THE 
 
 LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS: 
 
 aiii ?t}i6tortraI laomanrc, 
 
 ILLISTRATING 
 
 SOME OF THE PUBLIC EVENTS, AND DOMESTIC 
 AND ECCLESIASTICAL MANNERS, 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIFTEENTH AND SIXTEENTH CENTURIES. 
 
 A.- 
 
 Alas ! the Family's 
 Extinguish'd in Jiim, and the good old Name 
 Only to be remember'd on a tomb stone ! 
 A Name that has gone down from sire to son 
 So many generations ! 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 LONDOxN: 
 SMITH, ELDER, AND CO., CORNHILL. 
 
 1829.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Anne Maurice, Fcncluircli street.
 
 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOUnABLE 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM FINCH HATTON, 
 
 EARL OF WINCHILSEA AND NOTTINGHAM, 
 _ VISCOUNT MAIDSTONE, 
 
 [f^ &c. &c. &c. 
 
 . ^.0 AS A LINEAL DESCENDANT OF SIR THOMAS MOYLE^ 
 
 THE LAST PROTECTOR 
 OF 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS, 
 vy AND POSSESSOR OF THE MANOR OF EASTWELL, 
 
 TO WHICH HE RETIRED, 
 
 THIS NAllRATIVE 
 
 IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 
 
 "^
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE HETREAT OP A COUNTRY ANTIQUARY. 
 
 He took a journey, being accompanied by a countryman and companion of 
 his own College, and both on foot ; which was then either more in fashion, or 
 their want of money or humility made it so. 
 
 IzAAK Walton's Life of Hookkr. 
 
 He learned that these uncommonly scarce and precious volumes, belonged 
 to an Ancient Geutleman, whose name was studiously concealed ; but who was 
 in the habit of coming once or twice a week, — to smoke his pipe and lounge 
 over his books ; sometimes making extracts from them, and sometimes mak- 
 ing observations in the margin with a pencil. 
 
 Dibdin's Bibliomania. 
 
 It was towards the close of one of those long and 
 delicious summer days, which the pious George 
 Herbert has exquisitely called " the bridal of the 
 earth and sky," that two personages of clerical 
 appearance, who seemed to have attained the mid- 
 dle period of life, presented themselves at the little 
 Inn adjoining the village of Eastwell, in the fair 
 County of Kent. A small leathern wallet buckled 
 on the back of one, and the dusty habiliments of 
 both, indicated them to be of that order of gentle-
 
 VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 men-travellers, or strollers, which, — because it 
 sometimes includes both patricians and plebeians, — 
 is expressed, in modern phraseology, by the epithet 
 of pedestrian. In fact, they were two Graduates of 
 a certain famous College on the banks of the Cam ; 
 who, rejoiced to escape from poring over anti- 
 quated authors in their own apartments, and listen- 
 ing day after day to the classical standing-jokes 
 of the Combination-room, were profiting by the 
 long-vacaticm to renew their acquaintance with 
 modern life and nature, amidst the delightful sce- 
 nery with which the above-named County is well 
 known to abound. 
 
 The keen air of the downs, and their long ramble, 
 had the usual effect upon the Pedestrians, of sharp- 
 ening their appetites and elevating their spirits. 
 With minds open to all the impressions of the beau- 
 tiful country through which they were travelling, 
 they had been occupied by an interchange of thoughts, 
 tastes, and feelings ; discussing, perhaps, some of 
 the great political topics which at this time engaged 
 the public attention ; or, it may be, in accordance 
 with their own ordinary habits, debating, in scholar- 
 like terms, some abstruse and knotty subject, which 
 had often bewildered the schoolmen of past ages. 
 At length, when with exhausted lungs and parched 
 throats they had settled these points to their mu-
 
 INTRODUCTION. vil 
 
 tual satisfaction, they were hardly less pleased to 
 find themselves close upon a long straggling tene- 
 ment, before which, swinging from the branch of 
 an old tree, and flapping in the wind, was sus- 
 pended a sign, exhibiting the goodly portraiture 
 of the First King George ; who was then but re- 
 cently elevated to maintain the Protestant ascen- 
 dancy, and be at the same time the Patron-saint of 
 all the best liquors of the nation. 
 
 The serenity of the evening had summoned into 
 the open air all the male population of the place, 
 and groups of the younger villagers were to be 
 seen engaged in their sports on the common hard 
 by ; whilst, on benches at the Ale-house door, the 
 rustic grey-beards were seated in solemn divan, 
 arranging their own and their neighbours' con- 
 cerns, with all the vehemence and hilarity inspired 
 by a foaming tankard ; the potency of which, in 
 those good old times, was measured, rather by the 
 liberality of mine host, than by the gauge of a 
 cellar-inquisitor. All these were auspicious omens 
 for the Hostel ; for merry faces at the door of your 
 Inn, are fully as attractive to weary way-farers, 
 and not half so deceiving, as the ancient ivy-bush 
 of your vintner, and his own protest touching the 
 surpassing quality of his liquors. Within the 
 precincts of Alma-Mater, the two Graduates would
 
 vni INTIIODUCTION. 
 
 probably have shrunken from the contamination of 
 such a place of public resort; — but rambling, as 
 they were, for health and pleasure in a remote dis- 
 trict, with no observant eye watching them, they felt 
 themselves free to follow their own fancies ; and 
 without hesitation approached the humble roof 
 which offered them refreshment. The distance 
 to the next town was so considerable, that it 
 was scarcely a matter of choice which determined 
 them to take up their abode here for the night, 
 if they could meet with the requisite accommo- 
 dation : and, their enquiries proving satisfactory, 
 they were ushered into a clean sanded little par- 
 lour by the portly dame of the house, who, with 
 civil welcome, received them and their orders, and 
 prepared with alacrity to provide for their enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 As they wished for somewhat more privacy than 
 this room afforded, comnuinicating, as it did, by 
 a low bowed-window with the enclosed spot, 
 whereon the peasants were assembled, they en- 
 quired of their Hostess whether they could not be 
 indulged with a more retired apartment. 
 
 " Truly, my masters," replied she, " our house 
 is but small, and not fit for gentlefolks, for the 
 most ot our customers be of our own neighbour- 
 hood ; and they are content with our poor ac-
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 commodations. And indeed this is the only room 
 we have for visitors, except the kitchen ; whicli is 
 quite full already."" 
 
 " We are somewhat fatigued," said the elder of 
 her two guests, " and are not so anxious about the 
 accommodation, provided the place be quiet : have 
 not you a room above stairs, now, where we may 
 be free from the smoking and drinking of your 
 friends close by this window ?" 
 
 " Why as for their smoking and talking, good 
 Sir," answered the Landlady, *' it's bad enow to you, 
 I dare say, and we shall have, I trow, rather a noisy 
 time of it this evening: — for the weekly club will 
 be held to-night, and it's expected to be a full 
 meeting of the members, to settle their quarterly 
 accounts; — but it's mortal unfortunate we should 
 be thus straitened to lotlge your honours." 
 
 The modern " Elinor Rumming" now looked 
 earnestly at the gentlemen, and seeing nothing 
 in their persons or manners displeasing, stated, 
 though with some hesitation, that to be sure there 
 was another apartment in her house ; over which, 
 through the absence of one who usually occupied 
 it, she had a discretionary control. She then re- 
 lated to them, that for several years past, the Inn 
 had been frequented by an elderly person who 
 roamed about the countrv visitinfjc ancient build-
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ings and churches ; and whose chief occupation 
 appeared to be that of copying old monuniental- 
 insci'iptions, and forming a general collection of 
 whatever appeared to be antique and interesting. 
 He was also in the habit of brino-in''- home such of 
 these rarities as he could honestly carry away, 
 and of leaving them under her care ; — till the old 
 rubbish, as she termed it, had so accumulated, 
 that it's removal would now be attended with con- 
 siderable inconvenience to him. She had there- 
 fore appropriated the room above-mentioned to 
 his sole use ; — and, being a quiet inoffensive man, 
 paying readily for all he wanted, he was evident- 
 ly considered, notwithstanding his eccentricities, 
 to be no unacceptable inmate. She stated him 
 to be a prodigy of learning, and therefore con- 
 cluded he had once been a schoolmaster ; whilst 
 his predilection for churches and burial-grounds 
 was, in her womanish reason, to be attributed only to 
 the loss of some beloved object in early life, which 
 had given to his pursuits their melancholy charac- 
 ter. She concluded by observing that, as her pre- 
 sent visitors had the appearance of being clergy- 
 men, she ran no great risk in yielding up to them 
 for the evening the use of " the Old Gentleman's 
 Room ;"" professing herself satisfied that her confi- 
 dence would not be al)used, bv the subtraction
 
 INTRODUCTIQN. XI 
 
 or disturbance of any of the curiosities it con- 
 tained ; and she accordingly offered this improve- 
 ment of their accommodation. 
 
 Her guests having thankfully accepted of it, 
 the Landlady conducted them through her spa- 
 cious kitchen ; and, opening a small door directly 
 communicating with a steep ladder-like staircase, 
 she ascended to a long passage, terminating in 
 the Antiquary's Apartment; into which having 
 ushered her visitants, and silently enjoyed for 
 a moment their expressions of surprise, she 
 withdrew. 
 
 Upon examining the chamber, they found it to 
 be a room of some twelve or fourteen feet square, 
 having a low ceiling, and being indifferently con- 
 structed for receiving the light, by means of a very 
 small latticed window ; of which, however, near- 
 ly all the original panes had been exchanged for 
 odd pieces of stained glass of numerous shapes and 
 colours. In one place appeared a portion of some 
 ancient armorial-bearing, and in another a jagged 
 fragment of an old painted Cathedral-window, 
 with the disjointed reliiiue of a Saintly effigy, or 
 scroll with a godly I..atin text in black-letter : — 
 some parts of these overlaid the others, or, in lui- 
 skilful arrangement, were connected with heavy 
 leaden frames, through which the rays of the sun
 
 Xll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Struggled in vain to penetrate. A round oaken 
 table, which perchance had in by-gone times often 
 groaned under the wooden trenchers of serving- 
 men, and witnessed many a mighty operation of 
 spoon, knife, and tankard, stood now oppressed with 
 a tolerably heavy weight of another description of 
 things ; which the tooth of Time, although he is 
 notoriously known as the insatiate Edax Rerum, 
 had in vain attempted to consume. A small portion 
 of the board was, however, cleared, and near it was 
 placed a high-backed carved chair, which, in it's 
 days of youth and cleanliness, might have been ho- 
 noured by our Maiden Queen's noon-day siestas ; 
 or, as would rather be conjectured from it's present 
 smoked and tarnished splendours, had once been 
 fumigated by the fragrant vapours of Sir Walter 
 Raleigh's Virginian narcotic. Here, then, as it 
 appeared, the usual occupant of the room was 
 wont to revel in his antiquarian treasures; and 
 seated by his motley-coloured window, enjoyed it's 
 " dim religious light," in poring over and decy- 
 phering many a fragment of the ancient lore of 
 England. 
 
 A copy of that very rare and famous translation 
 of the entire Scriptures, undauntedly set forth by 
 Miles Coverdale at Zurich in 1530, which had 
 escaped the prohibitions of Chancellor More and
 
 INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 the fires of Cheapside or Smithfield, wherein the 
 spirits of the Reformers who translated it, had, 
 " in fiery chariots," ascended to Heaven, — here 
 lay enshrined in oaken boards, thickly studded 
 with brass; designed as it were, like the well- 
 nailed portal of some rich old mansion, to secure 
 from profane hands the treasures which it con- 
 tained. The religious feelings of the Collegians 
 were, however, still farther gratified, by observ- 
 ing, as they turned over the leaves and read the 
 pencilled remarks in the margins, that it's owner 
 appeared to understand and appreciate it's value, 
 more truly than the fashionable bibliomaniacs of 
 later times are wont to do : — and that he loved 
 and revered the doctrines which it taught, even 
 beyond the extreme rarity of the edition itself. 
 A small recess in the wainscot contained a few 
 other choice black-letter tomes, of high value in 
 the present day, pre-eminent wherein were the ex- 
 cellent old Perambulation of Kent^ by the learned 
 William Lambard, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, 
 Editio Princeps, by Caxton, and the Chronicles 
 of Holinshed, edition of 1587, having all the can- 
 celled passages; together with sundry fragments 
 of books of devotion, old broadsides, ballads, and 
 parchment deeds witii large round seals attached 
 to them ; — but these were secured by an outer
 
 XIV INTllODUCTIOX. 
 
 door of lattice-work from the approach of all un- 
 privileged curiosity. 
 
 A massive beam of carved oak stretched across 
 the ceiling, from which was suspended a pair of 
 boots of some old Cavalier, the solid weight of 
 which was no doubt intended to keep him firm 
 in his saddle against every round-head opponent ; 
 and ranged along the walls on the sides of the 
 room, were to be seen battered pieces of mail, 
 cuirasses, helmets, arrows, cross-bows, and rusty 
 swords; which long surviving the gallant spirits 
 who had borne them, were now placed upon a kind 
 of peace-establishment to be terminated only by 
 their own annihilation. There were likewise some 
 weapons of a different kind, such as the amiable 
 old Izaak Walton, the gentlest and most humane 
 of all the " Brothers of the Angle," might have 
 used when he took the water, and waged war upon 
 the finny inhabitants of the silvery deeps. Pieces 
 of ))roken images and marble sculptures, were also 
 fixed along the sides of the chamber ; and here and 
 there might be found a little old box, containing 
 coins, stones, and various other small curiosities, 
 which some connoisseurs value far more highly, 
 than did even the ages when they were best known, 
 or when they were accepted as current money. 
 
 The Travellers were much amused with examin-
 
 INTllOBUCTIOiV. XV 
 
 ing these antiquarian treasures ; but that which 
 princij)ally arrested their attention, was a portfolio, 
 in which were deposited drawings of various mo- 
 numents and ecclesiastical reliques of the neigh- 
 bouring country. It contained also several views 
 of the adjoining Church of Eastwell, one of which, 
 judging from the care displayed in it's execution, 
 seemed to be highly valued by the possessor. It re- 
 presented the tomb of a Richard Plaktagenet, 
 in Eastwell Church; by which the visitors were 
 so much attracted, tliat they determined to see 
 it before they left this part of the country. 
 
 They rose the next morning with recruited 
 strength and spirits, but the old Antiquary had- 
 not returned, to give them the opportunity of 
 cultivating his acquaintance : though they pic- 
 tured to themselves the discovery of another Elias 
 Ashmole or Tom Hearne, and would have been 
 delighted to have carried to their College, some 
 account of his learning and pursuits from their 
 own personal observation. 
 
 Having determined on visiting Eastwell Church, 
 they procured from the Hostess a little informa- 
 tion concerning the adjacent country, and learned 
 that about two miles from her Inn, some windmills 
 would appear on the right, near which a lane 
 would bring them on to a lea, and a second lane
 
 XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 upon the left, conduct them to Eastwell Park, the 
 stately seat of the Earls of Winchilsea. The 
 two friends, however, were less desirous of looking 
 upon scenes of splendour, than of searching after 
 wild and romantic solitudes ; and the country 
 lanes, which they speedily entered, grew by de- 
 grees as narrow and rugged as they could well 
 desire. The last avenue wound abruptl}' down a 
 hill, being enclosed on each side by tall hedges, 
 which seemed to have been untouched by the 
 hand of man for at least a century ; from the top 
 of which might be seen the trees of Eastwell Park, 
 gilded by the morning svm, and rising above each 
 other in graceful gradations ; the whole being by 
 the distance so harmonised to the eye, as to appear 
 like a series of moss-covered hills. Towards the 
 end of the lane, the ground again began to rise, 
 and the Travellers passed through a natural ar- 
 cade formed by the entwining branches of aged 
 trees ; the roots of which were stripped of their 
 original covering, by time and the numerous 
 footsteps continually going over them. Passing 
 through the several flocks of sheep and herds of 
 deer, which were peacefully feeding side by side 
 upon the rich pasturage of Eastwell Park, a path 
 leading to the right conducted them to a little 
 knot of trees, concealing the lowly but venerable
 
 INTRODUCTION. XVll 
 
 Chvirch ; the grey stone walls of which bore in- 
 dubitable signs of having withstood the shock of 
 many centuries. 
 
 The plain simplicity of one part of the building, 
 and the elaborate skill exerted upon others, soon 
 made the visitors desirous of seeing the interior ; 
 and, in the words of Hervey, " the doors, like the 
 Heaven to which they lead, stood invitingly open." 
 The next moment they trod it's tiled floor, and 
 looked upon the sculptured marble effigies designed 
 to perpetuate the memory of the great of other 
 days. Two of these, of considerable magnitude, 
 rested side by side on a rich monument ; and near 
 them, supporting part of the wooden chancel- 
 screen, appeared the tomb of the Moyle family, 
 for which Eastwell Palace was first erected. Op- 
 posite to them was raised the stone bust of Sir 
 Heneage Finch, sometime Recorder of London, 
 and ancestor of the Earls of Winchilsea and Not- 
 tingham, in the professional costume of his day, 
 and the Avell-known pointed beard of the time of 
 Cliarles I. 
 
 Against the wall in the chancel behind this 
 effigy, appeared a small white-washed and unor- 
 namented recess, containing the monument of 
 Richard Plantagenet, supposed to have been 
 the last direct male descendant of his royal House,
 
 XVlll INTllODUOTION. 
 
 and the natural son of the unfortunate Richard 
 III. The tomb, tliough formed of stone, is now 
 so dilapidated and decayed, that it might almost 
 appear to have been once enclosed in something 
 richer, and more substantial and appropriate to 
 the remains of a descendant of royalty. The slab 
 which covers it, was at one time inlaid with figures 
 of metal, the forms of which are still to be imper- 
 fectly traced, one appearing to have been in the 
 attitude of prayer ; of the metal itself, however, 
 only a very small portion is left. 
 
 But though this sepulchre has been despoiled of 
 all notice of the trust consigned to it, the ancient 
 Register of Eastwell Church long recorded that, in 
 
 the year 1550, " 3Iljjc!jarlr ^lantagcuft tuas burjitti 
 
 t!)C XXi\ JjagC of iDcsembcr;" in which ancient memo- 
 rial, also, a peculiar mark is attached to the name of 
 every person of noble blood, his being the first so 
 distinguished, the character being also crossed by 
 a straight line, which has been interpreted to ex- 
 press the heraldical baton of bastardy. The only 
 otlier reli({ues which the pilgrims to Eastwell found 
 of this most interesting personage, were the ruins 
 of a building in the park, said to have formed part 
 of the house he erected, and a well near it, called 
 " Plantagenet''s AVell ;" after which researches they 
 retui-ned to their Inn, resumed their journey, and
 
 INTIIODUCTION. XIX 
 
 for a while thought no more of the Antiquary or 
 his favourite hero. 
 
 Several years passed away, before the two Divines 
 were again led, either by their occupations or plea- 
 sure, to revisit this part of the country. But, 
 however, as Time often makes up for his delays 
 by suddenly bringing about the most unexpected 
 coincidences, it oddly eno^igh came to pass that one 
 of the Travellers was at length preferred to the Rec- 
 tory of the Parish of Eastwell, and with his friend 
 came to take possession of his benefice. The same 
 smiling aspect of country which they enjoyed toge- 
 ther before, every-where invited them to a renewal 
 of tlieir acquaintance with it ; but Time had been 
 busy in his operations, and, either with a leaden 
 foot for the wretched, or a swift, though noiseless, 
 one for the gay, had overtaken many in the race 
 of life, and gathered them unto the vmiversal 
 bourne. 
 
 The two friends had often since conversed toge- 
 ther in their College-apartments, about the adven- 
 ture of the evening which they passed at the little 
 Inn ; and, upon their return to the neighbourhood, 
 it was almost their first object to visit the Land- 
 lady, and enquire after the Anticpiary. But he, 
 who had rescued so many reliques from Time, had 
 at length bowed himself before the universal de-
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 stroyer. Plis old protectress, however, was still 
 living, as bustling and good-humoured as before; 
 and, in compensation for the few wrinkles which 
 came over her brow as the legacy of years, the same 
 finger of age which had stamped them there, had 
 graced her complexion with a little of that jocund 
 ruddiness, which is not at all unusual in the face of 
 a Taverner : she was also still very talkative, and 
 entertained them with many anecdotes of the eccen- 
 tricities of her old inmate. His " ruling passion" 
 had been "strong in death,*" and his last request was, 
 that he might be buried near the Plantagenet-monu- 
 ment at Eastwell, in a coffin made of the shelves 
 which had held his treasures ; and that the service 
 over his remains, should be read from his ancient 
 black-letter Common Prayer and Bible, which he 
 bequeathed for the purpose to the officiating Mi- 
 nister. His wishes on this point were punctually 
 performed ; and as many of the neighbours, who 
 respected and loved him for his amiable qualities, 
 were anxious at his decease to possess some memo- 
 rial of the man, his collections were thus in a short 
 time entirely dispersed. 
 
 The Landlady had however retained a box of 
 his papers, which were sent to the Rectory for an 
 evening's inspection ; and the Reader Avill judge 
 with what surprise they discovered in it an old
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 vellum manuscript, which, on opening, was found 
 to be entitled 
 
 cf 
 
 WixilUn lig I)g$ otonc jjanlie. 
 
 The character of the volume was a fair small 
 running-hand of the early part of the reign of 
 Edward VI., to which period several circum- 
 stances in the narrative also referred it. The spell- 
 ing was about as uncouth as that used by Leland, 
 but the language was considerably less formal, and 
 something like the florid style of the old English 
 Chronicles, to which the Author might have been 
 accustomed in his youth. Added to this, he 
 seemed so evidently to have felt the scenes which 
 he recorded, by his vivid and dramatic descriptions 
 of them, that he appeared to live over again as 
 he related his own story ; and, as he says in the 
 commencement of it, he gave to them a vivid por- 
 traiture, that posterity might regard his pages, as 
 the true and lively similitude of the interesting 
 matters which he had witnessed. Such is an ac- 
 count of the narrative now published, which ap- 
 pears to be thus eminently qualified for illustrating
 
 xxii ixthoductiok. 
 
 the manners and events of the period to which it 
 relates, — from 1485 to about 1549, — but it lias 
 been entirely revised in it''s orthography, and occa- 
 sionally modernised in style by the Editor ; who 
 has, however, preserved the original divisions of 
 the narrative by marking them as chapters, and 
 giving to them titles and mottos descriptive of their 
 contents. He has also added a few Historical and 
 Explanatory Notes, in the execution of all which, 
 he has received considerable assistance from the 
 kindness and experience of an antiquarian friend. 
 
 Independently of the very remarkable support 
 which this volume gives to modern historical re- 
 searches, the actvial subject of it is still more cu- 
 rious and interesting ; since it purports to be the 
 original autobiography of an illustrious personage 
 who has been neglected by the national Historians, 
 and who is known to have lived only by tradition 
 and the mysterious entry in the Register of East- 
 well. It will be remembered that King Rich- 
 ard III. had one natural son named John of Glou- 
 cester, whom he made Captain of Calais, styling 
 him in his Patent " our beloved bastard ;" but it 
 was not until the year I72O supposed that he had 
 also another son, Richard, who was brought up in 
 obscurity, acknowledged by his royal father only 
 the night before the battle of IJosworth-field, and
 
 IKTKODUCTION'. XXlll 
 
 who survived until the reign of Edward VI., when he 
 was upwards of eighty years of age. This interest- 
 ing information was first communicated by Heneage 
 Finch, fourth Earl of Winchilsea, to Dr. Brett, who 
 sent it in a letter to Peck the Antiquary, by whom 
 it was printed in liis Desiderata Curlosa. It had, 
 however, probably some traditional errors, of which 
 this manuscript makes no mention ; such as King- 
 Richard being decorated with a star and garter, 
 though few persons can forget that Ashmolc states, 
 that the star was added to the Order by Charles I., 
 nearly a century and a half afterwards. It may be 
 remarked in passing, that it was from Dr. Brett's 
 account, that Ricliard Hull the Actor composed his 
 well-known legendary tale of Richard Planta- 
 genet, in plaintive ballad-measure. 
 
 But not to keep the reader from the narrative 
 itself with antiquarian discussions, it may be re- 
 marked, that the fortunes of Plantao-enet beino- 
 blighted on the death of his father, after many ad- 
 ventures, he finally became a builder, and was em- 
 ployed as such in the erection of Eastwell Palace, 
 wlien he discovered himself to Sir Thomas Movie ; 
 who, in 1546, gave him ground in his park to build 
 himself the cottage in Avhich he afterwards resided. 
 Botli the opening and conclusion of his story, state 
 that it was written in this retreat, and he appears,
 
 XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 from the following pages, to have enjoyed that re- 
 tirement with all the placid dignity of Milton's 
 pensive man, who wished that he might in his 
 
 weary age, 
 
 Find out some peaceful heniiitage." 
 
 And when he speaks of the events of his past life, 
 it is in a calm and happy strain, not unlike that 
 uttered by one of the best and most exalted of our 
 living Poets, with whose beautiful words this Intro- 
 duction shall be terminated. 
 
 " It is pleasant then to sit and talk 
 Of days that are no more, 
 When in his own dear home 
 The traveller rests at last, 
 And tells how often in his wanderings 
 The thought of those far off 
 Hath made his eyes o'erfiow 
 With no unmanly tears ; 
 Delighted he recalls 
 Through what fair scenes his lingering feet have trod ; 
 But ever, when he tells of perils past. 
 
 And troubles, now no more, 
 His ej'es most sparkle, and a readier joy 
 Flows thankful from his heart."
 
 THE LAST 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PLANTAGENETS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A LEAF FROM THE VOLUME OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 The great increase of Religious Houses very much Increased tlie number 
 of Seminaries of learning, as there was a School more or less famous in every 
 Convent. — Many persons of rank and fortune were educated in these Con- 
 ventual Schools. 
 
 Henry's History op Great Bkitain. 
 
 Well, by his visage, you might know 
 He was a stalworth Knight and keen, 
 And had in many a battle been ; 
 
 ♦ » * » * 
 
 His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, 
 Shew'd spirit proud and prompt to ire ; 
 Vet lines of thouglit upon his cheek, 
 Did deep design and counsel speak. 
 
 Scott's Mak.mion. 
 
 Finding myself. Our Lord be thanked, in most 
 goodly estate and comfort, after many rude tempests 
 overpast ; gladdened by the fair resting-place now 
 given to me on earth, and full merry in the hope of 
 
 B
 
 2 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Heaven, — I, Riciiaui) Plantagenict, would tain em- 
 ploy my latter days in recording the events of those 
 which have long since passed away, into the great sea 
 whicli Time is ever rapidly rolling onward to 
 Eternity. 
 
 And this will I do, in the strength of God, without 
 fear or favour, or unmeet inclining to either hand : So 
 that they whose eyes shall look upon this narrative, 
 when mine shall be closed for ever, may assuredly re- 
 gard it as the true and lively similitude of those 
 things belonging unto the story of my strange and 
 troubled, though inglorious, life. For, since the next 
 race may perchance desire to know what the past 
 hath been, and seeing that old age loveth to discourse 
 of it's youth-hood, I have, as it were, delineated the 
 scenes wherein I have acted, in vivid portraiture, as 
 they even yet remain impressed upon my memory ; 
 and have here set down the speech, the semblance, and 
 the very habits, of those with whom I conversed, 
 who "were honourable in their generations," but 
 who now exist no longer. This, therefore, have I 
 done to the extent of my j)oor skill, though, as one 
 saith, 
 
 " I must write plain, colours I have none to paint;"* 
 
 but Avould I not. because I am now fallen into years, 
 idly bask me in the warm sunshine which is to me 
 
 * Prologue to Cavendish's Poetical History of the Cardinal 
 of York.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 3 
 
 fast setting, but still assay wljat remaineth to me of 
 wit and vigour, to '• do that which my hand yet 
 findeth to perform," and with all my little power, as 
 'monisheth the holy text ; for, in truth I am now 
 " going unto the dead, who have neither work, 
 counsel, knowledge, nor wisdom." Nor do I forget, 
 also, what that very learned Knight, Sir Thomas 
 More, — albeit for divers reasons I like not his memory, 
 — hath so wittily said on the importance of engaging 
 us in such employment as we are best able to en- 
 counter, in those choice moral verses wliich he writ in 
 
 his youth : — 
 
 " Wyse men alway 
 Affyrme and say 
 
 That best is for a man, 
 Dylygently 
 For to apply 
 
 The business that he can." 
 As to my story, sorrows have been mine, such as 
 those of the common sort, with whom it was my lot 
 often to sojourn, do rarely know; but to these bright 
 liopes and joyous thoughts have at length succeeded. 
 For I have found, that of a truth sadness and merri- 
 ment do in this world evermore follow each othei-, as 
 the day doth the night, himself anon to be pursued 
 and eftsoons overtaken. 
 
 I was yet in my green years, nothing improving 
 to-day, and nothing recollecting of yesterday, though 
 ever vainly anxious about to-morrow, wlien I re- 
 member me being one of the Pupils who were in-
 
 4 THE LAST OK THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 structecl with the six Novices in the IMonastery of St. 
 Mary, in the Isle of Ely ; what time that godly man, 
 Roger Walkelyn of Westminster, was Prior thereof. 
 It so chanced that my fellows went to their homes 
 about the merry Feast of St. John, when the sun shines 
 fiercest and fairest, the skies be brightest, the birds 
 blithest, and the fields and flowers look tlie loveliest 
 and greenest. Much did I repine at their going to their 
 fond friends and tender parents whilst I was still left 
 with Father Austin, the venerable and learned JNIaster 
 of the Novices, who still continued to instruct me in 
 fair and beautiful writing, with enlumining of manu- 
 scripts; in the Grammar of Donatus, the Logic and 
 Philosophy of Aristoteles, and the plain-song of our 
 Church-service, with the art of playing it upon the 
 deep-toned organ. As it is but all too likely, that in 
 the strange convulsions of our later time this scene 
 of my youth may full soon be despoiled and ruined, 
 I cannot here omit to set down that the school of Ely 
 IMonastery was a fair wainscoted room, near the 
 Treasury in the Western cloister ; having an oaken 
 stall, curiously carved, for our preceptor, and desks 
 and forms stretching all across the room for his pu- 
 pils. In divers other carres or square pews, also, in 
 the cloister, were chained sundry parchment books, 
 fairly copied in our Scriplormm, or Writing-chamber, 
 wherein the Novices and Students might read a good 
 plain lesson of godliness, or of hbnest human wisdom: 
 such being the divine Psalter, the Proverbia of Sal o-
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. O 
 
 mon, the subtle histoi'ies and fables of the witty 
 -/Esopiis, the Prumpluarium Parvulorum, the Moral 
 Sayings of Calo, Le Chastiement d'un Pere, and the 
 like. Howbeit, unto my youth solitude was sadness : 
 much did I miss my companions at the permitted 
 hours of morning and evening disport, and much did 
 I wonder why none should be left but myself; and 
 then did I begin to enquire who or what Avere my 
 parents, and to ask divers questions touching their 
 estate and existence. 
 
 Still was I pursuing this course of life, when one 
 day, — which I well remember me was the 13th of 
 the Calends of September, which is to say St. Bernard's 
 day, the 20th of August, in the Year of our Redemp- 
 tion 1485, soon after the hour of Prime, about seven 
 in the morning ; — it was then, I say, that Father 
 Austin summoned me to attend the Lord Prior in the 
 Loctdorium, or Parlour ; which Avas the more to be 
 noted, as visitors were not lightly permitted to see 
 the Students or Novices until after the procession at 
 Nones, or about four in the afternoon. On entering 
 I found him engaged in earnest conversation with a 
 Stranger, who appeared from his habit to be a gallant 
 soldier ; for he was attired most bravely as it seemed 
 unto me, poor Avight, who had never beheld courtiers 
 or men of Avar before. He was a tall and stout per- 
 sonage, of bold, but friendly features, embrowned by 
 sun and storm, Avhose crisped and iron-grey hair 
 curled closely about h'u forehead, contrary to the
 
 6 THE LAST or THK I'l.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 general, tliough womanish custom of my younger 
 days. The lower parts of his dress also seemed as 
 though he scorned the fantastic habits of his age ; 
 since they were formed only of tight blue hose, hav- 
 ing gefioui/licres, or knee-pieces, of bright steel ar- 
 mour, partly gilt and ornamented with rich chasings. 
 He wore, likewise, sollcrds, or polished iron shoes, 
 to which were affixed costly gilded spurs witli lai-ge 
 rowels, indicating him to be a Knight, fastened to his 
 feet by blue leathers. I might well note also, that he 
 did not wear the broad trunk-hose, nor the unwieldy 
 stuffed and padded doublets which the ever-ready 
 flattery of courtiers hath since brought into so great 
 fashion ;* — but the rest of his raiment was almost en- 
 tirely hidden by a blue surcoat, covered with golden 
 studs, in front of which an embroidered belt sustained 
 a ponderous sword and dagger in azure scabbards. 
 His fljit cap and feather of purple velvet and gold, he 
 had doffed out of reverence to our Prior, with whose 
 unadorned black Benedictine cowl and scapulary, the 
 gallant habit of the Knight was strikingly contrasted. 
 But albeit outward things wrought not greatly upon 
 
 * This passage alludes to the custom which prevailed when 
 Ileniy VIII. began to increase in size, of the apjjearance of 
 stoutness being adopted by almost all classes of the people ; 
 every part of the male dress being stufied with bombast, or 
 cotton-wool, to imitate the bulk of the Sovereign, especially 
 in the shoulders and trunk-hose.
 
 THE LAST OF THE I'LANTAGENETS. 7 
 
 the mind of the venenible Roger Walkelyn, it seemed 
 to me as if he held his guest in great honour ; for 
 though the day was yet so young, and it wanted full 
 four hours of dinner, there stood upon the table beside 
 him, a silver-gilded cup of Rochelle wine, a loaf of 
 the Prior's own white wassell-bread, and a fair dish of 
 stewed eels, for which the JMonastery of Ely had long 
 been famous. 
 
 As I entered the Parlour, habited in the coarse black 
 frock and skin boots provided for the Students and 
 Novices of our House, the Stranger attentively fixed 
 his eyes upon me, and said " I trow. Lord Prior, that 
 the object of my journey now stands before me : 
 thanks to your hospitality and the good fisli of the 
 Ouse, I have well fed, drunk, and rested ; but as you 
 wot that time presses, if it so pleased you I would 
 that he eftsoons made him ready to depart. And 
 
 touching " their conversation here sank into a 
 
 whisper, and after continuing for a short space, I was 
 ordered to put on my hood, and was consigned to the 
 Kniglit, who willed me to attend him to the outer gate 
 of the IMonastery, where a stout Servitor, dressed in 
 a blue livery and partly armed in bright iron, was 
 waiting witli horses for our conveyance. ]\Iy con- 
 ductor lightly vaulted upon one, with an agility 
 which greatly excited my admiration, saying to his 
 follower, " Take the stripling to you, Bernard :" upon 
 which he seized me by the arm with the grasp of a 
 giant, and swung me from the ground into the saddle
 
 8 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 of a palfrey beside him, which he led by the bridle- 
 rein. 
 
 It was almost high noon, and we had proceeded at 
 a round pace upon our journey, — mine eyes having 
 been long diverted by gazing on the country through 
 which we passed, for my visits beyond the bounds of 
 the iVIonastery had been full rare and very brief, — it 
 was I say, nearly noon, ere I ventured to express any 
 curiosity as to the end of our journey ; but there was 
 a moody silence about my guides which I vainly 
 sought to remove. When I asked whither we were 
 going, the Yeoman hastily pointed to a town with 
 divers spires as of a Cathedral, at some distance, 
 which he seemed anxious to reach. I trusted that 
 our arrival there would clear up the mystery, but in 
 this was I disappointed ; for when we got thither, at 
 the hour of Seocfs or noon-prayers, we took a short, 
 though substantial refection, during which the Knight 
 never left me, and speedily afterwards we again set 
 forward. As we were re-mounting our horses, I 
 learned from divers peasants who were loitering about 
 the hostel door, that the town we were then quitting 
 was Peterborough, famous for it's ancient and stately 
 Abbey dedicated to the Blessed Apostle. Whether it 
 were the reverence in which I appeared to hold my 
 knightly conductor, or the ready obedience which I 
 paid to his commands, had won upon the sternness of 
 the soldier, and had awakened the good-humour of 
 the man, or whether he really compassionated my anx-
 
 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGKNETS. 9 
 
 iety and alarm — I know not ; but certain it was that 
 after passing beyond the fore-named town, he caused 
 me to ride near him and became more free of speech. 
 
 " Come, stripling," said he, " cheer thee up a short 
 while longer, for our journey extendeth yet to Lei- 
 cester, now nearly some forty miles farther ; and then 
 you shall have that rest and food, which a day's hard 
 riding renders meet for such home-keeping youths as 
 thou art." 
 
 " Thanks, Sir Knight," answered I, " but may I 
 crave of you wherefore I am carried thither ? until 
 this day have I been ever dwelling in Ely iMonastery, 
 even from my childhood ; and in our Lord Prior and 
 the venerable Friar Austin, my preceptor, I have 
 found the only semblance of father or kinsman it hath 
 been my lot to know. Are then my own fond pa- 
 rents in Leicester ? or do there dwell the kind rela- 
 tions, of whom until now I have been all imwitting ? 
 Say but aye, my honourable guide, and my overjoyed 
 heart shall sustain my wearied limbs, and the fatigue 
 whicli oppresseth them shall be recked no longer." 
 
 " A passing fair-spoken youth, as I'm a soldier," 
 exclaimed the Knight to himself; and then added 
 aloud, " say'st thou so, my boy, then by Our Lady of 
 Walsingham, all your hopes shall full soon be grati- 
 fied. Be it known to thee, then, youth, that thy fa- 
 ther is one, miscalled as he may be, who hath ever 
 
 loved thee, and Tush !" cried he suddenly, his 
 
 voice faltering, and his whole frame appearing to
 
 10 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 labour under sonic inward emotion or restraint, as he 
 added " Ask mc no fartlier, boy ; but let us put tor- 
 ward to Leicester: anon thy desire may be satisfied to 
 the full." 
 
 Yet whilst lie was thus reluctant to communicate 
 to me any information, touching that subject which 
 of all others I most desired to know, my knightly 
 guide was no longer unwilling to enter into ordinary 
 discourse with me. He spake, soldier-like and wise- 
 ly, upon the then troublous state of the realm of 
 England ; and told me how the royal Richard Plan- 
 tagenet had marched from his Court at Nottingham 
 Castle to the town of Leicester, with a full gallant 
 army of some 12,000 men, to oppose the rebel, Harry 
 Tudor, — so he named him, — Earl of Richmond, who 
 had landed at IMilford Haven on the (ith day of that 
 Scime August, with 2000 soldiers, which he had been 
 daily augmenting to assist in his most traitorous claim 
 upon the crown. Notwithstanding the utter strange- 
 ness of these martial histories to my ears, — which had 
 been accustomed to little more than prayers, anthems, 
 and masses, — I listened to them with wondrous delight, 
 and they seemed to stir within me like the swell of a 
 trumpet, as with such like discourses my conductor 
 beguiled the weariness of our journey. 
 
 It was drawing towards the evening of the second 
 day after we left Ely, that I perceived the slanting 
 rays of the sun gilding the ancient spires of Leicester 
 Abbey, and St. Mary's Church. It was the Festival 
 
 (I
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. ] 1 
 
 of Bishop Augustine, being the 21st day of August, 
 and the tAvelf'th Sunday after the Feast of the Holy 
 Trinity ; and even now, in the ver}^ winter of my life, 
 the recollection of that most memorable evening is 
 depicted upon my soul with more than the vivid 
 freshness of yesterday. Unlike the holy silence or 
 pious joy which that sacred season ever witnessed in 
 the cloisters of Ely, all in Leicester town was noise, 
 tumult, and confusion; from the mustering and march- 
 ing of the King's army. Bodies of men-at-arms, boAV- 
 men, billmen, demi-lancers, and horse-archers, were 
 being marched through the streets to the camp ; and 
 many an Esquire or Coiis/il/ier, was hastening thither 
 bearing the arms or leading the war-horse of his 
 kniglit : whilst the town resounded with the grinding 
 of weapons, the twanging of bows, the burnishing of 
 arms, and the continual clang of the hammers of 
 smiths, armourers, and braziers, who were shoeing the 
 steeds, or completing the harness of the knights and 
 soldiers. Nor did there, iu remote streets, want even 
 the impious oath, the loud brawl, the full tankard, or 
 tlie idle talk of the baser sort, collected into groups, 
 and debating with great violence and small wisdom 
 on the probable issue of the expected figlit. Per- 
 plexed and wondering at the spirit-stirring scenes 
 around me, I would fain have lingered on my way 
 the better to have marked tliem, but my guide ever 
 and anon hastened our progress. At length we stop- 
 ped at a large liousc, with a broad overhanging storey,
 
 12 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 and ornamented vith fair timber- work, standing in the 
 street leading to the Nortli-Gate. Against it, carved 
 upon a stone, was the figure of a White Boar ; and, by 
 a person in a blue habit, a red face, and a white apron, 
 standing at the door seemingly watching our arrival, 
 it appeared to be a hostel. 
 
 " So ! fairly ridden," said my guide, reining in his 
 horse and beckoning to the Host who assisted me to 
 alight, " here, then, youth, ends your travel for the 
 present. Look to this stripling, Jankin Stoup," added 
 he to the Tavern-keeper, " give him food, and let him 
 go to rest in the wainscot-chamber, until I return, 
 which will be by the midnight bell." 
 
 Thus saying he rode away, and after a slight re- 
 fection, the Host led me into a rich apartment of oak, 
 quaintly carved, wherein was a large square bedstead 
 with pillars, choicely sculptured and in some parts 
 gilt, of a richer kind than I had ever then seen. 
 Wearied with the journey I had undergone, and per- 
 plexed in mind as to the purport thereof, I hastily 
 said over my night-prayers, and sinking down upon 
 the couch was speedily lost in a heavy slumber.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A SCENE NEAR BOSWOHTH FIELD ON THE EVE OF 
 
 BATTLE. 
 
 Wonder no more wliy thou art hither brouglit, 
 The secret of thy birth shall now be shewn; 
 
 With glorious ardour be thy bosom fraught. 
 
 For, know, thou art — Imperial Richard's son I 
 
 * « » » 
 
 Begone, my son i — this one embrace ! — away ! 
 
 Some short reflections claims this awful night ; 
 Ere from the East peep forth the glimmering day, 
 
 My linights attend to arm uie for the fight. 
 
 Hull's Richard Plantaobnkt. 
 
 The fatigues which I had undergone had so ex- 
 hausted my strength, that the deej) sleep into which 
 I had fallen continued unbroken, until I Avas awakened 
 by the voice of my conductor at the side of my couch. 
 " What, ho ! youth," said he, shaking me, "I pr'ythee 
 bestir tliyself : for albeit I marvel not that thy weak 
 limbs should want rest and thy young eyes be drow- 
 sy, yet thou must now up and tarry no longer ; for 
 the bell will soon tell midnight, and we must be 
 gone." So saying he threw over me a rich dark -co-
 
 14 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 loured hncqiic, or mantle, used chiefly by knights and 
 nobles at tournaments, wlierein I was completely en- 
 wrapped; and briefly ordering me to follow him in 
 silence, led me forth through the town, and again 
 mounting fresh horses, we rode at a rapid pace toward 
 the West into the country. 
 
 I soon perceived from the martial scenes around 
 me, and the oft-repeated challenges of parties of sol- 
 diers, — to whom my guide made a low, and brief re- 
 ply, which procured us leave to pass them, — that we 
 approached near to that fatal plain which was full 
 soon to become the field of battle. It appeared to mc 
 upon that most memorable night, and on the morrow, 
 when I might still more duly note that which I shall 
 now depict — as a spacious tract of open, uneven, and 
 uncultivated, country, somewhat of a round, or oval, 
 shape ; being perchance of about two miles long, and 
 one broad. From the red colour of the earth tliereof, 
 — too soon, alas ! to be dyed with a deeper stain of 
 sanguine by the blood of a Sovereign, — the field was 
 called Redmoor Plain ; and on the South-western 
 side it was bounded by a rivulet called Tweed, which 
 glided through a valley between the camps of the 
 opposing armies, and supplied them both with water; 
 thus recalling unto my mind Our Lord's words, that 
 " God doth send his rain alike upon the just and on 
 the unjust." Unto this streamlet, flowed the narrow 
 marshy channel of a fair spring, which rose upon a 
 mound named Aymon-hill on the East, and formed a
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. lit 
 
 little square and obscure font, surrounded by dank 
 mosses and mould : but yet I truly protest unto them 
 that shall hereafter read my story, that to me, that 
 small well is venerable as the Fountain of Jacob was 
 to the men of Israel ; since it was there that King 
 Richard drank his last earthly draught, and gave unto 
 it's friendly waters some sparkles of his own inniior- 
 tality. The rustic who now points out in that desolate 
 field the spot of the last battle between the contending 
 Houses of York and Lancaster, still calls it " King 
 Richard's Well ;" and many of the country hinds yet 
 love to drink thereof, whilst they turn them away 
 from the Tweed ; which they declare hath unto this 
 day a stain of the blood of the fallen running in it's 
 streams. 
 
 When we arrived at this place, the last dim rays 
 of the setting moon were cast upon the camps and 
 mounds of the two armies : those of Harry Tudor 
 being erected close to the Tweed, which he had lately 
 crossed, and somewhat North-west of King Richard's 
 well, at the foot of Aymon-hill. His tents of strijied 
 green and white; his broad banner, pitched beside 
 his own pavilion, bearing a red fiery dragon, fairly 
 wrought upon green and white sarcenet, to comme- 
 morate his vain boast of descent from Cadwallader, 
 the last of the British Kings ; and his soldiers clad in 
 white coats and hoods, were all faintly visible through 
 the i)ale moonlight, until they were at last obscured 
 by the mist which came on so thickly on the morning
 
 lt> THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGKNE TS. 
 
 of the day of battle. As I have since learned^ liis 
 bulwark encompassed some seven acres of the field, 
 and his whole power, together with that led over to 
 him by the treacherous Stanleys, who as yet seemed 
 to adhere unto the King, hath been truly computed 
 at full ] 5,000 men; albeit the unfaithful chroniclers 
 of the victor would fain have it believed, that his 
 triumph was wrought almost without an army. The 
 camp and fortifications of King Richard, to which I 
 was conducted, were fixed at Stapleton, some eleven 
 miles from Leicester, and nearly two from the enemy, 
 on certain rising grounds, called the Bradshaws ; 
 whence we might well behold the plain of Bosworth, 
 and to which no adversary could approach unseen. 
 The royal defences and camp spread over eighteen 
 acres; and were fonned of two lines, having a won- 
 drous mound of earth, 300 yards long, cast up be- 
 hind them. 
 
 Whilst I gazed on these things, and marvelled 
 greatly as to why I was brought thither with such 
 haste and contrivance, we entered the camp, and 
 passed through the long lines of tents striped with the 
 York liveries of crimson and blue, until we came to 
 the Royal Pavilion, which stood in the centre, having 
 iipreared beside it the King's standard of azure and 
 red sarcenet in quarters ; bearing the fleurs-de-lys of 
 France and the lions of England, richly wrought 
 thereon in goldsmiths' work of beaten metal. The 
 tent itself was of a large square form, with a sloping 
 
 i 
 
 1
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. 17 
 
 roof, all being made of crimson and blue canvas, and 
 surmounted by divers little gilded pensils, and the 
 Kings badges : such as the golden cross and crown, 
 for the blessed St. Edward the Confessor ; the red 
 and ermine chapeau, with the golden lion of England ; 
 the lily of France ; the golden grey-hound of Wales ; 
 the Irish harp ; and the oak-branch for the Dukedoms 
 of Gascoyne and Guyon. On the top in the midst 
 were a stately imperial crown, and the King's peculiar 
 badge of a silver boar, with tusks and bristles of gold. 
 The liveries of the soldiers in this camp were also 
 chiefly white, having the holy cross in red upon their 
 breasts ; though others were dressed in the colours 
 belonging to their leaders; or in habits of coarse clotli 
 strengthened with iron plates, or arming-doviblets of 
 iron and leather, with sleeves of chain-mail, and stout 
 helmets and leathern liose also strengthened with iron. 
 Their weapons were divers kinds of swords and bows, 
 spears and lances, bills and sharp blades set upon 
 staves ; with iron and leaden maces, quarter-staves, 
 and heavy flails, not less destructive, and of still 
 greater power. But all this, I say, I belield more per- 
 fectly upon the morrow. 
 
 As we approached the King's pavilion, the senti- 
 nels, upon receiving the word from my conductor, 
 lowered their gisarmes and stood aside, that we might 
 straightway pass into it; tlie Knight having been 
 commanded of his Highness to attend him at that 
 hour. On entering the tent we found the King 
 already risen from his coiich. and seated l)y a table on 
 
 c
 
 18 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 which were scattered divers papers and parchments, 
 a brazen penner and inkhorn, and letters of which 
 the silk strings were uncut, and the seals were yet 
 unbroken. A massive silver crucifix stood in the 
 midst, and before it was a fair illuminated missal 
 open at the Office of St. George, which the King had 
 questionless been reciting for success in the coming 
 conflict. The volume was richly bound in blue vel- 
 vet, having the edges thereof guarded with bosses and 
 clasps of gold, graven with curious devices. A large 
 silver cresset, hung from the roof of the tent, gave 
 light to the remainder of the apartment, and glanced 
 upon a pile of bright steel armour, which lay beside 
 a couch, and a thickly-quilted surcoat of blue and 
 red velvet richly purfled with the arms of the Sove- 
 reign in most rare embroidery ; but the sword be- 
 longing to this stately harness lay naked upon the 
 table. 
 
 I had not been well able to note half of these ob- 
 jects, w^hen the King started, and hastily, yet not un- 
 courteously, accosted my knightly conductor with 
 " How now ! Who's there ? what, is it thou, good 
 De Mountford? hast thou performed that which I 
 gave thee in charge some three days agone.''" 
 
 "Aye, so please your Grace," answered the soldier, 
 " it is done, as your Highness may eftsoons have proof 
 of;" and with these words he pointed to myself, who 
 was gazing upon the whole scene alike with wonder 
 at the present and curiosity for the future, when he 
 speedily put to flight my musiiigs by drawing me for- 
 
 I
 
 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGKNETS. 19 
 
 ward to the King, and directing me to kneel, which 
 I incontinently did. 
 
 " Hah !" exclaimed the royal Richard, lookinof at- 
 tentively at me, "he hath indeed her form ! — this is 
 right well and quickly done, my trusty Sir Gilbert ; 
 but I pray thee now repose thyself for awhile in the 
 outer-tent, where thou wilt find food and wine set 
 forth for thee, and leave this youth with me, we must 
 have some conference together, which ended, I will 
 send him to thee again." 
 
 Sir Gilbert De Mountford then made alow reverence 
 to the King, and thanking him with all humble duty, 
 retired, leaving me for the first time in my life in 
 tlie presence of a Sovereign. 
 
 Great was my disorder at being thus left alone with 
 so noble and exalted a personage ; yet do I not speak 
 of his greatness of rank only, but also of his goodly 
 form and courteous manner ; for that record of him 
 is all untrue, which was written what time the Retl 
 Rose prevailed over the White, declaring that 
 Richard was fearful to look upon. He was not, in 
 truth, as one hath of late full slanderously described 
 him, " little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook- 
 backed, his left shoulder much higher tlian his right, 
 and hard-favoured of visage ;" * — none of these was he : 
 
 * This description of King llichard's person is in Sir Tho- 
 mas More's iniperlect History of his reign, supposed to have 
 been written in Latin in 1508, and translated about the vear 
 181.3.
 
 20 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 for thouj^li his person were not of the tallest, it Avas 
 well up to the middle stature of men ; and albeit one 
 of his shoulders might be somewhat higher than it's 
 fellow, yet he had a shrewd eye who did discover it, 
 and a passing malicious wit who reported it to be a 
 great defoi-mity. As for his face, in good sooth it 
 had none evil expression in it ; though it was marked 
 with mucli serious anxiety, and was pale and disco- 
 loured from weariness and an agitated mind, which 
 scared his brief slumbers with fearful dreams, and 
 gave occasion to his enemies to say that he was 
 haunted by a guilty conscience. Nevertheless, his 
 step and demeanour were full of pomp and royalty ; 
 so that it wanted not for any one to say even unto 
 me, though but a simple cloister-bred youth, " that 
 is the King !" since all men might well perceive that 
 he could be of nothing less than the blood-royal, or 
 the wearer of a crown. His habit was the close dress 
 of red velvet which he wore under his armour, sur- 
 mounted by a blue velvet robe lined with fair ermines, 
 and choicely embroidered with the letter of his 
 name in gold. The blue Garter of England embraced 
 liis knee, and the enamelled George thereof, liung to 
 an azure scarf round his neck ; whilst upon his head 
 he wore a chapeau of red velvet and ermine, which 
 threw his rich and full brown hair back upon his 
 shoulders. 
 
 When Sir Gilbert De IMountford had gone forth 
 from the tent, King Richard took up a lamp, and. 
 
 ll
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 21 
 
 approaching me, gently grasped my hand, raised me, 
 and drew me towards him, bidding me to fear no- 
 thing. Then, by the light he most curiously perused 
 my features, and looked steadily at my visage for some 
 brief space, though he spake not ; whilst I, wondering 
 much as to what this review of me might tend, some- 
 what faltered and looked downward. The King, ob- 
 serving this, deemed that I had trembled from fear 
 of him, which nevertheless was not the case, since all 
 his carriage was full gentle, and all his words of pas- 
 sing sweetness. " Why, how now, fair youth .^" said 
 he ; " art thou afeard, that thou fallest back and 
 tremblest thus.? for I did mark thee right well." 
 
 To this I answered that I feared not, and added 
 that I shrank backwards only from the sense of mine 
 own unworthiness ; being altogether unused to 
 worldly glories, and so might not stand unabashed in 
 the presence of a Sovereign. 
 
 " Why that is Avell said, my pretty youth," an- 
 swered Richard ; " thou seemest to have a passing 
 shrewd wit for one of thy years and cloister-breed- 
 ing; and for thy face, it altogether unmans me to 
 look upon it, since it brings back unto my mind 
 the dear and beauteous features of one wliom I sliall 
 never behold again upon earth. Thy mother, boy, — " 
 
 "My mother!" hastily interrupted I witli fervour, 
 at this first mention of that most sweet word towards 
 myself; "good my Lord," I continued, clasping the 
 King's hand and again sinking on one knee, " tell me
 
 22 THK LAST OF THK PI.ANTAGENKTS. 
 
 of my mother, I implore you ; say, I beseech you, 
 where I may find her, and clasp her unto my heart." 
 
 The King seemed to struggle with divers sorrow- 
 ful emotions, he permitted me to retain his hand, but 
 he turned his face upward and covered it with the 
 other ; and at length replied in a sad and solemn 
 voice, " She is where I also may be before this day 
 be ended." The recollection of her then seemed to 
 rush upon his memory in a flood of grief, as he gazed 
 upon me and added, " Oh ! she was a wondrous fair 
 one ; and thou, for a boy, hast no slight semblance of 
 her ; by the holy St. Agnes ! thou hast her clear blue 
 eye, — the very trick of her face : and she was a bles- 
 sed creature, youth ! — Nay, she is a blessed creature, 
 for she is in Paradise ! albeit our marriage was a 
 hidden one. But, boy," interrupted he, in a fiercer 
 tone, as I changed colour, and looked downwards 
 with tears, " I do mistrust thee, and well believe that 
 thou (lost fear me. I wot that men tell strange tales 
 of Richard Plantagenet, and thou, I deem, hast lis- 
 tened to them : say, hast thou not heard many speak 
 evil things of me ?" 
 
 I answered with a hesitating voice, that in the soli- 
 tude of Ely Monastery the tidings which we heard 
 of the world were but few and brief, and still more 
 so to the Scholars and Novices ; but this I said, be- 
 cause it greatly misliked me to tell him of the cen- 
 sure which common fame uttered against him. 
 
 "A wary answer," replied the King; "though
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 23 
 
 whiles thy speech saith thus, thine eyes, which have 
 not yet learned to be of counsel with thy tongue, give 
 altogether another response. The truth is, that thou 
 hast heard me called murtherer, usurper, and tyrant ; 
 speak, boy, is it not so ?" 
 
 I was much ashamed at being thus detected, and 
 though it still pained me to acknowledge it, I dared 
 no longer continue in my denial, for the which he 
 lauded me ; but demanded what I had heard of his 
 crimes, and whether it were not that he had put his 
 nephews in the Tower unto secret death. I now an- 
 swered boldly that this had been reported, and, more- 
 over, that he had caused their bodies to be crammed 
 into coffins full of holes, and flung into the river of 
 Thames in the night-tide. 
 
 " Now by holy Pavil !" exclaimed the King fervent- 
 ly, and as methought with the indignation of inno- 
 cence unjustly accused, "I would to God that every 
 drop of that fair broad stream could be strained 
 through a net of such small meshes, that not the pu- 
 niest minnow might 'scape betwixt them ; that all 
 my subjects should know how guiltless I am of this 
 murther ! But slanders like these, boy, do ever dog 
 the footsteps of royalty. The King upon his throne 
 is a mark at Avhich the base and envious of all degrees 
 do shoot their bolts, if so be they bask not in the 
 sunshine of his favour." 
 
 " I can well deem it, my gracious Lord," answered 
 I, "for of such do wc often read in the holy text."
 
 24 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 " Aye," returned he, " and shouldest thou ever rise 
 to greatness, prepare thee to encounter the like ; should 
 the fortunes of thy life be otherwise, let the avoidance 
 of this slander be thy consolation." 
 
 Upon this I felt myself more than ever amazed, and 
 at first somewhat doubted whether his speech were in 
 sooth addressed to me, or whether I had heard him 
 aright ; I also sought in my mind for a fitting answer 
 thereto, but found no words, until at length I said, 
 "Methinks I would not desire to be a King ; but every 
 kind feeling of my soul is yearning to embrace my 
 beloved, though unknown, parents." 
 
 " By the Blessed Virgin I" suddenly exclaimed the 
 King, " he hath the very look and voice of my lost 
 and deserted Matilda, melting with all the fervency 
 of her ardent love, which again springs forth in the 
 child of our dearest embraces. — I can counterfeit it no 
 longer, — Youth ! — Richard! — Plantagenet ! — obscu- 
 rity shall now cease to enwrap thee in it's veil, — 
 In me behold thy father!" 
 
 At this most wondrous avowal I felt a strange 
 confusion run through all my veins; my heart beat 
 quickly and powerfully, and my blood rushed forward 
 unto my face as if Avith a sense of the high dignity I 
 was born to, yet could I not choose but again sink 
 before the feet of King Richard, and embrace his 
 knees in silence and in tears. " I can well think, my 
 fair son," said he at lengtli, when his agitation first 
 gave back to liim the power of speech, "that wild
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETP. 25 
 
 amazement hath bound up all thy senses ; since the 
 boldest dreams of thy youth-hood never lured thee to 
 such a height of ambition, nor whispered how near 
 thou stoodest to the crown of England ! yet is it most 
 true that thou art mine own noble son, since thy mo- 
 ther, my betrothed wife, was a creature of virtue upon 
 earth, and is now a Saint in Heaven. Why her mar- 
 riage and thy birth were concealed, is a tale too 
 long to tell thee at this hour, when war is in the land; 
 but this foul rebellion once quelled, all shall be made 
 known," 
 
 " It is enough, my noble Lord and father," replied 
 I, somewhat recovering from the confusion into which 
 this marvellous succession of events had thrown me, 
 " it is enough for me to have your countenance and 
 favour; my most humble submission and duty you 
 might have claimed before this gracious disclosure; 
 but now. Sire, you have a double hold upon mine 
 obedience, since I see in you my only living parent, 
 as well as my Sovereign," 
 
 " Well spoken, my fair son," responded King Rich- 
 ard ; " by the blessed soldier St. George ! I had not 
 thought to have loved thee thus, or to have told thee 
 how great thou art, had not thy mother looked out so 
 tenderly from thine eyes, and besought me not to 
 forsake thee : yet could I not march forth to quell 
 these base and daring rebels, without desiring to see 
 and counsel thee as to thine after life; for perchance 
 the day which is approaching may light me to my 
 death ! "
 
 26 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 "Holy St. Mary defend your royal Grace!" ex- 
 claimed I, in alarm, devoutly crossing myself, " and 
 scatter your foes as chaff before the wind ; even as the 
 sacred Psalter saith, IMay God clothe your enemies 
 with confusion !" 
 
 " Grammercy for thy prayers, my young priest/' 
 answered the King merrily and exultingly, " pass but 
 a few days more, and this drove of famished clowns, 
 the scum of France, and the very refuse of it's goals 
 and 'spital-houses, with Harry Richmond their leader, 
 who now vainly menaces the safety of my throne, 
 shall be swept away before the banners of Richard's 
 army ! whilst those who 'scape the axe, the sword, 
 and the halter, shall sink into their wonted obscurity, 
 and be heard of no more. For I swear to thee, boy, 
 that having set my life and crown upon this stake, I 
 will either win them and wear them as becometh a 
 monarch and a conqueror, or leave my bloody corse 
 upon the battle-field, as a pledge that I fairly played 
 out the game like an undaunted soldier ! " 
 
 Whilst he spake, his countenance glowed with the 
 valour which then inspired him, his eyes flashed with 
 a dark lustre, and he looked up with triumph ; but 
 upon turning his face downward, and beholding me 
 who was intently gazing upon him, and, peradventure, 
 with answering glances, he again became grave, and 
 said, " For thee, Richard, my admonition must be, 
 that thou presently depart hence with all speed : yet 
 trust me that it much forethinketh me to give son 
 of mine such counsel. Had but a few more summers
 
 THK LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 27 
 
 passed over thy head, and lifted thy youth to the 
 verge of manhood, by the might of God I would have 
 had thee buckle on thine harness, carried thee with 
 me into the hottest fight, and there taught thee how 
 to combat for the crown which even yet it may be 
 thine to wear." 
 
 His deep and inspiring tones, and the energy with 
 which he spake, seemed to make me glow with a desire 
 for arms which I had never felt before ; and gave me 
 such stomach for conflict, that for a moment it ap- 
 peared unto me a light thing to march forth with 
 him, to do battle, and even to die, by his side. This 
 courageous spirit being soon perceived by King Rich- 
 ard, he joyfully exclaimed, " Hah ! by the glistening 
 lustre of thine eyes, I see thou feelest full well the 
 ardour of a soldier ; and I would that thou mightest 
 be one in very sooth, for Richard Plantagenet would 
 smile even in the midst of death and bloodshed, to 
 mark the young whirlwind of his own raising scatter 
 to the Fiend the bold invader, which now makes head 
 against the House ofYoi-k." 
 
 At this time our conference was interrupted by the 
 sound of the guards gisarmes striking twice upon the 
 earth at the entrance of the tent, which Avas the King's 
 appointed signal when any one approached his pre- 
 sence. A captain, whose name I remember not, tlien 
 entered with divers letters, wliich King Richard took 
 and forthwith read, giving the messenger certain 
 scrolls in answer, and after brief speech dismissing
 
 28 THE LAST OP THK TLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 him. He then turned again unto me, and for that he 
 had weighty matters which demanded his instant 
 care, he pointed to his couch and bade me rest awliile, 
 ordering wine and such provisions as his camp would 
 furnish to be placed before me, until he should again 
 have leisure to conclude our conference. With much 
 careful attention tlie King then took up his letters and 
 re-perused them, but their contents seemed greatly to 
 perplex or to disturb him. He often wrote hastily, 
 and to me appeared to be designing of a draught, 
 which I deemed to be a map of the battle-field and 
 the order of his armament. Sometimes also he rose 
 and silently paced the tent with his arms crossed, and 
 then walked forth to mark if his soldiers were watch- 
 ful, and to issvie divers commands vmto his leaders. 
 Yet were not his guards all vigilant; for in that night 
 there was treachery in his camp, since Sir Simon 
 Digby came thither as a spy, though at hazard of his 
 life, and carried word thence unto Harry Tudor how 
 the King was making him ready for battle. After this 
 visitation of his camp, Richard anon returned, and 
 seated him at the table again, erasing his former scrip- 
 tion and writing as it were some newer and fairer copy. 
 Thus was he occupied, perchance for more than an 
 hour's space ; during which time I did intently watch 
 his motions, or marked the pavilion and it's furniture, 
 and rich hangings of divers-coloured tapestry, and the 
 bright ])olish of liis embossed steel armour, with the 
 other harness which ^vas to fit him for the approach-
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 20 
 
 ina; fight. The King, however, appeared not to note 
 my presence, being as it were overwliehned Vvith tlie 
 anxieties of royalty and the leading of a host on the 
 eve of battle ; but to me his every look and motion 
 was matter of wonder or concernment, being the first 
 of human creatures whom I had ever known as kin- 
 dred, as well as the Sovereign of the realm. 
 
 The plain and frugal diet to which I had been ac- 
 customed in the Monastery of Ely, and the frequent 
 vigils and brief slumbers which we were wont to use 
 there, had made me taste but little of the food before 
 me, and kept mine eyes from becoming drowsy with 
 the lateness of the hour ; yet I sank into a thoughtful 
 musing upon my past and future fortunes, from which 
 I was aroused only by the King touching me and say- 
 ing : " Wake thee, my gentle son, wake thee, albeit 
 I am full loath to break upon thy repose, yet is it 
 now time that thou wentest hence. Thine eyes are 
 open, yet still thy spirit sleepeth : for as yet thou hast 
 not the weight of a diadem upon thy brow to keep 
 thee wakeful, and cause slumber to fly from thy re- 
 gal pillow." In reply I began to excuse myself, say- 
 ing that I slept not, but was lost in thought at the 
 wondrous matters he had disclosed to me. 
 
 " Nay," replied the King, " I had not marvelled 
 hadst thou been in truth sleeping ; so it asks not an 
 excuse, for the eyelids of youth can be pressed into 
 slumber by the weight of a thistle-down ; and were I 
 as free from years and care as thou art, trust me I
 
 30 THK LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGKNKTS. 
 
 would rather sliare, than break, tliy repose. But 
 he who would be great, must set lightly by rest : 
 though perchance thy school-philosophy hath taught 
 thee that true wisdom would prefer the shepherd's 
 crook to the monarch's sceptre. Nevertheless, my 
 boy, these desires must issue from the mind alone : 
 for as there be creatures which cannot live upon the 
 earth, but fly towering aloft into the clouds, so there 
 are men whose spirits as naturally soar on higli after 
 greatness and command, as doth the eagle wing his 
 way upward all undazzled to the sun." 
 
 Whereunto I made reply, saying, "but now I 
 deemed your Grace said, that you would I had been 
 of years fit to go with you to battle, and fight for the 
 crown of England." 
 
 "And so 1 would," answered Richard, "for as 
 God shall speed me this day, I would see thee brave, 
 aspiring, and invincible in the field as the immortal 
 sable Knight, the son of the Third Edward. And 
 why ? because thou too art the son of a Sovereign ; 
 and as I deemed, must share thy father's ardour." 
 
 " So please you, then, my gracious Sire," answered 
 1, " if it stand with your liking to use my poor ser- 
 vices, I shall gladly go forth with your knights into 
 the field, and share in every danger to Avhich your 
 sacred person may be exposed." And even whilst I 
 spake, a sad presentiment came over me that I should 
 never more embrace my new-found parent, and in 
 despite of me the tears ran down my face.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLAN TAGENBTS. 81 
 
 " Poor fool !" exclaimed King Richard, " thou art 
 a passing well-spoken and tender youth, for even now 
 thine eyes have bedewed thy cheeks ; yet thy tears 
 shame thee not as they are those of love and not of 
 fear. But, no, it may not be, thou canst not go fortli 
 with me now ; for ere another night enwrap the eartli 
 in darkness, I may be stretched a bloody and disho- 
 noured corse upon yonder plain. Therefore thou 
 shalt haste thee presently away, since to be known for 
 mine would be thy sure destruction." 
 
 " I trust in God, Sire," said I with a faltering voice, 
 " that this shall not be, but that you shall return 
 again a victor." 
 
 " So trust I by the might of St. George and my 
 good sword," ansAvered the King, " yet will a wise 
 leader ever provide against the worst, and my only 
 fears are for thee. Take then this purse,— it is well 
 filled with gold, which is the great ruler of man- 
 kind ; — and this ring also, which was thy sainted mo- 
 ther's, and which, alas ! that I am now in such straits, 
 is all that I possess to bestow upon my son !'* 
 
 Sinking on one knee and kissing the King's hand 
 whilst I bedewed it Avith my tears, I received tlie 
 parting gift of my royal father, greatly distressed at 
 the sorrowful words whicli lie spake to me ; but much 
 more so when lie added :— " Now, my boy, mark well 
 my latest counsel. Should tlie daring rebels who have 
 provoked my sword be the conquerors in this day's 
 fight,— though I deem that such a chance is well nio-h
 
 32 THE I-AST OP THE PLAXTAGENETS. 
 
 impossible, — tlicn let no man know thy birth, but 
 speedily depart for London, since thou may'st hide 
 thee safest in a crowded city. There, bending thy 
 mind unto thy fortunes, seek contentment in obscurity, 
 and give up all thy newly-sprung hopes of honour 
 and a crown : for never doubt that if the battle be 
 lost to the House of York, the life of Richard Plan- 
 tagenet will be lost also !" 
 
 He then tenderly embraced me, whilst sorrow and 
 affection appeared to divide and possess his bosom. 
 INIine own tears flowed even faster than before, and I 
 could only murmur, that it was my hope that so fatal 
 a calamity might not be ; adding that such prayers 
 as I had leai'nt of the holy fathers of Ely, should be 
 fervently put up for his prosperity. To this he re- 
 plied, " And I, also, my poor boy, commend thee to 
 Heaven, albeit thine own innocence will best plead 
 for thee there. But now thou must away, since it 
 draws near sunrise ; my soldiers will be here anon to 
 arm me, and I must hold early council with my lead- 
 ers. — Should ill befall me, do as I have warned thee, 
 but till then, be merry in the hope that the arms of 
 Richard shall drive these marauding renegades back 
 to their coverts, as the lion scatters with his roar his 
 subject herds of the forest. — Hie thee hence, then, my 
 son, — my pretty boy, — nay, speak not, — I would not 
 hear thy voice again, lest it waken in me that wo- 
 manish softness which I must now smother beneath 
 the sternness of a soldier. If we meet again, thou shalt
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 33 
 
 see me crowned with victory ; and in the day of Ricli- 
 ard's triumphant glory, will he proclaim thee a Plnn- 
 tagenet before England's proudest Barons, whilst the 
 whole realm shall offer thee it's homage. Then Avill 
 it be thine to command, and to enjoy a wealthy har- 
 vest for which thou didst never labour ; and rising 
 in after-time unto my high estate, thou shalt wear the 
 crown for Avhich I have adventured, and when tliy 
 life is over sleep in a regal sepulchre !" 
 
 Then, having again embraced me, he twice struck 
 his sword upon the table, and a Captain entered, 
 wlio forthwith led me to a tent where Sir Gilbert 
 De Mountford awaited my coming. As the King 
 parted from me at the opening of his pavilion, we 
 marked the first dull dawnings of the fatal day of 
 battle ; upon which, pointing to the East he said unto 
 his Captain, " Seest thou yonder, good Sir Gervase 
 Clifton, how the grey morning is already advancing 
 to rouse the dreaming foes of York from their brief 
 slumber? and, so hopes my soul, speedily to light 
 them onward to that which shall be eternal !"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE LAST BATTLE OF THE ROSES. 
 
 Then, Bosworth, here the Muse, now lastly bids for thee 
 Thy Battle to describe, the last of that long war. 
 
 Entitled by the name of York and Lancaster. 
 
 * * * X- « » » 
 
 No sooner 'gan the dawn out of the East to peep. 
 But drums and trumpets chide the soldiers to their arms, 
 And all the neighbouring fields are covered with the swarms 
 Of those that came to fight and those that came to see, — 
 Contending for a Crown, whose that great day should be. 
 
 Drayton's Polyoi,bion. 
 
 Think, ye see 
 
 The very persons of our noble story. 
 
 As they were living : think, ye see them great : — 
 
 tlien, in a moment, see 
 
 How soon this mightiness meets misery ! 
 
 Shakspeark. 
 
 Deeply impressed and wondrously inspirited by the 
 discourses and events of the last few hours, and 
 animated by the martial array which surrounded me, 
 I did most earnestly entreat of Sir Gilbert De IMount- 
 ford to be permitted to witness the conflict. " See 
 the battle, youth !" exclaimed he, " by St. George !
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 35 
 
 thou knowest not wheat thou art asking : And methinks 
 for a stripling bred up in a cloister with monks and 
 masses, it should be the last thing i'th' world that 
 thou shouldest desire to look upon. Trust me a fight 
 like this will be altogether another matter from reading 
 of one, or from your processions and chauntings at a 
 Saint's festival : for here will be bloodshed and mortal 
 strife, shouts of victors and groans of the dying, 
 whizzing of arrows, clang of armour, clash of wea- 
 pons, and the fearful bray of trumpets, which alone 
 would blanch thy cheek. Oh ! 'tis a perilous, though 
 a gallant sight ; yet much danger is incurred there- 
 
 by." 
 
 His lively portraiture of the scene only made me 
 the more desirous of beholding it, and still did I per- 
 sist in mine entreaties, to the which at length the 
 Knight gave a reluctant consent, " Here, then, re- 
 main," added he, " for the King will leave his tents 
 standing when he marches to Redmoor ; and from 
 this rising ground thou mayestsee the fight as well and 
 securely as such a scene may ever be looked upon." 
 
 I therefore, took my stand on the verge of the 
 eminence where King Richard's camp was pitched, 
 which looked towards the plain of Redmoor, and 
 marked attentively the several jjreparations for battle ; 
 though Sir Gilbert De IMountford did not fail to re- 
 peat that my purjiose was a rash one, and might 
 terminate in evil. Howbeit, every thing which I saw 
 and heard was fitted to excite the ardour of a soldier
 
 36 THK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 in my youthful breast ; and well, — so at least did my 
 vanity whisper me, — did mine enkindling spirit prove 
 at that moment, that I was not unworthy of the Plan- 
 tagenet race. I felt their lion-blood was bounding in 
 my veins ; and could I have given vent to mine 
 emotions, it would have been in bewailing the fortune 
 which forced me to be only an eye-witness of that 
 well-foughten field, and debarred me from entering 
 as a soldier therein. The image of the King my 
 father, as I had seen him on the past night, when he 
 owmed me for his son, pale and melancholy in visage, 
 and decked with few of his regalities, was full deeply 
 graven upon my mind; but now I beheld him clad in 
 a rich armour of proof, and as mine eyes anxiously 
 followed the royal banner and King Richard's person 
 wherever they appeared upon the plain, I fondly 
 deemed, when the sun glanced upon his burnished 
 helmet and golden coronal, that it was the glorious 
 light of victory to Plantagenet. His entire harness 
 was of steel with gilded ornaments, wrought by the 
 choicest armourers of IModena, and made in that 
 rich fashion for the which his reign was so famous ; 
 whilst his habit was so complete a sheathing to his 
 body, that he stood as it were an iron man, saving 
 that he wore his velvet tabard, the royal ensigns of 
 which w^ere also purfled upon the caparisons of his 
 charger. He wielded a long and powerful two- 
 handed sword having a red pomel, but he had dyed 
 the blade thereof with a more sanguine stain, in the
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 37 
 
 blood of his foes ; seeing that, like the scythe of 
 death, it swept away all before it. 
 
 But to treat of the Battle in order, as becometh one 
 that saw it and lost therein his best and nearest 
 friend, I should begin by noting that the morning 
 came on with a heavy mist, which passed not away 
 until nigh ten of the clock, when the armies joined 
 battle ; through the vapour of which, when they were 
 first drawn out, the one overshot the other. How- 
 beit, soon after four in the morning, Avhat time the 
 sun should have risen. King Richard led forth all his 
 men out of his camp, on to the plain of Redmoor ; 
 ordering out both horse and foot in a marvellous 
 length,to the intent that they should imprint upon the 
 hearts of them that looked afar off, a sudden terror and 
 deadly fear. In the fore-front, he placed the archers, 
 like a strong trench or fortified bulwark, over whom 
 the noble John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, was 
 Captain, with his brave son, Thomas, Earl of Surrey ; 
 after which long vaunt-guard, followed King Rich- 
 ard himself, with a full gallant company drawn up in 
 a perfect square, of choice and approved men of war, 
 having horsemen with spears, for wings, on both sides 
 of his battle. The King's rear-ward was led by Sir 
 Thomas Brackenbury, the sum of it, as I have heard, 
 being a thousand bill-men and soldiers armed with 
 heavy mallets and sharp axes. 
 
 So marched they forward unto Sutton-field, where 
 the whole army mustered, being some mile South-east 
 
 jl5?3C^2
 
 38 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 of the place of battle, and there halted before Rich- 
 mond had crossed the marsh on his right hand, which 
 separated them ; when, lo ! there was a solemn still- 
 ness in King Richard's power, of the which I might not 
 well know the cause. Whereupon I turned me unto 
 a bill-man who stood near the mound where I was 
 placed, and demanding of him what meant that 
 silence, he told me that the King had called together 
 his leaders, and was encouraging them in many 
 goodly words to fight stoutly to the end against the 
 traitors and renegades which had come out against 
 them. Upon that I felt my heart burn within me to 
 hear my noble sire speak unto his soldiers, and put 
 mettle into their hearts, for that I well knew he had 
 a choice and copious eloquence ; and therefore, re- 
 gardless of Sir Gilbert De Mountford's counsel, I 
 hastened forward to the spot where the royal army 
 was assembled. From the speech which King Rich- 
 ard made there, the little hillock where he stood is 
 called "■ Dickon's Nook" unto this day ; but I reached 
 it in time to hear only the end of his oration, which 
 he gave with a voice of thunder and an eye of fire. 
 "Advance ! then," exclaimed he, " I say again, for- 
 ward, my Captains ! in whom lacketh neither policy, 
 wisdom, nor puissance ; let each of you give but one 
 brave stroke for England and your King, and St. 
 George to speed, the day is surely our's. For myself, 
 by the might of God and his Saints, I will either 
 triumpli by glorious victory, or die for mine immortal
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENKTS. 39 
 
 fame ; since they who regard not that renown before 
 their fleeting life, shall ever live with scorn and fall 
 with foul dishonour." 
 
 As he concluded the soldiers loudly shouted, yet 
 were they not all true unto their Sovereign ; for 
 Thomas Lord Stanley, and Sir William, his brother, 
 were there, with all their men, about 8000 in number, 
 who soon turnedand fought with fierce courage against 
 the King. At this time also, when the Earl of Rich- 
 mond knew that the royal army was so near embat- 
 tled, he rode about his own ranks speaking many 
 deceitful and glosing words unto his soldiers, with 
 wondrous foul sayings against Richard; the which 
 he had scarcely finished when the one army came 
 in sight of the other. And then. Blessed Virgin ! 
 how hastily did the soldiers buckle their helms, how 
 quickly the archers bent their bows and frushed their 
 feathers, to make them ready for flight like the wings 
 of death. Then, too, how readily the bill-men shook 
 their bills and proved their staves, to march and join 
 battle, when the cry should be given "Advance Stan- 
 dards !" 
 
 When the King saw that Richmond's power had 
 passed the marsh, he commanded with all speed to 
 set upon them ; and then heard I the terrible blast 
 of the trumpets, which as it were bade them to 
 the feast of blood, with the loud shouting of the sol- 
 diers, and the snorting of the chargers. Anon the 
 King's archers let fly a cloud of shafts, and all the air
 
 40 THK LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 around was darkened ; and wlien the bowmen on 
 either side had spent all their arrows, and the bom- 
 bards and harquebushes had been many times shot off, 
 then the battle joined, and all came to hand-strokes of 
 sword, bill, and battle-axe, and bloody I trow was 
 that onset. Full many a soldier, whom but the 
 moment before, I had seen, as the holy text saith, 
 " like the war-horse rejoicing in his strength," was 
 eftsoons overthrown, and his towering crest trampled 
 under foot all sullied and dishonoured. But now, 
 whilst I was thus anxiously watching the fight, I sud- 
 denly saw two large and heavy bodies of armed men 
 put in motion, one on the King's right hand and the 
 other on his left ; and I said unto a wounded bow- 
 man who had crawled unto the place where I stood, 
 which was now very near the field of battle, " Tell me, 
 soldier, be not these the King's friends ? whence, then, 
 do they come, and why have they lingered thus .''" 
 
 " Now God be praised," replied the Archer, raising 
 himself and looking on the leaders' pennons, " they 
 are the power of the Stanleys, which Avill past ques- 
 tion give our royal master the victory;" and he pointed 
 out to me their white banners, bearing three golden 
 stags' heads upon a bend of blue. Howbeit, in the 
 midst of our hope and rejoicing, a deafening shout 
 arose from Richmond's army ; denoting, as I was told, 
 the treacherous going over of the Stanleys thereunto, 
 with all their followers. I was much dismayed at 
 these tidings, and greatly feared the issue of the
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 41 
 
 battle; and the more so by reason of my former expec- 
 tations of King Richard's triumph. I remember not 
 at what hour of the day it might be, — perchance it 
 wanted not much of noon, — but about this stage of the 
 fight I left my stand, and wandered down into the 
 battle-field. Perceiving at some distance a company 
 of horsemen who appeared to have been separated from 
 the main body, I liastened towards them, seeing that 
 they were clad in white coats and hoods of frieze, the 
 common livery of all the soldiers. He, however, who 
 seemed to be chief of the party, I knew not, but he 
 appeared a tall and fair young man with a grave coun- 
 tenance, yellow hair, and grey eyes, and clothed in a 
 wondrous rich harness ; whilst beside him rode a 
 brave-looking Knight, who bore a green and white 
 banner with a red dragon. 
 
 The hour was now come which God had appointed, 
 when by drawing thus near unto the enemy, — these 
 warriors being none other than Richmond and his 
 friends, — that I should behold the fell of the valiant 
 King Richard ; his bravest leaders, the Duke of Nor- 
 folk and his son, having been stretched lifeless on the 
 field already. Only a brief space had elapsed, when 
 I saw the King with some few of his best followers, 
 who, alas ! did not know that they were going with 
 him unto death, — riding with great fury towards the 
 spot to which I had heedlessly wandered. He seemed 
 inflamed with wrath, and came on, crying " Treason ! 
 Treason !" with spear in rest, like an angry lion
 
 42 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 against his adversary ; and oft-times when I have 
 mused upon this scene, have I demanded of myself in 
 the words of the most choice Poet Horatius : 
 
 " Quis martem digne scripserit ?" 
 
 And who, indeed, shall worthily write of his gallant 
 bearing in that day ? or what lay of JMinstrel or what . 
 music of Harper, shall truly laud his achievements 
 and more than mortal prowess ? for the which even his 
 enemies, amidst all their foul calumnies, have never 
 dared to deny him renown. As, therefore, an over- 
 whelming torrent runs foaming with wild roar over 
 opposing rocks, and pours onward with impetuous 
 fury unto the sea, so did the King pursue his most re- 
 sistless course. He soon laid aside his spear, and took 
 again his fearful two-handed sword ; with which at 
 one blow he cleft the head of Sir William Brandon, 
 who was the first foe he met in his progress. He was 
 the Standard-bearer of Harry Richmond, but soon he 
 lay stretched upon the plain ; and the banner which 
 only a few moments before he had waved so proudly, 
 the King now contemptuously cast vipon his bloody 
 corse. Then stood forth that puissant Knight, Sir 
 John Cheney, whom the Earl held in special regard, 
 not only because of his martial prowess, but also for 
 his bodily strength, which was passing great ; but he, 
 too, was eftsoons unhorsed by the King, who now made 
 an open yet bloody passage with his devouring sword, 
 as he pressed onward to his chiefest adversary. Fearful,
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 43 
 
 indeed, was his onset towai'ds Richmond, and might 
 well have daunted a braver man : yet why came he 
 not forth in willing mood to battle for the crown, and 
 encounter his royal foe in mortal fray ? Wherefore 
 did he gather his power around him ? but that his 
 coward fears prevailed — and he moved not. 
 
 For some space of time, however, the Earl withstood 
 him and kept him at the swoi'd's point; but I full 
 soon perceived that it was not in eqvial combat, that the 
 noble Richard was either to triumph or to die ; for to 
 sum up the treachery of " those of his own house- 
 hold," of which the holy Prophet well speaketh. Sir 
 William Stanley brought up his power of full 3000 
 men to the aid of Harry Tvidor. Howbeit, some ten 
 years after his disloyalty had it's reward; since he was 
 beheaded by command of the very one whose life he 
 had now saved, and whom, in truth, he had advanced 
 unto a throne.* These recreant slaves now gathered 
 round Richard, and he was fiercely assailed on every 
 side ; but though Sir William Catesby, who saw Stan- 
 ley's revolt, brought the King another horse, and be- 
 sought him to retire, — which, from pressure of num- 
 bers, he might have done with honour, — yet with an 
 
 * Sir William Stanley was beheaded on February HJtli, 14t)5, 
 on the charge of secretly aiding Perkin Warbeck, the fictitious 
 Duke of York ; the principal evidence against him being his 
 having said, " Were I sure ho was the son of Edward the 
 Fourth, I would never draw my sword against him."
 
 44 TIIK LAST OK THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 angry look, he called for a fresh weapon, and sware 
 by Him that shaped sea and land that he would that 
 day die King of England, and not fly whilst life should 
 abide in his breast. So continued he in fight, till all 
 the friends who had followed him had either fallen or 
 fled ; for Sir Robert Brackenbury, Sir Gervase Clifton, 
 Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Sir William Conyers, Walter 
 Lord Ferrers, and divers others, lay dead around him . 
 Indignant, and almost frenzied at this sight, I now 
 rushed forward, all unarmed and powerless as I was, 
 to the rescue of my sire, and forgetful of danger threw 
 myself into the midst of the strife ! How it was my 
 fortune to escape therefrom, without being mortally 
 stricken in that hour of battle and of blood, when 
 blows were rained around me on every side, by hands 
 and weapons which were not wont to strike twice for 
 the overthrow of any foeman ; — how, I say, I did 
 then escape with life. He, whose " Name is Wonder- 
 ful," alone doth know ! 
 
 Yet it nevertheless did so fall out, that unliurt my- 
 self, I advanced into that most fearful battle ; which 
 hath oft-times since brought unto my mind the saying 
 of holy David, " a thousand shall fall beside thee, and 
 ten thousand at thy right hand ; but it shall not come 
 nigh thee." In the hottest fight, then, whilst gazing 
 wildly around me, I beheld my martial sire still 
 waging the unequal strife. The blood was streaming 
 from his wounds, his strength seemed already passing 
 away, and his battered casque and crown had fallen
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNETS. 45 
 
 from his head, — when a blow from a ponderous iron 
 battle-axe struck him from his horse. I now sprang 
 forward to his side, and seizing a helmet lying near, 
 filled it with water from that most honoured Well of 
 the which I have elsewhere spoken, and of which I 
 had before seen him drink, — and bare it unto him to 
 wash his wounds and quench the heat of his death- 
 thirst. He hastily took it and drank thereof, and 
 then piously looking upwards and devoutly crossing 
 himself, fell backwards with the wounded and the 
 slain; yet as lie did so, methought his dying eyes rested 
 on me with yjity and alarm at my presence, in a place 
 and hour of so great hazard. 
 
 From that moment I saw and heard no more, being 
 first suddenly stricken down and wounded by a spent 
 shaft, and afterwards overborne by the crowd of 
 soldiers whicli rushed upon the dying Richard, as it 
 hath since been told me, to seize upon the coronet 
 which he wore around his helmet. For he was the 
 only English Sovereign since the Norman entered this 
 land, who fell upon the battle-field ; and the second 
 who fought with the crown upon his head, as did 
 King Henry V. at Agincourt. And here Ave may 
 again note his valour, for the regal circlet, however 
 fair and glorious, is the surest mark for the wearer's 
 destruction; but Richard wore it to put mettle into his 
 soldiers' hearts and arms, and to remind them that the 
 fate of a King and his realm was on that day to be in- 
 trusted to their weapons. Ho^vbeit, in the last fiery
 
 46 THR LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGKNKTS. 
 
 struggle of tlie life of my gallant father, the crown 
 fell from his liead, and was hidden by a soldier within 
 a bush on the field ; Avhence, after the battle. Sir Re- 
 ginald Bray brought it unto the recreant Lord Stan- 
 ley, who set it on the head of Harry Tudor. The 
 inconstant soldiery then shouted for their new King, 
 and a broad mound some mile to the South-west of the 
 battle-plain, yet marks the place of their triumjjh by 
 being called Crown-Hill and Hollow- IVIeadow. Rich- 
 mond, too, in that beauteous, yet vain-glorious, tomb 
 which hath since been built for him at Westminster, 
 hath recorded this rustic coronation, by erecting there 
 the device of a crown standing in a bush of hawthorn. 
 In the mean space. King Richard's body was found 
 upon the plain, covered with dust, blood, and wounds, 
 and despiteful ly stripped of all it's harness and rai- 
 ment ; so that he, who whilst living was clad in pur- 
 ple and pall, fair ermines and velvet of the Orient, 
 who had a crown upon his head and the baton of com- 
 mand in his hand ; — when dead had not aught to hide 
 his royal corse from the jeers and gazings of the ru- 
 dest of his realm ! But yet, whilst I am noting this 
 most melancholy truth, I may not forget to set down 
 what was told unto me of the loyalty and faith of 
 William St. Leger, King Richard's Pursuivant-of- 
 Arms, called Blanc-Sanglier, or the White Boar, in 
 memory of his noble device. For, at his royal co- 
 ronation at Westminster, by Thomas Bourchier, the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, on Sunday, the 6th day of
 
 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 47 
 
 July, 1483, — but two little years before his sorrowful 
 death, — he caused 13,000 badges of Boars to be 
 wrought in silver upon fustian, and given to his fol- 
 lowers, whilst he 'stablished this Pursuivant, whose 
 tabard was purfled with the like, to keep the same in 
 memory. Master St. Leger was of the house, though 
 not of the counsel, of that Sir Thomas St. Leger, who 
 had married King Richard's sister^, the Duchess of 
 Exeter ; though he joined the ti-aitorous Duke of 
 Buckingham in his rebellion, and so was beheaded. 
 Howbeit, the Pursuivant was one of greater honour 
 and truth, for as he worthily adhered unto his Lord 
 whilst living, so neither would he forsake him when 
 dead ; but when he first saw his bloody and naked 
 corse, all unheeding of his own danger, he took off 
 his Herald's coat-of-arms, and casting it on the body 
 of his forsaken master, he said : " Alas for thee ! King 
 Richard ! now liest thou there, naked, and dead, and 
 deserted ; albeit I dare well say of thee that thou 
 wertonce a right wise and valiant Sovereign. Where- 
 fore the coat of thine arms Avhich thou gavest me in 
 thy life-time, I do now give unto thee back again, to 
 be a winding-sheet unto thy well-wounded body, as 
 becometh one who did ever love the voice of the 
 Herald, and one who was as stout a soldier as ever be- 
 strode steed in battle. Henceforth will I wear tabard 
 no more, nor be Pursuivant unto mortal man ; for 
 with thee, I wot, shall the name of Blanc-SaugVicr 
 pass away and be forgotten, but I will take none other
 
 48 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 name, and how me to none other lord. And so. Fare 
 thee well, good King Richard ! may God give rest 
 unto thy soul, and Christ save thee in the Day of 
 Doom!" 
 
 And as this faithful Pursuivant said, so it proved : 
 for after the death of King Richard, it was as if men 
 wished his memory to be altogether blotted out and 
 buried with his body, for his device of the Silver Boar 
 was defaced or plucked down in every place where 
 it had been reared ; and the honourable office of Blauc- 
 Sanglier changed into another called Rouge-Dragon, 
 in memory of the Standard of Harry Tudor. Nay, 
 yet farther to dishonour the dead Sovereign and his 
 constant living follower, that most loyal Herald was 
 enforced, — even upon the afternoon of the day of bat- 
 tle, — to carry King Richard's body to Leicester, un- 
 covered and tied with cords across a horse, he sitting 
 l)ehind it ; but this he did gladly, seeing that all men 
 should thus note his fidelity, though he wept many 
 bitter tears upon his mournful journey. After that 
 most dear and misused corse had been for two days 
 exposed in the Town-hall to the basest groom and ru- 
 dest hind which would look upon it, it was meanly, 
 and with but few holy rites, sepultured in the Grey- 
 Friars' Church ; where the usurping victor at length 
 caused to be set up a tomb of divers-coloured marbles 
 with an alabaster effigy, — albeit he afterward made his 
 ownof brass, most wondrously and choicely wrought. 
 For this monument, all unworthy of so great a King
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 49 
 
 as Richard Plantagenet, some unknown pen had also 
 destined an untrue and as unworthy an epitapli in La- 
 tin verse ; the copy whereof, though never affixed unto 
 the stone, I remember to have seen written in a book 
 chained unto a table, in a chamber of the Guildhall at 
 London. Howbeit, the tomb of my sire stood but 
 little more than fifty years ; since in that fierce tide 
 of spoliation which hath of late swept through the 
 realm under the wild misrule of Harry Tudor's son, 
 the Grey Friars of Leicester were expulsed from their 
 dwelling, their conventual church was overthrown, 
 and the tomb of King Richard so defaced, that the 
 spot whereon he rested might be distinguished no 
 longer. 
 
 But now to return again, and briefly close up an- 
 other scene of my own sad story. When I saw my 
 sire fall upon the field of Bosworth ; when I marked 
 the dying look of sorrow, love, and pity, which he 
 then cast upon me ; and when I was overthrown by 
 the shaft, and press of the battle ; — my strength and 
 senses at once bowed under me, and I sank powerless 
 upon the ground, as if [ also had been one of the 
 slain. 
 
 £
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DWELLING OF AN OUTCAST OF ISRAEL. 
 
 Our firstd foe, the Serpent Sathanas, 
 
 That hath in Jewi-s heart his wasp6s nest, 
 
 Up swale, and said " O Ebraike people, alas ! 
 Is this to you a thing that is honest ? 
 
 That swiche a boy shall walken as him leste 
 In your despite." 
 
 From thennesforth the Jewes han conspired 
 This innocent out of this world to chase. 
 
 Chaucer's Prioress's Tale. 
 
 " Blessed be the name of the Lord !" echoed Rabbi Mcir, " and blessed be 
 His name for thy sake too I for well is it written • He that has found a virtuous 
 woman has a greater treasure than costly pearls. She openeth her mouth 
 with wisdom, and on her tongue is the instruction of kindness.' " 
 
 HuRwiTz's Hebrew Tales. 
 
 I KNOW not how long I lay so entranced upon the 
 plain of battle, but when my senses returned, I found 
 me stretched upon a narrow and slender straw pallet, 
 in a low and obscure vaulted chamber of stone^ from 
 the top whereof was suspended a little brazen lamp. 
 By this light I beheld a tall old man, with a flowing 
 beard of a sable silvery hue, dark piercing eyes, and
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 51 
 
 a thin sallow visage of a foreign look, on the which 
 care seemed to have written many deep characters, — 
 standing beside my poor couch ; habited in a long ga- 
 berdine of coarse black frieze, marked on the breast 
 by two narrow woollen tablets of different colours. 
 He was at first bending silently over me with a grave 
 and sorrowful countenance, whereon methought I saw 
 the trace of tears, and then I deemed he might be 
 some compassionate leech ; but, as I recovered, his 
 face seemed anon to be enlightened with an evil glad- 
 ness, as if the Fiend had suddenly whispered some 
 dark, though joyous thought unto his heart, and he 
 cast upon me a look of exulting malice. Full many 
 were the dread imaginings and remembrances which 
 now rushed across my returning sense ; but my sor- 
 rowful recollections of the late fatal battle, and the 
 hapless death of my royal father, together with the 
 pain and smarting of my wounds, and even the grief 
 which weighed down my spirit, — all seemed light 
 unto the horror I felt upon finding me in the power 
 of one, who might be an outlaw, a robber, or a mur- 
 therer. For escape, I soon discovered that it was im- 
 possible, even had my strength been equal thereunto ; 
 for the narrow arched portal and winding stairs which 
 led to the chamber wherein I lay, were closed up by 
 a heavy oaken door, provided with a massive lock and 
 bolt of iron. 
 
 As these things flitted, like some foul vision, full 
 swiftly before my disordered senses and beclouded
 
 52 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 eyes, T lay in great fear and consternation, scared at 
 the form and visage of him who was bending over 
 me. He seemed unto mine aftViglited fancy, like an 
 evil niglit-spirit which chained up all my powers of 
 moving with stifling oppression ; for when I attempt- 
 ed to stir me, I found myself wholly incapable thereof, 
 partly, indeed, from my hurts in the battle, but still 
 more so from the terrors awakened by that which I 
 saw aroimd me. I did then strive to call for aid, but 
 my tongue clave unto the roof of my mouth, and I 
 could utter little more than a faint cry, and sink down 
 again as if into a heavy slumber ; though w hilst my 
 voice thus refused me it's office, mine eyes and ears 
 seemed to perform their's with a tenfold power. I 
 saw and heard all things with wondrous intenseness ; 
 from the harsh foreign voice of the man who stood 
 beside me, which sounded like the knell of my de- 
 parting spirit, to the quick and heavy throbbings 
 which seemed tearing in sunder mine aching and fe- 
 vered brain. Howbeit, the cry I had uttered, caused 
 another person hastily to enter the chamber; the 
 which I discerned to be an aged woman, habited in 
 somewhat of an Eastern garb, whose sallow and 
 sunken visage did express much sorrow, blended 
 with great pity and piety. She started as she enter- 
 ed, without doubt at the fearful glances with which 
 the old man was viewing me as he bent over my bed, 
 and she exclaimed " Wherefore was that cry. Rabbi 
 Israel ? and what is that youth beside thee .^ hath his
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 53 
 
 spirit departed ? or why dost thou look so wildly 
 upon him ?" 
 
 " Nay, he is not yet dead, Naomi," returned the 
 man, retiring with her from my couch, behind a 
 screen of tapestry whence I might overhear all their 
 discourse, " the Angel of Death has not yet summoned 
 him, though peradventure he soon may. God of my 
 Fathers !" he exclaimed in an exulting voice, " when 
 hath the Avord of Thy promise failed unto Thy peo- 
 ple ? for, lo ! the hour of vengeance, which hath 
 been hidden in mine heart, hath at length arrived; and 
 Thou hast provided an offering for innocent blood, as 
 Thou gavest the ram unto thy servant Abraham 
 in Moriah, that he might slay him instead of his 
 son." 
 
 "Alas!" replied Naomi in a gentle voice, "what 
 meanest thou by this ?" 
 
 " What do I mean ? sayest thou," returned the 
 Rabbi in a fierce tone, " are then the captivity of thy 
 people, and the death of thy son, forgotten by thee 
 like a dream of the night ? Are not we bereaved both 
 of our home and of our child ? our feet made weary 
 with Avandering, and our hearts sorrowful with weep- 
 ing, by the persecutions of the Gentiles, and shall we 
 not rejoice to return it fourfold upon the heads of our 
 oppressors ?" 
 
 " Nay, Rabbi Israel, nay," answered Naomi, with 
 tranquil speech, "that may not be; seeing that it 
 was written by him, who, at the command of God
 
 54 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAOENETS. 
 
 led US forth out of Egypt, — even in the last divine 
 song which he spake upon earth, ' To Me belongeth 
 vengeance and recompense ; their foot shall slide in 
 due time, for the day of their calamity is at hand, and 
 the things that shall come upon them make haste. 
 For the Lord shall judge His people, and repent Him- 
 self for His servants, when He seeth that their power 
 is gone !' " 
 
 " Yet the time of Israel's deliverance hath not 
 come," returned the Rabbi, "we look in vain for 
 ' Him whose Name is the Rising,' and pray for Him in 
 vain towards our desolated Temple : yet as if it were 
 not enough for the chosen people of the Most High, 
 to be forced to wander far from the Land of Canaan, 
 eating the bread of bitterness and drinking the waters 
 of affliction, — the crescent-ensign of the lying Pro- 
 phet, rises Avith baneful glare over the towers of the 
 Holy City, flouting the goodly heritage that was once 
 our own. And when, chased like the partridge on 
 the mountain, we betake us for shelter to the nations 
 of the West, what is it but to encounter the like per- 
 secution, desolation, or death ? Yea, bloody alike unto 
 us are the crescent and the cross ; and to the out- 
 casts of Israel, the monks and the moussoulmans are 
 alike brethren in cruelty." 
 
 " Thou hast spoken truly. Rabbi," replied Naomi, 
 " as our father Joseph said, their anger is fierce, and 
 their hatred is cruel. But now let us leave to speak of 
 them : — thou hast not yet toldme who that stripling is."
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGBNETS. 55 
 
 " One," answered the Rabbi, " whom I brought 
 erewhile from the field of battle near this place, for 
 the children of this accursed land are divided against 
 themselves, and are even now devouring- each other ; 
 and therefore, we can scarcely marvel that they are 
 foes to the despised sons of Israel. — I had borne up 
 under all the heavy woes which are now common to 
 our abandoned race, in a strange land ; but here have 
 I found the arrows of persecution stick the deepest, 
 since this people hath received us only to pour 
 greater misery upon our heads, and have trodden 
 down the grey hairs of the parents to dip their hands 
 in the blood of their offspring, whilst our tears only 
 ministered sport unto the scorner !" 
 
 "I remember it but too well," responded Naomi, 
 weeping, " Benoni, the son of our sorrows, but yet 
 our pleasant son, was indeed stoned before our eyes 
 by a lawless multitude on the Fast of Miriam, when 
 we were about to make ready for the Passover. Oh ! 
 my son, Benoni ! my son, my son, Benoni ! 
 
 " It was verily so," answered the Rabbi, " and for 
 that he was only a Jew, there hath been no inquisition 
 of blood made for him. But said I not that vengeance 
 would at length come, though it should tarry long ? 
 and behold the hour hath now arrived." He then con- 
 tinued with a glance of malicious exultation, and in a 
 low and fearful voice, drawing the gentle Naomi 
 towards my couch, and pointing to me who now lay 
 with the semblance of sleep, — '' Seest thou that young
 
 5(5 TlIK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Christian^ whom I have brought hither? — his look 
 and bearing bespeak him of gentle birth, — thou know- 
 est that our Law saith ' an eye for an eye and a tooth 
 for a tooth !' — the solitude of this place invites us to 
 the sacrifice ; let him die the death ! for God do so 
 unto me, and more also, if I would not even now 
 avenge our child's murther upon the life of that sleep- 
 ing gentile !" 
 
 " Upon his life ! saidst thou ? God of Jacob protect 
 thee from the Evil One !" exclaimed Naomi, clinging 
 to his garment in an agony of fear, "nay. Rabbi Israel, 
 nay, that may not be ; for our most holy Law doth also 
 say ' thou shalt not kill' ! He shall indeed die, as thou 
 sayest, but at his appointed time when the Angel of 
 Death shall call him, and not by thy hand ; since 
 thou canst not thus bring back again our Benoni unto 
 our bosoms, but will rather stain our souls so deeply, 
 that we shall never live w ith him in Paradise." 
 
 " What then !" exclaimed the Jew fiercely, " shall 
 a bereaved father shrink from becoming the avenger 
 of his child's blood ? let me no longer, woman, for, as 
 the Lord liveth ! this offering shall eftsoons be made, 
 since He hath said ' whoso sheddeth man's blood, by 
 man shall his blood be shed !' " 
 
 " True, Oh my beloved Israel !" responded the 
 virtuous Naomi, hanging upon the Jew as she spake, 
 " yet not the innocent for the guilty, lest his blood 
 should rest upon us, and hereafter be required at our 
 hands." Then, seeing that he still remained unshaken
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 57 
 
 in his evil purpose, she turned aside, and in a voice of 
 sorrow, with many tears, she said, " Alas for my son ! 
 alas for my Benoni, my child ! Avhere is he now ? in 
 the bosom of our Father Abraham, and the blessed 
 Paradise of God ? — Ah ! no ! — or Rabbi Israel, the 
 devout servant of the Lord, — who hath never forgotten 
 the Shemonch Esreh, or the Kiriath Shema* or to bless 
 liis God full three hundred times each day ; who fast- 
 eth and prays with his face unto Jerusalem ; and who 
 hath often, like our Father Tobias, left his meat to 
 bury the dead, — he would never have devised such 
 evil in his heart, as to think of avenging our innocent 
 son, by so wicked a sacrifice ! Or can our child have 
 indeed put off his innocency ? that his once-pious 
 father deems him now to be another Moloch, whose 
 wrath can be turned aside only by the dying groans 
 of the young, and by pouring out before him the 
 blood of the little ones !"' 
 
 * The Shemoneh Esreh, or Eighteen prayers, are some of the 
 most solemn and important of the Jewish rites ; and should 
 be used thrice daily by all Israelites who are of age. They 
 form a kind of litany, each prayer including a benediction ; 
 and are said to have been composed and instituted by Ezra, 
 and the members of the Great Synagogue, a little before the de- 
 struction of the second Temple. The Kiriath Shema, or read- 
 ing of certain portions of the Law, is also another very im- 
 portant part of the daily devotions ; and as there arc benedic- 
 tions provided for almost every action or event of life, the 
 members of the Synagogue are required to repeat at least au 
 hundred blessings every day.
 
 58 THE IvAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 The aged Israelite now stood affected and irreso- 
 lute, whilst Naomi paused and uttered a half-sup- 
 pressed sigh ; after which she laid her hand in a 
 gentle supplicating manner upon her partner's shoul- 
 der, and continued thus in a voice of tenderness, and 
 consoled sorrow. 
 
 " Our son, indeed, rests calmly in the silent grave 
 where the wicked cease from troubling ; and his 
 spirit is in truth not crying from the ground for blood, 
 but is rather breathing vipon his sorrowing parents, 
 the holy quiet of the heaven wherein he dwells. 
 Tliou knowest, my beloved spouse, that with us life 
 is already running upon the lees, and I pray thee let 
 not it's remaining hours be embittered by self-reproach 
 and late remorse ; since it were pity that our recol- 
 lections of the past, sad, indeed, though they be, 
 should now be overshadowed with the dark whispers 
 of the Evil One. IMethinks, Rabbi," added she, " that 
 this youth is not much unlike our own ; and from 
 his looks he should be somewhat of the same age." 
 
 " If then," replied Israel sternly, as though again 
 awakened to hatred, " the living semblance of this 
 stripling be thus strong, death will complete it !" 
 
 " The Lord rebuke thee, O Satan !" exclaimed 
 Naomi in a bolder and louder voice than she had yet 
 uttered, at the same time laying a stout hold upon the 
 Jew, " as the holy Prophet saith, ' the Lord rebuke 
 thee ! even the Lord who hath chosen Jerusalem ;' is 
 not this child brought from the battle, indeed a brand
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 59 
 
 plucked out of the fire ? Rabbi, thou knowest well 
 there was a Voice which said, ' I desired mercy and 
 not sacrifice ;' and doubt not that at this moment there 
 be hearts beating with anxiety and fear for the safety 
 of this youth, and that his Mashed* in Heaven is 
 watching over him to protect him." 
 
 " Yet our own son — " responded the Rabbi — 
 " Fell by the hands of a strange people who shall 
 answer for their sin," interrupted Naomi, " Oh my 
 Israel ! be this evil far from thee, and may the foul 
 spirit which hath vexed thee depart unto the deeps, 
 whilst I rehearse in thine hearing the blessed verses 
 of the holy Prophet touching the triumphant restora- 
 tion of Jacob ; albeit it is like singing one of the 
 songs of Zion in a strange land." The devout and 
 benevolent Jewess then brought from behind the 
 tapestry a piece of most choice embroidery of gold 
 and silver flowers upon crimson silk, and took from 
 thence a parchment roll written in a square black 
 character ; out of which she read with such a 
 marvellous pleasant and comforting voice, that, not- 
 withstanding all my fears and sorrows, it joyed me 
 greatly to listen unto it. Old age had not yet stolen 
 from it all the sweetness of it's younger years, and 
 though it began with a plaintive tone, it gradually in- 
 creased into a swell of holy triumph and pious bliss. 
 That which she read was part of the Prophet Esay, 
 
 " Guardian Ancfel.
 
 t)0 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 in Hebrew, so that at this time I might not under- 
 stand it ; but as she hath since told me it was her 
 most delightsome song in the house of her pilgrimage, 
 and she taught it unto me with the true interpretation 
 thereof, which in the tongue of our own nation, is 
 written as followeth : — 
 
 " But thou, Israel ! my servant — 
 
 Fear thou not ; for I am with thee ; 
 
 Be not dismayed ; 
 
 For I am thy God. 
 
 I will strengthen thee ; 
 
 Yea, 1 will uphold thee 
 
 With the right hand of my righteousness. 
 
 Fear not, thou worm, Jacob ! 
 And ye, men of Israel ! 
 I will help thee, saith the Lord 
 And thy lledeemer, the Holy One of Israel. 
 
 Fear not, for I have redeemed thee ; 
 
 I have called thee by thy name ; 
 
 Thou art mine. 
 
 When thou passest through the waters, 
 
 I will be with thee ; 
 
 And through the rivers 
 
 They shall not overflow thee : 
 
 When thou ivalkest through the fire, 
 
 Thou shalt not be burned : 
 
 Neither shall the flame kindle upon tliee. 
 
 Fear not ; for I am M-ith thee ; 
 I will bring thy seed from the East, 
 1 will gather thee from the West :
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Gl 
 
 I will say to the North, — ' Give up !' 
 
 And to the South, — ' Keep not back ! 
 
 Bring my sons from alar. 
 
 And my daughters from the ends of the earth !' " 
 
 As Naomi i-eacl these most sublime woi-ds, the old 
 Israelite first became silent, and crossing his hands 
 upon his breast, paced about the chamber several 
 times in great agitation, as if struggling against some 
 forcible though inward temptation ; whereof his 
 blood-shotten eyes, and the convulsive working of his 
 lips bewrayed how fearful was the conflict. Anon, 
 as the divine Prophecy continued, he became calmer ; 
 and as it concluded he approached a small wooden 
 frame, through which air and light were admitted to 
 that narrow apartment, and, having thrown it open, 
 he fell upon his knees, beating his breast and crying, 
 " I have sinned ! I have sinned !" Then, turning his 
 face unto the East, he covered it Avith his hands, and 
 remained for some time engaged in silent and earnest 
 prayer. In a short space he arose, but his counte- 
 nance had undergone a wondi'ous change ; for albeit 
 the deep lines which time and sorrow had traced 
 thereon with a pen of iron, were still indelibly de- 
 picted there, yet were they now greatly softened, and 
 divested of their former fierceness. His eyes were 
 also glistening with tears, and beamed with kindly 
 aspect, declaring his victory over those cruel thoughts 
 and evil purposes, that with such \'olcanic fury had 
 been raging in his bosom.
 
 02 TIIK LAST OK THK PLANTAOENETS. 
 
 He now tui-ned to his aged wife who had likewise 
 been praying and giving thanks, but had risen and 
 seated herself upon a low stone bench in the wall, and 
 addressed her with — " Naomi, thou wert the joy of 
 my youth, and, verily, thou art the staff and comfort 
 of my old age. The harp of the son of Jesse could 
 charm away the evil thoughts and foul spirits which 
 troubled Saul, and behold thy gentle voice, and the 
 sweet song of the son of Amoz, hath calmed the fierce 
 desire of vengeance which the Destroyer had for a 
 moment awakened within my soul. Fear not thou 
 for the lad ; the child of our worse than Egyptian 
 taskmasters shall be cared for and protected, even by 
 the strangers, who for themselves, can find no resting- 
 place in this land. Yea, we will bind up his wounds 
 with the healing arts of our nation ; albeit unto me 
 he seemeth rather to want thy tender care, than the 
 skill of the leech. A brief time will bring back his 
 youthful strength, and we may then learn from him 
 who, and what he is, and to whom we should restore 
 him ; and, in the mean space, quiet and slumber will 
 be his best medicaments." With these words they 
 both arose and quitted the apartment. 
 
 Albeit the mild discourse and tranquillised demea- 
 nour of Rabbi Israel, and the pious and gentle speech 
 of the good Naomi, had somewhat calmed my dis- 
 quieted spirit, yet could I not cease to think with 
 great horror that I was in the power of a Jew ! of 
 one of that hateful race, which brought up, as I had
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENET8. 63 
 
 been, on the very lap of our Holy Church, — I could 
 consider in no other light than as the common ene- 
 mies of Christendom, and as being in a state of cease- 
 less hostility to the body and soul of man. The ancient 
 monastic annals of this realm, such as the noble his- 
 tory of the wise Matthew Paris, and the Chronicles of 
 Thomas Wikes, or of Dunstaple Priory, which our 
 good instructor, Father Austin, would sometimes read 
 unto his pupils, often spake of the cruelties of the 
 abandoned Jews towards Christians, whiles they were 
 suffered to remain in our land. They were commonly 
 represented as being infectious as their own native 
 leprosy, and devouring as the Arabian locusts. It 
 had, indeed, been told me, that at this time they no 
 where existed as a body in England, but reports were 
 not wanting that their love of gain still brought them 
 into the country whence they were banished ; and 
 that they yet moved about us in darkness and secresy, 
 like the vampires of Eastern climes, searching for 
 those whom they might plunder or sacrifice. They 
 were thus suspected rather than convicted, and felt 
 rather than know n ; whilst to gain their ends, they 
 were sometimes said even to join in the detested rites 
 of our Holy Church, and to adore that cross which 
 they abhorred. Then, too, I remembered how it had 
 been told me, that this people at once so despicable 
 and so dangerous, cut off from their country and kins- 
 folk, endured their captivity, even in those places 
 where they were admitted to dwell, only for lucre
 
 64 THR LAST OP THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 and wicked usury ; by •which they drew unto them- 
 selves the wealth of the commons, that covetous Prin- 
 ces and nobles might wrest it from them into tlieir 
 own coffers. 
 
 Anon my too-ready memory brought back unto 
 me every wild tale and fearful history, which I had 
 heard or read of the blood-thirsty Hebrews ; and 
 specially of their seizing upon and hiding Christian 
 children, feasting them with dainty food, milk and 
 white bread, and at last crucifying them in despite 
 and mockei'y of the holy Founder of our Faith. I 
 remembered now, also, as if it were to confirm these 
 stories and increase my fears, that in the Cathedral of 
 Lincoln stood the shrine of the blessed young IMar- 
 tyr, St. Hugh ; a child whom the vengeful Jews had 
 thus put to death, in the year 1256, the fortieth of the 
 reign of Henry III. ; though the good canons of the 
 church had wondrously recovered his body and given 
 unto it a stately burial, as his story is written by 
 Matthew Paris. This was followed by the legend of 
 that holy young child whom the Jews wantonly caused 
 to be slain in Asia, as I had heard recited at Christ- 
 mas-tide, out of Master Chaucer's immortal histories : 
 whereupon I remembered me that the fair infant did 
 ever and anon sweetly sing that antiphon in the Office 
 to our Lady, beginning " Alma Redetuptoris Maler," 
 by the which he was wondrously discovered after his 
 murther. And so, taking courage, I did silently call 
 upon the Blessed Virgin Mother and her most Holy
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 65 
 
 Child, in like manner ; nor did I make mine orisons 
 in vain, since the anthem was neither unmarked nor 
 unanswered. Tranquillity and comfort were given 
 unto my troubled spirit, as I thought upon the mild 
 and sorrowful speech of Naomi, and the calmer de- 
 portment of the Jew ; and though I was still as it 
 were encaged with these unbelievers, I trusted that 
 my body and spirit would soon recover their wonted 
 strength, that I might have the power of resistance 
 if any violence should be offered unto me.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A I'AKTUEH DISC0VP:UY OF TlIK .lEW's IIKAIIT ANJ> 
 
 IIISTORY. 
 
 No resting could he findc at;Jl, 
 
 No ease, nor heart's content. 
 No house, nor home, nor (l\velling-i>lat'e ; 
 
 But waud'ring forth he went. 
 
 And he doth suffer all this paine 
 
 Of torments and of woes : 
 These are his wordes, and eke his life. 
 
 Whereas he comes or goes. 
 
 D^LLAO OK TU£ WANDERING JeW. 
 
 Only a brief time passed away, ere, to bring me 
 food, the Hebrew again approached the bed on which 
 I was outstretched ; and looking upon my face, as 
 methought with great compassion rather than wrath, 
 he took my hand, and gently pressing it, seemed by 
 his penetrating glances, to demand of me if I were 
 observant of his actions. As yet, however, I much 
 doubted whether it would be fitting for me to speak 
 unto him, and knew not in what words to accost him ; 
 but whilst I thus mused, he of himself brake silence.
 
 THE LAST OK TJIE PLANTAGENETS. 67 
 
 now addressing his speech unto me. " How is it with 
 thee, youth?" said he, " lo, here is food for thee; 
 canst thou now hearken inito my voice, and under- 
 stand the purport of my words?" 
 
 To this I answered, that I could hear him right 
 ■well, and knew what he had spoken ; though nathe- 
 less I was still doubtfully musing as to what his ac- 
 tions tended, and why I had been brought thither. 
 
 "I rejoice," replied he, "that thy remembrance 
 hath so far returned as to make thee curious in this 
 matter. Know, then, that about noon this day, for 
 it is now past even-tide, I found thee bleeding and 
 senseless on the plain of Redmoor, some eleven miles 
 from this place, after the late battle there ; whence I 
 brought thee unto my own poor abode." 
 
 "To thy home I" exclaimed I, for I was not as yet 
 entirely void of dread touching my safety, "and 
 wherefore was I so brought? for if I read thy visage 
 aright, I am in the power of a Jew I" 
 
 " In the 'power of a Jew, say est thou ?" responded 
 Israel, " Holy Jacob ! hath then a Jew power, or 
 ought else pertaining unto him in this land which he 
 may verily call his own ? If, therefore, to be in the 
 dwelling of a Jew, who hath saved thee from great 
 peril, and perchance, from death, be sorrow, young 
 gentile, then in truth mayest thou deem that woe is 
 thee." He spake this with a mournful sternness, as 
 if much resenting mine incautious speech ; upon 
 which, not to anger him farther, I made an effort to
 
 68 THE LAST OF THR PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 raise me on my couch, and in more courteous terms 
 demanded of him wherefore he had brought me unto 
 his dwelling. It seemed, nevertheless, as if some bit- 
 terness of soul were still within him, since he replied 
 somewhat hastily, " Aye, I warrant me, thy Christian 
 spirit, young as thou art, deems that a Jew can have 
 no purpose even in saving life, but a foul one. I ques- 
 tion not but in thine eyes, his house is like the den of 
 the ravening wolf; and, verily, it is little better, since, 
 hunted like a wild beast wherever the sun of heaven 
 shineth on him, like the creatures of the desert is he 
 forced by the men of thy nation and faith to hide 
 him in dens and caves of the earth. But beast, or 
 even reptile, as a Jew may seem in thine eyes, me- 
 thinks he might, not without reason, have hoped for 
 some brief respite from scorn, from one whom the 
 hand of his pity hath been stretched out to save." 
 
 As he thus accosted me, his voice became so solemn 
 and mournful, that whilst it filled me with reverence 
 it almost called forth my tears ; and led me to think 
 within myself, whether, notwithstanding all which I 
 had heard, it might not be possible even for a Jew to 
 feel and act with compassion and benevolence. Upon 
 this I answered, that I had not in truth expressed 
 scorn unto him, nor likened him unto either beast or 
 reptile ; but had only questioned as to what might be 
 his intent in bringing me unto his home so far dis- 
 tant, and detaining me there. 
 
 "Now, Moses be gracious unto me !" returned the
 
 THK LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 69 
 
 Rabbi, still with an impatient voice, " I pray thee, 
 youth, to believe, if thou canst, that the doing of 
 good actions even in a Jew, may have other than an 
 evil intent. I brought thee hither, as God shall judge 
 between us, because thou couldest not remove thyself 
 from the fearful dangers of plunder or death which 
 did surround thee on every side ; and here do I 
 keep thee, for that thy wasted strength and drowsy 
 senses admit not of thy departure. And, yet. Father 
 Abraham ! thou most compassionate friend of the 
 wayfarer, — it is for having thus mercifully stepped in 
 between his soul and death, that he deems me no other 
 than a wretch that would imprison or a demon that 
 would destroy !" 
 
 Whilst he thus spake, his grieved spirit again en- 
 kindled wrath and bitterness in his eyes, which struck 
 new terrors into my soul, from recalling his murther- 
 ous aspect when I first beheld him bending over my 
 couch : but in a moment afterwards his fierce looks, 
 as before, had suddenly passed away, and albeit his 
 features were still deeply impressed with sorrow, 
 the characters of rage were there no longer. It was, 
 therefore, with a sad yet more tranquil voice, that he 
 continued, " Woe is me, for I am a sinful man ! I 
 should not thus have given place unto wrath ; nor 
 have forgotten that thou art but an inexperienced 
 youth, who peradventurc hast liad evil tlioughts of 
 our despised and outcast nation poured into thy young
 
 70 THR LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGRNETS. 
 
 mind, the which wisdom and years have not yet re- 
 moved. Therefore have I sinned, in suffering mine 
 anger to be kindled against thee, seeing thou art but 
 of tender age ; yet the spirit which is bowed down 
 with grief, wherein the arrows of affliction do stick 
 fast, is all too easily put from it's patience. How- 
 beit, do thou now partake of this food, which of n 
 truth thy fainting strength must greatly want ; and 
 whiles thou eatest, as thou seemest to have some know- 
 ledge such as older years would not disown, T will 
 relate to thee so much of my past life, as will shew 
 thee the springs of my sorrow and the cause of the 
 bitterness of my souL" 
 
 Encouraged by his words I began to partake of the 
 provisions which he had brought me, at the same time 
 giving earnest heed unto his discourse, for my pity 
 and curiosity were now awakened for the sorrov*'ful 
 old Hebrew's story ; and I moreover repented me of 
 the discourteous manner in which I had spoken unto 
 him. Rabbi Israel upon this seated himself by the 
 side of my couch, and continued his speech unto me 
 after this manner. 
 
 " Peradventure thou mayest have seen or heard it 
 told, from the books of the chronicles of this land, 
 that about an hundred and ninety and five years ago, 
 even in the year 5050, when your First Edward was 
 King over the realm, — that a law was made taking 
 away from our people all 'vantage of lent monies and
 
 THE- LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 71 
 
 pledges, therein called usury,* the which was averred 
 to be to the great evil and disherison of the common- 
 weal, and banishing the Jews out of England. In 
 the twelfth month, even Ab, about the middle there- 
 of, the King gave unto our nation certain passes of 
 safe-conduct, that they might hasten throughout all 
 the land up to London, and there take shipping to go 
 beyond seas ; upon which sixteen thousand five hun- 
 dred and eleven Jews departed from Britain. The 
 grinding laws and Princes under whom they had long 
 lived, had left them but little of their substance to 
 carry hence, but divers of the richest of them em- 
 barked themselves, with all their possessions, on board 
 a tall ship of great burthen. When they had hoisted 
 sail and gotten down the Tliames river, beyond 
 Queenborough, the master of the ship confederated 
 with divers of his mariners to destroy them and get 
 their inheritance ; and to bring it to pass they cast 
 
 * The Statutum de Jwc/aiswo, which took av>'ay usury from the 
 Jews, to whom it had always been before confined,— was pass- 
 ed at a Parliament held after the Feasts of St. Hilary, Jan. 
 13th, and Easter, April 2nd, in the 18th year of the reion of 
 Edward I., 1290 ; which is the Jewish year mentioned above, 
 according to the computation of the Synagojrue, of 'SIGQ 
 years having passed from the Creation to the liirth of Christ. 
 Several of the Monastic Clu-oniclcs state that the Jews were 
 banished by this Act. The King's writs of safe-conduct for 
 their travelling to London were dated in July, answering tu 
 Ab, the twelfth month of the Hebrew vear-
 
 72 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGRNETS. 
 
 anchor, and rode thereat until the barque at ebb-tide 
 lay upon the dry sands. In farther execution of their 
 most wicked plot, the shipmen then moved our hap- 
 less fathers to go forth from the ship and walk witli 
 the master on land, which they did. At last, when 
 he marked that the tide was swiftly coming in, he 
 withdrew himself secretly from them and got back 
 to the ship into the which he was drawn up by a 
 cord, as it had been before plotted; whereupon the 
 Jews, — who, knowing not their danger, had not made 
 such speed, — when they perceived the peril they were 
 in, cried aloud for aid and to be taken on board. How- 
 beit the profane scoffers in the ship mocked them, 
 saying that they ought rather to call upon Moses, who 
 led their fathers through the Red-Sea, and who was 
 well able to deliver them from the raging floods, 
 which within short space arose and swallowed them 
 all !" 
 
 " Blessed Virgin !" exclaimed I, in wondrous hor- 
 ror at this history, " and what became of the mur- 
 therous mariners }" 
 
 " Vengeance suffered them not to live," answered 
 Israel ; " for within brief space after, they were taken 
 by your Judges and put to death. In that most 
 foul destruction, youth, perished many of my tribe 
 and kindred; and in especial the wise and pious 
 Rabbi Ben Ezra, of mine own house and lineage, who 
 was a Teacher of the Law to the Jews of England, 
 and had in great honour and favour by his brethren.
 
 THE LAST OP THK PLANTAGENETS. 73 
 
 SO that they prayed him to go in the same ship with 
 the hapless elders of our persecuted people. His be- 
 loved wife, Rachel, had departed before him in an- 
 other barque with her own kindred ; both because of 
 the great age and weakness of her father, and also for 
 that she was then with child, and so lacked the aid of 
 women. Both of these ships were bound unto the 
 coast of Spain, as divers others were to France ; for 
 in these nations did we hope to find rest from our 
 most bitter persecutions. The first ship got unto her 
 harbour in safety, and Rachel went unto certain of 
 her kindred in Arragon ; where dwelt the wise Rabbi 
 Jonah, who wrote a holy book called the Practice of 
 Piety, at the command of the First James, King of 
 that land. She waited many days anxiously looking 
 for the desire of her eyes, and the other elders of scat- 
 tered Israel, who, alas ! were sleeping beneath the 
 deep waters — and felt that sickness of heart, which 
 the Wise Man saith cometh from hope deferred ; un- 
 til the evil tidings came of their foul murther, upon 
 which she suddenly fell into travail, brought forward 
 a son at an vmtimely birth, — and died ! Her child 
 was cared for by the good Rabbi Jonali, and those of 
 her own people with whom she dwelt ; and by the 
 blessing of the God of Jacob upon him, he prospered 
 in that land, though he was called Ben Cainan, or the 
 son of one that lamenteth. From him I am the fifth 
 in descent, albeit I am called from the place of my 
 sojourning, Israel of Castile, seeing that I abode in
 
 74 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAOENETS. 
 
 that kingdom until some two years since, when a new 
 persecution even more pitiless and cruel than any 
 which have oppressed us in England, drove me again 
 unto these shores, which peradventure the remnant 
 of our nation hath quitted for ever." 
 
 By these words I perceived that Rabbi Israel signi- 
 fied the late settlement of the Holy OfKce of the Inqui- 
 sition in Spain, the fame of which had reached even 
 our remote IMonastery of Ely. It was, as I had heard 
 tell, brought into Castile in the Year of our Lord, 
 1478, by one Thomas Turrecremata, a Dominican, 
 and Prior of the Monastery of the Holy Cross at Se- 
 govia; who, in 1483, was also appointed to be Inqui- 
 sitor-General of the Kingdoms of Castile and Leon, by 
 a Bull from the Holy Father Sixtus IV. All men 
 know that the chief intent of this awful tribunal was 
 to reclaim or put down heretics, but when it was 
 firmly stablished the Jews also were required to be- 
 come Christians, depart the Kingdom, or die at the 
 stake. Four years were given them for making their 
 hapless choice, after which all persons were prohi- 
 bited, under divers rigorous penalties, from aiding or 
 communicating with them ; and albeit they sought to 
 avoid banishment by paying large sums unto King 
 Ferdinand, when the zealous Turrecremata heard 
 thereof, he went rudely before the King and Queen, 
 and demanded that those outcasts of Israel should 
 forthwitli be expulsed the land ; adding, withal, that 
 it was a Jndas-like act to ])ermit of their stay for
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLAXTAGENKTS. /5 
 
 money. The I'ule of the Holy Office soon spread so 
 widely over the land, that 2,000 heretics were burned, 
 17jOOO became penitents, and a large number fled into 
 divers other nations; though when the whole Jewish 
 people was banished, 170,000 families of 400,000 ])er- 
 sons departed from Spain, none of whom might return 
 again upon pain of confiscation or death. 
 
 And here I may fitly remember and set down what 
 farther persecutions have since followed these hapless 
 Hebrews, albeit the story belongeth unto a later time 
 than that of which I do now write ; for when they 
 were expulsed from Spain in 1492, only a few re- 
 maining who were sold for slaves, they turned them 
 unto Portugal, wherein King John II. did permit them 
 to live for a brief and appointed space, so that each 
 Jew paid unto him eight pieces of gold. It was, as 
 I think, in 1496 when they promised to depart his 
 kingdom, but the foul extortion and evil usage which 
 they met from the mariners of those ships wherein 
 they would have embarked, did so affright them, that 
 they deemed it a lesser misfortune to encounter the 
 penalty of over-staying their time, to getting into the 
 hands of such ill-minded men. Thus Avere they again 
 brouglit into captivity, so that it was no strange thing 
 for anyone wanting a Jewish servant, to desire liim of 
 the King whose bondsmen they were. Howbeit, 
 when Emanuel came unto the crown he restored their 
 liberty, until lie was counselled by Ferdinand and 
 Isabella of Castile not to suffer their lonffer abode in
 
 70 TIIR LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Portugal, since they were naturally hated both by 
 God and man: in 1497 he therefore put forth an 
 edict that they, and all Moors, should depart by a 
 certain day, or again become slaves. The Moors forth- 
 with went into Africa, but as the Hebrews were 
 making ready to do the like, the King commanded all 
 their children under fourteen years to be forcibly rent 
 from them, and taught the Faith of Christendom. 
 And it was, as I have been certified by one who saw 
 it, a most woeful sight to behold those children torn, 
 even in the streets, from their lamenting fathers and 
 weeping mothers, who were sometimes beaten with 
 clubs ere they could be constrained to part with them. 
 But now to return again unto the Rabbi Israel's 
 history : he told me that after the Inqiiisition had 
 begun persecuting the Jews of Castile, they kept 
 themselves more secret, and met for prayers and the 
 services of their Law, at night in the chamber of a 
 decayed house in a remote part of the City of Madrid. 
 They were not, however, unmistrusted, for one 
 Hojeda, a spy, having concealed him in the chamber, 
 beheld certain of their devotions and denounced them 
 unto the cruel Inquisitor-General. The whole of that 
 little synagogue. Rabbi Israel, his wife, and son, 
 being of the number, were therefore put into chains 
 and loathsome prisons ; and after long remaining 
 there, they were tortured, despoiled of their goods, 
 and banished the land, whilst others of their brethren 
 were condemned to the flames.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAtrENETS. 77 
 
 " In Castile," continued the Jew, " I had been wont 
 to deal in the precious stones of Afrike, and having 
 hidden certain of the choicest thereof in the lining of 
 my gaberdine, I travelled hither with a Poland mer- 
 chant who had licence to bring over a fair ruby for 
 sale, so that he first shewed it vmto the King and 
 Queen. With one of my gems I made me an advo- 
 cate in Mistress Shore, King Edward's concubine, 
 for in her days of power she would speak for men in 
 their suits unto his Grace, and that sometimes for 
 small reward, or none at all ; either for that she was 
 content with her mediation itself, when it prospered, 
 or for that she delighted to be sued vmto, and shew 
 what she might procure from the King. Howbeit, 
 by her favour, because I was of Spain and well seen 
 in the traffic of that nation, it pleased the King to set 
 me over the customs of divers merchandises sent 
 thither or brought thence. And thus for a short while 
 I prospered, and deemed that my mountain stood 
 strong ; but upon her late overthrow after King 
 Edward's death, I also was despoiled, and put forth 
 from mine office with contumely, and fled for my 
 life to certain of my brethren who secretly abide in 
 this place. I had not been here a year, when a far 
 deeper wound was made upon mine afflicted soul ; 
 for a little before the next Passover, in the time which 
 you call Lent, when the Gentiles were ever wont to 
 ])ersecute our hapless tribe witli blows and curses, the 
 brutal rabble fell upon mine only son, my Benoni,
 
 78 THK LAST OK TICK PLAN TAGENETS. 
 
 and stoned him as if he had been a heathen or a blas- 
 phemer! Oh, Thou Rock of Ages ! never can I cease to 
 sorrow over him, since a fairer and purer being 
 breathed not in all the race of the Faithful ! and 
 though many days have passed since that most cruel 
 slaughter was committed even before the eyes of his 
 father, the remembrance of that horrid season remains 
 within this wretched breast, as freshly depicted as 
 though it were but of the age of yesterday." 
 
 A deep and frequent sobbing at this most sorrow- 
 ful part of the Jew's history, caused him to note that 
 the compassionate female who had so calmed his 
 hatred towards me, — had, unmarked, entered the 
 chamber, and seemed heavily afflicted at the sad re- 
 membrances now brought unto her mind. Where- 
 upon he arose to comfort her, and tenderly laying his 
 hand upon her arm, said unto her, albeit his voice 
 faltered with sorrow, " Weep not, my beloved Naomi, 
 weep not, mine aged and faithful spouse, our boy 
 now sleepeth sweetly and hath for ever escaped from 
 the Aveapons of his persecutors, even as the bird 
 flieth out of the net of the fowler. Bethink thee, 
 that the holy God who redeemed Israel from the 
 land of IVIizraim, hath also taken him into Paradise 
 from this most evil world, being a soul sealed by 
 Jehovah unto the everlasting Covenant of Abra- 
 ham. Yea, he hath now gone where the arm of 
 the oppressor is powerless, and the tongue of the 
 scorner is mute ; for there, as the lioly man of Uz
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAG£NKTS. 79 
 
 said of old, the wicked cease from troubling and the 
 weary are at rest. Weep not, then, my Naomi, I 
 pray thee, sorrow is not for the happy soul, and thou 
 knowest that the memory of the just is blessed." 
 
 " Thou wilt not now marvel," continued he, after a 
 brief pause, again turning his discourse unto me, 
 "that the image of our child, despitefully treated 
 wounded, and bleeding, is ever present unto our 
 thoughts, and that the remembrance of his sufferings 
 should sometimes call forth upon the Gentiles, the 
 bitterness of his father's curse ; at which seasons the 
 voice of the Evil One woidd often Avhisper me to 
 avenge his blood. Howbeit, I thank the God of 
 Bethel, that his temptations have as yet been only 
 like foul visions, which fly before the beams of the 
 morning, and as grass upon the house-tops, which 
 withereth before it groweth up ; even so my unholy 
 thoughts have been cut off" ere they sprang up into 
 open sins against His Law. 
 
 " But enough of mine own story and sorrows, let 
 us now turn to thine. As I told thee, about noon this 
 day when I passed over the plain near Bosworth, 
 after the overthrow of the host of King Richard,— a 
 name which is held accursed for ever by the chil- 
 dren of Israel,*— it was my lot there to find thee. 
 
 " The reader will readily perceive that this execration re- 
 fers lo the memorable massacre of the Jews, under Richard I., 
 which commenced at his Coronation-feast in Westminster-hall, 
 on Sunday, September 3rd, 1 1«!>, and was afterwards carried on
 
 HO THE LAST or THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 lying like one of the dead; and because I saw that 
 thine age was that of my slaughtered son, I marked 
 thee more earnestly, and methought thy features had 
 a strong semblance to his. Whilst I thus gazed I 
 beheld thee move, which shewed that the lamp of 
 thy life was yet burning, however dimly, and as I 
 mused within myself whether thou wert strong 
 enough to be borne imto a leech, a motion of more 
 power caused me to deem that the ministrations of 
 Naomi, whose skill in the healing art is not small, 
 might speedily restore thy fainting life. I then laid 
 thee upon mine own mule and brought thee hither ; 
 and if by the coming morrow thou shalt find thy 
 limbs strong enough to bear thee hence, thou art at 
 once free to return unto thy kindred, who, if I judge 
 aright from that costly gem upon thine hand, are of 
 high blood and power, notwithstanding the coarse- 
 ness of thy raiment." 
 
 The hapless Hebrew's narrative and his passing 
 great humanity, touched me alike with pity and in- 
 ward shame, in that I had formed such evil thoughts 
 of ray deliverer ; and therefore to do him what re- 
 paration I might, I silently offered up for him such 
 prayers as the Holy Church hath appointed to be 
 made for Jews and heretics in the Office for Good 
 
 in many country towns, though the most sanguinary scene 
 took i)lacc at York. The fullest account of these events is 
 in the History of Walter tie Heniingford.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 81 
 
 Friday ; and also desired of him to forgive the hasty 
 speech which had been called forth by my fears. 
 
 " Of that no more," replied he; " we are all open to 
 the Tempter, and our spirits do often too easily yield 
 them to the circumstances of our condition. Go, then, 
 in peace unto thy friends, whenever thou shalt be so 
 minded ; and if they be, as I deem, of the great of 
 this land, forget not, shouldest thou ever behold a 
 new persecution kindled against our hapless race, to 
 aid and protect them as God shall give thee power : 
 since but for a Hebrew's pity and succour, thou 
 wouldest, thyself, ere this, have been in the darkness 
 and the dust of death." 
 
 I pledged me not to forget his compassion, but 
 my tears now began to flow forth, for that I remem- 
 bered with great sorrow, the defeat of all my hopes 
 by the death of King Richard ; and that I was now 
 friendless and alone in an evil world, and far distant 
 from the quiet cloisters of Ely IMonastery, in which 
 until this time I had found a home. My grief was 
 not unmarked by Israel of Castile, though he deemed 
 not truly whence it spi-ang ; for thinking it might 
 arise from his former fierceness of speech and action, 
 he fortliAvith again assayed to calm my sorrows. He 
 kindly grasped my hand, and bade me prepare joyfully 
 to depart on the morrow, but as I still seemed like one 
 who had little desire for journeying, he deemed that 
 I felt me too weak, and thereupon told me that if it 
 were so, I should tarry with him until my wounds 
 
 G
 
 82 THK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENEXS. 
 
 Avere healed and my strength returned again. He 
 farther added, that if I would name my kindred, he 
 would seek them out, and carry to them tidings of 
 what had chanced, that they might not vainly sorrow 
 for their son. Howbeit, as my tears continued to 
 flow even faster than before, the aged Hebrew seemed 
 much to marvel that his speech did not comfort my 
 spirit, and thereupon demanded of me wherefore I 
 still wept ; desiring that I would plainly tell him the 
 cause of my griefs. At length, being won by his com- 
 passionate discourse, I told him that in very truth I 
 had no friends then remaining to whom I might go, 
 since my best and dearest had fallen in that day's 
 battle, which would prove unto me the loss of all 
 worldly hope ; and that when I should go forth from 
 his dwelling, I knew not whither to direct my steps, 
 nor how to provide for my future life. 
 
 'Alas ! poor youth," said the Rabbi, who seemed 
 greatly to pity mine unprotected state, " well said the 
 royal Psalmist that we are strangers and sojourners, 
 as all our fathers were. But, fear thou not," added he, 
 after musing for a short space, " dry up thy tears, and 
 hope for more prosperous days ; for though weeping 
 may endure for a night, yet, saith the holy David, joy 
 Cometh in the morning. If, therefore, thou wilt con- 
 sent to lodge with a poor despised Jew, thou shalt 
 be unto me in place of him whom I have lost, to eat 
 of my bread and drink of my cup, until thou mayest 
 discover thine own kindred ; for the great Lawgiver
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENE TS. 83 
 
 of Israel hath written ' The stranger, and the father- 
 less, and the widow, which are within thy gates, shall 
 come, and shall eat, and be satisfied ; that the Lord thy 
 God may bless thee in all the work of thine hand, 
 which thou doest.' " 
 
 Thus did I find the hospitable spirit which marked 
 the wealthy Hebrews of old, shine forth in two of 
 their most oppressed descendants ; for the compas- 
 sionate and pious Naomi joyfully consented to Israel's 
 charitable purposes, and moreover promised that 
 whiles I continued in their dwelling, she would watch 
 over my welfare as though 1 had been indeed their 
 son. And all this was in truth duly performed : by 
 her care my hurts wei-e speedily healed, and as my 
 strength came back again, I began to grow taller and 
 more vigorous ; whilst the softening hand of Time 
 gradually closed up the deeper wounds of my soul. 
 
 In setting forth this part of my life, I have but 
 little to note touching myself, albeit I may speak 
 somewhat concerning the friendly Hebrews. Their 
 household orderings and furniture seemed of small 
 worth, though peradventure this might be that their 
 wealth might not call forth the persecution of such 
 as were ever ready to misuse and despoil those of their 
 faith : but unto me they were ever bountiful of all 
 things, without aught of covetousness ; and I would 
 fain believe, that for mine own part, I had nought of 
 ingratitude. The aged Hebrew never once intimated 
 unto me that my maintenance put him to charges
 
 84 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 ■which gave him either concern or trouble; albeit in 
 matters not alike costly, he would shew no little im- 
 patience because of their burthen. I sometimes, 
 though vainly, sought to press upon him part of the 
 gold given unto me by King Richard ; for he ever 
 refused it, and even repressed the thanks which I 
 would oft essay to pour out unto him with all the 
 warmth and earnestness of youth. 
 
 Nor did I only receive food and shelter from the 
 good Jew, but such instruction as he could, he poured 
 into my mind ; and he was held with his own nation 
 to be a Rabbi of great wisdom. lie taught me the 
 sacred language, and gave me divers choice lessons 
 for a wise and virtuous life, taken from those ancient 
 Hebrew Fathers, who writ the noted books of the 
 Talmud, the Mishnah, the Gemara, and the like ; 
 shewing me the true interpretation of their wondrous 
 histories and dark sayings, which the enemies of the 
 Jews have perverted both from ignorance and from 
 malice. 
 
 " My son," said he unto me, when I was once of- 
 fering unto him my thanks for his unwearied and 
 continued goodness, "that which I have now done for 
 thee, shall peradventure be blessed unto me hereafter; 
 even as the life and good deeds of the righteous shall 
 be blessed unto them for ever : the which Me are 
 told by our fathers, in a certain ancient parable re- 
 lated by them for the instruction of their children, 
 and called
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 85 
 
 The Journey of Hillel. 
 
 " Rabbi Hillel, of whom thou mayest not have 
 heard, albeit his fame in Israel shall last for ever,— 
 was a wise and holy teacher of our nation in the days 
 of Herod, ill-named the Great. He had always led a 
 pure and virtuous life, resisting many allurements unto 
 evil, though they seemed to lead to wealth and 
 power; and especially did he quell all impatience 
 and wrath, though he was often tempted to anger or 
 hatred. At length it came to pass, that the blessed 
 Rabbi, in a certain journey, drew nigh unto a deep 
 and black river over which he must go ; on the banks 
 whereof he beheld a rich and mighty King at the 
 head of a conquering army, Avith many beauteous 
 women, imprisoned soldiers being led away to death, 
 and exceeding great treasure. Rabbi Hillel then 
 looked behind him, and saw that the road along 
 which they had passed was broad, winding, and full 
 of briers, over fearful rocks, and through dark fo- 
 rests ; whilst that which he had trodden was a nar- 
 row straight line, through green meadows and groves, 
 which looked the fairer for being seen from that dis- 
 tant spot. He next turned him unto the waters and 
 said, ' Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the 
 Universe ! who bringest the sun to his setting, and 
 the traveller unto the end of his journey ;' and there- 
 with laying his mantle on the river, he seated himself
 
 86 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 upon it, wrapped it around him, and so went safely 
 over. The King and his host were left wondering 
 on the shore, for they had no ships ; and anon the 
 waters rose mightily upon them, so that they were 
 all cai'ried down the stream and destroyed !" 
 
 "And now, my son," continued Israel, as he made 
 an end of his story, " mark well the secret meaning 
 of these words of the ancient wise. The river was 
 death ; the two roads along which the Rabbi looked, 
 were a good and evil life, which shew in their truest 
 form when we are about to quit this world ; and the 
 mantle which safely and happily bore him over the 
 waters, was his charity and good works, that covered 
 him like a robe when his soul was unclothed of it's 
 fleshly tabernacle. They pleaded for him with Hea- 
 ven in that hour, when, — like the evil king and his 
 host, — the rich lose their gold and possessions, the 
 wise man forgets his cunning, the worm feedeth on 
 the cheek of beauty, the sword falls from the hand 
 of the conqueror, and even crowns and sceptres, in the 
 eyes of a dying monarch, become less than nothing 
 and vanity !" 
 
 Such, then, I say, were the Hebrew's counsels and 
 conversation ; but I may not forget to note, that 
 whilst I was his guest, he never letted me in the de- 
 votions of my Faith, nor pressed upon me those of 
 his own, albeit I have oftentimes witnessed his 
 piety and his prayers. His oratory was a small upper 
 chamber, looking to the East, and in part decayed.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 87 
 
 to keep in his mind the destruction of the Holy City, 
 which the dwelling of every Jew must in some man- 
 ner declare ; in record whereof there was written in 
 Hebrew upon the ruined wall, " The Memorial of 
 Desolation/' with that verse from the saddest of all 
 the Psalms, " If I forget thee, O Jerusalem ! may my 
 right hand forget her cunning!" But the remem- 
 brance of that once-blessed spot, was unto Israel and 
 Naomi not without a touch of joy, from the thought 
 that at the consummation of all things, the children of 
 Abraham shall return to it again in triumph ; and it 
 sometimes formed the matter of those ancient sonsrs, 
 with which the good Jewess was wont to cheer me 
 when my spirit was desponding. She chaunted them 
 to the sounds of a psaltery of ivory inlaid with gold, 
 having some ten or twelve strings, wherewith she 
 made marvellous pleasant music ; and of these lays, 
 which she also taught unto me, here followeth one, 
 which I have essayed to put into the tongue and 
 metre of our own nation. 
 
 A Hebrew Melody. 
 
 " Thine heart is sad, thine heart is sad, 
 And thoughts of sorrow vex thy soul ; 
 
 But Judah's God can make thee glad 
 
 And burst the clouds that round thee roll : 
 Thy broken spirit shall be whole, 
 
 And light and joy arise on thee, 
 
 To end thy dark captivity.
 
 H8 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 For all things own His wondrous sway 
 In heaven, or earth, or ocean wide ; 
 
 And sun and shower, and night and day. 
 Praise Him as their almighty guide : 
 E'en the cold grave in vain would hide 
 
 Our sins and sorrows from His sight 
 
 AVhose arm is rower,~whose eye is Light ! 
 
 The sun-blight, and the sickening moon. 
 And hurtful demons He shall chase ; 
 
 Then, fear not, since the Lord shall soon 
 Awake thy tongue to gladsome lays ; 
 Tuning thine heart unto His praise, 
 
 And fi-om His treasured blessings shed 
 
 A double portion on thy head. 
 
 Soon shall the wintry storms be o'er. 
 And all the floods and rains be past ; 
 
 The vines shall blush with grapes once more, 
 And flowers upon the earth be cast : 
 And for the sad and howling blast, 
 
 Our land shall hear the turtle's voice 
 
 And the glad time when birds rejoice. 
 
 Yes, He hath said the day shall come 
 When Zion shall in glory reign, 
 
 When shouting to their beauteous home 
 Her scattered tribes shall march again ; 
 When, from the mountain to the plain. 
 
 Shall Salem's banner be unfurled. 
 
 And David's sceptre — rule the world !"
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOURS OF IDLENESS AND SORROW. 
 
 To me is barr'J the door of joy and ease. 
 There stand I as an Orphan, lone, forlorn. 
 And nothing boots me that I trequent knock. 
 I Strange, that on every hand the shower should fall. 
 
 And not one cheering drop should reach to me ! 
 
 Walter Vooelwetde, the Mixnesinoer. 
 
 I am treating you as a Roman gentleman did St. Augustine and his mo- 
 ther ; I shall entertain you in a Charnel-house : — the sight that St. Augustine 
 most noted in that house of sorrow, was the body of Caesar, clothed with all 
 the dishonours of corruption, that you can suppose in a six-months' burial. 
 
 Jeremy Taylor's Rule of Holv Dying. 
 
 My wonted strength had now been for some time 
 perfectly restored, yet made I no attempt to quit the 
 dwelling of the christian Hebrew who had so long 
 protected me ; albeit my spirit would oftentimes re- 
 volt at the remembrance, that the true son and heir 
 of Richard Plantagenet was dependent for food and 
 shelter upon the alms of a stranger Jew. Even the 
 very feeling of his kindness became thus grievous.
 
 90 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 yet I knew not how to alter or amend my condition, 
 if I quitted the home which he had so freely accord- 
 ed unto me ; and whilst I thus lingered in uncertain 
 perplexities, the ever-spread wings of Time had still 
 continued on their steady flight, IMonth after month 
 arrived and fled away, the seasons came on in their 
 order and changed at their appointed hours ; and it 
 seemed as if I only remained unaltered and una- 
 mended, save in age and stature, the same weak, 
 wavering, and melancholy being, which I was some 
 twelvemonth before in the cloisters of Ely. Nor was 
 I altogether free from fear as to the safety of my pre- 
 sent abode, since, from my long dwelling with Israel 
 of Castile, I had sometimes heard myself scornfully 
 named as the Jew's off'spring ; and the cruel fate of 
 his real son, whom I somewhat resembled, was not 
 forgotten either by myself or in the town of Leices- 
 ter ; for there were dark and hostile menaces abroad, 
 of farther vengeance upon the fugitive Jews who se- 
 cretly lived there : and whom the baser and fiercer 
 sort had resolved to root out, as a race of beings ac- 
 cursed by God, and therefore to be abhorred by man, 
 I had, also, some fears for Israel, since there were 
 not wanting those, who, rightly deeming me to be 
 a Christian, avouched that the Hebrew detained me 
 in his dwelling for some cruel or evil purpose ; so 
 that it seemed unto me but all too likely, that his 
 very charity might at length lead unto his destruc- 
 tion.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 91 
 
 The sadness of these thoughts, and the gloomy in- 
 certitude which overclouded my future life, tended 
 to make me altogether unlike the youth of my own 
 age, with whom I sometimes consorted in the disports 
 natural to our years ; such as drawing the bow, leap- 
 ing and running, tossing the quoit and bar, and cer- 
 tain other games wherein I engaged, both to avoid 
 sloth and strengthen my body. Yet had I but few 
 seasons for social pastime, and of those few I disre- 
 garded some ; for when the spirit is not meet for 
 mirth, it will profit us but little to seek for lusty and 
 joyous sports ; therefore at such seasons me listed 
 ratlier to encounter some grave person at Tables, or 
 the Nine Mens' IMorris ; or that the Hebrew should 
 instruct me in the wise and princely play of the 
 Chess, which men say was brought from Chaldea, or 
 the obscure and thoughtful Philosopher's Game. I 
 also loved greatly to see the sacred Mysteries taken 
 from the Holy Scriptures, or the pleasant Moralities, 
 which were played at Leicester, at the great Feasts 
 of the Church, by certain cunning clerks and reli- 
 gious men, upon high stages richly adorned with 
 wondrous art and rare scenes ; wherein you might, 
 as it were, behold the very histories of the blessed 
 book, or the foulness of vice and the excellency of 
 piety, depicted unto the life in most choice counter- 
 feit and action. But most specially did I delight in 
 the solitary and thoughtful art of fishing with an an- 
 gle, in the Soar River, beneath the walls of Leicester
 
 92 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 Abbey ; which seemed the more meet unto me, be- 
 cause it was a disport permitted unto churchmen, to 
 whom the pastimes of hunting and hawking were al- 
 together forbidden. And in the pursuit of this most 
 gentle art, I have since read, with much care, the 
 little tome, which Dame Juliana Berners, the wise 
 Prioress of Sopewell Abbey, near St. Alban's, did 
 put forth of Hawking, Hunting, Fishing, arid the Bla- 
 zing of Coat- Armours.* Of the which I have ever 
 found her pleasant words to be most true, in that she 
 saith, the Angler hath his wholesome walk and merry 
 at his ease, enjoying the sweet savour of the mead- 
 flowers, hearing the melodious harmony of fowls, and 
 seeing the young swans and other water-birds, with 
 their broods ; the which in sooth seemed unto me 
 better than all the noise of hounds, blasts of horns, 
 and scrye of fowls, that hunters, falconers, or fowlers, 
 could ever devise. I loved this pastime, also, because, 
 as she well noteth, whiles it is a solace unto the body, 
 it is healthful to the soul ; seeing that it is best pur- 
 sued in loneliness, when we may serve God duly with 
 our accustomed prayers, and so eschew and avoid 
 many vices. Such, then, being my wonted disports, 
 in the games of the rude and vulgar of my young 
 
 " The Book of St. Alban's, which contained the treatises 
 mentioned above, was originally printed in 1486 ; but the 
 tract on Angling was not inserted until 1496, in the edition 
 j)ublished by Wynkyn de Worde.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETa. 93 
 
 days, such as " Hand-in-and-hand-out," " White and 
 Black," " Making and Marring," " Muzzle the Pig," 
 and divers others, — I had but little skill and less 
 liking. And not seldom laying aside my pastimes al- 
 together, it hath more contented me to walk in the 
 quiet and solitary church-yard ; where it much 
 soothed my spirit to know that they who were once 
 as restless and anxious as I then was, were laid at rest 
 serenely and for ever : and I read also upon the tombs 
 of the departed, that whether the evils which beset 
 this life be small or great, brief must ever be the 
 time of their duration. 
 
 But of all those solemn scenes, I did chiefly take 
 a mournful delight in going unto the Monastery of 
 the Grey-Friars, now overthrown, but which once 
 stood near St. Mary's Gate in the south wall of Lei- 
 cester. A long square of buildings girdled in a Viri- 
 darium, or garden, containing a fair green sward, 
 planted with wholesome herbs, trees, and flowers ; 
 wherein the Franciscan brethren were wont to delve 
 for two hours after Prime, and the sick walked to get 
 health from the pure air and the smell of the fresh 
 plants. Howbeit, though I sometimes lingered in 
 that fair spot, I went most unto the Church of the 
 Monastery, there to muse over the low and dishonour- 
 able grave, wherein had been laid all that was mortal 
 of my brave and royal father. By the side of his 
 narrow sepulchre, I would oft recall with uuicJi 
 sorrow, my first and last memorable interview witli
 
 94 THE r.AST OF THE PLANTAOENETS. 
 
 him ; when his dark and histrous eyes, now closed for 
 ever, were turned upon me with wondrous gen- 
 tleness and affection, albeit they flashed upon the 
 enemy with a soldier's dreadful glances. I thought 
 upon the amaze with which I had looked upon the 
 brightness of his array, when he was making him 
 ready for the fight, and then came the remembrance 
 that his brave arm, which swept away all before it, 
 was now held down by the cold grasp of the mightiest 
 of conquerors ; whiles his stout and regal harness 
 was exchanged for a coarse winding-sheet, and a 
 narrow coffin of stone. Then, also, with such sorrow 
 as no wit of mine can ever truly pourtray, I bethought 
 me of him in the battle, when I saw him encompassed 
 by a host of timorous foes, struggling like a lion in 
 the toils, and yielding only in death, after the most 
 noble efforts at victory and vengeance. Nor could I 
 then forget what had of late been told unto me, of the 
 contumely which, as I have afore said, was cast upon 
 his corse by the haughty victor, who could find an 
 unworthy joy in his base and unhallowed revenge, 
 although the most dishonour recoiled upon his own 
 head. I say, therefore, that when I remembered me 
 of all this, I was sad, very sad ; 3'et, as the good Sir 
 Launcelot Du Lake said of old touching the valiant 
 and famous King Arthur, " I trust that herein I did 
 not displease God, for he knew well mine intent, that 
 my sorrow was not for sin, but because I deemed it 
 might never have an end. For when I remembered
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 95 
 
 and called to mind the excellence, bounty, and noble- 
 ness, that were with the King ; and also when I saw 
 the corse of tliat stately King so lie in that cold grave 
 made of earth, that sometime was so highly set in 
 most honourable place, truly mine heart would not 
 serve to sustain my wretched and careful body." 
 
 Thus full of sorrow did I oft-times muse around his 
 resting-place about the close of day, and even after, if 
 the good Porter or Sacristan of the Franciscan Monas- 
 tery did not bid me forth for an idle youth, who 
 vainly loitered away his hours in that place. For as 
 I lingered there, I did secretly wish that since it had 
 been denied unto King Richard to remain with me in 
 life, it might ere long be given unto me to join him 
 again in death ; till when I found a mournful joy in 
 being near his sepulchre. It fell upon a certain even- 
 tide, some twelve months or more after my arrival at 
 Leicester, when I was thus musing and silently weep- 
 ing, and intreating of Heaven to bestow upon me the 
 desire of my heart, — that a Stranger accosted me, and 
 with no uncourteous greeting demanded why I tarried 
 in the Church so late. To this I replied, that " I 
 loved to pause in a place so holy and solemn ; and to 
 think, that as some of those who rested there had per- 
 adventure once lived in sorrow, even so the spirits 
 which were then afflicted, should, at the last, find an 
 unbroken quiet in the tomb." 
 
 " Gramercy for thy homily, young clerk," ex- 
 claimed he who had addressed me, "for thou must
 
 96 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 be either priest or philosopher to talk me thus wisely 
 with such green years as thine seem to be. But I 
 trow, boy, that thou hast learned the starling's art 
 thus early ; and only repeatest that which some holy 
 father hath spoken in thine hearing." 
 
 I then answered him that I had no such mimicry, 
 and that what I had uttered, such as it might be, 
 was in very truth my own. 
 
 "Nay, stripling," responded he, "jape not with 
 me, nor take my words in dudgeon, it is enow that 
 thou sayest over thy lesson rightly ; since to look for 
 more, or that thou shouldest feel thus, were indeed 
 but stark unreason." 
 
 " It skills not unto thee," answered I, somewhat 
 angered at the Stranger's words, " whether I do in- 
 deed feel thus, or not ; and yet, peradventure, if my 
 cause of woe were known, he who now replies unto 
 my sorrows with a jest, might pity, if not befriend 
 me." Holding it to be at the least irreverent for me 
 to dispute longer in that holy pile over my father's 
 tomb, I turned me to depart without looking upon 
 the Stranger ; for as he was standing in the deepest 
 shadow of the chancel, it would have been wonderful 
 had I noted his features. But upon my visage fell 
 the little light that now gleamed through the great 
 Eastern window, before which I had been directly 
 standing ; so that as I turned, the unknown person 
 caught me by the arm, and said "Nay, hold thee 
 awhile, my forward youth, methinks this is not the
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 97 
 
 first time thou and I have been in this town together. 
 Thy face seems well known to me, and not less thy 
 passing ready speech:" — then, after looking at me 
 more closely, he exclaimed, "by St. Mary of Leices- 
 ter ! it is as I thought, and thy being upon this spot 
 doth confirm it :" to which he added, again accosting 
 me, " when thou wert a much smaller intip than thou 
 art now, I deem that it was more than once my task 
 to take thee from the school of Ely Monastery to a 
 certain stately palace in London. Howbeit, if I guess 
 aright, thou wilt better know that, little more than a 
 year past, I carried thee to one whom thou never 
 canst forget, although thou wilt never look upon him 
 again. That thou art the same stripling, truly I can- 
 not doubt, albeit thou art now taller in stature and 
 stouter in limb; but since I find thee here by the 
 mouldei-ing bones of him to whom I conveyed thee, I 
 
 will call thee " and here he lowered his voice 
 
 almost to a whisper, — ''Richard Plantagenet !" 
 
 At these words I sprang towards the Stranger, at 
 once remembering his brief and bold speech, and 
 marking somewhat of the visage of the noble Knight, 
 who guided me unto the pavilion of King Richard on 
 tlie eve of his last fatal battle. Upon this I demanded 
 of him if he were not Sir Gilbert Ue JMountford, to 
 which he replied that such was indeed his name ; but 
 adding that the place wherein we stood was all unfit- 
 ting for the conference he would fiiin have with me, 
 we quitted the Church of the Grey-Friars together. 
 
 H
 
 CHArTER VII. 
 
 A LEGEND OF LEICESTER, AN ASSAULT ON THE JEWS, 
 AND THE PICTURE OF A CASTELLAN IN THE 
 FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Her haggard face was foul to see, 
 Her mouth unmeet a mouth to be, 
 
 Her eyne of deadly leer ; 
 She nought devised but neighbours ill. 
 She wreak'd on all her wayward will, 
 
 And marr'd all goodly cheer. 
 
 Harrington's Witch op Wokey. 
 
 The rumour quickly spreading itself into the City, the populace, believing 
 they should do the King a pleasure, immediately broke open the Jews' houses, 
 and murdered every one they could meet with ; not confining their rage to 
 their persons, but destroying likewise their habitations with fire. Happy were 
 they who could find a true friend to shelter them. 
 
 Tovey's Anglia Judiaca. 
 
 It may well be supposed by the future reader of this 
 my story, that I was indeed right glad again to en- 
 counter my former guardian, unto whom all England 
 gave the praise of a brave soldier and most worthy 
 Knight ; though I did chiefly honour him because I 
 deemed him a relique of King Richard, who had ere-
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENKTS. 99 
 
 while held him in great trust and favour. As we 
 went out of the iNIonastery, I learned that he was now 
 Constable, or Castellan, of Leicester Castle ; unto 
 which he courteously invited me to go with him, that 
 we might for awhile discourse together at more free- 
 dom, whereto I consented with little persuasion. 
 
 Forth, then, we went, and after passing along the 
 Roman wall of the Town, by St. IMary's Gate and 
 Church, I noted, with some marvel, that instead of 
 going directly unto the Castle, my guide silently led 
 me round it on the South side, approaching the banks 
 of the Old Soar river ; wherein were shining the 
 bright visage of a full moon, and hosts of little stars 
 like golden lamps in the night-skies. We now drew 
 nigh the dwelling of the Austin-Friars, and that 
 wondrous Bridge called " the Bow ;" because, like 
 one that is bent for shooting, it stretches across the 
 flood with a broad and single arch. We forthwith 
 ascended it's high and steep passage, which hath but 
 a short defensive wall to guard the traveller who cros- 
 ses it ; and never shall I forget that as we walked over 
 it, the Knight suddenly paused, and willed me to look 
 earnestly upon one of it's rude and broken stones, 
 bearing divers dark stains, which stood there on one 
 side, and might be somewhat higher than a man's 
 knee. 
 
 " To behold that fatal stone," said Sir Gilbert, "have 
 I brought thee first unto this place; view it well, and 
 mark what I am about to relate unto thee. Over this
 
 100 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGKNET9. 
 
 Bridge rode King Richard, high of heart and stout of 
 stomach, what time he followed his army unto his last 
 encampment at Stapleton, whence he never returned 
 with life. As he drew near to this stone, a woman, 
 lolty as the tallest spearman in our host, of wild 
 swarthy visage, with black hair lianging in unkembed 
 elf-locks, and red tattered garments, suddenly started 
 up before him, and demanded of him a gold Angel, 
 that she might bless his march to battle. Whereupon the 
 King, ill brooking that delay, seeing that his soul was 
 enwrapped in the coming fight and flushed with the 
 hope of victory, hastily commanded her from his path; 
 but in urging forward his plunging charger, his spur 
 struck so violently upon that stone, that sparks flashed 
 from it, as the gilded steel smote against it. Of this, 
 however, I, who followed behind, took little note, but 
 the Witch-woman, — for such I verily deem her to 
 have been, — then uttered a wild cry of laughter, and 
 said in a voice of mockery, ' Ride on. Sir King ! thou 
 goest forth with a full brave train, but thou wilt re- 
 turn with a greater ; and so an thou wilt not buy my 
 blessing, thou shalt bear my ban free of cost ! Ride 
 on. Sir King ! the foot hath but stricken to-day, what 
 the head shall dash against to-morrow ! for as surely 
 as ever the fire flashed betwixt thy spur and that 
 stone, so surely shall thy blood flow over it when 
 thou next smitest it, and many here shall behold it ! 
 Ride on, Sir King ! thy coin is now little to me, but 
 less unto thyself: Ride on. Sir King ! we have met, —
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 101 
 
 and we have parted !' and with these words she has- 
 tily strode over the Bridge, and eftsoons disappeared !"' 
 
 "It was not my fortune," continued Sir Gilbert, 
 "to witness the fulfilment of this prophesy, which I 
 soon forgot in the thousand hasty acts of making rea- 
 dy for battle ; but when some days had fled after the 
 fatal conflict, as I again crossed this Bridge at more 
 leisure, I marked the same stone then all stained with 
 blood, whilst a gaping crowd, which was still loiter- 
 ing round it, affirmed that it had been so marred by 
 the head of King Richard dashing against it, as in 
 foul array his corse was brought back to Leicester. 
 Then remembered I what the Witch-woman had said; 
 and for the truth of what those rude artisans had re- 
 ported to me, both Sir Rice Ap Thomas and Sir John 
 Imberville did afterward most solemnly avouch !" 
 
 We now left that fatal spot and returned unto 
 Leicester Castle, where Sir Gilbert De Mountford 
 dwelled in those fair and spacious lodgings, erected 
 by the stout John of Gaunt on the North-west side 
 of the fortress, next unto St. IMary's Church. Here 
 we retired into a chamber beyond the hail, wainscoted 
 with oak, strewed with rushes, hung with tapestry, 
 and lighted by a brazen cresset which was pendent 
 from the roof; and whilst the Castellan regaled me with 
 a cup of Rochelle wine and a salver of simnel-cakes, 
 we discoursed more at large concerning King Rich- 
 ard, of whose history he told me divers memorable 
 passages, I also briefly recounted unto the Knight
 
 102 THE LAST or TIIK PLANTAGEN15TS. 
 
 my fortunes since I last beheld him, telling him withal 
 of my present abode, and much lauding the huma- 
 nity of Israel, my preserver ; in the hope that Sir 
 Gilbert would find both the will and power to shew 
 him some favour. When I had ended my own story, 
 he straightway told me that the secret of my birth had 
 been long since entrusted to him by King Richard ; 
 in accordance with whose commands he first carried 
 me to St. Mary's Monastery at Ely, to be bred up and 
 instructed, strictly enjoining the Lord Prior, Roger 
 Walkelyn of Westminster, to inform him from time 
 to time touching my well-being, that he might faith- 
 fully discharge his service unto his noble lord. He 
 moreover told me, that he had divers times taken me, 
 when but of tender years, unto Crosby-house in Lon- 
 don, also by command of the Duke of Gloucester, be- 
 fore he was Sovereign, in the reign of King Edward the 
 Fourth ; the which interviews were both secret and 
 very brief, arising from my father's affection for his 
 unavowed offspring. The Knight added, too, that 
 after the late battle he had caused a diligent, though 
 vain, search to be made for me, whereupon he con- 
 cluded that I mvist have been slain ; which he deemed 
 but all too likely, from my rash desire to behold the 
 conflict too nearly. 
 
 And now I began much to marvel, that one, who 
 seemed ever to have been constant unto King Richard, 
 should be as high in the trust and favour of his direst 
 foe, who had prevailed over him in fight, and had
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 103 
 
 even seized upon his crown. Nor could I withhold 
 me from uttering unto him my notion thereof, as 
 thinking it, in my poor wit, to be an act having some 
 touch of dishonour ; imto which, however, he freely 
 and straitly replied after this manner. — " I deem it, 
 youth, to be the part of the good soldier, ever to prove 
 faithful unto his King whiles he liveth, but when he 
 dies, so doth the subject's allegiance; and his duty 
 then belongeth unto his successor, unless the Sove- 
 reign leave no true issue, when the nation claims the 
 bestowal of the crown. King Richard, — unto whose 
 soul may God be gracious ! — had no son save thee, 
 whom I well thought was slain : but had I known 
 thou wert living, I should have done thee small ser- 
 vice by proclaiming thee as such, or by unfolding 
 what had been so long hidden ; for of a surety it had 
 been much distrusted, and had put thy life into foul 
 jeopardy. Farther than this, too, I know nought of 
 thy mother ; and therefore any act of mine to declare 
 thee as King Richard's heir, would be but to stamp 
 bastardy upon thy birth, which I deem to be pure, 
 and would questionless awaken the hatred and wrath 
 of King Henry. Trust me, therefore, good youth, 
 that thy better part is silence ; and thy safest station 
 obscurity : and, so far as my power reaches, I will be 
 thy protector and guardian, for the sake of him from 
 whom thou art descended." 
 
 Here I interposed by giving him many thanks, and 
 saying, that in speaking my poor thoughts I had not
 
 J 04 THK I^AST OF TIIK PI>ANTAGENETS. 
 
 referred unto mine own claim upon the crown, having 
 long since awakened from all such dreams of ambi- 
 tion, but that I enquired only touching his own ac- 
 tions with Harry Tudor. 
 
 " And touching mine own acts with Harry Tudor," 
 repeated Sir Gilbert, with a somewhat impassioned 
 voice, as if slightly angered, — " for I did well mark 
 thy doubts thereof; but the name of De Mountford 
 must never be enlinked with aught of dishonour. 
 The fight was scarcely over, — certes the blood had 
 not dried upon our swords, and I wot well that both 
 hosts were still panting with the heat of battle, — 
 when Sir Reginald Bray brought forth the crownet of 
 thy father's helmet, Lord Stanley set it upon Rich- 
 mond's head, and the shouting armies forthwith hailed 
 him as King. Nor was this all, for the voice of Eng- 
 land itself, in brief space after, confirmed this hasty 
 election ;* and 'twas not for me to stand forth alone 
 in the camp and the nation, and, denying the act of 
 both, vainly to snatch at his crown, or refuse him 
 mine allegiance. I had no other King to follow, and 
 therefore in pure faith I took service with him ; for 
 the wont of my House hath ever been to fight for the 
 crown, and by the might of God, I will do it, though 
 it be set upon a hedge-stake ! 
 
 * King Henry VII. was crowned for the first time at West- 
 minster by Cardinal Thomas Bourchier, Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury, on Sunday, October 30th, 1485.
 
 THE LAST OF THK I'LANTAGENETS. 105 
 
 " JMatters being thus/' continued the honest Castel- 
 lan, in somewhat more tranquil a voice, " many other 
 loyal and right good servants of King Richard did as I, 
 without stain unto their duty ; and I thank his Grace 
 that now is, — for so must I call him, — he received us 
 with fair bounty, saying that as he well knew I had 
 been true unto my late lord until he deceased, he 
 would never doubt to trust me whiles he should live 
 and reign. In token of which confidence, a short 
 while after he sent me a patent under his broad seal, 
 making me Constable of this Castle of Leicester ; 
 whereof some two hundred years past mine ancestors 
 were the stout Earls, as you may read in the ancient 
 chronicles of this realm, and look upon their tombs in 
 yonder Abbey." 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding this discourse of Sir Gilbert's, 
 it still seemed unto me, who, it should be remember- 
 ed, was but of few years and small wisdom, — some- 
 what strange that he who had risen and flourished in 
 the favour of my father, should now live not less 
 greatly under the very usurper by whom the true 
 King had been slain. Howbeit, I have since known 
 many men who have been esteemed both valiant, 
 wise, and honourable, who have nothing scrupled to 
 do the same act under the like changes of fortune ; 
 and have sought first to establish their own advance- 
 ment, little recking what became of their fidelity. 
 But though mine experience had not at this time 
 armed me with sucli reasons for the governance of
 
 10(J THE LAST OF THE PJ.ANTAOENETS. 
 
 my thoughts, as after years have supplied unto me, 
 yet, was I not, albeit only a very youth, so unskilled 
 in worldly prudence, as to blight all my hopes of fu- 
 ture favour from the Castellan by farther objecting 
 his inconstancy in taking office and reward under the 
 Earl of Richmond ; but contrariwise, when he con- 
 tinued to speak to me with much kindness, I replied 
 unto him with courteous words and many thanks. 
 
 Thus remained we in discourse, until the bell of 
 the Castle-chapel tolled midnight ; for, listening with 
 anxious ear unto his speech, I had forgotten all else, 
 and marked not how the hours had fled away : but 
 then I arose in haste to depart, since it was but a 
 short distance from the Castle to the ancient Jewry- 
 Wall near St. Nicholas' Church, where Israel of Cas- 
 tile secretly resided, in one of those dark and misera- 
 ble vaults which were the former dwellings of the 
 Jews in Leicester. But now the fortress was shut for 
 the night, and Sir Gilbert would in no case permit me 
 to go forth ; and although I had some misgivings that 
 my delay would affright my Hebrew protectors, yet 
 was I forced to yield me unto his commands, and be- 
 take me to the chamber wherein he had ordered me 
 to be bestowed. It was a fair, yet small room of 
 carved wood, in a gallery above the great hall of the 
 Castle, vaulted with stone arches, and strewed with 
 fresh rushes from the banks of the Soar : 'broidered 
 hangings, though somewhat decayed, decked the 
 walls and bed, and in a narrow niche were set a little
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAOENETS. 107 
 
 image of the Blessed Virgin and her Son, a desk 
 with a book of Offices, and a stand for a lamp. In 
 the tall and high window the arm.s of John of Gaunt 
 were curiously wrought in divers-coloured glass ; and 
 upon looking forth from it, I might see the pleasant 
 bowers and green-swards of the Castle-garden, with 
 an ancient stone summer-house, and the embattled 
 walls of the inner-bailey. 
 
 Albeit the days of which I do now speak have long 
 ago passed away, yet have I oft-times since felt the 
 sorrow of a wounded conscience, when I have brought 
 to mind the blameful weakness which did stay me 
 from departing early on the morrow unto the good 
 Hebrews, Israel and Naomi, to make known to them 
 the fair fortune which had befallen me. Howbeit, I 
 may note this in mine own defence, that I might not 
 go forth when I would ; although I deny not that 
 the state in which I now lived, and the goodly train 
 of ready serving -men and soldiers which waited on 
 me and courted me on all sides to divers pastimes, so 
 dazzled my boyish sight and captured mine imperfect 
 wit, that I put off from hour to hour my return unto 
 the Jews' house, until three days had wholly depart- 
 ed. But then I would be letted of my purpose no 
 longer, but sought with all speed to redeem my fault ; 
 and hastened forth unto the Wall of the Jewry. 
 
 Upon drawing nigh unto that spot, however, as I 
 passed up the High-cross street of Leicester, T heard 
 a wild uproar, and beheld crowds of the baser people
 
 108 
 
 THE LAST OK THE PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 all in tumult, and wondrously disordered at somewhat 
 which had but newly chanced there. I marvelled 
 much as to what it might be, though I had but brief 
 space for doubt, since it was speedily told me on all 
 sides, that some vile Jews had been assaulted by the 
 townsfolk, despoiled of the wealth which they had se- 
 cretly gathered to the great damage of Christian men, 
 and themselves cast forth and foully misused; all 
 which it was said was only befitting such unbelieving 
 usurers. Whilst I listened unto these reports in great 
 affright, others of the lewd rabble passed by me bear- 
 ing part of the goods plundered from the Hebrews ; 
 of the which I too soon discovered, divers things that 
 I well knew had belonged unto mine innocent pro- 
 tectors ! In the hands of one were Naomi's psaltery, 
 and a most choice molten mirror, such as the an- 
 cient Israelites used in Egypt and Canaan,* lustrous- 
 
 " The use of these metallic mirrors by the Jews appears to 
 have been of very high antiquity, and they are expressly men- 
 tioned in four places in the Holy Scriptures ; the earliest 
 being Job xxxvii. 18. about 1520 years B. C. " Hast thou 
 spread out the sky, which is strong, and as a molten looking, 
 glass ?" This is explained as alluding to the steel mirrors 
 of the East, which are convex, and of the bi'illiant deep blue 
 colour of an Arabian sky. The other passages will be found 
 in Exodus xxxviii. 8. B. C. 1491, where the mirrors are sup- 
 posed to be of copper or brass, or a mixed metal of silver 
 and copper; Ecclesiasticus xii. 11. B. C. about 200 ; and the 
 AVisdom of Solomon vii. 26, which was probably written after 
 the Christian Era. There is a curious application of the ex-
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 109 
 
 ly and most fairly planished ; which I did ever think 
 gave back the visage more true and life-like than it 
 can be shown by the noted glasses of Venice, which 
 are in these days held in so much greater repute ; for 
 this was formed of real Castilian steel, and better me- 
 tal there might not be known. Could I now have 
 doubted that my benefactors were indeed some of 
 those who had thus been assailed, knowing this to be 
 the very mirror which they so much prized, and upon 
 which I had so often looked ; — yet might I question 
 it no longer when I beheld in the hands of another 
 ruffian, that ancient Hebrew roll of the holy Prophet 
 Esay, of the which I have afore spoken, with it's 
 goodly embroidered cover. He carried also the very 
 rosary and fair illumined missal, which the charitable 
 Jew had provided for my devotion and comfort, whilst 
 my body lay bowed down by my wounds and sick- 
 
 treme hardness and power of reflection of these mirrors no- 
 ticed in the text, in Gascoigne's satirical poem entitled " The 
 Steele Glass," published in 1576, which is one of the oldest spe- 
 cimens of English blank-verse. The use of metal for mirrors 
 appears to have been first superseded by that of glass, in the 
 thirteenth century, though it continued common in France for 
 a hundred years more ; and until the improvement of glass- 
 houses about the end of the seventeenth century, the Vene- 
 tian mirrors were sold all over Europe and the East Indies. 
 In the Privy Purse Expenses of Henry VIII., September 
 11th, 1532, the King paid to a Frenchman who brought him 
 looking-glasses and dart-heads, the sum of £4. 13s. 4d.
 
 110 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNKTS. 
 
 ness ; foi-, albeit he knew well that I abhorred his 
 unbelief as he did mine, yet, as I have said, he hin- 
 dered me not in my way of worship, trusting that 
 God would both pardon and prosper him, who was his 
 servant in spirit and in truth. 
 
 With two gold Nobles out of my royal father's purse 
 and coinage, I redeemed these few things of the riot- 
 ous crew which was bearing them away ; but all that 
 my fears could whisper of what might have befallen 
 Israel and his aged partner, speedily proved to be in- 
 deed the truth. My sorrow for their despiteful per- 
 secution was, however, soon much increased, from a 
 rumour which spread through the town, that the chief 
 cause of their cruel treatment, was a belief that one of 
 the Hebrews had drawn away a Christian boy to be- 
 come a Jew and renounce his Saviour ! and that when 
 the fierce multitude searched his dwelling and found 
 not me, to whom this false accusation did refer, — it was 
 declared that he had slain me because I had refused 
 to profane the cross of Christ. Of all that the hapless 
 Hebrew could allege in his defence, the wild mul- 
 titude would hear nothing ; and every incidence, 
 which, rightly measured, should have proved his in- 
 nocency, only made the more against him, from their 
 warped judgements and evil thoughts of his tribe and 
 nation. 
 
 In vain, therefore, did I now seek the lowly dwel- 
 ling upon the Jewry-Wall, wherein I had found so 
 ready a shelter ; since upon tlie spot where it stood.
 
 TH?: LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNKTS. Ill 
 
 was to be seen nought save bui'ned and blackened 
 ashes, wild ruin, and spoliation. And though I forth- 
 with hastened unto all the wonted haunts of my bene- 
 factor, yet might I no-where behold him, nor even 
 hear whither he had gone, that I might have sought 
 him out and poured my tears over his all-unmerited 
 woes, of which I, alas ! had been the hapless cause. 
 I, therefore, at length put an end unto my wanderings 
 by returning unto the Castle in much weariness and 
 disappointment ; and sorrowfully gave up farther 
 quest, inasmuch as I knew not whither else to direct 
 my steps. I wept and mourned heavily for many 
 days, for that I could not find my Hebrew friends to 
 console them ; insomuch that Sir Gilbert De Mount- 
 ford would sometimes blame my too great sorrow in 
 lamenting them, because they were only of mean 
 rank and JeAvish unbelievers. Yet so often as I 
 passed through Leicester, I failed not to renew mine 
 enquiries after them, albeit I prospered not beyond 
 this; that I made it plain unto many, that I was 
 indeed the youth who was falsely believed to have 
 been maltreated and slain. For at the first 1 was not 
 known of the townsfolk, because of the fair attire in 
 which the good Castellan had clothed me ; since he 
 deemed my former coarse black habit all unbefitting 
 one, whose father was a King, and whose guardian 
 was the Constable of Leicester Castle. 
 
 I pass over, though truly I can never forget, the 
 soothing words which were addressed unto me by Sir
 
 112 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENET9, 
 
 Gilbert and liis most excellent Lady, Isabel ; an 
 heiress of the noble house of that famous William Mar- 
 shall, Earl of Pembroke, who remained constant 
 unto King John, when almost all the Peers of Eng- 
 land were in arms against him, as may be seen in the 
 goodly History of Matthew of Paris. Under their 
 protection and instruction, I did gradually forget 
 much of my sorrow and former mood of melancholy, 
 and betook me heartily unto the duties, studies, and 
 pastimes, which were now assigned unto ine through 
 the next eight months ; whereby my mind and body 
 were greatly strengthened and adorned, and my 
 manners made gentle and courteous befitting my 
 birth. To attain unto these ends, I again returned 
 unto my book-learning under Father Ranulphus, the 
 Castle-Chaplain, and also became Page unto Sir 
 Gilbert De IMountford ; who had me taught to carve 
 in the banquet and dance in the masque, to ride and 
 bear tlie spear, wield the sword, run at the ring and 
 quintain, to hunt and hawk, wear armour, draw a six- 
 feet bow with a stout arm, and send a bolt five- 
 score yards straight to the mark. 
 
 During mine abode here, which I have ever deem- 
 ed to be a most joyous part of my life, I was wont 
 to range through the wide Castle of Leicester, and 
 learned to know the names and import of all it's 
 many bulwarks and chambers, with their several uses 
 in times of war. Thus, I marked it's broad walls, 
 loopholes, and embrasures, for withstanding assaults
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 113 
 
 and shooting forth arrows and heavy missiles ; I noted 
 the deep fosse which girdled in the whole fortress ; 
 it's strong barbican-gate, turrets, and drawbridge ; 
 it's fair outer-bailey and chapel ; and it's inner-bai- 
 ley encompassing the garden, rooms of state, and 
 the tall keep and dungeon, wherein was to be found 
 it's chiefest strength. 
 
 Here, then, I sojourned until about the beginning 
 of June, in the year 1487; when I remember that 
 one morning a Pursuivant, habited in a livery of 
 green and white, with the badge of a red dragon upon 
 his back and breast, arrived at the Castle, and deliver- 
 ed unto Sir Gilbert De Mountford this Letter of 
 Summons, fairly writ upon parchment, tied with a 
 silken cord and bearing a seal ; receiving from him 
 free entertainment and a Royal of gold for his pains. 
 
 " By the King, 
 
 Henry R. 
 
 Trusty and right welbeloved. We grete you wele, 
 and in asmoche as We have ty dings that certaine re- 
 belles have entered on the xxivth daye of this moneth 
 in our land of Irland, with a fayned boye, sent by the 
 grete malice of the ladye Margarete of Burgoigne, 
 surmising him to be the son of the Due of Clarence, 
 accompanyed by th' Erie of Lincoln, the Lord Lovel, 
 and a grete multitude of savage Irisshemen and 
 Almaynes ; — and for that there be, even in this Our 
 Royaume of England, divers personnes wel-afFected 
 
 I
 
 114 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 to them and enemyes unto Us, — We wold have your 
 advis and counsaile in suche matters as We have to do 
 for the subduying of these Our rebelles. Wee there- 
 fore praie you to make all delegens to come unto Us 
 at Our Palace of Westmynster, immedyatelye after 
 syght hereoff, to knovv' Our farther mynde and plea- 
 sure: and of this faile ye not as Wee do specyallye 
 truste you. Given under Our Signet at Our Manoir 
 of Shene, this viijth. daye of Jvme, in the second 
 yere of Our reigne. 
 
 To Our trusty e and right welbeloved Knyght, 
 Sir Gilbert De Mountford, Constable of Our 
 Castle of Leicester, Our Counsaillour : These 
 with speede." 
 
 It was not without much doubt and misgiving, that 
 the Knight received this sudden and absolute sum- 
 mons unto the King's presence; for that he greatly fear- 
 ed some evil tongue had spoken of him as well-afFected 
 towards the rebels in Ireland, and the counterfeit Earl 
 of Warwick. But to speak Heaven's pure truth I 
 never heard worse than this uttered by him, that 
 "were he certified that the real son of George of Cla- 
 rence, were in arms, he would draw no sword against 
 him, but would rather go to him and offer him his al- 
 legiance ; since he had followed Henry Tudor only 
 because he knew of no better Prince." Howbeit, 
 this was no doubt matter enough for suspicion and 
 question, and I ween it was carried to tlie Court by
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 115 
 
 a certain soldier, who feigned to be a foreigner, and 
 spake but little and corrupt English ; for that having 
 been sent unto London with certain letters of weight 
 as the most incurious messenger, he was taken into 
 Henry's own service and never returned. 
 
 Nevertheless, Sir Gilbert might not withstand the 
 King's Letter of Summons without much farther 
 danger, and therefore taking me wnth him, we set out 
 from Leicester witli goodly array and all speed; so that 
 in three days from the time of our departure, we 
 entered London, and for the first time in my life, I 
 gazed upon that most ancient and stately of Cities.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LONDON IN 1487 PROSCRIPTION OF THE HOUSE OF 
 
 YORK. 
 
 Of the noblest Cities of the world which F;ime doth celebrate, that of Lon- 
 don is the one principal seat of the Kingdom of England ; whose renown is 
 spread abroad very far, yet she transporteth her products and her commerce 
 much farther. Happy is she in the healthfulness of her air, in the Christian 
 Religion, in her munition and strength, the nature of her situation, the ho- 
 nour of her Citizens, and the virtue of her matrons; very pleasant in her 
 sports and pastimes, and replenished with honourable personages. 
 
 Fitz-Stbphkn's Description of London. 
 
 The root of all was the discountenancing of the House of York, which 
 the general body of the realm still affected. This did alienate tlie hearts of 
 the subjects from him daily more and more. 
 
 Lord Bacon's History of Henry VII. 
 
 It is not my purpose to recount in this little tome, 
 the many marvels which my young eyes noted at my 
 first entering London, after we had passed through 
 the fair town of Iseldon ; which standeth nigh there- 
 unto, in a wondrous pleasant country and healthful J 
 air, whence we approached the Northern boundaries 
 of the City. Certain others, more cunning clerks
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 117 
 
 than I, have better writ of these matters ; and espe- 
 cially one of late times, a choice Latin Poet, and per- 
 fect scholar ;, whom none have ever equalled in his 
 deep enquiries into the antiquity of this City and 
 Kingdom, whose books and learning shall questionless 
 remain as the most undoubted monuments unto dis- 
 tant ages.* 
 
 We passed along divers broad ways made through 
 certain fields, to the vill of Old-bourne, on the North 
 banks of a clear little water, which flows into a wider 
 stream called the Fleet, because it runneth with a 
 swift current ; wherein I saw divers barques laden 
 with fuel, corn, fish, or other merchandise, floated 
 up unto the very doors and wharfs of the inhabi- 
 tants of those parts, unto their great and singular com- 
 modity. Across this channel, which cometh from 
 the Thames at the Black Friars, stretcheth a fair stone 
 bridge ; and, as we rode slowly over it, and I looked 
 around me with some wonder, I demanded of Sir 
 Gilbert De Mountford what stream that might be. 
 
 • The person here referred to is evidently the famous Anti- 
 quary, John Leland, who, in 1533, made a litei'ary and antiqua- 
 rian tour of England, of amazing minuteness and research, by 
 virtue of a commission from Henry VIII. He also made 
 large collections for a history of London, which it was his in- 
 tention to have published, but before it was completed he died 
 in a state of mental derangement, April 18th, 1552 ; after which 
 several of his papers were printed by Stow, the remainder 
 being lost and never recovered.
 
 118 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Unto which he answered, " This water, good Richard, 
 is now the head of Fleet, though it was once of more 
 high repute and called the River of the Wells ; for 
 story saith, that in the First Edward's days it was 
 broad and deep enough to bear some ten or twelve 
 tall ships with all their lading, which might safely 
 ride at this bridge. But, truth to say, 'tis now little 
 better than a foul moat or dyke, to girdle in London, 
 by reason of it's wasted waters, which are drawn off 
 by mills, it's channels also being narrowed by wharfs, 
 so that it's name of river passed away, and 'twas then 
 called Tremill, or Turnmill brook ; but though it's 
 course hath been somewhat amended again, yet hath 
 it never been restored unto it's ancient breadth and 
 depth : the which debasement may well figure forth 
 the fortunes of some men of high birth brought down 
 to low estate." 
 
 And as he spake, methought it did indeed excel- 
 lently well express mine own lot, since the full tide 
 of honour, which, for a few brief hours, once floated 
 my brave and richly-lnden hopes, had now shrunken 
 up into a narrow channel, of small spring and uncer- 
 tain supply. Yet did I reflect also, that however de- 
 based those waters might be in the esteem of men, they 
 nevertheless flowed in onward course to the Thames, 
 and thence unto the broad sea : and even so, me- 
 thought, let me stand as I may in worldly honour, 
 I shall at length pass " unto the house appointed for 
 all living," " with Kings who had gold, and Princes
 
 r 
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANT AGENETS. 119 
 
 who made desolate places for themselves ;" whilst 
 mine undying part shall pass away from that earthy 
 darkness, unto it's future home in the boundless ocean 
 of Eternity. 
 
 But whiles we lingered thus at the Fleet river. 
 Time, which loitereth never, was hastening the day 
 towards it's close ; albeit there was still light enough 
 me to feast my roving sight, upon scenes which 
 unto me were both new and wondrous. From the 
 bridge we went along the field-pathway to the West 
 of Old-bourne, and drew nigh the fair Church of St. 
 I Andrew, and the Hospitium of Master Thaive, be- 
 longing thereunto ; after which we continued down a 
 green road, with some few homely cotters' houses, 
 which I afterwards learned to know right well as 
 Sho-Lane, whence we came unto the famous and 
 stately highway called Fleet-street, because it crossed 
 over that river by another bridge of stone at Ludgate. 
 Yet, though this road hath ever been the main passage 
 betwixt Westminster and the City of London, it was 
 not, at the time of which I write, so well provided of 
 shops and dwellings, as it hath come to be in these 
 later days. It was at least some twenty feet wide, 
 though much of it on the North was indeed open 
 country places, pasture-fields, marshes, or gar- 
 dens trimly ordered ; but it nevertheless did contain 
 many fair houses, curiously builded after a gorgeous 
 and gallant sort, with three storeys one over another : 
 albeit the excellency of the frames now made, far sur-
 
 120 THE LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 passeth the finest of the old. The doors closed with 
 two leaves, and the outsides of the walls next the 
 street were either of pale foreign bricks, hard flint, 
 or white plaster fashioned into panels betwixt the 
 timbers, and the inner parts were well strengthened 
 with wainscot-work ; the windows being often glazed 
 with glass in the most costly wise, although some had 
 only fine linen dipped in oil or amber, to keep out 
 the wind and let in the light. The shops of this place 
 seemed unto me also many and stately, as the jVIil- 
 liners, which sold the gay daggers, ouches, girdles, and 
 other wares of Milan ; the Clothworkers, which had 
 woollens of divers colours hung in their windows ; the 
 Goldsmiths, which set forth store of rich plate ; and 
 a world of other trades, each being known by some 
 sign or device, rarely sculptured or pencilled above 
 the dwellings, whiles the owners themselves stood at 
 their doors, tempting the passengers with many words 
 to become their customers. 
 
 So passed we along, through a lofty embattled gate 
 with square towers, built of grey stone and called 
 Temple-bar, because it standeth nigh a fair Inn which 
 of old belonged unto the Knights-Templars. This 
 led us unto the Strand, a country road, paved but in 
 part, and often of bad passage, bounded by many 
 fields and gardens, in which appeared the stately 
 houses erected by the nobles and gentry ; both to be 
 out of the turmoil of the City, enjoy the pleasant air 
 of the river by which they stood, and it's opposite
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 121 
 
 green banks whereunto they looked, and to be near 
 the Court and Palace of Westminster. Then came 
 we to the village of Charing, where I beheld that 
 carved wooden Funeral-cross where rested the hearse 
 of Eleanor of Castile ; which leaving behind us, with 
 the IMews for the King's falcons, we passed the Pa- 
 lace of the Lord Archbishop of York, standing in 
 wide and pleasant gardens by the river, and joining 
 unto the verge of the Court and Citv of Westminster. 
 
 "Within that King-like pile," said the Castellan unto 
 me in a low voice as we approached this spot, " within 
 those walls, Richard, sometime dwelt thy father;" and 
 truly the sight of that royal seat, encompassing, as it 
 seemed, so many stately halls, and chambers, did 
 awaken in my soul the sorrowful feelings of blighted 
 greatness, and I asked of Sir Gilbert De Mountford 
 to point out unto me the very lodging in which King 
 Richard had been wont to rest. The Knight, however, 
 hastily repressed my lofty speech, and told me that 
 as I wished to 'scape danger, I must in no wise use 
 such words, since 'twould be deemed little less than 
 treason to call my father Richard, King ; his claim 
 unto the crown having been denied and set aside by 
 the Parliament, so that if I would not place me in 
 great jeopardy, I must be content to speak of him 
 but as Duke of Gloucester. 
 
 I would fain have made some reply, but Sir Gilbert 
 told me that for such discourse we must take another 
 time and place ; willing me rather to note on either
 
 122 TIIK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 hand of me the stately Hall of Westminster, the most 
 royal banquetting-house in the realm, and the ancient 
 and venerable Abbey, wherein so many Sovereigns 
 had been crowned in their lives, and sepultured after 
 their deaths. " Here, then," said he, " you may well 
 guess, that we are in the very midst of King Henry's 
 friends, where speech like thine would be neither 
 wise nor safe ; and as it will not be for mine own good 
 to have thee much about me, I now purpose bestow- 
 ing you with one hard by, who was an approved 
 friend to him you wot of." Whereupon he gave one 
 of his servitors charge to conduct his train unto a cer- 
 tain place, and commanding me to follow him, we 
 walked forward into a dark street in Westminster, and 
 stopped at the door of an ancient and ruined house 
 not far from St. Peter's Abbey. 
 
 Unto this portal was hung a large scroll of vellum, 
 which set forth in broad black text letters, that within 
 there dwelled a cunning Scribe and Enluminour ; and 
 upon knocking we were admitted through a gloomy 
 passage into a vaulted stone room, having therein a 
 carved oaken desk or pew, for writing or study, lined 
 with tapestry, whilst in different parts of the chamber 
 were scattered divers large tomes bound in red or 
 black velvet, with some rolls of genealogies and coat- 
 armours most choicely depicted. There were also to 
 be seen several of those rare books imprinted by a 
 wondrous art, the which had been of late brought 
 into this realm by Master William Caxton, from be-
 
 THE LAST OF THE TLANTAGENETS. 123 
 
 yond the seas. He who admitted us unto the house, 
 was a grave, yet shrewd-looking, man, whose pale 
 visage seemed to speak of much labour and late 
 watching ; and he was habited in a russet dress edged 
 with sable fur, wearing pouch, knife, penner, and 
 inkhorn, like a scribe. It was still bright day-light, 
 although it was now about seven of the clock and full 
 two hours after supper ; whereupon he seemed to 
 marvel much at our late-coming, and when we were 
 entered, demanded of Sir Gilbert what he would have 
 with him. 
 
 " I came hither," replied the Knight, " to seek for 
 a certain Scribe and limner of coat-armours, by name 
 Master St. Leger, dwelling at the Watchful Dog 
 near the Sanctuary ; and if two years age have not 
 strangely altered mine acquaintance Avith his face, 
 thou shouldest be the very man, whom I remember 
 in the service of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, as 
 Blanc-Sanglier Pursuivant, at his last battle on Bos- 
 worth Field." 
 
 " Fair Sir," answered the Scribe, first changing 
 deadly pale, and then waxing wondrous red, " I am, 
 'tis true, a Scribe and Enluminour of arms, and do 
 also dwell at the sign you have named, but I am cal- 
 led only William the Illuminatoi*, and claim not to be 
 of any noble house; and, moreover, I am servant unto 
 the Lord Rivers, and Queen Elizabeth, and the most 
 noble Lady Margaret, the King's mother, of excellent 
 bounty ; so that ye wot well I may not be him for 
 whom you take me."
 
 124 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 "Tush, man !" replied the Castellan, "away with 
 this guisarding, which never can blind such as know 
 thee as well as I do: look better upon your friends, 
 take my pledge, and remember Sir Gilbert De 
 Mountford, if thou hast not forsworn the House of 
 York and Plantagenet ; I trow that thou wert less of 
 a craven when thou did'st spread thy tabard over the 
 King's naked body." — With these words the Knight 
 gave unto the Scribe a faded piece of a broom-plant 
 and flower, which he drew forth from his bosom ; and 
 which, as I had read in the choice Norman History 
 of Ordericus Vitalis, was the ancient device of the 
 Plantagenets, wherefrom they did first take their 
 name. As the Scribe received the token, his eyes 
 became suddenly lighted up with gladness, and 
 grasping the Castellan's hand, he exclaimed, " By the 
 Keys of St. Peter ! Sir Knight, you are right wel- 
 come, albeit because I knew you not^ I at first dis- 
 sembled ; for the friends of York, as you doubtless 
 wot well, are proscribed and scattered, and therefore 
 do I marvel to find you coming to the Court, unless 
 indeed you were summoned hither by the King." 
 
 " 'Tis even so, good Master St. Leger," answered 
 Sir Gilbert, " I trow that I once stood fairly in his 
 Grace's favour, seeing that he made me his Constable 
 of Leicester Castle ; but for all his smooth words and 
 acts of grace to his opposers, J begin to suspect him 
 shrewdly, and deem that he hates the Yorkists in his 
 heart, though the most of the realm affects them, for
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENRTS. 125 
 
 how hath he discountenanced the Queen ; albeit he 
 may not put off her coronation much longer if lie 
 would keep him safely upon his throne." 
 
 " Perchance it may be so," responded our host, 
 " but this is neither wise nor safe discourse for the 
 ears of a youth like your page," pointing unto me ; 
 "albeit he hath a wondrous semblance to one whom 
 I have lamented with much sorrow, and may never 
 forget." 
 
 " Right, right, good fellow," said Sir Gilbert, " he 
 hath, and not without reason ; so content thee, and 
 look not doubtingly upon him, nor deem that I have 
 so little wariness as to bring thee a babbling boy, 
 whose tongue would talk our heads from our shoul- 
 ders. Nay, I have that to tell thee of him, which 
 will fire thy loyal heart like a trumpet-call; so fear 
 not, but tell us like a man how matters stand in Lon- 
 don, for thou art too honest to be a counterfeit." 
 
 Master St. Leger answered to this by saying, that as 
 they had brief time for conference or explanation, he 
 would be content to receive the honourable Kniffht's 
 report of me ; adding, however, that if I were a scho- 
 lar, perchance I would rather turn over the pages of 
 some of those fair illumined histories, to listening 
 to their converse. He then secured the chamber- 
 door and covered it with the hangings, whilst Sir 
 Gilbert replied to him in a lower tone, " Ye say well. 
 Master St. Leger, the boy is bookish enow, and fairly 
 read, seeing that the good fathers of Ely had him
 
 126 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAOENETS. 
 
 betimes; albeit, if I judge him rightly, he will find 
 more content in our discourse than in the fairest tome 
 London can shew him." 
 
 Howbeit, not to seem too curious, I seated me a 
 little apart from them, and took up divers of the 
 books, some of which were adorned with most choice 
 limnings : but as they talked of the story and sad fate 
 of my House and kindred, of Harry Tudor's oppres- 
 sions, and his unsettled sway, of the discontent of the 
 realm and it's general affection for the White Rose, of 
 the several competitors for the Crown, and of the 
 restoration of the line of York, mine eyes wandered 
 over the pictured pages, without taking in the matter 
 they recorded, or marking the beauteous forms and 
 tints which were depainted thereon. It was in vain 
 that Valerius Maximus recounted the brave actions 
 and wise sayings of the noble and ancient Romans ; it 
 was in vain that the glorious Tale of Troy was spread 
 out before me ; even the sweet and spirit-stirring 
 Romaunt of King Arthur I looked upon vain; and 
 the pleasant histories of the Gesta Romanoriim lay 
 unmarked beneath mine eyes, whilst I listened anxi- 
 ously and diligently to the converse of the Knight 
 and the Pursuivant. 
 
 I remember me that the latter told Sir Gilbert, that 
 the Houses of York and Plantagenet were then sub- 
 dued to little more than a name, which the King 
 seemed to desire to make powerless and void. On 
 the last day of February, in the first year of his
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 127 
 
 reign, he had covenanted that the Earl of Hunting- 
 don should marry Catherine, the natural daughter of 
 my father. King Richard, giving her a dowry of 
 certain manors to the yeai'ly sum of two hundred 
 pounds. My cousin, Edward Plantagenet, the eldest 
 son and heir of George, Duke of Clarence, at this 
 time about seventeen years old, he had shut up close 
 prisoner in the Tower, deeming him to be the last 
 male of his name ; whilst his sister ]\Iargaret remain- 
 ed uncared for excepting by captivity. Even the 
 Queen-mother of his own consort, he had, by an act 
 of his Privy-council, cloistered in Bermondsey Ab- 
 bey, after seizing upon all her lands and rents, upon 
 the far-fetched pretence that she had taken two of 
 her children from sanctuary, and delivered them unto 
 the late King Richard. Some of her daughters were 
 indeed left with her, but there was even then a wily 
 device afoot for sending both her and them out of the 
 realm, to marry King James III. of Scotland, the 
 IMarquess of Ormond, and the Duke of Rothsay, the 
 Scotish King's son : howbeit this compact was spoil- 
 ed in the making. 
 
 But although many persons thus yielded unto 
 Henry's force, and many things conspired to pros- 
 per his designs, yet the Queen -Dowager, Elizabeth, 
 did not rest at Bermondsey without much complaint 
 of his scorn of her daughter in not causing her to be 
 crowned, " This I know for a truth," said Blaster 
 St. Leger ; " for having now left being a Pursuivant,
 
 128 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 and betaken me unto the writing out and enlumining 
 of books, I have disguised my name and family, and 
 am oft employed by the learned Master William Cax- 
 ton, the Printer, to trace in his books divers bloom- 
 ing-capitals, of red and blue letters. My skill in 
 making limnings for manuscripts and emblazoning 
 of coat-armours, hath caused him to present me unto 
 his own patrons, the Lord Rivers, Lady JNIargaret the 
 King's mother, and divers beside, now in great power, 
 by whom I am well maintained and protected. 
 
 " It is now, perchance, more than a month past, 
 that I was commanded by the Lady Blargaret to 
 carry a fair book of Master Caxton's Golden Legend 
 unto Bermondsey Abbey to the Queen, who was 
 then sojourning there for a season with her mother. 
 It happened that she had gone forth to walk, and 
 whiles I waited her return in an ante-chamber, I 
 heard in a covered gallery near me, divers voices of 
 women ; one seeming in proud sorrow and scorn, 
 another low and soft, as of sweet music, which ever 
 best beseemeth them, and a third not less gentle, like 
 the speech of some innocent child." 
 
 " It was this last which began, saying, ' you are 
 sad, my mother, and why I pray you ? is not my 
 sister a Queen ? and do not we live full merrily in this 
 fair Abbey, with it's green gardens and gay flower- 
 plots ? good, then, my mother, wherefore do you 
 weep }' — ' Wherefore .'' thou simple chit,' said the el- 
 der speaker in a voice of mournful anger, ' Oh Hea-
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 129 
 
 ven ! have I not cause enow^ in the oppression of our 
 House, the seizure of my lands, and mine imprison- 
 ment in this place ? albeit thou, poor Bridget, deem- 
 est it to be a right joyous cage. And what though 
 thy sister be indeed a Queen, yet, good Anne,' con- 
 tinued the voice, as if addressing some elder daughter, 
 ' she lacketh the open rite of crowning; and that at 
 the hands of one who dares to fly from his paction, 
 and who, if she had not been, would have worn no 
 crown himself!' — 'But perchance. Madam,' said a 
 gentle voice in reply, as if of the person last spoken 
 to, * peradventure, she shall have it anon, and it may 
 be but delayed awhile, and not refused.' — ' God's me ! 
 daughter Norfolk,' again exclaimed the first Lady, ' is 
 not delay refusal } though not that open one which a 
 bold bad man would utttr ; but a wily putting-ofF 
 worthy only of him who devised it.' — ' Truth, mine 
 honoured mother,' answered the elder daughter, ' yet 
 will not our loudest and bitterest plaints avail us 
 aught: if we be wronged, therefore, patience is 
 better than vengeance, which will natheless fall in 
 due place and season.' — 'Talk not of patience unto 
 me,' replied her mother, 'if thou art child of mine, 
 the daughter and sister of a Queen, thou canst not 
 choose but share mine anger at this continued con- 
 tempt of the rights of Elizabeth. Was it not mainly 
 by my favour and device that this wily Tudor was 
 lifted unto his present high estate, and shall he out- 
 reach me even at mine own game ?' " 
 
 K
 
 130 THE LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 " Wisely, as methought, avoiding to oppose her 
 mother's passions, the elder daughter now appeared 
 chiefly to endeavour to calm them ; saying ' I trow it 
 is indeed my duty not frowardly to cross your Grace, 
 yet if mine own poor, though sincere, thoughts be in 
 aught worthy your ear, they would fain woo you to 
 avoid all new scenes of strife. It is not, I ween, for 
 you to learn that sorrow is enlinked with greatness 
 like it's shadow, and that they who soar highest 
 soonest meet the tempest; sith the dark storm-cloud 
 that bursts upon the mountain's top, often leaves the 
 sheltered valley in peaceful lowliness.' — ' Be thine, 
 then, such inglorious safety ;' replied her mother, ' and 
 let me possess rule and greatness. My heart, like the 
 guardian-cliffs of Britain, would brave both billow 
 and storm-blast, did I not feel that the place and 
 powers of action are denied to me, and that I must 
 still feign submission and content.' 
 
 " They now went forth from the gallery, the two 
 younger females still essaying with soothing words to 
 calm the disordered spirit of the elder Lady, whom I 
 had discovered to be no other than the widowed Queen 
 of the late King Edward, with her daughters Anne, 
 Duchess of Norfolk, and the Lady Bridget or Bride, 
 now some seven years old. I was next summoned 
 into another apartment, where I might behold them 
 together with the present Queen ; but though all were 
 passing fair, and the Duchess of Norfolk not the least 
 so, yet that lovely and gentle child, the Lady Bride,
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENKTS. 131 
 
 did most enchain mine attention ; so beauteous was 
 her hair of paly gold, so mild were her eyes of clear 
 blue, and such a heavenly bright look had she of in- 
 nocence and devotion, wliilst her stature was fair and 
 erect, and much beyond her years." 
 
 " Cry thee mercy, honest friend," said Sir Gilbert, 
 at this place, "thou art a passing curious observer of 
 women, and a shrewd listener to boot ; but I trow the 
 good Queen-mother will soon be more content, when 
 that the coronation shall be fixed. And whom do men 
 say shall wed the Lady Bride, Master St. Leger ? " 
 
 " She is to be 'spoused to God, when she cometh 
 of age to take the veil,"* returned our host, " which 
 will lock up another spring of the House of York." 
 
 " That were in truth a shrewd pity," responded the 
 Castellan, to the Scribe in almost a whisper, some- 
 times looking towards me : " an she were now but 
 some seven or eight years older, — their blood would 
 
 unite well ; for that youth is " and his voice was 
 
 lost unto my hearing. 
 
 "The son of , say est thou?" was the broken 
 
 and wondering response of JMaster St. Leger. 
 
 • Various periods have been assigned for the admission of 
 Nuns into Conventual society, though the lawful age was after 
 they had passed their twelfth year ; and when they had spent 
 a year in a Religious House they were considered as virtually 
 professed. The usual time of admission, however, for a Nun, 
 was at sixteen, but consecration did not take place until the 
 age of twenty.five.
 
 132 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 " Even so," answered Sir Gilbert, " a Steer of the 
 Silver Boar, as thou may est see by his ruddy face and 
 blue eyes : he is now fitted for good or evil, since he 
 can hold a pen or grasp a weapon, though I know not 
 where to bestow him in these troublous times." 
 
 " Leave him for a season, then, with me," rejoined 
 the Scribe : " his own safety will keep him silent, and 
 I can employ him in mine art until we may see how 
 to act farther." 
 
 Here, then, ceased their conference, when the 
 Castellan briefly informed me, believing that I had 
 been all along intent upon my book, — that I should 
 dwell for the present with Master St. Leger, until he 
 might better provide for me. We afterwards par- 
 took of a brief repast together, during which they 
 had but little further converse ; whereupon, wearied 
 with my journey and bewildered as to the true pur- 
 pose for the which I had been brought unto London, 
 I entreated to go to rest, and was forthwith shewn 
 unto a little vipper chamber, by Magdalen, Master St. 
 Leger's ancient and sole servitor.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 VISIONS OF GREATNESS, AND AN ENGLISH FEAST OF 
 
 LANTHOUNS. 
 
 No victor, when in battle spent, 
 ( When he at night asleep doth lie 
 
 f Rich in a conquer'd monarcli's tent, 
 
 E'er had so vain a dream as I. 
 
 isiR William D'Avenant. 
 
 Tlie wakeful shepherd by his flock in field. 
 
 With wonder at that time far off beheld 
 
 The wanton shine of thy triumphant fires, 
 
 I'laying upon the tops of thy tall spires : 
 
 Thy goodly buildings, that till then did hide 
 
 Their rich array, opened their windows wide. 
 
 When Kings, great peers, and many a noble dame. 
 
 Whose bright, pearl-glittering robes, did mock the flame 
 
 Of the night's burning lights, did sit to see 
 
 How every senator, in his degree, — 
 
 Their guard attending, — through the streets did ride 
 
 Before their foot-bands, graced with glittering pride 
 
 Of rich-gilt arms, whose glories did present 
 
 A sunshine to the eye, as if it meant 
 
 With the fair cresset-lights shot up on high. 
 
 To chase dark night for ever from the sky. 
 
 RIGHARO NiCCOLLS' LONDON'S ArTILLERV, 1616. 
 
 I KNOW not whether the springs of ambition were 
 quickened in me at my very birth, but it is certain
 
 134 THE I^AST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 that, after my royal descent was made known unto me, 
 I was too often led away by the vain thought that I 
 was the lawful heir imto a crown ; the which more 
 years and greater wisdom, have at last convinced me 
 to have been all unreal and untrue. With such am- 
 bitious fantasies, therefore, in my mind, upon stretch- 
 ing myself upon my narrow couch at Master St. 
 Leger's dwelling, my first considerations were to un- 
 ravel, to the best of my poor wit, what had been the 
 Castellan's real intent in bringing me at this season up 
 to London, and what dignity I might be called to take 
 vipon me. 
 
 That he with whom I was now to sojourn was a 
 staunch friend unto the House of York, I felt me to be 
 right well assured of, and perchance both he and the 
 Knight had some device a-foot, which argued no good 
 unto him who was then King ; and for a moment my 
 overheated brain conjured up before me the wild 
 thought, that they had a purpose of displacing him to 
 set me upon his throne, and that Sir Gilbert's friend- 
 ship towards me might have sprung from the desire 
 that I should aid him in his designs. This I knew of 
 him, at least, that he was a bold forward man, and 
 one that would ever be doing, who could trim his sail 
 to catch the wind as it might blow ; albeit of late he 
 had seemed much disappointed in his hopes, and 
 wondrously abated in his zeal for the King, where- 
 upon I did at times think mys-elf the subject of his 
 plots to disquiet the realm.
 
 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 135 
 
 J'rom all that I had heard, it appeared unto me cer- 
 tain that great attempts were at this time making to 
 overthrow Henry Tudor, and also I understood that 
 there was one in Ireland who had ah-eady taken the 
 name and royalty of a King, having been crowned 
 there this Lent by the Earl of Lincoln and others ; 
 yet were there many doubts touching his real dignity 
 and meetness for a throne, the which were afterwards 
 shewn to be well-founded, he being no other than a 
 low-born knave, a baker's son, named Lambert Sim- 
 nell, though at this time it was not commonly known. 
 These suspicions led me vainly to think that some who 
 had affected my father. King Richard, might deem it 
 better to claim the realm as my true inheritance ; and 
 the more I pondered thereon, the less questionable 
 did it seem unto mine ambitious folly. I remembered 
 full well that the noble King Richard, the night be- 
 fore his death at Bosworth, had told me that should 
 his be the triumph, mine honourable birth should 
 forthwith be declared unto the world ; and I thought 
 that peradventure his intent might fall unto others to 
 fulfil : from all which it may well be supposed, that 
 I held it far more wise that they should call me unto 
 a sceptre, than a low-born pretender whose blood was 
 not in any sort so noble as mine. As to my capacity 
 and skill for the royal office, whatever they might in 
 truth be at this time, or whatever they may have been 
 esteemed since, — I assuredly did believe them, with 
 much overweening conceit, to be far above those of
 
 l.'Ki THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENET?. 
 
 common men, and all fitting to make me a most wise 
 and excellent Sovereign. 
 
 So thought I until I became lost and perplexed in 
 spirit, when I chanced to remember that which Mas- 
 ter St. Leger had said touching the Lady Bride, and 
 the Knight's hasty glancing at her being a fitting 
 match for me, seeing that we were both of the royal 
 House of York. Albeit I had then never seen her, 
 yet did her image seem to be suddenly impictured in 
 my mind and almost present unto my sight ; and anon 
 my visions of greatness shewed me how nobly she would 
 hereafter grace a throne with me. But then I thought 
 of her being already, as it were, betrothed unto Hea- 
 ven, and of her too-early retreat into a convent, ere 
 she had partaken of the joys of life, to entomb her 
 yovmg beauties in holy solitude ; whereupon my rov- 
 ing fancy took a lower flight, and I deemed it would 
 be a most blessed estate for me, were I also to quit the 
 world and its' distracting cares, and in some monastery 
 near her devote myself to God. 
 
 Such, then, I say, were some of the vain dreams of 
 my youth when I went to sojourn with INIaster St. 
 Leger, and it is therefore no matter of wonder that I 
 had at this time much of a quick and haughty spirit, 
 ever ready to take place for my lofty birth, and not 
 backward to assert my right by force ; seeing that I 
 was now of good strength and stature, and somewhat 
 fitted for contention by the instructions I had received 
 at Leicester Castle : but these feelings were happily
 
 THK LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 137 
 
 and most effectually suppressed, by an event which 
 suddenly altered the whole scene and tenor of my 
 life, whereof I will now faithfully recount the his- 
 tory. 
 
 It is known unto all men, that in the months of 
 June and July in the wealthy City of London, there 
 were once* wont to be held certain joyful vigils and 
 feasts, whereon many fires were made in the streets 
 after sunset, unto which every man bestowed either 
 wood or labour : the which were called bon-fires, both 
 because of the good amity they effected between 
 neighbours, and the contentions which they brought 
 unto an end ; and also for their great virtue in clearing 
 the air of any infection or pestilence which might be 
 found in that hot season. At this time, too, the richer 
 sort did set tables before their doors by the said fires, 
 spread out with choice banquets, whereof they did in- 
 vite the neighbours and passengers to sit down and 
 partake ; for there were of old no statelier holidays in 
 London than the Vigils and Feasts of St. John the 
 Baptist and St. Peter, at bright and merry Midsum- 
 mer. I was yet remaining with JMaster St. Leger, 
 when the last of these festivals- namely, Friday, the 
 
 * The processions and festivals of the Midsummer Watch 
 described in the text, were first prohibited by Henry A' III. 
 in 15;i9, and remained in disuse until 1548, when Sir John 
 Gresham revived them with great splendour; after which 
 period they were never again renewed.
 
 138 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 29th day of June, came round ; and having a desire 
 to view the jjageants thereof, for that they had been 
 much noted both at Ely and Leicester as most glorious 
 shews, — I told it unto my protector, who answered 
 that he would go with me to view them, if so I listed, 
 because he would have me keep unknown, and not hold 
 much converse with any but himself. 
 
 We set forth with all due caution at even-tide, yet 
 had we not gone a great space, when I marked one, 
 who, as methought, full curiously followed and watch- 
 ed our steps. Having noted it unto my conductor, 
 we crossed once and again from side to side of the 
 street to 'scape from his prying regards, and deemed 
 that ^ve had certainly baffled him, when, as we drew 
 nigh unto the Funeral-cross at Charing, up comes me 
 the same fellow riglit over against us once more. I 
 liked not this, for that I could scarcely think it but 
 chance and not evil design ; and mine anger was rising 
 so fast, that I would with a very good will have gone 
 up vmto the varlet, and demanding wherefore he dog- 
 ged us, have broken his head with my dagger. How- 
 beit. Master St. Leger would in no wise let me from 
 him, but willed me leather to conceal my visage and 
 guard my pouch, wherein were some few of King 
 Richard's gold pieces, albeit my wealth was now of 
 small sum ; for in the dusky even-tide, and lonely 
 passage of the Strand, this Stranger might be minded 
 to assail our purses : since the City pageants, being so 
 great a cavalcade and shew, brought together many of
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANT AGENETS, 139 
 
 all degrees ; and specially not a few of the viler sort, 
 as rogues, cut-purses, quarrellers, and drunkards. 
 Yet, indeed. Master St. Leger doubted, if vnito me 
 he might not prove worse than any common robber ; 
 but we nevertheless went forward without shewing 
 aught of fear or suspicion, though much disordered 
 by his continuing to follow vis, even after we had en- 
 tered the City. 
 
 Howbeit, when we had passed through the dan- 
 gerous darkness and solitude of the Strand, I could 
 not but marvel at the glorious and sudden light which 
 burst upon us as we issued from the Northernmost 
 side of Fowle's Church ; though we had afar off seen 
 it's ruddy reflection upon the night-skies. It was, 
 perchance, about nine of the clock and a sweet mid- 
 summer even, when we entered the street of the West- 
 Cheap, and beheld such a blaze of light as seemed to 
 betoken no less than that London was enwrapped in 
 a flood of fire which almost turned the night into day. 
 Every man's door shewed like some rural tabernacle, 
 being shadowed with green birch, long fennel, St. 
 John's wort, orpin, white lilies, and such like, gar- 
 nished upon with garlands of beautiful flowers. There 
 were, also, many lamps of glass, with oil burning in 
 them all the night, some being hung upon branches 
 of iron curiously wrought, which held hundreds light- 
 ed at once and made a most goodly show : beside 
 which, there were multitudes of flaming cressets hung 
 up in the streets, and huge lanthorns, or iron grates
 
 140 THE LAST OF THK TLANTAGENETS. 
 
 with fire, fixed on the ends of long staves and carried 
 about on men's shoulders, or held by them standing 
 at the several lanes and passages. As I looked upon 
 all this with great wonder, the Stranger, who had so 
 long followed us, accosted us with, " Good even to you, 
 my masters, this is in truth a rare sight, well worth 
 some travel to behold ; and you, like me, I trow, have 
 been at some pains to look upon it?" 
 
 He spake this with a voice and air of gentle breed- 
 ing, and thereupon I thought that I had done him 
 much wrong in suspecting him of dishonesty ; which 
 made me reply unto him with more courtesy, though 
 still with caution, that it was truly a most wondrous 
 shew, even if the lighted streets were all of it. 
 
 " An it were indeed, so," answered he, " full many 
 would rail at their scanty entertainment, for I wot 
 well that these bright lamps and green boughs, fair 
 though they be, are the least parts of the March of 
 THE City Watch ; which, by the Lamb of St. John ! 
 is even now coming forward : so look, my masters^ and 
 I shall describe to you the whole pageant as it passeth 
 by us." 
 
 As he spake were heard the trumpets and merry 
 music of the City Waits, with the heavy tread of a large 
 body marching towardsus; whereupon word was given 
 that all who came but as gazers should stand by, for 
 that the great procession of the night was close at hand. 
 Firstly, there came a party of watchmen bearing iron 
 cages of fire upon staves, each designated by a painted
 
 THE LAST OP THR PLAKTAGENETS. 141 
 
 badge, and followed by a man with a skin wallet, hav- 
 ing therein a light and pitched ropes to serve the cres- 
 set. Then came a wondrous pleasant noise of Min- 
 strels, and the City Waits, in their coats of tawny 
 frieze, playing most rarely on crowds, rotes, shawms, 
 dulcimers, sackbuts, and the like; the which were 
 followed by morris-dancers, clothed in antic dresses, 
 making good pastime, sword-players brandishing 
 their weapons, and trumpeters on horseback. Next 
 after them came part of the City Watch, ordered and 
 trained by divers ancient soldiers of skill to be Cap- 
 tains and officers over them ; and in truth they were 
 a right gallant troop, there being of them a great 
 number and diversity ; as pikemen in bright corselets 
 or burgonets, billmen in Almaine-rivets and aprons 
 of mail, gunners with harquebushes, halberdiers, and 
 archers in coats of white fustian, signed on the back 
 and breast with the arms of the City, their bows being 
 bent in their hands, and a sheaf of arrows hung at their 
 sides. The Constables of London followed these, in 
 bright armour, some being over-gilt, and cloaks of 
 scarlet with gold chains ; each one also being at- 
 tended by his henchman, his minstrels, and his cres- 
 set-light. 
 
 It will not be questioned by any, that all this stately 
 array brought with it no little press of the gazing and 
 shouting multitude, the which in truth came with 
 such a mighty rush, that I was suddenly separated 
 from Master St. Leger, and borne forward with the
 
 142 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 train whetlier I would or no. I felt much disquieted 
 at this, albeit I could neither withstand the force of 
 the crowd, nor return to my conductor ; whereupon 
 resigning myself to be carried along with it, I beheld 
 this stately March pass through it's whole progress, 
 from the upper end of West-Cheap down to the 
 Stocks-market and Cornhill, by the Leaden-hall to 
 Aldgate, and through Fen-Church-Street and Graci- 
 ous-Street, back unto the Conduit in Cheap. Through 
 all this journey, however, I found him who had 
 watched us from Charing still at my side, as if pro- 
 tecting me from the crowd, for he was a stout fellow 
 enough ; at which I marvelled and somewhat fore- 
 thought myself for having taken him for a knave. 
 Howbeit, I was fretful and much wearied when Ave 
 returned to the West-Cheap, where the procession 
 passed by us for the last time ; and where the care- 
 less speech of the rude crowd seemed greatly to dis- 
 quiet my spirit and kindle mine anger, especially 
 against one clownish fellow who had thrust himself 
 somewhat before me^ as we stood in front of the press, 
 and talked without ceasing in a loud and brawling 
 voice. 
 
 " Now, my masters," said he, boisterously pushing 
 about him as the City Constables disappeared, " mark 
 ye all well, I pray you ; for now cometh the best 
 o'the shew : these varlets in the say jackets of black 
 and white, be the footmen, officers, and torch-bear- 
 ers of the Lord Mayor, the worshipful Sir Heni-y
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. ]43 
 
 Colet, Knight. There, ye may see, are his morris- 
 dancers ; — there his histy giant, Corinaeus, the ancient 
 Trojan, carried by six stout men ; — and there be his 
 three most goodly pageants of a Ship, and an Olifaunte, 
 bearing a tower on his back and merry bells therein, 
 and there, too, is a great Red Dragon to betoken the 
 King's Grace, for he is a most loyal gentleman. In 
 midst of all you may note the Sword-bearer, riding 
 in a wondrous fair armour; and next after him, well 
 mounted on that stout roan, the ]\Iayor himself in 
 passing rich clothing. — There you see, too, his twain 
 henchmen following on great stirring horses ; and 
 then come the Sheriffs' Watches, of good shew, but 
 not like my Lord's : — howbeit you can mark that each 
 hath his giant clothed like a Saxon or a Norman, with 
 his liverymen, lights, and minstrels. — Look you now, 
 fellows, there, that is Master John Percivall, one of 
 the Sheriffs ; and do but note what a fair pageant he 
 hath in that Castle, so tliickly set with the King's 
 arms and devices. And there again, is Master Hugh 
 Clopton, the other Sheriff, with a like goodly and 
 loyal pageant of a Crown in a Hawthorn-bush carried 
 by an Angel, to denote how the princely Henry was 
 crowned on Bosworth-field, what time the foul tyrant 
 and crooked usurper, Richard Plantagenct, was slain." 
 At these most evil slanders cast upon my father by 
 one of such base degree, I could suppress mine anger 
 no longer, but smote him a fierce blow on the mouth 
 which had uttered them, and then hastily snatching
 
 144 THK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 from him the staff wherewith he was pointing, I 
 forthwith struck him to the ground ; passionately 
 exclaiming, as I s})urned him with my feet, — " Thou 
 liest ! dog that thou art, thus to rail upon so worthy 
 a Prince; who lived like a noble Sovereign, and died 
 like a valiant lion: — thou liest in thy throat to call 
 
 him foul tyrant and crooked usurper ! " 
 
 I had already drawn my dagger^ and perchance 
 should have slain the villain in the first heat of my 
 wrath, had not the Stranger who stood by my side 
 forcibly grasped my arm, and dragged me from the 
 spot, backward into the crowd, saying, as he looked at 
 the man bleeding upon the ground, " Truly I think he 
 doth indeed lie, and is like to do so somewhat longer, 
 I wot ;" then adding unto me in a lower voice, " come, 
 my valiant young master, you have shewn enow of 
 your prowess and high birth for to-night, and if you 
 would keep your gentle blood from being spilled by 
 these rude churls, follow me quickly through the 
 crowd." And of a verity his counsel was right wise, 
 since I saw the multitude hastily gathering round 
 the fallen man, and looking after me with fierce glan- 
 ces and loud cries of " Stop the rebel !" — " Seize the 
 traitor !" — " God save King Henry, and no murderous 
 Plantagenets !" whereupon I rushed through the 
 press after my companion, and hastily passing down 
 Sopar's-lane by the Church of St. INIary-le-bow, we 
 turned into Fish-street, where most of the gay cres- 
 sets were put out and the pageant at an end.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 145 
 
 Undei' cover of the darkness we silently hastened 
 onward towards Westminster, though keeping as 
 much as might be in the obscurest ways and passages, 
 the which seemed wondrously familiar unto my con- 
 ductor ; until at length deeming ourselves safe from 
 farther pursuit, we slackened our speed, and began 
 to breathe and speak unto each other. " A plague 
 upon that slanderous knave!" exclaimed I, though 
 my wrath against him had now somewhat abated, 
 " I trust in Our Lady that I have not slain him ! 
 yet he angered me sorely, — for that were a passing 
 shrewd finish to the night's merriment : which, to 
 speak the truth, was the bravest sight mine eyes ever 
 looked upon, albeit they are neither very old nor have 
 seen much as yet." 
 
 " Fear not for him," answered the Stranger, '' me- 
 thinks you have done a good deed ; inasmuch as by 
 breaking his sconce, you have sent him home sober, 
 which shall be the better for his wound. As for the 
 pageant, 'twas as you say, a brave sight indeed ; and 
 truly, at this time we want somewhat joyous, seeing 
 that we have little to cheer us of late under this pre- 
 sent King Henry, for even the Queen's coronation, 
 which all men do covet to behold, hath not yet been 
 performed ; though he hath been so long married 
 and hath a son born. I trow that matters stood not 
 thus in the days of King Edward." 
 
 "Right, good fellow, right," responded T, "nor 
 )'et had they been so in the time of his noble brother, 
 
 L
 
 146 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 King Richard, had God given him a longer day of 
 rule and sovereignty." 
 
 " In sooth," answered my companion thereunto, 
 " in sooth, IMaster Plantagenet, since I must verily 
 think that such a brave spirit comes of that line, there 
 you strike the wedge on the very head ; for the stout 
 Richard was truly a man of whom the realm might 
 well be proud, though, as you note, it had brief en- 
 joyment of him. But men say," continued he, in a 
 more cautious voice, " that he hath left a son, whom 
 the good Sir Gilbert De Mountford will bring forth 
 at a fitting season : what say you to this?" 
 
 I had already thought whilst the Stranger was 
 speaking, that all the merry music of that night was 
 not so pleasant to mine ears as these words of praise 
 which he bestowed upon my father, seeing that al- 
 most all men spake of him with false and bitter re- 
 proach ; and therefore my conscience smote me more 
 than before, that I had ever doubted the honesty of 
 one who had thus proved the wondrous excellence 
 of both his heart and judgement. And now that he 
 touched upon the very master-string of my bosom, I 
 was almost about to discover myself unto him, and 
 recount the story of my past life, when the counsels 
 of Sir Gilbert De iMountford, Blaster St. Leger, and, 
 above all, those of my deceased sire, came into my 
 mind, and restrained my tongue from farther disclo- 
 sure. We nevertheless continued to discourse freely 
 on the great worth of King Richard, he wondrously
 
 THK LAST OF THK FLANTAGENETS. 147 
 
 consenting to all that T spake in his praise ; and 
 affirming that the wily adventurer who now wore 
 his crown, was, even in the day of his greatest 
 glory, miworthy of buckling on that Sovereign's 
 armour. 
 
 So continued we unto Westminster, when, in the 
 openness of my heart and confidence in his honour, 
 I told the Stranger that I dwelled with a scribe 
 there, who, like himself, was a lover of the memory 
 of Richard, and a true friend to the House of York. 
 I told him too, that he might well believe that this 
 was not to be said unto all men, but that I gladly 
 trusted him, because he seemed unto me a good and 
 loyal Englishman ; although I had held him in no 
 little suspicion from his having watched us so closely 
 as we walked unto the City. 
 
 " Why, my master," said he in reply, " when two 
 men go to the same place, they are like to travel the 
 same road. I marked you, and saw that in your faces 
 that I desired to see more of; so I kept me closely to 
 your side, and as you have lost your other companion, 
 it hath been to good purpose, and I well trust that we 
 shall be better acquainted anon ; so that I am right 
 glad you have been deceived in me." 
 
 When we came to part, which was at Charing, 
 where I first beheld him, the distant Abbey-bell was 
 tolling the hour of one. Long before the last clouds 
 of the night-skies were touched by the first beams of 
 the morning, I arrived at Master St. Leger's with
 
 148 THE LAST OP THE PLiANTAGENETS. 
 
 wearied feet and disquieted spirit, and heard with 
 much alarm that he had not yet returned ; where- 
 upon I seated myself to await his coming, and fell 
 into a feverish and uneasy slumber, all unprepared 
 for what I was next to encounter.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A FLIGHT^ A DISAPP0INT3IENT, AND THE DEATH OF 
 A DEAR FRIEND. 
 
 It standeth so ; a deed is do 
 
 Whereof great harm shall grow : 
 My destiny is for to die 
 
 A shameful death I trow. 
 Or else to flee : the one must be, — 
 
 None other way I know. 
 • « « • * 
 Wherefore, adieu, mine own heart true ! 
 
 None other rede I can ; 
 For I must to the green-wood go. 
 
 Alone, — A banish'd man ! 
 
 The Nut-brown Maid. 
 
 All heads must come 
 
 To the cold tomb. 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 
 
 Shirley, 
 
 It could not have been more than a short half hour 
 that I had been thus sleeping, when I was hastily 
 awakened by Master St. Leger standing by my side, 
 who, with looks of great sorrow and disquiet, told me 
 that I was in much danger, and must speedily haste 
 me away from Westminster ; but desired to know
 
 150 THE r^AST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 briefly from mine own lips, that which had befallen 
 me since we had been parted on the past night. This 
 I soon recounted unto him, and albeit he much 
 blamed my rashness and passion, he yet rejoiced 
 that I had not trusted all my secret unto a seeming 
 friend, who might, notwithstanding all which he had 
 uttered, be a very wily knave, and therefore he Avould 
 in no wise have me within his reach or power. And 
 unto this he added, that it was to be feared a hot 
 search would be presently made after me, for that he 
 had heard my story recomited in divers ways in the 
 streets, with some speech of a pursuivant, and a war- 
 rant to carry me before the Council for high-treason ; 
 whereby I should run great risk of discovery, and 
 full surely if I were taken lose my head. Therefore, 
 he said, I must clothe me in some disguise all unlike 
 my present habit, and as I could right well act the 
 Friar, he had brought me such a dress, for that it 
 would be the most regarded and least questioned ; 
 wherein he counselled me to hasten unto those friends 
 of my House who were presently in arms in Not- 
 tinghamshire, on their march towards Yorkshire, 
 whither they intended to draw round them all who 
 affected their cause. He also told me, that divers 
 trusty gentlemen had shewn him that they had al- 
 ready discomfited the King's troops ;* and that their 
 
 * It is stated by the contemporary historian and Poet-Lau-
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 151 
 
 host under the Earl of Lincoln and others grew no 
 mightily, that perchance in another fortnight they 
 might march triumphantly over the very spot where- 
 on we did then stand. Master St. Leger finished all 
 by bidding me be of good cheer, for that he had di- 
 vers friends of much power in that army, unto whom 
 he would give me certain letters which should pro- 
 cure me both a free welcome and much favour. 
 
 And now again did the delusive visions of wild am- 
 bition and gaudy hope rise iip in my heart, albeit at 
 that moment I was little better than a proscribed fugi- 
 tive. Most gladly did I consent to all that he had coun- 
 selled, and in my bosom sprang up the vain, though 
 joyous thought, that at no very distant day, I, who 
 was then in semblance a very groundling, might re- 
 turn home honoured of all as a victor, and, perchance, 
 even as a King ! I thought, too, that if such should 
 indeed be my fortune, how sweet it would prove to 
 requite me on mine enemies, and specially on him 
 who sat on the throne of King Richard ; and how 
 blissful would be the power which would then also 
 be mine, of righting his deserted consort, liberating 
 the imprisoned Queen-Dowager, and beholding and 
 
 reate of Henry VII., Bernard Andreas, of Tliolouse, in his two 
 volumes of his most eminent actions which yet remain in 
 manuscript in the Cottonian I.ihrar_y, that during the bat- 
 tle of Stoke, it was actually supposed that the King's party 
 was defeated.
 
 152 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 betrothing unto me the lovely Lady Bride, the which 
 thought seemed dearer than all. 
 
 liovvbeit, these profitless musings were eftsoons 
 broken up by Master St. Leger, who urged me to 
 hasten to change my habit, that I might quit the 
 house before day-break ; and in truth I suffered no 
 time to escape me, for speed is life in such straits as 
 mine. I therefore quickly swallowed some food, 
 wliilst my constant friend wrote the missives I was 
 to bear with me ; and long ere the sun rose upon 
 London, I had set forward in the habit of a Benedic- 
 tine Friar, bearing with me divers letters to the Earl 
 of Lincoln and his confederates, who were embarked 
 in the very same plots as those which Sir Gilbert De 
 Mountford had undertaken to support. 
 
 As the whole of my purposed journey was alto- 
 gether unknown to me. Master St. Leger himself 
 guided me forth by the Church of St. Martin, stand- 
 ing in a narrow country lane, with fields around it ; 
 then through the meadows called the Long-acre, and 
 so by certain fields unto Old-bourne Bridge, whence 
 we entered on the broad space of Smith-field, where 
 the Northern Carriers are wont to lodge: with one 
 of whom we breakfasted at dawn of day, he drinking 
 stoutly to our good journey out of a huge flagon of 
 double-ale. Master St. Leger then bade me farewell 
 Avith much caution, though with great kindness of 
 speech ; and as he departed I looked wistfully after 
 him with somewhat like tears in mine eyes, until the
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 153 
 
 Carrier told me that our horses were ready, when we 
 forthwith mounted and rode away. 
 
 It seemed unto me great good fortune, that at first 
 my rude conductors were resolved to hasten their 
 journey, so that before night closed upon us we were 
 far advanced upon our progress ; but me lists not 
 now to set down how we halted at eve and set for- 
 ward at sun-rise, and therefore let it be enow to say, 
 that we travelled safely, — albeit I was oft-times in 
 great doubt and fear, — until we reached Elveston, in 
 the good County of Nottingham some four miles short 
 of Newark, having spent nearly a week upon the road, 
 and journied 120 miles. I well deemed, however, 
 that such delay betokened me no good ; in the which 
 I was not wrong, as shall forthwith be set down. 
 
 In this village of Elveston, JMaster St. Leger had 
 told me, that I should find a fair hostel, whereof the 
 keeper was a true friend unto the House of York, and 
 had most clearly proved it by changing his sign, which 
 of old was the Red Rose, into the White ; that all men 
 might know what he was who dwelled therein. Of him 
 was I admonished to ask for farther counsel concern- 
 ing the Earl of Lincoln's host ; and having contented 
 my Carriers, to this hostel I went for lodging, and 
 found him whom 1 desired to behold. Having called 
 him apart from his guests, I told him, in brief, that I 
 was well known unto divers of his friends in London, 
 and had tidings from them unto the Lord Lovel and 
 certain others of great place in that power; the which
 
 l'}4 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 I prayed him to shew me the way of delivering. 
 
 The Host, whose name was Gideon Staples, then 
 looked at me with a shrewd eye and gibing visage, 
 and turning from me with clownish jesting, said unto 
 a certain merry Clerk who sat near him quaffing large 
 draughts of ale, " Lo ye, now ; goodman Inkpen, how 
 honest men be beset by knaves ! This rogue-priest 
 hath heard, I warrant you, how the rebels pulled 
 down my true sign to set up their own foul leasings, 
 and so thinketh that I am his fellow in treason." 
 
 As he spake, I noted that the crowd in the hostel 
 seemed much disturbed and boisterous, whereupon I 
 did suspect, having been of late greatly accustomed 
 to doubt of my safety, — that some evil had befallen 
 the Yorkist friends -whom I was then seeking, not- 
 withstanding the report of their triumph in London. 
 This the Clerk I have already spoken of, gave me more 
 perfectly to understand, by saying: — "Thou art all 
 too late for the fair, Sir Priest, and York is too far for 
 thee to travel to this journey ; and so as honest 
 gaffer Staples, our host, hath no longer fear of being 
 misused by riotous traitors, he hath even to-day 
 proved his true heart by turning out, — sick and sad 
 as they might be, — the wounded rogues whom the 
 rebel Earl of Lincoln quartered upon him ; and has 
 gotten back his old sign that was stolen, the which 
 shall be mounted again ere the sun gets up to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Aye," cried another voice, " the play of White and
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 155 
 
 Red was played out I trow at Stoke a month ago; 
 Lincoln and Geradine with a host of their knaves 
 were left dead upon the ground, Lovel was drowned 
 in Trent, and as for the Almains, they so trusted in, 
 why as the song saith," — continued he, chaunting part 
 of a ribald ballad made at this time, 
 
 " ' Martin Schwart and his men, 
 Sodledum Syllorum hen ; 
 For gold and for fee, they came o'er the sea. 
 But they'll never march home agen ! 
 Sing O aieh ! Ah well a day ! 
 For Martin Schwart and his men ! ' " 
 
 This gibing did not fail to produce a mighty out- 
 cry in the hostel, all the guests whereof seemed most 
 fierce against one whom they deemed a favourer of 
 the rebels. IMuch angry and evil speech was be- 
 stowed on me, and divers menaces withal ; and some 
 did not even doubt to say, that when the true sign 
 was set up again it would be a good deed to make a 
 traitor-priest's head it's companion. When this dis- 
 order had continued a brief space, the Clerk who stood 
 near me, suddenly, but secretly, snatched my pouch 
 from my girdle, wherein were some of my letters, and 
 seeming to examine them, cried out, " Stint your 
 clamour, my Masters all! for this is no traitor- varlet, 
 as you deem him, but a good man and true, come to 
 spy me into the foul plots of the rebels, and know 
 what they would do farther against the King; for the
 
 150 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 which he hath even now progressed hither from 
 London." 
 
 But albeit there was certes some good-will intended 
 unto me by this speech, it did much perplex me, for 
 that I abhorred the very name of an espial; though, 
 as matters then stood, I deemed it not wise wholly to 
 disavow that which he uttered. Yet affirm it, I 
 might not ; both because it would have been to have 
 sinned against the truth, and also for that I well knew 
 the letters which he had seized upon would bear 
 witness against me : whereupon I held my peace, 
 since my speech might mar, though it could not mend 
 my fortune. 
 
 The men-y Clerk, therefore, went on to say much 
 more to the like purpose, the which, as he spake with 
 boldness and I denied not his words, was presently 
 well believed by all, and suddenly wrought me great 
 good- will in the hostel ; for Master Staples became 
 wondrous reverent unto me, deeming me, perchance, 
 to be one in the King's service ; and nought would 
 satisfy him but that I should be of his own company, 
 and partake of his food and ale at free-cost. Never- 
 theless, I doubted much as to what all this courtesy 
 might tend, though I seemed to accept it in good part; 
 and whiles I sat in the hostel I heard many circum- 
 stances of the late battle at Stoke, and defeat of the 
 Yorkists there, the which were for a long space un- 
 known in London. I inwardly sorrowed over these 
 sad tidings, albeit I could hardly refuse to consider
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 157 
 
 the Earl of Lincoln's overthrow as a signal judg- 
 ment of Heaven upon those, who stained a fair and 
 just cause, by supporting the claims of the low-born 
 impostor, Lambert Simnell, whilst I, the true son 
 of King Richard, was utterly disregarded. 
 
 Still, as I have said, my mind was much perplexed, 
 as to what those about me did really intend; nor did I 
 marvel less, when he who had seized upon my letters, 
 and so warmly spake in my defence, drew me some- 
 what aside, and cautiously said in a low voice, " Be 
 discreet in speech and patient in conduct, or thy neck 
 may even yet be found in a St. Johnstone's tippet ! 
 keep your eye warily upon me, and when I quit the 
 hostel, do you do the like presently after, with as little 
 noise as you may." His visage was then again 
 changed unto it's wonted look of merry recklessness, 
 as though he would have it unmarked that he had 
 spoken with me ; and whilst loud prating and rude 
 merriment continued to resound through the hostel, 
 I waited with much anxiety for the hour, when I 
 should be farther informed of that which I should 
 next encounter. 
 
 It was during this time of doubt, that the rude hinds 
 began to discourse of the fate of certain leaders in the 
 late battle ; and beside many whom they noted as 
 having been left dead upon the field, and others who 
 had since bled upon the scaffold at Newark, they 
 spake of some who had never been seen or heard of 
 after the conflict ; and in especial of Sir Thomas
 
 158 THE IvAST OF THE PI.ANTAGENKTS. 
 
 Broughton, and the Lord Lovel. Of the last, divers 
 affirmed that he was drowned in swimming his horse 
 over the Trent River ; and that his sprite had been 
 seen in the night-season by moonlight, on the other 
 side thereof, habited as when he died, but with all his 
 wounds bleeding, and looking wondrously pale and 
 wan. Howbeit, others did contrariwise declare, that 
 he might well be seen in that place, for that many 
 deemed him to be yet hidden in some of the caverns 
 on the farther bank of Trent ; albeit, after the closest 
 search and watching, none might discover where he 
 was concealed, or how he was sustained. 
 
 Upon this I marked that an old Minstrel, clothed in 
 a purple coat-hardy with a silver clasp, and altogether 
 of a better sort than those lewd crowders which be now 
 most commonly found in hostels, who was then 
 travelling unto the King's Court at Westminster, — 
 rose up and said, " My masters, ye ought not to 
 marvel that a man may live long undiscovered when 
 hidden in a wild place, for divers good authors do tell 
 of the like ; and I remember me of a noted history 
 thereof, the which I learned in Bretagne, in France, 
 when I was about the age of the child who beareth 
 my harp. It was made by that most choice Poet, 
 Marie, from some more ancient song ; and, if ye list, 
 I shall sing it to ye forthwith for small guerdon, al- 
 though it is a passing rare romaunt." 
 
 As the common sort do ever delight in hearing the 
 wondrous tales of Minstrels and Harpers, albeit, for
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANT AGENETS. 159 
 
 the most part they are but glosing lies, the guests in 
 the hostel were full clamorous for the old man to re- 
 count this history ; at which I was not a little glad, 
 for that I well trusted to escape whilst they listened, 
 the which I did, as shall hereafter be shewn. But, 
 now as the story of my life is so sad, I have thought 
 it meet here to give it somewhat of disport by co- 
 pying into it the aged Minstrel's rude old tale and 
 rhymes, as I have since found them written in an an- 
 cient book in the Abbey of Our Lady of Walsingham. 
 
 THE LAY OF ANT7EUS. 
 
 A ROMAUNT Or ARCADIE. 
 
 'Tis the glad hour of lusty June, 
 And the blithe laverock's merry tune 
 
 Is heard from every tree ; 
 The summer sun is hot and sheen 
 O'er flowery field and forest green, 
 
 And on the purple sea- 
 His rays upon the snow-mount's height, 
 Like gold yspread on silver white, 
 
 Of dazzling lustre be : 
 But though far o'er the world he stands. 
 And shines where broadest earth expands, 
 I ween he lights no fairer lands 
 
 Than those of Arcadie.
 
 160 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS- 
 
 IT. 
 
 In that blest clime, as Poets tell. 
 The infant-Jove of old did dwell ; 
 
 And sure were never known 
 Such lofty mounts and jrrassy plains. 
 Such milk-white Hocks and gentle swains, 
 
 Within this earthly zone. 
 There, too, were found the palace proud, 
 The village hinds, the city's crowd, 
 Ilich towns, and lofty towers ; 
 And there were many a Barony, 
 Of stately name and high degree. 
 
 Of wealth and warlike powers. 
 O'er one of these, long pass'd away. 
 There ruled a County brave and gay, 
 Of old Antteus' line the lord, — 
 Which still Evanthe's tomes record, — 
 Whose worth so well that province knew 
 That warmest praise seem'd but his due ; 
 A valiant champion, and a host 
 Liberal of favour and of cost ; 
 And his king's love, his friends' delight. 
 Were given those virtues to requite. 
 
 III. 
 
 But round his ancient House a spell 
 Was 'twined, as Pliny's pages tell. 
 
 That ever of his line. 
 The heir should quit his castle-home. 
 And for a certain space should roam. 
 
 But where might none divine. 
 
 And it was said, whoe'er should slight 
 That ancient wont and mystic rite 
 
 Beyond his twentieth vear;
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 101 
 
 Childless and timeless he should fall, 
 Beneath the ruins of his hall, 
 
 Which none again should rear. 
 But whiles Antseus' heir obey'd 
 This 'hest, and well his task assay 'd, 
 His noble House should ' stablish'd be 
 In the fair land of Arcadie, 
 And his proud name adorn it's page 
 Of story to remotest age. 
 And, now, the last protracted day 
 Was hastening from the East away, 
 And still the wonted course I wot 
 Was, that unto a lonely spot, 
 An ancient Knight the heir should lead, 
 FuU-arm'd, and mounted on his steed, 
 What time the sun's arising light 
 First pierced the darkness of the night. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In Arcadie 'tis June, 'tis June, 
 
 And the blithe birds with merry tune 
 
 Carol from every tree ; 
 All in that golden world are glad, 
 Save good Antieiis, who is sad 
 
 As e'er such lord may be : 
 For, now, unto the forest bright 
 Have ridden away the Prince and Knight, 
 
 And each looked heavilie. 
 And as they reach'd a wild wood brake. 
 Beyond a dark and rushy lake. 
 The Knight unto his lord thus spake, 
 
 " That desert waits for thee ! — 
 
 M
 
 162 THE LAST OF THE I'LANTAGENETS. 
 
 " But ere thou o'er these waters speed, 
 Here must thou leave thy gallant steed, 
 
 Till thou shalt him reclaim ; 
 On this stone cross his rein be slung. 
 Thy bugle-horn and shield be luuig, 
 
 To tell thy rank and name ; 
 To call thee when thine hour hath past 
 Back to thine home with merry blast, 
 
 In bliss for life to dwell ; 
 But, Oh ! before that fair rewai-d 
 Thou wilt have conflict fierce and hard. 
 
 Young County, — quit thee well 1 
 
 V. 
 
 " Thus stands thy fate : — In olden hours, 
 Mankind were oft with wondrous powers 
 
 Endow'd their forms to change ; 
 To roam the earth in savage pride, 
 To spread destruction far and wide. 
 
 And Wehr-Avolves wild to range ! 
 To feast on blood, and feed on men. 
 To make the forest broad tlieir den ; 
 
 And many a minstrel-lay 
 Tells how the woods of Limousin 
 With Garwars midnight-bowlings rang. 
 
 Or of Bisclaveret* 
 
 * The romance, or Lai du Bisclaveret^ is one of those pre- 
 served by Marie of France, an Anglo-Norman poetess of the 
 thirteenth century, who collected and copied such minstrel- 
 stories of her own times as she knew to be true, and to have 
 been formed into lays by the people of Armorica, or Bretagne.
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 163 
 
 One of thy race, — whose wizard skill 
 Bow'd winds and spirits to his will 
 In yonder wilderness, when high 
 The fiends held wild festivity, — 
 Became a Wehr-wolf, of such fame 
 That Ai'cadie yet fears his name ! 
 But, when the hand of age had shed 
 It's hoary frosts upon his head. 
 As SAviftly fled his crime-stain'd years, 
 The thoughts of death awaked his fears, 
 And of that place of endless pain 
 Which forms the wizard's surest gain. 
 
 Bisclaveret and Garival, or Garwalf^ ai"e the Breton and Norman 
 names for those persons who were periodically changed into 
 wolves ; when they became the most ferocious and destructive 
 of all the inhabitants of the forests. Marie's tale is of one 
 who suffered by his wife's treacher}^, after having been pre- 
 vailed upon to entrust her with the secret of the place where 
 he deposited his clothes during his transformation, although 
 their discovery and removal would cause him to retain his 
 wolf's shape for life. Some of these circumstances are also 
 to be found in the above legend ; which appears to be com- 
 posed partly of the lay by Marie, and partly of a narrative 
 cited in Pliny's Natural History, book viii. chap. 22, from 
 Evanthes, a Greek author of repute, concerning a sort of doom 
 in a branch of the family of the Antiti in Arcadia, in which 
 there was always to be a Wehr-wolf, who recovered his human 
 shape, if during his nine years of transformation lie could 
 refrain from devouring flesh. The action which the poem 
 recounts, is, however, of much later time ; since Pliny was 
 destroyed at Herculaneum in A.D. 70, and St. Anthony, who 
 is afterwards mentioned, died in A. D. 356, aged 105.
 
 1G4 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Then, witli repentant heart and eyes, 
 
 He pour'd his jjrayers unto the skies ; 
 
 Abjured at once the direful spell 
 
 That seal'd his covenant with Hell ; 
 
 And vow'd, though hard might prove the strife, 
 
 To Heaven his yet-remaining life. 
 
 Then, for his wolfish sanguine vest, 
 
 A hermit's hair-cloth round him press'd ; 
 
 For wizard's wand, the cross he bore, 
 
 The mass-book, for unholy lore ; 
 
 For fiendish song, his sacred chaunt 
 
 Or prayer-bell, marked his lonely haunt ; 
 
 And his whole life was never yet 
 
 Equall'd by monk or anchoret, 
 
 That e'er in penance-cell's recess, 
 
 Cave of the sea, or wilderness, 
 
 Sought with the direst pains to win 
 
 Heaven's mercy to a life of sin. 
 
 AVell may ye deem the fiends, whose power 
 
 He 'scaped in that repentant hour 
 
 Now fiercely did assail his cave 
 
 And bade him think Heaven could not save ! 
 
 Midnight and morn they hover'd round, 
 
 To tempt, to mock, affright, confound ; 
 
 And ever, 'midst his warmest prayer, 
 
 Shriek'd in wild tones, — ' Despair! — Despair !' 
 
 VI. 
 
 " 'Twas at this time that fame spake high 
 Of brave and holy Anthony, 
 
 Who, in Mizraim's land 
 Against a foe more fearful yet 
 Than ever mortal warrior met. 
 
 Kept his unyielding stand.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 165 
 
 Who, when the midnight tempest burst 
 In demon-hosts and forms accurst, 
 
 And countless as the sand, — 
 Withstood them with undaunted look, 
 Whom bribes ne'er moved, nor teiTors shook. 
 His shield the blessed Gospel-book, 
 
 The holy Cross his brand. 
 To him, albeit, 'twas far to roam 
 O'er Egypt's deserts to his home, 
 Young County, did thy sire, in woe 
 For counsel, shrift, and penance, go : 
 And the good Saint did more rejoice 
 O'er his repentant tears and voice, — 
 Who sought in pilgrim-weeds the road 
 That leads from Sathanas to God, — 
 Than for the world his praise to tell. 
 Or purpled Kings to seek his cell. 
 
 In brief, thine ancestor was shriven. 
 Absolved, and re-assur'd of Heaven ; 
 Cross'd and sent forth with prayers to aid. 
 Though on his House the doom was laid, — 
 That the next heir, in this wild land 
 Should three years of temptation stand, 
 Whilst his dark foes all arts should use, 
 Another Wehr-wolf to seduce ! 
 
 Thus will it prove a fearful strife 
 That shall assail thine hermit-life. 
 And wiliest foes will seek to win 
 By bliss or bale, thine heart to sin : 
 But fear thou not, resist each charm. 
 Fierce though they seem, they cannot harm ; 
 Whiles thou shalt watch, resist, and i)ray. 
 Nor seek uncall'd from thence to stray.
 
 166 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 But should they triumph ! — then in vain 
 Thou lookest towards thine home again ; 
 Farewell vuito Anlxnis' heir, 
 Farewell unto thy virtues fair ; 
 For both within this forest gloom 
 Shall meet their sad and early tomb, 
 And thy long line of Princes brave 
 Blasted by thee ! — shall find it's grave ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 As closed the Knight, his horn he blew, 
 AVhich on the lake call'd forth to view 
 
 A boat that near'd the side ; 
 'Twas rudely framed of bark I ween, 
 But yet no living wight within 
 
 Appear'd it's course to guide ! 
 Full soon was pass'd the farewell-word. 
 And when Antaeus stepp'd aboard 
 
 It was the even-tide. 
 SwilYly the vessel sprang from shore. 
 But, — though it look'd some Hight-shot o'er, 
 
 The lake spread far and wide ; 
 It's rufiling waves now seem'd to be 
 The current of some swelling sea. 
 
 Which to the gale replied : 
 The wild wood-brake, too, did expand 
 Into as fair a forest land. 
 
 As ever mortal spied. 
 He rcach'd the shore at even bright. 
 When lusty summer's latest light 
 Was Hashing on that wondrous bower. 
 And gilding greenwood leaf and llower.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 167 
 
 Where the warm sun with rich delay 
 Had touch'd them with the last of day. 
 
 Aye, such those ancient woods have been 
 A wild, but yet a goodly scene, 
 To those whose fancy would behold 
 How the earth look'd in days of old : 
 \Vlien, o'er those realms where cities stand 
 Or yellow cornfields crown the land. 
 Spread many a forest's leafy lair 
 Shelt'rmg the satyr, wolf, and bear ; 
 As if a sylvan Hood had hurl'd 
 It's deluge over half the world : 
 And though their glory long hath past 
 How many mighty reliques last ! 
 Preserv'd for after-times to view 
 The ffiant-scenes their fathers knew. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The golden sun that lately glow'd 
 With lustre on the forest-road, 
 
 Soon to his tent retired ; 
 The greenwood, which the dusky fold 
 Of mist and vapour now enroU'd, 
 
 No more his radiance fired. 
 But, as the solemn hours drew nigh 
 Of silence and obscurity. 
 
 Within that distant wood, 
 The County, whilst enough of light 
 AVas left to guide his roving sight, 
 
 Mark'd where a ruin stood. 
 The moss and ivy o'er it grew, 
 Where once a warrior's banner flew ;
 
 168 XHK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Dark wild-flowers wreath'tl the windows round, 
 
 Where ladve's bower of old was found ; 
 
 Long grass had clothed the ample floor, 
 
 Which golden arras cover'd o'er ; 
 
 And all the pile, though still sublime. 
 
 Had bow'd beneath the scythe of Time. 
 
 He stretcli'd him in that lonely spot 
 
 To wait the night's uncertam lot ; 
 
 For, train'd in arms, alike he found 
 
 The softest couch or heathery ground, 
 
 And they who martial fame would hail 
 
 Sleep best and bravest in their mail. 
 
 Yet ere the County courted rest. 
 
 That e'en those ruins might be blest 
 
 From such as sought, in powerful train, 
 
 With deadliest sin his soul to stain, — 
 
 His warrior-hymns and prayers arose 
 
 For strength against his unseen foes, 
 
 And holy echoes round him rung 
 
 As to Saint George these strains he sung. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Evening Hymn to Saint Geouge. 
 
 " Saint ! Soldier ! Martyr ! — by each name 
 
 Inspired by men's or angels' praise ; 
 Oh ! let a fellow-warrior claim 
 Thine ear unto his evening-lays. 
 The prayers I breathe, the hymns I raise. 
 
 Are rude and brief, but thou know'st well 
 E'en though bereft of jjriestl}' phrase. 
 In whom the pious heart doth dwell : 
 
 Ave, Sancte Ceorgi !
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 169 
 
 Be thou to-night my patron-guard, 
 
 From aught of ill that lurketh nigh ; 
 Nor would my soul thy watch discard 
 E'en when the morning shines on hi^h. 
 My ghostly foes thou canst descry, 
 
 'Gainst those of earth, this blade shall be 
 My best defence and prompt reply, 
 Yet when T strike, — strike thou with me : 
 
 Ave, Sancte Georgi ! 
 
 And now I bend me to that sign 
 
 And symbol of our common Lord, 
 The Cross, which decks thy shield divine, 
 And stands upon my faithful sword ; 
 Oh ! by that sacred badge afford 
 
 Thine intercessions to my cries, 
 And be thou, Soldier-Saint, adored 
 By every champion for the skies : 
 
 Ora pro nobis Georgi !" 
 
 Whilst thus arose the County's lay 
 Darker and darker grew the day, 
 
 But when he couch'd his head, 
 Unwonted thoughts within his breast 
 Seem'd struggling to forbid his rest, 
 
 And sleep his eyes had fled. 
 " 'Tis strange," he cried, " that belted Knight 
 Who spurns at ease and soft delight, 
 AVhose limbs encased in mail and steel 
 May seldom gentler vestments feel, 
 Whose fare is hard, whose course throughout 
 Hath I)rief repose and constant doubt,
 
 170 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Should courting want to sluuiber's bliss 
 
 E'en on a bed so rude as this. 
 
 But when these towers were in their pride 
 
 A fairer couch had they supplied ; 
 
 And then the minstrels would have told 
 
 Mj coming on their harps of gold ; 
 
 This hall had glow'd with tapers' light, 
 
 And festive board, and goblet bright ; 
 
 Then, should my wearied limbs have lain 
 
 On costly furs, till morn again 
 
 Had call'd me to advance 
 Into the lists of martial fame, 
 Where knights of worth and 'squires of name. 
 And many a fair and noble dame, 
 
 Had praised my gallant lance. 
 How fares it now ! these walls surround 
 A lonely spot of forest-gi'ound. 
 Still is the merry minstrel-sound, 
 
 And closed the stately dance ! 
 Their lights are now the pallid gleam 
 Of the night-planet's flickering beam. 
 That tints the walls with lambent stream 
 
 Half-broken and askance ! 
 Oh ! if the dead can look upon 
 The things of earth, whence they are gone. 
 Can view their proudest piles of stone 
 Disdain'd, deserted, and o'erthrown. 
 Nought of their names or actions known, — 
 
 How painful were the glance ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 " But fouler spirits rove, I wis, 
 In ancient ruin such as this
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. I?! 
 
 With evil purpose still ; 
 Wailing, perchance, their towers' decay, 
 Or, clad in dread or quaint array, 
 With spectre-masque and goblin-play, 
 Long-vanish'd scenes again pourtray, 
 
 And these void chambers fill 
 With many a vision of the past, 
 Too wild for truth, too foul to last ; 
 
 Yet, be it good or ill 
 Which lingers in these lonely towers, 
 Oft to return when darkness lowers, 
 And revel through the midnight hours, — 
 
 Here lies a Christian Knight 
 Who all unchanged can on them look, 
 Well can the phantom-pageant brook 
 Whom fiend nor mortal never shook. 
 
 The foeman nor the sprite. 
 Though wizard-ghosts, — of lofty line 
 Of Blankenburg and Ilodenstein, 
 Or Barbaross, whose court is made 
 In dark Hercynia's wildest glade, — 
 Should rise, as they were wont to come 
 Ere they departed to the tomb. 
 And with their fierce and giant train 
 Should fill these ruin'd halls again. 
 With power to fright, assail, or kill, 
 Or gifts to win me to their will, — 
 Unmoved such scenes should meet mine eye, 
 Unstain'd my soul should them defy ! " 
 
 XII. 
 
 He ceas'd, and like the words of power 
 That wizard speaks at solcnui hour,
 
 172 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 When at his call appear 
 The spirits of the earth and clouds, 
 In shininj^ Ibrms and legion -crowds, 
 
 And e'en the dead must hear ; — 
 So, in those ruins dark and lone. 
 Sudden a stately palace shone, 
 
 Up flew the lights amain ; 
 And, clad in robes long laid aside 
 For some more new device of pride, 
 
 In swept a knightly train ! 
 And there were mantle, pall, and vair, 
 Tissue and velvets rich and fair ; 
 With blazon'd shields of chiefs who Ions 
 Were known alike in fight and song. 
 Whose armour flash'd with hues as bright 
 As if 'twere mortal steel and light ! 
 
 Then mark'd Antaeus each warrior round 
 A rough and sanguine wolf-skin bound ; 
 And he who was the chief, I ween. 
 Of loftiest height and fiercest mien. 
 In voice most fearful thus address'd. 
 The wizard crowd that round him press'd. 
 " Welcome Arcadia's Wehr- wolves all 
 Unto your solemn festival! 
 Rejoice ! for to your ancient home 
 Another mortal Knight hath come ; 
 Who, questionless doth seek to be 
 Admitted of your chivalry : — 
 For it were vain but to suppose 
 He scorns our might, or holds us foes, 
 Since not a living wight would dare 
 To rush so madly on despair : — 
 Therefore, being knowni a soldier tried 
 Who stoutly fights and swil't can ride.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 173 
 
 Let him approach, and on his knee 
 Swear unto us his fealty, 
 Then grasp each hardy comrade's hand. 
 And thus a gallant Wehr-wolf stand !" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Briefly, but bold, the County cried 
 That he that demon-host defied 
 
 In all it's powers accurst ; 
 And, in the strength of God, whate'er 
 The foulest of the band might dare, 
 Arm'd with keen blade and holy prayer 
 
 He fear'd not for the worst. 
 Then, with wild cry, that lighted tower 
 Was changed to midnight's darkest hour, 
 
 And forth their fury burst ! 
 But 'twere too fearful and too long, 
 To tell in this my hasty song 
 
 How the young County durst 
 Their wiles and force alike withstand 
 Who sought to link him to their band ; 
 Whether, as now, they came full gay 
 With trump, and masque, and quaint array ; 
 f)r, when at night with hideous yell, 
 Like wolves they howl'd around his cell ; 
 Or, whether, when the tempest roar'd. 
 To shake his faith their legions pour'd, 
 In quaintest forms with wildest screams 
 Thick as the motes in summer's beams : — 
 All these he saw unmov'ti, liis prayer 
 Rose ever 'midst that wild despair. 
 And, till he heard the bugle-strain, 
 Unscared, unwon, did he remain.
 
 174 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But ere we mark that signal-note 
 Call on the forest-lake the boat 
 
 liack for Antaeus to fare, 
 I ween one look must given be 
 Unto the Court at Arcadie, 
 
 To learn what passeth there. 
 Ye would not deem a Prince so good 
 As young Antseus might waken feud, 
 
 A subject's heart within ; 
 But he possess'd a lovely bride. 
 From whom to sever much he sigh'd. 
 
 His trial to begin : 
 And there was one who oft had sought 
 To win him to her lustful thought. 
 
 Yet ne'er might favour win. 
 Whence her dark soul had ponder'd still, 
 So long the secret arts of ill. 
 
 She found deep means to sin. 
 The three years had not fully fled 
 Though Time with untired wings had sped, 
 Whilst that 3'oung bride in sadness sate 
 Revolving o'er her County's fate ; — 
 For hidden from her must be perforce 
 The space and secret of his course, — 
 When, with soft voice, that evil one 
 Told her, how in the woods alone 
 Her noble lord was bound to stray, 
 Till, call'd by her to come away. 
 
 AVith raptured eye and Joyful look 
 I ween a page's garb she took. 
 And braced around her vestments sheen 
 A sword of temper true and keen,
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 175 
 
 Then on her palfrey lightly stept, 
 Shook bridle-rein and onward leapt, 
 Till, all untired, by even's light 
 The cross and lake were full in sight. 
 
 Well may ye ween her County's shield 
 She knew in tourney, wood, or field ; 
 Well may ye ween she knew his steed, 
 Left on the forest- vert to feed ; 
 Well may ye ween she tried to wake 
 His bugle in that greenwood-brake : 
 And, think not that I speak untrue, 
 When I declare such blast she blew. 
 That wood and covert echoed round 
 The loud and all unwonted sound ; 
 Though ever, as the sylvan strain 
 Blithely arose, it sank again 
 Into a moui'nful note and low, 
 As if it prophesied of woe. 
 Nay, some have said that with it blent 
 Strange sounds of fiendish merriment ! 
 I ween it might be so, full well. 
 But if tis sooth I cannot tell. 
 
 XV. 
 
 In the greenwood 'tis June, 'tis June, 
 But the blithe birds have ceas'd their tune, 
 
 As if from every tree 
 The forest-minstrels all had fled, 
 Or it were winter wild and dread, 
 
 And winds moan'd heavilie : 
 There was no sign of life I wot 
 When the horn through that lonely spot 
 
 Pour'd it's sad harmonie ;
 
 170 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 But when the echoes 'gan to wake, 
 A boat upon the forest-lake 
 
 The County's bride might see. 
 Swiftly the tide it traversed o'er, 
 Swiftly Antseus sprang to shore. 
 Saw but his own dear bonnibelle, 
 Which no disguise from him could veil ; 
 Then, as their tears of rapture gush'd, 
 Each to the other quickly rush'd. 
 And, in those fond embraces lost, 
 Deem'd not what price that bliss had cost. 
 
 I would that harp and voice might fail 
 To leave the rest an untold tale, 
 Or that I might all else forget, 
 Save their delight who thus had met ; 
 But I must on, my chords must sound, 
 Howe'er the words or notes may wovmd ; 
 Sadly, though truly, must I tell 
 The chance of that young damosell. 
 Who, all unwitting, summon'd home 
 Her lord, ere yet fulfil'd his doom. 
 And aided thus his foes to gain 
 A triumph they had sought in vain ! 
 From that sad hour, Antaeus' line 
 In Arcadie hath met decline ; 
 And never heir was found to claim 
 The princedom or the ancient name ; 
 And but this lay is left to shew 
 Their story wondrous, sad, and true. 
 
 For the two lovers, living one 
 Hath never since them look'd upon ; 
 But deep and ancient lore yet saith, 
 That, for the Coimty's spotless faith.
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 177 
 
 They live and love from sorrow free, 
 In some far land of Arcadie ; 
 "WHiere all their virtues, which on earth 
 Had but their budding-hour and birtli, 
 Are into perfect beauty blown. 
 And vice and time are all unknown ! 
 
 Gentles, Adieu !— My Lay is o'er. 
 Yet deem not that tliis tale of yore 
 
 No goodly moral shews ; 
 'Tis like the wise men's speech of old, 
 Wlien they were wont their lore to fold 
 
 In tales and fabliaux. 
 Both they who hear, and he who sings 
 It's strains unto his trembling strings. 
 
 It may full well employ ; 
 One moment more those strains receive 
 Ere yet your Minstrel take his leave 
 
 In thankfullest Envoy. 
 The ancient Wizard-prince, who fell 
 Into a fatal league with Hell, 
 
 "Was he who once did stand 
 Full high, till Sathan him o'ercame. 
 And saw him driven in guilt and shame 
 
 From Eden's blessed land. 
 The desert is the world, wherein 
 The Almighty sent his i-ace of sin. 
 
 Against the Fiend to fight ; 
 And if they quit them well, I wis, 
 He calls them to a land of bliss. 
 
 His world of endless light. 
 
 N
 
 17H THE LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 The bugle is the blast of Death, 
 
 The three years' space, man's hour of breath 
 
 And this life's rapid flight. 
 Whence may we all triumphant rise 
 What time that trump shall burst the skies, 
 
 And earth shall vanish quite. 
 Now thanks to all who patientlie 
 Have listed this rude minstrelsie, — 
 
 Gentles,— Good Night !— Good Night ! 
 
 Whilst tlie Minstrel recounted this history, I forgot 
 not the words whispered unto me by the stranger 
 Clerk, and though there was somewhat in his voice 
 and demeanour which seemed as if I had known them 
 afore, yet did I in mine heart wonder who he might 
 be that gave me such wary counsel, and what might 
 be signified by his caution. Howbeit, though I 
 seemed not specially to regard him, I vigilantly watch- 
 ed his movements, with much impatience looking for 
 his departure, although I knew not well what I might 
 expect therefrom. 
 
 At length, whiles the listening rustics Avere intent 
 upon the wondrous tale of the INIinstrel, the wily 
 Clerk cautiously departed from his fellows and went 
 forth ; and when I deemed that I might follow him 
 unmarked of those around us, I warily did the like. 
 As I looked abroad without the hostel, I found that 
 it was a darksome night ; and though in summer, 
 was yet blustering with raw winds, for the clouds 
 racked amain over the yellow face of the waning
 
 THK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 179 
 
 moon, which was now dim, and anon was lighted up 
 with a pale sickly lustre : well typifying, as me- 
 thought, the disturbed estate of the realm at this time. 
 I then gazed around me for him who had called me 
 forth, never doubting that I should find him tarrying 
 for me in the village street, but I saw him not ; where- 
 upon I walked some paces from the hostel, deeming 
 that he might have withdrawn himself not to be mark- 
 ed, yet was he nowhere to be found. Not knowing 
 what to think of this seeming mockery, and half- 
 believing that I had been lured abroad in wanton 
 sport to make mirth for the rude hinds within the 
 hostel, I fell into somewhat of a sullen musing there- 
 upon, and was about to return again, when one whom 
 I had not before marked, suddenly started out of that 
 part where the darkness was deepest, and with his 
 hands made sign unto me that I should be silent 
 and go forward ; pointing unto a distant and lonely 
 little cottage on a heath, where he briefly told me I 
 should find a friend who did full anxiously await my 
 coming, and forthwith departed without farther 
 speech. 
 
 For some brief space I vainly looked after him, 
 and then, much doubting the truth of his words, and 
 sadly musing on mine own uncertain safety, I wan- 
 dered forward, not marking whither I went, until I 
 found me at the door of the very hut whereto he had 
 pointed ; through the half-closed window of which 
 a pale ray of light, as of a single taper, gleamed
 
 180 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 moiu'nfully across the heath. Upon thus finding my- 
 self at the appointed spot, sad and hopeless thougli it 
 seemed, 1 smote gently upon the door, but answer 
 came none : I then struck it a second time, but all 
 was still silent ; whereupon I assayed to open it, and, 
 as it gave way beneath my hand, I soon found me 
 within the lone and melancholy dwelling. Sad, and 
 rude, and silent, was the scene which I did then be- 
 hold ; the walls of the hut being coarsely framed of 
 the wattled trunks of trees, plastered with rough 
 earth and damp clay, whiles the mean and scanty 
 furniture lay disordered around. The solitary light 
 I had already marked, threw a pallid and uncertain 
 gleam about the hovel, but fell chiefly upon a narrow 
 bed of straw laid in the midst thereof, upon Avhich 
 was stretched out a dead corse, having it's feet towards 
 the door, and covered with a white sheet. At the 
 head, where the shade was deepest, it seemed unto me 
 as if there sat upon the ground a man in black gar- 
 ments, his face bowed between his knees and covered 
 with his hands, as if borne down with the heaviest 
 sorrow ; yet did I greatly marvel what manner of 
 persons these might be, seeing that in all their exe- 
 quies there was no sign of the blessed cross, to shew 
 that the departed spirit had taken it's flight in the 
 true Faith. As I suddenly came in sight of this most 
 solemn scene, I started somewhat backward, and 
 deeming myself to be altogether unwelcome in that 
 place, was minded quickly to depart therefrom ; when
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS, 181 
 
 he who sat in the farther part of the hut suddenly 
 looked upwards, as mine approach brake in upon the 
 silence of his sorrows, and as he beheld me he hastily 
 stretched out his arms towards me and said, — " Oh ! 
 son of mine adoption, is it from me that thou wouldest 
 fly ? Knowest thou not then the form of him who hath 
 desired again to embrace thee, and the voice that 
 would bid thee welcome, even in the house of mourn- 
 ing and the hour of death ?" 
 
 Every thought of treachery now vanished, as in 
 these words I recognised the well-known voice of 
 my former humane protector, Israel of Castile ; and 
 there wanted no other assurance that for me there 
 was no danger in that place, I therefore sprang for- 
 ward unto him, and ere I could reply he threw his 
 arms around me and wept aloud, whiles he thus gave 
 speech unto the emotions of his soul. — '^' Oh ! my son, 
 thou art returned vmto me in hajDless hour ; and yet, 
 even in the very depths of my sorrow, do I rejoice 
 once more to behold thy face, since thou wert ever 
 unto me as a sun-beam on my dreary waste of life, 
 and as a well-spring flowing in the wilderness. Whi- 
 ther hast thou so long wandered, and where have thy 
 sojournings been even until now .^ I have suffered 
 much because of thee, albeit my sorrow hath been 
 deepest for that I knew not of thy fate, and whether 
 thou wast in the dark grave or yet in the land of liv- 
 ing men ; since to sustain thy youth, was a solace unto 
 mine old age and a blessing unto my grey hairs."
 
 182 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 " Speak not thus," i-eplied I, with much soitow, " I 
 pray thee, good Israel, speak not thus, since every 
 word of kindness bears with it the keenest reproaches 
 unto my soul. You, indeed, sustained me with a free 
 and open bounty, which I trust that Heaven will yet 
 requite ; but I must have seemed a thankless ingrate 
 in your eyes, to have forgotten even for an hour the 
 pious charity of one, who administered unto my wants 
 with an unsparing hand, however it's liberality might 
 be felt upon his substance." 
 
 " Felt it was never," exclaimed Israel, " for as the 
 widow of Zarephath found her stores unlesseiied by 
 the aid which she bestowed upon the holy Prophet, 
 because the God of Elijah did still keep her little 
 cruse of oil from failing, and her handful of meal from 
 wasting, — so did my poor substance remain undimi- 
 nished whiles thou wert with me ; as if Heaven had 
 given me a blessing for having ministered unto thee, 
 and overcome the temptations which the Enemy 
 awakened in mine heart against thee. But now, my 
 son," continued the Hebrew with a sudden burst of 
 sorrow, " I may take u}) my complaint with the mourn- 
 ful son of Hilkiah, and say, ' I am the man that 
 hath seen affliction by the rod of His wrath' ; yea, 
 that which 1 was afraid of hath indeed come unto me.' 
 ' Oh ! that I were as in months past, as in the days 
 when God preserved me.' For from the sad hour 
 when thou didst depart from me, sorrows came in upon 
 me as the wild breaking of waters, and my welfare
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 183 
 
 passed away as a cloud. But now, sit thee down 
 beside me, my son, even as the friends of Job sat 
 down with him in his affliction, and let us raise up 
 the voice of our mourning together, for the dead one 
 which lieth before thee is Naomi, that blessed woman, 
 and the beloved of my soul !" 
 
 I heard this with no little surprise and sorrow, and 
 silently seated me beside him, whereupon the Jew 
 seemed to take a mournful kind of joy in speaking 
 unto me of the virtues and piety of his departed spouse, 
 telling me many excellent passages of her life, and 
 specially of her benevolence and affection unto myself. 
 New tears began to course down the hapless Hebrew's 
 cheeks whilst he recounted unto me the causes that 
 led unto her death, in the wild and fierce persecutions 
 whereby they had been so long assailed, and which 
 had been afresh kindled against them at Leicester. 
 These, blent with sorrow for my loss, at last brake the 
 heart of her, who had yearned over me like a tender 
 mother ; and whose spirit on that morning had quitted 
 the flesh, after having been so long drooping over the 
 grave. I can, even now, scarcely speak of this mourn- 
 ful scene, albeit a long space of years hath fled since 
 I beheld it, and old age hath brought me unto the 
 confines of life, where Time and Eternity have their 
 meeting-place. The very thought of it still awakens 
 the keenest affliction within my breast, yet truth and 
 gratitude do alike bid me, never to forget the ])ious 
 and generous friend of mine unfriended youth.
 
 184 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 As I sat by Israel in the posture of mourning pro- 
 per unto the Jewish Faith, he told me that Naomi 
 had made a most blessed ending, duly repeating all 
 the prayers ordained for such as are in their last 
 hours ; but as it now drew nigh unto midnight, and 
 the Hebrew law did require that the corse should be 
 sepultured within the twenty-four hours after death, — 
 he did entreat me to watch beside the body whilst he 
 went forth to prepare her grave ; for that he would 
 fain bury it in darkness, that it might be according 
 to the rites of his fathers. He conjured me to do this, 
 saying that the spirit of her who lay there was even 
 then hovering around us, and would know all that was 
 done for her until the last spade of earth should be 
 thrown upon the body. He added thereunto, that 
 she would be consoled by the ministration of so be- 
 loved a friend as myself; and cautioned me to watch 
 warily, lest the earth-worm and creeping-thing should 
 approach unto that body to deface it, because death 
 had taken from it's features the godly likeness to it's 
 Creator, which in life causeth the beasts of the earth 
 to be subject unto man. He then went forth to per- 
 form his melancholy task, and I sat me down by the 
 corse, pitying his blinded spirit, and sad at heart both 
 for the living and the dead. Howbeit, when I re- 
 membered the gentleness, virtue, and piety of the de- 
 parted, in so much as it had been given her to know, 
 I felt great hope of the mercy of God towards her ; 
 and, although it was with a trembling voice and
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 185 
 
 doubtful heart, I said over the body that collect which 
 the Christian Church hath appointed for the day of 
 death or burial : praying that she who was now called 
 hence might not be forgotten for ever, but niiglit be 
 delivered from the Enemy, received by the holy 
 Angels, and carried into Paradise. 
 
 As I concluded, the Jew returned, bearing a Ian- 
 thorn, a spade, and a little linen cloth, enwrapping, 
 as he said, some of the earth of the Land of Israel, to 
 put beneath the head of the corse, for it's protection ; 
 and thereupon removing the sheet from the body, he 
 entreated of me to bear it unto the grave. It was 
 clothed in a long white garment, the feet being cover- 
 ed, and the head l)ound up with a cloth, yet so that the 
 face was open ; and saving that the seal of Death was 
 there, and that sorrow had made it's features sad and 
 sunken, the good Naomi lay as though she had slept 
 and smiled : so calm, so beauteous, are the looks of 
 the virtuous in death. It was such a night as I have 
 before noted, when Israel and myself went silently 
 forth of the hovel into a narrow and desolate garden, 
 at the farther end of which he had dug his wife's low 
 grave, in imitation of the old Jewish custom of bury- 
 ing in sucli solitary places. Before we laid the body 
 gently therein, it was again stretched out upoTi the 
 ground, and Israel approaching it took it liold of the 
 feet thereof, and prayed the deceased to forgive him if 
 he had in auglit offended her whiles on earth, and 
 not to report evil against him in the next world : ful-
 
 18() THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 lowing this by stabbing the I'ight side of his gaber- 
 dine with a knife, and then rending it about an hand- 
 breadth in length, saying " Blessed art Thou, O Lord 
 our God, King of the Universe ! who hast commanded 
 us to make the rent in our garments." After this we 
 lowered the body of Naomi to it's last resting-place, 
 and the widowed Jew thrice casting upon it a spade- 
 ful of earth, walked backwards from the grave, and 
 entreated of me to finish the filling of it up. 
 
 As these melancholy rites were ended, the dark 
 and windy night resolved itself into a still and gentle 
 shower, which fell lightly upon the turf that covered 
 Naomi of Castile, as it were the rich dews of Hermon 
 shed upon her remains. In quitting the garden, Israel 
 plucked a turf of grass, and casting it over his head, 
 said, in token of his trust that she should rise again, 
 " And they shall spring in the Cities as the grass in 
 the earth ;" and then, entering the house, he left the 
 body of his beloved spouse to rest in peace until the 
 morning of the resurrection.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THK HIDINGt-PLACE OF A FUGITIVE YORKIST. 
 
 /Elfred, seeing his subjects fly, the enemy in the midst of his country, and 
 no means left either to unite or solicit the few that remained unto him, being 
 forced to give way unto the rage of Fortune and comply with it, lays aside all 
 kingly state and shew of being Prince, and, taking the disguise of an obscure 
 and common soldier, commits himself and his safety to — a concealment so 
 sure, as that neither subjects nor enemies knowing what was become of him, 
 his substance in every place became a common prey. 
 
 Spelman's Life of jElfrbd the Great. 
 
 It altogether surpasseth my poor skill, to set down the 
 tears of Israel or mine own sorrow, in doing these sad 
 exequies for the good Naomi, or to remember all the 
 rites of the Hebrew's seven days mourning; wherein 
 he said his taper should be kept burning day and night, 
 with water and a cloth for the departed spirit to return 
 and wash. When he had sepultured the corse, and 
 returned unto the cottage, we partook of some food 
 together, and Israel enquired of my fortunes since we 
 had separated; whereupon I told him how I knew 
 all too late of his cruel persecutions, for the which I 
 had felt much sorrow and the deepest remorse, when
 
 188 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 I found that my truant folly and thoughtless delay 
 had brought such woes upon his defenceless head. 
 These, I added withal, had been caused by my sud- 
 den encounter with Sir Gilbert De Mountford, then 
 Constable of Leicester Castle ; albeit he had since left 
 the usurping Earl of Richmond, and had again be- 
 come a defender of the House of York. 
 
 " Go to," replied Israel, with somewhat of mournful 
 anger in his voice, " this is neither time nor place for 
 speaking of such words ; and, as touching thine own 
 safety, had thy speech been heard by those from whom 
 I have now withdrawn thee, they would not be slow to 
 lay violent hands upon thee as an enemy to the King. 
 Tell me, then, of this hereafter in a safer place, but 
 be silent upon it now as the vei*y walls around us or 
 the earth beneath : for, as the Wise ]Man saith, ' a bird 
 of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath 
 wings shall tell the matter.' " 
 
 Yielding me unto his prudent a:dmonitions, I held 
 my peace, and he thereupon continued to tell me that 
 when he was put forth from his dwelling, he took 
 with him what little of his substance he inight, and 
 sought to pursue his wonted labours in another part 
 of the realm. When the friends of the House of 
 York arose in arms, he found them ready to traffic 
 with him ; but yet, although he was courted by more 
 than one of their leaders, he had never sought to 
 appear as openly engaged with them, and they also 
 held their commerce with him in secret, lest the
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 189 
 
 name oF an unhallowed Jew should bi'ing dishonour 
 upon their cause. Howbeit, in their neglect and his 
 own caution, did he find his safety when their hopes 
 were laid low by that most fatal defeat at Stoke, 
 whereof I have already spoken ; since, in his garb of 
 a pedlar, he passed un-noted with the boisterous par- 
 tisans of Harry Tudor, Avho were met in the hostel 
 at Elveston, and so had beheld my arrival with the 
 Carrier. It would have been but to have exposed 
 himself to danger and contumely, and me to great 
 hazard, had he then accosted me, which he would in 
 nowise risk ; whereupon he prayed the careless Clerk 
 to draw me forth out of that perilous place, and take 
 from me such papers as might witness against me. 
 This he did, being Israel's debtor, and so not unwilling 
 to do him a benefit; and truly the Hebrew's heart 
 yearned over me, notwithstanding my seeming deser- 
 tion of him, and he sought again to offer me the best 
 of his succour and counsel. 
 
 Touched by this new mark of his benevolence to- 
 wards me, whatever fear or doubt had heretofore with- 
 held me from declaring my birth unto him, I might 
 now no longer conceal from so true a friend the 
 real estate of that unhappy wight whom he had so 
 readily aided. Great, in truth, was his wonder, to 
 learn that he whom he had been the means of pre- 
 serving from death was the son of a King ! yet may 
 I not say that such disclosure made him more kind 
 unto me ; albeit when he thought upon mine altered
 
 100 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 fortunes, livelier compassion could not be manifested, 
 than he shewed unto my lofty birth and present dis- 
 tresses. For, in truth, even in the very midst of his 
 own sorrows was he (lesirous of soothing mine, and 
 would not see me cast down ; reminding me that I 
 Avas still but young, and that the ever-rolling wheel 
 of Fortune might soon raise me from my present 
 abasement. Yea, the better yet to sustain me he 
 brought unto my memory divers examples set forth 
 in the holy books, shewing that it hath ever been the 
 wondrous way of the Everlasting King of the Uni- 
 verse, that he who was now cast down might hope 
 ere long to be lifted vip again; as contrariwise he who 
 was exalted unto the very summit of greatness should 
 remember, that he might fall from the steep rock of 
 pride into the very depths of lowliness. Thus, said he, 
 the holy David rose from being a keeper of sheep to be 
 the monarch of a great nation ; and so did the proud 
 Nebuchadnezzar from being King over mighty Baby- 
 lon, come to be an outcast from man, and made like 
 unto the beasts of the field. Therefore he again willed 
 me to be of good cheer, even recalling unto my mind 
 how " the Nazarite," — for so named he the Divine 
 Savioin* of Man, whom I adored, and whom he, albeit 
 he shared not in the benefits of the Christian Faith, 
 could not but admire, — had most wisely taught that 
 the meek spirit was blessed, and should verily possess 
 the earth ; that the proud of heart should full surely 
 be cast down ; and tliat whilst the ungodly great
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 191 
 
 should look for a fall, the vu-tuous of lowly mind 
 might hope to be exalted. 
 
 The suddenness of my meeting with the good Is- 
 rael, the mournful duties wherein we had been en- 
 gaged, and this discourse which followed them, had 
 thrown me into no small disorder, and caused me for 
 a while to forget those letters taken from me at the 
 hostel, which I had brought from London, as com- 
 mendations unto the favour of men who had no longer 
 safety for themselves. This I forthwith told unto 
 the Jew, desiring his counsel, and adding that per- 
 chance, by remaining with him, I might bring him 
 into new hazards, since the missives of which I spake, 
 were secretly addressed unto divers persons most un- 
 friendly to the State, or at the least unto him who 
 was at the head thereof. Howbeit, in this matter my 
 fears were vain, for, as I afore said, the Hebrew's care 
 for my safety had specially charged the Clerk at the 
 hostel to take from me any papers which might put me 
 in aught of danger ; and on telling me of this Israel 
 of Castile restored unto me the pacquet. I now looked 
 upon it with much sadness, as I recalled the friendly 
 confidence wherewith it had been given, and mine own 
 wild yet cheering hopes on the receipt tliereof. It 
 was superscribed with the name of the Lord Lovel, 
 upon the which I could not help noting tliat the glance 
 of the Hebrew rested with much curiosity and desire, 
 as mine did with unfeigned sorrow and disaj)point- 
 ment. He then en(piired of me touching that letter.
 
 102 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 whereto I replied with all frankness, that I had trust- 
 ed to have delivered it unto the noble Lord himself; 
 at the same time lamenting the hapless defeat where- 
 in, he and so many brave peers had been overthrown. 
 Unto this Israel replied, that I ought not too rashly 
 to despair, since, though much had in truth failed, all 
 was not lost ; and that it might yet be mine to de- 
 liver the letters for Lord Lovel into his own hands, and 
 to converse with him : if not so hopefully indeed as 1 
 had once looked for, yet, perchance, as freely as heart 
 could desire. Then remembered I the discourse in 
 the hostel touching that Lord's supposed concealment, 
 though still his speech caused me to wonder much, 
 and to enquire of him why he believed that we might 
 yet meet. The Hebrew answered unto this by telling 
 me that he had long been well known imto the Lord 
 Lovel, who had more than once befriended him with 
 King Richard, and that after his hasty retreat from the 
 fight at Stoke, Israel had advised with him touching 
 his hiding-place; for he was right glad to declare unto 
 me that he had not fallen upon the field, the report 
 of his death and drowning being only a cunning de- 
 vice to turn aside pursuit. Farther than this, too, he 
 told me that he lay concealed not far from that cottage, 
 and that, perchance, in the coming night we might 
 visit him together. "For albeit," added he, "it is 
 written in the laws of our Faith, that he who mourns 
 over his dead, shall not go forth of his house for seven 
 days, yet are we as strangers in a strange land, wherein
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 193 
 
 the laws of INIoses are set at nought, and the Child- 
 ren of the Covenant persecuted for obeying them. 
 Wherefore our Rabbies do suffer us to perform only 
 that which we may, until the restoration of all things ; 
 when we shall return triumphant luito Canaan, when 
 the Temple shall be re-edified in all it's glory, and 
 when the Daily Sacrifice shall be offered again." 
 
 We now assayed to take some rest during the brief 
 space which it wanted until morning, and I continued 
 with the Jew in close hiding throughout the day 
 which followed; wherein he ceased not to speak words 
 of comfort unto me, even in the midst of his own sor- 
 row. Yet did he wisely caution me against hoping 
 aught from the Lord Lovel, and even against looking 
 to find him that which he once had been ; for, albeit he 
 said it was true that he still lived, yet was he shorn of 
 all his greatness, and in such altered plight that even a 
 peasant might have compassionated him, into so sor- 
 rowful an estate had he now fallen. Sooth to say, he 
 was, as it were, little better than one dead, since he 
 had been fain to avail him of the rumour spread 
 abroad that he had been drowned in attempting to 
 swim his horse over Trent, whereupon his possessions 
 had been seized, and given unto others ; and not to de- 
 ny this report, — unto which it did much concern him 
 that credence should be given, — he was full cautious 
 of being seen by either friend or foe, Avho, out of love 
 or malice, might make it known that he was yet in 
 life. Howbeit, having encountered Israel when he 
 
 o
 
 194 THE I^AST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 first escaped from the river wherein he was deemed 
 to have been lost, of him alone he asked aid, and him 
 only did he entrust with the knowledge of his hiding- 
 place. But not even unto me would the faithful He- 
 brew reveal the very spot thereof, until he had first 
 learned from the Lord Lovel himself that such disclo- 
 sure should not mislike him ; since Israel declared, 
 that as he dared not unbidden take a stranger unto 
 him when he was a powerful noble, he held it to be 
 baseness so to deal with him when he was such no 
 longer. 
 
 After having thus spoken, he left me in the cottage 
 for some hours alone, not disclosing unto me whither 
 he went, but desiring of me to await his return ; the 
 which was not until night had again overclouded the 
 skies. But when he at length came back, he told me 
 that I must the same hour go forth with him unto 
 the Lord Lovel, who, from his report, did desire to 
 behold me with much impatience ; whereupon I de- 
 clared my readiness to follow him. 
 
 The night, like that wherein we buried Naomi, 
 was chill with wind and shower, and full dark and 
 murky, because the moon, then far in her wane, had 
 not yet arisen ; which, as methought, did well image 
 out the sudden and unlooked-for blight, that had fallen 
 upon the cause and followers of the House of York. 
 We journeyed across divers fields, wild and path- 
 less, lying Northward from Elveston, and over the 
 fatal plain near East-Stoke, yet marked by many
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 195 
 
 signs of the late battle ; often making our way 
 througli hedges which seemed as if lately broken ; 
 as though the Jew had meant by this rugged and un- 
 certain road, the better to guard the safety of him 
 whose life was now in his keeping. At length we 
 turned into a deep and narrow lane, leading down- 
 wards with a very steep descent, cut, or Avorn, through 
 lofty banks, overhung by ancient trees, between which 
 the night-winds sighed with a mournful sound. 
 From the chillness of the air in this place, methought 
 it led to some broad water, the noise whereof I pre- 
 sently heard; concerning which I enquired of my 
 conductor, who told me that we were now upon 
 the banks of Trent river, near Fiskerton-Ferry, 
 and the hiding-place of him whom we came to seek. 
 He added, moreover, that of all the sad sights which I 
 had ever then looked upon, this which he was about 
 to shew me was the saddest. " Thou hast seen," said 
 he, " greatness in sorrow and royalty in death ; but it 
 now remainelh for thee to behold a proud noble and 
 stout soldier in the dark days of his life, and, like the 
 Prophet Jonah, a living man plunged into the belly 
 of the grave." 
 
 As he spake we approached unto the river, where 
 a little ferry-boat was lying fastened to the shore, the 
 which such travellers as came that wild road, crossed 
 in to the other side, and left there at the ferry -keeper s 
 abode. When we had passed over, and had again 
 chained the rude barque unto the bank, we landed in
 
 196 Tin: i.ast of the plantagenets. 
 
 another deep and narrow way like unto that we had 
 (liiitted, along the which having passed for some time 
 in silence, Israel suddenly turned aside into a hollow- 
 still more strait and steep, seeming but like a water- 
 course, worn by the wintry rains when they rushed 
 downwards from the high banks unto the river. 
 When we had entered it, which we did singly because 
 of it's extreme narrowness, — I saw a faint spark of 
 light as of a glow-worm, seeming to be upon the 
 grass beneath me ; though as we continued to descend 
 it grew larger, and flickered upon the wet leaves 
 Avhich hung all around us. Then the Jew, silently 
 sliding himself down into an opening which I now 
 first noted, beckoned unto me to do the like ; where- 
 upon I cautiously followed him, though not with care 
 enow, since my feet slipping from me on the wet 
 weeds, I fell to the bottom thereof at once. He turn- 
 ed towards me to reprove my rash haste, but finding 
 me prostrate, said nought until he had aided me to 
 rise, when in a low voice he pointed out to me one 
 seemingly much wounded, in rich, though tattered 
 raiment, sitting in a dreary cave by a little fire, hav- 
 ing his arms folded and his wan sad visage turned 
 upward, as if resigned to and awaiting the stroke of 
 death. As I gazed upon this solemn sight, I shud- 
 dered and drew in my breath with dread and horror ; 
 whilst the Jew, to cause me at once to know him on 
 whom I then looked, as well as to notify our presence 
 unto the sad inhabitant of the cave, exclaimed in a
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 197 
 
 hollow tone, " Son of King Richard, behold the hap- 
 less, but good Lord Lovel !" 
 
 Upon hearing his voice the fallen Noble started to 
 his feet and seeming to grasp some weapon which lay 
 near him, cried out " Ha ! discovered at last ! then 
 will I not die alone \" but as he looked earnestly 
 towards those who had so suddenly broken in upon 
 his hiding-place, he recognised the features of the 
 Hebrew, and continued " What ; my faithful Israel, 
 is it thou ? then have I nought to fear ; though from 
 your sudden and silent coming I had half deemed that 
 ye were foes, and that the hour of Lovel's death was 
 indeed at hand, since the blood-hounds of Lancaster 
 had tracked him to his den." 
 
 " Nay, my good Lord," answered the Hebrew, " be 
 such evil far from thee ; thy servant came hither but 
 to perform the promise which erewhile he made, 
 to return before day-break, and bring with him the 
 youth whom it was your pleasure to see : the son of 
 a Royal Plantagenet !" 
 
 Then did the good Lord Lovel receive me with 
 much gladness, and as he grasped my hand with kindly 
 pressure, I felt a warm tear fall upon it from his sor- 
 rowful and aged eyes. In sooth the moment was full 
 sad, yet was it sweet unto me to find myself thus 
 greeted by one who ever stood higli in the favour of 
 King Richard, being his most noble friend and valiant 
 follower. I can now remember nothing as to the 
 manner wherein I did acco!?t the Lord Lovel, or give
 
 198 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 him thanks for his courtesy unto me : yet is it of little 
 import, since I have ever found in all passages of 
 my life, that when the heart hath been most full, the 
 wit hath been fettered in thought, and the speech en- 
 chained in utterance ; and that oftentimes, when my 
 mind hath been most eloquent, my tongue and words 
 have rested perversely mute. Howbeit, though such 
 I dare well say was the truth at this time, yet did the 
 hapless Noble gladly overpass my lack of courtesy ; 
 joying on any terms to meet with a true relique of 
 the HoAise of York, and specially of that Sovereign 
 whom he had ever found so gracious. When I deli- 
 vered into his hand the letters from Master St. Leger, 
 whereof I speedily bethought me, he read them with 
 much care, sadly shaking his head as he concluded, 
 and saying that he who had given me such commen- 
 dations into his favour, little deemed how worthless 
 they should prove ; for that I might now note but 
 all too plainly, that he was in greater want of protec- 
 tion than even myself. He added thereto, that albeit 
 by the aid of the good Israel he had not yet wanted 
 daily food, yet, by reason of his advanced years, and 
 having been long wonted to command the attendance 
 of many servitors, he felt him but ill at ease in that 
 mournful solitude. 
 
 After we had much discoursed of these, and divers 
 other matters, he declared it to be his wish that T 
 would abide with him for some few days ; and when 
 I consented thereto, he testified much thankfulness
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 199 
 
 for what he tenned my lowly courtesy. Howbeit, 
 unto me it seemed that although I was indeed of royal 
 birth, I stooped not much herein ; seeing that I lack- 
 ed concealinent little less than he, and knew not 
 where to find a securer hiding-place. In good sooth, 
 too, I had begun to be somewhat aweary of the world, 
 since disappointment had opened mine eyes unto it's 
 deceits aiid sorrows ; the which I was no longer to 
 learn are ever the portion of mortal man. The unsus- 
 pended doom given forth against him, what time his 
 progenitors were expulsed from the blessed land of 
 Eden, still presseth heavily upon every one that is 
 born of woman ; and he who depicts unto himself 
 unclouded happiness on earth, or deems that he can 
 subdue the agitations and sudden changes of this life, 
 — might as wisely look for substance in a vapour, 
 build his house upon the sand, or seek to bridle in 
 the waves of the ever-rolling waters.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE fugitive's ESCAPE TO HIS HOME. 
 
 " Oh I where are ye going, Lord Lovel ? 
 
 My dearest tell to me : " 
 " Oh ! I am going a far journey. 
 
 My own countrie to see." 
 
 ANcrKNT Ballad ok Lord Lovki,. 
 
 Now loud and chill blew the westlin winds, 
 
 Sair beat the heavy shower ; 
 Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute 
 
 Wan near his stately tower. 
 His tower that used wi' torches blaze 
 
 To shine sae far and wide, 
 Seem'd now as black as mourning weed, — 
 
 Nae marvel sair he sigh'd. 
 
 Fragment of Hardyknute. 
 
 It was full quickly concluded in our brief and scanty 
 council, that all things touching myself should be ac- 
 cording to the Lord Lovel's desire. Thereupon the 
 Hebrew departed from us whiles it was yet dark, 
 promising to visit us again after the close of the next 
 day, with such provisions as he might best furnish 
 for our comfort and sustentation ; but I continued in 
 the cavern with the fugitive Lord, and in free and fa- 
 miliar converse upon our past hopes and present sor-
 
 THK LAST OF TFIE r-LANTAGENETS. 201 
 
 rows, we whiled away the mournful though not wea- 
 risome night. Right glad, indeed, was that noble 
 Viscount, once more to have near him one with whom 
 he might hold his wonted discourse, and who might 
 partake with him of the occupations of that conceal- 
 ment: for, bred as he had been in stately castle and 
 camp of Avar ; he knew but little, and could brook less, 
 how to perform them for himself. In truth, I pitied him 
 for this, deeming it a full sad matter to see so great 
 a Noble, so entirely dependent upon others for almost 
 all which might bestow comfort, or calm his troubled 
 spirit in adversity. At such times, also, I often bless- 
 ed mine own lowly rearing in the IMonastery of Ely ; 
 the which, by ever constraining me to be mine own 
 servitor, had caused me, although a King's son, to 
 know fewer wants, and to have greater aptness in ad- 
 ministering unto them, than he who was noAv my 
 companion : whom, indeed, until this time, the wit- 
 less multitude had looked upon with much envy, as 
 the very minion of good-fortune and prosperity. 
 
 In the closeness of our intercourse, but little time 
 was wanting to cause our sudden ac([uaintance to 
 become as firm and compacted a friendship, as might 
 well stand between an aged man like the Lord Lovel, 
 and such a youth as myself. We led a wearisome 
 and unbroken life, marked only by the brief nightly 
 visits of the faithful Israel, Avho brought us such sup- 
 plies as he might best provide us withal, and hastily 
 departed again before the day broke. The cavern
 
 202 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 itself, too, was a narrow and dreary abode, though it's 
 cureless evils were lightly regarded by me when I saw 
 how impatiently they were borne by him with whom 
 I sojourned. For, albeit he knew well what matter 
 of concern it was that he should still keep him in close 
 hiding, he endured the restraint thereof with a rest- 
 less and wayward spirit. Whei^ the summer-storms 
 beat in upon us from the mouth of our cave, and the 
 drenching rains made divers creeping-things of the 
 earth crawl forth into our view, then would he shrink 
 from the sight thereof as one aghast, and appeal half 
 franticly to the God of Nature, if it were fitting that 
 the noblest beings of His creation whom he had 
 stamped with His own image, should be prisoned in 
 a loathsome vault, there to grovel with the trailing 
 earth-worm, the newt, and the adder. At such times 
 I have urged what considerations I might to soothe 
 him, albeit, my weak speech could not bring back 
 unto contentment one whom calamity had so shrewd- 
 ly dealt withal. Yet might I well note that he wished 
 me not to think him thus unmanly, for that he would 
 tell me how he had never shrunken from toil or dan- 
 ger either in the march or the battle-field, when he 
 would partake of the coarsest food, and sleep on the 
 hardest couch of the rudest soldier without com- 
 plaint ; but to be thus mewed up in a damp den, 
 without power to resist his misery or hope to cheer it, 
 seemed unto him not less dishonourable than sorrow- 
 ful, and his heart died within him to endure it.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 203 
 
 To look back unto those days of warlike daring, 
 and to speak of his own prowess therein, and the va- 
 lorous acts of such as aforetime he had fought withal, 
 formed almost the only matter of discourse wherein 
 he now seemed to take aught of delight. But of these 
 he would speak mucli and freely ; and sometimes 
 grew so inspirited in recounting them, that he seemed 
 almost to have forgotten his sorrows. He told me 
 how, some five years past, he had marched into Scot- 
 land, Avith King Edward's army, under my father, 
 who was then Duke of Gloucester: how he had 
 fought for him at Bosworth-field, and on his sad 
 death and the defeat of the Yorkists there, how he 
 escaped, and was as now, living under close hiding, 
 until at last he got away beyond the seas, unto the 
 Duchess of Burgundy : how he returned thence with 
 the Earl of Lincoln, and divers others, to support 
 Lambert Simnell against Harry Tudor, as one way 
 of working their own revenge : and, finally, he told 
 me, in warlike speech, albeit with heavy cheer, how 
 the late battle of Stoke was lost and won. 
 
 " Ye might well mark the place of fight, good 
 Richard," said he, "as ye came hither, lying a large 
 mile out of Newark on the South, and our host stood 
 on the brow of the hill ; a wcll-avised post in truth, 
 and counselled to Lord Lincoln by the brave Almaine 
 leader, IMartin Schwartz, who left his body on the 
 field like many other stout soldiers. Harry Tudor's 
 battle was parted into three, whereof the vaward, letl
 
 204 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 by the Earl of Oxford, liad the best of his power ; and 
 this we encountered about nine of the clock on a fair 
 June morning. I wot well, that more than once 
 Harry felt his crown shake upon his head ; but in 
 brief, God would have it so, that after some three 
 hours hard fighting, Lincoln and Geradine were slain, 
 beside four thousand stout hearts of English, Dutch, 
 and Irish, the which was full half of our host. How- 
 beit, even on the losing side, may God so speed me ! 
 as I never looked upon a better foughten field ; for 
 those same Almaines battled and died like very lions, 
 and the fierce Irish, with no other defence than their 
 mantles, and no other arms than their skean-knives 
 and darts, did and dared more, than many who were 
 clothed in gay armour of proof and carried better 
 weapons. But all might not do against an out-num- 
 bering force and mounted men-at-arms ; and so all 
 that our power could shew was how to die bravely 
 and sink with our lost enterprise. For myself, I quit- 
 ted not the field until I saw the best of my fellows 
 and followers lying dead around me, and then put- 
 ting spurs to Whiterose, the brave steed, as if he had 
 known his master's hazard, gave a noble bound from 
 the field, and galloped forwards over hill and plain 
 towards Trent ; where the hollow way to Fiskerton- 
 Ferry was running down with blood, as full and fast 
 as ever it did with rain in the spring-time. On we 
 dashed into the river, swollen as it then was, when, 
 just as we had reached the steep banks on this side.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 205 
 
 my poor wounded horse, throwing out all his strength 
 to leap upon them, found his life fail him, and reeled 
 backwards dead into the waters ! I sank with him as ye 
 may well guess, which perchance caused the friendly 
 report that I was drowned, that hath since proved 
 much of my safety ; but as I speedily got quit of the 
 body, and struck out to swim, I did at last get safe to 
 shore, though a sad, a wounded, and a proscribed 
 fugitive !" 
 
 The gallant voice and look with which the noble 
 Lord Lovel had spoken in the first part of his dis- 
 course, became hurried and impatient as he spake of 
 his defeat and escape ; and all disconsolate as he 
 finished with the death of his good steed. " Alas ! " 
 added he, " surely never knight crossed a better barb 
 than that which lies in yonder flood ; and I tell thee, 
 young Plantagenet, I have given to his loss all the sor- 
 row a soldier can bestow. But why should I mourn 
 for my charger, who am destined never to couch lance 
 nor draw sword again ? for whom no trumpet, save 
 the last, will ever sound loud enough to call me forth 
 from this life of shame and sadness. What availeth it, 
 too, that I have been of England's proud Baronage, a 
 Knight of her Chivalry and a Councillor in her State, 
 since I am now fettered in this loathsome den ? Oh 
 God ! I beseech Thee take from me life, or restore 
 me unto honour !" 
 
 Such, I do well remember me, was the impatient 
 and murmuring speech of the Viscount, whiles I re-
 
 200 TIIK LAST Ol' THIC PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 mained with him in his retreat at Fiskerton-Ferry ; 
 to be quit of tlie evils whereof he at length said unto 
 me, that it would now be more meet to assay escaping 
 thence, and seeking a better hiding-place elsewhere. 
 He told me, moreover, tliat there belonged unto Jiim 
 an ancient family-park and dwelling, nigh unto Wit- 
 ney in Oxfordshire, called Minster-Lovel, unto the 
 which he would fain remove ; for, could we reach unto 
 it, there we might rest in greater security, beside being 
 sheltered from the continued storms which beat in atour 
 present cave : since it may be noted, that the summer 
 of this year was declared by divers persons to be the 
 most troubled with tempests, and unkindly to man, 
 that the oldest then living had known in our land. 
 
 Upon this I questioned of my companions, if such 
 benefits might by any means be won, what liindered 
 that we should forthwitli seek them ; since the lieat 
 of pursuit after the Lord Lovel was now well over, 
 and it seemed unto me that journeying by night 
 througli the transverse and untravelled roads which 
 we must pass, — albeit the toil would certes be great, 
 — might not have more of danger than our present 
 hiding-))lace. But on the other hand, the Hebrew 
 would in no wise counsel such a course, for tliat he 
 affirmed it was rejwrted that the King had seized 
 upon all places, belonging unto such as had taken 
 arms against him in the late uprising in the North : 
 added to which Israel was somewhat feeble from age, 
 and fearful either by nature or througli much perse-
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 207 
 
 cution. Yet, nevertheless, my words did so greatly 
 inspirit the Lord Lovel, whose mind was already 
 much disposed to depart, that at last he would be 
 stayed no longer. For the good Viscount declared, 
 that even though his enemies might have seized upon 
 his abode at Minster-Lovel, yet was there attached 
 unto it a certain secret chamber, entered by a long 
 vaulted passage under the park, and roofed with turf 
 on the outside, so that it might never be discovered ; 
 the which was known unto none of his present foes. 
 Unto this retreat he doubted not that we might safely 
 travel, and albeit it might not prove the best dwelling 
 that man might desire, yet would it be a bower of 
 bliss when compared with the dreary sepulchre 
 wherein we were then buried. 
 
 Thus were we all accorded and ready to depart, 
 for though the Jew was slow to vnidertake this enter- 
 prise, yet was he full prompt and zealous in perform- 
 ing it ; and yielding unto the Lord Lovel's desires, 
 proffered him such aid as his small power might pro- 
 cure for us. All the counter-roads of England were 
 unto him well known, and he engaged to lead us in 
 those which might be travelled most securely by such 
 fugitives as we : so that all things were soon disposed 
 for our departure, and in fourteen days from the time 
 of my being first conducted unto the sequestered sol- 
 dier, we set forth at midnight from his retreat at Fis- 
 kerton-Ferry. 
 
 When the noble Viscount emerged from his dreary
 
 208 THE LAST OF THR PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 cavern into the open country, like the dead Lazarus 
 coming forth of his grave, and looked abroad upon 
 the dark blue night-skies that were studded with thou- 
 sands of stars, he felt that it was a full blessed thing 
 to breatlie the free air, and to walk unrestrained be- 
 twixt earth and heaven. I have already noted that 
 his rich dress was all despoiled and tattered, and 
 therefore in lowly habit did he venture upon his jour- 
 ney ; although Israel had safely disposed certain 
 chests, containing his arms, and some other apparel 
 which he had provided for him, — upon the stout 
 rounceys* which awaited us a convenient space distant. 
 The Lord Lovel deemed that it would be wiser to cast 
 away this furniture, but thereto the Hebrew would 
 not consent, because he trusted unto it to carry us 
 on our travel with the less question; for as he would 
 agree that the Viscount should journey in the night 
 only, — so where he thought it meet to stop during 
 the day, these packs would furnish a fair excuse for 
 halting, and cause us to be taken for chapmen ; the 
 rather indeed, as he himself had of late been known 
 as the like. 
 
 I have oft-times wished, — albeit the attempt had 
 perchance proved a vain one, — that I had kept a brief 
 note of this our progress over divers cross-roads of some 
 eighty-four miles; but I was at that time all too much 
 possessed by the cares and fears which from hour 
 
 " Horses of burthen.
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 209 
 
 to hour pressed upon us, and by mine unceasing 
 efforts to keep up the heart of my noble companion 
 in his state of debasement, to think of making any 
 such record. Many were the rude gibes which we 
 encountered upon our journey, from the rustic clowns 
 whom we met at early morn ; whereat Lord Lovel's 
 spirit would sometimes rise and his choler vent itself 
 in some sharp speech, the which was ever too well- 
 framed and stately for such as he seemed to be. 
 Whereupon I was full fain to hide it by a pious bene- 
 diction, or Latin text, as became my religious habit, 
 or else by words of mirth ; which turned aside 
 their revilings into reverence, or made that which 
 looked like hazard to end in disport and laughter. 
 
 So kept we on our way for some good space of time, 
 until we got vmto Banbury in Oxfordshire, whereat the 
 Viscount was much rejoiced; and, by our ceaseless 
 travel in the night-season, we did at length arrive at 
 Crawley, a little vill lying some mile distant from 
 Minster-Lovel, Avhereunto we had been at such pains 
 to reach. It was, as I remember, the midnight of 
 Friday, the 3rd day of August, when Israel rode for- 
 ward with his goods unto a little hostel, which of old 
 had borne the sign of the Lion of Lovel; but which, 
 since the defeat of the Lord of that name, liad been 
 altered with rude art into a Red Dragon. The Jew 
 was not unknown at this house, and, therefore, when 
 he knocked loudly at the door and told his name, tlie 
 host forthwith arose and bade him welcome, receiving 
 
 r
 
 210 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 him and his horse into lodging. Then, as it had been 
 afore plotted, my companion and I came up like two 
 benighted wanderers, and with lowly speech prayed 
 shelter for a brief space, and to be solaced with a stoup 
 of liquor. Unto this the host answered churlishly, 
 that he well deemed that I was a hedge-priest, and 
 my companion little better than a knave, who sought 
 but to catch up spoil as we might, and bade us go 
 look for entertainment elsewhere. But upon this the 
 Jew interceded that we should not be so dismissed, 
 and at his entreaty we were suffered to enter the 
 hostel. 
 
 And now, the good Lord Lovel found but little com- 
 fort in the tidings which awaited him here ; for unto 
 such questions as the Hebrew put unto our host, 
 touching the then condition of his ancient domain, it 
 was answered, that the King's soldiers had seized 
 upon Minster-Lovel, and merrily, right merrily had 
 been living there, upon the brave stores of paddock 
 and pasture-field, buttery and cellar, although they 
 had noAV abandoned them unto a meaner guardian. 
 " I trow," said he with much discontent in his voice, 
 " that the knaves did little else than feast and quaff; 
 for your hungry soldier, set to guard a rich capture, 
 is like your beggar set upon horseback, seeing that 
 the one will ride to the Devil, and the other will drink 
 himself blind with the spoil. And I warrant you, my 
 masters all, tliat this was matter of some concern unto 
 me, seeing that they never spent a cross at my hostel.
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 211 
 
 which was shrewd unneighbourlike as I take it, and 
 clean against honesty ; for where should men be 
 merry save under the taverner's bush ?" 
 
 The Lord Lovel and myself, having contented our 
 
 host, now speedily went forth, and the Jew soon after 
 
 did the like, under the guise of looking unto his 
 
 horses and watching our motions. He failed not to 
 
 bring with him one of the lesser and lighter chests, and 
 
 we walked hastily onwards to IMinster-Lovel. I cannot, 
 
 even yet, but well remember, the sorrowful voice 
 
 and air of the noble Lord, as, in his present low estate, 
 
 he approached the fair turrets which were once his 
 
 proud inheritance, and which now rose gloomily and 
 
 dimly to his view in the overclouded midnight, and 
 
 the cold shower which was falling around us. It was 
 
 in truth no marvel that he sighed, when he bethought 
 
 him that the mansion, which, in the pride of his heart 
 
 he had exulted to call his own from a long line of 
 
 noble sires, had been seized upon by his enemies, and 
 
 filled with boisterous soldiery, who had destroyed his 
 
 substance and rioted in hall and bower, brawling in 
 
 the midst of the ruin which they had made. He, 
 
 too, that had been wont to enter his mansion richly 
 
 clad, in the broad face of day, with all honour, and a 
 
 noble retinue ; now drew nigh xmto it in darkness, a 
 
 proscribed fugitive in tattered raiment, and followed 
 
 only by a despised Jew and a powerless orphan : in 
 
 brief, the j)lace, as the holy text saith, ' which knew 
 
 him once, then seemed to know him no longer.' Ne-
 
 212 THK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 vertheless, much as he was dismayed at these things. 
 Lord Lovel failed not rightly to trace out the cun- 
 ningly-concealed entrance unto that vaulted passage, 
 which led into the secret chamber whereof he had 
 spoken, and which he had so greatly desired to reach. 
 Of this place I may liere note that it was a stone 
 cell, like an anchor-hold,* though somewhat larger, 
 but built and fashioned for the abode of one vowed to 
 live in solitary devotion ; lighted from the top by a 
 little oriel window, cunningly framed of part of a more 
 spacious one in the room above, though it might not 
 be discovered even by the closest search. At one end a 
 narrow winding stair led to the dwelling-house through 
 a secret entrance, and at the other were a fair altar 
 and a rood of stone, with a figure rarely well carved 
 thereon, and missals, and books of Offices and bre- 
 viaries, lay scattered about. But notwithstanding all 
 
 • Anchor-holds were the dwellings of Anchorets, or those re- 
 ligious pei'sons who never quitted their cells ; which custom 
 was introduced in certain Abbeys in the earlier ages of Mo- 
 nachism, when any one of the brethren who had made most 
 progress in holy things, was shut up alone that he might be 
 entirely resigned to their contemj)lation. His cell was com- 
 monly in, or near the chuixh, and was placed so as he could see 
 the altar and join in the service ; it was of stone, 12 feet 
 square ; and had three windows above, one looking towards the 
 choir for taking the sacrament, another for receiving food, and 
 a third for light covered with horn or glass ; but the door was 
 locked by his Al)bot or Bishop, and was very often walled up.
 
 THE LAS'lN OF THK PLANTAGENKTS. 213 
 
 this goodly shew of holy labours, the Viscount con- 
 fessed unto us that it had been more often used for 
 secret debate with divers of his own party, or as a cool 
 bower and pleasant retreat in the heat of summer, 
 wherein to quaff wine or indulge in light refection, 
 than for those pious uses for which it seemed to have 
 been framed. Even now there remained in it good 
 store of sack and Rochelle wine ; and I might not 
 avoid noting unto myself, that in this case, as well as 
 in divers others which I had seen, the guise of reli- 
 gion covered designs and enjoyments, having in them 
 far more of earth than of Iieaven. Howbeit, in this 
 time of Lord Lovel's distress, his use of the cell was 
 both lawful and honest ; and fervent were the thanks 
 which he gave unto God and Our Lady for having 
 brought him in safety thither. In the meantime Israel 
 kindled a fire, and after we had taken some food, the 
 good Noble, with much gratitude and haste, threw 
 himself upon the rude couch which had been made 
 there for the pious habitant of that cell ; and which, 
 hard and lowly as in truth it was, he now thought to 
 be a bed of state, of much softness, and full of luxury.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE DISSOLUTION OP FALLEN GREATNESS AN INCI- 
 DENT AT THE queen's CORONATION. 
 
 Oh ! ye mighty and pompous Lords, winning in the glory transitory of this 
 unstable life, — and ye fierce and mighty Knights, so valiant in adventurous 
 deeds of arms; behold! behold! this mighty champion, peerless of all Knight- 
 hood, see now how he lieth groveling upon the cold mould, being now so 
 feeble and faint that sometime was so terrible. 
 
 La Mort D'Arthur. 
 
 Thus did the noble fugitive soon fall into a heavy 
 slumber, albeit he was laid upon so mean a couch ; 
 for his toil of travel and long sojourn in that most 
 unhealthful lodging at Fiskerton- Ferry had wearied 
 and weakened his frame and spirits, and made the 
 hard resting-place of an Anchorite feel unto him like 
 a bed of eider-down or soft furs. Our faithful friend 
 Israel now withdrew himself in silence back unto his 
 inn, though not without some fear that he might not 
 easily explorate his way thither ; and for mine own 
 part, I folded me lightly in such garments as we had 
 with us in that place, and stretched myself on the 
 ground by the fire : yet could I not soon sleep, albeit I
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 215 
 
 was greatly wearied, because of the many sad medi- 
 tations which flitted through my restless fancy. 
 
 I bethought me, as the virtuous old Philosopher 
 said at his death, of how close kin are pain and plea- 
 sure in this world. For before me lay a noble Vis- 
 count, one who had been a King's favourite, and 
 a most valiant soldier, — whose heart was now so over- 
 whelmed with his misfortunes that it seemed to have 
 sunken beneath them ; and yet even he found a 
 most sweet rest from all his toils and afflictions ; his 
 cares, his fears, and his debasements, being all for- 
 gotten in that infant-like slumber, which carried him 
 so swiftly and quietly forward unto the morrow. I 
 pondered, too, upon mine own strange fortunes ; upon 
 the lofty, and, as I now began to regard them, the 
 groundless, hopes of the past, and how I might best 
 provide me for the future. For myself, I was a fugi- 
 tive, perchance for manslaughter, the thought whereof 
 did oft-times greatly afflict my soul ; although the 
 swift succession of my toils and travels had, in some 
 degree, blunted my remembrance of it. The good 
 Israel of Castile would indeed befriend me so far as 
 he might, but his own safety was not assured, seeing 
 that he lived in continual doubt and fear of persecu- 
 tion ; and as touching him with whom I was now so- 
 journing, he could do nought for himself; for albeit 
 I had sought his aid, yet was he at this time rather 
 dependent upon mine. Whereupon I did conclude, 
 that it would be full wise for me to leave him, now
 
 2J() Till-: LAST OK TIIK PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 that he was in a safe and convenient hiding-place 
 amidst his own tenants, and seek out some means or 
 employment to advance myself; since I could no 
 longer hope ever to be seated upon the throne of my 
 royal father, both because of the hatred borne unto 
 him and his House, and for that I knew not Avho was 
 my mother, and had no proof of being his son. Ne- 
 vertheless, my claim would questionless be strong 
 enow to call forth much suspicion and to put me in 
 great jeopardy, so that methought as I was now of 
 good stature and could weild a sword, 1 might be- 
 come a soldier in some foreign land ; either with the 
 Duchess of Burgundy, who was well known to be no 
 friend unto Harry Tudor, or with the Duke of Bre- 
 tagne, against the French King Charles VIII., con- 
 cerning whom divers Ambassadors had of late come 
 into England. 
 
 Anon I thought of joining me unto those brave ma- 
 riners, who about this time began to launch their da- 
 ring keels, almost whei-ever they found winds to waft, 
 or water to float them : some of whom had been in 
 the service of King Richard, for that they were bold 
 and skilled in war, as well as most adventurous ship- 
 men. With them, I pondered on sailing to those rocks 
 of snow and fire to be encountered in the Iceland voy- 
 age, to the fair shores of Machin's Island, to the rich 
 coasts of the country of Afrike, and to the fearful 
 Cape-Storm. 
 
 All these, and divers otlier plots for my future life.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 217 
 
 glided swiftly across my restless fancy ; yet could I 
 decide upon nought but to quit the Lord Lovel with 
 what haste I might. As I grew weary with such 
 profitless musings, the gloomy cell, which was now 
 only half-lighted by the decaying fire-brands, began 
 to fade from my closing eyes, yet did my late wonted 
 vigilance, and the uneasy posture wlierein I lay, cause 
 me ever and anon to start up, even at the very mo- 
 ment when forgetful ness was stealing over my drowsy 
 senses ; and until the first rays of the dawn streamed 
 through the dim and narrow windows of our cell, I had 
 enjoyed but brief and broken slumbers. Nevertheless, 
 whilst my senses were thus suspended, I had a pas- 
 sing sweet vision from the which I did full loathly 
 awaken ; wherein, methought that T was living in a 
 most pleasant and quiet retreat, with the Lady Bride, 
 — such, indeed, as I did many years after behold her, 
 when womanhood had clothed her in all it's beauties. 
 I wot well that this was but a shadowy dream, though 
 it was a marvellous one, and peradventure was not 
 sent for nought ; but it shed somewhat of a calm hope 
 over my soul, and hath oft supported and strengthen- 
 ed me under the labours of my life, albeit I have 
 since learned to understand it in a diverse sense from 
 what I did at the time whereof I now speak. 
 
 But to go forAvard with my story. When tlie Lord 
 Lovel awoke on the morrow, he manifested much joy 
 at finding himself in so familiar and goodly a retreat ; 
 and when I disclosed unto liim mine intent of depart-
 
 218 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 ing from him and trying my fortune in some foreign 
 land, he declared that it was likewise his purpose so 
 to escape as soon as he might, and that we would ei- 
 ther go in company, which should prove much unto 
 mine advantage, or that he would shortly give me 
 letters unto such of his intimates abroad as should 
 greatly forward my desii'es. In thus much stead, did 
 he say, he might still stand me; albeit at the same 
 time he did entreat me to remain with him yet a 
 while longer, for that his health was not what it had 
 been ; though that, he continued, was no marvel af- 
 ter what he had suffered in the cavern on the banks 
 of Trent. And in sooth, unto my thinking, his bodily 
 strength did seem then to have more of vigour than 
 now might be seen in him ; but this I deemed might 
 perchance be but a melancholy fancy of mine own. 
 Howbeit, when some two or three days had passed 
 away, that which had at first been only painful sur- 
 mise, grew into a sad and solemn reality ; and I then 
 suspected, what I did afterwards find to be indeed the 
 truth, that his health had failed him from taking the 
 damp from that couch in the cell, whereon he had so 
 hastily and incautiously thrown him on the night of 
 our arrival at iNIinster-Lovel. The good Viscount 
 himself did also become of my belief in this matter, 
 for that he said an unwonted tremour had invaded all 
 his limbs, as though he were upon the point of a 
 shrewd ague-fit ; such indeed as he had seldom 
 known, saving when he had been assailed by severe
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAOENETS. 219 
 
 cold or storm in iiiglit- watches or wet lodging. 
 
 Thus did I linger with the Lord Lovel from day to 
 day, in sad expectation of what might chance unto 
 him, and leading a most melancholy and full lonely 
 life ; our only change being sometimes to walk, with 
 fearful and silent steps, through his ancient park at 
 midnight. So fled that hapless Summer, and so passed 
 the fall of Autumn, and even Winter drew nigh 
 in dark November, yet did the Lord Lovel still conti- 
 nue as ill at ease as before ; for, instead of amendirg, 
 as he trusted, his sickness did most fearfully increase, 
 and he at length declared that he should not long 
 survive, unless some potent remedy might suddenly 
 be provided for his distemper, whereof there was 
 little hope in that solitary spot. 
 
 Upon this the faithful Jew, who, as in our former 
 hiding-place at Fiskerton-Ferry, did often visit us in 
 the night with supplies, proffered to fetch from Ox- 
 ford City or Reading Town, such medicaments as 
 were meet for the Viscount's disorder. But this he 
 deemed would be of no avail ; albeit he added with a 
 heavy sigh, "if indeed INIaster Harold Cleghorn, the 
 Chirurgeon of King-Street, near St. Peter's Abbey in 
 Westminster, knew how it fares with me, perchance 
 his skill might devise the means of restoring me, as 
 it oft hath done before : but truly from no other hand 
 may I look for such a blessing." 
 
 Unto this the Hebrew replied, "if that may indeed 
 be, to him will I forthwith depart ; for, old as I am,
 
 220 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 I will not slirink from the journey to save the life of 
 my lord and benefactor." 
 
 "Nay, good Israel," rejoined I, " by the faith of man 
 that yon shall never do whilst I stand by : let the 
 youngest traveller take the road, for it were foul shame 
 that one so aged as thou should set out on so distant 
 a course, whilst I lingered slothfully behind ; and so, 
 my Lord, with your fair leave and direction, I will 
 quit Minster-Lovel before day-break." 
 
 " Thou art a good youth, a passing good youth," 
 interrupted the Jew, " but this travel is not meet for 
 thee ; and, moreover, thy strength and stoutness will 
 better defend my Lord than mine aged and powerless 
 arm, and therefore I pray thee to remain w'ith him 
 in this place." But unto this I answered, that I well 
 knew and could endure the toil of travel, whilst only 
 care and caution were required from him who should 
 abide with the Lord Lovel, seeing that he lacked con- 
 cealment rather than defence ; for upon the closest 
 secresy all his safety did depend: since, were he once 
 discovered by his numerous enemies, the weakest 
 and strongest arm would be alike unavailing. Thus 
 would I in no wise be staid from this journey, not 
 even by the Viscount himself, who fain would have 
 ended our dispute by commanding that neither of us 
 should go ; since it would be peradventure of little 
 benefit, and that we might bring back the healing 
 remedies only time enough to behold him die. Ne- 
 vertheless, I resoh ed tiiat the essay should be made.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 221 
 
 and so, having received the Lord Lovel's directions 
 thereupon, I forthwith got me to horse, and was 
 speedily once more on the road towards the great 
 City ; it being, as I now think, the night of Tuesday, 
 the 20th of November. 
 
 It would be of small import to tell of the cares 
 which did at this time surround me, or of the hazards 
 which I encountered from suspicion or too close en- 
 quiry whilst I thus journied ; and it will be thought 
 enough if I set down, that my bodily strength held 
 on unabated through all the confinement and travel 
 which I underwent, and that my spirit yielded not 
 unto the soiTows that oppressed me. My journey 
 was performed in safety, but full often was mine 
 heart made sad, and my soul wrathful, to hear of the 
 covetous exactions and bloody executions which had 
 followed upon the triumph of Harry Tudor at Stoke ; 
 albeit he had been wont to call my father tyrant. Yet, 
 with all his fierceness, he had so much of that cun- 
 ning which men deemed to be wondrous wisdom, that 
 he affected to be passing gentle and unoppressive, 
 even whilst cruelly despoiling and destroying those 
 whom he called his subjects ; unto whom the royal 
 Richard, foully as he had been maligned, was ever 
 like a benevolent and most noble Sovereign. The 
 ferocious and evil doings of Harry Tudor, were more- 
 over dissembled under the guise of pious devotion ; 
 yet, albeit he did outwardly seem anxious only to ho- 
 nour the Lord of Hosts who had made him a victor.
 
 222 THE LAST OF THE TLANTAGENETS. 
 
 it might well be seen that he recked but little of the 
 commands of Him, who would not that blood should 
 be shed in wantonness or revenge, and who hath no 
 pleasure in the death of a sinner. Thus, whilst he 
 sent his proud and triumphant banner, as a thankful 
 offering unto the Shrine of our Lady of Walsing- 
 ham, he caused a full strict inquisition to be made 
 after certain who had spread the report that his power 
 at Stoke had been overthrown, that he might seize 
 upon them or pursue them even unto the death. 
 
 But though the country was thus disordered, when 
 I got me into London I found nought but stately rejoic- 
 ings ; since the doubts and fears of the late tumults 
 had died away, and men's minds were filled with the 
 royal triumphs which were then in daily progress. 
 It was now told unto me, how the Coronation of the 
 good Queen, Elizabeth of York, was no longer to be 
 delayed ; though, questionless, the wily Harry had 
 been admonished therein by the dangers which he 
 had of late escaped, for he had at length caused it to 
 be proclaimed, that it should be solemnised at the 
 Abbey of Westminster, upon the Feast of St. Cathe- 
 rine then next ensuing, being Sunday, the 25th day 
 of November, two days after that whereon I again 
 entered the City. I heard, moreover, how the King 
 and his Consort had travelled in stately journey 
 from the Court at Warwick unto London, where they 
 were met by divers of the Commonalty thereof, taken 
 from every craft, all on horseback, and full well and
 
 THE LAST OK THK PLANTAGENETS. 223 
 
 honourably beseen in one livery : whiles the streets 
 through which Harry Tudor rode, — for he left his 
 Queen secretly at a house without Bishop's Gate, by 
 St. Mary's Spital, — Avere fairly decked, having the 
 other Citizens standing in goodly array and order to 
 receive him. The Lady Elizabeth then went unto 
 her lodging at Greenwich, but he continued unto 
 Powle's at afternoon-tide, and at the western door 
 thereof he alighted, being joined by many Bishops 
 and Priests all in their robes ; and there, forsooth, 
 was Harry Tudor censed with the great censer of 
 Powle's, by an Angel that seemed to come out of the 
 roof, whilst the quire sang a solemn anthem and " Te 
 Deiim laudamus," for joy of his late victory and pros- 
 perous coming into London. But of all this proud 
 pageantry, I saw nought, and in truth it was unto me 
 food for sad and bitter meditation, excepting that I 
 rejoiced for the good Queen Elizabeth : but my heart 
 sank within me in the same degree as those of other 
 men beat higher, as I thought upon the fallen for- 
 tunes of such as had suffered defeat and ruin by the 
 late triumph over the Yorkists, and the measureless 
 exultation and pride of the Lancaster victor and his 
 flatterers and followers. 
 
 I would fain have hied me both for counsel and 
 lodging unto the house of Master St. Leger in the 
 Sanctuary, but that I feared the doing so might again 
 draw suspicion towards him, whom I had already 
 placed in some jeopardy ; and I therefore rested me
 
 224 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 in the abode of the good Chirurgeon, INIaster Cleghorn, 
 until he had carefully resolved upon the remedies pro- 
 per for one in the condition of Lord Lovel. His 
 dwelling was a dark and lofty house in King-street, 
 looking imto the Abbey, and bore the sign of " the 
 Balm-Tree of Judea." Well I wot that he was a most 
 learned man in physics, and the art of curing wounds ; 
 and nothing like many of the JMediciners of this time, 
 who pretended, by some vain spells and drugs, to make 
 a wondrous remedy which they called " the Elixir of 
 Life," to heal all diseases. Others, too, would juggle 
 with metals, looking to turn the baser sorts into pure 
 gold by Alchemy ; but though Master Cleghorn was a 
 right curious seeker into the hidden things of Nature 
 for the aid of his art, and albeit his house was filled 
 with divers marvellous plants and creatures, yet was 
 he none of those losel impostors. I have not always 
 found that men unto whom good offices have been 
 done, have kept such lively remembrance thereof as 
 this good Chirurgeon ; more especially when their bene- 
 factors have fallen into distress, and the stream of their 
 bounty hath been dried up by adversity. But Master 
 Cleghorn now shewed himself right grateful unto the 
 hapless Lord from whom I was a messenger, and told 
 me that he would compound a most choice remedy, 
 which, if the distemper were not too far gone, should 
 work a swift cure upon him ; in the mean space de- 
 siring me to lodge with him, and disport myself with 
 the right royal pageants that were now in progress.
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 225 
 
 It may well be thought that I have little liking to set 
 down the stately ceremonies of one, whom I have 
 ever regarded as an usurper, but seeing that they ra- 
 ther pertained vmto the Queen Elizabeth, who was of 
 my House ; that they do in part belong unto my story ; 
 and that posterity may be cui-ious concerning tliem, — 
 I have given this little touch of them which now fol- 
 lowcth. 
 
 On the Friday next before St. Catherine's day, — 
 being the morrow of that whereon I got me unto Lon- 
 don, — the Queen's good Grace, royally apparelled 
 and accompanied by the Lady IMargaret, Harry Tu- 
 dor's mother, and divers other great persons, both 
 lords and ladies, richly clothed, came forward unto 
 her Coronation from the Palace at Greenwich, by 
 water. Herein were they attended by the chief Citi- 
 zens of London, in barges freshly furnished with 
 silken banners and streamers, richly wrought with 
 the arms and devices of their crafts. In especial I 
 marked one boat of most choice fancy, called " the 
 Bachelors' Barge," passing all others, the which had 
 a great red dragon spouting flames of fire into the 
 Thames ; whilst on every side were trumpets, cla- 
 rions, and other minstrelsies, fitting unto the Queen's 
 royal estate. So came she from Greenwich, and, 
 landing at the Tower-wharf, entered the Tower, where 
 Henry of Richmond seemed to welcome her in such 
 a manner as made a very good sight unto all present- 
 
 The next day, being Saturday, in the afternoon 
 
 Q
 
 22() THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 thereof, the Queen was again most royally attired in a 
 kirtle of white cloth-of-gold of damask, and a mantle 
 of the same furred with ermines, and fastened on her 
 breast with a cordon of gold and silk with tassels. 
 Her ftiir yellow hair hung unadorned do-vn upon her 
 back ; and she had a golden circlet upon her head full 
 richly garnished with precious stones. Thus went 
 she from her Chamber of Estate, the Lady Cecil 
 Wells, her sister, bearing her train, with great attend- 
 ance of nobles. The litter, wherein she progressed 
 from the Tower, and so through the City of London 
 unto Westminster, was covered with the same cloth- 
 of-gold of damask, and had large pillows made of the 
 like and stuffed with down, laid about her to support 
 her. Over her litter was borne a canopy, or pall, like- 
 wise of golden cloth, having four gilded staves ever 
 supported by as many Knights ; there being twelve 
 appointed to bear them in due order unto W^estmin- 
 ster. Then came her Grace's horse of estate, led by 
 the Master thereof; with her six henchmen, upon fair 
 white palfreys harnessed with red and white cloth- 
 of-gold, richly embroidered with suns and white roses. 
 Next them followed two chariots covered with the 
 like and set upon horses, in the first whereof sat the 
 Duchess of Bedford, and the Lady Cecil Wells, the 
 Queen's sisters; and in the second, the Duchess of 
 Suffolk, and the Countess of Oxford, and Elizabeth's 
 other sister, the Ducliess of Norfolk : but the Lady 
 Bride I saw not on this day. The goodly train was
 
 THK LAST OF THK PKANTAGENKTS. 227 
 
 closed by tlie Queen's Ladies and Gentlewomen, ac- 
 cording to their degree, some riding in chariots and 
 others on white palfreys, all most richly arrayed in 
 cloth-of-gold, robes of crimson velvet, and gold chains. 
 
 I may not in ordinary compass, tell how the streets 
 through which she should pass, were hung with cloths 
 of tapestry and arras, or how West-Cheap was be- 
 decked with silks and gold velvets : how the Crafts 
 of London, in their liveries, stood all along tlie way 
 from the Tower unto Powle's ; with a marvellous 
 sight of people in the streets, houses, and windows : 
 how her Grace was met in divers parts of the City 
 by fair children, some being arrayed like unto angels, 
 and others like virgins, who sang sweet songs as she 
 passed by : or how richly were clad the Knights and 
 Nobles who rode with her in that stately progress ; — 
 but I will rather at once pass away unto her Corona- 
 tion upon the morrow. 
 
 Full early upon the morn of the holy day she came 
 forth of Westminster Hall, liavino- lodjjed the nieht 
 before in the Palace thereof, — upon a fair and high 
 scaffold covered with new ray-cloth of purple, where- 
 on she might well be seen of all present. This reached 
 from the gate of the said Hall, unto a stage in St. 
 Peter's Abbey, where she was to be crowned ; beside 
 which there were sundry other scaffolds around it, 
 hung with pictures, tapestry, and arras, for such as 
 were above the common sort to behold the procession. 
 In especial I marked one goodly little gallery, set up
 
 228 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 about midway, well bedecked with cloth-of-gold, and 
 covered witli a rich canopy, wherein were seated 
 divers ladies, who seemed of such great estate, that I 
 marvelled much that they were not in high place in 
 the procession. One of the foremost was a most 
 lovely and gentle child of noble mien and stature, 
 though, perchance, not passing some seven years of 
 age. She was in a fair glistering robe of silver-tissue, 
 and had mild and clear eyes of bright blue, and hair 
 of paly gold ; methought much more beauteous than 
 the Queen's, unto whom she bore a wondrous resem- 
 blance. As I stood in the crowd near this spot, I de- 
 manded of some that were about me who those ladies 
 might be ; whereunto one answered that they were 
 the Queen's mother and younger sisters, from the 
 Abbey of Bermondsey, whom the King of his grace 
 had permitted to behold her Coronation, though he 
 would in no wise have them to take any part in the 
 same ; and that she who sat in the front was the Lady 
 Bride, who should become a nun when she was of 
 age to be professad. 
 
 Alethought, before I knew this, that there was some 
 secret charm which as it were drew me unto that fair 
 one, and riveted my sight upon her, the which was 
 now fully explained ; whilst my mind did at once re- 
 call every thing that Master St. Leger and Sir Gilbert 
 De Mountford had said touching her and myself, and 
 mine own ardent desires towards her. Now I saw 
 that she was even more beauteous than my fancy had
 
 THE L,AST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 22i) 
 
 pictured her, and, in truth, the fairest of her family ; 
 and thereupon I pressed as nigh as I might unto the 
 scaffold whereon she sat, the better to gaze upon her 
 features : though mine heart sank within rae as I 
 thought upon the hopeless distance which adverse 
 fortune had cast between us, albeit I was her near 
 kinsman, and of birth not less royal. 
 
 I will here say nothing of the gallant procession 
 unto the Abbey, of the Esquires, Knights, Peers, and 
 Heralds ; of the Prelates in their copes, nor the monks 
 of Westminster in their albs; of the golden orb, 
 crowns, and sceptres, borne by the Nobles, nor of the 
 princely habits of all ; — since they who list to read of 
 them shall find them chronicled in story, and pictured 
 in divers books of the Heralds. After all these had 
 passed in stately march before us, came the Queen in 
 a kirtle and mantle of purple velvet, broidered with 
 gold and furred with ermines ; having a circlet of 
 gold and rich gems upon her hair, and her train borne 
 by the Lady Cecil. Next her followed the Duchess 
 of Bedford and others, in mantles and surcoats of scar- 
 let velvet, furred and powdered, with golden circlets 
 on their heads ; but these had not well gone by, when 
 there was so mighty a rush of the crowd behind, in- 
 ordinately pressing to cut away the ray-cloth whereon 
 the Queen had walked, as memorials of that stately 
 pageant, that divers persons were overthrown and 
 even trampled to death in the presence, and the order
 
 230 THK LAST OK THE PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 of the procession was all broken and distroubled.* 
 Nor was this the worst, for the crowd pressed for- 
 ward with such force, as to unsettle, and even to break 
 down, certain of the pillars which supported that scaf- 
 fold wherein were seated the Queen's mother and the 
 Lady Bride ; causing some to utter a cry of fear as the 
 gallery trembled beneath them. Then did most of 
 the press quickly retreat, as fearing that it should 
 suddenly fall upon them ; but others, whereof I was 
 one, hastily pressed forward and ascended the scaf- 
 fold to rescue those noble ladies from their most peril- 
 ous condition. As we mounted thereon it shook 
 fearfully beneath us, and, peradventure from the in- 
 creased weight, a part at once gave way and fell, close 
 unto that whereto I had rushed to save the Lady 
 Bride ; and even the remainder was shaking upon it's 
 frail supporters. The brave and noble child had ut- 
 tered no sound of fear, though her cheek was some- 
 what pale when I approached her ; and only saying 
 unto her " Lady, trust yourself with me, I am of 
 gentle blood, and will pledge my life for your safety," 
 
 * The reader will remember that this circumstance is also 
 mentioned in a contemporary record of Queen Elizabeth's Co- 
 ronation preserved in manuscrij)t in the Cottonian Library ; 
 and printed in Leland's Collectanea, and Ives' Select Papers 
 relating to English Antiquities. Several other parts of the 
 above description are also supported by the same authorities.
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 231 
 
 — I took hev forthwith in mine arms, and sprang with 
 her from the gallery as the last of it fell ! 
 
 I had thought full lightly of the danger whereunto 
 I had exposed myself, for that I would Aviilingly have 
 bought the proud joy of bearing such a burthen with 
 far greater peril ; but the shock had taken away the 
 senses of the Lady Bride, and when we reached the 
 ground she had swooned in mine arms. Howbeit, as 
 I still supported her, and did vvhat I might to restore 
 her fainted spirits, certain of the guard and others 
 came up, and roughly demanded of me how I pre- 
 sumed to come into such presence as her's ; where- 
 unto I replied that I had done it by right of cou- 
 rage, for that they had given back even before the 
 scaffold fell, and also by right of rank, for that I was 
 of much better blood than such base grooms as they : 
 adding, withal, that I meant to bear her unto her royal 
 mother, and so bade them stand back and let me pass 
 onward. But this they would in no wise hear of, and 
 whilst some took her from me and carried her unto 
 the Palace, others, — because my habit was but coarse 
 and mean like one of low estate, — flouted and reviled 
 me with much foul contumely ; telling me that 1 was 
 already well rewarded in not being sent unto the 
 guard-house for my presumption, albeit I might yet 
 have farther guerdon, if I listed to go me down unto 
 the King's kitchen. 
 
 Hereupon, with much anger and scorn in my face 
 and speech, I ipiilted the crowd in that place, and
 
 232 THE LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGENET8. 
 
 hastily returned again unto Master Cleghorn's ; not 
 coveting to behold any more of those flaunting pa- 
 geants, or the costly banquet which followed them. 
 It was small merit, I trow, for Harry Tudor to ex- 
 ceed his predecessors in wanton feasting, yet was it 
 made matter of much admiration, that the Queen's 
 courses had Feisaunts-royal, swans, cranes, pikes, 
 and peacocks ; with a Subtlety, having ballads writ- 
 ten therein, and castles of jelly made in temple-wise. 
 It was moreover said, how that the Abbey of West- 
 minster was pourtrayed there unto the very life, being 
 beset with divers beasts and birds, and fighting-men 
 on horseback and on foot, some dancing with ladies, 
 and others tilting with sharp spears as in a tourna- 
 ment ; all being made of spice-plate painted and gilt. 
 Yet of this I neither saw nor regarded aught, but 
 early in the morning of the fourth day after my last 
 coming unto London, J took my departure therefrom 
 with the good Chirurgeon's medicines for the Lord 
 Lovel. By the second night after, my travel was 
 ended, and it should have been even sooner done, but 
 that I was full cautious of journeying through the 
 parts lying nearest to Minster-Lovel in the broad face 
 of day ; whereupon I purposely tarried until after 
 sunset, at a hostel on the road-side some twelve miles 
 distant. But when I again got me on horseback, I 
 rode forward at a great pace, and within two hours 
 saw myself at the end of my journey. I now hastily 
 bestowed my horse at his own inn, being full impa-
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 233 
 
 tient to declare unto the Lord Lovel how I had per- 
 formed his charge, and to impart unto him the heal- 
 ing drugs which had been compounded for his dis- 
 temper by IMaster Cleghorn. 
 
 As I drew nigh unto the secret cell, and wound 
 through those hidden passages, which led unto the 
 sad retreat of fallen greatness, — albeit until now I 
 had looked to find tlierein Israel and the sick Noble 
 as I had left them ; — I felt a strange and sudden mis- 
 giving overcloud my mind, in truth I wot not why, 
 and I did almost fear to learn that their hiding-place 
 had been discovered, and that I should hear in it the 
 brawling voices of Harry Tudor's soldiers. Howbeit, 
 this dread was al^ated by the deep silence which pre- 
 vailed therein, and shewn to be only the sickly fear of 
 an over-anxious spirit. But even whilst I felt my 
 doubts to be all groundless, the next moment that very 
 stillness seemed vuito me to be full of alarm ; for 
 I half deemed that some foemen might be hidden 
 within the cell, and that such unnatural silence might 
 be only the surer to ensnare any one who approached 
 that retreat. Nevertheless I still went forward, and 
 upon approaching the very entrance of the chamber, 
 I heard a faint and broken voice exclaiming, as if in 
 the devotion of the last hours of life, " De jjroj'iindis 
 clamaui, ad Tc, Dominc, exaudi oocem meam : Fiant 
 aures luce intendentes in vocem deprecationis mc(e !" 
 whereupon I hastily pressed forward, and came sud- 
 denly in sight of a new scene of sorrow.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE DEATH OF A NOBLE SOLDIER. 
 
 Tell me. 
 
 How have you pass'd the time you wanted victuals ? 
 
 Very hardly. 
 
 Davenport's King John and Matilda. 
 
 The illustrious warriors who found themselves wasting by some lingering 
 illness, were not always content barely to excuse their fate : they often availed 
 themselves of the few moments that were yet remaining, to shake off life by a 
 
 way more violent or glorious But if none of these reliefs were afforded, and 
 
 especially when Christianity had banished these cruel practices, the heroes con- 
 soled themselves at least by putting on complete armour as soon as they found 
 their end approaching ; thus making, as it were, a solenui protest against the 
 kind of death to which they were forced involuntarily to submit. 
 
 Mallet's Northern Antiquities. 
 
 When that I had thus re-entered the cell^ I saw 
 none of the foes which my troubled fancy had looked 
 for in that place, the Viscount being there alone, and 
 seated on the very same spot whereon I had last seen 
 him ; but although I looked anxiously round for the 
 Hebrew, yet was Israel no where to be seen. The 
 chamber was now full dark, saving the red flickering 
 of a few dying fire-brands near the Lord Lovel,
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 235 
 
 which cast their light upon a face in which the de- 
 caying spark of life seemed as near it's departure, and 
 threw into most mournful shadow his ghastly looks, 
 whereon distress, famine, and death, seemed to have 
 wrought w ild work since I had gazed on him before. 
 His eyes had now lost all their martial brightness, and 
 were glazed and dim, and there was that keen sharp- 
 ness in his features and limbs which is the forerunner 
 of the last hour ; but though his voice was weak and 
 hollow, and his utterance slow, yet was there now 
 about him a holy calmness and piety, which seemed 
 to shew that he had learned better how to live or 
 die within the past week, than in all the years of his 
 life beside. 
 
 When I drew so near him as that he might well 
 note that some one approached, he said, " Ha ! who 
 cometh there ? — But it skills not now, for a dying- 
 man fears no earthly enemies ; and blessed be God 
 who hath given me again to behold the face of a fel- 
 low-creature ! What ! is it indeed thyself, my kind 
 Plantagenet?" 
 
 His altered speech, his changed countenance, and 
 his wasted form, had so riveted my looks upon him, 
 that sorrow and wonder had partly enchained my 
 tongue, and I could not on the instant make re- 
 ply ; but, at length somewhat recovering, 1 said, — 
 " Aye, my good Lord, it is indeed your poor friend, 
 Plantagenet ; who, God be praised ! findeth you still 
 living and in safety ; and hatl\ brought with him
 
 230 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 such healing medicines from the good Chirurgeon as 
 shall work a speedy cure upon your fainting frame." 
 
 " Nay, good Richard," answered the Viscount, full 
 sadly smiling and speaking in a low voice, "that may 
 not be ; — thy kind ministration cometh all too late^ 
 since I wot that physic is but for the quick, and I do 
 already deem myself as one of the dead !" 
 
 I heard him with much sadness, though with little 
 amaze after having beheld him, yet, being willing to 
 support his hopes, I replied, " Not so, my noble Lord, 
 since I can well trust that there yet remain for you 
 many years of life and honour." 
 
 "I pray God, Plantagenet," returned he, "that 
 thine own hopes, whatever they be, may have better 
 foundation and fulfilment, than they ever can which 
 thy kindly spirit now breathes for one, on whom the 
 cold grasp of Death is already laid, and whose last 
 hour is close at hand." 
 
 " Oh ! say not so, mine honoured Lord," replied I, 
 bending over him and taking his thin wasted hand, 
 whereon were hanging the clammy dews of Death, — 
 " say not so, since I have brought with me certain 
 most potent and reviving cordials, compounded by 
 your approved and faithful Chirurgeon, which shall 
 full quickly bring you back unto life." 
 
 " Alas !" responded he, faintly, " the physician's 
 skill Cometh all too late ; since I may now say with 
 holy Job, ' .spiritus mens attenuubiiur , dies mihi brevia- 
 buntur, et solum mihi superesf sepulchrmn : my breath
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENKTS. 237 
 
 is diminished, my days are shortened, and the grave 
 alone remaineth unto me. — That aid, Avhich, timely 
 supplied, perchance might have restored my strength, 
 will do but little for me now. — Let the will of God be 
 done ! — yet have I thought, Plantagenet, that if thou 
 hadst not left me, or if any of our Christian Faith had 
 been near me, peradveuture I had even at this time 
 had hope of life : but as it is, abandoned by the Jew, 
 and " 
 
 " Holy Saints !" exclaimed I in terror and wonder, 
 for now mine amazement had suddenly increased 
 much more than before, " what mean you, my good 
 Lord ? hath Israel indeed deserted you, or done aught 
 to call forth your anger.''" 
 
 " That," replied the Viscount, " I may not truly 
 aver, seeing that I am now at the point to die, and 
 have long known him faithful ; so that perchance I 
 should rather lament for some calamity having befal- 
 len him through his fidelity unto me. Yet may I tell 
 thee, good Richard, that since the night of thy depar- 
 ture hath he never returned hither !" 
 
 In very sooth, I could scarcely think that mine ears 
 heard aright as the Lord Lovel thus spake, or when he 
 continvied, in such terms as moved both mine heart and 
 eyes to pity him, to relate unto me how he had been 
 left wholly without sustenance throughout five of the 
 days which had passed away since I left him ! I then 
 hastened to take from my pouch some food which 
 I provided at the hostel where I last stopped, and
 
 238 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 placino- it before the Viscount entreated him to eat 
 thereof; telling him that I would eftsoons go forth 
 for more, and to enquire what I might touching 
 Israel of Castile. But unto this the Lord Lovel 
 replied with a sad smile, declaring that he would no 
 more taste of food on earth, having taken his last 
 morsel as the Blessed Viaticum, which should pre- 
 pare him for his departure from the flesh : he added, 
 moreover, that he would not have me quit him again, 
 for that he had much desired to see me ere his death, 
 and he would fain speak unto me whilst utterance 
 was left him. 
 
 He then related unto me, albeit with much difficulty 
 of speech, how that, when his food was nigh spent, 
 and, after long waiting, he found that Israel returned 
 not unto him with more at his wonted hour, — he began, 
 in impatient mood, to lament that he had entrusted 
 his life to the keeping of an infidel Jew : since he did 
 well believe that he had wantonly left him to die. 
 His infirmities had also much increased from his sick- 
 ness, so that he might in no wise have gone forth him- 
 self; and, as his little store of provision lessened, he 
 looked forward unto a lingering death, without hu- 
 man creature near him to aid him in his last hours. 
 Deeming that he had now no hope of escape from such 
 sad fate, he bethought him of addressing himself unto 
 the holy duties proper unto that solemn time ; there- 
 upon taking up one of those tomes, which, as I have 
 noted, lay scattered about the cell, thinking it to be
 
 THE LAST OF THK I'LANTAGENETS. 239 
 
 some pious Hours or Offices, or other book of Chris- 
 tian prayers. But it was, in truth, a full devout and 
 ghostly Treatise of the Imilation and FuUuwing of the 
 Blessed Life of Our mercifiil Saviour Christ Jesus, and 
 of the Co)itemning of the World : the wliich godly 
 book was written first in Latin by that most learned 
 and christian doctor, Johannes Gersenus, Abbot of the 
 Benedictine Monastery of St. Stephen at VerceiL 
 albeit it hath been falsely attributed unto other au- 
 thors.* The Lord Lovel now remembered him that 
 it had been done into English at his command, by 
 Master Bernard de Chadlington, sometime his Chap- 
 lain, and Vicar of St. Kenelm's Church at Minster- 
 Lovel ; who was greatly enamoured of that divine 
 treatise. 
 
 In the time of the Viscount's prosperity he little 
 recked for aught of book-lore, since I wot that both 
 
 * It will doubtless be remembered that the very celebrated 
 Imitation of Christy has been assigned to Thomas a Kemjjis, John 
 Cierson, Chancellor of Paris University, and the Abbot Gersen 
 mentioned above ; beside some other authors of far less pro- 
 babilit}''. For several reasons, perhajjs Gersen may be most 
 safely regarded as the real writer of the treatise ; but his claim 
 being strenuously suj)ported by the Benedictine monks, against 
 the advocates of Kempis, who was of the Order of St. Augus- 
 tine, — was probably the reason for the assertion in the text, 
 Richard Plantagenet having been educated in the Benedictine 
 monastery at Ely. The passage subsequently cited from the 
 Imitation of C/irisf will be found in Book I. Chap. xxv.
 
 240 THK LAST OK TIIK PI.ANTAGENRTS. 
 
 his heart and his treasure were in camp and Court; 
 and therefore the pious tome of the Abbot Gersenus 
 was cast aside for sword or charger, hawk or hound, 
 or, in brief, for aught of worldly pastime or employ- 
 ment. But in the day of his adversity and hiding, 
 long after the good Chaplain had gone unto his rest, 
 when his labours were all forgotten, lo! his little book 
 came forth in wondrous wise to awaken the soul of 
 him for whom it was first penned, even at the eleventh 
 hour. As the Lord Lovel sate in that lonely cell, 
 thinking upon death, and I ween well nigh spent 
 with famine, he takes me up this holy treatise deem- 
 ing it to be a missal ; and, presently opening it, he 
 lights upon these blessed words, which seemed to 
 speak unto him with the voice of an angel. 
 
 " O ! if M-e myght contynue in thys lyfe wythoute 
 bodyly refecyon, as eatyng and drynkyng, sleepyng, 
 or any other corporeal wants ; and take heede only 
 unto holy medytacyons, and ghostlye feedyng and 
 refreshyng of our souls ; then shoulde we be muche 
 more happye, than we be now, in serving and attend- 
 yng more for bodyly good than spyrytual profyte. 
 When man once cometh unto thys perfecyon, then 
 seeketh he consolacyon of no creature ; then begyn- 
 neth he to have a spyrytual ayde in God, when that 
 he is contente wyth every fortune, as well Avyth ad- 
 versyte as prosperyte, conformying and referrying all 
 hys worschype unto God, to serve and to obey hys 
 wyll."
 
 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 241 
 
 " As I read over these devout sentences/' continued 
 the dying Viscount, " a new light suddenly brake in 
 upon my benighted spirit, and shewed me that I was 
 in the condition of tliat soul ; being freed from all 
 the cares of this world, and almost launched away 
 into the next. I was now regarded as one dead, or 
 as a fugitive in the camp and a traitor in the Court, 
 and all too much shaken by sickness ever again to 
 appear in either ; yet did T know full little how to 
 turn me unto a holy life and the service of God. Oh ! 
 good Plantagenet, had I but fought against the Fiend 
 in mine own heart, but half so stoutly as I have done 
 battle in mortal strife, — had I but shewed unto the 
 King of Kings but half the duteous loyalty which I 
 ever gave unto thy father, — I had not now been left 
 thus desolate, defamed, and out of suits with fortune; 
 I had not now had all my ghostly labours to do, when 
 that I have neither strength nor space wherein to per- 
 form them !" 
 
 " Good, my Lord," responded I, " you should yet 
 be of good cheer, since I have heard it spoken from 
 holy St. Austin, that we read of one man who was 
 saved at the last hour, that none may despair ; though 
 but of one, that none should presume." 
 
 " Truly, young Plantagenet," hereunto replied the 
 Viscount, " I am of good cheer, nay, I am full merry ; 
 for albeit I have fasted long and sadly, yet do I trust 
 this night to banquet most richly in Paradise ! — How- 
 beit, as the time when I shall speak and thou shalt
 
 242 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 hear is hastily passing away, let me go on whilst lite 
 is left unto me. — Hunger had now assailed me like a 
 mighty foe, and sleeping and waking, night and day, 
 I vainly looked around and clamoured for food ; 
 almost maddened at finding it came not, or that what 
 I saw and ate of in my dreams was not real and sub- 
 stantial. I held Israel to be a savage and unfeeling 
 traitor, deeming that only one of his abhoi-red race 
 would have left his ancient benefactor, alone and 
 powerless upon a bed of sickness, without some effort 
 to administer unto his sorrow." 
 
 "In good sooth, my Lord," interposed I at this place, 
 " I would not offend you, but yet I wot well that you 
 erred in this matter : since that man hath too deeply 
 felt the shaft of calamity and persecution himself, not 
 to have compassion upon others. I was left wounded, 
 and, perchance, dying, upon the field at Bosworth, 
 unknown and disregarded of all, since mine only 
 friend lay a bloody corse thereon : — and, but for the 
 humanity of Israel and his late virtuous spouse, I had 
 not now lived to stand by the couch of another, or 
 to speak in vindication of my benefactor. And think 
 not, I pray you, good my Lord, that if he be not il- 
 lumined by the Christian Faith, he is therefore aban- 
 doned for ever ; since we who adore a God who will 
 not that any should perish, may not rashly condemn 
 even a Jew of virtuous life and warm and charitable 
 heart," 
 
 " Thou hast a generous and kindly soul, Richard
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENBTS. 243 
 
 Plantagenet/' rejoined the Lord Lovel, "and unto 
 somewhat of this did mine own thoughts arrive, after 
 that my spirit had been softened and purified by much 
 reading in that holy book of the Imitation of Our 
 Lord ; and another little tome of certain texts of the 
 Sacred Scriptures, translated into English by Master 
 John de Trevisa.* In the pondering ujion these, I 
 seemed, as it were, to forget time and to lose mine 
 infirmity ; and they so wrought within me, that first 
 came sorrow and penitence into mine heart, and 
 tears from mine eyes, such as I had never sh-ed before. 
 And anon came a godly joy and illumination, which 
 made me ahnost to leap as I read when I began to 
 understand how true were the words, which I had 
 heard spoken from the blessed 'Vangil, ' Non hi solo 
 pane vivit homo, sed in omni vcrbo qui procedil de ore 
 Dei :' man liveth not by bread alone, but by every 
 word which cometh forth of the mouth of God. For 
 albeit I was still shrewdly an-hungered, yet had I 
 now good store of the Bread of Life ; and feeding upon 
 that I freely forgave my death luito the Hebrew, and 
 
 * 'I'liis collection was made towards the close of the four- 
 teenth century, and is sometimes said to have included the 
 whole of the Scriptures ; though it more probably contained 
 only a few texts which were painted on the walls of the Cha])el 
 in Berkeley Castle, executed by command of I.ord Thomas De 
 Berkeley. Trevisa was a celebx-ated translator of numerous 
 works, and Vicar of Berkeley in the County of Gloucester.
 
 244 THK LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 thought me ah-eady at the gate of Heaven ! — Bitt 
 now — my strength indeed faileth, — and I must hasten 
 to close. On the morning of yesterday, I chanced to 
 find a crust, full hard and mouldy and black with age, 
 such as in the days of my pride I would not have cast 
 unto a hound that I held in any favour ; on the which, 
 howbeit, I now seized with thankfulness and joy, eat- 
 ing it with much devotion, as the Blessed Sacrament 
 sent unto me before my death : for I say unto thee, 
 Richard, that until I partake of the food of Angels, 
 there shall no other pass between my dying lips !" 
 
 Albeit I saw that it was now altogether in vain, I 
 could not but assay as I might to support the sinking 
 Lord Lovel ; still declaring mine earnest hope that 
 he was not yet so shrewdly distempered as he judged 
 of himself, nor that food and the remedies which I 
 bore, might not render him good service. " Nay," 
 answered he again, " that cannot be ; for the cold 
 damp of my former lodging, and that which I took 
 upon my first coming hither, hath stricken unto my 
 very heart, and brought on a fever of such consuming- 
 fierceness, that nothing now can allay it. The wise in 
 physic do indeed tell, that much fasting will presently 
 starve a fever out of man's frame, but it hath not been 
 so with me ; though, peradventure, my sinful anger 
 against Israel when I deemed that he had so foully 
 deserted me, hath shaken me as shrewdly as lack of 
 sustenance. Yet be this as it Avill, my sickness hath 
 now risen unto a height as no medicines can stay it;
 
 THE LAST OF THR PLANTAGENETS. 245 
 
 albeit I bless God that I have found a sure and faith- 
 ful Physician for my soul." 
 
 Hereupon I did urge unto him hope of life no 
 longer, seeing that his pallid and sunken cheek sud- 
 denly turned paler, sliewing that he was now nigh 
 unto the death, for which he was so well fitted : but, 
 that his worldly desires should be fulfilled in as much 
 as they might, I demanded of him, in great sorrow, 
 if there were aught wherein I could yet serve him. 
 
 " Mourn not for me, noble youth," responded he> 
 " though thou hast so gentle and kindly a heart, that 
 I feel much sadness that I cannot guerdon thy love 
 towards me ; or give thee aught but thanks for thy 
 many and courteous services. Yet, to be still more 
 thy debtor, there is one thing, — and that of some ha- 
 zard, — which I would fain have thee do for me when 
 I am departed ; the which, only my long-increasing 
 infirmity hath kept me from braving for myself. — It 
 is to ascend the secret stair out of this cell, which will 
 lead thee into a broad fire-place in mine ovvn chamber 
 above ; wherein, beneath the middle window, thou 
 wilt find a panel in the wall, sculptured with the de- 
 vices of my House. — Firmly press down the body of 
 the ramping lion on the 'scutcheon, and a spring will 
 be loosened that holds up the shield, which, falling 
 down, will discover unto thee a little secret closet. 
 Therein is a steel casket containing some gold, and 
 divers letters from certain partisans of the House of 
 York, who are now living and unsuspected, touching
 
 246 THE LAST OF THE TLANTAGENETS. 
 
 a rising against Harry of Lancaster. — These I charge 
 thee to take forth, and destroy as surely and as speedily 
 as thou mayest, that none may hereafter find them, 
 and bring others into infamy or death. For the gold 
 wliich is in the casket, take it unto thyself, good Rich- 
 ard, I give it thee all, and would it were far greater. — 
 Now — Farewell ! — may the blessing of a dying friend 
 rest upon thee ! — and I lack only a Confessor, that I 
 too might have absolution and benediction." 
 
 Unto this I replied, that I would assuredly under- 
 take his trust, and, if he so desired, would go forth 
 to seek him a Confessor ; but he answered me that he 
 might not then permit it, for that death was dealing 
 so shrewdly with him, that he should eftsoons depart. 
 " And thou forgettest," added he, " that by thus doing 
 thou wouldest hazard thine own safety ; and, per- 
 chance, that of the holy man who should come unto 
 me. And in sooth," he faintly continued, " though I 
 would fain be shriven and absolved by the Church, 
 that so my spirit might be the better fitted to appear 
 at the Throne of God, yet do I well trust that I am so 
 accounted in Heaven, unto which I have devoutly 
 confessed ; and so may pass away in hope, albeit un- 
 houselled and unannealled with the Sacraments of 
 Confession or Extreme-Unction." 
 
 " In truth, my good Lord," answered I, who was 
 inwardly praying for him upon my rosary, " I do well 
 believe it, and my poor orisons shall not be wanting 
 that your spirit may rise speedily unto glory."
 
 THE LAST or THE PLANTAGENETS. 247 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, good Richard," returned the 
 Viseoiuit, " and if no other prayers be heard for me 
 wliilst my soul is parting from her clay, if no dirge 
 be sung over my corse, yet Vvill I not faint even in 
 the shadow of death ; nor fear that the lack of priestly 
 rites, all sacred though they be, shall mar my joyful 
 entrance into Paradise." 
 
 Upon this, as it were exhausted by so much speak- 
 ing, he gradually sank back, grasping my hand, and 
 closing his eyes : so that I drew in my breath with 
 anxious dread, thinking that his last moment was in- 
 deed come. Yet whilst I thus bent sorrowfully over 
 him, his spirit came unto him again, and he reared 
 him with even more seeming strength than before : 
 but, from the glazed look of his eyes, I well deemed 
 that it was but the last brief and sudden kindling up 
 of the taper of life, which was speedily to sink down 
 into an immortal darkness. 
 
 Howbeit, for some short space he was again him- 
 self, and said unto me, " 'Tis in vain, Plantagenet, 
 'tis in vain; not all thy kind offices can now save thy 
 dying friend, or even give him a sepulchre when he 
 shall be no more. Yet, though God hath willed it 
 thus, I pray thee help me to don my grave-clothes, 
 the which thou wilt find in yonder chest ; being the 
 kniglitly suit I ever wore both at Court and in the 
 battle. — So, — 'tis well — good Richard, — but haste 
 thee, for even now I feel my blood ceasing to flow — 
 there, — my surcoat of arms, and my helm upon my
 
 248 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 head — that thus apparelled, as Lovel was wont to be 
 in the day of his power, when they who live in after- 
 times shall haply find his wasted limbs and mouldered 
 form, in this secret place, which hath been his cell and 
 sepulchre, — they may truly know who and what he 
 was when living ; nor confound the reliques of a 
 Lovel and a soldier, with the ashes of the ignoble 
 dead." 
 
 I hastened to fulfil his request and speedily clothed 
 him as he desired, and when he was so habited he 
 thanked me, and said he felt him more at ease ; not 
 that his sickness had in aught abated, but that he was 
 now clothed in the only shroud which those of his 
 House were ever wont to wear. Upon my demand- 
 ing of him if there were aught else wherein I might 
 pleasure him, he replied, "nought, my most constant 
 friend, but this — that thou wouldest bring hither yon- 
 der cross, that I may kiss it, and die in grasping the 
 sign of our salvation. — So — now set it upon the table 
 before me, with the holy books which have so often 
 soothed me in mine hours of loneliness and sorrow, 
 and have dressed my soul for it's final departure: the 
 which may indeed tell them that in future days shajl 
 light upon my bones, that Lovel died a Christian as 
 well as a Noble and a Soldier." 
 
 When I had forthAvith perfoi-med all that he de- 
 sired, he once more assayed to speak, albeit very 
 faintly, and said, — " So, — this is well, — and now the 
 courses being all set to sea, wherefore should the
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 249 
 
 barque tarry longer ? or, in good sooth, why should 
 not the worn-out shallop which hath been so long 
 tossed upon the wild waters, make at once for the 
 haven where she may safely cast hev anchor for 
 ever?" 
 
 Such was the Lord Level's tranquillity and gentle 
 resignation in his last hours; the which, though sweet 
 to behold and glorious to remember, still had in them 
 so much of sadness, that tears fell from mine eyes, 
 and I mourned bitterly that one so rich in grace and 
 dignity should presently cease to be upon the earth. 
 He marked mine emotion, and full kindly counselled 
 me to lay aside my sorrows, seeing that his had reach- 
 ed their termination ; and that I should dry the tears 
 which dinmied mine eyes, that I might well mark 
 how to close up his. His tongue did now begin 
 altogether to fail him, and his eyes looked set in his 
 head as if their sight were gone ; whilst his words 
 came thick and obscure, so that I might scarcely hear 
 them. Yet was his look high and stately, and his 
 face lighted up with that unearthly lustre, which 
 spake eloquently of a peace of mind, that his speech 
 could but imperfectly give utterance to. But full 
 soon came the last solemn change, wherein the dark 
 shades of Death invaded his visage, and his sense of 
 existence seemed to depart. Yet even in that mo- 
 ment of dissolution, did I pray him to give me some 
 sign if his ho])e in Heaven wei'e still good ; where- 
 upon he grasped the crucifix with wondrous power.
 
 250 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 and faltered out a part of the dying words of the holy 
 
 Stephen, —" Domine — Jesu — suscipe " I listened 
 
 for some moments joyfully, though anxiously, for the 
 
 end thereof; but on again looking towards the 
 
 face of tlie Lord Lovel, I full soon perceived that I 
 was alone !
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A FOREIGN ADVENTURER AND SPY ENCOUNTERED 
 
 RECRUITING IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY AND 
 
 FIFTEEN YEARS OF EXILE FR03I ENGLAND. 
 
 Where hast thou served ? 
 
 May it please you, Sir, in all the late wars of Dohemia, Hungaria, Dalma- 
 lia, Poland; where not, Sir ? I have been a poor servitor by sea and land, 
 any time this fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the lx;st com- 
 manders in Christendom. 
 
 Is it possible that thou shouldest disguise thyself so as I should not know thee? 
 Ben Jonson's Every Man in his Humouu. 
 
 I like thee well ; wilt tliou forsake thy fortune, 
 
 And follow me ? 
 
 I am a Soldier, and now bound to Franco. 
 
 ShAKSI'EARE. 
 
 So died the good Knight, Francis, the ninth Lord, 
 and first Viscount, Lovel ; — yet seemingly witliout 
 any touch of pain, and so peacefully and silently, that 
 even at the very moment of his departure, I knew not 
 indeed that all was over. Howbeit, I might not long 
 remain in doubt, but speedily saw that he was gone 
 from this earth, and that I liad now only to close his 
 eyes, unto the which I sadl}' addressed myself. He 
 had so orderly settled himself to die, that there was 
 little left for me to perform for him ; yet did I com- 
 pose him so, that he should have the semblance of
 
 252 THE LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 one who rested after the labours of a weary clay, with 
 his head inclined upon his hand. In all things, there- 
 fore, did I fulfil his dying desires, so that if ever men 
 should discover and open liis last retreat and burial- 
 place,* his wishes shall assuredly come to pass ; inas- 
 much as that none will ever deem him to have been 
 of low degree, albeit mischance denied his bones a 
 sepulchre in holy ground. 
 
 This solemn duty done, as it now grew towards 
 morning, I bethought me of entering the chamber 
 whereof he had spoken, and taking thence the casket 
 he had charged me with, whiles the day was yet young ; 
 for that I now desired to depart from that sad cell, 
 deeming it bootless to remain there longer, since all 
 that had kept me therein had left it for ever : and I 
 felt me no more bound by duty or liking to stay witli 
 
 • This discovery did not take place until the year 1708, 
 when, in laying a new chimney at Minster-Lovel, a large vault 
 or room was found beneath ; in which appeared the entire 
 skeleton of a man sitting at a table with books, &c. before him, 
 whilst in another part of the chamber was a cap, the whole 
 being in a decayed and mouldering state. It is also sometimes 
 added, that the vault contained several barrels and jars which 
 had held his stores; but the former part of this accoimt rests 
 on the witness and authority of John INIanners, tliird Duke of 
 Rutland, who related it in the hearing of William Cowper, P>sq. 
 Clerk of the Parliament, on May 8th, 1728; by whom it is 
 presei-ved in a letter dated Hertingfordbury Park, August 9th, 
 1737.
 
 TlIK LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 253 
 
 that poor and lifeless dust, as the jewel being now gone, 
 the sordid case which had enclosed it was no longer 
 worth the watching. 
 
 So forth I went from the cell up the little secret 
 winding stair, at the top whereof I found a strong 
 door, which opened with a very hard spring upon one 
 side of a wide and ancient hearth, behind a high settle 
 of carved and blackened oak. So cunningly was it 
 hidden, that no man might ever have discovered it 
 vmless the device had been shewn unto him ; for that 
 the portal was formed of the stones whereof the fire- 
 place was built set in an oaken frame. The chamber 
 into which it led, was one of much state and richness, 
 although it was now ruined and despoiled ; partly by 
 decay of years, and partly by the rude soldiery who 
 had been placed therein upon the supposed death of 
 the Lord Lovel. The 'broidered azure hangings were 
 now torn and falling piecemeal fronci the walls, the 
 goodly painted window was broken, and the fair 
 carved- work was on all sides battered and defaced ; yet 
 did I find the sculptured panel, of which I was in 
 quest, unsuspected and undefaced beneath that cu- 
 rious oriel-window, some panes whereof looked into 
 our cell. IJut in the chamber unto which it did rightly 
 belong, it formed a fair and broad bay, fitting to be 
 set out with high stands of plate at a banquet, or yield 
 pleasant pastime towards the park, seeing that it 
 opened on to a stone gallery or terrace without, of 
 little height above the green-sward thereof.
 
 254 THE LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 I paused not long to note these things, or to mark 
 the desolate and melancholy condition of the dead 
 Viscount's Chamber of Estate ; both because the sight 
 thereof made me full sad, and for that I Avell knew 
 that I must speed me back again through the cell to 
 close up each entrance as securely as I might : and 
 therefore, after looking cautiously around me, I has- 
 tened unto the panel, opened it with a trembling 
 hand, and soon had the steel casket safe within my 
 bosom. I had again closed up that secret cabinet, and 
 was once more passing quickly towards the hearth, 
 when a strong and mournful blast of November's wind, 
 swept in from the gallery through the broken oriel- 
 window, and, mightily shaking the chamber wherein 
 I then was, suddenly shut the secret door with a clap 
 of wondrous loudness ; the spring thereof locking 
 itself so firmly, that all in vain I assayed to open or 
 even to discover it again. 
 
 Whilst I stood thus perplexed, and pondering how 
 I might best escape from the jeopardy into which that 
 mischance had thrown me, I heard the sound of foot- 
 steps approaching the chamber, whereupon I also 
 came forward, either to leap from the window, if 
 space were given me so to do, or to brave all hazards 
 as I might; but in nowise to discover the passage 
 whereby I had entered, nor even to be seen near the 
 secret door, lest others should find the means to open 
 it and so descend unto the cell. He who presently 
 came in unto the apartment, was a tall and stout man
 
 THK LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 255 
 
 of a martial air^ as though he had sometime been wont 
 to bear arms ; and indeed he was now habited in the 
 coarse and soiled dress, and dull iron of a common 
 soldier. His face methought wore a look of craft and 
 reckless boldness, as if he liad been one of those wan- 
 dering foreign lance-men, who follow any leader, and 
 do any deed for gain, the which were of old oft-times 
 brought into England to fill up the King's armies, 
 though much to the molestation and disquiet of the 
 realm ; and of a truth he was no other than a stout 
 and subtle lanz-knecht, who could well keep him by 
 spur and spear, wherever there was tumult, Avar^ or 
 spoil. 
 
 I did thus curiously look upon his features, for 
 that they seemed unto me as if I had more than once 
 seen them afore ; of the which I was full soon con- 
 vinced, when he accosted me in a mocking voice with 
 — " Ha ! what my young master ! art thou here too ? 
 methinks we meet full often of late ; and which way 
 might you get entrance, my forward stripling ?" 
 
 " Truly," answered I, with such boldness as I could 
 best assume on the instant, " truly, it asks but small 
 warrant to enter a house where there is neither lord 
 in the chamber nor lacquey in the hall ; and so I even 
 wandered hither, and was gazing awhile upon this 
 old apartment ; but for our often meeting, in good 
 sooth I wot but little." 
 
 " Aye, marry," responded the gibing Soldier, " that 
 I trow is because you are like most other great men
 
 256 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 who forget their friends ; natheless, I know ye as well 
 here as at Ely Monastery, or Leicester Castle, or in 
 West-Cheap when the City- Watch is marching, or in 
 the Red Rose hostel of Gideon Staples at Elveston ; — 
 when some were in shrewd hazard of being hung for 
 a traitor, had not I been at hand to cover their safe 
 withdrawing." 
 
 Unto this I exclaimed in great amazement, " what 
 sayest thou ? wert thou the Clerk then who told me 
 of the overthrow at Stoke, and shewed me where 
 Israel of Castile was waiting for me?" 
 
 "Aye, by St. Nicholas! was I, my young springald," 
 responded the rude Soldier, " for that I was his debtor 
 and had so covenanted with him ; and I ever keep 
 true touch to mine employers." 
 
 " Scarcely so, methinks," answered I, " if, as I take 
 it, you are one Bernard Schalken, a Brabanter, who 
 served Sir Gilbert De Mountford, and knavishly left 
 and betrayed him, with certain letters that were en- 
 trusted unto his charge." 
 
 " Content thee, content thee, stripling, it skills not 
 what thou thinkest of that act," responded the Lance- 
 man, " though I be in sooth Bernard Schalken ; how- 
 beit, as I would anon fain have thee frank with me, I 
 will first be so with thee, therefore open thine ears 
 and take this lesson from an old soldier and traveller, 
 if thou shouldest have life given thee to use it. I 
 was born to a hardy lanz-knecht, on a march in Ger- 
 many ; though I speak you most tongues, having
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 257 
 
 served in most countries. Now you may well wot 
 that we Flemings and Almaines, who live by spur and 
 spear, must be little dainty as to what lord we will 
 serve, though we be true as blade to pomel when we 
 have once engaged us, until our paction be out : so Sir 
 Gilbert De JMountford was overseen, in that, when my 
 time was up, he struck no new bargain with me. 
 Thus might I leave him, yet with a clear faith, and 
 take service with King Harry, who held me to spy 
 and peer after such forward Yorkists as thyself; and 
 I may now tell thee, that another day in London 
 after thy brawl in West-Cheap, had seen thee in hold, 
 young Sir, with your consorts. Sir Gilbert De Mount- 
 ford, Master St. Leger, and others of the like sort." 
 
 Then did T full anxiously demand of Bernard touch- 
 ing the imprisonment of the good Knight, whereupon 
 he told me, how having been in great straits from 
 suspicion of being in league with the Yorkists, he 
 was at length arrested and sent unto the Tower, with 
 others of his party, and landed at the Traitors' Bridge. 
 " Once secured there," added the Soldier, " Sir Gilbert 
 had but brief space given him either for sorrow or 
 shriving ; since a short hour for confession and prayer, 
 was all that passed between the gaoler's bolt, the priest's 
 rosary, and the sharp axe of the executioner !" 
 
 I looked much aghast at these tidings, the truth 
 whereof I did almost question, because they were 
 uttered in a rude and gibing voice, yet too soon did I 
 find that Bernard spake full sooth, and that my former
 
 258 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 friend, the stout and generous Sir Gilbert, had indeed 
 perished untimely upon the scaffold. In his fall, I saw, 
 with much fear and sadness, the hazard wherein I 
 myself stood of dying like a traitor were T taken, and 
 I resolved if I might now escape, at once to cross 
 the seas and become a soldier ; since to be slain in a 
 brave, though bloody war, where I might sink into a 
 valorous grave, seemed, unto my mind, but little pain 
 in comparison thereof. 
 
 But whiles I thus pondered the rude Bernard con- 
 tinued, " Aye, by the spear of St. IMichael ! stripling, 
 you may well look grave, for that I have told you is 
 as true as the 'Vangils ; and you had gone with the 
 rest, had you not fled as you did, for you neither guer- 
 doned my favour nor bought my silence." 
 
 "And how might I deem," answered I unto the 
 wily adventurer, "how was I to think that such pay 
 was looked for .''" 
 
 " Gold makes the truest breast-plate," replied Ber- 
 nard thereunto, "but that debt you may yet wipe 
 out. Howbeit, as I guessed that all Yorkists would 
 ride the same road, my barb and I set out towards 
 Stoke to meet you. When at Elveston I encountered 
 the Hebrew you wot of, and although, to make better 
 espial, I had clad me in a clerk's doublet, yet, to tell 
 you truly, I had as lief seen the Henker, as the Jew ; 
 since I owed him certain monies for drink ings and 
 and other disports, for King Harry gives good em- 
 ploy, though small pay and bare quarters. I was
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 259 
 
 pondering how best to avoid him or give him some 
 sort of quittance, for my sword is alway heavier than 
 my pouch, — Avhen he at once knew me, accosted me, 
 and proffered to blot out my score, and give me a 
 noble to boot, so I would truly look after thy safety, 
 and seize from thee such letters as might bring thee 
 into hazard ; the which I agreed to, and well, I trow, 
 did I keep my pledge." 
 
 Hereupon I demanded of the rude Soldier if he 
 now knew aught of Israel, whereunto he answered, 
 by telling me of certain matters which I perceived 
 had chanced in mine absence, and of which I had not 
 yet heard. He told me of the hazard into which the 
 Jew had fallen, from being suspected of holding se- 
 cret intercourse Avith the Lord Lovel, whom divers 
 thought was yet living, though his retreat might not 
 be found ; and farther, that some week past Israel 
 had been seized by certain spies lurking near the 
 Viscount's dwelling. Mine heart sank within me as 
 he recounted the Hebrew's after-fate, how he had 
 been fearfully menaced, to make him give full and 
 true answer to all which might be demanded ; but 
 albeit they vainly sought to terrify him by declaring 
 that horrid machines of torture should rend asunder 
 his limbs whiles that he was yet quick, still did the 
 brave and constant Israel, unbeliever as he might be, 
 forget not his pledge, and failed not in his faith unto 
 the Lord Lovel. His resolution sank not even in the 
 sight of his torments, but lie remained ever firm to
 
 2f)0 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 the surety he had given, and never revealed the 
 escape or hiding-place of his benefactor. I may here 
 note farther, as my last knowledge concerning him, 
 that at a future time I learned, that from the very 
 hour he became suspected of a league "with the 
 Viscount, they who seized upon him left not to per- 
 secute him, whilst there was hope of his making any 
 disclosure either by fraud or force ; and when it was 
 found that neither might prevail anything, his goods 
 were confiscated, and himself sent out of the realm, 
 under the law that all Jews were banished from Eng- 
 land for ever. Thus was he never left at freedom, 
 until his guards had seen him on board the barque 
 which was to bear him beyond sea. What afterwards 
 became of him, or unto what country he went, I ne- 
 ver might hear, yet do I trust that he ended his life 
 in peace, although in exile ; for this will I say of him 
 for mine own part, and this doth he well deserve of 
 my report, that the blessing of him that was ready to 
 perish was upon him, and that he caused the heart 
 of the fatherless to sing for joy. 
 
 When the Lance-man had told me of these sad 
 tidings, he concluded with "And now, I prythee 
 youth, having answered all thy demands, tell me who 
 thou art thyself.^ Thou canst scarce be the Jew's son, 
 though thou shouldest be a cockerell of some rare 
 line, to draw me a good ten pound out of his purse ; 
 for such was the least penny that I owed him." 
 
 Hereupon I answered, though with some doubt
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENE TS. 261 
 
 and pausing, that it mattered but little unto him as 
 to what race I came of: but that I was the orphan 
 of a brave soldier who fell upon Bosworth-field. 
 
 " Art thou so, by St. IMartin of Tours \" exclaimed 
 the gibing Bernard, "then doth that, with thy name 
 of Ricliard, thy fresh ruddy looks and blue eyes, 
 
 spell at length , Avhat I know full well, though 
 
 I speak it not now. Nay, farther, stripling, it shall 
 be safe for the future, and thou mayest forthwith 
 depart, so thou wilt tell me of one other thing, 
 which is, the secret Avay into this chamber ; for I 
 can well deem that thou knowest it, and perchance 
 somewhat more. And now," continued he with a 
 full stern voice, " mark me, boy ; hitherto have I been 
 meri'y with thee, but as I am once again the royal 
 Harry's follower, set to keep this mansion for him, — 
 I will have this matter from thee strait, or, by the 
 Blessed Melchior of Cologne ! I will send thee truss- 
 ed neck and heels unto the Court, as they carried thy 
 father to his grave, with a pursuivant to declare thy 
 lofty birth unto the King ! Chuse, then, briefly, and 
 at once." 
 
 I had afore noted the ruffian-like violence of this 
 Soldier, and unto this end had drawn me as nigh unto 
 the window as I might, feeling in my bosom for a 
 sharp little dagger which the Lord Lovel had given 
 unto me when I left him for London ; — deeming that 
 I might yet find strength enow to plunge it into the 
 Lance-man should he closely assail me. As, there-
 
 262 THK LAST OF TIIK I'LANTAGENETS. 
 
 fore, he bade me to determine upon what I would 
 now do, I hastily brake forth into that gallery be- 
 yond the oriel-window, which, as I have said, over- 
 hung the park, and only saying " This, then, is my 
 choice!" I suddenly leaped therefrom and shot for- 
 ward, with the speed of a shaft set free from the bow- 
 string. 
 
 Although it was my good hap to make mine escape 
 in the heavy mist of a November morning, which 
 covered the way I took, yet might I eftsoons hear 
 the loud shouting and heavy tread of my pursuer and 
 his followers ; so that I was full fain hastily to return 
 towards the secret passage and cell of the dead Vis- 
 count, wherein I deemed that I had left his body for 
 time and for eternity. I well knew that search Avould 
 there be vain, could I but once gain an entrance, and 
 then, under the deep shadow of night, I might come 
 forth xmseen and hasten my flight unto the sea-coast 
 or London ; for my royal sire had long since told me, 
 that fugitives be safer in a crowded city than in soli- 
 tude. 1 ran with much haste, yet, from often slipping 
 upon the grass that was wet with the mist and dew, 
 my pursuers gained fast upon me ; and being without 
 breath to utter either a cry or a vow unto any of the 
 holy Saints to aid me, I well nigh deemed that all was 
 lost. Nevertheless I still kept forward with unslack- 
 ened speed, albeit I could see the forms of them that 
 followed me hastily coming on through the fog, and 
 heard full near and loudly their shouts and Avhistling
 
 THK I^AST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 263 
 
 as they called upon each other to mark the way in 
 which I was running. At length, however, with 
 spent strength and lost breath, I suddenly plunged me 
 into the mouth of that hidden passage and vanished 
 from the sight of my pursuers, whose hasty footsteps 
 I soon marked approaching ; and I might hear them, 
 and specially Bernard, profanely swear by the Mass 
 that they had missed me, they knew not how, for 
 that I took that way and then disappeared like Friar 
 Rush : but they added, moreover, that though the 
 Fiend himself were to aid me, I should not 'scape 
 them so ; for that the park should be closely watched 
 day and night, the gate locked and guarded, and the 
 roads around planted with those who should soon 
 stop my travelling thence. 
 
 As the somid of their voices died away upon mine 
 ear, I went back unto the cell, in much sadness for 
 the loss of the only friends Avhich I possessed on earth. 
 Israel of Castile being now a banished beggar, Sir 
 Gilbert De IMountford and Master St. Leger cut off 
 upon a bloody scaffold, and the last and noblest re- 
 lique of King Richard, was already a black and stif- 
 fened corse before me. There he sate, so solemn, yet 
 so calm, in the very place of his life, that I could al- 
 most have called upon him to aid me with his counsel in 
 that hour of doubt and sorrow ; and albeit I was then 
 so young, and might well have feared to have been the 
 companion of a dead corse in that gloomy vault, yet 
 did the thought that mine own life hung by so frail a
 
 264 THK LAST OK THE PLANTAGKNKXS. 
 
 tye, keep my heart from all other terrors. I there- 
 fore sate sad and silent, until I bethought me of send- 
 ing up my prayers for mine own deliverance, blended 
 with mine orisons for the timely-departed soul of the 
 Lord Level ; in doing whereof my tranquillity and 
 strength returned, and I waited full patiently for the 
 hour which should give me back unto freedom. 
 
 That night, as I do well remember me, came down 
 heavily, yet did I linger xnitil the welkin was covered 
 with darkness, ere I left the funeral cell for the last 
 time, and quickly and cautiovisly closed up it's nar- 
 row outer entrance in such wise as it might never 
 be suspected by mortal man, by breaking down the 
 earth into it with my sword ; well knowing that the 
 other end was past any discovery. Thus, with a sad 
 heart, I bade farewell unto the mouldering dust of 
 the noble Lord Lovel, and betook myself unto a 
 desolate part of the park which overlooked a narrow 
 and lonely country lane. Yet was not mine escape 
 thence effected without much hazard, since I might 
 often hear the heavy tread or low voice of the night- 
 watching guards who were set to intercept me, as 
 they marched about between the shaking trees and 
 over the dark underwoods, humming as they best 
 might, some rude ballad of battle foughten in the 
 days of the olden time. Howbeit, as 1 now well 
 knew the place which I was traversing, I warily 
 passed them by, and at length got me clear of the 
 boundaries of Minster-Lovel.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 205 
 
 After crossing divers wild fields and passing through 
 many dark lanes, towards the break of day I heard 
 the heavy and stately bent of a drum sounding forth 
 the slow old English march ; and anon I found me 
 near a little hostel, about which some dozen soldiers, 
 but scantily clothed and armed, were gathered, as if 
 rousing them after the night-halt and making them 
 ready for the day's travel. I sought to pass them by 
 unnoted, but he who seemed to be the Constable, 
 or leader thereof, having already marked me, loudly 
 called unto me with " Holla ! comrade, what may 
 you be, and whither away so early ?" 
 
 I answered unto him with my safest and truest 
 reply, that I was the orphan son of a soldier who was 
 slain at Bosworth, and was then travelling in search 
 of entertainment and employ. 
 
 " Then if you lack these," responded the Constable, 
 "by the sword of St. Paul ! you're in good luck ; for 
 here you may have both, as you seem a stout young 
 stripling and a soldier's son. But. be you what you 
 may, I trow that here's a safe sanctuary for you, whe- 
 ther you are flying from the claw of the sergeant or 
 the Bishop's sompnour; and whether you were bred 
 to the cart or the cloister, only mount helm and spear 
 and you're made gentle at once, being upon the liigh 
 road to fortune, full soon to become either a Knight 
 or a Noble!" 
 
 " And whose quarrel must I draw sword in ?" 
 demanded I.
 
 266 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 " Why, in no less an one," answered the leader, 
 "than that of Francis the Second, the most noble 
 Duke of Bretagne, against Charles of France. For 
 ye shall wot, my brave comrade, that Edward, Lord 
 Widvile, the Queen's uncle, is leading forth a goodly 
 party of voluntaries unto his aid ; the main body 
 whereof hath marched on before towards the Isle of 
 Wight, where we take shipping. And now, my mates, 
 don your arms, and make you all ready for setting 
 forth with what haste you may, whilst I give our new 
 fellow a stout breakfast to make him march the bet- 
 ter. By the Bones ! " continued the prating Soldier, 
 drawing me with him into the hostel, " Fore God ! 
 brother, but you're in excellent luck to have lighted 
 upon us thus : since in another hour we should have 
 been upon our travel, and within five days upon the 
 seas ; when yon would have lost the good tide which 
 now floweth so fairly onward unto your fortune." 
 
 Thereupon I entered the hostel with the Constable, 
 not for that I trusted aught unto his glosing words or 
 mighty promises, or deemed that I should escape the 
 many pains and sorrows of a soldier's life, but be- 
 cause I saw that by following the Lord Widvile over 
 the seas, I should be well removed from mine enemies, 
 and might peradventure get me unto the Duchess 
 IMargaret of Bui'gundy, who was the friend of my 
 House, and so arrive at some better fortune. With these 
 thoughts, I say, I went with the Constable into the 
 hostel ; where, after having well fed and strengthened
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 2(57 
 
 me, I did engage to serve in that cause as a voluntary 
 in France, for so long as there should be war there, to 
 be found in horse and arms, with four -pence by the 
 day in sterling-money. 
 
 The chiefest passages of that war between France 
 and Bretagne, be conserved as great and public mat- 
 ters, which enter not into the story of my life, and 
 so ask but small recital in this place. Whilst I served 
 under the Lord Widvile, I was fain to keep secret not 
 only my lofty birth, but also my favour unto King 
 Richard, because of the hate in which he was held 
 by that Noble, for having put to death his nephew 
 Anthony, and divers others o£ his House and party, 
 for treason. Howbeit, the Lord Widvile himself was 
 not long my leader, for upon his marching imto the 
 relief of St. Aubin du Cormier, all the power of 
 France advanced against him under Louis de Tre- 
 mouille, and the two armies might not part without 
 doing battle. This, therefore, did we fight on Mon- 
 day, the 28th day of July, in the year of Christ 1488, 
 and a most fatal time did it prove ; for the Lord "Wid- 
 vile, and the most part of the four hundred English 
 which he had led into Bretagne, were slain, with 
 6000 Bretons and full 1200 of the French. I scaped 
 from the field, sorrowful and wounded ; yet lingered I 
 still in Bretagne, as the soldier of the Lady Anne, 
 the young Duchess thereof, until tlie war between 
 her state and the realm of France was at length cun- 
 ningly ended, by her becoming the Queen of Charles
 
 208 THE LAST OF TIIK TLANTAGENETS. 
 
 VI I r. in the year 1491. The King won over her 
 counsellors to consent thereunto^ by weighty bribes 
 and goodly promises ; and herself by importunity and 
 terror, for that she well saw she must be either liis 
 wife or his captive. Whilst speaking of them^ I may 
 note in this place, that Charles was a well-formed 
 man, though somewhat short, and of a fair face, yet 
 having large strong features and dark hair : the 
 Duchess Anne was a young maiden of good stature 
 and comely visage, and she was wont to be clad in a 
 vest of azure velvet and white ermine-skin powdered, 
 with a robe of red velvet over all. 
 
 This time passed, I did next betake me unto the bold 
 and noble Lady Margaret of York, the third wife of 
 Charles the Hardy, the last French Duke of Burgundy, 
 and sister unto my royal father ; with whom I found 
 right good entertainment and favour. She was one 
 who ever sought to magnify and advance her own 
 House, yet did I never declare my kindred unto her ; 
 albeit she made me one of the chief of that guard 
 which alway attended upon her person, being all 
 men of gentle birth, — and though she was wont often 
 to employ me in private services, familiarly calling 
 me Cousin, and saying that I had somewhat of the 
 look of a Plantagenet, and specially the very trick 
 of her brother Richard's visage. Butnatheless I dis- 
 closed not unto her the truth, for that I marked her 
 to be beguiled with one Perkin Warbeck, the offspring 
 of a Merchant, whom she cunningly tutored to person-
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENKT3. 2G9 
 
 ate Richard, Duke of York, the second son of her 
 brother King Edward IV. ; and so sent him unto 
 England, where he was well received and his tale be- 
 lieved of many, and for a long space he kept the realm 
 in tumult. This was, as I now think, about Novem- 
 ber, in the year of Grace 1492, but I leave it unto 
 story to recount his adventures ; only noting that he 
 uttered divers foul and false 1 casings against my fa- 
 ther, affirming him to have murdered the young King 
 Edward V. in the Tower, some seven years before, 
 when himself most wondrously escaped the like fate, 
 albeit he could neither declare how, nor even in what 
 nation, he had passed that time. Yet being, as he was, 
 of good presence and features, and fair-spoken withal, 
 he satisfied the demands of many who rose up in arms 
 and followed his fortunes ; and these were not of the 
 common sort only, but divers noble and worshipful 
 men believed and affirmed his pretences to be true. 
 But though some of his aiders thought thus, others 
 befriended him only from discontent at Harry Tudor, 
 who, as they deemed, had not largely enough rewarded 
 them ; and others again from a base desire to prosper 
 by tumult and by spoil. Howbeit, all this time my 
 truer and fairer claim to be a King, — as I then thought 
 it — was left unminded of any; and I felt much mis- 
 liking and jealousy, that a low-born adventurer was 
 thus again preferred unto the real son of a Sovereign : 
 thougli, perchance, that very neglect saved me from 
 the defeat and disgrace of Warbeck, his flight.
 
 270 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 imprisonment, and other sorrows, tlie winch were 
 ended only by the axe and the scaffold. 
 
 It chanced that;, about this season, I became ac- 
 quainted with certain of the cunning artists, who had 
 aided in rearing those stately buildings in the realm 
 of Burgundy, which have been imitated in divers fine 
 and curious palaces erected in England.* Truly, I 
 think that the world cannot shew more gorgeous or 
 princely fabrics, than those set up under the rule of 
 Philip the Good, Duke of Burgvmdy, and specially his 
 own palace at Dijon ; wherein the dark, and rude, and 
 lowering walls of the embattled castle, or lofty watch- 
 
 * The highly ornamented style of Domestic Architecture 
 which is considered as characteristic of the Tudor period, was 
 certainly derived from the very rich edifices erected under the 
 patronage of the Duke of Burgundy ahove-mentioned, between 
 the years 1419 and 1467 ; fine examples of which are to be 
 found in the Maison de la Pucelle and the Hall of Justice at 
 Rouen, and similar edifices at Bruxelles, Ghent, and Bruges. 
 Mansions of this character, — wherein the features of the old 
 gloomy castle were enriched and blended with a more statelv 
 and convenient style of building, — were erected in England in 
 the reign of Henry YI ; but perhaps a more splendid instance 
 was given in tlie ro^'al palace of Sheen built by Henry YII., 
 after a fire there in 1500, to which he gave his own title of 
 Richmond. It is related by Speed that the " curious and 
 exquisite building" both of this place and of his Chapel at 
 Westminster, were first learned by himself and Richard Fox, 
 Bisliop of Winchester, in France, and thence brought into 
 England.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 271 
 
 tower, fitted only for scenes of strife or blood, were 
 lost in the richly-wrought turret, the gay window and 
 gallery full rarely carved, and the broad and stately 
 gateway ; forming most glorious pleasances for the 
 court, the triumph, the tourney, and the masque. After 
 this manner, then, did I learn much of the art of build- 
 ing goodly mansions, the which in my later years hath 
 been of great benefit unto me ; and hath even pro- 
 vided me with a home and a retreat, when all other 
 shelters have failed me in mine old affe. 
 
 Havinglong outlived Duke Charles of Burgimdy,the 
 noble Lady ]Mai-garet at length departed this life and 
 went unto God, at her Seignory of JMalines in Brabant, 
 in the year 1503. But ere she died, she caused me to 
 be called unto her chamber ; and saying that I had 
 been unto her a true and faithful soldier, and foras- 
 much as that I was of her own country, and, as she 
 verily thought, her kinsman, — holding me, peradven- 
 ture, to be some natural son of King Richard, — she 
 wovdd entrust unto me certain rich jewels, for the 
 fulfilment of her last desires in England ; the v.hich 
 she prayed me rightly to perform as I would prosper 
 me in this world and the next. Hereupon I promised 
 her true service, and she commanded me to take her co- 
 ronet of gold and gems unto the Chapel of the Virgin, 
 St. George, and St. Edward, at Windsor, wherein lay 
 the body of her royal brother, King Edward IV., and 
 give it unto the Brethren there, in guerdon for divers 
 masses to be said for the health of both their souls.
 
 272 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Unto the Lady ElizabetJi, his Queen, at Bermondsey 
 Abbey :, she bequeathed her red velvet robe 'broidered 
 with golden broom-flowers, being the Plantagenet 
 badge ; together with a tablet of chased gold wrought 
 with the Visitation of the Virgin unto St. Elizabeth ; 
 and to her dear kinswoman, the Lady Bride, the 
 Queen's daughter, she gave a golden bridal collar 
 for her neck, with precious stones hanging thereat, 
 and a pair of pater-nosters of coral and silver. The 
 noble Duchess did also farther devise unto the high- 
 altar of the Grey-Friars' Church at Leicestei*, where 
 the corse of King Richard had been so rudely sepul- 
 tured, a chain of gold enamelled in ancient wise, hav- 
 ing the name of God upon every link; for daily prayers 
 for the health of her own soul and that of her royal 
 brother. In brief, she bestowed divers other rich 
 and costly gifts, for masses to be sung for herself and 
 those of her House who were deceased, in every place 
 where they were sepultured ; and unto myself she 
 gave fifty marks of gold, — £33. 6s. Sd. — for seeing that 
 her will herein was duly fulfilled. She did then give 
 unto me her discharge from all other earthly service 
 that I owed unto her, and I left her with divers as- 
 surances of fidelity ; not without much sadness and 
 heaviness of heart, but I had now seen so many who 
 had befriended me gradually pass away from me into 
 the devouring grave, that by this time I was well 
 nigh steeled against any new touch of such calamity. 
 Thus died the gallant Duchess of Burgundy, much
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 273 
 
 to the joy of Harry Tudor ; unto whom the flattering 
 followers of Lancaster were wont to say she was as 
 Juno of old was unto the wandering Prince Mneas, 
 moving heaven and earth against him,* as Virgilius 
 hath full sweetly written — " Anna viriimque cano," 
 which every scholar knoweth ; or in our ruder English 
 
 " Arms be my song, and him whom Heaven's decree 
 Drave from the Troian coasts to Italic ; 
 Who, ere he reach'd the fair Lavinian strand, 
 Long space was toss'd o'er ocean and on land 
 By the great Powers who rule supreme above, 
 And chief by Juno, angry Queen of Jove ; 
 Whose rage relentless him pursued afar 
 With vengeful storms, with foemen, and with war !" 
 
 Howbeit, though Henry of Lancaster was thus 
 likened unto Mneas, yet might I never note the sem- 
 blance betwixt them ; for that the Troian Prince was 
 both pious and noble, whereas he of the Red Rose 
 was only a simular of virtue, exceeding artful, and 
 all devoted unto covetise and oppressive gathering 
 of riches. 
 
 I have but little more to add of my long sojourn 
 and exile in France, — when I have noted that I saw 
 the body of the Lady INLargaret sepultured in the 
 Church of the Cordeliers in Malines, and returned 
 
 " This circumstance is also related by Bernard Andreas, the 
 contemporary Historian of Henry VII. 
 
 T
 
 274 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 into Burgundy, to receive those goods which she had 
 devoted unto holy works in England ; after whicli 
 I journied hither to perform her will. At length, 
 about the beginning of April, in 1503, I left Bur- 
 gundy, and travelled with what haste T might unto 
 Harfleur, whence I forthwith set sail and landed me 
 at the Isle of Wight ; it being now fifteen years since 
 I had last left it for Bretagne, with the army of the 
 hapless Lord Widvile.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THK soldier's return, AND FIRST ADVENTURE IN 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 —As he entered the Church— he bc-held her alone in tlic midst of the aisle 
 prostrate upon Euphrasia's Tomb. The piety, the gratitude of Olyinpia, tlie 
 sanctity of the place— and the n collection of past times, to which these cir- 
 cumstances gave birth, made a powerful impression upon the heart of Theo- 
 philus. He advanced towards 01ymi)ia ; the sound of his feet drew her atten- 
 tion, and she turned her face bathed in tears to see who it was. Theophilus 
 approached and knelt beside her— and she beheld him with astonishment. 
 
 y 
 
 Mad. De Genlis' Veillees Du Chateau. 
 
 Thus did I once more spring upon the shores of my 
 native country with a warm and joyful heart ; for 
 albeit in mine exile I had seen the red vineyards of 
 Burgundy, and felt the warm suns of Languedoc, 
 and heard the gentle speecli of Paris and the Court 
 of King Charles, — yet did I ever think tliat in mine 
 own land the yellow cornfields looked more plenteous, 
 the colder skies more healthful, and my countrymen 
 more artless and virtuous, though of blunter manners 
 and ruder speech. It was now a season of peace and 
 prosperity — excepting the exactions of Harry Tudor, 
 — throughout the realm; which seemed, as it were rest-
 
 270 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 ing and reviving from the wars and tumults where- 
 with it had long been disquieted, even by the very 
 children of the soil and the foes of it's own house- 
 hold which are ever the worst : and I bethought me, 
 as I looked vipon this tranquillity, of those rude old 
 verses of the ancient Chronicler written now some 
 two hundred years past, wherein he saith, — 
 
 " England is a well good land ! I ween of each land best ! 
 Set in the ending of the world, all in the healthful West ; 
 The blue sea goeth him about, he standeth like an isle, 
 And little may his foemen dare unless it be with guile !"* 
 
 And now with all speed I hastened me unto the 
 Chapel at Windsor, where King Edward lay ; to per- 
 form the will of the Lady Margaret there, that place 
 being first and chiefest in my road. I reached there- 
 unto about the hour of Nones, on the third of the 
 Calends of May, being Saturday, the twenty-ninth 
 day of April, and the birth-day of the noble King 
 
 * The above verses, very slightly modernised, are taken 
 from the commencement of Robert of Gloucester's metrical 
 Chronicle of England ; the author of which is supposed to 
 have been a Monk of Gloucester Abbey, sent to reside at Ox- 
 ford with the youth there belonging to that church. His real 
 name is not known, but he is believed to have flourished and 
 died about A.D. 1280, the beginning of the reign of Edward 
 I.; and consequently to have been one of the earliest poets 
 of England.
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 277 
 
 Edward IV., who was a great benefactor unto the 
 Castle and Chapel of Windsor ; and for the health of 
 whose soul I devoutly joined the good Canons in 
 those prayers, which our Church hath appointed to 
 be said on the Anniversary of a Patron deceased. — 
 The Brethren received me with wondrous goodwill, 
 and constrained me to lodge that night in their Col- 
 lege; though, perchance, part of their courtesy might 
 spring from the costly gift which I brought them, 
 and from my gallant habit as the Duchess of Bur- 
 gundy's soldier ; being a bright suit of plate-armour, 
 a blue velvet jazerine surcoat, and a sword and dag- 
 ger in red scabbards. When that our devotions were 
 ended, the Sacristan led me to behold that most mar- 
 vellous and princely Chapel ; shewing me the stalls and 
 banners of the famous Knights of the Garter, the 
 high-altar covered with a rich black cloth-of-gold, 
 given thereunto by the victorious Founder King 
 Edward III., and the fair tombs of such as had been 
 buried in that place. 
 
 Of all these sepulchres I well wot that the one 
 reared over the corse of the royal Edward of York, 
 was the most noble and stately. It standeth in an 
 arch close on the North side of the high-altar, and is 
 wrought in wondrous wise of pierced church-work, 
 being all of polished steel gilded, and made after the 
 semblance of folding gates between four towers. The 
 body lieth within, beneath a pavement of touch- 
 stone ; and above it, is the King's jupon of his coat-
 
 27B THK LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 armour, covered with blue and crimson velvet, with 
 the ensigns of France and England 'broidered there- 
 on in pearl and gold, interwoven with divers rubies ; 
 the which trophy of honour hath, ever since his 
 funeral, been hung over his grave. 
 
 The sacred calm and silence, and the holy gran- 
 deur of that spot, seemed to bring back unto my 
 mind those days when my young feet were wont to 
 wander in the Cathedral at Ely, or around my father's 
 tomb in the Church of the Grey-Friars at Leicester ; 
 and towards the close of day I again went alone into 
 the chancel, telling the good Custos, or Decanus as he 
 is now called, Christopher Urswicke, that I would fain 
 pray awhile in secret on that evening, since early on 
 the morrow I must hasten forward on my journey. 
 It was then, enwrapped in thought, that I drew nigh 
 unto the royal tomb by the high-altar, and, kneeling 
 there, prayed audibly unto God and the Virgin for 
 the salvation of all my House ; and specially for King 
 Edward, the Duchess IMargaret, my noble cousin the 
 Lady Bride Plantagenet, and King Richard, whom I 
 called my father. As these orisons escaped from my 
 lips, I heard a gentle voice near me exclaim " Holy 
 St. Edward ! — my cousin, and the son of King Ricli- 
 ard !" whereupon I started, and, looking around, 
 beheld that a leaf of one of the gilded gates of King 
 Edward's tomb was open, and that within was a 
 Maiden seeming also to be in prayer. She was clothed 
 in a white habit, such as was worn by Novices of the
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 279 
 
 Order of St. Austin, and the fading light was yet 
 enough to shew me that it was indeed no other than 
 the Lady Bride at her father's sepulchre ; now most 
 wondrously increased both in beauty and in stature 
 since I had last beheld her. 
 
 Hereupon I hastily arose in much confusion, but as 
 she was about to depart, I noted that in her surprise 
 her rosary had fallen from her hand, and I forthwith 
 entered the tomb and restored it unto her ; saying, 
 albeit with a hesitating voice, " Believe not, Lady, 
 that I knew of your presence in this place, or came 
 hither to trespass on your secret prayers and duteous 
 piety. Indeed you may well deem that what I have 
 now uttered is not to be spoken lightly, seeing that 
 mine own safety is so much involved therein : never- 
 theless, I rest me securely upon the good faith of 
 the Lady Bride Plantagenet." 
 
 "Sti-anger," responded she, hastily drawing her 
 robe around her, as if anxious to avoid a more per- 
 fect recognition on my part, and yet speaking in a 
 voice so sweet and gentle that it came upon mine 
 hearing like the soft swellings of distant music ; — 
 " Stranger, you have in sooth awakened my wonder : 
 yet whoever you may be, whether another false adven- 
 turer from Burgundy, or the true son of the blood- 
 stained Richard, your words Avith me are as if they 
 had never been spoken ; since I have neither desire 
 to expose thee unto danger, nor aught to do with the 
 world or it's vain-glorious honours."
 
 280 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 As she spake thus, her visage became suddenly 
 crimsoned over, yet. was it but for a moment, as anon 
 her pure and eloquent blood flowed onward in it's 
 wonted course, and her face resumed again it's tran- 
 quil fairness ; such as the still lake shews unto hea- 
 ven, when the passing gale hath gone by, and the 
 light ruffle which it called forth hath died upon the 
 clear waters. When I last saw the Lady Bride, 
 there w as much of the glad look of childhood in her 
 bright blue eyes, and the rich abundance of her hair 
 of paly gold ; and those golden locks did still remain 
 even more beauteous than before, but methought that 
 her merry glance was now shaded by a musing 
 melancholy, which shall be full rarely noted in the 
 countenance of one so young. Having awhile marked 
 her in silence, listening with wondrous delight unto 
 her voice, I now assayed to answer her ; telling her, 
 that albeit I was indeed from Burgundy, and even 
 from her noble kinswoman the late Duchess, yet was 
 I no false adventurer who sought to disquiet the 
 realm, nor was my noble father aught of that which 
 the world was wont to call him, I then told her of 
 the Lady Margaret's decease, of her mission which 
 had brought me unto England, and specially of that 
 touching the good Queen Elizabeth and herself; 
 wherein^ I added, I could not but rejoice, since it 
 would lead me again to hear the voice of one who was 
 so passing fair. 
 
 " I pray you, good stranger," replied the noble
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 281 
 
 Damsel, " I pray you to cease this flattery ; for, sooth 
 to say, I am alway but little minded to listen unto 
 such speech, but at no time less than this ; seeing 
 the sacredness of the place wherein we stand, and the 
 sorrow which must be in the heart of an orphan, who 
 walketh over all that is mortal of both her parents." 
 
 " Blessed Virgin !" exclaimed I in wonder, " of 
 both. Lady ! said'st thou of both ?" 
 
 "■ Aye, stranger," answered she, " that did I in sooth, 
 for the good Queen Elizabeth is stretched beside 
 her Lord in this sepulchre, dying at the Abbey of Ber- 
 mondsey : unto whose souls may God be gracious !" 
 
 " Then, Lady," responded I, "unto you belong all 
 the gifts of the noble Duchess, which should have 
 been possessed by your royal mother, the 'broidered 
 velvet robe and the golden tablet of St. Elizabeth ; 
 together with the bequests which she sendeth unto 
 yourself, a bridal collar of gold and gems, and a 
 rosary of coral and silver." 
 
 " I trust, that the good Duchess is in Paradise !" 
 said the Lady Bride, looking upwards as inethought 
 w ith a heavenly glance, " but her gifts, saving the 
 tablet and the rosary, are not for me ; since pass but a 
 brief time and I shall be vested in a robe that allows 
 of no other, and her bridal collar may be never Avorn 
 by one who will eftsoons be conseci*ated to the 
 kS^I C ter as the spouse of Christ !" 
 
 " How ! Lady," again did I exclaim, " so soon ! 
 and do you in very truth retire from the world, even
 
 282 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 whiles you must be the delight of every heart and eye 
 which knoweth or beholds you ?" 
 
 " Even so," replied the Princess, " and for this 
 cause am I come hither, to say my last orisons, and 
 to look, perchance, for the last time upon the sepul- 
 chre of my father and mother ; and, then, bidding 
 farewell unto the world for ever, to retreat into the 
 Convent whereunto I have been long vowed and 
 professed, for on St. Martin's Eve* shall I receive 
 the veil, and begin my spiritual life even from mine 
 earthly birth-day. You may well see, then, cour- 
 teous stranger, that the costly gifts you bear are 
 not for me ; yet if you will bestoAv them, here and at 
 Bermondsey, for the health of the departed souls of 
 my House, I will hold myself much your debtor, and 
 will cease not to bear you long within my memory." 
 
 " Enough, most blessed Lady Bride," answered I, 
 " by the Cross of St. George, it shall be done ! for 
 to live a moment in your memory, is dearer unto 
 me than to have shield and banner hung over the 
 proudest of yonder stalls. But for thee. Lady, thou 
 
 * The Princess Bride was born at Eltham Palace on the Eve 
 of St. Martin, Friday, November 10th, 1480 ; and was baptised 
 in the Chapel there the day following by Edward Story, 
 Bishop of Chichester. She was professed to Dartford Priory 
 early in life, but was probably not consecrated before the age 
 of twenty -five, in the year 1505, when her birth-day again fell 
 upon a Friday.
 
 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 283 
 
 hast been full many yeai-s hidden within the dearest 
 remembrance of Richard Plantagenet, for even before 
 he saw thee, thou wei't most wondrously impictured 
 there ; but after bearing thee from the falling scaffold 
 at thy sister's coronation — " 
 
 "Ha! what sayest thou!" exclaimed the Lady 
 Bride thereunto, " was it then thee to whom I am 
 indebted for life ? Full often, indeed, hath the tale 
 been told me that I was saved, perchance from death, 
 by a brave youth of goodly form and courteous man- 
 ners, even whilst the scaffold fell beneath us, but who 
 afterwards was no-where to be found ; and oft-times 
 have I desired to behold my deliverer. But surely one 
 so brave and gentle as thou art, can never be the son 
 of so foul and blood-stained a tyrant and traitor as 
 Richard !" 
 
 As she thus spake, I felt my cheek glow and mine 
 heart beat high in defence of mine injured father, 
 whilst the mild speech and deportment of the Lady 
 Bride became lofty and impassioned ; and though I 
 would fain have declared unto her that much wrong 
 was herein done unto his memory, ere I might so 
 reply she continued thus in a voice of indignant sor- 
 row. " Oh ! I may never cease to forget how the 
 unnatural Gloucester, albeit he was himself of the 
 House of York, made his way unto the crown even 
 through the blood of his own kindred ! Tell not me, 
 although thou mayest be indeed his son, — tell not me 
 that he was maligned, whose dear and guileless bro-
 
 284 JIIK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 thers were given to an untimely death, by him wlio 
 was called their Protector, as in sooth he sliould have 
 been. Oh, Edward ! Oh, Richard ! beloved compa- 
 nions of my childhood ! when shall I cease to remem- 
 ber your most cruel fate, or to execrate the very name 
 of him who so foully wrought your ruin ?" 
 
 " Lady," interposed I at this place, much discon- 
 certed between her hatred of my father and mine own 
 admiration of herself, " Lady, I beseech you to 
 credit not the slander ; I have heard him solemnly 
 disavow the destruction of your noble brothers, and 
 Richard was all too brave a King to dip his hands in 
 innocent blood : none did ever yet deny his valour, and 
 remember you that he who dares to fight, dares not 
 to murder. Believe it, the Princes fell by the act of 
 God, or how might my father have gone forth so un- 
 dauntedly unto his last battle as I indeed beheld him, 
 with so deep a sin unanswered upon his soul .-' He 
 was in truth no such monster in his mind, nor yet de- 
 formed in body as some do now unblushingly aver ;* 
 
 * This passage appears to refer to the contemporary de- 
 sci'iption of llichard contained in the Latin History of the 
 Khigs of England by John Ilosse or llous, commonly called 
 the Antiquary of Warwick, who died in 1491, and from whom 
 Sir Thomas More gave the account already mentioned. The 
 substance of Rosse's information is, that llichard was weak and 
 little of body, low of stature, having a short face, and unequal 
 shoulders. Sir Thomas More, Hall the Historian, and others, 
 have increased these circumstances into positive deformity.
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 285 
 
 the whicli, perchance, yoti may formerly have beheld. 
 For mine own part, albeit I saw him but in his tent 
 the night before his death, and in the last agonies 
 thereof, yet may his goodly form and speech, and his 
 tender and noble bearing, even in those solemn mo- 
 ments, never pass from my memory whilst life shall 
 be left vmto me ; and. Lady, I should deem myself 
 to be all unworthy of your kindred, were I not wil- 
 ling to defend by sword and speech the name and 
 fame of the brave King Richard." 
 
 Hereupon I briefly told the Lady Bride such pas- 
 sages as I knew of mine own story ; as mine instruc- 
 tion and breeding in Ely IMonastery, mine interview 
 with my father, and his disclosure of my honour- 
 able birth, and intended acknowledgement thereof, 
 with his private marriage unto my mother, had he 
 not been prevented by death. I did also note unto 
 her that his fall had been most sad, and his re- 
 mains treated with cruel despite ; and finally be- 
 sought her to bury her hatred unto him in his tomb, 
 and believe that his offspring was of true heart, and 
 all devoted unto her service. 
 
 " In sooth, stranger," answered she, with a milder 
 and calmer air, " in sooth I can almost well believe 
 that thou art the Duke of Gloucester's son, for, albeit 
 I saw him only in mine infancy, and so may remem- 
 ber but little of him myself, yet hath it been told me 
 that he was passing well-spoken, and could glose over 
 foul actions with wondrous fair terms ; and thou, too.
 
 280 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 dost almost make the woi'se appear the better. His 
 death, as thou sayest, was indeed full sad ; yet was it 
 much too good and noble for him, if he were truly 
 the cold, crafty, midnight, assassin, which men speak 
 him ; — but all is known unto God, and to him is he 
 now gone to make answer! — For thyself I know 
 nought but what seems fair, and becoming an honest 
 and right good gentleman : yet honourable as thy 
 birth may be, I would nev^er see thee upon the throne 
 supported by the House of York ; and I bethink me 
 that it was once reported that Sir Gilbert De Mount- 
 ford was to bring forth a son of Richard against King 
 Henry." 
 
 Unto this I replied that I held no such ambitious 
 or evil thoughts, whatever the proud and giddy blood 
 of youth might once have quickened within me ; that 
 Sir Gilbert had long since gone unto his account ; 
 and that she might now triumph over the fallen 
 Richard, since her sister was upon his throne, whilst 
 himself and his frientls were either outlawed, exe- 
 cuted, or slain in battle, the last of them being an 
 obscure soldier, whose life was even then in her power. 
 
 The face of the noble Damsel, which of late had 
 changed full suddenly from calm and gentle piety 
 unto wrath and sorrow, now resumed again it's wonted 
 look, the which I had so long and deeply regarded 
 with delight. "I take unto me shame," said she at 
 length, " that anger should thus have transported me, 
 but the thought of the wrongs and hapless fate of the 
 
 I
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 28/ 
 
 dear departed companions of mine infancy, do indeed 
 make me sometimes forget, that the Faith of Christ 
 teaches us to forgive even our enemies and destroyers. 
 Yet do I trust that the day is fast drraving nigh, 
 when, retired in the cahn and holy shades of a convent, 
 consoled and instructed by the good Sisters who have 
 there devoted their lives unto God, — mine earthly 
 thoughts and angry passions may sink to rest for 
 ever. — God be gracious unto the soul of my kinsman 
 Gloucester ! — and for thee, kind stranger, albeit I 
 would that thou hadst told me of another father, yet, 
 for thy service towards me, will I think nought but 
 good of thee, and I rejoice that I have cause to 
 remember thee without sin. Farewell ! a virgin 
 vowed unto Heaven hath nought but thanks and 
 prayers to bestow, and they are thine already." 
 
 The Lady Bride then gave me her hand, which I 
 put unto my lips with much devotion : whereupon, 
 hastily drawing it from me, she wrapped herself 
 more closely in her mantle, and bending her head 
 towards me with much dignity, went forth from the 
 Chapel by a private portal ; when it seemed as if the 
 even-tide had suddenly sunken down upon me in all 
 it's darkness.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A SECOND INTERVIEAV AN AVOWAL AND 
 
 A SEPARATION. 
 
 Slie came ! — She is gone ! — We have met ! 
 
 And meet — perhaps never again ! 
 The sun of that moment is set, — 
 
 And seems to have risen in vain. 
 
 COWPBR. 
 
 I HAVE afore recounted, that the good Brethren of 
 Windsor prayed me to tarry the coming night with 
 them, in those fair stone dwellings which the noble 
 King Edward III. caused to be edified for the Deca- 
 nus and Canons of the House, in the Lower- Ward of 
 the Castle, and on the Eastern side of the cloister 
 adjoining unto the Chapel of St. George. Beneath 
 the same roof, also, as I did afterwards find, the 
 Lady Bride was lodged in certain chambers between 
 the Gunner's and Winchester Towers ; the windows 
 whereof looked unto the Inner- Bailey and Keep, and 
 overhung divers low wooden houses allotted unto the 
 servitors. The good Decanus and his Canons would 
 fain have passed that joyful season, — being as I said
 
 THK LAST OF THE TLANTAGENETS. 289 
 
 the birth-day of King Edwai'd IV., — in wassail and 
 revelry, and in discoursing of that which I had seen 
 in France and Burgundy ; and I might well hear the 
 merry songs and voices of the lacquies below, which 
 shewed that they were doing the like. But beside 
 being now wearied with travel, the thought of that 
 even's converse with the Lady Bride, had shaded over 
 my mind with a grave and holy calmness that made 
 me care little for any such pastime ; and seeing, 
 therefore, that mine heart v/as filled with the che- 
 rished remembrance of a scene so sad and sacred, I 
 was all unfit for any other enjoyment. For this cause, 
 therefore, did I soon entreat to go unto my rest, as I 
 did think to travel early upon the coming day. 
 
 The chamber wherein I was to lodge was of little 
 space, having a vaulted roof, and a tall narrow win- 
 dow that dimly showed the Chapel-cloister lying in 
 misty moonlight beneath ; yet did I take but small note 
 of it's incommodity, or the night without, seeing that 
 it contained a pallet whereon I might well rest me, 
 and ponder over the sweet and bitter thoughts of my 
 heart. Upon this couch I therefore threw me, taking 
 off but little of mine attire save mine armour, and 
 lay revolving, as I was wont to do, the scenes of my 
 life that had already passed, and the xuitried paths 
 through which I had yet to travel. As mine eyes 
 began to grow lieavy and to close, and the real images 
 before them were fading into those quaint and dim 
 forms, which they do oft put on as we sink into slum- 
 
 u
 
 290 THK LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGKNETS. 
 
 ber, my rest was suddenly broken by a loud and con- 
 tinued noise, which seemed to betoken much of pre- 
 sent danger ; nevertheless, when I looked through the 
 window I could behold nought of hazard in the dark 
 cloister, saving that divers persons were hastily pass- 
 ing about it with torches and loud cries. Howbeit, 
 I might full soon hear the shout of " Fire !" and the 
 heavy and hasty toll of the alarum from the Bell- 
 Tower beyond the Chapel on the West ; and anon a 
 ruddy glow rising upon the night-clouds over the 
 building wherein I was lodging, made me deem that 
 the flames had broken out in it's chambers. 
 
 I will not now seek to pourtray the wild disorder 
 of that place, which was in truth greater than I can 
 picture it, or how the inmates of those lodgings came 
 hastily from their chambers, all endeavouring to find 
 safety in escape. For mine own part I made me ready 
 with all speed, and went into the gallery or passage, 
 with the purpose of retreating as the others had done 
 already ; yet full desirous of seeking and saving the 
 Lady Bride in that hour of hazard. It was dark with- 
 out, but as I passed by an open chamber on the other 
 side, I beheld through the window thereof the fire 
 rising up fiercely from beneath as if it would eftsoons 
 assail that room. The red light was cast upon a 
 female in a white habit, devoutly kneeling before a 
 crucifix, yet sometimes looking silently around her, 
 although with much anxiety and doubt, as to whither 
 she should turn for succour. I felt me well assured
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 291 
 
 that only the Lady Bride would be thus pious and 
 tranquil in a time of such danger ; yet without regard- 
 ing who she might be in that perilous place, I went 
 towards her, and accosting her with little form of 
 speech, raised her in mine arms and hastily bore her 
 forth. 
 
 The fearful light which was cast through lier win- 
 dow, shewed me that it was indeed the Lady Bride 
 whom I now carried, but soon the blaze sank down 
 as if it had been somewhat abated ; when she sud- 
 denly started from me and hastily withdrew into her 
 chamber. I followed again thither, being anxious to 
 convey her from that place of hazard, and entreated 
 of her to secure her safety by instant flight with me 
 unto some distant part of the building; unto which 
 she did at length consent, and, in the disorder which 
 did then prevail, I led lier, unmarked by any, to the 
 stone chambers of the Canons on the Western side of 
 the cloister. 
 
 This was scarcely performed when I heard divers 
 voices, both of men and females, loudly calling to 
 each other to hasten and re-assure the Lady Bride ; 
 for that the danger was now past, and, peradventure, 
 had been less great than it was at first deemed. Yet not 
 being wholly satisfied hereof, I hastened the noble 
 Blaiden as swiftly as her fainting steps would move 
 onward, until we had gotten some good space from 
 that spot of supposed j)eril, encouraging her on the 
 way thither as I best might. When at length I saw
 
 292 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 her in safety, I said unto her, " Lady, be of good 
 cheer, all hazard is now past, and I rejoice in having 
 been so nigh unto you as to have borne you there- 
 from. Yet may I ask if you indeed know me; or 
 are conscious that he who now stands at your side is 
 no other than he who hath so long and deeply 
 adored you ?" 
 
 " Right well, good Richard, did I know you," an- 
 swered she, " even when you first appeared in the 
 gallery, and all else were seeking their own safety ; 
 but that courage which delayed you to succour ano- 
 ther, forgetful of any evil that might fall upon your- 
 self, assured me that my preserver could be none but 
 he, who formerly so bravely adventured for me and 
 my beloved mother." 
 
 "Oh Lady!" answered I thereupon, "much ho- 
 noured and truly glad do I feel me in this hour, to 
 hear myself, all unworthy as indeed I am, thus lauded 
 by one of your surpassing excellence. This is, in 
 truth, no time for large discourse, nor would I boldly 
 trespass on your courtesy ; yet, long as I have reve- 
 renced you and ever as I must adore you, let me say 
 that by thus often bringing us together, may we not 
 mark the hand of God denoting that the course of our 
 life should be the same, and that we were indeed 
 destined for each other ?" 
 
 " I know not," unto this responded the noble 
 Damsel, " that we ought therefore to deem, that what 
 hath been permitted by Heaven hath also been de-
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 293 
 
 creed by it : but of this no more, since such speech 
 is in no wise befitting one to hear who is already a 
 daughter of the Church, and will soon be consecrated 
 as a pure virgin unto God." 
 
 "Yet, dearest Lady," answered I, "forbid me not 
 to feast upon the hope that we are indeed destined 
 for each other's love, being of one House and of 
 equal blood ; for those whom God hath so fashioned, 
 although born in climes far distant and parted by 
 strange diversities of condition, yet m.eet at an ap- 
 pointed place and hour when their affections may best 
 be blended, and ai*e thenceforth ' bound up in the bun- 
 dle of life' together. And of such. Lady, — deem me 
 not too bold herein, for albeit I am in truth of royal 
 line, I yet venture not to think that I can ever be 
 your equal, — of such would I fain believe are we. 
 Of the same House, and pursued by like storms 
 which have left us orphans in a convulsed world, 
 those very tempests, which did seem only to part us 
 for aye, have yet in truth brought us together with- 
 out any devices of our own. Say, then, dearest Lady 
 Bride, Oh ! say, if we may not well deem, without 
 folly or weakness, that wliat hath been so marvel- 
 lously wrought for us is indeed the purpose of Hea- 
 ven, the which we ought reverently to receive and to 
 adore." 
 
 " Cease to speak thus, stranger," responded the 
 Lady Bride, " nor pour into the ear of one devoted 
 unto the Lord these words of earthly passion. In
 
 294 THE LAST OF TlIK PLANTAGKNETS . 
 
 sooth I scarcely know what you would utter ; yet do 
 I own that all too readily and sinfully have I listened 
 unto your words. I am now, as it were, casting my last 
 look abroad upon the world, and then hastening unto 
 that pious retreat wherein I shall behold it no more." 
 
 " But thither," answered I, " you will not now 
 retire, since your Noviciate hath not yet passed away : 
 for as we have again met and have been twice thus 
 wondrously brought into communion. Oh ! beauteous 
 Lady Bride, fly with me, I beseech you, and let us 
 not part again." 
 
 "Entreat me no more," replied the Princess, "for 
 to act as your passion would have me, would be bvit 
 to fly from the embraces of Heaven itself! And 
 where, I pray you, should we find safe retreat or 
 means of life ? Oh ! Plantagenet, if such be in truth 
 your name, tempt me no longer unto that Avhich hath 
 no issue but in ruin." 
 
 "Lady," responded I therevm to, most wondrously 
 impassioned and emboldened, " I give you my faith 
 and troth that I court you not to fly frorn Heaven 
 but to it ; since Heaven is love, and mine I offer you 
 from the inmost chamber of a brave and honest heart. 
 And for an asylum, well I wot to find a sure and fair 
 one with King Charles of France, since he would 
 fain have kept me in his service when the Duchess 
 of Burgundy deceased. Think no more, then, upon 
 the cloister but the altar ; and look not to become a 
 sister but a bride."
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 295 
 
 " Forbear, thou kind })rofane one," returned the 
 Lady, "I dare not hear thee farther, lest the very 
 echoes of thy words should hereafter remain upon 
 my heart, to break in upon the holy silence of religion. 
 Cease, then, good friend, to press thy suit upon me, 
 and hold thy peace, if indeed tliou dost value mine" 
 
 "Think not so harshly of me," was my answer, 
 '* that in any case I would wound thy quiet, or lead thy 
 virtuous heart unto aught but happiness; albeit all 
 the better feelings which Heaven hath implanted in 
 man, do bid me urge my prayer to thee. Yet if thou 
 will withdraw thee from the world, which will hence- 
 forth be unto me like a sunless sky, — tell me, I pray 
 thee, in what Convent thy young beauties shall be 
 enshrined, that I may bear it's name engraven upon 
 my heart, and often make devout pilgrimage unto it's 
 blessed walls." 
 
 " No, Richard," responded that fair one, " such 
 may never be ; since I retire me from the world, to 
 be free from all it's cares and tumultuous passions, 
 and not to drag after me the lusts which I have for- 
 sworn for ever. The holy joy and tranquillity which 
 I promise me in that sacred resting-place, is to be 
 won only by giving up the things of Time for the 
 bliss of Eternity ; even as the storm-tossed mariner 
 hopes to win safety on the troubled ocean, when he 
 gladly casts from his barque all her rich lading and 
 brave tackle, so that he may ride over the waves 
 unto his desired haven."
 
 2l)() THE LAST OF THE PliANTAGENETS. 
 
 The pious eai-nestness with which she spake, caused 
 me to feel how well she was fitted to become a sainted 
 inmate of a convent ; and yet, although it may in 
 truth seem strange, the more I saw that she would 
 adorn such a holy life, the more did I desire to win 
 her therefrom : upon which I again said, " Neverthe- 
 less, Lady, might it not be well to remember that He 
 who willed you to be born into this world, gave you 
 unto it as a shining light to call forth His glory ? so 
 that to withdraw from it might in truth be but to 
 oppose His will." 
 
 " Thy speech, stranger," said the Lady Bride in a 
 more reserved tone, " is not to honour God, but to 
 flatter his unworthy servant. Think you that Hea- 
 ven cannot shew forth it's own glory, even from the 
 loneliest retreat of it's votaries ? or deem you that, 
 because we must sojourn for awhile here, we should 
 foi'get that we are but travelling unto immortality ? I 
 ween there is but small reason in this ; and as well 
 might he who is clad in the infidel's turban and caftan, 
 when for some short season he journies in Palestine, 
 think to wear them for the rest of his days; or as wisely 
 might the merchant, when he hath returned unto his 
 native land, think evermore to speak a foreign tongue. 
 No, Richard ! He who hath willed me to live on this 
 earth designed it not for mine home, but as the barque 
 bearing me onward to Eternity; and it is for that 
 haven that I would even now prepare me." 
 
 Never, I trow, did religious votary gaze with more
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 297 
 
 devout admiration upon the shrine of a sainted martyr, 
 than I now did upon the Lady Bride ; who thus, even 
 in the very noon-tide of her youth and beauty, was 
 raised far above the thoughts of earth, and in body and 
 spirit devoted unto God. As I thus beheld her with 
 wonder, I took her hand and fervently exclaimed 
 " Piety like thine. Lady, might in truth convert an 
 infidel, and almost turn a Christian to an Idolator !" 
 — In doing this I well believe that such reverent ad- 
 miration was expressed by mine eyes, that the lovely 
 Bride was assured by them as well as by my tongue, 
 that the boldness which I now used sprang not from 
 idle wantonness nor violence. Although methought 
 she somewhat trembled as I held her, yet did she 
 seem to have nought of alarm, and even withdrew 
 not from my touch. Upon this, notwithstanding mine 
 adoration of her piety, I almost unconciously raised 
 unto my lips the soft hand of beauty which I pressed, 
 and kissed it; yet, though the Lady Bride started 
 thereat, it seemed unto me rather from surprise than 
 anger, so that I was encouraged to repeat it, at the 
 same moment sinking upon one knee, when most sud- 
 denly tlie Gustos of St. George's Chapel entered the 
 apartment, followed by divers Canons and servitors, 
 and one or two Sisters of the Order of St. Austin. 
 
 Li truth I can but ill depict, how the good Chris- 
 topher Urswicke and his followers started at thus see- 
 ing me, as it might seem, wooing the daughter of a 
 King, and a virgin devoted unto the cloister. The red
 
 298 THK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Hush of anger rose ujion their cheeks, and a dark light 
 seemed to come forth of their eyes, whilst from every 
 tongue the words of wrath came full rapidly and 
 fiercely. " Saints of Heaven !" cried the Gustos, " and 
 is it thus the very house and daughter of God are 
 profaned by a foreign stranger ! is it thus that a 
 maiden of royal blood, — as the holy 'Vangil saith, 
 ' dc domo et familia David,' one of the very house 
 and line of David, — can forget her high estate and 
 sacred espousals, to listen, in an hour of danger and 
 even in her father's palace, to the rude homage of 
 a nameless soldier ! — Lady," continued he, solemnly 
 shaking his head, " this is not well, — this is not well." 
 
 "It is indeed not well, most reverend Decanus," 
 answered I, starting upon my feet, " to deem that the 
 Lady Bride would hear, or that I should speak, aught 
 to which angels and men might not alike listen. You 
 call me a nameless soldier, and unto you I may in- 
 deed be such ; but were my lineage made known, 
 there would not be found a loftier in the broad realm 
 of England ! And yet do I esteem it no small honour 
 to have rescued the Lady Bride, when her holy sis- 
 ters had fled from her, and her servitors were more 
 likely to have fired her lodging in their brawling 
 cups, than to have saved her from the flames : had 
 theh' aid been at hand, mine had been uncalled for." 
 
 It was in truth somewhat strange that, speaking at 
 a venture as I now did, I should so exactly guess the 
 cause of that night's brief and sudden alarm j the which
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 299 
 
 did at length prove to have ariseii from the carousing 
 lacquies, who had set fire unto those low wooden 
 buildings beneath the Lady Bride's window in the 
 lodgings of the Decanus. As I spake, methought I 
 saw some of the servitors, who seemed hastily to have 
 taken up their weapons, start forward ; and in espe- 
 cial one tall stout fellow, in rusty armour, whose face 
 was shaded by his headpiece : howbeit, the spirit of 
 mine ancestors was quick within my veins, and I 
 recked not the nvimber or 'vantage of my foes, but 
 bore me against them with lofty speech and unyield- 
 ing look. Nevertheless, the boisterous clamour was 
 again renewed ; and though it might be that little 
 harm was intended me, yet all menaced ; when the 
 Lady Bi-ide, in a resolute though gentle voice, com- 
 manded that none should harm me ; since I had saved 
 her life with much hazard unto myself, and, for more 
 security, had conducted her vxnto the cloisters. 
 
 " Small danger, I trow, was there, Lady Bride," 
 thereupon answered one of the Austin Nuns, " since 
 all the fearful blaze, as the stranger hath well said, 
 came but from some drunken servitors who had fired 
 their lodging, whicli thou knowest might never have 
 burned the stone chambers above." 
 
 " Then small, I trow. Sister I\Laude," returned the 
 Lady Bride witli a gentle quickness of answer, " small, 
 I trow, was the courage wanted to withstand it ; al- 
 beit certain of my companions did fly even from that 
 light danger." But, whilst she &pake, her deport-
 
 300 
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 ment, which was commonly mild as the soft gale of 
 even-tide, became so full of dignity and boldness, 
 that they who stood by were at once subdued into 
 silence, as she commanded that I should go forth in 
 the morning without farther question, seeing that I 
 was bearing unto London certain jewels belonging to 
 the late Queen her mother. And this her so gene- 
 rous effort on my behalf, did well shew unto me that 
 courage, not less than virtue, doth evermore spring 
 in a truly royal bosom, being divinely implanted and 
 brought forth therein by God. 
 
 Upon this, however, they no longer flouted me, 
 but gave their best care to the Lady Bride in convey- 
 ing her unto another lodging ; and thus was that fair 
 one and myself again most rudely parted. Yet, as she 
 went forth, she once more looked round unto me, and, 
 as our eyes met, I saw holy resignation in her visage, 
 which admonished me of our duty, though blended, 
 as methought, with somewhat of regret for our sepa- 
 rating thus ; and she also waved her hand unto me 
 with gratitude and dignity. The ancient Gustos then 
 told me, that as I had not scrupled to address a be- 
 trothed daughter of the Church with unholy words 
 even within the Gollege walls, I might no longer look 
 for harbour or entertainment there, but that I must 
 begone when the Gastle should first be opened in the 
 morning; unto which he secretly added, "I well 
 believe the Princess is most virtuous, and yourself an 
 honest soldier; though, for your own sake, as a bene-
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 301 
 
 factor unto our Chapel, I wish you a safe and speedy 
 departure. Keep out of the main road if you may, 
 and go any whither rather than to London for a brief 
 space ; and so I commit you unto the keeping of 
 God." 
 
 I followed this counsel as closely as I might, travel- 
 ling a most wearisome jom*ney tlu'ough Avild and cross 
 roads unto Leicester, where I made the Lady Marga- 
 ret's offering at the Church of the Grey-Friars, and 
 added thereunto mine own. poor dole for the health 
 of the soul of King Richard ; both of the which pious 
 gifts have since been seized upon as spoil by the tur- 
 bulent son of Harry Tudor, and even my father's 
 sepulchre laid in ruins by his riotous followers. 
 Albeit my road thither was full of hazard, far longer 
 and more wearisome than it Avould have been to have 
 gone unto London, and thence to Leicester, yet did I 
 beguile it by divers thoughts of the Lady Bride and 
 my converse with her ; wherein mine heart did exult, 
 in despite of all the contumely which I had endured. 
 He only, who hath witnessed the sweet smile, and 
 heard the melting voice of peerless beauty, when be- 
 nignly listening unto a suppliant's suit, he only, I say, 
 can image unto himself the delight with which I 
 thought over all her words and glances. And even 
 now, too, when Time hath shorn away the brown locks 
 of youth and manhood, — now, when the bright blue 
 eyes have become dim and shaded, and mine enfee- 
 bled limbs stiff and weak, and my " strong men bow
 
 302 TIIK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 themselves," — even iioav dotli iny breast glow with a 
 fire not it's own, when I bethink me of tliat blissful 
 hour. I was an unknown and unfriended soldier, 
 beset with manifold hazards ; -but what deemed I of 
 poverty or peril, since the Lady Bride's last look and 
 smile were unto me a world of wealth and glory ! 
 whilst the only touch of sorrow which I felt, was the 
 fear that in this world I should see her face no more.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE BUILDING OP A IIOYAL MAUSOLEUM, AND A 
 SCENE AT THE PILGRIMS' HOSTEL IN SOUTHWARK. 
 
 Then munte I me forth the Minstrr to knowen. 
 Anil awaytcile a woon, wondeily well ybuilt, 
 With arches on evcrich lialf, and bellichc yeorven 
 With crocketcs on comers, with kuotti s of gold. 
 Wide windows ywrought, ywritten full thick, 
 
 Shincn with shapen shields. 
 
 » » * » 
 
 Though tlie tax of ten year were truly ygathered 
 N'olde it maken that House half as I trow. 
 
 PiEncE Ploughman's CnKOF. 
 
 Divers men and women will go thus after their own willcs, and fyndyng 
 out one pilgrimage. — And if these men and women be a monttli in their 
 pilgrimage, many of them shall be an lialf-ycar after great janglers, tale- 
 tellers and lyeis. 
 
 The State Trials. 
 
 Some ten days passed away ere I betook me unto Lon- 
 don, to make the Ducliess JMargaret's offering at 
 Berniondsey Abbey ; at the which I did not linger, 
 for that the Lady Bride was no hmger dwelling there; 
 and so that fair and stately House seemed unto me like
 
 304 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 a blank and gloomy void, since all that liad given life or 
 light unto it's walls was then far distant, either in the 
 royal towers of Windsor, or in the shades of some 
 holy convent wliich was unto me unknown. I made 
 the Lady INIargaret's last offering at the Abbey of St. 
 Peter at Westminster ; hastening thither with what 
 speed I might, having a full intent to convey me 
 again into France so soon as I should have performed 
 the same, for that all I did regard as dear unto me in 
 England, was now parted from me for ever. 
 
 Upon coming forth from the Abbey, I went me 
 round vmto the Eastern end thereof, to behold the 
 foundations of that most stately Chapel which Harry 
 Tudor had at this time newly begun there, for the 
 burial-place of King Henry VI. as he affirmed, though 
 indeed it was rather for the interment of his own 
 body. Whilst I was looking thereon, an aged and 
 venerable Monk, holding a scroll of vellum, and 
 clothed in the black habit of the Benedictine Order, 
 drew nigh unto the spot where I was standing, as 
 though he were about to enter within the barriers of 
 the building ; and as he fixed his eyes upon me full 
 steadfastly in passing by me, the unwonted custom of 
 my youth suddenly returned unto me, and I accosted 
 him, — albeit I know not why, — with our ancient con- 
 vent-greeting of " Benedicile vie, Pater," which I had 
 learned to address unto mine elders at Ely Monas- 
 tery. Upon this he gazed at me more earnestly than 
 before, and replied with the common res])onse of
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 305 
 
 " Fili mi, Dominus sit vobiscum;" the which seeming 
 unto me like a pleasant gale from the country of my 
 youth, I again answered with " Et tecum quoque, lieve- 
 rendissime," at the same time making him the courteous 
 Ante and Retrd reverence,* which had been taught 
 me in my boyhood : for, as I knew that churchmen of 
 high estate were oft-times great and wondrous buil- 
 ders, I knew not of what rank he might be whom I 
 thus saluted, though such reverence should be paid 
 only to an Abbot or Prior. 
 
 Howbeit, he declined Avith great lowliness tlie lio- 
 nour which I did thus offer him, saying, " Nay, my 
 son, this salutation belongeth not unto me ; for I am 
 not the Lord Abbot of Westminster, for whom, ques- 
 tionless, you do mistake me. Do you seek speech with 
 him }" 
 
 "No, in good sooth. Father," returned I, ''but 
 your voice and words sounded unto me so like what 
 I did oft-times hear when a youth in St. INIary's IMo- 
 nastery at Ely, that I could not chuse but answer 
 and bow me as I did." 
 
 * This was a peculiar manner of bowing by the monks, when 
 they entered or left the choir ; receiving it's name from their 
 bending firstly anti, or to the altar before them, and tiien retro, 
 or beliind, to the Abbot at the bottom of the choir. In making 
 this bow, the back was to be lower than the loins, and tiie head 
 than the back, which motion was considered as particvdarly 
 graceful ; the ante and retro reverence was in general made 
 only to the Abbot and Prior. 
 
 X
 
 30f> THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 " A youth, said'st thou, in St. Mary's Monastery at 
 Ely?" rejoined the Monk, "methought thy visage 
 was not unknown to me, for I also am of that House. 
 Had it not been reported that one Richard Fitz-Ri- 
 chard, who, some seventeen years since, was a pupil 
 there, — was slain at the battle of Bosworth, — I should 
 full surely deem that thou wert he." 
 
 " And in good sooth I am none other, most venera- 
 ble Father," returned I, " whom, on my part, I take to 
 be the pious and learned Austin, the Master of the 
 Novices, to whose care I owed so much in mine early 
 youth ; and who would have made me far wiser than I 
 am, had I been but as willing to learn as thou wert to 
 teach." 
 
 " Alas ! my son," responded the good Father Aus- 
 tin, for it was in truth no other than he, ^" alas ! we 
 be all alike blame-worthy therein ; seeing that divine 
 wisdom is for ever freely held out unto us, and yet 
 the best of us desire not so full a blessing as the 
 bounty of Heaven would pour into our bosoms. How 
 well, therefore, said the Wisest of IMen, ' Sapientia 
 juris prcedicai,' Wisdom discourseth in the streets, 
 and yet do we never regard her." 
 
 " I perceive, good Father," responded I hereunto, 
 " that you remain unaltered, inasmuch as your every 
 speech is still full of blended charity and instruction ; 
 but may I crave of your discretion to tell me how you 
 are employed at this Chapel." 
 
 " Truly, good Richard," answered the Monk, " that 
 will I readily shew you; so jjass with me within the
 
 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 307 
 
 barriers, and mark well these foundations, on which, 
 ' .si Dominus voluerit,' if the Lord be willing, — as the 
 blessed 'Postle James doth well teach us to say in all 
 that we purpose to do hereafter, — there shall be raised 
 so glorious an edifice, that I trow it shall be the mar- 
 vel of distant generations, and earth shall have nought 
 worthy of being placed beside it." 
 
 I did now follow the good Monk into the spacious 
 works of that wondrous Chapel of Our Lady at West- 
 minster, which is called by Henry's name, and where- 
 of, at the time I do now write of, the first stone had 
 been but lately posited : it being done, as a legend 
 thereupon cut did declare in Latin, on Wednesday, 
 the 24th day of January, in this very year 1503, at a 
 quarter before three of the clock in the afternoon. The 
 same was set in it's place by Harry Tudor, the Lady 
 Margaret his mother. Abbot John Islip of Westmin- 
 ster, Sir Reginald Bray, and others. Of these last 
 two I would here note that they were both most rare 
 builders ; the one having also reared him a Chapel in 
 the Abbey at Westminster, the which is full thickly 
 studded with devices of his name carved in stone : 
 and for the other, it was he who built a kingdom for 
 Richmond, since he found niv father's coronet on 
 the field of Bosworth ; when the Lord Stanley, giving 
 away that which he had no right in, made Harry a 
 King by setting it upon his head. 
 
 Nevertheless, this Sir Reginald was a most skilful 
 v.orkman, and is oft-times said in story to have been
 
 308 THE I.A5T OF THK PI.ANTAGKNETS. 
 
 the only deviser of the Chapel at Westminster, be- 
 cause he was Comptroller of the Royal Works and 
 buildings; but I wot well that Father Austin told 
 and shewed me at this time, that the plat of the 
 whole was drawn forth by the pious and learned John 
 Alcock, Bishop of Ely, also a Master of those Works, 
 before his death, the which plat was then given unto 
 the chief masons of that place. They were to edify 
 the same by written indenture with Father William 
 Bolton, the Prior of St. Bartholomew's, made Master 
 of the Works in the fore-named Chapel upon the 
 death of Bishop Alcock and Sir Reginald Bray ; and 
 by him was it brought unto a fair conclusion some 
 fourteen years after this.* Howbeit, Father Austin 
 
 • The persons mentioned above have both been esteemed 
 as the Architects of King Henry the Seventh's Chapel at 
 Westminster, especially the latter, as Eishop Alcock died Oct. 
 
 1st, 1500, though he is thought entirely to have completed 
 
 the design before his death,— and Sir Reginald Bray in Oct. 
 1503. They have been thus considered, because they both 
 held the office noticed in the text ; but in the description of 
 the royal tomb, contained in the Will of Henry VII., the Prior 
 of St. Bartholomew's is called " Master of the King's Works 
 in that Chapel," and to him were delivered " the plat'' for the 
 building, signed by Henry himself, with pictures of the 
 images, arms, and badges, for the painted glassof the windows. 
 This ecclesiastic was William Bolton, who received the tem- 
 poralities of his office Aug. 27th, 1505, the 21st year of Henry 
 YII., and he continued Prior until his death in 1532. He is 
 recorded to have been a great builder, who repaired the Priory
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 309 
 
 of Ely was mainly aiding herein, for that he had been 
 a near friend of the Bishop's, and was also specially 
 skilled in making of stately edifices ; and when I 
 made known unto him what I had seen and learned of 
 that Art during my sojourn in Burgundy, he would 
 fain have me as his fellow- workman : so that for 
 awhile I laid aside my soldier's habit, and became a 
 builder at Westminster, lodging with mine old tutor 
 in the Dormitorium of the monks thereof 
 
 Whiles that I am speaking of this i)art of my former 
 years, I would note, that in very truth I never in my 
 life saw aught so brave and glorious, so holy and grave 
 a structure, as this Chapel of Henry Tudor. He lived 
 not to see it orderly finished, albeit ere he deceased* 
 it was covered in with that most wondrous fretted 
 vaulting, which looketh as it had been made of woven 
 wands changed into stone. Around the Chapel were 
 many fair glass windows, shining with sacred stories 
 and devices of Armory, rarely wrought upon them in 
 rich colours ; and divers ftiir altars were set up in 
 several parts of the building, the which were well pro- 
 
 and Parish Churches of St. Bartholomew, with the lodginfrs 
 and offices of his own House, and to have erected a new manor- 
 house at Canonbury b}' Islington, &c. Speed's statement, 
 that Bishop Fox was concerned in the design of tlie King's 
 Chapel, has been already referred to in a former note. 
 
 * Henry VII. died at Ilichmond, on Saturday, April 21st, 
 150!).
 
 310 THB LAST OF TlIK PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 vided of costly vessels and furniture. But I trow that 
 tlie richest sight of all, was Henry's own tomb in the 
 midst, before the high-altar ; it being of black touch- 
 stone garnished in the choicest wise with many sculp- 
 tures, pillars, and figures, of brass and copper overlaid 
 with gold, wrought by the skill and cunning of one 
 Peter Torrysany* of the City of Florence, Painter. 
 Upon that tomb lay the effigies of Henry Tudor and 
 tlie good Queen Elizabeth, as great as the life, in cop- 
 per gilt ; and at the four corners thereof sat winged 
 boys bearing divers emblems, and his banner and de- 
 vice of the dragon. And about the whole sepulchre was 
 there ordained a wondrous stately 'closure of pierced 
 brass, in manner of a chapel, cast by the same skilful 
 Florentine ; and at the foot of the said tomb within, 
 was an altar, having chantry -priests to say mass thereat 
 for the soul of him who was sepultured beneath. 
 
 This, I say, was some part of the glory of that won- 
 drous Chapel, when that it was finished; to behold 
 tlie which so perfected, hath been one of the very 
 
 * Pietro Torregiano, the celebrated Sculptor and conteir.po- 
 rary of Michel- Angelo Buonarroti. Several of the original in- 
 dentures or covenants for his works for the Tomb of Henrv 
 VII. are yet extant, which curiously illustrate the progi'ess of 
 the cemetery : that for the metal screen round the monument is 
 dated October, 1512, and in XTACi another agreement appears 
 for erecting a rich canopy and altar within tlie Chapel, to be 
 finished by November 1st, 1510, which ])rob;ibly indicates tlie 
 time of the comjiletion of the whole edifice.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 311 
 
 few causes of my coming forth from the retired soli- 
 tude of mine old age. And, as I do now remember 
 me, I saw it upon the Obit, or Anniversary of the 
 death of Harry Tudor, in the year of Christ 1520 ; 
 by the which time mine angry passions against him 
 were so much allayed, that even I could speak my 
 Requiescat over his tomb with the others. But surely 
 no shrine of holy Confessor, spotless Virgin, or tri- 
 umphant JMartyr, ever shone so resplendently as did 
 his Chapel at Westminster at that season. The higli- 
 altar there was decked with a mighty cross of wood 
 plated over with gold, and a great effigy of the Virgin 
 adorned with jewels : but within Henry's own se- 
 pulchre, I set down no fable when I say that there 
 Avere an hundred large waxen tapers, standing about 
 his hearse, that was garnished with banners, and pen- 
 sils, and escutcheons, of fine gold. The brazen 'clo- 
 sure of the tomb, too, was all girt about with that so- 
 lemn and stately band of black velvet, two feet broad, 
 called by the French Le Litre, but with us in England, 
 the Funeral Belt ; which is proper imto great lords 
 and Sovereign Princes, who have been Founders and 
 Patrons of Churches.* At the altar, which stood 
 
 • This very ancient and extraordinary symbol of Funeral 
 pomp, was used princii)ally in France, and was generally orna- 
 mented with the arms of the deceased, and tears, skulls, and 
 other emblems of death. The ribband, or belt used for Sove- 
 reigns was commonly of black silk, and that for nobles always
 
 312 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 within Harry Tiidor's sepulchre, nil the furniture 
 Avas shining with gold, and the hangings thereof were 
 of black cloth-of-gold ; the same being full richly set 
 forth with a great piece of the Holy Cross, encased 
 also in fine gold adorned with gems, and one of the 
 legs of the valiant Martyr St. George, brought from 
 Milan in Italy, set in silver and partly gilt. On every 
 side, too, I wot, there might be seen marbles of divers 
 colours, pillars of gilded copper, and imperial crowns 
 and arms ; with certain fine images, wondrously 
 wrought in baken earth, pourtraying the histories of 
 the Nativity and Resurrection of Our Lord, Angels 
 kneeling with emblems of His Passion, and His effigy 
 as taken dead from the cross, painted in so marvellous 
 a manner as to look like very nature. 
 
 But albeit I may not in this little tome declare, one 
 half part of the resplendent glories of that burial- 
 place, I may not forget to note that there was brought 
 unto it from the shrine of St. Edward the King and 
 Confessor, — that image which Henry Tudor ordained 
 to be made of himself in his last Will. It was choicely 
 sculptured in wood, being wrought with plate of fine 
 gold in manner of an armed man, having his coat- 
 armour enamelled thereon, kneeling upon a table of 
 silver and gilt, and holding the crown, which, — as 
 Henry's Testament full cunningly saith, — •' it pleased 
 
 of cloth : it frequently passed entirely round the church, 
 chapel, or burial-place, as well without as within.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 313 
 
 God to give us, with the victory of our enemy at our 
 first field." Truly I wot, that if he never spake truth 
 before touching his claim unto the throne of this 
 realm, herein he did it ; inferring unto posterity that 
 it was by right of conquest, by his own sword and 
 his own bow ; and neither by the questionless title of 
 the good Queen Elizabeth, nor tlie call and consent of 
 the nation.* 
 
 But now to leave speaking of this, and return again 
 unto mine own story, I had not been occupied in the 
 building of Harry Tudor's Chapel at Westminster 
 past two years, when, a little before Lent in 1505, the 
 pious Father Austin sickened and died in the Donnitu- 
 rium of the IVIonastery there. His ending was full calm, 
 and altogether such as became a Christian man ; yet 
 did he tell me that one thing lay full heavy upon his 
 conscience ; the which was, that whereas he had pur- 
 posed and vowed, on his first coming unto London, to 
 
 • Henry's claim to the crown by descent was utterly witli- 
 out foundation, resting only upon the title of his mother INIar- 
 garet, daughter and heiress of John Ueaui'ort, Earl of Somer- 
 set ; who was the son of John Beaufort, the eldest son of John 
 of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and fourth son of Edward III. 
 The Duke, however, had this son and other issue by Catherine 
 Swinford, not only before his marriage with her, but also in 
 the life-time of Constance of Castile, his second wife ; and 
 though, in 13!)G, he procured an Act of Parliament by which 
 they were made legitimate, a special exception was inserted 
 of their thence deriving any right to the royal dignity.
 
 314 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 make a devout \n\gTimage unto the Shrine of St. Tho- 
 mas of Canterbury, — he had been letted and pre- 
 vented thereof by aiding the Bishop of Ely in plotting 
 out and founding Henry's Chapel. " Therefore," said 
 he, " good Richard, my dear son in Christ, I pray you 
 that you will undertake this travel for me, and it shall 
 peradventure be of special good unto us both. I trow 
 that I have often wished to behold the King's most 
 stately Chapel completed, because I do well ween that 
 the earth shall scarcely have it's fellow ; but such 
 was not the will of God, and to Him I gladly go hence, 
 far from the building of this temple unto a better : 
 ' Domum,' — as the blessed 'Posile Powle well calleth 
 the many-mansioned house of the Father of Our 
 Lord, — ' Donmtn non vumufactain, eternavi in ccelis ;' 
 an house not made with hands, eternal in the hea- 
 vens." 
 
 And with these, and the like Christian aspirations, 
 Avent he unto his rest ; and as soon as I might after 
 his burial, in the second week in Lent,* what time 
 Pilgrims do commonly journey unto Canterbury, I 
 joined me unto a party then presently travelling thi- 
 ther, and lodging at the ancient and famous Tabard 
 hostel in Southwark. We set forth about the hour 
 of Prime on a fair fresh morning, being Tuesday, the 
 loth day of February, purposing to spend a month 
 
 • In the year 1505, Ash-We<lnesday fell upon February 5tli, 
 and Easter Sunday on Maixh 23rd.
 
 THE LAST OF THK I'LANTAGENETS. 315 
 
 on our pilgrimage, and to return again unto London 
 toward the Feast of Easter. 
 
 Thus, therefore, did I behold the renowned Shrine 
 of St. Thomas ere the late boisterous son of Harry Tu- 
 dor had despoiled it, and even blotted the name of the 
 Archbishop from the calendars and service-books of 
 the Church ; and well I wot that there were few se- 
 pulchres more resplendent than tliat wherein the re- 
 mains of his body rested, unto the whicli it was trans- 
 ferred by the wise Cardinal Stephen Langton, Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury. The said Shrine stood upon 
 high, covered by a carved wooden box, which was 
 drawn up by cords, and disclosed unto our view a 
 tomb, whereof the basest part was of massive gold, for 
 every thing around it sparkled and shined with very 
 large and rare jewels. Then did the Prior recount imto 
 us the names of their several donors, touching each 
 with a white wand, and telling the name and price of 
 the gem ; and in truth most of them were the gifts of 
 Sovereign Princes. But I beheld also what the monks 
 of Canterbury feign, as I think, to esteem much be- 
 yond these riches, namely, the reliques of St. Thomas : 
 such as his leg, like along thin reed, plated over with 
 silver; his whole face set in gold and jewels ; and his 
 coarse gown and sudarium, yet covered with the stain 
 of his blood. There were, likewise, in this most an- 
 cient Church many other sights of great pomp and 
 glory, which have since been des])oiled and ruined, 
 when that the late Henry's Visitors plundered the
 
 ♦ 
 
 316 THK LAST OK THE PLANTAGENE TS. 
 
 riclies of Canterbury ; being the Blessed Virgin's 
 Slirine in the vaults beneath, and the vast pomp of 
 vestments and golden furniture in the Vestiaria. Ne- 
 vertheless, I noted in one place^ a little wooden altar 
 unto the holy IMary, which is reported to be very an- 
 cient, and in truth it might have belonged unto the 
 Church when her pastors could declare " Silver and 
 gold have we none," albeit they had the greater wealth 
 of saying unto such as were sick, " Arise and walk !" 
 — And of late years, in my retreat from the world, I 
 have pondered much and earnestly, upon men's costly 
 and almost boundless building, beautifying, and en- 
 riching Churches ; and, peradventure, my thoughts 
 do somewhat differ from those that I had at the time 
 whereof I now write. Some, I trow, do it for fame 
 after their deaths ; others, to make restitution of ill- 
 gotten riches ; and, questionless, some out of pure 
 devotion unto God and his service: yet cannot I but 
 think that such great wealth hath been the main 
 cause of the vicious lives and pride of the late monks 
 of England, It is full hard to keep a holy course 
 with an abundance of this world's goods, or to carry 
 a flowing cup without spilling ; but I nevertheless 
 deem it sacrilegious plunder to seize, as the second 
 Harry Tudor hath of late done, upon the possessions 
 of the Churches and IMonasteries, and confiscate them 
 unto himself, depriving their priests and brethren of 
 their support and shelter, because they were so hap- 
 less as to have riches. Certes, in all Churches and
 
 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAOENETS. 317 
 
 Religious Houses, I would have the vestments and 
 vessels grave and stately, fitted unto the holy service 
 and the sovereignty of God : but to what pui-pose is 
 it that men do spend all their substance upon golden 
 fonts and candlesticks, images and organs, rare sculp- 
 tures and 'bi'oidered hangings for our earthly temples, 
 when so many of our brethren and sisters of mankind, 
 — Christ's living temples, — be ready to perish with 
 hunger and thirst ? 
 
 Howbeit, it was of the glories of these things that 
 the company of Pilgrims did most speak, what time 
 we returned unto the Tabard Hostel in South wark 
 some ten days before Easter, and were taking a parting 
 supper together with our host. All men do well 
 know that broad and spacious Inn, with it's wide gate- 
 way opening unto the street, and the great court with- 
 in, and galleries of lodging-rooms round about it ; 
 and it seemeth that almost all men repair unto it, for, 
 beside the party with which I had now returned, 
 there were divers going unto Canterbury against Eas- 
 ter, or travelling from other shrines back into the 
 South parts of the realm. All these were full of talk- 
 ing and vain disputations as to the marvels they had 
 seen, and the holiness of the shrines whereto they had 
 travelled ; some affirming that St. Thomas passed all 
 beside, and others that Our Lady of Walsingham was 
 without peer. Divers, moreover, had brought back 
 with them little else than the disports which be 
 strangely, though full connnonly, used in such jour-
 
 318 
 
 TIIK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 nies, as the merry tunes, the lewd songs, and the wild 
 tales that they had heard therein. For some pilgrims 
 do carry pipers with them, so that every town they 
 ride through, what with the noise of their singing and 
 sound of their piping, the ringing ,of those bells 
 which be given them as tokens at Canterbury, and 
 the barking of dogs after their train, — they make 
 as great outcry as if the King rode by with all his cla- 
 rions and minstrels.* But, natheless, there were some 
 of that company at the Tabard, whose religious zeal 
 was truly quickened by hearing of the acts, and see- 
 ing of the reliques of God's Saints and Martyrs, or 
 looking upon his most ancient and holy Churches : 
 the which, perchance, is most of the good that is to 
 be found in pilgrimage. 
 
 But I trow others did contrariwise think their tra- j| 
 
 vel to have been enow to blot out a whole life of I 
 
 guilt, and even to be a license under which they might ■ 
 
 commit new crimes ; and of this sort seemed unto me 
 a rustic-looking man, whose fierce visage was covered 
 with red hair, and whose coarse habit shewed him to be 
 of low degree and breeding. He had joined our com- 
 
 * AFhen these very indecorous practices were objected to 
 Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, he defended 
 them by saying that pipers and singers went with pilgrims, 
 that when those who travelled barefoot struck their feet against 
 a stone and made them bleed,_they should begin a song, or 
 play away their hurt by a tune on the bag-j)ipes.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 319 
 
 pany a little space out of Canterbury , albeit I had not 
 noted him until we got unto the Tabard ; when I 
 found him to be a free and bold knave, though won- 
 drously well-spoken after his blunt fashion. Then did 
 he tell us all that he sought to take service with Lord 
 John deMarlow, the Prior of Bermondsey, in his grange 
 or elsewhere, for that now the land was at peace there 
 was no more want of soldiers. " Howbeit, my masters," 
 added he, "as your roving lance-man would make but 
 a sorry son of the Church without clean shriving, I 
 have now made me the two great pilgrimages unto Our 
 Lady of Walsingham and St. Thomas of Canterbury, 
 and trow that I'm as meek as a maiden, and pure as 
 the new-born infant." 
 
 Then, as I have said, divers of our company did fami- 
 liarly speak of the marvels which they had seen in their 
 several journies; and such as had been afore-time 
 in foreign parts, did tell of many holy things of great 
 wonder which be yet kept therein. Thus, one spake of 
 the coat of Our Lord at Constantinople, the same 
 being without seams and called " tunica inconsumpla" ; 
 together with the cross of the good thief Dymas. 
 Another told of the most ancient City of Cologne, 
 where he beheld the uncorrupted bodies of the 
 three blessed Kings, who followed the wondrous star 
 unto Bethlehem of Judea : whilst a third one did 
 affirm that he had been in Geneway, and had there 
 looked upon the Saint-Graal or Holy Vessel, marvel- 
 lously made of a fair and single emerald ; wlierefrom
 
 320 THE LAST OF TIIR PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 men do say that Our Lord did eat of the last Passover- 
 Lamb at Paske-tide ! * But the rustic person whom 
 I spake of afore, told us another sort of histories for 
 his share of the disport, touching that which he had 
 seen in his pilgrimage unto Walsingham. Such I 
 trow was his strange report of " the Good Sword of 
 Winfarthing/'t in Norfolk, which would recover the 
 strayed or stolen horses of them that lighted unto it 
 a taper and sought it's aid ; unto the whicli he added 
 another marvel in yet these words in this rude, though 
 wondrous, ballad that followeth. 
 
 • This supposed relique, which forms so very prominent a 
 feature in the romance of King Arthur, being an object of 
 search to all the Knights of the Round-Table, — appeared in 
 Genoa first in 1101, having been found at the capture of Ciesa- 
 rea, and presented by Baldwin, King of Jerusalem. It remain- 
 ed at Genoa until it was removed, with other spoil, to the Impe- 
 rial Library at Paris, in November 180G, when it was found to 
 be only of fine green glass, though probably of ancient manu- 
 facture : it is hexangular in shape, and measures twelve French 
 inches in diameter and three in height. It was originally sup- 
 posed to have the gift of working miracles, and especially of 
 curing diseases. 
 
 -f- This singular relique is also affirmed to have had the 
 power of assisting such females as lighted a taper before it every 
 Sunday in the year, by shortening the lives of their spouses- 
 It is, nevertheless, said that it was originally the sword of a 
 robber who had taken sanctuary in the churchyard, and, escap- 
 ing thence, left it behind him ; when, after having lain several 
 years in an old chest, the parson and clerk converted it into a 
 relique with considerable success.
 
 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 321 
 
 Vl'bt Wiiditt of Saalsi'ncirjam. 
 
 Of England and her ancient Knights doth many a minstrel 
 
 tell, 
 And their mighty deeds of daring-do their lays and legends 
 
 swell, 
 And the marvels they beheld of old are sung both wide and far, 
 With their noble faith in love, and their gallantry in war ; 
 But I ween a better tale was never told in cam]) or court. 
 Than the Wicket-gate of Walsingham and llalph De Bote- 
 tourt. 
 
 A braver soldier never braced a cuirass to his breast, 
 A taller champion never raised in tilt or field his crest, 
 A stouter wight a stronger barb across did never stride, 
 And he rear'd himself full loftily when forth he 'gan to ride ; 
 And broad and high must spread the gate of barbican or fort. 
 Wherein might pass the mounted Knight, Sir Ralph De Bote- 
 tourt. 
 
 To Walsingham in wildest speed he comes in arms array'd. 
 His mail-shirt rent with battle-strokes, with blood upon his 
 
 blade. 
 And a vengeful host behind him spurring on in iiot career, 
 He swiftly rides, yet cheek and eye are all unchanged by fear : 
 Though well I ween their hasty course is not in mirth or 
 
 sport, 
 Or that little hazard put to flight Sir Ralph De Botetourt. 
 
 He speeds him to the Sanctuary that lies before him straight. 
 But how may ilight avail him aught at yonder narrow gate 
 
 y
 
 322 THK LAST or THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 That scarcely spreads an ell in height, or a yard in space be- 
 tween, 
 
 When full ten feet that mounted Knight and war-horse stand 
 I ween P 
 
 His foemen deem his blood to spill at the Abbey's lowly port, 
 
 " Now Christ protect thee from their swords ! Sir Ralph De 
 Botetourt." 
 
 " Oh haste thee on my barb !" he cries, "slack not thy swift 
 
 career, 
 To save thy fainting master's life from the vengeful foeman's 
 
 spear ; 
 It is not from an equal strife, nor the battle-field's array 
 That I call thee with a coward speed to bear me hence to-day, 
 But a lurking host assails me now of fierce and foul report. 
 Yet some have felt the blade, I trow, of Ralph De Botetourt." 
 
 A fervent and a silent vow he made within his breast, 
 
 He breathed a soldier's hasty prayer as on his barb he press'd ; 
 
 Then cheer'd once more his gallant steed, with stedfast heart 
 
 and faith 
 That the Virgin would be with him still, in safe retreat or 
 
 death : 
 To Her and to Her Son alone now look'd he for support. 
 Since vain were flight and valour both to Ralph De Bote- 
 tourt. 
 
 A sudden bound the charger makes, — the foe is on his flanks, 
 "With pointed spears and ready blades uplifted in their 
 
 ranks ! 
 And— Holy Saints !— the low arch spreads ! — the Knight is 
 
 safe within ! 
 And without his wond'riug enemies stand baflled in their sin !
 
 THE LAST OK THK J»L,ANTA(tENETS. 323 
 
 The good Sir Ralph rejoiced him then, for mortal wight had 
 
 ne'er 
 A greater miracle to aid in hour of his despair ; 
 He graved his image on the gate of that most hlessed court, 
 And so, God rest the jjious Knight, Sir Ralph de Botetourt ! 
 
 As this ballad was brought unto an end, an aged 
 and reverend Palmer, who was of our company, said 
 '' Lordings all, I well ween that this is a full true 
 story ; howbeit, there seemeth unto me to be some 
 pious mystery hidden therein. For the Knight and 
 his foemen may well prefigure man pursued by the 
 Fiend, against whom he cannot stand ; and so flieth 
 he for refuge unto God, who is shadowed forth by His 
 earthly Church. But, in his unsanctified condition, 
 man is as it were a giant in his sins, who cannot enter 
 at that portal which Our Lord calleth ' Forta angusta 
 el via arcta quce ducit ad vitam,' the strait gate and 
 narrow way which doth lead unto life. Wherefore, 
 being pressed hard by his enemy, the fugitive calleth 
 upon God, and voweth liimself as a holy offering unto 
 his Son, and lo ! the gate of Heaven at last spreads 
 itself to receive him into an invincible sanctuary, 
 against which both men and demons may strive in 
 vain." 
 
 "A most goodly morality truly!" hereupon ex- 
 claimed another of our company ; " who might have 
 deemed, now, that such wisdom lurked in that old 
 story > I trow that I've oft-times heard it told and
 
 324 TIIK I^AST OF THE PI-ANTAGKNETS. 
 
 sung, and looked on tlie brazen image of the Knight 
 at Walsingliam, and many other goodly sights there, 
 albeit I never yet thought a word of the mystery 
 thereof. And speaking of goodly sights, my masters, 
 I trow that one of the fairest that can be looked upon, 
 will be when the Bishop of Winchester shall sing the 
 high-mass at Bermondsey Abbey at Easter, and give 
 the veil unto certain noble ladies who were wont to 
 dwell there, for the more honour to that House : and 
 men say that one of them is the sister of the late 
 King Edward and Queen Elizabeth, the Lady Bride 
 Plantagenet, who is even now lodging there." 
 
 At that beloved name it is no marvel if I started, 
 as in truth I did, inwardly resolving to be present at 
 her Consecration, and even devising how I might 
 behold her before that rite should pirt her from me 
 for ever. But suppressing my present transports for 
 awhile, that I might get more knowledge lierein, I 
 questioned him who had last spoken, with what calm- 
 ness I could, if, peradventure, he knew in what part 
 of the Abbey the Lady Bride was lodging. 
 
 " Aye, marry," answered he, " for I dwell not far 
 distant, and I have often marked her lamp in her 
 chamber in the Abbot's house, overlooking his fair 
 garden and maze. I wot, moreover, that she ever 
 walks forth on that green-sward to chaunt her hymns 
 at even-tide." 
 
 Hereupon I did enquire no farther, but hastily 
 quitted the table at the hostel with an anxious heart.
 
 THK LAST OF TIIK P/.ANTAGENETS. .S25 
 
 and walked forth into the highway of Houthwark to 
 consider how I might best shape iriy future course. 
 It was a clear and fresh Spring even, and the young 
 moon was riding high in the heavens, and it seemed 
 unto me near the fitting hour to adventure what I 
 had thus hastily thought on ; for that in the broad 
 day-light I might not hope to seek an interview with 
 a professed virgin at the Abbey of Bermondsey. 
 Whilst I thus pondered, my footsteps all unwittingly 
 wandered thither, but when I had thus arrived there 
 I knew not at first how to effect mine intent, and I 
 roved around the Abbey like one crazed with moody 
 madness; yet finding neither cunning to proceed nor 
 resolution to withdraw. It might be that I passed 
 nearly an hour of perplexed and lonely musing, often 
 looking toward the Lady Bride's window, when I 
 bethought me that, as it was near the time of Coniplin, 
 wlien the Brethren would be at prayers, perchance I 
 might be able to mount the wall of the Abbey-gar- 
 den, and meet with her in that even walk whereof the 
 guest at the Tabard had told me. But upon looking 
 at the lofty boundaries which girdled in that ancient 
 House, I almost gave up the enterprise in despair, 
 until I noted that on the Nortli side, where the 
 Church of St. Mary IMagdalen joined unto the Abbey- 
 wall, the same was greatly decayed and ialkn away ; 
 perchance because some of the Abbots, coveting rather 
 to fill their own purses than to keep up the fence of 
 God's fold, had let the stone boundary sink into ruin.
 
 320 THK I. AST OK TIIK PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 And here I saw, that although it might prove no easy 
 matter to scale it from within, yet might I with small 
 labour surmount the wall from without ; since, by 
 reason of the manifold burials there, the earth of the 
 graves and dust of the mouldering bodies had much 
 raised the ground ; and, farther, a table-tomb unto the 
 memory of Master Geoffrey Gresham, the far-famed 
 Fletcher, had been reared by that part of the wall 
 which was most decayed. Upon this tomb lay the rare 
 effigy of the rich Fletcher, with his staunch hound 
 carved at his feet, and by these I saw that I could 
 easily mount and lower myself on the other side, by 
 making a cord fast round the dogs head, or elsewhere 
 as I listed ; ascending again unto the Church-yard 
 when I had seen the damsel, or when danger ap- 
 proached to bid me escape. 
 
 I saw in this device such hope of success, that I 
 did at once determine to provide me with a ladder of 
 cord, — which I might easily get me in Southwark, — 
 because, the good hour was now wearing fast away. 
 When I returned unto Bermondsey, the bell had 
 already tolled the hour of seven, the service of 
 Coinplifi was being sung, and the Brethren were all 
 in their Church ; I did therefore presently take forth 
 my cords, which were knotted together like the 
 shrouds of a vessel, and, making them fast unto the 
 tomb, ascended thereon, and committed myself unto 
 Providence. Having, as I have before noted, already 
 been at this Abbey, I well knew that the left-hand walk.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 327 
 
 South of the Church, would lead me unto the Prior's 
 maze, being a grove of lilacs and overhanging labur- 
 num-trees, which was wont to be the Lady Bride's 
 walk at even; wherein I might well secure me from 
 all notice. And so mounted I the wall with cautious 
 and silent movements, and seeing none within to 
 oppose my passage, I forthwith descended into that 
 tranquil spot, which as it were lay sleeping before 
 me, in all the calm beauty of a spring-tide moonlight.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A NIGHT-ADVENTURE AT BERMONDSEY ABBEY 
 BEFORE it's DISSOLUTION. 
 
 I'll tell thee, by my faithen, 
 
 That sometimes I have known 
 A fair and goodly Abbey, 
 
 Stand here of brick and stone ; 
 And many a holy friar, 
 
 As I may say to thee. 
 Within these goodly cloisters 
 
 I did full often see. 
 Ballad of Plain Tki'th and Blind Ignorance. 
 
 It were a world to tell what then I thought. 
 
 What joy I saw, what pleased my listening ear, 
 What hand I held that free consent had brought. 
 
 What haste I had that constant truth did bear : 
 
 * » * * 
 
 But lo ! Alas ! they were but shadow'd shews, 
 For, when I woke, my summer sun was gone ? 
 
 My wonted clouds within my head arose 
 
 And, storming, straight thus 'gan I make my moan : 
 
 "Ah ! Goddts good ! why do I live again. 
 
 To lose my joy, and find my former pain ?" 
 
 The Gardbn-Plot, by Henbv Goldingham. 
 
 When I thus found me alone within the gardens of 
 Bermondsey Abbey, my soul became filled with a 
 pious and solemn feeling well befitting that holy place,
 
 THK LAST OF THK PliANTAGENETS. 329 
 
 thougli blent with doubts and hopes touching my 
 present enterprise. These did keep me for some brief 
 space, riveted, as it were, unto the spot whereon I 
 stood, and intently gazing vipon the scene around me ; 
 so that I do well remember how looked that Abbey, 
 ere it was resigned by it's coward Abbot unto the 
 second Harry Tudor,* who seized upon many a fair 
 heritage with which good men of old had endowed 
 the Church, and gave unto others that which was 
 in truth not his own. They who now behold this 
 place, I wot shall see but little of what I have here 
 noted ; because the most part of those fair buildings 
 which were once devoted unto the service of God, 
 have been thrown down, and the very stones thereof 
 
 • It has been supposed that Robert Wharton, or Parfew, 
 the last Abbot of Bermondsey, and successor to John de Mar- 
 low, mentioned in the above narrative, was actually put into 
 that office by the Court, that he might surrender the Abbey and 
 it's revenues to the crown. This he did by a voluntary in- 
 strument of resignation dated January 1st, in the 29th year of 
 Henry VIII., 1538, anticipating the Act for suppressing the 
 greater lleligious Houses, which passed July 2!)th in the next 
 year. The Abbot had been made Bishop of St. Asajjli in June, 
 1536, and on his surrender received a pension of ."iOO marks, 
 .€333 : 6*. Sd. Bermondsey Abbey was granted in 1541 to Sir 
 Robert Southwell, Master of the Rolls, who sold it to Sir 
 Thomas Pope in the same year, by whom the ancient conven- 
 tual buildings were taken down, and a mansion erected with 
 the materials as referred to in the text.
 
 330 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 used to set up a vain-glorious dwelling-place for 
 man. 
 
 But I will now assay to picture it, as I beheld it 
 nearly fifty years past, before it's candlestick was 
 moved out of it's place. — I have afore said that the 
 young moon shone brightly over grange and green- 
 sward, lighting and gilding refectory and hall, church 
 and dormitory with it's lustre: for upon my right hand 
 spread out the Abbot's curious maze and fair garden, 
 with the long trim alleys and winding walks thereof. 
 Before me arose his stately stone lodgings, standing in 
 the great Base-Court ; and behind me was the Abbey- 
 Church, the windows a\ hereof were shining with the 
 light within, Avhilst the swell of the organ and slow 
 psalm of the monks, came ever and anon upon the 
 fresh gale of even as it passed me by. On mine other 
 hand stood the great North gate, and the dwellings 
 and offices of the Brethren ; and far out upon the 
 South, I might discern the warren, grange, and pas- 
 ture-fields of the Abbot. 
 
 Having thus for a brief space gazed around me, 
 almost lost in thought, I did next turn me unto the 
 little grove of which the pilgrim had spoken, and, 
 forcing aside the leaves and branches thereof, presently 
 so concealed myself in it's bower, that I was assured 
 that none, who should not part the trees as I had 
 done, might perceive that a stranger was there hidden. 
 The same holy silence seemed to reign around that 
 spot, yet was not mine own breast without somewhat
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 331 
 
 of disquiet, since I felt that my present act Avas one 
 which I might not openly avow ; for though I pur- 
 posed nought but good in again seeking to behold the 
 Lady Bride, yet did I question with myself whether 
 I were not sinful, in thus covertly approaching a spot 
 which was consecrated unto the service of God. Ne- 
 vertheless these thoughts were full soon put to flight, 
 by doubts and fears that peradvcnture I had outstaid 
 the Lady Bride's hour, and so should not behold her 
 even now that I was within the walls of the very 
 place of her sojourn. But as the moon went down 
 the sky, and the light passed away, the rising gale 
 swept along the leaves which formed my bower, 
 and brought with it strains of sweet and holy music. 
 At first methought it was only the choral swell of the 
 monks in their Abbey, but anon I knew the voice ard 
 found it to be in the garden itself; and these were 
 the words which came unto mine hearing. 
 
 EVENING HYMN OF THE LADY BRIDE PT.ANTAGENET, 
 
 Before the closing of the light, 
 
 God of our life, we cry to Thee, 
 That through the darkness of the night 
 
 Thy wonted care may round us be ; 
 
 And that Thy mercy, great and free, 
 May keep all evil sprites away. 
 Until the dawning of the day. 
 
 DOMINE, Cr.AMO AT) Te, 
 
 DOMINE, KXAini Mi; !
 
 832 THE LAST OK THK PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 The visions of" the midnight hour 
 
 Do Thou from sin all holv keep, 
 That no foul dreams nor j)hantom's power 
 
 May stain our souls, or fright our sleep : 
 
 I5ut chain them in the fiery deep, 
 That neither night nor noon may find 
 The Demon's spells within our mind. 
 
 DOMINE, CLAMO AD Te, 
 DOMINE, EXAUDI ME ! 
 
 Thus, ever prove our hope and stay, 
 Our shield when danger doth affright ; 
 
 <^)ur Pillar of the Cloud l)y day, 
 
 Our fiery column through the night : 
 Until we reach Thy realm of light 
 
 Where our glad souls shall ever be 
 
 Glorious and safe, — because with Thee ! 
 
 DoMINE, AD Te CLAMAMUS, 
 Et in S.'ECULTTM LAUDAMUS ! 
 
 The sound of this music was so sweet unto me, that 
 neither by speech nor movement, and scarcely by 
 breathing, did I interrupt the harmony ; and even 
 when all was hushed I still continued to listen. How- 
 beit, anon I heard approaching feet, and two females 
 drew nigh unto my hiding-place, one of whom mine 
 anxious eyes soon discovered to be the Lady Bride ; 
 and the other methought I remembered as one of those 
 Austin Nuns whom I had seen with her at Windsor, 
 and who seemed to be counselling her as to the holy 
 duties whereon she should soon enter for life. " And
 
 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGKNBT3. 333 
 
 furthermore, dear Sister," I might well hear her say, 
 " when that ye retire luito your bed, bless you with the 
 sign of the cross, committing your soul and body unto 
 your spouse Christ, and the keeping of your good 
 Angel. Then lay you down reverently with your 
 arms crossed upon your breast, being diligently aware 
 of vain thoughts, and (juickly putting aw'ay of vain 
 temptations ; and, if you may not sleep, then occupy 
 yourself with prayers or with your rosary, because 
 your adversary the Fiend never sleepeth." 
 
 I now noted that the Lady Bride did desire of her 
 companion, to leave her aw hile unto her own medita- 
 tions in that fair and lonely spot ; for that she would 
 ponder over the Rule whereto she was to be conse- 
 crated. "And herein do I much commend you. Sister 
 Bride," responded the Nun, " for it is profitable and 
 ghostly lore to think much upon our Rule of Life, 
 with the Exposition thereof by the holy Abbot Hugh 
 of St. Victoire. Ever live up unto it, I pray you, 
 keep it, read it, know it by heart and practice, declare, 
 teach, and openly shew it : that so you may reck not 
 who sees or marks it, and be afraid of nought, that 
 being duly held and performed. Benedicite, Sister, 
 tarry not long in the garden, and so I commit you unto 
 God." 
 
 The Nun then presently left the noble Novice, and 
 I heard a door close after her departure, whereupon 
 I could scarcely believe mine own good-fortune, in 
 thus having so speedily the chance whicli I liad doubt-
 
 334 THE I^AST OK TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 fully hoped foi* : and yet when the Lady Bride next 
 drew near me in her pious musings, I feared to pre- 
 sent myself unto her on the sudden, lest I should 
 alarm her; or, peradventure, be exposed unto the 
 view of some watcher. Howbeit, as the time was 
 now hastily wearing, whilst she was turned from me 
 I left the bower, and, having looked around to see if 
 any were near, and being satisfied that none were 
 present beside that fair damsel and myself, I cau- 
 tiously went towards her and addressed her with 
 much lowliness of speech. Nevertheless, full great 
 was her amaze at the sight of me and sound of my 
 voice, as she demanded, with almost breathless haste, 
 why 1 had so ventured unto her who had now no 
 part in the world ; conjuring me forthwith to save 
 myself by flight. 
 
 " Think not of my safety. Lady," answered I, 
 " since it is all too unworthy to deserve the care of one 
 so noble and pious as yourself. Yet did I desire to 
 behold you once more ere you depart from the world, 
 to assure you of mine entire devotion, and to say 
 that if even by the sacrifice of my life I can serve 
 you, it will be indeed a happiness unto me to lay it 
 down." 
 
 " I doubt not of your devotion, kind friend," re- 
 plied the noble Novice, " since I have proved it too 
 often to make question thereof; but remember that I 
 have nothing now either to hope or fear in this world, 
 and, therefore, the looser be my ties unto it the more
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 335 
 
 easily will they be severed. If, then, thou comest 
 hither only to express thy good-will unto me, believe 
 that I know and feel it, peradventure more than I 
 ought : take my thanks, then, and depart, for, credit 
 me, thy danger is great shouldest thou be discovered." 
 
 I now explained unto the Lady Bride, how that I 
 had heard by chance of her being presently at Ber- 
 mondsey, the which had made me resolve to see her, 
 if it might be effected, and take mine eternal farewell 
 of her: adding thereto, albeit with presumptuous 
 speech, that I feared no dangers, since in such an 
 enterprise I would almost have braved the wrath of 
 Heaven itself! 
 
 " May God pardon us both ! Richard," returned 
 the noble Damsel, looking upwards, " and for thy 
 bold words, it seemeth as if the wrath of Heaven, 
 whereof thou speakest so lightly, were eftsoons about 
 to fall upon us. Behold how fiercely the moon hath 
 sunken, and the skies are overclouded ; surely we are 
 sinning, and I most so : therefore depart, Plantagenet, 
 whilst yet you may with safety." 
 
 And even as she spake, I could not but note that 
 the heavens grew darker and wondrously disturbed 
 by the rising storm, yet from this I felt no terror ; 
 for that I deemed not myself or mine adventure in 
 that place had called it forth as a sign of vengeance 
 from on high. I therefore said unto her, "Lady, 
 believe not that this tempest cometh upon us in anger, 
 but think rather that it depicteth the gloom in mine
 
 I 
 
 33(i THK IjAst ok the pi.antagknets. 
 
 heart and the wild tumult in my breast, at being thus 
 parted from you for ever." I did also entreat her not 
 to fear for mine easy escape thence, telling her of the 
 means by which I had entered the Abbey-garden, 
 and adding thereunto mine earnest desire that she 
 Avould depart with me by the same course ; for that 
 we were of the very last of the Houses of York and 
 Plantagenet, and 'twere pity that such noble names 
 should ever die. 
 
 " Truly," responded the royal Bride, " if thou art 
 indeed the Duke of Gloucester's son, thou art the last 
 man of thy name ; for my hapless cousin Edward 
 hath already fallen on the scaffold, though his sister 
 Margaret yet lingereth on a doubtful life.* Yet if we 
 
 * Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick and Salisbury, 
 eldest son and heir of George, Duke of Clarence, was con- 
 fined by his Uncle, Richard III., in SherifF-Hutton Castle, 
 Yorkshire ; but on the accession of Henry VII. was removed 
 to the Tower, being then fifteen years old, and more closely 
 confined, because he was supposed to be the only male Plan- 
 tagenet then living. Having attempted to escape with Per- 
 kin Warbeck, he was arraigned of high-treason, being charged 
 with attempting to rescue that adventurer and make him 
 King ; when, having been induced by a promise of security, 
 to confess that with which he was wholly unacquainted, he was 
 condemned and beheaded on Tower Hill, November 28th, 
 1499. Margaret Plantagenet, his sister, survived till May 
 27th, 1541, when she also was decapitated, though without 
 arraignment or trial.
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 337 
 
 he the last of our lineage, let us not tarnish it's lustre 
 by an act which is dishonourable and unlawful ; and 
 such I ween would be to fly with thee, from the holy 
 pi-ofession which I have made unto Heaven." 
 
 As she spake thus, I had gently drawn her towards 
 the place whereat I had entered, to assure her of my 
 safety and the means of conveying her thence; by 
 shewing her the ladder of cord hanging upon the 
 wall, for I doubted not that it would be still there. 
 But, lo ! it was now no-Avhere to be seen, and not- 
 withstanding I searched all around I looked for it in 
 vain. I was much dismayed hereat, albeit I sought, 
 as I best might, to hide my loss from the gentle Lady 
 Bride ; yet did she quickly note the cause of my 
 perplexity, and said, in a voice of tender sorrow, that 
 she deemed my sanguine hopes had trusted unto un- 
 equal means of escape, and that now my danger was 
 all too certain. " Dearest Lady," replied I, hereupon 
 greatly encouraged by the anxiety which she had 
 shewn for me, " Dearest Lady, fear not ; but even 
 should I be taken in this adventure, in what better 
 cause than your's can I lay down my life.? This is 
 unto me an hour of deepest interest, as was that in 
 the Canons' chambers at Windsor, and I will affaiu 
 use all sincerity in my speech, and say. Lady Bride, 
 how fervently I love you. Believe me, if the Hghten- 
 ing-flashes, now darting from yonder cloud, could 
 shine into my breast, you would behold in it a heart, 
 which, from the first time I heard your blessed name.
 
 338 THE LAST OF THE PIvANTAGENETS. 
 
 hath never ceased to beat for you with the liveliest 
 devotion; and whilst life is given unto it, I swear by 
 my part in the bliss of Eternity that it shall beat for 
 no other !" 
 
 " I can well think thee faithful, Richard," responded 
 the Lady Bride, " yet say it not unto me, I pray thee, 
 since it is now all unmeet for me to speak of earthly 
 love ; albeit if mortal excellence could win mine heart, 
 thy generous passion for me would assviredly do it. 
 But this may not be, therefore take back thy pro- 
 mise, and give thy vows unto those who live for this 
 world, since I am all devoted unto another." 
 
 There was in her demeanour, as it seemed, a settled 
 purpose which well attested her sincerity ; yet, as I 
 sighed despondingly at her words, methought she 
 appeared touched by my sorrow, although I dare not 
 say that she shared it : like as a pitying angel 
 mourneth over the weakness of humanity, even whilst 
 his heavenly nature keepeth it from his own breast. 
 The noble Bride did moreover give farther proof of 
 her benevolence towards me, by drawing from her 
 hand a ring with a rich gem, bearing for it's impress 
 the sign of the holy cross ; and, giving it unto me, 
 bade me, with consoling speech, to wear it, not for 
 her sake, but for the sake of Him whose sign was 
 graven upon it. I received her gift with much rap- 
 ture, and I trow never did I so deeply lament my 
 narrow fortune, as I did in bethinking me that I had 
 nouglit to give unto her in return. Howbeit, I re-
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 339 
 
 niemberctl tJiat in my bosom I had a little book of 
 Offices, partly written and illumined by mine own 
 hand, fairly bound in red velvet 'broidered with gold, 
 and this I hastily took forth, and besought the Lady 
 Bride to receive the same at my hands, as a pledge 
 that, for her sake, I did abjure all thouglit of wed- 
 lock ; adding that I would ever wear her ring when 
 I should be seen of woman, that so I might be known 
 of all as a betrothed-one. 
 
 " Betrothed, indeed !" responded the royal Novice, 
 " not unto me, but unto God as I well trust ; for His 
 am I, and the best wish of my heart for thee is that 
 thou wcrt the same !" 
 
 She could say no more, for now divers lights, be- 
 side those which flashed from the stormy skies, came 
 forth from all parts of the building and filled the 
 garden, whilst loud and angry voices on every side 
 declared that a stranger had entered it's holy precincts; 
 the which at once shewed unto me that discovery had 
 taken place, albeit I knew not how, and that escape 
 was now impossible. Howbeit I manned myself to 
 meet them as I best might ; but the Lady Bride, over- 
 come at once by fear for my safety, the increased vio- 
 lence of the storm, and the pious conflicts within her 
 own breast, sank down and swooned upon mine arm : 
 whilst I supported her with what tenderness I could, 
 taking off my coarse Pilgrim's mantle and wrapjjing 
 it around her. Those whose coming had been thus 
 tumultuously made known unto us, soon drew near.
 
 340 
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAOENETS, 
 
 being a band of divers servitors of the Abbey, hastily 
 summoned together by the Lord Abbot on the tidings 
 which he had received ; with whom they proceeded 
 unto the garden, to put forth, or, perad venture, to 
 secure for vengeance, the sacrilegious intruder who 
 had violated the hallowed sanctuary. 
 
 " Holy St. ]\Iary !" exclaimed the Lord Abbot as 
 he approached the spot whereon the Lady Bride and 
 myself were standing, and the light of the torches, 
 with which the various servitors pressed forward, 
 flashed upon us, — " Blessed St. Mary ! what do I 
 behold } — the Lady Bride ! — Now, may God so speed 
 us, as we would have held this a foul slander, had we 
 not seen with our own eyes the daughter of a King 
 and sister of a Queen consorting with a night-ruffian ! 
 one of whom our Lord well speaketh in the Gospel, 
 saying ' Qui non intrat per ostium in ovile oviuyn, sed 
 asccndil aliunde, illefur est, et lutro ;' he who entereth 
 not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbeth up 
 some other way, the same is a thief and a robber. 
 Seize him, therefore, my children, let him not 'scape; 
 for if justice be maintained in England, it must fall 
 upon such as profane the Houses of God." 
 
 The servitors whom he brought with him were not 
 slow to execute his commands with much contumely 
 and reviling, so that it was almost in vain for me 
 to attempt to speak, whilst many hands at once 
 grasped my garments and restrained my limbs. — 
 Nevertheless the Lady Bride still clung unto me
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGBNETS. 341 
 
 senseless, Avhereupon I shook myself free from the 
 servitors, and bearing her unto the Abbot, resigned 
 her unto him ; bidding him work his will with me, so 
 that she were instantly conveyed unto a fitting shel- 
 ter. This he straightway commanded to be done, — 
 and so were Ave again parted ; yet natheless I felt me 
 glad, even in that troublous hour, when I found that 
 the swooning of the Lady Bride brought upon my 
 head all the fault wliich I feared should have fallen 
 upon her's. For now the Abbot, again taking up the 
 word, addressed me with '• Monster of impiety ! love 
 of godliness 1 well deem thou liast none, yet do I 
 marvel that thou hast lost all sense of fear; for 
 though thou mightest brave the power of man, yet 
 how didst thou dare, presumptuous as even thou art, 
 to defy the wrath of Heaven which cometh forth 
 against thee from the skies? Wast thou not afraid 
 to attempt beguiling the daughter of a Sovereign, 
 or to withdraw from lier holy 'spousals the innocent 
 lamb devoted unto the cloister ? and that too, even in 
 the storm which spake full loudly how the anger of 
 God was already kindled against thee." 
 
 His tone was not less solemn than reproachful, 
 and, deeming me guilty, I have since thouglit that 
 he might well speak thus, and point for confirmation 
 of his words unto the skies, which were still ever 
 and anon bright with the lightening. Then, noting 
 the heavy torrents of rain which Avere falling, he 
 stopped mine attempted reply, saying, " And even the
 
 342 
 
 THE IvAiST OF THE PLANTAGENETS . 
 
 waters that now deluge tlie earth seem^ with fitting 
 emblem, to reproach tliy crime, as if the skies wept 
 that such daring evil should stain the beauty of 
 God's lower world. — But the tempest rages fiercely ; 
 lead on the prisoner, my children, and let us go 
 hence." 
 
 They who had me in charge, then quickly and 
 rudely hurried me from the garden into the broad 
 Abbey-hall^ where a fire was blazing, and many 
 persons were assembled full curious to know more 
 of that night's adventure. Of this company there 
 was one whom I had in no wise thought to behold, 
 being none other than the rustic Pilgrim from the 
 Tabard hostel. 1 soon found that it was he who had 
 betrayed me unto the Abbot ; for he recounted how 
 it had been told at the Inn, that the Lady Bride was 
 presently living at Bermondsey until her Consecration 
 at Easter; how he had marked my sudden starting 
 and going forth ; and how he had closely dogged my 
 steps, watched mine actions, and finally removed my 
 ladder : catching up and repeating, moreover, those 
 half-uttered words by which men do oft-times indi- 
 cate their concealed purposes. 
 
 "And what evil had I done unto thee," said I 
 at length, looking full sternly at mine accuser, " that 
 
 thou shouldest thus malevolently Ha! — what ! 
 
 Bernard Schalken !" I exclaimed, as the light for a 
 moment fell full upon his fierce and reckless visage, 
 and his hair was suddenly blown aside, — "is it
 
 THE LAST OV THE PLANTAGENETS. 343 
 
 indeed Bernard Schalken ? nay, then, I will de- 
 mand no farther of one to whom good faith is all 
 unknown." 
 
 "What says this man, fellow ?" then enquired the 
 Abbot of Bermondsey, " art thou in truth that Ber- 
 nard Schalken, who served Sir James Tyrrell, what 
 time the deaths of the Princes Edward and Richard 
 were in question, and who afterwards passed into the 
 train of the late usurper's favourite. Sir Gilbert De 
 Mountford ? — If thou art indeed he, begone at once, 
 nor hope for entertainment here : since thou hast 
 ever had the name of a brawling and violent soldier, 
 and so art all unfit to serve in a House consecrated 
 unto God." 
 
 " Wliy I trow well," hereunto replied the rude Sol- 
 dier, " that there may be holier ones than your wan- 
 dering lance-men, and that I've been no better than 
 my fellows : but then I wot that I've journeyed both 
 to Canterbury and Walsingham, to get me absolution 
 from all that I've done heretofore, and so I threw the 
 load of my sins into the cowls of the priests who took 
 my confession there. And, now, by the IMass ! I take 
 myself to be all another man, and a mighty good 
 Christian ; whereof I took tliis certificate from tlie 
 friars that absolved me. Well I deem that I bade 
 them make it an ample testimonial, on peril of their 
 bones, albeit I read neither Latin nor English. An 
 ye desire, therefore, for somewhat to recommend me 
 to your favour, Lord Abbot, read me o'er this scroll,
 
 344 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 the which, the priests said, should speed me any 
 where." 
 
 And with these irreverent words Bernard Schalken 
 drew forth a piece of vellum, with two names and 
 signs of the cross subscribed thereunto, the which 
 when the Abbot had read, he answered in somewhat 
 of a scoffing voice, " Truly this certificate shall speed 
 thee away from every place where thou shalt shew 
 it ; for I see that the good priests who have subscribed 
 it deem of thee much as I do. Howbeit, in the hope 
 that the knowledge of this writing may lead thee 
 unto repentance and amendment of life, listen whilst 
 I construe it unto thee. 
 
 " ' Forasmuch as I find Bernard Schalken, the 
 bearer hereof, to be a brawling robber and lewd and 
 impenitent soldier, I absolve him from all his good 
 deeds, of which I find few or none in him ; and I 
 restore unto him all his evil acts, whereof he hath an 
 abundance, — until he shall repent him heartily, make 
 restitution for his plunder and life of violence, and 
 resolve, by God's gi*ace, to live hereafter unto His 
 glory. Witness my hand, on the Feast of St. Mat- 
 thias the Apostle, the Sixth of the Calends of March : 
 Nicholas Blunt, Priest of the Shrine of Our Lady 
 at Walsingham. 
 
 " ' I also do fully concur in the foregoing, and in 
 token thereof have subscribed my name unto the 
 same, this Sixth of the Ides of IMarch, the comme- 
 moration of the Forty IMartyrs of Sebastc : Stephen
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 345 
 
 Plainavays, Priest of the Shrine of St. Thomas of 
 Canterbury, Archbishop and INIartyr.' "* 
 
 " How now, fellow," added the Abbot unto the 
 Soldier when he had finished reading his certificate, 
 " this is a goodly testimonial unto thy life, truly ! 
 what sayest thou hereunto?" 
 
 " But little unto you. Lord Abbot," then responded 
 the unabashed Bernard, " saving that I ween all 
 priests be alike knaves ; but to others, perchance, I 
 may tell a longer and graver tale for their foul leasing- 
 making. An in truth I be not absolved, let them look 
 to it who made me think so, for 'twas enough that I 
 believed it ; and well I wot that the fragments of 
 the fEiir gold chain which I left at their Shrines, might 
 have blotted out worser crimes than mine." 
 
 " Impenitent and hardened man !" then began the 
 Lord Abbot in a bold and severe voice, for the ho- 
 nest zeal whereof I could not but laud him in mine 
 own mind, although he entreated me with much evil 
 and contumely, — " Ill-minded and ignorant sinner ! 
 is the offering unto God of such a base portion of thy 
 plunder, like a maimed and spotted sacrifice, to blot 
 out the crimes of a whole life of violence, rapine, and 
 blood .^ In truth it was an abomination, being like 
 unto that whereof the Prophet IMalachy speaketh, 
 saying, ' Non est Mihi voluntas in vobis, elicit Dominus 
 
 " Similar language to the above is actually used bv Erasmus 
 in his Colloquy of the Life of a Soldier.
 
 340 TXIK LAST OK TIIIC PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Exercituum, et miinus 7ion suscipiam dc manu veslra.' 
 ]My will is not in you, saith the Lord of Hosts, and I 
 will not receive an offering at your hands. Believe it, 
 unhappy man, that the penitent psalm ' Miserere me 
 Deus,' uttered with bended knees and sorrowful 
 heart at God's altar, with a single penny given to the 
 poor, and a firm purpose to lead a new life, shall do 
 more towards winning the grace of Heaven, than if 
 thou hadst walked barefoot from hence to Palestine, 
 and gave the collected spoil of thy whole life unto the 
 shrines of Christendom. Depart from hence, speedily, 
 since thou art pollution unto our house, a spot of le- 
 prosy unto our walls. I enjoin thee no penance, since 
 thy very lusts and crimes will at last be heavier than 
 aught which I could impose; therefore, begone, and, 
 if thou canst, repent thee and amend !" 
 
 Hereupon the Lance-man was put forth, yet as he 
 went out, methought even he was somewhat abashed 
 by the solemn speech of the Abbot, since he said " A 
 plague upon the knaves who have stirred up this coil! 
 and a mischief be upon you, too, for disturbing my 
 conscience which was quiet enow before !" and so he 
 departed from the chamber. 
 
 " Having purified our dwelling of one evil-doer," 
 the Abbot again began, looking at me with much 
 contumely and anger, " it now remaineth that we pro- 
 ceed with fitting rigour towards another ; towards 
 him, who, like the worst of night-robbers, hath broken 
 into the Lord's heritage in the hours of darkness."
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 347 
 
 At these Avords mine anger rose quickly, and m}^ 
 spirit kindled at the indignity cast upon me, so that, 
 had mine hands been free, I know not what outrage 
 I might have committed ; but my limbs being now 
 under close restraint, I could only reply unto him in 
 a haughty tone, " Lord Abbot, I pray you to forbear 
 this speech, seeing that, albeit you may not know me, 
 I am yet of noble birth, and therefore it befits neither 
 myself to hear, nor you to utter any such scorn." 
 
 The Abbot was not slow in his answer hereunto, 
 saying, in a scoffing voice, "Marry, one might well 
 deem that some ale-wife or host had been full boun- 
 teous of their store imto thee, which hath called forth 
 these strange dreams of greatness in thy bemused 
 brain ; seeming, as thou dost, to be little better than 
 a beggar." 
 
 " Beggar !" repeated I then, with wondrous indig- 
 nation, " mark me. Sir Priest, that name belongs not 
 unto me, so truly as it doth unto yourself, and your 
 hosts of idle monks and cowled compeers; albeit 
 ye feed richly, lie softly, and go flaunting in the 
 gayest robes vanity can devise for ye. I repeat unto 
 ye, once more, that I am of the noblest blood of this 
 nation ; though now, by stress of circumstance, I am 
 subject unto thy power and reviling taunts, — yet am I 
 still neither inferior, nor even equal, of thine, in all the 
 pomp and pride which thou canst call around thee." 
 
 " An boldness in evil might make thee great," re- 
 turned the Abbot therewith, " truly thou wouldest be
 
 34iJ THE LAST OK THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 of high degree ; but I now bethink me, that the 
 caitiff who is gone affirmed that thou wert no other 
 than the issue of the murtherous Richard, Duke of 
 Gloucester, and this, perchance, is thy boasted great- 
 ness." 
 
 " He spake the sooth for once," answered I with 
 lofty voice, " for I am indeed the son of the noble 
 King Richard, and a Plantagenet !" 
 
 " I well deem," replied the Abbot, " that thou art 
 little better than another mean adventurer from Bur- 
 gundy ; but, whether thy speech be false or true, me- 
 thinks thy wit must be at a low ebb to hope that this 
 name would advjmce thee unto aught but a scaffold. 
 For if thou wert indeed the offspring of Richard, what 
 coulde&t thou be but his vmlawful issue, and son to a 
 murtherer slain for his tyranny and crimes? Thy 
 lofty birth, therefore, will do thee but small good 
 here ; though, being faithfully reported, it may be 
 of some slight import unto King Henry." 
 
 " Then unto him be it told," answered I, with scorn, 
 " I fear not to die, or to add my blood unto that of the 
 many victims whom he hath already cut off from 
 my noble House ; and he will find me full worthy of 
 the name of Plantagenet. JMy form he may indeed 
 reduce unto a bloody corse upon the scaffold, but upon 
 the soul that animates it hath he no power ; since it's 
 native dignity shall never be abated, even when I bow 
 me unto the axe of the headsman." 
 
 " That triumph may indeed be thine," rejoined the 
 
 I
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNETS. 349 
 
 Abbot, in a scoffing tone, " and as thou claimest such 
 high dignity, thou shalt have fitting honour paid thee, 
 in a larger guard and a different lodging than I did at 
 first purpose for thee. On the word of an Abbot thy 
 royalty shall be carried unto a palace, and I will give 
 thee a brave retinue to wait around thy noble person, 
 until thou art safely bestowed at Sheen ; or, per- 
 chance, until thou shalt lack a guard no longer." 
 
 At this moment I well might understand the great 
 hazard of my condition, never doubting that my life 
 was indeed forfeited ; for I hud, peradventure, been 
 too rash in avowing my birth and noble blood. Yet, 
 nevertheless, the thought tliat I was not the base pei*- 
 son they deemed me, and the consciousness of mine 
 own good faith in entering the Abbey, I felt would 
 sustain me under any violence ; and I looked steadily 
 forward unto mine only remaining duty, namely, to 
 die like the son of a King. 
 
 In the meantime the Abbot had summoned his 
 Yeomen to arm themselves, mount, and carry me on 
 to the Palace of Sheen, where the Court was to be at 
 the Feast of Easter ; and we set out forthwith, not- 
 withstanding the lateness of the hour. The skies were 
 now full dark, though the storm was over ; and, after 
 riding hard through the night, by about the liour of 
 Prime we arrived at that most stately abode for 
 royalty, which Harry Tudor had then lately erected, 
 and called Richmond after his own title.
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THR CAPTIVE S STORY OF HIS IMPRISONMENT. 
 
 Because by birth to Kings allied, — 
 Ah me ! how cruel the pretence ! 
 
 My name offends the ear of pride, 
 My being born is mine offence. 
 
 And who can tell the pangs so keen 
 
 That such ill-fated lovers know ? 
 Where towers and bars arise between, 
 
 Dark spies above and guards below. 
 
 In vain for me the sun doth rise. 
 
 In vain for me the moon doth shine. 
 The smiling earth ne'er cheers mine eyes, 
 
 Here doom'd in misery to pine. 
 
 Mickle's Bai-lad of Arabella Stuart. 
 
 When the Abbot's Yeomen and myself arrived at 
 Sheen, I was bestowed in a strong upper chamber in 
 one of the towers of that fair Palace; in the which 
 captivity I had space of time enow to think over my 
 past fortunes, for with the future I deemed that I had 
 now little or nothing to do. 
 
 Yet even in that place of mine imprisonment, I 
 learned some things concerning the fatal night whereof
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 351 
 
 I have recounted the story, and that cleared up certain 
 of the dark passages of my life. It would have been 
 no marvel had my soul l)een overcome with heaviness 
 at the hazard wherein I was now placed, yet did I feel 
 less for myself than for the Lady Bride, whom I ever 
 regarded as sacrificed unto Harry Tudor's jealousy of 
 the House of York, even from her very youth, albeit 
 she was so well fitted for the veil and the cloister. It 
 was told unto me by my rude, though friendly. Keeper, 
 that after my departure to Sheen, she was full sternly 
 reproved and dealt with for my sake ; for albeit I only 
 was guilty herein, yet would none believe that I had 
 ventured unto her of mine own will alone : therefore 
 did she endure a twofold mistrust, being thought both 
 to have invited my trespass, and after perversely to 
 have denied it. Hereupon full soon was the royal 
 Damsel withdrawn from Bermondsey, not even stay- 
 ing her purposed Consecration, and conveyed vmto a 
 remote Convent, the name whereof was carefully hid- 
 den from my knowledge ; and I did fear that still more 
 rigorous dealings were used towards her, since, I 
 should have noted, that Henry deemed him now to 
 have small tie unto her House, seeing that her sister, 
 the Queen Elizabeth, had deceased on the 11th day 
 of February in the year 1503. The thought of her 
 sorrow, made yet more gloomy the sad season which I 
 passed imprisoned at Sheen ; for albeit I was in a full 
 stately palace, the narrow cliamber where I was con- 
 fined was heavily barred and bolted, and little better
 
 I 
 
 352 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 for it's lonely habitant, than the murky dungeon of a 
 common gaol. 
 
 It was long before the Council came together at 
 this place, for that Henry and his IMinisters were 
 taken up with devising, how best to strengthen his 
 throne against any sudden motion in favour of the 
 House of York, which many in the realm still affected ; 
 and they feared, moreover, that, as in truth his best 
 claim unto the crown was through his late Queen, 
 some of the nation should think that he could hold it 
 only in trust for his young heir. Harry Tudor had 
 also a scheme afoot for a new marriage with the Queen- 
 Dowager of Naples, because of the great riches which 
 her late lord had willed imto her ; but when the se- 
 cret English Commissioners learned that she should 
 inherit no such wealth, they were recalled, and their 
 master thought of this device no longer. 
 
 About the Feast of Easter, the Privy-Council all 
 met at Sheen, whither Harry himself had already 
 come in great pomp, but, as I beheld his followers 
 unto the Palace from my lofty and well-defended win- 
 dow, I should rather have said \n great fear ; else why 
 was that guard around him of tall and mounted 
 Yeomen, clad in his liveries of red and blue, half being 
 armed with bows and arrows and the other half with 
 harquebusses, and all wearing armour with great 
 swords? The like hereof had never been seen in 
 England, until Harry established them in fear at his 
 Coronation, and had never disbanded them : but it 
 
 f
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 353 
 
 was not thus I trow in the days of King Richard, and 
 for why ? because he trusted unto his own valour and 
 the good faith of his subjects ; whicli this usurping 
 Earl, this wily, but " shallow Richmond," as my father 
 would sportively call him, could never do. Now, 
 indeed, I wot that these Yeomen are continued as the 
 proper retinue of state, so men do nothing note them ; 
 yet, albeit I had seen the French King's band of Scots 
 Archers, it did somewhat surprise me to find that a 
 Sovereign of these realms could not travel in safety, un- 
 less he were surrounded by this guard of mercenaries. 
 When that I was at length brought before the Coun- 
 cil, I was full closely questioned upon all points ; as 
 well those affecting mine adventure at Bermondsey, 
 as those regarding mine own lineage and quality. 
 But as I was now no longer under the wild rule of 
 sudden passion, I deemed it might be anything save 
 wisdom to insist on mine high estate and royal blood ; 
 yet from love unto truth I might not unsay what I 
 had already declared, the which was not slightly noted 
 by the Council, and methought I was the more harshly 
 dealt with, because I had too openly avowed myself the 
 issue of one who had worn England's crown : but, per- 
 adventure, this was only a phantasy of mine own. 
 Howbeit, as none of the charges against me did seem 
 to amount unto treason or to touch my life, the wily 
 Ilarry was minded rather to court imto his interest 
 such of the House of York and it's favourers as were 
 yet remaining. lie himself averred, that he sought 
 
 2 a
 
 354 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 not the death of obscure foes or silly and misled souls, 
 but used his rigour only to bring low and abate, the 
 high stomachs of such wild people as were bred up 
 in seditious factions and civil rebellions. Whereupon 
 it seemed, from mine aftei*-fate, as if himself and his 
 Council had resolved rather to suppress all knowledge 
 of me and let me slide out of memory, than presently 
 to persecute me ; for I was ordered to be removed for 
 a brief space until other witnesses should be sought for, 
 and other proofs brought up against me, when, perad- 
 venture, it was alway intended to keep me an unknown 
 captive, like my cousin Edward Plantagenet, and 
 vipon fitting occasion to put me to death. 
 
 When I did thus appear before Henry in his Council, 
 I looked upon him for the last time, and I had not be- 
 held him afore, since the fatal day when I wandered up 
 to his guard in the battle of Boswortli-field ; for I saw 
 him not at his Queens coronation. And, now, there 
 was, in truth, a great and sad alteration in him : for 
 whereas he was noted of all to liave a fair complexion, 
 and a countenance merry and smiling, methought his 
 visage looked pale and thin, and so worn by care and 
 pain, that I could not but pity him. His eyes were 
 already dim of sight, and the pangs of that mistaken 
 disease, in the fierce agonies whereof he departed, — 
 had even at this time come upon him, and marked 
 him with the furrows of a too-early old age. 
 
 From the chamber of Council I was forthwith re- 
 turned unto my prison-room, where he who had me 
 
 I 
 
 1
 
 THK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 355 
 
 in keeping, one Walter Bolte, admonished me to be of 
 good courage, seeing that it had fared no worse with 
 me ; for he said, had not the King been gracious, or 
 matters shewed somewhat in my favour, I had never 
 returned with such respite. The manner of this fel- 
 low was blunt but kindly, and though I deemed it not 
 altogether fitting for one of my sort to hold much con- 
 verse Avith a person of his degree, yet did I not scruple 
 to do so at this time; and I thereupon demanded of him, 
 wherefore he augured so favourably of my condition. 
 " Truly," answered he, "because it hath full rarely 
 chanced, that they Avho have not had money to make 
 large fine unto his Grace for the weal of his people, 
 have been retained for any second hearing before the 
 Council ; and I shrewdly guess that your purse is not 
 deep enow to buy such delay." 
 
 " Small profit," rejoined I, " is likely to arise from 
 that delay unto me, if my second trial, as you term it, 
 should be no better than the first : it may, perchance, 
 somewhat put off the hour of my fall, but I trow well 
 that 'twill scarcely prevent it." 
 
 "Nay," replied Walter, thereupon, "and 'twere 
 unreason to hope for it, so I prithee deem not that I 
 would so mislead you, as to cause you to think that 
 your life may be saved ; I meant but to shew that you 
 should take comfort in this pause." 
 
 " Alas !" did I exclaim then, as if sjieaking unto 
 myself, " my fate is but as I weened it must be ; and 
 at all events I must be deprived of life."
 
 3/30 THK LAST OF TIIK PI.ANTAGENETS. 
 
 " Yea, even so," responded the Gaoler, " as I judge." 
 
 "Why, then," demanded I, "would you give me 
 
 such false comfort, and wherefore do you deem that I 
 
 have cause for rejoicing, inasmuch the Council hath 
 
 not yet condemned me ?" 
 
 " Why, in chief," answered Walter, " because it 
 looked unto me that you are in much favour in hav- 
 ing space to make up your peace with Heaven, which 
 hath not oft been granted I promise you ; — and then, 
 because I thought even your death might be made 
 somewhat more supportable than the same hath been 
 in many other cases ; the which I can overname for 
 your edification and comfort, an you list to hear them." 
 "But, notwithstanding all," returned I thereunto, 
 "you still tell me that I must certainly die." 
 
 " Aye, truly," added Walter, as if in surprise at my 
 speech, " that did I ever think must be the end of all ; 
 nor doubted that you would do the like. For, to say 
 nought of your sacrilege, you could little expect that 
 the avowed son of the evil Duke of Gloucester would 
 be let live when so many mock princes have been 
 disturbing the realm by their lawless uprisings." 
 
 "Then in Heaven's name! thou quibbling knave," 
 questioned I, " what was the goodly abatement of 
 penalty you held out to me, wherein you deemed I 
 stood so fair, and whence I might hope so much?" 
 
 " Good words, JMaster Plantagenet," responded the 
 Avearisome Keeper, " good words, and I care not if I 
 tell you that too. And so you may first note, if, in- 
 
 I
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 357 
 
 deed you know it not already, that to die is what none 
 'scape, it being every man's lot ; argal, the evil or sor- 
 row, of death, in one condemned thereunto for his 
 misdoings, ariseth not from taking of his life, but 
 from the sad array and doleful circumstance of execu- 
 tion : perceive ye me herein ? Now, since your mat- 
 ters have taken so fair a turn, it may be that the King 
 in his great clemency, — he being convinced that you 
 are in truth of royal blood, — may put you to death in 
 the pleasant manner that one of your House was by 
 King Edward the Fourth, as I well remember, and 
 so drown you in a butt of good Sherris-sack !" 
 
 " And is that all the mercy," said I, " which I may 
 look for at your King's hand ?" 
 
 " All ! quotha," replied the amazed Walter Bolte, 
 " to see, now, how unthankful are some men ! But 
 Gramercy ! good friend, I pray thee tell no man that 
 I promised thee such goodly chance ! I spake but of 
 what might happen, an thy good luck continued ; yet 
 would I not have thee too cheerfully hope therefore." 
 
 "Truly," responded I, " 'tis not coveted by me, if 
 such be all the clemency I may look to." 
 
 " Why this is well," added Walter, " moderate de- 
 sires bring fewest disappointments, and thou mightest 
 at last look in vain for so princely and merry a death ; 
 yet still would I comfort thee with the knowledge 
 that, at the worst, thou wilt but lose thy life by a stout 
 cord and a high gibbet ; or that, in consideration of all 
 doubts, his Grace, ever merciful and most gentle, will
 
 358 TUK LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 shew thee the special favour of taking thine head by 
 a sharp axe and a sure headsman." 
 
 "Since it must be so, then," said I once more, "I 
 trust his Grace will not refuse me the attendance of 
 one of the good Friars from the IMonastery here at 
 Sheen, to take my confession and prepare me for death. 
 Therefore, if you will furnish me with the means, I 
 will eftsoons write this most reasonable request unto 
 the Privy-Council." 
 
 " Not by mine avisement or aid. Master Plantage- 
 net," rejoined the good Walter Bolte, as methought in 
 some alarm, "'tis ever best to let great folks have 
 their own way, and if the King and Council forget 
 you, why do you forget them, and so be even. And 
 for your soul, I warrant that you and I can guard it 
 without ever a barefooted Friar coming hither ; for 
 when such visitors come unto my guests, I have noted 
 that they tarry not long after with me, since the 
 Executioner is the Confessor's henchman : so I pray 
 you to think no more of a Friar." 
 
 Unto this wise counsel I assented, although I answer- 
 ed nothing thereunto, yet I saw well that he who spake 
 meant me fairly, and believed that his discourse, rude 
 as it was, would give me much comfort ; albeit he was 
 somewhat hardened by his office of gaoler, and had 
 learned to think full lightly of death upon the scaffold, 
 and even to speak of it with a leer and a jest. But, sooth 
 to say, I was ever ill-prepared to welcome such conso- 
 lation ; for though I would have braved Death in the
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 359 
 
 field, or have assayed to meet him cahnly in the cham- 
 ber, I did nevertheless shrink from encountering him 
 like a guilty miscreant. 
 
 And such was the ordinary course of my Keeper's 
 converse during mine imprisonment at Sheen ; for, 
 like many persons of his condition, he was ever most 
 ready to recognise the royal grace and forbearance, 
 when it was shewn in the fashion I have here re- 
 counted. Howbeit, his wonder did much increase, 
 when all that year passed away and I still remained 
 unpersecuted, and even uimoted, by Henry and his 
 Council, saving that they yet held me a close prisoner. 
 Farther than this, also, the year 1506 came on, and, 
 peradventure, would, unto me, have glided away like 
 the foregoing, in sad captivity and that deferred hope 
 which maketh the heart sick, — when, in the very be- 
 ginning thereof, a strange release was wondrously pro- 
 vided for me, and was quicker in approach than I 
 could either have hoped or trusted. 
 
 It was, then, in the night-season of JMonday, the 
 fifth day of January, whilst the bell for Lauds was 
 sounding forth from the Convent of Obslervant- Friars 
 adjoining unto tlie Palace, that, on a sudden, the 
 slow and heavy toll was changed into a loud and 
 hurried note of alarm ; and the stillness of that silent 
 spot was broken by loud and repeated shouts of 
 " Fire in the King's lodgings !"* Full narrow was the 
 
 * Some notice of this fire is recorded in Stow's Chronicle.
 
 360 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 space tVom the lofty window of my chamber, yet as I 
 watched at it, I did at length behold how the devour- 
 ing element came fiercely on, triumphing over state- 
 chamber and gallery, as they were spread out both 
 above and beneatli the turret wherein I was prisoned, 
 whereunto it was full quickly approacliing. At length 
 the blaze from beneath mounted upwards unto my 
 window, and was borne inward by the night-blast 
 with divers pieces of burning timber ; the like being 
 also cast upon the roof of my tower, which I deemed 
 would forthwith set fire unto the rafters thereof: for 
 it seemed to have been ordained that the Last of the 
 Plantagenets should have somewhat of a royal death, 
 by perishing in the flames of a burning Palace ! 
 
 The great and sudden hazard wherein this mis- 
 chance placed me, caused me to call loudly upon my 
 Keeper, who lodged in a chamber adjoining unto 
 mine own ; but no answer came, even though I re- 
 peated my call still more loudly. I then shook my door, 
 and, much to mine amaze, found it unfastened ; 
 whereupon, passing into the Keeper's room, I saw 
 that it was empty and the door thereof left open, as if 
 he had hastily quitted it. Well I ween, that the de- 
 sire of escape and the hope of liberty did now glance 
 full brightly over my mind, but anon I thought upon 
 the many doubts attending the same ; as finding my 
 way unchallenged through the winding passages and 
 many chambers of the Palace, and then of avoiding 
 pursuit either by land or water, the which seemed 
 
 I 
 I
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 3()1 
 
 unto me almost impossible. Howbeit, I resolved at 
 all hazards to make the essay, and, musing on my 
 course, passed through a portal in my prison-turret, 
 which suddenly brought me upon certain leads above 
 the chambers that were on fire. Whilst 1 was search^ 
 ing around me for another way from that place, much 
 doubting how to proceed, I felt one forcibly grasp 
 mine arm, and say, in a low and rude voice, " Hah ! 
 this is well. Master Plantagenet, we meet in good 
 hour for both of us ; though, perchance, somewhat 
 inopportunely in stopping your course hence." 
 
 " Had my Keeper been in his own place," was 
 mine answer, " I had not been here, and even now 
 I left not my chamber until 'twas too hot to lodge 
 longer in, as you may behold, nor until I had more 
 than once vainly summoned the Gaoler. The door 
 opened beneath my grasp as I shook it, I wandered 
 here, " 
 
 "And would eftsoons have strayed out yonder," 
 interrupted the Soldier, whom I saw by the light of 
 the flames to be no other than the fierce and fraudful 
 Bernard Schalken, looking upon me with a visage of 
 mucli scoffing and violence ; " howbeit, 'tis not unto 
 me that thou must answer for tliy purposed escape. 
 Nay, farther, only reply straightly and truly to that 
 which I demand, and I will aid thee far better than 
 thou canst aid thyself. But mark me, this is our last 
 meeting, I owe you now a shrewd turn for making me 
 known at Bermondsey, and, by the Maker of us both, I
 
 362 THE LA;<X OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 will now have either my will of thee or my revenge !" 
 " Thy revenge !" exclaimed I in a fearless voice, 
 " and for what ? since in nought was I ever thine 
 enemy, albeit thou hast proved thyself to be such 
 both unto me and many others, being altogether void 
 of good faith. But deem me not still a stripling, 
 Bernard Schalken, I fear thee not ; and neither thy 
 will nor thy revenge, — aiding mine escape, nor en- 
 suring my present death, shall cause me to do aught 
 of dishonour to secure or to avoid them." 
 
 " Think better of it, comrade," thereunto answered 
 Bernard in a scoffing and malicious voice, " and 'twill 
 be for your most 'vantage, I promise thee. But to 
 be as bold and brief as thyself, thus stands my desire- 
 In the reign of thy father I was a soldier in his guard, 
 and after became the follower of Sir James Tyrrell 
 and Sir Gilbert De iMountford, as you wot. How 
 they employed me, 'tis now no time to repeat, and it 
 skills not for thee to know ; but the haughty Lord 
 Lovel was then in the height of his pride and power : 
 he loved to check and overbear the soldiers for little 
 cause, and once, in the wars, upon some slight matter 
 of spoil which I had seized on, he called me ' coward 
 plunderer,' and struck me unto the ground ! I swore 
 at fitting season to wash this out with his blood, for 
 he was no leader of mine; but then came the fight at 
 Bosworth, which scattered the York host, and he 
 betook him unto France. When he again came hither 
 with Lambert Simnell, I was a soldier under King 
 
 1 
 
 1
 
 THE LAST OV TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 363 
 
 Henry, but in the battle of Stoke my station was 
 against the power of IMartin Schwartz, and I missed 
 Lovel by his flight across the Trent. Had I but 
 known of his retreat there, he should have died, had 
 he owned a thousand lives ; but I well deemed he 
 was drowned, as others did, until Israel was taken 
 secretly wandering about IMinster-Lovel and baffled 
 all questions and tortures to get from him the name 
 and retreat of the fugitive. Then didst thou suddenly 
 appear in the state-chamber, which assured me that 
 one was in hiding there, and that it was Lovel him- 
 self!" 
 
 " Thanks to St. Mary !" responded I then, " I 
 'scaped from your poAver by an open window and a 
 swift foot, albeit I was only a stripling. But bethink 
 you, ill-minded man, that eighteen years have passed 
 since that hour ; and had Lord Lovel been indeed 
 liidden there, he must long since have been but life- 
 less dust." 
 
 " That may well be," replied the fierce Bernard, 
 " yet his very dust is to me so hateful, that it would 
 joy me to wreak my vowed vengeance even upon that ; 
 and to spurn the proud noble as he did the oppress- 
 ed soldier ; beside claiming the reward which is still 
 offered for him alive or dead. And now, Plantagenet, 
 look at that flaming gulf beneath thee, and bethink thee 
 of the fearful death which it offers. Consent to guide 
 me unto the haughty Lovel's retreat or sepulchre, 
 I care not which, and, by all that men call holy or
 
 364 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 adore, I will set thee free from prison ! Refuse me 
 this, and, by the Powers of Darkness ! I will forth- 
 with hurl thee from the battlements ! — Nay, think 
 not to call upon thy Keeper, for all in the Palace are 
 too intent on saving body and goods to hear thee : 
 and should thy corse be found. King Henry will reck 
 but little so thou art dead ; whilst all will deem thou 
 hast but fallen over in seeking to escape. Once more, 
 then, make thy decision." 
 
 " Never," then exclaimed I firmly, " will I take 
 my life on such degrading terms, even though the 
 headsman's axe fell as I spake the word ! And never 
 will I disclose the pious Lord Level's holy place of 
 rest unto one, who goeth with fiendish malice to feast 
 upon the dead !" 
 
 " Then presently commit thy soul to God !" an- 
 swered Bernard, thereupon seizing me with a mighty 
 grasp, and fixing one foot half over the edge of the 
 battlements. I now also put forth my strength to 
 resist him, and, albeit I shuddered at the very thought 
 of giving him unto the fearful death whereto he had 
 doomed me, yet did I struggle to get free from him. 
 We grappled, therefore, together for some short 
 space, but whilst he was straining his huge frame to 
 raise me unto the battlements, and stoutly I bent me 
 backwards therefrom, cei'tain of the stones trembled 
 and gave way beneath his feet, mine own garment rent 
 at the same moment, and, loosing lois hold, he reeled 
 over with a mighty fall into the flaming gallery ! 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 THE LAST £)F THE PI.ANTAGENETS. 365 
 
 Heartsick and full of horror at this evil end of a 
 most evil Soldier, I seemed to lose all sense of mine 
 own condition, and all desire of making mine escape ; 
 whereupon I wandered back again unto the outer cham- 
 ber, enwrapped in solemn thought, and there awaited 
 the return of my Keeper, regardless of all danger 
 around me. The fire was quenched towards morning, 
 when Walter Bolte came back, and once more made 
 me close prisoner, saying that my lodgings were in no 
 hazard from the flames. About noon-tide he did again 
 return unto me, with a Soldier bearing a sharp and 
 heavy sword, such as headsmen are sometimes wont 
 to use upon the scaffold. The sound of their ap- 
 proach brake up my musings, and, on beholding 
 them, strange thoughts came over my mind ; since 
 I deemed that mine attempted escape had been dis- 
 covered, and that in the Soldier I beheld mine execu- 
 tioner. For I had heard of Kings who held it not 
 unlaAvful, secretly to murther such of their prisoned 
 foes as they listed not to bring to farther trial or open 
 destruction ; and it seemed full likely that such a fate 
 was now purposed for me. I Avill not deny that I 
 felt some dread hcreat; for albeit I should thus 'scape 
 the dishonour of dying on a public scaffold, yet to 
 be hurried from life in a moment and in prison, by 
 the slaughtering liands of a secret minister of ven- 
 geance, seemed unto me to have a visage of yet 
 greater horror. 
 
 The Keeper's first address unto me was to follow
 
 36(5 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 him quickly, and hold silence in all I did, whilst he 
 farther ordered the Soldier with the heavy sword to 
 close up behind me ; and, from the blunt and dark 
 maimer of his speech and action, I felt me assured that 
 I was going forthwith unto my death : wliereupon I 
 advanced slowly, at the same time demanding of him 
 whither I was about to go. 
 
 " What matter can that be of thine ?" answered he, 
 with his wonted jest, " come away and keep not thy 
 betters waiting ; dost thou fear being set at liberty by 
 following me ?" 
 
 " No friend," replied I, " in truth ; but last night's 
 fire had nearly done that for me without any other 
 aid." 
 
 " Yea," responded the Keeper, " there speakest thou 
 full shrewdly ; and because the King's lodging is 
 burned, with rare beds, 'broidered carpets, velvet cur- 
 tains, and royal furniture, beside much of the Palace, 
 and certain soldiers, — as thou art one of his Highness's 
 most precious things in this place, he hath resolved 
 to send thee out of farther hazard to be kept with his 
 other jewels in the Tower. And so follow me forth, 
 and keep silence the whilst. — But hold thee. Master," 
 — continued Walter Bolte, suddenly stopping in his 
 course, — ^" as you may be noted in your own clothes, 
 I am willed to see you vested in this Friar's habit, 
 wherein you must make the journey." 
 
 Therewith he produced the gown and cowl of a 
 Benedictine IMonk, the which I })ut on, lialf lament-
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 3G7 
 
 ing within myself that it had not been my fortune 
 always to wear the like ; and so, relieved from the 
 thought of instant execution, I followed my conductor : 
 not because I was well content to do so, but because 
 I thought that my present lot could be but little 
 worsted, saving by death ; and I also saw that if such 
 were indeed intended, I could in no wise fly therefrom 
 but must perforce yield unto it. 
 
 The Keeper and certain guards then led me down 
 unto the river-side, and entered with me into a barge 
 with two watermen ; whereupon we launched away on 
 the broad river of Thames, and drew nigh unto the an- 
 cient Bridge of London when a misty even was spread- 
 ing it's thickest mantle over land and water. I deem- 
 ed myself now as one condemned, in being thus sent 
 unto the Tower ; with which sad thought, the horrible 
 remembrance of Bernard's death was ever present unto 
 my mind, and, thus disquieted, I had taken little note 
 of our near approach unto my dreaded harbour, or of 
 the voyage thither. Whether it were by reason of the 
 fore-named darkness, or the false and flitting lights 
 dimly seen through it, in divers chambers of the houses 
 which do overhang that wondrous Bridge, or from 
 misgovernance of our vessel, — I know not ; but when 
 it entered that current which rushes with such loud 
 noise and mighty speed through the arches, our barge 
 was dashed against the oaken piles tliereof with sud- 
 den and fearful fury, and whelmed in an instant, cast- 
 ing those on board into the river. The forms of all my
 
 368 THE LAST OF THE I'LANTAGENETS. 
 
 companions were speedily lost unto me in the thick 
 darkness of that evening, and their cries in the roar- 
 ing and pouring of the wild surges, which carried 
 along the shattered boat and hapless crew at fiercest 
 speed down the tide, and I wot they were never more 
 beheld of man ! 
 
 For mine own part, I silently resigned my soul 
 unto God, who could still hear me amidst the loudest 
 clamour of the waters ; but as I was hurried through 
 the narrow arch, my course was full suddenly and 
 wondrously stopped, by mine habit catching against 
 some iron in the starling. I clung fast thereunto, 
 and, at length, mounted upon it, remaining there 
 until certain cords were let down from the Bridge 
 above to aid mine escape thence ; and when I learned 
 that there was now no other than myself to save, I 
 gave hearty thanks to Heaven for mine own preser- 
 vation, and deemed that I once more beheld future 
 liberty, arising out of that which seemed no other than 
 present and certain death.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A SECOND EXILE, AND AN INVITATION AND RETREAT 
 INTO SANCTUARY. 
 
 Adieu ! Adieu ! my native shore 
 
 Fades o'er the waters blue ; 
 The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 
 
 And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
 Yon sun that sets upon tlie sea 
 
 We follow in his flight ; 
 Farewell awhile to him and thee. 
 
 My Native Land — Good Night ! 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 They appointed an eloquent and learned Friar to preach a Sermon of 
 
 Contempt of the World, and of the happiness and benefit of a quiet and con- 
 templative life ; which the Friar did most affectionately. After which Ser- 
 mon, the Emperor took occasion to declare oi)enly, that the Preacher had 
 begotten in him a resolution to lay down his dignities, forsake the woild, and 
 betake himself to a monastic life. 
 
 IzAAK Wai, ton's Life of Gi;orge Herbert. 
 
 Albeit I had been thus most wondrously protected 
 from the fearful chances of dying by long imprison- 
 ment, fire, water, or the hand of the executioner, and 
 thus seemed to be again at liberty, I did still know 
 well, that, whilst Harry Tudor lived, my life was 
 not yet safe in this realm ; but that I must speedily 
 haste me beyond the seas, though I wist not how to 
 
 2 B
 
 370 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 do it, having but little money to carry me hence. 
 As all my companions were drowned when the barge 
 was overwhelmed in the wild current, and as I had cast 
 from me my Friar's habit when I got me on the star- 
 ling, — that, being afterward found, it might be truly 
 thought that I had met the like fate, — I might thus 
 give what report I would of myself, so that truth were 
 not too greatly outraged in seeking for safety. There- 
 fore I recounted how that I had lain long space at 
 Sheen, confined by an evil distemper, and that I was 
 now coming thence in hope of entertainment either 
 abroad or on the seas, with a certain company, when 
 our boatmen, through misgovernance of the vessel or 
 darkness of the night, dashed it against the Bridge, as 
 it was already known. 
 
 The dwelling whereto they who drew me up led 
 me to dry my raiment, I soon quitted with thanks, 
 and forthwith wandered unto an Inn near the Bridge, 
 much frequented by shipmen, of the sign of the Great 
 Henry ; in memory of the vast ship of war so called, 
 built for Harry Tudor, and the first royal barque of that 
 kind which did ever float out of an English harbour. 
 At this place, therefore, did I find divers mariners met 
 together, discoursing on their voyage unto Bristol, the 
 which they should begin with the tide that would 
 presently flow, whence they were forthwith to sail in 
 search of new countries. I did soon find that they 
 were the Captain, and some of the company, of the 
 good ship Dominus Fohiscum, belonging unto Hugh
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. SJl 
 
 Eliot and Thomas Ashurst, Merchants of Bristol, and 
 Johannes and Gonzales Fernandez, Portuguese, unto 
 whom a patent had been granted for making disco- 
 veries upon the seas.* Upon hearing that I was look- 
 ing for entertainment, the Captain, one Luigi Ramusio, 
 who was also a Portingale, demanded if I would take 
 service with them to see unknown lands for some three 
 years or so, upon fair terms; adding withal, that I 
 should forthwith declare mine intent, for that the tide 
 was fast making, the wind blew fairly for sailing, and 
 that his barque, which lay beside the Bridge, was even 
 then ready to depart. 
 
 It may be well thought that I desired nothing bet- 
 ter than such an offer, and that it was soon a stricken 
 bargain betwixt us; for as to mine own land, it had once 
 more become my fiercest enemy, and the Lady Bride 
 was now lost unto me past all hope of recovery, or 
 even of beholding again. iMoreover, my strength was 
 decayed and my soul had become full sad from long 
 imprisonment, beside being dismayed and affrighted 
 at the late fearful deaths of Bernard Schalken, my 
 Keeper, and the guards ; and I did earnestly hope to 
 lose the thought of these things in distant climes, 
 wherein I might also look to gain new life, and, above 
 all, liberty. 
 
 I do not question, but that they who shall hereafter 
 
 " This instrument is printed in Rymer's Foedera, vol. xiii. 
 p. 37, and is dated December !)th, 1.502.
 
 372 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 read over this my story, will picture unto themselves, 
 and that without my shewing, the doubts and fears 
 which I did endure, even after we got unto Bristol, 
 until our barque was made ready for sea ; lest, perad- 
 venture, I might be heard of, traced thither, and so 
 carried back unto the Tower, where, in brief space, I 
 should no doubt have lost mine head. Howbeit, as 
 God would have it, my death was deemed certain, 
 and as I presently altered my garb and figure to look 
 as much as I might like a shipman, and kept me close 
 unto my vessel, I 'scaped questioning until our barque 
 was all appointed for sailing. This was some time 
 about the end of March; and so, having all confessed 
 and received the Sacrament by command of our Cap- 
 tain, we did at length set our courses unto sea and 
 depart. It Avere full vain to think of shewing in this 
 place, the great and wondrous histories of our voyages; 
 both because they be all too long to write herein, and 
 also because that divers, of great skill in the IMariner's 
 Art, have penned most excellent accounts thereof, 
 what time the brave Christopher Columbus and Sebas- 
 tian Cabot v.'ent unto the same parts as we. I will, 
 therefore, note only, that in my several voyages I saw 
 many strange things and countries, in going unto the 
 East and West Indies, into the South Seas, and round 
 by the coasts on the North side of America, for dis- 
 covering of new lands, or finding out a North- West 
 passage thereunto. We sailed, moreover, through the 
 great North Seas, wherein we saw the mighty Morses,
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 373 
 
 which be killed with great hazard for their oil ; and 
 even in the month of hot July, met with monstrous 
 hills of ice swimming on the waves ; and beheld a land, 
 which, at this season, hath, as it were, all daylight. 
 
 And such was mine employ until the year of Grace 
 1509, when we were returning with good success from 
 a voyage round by the East Sea, or Sound of Den- 
 mark ; and drew fairly nigh unto the coast of Eng- 
 land, where the Northern Ocean washes the shores of 
 Norfolk, it being our purpose to enter the river and 
 harbour of Wells. The even ere we should have 
 reached thereunto, was fair and pleasant, though, as 
 divers of us thought, not without tokens of storm ; 
 yet were the shipmen full glad, and spent the time in 
 merriment, even as the swan singeth before his death, 
 not watching that most deceitful coast. Anon the 
 wind arose, and blew vehemently from the North-at- 
 East, bringing withal rain and thick mist, so that we 
 might not discern land, to put in right with the ha- 
 ven, nor see a cable's length before us through the 
 night. In the morning Ave found ourselves on flats 
 and shifting sands, whereupon we let the ship drive 
 unto the wind ; but, beating up and down, sometimes 
 in shallows, and sometimes in deep water, our barque 
 at last struck a-ground, and soon after had her stern- 
 parts all beaten in pieces ! — It was a most heavy and 
 grievous damage, thus to lose, as it were at one blow, 
 our tall ship, freighted with great provision, gathered 
 with much care, long time, and difficulty, and spe-
 
 374 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 cially the loss of our men to the number of ahnost an 
 hundred souls. Of this our crew, there was no one 
 who looked more resolvedly unto death than did the 
 Captain, for when all hope was past, of recovering the 
 ship, and men began to give over and save them- 
 selves, he would not consent to fly therefrom, but be- 
 took him unto the highest deck, and I placed myself 
 beside him, where we both commended ourselves 
 unto God ! How long he lived after I know not, for 
 the rushing sea soon made all level ; and, thereby be- 
 reft of my senses, I floated unto the shore of Wells 
 upon a broken piece of the vessel. 
 
 After this most hapless manner did I again get me 
 unto my native England, where divers dwellers upon 
 the coast received us with much charity. I learned, 
 moreover, what were unto me good tidings, namely, 
 that Henry of Lancaster had died some three months 
 past ; before which, in the pangs of death, he had hea- 
 vily bethought him of his sins, and did what he might 
 to blot them out by alms, prayers, and many bitter 
 tears, as well as some endeavour at restitution unto 
 such as he had oppressed. In especial, he passed a 
 full remission towards all who were in any jeopardy 
 from his laws, for things formerly done, the which 
 made me again safe in England, even should any re- 
 member me ; but I wot well that every year was now 
 making great change in my visage, beside that it was 
 also much altered by my travels in distant countries. 
 The realm was at this time rejoicing in having ex- 
 
 I
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 375 
 
 changed the gloomy and vigorous sway of the first 
 Harry Tudor, for the stately and merry governance 
 of his young and lusty son, now called King Henry 
 VIII. ; who was a Prince of good person, and much 
 given to costly disports and pageants, albeit he was 
 fairly read and wondrous subtle in school-divinity. 
 Howbeit, in my mind all was now a sad and dreary 
 waste ; for that I was bereft of every friend or compa- 
 nion, and stood, as it were, alone in a merry world: yet, 
 even in that most mournful hour, was I upheld by the 
 merciful Providence of God ; for He, without whose 
 will not even a sparrow falleth, kept me from despair, 
 and had already provided a retreat for my wearied 
 body, and consolation for my sorrowful heart. 
 
 Having now received such aid as the poor inhabit- 
 ants of Wells were able to bestow upon us, I wan- 
 dered alone, and in gloomy mood, some five miles far- 
 ther towards the Town of Walsingham, it now being 
 Sunday, the 22nd of July, and the Feast of St. JMary 
 Magdalene, about one of the clock after noon ; what 
 time the Abbey-bell had left calling together the peo- 
 ple, to hear a sermon out of the Word of God. It is all 
 but too seldom that men be found to crowd together 
 imto such holy exhortations, but now there were full 
 many gathered in the nave of St. Mary's Church, to 
 hear a certain Friar preach from the stone pulpit 
 which yet standeth in the great Western window. 
 Yet of this congregation, there were divers who came 
 and ordered them in that most irreverent wise, wliich
 
 376 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 I remember me was once full common in the Churches 
 of this realm. For some would come to shew their 
 gay attire, and;, therefore^ strutted up and down even 
 whiles the holy service was being said ; others would 
 meet in the porches, during IMatins, and babble of 
 law-pleadings and causes, bargains, and the like; 
 and another sort would bring with them their spar- 
 hawks and falcons, or dogs in lines and leashes : so 
 that the whole Church and the more pious sort there- 
 in, would be all disquieted with the barking of the 
 hounds, ringing of the hawks' bells and chains, 
 and fluttering of their M'ings; beside the clatter of 
 such as were wont to wander about before the altars 
 in their slippers, and most persons did ever wear 
 their bonnets.* 
 
 The Friar who was now to preach, was called Bro- 
 ther Chrysostom, because of his sweet and holy 
 eloquence, which brought much people to hear him ; 
 and it was told me that on this day he was to discourse 
 of the life and pious retirement of St. Mary Magda- 
 lene, and of Contempt of the World. He was an aged 
 man at the time whereof I write, and is now gone 
 unto his rest and his reward, before evil days came 
 upon his House : but, as divers of his Sermons were 
 long kept in the Library-room of Walsingham Abbey, 
 
 * These highly irreverent customs in Churches, are also de- 
 scribed in a very curious and interesting manner in Alexander 
 Barclay's Shi]) of Fools.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 377 
 
 I can yet set down a part of that which I did now 
 hear. 
 
 The pious Monk first told us of the history of St. 
 Mary Magdalene, as collected out of divers good and 
 ancient authors ; shewing her lineage and honourable 
 birth of Syrus and Eucaria at Hierusalem ; her dwell- 
 ing at the Castle of iMagdalene nigh unto Nairn City, 
 whence she took her surname ; her life of sin, until 
 her sister Martha persuaded her to go and hear one of 
 the sermons of Our Saviour Christ ; and her sudden 
 and mighty conversion, by the wondrous words of 
 Him who spake as never man spake. Then did he 
 recount how she shewed her repentance by anointing 
 His feet, in the House of Simon the Pharisee ; how 
 she did thereupon receive the remission of all her sins, 
 both « poena, et a culpa, from the guilt and the penance : 
 how she ever after desired to be much at the feet of 
 Christ, never looking any other man in the face ; and 
 how, after His Passion, she some time dwelt with the 
 Virgin Mary. Moreover he instructed us, how some 
 authors have written that, wlien the Gentiles perse- 
 cuted the Christians, IMary IMagdalene, her sister 
 JMartha, and tlieir brother Lazarus, with Maximianus 
 the disciple, and Gelidonius the blind man whom 
 Christ had healed with clay put upon his eyes, Mar- 
 cella, the hand-maiden of Martha, and many others 
 of the true Faith, were put into an old barque, without 
 oars or sails, and so launched forth to sea that they 
 might be drowned. Howbeit, by the aid of God,
 
 378 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 they arrived safely at Marseilles in France, and con- 
 verted all that Province unto Christ ; St. Lazarvis 
 being made Bishop of that City, and JMaximianus 
 Bishop of another called Aquius. For St. IMary 
 IMagdalene, she also converted many souls unto God, 
 and then retired herself unto a cave in the deserts, 
 where she led a solitary life for some thirty years, her 
 food being herbs and roots ; and in that place Avould 
 she oft-times hear celestial harmony, being lifted up 
 by angels seven times in the day and night, two cubits 
 from the ground. 
 
 The good ]Monk had failed not, throughout all his 
 Discourse, to shew us that, as these things were writ- 
 ten for our instruction, there belonged unto them a 
 mystical signification as well as a natural one ; and 
 Avhen lie arrived at the retirement of St. INIary into 
 the deserts, he said as followeth. — " My dear Bre- 
 thren, I come now to shew unto you the benefits of a 
 holy retreat from the world, and an intercourse with 
 God. He who standeth upon a high and steadfast rock 
 in the raging tempest, may look out unto the stormy 
 sea and yet fear nothing of the strife of the wild 
 waters whereon he gazeth. And herein I would have 
 you to note, the safe and happy condition of such as 
 have fled from the world, and are retreated unto, and 
 resting upon, the Rock Christ; with the pity with 
 which they can look abroad upon the fierce turmoils 
 around thera. We know that this life is a life of pain 
 and labour, wherefore it is that rest and refection be so
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 379 
 
 sweet unto men. But what, I pray you, is the rest or 
 the refection of this world, when compared with that 
 which Our Lord offereth in Himself in the Gospel ? 
 when He saith, ' Venite ad me, oinnes qui laboratis et 
 onerati estis, et Ego rejiciam vos,' Come unto Me, all 
 who do labour, and ye that be heavily laden, and 
 I will refresh you. And this is nothing else than 
 coming out of tlie world into His Church or service ; 
 because whilst we be engaged with the world, we 
 cannot enjoy the sweetness of an holy life, nor cast 
 from us the cares under which Ave laboui*, nor the 
 sins wherewith w^e be so heavily laden. 
 
 " And now, my dear Brethren, I do earnestly ex- 
 hort and invite you all, to set as lightly by this world 
 as you may, to the end that at last you may entirely 
 quit it without sorrow. But for such of you as have 
 few, or no ties, to hold you unto it ; who have found 
 in it nought but disappointments, enemies, and per- 
 secutions, whereof ye may well be weary ; or have 
 committed in it nought but sins, wherewith ye are 
 indeed heavily laden ; — you do I charge at once to 
 come out of it, unto the blessed rest and refection of 
 Christ in solitude, where you shall be freed from all 
 your sorrows. And think not that you give up any 
 thing herein ; since the life whereto I invite you is 
 full of peace and heavenly rest. The holy St. Austin 
 saith, in his book of Confessions, ' Oh ! you who doat 
 on this world, for what victory do you fight? your 
 hopes can be crowned with no greater guerdon than
 
 380 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 the world, and what is that but a brittle thing full of 
 dangers, Avherein we travel from lesser unto greater 
 perils ? so let all it's vain, light, momentary, glory 
 perish with it, and let us be conversant with more 
 eternal things.' And to effect this, there is no course 
 like retirement, whereof the good Abbot Gersenus 
 sheweth the benefits, in his first book of the Imita- 
 tion of Our Lord, when he saith what spiritual ex- 
 cellence belonged unto the Holy Fathers of old, 
 who became aliens unto the world, but the adopted 
 sons and intimate friends of God. They resigned 
 riches, dignities, honours, friends, and kindred, desir- 
 ing to have neither right nor part in worldly matters, 
 leading their rigorous and solitary lives in the de- 
 serts ; where, albeit they laboured hard, prayed and 
 fasted much, rested little, and had many fierce con- 
 flicts with the Enemy himself, they did yet enjoy 
 spiritual repose, refection, and triumph. But we 
 invite you not unto such trials as these, which, per- 
 cliance men may not now endure. We call you not 
 vmto the haunted ruins of St. Anthony, the broken 
 pillar of St. Simon, the sea-beaten cavern of St. Re- 
 gulus, the desert-den of St. Hierome, the open wilder- 
 ness of the Baptist, or the shelterless estate of Our 
 Lord Himself, seeing that divers fair dwellings be now 
 edified for such as list to live an holy retired life, and 
 give themselves unto God, after their example, sheAv- 
 ing as it were unto Heaven an easier and more excel- 
 lent way.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 381 
 
 " Come then, my dear unfortunate axid penitent 
 Brethren, quit the world, enter into this holy rest, 
 embrace at once this life of perfection, and so cast 
 away both your sins and your sorrows. As the holy 
 St. Chrysostom saith in his Epistles, ' Contemn 
 riches, and thus shalt thou be rich ; contemn glory, 
 and thou shalt be glorious ; contemn injuries, and. 
 thou shalt be a conqueror ; contemn rest, and thou 
 shalt find repose ; contemn earth, — and thou shalt 
 gain Heaven ! ' " 
 
 Thus ended the Sermon of Brother Chrysostom, 
 whereupon his hearers hastily crowded out of the 
 Church, much praising his passing sweet discourse ; 
 albeit, peradventure, none purposed to amend his life 
 thereby, or to leave the delights of the Avorld that he 
 might give himself unto prayer, meditation, and soli- 
 tude. But, for mine own part, I still remained stand- 
 ing in the midst of the nave of St. Mary's Church, 
 musing on the retirement whereof the Preacher had 
 spoken; thinking how long since it had been em- 
 braced and enjoyed by the Lady Bride, and deeming 
 that it was well befitting unto me in my present sail 
 estate ; the which brought tears into mine eyes, even 
 in spite of mine endeavours to restrain them. Whilst 
 thus absorbed in sorrow, 1 remembered not that those 
 around me might be led to note, and, perchance, to 
 scoff, at mine affliction ; deeming that as I marked 
 not who stood near me or passed me by, so I migJit 
 remain unmarked of all others.
 
 382 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 But wliilst I was thus sadly musing, the voice of 
 one behind me thus suddenly brake upon mine ear. 
 " Pax vobiscum, my son ; dost thou seek aught in the 
 Abbey, or hast thou not marked that the people have 
 departed, seeing that the holy service is ended?" 
 Upon which salutation I turned me, and, beholding 
 the aged INIonk who had been preaching, I replied 
 " Truly, good Father, I was so lost in contemplating 
 your fervent invitations unto a holy retirement, with 
 mine own sorrows and present forloi-n condition, that 
 I wist not that I stood here alone. Vale, Pater Reve- 
 rendissime, I will forthwith retire." 
 
 But ere I might turn from him, the good Father 
 Chrysostom laid his hand upon my garment, saying, 
 *' And wherefore weepest thou, ray son ? and why is 
 thy heart thus sorrowful ? bethink thee that to la- 
 ment as those who have no hope, is both idle and 
 sinful in such as are the heirs of immortal happiness ; 
 seeing that this life is but very brief, and that the un- 
 changeable and eternal Kingdom of God is at hand." 
 
 Both the words of this speech and the voice of him 
 who addressed me, fell with refreshing sweetness 
 upon my woe- worn soul : like as the evening-dew 
 falleth upon the fainting frame of him, who hath tra- 
 velled over the deserts through the scorching noon- 
 tide. I replied, then, by saying that, from the loss 
 of all mine earthly friends and the overthrow of all 
 my worldly hopes, I well knew the shortness and 
 micertainty of life, and that I did indeed desire to be
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 383 
 
 rid thereof and enter upon a better. But that as I must 
 still say with holy Job^, that I would await my time 
 until my change come, so, until that hour arrived, to 
 feel and to bemoan sorrow was only the portion of 
 man, whatever were his future hopes : even as the 
 bravest and stoutest barque was still tossed iipon the 
 billows, though her pilot were ever so skilful and her 
 haven full in sight. 
 
 " Yea," answered the INIonk, " that may well be, 
 seeing that the wood and metal whereof ships be 
 made, are alway subject unto the laws of this mate- 
 rial world ; and so must rise and sink as the waters 
 swell and fall, and drive before the winds as they do 
 change. But I ween that it is full different with the 
 immortal mind of man, for that being a spark from 
 God's own Spirit, may still rise above the created 
 things of this visible world ; whilst the hopes 
 which Faith brings will sustain the Christian hero 
 under all present evils, by the glorious prospect 
 which she openeth to him of future joy." 
 
 I assented unto his kind and holy admonitions, and, 
 as my spirit grew somewhat lightened thereby, we 
 passed towards the cloister, having fallen into a con- 
 ference which lasted some space ; for the good Father 
 Chrysostom had so won upon me with his discourse 
 and gentle manners, that I told him such part of my 
 sorrowful life as I best might with prudence disclose, 
 saying, that I was the son of a great Noble who was 
 slain at Bosworth Field. On hearing this, whilst he
 
 384 THE LAST OF TIIK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 censured me like some grave Saint for yielding unto 
 despair, he wept as a man over my sufferings ; adding 
 thereunto, " Son of sorrow, as I may with truth call 
 thee, thy woes have indeed been heavy, yet forget 
 not the Word of the Lord which thou hast this day 
 heard ; and since thou hast been thus evil-intreated 
 by the world, at once abandon it and forthwith hasten 
 unto God for rest." 
 
 "And whither, good Father," demanded I, "whi- 
 ther shall I retreat ? I trow well that the world hath 
 small charms for me, so that I would be rid of it by 
 any lawful means ; and my most fervent hope is to 
 devote me hereafter unto the cloister." 
 
 " If such," responded the JMonk, " be in truth thy 
 sincere and steadfast wish, on proof thereof, I would 
 gladly give my poor aid to make thee known unto 
 the Lord Prior of this Abbey, William Lowth, and 
 the Brethren of Our Lady of Walsingham. So that 
 thou mayest shelter thee at once under the covering 
 wings of the Church ; and, being so admitted, become 
 more and more estranged fronn suffering and from 
 sin. Yet let me add, good brother, that it is no 
 small thing to dwell in monasteries blameless and 
 free from reproach ; for, as St. Anselm well noteth, 
 'tis not the habit or tonsure which maketh the monk, 
 but a change of heart and a mortification of the pas- 
 sions. But full happy is he, as the- Abbot Gersenus 
 saith, who in this state hath passed his days in inno- 
 cency and closed them with success !"
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENKTS. 385 
 
 I gave him hearty thanks for his offer and admoni- 
 tions, most gladly accepting of the same, telling him 
 that I had been bred in a Benedictine Monastery, and 
 was therefore somewhat acquainted with the rule of 
 a conventual life ; and so, after the wonted trials, 
 was I safely entered as a Convert, and afterwards as 
 a Canon, in the Abbey of Walsingham, by the name 
 of Brother Richardus of Ely. 
 
 I may never forget, albeit the remains of the good 
 Chrysostom have long since mouldered away, the 
 spiritual consolation which God willed that I should 
 ever find in him, but specially in his words at this 
 time. They seemed to give unto my famished and en- 
 feebled spirit, the succour which the Hebrews found 
 in the manna, that was wondrously rained around 
 their camp : whilst his example seemed unto me like 
 a voice in the desert, or the pillars of cloud and fire, 
 to guide me through the wilderness of this world. 
 Before becoming a Brother of his Abbey, the desires 
 which I had heretofore formed of a monastic life 
 often came back unto my memory, and I saw in the 
 interview which I have now recounted, the means of 
 realising that holy contentment and tranquillity I 
 had ever fondly looked unto ; albeit, in the anxious 
 troubles of my changeful life, they had been oft-times 
 disregarded or forgotten. 
 
 Yet would I neither deny nor conceal that, even 
 whilst thus resigning the world, some painful remem- 
 brances of my former love and dreams of greatness 
 
 2 c 
 
 i
 
 386 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 hung about mine heart, whereof my ftmtasy would 
 frame a full gay picture of what might have been, 
 the which vain expectancies I had now renounced for 
 ever. Yet had I no merit in thus yielding up mine 
 earthly love or ambitious hopes unto Heaven, for 
 conscience whispered unto me, that I had resigned 
 them only when I might never hope to possess them. 
 Howbeit, like too many who bring a seeming rich 
 gift unto the altar, I wished, full weakly, to glorify 
 myself for sacrificing the world unto God : yet do I 
 now shrewdly fear that, had I ever attained unto the 
 wild dreams of my youth, and had been united unto 
 the Lady Bride, — neither the blessed content of a holy 
 life, nor a Saint's golden palm or starry diadem, nor 
 the unseen and unspeakable joys of Heaven itself, — 
 would have led me, weak as I was, contentedly to 
 have resigned them.
 
 CHArTER XXII. 
 
 THE LIFE OF A nELIGIOUS RECLUSE, AND A ROYAL 
 PILGRIMAGE TO WALSINGHABI. 
 
 Welcome, pure thoughts ! Welcome, ye silent groves ! 
 
 These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves: — 
 
 A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass. 
 
 In which I will adore my Maker's face. 
 
 Here dwell no hateful looks, no pnlace-carcs. 
 
 No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears ; 
 
 Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot youth's folly, 
 
 And learn to affect an holy melancholy ; 
 
 And if Contentment be a stranger, — then 
 
 I'll ne'er look for it, but in Heaven again. 
 
 .Sir Henry Wotton. 
 
 As I went to Walsingham, 
 
 To the Shrink witli speede ; 
 Met I with a jolly Palmar, 
 
 Clad in a Pilgrim's weedc. 
 
 Old Ballad cited av Bishop Percy. 
 
 "Fiat Pax in Virtute tua, et abundantly in 
 TuRRiBus tuis I" Let Peace be Avithin thy walls, and 
 Prosperity within thy towers ! was insculped above 
 the chief gate of that holy IMonastery which had now 
 become mine abode. And, in good sooth, it seemed
 
 3H8 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 unto me, as if I liad suddenly found there the tranquil- 
 lity, which the world giveth not nor takes away ; — the 
 quiet rest for which I had long been searching: since 
 the storms and dreariness of mine heart had suddenly 
 passed, the tempest ceased, and there was a great 
 calm. It seemed as if the tumults of the world, could 
 now reach me no more ; and as though the wild con- 
 fusion which I had once beheld therein, was but a 
 troublous dream of the night out of which I was hap- 
 pily awakened. Yea, and not only awakened, but 
 called therefrom to think upon the fairest images of 
 celestial glory, which pointed out a Heaven hereafter, 
 and almost gave me a revelation of the Beatific 
 Vision, even whilst I was yet upon earth. 
 
 I will not here set down how stately and fitting a 
 temple of God, was the far-famed Abbey of Walsing- 
 ham in it's days of glory ; because, all despoiled and 
 dishonoured as it hath since been, enough of it re- 
 maineth to speak somewhat of it's wonted magnifi- 
 cence : and to shew that he, whom holy contemplation 
 or calamity had weaned from the base and fleeting 
 enjoyments of life, might not desire a fairer asylum 
 wherein to give his last days unto devotion, repose, 
 or sacred tranquillity. 
 
 Yet was not so rich and noted a Siirine as this, so 
 retired from the world as to hear no reports of that 
 which was passing abroad ; because, through tlie 
 frequent visitations of Pilgrims and others, many 
 tidings of public things found their May even unto
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 389 
 
 this holy retreat, some whereof were written into our 
 own Chronicles to keep them in memory. — Thus, we 
 heard how the fraudful instruments of" the late Harry 
 Tudor's extortion. Sir Richard Empson and Edmund 
 Dudley, in the year 1510, were convicted and exe- 
 cuted as traitors ; their meaner agents being killed by 
 the people. It was told us how in 1513, the new 
 Pope Leo X. entered into a league with King Henry 
 against Louis XII. of France, sending unto him a 
 barque laden with choice viands and rich wines as 
 gifts, and indulgences and holy symbols for such as 
 should go with him to Avar against that country. 
 Anon we heard how Henry had gone upon that ex- 
 pedition in person, with much state, having a great 
 power of near 15,000 men ; and retaining the famous 
 Almaine Emperor IMaximilian and his host, who wore 
 St. George's Cross, and had an hundred crowns for 
 their daily payment. Thereafter came the Battle of 
 Spurs, and the taking of Tournay, and then the Earl 
 of Surrey's victory over the Scots at Floddon-field, 
 wherein King James IV. was slain; whereupon 
 Queen Catherine came unto Walsingham, and re- 
 turned Our Lady great thanks for the same : and in 
 1514 we were told of a treaty of peace with France, 
 and how Henry's younger sister, IMary, was married 
 unto King Louis. About this time, moreover, we 
 heard much of the sudden, yet deserved, greatness 
 of Thomas Wolsey, an especial favourite of the late 
 Henry of Lancaster, who now became Lord High
 
 
 390 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Chancellor ; being, at the same time, a Cardinal-Le- 
 gate, Archbishop of York^, and the holder of two 
 Bishoprics, with many other great Church-dignities 
 in commendam. So powerful and rich a priest was 
 certainly never seen in England, and he was withal 
 fitted for much honour, being a great statesman and a 
 good scholar, though somewhat proud and vain-glori- 
 ous ; but his full sad fall, many years after this, made 
 me to pity him yet more than I had ever blamed him. 
 In the year 1516, I remember me that the Queen 
 Catherine took unto her chamber in great state, and 
 that we were ordered to make prayers that she should 
 have a good hour ; the which did soon after follow 
 in the birth of the Princess Mary, that now is, at 
 Greenwich, on Monday, the 8th day of February, 
 about four of the clock in the morning, whereupon 
 thanksgivings were commanded to be said through- 
 out England. The next year had but few things of 
 much note, saving a great insurrection of the London 
 apprentices against the merchant-strangers of their 
 City, for the which many were executed ; and a fear- 
 ful return of the sweating sickness, which carried 
 away such as were taken with it within three hours 
 after, whereby some towns had half of their inhabi- 
 tants suddenly swept away. — But all these events, 
 albeit I noted them with some attention when they 
 were first imparted, came unto us so uncertainly, and 
 often so long after the times at which they chanced, 
 that they seemed unto me to be scarcely the tidings
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAOENETS. 391 
 
 of real actions, but rather the pictures thereof; like 
 unto those which amuse the eyes of childhood, in the 
 history of ages gone by, and leave but fev; traces upon 
 the wit or the memory. 
 
 Howbeit, a season did at last arrive, when tidings 
 of great import unto our Abbey were brought thi- 
 ther with unwonted haste. The youth of the second 
 Harry Tudor had been for the most part spent in 
 revelry and costly disports ; for, when he came unto 
 that throne which his father had violently rent from 
 mine, he was much favoured of the people, for his 
 lusty and laughing disposition of mind rather than for 
 his grace or piety. But he now signified that he had 
 a 2)urpose of rendering honour unto the Shrine of 
 Our Lady of Walsingham, by visiting the same in 
 kingly state, albeit with the lowly demeanour and 
 signs of a pilgrim. He had indeed already travelled 
 hither in 1511, between the Feast of the Purification 
 and the Queen's Churching, and made an offering of 
 half a mark, but such pious conduct as that now de- 
 clared unto us, was on his part all imlooked-for by 
 me ; yet may I say that I w as in truth inwardly re- 
 joiced thereat, inasmuch as that the son should thus 
 seem to do some penance, and make some atonement, 
 for the sins of the father. 
 
 William Lowth, who, as I have said, was Lord 
 Prior of Walsingham Abbey when I became a Bro- 
 ther thereof, was forced, from a contention with his 
 Canons, to lay down his honours on the 31st day of
 
 392 THE LAST OF Til K 1»1>ANTAGKNETS. 
 
 August, in the year 1514, after whom came one Rich- 
 ard Vowell, Prior of Lees, in Essex, who held our 
 Abbey at the time of Henry's visit; namely, on 
 Tuesday, the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lady, the 
 Sixth of the Ides of September, or eighth day thereof, 
 in the year of Grace 1517- It was by him deemed 
 good, albeit the King came in such lowly and be- 
 seeming guise, that our House and Shrine should 
 make large display of the wealth belonging thereunto : 
 though this methought was vain, seeing that the re- 
 venues of the Fraternity were but small, though the 
 riches of St. Mary's Shrine were indeed great.* — 
 These, therefore, were all set forth, to shew how emi- 
 nent had been the zeal of former benefactors there- 
 unto ; and so to win the King to emulate the greatest 
 of their gifts. 
 
 The spot wherein the chiefest beauty and glory of 
 this most famous Shrine were shewn, was a dark 
 little boarded Chapel within our unfinished Church, 
 some eight yards long and nearly five broad ; on 
 either side whereof, was a narrow door of entrance for 
 such as came hither for devotion or offering. A full 
 sweet perfume was ever kept burning therein, and it 
 had no light but that which the illumined tapers 
 
 * Dugdale states the possessions of this Monastery to have 
 been valued at £391 : Us. T^d. annually ; but Speed calls them 
 X446 : 145. 4|fZ., besides the offerings to the Shrine, which have 
 been estimated at £2C>() : ]2s. 4^d. yearly. 
 
 
 t
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 393 
 
 flashed upon the silver, gold, jewels, and rich images, 
 that glistened at the high altar by the Virgin's effigy ; 
 beside which stood Brother Hugh Blyford, the Keeper 
 of that Chapel,* in his Canon's black and white habit, 
 to receive such other gifts as should be made unto it. 
 Men might in truth have thought that place the seat 
 of the Saints ; and I may not describe the lustrous 
 radiance which surrounded it, from the precious gems 
 heretofore brought unto the Shrine, by such as made 
 offering of their wealth unto the Blessed Virgin and 
 her Son, as the Holy Kings of old did at the Nativity 
 at Bethlehem. Truly rare and beauteous were these 
 jewels, from the rubies and amethysts wherewith the 
 effigy was crowned, unto the wondrous stone at it's 
 feet, which they of P'rance do call a Crapaudine, or 
 Toad-stone ; because the living creature never shewed 
 itself more plainly, than it was therein expressed. 
 
 Nor were our holier treasures forgotten, such as 
 those sacred reliques and marvellous things which we 
 enjoyed by special favour of the Virgin; they being 
 set forth in the most honourable wise. Of these were 
 
 * This officer is mentioned by Blomefield in his History of 
 Norfolk, where it is also stated that he was buried in the Clia- 
 pel he served in 1534. Tlie unfinished state of Walsingham 
 Abbey Church is noticed by Erasmus, who visited it about 
 the period referred to in tlie text : he states that the doors 
 and windows were all open, and that the wind blew through 
 tlie Imilding.
 
 394 THE LAST OF TIIK rLANTAOENETS, 
 
 a portion of the Milk of Our Lady, and the Blood of 
 Our Lord, each being kept from every profane touch 
 in crystal glasses at the high-altar. Such were also 
 that miraculous Wicket-gate of the which I have be- 
 fore spoken ; and two blessed wells filled with won- 
 drous cold water, from a spring that suddenly burst 
 out of the ground at command of the holy Virgin, of 
 great virtue in curing pains in men's bodies. These 
 fountains have since been defiled, but at this time they 
 might be seen unpolluted, covered over by that no less 
 marvellous house, more hallowed than any which mor- 
 tal hand hath been employed to raise, seeing that it was 
 brought through the air, many ages before, in the season 
 of mid-winter, when all things were buried in the snow, 
 and placed, where it long stood, over against the little 
 Chapel holding the Virgin's Effigy. A fine green 
 path led unto it, made specially for pilgrims, and a 
 cross stood by, whereat they might kneel and in- 
 wardly pray whiles they drank of the waters. 
 
 It was from the little Town of North-Basham, two 
 miles distant, that Henry came unto Walsingham, 
 along that most fair and ancient road, which King 
 Richard IL, in his eighth year, — 1384-85, — did grant 
 a patent for making vmto the Virgin's Chapel. Right 
 good care had been taken to consult the truest records 
 of the olden times, to know, by ancient precedent, 
 how we should receive the Royal Pilgrim. He came 
 at length, habited in lowly garb, like any Jerusalemite, 
 with scarf, scrip, and bourdon-staff; covered about
 
 THJO LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNETS. 395 
 
 with a long, Avliite, and rough, sclav'ma oi- robe ; and 
 a great hat of skin turned up above his visage : his 
 feet were bare, but I ween it was small penance so to 
 walk, over the soft green-sward w-hich led unto the 
 Chapel at Walsingham. IMoreover, Henry was at- 
 tended herein by many of his Nobles, and his guard 
 going round him on all sides to keep off the press ; 
 but albeit he was in so mean a habit, and they were 
 clothed in their wonted bravery, yet were all unco- 
 vered save himself, and the King also had a bold step 
 and lofty air, which even in this journey he might 
 not hide, and which shew-ed him to be the chiefest of 
 all the company. Our Prior and his Canons in their 
 order, met him at Our Lady's Mount of Joy, where 
 the stone cross was set up, and where the Pilgrims 
 unto this Shrine were anciently wont to rest in sight of 
 the end of their travel ; and there we gave him to drink 
 of our wondrous wells. When he had knelt and prayed 
 awhile in that place, he was brought into the Church 
 and little Chapel, and approached the Effigy of Our 
 Lady Avith exceeding reverence, so that all who saw 
 him deemed him to be full of grace, and a true lover 
 of the Holy Church ; and his offering was indeed 
 well worthy of the King of England, being a great 
 and rich collar of balas-rubies, most beauteous to be- 
 hold. 
 
 But, Ah me ! how little can we blinded mortals 
 deem of the future, by that which we look upon of the 
 present ; for how might some of us who thus witness-
 
 39t5 
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 ed Henry's unlooked-for act of piety, think that, long 
 ere our mortal course was run, he should become the 
 fiercest enemy and subverter of those very Shrines 
 and Monasteries which he now so deeply venerated. 
 And, yet farther, how might the mind of man ever 
 conceive, that the self-same Effigy which was then so 
 gloriously bedecked, and which the King approached 
 so reverently to adorn yet more with his own princely 
 gift, should, even at his command, be despoiled of all 
 it's treasures; violently torn down from the altar where 
 it had so long stood ; and, at last, be defiled and openly 
 burned at Chelsea, in the stormy year of 1539, with 
 such foul scoffings and revilings, that truly my pen 
 refuseth to record them ? 
 
 But beside King Henry, there was at this time a 
 certain other Pilgrim came unto Walsingham with a 
 devout offering ; the same being one Peter Blount, an 
 ancient Goldsmith of good fame, who had long dwell- 
 ed in Lombard-Street, in the City of London, but was 
 now removed unto Norwich : and when the King 
 had left the altar, he came forward thereunto, in far 
 less state, albeit little less to the pleasure of our Bro- 
 therhood. He presented himself at our Shrine, be- 
 cause he deemed it good for his soul's health to bring 
 thither certain gifts ; having, as he said, long pur- 
 posed to make such disposition of some part of his 
 substance, in hope that the intercession of Our Lady 
 and the prayers of her servants, might blot out the 
 sins of his youthful years, and his too-anxious desires
 
 THE LAST OF THU PLANTAGKNETS. 397 
 
 and fraudful endeavours after riclies in his later life. 
 By this act he looked to quiet the loud voice of his 
 conscience, which had been suddenly awakened in a 
 shrewd fit of sickness at Dartford, what time he 
 was travelling from Calais towards his home; the 
 which distemper had well nigh given him unto the 
 grave, but that he was cured by the gentle care and 
 leech-like skill of the Austin-Nuns of St. Mary and 
 St. Margaret's Priory there. He did then vow, to go 
 hereafter upon his present pilgrimage ; and also to 
 carry certain other gifts unto Dartford, especially a 
 great waxen taper of his own height, to be burned at 
 the high-altar in memory of his cure.* His offering at 
 Walsingham was a golden cup, skilfully chased with 
 the most lively effigies of Christ, the Virgin, and tlie 
 Apostles, and the martyrdom of the Saints Stephen 
 and Bartholomew ; whereunto he added 500 marks of 
 gold, — <£333 : 6s. iid. — to be bestowed in alms, and 
 for the support of our Monastery. 
 
 • These offerings were called Statual Tapers ; and the His- 
 toire de Paris states, that after the battle of Poictiers, on the 
 capture of John, King of France, a taper was placed before 
 the Virgin's altar, in the Church of Notre Dame, which was 
 said to be equal to the circumference of Paris ; it was rolled 
 round the circle of a wheel, and burned without ceasing. In 
 some cases these waxen gifts were made like elfigies, of the 
 height, form, and weight, of the person represented ; and 
 figures of sick or refractory animals, were sometimes sent to 
 shrines for tiieir recovery.
 
 398 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Our Prior failed not greatly to thank and to com- 
 mend Master Blount for his devotion and charity, 
 wherein he had rightly followed the command of Our 
 Lord, in the Gospel, " Facile vohis umicos de Mammona 
 iniquitatLs," make unto you friends of the Mammon of 
 iniquity ; and farther declared, that he had been right 
 wise in delaying no longer to gain him that quiet of 
 mind which he would assuredly receive from perfect- 
 ing so pious a vow. The Goldsmith replied unto 
 this, that the Lord Prior had well said, for that when 
 worn by care, or toil, or the coming infirmities of old 
 age, he oft-times thought that his good intent would 
 at last be too late for his rest hereafter ; and that, per- 
 adventure, he might be called away from earth ere he 
 found space to perform it at all. 
 
 "And well I ween, good friend," responded the 
 Prior, " that all men have great cause to think and 
 act as thou hast done ; for our mortal bodies be like 
 unto buildings, which yearly, and daily, and hourly^ 
 are being taken down, or are falling into decay. But 
 how soon the ruin shall be finished, we know not ; 
 and therefore it becometh us at once to do that which 
 we wovdd perform, and to mark well what Our Lord 
 hath said, ' Figilale, itaque, quia nescitis diem neque 
 horavi :' watch ye, therefore, because ye know not 
 the day nor the hour." — The Prior added hereunto, 
 with wondrous prudence and gravity, though, as 
 methought with somewhat of dishonest covetise, — 
 that, seeing the GoldsmitJi was now far advanced in 
 
 1
 
 THE LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGENETS. 399 
 
 years, and it was a full long and toilsome journey unto 
 Dartford ; — peradventure it should tend as much 
 unto his weal hereafter, if he should add that which 
 he designed for the Sisterhood there, vmto the gifts 
 he had already made imto our House and Shrine. 
 Yet, natheless, did our Superior say, if IMaster 
 Blount did still persist in his first intent of bestow- 
 ing aught at Dartford, it should be carried thi- 
 ther for him"; if not by the Prior in person, yet by 
 some safe and speedy messenger : for, that although 
 the Goldsmith had once vowed to go thither him- 
 self, yet might he be absolved therefrom by reason of 
 his infirmity, upon sending his offering and journey- 
 ing thither in spirit. 
 
 This courteous offer was gladly received by the 
 Goldsmith, and this course being concluded on, he 
 departed from Walsingham well satisfied at having 
 performed both his vows and offerings with such easy 
 labour. Howbeit, some weeks passed away, ere we 
 received JMaster Blount's waxen taper and other gifts 
 for the Dartford Nuns ; but then did it become mat- 
 ter of debate in the Chapter as to the messengers who 
 should be sent with the same : and it was at last re- 
 solved that they should be entrusted unto Father 
 George Gisborough, sometime Sub- Prior of our House, 
 and myself. He, I do hope and believe, is now with 
 God ; albeit he died by the late King Henry's com- 
 mand, as did many other pious men, for not acknow- 
 ledging his Supremacy over the Church, and not con-
 
 400 THE LAST OF THE PLANT AGENET9. 
 
 senting to surrender unto him our Abbey and Mo- 
 nastery. 
 
 For mine own part, albeit there was much honour 
 in the appointment of my Brethren, and I scrupled 
 not to go forth at their call, long and toilsome as the 
 journey might be, yet was it not an employ which I 
 did at all covet. For, beside that I felt no desire to 
 look again upon the world, I knew that I could not tra- 
 vel through London without the painfullest memory 
 of the days that were gone, and of my former dreams 
 of love and the Lady Bride ; the which, though now 
 resigned for ever, were, nevertheless, still much too 
 dear unto me. Howbeit, I addressed me to the jour- 
 ney, but all this did I feel in travelling into Kent 
 througli Southwark, as I saw the distant towers of 
 Bermondsey Abbey, and bethought me of our last 
 strange and fatal interview therein, with all the 
 chances which had since followed. Yet, notwith- 
 standing these most sad remembrances, I paused not, 
 but with my companions kept forward unto Dartford 
 with all the speed we might ; and, within seven days, 
 we arrived at that most fair Convent of Austin-Nuns, 
 which the piety of the Third King Edward of Eng- 
 land founded, and dedicated unto the holy Saints 
 Mary and Margaret. It was now, as I do full well 
 remember, the Eve of the Feast of St. Martin, Tues- 
 day, the 10th day of November, about the hour of 
 Nones, and one of the fairest and brightest days which 
 the departing year could shew, being like it's last
 
 THK LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 401 
 
 smile cast upon the coming Winter, or the glad tran- 
 quillity of a Saint looking upon approaching death. 
 
 I was much rejoiced, at thus seeing our long and 
 wearisome journey of nearly 130 miles, brought unto 
 it's conclusion ; and I may not conceal that I also felt 
 somewhat of worldly pride and pleasure, in looking 
 forward unto the honourable welcome we should re- 
 ceive, from being the bearers of such costly gifts and 
 good tidings unto the Convent. But when we de- 
 clared our names and mission unto an ancient Nun at 
 the gate, and thereupon desired to see the Lady 
 Prioress, I felt both anger and amaze at finding none 
 such joyous greeting as I had looked to meet ; for sad 
 and solemn were the countenances of all whom I be- 
 held, and brief and gloomy were their answers unto 
 our gladsome salutations. Howbeit, full soon were 
 we told that the Prioress of that House, who was 
 much beloved and reverenced of all for her gentleness, 
 piety, many virtues, and various excellent gifts, — 
 was even then lying sick unto death ; having for a 
 long space languished under a wasting fever, which 
 was now known to be mortal, her last hour being near 
 at hand. I ween that these were in sooth melancholy 
 tidings, yet did I know well that much of the body's 
 sorrows might be cured, by cheering and giving joy 
 unto the heart ; and thereu])on 1 did entreat, that the 
 Lady Prioress should forthw ith be told of the costly 
 gifts sent unto her House, by the hands of the Sub- 
 Prior of Walsingham and Brother Richardus of Ely : 
 
 2 D
 
 402 THK LAST -OF THR PIvANTAGKNETP, 
 
 and in this would I not be gainsaid, because of the great 
 good which I looked to rise therefrom, though some 
 doubted whether it might not be altogether too much 
 for her weakened frame. But presently it was shewn 
 that I had not erred in this counsel ; for the Formaria, 
 or over-seeing Nun, who had told her thereof, came 
 suddenly back, and said that, upon hearing our mis- 
 sion, her dim and closing eyes became suddenly open- 
 ed and lighted up. She gave unto us great thanks for 
 coming in such happy time to shed comfort upon her 
 parting hours ; and she added tliat, as we were of the 
 same Order as her own Convent, she would now make 
 her Confession, deairing that one of us should forth- 
 with attend her to receive it, and entreating all our 
 prayers for her safe passage, in that most solemn 
 change which she well knew was now close at hand. 
 
 The aged Sub-Prior, my companion, did hereupon 
 request and direct me to take the confession of the 
 Lady Prioress, adding that he would remain to see the 
 gifts safely bestowed in the Convent-sacristy ; and I 
 therefore followed the weeping Nun with much so- 
 lemnity and sorrow. And now did I feel all mine own 
 spiritual weakness and un worthiness, and lamented, 
 with unfeigned humility, that my learning and piety 
 were no greater, and that my former life had not 
 better fitted me for the duty which I was now about 
 to perform ; of aiding, by my ghostly counsel, one 
 renowned for her holiness, in the very moment when 
 she was called unto her everlasting home.
 
 THE LAST OF THp: PLANTAGENETS. 403 
 
 On passing into her presence, I beheld her resting 
 back upon a little couch, for so great were the pains 
 of her disease, that for many days she had been unable 
 to lie down thereon ; yet distressed with pain, as in 
 truth she was, she uttered no voice of complaint, so 
 that there was a death-like stillness in the chamber, 
 and I drew in my breath from reverence. The light 
 of that fair day, too, was also shaded therein with a 
 fitting gloom, so that I might not at first see the pale 
 cheek and heavenly look of the dying sufferer ; but on 
 advancing unto her more closely, — Saints and Angels ! 
 — I saw that she was the Lady Bride Planta- 
 
 GENET !
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A SCENE OF PARTING IN THE CHAMBER OF DEATH. 
 
 Yet do I live ? Oh ! how shall I sustain 
 
 This vast unutterable weight of woe ? 
 This worse than hunger, poverty, or pain. 
 
 Or all the complicated ills below : 
 She, in whose life my hopes were treasured all 
 
 Is gone ! — for ever fled ! 
 These eyes, these tear-swoln eyes, beheld her fall ! 
 Ah, no ! — she lives on some far-happier shore, 
 She lives, — but, cruel thought, she lives for me no more ! 
 
 How shall I e'er forget that dreadful hour. 
 When feeling death's resistless power. 
 My hand she press'd wet with lier falling tears, 
 And thus in faltering accents spake her fears ! 
 
 Shaw's Monody. 
 
 Oh Memory ! — IMemory ! — I ween that I have full 
 little cause to summon thine aid, to depict the scene 
 which was now about to open unto me ; for so deeply, 
 yea, so indelibly, are all the events of that most sad 
 hour impressed upon my soul, that they can never be 
 absent from me whilst breath and sense be left unto 
 my mortal frame ! — And if aught of earthly affection 
 or sorroAV can call forth the tear of human compas-
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 405 
 
 sion ; or if there be indeed a chord in the breasts of 
 others, which, like-tuned unto that within mine own, 
 will respond unto the like touch, — then may my feel- 
 ings at this time be somewhat conceived of; and it 
 will in sooth be deemed that I underwent no common 
 trial. And if, perchance, in the deep sorrow thereof, 
 my reason or devotion bent in the unequal struggle, I 
 well trust that He, who is all strength, and who 
 knoweth the weakness of his creatures, did both pity 
 and forgive it. 
 
 In mine earlier years I had sometimes beheld young 
 and noble beauty, with all that wondrous rapture 
 which the poets have affirmed it doth ever inspire ; 
 and in the countless charms of dazzling eyes, shining 
 hair, the white ivory gates within the lips, and cheek 
 of fairest rose-colour, I have oft-times thought that I 
 looked upon all the richest creations of Nature, blend- 
 ed in a most rare master-piece And, although it was 
 not my fortune to be mated with one of these most love- 
 ly beings, I have noted, not with envy, but with a fer- 
 vent, yet secret, desire for the like happiness, — that 
 Woman is, unto our race, the sweetest partner in joy, 
 and the kindest soother in sorrow. For her smiles 
 do ever throw their fair and beaming light, over that 
 which had else been most mournful, desolate, or void 
 of life ; and, when the storm of sorrow hath passed 
 away, she appeared unto me like the bow in the 
 brightening sky, the living security of God's everlast- 
 in<j covenant of croodness unto man. — Yet do I well
 
 406 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 deem, that not all the blaze of beauty in it's gayest 
 and most blooming hoiu', did ever seem unto my 
 view so rich and glorious, as did the calm, though 
 fading, features of the dying Lady Bride, before whom 
 I now stood. Albeit her cheek was full pale from 
 sickness, yet all that pure dignity which so marked 
 her youth still remained ; with which were sweetly 
 pictured suffering fortitude, resignation unto the will 
 of God, and Christian benevolence unto all on earth. 
 
 This unconquerable yet gentle spirit seemed unto 
 me to cast the semblance of an unearthly triumph 
 over the scene of mortality : and so much did she 
 then appear above the common weakness of our na- 
 ture, that methought she might well have said for 
 herself, — if indeed ever child of earth might utter the 
 holy Apostle's exulting speech, — " Oh Death ! where 
 is thy sting? — Oh Grave ! where is thy victory ?" 
 
 When I approached the Prioress, as I have afore 
 recounted, with much amaze and a tremulous voice I 
 gave unto her my benediction ; but as one of the Nuns 
 was then engaged in ministering a medicine unto her, 
 the pause gave unto me time to regain somewhat of 
 my tranquillity. To one who had been so long 
 schooled by danger ever to wear a cautious guise 
 unto the world, and had been taught by holier wis- 
 dom the frailty of all earthly affections, I ween that 
 it asked but brief time and little effort to assume the 
 semblance of calmness, albeit full great was the tu- 
 mult of mine agitated spirit within. For, I bethought
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 407 
 
 me that, perchance, she might have no memory of me 
 now ; so that I should lose the sweet communion 
 with her which I had already begun to hope for : 
 and, although I might disclose myself in the secresy 
 of confession, I did much doubt whether it would not 
 in truth be profaning her purified spirit in it's flight 
 towards Heaven, to break upon it's holy repose with 
 aught of the unquiet passions or vain desires of a 
 mortal. 
 
 But notwithstanding these inward struggles, I was 
 outwardly tranquil, and the Lady Bride Mas not less 
 so ; albeit speech seemed scarcely wanting to make 
 me known unto her, for the first glance which she 
 cast upon me, though it was but for a moment, de- 
 clared full surely that she well remembered him whom 
 she then beheld. Yet, natheless, her look had much 
 of amazement, doubt, and even blame, but these were 
 soon exchanged for her wonted gentleness, and her 
 visage again returned unto it's calm sweetness ; for 
 albeit my name might sound familiar to her ear, yet 
 did she much marvel to see me in that garb and place. 
 She even doubted if her sense served her truly, and, 
 when convinced that she really beheld me, she would 
 have reproved my coming thus as an artful device ; 
 but anon she yielded unto the words of truth, and 
 rejoiced greatly to see one whom she had so long 
 known, like herself withdrawn from the world unto 
 an holy retirement. Howbeit she did promptly re- 
 strain her surprise at seeing me, and gave direction
 
 40H THK LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 unto her handmaid, with the Dixcreta', or attendant 
 Nuns, who until now had awaited in the chamber, 
 that they should go forth awhile ; for, said she, " I 
 would speak with this holy man alone, since I have 
 much to impart unto him, and more than is meet to 
 be heard by others than himself. Therefore with- 
 draw, my daughters, for a space, yet still remain so 
 near at hand, as to answer upon brief summons." 
 
 Hereupon the Sisters withdrew, and I was left 
 alone with the Prioress; the which when she saw, 
 she said unto me in a faint, yet solemn, voice, " Is 
 this, in truth, good Richard, God's mercy unto his 
 fainting servant, to behold thee in such a habit and 
 in such a moment ? or are they but a feigned garb 
 and mission wherein thou hast come hither, again to 
 seek speech with me, having learned the place of ray 
 retreat ? Yet forgive me, if, for a moment, I seem to 
 doubt thee wrongfully." 
 
 Unto this I answered, " Never believe it. Lady, 
 that I could become so profane an impostor ; and, in 
 sooth, I have certain of our Monastery with me, who 
 can well testify that I am no other than what I do 
 seem : and that I have, for these seven years past, 
 been one of that Brotherhood in whose habit I am 
 now clothed." 
 
 " This is indeed great and holy consolation !" here- 
 upon exclaimed the Prioress, her eyes glistening with 
 triumph and joy, and looking fervently upward unto 
 that Heaven whereto she herself was hastening.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 409 
 
 " These are truly joyful tidings, Richard ; for my soul 
 seeketh to be glad in thy salvation, which hath here- 
 tofore been much disquieted by misgivings touching 
 thy temporal and spiritual welfare : but now do I 
 trust, that in good hour thou wilt follow me, unto 
 that blessed land where I hope to be before the sun 
 sets on earth, and where the rays of his glory do never 
 go down 
 
 The Lady Bride's fervent desires after my soul's 
 happiness, and her solemn, though joyful and tri- 
 umphant, look unto present death, called forth such 
 a sudden flood of sweet sorrow within my bosom, 
 that it altogether unmanned me ; and, taking her thin 
 white hand, I cast me at her feet, as almost worship- 
 ing one who seemed so much divine. If I erred here- 
 in, it was unwittingly and without intent, for in truth 
 I beheld nothing earthly in her, and so bowed me 
 unto the heavenly reflection in her visage. I thought, 
 I only gazed upon the departing Saint; and if the 
 Church's favour be bestowed upon those, who de- 
 voutly journey vmto the Shrines of the glorified ser- 
 vants of God, it seemeth unto me that my sin was 
 only in (inlicipating the reverence which should be 
 hereafter paid unto one, who, though now an inhabit- 
 ant of earth, was so soon to be translated unto the 
 skies. Howbeit, the thought of her speedy death 
 filled my soul with sadness, and I ventured to say 
 that, peradventure, it might not yet be so near as she 
 deemed it.
 
 I 
 
 410 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 " If thou desirest my happiness, Richard," fervently 
 I'esponded the dying Prioress, " cause me not to think 
 so : for my human weakness delights it with the l)e- 
 lief that, as this is the Eve of St. Martin, when I was 
 born unto this world of sin, and when I was professed 
 and consecrated unto a religious life, so it shall behold 
 my new birth into the world of glory !" 
 
 I could not reply hereunto, from my sorrowful ad- 
 miration of the blessed creature upon whom I gazed ; 
 who, thereupon calling up her swiftly - declining 
 strength, thus continued. " I pray thee, kind friend, 
 rise, since it is not for the Confessor to kneel before 
 his penitent." 
 
 " Oh, Lady \" returned I, " believe me I cannot 
 refrain therefrom, since it is unto me an hour of 
 much weakness, and this lowly posture doth best de- 
 clare the fervour, the devotion, and the sincerity of 
 mine heart." 
 
 " Yet, nevertheless, rise and be calm, good Rich- 
 ard," answered the Prioress, " whilst I assay to speak 
 unto thee a while. I would now tell thee of certain 
 passages of my life, not, indeed, in shrift, because 
 confessions be ever best given vmto Him who fashion- 
 eth the heart, and who alone knoweth the sins and 
 secrets thereof. Unto that All- seeing God, therefore, 
 have I already often declared my transgressions with 
 much sorrow ; and tears, bitter tears, have been 
 poured over the remembrance of times gone by, and 
 the avowal of feelings which it were sinful to che-
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENKTS. 411 
 
 rish. His peace at length came down upon my 
 
 penitent spii-it ; and it was no delusion^ seeing that it's 
 influence was sweet and silent as the summer-dews, 
 and did indeed passing all understanding. — And, 
 therefore, albeit I desired to see a Confessor, I have 
 but little to pour into the bosom of the Holy Church ; 
 save gratitude that the lowly plant, which, methinks, 
 would have been blighted by the storms of the world, 
 hath been reared and protected in the garden of God 
 upon earth ; and, as my soul trusteth, made fit for 
 blooming still more fairly in His Paradise on high." 
 
 The Prioress paused for a brief space, yet could I 
 utter nought in reply, from ainaze at the wondrous 
 grace and eloquence which seemed poured upon her 
 at this hour ; and, therefore, it was without speech 
 of mine intervening, that she again continued thus. 
 
 " Truly, my friend, I look unto that immortal rest 
 with much hope and gladness ; for licre, as thou well 
 knowest, I have had mine hours of trial, of tempta- 
 tion, and even of suffering. — Yes, He who guideth 
 His children with a merciful restraint, hath not with- 
 held from me those tokens of His adoption. I have 
 in truth passed through seasons of earthly weakness 
 and wanderings of thought, which woman's heart and 
 tongue would never acknowledge, save in pi*ayer or 
 at the dying hour. And, I have indeed now to confess 
 how my thoughts have been ever too prone to stray 
 unto thee, Plantagenet, and how often mine heart hath 
 panted to know thy fate, and even that I should again
 
 412 
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 behold thee. — This iinhoped-for blessing is now given 
 unto me, and he for whom I too often sighed with a 
 mortal's passion, is happily present with me in the 
 hour which closes all my human sorrows, to behold 
 how earthly love, though verily strong as death, can 
 yet be conquered by heavenly grace ; and as a true 
 son of the Holy Church, to aid me with his ghostly 
 counsels, and guide my spirit in it's flight." 
 
 " Alas ! dearest Lady Bride," exclaimed I with 
 tearful voice, " Alas ! I am all unworthy of such a 
 part : and 'tis rather my sad happiness to learn of 
 thee how a Christian should die." 
 
 " Be it so, then, good Plantagenet," answered she ; 
 " and right glad shall I be to point out the happy 
 road which thou shalt hereafter travel : for I have 
 ever prayed that thou mightest be blessed both in life 
 and death, albeit thy fate was yet unknown unto me ; 
 and, perchance, I did so with more fervour than for 
 aught beside. Now, my kindest friend, will I hide it 
 from thee no longer, since we are about to part for 
 ever upon earth ; I will say to thee that I have loved 
 thee but too well, from our meeting at Windsor ; and 
 however I did appear to sup])ress mine affections un- 
 der the semblance of devotion to the cloister, God and 
 mine own soul well know the trial which I endured, 
 to gain even that seeming victory, whilst thine image 
 remained but all too perfectly in mine heart." 
 
 The Prioress paused hereat from increasing weak- 
 ness, yet would she not that I should call in any aid ;
 
 THK r^AST OF THK PLANTAGENRTS. 413 
 
 and, therefoi-e, after remaining silent for a brief space, 
 she again called up her sinking strength, and then 
 spake thus, with wondrous fervency. — "All this, 
 good Richard, was but blighted vanity ; but He who 
 wisely withholdeth any unfit desire which his offspring 
 conceive, faileth not, like a kind father, more largely 
 and excellently to requite them for the same. It was 
 not His good pleasure that our lives on earth should 
 glide away together, but He hath given us a far better 
 blessing, inasmuch as He ordained that both should 
 become devoted unto His service, and so be advanc- 
 ing, as it were side by side, and making them ready 
 for an everlasting union in the world to come !" 
 
 Whilst the Lady Bride thus spake, her life seemed 
 suddenly to kindle up within her so brightly and 
 forcefully, that I again deemed her, for a moment, to 
 be less near her end than she believed : but too soon 
 I saw her sinking from the effort which she had made. 
 Yet even in her very decline there were both beauty 
 and dignity ; and I could not but liken her to some 
 noble temple, consecrated unto God, which, though 
 fallen into ruins from the wasting hand of Time, or 
 shaken unto it's very base by an overwhelming earth- 
 quake, did still shew both fair and stately, even whilst 
 it's dome was trembling and it's columns fell. — After 
 another short pause the Prioress again addressed me, 
 albeit her speech was often broken by sad swoonings 
 which might not be restrained. She told me that, 
 after we last parted, she remained but short space at
 
 414 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGKNETS. 
 
 Bermondsey, and then was suddenly removed, yet 
 with her own consent, unto the Convent at Dartford, 
 where she was consecrated a Nun on the return of her 
 birth-day ; of which place she was at length elected 
 Prioress, and so had remained until the day whereon 
 we met. 
 
 " In carefully acquitting me of the duties of that 
 holy office," continued she, " I found the greatest de- 
 light which my wounded spirit might know : for 
 albeit my thoughts would often-times wander from 
 this hallowed House, yet was it not unto a world of 
 glittering vanity, nor unto scenes of heedless laugh- 
 ter or tumultuous joy, — but vmto one beloved fellow- 
 creature, whose temporal welfare I knew was in much 
 hazard, and whose everlasting safety I deemed might 
 also be unsecured. At length, Richard, I heard of the 
 fire at Sheen Palace, whither it had been told me that 
 thou wert conveyed, wherein it was said that many 
 of the inmates were destroyed, and I did long deem 
 that thou wert one of them, seeing that thy life was 
 cared for by none ; but afterward came that which I 
 thought to be more certain tidings of thy death, when 
 the boat which carried thee unto a more perilous pri- 
 son was whelmed at London Bridge, and all on board 
 drowned, even thy mantle being found torn and float- 
 ing on the water. It is true that somewhat whispered 
 me of thy possible escape, and prudence in thus cast- 
 ing away thine habit ; and, tlierefore, my daily prayers 
 were made for thee whether living or dead. And
 
 THE TvAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 41 T) 
 
 this day, upon hearing thy well-known name, the 
 same hope told me that it might indeed be thee ; yet 
 did I not dare specially to summon thee, lest mine 
 earthly love should triumph, albeit I was full fain to 
 behold thee once more, and to conjure thee to hasten 
 after me on the road to blessedness 1" 
 
 Having thus spoken, with many interruptions of 
 extreme weakness, the Prioress sank back upon her 
 couch, as if all exhausted of living strength and nigh 
 unto Death. In this state of rapid decay, I gazed 
 upon her with the same ravishment at her fervent 
 piety, as I had before done in beholding her beauty. 
 For now the whole course of her thoughts did appear 
 unto me so truly to accord with those which Faith 
 should inspire in the soul, that the brightness and 
 tranquillity of her passage from Time unto Eternity, 
 the beauty of her departure from life here unto im- 
 mortality hereafter, seemed in lively picture to pour- 
 tray unto my mind, how the holy Patriarch walked 
 with God and was not ; becoming the habitant of 
 Heaven, yet without putting off his earthly form. 
 
 But albeit the strength of the Lady Bride did appear 
 to be now full swiftly going from her, yet would she 
 not that I should summon her handmaiden, because, 
 she said, she had yet a weighty matter to disclose unto 
 me ere she departed, which did much concern both 
 her happiness and mine : whereupon she again spake 
 unto me thus, when she had tasted of a cordial and 
 had somewhat recovered her spirit.
 
 416 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAOENETS. 
 
 " And now, my kind friend Plantagenet, having 
 told thee of mine entrance and tranquil life in this 
 Convent, I must add thereunto that, albeit I thought 
 it a full holy and happy place, I soon learned that, 
 since the loss of Eden, there is no true Paradise to be 
 found upon earth. After I was elected Prioress here, 
 it became my sad duty, — as others told me, and as I 
 deemed right, — to enforce the rigors of our Rule 
 against one of our Sisterhood, for great transgression 
 against the Church ; she being accused in Chapter 
 by divers of the Nuns, of an unholy attachment unto 
 the heretic writings of Wiclif. And so resolute was 
 she herein, that even unto her last sickness Sister 
 Maria remained unchanged, though still pious and 
 happy ; and, at length, the book of the New Testa- 
 ment which Wiclif rendered into English, was found 
 concealed beneath her couch, like some hidden trea- 
 sure. Whereupon I reproved her with harshness, al- 
 beit, in mine ignorance, with a real abhorrence of the 
 crime whereof she was guilty." 
 
 '^ And herein," answered I, " did you piously per- 
 form your duty, and but enforced the Rule of which 
 you were the Superior." 
 
 "Nay, Richard," replied the Prioress, most sadly 
 smiling and shaking her head, " hear my story to an 
 end, ere you deem so. — The offending Sister sank be- 
 neath the rigorous dealing and reproach which I per- 
 mitted to be used towards her ; but albeit I was less 
 harsh than the Chapter and our Statutes required me
 
 THE liAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. 417 
 
 to be, mine heart smote me heavily at the moment 
 it was told me that her life had fled : nevertheless 
 keener sorrows yet remained in store for me. — The 
 book found in the persecuted Nun's cell, I took into 
 mine own keeping, to examine it at fitting season ; but 
 although I had often looked upon the Gospels in St. 
 Hierome's Latin, I declare unto thee, Plantagenet, that 
 when I set me to read them in our own tongue, they 
 came so suddenly and closely home unto mine heart 
 and conscience, that the one seemed unto me like hav- 
 ing a great treasure in a locked casket, and the other 
 like owning it in free and full possession. — Now I felt 
 that it might indeed be good to set forth the Book of 
 Christ in the common speech, so that all who run 
 might have tlie Word of Eternal Life ; and that the 
 way-faring man, though a fool, might read of his 
 road thither. — Upon this, therefore, do I judge that 
 Sister Maria had been harshly dealt with by all our 
 House ; and specially by me, for that her reviled book 
 had opened my blinded eyes, and hath since been my 
 solace by day and my companion in the night !" 
 
 Hereupon did I suddenly start back, it might be 
 a pace or more, at hearing one so fair and beloved as 
 the Lady Bride Plantagenet, and of such exalted 
 piety as the Prioress of Dartford, speak in favour of 
 translating the Sacred Scriptures, and of the new 
 doctrines and heresies which even then were trium- 
 phantly advancing. IMine emotion was not hidden 
 from her who conversed witli me, since she soon 
 
 2 K
 
 418 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 marked and undei'stood it, and answered unto it 
 thus. 
 
 " Be not dismayed, mine ever kind friend Planta- 
 genet, nor deem me in this to have wandered from 
 the path of Christian Faith. Rather would I say, do 
 thou also read the Gospels of the Evangelists with 
 the Deeds of the Apostles, as the good Preacher of 
 Lutterworth hath rendered them into English, than 
 join in blaming those whose happiness it hath been 
 thus to know them. — Why, Richard, why, I pray 
 you, should the unbounded light of Christ be in any- 
 wise concealed or shaded unto the eyes of men? or 
 wherefore should we hide from the lowlier children 
 of God, the Holy Scriptures, which for them, as well 
 as for us, do in truth contain the words of eternal 
 life? — Truly, methinks there may well be urged in this 
 matter, that which holy Peter of old answered unto 
 them that reproached him, saying, ' If God gave the 
 same grace to them, as to us that believeden in the 
 Lord Jesu Christ, who are we that we may forbid the 
 Lord, that He give not the Holy Ghost to them that 
 believeden in the name of Jesu Christ ?' " 
 
 I may not here set down Avith what declining life, 
 frequent pausings, and faint speech, the Lady Bride 
 held on throughout this converse, albeit they were so 
 piteous, and her weakness did so greatly increase, as 
 to move me to entreat of her not to discourse farther 
 at that season : whereunto she replied, that the mat- 
 ter of which she spake seemed charged upon lier soul
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 419 
 
 to deliver unto me, and that until this was done, 
 she was borne up by a strength which she knew well 
 was far greater than her own. In response, there- 
 fore, unto her former words, I noted unto her what 
 divers holy and venerable men have said upon the 
 sin, as they deemed it, of giving the Word of God 
 in the common speech. 
 
 Whilst I spake she sighed heavily, and replied, 
 " Such I do well know hath been the language of 
 many wise men in the Church, and often have I 
 blamed mine own desire herein ; much fearing that, 
 in coveting to read the Holy Book in English, I sinned 
 like Eve, who first sought to eat of the fruit of the 
 forbidden Tree of Knowledge. Yet, good Richard, 
 have I been most wondrously refreshed and com- 
 forted, by the close union which was thus formed 
 between mine own soul and the immortal Word of 
 God ; though I was doomed to hide, and even some- 
 what to discountenance, that which in my secret 
 heart I could not but approve as most excellent. 
 And for such as desire that the Gospel shall nei'er be 
 spread abroad in the common tongue, it seemeth unto 
 me that they follow the guileful artifices of tlie Hea- 
 thens ; whose holiest precepts were not given openly, 
 to make mankind virtuous or blessed, but veiled 
 under evil rites, and confined unto their cruel and 
 mysterious priests." 
 
 "Oh! dearest Lady Bride," then said I, "not in 
 this most solemn liour, let voice of thine sanction
 
 420 THK LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 these mad and daring novelties, with whicli the ad- 
 versaries of our Holy Church are even now striving 
 to overthroAv it." 
 
 " Fear not for me," answered she, as her voice sank 
 lower and her eyes again closed, " Fear not for me, 
 
 — since I know in whom I have believed." Then, 
 
 after pausing awhile, the Prioress again raised herself, 
 and with new and sudden animation, and a wondrous 
 light on her visage, she continued, — " Thou hast well 
 said, Plantagenet, it is indeed a solemn hour with me, 
 seeing that I am standing between life and death; 
 and, like him who stood upon the top of Pisgah, 
 overlooking both the wilderness of this world and 
 much of the glorious Canaan to which I am hasten- 
 ing. And, perchance, this solemn hour, giveth even 
 unto mortal creatures somewhat of immortal know- 
 ledge ; since I feel it written upon ray soul, that the 
 Lord is about to rise and mightily to refresh the 
 nations with his presence ! That a great overthrow 
 is coming upon the corrupted Clergy of this realm ! 
 That many of our superstitious rites shall wane and 
 die away, in the plain purities of the advancing Gos- 
 pel ; and that the Translated Word shall speedily be 
 spread through this land, from the throne even unto 
 the hovel ! for Kings shall come unto the brightness 
 of it's rising. — I depart in the twilight of these things, 
 but you shall behold the sun rise ; and I pray that 
 he may shine forth upon you with healing in his 
 wings !"
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 421 
 
 As the dying Prioress spake, I stood and gazed 
 upon her with utter amazement, for unto me she 
 seemed like some holy Prophetess, in tlie very mo- 
 ment when unmeasurable inspiration was poured into 
 her soul : I spake not, from wonder at the power and 
 eloquence of her speech, and I almost doubted to 
 breathe, lest I should interrupt her wondrous dis- 
 course. 
 
 Howbeit, her strength was now alnu)st spent, and it 
 was in a fainter and more broken voice that she said, 
 " Truly, Plantagenet, even in this last hour of mine 
 existence, I cannot but feel a full strong assurance, 
 that to make the Word of Truth plainly and widely 
 known, is to spread the power and realm of the IMost 
 High ; whilst to keep it in an unspoken tongue is to 
 bury the Eternal Jewel of Mankind. For, I beseech 
 you, are all unlettered men to perish because they 
 wist not the speech of heathen Rome ; or why should 
 our land be the lowest of Christendom, in that it hath 
 7iot the Scriptures, the Law of God and our Faith, 
 in it's own language } Oh, Richard ! Richard ! — 
 friend of the friendless Bride Plantagenet, — who art 
 the dearest object in my closing eyes, believe me 
 when I say, that I desire nothing better for thee than 
 well to know and revere this most Holy Book in our 
 own tongue. — Alas ! Plantagenet, my death is so far 
 like that of my beloved mother in Bermondsey 
 Abbey, that I may well say, as she did in her will, 
 I have no worldly goods to do any a pleasure with,
 
 422 THE liAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 nor to reward any according to mine heart and mind. 
 — Yet unto thee, most dear friend, do I give this 
 book of the English New Testament, by the learned 
 and holy Wiclif, for such I dare well think him to 
 have been ; and this little tome of Offices, which 
 thou gavest me at our last parting, and which hath 
 never left me since that hour. I can well think that 
 thou hast preserved my ring, if it have not been rent 
 from thee ; and so I ween that I shall not be alto- 
 gether forgotten by thee." 
 
 As she gave the books into mine hands and spake 
 these words, my spirit was again suddenly melted 
 within me, and I said, " Forgotten ! Oh ! dearest 
 Lady Bride, when thou art forgotten, Richard Plan- 
 tagenet will have neither power of memory nor aught 
 to remember." 
 
 " These confessions being past, then," resumed the 
 Prioress, " my soul is full of blessed expectancy and 
 ready to be gone ; having now nought to sorrow or 
 to hope for, saving that I yet lament mine harshness, 
 or that of mine office, unto one whose feelings I do 
 gladly partake of." 
 
 It was my great desire, however much mine heart 
 should be disquieted by the sorrows of the hour, 
 to keep my spirit yet tranquil and unshaken ; but 
 now my tears flowed in despite of all mine efforts to 
 restrain them, and, moreover, my soul was in great 
 dread from the peril which I feared might await tlie 
 Lady Bride, from her holding what I then deemed
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 423 
 
 most hazardous and evil doctrines. Yet even whilst 
 I did what was in me to recall her therefrom into the 
 bosom of the Church, I much wondered at the more 
 than human courage, with which she had prepared to 
 encounter the Last Enemy. For, all throughout 
 mine interview with her, even unto her death, a 
 heavenly hope seemed to flourish healthfully and vi- 
 gorously upon her countenance; even as I have seen 
 some fair and fallen column, wreathed around with 
 sweet flowers and green moss, and blooming with all 
 the fresh and living verdure of the Spring. 
 
 But now the hour had arrived, when she was to 
 render up her spirit unto the God who gave it, since 
 she faintly said, " I can no more, Richard ; give me 
 thine absolution and benediction, — for the moment 
 hath now arrived when we must part for the last 
 time ; — and, may He, whom I implore mercifully to 
 receive his returning creature, — cause His best bles- 
 sing eternally to descend upon thee, — my Brother 
 — and my friend — bringing thee in His own good 
 hour, into His purified fold ! — and forget not — that 
 I wait for thee in glory. — Call in the Sisters, Planta- 
 genet, — and Fare thee — well !" And as I sorrowfully 
 turned me from her, I heard her add in a low fervent 
 voice, " Lord have mind of me, now Thou art in Thy 
 Kingdom." 
 
 Thereupon hastily entered the Nuns, with certain 
 others to give her the Viaticum and Extreme Unc- 
 tion, but she was now so weak that they could do no
 
 424 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 more than support her, yet did her dying eyes beam 
 upon me with love unutterable. It was now sun-set, 
 and at that moment was heard the swell of the organ 
 from the Chapel, where even-song was being per- 
 formed ; and then followed the choral voices of those 
 Sisters, who owed their advancement in piety unto 
 her most religious care and holy pattern. I ween 
 that all who heard those strains, felt them to be full 
 fitting for the departure of one so blessed into the 
 World of Spirits ; and I ween that the Lady Bride 
 thought so herself, for when tlw; Niitic Dimittis was 
 heard, she strove to raise herself, and spake somewhat 
 in a voice that might not be understood. The Nuns 
 declared it to be the Latin words of the holy Simeon's 
 hymn, but I rather trow that they were those from 
 Wiclif's Translation of St. Luke's Gospel, seeing that 
 they did refer both unto her readiness to die, and 
 unto the rising light which she had found for herself, 
 and expected for others, in the blessings of the Ti-ans- 
 lated Gospel. 
 
 " Lord, now leevest Thou Thy servant in 
 PEACE. For mine eyen han seyn Thine health : 
 Which Thou hast made ready before the face 
 of all people ; Light to the shewing of hea- 
 then MEN, and glory OF ThY PEOPLE IsRAEL !" 
 
 Such, I do well believe, were the dying words of 
 the Lady Bride Plantagenet, upon ending the which, 
 she languidly bent her head as if in a last farewell ; 
 whereupon one of the Nuns signed unto me to with-
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 425 
 
 clraw, and so I turned me from that scene of triumph, 
 though of ahnost more than mortal suffering, and from 
 the face and form I had so long loved to look upon. 
 
 I have so often mused over the passages which I 
 have now recounted, that they are all impressed upon 
 my memory with wondrous exactness and power ; yet 
 is there one thing, which I may not omit to note, 
 whereof I know not what to say, whether in truth it 
 really chanced, or whether it were biit a dream of 
 phantasy, either at the very time, or even in after 
 years. Howbeit, whatever it were, this is the sum 
 thereof. — When I turned to depart from the Prioress, 
 I gave her my last adieu and benediction ; which she 
 had no power to answer but by a weak motion of her 
 head : but as I was leaving the chamber, methought 
 I again heard her well-known and beloved voice say- 
 ing, " Farewell, Richard ! — Farewell, Plantagenet !" 
 in it's saddest and sweetest tones. I started with 
 amaze at hearing her so accost me before strangers, 
 and hastily turned me again, but in doing so mine 
 eyes chanced to fall upon the casement, whereat me- 
 thought I heard the soft fluttering of wings, and I 
 beheld a Dove, more lustrous and silvery white than 
 any which I ever saw upon earth, suddenly fly there- 
 from into the brightest part of the heavens where tlie 
 sun was sinking, and so disappear ! — In truth I dare 
 not aflirm, that it was the Lady Bride's beatified soul 
 which I did thus see and hear; yet is it certain that 
 she died at the very moment thereof, as I knew from
 
 426 THK LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 the sudden cry of the Sisters, though I continued 
 gazing upon that wondrous vision, until they recalled 
 me by noting the intentness wherewith I was looking 
 upon that, which appeared to them but as an empty 
 space ! 
 
 I then turned me once more unto the couch of the 
 departed Prioress, to behold her dear countenance for 
 the last time; wherein I saw there was but little 
 change from dying. For the brightness of unshaken 
 Faith and unspotted virtue were upon it, which made 
 her last moments wondrously radiant; even as the 
 sun never looketh more glorious, than when his part- 
 ing rays are cast upward unto the mountain's summit, 
 as he sinketh to his rest upon the glowing bosom of 
 the western wave.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE recluse's LAST SORROWS AND TRIALS THE 
 
 DISSOLUTION OF RELIGIOUS HOUSES. 
 
 He who hath bent him o'er the dead 
 Ere the first day of Death is fled,— 
 Before Decay's effacing fingers 
 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers. 
 And raark'd the mild angelic air. 
 The rapture of repose that's there, 
 The fix'd, yet tender, tints that streak 
 The languor of the placid cheek, 
 And — but for that sad shrouded eye. 
 
 That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now. 
 And, but for that chill changeless brow ; 
 Where cold Obstruction's apathy 
 Appals the gazing mourner's heart, — 
 
 Yes, — but for these, and ttiese alone, 
 Some moments, aye one treacherous hour 
 He still might doubt the Tyrant's jjower ; 
 So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, 
 The first, last, look by Death reveal'd. 
 
 Lord Uvhd.v. 
 
 And there shall come a King and confesse your Religions, 
 
 And bete you, as the Bible telleth, for breaking of your Rule. 
 
 And amende Moniales, Monkcs, and Chanoines ;— 
 
 And then shall the Abbot of llngland, and all his issue for ever. 
 
 Have a knocke of a Kino, and incurable shall be the wounde ! 
 
 Prophecy in the Vision ok Pierce Ploughman. 
 
 It is lull sad and sweet to look upon the mortal re- 
 mains, of one whom in lite wc were Avont to admire
 
 428 THK LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 and to love : it is full sad to think how that counte- 
 nance, which was of late so rich in beauty and lively 
 emotion, and how those eyes which glistened so lus- 
 trously, and the tongue which could discourse with 
 highest wisdom or with holiest eloquence, — have all 
 become the prey of Death, and are for ever dark, mo- 
 tionless, and mute. Yet, I ween, that amidst all the 
 kindly lamentations which sorrow wakeneth at such a 
 moment, it is also full soothing to mark the quiet rest, 
 which the happily-parted dead do seem already to 
 partake of; even in the brief space ere we note that 
 the loathly work of decay is advancing, or the worm 
 beginneth to revel upon the charms of his fallen victim. 
 All this did I feel, full sadly and truly, at that so- 
 lemn hour, when it was mine to gaze upon the lifeless 
 form and visage of the departed Lady Bride. But 
 though I did much lament me that one so pious, and 
 noble, and beauteous, should fall thus early into the 
 sepulchre ; yet could I not look upon that which she 
 liad left of her mortality, without thinking that she 
 had but the sooner retreated unto an holy and blessed 
 rest; and that, with such hopes as her's, it was, in 
 truth, happiness thus speedily to have crossed over the 
 troubled sea of life, and to have gained the eternal 
 shores of the world beyond it. — And I do well trust 
 that God can bear me witness, that my pious and 
 hopeful musings at this time, have not in any sort been 
 altered by aught which hath since chanced ; albeit I 
 once thought that it would have been happy for me
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 429 
 
 had I also arrived at mine appointed resting-place, 
 ere I had counted another year beyond the Lady 
 Brides death : yet can I now well see the vanity and 
 folly of my wish ; that length of days, sorrowful as 
 many of them have proved, hath been given unto me 
 for a purpose of good ; and that it is not for the vessel 
 of clay to strive with him who frameth it, nor for man 
 to question the decree of his IMaker : — in brief, what- 
 ever may be his yearnings after his immortal change, 
 that he should patiently finish his appointed day, say- 
 ing, "Not my will, but Thine be done !" 
 
 I will not now recount aught of the last rites 
 which were rendered unto the departed Prioress, al- 
 beit until the tomb was closed over her I lingered at 
 the Convent with my fellows, and even took a melan- 
 choly part in singing for her the IMass for the Dead, 
 and seeing her most honourably interred in the Cha- 
 pel. I was in truth a most sorrowful mourner, for I 
 did ever greatly desire to descend with her unto the 
 tomb ; being full sad, and even dismayed, when I 
 bethought me how long the years might be which 
 should pass away before that we should meet again. 
 
 Yet until the day when the Lady Bride thus became 
 numbered with the dead, I was, in truth, less weaned 
 from the vain hopes of this world than might become 
 one of the holy life whereunto I had professed my- 
 self; since, albeit I had much desired to put them 
 from my thoughts, yet in despite of me they would 
 ever and anon turn unto her, whose sway over
 
 430 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 mine lieart had ahvay been most wondrous. Waking 
 dreams, moreover, were wont to spring up in my 
 mind, as it were in very mockery of my better rea- 
 son, and featly to shadow forth what strange chances 
 might arise to restore me unto the world, raise me 
 unto loftiest rank and power, — perchance imto a 
 throne, — and, more than all, give the Lady Bride 
 unto my love. Nevertheless, much did I strive to 
 overcome these lurking visions of vanity, although 
 mine efforts were not seldom in vain ; and mortal affec- 
 tions too often withdrew my thoughts and desires from 
 Heaven. — But now a sudden and a solemn change had 
 passed over the fashion of my life, and the dearest 
 object of my fondest and wildest wishes was with- 
 drawn for ever ; so that for me the whole world no 
 longer possessed aught, which might interrupt medi- 
 tations more befitting unto my profession and cha- 
 racter. Mortality and vanity had been stamped in 
 fearful characters upon all I held noblest, or sweetest, 
 or loveliest; and I was now no longer to be allured 
 by the fairest prospects of fame, or joy, or riches, which 
 the earth might offer. 
 
 After our return unto Walsingham, my life passed 
 like the still and silent waters of the Dead Sea, in a 
 sad, yet peaceful, course of unchanging religious 
 offices and duties, the which I had neither desire nor 
 temptation to break ; so that days, and months, and 
 years rolled by me almost unknown. Nevertheless, I 
 failed not to mark the return of the day when the
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 431 
 
 Lady Bride was born and became beatified, by a yearly 
 pilgrimage unto her tomb, and offering my most fer- 
 vent prayers for her soul's health. At these seasons, 
 moreover, I did rejoice that, by their succession, they 
 did ever advance me nearer and nearer unto Eternity, 
 which I deemed could alone fill up the desolate void 
 within my soul : — that Eternity, which, however fear- 
 ful it seemeth unto mortals in their lusty youth, the 
 fiiint and worn-out traveller full greatly desireth to 
 reach, as a refuge and a home. 
 
 I trow well, moreover, that the tidings, which from 
 time to time I heard of the world, were not such as 
 to make me greatly desire that my stay herein should 
 be prolonged ; since in truth I weened that the last 
 days were now come, as foretold by the holy 'Postles, 
 Peter and Powle, wherein scoffers should appear 
 walking after their own lusts. At this time began 
 many to mock at the Faith of the Church of Rome, 
 from the questioning about the Pope's Indulgences, 
 begun by that learned and ardent young doctor, Mar- 
 tin Luther, in the Church of Wittemburg in Almaine, 
 on the 31st day of October in the year 1517: for al- 
 beit divers Papal Constitutions had openly condemned 
 the shameless sale of those remissions from the earthly 
 penalties of sin, which the Pontiffs were wont to 
 grant unto such as confessed them, and joined in the 
 Crusades, or gave money thereunto, or did any acts of 
 Christian charity ; — yet had those decrees been too 
 often disregarded, and Indulgences were not seldom
 
 432 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 made the means of gathering ungodly lucre, for the 
 fostering of covetise, or of aiding unlawful ambition 
 and desire of rule. In especial, they were at this 
 ; time published and sold in Poland and France, and 
 the Northern parts of Germany, to aid in the building 
 of that most gorgeous Church of St. Peter at Rome, 
 the which, though it is now full thirty-five years since 
 it was begun, is not yet brought unto perfection. 
 Howbeit, for the gathering of these monies in Almaine, 
 the Pope's Indulgences were offered not only in ser- 
 mons from the pulpits, but were also sold in streets 
 and markets, taverns and pi'ivate houses ; whilst it 
 was affirmed that all who bought them, profligate as 
 they might be, did either open the gate of Heaven 
 for themselves, or forthwith released a departed soul 
 from the pains of purgatory. If this w^ere true, it 
 was indeed foul and daring impiety, to think that 
 any mortal should have power to buy off the rigliteovis 
 sentence of an incorruptible and eternal Judge ; yet 
 some men do say that it was not so, but that Luther's 
 preaching against the same, arose out of the counsels 
 of one Staupitz, Vicar of the Austin-Friars, and the 
 jealousy which Avas between that Order and the Do- 
 minicans. Howbeit, whatever it Avere, now began 
 that reformation in the Christian Church, which, I 
 question not that He, who bringeth good out of evil, 
 and light out of darkness, and who maketh even the 
 wrath of man to praise Him, — will at length work 
 out and establish unto His own glory.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 433 
 
 I Avill not here relate more of the hazardous, though 
 triumphant, march and labours of Luther, to bring 
 about this mighty work, nor how he went on from ques- 
 tioning the Pope's Indulgences to doubtof his doctrines, 
 and thence to the unlearned and vicious lives of the 
 Clergy ; the which were but all too well known, both 
 in our own realm and in the country of Almaine. 
 And indeed the increase aTid fatal end, of the igno- 
 rance and evil deeds of our English IMonks, had full 
 long since been foretold ; and it was mine to see their 
 overthrow fulfilled, and even in some degree to par- 
 take thereof. For the Venerable Bede wondrously 
 spake of it, full 800 years before it came to pass, in 
 his pious and learned letter on the state of the Church 
 in his days;* and the wise, yet biting verses, of that 
 
 • This Epistle is supposed to have been the very last of 
 Bede's writings, and was probably composed in A- D. 735. It 
 is particularly remarkable for advising the suppression of some 
 of the English Religious Houses for the establishment and 
 support of new Bishoprics, as being more beneficial to the 
 Church : and because many of the former institutions fell iar 
 short of their rules, whilst others were serviceable to neither 
 God nor the Commonwealth ; the exercises of piety and disci- 
 pline not being j)ractised in them, nor their estates held by such 
 as would defend the country. Part of the prophecy from the 
 Visions of Pierce Ploughman above referred to, will be found 
 prefixed to the present chapter ; this remarkable passage is 
 contained in the Sixth division of the poem, and is inserted in 
 manuscripts which are older than the year 1 tOO. Dr. Whit- 
 
 2 F
 
 434 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 shrewd Priest, Robert Langlande, in his book of the 
 Visions of Pierce Plotihman, noted the same in such full 
 and plain words, that men might well deem that they 
 were written after the act was done, were not certain 
 copies yet to be seen with his prophecy to be found 
 therein. There were divers others, too, who foresaw 
 this overthroAv ere it came, of the which I speak not now, 
 saving to note the wondrous revelation thereof, which 
 was poured upon the dying eyes of the Lady Bride 
 Plantagenet, as I have already recounted the same. 
 
 Nevertheless, all men do well know, that it was not 
 presently, nor for almost twenty years, after Luther's 
 preaching, that the Pope's power and the IMonks were 
 overthrown in this realm ; for Henry in his youth 
 was well-seen in Divinity, and wrote much against 
 the new doctrines ; whereupon the Pontiif in 1524 
 
 taker, in his edition of that most extraordinary composition 
 from a contemporary manuscript, gives the passage somewhat 
 different, though equally full, but he considers it as no other 
 than a happy conjecture. These Visions are ascertained to 
 have been wi'itten aftei*, or during, the ye^v 13(32, and though 
 they are generally attributed to Robert Langlande, it is 
 thought that the best MSS., as well as some passages in the 
 poem itself, state the Author's name to have been William. 
 It was first printed in 1550. Pierce the Ploughman's Crede, 
 which has been cited in a former part of this volume, is an 
 imitation of the Visions, though b}' a different hand, and was 
 written after the death of Wiclif in 1381. It was first printed 
 in 1553.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 435 
 
 gave xmto him the lofty title of Defender of the Faith. 
 But some seven years thereafter^ when he first began 
 to desire a new consort, and to question the la\^fulness 
 of his marriage with the good Queen Catherine, then 
 might all men see that the storm was hastening on. 
 First fell the great and wise Cardinal Wolsey, then 
 followed the King's divorce, and anon, to the fearful 
 amaze of all who yet owned the Pope's authority, 
 Henry was declared Supreme Head of the Church ; 
 rashly, as I then thought, attacking the Vicegerent of 
 Heaven, and setting at nought his holy power derived 
 from St. Peter, through a long line of Pontiffs v.ho 
 had gloriously ruled over the Christian world. They 
 who adhered unto him and the Faith he taught, and 
 denied the civil power of the Parliament to give unto 
 Henry a spii-itual sovereignty, then became meet ob- 
 jects of persecution, and divers fell victims thereunto ; 
 especially, as I remember me, the three Carthusian 
 Priors of London, Axiholm, and Belteval, with certain 
 others, in the year 1535 : the which were full soon fol- 
 lowed by the wise and good Doctor John Fisher, 
 Bishop of Rochester, and the late High-Chancellorj> 
 the very witty and learned Sir Thomas More. 
 
 The tempest which we looked for did now soon 
 burst, and descend upon the Religious Houses of the 
 realm, as being the peculiar subjects of the Bishop of 
 Rome : for when the Pope excommunicated Henry, 
 the dissolution of ^Monasteries was forthwith resolved 
 on, and their general Visitation began by divers Com-
 
 436 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 missioners, appointed by the Lord Cromwell, the 
 King's Vicar-generaivi. Yet unto sucli as foresaw not 
 the endof this device, it seemed rather the support or 
 amendmetit, than the ahoUlion, of ^Monasteries whicli 
 was now sought; for the instructions of the said 
 Visitors were little different, from those which have 
 ever been set forth by Bishops or Papal Legates in 
 their wonted Visitations. But the Commissioners, 
 I trow, were also commanded first to go unto the 
 lesser Religious Houses, and exhort the inmates 
 thereof presently to yield them unto the King ; upon 
 failure of which, they were to seek occasion for their 
 sudden suppression by enquiring into their misdeeds. 
 Howbeit, at this time only seven Houses resigned ; 
 and it was shewn that most of the evil charged upon 
 the Monks, was to be found in the smaller Brother- 
 hoods and Convents only. 
 
 So was the work of destruction begun, but in 
 March in the next year, namely, 1536, the King de- 
 vised a speedier means of proceeding against them ; 
 for a Bill was suddenly sent unto the Parliament, that 
 all Monasteries which owned not two hundred pounds 
 in a clear yearly value, should be given unto the King. 
 But this Bill, as Henry thought, stuck too long with 
 the Commons ; wherefore he sent for certain of them, 
 and told them that he would have some of their heads, 
 unless it were enacted forthwith, and so it was sud- 
 denly done. Commissioners were thereupon sent unto 
 all such Houses, briefly to declare their dissolution, to
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGEN ETS. 437 
 
 make an inventory of their goods, to seize upon their 
 seals and charters, and to dispose of the societies : al- 
 though, as the aforesaid Bill left the King free to re- 
 found those Houses, each one hoped to escape from 
 utter destruction, by gifts or pensions made unto the 
 Vicar-General and his deputies, to buy their favour 
 and secure tlieir own safety; by the which means, 
 many were for a brief space respited or new-founded. 
 
 Howbeit this Act, after all, touched not the greater 
 3Ionasteries, nor the Abbey of Walsingham ; yet our 
 House well devised what would succeed, since this 
 provision was like a small broche wherewith men 
 make a little hole, to put in afterwards a larger auger. 
 And even as we expected, so did it soon follow; for 
 the dissolution of the smaller Monasteries havinar 
 brought on a notable insurrection on their behalf in 
 the Northern Counties, by divers of the commonalty 
 who missed their alms and other charities, — certain 
 of the greater Religious Houses were charged with 
 aiding and abetting the same, and so it was resolved 
 at once to suppress them. 
 
 These were some of the public passages of this 
 most disquiet time, but now come I to note mine own 
 particular, and hapless, concern therein. Upon the 
 King's declaration of his Supremacy over the Church, 
 Richard Vowell, our Prior, Edmund Warham, the 
 then Sub-Prior, and twenty Canons, subscribed unto 
 it on Friday, the likh of September, in the year 
 1534. But though this was received as the act of all
 
 438 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 our House, yet did not the whole Brotherhood sign 
 the same : for Father George Gisborough, of whom I 
 have afore spoken, and divers others denied it ; and 
 for mine own part, I was then, by order of the Prior, 
 at Flitcham, a Cell belonging unto our Abbey, some 
 fifteen miles distant. So passed I unquestioned in that 
 matter, but sixteen of my resisting brethren were long 
 and cruelly imprisoned, and five of them were hanged 
 for hiffh treason in 1536. And in their sad fite did 
 I full well deem that 1 beheld mine own, what time 
 it was determined to rid Walsingham Abbey of it's 
 Canons, and leave the same at the King's pleasure ; 
 the which was brought about in this manner. 
 
 In July, soon after the Feast of Pentecost, in the 
 thirtieth year of Henry VHI., namely 1538, certain 
 Commissioners came vmto our House to make Visita- 
 tion, the chief thereof being Sir Richard Southwell. 
 They assayed divers devices to effect their end, by 
 separate and secret examinations both of the Brethren 
 and Servitors ; but first they so wrought with our 
 Prior, that they made him of a very facile and ready 
 mind to follow their counsel in this matter, and sur- 
 render his Monastery unto the King or his assigns ; 
 for the which service he did soon after receive a pen- 
 sion of ^fc'lOO yearly, and, peradventure, doth still 
 enjoy the same. He did then forthwith propound 
 Henry's desire unto us in full Chapter, and read a 
 deed which had been given unto him to sign, declar- 
 ing the misorder and evil rule of the Brethren of the
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENET9. 439 
 
 Abbey, both unto God and the King, which con- 
 strained him to give it up. Furthermore, he counsel- 
 led us to join him herein, assuring us of pensions or 
 advancement in the Church, for so doing, and shew- 
 ing us that it was altogether vain to withstand the 
 Sovereign's commandment. The tidings of this guer- 
 don had much Aveight with divers of my fellows, who 
 were in truth worldly and evil men, unfitted for a 
 monastic life ; and, therefore, did they yield unto the 
 Prior's counsel, and subscribed the said deed, for the 
 which they received certain pensions, from forty shil- 
 lings to nine marks yearly. 
 
 Thus was the noted Abbey of Walsingham, with 
 Flitcham Cell, given up unto the King, by a brief writ 
 in Latin, enrolled in the Chancery, and bearing date 
 on Friday, the 4th of August; but thereunto was 
 added a most shameful and dishonest confession in 
 English, and so I was resolved to set mine hand unto 
 neither, let the bribes or the consequences be what 
 they might. The said declaration set forth that we, 
 and others of our pretensed religion, had long time 
 used divers papistical ceremonies ; such as wearing 
 of scapulars and hoods, black and white garments, 
 M'ith vain dockying and becking, and disguising our- 
 selves after strange fashions, the which belonged not 
 unto Christian living. Moreover, it was affirmed 
 therein, that we had been guilty of much profane 
 fraud touching the miracles and supposed holy re- 
 liques of our Shrine, and that we led notorious lewd
 
 440 
 
 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 and incontinent lives in our Abbey ; for the which 
 we yielded up all unto the King's pleasure, and re- 
 solved to live in future more according to the exam- 
 ples of the Evangelists and Apostles. Now much of 
 this confession did I utterly deny and scorn : and 
 being closely questioned thereupon by Henry's Visi- 
 tors, as to wherefore I deemed myself more righteous 
 than my fellows, I boldly answered unto them that I 
 claimed no such holiness, since I knew full well that 
 my sins had been over-many and very foul in the 
 sight of God ; yet that I led the best life mine im- 
 perfect nature might reach unto, and trusted to 
 amend it by His grace, and that specially had I not 
 to answer for such crimes as the confession declared. 
 For our miracles and the holy reliques, I said that I 
 spake only what I was taught, and did really believe, 
 and knew nothing of fraud therein ; but that if my 
 fellows were guilty, they had been so by their own 
 counsel and at their own peril, the which I left unto 
 their own souls and the great Judge of all hearts. 
 Finally I declared, that for the habits and ceremonies 
 which they reviled as superstitious and idolatrous, I 
 had used them only as the meet and reverent rites 
 ordained of the Church ; and that as holy Powle said 
 of old, after the way which they called heresy, so 
 worshipped I the God of my fathers. 
 
 " Hah ! my masters," hereupon exclaimed Sir 
 Richard Southwell unto his fellow-commissioners, 
 for they Avere then seated in council around a table
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 441 
 
 in our Refectory, — " how think you, sirs, is not this 
 a most contentious Canon and truculent priest, thus 
 to oppose the King's Majesty ? — In my judgement, I 
 trow he deserves little less than to be tied up in a 
 sack and thrown into the Stif key. What sayest thou 
 unto this, fellow ?" 
 
 "Briefly," responded I, "that I do neither resist 
 the King's commands, nor might hope any thing 
 from doing so, therefore let him take when he will 
 my poor share of this vvorld's goods in this Alonas- 
 tery ; for he who hath given himself up unto a holy 
 life, is pledged unto poverty, and may call nothing 
 his own save his habit and rosary. Yet would I say, 
 let the King beware how he seizes upon the posses- 
 sions of the Holy Church ; lest, like the Eagle in 
 jEsopus, who stole a brand from an altar and carried 
 it unto her eyrie, he do but fire his own house with 
 the sacrilegious spoil. — And for the consequences 
 which you menace unto my free speech and alledged 
 resistance, I fear nothing : they may indeed affright 
 rich and dainty folk, who fare sumptuously and be 
 clothed delicately, and have their chiefest hopes in 
 this world, — but unto me, and such as me, the sack 
 and the river have no terrors; since, I give thanks 
 unto God, I know the way to Heaven to be as short 
 and as sure by water as by land." 
 
 Thus plain and fearless was my speech, although 
 it placed me in sudden and no little hazard, for I was 
 forthwith matle close prisoner in my study, a dark
 
 442 THE LAST OF THE PL,ANTAGENETS. 
 
 narrow cell over the Dormitory, until Henry's plea- 
 sure should be known concerning me ; and there left 
 with little to support life, and nothing of comfort. In 
 the mean space, our common seal was broken, the 
 Prior and other Brethren were put forth of the Ab- 
 bey, and it's spoliation completed. All that might be 
 gathered from it for sale, as the lead, the bells, and 
 such like, were carried away, the Church, the Li- 
 brary, the Canons' chambers, and every other place 
 being stripped, and then left to fall into that decay 
 in which it now appeareth ; though the Prior's lodg- 
 ings and offices were yet left standing, for the com- 
 modity of him unto whom the King should grant 
 the possession. Then followed the destruction of the 
 rich and noted Shrine of our Lady, as that of Arch- 
 bishop Becket at Canterbury was also destroyed and 
 despoiled ; when, albeit his remains had been vene- 
 rated by all the pious for so many ages, his bones 
 were burned on the very spot where hosts of pilgrims 
 had so often knelt to do them honour. Then came 
 forth a Proclamation, declaring that the said Archbi- 
 shop was a traitor and no Saint ; that pictures and 
 effigies of him should be destroyed ; that feasts unto 
 his honour should be for ever done away ; and that 
 even his very name should be blotted out of all 
 books, upon pain of the King's displeasure and im- 
 prisonment. The costly plate and precious jewels of 
 our once-wealthy Shrine, were now taken away and 
 reserved for the King ; and the furniture and all the
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENET8. 443 
 
 Other goods of the Abbe}^ were either sold, when 
 their price was paid into the Court of Augmentation, 
 then of late set up for that very purpose, or else were 
 wantonly destroyed. In especial our reliques were 
 burned, divers of our images broken to pieces and 
 given unto the flames, and the great and famous EfR- 
 gy of our Lady carried unto London, and afterwards 
 consumed at Chelsea. 
 
 Nevertheless, of these ravages I beheld only the sad 
 ruins and effects, being all the time held a close, 
 though neglected, prisoner in my cell : where I almost 
 deemed that it Avas the intent of the ^''isitors to leave 
 me to die of sickness or hunger ; for I had not now 
 of a long space breathed the free air of heaven, and 
 not seldom the day would pass, and none come to bring 
 me food, so that I began to sink under that most ri- 
 gorous confinement. I remember, moreover, how it 
 was at this time told, that the like sickness and death 
 had befallen several Carthusian Monks of London, 
 who were shut up in Newgate prison for resisting the 
 King ; whose fate was not thought to be cruelty in 
 the Visitors of their House, but the righteous judge- 
 ment of God. And hereupon was I exceeding sad, 
 yet possessed I nought which might console me save 
 my books, Avhich were yet left unto me in my nar- 
 row cell, and specially the learned Wiclif 's New Tes- 
 tament in English, which had been given unto me by 
 the dear departed Lady Bride Plantagenet. — I had 
 already glanced over that most ancient tome, though
 
 444 THE LAST OF THK PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 rather from reverent attachment unto the memory of 
 the beloved donor, than from any desire to acquaint 
 me with the book itself; but at this time, in the sad 
 and weary leisure of captivity, I set me to read it 
 through with more diligence, to while away the deso- 
 late waste of my melancholy hours. And now was 
 come the season of my spiritual deliverance ; for, like 
 Saul journeying vmto Damask, the light from Heaven 
 suddenly shone about me, and shewed me how vain 
 had been my former life, and much of my present 
 faith. I beheld gradually, yet with great amaze, the 
 wondrous superstition into which our Church had 
 sunken, by praying unto Saints and Angels instead 
 of unto Christ the only Mediator ; and I now noted the 
 wide difference betwixt the lives of the holy Evange- 
 lists and Apostles, and those led by many of the 
 monks and brethren with whom I had been wont to 
 company. Now could I fervently join in that most 
 christian desire and prayer of the beatified Lady 
 Bride, that all England should have the Rule of Faith 
 in the common speech, that men might be led to read 
 and ponder the same for themselves ; and now did I 
 rejoice over the dawning fulfilment of her dying pro- 
 phecy in the reformation of our corrupt Clergy, and 
 the spread of the Translated Word against all opposi- 
 tion, which shewed it of a truth lo be a divine thing, 
 against M^hich no weapon that was turned could pros- 
 per. For the English Testaments of late set forth in 
 Flanders, by William Tindal and John Frith, had
 
 THE LAST OP THE PLANTAGENETS. 445 
 
 spread wondrously through the reahn ; and albeit 
 Cuthbert Tonstall, the Bishop of London, had seized 
 upon all copies whereon he could lay his hands, and 
 burned them Avith foul contumely at Powle's Cross, 
 yet was not the incorruptible seed of the Word to be 
 destroyed by fire, but the truth, as in the Apostles' 
 days, grew mightily : and other and larger Translations 
 of the whole Scriptures followed, until at length the 
 realm Avas made glad by divers English Bibles, printed 
 by the command of the King himself. 
 
 I had, until this time, taken little note of these 
 things, because the hour was not come when mine 
 eyes should be opened ; for, since the Lady Bride's 
 death, life seemed unto me a dreary waste, wherein 
 there was nought but sorrow and unceasing disap- 
 pointment. But now, as the truth dawned upon my 
 mind, and I thankfully prayed over the increasing 
 brightness, I felt a holy joy fill my soul in the midst 
 of all my sorrows, like unto that which made Powle 
 and Silas worship and sing praises unto God in their 
 prison at midnight. 
 
 And even upon this spiritual liberation, came my 
 temporal freedom ; for the King's Visitors did at 
 length sell the site of Walsingham Abbey, with it's 
 churchyard, orchards, and gardens, unto one Thomas 
 Sydney for ^£90. This was done in November, 1531), 
 whereupon they left our ruined House, albeit I was 
 still immured within my cell; where, indeed, it is 
 like that I should have died, had it not been for a
 
 446 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 wondrous and all unlooked-lbr providence. I have 
 already recounted that when Henry came unto Wal- 
 singham, the Abbey was not perfectly edified, and, 
 therefore, certain masons and builders were long em- 
 ployed thereon ; the oversight of whom was assigned 
 unto me, because of my former knowledge and prac- 
 tice of their art. The chief of these was one Master 
 Bartholomew Stonehewer, of Norwich, a most skilful 
 and ancient person, whom I had known at Westmin- 
 ster, what time I aided Father Austin of Ely in build- 
 ing Henry Tudor's Chapel there, wherefrom he did 
 still keep me in lively remembrance and favour. It so 
 chanced, that he was engaged by the new possessor of 
 the destroyed Abbey, to build him a fair IManor-house 
 on the site thereof, with the stones of the ruins ; and, 
 learning of mine imprisonment, he did at length con- 
 trive mine escape in the night, in the habit of one of 
 his own workmen, with much hazard unto himself; 
 spreading abroad the report, that in taking down one 
 of the cells, they had found the remains of my lifeless 
 body.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE CLOSE AND MORAL OP AN OLD MAN S STORY. 
 
 Having now my journey done, 
 
 Just at the setting' of the sun ; 
 
 Here I have found a chamber fit, 
 
 God and good friends be thank'd for it ! 
 
 Herrtck. 
 
 No ! I would not live again 
 
 The morning hours of life ; 
 
 I would not be again 
 The slave of hope and fear ; 
 I would not learn again 
 The wisdom by Experience hardly taught. 
 To me the past presents 
 No object for regret ; 
 To me the present gives 
 All cause for full content. 
 The future, — it is now the cheerful noon. 
 And on the sunny-smiling fields I gaze 
 
 With eyes alive to joy ; 
 When the dark night descends, 
 I willingly shall close my weary lids, 
 Secure to wake again. 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 I WEEN that full little is now remaining to be said of 
 my poor history, for it skills not here to repeat the 
 straits whereunto I was reduced, when I was thus 
 drifted forth again upon the stormy sea of the wide 
 world, or the loneliness of heart which I felt therein-
 
 448 THE LAST OP THK PLANTAGENKTS. 
 
 The few dear friends whom I had once known or 
 might have claimed, were eitlier long since dispersed 
 or dead ; and had all fallen around me, and left me 
 desolate and destitute, like a rock when the tide hath 
 left it dry and bare, or as the Autumn-blast that 
 shaketh the tree and scattereth the leaves thereof, 
 whilst the trunk standeth naked and alone amidst all 
 the tempests of the coming winter. Howbeit, even 
 in my most forlorn estate, was my mind more hopeful 
 and tranquil, than it had been whilst the Holy Scrip- 
 tures and the pure simplicity of a Christian life were 
 unknown to me ; and specially did I draw this conso- 
 lation from the early decease of my friends, that I had 
 so many ties less unto earth, and so many more allure- 
 ments unto Heaven, those supporters being taken 
 from me that I might put my trust in God only. 
 
 Yet had Master Stonehewer given unto me some- 
 what more than liberty, for, knowing mine acquaint- 
 ance with his own art, he commended me unto one of 
 the same craft for entertainment ; and I did once 
 more practise it in lowly and cautious disguise, to 
 baffle the purposes of those who would have sought 
 my life. The payment of my daily toil, mean as it 
 was, provided me Viith bread ; the blessed hope of 
 Christ was in mine heart, and more I sought not : yet 
 did I sometimes sorrow for the unquiet state of the 
 Church of this realm, for the fickle and boisterous 
 rule and the fierce persecutions of Henry, touching the 
 Christian Faith, and for the hapless lot of the many
 
 THE I>,\ST OF TIIK PI.ANTAGKNKTS. 449 
 
 Brethren expelled from the late dissolved Blonasteries 
 who could neither dig nor beg ; but for myself 1 
 mourned not, since I was but subjected unto the com- 
 mon lot of man, — to labour until I should return unto 
 the ground. 
 
 And now, the tale of my life draweth unto a 
 close ; the M'hich, they who may haply scan the same 
 in after-years, shall find it to be, as I have afore de- 
 clared, all inglorious and full of sorrow. That, in- 
 deed, it ended not in direful disaster, instead of my 
 present most tranquil retreat from the world, I cannot 
 attribute unto mine own caution or goodness, but 
 chiefest must I laud the wise and merciful governance 
 of God ; which led the unsteady steps of my youth, 
 if not into the ways of pleasantness, at least some- 
 times into the ])aths of peace, and did ever keep me 
 from wandering into dangerous error. And, more- 
 over, I may thank Him for having raised up unto me 
 the friend and patron of mine old age, the noble Sir 
 Thomas JMoyle, for whom this little tome hath been 
 written to record the passages of my former life; and, 
 such as it is found, may he receive it with favour ! 
 Here, then, might I well finish mine history and my 
 labours; for it availeth little that I should recount unto 
 him, how he first took note of the aged Richard Plan- 
 tagenet, or how large were his efforts or his bounty to 
 give solace unto the closing days of my pilgrimage. 
 But to tlie end tliat his noble charity may never be 
 forgotten, and that others who shall read this my story 
 
 2 G
 
 450 THE LAST OK THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 may know the fate of my latter clays, I will give a 
 brief relation thereof; shunning, as I best may, the 
 very shadow of flattery, although, natheless, it is 
 not easily avoided, wlien the pensioner recounteth his 
 story unto the very patron who hath snatched him 
 from want and sorrow. 
 
 It was, then, I think, about the year 1543, that Sir 
 Thomas Moyle bought the late Sir Christopher Hales' 
 fair Manor of Eastwell in Kent; he being at that 
 time Speaker of the Commons House of Parliament, 
 Chancellor of the Court of Augmentation, in high fa- 
 vour with Henry VIH., and possessed of great wealth 
 by his honourable labours in the laws of this realm. 
 He next determined to build him a stately mansion in 
 the said Manor, and thereupon he reared the noble 
 Palace of Eastwell, carrying down certain masons for 
 the same, witli whom were myself and he who enter- 
 tained me. Albeit my fortunes were now indeed sunken 
 full low, yet, even at this time, did I remember so 
 much of my gentle birth and of the learning of my 
 younger days, as to keep me apart from the baser sort 
 of my fellow-workmen, and still to look upon some 
 notable author at all my moments of leisure ; though, 
 as that which I read was full often in the Latin 
 tongue, I was ever fain to hide it from my companions 
 or any who a])proached, lest it should but provoke 
 blame or derision. The book wherein I read whilst 
 I wrought at Eastwell, was that most choice colloquy 
 of Marcus Tullius Cicero upon Old Age, which I
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 451 
 
 found to be somewhat of divine solace unto me now 
 that I had reached the same condition of life : and 
 which made me not only resigned and hopeful for the 
 future, but even content with the past, stormy as in 
 truth it had been. And methought his Cato did herein 
 breathe out somewhat almost holy and christian, in that 
 place wherein he wondrously entreateth of his past 
 days, which beginneth "Quod si qids Deus mihi lar- 
 giatur," which in our own tongue, as I applied it unto 
 myself, standeth thus. — Should it please God to give 
 unto me a grant again to begin my life from my very 
 cradle, and once more to run over the course of my 
 years, yet would not I in any wise accept thereof. 
 Nor would I, having now in a manner finished my 
 race, run it over again from the starting-place unto the 
 goal ; for what pleasure hath my life had in it ? Nay, 
 rather, what pain had it not } though, were there none, 
 there would questionless have been much weariness 
 and trouble therein. Yet am I not now for bewailing 
 my past life, as many, even wise men, have done ; nor 
 do I repent me that I have lived, because God hath 
 led me to live so, that I am assured my days have not 
 been given in vain : so that when I quit this life, I 
 leave it but as an inn, and not as mine established 
 dwelling ; the bodies which Nature hath given us, be- 
 ing but as a hostel wherein to lodge for a brief season 
 and not to abide in. Oh ! how goodly and glorious, 
 therefore, Avill that day be, when I shall leave for ever 
 the rabble-rout and defilements of this world behind
 
 452 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS . 
 
 me, and go unto God and the fellowship of the world 
 of spirits above ! — 
 
 It so chanced, then, that in the hot season of Sum- 
 mer, when the workmen were resting from their la- 
 bours at noontide, I retired me into one of the cham- 
 bers of the mansion, and was pondering over the al- 
 most heavenly philosophy of this divine Roman, and 
 mine own present condition; whereupon I fell into a 
 deep musing, with mine hand pointing unto the w^ords 
 I have recounted, albeit I was all forgetful of that 
 which was around me. On a sudden, the sound of a 
 voice near me recalled my wandering senses, where- 
 upon I started up, but my book was gone, though pre- 
 sently I saw it in the hands of a grave and full-aged 
 man, of tall stature and noble air, richly habited in 
 black, who was reading the passage whereto I had 
 pointed, with a benign and tranquil visage, yet with 
 somewhat of amaze; as if he had been one who knew 
 and felt it for himself, albeit he wondered how it 
 should be understood or chosen by a common workman 
 such as I did appear. When, therefore, he noted that 
 mine attention was fixed upon him, he addressed me 
 with gentle speech, saying that he meant not to dis- 
 turb my reading or repose, albeit curiosity had led 
 him to look on that which I seemed to have been stu- 
 dying, and that he much marvelled to find it Latin. 
 This led me to relate unto him mine early instruction 
 therein, and other discourse followed, whereby I 
 found tlie good Sir Thomas Moyle, for it was no other
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 453 
 
 than that noble Knight himself, who now talked with 
 me, — to be of so genei-ous and charitable a soul, that 
 I disclosed unto him somewhat more of my story ; 
 the which, whilst he greatly wondered at, he not only 
 promised should be kept secret, but he did at once 
 assure me of his protection and favour for the re- 
 mainder of my days, Avherein he said I should labour no 
 more. That excellent person, indeed, would fain have 
 received into his own household the aged form of the 
 Last of the Plantagenets, yet did he afterwards con- 
 sent to make me happy according to mine own desire, 
 by giving me a little spot of ground near his mansion, 
 whereon I might rear me my last retreat from the 
 tempests of the world. 
 
 This dwelling, thei-efore, was edified about 1546, 
 and here, in this fair and solitary Eastwell, have I now 
 lived nearly four years, in full security and free from 
 care. Nor do I lack for either company or converse, 
 for beside that the noble Knight and his gentle con- 
 sort do often come unto my cottage, to discourse with 
 me upon the passages of former days, I do also some- 
 times receive their two fair daughters and their state- 
 ly spouses ; the Lady Catherine married unto Sir 
 Tliomas Finch, and the Lady Anne unto Sir Thomas 
 Kempe. Nay, farther, when that there is holiday at 
 Eastwell Palace by all the noble tamily being assem- 
 bled there, the fair and promising offspring of those 
 Knights and Dames do love to gather them around the 
 aged Fitz-Richard, and court him to tell them the
 
 454 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAOENETS. 
 
 tales of his own youth : the brave boys asking him 
 to speak of the fights of Bosvvorth-field, of Stoke, 
 the battles of France and Burgundy, of the royal 
 King Richard, the stout Sir Gilbert De JMountford, 
 and the good and valourous Lord Lovel ; whereupon 
 I can well mark how the striplings' eyes fire, their 
 hearts beat, and their feet plant them more firmly at 
 the recital. The fair-haired girls, too, will often ask 
 me of the Duchess of Burgundy, the good Queen 
 Elizabeth and her daughters, and specially of the 
 Lady Bride, over whose memory they have blended 
 their sweet tears with mine. And thus do I conti- 
 nually, as it were, live my life again, without the pain 
 or labour which I felt when I first assayed it ; and by 
 thus often recurring unto the scenes thereof, they are 
 ever present with me, beside that I have some few 
 passages of it written : and, moreover, the memory of 
 an old man is ever best for the past, seeing that he 
 regards but little either the present or the future. 
 This, then, hath enabled me to pleasure my noble 
 patron by recording my story, as he hath willed me, 
 so exactly as it is here written ; yet, natheless, have 
 I done it with much toil, and man}' sad thoughts and 
 remembrances, both for myself and the world wherein 
 1 have lived. 
 
 For, when I do look backward, my life doth some- 
 times appear nought but sorrow, doubt, and disap- 
 pointment ; and though such, I question not, will 
 often be found in the course of many of full high
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 455 
 
 estate, whom the ill-jiulging world deems to be the 
 happiest of men, — yet have I sometimes known mo- 
 ments of sorrow, wherein I have almost sunken under 
 very weariness of spirit, whilst pondering over mine 
 hapless condition and pilgrimage. It was not mine 
 to be borne up by those inspiring hopes which are 
 full often to be found woven into the very fabric of 
 the lives of others ; but, with a heart well-attuned 
 unto kind fellowship with all, I have been doomed 
 unto solitude and danger, and sternly, as I have some- 
 times thought it, cut off from the friendship and love 
 of mankind. 
 
 And from that mournful memorable day which saw 
 the sun of Plantagenet set in blood, when I beheld 
 my royal father dying upon the battle-field, sorrow 
 hath ever been familiar unto me, and joy little less 
 than a sti-anger : for mine was a youth of doubt and 
 peril, the hazards whereof ended not even when it 
 had passed into manhood. For this cause, I ever 
 stood alone in the crowd of those with whom at 
 divers times I consorted, and have never ceased to 
 feel myself as a link severed from the great chain of 
 living men ; since but few have mourned with me in 
 my sorrows, and joys have I had none to share with 
 any : and albeit I have suffered much from the cruelty 
 of man, never have I been soothed by the tender cares 
 of woman. Yet, natheless, have I flattered me with 
 the thought, that there was in truth one gentle crea- 
 ture, who sometimes beamed upon my darkened path,
 
 456 THE LAST or THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 Avho would have been contented to have shared my 
 lot, had God so - "^ • '^nt it was not to be ; the 
 
 unreal vision cli ,^^ but for a few brief 
 
 ho>'"= ,ke from the pleasant dream, 
 
 only agu. encounter substantial and lasting 
 
 sorrow. 
 
 Yes ! she hath fled ! — the Lady Bride hath reached 
 her eternal home, and thus escaped more years of 
 suffering upon earth; tltough truly she also knew 
 enough of this world's sorrow, ere her gentle spirit 
 was released. It was her's to behold her widowed 
 mother, the consort of the victorious Edward, taught 
 by dire adversity how hollow, false, and worthless, 
 were the gaudy things of time which she had once so 
 fondly courted ; and it was her's to feel that the 
 throne and coronal, which made that Queen so envied 
 of all her sex, were no armour of proof to shield her 
 from hazard and oppression. The Lady Bride be- 
 held, too, how the good Elizabet' , although herself a 
 Queen and the mother of a Queei , was left so desti- 
 tute in her last m .its, that not a relique of her 
 greatness » ained into her, and she wanted means 
 to bestow even a parting gift up; her kindred, 
 friends, and itors ; the gr. - Tudor's 
 
 avarice havii her of all . was the 
 
 daughter of tl. y Bride, 
 
 the good Elizauv^wi ot ^ ork, in aught more pros- 
 perous. 
 
 But unto the dead, and specially unto such as are
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 457 
 
 happily-partedj the sorrows of this world are as if 
 they had not been, beside that th '~"ape from many 
 which fall upon their survivors I do ever and 
 
 anon feel the heavy sum of sr'-e own mischances 
 lessened, when I look backwa. Jong the lir 
 hapless and disquiet year' s"; .s 
 
 death, or upon the rua^'j •'. av ' path which 
 
 I have travelled, and rejoice .ii)em];er that her 
 
 feet were so early and safely lix above those thorns 
 and briars. Yet can I nww 1 •'^k upon these mis- 
 chances with much CMnnnp , for, albeit my youth 
 was full restless and fiery ander those disappoint- 
 ments, old age is a sen son of repose ; and I tru«t the 
 falling leaves of almost fourscore A.utumns have not 
 counselled me in vain. Yes! the v :l of my 
 
 grief even for her is ass waged, and I c. ' ' >v beiar to 
 dwell upon her love, and yearly to visit her tomb 
 with a tranquil sorrow, though '<*■ cuauseth all that 
 ever spake unto me f cajihly haj^piness. 
 
 The fierceness ot vny hate against Li. ppressor of 
 her House and mine, is also ugh time was 
 
 when I would have washed aw tne wrongs of both 
 in the blood of the Tudors ; L.^- I have lived long 
 enough to know the wisdom oC entrusting the cause 
 of suffering virtue unto the Great Avenger, who 
 sometimes le?veth the evil heart of » .an, by way of 
 still greater j .in, unto the self- ' -stro\ 'ng sway of it's 
 own foul passions. And I ween i., ^h been so with 
 the line of Tudor; for did the crown sit securely
 
 458 XHB LAST OF THE PLANTAGENET8. 
 
 upon Henry after the fight of Bosworth, and Richard's 
 most dishonoured sepulture ? And when the banner 
 of insurrection was reared within the reahn, were 
 peace or justice the supporters of Henry's throne? 
 Moreover, whilst his wasted and famishing country 
 was \ ' ig that his coffers were too ca- 
 
 pacious ever to overflow, did not the King himself 
 feel, that the hand may hold more than the heart 
 can enjoy ; and that the eye of his inquisition, after 
 visiting with fearful glances the most secret matters 
 of private men, might at last be suddenly turned 
 inward to measure the depths of his own misery, 
 and be overwhelmed with the bitterness of it's own 
 repenting tears ? 
 
 He died, yet not in the fulness of his time, for 
 royalty hath it's canker-worm, as well as the rose. He 
 died in agony and sorrow, and the mighty cost that 
 was lavished upon his burial, did but meanly shew 
 for the affections of his people; which ^e, who coveted 
 all, failed to obtain. In truth, he sleepeth now under 
 the proud sepulchral pile which himself erected ; 
 which shall, perchance, redeem his name with pos- 
 terity : but full stately though it be, it will yet stand 
 unto after ages, but as the durable record of his un- 
 lawful covetousness and his people'? oppressions. 
 
 But let not a Plantagenet, though fallen, become an 
 uncharitable reporter of the actions of others. Rich- 
 mond did indeed gain- hir throne by the sword, but 
 he upheld it by a peaceful policy ; and those civil
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENET8. 459 
 
 tumults which had long desolated the land, were 
 healed in his reign, though after a fierce and bloody 
 struggle. The proud Barons, too, who often did 
 alike make head against the Monarch and oppress the 
 people, were subdued, and were terrible no longer. 
 In truth I will say of this King, that he had a full 
 cunning wit to gain wealth and power, and a close 
 grasp to keep it: and with this praise let the Lancas- 
 trian rest. 
 
 I have beheld, also, another King Henry, Eighth 
 of his name, the son of the sister of the Lady 
 Bride, — whose merry and lusty youth was disgust- 
 ed with his father's avarice, yet hath he too re- 
 sorted to the same rapacity to gratify his desire for 
 pomp and costly shews ; which led him to be careless 
 and prodigal alike of his own wealth and that of 
 others. Inheriting his mother's right, his claim unto 
 the Throne of England was two-fold stronger than 
 his father's, and so was he never assailed, during the 
 long period of his power, by any murmurs of disaf- 
 fection from his people ; albeit his inconstant cruelty 
 might well have tempted them to renounce their 
 allegiance. His fiery nature brooked not the slower, 
 yet more certain, means of overthrowing an adversary 
 by the cold-hearted devices of his sire, — but lie ever 
 went straight unto his aim by open violence ; with 
 Avhich he was at all times prepared to silence aught 
 of clamour or complaint. His oppressed and de- 
 graded subjects full often bowed them beneath the
 
 460 THE LAST OP THR PLANTAGRNETS. 
 
 force of his power^ Avhilst the nation had but one 
 voice, which was the King's, — and but one law, — his 
 caprice. The consciences of men, too, were disre- 
 garded ; and all were required at his bidding to take 
 up or lay aside the doctrines of their Faith, and their 
 most solemn belief for time and eternity, with un- 
 questioning submission, even as they would doff 
 their Avonted garments. 
 
 Nor, tutored by the memory of his gentle mother's 
 sufferings, did he, whilst bending unto beauty, know 
 how to regard the feelings, or to protect the weakness 
 of woman. Alas ! No ! for every fair flower attracted 
 him, but he delighted only to jiluck and to destroy 
 them. His Queens, indeed, died not broken hearted, 
 or by slow degrees, like the Lady Elizabeth Widvile, 
 for he would rather blast them suddenly, — and, 
 therefore, the couch of the King was too often but 
 a step unto the scaffold. — The pages of his reign, 
 if future chroniclers should be honest, and dare 
 relate what our eyes have seen, will exhibit, perchance, 
 the saddest picture of female suffering in the annals 
 of men; — which, whilst it is a stain on the chivalry 
 of the age that did bring forth such actions, will, in 
 after-time, carry home unto every dwelling in this 
 land, the certam truth that a retired life is the safest 
 and sweetest sphere of a woman's virtues. Henry was 
 a knight and a courtly one, too, who loved tilts and 
 tournaments to display his prowess, and gain the 
 homage of heart and eye ; but whose wrongs was he
 
 THE LAST OF TIIR rTANTAGENETS. 401 
 
 ever known to redress, and what emotions of sym- 
 pathy ever bespake him true unto his vows ? 
 
 He professed, and, possibly, did love, to study the 
 deep things of Divinity, yet not for the wise and 
 holy purpose of reforming the errors and corrup- 
 tions of his people, and discovering the truth for 
 himself; — but because the doubts and subtleties of 
 divers doctrines which the schoolmen teach, did form 
 for him a fitting engine for perplexing or destroying 
 the unwary. Thus ruled he, and was obeyed ; — 
 he exacted, and men yielded unto his oppressions ; 
 until he did at length desire to spread his supremacy 
 and sway, and to reign alike over the Church and 
 State, and command his subjects even in those things, 
 which embraced not only time but reached unto 
 eternity : yet did this lordly ruler of men's minds and 
 consciences live the very slave of his own pas- 
 sions, and died undetermined in his own Faith ! 
 Under the rule of these Sovereigns of the Tudor 
 race, have two generations of men passed away from 
 the earth; and, vuito such as I am, a weary sojourner, 
 what mighty changes hath not Time w rouglit in that 
 space, over the thoughts and manners of my fellows ! 
 And herein he who, like me, hath had to struggle with 
 the buffetings of Fortune, may well be allowed to note 
 them, and full often to indulge him in mournful 
 thoughts upon the past, rather than in any goodly pro- 
 spects for the future: — yet would 1 shun aught of a re- 
 pining or embittered spirit. For, albeit I have seen
 
 462 THE LAST OF THE PI.ANTAGHNETS. 
 
 and known much of sorrow and inaction — yet must I 
 ever confess that all my fellow-men have indeed not 
 been thus sad and indolent, but advancing unto high 
 and great perfection : and, amidst all the toils and dif- 
 ficulties, the wrestlings wherein many single beings 
 have agonised, and sometimes even perished, — the 
 eyes of Eternal Wisdom have seemed still to look 
 down and govei'n them all ; whilst I am assured that 
 the happiness and amendment of my race, is slowly, 
 yet as securely, advancing, as the sweet and early 
 flowers which come before the Spring, look out from 
 amidst the ice and snows of the Winter. — By much 
 and close meditation I have learned, also, that the high 
 hopes and noble end of man, cannot be brought about 
 without the aid of adversity ; and that trials are sent 
 unto him in mercy, not to sink him in ruin and despon- 
 dency, but to bring into action the ht^' en-horn powers 
 of his nature ; whilst the darkness of affliction is as 
 meet to call forth the excellence of his immaterial 
 spirit, as is the mantle of night unto the skies, to dis- 
 play the bright and beautiful stars of the firmament. 
 
 I will gather, then, from mine own remembrance 
 of the revolutions which I have witnessed, and from 
 the many occurrences of great import Avhich be em- 
 braced within mine own little span of life, — food for 
 much joyous hope and reflection. A new earth, as it 
 were, hath in that time arisen from the bosom of the 
 ocean ; and they who are aweary of the changes of 
 this land, may find another across the Western main.
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 463 
 
 where full pleasant shades shall gladden their fainting 
 spirits, and where they may look upon Nature in all the 
 dewy freshness of her first birth. — Already, too, hath 
 our own land felt the benefit thereof, in the inter- 
 change with those fair and fruitful countries; and 
 her sons have launched upon the waves to combat 
 with the elements, and bring back with every wind 
 and tide the product of that untried world. I trow 
 that it would much content and gladden me, to behold 
 uie of those mighty and unknown lands given unto 
 light by the brave Columbus of Genoa, the mariners of 
 Portingale, or our own most daring shipmen. But why 
 do I speak of a wider discovery of this world, when 
 my feet are fast wending unto the land of spirits ; and 
 ever, as I travel on, doth not each new turning of the 
 way bring it more near and plain unto my view ? 
 Mine eyes are waxing dim, and ray trer ' Hng hand is 
 even now giving up it's hold of the pt which hath 
 inscribed this, and of the staff which sustaineth me. 
 
 Nevertheless, these latter days of my '^ourse have 
 their own joys, being full of che ful res- i^ion and 
 calm gladness for the present hour, ai humble 
 
 hope, without fear, for the last ; for, irom the spot 
 where living mine aged limbs are wont to repose 
 them, I look forward v .h much tranquillity unto the 
 village Church -"'^ they wil^ ^^lortly be laid at 
 
 rest for ever. I do sometimes jk out unto the 
 
 world with joyful hope, for methinks I behold, in tlie 
 accession of the young Edward unto the throne of
 
 4^4 THR LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 
 
 tliese realms, the establishment of a purer Faith an 
 a holier Church therein, and the star of her proe 
 perity rising through the parting clouds of her dark 
 ness. Over this do I rejoice greatly, and, albeii 
 I well ween that I shall never behold it, seeing tlu 
 mine hour is near at hand, — yet is my spirit glad eve 
 at the distant prospect, and is already prepared t 
 depart in peace. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 i.ONnoN : 
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