Anecdotes and Sayings of Other Martyrs When sentence was given against Jerome of
Prague, a great 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 brought 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 Antony Pearson, 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 Tillman 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.
And 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 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 Miochius 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 Kirby, 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 Kirby 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 Anne Audubert, 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 Marjorie Polly of
Tunbridge, both singing of a psalm, which Marjorie, 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 pitch-barrel.
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 86.
Show some good token upon me, O Lord, that they which hate me may see it and be
ashamed, because Thou, Lord, has 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 to 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 Nugget to Smithfield,
came to him Master Woodruff, 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 Woodruff, thou art a heretic.
That shall be known, quoth Rogers, at the day of judgment.
Well, quoth Master Woodruff, 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 meantime 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?
what, dost 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 Harker 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.
Cogshall 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 outermost, 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.
O what I am, Lord, that Thou shouldest thus magnify me, so vile a man and
wretched as always I have been!
Is this Thy want, to send for such a wretch and hypocrite as I have been,
in a fiery chariot, as Thou didst for Elias?
O 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 there shall 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 marvelously 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, says 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
Poulton, 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 straightness 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 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, 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 sometimes 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 VI, 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 marvelously well affected to
the religion then taught.
So at length, having by her labor 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 them, 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 as sin, as such abuses in religion as then
were too much in use in divers and sundry persons.
Notwithstanding 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 Thames, for he had troubled
them about six or seven hours.
Then the bishop began to pity Thames' case, and to flatter him, saying,
Ah, good fellow, said they, thou art bold, and thou hast a good fresh spirit.
We would thou learning to thy spirit.
I thank you, my lords, said Thames, and both you be learned, and I would you
had a good spirit to your learning.
London 1556.
Hugh Laverick, a lame old man, and John Appriss, a blind man,
were carried from Newgate in a cart to Stratford-le-Beau, and most quietly in the
fire, praising God, yielded up their souls into his hands.
Hugh Laverick, after he was chained, cast away his crutch, and comforting John
Appriss, 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.
Stratford-le-Beau 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, Lawrence Parnham, Henry Why, William Hallowell, Thomas
Bowyer, George Seals, Edmund Hurst, Leon Corch, Ralph Jackson, John Derrifall,
John Ruth, 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 willfully 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, Lebeau, 1556.
A blind boy named Thomas Drowery 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
in 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, by 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 courageable 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 sayest 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, write 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 Winchcombe, 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 Moat 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 defense 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 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, cried 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, cried 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, cried 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, cried 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 the 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, Ha!
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 Tyrell, 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 Allen, maid, took a stone pot in one hand and a candle
in the other, and went to draw a drink for her mother.
And as she came back again toward the house, Tyrell met her, and willed her to
give her father and mother good counsel, and advertised them to be better Catholic
people.
Rose, Sir, they had 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 Tyrell, 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 truth.
Tyrell, 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 do 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 Tyrell, taking the candle from her, held her wrist and the burning
candle under her hand, burning crosswise 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 Foulkes, 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 Ruff, being at the burning of Arstoo in 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 Arstoo, where shortly after he
was burnt himself.
Smithfield, 1557 After John Fetty had laid 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 otherwise by both, it happened that one of his children,
a boy of the age of eight or nine years, came into 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 Lollard's 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.
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.
Cloney 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.
Barner, 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.
This concludes the reading of Foxe's Book of Martyrs, prepared by W.
Grinton Berry.
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