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[ NOTE FF, p. 274. This year, the nation suffered a great loss, by the death of Sir Francis Walsingham, secretary of state; a man equally celebrated for his abilities and his integrity. He had passed through many employments, had been very frugal in his expense, yet died so poor, that his family was obliged to give him a private burial. He left only one daughter, first married to Sir Philip Sidney, then to the earl of Essex, favorite of Queen Elizabeth, and lastly to the earl of Clanriearde of Ireland. The same year died Thomas Randolph, who had been employed by the queen in several embassies to Scotland; as did also the earl of Warwick, elder brother to Leicester.]

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[ NOTE GO, p. 276. This action of Sir Richard Greenville is so singular as to merit a more particular relation. He was engaged alone with the whole Spanish fleet of fifty-three sail, which had ten thousand men on board; and from the time the fight began, which was about three in the afternoon, to the break of day next morning, he repulsed the enemy fifteen times, though they continually shifted their vessels, and hoarded with fresh men. In the beginning of the action he himself received a wound; but he continued doing his duty above deck till eleven at night, when receiving a fresh wound, he was carried down to be dressed. During this operation, he received a shot in the head, and the surgeon was killed by his side. The English began now to want powder. All their small arms were broken or become useless. Of their number, which were but a hundred and three at first, forty were killed, and almost all the rest wounded. Their masts were beat overboard, their tackle cut in pieces, and nothing but a hulk left, unable to move one way or other. In this situation, Sir Richard proposed to the ship’s company, to trust to the mercy of God, not to that of the Spaniards, and to destroy the ship with themselves, rather than yield to the enemy. The master gunner, and many of the seamen, agreed to this desperate resolution; but others opposed it and obliged Greenville to surrender himself prisoner. He died a few days after; and his last words were, “Here die I, Richard Greenville, with a joyful and quiet mind; for that I have ended my life as a true soldier ought to do, fighting for his country, queen, religion, and honor; my soul willingly departing from this body, leaving behind the lasting fame of having behaved as every valiant soldier is in his duty bound to do.” The Spaniards lost in this sharp, though unequal action, four ships, and about a thousand men; and Greenville’s vessel perished soon after, with two hundred Spaniards in her. Hacklyt’s Voyages, vol. iii. part 2, p. 169. Camden, p. 565.]

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[ NOTE HH, p. 294. It is usual for the speaker to disqualify himself for the office; but the reasons employed by this speaker are so singular that they may be worth transcribing. “My estate,” said he, “is nothing correspondent for the maintenance of this dignity, for my father dying left me a younger brother, and nothing to me but my bare annuity. Then growing to man’s estate, and some small practice of the law, I took a wife, by whom I have had many children; the keeping of us all being a great impoverishing to my estate, and the daily living of us all nothing but my daily industry. Neither from my person not my nature doth this choice arise; for he that supplieth this place ought to be a man big and comely, stately and well-spoken, his voice great, his carriage majestical, his nature haughty, and his purse plentiful and heavy: but contrarily, the stature of my body is small, myself not so well spoken, my voice low, my carriage lawyer-like, and of the common fashion, my nature soft and bashful, my purse thin, light, and never yet plentiful. If Demosthenes, being so learned and eloquent as he was, one whom none surpassed, trembled to speak before Phocion at Athens, how much more shall I, being unlearned and unskilful to supply the place of dignity, charge, and trouble, to speak before so many Phocions as here be? yea, which is the greatest, before the unspeakable majesty and sacred personage of our dread and dear sovereign; the terror of whose countenance will appal and abase even the stoutest hearts; yea, whose very name will pull down the greatest courage? for how mightily do the estate and name of a prince deject the haughtiest stomach even of their greatest subjects? D’Ewes, p. 459.]

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[ NOTE II, p. 299. Cabala, p. 234. Birch’s Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 386. Speed, p. 877 The whole letter of Essex is so curious and so spirited, that the reader may not be displeased to read it. “My very good lord Though there is not that man this day living, whom I would sooner make judge of any question that might concern me than yourself, yet you must give me leave to tell you, that in some cases I must appeal from all earthly judges; and if any, then surely in this, when the highest judge on earth has imposed on me the heaviest punishment, without trial or hearing. Since then I must either answer your lord-ship’s argument, or else forsake mine own just defence, I will force, mine aching head to do me service for an hour. I must first deny my discontent, which was forced, to be a humorous discontent; and that it was unseasonable, or is of so long continuing, your lordship should rather condole with me than expostulate. Natural seasons are expected here below; but violent and unseasonable storms come from above. There is no tempest equal to the passionate indignation of a prince; nor yet at any time so unseasonable, as when it lighteth on those that might expect a harvest of their careful and painful labors. He that is once wounded must needs feel smart, till his hurt is cured, or the part hurt become senseless. But cure I expect none, her majesty’s heart being obdurate against me; and be without sense I cannot, being of flesh and blood. But, say you, I may aim at the end. I do more than aim; for I see an end of all my fortunes, I have set an end to all my desires. In this course do I any thing for my enemies? When I was at court, I found them absolute; and therefore I had rather they should triumph alone, than have me attendant upon their chariots. Or do I leave my friends? When I was a courtier, I could yield them no fruit of my love unto them; and now that I am a hermit, they shall bear no envy for their love towards me. Or do I forsake myself because I do enjoy myself? Or do I overthrow my fortunes, because I build not a fortune of paper walls, which every puff of wind bloweth down? Or do I ruinate mine honor, because I leave following the pursuit, or wearing the false badge or mark of the shadow of honor? Do I give courage or comfort to the foreign foe, because I reserve myself to encounter with him? or because I keep my heart from business, though I cannot keep my fortune from declining? No, no, my good lord; I give every one of these considerations its due weight; and the more I weigh them, the more I find myself justified from offending in any of them. As for the two last objections, that I forsake my country when it hath most need of me, and fail in that indissoluble duty which I owe to my sovereign, I answer, that if my country had at this time any need of my public service, her majesty, that governeth it, would not have driven me to a private life. I am tied to my country by two bonds; One public, to discharge carefully and industriously that trust which is committed to me; the other private, to sacrifice for it my life and carcass, which hath been nourished in it Of the first I am free, being dismissed, discharged, and disabled by her majesty. Of the other, nothing can free me but death; and, therefore, no occasion of my performance shall sooner offer itself but I shall meet it half way. The indissoluble duty which I owe unto her majesty is only the duty of allegiance, which Imnever have nor never can fail in. The duty of attendance is no indissoluble duty. I owe her majesty the duty of an earl, and of lord marshal of England. I have been content to do her majesty the service of a clerk; but I can never serve her as a villain of slave. But yet you say I must give way unto the time. So I do; for now that I see the storm come, I have put myself into the harbor. Seneca saith, we must give way to fortune. I know that fortune is both blind and strong, and therefore I go as far as I can out of her way. You say the remedy is not to strive. I neither strive nor seek for remedy. But you say I must yield and submit. I can neither yield myself to be guilty, nor allow the imputation laid upon me to be just. I owe so much to the Author of all truth, as I can never yield truth to be falsehood, nor falsehood to be truth. Have I given cause, you ask, and yet take a scandal when I have done? No. I gave no cause, not so much as Fimbria’s complaint against me; for I did ‘totum telum corpore recipere,’ receive the whole sword into my body. I patiently bear all, and sensibly feel all that I then received when this scandal was given me. Nay, more, when the vilest of all indignities are done unto me,” etc. This noble letter, Bacon afterwards, in pleading against Essex, called bold and presumptuous, and derogatory to her majesty. Birch’s Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 338.]