THE Bloody book. OR, The Tragical and desperate end of Sir john Fites (alias) Fitz.   depiction of three men outside a house, one in night clothes kneeling with his hand over his heart, one in night clothing standing holding a sword with its blade pushed right through his torso, and one fully dressed lying dead on the ground with his hat beside him. 
Printed at London for Francis Burton.   

A Narration of the Bloody Murders committed by the hands of Sir john Fites (alias) Fitz, a Devonshire Knight, upon two several Men: and lastly, to make up the Tragedy, upon himself also, at Twicknam, nine Miles from London, upon the seventh day of August last, 1605.  
IN Wistocke, a very ancient place in Devonshire, distant from Plymouth some ten miles, dwelled a worshipful Gentleman, called Master Fites, who having long time been married without any children, had at length, for a blessing to his expectation, a Son: whom after he had brought up in laudable rudiments, as well beseemed a careful father, as if his aged years had seen the hope of his own posterity, he performed the course of Nature, leaving large possessions to his young heir, (being as yet in his Minority) of whom the world hoped nothing but a fruitful ripeness, of so towardly a springal, his comeliness of parsonage increasing with his years, and his discretion with his parsonage: he was in his nonage a Ward unto sir Arthur Gorge, a worsh. knight. He took to wife the daughter of sir Wil Courtney, a man graced with all perfection of an honourable mind. A man loving his country, and for his worthy carriage, justly beloved of his country: neither did this his fair daughter degenerate from the ancient stock of her father, of whose praise (since virtue chiefly commendeth itself) I cannot sufficiently speak, neither in setting forth of it, can I be deemed partial, since her deserts exceed the measure of partiality: for as she was a modest maiden, so being married she gave evident proofs of a virtuous wife. But her young husband sir John (although not then knighted) little regarding the happiness of so rare a bedfellow, followed such errors as youth counseled, & folly led him into; truth it is, if his actions had been equally agreeable to his person, or his gifts of mind, as plentifully bestowed, as the natural lineaments of his body, he had been the complete mirror of an accomplished Gentleman.  
But it is commonly seen, where God endueth us with more special tokens of favour, weby our own proneness to vicious iniquity, deface his Image, and evermore endeavour to pollute his benefits with our wicked transgression; it was well said;  
turpibus ac pravis imitandis  
dociles omnes sumus,  
This was too truly verified in sir Io. Fites, who a while after fell into the careless race of a dissolute life, and although by the often instigation of his tender hearted wife, he was many times withdrawn from sundry temptations of lewd retainers, yet had not the countenance of his better friends, and their friendly persuasion counseled him, doubtless he had fallen into misfortune, ere misfortune had been ready for his fall. Many friends and well-willers he had, whose account might of right challenge the rank of gentility and reputation.  
Amongst many, to (whom in the links of perfect friendship, he was engaged) one gentleman most especially in all rights of love and reguarde, tendered him, (and as it seemed) was as much of him again respected, his name was master Slanning, a worshipful Esquire and a proper Gentleman, of goodly living, and deserved credit, of whom most men could but speak well, since of almen he was generally reputed wise and courteous. This Gentleman ever inwardly affected Sir John Fites, so that the Country noted them (for firm and mutual love) to be unfeigned friends, and so indeed they were, until mishap (ever fatal to sir john his proceed) crossed their affectionate association with this mischance.  
Meeting on a time at Tauestocke (near which S. john dwelled) at dinner with many of their neighbours and friends, with great variety of merriments, and discourse, they out stripped the noontide: Amongst other their table talk, S. john was vaunting his free Tenure in holding his land, boasting that he held not a foot of any but the Queen in England; to whom master Slanning replied, that although of courtesy it were neglected yet of dew and common right, he was to pay him so much by the year for some small Land held of him, the rent being by reason of friendship long time intermitted. Upon which words, Sir john (grounding his occasion upon choler, and heating that choler with disdain and pride) told him with a great oath, he lied: & withal, gave fuel to his rage, and reins of spite, to the unjustness of his anger, offering to stab him.  
But Master Slanning, who was known to be a man of no less courage, and more courtesy, with a great knife that he had, warded the hazard of such threatenings, upon which grew both multiplication of words, and increase of hatred on both sides; until by the fair mediation of their friends than present, they were accorded to a feigned reconciliation: so that in brief, after a while, Master Slanning privately with his man departed homewards.  
Long had he not ridden, but commanding his man to walk down his horses in the way, himself the while taking the green fields for his more contented walk, looking back, he might behold Sir john Fites with four more galloping amain after him. Which sight, as it could not but breed doubtful and fearful suspicion, so could it not but be a great amazement to Master Slanning, who little thought on the desperate plot of so vicious a minded bloodsucker.  
Sir john no sooner drew near him, but Master Slanning assuring himself of his purposed malice, and most malicious drift, asked him the occasion of his coming: to whom Sir john (in the rude language of scorn and wrath) made answer, he would now revenge himself for his disgrace, and so at once they fell all upon him, who with as determinate a resolution defended himself, being indeed a man of an undaunted spirit. And seeing before his face shame impudent, and hope of life's security, altogether desperate, he with as bold stomach as a wounded dying man, stood upon the guard of his own ableness, while Sir john being pricked on by the bloody urging of one Cross his man, grew to be handned in his butchery: so that one coming behind Master Slanning with a blow, (guided by the hand of a villains heart) struck him on the head, who falling and staggering backward, was by Sir john run through the body, leaving his lifeless carcase a monument of terrors, to affright the guilty consciences of unmerciful homicides: but as the one is hastening to the grave, so is the other making preparation for flight to escape death, not shame.  
Great was the lamentation that the country made for the death of so beloved a gentleman as Master Slanning was. As for Sir john. he soon got himself away, leaving the fulmouthed report of infamous rumour, to rumour abroad, the report of so infamous a deed: but as for his wife & mother, (virtuous Gentlewomen) the torment of their sorrow, is easier to be imagined then felt: who in the anguish of their griefs did penance for his rashness, and in the zeal of their prayers, laboured for his hearty contrition.  
He for the space of a year, or near there about lived in France, of whose carriage there, it is to be conjectured that it was no otherwise then indifferent, yet can I not excuse him in this his exile for a penitent convertite, howsoever the world generally deemed the best: But in his absence, the good Gentlewoman led a widowed life, and by as many means as the procurement of her worthy friends could effect, or her own industry labour, she got some hope of a promised pardon, upon which after a twelve months absence Sir john returned home, with a seeming likelihood of repentant sorrow for his former misdeed, showing outwardly evident promises of new reformation and amendment, as seeming a mortified man for his trespass past, and assuring far better hopes to come.  
In this mean time he had procured for his more quiet content, at least a reprivall, if not a pardon, but with this proviso, of his good behaviour ever after. There awhile he lived welcomed of all, courteous to all, and therefore of all well-beloved: but as it is commonly seen, a man naturally hardened in ill, can hardly amend his deformity of wickedness, with cunning of dissembling pretended gloss, so afterward chanced with this man, who in continuance of time, did not only proceed in unlawful courses of abuse, but would oftentimes glory in his former execrable fact, & being now in a manner priest, in the highway of all abomination, he began to root his thoughts to plot nothing but mischief, insomuch as first, he by little and little loathed his lawful bed, turning his pleasures to lawless desires, neither could the sweet remembrance of his wives earnest affection, with draw him from consorting himself with lose prodigals.  
A lamentable sight it was to see a man of his rank, place, and calling, to be so vainly carried away with following the depraved humours of light company: neither could the entreaty of Friends, the persuasion of his allies, the counsel of his wellwishers, nor the common scandal of the world, make him blush at his own follies. Strange it was that a man being so forewarned, should not be forearmed, for his own harms could not make him beware, neither could the greatness of God's favour showed to him, enforce him to consider the foulness of his former offences detestation, and conform his after age to a more serious meditation of the infinite benefits bestowed upon him, but the longer he lived, the worse he lived.  
At what time his excellent Majesty our King, (after his coronation,) was pleased to honour our English Gentlemen with that ancient reward of true deserts, worth Knighthood, it likewise pleased his royal Grace amongst many of all Shires throughout his Realm to invest in that order this Sir john Fites, who under this title of honour thought to mask his deeds of vice, & with the very sound of Knight, to bolster out the community of his riots: insomuch as whereas before he was forward he was now both forward, & bold: forward to attempt, bold to justify, any unjust wrong that his lose behaviour should under go. Now began he to think that the world should wink at his impieties, his credit and knighthood was a sufficient privilege. Now began he to entertain into his society, (as associates) men both of dissolute & desperate fortunes, amongst whom was one (as ringleader to the reckless content of his pampered desires) named commonly Lusty jacke, one whose means were indeed mean, whose good qualities altogether none: but for that as many as know him, know him without description, the sequel shall testify the honesty of his conversation.  
This lusty Roister being by Sir john easily accepted, and for a more special grace that he had in doing ill, admitted into his society, sunk so far into his liking, as that he was not himself without this his companion: insomuch as that Town of Tauestocke, though otherwise orderly governed with sobriety, & wisdom of grave Magistrates, was thereby infected, with the beastly corruption of drunkenness. Sir john by his own inclination apt, and by his retained copesmates urged, persueered the more, to run headlong into such 〈◊〉, as vile sensuality and pleasures inclined into, spending their time in riotous surfeiting, surfeiting in abominable drunkenness being drunk, they blaspheme and swear, and in this their blasphemy, they tear the divine name of their almighty Creator into a thousand pieces, neither regarding hope of redemption, or dreading fear of damnation, plucking men by night out of their beds, violently breaking windows, quarreling with Ale-conners, fight in private brabbles amongst themselves: all which hazard, (either of particular dangers, or common course of Law) could not move Sir john to break of his disordered rout, but when they had abused the townsmen, and disturbed their neighbours, Sir john's own house was their safest sanctuary, or receptacle to cloak their outrages: so as it seemed, they lived as in time of old the common Outlaws of this Land did, neither worshipping God nor honouring Prince, but wholly subject to their contents alone.  
In such like intolerable courses of abuse, beyond virtue, or gentility, did Sir john ever with his accomplices, in all his disorders spend his time, little studying to benefit his Country, by being a profitable member of the Commonweal, or little reckoning to be a good subject, by observing the peaceable statutes of his Prince, but continuing daily to increase the multitude of his riots, he said with the Poet,  
Cum vino sumptus cum blandis lauta puellis,  
Mensa placet, baccho prodiga juncta Venus.  
Wine and women bring most men to perdition, for one is so inevitably awaited by the other, that a roisting drunkard is most commonly noted for an incontinent lecherer. This was not falsified in Sir john Fites, who so wholly addicted himself to all detestable and vicious defamations, that it shamed him not (after his distemperatures abroad) to bring queans home with him, not esteeming the precious modesty of his wives bed, and the chaste deserts of so virtuous a Lady, who hereafter may very well serve as a rare pattern to all wives, (that are unblessed in having such husbands) how to carry themselves with humility, and wink at it with patience. So did this Lady, until her unthankful husband (glutted in his own lust) thought her very presence to be an obstacle, and bar to upbraid his incontinence: for which cause (without cause) he began to fall into dislike with her, and at length, would neither vouchsafe her maintenance, or house-room, but with words of disgrace turned her out of his doors, not leaving her attended by any to conduct her.  
In this plight of distress, the virtuous Lady (seeing, & by experience having had too firm a proof, of the misery of such a husband) could not but think herself unhappy, howsoever indeed she in this unhappiness was blest; for by these means she avoided further peril of death, which he in his steam of wine, had been likely to have offered unto her. In brief, being thus left to her misfortunes, she returned to her worthy Father, who with much joy, received his distressed Daughter, with a young daughter of hers also: so that herein she was most fortunate, that she was safe, where she might hear of her Knights outrages, but not endure them. This Lady being by him in this wise turned away, he noweknewe himself to be the only master of himself, and might as he thought now be emboldened to follow his own looseness. Now was his own house without contradiction, or controlment, open to his associates, where now (if they please) they may erect a little Commonwealth of many iniquities, and much imputation. His purse they abused, his goods they consumed, and of his person they made a stolen to their misdemeanours: all feared him, few loved him, neither was his worship as much to be reverenced, as his lewd manners to be abhorred: for continuing and insisting in his licentious, and odious courses, not long before his coming towards London, being in the heat of his old disorder, he, (being backed by his retainers) fell out with an Officer of the Town, and after with many reproachful words and upbraid, that he reviled him withal, forgetting both himself, the person, and the place, he with many blows of his dagger. broke his head in such sort, as the man being carried home, & laid in his bed, it was greatly feared, that he could not escape death: which had it happened, questionless it had not only been a great prejudice, but also an endangering to Sir john his own life, who after this deed, was so far from doubtting the worst, as that he little regarding the hatred of his act, stoutly persevered in the accustimation of his former breaches of all commendable carriage. But it is evermore notable, that men over whom sin hath greater predominance, are reserved for more especial misfortunes, until at last, being over-ripened, they fall by their own rottenness, which on this wise happened to Sir john Fites.  
Master Slanning after his death left behind him for pledges of God's blessing toward him, two sons, and one daughter, his heir being inward to a Knight of that Country of good account and credit, which heir of Master Slannings, being come to years of discretion, upon aggreevaunces of his Father's death, being, (as just reason was) loath to sell his dear Father's blood, and bearing a mind to revenge himself by course of right, and Law, upon the butcher of his Father's life: knowing that Sir john had but a conditional and no special pardon, (as Sir john himself gave forth, and falsely blinded the world withal) used means for his attachment, either to procure better means, or answer the proceed of justice in that case provided.  
This being heard of Sir john, (who amidst his riots little dreamt on any such encumbrance) it drove him to divers shifts, but being well befreended, (if his carriage had been such to have deserved their friendships who indeed were his friends) he having now no hopes, but such as relay upon their credit, for his better discharge was driven to consider better of the uneven race of his life past, assuring himself that he was become to the world so ridiculous, in himself so faulty, and of his own ableness so insufficient to accomplish his desires, that if he could not procure a new and absolute Pardon, the old offence of his, being laid to his charge, and his riots since, likely to be aggravated by the vulgar knowledge of the whole Country, it would surely put, not only his reputation, but also his life in double jeopardy: These reasons well canceled, fear, not shame, made him hasten some other course to be presently thought on, and in some measure to beware of perils to come, though scarce repent his misdeeds past, Oderunt peccare mali formidine penae, doubt of trouble, not hearty contrition, pricketh the wicked to avoid further lapses, when as the love of virtue maketh the virtuous abstain from doing evil. So Sir john, seeing how by his inordinate disorders he had impaired his estate, severed himself from his wife, wedded himself to wilful obstinacy, abused his neighbours, murdered his friends, consorted himself with villains, & caused himself to be so odious, as his life was now in new danger, he now thought it behoved him to make friends, and to that intent he posted toward London, where by the way, (continual Furies tormenting his mind) ere he came to his hopes, he ended his life. For in his journeying towards London, an accident of great ruth and pity happened in this lamentable sort. Sir john, (harbouring even in despite of his own will a guilty conscience in a grieved breast) even as he road by the way, often ran over the whole course of his former evil life: and never till now did he begin to balance his own rashness, & to consider the reason of his intended journey, which fears of his, now doubting lest that worthy Gentleman his Father in law, urged by the wrongs done to his daughter, would not only deny him his befriending favour, but also be a plaintiff against his inordinate course of life, (though grounded upon no certainty but the guiltiness of his own conceit) he began to fall into a desperate kind of lunacy, as by the sequel of his detestable deed it plainly appeared. For hastening towards London, he appointed his footman to meet him by the way, who inquiring as he went for his Master, met him by hap at Kingston upon Thames, where he alighted into his Inn, & having supped (as his order was) he soon betook himself to his bed: but as a man that hath committed some notorious and memorable crime, being followed by the Country, flieth into a large vast house, and hideth himself, at every creak of the wind feareth the entrance of some searcher, or at every stir of a rat doubteth the attachment of some officer, even so Sir john, having committed the crime of murder, and riot, and flying into the sanctuary of a dispersed and molested mind, was amidst his quiet followed and affrighted, by the officers of vengeance, guilt, and terror. In his dreams he muttered fearful words, grievous sighs, & deep-fetched groans: most fearful were his visions, and so terrible unto him, that where he lay in rest he suddenly start up, and called for his horses, intending to post presently away, for that as he said, Sir William Courtney, with a number in his company were at hand to apprehend him, neither could they of the house persuade him to the contrary. Moreover, so strange & dreadful was his own mind unto him, that he would not stay, evermore crying, that Sir William was at hand to apprehend him, insomuch as his gelding being brought him, in the dead time of night riding through the Town, he met the watch in the streets, at the sight of whom he cried aloud, they were come, they were come: but the watch being by his man more certainly informed of this his so sudden malady, assured him that they were not sir William, but the neighbours of the town; adding withal, that he need not doubt, for Sir William was neither coming, nor meant to follow him: with whose admonitions being somewhat for the time qualified (not persuaded) he road over Kingston Bridge, towards London; but in the way between Kingston & Twicknam, after he had strayed upon the Heath a long while, at last he came unto a Gentleman's house, which stood somewhat out of the way, and there he knocked, desiring that as they were gentlemen, they would respect a Gentleman, and help him to some lodging, and used such words to persuade thereunto, as that those of the house (the time of the night considered) thought him to have either had some other company, intending to rob the house, or else to be overseen in drink, or some such matter, insomuch that loath they were to trouble the house with such a guest, and so sent him away as he came, directing him unto the next town. When as travailing up and down a long time, sometimes in the way, sometime out of the way; at last he attained about two of the clock after midnight, unto a little Village, called Twicknam, some two miles from Kingston (the town from whence he last came) and there by chance, oh cruel chance! happened to light upon the sign of the Anchor, (fear and terror of his conscience suffering him to pass no further:) the masters name of that house, being called Daniel Alley, where he caused his footman to knock and beat, and knocked himself also until such time that he had awaked the goodman of the house, who being awakened, rose unto the window and demanded who was there? Sir john Fight answered, Here is a Gentleman, and I want lodging; therefore I pray you open the door and let me in. The Host of the house replied, that he was but a poor man, and kept no Inn, but only a victualling house, and that his lodging was very slender to entertain such a Gentleman of sort, as he took him to be. But the Gentleman sir John Fight answered, that the worst bed that was would serve his turn at that time, and that he could be content to lie any where. The goodman of the house, in mere commiseration of his case pitying him, and in tender compassion of his present estate regarding him, opened the door, let him into the house, set up his gelding, caused his wife to arise, and lay a clean pair of sheets upon their own bed, and a clean pilow, herself going to bed in another room, with her maid and children. Now as soon as sir John came into the house, without any farther ado, he sent his footman at that time of the night (being unacquainted with the Way) unto London, and told him that there he would stay until his return. His footman being weary, would-faine lodge there also, but having no lodcing and no man being up at any other Inn, he was constrained to depart, and so he took on his way to Brainford, where he lay that night.  
Sir john, his gelding set up, the doors shut in, himself gone to bed, his footman departed with money in his purse for his expense and all things (as it seemed) well, but that the host and his wife observed a certain wild and stern look in his countenance, at last being in bed, called and knocked for the Host of the house to come unto him, who being come into the chamber (for the good man himself had no place to go to bed in) sir john said unto him, I pray thee mine host sit by me a while: I will, said the goodman, and so fetching his cloak to wrap about him, returned and sat down by his bed side. But the Gentleman's mind being troubled, he could by no means sleep, or take any rest, but (oftentimes starting very suddenly as if he had been scared) always he would be talking of some idle matter or other, uttering much disjointed talk; as telling the goodman of the house, that he had lain in a better bed than that was, whereunto the poor man replied, in the pleasingst speeches that he could (because he noted him to look somewhat wildly) I make no question thereof sir, but surely I have no better at this time, (the bed being sufficient for an honest Man) If I had better your worship should have it, I am sorry for your sake that it is no better. Thus would he oftentimes speak unto him. At another time he said; I am in Mind troubled, I am disquieted: Then would he turn him from one side to the other. Sometimes he would say that sir William Courtneys' men were come to apprehend him: for the goodman's wife of the house lying in the next room, and another Man named Robert Goddart, who was a day-laborer, and lodged in another room adjoining also, heard both his talk and his unquiet rest.  
Thus troubled in mind, and oppressed, (as by the sequel shall God willing, appear) either with the remorseful thoughts of an accusing conscience, or with the despairing remembrance of his forepast evil life, or with the fearful appearance of that dread full day of judgement, when all flesh shall be called to an account for their deeds done, every one to receive according to that he hath done, either good or evil; or with the threatenings of Satan, who visibly (it may be) appeared unto him, menacing him with eternal damnation for his former wickedness, or with what other dreadful apparition, illusion, apprehension, terror or temptation, he who knoweth all things (and none else) certainly knoweth. Thus I say, being disquieted, the goodman of the house remained with him, until between four & five of the clock in the morning; at what time, seeing that the morning was fair and he had business to go about, he left the Gentleman alone, between sleeping and waking (as it were) and softly stealing away, because he would not awaken him if he could choose, called unto goodman Goddart (who lay in the Chamber close by) to arise, and so went in to his wife and told her; Wife, I must leave you with this Gentleman, for I must go myself forth to work. Nay, good husband do not so, said she; will you leave me at home with him alone, and go forth yourself? I pray you do not, for I am afraid of him, methinks he talks as if he were frantic. Thus did her mind presage the future mischance, which present after fell out. The goodman answered his wife, if I can get another to work for me, I will stay at home. By this time, the labourer goodman Goddart was up and ready, being prepared to go mow some Vetches, and there fore the goodman of the house and he went to fill a bottle of drink to take unto the field; but as they were together filling the bottle, they heard something give a jump. I think said one of them unto the other, the gentleman be either leapt, or fallen out of his bed: which words they had no sooner uttered, but forth comes Sir John in his shirt, with his naked rapier in his hand, his eyes looking as if they had sparkled forth fire; his countenance so terrible and ghastly, as that it was of power to have scared a man out of his wits; and his strength so forcible (as it seemed to them) it was bootless for on or two to withstand him, (for needs must he go whom the devil drives) the men fear fully gave back, and he slips out at the back door and so towards the gate which led out of the street into the backside, and being gone forth of the gate, the men stepped into the backside likewise, where being, said the good man softly to the other (the present sight of his naked weapon, causing a presumption of such a matter) God grant he have not murdered my wife and children; and some made towards the gate, purposing to shut the gate after him, which he perceiving, suddenly retires (for his feet were swift to shed blood) and espying the man going to shut the Gate, desperately cried out: Ah villain? Art thou one of them that should apprehend me? Art thou he that should lay hold of me? I will surely kill thee (swearing a bloody oath, if there were no more Men living) & therewith suddenly and violently ran at the goodman of the house with his Rapier, but fear made the man nimble and swift, for before Sir john could retire, the goodmanne had closed the gate, and his Rapier point hitting in a little hole of the gate (a fatal hole it was) thrust him quite through the body, be tween his shoulder and his breast, so that the man fell down presently and died, only with a woeful noise and hideous shrieck, crying out; I am killed. The other man who was close by him, (but that the gate was shut) might well have been served with the same sauce likewise: wherefore being strucken into such a terrible fear at the death of the goodman of the house as that the scarcely knew which way he went, even as the fearful bird, which hearing the sound of the Hawks' bells, creepeth into every bush, thereby thinking to escape death; even so, I say, he runs up and down, to seek some place to hide himself, from so furious an Enemy. Sir john Fites, being without the gate, runs round about by the pale on the street side, still raging and raving in most terrible manner.   depiction of three men outside a house, one in night clothes kneeling with his hand over his heart, one in night clothing standing holding a sword with its blade pushed right through his torso, and one fully dressed lying dead on the ground with his hat beside him. 
Thus did he expostulate with himself a while, and after this manner did he deal with himself.  
Now a man would judge that the Devil himself should be glutted with blood, but yet, Sir John, (miserable and wretched man that he was) takes again the point of his bloudyed Rapier, and setting it some two or three inches from the same place, (what pity could be expected to be showed unto other, from one who would show none unto himself) with all his might, ran again thereupon, goring himself quite through the body: And yet again, a second time pulling it out (for Satan's malice is boundless) (Oh worthy courage, had it been in a good cause) he runs into the house after the Woman, but his strength failing him, down he falls in the floor of the house, where he was anon (for as yet few had the courage to hinder his attempts, were stirring) found wallowing in his own blood, like a Pig that had been lately sticked. Oh heavy spectacle! Oh Tragical and rueful sight! Pity it was, if God had so been pleased, that it had not fallen out otherways.  
NOw tell me, thou that readest; Didst thou ever read a thing more tragical? Didst thou ever look upon a more woeful spectacle? Didst thou ever hear of a more horrible, strange, and lamentable fact? Again, if thou enter into a further consideration of God's Justice, is it not a sufficient warning, to make a man give himself to prayer unto the Almighty God of heaven, to be delivered from the like temptation? Hereby may a man perceive what the worm of a man's conscience (of a guilty consciense and the guilt of murder depressed with desperation) is. Hereby may all young Gentle men and Gallants, take heed and be warned, that they give not themselves over unto to their lusts, to follow after and lay hold on the least means that may be to do evil, and shun such means, as might lead them unto goodness. Hereby may wild heads perceive what it is to follow lust, drunkenness, and excessive riot, the very true badges of a dissolute and unruly life, and lastly (if God call not to repentance) a wicked & ungodly end. Hereby may all Ruffians and swearing swaggerers (if any spark of grace remain in them) be warned to leave off their wicked lives, and to turn unto the most just God, lest he in his justice suffer them to be so tempted likewise. Herby may the Stabbers, and killers of this age, be warned to stay their hands, and not to shed the blood of God's saints (for it is precious in his sight) otherwise he in his justice will give them over to be tempted of Satan, to be the Butchers of their own selves, as this man was. But let me now proceed to make an end of this woeful and heavy Narration.  
neighbours being by this time gathered together about the house, came in & found the man of the house quite dead, having yielded (no doubt) his soul into the hands of his Redeemer. But Sir john Fites not altogether dead, but fainting for want of strength, lay tumbling and wallowing in his own gore, (having a strong heart, and mighty courage, but yet willing (as it should seem) to die if he could, until that company being assembled came in, and finding him in that woeful case, took him up, and carried him into the chamber, and presently Surgeons were sent for to seek means to cure him: but he (as unwilling now to hear of life as he was before eager of death) would by no means endure to hear of any Surgeon. But notwithstanding divers were sent for, as namely, master Quinsy of Brainford with others: who being come tented the wounds perforce, but he still pulled them out again, always crying out, that he would die, and not live. Thus having done divers times, at last he was let blood, and divers means used for his recovery, but all prevailed not, for after he had lived some 48. hours after his hurts, he gave up the Ghost.  
Upon the Thursday after, the Coroner sat upon the man of the house who was already dead, and by verdict there given, sir john Fites (alias Fitz) was found guilty both of the man's death, and his own also, if so be he died thereupon. All which notwithstanding, because he was a Gentleman borne, and of good kindred, so much friendship was showed unto him, in respect of the worshipful stock from whence he descended, as that he was buried in the Chancel at Twicknam,  
The Honourable Earl of Northumberland hearing hereof, sent a certain Gentleman of his old acquaintance to commend him unto him, and also to put him in mind what he had done: how grievously he had offended his maker, in committing so detestable murders, as also in laying violent hands upon himself; and withal persuading him to repent, and be content to use all the best means that might be for his recovery, & not to continue in his wicked course: But all was one with him, he would not live, but die: only being desired to ask mercy at God's hand for his offences, which humbly he did; he said that he was sorry for the death of the poor man whom so desperately he had murdered, and whose wife he had so grievously wounded likewise, leving 3. wretched infants upon the mother's hands. And being asked whether he would willingly give any thing unto the poor woman in recompense of the loss of her husband, he was contented to bestow upon her an hundred pounds. But whither he had any thing in his own power to give, that know not I For I think if any thing be given, it must proceed from his friends goodwills (and pity but so it should be) and not otherwise.  
He would oftentimes after he was wounded, cry out upon sir William Courneyes men (whose daughter he married) that they were come to apprehend him, and that they would blow him up with their gunpowder: all which, questionless proceeded from the guiltiness of his own conscience for the wrongs he had done: and being once demanded wherefore he killed the poor man, It was not I, said he, that did it, but one of my followers, (which thing is noteworthy) He left behind him a daughter, whose wardship was presently obtained by an honourable Earl.  
Thus ghastly death having seized upon his corporal body, we will commit his soul (for albeit his sins were great, yet are the mercies of God infinitely greater) into the hands of the Almighty, (for charity judgeth the best, and hopeth the best) in whose kingdom there is nothing but peace.  
In the view of these his murders, there little needeth any paraphrase, since every man that thoroghly considereth of the facts themselves, cannot but in themselves find them to be most heinous before God, most odious before men. This therefore is the report of his desperate courses in his life time, who as he cannot be any blot at all unto other his virtuous and well-deserving friends, so no question he is no more a grief unto other, than a fearful example unto all his wicked associates.   

Observations gathered out of the former discourse.  
MAny and divers things are in this precedent lamentable discourse worthy most deep consideration, and may serve, (the true use of all such stories) to put us in mind of our duties towards God, (for we should not read only to know, but learn to know, that thereby we follow the good, and shun the evil) the Prince, and Country, and ourselves. As namely, the eager desire that Satan hath to increase his kingdom. The watchfulness and wariness that we ought to have, that we come not within his claws. The wretched estate of a desperate mind. The horror and trembling of a guilty Conscience, which pursueth a man's own self, when no man else doth. The desperate courses of unbridled folly. The grief of friends for so hard an hap. The astonishment of Associates in committing of mischief. The malice of Satan, in tempting unto evil.  
The woeful estate of two Widows, the one in having a husband, that was no more comfort unto her whiles he lived, and yielded so great cause of sorrow being dead: the other, that so suddenly and unexspectedlie, had her dearest husband (the one half of her life) by such fatal means taken from her. The pitiful estate of three Infants left upon the mother's hands, having very small means to maintain them. The great liberty that power and might (if God guide not the heart) giveth unto the performance of evil. The blindness of our sinful nature, that will never let us see into our riotous lives, until we be carried away with a full stream of wickedness. The obduracy and hardness of a man's heart, enured and accustomed unto sin. How apt to follow the worse part, & how hardly framed to good. Drunkenness and fleshly lusts, the effects that follow them. Evil companions, and lewd retainers, the discommodities and dangers thereof.  
Our forwarnesse in pursuing evil, and slackness unto good. The many miseries that we fall headlong into, for want of due consideration. The temporal crosses that god sendeth upon his children, to try their patience. What the friendship of man is, and how soon turned into hate. God's judgements upon the Wicked. His love unto the godly. And lastly (to close up this discourse) a general warning unto all, to put them in mind to amend their wicked lives misspent, to turn unto the Lord whiles they have time, and to call for mercy, before the gate of mercy be shut, that repenting of the evil past, they may lead their lives more carefully, more purely, and more holily hereafter: that so dying a godly death, they may make a blessed end. Which that it may so be, the Lord of his mercy grant unto us all, a sufficient measure of his holy spirit, Amen.  
FINIS.