For some time they had great hopes of his recovery; and so zealous were they to promote it, and overjoyed at its seeming approach, that they spread the report of it, which soon reached London, and diffused the most general joy at Court that ever was known.

At the same time count Hollock was under the care of a most excellent surgeon, for a wound in his throat by a musket shot; yet he neglected his own extremity to save his friend, and for that purpose sent him to Sir Philip.  This surgeon notwithstanding, out of love to his master, returning one day to dress his wound, the count cheerfully asked him how Sir Philip did? he answered with a dejected look, that he was not well:  At these words the count, as having more sense of his friend’s wound than his own, cried out, “Away villain, never see my face again till you bring better news of that gentleman’s recovery, for whose redemption, many such as I were happily lost.”

Finding all the efforts of the surgeons in vain, he began to put no more confidence in their skill, and resigned himself with heroic patience to his fate.  He called the ministers to him, who were all excellent men of different nations, and before them made such a confession of Christian faith, as no book, but the heart, can truly and feelingly deliver.  Then calling for his will, and settling his temporal affairs, the last scene of this tragedy, was the parting between the two brothers.  Sir Philip exerted all his soul in endeavouring to suppress his sorrow, in which affection and nature were too powerful for him, while the other demonstrated his tenderness by immoderate transports of grief, a weakness which every tender breast will easily forgive, who have ever felt the pangs of parting from a brother; and a brother of Sir Philip Sidney’s worth, demanded still additional sorrow.  He took his leave with these admonishing words, “My dear, much loved, honoured brother, love my memory; cherish my friends; their faith to me may assure you they are honest.  But above all, govern your will and affections, by the will and word of your Creator.  In me, beholding the end of this world with all her vanities.”  And with this farewel he desired the company to lead him away.

After his death, which happened on the 16th of October, the States of Zealand became suitors to his Majesty, and his noble friends, that they might have the honour of burying his body at the public expence of their government,[4] but in this they were denied; for soon after, his body was brought to Flushing, and being embarked with great solemnity on the 1st of November, landed at Tower Wharf on the 6th of the same month; and the 16th of February following, after having lain in state, it was magnificently deposited in St. Paul’s Cathedral.

As the funeral of many princes has not exceeded it in solemnity, so few have equalled it in the undissembled sorrow for his loss[5] King James writ an epitaph upon him, and the Muses of Oxford lamenting him, composed elegies to his memory.  It may be justly said of this great man, what a celebrated poet now living has applied to Archbishop Laud,