A website from the Massachusetts Historical Society; founded 1791.

Papers of the Winthrop Family, Volume 1

Death of Thomasine Clopton Winthrop, 16161
Winthrop, John

1616-12-06

Dec: 6 1616. God will have mercie on whom he will have mercie, and when and how seemes best to his wisdome and will. And his mercie is free, meere mercie, without any helpe of our owne worthe or will; so as for all 183good actions, we adde nothinge either to the deed or the doer; but, as a man shootinge a birde through a hedge or a hole in a wall, the hedge dothe no more but cover the author, though the birde may think the blowe came from the hedge, so surely the Lord hathe shewed me (in prayer and meditation whereunto he himselfe onely drewe and inabled me, sending the affliction and sanctifieinge it to that ende) that there was never any holye meditation, prayer, or action that I had a hand in, that received any worthe or furtherance from me or anythinge that was mine. And untill I sawe this and acknowledged it, I could never have true comfort in God or sound peace in mine owne conscience, in any the best that I could performe. But when sometymes I fell into a holye prayer, meditation etc: if I hapened but to lett my affections to cast an eye towards myselfe, as thinking myselfe somebodye in the performance of suche a duty in such a manner, etc: suche a thought would presently be to my comfort and peace as colde water caste upon a flame; whereby I might see that God by suche checkes would teache me to goe wholly out of myselfe, and learne to depende upon him alone; which he himselfe of his meere favour give me grace to doe constantly. For it is not possible that any good thinge should come from me as of myselfe, since the verye least conceit that ascribes any thinge to myne owne worthe or abilitie in the best dutye, not only takes awaye all meritt from it, but makes it lothesome and sinfulle in Gods sight.

In this tyme of my sorrowe for my wifes weaknesse, I founde it a speciall meanes for the humblinge and cleeringe of my hearte and conscience, even to meditate upon the Commandments and to examine my life past by them, and then concludinge with prayer, I founde my hearte more humbled and Gods free mercie in Christ more open to me then at any tyme before to my remembrance.

On Saturdaye beinge the last of November 1616, Thomasine, my deare and lovinge wife, was delivered of a daughter, which died the mundaye followinge in the morninge. She tooke the deathe of it with that patience, 184that made us all to merveile, especially those that sawe howe carefull she was for the life of it in hir travaile. That daye soone after the deathe of the childe, she was taken with a fever which shaked hir very muche, and sett hir into a great fitt of coughinge, which by teusday morninge was well alayed, yet she continued aguish and sweatinge, with much hoarsenes, and hir mouthe grewe verye soare, and muche troubled with blood falling from hir head into hir mouthe and throate.

On Wensdaye morninge those which were about hir, and hirselfe also beganne to feare that which followed, whereupon we sent for my Cosin Duke; which when she understood she tould me that she hoped when he came he would deale plainly with me, and not feed me with vaine hopes; whereupon I breakinge forthe into teares, she was moved at it, and desired me to be contented, for you breake mine heart (said she) with your grievings. I answered that I could do no lesse when I feared to be stripped of suche a blessinge: She replied, God never bestowes any blessinge so great on his children but still he hathe a greater in store, and that I should not be troubled at it, for I might see how God had dealt with Mr. Rogers before me in the like case. And allwayes when she perceived me to mourne for hir, she would intreat and persuade me to be contented, tellinge me that she did love me well, and if God would lett hir live with me, she would endeavour to shewe it more, etc; She also desired me oft that so longe as she lived I would not cease prayinge for her, neither would be absent from hir, but when I had necessary occasions.

On thursdaye at noone my Cosin Duke came to hir, and tooke notice of hir dangerous estate, yet expectinge a farther issue that night he departed, sayeing that before Saterdaye we should see a great change. After his departure she asked me what he said of hir, which when I tould hir, she was no whitt moved at it, but was as comfortably resolved whither to live or die.

On thursdaye in the night she was taken with deathe, and about mid-night or somewhat after called for me, and for the rest of hir friends. When I came to hir she seemed to be fully assured that hir tyme was come, and to be gladde of it, and desired me to praye which I did, and she tooke comforte therein, and desired that we would sende for Mr. Sands, which we did. In the meane tyme, she desired that the bell might ringe for hir, and diverse of the neighbours came into hir, which when she perceived she desired me that they might come to hir one by one, and so she would speake to them all, which she did, as they came, quietly and comfortably. When the bell beganne to ringe, some said it was the 4 aclock bell, but she con­185ceivinge that they sought to conceale it from hir, that it did ringe for hir, she said it needed not, for it did not troble hir. Then came in Mr. Nicolson whom she desired to praye, which he did.

When Mr. Sands was come she reached him hir hande, beinge gladd of his comminge (for she had asked often for him). He spake to her of diverse comfortable points, whereunto she answered so wisely and comfortably, as he and Mr. Nicolson did bothe mervaile to heare hir, Mr. Sands sayinge to me that he did not looke for so sounde iudgement in hir: He said he had taken hir allwayes for a harmelesse younge woman, and well affected, but did not thinke she had been so well grounded. Mr. Nicolson seeing hir humblenesse of minde and great comfort in God, said that her life had been so innocent and harmlesse as the Devill could finde nothing to laye to her charge. Then she desired Mr. Sands to praye but not praye for life for hir; he answered then he would praye for grace. After prayer she desired me that I would not lett Mr. Sands goe awaye, but when he shewed hir the occasion he had, she was content upon promise that he would come againe. This was about 5 of the clocke on fridaye morninge.

Friday morninge about 6 of the clocke my Cosen Duke came to us againe, and when he had seene how things fell out that night, he tould us that that was the dismall night, wherein she had received hir deathes wounde, yet she might languish a daye or 2, yet after he had felt hir pulse, he said that if the next night were a good night with hir, there was some hope lefte.

Fridaye morninge she beganne somewhat to cheere, and so continued all that daye, and had a very good night that night followinge, and beganne hirselfe to entertaine some thought of life, and so did most of us that were about hir. But on Saterday morninge she beganne to complaine of could, and a little after awakinge out of a slumber, she prayed me to sett my heart at rest, for now (said she) I am but a dead woman, for this hand (meaninge hir left hande) is dead allreadye, and when we would have persuaded hir that it was but numme with beinge under hir, she still constantly affirmed that it was dead, and that she had no feelinge in it, and desired me to pull off hir gloves that she might see it, which I did; then when they would have wrapped some clothes about it, she disliked it, tellinge them that it was in vaine, and why should they cover a dead hande: when I prayed hir to suffer it, she answered that if I would have it so she would, and so I pulled on hir gloves, and they pinned clothes about hir hands, when they had doone she said O what a wretche was I for layinge my legge out of the bedd this night, for when I should pull it in againe it was as if it had come throughe the 186coverlaye, (yet it seemed to be but hir imagination or dreame for the women could not perceive it).

The feaver grewe very stronge upon hir, so as when all the tyme of hir sicknesse before she was wont to saye she thanked God she felt no paine, now she beganne to complaine of hir breste, and troubles in hir head, and after she had slumbered a while and was awaked, she beganne to be tempted, and when I came to hir she seemed to be affrighted, used some speeches of Satans assaultinge hir, and complained of the losse of hir first love, etc: then we prayed with hir, as she desired, after prayer she disliked that we prayed for life for hir, since we might see it was not Gods will that she should live.

Her feaver increased very violently upon hir, which the Devill made advantage of to moleste hir comforte, but she declaringe unto us with what temptations the devill did assault hir, bent hirselfe against them, prayinge with great vehemence for Gods helpe, and that he would not take away his lovinge kindnesse from hir, defyinge Satan, and spitting at him, so as we might see by hir setting of hir teethe, and fixinge her eyes, shakinge hir head and whole bodye, that she had a very greatt conflicte with the adversarye.

After she a little paused, and that they went about to cover hir hands which laye open with her former strivinge, she beganne to lifte up hir selfe, desiringe that she might have hir hands and all at libertie to glorifie God, and prayed earnestly that she might glorifie God, althoughe it were in hell. Then she beganne very earnestly to call upon all that were about hir, exhortinge them to serve God, etc: (And whereas all the tyme of hir sicknesse before she would not endure the light but would be carefull to have the curtaines kept close, nowe she desired light, and would have the curtaine towards the windowe sett open, and so to hir ende was much grieved when she had not either the daye light or candlelight, but the fire light she could not endure to looke upon, saying that it was of too many colours like the raynebowe.)

Then she called for hir sisters, and first for hir sister Mary,2 and when she came she said, sister Mary, thou hast many good things in thee, so as I have cause to hope well of thee, and that we shall meet in heaven, etc.

Then she called for hir sister Margerye,3 whom she exhorted to serve God, and take heede of pride, and to have care in hir matchinge that she looked not at riches and worldly respects, but at the feare of God, for that 187would bringe hir comfort at hir deathe although she should meet with many afflictions.

To her Eliz:4 she said, serve God, take heed of lyeinge. I doe not knowe that you doe use it, but I wish you to bewarre.

Hir sister Sampson5 she exhorted to serve God, and to bringe up hir children well, not in pride and vanitye, but in the feare of God.

To hir mother6 she said that she was the first childe that she should burye, but prayed hir that she would not be discomforted at it; when hir mother answered that she had no cause to be discomforted for hir, for she should goe to a better place, and she should go to hir father,7 she replied that she should goe to a better father than hir earthly father.

Then came my father and mother, whom she thanked for all their kindnesse and love towards hir.

Then she called for my children and blessed them severally, and would needs have Mary8 brought that she might kisse hir, which she did.

Then she called for my sister Luce, and exhorted hir to take heed of pride and to serve God.

Then she called for hir servants: to Robert she said, you have many good thinges in you, I have nothinge to accuse you of, be faithfull and diligent in your service.

To Anne Pold Podd she said that she was a stubborne wenche, etc: and exhorted hir to be obedient to my mother.

To Eliz: Crouff she said, take heed of pride and I shall nowe release you, but take heed what service you goe into.

To Anne Addams she said, thou hast been in badd servinge longe in an Alehouse etc: thou makest no conscience of the Sabaothe; when I would have had thee gone to Church thou wouldst not, etc:

Then came Mercye Smith to hir, to whom she said thou art a good woman, bringe up thy children well, you poore folks commonly spoyle your children, in sufferinge (them) to breake Gods Sabaothes, etc:

To an other she said you have many children, bring them up well, not in lyeing, etc:

To an other she said God forgive your sinnes whatsoever they be.

To goodwife Cole she said, you are a good woman, I thanke you for all your paines towards me, God reward you.

188

To Hen: Pease9 she said, be diligent and faithfull in your worke, or els when death come, it wilbe layd before you; I pray God send your wife good deliverance, she may doe well, though I die, bringe up my god-daughter well, lett hir not want correction.

To hir keeper she said, be not discouraged, although I die, thou hast kept many that have doone well, thou hast but one child, bringe it up well.

Hir payne increased verye muche in her brest, which swelled so as they were forced to cutt the tyeings of hir waystcote to give hir ease: whilst she laye in this estate she ceased not (albeit she was verye hoarse, and spake with great paine) one while to exhorte, another while to praye. Hir usual prayer was Come Lord Jesus; When Lord Jesus, etc: hir exhortation was to stirre up all that sawe hir, to prepare for death, tellinge them that they did not knowe how sharpe and bitter the pangs of deathe were, with many like speeches.

In this tyme she prayed for the Churche, etc: and for the ministerye, that God would blesse good ministers, and convert such ill ones as did belonge to him, and weed out the rest. After this we might perceive that God had given her victorye, by the comfort which she had in the meditationof hir happinesse, in the favour of God in Christ Jesus. Towards afternoone hir great paynes remitted, and she laye very still, and said she sawe hir tyme was not yet come, she should live 24 howres longer; then when any asked hir how she did, she would answer pretily well, but in hir former fitt, to that question she would answeare that she was goeinge the way of all flesh. Then she prayed me to reade by hir, when I asked hir where, she answeared, In some of the holye gospells, so I beganne in Johnthe 14, and read on to the ende of the 17th Chapter. And when I pawsed, at the ende of any sweet sentence, she would saye this is comfortable: If I stayed at the ende of any Chapter for hir to take rest, she would call earnestly to read on,—then she desired to take a little rest.

She often prayed God to forgive the sinnes of hir youth, etc: and desiredme ofte to praye for hir, that God would strengthen hir with his holye spirit. After, she desired me againe to reade to hir the 8th to the Romans, and the 11th to the Hebrews, whereby she received great comfort, still callinge to reade on, then I read the 116 psalm this is a sweet psalm (said she) then I read the 84 psal: the 32, 36, 37, and other places.

In the eveninge Mr. Sands came againe, and prayed, and soon after she 189tooke him by the hand and tould him she would bidd him farewell, for she knew it was a busie night with him. After, we went to prayer, and when we had doone, “O what a wretche am I (said she) to lose the ende of this prayer, for I was asleepe.”

After we had continued in readinge etc, untill late in the night, she asked who should watche with hir, and when we tould hir, she was satisfied, and disposed hirselfe to rest.

In the night she prayed one of the women that watched with hir to readunto hir: whilst I was gone to bedde, she asked often for me, and about 2 of the clocke in the morninge I came to hir. Now it was the Sabaothe day, and she had now and then a brunt of temptation, bewaylinge that she could not then be assured of hir salvation, as she had been. She said that the devill went about to persuade hir to cast of hir subiection to hir husbande, etc:

That Sabaothe noone, when most of the companie were gone downe to dinner, when I discoursed unto hir of the sweet love of Christ unto hir, and of the glorye that she was goeinge unto, and what an holye everlastinge Sabaothe she should keepe, and how she should suppe with Christ in Paradise that night, etc: she shewed by hir speeches and gestures the great ioye and steadfast assurance that she had of those things. When I tould hir that hir Redeemer lived, and that she should see him with those poore dimme eyes, which should be bright and glorified, she answered cheerfully, she should. When I tould hir that she should leave the societie of freinds which were full of infirmities, and should have communion with Abram, Isaacke, and Jacob, all the prophets and apostles and saints of God, and those holye martirs (whose stories when I asked hir if she remembred she answered yea) she would lifte up hir hands and eyes, and say, yea she should. Suche comforte had she against deathe that she stedfastly professed that if life were sett before hir she would not take it.

When I tould hir that the daye before was 12 monthes she was maried to me, and now this day she should be maried to Christ Jesus, who would embrace her with another manner of love than I could, “O husband (said she, and spake as if she were offended, for I perceived she did mistake me) I must not love thee as I love Christ.”

Hir hearing still continued, and hir understandinge very perfecte, hir sight was dimmed, yet she knewe every bodye to the laste. If I went from hir she would call for me againe, and once asked me if I were angry with hir that I would not staye with her.

While I spake to hir of any thinge that was comfortable, as the promises of the Gospell, and the happie estate she was entringe into, she would lye 190still and fixe her eyes stedfastly upon me, and if I ceased awhile (when hir speeche was gone) she would turn her head towards me, and stirre hir hands as well as she could, till I spake, and then would be still againe.

About 5 of the clocke, Mr. Nicolson came to hir and prayed with hir, and about the ende of his prayer, she fetched 2 or 3 sighes, and fell asleepe in the Lorde.10

The Wensdaye followinge beinge the 11 of Dec. she was buried in Groton chancell by my other wife, and hir childe was taken up, and laid with hir.

She was a woman wise, modest, lovinge, and patient of iniuries; but hir innocent and harmdes life was of most observation. She was truly religious, and industrious therein; plaine hearted, and free from guile, and very humble minded; never so adicted to any outward thinges (to my iudgment) but that she could bringe hir affections to stoope to Gods will in them. She was sparinge in outward shewe of zeale, etc. but hir constant love to good christians, and the best things, with hir reverent and carefull attendance of Gods ordinances, bothe publiqe and private, with hir care for avoydinge of evill hirselfe, and reprovinge it in others, did plainly shewe that truthe, and the love of God, did lye at the heart. Hir lovinge and tender regard of my children was suche as might well become a naturall mother: For hir cariage towards myselfe, it was so amiable and observant as I am not able to expresse; it had this onely inconvenience, that it made me delight too muche in hir to enjoye hir longe.

1.

This is a further section of John Winthrop’s “Experiencia.” Cf. supra, p. 161, note 1 note 45 . L. and L. , 1. 79–89. “We proceed with the story just as it stands in the stained and moth-eaten manuscript, omitting only such words or passages as have been obscured or obliterated by time. Few descriptions of a death-bed have survived the lapse of two centuries and a half in such minute detail as that of Thomasine Clopton: few, certainly, have afforded more incidents illustrative at once of the habits of the period and the character of the parties concerned. As a mere picture of the domestic history of so remote a day, it could not be read without a lively interest. The hopes and fears, the prayers and watchings, the wandering thoughts and delirious fancies, ’the temptations of the enemy,’ the parting words, the passing bell, the last sighs and tears, are all recounted with a pathos and a vividness which almost make us witnesses of the scene, and partakers of the sorrow.” L. and L. , 1. 78–79.

John Winthrop married as his second wife, December 6, 1615, Thomasine Clopton (1583–1616), daughter of William and Margery (Waldegrave) Clopton of Castlins Manor in Groton. The marriage settlement, dated September 1, 1615, is printed by Muskett, 22–23.

2.

Mary married George Jenney, of London. Muskett, 144.

3.

Margery married Thomas Doggett, of Boxford. Infra, p. 216.

4.

Elizabeth married George Cocke, of Ipswich. Muskett, 144.

5.

Bridget Clopton married John Sampson, of Sampson’s Hall in Kersey, co. Suffolk. Ibid.

6.

Margery (Waldegrave) Clopton. Ibid.

7.

He had died August 9, 1616. Infra, p. 217.

8.

A step-daughter, being by Mary Forth. Supra, p. 173.

9.

Henry Pease came into the service of Adam Winthrop October 19 or 21, 1605. Supra, pp. 91, 124. A daughter named Thomasine was baptized at Groton September 24, 1618, perhaps the second of the name. Groton Register.

10.

“The following memorandum is inscribed in the margin: ‘Decemb: 8th 1616. An: ætat:34 come 12 of Feb. foll: et aelig;tat. meæ 29.’” L. and L. , I. 88.