it that nothing should be able to draw or drive me
out of it. He seemed not pleased with that, and
thereupon went out to the rest of the company, and I
followed him, glad in my heart that I had escaped so
well, and praising God for my deliverance.
When he had taken his seat again at the upper
end of a fair hall, he told us he was not willing to take
the utmost rigour of the law against us, but would be
as favourable to us as he could. And therefore he
would discharge, he said, Mr. Penington himself, be-
cause he was but at home in his own house. And he
would discharge Mr. Penington of London, because
he came but as a relation to visit his brother. And
he would discharge the grocer of Colchester, because
he came to bear Mr. Penington of London company,
and to be acquainted with Mr. Isaac Penington,
whom he had never seen before. And as for those
others of us who were of this county, he would dis-
charge them, for the present at least, because they
being his neighbours, he could send for them when he
would. " But as for you," said he to George White-
head and me, " I can see no business you had there,
and therefore I intend to hold you to it, either to
give bail or go to gaol."
We told him we could not give bail. " Then/'
said he, " you must go to gaol ; " and thereupon he
began to write our mittimus, ; which puzzled him
again ; for he had discharged so many, that he was
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF". 1 2 1
at a loss what to lay as the ground of our commit-
ment, whose case differed nothing in reality from
theirs whom he had discharged.
At length, having made divers draughts (which still
George Whitehead showed him the defects of), he
seemed to be weary of us ; and rising up said unto
us : " I consider that it is grown late in the day, so
that the officer cannot carry you to Aylesbury to-
night, and I suppose you will be willing to go back
with Mr. Penington ; therefore if you will promise to
be forthcoming at his house to-morrow morning, I
will dismiss you for the present, and you shall hear
from me again to-morrow."
We told him we did intend, if he did not otherwise
dispose of us, to spend that night with our friend
Isaac Penington, and would, if the Lord gave us
leave, be there in the morning, ready to answer his
requirings. Whereupon he dismissed us all, willing,
as we thought, to be rid of us ; for he seemed not to
be of an ill temper, nor desirous to put us to trouble,
if he could help it.
Back then we went to Isaac Penington's. But
when we were come thither, oh the work we had with
poor John Ovy ! He was so dejected in mind, so
covered with shame and confusion of face for his
cowardliness, that we had enough to do to pacify him
towards himself.
The place he had found out to shelter himself in
122 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
was so commodiously contrived, that undiscovered he
could discern when the soldiers went off with us, and
understand when the bustle was over and the coast
clear. Whereupon he adventured to peep out of his
hole, and in a while drew near by degrees to the
house again ; and rinding all things quiet and still, he
adventured to step within the doors, and found the
Friends who were left behind peaceably settled in the
meeting again.
The sight of this smote him, and made him sit
down among them. And after the meeting was ended,
and the Friends departed to their several homes, ad-
dressing himself to Mary Penington, as the mistress
of the house) he could not enough magnify the bravery
and courage of the Friends, nor sufficiently debase
himself. He told her how long he had been a pro-
fessor, what pains he had taken, what hazards he had
run, in his youthful days, to get to meetings ; how,
when the ways were forelaid and passages stopped,
he swam through rivers to reach a meeting ; and now,
said he, that I am grown old in the profession of reli-
gion, and have long been an instructor and encourager
of others, that I should thus shamefully fall short
myself, is matter of shame and sorrow to me.
Thus he bewailed himself to her. And when we
came back he renewed his complaints of himself to
us, with high aggravations of his own cowardice ;
which gave occasion to some of the Friends tenderly
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 23
to represent to him the difference between profession
and possession, form and power.
He was glad, he said, on our behalfs, that we came
off so well, and escaped imprisonment.
But when he understood that George Whitehead
and I were liable to an after-reckoning next morning,
he was troubled, and wished the morning was come
and gone, that we might be gone with it.
We spent the evening in grave conversation and in
religious discourses, attributing the deliverance we
hitherto had to the Lord. And the next morning,
when we were up and had eaten, we tarried some
time to see what the Justice would do further with us,
and to discharge our engagement to him ; the rest of
the Friends, who were before fully discharged, tarrying
also with us to see the event.
And when we had stayed so long that on all hands
it was concluded we might safely go, George White-
head aud I left a few words in writing to be sent to
the Justice if he sent after us, importing that we had
tarried till such an hour, and not hearing from him,
did now hold ourselves free to depart, yet so as that
if he should have occasion to send for us again, upon
notice thereof we would return.
This done, we took our leave of the family and one
of another ; they who were for London taking horse,
and I and my companions, setting forth on foot for
Oxfordshire, went to Wycombe, where we made a
1 24 HIS TOR Y OF THOMA S ELL WO OD.
short stay to rest and refresh ourselves, and from
thence reached our respective homes that night.
After I had spent some time at home, where, as I
had no restraint, so (my sisters being gone) I had
now no society, I walked up to Chalfont again, and
spent a few days with my friends there.
As soon as I came in I was told that my father
had been there that day to see Isaac Penington and
his wife, but they being abroad at a meeting, he re-
turned to his inn in the town, where he intended to
lodge that night. After supper Mary Penington told
me she had a mind to go and see him at his inn (the
woman of the house being a friend of ours), and I
went with her. He seemed somewhat surprised to
see me there, because he thought I had been at home
at his house ; but he took no notice of my hat at
least showed no offence at it, for, as I afterwards
understood, he had now an intention to sell his estate,
and thought he should need my concurrence therein,
which made him now hold it necessary to admit me
again into some degree of favour. After we had
tarried some little time with him, she rising up to be
gone, he waited on her home, and having spent about
an hour with us in the family, I waited on him back
to his inn. On the way he invited me to come up to
London to see my sisters, the younger of whom was
then newly married, and directed me where to find
them, and also gave me money to defray my charges.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 2 5
Accordingly I went ; yet stayed not long there, but
returned to my friend Isaac Penington's, where I
made a little stay, and from thence went back to
Crowell.
When I was ready to set forth, my friend Isaac
Penington was so kind to send a servant with a brac^
of geldings to carry me as far as I thought fit to ride,
and to bring the horses back. I, intending to go no
farther that day than to Wycombe, rode no farther
than to Beaconsfield town's end, having then but five
miles to walk. But here a new exercise befell me,
the manner of which was thus :
Before I had walked to the middle of the town I
was stopped and taken up by the watch. I asked
the watchman what authority he had to stop me,
travelling peacefully on the highway : he told me he
would show me his authority, and in order thereunto,
had me into a house hard by, where dwelt a scrivener
whose name was Pepys. To him he gave the order
which he had received from the constables, which
directed him to take up all rogues, vagabonds, and
sturdy beggars. I asked him for which of these he
stopped me, but he could not answer me.
I thereupon informed him what a rogue in law is,
viz., one who for some notorious offence was burnt
on the shoulder ; and I told them they might search
me if they pleased, and see if I was so branded. A
vagabond, I told them, was one that had no dwelling-
126 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
house nor certain place of abode ; but I had, and was
going to it, and I told them where it was. And for
a beggar, I bade them bring any one that could say I
had begged or asked relief.
This stopped the fellow's mouth, yet he would not
let me go ; but, being both weak-headed and strong-
willed, he left me there with the scrivener, and went
out to seek the constable, and having found him,
brought him thither. He was a young man, by trade
a tanner, somewhat better mannered than his wards-
man, but not of much better judgment.
He took me with him to his house, and having
settled me there, went out to take advice, as I sup-
posed, what to do with me ; leaving nobody in the
house to guard me but his wife, who had a young
child in her arms.
She inquired of me upon what account I was taken
up, and seeming to have some pity for me, endea-
voured to persuade me not to stay, but to go my way,
offering to show me a back way from their house
which would bring me into the road again beyond
the town, so that none of the town should see me or
know what was become of me. But I told her I
could not do so.
Then having sat awhile in a muse, she asked me if
there was not a place of Scripture which said Peter
was at a tanner's house. I told her there was such a
Scripture, and directed her where to find it.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 27
After some time she laid her child to sleep in the
cradle, and stepped out on a sudden, but came not
in again for a pretty while.
I was uneasy that I was left alone in the house,
fearing lest if anything should be missing I might be
suspected to have taken it ; yet I durst not go out to
stand in the street, lest it should be thought I intended
to slip away.
But besides that, I soon found work to employ
myself in ; for the child quickly waking, fell to crying,
and I was fain to rock the cradle in my own defence,
that I might not be annoyed with a noise, to me not
more unpleasant than unusual. At length the woman
came in again, and finding me nursing the child, gave
me many thanks, and seemed well pleased with my
company.
When night came on, the constable himself came
in again, and told me some of the chief of the town
were met together to consider what was fit to do with
me, and that I must go with him to them. I went,
and he brought me to a little nasty hut, which
they called a town-house (adjoining to their market-
house), in which dwelt a poor old woman whom
they called Mother Grime, where also the watch
used by turns to come in and warm themselves in
the night.
When I came in among them they looked, some of
them, somewhat sourly on me, and asked me some
128 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
impertinent questions, to which I gave them suitable
answers.
Then they consulted one with another how they
should dispose of me that night, till they could have
me before some justice of peace to be examined.
Some proposed that I should be had to some inn,
or other public-house, and a guard set on me there.
He that started this was probably an innkeeper, and
consulted his own interest. Others objected against
this, that it would bring a charge on the town, to
avoid which they were for having the watch take
charge of me, and keep me walking about the streets
with them till morning. Most voices seemed to
go this way, till a third wished them to consider
whether they could answer the doing of that, and the
law would bear them out in it : and this put them to
a stand. I heard all their debates, but let them
alone, and kept my mind to the Lord.
While they thus bandied the matter to and fro,
one of the company asked the rest if any of them
knew who this young man was, and whither he was
going ; whereupon the constable (to whom I had
given both my name and the name of the town where
I dwelt, told them my name was Ellwood, and that
I lived at a town called Crowell, in Oxfordshire.
Old Mother Grime, sitting by and hearing this,
clapped her hand on her knee, and cried out : " I know
Mr. Ellwood of Crowell very well ; for when I was
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. \ 29
a maid I lived with his grandfather there when he
was a young man." And thereupon she gave them
such an account of my father as made them look
more regardfully on me ; and so Mother Grime's
testimony turned the scale, and took me off from
walking the rounds with the watch that night.
The constable hereupon bade them take no further
care, I should lie at his house that night ; and accord-
ingly took me home with him, where I had as good
accommodation as the house did afford. Before I
went to bed he told me that there was to be a visita-
tion, or Spiritual Court, as he called it, holden next
day at Amersham, about four miles from Beaconsfield,
and that I was to be carried thither.
This was a new thing to me, and it brought a fresh
exercise upon my mind. But being given up in the
will of God to suffer what he should permit to be
laid on me, I endeavoured to keep my mind quiet
and still.
In the morning, as soon as I was up, my spirit was
exercised towards the Lord in strong cries to him,
that he would stand by me and preserve me, and not
suffer me to be taken in the snare of the wicked.
While I was thus crying to the Lord the other con-
stable came, and I was called down.
This was a budge fellow, and talked high. He
was a shoemaker by trade, and his name was Clark.
He threatened me with the Spiritual Court. But
E
130 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
when he saw I did not regard it, he stopped, and left
the matter to his partner, who pretended more kind-
ness for me, and therefore went about to persuade
Clark to let me go out at the back-door, so slip away.
The plot, I suppose, was so laid that Clark should
seem averse, but at length yield, which he did, but
would have me take it for a favour. But I was so
far from taking it so, that I would not take it at all,
but told them plainly, that as I came in at the fore-
door, so I would go out at the fore- door. When
therefore they saw they could not bow me to their
will, they brought me out at the fore-door into the
street, and wished me a good journey. Yet before I
went, calling for the woman of the house, I paid her
for my supper and lodging, for I had now got a little
money in my pocket again.
After this I got home, as I thought, very well, but
I had not been long at home before an illness seized
on me, which proved to be the small-pox ; of which,
so soon as Friends had notice, I had a nurse sent me,
and in a while Isaac Penington and his wife's daughter,
Gulielma Maria Springett, to whom I had been play-
fellow in our infancy, came to visit me, bringing with
them our dear friend Edward Burrough, by whose
ministry I was called to the knowledge of the truth.
It pleased the Lord to deal favourably with me in
this illness, both inwardly and outwardly ; for His
supporting presence was with me, which kept my
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 3 1
spirit near unto Him ; and though the distemper was
strong upon me, yet I was preserved through it, and
my countenance was not much altered by it. But
after I was got up again, and while I kept my chamber,
wanting some employment for entertainment's sake
to spend the time with, and there being at hand a
pretty good library of books, amongst which were
the works of Augustine and others of those ancient
writers who were by many called the fathers, I
betook myself to reading. And these books being
printed in the old black letter, with abbreviations of
the words difficult to be read, I spent too much time
therein, and thereby much impaired my sight, which
was not strong before, and was now weaker than
usual by reason of the illness I had so newly had,
which proved an injury to me afterwards, for which
reason I here mention it.
After I was well enough to go abroad with respect
to my own health and the safety of others, I went up,
in the beginning of the twelfth month, 1661, to my
friend Isaac Penington's at Chalfont, and abode there
some time, for the airing myself more fully, that I
might be more fit for conversation.
I mentioned before, that when I was a boy I had
made some good progress in learning, and lost it all
again before I came to be a man ; nor was I rightly
sensible of my loss therein until I came amongst the
Quakers. But then I both saw my loss and lamented
E 2
1 3 2 HIS TOR Y OF THOMA S ELL WOOD.
it ; and applied myself with utmost diligence, at all
leisure times, to recover it ; so false I found that
charge to be which in those times was cast as a re-
proach upon the Quakers, that they despised and
decried all human learning, because they denied it to
be essentially necessary to a gospel ministry, which
was one of the controversies of those times.
But though I toiled hard and spared no pains to
regain what once I had been master of, yet I found
it a matter of so great difficulty that I was ready to
say as the noble eunuch to Philip in another case,
" How can I, unless I had some man to guide me ? "
This I had formerly complained of to my especial
friend Isaac Penington, but now more earnestly,
which put him upon considering and contriving a
means for my assistance.
He had an intimate acquaintance with Dr. Paget,
a physician of note in London, and he, with John
Milton, a gentleman of great note for learning
throughout the learned world, for the accurate pieces
he had written on various subjects and occasions.
This person, having filled a public station in the
former times, lived now a private and retired life in
London, and having wholly lost his sight, kept always
a man to read to him, which usually was the son of
some gentleman of his acquaintance, whom in kind-
ness he took to improve in his learning.
Thus, by the mediation of my friend Isaac Pening-
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 133
ton with Dr. Paget, and of Dr. Paget with John
Milton, was I admitted to come to him, not as a
servant to him (which at that time he needed not),
nor to be in the house with him, but only to have the
liberty of coming to his house at certain hours when
I would, and to read to him what books he should
appoint me, which was all the favour I desired.
But this being a matter which would require some
time to bring about, I in the meanwhile returned to
my father's house in Oxfordshire.
I had before received direction by letters from my
eldest sister (written by my father's command) to put
off what cattle he had left about his house, and to
discharge his servants ; which I had done at the time
called Michaelmas before. So that all that winter,
when I was at home, I lived like a hermit, all
alone, having a pretty large house, and nobody in it
but myself, at nights especially ; but an elderly
woman, whose father had been an old servant to the
family, came every morning and made my bed, and
did what else I had occasion for her to do, till I fell
ill of the small-pox, and then I had her with me and
the nurse. But now, understanding by letter from
my sister that my father did not intend to return to
settle there, I made off those provisions which were
in the house, that they might not be spoiled when I
was gone ; and because they were what I should
have spent if I had tarried there, I took the money
J34 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
made of them to myself for my support at London,
if the project succeeded for my going thither.
This done, I committed the care of the house to a
tenant of my father's who lived in the town, and
taking my leave of Crowell, went up to my sure
friend Isaac Penington again ; where understanding
that the mediation used for my admittance to John
Milton had succeeded so well that I might come
when I would, I hastened to London, and in the first
place went to wait upon him.
He received me courteously, as well for the sake of
Dr. Paget, who introduced me, as of Isaac Penington,
who recommended me ; to both whom he bore a
good respect. And having inquired divers things of
me with respect to my former progression in learning,
he dismissed me, to provide myself with such accom-
modation as might be most suitable to my future
studies.
I went therefore and took myself a lodging as near
to his house (which was then in Jewyn-street) as con-
veniently as I could, and from thenceforward went
every day in the afternoon, except on the first days
of the week, and sitting by him in his dining-room
read to him in such books in the Latin tongue as he
pleased to hear me read.
At my first sitting to read to him, observing that I
used the English pronunciation, he told me, if I
would have the benefit of the Latin tongue, not only
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 35
to read and understand Latin authors, but to converse
with foreigners, either abroad or at home, I must
learn the foreign pronunciation. To this I consent-
ing, he instructed me how to sound the vowels ; so
different from the common pronunciation used by
the English, who speak Anglice their Latin, that
with some few other variations in sounding some
consonants in particular cases, as c before e or i
like ch, sc before i like sh, &c. the Latin thus
spoken seemed as different from that which was
delivered, as the English generally speak it, as if it
were another language.
I had before, during my retired life at my father's,
by unwearied diligence and industry, so far recovered
the rules of grammar, in which I had once been very
ready, that I could both read a Latin author and
after a sort hammer out his meaning. But this change
of pronunciation proved a new difficulty to me. It
was now harder to me to read than it was before to
understand when read. But
Labor omnia vincit
Improbus.
Incessant pains,
The end obtains.
And so did I. Which made my reading the more
acceptable to my master. He, on the other hand,
perceiving with what earnest desire I pursued learn-
136 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
ing, gave me not only all the encouragement but all
the help he could ; for, having a curious ear, he
understood by my tone when I understood what I
read and when I did not ; and accordingly would
stop me, examine me, and open the most difficult
passages to me.
Thus went I on for about six weeks' time, reading
to him in the afternoons ; and exercising myself with
my own books in my chamber in the forenoons, I
was sensible of an improvement.
But, alas ! I had fixed my studies in a wrong place.
London and I could never agree for health ; my lungs,
as I suppose, were too tender to bear the sulphurous
air of that city, so that I soon began to droop ; and
in less than two months' time I was fain to leave both
my studies and the city, and return into the country
to preserve life ; and much ado I had to get thither.
I chose to go down to Wy combe, and to John
Ranee's house there ; both as he was a physician,
and his wife an honest, hearty, discreet, and grave
matron, whom I had a very good esteem of, and who'
I knew had a good regard for me.
There I lay ill a considerable time, and to that
degree of weakness that scarce any who saw me
expected my life. But the Lord was both gracious
to me in my illness, and was pleased to raise me
up again, that I might serve him in my generation.
As soon as I had recovered so much strength as to
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 37
be fit to travel, I obtained of my father (who was
then at his house in Crowell, to dispose of some things
he had there, and who in my illness had come to see
me) so much money as would clear all charges in the
house, for both physic, food, and attendance ; and
having fully discharged all, I took leave of my friends
in that family and in the town, and returned to my
studies at London.
I was very kindly received by my master, who had
conceived so good an opinion of me that my con-
versation, I found, was acceptable to him, and he
seemed heartily glad of my recovery and return ; and
into our old method of study we fell again, I read-
ing to him, and he explaining to me, as occasion
required.
But as if learning had been a forbidden fruit to
me, scarce was I well settled in my work before I
met with another diversion, which turned me quite
out of my work.
For a sudden storm arising, from I know not what
surmise of a plot, and thereby danger to the govern-
ment, and the meetings of Dissenters such I mean
as could be found, which perhaps were not many
besides the Quakers were broken up throughout the
city, and the prisons mostly filled with our friends.
I was that morning, which was the 26th day of the
eighth month, 1662, at the meeting at the Bull and
Mouth, by Aldersgate, when on a sudden a party of
138 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
soldiers (of the trained bands of the city) rushed in,
with noise and clamour, being led by one who was
called Major Rosewell, an apothecary, if I misre-
member not, and at that time under the ill name of
a Papist.
As soon as he was come within the room, having
a file or two of musketeers at his heels, he com-
manded his men to present their muskets at us, which
they did, with intent, I suppose, to strike a terror
into the people. Then he made a proclamation
that all who were not Quakers might depart if they
would.
It so happened that a young man, an apprentice in
London, whose name was Dove, the son of
Dr. Dove, of Chinner, near Crowell, in Oxfordshire,
came that day in curiosity to see the meeting, and
coming early, and finding me there (whom he knew),
came and sat down by me.
As soon as he heard the noise of soldiers he was
much startled, and asked me softly if I would not
shift for myself, and try to get out. I told him no ;
I was in my place, and was willing to suffer if it was
my lot. When he heard the notice given that they
who were not Quakers might depart, he solicited me
again to be gone. I told him I could not do so, for
that would be to renounce my profession, which I
would by no means do ; but as for him, who was not
one of us, he might do as he pleased. Whereupon,
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 139
wishing me well, he turned away, and with cap in
hand went out. And truly I was glad he was gone,
for his master was a rigid Presbyterian, who in all
likelihood would have led him a wretched life had
he been taken and imprisoned among the Quakers.
The soldiers came so early that the meeting was
not fully gathered when they came, and when the
mixed company were gone out, we were so few, and
sat so thin in that large room, that they might take
a clear view of us all, and single us out as they
pleased.
He that commanded the party gave us first a
general charge to come out of the room. But we,
who came thither at God's requirings, to worship
him, like that good man of old who said, " We ought
to obey God rather than men " (Acts v. 29), stirred
not, but kept our places. Whereupon he sent some
of his soldiers among us, with command to drag or
drive us out, which they did roughly enough.
When we came out into the street, we were re-
ceived there by other soldiers, who with their pikes
holden lengthways from one another encompassed
us round as sheep in a pound ; and there we stood a
pretty time, while they were picking up more to add
to our number.
In this work none seemed so eager and active as
their leader, Major Rosewell ; which I observing,
stepped boldly to him as he was passing by me,
HO HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
and asked him if he intended a massacre, for of that
in those days there was a great apprehension and
talk. The suddenness of the question, from such a
young man especially, somewhat startled him ; but
recollecting himself, he answered, " No ; but I intend
to have you all hanged by the wholesome laws of
the land."
When he had gotten as many as he could or
thought fit, which were in number thirty-two, whereof
two were catched up in the street, who had not been
at the meeting, he ordered the pikes to be opened
before us ; and giving the word to march, went him-
self at the head of us, the soldiers with their pikes
making a lane to keep us from scattering.
He led us up Martin's, and so turned down to New-
gate, where I expected he would have lodged us.
But, to my disappointment, he went on though New-
gate, and turning through the Old Bailey, brought us
into Fleet Street. I was then wholly at a loss to
conjecture whither he would lead us, unless it were to
Whitehall, for I knew nothing then of Old Bridewell ;
but on a sudden he gave a short turn, and brought us
before the gate of that prison, where knocking, the
wicket was forthwith opened, and the master, with his
porter, ready to receive us.
One of those two who were picked up in the street,
being near me, and telling me his case, I stepped to
the Major, and told him that this man was not at the
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 4 1
meeting, but was taken up in the street ; and showed
him how hard and unjust a thing it would be to put
him into prison.
I had not pleased him before in the question I had
put to him about a massacre, and that, I suppose,
made this solicitation less acceptable to him from me
than it might have been from some other ; for
looking sternly on me, he said : " Who are you, that
take so much upon you ? Seeing you are so busy,
you shall be the first man that shall go into Bride-
well ; " and taking me by the shoulders, he thrust
me in.
As soon as I was in, the porter, pointing with his
finger, directed me to a fair pair of stairs on the farther
side of a large court, and bid me go up those stairs^
and go on till I could go no farther.
Accordingly I went up the stairs; the first flight
whereof brought me to a fair chapel on my left hand,
which I could look into through the iron grates, but
could not have gone into if I would.
I knew that was not a place for me : wherefore,
following my direction and the winding of the stairs,
I went up a storey higher, which brought me into a
room which I soon perceived to be a court-room or
place of judicature. After I had stood a while there,
and taken a view of it, observing a door on the farther
side, I went to it, and opened it, with intention to go
in, but I quickly drew back, being almost affrighted
142 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
at the dismalness of the place; for besides that the
walls quite round were laid all over, from top to
bottom, in black, there stood in the middle of it a
great whipping-post, which was all the furniture it
had.
In one of these two rooms judgment was given, and
in the other it was executed on those ill people who
for their lewdness were sent to this prison, and there
sentenced to be whipped ; which was so contrived
that the court might not only hear, but see, if they
pleased, their sentence executed.
A sight so unexpected, and withal so unpleasing,
gave me no encouragement either to rest or indeed
to enter at all there ; till looking earnestly I espied,
on the opposite side, a door, which giving me hopes
of a farther progress, I adventured to step hastily to
it, and opened it.
This let me into one of the fairest rooms that, so
far as I remember, I was ever in, and no wonder, for
though it was now put to this mean use, it had for
many ages past been the royal seat or palace of the
kings of England, until Cardinal Wolsey built White-
hall, and offered it as a peace offering to King Henry
the Eighth, who until that time had kept his court
in this house, and had this, as the people in the house
reported, for his dining-room, by which name it then
went.
This room in length (for I lived long enough in it
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 143
to have time to measure it) was threescore feet, and
had breadth proportionable to it. In it, on the front
side, were very large bay windows, in which stood a
large table. It had other very large tables in it, with
benches round ; and at that time the floor was covered
with rushes, against some solemn festival, which I
heard it was bespoken for.
Here was my nil ultra, and here I found I might
set up my pillar ; for although there was a door out
of it to a back pair of stairs which led to it, yet that
was kept locked. So that finding I had now followed
my keeper's direction to the utmost point, beyond
which I could not go, I sat down and considered that
rhetorical saying, " That the way to Heaven lay by
the gate of Hell ; " the black room, through which I
passed into this, bearing some resemblance to the
latter, as this comparatively and by way of allusion
might in some sort be thought to bear to the former.
But I was quickly put out of these thoughts by the
flocking in of the other Friends, my fellow-prisoners,
amongst whom yet, when all were come together,
there was but one whom I knew so much as by face,
and with him I had no acquaintance; for I having
been but a little while in the city, and in that time
kept close to my studies, I was by that means known
to very few.
Soon after we were all gotten together came up the
master of the house after us, and demanded ouf
144 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
names, which we might reasonably have refused to
give till we had been legally convened before some
civil magistrate who had power to examine us and
demand our names ; but we, who were neither guileful
nor wilful, simply gave him our names, which he took
down in writing.
It was, as I hinted before, a general storm which
fell that day, but it lighted most, and most heavily,
upon our meetings ; so that most of our men Friends
were made prisoners, and the prisons generally filled.
And great work had the women to run about from
prison to prison to find their husbands, their fathers,
their brothers, or their servants ; for according as
they had disposed themselves to several meetings, so
were they dispersed to several prisons. And no less
care and pains had they, when they had found them,
to furnish them with provisions and other necessary
accommodations.
But an excellent order, even in those early days,
was practised among the Friends of that city, by which
there were certain Friends of either sex appointed to
have the oversight of the prisons in every quarter, and
to take care of all Friends, the poor especially, that
should be committed thither.
This prison of Bridewell was under the care of two
honest, grave, discreet, and motherly women, whose
names were Anne Merrick (afterwards Vivers), and
Anne Travers, both widows.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 145
They, so soon as they understood that there were
Friends brought into that prison, provided some hot
victuals, meat, and broth, for the weather was cold ;
and ordering their servants to bring it them, with
bread, cheese, and beer, came themselves also with it,
and having placed it on a table, gave notice to us that
it was provided for all those that had not others to
provide for them, or were not able to provide for
themselves. And there wanted not among us a com-
petent number of such guests.
As for my part, though I had lived as frugally as
possibly I could, that I might draw out the thread of
my little stock to the utmost length, yet had I by
this time reduced it to tenpence, which was all the
money I had about me, or anywhere else at my
command.
This was but a small estate to enter upon an im-
prisonment with, yet was I not at all discouraged at
it, nor had I a murmuring thought. I had known
what it was, moderately, to abound, and if I should
now come to suffer want, I knew I ought to be
content ; and through the grace of God I was so. I
had lived by Providence before, when for a long time
I had no money at all, and I had always found the
Lord a good provider. I made no doubt, therefore,
that He who sent the ravens to feed Elijah, and who
clothes the lilies, would find some means to sustain
me with needful food and raiment ; and I had learned
146 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
by experience the truth of that saying, Natura panels
contenta i.e. Nature is content with few things, or a
little.
Although the sight and smell of hot food was suffi-
ciently enticing to my empty stomach, for I had eaten
little that morning and was hungry, yet, considering
the terms of the invitation, I questioned whether I
was included in it ; and after some reasonings at
length concluded that, while I had tenpence in my
pocket, I should be but an injurious intruder to that
mess, which was provided for such as perhaps had
not twopence in theirs.
Being come to this resolution, I withdrew as far
from the table as I could, and sat down in a quiet
retirement of mind till the repast was over, which was
not long ; for there were hands enough at it to make
light work of it.
When evening came the porter came up the back-
stairs, and opening the door, told us if we desired to
have anything that was to be had in the house, he
would bring it us ; for there was in the house a
chandler's shop, at which beer, bread, butter, cheese,
eggs and bacon, might be had for money. Upon
which many went to him, and spake for what of these
things they had a mind to, giving him money to pay
for them.
Among the rest went I, and intending to spin out
my tenpence as far as I could, desired him to bring
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 47
me a penny loaf only. When he returned we all
resorted to him to receive our several provisions, which
he delivered ; and when he came to me he told me
he could not get a penny loaf, but he had brought me
two halfpenny loaves.
This suited me better ; wherefore returning to my
place again, I sat down and eat up one of my loaves,
reserving the other for the next day.
This was to me both dinner and supper ; and so
well satisfied I was with it that I could willingly then
have gone to bed, if I had had one to go to ; but that
was not to be expected there, nor had any one any
bedding brought in that night.
Some of the company had been so considerate as
to send for a pound of candles, that we might not sit
all night in the dark, and having lighted divers of
them, and placed them in several parts of that large
room, we kept walking to keep us warm.
After I had warmed myself pretty thoroughly and
the evening was pretty far spent, I bethought myself
of a lodging ; and cast mine eye on the table which
stood in the bay window, the frame whereof looked, I
thought, somewhat like a bedstead. Wherefore, willing
to make sure of that, I gathered up a good armful of
the rushes wherewith the floor was covered, and
spreading them under the table, crept in upon them in
my clothes, and keeping on my hat, laid my head upon
one end of the table's frame, instead of a bolster.
148 HIS TOR Y OF THOMA S ELL WO OD.
My example was followed by the rest, who, gather-
ing up rushes as I had done, made themselves beds in
other parts of the room, and so to rest we went.
I having a quiet easy mind, was soon asleep, and
slept till about the middle of the night. And then
waking, finding my legs and feet very cold, I crept
out of my cabin and began to walk about apace.
This waked and raised all the rest, who finding
themselves cold as well as I, got up and walked about
with me, till we had pretty well warmed ourselves, and
then we all lay down again, and rested till morning.
Next day, all they who had families, or belonged
to families, had bedding brought in of one sort or
other, which they disposed at ends and sides of the
room, leaving the middle void to walk in.
But I, who had nobody to look after me, kept
to my rushy pallet under the table for four nights
together, in which time I did not put off my clothes ;
yet, through the merciful goodness of God unto me,
I rested and slept well, and enjoyed health, without
taking cold.
In this time divers of our company, through the
solicitations of some of their relations or acquaintance
to Sir Richard Brown, who was at that time a great
master of misrule in the city, and over Bridewell
more especially, were released ; and among these one
William Mucklow, who lay in a hammock. He having
observed that I only was unprovided with lodging,
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 149
came very courteously to me, and kindly offered me
the use of his hammock while I should continue a
prisoner.
This was a providential accommodation to me,
which I received thankfully, both from the Lord
and from him ; and from thenceforth I thought I lay
as well as ever I had done in my life.
Amongst those that remained there were several
young men who cast themselves into a club, and
laying down every one an equal proportion of money,
put it into the hand of our^friend Anne Travers,
desiring her to lay it out for them in provisions, and
send them in every day a mess of hot meat; and they
kindly invited me to come into their club with them.
These saw my person, and judged of me by that, but
they saw not my purse, nor understood the lightness
of my pocket. But I, who alone understood my own
condition, knew I must sit down with lower com-
mons. Wherefore, not giving them the true reason,
I as fairly as I could excused myself from entering
at present into their mess, and went on, as before, to
eat by myself, and that very sparingly, as my stock
would bear ; and before my tenpence was quite
spent, Providence, on whom I relied, sent me in a
fresh supply.
For William Penington, a brother of Isaac Pen-
ington's, a Friend and merchant in London, at whose
house, before I came to live in the city, I was wont
ISO HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
to lodge, having been at his brother's that day
upon a visit, escaped this storm, and so was at
liberty ; and understanding when he came back
what had been done, bethought himself of me,
and upon inquiry hearing where I was, came in love
to see me.
He in discourse, amongst other things, asked me
how it was with me as to money, and how well I was
furnished : I told him I could not boast of much, and
yet I could not say I had none ; though what I then
had was indeed next to none. Whereupon he put
twenty shillings into my hand, and desired me to
accept of that for the present. I saw a Divine hand
in thus opening his heart and hand in this manner to
me ; and though I would willingly have been excused
from taking so much, and would have returned one
half of it, yet he pressing it all upon me, I received
it with a thankful acknowledgment as a token of love
from the Lord and from him.
On the seventh day he went down again, as he
usually did, to his brother's house at Chalfont, and in
discourse gave them an account of my imprisonment.
Whereupon, at his return on the second day of the
week following, my affectionate friend Mary Pening-
ton sent me, by him, forty shillings, which he soon
after brought me ; out of which I would have repaid
him the twenty shillings he had so kindly furnished
me with, but he would not admit it, telling me I might
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 5 1
have occasion for that and more before I got my
liberty.
Not many days after this I received twenty shillings
from my father, who being then at his house in
Oxfordshire, and by letter from my sister under-
standing that I was a prisoner in Bridewell, sent this
money to me for my support there, and withal a letter
to my sister for her to deliver to one called Mr. Wray,
who lived near Bridewell, and was a servant to Sir
Richard Brown in some wharf of his, requesting him
to intercede with his master, who was one of the
governors of Bridewell, for my deliverance ; but
that letter coming to my hands, I suppressed it, and
have it yet by me.
Now was my pocket from the lowest ebb risen to
a full tide. I was at the brink of want, next door to
nothing, yet my confidence did not fail nor my faith
stagger ; and now on a sudden I had plentiful supplies,
shower upon shower, so that I abounded, yet was not
lifted up, but in humility could say, "This is the
Lord's doing." And without defrauding any of the
instruments of the acknowledgments due unto them,
mine eye looked over and beyond them to the Lord,
who I saw was the author thereof and prime agent
therein, and with a thankful heart I returned thanks-
givings and praises to Him. And this great goodness
of the Lord to me I thus record, to the end that all
into whose hands this may come may be encouraged
152 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
to trust in the Lord, whose mercy is over all His
works, and who is indeed a God near at hand, to help
in the needful time.
Now I durst venture myself into the club to which
I had been invited, and accordingly, having by this
time gained an acquaintance with them, took an
opportunity to cast myself among them ; and thence-
forward, so long as we continued prisoners there
together, I was one of their mess.
And now the chief thing I wanted was employ-
ment, which scarce any wanted but myself ; for the
rest of my company were generally tradesmen of such
trades as could set themselves on work. Of these,
divers were tailors, some masters, some journeymen,
and with these I most inclined to settle. But because
I was too much a novice in their art to be trusted
with their work, lest I should spoil the garments, I
got work from an hosier in Cheapside, which was to
make night-waistcoats, of red and yellow flannel, for
women and children. And with this I entered myself
among the tailors, sitting cross-legged as they did,
and so spent those leisure hours with innocency and
pleasure which want of business would have made
tedious. And indeed that was in a manner the only
advantage I had by it. ; for my master, though a very
wealthy man, and one who professed not only friend-
ship but particular kindness to me, dealt I thought
but hardly with me. For though he knew not what
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 53
I had to subsist by, he never offered me a penny for
my work till I had done working for him, and went,
after I was released, to give him a visit ; and then he
would not reckon with me neither, because, as he
smilingly said, he would not let me so far into his
trade as to acquaint me with the prices of the work,
but would be sure to give me enough. And there-
upon he gave me one crown-piece and no more ;
though I had wrought long for him, and made him
many dozens of waistcoats, and bought the thread
myself ; which I thought was very poor pay. But as
Providence had ordered it, I wanted the work more
than the wages, and therefore took what he gave me,
without complaining.
About this time, while we were prisoners in our
fair chamber, a Friend was brought and put in among
us, who had been sent thither by Richard Brown to
beat hemp ; whose case was thus :
He was a very poor man, who lived by mending
shoes, and on a seventh-day night, late, a carman, or
some other such labouring man, brought him a pair
of shoes to mend, desiring him to mend them that
night, that he might have them in the morning, for
he had no other to wear. The poor man sat up at
work upon them till after midnight, and then finding
he could not finish them, went to bed, intending to
do the rest in the morning.
Accordingly, he got up betimes, and though he
154 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
wrought as privately as he could in his chamber, that
he might avoid giving offence to any, yet could he
not do it so privately but that an ill-natured neighbour
perceived it, who went and informed against him for
working on the Sunday. Whereupon he was had
before Richard Brown, who committed him to Bride-
well for a certain time, to be kept to hard labour in
beating hemp, which is labour hard enough.
It so fell out that at the same time were committed
thither (for what cause I do not now remember) two
lusty young men, who were called Baptists, to be
kept also at the same labour.
The Friend was a poor little man, of a low condi-
tion and mean appearance ; whereas these two Baptists
were topping blades, that looked high and spoke big.
They scorned to beat hemp, and made a pish at the
whipping-post ; but when they had once felt the smart
of it, they soon cried peccavi, and submitting to the
punishment, set their tender hands to the beetles.
The Friend, on the other hand, acting upon a prin-
ciple, knowing he had done no evil for which he
should undergo that punishment, refused to work, and
for refusing was cruelly whipped ; which he bore with
wonderful constancy and resolution of mind.
The manner of whipping there is, to strip the
party to the skin from the waist upwards, and having
fastened him to the whipping-post, so that he can
neither resist nor shun the strokes, to lash the naked
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 5 5
body with long but slender twigs of holly, which
will bend almost like thongs, and lap round the body ;
and these having little knots upon them, tear the skin
and flesh, and give extreme pain.
With these rods they tormented the Friend most
barbarously and the more for that, having mastered
the two braving Baptists, they disdained to be mastered
by this poor Quaker. Yet were they fain at last to
yield when they saw their utmost severity could not
make him yield ; and then, not willing to be troubled
longer with him, they turned him up among us.
When we had inquired of him how it was with
him, and he had given us a brief account of both his
cause and usage, it came in my mind that I had in my
box (which I had sent for from my lodging, to keep
some few books and other necessaries in) a little
gallipot with Lucatellu's balsam in it.
Wherefore, causing a good fire to be made, and
setting the Friend within a blanket before the fire, we
stripped him to the waist, as if he had been to be
whipped again, and found his skin so cut and torn
with the knotty holly rods, both back, side, arms, and
breast, that it was a dismal sight to look upon. Then
melting some of the balsam, I with a feather anointed
all the sores, and putting a softer cloth between his
skin and his shirt, helped him on with his clothes
again. This dressing gave him much ease, and I con-
tinued it till he was well ; and because he was a very
156 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
poor man, we took him into our mess, contriving that
there should always be enough for him as well as for
ourselves. Thus he lived with us until the time he was
committed for was expired, and then he was released.
But we were still continued prisoners by an arbitrary
power, not being committed by the civil authority,
nor having seen the face of any civil magistrate from
the day we were thrust in here by soldiers, which was
the 26th day of the eighth month, to the iQth of the
tenth month following.
On that day we were had to the Sessions at the Old
Bailey ; but not being called there, we were brought
back to Bridewell, and continued there to the 2pth of
the same month, and then we were carried to the
Sessions again.
I expected I should have been called the first,
because my name was first taken down ; but it proved
otherwise, so that I was one of the last that was
called ; which gave me the advantage of hearing the
pleas of the other prisoners, and discovering the
temper of the Court.
The prisoners complained of the illegality of their
imprisonment, and desired to know what they had lain
so long in prison for. The Court regarded nothing of
that, and did not stick to tell them so, " For," said
the Recorder to them, " if you think you have been
wrongfully imprisoned, you have your remedy at law,
and may take it, if you think it worth your while.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. \ 57
The Court," said he, "may send for any man out
of the street and tender him the oath : so we take
no notice how you came hither, but finding you here,
we tender you the oath of allegiance ; which if you
refuse to take, we shall commit you, and at length
praemunire you." Accordingly, as each one refused
it, he was set aside and another called.
By this I saw it was in vain for me to insist upon
false imprisonment or ask the cause of my commit-
ment ; though I had before furnished myself with some
authorities and maxims of law on the subject, to have
pleaded, if room had been given, and I had the book
out of which I took them in my bosom ; for the
weather being cold, I wore a gown girt about the
middle, and had put the book within it. But I now
resolved to wave all that, and insist upon another plea,
which just then came into my mind.
As soon therefore as I was called I stepped nimbly
to the bar, and stood up upon the stepping, that I
might the better both hear and be heard, and laying
my hands upon the bar, stood ready, expecting what
they would say to me.
I suppose they took me for a confident young man,
for they looked very earnestly upon me, and we faced
each other, without words, for a while. At length
the Recorder, who was called Sir John Howel, asked
me if I would take the oath of allegiance.
To which I answered : " I conceive this Court hath
158 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
not power to tender that oath to me, in the condition
wherein I stand."
This so unexpected plea seemed to startle them, so
that they looked one upon another, and said some-
what low one to another, " What 1 doth he demur to
the jurisdiction of the Court ? " And thereupon the
Recorder asked me, " Do you then demur to the
jurisdiction of the Court ? " " Not absolutely," an-
swered I, " but conditionally, with respect to my pre-
sent condition, and the circumstances I am now under."
" Why, what is your present condition ? " said the
Recorder. "A prisoner," replied I. "And what is
that," said he, ' to your taking or not taking the
oath ? " " Enough," said I, " as I conceive, to exempt
me from the tender thereof while I am under this
condition." " Pray, what is your reason for that ? "
said he. " This," said I, " that if I rightly under-
stand the words of the statute, I am required to say
that / do take this oath freely and without constraint,
which I cannot say, because I am not a free man,
but in bonds and under constraint. Wherefore I
conceive that if you would tender that oath to me,
ye ought first to set me free from my present
imprisonment."
'' But," said the Recorder, " will you take the oath
if you be set free? " "Thou shalt see that," said I,
" when I am set free. Therefore set me free first.,
and then ask the question."
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 59
"But/' said he again, "you know your own mind
sure, and can tell now what you would do if you were
at liberty." " Yes," replied I, "that I can ; but I do
not hold myself obliged to tell it until I am at liberty.
Therefore set me at liberty, and ye shall soon hear it."
Thus we fenced a good while, till I was both weary
of such trifling and doubted also lest some of the
standers-by should suspect I would take it if I was
set at liberty. Wherefore when the Recorder put it
upon me again, I told him plainly, No ; though I
thought they ought not to tender it me till I had
been set at liberty ; yet if I was set at liberty I could
not take that nor any other oath, because my Lord
and Master Christ Jesus had expressly commanded
his disciples not to swear at all.
As his command was enough to me, so this con-
fession of mine was enough to them. " Take him
away," said they ; and away I was taken, and thrust
into the bail-dock to my other friends, who had been
called before me. And as soon as the rest of our
company were called, and had refused to swear, we
were all committed to Newgate, and thrust into the
common side.
When we came there we found that side of the
prison very full of Friends, who were prisoners there
before (as indeed were at that time all the other parts
of that prison, and most of the other prisons about the
town), and our addition caused a great throng on that
160 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
side. Notwithstanding which we were kindly wel-
comed by our friends whom we found there, and
entertained by them as well as their condition would
admit, until we could get in our accommodations and
provide for ourselves.
We had the liberty of the hall, which is on the first
storey over the gate, and which in the day-time is
common to all the prisoners on that side, felons as well
as others, to walk in and to beg out of ; and we had
also the liberty of some other rooms over that hall, to
walk or work in a-days. But in the night we all
lodged in one room, which was large and round, hav-
ing in the middle of it a great pillar of oaken timber,
which bore up the chapel that is over it.
To this pillar we fastened our hammocks at the one
end, and to the opposite wall on the other end, quite
round the room, and in three degrees, or three storeys
high, one over the other ; so that they who lay in the
upper and middle row of hammocks were obliged to
go to bed first, because they were to climb up to the
higher by getting into the lower. And under the
lower rank of hammocks, by the wall-sides, were laid
beds upon the floor, in which the sick and such weak
persons as could not get into the hammocks lay.
And indeed, though the room was large and pretty
airy, yet the breath and steam that came from so
many bodies, of different ages, conditions, and consti-
tutions, packed up so close together, was enough to
WRITTEN B V HIMSELF. 1 6 1
cause sickness amongst us, and I believe did so. For
there were many sick and some very weak, though we
were not long there, yet in that time one of our fellow-
prisoners, who lay in one of those pallet-beds, died.
This caused some bustle in the house ; for the
body of the deceased being laid out and put into a
coffin, was carried down and set in the room called the
Lodge, that the coroner might inquire into the cause
and manner of his death. And the manner of their
doing it is thus : As soon as the coroner is come the
turnkeys run out into the street under the gate, and
seize upon every man that passes by, till they have got
enough to make up the coroner's inquest. And so
resolute these rude fellows are, that if any man resist
or dispute it with them, they drag him in by main
force, not regarding what condition he is of. Nay, I
have been told they will not stick to stop a coach, and
pluck the men out of it.
It so happened that at this time they lighted on an
ancient man, a grave citizen, who was trudging through
the gate in great haste, and him they laid hold on,
telling him he must come in and serve upon the
coroner's inquest. He pleaded hard, begged and
besought them to let him go, assuring them he was
going on very urgent business, and that the stopping
him would be greatly to his prejudice. But they were
deaf to all entreaties, and hurried him in, the poor
man chafing without remedy.
F
162 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLIVOOD.
When they had got their complement, and were
shut in together, the rest of them said to this ancient
man, " Come, father, you are the oldest among us ;
you shall be our foreman." And when the coroner
had sworn them on the jury, the coffin was uncovered,
that they might look upon the body. But the old
man, disturbed in his mind at the interruption they
had given him, and grown somewhat fretful upon it,
said to them : " To what purpose do you show us a
dead body here ? You would not have us think,
sure, that this man died in this room ! How then
shall we be able to judge how this man came by his
death unless we see the place wherein he died, and
wherein he hath been kept prisoner before he died ?
How know we but that the incommodiousness of the
place wherein he was kept may have occasioned his
death ? Therefore show us," said he, " the place
wherein this man died/'
This much displeased the keepers, and they began
to banter the old man, thinking to have beaten him
off it. But he stood up tightly to them : " Come
come," said he, " though you have made a fool of me in
bringing me in hither, ye shall not find a child of me
now I am here. Mistake not yourselves : I under-
stand my place and your duty ; and I require you to
conduct me and my brethren to the place where this
man died : refuse it at your peril."
They now' wished they had let the old man go about
J V KITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 63
his business, rather than by troubling him have
brought this trouble on themselves. But when they
saw he persisted in his resolution and was peremptory,
the coroner told them they must go show him the place.
It was in the evening when they began this work,
and by this time it was grown bedtime with us, so
that we had taken down our hammocks, which in the
day were hung up by the walls, and had made them
ready to go into, and were undressing ourselves in
readiness to go into them ; when on a sudden we
heard a great noise of tongues and of trampling of
feet coming up towards us. And by and by one of
the turnkeys, opening our door, said: " Hold, hold; do
not undress yourselves : here is the coroner's inquest
coming to see you."
As soon as they were come to the door, for within
the door there was scarce room for them to come*
the foreman, who led them, lifting up his hand, said :
" Lord bless me ! what a sight is here ! I did not
think there had been so much cruelty in the hearts
of Englishmen to use Englishmen in this manner.
We need not now question," said he to the rest of
the jury, "how this man came by his death ; we may
rather wonder that they are not all dead, for this
place is enough to breed an infection among them.
Well," added he, "if it please God to lengthen my
life till to-morrow, I will find means to let the
King know how his subjects are dealt with/'
1 64 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
Whether he did so or not I cannot tell ; but I am
apt to think that he applied himself to the Mayor
or the Sheriffs of London ; for the next day one of
the Sheriffs, called Sir William Turner, a woollen-
draper in Paul's Yard, came to the press-yard, and
having ordered the porter of Bridewell to attend him
there, sent up a turnkey amongst us, to bid all the
Bridewell prisoners come down to him, for they knew
us not, but we knew our own company.
Being come before him in the press-yard, he looked
kindly on us and spoke courteously to us. "Gentle-
men," said he, " I understand the prison is very full,
and I am sorry for it. I wish it were in my power
to release you and the rest of your friends that are
in it. But since I cannot do that, I am willing to
do what I can for you, and therefore I am come
hither to inquire how it is ; and I would have all
you who came from Bridewell return thither again,
which will be a better accommodation to you, and
your removal will give the more room to those that
are left behind ; and here is the porter of Bridewell,
your old keeper, to attend you thither."
We duly acknowledged the favour of the Sheriff to
us and our friends above, in this removal of us, which
would give them more room and us a better air.
But before we parted from him I spoke particularly
to him on another occasion, which was this :
When we came into Newgate we found a shabby
WRIT. TEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 65
fellow there among the Friends, who upon inquiry
we understood had thrust himself among our friends
when they were taken at a meeting, on purpose to be
sent to prison with them, in hopes to be maintained by
them. They knew nothing of him till they found
him shut in with them in the prison, and then took no
notice of him, as not knowing how or why he came
thither. But he soon gave them cause to take notice
of him, for wherever he saw any victuals brought
forth for them to eat he would be sure to thrust in,
with knife in hand, and make himself his own carver ;
and so impudent was he, that if he saw the provision
was short, whoever wanted, he would be sure to
take enough.
Thus lived this lazy drone upon the labours of the
industrious bees, to his high content and their no
small trouble, to whom his company was as offen-
sive as his ravening was oppressive ; nor could they
get any relief by their complaining of him to the
keepers.
This fellow hearing the notice which was given
for the Bridewell men to go down in order to be
removed to Bridewell again, and hoping, no doubt,
that fresh quarters would produce fresh commons, and
that he would fare better with us than where he was,
thrust himself amongst us, and went down into the
press-yard with us, which I knew not of till I saw
him standing there with his hat on, and looking as
1 66 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD,
demurely as he could, that the Sheriff might take him
for a Quaker; at the sight of which my spirit was
much stirred.
Wherefore, so soon as the Sheriff had done speaking
to us and we had made our acknowledgment of his
kindness, I stepped a little nearer to him, and pointing
to that fellow, said : "That man is not only none of
our company, for he is no Quaker, but is an idle,
dissolute fellow who hath thrust himself in among
our friends to be sent to prison with them, that he
might live upon them ; therefore I desire we may
not be troubled with him at Bridewell."
At this the Sheriff smiled, and calling the fellow
forth, said to him : " How came you to be in prison ? "
" I was taken at a meeting," said he. "But what
business had you there ? " said the Sheriff. " I went
to hear/' said he. " Aye, you went upon a worse
design, it seems," replied the Sheriff; "but I'll dis-
appoint you," said he, " for I'll change your company
and send you to them that are like yourself." Then
calling for the turnkey, he said : " Take this fellow,
and put him among the felons, and be sure let him
not trouble the Quakers any more."
'Hitherto this fellow had stood with his hat on, as
willing to have passed, if he could, for a Quaker, but
as soon as he heard this doom passed on him, off went
his hat, and to bowing and scraping he fell, with
' Good your worship, have pity upon me, and set me
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 167
at liberty." " No, no," said the Sheriff: "I will
not so far disappoint you ; since you had a mind to
be in prison, in prison you shall be for me." Then
bidding the turnkey take him away, he had him up;
and put him among the felons, and so Friends had a
good deliverance from him.
The Sheriff then bidding us farewell, the porter of
Bridewell came to us, and told us we knew our way
to Bridewell without him, and he could trust us ;
therefore he would not stay nor go with us, but left
us to take our own time, so we were in before bedtime.
Then went we up again to our friends in Newgate,
and gave them an account of what had passed, and
having taken a solemn leave of them, we made up our
packs to be gone. But before I pass from Newgate,
I think it not amiss to give the reader some little
account of what I observed while I was there.
The common side of Newgate is generally ac-
counted, as it really is, the worst part of that prison ;
not so much from the place as the people, it being
usually stocked with the veriest rogues and meanest
sort of felons and pickpockets, who not being able
to pay chamber-rent on the master's side, are thrust
in there. And if they come in bad, to be sure they
do no go out better ; for here they have the oppor-
tunity to instruct one another in their art, and impart
to each other what improvements they have made
therein.
1 68 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
The common hall, which is the first room over the
gate, is a good place to walk in when the prisoners
are out of it, saving the danger of catching some
cattle which they may have left in it, and there I used
to walk in a morning before they were let up, and
sometimes in the daytime when they have been
there.
They all carried themselves respectfully towards me,
which I imputed chiefly to this, that when any of our
women friends came there to visit the prisoners, if
they had not relations of their own there to take care
of them, I, as being a young man and more at
leisure than most others, for I could not play the
tailor there, was forward to go down with them to
the grate, and see them safe out. And sometimes
they have left money in my hands for the felons,
who at such times were very importunate beggars,
which I forthwith distributed among them in bread,
which was to be had in the place. But so trouble-
some an office it was, that I thought one had as good
have had a pack of hungry hounds about one, as
these, when they knew there was a dole to be given.
Yet this, I think, made them a little the more obser-
vant to me; for they would dispose themselves to
one side of the room, that they might make way for
me to walk on the other.
For having, as I hinted before, made up our packs
and taken our leave of our friends, whom we were to
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. \ 69
leave behind, we took our bundles on our shoulders,
and walked two and two abreast through the Old
Bailey into Fleet Street, and so to Old Bridewell.
And it being about the middle of the afternoon, and
the streets pretty full of people, both the shopkeepers
at their doors and passengers in the way would stop
us, and ask us what we were and whither we were
going ; and when we had told them we were prisoners
going from one prison to another, from Newgate to
Bridewell, " What ! " said they, " without a keeper ? "
"No," said we, "for our word, which we have given,
is our keeper." Some thereupon would advise us
not to go to prison, but to go home. But we told
them we could not do so ; we could suffer for our
testimony, but could not fly from it. I do not
remember we had any abuse offered us, but were
generally pitied by the people.
When we were come to Bridewell, we were not
put up into the great room in which we had been
before, but into a low room in another fair court,
which had a pump in the middle of it. And here we
were not shut up as before, but had the liberty of the
court to walk in, and of the pump to wash or drink
at. And indeed we might easily have gone quite
away if we would, there being a passage through the
court into the street ; but we were true and steady
prisoners, and looked upon this liberty, arising from
their confidence in us, to be a kind of parole upon us ;
1 70 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
so that both conscience and honour stood now
engaged for our true imprisonment.
Adjoining to this room wherein we were was such
another, both newly fitted up for workhouses, and
accordingly furnished with very great blocks for
beating hemp upon, and a lusty whipping-post there
was in each. And it was said that Richard Brown had
ordered those blocks to be provided for the Quakers
to work on, resolving to try his strength with us
in that case ; but if that was his purpose, it was
overruled, for we never had any work offered us,
nor were we treated after the manner of those that
are to be so used. Yet we set ourselves to work on
them ; for being very large, they served the tailors
for shop-boards, and others wrought upon them as
they had occasion ; and they served us very well for
tables to eat on.
We had also, besides this room, the use of our
former chamber above, to go into when we thought
fit ; and thither sometimes I withdrew, when I found
a desire for retirement and privacy, or had something
on my mind to write, which could not so well be done
in company. And indeed about this time my spirit
was more than ordinarily exercised, though on very
different subjects. For, on the one hand, the sense
of the exceeding love and goodness of the Lord to
me, in His gracious and tender dealings with me, did
deeply affect my heart, and caused me to break forth
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 7 1
in a song of thanksgiving and praise to Him ; and,,
on the other hand, a sense of the profaneness,
debaucheries, cruelties, and other horrid impieties of
the age, fell heavy on me, and lay as a pressing
weight upon my spirit ; and I breathed forth the
following hymn to God, in acknowledgment of His
great goodness to me, profession of my grateful love
to Him, and supplication to Him for the continu-
ance of His kindness to me, in preserving me from
the snares of the enemy, and keeping me faithful
unto Himself:
Thee, Thee alone, O God, I fear,
In Thee do I confide ;
Thy presence is to me more dear
Than all things else beside.
Thy virtue, power, life, and light,
Which in my heart do shine,
Above all things are my delight :
O make them always mine !
Thy matchless love constrains my life,
Thy life constrains my love,
To be to Thee as chaste a wife
As is the turtle-dove
To her elect, espoused mate,
Whom she will not forsake,
Nor can be brought to violate
The bond she once did make ;
Just so my soul doth cleave to Thee,
As to her only head,
With whom she longs conjoin'd to be
In bond of marriage-bed.
But, ah, alas ! her little fort
Is compassed about ;
172 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
Her foes about her thick resort,
Within and eke without.
How numerous are they now grown !
How wicked their intent !
O let thy mighty power be shown,
Their mischief to prevent.
They make assaults on every side,
But Thou stand'st in the gap ;
Their batt'ring-rams make breaches wide,
But still Thou mak'st them up.
Sometimes they use alluring wiles
To draw into their power ;
And sometimes weep like crocodiles ;
But all is to devour.
Thus they beset my feeble heart
With fraud, deceit, and guile,
Alluring her from Thee to start,
And Thy pure rest defile.
But, oh ! the breathing and the moan,
The sighings of the seed,
The groanings of the grieved one,
Do sorrows in me breed.
And that immortal, holy birth,
The offspring of Thy breath
(To whom Thy love brings life and mirth,
As doth thy absence, death) ;
That babe, that seed, that panting child,
Which cannot Thee forsake,
In fear to be again beguiled,
Doth supplication make :
O suffer not Thy chosen one,
Who puts her trust in Thee,
And hath made Thee her choice alone,
Ensnared again to be.
Bridewell, London, 1662.
In this sort did T spend some leisure hours during
my confinement in Bridewell, especially after our
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 173
return from Newgate thither, when we had more
liberty, and more opportunity and room for retire-
ment and thought : for, as the poet said,
Carmina scrtbentcs secessum et otia qtiarunt.
They who would write in measure,
Retire where they may, stillness have and pleasure.
And this privilege we enjoyed by the indulgence of
our keeper, whose heart God disposed to favour us.
So that both the master and his porter were very
civil and kind to us, and had been so indeed all
along. For when we were shut up before, the porter
would readily let some of us go home in an evening,
and stay at home till next morning ; which was a
great conveniency to men of trade and business,
which I being free from, forbore asking for myself,
that I might not hinder others.
This he observed, and asked me when I meant to
ask to go out ; I told him I had not much occasion
nor desire, yet at some time or other, perhaps, I
might have; but when I had I would ask him but
once, and if he then denied me, I would ask him no
more.
After we were come back from Newgate I had a
desire to go thither again, to visit my friends who
were prisoners there, more especially my dear friend
and father in Christ, Edward Burrcugh, who was
then a prisoner, with many Friends more, in that part
174 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
of Newgate which was then called Justice Hall.
Whereupon, the porter coming in my way, I asked
him to let me go out for an hour or two, to see some
friends of mine that evening.
He, to enhance the kindness, made it a matter of
some difficulty, and would have me stay till another
night. I told him I would be at a word with him,
for, as I had told him before that if he denied me I
would ask him no more, so he should find I would
keep to it.
He was no sooner gone out of my sight but I
espied his master crossing the court ; wherefore,
stepping to him, I asked him if he was willing to let
me go out for a little while, to see some friends of
mine that evening. " Yes," said he, " very willingly ; "
and thereupon away walked I to Newgate, where
having spent the evening among Friends, I returned
in good time.
Under this easy restraint we lay until the Court sat
at the Old Bailey again ; and then, whether it was
that the heat of the storm was somewhat abated, or
by what other means Providence wrought it, I know
not, we were called to the bar, and, without further
question, discharged.
Whereupon we returned to Bridewell again, and
having raised some money among us, and therewith
gratified both the master and his porter for their kind-
ness to us, we spent some time in a solemn meeting,
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 7 5
to return our thankful acknowledgment to the Lord,
both for his preservation of us in prison and deliver-
ance of us out of it ; and then taking a solemn fare-
well of each other, we departed with bag and baggage.
And I took care to return my hammock to the owner,
with due acknowledgment of his great kindness in
lending it me.
Being now at liberty, I visited more generally my
friends that were still in prison, and more particularly
my friend and benefactor William Penington, at his
house, and then went to wait upon my Master Milton,
with whom yet I could not propose to enter upon my
intermitted studies until I had been in Buckingham-
shire, to visit my worthy friends Isaac Penington
and his virtuous wife, with other friends in that
country.
Thither therefore I betook myself, and the weather
being frosty, and the ways by that means clean and
good, I walked it throughout in a day, and was re-
ceived by my friends there with such demonstration
of hearty kindness as made my journey very easy to
me.
I had spent in my imprisonment that twenty shillings
which I had received of Wm. Penington, and twenty
of the forty which had been sent me from Mary
Penington, and had the remainder then about me.
That therefore I now returned to her, with due ac-
knowledgment of her husband's and her great care
176 'HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
of me, and liberality to me in the time of my need.
She would have had me keep it ; but I begged of her
to accept it from me again, since it was the redun-
dancy of their kindness, and the other part had
answered the occasion for which it was sent : and my
importunity prevailed.
I intended only a visit hither, not a continuance ;
and therefore purposed, after I had stayed a few days
to return to my lodging and former course in London,
but Providence ordered it otherwise.
Isaac Penington had at that time two sons and one
daughter, all then very young ; of whom the eldest
son, John Penington, and the daughter, Mary, the
wife of Daniel Wharley, are yet living at the writing
of this, And being himself both skilful 'and curious
in pronunciation, he was very desirous to have them
well grounded in the rudiments of the English tongue,
to which end he had sent for a man out of Lancashire,
whom, upon inquiry, he had heard of, who was un-
doubtedly the most accurate English teacher that ever
I met with, or have heard of. His name was Richard
Bradley. But as he pretended no higher than the
English tongue, and had led them, by grammar rules,
to 'the highest improvement they were capable of in
that, he had then taken his leave of them, and was
gone up to London, to teach an English school of
Friends' children there.
This put my friend to a fresh strait. He had sought
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 17?
for a new teacher to instruct his children in the Latin
tongue, as the old had done in the English, but had
not yet found one. Wherefore one evening, as we sat
together by the fire in his bed-chamber (which for
want of health he kept), he asked me, his wife being
by, if I would be so kind to him as to stay a while
with him till he could hear of such a man as he aimed
at, and in the meantime enter his children in the
rudiments of the Latin tongue.
This question was not more unexpected than sur-
prising to me, and the more because it seemed directly
to thwart my former purpose and undertaking, of
endeavouring to improve myself by following my
studies with my Master Milton, which this would
give at least a present diversion from, and for how
long I could not foresee.
But the sense I had of the manifold obligations I
lay under to these worthy friends of mine shut out
all reasonings, and disposed my mind to an absolute
resignation of their desire that I might testify my
gratitude by a willingness to do them any friendly
service that I could be capable of.
And though I questioned my ability to carry on that
work to its due height and proportion, yet as that
was not proposed, but an initiation only by accidence
into grammar, I consented to the proposal as a present
expedient till a more qualified person should be
found, without further treaty or mention of terms
178 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOp.
between us than that of mutual friendship. And to
render this digression from my own studies the less
uneasy to my mind, I recollected and often thought of
that rule in Lilly :
Qui docet indoctos, licet indoctissimus essef,
Ipse brevi reliquis doctior esse queat.
He that the unlearned doth teach may quickly be
More learned than they, though most unlearned he.
With this consideration I undertook this province,
and left it not until I married, which was not till the
year 1669, near seven years from the time I came
thither. In which time, having the use of my friend's
books, as well as of my own, I spent my leisure hours
much in reading, not without some improvement to
myself in my private studies, which (with the good
success of my labours bestowed on the children, and
the agreeableness of conversation which I found in the
family) rendered my undertaking more satisfactory,
and my stay there more easy to me.
But, alas ! not many days (not to say weeks) had I
been there, ere we were almost overwhelmed with
sorrow for the unexpected loss of Edward Burrough,
who was justly very dear to us all.
This not only good, but great good man, by a long
and close confinement in Newgate through the cruel
malice and malicious cruelty of Richard Brown, was
taken away by hasty death, to the unutterable grief of
II 'KITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 79
very many, and unspeakable loss to the Church of
Christ in general.
The particular obligation I had to him as the
immediate instrument of my convincement, and high
affection for him resulting therefrom, did so deeply
affect my mind that it was some pretty time before
my passion could prevail to express itself in words, so
true I found those of the tragedian :
Cur<z Icves loqunntur,
Ingentes stupent.
Light griefs break forth, and easily get vent,
Great ones are through amazement closely pent.
At length, my muse, not bearing to be any longer
mute, broke forth in the following
ACROSTIC,
WHICH SHE CALLED A PATHETIC ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF THAT
DEAR AND FAITHFUL SERVANT OF GOD,
EDWARD BURROUGH,
Who died the \^th of the Twelfth Month, 1662.
And thus she introduceth it :
How long shall Grief lie smother'd? ah ! how long
Shall Sorrow's signet seal my silent tongue ?
How long shall sighs me suffocate ? and make
My lips to quiver and my heart to ache ?
How long shall I with pain suppress my cries,
And seek for holes to wipe my watery eyes ?
Why may not I, by sorrow thus oppressed,
Pour forth my grief into another's breast ?
i8o HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
If that be true which once was said by one,
That " He mourns truly who doth mourn alone : :: *
Then may I truly say, my grief is true,
Since it hath yet been known to very few.
Nor is it now mine aim to make it known
To those to whom these verses may be shown ;
But to assuage my sorrow-swollen heart,
Which silence caused to taste so deep of smart.
This is my end, that so I may prevent
The vessel's bursting by a timely vent.
Quis taliafando
Tempe>et a lacrymis !
Who can forbear, when such things spoke he hears,
His grave to water with a flood of tears ?
E cho ye woods, resound ye hollow places,
L et tears and paleness cover all men's faces.
L et groans, like claps of thunder, pierce the air,
W hile I the cause of my just grief declare.
O that mine eyes could, like the streams of Nile,
'erflow their watery banks ; and thou meanwhile
D rink in my trickling tears, oh thirsty ground,
S o might'st thou henceforth fruitfuler be found.
L ament, my soul, lament ; thy loss is deep,
A nd all that Sion love sit down and weeg,
M ourn, oh ye virgins, and let sorrow be
E ach damsel's dowry, and (alas, for me !)
N e'er let my sobs and sighings have an end
T ill I again embrace my ascended friend ;
A nd till I feel the virtue of his life
T o consolate me, and repress my grief:
1 nfuse into my heart the oil of gladness
O nee more, and by its strength remove that sadness
N ow pressing down my spirit, and restore
* Ille dolet verc, qui fine teste dolct.
WRITTEN B Y HI MS EL F. i S i
F ully that joy I had in him before ;
f whom a word I fain would stammer forth,
R ather to ease my heart than show his worth :
H is worth, my grief, which words too shallow are
1 n demonstration fully to declare,
S ighs, sobs, my best interpreters now are.
E nvy begone ; black Momus quit the place ;
N e'er more, Zoilus, show thy wrinkled face,
D raw near, ye bleeding hearts, whose sorrows are
E qual with mine ; in him ye had like share,
A dd all your losses up, and ye shall see
R emainder will be nought but woe is me.
E ndeared lambs, ye that have the white stone,
D o know full well his name it is your own.
E ternitized be that right worthy name ;
D eath hath but kilFd his body, not his fame,
\V hich in its brightness shall for ever dwell,
A nd like a box of ointment sweetly smell.
R ighteousness was his robe ; bright majesty
D ecked his brow ; his look was heavenly.
B old was he in his Master's quarrel, and
U ndaunted ; faithful to his Lord's command.
R equiting good for ill ; directing all
R ight in the way that leads out of the fall.
O pen and free to ev'ry thirsty lamb ;
U nspotted, pure, clean, holy, without blame.
G lory, light, splendour, lustre, was his crown,
H appy his change to him : the loss our own.
Unica post cineres virtus veneranda beatos
Efficit.
Virtue alone, 'which reverence ought to have,
Doth make men happy, e'en beyond the grave.
:82 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
While I had thus been breathing forth my grief,
-In hopes thereby to get me some relief,
I heard, methought, his voice say, " Cease to mourn :
I live ; and though the veil of flesh once worn
Be now stript off, dissolved, and laid aside,
My spirit's with thee, and shall so abides"
This satisfied me ; down I threw my quill,
Willing to be resigned to God's pure will.
Having discharged this duty to the memory of my
deceased friend, I went on in my new province, in-
structing my little pupils in the rudiments of the Latin
tongue, to the mutual satisfaction of both their parents
and myself. As soon as I had gotten a little money in
my pocket, which as a premium without compact I
received from them, I took the first opportunity to
return to my friend William Penington the money
which he had so kindly furnished me with in my need,
at the time of my imprisonment in Bridewell, with a
due acknowledgment of my obligation to him for it.
He was not at all forward to receive it, so that I was
fain to press it upon him.
While thus I remained in this family various sus-
picions arose in the minds of some concerning me with
respect to Mary Penington's fair daughter Guli ; for
she having now arrived at a marriageable age, and
being in all respects a very desirable woman whether
regard was had to her outward person, which wanted
nothing to render her completely comely ; or to the
endowments of her mind, which were every way
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 83
extraordinary and highly obliging ; or to her outward
fortune, which was fair, and which with some hath not
the last nor the least place in consideration she "was
openly and secretly sought and solicited by many,
and some of them almost of every rank and condition,
good and bad, rich and poor, friend and foe. To
whom, in their respective turns, till he at length came
for whom she was reserved, she carried herself with
so much eveness of temper, such courteous freedom,
guarded with the strictest modesty, that as it gave
encouragement or ground of hopes to none, so neither
did it administer any matter of offence or just cause of
complaint to any.
But such as were thus either engaged for themselves
or desirous to make themselves advocates for others,
could not, I observed, but look upon me with an eye
of jealousy and fear, that I would improve the oppor-
tunities I had by frequent and familiar conversation
with her, to my own advantage, in working myself
into her good opinion and favour, to the ruin of their
pretences.
According therefore to the several kinds and degrees
of their fears of me, they suggested to her parents their
ill surmises against me.
Some stuck not to question the sincerity of my
intentions in coming at first among the Quakers,
urging with a why may it not be so, that the desire
and hopes of obtaining by that means so fair a
1 84 //AS' TORY OF THOMA S ELL \VO OD.
fortune might be the prime and chief inducement to
me to thrust myself amongst that people ? But this
surmise could find no place with those worthy friends
of mine, her father-in-law and her mother, who, besides
the clear sense and sound judgment they had in them-
selves, knew very well upon what terms I came among
them, how strait and hard the passage was to me,
how contrary to all worldly interest, which lay fair
another way, how much I had suffered from my father
for it, and how regardless I had been of attempting or
seeking anything of that nature in these three or four
years that I had been amongst them.
Some others, measuring me by the propensity of
their own inclinations, concluded I would steal her, run
away with her, and marry her ; which they thought
I might be the more easily induced to do, from the
advantageous opportunities I frequently had of riding
and walking abroad with her, by night as well as by
day, without any other company than her maid. For
so great indeed was the confidence that her mother
had in me, that she thought her daughter safe if I was
with her, even from the plots and designs that others
had upon her ; and so honourable were the thoughts
she entertained concerning me, as would not suffer
her to admit a suspicion that I could be capable of so
much baseness as to betray the trust she with so great
freedom reposed in me.
I was not ignorant of the various fears which filled
WRITTEN B I ' HIMSELF. 185
the jealous heads of some concerning me, neither was
I so stupid nor so divested of all humanity as not to
be sensible of the real and innate worth and virtue
which adorned that excellent dame, and attracted the
eyes and hearts of so many with the greatest impor-
tunity to seek and solicit her. But the force of truth
and sense of honour suppressed whatever would have
risen beyond the bounds of fair and virtuous friendship ;
for I easily foresaw that if Is hould have attempted
anything in a dishonourable way by force or fraud
upon her, I should have thereby brought a wound
upon my own soul, a foul scandal upon my religious
profession, and an infamous stain upon mine honour ;
either of which was far more dear unto me than my
life. Wherefore, having observed how some others
had befooled themselves by misconstruing her com-
mon kindness, expressed in an innocent, open, free,
and familiar conversation, springing from the abundant
affability, courtesy, and sweetness of her natural temper,
to be the effect of a singular regard and peculiar affec-
tion to them, I resolved to shun the rock on which I
had seen so many run and split ; and remembering
that saying of the poet,
Felix quern faciunt aliena pericula cautum,
Happy's he
Whom others' dangers wary make to be,
I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage
186 HISTORY OF THOMAS
towards her, that I thereby both preserved a fair repu-
tation with my friends and enjoyed as much of her
favour and kindness in a virtuous and firm friendship
as was fit for her to show or for me to seek.
Thus leading a quiet and contented life, I had
leisure sometimes to write a copy of verses on one
occasion or another, as the poetic vein naturally
opened, without taking pains to polish them. Such
was this which follows, occasioned by the sudden death
of some lusty people in their full strength :
EST VITA CADUCA.
As is the fragrant flower in the field,
Which in the spring a pleasant smell doth yield,
And lovely sight, but soon is withered ;
So's Man : to-day alive, to-morrow dead.
And as the silver dew-bespangled grass,
Which in the morn bedecks its mother's face,
But ere the scorching summer's passed looks brown,
Or by the scythe is suddenly cut down.
Just such is Man, who vaunts himself to-day,
Decking himself in all his best array ;
But in the midst of all his bravery
Death rounds him in the ear, " Friend, thou must die."
Or like a shadow in a sunny day,
Which in a moment vanishes away ;
Or like a smile or spark, such is the span
Of life allowed this microcosm, Man.
Cease then vain man to boast ; for this is true,
Thy brightest glory's as the morning dew,
Which disappears when first the rising sun
Displays his beams above the horizon.
As the consideration of the uncertainty of human
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. i S;
life drew the foregoing lines from me, so the sense I
had of the folly of mankind, in misspending the
little time allowed them in evil ways and vain sports,
led me more particularly to trace the several courses
wherein the generality of men run unprofitably at
best, if not 'to their hurt and ruin, which I introduced
with that axiom of the Preacher (Eccles. i. 2) :
ALL IS VANITY.
See here the state of man as in a glass,
And how the fashion of this world doth pass.
Some in a tavern spend the longest day,
While others hawk and hunt the time away.
Here one his mistress courts ; another dances ;
A third incites to lust by wanton glances.
This wastes the day in dressing ; the other seeks
To set fresh colours on her with red cheeks,
That, when the sun declines, some dapper spark
May take her to Spring Garden or the park.
Plays some frequent, and balls ; others their prime
Consume at dice ; some bowl away their time.
With cards some wholly captivated are ;
From tables others scarce an hour can spare.
One to soft music mancipates his ear ;
At shov;el-board another spends the year.
The Pall Mall this accounts the only sport ;
That keeps a racket in the tennis-court.
Some strain their very eyes and throats with singing,
While o-thers strip their hands and backs at ringing.
Another sort with greedy eyes are waiting
Either at cock-pit or some great bull-baiting.
This dotes on running-horses ; t'other fool
Is never well but in the fencing-school.
i88 HISTORY OF THOMAS RLLWOOD.
Wrestling and football, nine-pins, prison-base,
Among the rural clowns find each a place.
Nay, Joan unwashed will leave her milking-pail
To dance at May-pole, or a Whitsun ale.
Thus wallow most in sensual delight,
As if their day should never have a night,
Till Nature's pale-faced sergeant them surprise,
And as the tree then falls, just so it lies.
Now look at home, thou who these lines dost read,
See which of all these paths thyself dost tread,
And ere it be too late that path forsake,
Which, followed, will thee miserable make.
After I had thus enumerated some of the many
vanities in which the generality of men misspent
their time, I sang the following ode in praise of
virtue :
Wealth, beauty, pleasures, honours, all adieu ;
I value virtue far, far more than you.
You're all but toys
For girls and boys
To play withal, at best deceitful joys.
She lives for ever ; ye are transitory,
Her honour is unstained ; but your glory
Is mere deceit
A painted bait,
Hung out for such as sit at Folly's gate.
True peace, content, and joy on her attend ;
You, on the contrary, your forces bend
To blear men's eyes
With fopperies,
Which fools embrace, but wiser men despise.
About this time my father, resolving to sell his
estate, and having reserved for his own use such parts
of his household goods as he thought fit, not willing
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 189
to take upon himself the trouble of selling the rest,
gave them unto me ; whereupon I went down to
Crowell, and having before given notice there and
thereabouts that I intended a public sale of them, I
sold them, and thereby put some money into my
pocket. Yet I sold such things only as I judged
useful, leaving the pictures and armour, of which
there was some store there, unsold.
Not long after this my father sent for me to come
to him at London about some business, which, when
I came there, I understood was to join with him in the
sale of his estate, which the purchaser required for his
own satisfaction and safety, I being then the next heir
to it in law. And although I might probably have
made some advantageous terms for myself by standing
off, yet when I was satisfied by counsel that there
was no entail upon it or right of reversion to me,
but that he might lawfully dispose of it as he pleased,
I readily joined with him in the sale without asking
or having the least gratuity or compensation, no, not
so much as the fee I had given to counsel to secure
me from any danger in doing it.
There having been some time before this a very
severe law made against the Quakers by name, and
more particularly prohibiting our meetings under the
sharpest penalties of five pounds for the first offence
so called, ten pounds for the second, and banishment
for the third, under pain of felony for escaping or
t 9 o HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
returning without license which law was looked
upon to have been procured by the bishops in order
to bring us to a conformity to their way of worship
I wrote a few lines in way of dialogue between a
Bishop and a Quaker, which I called
CONFORMITY, PRESSED AND REPRESSED.
B. What ! You are one of them that do deny
To yield obedience by conformity.
Q. Nay : we desire conformable to be.
B. But unto what? Q. The Image of the Son.*
B. What's that to us ! We'll have conformity
Unto our form. O. Then we shall ne'er have done.
For, if your fickle minds should alter, we
Should be to seek a new conformity.
Thus, who to-day conform to Prelacy,
To-morrow may conform to Popery.
But take this for an answer, Bishop, we
Cannot conform either to them or thee ;
For while to truth your forms are opposite,
Whoe'er conforms thereto doth not aright.
B. We'll make such knaves as you conform, or lie
Confined in prisons till ye rot and die.
O. Well, gentle Bishop, I may live to see,
For all thy threats, a check to cruelty ;
But in the meantime, I, for my defence,
Betake me to my fortress, Patience.
No sooner was this cruel law made but it was put
in execution with great seventy ; the sense whereof
working strongly on my spirit, made me cry earnestly
to the Lord that he would arise and set up his right-
eous judgment in the earth for the deliverance of
* Rom. viii. 9.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 1 9 1
his people from all their enemies, both inward and
outward ; and in these terms I uttered it :
Awake, awake, O arm of th' Lord, awake,
Thy sword uptake ;
Cast what would Thine forgetful of Thee make
Into the lake.
Awake, I pray, O mighty Jah, awake
Make all the world before Thy presence quake,
Not only earth, but heaven also shake.
Arise, arise, O Jacob's God, arise,
And hear the cries
Of ev'ry soul which in distress now lies,
And to Thee flies.
Arise, I pray, O Israel's hope, arise ;
Set free Thy seed, oppressed by enemies.
Why should they over it still tyrannize ?
Make speed, make speed, O Israel's help, make speed,
In time of need ;
For evil men have wickedly decreed
Against Thy seed.
Make speed, I pray, O mighty God, make speed ;
Let all Thy lambs from savage wolves be freed,
That fearless on Thy mountain they may feed.
Ride on, ride on, Thou Valiant Man of Might,
And put to flight
Those sons of Belial who do despite
To the upright :
Ride on, I say, Thou Champion, and smite
Thine and Thy people's enemies, with such might
That none may dare 'gainst Thee or Thine to fight.
Although the storm raised by the Act for banish-
ment fell with the greatest weight and force upon
some other parts, as at London, Hertford, &c., yet
we were not in Buckinghamshire wholly exempted
therefrom, for a part of that shower reached us also.
192 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
For a Friend of Amersham, whose name was
Edward Perot or Parret, departing this life, and notice
being given that his body would be buried there on
such a day, which was the first day of the fifth month,
1665, the Friends of the adjacent parts of the country
resorted pretty generally to the burial, so that there
was a fair appearance of Friends and neighbours, the
deceased having been well-beloved by both.
After we had spent some time together in the house,
Morgan Watkins, who at that time happened to be
at Isaac Penington's, being with us, the body was
taken up and borne on Friends' shoulders along the
street in order to be carried to the burying-ground,
which was at the town's end, being part of an
orchard belonging to the deceased, which he in his
lifetime had appointed for that service.
It so happened that one Ambrose Benett, a barrister
at law and a justice of the peace for that county,
riding through the town that morning on his way to
Aylesbury, was by some ill-disposed person or other
informed that there was a Quaker to be buried there
that day, and that most of the Quakers in the country
were come thither to the burial.
Upon this he set up his horses and stayed, and when
we, not knowing anything of his design against us,
went innocently forward to perform our Christian
duty for the interment of our friend, he rushed out
of his inn upon us with the constables and a rabble
WRITTEN B Y HIMSEL F. 193
of rude fellows whom he had gathered together, and
having his drawn sword in his hand, struck one of the
foremost of the bearers with it, commanding them to
set down the coffin. But the Friend who was so
stricken, whose name was Thomas Dell, being more
concerned for the safety of the dead body than his own,
lest it should fall from his shoulder, and any indecency
thereupon follow, held the coffin fast ; which the
Justice observing, and being enraged that his word
(how unjust soever) was not forthwith obeyed, set his
hand to the coffin, and with a forcible thrust threw
it off from the bearers' shoulders, so that it fell to the
ground in the midst of the street, and there we were
forced to leave it.
For immediately thereupon, the Justice giving com-
mand for the apprehending us, the constables with the
rabble fell on us, and drew some and drove others
into the inn, giving thereby an opportunity to the rest
to walk away.
Of those that were thus taken I was one. And
being, with many more, put into a room under a
guard, we were kept there till another Justice, called
Sir Thomas Clayton, whom Justice Benett had sent
for to join with him in committing us, was come,
and then being called forth severally before them,
they picked out ten of us, and committed us to
Aylesbury gaol, for what neither we nor they knew ;
for we were not convicted of having either done or
194 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
said anything which the law could take hold of, for
they took us up in the open street, the king's high-
way, not doing any unlawful act, but peaceably carry-
ing and accompanying the corpse of our deceased
friend to bury it, which they would not suffer us to
do, but caused the body to lie in the open street and
in the cartway, so that all the travellers that passed
by, whether horsemen, coaches, carts, or waggons,
were fain to break out of the way to go by it, that
they might not drive over it, until it was almost night.
And then having caused a grave to be made in the
unconsecrated part (as it is accounted) of that which
is called the churchyard, they forcibly took the body
from the widow whose right and property it was, and
buried it there.
When the Justices had delivered us prisoners to the
constable, it being then late in the day, which was
the seventh day of the week, he, not willing to go so
far as Aylesbury, nine long miles, with us that night,
nor to put the town to the charge of keeping us there
that night, and the first day and night following,
dismissed us upon our parole to come to him again at
a set hour on the second day morning ; whereupon we
all went home to our respective habitations, and
coming to him punctually according to promise, were
by him, without guard, conducted to the prison.
The gaoler, whose name was Nathaniel Birch, had
not long before behaved himself very wickedly, with
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 195
great rudeness and cruelty, to some of our friends oi
the lower side of the county, whom he, combining
with the Clerk of the Peace, whose name was Henry
Wells, had contrived to get into his gaol ; and after
they were legally discharged in court, detained them
in prison, using great violence, and shutting them up
close in the common gaol among the felons, because
they would not give him his unrighteous demand of
fees, which they were the more straitened in from his
treacherous dealing with them. And they having
through suffering maintained their freedom and ob-
tained their liberty, we were the more concerned to
keep what they had so hardly gained, and therefore
resolved not to make any contract or terms for either
chamber-rent or fees, but to demand a free prison,
which we did.
When we came in, the gaoler was ridden out to
wait on the judges, who came in that day to begin
the assize, and his wife was somewhat at a loss how to
deal with us ; but being a cunning woman, she treated
us with great appearance of courtesy, offering us the
choice of all her rooms ; and when we asked upon
what terms, she still referred us to her husband,
telling us she did not doubt but that he would be very
reasonable and civil to us. Thus she endeavoured to
have drawn us to take possession of some of her
chambers at a venture, and trust to her husband's
kind usage. But we, who at the cost of our friends
G2
195 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWQOD.
had a proof of his kindness, were too wary to be drawn
in by the fair words of a woman, and therefore told
her we would not settle anywhere till her husband
came home, and then would have a free prison, where-
soever he put us.
Accordingly, walking all together into the court of
the prison, in which was a well of very good water,
and having beforehand sent to a friend in the town,
a widow woman, whose name was Sarah Lambarn,
to bring us some bread and cheese, we sat down upon
the ground round about the well, and when we had
eaten, we drank of the water out of the well.
Our great concern was for our friend Isaac Pen-
ington, because of the tenderness of his constitution ;
but he was so lively in his spirit, and so cheerfully
given up to suffer, that he rather encouraged us than
needed any encouragement from us.
In this posture the gaoler, when he came home,
found us, and having before he came to us consulted
his wife, and by her understood on what terms we
stood, when he came to us he hid his teeth, and
putting on a show of kindness, seemed much troubled
that we .should sit there abroad, especially his old
friend Mr. Penington, and thereupon invited us to
come in and take what rooms in his house we pleased.
We asked upon what terms ; letting him know withal
that we determined to have a free prison.
He, like the sun and wind in a fable, that strove
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 197
which of them should take from the traveller his cloak,
having like the wind tried rough, boisterous, violent
means to our friends before, but in vain, resolved
now to imitate the sun. and shine as pleasantly as he
could upon us ; wherefore he told us we should make
the terms ourselves, and be as free as we desired ; if
we thought fit, when we were released, to give him
anything, he would thank us for it, and if not, he
would demand nothing.
Upon these terms we went in and disposed our-
selves, some in the dwelling-house, others in the
malt-house, where they chose to be.
During the assize we were brought before Judge
Morton, a sour, angry man, who very rudely reviled
us, but would not either hear us or' the cause, but
referred the matter to the two justices who had com-
mitted us.
They, when the assize was ended, sent for us to be
brought before them at their inn, and fined us, as I
remember, six shillings and eightpence apiece, which
we not consenting to pay, they committed us to
prison again for one month from that time, on the
Act for banishment.
When we had lain there that month, !, with
another, went to the gaolor to demand our liberty,
which he readily granted, telling us the door should
be opened when we pleased to go.
This answer of his I reported to the rest of my
198 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
friends there, and thereupon we raised among us a
small sum of money, which they put into my hand
for the gaoler, whereupon I, taking another with me,
went to the gaoler with the money in my hand, and
reminding him of the terms upon which we accepted
the use of his rooms, I told him, that although we
could not pay chamber rent or fees, yet inasmuch as
he had now been civil to us, we were willing to
acknowledge it by a small token, and thereupon gave
him the money. He, putting it into his pocket, said,
" I thank you and your friends for it, and to let you
see I take it as a gift, not a debt, I will not look on
it to see how much it is."
The prison door being then set open for us, we
went out, and departed to our respective homes.
But before I left the prison, considering one day
with myself the different kinds of liberty and confine-
ment, freedom and bondage, I took my pen, and
wrote the following enigma or riddle :
Lo ! here a riddle to the wise,
In which a mystery there lies ;
Read it, therefore, with that eye
Which can discern a mystery.
THE RIDDLE.
Some men are free while they in prison lie ;
Others, who ne'er saw prison, captives die,
CAUTION.
He that can receive it may ;
He that cannot, let him stay,
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 199
And not be hasty, but suspend
His judgment till he sees the end.
SOLUTION.
He only's free indeed that's free from sin,
And he is safest bound that's bound therein.
CONCLUSION.
This is the liberty I chiefly prize,
The other, without this, I can despise.
Some little time before I went to Aylesbury prison
I was desired by my quondam master, Milton, to
take a house for him in the neighbourhood where
I dwelt, that he might go out of the city, for the
safety of himself and his family, the pestilence then
growing hot in London. I took a pretty box for him
in Giles Chalfont, a mile from me, of which I gave
him notice, and intended to have waited on him, and
seen him well settled in it, but was prevented by
that imprisonment.
But now being released and returned home, 1
soon made a visit to him, to welcome him into the
country.
After some common discourses had passed between
us, he called for a manuscript of his ; which being
brought he delivered to me, bidding me take it home
with me, and read it at my leisure ; and when I had
so done, return it to him with my judgment there-
upon.
When I came home, and had set myself to read it,
200 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
I found it was that excellent poem which he entitled
"Paradise Lost." After I had, with the best atten-
tion, read it through, I made him another visit, and
returned him his book, with due acknowledgment of
the favour he had done me in communicating it to
me. He asked me how I liked it and what I thought
of it, which I modestly but freely told him, and after
some further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to
him, " Thou hast said much here of * Paradise Lost/
but what hast thou to say of ' Paradise Found?'"
He made me no answer, but sat some time in a muse ;
then brake off that discourse, and fell upon another
subj ect.
After the sickness was over, and the city well
cleansed and become safely habitable again, he
returned thither. And when afterwards I went to
wait on him there, which I seldom failed of doing
whenever my occasions drew me to London, he
showed me his second poem, called " Paradise
Regained," and in a pleasant tone said to me, "This is
owing to you, for you put it into my head by the
question you put to me at Chalfont, which before I
had not thought of." But from this digression I
return to the family I then lived in.
We had not been long at home, about a month
perhaps, before Isaac Penington was taken out of his
house in an arbitrary manner by military force, and
carried prisoner to Aylesbury gaol again, where he
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 201
lay three-quarters of a year, with great hazard of his
life, it being the sickness year, and the plague being
not only in the town, but in the gaol.
Meanwhile his wife and family were turned out of
his house, called the Grange, at Peter's Chalfont, by
them who had seized upon his estate ; and the family
being by that means broken up, some went one way,
others another. Mary Penington herself, with her
younger children, went down to her husband at
Aylesbury. Guli, with her maid, went to Bristol,
to see her former maid, Anne Hersent, who was
married to a merchant of that city, whose name was
Thomas Biss ; and I went to Aylesbury with the
children, but not finding the place agreeable to my
health, I soon left it, and returning to Chalfont, took
a lodging, and was dieted in the house of a friendly
man, and after some time went to Bristol to conduct
Guli home.
Meanwhile Mary Penington took lodgings in a
farmhouse called Bottrels, in the parish of Giles
Chalfont, where, when we returned from Bristol, we
found her.
We had been there but a very little time before I
was sent to prison again upon this occasion. There
was in those times a meeting once a month at the
house of George Salter, a Friend, of Hedgerly, to
which we sometimes went ; and Morgan Watkins
being with us, he and I, with Guli and her maid, and
202 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
one Judith Parker, wife of Dr. Parker, one of the
College of Physicians at London, with a maiden
daughter of theirs, neither of whom were Quakers,
but as acquaintances of Mary Penington were with
her on a visit, walked over to that meeting, it being
about the middle of the first month, and the weather
good.
This place was about a mile from the house of
Ambrose Benett, the justice who the summer before
had sent me and some other Friends to Aylesbury
prison from the burial of Edward Parret of Amersham ;
and he, by what means I know not, getting notice
not only of the meeting, but, as was supposed, of our
being there, came himself to it, and as he came
caught up a stackwood stick, big enough to have
knocked any man down, and brought it with him,
hidden under his cloak.
Being come to the house, he stood for a while
without the door and out of sight, listening to hear
what was said, for Morgan was then speaking in the
meeting. But certainly he heard very imperfectly, if
it was true which we heard he said afterwards among
his companions, as an argument, that Morgan was a
Jesuit viz., that in his preaching he trolled over his
Latin as fluently as ever he heard any one ; whereas
Morgan, good man, was better versed in Welsh
than in Latin, which I suppose he had never learned :
I am sure he did not understand it.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 203
When this martial Justice, who at Amersham had
with his drawn sword struck an unarmed man who
he knew would not strike again, had now stood some
time abroad, on a sudden he rushed in among us, with
the- stackwood stick held up in his hand ready to
strike, crying out, " Make way there ; " and an ancient
woman not getting soon enough out of his way, he
struck her with the stick a shrewd blow over the
breast. Then pressing through the crowd to the place
where Morgan stood, he plucked him from thence,
and caused so great a disorder in the room that it
broke the meeting up ; yet would not the people go
away or disperse themselves, but tarried to see what
the issue would be.
Then taking pen and paper, he sat down at the
table among us, and asked several of us our names,
which we gave, and he set down in writing.
Amongst others he asked Judith Parker, the
doctor's wife, what her name was, which she readily
gave ; and thence taking occasion to discourse him,
she so overmastered him by clear reason, delivered in
fine language, that he, glad to be rid of her, struck
out her name and dismissed her ; yet did not she
remove, but kept her place amongst us.
When he had taken what number of names he
thought fit, he singled out half a dozen, whereof
Morgan was one, I another, one man more, and
three women, of whom the woman of the house was
204 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
one, although her husband then was, and for divers
years before had been, a prisoner in the Fleet for
tithes, and had nobody to take care of his family and
business but her his wife.
Us six he committed to Aylesbury gaol, which
when the doctor's wife heard him read to the con-
stable, she attacked him again, and having put him
in mind that it was a sickly time, and that the pesti-
lence was reported to be in that place, she in hand-
some terms desired him to consider in time how he
would answer the cry of our blood, if by his sending
us to be shut up in an infected place we should lose
our lives there. This made him alter his purpose,
and by a new mittimus sent us to the House of Cor-
rection at Wycombe. And although he committed
us upon the Act for banishment, which limited a cer-
tain time for imprisonment, yet he in his mittimus
limited no time, but ordered us to be kept till we
should be delivered by due course of law ; so little
regardful was he, though a lawyer, of keeping to the
letter of the law.
We were committed on the I3th day of the month
called March, 1665, and were kept close prisoners
there till the 7th day of the month called June,
which was some days above twelve weeks, and much
above what the Act required.
Then were we sent for to the Justice's house, and
the rest being released, Morgan Watkins and I were
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 205
required to find sureties for our appearance at the
next assize ; which we refusing to do, were com-
mitted anew to our old prison, the House of Cor-
rection at Wycotnbe, there to lie until the next
assizes ; Morgan being in this second mittimus
represented as a notorious offender in preaching, and
I as being upon the second conviction in order to
banishment. There we lay till the 25th day of the
same month, and then, by the favour of the Earl of
Ancram, being brought before him at his house, we
were discharged from the prison upon our promise to
appear, if at liberty and in health, at the assizes ;
which we did, and were there discharged by procla-
mation.
During my imprisonment in this prison I betook
myself for an employment to making of nets for
kitchen-service, to boil herbs, &c., in, which trade I
learned of Morgan Watkins, and selling some and
giving others, I pretty well stocked the Friends of
that country with them.
Though in that confinement I was not very well
suited with company for conversation, Morgan's na-
tural temper not being very agreeable to mine, yet
we kept a fair and brotherly correspondence, as be-
came friends, prison-fellows, and bed-fellows, which
we were. And indeed it was a good time, I think,
to us all, for I found it so to me ; the Lord being
graciously pleased to visit my soul with the refreshing
206 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
dews of his divine life, whereby my spirit was more
and more quickened to Him, and truth gained ground
in me over the temptations and snares of the enemy ;
which frequently raised in my heart thanksgivings and
praises unto the Lord. And at one time more espe-
cially the sense I had of the prosperity of truth, and
the spreading thereof, filling my heart with abundant
joy, made my cup overflow, and the following lines
drop out :
For truth I suffer bonds, in truth I live,
And unto truth this testimony give,
That truth shall over all exalted be,
And in dominion reign for evermore :
The child's already born that this may see,
Honour, praise, glory be to God therefor.
And underneath thus :
Though death and hell should against truth combine,
Its glory shall through all their darkness shine.
This I saw with an eye of faith, beyond the reach
of human sense ; for,
As strong desire
Draws objects nigher
In apprehension than indeed they are ;
I with an eye
That pierced high
Did thus of truth's prosperity declare.
After we had been discharged at the assizes I re-
turned to Isaac Penington's family at Bottrel's in
Chalfont, and, as I remember, Morgan Watkins with
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 207
me, leaving Isaac Penington a prisoner in Aylesbury
goal.
The lodgings we had in this farmhouse (Bottrel's)
proving too strait and inconvenient for the family, I
took larger and better lodgings for them in Berrie-
house at Amersham, whither we went at the time
called Michaelmas, having spent the summer at the
other place.
Some time after was that memorable meeting ap-
pointed to be held at London, through a divine open-
ing in the motion of life, in that eminent servant and
prophet of God, George Fox, for the restoring and
bringing in again those who had gone out from truth,
and the holy unity of Friends therein, by the means
and ministry of John Perrot.
This man came pretty early amongst Friends, and
too early took upon him the ministerial office ; and
being, though little in person, yet great in opinion of
himself, nothing less would serve him than to go and
convert the Pope ; in order whereunto, he having a
better man than himself, John Luff, to accompany
him, travelled to Rome, where they had not been
long ere they were taken up and clapped into prison.
Luff, as I remember, was put in the Inquisition, and
Perrot in their Bedlam, or hospital for madmen.
Luff died in prison, not without well-grounded
suspicion of being murdered there ; but Perrot lay
there some time, and now and then sent over an
208 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
epistle to be printed here, written in such an affected
and fantastic style as might have induced an
indifferent reader to believe they had suited the
place of his confinement to his condition.
After some time, through the mediation of Friends
(who hoped better of him than he proved) with some
person of note and interest there, he was released, and
came back for England. And the report of his great
sufferings there (far greater in report than in reality),
joined with a singular show of sanctity, so far opened
the hearts of many tender and compassionate Friends
towards him, that it gave him the advantage of
insinuating himself into their affections and esteem,
and made way for the more ready propagation of that
peculiar error of his, of keeping on the hat in time of
prayer as well public as private, unless they had an
immediate motion at that time to put it off.
Now, although I had not the least acquaintance with
this man, not having ever exchanged a word with him,
though I knew him by sight, nor had I any esteem for
him, for either his natural parts or ministerial gift,
but rather a dislike of his aspect, preaching, and way
of writing ; yet this error of his being broached in
the time of my infancy and weakness of judgment as
to truth, while I lived privately in London and had
little converse with Friends, I, amongst the many who
were caught in that snare, was taken with the notion,
as what then seemed to my weak understanding
WRITTEN 7? Y HIMSELF. 209
suitable to the doctrine of a spiritual dispensation.
And the matter coming to warm debates, both in
words and writing, I, in a misguided zeal, was ready to
have entered the lists of contention about it, not then
seeing what spirit it proceeded from and was managed
by, nor foreseeing the disorder and confusion in wor-
ship which must naturally attend it.
But as I had no evil intention or sinister end in
engaging in it, but was simply betrayed by the
specious pretence and show of greater spirituality, the
Lord, in tender compassion to my soul, was graciously
pleased to open my understanding and give me a clear
sight of the enemy's design in this work, and drew me
off from the practice of it, and to bear testimony
against it as occasion offered.
But when that solemn meeting was appointed at
London for a travail in spirit on behalf of those who
had thus gone out, that they might rightly return and
be sensibly received into the unity of the body again,
my spirit rejoiced, and with gladness of heart I went
to it, as did many more of both city and country, and
with great simplicity and humility of mind did
honestly and openly acknowledge our outgoing, and
take condemnation and shame to ourselves. And some
that lived at tco remote a distance in this nation as
well as beyond the seas, upon notice given of that
meeting and the intended service of it, did the like
by writing in letters directed to and openly read in
210 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
the meeting, which for that purpose was continued
many days.
Thus in the motion of life were the healing
waters, stirred and many through the virtuous power
thereof restored to soundness, and indeed not many
lost. And though most of those who thus returned
were such as with myself had before renounced the
error and forsaken the practice, yet did we sensibly
find that forsaking without confessing, in case of
public scandal, was not sufficient, but that an open
acknowledgment of open offences as well as for-
saking them, was necessary to the obtaining complete
remission,
Not long after this, George Fox was moved of the
Lord to travel through the countries, from county to
county, to advise and encourage Friends to set up
monthly and quarterly meetings, for the better
ordering the affairs of the church in taking care of
the poor, and exercising a true gospel discipline for
a due dealing with any that might walk disorderly
under our name, and to see that such as should
marry among us did act fairly and clearly in that
respect.
When he came into this county I was one of the
many Friends that were with him at the meeting for
that purpose ; and afterwards I travelled with Guli
end her maid into the West of England to meet him
there and to visit Friends in those parts, and we went
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 2 1 1
as far as Topsham in Devonshire before we found
him. He had been in Cornwall, and was then re-
turning, and came in unexpectedly at Topsham, where
we then were providing (if he had not then come
thither) to have gone that day towards Cornwall.
But after he was come to us we turned back with
him through Devonshire, Somersetshire, and Dorset-
shire, having generally very good meetings where he
was ; and the work he was chiefly concerned in went
on very prosperously and well, without any opposition
or dislike, save in that in the general meeting of
Friends in Dorsetshire a quarrelsome man, who had
gone out from Friends in John Perrot's business and
had not come rightly in again, but continued in the
practice of keeping on his hat in time of prayer, to
the great trouble and offence of Friends, began to
cavil and raise disputes, which occasioned some
interruption and disturbance.
Not only George and Alexander Parker, who were
with him, but divers of the ancient Friends of that
country, endeavoured to quiet that troublesome man
and make him sensible of his error, but his unruly
spirit would still be opposing what was said unto him
and justifying himself in that practice. This brought
a great weight and exercise upon me, who sat at a
distance in the outward part of the meeting, and
after I had for some time bore the burden thereof, I
stood up in the constraining power of the Lord, and
2 1 2 7/76' TOR V OF T HO HI A S ELL WO OD.
in great tenderness of spirit declared unto the meeting,
and to that person more particularly, how it had been
with me in that respect, how I had been betrayed into
that wrong practice, how strong I had been therein,
and how the Lord had been graciously pleased to show
me the evil thereof, and recover me out of it.
This coming unexpectedly from me, a young man,
a stranger, and one who had not intermeddled with
the business of the meeting, had that effect upon the
caviller, that if it did not satisfy him, it did at least
silence him, and made him for the present sink down
and be still, without giving any further disturbance to
the meeting. And the Friends were well pleased with
this unlooked-for testimony from me, and I was glad
that I had that opportunity to confess to the truth,
and to acknowledge once more, in so public a
manner, the mercy and goodness of the Lord to me
therein.
By the time we came back from this journey the
summer was pretty far gone, and the following winter
I spent with the children of the family as before,
without any remarkable alteration in my circum-
stances, until tho next spring, when I found in myself
a disposition of mind to change my single life for a
married state.
I had alwa> s entertained so high a regard for
marriage, as it was a divine institution, that I held
it not lawful to make it a sort of political trade, to
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 2 \ 3
rise in the world by. And therefore as I could not
but in my judgment blame such as I found made it
their business to hunt after and endeavour to gain
those who were accounted great fortunes, not so much
regarding what she is as what she has, but making
wealth the chief if not the only thing they aimed at ;
so I resolved to avoid, in my own practice, that
course, and how much soever my condition might
have prompted me, as well as others, to seek
advantage that way, never to engage on account of
riches, nor at all to marry till judicious affection
drew me to it, which I now began to feel at work in
my breast.
The object of this affection was a Friend whose
name was Mary Ellis, whom for divers years I had
had an acquaintance with, in the way of common
friendship only, and in whom I thought I then saw
those fair prints of truth and solid virtue which I
afterwards found in a sublime degree in her ; but
what her condition in the world was as to estate, I
was wholly a stranger to, nor desired to know.
I had once, a year or two before, had an oppor-
tunity to do her a small piece of service, which she
wanted some assistance in, wherein I acted with all
sincerity and freedom of mind, not expecting or
desiring any advantage by her, or reward from her,
being very well satisfied in the act itself that I had
served a Friend and helped the helpless.
214 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
That little intercourse of common kindness between
us ended without the least thought I am verily per-
suaded on her part, well assured on my own, of any
other or further relation than that of free and fair
friendship, nor did it at that time lead us into any
closer conversation or more intimate acquaintance
one with the other than had been before.
But some time, and that a good while after, I found
my heart secretly drawn and inclining towards her,
yet was I not hasty in proposing, but waited to
feel a satisfactory settlement of mind therein, before
I made any step thereto.
After some time I took an opportunity to open
my mind therein unto my much-honoured friends
Isaac and Mary Penington, who then stood parenttim
loco (in the place or stead of parents) to me. They
having solemnly weighed the matter, expressed their
unity therewith ; and indeed their approbation thereof
was no small confirmation to me therein. Yet took
I further deliberation, often retiring in spirit to the
Lord, and crying to Him for direction, before I
addressed myself to her. At length, as I was sitting
all alone, waiting upon the Lord for counsel and
guidance in this in itself and to me so important
affair, I felt a word sweetly arise in me, as if I had
heard a voice which said, " Go, and prevail." And
faith springing in my heart with the word, I immedi-
ately arose and went, nothing doubting.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 2 1 5
When I was come to her lodgings, which were
about a mile from me, her maid told me she was in
her chamber, for having been under some indisposi-
tion -of body, which had obliged her to keep her
chamber, she had not yet left it ; wherefore I desired
the maid to acquaint her mistress that I was come to
give her a visit, whereupon I was invited to go up to
her. And after some little time spent in common
conversation, feeling my spirit weightily concerned,
I solemnly opened my mind unto her with respect
to the particular business I came about, which I
soon perceived was a great surprise to her, for she
had taken in an apprehension, as others also had
done, that mine eye had been fixed elsewhere and
nearer home.
I used not many words to her, but I felt a divine
power went along with the words, and fixed the
matter expressed by them so fast in her breast, that,
as she afterwards acknowledged to me, she could not
shut it out.
I made at that time but a short visit, for having
told her I did not expect an answer from her now,
but desired she would in the most solemn manner
weigh the proposal made, and in due time give me
such an answer thereunto as the Lord should give
her, I took my leave of her and departed, leaving the
issue to the Lord.
I had a journey then at hand, which I foresaw
216 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
would take me up two weeks' time. Wherefore, the
day before I was to set out I went to visit her again,
to acquaint her with my journey, and excuse my
absence, not yet pressing her for an answer, but
assuring her that I felt in myself an increase of
affection to her, and hoped to receive a suitable return
from her in the Lord's time, to whom in the mean-
time I committed both her, myself, and the concern
between us. And indeed I found at my return that
I could not have left it in better hands ; for the Lord
had been my advocate in my absence, and had so far
answered all her objections that when I came to her
again she rather acquainted me with them than
urged them.
From that time forward we entertained each other
with affectionate kindness in order to marriage, which
yet we did not hasten to, but went on deliberately.
Neither did I use those vulgar ways of courtship, by
making frequent and rich presents, not only for that
my outward condition would not comport with the
expense, but because I liked not to obtain by such
means, but preferred an unbribed affection.
While this affair stood thus with me, I had occasion
to take another journey into Kent and Sussex,
which yet I would not mention here, but for a par-
ticular accident which befell me on the way.
The occasion of this journey was this. Mary
Penington's daughter Guli, intending to go to her
/r>?/7T/:.V BY HIMSELF. 217
Uncle Springett's, in Sussex, and from thence amongst
her tenants, her mother desired me to accompany her,
and assist her in her business with her tenants.
We tarried at London the first night, and set out
next morning on the Tunbridge road, and Seven
Oaks lying in our way we put in there to bait ; but
truly we had much ado to get either provisions or
room for ourselves or our horses, the house was so
filled with guests, and those not of the better sort.
For the Duke of York being, as we were told, on
the road that day for the Wells, divers of his guards
and the meaner sort of his retinue had near filled all
the inns there.
I left John Gigger, who waited on Guli in this
journey and was afterwards her menial servant, to
take care of the horses, while I did the like as
well as I could for her. I got a little room to put her
into, and having shut her into it, went to see what
relief the kitchen would afford us, and with much
ado, by praying hard and paying dear, I got a small
joint of meat from the spit, which served rather to
stay than satisfy our stomachs, for we were all pretty
sharp set.
After this short repast, being weary of our quarters,
we quickly mounted and took the road again, willing
to hasten from a place where we found nothing but
rudeness ; a knot of [rude people] soon followed us,
designing, as we afterwards found, to put an abuse
2i8 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
upon us, and make themselves sport with us. We
had a spot of fine smooth sandy way, whereon the
horses trod so softly that we heard them not till one
of them was upon us. I \vas then riding abreast
with Guli, and discoursing with her, when on a
sudden hearing a little noise, and turning mine eye
that way, I saw a horseman coming up on the further
side of her horse, having his left arm stretched out,
just ready to take her about the waist and pluck her
off backwards from her own horse to lay her before
him upon his. I had but just time to thrust forth my
stick between him and her, and bid him stand off,
and at the same time reining my horse to let hers
go before me, thrust in between her and him, and
being better mounted than he my horse ran him off.
But his horse being, though weaker than mine, yet
nimble, he slipped by me and got up to her on the
near side, endeavouring to offer abuse to her, to pre-
vent which I thrust in upon him again, and in our
jostling we drove her horse quite out of the way and
almost into the next hedge.
While we were thus contending I heard a noise of
loud laughter behind us, and turning my head that
way I saw three or four horsemen more, who could
scarce sit their horses for laughing to see the sport
their companion made with us. From thence I saw
it was a plot laid, and that this rude fellow was not to
be dallied with ; wherefore I bestirred myself the more
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 219
to keep him off, admonishing him to take warning in
time and give over his abusiveness, lest he repented
too late. He had in his hand a short thick truncheon,
which he held up at me, on which laying hold with
a strong grip, I suddenly wrenched it out of his
hand, and threw it at as far a distance behind me as
I could.
While he rode back to fetch his truncheon, I called
up honest John Gigger, who was indeed a right honest
man, and of a temper so thoroughly peaceable that
he had not hitherto put in at all ; but now I roused
him, and bade him ride so close up to his mistress's
horse on the further side that no horse might thrust
in between, and I would endeavour to guard the near
side. But he, good man, not thinking it perhaps
decent enough for him to ride so near his mistress,
left room enough for another to ride between. And
indeed so soon as our brute had recovered his
truncheon, he came up directly thither, and had thrust
in again, had not I, by a nimble turn, chopped in upon
him, and kept him at bay.
I then told him I had hitherto spared him, but
wished him not to provoke me further. This I spoke
with such a tone as bespoke a high resentment of the
abuse put upon us, and withal pressed so close upon
him with my horse that I suffered him not to come
up any more to Guli.
This his companions, who kept an equal distance
220 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
behind us, both heard and saw, and thereupon two of
them advancing, came up to us. I then thought I
might likely have my hands full, but Providence
turned it otherwise ; for they, seeing the contest rise
so high, and probably fearing it would rise higher, not
knowing where it might stop, came in to part us,
which they did by taking him away, one of them
leading his horse by the bridle, and the other
driving him on with his whip, and so carried him
off.
One of their company stayed yet behind ; and it so
happening that a great shower just then fell, we be-
took ourselves for shelter to a thick and well-spread
oak which stood hard by. Thither also came that
other person, who wore the Duke's livery, and while
we put on our defensive garments against the weather,
which then set in to be wet, he took the opportunity
to discourse with me about the man that had been so
rude to us, endeavouring to excuse him by alleging
that he had drank a little too liberally. I let him
know that one vice would not excuse another ; that
although but one of them was actually concerned in
the abuse, yet both he and the rest of them were
abettors of it and accessories to it ; that I was not
ignorant whose livery they wore, and was well assured
their lord would not maintain them in committing
such outrages upon travellers on the road, to our
injury and his dishonour; that I understood the
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. ill
Duke was coming down, and that they might expect
to be called to an account for this rude action.
He then begged hard that we would pass by the
offence, and make no complaint to their lord ; for he
knew, he said, the Duke would be very severe, and it
would be the utter ruin of the young man. When he
had said what he could, he went off before us, without
any ground given him to expect favour ; and when we
had fitted ourselves for the weather we followed after
our own pace.
When we came to Tunbridge I set John Gigger
foremost, bidding him lead on briskly through the
town, and placing Guli in the middle, I came close up
after her that I might both observe and interpose if
any fresh abuse should have been offered her. We
were expected, I perceived, for though it rained very
hard, the street was thronged with men, who looked very
earnestly on us, but did not put any affront upon us.
We had a good way to ride beyond Tunbridge and
beyond the Wells, in byeways among the woods, and
were the later for the hindrance we had had on the
way. And when, being come to Harbert Springett's
house, Guli acquainted her uncle what danger and
trouble she had gone through on the way, he resented
it so high that he would have had the persons
prosecuted for it ; but since Providence had inter-
posed, and so well preserved and delivered her, she
chose to pass by the offence.
i22 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
When Guli had finished the business she went upon,
we returned home, and I delivered her safe to her
glad mother. From that time forward I continued
my visits to my best beloved Friend until we married
which was on the 28th day of the eighth month, called
October, in the year 1669. We took each other in
a select meeting of the ancient and grave Friends of
that country, holden in a Friend's house, where in those
times not only the monthly meeting for business but
the public meeting for worship was sometimes kept.
A very solemn meeting it was, and in a weighty frame
of spirit we were, in which we sensibly felt the Lord
with us, and joining us ; the sense whereof remained
with us all our lifetime, and was of good service and
very comfortable to us on all occasions.
My next care after marriage was to secure my wife
what moneys she had, and with herself bestowed upon
me ; for I held it would be an abominable crime in me,
and savour of the highest ingratitude, if I, though but
through negligence, should leave room for my father,
in case I should be taken away suddenly, to break in
upon her estate, and deprive her of any part of that
which had been and ought to be her own. Wherefore
with the first opportunity as I remember, the very
next day, and before I knew particularly what she
had I made my will, and thereby secured to her
whatever I was possessed of, as well all that which she
brought, either in moneys or in goods, as that little
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 223
which I had before I married her ; which indeed was
but little, yet more by all that little than I had ever
given her ground to expect with me.
She had indeed been advised by some of her rela-
tions to secure before marriage some part at least of
what she had, to be at her own disposal ; which,
though perhaps not wholly free from some tincture of
self-interest in the proposer, was not in itself the worst
of counsel. But the worthiness of her mind, and the
sense of the ground on which she received me, would
not suffer her to entertain any suspicion of me ; and
this laid on me the greater obligation, in point of
gratitude as well as of justice, to regard and secure
her ; which I did.
I had not been long married before I was solicited
by my dear friends Isaac and Mary Penington, and
her daughter Guli, to take a journey into Kent
and Sussex to account with their tenants and
overlook their estates in those counties, which
before I was married I had had the care of; and
accordingly the journey I undertook, though in the
depth of winter.
My travels into those parts were the more irksome
to me from the solitariness I underwent, and want of
suitable society. For my business lying among the
tenants, who were a rustic sort of people, of various
persuasions and humours, but not Friends, I had little
opportunity of conversing with Friends, though I
224 J-HSTOR Y OF THOMAS ELL H 'OOD.
contrived to be with them as much as I could, espe-
cially on the first day of the week.
But that which made my present journey more
heavy to me was a sorrowful exercise which was
newly fallen upon me from my father.
He had, upon my first acquainting him with my
inclination to marry, and to whom, not only very
much approved the match, and voluntarily offered,
without my either asking or expecting, to give me a
handsome portion at present, with assurance of an
addition to it hereafter. And he not only made this
offer to me in private, but came down from London
into the country on purpose, to be better acquainted
with my friend, and did there make the same pro-
posal to her ; offering also to give security to any
friend or relation of hers for the performance. Which
offer she most generously declined, leaving him as free
as she found him. But after we were married, not-
withstanding such his promise, he wholly declined the
performance of it, under pretence of our not being
married by the priest and liturgy. This usage and
evil treatment of us thereupon was a great trouble
to me ; and when I endeavoured to soften him in the
matter, he forbade my speaking to him of it any more,
and removed his lodging that I might not find him.
The grief I conceived on this occasion was not
for any disappointment to myself or to my wife, for
neither she nor I had any strict or necessary depen-
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 22$
dence upon that promise ; but my grief was for
the cause assigned by him as the ground of it,
which was that our marriage was not by priest or
liturgy.
And surely hard would it have been for my spirit
to have borne up under the weight of this exercise,
had not the Lord been exceeding gracious to me,
and supported me with the inflowings of his love and
life, wherewith he visited my soul in my travail. The
sense whereof raised in my heart a thankful remem-
brance of his manifold kindnesses in his former
dealings with me ; and in the evening, when I came
to my inn, while supper was getting ready, I took
my pen and put into words what had in the day re-
volved in my thoughts. And thus it was :
A SONG OF PRAISE.
Thy love, dear Father, and thy tender care,
Have in ray heart begot a strong desire
To celebrate Thy Name with praises rare,
That others too Thy goodness may admire,
And learn to yield to what Thou dost require.
Many have been the trials of my mind,
My exercises great, great my distress ;
Full oft my ruin hath my foe designed,
My sorrows then my pen cannot express,
Nor could the best of men afford redress.
When thus beset to Thee I lift mine eye,
And with a mournful heart my moan did make ;
How oft with eyes o'erflowing did I cry,
" My God, my God,oh do me not forsake !
Regard my tears ! Some pity on me take !"
II
226 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
And to the glory of Thy holy name,
Eternal God, whom I both love and fear,
I hereby do declare I never came
Before Thy throne, and found Thee loth to hear,
But always ready, with an open ear.
And though sometimes Thou seem'st Thy face to hide,
As one that had withdrawn Thy love from me,
'Tis that my faith may to the full be tried,
And that I thereby may the better see
How weak I am when not upheld by Thee.
For underneath Thy holy arm I feel,
Encompassing with strength as with a wall,
That, if the enemy trip up my heel,
Thou ready art to save me from a fall :
To Thee belong thanksgivings over all.
And for Thy tender love, my God, my King,
My heart shall magnify Thee all my days,
My tongue of Thy renown shall daily sing,
My pen shall also grateful trophies raise,
As monuments to Thy eternal praise-
T. E.
KENT, the Eleventh Month, 1669.
Having finished my business in Kent, I struck off
into Sussex, and finding the enemy endeavouring still
more strongly to beset me, I betook myself to the
Lord for safety, in whom I knew all help and strength
was, and thus poured forth my supplication, directed
TO THE HOLY ONE.
Eternal God ! preserver of all those
(Without respect of person or degree)
Who in Thy faithfulness their trust repose,
And place their confidence alone in Thee ;
Be Thou my succour ; for Thou know'st that I
On Thy protection, Lord, alone rely.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 227
Surround me, Father, with Thy might)- power,
Support me daily by Thine holy arm,
Preserve me faithful in the evil hour,
Stretch forth Thine hand to save me from all harm.
Be Thou my helmet, breast-plate, sword, and shield,
And make my foes before Thy power yield.
Teach me the spiritual battle so to fight,
That when the enemy shall me beset,
Armed cap-a-pie with the armour of Thy light,
A perfect conquest o'er him 1 may get ;
And with Thy battle-axe may cleave the head
Of him who bites that part whereon I tread.
Then being from domestic foes set free,
The cruelties of men I shall not fear ;
But in Thy quarrel, Lord, undaunted be,
And for Thy sake the loss of all things bear ;
Yea, though in dungeon locked, with joy will sing
An ode of praise to Thee, my God, my King.
T. E.
SUSSEX, the Eleventli Month, 1669.
As soon as I had dispatched the business I went
about, I returned home without delay, and to my great
comfort found my wife well, and myself very welcome
to her ; both which I esteemed as great favours.
Towards the latter part of the summer following
I went into Kent again, and in my passage through
London received the unwelcome news of the loss of
a very hopeful youth who had formerly been under
my care for education. It was Isaac Penington, the
second son of my worthy friends Isaac and Mary
Penington, a child of excellent natural parts, whose
great abilities bespoke him likely to be a great man,
had he lived to be a man. He was designed to be
II 2
228 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
bred a merchant, and before he was thought ripe
enough to be entered thereunto, his parents, at
somebody's request, gave leave that he might go a
voyage to Barbadoes, only to spend a little time, see
the place, and be somewhat acquainted with the sea,
under the care and conduct of a choice friend and
sailor, John Grove, of London, who was master of a
vessel, and traded to that island ; and a little venture
he had with him, made up by divers of his friends
and by me among the rest. lie made the voyage
thither very well, found the watery element agreeable,
had his health there, liked the place, was much pleased
with his entertainment there, and was returning home
with his little cargo, in return for the goods he carried
out, when on a sudden, through unwariness, he
dropped overboard, and, the vessel being under sail
with a brisk gale, was irrecoverably lost, notwith-
standing the utmost labour, care, and diligence of the
master and sailors to have saved him.
This unhappy accident took from the afflicted
master all the pleasure of his voyage, and he mourned
for the loss of this youth as if it had been his own,
yea only, son ; for as he was in himself a man of a
worthy mind, so the boy, by his witty and handsome
behaviour in general, and obsequious carriage towards
him in particular, had very much wrought himself
into his favour.
As for me, I thought it one of the sharpest strokes
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 229
I had met with, for I both loved the child very well
and had conceived great hopes of general good from
him ; and it pierced me the deeper to think how
deeply it would pierce his afflicted parents.
Sorrow for this disaster was my companion in this
journey, and I travelled the roads under great exercise
of mind, revolving in my thoughts the manifold
accidents which the life of man was attended with
and subject to, and the great uncertainty of all human
things ; I could find no centre, no firm basis, for the
mind of man to fix upon but the divine power and
will of the Almighty. This consideration wrought
in my spirit a sort of contempt of what supposed
happiness or pleasure this world, or the things that
are in and of it, can of themselves yield, and raised
my contemplation higher ; which, as it ripened and
came to some degree of digestion, I breathed forth in
mournful accents thus :
SOLITARY THOUGHTS ON THE UNCERTAINTY
OF HUMAN THINGS.
OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN LOSS OF A HOPEFUL YOUTH.
Transibunt cito, qua vos mansura putatis.
Those things soon will pass away
Which ye think will always stay.
What ground, alas ! has any man
To set his heart on things below,
Which, when they seem most like to stand,
Fly like an arrow from a bow ?
HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
Things subject to exterior sense
Are to mutation most prepense.
If stately houses we erect,
And therein think to take delight,
On what a sudden are we checked,
And all our hopes made groundless quite !
One little spark in ashes lays
What we were building half our days.
If on estate an eye we cast,
And pleasure there expect to find,
A secret providential blast
Gives disappointment to our mind :
Who novv's on top ere long may feel
The circling motion of the wheel.
If we our tender babes embrace,
And comfort hope in them to have,
Alas ! in what a little space
Is hope, with them, laid in the grave !
Whatever promiseth content
Is in a moment from us rent.
This world cannot afford a thing
Which, to a well-composed mind,
Can any lasting pleasure bring,
But in its womb its grave will find.
All things unto their centre tend ;
What had* beginning will have end.
But is there nothing then that's sure
For man to fix his heart upon
Nothing that always will endure,
When all these transient things are gone ?
Sad state ! where man, with grief oppressed
Finds nought whereon his mind may rest.
O yes ; there is a God above,
Who unto men is also nigh,
On whose unalterable love
We may with confidence rely,
* Understand this of natural things.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 23!
No disappointment can befall
Us, having him that's All in All.
If unto Him we faithful be,
It is impossible to miss
Of whatsoever He shall see
Conducible unto our bliss.
What can of pleasure him prevent
Who hath the fountain of content ?
In Him alone if we delight,
And in His precepts pleasure take,
We shall be sure to do aright
'Tis not His nature to forsake.
A proper object's He alone,
For man to set his heart upon.
Domino mens nixa quicta csf.
The mind which upon God is stayed
Shall with no trouble be dismayed.
T. E.
KENT, the tfh of the Seventh Month, 1650.
A copy of the foregoing lines, enclosed in a letter
of condolence, I sent by the first post into Bucking-
hamshire, to my dear friends the afflicted parents ; and
upon my return home, going to visit them, we sat down,
and solemnly mixed our sorrows and tears together.
About this time, as I remember, it was that some
bickerings happening between some Baptists and
some of the people called Quakers, in or about
High Wycombe, in Buckinghamshire, occasioned by
some reflecting words a Baptist preacher had publicly
uttered in one of their meetings there, against the
Quakers in general, and William Penn in particular,
232 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
it came at length to this issue, that a meeting for a
public dispute was appointed, to be holden at West
Wycombe, between Jeremy Ives, who espoused his
brother's cause, and William Penn.
To this meeting, it being so near me, I went, rather
to countenance the cause than for any delight I took
in such work ; for indeed I have rarely found the
advantage equivalent to the trouble and danger arising
from those contests ; for which cause I would not
choose them, as, being justly engaged, I would not
refuse them.
The issue of this proved better than I expected ;
for Ives, having undertaken an ill cause, to argue
against the Divine light and universal grace conferred
by God on all men, when he had spent his stock of
arguments which be brought with him on that subject,
finding his work go on heavily and the auditory not
well satisfied, stepped doA-n from his seat and de-
parted, with purpose to have broken up the assembly.
But, except some few of his party who followed him,
the people generally stayed, and were the more atten-
tive to what was afterwards delivered amongst them ;
which Ives understanding, came in again, and in an
angry, railing manner, expressing his dislike that we
went not all away when he did, gave more disgust to
the people.
After the meeting was ended, I sent to my friend
Isaac Penington, by his son and servant, who returned
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 233
home, though it was late, that evening, a short account
of the business in the following distich :
Prcevaltttt veritas : inimici terga dederej
Nos stonus in into ; laus tribitenda Deo.
Which may be thus Englished :
Truth hath prevailed ; the enemies did fly ;
We are in safety ; praise to God on high.
But both they and we had quickly other work found
us : it soon became a stormy time. The clouds had
been long gathering and threatening a tempest. The
Parliament had sat some time before, and hatched that
unaccountable law which was called the Conventicle
Act ; if that may be allowed to be called a law, by
whomsoever made, which was so directly contrary to
the fundamental laws of England, to common justice,
equity, and right reason, as this manifestly was. For,
First, It broke down and overrun the bounds and
banks anciently set for the defence and security of
Englishmen's lives, liberties, and properties viz.,
trial by juries ; instead thereof, directing and
authorizing justices of the peace, and that too
privately out of sessions, to convict, fine, and by
their warrants distrain upon offenders against it ;
directly contrary to the Great Charter.
Secondly, By that Act the informers, who swear
for their own advantage, as being thereby entitled to
a third part of the fines, were many times concealed,
234. HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
driving on an underhand private trade ; so that men
might be, and often were, convicted and fined, with-
out having any notice or knowledge of it till the
officers came and took away their goods, nor even
then could they tell by whose evidence they were
convicted ; than which what could be more opposite
to common justice, which requires that every man
should be openly charged and have his accuser face to
face, that he might both answer for himself before he
be convicted, and object to the validity of the evidence
given against him ?
Tliirdly, By that Act the innocent were punished
for the offences of the guilty. If the wife or child
was convicted of having been at one of those
assemblies which by that Act was adjudged unlaw-
ful, the fine was levied on the goods of the husband
or father of such wife or child, though he was neither
present at such assembly, nor was of the same religious
persuasion that they were of, but perhaps an enemy
to it.
Fourthly, It was left in the arbitrary pleasure of the
justices to lay half the fine for the house or ground
where such assembly was holden, and half the fine
for a pretended unknown preacher, and the whole
fines of such and so many of the meeters as they
should account poor, upon any other or others of the
people who were present at the same meeting, not
exceeding a certain limited sum ; without any regard
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 235
to equity or reason. And yet such blindness doth
the spirit of persecution bring on men, otherwise
sharp-sighted enough, that this unlawful, unjust,
unequal, unreasonable, and unrighteous law took
place in almost all places, and was rigorously prose-
cuted against the meetings of Dissenters in general,
though the brunt of the storm fell most sharply on
the people called Quakers ; not that it seemed to be
more particularly levelled at them, but that they
stood more fair, steady, and open, as a butt to receive
all the shot that came, while some others found means
and freedom to retire to coverts for shelter.
No sooner had the bishops obtained this law for
suppressing all other meetings but their own, but
some of the clergy of most ranks, and some others
too who were overmuch bigoted to that party,
bestirred themselves with might and main to find
out and encourage the most profligate wretches to
turn informers, and to get such persons into parochial
offices as would be most obsequious to their com-
mands, and ready at their beck to put it into the
most rigorous execution. Yet it took not alike in all
places, but some were forwarder in the work than
others, according as the agents intended to be chiefly
employed therein had been predisposed thereunto.
For in some parts of the nation care had been
timely taken, by some not of the lowest rank, to
choose out some particular persons men of sharp wit,
236 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
close counteriances ; pliant tempers, and deep dis-
simulation and send them forth among the sectaries,
so called, with instructions to thrust themselves into
all societies, conform to all or any sort of religious
profession, Proteus-like change their shapes, and
transform themselves from one religious appearance
to another as occasion should require. In a word,
to be all things to all not that they might win some,
but that they might, if possible, ruin all ; at least
many.
The drift of this design was, that they who
employed them might by this means get a full
account what number of Dissenters' meetings, of every
sort, there were in each county, and where kept ;
what number of persons frequented them, and of
what rank ; who amongst them were persons of
estate, and where they lived ; that when they should
afterwards have troubled the waters, they might the
better know where with most advantage to cast
their nets.
He of these emissaries whose post was assigned
him in this county of Bucks adventured to thrust
himself upon a Friend under the counterfeit appear-
ance of a Quaker, but being by the Friend suspected,
and thereupon dismissed unentertained, he was forced
to betake himself to an inn or alehouse for accommo-
dation. Long he had not been there ere his unruly
nature, not to be long kept under by the curb of a
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 237
feigned society, broke forth into open profaneness ; so
true is that of the poet,
Naturam expellas furca licet, tisque recurret.
To fuddling now falls he with those whom he found
tippling there before, and who but he amongst them
in him was then made good the proverb, in vino
I'critas, for in his cups he out with that which was
no doubt to have been kept a secret. 'Twas to his
pot companions that, after his head was somewhat
heated with strong liquors, he discovered that he was
sent forth by Dr. Mew, the then Vice-Chancellor of
Oxford, on the design before related, and under the
protection of Justice Morton, a warrant under whose
hand and seal he there produced.
Sensible of his error too late, when sleep had
restored him to some degree of sense, and discouraged
with this ill success of his attempt upon the Quakers,
he quickly left that place, and crossing through the
country, cast himself among the Baptists at a meet-
ing which they held in a private place, of which the
over-easy credulity of some that went among them,
whom he had craftily insinuated himself into, had
given him notice. The entertainment he found
amongst them deserved a better return than he made
them ; for, having smoothly wrought himself into
their good opinion, and cunningly drawn some of
them into an unwary openness and freedom of con-
238 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
versation with him upon the unpleasing subject of the
severity of those times, he most villainously impeached
one of them, whose name was Headach, a
man well reputed amongst his neighbours, of having
spoken treasonable words, and thereby brought the
man in danger of losing both his estate and life, had
not a seasonable discovery of his abominable practices
elsewhere, imprinting terror, the effect of guilt, upon
him, caused him to fly both out of the court and
country at that very instant of time when the honest
man stood at the bar ready to be arraigned upon his
false accusation.
This his false charge against the Baptist left him
no further room to play the hypocrite in those parts ;
off therefore go his cloak and vizor. And now he
openly appears in his proper colours, to disturb the
assemblies of God's people, which was indeed the
very end for which the design at first was laid.
But because the law provided that a conviction
must be grounded upon the oaths of two witnesses,
it was needful for him, in order to the carrying on his
intended mischief, to find out an associate who might
be both sordid enough for such an employment and
vicious enough to be his companion.
This was not an easy task, yet he found out one
who had already given an experiment of his readiness
to take other men's goods, being not long before
released out of Aylesbury gaol, where he very
WRIT TEN B } ' HIMSELF. 2 39
narrowly escaped the gallows for having stolen a
cow.
The names of these fellows being yet unknown in
that part of the country where they began their work,
the former, by the general voice of the country, was
called the Trepan ; the latter, the Informer, and from
the colour of his hair Red-hair. But in a little time
the Trepan called himself John Poulter, adding
withal that Judge Morton used to call him John for
the King, and that the Archbishop of Canterbury
had given him a deaconry. That his name was
indeed John Poulter, the reputed son of one
Poulter, a butcher in Salisbury, and that he had long
since been there branded for a fellow egregiously
wicked and debauched, we were assured by the
testimony of a young man then living in Amersham,
who both was his countryman and had known him
in Salisbury, as well as by a letter from an inhabi-
tant of that place, to whom his course of life had
been well known.
His comrade, who for some time was only called
the Informer, was named Ralph Lacy, of Risbo rough,
and surnamed the Cow-stealer.
These agreed between themselves where to make
their first onset, which was to be, and was, on the
meeting of the people called Quakers, then holden at
the house of Willian Russell, called Jourdan's, in the
parish of Giles Chalfont, in the county of Bucks ;
240 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
that which was wanting to their accommodation was
a place of harbour, for assistance wherein recourse
was had to Parson Philips, none being so ready, none
so willing, none so able to help them as he.
A friend he had in a corner, a widow woman, not
long before one of his parishioners ; her name was
Anne Dell, and at that time she lived at a farm called
Whites, a bye-place in the parish of Beaconsfield,
whither she removed from Hitchindon. To her these
fellows were recommended by her old friend the par-
son. She with all readiness received them ; her house
was at all times open to them ; what she had was at
their command.
Two sons she had at home with her, both at man's
estate. The younger son, whose name was John
Dell, listed himself in the service of his mother's new
guests, to attend on them as their guide, and to inform
them (who were too much strangers to pretend to
know the names of any of the persons there) whom
they should inform against.
Thus consorted, thus in a triple league confederated,
on the 24th day of the fifth month, commonly called
July, in the year 1670, they appeared openly, and
began to act their intended tragedy upon the Quakers'
meeting at the place aforesaid, to which I belonged,
and at which I was present. Here the chief actor,
Poulter, behaved himself with such impetuous violence
and brutish rudeness as gave occasion for inquiry
Jl 'KITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 24 1
who or what he was ? And being soon discovered to
be the Trepan, so infamous and abhorred by all sober
people, and afterwards daily detected of gross impieties
and the felonious taking of certain goods from one of
Brainford, whom also he cheated of money these
things raising an outcry in the country upon him,
made him consult his own safety, and leaving his part
to be acted by others, quitted the country as soon as
he could.
He being gone, Satan soon supplied his place by
sending one Richard Aris, a broken ironmonger of
Wycombe, to join with Lacy in this service, prompted
thereto in hopes that he might thereby repair his
broken fortune.
Of this new adventurer this single character may
serve, whereby the reader may make judgment of
him as of the lion by his paw ; that at the sessions
held at Wycombe in October then last past he was
openly accused of having enticed one Harding, of the
same town, to be his companion and associate in
robbing on the highway, and proof offered to be
made that he had made bullets in order to that
service ; which charge Harding himself, whom he
had endeavoured to draw into that heinous wicked-
ness, was ready in court to prove upon oath had not
the prosecution been discountenanced and smothered.
Lacy, the cow-stealer, having thus got Aris. the
intended highwayman, to be his comrade, they came
242 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
on the 2 ist of the month called August, 1670, to the
meeting of the people called Quakers, where Lacy,
with Poulter, had been a month before ; and taking
for granted that the same who had been there before
were there then, they went to a justice of the peace
called Sir Thomas Clayton, and swore at all adven-
ture against one Thomas Zachary and his wife, whom
Lacy understood to have been there the month before,
that they were then present in that meeting ; whereas
neither the said Thomas Zachary nor his wife were at
that meeting, but were both of them at London,
above twenty miles distant, all that day, having been
there some time before and after ; which notwith-
standing, upon this false oath of these false men, the
Justice laid fines upon the said Thomas Zachary of
10 for his own offence, .10 for his wife's, and
10 for the offence of a pretended preacher, though
indeed there was not any that preached at that meet-
ing that day ; and issued forth his warrant to the
officers of Beaconsfield, where Thomas Zachary
dwelt, for the levying of the same upon his goods.
I mention these things thus particularly, though
not an immediate suffering of my own, because in
the consequence thereof it occasioned no small trouble
and exercise to me.
For when Thomas Zachary, returning home from
London, understanding what had been done against
him, and advising what to do, was informed by a
WRITTEX BY HIMSELF. 243
neighbouring attorney that his remedy lay in appeal-
ing from the judgment of the convicting Justice to
the general Quarter Sessions of the Peace, he thereupon
ordering the said attorney to draw up his appeal in
form of law, went himself with it, and tendered it to
the Justice. But the Justice being a man neither well
principled nor well natured, and uneasy that he should
lose the advantage both of the present conviction and
future service of such (in his judgment) useful men
as those two bold informers were likely to be, fell
sharply upon Thomas Zachary, charging him that he
suffered justly, and that his suffering was not on a
religious account.
This rough and unjust dealing engaged the good
man to enter into further discourse with the Justice in
defence of his own innocency ; from which discourse
the insidious Justice, taking offence at some expression
of his, charged him with saying, " The righteous are
oppressed, and the wicked go unpunished." Which
the Justice interpreting to be a reflection on the
Government, and calling it a high misdemeanour,
required sureties of the good man to answer it at the
next Quarter Sessions, and in the meantime to be
bound to his good behaviour. But he, well knowing
himself to be innocent of having broken any law, or
done in this matter any evil, could not answer the
Justice's unjust demand, and therefore was sent forth-
with a prisoner to the county gaol.
244 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
By this severity it was thought the Justice designed
not only to wreak his displeasure on this good man,
but to prevent the further prosecution of his appeal ;
whereby he should at once both oppress the righteous
by the levying of the fines unduly imposed upon him,
and secure the informers from a conviction of wilful
perjury and the punishment due therefor, that so they
might go on without control in the wicked work they
were engaged in.
But so great wickedness was not to be suffered to
go unpunished, or at least undiscovered. Wherefore,
although no way could be found at present to get the
good man released from his unjust imprisonment, yet
that his restraint might not hinder the prosecution of
his appeal, on which the detection of the informer's
villainy depended, consideration being had thereof
amongst some Friends, the management of the prose-
cution was committed to my care, who was thought
with respect at least to leisure and disengagement
from other business, most fit to attend it ; and very
willingly I undertook it.
Wherefore at the next general Quarter Sessions of
the Peace, held at High Wycombe in October fol-
lowing, I took care that four substantial witnesses,
citizens of unquestionable credit, should come down
from London in a coach and four horses, hired on
purpose.
These gave so punctual and full evidence that
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 245
Thomas Zachary and his wife were in London all that
day whereon the informers had sworn them to have
been at an unlawful meeting, at a place more than
twenty miles distant from London, that notwithstand-
ing what endeavours were used to the contrary, the
jury found them not guilty. Whereupon the money
deposited for the fines at the entering of the appeal
ought to have been returned, and so were ten pounds of
it ; but the rest of the money being in the hand of the
Clerk of the Peace, whose name .was Wells, could
never be got out again.
Thomas Zachary himself was brought from Ayles-
bury gaol to Wycornbe, to receive his trial, and though
no evil could be charged upon him, yet Justice Clayton,
who at first committed him, displeased to see the
appeal prosecuted and the conviction he had made
set aside, by importunity prevailed with the bench to
remand him to prison again, there to lie until another
sessions.
While this was doing I got an indictment drawn
up against the informers Aris and Lacy for wilful
perjury, and caused it to be delivered to the grand
jury, who found the bill. And although the court
adjourned from the town-hall to the chamber at their
inn, in favour as it was thought to the informers, on
supposition we would not pursue them thither, yet
thither they were pursued ; and there being two
counsel present from Windsor (the name of the one
246 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
was Starky, and of the other, as I remember, Forster,
the former of whom I had before retained upon the
trial of the appeal) I now retained them both, and
sent them into court again, to prosecute the informers
upon this indictment ; which they did so smartly that,
the informers being present as not suspecting any
such sudden danger, were of necessity called to the
bar and arraigned, and having pleaded Not Guilty,
were forced to enter a traverse to avoid a present
commitment : all the favour the court could show
them being to take them bail one for the other,
though probably both not worth a groat, else they
must have gone to gaol for want of bail, which would
have put them besides their business, spoiled the in-
forming trade, and broke the design ; whereas now
they were turned loose again to do what mischief
they could until the next sessions.
Accordingly, they did what they could, and yet
could make little or no earnings at it ; for this little
step of prosecution had made them so known, and
their late apparent perjury had made them so detest-
able, that even the common sort of bad men shunned
them, and would not willingly yield them any
assistance.
The next Quarter Sessions was held at Aylesbury,
whither we were fain to bring down our witnesses
again from London, in like manner and at like
charge, at the least, as before. And though I met
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 247
with great discouragements in the prosecution, yet I
followed it so vigorously that I got a verdict against
the informers for wilful perjury, and had forthwith
taken them up, had not they forthwith fled from
justice and hid themselves. However, I moved by
my attorney for an order of court, directed to all
mayors, bailiffs, high constables, petty constables,
and other inferior officers of the peace, to arrest and
take them up wherever they should be found within
the county of Bucks, and bring them to the county
gaol.
The report of this so terrified them, that of all
things dreading the misery of lying in a gaol, out of
which they could not hope for deliverance otherwise
than by at least the loss of their ears, they, hopeless
now of carrying on their informing trade, disjoined,
and one of them (Aris) fled the country ; so that he
appeared no more in this country. The other (Lacy)
lurked privily for a while in woods and bye-places,
until hunger and want forced him out ; and then
casting himself upon a hazardous adventure, which yet
was the best, and proved to him best course he could
have taken, he went directly to the gaol where he
knew the innocent man suffered imprisonment by his
means and for his sake ; where asking for and being
brought to Thomas Zachary, he cast himself on his
knees at his feet, and with appearance of sorrow
confessing his fault, did so earnestly beg for forgive-
248 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
ness that he wrought upon the tender nature of that
very good man, not only to put him in hopes of
mercy, but to be his advocate by letter to me, to
mitigate at least, if not wholly to remit, the prosecu-
tion. To which I so far only consented as to let him
know I would suspend the execution of the warrant
upon him according as he behaved himself, or until
he gave fresh provocation ; at which message the
fellow was so overjoyed that, relying with confidence
thereon, he returned openly to his family and labour,
and applied himself to business, as his neighbours
observed and reported, with greater diligence and
industry than he had ever done before.
Thus began and thus ended the informing trade in
these parts of the county of Bucks ; the ill success
these first informers found discouraging all others,
how vile soever, from attempting the like enterprise
there ever after. And though it cost some money to
carry on the prosecution, and some pains too, yet for
every shilling so spent a pound probably might be
saved of what in all likelihood would have been lo_-t
by the spoil and havoc that might have been made
by distresses taken on their informations.
But so angry was the convicting Justice, whatever
others of the same rank were, at this prosecution, and
the loss thereby of the service of those honest men,
the perjured informers for, as I heard an attorney
(one Hitchcock, of Aylesbury, who was their advocate
/ / KITTEN B Y HI MS EL F. 249
in court) say, " A great lord, a peer of the realm,
called them so in a letter directed to him ; whereby
he recommended to him the care and defence of
them and their cause " that he prevailed to have
the oath of allegiance tendered in court to Thomas
Zachary, which he knew he would not take because
he could not take any oath at all ; by which snare
he was kept in prison a long time after, and, so
far as I remember, until a general pardon released
him.
But though it pleased the Divine Providence, which
sometimes vouchsafeth to bring good out of evil, to
put a stop, in a great measure at least, to the prosecu-
tion here begun, yet in other parts, both of the city
and country, it was carried on with very great severity
and rigour ; the worst of men for the most part being
set up for informers; the worst of magistrates en-
couraging and abetting them ; and the worst of the
priests who first began to blow the fire, now seeing
how it took, spread, and blazed, clapping their hands,
and hallooing them on to this evil work.
The sense whereof, as it deeply affected my heart
with a sympathizing pity for the oppressed sufferers,
so it raised in my spirit a holy disdain and contempt
of that spirit and its agent by which this ungodly
work was stirred up and carried on ; which at length
broke forth in an expostulatory poem, under the title
of " Gigantomachia " (the Wars of the Giants against
2So HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
Heaven), not without some allusion to the second
Psalm ; thus :
Why do the heathen in a brutish rage,
Themselves against the Lord of Hosts engage ?
Why do the frantic people entertain
Their thoughts upon a thing that is so vain ?
Why do the kings themselves together set ?
And why do all the princes them abet ?
Why do the rulers to each other speak
After this foolish manner, " Let us break
Their bonds asunder ; come, let us make haste,
With joint consent, their cords from us to cast ? "
Why do they thus join hands, and counsel take
Against the Lord's Anointed ? This will make
Him doubtless laugh who doth in heaven sit ;
The Lord will have them in contempt for it.
His sore displeasure on them He will wreak,
And in His wrath will He unto them speak.
For on His holy hill of Sion He
His king hath set to reign : sceptres must be
Cast down before Him ; diadems must lie
At foot of Him who sits in majesty
Upon His throne of glory ; whence He will
Send forth His fiery ministers to kill
All those His enemies who would not be
Subject to His supreme authority.
Where then will ye appear who are so far
From being subjects that ye rebels are
Against His holy government, and strive
Others from their allegiance too to drive ?
What earthly prince such an affront would bear
From any of his subjects, should they dare
So to encroach on his prerogative ?
Which of them would permit that man to live ?
What should it be adjudged but treason ? and
Death he must suffer for it out of hand.
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 2 5 1
And shall the King of kings such treason see
Acted against Him, and the traitors be
Acquitted ? No : vengeance is His, and they
That Him provoke shall know He will repay.
And of a truth provoked He hath been
In a high manner by this daring sin
Of usurpation, and of tyranny
Over men's consciences, which should be free
To serve the living God as He requires,
And as His Holy Spirit them inspires.
For conscience is an inward thing, and none
Can govern that aright but God alone.
Nor can a well-informed conscience lower
Her sails to any temporary power,
Or bow to men's decrees ; for that would be
Treason in a superlative degree ;
For God alone can laws to conscience give,
And that's a badge of His prerogative.
This is the controversy of this day
Between the holy God and sinful clay.
God hath throughout the earth proclaim'd that He
Will over conscience hold the sovereignty,
That He the kingdom to Himself will take,
And in man's heart His residence will make,
From whence His subjects shall such laws receive
As please His Royal Majesty to give.
Man heeds not this, but most audaciously
Says, " Unto me belongs supremacy ;
And all men's consciences within my land,
Ought to be subject unto my command."
God by His Holy Spirit doth direct
His people how to worship ; and expect
Obedience from them. Man says : " I ordain,
That none shall worship in that way, on pain
Of prison, confiscation, banishment, \
Or being to the stake or gallows sent.
God out of Babylon doth people call,
Commands them to forsake her ways, and all
252 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWQOD.
Her several sorts of worship, to deny
Her whole religion as idolatry.
Will man thus his usurped power forego,
And lose his ill-got government ? Oh no :
But out comes his enacted, be it " That all
Who when the organs play will not downfall
Before this golden image, and adore
What I have caused to be set up therefor,
Into the fiery furnace shall be cast,
And be consumed with a flaming blast.
Or in the mildest terms conform, or pay
So much a month or so much every day,
Which we will levy on you by distress,
Sparing nor widow nor the fatherless ;
And if you have not what will satisfy,
Ye're like in prison during life to lie."
Christ says, swear not ; but man says, " Swear [or lie]
In prison, premunired, until you die."
Man's ways are, in a word, as opposite
To God's as midnight darkness is to light ;
And yet fond man doth strive with might and main
By penal laws God's people to constrain
To worship what, when, where, how he thinks fit,
And to whatever he enjoins, submit.
What will the issue of this contest be ?
Which must give place the Lord's or man's decree ?
Will man be in the day of battle found
Able to keep the field, maintain his ground,
Against the mighty God ? No more than can
The lightest chaff before the winnowing fan ;
No more than straw could stand before the flame,
Or smallest atoms when a whirlwind came .
The Lord, who in creation only said,
" Let us make man," and forthwith man was made,
Can in a moment by one blast of breath
Strike all mankind with an eternal death.
How soon can God all man's devices squash,
And with His iron rod in pieces dash
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 253
Him, like a potter's vessel? None can stand
Against the mighty power of His hand.
Be therefore wise, ye kings, instructed be,
Ye rulers of the earth, and henceforth see
Ye serve the Lord in fear, and stand in awe
Of sinning any more against His law,
His royal law of liberty : to do
To others as you'd have them do to you.
Oh stoop, ye mighty monarchs, and let none
Reject His government, but kiss the Son
While's wrath is but a little kindled, lest
His anger burn, and you that have transgressed
His law so oft, and would not Him obey,
Eternally should perish from the way
The way of God's salvation, where the just
Are blessed who in the Lord do put their trust.
Felix quern fad tint a lien a pericula can (inn,
Happy's he
Whom others' harms do wary make to be.
As the unreasonable rage and furious violence of
the persecutors had drawn the former expostulation
from me, so in a while after, my heart being deeply
affected with a sense of the great loving-kindness and
tender goodness of the Lord to his people, in bearing
up their spirits in their greatest exercises, and pre-
serving them through the sharpest trials in a faithful
testimony to his blessed truth, and opening in due
time a door of deliverance to them, I could not
forbear to celebrate His praises in the following lines,
under the title of
254 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
A SONG OF THE MERCIES AND DELIVERANCES
OF THE LORD.
Had not the Lord been on our side,
May Israel now say,
We were not able to abide
The trials of that day
When men did up against us rise,
With fury, rage, and spite,
Hoping to catch us by surprise,
Or run us down by might.
Then had not God for us arose,
And shown His mighty power,
We had been swallowed by our foes,
Who waited to devour.
When the joint powers of death and hell
Against us did combine,
And with united forces fell
Upon us, with design
To root us out, then had not God
Appeared to take our part,
And them chastized with His rod,
And made them feel the smart,
We then had overwhelmed been
And trodden in the mire ;
Our enemies on us had seen
Their cruel hearts' desire.
When stoned, when stocked, when rudely stripped,
Some to the waist have been
(Without regard of sex), and whipped,
Until the blood did spin ;
Yea, when their skins with stripes looked black,
Their flesh to jelly beat,
Enough to make their sinews crack,
The lashes were so great ;
W 'KITTEN BY HIMSELF. 255
Then had not God been with them to
Support them, they had died,
His power it was that bore them through,
Nothing could do't beside.
When into prisons we were thronged
(Where pestilence was rife)
By bloody-minded men that longed
To take away our life ;
Then had not God been with us, we
Had perished there no doubt ;
'Twas He preserved us there, and He
It was that brought us out.
When sentenced to banishment
Inhumanly we were,
To be from native country sent,
From all that men call dear ;
Then had not God been pleased t' appear,
And take our cause in hand,
And struck them with a panic fear,
Which put them to a stand :
Nay, had He not great judgments sent,
And compassed them about,
They were at that time fully bent
To root us wholly out.
Had He not gone with them that went,
The seas had been their graves ;
Or when they came where they were sent,
They had been sold for slaves.
But God was pleased still to give
Them favour where they came,
And in His truth they yet do live
To praise His Holy Name.
And now afresh do men contrive
Another wicked way
Of our estates us to deprive,
And take our goods away.
But will the Lord (who to this day
Our part did always take)
256 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
Now leave us to be made a prey,
And that too for His sake ?
Can any one who calls to mind
Deliverances past,
Discouraged be at what's behind,
And murmur now at last ?
Oh that no unbelieving heart
Among us may be found,
That from the Lord would now depart,
And coward-like give ground.
For without doubt the God we serve
Will still our cause defend,
' If we from Him do never swerve,
But trust Him to the end.
What if our goods by violence
From us be torn, and we
Of all things but our innocence
Should wholly stripped be ?
Would this be more than did befall
Good Job ? Nay sure, much less :
He lost estate, children and all,
Yet he the Lord did bless.
But did not God his stock augment
Double what 'twas before ?
And this was writ to the intent
That we should hope the more.
View but the lilies of the field,
That neither knit nor spin,
Who is it that to them doth yield
The robes they are decked in ?
Doth not the Lord the ravens feed,
And for the sparrows care ?
And will not. He for His own seed
All needful things prepare ?
The lions shall sharp hunger bear,
And pine for lack of food ;
But who the Lord do truly fear,
Shall nothing want that's good.
J V KIT TEN B Y HIMSELF. 2 5 7
Oh ! which of us can now diffide
That God will us defend,
Who hath been always on our side,
And will be to the end.
Spes confisa Deo nunqnam confusa recedet.
Hope which on God is firmly grounded
Will never fail, nor be confounded.
Scarce was the before- mentioned storm of outward
persecution from the Government blown over when
Satan raised another storm of another kind against
us on this occasion. The foregoing storm of per-
secution, as it lasted long, so in many parts of the
nation, and particularly at London, it fell very sharp
and violent especially on the Quakers. For they
having no refuge but God alone to fly unto, could
not dodge and shift to avoid the suffering as others of
other denominations could, and in their worldly wis-
dom and policy did. altering their meetings with
respect both to place and time, and forbearing to meet
when forbidden or kept out of their meeting-houses.
So that of the several sorts of Dissenters the Quakers
only held up a public testimony as a standard or
ensign of religion, by keeping their meetings duly and
fully at the accustomed times and places so long as
they were suffered to enjoy the use of their meeting-
houses, and when they were shut up and Friends kept
out of them by force, they assembled in the streets
as near to their meeting-houses as they could.
I
258 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
This bold and truly Christian behaviour in the
Quakers disturbed and not a little displeased the
persecutors, who, fretting, complained that the stub-
born Quakers broke their strength and bore off the
blow from those other Dissenters whom, as they most
feared, so they principally aimed at. For indeed
the Quakers they rather despised than feared, as being
a people from whose peaceable principles and prac-
tices they held themselves secure from danger ;
whereas having suffered severely, and that lately too,
by and under the other Dissenters, they thought they
had just cause to be apprehensive of danger from them,
and good reason to suppress them.
On the other hand, the more ingenuous amongst
other Dissenters of each denomination, sensible of the
ease they enjoyed by our bold and steady suffering,
which abated the heat of the persecutors and blunted
the edge of the sword before it came to them, frankly
acknowledged the benefit received ; calling us the
bulwark that kept off the force of the stroke from
them, and praying that \ve might be preserved and
enabled to break the strength of the enemy, nor could
some of them forbear, those especially who were
called Baptists, to express their kind and favourable
opinion of us, and of the principles we professed,
which emboldened us to go through that which but
to hear of was a terror to them.
This their good-will raised ill-will in some of their
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 259
teachers against us, who though willing to reap the
advantage of a shelter, by a retreat behind us during
the time that the storm lasted, yet partly through an
evil emulation, partly through fear lest they should
lose some of those members of their society who had
discovered such favourable thoughts of our principles
and us, they set themselves as soon as the storm was
over to represent us in as ugly a dress and in as
frightful figure to the world as they could invent and
put upon us.
In order whereunto, one Thomas Hicks, a preacher
among the Baptists at London, took upon him to
write several pamphlets successively under the title of
"A Dialogue between a Christian and a Quaker,"
which were so craftily contrived that the unwary
reader might conclude them to be not merely fictions,
but real discourses actually held between one of the
people called a Quaker and some other person. In
these feigned dialogues, Hicks, having no regard
to justice or common honesty, had made his coun-
terfeit Quaker say whatsoever he thought would
render him one while sufficiently erroneous, another
while ridiculous enough, forging in the Quaker's
name some things so abominably false, other things
so intolerably foolish, as could not reasonably be sup-
posed to have come into the conceit, much less to have
dropped from the lip or pen of any that went under
the name of a Quaker.
I 2
260 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
These dialogues, shall I call them, or rather diabo-
logues, were answered by our friend William Penn in
t\vo books ; the first being entitled " Reason against
Railing," the other "The Counterfeit Christian De-
tected;" in which Hicks being charged with mani-
fest as well as manifold forgeries, perversions, down-
right lies, and slanders against the people called
Quakers in general, William Penn, George Whitehead,
and divers others by name, complaint was made,
by way of an appeal, to the Baptists in and about
London for justice against Thomas Hicks.
Those Baptists, who it seems were in the plot
with Hicks to defame at any rate, right or wrong,
the people called Quakers, taking advantage of the
absence of William Penn and George Whithead, who
were the persons most immediately concerned, and
who were then gone a long journey on the service of
truth, to be absent from the city, in all probability,
for a considerable time, appointed a public meeting
in one of their meeting-houses, under pretence of
calling Thomas Hicks to account and hearing the
charge made good against him, but with design to
give the greater stroke to the Quakers, when they,
who should make good the charge against Hicks,
could not be present. For upon their sending notice
to the lodgings of William Penn and George White-
head of their intended meeting, they were told by
several Friends that both William Penn and George
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 261
Whitehead were from home, travelling in the coun-
tries, uncertain where, and therefore could not be
informed of their intended meeting, either by letter
or express, within the time by them limited, for
which reason they were desired to defer the meeting
till they could have notice of it and time to return,
that they might be at it. But these Baptists, whose
design was otherwise laid, would not be prevailed with
to defer their meeting, but, glad of the advantage,
gave their brother Hicks opportunity to make a
colourable defence where he had his party to help
him and none to oppose him ; and having made a
mock show of examining him and his works of dark-
ness, they, in fine, having heard one side, acquitted
him.
This gave just occasion for a new complaint and
demand of justice against him and them. For as
soon as William Penn returned to London, he in
print exhibited his complaint of this unfair dealing,
and demanded justice by a rehearing of the matter
in a public meeting to be appointed by joint agree-
ment. This went hardly down with the Baptists, nor
could it be obtained from them without great impor-
tunity and hard pressing. At length, after many
delays and tricks used to shift it off, constrained by
necessity, they yielded to have a meeting at their own
meeting-house in Barbican, London.
There, amongst other Friends, was I, and undertook
262 HIS TOR Y OF THOMA S ELL WO OD.
to read our charge there against Thomas Hicks, which
not without much difficulty I did ; they, inasmuch as
the house was theirs, putting all the inconveniences
they could upon us.
The particular passages and management of this
meeting, as also of that other which followed soon
after, they refusing to give us any other public meet-
ing, we were fain to appoint in our own meeting-
house, by Wheeler Street, near Spitalfields, London,
and gave them timely notice of, I forbear here to
mention ; there being in print a narrative of each, to
which for particular information I refer the reader.
But to this meeting Thomas Hicks would not come,
but lodged himself at an ale-house hard by ; yet sent
his brother Ives, with some others of the party, by
clamorous noises to divert us from the prosecution
of our charge against him ; which they so effectually
performed that they would not suffer the charge to be
heard, though often attempted to be read.
As this rude behaviour of theirs was a cause of
grief to me, so afterwards, when I understood that
they used all evasive tricks to avoid another meeting
with us, and refused to do us right, my spirit was
greatly stirred at their injustice, and in the sense
thereof, willing, if possible, to have provoked them to
more fair and manly dealing, I let fly a broadside at
them, in a single sheet of paper, under the title of
" A Fresh Pursuit " ; in which, having restated the
WR1 T TEN B Y HIMSELF. 263
controversy between them and us, and reinforced our
charge of forgery, &c., against Thomas Hicks and
his abettors, I offered a fair challenge to them, not
only to Thomas Hicks himself, but to all those his
compurgators who had before undertaken to acquit
^"'m from our charge, together with their companion
Jeremy iv^ y fr) ? j ve me a fa j r and p u yj c mee ti n g, in
which I would make ^ our charge aga{nst him as
principal, and all the rest of them ~ . ^ essor j es _ But
nothing could provoke them to come fairly toi <.*..
Yet not long after, finding themselves galled by the
narrative lately published of what had passed in the
last meeting near Wheeler Street, they, to help them-
selves if they could, sent forth a counter-account of
that meeting and of the former at Barbican, as much
to the advantage of their own cause as they upon
deliberate consideration could contrive it. This was
published by Thomas Plant, a Baptist teacher, and
one of Thomas Hicks' former compurgators, and bore
(but falsely) the title of " A Contest for Christianity ;
or, a Faithful Relation of two late Meetings," &c.
To this I quickly wrote and published an answer ;
and because I saw the design and whole drift of the
Baptists was to shroud Thomas Hicks from our
charge of forgery under the specious pretence of his
and their standing up and contending for Christianity,
I gave my book this general title : " Forgery no Chris-
tianity ; or, a Brief Examen of a late Book," &c. And
264 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
having from their own book plainly convicted that
which they called a " faithful relation " to be indeed a
false relation, I, in an expostulatory postscript to the
Baptists, reinforced our charge and my former chal-
lenge, offering to make it good against them before a
public and free auditory. But they were too w^ t0
appear further, either in person or '- r /iint -
This was the end ? "^ controversy, which was
b er ed f " 1 " t * ve ^ s ^ ssue : ^at what those dialogues
,,cre written to prevent was by the dialogues, and their
unfair, unmanly, unchristian carriage, in endeavouring
to defend them, hastened and brought to pass ; for
not a few of the Baptists' members upon this occasion
left their meetings and society, and came over to the
Quakers' meetings and were joined in fellowship with
them ; thanks be to God.
The controversy which had been raised by those
cavilling Baptists had not been long ended before
another was raised by an Episcopal priest in Lincoln-
shire, who fearing, as it seemed, to lose some of his
hearers to the Quakers, wrote a book which he mis-
called, " A Friendly Conference between a Minister
and a Parishioner of his inclining to Quakerism,"
in which he misstated and greatly perverted the
Quakers' principles, that he might thereby beget in
his parishioners an aversion to them ; and that he
might abuse us the more securely, he concealed him-
self, sending forth his book without a name.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 265
This book coming to my hand, became my concern
(after I had read it, and considered the evil manage-
ment and worse design thereof) to answer it ; which I
did in a treatise called " Truth Prevailing, and Detect-
ing Error/' published in the year 1676.
My answer I divided, according to the several sub-
jects handled in the conference, into divers distinct
chapters, the last of which treated of Tithes.
This being the priests' Delilah, and that chapter of
mine pinching them, it seems, in a tender part, the
belly, they laid their heads together, and with what
speed they could sent forth a distinct reply to the
last chapter, " Of Tithes/' in mine, under the title of
" The Right of Tithes Asserted and Proved." This
also came forth without a name, yet pretended to be
written by another hand.
Before I had finished my rejoinder to this came
forth another called " A Vindication of the Friendly
Conference/' said to be written by the author of the
" Feigned Conference," who was not yet willing to trust
the world with his name. So much of it as related
to the subject I was then upon (Tithes) I took into my
rejoinder to the " Right of Tithes/' which I published
in the year 1678, with this title: "The Foundation
of Tithes Shaken/' &c.
After this it was a pretty while before I heard from
either of them again. But at length came forth a
reply to my last, supposed to be written by the same
266 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
hand who had before written " The Right of Tithes
Asserted," &c., but still without a name. This latter
book had more of art than argument in it. It was
indeed a hash of ill-cooked cram set off with as
much flourish as the author was master of, and swelled
into bulk by many quotations ; but those so wretchedly
misgiven, misapplied, or perverted, that to a judicious
and impartial reader I durst oppose my fi Foundation
of Tithes Shaken " to the utmost force that book
has in it. Yet it coming forth at a time when I was
pretty well at leisure, I intended a full refutation
thereof, and in order thereunto had written between
forty and fifty sheets, when other business, more
urgent, intervening, took me off, and detained me
from it so long that it was then judged out of season,
and so it was laid aside.
Hitherto the war I had been engaged in was in a
sort foreign, with people of other religious persuasions,
such as were open and avowed enemies; but now
another sort of war arose, an intestine war, raised by
some among ourselves such as had once been of us,
and yet retained the same profession, and would have
been thought to be of us still ; but having through ill-
grounded jealousies let in discontents, and thereupon
fallen into jangling, chiefly about church discipline,
they at length broke forth into an open schism,
headed by two Northern men of name and note, John
Wilkinson and John Story ; the latter of whom, as
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 267
being the most active and popular man, having gained
a considerable interest in the West, carried the con-
troversy with him thither, and there spreading it, drew
many, too many, to abet him therein.
Among those, William Rogers, a merchant of
Bristol, was not the least, nor least accounted of by
himself and some others. He was a bold and active
man, moderately learned, but immoderately conceited
of his own parts and abilities, which made him forward
to engage, as thinking none would dare to take up the
gauntlet he should cast down. This high opinion of
himself made him rather a troublesome than formid-
able enemy.
That I may here step over the various steps by
which he advanced to open hostility, as what I was
not actually or personally engaged in : He in a while
arrived to that height of folly and wickedness that he
wrote and published a large book, in five parts, to
which he maliciously gave for a title, " The Christian
Quaker distinguished from the Apostate and Innova-
tor,'' thereby arrogating to himself and those who
were of his party the topping style of Christian
Quaker, and no less impiously than uncharitably
branding and rejecting all others, even the main body
of Friends, for apostates and innovators.
When this book came abroad it was not a little
(and he, for its sake) cried up by his injudicious
admirers, whose applause setting his head afloat, he
268 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
came up to London at the time of the yearly meeting
then following, and at the close thereof gave notice in
writing to this effect viz., " That if any were dis-
satisfied with his book he was there ready to maintain
and defend both it and himself against all comers."
This daring challenge was neither dreaded nor
slighted, but an answer forthwith returned in writing,
signed by a few Friends, amongst whom I was one, to
let him know that, as many were dissatisfied with his
book and him, he should not fail, God willing, to be
met by the sixth hour next morning at the meeting-
place at Devonshire House.
Accordingly we met, and continued the meeting till
noon or after, in which time he, surrounded with those
of his own party as might abet and assist him, was so
fairly foiled and baffled, and so fully exposed, that he
was glad to quit the place, and early next morning
the town also, leaving, in excuse for his going so
abruptly off, and thereby refusing us another meeting
with him, which we had earnestly provoked him to,
this slight shift, " That he had before given earnest
for his passage in the stage-coach home, and was not
willing to lose it."
I had before this gotten a sight of his book, and
procured one for my use on this occasion, but I had
not time to read it through ; but a while after, Pro-
vidence cast another of them into my hands very
unexpectedly, for our dear friend George Fox passing
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 269
through this country among Friends, and lying in his
journey at my house, had one of them in his bag,
which he had made some marginal notes upon. For
that good man, like Julius Cresar, willing to improve
all parts of his time, did usually, even in his travels,
dictate to his amanuensis what he would have com-
mitted to writing. I knew not that he had this book
with him, for he had not said anything to me of it,
till going in the morning into his chamber while he
was dressing himself, I found it lying on the table by
him ; and understanding that he was going but for a
few weeks to visit Friends in the meetings hereabouts
and the neighbouring parts of Oxford and Berkshire,
and so return through this county again, I made
bold to ask him if he would favour me so much as
to leave it with me till his return, that I might have
the opportunity of reading it through. He consented,
and as soon almost as he was gone I set myself to
read it over. But I had not gone far in it ere,
observing the many foul falsehoods, malicious slanders,
gross perversions, and false doctrines abounding in it,
the sense thereof inflamed my breast with a just and
holy indignation against the work, and that devilish
spirit in which it was brought forth; wherefore,
finding my spirit raised and my understanding
divinely opened to refute it, I began the book again,
and reading it with pen in hand, answered it para-
graphically as 1 went. And so clear were the
270 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
openings I received from the Lord therein, that by
the time my friend came back I had gone through
the greatest part of it, and was too far engaged in
spirit to think of giving over the work ; wherefore,
requesting him to continue the book a little longer
with me, I soon after finished the answer, which,
with Friends' approbation, was printed under the title
of "An Antidote against the Infection of William
Rogers' Book, miscalled ' The Christian Quaker,
&c.' " This was written in the year 1682. But no
answer was given to it, either by him or any other
of his party, though many others were concerned
therein, and some by name, so far as I have ever
heard. Perhaps there might be the hand of Pro-
vidence overruling them therein, to give me leisure
to attend some other services which soon after fell
upon me.
For it being a stormy time, and persecution waxing
hot, upon the Conventicle Act, through the busy
boldness of hungry informers, who for their own ad-
vantage did not only themselves hunt after religious
and peaceable meetings, but drove on the officers,
not only the more inferior and subordinate, but in
some places even the justices also, for fear of penal-
ties, to hunt with them and for them ; I found a
pressure upon my spirit to write a small treatise to
inform such officers how they might secure and
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 27 1
defend themselves from being ridden by those
malapert informers, and made their drudges.
This treatise I called "A Caution to Constables
and other inferior Officers concerned in the Execution
of the Conventicle Act : with some Observations
thereupon, humbly offered by way of Advice to such
well-meaning and moderate Justices of the Peace as
would not willingly ruin their peaceable Neighbours,"
&c.
This was thought to have some good service where
it came upon such sober and moderate officers, as
well justices as constables, &c., as acted rather by
constraint than choice, by encouraging them to stand
their ground with more courage and resolution against
the insults of saucy informers.
But whatever ease it brought to others, it brought
me some trouble, and had like to have brought me
into more danger, had not Providence wrought my
deliverance by an unexpected way.
For as soon as it came forth in print, which was in
the year 1683, one William Ayrs, of Watford in
Hertfordshire, a Friend, and an acquaintance of mine,
who was both an apothecary and barber, being
acquainted with divers of the gentry in those parts,
and going often to some of their houses to trim them,
took one of these books with him when he went to
trim Sir Benjamin Titchborn of Rickmansworth, and
272 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
presented it to him, supposing he would have taken it
kindly, as in like cases he had formerly done. But
it fell out otherwise. For he, looking it over after
Ayrs was gone, and taking it by the wrong handle,
entertained an evil opinion of it, and of me for it,
though he knew me not.
He thereupon communicated both the book and his
thoughts upon it to a neighbouring justice, living in
Rickmansworth, whose name was Thomas Fotherly,
who concurring with him in judgment, they con-
cluded that I should be taken up and prosecuted for
it as a seditious book ; for a libel they could not call
it, my name being to it at length.
Wherefore, sending for Ayrs, \vho had brought the
book, Justice Titchborn examined him if he knew
me, and where I dwelt ; who telling him he knew
me well, and had been often at my house, he gave
him in charge to give me notice that I should
appear before him and the other justice at Rickmans-
worth on such a day ; threatening that if I did not
appear, he himself should be prosecuted for spreading
the book.
This put William Ayrs in a fright. Over he came
in haste with his message to me, troubled that he
should be a means to bring me into trouble ; but I
endeavoured to give him ease by assuring him I
would not fail, with God's leave, to appear at the
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 273
time and place appointed, and thereby free him from
trouble or danger.
In the interim I received advice, by an express out
of Sussex, that Guli Penn, with whom I had had an
intimate acquaintance and firm friendship from our
very youths, was very dangerously ill, her husband
being then absent in Pennsylvania, and that she had
a great desire to see and speak with me.
This put me to a great strait, and brought a sore
exercise on my mind. I was divided betwixt honour
and friendship. I had engaged my word to appear
before the justices, which to omit would bring dis-
honour on me and my profession. To stay till that
time was come and past might probably prove, if I
should then be left at liberty, too late to answer her
desire and satisfy friendship.
After some little deliberation, I resolved, as the
best expedient to answer both ends, to go over next
morning to the justices, and lay my strait before
them, and try if I could procure from them a respite
of my appearance before them until I had been in
Essex, and paid the duty of friendship to my sick
friend : which I had the more hopes to obtain, because
I knew those justices had a great respect for Guli ;
for when William Penn and she were first married
they lived for some years at Rickmansworth, in
which time they contracted a neighbourly friendship
274 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
with both these justices and theirs, who ever after
retained a kind regard for them both.
Early therefore in the morning I rode over ; but
being wholly a stranger to the justices, I went first to
Watford, that I might take Ayrs along with me,
who supposed himself to have some interest in Justice
Titchborn, and when I came there, understanding
that another Friend of that town, whose name was
John Wells, was well acquainted with the other
Justice Fotherly, having imparted to them the occa-
sion of my coming, I took them both with me, and
hasted back to Rickmansworth, where having put
our horses up at an inn, and leaving William Ayrs,
who was a stranger to Fotherly, there, I went with
John Wells to Fotherly's house, and being brought
into a fair hall, I tarried there while Wells went into
the parlour to him, and having acquainted him that I
was there and desired to speak with him, brought
him to me with severity in his countenance.
After he had asked me, in a tone which spoke dis-
pleasure, what I had to say to him, I told him I came
to wait on him upon an intimation given me that he
had something to say to me. He thereupon plucking
my book out of his pocket, asked me if I owned
myself to be the author of that book ? I told him, if
he pleased to let me look into it, if it were mine, I
would not deny it. He thereupon giving it into my
hand, when I had turned over the leaves and looked
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 275
it through, finding it to be as it came from the press,
I told him I wrote the book, and would own it, all
but the errors of the press. Whereupon he, looking
sternly on me, answered, "Your own errors, you
should have said."
Having innocency on my side, I was not at all
daunted at either his speech or looks, but feeling the
Lord present with me, I replied, " I know there are
errors of the press in it, and therefore I excepted
them ; but I do not know there are any errors of
mine in it, and therefore cannot except them. But,"
added I, " if thou pleasest to show me any error of
mine in it, I shall readily both acknowledge and
retract it;" and thereupon I desired him to give me
an instance, in any one passage in that book, wherein
he thought I had erred. He said he needed not go
to particulars, but charge me with the general
contents of the whole book. I replied that such a
charge would be too general for me to give a par-
ticular answer to ; but if he would assign me any
particular passage or sentence in the book wherein
he apprehended the ground of offence to lie, when I
should have opened the terms, and explained my
meaning therein, he might perhaps find cause to
change his mind and entertain a better opinion both of
the book and me. And therefore I again entreated him
to let me know what particular passage or passages had
Cfiven him an offence. He told me I needed not to be
2/6 HISTORY OF THOMAS KLLWOOD.
in so much haste for that I might have it timely
enough, if not too scon ; "but this," said he, "is not
the day appointed for your hearing, and therefore,"
added he, "what, I pray, made you in such haste to
come now ?" I told him I hoped he would not take it
for an argument of guilt that I came before I was sent
for, and offered myself to my purgation before the
time appointed. And this I spake with somewhat
a brisker air, which had so much influence on
him as to bring a somewhat softer air over his coun-
tenance.
Then going on, I told him I had a particular
occasion which induced me to come now, which was,
that I received advice last night by an express out of
Sussex, that William Penn's wife, with whom I had
had an intimate acquaintance and strict friendship,
ab ipsis fere incunabilis* at least a tcncris wignicnlisfr
lay now there very ill, not without great danger, in
the apprehension of those about her, of her life, and
that she had expressed her desire that I would come to
her as soon as I could, the rather for that her husband
was absent in America. That this had brought a
great strait upon me, being divided between friend-
ship and duty, willing to visit my friend in her illness,
which the nature and law of friendship required, yet
unwilling to omit my duty by failing of my appear-
ance before him and the other justice, according to
* Almost from our cradle. t From our tender age.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 277
their command and my promise, lest I should thereby
subject, not my own reputation only, but the reputa-
tion of my religious profession, to the suspicion of
guilt, and censure of willingly shunning a trial. To
prevent which I had chosen to anticipate the time,
and came now to see if I could give them satisfaction
in what they had to object against me, and thereupon
being dismissed, pursue my journey into Sussex, or if
by them detained, to submit to Providence, and by an
express to acquaint my friend therewith, both to free
her from an expectation of my coming and myself
from any imputation of neglect.
While I thus delivered myself I observed a sensible
alteration in the justice, and when I had done speak-
ing, he first said he was very sorry for Madam Penn's
illness, of whose virtue and worth he spoke very highly,
yet not more than was her due ; then he told me that
for her sake he would do what he could to further my
visit to her ; " but," said he, " I am but one, and of
myself can do nothing in it ; therefore you must go
to Sir Benjamin Titchborn, and if he be at home,
see if you can prevail with him to meet me, that
we may consider of it. But I can assure you,"
added he, "the matter which will be laid to your
charge concerning your book is of greater impor-
tance than you seem to think it. For your book
has been laid before the King and Council, and the
Earl of Bridgewater, who is one of the Council,
273 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
hath thereupon given us command to examine you
about it, and secure you."
" I wish," said I, " I could speak with the Earl my-
self, for I make no doubt but to acquit myself unto
him ; and/' added I, " if thou pleasest to give me thy
letter to him, I will wait upon him with it forthwith.
For although I know," continued I, " that he hath
no favour for any of my persuasion, yet knowing
myself to be wholly innocent in this matter, I can
with confidence appear before him, or even before
the King in Council."
" Well," said he, " I see you are confident ; but for
all that, let me tell you, how good soever your in-
tention was, you timed the publishing of your book
very unluckily, for you cannot be ignorant that
there is a very dangerous plot lately discovered, con-
trived by the Dissenters against the Government and
his Majesty's life." [This was the Rye plot, then
newly broke forth, and laid upon the Presbyterians.]
"And for you," added he, " to publish a book just at
that juncture of time, to discourage the magistrates
and other officers from putting in execution those
laws which were made to suppress their meetings,
looks, I must tell you, but with a scurvy counte-
nance upon you."
" If," replied I, with somewhat a pleasanter air,
" there was any mistiming in the case, it must lie
on the part of those plotters for timing the break-
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 279
ing forth of their plot while my book was print-
ing, for I can bring very good proof that my book
was in the press and well-nigh wrought off before
any man talked or knew of a plot, but those who
were in it."
Here our discourse ended, and I, taking for the
present my leave of him, went to my horse, and
changing my companion, rode to Justice Titchborn's,
having with me William Ayrs, who was best ac-
quainted with him, and who had casually brought
this trouble on me.
When he had introduced me to Titchborn, I gave
him a like account of the occasion of my coming at
that time as I had before given to the other
Justice. And both he and his lady, who was present,
expressed much concern for Guli Penn's illness.
I found this man to be of quite another temper
than Justice Fotherly ; for he was smooth, soft,
and oily,, whereas the other was rather rough,
severe, and sharp. Yet at the winding-up I found
Fotherly my truest friend.
When I had told Sir Benjamin Titchborn that I
came from Justice Fotherly, and requested him to
give him a meeting to consider of my business, he
readily, without any hesitation, told me he would
go with me to Rickmansworth, from which his house
was distant about a mile, arid calling for his horses,
mounted immediately, and to Rickmansworth we rode.
28o HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
After they had been a little while together, I was
called in before them, and in the first place they
examined me, " What was my intention and design
in writing that book ? " I told them the introductory
part of it gave a plain account of it viz , " That it
was to get ease from the penalties of a severe law
often executed with too great a severity by unskilful
officers, who were driven on beyond the bounds of
their duty by the impetuous threats of a sort of
insolent fellows, as needy as greedy, who for their
own advantage sought our ruin." To prevent
which was the design and drift of that book, by
acquainting such officers how they might safely de-
mean themselves in the execution of their offices
towards their honest and peaceable neighbours, with-
out ruining either their neighbours or themselves to
enrich some of the worst of men ; and that I humbly
conceived it was neither unlawful nor unreasonable
for a sufferer to do this, so long as it was done in a
fair, sober, and peaceable way.
They then put me in mind of the plot ; told me it
was a troublesome and dangerous time, and my book
might be construed to import sedition, in discouraging
the officers from putting the laws in execution, as by
law and by their oath they were bound ; and in fine
brought it to this issue, that they were directed to
secure me by a commitment to prison until the
assize, at which I should receive a further charge than
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 281
they were provided now to give me ; but because
they were desirous to forward my visit to Madam
Perm, they tol^ me they would admit me to bail, and
therefore, if I would enter a recognisance, with sufficient
sureties, for my appearance at the next assize, they
would leave me at liberty to go on my journey.
I told them I could not do it. They said they
would give me as little trouble as they could, and
therefore they would not put me to seek bail, but
would accept those two friends of mine who were
then present, to be bound with me for my appearance.
I let them know my strait lay not in the diffi-
culty of procuring sureties, for I did suppose myself
to have sufficient acquaintance and credit in that
place, if on such an occasion I could be free to use
it ; but as I knew myself to be an innocent man, I
had not satisfaction in myself to desire others to be
bound for me, nor to enter myself into a recognisance,
that carrying in it, to my apprehension, a reflection
on my innocency and the reputation of my Christian
profession.
Here we stuck and struggled about this a pretty
while, till at length finding me fixed in my judgment,
and resolved rather to go to prison than give bail,
they asked me if I was against appearing, or only
against being bound with sureties to appear. I told
them I was not against appearing, which as I could
not avoid if I would, so I would not if I might ;
282 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELL WOOD.
but was ready and willing to appear, if required, to
answer whatsoever should be charged against me.
But in any case of a religious naiur~, or wherein my
Christian profession was concerned, which I tooK tv,; s
case to be, I could not yield to give any other or
further security than my word or promise as a
Christian.
They, unwilling to commit me, took hold of that,
and asked if I would promise to appear. I answered,
"Yes; with due limitations." "What do you mean
by due limitations ? " said they. " I mean," replied I,
"if I am not disabled or prevented by sickness or
imprisonment. For/' added I, "as you allege that
it is a troublesome time, I perhaps may find it so.
I may, for aught I know, be seized and imprisoned
elsewhere on the same account for which I now
stand here before you, and if I should, how then
could I appear at the assize in this county ? "
" Oh," said they, " these are due limitations indeed.
Sickness or imprisonment are lawful excuses, and
if either of these befall you, we shall not expect
your appearance here ; but then you must certify
us that you are so disabled by sickness or re-
straint."
" But/' said I, " how shall I know when and where
I shall wait upon you again after my return from
Sussex ? " " You need not," said they, " trouble
yourself about that ; we will take care to give
WRITTEN B Y HIMSELF. 283
you notice of both time and place, and till you
hear from us you may dispose yourself as you
please."
"Well, then," said I, "I do promise you that when
I shall have received from you a fresh command to
appear before you, I will, if the Lord permit me life,
health, and liberty, appear when and where you shall
appoint."
" It is enough/'' said they ; " we will take your
word." And desiring me to give their hearty respects
and service to Madam Penn, they dismissed me with
their good wishes for a good journey.
I was sensible that in this they had dealt very
favourably and kindly with me, therefore I could not
but acknowledge to them the sense I had thereof ;
which done, I took leave of them, and mounting,
returned home with what haste I could, to let my
wife know how I had sped. And having given her
a summary account of the business, I took horse
again, and went so far that evening towards Worm-
inghurst that I got thither pretty early next morning,
and to my great satisfaction found my friend in a
hopeful way towards recovery.
I stayed some days with her, and then, finding her
illness wear daily off, and some other Friends being
come from London to visit her, I, mindful of my
engagement to the Justices, and unwilling by too
long an absence to give them occasion to suspect I
284 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
was willing to avoid their summons, leaving those
other Friends to bear her company longer, took my
leave of her and them, and set my face homewards,
carrying with me the welcome account of my friend's
recovery.
Being returned home, I waited in daily expectation
of a command from the Justices to appear again before
them ; but none came. I spoke with those Friends
who had been with me when I was before them, and
they said they had heard nothing of it from them,
although they had since been in company with them.
At length the assize came, but no notice was given
to me that I should appear there : in fine, they never
troubled themselves nor me any further about it.
Thus was a cloud, that looked black and threatened
a great storm, blown gently over by a providential
breath, which I could not but with a thankful mind
acknowledge to the All-great, All-good, All-wise
Disposer, in whose hand and at \vhose command the
hearts of all men, even the greatest, are, and who
turns their counsels, disappoints their purposes, and
defeats their designs and contrivances as He pleases.
For if my dear friend Guli Penn had not fallen sick, if
I had not thereupon been sent for to her, I had not
prevented the time of my appearance, but had ap-
peared on the day appointed ; and, as I afterwards
understood, that was the day appointed for the ap-
pearance of a great many persons of the Dissenting
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. , 285
party in that side of the country, who wore to be
taken up and secured on account of the aforemen-
tioned plot, which had been cast upon the Presby-
terians. So that if I had then appeared with and
amongst them, I had in all likelihood been sent
to gaol with them for company, and that under the
imputation of a plotter, than which nothing was more
contrary to my profession and inclination.
But though I came off so easily, it fared not so well
with others ; for the storm increasing, many Friends
in divers parts, both of city and country, suffered
greatly ; the sense whereof did deeply affect me, and
the more for that I observed the magistrates, not
thinking the laws which had been made against us
severe enough, perverted the law in order to punish
us. For calling our peaceable meetings riots, which in
the legal notion of the word riot is a contradiction
in terms, they indicted our friends as rioters for
only sitting in a meeting, though nothing was there
either said or done by them, and then set fines on
them at pleasure.
This I knew to be not only against right and justice,
but even against law ; and it troubled me to think
that we should be made to suffer not only by laws
made directly against us, but even by laws that did
not at all concern us. Nor was it long before I had
occasion offered more thoroughly to consider this
matter.
286 HISTORY OF THOMAS ELLWOOD.
For a justice of the peace in this county, who was
called Sir Dennis Hampson, of Taplow, breaking in
with a party of horse upon a little meeting near
Wooburn, in his neighbourhood, the 1st of the fifth
month, 1683, sent most of the men, to the number of
twenty-three, whom he found there, to Aylesbury
prison, though most of them were poor men who
lived by their labour ; and not going himself to the
next Quarter Sessions at Buckingham, on the I2th of
the same month, sent his clerk with direction that
they should be indicted for a riot. Whither the pri-
soners were carried and indicted accordingly, and
being pressed by the court to traverse and give bail,
they moved to be tried forthwith, but that was denied
them. And they, giving in writing the reason of
their refusing bail and fees, were remanded to prison
till next Quarter Sessions ; but William Woodhouse
was again bailed, as he had been before, and William
Mason and John Reeve, who not being Friends, but
casually taken at 'that meeting, entered recognisance
as the court desired, and so were released till next
sessions ; before which time Mason died, and Reeve
being sick, appeared not, but got himself taken off.
And in the eighth month following the twenty-one
prisoners that remained were brought to trial ; a jury
was found, who brought in a pretended verdict that
they were guilty of a Hot for only sitting peaceably
together without word or action, and though there
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 287
was no proclamation made nor they required to
depart. But one of the jurymen afterwards did con-
fess he knew not what a riot was ; yet the prisoners
were fined a noble apiece, and recommitted to prison
during life (a hard sentence) or the King's pleasure,
or until they should pay the said fines. William
Woodhouse was forthwith discharged by his kins-
man's paying the fine and fees for him ; Thomas Dell
and Edward Moore also, by other people of the
world paying their fines and fees ; and shortly
after, Stephen Pewsey, by the town and parish
where he lived, for fear his wife and children should
become a charge upon them. The other seventeen
remained prisoners till King James's proclamation of
pardon ; whose names were Thomas and William
Sexton, Timothy Child, Robert Moor, Richard James,
William and Robert Aldridge, John Ellis, George
Salter, John Smith, William Tanner, William Batche-
lor, John Dolbin, Andrew Brothers, Richard Bald-
win, John Jennings, and Robert Austin.
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