It was now 1586 and Philip suffered two blows
with his father passing on May 5 and his mother dying on August 9. With undaunted courage,
and remorse over the loss of his parents deep within his soul, we marched to relieve the
small town of Zutphen. The battle was fierce, but the victory was ours. A victory that
produced not only hope within the hearts of the Dutch but despair within the hearts of all
of England when rumors flooded the land that Philip Sidney had been injured in battle.I
was at his side, when early in the battle his horse was shot from under him, and I gave
him mine. He fought brilliantly with a reckless courage that earned the respect of all who
saw him, from his rescue of Lord Willoughby to his multiple personal charges upon the
enemy. I cried, as did all who observed it, when a musket shot pierced his leg and
followed a course into his upper body. And so he fell, thirty two years from his birth, in
the same year of his parent’s death. Putting my pen to paper, I tried to express my
grief at the sight of my dear friend’s demise, but I could not. Posterity was not
cheated, however, for George Whetstone, a sonneteer who had also witnessed Sidney’s
tragic death wrote a moving poem.
It was September 22, 1586, and Sir Philip Sidney was mortally wounded. We took him by
barge to Arnheim giving him as much comfort as possible. His days were now filled with
pain and discomfort, yet he maintained an air of dignity. In fact, he composed his last
ode about the condition of his wound. The ode was lost to mankind in the immenseness of
our grief. Frances, his wife, had accompanied him to Zealand and was with him through this
ordeal to comfort and attend to his needs. On October 16, he uttered his final words to
his brother. Words that have meaning for us all and that remain etched in our memories of
this noble and loving man. "Love my memory," he murmured. "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."
I accompanied his body to London where he was interred at St. Paul’s Cathedral
with a pomp and circumstance reserved normally for kings and queens. A plaque was placed
over his tomb, that has long since been plundered by souvenir hunters. For your ears, I
utter it now: England, Netherlands, the heavens, and the arts, The soldiers, and the
world, have made six parts, Of the noble Sidney: for none will suppose, That a small heap
of stones can Sidney enclose. His body hath England, for she it bred; Netherlands his
blood, in her defense shed; The heavens have his soul, the arts his fame; All soldiers the
grief, the world his good name.
Philip’s widow, Lady Sidney would marry on two more occasions; bearing four
children, three girls and a boy. She passed away in 1632, forty six years after the
untimely death of her famous first husband. And so my story ends. Your small city of
Sidney, Ohio, gave recognition to a giant of the old world when you chose to use his name
for your fine community. Your growth through the years matches the long and determined
stride of Sir Philip Sidney. I am convinced that he would be proud to know his name lives
on in the new world.