11 Hen. 4. 9. That if any indictment be made, but by inquest returned by the sheriff, (without denomination to him of their names,) by any but his sworn officer, it shall be void.
By these and the like treatments, we see how the persecutors endeavoured to root out the Quakers, if possible; for the effecting of which, alderman Richard Brown did whatever he could, continually letting loose the reins to his exorbitant malice, without regarding whether that which he was bent against, was really punishable, or not, whereof the following instance may serve for an evidence.
A certain mender of old shoes, who belonged to the society of the Quakers, was desired by a labouring man, on a Seventh day of the week, late at night, to mend a pair of shoes for him, that he might have them again in the morning, because he had no other to wear. The cobler, to accommodate the man, set up at work till after midnight; but the shoes not being finished then, he went to bed, and rising early in the morning, went to his work again as privately as he could in his chamber; but an envious neighbour informed against him for working on a Sunday; whereupon he was had before the said R. Brown, who committed him to Bridewell, to be there kept to hard labour. And he refusing to beat hemp, as being fully persuaded that he had not deserved such a punishment, was cruelly whipt, but he bore it with great constancy, and not yielding, he was turned up among those of his society, who were imprisoned there on a religious account.
As this case, which befel an honest man, was to be pitied, so there happened about that time, something among the Quakers at London, which was facetious and ridiculous: for several of them being taken out of their religious meetings, were confined in Newgate, where in the night they lodged in a large room, having in the middle of it a great pillar, to which they fastened their hammocks at the one end, and to the opposite wall on the other, quite round the room, in three stories high, one over another; so that they who lay in the upper and middle rows were fain to go to bed first, being obliged to climb up to the higher, by getting into the lower: and under the lower rank of hammocks, by the wall side, were laid beds, upon the floor. Such a multitude of bedding for so many persons in one room, could not but somewhat infect the air, and cause an unhealthy steam: so that some of the prisoners grew sick, and one of them died. This caused some bustle, and it was not without good reason that an ancient grave citizen, having seen the prisoners thus crowded up, said, This is enough to breed an infection among them. And this having been told by Sir William Turner, one of the sheriffs of London, he came into Newgate, and bidding the turnkey bring down the said prisoners to him in the press-yard, were he was, he ordered they should return to Bridewell, where they had been before.
Now among these was a shabby fellow, who, to get victuals without working, had thrust himself among the Quakers, when they were taken at a meeting, on purpose to be sent to prison, and to be maintained by them. This lazy varlet was no small burden to our prisoners; for whenever any victuals were brought in to them, either for their money, or sent to them by their friends, he did not stick to thrust in with his knife in hand, and make himself his own carver; and such was his impudence, that if he saw the provision was short, he would be sure to take enough, though others wanted. But how burdensome soever this lazy drone was to the prisoners, they could get no relief; for to whom should they complain? Since the keepers, as well as others, were for vexing and oppressing them. But now at length an opportunity was come to be rid of his troublesome company. Among the prisoners was Thomas Ellwood, a man of literature, and of an acute wit, with whom, long after, I entered into a familiar and pleasing correspondence by letters. The said Ellwood, when he had heard that they were to be sent to Bridewell, drew near to the sheriff, and pointing to the aforesaid fellow, said, That man is not only none of our company, but an idle dissolute fellow, who hath thrust himself among our friends, that he might live upon them; therefore I desire we may not be troubled with him at Bridewell. The sheriff smiling, and seeing this fellow standing with his hat on, and looking as demurely as he could, that the sheriff might take him for a Quaker, called him forth, and said to him, ‘How came you to be in prison?’ ‘I was taken at a meeting,’ said he. ‘But what business had you there,’ said the sheriff. ‘I went to hear,’ returned the fellow. ‘Ay, you went upon a worse design, it seems,’ replied the sheriff; ‘but I will disappoint you,’ continued he; ‘for I will change your company, and send you to them that are like yourself.’ Then calling for the turnkey, he said, ‘Take this fellow, and put him among the felons; and be sure let him not trouble the Quakers any more.’ The fellow, not a little astonished at the hearing of this doom, on a sudden parted with his Quakership; for off went his hat, and falling to bowing and scraping, he said to the sheriff, ‘Good your worship have pity upon me, and set me at liberty.’ ‘No, no,’ said the sheriff, ‘I will not so far disappoint you: since you had a mind to be in prison, in prison you shall be for me.’ Then bidding the turnkey once more to take him away, he had him up, and put him among the felons. After this manner this pretended Quaker was rewarded according to his deeds; and so the true Quakers got rid of him.
Breaking off now this jocose and diverting, though true, narrative, I return to a serious relation of the sufferings of the faithful, which caused the death of some of them; among these was Richard Hubberthorn, who some time before, as hath been related, had a conference with the king; who then promised him, that he and his friends should not suffer for their opinions or religion. But now he was in the month called June, violently hauled from the meeting, bearing the name of the Bull and Mouth, and brought before alderman Richard Brown, who with his own hands pulled down his hat upon his head with such violence, that he brought his head near to the ground, and then committed him to Newgate, where being thronged among others, he soon grew sick; and his sickness so increased, that he had hardly been two months in prison, before he was taken away by death. Two days before his departure, being visited by some of his friends, who asked him if any thing was upon his spirit, he said, that there was no need to dispute matters, for he knew the ground of his salvation, and was satisfied for ever in his peace with the Lord. He also said, ‘That faith which hath wrought my salvation, I well know, and have grounded satisfaction in it.’ In the morning before he deceased, one Sarah Blackberry was with him, to whom he said, ‘Do not seek to hold me, for it is too strait for me, and out of this straitness I must go; for I am wound into largeness, and am to be lifted up on high, far above all.’ In this frame of mind he departed this life, in the evening, and so entered with happiness into eternity.
Now I come also to the glorious exit of E. Burrough, that valiant hero, of whom mention hath often been made in this history. For several years he had been very much in London, and there preached the gospel with piercing and powerful declarations. And that city was so near to him, that oftentimes, when persecution grew hot, he said to Francis Howgill, his bosom friend, ‘I can freely go to the city of London, and lay down my life for a testimony to that Truth, which I have declared through the power and Spirit of God.’ Being in this year at Bristol, and thereabouts, and moved to return to London, he said to many of his friends, when he took his leave of them, that he did not know he should see their faces any more; and therefore he exhorted them to faithfulness and steadfastness, in that wherein they had found rest for their souls. And to some he said, ‘I am now going up to the city of London again, to lay down my life for the gospel, and suffer amongst Friends in that place.’
Not long after, coming to London, and preaching in the meeting-house called the Bull and Mouth, he was violently pulled down by some soldiers, and had before alderman Richard Brown, and committed to Newgate. Several weeks afterwards, being brought to the sessions-house in the Old Bailey, he was fined by the court twenty marks, and to lie in prison till payment. But judging this unreasonable in a high degree, he could not bend thereto for conscience-sake. He was kept there in prison about eight months, with six or seven score prisoners beside, upon the same account. But they being so crowded, that for want of room their natures were suffocated, many grew sick and died, of which number he was one. And though a special order from the king, was sent to the sheriffs of London, for his and some other prisoners’ release, yet such was the enmity of some of the city magistrates, especially Brown, that they did what was in their power to prevent the execution of the said order. And thus E. Burrough continued prisoner, though his sickness increased. During the time of his weakness, he was very fervent in prayer, as well for his friends as for himself; and many consolatory and glorious expressions proceeded from his mouth. Once he was heard to say, ‘I have had the testimony of the Lord’s love unto me from my youth: and my heart, O Lord, hath been given up to do thy will. I have preached the gospel freely in this city, and have often given up my life for the gospel’s sake; and now, O Lord, rip open my heart, and see if it be not right before thee.’ Another time he said, ‘There is no iniquity lies at my door; but the presence of the Lord is with me, and his life I feel justifies me.’ Another day he was thus heard in prayer to God, ‘Thou hast loved me when I was in the womb; and I have loved thee from my cradle: and from my youth unto this day; and have served thee faithfully in my generation.’ And to his friends that were about him, he said, ‘Live in love and peace, and love one another.’ And at another time he said, “The Lord taketh the righteous from the evil to come.” And praying for his enemies and persecutors, he said, ‘Lord, forgive Richard Brown, if he may be forgiven.’ And being sensible that death was approaching, he said, ‘Though this body of clay must turn to dust, yet I have a testimony that I have served God in my generation; and that spirit which hath lived and acted, and ruled in me, shall yet break forth in thousands.’ The morning before he departed this life, (which was about the latter end of this year,) he said, ‘Now my soul and spirit is centred into its own being with God; and this form of person must return from whence it was taken.’ And after a little season he gave up the ghost. This was the exit of E. Burrough, who, in his flourishing years, viz. about the age of eight and twenty; in an unmarried state, changed this mortal life for an incorruptible, and whose youthful summer flower was cut down in the winter season, after he had very zealously preached the gospel about ten years.
About the 19th year of his age, he first came to London with a public testimony, and continued almost eight years together to preach the word of God in that city, with great success; so that many came to be convinced, and great addition was made to the church there. In his youth he surpassed others of his age in knowledge; and though G. Croese, who wrote the pretended history of the Quakers, calls him a rustic fellow, yet he was no more such than the said author himself, who is a country preacher: for he was well educated and instructed in that learning which the place of his nativity, viz. the barony of Kendal in Westmoreland, afforded. Insomuch, that though he was not skilful in languages, yet he had the tongue of the learned; and in his public ministry was very fluent, and elegant in speech, even according to the judgment of learned men.