that he neither was, nor ever had been, other than
orthodox; and the result of the trial was, that no conviction could be
obtained. The prisoner "was found so clear from all manner of infamous
slanders and suspicions, that all the people before the said bishop,
shouting in judgment as with one voice, openly witnessed his good name and
fame, to the great reproof and shame of the said bishop, if he had not been
ashamed to be ashamed."[541] The case had broken down; the proceedings were
over, and by law the accused person was free. But the law, except when it
was on their own side, was of little importance to the church authorities.
As they had failed to prove Philips guilty of heresy, they called upon him
to confess his guilt by abjuring it; "as if," he says, "there were no
difference between a nocent and an innocent, between a guilty and a not
guilty."[542]

He refused resolutely, and was remanded to prison, in open violation of the
law. The bishop, in conjunction with Sir Thomas More,[543] sent for him
from time to time, submitting him to private examinations, which again were
illegal; and urged the required confession, in order, as Philips says, "to
save the bishop's credit."

The further they advanced, the more difficult it was to recede; and the
bishop at length, irritated at his failure, concluded the process with an
arbitrary sentence of excommunication. From this sentence, whether just or
unjust, there was then no appeal, except to the pope. The wretched man, in
virtue of it, was no longer under the protection of the law, and was
committed to the Tower, where he languished for three years, protesting,
but protesting fruitlessly, against the tyranny which had crushed him, and
clamouring for justice in the deaf ears of pedants who knew not what
justice meant.

If this had occurred at the beginning of the century, the prisoner would
have been left to die, as countless multitudes had already died, unheard,
uncared for, unthought of; the victim not of deliberate cruelty, but of
that frightfullest portent, folly armed with power. Happily the years of
his imprisonment had been years of swift revolution. The House of Commons
had become a tribunal where oppression would not any longer cry wholly
unheard; Philips appealed to it for protection, and recovered his
liberty.[544]

The weight of guilt in this instance presses essentially on Stokesley; yet
a portion of the blame must be borne also by the chancellor, who first