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.]

[Footnote 37: NOTE KK, P. 321. Most of Queen Elizabeth's courtiers
feigned love and desire towards her, and addressed themselves to her in
the style of passion and gallantry. Sir Walter Raleigh, having fallen
into disgrace, wrote the following letter to his friend, Sir Robert
Cecil, with a view, no doubt, of having it shown to the queen. "My heart
was never broke till this day, that I hear the queen goes away so far
off, whom I have followed so many years, with so great love and desire
in so many journeys, and am now left behind here in a dark prison all
alone. While she was yet near at hand, that I might hear of her once in
two or three days, my sorrows were the less; but even now, my heart it
cast into the depth of all misery. I, that was wont to behold her riding
like Alexander, hunting like Diana, walking like Venus, the gentle wind
blowing her fair hair about her pure cheeks, like a nymph, sometimes
sitting in the shade like a goddess, sometimes singing like an angel,
sometimes playing like Orpheus; behold the sorrow of this world! once
amiss hath bereaved me of all. O glory, that only sdineth in misfortune,
what is become of thy assurance? All wounds have scars but t