got residence there, and every day had a meeting in a private place, which was mistrusted to be about the sign of the Buck, and they called themselves, The Family of Love; and most have a great suspicion that they came from London, and their number is about an hundred; but he told her it was the talk of the whole country. This Mrs. Susanna heard with patience, and marked with diligence every particular; she gave the servant but little answer, but she vowed in her heart to see the fashions of this sect. Well, night grew on, and to bed they went; but she prevented the early sun in being up before her, so great a desire had this poor gentlewoman to thrust herself into danger. After she had broke her fast, and caused her man to set a side-saddle on a gelding, alone she took her journey, vowing not to return, till she had seen some of their behaviours which were of the family of love.

Thus she rode along undisturbed by meeting any passengers, till she came within half a mile of the village of Bagshot; but then she saw at the least an hundred persons, men and women, crossing over the heath, bending their course towards a wood called Birch-wood; to themwards she rides, and overtaking a sister which lagged behind the rest, she cried, well overtaken, sister; the sister of the family bid her welcome. Sister, quoth Mrs. Susanna, is your habitation here about Bagshot? The sister answered, That she sojourned in Bawwago. Then quoth she, sure you can resolve me one question, which is this, Do you know of any that came from London lately; there were about the number of an hundred, I was of the company, but they came away unknown unto me; and I heard that they sojourn here about this coast. The silly sister was not aware of her guile which she spoke, but answered her, that this was the company she meant sure. Mrs. Susanna asked again, Are these of the family? she answered, yes. Then Mrs. Susanna rode after, and overtook them, where this woman revealed the conference she had with Mrs. Susanna, and how that she thought her to be very zealously affected to the family; on these words, although she were unknown, yet she was entertained into their society, and went along with them.

Now you must understand that they have certain days, which are dedicated unto saints as they call them, as to Ovid, who wrote the art of loving; to Priapus, the first bawdy butcher that ever did stick pricks in flesh, and make it swell, and to many others, which they used to spend in poetising in the woods; thither they come, and after many pastimes there enacted, the poet desired them to sit down on the green, and then he began to speak most strong language, as this or the like, Let not us persuade ourselves, although that many would have us to believe it, that our great god Cupid is obcecated, for he penetrateth the intrails of the most magnamimous; after these or the like words, he recited part of a verse from Virgil's epigrams:

-Non stat bene mentula crassa.

Which to English I forbear, becanse it is obscene; on this he

built his whole discourse, venting very strange obscene passages; after this was done, they go to dinner, where they had exceeding delicates, and after this repast they provided to return. Now here you must note, that the poet, viewing this new sister of the family, was so mightily inflamed with her, that either he must enjoy or perish; when they were walking home, therefore, he singled her out from the rest of the company, and spoke to her as follows:

Fair sister, hard is that task, where I must die in silence, or else present unto you an unseemly suit; but so irksome is death, and so pleasant the enjoyment of my wishes, that I rather desire to be counted unmannerly than not amorous to your beauteous self.'

With these and such like words he courted her, till at length time and opportunity both favoured him so much, that she plaid a maids part indeed; she said, nay, and yet took it. This novice, having had his desire, conducted her to the company, and there left her among the rest of the sisters, where she staid for the space of a whole week, viewing their fashions, as the manner of their prayers, of their preaching, of their christening and burying, with many more things which will be too long for this little pamphlet to bear..

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Now when she had seen as she thought enough, she stole away them, not ceasing to think of the wrong she had sustained, by her consenting to the lust of the poetical brother; well, discontented she passed the way till she came in the presence of her father; he asked with very mild and loving terms, where she had been; she answered him, at her aunt's at Oakingham; with which answer her father was satisfied, but her mother was not, because she had sent thither before, to see if she had been there; yet her mother could get no other answer from her, than that she had been there; but seeing that she was come home again, they questioned the matter no more where she had been. But she had not been at home long, when she began to delight to be by herself, and to make much of melancholy, taknig delight in nothing, wherein she did heretofore; this her loving parents took notice of, but would not speak of it, and thus she continued for the space of ten or fourteen days; at last, she began to be very untowardly, and they could not rule her, for she would break glasses and carthen ware, and throw any thing at the heads of the servants, and incontinent she fell stark mad. I cannot express her father's grief, when he saw his only beloved daughter in this plight; but I will leave y you to judge of it who have children of your own, how it would grieve you to see your children in such a plight. Her father, although he were almost distracted with grief to see his child thus lie on the wreck of misfortune, summons up his senses together, and at length he thought upon one Mr. Ybder, a very honest man, and a most reverend divine, living in Oxford; to him he sent, requesting him of all loves that he would come, and visit him in this his great distress; he presently dispatched horse and man, for Oxford they were bound. The man coming to Mr. Ybder's chamber, which is in Magdalen Hall, he found him within,

to whom he delivered his message. Master Ybder came along with him; he was no sooner arrived at Master Snow's house, but the poor gentleman almost frantick for his daughter's distemperature, with tears in his eyes, began and related, what you have here before read, to Master Ybder, who presently desired that he might but see her. This good old man, with all diligence, being still in hope of her recovery, conducted him into the chamber where his daughter was; she had no sooner fixed her eyes upon them entering, but she shreeked out, and cried, the devil, the devil; I am damned, I am damned, I am damned, with many such like horrid horrible exclamations; then stepped forwards Mr. Ybder, and told her that she was deceived, God surely would not leave her soul so, if she would but endeavour as she had done heretofore, for said he," Christ came not into the world to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance;" and again, "Seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto thee; and although thou hast played the harlot with many lovers, yet return again unto me, saith the Lord," at the third chapter of Jeremy, and the first verse.

She hearkened unto Master Ybder very patiently, for the space of half an hour, but then she began to be very troublesome, and sometimes outrageous; at last, she called for some wine, for she was very thirsty, she said. Wine was brought unto her in a Veniceglass; her father, good old man, spoke to her to drink to Mr. Ybder, for he had taken great pains with her; she looked very wildly on him, and threw the glass to the ground, with these words, That it was as impossible for her to be saved, as for that glass to rebound into her hand unbroken, which, contrary to the expectation of all, this glass did;' Well, said this gentlewoman, I will yet trust in the Lord my Redeemer, for he is merciful and long-suffering; with these words she praised God, and began, as from the beginning, to relate the case of her distemperature, desiring Mr. Yoder, that he would pray with her, and for her; and thus by the mercy of God was this gentle woman delivered.

ROME FOR CANTERBURY :

OR,

A true Relation of the Birth and Life of

WILLIAM LAUD, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.

Together with the whole Manner of his Proceeding, both in the StarChamber, High-commission Court, in his own House; and some Observations of him in the Tower. Dedicated to all the Arminian Tribe, or Canterburian Faction, in the Year of Grace 1641. Whereunto is annexed a Postscript in Verse.

Printed in the Year 1641. Quarto, containing eight pages.

G

REATNESS and goodness are two several blessed attributes conferred upon man; but seldom meet in one person; greatness may be stiled a gift inferred by fortune: but goodness, a grace infused by God. The first labours in mistrust, and is born the bond-slave of chance, seldom attended without envy; and, though to many persons it appears exceeding pleasant, yet the higher we are seated, although by virtue, the greater is our fall, if corrupted by vice. By honour and office men become great; yet it is not the place that maketh the person, but the person that maketh the place honourable: And that preferment and power, which is both well acquired, and worthily conferred. Non est invitamentum ad tempus, sed perpetuæ virtutis præmium; is no temporary invitation, but a perpetual inheritance.

Goodness is of a contrary condition; men are not to be accounted good, either for their authority or age, but for their sincerity and actions: He, that is good, is better than the good he doth; and he, that is evil, is worse than the bad deed done by him. All great men are not considerately good; but all good men are consequently great. Greatness and goodness, with grace added, to cement them together, make unquestionably a perfect and compleat man. Here was grace, which, had it been celestially inspired, as it was but temporally disposed, might to that greatness have so combined goodness, as, from thence, could have grown no such tribulation.

Howsoever, let no man grieve at his present afflictions; for they are the rods, by which God chastiseth his children: There is nothing that the world can take away from us, because it can give nothing unto us. Fame fadeth, potency perisheth, wealth wasteth; true riches consist in our constancy in casualty, and, though perturbation and punishment be the prison of the body, yet courage and comfort are the liberty of the soul, to which I only add patience, which is so allied to fortitude,

that she seemeth to be either her sister or her daughter. Things, that compulsively come upon us, should be borne with patience and courage, of which we have had a late precedent; and more generous it is for a man to offer himself to death in triumph, than to be drawn unto it with terror: Gaudet patientia duris. I come now to the

person.

He was born at Reading, of honest parents; his father was a clothier in that town, of a competent estate, and careful to see his children to be well educated and instructed. This his son William, being of an excellent wit, and pregnant capacity, was sent from the grammar school to Oxford, where he was admitted into St. John's College, where shortly he proved an ingenious disputant; and before he took his first degree of batchelor, was well versed in logick, philosophy, and the liberal arts; after he devoted himself to the study of theology, in which he proceeded doctor, with no common applause, attaining to the dignities belonging to so famous an academy; and, being of an active spirit, was called from thence to the court, where he grew so gracious, that, after some private preferments, he was first made Bishop of St. Davids, and thence, removed to London; and, after the decease of the right Reverend George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, was inaugurated into that prime see, and was metropolitan of all England; steps that his predecessor, who was a clothier's son in Guilford, had trod before him, who in less than two years was Bishop of Coventry and Litchfield, London, and Canterbury.

What this prelate's deportment (now in agitation) in so high a dignity was, is sufficiently noised amongst all; made apparent by his Draconical censures in the Star-chamber, the high commission court, &c. And it was a great aspersion justly cast upon such high authority, that he so much affected summum jus, justice without mercy, as sparing neither person nor profession; and, to leave all others, witness, how he did persecute the good Bishop of Lincoln, Dr. Williams, being of his own degree and function: His (more than) severity in his rigorous censure and sentence upon Master Burton the divine, Master Prynne the lawyer, and Doctor Bastwick the physician, and even that poor fellow Thomas Bensted, whom he caused to be hanged, drawn, and quartered; he could make that a matter of treason, though he was but a subject: His threatening of honest judges, his menacing other officers and ministers of the King, his sternness and surly answers even to gentlemen of worth, and now parliament-men, who have but pleaded for poor men, in just causes: It was a good wish, that either he might have more grace, or no grace at all, which is now come to pass.

It is observed by some, that, in all the time of his pontifical prelacy, he never promoted any to church preferment, that savoured not of the Arminian sect; and still, when benefices fell, that were either in his gift, or where his power was to have them bestowed, he hath caused such men to be instituted, and inducted, as either were dunces in learning, or debauched in their lives: Such men being most apt, for their temporising or ignorance, to embrace any innovation that should be brought into the church: Nay, when places have not been void, but