THOMAS DUDLEY.
Ah! old must dye,
A death's head on your hand you need not weare;
A dying head you on your shoulders bear;
You need not one to mind you you must dye,
You in your name may spell mortalitye.
Young men may dye, but old men, these dye must,
'Twill not be long before you turn to dust.
Before you turn to dust! ah! must! old! dye!
What shall young men doe, when old in dust do lye?
When old in dust lye, what New England doe?
When old in dust do lye it's best dye too.
Death condoned these offences, and left only the memory of his impartial justice and his deep and earnest piety, and Morton wrote of him, what expressed the feeling even of his enemies: "His love to justice appeared at all times, and in special upon the judgement seat, without respect of persons in judgement, and in his own particular transactions with all men, he was exact and exemplary. His zeal to order appeared in contriving good laws and faithfully executing them upon criminal offenders, heretics and underminers of true religion. He had a piercing judgement to discover the wolf, though clothed with a sheepskin. His love to the people was evident, in serving them in a public capacity many years at his own cost, and that as a nursing father to the churches of Christ. He loved the true Christian religion, and the pure worship of God, and cherished as in his bosom, all godly ministers and Christians. He was exact in the practice of piety, in his person and family, all his life. In a word he lived desired, and died lamented by all good men."
This was stronger language than the majority of his fellow- colonists would have been inclined to use, his differences with Governor Winthrop having embittered many of the latter's friends. Winthrop's persistent gentleness went far toward quieting the feeling against him, which seems to have taken deep root in Dudley's breast, but the jealousy of his authority, and questioning of his judgement, though perhaps natural from the older man, brought about many uncomfortable complications. All the towns about Boston had been ordered to send their quota to aid in finishing the fort built in 1633, but Governor Dudley would not allow any party from Newtown to be made up, nor would he give the reason for such course to Governor Winthrop. There was cause, for Salem and Saugus had failed to pay their share of money, and Dudley's sense of justice would not allow his constituents to do their share till all had paid the amount levied. Remonstrated with, he wrote a most unpleasant letter, a habit of his when offended, refusing to act till the reluctant Salem had paid. This letter, brought to Winthrop by Mr. Hooker, he returned to him at once. The rest of the story may be given in his own words. The record stands in his journal given in the third person, and as impartially as if told of another: "The governour told them it should rest till the court, and withal gave the letter to Mr. Hooker with this speech: I am not willing to keep such an occasion of provocation by me. And soon after he wrote to the deputy (who had before desired to buy a fat hog or two of him, being somewhat short of provisions) to desire him to send for one, (which he would have sent him, if he had known when his occasion had been to have made use of it), and to accept it as a testimony of his good will; and lest he should make any scruple of it, he made Mr. Haynes and Mr. Hooker, (who both sojurned in his house) partakers with him. Upon this the deputy returned this answer: 'Your overcoming yourself hath overcome me. Mr. Haynes, Mr. Hooker, and myself, do most kindly accept your good will, but we desire, without offence, to refuse your offer, and that I may only trade with you for two hogs;' and so very lovingly concluded."
There was no word, however, of yielding the disputed point, which was settled for him a few days later. "The court being two days after, ordered, that Newtown should do their work as others had done, and then Salem, &c., should pay for three days at eighteen pence a man."
The records of that time hold instance after instance of the old man's obstinacy and Winthrop's gentle and most patient consideration. To Anne, however, who came in contact only with his milder side, it was an irreparable loss, and she never spoke of him save with grateful and tender remembrance, her elegy on his death, though conventional as the time made her, being full of the sorrow time soothed but never destroyed.
To the Memory of my dear and ever honoured Father, Thomas Dudley Esq.
Who deceased July 31, 1653, and of his Age, 77.
By duty bound, and not by custome led
To celebrate the praises of the dead,
My mournfull mind, sore prest, in trembling verse
Presents my Lamentations at his Herse,
Who was my Father, Guide, Instructor too,
To whom I ought whatever I could doe:
Nor is't Relation near my hand shall tye;
For who more cause to boast his worth than I?
Who heard or saw, observed or knew him better?
Or who alive then I, a greater debtor?
Let malice bite, and envy knaw its fill,
He was my Father, and Ile praise him still.
Nor was his name, or life lead so obscure
That pitty might some Trumpeters procure.
Who after death might make him falsly seen
Such as in life, no man could justly deem.
Well known and lov'd where ere he liv'd, by most
Both in his native, and in foreign coast,
These to the world his merits could make known,
So needs no Testimonial from his own;
But now or never I must pay my Sum;
While others tell his worth, Ile not be dumb:
One of thy Founders, him New England know,
Who staid thy feeble sides when thou wast low,
Who spent his state, his strength & years with care
That After-comers in them might have a share,
True Patriot of this little Commonweal,
Who is't can tax thee ought, but for thy zeal?
Truths friend thou wert, to errors still a foe,
Which caus'd Apostates to maligne so.
Thy love to true Religion e're shall shine,
My Fathers God, be God of me and mine,
Upon the earth he did not build his nest,
But as a Pilgrim. what he had, possest,
High thoughts he gave no harbour in his heart,
Nor honours pufft him up, when he had part;
Those titles loathed, which some do too much love
For truly his ambition lay above.
His humble mind so lov'd humility,
He left it to his race for Legacy;
And oft and oft, with speeches mild and wise,
Gave his in charge, that Jewel rich to prize.
No ostentation seen in all his wayes,
As in the mean ones of our foolish dayes.
Which all they have, and more still set to view,
Their greatness may be judg'd by what they shew.
His thoughts were more sublime, his actions wise,
Such vanityes he justly did despise.
Nor wonder 'twas, low things n'er much did move
For he a Mansion had, prepar'd above,
For which he sigh'd and pray'd & long'd full sore
He might be cloath'd upon, for evermore.
Oft spake of death, and with a smiling chear,
He did exult his end was drawing near,
Now fully ripe, as shock of wheat that's grown,
Death as a Sickle hath him timely mown,
And in celestial Barn hath hous'd him high,
Where storms, nor showrs, nor ought can damnifie.
His Generation serv'd, his labours cease;
And to his Fathers gathered is in peace.
Ah happy Soul, 'mongst Saints and Angels blest,
Who after all his toyle, is now at rest:
His hoary head in righteousness was found;
As joy in heaven on earth let praise resound.
Forgotten never be his memory,
His blessing rest on his posterity:
His pious Footsteps followed by his race,
At last will bring us to that happy place
Where we with joy each other's face shall see,
And parted more by death shall never be.