Part 8

Sir Foulke Greville, since Lord Brooke, had no mean place in her favour, neither did he hold it for any short time, or term; for, if I be not deceived, he had the longest lease, the smoothest time without rubs of any of her favourites; he came to the court in his youth and prime, as that is the time, or never: he was a brave gentleman, and hopefully descended from Willoughby, Lord Brooke, and admiral to Henry the Seventh; neither illiterate, for he was, as he would often profess, a friend to Sir Philip Sidney, and there are now extant some fragments of his pen, and of the times, which do interest him in the muses, and which show in him the Queen’s election had ever a noble conduct, and it motions more of virtue and judgment than of fancy.

I find that he neither sought for nor obtained any great place or preferment in court, during all his time of attendance: neither did he need it, for he came thither backed with a plentiful fortune, which, as himself was wont to say, was then better held together by a single life, wherein he lived and died a constant courtier of the ladies.

ESSEX.

My Lord of Essex, as Sir Henry Walton notes him, a gentleman of great parts, and partly of his times and retinue, had his introduction by my Lord of Leicester, who had married his mother; a tie of affinity which, besides a more urgent obligation, might have invited his care to advance him, his fortunes being then, through his father’s infelicity, grown low; but that the son of a Lord Ferrers of Chartly, Viscount Hertford, and Earl of Essex, who was of the ancient nobility, and formerly in the Queen’s good grace, could not have room in her favour, without the assistance of Leicester, was beyond the rule of her nature, which, as I have elsewhere taken into observation, was ever inclinable to favour the nobility: sure it is, that he no sooner appeared in court, but he took with the Queen and the courtiers; and, I believe, they all could not choose but look through the sacrifice of the father on his living son, whose image, by the remembrance of former passages, was a fresh leek, the bleeding of men murdered, represented to the court, and offered up as a subject of compassion to all the kingdom.

There was in this young lord, together with a goodly person, a kind of urbanity and innate courtesy, which both won the Queen, and too much took up the people to gaze on the new-adopted son of her favour; and as I go along, it will not be amiss to take into observation two notable quotations; the first was a violent indulgence of the Queen (which is incident to old age, where it encounters with a pleasing and suitable object) towards this great lord, which argued a non-perpetuity; the second was a fault in the object of her grace, my lord himself, who drew in too fast, like a child sucking on an over uberous nurse; and had there been a more decent decorum observed in both, or either of these, without doubt, the unity of their affections had been more permanent, and not so in and out, as they were, like an instrument well tuned, and lapsing to discord.

The greater error of the two, though unwilling, I am constrained to impose on my Lord of Essex, and rather on his youth, and none of the least of the blame on those that stood sentinels about him, who might have advised better, but that like men intoxicated with hopes, they likewise had sucked in with the most of their lord’s receipts, and so, like Cæsars, would have all or none; a rule quite contrary to nature, and the most indulgent parents, who, though they may express more affection to one in the abundance of bequeaths, yet cannot forget some legacies, and distributives, and dividends to others of their begetting; and how hurtful partiality is, and proves, every day’s experience tells us, out of which common consideration they might have framed to their hands a maxim of more discretion, for the conduct and management of their new-graved lord and master.

But to omit that of infusion, and to do right to truth, my Lord of Essex, even of those that truly loved and honoured him, was noted for too bold an ingrosser, both of fame and favour; and of this, without offence to the living, or treading on the sacred grave of the dead, I shall present the truth of a passage yet in memory.

My Lord of Mountjoy, who was another child of her favour, being newly come, and then but Sir Charles Blount (for my Lord William, his elder brother, was then living) had the good fortune to run one day well at tilt, and the Queen was therewith so well pleased, that she sent him, in token of her favour, a Queen at chess in gold, richly enamelled, which his servants had the next day fastened unto his arm with a crimson ribband; which my Lord of Essex, as he passed through the Privy Chamber, espying with his cloak cast under his arm, the better to command it to the view, enquired what it was, and for what cause there fixed: Sir Foulke Greville told him, it was the Queen’s favour, which the day before, and next after the tilting, she had sent him; whereat my Lord of Essex, in a kind of emulation, and as though he would have limited her favour, said “Now I perceive every fool must have a favour.” This bitter and public affront came to Sir Charles Blount’s ear, at which he sent him a challenge; which was accepted by my lord, and they met near Marybone Park, where my lord was hurt in the thigh, and disarmed. The Queen, missing of the men, was very curious to learn the truth, but at last it was whispered out; she sware by God’s death, it was fit that some one or other should take him down and teach him better manners, otherwise there would be no rule with him; and here I note the imminution of my lord’s friendship with Mountjoy, which the Queen herself did then conjure.

Now for his fame we need not go far, for my Lord of Essex, having borne a grudge to General Norris, who had unwittingly offered to undertake the action of Brittany with fewer men than my lord had before demanded; on his return with victory, and a glorious report of his valour, he was then thought the only man for the Irish wars; wherein my Lord of Essex so wrought, by despising the number and quality of the rebels, that Norris was sent over with a scanty force, joined with the relics of the veteran troops of Britain, of set purpose, and as it fell out, to ruin Norris; and the Lord Burrows, by my lord’s procurement, sent at his heels, and to command in chief, and to convey Norris only to his government at Munster; which aggravated the great heart of the general to see himself undervalued, and undermined, by my lord and Burrows, which was, as the Proverb speaks, _juvenes docere senes_.

Now my Lord Burrows in the beginning of his prosecution died, whereupon the Queen was fully bent to send over my Lord Mountjoy; which my Lord of Essex utterly misliked, and opposed with many reasons, and by arguments of contempt towards Mountjoy (his then professed friend and familiar) so predominant was his desire to reap the whole honour of closing up that war, and all others; now the way being paved and opened by his own workmanship, and so handled, that none durst appear to stand in the place; at last, and with much ado, he obtained his own ends, and therewith his fatal destruction, leaving the Queen and the court, where he stood impregnable and firm in her grace, to men that long had fought and waited their times to give him a trip, and could never find any opportunity, but this of his absence, and of his own creation; and those are true observations of his appetite and inclinations, which were not of any true proportion, but hurried and transported, with an over desire, and thirstiness after fame, and that deceitful fame of popularity; and, to help on his catastrophe, I observe likewise two sorts of people that had a hand in his fall: the first was the soldiery, which all flock unto him, as it were foretelling a mortality, and are commonly of blunt and too rough counsels, and many times dissonant from the time of the court and State; the other sort were of his family, his servants and his own creatures, such as were bound by safety, and obligations of fidelity, to have looked better to the steering of that boat, wherein they themselves were carried, and not to have suffered it to fleet, and run on ground, with those empty sails of tumour of popularity and applause; methinks one honest man or other, who had but the brushing of his clothes, might have whispered in his ear, “My lord, look to it, this multitude that follows you will either devour you, or undo you; do not strive to overrule all, of it will cost hot water, and it will procure envy, and if needs your genius must have it so, let the court and the Queen’s presence by your station, for your absence must undo you.” But, as I have said, they had sucked too much of their lord’s milk, and instead of withdrawing they drew {174} the coals of his ambition, and infused into him too much of the spirit of glory, yea, and mixed the goodness of his nature with a touch of revenge, which is evermore accompanied with a destiny of the same fate. Of this number there were some of insufferable natures about him, that towards his last gave desperate advice, such as his integrity abhorred, and his fidelity forbade, amongst whom Sir Henry Walton notes, without injury, his Secretary Cuffe, as a vile man and of a perverse nature: I could also name others that, when he was in the right course of recovery, settling to moderation, would not suffer a recess in him, but stirred up the dregs of those rude humours, which, by times and his affections out of his own judgment, he thought to repose and give them a vomit. And thus I conclude this noble lord, as a mixture between prosperity and adversity, once a child of his great mistress’s favour, but a son of Bellona.

BUCKHURST.

My lord of Buckhurst was of the noble house of Sackvilles, and of the Queen’s consanguinity, or as the people then called him _Fill-sacks_, by reason of his great wealth, and the vast patrimony left to his son, whereof in his youth he spent the best part, until the Queen, by her frequent admonitions, diverted the torrent of his profusion; he was a very fine gentleman, of person and endowments, both of art and nature, but without measure magnificent, till on the turn of his honour, and the alloy, that his yearly good counsel had wrought upon those immoderate courses of his youth, and that height of spirit inherent to his house; and then did the Queen, as a most judicious, indulgent prince, who, when she saw the man grown settled and staid, gave him an assistance, and advanced him to the treasurership, where he made amends to his house for his mis-spent time, both in the increasement of his estate and honour, which the Queen conferred upon him, together with the opportunity to remake himself, and thereby to show that this was a child that should have a share in her grace.

They much commend his elocution, but more the excellency of his pen, for he was a scholar, and a person of a quick dispatch, faculties that yet run in the blood; and they say of him, that his secretaries did little for him, by the way of indictment, wherein they could seldom please him, he was so facete and choice in his phrases and style; and for his dispatches, and for the content he gave to suitors, he had a decorum seldom put in practice, for he had of his attendance that took into a roll the names of all suitors, with the date of their first addresses; so that a fresh man could not leap over his head, that was of a more ancient edition excepting the urgent affairs of the State.

I find not that he was any way ensnared in the factions of the court, which were all his times strong, and in every man’s note, the Howards and the Cecils of the one part, and my Lord of Essex, &c., on the other, for he held the staff of the treasury fast in his hand, which made them, once in a year, to be beholden to him; and the truth is, as he was a wise man and a stout, he had no reason to be a partaker, for he stood sure in blood and in grace, and was wholly intentive to the Queen’s service; and such were his abilities, that she might have more cunning instruments, but none of a more strong judgment and confidence in his ways, which are symptoms of magnanimity, whereunto methinks this motto hath some kind of reference, _Aut nunquam tentes_, _aut perfice_. As though he would have charactered, in a word, the genius of his house, or express somewhat of a higher inclination, than lay within his compass; that he was a courtier is apparent, for he stood always in her eye and in her favour.

MOUNTJOY.

My Lord Mountjoy was of the ancient nobility, but utterly decayed in the support thereof, patrimony, through his grandfather’s excess, his father’s vanity in search of the philosopher’s stone, and his brother’s untimely prodigality; all of which seemed, by a joint conspiracy, to ruinate the house, and altogether to annihilate it; as he came from Oxford, he took the Inner Temple in the way to court, whither he no sooner came, but he had a pretty kind of admission, which I have heard from a discreet man of his own, and much more of the secrets of those times; he was then much about twenty years of age, brown-haired, of a sweet face, and of a most neat composure, tall in his person. The Queen was then at Whitehall, and at dinner, whither he came to see the fashion of the court, and the Queen had soon found him out, and, with a kind of an affected favour, asked her carver who he was; he answered he knew him not, insomuch that an inquiry was made, one from another, who he might be, till at length it was told the Queen, he was brother to the Lord William Mountjoy. Thus inquiry, with the eye of her majesty fixed upon him, as she was wont to do, and to daunt men she knew not, stirred the blood of the young gentleman, insomuch as his colour went and came; which the Queen observing, called unto him, and gave him her hand to kiss, encouraging him with gracious words, and new looks, and so diverting her speech to the lords and ladies, she said that she no sooner observed him but she knew there was in him some noble blood, with some other expressions of pity towards his house; and then, again demanding his name, she said, “Fail you not to come to the court, and I will bethink myself, how to do you good;” and this was his inlet, and the beginning of his grace; where it falls into consideration that, though he wanted not wit nor courage, for he had very fine attractives, as being a good piece of a scholar, yet were those accompanied with the retractives of bashfulness, and natural modesty, which, as the wave of the house of his fortune then stood, might have hindered his progression, had they not been reinforced by the infusion of sovereign favour, and the Queen’s gracious invitation; and that it may appear how he was, and how much that heretic, necessity, will work in the directions of good spirits, I can deliver it with assurance, that his exhibition was very scanty, until his brother died, which was shortly after his admission to the court; and then was it no more but a thousand marks _per annum_, wherewith he lived plentifully, and in a fine garb, and without any great sustentation of the Queen, during all her times.

And, as there was in nature a kind of backwardness, which did not befriend him, nor suit with the motion of the court, so there was in him an inclination to arms, with a humour of travelling and gadding abroad, which had not some wise men about him laboured to remove, and the Queen laid in her command, he would, out of his own native propension, marred his own market; for as he was grown by reading, whereunto he was much addicted, to the theory of a soldier, so was he strongly invited by his genius, to the acquaintance of the practice of the war, which were the causes of his excursions, for he had a company in the Low Countries, from whom he came over with a noble acceptance of the Queen; but, somewhat restless in honourable thoughts, he exposed himself again and again, and would press the Queen with pretences of visiting his company so often, till at length he had a flat denial; yet he struck over with Sir John Norris into the action of Britanny, which was then a hot and active war, whom he would always call his father, honouring him above all men, and ever bewailing his end; so contrary he was in his esteem and valuation of this great commander to that of his friend, my Lord of Essex; till at last the Queen began to take his digressions for contempt, and confined his residence to the court, {181} and her own presence; and, upon my Lord of Essex’s fall, so confident she was of her own princely judgment, and the opinion she had conceived of his worth and conduct, that she would have this noble gentleman and none other to bring in the Irish wars to a propitious end; for it was a prophetical speech of her own, that it would be his fortune and his honour to cut the thread of that fatal rebellion, and to bring her in peace to the grave; wherein she was not deceived: for he achieved it, but with much pains and carefulness, and not without the forces and many jealousies of the court and times, wherewith the Queen’s age and the malignity of her settling times were replete. And so I come to his dear friend in court, Secretary Cecil, whom, in his long absence, he adored as his saint, and counted him his only _Mecenas_, both before and after his departure from court, and during all the time of his command in Ireland; well knowing that it lay in his power, and by a word of his mouth, to make or mar him.

ROBERT CECIL.

Sir Robert Cecil, since Earl of Salisbury, was the son of the Lord Burleigh, and, by degrees, successor of his places and favours, though not of his lands; for he had Sir Thomas Cecil, his elder brother, since created Earl of Exeter; he was first Secretary of State, then Master of the Court of Wards, and, in the last of her reign, came to be Lord Treasurer: all which were the steps of his father’s greatness, and of the honour he left to his house. For his person, he was not much beholden to Nature, though somewhat for his face, which was the best part of his outside: for his inside, it may be said, and without offence, that he was his father’s own son, and a pregnant precedent in all his discipline of state: he was a courtier from his cradle, which might have made him betimes; but he was at the age of twenty and upwards, and was far short of his after-proof, but exposed, and by change of climate he soon made show what he was and would be.

He lived in those times wherein the Queen had most need and use of men of weight; and, amongst many able ones, this was chief, as having taken his sufficiency from his instruction who begat him, the tutorship of the times and court, which were then academies of Art and Cunning. For such was the Queen’s condition, from the tenth or twelfth of her reign, that she had the happiness to stand up, whereof there is a former intimation, environed with many and more enemies, and assaulted with more dangerous practices, than any prince of her times, and of many ages before: where we must not, in this her preservation, attribute it to human power, for that in his own omnipotent providence God ordained those secondary means, as instruments of the work, by an evident manifestation of the same work, which she acted; and it was a well-pleasing work of his own, out of a peculiar care he had decreed the protection of the work-mistress, and, thereunto, added his abundant blessing upon all and whatsoever she undertook: which is an observation of satisfaction to myself, that she was in the right; though, to others now breathing under the same form and frame of her government, it may not seem an animadversion of their worth: but I leave them to the peril of their own folly, and so come again to this great minister of state and the staff of the Queen’s declining age; who, though his little crooked person could not promise any great supportation, yet it carried thereon a head and a head-piece of a vast content; and therein, it seems, Nature was so diligent to complete one and the best part about him, as the perfection of his memory and intellectuals; she took care also of his senses, and to put him in _lynceos oculos_, or, to pleasure him the more, borrowed of Argos, so to give unto him a prospective sight; and, for the rest of his sensitive virtues, his predecessor, Walsingham, had left him a receipt to smell out what was done in the conclave.

And his good old father was so well seen in mathematics, that he could tell you, throughout Spain, every part, every port, every ship, with its burden; whither bound, what preparations, what impediments for diversion of enterprises, counsel, and resolution; and, that we may see, as in a little map, how docible this little man was, I will present a taste of his abilities.

My Lord of Devonshire, upon certainty that the Spaniards would invade Ireland with a strong army, had written very earnestly to the Queen and to the Council for such supplies to be timely sent over, that might enable him both to march up to the Spaniard, if he did land, and follow on his prosecution without diverting his intentions against the rebels. Sir Robert Cecil, besides the general dispatch of the Council (as he often did) writ thus in private, for these two then began to love dearly:

“My lord, out of the abundance of my affection, and the care I have of your well-doing, I must in private put you out of doubt or fear, for I know you cannot be sensible, otherwise than in the way of honour, that the Spaniards will not come unto you this year; for I have it from my own, what his preparations are in all his parts, and what he can do; for, be confident, he beareth up a reputation, by seeming to embrace more than he can gripe; but, the next year, be assured, he will cast over to you some forlorn troops, which, how they may be reinforced beyond his present ability, and his first intention, I cannot, as yet, make any certain judgment; but I believe, out of my intelligence, that you may expect the landing in Munster, and, the more to distract you, in several places, as, at Kinsale, Beerhaven, and Baltimore; where, you may be sure, coming from sea, they will first fortify, and learn the strength of the rebels, before they dare take the field. Howsoever, as I know you will not lessen your care, neither your defences, whatsoever lies in my power to do you and the public service, rest thereof assured.”

And to this I could add much more, but it may (as it is) suffice to present much of his abilities in the pen, that he was his crafts-master in foreign intelligence, and for domestic affairs. As he was one of those that sat at the helm to the last of the Queen, so was he none of the least in skill, and in the true use of the compass; and so I shall only vindicate the scandal of his death, and conclude him; for he departed at St. Margaret’s, near Marlborough, at his return from Bath, as my Lord Vice-Chamberlain, my Lord Clifford, and myself, his son, and son-in-law, and many more can witness: but that the day before, he swooned on the way, and was taken out of his litter, and laid into his coach, was a truth out of which that falsehood concerning the manner of his death had its derivation, though nothing to the purpose, or to the prejudice of his worth.

VERE.

Sir Francis Vere was of that ancient, and of the most noble extract of the earls of Oxford; and it may be a question whether the nobility of his house, or the honour of his achievements, might most commend him, but that we have an authentic rule:

“Nam genus et proavos et quæ nos non fecimus ipsi, Vix ea nostra voco.”

For though he was an honourable slip of that ancient tree of nobility, which was no disadvantage to his virtue, yet he brought more glory to the name of Vere than he took of blood from the family.