G. F.’
There was at that time great discord among those that were at the helm of government; and G. Fox relates, that he did then foresee the king’s coming in again; and that therefore when some forward spirits, who frequented the meetings of his friends, would have bought Somerset House to keep meetings in, he dissuaded them from it. There came also a woman to him, who having, (as she said,) had a revelation concerning the restoring of king Charles, three years before he came in, said, she must go to him to declare it: but G. Fox advised her to keep this revelation to herself, since if she went on such a message, it would have been counted treason.
How the corpse of Oliver Cromwell was laid in Somerset House to be seen, hath been said already; but afterwards an image of him lying there in state, was accompanied with trumpeters, who sounded over the said image. This vanity so grieved G. Fox, that he wrote the following lines to the authors thereof:
‘Oh friends, what are ye doing! And what mean ye to sound before an image! Will not all sober people think ye are like mad people? Oh, how am I grieved with your abomination! Oh, how am I wearied! ‘My soul is wearied with you,’ saith the Lord, ‘will I not be avenged of you, think ye, for your abominations? Oh, how have ye plucked down, and set up! Oh, how are your hearts made whole, and not rent; and how are ye turned to fooleries! Which things in times past ye stood over: therefore how have ye left my dread,’ saith the Lord. O, therefore, fear, and repent, lest the snare and the pit take you all. The great day of the Lord is come upon all your abominations, and the swift hand of the Lord is turned against them all. The sober people in the nation stand amazed at your doings, and are ashamed, as if you would bring in popery.
G. F.’
Sometime after this, the funeral of O. Cromwell was solemnized with very great pomp, not at all agreeable to that condition he was once in; for the time was when he would have abhorred such an idolatrous honour as was now paid to his image. On the day of this pompous funeral, which was the 23d of November, it happened that Edward Burrough came riding from Kingston into London, not knowing any thing of what was done there. As he entered at Charing-cross, he beheld a great multitude of people thronging exceedingly, the streets being filled as far as he could see, and abundance gazing at the windows, and upon the balconies, and house tops. There were also guards of horse and foot that stopped his horse, and it was told him, that he might not pass that way. Yet he did not know what was the matter; but at length he perceived that Cromwell’s image, richly adorned, was to be carried that way towards Westminster. The consideration of this, was like an arrow which pierced his breast: and because of this idolatry, he felt such a fire kindled in him, that he was, as it were, filled with the indignation of the Lord, whose fury ran through him, to cry, Plagues, plagues, and vengeance against the authors of this abomination. Nay, so ardent was his zeal, that if he had been moved to it, and it had been possible to have done it, he could, (not at all minding his own life,) have ridden through the guards and multitude, to have sounded the judgments of God against the idolaters. And considering that all this sinful idolatry, was about the funeral of Oliver Cromwell: ‘Alas, for him,’ said Burrough with himself, ‘who was once a great instrument in the hand of the Lord, to break down many idolatrous images! Did not the Lord once stir up his heart against all such things? And did not once his children, officers, soldiers and army, pull down all the images and crosses, and all such like popish stuff, wherever they met with it? What grievous and abominable work is this? Have they now made a costly image of him? And are such as were once his soldiers now guarding it, and watching over it, and his children and officers following it, and multitude of the inhabitants of London wondering and gazing after an image of him? This is sad, and great pity: what a change is this in so short a time?’
This zealous testimony E. Burrough caused to be printed, whereby he raised to himself a more lasting monument, than by the erecting of a statue was made to his quondam friend O. Cromwell. Now since the persecution of E. Burrough’s friends, notwithstanding that he had written to Richard Cromwell, did not cease, and that all exhortations and warnings were rejected, E. Burrough in the month December, wrote the following lines to Richard and his council:
‘To the Protector and his Council.
‘The Lord God will shortly make you know that we are his people; though we be accounted as sheep for the slaughter, yet our king of righteousness will break you to pieces, if you harden your hearts, and repent not. And though that love will not draw thee, neither the gentle leadings of our God have any place in you, yet judgments shall awaken you, and his heavy hand of indignation shall lie upon your consciences, and you will be scattered and distracted to pieces.
E. BURROUGH.’