John Jelic^e 
 
 In1rod'pciin 

 
 THE 
 HOUSEHOLD OF 
 
 SIR THQS MORE
 
 rffo/) &
 
 LIBELDuT- A- MARGARHX- MORE 
 ANNQT N ATA
 
 THE 
 
 HOUSEHOLD OF 
 
 SIR THOS MORE 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 THE REV. W. H. HUTTON, B.D. 
 
 FELLOW OF S. JOHN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD 
 
 AND TWENTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 BY JOHN JELLICOE AND 
 
 HERBERT RAILTON 
 
 LONDON 
 JOHN C. NIMMO 
 
 14 KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND 
 MDCCCXCVl
 
 Printed by BALI.ANTYNE, HANSON & Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 From Drawings by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT RAILTON. 
 
 PORTRAIT OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 
 From the Drawing by HANS HOLBEIN 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 TITLE-PAGE. 
 
 Designed by HERBERT RAILTON .... 
 
 MOTTO OF MARGARET MORE. 
 
 Designed by HERBERT RAILTON .... 
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE'S HOUSE. 
 
 Drawn by HERBERT RAILTON 
 
 ERASMUS AND THE PEACOCKS. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE-. 
 
 " ANON WE SIT DOWN TO REST AND TALK." 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT RAILTON . 
 
 JACK AND CECY. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 
 
 MORE IN THE BARROW 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 
 
 MARGARET IN THE TREE. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 
 
 " I NOTICED ARGUS PEARCHT." 
 
 Drawn by HERBERT RAILTON 
 
 GAMMER GURNEY. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 
 
 MORE READING WYNKYN DE WORDE. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT RAILTON . 
 
 29 
 4i 
 
 49 
 59 
 65 
 
 77
 
 viii List of Illustrations 
 
 THE JEW. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 85 
 
 THE CARDINAL'S PROCESSION. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 96 
 
 " I FELL INTO DISGRACE FOR HOLDING SPEECH 
 WITH MERCY OVER THE PALES." 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT RAILTON . . 119 
 
 " LORD SANDS SANG us A NEW BALLAD." 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 131 
 
 "THE KING WAS HERE YESTERDAY." 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT RAILTON . . 155 
 
 " SHE COMETH HITHER FROM HEVER CASTLE." 
 
 Drawn by HERBERT RAILTON 163 
 
 THE BEGGAR-WOMAN'S DOG. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 176 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 Drawn by HERBERT RAILTON 180 
 
 " AND SAYTH, LOW BOWING AS HE SPOKE, ' MADAM, 
 MY LORD IS GONE.'" 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT RAILTON . . 189 
 
 " IN COMETH A PURSUIVANT." 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 219 
 
 THE STAIRS. 
 
 Drawn by HERBERT RAILTON 227 
 
 " HIS FEARLESSE PASSAGE THROUGH THE TRAITOR'S 
 GATE." 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT RAILTON . . 237 
 
 GILLIAN AND THE FLOUR SACKS. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 256 
 
 MORE RETURNING FROM HIS TRIAL. 
 
 Drawn by JOHN JELLICOE 277 
 
 " NOR LOOKT I UP TILL ANEATH THE BRIDGE-GATE." 
 
 Drawn by HERBERT RAILTOX 285
 
 Introduction 
 
 is not always from the 
 closest and most accurate 
 historian that we receive 
 the truest picture of an 
 age or of a character. 
 The artist gives a more real picture than 
 the photographer ; and it needs imagina- 
 tion and sympathy, as well as labour and 
 research, to make a hero of old time live 
 again to-day. The minutest investigation 
 will hardly better the vivid reality of 
 Scott's James I. or Charles II., or portray 
 more truly than Mr. Shorthouse has done 
 
 b
 
 Introduction 
 
 the fragile yet fascinating personality of 
 Charles I. Yet to say this is not to 
 undervalue history or to contemn the 
 labour of true students. Rather, without 
 their aid we cannot rightly see the past at 
 all : it comes to us only with the distor- 
 tions of our own prejudice and our narrow 
 modern outlook. We need both the work 
 of the scholar and the imagination of the 
 artist. Without the first we could not 
 behold the past, without the second we 
 could not understand it. 
 
 In religion, in politics, in art, in all 
 that makes life beautiful and men true, 
 we must know the past if we would use 
 the present or provide for the future. 
 And our knowledge is barren indeed if it 
 does not touch the intimacies of human 
 existence. What we must know is how 
 men lived and thought, not merely how 
 they acted. We must see them in the 
 home, and not only in the senate or the
 
 Introduction xi . 
 
 field. It is thus that the Letters of Eras- 
 mus, or Luther's Table Talk, are worth a 
 ton of Sleidan's dreary commentaries or 
 Calvin's systematic theology. And yet 
 we cannot dispense with either. We must 
 study past ages as a whole, and then bring 
 the imagination of the artist and the poet 
 to show us the truth and the passion that 
 T lies nearest to their heart. It is thus, then, 
 in history that the imaginary portrait has 
 its valued place. 
 
 Saturated with contemporary literature, 
 yet alive to the influences of a wider life, 
 the student who is also an artist turns to 
 a great movement, and with the touch of 
 genius fixes the true impression of its soul 
 in poetry, on canvas, or in prose. Such 
 was the work of Walter Pater. He 
 taught us, through the delicate study of 
 a secondary but most alluring painter, to 
 " understand to how great a place in 
 human culture the art of Italy had been
 
 xii Introduction 
 
 called." In his picture of a great scholar 
 and a beautiful, pathetic, childlike soul, he 
 showed the fascination of that priceless 
 truth that what men have thought and 
 done, that what has interested and charmed 
 them, can never wholly die " no lan- 
 guage they have spoken, nor oracle beside 
 which they have hushed their voices, no 
 dream which has once been entertained 
 by actual human minds, nothing about 
 which they have ever been passionate or 
 expended time and zeal." 
 
 And more. He taught us not only how 
 to understand the past, but he showed us 
 how it understood itself. " A Prince of 
 Court Painters " -Watteau, as he was 
 seen by one who loved him, by a sympa- 
 thetic woman like all such, the keenest 
 of critics, yet the tenderest of hearts is 
 given to us as not even pictures or per- 
 sonal letters could give. Sebastian van 
 Storck, Duke Carl of Rosenmold they
 
 Introduction xiii 
 
 are portraits, though it is only imagina- 
 tion that makes them live. 
 
 I remember Mr. Freeman once saying 
 to me, as he took me his favourite walk 
 at Somerleaze, that he had read a study 
 of Mr. Pater's a strange medieval story 
 of Denys 1'Auxerrois and could not be 
 satisfied till he knew what it meant. 
 Was it true ? It was a question befitting 
 one who had made the past to live again. 
 Truth was the first, almost the only, thing 
 the historian prized. Denys the organ- 
 builder may never have watched the deco- 
 ration of the Cathedral of Saint Etienne, 
 or made, by the mere sight of him, the old 
 feel young again. And yet Walter Pater 
 had painted a true portrait, as so often did 
 Robert Browning, though it were ima- 
 ginary ; and the artist as well as the his- 
 torian had imaged for us the reality of a 
 past age. 
 
 Mr. Pater, though the most perfect
 
 xiv Introduction 
 
 artist of this school, was not the first. 
 Humbler writers have long endeavoured 
 to draw the great heroes as they thought 
 their contemporaries saw them, by a fiction 
 of memoir, or correspondence, or journal. 
 And the " Prince of Court Painters " is a 
 sketch in the same medium as " The 
 Household of Sir Thomas More." 
 
 This charming book has passed through 
 many editions, but its author, of her own 
 choice, remained almost unknown. The 
 " Dictionary of National Biography " has 
 strangely passed her by. Almost all that 
 her wishes suffer us to know is that she 
 was sister of Mr. William Oke Manning, 
 to whom she affectionately dedicated the 
 fourth edition of the book which is now 
 reprinted ; that she was never married ; 
 and that she was a genuine student and 
 an indefatigable writer on historical and 
 literary subjects. In " Mary Powell " she 
 touched the heart of her generation, and
 
 Introduction xv 
 
 few books of its day had a wider circula- 
 tion. " The Household of Sir Thomas 
 More " is a still more painstaking study, 
 and a more complete and delightful por- 
 trait. Its perfect sympathy and its quaint 
 charm of manner secured for it a welcome 
 even among those who claimed for the 
 hero and his opinions a sanctity which 
 Miss Manning's historical judgment did 
 not ratify. Cardinal Manning, writing 
 on March 11, 1887, rejoiced at its re- 
 publication, and said : " The book is a 
 singularly beautiful one, and I regret that 
 I had not the pleasure of knowing the 
 writer, whose mental gifts were of a very 
 high order." Miss Manning was a keen 
 critic of the Romanism of the Reforma- 
 tion period, as her Appendices to the 
 fourth edition of her book show ; but she 
 did not suffer her own opinions to destroy 
 her sympathy for him whom Reginald 
 Pole called " the best of all the English."
 
 xvi Introduction 
 
 " The Household of Sir Thomas More" 
 is an imaginary portrait of a noble char- 
 acter. It professes to be the journal begun 
 by Margaret, More's eldest daughter, most 
 learned and best beloved, when she was 
 but fifteen years old, and continued till 
 she had taken her father's head from the 
 pole whereon it was exposed, to treasure 
 it till she should lay it on her breast 
 as she too passed into the peace of God. 
 Among " fair women " the heroic daugh- 
 ter is immortal : 
 
 " Morn broaden'd on the borders of the dark 
 Ere I saw her, who clasped in her last trance 
 Her murder'd father's head." 
 
 So Tennyson recorded the pathetic legend 
 with which Miss Manning ended her 
 beautiful book. 
 
 When she wrote, it was not so hard 
 as it is now to recall the London of 
 Henry VIII. Miss Manning herself de-
 
 Introduction xvii 
 
 scribed very happily in 1859 what she 
 remembered many years before. 
 
 " When we say," she wrote, " that some 
 of our happiest and earliest years were 
 spent on the site of Sir Thomas More's 
 country house in the village of palaces,' 
 some of our readers will hardly believe 
 we can mean Chelsea. But, in those 
 days, the gin-palace and tea-garden were 
 not ; Cremorne was a quiet, aristocratic 
 seclusion, where old Queen Charlotte 
 
 ' Would sometimes counsel take, and sometimes tea.' 
 
 "A few old, quiet streets and rows, with 
 names and sites dear to the antiquary, ran 
 down to the Thames, then a stranger to 
 steamboats ; a row of noble elms along 
 its strand lent their deep shade to some 
 quaint old houses with heavy architraves, 
 picturesque flights of steps, and elaborate 
 gates ; while Queen Elizabeth's Walk, 
 the Bishop's Walk, and the Bishop's Palace
 
 xviii Introduction 
 
 gave a kind of dignity to the more modern 
 designations of the neighbourhood. 
 
 " When the Thames was the great high- 
 way, and every nobleman had his six or 
 eight oared barge, the banks of the river 
 as high as Chelsea were studded with 
 country houses. At the foot of Battersea 
 Bridge, which in those days did not dis- 
 figure the beautiful reach, Sir Thomas 
 More, then a private gentleman and emi- 
 nent lawyer in full practice, built the 
 capital family house which was afterwards 
 successively occupied by the Marquis of 
 Winchester, Lord Dacre, Lord Burleigh, 
 Sir Robert Cecil, the Earl of Lincoln, Sir 
 Arthur Gorges, Lord Middlesex, the first 
 Duke of Buckingham, Sir Bulstrode Whit- 
 lock, the second Duke of Buckingham, 
 the Earl of Bristol, and the Duke of 
 Beaufort. It stood about a hundred yards 
 from the river ; its front exhibited a 
 projecting porch in the centre, and four
 
 Introduction xix 
 
 bay windows alternating with eight large 
 casements ; while its back presented a 
 confused assemblage of jutting casements, 
 pent-houses, and gables in picturesque 
 intricacy of detail, affording ' coigns of 
 vantage,' we doubt not, to many a tuft of 
 golden moss and stone-crop. This dwell- 
 ing, which for convenience and beauty 
 of situation and interior comfort was so 
 highly prized by its many and distin- 
 guished occupants, appears at length to 
 have been pulled down when it became 
 rickety and untenantable from sheer old 
 age in Ossian's words, ' gloomy, windy, 
 and full of ghosts.' ' 
 
 Nor was Miss Manning obliged to 
 rely only on her memory for a picture of 
 More's house as it had been. The site, 
 when she knew it, was like the New 
 Place at Stratford-on-Avon, where only a 
 few stones and foundations enable us to 
 picture how stood the house where Shake-
 
 xx Introduction 
 
 speare died. But while the household 
 was still fresh in men's minds, and More 
 was beginning to be reverenced as a martyr 
 and a saint, Ellis Heywood published at 
 Florence, in 1556, his sketch, " II Moro," 
 in which he set in a true description of 
 the Chelsea garden an imaginary picture 
 of the Chancellor and his friends talking 
 on matters of high import to soul and 
 spirit. " From one part of the garden," 
 he tells us, " almost the whole of the 
 noble city of London was visible, and from 
 another the beautiful Thames, with green 
 meadows and wooded hills all around." 
 The garden had its own charm too. " It 
 was crowned with an almost perpetual 
 verdure, and the branches of the fruit- 
 trees that grew near were interwoven in a 
 manner so beautiful that it seemed like a 
 living tapestry worked by Nature herself." 
 So wrote Ellis Heywood of the exter- 
 nal beauty of the scene. Of the inner
 
 Introduction xxi 
 
 harmony Erasmus had written years be- 
 fore to Ulrich von Hutten : " More 
 has built himself a house at Chelsea. 
 There he lives with his wife, his son, 
 his daughter-in-law, his three daughters 
 and their husbands, with eleven grand- 
 children. There is not a man alive so 
 loving as he : he loves his old wife as if 
 she were indeed a young maiden." For 
 Dame Alice, whom More had wedded 
 very soon after the death of his first 
 child - wife, was nee bella nee puella - 
 neither a beauty nor a girl. And be- 
 sides these, in the year when little Mar- 
 garet, according to Miss Manning, began 
 to write in her " fayr Libellus " which 
 her tutor, Master Gunnel, gave her, there 
 were dwelling in the house the aged 
 father, Sir John More, good judge and 
 humorous man, with his third wife. 
 
 " And the household," said Erasmus, 
 "was a very ' platonic academy '- were
 
 xxii Introduction 
 
 it not," he adds, " an injustice to com- 
 pare it with an academy where disputa- 
 tions concerning numbers and figures 
 were only occasionally mingled with dis- 
 cussion on the moral virtues. I should 
 rather call his house a school of Chris- 
 tianity ; for though there is no one in 
 it who does not study the liberal sciences, 
 the special care of all is piety and virtue. 
 No quarrelling or ill-tempered words are 
 ever heard, and idleness is never seen." 
 
 In such a household it was that Mar- 
 garet, More's dearest and most heroic 
 child, was nurtured : 
 
 "As it were 
 
 An angel-watered lily, that near God 
 Grows and is quiet." 
 
 She was one of those fine souls to 
 whom come alike learning and love, and 
 in whom religion shows its fairest fruits. 
 Holbein draws her with a Seneca in her 
 hand, but not far away is her prayer-
 
 Introduction xxiii 
 
 desk. All the children answered to their 
 father's careful culture, for it is an idle 
 tale that makes young John More but a 
 silly fellow. Elizabeth, who married Mr. 
 Dancey, Cecily, who became the wife of 
 Giles Heron, a ward of her father's, the 
 step-daughter Alice, who became Lady 
 Alington, and the adopted child, Mar- 
 garet Giggs, whom young Clement, some- 
 time their fellow-scholar, wedded, were 
 all instructed in humane letters. But 
 Margaret was the flower of them all. 
 To her her father wrote when she was 
 still but a child : 
 
 " I cannot tell you, dearest Margaret, 
 how pleasant to me are your most delight- 
 ful letters. Now, as I was reading them 
 there chanced to be with me that noble 
 youth, Reginald Pole not so highly en- 
 nobled, indeed, by birth as by learning 
 and every virtue. To him your letter 
 seemed a miracle, even before he knew
 
 xxiv Introduction 
 
 how you were beset by shortness of time 
 and other hindrances. And hardly would 
 he believe that you had no help from 
 your master, till I told him seriously that 
 you had not only no master in the house, 
 but that also there was no man in it 
 that had not more need of your help in 
 writing than you of his." 
 
 Indeed a good father and a good teacher 
 made the household the wonder of learned 
 Europe. See what More wrote to the 
 tutor he had chosen, when he was him- 
 self abroad on an embassy : 
 
 " I have received, my dear Gunnel, 
 your letters, such as they are wont to be, 
 full of elegance and affection. Your love 
 for my children I gather from your 
 letters ; their diligence from their own. 
 I rejoice that little Elizabeth has shown 
 as much modesty of deportment in her 
 mother's absence as she could have done 
 in her presence. Tell her that this de-
 
 Introduction xxv 
 
 lights me above all things ; for, much as 
 I esteem learning, which, when joined 
 with virtue, is worth all the treasures 
 of kings, what doth the fame of great 
 scholarship, apart from well-regulated 
 conduct, bring us, except distinguished 
 infamy ? Especially in women, whom 
 men are ready enough to assail for their 
 knowledge, because it is uncommon and 
 casts a reproach on their own sluggish- 
 ness. Among other notable benefits 
 which solid learning bestows, I reckon 
 this among the first, that we acquire it 
 not for the mere sake of praise or the 
 esteem of learned men, but for its own 
 true value and use. Thus have I spoken, 
 my Gunnel, somewhat the more in re- 
 spect of not coveting vainglory, because 
 of those words in your letter wherein 
 you deem that the high quality of Mar- 
 garet's wit is not to be depressed, which, 
 indeed, is mine own opinion ; but I think
 
 xx vi Introduction 
 
 that they the most truly depress and 
 affront their wit who accustom them- 
 selves to practise it on vain and base 
 objects, rather than raise their minds by 
 the study and approval of what is good 
 in itself. It mattereth not in harvest- 
 time whether the corn were sown by a 
 man or a woman, and I see not why 
 learning in like manner may not equally 
 agree with both sexes ; for by it reason 
 is cultivated, and, as a field, sown with 
 wholesome precepts, which bring forth 
 good fruit. Even if the soil of a woman's 
 brain be of its own nature bad, and apter 
 to bear fern than corn, by which saying 
 men oft terrify women from learning, I 
 am of opinion that a woman's mind is, 
 for that very reason, all the more in need 
 of manure and good husbandry, that the 
 defect of nature may be redressed." 
 
 In these letters, and in many like them, 
 there is given the best, and the most
 
 Introduction xxvii 
 
 authentic, picture of the household of the 
 great Chancellor. 
 
 Of More himself it is difficult to speak 
 without using language which seems ex- 
 travagant. His character was so beauti- 
 ful, his life so simple and so pure, his 
 conscientiousness so complete, his end so 
 heroic, that he stands out among the 
 sordid meannesses of the sixteenth century 
 like a single star in the darkness of the 
 world. Sinful popes and wicked kings, 
 greedy statesmen and timid clergy, who 
 will accept the king's supremacy one 
 day and then burn what once they adored 
 among these More has no place. His 
 is a steadfast soul, happy in prosperity and 
 triumphant in the furnace of affliction. 
 " O ye holy and humble men of heart, 
 O ye spirits and souls of the righteous, 
 bless ye the Lord : praise Him and mag- 
 nify Him for ever." 
 
 And the position of More in the age
 
 xxviii Introduction 
 
 of the Reformation is the more remark- 
 able because he belonged so clearly to 
 the new as well as to the old. He was, 
 in the best sense, a Humanist. He was 
 a scholar and a bitter foe of all obscu- 
 rantism. He fought the battle of Greek, 
 and so gave to England the scholarship 
 of the succeeding generation to which 
 true religion and sound learning owe so 
 great a debt. He could take no part 
 with those who could defend the old 
 faith only with the rusty weapons of a 
 philosophic system which had failed to 
 meet the aspirations of the new age. No 
 one laughed more readily than he at the 
 sallies of Erasmus against ignorant monks 
 and illiterate clergy. Encomium Moria, 
 Epi stoics Obscurorum Virorum^ spoke his 
 sentiments as well as those of their 
 authors. But while he loved the new 
 learning and adopted the new methods, 
 he saw that there remained something
 
 Introduction xxix 
 
 among the old things that was priceless 
 and imperishable. It may be that he did 
 not clearly distinguish between the essen- 
 tials and the mere offshoots of a divine 
 faith. It may be we should say it must 
 be that if he had lived a hundred years 
 later, or in our own day, he would have 
 thought differently on some matters. The 
 cause of intellectual freedom was presented 
 to him in its worst aspect, and the com- 
 mand to cast away the childish things 
 of medievalism came in a revolting form 
 from the lips of a coarse and brutal tyrant. 
 Had Colet lived, or Erasmus been a 
 stronger man, all might have been dif- 
 ferent. As it was, More saw but one side 
 of the new world, and that the worst, and 
 he said, " The old is better." 
 
 But while, in his final choice, he seemed 
 to belong rather to the old world than 
 to the new, he had absorbed all the best 
 spirit of the Italian Renaissance, and he
 
 xxx Introduction 
 
 belonged as a social reformer to an age in 
 the far future. The Utopia, it is true, 
 was the work of his youth, and it is 
 doubtful if much of it was meant seriously, 
 and certain that some was distinctly con- 
 trary to its author's mature convictions. 
 But nevertheless it sets forth an exquisite 
 ideal picture of equality in opportunity 
 and of simplicity of life. Its whole tone 
 speaks a protest against the selfishness and 
 the competition of the age that degraded 
 art and divided society. And this protest 
 was enforced by the asceticism of the 
 author's own life and the purity of his 
 household. 
 
 More's life was not a long one. He 
 was born on February 7, 1478. His 
 family was " honourable, not illustrious." 
 His father came to be an eminent judge. 
 As a boy he went to school in London, 
 and then was taken into the household of 
 the famous Cardinal Morton, Archbishop
 
 Introduction xxxi 
 
 of Canterbury and Lord High Chancellor 
 of England, the statesman who advised the 
 best measures of Henry VII., who began 
 to reform the monasteries, who heavily 
 taxed the rich and took care for the poor. 
 There the young More was known as a 
 bright lad, who would often speak a piece 
 in Christmas games for the guests' enter- 
 tainment with a wit and readiness which 
 made the Archbishop prophesy for him 
 a great career. He went to Oxford ; he 
 studied at New Inn, and then at Lincoln's 
 Inn. He became a lawyer ; he went into 
 Parliament ; he lectured publicly in London 
 on theology. When a young man he was 
 widely known as a scholar and a wit. 
 He was a friend of all the learned men of 
 his day, a member of that little circle of 
 students to which Colet and Grocyn and 
 Linacre belonged. Though he plunged 
 into practical life, politics, and law, and 
 exchanged epigrams with the best wits of
 
 xxxii Introduction 
 
 the time, his deepest thoughts were always 
 with religion. He was near becoming a 
 Carthusian ; he had serious thoughts of 
 refraining from marriage ; he lived very 
 strictly, and was with difficulty won from 
 a solitary life. When he decided to marry 
 and conform outwardly to the customs of 
 the society of his day, he did not abandon 
 the secret rules by which his personal 
 life was restrained. He was outwardly of 
 the world, but in spirit he was always a 
 recluse. 
 
 Gradually he came prominently before 
 his contemporaries. His books made him 
 known to scholars. Wolsey may have 
 known him at Oxford, and now found 
 him useful on embassies and at Court. 
 The King sought him out and made a 
 friend of him, would talk with him of 
 theological matters, obtained his help for 
 that book against Luther which won him 
 the title of " Defender of the Faith," and
 
 Introduction xxxiii 
 
 often at night " would have him up to 
 the leads, there to consider with him the 
 courses, motions, and operations of the 
 stars and planets." So, when Wolsey fell, 
 More, who had already been Speaker of 
 the House of Commons, and won great 
 praise alike from King and Cardinal, be- 
 came Lord Chancellor the first great 
 layman and lawyer who held that high 
 office. As judge men spoke of him with 
 admiration for centuries. He was a states- 
 man too, as well as a lawyer, and his aid 
 was sought in all Henry's foreign negotia- 
 tions. He might have been the greatest 
 man in England after the King if he 
 would have strained his conscience. But 
 this he would not do. He never approved 
 the Divorce ; he was known to be a cham- 
 pion of the injured Queen Katherine, and 
 a friend to her nephew, the Emperor 
 Charles. As Church questions, too, came 
 in dispute, he took more and more the
 
 xxxiv Introduction 
 
 conservative side. He would not repu- 
 diate the Pope's supremacy, or separate 
 himself from the imposing unity of Chris- 
 tendom, which it seemed to him was 
 threatened by the nationalism of Henry 
 VIIL, as well as by the heresy of Luther. 
 And so at last it came that the lion felt 
 his strength : it was More's own prophecy, 
 and he was one of the first victims. 
 
 On Monday, April 13, 1534, he was 
 required to take oath to the succession of 
 the issue of Anne Boleyn, and in repudia- 
 tion of the validity of the first marriage 
 of the King. He at once refused. He 
 would not deny to swear to the succession, 
 but the oath put before him he could not 
 reconcile with his conscience. In this 
 he persisted. Imprisonment, trial, death, 
 came naturally and inevitably ; and of 
 these Miss Manning, with the letters and 
 memoirs before her, has made the faithful 
 Margaret write as from a full heart.
 
 Introduction xxxv 
 
 On Tuesday, July 6, 1535, he was 
 executed on Tower Hill. " He bore in 
 his hands a red cross, and was often seen 
 to cast his eyes towards heaven." He 
 died as he had lived, with saintly calm, 
 and still playing with a gentle humour. 
 " That at least," he said, as he drew aside 
 his beard from the block, " has committed 
 no treason." 
 
 The King's wrath did not cease with 
 the execution of his faithful counsellor. 
 Dame Alice More lost all, and had hard 
 stress for the few years that remained to 
 her of life. Happily his son and his 
 daughters had all been married before the 
 troubles came. Margaret's marriage was 
 a happy one. Will Roper was soon 
 weaned from his " Lutheran " fancies, and 
 lived, thirty-four years after his wife, to 
 write an exquisite and pathetic memoir of 
 the great Chancellor. When the tyrant 
 was dead More's family seemed almost
 
 xxxvi Introduction 
 
 sacred in the eyes of the nation. His 
 memory was cherished, and memorials of 
 all kinds poured forth during the years of 
 Mary's reign ; and when Elizabeth had 
 been twenty years on the throne Roper 
 died in peace, desiring to be buried with 
 his " dear wife," where his father-in-law 
 " did mind to be buried." 
 
 Margaret Roper herself died in 1544, 
 and was buried in Chelsea Church. Her 
 monument is, with the Ropers', in S. 
 Dunstan's, Canterbury. In that ancient 
 city the family of her husband had long 
 dwelt, and the house itself lasted till this 
 century. Of it Miss Manning very prettily 
 wrote : 
 
 " My friend, Mrs. George Frederick 
 Young, who was born in the Ropers' 
 house at Canterbury, tells me that it was 
 of singular antiquity, full of queer nooks, 
 corners, and passages, with a sort of dun- 
 geon below, that went by the name of
 
 Introduction xxxvii 
 
 ' Dick's Hole/ the access to which was 
 so dangerous that it at length was for- 
 bidden to descend the staircase. The 
 coach-house and harness-room were curi- 
 ously antique ; the chapel had been con- 
 verted into a laundry, but retained its 
 Gothic windows. At length it became 
 needful to rebuild the house, only the 
 old gateway of which remains. While 
 the workmen were busy, an old gentleman 
 in Canterbury sent to beg Mrs. Young's 
 father to dig in a particular part of the 
 garden, for that he had dreamed there 
 was a money-chest there. This request 
 was not attended to, and he sent a more 
 urgent message, saying his dream had been 
 repeated. A third time he dreamed, and 
 renewed his request, which at length 
 was granted ; and, curiously enough, a 
 chest was found, with a few coins in 
 it, chiefly of antiquarian value, which, 
 accordingly, were given to an archa?-
 
 xxxviii Introduction 
 
 ologist of the place. Here my informa- 
 tion ceases." 
 
 More and his favourite daughter are 
 those of whom we first think when 
 we try to recall some memories of the 
 " Christian academy ; " but their famous 
 guests must not be forgotten. I cannot 
 speak now of the soldiers and diplo- 
 matists, the priests and scholars, who 
 pass across the scene so rapidly as we 
 read the letters of the Chancellor himself 
 or the memoirs of his son-in-law and his 
 great-grandson. But two names stand 
 out as famous above the rest, and as both 
 among the closest of those friends whom 
 More delighted to honour, Erasmus the 
 scholar and Holbein the painter. 
 
 Of Erasmus who shall speak in a few 
 words ? Are not the libraries of Europe 
 full of his books, and are not his wit- 
 ticisms still repeated to-day as if they 
 were but the new thoughts of the newest
 
 Introduction xxxix 
 
 of moderns ? The intellectual life of his 
 age seems summed up in his person. It 
 had no interest in which he did not 
 mingle, nor any opinion which he did 
 not weigh and test. If he held himself 
 above its passions, it was simply because 
 his was a keen critical nature, loving in 
 its own fashion, but too cold to sym- 
 pathise deeply with any combatant or to 
 thrill with any passion. " He had no 
 mind," said Miss Manning rather sharply, 
 " to be a martyr, but only to suggest 
 doubts which led braver men to be 
 such." 
 
 " This worthy man," says his eighteenth 
 century biographer, Jortin, " spent a labo- 
 rious life in an uniform pursuit of two 
 points : in opposing barbarous ignorance 
 and blind superstition, and in promoting 
 useful literature and true piety. These 
 objects he attempted in a mild, gentle 
 manner, never attacking the persons of
 
 xl Introduction 
 
 men, but only the faults of the age. He 
 knew his own temper and talents, and 
 was conscious he was not fitted for the 
 rough work of a reformer." 
 
 Jortin's, indeed, is the juster estimate. 
 It was Erasmus's keen sight, not his want 
 of moral courage, which prevented his 
 being a martyr. He could not sym- 
 pathise with the foreign reformers ; he 
 had no taste for antinomianism, still less 
 for ignorance, and he saw that the Church 
 abroad, with all its accretions, which 
 none ridiculed so wittily as he, still 
 preserved a treasure that the human mind 
 could not afford to lose. 
 
 Erasmus was a lifelong friend of More. 
 They had met originally in England 
 while Henry VII. was still on the throne. 
 Erasmus stayed at More's house, and to- 
 gether they discussed the wrongs and 
 follies of the time. Encomium Morite 
 " The Praise of Folly " was written by
 
 Introduction xli 
 
 Erasmus under More's roof, and the title 
 had a punning reference to the author's 
 host. Later books, especially the great 
 edition of the New Testament which 
 made the sacred text, said More, " shine 
 with a new light," had all of them the 
 sanction of the faithful English friend. 
 He had to suffer rough handling from 
 the obscurantists of his day. Greek 
 seemed to savour of heresy, just as now 
 to some it seems a relic of medievalism 
 unworthy of the study of a scientific age. 
 Erasmus, indeed, was in a position which 
 has its parallel to-day. He stood boldly 
 forth to fight for a large and liberal 
 education, and for wide and rational 
 methods of instruction, against those who 
 would narrow the teaching of the young 
 to a merely technical and professional 
 training. He fought against the effort 
 to sacrifice sound learning to utilitarian 
 
 ends ; and he found the warmest sym- 
 
 d
 
 xlii Introduction 
 
 pathy, and the best expression of his 
 educational ideal, in the household of his 
 English friend. 
 
 With More he bore reproach for a 
 good cause. While the English lawyer 
 pleaded for the study of Greek at the 
 English universities, the Dutch scholar 
 met the assaults of those who would 
 check the publication of the New Tes- 
 tament in the original tongue. He was 
 justly indignant at the treatment he re- 
 ceived. 
 
 " There are none," he said, " that bark 
 at me more furiously than those who 
 have never even seen the outside of my 
 books. When you meet with one of 
 these brawlers, let him rave on at my 
 New Testament till he has made himself 
 hoarse. Then ask him gently whether 
 he has read it. If he has the impudence 
 to say yes, urge him to produce one pas- 
 sage that deserves to be blamed. You
 
 Introduction xliii 
 
 will find that he cannot. Consider, now, 
 whether this be the behaviour of a Chris- 
 tian, to blacken a man's reputation, which 
 he cannot restore to him again if he 
 would. Of all the vile ways of defam- 
 ing him, none is more villainous than to 
 accuse him of heresy ; and yet to this 
 they have recourse on the slightest pro- 
 vocation ! " 
 
 A Dominican friar at Strasburg, who 
 had spitefully attacked Erasmus's Testa- 
 ment, was compelled to own that he had 
 not read one word of it. " These men," 
 exclaims Erasmus, " first hate, next con- 
 demn, and, lastly, seek for passages to 
 justify their censures. And then, if any 
 one opposes them, and calls them what 
 they are, they say he is a disturber of the 
 public peace; which is just as if you gave 
 a man a blow in the face, and then bid 
 him be quiet, and not make a noise about 
 nothing."
 
 xliv Introduction 
 
 But all through the babel of contend- 
 ing voices Erasmus kept his own course. 
 He could neither be coerced to give up 
 his liberal scholarship nor lured to ally 
 with Luther and the Protestant doctors. 
 To him the way of sound learning seemed 
 the path of the Catholic Church. And 
 here too he was of one mind with More. 
 The Englishman had to meet dangers 
 which never beset the foreign scholar, 
 and he met them, it may be, as Erasmus 
 would not have dared to do. But it 
 cannot be doubted that in their opinions, 
 as in their hearts, they were never really 
 divided. 
 
 In Mistress Margaret's Libellus^ Erasmus 
 appears chiefly as a fellow of infinite jest, 
 but wise withal, chatting at table as he 
 chats in his letters, and saying, indeed, 
 much that we have under the safe war- 
 rant of his own pen. 
 
 If Erasmus was the typical scholar of
 
 Introduction xlv 
 
 that age which stood between the Renais- 
 sance and the Reformation, Hans Hol- 
 bein was typical of its art. In his hand 
 painting has come down from its high 
 estate, its Madonnas and its great Doges, 
 its classic pageants and its heroic legends, 
 and treats of common life as men saw it 
 every day. The 'German artist descended 
 from the lofty themes which had inspired 
 the great master of Italy, and took even 
 the humbler work of illustrating books. 
 Botticelli, it is true, had drawn studies of 
 the Divina Commedia, but Holbein was 
 ready to work for a printer, and to design 
 letters and tail-pieces for the Libelli of his 
 friends. It was through Froben, the 
 great Basle painter, no doubt, that More 
 and Erasmus and Holbein first came to- 
 gether. Holbein illustrated the Utopia, 
 and came to England with an introduc- 
 tion from the author of the Encomium 
 Morite. He was thirty years younger
 
 xlvi Introduction 
 
 than the Dutch scholar, and twenty years 
 younger than More, but they became his 
 chiefest friends. He tarried some while 
 in More's house, and it was there that he 
 drew some of those marvellous sketches 
 now preserved at Windsor, that give us 
 our truest knowledge of the Court of 
 Henry VIII. Fisher and Warham, the 
 Earl of Surrey and Sir Nicholas Poins, 
 Colet and Godsalve, each in their way 
 representative of a class, but keenly in- 
 dividual and vigorously characteristic, are 
 preserved for us by those few sharp, bold 
 strokes with a power and reality which 
 no portrait-painter has ever surpassed. 
 The luxury and the meanness, the trea- 
 chery and the cold selfishness, that form 
 the background of the great struggles of 
 the sixteenth century are expressed for 
 all time in those master-sketches which 
 Holbein drew and Margaret Roper, it 
 may be, often looked upon.
 
 Introduction xlvii 
 
 And for More's own household we have, 
 besides the letters and the memoirs, the 
 very form and pressure from the great 
 artist's own hand. The original design 
 for the famous picture of the patriarchal 
 family, the three generations living to- 
 gether in love and reverence in their 
 " Platonic Academy," is at Basle ; but in 
 England, at Nostell and at Cokethorpe, we 
 have very fair presentments of the great 
 picture as it must have been. More sits 
 by his shrewd old father in his habit as 
 he lived. The gentle, delicate son stands 
 by, book in hand, and near his affianced 
 bride. The stepmother sits stately at one 
 side of the group, and the daughters cluster 
 around. The sorrowful eyes of the great 
 Chancellor, and his pensive, meditative 
 brow, speaking sound conscience and a 
 firm resolve, are not lightly to be for- 
 gotten ; and the plain, homely face of 
 Margaret Roper, refined and thoughtful
 
 xlviii Introduction 
 
 through all its solid strength, may well 
 linger in the memories of those who 
 know her beautiful life. 
 
 To the number of these Miss Manning's 
 book has added many. She teaches others 
 to love her heroes because she loved them 
 herself. Erasmus and More and Holbein, 
 Gunnel and Clement, Will Roper and 
 faithful Patteson, she knew as if she had 
 lived among them. These, and such as 
 these, are the characters of whom she so 
 skilfully drew portraits which were much 
 more than the fictions of imagination. 
 She wrote from a considerable knowledge 
 of the literature of the time, and with a 
 genuine love of all things beautiful and 
 good. In her style she imitated the 
 quaintness of old English without any 
 precise restriction to the period of Henry 
 VIII. ; and in the same way the vocabu- 
 lary and the spelling which she adopted 
 were not claimed by her as minutely
 
 Introduction xlix 
 
 accurate. Over her book and her char- 
 acters I would gladly linger. But the first 
 speaks for itself, and my office is only 
 to direct readers to it ; and for the char- 
 acters, what I can say is said in my own 
 Life of the great Chancellor and Saint 
 himself, the father of the gentle Margaret 
 whom Miss Manning so happily drew. 
 
 But there is a special feature in this 
 reprint of which I must needs say a 
 word. Mr. Herbert Railton and Mr. 
 John Jellicoe show that they too are 
 skilled in the drawing of imaginary por- 
 traits that they have seen More's house 
 as indeed we think it must have been, and 
 his family in their habits as they lived. 
 As the barge brings us past old London 
 Bridge to the Chelsea stairs, the mansion 
 of the Chancellor stands before us in the 
 warm sun as when Ellis Heywood saw it 
 three centuries and a half ago. The chil- 
 dren play in the garden, the Jew tells his
 
 1 Introduction 
 
 story, the peacocks flaunt their gay colours, 
 and More reads his old books and cracks 
 his jests, as if the old time had come back 
 again. Bright pictures indeed, and a 
 worthy setting ; and the old story is told 
 anew as More himself and Holbein might 
 have loved to think of it. But good 
 wines need no bush, and good pictures no 
 prologue. 
 
 W. H. HUTTON. 
 
 THE GREAT HOUSE, BURFORD, 
 July 9, 1895.
 
 THE 
 HOUSEHOLD OF 
 
 SIR THQS MORE
 
 Chelsea, "June 
 
 N asking Mr. Gunnel to 
 what Use I should put 
 this fayr Libel/us, he did 
 suggest my making it a 
 Kinde of family Register, 
 wherein to note the more important of 
 our domestick Passages, whether of Joy 
 
 or
 
 The Household 
 
 or Griefe my Father's Journies and 
 Absences the Visits of learned Men, 
 theire notable Sayings, etc. " You are 
 " ready at the Pen, Mistress Margaret" 
 he was pleased to say ; " and I woulde 
 " humblie advise your journalling in the 
 " same fearless Manner in the which you 
 " framed that Letter which soe well 
 " pleased the Bishop of Exeter, that he 
 " sent you a Portugal Piece. 'Twill be 
 " well to write it in English, which 'tis 
 " expedient for you not altogether to 
 " negleckt, even for the more honourable 
 " Latin." 
 
 Methinks I am close upon Woman- 
 hood. ..." Humblie advise," quotha ! 
 to me, that have so oft humblie sued for 
 his Pardon, and sometimes in vayn ! 
 
 'Tis well to make trial of Gonellus his 
 " humble " Advice : albeit, our daylie 
 Course is so methodicall, that 'twill afford 
 
 scant
 
 of Sir Thos. More 
 
 scant Subject for the Pen Vitam continet 
 una Dies. 
 
 ... As I traced the last Word, me- 
 thoughte I heard the well-known Tones 
 of Erasmus his pleasant Voyce ; and, look- 
 ing forthe of my Lattice, did indeede be- 
 holde the deare little Man coming up from 
 the River Side with my Father, who, be- 
 cause of the Heat, had given his Cloak to 
 a tall Stripling behind him to bear. I 
 flew up Stairs, to advertise Mother, who 
 was half in and half out of her grogram 
 Gown, and who stayed me to clasp her 
 Owches ; so that, by the Time I had fol- 
 lowed her down Stairs, we founde 'em 
 alreadie in the Hall. 
 
 So soon as I had kissed their Hands, 
 and obtayned their Blessings, the tall Lad 
 stept forthe, and who should he be but 
 
 William
 
 The Household 
 
 William Roper, returned from my Father's 
 Errand over-seas ! He hath grown huge- 
 lie, and looks mannish ; but his Manners 
 are worsened insteade of bettered by 
 forayn Travell ; for, insteade of his old 
 Franknesse, he hung upon Hand till 
 Father bade him come forward ; and 
 then, as he went his Rounds, kissing one 
 after another, stopt short when he came 
 to me, twice made as though he would 
 have saluted me, and then held back, 
 making me looke so stupid, that I could 
 have boxed his Ears for his Payns. 
 'Speciallie as Father burst out a-laughing, 
 and cried, " The third Time's lucky ! " 
 
 After Supper, we took deare Erasmus 
 entirely over the House, in a Kind of 
 family Procession, e'en from the Buttery 
 and Scalding-house to our own deare 
 Academia, with its cool green Curtain 
 flapping in the Evening Breeze, and 
 
 blowing
 
 of Sir Thos. More 
 
 blowing aside, as though on Purpose 
 to give a glimpse of the cleare-shining 
 Thames ! Erasmus noted and admired 
 the Stone Jar, placed by Mercy Giggs on 
 the Table, full of blue and yellow Irises, 
 scarlet Tiger-Lilies, Dog-Roses, Honey- 
 suckles, Moonwort, and Herb-Trinity ; 
 and alsoe our various Desks, cache in its 
 own little Retirement, mine own, in 
 speciall, so pleasantly situate ! He pro- 
 tested, with everie Semblance of Sincerity, 
 he had never scene so pretty an Academy. 
 I should think not, indeede ! Bess, Daisy, 
 and I, are of Opinion, that there is not 
 likelie to be such another in the World. 
 He glanced, too, at the Books on our 
 Desks ; Bessy's being Livy ; Daisy's., Sal- 
 lust ; and mine, St. Augustine, with Father s 
 Marks where I was to read, and where de- 
 sist. He tolde Erasmus, laying his Hand 
 fondlie on my Head, " Here is one who 
 
 " knows
 
 The Household 
 
 " knows what is implied in the Word 
 " Trust." Dear Father, well I may ! He 
 added, " there was no Law against laugh- 
 " ing in bis Academia, for that his Girls 
 " knew how to be merry and wise." 
 
 From the House to the new Building, 
 the Chapel and Gallery, and thence to 
 visitt all the dumb Kinde, from the great 
 horned Owls to Cecy's pet Dormice. Eras- 
 mus was amused at some of theire Names, 
 but doubted whether Duns Scotus and 
 the Venerable Eede would have thoughte 
 themselves complimented in being made 
 Name-fathers to a couple of Owls ; though 
 he admitted that Argus and Juno were 
 goode Cognomens for Peacocks. Will 
 Roper hath broughte Mother a pretty 
 little forayn Animal called a Marmot, but 
 she sayd she had noe Time for suchlike 
 Playthings, and bade him give it to his 
 little Wife. Methinks, I being neare six- 
 teen
 
 8 "The Household 
 
 teen and he close upon twenty, we are too 
 old for those childish Names now, nor am 
 I much flattered at a Present not intended 
 for me ; however, I shall be kind to the 
 little Creature, and, perhaps, grow fond of 
 it, as 'tis both harmlesse and diverting. 
 
 To return, howbeit, to Erasmus ; Cecy^ 
 who had hold of his Gown, and had 
 alreadie, through his familiar Kindnesse 
 and her own childish Heedlessness, some- 
 what transgrest Bounds, began now in her 
 Mirthe to fabricate a Dialogue, she pre- 
 tended to have overhearde, between Argus 
 and Juno as they stoode pearcht on a 
 stone Parapet. Erasmus was entertayned 
 witri her Garrulitie for a while, but at 
 length gentlie checkt her, with " Love 
 " the Truth, little Mayd, love the Truth, 
 " or, if thou liest, let it be with a Cir- 
 " cumstance," a Qualification which made 
 Mother stare and Father laugh. 
 
 Sayth
 
 of Sir Thos. More 
 
 Sayth Erasmus, "There is no Harm in a 
 " Fabella, Apologus, or Parabola, so long 
 " as its Character be distinctlie recognised 
 " for such, but contrariwise, much Goode ; 
 " and the same hath been sanctioned, not 
 " only by the wiser Heads of Greece and 
 " Rome, but by our deare Lord Himself. 
 " Therefore, Cect'/ie, whom I love exceed- 
 " inglie, be not abasht, Child, at my Re- 
 " proof, for thy Dialogue between the 
 " two Peacocks was innocent no less than 
 " ingenious, till thou wouldst have insisted 
 " that they, in sooth, sayd Something like 
 " what thou didst invent. Therein thou 
 " didst Violence to the Truth, which St. 
 " Paul hath typified by a Girdle, to be 
 " worn next the Heart, and that not only 
 " confmeth within due Limits, but addeth 
 " Strength. So now be Friends ; wert 
 " thou more than eleven and I no Priest, 
 " thou shouldst be my little Wife, and 
 
 " darn
 
 io The Household 
 
 " darn my Hose, and make me sweet 
 " Marchpane, such as thou and I love. 
 " But, oh ! this pretty Chelsea ! What 
 " Daisies ! what Buttercups ! what joviall 
 " Swarms of Gnats ! The Country all 
 " about is as nice and flat as Rotterdam" 
 
 Anon, we sit down to rest and talk in 
 the Pavilion. 
 
 Sayth Erasmus to my Father, " I mar- 
 " vel you have never entered into the 
 " King's Service in some publick Capa- 
 " citie, wherein your Learning and Know- 
 " ledge, bothe of Men and Things, would 
 " not onlie serve your own Interest, but 
 " that of your Friends and the Pub- 
 " lick." 
 
 Father smiled and made Answer, " I 
 " am better and happier as I am. As 
 " for my Friends, I alreadie do for them 
 " alle I can, soe as they can hardlie con- 
 " sider me in their Debt ; and, for my- 
 
 " self,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 13 
 
 " self, the yielding to theire Solicitations 
 " that I would putt myself forward for 
 " the Benefit of the World in generall, 
 " would be like printing a Book at 
 " Request of Friends, that the Pub'lick 
 " may be charmed with what, in Fact, 
 " it values at a Doit. The Cardinall 
 " offered me a Pension, as retaining Fee 
 " to the King a little while back, but 
 " I tolde him I did not care to be a 
 " mathematical Point, to have Position 
 " without Magnitude." 
 
 Erasmus laught and sayd, " I woulde 
 " not have you the Slave of anie King ; 
 " howbeit, you mighte assist him and 
 " be useful to him." 
 
 "The Change of the Word," sayth 
 Father , " does not alter the Matter ; I 
 " shoulde be a Slave, as completely as if 
 " I had a Collar rounde my Neck." 
 
 " But would not increased Useful- 
 
 " nesse,"
 
 14 The Household 
 
 " nesse," says Erasmus^ " make you hap- 
 
 5 " 
 
 ' pier r 
 
 " Happier ? " says Father, somewhat 
 heating ; " how can that be compassed 
 " in a Way so abhorrent to my Genius ? 
 " At present, I live as I will, to which 
 " very few Courtiers can pretend. Half- 
 " a-dozen blue-coated Serving-Men answer 
 " my Turn in the House, Garden, Field, 
 " and on the River : I have a few strong 
 " Horses for Work, none for Show, plenty 
 " of plain Food for a healthy Family, 
 " and enough, with a hearty Welcome, for 
 " a score of Guests that are not dainty. 
 " The lengthe of my Wife's Train in- 
 " fringeth not the Statute ; and, for my- 
 " self, I soe hate Bravery, that my Motto 
 " is, ' Of those whom you see in Scarlet, 
 " not one is happy.' I have a regular 
 " Profession, which supports my House, 
 " and enables me to promote Peace and 
 
 " Justice ;
 
 of Sir Thos. More 15 
 
 " Justice ; I have Leisure to chat with 
 " my Wife, and sport with my Children ; 
 " I have Hours for Devotion, and Hours 
 " for Philosophic and the liberall Arts, 
 " which are absolutelie medicinall to me, 
 " as Antidotes to the sharpe but con- 
 " tracted Habitts of Mind engendered by 
 " the Law. If there be aniething in a 
 " Court Life which can compensate for 
 " the Losse of anie of these Blessings, 
 " deare Desiderius, pray tell me what it 
 " is, for I confesse I know not." 
 
 " You are a comicall Genius," says 
 Erasmus. 
 
 " As for you," retorted Father, " you 
 " are at your olde Trick of arguing on 
 " the wrong Side, as you did the firste 
 " Time we mett. Nay, don't we know 
 " you can declaime backward and for- 
 " warde on the same Argument, as you 
 " did on the Venetian War ? " 
 
 Erasmus
 
 1 6 The Household 
 
 Erasmus smiled quietlie, and sayd, 
 " What coulde I do ? The Pope changed 
 " his holy Mind." Whereat Father smiled 
 too. 
 
 " What Nonsense you learned Men 
 " sometimes talk ! " pursues Father. " I 
 " wanted at Court, quotha ! Fancy a 
 " dozen starving Men with one roasted 
 "Pig betweene them; do you think 
 " they would be really glad to see a 
 " Thirteenth come up, with an eye to a 
 " small Piece of the Crackling ? No ; 
 " believe me, there is none that Courtiers 
 " are more sincerelie respectfull to than 
 " the Man who avows he hath no In- 
 " tention of attempting to go Shares ; 
 " and e'en him they care mighty little 
 " about, for they love none with true 
 " Tendernesse save themselves." 
 
 " We shall see you at Court yet," says 
 Erasmus. 
 
 Sayth
 
 of Sir Thos. More 17 
 
 Sayth Father, "Then I will tell you 
 " in what Guise. With a Fool's Cap 
 " and Bells. Pish ! I won't aggravate 
 " you, Churchman as you are, by allud- 
 " ing to the Blessings I have which you 
 " have not ; and I trow there is as much 
 " Danger in taking you for serious when 
 " you are onlie playful and ironicall as 
 " if you were Plato himself." 
 
 Sayth Erasmus, after some Minutes' 
 Silence, " I know full well that you holde 
 " Plato, in manie Instances, to be sport- 
 " ing when I accept him in very Deed 
 " and Truth. Speculating he often was ; 
 " as a brighte, pure Flame must needs 
 " be struggling up, and, if it findeth no 
 " direct Vent, come forthe of the Oven's 
 " Mouth. He was like a Man shut into 
 " a Vault, running hither and thither, 
 " with his poor, flickering Taper, agoniz- 
 " ing to get forthe, and holding himself 
 
 "in
 
 1 8 The Household 
 
 " in readinesse to make a Spring forward 
 " the Moment a Door should open. But 
 " it never did. c Not manie Wise are 
 " called.' He had clomb a Hill in the 
 " Darke, and stoode calling to his Com- 
 " panions below, ' Come on, come on ! this 
 " Way lies the East ; I am avised we 
 " shall see the Sun rise anon.' But they 
 " never did. What a Christian he woulde 
 " have made ! Ah ! he is one now. He 
 " and Socrates the Veil long removed 
 " from their Eyes are sitting at Jesus' 
 " Feet. Sancte Socrates, ora pro nobis ! " 
 
 Bessie and I exchanged Glances at this 
 so strange Ejaculation ; but the Subjeckt 
 was of such Interest, that we listened with 
 deep Attention to what followed. 
 
 Sayth Father^ " Whether Socrates were 
 " what Plato painted him in his Dia- 
 " logues, is with me a great Matter of 
 " Doubte ; but it is not of Moment. 
 
 " When
 
 of Sir Thos. More 19 
 
 " When so many Contemporaries coulde 
 " distinguishe the fancifulle from the fic- 
 " titious, Plato s Object coulde never have 
 " beene to deceive. There is something 
 " higher in Art than gross Imitation. He 
 " who attempteth it is always the leaste 
 " successfull ; and his Failure hath the 
 " Odium of a discovered Lie ; whereas, 
 " to give an avowedlie fabulous Narrative 
 " a Consistence within itselfe which per- 
 " mitts the Reader to be, for the Time, 
 " voluntarilie deceived, is as artfulle as it 
 " is allowable. Were I to construct a 
 " Tale, I woulde, as you sayd to Cecy, lie 
 " with a Circumstance, but shoulde con- 
 " sider it noe Compliment to have my 
 " Unicorns and Hippogriffs taken for live 
 " Animals. Amicus Plato, amicus Socrates, 
 " magis tamen arnica Veritas. Now, Plato 
 " had a much higher Aim than to give a 
 " very Pattern of Socrates his snub Nose. 
 
 "He
 
 2O The Household 
 
 " He wanted a Peg to hang his Thoughts 
 "upon- -" 
 
 " A Peg ? A Statue by Phidias" in- 
 terrupts 'Erasmus. 
 
 " A Statue by Phidias^ to clothe in the 
 " most beautiful Drapery," sayth Father ; 
 " no Matter that the Drapery was his 
 " own, he wanted to show it to the best 
 " Advantage, and to the Honour rather 
 " than Prejudice of the Statue. And, 
 " having clothed the same, he got a Spark 
 " of Prometheus his Fire, and made the 
 " aforesayd Statue walk and talk, to the 
 " Glory of Gods and Men, and sate him- 
 " self quietlie down in a Corner. By the 
 " Way, Desiderius, why shouldst thou not 
 " submitt thy Subtletie to the Rules of 
 " a Colloquy ? Set Eckms and Martin 
 " Luther by the Ears ! Ha ! Man, what 
 " Sport ! Heavens ! if I were to com- 
 " pound a Tale or a Dialogue, what 
 
 " Crotchets
 
 of Sir Thos. More 21 
 
 " Crotchets and Quips of mine own 
 " woulde I not putt into my Puppets' 
 " Mouths ! and then have out my Laugh 
 " behind my Vizard, as when we used to 
 " act Burlesques before Cardinall Morton. 
 " What rare Sporte we had, one Christ- 
 " mas, with a Mummery we called the 
 " 'Triall of Feasting' ! Dinner and Supper 
 " were broughte up before my Lord Chief 
 " Justice ', charged with Murder. Theire 
 " Accomplices were Plum-pudding^ Mince- 
 " pye, Surfeit, Drunkenness, and suchlike. 
 " Being condemned to hang by the Neck, 
 " I, who was Supper, stuft out with I 
 " cannot tell you how manie Pillows, 
 " began to call lustilie for a Confessor ; 
 " and, on his stepping forthe, commenct 
 " a List of all the Fitts, Convulsions, 
 " Spasms, Payns in the Head, and so 
 " forthe, I had inflicted on this one and 
 " t'other. ' Alas ! good Father/ says I, 
 
 " King
 
 22 The Household 
 
 " King John layd his Death at my Door ; 
 " indeede, there's scarce a royall or 
 " noble House that hath not a Charge 
 " agaynst me ; and I'm sorelie afrayd ' 
 " (giving a Poke at a fat Priest that sate 
 " at my Lord Cardinal?* Elbow) ' I shall 
 " have the Death of that holy Man to 
 " answer for.' ' 
 
 Erasmus laughed, and sayd, " Did I 
 " ever tell you of the Retort of Willibald 
 " Pirkheimer ? A Monk, hearing him 
 " praise me somewhat lavishly to another, 
 " could not avoid expressing by his Looks 
 " great Disgust and Dissatisfaction ; and, 
 " on being askt whence they arose, con- 
 " fest he could not, with Patience, heare 
 " the Commendation of a Man soe noto- 
 " riously fond of eating Fowls. ' Does he 
 " steal them ? ' says Pirkheimer. ' Surely 
 " no,' says the Monk. c Why, then,' 
 " quoth Willibald^ ' I know of a Fox who 
 
 "is
 
 of Sir Thos. More 23 
 
 " is ten times the greater Rogue ; for, 
 " look you, he helps himself to many a 
 " fat Hen from my Roost without ever 
 " offering to pay me. But tell me now, 
 " dear Father, is it then a Sin to eat 
 " Fowls ? ' ' Most assuredlie it is,' says 
 " the Monk, ' if you indulge in them to 
 "Gluttony.' 'Ah! if, if!' quoth Pirk- 
 " heimer. ' If stands stiff, as the Lacede- 
 " monians told Philip of Macedon ; and 'tis 
 " not by eating Bread alone, my dear 
 " Father, you have acquired that huge 
 " Paunch of yours. I fancy, if all the fat 
 " Fowls that have gone into it could raise 
 " their Voices and cackle at once, they 
 " woulde make Noise enow to drown 
 " the Drums and Trumpets of an Army.' 
 " Well may Luther say," continued Eras- 
 mus^ laughing, " that theire fasting is easier 
 " to them than our eating to us ; seeing 
 " that every Man Jack of them hath to 
 
 " his
 
 24 The Household 
 
 " his Evening Meal two Quarts of Beer, 
 " a Quart of Wine, and as manie as he 
 " can eat of Spice Cakes, the better to 
 " relish his Drink. While I ... 'tis 
 " true my Stomach is Lutheran, but my 
 " Heart is Catholic ; that's as Heaven 
 " made me, and I'll be judged by you 
 " alle, whether I am not as thin as a 
 " Weasel." 
 
 'Twas now growing dusk, and Cecys 
 tame Hares were just beginning to be 
 on the alert, skipping across our Path, as 
 we returned towards the House, jumping 
 over one another, and raysing 'emselves 
 on theire hind Legs to solicitt our Notice. 
 'Erasmus was amused at theire Gambols, 
 and at our making them beg for Vine- 
 tendrils; and Father told him there was 
 hardlie a Member of the Householde 
 who had not a dumb Pet of some Sort. 
 " I encourage the Taste in them," he 
 
 sayd,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 25 
 
 sayd, " not onlie because it fosters Huma- 
 " nitie and affords harmlesse Recreation, 
 " but because it promotes Habitts of Fore- 
 " thoughte and Regularitie. No Child 
 " or Servant of mine hath Liberty to 
 " adopt a Pet which he is too lazy or 
 " nice to attend to himself. A little 
 " Management may enable even a young 
 " Gentlewoman to do this, without soyl- 
 " ing her Hands ; and to negleckt giving 
 " them proper Food at proper Times 
 " entayls a Disgrace of which everie one 
 " of 'em would be ashamed. But, hark ! 
 " there is the Vesper-bell." 
 
 As we passed under a Pear-tree, Eras- 
 mus told us, with much Drollerie, of a 
 Piece of boyish Mischief of his, the 
 Theft of some Pears off a particular Tree, 
 the Fruit of which the Superior of his 
 Convent had meant to reserve to himself. 
 One Morning, Erasmus had climbed the 
 
 Tree,
 
 26 The Household 
 
 Tree, and was feasting to his great Con- 
 tent, when he was aware of the Superior 
 approaching to catch him in the Fact; 
 soe, quickly slid down to the Ground, 
 and made off in the opposite Direction, 
 limping as he went. The Malice of this 
 Act consisted in its being the Counterfeit 
 of the Gait of a poor lame Lay Brother, 
 who was, in fact, smartlie punisht for 
 Erasmus his Misdeede. Our Friend men- 
 tioned this with a Kinde of Remorse, 
 and observed to my Father , " Men laugh 
 " at the Sins of young People and little 
 " Children, as if they were little Sins ; 
 " albeit, the Robbery of an Apple or 
 " Cherry - orchard is as much a break- 
 " ing of the Eighth Commandment as 
 " the stealing of a Leg of Mutton from 
 " a Butcher's Stall, and ofttimes with far 
 " less Excuse. Our Church tells us, in- 
 " deede, of Venial Sins, such as the Theft 
 
 "of
 
 of Sir Thos. More 
 
 27 
 
 " of an Apple or a Pin ; but, I think," 
 (looking hard at Cecilie and Jack,} " even 
 " the youngest among us could tell how 
 " much Sin and Sorrow was brought into 
 " the World by stealing an Apple." 
 
 At Bedtime, Bess and I did agree in 
 wishing that alle learned Men were as 
 apt to unite Pleasure with Profit in theire 
 Talk as Erasmus. There be some that 
 can write after the Fashion of Paul, and 
 others preach like unto Apollos ; but this, 
 methinketh, is scattering Seed by the Way- 
 side, like the Great Sower. 
 
 Tuesday. 
 
 IS singular, the Love that 
 Jack and Cecy have for 
 one another ; it resem- 
 bleth that of Twins. 
 Jack is not forward at 
 his Booke ; on the other Hand, he hath 
 
 a
 
 28 The Household 
 
 a Resolution of Character which Cecy 
 altogether wants. Last Night, when 
 Erasmus spake of Children's Sins, I ob- 
 served her squeeze Jack's Hand with alle 
 her Mighte. I know what she was 
 thinking of. Having bothe beene for- 
 bidden to approach a favourite Part of 
 the River Bank which had given way 
 from too much Use, one or the other of 
 'em transgressed, as was proven by the 
 smalle Footprints in the Mud, as well 
 as by a Nosegay of Flowers, that grow 
 not, save by the River ; to wit, Purple 
 Loosestrife, Cream - and - codlins, Scor- 
 pion-grass, Water Plantain, and the like. 
 Neither of 'em woulde confesse, and Jack 
 was, therefore, sentenced to be whipt. 
 As he walked off with Mr. Drew, I ob- 
 served Cecy turn soe pale, that I whis- 
 pered Father I was certayn she was guilty. 
 He made Answer, " Never mind, we can- 
 
 "not
 
 of Sir Thos. More 29 
 
 " not beat a Girl, and 'twill answer the 
 " same Purpose ; in flogging him, we flog 
 " both." yack bore the firste Stripe or 
 two, I suppose, well enow, but at lengthe 
 
 we hearde him cry out, on which Cecy 
 coulde not forbeare to doe the same, and 
 then stopt bothe her Ears. I expected 
 everie Moment to heare her say, " Father, 
 " 'twas I ; " but no, she had not Courage 
 
 for
 
 30 The Household 
 
 for that ; onlie, when Jack came forthe 
 all smirched with Tears, she put her 
 Arm about his Neck, and they walked 
 off together into the Nuttery. Since 
 that Hour, she hath beene more devoted 
 to him than ever, if possible ; and he, 
 Boy-like, finds Satisfaction in making her 
 his little Slave. But the Beauty lay in 
 my Father s Improvement of the Circum- 
 stance. Taking Cecy on his Knee that 
 Evening, (for she was not ostensiblie in 
 Disgrace,) he beganne to talk of Atone- 
 ment and Mediation for Sin, and who it 
 was that bare our Sins for us on the Tree. 
 'Tis thus he turns the daylie Accidents 
 of our quiet Lives into Lessons of deepe 
 Import, not pedanticallie delivered, ex 
 cathedra^ but welling forthe from a full 
 and fresh Mind. 
 
 This Morn I had risen before Dawn, 
 being minded to meditate on sundrie 
 
 Matters
 
 of Sir Thos. More 31 
 
 Matters before Bess was up and doing, 
 she being given to much Talk during 
 her dressing, and made my Way to the 
 Pavilion, where, methought, I should 
 be quiet enow ; but beholde ! Father and 
 Erasmus were there before me, in fluent 
 and earneste Discourse. I would have 
 withdrawne, but Father^ without inter- 
 rupting his Sentence, puts his Arm rounde 
 me and draweth me to him ; soe there I 
 sit, my Head on 's Shoulder, and mine 
 Eyes on Erasmus his Face. 
 
 From much they spake, and othermuch 
 I guessed, they had beene conversing on 
 the present State of the Church, and how 
 much it needed Renovation. 
 
 Erasmus sayd, the Vices of the Clergy 
 and Ignorance of the Vulgar had now 
 come to a Poynt, at the which, a Remedie 
 must be founde, or the whole Fabric 
 would falle to Pieces. 
 
 Sayd,
 
 32 The Household 
 
 Sayd, the Revival of Learning seemed 
 appoynted by Heaven for some greate Pur- 
 pose, 'twas difficulte to say how greate. 
 
 Spake of the new Art of Printing, 
 and its possible Consequents. 
 
 Of the active and fertile Minds at 
 present turning up new Ground and fer- 
 reting out old Abuses. 
 
 Of the Abuse of Monachism, and of 
 the evil Lives of Conventualls. In special, 
 of the Fanaticism and Hypocrisie of the 
 Dominicans. 
 
 Considered the Evills of the Times 
 such, as that Societie must shortlie, by a 
 vigorous Effort, shake 'em off. 
 
 Wondered at the Patience of the Laitie 
 for soe many Generations, but thoughte 
 'em now waking from theire Sleepe. The 
 People had of late begunne to know theire 
 physickall Power, and to chafe at the 
 Weighte of theire Yoke. 
 
 Thoughte
 
 of Sir Thos. More 33 
 
 Thoughte the Doctrine of Indulgences 
 altogether bad and false. 
 
 Father sayd, that the graduallie increast 
 Severitie of Church Discipline concerning 
 minor Offences had become such as to 
 render Indulgences the needfulle Remedie 
 for Burthens too heavie to be borne. 
 Condemned a Draconic Code, that visitted 
 even Sins of Discipline with the extream 
 Penaltie. Quoted how ill such excessive 
 Severitie answered in our owne Land, 
 with regard to the Civill Law ; twenty 
 Thieves oft hanging together on the 
 same Gibbet, yet Robberie noe Whit 
 abated. 
 
 Othermuch to same Purport, the which, 
 if alle set downe, woulde too soon fill my 
 Libellus. At length, unwillinglie brake 
 off, when the Bell rang us to Matins. 
 
 At Breakfaste, William^ and Rupert were 
 earneste with my Father to let 'em row 
 
 him 
 c
 
 34 *fhe Household 
 
 him to Westminster, which he was disin- 
 clined to, as he was for more Speede, and 
 had promised Erasmus an earlie Caste to 
 Lambeth ; howbeit, he consented that they 
 should pull us up to Putney in the Even- 
 ing, and William should have the Stroke- 
 oar. Erasmus sayd, he must thank the 
 Archbishop for his Present of a Horse ; 
 " tho' I'm full faine," he observed, " to 
 " believe it a Changeling. He is idle and 
 " gluttonish, as thin as a Wasp, and as 
 " ugly as Sin. Such a Horse, and such a 
 " Rider ! " 
 
 In the Evening Will and Rupert had 
 made 'emselves spruce enow, with Nose- 
 gays and Ribbons, and we tooke Water 
 bravelie ; "John Harris in the Stern, play- 
 ing the Recorder. We had the six-oared 
 Barge ; and when Rupert Allington was 
 tired of pullingj Mr. Clement tooke his 
 Oar ; and when he wearied, John Harris 
 
 gave
 
 of Sir Thos. More 35 
 
 gave over playing the Pipe ; but William 
 and Mr. Gunnel never flagged. 
 
 Erasmus was full of his Visitt to the 
 Archbishop^ who, as usuall, I think, had 
 given him some Money. 
 
 " We sate down two hundred to 
 " Table," sayth he ; " there was Fish, 
 " Flesh, and Fowl ; but Wareham onlie 
 " played with his Knife, and drank noe 
 " Wine. He was very cheerfulle and 
 " accessible ; he knows not what Pride 
 " is ; and yet, of how much mighte he 
 " be proude ! What Genius ! What Eru- 
 " dition ! what Kindnesse and Modesty ! 
 " From Wareham^ who ever departed in 
 " Sorrow ? " 
 
 Landing at Fulham, we had a brave 
 Ramble . thro' the Meadows. Erasmus, 
 noting the poor Children a gathering the 
 Dandelion and Milk-thistle for the Herb- 
 market, was avised to speak of forayn 
 
 Herbes
 
 36 The Household 
 
 Herbes and theire Uses, bothe for Food 
 and Medicine. 
 
 " For me," says Father , " there is manie 
 " a Plant I entertayn in my Garden and 
 " Paddock which the Fastidious woulde 
 " cast forthe. I like to teache my Chil- 
 " dren the Uses of common Things to 
 " know, for Instance, the Uses of the 
 " Flowers and Weeds that grow in our 
 " Fields and Hedges. Manie a poor 
 " Knave's Pottage woulde be improved, 
 " if he were skilled in the Properties of 
 " the Burdock and Purple Orchis, Lady's- 
 " smock, Brook-lime, and Old Man's 
 " Pepper. The Roots of Wild Succory 
 " and Water Arrow-head mighte agree- 
 " ablie change his Lenten Diet ; and 
 " Glasswort afford him a Pickle for his 
 " Mouthfulle of Salt-meat. Then, there 
 " are Cresses and Wood - sorrel to his 
 " Breakfast, and Salep for his hot even- 
 ing
 
 of Sir Thos. More 37 
 
 " ing Mess. For his Medicine, there is 
 " Herb-twopence, that will cure a hun- 
 " dred Ills ; Camomile, to lull a raging 
 " Tooth ; and the Juice of Buttercup to 
 " cleare his Head by sneezing. Vervain 
 " cureth Ague ; and Crowfoot affords the 
 " leaste painfulle of Blisters. St. Anthony s 
 " Turnip is an Emetic ; Goose - grass 
 " sweetens the Blood ; WoodrufFe is good 
 " for the Liver ; and Bindweed hath nigh 
 " as much Virtue as the forayn Scam- 
 " mony. Pimpernel promoteth Laugh- 
 " ter ; and Poppy, Sleep : Thyme giveth 
 " pleasant Dreams ; and an Ashen Branch 
 " drives evil Spirits from the Pillow. As 
 " for Rosemarie, I lett it run alle over my 
 " Garden Walls, not onlie because my 
 " Bees love it, but because 'tis the Herb 
 " sacred to Remembrance, and, therefore, 
 " to Friendship, whence a Sprig of it 
 " hath a dumb Language that maketh 
 
 "it
 
 38 The Household 
 
 " it the chosen Emblem at our Funeral 
 " Wakes, and in our Buriall Grounds. 
 " Howbeit, I am a Schoolboy prating in 
 " Presence of his Master, for here is John 
 " Clement at my Elbow, who is the best 
 " Botanist and Herbalist of us all." 
 
 Returning Home, the Youths being 
 warmed with rowing, and in high Spiritts, 
 did entertayn themselves and us with 
 manie Jests and Playings upon Words, 
 some of 'em forced enow, yet provocative 
 of Laughing. Afterwards, Mr. Gunnel 
 proposed Enigmas and curious Questions. 
 Among others, he woulde know which 
 of the famous Women of Greece or 
 Rome we Maidens would resemble. Bess 
 was for Cornelia, Daisy for C/e/ia, but I 
 for Damo, Daughter of Pythagoras^ which 
 William Roper deemed stupid enow, and 
 thoughte I mighte have found as good a 
 Daughter, that had not died a Maid. 
 
 Sayth
 
 Thos. More 39 
 
 Sayth Erasmus, with his sweet, inexpres- 
 sible Smile, " Now I will tell you, Lads 
 " and Lasses, what manner of Man /would 
 " be, if I were not Erasmus. I woulde 
 " step back some few Years of my Life, 
 " and be half-way 'twixt thirty and forty ; 
 " I would be pious and profounde enow 
 " for the Church, albeit noe Churchman ; 
 " I woulde have a blythe, stirring, Eng- 
 " lish Wife, and half-a-dozen merrie Girls 
 " and Boys, an English Homestead, neither 
 " Hall nor Farm, but betweene both ; 
 " neare enow to the Citie for Conve- 
 " nience, but away from its Noise. I 
 " woulde have a Profession, that gave me 
 " some Hours daylie of regular Businesse, 
 " that should let Men know my Parts, 
 " and court me into Publick Station, for 
 " which my Taste made me rather with- 
 " drawe. I woulde have such a private 
 " Independence, as should enable me to 
 
 " give
 
 40 The Household 
 
 " give and lend, rather than beg and 
 " borrow. I woulde encourage Mirthe 
 " without Buffoonerie, Ease without 
 " Negligence ; my Habitt and Table 
 " shoulde be simple, and for my Looks 
 " I woulde be neither tall nor short, fat 
 " nor lean, rubicund nor sallow, but of 
 " a fayr Skin with blue Eyes, brownish 
 " Beard, and a Countenance engaging and 
 " attractive, soe that alle of my Companie 
 " coulde not choose but love me." 
 
 " Why, then, you woulde be Father 
 " himselfe," cries Cecy, clasping his Arm 
 in bothe her Hands with a Kind of Rap- 
 ture ; and, indeede, the Portraiture was 
 soe like, we coulde not but smile at the 
 Resemblance. 
 
 Arrived at the Landing, Father pro- 
 tested he was wearie with his Ramble ; 
 and, his Foot slipping, he wrenched his 
 Ankle, and sate for an Instante on a 
 
 Barrow,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 41 
 
 Barrow, the which one of the Men had 
 left with his Garden-tools, and before he 
 could rise or cry out, William, laughing, 
 rolled him up to the House-door; which, 
 considering Father s Weight, was much 
 
 for a Stripling to doe. Father sayd the 
 same, and, laying his Hand on WilTs 
 Shoulder with Kindnesse, cried, " Bless 
 " thee, my Boy, but I woulde not have thee 
 " overstrayned like Elton and C/ito6us" 
 
 June
 
 42 The Household 
 
 'June 20. 
 
 .HIS Morn, hinting to Bess 
 that she was lacing herselfe 
 too straitlie, she brisklie re- 
 plyed, " One would think 
 " 'twere as great Meritt to 
 " have a thick Waiste as to be one of the 
 " earlie Christians ! " 
 
 These humourous Retorts are ever at 
 her Tongue's end ; and albeit, as "Jacky 
 one Day angrilie remarked when she had 
 beene teazing him, " Bess, thy Witt is 
 " Stupidnesse ; " yet, for one who talks 
 soe much at Random, no one can be more 
 keene when she chooseth. Father sayd of 
 her, half fondly, half apologeticallie, to 
 Erasmus, " Her Wit hath a fine Subtletie 
 " that eludes you almoste before you have 
 " Time to recognize it for what it really 
 " is." To which Erasmus readilie assented, 
 
 adding,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 43 
 
 adding, that it had the rare Meritt of 
 playing less on Persons than Things, and 
 never on bodilie Defects. 
 
 Hum ! I wonder if they ever sayd as 
 much in Favour of me. I know, indeede, 
 Erasmus calls me a forward Girl. Alas ! 
 that may be taken in two Senses. 
 
 Grievous Work, overnighte, with the 
 churning. Nought would persuade Gillian 
 but that the Creame was bewitched by 
 Gammer Gurney^ who was dissatisfyde last 
 Friday with her Dole, and hobbled away 
 mumping and cursing. At alle Events, 
 the Butter would not come ; but Mother 
 was resolute not to have soe much good 
 Creame wasted ; soe sent for Bess and me, 
 Daisy and Mercy Giggs ; and insisted on 
 our churning in turn till the Butter came, 
 if we sate up alle Night for 't. 'Twas a 
 hard Saying ; and mighte have hampered 
 her like as Jephtha his rash Vow : how- 
 
 beit,
 
 44 
 
 The Household 
 
 belt, soe soone as she had left us, we turned 
 it into a Frolick, and sang Chevy Chase 
 from end to end, to beguile Time ; ne'er- 
 thelesse, the Butter would not come ; soe 
 then we grew sober, and, at the Instance 
 of sweete Mercy r , chaunted the iigth 
 Psalme ; and, by the Time we had 
 attained to " Lucerna Pedibus" I hearde 
 the Buttermilk separating and splashing in 
 righte earneste. 'Twas neare Midnighte, 
 however ; and Daisy had fallen asleep on 
 the Dresser. Gillian will ne'er be con- 
 vinced but that our Latin brake the Spell. 
 
 2 I St. 
 
 RASMUS went to Richmond 
 this Morning with Polus, 
 (for soe he Latinizes Regi- 
 nald Po/e, after his usual 
 Fashion,) and some other 
 of his Friends. On his Return, he made 
 
 us
 
 of Sir Thos. More 45 
 
 us laugh at the following. They had 
 clomb the Hill, and were admiring the 
 Prospect, when Pole^ casting his Eyes aloft, 
 and beginning to make sundrie Gesticula- 
 tions, exclaimed, " What is it I beholde ? 
 " May Heaven avert the Omen ! " with 
 suchlike Exclamations, which raised the 
 Curiositie of alle. " Don't you beholde," 
 cries he, " that enormous Dragon flying 
 " through the Sky ? his Horns of Fire ? 
 " his curly Tail ? " 
 
 " No," says Erasmus^ " nothing like it. 
 " The Sky is as cleare as unwritten 
 " Paper." 
 
 Howbeit, he continued to affirme and 
 to stare, untill at lengthe, one after another, 
 by dint of strayning theire Eyes and theire 
 Imaginations, did admitt, first, that they 
 saw Something ; next, that it mighte be 
 a Dragon ; and last, that it was. Of 
 course, on theire Passage homeward, they 
 
 could
 
 46 The Household 
 
 could talk of little else some made serious 
 Reflections ; others, philosophicall Specu- 
 lations ; and Pole waggishly triumphed in 
 having beene the Firste to discerne the 
 Spectacle. 
 
 " And you trulie believe there was a 
 " Signe in the Heavens ? " we inquired 
 of Erasmus. 
 
 " What know I ? " returned he smil- 
 ing ; " you know, Constantine saw a Cross. 
 " Why shoulde Polus not see a Dragon ? 
 " We must judge by the Event. Perhaps 
 " its Mission may be to fly away with 
 " him. He swore to the curly Tail." 
 
 How difficulte it is to discerne the 
 supernatural from the incredible ! We 
 laughe at Gillian s Faith in our Latin ; 
 Erasmus laughs at Polus his Dragon. 
 Have we a righte to believe noughte but 
 what we can see or prove ? Nay, that 
 will never doe. Father says a Capacitie 
 
 for
 
 of Sir Thos. More 47 
 
 for reasoning increaseth a Capacitie for 
 believing. He believes there is such a 
 Thing as Witchcraft, though not that 
 poore olde Gammer Gurney is a Witch ; 
 he believes that Saints can work Miracles, 
 though not in alle the Marvels reported 
 of the Canterbury Shrine. 
 
 Had I beene Justice of the Peace, like 
 the King's Grandmother, I would have 
 beene very jealous of Accusations of 
 Witchcraft ; and have taken infinite Payns 
 to sift out the Causes of Malice, Jealousie, 
 &c., which mighte have wroughte with 
 the poore olde Women's Enemies. Holie 
 Writ sayth, " Thou shalt not suffer a 
 " Witch to live ; " but, questionlesse, 
 manie have suffered Hurte that were 
 noe Witches ; and for my Part, I have 
 alwaies helde ducking to be a very un- 
 certayn as well as very cruel Teste. 
 
 I cannot helpe smiling, whenever I 
 
 think
 
 48 The Household 
 
 think of my Rencounter with William this 
 Morning. Mr. Gunnell had set me Homer s 
 tiresome List of Ships ; and, because of 
 the excessive Heate within Doors, I took 
 my Book into the Nuttery, to be beyonde 
 the Wrath of far-darting Phoebus Apollo, 
 where I clomb into my favourite Filbert 
 Seat. Anon comes William through the 
 Trees without seeing me ; and seats 
 him at the Foot of my Filbert ; then, 
 out with his Tablets, and, in a Pos- 
 ture I should have called studdied, had 
 he known anie one within Sighte, falls 
 a poetizing, I question not. Having 
 noe Mind to be interrupted, I lett him 
 be, thinking he would soone exhaust the 
 Vein ; but a Caterpillar dropping from 
 the Leaves on to my Page, I was fayn, 
 for Mirthe sake, to shake it down on his 
 Tablets. As ill Luck would have it, how- 
 ever, the little Reptile onlie fell among 
 
 his
 
 of Sir Thos. More 51 
 
 his Curls ; which soe took me at Vantage 
 that I coulde not helpe hastilie crying, 
 " I beg your Pardon." 'Twas worth a 
 World to see his Start ! " Why ! " cries 
 he, looking up, " are there indeede Hama- 
 " dryads ? " and would have gallanted 
 a little, but I bade him hold down his 
 Head, while that with a Twig I switched 
 off the Caterpillar. Neither coulde for- 
 beare laughing ; and then he sued me to 
 step downe, but I was minded to abide 
 where I was. Howbeit, after a Minute's 
 Pause, he sayd, in a grave, kind Tone, 
 " Come, little Wife ; " and taking mine Arm 
 steadilie in his Hand, I lost my Balance 
 and was faine to come down whether or 
 noe. We walked for some Time juxta 
 F/uvium ; and he talked not badlie of his 
 Travels, insomuch as I founde there was 
 really more in him than one would think. 
 -Was there ever Aniething soe per- 
 verse,
 
 52 The Household 
 
 verse, unluckie, and downrighte disagree- 
 able ? We hurried our Afternoone Tasks, 
 to goe on the Water with my Father ; 
 and, meaning to give Mr. Gunnel my 
 Latin Traduction, which is in a Booke 
 like unto this, I never knew he had my 
 Journalle insteade, untill that he burst 
 out a laughing. " Soe this is the famous 
 " Libellus" quoth he. ... I never waited 
 for another Word, but snatcht it out 
 of his Hand ; which he, for soe strict a 
 Man, bore well enow. I do not believe 
 he could have read a Dozen Lines, and 
 they were towards the Beginning ; but I 
 should hugelie like to know which Dozen 
 Lines they were. 
 
 Hum ! I have a Mind never to write 
 another Word. That will be punishing 
 myselfe, though, insteade of Gunnel. And 
 he bade me not take it to Heart like the 
 late Bishop of Durham^ to whom a like 
 
 Accident
 
 <?/~Sir Thos. More 53 
 
 Accident befel, which soe annoyed him 
 that he died of Chagrin. I will never 
 again, howbeit, write Aniething savouring 
 ever soe little of Levitie or Absurditie. 
 The Saints keepe me to it ! And, to 
 know it from my Exercise Book, I will 
 henceforthe bind a blue Ribbon round it. 
 Furthermore, I will knit the sayd Ribbon 
 in soe close a Knot, that it shall be worth 
 no one else's Payns to pick it out. Lastlie, 
 and for entire Securitie, I will carry the 
 Same in my Pouch, which will hold 
 bigger Matters than this. 
 
 22.nd. 
 
 jHIS Daye, at Dinner, Mr. 
 Clement tooke the Pistoller's 
 Place at the Reading-desk ; 
 and, insteade of continuing 
 the Subject in Hand, read 
 a Paraphrase of the ic^rde Psalm; the 
 
 Faithfulnesse
 
 54 The Household 
 
 Faithfulnesse and elegant Turne of which, 
 Erasmus highlie commended, though he 
 took Exceptions to the Phrase " renewing 
 " thy Youth like that of the Phoenix," 
 whose fabulous Story he believed to have 
 beene unknowne to the Psalmist, and, 
 therefore, however poeticall, unfitt to be 
 introduced. A deepe Blush on sweet 
 Mercy s Face ledd to the Detection of the 
 Paraphrast, and drew on her some de- 
 served Commendations. Erasmus, turning 
 to my Father, exclaymed with Anima- 
 tion, " I woulde call this House the 
 " Academy of Plato, were it not Injus- 
 " tice to compare it to a Place where the 
 " usuall Disputations concerning Figures 
 " and Numbers were onlie occasionallie 
 " intersperst with Disquisitions concerning 
 " the moral Virtues." Then, in a graver 
 Mood, he added, " One mighte envie you, 
 " but that your precious Privileges are 
 
 " bound
 
 of Sir Thos. More 55 
 
 " bound up with soe paynfulle Anxieties. 
 " How manie Pledges have you given to 
 " Fortune ! " 
 
 " If my Children are to die out of the 
 " Course of Nature, before theire Parents," 
 Father firmly replyed, " I would rather 
 " they died well-instructed than ignorant." 
 
 " You remind me," rejoyns Erasmus, 
 " of Phocion ; whose Wife, when he was 
 " aboute to drink the fatal Cup, ex- 
 " claimed, ' Ah, my Husband ! you die 
 " innocent.' ' And woulde you, my 
 " Wife,' he returned, ' have me die 
 " guilty ? ' " 
 
 Awhile after, Gonellus askt leave to see 
 Erasmus his Signet-ring, which he handed 
 down to him. In passing it back, William, 
 who was occupyde in carving a Crane, 
 handed it soe negligentlie that it felle to 
 the Ground. I never saw such a Face 
 as Erasmus made, when 'twas picked out 
 
 from
 
 56 The Household 
 
 from the Rushes ! And yet, ours are re- 
 newed almost daylie, which manie think 
 over nice. He took it gingerlie in his 
 faire, Woman - like Hands, and washed 
 and wiped it before he put it on ; which 
 escaped not my Step-mother's displeased 
 notice. Indeede, these Dutchmen are 
 scrupulouslie cleane, though Mother calls 
 'em swinish, because they will eat raw 
 Sallets ; though, for that Matter, Father 
 loves Cresses and Ramps. She alsoe mis- 
 likes Erasmus for eating Cheese and Butter 
 together with his Manchet ; or what he 
 calls Boetram ; and for being, generallie, 
 daintie at his Sizes, which she sayth is an 
 ill Example to soe manie young People, 
 and becometh not one with soe little 
 Money in 's Purse : howbeit, I think 'tis 
 not Nicetie, but a weak Stomach, which 
 makes him loathe our Salt -meat Com- 
 mons from Michaelmasse to Easter, and 
 
 eschew
 
 of Sir Thos. More 57 
 
 eschew Fish of the coarser Sort. He 
 cannot breakfaste on colde Milk, like 
 Father, but liketh Furmity a little spiced. 
 At Dinner, he pecks at, rather than eats, 
 Ruffs and Reeves, Lapwings, or anie 
 smalle Birds it may chance ; but affects 
 Sweets and Subtilties, and loves a Cup 
 of Wine or Ale, stirred with Rosemary. 
 Father never toucheth the Wine-cup but 
 to grace a Guest, and loves Water from 
 the Spring. We growing Girls eat more 
 than either ; and Father says he loves to 
 see us slice away at the Cob-loaf; it does 
 him goode. What a kind Father he is ! 
 I wish my Step-mother were as kind. I 
 hate all sneaping and snubbing, flowting, 
 fleering, pinching, nipping, and such-like ; 
 it onlie creates Resentment insteade of 
 Penitence, and lowers the Minde of either 
 Partie. Gillian throws a Rolling-pin at 
 the Turnspit's Head, and we call it Low- 
 life ;
 
 58 The Household 
 
 life ; but we looke for such Unmannerli- 
 nesse in the Kitchen. A Whip is onlie 
 fit for Ttsiphone. 
 
 As we rose from Table, I noted Argus 
 pearcht on the Window - sill, eagerlie 
 watching for his Dinner, which he looketh 
 for as punctuallie as if he could tell the 
 Diall ; and to please the good, patient 
 Bird, till the Scullion broughte him his 
 Mess of Garden-stuff, I fetched him some 
 Pulse, which he took from mine Hand, 
 taking good Heede not to hurt me with 
 his sharp Beak. While I was feeding 
 him, Erasmus came up, and asked me 
 concerning Mercy Giggs ; and I tolde him 
 how that she was a friendlesse Orphan, to 
 whom deare Father afforded Protection 
 and the run of the House ; and tolde 
 him of her Gratitude, her Meekness, her 
 Patience, her Docilitie, her Aptitude for 
 alle goode Works and Alms-deeds ; and 
 
 how,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 61 
 
 how, in her little Chamber, she improved 
 cache spare Moment in the Way of Studdy 
 and Prayer. He repeated " Friendlesse ? 
 " she cannot be called Friendlesse, who 
 " hath More for her Protector, and his 
 " Children for Companions ; " and then 
 woulde heare more of her Parents' sad 
 Story. Alsoe, would hear somewhat of 
 Rupert Allington, and how Father gained 
 his Lawsuit. Alsoe, of Daisy, whose 
 Name he tooke to be the true Abbrevia- 
 tion for Margaret, but I tolde him how 
 that my Step -sister, and Mercy, and I, 
 being all three of a Name, and I being 
 alwaies called Meg, we had in Sport given 
 one the Significative of her characteristic 
 Virtue, and the other that of the French 
 Marguerite, which may indeed be rendered 
 either Pearl or Daisy. And Chaucer, 
 speaking of our English Daisy, saith 
 " Si douce est la Marguerite"
 
 62 The Household 
 
 the little Wisdom I 
 have Capacitie to acquire, 
 soe oft gives me the 
 Headache to Distraction, 
 I marvel not at Jupiter s 
 Payn in his Head, when the Goddess of 
 Wisdom sprang therefrom full growne. 
 
 This Morn, to quiet the Payn brought 
 on by too busie Application, Mr. Gunnel 
 would have me close my Book and ramble 
 forth with Cecy into the Fields. We 
 strolled towards Walham Greene ; and she 
 was seeking for Shepherd's Purses and 
 Shepherd's Needles, when she came run- 
 ning back to me, looking rather pale. I 
 askt what had scared her, and she made 
 
 answer
 
 of Sir Thos. More 63 
 
 answer that Gammer Gurney was coming 
 along the Hedge. I bade her set aside 
 her Feares ; and anon we came up with 
 Gammer, who was pulling at the purple 
 Blossoms of the Deadly Nightshade. I 
 sayd, " Gammer, to what Purpose gather 
 " that Weed ? knowest not 'tis Evill ? " 
 
 She sayth, mumbling, " What GOD 
 " hath created, that call not thou evill." 
 
 " Well, but," quo' I, " 'tis Poison." 
 
 " Aye, and Medicine too," returns 
 Gammer. " I wonder what we poor Souls 
 " might come to, if we tooke Nowt for 
 " our Ails and Aches but what we could 
 " buy o' the Potticary. We've got noe 
 " Dr. Clement, we poor Folks, to be our 
 " Leech o' the Household." 
 
 " But hast no Feare," quo' I, " of an 
 " Over-dose ? " 
 
 " There's manie a Doctor," sayth she, 
 with an unpleasant Leer, " that hath 
 
 " given
 
 64 The Household 
 
 " given that at first. In Time he gets 
 " his Hand in ; and I've had a Plenty o' 
 " Practice Thanks to Self and Sister." 
 
 " I knew not," quoth I, " that thou 
 " hadst a Sister." 
 
 " How should ye, Mistress," returns she 
 shortlie, " when ye never comes nigh us ? 
 " We've grubbed on together this many a 
 " Year." 
 
 " 'Tis soe far," I returned, half ashamed. 
 
 " Why, soe it be," answers Gammer ; 
 " far from Neighbours, far from Church, 
 " and far from Priest ; howbeit, my old 
 " Legs carries me to your House o' 
 " Fridays ; but I know not whether I 
 " shall e'er come agayn the Rye Bread 
 " was soe hard last Time ; it may serve 
 " for young Teeth, and for them as 
 " has got none ; but mine, you see, are 
 " onlie on the goe ; " and she opened her 
 Mouth with a ghastly Smile. " 'Tis 
 
 " not,"
 
 of Sir Thos. More 65 
 
 " not," she added, " that I'm ungrate- 
 " fulle ; but thou sees, Mistress, I really 
 " cant eat Crusts." 
 
 After a Moment, I asked, " Where lies 
 " your Dwelling ? " 
 
 " Out by yonder," quoth she, pointing 
 
 to a shapeless Mass like a huge Bird's 
 Nest in the Corner of the Field. " There 
 " bides poor 'Joan and I. Wilt come and 
 " looke within, Mistress, and see how a 
 " Christian can die ? " 
 
 I 
 
 E
 
 66 The Household 
 
 I mutelie complyed, in spite of Cecys 
 pulling at my Skirts. Arrived at the 
 wretched Abode, which had a Hole for 
 its Chimney, and another for Door at 
 once and Window, I found, sitting in a 
 Corner, propped on a Heap of Rushes, 
 dried Leaves, and olde Rags, an aged sick 
 Woman, who seemed to have but a little 
 While to live. A Mug of Water stoode 
 within her Reach ; I saw none other 
 Sustenance ; but, in her Visage, oh, such 
 Peace ! . . . Whispers Gammer with an 
 awfulle Look, " She sees 'em now ! " 
 
 " Sees who ? " quoth I. 
 
 " Why, Angels in two long Rows, afore 
 " the Throne of GOD, a bending of them- 
 " selves, this Way, with theire Faces to 
 
 " th' Earth, and Arms stretched out afore 
 
 , > 11 
 ' em. 
 
 " Hath she seen a Priest ? " quoth I. 
 " LORD love ye," returns Gammer^ "what 
 
 " coulde
 
 of Sir Thos. More 67 
 
 " coulde a Priest doe for her ? She's in 
 " Heaven alreadie. I doubte if she can 
 " heare me." And then, in a loud, dis- 
 tinct Voyce, quite free from her usuall 
 Mumping, she beganne to recite in Eng- 
 lish, " Blessed is every one that feareth 
 " the LORD, and walketh in his Ways," 
 etc. ; which the dying Woman hearde, 
 although alreadie speechlesse ; and reach- 
 ing out her feeble Arm unto her Sister's 
 Neck, she dragged it down till their Faces 
 touched ; and then, looking up, pointed 
 at Somewhat she aimed to make her see 
 . . . and we alle looked up, but saw 
 Noughte. Howbeit, she pointed up three 
 severall Times, and lay, as it were, trans- 
 figured before us, a gazing at some trans- 
 porting Sighte, and ever and anon turning 
 on her Sister Looks of Love ; and, the 
 While we stoode thus agaze, her Spiritt 
 passed away without even a Thrill or a 
 
 Shudder.
 
 68 'The Household 
 
 Shudder. Cecy and I beganne to weepe ; 
 and, after a While, soe did Gammer ; 
 then, putting us forthe, she sayd, " Goe, 
 " Children, goe ; 'tis noe goode crying ; 
 " and yet I'm thankfulle to ye for your 
 " Teares." 
 
 I sayd, " Is there Aught we can doe 
 " for thee ? " 
 
 She made Answer, " Perhaps you can 
 " give me Tuppence, Mistress, to lay on 
 " her poor Eyelids and keep 'em down. 
 " Bless 'ee, bless 'ee ! You're like the 
 " good Samaritan he pulled out Two- 
 " pence. And maybe, if I come to 'ee 
 " To-morrow, you'll give me a Lapfulle 
 " of Rosemarie, to lay on her poor Corpse. 
 "... I know you've Plenty. GOD be 
 " with 'ee, Children ; and be sure ye 
 " mind how a Christian can die." 
 
 Soe we left, and came Home sober 
 enow. Cecy sayth, " To die is not soe 
 
 " fearfulle,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 69 
 
 " fearfulle, Meg, as I thoughte, but shoulde 
 ''you fancy dying without a Priest ? I 
 " shoulde not ; and yet Gammer sayd she 
 " wanted not one. Howbeit, for certayn, 
 " Gammer Gurney is noe Witch, or she 
 " woulde not soe prayse GOD." 
 
 To conclude, Father, on hearing Alle, 
 hath given Gammer more than enow for 
 her present Needes ; and Cecy and I are 
 the Almoners of his Mercy. 
 
 June 2 4-th. 
 
 [ESTERNIGHTE, being 
 St. Johns Eve, we went 
 into Town to see the 
 mustering of the Watch. 
 Mr. Rastall had secured 
 us a Window opposite the King s Head, 
 in Chepe, where theire Majestys went in 
 State to see the Show. The Streets were 
 
 a
 
 70 The Household 
 
 a Marvell to see, being like unto a 
 Continuation of fayr Bowres or Arbours, 
 garlanded acrosse and over the Doors 
 with greene Birch, long Fennel, Orpin, 
 St. Johns Wort, white Lilies, and such 
 like ; with innumerable Candles inter- 
 sperst, the which, being lit up as soon 
 as 'twas Dusk, made the Whole look 
 like enchanted Land ; while, at the same 
 Time, the leaping over Bon-fires com- 
 menced, and produced Shouts of Laughter. 
 The Youths woulde have had Father goe 
 downe and joyn 'em ; Rupert , speciallie, 
 begged him hard, but he put him off 
 with, " Sirrah, you Goose-cap, dost think 
 " 'twoulde befitt the Judge of the Sheriffs 
 " Court?" 
 
 At length, to the Sound of Trumpets, 
 came marching up Cheapside two Thou- 
 sand of the Watch, in white Fustian, 
 with the City Badge ; and seven hundred 
 
 Cressett
 
 of Sir Thos. More 71 
 
 Cressett Bearers, cache with his Fellow 
 to supplie him with Oyl, and making, 
 with theire flaring Lights, the Night as 
 cleare as Daye. After 'em, the Morris- 
 dancers and City Waites ; the Lord Mayor 
 on horseback, very fine, with his Giants 
 and Pageants ; and the Sheriff and his 
 Watch, and his Giants and Pageants. The 
 Streets very uproarious on our way back 
 to the Barge, but the homeward Passage 
 delicious ; the Nighte Ayre cool ; and 
 the Stars shining brightly. Father and 
 Erasmus had some astronomick Talk ; 
 howbeit, methoughte Erasmus less familiar 
 with the heavenlie Bodies than Father is. 
 Afterwards they spake of the King, but 
 not over-freelie, by reason of the Barge- 
 men overhearing. Thence, to the ever- 
 vext Question of Martin Luther, of whome 
 Erasmus spake in Terms of earneste, yet 
 qualifyde Prayse. 
 
 "If
 
 72 The Household 
 
 " If Luther be innocent," quoth he, " I 
 " woulde not run him down by a wicked 
 " Faction ; if he be in Error, I woulde 
 " rather have him reclaymed than de- 
 " stroyed ; for this is most agreeable to 
 " the Doctrine of our deare Lord and 
 " Master, who woulde not bruise the 
 " broken Reede, nor quenche the smok- 
 " ing Flax." And much more to same 
 Purpose. 
 
 We younger Folks felle to choosing 
 our favourite Mottoes and Devices, in 
 which the Elders at length joyned us. 
 Mother s was loyal " Cleave to the Crown 
 " though it hang on a Bush." Erasmus's 
 pithie " Festina lente" William sayd he 
 was indebted for his to St. Paul " I 
 " seeke not yours, but you." For me, I 
 quoted one I had scene in an olde Coun- 
 trie Church, " Mieux etre que paroitre" 
 which pleased Father and Erasmus much. 
 
 June
 
 0/~Sir Thos. More 73 
 
 June 2.$th. 
 
 ,OOR Erasmus caughte colde 
 on the Water last Nighte, 
 and keeps House to-daye, 
 taking warm Possets. 'Tis 
 my Week of Housekeeping 
 under Mother's Guidance, and I never 
 had more Pleasure in it ; delighting to 
 suit his Taste in sweete Things, which, 
 methinks, all Men like. I have enow of 
 Time left for Studdy, when alle's done. 
 
 He hathe beene the best Part of the 
 Morning in our Academia, looking over 
 Books and Manuscripts, taking Notes of 
 some, discoursing with Mr. Gunnel on 
 others ; and, in some Sorte, interrupting 
 our Morning's Work ; but how plea- 
 santlie ! Besides, as Father sayth, " Va- 
 " rietie is not always Interruption. That 
 
 " which
 
 74 ^e Household 
 
 " which occasionallie lets and hinders our 
 " accustomed Studdies, may prove to the 
 " ingenious noe less profitable than theire 
 " Studdies themselves." 
 
 They beganne with discussing the Pro- 
 nunciation of Latin and Greek, on which 
 Erasmus differeth much from us, though 
 he holds to our Pronunciation of the 
 Theta. Thence, to the absurde Partie of 
 the Ciceronian* now in Italic, who will 
 admit noe Author save Tully to be read 
 nor quoted, nor any Word not in his 
 Writings to be used. Thence to the 
 Latinitie of the Fathers, of whose Style 
 he spake slightlie enow, but rated ^Jerome 
 above Augustine. At length, to his Greek 
 and Latin Testament, of late issued from 
 the Presse, and the incredible Labour it 
 hath cost him to make it as perfect as 
 possible : on this Subject he so warmed 
 that Bess and I listened with suspended 
 
 Breath.
 
 ir Thos. More 75 
 
 Breath. " May it please GOD," sayth he, 
 knitting ferventlie his Hands, " to make 
 " it a Blessing to all Christendom ! I 
 " look for noe other Reward. Scholars 
 " and Believers yet unborn may have 
 " Reason to thank, and yet may forget 
 " Erasmus.'" He then went on to explain 
 to Gunnel what he had much felt in want 
 of, and hoped some Scholar might yet 
 undertake ; to wit, a Sort of Index Bibli- 
 orum, showing in how manie Passages of 
 Holy Writ occurreth anie given Word, 
 etc. ; and he e'en proposed it to Gunnel, 
 saying 'twas onlie the Work of Patience 
 and Industry, and mighte be layd aside, 
 and resumed as Occasion offered, and 
 completed at Leisure, to the great Thank- 
 fullenesse of Scholars. But Gunnel onlie 
 smiled and shooke his Head. Howbeit, 
 Erasmus set forth his Scheme soe playnlie, 
 that I, having a Pen in Hand, did privilie 
 
 note
 
 7 6 The Household 
 
 note down alle the Heads of the same, 
 thinking, if none else would undertake it, 
 why should not I ? since Leisure and 
 Industrie were alone required, and since 
 'twoulde be soe acceptable to manie, 
 'speciallie to TLrasmus. 
 
 "June 2<)th. 
 
 ^EARDE Mother say to Bar- 
 bara^ " Be sure the Sirloin is 
 " well basted for the King's 
 " Physician ; " which avised 
 me that Dr. Linacre was 
 expected. In Truth, he returned with 
 Father in the Barge ; and they tooke a 
 Turn on the River Bank before sitting 
 down to Table. I noted them from my 
 Lattice ; and anon, Father , beckoning me, 
 cries, " Child, bring out my favourite 
 " Treatyse on Fisshynge, printed by 
 
 " Wynkyn
 
 - XT;..-- ijT, !f f W 
 
 v^ IIP/ $r fit i** 
 f 
 
 ij;?\^u 
 
 Sg i\f| >^*- /I^K'^K-,.,;, 
 
 ' ^ r * M ?? 'TS'tri T v. 
 
 : ; ?? 
 
 ,". " *^ 
 
 *^* . 
 
 A-r r: 
 
 ^.ri-%-:^ "v- 
 
 mj$K: 
 
 iafii*-3&fp
 
 of Sir Thos. More 79 
 
 " Wynkyn de Worde ; I must give the 
 " Doctor my loved Passage." 
 
 Joyning 'em with the Booke, I found 
 Father telling him of the Roach, Dace, 
 Chub, Barbel, etc., we oft catch opposite 
 the Church ; and hastilie turning over 
 the Leaves, he beginneth with Unction 
 to read the Passage ensuing, which I love 
 to the full as much as he : 
 . He observeth, if the Angler's Sport 
 shoulde fail him, " he at the best hathe 
 " his holsom Walk and mery at his Ease, 
 " a swete Ayre of the swete Savour of the 
 " Meade of Flowers, that maketh him 
 " hungry ; he heareth the melodious Har- 
 " monie of Fowles, he seeth the young 
 " Swans, Herons, Ducks, Cotes, and manie 
 " other Fowles, with theire Broods, which 
 " me seemeth better than alle the Noise 
 " of Hounds, Faukenors, and Fowlers can 
 " make. And if the Angler take Fysshe, 
 
 " then
 
 80 The Household 
 
 " then there is noe Man merrier than he 
 " is in his Spryte." And, " Ye shall not 
 " use this foresaid crafty Disporte for no 
 " covetysnesse in the encreasing and spar- 
 " ing of your Money onlie, but prynci- 
 " pallie for your Solace, and to cause the 
 " Health of your Bodie, and speciallie of 
 " your Soule, for when ye purpose to goe 
 " on your Disportes of Fysshynge, ye will 
 " not desire greatlie manie Persons with 
 " you, which woulde lett you of your 
 " Game. And thenne ye may serve GOD 
 " devoutlie, in saying affectuouslie your 
 " customable Prayer ; and thus doing, ye 
 " shall eschew and voyd manie Vices." 
 
 " Angling is itselfe a Vice," cries Eras- 
 mus, from the Thresholde ; " for my Part 
 " I will fish none, save and except for 
 " pickled Oysters." 
 
 " In the Regions below," answers 
 Father; and then laughinglie tells Linacre 
 
 of
 
 of Sir Thos. More 81 
 
 of his firste Dialogue with Erasmus, who 
 had beene feasting in my Lord Mayor's 
 Cellar : " ' Whence come you ? ' ' From 
 " below.' ' What were they about there ? ' 
 " ' Eating live Oysters, and drinking out 
 " of Leather Jacks.' ' Either you are 
 " Erasmus,' etc. ' Either you are More 
 " or Nothing.' " 
 
 " ' Neither more nor less,' you should 
 " have rejoyned," sayth the Doctor. 
 
 " How I wish I had ! " says Father ; 
 " don't torment me with a Jest I might 
 " have made and did not make ; 'speciallie 
 " to put downe Erasmus." 
 
 " Concede nulli" sayth Erasmus. 
 
 " Why are you so lazy ? " asks Linacre ; 
 " I am sure you can speak English if you 
 " will." 
 
 " Soe far from it," sayth Erasmus, " that 
 " I made my Incapacitie an Excuse for 
 " declining an English Rectory. Albeit, 
 
 " you
 
 82 The Household 
 
 " you know how Wareham requited me ; 
 " saying, in his kind, generous Way, I 
 " served the Church more by my Pen 
 " than I coulde by preaching Sermons in 
 " a countrie Village." 
 
 Sayth Unacre^ " The Archbishop hath 
 " made another Remark, as much to the 
 " Purpose : to wit, that he has received 
 " from you the Immortalitie which Em- 
 " perors and Kings cannot bestow." 
 
 " They cannot even bid a smoking 
 " Sirloin retain its Heat an Hour after 
 " it hath left the Fire," sayth Father. 
 " Tilly-vally ! as my good Alice says, 
 " let us remember the universal Doom, 
 " ' Fruges consumere nati* and philosophize 
 " over our Ale and Bracket." 
 
 " Not Cambridge Ale, neither," sayth 
 Erasmus. 
 
 " Will you never forget that unlucky 
 " Beverage ? " sayth Father. " Why, Man, 
 
 " think
 
 of Sir Thos. More 83 
 
 " think how manie poor Scholars there 
 " be, that content themselves, as I have 
 " hearde one of St. 'Johns declare, with a 
 " penny piece of Beef amongst four, stewed 
 " into Pottage with a little Salt and Oat- 
 " meal ; and that after fasting from four 
 " o'clock in the Morning ! Say Grace for 
 " usthisDaye, Erasmus, with goode Heart." 
 At Table, Discourse flowed soe thicke 
 and faste that I mighte aim in vayn to 
 chronicle it and why should I ? dwelling 
 as I doe at the Fountayn Head ? Onlie 
 that I find Pleasure, alreadie, in glancing 
 over the foregoing Pages whensoever they 
 concern Father and Erasmus, and wish 
 they were more faithfullie recalled and 
 better writ. One Thing sticks by me,- 
 a funny Reply of Father s to a Man who 
 owed him Money and who put him off 
 with " Memento Morieris" " I bid you," 
 retorted Father, " Memento Mori Mr is, and 
 
 "I
 
 84 The Household 
 
 " I wish you woulde take as goode Care to 
 " provide for the one as I do for the other." 
 
 Linacre laughed much at this, and sayd, 
 
 " That was real Wit ; a Spark struck 
 
 " at the Moment ; and with noe 111- 
 
 " nature in it, for I am sure your Debtor 
 
 " coulde not help laughing.' 1 
 
 " Not he," quoth Erasmus. " Mores 
 " Drollerie is like that of a young Gentle- 
 " woman of his Name, which shines with- 
 " out burning," . . . and, oddlie enow, 
 he looked acrosse at me. I am sure he 
 meant Bess. 
 
 July ist. 
 
 \ATHER broughte home a 
 strange Guest to-daye, 
 a converted Jew, with 
 grizzlie Beard, furred 
 Gown, and Eyes that 
 shone like Lamps lit in dark Cavernes. 
 
 He
 
 of Sir Thos. More 85 
 
 He had beene to Benmarine and Treme$en, 
 to the Holie Citie and to Damascus, to 
 Urmia and Assyria, and I think alle over 
 the knowne World ; and tolde us manie 
 strange Tales, one hardlie knew how to 
 believe ; as, for Example, of a Sea-coast 
 
 Tribe, called the Balouches, who live on 
 Fish and build theire Dwellings of the 
 Bones. Alsoe, of a Race of his Countrie- 
 men beyond Euphrates who believe in 
 
 Christ,
 
 86 The Household 
 
 Christ^ but know nothing of the Pope ; 
 and of whom were the Magians that 
 followed the Star. This agreeth not with 
 our Legend. He averred that, though 
 soe far apart from theire Brethren, theire 
 Speech was the same, and even theire 
 Songs ; and he sang or chaunted one 
 which he sayd was common among the 
 Jews alle over the World, and had beene 
 soe ever since theire Citie was ruinated 
 and the People captivated, and yet it was 
 never sett down in Prick-song. Erasmus, 
 who knows little or nought of Hebrew, 
 listened to the Words with Curiositie, 
 and made him repeate them twice or 
 thrice : and though I know not the 
 Character, it seemed to me they sounded 
 thus : 
 
 Adir Hu yivne bethcha beccaro, 
 El, b'ne ; El, Une ; El, Une ; 
 Bethcha beccaro. 
 
 Though
 
 (/Sir Thos. More 87 
 
 Though Christianish, he woulde not 
 eat Pig's Face ; and sayd Swine's Flesh 
 was forbidden by the Hebrew Law for 
 its unwholesomenesse in hot Countries 
 and hot Weather, rather than by way 
 of arbitrarie Prohibition. Daisy took a 
 great Dislike to this Man, and woulde 
 not sit next him. 
 
 In the Hay-field alle the Evening. 
 Swathed Father in a Hay-rope, and made 
 him pay the Fine, which he pretended 
 to resist. Cecy was just about to cast 
 one round Erasmus, when her Heart 
 failed and she ran away, colouring to 
 the Eyes. He sayd, he never saw such 
 pretty Shame. Father reclining on the 
 Hay, with his Head on my Lap and his 
 Eyes shut, Bess asked if he were asleep. 
 He made answer, " Yes, and dreaming." 
 I askt, " Of what ? " " Of a far-off 
 " future Daye, Meg ; when thou and I 
 
 " shall
 
 88 The Household 
 
 " shall looke back on this Hour, and this 
 " Hay-field, and my Head on thy Lap." 
 
 " Nay, but what a stupid Dream, Mr. 
 " More" says Mother. " Why, what 
 " woulde you dreame of, Mrs. Alice ? " 
 " Forsooth, if I dreamed at alle, when I 
 " was widie awake, it shoulde be of being 
 " Lord Chancellor at the leaste." " Well, 
 " Wife, I forgive thee for not saying at 
 " the most. Lord Chancellor, quotha ! 
 " And you woulde be Dame Alice ^ I trow, 
 " and ride in a Whirlecote, and keep a 
 " Spanish Jennet, and a Couple of Grey- 
 " hounds, and wear a Train before and 
 " behind, and carry a Jerfalcon on your 
 " Fist." " On my Wrist." " No, that's 
 " not such a pretty Word as t'other ! Go 
 " to, go ! " 
 
 Straying from the others, to a remote 
 Corner of the Meadow, or ever I was 
 aware, I came close upon Gammer Gurney, 
 
 holding
 
 of Sir Thos. More 89 
 
 holding Somewhat with much Care. 
 " Give ye good den, Mistress Meg" quoth 
 she, " I cannot abear to rob the Birds of 
 " theire Nests ; but I knows you and 
 " yours be kind to dumb Creatures, soe 
 " here's a Nest o' young Owzels for ye 
 " and I can't call 'em dumb nowther, for 
 " they'll sing bravelie some o' these Days." 
 " How hast fared, of late, Gammer ? " 
 quoth I. " Why, well enow for such as 
 " I," she made Answer ; " since I lost the 
 " Use o' my right Hand, I can nowther 
 " spin, nor nurse sick Folk, but I pulls 
 " Rushes, and that brings me a few Pence, 
 " and I be a good Herbalist ; onlie, be- 
 " cause I says one or two English Prayers, 
 " and hates the Priests, some Folks thinks 
 " me a Witch." " But why dost hate the 
 " Priests ? " quoth I. " Never you mind," 
 she gave Answer, " I've Reasons manie ; 
 " and for my English Prayers, they were 
 
 " taught
 
 The Household 
 
 " taught me by a Gentleman I nursed, 
 " that's now a Saint in Heaven, along 
 " with poor "Joan." 
 
 And soe she hobbled off, and I felt 
 
 kindlie towards her, I scarce knew why 
 
 perhaps because she spake soe lovingly 
 
 of her dead Sister, and because of that 
 
 Sister's Name. My Mother's Name was 
 
 July 2nd. 
 
 RASMUS is gone. His 
 last Saying to Father was, 
 " They will have you at 
 " Court yet ; " and Father's 
 Answer, " When Plato's 
 " Year comes round." 
 
 To me he gave a Copy, how precious ! 
 of his Testament. " You are an elegant 
 " Latinist, Margaret" he was pleased to 
 say, " but, if you woulde drink deeplie 
 
 "of
 
 of Sir Thos. More 91 
 
 " of the Well-springs of Wisdom, applie 
 " to Greek. The Latins have onlie 
 " shallow Rivulets ; the Greeks, copious 
 " Rivers, running over Sands of Gold. 
 " Read Plato ; he wrote on Marble, with 
 " a Diamond ; but above alle, read the 
 " New Testament. 'Tis the Key to the 
 " Kingdom of Heaven." 
 
 To Mr. Gunnel, he said smiling, " Have 
 " a Care of thyself, dear Gonellus, and 
 " take a little Wine for thy Stomach's 
 " Sake. The Wages of most Scholars 
 " now-a-days, are weak Eyes, Ill-health, 
 " an empty Purse, and shorte Commons. 
 " I neede only bid thee beware of the 
 " two first." 
 
 To Bess, " Farewell, Bessy ; thank you 
 " for mending my bad Latin. When I 
 " write to you, I will be sure to signe 
 " myselfe ' Roterodamius* Farewell, sweete 
 " Cecil ; let me always continue your 
 
 " ' desired
 
 92 The Household 
 
 " c desired Amiable.' And you, Jacky, 
 " love your Book a little more." 
 
 " yacJis deare Mother, not content 
 " with her Girls," sayth Father , " was 
 " alwaies wishing for a Boy, and at last 
 " she had one that means to remain a 
 " Boy alle his Life." 
 
 " The Dutch Schoolmasters thoughte 
 " me dulle and heavie," sayth Erasmus, 
 " soe there is some Hope of Jacky yet." 
 And soe, stepped into the Barge, which 
 we watched to Chelsea Reach. How dulle 
 the House has beene ever since ! Rupert 
 and William have had me into the Pavil- 
 lion to hear the Plot of a Miracle-play 
 they have alreadie begunne to talke over 
 for Christmasse^ but it seemed to me down- 
 righte Rubbish. Father sleepes in Town 
 to-nighte, soe we shall be stupid enow. 
 Bessy hath undertaken to work Father a 
 Slipper for his tender Foot ; and is happie, 
 
 tracing
 
 of Sir Thos. More 93 
 
 tracing for the Pattern our three Moor- 
 cocks and Colts ; but I am idle and 
 tiresome. 
 
 If I had Paper, I woulde beginne 
 my projected Opus; but I dare not ask 
 Gunnel for anie more just yet ; nor have 
 anie Money to buy Some. I wish I had 
 a couple of Angels. I think I shall write 
 to Father for them to-morrow ; he alwaies 
 likes to heare from us if he is twenty-four 
 Hours absent, providing we conclude not 
 with " I have Nothing more to say." 
 
 July 4//z. 
 
 HAVE writ my Letter to 
 Father. I almoste wish, 
 now, that I had not sent it. 
 Rupert and Will still 
 full of theire Moralitie, 
 which reallie has some Fun in it. To 
 
 ridicule
 
 94 
 
 The Household 
 
 ridicule the Extravagance of those who, 
 as the Saying is, carry theire Farms and 
 Fields on theire Backs, William proposes 
 to come in, all verdant, with a reall Model 
 of a Farm on his Back, and a Windmill 
 on his Head. 
 
 July S th. 
 
 OW sweete, how gracious 
 an Answer from Father ! 
 'John Harris has broughte 
 me with it the two 
 Angels ; less prized than 
 
 this Epistle. 
 
 July loth. 
 
 IXTEENTH Birthdaye. 
 Father away, which made 
 it sadde. Mother gave me 
 a payr of blue Hosen with 
 Silk Clocks ; Mr. Gunnel, 
 an *ivorie-handled Stylus ; Bess, a Bodkin 
 
 for
 
 of Sir Thos. More 95 
 
 for my Hair ; Daisy ^ a Book-mark ; Mercy ^ 
 a Saffron Cake ; Jack, a Basket ; and 
 Cecil, a Nosegay. William s Present was 
 fayrest of alle, but I am hurte with him 
 and myselfe ; for he offered it soe queerlie 
 and tagged it with such ... I refused 
 it, and there's an End. 'Twas unman- 
 nerlie and unkinde of me, and I've cried 
 aboute it since. 
 
 Father alwaies gives us a Birthdaye 
 Treat ; soe, contrived that Mother shoulde 
 take us to see my Lord Cardinal of Tork 
 goe to Westminster in State. We had a 
 merrie Water-partie ; got goode Places 
 and saw the Show ; Crosse-bearers, Pillar- 
 bearers, Ushers and alle. Himselfe in 
 crimson engrayned Sattin, and Tippet 
 of Sables, with an Orange in his Hand 
 helde to 's Nose, as though the common 
 Ayr were too vile to breathe. What a 
 pompous Priest it is ! The Archbishop 
 
 mighte
 
 9 6 
 
 The Household 
 
 mighte well say, " That Man is drunk 
 " with too much Prosperitie." 
 
 Betweene Dinner and Supper, we had 
 a fine Skirmish in the Straits of Ther- 
 mopylae. Mr. Gunnel headed the Persians, 
 
 
 and Will was Leonidas, with a swashing 
 Buckler, and a Helmet a Yard high ; but 
 Mr. Gunnel gave him such a Rap on the 
 Crest that it went over the Wall ; soe 
 then William thought there was Nothing 
 
 left
 
 of Sir Thos. More 97 
 
 left for him but to die. Howbeit, as 
 he had beene layd low sooner than he 
 had reckoned on, he prolonged his last 
 Agonies a goode deal, and gave one of 
 the Persians a tremendous Kick just as 
 they were aboute to rifle his Pouch. 
 They therefore thoughte there must be 
 Somewhat in it they shoulde like to see ; 
 soe, helde him down in spite of his 
 hitting righte and lefte, and pulled there- 
 from, among sundrie lesser Matters, a 
 carnation Knot of mine. Poor Varlet, I 
 wish he would not be so stupid. 
 
 After Supper, Mother proposed a Con- 
 cert ; and we were alle singing a Rounde, 
 when, looking up, I saw Father standing 
 in the Door-way, with such a happy 
 Smile on his Face ! He was close behind 
 Rupert and Daisy, who were singing from 
 the same Book, and advertised them of 
 his Coming by gentlie knocking theire 
 
 Heads 
 G
 
 98 The Household 
 
 Heads together ; but I had the firste 
 Kiss, even before Mother^ because of my 
 Birthdaye. 
 
 July nth. 
 
 [T turns out that Father's 
 Lateness Yester-even was 
 caused by Press of Busi- 
 nesse ; a forayn Mission 
 having beene proposed to 
 him, which he resisted as long as he 
 could, but was at length reluctantlie 
 induced to accept. Lengthe of his Stay 
 uncertayn, which casts a Gloom on alle ; 
 but there is soe much to doe as to leave 
 little Time to think, and Father is busiest 
 of alle ; yet hath founde Leisure to concert 
 with Mother for us a Journey into the 
 Country, which will occupy some of the 
 Weeks of his Absence. I am full of care- 
 
 fulle
 
 of Sir Thos. More 99 
 
 fulle Thoughts and Forebodings, being 
 naturallie of too anxious a Disposition. 
 Oh, let me caste alle my Cares on 
 another ! Fecisti nos ad te, Domlne ; et 
 inquietum esf cor nostrum, donee requiescat 
 in te. 
 
 May
 
 100 
 
 The Household 
 
 May 27//z, 1523. 
 IS soe manie Months agone 
 since that I made an Entry 
 in my Libel/us^ as that my 
 Motto, "Nulla Dies sine 
 " Linea" hath somewhat 
 of Sarcasm in it. How manie Things 
 doe I beginne and leave unfinisht ! and 
 yet, less from Caprice than Lack of 
 Strength ; like him of whom the Scrip- 
 ture was writ, "This Man beganne to 
 " build and was not able to finish." My 
 Opus, for Instance ; the which my Father s 
 prolonged Absence in the Autumn, and 
 my Winter Visitt to Aunt Nan and Aunt 
 Fan gave me such Leisure to carrie 
 forward. But alack ! Leisure was less 
 to seeke than Learninge ; and when I 
 came back to mine olde Taskes, Leisure 
 
 was
 
 of Sir Thos. More 101 
 
 was awanting too ; and then, by reason 
 of my sleeping in a separate Chamber, 
 I was enabled to steale Hours from the 
 earlie Morn and Hours from the Night, 
 and, like unto Solomon s virtuous Woman, 
 my Candle went not out. But 'twas not 
 to Purpose that I worked, like the virtu- 
 ous Woman, for I was following a Jack- 
 o-Lantern ; having forsooke the straight 
 Path laid downe by Erasmus for a foolish 
 Path of mine owne ; and soe I toyled, 
 and blundered, and puzzled, and was 
 mazed ; and then came on that Payn 
 in my Head. Father sayd, " What makes 
 " Meg soe pale ? " and I sayd not : and, 
 at the last, I tolde Mother there was 
 somewhat throbbing and twisting in the 
 Back of mine Head, like unto a little 
 Worm that woulde not die ; and she made 
 Answer, " Ah, a Maggot," and soe by 
 her Scoff I was shamed. Then I gave 
 
 over
 
 IO2 The Household 
 
 over mine Opus, but the Payn did not 
 yet goe ; soe then I was longing for 
 the deare Pleasure, and fondlie turning 
 over the Leaves, and wondering woulde 
 Father be surprised and pleased with it 
 some Daye, when Father himself came 
 in or ever I was aware. He sayth, 
 " What hast thou, Meg ? " I faltered and 
 woulde sett it aside. He sayth, " Nay, 
 " let me see ; " and soe takes it from 
 me ; and after the firste Glance throws 
 himself into a Seat, his Back to me, 
 and firste runs it hastilie through, then 
 beginnes with Methode and such Silence 
 and Gravitie as that I trembled at his 
 Side, and felt what it must be to stand 
 a Prisoner at the Bar, and he the Judge. 
 Sometimes I thought he must be pleased, 
 at others not : at lengthe, alle my fond 
 Hopes were ended by his crying, " This 
 " will never doe. Poor Wretch, hath this 
 
 " then
 
 0/*Sir Thos. More 103 
 
 " then beene thy Toyl ? How couldst 
 " find Time for soe much Labour ? for 
 " here hath beene Trouble enow and to 
 " spare. Thou must have stolen it, sweet 
 " Meg, from the Night, and prevented 
 " the Morning Watch. Most dear'st ! 
 " thy Father s owne loved Child ; " and 
 soe, caressing me till I gave over my 
 Shame and Disappointment. 
 
 " I neede not to tell thee, Meg" Father 
 sayth, " of the unprofitable Labour of 
 " Sisyphus^ nor of drawing Water in a 
 " Sieve. There are some Things, most 
 " deare one, that a Woman, if she trieth, 
 " may doe as well as a Man ; and some 
 " she cannot, and some she had better 
 " not. Now, I tell thee firmlie, since 
 " the firste Payn is the leaste sharpe, that, 
 " despite the Spiritt and Genius herein 
 " shewn, I am avised 'tis Work thou 
 " canst not and Work thou hadst better 
 
 " not
 
 104 - The Household 
 
 " not doe. But judge for thyselfe ; if 
 " thou wilt persist, thou shalt have Leisure 
 " and Quiet, and a Chamber in my new 
 " Building, and alle the Help my Gallery 
 " of Books may afford. But thy Father 
 " says, Forbear." 
 
 Soe, what coulde I say, but " My 
 " Father shall never speak to me in vayn." 
 
 Then he gathered the Papers up and 
 sayd, " Then I shall take Temptation out 
 " of your Way ; " and pressing 'em to his 
 Heart as he did soe, sayth, " They are as 
 " deare to me as they can be to you ; " 
 and soe left me, looking out as though I 
 noted (but I noted not) the cleare-shining 
 Thames. 'Twas Twilighte, and I stoode 
 there I know not how long, alone and 
 lonely ; with Tears coming, I knew not 
 why, into mine Eyes. There was a 
 Weight in the Ayr, as of coming Thunder; 
 the Screaming, ever and anon, of Juno 
 
 and
 
 of Sir Thos. More 105 
 
 and Argus, inclined me to Mellancholie, 
 as it alwaies does : and at length I be- 
 ganne to note the Moon rising, and the 
 deepening Clearnesse of the Water, and 
 the lazy Motion of the Barges, and the 
 Flashes of Light whene'er the Rowers 
 dipt theire Oars. And then I beganne 
 to attend to the Cries and different Sounds 
 from acrosse the Water, and the Tolling 
 of a distant Bell ; and I felle back on 
 mine olde heart-sighinge, " Fecisti nos ad 
 " te, Domine ; et inquietum est cor nostrum, 
 " donee requiescat in te." 
 
 Or ever the Week was gone, my Father 
 had contrived for me another Journey to 
 New Hall, to abide with the Lay Nuns, 
 as he calleth them, Aunt Nan and Aunt 
 Fan, whom my Step-mother loveth not, 
 but whom I love and whom Father loveth. 
 Indeede, 'tis sayd in Essex that at first he 
 inclined to Aunt Nan rather than to my 
 
 Mother ;
 
 106 The Household 
 
 Mother ; but that, perceiving my Mother 
 affected his Companie and Aunt Nan 
 affected it not, he diverted his hesitating 
 Affections unto her and took her to wife. 
 Howbeit, Aunt Nan loveth him dearlie 
 as a Sister ought : indeed, she loveth alle, 
 except, methinketh, herself, to whom, 
 alone, she is rigid and severe. How holie 
 are my Aunts' Lives ! Cloistered Nuns 
 could not be more pure, and could scarce 
 be as usefulle. Though wise, they can 
 be gay ; though noe longer young, they 
 love the Young. And theire Reward is, 
 the Young love them ; and I am fulle 
 sure in this World they seeke noe better. 
 Returned to Chelsea^ I spake much in 
 Prayse of mine Aunts, and of single Life. 
 On a certayn Evening, we Maids were 
 sett at our Needles and Samplers on the 
 Pavilion Steps ; and, as Follie will out, 
 'gan talk of what we would fayn have to 
 
 our
 
 of Sir Thos. More 107 
 
 our Lots, shoulde a good Fairie starte up 
 and grant cache a Wish. Daisy was for 
 a Countess's Degree, with Hawks and 
 Hounds. Bess was for founding a Col- 
 lege, Mercy a Hospital, and she spake soe 
 experimentallie of its Conditions that I 
 was fayn to goe Partners with her in the 
 same. Cecy commenced, " Supposing I 
 " were married ; if once that I were mar- 
 " ried " on which, Father, who had come 
 up unperceived, burst out laughing and 
 sayth, " Well, Dame Cecily, and what 
 " State would you keep ? " Howbeit, as 
 he and I afterwards paced together, juxta 
 F/uvmm, he did say, " Mercy hath well 
 " propounded the Conditions of an Hos- 
 " pital or Alms-house for aged and sick 
 " Folk, and 'tis a Fantasie of mine to sett 
 " even such an one afoot, and give you 
 " the Conduct of the same." 
 
 From this careless Speech, dropped as 
 
 'twere
 
 io8 The Household 
 
 'twere by the Way, hath sprung mine 
 House of Refuge ! and oh, what Pleasure 
 have I derived from it ! How good is 
 my Father ! how the Poor bless him ! 
 and how kind is he, through them, to 
 me ! Laying his Hand kindly on my 
 Shoulder, this Morning, he sayd, " Meg, 
 " how fares it with thee now ? Have I 
 " cured the Payn in thy Head ? " Then, 
 putting the House-key into mine Hand, 
 he laughingly added, " 'Tis now yours, 
 " my Joy, by Livery and Seisin. 1 " 
 
 Aug. 6th. 
 
 WISH William would give 
 me back my Testament. 
 'Tis one thing to steal a 
 Knot or a Posie, and an- 
 other to borrow the most 
 valuable Book in the House, and keep it 
 
 Week
 
 of Sir Thos. More 109 
 
 Week after Week. He soughte it with 
 a kind of Mysterie, soe as that I forbeare 
 to ask it of him in Companie, lest I 
 should doe him an ill Turn ; and yet I 
 have none other Occasion. 
 
 Alle Parties are striving which shall 
 have Erasmus^ and alle in vayn. E'en 
 thus it was with him when he was here 
 last, the Queen would have had him for 
 her Preceptor, the King and Cardinall 
 prest on him a royall Apartment and 
 Salarie, Oxford and Cambridge contended 
 for him, but his Saying was, " Alle these 
 " I value less than my Libertie, my Stud- 
 " dies, and my literarie Toyls." How 
 much greater is he than those who woulde 
 confer on him Greatnesse ! Noe Man of 
 Letters hath equall Reputation, or is soe 
 much courted. 
 
 Aug.
 
 I IO 
 
 'The Household 
 
 Aug. jth. 
 
 ESTER-EVEN, after over- 
 looking the Men playing 
 at Loggats, Father and I 
 strayed away along Ther- 
 mopylae into the Home- 
 field ; and as we sauntered together under 
 the Elms, he sayth with a Sigh, " Jack 
 " is Jack, and no More ... he will 
 " never be anything. An' 'twere not for 
 " my beloved Wenches, I should be an 
 " unhappy Father. But what though ! 
 " My Meg is better unto me than ten 
 " Sons ; and it maketh no Difference at 
 " Harvest-time whether our Corn were put 
 " into the Ground by a Man or a Woman." 
 While I was turning in my Mind what 
 Excuse I might make for John^ Father 
 taketh me at unawares by a sudden Change 
 
 of
 
 of Sir Thos. More 
 
 in 
 
 of Subject ; saying, " Come, tell me, Meg, 
 " why canst not affect Will Roper ? " 
 
 I was a good while silent, at length 
 made Answer, " He is so unlike alle I 
 " esteem and admire ... so unlike alle 
 " I have been taught to esteem and admire 
 " by you."- 
 
 " Have at you," he returned laugh- 
 ing, " I wist not I had been sharpening 
 " Weapons agaynst myself. True, he is 
 " neither Achilles nor Hector, nor even 
 " Paris, but yet well enough, meseems, 
 " as Times go smarter and comelier than 
 " either Heron or Dancey" 
 
 I, faltering, made Answer, " Good Looks 
 " affect me but little 'tis in his better 
 " Part I feel the Want. He cannot . . . 
 " discourse, for instance, to one's Mind 
 " and Soul, like unto you, dear Father, or 
 " Erasmus." 
 
 " I should marvel if he could," re- 
 turned
 
 112 The Household 
 
 turned Father gravelie, " thou art mad, 
 " my Daughter, to look, in a Youth of 
 " Will's Years, for the Mind of a Man 
 " of fifty. What were Erasmus and I, 
 " dost thou suppose, at Will's age ? Alas, 
 " Meg, I should not like you to know 
 " what I was ! Men called me the Boy- 
 " sage, and I know not what, but in my 
 " Heart and Head was a World of Sin 
 " and Folly. Thou mightst as well ex- 
 " pect Will to have my Hair, Eyes, and 
 " Teeth, alle getting the worse for Wear, 
 " as to have the Fruits of my life-long 
 " Experience, in some Cases full dearly 
 " bought. Take him for what he is, 
 " match him by the young Minds of his 
 " owne standing : consider how long and 
 " closelie we have known him. His Parts 
 " are, surelie, not amiss : he hath more 
 " Book-lore than Dancey, more mother 
 " Wit than Allington" 
 
 " But
 
 of Sir Thos. More 113 
 
 " But why need I to concern myself 
 " about him ? " I exclaymed ; " Will is 
 " very well in his way : why should we 
 " cross each other's Paths ? I am young, I 
 " have much to learn, I love my Studdies, 
 " why interrupt them with other and 
 " less wise Thoughts ? " 
 
 " Because nothing can be wise that is 
 " not practical," returned Father, " and I 
 " teach my Children Philosophic to fitt 
 " them for living in the World, not above 
 " it. One may spend a Life in dream- 
 " ing over Plato^ and yet goe out of it 
 " without leaving the World a whit the 
 " better for our having made Part of it. 
 " 'Tis to little Purpose we studdy, if 
 " it onlie makes us exact Perfections in 
 " others which they may in vayn seek for 
 " in ourselves. It is not even necessary or 
 " goode for us to live entirelie with con- 
 " geniall Spiritts. The vigourous tempers 
 
 "the 
 
 H
 
 The Household 
 
 " the inert, the passionate is evened by 
 " the cool-tempered, the prosaic balances 
 " the visionarie. Woulde thy Mother suit 
 " me better, dost thou suppose, if she 
 " coulde discuss Polemicks like Luther or 
 " Melancthon ? E'en thine owne sweet 
 " Mother, Meg, was less affected to Studdy 
 " than thou art, she learnt to love it for 
 " my Sake, but I made her what she was." 
 And, with a suddain Burste of fond Re- 
 collection, he hid his Eyes on my Shoulder, 
 and for a Moment or soe, cried bitterlie. 
 As for me, I shed, oh ! such salt Teares ! . . . 
 
 Aug. ijth. 
 
 NTERING, o' the suddain, 
 into Mercy's Chamber, I 
 founde her all be-wept and 
 waped, poring over an old 
 Kirtle of Mother's she had 
 bidden her re-line with Buckram. Coulde 
 
 not
 
 of Sir Thos. More 115 
 
 not make out whether she were sick of 
 her Task, had had Words with Mother, 
 or had some secret Inquietation of her 
 owne ; but, as she is a Girl of few 
 Words, I found I had best leave her 
 alone after a Caress and kind Saying or 
 two. We alle have our Troubles. 
 
 Wednesday ) 
 
 ,RULIE may I say soe. 
 Here have they ta'en a 
 Fever of some low Sorte 
 in my House of Refuge, 
 and Mother, fearing it may 
 be the Sicknesse, will not have me goe 
 neare it, lest I should bring it home. 
 Mercy, howbeit, hath besought her soe 
 earnestlie to let her goe and nurse the 
 Sick, that Mother hath granted her Prayer, 
 
 on
 
 1 1 6 The Household 
 
 on Condition she returneth not till the 
 Fever bates . . . thus setting her Life 
 at lower Value than our owne. Deare 
 Mercy ! I woulde fayn be her Mate. 
 
 2 1 st. 
 
 are alle mightie glad that 
 Rupert Allington hath at 
 lengthe zealouslie embraced 
 the Studdy of the Law. 
 'Twas much to be feared 
 at the Firste there was noe Application 
 in him, and though we alle pitied him 
 when Father first broughte him Home, 
 a pillaged, portionlesse Client, with none 
 other to espouse his Rightes, yet 'twas a 
 Pitie soone allied with Contempt when 
 we founde how emptie he was, caring for 
 nought but Archerie and Skittles and the 
 Popinjaye out o' the House, and Dicing 
 
 and
 
 of Sir Thos. More 117 
 
 and Tables within, which Father would on 
 noe Excuse permitt. Soe he had to con- 
 form, ruefullie enow, and hung piteouslie 
 on Hand for awhile. I mind me of Bess's 
 saying, about Christmasse, " Heaven send 
 " us open Weather while Allington is here ; 
 " I don't believe he is one that will bear 
 " shutting up." Howbeit, he seemed to 
 incline towards Daisy, who is handsome 
 enow, and cannot be hindered of Two- 
 hundred Pounds, and soe he kept within 
 Bounds, and when Father got him his 
 Cause he was mightilie thankfulle, and 
 woulde have left us out of Hand, but 
 Father persuaded him to let his Estate 
 recover itself, and turn the mean Time 
 to Profitt, and, in short, soe wrought on 
 him, that he hath now become a Student 
 in righte earneste. 
 
 22nd.
 
 1 1 8 The Household 
 
 22nd. 
 
 |OE we are going to lose 
 not only Mr. Clement, but 
 Mr. Gunnel ! How sorrie 
 we alle are ! It seemeth 
 he hath long been debating 
 for and agaynst the Church, and at length 
 finds his Mind soe stronglie set towards 
 it, as he can keep out of it noe longer. 
 Well ! we shall lose a good Master, and 
 the Church will gayn a good Servant. 
 Drew will supplie his Place, that is, 
 according to his beste, but our worthy 
 Welshman careth soe little for young 
 People, and is soe abstract from the 
 World about him, that we shall oft 
 feel our Loss. Father hath promised 
 Gonellus his Interest with the Car- 
 dinal!. 
 
 I fell

 
 ir Thos. More 121 
 
 I fell into Disgrace for holding Speech 
 with Mercy over the Pales, but she is 
 confident there is noe Danger ; the Sick 
 are doing well, and none of the Whole 
 have fallen sick. She sayth Gammer 
 Gurney is as tender of her as if she 
 were her Daughter, and will let her doe 
 noe vile or paynfull Office, soe as she 
 hath little to doe but read and pray for 
 the poor Souls, and feed 'em with savourie 
 Messes, and they are alle so harmonious 
 and full of Cheer, as to be like Birds in 
 a Nest. Mercy deserves theire Blessings 
 more than I. Were I a free Agent, 
 she should not be alone now, and I 
 hope ne'er to be withheld therefrom 
 agayn.
 
 122 The Household 
 
 BUSIED with my Flowers 
 the chief o' the Forenoon, 
 I was fayn to rest in the 
 Pavilion, when, entering 
 therein, whom shoulde I 
 stumble upon but William, layd at length 
 on the Floor, with his Arms under his 
 Head, and his Book on the Ground. I 
 was withdrawing brisklie enow, when he 
 called out, " Don't goe away, since you 
 " are here," in a Tone soe rough, soe 
 unlike his usuall Key, as that I paused 
 in a Maze, and then saw that his Eyes 
 were red. He sprung to his Feet and 
 sayd, " Meg, come and talk to me ; " and, 
 taking my Hand in his, stepped quicklie 
 forthe without another Word sayd, till 
 we reached the Elm-tree Walk. I mar- 
 velled to see him soe moven, and expected 
 
 to
 
 of Sir Thos. More 123 
 
 to hear Somewhat that shoulde displease 
 me, scarce knowing what ; however, I 
 might have guest at it from then till 
 now, without ever nearing the Truth. 
 His first Words were, " I wish Erasmus 
 " had ne'er crost the Thresholde ; he has 
 " made me very unhappie ; " then, seeing 
 me stare, " Be not his Council just now, 
 " deare Meg, but bind up, if thou canst, 
 " the Wounds he has made. . . . There 
 " be some Wounds, thou knowest, though 
 " but of a cut Finger or the like, that 
 " we cannot well bind up for ourselves." 
 
 I made Answer, " I am a young and 
 " unskilled Leech." 
 
 He replyed, " But you have a quick 
 " Wit, and Patience, and Kindnesse, and for 
 " a Woman, are not scant of Learning." 
 
 " Nay," I sayd, " but Mr. Gunnel' 
 
 " Gunnel would be the Last to help 
 " me," interrupts Will^ " nor can I speak 
 
 " to
 
 124 The Household 
 
 " to your Father. He is alwaies too 
 " busie now . . . besides, 
 
 " Father Francis ? " I put in. 
 
 " Father Francis ? " repeats Will, with 
 a Shake o' the Head and a ruefulle Smile ; 
 " dost thou think, Meg, he coulde answer 
 " me if I put to him Pilate s Question, 
 " ' What is Truth ? ' " 
 
 " We know alreadie," quoth I. 
 
 Sayth Will, " What do we know ? " 
 
 I paused, then made Answer reverentlie, 
 " That Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and 
 " the Life." 
 
 " Yes," he exclaymed, clapping his 
 Hands together in a strange Sort of 
 Passion ; " that we doe know, blessed be 
 " GOD, and other Foundation can or ought 
 " noe Man to lay than that is layd, which 
 " is JESUS CHRIST. But, Meg, is this the 
 " Principle of our Church ? " 
 
 " Yea, verily," I steadfastlie replied. 
 
 " Then,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 125 
 
 " Then, how has it beene overlayd," 
 he hurriedlie went on, " with Men's In- 
 " ventions ! St. Paul speaks of a Sacrifice 
 " once offered : we holde the Host to be 
 " a continuall Sacrifice. Holy Writ telleth 
 " us, where a Tree falls it must lie ; we are 
 " taughte that our Prayers may free Souls 
 " from Purgatorie. The Word sayth, ' By 
 " Faith ye are saved ; ' the Church sayth, 
 " we may be saved by our Works. It is 
 " written, ' The Idols he shall utterly 
 " abolish ; ' we worship Figures of Gold 
 " and Silver . . ." " Hold, hold," I sayd, 
 " I dare not listen to this. . . . You are 
 " wrong, you know you are wrong." 
 
 " How and where ? " he sayth ; " onlie 
 " tell me. I long to be put righte." 
 
 " Our Images are but Symbols of our 
 " Saints," I made Answer ; " 'tis onlie the 
 " Ignorant and Unlearned that worship 
 " the mere Wood and Stone." 
 
 " But
 
 126 The Household 
 
 " But why worship Saints at alle ? " 
 persisted Will ; " where's your Warrant 
 " for it ? " 
 
 I sayd, " Heaven has warranted it by 
 " sundrie and speciall Miracles at divers 
 " Times and Places. I may say to you, 
 " Will, as Socrates to Agathon, ' You may 
 " easilie argue agaynst me, but you cannot 
 " argue agaynst the Truth.' ' 
 
 " Oh, put me not off with Plato" he 
 impatientlie replyed, " refer me but to 
 " Holie Writ." 
 
 " How can I," quoth I, " when you 
 " have ta'en away my Testament ere I had 
 " half gone through it ? 'Tis this Book, 
 " I fear me, poor Will, hath unsettled 
 " thee. Our Church, indeed, sayth the Un- 
 " learned wrest it to theire Destruction." 
 
 " And yet the Apostle sayth," rejoyned 
 Will, " that it contayns alle Things neces- 
 " sarie to our Salvation." 
 
 " Doubtlesse
 
 of Sir Thos. More 127 
 
 " Doubtlesse it doth, if we knew but 
 " where to find them," I replied. 
 
 " And how find, unlesse we seeke ? " 
 he pursued, " and how know which Road 
 " to take, when we find the Scripture 
 " and the Church at Issue ? " 
 
 " Get some wiser Head to advise us," 
 I rejoyned. 
 
 " But an' if the Obstacle remains the 
 " same ? " 
 
 " I cannot suppose that," I somewhat 
 impatientlie returned, " GOD'S Word and 
 " GOD'S Church must agree ; 'tis only we 
 " that make them at Issue." 
 
 " Ah, Meg, that is just such an Answer 
 " as Father Francis mighte give it solves 
 " noe Difficultie. If, to alle human Reason, 
 " they pull opposite Ways, by which 
 " shall we abide ? I know ; I am certain. 
 " ' TU, Domme yesu, es yusticia me a ! ' 
 
 He looked soe rapt, with claspt Hands 
 
 and
 
 128 The Household 
 
 and upraysed Eyes, as that I coulde not 
 but look on him and hear him with 
 Solemnitie. At length I sayd, " If you 
 " know and are certayn, you have noe 
 " longer anie Doubts for me to lay, and 
 " with your Will, we will holde this Dis- 
 " course noe longer, for however moving 
 " and however considerable its Subject 
 " Matter may be, it approaches forbidden 
 " Ground too nearlie for me to feel it 
 " safe, and I question whether it savoureth 
 " not of Heresie. However, Will, I most 
 
 " heartilie pitie you, and will pray for 
 
 iL 
 you. 
 
 " Do, Meg, do," he replyed, " and say 
 " nought to any one of this Matter." 
 
 " Indeede I shall not, for I think 
 " 'twoulde bring you if not me into 
 " Trouble ; but, since thou haste soughte 
 " my Council, Will, receive it now and 
 " take it. . . ." 
 
 He
 
 of Sir Thos. More 129 
 
 He sayth, " What is it ? " 
 
 " To read less, pray more, fast, and use 
 " such Discipline as our Church recom- 
 " mends, and I question not this Tempta- 
 " tion will depart. Make a fayr Triall." 
 
 And soe, away from him, though he 
 woulde fain have sayd more ; and I have 
 kept mine owne Worde of praying for 
 him full earnestlie, for it pitieth me to 
 see him in such Case. 
 
 Sept. 2nd. 
 
 OOR Will) I never see him 
 look grave now, nor heare 
 him sighe, without think- 
 ing I know the Cause of his 
 secret Discontentation. He 
 hath, I believe, followed my Council to 
 the Letter, for though the Men's Quarter 
 of the House is soe far aparte from ours, 
 it hath come rounde to me through 
 
 Barbara, 
 
 i
 
 130 The Household 
 
 Barbara, who had it from her Brother, 
 that Mr. Roper hath of late lien on the 
 Ground, and used a knotted Cord. As 
 'tis one of the Acts of Mercy to relieve 
 others, when we can, from Satanic Doubts 
 and Inquietations, I have been at some 
 Payns to make an Abstracte of such 
 Passages from the Fathers, and such Nar- 
 ratives of noted and undeniable Miracles 
 as cannot, I think, but carry Conviction 
 with them, and I hope they may minister 
 to his Soul's Comfort. 
 
 Tuesday, 
 
 UPPED with my Lord 
 Sands. Mother played 
 Mumchance with my 
 Lady, but Father, who 
 saith he woulde rather feast 
 a hundred poor Men than eat at one rich 
 
 Man's
 
 of Sir Thos. More 131 
 
 Man's Table, came not in till late, on 
 Plea of Businesse. My Lord tolde him 
 the King had visitted him not long agone, 
 and was soe well content with his Manor 
 
 as to wish it were his owne, for the 
 singular fine Ayr and pleasant growth of 
 Wood. In fine, wound up the Evening 
 with Musick. My Lady hath a Pair of 
 
 fine-toned
 
 132 The Household 
 
 fine-toned Clavichords, and a Mandoline 
 that stands five Feet high ; the largest 
 in England, except that of the Lady Mary 
 Dudley. The Sound, indeed, is powerfull, 
 but methinketh the Instrument ungaynlie 
 for a Woman. Lord Sands sang us a new 
 Ballad, "The Kings Hunt's up" which 
 Father affected hugelie. I lacked Spiritt 
 to sue my Lord for the Words, he being 
 soe free-spoken as alwaies to dash me ; 
 howbeit, I mind they ran somewhat 
 thus. 
 
 " The Hunt is up, the Hunt is up, 
 A nd it is well nigh Daye, 
 Harry our King has gone hunting 
 To bring his Deere to baye. 
 The East is bright with Morning Light e, 
 And Darkness it is fled, 
 And the merrie Horn wakes up the Morn 
 To leave his idle Bed. 
 Beholde the Skies with golden Dyes, 
 Are . . ." 
 
 The
 
 of Sir Thos. More 133 
 
 -The Rest hath escaped me, albeit I 
 know there was some Burden of Hey- 
 tantara, where my Lord did stamp and 
 snap his Fingers. He is a merry 
 Heart.
 
 134 The Household 
 
 1524, October. 
 
 'AYTH Lord Rutland to 
 my Father, in his acute 
 sneering Way, " Ah, ah, 
 " Sir Thomas , Honor es mu- 
 " tant Mores" 
 " Not so, in Faith, my Lord," returns 
 Father, " but have a Care lest we translate 
 " the Proverb, and say Honours change 
 " Manners" 
 
 It served him right, and the Jest is 
 worth preserving, because 'twas not pre- 
 meditate, as my Lord's very likely was, 
 but retorted at once and in Self-defence. 
 I don't believe Honours have changed 
 the Mores. As Father told Mother, there's 
 the same Face under the Hood. 'Tis 
 comique, too, the Fulfilment of Erasmus 
 his Prophecy. Plato s Year has not come 
 
 rounde,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 135 
 
 rounde, but they have got Father to 
 Court, and the King seems minded never 
 to let him goe. For us, we have the 
 same untamed Spiritts and unconstrayned 
 Course of Life as ever, neither lett nor 
 hindered in our daylie Studdies, though 
 we dress somewhat braver, and see more 
 Companie. Mother s Head was a little 
 turned, at first, by the Change and En- 
 largement of the Householde . . . the 
 Acquisition of Clerk of the Kitchen, 
 Surveyor of the Dresser, Yeoman of the 
 Pastrie, etc., but, as Father laughinglie 
 tolde her, the Increase of her Cares soon 
 steddied her Witts, for she found she had 
 twenty Unthrifts to look after insteade of 
 half-a-dozen. And the same with him- 
 self. His Responsibilities are soe increast, 
 that he grutches at everie Hour the Court 
 steals from his Family, and vows, now 
 and then, he will leave ofF joking, that 
 
 the
 
 136 The Household 
 
 the King may the sooner wearie of him. 
 But this is onlie in Jest, for he feels it 
 is a Power given him over lighter Minds, 
 which he may exert to usefull and high 
 Purpose. Onlie it keepeth him from 
 needing Damocles his Sword ; he trusts 
 not in the Favour of Princes nor in the 
 Voyce of the People, and keeps his Soul 
 as a weaned Child. 'Tis much for us 
 now to get an Hour's Leisure with him, 
 and makes us feel what our olde Privileges 
 were when we knew 'em not. Still, I'm 
 pleased without being over elated, at his 
 having risen to his proper Level. 
 
 The King tooke us by Surprise this 
 Morning : Mother had scarce time to 
 slip on her Scarlett Gown and Coif, ere 
 he was in the House. His Grace was 
 mighty pleasant to all, and, at going, 
 saluted all round, which Bessy took 
 humourously, Daisy immoveablie, Mercy 
 
 humblie,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 137 
 
 humblie, I distastefullie, and Mother de- 
 lightedlie. She calls him a fine Man ; 
 he is indeede big enough, and like to 
 become too big ; with long slits of Eyes 
 that gaze freelie on all, as who shoulde 
 say, " Who dare let or hinder us ? " His 
 Brow betokens Sense and Franknesse, his 
 Eyebrows are supercilious, and his Cheeks 
 puffy. A rolling, straddling Gait, and 
 abrupt Speech. 
 
 T'other Evening, as Father and I were, 
 unwontedly, strolling together down the 
 Lane, there accosts us a shabby poor Fellow, 
 with something unsettled in his Eye. . . . 
 
 " Master, Sir Knight, and may it please 
 " your Judgeship, my name is Patteson" 
 
 " Very likely," says Father, " and my 
 " Name is More, but what is that to the 
 " Purpose ? " 
 
 " And that is more to the Purpose, you 
 " mighte have said," returned the other. 
 
 " Why,
 
 138 The Household 
 
 " Why, soe I mighte," says Father, 
 " but how shoulde I have proved it ? " 
 
 " You who are a Lawyer shoulde 
 " know best about that," rejoyned the 
 poor Knave ; " 'tis too hard for poor 
 " Patteson" 
 
 " Well, but who are you ? " says Father, 
 " and what do you want of me ? " 
 
 " Don't you mind me ? " says Patteson ; 
 " I played Hold-your-tongue, last Christ- 
 " masse Revel was five Years, and they 
 " called me a smart Chap then, but last 
 " Martinmasse I fell from the Church 
 " Steeple, and shook my Brain-pan, I 
 " think, for its Contents have seemed 
 " addled ever since ; soe what I want 
 " now is to be made a Fool." 
 
 " Then you are not one already ? " says 
 Father. 
 
 " If I were," says Patteson, " I shoulde 
 " not have come to you" 
 
 " Why,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 139 
 
 " Why, Like cleaves to Like, you 
 " know they say," says Father. 
 
 " Aye," says t'other, " but I've Reason 
 " and Feeling enow, too, to know you 
 " are no Fool, though I thoughte you 
 " might want one. Great People like 
 " 'em at their Tables, I've hearde say, 
 " though I am sure I can't guesse why, for 
 " it makes me sad to see Fools laughed 
 " at ; ne'erthelesse, as I get laughed at 
 " alreadie, methinketh I may as well get 
 " paid for the Job if I can, being unable, 
 " now, to doe a Stroke of Work in hot 
 " Weather. And I'm the onlie Son of 
 " my Mother, and she is a Widow. But 
 " perhaps I'm not bad enough." 
 
 " I know not that, poor Knave," says 
 Father, touched with quick Pity, " and, 
 " for those that laugh at Fools, my 
 " Opinion, Patteson^ is that they are the 
 " greater Fools who laugh. To tell you 
 
 "the
 
 140 The Household 
 
 " the Truth, I had had noe Mind to take 
 " a Fool into mine Establishment, having 
 " alwaies had a Fancy to be prime Fooler 
 " in it myselfe ; however, you incline me to 
 " change my Purpose, for as I said anon, 
 " Like cleaves to Like, soe, I'll tell you 
 " what we will doe divide the Businesse 
 ' and goe Halves I continuing the Fool- 
 " ing, and thou receiving the Salary ; that 
 " is, if I find, on Inquiry, thou art given to 
 " noe Vice, including that of Scurrillitie." 
 
 "May it like your Goodness," says 
 poor Patteson, " I've been the Subject, oft, 
 " of Scurrillitie, and affect it too little to 
 " offend that Way myself. I ever keep 
 " a civil Tongue in my Head, 'specially 
 " among young Ladies." 
 
 " That minds me," says Father, " of a 
 " Butler who sayd he always was sober, 
 " especially when he only had Water to 
 " drink. Can you read and write ? " 
 
 " Well,
 
 Thos. More 141 
 
 " Well, and what if I cannot ? " returns 
 Patteson^ " there ne'er was but one, I 
 " ever heard of, that knew Letters, never 
 " having learnt, and well he might, for 
 " he made them that made them." 
 
 " Meg, there is Sense in this poor 
 " Fellow," says Father , " we will have 
 " him Home and be kind to him." 
 
 And, sure enow, we have done so and 
 been so ever since. 
 
 Tuesday r , 
 
 GLANCE at the anteced- 
 ing Pages of this Libellus 
 me-sheweth poor Will Roper 
 at the Season his Love-fitt 
 for me was at its Height. 
 He troubleth me with it noe longer, nor 
 with his religious Disquietations. Hard 
 Studdy of the Law hath filled his Head 
 with other Matters, and made him infi- 
 
 nitely
 
 142 "The Household 
 
 nitely more rational!, and by Consequents, 
 more agreeable. 'Twas one of those Pre- 
 ferences young People sometimes mani- 
 fest, themselves know neither why nor 
 wherefore, and are shamed, afterwards, to 
 be reminded of. I'm sure I shall ne'er 
 remind him. There was nothing in me 
 to fix a rational or passionate Regard. I 
 have neither Bess's Witt nor white Teeth, 
 nor Daisy's dark Eyes, nor Mercy's Dimple. 
 A plain-favoured Girl, with changefulle 
 Spiritts, that's alle. 
 
 26th. 
 
 ^ATTESON'S latest Jest was 
 taking Precedence of Father 
 yesterday with the Saying, 
 " Give place, Brother ; you 
 " are but Jester to King 
 Harry, and I'm Jester to Sir Thomas 
 
 " More ;
 
 of Sir Thos. More 143 
 
 " More ; I'll leave you to decide which is 
 " the greater Man of the two." 
 
 " Why, Gossip," cries Father, " his 
 " Grace woulde make two of me." 
 
 " Not a Bit of it," returns Patteson, 
 " he's big enow for two such as you are, 
 " I grant ye, but the King can't make 
 " two of you. No ! Lords and Commons 
 " may make a King, but a King can't 
 " make a Sir Thomas More" 
 
 " Yes, he can," rejoyns Father, " he can 
 " make me Lord Chancellor, and then 
 " he will make me more than I am 
 " already ; ergo, he will make Sir Thomas 
 " more." 
 
 " But what I mean is," persists the 
 Fool, " that the King can't make such 
 " another as you are, any more than all 
 " the King's Horses and all the King's 
 " Men can put Humpty-dumpty together 
 " again, which is an ancient Riddle, and 
 
 " full
 
 144 The Household 
 
 " full of Marrow. And soe he'll find, 
 " if ever he lifts thy Head off from thy 
 " Shoulders, which GOD forbid ! " 
 
 Father delighteth in sparring with 
 Patteson far more than in jesting with 
 the King, whom he alwaies looks on as 
 a Lion that may, any Minute, fall on 
 him and rend him. Whereas, with 
 t'other, he ungirds his Mind. Their 
 Banter commonly exceeds not Pleasantrie, 
 but Patteson is ne'er without an Answer ; 
 and although, maybe, each amuses him- 
 selfe now and then with thinking, " I'll 
 " put him up with such a Question," 
 yet, once begun, the Skein runs off the 
 Reel without a Knot, and shews the 
 excellent Nature of both, soe free are 
 they alike from Malice and Over-license. 
 Sometimes theire Cuts are neater than 
 common Listeners apprehend. I've scene 
 Rupert and Will^ in fencing, make theire 
 
 Swords
 
 Thos. More 145 
 
 Swords flash in the Sun at every Parry 
 and Thrust ; agayn, owing to some 
 Change in mine owne Position, or the 
 Decline of the Sun, the Scintillations 
 have escaped me, though I've known 
 their Rays must have been emitted in 
 some Quarter alle the same. 
 
 Patteson, with one of Argus s cast 
 Feathers in his Hand, is at this Moment 
 beneath my Lattice, astride on a Stone 
 Balustrade ; while Bessy, whom he much 
 affects, is sitting on the Steps, feeding her 
 Peacocks. Sayth Patteson, " Canst tell 
 " me, Mistress, why Peacocks have soe 
 " manie Eyes in theire Tails, and yet can 
 " onlie see with two in theire Heads ? " 
 
 " Because those two make them soe 
 " vain alreadie, Fool," says Bess, " that 
 " were they always beholding theire owne 
 " Glory, they woulde be intolerable." 
 
 " And besides that," says Patteson, " the 
 
 " less 
 K
 
 146 The Household 
 
 " less we see or heare, either, of what 
 " passes behind our Backs, the better for 
 " us, since Knaves will make Mouths 
 " at us then, for as glorious as we may 
 " be. Canst tell me, Mistress, why the 
 " Peacock was the last Bird that went 
 " into the Ark ? " 
 
 " First tell me, Fool," returns Bess, 
 " how thou knowest that it was soe ? " 
 
 " Nay, a Fool may ask a Question 
 " would puzzle a Wiseard to answer," 
 rejoyns Patteson ; " I mighte ask you, for 
 " example, where they got theire fresh 
 " Kitchen-stufF in the Ark, or whether 
 " the Birds ate other than Grains, or the 
 " wild Beasts other than Flesh. It needs 
 " must have been a Granary." 
 
 " We ne'er shew ourselves such Fools," 
 says Bess, " as in seeking to know more 
 " than is written. They had enough, if 
 " none to spare, and we scarce can tell 
 
 " how
 
 of SIT Thos. More 147 
 
 " how little is enough for bare Sustenance 
 " in a State of perfect Inaction. If the 
 " Creatures were kept low, they were all 
 " the less fierce." 
 
 " Well answered, Mistress," says Patte- 
 son, "but tell me, why do you wear two 
 " Crosses ? " 
 
 " Nay, Fool," returns Bess, " I wear 
 " but one." 
 
 " Oh, but I say you wear two," says 
 Patteson, " one at your Girdle, and one 
 " that nobody sees. We alle wear the 
 " unseen one, you know. Some have 
 " theirs of Gold, alle carven and shaped, 
 " soe as you hardlie tell it for a Cross 
 "... like my Lord Cardinal!; for In- 
 " stance . . . but it is one, for alle that. 
 " And others, of Iron, that eateth into 
 " their Hearts . . . methinketh Master 
 " Roper s must be one of 'em. For me, 
 " I'm content with one of Wood, like 
 
 " that
 
 148 The Household 
 
 " that our deare LORD bore ; what was 
 " goode enow for him is goode enow for 
 " me, and I've noe Temptation to shew 
 " it, as it isn't fine, nor yet to chafe at it 
 " for being rougher than my Neighbour's, 
 " nor yet to make myself a second because 
 " it is not hard enow. Doe you take me, 
 " Mistress ? " 
 
 " I take you for what you are," says 
 Bess, " a poor Fool." 
 
 " Nay, Niece," says Patteson, " my 
 " Brother your Father hath made me 
 rich." 
 
 " I mean," says Bess, " you have more 
 " Wisdom than Witt, and a real Fool 
 " has neither, therefore you are only a 
 " make-believe Fool." 
 
 " Well, there are many make-believe 
 " Sages," says Patteson ; " for mine owne 
 " Part, I never aim to be thoughte a 
 " Hie cms Doc cms." 
 
 " A Me
 
 of Sir Thos. More 149 
 
 " A hie est doctus, Fool, you mean," 
 interrupts Bess. 
 
 " Perhaps I do," rejoins Patteson, "since 
 " other Folks soe oft know better what 
 " we mean than we know ourselves. 
 " Alle I woulde say is, I ne'er set up 
 " for a Conjuror. One can see as far into 
 " a Millstone as other People, without 
 " being that. For Example, when a Man 
 " is overta'en with Qualms of Conscience 
 " for having married his Brother's Widow, 
 " when she is noe longer soe young and 
 " fair as she was a Score of Years ago, 
 " we know what that's a Sign of. And 
 " when an Ipswich Butcher's Son takes 
 " on him the State of my Lord Pope^ we 
 " know what that's a Sign of. Nay, if 
 " a young Gentlewoman become dainty 
 " at her Sizes, and sluttish in her Apparel, 
 " we ... as I live, here comes Giles 
 " Heron, with a Fish in's Mouth." 
 
 Poor
 
 150 The Household 
 
 Poor Bess involuntarilie turned her 
 Head quicklie towards the Watergate ; 
 on which, Pafteson, laughing as he lay 
 on his Back, points upward with his 
 Peacock's Feather, and cries, " Overhead, 
 " Mistress ! see, there he goes. Sure, you 
 " lookt not to see Master Heron making 
 " towards us between the Posts and 
 " Flower-pots, eating a dried Ling ? " 
 laughing as wildly as though he were 
 verily a Natural. 
 
 Bess, without a Word, shook the 
 Crumbs from her Lap, and was turning 
 into the House, when he withholds her 
 a Minute in a perfectly altered Fashion, 
 saying, " There be some Works, Mistress, 
 " our Confessors tell us be Works of 
 " Supererogation ... is not that the 
 " Word ? I learn a long one now and 
 " then . . . such as be setting Food 
 " before a full Man, or singing to a 
 
 " deaf
 
 of Sir Thos. More 151 
 
 " deaf one, or buying for one's Pigs a 
 " Silver Trough, or, for the Matter of 
 " that, casting Pearls before a Dunghill 
 " Cock, or fishing for a Heron, which is 
 4 ' well able to fish for itself, and is an 
 " ill-natured Bird after all, that pecks 
 " the Hand of his Mistress, and, for all 
 " her Kindness to him, will not think of 
 " Bessy More." 
 
 How apt alle are to abuse unlimited 
 License ! Yet 'twas good Counsel. 
 
 2 - 
 
 f OE my Fate is settled. 
 Who knoweth at Sunrise 
 what will chance before 
 Sunsett ? No ; the Greeks 
 and Romans mighte speake 
 of Chance and of Fate, but we must not. 
 
 Ruth's
 
 152 The Household 
 
 Rut/is Hap was to light on the Field 
 of Boaz : but what she thought casual, 
 the LORD had contrived. 
 
 Firste, he gives me the Marmot. 
 Then, the Marmot dies. Then, I, having 
 kept the Creature soe long, and being 
 naturallie tender, must cry a little over 
 it. Then Will must come in and find 
 me drying mine Eyes. Then he must, 
 most unreasonablie, suppose that I could 
 not have loved the poor Animal for its 
 owne Sake soe much as for his ; and, 
 thereupon, falle a love-making in such 
 downrighte Earneste, that I, being alreadie 
 somewhat upset, and knowing 'twoulde 
 please Father . . . and hating to be per- 
 verse, . . . and thinking much better of 
 Will since he hath studdied soe hard, and 
 given soe largelie to the Poor, and left off 
 broaching his heteroclite Opinions . . . 
 I say, I supposed it must be soe, some 
 
 Time
 
 0/~Sir Thos. More 153 
 
 Time or another, soe 'twas noe Use hang- 
 ing back for ever and ever, soe now there's 
 an End, and I pray GOD give us a quiet 
 Life. 
 
 Noe one woulde suppose me reckoning 
 on a quiet Life if they knew how I've 
 cried alle this Forenoon, ever since I got 
 quit of Will, by Father s carrying him 
 off to Westminster. He'll tell Father, I 
 know, as they goe along in the Barge, 
 or else coming back, which will be soone 
 now, though I've ta'en no Heed of the 
 Hour. I wish 'twere cold Weather, and 
 that I had a sore Throat or stiff Neck, or 
 somewhat that might reasonablie send me 
 a-bed, and keep me there till to-morrow 
 Morning. But I'm quite well, and 'tis 
 the Dog-days, and Cook is thumping the 
 Rolling-pin on the Dresser, and Dinner is 
 being served, and here comes Father. 
 
 1528,
 
 154 The Household 
 
 1528, Sept. 
 
 \ATHER hath had some 
 Words with the Cardinall. 
 'Twas touching the Draught 
 of some foraynTreaty which 
 the Cardinall offered for 
 his Criticism, or rather, for his Commen- 
 dation, which Father could not give. This 
 nettled his Grace, who exclaimed, " By 
 " the Mass, thou art the veriest Fool of all 
 " the Council." Father , smiling, rejoined, 
 " GOD be thanked, that the King our 
 " Master hath but one Fool therein." 
 
 The Cardinall may rage, but he can't 
 rob him of the royal Favour. The King 
 was here yesterday, and walked for an 
 Hour or soe about the Garden, with his 
 Arm round Father s Neck. Will coulde 
 not help felicitating Father upon it after- 
 wards ;
 
 of Sir Thos. More 157 
 
 wards ; to which Father made Answer, 
 " I thank GOD I find his Grace my very 
 " good Lord indeed, and I believe he 
 " doth as singularly favour me as any 
 " Subject within this Realm. Howbeit, 
 " son Roper, I may tell thee between 
 " ourselves, I feel no Cause to be proud 
 " thereof, for if my Head would win him 
 " a Castle in France, it shoulde not fail 
 "to fly off." 
 
 Father is graver than he used to 
 be. No Wonder. He hath much on 
 his Mind ; the Calls on his Time and 
 Thoughts are beyond Belief; but GOD is 
 very good to him. His Favour at home 
 and abroad is immense : he hath good 
 Health, soe have we alle ; and his Family 
 are established to his Mind, and settled 
 alle about him, still under the same 
 fostering Roof. Considering that I am 
 the most ordinarie of his Daughters, 'tis 
 
 singular
 
 158 The Household 
 
 singular I should have secured the best 
 Husband. Daisy lives peaceablie with 
 Rupert Allington, and is as indifferent, 
 me seemeth, to him as to alle the 
 World beside. He, on his Part, loves her 
 and theire Children with Devotion, and 
 woulde pass half his Time in the Nur- 
 serie. Dancey always had a hot Temper, 
 and now and then plagues Bess ; but she 
 lets noe one know it but me'. Some- 
 times she comes into my Chamber and 
 cries a little, but the next kind Word 
 brightens her up, and I verilie believe 
 her Pleasures far exceed her Payns. Giles 
 Heron lost her through his own Fault, and 
 might have regained her good Opinion 
 after all, had he taken half the Pains for 
 her Sake he now takes for her younger 
 Sister : I cannot think how Cecy can favour 
 him ; yet I suspect he will win her, sooner 
 or later. As to mine own deare Will^ 'tis 
 
 the
 
 of Sir Thos. More 159 
 
 the kindest, purest Nature, the finest Soul, 
 the . . . and yet how I was senselesse 
 enow once to undervalue him ! 
 
 Yes, I am a happy Wife ; a happy 
 Daughter ; a happy Mother. When my 
 little Bill streaked dear Father's Face just 
 now, and murmured " Pretty ! " he burst 
 out a-laughing, and cried, 
 
 " You are like the young Cyrus, who 
 " exclaimed,' Oh ! Mother, how pretty 
 " is my Grandfather ! ' And yet, according 
 " to Xenophon^ the old Gentleman was soe 
 " rouged and made up, as that none but 
 " a Child woulde have admired him ! " 
 
 " That's not the Case," I observed, 
 " with Bill's Grandfather." 
 
 "He's a More all over," says Father , 
 fondly. " Make a Pun, Meg, if thou 
 " canst, about Amor, Amore^ or Amores. 
 " 'Twill onlie be the thousand and first 
 " on our Name. Here, little Knave, see 
 
 " these
 
 160 The Household 
 
 " these Cherries : tell me who thou art, 
 " and thou shalt have one. ' More ! 
 " More ! ' I knew it, sweet Villain. 
 " Take them all." 
 
 I oft sitt for an Hour or more, watch- 
 ing Hans Holbein at his Brush. He hath a 
 rare Gift of limning ; and has, besides, the 
 Advantage of deare Erasmus his Recom- 
 mendation, for whom he hath alreddie 
 painted our Likenesses, but I think he 
 has made us very ugly. His Portraiture 
 of my Grandfather is marvellous ; ne'er- 
 thelesse, I look in vayn for the Spiritual- 
 litie which our Lucchese Friend, Antonio 
 Bonvisi, tells us is to be found in the 
 Productions of the Italian Schools. 
 
 Holbein loves to paint with the Lighte 
 coming in upon his Work from above. 
 He says a Lighte from above puts Ob- 
 jects in theire proper Lighte, and shews 
 theire just Proportions ; a Lighte from 
 
 beneath
 
 of Sir Thos. More 161 
 
 beneath reverses alle the naturall Shadows. 
 Surelie, this hath some Truth if we spi- 
 rituallize it. 
 
 June id. 
 UPERTS Cousin, Rosamond 
 
 Allington, is our Guest. 
 
 She is as beautiful as ... 
 
 not as an Angel, for she 
 
 lacks the Look of Good- 
 ness, but very beautiful indeed. She 
 cometh hither from Hever Castle, her 
 Account of the Affairs whereof I like 
 not. Mistress Anne is not there at pre- 
 sent ; indeed, she is now always hanging 
 about Court, and followeth somewhat 
 too literallie the scriptural Injunction to 
 Solomon s Spouse to forget her Father's 
 House. The King likes well enow to be 
 compared with Solomon, but Mistress Anne 
 is not his Spouse yet, nor ever will be, 
 
 I hope.
 
 1 62 The Household 
 
 I hope. Flattery and Frenchified Habitts 
 have spoilt her, I trow. 
 
 Rosamond says there is not a good 
 Chamber in the Castle ; even the Ball- 
 room, which is on the upper Floor of 
 alle, being narrow and low. On a rainy 
 Day, long ago, she and Mistress Anne 
 were playing at Shuttlecock therein, when 
 Rosamond's Foot tripped at some Uneven- 
 nesse in the Floor, and Mistress Anne^ 
 with a Laugh, cried out, " Mind you goe 
 " not down into the Dungeon " then 
 pulled up a Trap-door in the Ball-room 
 Floor, by an iron Ring, and made Rosa- 
 mond look down into an unknown Depth ; 
 alle in the blacknesse of Darkness. 'Tis 
 an awfulle Thing to have onlie a Step 
 from a Ball-room to a Dungeon ! I'm 
 glad we live in a modern House ; we 
 have noe such fearsome Sights here. 
 
 Sept.
 
 4 <* ^'W/jfe-H 
 '&$*#* 
 
 f^\'.' : V-' : ; 
 
 I f; ^|>M- <^ ' c -?%.
 
 of Sir Thos. More 165 
 
 Sept. 26. 
 
 OW many, many Tears have 
 I shed ! Poor, imprudent 
 Will! 
 
 To think of his Escape 
 from the Cardinal?* Fangs, 
 and yet that he will probablie repeat the 
 Offence ! This Morning Father and he 
 had a long, and, I fear me, fruitless De- 
 bate in the Garden ; on returning from 
 which, Father took me aside and sayd, 
 
 " Meg, I have borne a long Time with 
 " thine Husband ; I have reasoned and 
 " argued with him, and still given him 
 " my poor, fatherly Counsel ; but I per- 
 " ceive none of alle this can call him 
 " Home agayn. And therefore, Meg, I 
 " will noe longer dispute with him. 1 ' . . . 
 " Oh, Father /"..." Nor yet will I 
 
 " give
 
 1 66 The Household 
 
 " give him over ; but I will set another 
 " Way to work, and get me to GOD and 
 " pray for him." 
 
 And have not I done so alreadie ? 
 
 FEARE me they parted 
 unfriendlie ; I hearde 
 Father say, " Thus much 
 " I have a Right to bind 
 " thee to, that thou in- 
 <c doctrinate not her in thine owne 
 " Heresies. Thou shalt not imperill the 
 4 ' Salvation of my Child." 
 
 Since this there has beene an irresistible 
 Gloom on our Spiritts, a Cloud between 
 my Husband's Soul and mine, without a 
 Word spoken. I pray, but my Prayers 
 seem dead. 
 
 Thursday,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 167 
 
 Thursday i 2$th. 
 
 (AST Night, after seeking 
 unto this Saint and that, 
 methought, " Why not 
 " applie unto the Foun- 
 " tain Head ? Maybe these 
 " holie Spiritts may have Limitations sett 
 " to the Power of theire Intercessions at 
 " anie Rate, the Ears of Mary-mother are 
 " open to alle." 
 
 Soe I beganne, " Eta mater, fons 
 " amorist . . . 
 
 Then methoughte, " But I am onlie 
 " asking her to intercede I'll mount a 
 " Step higher still." . . . 
 
 Then I turned to the greate Intercessor 
 of alle. But methought, " Still he inter- 
 " cedes with another, although the same. 
 
 " And
 
 1 68 The Household 
 
 " And his owne Saying was, ' In that Day 
 " ye shall ask me nothing. Whatsoever ye 
 " shall ask in my Name, he will give it 
 " you.' ' Soe I did. 
 
 I fancy I fell asleep with the Tears on 
 my Cheek. Will had not come up Stairs. 
 Then came a heavie, heavie Sleep, not 
 such as giveth Rest ; and a dark, wild 
 Dream. Methought I was tired of wait- 
 ing for Will) and became alarmed. The 
 Night seemed a Month long, and at last 
 I grew soe weary of it, that I arose, put 
 on some Clothing, and went in search of 
 him whom my Soul loveth. Soon I 
 founde him, sitting in a Muse ; and said, 
 "Will, deare Will?" but he hearde me 
 not ; and, going up to touch him, I was 
 amazed to be broughte short up or ever 
 I reached him, by Something invisible 
 betwixt us, hard, and cleare, and colde, 
 ... in short, a Wall of Ice ! Soe it 
 
 seemed,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 169 
 
 seemed, in my strange Dreame. I pushed 
 at it, but could not move it ; called to 
 him, but coulde not make him hear : and 
 all the While my Breath, I suppose, raised 
 a Vapour on the glassy Substance, that 
 grew thicker and thicker, soe as slowlie 
 to hide him from me. I coulde discerne 
 his Head and Shoulders, but not see down 
 to his Heart. Then I shut mine Eyes 
 in Despair, and when I opened 'em, he 
 was hidden altogether. 
 
 Then I prayed. I put my hot Brow 
 agaynst the Ice, and I kept a weeping 
 hot Tears, and the warm Breath of Prayer 
 kept issuing from my Lips ; and still I 
 was persisting, when, or ever I knew 
 how, the Ice beganne to melt ! I felt it 
 giving Way ! and, looking up, coulde in 
 joyfulle Surprize just discerne the Linea- 
 ments of a Figure close at t'other Side ; 
 the Face turned away, but yet in the 
 
 Guise
 
 170 The Household 
 
 Guise of listening. And, Images being apt 
 to seem magnified and distorted through 
 Vapours, methought 'twas altogether bigger 
 than Will^ yet himself, nothingthelesse ; 
 and, the Barrier between us having sunk 
 away to Breast-height, I layd mine Hand 
 on's Shoulder, and he turned his Head, 
 smiling, though in Silence ; and . . . 
 oh, Heaven ! 'twas not Will^ but - . 
 
 What coulde I doe, even in my Dreame, 
 but fall at his Feet ? What coulde I doe, 
 waking, but the same ? 'Twas Grey of 
 Morn ; I was feverish and unrefreshed, 
 but I wanted noe more lying a-bed. Will 
 had arisen and gone forthe ; and I, as 
 quicklie as I coulde make myself readie, 
 sped after him. 
 
 I know not what I expected, nor what 
 I meant to say. The Moment I opened 
 the Door of his Closett, I stopt short. 
 There he stoode, in the Centre of the 
 
 Chamber ;
 
 of Sir Thos. More 
 
 Chamber ; his Hand resting flat on an 
 open Book, his Head raised somewhat up, 
 his Eyes fixed on Something or some One, 
 as though in speaking Communion with 
 'em ; his whole Visage lightened up and 
 glorifide with an unspeakeable Calm and 
 Grandeur that seemed to transfigure him 
 before me ; and, when he hearde my Step, 
 he turned about, and 'steade of histing 
 me away, helde out his Arms. . . . We 
 parted without neede to utter a Word. 
 
 June, 1530. 
 
 VENTS have followed too 
 quick and thick for me to 
 note 'em. Firste, Father s 
 Embassade to Gambray, 
 which I shoulde have 
 grieved at more on our owne Accounts, 
 had it not broken off alle further Collision 
 
 with
 
 172 The Household 
 
 with Will. Thoroughlie homesick, while 
 abroad, poor Father was ; then, on his 
 Return, he noe sooner sett his Foot a-land, 
 than the King summoned him to Wood- 
 stock. 'Twas a Couple o' Nights after he 
 left us, that Will and I were roused by 
 Pattesons shouting beneath our Window, 
 " Fire, Fire, quoth Jeremiah ! " and the 
 House was a-fire, sure enow. Create 
 Part of the Men's Quarter, together with 
 alle the Out-houses and Barns, consumed 
 without Remedie, and alle through the 
 Carelessnesse of John Holt. Howbeit, 
 noe Lives were lost, nor any one much 
 hurt ; and we thankfullie obeyed deare 
 Father s Behest, soe soone as we received 
 the same, that we woulde get us to Church, 
 and there, upon our Knees, return humble 
 and harty Thanks to ALMIGHTY GOD for 
 our late Deliverance from a fearfulle Death. 
 Alsoe, at Father s Desire, we made up to 
 
 the
 
 of Sir Thos. More 173 
 
 the poor People on our Premises theire 
 various Losses, which he bade us doe, even 
 if it left him without soe much as a Spoon. 
 
 But then came an equallie unlookt-for, 
 and more appalling Event : the Fall of 
 my Lord Cardinal!, whereby my Father 
 was shortlie raised to the highest Pinnacle 
 of professional Greatnesse ; being made 
 Lord Chancellor, to the Content, in some 
 Sort, of Wolsey himself, who sayd he was 
 the onlie Man fit to be his Successor. 
 
 The unheard-of Splendour of his In- 
 stallation dazzled the Vulgar ; while the 
 Wisdom that marked the admirable Dis- 
 charge of his daylie Duties, won the 
 Respect of alle thinking Men, but sur- 
 prized none who alreadie knew Father. 
 On the Day succeeding his being sworn 
 in, Patteson marched hither, and thither, 
 bearing a huge Placard, inscribed, " Part- 
 " nership Dissolved ; " and apparelled him- 
 self
 
 174 The Household 
 
 self in an old Suit, on which he had 
 bestowed a Coating of black Paint, with 
 Weepers of white Paper ; assigning for't 
 that "his Brother was dead." "For 
 " now," quoth he, " that they've made 
 " him Lord Chancellor, we shall ne'er see 
 " Sir Thomas more." 
 
 Now, although the poor Cardinall was 
 commonlie helde to shew much Judgment 
 in his Decisions, owing to the naturall 
 Soundness of his Understanding, yet, being 
 noe Lawyer, Abuses had multiplied during 
 his Chancellorship, more especiallie in the 
 Way of enormous Fees and Gratuities. 
 Father^ not content with shunning base 
 Lucre in his proper Person, will not let 
 anie one under him, to his Knowledge, 
 touch a Bribe ; whereat Dancey^ after his 
 funny Fashion, complains, saying, 
 
 "The Fingers of my Lord Cardinal!'* 
 " veriest Door-keepers were tipt with Gold, 
 
 " but
 
 of Sir Thos. More 175 
 
 " but I, since I married your Daughter, 
 " have got noe Pickings ; which in your 
 " Case may be commendable, but in mine 
 " is nothing profitable." 
 
 Father^ laughing, makes Answer, 
 
 " Your Case is hard, Son Dancey, but I 
 " can onlie say for your Comfort, that, soe 
 " far as Honesty and Justice are concerned, 
 " if mine owne Father, whom I reverence 
 " dearly, stoode before me on the one 
 " Hand, and the Devil, whom I hate 
 " extremely, on the other, yet, the Cause 
 " of the latter being just, I shoulde give 
 " the Devil his Due." 
 
 Giles Heron hath found this to his Cost. 
 Presuming on his near Connexion with my 
 Father, he refused an equitable Accommo- 
 dation of a Suit, which, thereon, coming 
 into Court, Father s Decision was given 
 flat agaynst him. 
 
 His Decision agaynst Mother was equallie 
 
 impartiall,
 
 The Household 
 
 impartial!, and had Something comique in 
 it. Thus it befelle. A Beggar-woman's 
 little Dog, which had beene stolen from 
 her, was offered my Mother for Sale, and 
 she bought it for a Jewel of no greate 
 Value. After a Week or soe, the Owner 
 
 finds where her Dog is, and cometh to 
 make Complaynt of the Theft to Father, 
 then sitting in his Hall. Sayth Father, 
 " Let's have a faire Hearing in open Court ; 
 " thou, Mistress, stand there where you 
 " be, to have impartial Justice ; and thou, 
 
 " Dame
 
 of Sir Thos. More 177 
 
 " Dame Alice, come up hither, because 
 " thou art of the higher Degree. Now 
 " then, call each of you the Puppy, and 
 " see which he will follow." Soe Sweet- 
 heart, in spite of Mother, springs off to the 
 old Beggar-woman, who, unable to keep 
 from laughing, and yet moved at Mother's 
 Losse, sayth, 
 
 " Tell 'ee what, Mistress . . . thee 
 " shalt have 'un for a Groat." 
 
 " Nay," sayth Mother, " I won't mind 
 " giving thee a Piece of Gold ; " soe the 
 Bargain was satisfactorily concluded. 
 
 Father s Despatch of Businesse is such, 
 that, one Morning before the End of 
 Term, he was tolde there was noe other 
 Cause nor Petition to be sett before him ; 
 the which, being a Case unparalleled, he 
 desired mighte be formally recorded. 
 
 He ne'er commences Businesse in his 
 owne Court without first stepping into 
 
 the 
 M
 
 178 The Household 
 
 the Court of King's Bench, and there 
 kneeling down to receive my Grand- 
 father's Blessing. Will sayth 'tis worth 
 a World to see the Unction with which 
 the deare old Man bestows it on him. 
 
 In Rogation-week, following the Rood 
 as usuall round the Parish, Heron coun- 
 selled him to go a Horseback for the 
 greater Seemlinesse, but he made Answer 
 that 'twoulde be unseemlie indeede for 
 the Servant to ride after his Master going 
 afoot. 
 
 His Grace of Norfolk, coming yesterday 
 to dine with him, finds him in the Church- 
 choir, singing, with a Surplice on. 
 
 " What ? " cries the Duke, as they walk 
 Home together, " my Lord Chancellor 
 " playing the Parish-clerk ? Sure, you 
 " dishonour the King and his Office." 
 
 " Nay," says Father, smiling, " your 
 " Grace must not deem that the King, 
 
 " your
 
 0/*Sir Thos. More 179 
 
 " your Master and mine, will be offended 
 " at my honouring his Master." 
 
 Sure, 'tis pleasant to heare Father taking 
 the upper Hand of these great Folks : and 
 to have 'em coming and going, and wait- 
 ing his Pleasure, because he is the Man 
 whom the King delighteth to honour. 
 
 True, indeed, with Wolsey 'twas once 
 the same ; but Father neede not feare the 
 same Ruin ; because he hath HIM for 
 his Friend, whom Wolsey said woulde not 
 have forsaken him had he served HIM 
 as he served his earthly Master. 'Twas 
 a misproud Priest ; and there's the Truth 
 on't. And Father is not misproud ; and 
 I don't believe we are ; though proud of 
 him we cannot fail to be. 
 
 And I know not why we may not be 
 pleased with Prosperitie, as well as patient 
 under Adversitie ; as long as we say, 
 " Thou, LORD, hast made our Hill soe 
 
 " strong."
 
 i8o 
 
 The Household 
 
 strong." 'Tis more difficult to bear with 
 Comelinesse, doubtlesse ; and envious Folks 
 there will be ; and we know alle Things 
 have an End, and everie Sweet hath its 
 Sour, and everie Fountain its Fall ; but 
 . . . 'tis very pleasant for all that. 
 
 Tuesday,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 181 
 
 Tuesday^ 3 1 st, 1532. 
 [HO coulde have thoughte 
 that those ripe Grapes 
 whereof dear Gaffer ate 
 soe plentifullie, should 
 have ended his Dayes ? 
 This Event hath filled the House with 
 Mourning. He had us all about his Bed 
 to receive his Blessing ; and 'twas piteous 
 to see Father fall upon his Face, as "Joseph 
 on the Face of Jacob, and weep upon 
 him and kiss him. Like Jacob, my 
 Grandsire lived to see his duteous Son 
 attain to the Height of earthlie Glory, 
 his Heart unspoyled and untouched. 
 
 July,
 
 182 
 
 The Household 
 
 July, 1532. 
 
 HE Days of Mourning for 
 my Grandsire are at an 
 end ; yet Father still goeth 
 heavilie. This Forenoon, 
 looking forthe of my 
 Lattice, I saw him walking along the 
 River Side, his Arm cast about WilPs 
 Neck ; and 'twas a dearer Sight to my 
 Soul than to see the King walking there 
 with his Arm around Father s Neck. 
 They seemed in such earnest Converse, 
 that I was avised to ask Will, afterwards, 
 what they had been saying. He told me 
 that, after much friendly Chat together on 
 this and that, Father fell into a Muse, and 
 presently, fetching a deep Sigh, says, 
 
 " Would to GOD, Son Roper, on Con- 
 " dition three Things were well established 
 
 "in
 
 ofSirThos. More 183 
 
 " in Christendom, I were put into a Sack, 
 " and cast presently into the Thames'" 
 Will sayth, 
 
 " What three soe great Things can 
 " they be, Father, as to move you to such 
 " a Wish ? " 
 
 " In Faith, Will" answers he, " they 
 " be these. First, that whereas the most 
 " Part of Christian Princes be at War, 
 " they were at universal Peace. Next, 
 " that whereas the Church of CHRIST is at 
 " present sore afflicted with divers Errors 
 " and Heresies, it were well settled in a 
 " godly Uniformity. Last, that this Matter 
 " of the King's Marriage were, to the Glory 
 " of GOD, and the Quietness of alle Parties, 
 " brought to a good Conclusion." 
 
 Indeed, this last Matter preys on my 
 Father's Soul. He hath even knelt to 
 the King, to refrain from exacting Com- 
 pliance with his Grace's Will concerning 
 
 it ;
 
 184 The Household 
 
 it ; movingly reminding him, even with 
 Tears, of his Grace's own Words to him 
 on delivering the Great Seal, " First look 
 " unto GOD, and, after GOD, unto me." 
 But the King is heady in this Matter ; 
 stubborn as a Mule or wild Ass's Colt, 
 whose Mouths must be held with Bit 
 and Bridle if they be to be governed at 
 alle ; and the King hath taken the Bit 
 between his Teeth, and there is none 
 dare ride him. Alle for Love of a brown 
 Girl, with a Wen on her Throat, and 
 an extra _ Finger. 
 
 July i8//z. 
 
 >OW short a Time agone 
 it seemeth, that in my 
 Prosperity I sayd, " We 
 " shall never be moved ; 
 " Thou, LORD, ofThygood- 
 " ness hast made our Hill soe strong ! " 
 
 ". . Thou
 
 of Sir Thos. More 185 
 
 "... Thou didst turn away thy Face, 
 " and I was troubled ! " 
 
 jHUS sayth Plato: of Him 
 whom he soughte, but 
 hardly found : " Truth is 
 " his Body, and Light his 
 " Shadow." A marvellous 
 Saying for a Heathen. 
 
 Hear also what St. 'John sayth : " GOD 
 " is Light ; and in him is no Darkness at 
 ' all." " And the Light was the Life of 
 " Men : and the Light shineth in Dark- 
 " ness, and the Darkness comprehended 
 " it not." 
 
 Hear also what St. Augustine sayth : 
 " They are the most uncharitable towards 
 " Error who have never experienced how 
 " hard a Matter it is to come at the 
 " Truth." 
 
 Hard,
 
 1 86 The Household 
 
 Hard, indeed. Here's Father agaynst 
 Wil^ and agaynst Erasmus, of whom he 
 once could not speak well enough ; and 
 now he says that if he upholds such and 
 such Opinions his dear Erasmus may be 
 the Devil's Erasmus for what he cares. 
 And here's Father at Issue with half the 
 learned Heads in Christendom concerning 
 the King's Marriage. And yet, for alle 
 that, I think Father is in the Right. 
 
 He taketh Matters soe to Heart that 
 e'en his Appetite fails. Yesterday he put 
 aside his old favourite 'Dish of Brewis, 
 saying, " I know not how 'tis, good 
 " Alice ; I've lost my Stomach, I think, 
 " for my old Relishes "... and this, 
 e'en with a Tear in his Eye. But 'twas 
 not the Brewis, I know, that made it 
 start. 
 
 Aug.
 
 of Sir Thos. More 187 
 
 Aug. 
 
 ,E hath resigned the Great 
 Seal ! And none of us 
 knew of his having done 
 soe, nor e'en of his medi- 
 tating it, till after Morning 
 Prayers to-day, when, insteade of one of 
 his Gentlemen stepping up to my Mother 
 in her Pew with the Words, " Madam, 
 " my Lord is gone," he cometh up to 
 her himself, with a Smile on's Face, and 
 sayth, low bowing as he spoke, " Madam, 
 " my Lord is gone." She takes it for 
 one of the manie Jests whereof she misses 
 the Point ; and 'tis not till we are out 
 of Church, in the open Air, that she fully 
 comprehends my Lord Chancellor is indeed 
 gone, and she hath onlie her Sir Thomas 
 More. 
 
 A Burst
 
 1 88 The Household 
 
 A Burst of Tears was no more than 
 was to be lookt for from poor Mother ; 
 and, in Sooth, we alle felt aggrieved and 
 mortyfide enough ; but 'twas a short 
 Sorrow ; for Father declared that he had 
 cast Pelion and Ossa off his Back into the 
 bottomless Pit ; and fell into such funny 
 Antics that we were soon as merry as 
 ever we were in our Lives. Patteson, so 
 soon as he hears it, comes leaping and 
 skipping across the Garden, crying, " A 
 " fatted Calf ! let a fatted Calf be killed, 
 " Masters and Mistresses, for this my 
 " Brother who was dead is alive again ! " 
 and falls a kissing his Hand. But poor 
 Pattesoii s Note will soon change ; for 
 Father s diminished State will necessitate 
 the Dismissal of all extra Hands ; and 
 there is manie a Servant under his Roof 
 whom he can worse spare than the poor 
 Fool. 
 
 In
 
 "'onfl J^ylK low 
 oj Ke jpoke,' 
 iyid if fcc-ue
 
 Thos. More 191 
 
 In the Evening he gathers us alle about 
 him in the Pavilion, where he throws 
 himself into his old accustomed Seat, casts 
 his Arm about Mother^ and cries, " How 
 " glad must Cincinnatus have been to 
 " spy out his Cottage again, with Racilia 
 " standing at the Gate ! " Then, called 
 for Curds and Cream ; sayd how sweet 
 the soft Summer Air was coming over the 
 River, and bade Cecil sing " The King's 
 " Hunt's up." After this, one Ballad after 
 another was called for, till alle had sung 
 their Lay, ill or well, he listing the While 
 with closed Eyes, and a composed Smile 
 about his Mouth ; the two Furrows be- 
 tween his Brows relaxing graduallie till 
 at length they could no more be scene. 
 At last he says, 
 
 " Who was that old Prophet that could 
 " not or would not prophesy for a King 
 " of Judah till a Minstrel came and played 
 
 " unto
 
 192 The Household 
 
 " unto him ? Sure, he must have loved, 
 " as I do, the very lovely Song of one that 
 " playeth well upon an Instrument, yclept 
 " the Human Heart ; and have felt, as I 
 " do now, the Spirit given him to speak 
 " of Matters foreign to his Mind. 'Tis 
 " of res angusta domi, dear Brats, I must 
 " speak ; soe, the sooner begun, the sooner 
 " over. Here am I, with a dear Wife 
 " and eight loved Children ... for my 
 " Daughters' Husbands and my Son's 
 " Wife are my Children as much as any ; 
 " and Mercy Giggs is a Daughter too . . . 
 " nine Children, then, and eleven Grand- 
 " children, and a Swarm of Servants to 
 " boot, all of whom have as yet eaten 
 " what it pleased them, and drunken what 
 " it suited them at my Board, without its 
 " being any one's Businesse to say them 
 " nay. 'Twas the dearest Privilege of my 
 " Lord Chancellor ; but now he's dead and 
 
 " gone,
 
 Thos. More 193 
 
 " gone, how shall we contract the Charges 
 " of Sir Thomas More ? " 
 
 We looked from one to another, and 
 were silent. 
 
 " I'll tell ye, dear ones," he went on. 
 " I have been brought up at Oxford, at an 
 " Inn of Chancery, at Lincoln's Inn, and 
 " at the King's Court ; from the lowest 
 " Degree, that* is, to the highest ; and yet 
 " have I in yearly Revenues at this Pre- 
 " sent, little above one Hundred Pounds 
 " a-year ; but then, as Chilo sayth, ' honest 
 " Loss is preferable to dishonest Gain : 
 " by the first, a Man suffers once ; by the 
 " second, for ever ; ' and I may take up my 
 " Parable with Samuel^ and say : ' Whose 
 " Ox have I taken ? whose Ass have I 
 " taken ? whom have I defrauded ? whom 
 " have I oppressed ? of whose Hand have 
 " I received any Bribe to blinde mine Eyes 
 " therewith ? ' No, my worst Enemies 
 
 " cannot 
 
 N
 
 194 *Ihe Household 
 
 " cannot lay to my Charge any of these 
 " Things ; and my Trust in you is, that, 
 " rather than regret I should not have 
 " made a Purse by any such base Methods, 
 " you will all cheerfully contribute your 
 " Proportions to the common Fund, and 
 " share and share alike with me in this 
 " my diminished State." 
 
 We all gat about him, and by our Words 
 and Kisses gave Warrant that we would. 
 
 " Well, then," quoth he, " my Mind 
 " is, that since we are all of a Will to 
 " walk down-hill together, we will do 
 " soe at a breathing Pace, and not drop 
 " down like a Plummet. Let all Things 
 " be done decently and in order : we 
 " won't descend to Oxford Fare first, nor 
 " yet to the Fare of New Inn. We'll 
 " begin with Lincoln's Inn Diet, whereon 
 " many good and wise Men thrive well ; 
 " if we find this draw too heavily on the 
 
 " Common-Purse,
 
 Thos. More 195 
 
 " Common-Purse, we will, next Year, 
 " come down to Oxford Fare, with which 
 " many great and learned Doctors have 
 " been conversant ; and, if our Purse 
 " stretch not to cover e'en this, why, in 
 " Heaven's Name ! we'll go begging to- 
 " gether, with Staff and Wallet, and sing 
 " a Sa/ve Regina at every good Man's Door, 
 " whereby we shall still keep Company, 
 " and be merry together ! " 
 
 Sept. 
 
 [OW that the first Surprise 
 and Grief, and the first 
 Fervour of Fidelity and 
 Self-devotion have passed 
 off, we have subsided into 
 how deep and holy a Quiet ! 
 
 We read of the Desertion of the World, 
 as a Matter of Course ; but, when our 
 own Turn comes, it does seem strange, to 
 
 find
 
 196 The Household 
 
 find ourselves let fall down the Stream 
 without a single Hand outstretched to 
 help us ; forgotten, in a Moment, as 
 though we had never been, by those who 
 lately ate and laughed at our Table. And 
 this, without any Fault or Offence of 
 ours, but merely from our having lost the 
 Light of the King's Countenance. I say, 
 it does seem strange ; but how fortunate, 
 how blessed are those to whom such a 
 Course of Events only seems strange, un- 
 accompanied by Self-reproach and Bit- 
 terness ! I could not help feeling this, 
 in reading an affectionate Letter deare 
 Father writ this Forenoon to Erasmus^ 
 wherein he sayd, " I have now obtained 
 " what, from a Child, I have continually 
 " wished ! that, being entirely quit of 
 " Businesse and all publick Affairs, I 
 " might live for a Time only to GOD and 
 " myself." 
 
 Having
 
 of Sir Thos. More 197 
 
 Having no Hankering after the old 
 Round he soe long hath run, he now, 
 in Fact, looks younger every Day ; and 
 yet, not with the same Kind of Youth he 
 had before his Back was bowed under the 
 Chancellorship. 'Tis a more composed, 
 chastised Sort of Rejuvenescence : rather 
 the soft Warmth of Autumn, which some- 
 times seems like May, than May itself: 
 the enkindling, within this mortal Taber- 
 nacle, of a heavenly Light that never 
 grows dim, because it is immortal ; and 
 burns the same yesterday, to-day, and for 
 ever : a Youthfulness of Soul and Mind 
 characterised by Growth ; Something with 
 which this World and its fleeting Fancies 
 has nothing to do : Something that the 
 King can neither impart nor take away. 
 
 . . . We have had a tearfull Morning 
 . . . poor Patteson has gone. My Father 
 hath obtained good Quarters for him with 
 
 my
 
 198 The Household 
 
 my Lord Mayor, with a Stipulation that 
 he shall retain his Office with the Lord 
 Mayor for the Time being, as long as he 
 can fill it at all. This suits Patteson, who 
 says he will sooner shift Masters year by 
 year, than grow too fond of any Man 
 again, as he hath of Father; but there 
 has been sad blubbering and blowing of 
 Noses. 
 
 Sept. 24th. 
 
 IS Afternoon, coming 
 upon Mercy seated in the 
 Alcove, like unto the 
 Image of some Saint in 
 a Niche, her Hands folded 
 on her Lap, and her Eyes steadfastly agaze 
 on the setting Sun, I could not but mark 
 how Years were silentlie at work upon 
 her, as doubtless upon us alle ; the ten- 
 der, fearfulle Girl having thus graduallie 
 
 changed
 
 of Sir Thos. More 199 
 
 changed into the sober, high-minded 
 Woman. She is so seldom scene in 
 Repose, so constantly astir and afoot in 
 this or that kind Office, mostly about 
 the Children, that I" had never thought 
 upon it before ; but now I was alle at 
 once avised to marvel that she who had 
 so long seemed fitter for Heaven than 
 Earth, shoulde never literallie have vowed 
 herself the Spouse of Christ ; more in 
 especiall as all Expectation of being the 
 Spouse of anie else must long since have 
 died within her. 
 
 I sayd, " Mercy ^ thou lookst like a 
 " Nun : how is't thou hast ne'er become 
 " one in Earnest ? " 
 
 She started ; then sayd, " Could I be 
 " more usefull ? more harmless ? less ex- 
 " posed to Temptation ? or half so happy 
 " as I am now ? In sooth, Meg^ the 
 " Time has been when methought, how 
 
 " sweet
 
 2oo The Household 
 
 " sweet the living Death of the Cloister ! 
 " How good that must needs be which 
 " had the Suffrages of Chrysostom the 
 " golden-mouthed, and holy Ambrose, and 
 " our own Anselm ! How peacefull, to 
 " take Wing like the Dove, and fly away 
 " from a naughty World, and be at Rest ! 
 " How brave, to live alone, like St. 
 " Antony, in the Desert ! only I would 
 " have had some Books with me in my 
 " Cave, and 'tis uncertayn whether St. 
 " Antony had Knowledge of Letters, be- 
 " yond the heaven-taught Lesson, ' GOD 
 " is Love,' . . . for methought so much 
 " Reflection and no Action would be too 
 " much for a Woman's Mind to bear 
 " I might goe mad : and I remembered 
 " me how the Dove that gladly flew away 
 " from the Ark, gladly flew back, and 
 " abode in the Ark till such Time as a 
 " new Home was ready for her. And 
 
 " methought,
 
 i?/' Sir Thos. More 201 
 
 " methought, cannot I live apart from 
 " Sin here, and now ; and as to Sorrow, 
 " where can we live apart from that ? 
 " Sure, we may live on the Skirts of the 
 " World in a Spiritt as truly unworldlie, 
 " as though we were altogether out of 
 " it : and here I may come and go, and 
 " range in the fresh Air, and love other 
 " Folks' Children, and read my Psalter, 
 " and pore over the Sayings of the wise 
 " Men of old, and look on the Faces I 
 " love, and sit at the Feet of Sir Thomas 
 <c More. Soe there, Meg, are my poor 
 " Reasons for not caring to be a Nun. 
 " Our deare Lord is in himself all that 
 " our highest, holiest Affections can seek 
 " or comprehend ; for he made these our 
 " Hearts ; he gave us these our Affec- 
 " tions ; and through them the Spirit 
 " speaks. Aspiring to their Source, they 
 " rise up like the white Smoke and bright 
 
 " Flame ;
 
 202 
 
 The Household 
 
 " Flame ; while, on Earth, if left un- 
 " mastered, they burn, suffocate, and de- 
 " stroy. Yet they have their natural and 
 " innocent Outlets even here ; and a 
 " Woman may warm herself by them 
 " without Scorching, and yet be neither 
 " a Wife nor a Nun." 
 
 Sept. 2%th. 
 
 VER since Father's Speech 
 to us in the Pavilion, we 
 have beene of one Heart 
 and one Soul ; neither have 
 any of us said that aught 
 of the Things we possessed were our own, 
 but we have had all Things in Common. 
 And we have eaten our Meat with Glad- 
 ness and Singleness of Heart. 
 
 This Afternoon, expressing to Father 
 my gratefull Sense of our present Hap- 
 piness ..." Yes, Meg, ' returns he, " I, 
 
 " too,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 203 
 
 " too, am deeply thankful for this breath- 
 " ing Space." 
 
 " Do you look on it as no more, then ? " 
 I sayd. 
 
 " As no more, Meg : we shall have a 
 " Thunder-clap by-and-by. Look out on 
 " the Thames. See how unwontedlie clear 
 " it is, and how low the Swallows fly. 
 "... How distinctlie we see the green 
 " Sedges on Batter sea Bank, and their re- 
 " fleeted Images in the Water. We can 
 " almost discern the Features of those 
 " poor Knaves digging in the Cabbage 
 " Gardens, and hear 'em talk, so still is 
 " the Air. Have you ne'er before noted 
 " these Signs ? " 
 
 " A Storm is brewing," I sayd. 
 
 " Aye, we shall have a Lightning-flash 
 " anon. So still, Meg, is also our moral 
 " Atmosphere just now. GOD is giving 
 " us a breathing Space, as he did to the 
 
 " Egyptians
 
 204 The Household 
 
 " Egyptians before the Plague of Hail, 
 " that they might gather their live Stock 
 " within Doors. Let us take for Example 
 " them that believed and obeyed him ; 
 " and improve this holy Pause." 
 
 Just at this Moment, a few heavie 
 Drops fell agaynst the Window Pane, and 
 were scene by both. Our Eyes met ; and 
 I felt a silent Pang. 
 
 " Five Days before the Passover " re- 
 sumed Father , " all seemed as still and 
 " quiet as we are now ; but JESUS knew 
 " his Hour was at hand. E'en while he 
 " yet spake familiarly among the People, 
 " there came a Sound from Heaven, and 
 " they that stood by said it thundered ; 
 " but he knew it for the Voice of his dear 
 " Father. Let us, in like Manner, when 
 " the Clap cometh, recognise in it the 
 " Voice of GOD, and not be afraid with 
 " any Amazement." 
 
 Nov.
 
 of Sir Thos. More 205 
 
 Nov. 2d. 
 
 \AMMER GURNET is dead, 
 and I must say I am glad 
 of it. The Change, to her, 
 must be blessed, and there 
 seemed some Danger lest, 
 after having escaped being ducked for a 
 Witch, she shoulde have been burnt for 
 a Heretic. Father looked on her as an 
 obstinate old Woman ; Will counted her 
 little short of a Saint and Prophetess, and 
 kept her well supplied with alle she could 
 need. Latterly she was stone deaf; so 
 'tis a happy Release. 
 
 The settled Purpose of Father s Soul, 
 just now, is to make up a Marriage 
 between Mercy and Dr. Clement. 'Tis 
 high Advancement for her, and there 
 seems to have been some old Liking 
 between 'em we never knew of.
 
 206 
 
 The Household 
 
 HOUGH some Months 
 have passed since my 
 Father uttered his warn- 
 ing Voice, and all con- 
 tinues to go quiet, I 
 cannot forbear, now and then, to call his 
 Monition to Mind, and look about for 
 the Cloud that is to bring the Thunder- 
 clap ; but the Expectation sobers rather 
 than saddens me. 
 
 This Morning, leaning over the River 
 Wall, I was startled by the cold, damp 
 Hand of some one from behind being laid 
 on mine. At the same Time a familiar 
 Voice exclaimed, " Canst tell us, Mistress, 
 " why Fools have hot Heads and Hands 
 " icy cold ? " 
 
 I made Answer, " Canst tell me, Pat- 
 
 " feson,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 207 
 
 " feson, why Fools should stray out of 
 " Bounds ? " 
 
 " Why, that's what Fools do every 
 " Day," he readily replied ; " but this is 
 " All Fools' Day, mine own special Holi- 
 " day ; and I told my Lord Mayor over- 
 " night, that if he lookt for a Fool this 
 " Morning, he must look in the Glass. 
 " In sooth, Mistress Meg, I should by 
 " Rights wear the Gold Chain and he the 
 " Motley ; for a proper Fool he is, and I 
 " shall be glad when his Year's Service 
 " to me is out. The worst o' these Lord 
 " Mayors is, that we can't part with 'em 
 " till their Time's up. Why now, this 
 " present one hath not so much Under- 
 " standing as would foot an old Stocking ; 
 " 'twas but yesterday when, in Quality 
 " of my Taster, he civilly enough makes 
 " over to me a half-eaten Plate of Gurnet, 
 " which I wave aside, thus, saying, I eat 
 
 " no
 
 2o8 The Household 
 
 " no Fish of which I cannot affirm, ' rari 
 " sunt Bom,' few are the Bones . . . and I 
 " protest to you he knew it not for Fool's 
 " Latin. Thus I'm driven, from mere 
 " Discouragement, to leave prating for 
 " listening, which thou knowest, Mistress, 
 " is no Fool's Office ; and among the 
 " sundrie Matters I hear at my Lord's 
 " Table . . . for he minds not what he 
 " says before his Servants, thereby giving 
 " new Proof 'tis he shoulde wear the 
 " Motley ... I note his saying that the 
 " King's private Marriage will assuredlie 
 " be made publick this coming Easter, and 
 " my Lady Anne will be crowned . . . 
 " more by token, he knows the Merchant 
 " that will supply the Genoa Velvet and 
 " Cloth of Gold, and the Masquers that 
 " are to enact the Pageant. For the Love 
 " o' Safety, then, Mistress Meg, bid thy 
 " good Father e'en take a Fool's Advice, 
 
 "and
 
 of Sir Thos. More 209 
 
 " and eat humble Pie betimes, for doubt 
 " not this proud Madam to be as vindic- 
 " tive as Herodias, and one that, unless 
 " he appease her full early, will have his 
 " Head set before her in a Charger. I've 
 " said my Say." 
 
 April 
 
 jHREE Bishops have been 
 here this Forenoon, to 
 bid Father to the Corona- 
 tion, and offer him twenty 
 Pounds to provide his 
 Dress ; but Father hath, with Courtesie, 
 declined to be present. After much 
 friendly pressing, they parted, seemingly 
 on good Terms ; but I have Misgivings 
 of the Issue. 
 
 April 
 o
 
 2io The Household 
 
 April gf/i. 
 
 RIDICULOUS Charge 
 hath beene got up 'gainst 
 dear Father ; no less than 
 of Bribery and Corruption. 
 One Parnell complaineth of 
 a Decree given agaynst him in favour of 
 one Vaughan, whose Wife, he deponeth, 
 gave Father a gilt Flaggon. To the noe 
 small Surprise of the Council, Father ad- 
 mitted that she had done soe : " But, my 
 " Lords," proceeded he, when they had 
 uttered a few Sentences of Reprehension 
 somewhat too exultantlie, " will ye list 
 " the Conclusion of the Tale ? I bade 
 " my Butler fill the Cup with Wine, and 
 " having drunk her Health, I made her 
 " pledge me, and then restored her Gift, 
 " and would not take it again." 
 
 As
 
 0/*Sir Thos. More 211 
 
 As innocent a Matter, touching the 
 offering him a Pair of Gloves containing 
 Forty Pounds, and his taking the first and 
 returning the last, saying he preferred his 
 Gloves without Lining, hath been made 
 publick with like Triumph to his own 
 good Fame ; but alack ! these Feathers 
 show which way sets the Wind. 
 
 April 
 
 HEAVIER Charge than 
 either of the above hath 
 been got up, concerning 
 the wicked Woman of Kenf 9 
 with whom they accuse him 
 of having tampered, that, in her pretended 
 Revelations and Rhapsodies, she might 
 utter Words against the Kings Divorce. 
 His Name hath, indeed, been put in the 
 Bill of Attainder ; but, out of Favour, he 
 
 hath
 
 212 The Household 
 
 hath been granted a private Hearing, his 
 Judges being, the new Archbishop, the 
 new Chancellor, his Grace of Norfolk, and 
 Master Cromwell. 
 
 He tells us that they stuck not to the 
 Matter in Hand, but began cunningly 
 enow to sound him on the King's Matters ; 
 and finding they could not shake him, did 
 proceed to Threats, which, he told 'em, 
 might well enow scare Children, but not 
 him ; and as to his having provoked his 
 Grace the King to sett forth in his Book 
 aught to dishonour and fetter a good 
 Christian, his Grace himself well knew 
 the Book was never shewn him save for 
 verbal Criticism when the Subject-matter 
 was completed by the Makers of the same, 
 and that he had warned his Grace not to 
 express soe much Submission to the Pope. 
 Whereupon they with great Displeasure 
 dismissed him, and he took Boat for 
 
 Chelsea
 
 of Sir Thos. More 213 
 
 Chelsea with mine Husband in such gay 
 Spiritts, that Will, not having been privy 
 to what had passed, concluded his Name 
 to have beene struck out of the Bill of 
 Attainder, and congratulated him there- 
 upon soe soone as they came aland, saying, 
 ' I guess, Father, all is well, seeing you 
 " thus merry." 
 
 " It is, indeed, son Roper" returns Father 
 steadilie ; repeating thereupon, once or 
 twice, this Phrase, " All is well." 
 
 Will, somehow mistrusting him, puts 
 the Matter to him agayn. 
 
 " You are then, Father, put out of the 
 " Bill ? " 
 
 " Out of the Bill, good Fellow ? " re- 
 peats Father, stopping short in his Walk, 
 and regarding him with a Smile that Will 
 sayth was like to break his Heart. . . . 
 " Wouldst thou know, dear Son, why I 
 " am so joyful ? In good Faith, I have 
 
 " given
 
 214 The Household 
 
 " given the Devil a foul Fall ; for I have 
 " with those Lords gone so far, as that 
 " without great Shame I can ne'er go 
 " back. The first Step, Will^ is the worst, 
 " and that's taken." 
 
 And so, to the House, with never an- 
 other Word, Will being smote at the Heart. 
 
 But, this Forenoon, deare Will comes 
 running in to me, with Joy all bright, 
 and tells me he hath just heard from 
 Cromwell that Father s Name is in sooth 
 struck out. Thereupon, we go together 
 to him with the News. He taketh it 
 thankfully, yet composedly, saying, as he 
 lays his Hand on my Shoulder, " In faith, 
 " Meg^ quod differtur non aufertur" Seeing 
 me somewhat stricken and overborne, he 
 sayth, " Come, let's leave good Will awhile 
 " to the Company of his own select and 
 " profitable Thoughts, and take a Turn 
 " together by the Water Side." 
 
 Then
 
 of Sir Thos. More 215 
 
 Then closing his Book, which I marked 
 was Plato s Phczdon, he steps forthe with 
 me into the Garden, leaning on my 
 Shoulder, and pretty heavilie too. After 
 a Turn or two in Silence, he lightens his 
 Pressure, and in a bland, peaceifying Tone 
 commences Horace his tenth Ode, Book 
 second, and goes through the first four- 
 teen or fifteen Lines in a kind of lulling 
 Monotone ; then takes another Turn or 
 two, ever looking at the Thames ; and in 
 a stronger Voice begins his favourite 
 
 " Justuin, ac toiaceui Propositi Virwn 
 Non Civiuin Ardor" etc. 
 
 on to 
 
 " Impavidum ferient Ruince ; " 
 
 and lets go his Hold on me to extend 
 his Hand in fine, free Action. Then, 
 drawing me to him agayn, presentlie 
 murmurs, " I reckon that the Sufferings 
 
 "of
 
 2 1 6 The Household 
 
 " of this present Time are not worthy 
 " to be compared with the Glory which 
 " shall be revealed in us. ... Oh no, 
 t; not worthy to be compared. I have 
 " lived ; I have laboured ; I have loved. 
 " I have lived in them I loved ; laboured 
 " for them I loved ; loved them for whom 
 " I laboured ; my Labour has not been 
 " in vayn. To love and to labour is 
 " the Sum of living, and yet how manie 
 " think they live who neither labour nor 
 " love ! Agayn, how manie labour and 
 " love, and yet are not loved ; but I have 
 " beene loved, and my Labour has not 
 " been in vayn. Now, the Daye is far 
 " spent, and the Night is at hand, and 
 " the Time draweth nigh when Man 
 " resteth from his Labours, even from his 
 " Labours of Love ; but still he shall love 
 " and he shall live where the Spiritt sayth 
 " he shall rest from his Labours, and 
 
 " where
 
 of Sir Thos. More 217 
 
 " where his Works do follow him, for 
 " he entereth into Rest through and to 
 " Him who is Life, and Light, and 
 " Love." 
 
 Then looking stedfastlie at the Thames^ 
 " How quietlie," sayth he, " it flows on ! 
 " This River, Meg, hath its Origin from 
 " seven petty Springs somewhither amongst 
 " the Gloucestershire Hills, where they 
 " bubble forthe unnoted save by the Herd 
 " and Hind. Belike, they murmur over 
 " the Pebbles prettily enough ; but a great 
 " River, mark you, never murmurs. It 
 " murmured and babbled too, 'tis like, 
 " whilst only a Brook, and brawled away 
 " as it widened and deepened and chafed 
 " agaynst Obstacles, and here and there 
 " got a Fall, and splashed and made much 
 " Ado, but ever kept running on towards 
 " its End, still deepening and widening ; 
 " and now towards the Close of its Course 
 
 " look
 
 218 The Household 
 
 " look you how swift and quiet it is, 
 " running mostly between Flats, and with 
 " the dear blue Heaven reflected in its 
 "Face." . . . 
 
 1534, April 12. 
 >.WAS o' Wednesdaye was a 
 Week, we were quietly 
 taking our Dinner, when, 
 after a loud and violent 
 Knocking at the outer 
 Door, in cometh a Pursuivant, and sum- 
 moneth Father to appear next Daye before 
 the Commissioners, to take the newly- 
 coined Oath of Supremacy. Mother utters 
 a hasty Cry, Bess turns white as Death, 
 but I, urged by I know not what suddain 
 Impulse to con the new Comer's Visage 
 narrowly, did with Eagerness exclaim, 
 " Here's some Jest of Father s ; 'tis only 
 "DickHalliwell!" 
 
 Where-
 
 of Sir Thos. More 219 
 
 Where- 
 upon, Fa- 
 ther burst 
 
 H1M 
 
 laughing, 
 hug ged 
 
 Mother^ called 
 Bess a silly 
 Puss, and gave 
 Halli'well a Groat 
 for'sPayns. Now, 
 while some were 
 laughing, and others 
 taking Father prettie 
 sharplie to Task for soe 
 
 rough
 
 22O The Household 
 
 rough a Crank, I fell a muzing, what 
 could be the Drift of this, and coulde 
 only surmize it mighte be to harden 
 us beforehand, as 'twere, to what was 
 sure to come at last. And the Pre- 
 apprehension of this soe belaboured my 
 alreadie o'erburthened Spiritts, as that I 
 was fayn to betake myself to the Nurserie, 
 and lose all Thought and Reflection in 
 my little Bess's prettie Ways. And, this 
 not answering, was forct to have Recourse 
 to Prayer ; then, leaving my Closett, 
 was able to return to the Nurserie, and 
 forget myselfe awhile in the Mirth of the 
 Infants. 
 
 Hearing Voyces beneathe the Lattice, 
 I lookt forthe, and behelde his Grace of 
 Norfolk (of late a strange Guest) walking 
 beneath the Window in earnest Converse 
 with Father; and, as they turned about, 
 I hearde him say, " By the Mass, Master 
 
 " More,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 221 
 
 tc More, 'tis perilous striving with Princes. 
 " I could wish you, as a Friend, to incline 
 " to the King's Pleasure ; for Indignatio 
 " Principis Mors est" 
 
 " Is that all ? " says Father ; " why 
 " then there will be onlie this Differ- 
 " ence between your Grace and me, 
 " that I shall die to-daye, and you to- 
 " morrow ; " which was the Sum of 
 what I caught. 
 
 Next Morning, we were breaking our 
 Fast with Peacefullnesse of Heart, on the 
 Principle that sufficient for the Daye is 
 the Evill thereof, and there had beene a 
 wordy War between our two Factions of 
 the Neri and Bianchi, Bess having defalked 
 from the Mancheteers on the Ground 
 that black Bread sweetened the Breath 
 and settled the Teeth, to the no small 
 Triumph of the Cob Loaf Party ; while 
 Daisy, persevering at her Crusts, sayd, 
 
 "No,
 
 222 The Household 
 
 " No, I can cleave to the Rye Bread as 
 " steddilie as anie among you, but 'tis vayn 
 " of Father to maintain that it is as tooth- 
 " some as a Manchet, or that I eat it to 
 " whiten my Teeth, for thereby he robs 
 " Self-deniall of its Grace." 
 
 Father, strange to say, seemed taken at 
 Vantage, and was pausing for a Retort, 
 when Hobson coming in and whispering 
 Somewhat in his Ear, he rose suddainlie 
 and went forthe of the Hall with him, 
 putting his Head back agayn to say, 
 " Rest ye alle awhile where ye be," 
 which we did, uneasilie enow. Anon he 
 returns, brushing his Cap, and says 
 calmlie, " Now, let's forthe to Church," 
 and clips Mother s Arm beneathe his owne 
 and leads the Way. We follow as soon 
 as we can ; and I, listing to him more 
 than to the Priest, did think I never 
 hearde him make Response more com- 
 
 posedlie,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 223 
 
 posedlie, nor sing more lustilie, by the 
 which I founde myself in stouter Heart. 
 After Prayers, he is shriven, after which 
 he saunters back with us to the House ; 
 then brisklie turning on his Heel, cries 
 to my Husband, " Now, Will^ let's toward, 
 " Lad," and claps the Wicket after him, 
 leaving us at t'other Side without so 
 much as casting back a parting Look. 
 Though he evermore had beene avised 
 to let us companie him to the Boat, and 
 there kiss him once and agayn or ever 
 he went, I know not that I should have 
 thoughte much of this, had not Daisy, 
 looking after him keenly, exclaymed some- 
 what shortlie as she turned in Doors, " I 
 " wish I had not uttered that Quip about 
 " the Cob-loaf." 
 
 Oh, how heavilie sped the Day ! The 
 House, too big now for its Master's dimi- 
 nished Retinue, had yet never hitherto 
 
 seemed
 
 224 The Household 
 
 seemed lonesome ; but now a Somewhat 
 of drearie and dreadfull, inexpressible in 
 Words, invisible to the Eye, but appre- 
 hended by the inner Sense, filled the 
 blank Space alle about. For the first 
 Time, everie one seemed idle ; not only 
 disinclined for Businesse, but as though 
 there were Something unseemlie in address- 
 ing one's Self to it. There was nothing 
 to cry about, nothing to talk over, and 
 yet we alle stoode agaze at each other in 
 Groups, like the Cattle under the Trees 
 when a Storm is at hand. Mercy was the 
 first to start off. I held her back and 
 said, " What is to do ? " She whispered, 
 " Pray." I let her Arm drop, but Bess 
 at that Instant comes up with Cheeks as 
 colourless as Parchment. She sayth, " 'Tis 
 " made out now. A Pursuivant de Facto 
 " fetched him forthe this Morning." We 
 gave one deep, universal Sigh ; Mercy 
 
 broke
 
 of Sir Thos. More 225 
 
 broke away, and I after her, to seek the 
 same" Remedy, but alack, in vayn. . . . 
 
 >OW large a Debt we owe 
 you, wise and holie Men 
 of old ! How ye counsel 
 us to Patience, incite us to 
 Self-mastery, cheer us on 
 to high Emprize, temper in us the Heat 
 of Youth, school our Inexperience, calm 
 the o'erwrought Mind, allay the Anguish 
 of Disappointment, cheat Suspense, and 
 master Despair. . . . How much better 
 and happier ye would make us, if we 
 would but list your Teaching ! 
 
 Bess hath fallen Sick ; no marvell. 
 Everie one goeth heavilie. Alle Joy is 
 darkened ; the Mirthe of the House is 
 gone. 
 
 Will 
 p
 
 226 The Household 
 
 Will tells me, that as they pushed off 
 from the Stairs, Father took him about 
 the Neck and whispered, " I thank our 
 " LORD, the Field is won ! " Sure, Regu- 
 lus ne'er went forthe with higher Self- 
 devotion. 
 
 Having declared his Inabilitie to take 
 the Oath as it stoode, they bade him, 
 Will tells me, take a Turn in the Garden 
 while they administered it to sundrie 
 others, thus affording him Leisure for 
 Re-consideration. But they might as 
 well have bidden the Neap-tide turn 
 before its Hour. When called in agayn, 
 he was as firm as ever, so was given in 
 Ward to the Abbot of Westminster till the 
 Kings Grace was informed of the Matter. 
 And now, the Fool's wise Saying of vin- 
 dictive Herodias came true, for 'twas the 
 Kings Mind to have Mercy on his old 
 Servant, and -tender him a qualifyed Oath ; 
 
 but
 
 0/*Sir Thos. More 227 
 
 but Queen Anne, by her importunate 
 Clamours, did overrule his proper Will, 
 and at four Days' End, the full Oath 
 being agayn tendered and rejected, Father 
 was committed to the Tower. Oh, 
 wicked Woman, how could you ? . . . 
 Sure, you never loved a Father. . . . 
 
 May
 
 228 The Household 
 
 May 2.2d. 
 
 [N Answer to our incessant 
 Applications throughout 
 this last Month past, 
 Mother hath at length 
 obtayned Access to dear 
 Father. She returned, her Eyes nigh 
 swollen to closing with weeping. . . . 
 We crowded round about, burning for 
 her Report, but 'twas some Time ere she 
 coulde fetch Breath or Heart to give it us. 
 At length Daisy, kissing her Hand once 
 and agayn, draws forthe a disjoynted Tale, 
 somewhat after this Fashion. 
 
 " Come, give over weeping, dearest 
 " Mother^ 'twill do neither him, you, nor 
 " us anie Goode. . . . What was your 
 " first Speech of him ? " 
 
 "Oh,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 229 
 
 " Oh, my first Speech, Sweetheart, was, 
 " ' What, my Goodness, Mr. More ! I 
 " marvell how that you, who were always 
 " counted a wise Man, should now soe 
 " play the Fool as to lie here in this 
 " close, filthy Prison, shut up with Mice 
 " and Rats, when you mighte be abroade 
 " and at your Liberty, with the Favour 
 " of King and Council, and return to 
 " your righte fayr House, your Books and 
 " Gallery, and your Wife, Children, and 
 " Household, if soe be you onlie woulde 
 " but do what the Bishops and best 
 " learned of the Realm have, without 
 " Scruple, done alreadie.' ' 
 
 " And what sayd he, Mother^ to 
 "that?" . . . 
 
 " Why, then, Sweetheart, he chucks 
 " me under the Chin and sayeth, ' I 
 " prithee, good Mistress Alice, to tell 
 " me one Thing.' . . . Soe then I say, 
 
 " < What
 
 230 The Household 
 
 " ' What Thing ? ' Soe then he sayeth, 
 " ' Is not this House, Sweetheart, as nigh 
 " Heaven as mine own ? ' Soe then I jerk 
 " my Head away and say, ' Tilly-valley ! 
 " Tilly-valley ! ' " 
 
 Sayth Bess., " Sure, Mother, that was 
 " cold Comfort. . . . And what next ? " 
 
 " Why, then I said, ' Bone Deus, Man ! 
 " Bone Deus ! will this Gear never be 
 " left ? ' Soe then he sayth, ' Well then, 
 " Mrs. Alice, if it be soe, 'tis mighty 
 " well, but, for my Part, I see no greate 
 " Reason why I shoulde much joy in my 
 " gay House, or in Aniething belonging 
 " thereunto, when, if I shoulde be but 
 " seven Years buried underground, and 
 " then arise and come thither agayn, I 
 " shoulde not fail to find Some therein 
 " that woulde bid me get out of Doors, 
 " and tell me 'twas none o' mine. What 
 " Cause have I, then, to care soe greatlie 
 
 "for
 
 of Sir Thos. More 231 
 
 " for a House that woulde soe soone 
 " forget its Master ?''... 
 
 " And then, Mother ? and then ? " 
 " Soe then, Sweetheart, he sayth, 
 " ' Come tell me, Mrs. Alice, how long 
 " do you think we might reckon on living 
 " to enjoy it ? ' Soe I say, ' Some twenty 
 " Years, forsooth.' ' In faith,' says he, 
 " ' had you said some thousand Years, it 
 " had beene Somewhat ; and yet he were 
 " a very bad Merchant that woulde put 
 " himselfe in Danger to lose Eternity for 
 " a thousand Years . . . how much the 
 " rather if we are not sure to enjoy it one 
 " Day to an End ? ' Soe then he puts me 
 "off with Questions, How is Will? and 
 " Daisy ? and Rupert ? and this one ? and 
 " t'other one ? and the Peacocks ? and 
 " Rabbits ? and have we elected a new 
 " King of the Cob-loaf yet ? and has Tom 
 " found his Hoop ? and is the Hasp of 
 
 " the
 
 232 The Household 
 
 " the Buttery-hatch mended yet ? and 
 " how goes the Court ? and what was the 
 " Text o' Sunday ? and have I practised 
 " the Viol ? and how are we off for 
 " Money ? and why can't he see Meg ? 
 " Then he asks for this Book and t'other 
 " Book, but I've forgot their Names, 
 " and he sayth he's kept mighty short 
 " of Meat, though 'tis little he eats, 
 " but his Man Jo/in a Wood is gay an* 
 " hungry, and 'tis worth a World to see 
 " him at a salt Herring. Then he gives 
 " me Counsell of this and that, and puts 
 " his Arm about me and says, ' Come, let 
 " us pray ; ' but while he kept praying 
 " for one and t'other, I kept a-counting of 
 " his gray Hairs ; he'd none a Month 
 " agone. And we're scarce off our Knees, 
 " when I'm fetched away ; and I say, 
 " ' When will you change your Note, and 
 " act like a wise Man ? ' and he sayth, 
 
 ct ' When ?
 
 0/~Sir Thos. More 233 
 
 " ' When ? when ? ' looking very profound; 
 " c why, . . . when Gorse is out of Blos- 
 " som and Kissing out of Fashion.' Soe 
 " puts me forthe by the Shoulders with 
 " a Laugh, calling after me, ' Remember 
 " me over and over agayn to them alle, 
 cc and let me see Me?? ' 
 
 ... I feel as if a String were tied tight 
 about my Heart. Methinketh 'twill burst 
 if we goe on long soe. 
 
 
 July 2$th. 
 E hath writ us a few Lines 
 with a Coal, ending with 
 " Sursum Cor da, dear Chil- 
 " dren ! up with your 
 " Hearts." The Bearer 
 
 was dear Bonvtsi. 
 
 Aug.
 
 234 
 
 The Household 
 
 Aug. 
 
 HE LORD begins to cut us 
 short. We are now on 
 very meagre Commons, 
 dear Mother being obliged 
 to pay fifteen Shillings a 
 week for the Board, poor as it is, of Father 
 and his Servant. She hath parted with 
 her Velvet Gown, embroidered overthwart, 
 to my Lady Sands Woman. Her Mantle 
 edged with Coney went long ago. 
 
 But we lose not Heart ; I think mine 
 is becoming annealed in the Furnace, and 
 will not now break. I have writ some- 
 what after this Fashion to him. . . . 
 " What do you think, most dear Father, 
 " doth comfort us at Chelsea, during this 
 " your Absence ? Surelie, the Remem- 
 " brance of your Manner of Life among 
 
 " us,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 235 
 
 " us, your holy Conversation, your whole- 
 " some Counsells,your Examples of Virtue, 
 " of which there is Hope that they do not 
 " onlie persevere with you, but that, by 
 " GOD'S Grace, they are much increast." 
 
 I weary to see him. . . . Yes, we shall 
 meet in Heaven, but how long first, O 
 LORD ? how long ? 
 
 Aug. 2oth. 
 
 [OW that I've come back, 
 let me seek to think, to 
 remember. . . . Sure, my 
 Head will clear by-and- 
 by ? Strange, that Feeling 
 shoulde have the Masterdom of Thought 
 and Memory, in Matters it is most con- 
 cerned to retayn. 
 
 ... I minded to put the Haircloth and 
 Cord under my Farthingale, and one or 
 two of the smaller Books in my Pouch, 
 
 as
 
 236 The Household 
 
 as alsoe some Sweets and Suckets such as 
 he was used to love. Will and Bonvisi 
 were a-waiting for me ; and deare Bess^ 
 putting forthe her Head from her Chamber 
 Door, cries piteously, "Tell him, dear 
 " Meg) tell him . . . 'twas never soe sad to 
 " me to be sick . . . and that I hope . . . 
 " I pray . . . the Time may come . . . 
 then falls back swooning into Dancey's 
 Arms, whom I leave crying heartilie over 
 her, and hasten below to receive the con- 
 fused Medley of Messages sent by every 
 other Member of the House. For mine 
 owne Part, I was in such a tremulous 
 Succussion as to be scarce fitt to stand or 
 goe ; but Time and the Tide will noe 
 Man bide, and, once having taken Boat, 
 the cool River Air allayed my fevered 
 Spiritts ; onlie I coulde not for awhile 
 get ridd of the Impression of poor Dancey 
 crying over Bess in her Deliquium. 
 
 I think
 
 of Sir Thos. More 239 
 
 I think none o' the three opened our 
 Lips before we reached Lambeth^ save, in 
 the Reach, Will cried to the Steersman, 
 " Look you run us not aground," in a 
 sharper Voyce than I e'er heard from 
 him. After passing the Archbishop's Palace, 
 whereon I gazed full ruefullie, good Bonvtsi 
 beganne to mention some Rhymes he 
 had founde writ with a Diamond on one 
 of the Window-panes at Crosby House, 
 and would know were they Father s ? and 
 was't the Chamber Father had used to 
 sleep in ? I tolde him it was, but knew 
 Nought of the Distich, though 'twas like 
 enow to be his. And thence he went on 
 to this and that, how that Father s cheer- 
 fulle, funny Humour never forsook him, 
 nor his brave Heart never quelled ; 'in- 
 stancing his fearlesse Passage through the 
 Traitor's Gate, asking his Neighbours 
 whether his Gait were that of a Traditor ; 
 
 and,
 
 240 The Household 
 
 and, on being sued by the Porter for his 
 upper Garment, giving him his Cap., 
 which he sayd was uppermost. And 
 other such Quips and Passages, which I 
 scarce noted nor smiled at, soe sorry was 
 I of Cheer. 
 
 At length we stayed rowing : Will lifted 
 me out, kissed me, heartened me up ; and, 
 indeede, I was in better Heart then, having 
 been quietlie in Prayer a good While. 
 After some few Forms, we were led 
 through sundrie Turns and Passages ; and, 
 or ever I was aware, I founde myself quit 
 of my Companions and in Father s Arms. 
 
 We both cried a little at first ; I 
 wonder I wept noe more, but Strength 
 was given me in that Hour. As soone 
 as I coulde, I lookt him in the Face, and 
 he lookt at me, and I was beginning to 
 note his hollow Cheeks, when he sayd, 
 " Why, Meg, you are getting freckled ; " 
 
 soe
 
 of Sir Thos. More 241 
 
 soe that made us bothe laugh. He sayd, 
 " You shoulde get some Freckle-water of 
 " the Lady that sent me here ; depend on 
 " it, she hath Washes and Tinctures in 
 " Plenty ; and after all, Meg, she'll come 
 " to the same End at last, and be as the 
 " Lady all Bone and Skin, whose ghastlie 
 " Legend used to scare thee soe when 
 " thou wert a Child. Don't tell that 
 " Story to thy Children ; 'twill hamper 
 " 'em with unsavoury Images of Death. 
 " Tell them of heavenlie Hosts a-waiting 
 " to carry off good Men's Souls in fire- 
 " bright Chariots, with Horses of the Sun, 
 " to a Land where they shall never more 
 " be surbated and weary, but walk on 
 " cool, springy Turf and among Myrtle 
 " Trees, and eat Fruits that shall heal 
 " while they delight them, and drink the 
 " coldest of cold Water, fresh from the 
 " River of Life, and have Space to stretch 
 
 " themselves
 
 242 The Household 
 
 " themselves, and bathe, and leap, and 
 " run, and, whichever Way they look, 
 " meet Christ's Eyes smiling on them. 
 " Sure, Meg,, who would live, that coulde 
 " die ? One mighte as lief be an Angel 
 " shut up in a Nutshell as bide here. 
 " Fancy how gladsome the sweet Spirit 
 " woulde be to have the Shell cracked ! 
 " no matter by whom ; the King, or 
 " King's Mistress. . . . Let her dainty 
 *' Foot but set him free, he'd say, ' For 
 " this Release, much Thanks.' . . . And 
 " how goes the Court, Meg ? " 
 
 " In Faith, Father, never better. . . . 
 " There is Nothing else there, I hear, but 
 " Dancing and Disporting." 
 
 " Never better, Child, sayst thou ? 
 " Alas, Meg, it pitieth me to consider 
 " what Misery, poor Soul, she will 
 " shortlie come to. These Dances of 
 " hers will prove such Dances that she 
 
 " will
 
 of Sir Thos. More 243 
 
 " will spurn our Heads off like Footballs ; 
 " but 'twill not be long ere her Head 
 " will dance the like Dance. Mark you, 
 " Meg, a Man that restraineth not his 
 " Passions, hath always Something cruel 
 " in his Nature, and if there be a Woman 
 " toward, she is sure to suffer heaviest 
 " for it, first or last. . . . Seek Scripture 
 " Precedent for't . . . you'll find it as 
 " I say. Stony as Death, cruel as the 
 " Grave. Those Pharisees that were, to 
 " a Man, convicted of Sin, yet haled a 
 " sinning Woman before the LORD, and 
 " woulde fain have scene the Dogs lick 
 " up her Blood. When they lick up 
 " mine, deare Meg, let not your Heart be 
 " troubled, even though they shoulde hale 
 " thee to London Bridge, to see my Head 
 " stuck on a Pole. Think, most dear'st, 
 " I shall then have more Reason to weep 
 " for thee than thou for me. But there's 
 
 noe
 
 244 The Household 
 
 " noe weeping in Heaven ; and bear in 
 " Mind, Meg, distinctlie, that if they send 
 " me thither, 'twill be for obeying the 
 " Law of GOD rather than of Men. And 
 " after alle, we live not in the bloody, 
 " barbarous old Times of Crucifyings and 
 " Flayings, and immersing in Cauldrons 
 " of boiling Oil. One Stroke, and the 
 " Affair's done. A clumsy Chirurgeon 
 " would be longer extracting a Tooth. 
 '' We have oft agreed that the little Birds 
 " struck down by the Kite and Hawk 
 '' suffer less than if they were reserved to 
 " a naturall Death. There is one sensible 
 ' : Difference, indeed, between us. In our 
 c; Cases, Preparation is a-wanting." 
 
 Hereon, I minded me to slip off the 
 Haircloth and Rope, and give the same 
 to him, along with the Books and Suckets, 
 all which he hid away privatelie, making 
 merry at the last. 
 
 " 'Twoulde
 
 of Sir Thos. More 245 
 
 " 'Twoulde tell well before the Council," 
 quoth he, " that on searching the Prison- 
 " cell of Sir Thomas More, there was 
 " founde, flagitiouslie and mysteriouslie 
 " laid up ... a piece of Barley-sugar ! " 
 
 Then we talked over sundrie Home- 
 matters ; and anon, having now both of 
 us attayned unto an equable and chastened 
 Serenitie of Mind, which needed not any 
 false Shows of Mirth to hide the naturall 
 Complexion of, he sayth, " I believe, Meg, 
 " they that have put me here ween they 
 " have done me a high Displeasure ; but 
 " I assure thee on my Faith, mine owne 
 " good Daughter, that if it had not beene 
 " for my Wife, and for you, my dear 
 " good Children, I woulde faine have 
 " beene closed up, long ere this, in as 
 " strait a Room, and straiter too." 
 
 Thereon, he shewed me how illegal 
 was his Imprisonment, there being noe 
 
 Statute
 
 246 The Household 
 
 Statute to authorize the Imposition of 
 the Oath, and he delivered himself, with 
 some Displeasure, agaynst the King's ill 
 Counsellors. 
 
 " And surelie, Meg" quoth he, " 'tis 
 " pitie that anie Christian Prince shoulde, 
 " by a flexible Council readie to follow his 
 " Affections, and by a weak Clergy lack- 
 " ing Grace to stand constantly to the 
 " Truth as they have learned it, be with 
 " Flattery so constantly abused. The 
 " Lotus Fruit fabled by the Ancients, 
 " which made them that ate it lose all 
 " Relish for the daylie Bread of their own 
 " Homes, was Flattery, Meg, as I take 
 " it, and Nothing else. And what less 
 " was the Song of the Syrens, agaynst 
 " which Ulysses made his Sailors stop 
 " their Ears, and which he, with all his 
 " Wisdom, coulde not listen to without 
 " struggling to be unbound from the 
 
 " Mast ?
 
 of Sir Thos. More 247 
 
 " Mast ? Even Praise, Meg, which, 
 " moderately given, may animate and 
 " cheer forward the noblest Minds, yet 
 " too lavishly bestowed, will decrease and 
 " palsy their Strength, e'en as an Over- 
 " dose of the most generous and sprightlie 
 " Medicine may prove mortiferous. But 
 " Flattery is noe Medicine, but a rank 
 " Poison, which hath slayn Kings, yea, 
 " and mighty Kings ; and they who love 
 " it, the LORD knoweth afar off ; knoweth 
 " distantlie, has no care to know inti- 
 " matelie, for they are none of his." 
 
 Thus we went on, from one Theme to 
 another, till methinketh a heavenlie Light 
 seemed to shine alle about us, like as when 
 the Angel entered the Prison of Peter. 
 I hung upon everie Word and Thought 
 that issued from his Lips, and drank them 
 in as thirsty Land sucks up the tender 
 Rain. . . . Had the Angel of Death at 
 
 that
 
 248 The Household 
 
 that Hour come in to fetch both of us 
 away, I woulde not have sayd him nay, 
 I was soe passively, soe intenselie happy. 
 At length, as Time wore on, and I knew 
 I shoulde soone be fetcht forthe, I 
 coulde not but wish I had the Clew to 
 some secret Passage or Subterraneal, of 
 the which there were doubtless Plenty 
 in the thick Walls, whereby we might 
 steal off together. Father made Answer, 
 " Wishes never filled a Sack. I make 
 " it my Businesse, Meg, to wish as little 
 " as I can, except that I were better and 
 " wiser. You fancy these four Walls 
 " lonesome ; how oft, dost thou suppose, 
 * c I here receive Plato and Socrates, and 
 " this and that holy Saint and Martyr ? 
 " My Gaolers can noe more keep them 
 " out than they can exclude the Sun- 
 " beams. Thou knowest, JESUS stood 
 " among his Disciples when the Doors 
 
 " were
 
 of Sir Thos. More 249 
 
 " were shut. I am not more lonely than 
 " St. Anthony in his Cave, and I have 
 " a divine Light e'en here, whereby to 
 " con the Lesson, ' GOD is Love.' The 
 " Futility of our Enemies' Efforts to make 
 " us miserable was never more stronglie 
 " proven to me than when I was a 
 " mere Boy in Cardinall Morton s Service. 
 " Having unwittinglie angered one of 
 " his Chaplains, a choleric and even 
 " malignant-spirited Man, he did, of his 
 " owne Authoritie, shut me up for some 
 " Hours in a certayn damp Vault, which, 
 " to a Lad afeard of Ghosts and devilish 
 " Apparitions, would have beene fearsome 
 " enow. Howbeit, I there cast myself on 
 " the Ground with my Back sett agaynst 
 " the Wall, and mine Arm behind my 
 " Head, this Fashion . . . and did then 
 " and there, by reason of a young Heart, 
 " quiet Conscience, and quick Phansy, 
 
 " conjure
 
 250 The Household 
 
 " conjure up such a lively Picture of the 
 " Queen o' the Fairies' Court, and alle the 
 " Sayings and Doings therein, that never 
 " was I more sorry than when my Gaoler 
 " let me goe free, and bade me rise up 
 " and be doing. In place, therefore, my 
 " Daughter, of thinking of me in thy 
 " Night Watches as beating my Wings 
 " agaynst my Cage Bars, trust that GOD 
 " comes to look in upon me without 
 " Knocking or Bell-ringing. Often in 
 " Spiritt I am with you alle ; in the 
 " Chapel, in the Hall, in the Garden ; 
 " now in the Hayfield, with my Head on 
 " thy Lap, now on the River, with Will 
 " and Rupert at the Oar. You see me 
 " not about your Path, you won't see my 
 " disembodied Spiritt beside you hereafter, 
 " but it may be close upon you once and 
 " agayn for alle that : maybe, at Times 
 " when you have prayed with most Passion, 
 
 " or
 
 of Sir Thos. More 251 
 
 " or suffered with most Patience, or per- 
 " formed my Hests with most Exactness, 
 " or remembered my Care of you with 
 " most Affection. And now, good Speed, 
 " good Meg, I hear the Key turn in the 
 " Door. . . . This Kiss for thy Mother, 
 " this for Bess, this for Cecil, . . . this 
 " and this for my whole School. Keep 
 " dry Eyes and a hopefull Heart ; and 
 " reflect that Nought but unpardoned Sin 
 " shoulde make us weep for ever." 
 
 September. 
 
 [EEING the Woodman fell 
 a noble Tree, which, as it 
 went to the Ground, did 
 uptear severall small Plants 
 by the Roots, methoughte 
 such woulde be the Fall of dear Father, 
 herein more sad than that of the Abbot 
 
 of
 
 252 The Household 
 
 of Sion and the Charterhouse Monks, in- 
 asmuch as, being celibate, they involve 
 noe others in theire Ruin. Brave, holie 
 Martyrs ! how cheerfully they went to 
 theire Death. I'm glad to have scene how 
 pious Men may turn e'en an ignominious 
 Sentence into a kind of Euthanasy. Dear 
 Father bade me note how they bore them- 
 selves as Bridegrooms going to theire 
 Marriage, and converted what mighte 
 have beene a Shock to my surcharged 
 Spiritts, into a Lesson of deepe and high 
 Comfort. 
 
 One Thing hath grieved me sorelie. 
 He mistooke Somewhat I sayd at parting 
 for an Implication of my Wish that he 
 shoulde yield up his Conscience. Oh no, 
 dearest Father, that be far from me ! It 
 seems to have cut him to the Heart, for 
 he hath writ that " none of the terrible 
 " Things that may befall him touch him 
 
 " soe
 
 0/"Sir Thos. More 253 
 
 " soe nearlie as that his dearly beloved 
 " Child, whose Opinion he soe much 
 " values, shoulde desire him to overrule 
 " his Conscience." That be far from 
 me, Father! I have writ to explayn 
 the Matter, but his Reproach, undeserved 
 though it be, hath troubled my Heart. 
 
 November. 
 
 ARLIAMENT will meet 
 to-morrow. 'Tis expected 
 Father and the good Bishop 
 of Rochester will be attainted 
 for Misprision of Treason 
 by the slavish Members thereof ; and 
 though not given hithertoe unto much 
 Heede of Omens and Bodements while 
 our Hearts were light and our Courage 
 high, yet now the coming Evill seemeth 
 foreshadowed unto alle by I know not 
 
 how
 
 254 The Household 
 
 how many melancholick Presages, sent, 
 for aught we know, in Mercy. Now 
 that the days are dark and short, and the 
 Nights stormy, we shun to linger much 
 after Dusk in lone Chambers and Passages, 
 and what was sayd of the Enemies of 
 Israel may be nigh sayd of us, " that a 
 " falling Leaf shall chase them." I'm 
 sure " a going in the Tops of the Mul- 
 " berry Trees " on a blusterous Evening, 
 is enow to draw us alle, Men, Mothers, 
 and Maids, together in an Heap. . . . We 
 goe aboute the House in Twos and Threes, 
 and care not much to leave the Fireside. 
 Last Sunday we had closed about the 
 Hearth, and little Bill was a reading by 
 the Fire-light how Herodias* Daughter 
 danced off the Head of St. John the 
 Baptist, when down comes an emptie 
 Swallow's Nest tumbling adown the 
 Chimnie, bringing with it enow of Soot, 
 
 Smoke,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 255 
 
 Smoke, and Rubbish to half smother us 
 alle ; but the Dust was nothing to the 
 Dismay thereby occasioned, and I noted 
 one or two of our bravest turn as pale as 
 Death. Then, the Rats have skirmished 
 and gallopped behind the Wainscoat more 
 like a Troop of Horse than a Herd of 
 such small Deer, to the infinite Annoyance 
 of Mother ', who coulde not be more firmly 
 persuaded they were about to leave a 
 falling House, if, like the scared Priests 
 in the Temple of Jerusalem, she had 
 heard a Voyce utter, " Let us depart 
 " hence." The round upper Half of the 
 Cob-loaf rolled off the Table this Morn- 
 ing ; and Rupert, as he picked it up, gave 
 a Kind of Shudder, and muttered some- 
 what about a Head rolling from the 
 Scaffold. Worse than this was o' Tuesday 
 Night. . . . 'Twas Bed-time, and yet 
 none were liking to goe, when, o' suddain, 
 
 we
 
 256 
 
 The Household 
 
 we hearde a Screech that made every 
 Body's Heart thrill, followed by one or 
 two hollow Groans. Will snatches up 
 the Lamp and runs forth, I close follow- 
 ing, and alle the others at our Heels ; 
 and after looking into sundrie deserted 
 
 Cup-boards and Corners, we descend the 
 broad Stone Steps of the Cellars, half way 
 down which Will^ stumbling over some- 
 thing he sees not, takes a flying Leap to 
 clear himself down to the Bottom, luckily 
 
 without
 
 of Sir Thos. More 257 
 
 without extinguishing the Lamp. We 
 find Gillian on the Steps in a Swoon ; on 
 bringing her to, she exclayms about a 
 Ghost without a Head, wrapped in a 
 Winding-sheet, that confronted her and 
 then sank to the Ground as she entered 
 the Vaults. We cast a fearfulle Look 
 about, and descry a tall white Sack of 
 Flour, recently overturned by the Rats, 
 which clears up the Mystery, and pro- 
 cures Gillian a little Jeering ; but we alle 
 return to the Hall with fluttered Spiritts. 
 Another Time I, going up to the Nurserie 
 in the Dark, on hearing Baby cry, am 
 passed on the Stairs by I know not what, 
 breathing heavilie. I reache forthe my 
 Arm, but pass cleare through the spirituall 
 Nature, whatever it is, yet distinctlie feel 
 my Cheek and Neck fanned by its Breath. 
 I turn very faint, and get Nurse to goe 
 with me when I return, bearing a Light, 
 
 yet 
 R
 
 258 The Household 
 
 yet think it as well to say nought to 
 distress the rest. 
 
 But worst of alle was last Night. . . . 
 After I had beene in Bed awhile, I minded 
 me that deare Will had not returned me 
 Father s Letter. I awoke him, and asked 
 if he had broughte it up Stairs ; he 
 sleepily replied he had not, soe I hastily 
 arose, threw on a Cloke, took a Light, 
 and entered the Gallery ; when, half-way 
 along it, between me and the pale Moon- 
 shine, I was scared to behold a slender 
 Figure alle in white, with naked Feet and 
 Arms extended. I stoode agaze, speech- 
 lesse, and to my Terror made out the 
 Features of Bess . , . her Eyes open, 
 but vacant ; then saw yohn Dancey softly 
 stealing after her, and signing to me with 
 his Finger on his Lips. She passed with- 
 out noting me, on to Father s Door, there 
 knelt as if in Prayer, making a low sort 
 
 of
 
 of Sir Thos. More 259 
 
 of Wail, while Dancey, with Tears run- 
 ning down his Cheeks, whispered, " 'Tis 
 " the third Time of her thus sleep-walk- 
 " ing . . . the Token of how troubled a 
 " Mind ! " 
 
 We disturbed her not, dreading that a 
 suddain Waking might bring on Mad- 
 ness ; soe after making Moan awhile, she 
 kisses the senseless Door, rises up, moves 
 towards her own Chamber, followed by 
 Dancey and me, wrings her Hands a little, 
 then lies down and graduallie falls into 
 what seems a dreamlesse Sleep, we watch- 
 ing her in Silence till she's quiet, and 
 then squeezing each other's Hands ere 
 we part. 
 
 Will was wide awake when I got 
 
 back ; he sayd, " Why, Meg, how long 
 " you have beene ! coulde you not lighte 
 " on the Letter ? " . . . When I tolde 
 him what had hindered me by the 
 
 Way,
 
 260 The Household 
 
 Way, he turned his Face to the Wall 
 and wept. 
 
 Midnight. 
 
 HE wild Wind is abroad, 
 and, methinketh, nothing 
 else. Sure, how it rages 
 through our empty Courts! 
 In such a Season, Men, 
 Beasts, and Fowls cower beneath the 
 Shelter of their rocking Walls, yet almost 
 fear to trust them. LORD, I know that 
 thou canst give the Tempest double Force, 
 but do not, I beseech thee ! Oh ! have 
 Mercy on the frail Dwelling and the Ship 
 at Sea. 
 
 Dear little Bill hath ta'en a feverish 
 Attack. I watch beside him whilst his 
 Nurse sleeps. Earlie in the Night his 
 Mind wandered, and he told me of a 
 
 pretty
 
 of Sir Thos. More 261 
 
 pretty pyebald Poney, noe bigger than a 
 Bee, that had golden Housings and Barley- 
 sugar Eyes ; then dozed, but ever and 
 anon kept starting up, crying, " Mammy 
 " dear ! " and softlie murmured, " Oh ! " 
 when he saw I was by. At length I gave 
 him my Forefinger to hold, which kept 
 him ware of my Presence without speak- 
 ing ; but presentlie he stares hard towards 
 the Foot of the Bed, and says fearfullie, 
 " Mother^ why hangs yon Hatchet in the 
 " Air, with its sharp Edge turned towards 
 " us ? " I rise, move the Lamp, and say, 
 " Do you see it now ? " He sayth, " No, 
 " not now," and closes his Eyes. After 
 a good Space, during the which I hoped 
 he slept, he says in quite an altered Tone, 
 most like unto soft, sweet Music, " There's 
 " a pretty little Cherub there now, alle 
 " Head and noe Body, with two little 
 " Wings aneath his Chin ; but, for alle 
 
 " he's
 
 262 
 
 'The Household 
 
 " he's soe pretty, he is just like dear 
 " Gaffer, and seems to know me . . . and 
 " he'll have a Body agayn too, I believe, 
 " by and by. ... Mother, Mother, tell 
 " Hobbinol there's such a gentle Lamb in 
 " Heaven ! " And soe, slept. 
 
 i jth. 
 
 ,E'S gone, my pretty . . . ! 
 slipt through my Fingers 
 like a Bird ! upfled to his 
 own native Skies ; and yet, 
 whenas I think on him, I 
 cannot choose but weepe. . . . Such a 
 guilelesse little Lamb ! . . . My Billy- 
 bird ! his Mother's owne Heart ! They 
 are alle wondrous kind to me. 
 
 2jth.
 
 of Sir Thos. More 263 
 
 2jth. 
 
 strange that a little 
 Child shoulde be permitted 
 to suffer soe much Payn, 
 when of such is the King- 
 dom of Heaven ! But 'tis 
 onlie transient, whereas a Mother makes 
 it permanent, by thinking it over and over 
 agayn. One Lesson it taughte us betimes, 
 that a naturall Death is not, necessarilie, 
 the most easie. We must alle die. . . . 
 As poor Patteson was used to say, " The 
 " greatest King that ever was made, must 
 " bed at last with Shovel and Spade," 
 . . . and I'd sooner have my Billy s Baby 
 Deathbed than King Harry s, or Nan 
 Boleyns either, however manie Years they 
 may yet carry Matters with a high Hand. 
 Oh, you Ministers of Evill, whoever ye 
 
 be,
 
 264 The Household 
 
 be, visible or invisible, you shall not build 
 a Wall between my GOD and me. . . . 
 I've Something within me grows stronger 
 and stronger, as Times grow more and 
 more Evill ; some woulde call it Resolu- 
 tion, but methinketh 'tis Faith. 
 
 Meantime, Father s Foes . . . alack 
 that anie can shew 'emselves such ! are 
 aiming, by fayr Seemings of friendlie 
 Conference, to draw from him Admissions 
 they can come at after noe other Fashion. 
 The new Solicitor Generall hath gone to 
 the Tower to deprive him of the few 
 Books I have taken him from Time to 
 Time. . . . Ah, Master Rich, you must 
 deprive him of his Brains afore you can 
 rob him of their Contents ! . . . and, 
 w r hile having 'em packt up, he falls into 
 easie Dialogue with him, as thus, . . . 
 " Why now, sure, Mr. More^ were there 
 " an Act of Parliament made that all the 
 
 " Realm
 
 of Sir Thos. More 265 
 
 " Realm shoulde take me for King, you 
 " woulde take me for such with the 
 " Rest." 
 
 " Aye, that would I, Sir," returns 
 Father. 
 
 " Forsooth, then," pursues Rich, " we'll 
 " suppose another Act that should make 
 " me the Pope. Woulde you not take 
 " me for Pope ? " 
 
 " Or suppose another Case, Mr. Rich" 
 returns Father, " that another Act shoulde 
 " pass, that GOD shoulde not be GOD, 
 " would you say well and good ? " 
 
 " No, truly," returns the other hastily, 
 " for no Parliament coulde make such 
 " Act lawful." 
 
 " True, as you say," repeats Father, 
 " they coulde not," . . . soe eluded the 
 Net of the Fowler ; but how miserable 
 and unhandsome a Device to lay wait for 
 him thus ! 
 
 I
 
 266 The Household 
 
 ... I stole forthe, ere 'twas Lighte, 
 this damp chill Morning, to pray beside 
 the little Grave, but found dear Daisy 
 there before me. How Christians love 
 one another ! 
 
 Will ' s Loss is as heavie as mine, yet he 
 bears with me tenderlie. Yesternighte, 
 he sayth to me half reproachfullie, " Am 
 " not I better unto thee than ten Sons ? " 
 
 March, 1535. 
 
 PRING comes, that brings 
 Rejuvenescence to the 
 Land, and Joy to the 
 Heart, but it brings none 
 to us, for where Hope 
 dieth, Joy dieth. But Patience, Soul ; 
 GOD'S yet in the Aumry ! 
 
 May
 
 of Sir Thos. More 267 
 
 May 7. 
 ATHER arraigned. 
 
 July i. 
 
 Reason of Willis minding 
 to be present at the Triall, 
 which, for the Concourse 
 of Spectators, demanded 
 his earlie Attendance, he 
 committed the Care of me, with Bess, 
 to Dancey^ who got us Places to see 
 Father on his Way from the Tower to 
 Westminster Hall. We coulde not come 
 at him for the Crowd, but clambered on 
 a Bench to gaze our very Hearts away 
 after him as he went by, sallow, thin, 
 
 grey-haired,
 
 268 The Household 
 
 grey-haired, yet in Mien not a Whit cast 
 down. Wrapt in a coarse woollen Gown, 
 and leaning on a Staff ; which unwonted 
 Support when Bess markt, she hid her 
 Eyes on my Shoulder and wept sore, but 
 soon lookt up agayn, though her Eyes 
 were soe blinded, I think she coulde not 
 see him. His Face was calm, but grave, 
 as he came up, but just as he passed he 
 caughte the Eye of some one in the 
 Crowd, and smiled in his old, frank Way ; 
 then glanced up towards the Windows 
 wit!) the bright Look he hath soe oft 
 cast to me at my Casement, but saw us 
 not. I coulde not help crying " Father" 
 but he heard me not ; perchance 'twas soe 
 best. ... I woulde not have had his Face 
 cloud at the Sighte of poor Bessy s Tears. 
 . . . Will tells me the Indictment was 
 the longest ever hearde ; on four Counts. 
 First, his Opinion on the King's Marriage. 
 
 Second,
 
 of Sir Thos. More 269 
 
 Second, his writing sundrie Letters to the 
 Bishop of Rochester, counselling him to hold 
 out. Third, refusing to acknowledge his 
 Grace's Supremacy. Fourth, his positive 
 Deniall of it, and thereby willing to de- 
 prive the King of his Dignity and Title. 
 
 When the reading of this was over, 
 the Lord Chancellor sayth, " Ye see how 
 " grievouslie you have offended the King 
 " his Grace, but and yet he is soe merci- 
 " fulle, as that if ye will lay aside your 
 " Obstinacie, and change your Opinion, 
 " we hope ye may yet obtayn Pardon." 
 
 Father makes Answer ... and at 
 Sounde of his deare Voyce alle Men 
 hold their Breaths ; . . . " Most noble 
 tc Lords, I have great Cause to thank your 
 " Honours for this your Courtesie . . . 
 tc but I pray ALMIGHTY GOD I may 
 " continue in the Mind I'm in, through 
 " his Grace, until Death." 
 
 They
 
 270 The Household 
 
 They coulde not make goode their 
 Accusation agaynst him. 'Twas onlie on 
 the last Count he could be made out a 
 Traitor, and Proof of 't had they none ; 
 how coulde they have ? He shoulde 
 xhave beene acquitted out of hand, 'steade 
 of which, his bitter Enemy my Lord 
 Chancellor called on him for his Defence. 
 Will sayth there was a generall Murmur 
 or Sigh ran through the Court. Father, 
 however, answered the Bidding by begin- 
 ning to expresse his Hope that the Effect 
 of long Imprisonment mighte not have 
 beene such upon his Mind and Body, as 
 to impair his Power of rightlie meeting 
 alle the Charges agaynst him . . . when, 
 turning faint with long standing, he 
 staggered and loosed Hold of his Staff, 
 whereon he was accorded a Seat. 'Twas 
 but a Moment's Weakness of the Body, 
 and he then proceeded frankly to avow 
 
 his
 
 of Sir Thos. More 271 
 
 his having always opposed the Kings 
 Marriage to his Grace himself, which he 
 was soe far from thinking High Treason, 
 that he shoulde rather have deemed it 
 Treachery to have withholden his Opinion 
 from his Sovereign King when solicited 
 by him for his Counsell. His Letters to 
 the good Bishop he proved to have been 
 harmlesse. Touching his declining to 
 give his Opinion, when askt, concerning 
 the Supremacy, he alleged there coulde 
 be noe Transgression in holding his Peace 
 thereon, GOD only being cognizant of our 
 Thoughts. 
 
 " Nay," interposeth the Attorney Gene- 
 rail, " your Silence was the Token of a 
 " malicious Mind." 
 
 " I had always understoode," answers 
 Father, " that Silence stoode for Consent. 
 " $ui facet, consentire videtur ; " which 
 made Sundrie smile. On the last Charge, 
 
 he
 
 272 The Household 
 
 he protested he had never spoken Word 
 against the Law unto anie Man. 
 
 The Jury are about to acquit him, 
 when up starts the Solicitor Generall, offers 
 himself as Witness for the Crown, is 
 sworn, and gives Evidence of his Dialogue 
 with Father in the Tower, falselie adding, 
 like a Liar as he is, that on his saying 
 " No Parliament coulde make a Law that 
 " GOD shoulde not be GOD," Father had re- 
 joyned, " No more coulde they make the 
 " King supreme Head of the Church." 
 
 I marvell the Ground opened not at 
 his -Feet. Father brisklie made Answer, 
 " If I were a Man, my Lords, who re- 
 " garded not an Oath, ye know well I 
 " needed not stand now at this Bar. And 
 " if the Oath which you, Mr. Rich, have 
 "just taken, be true, then I pray I may 
 " never see GOD in the Face. In good 
 " Truth, Mr. Rich, I am more sorry for 
 
 " your
 
 Thos. More 273 
 
 " your Perjurie than my Perill. You 
 " and I once dwelt long together in one 
 " Parish ; your manner of Life and Con- 
 " versation from your Youth up were 
 " familiar to me, and it paineth me to tell 
 " ye were ever held very light of your 
 " Tongue, a great Dicer and Gamester, 
 " and not of anie commendable Fame 
 " either there or in the Temple^ the Inn 
 " to which ye have belonged. Is it 
 " credible, therefore, to your Lordships, 
 " that the Secrets of my Conscience touch- 
 " ing the Oath, which I never woulde 
 " reveal, after the Statute once made, 
 " either to the King's Grace himself, nor 
 " to anie of you, my honourable Lords, 
 " I should have thus lightly blurted out 
 " in private Parley with Mr. Rich ? " 
 
 In short, the Villain made not goode 
 his Poynt : ne'erthelesse, the Issue of this 
 black Day was aforehand fixed ; my Lord 
 
 Audley
 
 274 The Household 
 
 Audley was primed with a virulent and 
 venomous Speech ; the Jury retired, and 
 presentlie returned with a Verdict of 
 Guilty ; for they knew what the King's 
 Grace woulde have 'em doe in that 
 Case. 
 
 Up starts my Lord Audley ; com- 
 mences pronouncing Judgment, when 
 
 " My Lord," says Father, " in my 
 " Time, the Custom in these Cases was 
 " ever to ask the Prisoner before Sentence, 
 " whether he coulde give anie Reason 
 " why Judgment shoulde not proceed 
 " agaynst him." 
 
 My Lord, in some Confusion, puts the 
 Question. 
 
 And then came the frightful Sentence. 
 
 Yes, yes, my Soul, I know ; there were 
 Saints of old sawn asunder. Men of 
 whom the World was not worthy. 
 
 . . . Then he spake unto 'em his 
 
 Mind ;
 
 0/*Sir Thos. More 275 
 
 Mind ; and bade his Judges and Accusers 
 farewell ; hoping that like as St. Paul was 
 present and consenting unto St. Stephen s 
 Death, and yet both were now holy Saints 
 in Heaven, soe he and they might speedilie 
 meet there, joint Heirs of e'erlasting Sal- 
 vation. 
 
 Meantime, poor Bess and Cecilie^ spent 
 with Grief and long waiting, were forct 
 to be carried Home by Heron^ or ever 
 Father returned to his Prison. Was't 
 less Feeling, or more Strength of Body, 
 enabled me to bide at the Tower Wharf 
 with Dancey ? GOD knoweth. They 
 brought him back by Water ; my poor 
 Sisters must have passed him. . . . The 
 first Thing I saw was the Axe, turned with 
 its Edge towards him my first Note of his 
 Sentence. I forct my Way through the 
 Crowd . . . some one laid a cold Hand 
 on mine Arm ; 'twas poor Patteson, soe 
 
 changed
 
 2 7 6 "The Household 
 
 changed I scarce knew him, with a Rosary 
 of Gooseberries he kept running through 
 his Fingers. He sayth, " Bide your Time, 
 "Mistress Meg; when he comes past, 
 " I'll make a Passage for ye ; ... Oh, 
 " Brother, Brother ! what ailed thee to 
 " refuse the Oath ? I've taken it ! " In 
 another Moment, "Now,. Mistress, now !" 
 and flinging his Arms right and left, made 
 a Breach through which I darted, fearlesse 
 of Bills and Halberds, and did cast mine 
 Arms about Father's Neck. He cries, 
 "My Meg!" and hugs me to him as 
 though our very Souls shoulde grow to- 
 gether. He sayth, " Bless thee, bless 
 " thee ! Enough, enough, my Child ; 
 " what mean ye, to weep and break mine 
 " Heart ? Remember, though I die in- 
 " nocent, 'tis not without the Will of 
 " GOD, who coulde have turned mine 
 " Enemies' Hearts, if 'twere best ; there- 
 
 " fore
 
 of Sir Thos. More 279 
 
 " fore possess your Soul in Patience. Kiss 
 " them alle for me, thus and thus ..." 
 soe gave me back into Danceys Arms, the 
 Guards about him alle weeping ; but I 
 coulde not thus lose Sight of him for 
 ever ; soe, after a Minute's Pause, did 
 make a second Rush, brake away from 
 Dancey, clave to Father agayn, and agayn 
 they had Pitie on me, and made Pause 
 while I hung upon his Neck. This 
 Time there were large Drops standing on 
 his dear Brow ; and the big Tears were 
 swelling into his Eyes. He whispered, 
 " Meg^ for Christ's Sake don't unman me ; 
 " thou'lt not deny my last Request ? " I 
 sayd, " Oh ! no ; " and at once loosened 
 mine Arms. " God's Blessing be with 
 " you," he sayth with a last Kiss. I 
 coulde not help crying, " My Father, my 
 " Father ! " " The Chariot of Israel^ and 
 " the Horsemen thereof!" he vehementlie 
 
 whispers,
 
 280 
 
 The Household 
 
 whispers, pointing upwards with soe pas- 
 sionate a Regard, that I look up, almost 
 expecting a beatific Vision ; and when I 
 turn about agayn, he's gone, and I have 
 noe more Sense nor Life till I find myself 
 agayn in mine owne Chamber, my Sisters 
 chafing my Hands. 
 
 July S th. 
 
 [LLE'S over now . . . they've 
 done theire worst, and 
 yet I live. There were 
 Women coulde stande aneath 
 the Cross. The Maccabees' 
 Mother ... yes, my Soul, yes ; I know 
 Nought but unpardoned Sin. . . . The 
 Chariot of Israel. 
 
 6th.
 
 of Sir Thos. More 281 
 
 6th. 
 
 iR. Clement hath beene with 
 us. Sayth he went up as 
 blythe as a Bridegroom to 
 be clothed upon with Im- 
 mortality. 
 
 Rupert stoode it alle out. Perfect Love 
 casteth out Feare. Soe did his. 
 
 ijth. 
 
 JY most precious Treasure is 
 this deare Billet, writ with 
 a Coal ; the last Thing he 
 sett his Hand to, wherein 
 he sayth, " I never liked 
 " your Manner towards me better than 
 " when you kissed me last." 
 
 iqth.
 
 282 
 
 The Household 
 
 HEY have let us bury his 
 poor mangled Trunk ; but, 
 as sure as there's a Sun 
 in Heaven, I'll have his 
 Head ! before another 
 Sun hath risen, too. If wise Men won't 
 speed me, I'll e'en content, me with a 
 Fool. 
 
 I doe think Men, for the most Part, be 
 Cowards in theire Hearts . . . moral 
 Cowards. Here and there, we find one 
 like Father, and like Socrates, and like 
 . . . this and that one, I mind not theire 
 Names just now ; but in the Main, me- 
 thinketh they lack the moral Courage of 
 Women. Maybe, I'm unjust to 'em just 
 now, being crost. 
 
 July
 
 of Sir Thos. More 283 
 
 July 20th. 
 
 LAY down, but my Heart 
 was waking. Soon after 
 the first Cock crew, I 
 hearde a Pebble cast 
 agaynst my Lattice, knew 
 the Signall, rose, dressed, stole softlie 
 down and let myself out. I knew the 
 Touch of the poor Fool's Fingers ; his 
 Teeth were chattering, 'twixt Cold and 
 Fear, yet he laught aneath his Breath as 
 he caught my Arm and dragged me after 
 him, whispering, " Fool and fayr Lady 
 " will cheat 'em yet." At the Stairs lay 
 a Wherry with a Couple of Boatmen, and 
 one of 'em stepping up to me, cries, "Alas 
 " for ruth, Mistress Meg, what is't ye 
 
 " do ?
 
 284 The Household 
 
 " do ? Art mad to go on this Errand ? " 
 I sayd, " I shall be mad if I goe not, 
 " and succeed too put me in, and push 
 " off." 
 
 We went down the River quietlie 
 enow at length reach London Bridge 
 Stairs. Patteson^ starting up, says, " Bide 
 " ye all as ye are," and springs aland and 
 runneth up to the Bridge. Anon, returns, 
 and sayth, " Now, Mistress, alle's readie 
 "... readier than ye wist . . . come 
 " up quickly, for the Coast's clear." 
 Hobson (for 'twas he) helps me forth, 
 saying, " GOD speed ye, Mistress. . . . 
 " An' I dared, I woulde goe with ye." 
 . . . Thought I, there be others in that 
 Case. 
 
 Nor lookt I up till aneath the Bridge- 
 gate, when casting upward a fearsome 
 Look, I beheld the dark Outline of the 
 ghastly yet precious Relic ; and, falling 
 
 into
 
 of Sir Thos. More 287 
 
 into a Tremour, did wring my Hands 
 and exclaym, " Alas, alas, that Head hath 
 " lain full manie a Time in my Lap, 
 " woulde GOD, woulde GOD it lay there 
 " now ! " When, o' suddain, I saw the 
 Pole tremble and sway towards me ; and 
 stretching forth my Apron, I did in an 
 Extasy of Gladness, Pity, and Horror, 
 catch its Burthen as it fell. Patteson, 
 shuddering, yet grinning, cries under his 
 Breath, " Managed I not well, Mistress ? 
 " Let's speed away with our Theft, for 
 " Fools and their Treasures are soon 
 " parted ; but I think not they'll follow 
 " hard after us, neither, for there are 
 " Well-wishers to us on the Bridge. 
 " I'll put ye into the Boat and then 
 " say, GOD speed ye, Lady, with your 
 " Burthen." 
 
 "July
 
 288 The Household 
 
 July 2,-^rd. 
 
 \IZPAH, Daughter of Aiah, 
 did watch her Dead from 
 the Beginning of Harvest 
 until the latter Rain, and 
 suffered neither the Birds 
 of the Air to light on them by Day, nor 
 the wild Beasts of the Field by Night. 
 And it was told the King, but he inter- 
 meddled not with her. 
 
 Argia stole Polynicei Body by Night 
 and buried it, for the which, she with 
 her Life did willingly pay Forfeit. Anti- 
 gone^ for aiding in the pious Theft, was 
 adjudged to be buried alive. Artemisia 
 did make herself her loved one's Shrine, 
 by drinking his Ashes. Such is the Love 
 of Women ; many Waters cannot quench 
 it, neither can the Floods drown it. I've 
 
 hearde
 
 of Sir Thos. More 289 
 
 hearde Bonvisi tell of a poor Italian Girl, 
 whose Brothers did slay her Lover ; and 
 in Spite of them she got his Heart, and 
 buried it in a Pot of Basil, which she 
 watered Day and Night with her Tears, 
 just as I do my Coffer. Will has promised 
 it shall be buried with me ; layd upon 
 my Heart ; and since then, I've beene 
 easier. 
 
 He thinks he shall write Father s Life, 
 when he gets more composed, and we are 
 settled in a new Home. We are to be 
 cleared out o' this in alle Haste ; the King 
 grutches at our lingering over Father s 
 Footsteps, and gazing on the dear familiar 
 Scenes associate with his Image ; and 
 yet, when the News of the bloody Deed 
 was taken to him, as he sate playing at 
 Tables with Queen Anne, he started up 
 and scowled at her, saying, " Thou art 
 " the Cause of this Man's Death ! " 
 
 Father 
 T
 
 29 The Household 
 
 Father might well say, during our last 
 precious Meeting in the Tower, " 'Tis I, 
 " Meg, not the King, that love Women. 
 " They belie him ; he onlie loves him- 
 " self." Adding, with his own sweet 
 Smile, " Your Gaffer used to say that 
 " Women were a Bag of Snakes, and that 
 " the Man who put his Hand therein 
 " woulde be lucky if he founde one Eel 
 " among them alle ; but 'twas onlie in 
 " Sport, Meg, and he owned that I had 
 " enough Eels to my Share to make a 
 " goodly Pie, and called my House the 
 " Eel-pie House to the Day of his Death. 
 " 'Twas our Lord Jesus raised up Women, 
 " and shewed Kindnesse unto 'em ; and 
 " they've kept theire Level, in the Main, 
 " ever since." 
 
 I wish Will may sett down everie Thing 
 of Father's saying he can remember ; how 
 precious will his Book then be to us ! 
 
 But
 
 of Sir Thos. More 291 
 
 But I fear me, these Matters adhere not 
 to a Man's Memory . . . he'll be telling 
 of his Doings as Speaker and Chancellor, 
 and his saying this and that in Parliament. 
 Those are the Matters Men like to write 
 and to read ; he won't write it after my 
 Fashion. 
 
 I had a Misgiving of Wilfs Wrath, 
 that Night, 'speciallie if I failed ; but he 
 called me his brave "Judith. Indeed I 
 was a Woman bearing a Head, but one 
 that had oft lain on my Shoulder. 
 
 My Thoughts beginne to have Con- 
 nexion now ; but till last Night, I slept 
 not. 'Twas scarce Sunsett. Mercy had 
 been praying beside me, and I lay outside 
 my Bed, inclining rather to Stupor than 
 Sleep. O' suddain, I have an Impression 
 that some one is leaning over me, though 
 I hear 'em not, nor feel theire Breath. I 
 start up, cry " Mercy ! " but she's not 
 
 there,
 
 292 The Household 
 
 there, nor anie one else. I turn on my 
 Side and become heavie to Sleep ; but or 
 ere I drop quite off, agayn I'm sensible or 
 apprehensive of some living Consciousness 
 between my closed Eyelids and the setting 
 Sunlight ; agayn start up and stare about, 
 but there's Nothing. Then I feel like 
 . . . like //, maybe, when the Child 
 Samuel came to him twice ; and Tears 
 well into mine Eyes, and I close 'em 
 agayn, and say in mine Heart, " If he's 
 " at Hand, oh, let me see him next Time 
 "... the third Time 's lucky." But 
 'steade of this, I fall into quiet, balmy, 
 dreamlesse Sleep. Since then, I've had 
 an abiding, assuring Sense of Help, of a 
 Hand upholding me, and smoothing and 
 glibbing the Way before me. 
 
 We must yield to the Powers that be. 
 At this Present, we are weak, but they 
 are strong ; they are honourable, but we 
 
 are
 
 0/~Sir Thos. More 293 
 
 are despised. They have made us a 
 Spectacle unto the World, and, I think, 
 Europe will ring with it ; but at this 
 present Hour, they will have us forth 
 of our Home, though we have as yet no 
 certayn Dwelling-Place, and must flee as 
 scared Pigeons from their Dove-cot. No 
 Matter ; our Men are willing to labour, 
 and our Women to endure : being reviled, 
 we bless ; being persecuted, we suffer it. 
 Onlie I marvell how anie honest Man, 
 coming after us, will be able to eat a 
 Mouthful of Bread with a Relish within 
 these Walls. And, methinketh, a dis- 
 honest Man will have sundrie Frights 
 from the Lares and Lemures. There '11 
 be Dearth o' black Beans in the 
 Market. 
 
 Flow on, bright shining Thames. A 
 good brave Man hath walked aforetime 
 on your Margent, himself as bright, and 
 
 usefull,
 
 294 ^"^ Household 
 
 usefull, and delightsome as be you, sweet 
 River. And like you, he never murmured ; 
 like you, he upbore the weary, and gave 
 Drink to the Thirsty, and reflected Heaven 
 in his Face. I'll not swell your full 
 Current with any more fruitless Tears. 
 There's a River, whose Streams make 
 glad the City of our GOD. He now rests 
 beside it. Good Christian Folks, as they 
 hereafter pass this Spot, upborne on thy 
 gentle Tide, will, maybe, point this Way, 
 and say "There dwelt Sir Thomas More ;" 
 but whether they doe or not, Vox Populi 
 is a very inconsiderable Matter. Who 
 would live on theire Breath ? They hailed 
 St. Paul as Mercury, and then stoned him, 
 and cast him out of the City, supposing 
 him to be dead. Theire Favourite of 
 to-day may, for what they care, goe 
 hang himself to-morrow in his Surcingle. 
 Thus it must be while the World lasts ; 
 
 and
 
 of Sir Thos. More 295 
 
 and the very Racks and Scrues wherewith 
 they aim to overcome the nobler Spiritt, 
 onlie test and reveal its Power of Exal- 
 tation above the heaviest Gloom of Cir- 
 cumstance. 
 
 InterfecistiS) interfecistis Hominem omnium 
 Anglorum optimum. 
 
 FINIS 
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. 
 Edinburgh and London