Anecdotes and Sayings of Other Martyrs
ANECDOTES AND SAYINGS OF OTHER MARTYRS
WHEN sentence was given against Jerome of Prague a great and long mitre of paper was brought unto him, painted about with red devils; which when he beheld, throwing away his hood upon the ground amongst the prelates, he took and put upon his head, saying: ‘Our Lord Jesus Christ, when He should suffer death for me, most wretched sinner, did wear a crown of thorns upon His head; and I, for His sake, instead of that crown, will willingly wear this mitre and cap.’—Constance, 1416.
—There came unto George Carpenter a certain schoolmaster of St Peter saying, ‘My friend George! dost thou not fear the death and punishment which thou must suffer? If thou wert let go, wouldst thou return to thy wife and children?’
Whereunto he answered, ‘If I were set at liberty, whither should I rather go, than to my wife and well-beloved children?’
Then said the schoolmaster, ‘Revoke your former sentence and opinion, and you shall be set at liberty.’
Whereunto George answered: ‘My wife and my children are so dearly beloved unto me, that they cannot be bought from me for all the riches and possessions of the Duke of Bavaria; but, for the love of my Lord God, I will willingly forsake them.’—Munich, 1527.
—And so going forth they came to the place of execution, where Anthony Peerson, with a cheerful countenance, embraced the post in his arms, and kissing it, said, ‘Now welcome mine own sweet wife! for this day shalt thou and I be married together in the love and peace of God.’ And pulling the straw unto him, he laid a good deal thereof upon the top of his head, saying, ‘This is God’s hat; now am I dressed like a true soldier of Christ, by Whose merits only I trust this day to enter into His joy.’—Windsor, 1543.
—As Giles Tilleman was brought to the place of burning, where he saw a great heap of wood piled, he required the greater part thereof to be taken away, and to be given to the poor: a little (said he) would suffice him. Also seeing a poor man coming by, as he went, that lacked shoes, he gave his shoes unto him; better (said he) so to do, than to have his shoes burnt, and the poor to perish for cold. Standing at the stake, the hangman was ready to strangle him before; but he would not, saying that there was no such need that his pain should be mitigated; ‘For I fear not,’ said he, ‘the fire; do thou therefore as thou art commanded.’ And thus the blessed martyr, lifting up his eyes to heaven in the middle of the flame, died, to the great lamentation of all that stood by.—Brussels, 1544.
—Peter Miocius was let down into a deep dungeon, under the castle-ditch, full of toads and filthy vermin. Shortly after, the senate began to examine him of certain articles of religion. To whom, as he was about to answer boldly and expressly to every point, they, interrupting him, bade him say in two words, either yea or nay. ‘Then,’ said he, ‘if ye will not suffer me to answer for myself in matters of such importance, send me to my prison again, among my toads and frogs, which will not interrupt me, while I talk with my Lord and my God.’—Dornick, 1545.
—Master Wingfield said to Kerby, ‘Remember the fire is hot, take heed of thine enterprise, that thou take no more upon thee, than thou shalt be able to perform. The terror is great, the pain will be extreme, and life is sweet. Better it were betimes to stick to mercy, while there is hope of life, than rashly to begin, and then to shrink.’
To whom Kerby answered, ‘Ah, Master Wingfield! be at my burning, and you shall say, there standeth a Christian soldier in the fire. For I know that fire and water, sword and all other things, are in the hands of God, and He will suffer no more to be laid upon us, than He will give us strength to bear.’—Ipswich, 1545.
—When the rope was put about Ann Audebert, she called it her wedding-girdle wherewith she should be married to Christ; and as she should be burned upon a Saturday, upon Michaelmas-even; ‘Upon a Saturday,’ said she, ‘I was first married, and upon a Saturday I shall be married again.’—Orleans, 1549.
—About ten of the clock cometh riding the sheriff, with a great many other gentlemen and their retinue appointed to assist him, and with them Christopher Wade, riding pinioned, and by him one Margery Polley of Tunbridge; both singing of a psalm: which Margery, as soon as she espied afar off the multitude gathered about the place where he should suffer, waiting his coming, said unto him very loud and cheerfully, ‘You may rejoice, Wade, to see such a company gathered to celebrate your marriage this day.’
Wade, coming straight to the stake, took it in his arms, embracing it, and kissed it, setting his back unto it, and standing in a pitchbarrel.
As soon as he was thus settled, he spake, with his hands and eyes lifted up to heaven, with a cheerful and loud voice, the last verse of Psalm lxxxvi.: ‘Show some good token upon me, O Lord, that they which hate me, may see it, and be ashamed; because Thou, Lord, hast helped me, and comforted me.’ The sheriff, often interrupted, saying, ‘Be quiet, Wade! and die patiently.’ ‘I am,’ said he, ‘I thank God, quiet, master sheriff! and so trust to die.’ Then the reeds being set about him, Wade pulled them, and embraced them in his arms, always with his hands making a hole against his face, that his voice might be heard, which they perceiving that were his tormentors, always cast faggots at the same hole, which notwithstanding, he still, as he could, put off, his face being hurt with the end of a faggot cast thereat. Then fire being put unto him, he cried unto God often, ‘Lord Jesus! receive my soul;’ without any token or sign of impatiency in the fire.—Dartford, 1555.
—When the time came that he should be brought out of Newgate to Smithfield, came to him Master Woodroofe, and asked him if he would revoke his evil opinion of the sacrament of the altar. Master Rogers answered and said, ‘That which I have preached I will seal with my blood.’
‘Then,’ quoth Master Woodroofe, ‘Thou art a heretic.’
‘That shall be known,’ quoth Rogers, ‘at the day of judgment.’
‘Well,’ quoth Master Woodroofe, ‘I will never pray for thee.’
‘But I will pray for you, quoth Master Rogers.
His wife and children, being eleven in number, and ten able to go, and one sucking on her breast, met him by the way as he went towards Smithfield. This sorrowful sight of his own flesh and blood could nothing move him; but that he constantly and cheerfully took his death. When the fire had taken hold both upon his legs and shoulders, he, as one feeling no smart, washed his hands in the flame, as though it had been in cold water.—Smithfield, 1555.
—When the godly martyrs Master Cardmaker and John Warne were brought by the sheriffs to the place where they should suffer, the sheriffs called Cardmaker aside, and talked with him secretly so long, that in the mean time Warne had made his prayers, was chained to the stake, and had wood and reed set about him, so that nothing wanted but the firing; but still abode Cardmaker talking with the sheriffs.
The people which before had heard that Cardmaker would recant, on beholding this manner of doing, were in a marvellous dump and sadness, thinking indeed that Cardmaker should now recant at the burning of Warne. At length Cardmaker departed from the sheriffs, and came towards the stake, and, in his garments as he was, kneeled down and made a long prayer in silence to himself: yet the people confirmed themselves in their fantasy of his recanting, seeing him in his garments, praying secretly, and no semblance of any burning.
His prayers being ended, he rose up, put off his clothes unto his shirt, went with bold courage to the stake, and kissed it sweetly: he took Warne by the hand, and comforted him heartily; and so gave himself to be also bound to the stake most gladly. The people seeing this so suddenly done, contrary to their fearful expectation, as men delivered out of a great doubt, cried out for joy, saying, ‘God be praised; the Lord strengthen thee, Cardmaker; the Lord Jesus receive thy spirit!’—Smithfield, 1555.
—When this good man, Rawlins White, while he was on his way to the stake, came to a place where his poor wife and children stood weeping and making great lamentation, the sudden sight of them so pierced his heart that the tears trickled down his face. But he soon after, as though he had misliked this infirmity of his flesh, began to be as it were altogether angry with himself; insomuch that in striking his breast with his hand he used these words: ‘Ah flesh! stayest thou me so? wouldest thou fain prevail? Well, I tell thee, do what thou canst, thou shalt not, by God’s grace, have the victory.’ Then went he cheerfully and very joyfully, and set his back close unto the stake.—Cardiff, 1555.
—Thomas Hauker being bound to the stake, the fire was set unto him. In the which when he continued long, and when his speech was taken away by violence of the flame, his skin also drawn together, and his fingers consumed with the fire, so that now all men thought certainly he had been gone, suddenly, and contrary to all expectation, the blessed servant of God reached up his hands burning on a light fire, which was marvellous to behold, over his head to the living God, and with great rejoicing, as it seemed, struck or clapped them three times together. Which thing he had promised certain of his friends to do; and so, secretly between them, it was agreed, that if the rage of the pain were tolerable and might be suffered, then he should lift up his hands above his head towards heaven, before he gave up the ghost.—Coggeshall, 1555.
—A godly letter of John Bradford—‘To my dear Fathers, Dr Cranmer, Dr Ridley, and Dr Latimer.
Our dear brother Rogers hath broken the ice valiantly, as this day, I think, or to-morrow at the uttermost, hearty Hooper, sincere Saunders, and trusty Taylor, end their course, and receive their crown. The next am I, who hourly look for the porter to open me the gates after them, to enter into the desired rest. God forgive me mine unthankfulness for this exceeding great mercy, that, amongst so many thousands, it pleaseth His mercy to choose me to be one, in whom He will suffer. Oh! what am I, Lord, that Thou shouldest thus magnify me, so vile a man and wretched, as always I have been? Is this Thy wont, to send for such a wretch and hypocrite, as I have been, in a fiery chariot, as Thou didst for Elias? Oh! dear fathers, be thankful for me, and pray for me, that I still might be found worthy, in whom the Lord would sanctify His holy name. And for your part, make you ready: for we are but your gentlemen-ushers: “The marriage of the Lamb is prepared, come unto the marriage.”’—Smithfield, 1555.
—When Robert Samuel was brought forth to be burned, certain there were that heard him declare what strange things had happened unto him during the time of his imprisonment; to wit, that after he had been famished or pined with hunger two or three days together, he then fell into a sleep, as it were one half in a slumber, at which time one clad all in white seemed to stand before him, who ministered comfort unto him by these words: ‘Samuel, Samuel, be of good cheer, and take a good heart unto thee: for after this day shalt thou never be either hungry or thirsty.’
No less memorable it is, and worthy to be noted, concerning the three ladders which he told to divers he saw in his sleep, set up toward heaven; of the which there was one somewhat longer than the rest, but yet at length they became one, joining (as it were) all three together.
As this godly martyr was going to the fire, there came a certain maid to him, which took him about the neck, and kissed him, who, being marked by them that were present, was sought for the next day after, to be had to prison and burned, as the very party herself informed me: howbeit, as God of His goodness would have it, she escaped their fiery hands, keeping herself secret in the town a good while after.
But as this maid, called Rose Nottingham, was marvellously preserved by the providence of God, so there were other two honest women who did fall into the rage and fury of that time. The one was a brewer’s wife, the other was a shoemaker’s wife, but both together now espoused to a new husband, Christ.
With these two was this maid aforesaid very familiar and well acquainted, who, on a time giving counsel to the one of them, that she should convey herself away while she had time and space, had this answer at her hands again: ‘I know well,’ saith she, ‘that it is lawful enough to fly away; which remedy you may use, if you list. But my case standeth otherwise. I am tied to a husband, and have besides young children at home; therefore I am minded, for the love of Christ and His truth, to stand to the extremity of the matter.’
And so the next day after Samuel suffered, these two godly wives, the one called Anne Potten, the other called Joan Trunchfield, the wife of Michael Trunchfield, shoemaker, of Ipswich, were apprehended, and had both into one prison together. As they were both by sex and nature somewhat tender, so were they at first less able to endure the straitness of the prison; and especially the brewer’s wife was cast into marvellous great agonies and troubles of mind thereby. But Christ, beholding the weak infirmity of His servant, did not fail to help her when she was in this necessity; so at the length they both suffered after Samuel, in 1556, February 19. And these, no doubt, were those two ladders, which, being joined with the third, Samuel saw stretched up into heaven. This blessed Samuel, the servant of Christ, suffered the 31st of August 1555.
The report goeth among some that were there present, and saw him burn, that his body in burning did shine in the eyes of them that stood by, as bright and white as new-tried silver.—Norwich, 1555 and 1556.
—Suffered at the town of Derby a certain poor honest godly woman, being blind from her birth, and unmarried, about the age of twenty-two, named Joan Waste. This Joan was the daughter of one William Waste, an honest poor man, and by his science a barber, who sometime also used to make ropes. She was born blind, and when about twelve or fourteen years old, she learned to knit hosen and sleeves, and other things, which in time she could do very well. Furthermore, as time served, she would help her father to turn ropes, and do such other things as she was able, and in no case would be idle.
In the time of King Edward the Sixth, of blessed memory, she gave herself daily to go to the church to hear divine service read in the vulgar tongue. And thus, by hearing homilies and sermons, she became marvellously well affected to the religion then taught. So at length, having by her labour gotten and saved so much money as would buy her a New Testament, she caused one to be provided for her. And though she was of herself unlearned, and by reason of her blindness unable to read, yet, for the great desire she had to understand and have printed in her memory the sayings of the holy Scriptures contained in the New Testament, she acquainted herself chiefly with one John Hurt, then prisoner in the common hall of Derby for debts. The same John Hurt being a sober grave man, of the age of threescore and ten years, by her earnest entreaty, and being a prisoner, and many times idle and without company, did for his exercise daily read unto her some one chapter of the New Testament.
And if at any time the said John Hurt were otherwise occupied or letted through sickness, she would repair unto some other person which could read, and sometimes she would give a penny or two (as she might spare) to such persons as would not freely read unto her; appointing unto them aforehand how many chapters of the New Testament they should read, or how often they should repeat one chapter, upon a price.
Moreover, in the said Joan Waste this was notorious, that she, being utterly blind, could notwithstanding, without a guide, go to any church within the said town of Derby, or at any other place or person, with whom she had any such exercise. By the which exercise she so profited, that she was able not only to recite many chapters of the New Testament without book, but also could aptly impugn, by divers places of Scriptures, as well sin, as such abuses in religion, as then were too much in use in divers and sundry persons.
Nothwithstanding the general backsliding of the greatest part of the whole realm into the old papism again, this poor blind woman, continuing in a constant conscience, proceeded still in her former exercise.—Derby, 1556.
—Then both the bishops waxed weary of the said William Tyms, for he had troubled them about six or seven hours. Then the bishop began to pity Tyms’ case, and to flatter him, saying, ‘Ah! good fellow,’ said they, ‘thou art bold, and thou hast a good fresh spirit; we would thou hadst learning to thy spirit.’
‘I thank you, my lords,’ said Tyms, ‘and both you be learned, and I would you had a good spirit to your learning.’—London, 1556.
—Hugh Laverock, a lame old man and John Apprice, a blind man, were carried from Newgate in a cart to Stratford-le-Bow, and most quietly in the fire, praising God, yielded up their souls into His hands. Hugh Laverock, after he was chained, cast away his crutch; and comforting John Apprice, his fellow-martyr, said unto him, ‘Be of good comfort, my brother; for my lord of London is our physician. He will heal us both shortly; thee of thy blindness, and me of my lameness.’—Stratfordle-Bow, 1556.
—There followed in this happy and blessed order of martyrs, burnt in one fire eleven men and two women, whose dwellings were in sundry places in Essex, and whose names hereafter follow:—Henry Adlington, Laurence Parnam, Henry Wye, William Hallywel, Thomas Bowyer, George Searles, Edmund Hurst, Lyon Cawch, Ralph Jackson, John Derifall, John Routh, Elizabeth Pepper, and Agnes George.
When these thirteen were condemned, and the day appointed they should suffer, they were divided into two parts, in two several chambers.
The sheriff came to the one part, and told them that the other had recanted, and their lives therefore should be saved, willing and exhorting them to do the like, and not to cast away themselves: unto whom they answered, that their faith was not builded on man, but on Christ crucified.
Then the sheriff, perceiving no good to be done with them, went to the other part, and said the like to them, that they whom he had been with before had recanted, and should therefore not suffer death, counselling them to do the like, and not wilfully to kill themselves, but to play the wise men; unto whom they answered as their brethren had done before, that their faith was not builded on man, but on Christ and His sure word.
Now when he saw it booted not to persuade (for they were, God be praised, surely grounded on the Rock, Jesus Christ), he led them to the place where they should suffer: and being all there together, most earnestly they prayed unto God, and joyfully went to the stake, and kissed it, and embraced it very heartily.
The eleven men were tied to three stakes, and the two women loose in the midst without any stake; and so they were all burnt in one fire, with such love to each other, and constancy in our Saviour Christ, that it made all the lookers-on to marvel.—Stratford-le-Bow, 1556.
—A blind boy, named Thomas Drowry, suffered martyrdom at Gloucester. Dr Williams, then Chancellor of Gloucester, ministered unto the boy such articles as are accustomed in such cases:
Chancellor: ‘Dost thou not believe that after the words of consecration spoken by the priest, there remaineth the very real body of Christ in the sacrament of the altar?’
To whom the blind boy answered, ‘No, that I do not.’
Chancellor: ‘Then thou art a heretic, and shalt be burned. But who hath taught thee this heresy?’
Thomas: ‘You, master chancellor.’
Chancellor: ‘Where, I pray thee?’
Thomas: ‘Even in yonder place;’ pointing towards the pulpit.
Chancellor: ‘When did I teach thee so?’
Thomas: ‘When you preached a sermon to all men as well as to me upon the sacrament. You said, the sacrament was to be received spiritually by faith and not carnally and really, as the papists have heretofore taught.’
Chancellor: ‘Then do as I have done, and thou shalt live as I do, and escape burning.’
Thomas: ‘Though you can so easily dispense with yourself, and mock with God, the world, and your conscience, yet will I not so do.’
Chancellor: ‘Then God have mercy upon thee; for I will read the condemnation sentence against thee.
Thomas: ‘God’s will be fulfilled.’
The registrar being herewith somewhat moved, stood up, and said to the chancellor:
Registrar: ‘Fie for shame, man! will you read the sentence against him, and condemn yourself? Away, away, and substitute some other to give sentence and judgment.’
Chancellor: ‘No, registrar, I will obey the law, and give sentence myself, according to mine office.’—Gloucester, 1556.
—Sir Richard Abridges sent for Julius Palmer to his lodging; and there friendly exhorted him to revoke his opinion, to spare his young years, wit, and learning. ‘If thou wilt be conformable, and show thyself corrigible and repentant, in good faith,’ said he, ‘I promise thee, I will give thee meat and drink, and books, and ten pound yearly, so long as thou wilt dwell with me. And if thou wilt set thy mind to marriage, I will procure thee a wife and a farm, and help to stuff and frit thy farm for thee. How sayst thou?’
Palmer thanked him very courteously, but very modestly and reverently concluded that as he had already in two places renounced his living for Christ’s sake, so he would with God’s grace be ready to surrender and yield up his life also for the same, when God should send time.
When Sir Richard perceived that he would by no means relent: ‘Well, Palmer,’ saith he, ‘then I perceive one of us twain shall be damned: for we be of two faiths, and certain I am there is but one faith that leadeth to life and salvation.’
Palmer: ‘O sir, I hope that we both shall be saved.’
Sir Richard: ‘How may that be?’
Palmer: ‘Right well, sir. For as it hath pleased our merciful Saviour, according to the Gospel’s parable, to call me at the third hour of the day, even in my flowers, at the age of four and twenty years, even so I trust He hath called, and will call you, at the eleventh hour of this your old age, and give you everlasting life for your portion.’
Sir Richard: ‘Sayest thou so? Well, Palmer, well, I would I might have thee but one month in my house: I doubt not but I would convert thee, or thou shouldst convert me.’
Then said Master Winchcomb, ‘Take pity on thy golden years, and pleasant flowers of lusty youth, before it be too late.’
Palmer: ‘Sir, I long for those springing flowers that shall never fade away.’—Newbury, 1556.
—Agnes Bongeor, who should have suffered with the six that went out of Mote-hall was kept back at the time, because her name was wrong written within the writ. When the said six were called out to go to their martyrdom and when the said Agnes Bongeor saw herself so separated from her prison-fellows, what piteous moan that good woman made, how bitterly she wept, what strange thoughts came into her mind, how naked and desolate she esteemed herself, and into what plunge of despair and care her poor soul was brought, it was piteous and wonderful to see; which all came because she went not with them to give her life in the defence of her Christ; for of all things in the world, life was least looked for at her hands.
For that morning in which she was kept back from burning, had she put on a smock, that she had prepared only for that purpose. And also having a child, a little young infant sucking on her, whom she kept with her tenderly all the time that she was in prison, against that day likewise did she send away to another nurse, and prepared herself presently to give herself for the testimony of the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ. So little did she look for life, and so greatly did God’s gifts work in her above nature, that death seemed a great deal better welcome than life.
Being in this great perplexity of mind, a friend of hers came to her, and required to know whether Abraham’s obedience was accepted before God, for that he did sacrifice his son Isaac, or in that he would have offered him? Unto which she answered thus: ‘I know,’ quod she, ‘that Abraham’s will before God was allowed for the deed, in that he would have done it, if the angel of the Lord had not stayed him: but I,’ said she, ‘am unhappy, the Lord thinketh me not worthy of this dignity: and therefore Abraham’s case and mine are not alike.’
‘Why,’ quod her friend, ‘would ye not willingly have gone with your company, if God should so have suffered it?’
‘Yes,’ said she, ‘with all my heart; and because I did not, it is now my chief and greatest grief.’
Then said her friend, ‘My dear sister, I pray thee consider Abraham and thyself well, and thou shalt see thou dost nothing differ with him in will at all.’
‘Alas, nay,’ quod she, ‘there is a far greater matter in Abraham than in me; for Abraham was tried with the offering of his own child, but so am not I: and therefore our cases are not alike.’
‘Good sister,’ quod her friend, ‘weigh the matter but indifferently. Abraham, I grant,’ said he, ‘would have offered his son: and have not you done the like, in your little sucking babe? But consider further than this, my good sister,’ said he, ‘whereas Abraham was commanded but to offer his son, you are heavy and grieved because you offer not yourself, which goeth somewhat more near you, than Abraham’s obedience did; and therefore before God, assuredly, is no less accepted and allowed in His holy presence.’ After which talk between them, she began a little to stay herself, and gave her whole exercise to reading and prayer, wherein she found no little comfort.
In a short time came a writ from London for the burning, which, according to the effect thereof, was executed.—Colchester, 1557.
—Elizabeth Cooper being condemned, and at the stake with Simon Miller, to be burnt, when the fire came unto her, she a little shrank thereat, with a voice crying, ‘Hah!’ When the said Simon Miller heard the same, he put his hand behind him toward her, and willed her to be strong and of good cheer: ‘for, good sister,’ said he, ‘we shall have a joyful and a sweet supper:’ whereat she, being as it seemed thereby strengthened, stood as still and as quiet as one most glad to finish that good work which before most happily she had begun.—Norwich, 1557.
Master Tyrrel with a certain of his company went into the chamber where the said father Mount and his wife lay, willing them to rise: ‘for,’ said he, ‘you must go with us to Colchester castle.’ Mother Mount, hearing that, being very sick, desired that her daughter might first fetch her some drink; for she was (she said) very ill at ease.
Then he gave her leave and bade her go. So her daughter Rose Allin, maid, took a stone pot in one hand, and a candle in the other, and went to draw drink for her mother: and as she came back again toward the house, Tyrrel met her, and willed her to give her father and mother good counsel, and advertise them to be better catholic people.
Rose: ‘Sir, they have a better instructor than I; for the Holy Ghost doth teach them, I hope, which I trust will not suffer them to err.’
‘Why,’ said Master Tyrrel, ‘art thou still in that mind, thou naughty housewife? Marry it is time to look upon such heretics indeed.’
Rose: ‘Sir, with that which you call heresy, do I worship my Lord God; I tell you troth.’
Tyrrel: ‘Then I perceive you will burn, gossip, with the rest, for company’s sake.’
Rose: ‘No, sir, not for company’s sake, but for my Christ’s sake, if so I be compelled; and I hope in His mercies if He call me to it, He will enable me to bear it.’
So he, turning to his company, said, ‘Sirs, this gossip will burn: do you not think it?’ ‘Marry, sir,’ quoth one, ‘prove her, and you shall see what she will do by and by.’
Then that cruel Tyrrel, taking the candle from her, held her wrist, and the burning candle under her hand, burning cross-wise over the back thereof so long, till the very sinews cracked asunder. In which time of his tyranny, he said often to her, ‘Why, wilt thou not cry? wilt thou not cry?’ Unto which always she answered, that she had no cause, she thanked God, but rather to rejoice. He had (she said) more cause to weep, than she, if he considered the matter well. In the end, he thrust her from him violently.
But she, quietly suffering his rage for the time, at the last said, ‘Sir, have ye done what ye will do?’
And he said, ‘Yea, and if thou think it be not well, then mend it.’
‘Mend it!’ said Rose; ‘nay, the Lord mend you, and give you repentance, if it be His will. And now, if you think it good, begin at the feet, and burn to the head also. For he that set you a work, shall pay you your wages one day, I warrant you.’
And so she went and carried her mother drink, as she was commanded.—Colchester, 1557.
—When these six constant martyrs had made their prayers, they rose, and made them ready to the fire. And Elizabeth Folkes, when she had plucked off her petticoat, would have given it to her mother (which came and kissed her at the stake, and exhorted her to be strong in the Lord): but the wicked there attending, would not suffer her to give it. Therefore, taking the said petticoat in her hand, she threw it away from her, saying, ‘Farewell, all the world! farewell Faith! farewell Hope!’ and so taking the stake in her arms, said, ‘Welcome love!’
Now she being at the stake, and one of the officers nailing the chain about her, in the striking in of the staple he missed the place, and struck her with a great stroke of the hammer on the shoulder-bone; whereat she suddenly turned her head, lifting up her eyes to the Lord, and prayed smilingly, and gave herself to exhorting the people again.
When all the six were also nailed likewise at their stakes, and the fire about them, they clapped their hands for joy in the fire, that the standers-by, which were, by estimation, thousands, cried ‘The Lord strengthen them; the Lord comfort them; the Lord pour His mercies upon them; with such like words, as was wonderful to hear.—Colchester, 1557.
—Master Rough, being at the burning of Austoo m Smithfield, and returning homeward again, met with one Master Farrar, a merchant of Halifax, who asked him, where he had been. Unto whom he answered, ‘I have been,’ saith he, ‘where I would not for one of mine eyes but I had been.’ ‘Where have you been?’ said Master Farrar. ‘Forsooth,’ said he, ‘to learn the way.’ And so he told him he had been at the burning of Austoo, where shortly after he was burnt himself.—Smithfield, 1557.
—After John Fetty had lain in the prison by the space of fifteen days, hanging in the stocks, sometimes by the one leg, and the one arm, sometimes by the other, and otherwhiles by both, it happened that one of his children (a boy of the age of eight or nine years) came unto the bishop’s house, to see if he could get leave to speak with his father. At his coming thither, one of the bishop’s chaplains met with him, and asked him what he lacked and whom he would have. The child answered, that he came to see his father. The chaplain asked again, who was his father. The boy then told him, and pointing towards Lollards’ Tower, showed him that his father was there in prison.
‘Why,’ quoth the priest, ‘thy father is a heretic.’
The child, being of a bold and quick spirit, and also godly brought up, and instructed by his father in the knowledge of God, answered and said, ‘My father is no heretic; but you are an heretic, for you have Balaam’s mark.’
With that the priest took the child by the hand, and carried him into the bishop’s house, and there, amongst them, they did most shamefully and without all pity so whip and scourge, being naked, this tender child, that he was all in a gore-blood; and then they carried the child in his shirt unto his father, the blood running down by his heels.
At his coming unto his father the child fell down upon his knees, and asked him blessing. The poor man then, beholding his child, and seeing him so cruelly arrayed, cried out for sorrow, and said, ‘Alas, Will! who hath done this to thee?’
The boy answered that as he was seeking how to come to see his father, a priest with Balaam’s mark took him into the bishop’s house, and there was he so handled. Cluney therewith violently plucked the child away out of his father’s hands, and carried him back again into the bishop’s house, where they kept him three days after.
Bonner, bethinking in himself of the danger which the child was in by their whipping, and what peril might ensue thereupon, thought better to discharge the said Fetty, willing him to go home and carry his child with him; which he so did, and that with a heavy heart, to see his poor boy in such extreme pain and grief. But within fourteen days after the child died.—London, 1558.