"In Britain's isle, no matter where,
An ancient pile of building stands;
The Huntingdons and Hattons there
Employed the power of fairy hands
To raise the ceiling's fretted height,
Each pannel in achievements clothing,
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages that lead to nothing.
Full oft within the spacious walls,
When he had fifty winters o'er him,
My grave lord keeper led the brawls,
The seal and maces danced before him.
His bushy beard and shoe-strings green,
His high-crown'd hat and satin doublet,
Moved the stout heart of England's queen,
Though pope and Spaniard could not trouble it."
As chancellor of Oxford, Hatton was succeeded by lord Buckhurst, to the fresh mortification of Essex, who again advanced pretensions to this honorary office, and was a second time baffled by her majesty's open interference in behalf of his competitor.
The more important post of lord chancellor remained vacant for some months, the seals being put in commission; after which serjeant Pickering was appointed lord keeper,—a person of respectable character, who appears to have performed the duties of his office without taking any conspicuous part in the court factions, or exercising any marked influence over the general administration of affairs.
Towards one person of considerable note in his day, sir John Perrot, some time deputy of Ireland, Hatton is reported to have acted the part of an industrious and contriving enemy; being provoked by the taunts which sir John was continually throwing out against him as one who "had entered the court in a galliard," and further instigated by the complaints, well or ill founded, against the deputy, of some of his particular friends and adherents.
Sir John Perrot derived from a considerable family of that name seated at Haroldstone in Pembrokeshire, his name and large estates; but his features, his figure, his air, and common fame, gave him king Henry VIII. for a father. Nor was his resemblance to this redoubted monarch merely external; his temper was haughty and violent, his behaviour blustering, his language always coarse, and, in the fits of rage to which he was subject, abusive to excess. Yet was he destitute neither of merit nor abilities. As president of Munster, he had rendered great services to her majesty in 1572 by his vigorous conduct against the rebels. As lord deputy of Ireland between the years 1584 and 1588, he had made efforts still more praiseworthy towards the pacification of that unhappy and ill-governed country, by checking as much as possible the oppressions of every kind exercised by the English of the pale against the miserable natives, towards whom his policy was liberal and benevolent. But his attempts at reformation armed against him, as usual, a host of foes, amongst whom was particularly distinguished Loftus archbishop of Dublin, whom he had exasperated by proposing to apply the revenues of St. Patrick's cathedral to the foundation of an university in the capital of Ireland. Forged letters were amongst the means to which the unprincipled malice of his adversaries resorted for his destruction. One of these atrocious fabrications, in which an Irish chieftain was made to complain of excessive injustice on the part of the deputy, was detected by the exertions of the supposed writer, whom Perrot had in reality attached to himself by many benefits; but a second letter, which contained a protection to a catholic priest and made him employ the words our castle of Dublin, our kingdom of Ireland, produced a fatally strong impression on the jealous mind of Elizabeth.
Meantime the ill-fated deputy, conscious of his own fidelity and essential loyalty, and unsuspicious of the snares spread around him, was often unguarded enough to give vent in gross and furious invective against the person of majesty itself, to the profound vexation which he, in common with all preceding and following governors of Ireland under Elizabeth, was destined to endure from the penury of her supplies and the magnitude of her requisitions. His words were all carried to the queen, mingled with such artful insinuations as served to impart to these unmeaning ebullitions of a hasty temper the air of deliberate contempt and meditated disloyalty towards his sovereign.
Just before the sailing of the armada, Perrot was recalled, partly indeed at his own request. A rigid or rather a malicious inquiry was then instituted into all the details of his actions, words and behaviour in Ireland, and he was committed to the friendly custody of lord Burleigh. Afterwards, the lords Hunsdon and Buckhurst, with two or three other councillors, were ordered to search and seize his papers in the house of the lord treasurer without the participation of this great minister, who was at once offended and alarmed at the step. Perrot was carried to the Tower, and at length, in April 1592, put upon his trial for high treason. The principal heads of accusation were;—his contemptuous words of the queen;—his secret encouragement of O'Rourk's rebellion and the Spanish invasion, and his favoring of traitors. Of all these charges except the first he seems to have proved his innocence, and on this he excused himself by the heat of his temper and the absence of all ill intention from his mind. He was however found guilty by a jury much more studious of the reputation of loyalty than careful of the rights of Englishmen.
On leaving the bar, he is reported to have exclaimed, "God's death! will the queen suffer her brother to be offered up as a sacrifice to the envy of my frisking adversaries!"
The queen felt the force of this appeal to the ties of blood. It was long before she could be brought to confirm his sentence, and she would never sign a warrant for its execution. Burleigh shed tears on hearing the verdict, saying with a sigh, that hatred was always the more inveterate the less it was deserved.
Elizabeth, when her first emotions of anger had passed away, was now frequently heard to praise that rescript of the emperor Theodosius in which it is thus written:—