g, and taken the degree of
Batchelor of arts, he removed to the Middle-Temple, and applying
himself to the study of the common law, was called to the bar; but
having a quarrel with one Richard Martyn, (afterwards recorder of
London) he bastinadoed him in the Temple-hall at dinner-time, in
presence of the whole assembly, for which contempt, he was immediately
expelled, and retired again to Oxford to prosecute his studies, but
did not resume the scholar's-gown. Upon this occasion he composed that
excellent poem called Nosce Teipsum[1]. Afterwards by the favour of
Thomas lord Ellesmere, keeper of the Great Seal, being reinstated in
the Temple, he practised as a counsellor, and became a burgess in the
Parliament held at Westminster 1601. Upon the death of Queen Elizabeth
our author, with Lord Hunsdon, went into Scotland to congratulate King
James on his succession to the English throne. Being introduced into
his Majesty's presence, the King enquired of Lord Hunsdon, the names
of the gentlemen who accompanied him, and when his lordship mentioned
John Davies, the King presently asked whether he was Nosce Teipsum,
and being answered he was, embraced him, and assured him of his
favour. He was accordingly made Sollicitor, and a little after
Attorney-general in Ireland, where in the year 1606, he was made one
of his Majesty's serjeants at law, and Speaker of the House of Commons
for that kingdom. In the year following, he received the honour of
knighthood from the King at Whitehall. In 1612 he quitted the post of
Attorney-general in Ireland, and was made one of his Majesty's English
serjeants at law. He married Eleanor Touchet, youngest daughter of
George lord Audley, by whom he had a son, an idiot who died young,
and a daughter named Lucy, married to Ferdinand lord Hastings,
and afterwards Earl of Huntingdon. His lady was a woman of very
extraordinary character; she had, or rather pretended to have a spirit
of prophecy, and her predictions received from a voice which she often
heard, were generally wrapped up in dark and obscure expressions. It
was commonly reported, that on the sunday before her husband's death,
she was sitting at dinner with him, she suddenly burst into tears,
whereupon he asking her the occasion, she answered, "Husband, these
are your funeral tears," to which he replied, "Pray therefore spare
your tears now, and I will be content that you shall laugh when I
am dead." After Sir John's death she lived privately