And now G.o.d calls I willing Die, My Shuttle's shot, my Race is run, My Sun is set, my Day is done.

My span is measured, Tale is told, My Flower is faded and grown old.

My Dream is vanish'd, Shadows fled, My Soul with Christ, my Body Dead, Farewel dear Wife, Children and Friends, Hate Heresie, make Blessed Ends, Bear Poverty, live with good Men; So shall we live with Joy agen.

Let men of G.o.d in Courts and Churches watch, O're such as do a Toleration hatch, Lest that ill Egg bring forth a c.o.c.katrice To poison all with Heresie and Vice.

If Men be left and otherwise Combine, My epitaph's I DY'D NO LIBERTINE.

To the old Puritan, scowling to the last at any shade of difference from the faith to which he would willingly have been a martyr, a "Libertine" included all blasphemous doubters and defiers of current beliefs--Quakers, Antinomians and other pestilent people who had already set the Colony by the ears and were soon to accomplish much more in this direction. The verses were at once creed and protest, and are a fair epitome of the Puritan mind in 1650. Other rhymes from other hands had expressed equally uncompromising opinions. He had survived the anagramatic warning sent to him by an unknown hand in 1645, which still stands on the files of the first Church in Roxbury, and which may have been written by one of his opponents in the General Court.

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 G.o.d, and cherished as in his bosom, all G.o.dly 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 const.i.tuents 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 G.o.d, be G.o.d 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 t.i.tles 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 d.a.m.nifie.

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 h.o.a.ry 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.

HIS EPITAPH.

Within this Tomb a Patriot lyes That was both pious, just and wise, To Truth a shield, to right a Wall, To Sectaryes a whip and Maul, A Magazine of History, A Prizer of good Company In manners pleasant and severe The Good him lov'd, the bad did fear, And when his time with years was spent If some rejoyc'd, more did lament.

Of the nine children, of whom Anne Bradstreet was the most distinguished, the oldest son of his second wife took most important part in the colonial life. Joseph Dudley, who was born in 1647, became "Governor of Ma.s.sachusetts, Lieutenant-Governor of the Isle of Wight, and first Chief-Justice of New York. He had thirteen children, one of whom, Paul, was also a distinguished man; being Attorney-General and afterward Chief-Justice of Ma.s.sachusetts, Fellow of the Royal Society, and founder of the Dudleian Lectures at Harvard College." His honors came to him after the sister who prized them most had pa.s.sed on to the Heaven for which, even when happiest, she daily longed. None of the sons possessed the strong characteristics of the father, but sons and daughters alike seem to have inherited his love of books, as well as of hospitality, and the name for every descendant has always held honor, and often, more than fair ability. The preponderance of ministers in every generation may, also, still gladden the heart of the argumentative ancestor whose dearest pleasure was a protracted tussle with the five points, and their infinitely ramifying branches, aided and encouraged by the good wine and generous cheer he set, with special relish, before all who could meet him on his own ground.

It was fortunate for the daughter that many fresh interests were springing up in her own family, which in 1654, received a new member. One had already been added, in the person of the youngest son John, who had been born in 1652, and was still a baby, and now marriage gave another son, who valued her almost as heartily as her own. Seaborn Cotton, whose name held always a reminder of the stormy days on which his eyes opened, had grown into a decorous youth, a course at Harvard, and an entering of his father's profession, and though the old record holds no details, it is easy to read between the lines, the story that told itself alike to Puritan and Cavalier, and to which Mistress Dorothy listened with a flutter beneath the gray gown that could not disguise the pretty girlish outlines of her dainty figure. Dorothy, as well as the other daughters, had been carefully trained in every housewifely art, and though part of her mother's store of linen bleached in Lincolnshire meadows, may have helped to swell her simple outfit, it is probable that she spun and wove much of it herself. A fulling mill, where the cloth made at home was finished and pressed, had been built very early in the history of the town, and while there were "spinsters" who went from house to house, much of the work was done by mother and daughters. Seaborn Cotton, who must often during his courtship have ridden over from Boston, found Dorothy like the Priscilla she may have known, busy in the graceful fashion of that older time, and--

... As he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion.

Like Priscilla, too, she must have said--

... I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the pa.s.sage, For I was thinking of you as I sat there spinning and singing.

Dorothy had in full her mother's power of quiet devotion, and became a model mother, as well as minister's wife, for the parish at Hampton, N. H., where the young pastor began work in 1659, and where after twenty-eight years of such labor as came to all pioneers, she pa.s.sed on, leaving nine children, whose name is still a familiar one in New England. Though the date of the next daughter's marriage is not quite as certain, it is given by some authorities as having taken place in the previous year, and in any case was within a few months of the same time. Contrary to the usual Puritan rule, which gave to most men from two to four wives, Sarah outlived her first husband, and married again, when a middle-aged but still young-hearted woman.

Marriage inevitably held some suggestion at least of merry-making, but the ceremony had been shorn of all possible resemblance to its English form. The Puritans were in terror lest any Prelatical superst.i.tions or forms should cling to them in faintest degree, and Bradford wrote of the first marriage which took place in the Plymouth Colony: "The first marriage in this place, which, according to the laudable custom of the Low Countries, in which they had lived, was thought most requisite to be performed by the magistrate, as being a civil thing, ... and nowhere found in the Gospel to be laid on the ministers as a part of their office."

Winthrop, three of whose marriages had been in the parish church of his English home, shared the same feeling, and when preparations were made for "a great marriage to be solemnized at Boston," wrote: "The bridegroom being of Hingham, Mr. Hubbard's church, he was procured to preach, and came to Boston to that end.

But the magistrates hearing of it, sent to him to forbear. We were not willing to bring in the English custom of ministers performing the solemnity of marriage, which sermons at such times might induce; but if any minister were present, and would bestow a word of exhortation, &c., it was permitted."

Fortunately for Dorothy and Sarah Bradstreet, their father was a magistrate, and his clear and gentle eyes the only ones they were obliged to face. Andover couples prefered him to any other and with reason, for while following the appointed method strictly, "giving the covenant unto the parties and also making the prayers proper for the occasion," he had no frowns for innocent enjoyment, and may even have allowed the dancing which was afterward forbidden.

In the beginning, as the largest in the township, his house had probably served as stopping-place for all travellers, where they were entertained merely as a matter of courtesy, though an "inholder" or "taverner" had been appointed and liscenced for Andover in 1648. Only an honored citizen could hold this office, and marriages were often celebrated in their houses, which naturally were enlarged at last to meet all necessities. But the strong liquors of the inn often circulated too freely, and quarrels and the stocks were at times the end of a day which it had been planned should hold all the merriment the Puritan temper would allow. Such misfortunes waited only on the humbler members of the community, who appear to have been sufficiently quarrelsome and excitable to furnish more occupiers of both pillory and stocks, than the religious character of the settlement would seem to admit, and who came to blows on the least provocation, using their fists with genuine English ardor, and submitting to punishment with composure, if only the adversary showed bruises enough for compensation. Wine and beer flowed freely at both the marriages, as they did at every entertainment, but Governor Bradstreet, while having due liking for all good cheer, was personally so abstinent that none would be likely in his presence to forget proper bounds. Ministers and laymen alike drank an amount impossible to these later days, and that if taken now would set them down as hopeless reprobates; but custom sanctioned it, though many had already found that the different climate rendered such indulgence much more hazardous than the less exhilarating one of England.

As the family lessened, the mother seems to have clung even more closely to those that remained, and to have lost herself in work for and with them. Whatever may have been written at this time, appears to have been destroyed, nothing remaining but the poem "Contemplations," which is more truly poetry than any of its more labored predecessors, its descriptive pa.s.sages holding much of the charm of the lovely landscape through which she moved to the river, flowing still through the Andover meadows.

CONTEMPLATIONS.

Some time now past in the Autumnal Tide When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride Where gilded o're by his rich golden head.

Their leaves and fruits seemed painted but was true Of green, of red, of yellow mixed hew, Rapt were my sences at this delectable view.

I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I, If so much excellence abide below; How excellent is he that dwells on high?

Whose power and beauty by his works we know.

Sure he is goodness, wisdome, glory, light, That hath this under world so richly dight; More Heaven than Earth was here, no winter & no night.

Then on a stately oak I cast mine Eye, Whose ruffling top the Clouds seemed to aspire; How long since thou wast in thine Infancy?

Thy strength and stature, more thy years admire.

Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born?

Or thousand since thou brakest thy sh.e.l.l of horn, If so, all these as nought, Eternity doth scorn.

Then higher on the glistening Sun I gazed, Whose beams was shaded by the leavie Tree, The more I looked, the more I grew amazed, And softly said, what glory's like to thee?

Soul of this world, this Universes Eye Had I not, better known, (alas) the same had I.

Thou as a bridegroom from thy Chamber rushes And as a strong man, joyes to run a race, The morn doth usher thee with smiles and blushes The Earth reflects her glances in thy face.

Birds, insects, Animals with Vegetive, Thy heart from death and dulness doth revive: And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive.

Thy swift Annual and diurnal Course, Thy daily streight and yearly oblique path.

Thy pleasing fervor and thy scorching force, All mortals here the feeling knowledg hath.