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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 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS 
 
 BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL 
 NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE
 
 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. 
 
 " Marvels of clear type and general neatness." 
 
 Daily Telegraph.
 
 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. 
 
 PRINTED BV BALI.ANTYNE, HANSOM AND CO. 
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