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Title: The Life of Cardinal Wolsey

Author: George Cavendish

Contributor: George Wyatt

Editor: Samuel Weller Singer

Release date: January 23, 2017 [eBook #54043]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by MWS, Christopher Wright and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF CARDINAL WOLSEY ***




Produced by MWS, Christopher Wright and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)






[Illustration: QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN.

ENGRAVED BY E. SCRIVEN, AFTER

THE ORIGINAL PICTURE BY HOLBEIN.

_London, Published Jan. 1, 1825, by Harding, Triphook & Lepard._]




  THE

  LIFE

  OF

  CARDINAL WOLSEY.

  BY

  GEORGE CAVENDISH,

  HIS GENTLEMAN USHER.

  FROM THE ORIGINAL AUTOGRAPH MANUSCRIPT.

  WITH

  NOTES AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS,

  BY

  SAMUEL WELLER SINGER, F.S.A.

  [Illustration]

  _SECOND EDITION._

  LONDON:

  PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON,

  FOR HARDING AND LEPARD, PALL MALL EAST.

  MDCCCXXVII.




[Illustration]


  TO HIS GRACE

  THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE,

  THIS REVIVAL OF A MOST INTERESTING

  SPECIMEN OF COTEMPORARY BIOGRAPHY,

  BY HIS COLLATERAL ANCESTOR

  GEORGE CAVENDISH,

  IS WITH PERMISSION DEDICATED

  BY HIS GRACE'S OBLIGED AND

  OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT,

  S. W. SINGER.




PREFACE.


Perhaps few periods of English history are more remarkable than that
which comprised the fortunes of Wolsey; a period which had to boast
the most illustrious potentates who have ever filled the thrones of
Europe. The age of Henry was also that of Leo, of Charles, and of
Francis:--a period big with political events of singular interest:--the
captivity of the French monarch and of the Roman Pontiff,--the
sacking of Rome,--the divorce of Queen Katherine,--and the train of
circumstances which led the way to the Reformation,--Events in which
Wolsey's hand may be often traced, and in some of which he was a
principal actor. The record of his life and its vicissitudes,--his
humble origin--his towering fortunes, and his sudden fall,--could not
well fail of interesting even in ordinary hands:--But he has been
extremely fortunate in his biographer. The narrative contained in the
following pages, of course, only affords a glance at these events; it
is not the work of a professed historiographer, but the production
of a simple-hearted and honest eyewitness of what he relates. George
Cavendish was the faithful attendant of this princely prelate in his
triumphant as well as in his declining fortunes:--One who failed him
not in his adversity, but shed over his fallen master the tears of
affection, performed for him the last sad offices of humanity, and then
in his retirement sat down with honest indignation to vindicate him
from slander, and to transmit to future ages a faithful picture of his
life, with a sacred regard to truth.

It is this circumstance which renders his work so much more interesting
than any thing of a similar kind with which I am acquainted. We are
here occasionally introduced to the secret recesses of the private
life of one of the most distinguished statesmen the world ever saw; of
one who not only divided the sway of empire with his monarch, but who
governed or influenced the conduct alternately of France and Spain;
whose power for a time was almost unlimited, and whose magnificence has
never been exceeded.

There is a sincere and impartial adherence to truth, a reality in
Cavendish's narrative, which bespeaks the confidence of his reader, and
very much increases his pleasure. It is a work without pretension, but
full of natural eloquence, devoid of the formality of a set rhetorical
composition, unspoiled by the affectation of that _classical manner_
in which all biography and history of old time was prescribed to be
written, and which often divests such records of the attraction to be
found in the conversational style of Cavendish. There is an unspeakable
charm in the naïveté of his language--his occasional appeals to his
reader--and the dramatic form of his narration, in which he gives the
very words of the interlocutors, and a lively picture of their actions,
making us as it were spectators of the scenes he describes. Indeed
our great poet has literally followed him in several passages of his
King Henry VIII. merely putting his language into verse. Add to this
the historical importance of the work, as the only sure and authentic
source of information upon many of the most interesting events of
that reign; from which all historians have largely drawn, (through
the secondary medium of Holinshed and Stowe, who adopted Cavendish's
narrative,) and its intrinsic value need not be more fully expressed.

Upon the death of the Cardinal his master, Cavendish relates that the
king gave him the same appointment, of Gentleman Usher, in his service,
which he had filled in the household of Wolsey: yet at the close of
his work he tells us that he returned to his own home in the country.
Whether his retirement was only temporary, or whether he then took his
final leave of the court, we have no exact means of ascertaining. In
his poems he does not mention having served the king, yet dwells upon
his faithful services to the Cardinal; but the information he displays
upon the principal subsequent events of the reign of Henry, and that
of Edward VI. seems to lead to the conclusion that he was a spectator
of them. In retirement he would have hardly been able to obtain
the acquaintance with public affairs which his poems show that he
possessed. The circumstance of his sitting down to write in the reign
of Philip and Mary[1], "to eschewe all ociosite," would seem to point
to that as the period of his retirement, or otherwise his conscience
had long slumbered before it accused him that his "tyme he spent in
idelnes."

The fate of this Life of Wolsey has been indeed singularly unfortunate;
after remaining in manuscript nearly a century, it was first printed in
1641, for party purposes, but in such a garbled form as to be hardly
recognized for the same work, abridgment and interpolation having
been used with an unsparing hand. Its author too had been robbed of
his literary honours, which were bestowed upon his younger and more
fortunate brother Sir William Cavendish, until the year 1814, when
his cause was ably advocated in a Dissertation by the Rev. Joseph
Hunter, F.A.S. author of the History of Hallamshire. I am indebted
to the kind intervention of my friend J. H. Markland, Esq. for the
privilege of reprinting that Dissertation, which the reader will find
at the commencement of the volume, and will, I doubt not, be gratified
in the perusal. It affords the best example of clear argumentative
solution of a literary paradox from circumstantial evidence with which
I am acquainted, at the same time it is so skilfully interwoven with
curious matter bearing upon the question, as not only to divest it of
the sterile character with which disquisitions of the same kind from
less able hands have been marked, but to render it very interesting. I
owe Mr. Hunter my best acknowledgements for the ready manner in which
the favour was conferred, and I look to have the thanks of those, who
are yet unacquainted with it, for uniting this tract with the work of
George Cavendish, from which it should never again be disjoined. For
all that relates to the Life of Wolsey and its author, therefore, I
shall beg leave to refer to this source of information; and it will
only remain for me to give an account of the present edition.

Having purchased two valuable ancient manuscript copies of the work,
one of them from among the duplicates of the late Duke of Norfolk's
library[2], I conceived that the text might be very much improved
by collation of these and the several manuscripts in private and
public libraries. Upon naming the design to my friend Mr. Douce, he
mentioned to me a very curious copy in the possession of Mr. Lloyd,
which contained some verses apparently by the same author, and which
from this circumstance might have some claim to be considered the
author's original autograph. Upon application to that gentleman, he,
with a liberality which calls for my warmest thanks, immediately
placed the manuscript in my hands. I at once saw that its pretensions
were undoubted, and that it contained not only a more valuable text
of the Life, but a series of poems, evidently in the hand writing of
the author, with occasional corrections and interlineations, and thus
attested:--"_per le Auctor_ G. C." in numerous places. On the first
blank leaf is written in the same hand with the body of the manuscript,
"_Vincit qui patitur_ q^d G. C. _Maxima vindicta paciencia_;" and then
"Cavendysh de Cavendysh in Com. Suff. gent." and beneath, "I began
this booke the 4. day of Novemb^r." On the reverse of the same leaf is
another Latin sentence and the motto of Cavendish, _Cavendo tutus_.
On a succeeding blank leaf is the name of a former possessor, C.
Rossington[3], under which is written in another hand, "i. e. Clement
Rossington of Dronfield, Gent. whose son Mr. James Rossington gave
me this MS." It is remarkable that it should have passed into the
possession of a person in Derbyshire. Those who have made Sir William
Cavendish the author would have seized upon this circumstance with
avidity as lending colour to their assertion, and would probably have
argued that the initials G. C. by which _George_ Cavendish has attested
it as his production in so many places, were intended to designate
_Gulielmus_ Cavendish. Mr. Hunter has, however, settled the question
beyond the possibility of dispute; it is sufficient to remark here that
Sir William Cavendish died in 1557, and that this manuscript affords
unequivocal evidence that the writer survived Queen Mary, who died at
the close of 1558. Unfortunately the first leaf of the text of the Life
is wanting. At the end of the Author's Address to his Book, with which
the poems conclude, is the date of the completion of the manuscript,
which will be found on the plate of fac-similes:

    _Finie et compilé le xxiiij jour de Junij._

    _A^o. Regnor. Philippi Rex & Regine Marie iiij^{to}. & v^{to}._

                         _Per le Auctor G. C._

  Novus Rex, nova lex, Nova sola Regina, probz. pene ruina.

This invaluable acquisition made me at once change my plan, and
proceed earnestly to the work of transcription; feeling convinced
that all other manuscripts were, in comparison, of little authority,
I determined to follow this, as most entitled to confidence. Upon
comparing it with my own manuscript copies and the text of Dr.
Wordsworth, I found that it supplied the chasm which, for some unknown
reason, is found in all the manuscripts that have come under my notice.
The suppressed passages contain the description of a boar hunt, and
an account of the libels written against Wolsey by the French[4]; the
imperfection is generally indicated by a blank space being left, which
in Mr. Douce's MS. is accompanied by a note saying, "in this vacante
place there wanteth copy." It was at first my intention to give various
readings, but upon closer comparison I found this would have
been impracticable, because the text, as it appears in Dr. Wordsworth's
edition and in the common manuscript copies, has been almost entirely
rewritten; changes in the structure of the phrase and verbal
discrepancies occur in almost every line. Under such circumstances
I was obliged to content myself with indicating the most important
variations, I mean such as in any way affected the meaning of the text.
I have however availed myself of my own manuscript copies, or of Dr.
Wordsworth's edition, to supply an occasional word or phrase which
seemed necessary to the sense of a passage, but have always carefully
distinguished these additions, by enclosing them in brackets.

It is not easy to account for the extraordinary difference in the
language of the original autograph copy and the later manuscripts, by
any other means than a supposition that the copyist thought he could
improve the style of Cavendish, which is indeed sometimes involved and
obscure, but many of the discrepancies have clearly arisen from the
difficulty of reading his hand-writing, and the substitutions most
frequently occur where the original manuscript is the most illegible.
It is scarcely probable that Cavendish wrote another copy, for he was
already, as he himself says, old, and probably did not survive the date
of the completion of this MS. above a year. There are no additions of
the least importance in the more recent copies; the few which occur
have been carefully noted.

Of the Poems, to which I have given the title of METRICAL VISIONS, no
other copy is known to exist. They have little or no merit as verses,
being deficient in all the essential points of invention, expression
and rhythm, and it is to be regretted that Cavendish, who knew so well
how to interest us by his artless narration of facts in prose, should
have invoked the muse in vain. He seems to have been sensible of his
deficiency, and says very truly

 "I must write plain, colours I have none to paint."

In the former limited impression these Metrical Visions were printed,
but as they have little in them to interest the general reader, it has
been deemed advisable to give only a specimen in the Appendix to the
present edition; the omission enabling the publishers to compress the
work into one volume, and thereby to make it more generally accessible.

I have ventured to take the spelling and pointing into my own hands;
but in no instance have I presumed to alter the disposition of the
text. I have reason to think that the judicious reader will not be
displeased at what is done in this respect; it is no more than what
has been effected for Shakspeare and other of our ancient classics.
The orthography of Cavendish, as the specimen given from his poems
will evince, was exceedingly uncouth and unsettled; retaining it could
have answered no good end; those who wish to have recourse to the work
for philological purposes would most assuredly prefer the authority of
manuscripts; and the disguise of old spelling might have deterred many
from reading this interesting narrative, to whom it will now afford
pleasure.

The remaining portion of the volume comprises a very curious Memoir
of Queen Anne Boleyn by George Wyatt, grandson of Sir Thomas Wyatt,
the poet, containing some particulars relating to that unfortunate
lady not elsewhere noted. It must be considered a valuable supplement
to the notice of her contained in the Life of Wolsey. In the Appendix
is also given a Parallel between Wolsey and Laud, written at the time
when Cavendish's work first issued from the press; though its purpose
was to excite prejudice against Laud, it is not deficient in interest,
and is conducted with tolerable temper. The original being of extreme
rarity, and of sufficient brevity, I have thought that it would be an
agreeable addition to this work. The few letters and papers which are
added were necessary illustrations of passages in the text and notes,
and though some of them are to be found in books readily accessible,
they are not placed in connexion with the work to which they relate
without sufficient reasons, which the reader will find stated in the
preliminary notices; it is therefore unnecessary to repeat them in
this place. A few notes on the Life of Wolsey which have been adopted
from Dr. Wordsworth's edition are distinguished by the letter W.

It is not generally known that a very curious edition of this Life was
printed by the zealous biographer of Wolsey, Mr. Grove of Richmond,
as long since as the year 1761. He had first adopted the old spurious
copy, which he printed in the form of notes to his own work in 1742-4;
but afterwards meeting with a manuscript, he was so indignant upon
finding by comparison the forgeries and scandalous interpolations of
the old editions, that he printed off a small impression with a preface
and notes; but it is one of the rarest of English books. For the loan
of this curious volume[5] I am indebted to the kindness of Richard
Heber, Esq. M.P. for the University of Oxford, whose liberality,
in imparting the inexhaustible treasures of the richest and most
comprehensive library ever formed by one individual, it has been my
good fortune frequently to experience.

My excellent and highly valued friend Francis Douce, Esq. with his
accustomed kindness, threw open to me his valuable library, and placed
in my hands a very curious manuscript[6] of this Life, embellished with
spirited drawings in outline of some of the principal occurrences,
from which three prints have been accurately copied as appropriate
embellishments of the book. With these advantages, I have reason to
hope that this edition will be found in all respects worthy of the
singular merit of the work, and of the auspices under which it goes
forth to the world.

    BOX HILL,

    _June_ 1, 1825.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See the Life of Wolsey, page 102, where he speaks of King Philip
_now_ our sovereign lord.

[2] The Norfolk MS. is defective at the beginning, one leaf being lost,
which contained a portion of the prologue; there is consequently no
title to the work. It has a blank leaf at the place where the _lacunæ_
usually occur in the manuscript copies. The hand-writing is of the
reign of Elizabeth, and the text corresponds very nearly with that of
Dr. Wordsworth: the orthography is not the same. This MS. is in its
original binding, and has the name of its ancient possessor, _Henrie
Farleigh_, stamped on each cover. The other manuscript copy in my
possession is carefully written, but apparently of more recent date; it
has the following title in German text hand prefixed:

                          The Life of Master
                             Thomas Wolsey
                         Archbishoppe of Yorke
                             and Cardinall
                              written by
                           George Cavendish
                         his Gentleman Usher.

The same chasm is marked in this MS. as in the former, two pages and
a half being left blank, but the imperfect passages at the conclusion
of the hunt, and at the commencement of the relation concerning the
libels on Wolsey, are completed by a few words as they now stand in
Dr. Wordsworth's text. The variations between these copies are chiefly
literal; the orthography is in many respects different.

[3] Mr Hunter informs me that Clement Rossington the elder, who must
be here alluded to, died in 1737. He acquired the manor of Dronfield
by his marriage with Sarah Burton, sister and co-heir of Ralph Burton,
of Dronfield, Esq. who died in 1714. The father of Ralph and Sarah
Burton was Francis Burton, also of Dronfield, who was aged twenty-five
at the visitation of Derbyshire, 1662, and the mother, Helen, daughter
and heir of Cassibelan Burton, son of William Burton the distinguished
antiquary and historian of Leicestershire. There is good reason to
believe that the Rossingtons were not likely to _purchase_ a book of
this curiosity, and it is therefore more than probable that it once
formed part of the library of William Burton, other books which had
been his having descended to them.

[4] Vide pp. 181, 182, 183, and for another addition pp. 166, 167, 168;
in the present edition the passages are included in brackets.

[5] Bound up in the same volume with the Life of Wolsey, in Mr. Heber's
copy, are the following tracts bearing upon the subject; of which a
very limited impression appears to have been made, as they are all
equally rare.

Two Dialogues in the Elysian Fields between Cardinal Wolsey and
Cardinal Ximenes, by Mr. Grove of Richmond. London, Printed for the
Author by D. Leach, 1761.

A Short Historical Account of Sir William Cavendish, Gentleman Usher
to Cardinal Wolsey, and of his Lady Elizabeth (afterwards Countess
of Shrewsbury) and their descendants. This has no title page. The
Observations and Appendix to the Life of Wolsey appear to have been
annexed, as the paging is continued.

Six Appendices to a Short History of King Henry VIII. which he had
previously published. These have no general title, and are separately
paged.

A Short Examination into some Reflections cast on the Memory of
Cardinal Wolsey, by the Author of the Life of Sir Thomas More, in the
Biographia Britannica. 1761.

The Life of Robert Wolsey, of Ipswich, Gentleman, Father of the famous
Cardinal. 1761.

Grove has divided his edition into sections for the purpose of
reference. His text has now nothing to recommend it, though it was then
a laudable undertaking: he occasionally shows that he could not very
well decipher his MS.; he puts _hinnocrisse_ for _hippocrass_ at p. 71,
and at p. 76 _peeres_ for _speres_, with many other palpable mistakes.
Grove's ingenuity, though not his ingenuousness, may be admired; for
finding in his manuscript the work attributed to _George_ Cavendish, he
converts it to _Gu._ Cavendish, Gent. not to disturb his own historical
account of Sir William Cavendish, in which he gives a circumstantial
relation of the intimacy between Wolsey and Thomas Cavendish of the
Exchequer, the father of Sir William, who, he says, placed him in the
service of Wolsey, and of the growth of his fortunes in consequence,
with a confidence and detail which is truly amusing.

[6] This manuscript is carefully written in a volume with other curious
transcripts, and has marginal notes by the transcriber, who appears to
have been a puritan, from his exclamations against pomp and ceremony.
At the end he writes, "Copied forth by S. B. anno 1578, the first day
of September."




CONTENTS.


                                                                    Page

  THE EDITOR'S PREFACE                                               vii

  WHO WROTE CAVENDISH'S LIFE OF WOLSEY? A
  Dissertation. By THE REV. JOSEPH HUNTER,
  F. S. A.                                                             1

  THE LIFE OF WOLSEY BY GEORGE CAVENDISH                              16


  APPENDIX.

  EXTRACTS FROM THE LIFE OF ANNE BOLEIGNE, BY
  GEORGE WYATT, ESQ. SON OF SIR THOMAS
  WYATT THE YOUNGER                                                  417

  SIX LETTERS, supplementary to the above Memoir;
  containing Particulars of the Arrest of Queen Anne
  Boleyn, and her Behaviour while in the Tower.


  LETTER I.

  _Sir William Kingston to Secretary Cromwell._--Upon
  Queen Anne's Committal to the Tower                                451


  LETTER II.

  _Sir William Kingston to Secretary Cromwell._--On
  Queen Anne's Behaviour in Prison                                   453


  LETTER III.

  _Sir William Kingston to Secretary Cromwell._--Further
  Particulars                                                        456


  LETTER IV.

  _Edward Baynton to the Lord Treasurer._--Declaring
  that only Mark will confess any Thing against
  Queen Anne                                                         458


  LETTER V.

  _Sir William Kingston to Secretary Cromwell, May 16,
  1536._--Upon the Preparations for the Execution
  of Lord Rochford and Queen Anne                                    459


  LETTER VI.

  _Sir William Kingston to the same._--Upon the same
  Subject                                                            460


  ORIGINAL LETTERS,

  ILLUSTRATIVE OF PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF WOLSEY.


  LETTER VII.

  _Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, to his Bedfellow
  and Cosyn Thomas Arundel._--Complains of Injuries
  received at the Hands of Cardinal Wolsey.
  Humble Solicitations for his Favour in certain
  Matters                                                            462


  LETTER VIII.

  _The same to Secretary Cromwell._--Denying a Contract,
  or Promise of Marriage, having ever existed between
  Anne Boleyn and himself                                            464


  LETTER IX.

  _Queen Catherine of Arragon and King Henry VIII. to
  Cardinal Wolsey._--A joint Letter, about the coming
  of the Legate, and Expressions of Kindness                         465


  LETTER X.

  _Anne Boleyn to Cardinal Wolsey._--Thanking him for
  his diligent Pains in the Affair of the Divorce                    467


  LETTER XI.

  _The same to the same._--The same Subject; and the
  coming of the Legate                                               468


  LETTER XII.

  _Cardinal Wolsey, in his Distress, to Thomas Cromwell_             469


  LETTER XIII.

  _Cardinal Wolsey to Secretary Gardener_                            471


  LETTER XIV.

  _The same to the same._--The miserable Condition he is
  in, his Decay of Health, and Poverty, and desiring
  some Relief at the King's Hands. A melancholy
  Picture                                                            474


  LETTER XV.

  _The same to the same._--Desiring Gardener to write and
  give him an Account of the King's Intentions in
  regard to him                                                      476


  LETTER XVI.

  _The same to the same._--Requesting Gardener to expedite
  the Making out his Pardon in large and ample
  Form as granted by the King                                        477


  LETTER XVII.

  _The same to the same._--In favour of the Provost of
  Beverley, and desiring Gardener to intercede with
  the King for his Colleges                                          479


  LETTER XVIII.

  _The same to the same._--Desiring his Favour in a Suit
  against him for a Debt of £700. by one Strangwish                  481


  LETTER XIX.

  _Lettre de M. de Bellay Evesque de Bayonne à M. le
  Grant Maistre, 17 Oct. 1529._--Containing an interesting
  Picture of the Cardinal in his Troubles,
  and desiring the Intercession of the King of France,
  &c. in his Favour                                                  482


  LETTER XX.

  _Thomas Alvard to Thomas Cromwell._--Containing a
  genuine Picture of one of the last Interviews with
  which Wolsey was favoured by Henry VIII.                           487


  A PARALLEL BETWEEN CARDINAL WOLSEY AND
  ARCHBISHOP LAUD, first printed in 1641                             490




ILLUSTRATIVE DOCUMENTS.


                                                                    Page

  The Will of Thomas Wolsey, Father to the Cardinal                  502

  Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, Notice of his Book against
  the Divorce of Henry and Catherine of Arragon                      504

  The Schedule appended to the King's Gift to the Cardinal
  after his Forfeiture by the Premunire                              507

  A Memoryall of such Communication as my Lorde
  Legatts Grace had with the Queenes Almoner.--Containing
  a circumstantial Account of Queen
  Katherine's Objections to have her Cause finally
  judged by the Legates, &c.                                         509

  Itinerary of Cardinal Wolsey's last Journey to the
  North                                                              516

  The Comming and Reseyvyng of the Lord Cardinall into
  Powles for the Escaping of Pope Clement VII.
  A. D. 1527. A^o Regni Henrici VIII. xix^o                          519

  The Ceremonial of receiving the Cardinal's Hat, sent
  by the Pope to Wolsey                                              522

  Specimen of the Poems of GEORGE CAVENDISH                          526




DIRECTIONS FOR PLACING THE PLATES.


  Fac Simile of the Original Autograph MS. _to face this page._


  REFERENCE TO THE PLATE.

  No. 1. Part of the Text of the commencement of the
  Life, with the attestation _finis quod_ G. C.

  No. 2. Last Stanza of the Author's Address to his Book,
  with the subjoined inscription of the date of the
  completion of the MS. _See Preface, p._ xvi.


  Portrait of Anne Boleyn                            _to face the Title_

  Portrait of Wolsey                                             _p._ 61

  Portrait of King Henry VIII.                                        79

  Cardinal Wolsey in progress                                        149

  Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk receive the great seal from
  Wolsey                                                             246

  Cromwell. Earl of Essex                                            258

  Tokens sent to Wolsey by the King and Anne Boleyn                  288

  Portrait of Sir Thomas Wyatt                                       424

[Illustration: _Fac simile of the Original Autograph M.S. of
Cavendish's Life of Wolsey._

_N^o. 1._

_N^o. 2._

_N^o. 3._

_Engraved by J. Swaine._]




WHO WROTE CAVENDISH'S LIFE OF WOLSEY?

FIRST PRINTED IN MDCCCXIV.


When a writer undertakes to give _cuique suum_ in a question of
literary property, if he would avoid the ridicule which they deservedly
incur who raise a controversy only that they may have the honour of
settling it, he must show that there are more claimants than one on the
property he means to assign.

This then will be our first object.

[Sidenote: To whom the Biographia attributes it.]

Let the reader turn to the 'Biographia Britannica,' and look out the
article 'Sir William Cavendish.' He will find in either of the editions
what follows in the words of Dr. Campbell, the original projector of
that work, or rather of his friend Mr. Morant, the historian of Essex,
for it does not appear that the later editors have either reconsidered
the article, or added to it any thing material. Sir William Cavendish,
we are told, "had a liberal education given him by his father, who
settled upon him also certain lands in the county of Suffolk; but
made a much better provision for him by procuring him to be admitted
into the family of the great Cardinal Wolsey, upon whom he waited in
quality of gentleman usher of his chamber."----"As Mr. Cavendish was
the Cardinal's countryman, and the Cardinal had a great kindness for
his father, he took him early into his confidence, and showed him
upon all occasions very particular marks of kindness and respect[7]."
Several extracts from the Life of Wolsey are then produced to show
the honourable nature of this employment. Mr. Cavendish's faithful
adherence to Wolsey in his fall receives due encomium: and we are then
favoured with a detail of Mr. Cavendish's public services after the
Cardinal's death, his rich rewards, his knighthood, marriages, and
issue, in which the writer of the article has followed Sir William
Dugdale, and the Peerages. Towards the conclusion Cavendish is spoken
of in his character of an author, a character which alone could entitle
him to admission into that temple of British worthies. We are told that
"he appears from his _writings_ to have been a man of great honour and
integrity, a good subject to his prince, a true lover of his country,
and one who preserved to the last a very high reverence and esteem
for his old master and first patron Cardinal Wolsey, _whose life he
wrote in the latter part of his own_, and there gives him a very high
character."----"This work of his remained long in manuscript, and the
_original_ some years ago was in the hands of the Duke of Kingston,
supposed to be given by the author to his daughter, who married into
that family. It had been seen and consulted by the Lord Herbert when he
wrote his history of the Reign of King Henry VIII., but _he was either
unacquainted with our author's Christian name, or mistook him for his
elder brother George Cavendish of Glemsford in the county of Suffolk,
Esq._ for by that name his lordship calls him: but it appears plainly
from what he says that the history he made use of was our author's." p.
324.

[Sidenote: To whom, Lord Herbert.]

[Sidenote: To whom the Peerages.]

Such is the reputation in which the Biographia Britannica is held in
the world, and indeed not undeservedly, that most writers of English
biography have recourse to it for information: and with its authority
those among them are usually well satisfied, who neither value, nor
are willing to undertake, the toilsome researches of the genealogist
and the antiquary. Another such work, for an illustrious class of
English worthies, is 'The Peerage of England,' begun by the respectable
and ill rewarded Arthur Collins, and continued by successive editors
with as much exactness as could reasonably have been expected. The
several editions of this work, from that of 1712, in one volume,
to that of 1812, in nine, contain the same account of Sir William
Cavendish's attendance upon Wolsey, of his tried attachment to him, and
of his lasting gratitude to the memory of his old master, displayed
in writing apologetical memoirs of his life. At the very opening of
the pages devoted to the Devonshire family, in the recent edition of
this work, we are told that "the potent and illustrious family of
Cavendish, of which, in the last century, two branches arrived at
dukedoms, laid the foundation of their future greatness, first, on the
share of abbey lands obtained at the dissolution of monasteries by Sir
William Cavendish, who had been gentleman usher to Cardinal Wolsey,
who died in 1557, and afterwards by the abilities, the rapacity, and
the good fortune of Elizabeth his widow, who remarried George Earl of
Shrewsbury, and died in 1607[8]." And afterwards, in the account of
the said Sir William Cavendish, we are told nearly in the words used
by Morant, that "to give a more lasting testimony of his gratitude to
the Cardinal, he drew up a fair account of his life and death, which
he wrote in the reign of Queen Mary: whereof the oldest copy is in
the hands of the noble family of Pierrepoint, into which the author's
daughter was married. Lord Herbert of Cherbury, in the Life and Reign
of King Henry VIII., quotes the manuscript in many places, _but
mentions George Cavendish to be the author of it; which, from divers
circumstances, we may conclude to be a mistake_. In the year 1641 it
was printed, and again in 1667[9]." A full account is then given of the
public employments and honourable rewards of Sir William Cavendish;
and the descent of the two ducal families of Devonshire and Newcastle
from this most fortunate subject is set forth with all due regard to
genealogical accuracy.

[Sidenote: Sir William Cavendish generally understood to be the author;]

[Sidenote: but erroneously.]

From these two great public reservoirs of English biography this
account of Sir William Cavendish, both as an author and a man, has
been drawn off into innumerable other works. Writers of high authority
in affairs of this nature have adopted it; and even historians of the
life of Wolsey, upon whom it appeared to be incumbent to make accurate
inquiry into this subject, have retailed as unquestioned truth what
the Biographia and the Peerages have told us concerning an author
to whose most faithful and interesting narrative they have been so
largely indebted. Sir William Cavendish may therefore be regarded as
the tenant in possession of this property: nor, as far as I know, hath
his right ever been formally controverted. Before the reader has got to
the last page of this little treatise he will probably have seen reason
to conclude that this account is _all fable_: for that Sir William
Cavendish could not possibly have been the Cardinal's biographer, nor,
of course, the faithful attendant upon him; that circumstance of his
history proceeding entirely upon the supposition that he was the writer
of the work in question[10].

[Sidenote: A third claimant.]

While we have thus brought before the public the person who may be
considered as the _presumed proprietor_ of this work, we have also made
good our promise to show that there are more claimants than one upon
this piece of literary property. Lord Herbert, we have seen, quotes the
manuscript as the production of a _George_ Cavendish. Other writers of
no mean authority, as will be seen in the course of this disquisition,
have attributed it to another member of the house of Cavendish whose
name was _Thomas_.

The editors of the Biographia and the Peerages have made very light
of my Lord Herbert's testimony. What those _divers circumstances_ were
which led the latter to reject it, as they have not informed us, so we
must be content to remain in ignorance. The noble historian of the life
and reign of Henry VIII. is not accustomed to quote his authorities at
random. If he sometimes endeavour too much to palliate enormities which
can neither be excused nor softened down, he is nevertheless generally
correct as to the open fact, as he is always ingenious and interesting.
Supported by so respectable an authority, the pretensions of this
George Cavendish of Glemsford to have been the faithful attendant upon
Wolsey, and the lively historian of his rise and fall, ought to have
received a more patient examination. Descended of the same parents
with Sir William, and by birth the elder, in fortune he was far behind
him. At a period of great uncertainty the two brothers took opposite
courses. William was for reform, George for existing circumstances.
Contrary to the ordinary course of events, the first was led to wealth
and honours, the latter left in mediocrity and obscurity. The former
yet lives in a posterity not less distinguished by personal merit than
by the splendour cast upon them by the highest rank in the British
peerage, the just reward of meritorious services performed by a race
of patriots their ancestors. Of the progeny from the other, history has
no splendid deeds to relate; and, after the third generation, they are
unknown to the herald and the antiquary. But this is to anticipate.
I contend that the wreath which he has justly deserved, who produces
one of the most beautiful specimens of unaffected faithful biography
that any language contains, has been torn from this _poor_ man's brow,
to decorate the temples of his more fortunate brother. To replace it
is the object of the present publication. It will, I trust, be shown,
to the satisfaction of the reader, that this George Cavendish was the
author of the work in question, and the disinterested attendant upon
the fallen favourite. The illustrious house of Devonshire needs no
borrowed merit to command the respect and admiration of the world.

[Sidenote: George Cavendish the real author.]

[Sidenote: Writers who have advanced his claim.]

[Sidenote: Wanley.]

[Sidenote: Grove.]

[Sidenote: Douce.]

[Sidenote: Wordsworth.]

Let it not however be supposed that the writer is meaning to arrogate
to himself the credit of being the first to dispute the right of Sir
William Cavendish, and to advance the claim of the real owner. The
possession which Sir William has had has not been an undisturbed one:
so that were there any statute of limitations applicable to literary
property, that statute would avail him nothing. The manuscript of this
work, which now forms a part of the Harleian library, is described by
the accurate Wanley as being from the pen of a _George_ Cavendish[11].
In 1742 and the two following years, 'A History of the Life and Times
of Cardinal Wolsey' was published in four volumes octavo by Mr. Joseph
Grove, who subjoined, in the form of notes, the whole of what was then
known to the public of these Memoirs; describing them in a running
title, 'The Secret History of the Cardinal, by _George_ Cavendish,
Esq.:' but, as if to show that no one who touched this subject should
escape defilement from the errors of the Biographia and the Peerages,
he confounds together the two brothers in the account he gives of the
author at the 98th page of his third volume. During the remainder of
the last century it does not appear that Sir William Cavendish suffered
any material molestation in his possession of this property: but in the
present century Mr. Francis Douce, in his most curious 'Illustrations
of Shakspeare,' restores to _George_ Cavendish the honour of having
produced this work, and marks by significative _Italics_ that it was
an honour which another had usurped[12]. Dr. Wordsworth may also be
ranked amongst those writers who have ventured to put a spade into
Sir William's estate. To this gentleman belongs the merit of having
first presented to the public an impression of this work, which conveys
any just idea of the original[13]. In an advertisement he expresses
himself thus cautiously as to the name of the author: "The following
life was written by the Cardinal's gentleman-usher, Cavendish, whose
Christian name in the superscription to some of the manuscript copies
is _George_, but by Bishop Kennet, in his Memoirs of the family of
Cavendish, by Collins in his Peerage, and by Dr. Birch (No. 4233,
Ayscough's Catalogue Brit. Museum) he is called _William_[14]." Had the
learned editor pursued the question thus started, it is probable he
would have been led to the conclusion which will here be brought out,
and have thus rendered wholly unnecessary the disquisition now tendered
to the notice of the public. But here he has suffered the matter to
rest.

[Sidenote: Doubts of Sir William Cavendish's right to this work gained
not much credit in the world.]

And indeed, to say the truth, though there may possibly have been two
or three other writers who have intimated a doubt as to the right of
Sir William Cavendish to the work in question, these doubts seem never
to have gained hold on the public attention. It would be an invidious
task to collect together the many modern supporters of his claim: there
are, amongst them, names who have deservedly attained a high degree
of celebrity in the walks of biography, history, antiquities, and
topography. All the writer wishes is, that he may stand excused with
the public in offering what he has collected upon this point: and if
the concession is made that the suspicions of Sir William Cavendish's
right to this piece of biography have never gained much hold on the
public mind, and that it is a prevailing opinion in the world that
the greatness in which we now behold the house of Devonshire owes
its origin to a train of fortunate circumstances resulting out of
an attendance on Cardinal Wolsey, he must consider himself as amply
excused.

Let us now hear the evidence.

[Sidenote: Authorities in his favour,]

[Sidenote: all modern.]

The learned editor of the 'Ecclesiastical Biography' has mentioned
several _names_ as supporters of Sir William's claim. And indeed, if
_names_ might carry the day, Kennet and Collins, Birch and Morant,
are in themselves a host. But who is there accustomed to close and
minute investigation, that has not discovered for himself, of how
little moment is _simple authority_ in any question? It is, especially,
of little weight in historical and antiquarian discussion. The
most laborious may sometimes overlook evidence which is afterwards
accidentally discovered to another of far inferior pretensions: the
most accurate may mistake: the most faithful may be bribed into
inattention by supposititious facts, which give a roundness and
compactness to what, without them, forms but an imperfect narration.
The case before us may possibly come under the latter head. Take away
the attendance upon Wolsey, and we have several years unaccounted for
in the life of Sir William Cavendish; and lose what the mind perceives
to be a step by which a private gentleman, as he was, might advance
himself into the councils of princes, and the possession of important
offices of state. There is in this what might lay a general biographer,
who was a very Argus, asleep. But these authorities, it must also be
observed, are all _moderns_: they lived a century and a half after
both the Cavendishes had been gathered to their fathers; and earlier
biographers, who have made mention of this founder of two ducal houses,
have said nothing of any attendance upon the Cardinal, never ascribed
the flourishing state of his fortunes to any recommendation of him to
the king from his old master, nor taken any notice of what is so much
to his honour, that he adhered faithfully to Wolsey in his fall, and
produced this beautiful tribute to his memory. Negative evidence of
this kind, it may be said, is of no great weight. It will be allowed,
however, to be of some, when it is recollected who they are that have
omitted these _leading particulars_ in Sir William Cavendish's history.
They are no other than the author of 'The Baronage of England,' and
Margaret Duchess of Newcastle, who has given a laboured genealogy
of the ancestors and kindred of her lord, a grandson of Sir William
Cavendish, annexed to the very entertaining memoirs which she left of
his life. The _omissions_ of two such writers, living at the time when
this work was first made public, and whose duty as well as inclination
it would have been to have mentioned the fact, had it been so, will at
least serve to weigh against the positive but unsupported testimonies
of the abovementioned respectable writers, all of whom lived much
too late to be supposed to have received any information by private
tradition.

[Sidenote: Dugdale and the Duchess of Newcastle do not ascribe it to
him.]

[Sidenote: The original MS. said to be in the hands of the Pierrepoint
family.]

[Sidenote: Manuscripts;]

[Sidenote: reason for their multiplication.]

But the _original_ manuscript was in the hands of the Pierrepoint
family, and into that family Sir William Cavendish's daughter was
married. Possibly; but were it even so, it is obvious that this lays
but a very insufficient foundation for believing that Sir William was
the author. Why might it not have been given to Frances Cavendish by
George Cavendish her uncle? But Doctor Kennet, upon whose authority
this statement has been made, has not informed us by what criterion he
was guided in assigning that priority to the Pierrepoint manuscript
which this statement assumes. There are so many manuscripts of this
work abroad, that it must, I presume, be exceedingly difficult to
decide which has the best claim to be the author's autograph, if
indeed that autograph be in existence[15]. Scarcely any work of this
magnitude, composed after the invention of printing, has been so
often transcribed. There is a copy in the cathedral library at York
which once belonged to Archbishop Matthew; another very valuable one
in the library of the College of Arms, presented to that learned
society by Henry Duke of Norfolk; another in Mr. Douce's collection;
another in the public library at Cambridge; another in the Bodleian.
There are two in Mr. Heber's library; two at Lambeth; two in the
British Museum[16]. The reason of this multiplication of copies by
the laborious process of transcription seems to have been this: the
work was composed in the days of Queen Mary by a zealous catholic,
but not committed to the press during her short reign. It contained a
very favourable representation of the conduct of a man who was held
in but little esteem in the days of her successor, and whom it was
then almost treason to praise. The conduct of several persons was
reflected on who were flourishing themselves, or in their immediate
posterity, in the court of Queen Elizabeth: and it contained also the
freest censures of the Reformation, and very strong remarks upon the
conduct and character of Anne Boleyn, the Cardinal's great enemy. It
is probable that no printer could be found who had so little fear of
the Star-Chamber before his eyes as to venture the publication of a
work so obnoxious: while such was the gratification which all persons
of taste and reading would find in it, from its fidelity, its curious
minuteness, its lively details, and above all, from that unaffected air
of sweet natural eloquence in which it is composed, that many among
them must have been desirous of possessing it. Can we wonder then that
so many copies should have been taken between the time when it was
written and the year 1641, when it was first sent to the press: or that
one of these copies should have found its way into the library of Henry
Pierrepoint, Marquis of Dorchester, who was an author, and a man of
some taste and learning[17]? It cannot surely be difficult to divine
how it came into his possession, without supposing that it was brought
into his family by Sir William's daughter, his grandmother, Frances
Cavendish.

[Sidenote: No evidence in his favour from the MSS.]

Trifling as it appears, we have now had nearly all that has ever
been alleged as rendering it probable that Sir William Cavendish was
the author of this work. We have no evidence in his favour from any
early catalogue of writers in English history: nor any testimony in
inscription or title upon any of the manuscripts, except a modern one
by Dr. Birch, upon one of the Museum copies. But in appropriating
any literary composition to its author, that evidence is the most
conclusive which is derived from the work itself. This is the kind
of proof to which it is proposed to bring the claims of the two
competitors. It is contended that there are passages in the work, and
self-notices, which are absolutely inconsistent with the supposition
that it was the production of the person to whom it has usually been
ascribed. Let us attend to these.

[Sidenote: Time when the work was written.]

It will be of some importance to us to have clearly ascertained the
period at which this work was composed. We have information sufficient
for this purpose. At page 350[18] of Dr. Wordsworth's impression, we
read that the Cardinal "was sent twice on an embassage unto the Emperor
Charles the Fifth that now reigneth, and father unto King Philip,
now our soveraign lord." Mary queen of England was married to Philip
of Spain on the 25th of July, 1554. Again, at page 401, we hear of
"Mr. Ratcliffe, who was sonne and heire to the Lord Fitzwalter, and
nowe[19] Earle of Sussex." The Earl of Sussex of Queen Mary's reign,
who had been son and heir to a Lord Fitzwalter in the days of King
Henry VIII., could be no other than Henry Radcliffe, the second earl
of that name, who died on the 17th of February, 1557[20]. Without
incurring any risk by following older authorities, when so much
misconception is abroad, we may set down as fairly proved that the Life
of Wolsey was composed about the middle of the reign of Queen Mary[21].

[Sidenote: The author a neglected man.]

Now we may collect that the author, whoever he was, thought himself a
_neglected_ man at the time of writing. He tells us that he engaged in
the work to vindicate the memory of his master from "diverse sondrie
surmises and imagined tales, made of his proceedings and doings,"
which he himself had "perfectly knowen to be most untrue." We cannot
however but discover, that he was also stimulated by the desire of
attracting attention to himself, the old and faithful domestic of a
great man whose character was then beginning to retrieve itself in
the eyes of an abused nation, and whose misfortunes had prevented him
from advancing his servants in a manner accordant to his own wishes,
and to the dignity of his service. He dwells with manifest complacency
upon the words of commendation he received on different occasions from
his master; and relates towards the conclusion how kindly he had been
received by the king after the death of Wolsey, and what promises
had been made to him both by Henry and the Duke of Norfolk, who yet
suffered him to depart into his own country. But what shows most
strikingly that he was an unsatisfied man, and thought that he had
by no means had the reward due to his faithful services, is a remark
he makes after having related the sudden elevation of Wolsey to the
deanery of Lincoln. "Here," says he, "may all men note the chaunces
of fortune that followethe some whome she intendeth to promote, and
to some her favor is cleane contrary, though they travaille never so
much, with all the painfull diligence that they can devise or imagine:
_whereof for my part I have tasted of the experience_." p. 332[22].

[Sidenote: Not so Sir William Cavendish.]

[Sidenote: His employments, promotions, and rewards.]

There are persons whom nothing will satisfy, and they are sometimes
the most importunate in obtruding their supposed neglects upon the
public: but it must surely have been past all endurance to have had
such a complaint as this preferred by Sir William Cavendish in the
days of Queen Mary. His life had been a continual series of promotions
and lucrative employments. In 1530, the very year in the November of
which the Cardinal died, he was constituted one of the commissioners
for visiting and taking the surrenders of divers religious houses. In
1539 he was made one of the Auditors of the Court of Augmentations,
then lately established. At this period of his life he was living
luxuriously at his mansion of North Awbrey near Lincoln, as appears
by the inventory of his furniture there, which is preserved in
manuscript[23]. In the next year he had a royal grant of several
lordships in the county of Hertford. In 1546 he was knighted;
constituted treasurer of the chamber to the king, a place of great
trust and honour; and was soon afterwards admitted of the privy
council. He continued to enjoy all these honours till his death, a
space of eleven years, in which time his estate was much increased
by the grants he received from King Edward VI. in seven several
counties[24]. It was not surely for such a man as this to complain
of the _ludibria fortunæ_, or of the little reward all his "painful
diligence" had received. Few men, as Sylvius says, would have such a
"poverty of grace" that they would not

    "----think it a most plenteous crop
    To glean the broken ears after the man
    That such a harvest reaps."

Sir William Cavendish began the world the younger son of a family of
some respectability, but of no great wealth or consequence; and he
left it, at about the age of fifty, a knight, a privy counsellor, and
the owner of estates which, managed and improved as they were by his
prudent relict, furnished two houses with the means of supporting in
becoming splendour the very first rank in the British peerage.

[Sidenote: Zealous against the Reformation.]

But an ambitious man is not to be contented; and men do form erroneous
estimates of their own deserts: let us see, then, if the work will
not supply us with something more conclusive. The writer is fond
of bringing forward his religious sentiments. The reader will be
amused with the following sally against the Reformation, its origin,
and favourers. He who is disposed may find in it matter for serious
reflection. When Cavendish has related that the king submitted to be
cited by the two legates, and to appear in person before them, to be
questioned touching the matter of the divorce, he breaks out into this
exclamation:--"Forsoothe it is a world to consider the desirous will
of wilfull princes, when they be set and earnestly bent to have their
wills fulfilled, wherein no reasonable persuasions will suffice; and
how little they regard the dangerous sequell that may ensue, as well
to themselves as to their subjects. And above all things, there is
nothing that maketh them more wilfull than carnall love and sensuall
affection of voluptuous desire, and pleasures of their bodies, as was
in this case; wherein nothing could be of greater experience than to
see what inventions were furnished, what lawes were enacted, what
costly edifications of noble and auncient monasteries were overthrowne,
what diversity of opinions then rose, what executions were then
committed, how many noble clerkes and good men were then for the same
put to deathe, what alteration of good, auncient, and holesome lawes,
customes, and charitable foundations were tourned from reliefe of the
poore, to utter destruction and desolation, almost to the subversion of
this noble realme. It is sure too much pitty to heare or understand the
things that have since that time chaunced and happened to this region.
The profe thereof hath taught us all Englishmen the experience, too
lamentable of all good men to be considered. If eyes be not blind men
may see, if eares be not stopped they may heare, and if pitty be not
exiled the inward man may lament the sequell of this pernicious and
inordinate love. Although it lasted but a while, the plague thereof is
not yet ceased, which our Lorde quenche and take his indignation from
us! _Qui peccavimus cum patribus nostris, et injuste egimus._" p. 420
and 421.

[Sidenote: Not so Sir William Cavendish.]

This passage, warm from the heart, could have been written by none
but a zealous anti-reformist. That certainly was not Sir William
Cavendish. He had been one of the principal instruments in effecting
what I must be allowed to call a necessary and glorious work. Men
are not accustomed to record their own condemnation with such a
bold, untrembling hand. That hand, which is supposed to have penned
these words, had been once extended to receive the conventual seal
of the Priory of Sheen, and the Abbey of St. Alban's. The person by
whom we are to believe they were written had been an officer in that
court which was purposely erected to attend to the augmentation of
the king's revenue by the sequestration of ecclesiastical property;
the proceedings of which court were too often unnecessarily harsh
and arbitrary, if not unjust and oppressive. Nay, more, at the very
time these words were written, Sir William Cavendish was living on
the spoils of those very monasteries whose overthrow is so deeply
deplored; and rearing out of them a magnificent mansion at Chatsworth
in Derbyshire, to be the abode of himself and his posterity. After so
long and so decided a passage, it has been thought unnecessary to quote
any other: but throughout the work appears the same zeal in the writer
to signalize himself as a friend to the old profession. May not this
be considered as amounting to something almost conclusive against the
supposition that the attendant upon Wolsey and Sir William Cavendish
were the same person?

[Sidenote: Sir William Cavendish did not change with the times.]

Will it be said that he turned with the times; that he who, in the
Protestant reigns, had been zealous for the _Gospel_, in the Catholic
reign was equally zealous for the _Mass_: and that this work was his
_amende_ to the offended party? I know not of any authority we have
for charging this religious tergiversation upon Sir William Cavendish,
who, for any thing that appears in his history, was animated by
other views in promoting the cause of reform, than the desire of
personal advancement, and of obtaining the favour of his prince:
and I am prepared with two facts in his history, not mentioned by
former writers, which are unfavourable to such a supposition. The
first shows that he was in some disgrace at the court of Queen Mary
as late as the fourth year of her reign; the second, that he did not
seek to ingratiate himself there. On the 17th of August, 1556, a very
peremptory order of council was issued, commanding his "indelaid
repaire" to the court to answer on "suche matters as at his cōmyng"
should be declared unto him. The original, subscribed by seven of the
Queen's council, is among the Wilson collections mentioned in the note
at page 22. What the particular charges were it is not material to our
argument to inquire. The next year also, the year in which he died,
he ungraciously refused a loan of one hundred pounds required of him
and other Derbyshire gentlemen by the Queen, when her majesty was in
distress for money to carry on the French war. These facts show that
though he was continued in the offices of treasurer of the chamber and
privy counsellor, he was in no very high esteem with Queen Mary, nor
sought to conciliate her favourable regards. To which we may add, that
his lady, whose spirit and masculine understanding would probably give
her very considerable influence in the deliberations of his mind, was
through life a firm friend to the Reformation, and in high favour with
Queen Elizabeth.

Whatever effect the preceding facts and argument may have had upon the
reader's mind, there is a piece of evidence still to be brought out,
which is more conclusive against the claim of Sir William Cavendish.
Soon after the Cardinal was arrested at his house of Cawood in
Yorkshire, Cavendish tells us that he resorted to his lord, "where he
was in his chamber sitting in a chaire, the tables being spred for him
to goe to dinner. But as soone as he perceived me to come in, he fell
out into suche a wofull lamentation, with suche ruthefull teares and
watery eies, that it would have caused a flinty harte to mourne with
him. And as I could, I with others comforted him; but it would not
be. For, quoth he, nowe I lament that I see this gentleman (meaning
me) how faithefull, how dilligent, and how painefull he hath served
me, abandonning his owne country, _wife and children_, his house and
family, his rest and quietnesse, only to serve me, and I have nothinge
to rewarde him for his highe merittes." p. 517.

[Sidenote: The author married and a father before 1530.]

[Sidenote: Not so Sir William Cavendish.]

Hence it appears that the Cavendish who wrote this work was married,
and had a family _probably_ before he entered into the Cardinal's
service, _certainly_ while he was engaged in it. At what precise period
he became a member of the Cardinal's household cannot be collected
from his own writings. Grove says it was as early as 1519[25]; the
Biographia tells us that the place was procured for him by his father,
who died in 1524. This however is certain, that the first mention of
himself, as one in attendance upon the Cardinal, is in the exceedingly
curious account he has given of the means used to break the growing
attachment between the Lord Percy and Anne Boleyn, in order to make way
for the king. Cavendish was present when the Earl of Northumberland
took his son to task. This must have been before the year 1527; for in
that year the Lord Percy became himself Earl of Northumberland; and
probably it was at least a twelvemonth before; for ere the old Earl's
departure, a marriage had been concluded between Lord Percy and the
Lady Mary Talbot, a daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury[26]. In 1526
then, the Cavendish who wrote this work was a member of Wolsey's
household. Now, fortunately for this inquiry, it happens that an exact
account has been preserved of the several marriages and the numerous
issue of Sir William Cavendish. It is to be found in the funeral
certificate, which, according to a laudable custom of those times, was
entered by his relict among the records of the College of Arms. This
document, subscribed by her own hand, sets forth that her husband's
first-born child came into the world on the 7th of January, in the 25th
year of King Henry VIII. This answers to 1534: that is at least seven
years after the Cavendish, for whom we are inquiring, had become a
member of Wolsey's family, and more than three years after the Cardinal
had remarked that his gentleman usher had left "wife and children, his
home and family, his rest and quietnesse," only to serve him. This is
decisive.

[Sidenote: The funeral certificate where to be found.]

The document which contains these family particulars of the Cavendishes
is not known only to those gentlemen who have access to the arcana of
the College of Arms. It has been published: and it is remarkable that
Arthur Collins, who has been a principal cause of the error concerning
the author of this work, gaining such firm hold on the public mind,
should have been the first to lay before the public a record which
proves beyond dispute that the Cavendish who wrote the Life of Wolsey
could not be the Cavendish who was the progenitor of the house of
Devonshire. It is printed in his 'Noble Families,' where is a more
complete account of the Cavendishes than is to be found in his Peerage,
and which might have been transferred with advantage into the later
editions of that work. This document has also been printed by Guthrie
and Jacob, whose account of the nobility of this nation may often
be consulted with advantage, after having read any of the editions
of Collins. Of its _authenticity_, the only point material to this
inquiry, no suspicion can reasonably be entertained.

[Sidenote: How the early years of Sir William Cavendish may have been
spent.]

We have now brought to a conclusion our inquiry into the right of the
_tenant in possession_. It has been questioned, examined, and, I think,
disproved. It is not contended that the common opinion respecting Sir
William Cavendish's attendance upon Wolsey does not harmonize well
enough with what is known of his real history, and to render our proof
absolutely complete, it might seem to be almost incumbent upon us to
show how Sir William Cavendish was engaged while Wolsey's biographer
was discharging the duties of his office as an attendant upon the
Cardinal. Could we do this, we should also disclose the steps by which
he attained to his honourable state employments, and the favour of
successive monarchs. In the absence of positive testimony I would be
permitted to hazard the conjecture, that in early life he followed the
steps of his father, who had an office in the court of Exchequer. Such
an education as he would receive in that court would render him a most
fit instrument for the purpose in which we first find his services
used, the suppression of the monasteries, and the appropriation of the
lands belonging to them to his royal master. Having signalized his
zeal, and given proof of his ability in this service, so grateful to
the King, we may easily account for his further employments, and the
promotions and rewards which followed them. Let it however be observed,
that this is no essential part of our argument; nor shall I pursue the
inquiry any further, mindful of the well known and sage counsel of the
Lord Chancellor Bacon.

I would however be permitted to say something on that very
extraordinary woman, the lady of Sir William Cavendish, and the sharer
with him in raising the family to that state of affluence and honour
in which we now behold it. Indeed she was a more than equal sharer. He
laid the foundation, she raised the superstructure; as she finished the
family palace at Chatsworth, of which he had laid the first stone.

[Sidenote: His lady an extraordinary character.]

[Sidenote: Marries Sir William St. Lowe;]

[Sidenote: becomes Countess of Shrewsbury.]

[Sidenote: Has a present of jewels from Mary Queen of Scots.]

[Sidenote: Death of the Earl.]

This lady was Elizabeth Hardwick, a name familiar to all visitors of
the county of Derby, where she lived more than half a century with
little less than sovereign authority, having first adorned it with
two most splendid mansions. The daughter, and the virgin widow of
two Derbyshire gentlemen of moderate estates, she first stepped into
consequence by her marriage with Sir William Cavendish, a gentleman
much older than herself. The ceremony was performed at the house of
the Marquis of Dorset[28], father to the Lady Jane Grey, who, with
the Countess of Warwick and the Earl of Shrewsbury, was a sponsor at
the baptism of her second child. Cavendish left her a widow with six
children in 1557. Shortly after his death she united herself to Sir
William St. Lowe, one of the old attendants of the Princess Elizabeth,
on whose accession to the throne he was made captain of her guard. In
1567, being a third time a widow, she was raised to the bed of the most
powerful peer of the realm, George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury. He had
been a friend of Sir William Cavendish, and it is possible that the
magnificent state which he displayed in the immediate neighbourhood
of this lady had more than once excited her envy. She loved pomp and
magnificence and personal splendour, as much as she enjoyed the hurry
and engagement of mind which multiplied worldly business brings with
it. She had a passion for jewels, which was appealed to and gratified
by the unhappy Mary Queen of Scotland[29], who lived many years under
the care of the Earl of Shrewsbury, her husband. She united herself
to this nobleman more, as it should seem, from motives of ambition,
than as the consequence of any real affection she had for him. He had
unquestionably the sincerest regard for her: and, though she forgot
many of the duties of a wife, it continued many years in the midst of
all that reserve and perfidity, and even tyranny, if such a word may
be allowed, which she thought proper to exercise towards him. The
decline of this good and great man's life affords a striking lesson
how utterly insufficient are wealth and splendour and rank to secure
happiness even in a case where there is no experience of the more
extraordinary vicissitudes of fortune, the peculiar danger of persons
in elevated situations. Probably the happiest days of the last three
and twenty years of his life were those in which he was employing
himself in preparing his own sepulchre. This he occupied in 1590. But
the effect of his ill advised nuptials extended beyond his life. His
second countess had drawn over to her purposes some of his family, who
had assisted her in the designs she carried on against her husband.
She had drawn them closely to her interest by alliances with her own
family. Hence arose family animosities, which appeared in the most
frightful forms, and threatened the most deadly consequences[30].
Much may be seen respecting this extraordinary woman in the Talbot
papers published by Mr. Lodge. A bundle of her private correspondence
has been preserved, and forms a curious and valuable part of that
collection of manuscripts which we have had occasion more than once to
mention. These let in much light upon her conduct. It is impossible
to contemplate her character in this faithful mirror without being
convinced that Mr. Lodge has drawn the great outlines of it correctly,
when he describes her as "a woman of masculine understanding and
conduct; proud, furious, selfish, and unfeeling[31]." Yet she was a
favourite of Queen Elizabeth, who paid her this compliment soon after
her last marriage, that "she had been glad to see my Lady Saint Lowe,
but was more desirous to see my Lady Shrewsbury, and that there was no
lady in the land whom she better loved and liked." These flattering
expressions were used to Mr. Wingfield, who was a near relation of this
lady, and who lost no time in reporting them to her. Most of these
letters are upon private affairs: a few only are from persons whom she
had engaged to send her the news of the day, as was usual with the
great people of that age when absent from court. There are several of
the letters which she received from Saint Lowe and Shrewsbury, which
show how extraordinary was the influence she had gained over their
minds. There is one from Sir William Cavendish. Having laboured to
show what the knight did _not_ compose, I shall transcribe in the note
below this genuine fragment of his writing, though in no respect worthy
of publication, except as having passed between these two remarkable
characters[32]. It is expressed in a strain of familiarity to which
neither of his successors ever dared aspire. To conclude the history of
this lady, she survived her last husband about seventeen years, which
were spent for the most part at Hardwick, the place of her birth, and
where she had built the present noble mansion. There she died in 1607,
and was interred in the great church at Derby.

[Sidenote: Mr. Lodge's character of her.]

[Sidenote: Anecdote of Queen Elizabeth.]

[Sidenote: Letters to her.]

The courteous reader will, it is hoped, pardon this digression; and now
set we forth on the second stage of our inquiry, Who wrote Cavendish's
Life of Wolsey?

[Sidenote: Claim of Thomas Cavendish.]

When there are only two claimants upon any property, if the pretensions
of one can be shown to be groundless, those of the other seem to be
established as a necessary consequence. But here we have a third party.
Beside Sir William and his elder brother George, a claimant has been
found in a _Thomas_ Cavendish. In the account of Wolsey given in the
Athenæ[33], Wood calls the author by this name: and Dodd, a Catholic
divine, who published a Church History of England in 3 vols. folio,
(Brussels, 1737.) in a list of historians and manuscripts used in
the preparation of his work, enumerates "Cavendish _Thomas_, Life of
Cardinal Wolsey, Lond. 1590." It is very probable that Dodd may have
contented himself with copying the name of this author from the Athenæ,
a book he used: and it is with the utmost deference, and the highest
possible respect, for the wonderful industry and the extraordinary
exactness of the Oxford antiquary, I would intimate my opinion that,
in this instance, he has been misled. To subject the pretensions of
_Thomas_ Cavendish to such a scrutiny as that to which those of Sir
William have been brought is quite out of the question: for neither
Wood nor Dodd have thrown any light whatever on his history or
character. He appears before us like Homer, _nomen, et præterea nihil_.
There was a person of both his names, of the Grimstone family, a noted
navigator, and an author in the days of Queen Elizabeth; but he lived
much too late to have ever formed a part of the household of Cardinal
Wolsey.

We must now state the evidence in favour of George Cavendish. The
reader will judge for himself whether the testimony of Anthony Wood,
and that of the Catholic church-historian, supposing them to be
distinct and independent testimonies, is sufficient to outweigh what is
to be advanced in support of George Cavendish's claim. We shall first
state on what grounds the work is attributed to a Cavendish whose name
was George; and secondly, the reasons we have for believing that he was
the George Cavendish of Glemsford in Suffolk, to whom my Lord Herbert
ascribes the work.

[Sidenote: That the writer's name was George.]

On the former point the evidence is wholly external. It lies in a small
compass; but it is of great weight. It consists in the testimony of
all the ancient manuscripts which bear any title of an even date with
themselves[34]: and in that of the learned herald and antiquary Francis
Thinne, a contemporary of the author's, who, in the list of writers of
English history which he subjoined to Hollinshead's Chronicle, mentions
"George Cavendish, Gentleman Vsher vnto Cardinal Woolseie, whose life
he did write."

[Sidenote: Four circumstances of the author's condition discovered in
the work.]

Now to our second point. Four circumstances of the author's situation
are discovered to us in the work itself: viz. that his life was
extended through the reigns of Henry VIII. Edward VI. and Queen Mary;
that while he was in the Cardinal's service he was a married man,
and had a family: that he was in but moderate circumstances when
he composed this memoir; and that he retained a zeal for the _old
profession_ of religion. If we find these circumstances concurring in a
George Cavendish, it is probable we have found the person for whom we
are in search.

Scanty as is the information afforded us concerning a simple esquire
of the days of the Tudors, it will probably be made apparent that
these circumstances do concur in the person to whom my Lord Herbert
ascribes the work. Men of little celebrity in their lives, and whose
track through the world cannot be discovered by the light of history,
are sometimes found attaining a faint and obscure "life after death"
in the herald's visitation books and the labours of the scrivener.
Those rolls of immortality are open to every man. They transmit to a
remote posterity the worthless and the silly with as much certainty as
the name of one who was instinct with the fire of genius, and whom a
noble ambition to be good and great distinguished from the common herd
of men. It is in these rolls only that the name of George Cavendish of
Glemsford is come down to us: he forms a link in the pedigree: he is a
medium in the transmission of manorial property.

[Sidenote: Obscurity of George Cavendish a presumption in his favour.]

But this very obscurity creates a presumption in favour of his claim.
What employment that should raise him into notice would be offered in
the days of Henry and Edward to the faithful and affectionate attendant
upon a character so unpopular among the great as the haughty, low-born
Wolsey? What should have placed his name upon public record who did
not, like Cromwell and some other of Wolsey's domestics, "find himself
a way out of his master's wreck to rise in" by throwing himself upon
the court, but retired, as Cavendish at the conclusion of the Memoirs
tells us he did, to his own estate in the country, with his wages, a
small gratuity, and a present of six of the Cardinal's horses to convey
his furniture? That, living at a distance from the court, he should
have been overlooked on the change of the times, cannot be surprising:
he was only one among many who would have equal claims upon Mary and
her ministry. Had she lived indeed till his work had been published,
we might then reasonably have expected to have seen a man of so much
virtue, and talent, and religious zeal, drawn from his obscurity, and
his name might have been as well known to our history as that of his
brother the reformist. But Mary died too soon for his hopes and those
of many others of his party, though not too soon for the interests
of religion and humanity. All expectation of seeing the admirer and
apologist of Wolsey emerge from his obscurity must end with the
accession of the protestant princess Elizabeth.

[Sidenote: What is known of George Cavendish of Glemsford.]

It is therefore not surprising, and on the whole rather favourable to
our argument, that nearly all which can now be collected of George
Cavendish of Glemsford is contained in the following passage extracted
from certain "Notices of the manor of Cavendish in Suffolk, and of the
Cavendish family while possessed of that manor," which was communicated
to the Society of Antiquaries by Thomas Ruggles, Esq., the owner of the
said manor[35]. Cavendish, it will be recollected, is a manor adjoining
to Glemsford, and which belonged to the same parties.

George Cavendish is stated to be the eldest son of Thomas Cavendish,
Esq. who was clerk of the pipe in the Exchequer. He "was in possession
of the manor of Cavendish Overhall, and had two sons; William was
the eldest, to whom, in the fourth year of Philip and Mary, 1558,
he granted by deed enrolled in Chancery this manor in fee, on the
said William, releasing to his father one annual payment of twenty
marks, and covenanting to pay him yearly for life, at the site of
the mansion-house of Spains-hall, in the parish of Finchingfield,
in the county of Essex, forty pounds, at the four usual quarterly
days of payment. When George Cavendishe died is uncertain: but it is
apprehended in 1561 or 1562.

"William Cavendishe his son was in possession of the manor in the
fourth year of Elizabeth."... "He was succeeded in this estate by his
son William Cavendysh of London, mercer, who, by that description,
and reciting himself to be the son of William Cavendishe, gentleman,
deceased, by deed dated the 25th of July, in the eleventh year of the
reign of Elizabeth, 1569, released all his right and title to this
estate, and to other lands lying in different parishes, to William
Downes of Sudbury, in Suffolk, Esq."

[Sidenote: His fortune decayed.]

[Sidenote: Married before 1526.]

This detail plainly intimates that decay of the consequence and
circumstances of a family which we might expect from the complaints
in the Memoirs of Wolsey, of the unequal dealings of fortune, and of
the little reward all the writer's "painfull diligence" had received.
We see George Cavendish, for a small annual payment in money, giving
up the ancient inheritance of his family, a manor _called after his
own name_: and only eleven years after, that very estate passed to
strangers to the name and blood of the Cavendishes by his grandson and
next heir, who was engaged in trade in the city of London. We find also
what we have the concurrent testimony of the heralds of that time to
prove, that this George Cavendish was married, and the father of sons:
but on a closer inspection we find more than this: we discover that
he must have been married as early as 1526, when we first find the
biographer of Wolsey a member of the Cardinal's household[36]. William
Cavendish, the younger, grandson to George Cavendish, must have been
of full age before he could convey the estate of his forefathers. He
was born therefore as early as 1548. If from this we take a presumed
age of his father at the time of his birth, we shall arrive at this
conclusion, that George Cavendish the grandfather was a family-man at
least as early as 1526.

[Sidenote: A Catholic.]

[Sidenote: Lived in the three reigns.]

To another point, namely, the religious profession of this Suffolk
gentleman, our proof, it must be allowed, is not so decisive. I rely
however, with some confidence, upon this fact, for which we are
indebted to the heralds, that _he was nearly allied to Sir Thomas
More_, the idol of the Catholic party in his own time, and the object
of just respect with good men in all times, Margery his wife being a
daughter of William Kemp of Spains-hall in Essex, Esq. by Mary Colt
his wife, sister to Jane, first wife of the Chancellor[37]. Indeed it
seems as if the Kemps, in whose house the latter days of this George
Cavendish were spent, were of the old profession. The extraordinary
penance to which one of this family subjected himself savours strongly
of habits and opinions generated by the Roman Catholic system. It is
perhaps unnecessary, in the last place, to remind the reader, that what
Mr. Ruggles has discovered to us of the owner of Cavendish shows that
his life was extended through the reigns of the second, third, and
fourth monarchs of the house of Tudor: now the family pedigrees present
us with no other George Cavendish of whom this is the truth. And here
the case is closed.

[Sidenote: Genealogy.]

It has been thought proper to annex the following genealogical table,
which exhibits the relationship subsisting among the several members of
the house of Cavendish whose names have been mentioned in the preceding
treatise.


    THOMAS CAVENDISH,           = ALICE, daughter and heir of
      Clerk of the Pipe.        |   John Smith of Padbrook-hall,
  Will dated 13th April, 1523.  |    co. Suff.
        Died next year.         |
                                |
         +----------------------+----------------+
         |                                       |
      GEORGE,          = MARGERY,         Sir WILLIAM,    = ELIZABETH, third
  of Glemsford and     | daughter of        of North      | wife, daughter of
  Cavendish, Esq.      | Wm. Kemp,        Awbrey, and     | John Hardwick,
  eldest son and heir, | of Spains-hall,  Chatsworth,     | of Hardwick, co.
  Gentleman usher      | Essex,           Knt. Auditor    | Derby, Esq. widow
  to Cardinal Wolsey,  | niece to Sir     of the Court of | of Robert Barlow,
  and writer of        | Thos. More.      Augmentations,  | of Barlow, in the
  his life. Born       |                  &c.             | same county. She
  about 1500. Died     |                  Under age 1523  | survived Cavendish,
  about 1561 or 1562.  |                  Died 1557.      | and married Sir
                       |                                  | Wm. St. Lowe,
                       |                                  | and George 6th
                       |                                  | Earl of Shrewsbury.
                       |                                  |
          +------------+                          +-------+-------+
          |                                       |               |
       WILLIAM,                              1. HENRY,       1. FRANCES,
         gent.                               of Tutbury      Wife of Sir
    Owner of the                               _s. p._        Henry Pierrepoint.
  manor of Cavendish                              |              |
  1562.                                           |              |
       |                                          |              |
    WILLIAM,                                2. WILLIAM,     2. ELIZABETH,
  of London, mercer.                      created Earl of   Wife of Charles
  Sold Cavendish                          Devonshire 16     Stuart, Earl of
  1569.                                   Jac. I. 1618.     Lenox.
                                               |                 |
                                               |                 |
                                      3. Sir CHARLES,        3. MARY,
                                        of Welbeck,        Wife of Gilbert
                                      father of William    Talbot, Earl of
                                      Duke of Newcastle.   Shrewsbury.


[Sidenote: Origin of the mistaken appropriation of this work.]

Supposing that the reader is convinced by the preceding evidence and
arguments, that this work could not be the production of Sir William
Cavendish, and that he was not the faithful attendant upon Cardinal
Wolsey, I shall give him credit for a degree of curiosity to know how
it happened that a story so far from the truth gained possession of the
public mind, and established itself in so many works of acknowledged
authority. That desire I shall be able to gratify, and will detain
him but a little while longer, when the disclosure has been made of a
process by which error has grown up to the exclusion of truth, in which
it will be allowed that there is something of curiosity and interest.
Error, like rumour, often appears _parva metu primo_, but, like her
also, _vires acquirit eundo_. So it has been in the present instance.
What was at first advanced with all the due modesty of probability
and conjecture, was repeated by another person as something nearer
to certain truth: soon every thing which intimated that it was only
conjecture became laid aside, and it appeared with the broad bold front
in which we now behold it.

[Sidenote: Kennet.]

The father of this misconception was no other than Dr. White Kennet. In
1708, being then only Archdeacon of Huntingdon, this eloquent divine
published a sermon which he had delivered in the great church at
Derby, at the funeral of William the first Duke of Devonshire. Along
with it he gave to the world Memoirs of the Family of Cavendish, in
which nothing was omitted that, in his opinion, might tend to set
off his subject to the best advantage. He lauds even the Countess
of Shrewsbury, and this at a time when he was called to contemplate
the virtues and all womanly perfections of Christian Countess of
Devonshire. It was not to be expected that he should forget the
disinterested attendant upon Wolsey, and the ingenious memorialist
of that great man's rise and fall; whose work had then recently been
given to the public in a third edition. After reciting from it some
particulars of Cavendish's attendance upon the Cardinal, and especially
noticing his faithful adherence to him when others of his domestics
had fled to find a sun not so near its setting, he concludes in these
words: "To give a more lasting testimony of his gratitude to the
Cardinal, he drew up a fair account of his life and death, of which the
oldest copy is in the hands of the noble family of Pierrepoint, into
which the author's daughter was married: for _without express authority
we may gather from circumstances_, that this very writer was the head
of the present family; the same person with the immediate founder of
the present noble family, William Cavendish of Chatsworth, com. Derb.
Esq." p. 63.

[Sidenote: Collins.]

The editors of the Peerages, ever attentive to any disclosure that
may add dignity to the noble families whose lives and actions are
the subjects of their labours, were not unmindful of this discovery
made by the learned Archdeacon. The book so popular in this country
under the name of Collins's Peerage was published by the industrious
and highly respectable Arthur Collins, then a bookseller at the
Black Boy in Fleet-street, in a single volume, in the year 1709. In
the account of the Devonshire family no more is said of Sir William
Cavendish than had been told by Dugdale, and than is the undoubted
truth[38]. But when, in 1712, a new edition appeared, we find added
to the account of Sir William Cavendish all that the Archdeacon had
said of Mr. Cavendish, the attendant upon Wolsey: but with this
remarkable difference, arising probably in nothing more blameworthy
than inattention, that while Kennet had written "for _without_ express
authority we may gather from circumstances, &c." Collins says, "for
_with_ express authority we may gather from circumstances, &c.[39]" A
third edition appeared in 1715, in two volumes, in which no change is
made in the Cavendish article[40]. In 1735 the Peerage had assumed a
higher character, and appeared with the arms engraven on copper-plates,
in four handsome octavo volumes. In this edition we find the whole
article has been recomposed; and we no longer hear of the _gathering
from circumstances_, or the _with_ or _without_ express authority; but
the account of Sir William Cavendish's connexion with the Cardinal is
told with all regularity, dovetailed with authentic particulars of his
life, forming a very compact and, seemingly, consistent story[41].
The only material change that has been introduced in the successive
editions of a work which has been so often revised and reprinted, has
arisen from the discovery made by some later editor, that my Lord
Herbert had quoted the work as the production of a George Cavendish.
The gentle editors were not however to be deprived of what tended in
their opinion so much to the credit of the house of Cavendish, and
rendered the account they had to give of its founder so much more
satisfactory. Without ceremony, therefore, they immediately put down
the quotation to the inaccuracy and inattention of that noble author.

[Sidenote: The Biographia.]

Having once gained an establishment in a work so highly esteemed and
so widely dispersed, and carrying a _primâ facie_ appearance of truth,
it is easy to see how the error would extend itself, especially as in
this country the number of persons is so small who attend to questions
of this nature, and as the means of correcting it were not so obvious
as since the publication of the "Ecclesiastical Biography." But it
assumed its most dangerous consequence by its introduction into the
Biographia. The greatest blemish of that extremely valuable collection
of English lives seems to be that its pages are too much loaded with
stale genealogy taken from the commonest of our books. Wherever Collins
afforded them information, the writers of that work have most gladly
accepted of it, and have

    "----------whisper'd whence they stole
    Their balmy sweets,"

by using in many instances his own words. His facts they seem to have
generally assumed as indubitable. In the present instance nothing
more was done than to new-mould the account given of Sir William
Cavendish in the later editions of the Peerage, and, by an unprofitable
generalization of the language, to make his mixture of truth and fable
more palatable to the taste of their readers.

[Sidenote: Bragg the bookseller.]

Poor Arthur Collins was not the only bookseller who took advantage of
the learned archdeacon's unfortunate conjecture. There was one Bragg,
a printer, at the Blue Ball in Ave Maria Lane, a man of no very high
character in his profession, who published in 1706 an edition of
Cavendish's Life of Wolsey, taken from the second edition by Dorman
Newman, and with all the errors and omissions of that most unfaithful
impression. Copies were remaining upon his shelves when Kennet's sermon
made its appearance. Rightly judging that this must cause inquiries to
be made after a book, the production of one who was the progenitor of
a person and family at that particular period, from a concurrence of
circumstances, the subject of universal conversation, he cancelled the
anonymous title-page of the remaining copies, and issued what he called
a "Second Edition," with a long Grub-street title beginning thus:

                        Sir William Cavendish's
                Memoirs of the Life of Cardinal Wolsey,
                                  &c.

This has sometimes been mistaken for a really new edition of the work.

[Sidenote: Editions of the work.]

And having thus adverted to the different editions, it may not be
improper to add a few words on the impressions which have been issued
of this curious biographical fragment. Till Dr. Wordsworth favoured the
public with his "Ecclesiastical Biography," what we had was rather an
abridgement than the genuine work. But even in its mutilated form it
was always popular, and the copies were marked at considerable prices
in the booksellers' catalogues.

The first edition, it is believed, is that in 4to, London, 1641, for
William Sheeres, with the title "The Negotiations of Thomas Woolsey,
the great Cardinall of England, &c. composed by one of his own
Servants, being his Gentleman-Usher." The second was in 12mo, London,
1667, for Dorman Newman, and is entitled "The Life and Death of Thomas
Woolsey, Cardinal, &c. written by one of his own Servants, being his
Gentleman-Usher." The third is the one just mentioned in 8vo, London,
1706, for B. Bragg, and having for its title "The Memoirs of that great
Favourite Cardinal Woolsey, &c." It is supposed that it was first
made public in order to provoke a comparison between Wolsey and the
unpopular Archbishop Laud. These are the only editions known to the
writer.

It is printed in the form of notes to Grove's History of the Life and
Times of Cardinal Wolsey[42], again in the Harleian Miscellany, and
in the selection from that work. And last of all, it forms a most
valuable part of the "Ecclesiastical Biography," published by Dr.
Wordsworth.

[Sidenote: The supposed edition of 1590.]

It must not however be concealed that mention has been made of a still
earlier edition than any of those above described. Bishop Nicholson, in
his English Historical Library[43], asserts that it was published at
London in 4to, 1590; and in this he is followed by Dodd the Catholic
historian. Nicholson's authority is not very high in respect of
bibliographical information; and there is great reason to believe that
he has here described an edition to be found only in the _Bibliotheca
abscondita_ of Sir Thomas Brown. This however is certain, that the
commentators on Shakspeare are agreed, that though the labours of
Cavendish must have been known in part to our great Dramatist, he has
followed them so closely in many of his scenes, it could have been only
by a perusal of them in manuscript, or by the ample quotations made
from them in the pages of Hollinshead and Stowe. Mr. Malone indeed
expressly affirms that they were not sent to the press before 1641.
The earliest edition known to the editor of the Censura Literaria,
whose intimate acquaintance with early English literature every one
acknowledges, and whose attention has been peculiarly drawn to this
work, was of that date. The catalogues, published and unpublished, of
most of our principal libraries have been consulted, and no earlier
edition than that of 1641 found in any one of them. No earlier
edition than that is to be found in the Royal Library at Paris. It
appears, therefore, on the whole, most probable that though there
are undoubtedly black-letter stores, which the diligence of modern
bibliomaniacs has not brought to light, no such edition exists, as
that which the author of the English Historical Library tells us was
published in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and during the height of the
persecutions which she authorized against the Catholics. Under this
persuasion the succeeding sheets have been composed.

It is possible that Bishop Nicholson may have been misled by another
work on the same subject; The Aspiring, Triumph, and Fall of Wolsey,
by Thomas Storer, Student of Christ Church. This appeared in _quarto_,
1599.

[Sidenote: Conclusion.]

The writer now lays down his pen with something like a persuasion that
it will be allowed he has proved his two points,--that Sir William
Cavendish of Chatsworth could not have been the author of the Life of
Wolsey, and that we owe the work to his brother George Cavendish of
Glemsford. The necessary inference also is, that the foundation of the
present grandeur of the house of Cavendish was not laid, as is commonly
understood, in an attendance upon Cardinal Wolsey, and in certain
favourable circumstances connected with that service. The inquiry,
even in all its bearings, like many other literary inquiries, cannot
be considered as of very high importance. The writer will not however
affect to insinuate that he considers it as of no consequence. In works
so universally consulted as the Biographia and the Peerages, it is
desirable that no errors of any magnitude should remain undetected and
unexposed. Error begets error, and truth begets truth: nor can any one
say how much larger in both cases may be the offspring than the sire. I
do not indeed scruple to acknowledge, that, though not without a relish
for inquiries which embrace objects of far greater magnitude, and a
disposition justly to appreciate their value, I should be thankful to
the man who should remove my uncertainty, as to whose countenance was
concealed by the _Masque de Fer_, or would tell me whether Richard
was the hunch-backed tyrant, and Harry "the nimble-footed mad-cap"
exhibited by our great dramatist; whether Charles wrote the Εικων
Βασιλικη, and Lady Packington "The whole Duty of Man." Not that I would
place this humble disquisition on a level with the inquiries which have
been instituted and so learnedly conducted into these several questions.
In one material point, however, even this disquisition may challenge an
equality with them. There is a much nearer approach made to _certainty_
than in the discussions of any of the abovementioned so much greater
questions.

There are amongst readers of books some persons whose minds being
every moment occupied in the contemplation of objects of the highest
importance, look down with contempt upon the naturalist at his
_leucophræ_, the critic at his μεν and δε work, the
astronomer at his _nebulæ_, and the toiling antiquary at every thing.
One word to these gentlemen before we part. To them may be recommended
the words of a writer of our own day, a man of an enlarged and highly
cultivated mind:--

"He who determines with certainty a single species of the minutest
moss, or meanest insect, adds so far to the general stock of human
knowledge, which is more than can be said of many a celebrated name.
No one can tell of what importance that simple fact may be to future
ages: and when we consider how many millions of our fellow-creatures
pass through life without furnishing a single atom to augment that
stock, we shall learn to think with more respect of those who do."


THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Kippis's Edit. vol. iii. p. 321.

[8] Vol. i. p. 302.

[9] Vol. i. p. 314.

[10] See the marginal references in the Biographia and the Peerages.

[11] Catalogue Harl. MSS. No. 428.

[12] Vol. ii. p. 51.

[13] In his 'Ecclesiastical Biography; or, Lives of eminent Men
connected with the History of Religion in England,' 6 vols. 8vo. a
useful and valuable collection, Dr. Wordsworth very properly rejected
the parenthesis, "at which time it was apparent that he had poisoned
himself," which had been introduced into the printed copies without
the authority of the manuscripts. The editor of the Censura Literaria
once intimated his intention to prepare an edition of this work. (C. L.
iii. 372.) How could the press of Lee Priory, of whose powers we have
had so many favourable specimens, have been more worthily engaged than
in producing a correct edition of this valuable piece of antiquarian
lore,--except in favouring the public with more of its able director's
own feeling and beautiful essays?

[14] Vol. i. p. 321.

[15] The reader will bear in mind that this passage was written in
1814, when the writer could not, for obvious reasons, have been
acquainted with the claims of Mr. Lloyd's manuscript, to be considered
as the _original autograph_ of the author. I will here take occasion
to observe that, to the manuscripts enumerated above, two more may
be added, described in the preface to the Life, which are in the
possession of the writer of this note. S. W. S.

[16] It appears by the Catalogus MSS. Anglie that there were two copies
in the library of Dr. Henry Jones, rector of Sunningwell in Berks, both
in folio: and a third also in folio among the MSS. of the Rev. Abraham
De la Pryme, F. R. S. of Thorne in Yorkshire. There was a copy in the
very curious library formed about the middle of the last century by Dr.
Cox Macro at his house, Norton near St. Edmund's Bury.

[17] See the 'Royal and Noble Authors,' p. 202, and Fasti Oxon. vol.
ii. col. 706, ed. 1692.

[18] P. 102 in the present edition.

[19] In the Autograph MS. it stands--"and _after_ Earl of Sussex," v.
p. 179 in the present edition.

[20] Milles's Catalogue of Honour, p. 667.

[21]

[Sidenote: A supposed anachronism explained.]

The reader will, it is hoped, excuse the _minuteness_ of this inquiry.
We have enough to teach us to take nothing upon trust that has been
said concerning this work: and some doubts have been expressed as
to the period at which it was written, grounded on a passage near
the conclusion. Cavendish tells us that when the Cardinal left the
hospitable mansion of the Earl of Shrewsbury at Sheffield, on the
borders of Yorkshire, "he took his journey with Master Kingston and
the guard. And as soon as they espied their old master in such a
lamentable estate, they lamented him with weeping eyes. Whom my lord
took by the hands, and divers times, by the way, as he rode, he would
talk with them, sometime with one, and sometime with another; at night
he was lodged at a house of the Earl of Shrewsbury's, called Hardwick
Hall, very evil at ease. The next day he rode to Nottingham, and there
lodged that night, more sicker, and the next day we rode to Leicester
Abbey; and by the way he waxed so sick, that he was divers times likely
to have fallen from his mule." p. 536. This is an affecting picture.
Shakspeare had undoubtedly seen these words, his portrait of the sick
and dying Cardinal so closely resembling this. But in these words is
this chronological difficulty. How is it that Hardwick Hall is spoken
of as a house of the Earl of Shrewsbury's in the reign of Henry VIII.
or at least in the days of Queen Mary, when it was well known that
the house of this name between Sheffield and Nottingham, in which the
Countess of Shrewsbury spent her widowhood, a house described in the
Anecdotes of Painting, and seen and admired by every curious traveller
in Derbyshire, did not accrue to the possessions of any part of the
Shrewsbury family till the marriage of an earl, who was grandson to
the Cardinal's host, with Elizabeth Hardwick, the widow of Sir William
Cavendish, in the time of Queen Elizabeth? If I recollect right, this
difficulty perplexed that learned Derbyshire antiquary Dr. Samuel
Pegge, who has written somewhat at length on the question, whether
the Cardinal met his death in consequence of having taken poison.
See Gent. Mag. vol. xxv. p. 27, and vol. liii. p. 751. The editor of
the Topographer proposes to correct the text by reading Wingfield in
place of Hardwick; vol. ii. p. 79. The truth, however, is, that though
the story is told to every visitor of Hardwick Hall, that "the great
child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey," slept there a few nights before his
death; as is also the story, equally unfounded, that Mary Queen of
Scots was confined there; it was another Hardwick which received the
weary traveller for a night in this his last melancholy pilgrimage.
This was Hardwick upon Line in Nottinghamshire, a place about as far to
the south of Mansfield, as the Hardwick in Derbyshire, so much better
known, is to the north-west. It is now gone to much decay, and is
consequently omitted in many maps of the county. It is found in Speed.
Here the Earl of Shrewsbury had a house in the time of Wolsey. Leland
expressly mentions it. "The Erle [of Shrewsbury] hath a park and maner
place or lodge yn it caullid Hardewike upon Line, a four miles from
Newstede Abbay." Itin. vol. v. fol. 94. p. 108. Both the Hardwicks
became afterwards the property of the Cavendishes. Thoroton tells us
that Sir Charles Cavendish, youngest son of Sir William, and father of
William Duke of Newcastle, "had begun to build a great house in this
lordship, on a hill by the forest side, near Annesley Woodhouse, when
he was assaulted and wounded by Sir John Stanhope and his men, as he
was viewing the work, which was therefore thought fit to be left off,
some bloud being spilt in the quarrel, then very hot between the two
families." Throsby's edit. vol. ii. p. 294.

[22] The reference is to Dr. Wordsworth's text; the passage will be
found at p. 77 of the present edition. The same strain of querulous
complaint occurs in his prologue to the Metrical Visions:

    How some are by fortune exalted to riches,
    And often such as most unworthy be, &c.

Afterwards he checks himself, and calls Dame Reason to his aid:

    But after dewe serche and better advisement,
    I knew by Reason that oonly God above
    Rewlithe thos thyngs, as is most convenyent,
    The same devysing to man for his behove:
    Wherefore Dame Reason did me persuade and move
    To be content with my _small estate_,
    And in this matter no more to vestigate.

Here we have decisive proof that the writer's fortunes were not in the
flourishing condition which marked those of Sir William Cavendish at
this period, i. e. in the reign of Mary.

                                                               S. W. S.

[23]

[Sidenote: John Wilson of Bromhead.]

It formed part of the curious collection of manuscripts made by the
late John Wilson, Esq. of Bromhead near Sheffield, in Yorkshire; a
gentleman who spent a long life in collecting, and transcribing where
he could not procure possession of the original, whatever might throw
any light upon the descent of property, or on the history, language, or
manners of our ancestors. He was the intimate friend and correspondent
of Burton, Watson, Brooke, Beckwith, and indeed of all that generation
of Yorkshire antiquaries which passed away with the late Mr. Beaumont
of Whitley Beaumont. Mr. Wilson died in 1783. Cavendish's library was
not the best furnished apartment of his magnificent mansion. For the
satisfaction of the gentle Bibliomaniac, I shall transcribe the brief
catalogue of his books. "Chawcer, Froyssarte Cronicles, a boke of
French and English." They were kept in the new parler, where were also
the pictor of our sov^reigne lord the kyng, the pyctor of the Frenche
kyng and another of the Frenche quene: also 'two other tables, one
with towe anticke boys, & the other of a storye of the Byble.' In 'the
lyttle parler' was 'a payntyd clothe with the pictor of Kyng Harry the
VIII^{th} our sovereygne lord, & kyng Harry the VII^{th} & the VI^{th},
Edward the Forthe & Rychard the Third.'

[24] The authorities for this detail of the employments, rewards, and
honours of Sir William Cavendish are to be found in the Biographia and
the Peerages.

[25] Life and Times, &c. vol. iii. p. 98.

[26]

[Sidenote: Mary, Countess of Northumberland.]

Though little ceremony and probably as little time was used in
patching up these nuptials. As might be expected, they were most
unhappy. So we are told on the authority of the earl's own letters in
the very laboured account of the Percy family given in the edition
of Collins's Peerage, 1779; perhaps the best piece of family history
in our language. "Henry the unthrifty," Earl of Northumberland, died
at Hackney in the prime of life, about ten or twelve years after he
had consented to this marriage. Of this term but a very small part
was spent in company of his lady. He lived long enough, however, not
only to witness the destruction of all his own happiness, but the sad
termination of Anne Boleyn's life. In the admirable account of the
Percy family, referred to above, no mention is made of the lady who,
on these terms, consented to become Countess of Northumberland, in her
long widowhood. She had a valuable grant of abbey lands and tythes,
from which, probably, she derived her principal support. One letter of
hers has fallen into my hands. It presents her in an amiable position.
She is pleading in behalf of a poor man whose cattle had been impounded
by one of Lady Cavendish's agents. Its date and place is to the eye
Wormhill[27]; but the running hand of that age, when not carefully
written, is not to be depended on for representing proper names with
perfect exactness, and the place may be Wreshill, which was a house of
the Northumberland family. She died in 1572; and on the 17th of May
her mortal remains were deposited in the vault made by her father in
Sheffield church, where sleep so many of her noble relatives, some of
them in monumental honours.

[27] In justice to the amiable author of this essay, who is extremely
anxious to be accurate, I think it proper to apprise the reader that
the note taken from the former edition of his work at p. 127 must be
qualified by what is here stated. In a letter with which I have been
favoured, he says, "I have looked again and again at the letter, and
the word is certainly (if we may judge from the characters which the
lady's pen has formed) _Wormhill_: yet still I think it must have been
intended for _Wreshill_, as I have met with nothing else to show that
the lady had a house at Wormhill." S. W. S.

[28] Broadgate in Leicestershire. See the Funeral Certificate. They
were married on the 20th Aug. 1 Edw. VI., at two o'clock after midnight.

[29] Among the Wilson collection is a list of jewels presented to the
Countess of Shrewsbury by the Queen of Scotland.

[30] See "Memoirs of the Peers of England during the Reign of James the
First," p. 19. Lodge's "Illustrations," &c. iii. 50-64, and Harl. MS.
in Brit. Mus. No. 4836. fol. 325. and 6846. fol. 97.

[31] "Illustrations," &c. Introd. p. 17.

[32]

[Sidenote: Original Letter of Sir William Cavendish.]

    To Besse Cavendysh
                     my wyff.

 Good Besse, haveing forgotten to wryght in my letters that you shuld
 pay Otewell Alayne eight pounds for certayne otys that we have bought
 of hym ov^r and above x^{li} that I have paid to hym in hand, I
 hertely pray you for that he is desyrus to receyve the rest at London,
 to pay hym uppon the sight hereof. You knowe my store and therefore I
 have appoyntyd hym to have it at yo^r hands. And thus faer you well.
 From Chattesworth the xiii^{th} of Aprell.

                                                                  W. C.

[33] Ath. Oxon. vol. i. col. 569. ed. 1691.

[34]

[Sidenote: Original title of the work.]

None of the publishers of this work have given us the original title.
I shall here transcribe it as it appears upon the manuscript in the
Library of the College of Arms.

                Thomas Wolsey, late Cardinall intituled
               of S^t Cicile trans Tiberim presbyter and
                 Lord Chauncellar of England, his lyfe
                    and deathe, compiled by George
                   Cavendishe, his gentleman Usher.

[35] Archæologia, vol. xi. p. 50-62.

[36] See page 4.

[37] See Vincent's Suffolk. MS. in Col. Arm. fol. 149, and compare
with Morant's Essex, vol. ii. p. 363, and with the account of the
Cavendishes in the Peerages.

[38] See page 84.

[39] See p. 100.

[40] Vol. i. p. 106.

[41] Vol. i. p. 122. It is singular enough that in this edition the
name of the Cardinal's attendant and biographer, by a slip of the pen,
is written _George_. See line 38. It is plain from the connexion that
this must have been an unintended blunder into the truth. It was duly
corrected in the later editions.

[42] Mr. Grove subsequently (in 1761) met with what he considered "an
antient and curious manuscript copy written about one hundred and
fifty years ago," and from this he printed an edition in 8vo, with a
preface and notes, the advertisement to which bears the above date.
It appears to be one of the rarest of English books, and was probably
never published: the copy with which I have been favoured by Richard
Heber, Esq. M. P. having no title-page. There are other curious tracts
in the volume on the subject of Wolsey, having separate titles bearing
no bookseller's name, but purporting to be printed _for the Author_ by
Dryden Leach, and all in 1761.

                                                               S. W. S.

[43] 4to, 1776, p. 116.




                      The Life of Thomas Wolsey,
                     sometime Archbishop of Yorke
                             and Cardinal,

                intituled Sanctæ Ceciliæ trans Tiberim,
          Presbiter Cardinalis, and L. Chancellor of England.

                              Written by
            George Cavendish, sometime his Gentleman Usher.




          ------------This Cardinal,
    Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
    Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle.
    He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;
    Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading:
    Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not,
    But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.
    And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
    (Which was a sin), yet in bestowing--
    He was most princely: Ever witness for him
    Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
    Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
    The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
    So excellent in art, and yet so rising,
    That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
    His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
    For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
    And found the blessedness of being little:
    And, to add greater honours to his age
    Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

                                            SHAKSPEARE.




[Illustration: CARDINAL WOLSEY.

ENGRAVED BY E. SCRIVEN.

AFTER THE ORIGINAL PICTURE.

_London, Published Jan^y. 1, 1825, by Harding, Triphook & Lepard._]




THE

LIFE

OF

CARDINAL WOLSEY.




THE PROLOGUE.


[Meseems it were no wisdom to credit every light tale, blasted abroad
by the blasphemous mouth of the rude commonalty. For we daily hear how,
with their blasphemous trump, they spread abroad innumerable lies,
without either shame or honesty, which _primâ facie_ showeth forth a
visage of truth, as though it were a perfect verity and matter indeed,
whereas there is nothing more untrue. And amongst the wise sort so it
is esteemed, with whom those babblings be of small force and effect.

Forsooth I have read the exclamations of divers worthy and notable
authors, made against such false rumours and fond opinions of the
fantastical commonalty, who delighteth in nothing more than to hear
strange things, and to see new alterations of authorities; rejoicing
sometimes in such new fantasies, which afterwards give them more
occasion of repentance than of joyfulness. Thus may all men of wisdom
and discretion understand the temerous madness of the rude commonalty,
and not give to them too hasty credit of every sudden rumour, until the
truth be perfectly known by the report of some approved and credible
person, that ought to have thereof true intelligence. I have heard and
also seen set forth in divers printed books some untrue imaginations,
after the death of divers persons, which in their life were of great
estimation, that were invented rather to bring their honest names into
infamy and perpetual slander of the common multitude, than otherwise.

The occasion therefore that maketh me to rehearse all these things is
this; for as much as I intend, God willing, to write here some part
of the proceedings of][44] Legate and Cardinal Wolsey, Archbishop of
York, and of his ascending and descending from honorous estate; whereof
some part shall be of mine own knowledge, and some of other person's
information.

Forsooth this cardinal was my lord and master, whom in his life I
served, and so remained with him, after his fall, continually, during
the term of all his trouble, until he died; as well in the south as in
the north parts, and noted all his demeanor and usage in all that time;
as also in his wealthy triumph and glorious estate. And since his death
I have heard diverse sundry surmises and imagined tales, made of his
proceedings and doings, which I myself have perfectly known to be most
untrue; unto the which I could have sufficiently answered according to
truth, but, as me seemeth, then it was much better for me to suffer,
and dissemble the matter, and the same to remain still as lies, than
to reply against their untruth, of whom I might, for my boldness,
sooner have kindled a great flame of displeasure, than to quench one
spark of their malicious untruth. Therefore I commit the truth to Him
who knoweth all things. For, whatsoever any man hath conceived in him
when he lived, or since his death, thus much I dare be bold to say,
without displeasure to any person, or of affection, that in my judgment
I never saw this realm in better order, quietness, and obedience,
than it was in the time of his authority and rule, ne justice better
ministered with indifferency; as I could evidently prove, if I should
not be accused of too much affection, or else that I set forth more
than truth. I will therefore here desist to speak any more in his
commendation, and proceed farther to his original beginning [and]
ascending by fortune's favour to high honours, dignities, promotions,
and riches.

                          _Finis quod G. C._

       *       *       *       *       *

Truth it is, Cardinal Wolsey, sometime Archbishop of York, was an
honest poor man's son[45], born in Ipswich, within the county of
Suffolk; and being but a child, was very apt to learning; by means
whereof his parents, or his good friends and masters, conveyed him to
the University of Oxford, where he prospered so in learning, that,
as he told me [in] his own person, he was called the boy-bachellor,
forasmuch as he was made Bachellor of Arts at fifteen years of age,
which was a rare thing, and seldom seen.

Thus prospering and increasing in learning, [he] was made Fellow
of Magdalen College, and after appointed, for his learning, to be
schoolmaster there; at which time the Lord Marquess Dorset had three of
his sons there at school with him, committing as well unto him their
virtuous education, as their instruction and learning. It pleased
the said marquess against a Christmas season, to send as well for
the schoolmaster as for his children, home to his house, for their
recreation in that pleasant and honourable feast. They being then
there, my lord their father perceived them to be right well employed in
learning, for their time: which contented him so well, that he having
a benefice[46] in his gift, being at that time void, gave the same
to the schoolmaster, in reward for his diligence, at his departing
after Christmas upon his return to the University. And having the
presentation thereof [he] repaired to the ordinary for his institution
and induction; then being fully furnished of all necessary instruments
at the ordinary's hands for his preferment, he made speed without any
farther delay to the said benefice to take thereof possession. And
being there for that intent, one Sir Amyas Pawlet, knight, dwelling in
the country thereabout, took an occasion of displeasure against him,
upon what ground I know not[47]: but, sir, by your leave, he was so
bold to set the schoolmaster by the feet during his pleasure; the which
was afterward neither forgotten nor forgiven. For when the schoolmaster
mounted the dignity to be Chancellor of England, he was not oblivious
of the old displeasure ministered unto him by master Pawlet, but sent
for him, and after many sharp and heinous words, enjoined him to
attend upon the council until he were by them dismissed, and not to
depart without license, upon an urgent pain and forfeiture: so that he
continued within the Middle Temple, the space of five or six years, or
more; whose lodging there was in the gate-house next the street, which
he reedified very sumptuously, garnishing the same, on the outside
thereof, with cardinals' hats and arms, badges and cognisaunces of the
cardinal, with divers other devices, in so glorious a sort, that he
thought thereby to have appeased his old unkind displeasure.

Now may this be a good example and precedent to men in authority,
which will sometimes work their will without wit, to remember in their
authority, how authority may decay; and [those] whom they punish of
will more than of justice, may after be advanced in the public weal
to high dignities and governance, and they based as low, who will
then seek the means to be revenged of old wrongs sustained wrongfully
before. Who would have thought then, when Sir Amyas Pawlet punished
this poor scholar, that ever he should have attained to be Chancellor
of England, considering his baseness in every condition. These be
wonderful works of God, and fortune. Therefore I would wish all men
in authority and dignity to know and fear God in all their triumphs
and glory; considering in all their doings, that authorities be not
permanent, but may slide and vanish, as princes' pleasures do alter and
change.

Then as all living things must of very necessity pay the due debt of
nature, which no earthly creature can resist, it chanced my said Lord
Marquess to depart out of this present life[48]. After whose death this
schoolmaster, considering then with himself to be but a small beneficed
man, and to have lost his fellowship in the College (for, as I
understand, if a fellow of that college be once promoted to a benefice
he shall by the rules of the house be dismissed of his fellowship),
and perceiving himself also to be destitute of his singular good lord,
thought not to be long unprovided of some other succour or staff, to
defend him from all such harms, as he lately sustained.

And in his travail thereabout, he fell in acquaintance with one Sir
John Nanphant[49], a very grave and ancient knight, who had a great
room[50] in Calais under King Henry the Seventh. This knight he served,
and behaved him so discreetly, and justly, that he obtained the
especial favour of his said master; insomuch that for his wit, gravity,
and just behaviour, he committed all the charge of his office unto his
chaplain. And, as I understand, the office was the treasurership of
Calais, who was, in consideration of his great age, discharged of his
chargeable room, and returned again into England, intending to live
more at quiet. And through his instant labour and especial favour his
chaplain was promoted to the king's service, and made his chaplain. And
when he had once cast anchor in the port of promotion, how he wrought,
I shall somewhat declare.

He, having then a just occasion to be in the present sight of the
king daily, by reason he attended, and said mass before his grace in
his private closet, and that done he spent not the day forth in vain
idleness, but gave his attendance upon those whom he thought to bear
most rule in the council, and to be most in favour with the king,
the which at that time were Doctor Fox, Bishop of Winchester, then
secretary and lord privy seal, and also Sir Thomas Lovell, knight, a
very sage counsellor, and witty; being master of the king's wards, and
constable of the Tower[51].

These ancient and grave counsellors in process of time after often
resort, perceived this chaplain to have a very fine wit, and what
wisdom was in his head, thought [him] a meet and an apt person to be
preferred to witty affairs.

It chanced at a certain season that the king had an urgent occasion
to send an ambassador unto the emperor Maximilian[52], who lay at
that present in the Low Country of Flanders, not far from Calais.
The Bishop of Winchester, and Sir Thomas Lovell, whom the king most
highly esteemed, as chief among his counsellors (the king one day
counselling and debating with them upon this embassy), saw they had
a convenient occasion to prefer the king's chaplain, whose excellent
wit, eloquence[53], and learning they highly commended to the king. The
king giving ear unto them, and being a prince of an excellent judgment
and modesty, commanded [them] to bring his chaplain, whom they so much
commended, before his grace's presence. At whose repair [thither] to
prove the wit of his chaplain, the king fell in communication with
him in matters of weight and gravity: and, perceiving his wit to be
very fine, thought him sufficient to be put in authority and trust
with this embassy; [and] commanded him thereupon to prepare himself
to this enterprise and journey, and for his depeche[54], to repair
to his grace and his trusty counsellors aforesaid, of whom he should
receive his commission and instructions. By means whereof he had then
a due occasion to repair from time to time into the king's presence,
who perceived him more and more to be a very wise man, and of a good
entendment[55]. And having his depeche, [he] took his leave of the
king at Richmond about noon, and so came to London with speed [about
four of the clock[56]], where then the barge of Gravesend was ready
to launch forth, both with a prosperous tide and wind. Without any
farther abode he entered the barge, and so passed forth. His happy
speed was such that he arrived at Gravesend within little more than
three hours; where he tarried no longer than his post horses were
provided; and travelling so speedily with post horses, that he came to
Dover the next morning early, whereas the passengers[57] were ready
under sail displayed, to sail to Calais. Into which passengers without
any farther abode he entered, and sailed forth with them, [so] that he
arrived at Calais within three hours, and having there post horses
in a readiness, departed incontinent, making such hasty speed, that
he was that night with the emperor; who, having understanding of the
coming of the King of England's ambassador, would in no wise defer the
time, but sent incontinent for him (his affection unto King Henry the
Seventh was such, that he rejoiced when he had an occasion to show him
pleasure). The ambassador having opportunity, disclosed the sum of his
embassy unto the emperor, of whom he required speedy expedition, the
which was granted; so that the next day he was clearly dispatched, with
all the king's requests fully accomplished. At which time he made no
farther tarriance, but with post horses rode incontinent that night
toward Calais again, conducted thither with such number of horsemen as
the emperor had appointed, and [was] at the opening of the gates there,
where the passengers were as ready to return into England as they were
before in his advancing; insomuch that he arrived at Dover by ten of
the clock before noon; and having post horses in a readiness, came to
the court at Richmond that night. Where he taking his rest for that
time until the morning, repaired to the king at his first coming out
of his grace's bedchamber, toward his closet to hear mass. Whom (when
he saw) [he] checked him for that he was not past on his journey.
"Sir," quoth he, "if it may stand with your highness' pleasure, I
have already been with the emperor, and dispatched your affairs, I
trust, to your grace's contentation." And with that delivered unto the
king the emperor's letters of credence. The king, being in a great
confuse and wonder of his hasty speed with ready furniture of all his
proceedings, dissimuled all his imagination and wonder in that matter,
and demanded of him, whether he encountered not his pursuivant, the
which he sent unto him (supposing him not to be scantly out of London)
with letters concerning a very necessary cause, neglected in his
commission and instructions, the which the king coveted much to be
sped. "Yes, forsooth, Sire," quoth he, "I encountered him yesterday by
the way: and, having no understanding by your grace's letters of your
pleasure therein, have, notwithstanding, been so bold, upon mine own
discretion (perceiving that matter to be very necessary in that behalf)
to dispatch the same. And for as much as I have exceeded your grace's
commission, I most humbly require your gracious remission and pardon."
The king rejoicing inwardly not a little, said again, "We do not only
pardon you thereof, but also give you our princely thanks, both for the
proceeding therein, and also for your good and speedy exploit[58],"
commanding him for that time to take his rest, and to repair again to
him after dinner, for the farther relation of his embassy. The king
then went to mass; and after at convenient time he went to dinner.

It is not to be doubted but that this ambassador hath been since his
return with his great friends, the Bishop of Winchester, and Sir Thomas
Lovell, to whom he hath declared the effect of all his speedy progress;
nor yet what joy they conceived thereof. And after his departure from
the king in the morning, his highness sent for the bishop, and Sir
Thomas Lovell; to whom he declared the wonderful expedition of his
ambassador, commending therewith his excellent wit, and in especial the
invention and advancing of the matter left out of his commission and
instructions. The king's words rejoiced these worthy counsellors not a
little, for as much as he was of their preferment.

Then when this ambassador remembered the king's commandment, and saw
the time draw fast on of his repair before the king and his council,
[he] prepared him in a readiness, and resorted unto the place assigned
by the king, to declare his embassy. Without all doubt he reported the
effect of all his affairs and proceedings so exactly, with such gravity
and eloquence that all the council that heard him could do no less but
commend him, esteeming his expedition to be almost beyond the capacity
of man. The king of his mere motion, and gracious consideration, gave
him at that time for his diligent and faithful service, the deanery
of Lincoln[59], which at that time was one of the worthiest spiritual
promotions that he gave under the degree of a bishoprick. And thus from
thenceforward he grew more and more into estimation and authority, and
after [was] promoted by the king to be his almoner. Here may all men
note the chances of fortune, that followeth some whom she listeth to
promote, and even so to some her favour is contrary, though they should
travail never so much, with [all the] urgent diligence and painful
study, that they could devise or imagine: whereof, for my part, I have
tasted of the experience.

Now ye shall understand that all this tale that I have declared of his
good expedition in the king's embassy, I received it of his own mouth
and report, after his fall, lying at that time in the great park of
Richmond, I being then there attending upon him; taking an occasion
upon divers communications, to tell me this journey, with all the
circumstances, as I have here before rehearsed.

[Illustration: HENRY THE EIGHTH.

FROM AN ORIGINAL PICTURE BY HOLBEIN.

IN THE COLLECTION OF BARRET BRYDGES ESQ.

AT LEE PRIORY IN KENT.

_London, Published Jan^y. 1, 1825; by Harding, Triphook & Lepard._]

When death (that favoureth none estate, king or keiser) had taken that
prudent prince Henry the Seventh out of this present life (on whose
soul Jesu have mercy!) who for his inestimable wisdom was noted and
called, in every Christian region, the second Solomon, what practices,
inventions, and compasses were then used about that young prince,
King Henry the Eighth, his only son, and the great provision made for
the funerals of the one, and the costly devices for the coronation of
the other, with that virtuous Queen Catherine[60], then the king's
wife newly married. I omit and leave the circumstances thereof to
historiographers of chronicles of princes, the which is no part mine
intendment.

After all these solemnities and costly triumphs finished, and that
our natural, young, lusty and courageous prince and sovereign lord,
King Henry the Eighth, entering into the flower of pleasant youth,
had taken upon him the regal sceptre and the imperial diadem of this
fertile and plentiful realm of England (which at that time flourished
in all abundance of wealth and riches, whereof he was inestimably
garnished and furnished), called then the golden world, such grace of
plenty reigned then within this realm. Now let us return again unto
the almoner (of whom I have taken upon me to write), whose head was
full of subtil wit and policy, [and] perceiving a plain path to walk
in towards promotion, [he] handled himself so politicly, that he found
the means to be made one of the king's council, and to grow in good
estimation and favour with the king, to whom the king gave a house at
Bridewell, in Fleet Street, sometime Sir Richard Empson's[61], where
he kept house for his family, and he daily attended upon the king in
the court, being in his especial grace and favour, [having][62] then
great suit made unto him, as counsellors most commonly have that be
in favour. His sentences and witty persuasions in the council chamber
[were][63] always so pithy that they, always as occasion moved them,
assigned him for his filed tongue and ornate eloquence, to be their
expositor unto the king's majesty in all their proceedings. In whom the
king conceived such a loving fantasy, and in especial for that he was
most earnest and readiest among all the council to advance the king's
only will and pleasure, without any respect to the case; the king,
therefore, perceived him to be a meet instrument for the accomplishment
of his devised will and pleasure, called him more near unto him, and
esteemed him so highly that his estimation and favour put all other
ancient counsellors out of their accustomed favour, that they were in
before; insomuch that the king committed all his will and pleasure unto
his disposition and order. Who wrought so all his matters, that all his
endeavour was only to satisfy the king's mind, knowing right well, that
it was the very vein and right course to bring him to high promotion.
The king was young and lusty, disposed all to mirth and pleasure,
and to follow his desire and appetite, nothing minding to travail in
the busy affairs of this realm. The which the almoner perceiving very
well, took upon him therefore to disburden the king of so weighty a
charge and troublesome business, putting the king in comfort that he
shall not need to spare any time of his pleasure, for any business that
should necessarily happen in the council, as long as he, being there
and having the king's authority and commandment, doubted not to see all
things sufficiently furnished and perfected; the which would first make
the king privy of all such matters as should pass through their hands
before he would proceed to the finishing or determining of the same,
whose mind and pleasure he would fulfill and follow to the uttermost,
wherewith the king was wonderly pleased. And whereas the other ancient
counsellors would, according to the office of good counsellors, diverse
times persuade the king to have sometime an intercourse in to the
council, there to hear what was done in weighty matters, the which
pleased the king nothing at all, for he loved nothing worse than to be
constrained to do any thing contrary to his royal will and pleasure;
and that knew the almoner very well, having a secret intelligence of
the king's natural inclination, and so fast as the other counsellors
advised the king to leave his pleasure, and to attend to the affairs
of his realm, so busily did the almoner persuade him to the contrary;
which delighted him much, and caused him to have the greater affection
and love to the almoner. Thus the almoner ruled all them that before
ruled him; such [things] did his policy and wit bring to pass. Who was
now in high favour, but Master Almoner? Who had all the suit but Master
Almoner? And who ruled all under the king, but Master Almoner? Thus
he proceeded still in favour; at last, in came presents, gifts, and
rewards so plentifully, that I dare say he lacked nothing that might
either please his fantasy or enrich his coffers; fortune smiled so upon
him; but to what end she brought him, ye shall hear after. Therefore
let all men, to whom fortune extendeth her grace, not trust too much
to her fickle favour and pleasant promises, under colour whereof she
carrieth venemous gall. For when she seeth her servant in most highest
authority, and that he assureth himself most assuredly in her favour,
then turneth she her visage and pleasant countenance unto a frowning
cheer, and utterly forsaketh him: such assurance is in her inconstant
favour and sugared promise. Whose deceitful behaviour hath not been
hid among the wise sort of famous clerks, that have exclaimed her
and written vehemently against her dissimulation and feigned favour,
warning all men thereby, the less to regard her, and to have her in
small estimation of any trust or faithfulness.

This almoner, climbing thus hastily on fortune's wheel, that no man
was of that estimation with the king as he was, for his wisdom and
other witty qualities, he had a special gift of natural eloquence[64],
with a filed tongue to pronounce the same, that he was able with the
same to persuade and allure all men to his purpose. Proceeding thus
in fortune's blissfulness, it chanced the wars between the realms
of England and France to be open, but upon what occasion I know not,
in so much as the king, being fully persuaded, and resolved in his
most royal person to invade his foreign enemies with a puissant army,
to delay their hault[65] brags, within their own territory: wherefore
it was thought very necessary, that this royal enterprise should be
speedily provided and plentifully furnished in every degree of things
apt and convenient for the same; the expedition whereof, the king's
highness thought no man's wit so meet, for policy and painful travail,
as his wellbeloved almoner's was, to whom therefore he committed his
whole affiance and trust therein. And he being nothing scrupulous in
any thing, that the king would command him to do, although it seemed to
other very difficile, took upon him the whole charge and burden of all
this business, and proceeded so therein, that he brought all things to
a good pass and purpose in a right decent order, as of all manner of
victuals, provisions, and other necessaries, convenient for so noble a
voyage and puissant army.

All things being by him perfected, and furnished, the king, not minding
to delay or neglect the time appointed, but with noble and valiant
courage advanced to his royal enterprise, passed the seas between Dover
and Calais, where he prosperously arrived[66]; and after some abode
there of his Grace, as well for the arrival of his puissant army royal,
provisions and munitions, as to consult about his princely affairs,
marched forward, in good order of battle, through the Low Country,
until he came to the strong town of Terouanne. To the which he laid his
assault, and assailed it so fiercely with continual assaults, that
within short space he caused them within to yield the town. Unto which
place the Emperor Maximilian repaired unto the king our sovereign Lord,
with a puissant army, like a mighty and friendly prince, taking of
the king his Grace's wages[67], as well for his own person as for his
retinue, the which is a rare thing seldom seen, heard, or read, that
an emperor should take wages, and fight under a king's banner. Thus
after the king had obtained the possession of this puissant fort, and
set all things in due order, for the defence and preservation of the
same to his highness' use, he departed from thence, and marched toward
the city of Tournay, and there again laid his siege; to the which he
gave so fierce and sharp assaults, that they within were constrained
of fine force[68] to yield up the town unto his victorious majesty. At
which time he gave the Almoner the bishoprick of the same See, for some
part of recompense of his pains sustained in that journey. And when
the King had established all things there agreeable to his princely
pleasure, and furnished the same with noble valiant captains and men
of war, for the safeguard of the town against his enemies, he returned
again into England, taking with him divers worthy persons of the peers
of France, as the Duke of Longueville, and Countie Clermont, and divers
other taken there in a skirmish most victoriously. After whose return
immediately, the See of Lincoln fell void by the death of Doctor Smith,
late bishop of that dignity, the which benefice and promotion his
Grace gave unto his Almoner[69], Bishop elect of Tournay, who was not
negligent to take possession thereof, and made all the speed he could
for his consecration: the solemnization whereof ended, he found the
means to get the possession of all his predecessor's goods into his
hands, whereof I have seen divers times some part thereof furnish his
house. It was not long after that Doctor Bambridge[70], Archbishop of
York, died at Rome, being there the king's ambassador unto the Pope
Julius; unto which benefice the king presented his new Bishop of
Lincoln; so that he had three bishopricks[71] in one year given him.
Then prepared he again of new as fast for his translation from the
See of Lincoln, unto the See of York. After which solemnization done,
and he being in possession of the Archbishoprick of York, and _Primas
Angliæ_, thought himself sufficient to compare with Canterbury; and
thereupon erected his cross in the court, and in every other place,
as well in the presence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and in the
precinct of his jurisdiction as elsewhere. And forasmuch as Canterbury
claimeth superiority and obedience of York, as he doth of all other
bishops within this realm, forasmuch as he is _primus totius Angliæ_,
and therefore claimeth, as a token of an ancient obedience, of York
to abate the advancing of his cross, in the presence of the cross
of Canterbury; notwithstanding York, nothing minding to desist from
bearing of his cross in manner as is said before, caused his cross
to be advanced[72] and borne before him, as well in the presence of
Canterbury as elsewhere. Wherefore Canterbury being moved therewith,
gave York a certain check for his presumption; by reason whereof there
engendered some grudge between Canterbury and York. And York perceiving
the obedience that Canterbury claimed to have of York, intended to
provide some such means that he would rather be superior in dignity
to Canterbury than to be either obedient or equal to him. Wherefore he
obtained first to be made Priest Cardinal, and _Legatus de latere_;
unto whom the Pope sent a Cardinal's hat, with certain bulls for his
authority in that behalf[73]. Yet by the way of communication ye shall
understand that the Pope sent him this hat as a worthy jewel of his
honour, dignity, and authority, the which was conveyed hither in a
varlet's budget, who seemed to all men to be but a person of small
estimation. Whereof York being advertised, of the baseness of the
messenger, and of the people's opinion and rumour, thought it for his
honour meet, that so high a jewel should not be conveyed by so simple a
messenger; wherefore he caused him to be stayed by the way, immediately
after his arrival in England, where he was newly furnished in all
manner of apparel, with all kind of costly silks, which seemed decent
for such an high ambassador. And that done, he was encountered upon
Blackheath, and there received with a great assembly of prelates, and
lusty gallant gentlemen, and from thence conducted and conveyed through
London, with great triumph. Then was great and speedy provision[74] and
preparation made in Westminster Abbey for the confirmation of his high
dignity; the which was executed by all the bishops and abbots nigh or
about London, in rich mitres and copes, and other costly ornaments;
which was done in so solemn a wise as I have not seen the like unless
it had been at the coronation of a mighty prince or king.

Obtaining this dignity [he] thought himself meet to encounter with
Canterbury in his high jurisdiction before expressed; and that also he
was as meet to bear authority among the temporal powers, as among the
spiritual jurisdictions. Wherefore remembering as well the taunts and
checks before sustained of Canterbury, which he intended to redress,
having a respect to the advancement of worldly honour, promotion,
and great benefits, [he] found the means with the king, that he was
made Chancellor of England; and Canterbury thereof dismissed, who had
continued in that honourable room and office, since long before the
death of King Henry the Seventh[75].

Now he being in possession of the chancellorship, endowed with the
promotion of an Archbishop, and Cardinal Legate _de latere_, thought
himself fully furnished with such authorities and dignities, that he
was able to surmount Canterbury in all ecclesiastical jurisdictions,
having power to convocate Canterbury, and other bishops, within his
precincts, to assemble at his convocation, in any place within this
realm where he would assign; taking upon him the correction of all
matters in every diocese, having there through all the realm all manner
of spiritual ministers, as commissaries, scribes, apparitors, and
all other officers to furnish his courts; visited also all spiritual
houses, and presented by prevention whom he listed to their benefices.
And to the advancing of his Legatine honours and jurisdictions, he
had masters of his faculties, masters Ceremoniarum, and such other
like officers to the glorifying of his dignity. Then had he two great
crosses of silver, whereof one of them was for his Archbishoprick, and
the other for his Legacy, borne always before him whither soever he
went or rode, by two of the most tallest and comeliest priests that he
could get within all this realm[76]. And to the increase of his gains
he had also the bishoprick of Durham, and the Abbey of St. Albans _in
commendam_; howbeit after, when Bishop Fox, of Winchester, died, he
surrendered Durham into the King's hands, and in lieu thereof took the
Bishoprick of Winchester. Then he held also, as it were _in ferme_,
Bath, Worcester, and Hereford, because the incumbents thereof were
strangers[77], born out of this realm, continuing always beyond the
seas, in their own native countries, or else at Rome, from whence they
were sent by the Pope in legation into England to the king. And for
their reward, at their departure, the prudent King Henry the Seventh
thought it better to reward them with that thing, he himself could not
keep, than to defray or disburse any thing of his treasure. And then
they being but strangers, thought it more meet for their assurance,
and to have their jurisdictions conserved and justly used, to permit
the Cardinal to have their benefices for a convenient yearly sum of
money to be paid them by exchanges in their countries, than to be
troubled, or burdened with the conveyance thereof unto them: so that
all their spiritual promotions and jurisdictions of their bishopricks
were clearly in his domain and disposition, to prefer or promote
whom he listed unto them. He had also a great number daily attending
upon him, both of noblemen and worthy gentlemen, of great estimation
and possessions, with no small number of the tallest yeomen, that he
could get in all this realm, in so much that well was that nobleman
and gentleman, that might prefer any tall and comely yeoman unto his
service.

Now to speak of the order of his house and officers, I think it
necessary here to be remembered. First ye shall understand, that he
had in his hall, daily, three especial tables furnished with three
principal officers; that is to say, a Steward, which was always a dean
or a priest; a Treasurer, a knight; and a Comptroller, an esquire;
which bare always within his house their white staves. Then had he
a cofferer, three marshals, two yeomen ushers, two grooms, and an
almoner. He had in the hall-kitchen two clerks of his kitchen, a clerk
comptroller, a surveyor of the dresser, a clerk of his spicery. Also
there in his hall-kitchen he had two master cooks, and twelve other
labourers, and children as they called them; a yeoman of his scullery,
and two other in his silver scullery; two yeomen of his pastry, and two
grooms[78].

Now in his privy kitchen he had a Master Cook who went daily in damask
satin, or velvet, with a chain of gold about his neck; and two grooms,
with six labourers and children to serve in that place; in the Larder
there, a yeoman and a groom; in the Scalding-house, a yeoman and two
grooms; in the Scullery there, two persons; in the Buttery, two yeomen
and two grooms, with two other pages; in the Pantry, two yeomen, two
grooms, and two other pages; and in the Ewery likewise: in the Cellar,
three yeomen, two grooms, and two pages; beside a gentleman for the
month: in the Chaundery, three persons: in the Wafery, two; in the
Wardrobe of beds, the master of the wardrobe, and ten other persons; in
the Laundry, a yeoman, a groom, and three pages: of purveyors, two, and
one groom; in the Bakehouse, a yeoman and two grooms; in the Wood-yard,
a yeoman and a groom; in the Garner, one; in the Garden, a yeoman and
two labourers. Now at the gate, he had of porters, two tall yeomen
and two grooms; a yeoman of his barge: in the stable, he had a master
of his horse, a clerk of the stable, a yeoman of the same; a Saddler,
a Farrier, a yeoman of his Chariot, a Sumpter-man, a yeoman of his
stirrup; a Muleteer; sixteen grooms of his stable, every of them
keeping four great geldings: in the Almeserie, a yeoman and a groom.

Now I will declare unto you the officers of his chapel, and singing men
of the same. First, he had there a Dean, who was always a great clerk
and a divine; a Sub-dean; a Repeater of the quire; a Gospeller[79], a
Pisteller; and twelve singing Priests: of Scholars, he had first, a
Master of the children; twelve singing children; sixteen singing men;
with a servant to attend upon the said children. In the Revestry[80],
a yeoman and two grooms: then were there divers retainers of cunning
singing men, that came thither at divers sundry principal feasts. But
to speak of the furniture of his chapel passeth my capacity to declare
the number of the costly ornaments and rich jewels, that were occupied
in the same continually. For I have seen there, in a procession,
worn forty-four copes of one suit, very rich, besides the sumptuous
crosses, candlesticks, and other necessary ornaments to the comely
furniture of the same. Now shall ye understand that he had two cross
bearers, and two pillar bearers: and in his chamber, all these persons;
that is to say: his high Chamberlain, his Vice Chamberlain; twelve
Gentlemen ushers, daily waiters; besides two in his privy chamber; and
of Gentlemen waiters in his privy chamber he had six; and also he had
of Lords nine or ten[81], who had each of them allowed two servants;
and the Earl of Derby had allowed five men. Then had he of Gentlemen,
as cup-bearers, carvers, sewers, and Gentlemen daily waiters, forty
persons; of yeomen ushers he had six; of grooms in his chamber he had
eight; of yeomen of his chamber he had forty-six daily to attend upon
his person; he had also a priest there which was his Almoner, to attend
upon his table at dinner. Of doctors and chaplains attending in his
closet to say daily mass before him, he had sixteen persons: and a
clerk of his closet. Also he had two secretaries, and two clerks of
his signet; and four counsellors learned in the laws of the realm.

And for as much as he was Chancellor of England, it was necessary for
him to have divers officers of the Chancery to attend daily upon him,
for the better furniture of the same. That is to say: first, he had the
Clerk of the Crown, a Riding Clerk, a Clerk of the Hanaper, a Chafer of
Wax. Then had he a Clerk of the Check, as well to check his Chaplains,
as his Yeomen of the Chamber; he had also four Footmen, which were
apparelled in rich running coats, whensoever he rode any journey.
Then had he an herald at Arms, and a Sergeant at Arms; a Physician;
an Apothecary; four Minstrels; a Keeper of his Tents, an Armourer; an
Instructor of his Wards; two Yeomen in his Wardrobe; and a Keeper of
his Chamber in the court. He had also daily in his house the Surveyor
of York, a Clerk of the Green Cloth; and an Auditor. All this number
of persons were daily attendant upon him in his house, down-lying and
up-rising. And at meals, there was continually in his chamber a board
kept for his Chamberlains, and Gentlemen Ushers, having with them a
mess of the young Lords[82], and another for gentlemen.

Besides all these, there was never an officer and gentleman, or any
other worthy person in his house, but he was allowed some three, some
two servants; and all other one at the least; which amounted to a
great number of persons. Now have I showed you the order of his house,
and what officers and servants he had, according to his checker roll,
attending daily upon him; besides his retainers, and other persons
being suitors, that most commonly were fed in his hall. And whensoever
we shall see any more such subjects within this realm, that shall
maintain any such estate and household, I am content he be advanced
above him in honour and estimation. Therefore here I make an end of his
household; whereof the number was about the sum of five hundred[83]
persons according to his checker roll.

You have heard of the order and officers of his house; now I do intend
to proceed forth unto other of his proceedings; for, after he was thus
furnished, in manner as I have before rehearsed unto you, he was twice
sent in embassy unto the Emperor Charles the Fifth, that now reigneth;
and father unto King Philip, now our sovereign lord. Forasmuch as the
old Emperor Maximilian was dead, and for divers urgent causes touching
the king's majesty, it was thought good that in so weighty a matter,
and to so noble a prince, that the Cardinal was most meet to be sent
on so worthy an embassy. Wherefore he being ready to take upon him the
charge thereof, was furnished in all degrees and purposes most likest a
great prince, which was much to the high honour of the king's majesty,
and of this realm. For first in his proceeding he was furnished like a
cardinal of high estimation, having all things thereto correspondent
and agreeable. His gentlemen, being in number very many, clothed in
livery coats of crimson velvet of the most purest colour that might be
invented, with chains of gold about their necks; and all his yeomen and
other mean officers were in coats of fine scarlet, guarded with black
velvet a hand broad. He being thus furnished in this manner, was twice
sent unto the emperor into Flanders, the emperor lying then in Bruges;
who entertained our ambassador very highly[84], discharging him and all
his train of their charge; for there was no house within all Bruges,
wherein any gentlemen of the Lord Ambassador's lay, or had recourse,
but that the owners of the houses were commanded by the emperor's
officers, that they, upon pain of their lives, should take no money
for any thing that the cardinal's servants should take or dispend in
victuals; no, although they were disposed to make any costly banquets:
furthermore commanding their said hosts, to see that they lacked no
such thing as they desired or required to have for their pleasures.
Also the emperor's officers every night went through the town, from
house to house, where as any English men lay or resorted, and there
served their liveries[85] for all night; which was done after this
manner: first, the emperor's officers brought in to the house a cast of
fine manchet bread[86], two great silver pots, with wine, and a pound
of fine sugar; white lights and yellow; a bowl or goblet of silver, to
drink in; and every night a staff torch. This was the order of their
liveries every night. And then in the morning, when the officers came
to fetch away their stuff, then would they accompt with the host for
the gentlemen's costs spent in that night and day before. Thus the
emperor entertained the cardinal and all his train, for the time of his
embassy there. And that done, he returned home again into England, with
great triumph, being no less in estimation with the king than he was
before, but rather much more.

Now will I declare unto you his order in going to Westminster Hall,
daily in the term season. First, before his coming out of his privy
chamber, he heard most commonly every day two masses in his privy
closet; and there then said his daily service with his chaplain: and
as I heard his chaplain say, being a man of credence and of excellent
learning, that the cardinal, what business or weighty matters soever
he had in the day, he never went to his bed with any part of his
divine service unsaid, yea not so much as one collect; wherein I doubt
not but he deceived the opinion of divers persons. And after mass he
would return in his privy chamber again, and being advertised of the
furniture of his chambers without, with noblemen, gentlemen, and other
persons, would issue out into them, appareled all in red, in the habit
of a cardinal; which was either of fine scarlet, or else of crimson
satin, taffety, damask, or caffa, the best that he could get for money:
and upon his head a round pillion, with a noble of black velvet set to
the same in the inner side; he had also a tippet of fine sables about
his neck; holding in his hand a very fair orange, whereof the meat
or substance within was taken out, and filled up again with the part
of a sponge, wherein was vinegar, and other confections against the
pestilent airs; the which he most commonly smelt unto, passing among
the press, or else when he was pestered with many suitors. There was
also borne before him first, the great seal of England, and then his
cardinal's hat, by a nobleman or some worthy gentleman, right solemnly,
bareheaded. And as soon as he was entered into his chamber of presence,
where there was attending his coming to await upon him to Westminster
Hall, as well noblemen and other worthy gentlemen, as noblemen and
gentlemen of his own family; thus passing forth with two great crosses
of silver borne before him[87]; with also two great pillars of silver,
and his pursuivant at arms with a great mace of silver gilt. Then
his gentlemen ushers cried, and said: "On, my lords and masters, on
before; make way for my Lord's Grace!" Thus passed he down from his
chamber through the hall; and when he came to the hall door, there was
attendant for him his mule, trapped all together in crimson velvet, and
gilt stirrups. When he was mounted, with his cross bearers, and pillar
bearers[88], also upon great horses trapped with [fine] scarlet. Then
marched he forward, with his train and furniture in manner as I have
declared, having about him four footmen, with gilt pollaxes in their
hands; and thus he went until he came to Westminster Hall door. And
there alighted, and went after this manner, up through the hall into
the chancery; howbeit he would most commonly stay awhile at a bar, made
for him, a little beneath the chancery [on the right hand], and there
commune some time with the judges, and sometime with other persons. And
that done he would repair into the chancery, sitting there till eleven
of the clock, hearing suitors, and determining of divers matters.
And from thence, he would divers times go into the star chamber, as
occasion did serve; where he spared neither high nor low, but judged
every estate according to their merits and deserts.

He used every Sunday to repair to the court, being then for the most
part at Greenwich, in the term; with all his former order, taking his
barge at his privy stairs, furnished with tall yeomen standing upon the
bayles, and all gentlemen being within with him; and landed again at
the Crane in the vintry. And from thence he rode upon his mule, with
his crosses, his pillars, his hat, and the great seal, through Thames
Street, until he came to Billingsgate, or thereabout; and there took
his barge again, and rowed to Greenwich, where he was nobly received
of the lords and chief officers of the king's house, as the treasurer
and comptroller, with others; and so conveyed to the king's chamber:
his crosses commonly standing for the time of his abode in the court,
on the one side of the king's cloth of estate. He being thus in the
court, it was wonderly furnished with noblemen and gentlemen, much
otherwise than it was before his coming. And after dinner, among the
lords, having some consultation with the king, or with the council,
he would depart homeward with like state[89]: and this order he used
continually, as opportunity did serve.

Thus in great honour, triumph, and glory, he reigned a long season,
ruling all things within this realm, appertaining unto the king, by
his wisdom, and also all other weighty matters of foreign regions,
with which the king of this realm had any occasion to intermeddle.
All ambassadors of foreign potentates were always dispatched by his
discretion, to whom they had always access for their dispatch. His
house was also always resorted and furnished with noblemen, gentlemen,
and other persons, with going and coming in and out, feasting and
banqueting all ambassadors diverse times, and other strangers right
nobly.

And when it pleased the king's majesty, for his recreation, to repair
unto the cardinal's house, as he did divers times in the year, at which
time there wanted no preparations, or goodly furniture, with viands of
the finest sort that might be provided for money or friendship. Such
pleasures were then devised for the king's comfort and consolation,
as might be invented, or by man's wit imagined. The banquets were set
forth, with masks and mummeries, in so gorgeous a sort, and costly
manner, that it was a heaven to behold. There wanted no dames, or
damsels, meet or apt to dance with the maskers, or to garnish the place
for the time, with other goodly disports. Then was there all kind of
music and harmony set forth, with excellent voices both of men and
children. I have seen the king suddenly come in thither in a mask, with
a dozen of other maskers, all in garments like shepherds, made of fine
cloth of gold and fine crimson satin paned, and caps of the same, with
visors of good proportion of visnomy; their hairs, and beards, either
of fine gold wire, or else of silver, and some being of black silk;
having sixteen torch bearers, besides their drums, and other persons
attending upon them, with visors, and clothed all in satin, of the
same colours. And at his coming, and before he came into the hall, ye
shall understand, that he came by water to the water gate, without any
noise; where, against his coming, were laid charged many chambers[90],
and at his landing they were all shot off, which made such a rumble in
the air, that it was like thunder. It made all the noblemen, ladies,
and gentlewomen, to muse what it should mean coming so suddenly,
they sitting quietly at a solemn banquet; under this sort: First, ye
shall perceive that the tables were set in the chamber of presence,
banquet-wise covered, my Lord Cardinal sitting under the cloth of
estate, and there having his service all alone; and then was there
set a lady and a nobleman, or a gentleman and gentlewoman, throughout
all the tables in the chamber on the one side, which were made and
joined as it were but one table. All which order and device was done
and devised by the Lord Sands, Lord Chamberlain to the king; and also
by Sir Henry Guilford, Comptroller to the king. Then immediately after
this great shot of guns, the cardinal desired the Lord Chamberlain, and
Comptroller, to look what this sudden shot should mean, as though he
knew nothing of the matter. They thereupon looking out of the windows
into Thames, returned again, and showed him, that it seemed to them
there should be some noblemen and strangers arrived at his bridge, as
ambassadors from some foreign prince. With that, quoth the cardinal,
"I shall desire you, because ye can speak French, to take the pains
to go down into the hall to encounter and to receive them, according
to their estates, and to conduct them into this chamber, where they
shall see us, and all these noble personages sitting merrily at our
banquet, desiring them to sit down with us, and to take part of our
fare and pastime. Then [they] went incontinent down into the hall,
where they received them with twenty new torches, and conveyed them
up into the chamber, with such a number of drums and fifes as I have
seldom seen together, at one time in any masque. At their arrival
into the chamber, two and two together, they went directly before the
cardinal where he sat, saluting him very reverently; to whom the Lord
Chamberlain for them said: "Sir, for as much as they be strangers, and
can speak no English, they have desired me to declare unto your Grace
thus: they, having understanding of this your triumphant banquet,
where was assembled such a number of excellent fair dames, could do
no less, under the supportation of your good grace, but to repair
hither to view as well their incomparable beauty, as for to accompany
them at mumchance[91], and then after to dance with them, and so to
have of them acquaintance. And, sir, they furthermore require of your
Grace licence to accomplish the cause of their repair." To whom the
cardinal answered, that he was very well contented they should so do.
Then the maskers went first and saluted all the dames as they sat, and
then returned to the most worthiest, and there opened a cup full of
gold, with crowns, and other pieces of coin, to whom they set divers
pieces to cast at. Thus in this manner perusing all the ladies and
gentlewomen, and to some they lost, and of some they won. And thus
done, they returned unto the cardinal, with great reverence, pouring
down all the crowns in the cup, which was about two hundred crowns.
"At all," quoth the cardinal, and so cast the dice, and won them all
at a cast; whereat was great joy made. Then quoth the cardinal to my
Lord Chamberlain, "I pray you," quoth he, "show them that it seemeth
me that there should be among them some noble man, whom I suppose to
be much more worthy of honour to sit and occupy this room and place
than I; to whom I would most gladly, if I knew him, surrender my
place according to my duty." Then spake my Lord Chamberlain unto them
in French, declaring my Lord Cardinal's mind, and they rounding[92]
him again in the ear, my Lord Chamberlain said to my Lord Cardinal,
"Sir, they confess," quoth he, "that among them there is such a noble
personage, whom, if your Grace can appoint him from the other, he is
contented to disclose himself, and to accept your place most worthily."
With that the cardinal, taking a good advisement among them, at the
last, quoth he, "Me seemeth the gentleman with the black beard should
be even he." And with that he arose out of his chair, and offered the
same to the gentleman in the black beard, with his cap in his hand.
The person to whom he offered then his chair was Sir Edward Neville,
a comely knight of a goodly personage, that much more resembled the
king's person in that mask, than any other. The king, hearing and
perceiving the cardinal so deceived in his estimation and choice, could
not forbear laughing; but plucked down his visor, and Master Neville's
also, and dashed out with such a pleasant countenance and cheer, that
all noble estates there assembled, seeing the king to be there amongst
them, rejoiced very much. The cardinal eftsoons desired his highness
to take the place of estate, to whom the king answered, that he would
go first and shift his apparel; and so departed, and went straight
into my lord's bedchamber, where was a great fire made and prepared
for him; and there new apparelled him with rich and princely garments.
And in the time of the king's absence, the dishes of the banquet were
clean taken up, and the tables spread again with new and sweet perfumed
cloths; every man sitting still until the king and his maskers came
in among them again, every man being newly apparelled. Then the king
took his seat under the cloth of estate, commanding no man to remove,
but sit still, as they did before. Then in came a new banquet before
the king's majesty, and to all the rest through the tables, wherein, I
suppose, were served two hundred dishes or above, of wondrous costly
meats and devices, subtilly devised. Thus passed they forth the whole
night with banqueting, dancing, and other triumphant devices, to the
great comfort of the king, and pleasant regard of the nobility there
assembled.

All this matter I have declared at large, because ye shall understand
what joy and delight the cardinal had to see his prince and sovereign
lord in his house so nobly entertained and pleased, which was always
his only study, to devise things to his comfort, not passing of the
charges or expenses. It delighted him so much, to have the king's
pleasant princely presence, that no thing was to him more delectable
than to cheer his sovereign lord, to whom he owed so much obedience and
loyalty; as reason required no less, all things well considered.

Thus passed the cardinal his life and time, from day to day, and year
to year, in such great wealth, joy, and triumph, and glory, having
always on his side the king's especial favour; until Fortune, of whose
favour no man is longer assured than she is disposed, began to wax
something wroth with his prosperous estate, [and] thought she would
devise a mean to abate his high port; wherefore she procured Venus,
the insatiate goddess, to be her instrument. To work her purpose, she
brought the king in love with a gentlewoman, that, after she perceived
and felt the king's good will towards her, and how diligent he was both
to please her, and to grant all her requests, she wrought the cardinal
much displeasure; as hereafter shall be more at large declared. This
gentlewoman, the daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn, being at that time but
only a bachelor knight, the which after, for the love of his daughter,
was promoted to higher dignities. He bare at divers several times
for the most part all the rooms of estimation in the king's house;
as Comptroller, Treasurer, Vice Chamberlain, and Lord Chamberlain.
Then was he made Viscount Rochford; and at the last created Earl of
Wiltshire, and Knight of the noble Order of the Garter; and, for his
more increase of gain and honour, he was made Lord Privy Seal, and most
chiefest of the king's privy council. Continuing therein until his son
and daughter did incur the king's indignation and displeasure. The king
fantasied so much his daughter Anne, that almost all things began to
grow out of frame and good order[93].

To tell you how the king's love began to take place, and what followed
thereof, I will even as much as in me lieth, declare [unto] you. This
gentlewoman, Mistress Anne Boleyn, being very young[94] was sent into
the realm of France, and there made one of the French[95] queen's
women, continuing there until the French queen died. And then was she
sent for home again; and being again with her father, he made such
means that she was admitted to be one of Queen Katharine's maids, among
whom, for her excellent gesture and behaviour, [she] did excel all
other; in so much, as the king began to kindle the brand of amours;
which was not known to any person, ne scantly to her own person.

In so much [as] my Lord Percy, the son and heir of the Earl of
Northumberland, then attended upon the Lord Cardinal, and was also his
servitor; and when it chanced the Lord Cardinal at any time to repair
to the court, the Lord Percy would then resort for his pastime unto the
queen's chamber, and there would fall in dalliance among the queen's
maidens, being at the last more conversant with Mistress Anne Boleyn
than with any other; so that there grew such a secret love between
them that, at length, they were insured together[96], intending to
marry. The which thing came to the king's knowledge, who was then much
offended. Wherefore he could hide no longer his secret affection, but
revealed his secret intendment unto my Lord Cardinal in that behalf;
and consulted with him to infringe the precontract between them:
insomuch, that after my Lord Cardinal was departed from the court, and
returned home to his place at Westminster, not forgetting the king's
request and counsel, being in his gallery, called there before him
the said Lord Percy unto his presence, and before us his servants of
his chamber, saying thus unto him. "I marvel not a little," quoth he,
"of thy peevish folly, that thou wouldest tangle and ensure thyself
with a foolish girl yonder in the court, I mean Anne Boleyn. Dost
thou not consider the estate that God hath called thee unto in this
world? For after the death of thy noble father, thou art most like to
inherit and possess one of the most worthiest earldoms of this realm.
Therefore it had been most meet, and convenient for thee, to have sued
for the consent of thy father in that behalf, and to have also made
the king's highness privy thereto; requiring therein his princely
favour, submitting all thy whole proceeding in all such matters unto
his highness, who would not only accept thankfully your submission,
but would, I assure thee, provide so for your purpose therein, that he
would advance you much more nobly, and have matched you according to
your estate and honour, whereby ye might have grown so by your wisdom
and honourable behaviour into the king's high estimation, that it
should have been much to your increase of honour. But now behold what
ye have done through your wilfulness. Ye have not only offended your
natural father, but also your most gracious sovereign lord, and matched
yourself with one, such as neither the king, ne yet your father will
be agreeable with the matter. And hereof I put you out of doubt, that
I will send for your father, and at his coming, he shall either break
this unadvised contract, or else disinherit thee for ever. The king's
majesty himself will complain to thy father on thee, and require no
less at his hand than I have said; whose highness intended to have
preferred [Anne Boleyn] unto another person, with whom the king hath
travelled already, and being almost at a point with the same person,
although she knoweth it not, yet hath the king, most like a politic
and prudent prince, conveyed the matter in such sort, that she, upon
the king's motion, will be (I doubt not) right glad and agreeable to
the same." "Sir," (quoth the Lord Percy, all weeping), "I knew nothing
of the king's pleasure therein, for whose displeasure I am very sorry.
I considered that I was of good years, and thought myself sufficient
to provide me of a convenient wife, whereas my fancy served me best,
not doubting but that my lord my father would have been right well
persuaded. And though she be a simple maid, and having but a knight
to her father, yet is she descended of right noble parentage. As by
her mother she is nigh of the Norfolk blood: and of her father's side
lineally descended of the Earl of Ormond, he being one of the earl's
heirs general[97]. Why should I then, sir, be any thing scrupulous to
match with her, whose estate of descent is equivalent with mine when I
shall be in most dignity? Therefore I most humbly require your grace
of your especial favour herein; and also to entreat the king's most
royal majesty most lowly on my behalf for his princely benevolence in
this matter, the which I cannot deny or forsake." "Lo, sirs," quoth
the cardinal, "ye may see what conformity and wisdom is in this wilful
boy's head. I thought that when thou heardest me declare the king's
intended pleasure and travail herein, thou wouldest have relented and
wholly submitted thyself, and all thy wilful and unadvised fact, to
the king's royal will and prudent pleasure, to be fully disposed and
ordered by his grace's disposition, as his highness should seem good."
"Sir, so I would," quoth the Lord Percy, "but in this matter I have
gone so far, before many so worthy witnesses, that I know not how to
avoid my self nor to discharge my conscience." "Why, thinkest thou,"
quoth the cardinal, "that the king and I know not what we have to do
in as weighty a matter as this? Yes (quoth he), I warrant thee. Howbeit
I can see in thee no submission to the purpose." "Forsooth, my Lord,"
quoth the Lord Percy, "if it please your grace, I will submit myself
wholly unto the king's majesty and [your] grace in this matter, my
conscience being discharged of the weighty burthen of my precontract."
"Well then," quoth the cardinal, "I will send for your father out of
the north parts, and he and we shall take such order for the avoiding
of this thy hasty folly as shall be by the king thought most expedient.
And in the mean season I charge thee, and in the king's name command
thee, that thou presume not once to resort into her company, as thou
intendest to avoid the king's high indignation." And this said he rose
up and went into his chamber.

Then was the Earl of Northumberland sent for in all haste, in the
king's name, who upon knowledge of the king's pleasure made quick
speed to the court. And at his first coming out of the north he
made his first repair unto my Lord Cardinal, at whose mouth he was
advertised of the cause of his hasty sending for; being in my Lord
Cardinal's gallery with him in secret communication a long while. And
after their long talk my Lord Cardinal called for a cup of wine, and
drinking together they brake up, and so departed the earl, upon whom
we were commanded to wait to convey him to his servants. And in his
going away, when he came to the gallery's end, he sat him down upon a
form that stood there for the waiters some time to take their ease.
And being there set called his son the Lord Percy unto him, and said
in our presence thus in effect. "Son," quoth he, "thou hast always
been a proud, presumptuous, disdainful, and a very unthrift waster,
and even so hast thou now declared thyself. Therefore what joy, what
comfort, what pleasure or solace should I conceive in thee, that thus
without discretion and advisement hast misused thyself, having no
manner of regard to me thy natural father, ne in especial unto thy
sovereign lord, to whom all honest and loyal subjects bear faithful and
humble obedience; ne yet to the wealth of thine own estate, but hast
so unadvisedly ensured thyself to her, for whom thou hast purchased
thee the king's displeasure, intolerable for any subject to sustain!
But that his grace of his mere wisdom doth consider the lightness of
thy head, and wilful qualities of thy person, his displeasure and
indignation were sufficient to cast me and all my posterity into utter
subversion and dissolution: but he being my especial and singular good
lord and favourable prince, and my Lord Cardinal my good lord hath and
doth clearly excuse me in thy lewd fact, and doth rather lament thy
lightness than malign the same; and hath devised an order to be taken
for thee; to whom both thou and I be more bound than we be able well to
consider. I pray to God that this may be to thee a sufficient monition
and warning to use thyself more wittier hereafter; for thus I assure
thee, if thou dost not amend thy prodigality, thou wilt be the last
earl of our house. For of thy natural inclination thou art disposed
to be wasteful prodigal, and to consume all that thy progenitors have
with great travail gathered together and kept with honour. But having
the king's majesty my singular good and gracious lord, I intend (God
willing) so to dispose my succession, that ye shall consume thereof
but a little. For I do not purpose, I assure thee, to make thee mine
heir; for, praises be to God, I have more choice of boys who, I
trust, will prove themselves much better, and use them more like unto
nobility, among whom I will choose and take the best and most likeliest
to succeed me. Now, masters and good gentlemen," (quoth he unto us),
"it may be your chances hereafter, when I am dead, to see the proof
of these things that I have spoken to my son prove as true as I have
spoken them. Yet in the mean season I desire you all to be his friends,
and to tell him his fault when he doth amiss, wherein ye shall show
yourselves to be much his friends." And with that he took his leave of
us. And said to his son thus: "Go your ways, and attend upon my lord's
grace your master, and see that you do your duty." And so departed, and
went his way down through the hall into his barge.

Then after long debating and consultation upon the Lord Percy's
assurance, it was devised that the same should be infringed and
dissolved, and that the Lord Percy should marry with one of the Earl
of Shrewsbury's daughters[98]; (as he did after); by means whereof
the former contract was clearly undone. Wherewith Mistress Anne Boleyn
was greatly offended, saying, that if it lay ever in her power, she
would work the cardinal as much displeasure; as she did in deed after.
And yet was he nothing to blame, for he practised nothing in that
matter, but it was the king's only device. And even as my Lord Percy
was commanded to avoid her company, even so was she commanded to avoid
the court, and sent home again to her father for a season; whereat she
smoked[99]: for all this while she knew nothing of the king's intended
purpose.

But ye may see when fortune beginneth to lower, how she can compass a
matter to work displeasure by a far fetch. For now, mark, good reader,
the grudge, how it began, that in process [of time] burst out to the
utter undoing of the cardinal. O Lord, what a God art thou! that
workest thy secrets so wonderfully, which be not perceived until they
be brought to pass and finished. Mark this history following, good
reader, and note every circumstance, and thou shaft espy at thine eye
the wonderful work of God, against such persons as forgetteth God and
his great benefits! Mark, I say, mark them well!

After that all these troublesome matters of my Lord Percy's were
brought to a good stay, and all things finished that were before
devised, Mistress Anne Boleyn was revoked unto the court[100], where
she flourished after in great estimation and favour; having always a
privy indignation unto the cardinal, for breaking off the precontract
made between my Lord Percy and her, supposing that it had been his own
device and will, and none other, not yet being privy to the king's
secret mind, although that he had a great affection unto her. Howbeit,
after she knew the king's pleasure, and the great love that he bare
her in the bottom of his stomach, then she began to look very hault
and stout, having all manner of jewels, or rich apparel, that might be
gotten with money. It was therefore judged by-and-bye through all the
court of every man, that she being in such favour, might work masteries
with the king, and obtain any suit of him for her friend.

And all this while, she being in this estimation in all places, it
is no doubt but good Queen Katharine, having this gentlewoman daily
attending upon her, both heard by report, and perceived before her
eyes, the matter how it framed against her (good lady), although she
showed ne to Mistress Anne, ne unto the king, any spark or kind of
grudge or displeasure; but took and accepted all things in good part,
and with wisdom and great patience dissimuled the same, having Mistress
Anne in more estimation for the king's sake than she had before,
declaring herself thereby to be a perfect Griselda, as her patient acts
shall hereafter more evidently to all men be declared[101].

The king waxed so far in amours with this gentlewoman that he knew not
how much he might advance her. This perceiving, the great lords of the
council, bearing a secret grudge against the cardinal, because that
they could not rule in the scene well for him as they would, who kept
them low, and ruled them as well as other mean subjects, whereat they
caught an occasion to invent a mean to bring him out of the king's high
favour, and them into more authority of rule and civil governance.
After long and secret consultation amongst themselves, how to bring
their malice to effect against the cardinal, they knew right well that
it was very difficile for them to do any thing directly of themselves.
Wherefore, they perceiving the great affection that the king bare
lovingly unto Mistress Anne Boleyn, fantasying in their heads that
she should be for them a sufficient and an apt instrument to bring
their malicious purpose to pass, with her they often consulted in this
matter. And she having both a very good wit, and also an inward desire
to be revenged of the cardinal[102], was as agreeable to their requests
as they were themselves. Wherefore there was no more to do but only
to imagine some presented circumstances to induce their malicious
accusations. Insomuch that there was imagined and invented among them
diverse imaginations and subtle devices, how this matter should be
brought about. The enterprise thereof was so dangerous, that though
they would fain have often attempted the matter with the king, yet
they durst not; for they knew the great loving affection and especial
favour that the king bare to the cardinal, and also they feared the
wonderous wit of the cardinal. For this they understood very well,
that if their matter that they should propone against him were not
grounded upon a just and an urgent cause, the king's favour being such
towards him, and his wit such, that he would with policy vanquish all
their purpose and travail, and then lye in a-wait to work them an utter
destruction and subversion. Wherefore they were compelled, all things
considered, to forbear their enterprise until they might espy a more
convenient time and occasion.

And yet the cardinal, espying the great zeal that the king had
conceived in this gentlewoman, ordered himself to please as well the
king as her, dissimuling the matter that lay hid in his breast, and
prepared great banquets and solemn feasts to entertain them both at his
own house. And thus the world began to grow into wonderful inventions,
not heard of before in this realm. The love between the king and this
gorgeous lady grew to such a perfection, that divers imaginations were
imagined, whereof I leave to speak until I come to the place where I
may have more occasion.

Then began a certain grudge to arise between the French king and the
Duke of Bourbon, in so much as the Duke, being vassal to the house
of France, was constrained for the safeguard of his person to flee
his dominions, and to forsake his territory and country, doubting the
king's great malice and indignation. The cardinal, having thereof
intelligence, compassed in his head, that if the king our sovereign
lord (having an occasion of wars with the realm of France), might
retain the duke to be his general in the wars there: in as much as
the duke was fled unto the emperor, to invite him also, to stir wars
against the French king. The cardinal having all this imagination in
his head thought it good to move the king in this matter. And after
the king was once advertised hereof, and conceived the cardinal's
imagination and invention, he dreamed of this matter more and
more, until at the last it came in question among the council in
consultation, so that it was there finally concluded that an embassy
should be sent to the emperor about this matter; with whom it was
concluded that the king and the emperor should join in these wars
against the French king, and that the Duke of Bourbon should be our
sovereign lord's champion and general in the field; who had appointed
him a great number of good soldiers over and besides the emperor's
army, which was not small, and led by one of his own noblemen; and also
that the king should pay the duke his wages, and his retinue monthly.
In so much as Sir John Russel, (who was after Earl of Bedford), lay
continually beyond the seas in a secret place, assigned both for to
receive the king's money and to pay the same monthly to the duke.
So that the duke began fierce war with the French king in his own
territory and dukedom, which the French king had confiscated and seized
into his hands; yet not known to the duke's enemies that he had any
aid of the king our sovereign lord. And thus he wrought the French
king much trouble and displeasure; in so much as the French king was
compelled of fine force to put harness on his back, and to prepare a
puissant army royal, and in his own person to advance to defend and
resist the duke's power and malice. The duke having understanding
of the king's advancing was compelled of force to take Pavia, a
strong town in Italy, with his host, for their security; where as
the king besieged him, and encamped him wondrous strongly, intending
to enclose the Duke within this town, that he should not issue. Yet
notwithstanding the duke would and did many times issue and skirmish
with the king's army.

Now let us leave the king in his camp before Pavia, and return again
to the Lord Cardinal, who seemed to be more French than Imperial. But
how it came to pass I cannot declare [unto] you: but the [French] king
lying in his camp, sent secretly into England a privy person, a very
witty man, to entreat of a peace between him and the king our sovereign
lord, whose name was John Joachin[103]; he was kept as secret as might
be, that no man had intelligence of his repair; for he was no
Frenchman, but an Italian born, a man before of no estimation in
France, or known to be in favour with his master, but to be a merchant,
and for his subtle wit elected to entreat of such affairs as the king
had commanded him by embassy. This Joachin after his arrival here in
England was secretly conveyed unto the king's manor of Richmond, and
there remained until Whitsuntide, at which time the cardinal resorted
thither, and kept there the said feast very solemnly. In which season
my lord caused this Joachin divers times to dine with him, whose talk
and behaviour seemed to be witty, sober, and wondrous discreet. [He]
continued in England long after, until he had (as it seemed) brought
his purposed embassy to pass which he had in commission. For after
this there was sent out immediately a restraint unto Sir John Russell,
into those parts where he made his abiding beyond the seas, that he
should retain and keep back that month's wages still in his hands,
which should have been paid unto the Duke of Bourbon, until the king's
pleasure were to him further known; for want of which money at the day
appointed of payment, the duke and his retinue were greatly dismayed
and sore disappointed; and when they saw that their money was not
brought unto them as it was wont to be. And being in so dangerous a
case for want of victuals, which were wondrous scant and dear, there
were many imaginations what should be the cause of the let thereof.
Some said this, and some said they wist never what; so that they
mistrusted no thing less than the very cause thereof. In so much at the
last, what for want of victual and other necessaries which could not
be gotten within the town, the captains and soldiers began to grudge
and mutter; and at the last, for lack of victuals, were like all to
perish. They being in this extremity came before the Duke of Bourbon
their captain, and said, "Sir, we must be of very force and necessity
compelled to yield us in to the danger of our enemies; and better it
were for us so to do than here to starve like dogs." When the duke
heard the lamentations, and understood the extremities that they were
brought unto for lack of money, he said again unto them, "Sirs," quoth
he, "ye are both valiant men and of noble courage, who have served
here under me right worthily; and for your necessity, whereof I am
participant, I do not a little lament. (Howbeit) I shall desire you,
as ye are noble in hearts and courage, so to take patience for a day
or twain: and if succour come not then from the King of England, as I
doubt nothing that he will deceive us, I will well agree that we shall
all put ourselves and all our lives unto the mercy of our enemies;"
wherewith they were all agreeable. And expecting the coming of the
king's money the space of three days, (the which days passed), the
duke seeing no remedy called his noble men, and captains, and soldiers
before him, and all weeping said, "O ye noble captains and valiant men,
my gentle companions, I see no remedy in this necessity but either we
must yield us unto our enemies, or else famish. And to yield the town
and ourselves, I know not the mercy of our enemies. As for my part I
pass not of their cruelties, for I know very well I shall suffer most
cruel death if I come once into their hands. It is not for myself
therefore that I do lament, but it is for your sakes; it is for your
lives; it is also for the safeguard of your persons. For so that ye
might escape the danger of your enemies' hands, I would most gladly
suffer death. Therefore, good companions and noble soldiers, I shall
require you all, considering the dangerous misery and calamity that we
stand in at this present, to sell our lives most dearly rather than to
be murdered like beasts. If ye will follow my counsel we will take upon
us this night to give our enemies an assault in their camp, and by that
means we may either escape, or else give them an overthrow. And thus it
were better to die in the field like men, than to live in captivity
and misery as prisoners." To the which they all agreed. "Then," quoth
the duke, "Ye perceive that our enemy hath encamped us with a strong
camp, and that there is no way to enter but one, which is so planted
with great ordnance, and force of men, that it is not possible to enter
that way to fight with our enemies without great danger. And also,
ye see that now of late they have had small doubt of us, insomuch as
they have kept but slender watch. Therefore my policy and advice shall
be this: That about the dead time of the night, when our enemies be
most quiet at rest, there shall issue from us a number of the most
deliverest soldiers to assault their camp; who shall give the assault
right secretly, even directly against the entry of the camp, which is
almost invincible. Your fierce and sharp assault shall be to them in
the camp so doubtful, that they shall be compelled to turn the strength
of their entry that lyeth over against your assault, to beat you from
the assault. Then will I issue out at the postern, and come to the
place of their strength newly turned, and there, or they be ware, will
I enter and fight with them at the same place where their guns and
strength lay before, and so come to the rescue of you of the assault,
and winning their ordnance which they have turned, beat them with their
own pieces. And then we joining together in the field, I trust we
shall have a fair hand of them. This device pleased them wondrous well.
Then prepared they all that day for the purposed device, and kept them
secret and close, without any noise or shot of piece within the town,
which gave their enemies the less fear of any trouble that night, but
every man went to their rest within their tents and lodgings quietly,
nothing mistrusting that after ensued.

Then when all the king's host was at rest, the assailants issued out
of the town without any noise, according to the former appointment,
and gave a fierce and cruel assault at the place appointed; that they
within the camp had as much to do to defend it as was possible: and
even as the duke had before declared to his soldiers, they within
were compelled to turn their shot that lay at the entry against the
assailants. With that issued the duke, and with him about fifteen or
sixteen thousand men or more, and secretly in the night, his enemies
being not privy of his coming until he was entered the field. And at
his first entry he was master of all the ordnance that lay there, and
slew the gunners; and charged the said pieces and bent them against his
enemies, [of] whom he slew wondrously a great number. He cut down tents
and pavilions, and murdered them within them, or they wist of [his]
coming, suspecting nothing less than the duke's entry; so that he won
the field or ever the king could arise to the rescue: who was taken
in his lodging or ever he was armed. And when the duke had obtained
the field, and the French king taken prisoner, his men slain, and his
tents robbed and spoiled, which were wondrous rich. And in the spoil,
searching of the king's treasure in his coffers there was found among
them the league newly concluded between the King of England and the
French king, under the great seal of England; which once by [the duke]
perceived, he began to smell the impediment of his money which should
have come to him from the king. Having upon due search of this matter
further intelligence that all this matter and his utter undoing was
concluded and devised by the Cardinal of England, the duke conceived
such an indignation hereupon against the cardinal, that after he had
established all things there in good order and security, he went
incontinent unto Rome, intending there to sack the town, and to have
taken the pope prisoner: where, at his first assault of the walls,
he was the first man that was there slain. Yet, notwithstanding, his
captains continued there the assault, and in conclusion won the town,
and the pope fled unto Castle Angell, where he continued long after in
great calamity.

I have written thus this history at large because it was thought that
the cardinal gave the chief occasion of all this mischief[104]. Ye may
perceive what thing soever a man purposeth, be he prince or prelate,
yet notwithstanding God disposeth all things at his will and pleasure.
Wherefore it is great folly for any wise man to take any weighty
enterprise of himself, trusting altogether to his own wit, not calling
for grace to assist him in all his proceedings.

I have known and seen in my days that princes and great men [who]
would either assemble at any parliament, or in any other great
business, first would most reverently call to God for his gracious
assistance therein. And now I see the contrary. Wherefore me seems that
they trust more in their own wisdoms and imaginations than they do to
God's help and disposition; and therefore often they speed thereafter,
and their matters take no success. Therefore not only in this history,
but in divers others, ye may perceive right evident examples. And
yet I see no man almost in authority or high estate regard or have
any respect to the same; the greater is the pity, and the more to be
lamented. Now will I desist from this matter and proceed to other.

Upon the taking of the French king, many consultations and divers
opinions were then in argument among the council here in England.
Whereof some held opinion that if the king would invade the realm of
France in proper person, with a puissant army royal, he might easily
conquer the same; considering that the French king, and the most part
of the noble peers of France, were then prisoners with the emperor.
Some again said how that were no honour for the king our sovereign
lord, (the king being in captivity). But some said that the French
king ought by the law of arms to be the king's prisoner, forasmuch as
he was taken by the king's champion and general captain, the Duke of
Bourbon, and not by the emperor. So that some moved the king to take
war thereupon with the emperor, unless he would deliver the French king
out of his hands and possession; with divers many other imaginations
and inventions, even as men's fantasies served them, too long here to
be rehearsed: the which I leave to the writers of chronicles.

Thus continuing long in debating upon the matter, and every man in the
court had their talk, as will without wit led their fantasies; at the
last it was devised by means of divers embassies sent into England out
of the realm of France, desiring the king our sovereign lord to take
order with the emperor for the French king's deliverance, as his royal
wisdom should seem good, wherein the cardinal bare the stroke; so that
after long deliberation and advice taken in this matter, it was thought
good by the cardinal that the emperor should redeliver out of his ward
the French king, upon sufficient pledges. And that the king's two sons,
that is to say, the Dolphin and the Duke of Orleans should be delivered
in hostage for the king their father; which was in conclusion brought
to pass.

After the king's deliverance out of the emperor's bondage, and his
two sons received in hostage to the emperor's use, and the king our
sovereign lord's security for the recompense of all such demands and
restitutions as should be demanded of the French king, the cardinal,
lamenting the French king's calamity, and the pope's great adversity,
who yet remained in castle Angell, either as a prisoner, or else for
his defence and safeguard (I cannot tell whether), travailed all that
he could[105] with the king and his council to take order as well for
the delivery of the one as for the quietness of the other. At last,
as ye have heard here before, how divers of the great estates and
lords of the council lay in a-wait with my Lady Anne Boleyn, to espy
a convenient time and occasion to take the cardinal in a brake[106];
[they] thought then, now is the time come that we have expected,
supposing it best to cause him to take upon him the king's commission,
and to travel beyond the seas in this matter, saying, to encourage
him thereto, that it were more meet for his high discretion, wit, and
authority, to compass and bring to pass a perfect peace among these
great and most mighty princes of the world than any other within this
realm or elsewhere. Their intent and purpose was only but to get him
out of the king's daily presence, and to convey him out of the realm,
that they might have convenient leisure and opportunity to adventure
their long desired enterprise, and by the aid of their chief mistress,
my Lady Anne, to deprave him so unto the king in his absence, that he
should be rather in his high displeasure than in his accustomed favour,
or at the least to be in less estimation with his majesty. Well! what
will you have more? This matter was so handled that the cardinal was
commanded to prepare himself to this journey; the which he was fain
to take upon him; but whether it was with his good will or no, I am
not well able to tell you. But this I know, that he made a short abode
after the determined resolution thereof, but caused all things to be
prepared onward toward his journey. And every one of his servants were
appointed that should attend upon him in the same.

[Illustration: _Etched by I Harris Jun^r._

CARDINAL WOLSEY AND HIS SUITE IN PROGRESS.

_From a M.S. in the Collection of Francis Douce Esq.^r F.S.A._

_Published by Harding, Triphook, & Lepard, 1824._]


When all things were fully concluded, and for this noble embassy
provided and furnished, then was no lett, but advance forwards in
the name of God. My Lord Cardinal had with him such of the lords and
bishops and other worthy persons as were not privy of the conspiracy.

Then marched he forward out of his own house at Westminster, passing
through all London[107], over London Bridge, having before him of
gentlemen a great number, three in a rank, in black velvet livery
coats, and the most part of them with great chains of gold about their
necks. And all his yeomen, with noblemen's and gentlemen's servants
following him in French tawny livery coats; having embroidered upon the
backs and breasts of the said coats these letters: T. and C., under
the cardinal's hat. His sumpter mules, which were twenty in number and
more, with his carts and other carriages of his train, were passed on
before, conducted and guarded with a great number of bows and spears.
He rode like a cardinal, very sumptuously, on a mule trapped with
crimson velvet upon velvet, and his stirrups of copper, and gilt; and
his spare mule following him with like apparel. And before him he had
his two great crosses of silver, two great pillars of silver, the great
seal of England, his cardinal's hat, and a gentleman that carried his
valaunce, otherwise called a cloakbag; which was made altogether of
fine scarlet cloth, embroidered over and over with cloth of gold very
richly, having in it a cloak of fine scarlet. Thus passed he through
London, and all the way of his journey, having his harbingers passing
before to provide lodging for his train.

The first journey he made to Dartford in Kent, unto Sir Richard
Wiltshire's house, which is two miles beyond Dartford; where all his
train were lodged that night, and in the country thereabouts. The next
day he rode to Rochester, and lodged in the bishop's palace there;
and the rest of his train in the city, and in Stroud on this side the
bridge. The third day he rode from thence to Feversham, and there
was lodged in the abbey, and his train in the town, and some in the
country thereabouts. The fourth day he rode to Canterbury, where he
was encountered with the worshipfullest of the town and country, and
lodged in the abbey of Christchurch, in the prior's lodging. And all
his train in the city, where he continued three or four days; in which
time there was the great jubilee, and a fair in honour of the feast
of St. Thomas their patron. In which day of the said feast, within
the abbey there was made a solemn procession; and my Lord Cardinal
went presently in the same, apparelled in his legantine ornaments,
with his Cardinal's hat on his head; who commanded the monks and all
their quire to sing the litany after this sort, _Sancta Maria ora pro
papa nostro Clemente_; and so perused the litany through, my Lord
Cardinal kneeling at the quire door, at a form covered with carpets and
cushions. The monks and all the quire standing all that while in the
midst of the body of the church. At which time I saw the Lord Cardinal
weep very tenderly; which was, as we supposed, for heaviness that the
pope was at that present in such calamity and great danger of the Lance
Knights[108].

The next day I was sent with letters from my Lord Cardinal unto
Calais, by empost, insomuch as I was that same night at Calais. And
at my landing I found standing upon the pier, without [the] Lantern
Gate, all the council of the town, to whom I delivered and dispatched
my message and letters or ever I entered the town; where I lay two
days or my lord came thither; who arrived in the haven the second day
after my coming, about eight of the clock in the morning: where he was
received in procession with all the worshipfullest persons of the town
in most solemn wise. And in the Lantern Gate was set for him a form,
with carpets and cushions, whereat he kneeled and made his prayers
before his entry any further in the town; and there he was censed
with two great censers of silver, and sprinkled with holy water. That
done he arose up and passed on, with all that assembly before him,
singing, unto St. Mary's church, where he standing at the high altar,
turning himself to the people, gave them his benediction and clean
remission. And then they conducted him from thence unto a house called
the Checker, where he lay and kept his house as long as he abode in
the town; going immediately to his naked bed, because he was somewhat
troubled with sickness in his passage upon the seas.

That night, unto this place of the Checker, resorted to him Mons. du
Biez, captain of Boulogne, with a number of gallant gentlemen, who
dined with him; and after some consultation with the cardinal, he with
the rest of the gentlemen departed again to Boulogne. Thus the cardinal
was daily visited with one or other of the French nobility.

Then when all his train and his carriages were landed at Calais, and
every thing prepared in a readiness for his journey, he called before
him all his noblemen and gentlemen into his privy chamber; where
they being assembled, [he] said unto them in this wise in effect:
"I have called you hither to this intent, to declare unto you, that
I considering the diligence that ye minister unto me, and the good
will that I bear you again for the same, intending to remember your
diligent service hereafter, in place where ye shall receive condign
thanks and rewards. And also I would show you further what authority
I have received directly from the king's highness; and to instruct
you somewhat of the nature of the French men; and then to inform you
what reverence ye shall use unto me for the high honour of the king's
majesty, and also how ye shall entertain the French men, whensoever
ye shall meet at any time. First, ye shall understand that the king's
majesty, upon certain weighty considerations, hath for the more
advancement of his royal dignity, assigned me in this journey to be
his lieutenant-general; and what reverence belongeth to the same I
will tell you. That for my part I must, by virtue of my commission of
lieutenantship, assume and take upon me, in all honours and degrees,
to have all such service and reverence as to his highness' presence
is meet and due: and nothing thereof to be neglected or omitted by me
that to his royal estate is appurtenant. And for my part ye shall see
me that I will not omit one jot thereof. Therefore, because ye shall
not be ignorant in that behalf, is one of the special causes of this
your assembly, willing and commanding you as ye entend my favour not
to forget the same in time and place, but every of you do observe this
information and instruction as ye will at my return avoid the king's
indignation, but to obtain his highness' thanks, the which I will
further for you as ye shall deserve.

"Now to the point of the Frenchmen's nature, ye shall understand that
their disposition is such, that they will be at the first meeting as
familiar with you as they had been acquainted with you long before, and
commune with you in the French tongue as though ye understood every
word they spake: therefore in like manner, be ye as familiar with them
again as they be with you. If they speak to you in the French tongue,
speak you to them in the English tongue; for if you understand not
them, they shall no more understand you." And my lord speaking merrily
to one of the gentlemen there, being a Welshman, "Rice," quoth he,
"speak thou Welsh to him, and I am well assured that thy Welsh shall be
more diffuse[109] to him than his French shall be to thee." And then
quoth he again to us all, "let all your entertainment and behaviour
be according to all gentleness and humanity, that it may be reported,
after your departure from thence, that ye be gentlemen of right good
behaviour, and of much gentleness, and that ye be men that know your
duty to your sovereign lord, and to your master, allowing much your
great reverence. Thus shall ye not only obtain to yourselves great
commendation and praise for the same, but also advance the honour of
your prince and country. Now go your ways admonished of all these
points, and prepare yourselves against to-morrow, for then we intend,
God willing, to set forward." And thus, we being by him instructed and
informed, departed to our lodgings, making all things in a readiness
against the next day to advance forth with my lord.

The next morrow, being Mary Magdalen's day, all things being furnished,
my Lord Cardinal rode out of Calais with such a number of black velvet
coats as hath not been seen with an ambassador. All the spears of
Calais, Guines, and Hammes, were there attending upon him in that
journey, in black velvet coats, and many great and massy chains of gold
were worn there.

Thus passed he forth with three gentlemen in a rank, which occupied the
length of three quarters of a mile or more, having all his accustomed
and glorious furniture carried before him, as I before have rehearsed,
except the broad seal, the which was left with Doctor Taylor, in
Calais, then Master of the Rolls, until his return[110].

Passing thus on his way, and being scant a mile of his journey, it
began to rain so vehemently that I have not seen the like for the time;
that endured until we came to Boulogne; and or we came to Sandyngfeld,
the Cardinal of Loraine, a goodly young gentleman, encountered my
lord, and received him with great reverence and joy; and so passed
forth together, until they came to Sandyngfeld, which is a place of
religion, standing between the French, English, and the Emperor's
dominions, being neuter, holding of neither of them. And being come
thither, met with him there Le Countie Brion, Captain of Picardy, with
a great number of men of arms, as Stradiots and Arbenois[111] with
others standing in array, in a great piece of oats, all in harness,
upon light horses, passing with my lord, as it were in a wing, all his
journey through Picardy; for my lord somewhat doubted the emperor, lest
he would lay an ambush to betray him; for which cause the French king
commanded them to await upon my lord for the assurance of his person
out of the danger of his enemies. Thus rode he accompanied until he
came to the town of Boulogne, where he was encountered within a mile
thereof, with the worshipfullest citizens of the town, having among
them a learned man, that made to him an oration in Latin; unto the
which my lord made answer semblably in Latin. And that done, Monsieur
du Biez, Captain of Boulogne, with the retinue there of gentlemen,
met him on horseback; which conveyed him into the town with all this
assembly, until he came to the abbey gate, where he lighted and went
directly into the church, and made his prayers before the image of our
Lady, to whom he made his offering. And that done, he gave there his
blessing to the people, with certain days of pardon[112]. Then went he
into the abbey where he was lodged, and his train were lodged in the
high and basse towns.

The next morning, after he heard mass, he rode unto _Montreuil sur la
mer_, where he was encountered in like case as he was the day before,
with the worshipfullest of the town, all in one livery, having one
learned that made an oration before him in Latin, whom he answered in
like manner in Latin; and as he entered in to the town, there was a
canopy of silk embroidered with the letters and hat that was on the
servants coats, borne over him [by] the persons of most estimation
within the town. And when he was alighted his footmen seized the same
as a fee due to their office. Now was there made divers pageants for
joy of his coming, who was called there, and in all other places within
the realm of France as he travelled, _Le Cardinal Pacifique_; and in
Latin _Cardinalis Pacificus_. [He] was accompanied all that night with
divers worthy gentlemen of the country there about[113].

The next day he rode toward Abbeville, where he was encountered with
divers gentlemen of the town and country, and so conveyed unto the
town, where he was most honourably received with pageants of divers
kinds, wittily and costly invented, standing in every corner of the
streets as he rode through the town; having a like canopy borne over
him, being of more richer sort than the other at Montreuil, or at
Boulogne was; they brought him to his lodging, which was, as it seemed,
a very fair house newly built with brick. At which house King Louis
married my Lady Mary, King Henry the VIIIth sister; which was after
married to the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon. And being within, it
was in manner of a gallery, yet notwithstanding it was very necessary.
In this house my lord remained eight or ten days; to whom resorted,
daily, divers of the council of France, feasting them, and other noble
men, and gentlemen that accompanied the council, both at dinners and
suppers.

Then when the time came that he should depart from thence, he rode to a
castle beyond the waters of Somme, called Pincquigny Castle, adjoining
unto the said water, standing upon a great rock or hill, within the
which was a goodly college of priests; the situation whereof was most
like unto the castle of Windsor in England; and there he was received
with a solemn procession, conveying him first into the church, and
after unto his lodging within the castle. At this castle King Edward
the Fourth met with the French king, upon the bridge that goeth over
the water of Somme, as ye may read in the chronicles of England.

When my lord was settled within his lodging, it was reported unto
me that the French king should come that day into Amiens, which was
within six English miles of Pincquigny Castle; and being desirous to
see his first coming into the town, [I] axed license and took with
me one or two gentlemen of my lord's, and rode incontinent thither,
as well to provide me of a necessary lodging as to see the king. And
when we came thither, being but strangers, [we] took up our inn (for
the time) at the sign of the Angel, directly against the west door of
the cathedral church _de notre Dame Sainte Marie_. And after we had
dined there, tarrying until three or four of the clock, expecting the
king's coming, in came Madame Regent, the king's mother, riding in
a very rich chariot; and in the same with her was her daughter, the
Queen of Navarre, furnished with a hundred ladies and gentlewomen or
more following, riding upon white palfreys; over and besides divers
other ladies and gentlewomen that rode some in rich chariots, and some
in horse litters; who lighted at the west door with all this train,
accompanied with many other noblemen and gentlemen besides her guard,
which was not small in number. Then, within two hours after, the king
came into the town with a great shot of guns and divers pageants, made
for the nonce at the king's _bien venue_; having about his person both
before him and behind him, besides the wonderful number of noblemen and
gentlemen, three great guards diversely apparelled. The _first_ was of
Soutches[114] and Burgonyons, with guns and havresacks. The _second_
was of Frenchmen, some with bows and arrows, and some with bills. The
_third_ guard was _pour le corps_, which was of tall Scots, much more
comelier persons than all the rest. The French guard and the Scots had
all one livery, which was rich coats of fine white cloth, with a guard
of silver bullion embroidered an handful broad. The king came riding
upon a goodly genet, and lighted at the west door of the said church,
and so [was] conveyed into the church up to the high altar, where he
made his prayers upon his knees, and [was] then conveyed into the
bishop's palace, where he was lodged, and also his mother.

The next morning I rode again to Pincquigny to attend upon my lord,
at which time my lord was ready to take his mule towards Amiens; and
passing on his journey thitherward, he was encountered from place to
place with divers noble and worthy personages, making to him divers
orations in Latin, to which he made answer again _extempore_; at whose
excellent learning and pregnant wit they wondered very much. Then was
word brought my lord that the king was coming to encounter him; with
that, he having none other shift, was compelled to alight in an old
chapel that stood by the high way, and there newly apparelled him into
more richer apparel; and then mounted upon a new mule very richly
trapped, with a footcloth and traps of crimson velvet upon velvet,
purled with gold, and fringed about with a deep fringe of gold very
costly, his stirrups of silver and gilt, the bosses and cheeks of his
bridle of the same[115]. And by that time that he was mounted again
after this most gorgeous sort, the king was come very near, within
less than a quarter of a mile English, mustering upon an hill side, his
guard standing in array along the same, expecting my lord's coming; to
whom my lord made as much haste as conveniently it became him; until
he came within a pair of butt lengths, and there he staid awhile. The
king perceiving that, stood still; and having two worthy gentlemen
young and lusty [with him], both brethren to the Duke of Lorraine, and
to the Cardinal of Lorraine; whereof one of them was called Monsieur
de Guise, and the other Monsieur Vaudemont: they were both apparelled
like the king, in purple velvet lined with cloth of silver, and their
coats cut, the king caused Monsieur Vaudemont to issue from him, and to
ride unto my lord to know the cause of his tracting. [This monsieur]
rode upon a fair courser, taking his race in a full gallop, even until
he came unto my lord; and there caused his horse to come aloft once
or twice so nigh my lord's mule, that he was in doubt of his horse;
and with that he lighted from his courser, and doing his message to
my lord with humble reverence; which done, he mounted again, and
caused his horse to do the same at his departing as he did before, and
so repaired again to the king; and, after his answer made, the king
advanced forward. That seeing my lord did the like, and in the mid
way they met, embracing each other on horseback, with most amiable
countenance entertaining each other right nobly. Then drew into the
place all noblemen and gentlemen on both sides, with wonderful cheer
made one to another, as they had been of an old acquaintance. The
prease was such and [so] thick, that divers had their legs hurt with
horses. Then the king's officers cried "_Marche, marche, devant, allez
devant._" And the king, and my Lord Cardinal on his right hand, rode
together to Amiens, every English gentleman accompanied with another
of France. The train of French and English endured two long miles,
that is to say from the place of their encounter unto Amiens; where
they were very nobly received with shot of guns and costly pageants,
until the king had brought my lord to his lodging, and there departed
asunder for that night, the king being lodged in the bishop's palace.
The next day after dinner, my lord with a great train of noblemen and
gentlemen of England, rode unto the king's court; at which time the
king kept his bed, being somewhat diseased, yet notwithstanding my lord
came into his bedchamber, where sat on the one side of his bed his
mother, Madam Regent, and on the other side the Cardinal of Lorraine,
with divers other noblemen of France. And after a short communication,
and drinking of a cup of wine with the king's mother, my lord departed
again to his lodging, accompanied with divers gentlemen and noblemen
of France, who supped with him. Thus continued the king and my lord in
Amiens the space of two weeks and more, consulting[116] and feasting
each other divers times. [And in the feast of the Assumption of our
Lady, my lord rose betimes and went to the cathedral church _de notre
Dame_, and there before my Lady Regent and the Queen of Navarre, in
our Lady Chapel, he said his service and mass; and after mass, he
himself ministered the sacrament unto my Lady Regent and to the Queen
of Navarre. And that done, the king resorted unto the church, and was
conveyed into a rich travers at the high altar; and directly against
him, on the other side of the altar, sat my Lord Cardinal in another
rich travers[117], three gressis[118] higher than the king's. And
at the altar, before them both, a bishop sang high mass, and at the
fraction of the host the same bishop divided the sacrament between
the king and the cardinal, for the performance of the peace concluded
between them; which mass was sung solemnly by the king's chapel, having
among them cornets and sackbuts. And after mass was done the trumpeters
blew in the roodeloft[119] until the king was past inward to his
lodging out of the church. And at his coming in to the bishop's palace,
where he intended to dine with my Lord Cardinal, there sat, within a
cloister, about two hundred persons diseased with the king's evil, upon
their knees. And the king, or ever he went to dinner, provised every
of them with rubbing and blessing them with his bare hands, being bare
headed all the while; after whom followed his almoner distributing of
money unto the persons diseased. And that done he said certain prayers
over them, and then washed his hands, and so came up into his chamber
to dinner, where as my lord dined with him[120].]

Then it was determined that the king and my lord should remove out of
Amiens, and so they did, to a town or city called Compeigne, which
was more than twenty English miles from thence; unto which town I was
sent to prepare my lord's lodging. And as I rode on my journey, being
upon a Friday, my horse chanced to cast a shoe in a little village,
where stood a fair castle. And as it chanced there dwelt a smith, to
whom I commanded my servant to carry my horse to shoe, and standing
by him while my horse was a shoeing, there came to me one of the
servants of the castle, perceiving me to be the cardinal's servant and
an Englishman, who required me to go with him into the castle to my
lord his master, whom he thought would be very glad of my coming and
company. Whose request I granted, because that I was always desirous to
see and be acquainted with strangers, in especial with men in honour
and authority, so I went with him; who conducted me unto the castle,
and being entered in the first ward, the watchmen of that ward, being
very honest tall men, came and saluted me most reverently, and knowing
the cause of my coming, desired me to stay a little while until they
had advertised my lord their master of my being there; and so I did.
And incontinent the lord of the castle came out to me, who was called
Monsieur Crequi, a nobleman born, and very nigh of blood to King Louis,
the last king that reigned before this King Francis. And at his first
coming he embraced me, saying that I was right heartily welcome, and
thanked me that I so gently would visit him and his castle, saying
furthermore that he was preparing to encounter the king and my lord, to
desire them most humbly the next day to take his castle in their way,
if he could so intreat them. And true it is that he was ready to ride
in a coat of velvet with a pair of velvet arming shoes on his feet, and
a pair of gilt spurs on his heels. Then he took me by the hand, and
most gently led me into his castle, through another ward. And being
once entered into the base court of the castle, I saw all his family
and household servants standing in goodly order, in black coats and
gowns, like mourners, who led me into the hall, which was hanged with
hand-guns, as thick as one could hang by another upon the walls; and
in the hall stood an hawk's perch, whereon stood three or four fair
goshawks. Then went we into the parlour, which was hanged with fine
old arras, and being there but a while, communing together of my lord
of Suffolk, how he was there to have besieged the same, his servants
brought to him bread and wine of divers sorts, whereof he caused me
to drink. And after, "I will," quoth he, "show you the strength of my
house, how hard it would have been for my Lord of Suffolk to have won
it." Then led he me upon the walls, which were very strong, more than
fifteen foot thick, and well garnished with great battery pieces of
ordnance ready charged to [be] shot off against the king and my lord's
coming.

When he had showed me all the walls and bulwarks about the castle, he
descended from the walls, and came down into a fair inner court, where
his genet stood for to mount upon, with twelve other genets, the most
fairest and best that ever I saw, and in especial his own, which was
a mare genet, he showed me that he might have had for her four hundred
crowns. But upon the other twelve genets were mounted twelve goodly
young gentlemen, called pages of honour; all bare headed in coats of
cloth of gold, and black velvet cloaks, and on their legs boots of red
Spanish leather, and spurs parcel gilt.

Then he took his leave of me, commanding his steward and other his
gentlemen to attend upon me, and conduct me unto my lady his wife, to
dinner. And that done he mounted upon his genet, and took his journey
forth out of his castle. Then the steward, with the rest of the
gentlemen, led me up into a tower in the gatehouse, where then my lady
their mistress lay, for the time that the king and my lord should tarry
there.

I being in a fair great dining chamber, where the table was covered
for dinner, and there I attended my lady's coming; and after she came
thither out of her own chamber, she received me most gently, like [one
of] noble estate, having a train of twelve gentlewomen. And when she
with her train came all out, she said to me, "For as much," quoth she,
"as ye be an Englishman, whose custom is in your country to kiss[121]
all ladies and gentlewomen without offence, and although it be not so
here in this realm, yet will I be so bold to kiss you, and so shall
all my maidens." By means whereof I kissed my lady and all her women.
Then went she to her dinner, being as nobly served as I have seen any
of her estate here in England, having all the dinner time with me
pleasant communication, which was of the usage and behaviour of our
gentlewomen and gentlemen of England, and commended much the behaviour
of them, right excellently; for she was with the king at Ardres, when
the great encounter and meeting was between the French king and the
king our sovereign lord: at which time she was, both for her person and
goodly haviour, appointed to company with the ladies of England. To be
short, after dinner, pausing a little, I took my leave of her, and so
departed and rode on my journey.

By reason of my tracting of time in Chastel de Crequi[122], I
was constrained that night to lye in a town by the way, called
_Montdidier_, the suburbs whereof my Lord of Suffolk had lately burned.
And in the next morning I took my journey and came to Compeigne upon
the Saturday, then being there the market day; and at my first coming
I took my inn in the midst of the market-place, and being there set at
dinner in a fair chamber, that had a window looking into the street, I
heard a great rumour and clattering of bills. With that I looked out
into the street, and there I espied where the officers of the town
brought a prisoner to execution, whose head they strake off with a
sword. And when I demanded the cause of his offence, it was answered
me, that it was for killing of a red deer in the forest thereby, the
punishment whereof is but death. Incontinent they had set up the poor
man's head upon a pole in the market-place, between the stag's horns;
and his quarters in four parts of the forest.

Thus went I about to prepare my lord's lodging, and to see it
furnished, which was there in the great castle of the town, whereof to
my lord was assigned the one half, and the other half was reserved for
the king; and in like wise there was a long gallery divided between
them, wherein was made in the midst thereof a strong wall with a door
and window, and there the king and my lord would many times meet at the
same window, and secretly talk together, and divers times they would go
the one to the other, at the said door.

Now was there lodged also Madame Regent, the king's mother, and all her
train of ladies and gentlewomen. Unto which place the Chancellor of
France came (a very witty man), with all the king's grave counsellors,
who took great pains daily in consultation. In so much as I heard my
Lord Cardinal fall out with the Chancellor, laying unto his charge,
that he went about to hinder the league which my said Lord Cardinal had
before his coming concluded between the king our sovereign lord and
the French king his master; insomuch that my lord stomached the matter
very stoutly, and told him, "That it should not lie in his power to
dissolve the amicable fidelity between them. And if his master the king
being there present forsook his promise and followed his counsel, he
should not fail after his return into England to feel the smart, and
what a thing it is to break promise with the King of England, whereof
he should be well assured." And therewithal he arose and went into
his own lodging, wondrously offended. So that his stout countenance,
and bold words, made them all in doubt how to pacify his displeasure,
and revoke him again to the council, who was then departed in a fury.
There was sending, there was coming, there was also intreating, and
there was great submission made to him, to reduce him to his former
friendly communication; who would in no wise relent until Madame Regent
came herself, who handled the matter so discreetly and wittily, that
she reconciled him to his former communication. And by that means he
brought other matters to pass, that before he could not attain, nor
cause the council to grant; which was more for fear, than for any
affection to the matter, he had the heads of all the council so under
his girdle that he might rule them all there as well as he might the
council of England.

The next morning after this conflict, he rose early, about four of
the clock, sitting down to write letters into England unto the king,
commanding one of his chaplains to prepare him to mass, insomuch that
his said chaplain stood revested until four of the clock at afternoon;
all which season my lord never rose once to ----, ne yet to eat any
meat, but continually wrote his letters, with his own hands, having
all that time his nightcap and keverchief on his head. And about the
hour of four of the clock, at afternoon, he made an end of writing,
conmanding one Christopher Gunner, the king's servant, to prepare him
without delay to ride empost into England with his letters, whom he
dispatched away or ever he drank. And that done, he went to mass, and
said his other divine service with his chaplain, as he was accustomed
to do; and then went straight into a garden; and after he had walked
the space of an hour or more, and said his evensong[123], he went to
dinner and supper all at once; and making a small repast, he went to
his bed, to take his rest for that night.

The next night following he caused a great supper to be provided for
Madame Regent, and the Queen of Navarre, and other great estates of
ladies and noble women.

There was also Madame Reneé, one of the daughters of King Louis, whose
sister, (lately dead), King Francis had married. These sisters were, by
their mother, inheritrices of the Duchy of Britanny, and for as much
as the king had married one of the sisters, by whom he had the moiety
of the said duchy, and to attain the other moiety, and so to be lord
of the whole, he kept the said Lady Reneé without marriage, intending
that, she having none issue, the whole duchy might descend to him, or
to his succession, after her death, for want of issue of her body.

But now let us return again to the supper or rather a solemn banquet,
where all these noble persons were highly feasted; and in the midst of
their triumph, the French king, with the king of Navarre, came suddenly
in upon them unknown, who took their places at the nether end of the
table. There was not only plenty of fine meats, but also much mirth and
solace, as well in communication, as in instruments of music set forth
with my lord's minstrels, who played there so cunningly and dulce all
that night, that the king took therein great pleasure, insomuch that he
desired my lord to lend them unto him the next night. And after supper
and banquet finished, the ladies and gentlewomen went to dancing; among
whom one Madame Fountaine, a maid, had the prize. And thus passed they
the night in pleasant mirth and joy.

The next day the king took my lord's minstrels and rode unto a
nobleman's house, where was some goodly image that he had avowed a
pilgrimage unto, to perform his devotion. When he came there, he
danced, and others with him, the most part of that night; my lord's
minstrels played there so excellently all that night, that the
shalme--[124], (whether it were with extreme labour of blowing, or
with poisoning, as some judged, because they were more commended and
accepted with the king than his own, I cannot tell), but he that played
upon the shalme, an excellent man in that art, died within a day or
twain after.

Then the king returned again unto Compeigne, and caused a wild boar
to be lodged for him in the forest there; whither my lord rode with
the king to the hunting of the wild swine within a toil; where the
Lady Regent stood in chariots or wagons, looking on the toil, on the
outside thereof, accompanied with many ladies and damosels; among whom
my lord stood by the Lady Regent, to regard and behold the pastime and
manner of hunting. There was within the toil divers goodly gentlemen
with the king, ready garnished to this high enterprise and dangerous
hunting of the perilous wild swine. The king being in his doublet and
hosen only, without any other garments, all of sheep's colour cloth;
his hosen, from the knee upward, was altogether thrummed with silk very
thick of the same colour: having in a slip a fair brace of great white
greyhounds, armed, as the manner is to arm their greyhounds from the
violence of the boar's tusks. And all the rest of the king's gentlemen,
being appointed to hunt this boar, were likewise in their doublets and
hosen, holding each of them in their hands a very sharp boar's spear.

The king being thus furnished, commanded the hunts to uncouch the
boar, and that every other person should go to a standing, among whom
were divers gentlemen and yeomen of England; and incontinent the boar
issued out of his den, chased with an hound into the plain, and being
there, stalked a while gazing upon the people, and incontinent being
forced by the hound, he espied a little bush standing upon a bank over
a ditch, under the which lay two lusty gentlemen of France, and thither
fled the boar, to defend him, thrusting his head snuffing into the same
bush where these two gentlemen lay, who fled with such speed as men do
from the danger of death. Then was the boar by violence and pursuit of
the hounds and the hunts driven from thence, and ran straight to one of
my lord's footmen, a very comely person, and an hardy, who held in his
hand an English javelin, with the which he was fain to defend himself
from the fierce assault of the boar, who foined at him continually
with his great tusks, whereby he was compelled at the last to pitch
his javelin in the ground between him and the boar, the which the
boar brake with his force of foining. And with that the yeoman drew
his sword, and stood at defence; and with that the hunts came to the
rescue, and put him once again to flight. With that he fled and ran
to another young gentleman of England, called Master Ratcliffe, son
and heir to the Lord Fitzwalter, and after[125] Earl of Sussex, who
by chance had borrowed of a French gentleman a fine boar spear, [very
sharp, upon whom, the boar being sore chafed, began to assault very
eagerly, and the young gentleman deliverly avoided his strokes, and
in turning about he struck the boar with such violence (with the same
spear that he had borrowed) upon the houghs, that he cut the sinews
of both his legs at one stroke, that the boar was constrained to sit
down upon his haunches and defend himself, for he could go no more;
this gentleman perceiving then his most advantage, thrust his spear
into the boar under the shoulder up to the heart, and thus he slew the
great boar. Wherefore among the noblemen of France it was reputed to be
one of the noblest enterprises that a man might do (as though he had
slain a man of arms); and thus our Master Ratcliffe bare then away the
prize of that feat of hunting, this dangerous and royal pastime, in
killing of the wild boar, whose tusks the Frenchman doth most commonly
doubt above all other dangers, as it seemed to us Englishmen then being
present.]

[In this time of my lord's being in France, over and besides his
noble entertainment with the king and nobles, he sustained diverse
displeasures of the French slaves, that devised a certain book, which
was set forth in diverse articles upon the causes of my lord's being
there: which should be, as they surmised, that my lord was come thither
to conclude two marriages; the one between the king our sovereign
lord and Madame Reneé[126], of whom I spake heretofore; and the other
between the then princess of England, (now being queen of this realm)
my Lady Mary the king's daughter and the French king's second son, the
Duke of Orleans, who is at this present king of France: with diverse
other conclusions and agreements touching the same. Of this book many
were imprinted and conveyed into England, unknown to my lord, [he]
being then in France, to the great slander of the realm of England, and
of my Lord Cardinal. But whether they were devised of policy to pacify
the mutterings of the people, which had diverse communications and
imaginations of my lord's being there; or whether [they] were devised
of some malicious person, as the dispositions of the common people
are accustomed to do, upon such secret consultations, I know not; but
whatsoever the occasion or cause was, the author hath set forth such
books. This I am well assured, that after my lord was thereof well
advertised, and had perused one of the said books, he was not a little
offended, and assembled all the privy council of France together, to
whom he spake his mind thus; saying, that it was not only a suspicion
in them, but also a great rebuke and a defamation to the king's
honour to see and know any such seditious untruths openly divulged
and set forth by any malicious and subtle traitor of this realm;
saying furthermore, that if the like had been attempted within the
realm of England, he doubted not but to see it punished according to
the traitorous demeanour and deserts. Notwithstanding I saw but small
redress[127]].

So this was one of the displeasures that the Frenchmen showed him, for
all his pains and travail that he took for qualifying of their king's
ransom.

Also another displeasure was this. There was no place where he was
lodged after he entered the territory of France, but that he was robbed
in his privy chamber, either of one thing or other; and at Compeigne he
lost his standish of silver, and gilt: and there it was espied, and the
party taken, which was but a little boy of twelve or thirteen years of
age, a ruffian's page of Paris, which haunted my lord's lodging without
any suspicion, until he was taken lying under my lord's privy stairs;
upon which occasion he was apprehended and examined, and incontinent
confessed all things that were missed, which he stole, and brought to
his master the ruffian, who received the same, and procured him so
to do. After the spial of this boy, my lord revealed the same unto
the council, by means whereof the ruffian was apprehended, and set on
the pillory, in the midst of the market-place; a goodly recompense
for such an heinous offence. Also another displeasure was; some lewd
person, whosoever it was, had engraved in the great chamber window
where my lord lay, upon the leaning stone there, a cardinal's hat with
a pair of gallows over it, in derision of my lord; with divers other
unkind demeanours, the which I leave here to write, they be matters so
slanderous.

Thus passing divers days in consultation, expecting the return of
Christopher Gunner, which was sent into England with letters unto the
king, as it is rehearsed heretofore, by empost, who at last returned
again with other letters; upon receipt whereof my lord made haste to
return into England.

In the morning that my lord should depart and remove, being then at
mass in his closet, he consecrated the Chancellor of France a cardinal,
and put upon him the habit due to that order; and then took his journey
into Englandward, making such necessary expedition that he came to
Guisnes, where he was nobly received of my Lord Sands, then captain
there, with all the retinue thereof. And from thence he rode to Calais,
where he tarried the shipping of his stuff, horses, and train; and in
the meantime he established there a mart, to be kept for all nations;
but how long it endured, and in what sort it was used, I know not, for
I never heard of any great good that it did, or of any worthy assembly
there of merchants or merchandise, that was brought thither for the
furniture of so weighty a matter.

These things finished, and others for the weal of the town, he took
shipping and arrived at Dover, from whence he rode to the king, being
then in his progress at Sir Harry Wyatt's house, in Kent, [it was]
supposed among us that he should be joyfully received at his home
coming, as well of the king as of all other noblemen: but we were
deceived in our expectation. Notwithstanding he went, immediately after
his coming, to the king, with whom he had long talk, and continued
there in the court two or three days; and then returned to his house at
Westminster, where he remained until Michaelmas term, which was within
a fortnight after, and using his room of Chancellorship, as he was wont
to do.

At which time he caused an assembly to be made in the Star Chamber, of
all the noblemen, judges, and justices of the peace of every shire that
were at that present in Westminster Hall, and there made to them a long
oration, declaring unto them the cause of his embassy into France, and
of his proceeding there; among the which he said, "he had concluded
such an amity and friendship as never was heard of in this realm in
our time before, as well between the emperor and us, as between the
French king and our sovereign lord, concluding a perpetual peace, which
shall be confirmed in writing, alternately, sealed with the broad seals
of both the realms graved in fine gold; affirming furthermore, that the
king should receive yearly his tribute, by that name, for the Duchy of
Normandy, with all other costs which he hath sustained in the wars. And
where there was a restraint made in France of the French queen's dower,
whom the Duke of Suffolk had married, for divers years during the wars,
it is fully concluded, that she shall not only receive the same yearly
again, but also the arrearages being unpaid during the restraint. All
which things shall be perfected at the coming of the great embassy
out of France: in the which shall be a great number of noblemen and
gentlemen for the conclusion of the same, as hath not been seen repair
hither out of one realm in an embassy. This peace thus concluded, there
shall be such an amity between gentlemen of each realm, and intercourse
of merchants with merchandise, that it shall seem to all men the
territories to be but one monarchy. Gentlemen may travel quietly from
one country to another for their recreation and pastime; and merchants,
being arrived in each country, shall be assured to travel about
their affairs in peace and tranquillity: so that this realm shall joy
and prosper for ever. Wherefore it shall be well done for all true
Englishmen to advance and set forth this perpetual peace, both in
countenance and gesture, with such entertainment as it may be a just
occasion unto the Frenchmen to accept the same in good part, and also
to use you with the semblable, and make of the same a noble report in
their countries.

"Now, good my lords and gentlemen, I most entirely require you in
the king's behalf, that ye will show yourselves herein very loving
and obedient subjects, wherein the king will much rejoice [at] your
towardness, and give to every man his princely thanks for such
liberality and gentleness, as ye or any of you shall minister unto
them." And here he ended his persuasion, and so departed into the
dining chamber, and dined among the lords of the council.

This great embassy[128], long looked for, was now come over [with
a great retinue], which were in number above fourscore persons, of
the most noblest and worthiest gentlemen in all the court of France,
who were right honourably received from place to place after their
arrival, and so conveyed through London unto the bishop's palace in
Paul's Churchyard, where they were lodged. To whom divers noblemen
resorted and gave them divers goodly presents; and in especial the
Mayor and city of London, as wine, sugar, wax, capons, wild fowl,
beefs, muttons, and other necessaries in great abundance, for the
expenses of their house. Then the next Sunday after their resort to
London, they repaired to the court at Greenwich, and there, by the
king's majesty, most highly received and entertained. They had a
special commission to create and stall the king's highness in the Royal
order of France; for which purpose they brought with them a collar of
fine gold of the order, with a Michael hanging thereat, and robes to
the same appurtenant, the which was wondrous costly and comely, of
purple velvet, richly embroidered; I saw the king in all this apparel
and habit, passing through the chamber of presence unto his closet;
and afterward in the same habit at mass beneath in the chapel. And to
gratify the French king with like honour, [he] sent incontinent unto
[him] the like order of England by a nobleman (the Earl of Wiltshire),
purposely for that intent, to create him one of the same order of
England, accompanied with Garter the Herald, with all robes, garter,
and other habiliments to the same belonging; as costly in every degree
as the other was of the French king's, the which was done before the
return of the great embassy.

And for the performance of this noble and perpetual peace, it was
concluded and determined that a solemn mass should be sung in the
cathedral church of Paul's by the cardinal; against which time there
was prepared a gallery made from the west door of the church of Paul's
[through the body of the same], unto the quire door, railed on every
side, upon the which stood [vessels] full of perfumes burning. Then
the king and my Lord Cardinal, and all the Frenchmen, with all other
noblemen and gentlemen, were conveyed upon this gallery unto the high
altar into the traverses; then my Lord Cardinal prepared himself
to mass, associated with twenty-four mitres of bishops and abbots,
attending upon him, and to serve him, in such ceremonies as to him, by
virtue of his legatine prerogative, were due.

And after the last agnus[129], the king rose out of his travers and
kneeled upon a cushion and carpet at the high altar; and the Grand
Master of France, the chief ambassador, that represented the king his
master, kneeled by the king's majesty, between whom my lord divided the
sacrament, as a firm oath and assurance of this perpetual peace. That
done, the king resorted again to his travers, and the Grand Master in
like wise to his. This mass finished, which was sung with the king's
chapel and the quire of Paul's, my Lord Cardinal took the instrument
of this perpetual peace and amity, and read the same openly before the
king and the assembly, both of English and French, to the which the
king subscribed with his own hand, and the Grand Master, for the French
king, in like wise, the which was sealed with seals of fine gold,
engraven, and delivered to each other as their firm deeds; and all this
done and finished they departed.

The king rode home to the cardinal's house at Westminster, to
dinner, with whom dined all the Frenchmen, passing all day after in
consultation in weighty matters, touching the conclusion of this peace
and amity. That done, the king went again by water to Greenwich; at
whose departing it was determined by the king's device, that the French
gentlemen should resort unto Richmond to hunt there, in every of the
parks, and from thence to Hampton Court, and therein likewise to hunt,
and there my Lord Cardinal to make for them a supper, and lodge them
there that night; and from thence they should ride to Windsor, and
there to hunt, and after their return to London they should resort to
the court, whereas the king would banquet them. And this perfectly
determined, the king and the Frenchmen all departed.

Then was there no more to do but to make provision at Hampton Court
for this assembly against the day appointed. My Lord Cardinal called
for his principal officers of his house, as his Steward, Comptroller,
and the Clerks of his Kitchen, whom he commanded to prepare for this
banquet at Hampton Court; and neither to spare for expenses or travail,
to make them such triumphant cheer, as they may not only wonder at it
here, but also make a glorious report in their country, to the king's
honour and [that] of this realm. His pleasure once known, to accomplish
his commandment they sent forth all the caterers, purveyors, and other
persons, to prepare of the finest viands that they could get, other for
money or friendship among my lord's friends. Also they sent for all the
expertest cooks, besides my lord's, that they could get in all England,
where they might be gotten, to serve to garnish this feast.

The purveyors brought and sent in such plenty of costly provision, as
ye would wonder at the same. The cooks wrought both night and day in
divers subtleties and many crafty devices; where lacked neither gold,
silver, ne any other costly thing meet for the purpose.

The yeomen and grooms of the wardrobes were busied in hanging of the
chambers with costly hangings, and furnishing the same with beds of
silk, and other furniture apt for the same in every degree. Then my
Lord Cardinal sent me, being gentleman usher, with two other of my
fellows, to Hampton Court, to foresee all things touching our rooms, to
be noblily garnished accordingly. Our pains were not small or light,
but traveling daily from chamber to chamber. Then the carpenters, the
joiners, the masons, the painters, and all other artificers necessary
to glorify the house and feast were set at work. There was carriage and
re-carriage of plate, stuff, [and] other rich implements; so that there
was nothing lacking or to be imagined or devised for the purpose.
There were also fourteen score beds provided and furnished with all
manner of furniture to them belonging, too long particularly here to
rehearse. But to all wise men it sufficeth to imagine, that knoweth
what belongeth to the furniture of such triumphant feast or banquet.

The day was come that to the Frenchmen was assigned, and they ready
assembled at Hampton Court, something before the hour of their
appointment. Wherefore the officers caused them to ride to Hanworth,
a place and park of the king's, within two or three miles, there to
hunt and spend the time until night. At which time they returned
again to Hampton Court, and every of them conveyed to his chamber
severally, having in them great fires and wine ready to refresh them,
remaining there until their supper was ready, and the chambers where
they should sup were ordered in due form. The first waiting-chamber
was hanged with fine arras, and so was all the rest, one better than
an other, furnished with tall yeomen. There was set tables round about
the chamber, banquet-wise, all covered with fine cloths of diaper. A
cupboard of plate, parcel gilt, having also in the same chamber, to
give the more light, four plates of silver, set with lights upon them,
a great fire in the chimney.

The next chamber, being the chamber of presence, hanged with very rich
arras, wherein was a gorgeous and a precious cloth of estate hanged
up, replenished with many goodly gentlemen ready to serve. The boards
were set as the other boards were in the other chamber before, save
that the high table was set and removed beneath the cloth of estate,
towards the midst of the chamber, covered with fine linen cloths of
damask work, sweetly perfumed. There was a cupboard made, for the
time, in length, of the breadth of the nether end of the same chamber,
six desks high[130], full of gilt plate, very sumptuous, and of the
newest fashions; and upon the nethermost desk garnished all with plate
of clean gold, having two great candlesticks of silver and gilt, most
curiously wrought, the workmanship whereof, with the silver, cost three
hundred marks, and lights of wax as big as torches burning upon the
same. This cupboard was barred in round about that no man might come
nigh it; for there was none of the same plate occupied or stirred
during this feast, for there was sufficient besides. The plates that
hung on the walls to give light in the chamber were of silver and gilt,
with lights burning in them, a great fire in the chimney, and all other
things necessary for the furniture of so noble a feast.

Now was all things in a readiness and supper time at hand. My lord's
officers caused the trumpets to blow to warn to supper, and the said
officers went right discreetly in due order and conducted these noble
personages from their chambers unto the chamber of presence where they
should sup. And they, being there, caused them to sit down; their
service was brought up in such order and abundance, both costly and
full of subtleties, with such a pleasant noise of divers instruments
of music, that the Frenchmen, as it seemed, were rapt into a heavenly
paradise.

Ye must understand that my lord was not there, ne yet come, but they
being merry and pleasant with their fare, devising and wondering
upon the subtleties. Before the second course, my Lord Cardinal
came in among them, booted and spurred, all suddenly, and bade them
_proface_[131]; at whose coming they would have risen and given place
with much joy. Whom my lord commanded to sit still, and keep their
rooms; and straightways, being not shifted of his riding apparel,
called for a chair, and sat himself down in the midst of the table,
laughing and being as merry as ever I saw him in all my life. Anon came
up the second course, with so many dishes, subtleties, and curious
devices, which were above a hundred in number, of so goodly proportion
and costly, that I suppose the Frenchmen never saw the like. The wonder
was no less than it was worthy indeed. There were castles with images
in the same; Paul's church and steeple, in proportion for the quantity
as well counterfeited as the painter should have painted it upon a
cloth or wall. There were beasts, birds, fowls of divers kinds, and
personages, most lively made and counterfeit in dishes; some fighting,
as it were with swords, some with guns and crossbows, some vaulting
and leaping; some dancing with ladies, some in complete harness,
justing with spears, and with many more devices than I am able with
my wit [to] describe. Among all, one I noted: there was a chess board
subtilely made of spiced plate, with men to the same; and for the good
proportion, because that Frenchmen be very expert in that play, my lord
gave the same to a gentleman of France, commanding that a case should
be made for the same in all haste, to preserve it from perishing in the
conveyance thereof into his country. Then my lord took a bowl of gold,
which was esteemed of the value of five hundred marks, filled with
hypocras, whereof there was plenty, putting off his cap, said, "I drink
to the king my sovereign lord and master, and to the king your master,"
and therewith drank a good draught. And when he had done, he desired
the Grand Master to pledge him cup and all, the which cup he gave him;
and so caused all the other lords and gentlemen in other cups to pledge
these two royal princes.

Then went cups merrily about, that many of the Frenchmen were fain to
be led to their beds. Then went my lord, leaving them sitting still,
into his privy chamber to shift him; and making there a very short
supper, or rather a small repast, returned again among them into the
chamber of presence, using them so nobly, with so loving and familiar
countenance and entertainment, that they could not commend him too
much.

And whilst they were in communication and other pastimes, all their
liveries were served to their chambers. Every chamber had a bason and
a ewer of silver, some gilt, and some parcel gilt; and some two great
pots of silver, in like manner, and one pot at the least with wine and
beer, a bowl or goblet, and a silver pot to drink beer in; a silver
candlestick or two, with both white lights and yellow lights [of] three
sizes of wax; and a staff torch; a fine manchet, and a cheat loaf of
bread. Thus was every chamber furnished throughout the house, and yet
the two cupboards in the two banqueting chambers not once touched.
Then being past midnight, as time served they were conveyed to their
lodgings, to take their rest for that night. In the morning of the next
day, (not early), they rose and heard mass, and dined with my lord, and
so departed towards Windsor, and there hunted, delighting much of the
castle and college, and in the Order of the Garter. They being departed
from Hampton Court, my lord returned again to Westminster, because it
was in the midst of the term.

It is not to be doubted, but that the king was privy of all this worthy
feast, [and] intended far to exceed the same; (whom I leave until the
return of the Frenchmen), who gave a special commandment to all his
officers to devise a far [more] sumptuous banquet for the strangers,
otherwise than they had at Hampton Court; which was not neglected, but
most speedily put in execution with great diligence.

After the return of these strangers from Windsor, which place with
the goodly order thereof they much commended, the day approached that
they were invited to the court at Greenwich; where first they dined,
and after long consultation of the sagest with our counsellors, and
dancing of the rest and other pastimes, the time of supper came on.
Then was the banqueting chamber in the tiltyard furnished for the
entertainment of these strangers, to the which place they were conveyed
by the noblest persons being then in the court, where they both supped
and banqueted. But to describe the dishes, the subtleties, the many
strange devices and order in the same, I do both lack wit in my gross
old head, and cunning in my bowels to declare the wonderful and curious
imaginations in the same invented and devised. Yet this ye shall
understand: that although it was at Hampton Court marvellous sumptuous,
yet did this banquet far exceed the same, as fine gold doth silver in
weight and value; and for my part I must needs confess, (which saw them
both), that I never saw the like, or read in any story or chronicle of
any such feast. In the midst of this banquet, there was tourneying at
the barriers (even in the chamber), with lusty gentlemen in gorgeous
complete harness, on foot; then was there the like on horseback; and
after all this there was the most goodliest disguising or interlude,
made in Latin and French, whose apparel was of such exceeding riches,
that it passeth my capacity to expound.

This done, then came in such a number of the fair ladies and
gentlewomen that bare any bruit or fame of beauty in all this realm,
in the most richest apparel, and devised in divers goodly fashions
that all the cunningest tailors could devise to shape or cut, to set
forth their beauty, gesture, and the goodly proportion of their bodies:
who seemed to all men more angelic than earthly [creatures] made of
flesh and bone;--surely to me, simple soul, it seemed inestimable
to be described, and so I think it was to other of a more higher
judgment,--with whom these gentlemen of France danced until another
mask came in of noble gentlemen, who danced and masked with these fair
ladies and gentlewomen, every man as his fantasy served [him]. This
done, and the maskers departed, there came in another mask of ladies
so gorgeously apparelled in costly garments, that I dare not presume
to take upon me to make thereof any declaration, lest I should rather
deface than beautify them, therefore I leave it untouched. These lady
maskers took each of them a French gentleman to dance and mask with
them. Ye shall understand that these lady maskers spake good French,
which delighted much these gentlemen, to hear these ladies speak to
them in their own tongue.

Thus was this night occupied and consumed from five of the clock until
two or three after midnight; at which time it was convenient for all
estates to draw to their rest. And thus every man departed whither they
had most relief. Then as nothing either health, wealth, or pleasure,
can always endure, so ended this triumphant banquet, the which in the
morning seemed to all the beholders but as a fantastical dream.

After all this solemn cheer, at a day appointed they prepared them to
return with bag and baggage. Then, as to the office of all honourable
persons doth appertain, [they] resorted in good order to the court, to
take their leave of the king, and other noblemen, then being there: to
whom the king committed his princely commendations to the king their
master, and thanked them of their pains and travel, and after long
communication with the most honourable of the embassy, he bad them
adieu.

[They were] assigned by the council to repair to my Lord Cardinal for
to receive the king's most noble reward, wherefore they repaired to my
lord, and taking of their leave, they received every man the king's
reward after this sort; every honourable person in estimation had most
commonly plate, to the value of three or four hundred pounds, and some
more, and some less, besides other great gifts received at the king's
hands before; as rich gowns, horses, or goodly geldings of great value
and goodness; and some had weighty chains of fine gold, with divers
other gifts, which I cannot now call to my remembrance; but this I
know, that the least of them all had a sum of crowns of gold: the worst
page among them had twenty crowns for his part: and thus they (nobly
rewarded), departed. And my lord, after humble commendations had to the
French king, bad them adieu. And the next day they conveyed all their
stuff and furniture unto the seaside, accompanied with lusty young
gentlemen of England: but what praise or commendation they made in
their country at their return, in good faith, I cannot tell you, for I
never heard any thing thereof.

Then began other matters to brew and take place that occupied all
men's heads with divers imaginations, whose stomachs were therewith
full filled without any perfect digestion. The long hid and secret
love between the king and Mistress Anne Boleyn began to break out into
every man's ears. The matter was then by the king disclosed to my Lord
Cardinal; whose persuasion to the contrary, made to the king upon his
knees, could not effect: the king was so amorously affectionate, that
will bare place, and high discretion banished for the time[132]. My
lord, provoked by the king to declare his wise opinion in this matter
for the furtherance of his desired affects, who thought it not meet
for him alone to wade too far, to give his hasty judgment or advice
in so weighty a matter, desired of the king license to ask counsel of
men of ancient study, and of famous learning, both in the laws divine
and civil. That obtained, he by his legatine authority sent out his
commission unto all the bishops of this realm, and for other that were
either exactly learned in any of the said laws, or else had in any
estimation for their prudent counsel and judgment in princely affairs
of long experience.

Then assembled these prelates before my Lord Cardinal at his place in
Westminster, with many other famous and notable clerks of both the
Universities (Oxford and Cambridge), and also divers out of colleges
and cathedral churches of this realm, renowned and allowed learned
and of witty discretion in the determination of doubtful questions.
Then was the matter of the king's case debated, reasoned and argued;
consulting from day to day, and time to time; that it was to men
learned a goodly hearing; but in conclusion, it seemed me, by the
departing of the ancient fathers of the laws, that they departed with
one judgment contrary to the expectation of the principal parties.
I heard the opinion of some of the most famous persons, among that
sort, report, that the king's case was so obscure and doubtful for any
learned man to discuss; the points therein were so dark to be credited
that it was very hard to have any true understanding or intelligence.
And therefore they departed without any resolution or judgment. Then
in this assembly of bishops it was thought most expedient that the
king should first send out his commissioners into all the Universities
of Christendom, as well here in England as in foreign countries and
regions, to have among them his grace's case argued substantially, and
to bring with them from thence the very definition of their opinions in
the same, under the seals of every several University. Thus was their
determination for this time; and thereupon agreed, that commissioners
were incontinent appointed and sent forth about this matter into
several Universities, as some to Oxford, some to Cambridge, some to
Louvain, some to Paris, some to Orleans, some to Bologna, and some to
Padua, and some to other. Although these commissioners had the travail,
yet was the charges the king's; the which was no small sums of money,
and all went out of the king's coffers into foreign regions. For as
I heard it reported of credible persons (as it seemed indeed), that
besides the great charges of the commissioners, there was inestimable
sums of money given to the famous clerks to choke them, and in especial
to such as had the governance and custody of their Universities'
seals[133]. Insomuch as they agreed, not only in opinions, but also
obtained of them the Universities' seals, (the which obtained), they
returned home again furnished for their purpose. At whose return there
was no small joy made of the principal parties. Insomuch as the
commissioners were not only ever after in great estimation, but also
most liberally advanced and rewarded, far beyond their worthy deserts.
Notwithstanding, they prospered, and the matter went still forward,
having then (as they thought), a sure foundation to ground them upon.

These proceedings being once declared to my Lord Cardinal, [he] sent
again for all the bishops, whom he made privy of the expedition of
the commissioners; and for the very proof thereof he showed them the
opinions of the several Universities in writing under the Universities
seals[134]. These matters being thus brought to pass, they went again
to consultation how these matters should be ordered to the purpose.
It was then thought good and concluded, by the advice of them all,
that the king should (to avoid all ambiguities), send unto the pope
a legation with the instruments, declaring the opinions of the
Universities under their seals; to the which it was thought good that
all these prelates in this assembly should join with the king in this
legation, making intercession and suit to the pope for advice and
judgment in this great and weighty matter; and if the pope would not
directly consent to the same request, that then the ambassadors should
farther require of him a commission to be directed (under lead[135]),
to establish a court judicial in England, (** **** *****) directed to
my Lord Cardinal, and unto the Cardinal Campeggio, (who was then Bishop
of Bath), although he was a stranger, which [bishopric] the king gave
him at such time as he was the pope's ambassador here in England), to
hear and determine according to the just judgment of their conscience.
The which after long and great suit, they obtained of the pope his
commission. This done and achieved, they made return into England,
making report unto the king of their expedition, trusting that his
grace's pleasure and purpose should now be presently brought to pass,
considering the estate of the judges, who were the Cardinal of England
and Campeggio, being both his highness's subjects in effect.

Long was the desire, and greater was the hope on all sides, expecting
the coming of the legation and commission from Rome, yet at length
it came. And after the arrival of the Legate Campeggio with his
solemn commission in England, he being sore vexed with the gout, was
constrained by force thereof to make a long journey or ever he came to
London; who should have been most solemnly received at Blackheath, and
so with great triumph conveyed to London; but his glory was such, that
he would in nowise be entertained with any such pomp or vainglory, who
suddenly came by water in a wherry to his own house without Temple Bar,
called then Bath Place, which was furnished for him with all manner of
stuff and implements of my lord's provision; where he continued and
lodged during his abode here in England.

Then after some deliberation, his commission understood, read, and
perceived it was by the council determined, that the king, and the
queen his wife, should be lodged at Bridewell. And that in the Black
Friars a certain place should be appointed where as the king and
the queen might most conveniently repair to the court, there to be
erected and kept for the disputation and determination of the king's
case, where as these two legates sat in judgment as notable judges;
before whom the king and the queen were duly cited and summoned to
appear. Which was the strangest and newest sight and device that ever
was read or heard in any history or chronicle in any region; that a
king and a queen [should] be convented and constrained by process
compellatory to appear in any court as common persons, within their
own realm or dominion, to abide the judgment and decrees of their own
subjects, having the royal diadem and prerogative thereof. Is it not
a world to consider the desire of wilful princes, when they fully
be bent and inclined to fulfil their voluptuous appetites, against
the which no reasonable persuasions will suffice; little or nothing
weighing or regarding the dangerous sequel that doth ensue as well
to themselves as to their realm and subjects. And above all things,
there is no one thing that causeth them to be more wilful than carnal
desire and voluptuous affection of foolish love. The experience is
plain, in this case both manifest and evident, for what surmised
inventions have been invented, what laws have been enacted, what noble
and ancient monasteries overthrown and defaced, what diversities of
religious opinions have risen, what executions have been committed, how
many famous and notable clerks have suffered death, what charitable
foundations were perverted from the relief of the poor, unto profane
uses, and what alterations of good and wholesome ancient laws and
customs hath been caused by will and wilful desire of the prince,
almost to the subversion and dissolution of this noble realm. All men
may understand what hath chanced to this region; the proof thereof hath
taught all us Englishmen a common experience, the more is the pity,
and is to all good men very lamentable to be considered. If eyes be
not blind men may see, if ears be not stopped they may hear, and if
pity be not exiled they may lament the sequel of this pernicious and
inordinate carnal love. The plague whereof is not ceased (although this
love lasted but a while), which our Lord quench; and take from us his
indignation! _Quia pecavimus cum patribus nostris, et injuste egimus,
&c._

Ye shall understand, as I said before, that there was a court erected
in the Black Friars in London, where these two cardinals sat for
judges. Now will I set you out the manner and order of the court there.
First, there was a court placed with tables, benches, and bars, like
a consistory, a place judicial (for the judges to sit on). There was
also a cloth of estate under the which sat the king; and the queen sat
some distance beneath the king: under the judges' feet sat the officers
of the court. The chief scribe there was Dr. Stephens[136], (who was
after Bishop of Winchester); the apparitor was one Cooke, most commonly
called Cooke of Winchester. Then sat there within the said court,
directly before the king and the judges, the Archbishop of Canterbury,
Doctor Warham, and all the other bishops. Then at both the ends, with
a bar made for them, the counsellors on both sides. The doctors for
the king were Doctor Sampson, that was after Bishop of Chichester, and
Doctor Bell, who after was Bishop of Worcester, with divers other. The
proctors on the king's part were Doctor Peter, who was after made the
king's chief secretary, and Doctor Tregonell, and divers other.

Now on the other side stood the counsel for the queen, Doctor Fisher,
Bishop of Rochester, and Doctor Standish, some time a Grey Friar, and
then Bishop of St. Asaph in Wales, two notable clerks in divinity, and
in especial the Bishop of Rochester, a very godly man and a devout
person, who after suffered death at Tower Hill; the which was greatly
lamented through all the foreign Universities of Christendom. There was
also another ancient doctor, called, as I remember, Doctor Ridley, a
very small person in stature, but surely a great and an excellent clerk
in divinity.

The court being thus furnished and ordered, the judges commanded the
crier to proclaim silence; then was the judges' commission, which they
had of the pope, published and read openly before all the audience
there assembled. That done, the crier called the king, by the name of
"King Henry of England, come into the court, &c." With that the king
answered and said, "Here, my lords!" Then he called also the queen, by
the name of "Katherine Queen of England, come into the court, &c."
who made no answer to the same, but rose up incontinent out of her
chair, where as she sat, and because she could not come directly to the
king for the distance which severed them, she took pain to go about
unto the king, kneeling down at his feet in the sight of all the court
and assembly, to whom she said[137] in effect, in broken English, as
followeth:

"Sir," quoth she, "I beseech you for all the loves that hath been
between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice and right,
take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman and a
stranger born out of your dominion, I have here no assured friend,
and much less indifferent counsel; I flee to you as to the head of
justice within this realm. Alas! Sir, wherein have I offended you, or
what occasion of displeasure? Have I designed against your will and
pleasure; intending (as I perceive) to put me from you? I take God
and all the world to witness, that I have been to you a true humble
and obedient wife, ever conformable to your will and pleasure, that
never said or did any thing to the contrary thereof, being always well
pleased and contented with all things wherein you had any delight or
dalliance, whether it were in little or much, I never grudged in word
or countenance, or showed a visage or spark of discontentation. I
loved all those whom ye loved only for your sake, whether I had cause
or no; and whether they were my friends or my enemies. This twenty
years I have been your true wife or more, and by me ye have had divers
children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world,
which hath been no default in me.

"And when ye had me at the first, I take God to be my judge, I was a
true maid without touch of man; and whether it be true or no, I put
it to your conscience. If there be any just cause by the law that ye
can allege against me, either of dishonesty or any other impediment to
banish and put me from you, I am well content to depart to my great
shame and dishonour; and if there be none, then here I most lowly
beseech you let me remain in my former estate, and receive justice
at your hands. The king your father was in the time of his reign of
such estimation thorough the world for his excellent wisdom, that he
was accounted and called of all men the second Solomon; and my father
Ferdinand, King of Spain, who was esteemed to be one of the wittiest
princes that reigned in Spain, many years before, were both wise and
excellent kings in wisdom and princely behaviour. It is not therefore
to be doubted, but that they elected and gathered as wise counsellors
about them as to their high discretions was thought meet. Also, as me
seemeth, there was in those days as wise, as well learned men, and men
of as good judgment as be at this present in both realms, who thought
then the marriage between you and me good and lawful. Therefore it
is a wonder to hear what new inventions are now invented against me,
that never intended but honesty. And cause me to stand to the order
and judgment of this new court, wherein ye may do me much wrong, if
ye intend any cruelty; for ye may condemn me for lack of sufficient
answer, having no indifferent counsel, but such as be assigned me,
with whose wisdom and learning I am not acquainted. Ye must consider
that they cannot be indifferent counsellors for my part which be your
subjects, and taken out of your own council before, wherein they be
made privy, and dare not, for your displeasure, disobey your will and
intent, being once made privy thereto. Therefore I most humbly require
you, in the way of charity, and for the love of God, who is the just
judge, to spare me the extremity of this new court, until I may be
advertised what way and order my friends in Spain will advise me to
take. And if ye will not extend to me so much indifferent favour, your
pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my cause[138]!"

And with that she rose up, making a low courtesy to the king, and so
departed from thence. [Many] supposed that she would have resorted
again to her former place; but she took her way straight out of the
house, leaning (as she was wont always to do) upon the arm of her
General Receiver, called Master Griffith. And the king being advertised
of her departure, commanded the crier to call her again, who called
her by the name of "Katherine Queen of England, come into the court,
&c." With that quoth Master Griffith, "_Madam, ye be called again_."
"On, on," quoth she, "it maketh no matter, for it is no indifferent
court for me, therefore I will not tarry. Go on your ways." And thus
she departed out of that court, without any farther answer at that
time, or at any other, nor would never appear at any other court after.

The king perceiving that she was departed in such sort, calling to his
grace's memory all her lament words that she had pronounced before him
and all the audience, said thus in effect: "For as much," quoth he,
"as the queen is gone, I will, in her absence, declare unto you all
my lords here presently assembled, she hath been to me as true, as
obedient, and as conformable a wife as I could in my fantasy wish or
desire. She hath all the virtuous qualities that ought to be in a woman
of her dignity, or in any other of baser estate. Surely she is also
a noble woman born, if nothing were in her, but only her conditions
will well declare the same." With that quoth my Lord Cardinal, "Sir,
I most humbly beseech your highness to declare me before all this
audience, whether I have been the chief inventor[139] or first mover
of this matter unto your majesty; for I am greatly suspected of all men
herein." "My Lord Cardinal," quoth the king, "I can well excuse you
herein. Marry (quoth he), ye have been rather against me in attempting
or setting forth thereof. And to put you all out of doubt, I will
declare unto you the special cause that moved me hereunto; it was a
certain scrupulosity that pricked my conscience upon divers words that
were spoken at a certain time by the Bishop of Bayonne, the French
King's Ambassador[140], who had been here long upon the debating for
the conclusion of a marriage to be concluded between the princess our
daughter Mary, and the Duke of Orleans, the French king's second son.

"And upon the resolution and determination thereof, he desired respite
to advertise the king his master thereof, whether our daughter Mary
should be legitimate, in respect of the marriage which was sometime
between the queen here, and my brother the late Prince Arthur. These
words were so conceived within my scrupulous conscience, that it bred
a doubt within my breast, which doubt pricked, vexed, and troubled
so my mind, and so disquieted me, that I was in great doubt of God's
indignation; which (as seemed me), appeared right well; much the rather
for that he hath not sent me any issue male; for all such issue male as
I have received of the queen died incontinent after they were born; so
that I doubt the punishment of God in that behalf. Thus being troubled
in waves of a scrupulous conscience, and partly in despair of any
issue male by her, it drave me at last to consider the estate of this
realm, and the danger it stood in for lack of issue male to succeed
me in this imperial dignity. I thought it good therefore in relief of
the weighty burden of scrupulous conscience, and the quiet estate of
this noble realm, to attempt the law therein, and whether I might take
another wife in case that my first copulation with this gentlewoman
were not lawful; which I intend not for any carnal concupiscence, ne
for any displeasure or mislike of the queen's person or age, with whom
I could be as well content to continue during my life, if our marriage
may stand with God's laws, as with any woman alive; in which point
consisteth all this doubt that we go now about to try by the learned
wisdom and judgment of you our prelates and pastors of this realm here
assembled for that purpose; to whose conscience and judgment I have
committed the charge according to the which (God willing), we will be
right well contented to submit ourself, to obey the same for our part.
Wherein after I once perceived my conscience wounded with the doubtful
case herein, I moved first this matter in confession to you, my Lord
of Lincoln[141], my ghostly father. And for as much as then yourself
were in some doubt to give me counsel, moved me to ask farther counsel
of all you my lords; wherein I moved you first my Lord of Canterbury,
axing your license, (for as much [as] you were our metropolitan) to
put this matter in question; and so I did of all you my lords, to the
which ye have all granted by writing under all your seals, the which I
have here to be showed." "That is truth if it please your highness,"
quoth the Bishop of Canterbury, "I doubt not but all my brethren here
present will affirm the same." "No, Sir, not I," quoth the Bishop of
Rochester, "ye have not my consent thereto." "No! ha' the!" quoth the
king, "look here upon this, is not this your hand and seal?" and showed
him the instrument with seals. "No forsooth, Sire," quoth the Bishop of
Rochester, "it is not my hand nor seal!" To that quoth the king to my
Lord of Canterbury, "Sir, how say _ye_, is it not his hand and seal?"
"Yes, Sir," quoth my Lord of Canterbury. "That is not so," quoth the
Bishop of Rochester, "for indeed you were in hand with me to have both
my hand and seal, as other of my lords had already done; but then I
said to you, that I would never consent to no such act, for it were
much against my conscience; nor my hand and seal should never be seen
at any such instrument, God willing, with much more matter touching the
same communication between us." "You say truth," quoth the Bishop of
Canterbury, "such words ye said unto me; but at the last ye were fully
persuaded that I should for you subscribe your name, and put to a seal
myself, and ye would allow the same." "All which words and matter,"
quoth the Bishop of Rochester, "under your correction my lord, and
supportation of this noble audience, there is no thing more untrue."
"Well, well," quoth the king, "it shall make no matter; we will not
stand with you in argument herein, for you are but one man." And with
that the court was adjourned until the next day of this session.

The next court day the cardinals sat there again, at which time the
counsel on both sides were there present. The king's counsel alleged
the marriage not good from the beginning, because of the carnal
knowledge committed between Prince Arthur her first husband, the king's
brother, and her. This matter being very sore touched and maintained
by the king's counsel; and the contrary defended by such as took
upon them to be on that other part with the good queen: and to prove
the same carnal copulation they alleged many coloured reasons and
similitudes of truth. It was answered again negatively on the other
side, by which it seemed that all their former allegations [were] very
doubtful to be tried, so that it was said that no man could know the
truth. "Yes," quoth the Bishop of Rochester, "_Ego nosco veritatem_,
I know the truth." "How know you the truth?" quoth my Lord Cardinal.
"Forsooth, my lord," quoth he, "_Ego sum professor veritatis_, I know
that God is truth itself, nor he never spake but truth; who saith,
_quos Deus conjunxit, homo non separet_. And forasmuch as this marriage
was made and joined by God to a good intent, I say that I know the
truth; the which cannot be broken or loosed by the power of man upon no
feigned occasion." "So much doth all faithful men know," quoth my Lord
Cardinal, "as well as you. Yet this reason is not sufficient in this
case; for the king's counsel doth allege divers presumptions, to prove
the marriage not good at the beginning, _ergo_, say they, it was not
joined by God at the beginning, and therefore it is not lawful; for God
ordaineth nor joineth nothing without a just order. Therefore it is not
to be doubted but that these presumptions must be true, as it plainly
appeareth; and nothing can be more true in case these allegations
cannot be avoided; therefore to say that the matrimony was joined of
God, ye must prove it farther than by that text which ye have alleged
for your matter: for ye must first avoid the presumptions." "Then,"
quoth one Doctor Ridley, "it is a shame and a great dishonour to this
honourable presence, that any such presumptions should be alleged in
this open court, which be to all good and honest men most detestable
to be rehearsed." "What," quoth my Lord Cardinal, "_Domine Doctor,
magis reverenter_." "No, no, my lord," quoth he, "there belongeth
no reverence to be given to these abominable presumptions; for an
unreverent tale would be unreverently answered." And there they left,
and proceeded no farther at that time.

Thus this court passed from session to session, and day to day, in so
much that a certain day the king sent for my lord at the breaking up
one day of the court to come to him into Bridewell. And to accomplish
his commandment he went unto him, and being there with him in
communication in his grace's privy chamber from eleven until twelve
of the clock and past at noon, my lord came out and departed from the
king and took his barge at the Black Friars, and so went to his house
at Westminster. The Bishop of Carlisle being with him in his barge
said unto him, (wiping the sweat from his face), "Sir," quoth he, "it
is a very hot day." "Yea," quoth my Lord Cardinal, "if ye had been
as well chafed as I have been within this hour, ye would say it were
very hot." And as soon as he came home to his house at Westminster, he
went incontinent to his naked bed, where he had not lain fully the
space of two hours, but that my Lord of Wiltshire came to speak with
him of a message from the king. My lord, having understanding of his
coming, caused him to be brought unto his bed's side; and he being
there, showed him the king's pleasure was, that he should incontinent
(accompanied with the other cardinal) repair unto the queen at
Bridewell, into her chamber, to persuade her by their wisdoms, advising
her to surrender the whole matter unto the king's hands by her own will
and consent; which should be much better to her honour than to stand
to the trial of law and to be condemned, which would seem much to her
slander and defamation. To fulfil the king's pleasure, my lord [said]
he was ready, and would prepare him to go thither out of hand, saying
farther to my Lord of Wiltshire, "Ye and other my lords of the council,
which be near unto the king, are not a little to blame and misadvised
to put any such fantasies into his head, whereby ye are the causes of
great trouble to all the realm; and at length get you but small thanks
either of God or of the world," with many other vehement words and
sentences that were like to ensue of this matter, which words caused
my Lord of Wiltshire to water his eyes, kneeling all this while by my
lord's bedside, and in conclusion departed. And then my lord rose up,
and made him ready, taking his barge, and went straight to Bath Place
to the other cardinal; and so went together unto Bridewell, directly to
the queen's lodging: and they, being in her chamber of presence, showed
to the gentleman usher that they came to speak with the queen's grace.
The gentleman usher advertised the queen thereof incontinent. With that
she came out of her privy chamber with a skein of white thread about
her neck, into the chamber of presence, where the cardinals were giving
of attendance upon her coming. At whose coming quoth she, "Alack, my
lords, I am very sorry to cause you to attend upon me; what is your
pleasure with me?" "If it please you," quoth my Lord Cardinal, "to go
into your privy chamber, we will show you the cause of our coming."
"My lord," quoth she, "if you have any thing to say, speak it openly
before all these folks; for I fear nothing that ye can say or allege
against me, but that I would all the world should both hear and see
it; therefore I pray you speak your minds openly." Then began my lord
to speak to her in Latin. "Nay, good my lord," quoth she, "speak to
me in English I beseech you; although I understand Latin." "Forsooth
then," quoth my lord, "Madam, if it please your grace, we come both
to know your mind, how ye be disposed to do in this matter between
the king and you, and also to declare secretly our opinions and our
counsel unto you, which we have intended of very zeal and obedience
that we bear to your grace." "My lords, I thank you then," quoth she,
"of your good wills; but to make answer to your request I cannot so
suddenly, for I was set among my maidens at work, thinking full little
of any such matter, wherein there needeth a longer deliberation, and a
better head than mine, to make answer to so noble wise men as ye be;
I had need of good counsel in this case, which toucheth me so near;
and for any counsel or friendship that I can find in England, [they]
are nothing to my purpose or profit. Think you, I pray you, my lords,
will any Englishmen counsel or be friendly unto me against the king's
pleasure, they being his subjects? Nay forsooth, my lords! and for my
counsel in whom I do intend to put my trust be not here; they be in
Spain, in my native country. Alas, my lords! I am a poor woman lacking
both wit and understanding sufficiently to answer such approved wise
men as ye be both, in so weighty a matter. I pray you to extend your
good and indifferent minds in your authority unto me, for I am a simple
woman, destitute and barren of friendship and counsel here in a foreign
region: and as for your counsel I will not refuse but be glad to hear."

And with that she took my lord by the hand and led him into her
privy chamber, with the other cardinal; where they were in long
communication: we, in the other chamber, might sometime hear the
queen speak very loud, but what it was we could not understand. The
communication ended, the cardinals departed and went directly to the
king, making to him relation of their talk with the queen; and after
resorted home to their houses to supper.

Thus went this strange case forward from court-day to court-day, until
it came to the judgment, so that every man expected the judgment to be
given upon the next court-day[142]. At which day the king came thither,
and sat within a gallery against the door of the same that looked unto
the judges where they sat, whom he might both see and hear speak, to
hear what judgment they would give in his suit; at which time all their
proceedings were first openly read in Latin. And that done, the king's
learned counsel at the bar called fast for judgment. With that, quoth
Cardinal Campeggio, "I[143] will give no judgment herein until I have
made relation unto the pope of all our proceedings, whose counsel and
commandment in this high case I will observe. The case is too high and
notable, known throughout the world, for us to give any hasty judgment,
considering the highness of the persons and the doubtful allegations;
and also whose commissioners we be, under whose authority we sit here.
It were therefore reason, that we should make our chief head [of]
counsel in the same, before we proceed to judgment definitive. I come
not so far to please any man, for fear, meed, or favour, be he king
or any other potentate. I have no such respect to the persons that I
will offend my conscience. I will not for favour or displeasure of any
high estate or mighty prince do that thing that should be against the
law of God. I am an old man, both sick and impotent, looking daily for
death. What should it then avail me to put my soul in the danger of
God's displeasure, to my utter damnation, for the favour of any prince
or high estate in this world? My coming and being here is only to see
justice ministered according to my conscience, as I thought thereby
the matter either good or bad. And forasmuch as I do understand, and
having perceivance by the allegations and negations in this matter laid
for both the parties, that the truth in this case is very doubtful
to be known, and also that the party defendant will make no answer
thereunto, [but] doth rather appeal from us, supposing that we be not
indifferent, considering the king's high dignity and authority within
this his own realm which he hath over his own subjects; and we being
his subjects, and having our livings and dignities in the same, she
thinketh that we cannot minister true and indifferent justice for
fear of his displeasure. Therefore, to avoid all these ambiguities
and obscure doubts, I intend not to damn my soul for no prince or
potentate alive. I will therefore, God willing, wade no farther in this
matter, unless I have the just opinion and judgment, with the assent
of the pope, and such other of his counsel as hath more experience and
learning in such doubtful laws than I have. Wherefore I will adjourn
this court for this time, according to the order of the court in Rome,
from whence this court and jurisdiction is derived. And if we should go
further than our commission doth warrant us, it were folly and vain,
and much to our slander and blame; and [we] might be accounted for the
same breakers of the order of the higher court from whence we have (as
I said) our original authorities." With that the court was dissolved,
and no more pleas holden.

With that stepped forth the Duke of Suffolk[144] from the king, and
by his commandment spake these words, with a stout and an hault
countenance, "It was never merry in England," (quoth he), "whilst we
had cardinals among us:" which words were set forth both with such a
vehement countenance, that all men marvelled what he intended; to whom
no man made answer. Then the duke spake again in great despight. To
the which words my Lord Cardinal, perceiving his vehemency, soberly
made answer and said, "Sir, of all men within this realm, ye have least
cause to dispraise or be offended with cardinals: for if I, simple
cardinal, had not been, you should have had at this present no head
upon your shoulders, wherein you should have a tongue to make any such
report in despight of us, who intend you no manner of displeasure;
nor have we given you any occasion with such despight to be revenged
with your hault words. I would ye knew it, my lord, that I and my
brother here intendeth the king and his realm as much honour, wealth,
and quietness, as you or any other, of what estate or degree soever
he be, within this realm; and would as gladly accomplish his lawful
desire as the poorest subject he hath. But, my lord, I pray you, show
me what ye would do if ye were the king's commissioner in a foreign
region, having a weighty matter to treat upon: and the conclusion being
doubtful thereof, would ye not advertise the king's majesty or ever ye
went through with the same? Yes, yes, my lord, I doubt not. Therefore
I would ye should banish your hasty malice and despight out of your
heart, and consider that we be but commissioners for a time, and can,
ne may not, by virtue of our commission proceed to judgment, without
the knowledge and consent of the chief head of our authority, and
having his consent to the same; which is the pope. Therefore we do no
less ne otherwise than our warrant will bear us; and if any man will
be offended with us therefore, he is an unwise man. Wherefore my lord,
hold your peace, and pacify yourself, and frame your tongue like a man
of honour and of wisdom, and not to speak so quickly or reproachfully
by your friends; for ye know best what friendship[145] ye have received
at my hands, the which I yet never revealed to no person alive before
now, neither to my glory, ne to your dishonour." And therewith the duke
gave over the matter without any words to reply, and so departed and
followed after the king, who was gone into Bridewell at the beginning
of the duke's first words.

This matter continued long thus, and my Lord Cardinal was in
displeasure with the king, for that the matter in his suit took no
better success, the fault whereof was ascribed much to my lord,
notwithstanding my lord excused him always by his commission, which
gave him no farther authority to proceed in judgment, without knowledge
of the pope, who reserved the same to himself.

At the last they were advertised by their post that the pope would take
deliberation in respect of judgment until his courts were opened, which
should not be before Bartholomew tide next. The king considering the
time to be very long or the matter should be determined, thought it
good to send a new embassy to the pope, to persuade him to show such
honourable favour unto his grace, that the matter might be sooner ended
than it was likely to be, or else at the next court in Rome, to rule
the matter over, according to the king's request.

To this embassy was appointed Doctor Stephens[146], then secretary,
that after was made Bishop of Winchester. Who went thither, and there
tarried until the latter end of summer, as ye shall hear after.

The king commanded the queen to be removed out of the court, and sent
to another place; and his highness rode in his progress, with Mistress
Anne Boleyn in his company, all the grece season[147].

It was so that the Cardinal Campeggio made suit to be discharged, that
he might return again to Rome. And it chanced that the secretary, who
was the king's ambassador to the pope, was returned home from Rome;
whereupon it was determined that the Cardinal Campeggio should resort
to the king at Grafton in Northamptonshire, and that my lord Cardinal
should accompany him thither, where Campeggio should take his leave of
the king. And so they took their journey thitherward from the Moor,
and came to Grafton[148] upon the Sunday in the morning, before whose
coming there rose in the court divers opinions, that the king would not
speak with my Lord Cardinal; and thereupon were laid many great wagers.

These two prelates being come to the gates of the court, where they
alighted from their horses, supposing that they should have been
received by the head officers of the house as they were wont to be; yet
for as much as Cardinal Campeggio was but a stranger in effect, the
said officers received them, and conveyed him to his lodging within the
court, which was prepared for him only. And after my lord had brought
him thus to his lodging, he left him there and departed, supposing to
have gone directly likewise to his chamber, as he was accustomed to
do. And by the way as he was going, it was told him that he had no
lodging appointed for him in the court. And being therewith astonied,
Sir Henry Norris, Groom of the Stole [to] the king, came unto him,
(but whether it was by the king's commandment or no I know not), and
most humbly offered him his chamber for the time, until another might
somewhere be provided for him: "For, Sir, I assure you," quoth he,
"here is very little room in this house, scantly sufficient for the
king; therefore I beseech your grace to accept mine for the season."
Whom my lord thanked for his gentle offer, and went straight to his
chamber, where as my lord shifted his riding apparel, and being thus
in his chamber, divers noble persons and gentlemen, being his loving
friends, came to visit him and to welcome him to the court, by whom
my lord was advertised of all things touching the king's displeasure
towards him; which did him no small pleasure; and caused him to be the
more readily provided of sufficient excuses for his defence.

Then was my lord advertised by Master Norris, that he should prepare
himself to give attendance in the chamber of presence against the
king's coming thither, who was disposed there to talk with him, and
with the other cardinal, who came into my lord's chamber, and they
together went into the said chamber of presence, where the lords of the
council stood in a row in order along the chamber. My lord putting off
his cap to every of them most gently, and so did they no less to him:
at which time the chamber was so furnished with noblemen, gentlemen,
and other worthy persons, that only expected the meeting, and the
countenance of the king and him, and what entertainment the king made
him.

Then immediately after came the king into the chamber, and standing
there under the cloth of estate, my lord kneeled down before him, who
took my lord by the hand, and so he did the other cardinal. Then he
took my lord up by both arms and caused him to stand up, whom the king,
with as amiable a cheer as ever he did, called him aside, and led him
by the hand to a great window, where he talked with him, and caused him
to be covered.

Then, to behold the countenance of those that had made their wagers to
the contrary, it would have made you to smile; and thus were they all
deceived, as well worthy for their presumption. The king was in long
and earnest communication with him, in so much as I heard the king say:
"How can that be: is not this your own hand?" and plucked out from his
bosom a letter or writing, and showed him the same; and as I perceived
that it was answered so by my lord that the king had no more to say in
that matter; but said to him: "My lord, go to your dinner, and all my
lords here will keep you company; and after dinner I will resort to you
again, and then we will commune further with you in this matter; and so
departed the king, and dined that same day with Mrs. Anne Boleyn, in
her chamber, who kept there an estate more like a queen than a simple
maid.

Then was a table set up in the chamber of presence for my lord, and
other lords of the council, where they all dined together; and sitting
thus at dinner communing of divers matters. Quoth my lord, "It were
well done if the king would send his chaplains and bishops to their
cures and benefices." "Yea marry," quoth my Lord of Norfolk, "and so
it were for you too." "I could be contented therewith, very well,"
quoth my lord, "if it were the king's pleasure to grant me license,
with his favour, to go to my benefice of Winchester." "Nay," quoth
my Lord of Norfolk, "to your benefice of York, where consisteth your
greatest honour and charge." "Even as it shall please the king," quoth
my lord, and so fell into other communications. For the lords were very
loth to have him planted so near the king as to be at Winchester[149].
Immediately after dinner they fell in secret talk until the waiters
had dined.

And as I heard it reported by them that waited upon the king at dinner,
that Mistress Anne Boleyn was much offended with the king, as far as
she durst, that he so gently entertained my lord, saying, as she sat
with the king at dinner, in communication of him, "Sir," quoth she, "is
it not a marvellous thing to consider what debt and danger the cardinal
hath brought you in with all your subjects?" "How so, sweetheart?"
quoth the king. "Forsooth," quoth she, "there is not a man within all
your realm, worth five pounds, but he hath indebted you unto him;"
(meaning by a loan that the king had but late of his subjects). "Well,
well," quoth the king, "as for that there is in him no blame; for I
know that matter better than you, or any other." "Nay, Sir," quoth
she, "besides all that, what things hath he wrought within this realm
to your great slander and dishonour? There is never a nobleman within
this realm that if he had done but half so much as he hath done, but
he were well worthy to lose his head. If my Lord of Norfolk, my Lord
of Suffolk, my lord my father, or any other noble person within your
realm had done much less than he, but they should have lost their heads
or this." "Why, then I perceive," quoth the king, "ye are not the
cardinal's friend?" "Forsooth, Sir," then quoth she, "I have no cause,
nor any other that loveth your grace, no more have your grace, if ye
consider well his doings." At this time the waiters had taken up the
table, and so they ended their communication. Now ye may perceive the
old malice beginning to break out, and newly to kindle the brand that
after proved to a great fire, which was as much procured by his secret
enemies, [of whom] I touched something before, as of herself.

After all this communication, the dinner thus ended, the king rose up
and went incontinent into the chamber of presence, where as my lord,
and other of the lords were attending his coming, he called my lord
into the great window, and talked with him there a while very secretly.
And at the last, the king took my lord by the hand and led him into
his privy chamber, sitting there in consultation with him all alone
without any other of the lords of the council, until it was night; the
which blanked his enemies very sore, and made them to stir the coals;
being in doubt what this matter would grow unto, having now none other
refuge to trust to but Mistress Anne, in whom was all their whole and
firm trust and affiance, without whom they doubted all their enterprise
but frustrate and void.

Now was I fain, being warned that my lord had no lodging in the court,
to ride into the country to provide for my lord a lodging; so that I
provided a lodging for him at a house of Master Empson's called Euston,
three miles from Grafton, whither my lord came by torch light, it
was so late or the king and he departed. At whose departing the king
commanded him to resort again early in the morning to the intent they
might finish their talk which they had then begun and not concluded.

After their departing my lord came to the said house at Euston to
his lodging, where he had to supper with him divers of his friends
of the court; and sitting at supper, in came to him Doctor Stephens,
the secretary, late ambassador unto Rome; but to what intent he came
I know not; howbeit my lord took it, that he came to dissemble a
certain obedience and love towards him, or else to espy his behaviour
and to hear his communication at supper. Notwithstanding my lord bade
him welcome, and commanded him to sit down at the table to supper;
with whom my lord had this communication, under this manner. "Master
Secretary," quoth my lord, "ye be welcome home out of Italy; when came
ye from Rome?" "Forsooth," quoth he, "I came home almost a month ago."
"And where," quoth my lord, "have you been ever since?" "Forsooth,"
quoth he, "following the court this progress." "Then have ye hunted,
and had good game and pastime," quoth my lord. "Forsooth, sir," quoth
he, "and so I have, I thank the king's majesty." "What good greyhounds
have ye?" quoth my lord. "I have some, sir," quoth he. And thus in
hunting, and like disports, passed they all their communication at
supper; and after supper my lord and he talked secretly together, till
it was midnight or they departed.

The next morning my lord rose early and rode straight to the court; at
whose coming the king was ready to ride, willing my lord to resort to
the council with the lords in his absence, and said he could not tarry
with him, commanding him to return with Cardinal Campeggio, who had
taken his leave of the king. Whereupon my lord was constrained to take
his leave also of the king, with whom the king departed amiably in the
sight of all men. The king's sudden departing in the morning was by the
special labour of Mistress Anne, who rode with him, only to lead him
about, because he should not return until the cardinals were gone, the
which departed after dinner, returning again towards the Moor[150].

The king rode that morning to view a ground for a new park, which
is called at this day Hartwell Park, where Mistress Anne had made
provision for the king's dinner, fearing his return or the cardinals
were gone.

Then rode my lord and the other cardinal after dinner on their way
homeward, and so came to the monastery of St. Alban's (whereof he
himself was commendatory), and there lay one whole day; and the next
day they rode to the Moor; and from thence the Cardinal Campeggio took
his journey towards Rome, with the king's reward; what it was I am
uncertain. Nevertheless, after his departure, the king was informed
that he carried with him great treasures of my lord's, (conveyed in
great tuns) notable sums of gold and silver to Rome, whither they
surmised my lord would secretly convey himself out of this realm. In so
much that a post was sent speedily after the cardinal to search him;
whom they overtook at Calais[151], where he was stayed until search was
made; there was not so much money found as he received of the king's
reward, and so he was dismissed and went his way.

After Cardinal Campeggio was thus departed and gone, Michaelmas
Term[152] drew near, against the which my lord returned unto his house
at Westminster; and when the Term began, he went to the hall in such
like sort and gesture as he was wont most commonly to do, and sat in
the Chancery, being Chancellor. After which day he never sat there
more. The next day he tarried at home, expecting the coming of the
Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, [who] came not that day; but the next
day they came thither unto him; to whom they declared how the king's
pleasure was that he should surrender and deliver up the great seal
into their hands, and to depart simplily unto Asher[153], a house
situate nigh Hampton Court, belonging to the Bishoprick of Winchester.
My lord understanding their message, demanded of them what commission
they had to give him any such commandment? who answered him again,
that they were sufficient commissioners in that behalf, having the
king's commandment by his mouth so to do. "Yet," quoth he, "that is not
sufficient for me, without farther commandment of the king's pleasure;
for the great seal of England was delivered me by the king's own
person, to enjoy during my life, with the ministration of the office
and high room of chancellorship of England: for my surety whereof,
I have the king's letters patent to show." Which matter was greatly
debated between the dukes and him with many stout words between them;
whose words and checks he took in patience for the time: in so much
that the dukes were fain to depart again without their purpose at that
present; and returned again unto Windsor to the king: and what report
they made I cannot tell; howbeit, the next day they came again from
the king, bringing with them the king's letters. After the receipt and
reading of the same by my lord, which was done with much reverence, he
delivered unto them the great seal[154], contented to obey the king's
high commandment; and seeing that the king's pleasure was to take his
house, with the contents, was well pleased simply to depart to Asher,
taking nothing but only some provision for his house.

[Illustration:

      _Etched by I HARRIS, Jun[^r]._

THE CARDINAL SURRENDERS THE GREAT SEAL TO THE DUKES OF SUFFOLK &
NORFOLK, AND ALL HIS GOODS TO THE KING.

_From a M.S. in the Collection of Francis Douce Esq.[^r] F.S.A._

_Published by Harding, Triphook & Lepard, 1824._]

And after long talk between the dukes and him, they departed, with the
great seal of England, to Windsor, unto the king. Then went my Lord
Cardinal and called all officers in every office in his house before
him, to take account of all such stuff as they had in charge[155]. And
in his gallery there was set divers tables, whereupon a great number of
rich stuffs of silk, in whole pieces, of all colours, as velvet, satin,
damask, caffa, taffeta, grograine, sarcenet, and of other not in my
remembrance; also there lay a thousand pieces of fine holland cloth,
whereof as I heard him say afterward, there was five hundred pieces
thereof, conveyed both from the king and him[156].

Furthermore there was also all the walls of the gallery hanged with
cloth of gold, and tissue of divers makings, and cloth of silver
likewise on both the sides; and rich cloths of baudkin[157], of
divers colours. There also hung the richest suits of copes of his own
provision, (which he caused to be made for his colleges of Oxford
and Ipswich), that ever I saw in England. Then had he two chambers
adjoining to the gallery, the one called the _gilt chamber_, and the
other called, most commonly, the _council chamber_, wherein were set
in each two broad and long tables, upon tressels, whereupon was set
such a number of plate of all sorts, as were almost incredible. In the
_gilt chamber_ was set out upon the tables nothing but all gilt plate;
and a cupboard standing under a window, was garnished all wholly with
plate of clean gold, whereof some was set with pearl and rich stones.
And in the _council chamber_ was set all white plate and parcel gilt;
and under the tables, in both the chambers, were set baskets with
old plate, which was not esteemed but for broken plate and old, not
worthy to be occupied, and books containing the value and weight of
every parcel laid by them ready to be seen; and so was also books set
by all manner of stuff, containing the contents of every thing. Thus
every thing being brought into good order and furnished, he gave the
charge of the delivery thereof unto the king, to every officer within
his office, of such stuff as they had before in charge, by indenture
of every parcel; for the order of his house was such, as that every
officer was charged by indenture with all such parcels as belonged to
their office.

Then all things being ordered as it is before rehearsed, my lord
prepared him to depart by water. And before his departing, he commanded
Sir William Gascoigne, his treasurer, to see these things before
remembered delivered safely to the king at his repair [thither]. That
done, the said Sir William said unto my lord, "Sir, I am sorry for your
grace, for I understand ye shall go straightway to the Tower." "Is this
the good comfort and counsel," quoth my lord, "that ye can give your
master in adversity? It hath been always your natural inclination to be
very light of credit; and much more lighter in reporting of false news.
I would ye should know, Sir William, and all other such blasphemers,
that it is nothing more false than that, for I never (thanks be to
God), deserved by no ways to come there under any arrest, although
it hath pleased the king to take my house ready furnished for his
pleasure at this time. I would all the world knew, and so I confess,
to have nothing, either riches, honour, or dignity, that hath not
grown of him and by him; therefore it is my very duty to surrender the
same to him again as his very own, with all my heart, or else I were
an unkind servant. Therefore go your ways, and give good attendance
unto your charge, that nothing be embezzled." And therewithal he made
him ready to depart, with all his gentlemen and yeomen, which was no
small number, and took his barge at his privy stairs, and so went by
water unto Putney, where all his horses waited his coming. And at the
taking of his barge there was no less than a thousand boats full of men
and women of the city of London, _waffeting_ up and down in Thames,
expecting my lord's departing, supposing that he should have gone
directly from thence to the Tower, whereat they rejoiced, and I dare be
bold to say that the most part never received damage at his hands.

O wavering and new fangled multitude! Is it not a wonder to consider
the inconstant mutability of this uncertain world! The common people
always desiring alterations and novelties of things for the strangeness
of the case; which after turneth them to small profit and commodity.
For if the sequel of this matter be well considered and digested, ye
shall understand that they had small cause to triumph at his fall. What
hath succeeded all wise men doth know, and the common sort of them hath
felt. Therefore to grudge or wonder at it, surely were but folly; to
study a redress, I see not how it can be holpen, for the inclination
and natural disposition of Englishmen is, and hath always been, to
desire alteration of officers, which hath been thoroughly fed with long
continuance in their rooms with sufficient riches and possessions;
and they being put out, then cometh another hungry and a lean officer
in his place, that biteth nearer the bone than the old. So the people
be ever pilled and polled with hungry dogs, through their own desire
of change of new officers, nature hath so wrought in the people, that
it will not be redressed. Wherefore I cannot see but always men in
authority be disdained with the common sort of men; and such most of
all, that justly ministereth equity to all men indifferently. For where
they please some one which receiveth the benefit of the law at [their]
hands according to justice, there doth they in likewise displease the
contrary party, who supposeth to sustain great wrong, where they have
equity and right. Thus all good justices be always in contempt with
some for executing of indifferency. And yet such ministers must be, for
if there should be no ministers of justice the world should run full
of error and abomination, and no good order kept, ne quietness among
the people. There is no good man but he will commend such justices as
dealeth uprightly in their rooms, and rejoice at their continuance and
not at their fall; and whether this be true or no, I put it to the
judgment of all discreet persons. Now let us leave, and begin again
where we left.

When he was with all his train arrived and landed at Putney, he took
his mule, and every man his horse. And setting forth, not past the
length of a pair of garden butts, he espied a man come riding empost
down the hill, in Putney town, demanding of his footmen who they
thought it should be? And they answered again and said, that they
supposed it should be Sir Harry Norris. And by and bye he came to
my lord and saluted him, and said "that the king's majesty had him
commended to his grace, and willed him in any wise to be of good
cheer, for he was as much in his highness' favour as ever he was, and
so shall be." And in token thereof, he delivered him a ring of gold,
with a rich stone, which ring he knew very well, for it was always the
privy token between the king and him whensoever the king would have
any special matter dispatched at his hands. And said furthermore,
"that the king commanded him to be of good cheer, and take no thought,
for he should not lack. And although the king hath dealt with you
unkindly as ye suppose, he saith that it is for no displeasure that
he beareth you, but only to satisfy more the minds of some (which he
knoweth be not your friends), than for any indignation: and also ye
know right well, that he is able to recompense you with twice as much
as your goods amounteth unto; and all this he bade me, that I should
show you, therefore, sir, take patience. And for my part, I trust to
see you in better estate than ever ye were." But when he heard Master
Norris rehearse all the good and comfortable words of the king, he
quickly lighted from off his mule, all alone, as though he had been
the youngest person amongst us, and incontinent kneeled down in the
dirt upon both his knees, holding up his hands for joy. Master Norris
perceiving him so quickly from his mule upon the ground, mused, and
was astonied. And therewith he alighted also, and kneeled by him,
embracing him in his arms, and asked him how he did, calling upon him
to credit his message. "Master Norris," quoth he, "when I consider your
comfortable and joyful news, I can do no less than to rejoice, for the
sudden joy surmounted my memory, having no respect neither to the
place or time, but thought it my very bounden duty to render thanks to
God my maker, and to the king my sovereign lord and master, who hath
sent me such comfort in the very place where I received the same."

And talking with Master Norris upon his knees in the mire, he would
have pulled off his under cap of velvet, but he could not undo the
knot under his chin; wherefore with violence he rent the laces and
pulled it from his head, and so kneeled bare headed. And that done, he
covered again his head, and arose, and would have mounted his mule,
but he could not mount again with such agility as he lighted before,
where his footmen had as much ado to set him in his saddle as they
could have. Then rode he forth up the hill into the town, talking
with Master Norris. And when he came upon Putney Heath, Master Norris
took his leave and would have departed. Then quoth my lord unto him,
"Gentle Norris, if I were lord of a realm, the one half thereof were
insufficient a reward to give you for your pains, and good comfortable
news. But, good Master Norris, consider with me, that I have nothing
left me but my clothes on my back. Therefore I desire you to take this
small reward of my hands;" the which was a little chain of gold, made
like a bottle chain, with a cross of gold hanging thereat, wherein
was a piece of the _Holy Cross_, which he wore continually about his
neck next his skin; and said furthermore, "I assure you, Master Norris,
that when I was in prosperity, although it seem but small in value, yet
I would not gladly have departed with it for the value of a thousand
pounds. Therefore I beseech you to take it in gree, and wear it about
your neck for my sake, and as often as ye shall happen to look upon
it, have me in remembrance to the king's majesty, as opportunity shall
serve you, unto whose Highness and clemency, I desire you to have
[me] most lowly commended; for whose charitable disposition towards
me, I can do nothing but only minister my prayer unto God for the
preservation of his royal estate, long to reign in honour, health,
and quiet life. I am his obedient subject, vassal, and poor chaplain,
and do so intend, God willing, to be during my life, accounting that
of myself I am of no estimation nor of no substance, but only by him
and of him, whom I love better than myself, and have justly and truly
served, to the best of my gross wit." And with that he took Master
Norris by the hand and bade him farewell. And being gone but a small
distance, he returned, and called Master Norris again, and when he was
returned, he said unto him: "I am sorry," quoth he, "that I have no
condign token to send to the king. But if ye would at this my request
present the king with this poor Fool, I trust his highness would
accept him well, for surely for a nobleman's pleasure he is worth a
thousand pounds[158]." So Master Norris took the Fool with him; with
whom my lord was fain to send six of [his] tall yeomen, to conduct
and convey the Fool to the court; for the poor Fool took on and fired
so in such a rage when he saw that he must needs depart from my lord.
Yet notwithstanding they conveyed him with Master Norris to the court,
where the king received him most gladly.

After the departure of Master Norris with his token to the king, my
lord rode straight to Asher, a house appertaining to the Bishoprick of
Winchester, situate within the county of Surrey, not far from Hampton
Court, where my lord and his family continued the space of three or
four weeks, without beds, sheets, table cloths, cups and dishes to
eat our meat, or to lie in. Howbeit, there was good provision of all
kind of victuals, and of drink, both beer and wine, whereof there was
sufficient and plenty. My lord was of necessity compelled to borrow
of the Bishop of Carlisle, and of Sir Thomas Arundell, both dishes
to eat his meat in, and plate to drink in, and also linen cloths to
occupy. And thus continued he in this strange estate until the feast of
All-hallown tide was past[159].

It chanced me upon All-hallown day to come there into the _Great
Chamber_ at Asher, in the morning, to give mine attendance, where I
found Master Cromwell leaning in the great window, with a Primer in his
hand, saying of our Lady mattins; which had been since a very strange
sight[160]. He prayed not more earnestly than the tears distilled
from his eyes. Whom I bade good morrow. And with that I perceived
the tears upon his cheeks. To whom I said, "Why Master Cromwell, what
meaneth all this your sorrow? Is my lord in any danger, for whom ye
lament thus? or is it for any loss that ye have sustained by any
misadventure?"

[Illustration: THOMAS CROMWELL,

EARL OF ESSEX.

ENGRAVED BY E. SCRIVEN, AFTER

THE ORIGINAL PICTURE BY HOLBEIN.

_London, Published Jan. 1, 1825, by Harding, Triphook & Lepard._]

"Nay, nay," quoth he, "it is my unhappy adventure, which am like to
lose all that I have travailed for all the days of my life, for doing
of my master true and diligent service." "Why, sir," quoth I, "I trust
ye be too wise, to commit any thing by my lord's commandment, otherwise
than ye might do of right, whereof ye have any cause to doubt of loss
of your goods." "Well, well," quoth he, "I cannot tell; but all things
I see before mine eyes, is as it is taken; and this I understand
right well, that I am in disdain with most men for my master's sake;
and surely without just cause. Howbeit, an ill name once gotten will
not lightly be put away. I never had any promotion by my lord to the
increase of my living. And thus much will I say to you, that I intend,
God willing, this afternoon, when my lord hath dined, to ride to
London, and so to the court, where I will either make or mar[161], or
I come again. I will put myself in prease[162], to see what any man is
able to lay to my charge of untruth or misdemeanour." "Marry, sir,"
quoth I, "in so doing, in my conceit, ye shall do very well and wisely,
beseeching God to be your guide, and send you good luck, even as I
would myself." And with that I was called into the closet, to see and
prepare all things ready for my lord, who intended that day to say mass
there himself; and so I did.

And then my lord came thither with his chaplain, one Doctor Marshall,
saying first his mattins, and heard two masses on his knees. And then
after he was confessed, he himself said mass. And when he had finished
mass, and all his divine service, returned into his chamber, where he
dined among divers of his doctors, where as Master Cromwell dined also;
and sitting at dinner, it chanced that my lord commended the true and
faithful service of his gentlemen and yeomen. Whereupon Master Cromwell
took an occasion to say to my lord, that in conscience he ought to
consider their truth and loyal service that they did him, in this his
present necessity, which never forsaketh him in all his trouble.

"It shall be well done, therefore," said he, "for your grace to
call before you all these your most worthy gentlemen and right
honest yeomen, and let them understand, that ye right well consider
their patience, truth, and faithfulness; and then give them your
commendation, with good words and thanks, the which shall be to them
great courage to sustain your mishap in patient misery, and to spend
their life and substance in your service."

"Alas, Thomas," quoth my lord unto him, "ye know I have nothing to
give them, and words without deeds be not often well taken. For if I
had but as I have had of late, I would depart with them so frankly
as they should be well content: but nothing hath no savour; and I am
ashamed, and also sorry that I am not able to requite their faithful
service. And although I have cause to rejoice, considering the fidelity
I perceive in the number of my servants, who will not depart from me
in my miserable estate, but be as diligent, obedient, and serviceable
about me as they were in my great triumphant glory, yet do I lament
again the want of substance to distribute among them." "Why, sir,"
quoth Master Cromwell, "have ye not here a number of chaplains, to whom
ye have departed very liberally with spiritual promotions, in so much
as some may dispend, by your grace's preferment, a thousand marks by
the year, and some five hundred marks, and some more, and some less; ye
have no one chaplain within all your house, or belonging unto you, but
he may dispend at the least well (by your procurement and preferment)
three hundred marks yearly, who had all the profit and advantage at
your hands, and other your servants none at all; and yet hath your poor
servants taken much more pains for you in one day than all your idle
chaplains hath done in a year. Therefore if they will not freely and
frankly consider your liberality, and depart with you of the same goods
gotten in your service, now in your great indigence and necessity, it
is pity that they live; and all the world will have them in indignation
and hatred, for their abominable ingratitude to their master and lord."

"I think no less, Thomas," quoth my lord, "wherefore, [I pray you,]
cause all my servants to be called and to assemble without, in my
great chamber, after dinner, and see them stand in order, and I will
declare unto them my mind, according to your advice." After that the
board's end was taken up, Master Cromwell came to me and said, "Heard
you not, what my Lord said even now?" "Yes, sir," quoth I, "that I
did." "Well, then," quoth he, "assemble all my lord's servants up
into the great chamber;" and so I did, and when they were all there
assembled, I assigned all the gentlemen to stand on the right side of
the chamber, and the yeomen on the left side. And at the last my lord
came thither, appareled in a white rochet upon a violet gown of cloth
like a bishop's, who went straight into the great window. Standing
there a while, and his chaplains about him, beholding the number of
his servants divided in two parts, he could not speak unto them for
tenderness of his heart; the flood of tears that distilled from his
eyes declared no less: the which perceived by his servants, caused the
fountains of water to gush out of their faithful hearts down their
cheeks, in such abundance as it would cause a cruel heart to lament.
At the last, after he had turned his face to the wall, and wiped his
eyes with his handkerchief, he spake to them after this sort in effect:
"Most faithful gentlemen and true hearted yeomen, I do not only lament
[to see] your persons present about me, but I do lament my negligent
ingratitude towards you all on my behalf, in whom hath been a great
default, that in my prosperity [I] have not done for you so much as I
might have done, either in word or deed, which was then in my power to
do: but then I knew not my jewels and special treasures that I had of
you my faithful servants in my house; but now approved experience hath
taught me, and with the eyes of my discretion, which before were hid, I
do perceive well the same. There was never thing that repented me more
that ever I did than doth the remembrance of my oblivious negligence
and ungentleness, that I have not promoted or preferred you to condign
rooms and preferments, according to your demerits. Howbeit, it is
not unknown to you all, that I was not so well furnished of temporal
advancements, as I was of spiritual preferments. And if I should have
promoted you to any of the king's offices and rooms, then should I have
incurred the indignation of the king's servants, who would not much let
to report in every place behind my back, that there could no office
or room in the king's gift escape the cardinal and his servants, and
thus should I incur the obloquy and slander before the whole world.
But now it is come to this pass, that it hath pleased the king to
take all that ever I have into his possession, so that I have nothing
left me but my bare clothes upon my back, the which be but simple in
comparison to those that ye have seen me have or this: howbeit, if
they may do you any good or pleasure, I would not stick to divide them
among you, yea, and the skin of my back, if it might countervail any
thing in value among you. But, good gentlemen and yeomen, my trusty and
faithful servants, of whom no prince hath the like, in my opinion, I
most heartily require you to take with me some patience a little while,
for I doubt not but that the king, considering the offence suggested
against me by my mortal enemies, to be of small effect, will shortly, I
doubt not, restore me again to my living, so that I shall be more able
to divide some part thereof yearly among you, whereof ye shall be well
assured. For the surplusage of my revenues, whatsoever shall remain at
the determination of my accompts, shall be, God willing, distributed
among you. For I will never hereafter esteem the goods and riches of
this uncertain world but as a vain thing, more than shall be sufficient
for the maintenance of mine estate and dignity, that God hath or shall
call me unto in this world during my life. And if the king do not thus
shortly restore me, then will I see you bestowed according to your
own requests, and write for you, either to the king, or to any other
noble person within this realm, to retain you into service; for I
doubt not but the king, or any noble man, or worthy gentleman of this
realm, will credit my letter in your commendation. Therefore, in the
mean time, mine advice is, that ye repair home to your wives, such
as have any: and such among you as hath none, to take this time to
visit your parents and friends in the country. There is none of you
all, but once in a year would require licence to visit your wives and
other of your friends: take this time, I pray you, in respect thereof,
and at your return I will not refuse you, if I should beg with you.
I consider that the service of my house hath been such, and of such
sort, that ye be not meet or apt to serve [any] man under the degree
of a king; therefore I would wish you to serve no man but the king,
who I am sure will not reject you. Therefore I desire you to take your
pleasures for a month, and then ye may come again unto me, and I trust
by that time, the king's majesty will extend his clemency upon me."
"Sir," quoth Master Cromwell, "there is divers of these your yeomen,
that would be glad to see their friends, but they lack money: therefore
here is divers of your chaplains who have received at your hands great
benefices and high dignities; let them therefore now show themselves
unto you as they are bound by all humanity to do. I think their
honesty and charity is not so slender and void of grace that they would
not see you lack where they may help to refresh you. And for my part,
although I have not received of your grace's gift one penny towards the
increase of my yearly living, yet will I depart with you this towards
the dispatch of your servants," and [therewith] delivered him five
pounds in gold. "And now let us see what your chaplains will do. I
think they will depart with you much more than I have done, who be more
able to give you a pound than I one penny." "Go to, masters," quoth he
to the chaplains: in so much as some gave to him ten pounds, some ten
marks, some a hundred shillings, and so some more and some less, as at
that time their powers did extend; whereby my lord received among them
as much money of their liberality as he gave to each of his yeomen a
quarter's wages, and board wages for a month; and they departed down
into the hall, where some determined to go to their friends, and some
said that they would not depart from my lord until they might see him
in better estate. My lord returned into his chamber lamenting the
departure from his servants, making his moan unto Master Cromwell, who
comforted him the best he could, and desired my lord to give him leave
to go to London, where he would either make or mar or he came again,
which was always his common saying. Then after long communication with
my lord in secret, he departed and took his horse, and rode to London,
at whose departing I was by, whom he bade farewell; and said, "ye shall
hear shortly of me, and if I speed well, I will not fail to be here
again within these two days." And so I took my leave of him, and he
rode forth on his journey. Sir Rafe Sadler, (now knight), was then his
clerk, and rode with him.

After that my lord had supped that night, and all men gone to bed,
(being All-hallown day), it chanced so, about midnight, that one of
the porters came unto my chamber door, and there knocked, and waking
me, I perceived who it was; [and] asked him, "what he would have that
time of the night?" "Sir," quoth the porter, "there is a great number
of horsemen at the gate, that would come in, saying to me, that it is
Sir John Russell, and so it appears to me by his voice; what is your
pleasure that I should do?" "Marry," quoth I, "go down again, and make
a great fire in your lodge, against I come to dry them;" for it rained
all that night the sorest that it did all that year before. Then I
rose and put on my nightgown, and came to the gates, and asked who was
there. With that Master Russell spake, whom I knew by his voice, and
then I caused the porter to open the gates and let them all in, who
were wet to the skin; desiring Master Russell to go into the lodge to
the fire; and he showed me that he was come from the king unto my lord
in message, with whom he required me to speak. "Sir," quoth I, "I trust
your news be good?" "Yea, I promise you on my fidelity," quoth he,
"and so, I pray you, show him, I have brought him such news that will
please him right well." "Then I will go," quoth I, "and wake him, and
cause him to rise." I went incontinent to my lord's chamber door, and
waked my lord, who asked me, "what I would have?" "Sir," said I, "to
show you that Sir John Russell is come from the king, who is desirous
to speak with you;" and then he called up one of his grooms to let me
in; and being within I told him "what a journey Sir John Russell had
that night." "I pray God," quoth he, "all be for the best." "Yes, sir,"
quoth I, "he showed me, and so bade me tell you, that he had brought
you such news as ye would greatly rejoice thereat." "Well, then," quoth
he, "God be praised, and welcome be his grace! Go ye and fetch him unto
me, and by that time I will be ready to talk with him."

Then I returned from him to the lodge, and brought Master Russell from
thence to my lord, who had cast on his nightgown. And when Master
Russell was come into his presence, he most humbly reverenced him,
upon his knee, [to] whom my lord bowed down, and took him up, and bade
him welcome. "Sir," quoth he, "the king commendeth him unto you;" and
delivered him a great ring of gold with a Turkis, for a token; "and
willeth you to be of good cheer; who loveth you as well as ever he did,
and is not a little disquieted for your troubles, whose mind is full
of your remembrance. In so much as his grace, before he sat to supper,
called me unto him, and commanded me to take this journey secretly to
visit you, to your comfort the best of my power. And Sir, if it please
your grace, I have had this night the sorest journey, for so little a
way, that ever I had to my remembrance."

My lord thanked him for his pains and good news, and demanded of him
if he had supped; and he said "Nay." "Well, then," quoth my lord to
me, "cause the cooks to provide some meat for him; and cause a chamber
with a good fire to be made ready for him, that he may take his rest
awhile upon a bed." All which commandment I fulfilled; and in the
meantime my lord and Master Russell were in very secret communication;
and in fine, Master Russell went to his chamber, taking his leave of
my lord for all night, and said, "he would not tarry but a while, for
he would, God willing, be at the court at Greenwich again before day,
for he would not for any thing that it were known, his being with my
lord that night." And so being in his chamber, having a small repast,
rested him a while upon a bed, whilst his servants supped and dried
themselves by the fire; and then incontinent he rode away with speed
to the court. And shortly after his being there, my lord was restored
again unto plenty of household stuff, vessels, and plate, and of all
things necessary some part, so that he was indifferently furnished much
better than he was of late, and yet not so abundantly as the king's
pleasure was, the default whereof was in the officers, and in such as
had the oversight of the delivery thereof; and yet my lord rejoiced in
that little in comparison to that he had before.

Now let us return again to Master Cromwell, to see how he hath sped,
since his departure last from my lord. The case stood so, that there
should begin, shortly after All-hallown tide, the Parliament, and [he],
being within London, devised with himself to be one of the Burgesses
of the Parliament, and chanced to meet with one Sir Thomas Rush,
knight, a special friend of his, whose son was appointed to be one of
the Burgesses of that Parliament, of whom he obtained his room, and
by that means put his foot into the Parliament House: then within two
or three days after his entry into the Parliament, he came unto my
lord, to Asher, with a much pleasanter countenance than he had at his
departure, and meeting with me before he came to my lord, said unto
me, "that he had once adventured to put in his foot, where he trusted
shortly to be better regarded, or all were done." And when he was come
to my lord, they talked together in secret manner; and that done, he
rode out of hand again that night to London, because he would not be
absent from the Parliament the next morning. There could nothing be
spoken against my lord in the Parliament House but he would answer
it incontinent, or else take until the next day, against which time
he would resort to my lord to know what answer he should make in his
behalf; in so much that there was no matter alleged against my lord but
that he was ever ready furnished with a sufficient answer; so that at
length, for his honest behaviour in his master's cause, he grew into
such estimation in every man's opinion, that he was esteemed to be the
most faithfullest servant to his master of all other, wherein he was of
all men greatly commended.

Then was there brought in a Bill of Articles into the Parliament House
to have my lord condemned of treason; against which bill Master
Cromwell inveighed so discreetly, with such witty persuasions and deep
reasons, that the same bill could take there no effect[163]. Then
were his enemies compelled to indite him in a _premunire_, and all
was done only to the intent to entitle the king to all his goods and
possessions, the which he had gathered together, and purchased for
his colleges in Oxford and Ipswich, and for the maintenance of the
same, which was then abuilding in most sumptuous wise. Wherein when
he was demanded by the judges, which were sent [to] him purposely to
examine him what answer he would make to the same, he said: "The king's
highness knoweth right well whether I have offended his majesty and his
laws or no, in using of my prerogative legatine, for the which ye have
me indited. Notwithstanding I have the king's license in my coffers,
under his hand and broad seal, for exercising and using the authority
thereof, in the largest wise, within his highness' dominions, the which
remaineth now in the hands of my enemies. Therefore, because I will not
stand in question or trial with the king in his own cause, I am content
here of mine own frank will and mind, in your presence, to confess the
offence in the inditement, and put me wholly in the mercy and grace
of the king, having no doubt in his godly disposition and charitable
conscience, whom I know hath an high discretion to consider the truth,
and my humble submission and obedience. And although I might justly
stand on the trial with him therein; yet I am content to submit myself
to his clemency, and thus much ye may say to him in my behalf, that I
am entirely in his obedience, and do intend, God willing, to obey and
fulfil all his princely pleasure in every thing that he will command me
to do; whose will and pleasure I never yet disobeyed or repugned, but
was always contented and glad to accomplish his desire and commandment
before God, whom I ought most rathest to [have] obeyed; the which
negligence now greatly repenteth me. Notwithstanding, I most heartily
require you, to have me most humbly to his royal majesty commended, for
whom I do and will pray for the preservation of his royal person, long
to reign in honour, prosperity, and quietness, and to have the victory
over his mortal and cankered enemies." And they took their leave of him
and departed.

Shortly after the king sent the Duke of Norfolk unto him in message;
but what it was I am not certain. But my Lord being advertised that the
duke was coming even at hand, he caused all his gentlemen to wait upon
him down through the Hall into the Base Court, to receive the duke at
the entry of the gates; and commanded all his yeomen to stand still in
the Hall in order. And he and his gentlemen went to the gates, where he
encountered with my Lord of Norfolk, whom he received bareheaded; who
embraced each other: and so led him by the arm through the Hall into
his chamber. And as the duke passed through the Hall, at the upper end
thereof he turned again his visage down the Hall, regarding the number
of the tall yeomen that stood in order there, and said: "Sirs," quoth
he, "your diligent and faithful service unto my lord here your master,
in this time of his calamity, hath purchased for yourselves of all
noble men much honesty; in so much as the king commanded me to say to
you in his grace's name, that, for your true and loving service that
ye have done to your master, his highness will see you all furnished
at all times with services according to your demerits." With that my
Lord Cardinal put off his cap, and said to my Lord of Norfolk; "Sir,"
quoth he, "these men be all approved men: wherefore it were pity they
should want other service or living; and being sorry that I am not able
to do for them as my heart doth wish, do therefore require you, my good
lord, to be good lord unto them, and extend your good word for them,
when ye shall see opportunity at any time hereafter; and that ye will
prefer their diligent and faithful service to the king." "Doubt ye not
thereof," quoth my Lord of Norfolk, "but I will do for them the best of
my power: and when I shall see cause, I will be an earnest suitor for
them to the king; and some of you I will retain myself in service for
your honesty's sake. And as ye have begun, so continue and remain here
still with my lord until ye hear more of the king's pleasure:--God's
blessing and mine be with you!" And so went up into the great chamber
to dinner, whom my Lord Cardinal thanked, and said unto him, "Yet, my
lord, of all other noble men, I have most cause to thank you for your
noble heart and gentle nature, which ye have showed me behind my back,
as my servant, Thomas Cromwell, hath made report unto me. But even as
ye are a noble man in deed, so have ye showed yourself no less to all
men in calamity, and in especial to me, and even as ye have abated my
glory and high estate, and brought it full low, so have ye extended
your honourable favour most charitably unto me, being prostrate before
you. Forsooth, Sir, ye do right well deserve to bear in your arms the
noble and gentle lion, whose natural inclination is, that when he hath
vanquished any beast, and seeth him yielded, lying prostrate before him
at his feet, then will he show most clemency unto his vanquished, and
do him no more harm, ne suffer any other devouring beast to damage him:
whose nature and quality ye do ensue; therefore these verses may be
applied to your lordship:

    _Parcere prostratis scit nobilis ira leonis:
    Ta quoque fac simile, quisquis regnabis in orbem._"

With that the water was brought them to wash before dinner, to the
which my lord called my Lord of Norfolk to wash with him: but he
refused of courtesy, and desired to have him excused, and said "that
it became him not to presume to wash with him any more now, than it
did before[164] in his glory." "Yes, forsooth," quoth my Lord Cardinal,
"for my authority and dignity legatine is gone, wherein consisted
all my high honour." "A straw," quoth my Lord of Norfolk, "for your
legacy. I never esteemed your honour the more or higher for that. But
I regarded your honour, for that ye were Archbishop of York, and a
cardinal, whose estate of honour surmounteth any duke now being within
this realm; and so will I honour you, and acknowledge the same, and
bear you reverence accordingly. Therefore, I beseech you, content
yourself, for I will not presume to wash with you; and therefore I pray
you, hold me excused." Then was my Lord Cardinal constrained to wash
alone; and my Lord of Norfolk all alone also. When he had done, my Lord
Cardinal would fain have had him to sit down on the chair, in the
inner side of the table, but surely he refused the same also with much
humbleness. Then was there set another chair for my Lord of Norfolk,
over against my Lord Cardinal, on the outside of the table, the which
was by my Lord of Norfolk based something beneath my lord, and during
the dinner all their communication was of the diligent service of the
gentlemen which remained with my lord there attending upon him at
dinner, and how much the king and all other noble men doth esteem them
with worthy commendations for so doing; and at this time how little
they be esteemed in the court that are come to the king's service, and
[have] forsaken their master in his necessity; whereof some he blamed
by name. And with this communication, the dinner being ended, they rose
from the table, and went together into my lord's bedchamber, where they
continued in consultation a certain season. And being there, it chanced
Master Shelley, the judge, to come thither, sent from the king; whereof
relation was made to my lord, which caused the duke and him to break up
their communication; and the duke desired to go into some chamber to
repose him for a season. And as he was coming out of my lord's chamber,
he met with Master Shelley, to whom Master Shelley made relation of the
cause of his coming, and desired the duke to tarry and to assist him
in doing of his message; whom he denied and said, "I have nothing to
do with your message, wherein I will not meddle;" and so departed into
a chamber, where he took his rest for an hour or two. And in the mean
time my lord issued out of his chamber, and came to Master Shelley to
know his message. Who declared unto him, after due salutation, that the
king's pleasure was to have his house at Westminster, (then called York
Place, belonging to the Bishoprick of York,) intending to make of that
house a palace royal; and to possess the same according to the laws
of this his grace's realm. His highness hath therefore sent for all
the judges, and for all his learned counsel, to know their opinions in
the assurance thereof; in whose determinations it was fully resolved,
that your grace should recognise, before a judge, the right thereof
to be in the king and his successors; and so his highness shall be
assured thereof. Wherefore it hath pleased his majesty to appoint me
by his commandment to come hither, to take of you this recognisance,
who hath in you such affiance, that ye will not refuse so to do
accordingly. Therefore I shall desire your grace to know your good will
therein."--"Master Shelley," quoth my lord, "I know that the king of
his own nature is of a royal stomach, and yet not willing more than
justice shall lead him unto by the law. And therefore, I counsel you,
and all other fathers of the law and learned men of his counsel, to put
no more into his head than the law may stand with good conscience; for
when ye tell him, this is the law, it were well done ye should tell
him also that, although _this_ be the law, yet _this_ is conscience;
for law without conscience is not good to be given unto a king in
counsel to use for a lawful right, but always to have a respect to
conscience, before the rigour of the common law, for _laus est facere
quod decet, non quod licet_. The king ought of his royal dignity and
prerogative to mitigate the rigour of the law, where conscience hath
the most force; therefore, in his royal place of equal justice, he hath
constitute a chancellor, an officer to execute justice with clemency,
where conscience is opposed by the rigour of the law. And therefore the
Court of Chancery hath been heretofore commonly called the Court of
Conscience; because it hath jurisdiction to command the high ministers
of the common law to spare execution and judgment, where conscience
hath most effect. Therefore I say to you in this case, although you,
and other of your profession, perceive by your learning that the king
may, by an order of your laws, lawfully do that thing which ye demand
of me; how say you, Master Shelley, may I do it with justice and
conscience, to give that thing away from me and my successors which is
none of mine? If this be law, with conscience, show me your opinion,
I pray you." "Forsooth, my lord," quoth he, "there is some conscience
in this case; but having regard to the king's high power, and to be
employed to a better use and purpose, it may the better be suffered
with conscience; who is sufficient to make recompense to the church of
York with double the value." "That I know well," quoth my lord, "but
here is no such condition neither promised nor agreed, but only a bare
and simple departure with another's right for ever. And if every bishop
may do the like, then might every prelate give away the patrimony of
their churches which is none of theirs; and so in process of time
leave nothing for their successors to maintain their dignities, which,
all things considered, should be but small to the king's honour. Sir,
I do not intend to stand in terms with you in this matter, but let
me see your commission." To whom Master Shelley showed the same, and
that seen, and perceived by him, said again thus: "Master Shelley,"
quoth he, "ye shall make report to the king's highness, that I am
his obedient subject, and faithful chaplain and beadman, whose royal
commandment and request I will in no wise disobey, but most gladly
fulfil and accomplish his princely will and pleasure in all things,
and in especial in this matter, in as much as ye, the fathers of the
laws, say that I may lawfully do it. Therefore I charge your conscience
and discharge mine. Howbeit, I pray you, show his majesty from me,
that I most humbly desire his highness to call to his most gracious
remembrance, that there is both heaven and hell." And therewith the
clerk was called, who wrote my lord's recognisance[165], and after some
secret talk Master Shelley departed. Then rose my Lord of Norfolk from
his repose, and after some communication with my lord he departed.

Thus continued my lord at Asher, who received daily messages from the
court, whereof some were not so good as some were bad, but yet much
more evil than good. For his enemies, perceiving the great affection
that the king bare always towards him, devised a mean to disquiet and
disturb his patience; thinking thereby to give him an occasion to fret
and chafe, that death should rather ensue than increase of health or
life, the which they most desired. They feared him more after his fall
than they did before in his prosperity, doubting much his re-adoption
into authority, by reason that the king's favour remained still towards
him in such force, whereby they might rather be in danger of their
estates, than in any assurance, for their cruelty ministered, by their
malicious inventions, surmised and brought to pass against him.

Therefore they took this order among them in their matters, that
daily they would send him something, or do something against him,
wherein they thought that they might give him a cause of heaviness or
lamentation. As some day they would cause the king to send for four or
five of his gentlemen from him to serve the king: and some other day
they would lay matters newly invented against him. Another day they
would take from him some of his promotions; or of their promotions whom
he [had] preferred before. Then would they fetch from him some of his
yeomen; in so much as the king took into service sixteen of them at
once, and at one time put them into his guard. This order of life he
led continually; that there was no one day but, or ever he went to bed,
he had an occasion greatly to chafe or fret the heart out of his belly,
but that he was a wise man, and bare all their malice in patience[166].

At Christmas he fell sore sick, that he was likely to die. Whereof
the king being advertised, was very sorry therefore, and sent Doctor
Buttes, his grace's physician, unto him, to see in what estate he
was. Doctor Buttes came unto him, and finding him very sick lying in
his bed; and perceiving the danger he was in repaired again unto the
king. Of whom the king demanded, saying, "How doth yonder man, have
you seen him?" "Yea, sir," quoth he. "How do you like him?" quoth the
king. "Forsooth, sir," quoth he, "if you will have him dead, I warrant
your grace he will be dead within these four days, if he receive no
comfort from you shortly, and Mistress Anne." "Marry," quoth the king,
"God forbid that he should die. I pray you, good Master Buttes, go
again unto him, and do your cure upon him; for I would not lose him
for twenty thousand pounds." "Then must your grace," quoth Master
Buttes, "send him first some comfortable message, as shortly as is
possible." "Even so will I," quoth the king, "by you. And therefore
make speed to him again, and ye shall deliver him from me this ring for
a token of our good will and favour towards him, (in the which ring was
engraved the king's visage within a ruby, as lively counterfeit as was
possible to be devised). This ring he knoweth very well; for he gave
me the same; and tell him, that I am not offended with him in my heart
nothing at all, and that shall he perceive, and God send him life, very
shortly. Therefore bid him be of good cheer, and pluck up his heart,
and take no despair. And I charge you come not from him, until ye have
brought him out of all danger of death." And then spake he to Mistress
Anne, saying, "Good sweetheart, I pray you at this my instance, as ye
love us, to send the cardinal a token with comfortable words; and in
so doing ye shall do us a loving pleasure." She being not minded to
disobey the king's earnest request, whatsoever she intended in her
heart towards the cardinal; took incontinent her tablet of gold hanging
at her girdle, and delivered it to Master Buttes, with very gentle and
comfortable words and commendations to the cardinal. And thus Master
Buttes departed, and made speedy return to Asher, to my Lord Cardinal;
after whom the king sent Doctor Clement, Doctor Wotton, and Doctor
Cromer the Scot, to consult and assist Master Buttes for my lord's
health.

After that Master Buttes had been with my lord, and delivered
the king's and Mistress Anne's tokens unto him, with the most
comfortable words he could devise on their behalf, whereat he
rejoiced not a little, advancing him a little in his bed, and received
their tokens most joyfully, thanking Master Buttes for his comfortable
news and pains. Master Buttes showed him furthermore, that the king's
pleasure was, that he should minister unto him for his health: and to
join with him for the better and most assured and brief ways, to be
had for the same, hath sent Doctor Wotton, Doctor Clement, and Doctor
Cromer, to join with him in counsel and ministration. "Therefore,
my lord," quoth he, "it were well done that they should be called
in to visit your person and estate, wherein I would be glad to hear
their opinions, trusting in Almighty God that, through his grace and
assistance, we shall ease you of your pains, and rid you clean from
your disease and infirmity. Wherewith my lord was well pleased and
contented to hear their judgments; for indeed he trusted more to the
Scottish doctor than he did to any of the other, because he was the
very occasion that he inhabited here in England, and before he gave
him partly his exhibition in Paris. Then when they were come into
his chamber, and had talked with him, he took upon him to debate his
disease learnedly among them, so that they might understand that he was
seen in that art. After they had taken order for ministration, it was
not long or they brought him out of all danger and fear of death; and
within four days they set him on his feet, and got him a good stomach
to his meat[167]. This done, and he in a good estate of amendment,
they took their leave to depart, to whom my lord offered his reward;
the which they refused, saying, that the king gave them in special
commandment, to take nothing of him for their pains and ministration;
for at their return his highness said that he would reward them of his
own costs: and thus with great thanks they departed from my lord, whom
they left in good estate of recovery.

[Illustration: _Etched by I. Harris, Jun._

D^R. BUTTS SENT BY THE KING TO THE SICK CARDINAL WITH TOKENS OF FAVOUR.

_From a M.S. in the Collection of Francis Douce Esq^r. F.S.A._

_Published by Harding, Triphook, & Lepard. 1824._]

After this time my lord daily amended, and so continued still at Asher
until Candlemas; against which feast, the king caused to be sent him
three or four cart loads of stuff, and most part thereof was locked in
great standards, (except beds and kitchen-stuff,) wherein was both
plate and rich hangings, and chapel-stuff[168]. Then my lord, being
thus furnished, was therewith well contented; although they whom the
king assigned did not deliver him so good, ne so rich stuff, as the
king's pleasure was, yet was he joyous thereof, and rendered most
humble thanks to the king, and to them that appointed the said stuff
for him, saying to us his servants, at the opening of the same stuff in
the standards, the which we thought, and said, might have been better
appointed if it had pleased them that appointed it: "Nay, sirs," quoth
my lord to us, "he that hath nothing is glad of somewhat, though it
be never so little, and although it be not in comparison half so much
and good as we had before, yet we rejoice more of this little than we
did of the great abundance that we then had; and thank the king very
much for the same, trusting after this to have much more. Therefore let
us all rejoice, and be glad, that God and the king hath so graciously
remembered to restore us to some things to maintain our estate like a
noble person."

Then commanded he Master Cromwell, being with him, to make suit to the
king's majesty, that he might remove thence to some other place, for
he was weary of that house of Asher: for with continual use thereof
the house waxed unsavoury; supposing that if he might remove from
thence he should much sooner recover his health. And also the council
had put into the king's head, that the new gallery at Asher, which my
lord had late before his fall newly set up, should be very necessary
for the king, to take down and set it up again at Westminster; which
was done accordingly, and stands at this present day there[169]. The
taking away thereof before my lord's face was to him a corrosive,
which was invented by his enemies only to torment him, the which
indeed discouraged him very sore to tarry any longer there. Now Master
Cromwell thought it but vain and much folly to move any of the king's
council to assist and prefer his suit to the king, among whom rested
the number of his mortal enemies, for they would rather hinder his
removing, or else remove him farther from the king, than to have holpen
him to any place nigh the king's common trade; wherefore he refused
any suit to them, and made only suit to the king's own person; whose
suit the king graciously heard, and thought it very convenient to be
granted; and through the special motion of Master Cromwell, the king
was well contented that he should remove to Richmond, which place my
lord had a little before repaired to his great cost and charge; for the
king had made an exchange thereof with him for Hampton Court. All this
his removing was done without the knowledge of the king's council, for
if they might have had any intelligence thereof before, then would they
have persuaded the king to the contrary: but when they were advertised
of the king's grant and pleasure, they dissimuled their countenances
in the king's presence, for they were greatly afraid of him, lest his
nigh being, the king might at length some one time resort to him, and
so call him home again, considering the great affection and love that
the king daily showed towards him; wherefore they doubted his rising
again, if they found not a mean to remove him shortly from the king.
In so much that they thought it convenient for their purpose to inform
the king upon certain considerations which they invented, that it
were very necessary that my lord should go down into the North unto
his benefice of York, where he should be a good stay for the country;
to the which the king, supposing that they had meant no less than
good faith, granted and condescended to their suggestions; which were
forced so with wonderful imagined considerations, that the king,
understanding nothing of their intent, was lightly persuaded to the
same. Whereupon the Duke of Norfolk commanded Master Cromwell, who
had daily access unto him, to say to my lord, that it is the king's
pleasure that he should with speed go to his benefice, where lieth his
cure, and look to that according to his duty. Master Cromwell at his
next repair to my lord, who lay then at Richmond, declared unto him
what my Lord of Norfolk said, how it was determined that he should go
to his benefice. "Well then, Thomas," quoth my lord, "seeing there is
no other remedy, I do intend to go to my benefice of Winchester, and
I pray you, Thomas, so show my Lord of Norfolk." "Contented, sir,"
quoth Master Cromwell, and according to his commandment did so. To the
which my Lord of Norfolk answered and said, "What will he do there?"
"Nay," quoth he, "let him go into his province of York, whereof he
hath received his honour, and there lieth the spiritual burden and
charge of his conscience, as he ought to do, and so show him." The
lords, who were not all his friends, having intelligence of his intent,
thought to withdraw his appetite from Winchester, and would in no wise
permit him to plant himself so nigh the king: [they] moved therefore
the king to give my lord but a pension[170] out of Winchester, and to
distribute all the rest among the nobility and other of his worthy
servants; and in likewise to do the same with the revenues of St.
Albans; and of the revenues of his colleges in Oxford and Ipswich, the
which the king took into his own hands; whereof Master Cromwell had the
receipt and government before by my lord's assignment. In consideration
thereof it was thought most convenient that he should have so still.
Notwithstanding, out of the revenues of Winchester and St. Albans the
king gave to some one nobleman three hundred marks, and to some a
hundred pounds, and to some more and to some less, according to the
king's royal pleasure. Now Master Cromwell executed his office, the
which he had over the lands of the college, so justly and exactly that
he was had in great estimation for his witty behaviour therein, and
also for the true, faithful, and diligent service extended towards my
lord his master.

It came at length so to pass that those to whom the king's majesty had
given any annuities or fees for term of life by patent out of the
forenamed revenues could not be good, but [only] during my lord's life,
forasmuch as the king had no longer estate or title therein[171], which
came to him by reason of my lord's attainder in the premunire; and to
make their estates good and sufficient according to their patents, it
was thought necessary to have my lord's confirmation unto their grants.
And this to be brought about, there was no other mean but to make suit
to Master Cromwell to obtain their confirmation at my lord's hands,
whom they thought might best obtain the same.

Then began both noblemen and other who had any patents of the king,
out either of Winchester or St. Albans, to make earnest suit to Master
Cromwell for to solicit their causes to my lord, to get of him his
confirmations; and for his pains therein sustained, they promised
every man, not only worthily to reward him, but also to show him such
pleasures as should at all times lie in their several powers, whereof
they assured him. Wherein Master Cromwell perceiving an occasion and
a time given him to work for himself, and to bring the thing to pass
which he long wished for; intended to work so in this matter, to serve
their desires, that he might the sooner bring his own enterprise to
purpose.

Then at his next resort to my lord, he moved him privily in this matter
to have his counsel and his advice, and so by their witty heads it
was devised that they should work together by one line, to bring by
their policies Master Cromwell in place and estate, where he might do
himself good and my lord much profit. Now began matters to work to
bring Master Cromwell into estimation in such sort as was afterwards
much to his increase of dignity; and thus every man, having an occasion
to sue for my lord's confirmation, made now earnest travail to Master
Cromwell for these purposes, who refused none to make promise that he
would do his best in that case. And having a great occasion of access
to the king for the disposition of divers lands, whereof he had the
order and governance; by means whereof, and by his witty demeanour,
he grew continually into the king's favour, as ye shall hear after in
this history. But first let us resort to the great business about the
assurance of all these patents which the king hath given to divers
noblemen and other of his servants, wherein Master Cromwell made a
continuance of great suit to my lord for the same, that in process of
time he served all their turns so that they had their purposes, and he
their good wills. Thus rose his name and friendly acceptance with all
men. The fame of his honesty and wisdom sounded so in the king's ears
that, by reason of his access to the king, he perceived to be in him no
less wisdom than fame had made of him report, forasmuch as he had the
government and receipts of those lands which I showed you before; and
the conference that he had with the king therein enforced the king to
repute him a very wise man, and a meet instrument to serve his grace,
as it after came to pass.

Sir, now the lords thought long to remove my lord farther from the
king, and out of his common trade; wherefore among other of the lords,
my Lord of Norfolk said to Master Cromwell, "Sir," quoth he, "me
thinketh that the cardinal your master maketh no haste northward; show
him, that if he go not away shortly, I will, rather than he should
tarry still, tear him with my teeth. Therefore I would advise him
to prepare him away as shortly as he can, or else he shall be sent
forward." These words Master Cromwell reported to my lord at his next
repair unto him, who then had a just occasion to resort to him for the
dispatch of the noblemen's and others' patents. And here I will leave
of this matter, and show you of my lord's being at Richmond.

My lord, having license of the king to repair and remove to Richmond,
made haste to prepare him thitherward; and so he came and lodged
within the great park there, which was a very pretty house and a neat,
lacking no necessary rooms that to so small a house was convenient and
necessary; where was to the same a very proper garden garnished with
divers pleasant walks and alleys: my lord continued in this lodge from
the time that he came thither, shortly after Candlemas, until it was
Lent, with a privy number of servants, because of the smallness of the
house, and the rest of his family went to board wages.

I will tell you a certain tale by the way of communication. Sir, as
my lord was accustomed towards night to walk in the garden there,
to say his service, it was my chance then to wait upon him there;
and standing still in an alley, whilst he in another walked with his
chaplain, saying of his service; as I stood, I espied certain images
of beasts counterfeit in timber, standing in a corner under the lodge
wall, to the which I repaired to behold. Among whom I saw there a dun
cow, whereon I mused most, because it seemed me to be the most lively
entaylled[172] among all the rest. My lord being, as I said, walking
on the other side of the garden, perceived me, came suddenly upon me
at my back, unawares, [and] said: "What have you espied here, that
you so attentively look upon?" "Forsooth, if it please your grace,"
quoth I, "here I do behold these entaylled images; the which I suppose
were ordained for to be set up within some place about the king's
palace: howbeit, sir, among them all, I have most considered the dun
cow, [in] the which (as it seemeth me) the workman has most apertly
showed his cunning." "Yea, marry, sir," quoth my lord, "upon this
dun cow dependeth a certain prophecy, the which I will show you, for
peradventure ye never heard of it before. There is a saying," quoth he,
"that

    "When this cow rideth the bull,
    Then, priest, beware thy scull."

[Of] which prophecy neither my lord that declared it, ne I that heard
it, understood the effect; although that even then it was a-working to
be brought to pass. For this cow the king gave as one of his beasts
appertaining of antiquity unto his earldom of Richmond, which was his
ancient inheritance; this prophecy was after expounded in this wise.
This dun cow, because it was the king's beast, betokened the king;
and the bull betokened Mistress Anne Boleyn, which was after queen,
because that her father, Sir Thomas Boleyn, gave the same beast in
his cognisance. So that when the king had married her, the which was
then unknown to my lord, or to any other at that time, then was this
prophecy thought of all men to be fulfilled. For what a number of
priests, both religious and secular, lost their heads for offending
of such laws as were then made to bring this [marriage] to effect, is
not unknown to all the world. Therefore it was judged of all men that
this prophecy was then fulfilled when the king and she were joined in
marriage. Now, how dark and obscure riddles and prophecies be, you may
behold in this same: for before it was brought to pass there was not
the wisest prophesier could perfectly discuss it, as it is now come
to effect and purpose. Trust therefore, by mine advice, to no kind of
dark riddles and prophecies, wherein ye may, as many have been, be
deceived, and brought to destruction. And many times the imaginations
and travailous business to avoid such dark and strange prophecies, hath
been the very occasion to bring the same the sooner to effect and
perfection. Therefore let men beware to divine or assure themselves
to expound any such prophecies, for who so doeth shall first deceive
themselves, and, secondly, bring many into error; the experience hath
been lately experienced, the more pity. But if men will needs think
themselves so wise, to be assured of such blind prophecies, and will
work their wills therein, either in avoiding or in fulfilling the
same, God send him well to speed, for he may as well, and much more
sooner, take damage than avoid the danger thereof! Let prophecies
alone, a God's name, apply your vocation, and commit the exposition
of such dark riddles and obscure prophecies to God, that disposeth
them as his divine pleasure shall see cause to alter and change all
your enterprises and imaginations to nothing, and deceive all your
expectations, and cause you to repent your great folly, the which when
ye feel the smart, will yourself confess the same to be both great
folly and much more madness to trust in any such fantasies. Let God
therefore dispose them, who governeth and punisheth according to man's
deserts, and not to all men's judgments.

You have heard herebefore what words the Duke of Norfolk had to Master
Cromwell touching my lord's going to the North to his benefice of York,
at such time as Master Cromwell declared the same to my lord, to whom
my lord answered in this wise: "Marry, Thomas," quoth he, "then it is
time to be going, if my Lord of Norfolk take it so. Therefore I pray
you go to the king and move his highness in my behalf, and say that
I would, with all my heart, go to my benefice at York, but for want
of money; desiring his grace to assist me with some money towards my
journey. For ye may say that the last money that I received of his
majesty hath been too little to pay my debts, compelled by his counsel
so to do; therefore to constrain me to the payment thereof, and his
highness having all my goods, hath been too much extremity; wherein I
trust his grace will have a charitable respect. Ye may say also to my
Lord of Norfolk, and other of the council, that I would depart if I had
money." "Sir," quoth Master Cromwell, "I will do my best." And after
other communication he departed again, and went to London.

My lord then in the beginning of Lent [removed] out of the Lodge into
the Charterhouse of Richmond, where he lay in a lodging, which Doctor
Collet, sometime Dean of Paul's, had made for himself, until he removed
northward, which was in the Passion Week after; and he had to the
same house a secret gallery, which went out of his chamber into the
Charterhouse church, whither he resorted every day to their service;
and at afternoons he would sit in contemplation with one or other of
the most ancient fathers of that house in his cell, who among them by
their counsel persuaded him from the vain glory of this world, and gave
him divers shirts of hair, the which he often wore afterward, whereof
I am certain. And thus he continued for the time of his abode there in
godly contemplation.

Now when Master Cromwell came to the court, he chanced to move my Lord
of Norfolk that my lord would gladly depart northward but for lack of
money, wherein he desired his assistance to the king. Then went they
both jointly to the king, to whom my Lord of Norfolk declared how my
lord would gladly depart northward, if he wanted not money to bring
him thither; the king thereupon referred the assignment thereof to the
council, whereupon they were in divers opinions. Some said he should
have none, for he had sufficient of late delivered him; some would
he should have sufficient and enough; and some contrariwise would he
should have but a small sum; and some thought it much against the
council's honour, and much more against the king's high dignity to see
him want the maintenance of his estate which the king had given him in
this realm; and [who] also hath been in such estimation with the king,
and in great authority under him; it should be rather a great slander
in foreign realms to the king and his whole council, to see him want
that lately had so much, and now so little. "Therefore, rather than he
should lack," quoth one among them, "(although he never did me good or
any pleasure), yet would I lay my plate to gage for him for a thousand
pounds, rather than he should depart so simply as some would have him
for to do. Let us do to him as we would be done unto; considering his
small offence, and his inestimable substance that he only hath departed
withal the same, for satisfying of the king's pleasure, rather than
he would stand in defence with the king in defending of his case, as
he might justly have done, as ye all know. Let not malice cloak this
matter whereby that justice and mercy may take no place; ye have all
your pleasures fulfilled which ye have long desired, and now suffer
conscience to minister unto him some liberality; the day may come
that some of us may be in the same case, ye have such alterations in
persons, as well assured as ye suppose yourselves to be, and to stand
upon as sure a ground, and what hangeth over our heads we know not; I
can say no more: now do as ye list." Then after all this they began
again to consult in this matter, and after long debating and reasoning
about the same, it was concluded, that he should have by the way of
prest[173], a thousand marks out of Winchester Bishoprick, beforehand
of his pension, which the king had granted him out of the same, for the
king had resumed the whole revenues of the Bishoprick of Winchester
into his own hands; yet the king out of the same had granted divers
great pensions unto divers noblemen and unto other of his council; so
that I do suppose, all things accompted, his part was the least. So
that, when this determination was fully concluded, they declared the
same to the king, who straightway [commanded] the said thousand marks
to be delivered out of hand to Master Cromwell; and so it was. The
king, calling Master Cromwell to him secretly, bade him to resort to
him again when he had received the said sum of money. And according to
the same commandment he repaired again to the king; to whom the king
said: "Show my lord your master, although our council hath not assigned
any sufficient sum of money to bear his charges, yet ye shall show him
in my behalf, that I will send him a thousand pound, of my benevolence;
and tell him that he shall not lack, and bid him be of good cheer."
Master Cromwell upon his knees most humbly thanked the king on my
lord's behalf, for his great benevolence and noble heart towards
my lord: "those comfortable words of your grace," quoth he, "shall
rejoice him more than three times the value of your noble reward."
And therewith departed from the king and came to my lord directly
to Richmond; to whom he delivered the money, and showed him all the
arguments in the council, which ye have heard before, with the progress
of the same; and of what money it was, and whereof it was levied, which
the council sent him; and of the money which the king sent him, and
of his comfortable words; whereof my lord rejoiced not a little, and
[was] greatly comforted. And after the receipt of this money my lord
consulted with Master Cromwell about his departure, and of his journey,
with the order thereof.

Then my lord prepared all things with speed for his journey into the
North, and sent to London for livery clothes for his servants that
should ride with him thither. Some he refused, such as he thought were
not meet to serve; and some again of their own mind desired him of his
favour to tarry still here in the south, being very loath to abandon
their native country, their parents, wives, and children, [whom] he
most gladly licensed with good will and favour, and rendered unto them
his hearty thanks for their painful service and long tarriance with
him in his troublesome decay and overthrow. So that now all things
being furnished towards this journey, he took the same in the beginning
of the Passion Week, before Easter; and so rode to a place, then the
abbot's of Westminster, called Hendon; and the next day he removed to a
place called the Rye; where my Lady Parrey lay; the next day he rode to
Royston, and lodged in the monastery there; and the next he removed to
Huntingdon, and there lodged in the Abbey; and from thence he removed
to Peterborough, and there lodged also within the Abbey, being then
Palm Sunday, where he made his abode until the Thursday in Easter week,
with all his train[174]; whereof the most part went to board wages in
the town, having twelve carts to carry his stuff of his own, which came
from his college in Oxford, where he had three score carts to carry
such necessaries as belonged to his buildings there. Upon Palm Sunday
he went in procession, with the monks, bearing his palm; setting forth
God's service right honourably, with such singing men as he then had
remaining with him. And upon Maundy Thursday he made his Maundy in our
Lady's Chapel, having fifty-nine[175] poor men, whose feet he washed,
wiped, and kissed; each of these poor men had twelve pence in money,
three ells of canvass to make them shirts, a pair of new shoes, a
cast of bread, three red herrings, and three white herrings, and the
odd person had two shillings. Upon Easter Day in the morning he rode
to the resurrection[176], and that day he went in procession in his
cardinal's vesture, with his hat and hood on his head, and he himself
sang there the high mass very devoutly; and granted clean remission to
all the hearers[177]; and there continued [he] all the holidays.

My lord continuing at Peterborough after this manner, intending to
remove from thence, sent me to Sir William Fitzwilliams, a knight,
which dwelt within three or four miles of Peterborough, to provide him
there a lodging until Monday next following, on his journey northward.
And being with him, to whom I declared my lord's request, and he
being thereof very glad, rejoiced not a little that it would please
my lord to visit his house in his way; saying, that he should be most
heartiliest welcome of any man alive, the king's majesty excepted; and
that he should not need to discharge the carriage of any of his stuff
for his own use during the time of his being there; but have all things
furnished ready against his coming to occupy, his own bed excepted.
Thus upon my report made to my lord at my return, he rejoiced of my
message, commanding me therein to give warning to all his officers
and servants to prepare themselves to remove from Peterborough upon
Thursday next. Then every man made all things in such readiness as was
convenient, paying in the town for all things as they had taken of any
person for their own use, for which cause my lord caused a proclamation
to be made in the town, that if any person or persons in the town
or country there were offended or grieved against any of my lord's
servants, that they should resort to my lord's officers, of whom they
should have redress, and truly answered as the case justly required.
So that, all things being furnished, my lord took his journey from
Peterborough upon the Thursday in Easter week, to Master Fitzwilliams,
where he was joyously received, and had right worthy and honourable
entertainment at the only charge and expense of the said Master
Fitzwilliams, all [the] time of his being there[178].

The occasion that moved Master Fitzwilliams thus to rejoice of my
lord's being in his house was, that he sometime being a merchant of
London and sheriff there, fell in debate with the city of London
upon a grudge between the aldermen of the bench and him, upon a new
corporation that he would erect of a new mystery called Merchant
Taylors, contrary to the opinion of divers of the bench of aldermen
of the city, which caused him to give and surrender his cloak, and
departed from London, and inhabited within the country; and against
the malice of all the said aldermen and other rulers in the commonweal
of the city, my lord defended him, and retained him into service, whom
he made first his treasurer of his house, and then after his high
chamberlain; and in conclusion, for his wisdom, gravity, port, and
eloquence, being a gentleman of a comely stature, made him one of the
king's counsel: and [he] so continued all his life afterward. Therefore
in consideration of all these gratitudes received at my lord's hands,
as well in his trouble as in his preferment, was most gladest like a
faithful friend of good remembrance to requite him with the semblable
gratuity, and right joys that he had any occasion to minister some
pleasure, such as lay then in his power to do.

Thus my lord continued there until the Monday next; where lacked
no good cheer of costly viands, both of wine and other goodly
entertainment; so that upon the said Monday my lord departed from
thence unto Stamford; where he lay all that night. And the next day
he removed from thence unto Grantham, and was lodged in a gentleman's
house, called Master Hall. And the next day he rode to Newark, and
lodged in the castle all that night; the next day he rode to Southwell,
a place of my lord's within three or four miles of Newark, where he
intended to continue all that summer, as he did after.

Here I must declare to you a notable tale of communication which was
done at Master Fitzwilliams before his departure from thence, between
[my lord] and me, the which was this: Sir, my lord being in the
garden at Master Fitzwilliams, walking, saying of his evensong with
his chaplain, I being there giving attendance upon him, his evensong
finished, [he] commanded his chaplain that bare up the train of his
gown whilst he walked, to deliver me the same, and to go aside when he
had done; and after the chaplain was gone a good distance, he said unto
me in this wise, "Ye have been late at London," quoth he; "Forsooth,
my lord," quoth I, "not since that I was there to buy your liveries
for your servants." "And what news was there then," quoth he; "heard
you no communication there of me? I pray you tell me." Then perceiving
that I had a good occasion to talk my mind plainly unto him, [I] said,
"Sir, if it please your grace, it was my chance to be at a dinner in
a certain place within the city, where I, among divers other honest
and worshipful gentlemen happed to sit, which were for the most part
of my old familiar acquaintance, wherefore they were the more bolder
to enter in communication with me, understanding that I was still your
grace's servant; [they] asked me a question, which I could not well
assoil them." "What was that?" quoth my lord. "Forsooth, sir," quoth I,
"first they asked me how ye did, and how ye accepted your adversity,
and trouble, and the loss of your goods; to the which I answered, that
you were in health (thanks be to God), and took all things in good
part; and so it seemed me, that they were all your indifferent friends
lamenting your decay, and loss of your room and goods, doubting much
that the sequel thereof could not be good in the commonwealth. For
often changing of such officers which be fat fed, into the hands of
such as be lean and hungry for riches, [they] will sure travail by
all means to get abundance, and so the poor commons be pillaged and
extorted for greedy lucre of riches and treasure: they said that ye
were full fed, and intended now much to the advancement of the king's
honour and the commonwealth. Also they marvelled much that ye, being
of so excellent a wit and high discretion, would so simply confess
yourself guilty in the premunire, wherein ye might full well have stood
in the trial of your case. For they understood, by the report of some
of the king's learned counsel, that your case well considered, ye had
great wrong: to the which I could make, as me thought, no sufficient
answer, but said, "That I doubt not your so doing was upon some greater
consideration than my wit could understand." "Is this," quoth he,
"the opinion of wise men?" "Yea, forsooth, my lord," quoth I, "and
almost of all other men." "Well, then," quoth he, "I see that their
wisdoms perceive not the ground of the matter that moved me so to do.
For I considered, that my enemies had brought the matter so to pass
against me, and conveyed it so, that they made it the king's case, and
caused the king to take the matter into his own hands and quarrel, and
after that he had upon the occasion thereof seized all my goods and
possessions into his demayns, and then the quarrel to be his, rather
than yield, or take a foil in the law, and thereby restore to me all
my goods again, he would sooner (by the procurement of my enemies and
evil willers) imagine my utter undoing and destruction; whereof the
most ease therein had been for me perpetual imprisonment. And rather
than I would jeopard so far, or put my life in any such hazard, yet had
I most liefest to yield and confess the matter, committing the sole
sum thereof, as I did, unto the king's clemency and mercy, and live
at large, like a poor vicar, than to lie in prison with all the goods
and honours that I had. And therefore it was the most best way for me,
all things considered, to do as I have done, than to stand in trial
with the king, for he would have been loath to have been noted a wrong
doer, and in my submission, the king, I doubt not, had a great remorse
of conscience, wherein he would rather pity me than malign me. And
also there was a continual serpentine enemy about the king that would,
I am well assured, if I had been found stiff necked, [have] called
continually upon the king in his ear (I mean the night-crow) with
such a vehemency that I should with the help of her assistance [have]
obtained sooner the king's indignation than his lawful favour: and his
favour once lost (which I trust at this present I have) would never
have been by me recovered. Therefore I thought it better for me to keep
still his loving favour, with loss of my goods and dignities, than
to win my goods and substance with the loss of his love and princely
favour, which is but only death: _Quia indignatio principis mors est_.
And this was the special ground and cause that I yielded myself guilty
in the _premunire_; which I perceive all men knew not, wherein since I
understand the king hath conceived a certain prick of conscience; who
took to himself the matter more grievous in his secret stomach than all
men knew, for he knew whether I did offend him therein so grievously
as it was made or no, to whose conscience I do commit my cause, truth,
and equity." And thus we left the substance of all this communication;
although we had much more talk: yet is this sufficient to cause you to
understand as well the cause of his confession in his offence, as also
the cause of the loss of all his goods and treasure.

Now let us return where we left, my lord being in the castle of Newark,
intending to ride to Southwell, which was four miles from thence, took
now his journey thitherward against supper. Where he was fain for lack
of reparation of the bishop's place, which appertained to the see of
York, to be lodged in a prebendary's house against the said place, and
there kept house until Whitsuntide next, against which time he removed
into the place, newly amended and repaired, and there continued the
most part of the summer, surely not without great resort of the most
worshipfullest gentlemen of the country, and divers other, of whom they
were most gladly entertained, and had of him the best cheer he could
devise for them, whose gentle and familiar behaviour with them caused
him to be greatly beloved and esteemed through the whole country.

He kept a noble house, and plenty of both meat and drink for all
comers, both for rich and poor, and much alms given at his gates. He
used much charity and pity among his poor tenants and other; although
the fame thereof was no pleasant sound in the ears of his enemies, and
of such as bare him no good will, howbeit the common people will report
as they find cause; for he was much more familiar among all persons
than he was accustomed, and most gladdest when he had an occasion to
do them good. He made many agreements and concords between gentleman
and gentleman, and between some gentlemen and their wives that had
been long asunder, and in great trouble, and divers other agreements
between other persons; making great assemblies for the same purpose,
and feasting of them, not sparing for any costs, where he might make a
peace and amity; which purchased him much love[179] and friendship in
the country.

It chanced that upon Corpus Christi eve, after supper, [my lord]
commanded me to prepare all things for him in a readiness against the
next day, for he intended to sing high mass in the minster that day;
and I, not forgetting his commandments, gave like warning to all his
officers of his house, and other of my fellows, to foresee that all
things appertaining to their rooms were fully furnished to my lord's
honour. This done I went to my bed, where I was scantly asleep and
warm, but that one of the porters came to my chamber door, calling
upon me, and said, there was two gentlemen at the gate that would
gladly speak with my lord from the king. With that I arose up and went
incontinent unto the gate with the porter, demanding what they were
that so fain [would] come in. They said unto me, that there was Master
Brereton, one of the gentlemen of the king's privy chamber, and Master
Wrotherly, who were come from the king empost, to speak with my lord.
Then having understanding what they were, I caused the porter to let
them in. And after their entry they desired me to speak with my lord
without delay, for they might not tarry; at whose request I repaired to
my lord's chamber, and waked him, who was asleep. But when he heard me
speak, he demanded of me what I would have. "Sir," quoth I, "there be
beneath in the porter's lodge, Master Brereton, gentleman of the king's
privy chamber, and Master Wrotherly, come from the king to speak with
you: they will not tarry; therefore they beseech your grace to speak
with you out of hand." "Well then," quoth my lord, "bid them come up
into my dining chamber, and I will prepare myself to come to them."
Then I resorted to them again, and showed them that my lord desired
them to come up unto him, and he would talk with them, with a right
good will. They thanked me, and went with me unto my lord, and as soon
as they perceived him, being in his night apparel, did to him humble
reverence; whom he took by the hands, demanding of them, how the king
his sovereign lord did. "Sir," said they, "right well in health and
merry, thanks be unto our Lord." "Sir," quoth they, "we must desire
you to talk with you apart." "With a right good will," quoth my lord,
who drew them aside into a great window, and there talked with them
secretly; and after long talk they took out of a male a certain coffer
covered with green velvet, and bound with bars of silver and gilt, with
a lock of the same, having a key which was gilt, with the which they
opened the same chest; out of the which they took a certain instrument
or writing, containing more than one skin of parchment, having many
great seals hanging at it, whereunto they put more wax for my lord's
seal; the which my lord sealed with his own seal, and subscribed his
name to the same; and that done they would needs depart, and (forasmuch
as it was after midnight) my lord desired them to tarry, and take a
bed. They thanked him, and said they might in no wise tarry, for they
would with all speed to the Earl of Shrewsbury's directly without let,
because they would be there or ever he stirred in the morning. And
my lord, perceiving their hasty speed, caused them to eat such cold
meat as there was in store within the house, and to drink a cup or
two of wine. And that done, he gave each of them four old sovereigns
of gold, desiring them to take it _in gree_, saying, that if he had
been of greater ability, their reward should have been better; and so
taking their leave they departed. And after they were departed, as I
heard say, they were not contented with their reward. Indeed they were
not none of his indifferent friends, which caused them to accept it
so disdainously. Howbeit, if they knew what little store of money he
had at that present, they would I am sure, being but his indifferent
friends, have given him hearty thanks: but nothing is more lost or cast
away than is such things which be given to such ingrate persons. My
lord went again to bed; and yet, all his watch and disturbance that he
had that night notwithstanding, he sang High Mass the next day as he
appointed before. There was none in all his house [besides myself and
the porter] that knew of the coming or going of these two gentlemen;
and yet there lay within the house many worshipful strangers.

After this sort and manner my lord continued at Southwell, until the
latter end of grease time; at which time he intended to remove to
Scroby, which was another house of the Bishoprick of York. And against
the day of his removing, he caused all his officers to prepare, as well
for provision to be made for him there, as also for carriage of his
stuff, and other matters concerning his estate. His removing and intent
was not so secret, but that it was known abroad in [the] country;
which was lamentable to all his neighbours about Southwell, and as it
was lamentable unto them, so was it as much joy to his neighbours about
Scroby.

Against the day of his removing divers knights and other gentlemen of
worship in the country came to him to Southwell, intending to accompany
and attend upon him in that journey the next day, and to conduct
him through the forest unto Scroby. But he being of their purpose
advertised, how they did intend to have lodged a great stag or twain
for him by the way, purposely to show him all the pleasure and disport
they could devise, and having, as I said, thereof intelligence, was
very loath to receive any such honour and disport at their hands, not
knowing how the king would take it; and being well assured that his
enemies would rejoice much to understand that he would take upon him
any such presumption, whereby they might find an occasion to inform the
king how sumptuous and pleasant he was, notwithstanding his adversity
and overthrow, and so to bring the king into a wrong opinion [of him,
and caused] small hope of reconcilement, but rather that he sought
a mean to obtain the favour of the country to withstand the king's
proceedings, with divers such imaginations, wherein he might rather
sooner catch displeasure than favour and honour. And also he was loath
to make the worshipful gentlemen privy to this his imagination, lest
peradventure they should conceive some toy or fantasy in their heads
by means thereof, and so to eschew their accustomed access, and absent
themselves from him, which should be as much to his grief as the other
was to his comfort. Therefore he devised this mean way, as hereafter
followeth, which should rather be taken for a laughing disport than
otherwise: first he called me unto him secretly at night, going to his
rest, and commanded me in anywise most secretly that night to cause
six or seven horses, besides his mule for his own person, to be made
ready by the break of the day for him and such persons as he appointed
to ride with him to an abbey called Welbeck[180], where he intended to
lodge by the way to Scroby, willing me to be also in a readiness to
ride with him, and to call him so early that he might be on horseback,
after he had heard mass, by the breaking of the day. Sir, what will you
more? All things being accomplished according to his commandment, and
the same finished and done, he, with a small number before appointed,
mounted upon his mule, setting forth by the breaking of the day towards
Welbeck, which is about sixteen miles from thence; whither my lord and
we came before six of the clock in the morning, and so went straight
to his bed, leaving all the gentlemen strangers in their beds at
Southwell, nothing privy of my lord's secret departure, who expected
his uprising until it was eight of the clock. But after it was known
to them and to all the rest there remaining behind him, then every man
went to horseback, galloping after, supposing to overtake him. But
he was at his rest in Welbeck or ever they rose out of their beds in
Southwell, and so their chief hunting and coursing of the great stag
was disappointed and dashed. But at their thither resort to my lord,
sitting at dinner, the matter was jested, and laughed out merrily, and
all the matter well taken.

My lord the next day removed from thence, to whom resorted divers
gentlemen of my lord the Earl of Shrewsbury's servants, to desire my
lord, in their master's name, to hunt in a park of the earl's called
Worksop Park, the which was within a mile of Welbeck, and the very
best and next[181] way for my lord to travel through on his journey,
where much plenty of game was laid in a readiness to show him pleasure.
Howbeit he thanked my lord their master for his gentleness, and them
for their pains; saying that he was no meet man for any such pastime,
being a man otherwise disposed, such pastimes and pleasures were meet
for such noblemen as delight therein. Nevertheless he could do no
less than to account my Lord of Shrewsbury to be much his friend, in
whom he found such gentleness and nobleness in his honourable offer,
to whom he rendered his most lowly thanks. But in no wise they could
entreat him to hunt. Although the worshipful gentlemen being in his
company provoked him all that they could do thereto, yet he would not
consent, desiring them to be contented; saying, that he came not into
the country, to frequent or follow any such pleasures or pastimes, but
only to attend to a greater care that he had in hand, which was his
duty, study, and pleasure. And with such reasons and persuasions he
pacified them for that time. Howbeit yet as he rode through the park,
both my Lord of Shrewsbury's servants, and also the foresaid gentlemen
moved him once again, before whom the deer lay very fair for all
pleasant hunting and coursing. But it would not be; but [he] made as
much speed to ride through the park as he could. And at the issue out
of the park he called the earl's gentlemen and the keepers unto him,
desiring them to have him commended to my lord their master, thanking
him for his most honourable offer and good will, trusting shortly to
visit him at his own house: and gave the keepers forty shillings for
their pains and diligence who conducted him through the park. And so
rode to another abbey called Rufford Abbey [to dinner]; and after he
rode to Blythe Abbey, where he lay all night. And the next day he came
to Scroby, where he continued until after Michaelmas, ministering many
deeds of charity. Most commonly every Sunday (if the weather did serve)
he would travel unto some parish church thereabout, and there would say
his divine service, and either hear or say mass himself, causing some
one of his chaplains to preach unto the people. And that done, he would
dine in some honest house of that town, where should be distributed to
the poor a great alms, as well of meat and drink as of money to supply
the want of sufficient meat, if the number of the poor did so exceed
of necessity. And thus with other good deeds practising and exercising
during his abode there at Scroby, as making of love-days and agreements
between party and party, being then at variance, he daily frequented
himself there about such business and deeds of honest charity.

Then about the feast of St. Michael next ensuing my lord took his
journey towards Cawood Castle, the which is within seven miles of
York; and passing thither he lay two nights and a day at St. Oswald's
Abbey, where he himself confirmed children in the church, from eight of
the clock in the morning until twelve of the clock at noon. And making
a short dinner, resorted again to the church at one of the clock, and
there began again to confirm more children until four of the clock,
where he was at the last constrained for weariness to sit down in a
chair, the number of the children was such. That done, he said his even
song, and then went to supper, and rested him there all that night. And
the next morning he applied himself to depart towards Cawood; and or
ever he departed, he confirmed almost a hundred children more; and then
rode on his journey. And by the way there were assembled at a stone
cross standing upon a green, within a quarter of a mile of Ferrybridge,
about the number of two hundred children, to confirm; where he
alighted, and never removed his foot until he had confirmed them all;
and then took his mule again and rode to Cawood, where he lay long
after with much honour and love of the country, both of the worshipful
and of the simple, exercising himself in good deeds of charity, and
kept there an honourable and plentiful house for all comers; and also
built and repaired the castle, which was then greatly decayed, having
a great multitude of artificers and labourers, above the number of
three hundred persons, daily in wages.

And lying there, he had intelligence by the gentlemen of the country,
that used to repair unto him, that there was sprung a great variance
and deadly hate between Sir Richard Tempest and Mr. Brian Hastings,
then being but a squire, but after made knight, between whom was
like to ensue great murder, unless some good mean might be found to
redress the inconvenience that was most likeliest to ensue. My lord
being thereof advertised, lamenting the case, made such means by his
wisdom and letters, with other persuasions, that these two gentlemen
were content to resort to my lord to Cawood, and there to abide his
order, high and low. Then was there a day appointed of their assembly
before my lord, at which day they came not without great number on
each part. Wherefore against [that] day, my lord had required many
worshipful gentlemen to be there present, to assist him with their
wisdoms to appease these two worthy gentlemen, being at deadly feud.
And to see the king's peace kept, commanding no more of their number
to enter into the castle with these two gentlemen than six persons
of each of their menial servants, and all the rest to remain without
in the town, or where they listed to repair. And my lord himself
issuing out of the gates, calling the number of both parties before
him, straightly charging them most earnestly to observe and keep the
king's peace, in the king's name, upon their perils, without either
bragging or quarreling either with other; and caused them to have
both beer and wine sent them into the town; and then returned again
into the castle, being about nine of the clock. And because he would
have these gentlemen to dine with him at his own table, thought it
good in avoiding of further inconvenience to appease their rancour
before. Whereupon he called them into his chapel; and there, with
the assistance of the other gentlemen, he fell into communication
with the matter, declaring unto them the dangers and mischiefs that
through their wilfulness and folly were most likeliest to ensue; with
divers other good exhortations. Notwithstanding, the parties laying
and alleging many things for their defence, sometime adding each to
other stout and despiteful words of defiance, the which my lord and
the other gentlemen had much ado to qualify, their malice was so
great. Howbeit, at length, with long continuance and wise arguments,
and deep persuasions made by my lord, they were agreed, and finally
accorded about four of the clock at afternoon; and so made them
friends. And, as it seemed, they both rejoiced, and were right well
contented therewith, to the great comfort of all the other worshipful
gentlemen, causing them to shake hands, and to go arm in arm to dinner;
and so went to dinner, though it was very late to dine[182], yet
notwithstanding they dined together with the other gentlemen at my
lord's table, where they drank lovingly each to other, with countenance
of great amity. After dinner my lord caused them to discharge their
routs and assembly that remained in the town, and to retain with them
no more servants than they were accustomed most commonly to ride with.
And that done, these gentlemen, fulfilling his commandment, tarried
at Cawood, and lay there all night; whom my lord entertained in such
sort that they accepted his noble heart in great worthiness [and
friendship,] trusting to have of him a special jewel in their country:
having him in great estimation and favour, as it appeared afterward by
their behaviour and demeanour towards him.

It is not to be doubted but that the worshipful persons, as doctors
and prebendaries of the close of York, would and did resort unto him
according to their duties, as unto their father and patron of their
spiritual dignities being at his first coming into the country, their
church of York being within seven miles. Wherefore ye shall understand
that Doctor Hickden, dean of the church of York[183], with the
treasurer, and divers other head officers of the same repaired to my
lord, welcoming him most joyously into the country; saying, that it was
to them no small comfort to see him among them, as their chief head,
which hath been so long absent from them, being all that while like
fatherless children comfortless, trusting shortly to see him among them
in his own church. "It is," quoth he, "the especial cause of all my
travel into this country, not only to be among you for a time, but also
to spend my life with you as a very father, and as a mutual brother." "Sir,
then," quoth they, "ye must understand that the ordinary rules of our
church hath been of an ancient custom, whereof although ye be head and
chief governor, yet be ye not so well acquainted with them as we be.
Therefore, we shall under the supportation of your grace, declare some
part thereof to you, as well of our ancient customs as of the laws
and usage of the same. Therefore ye shall understand that where ye do
intend to repair unto us, the old law and custom of our church hath
been, that the archbishop being our chief head and pastor, as your
grace now be, might ne ought not to come above the choir door, nor have
any stall in the choir, until he by due order were there stalled. For,
if ye should happen to die before your stallation, ye shall not be
buried above in the choir, but in the body of the same church beneath.
Therefore we shall, _una voce_, require your grace in the name of all
other our brethren, that ye would vouchsafe to do herein as your noble
predecessors and honourable fathers hath done; and that ye will not
infringe or violate any of our laudable ordinances and constitutions of
our church, to the observance and preservation whereof we be obliged,
by virtue of an oath at our first admittance, to see them observed and
fulfilled to the uttermost of our powers, with divers other matters
remaining of record in our treasury house among other things." "Those
records," quoth my lord, "would I gladly see; and these seen and
digested, I shall then show you further of my mind." And thus of this
matter they ceased communication, and passed forth in other matters; so
that my lord assigned them a day to bring in their records. At which
day they brought with them their register book of records, wherein
was written their constitutions and ancient rules, whereunto all the
fathers and ministers of the church of York were most chiefly bound,
both to see it done and performed, and also to perform and observe the
same themselves. And when my lord had seen, read, and considered the
effect of their records, and debated with them substantially therein,
he determined to be stalled there in the Minster the next Monday after
Allhallown day. Against which day there was made necessary preparation
for the furniture thereof, but not in so sumptuous a wise as his
predecessors did before him; ne yet in such a sort as the common fame
was blown abroad of him to his great slander, and to the reporters much
more dishonesty, to forge such lies and blasphemous reports, wherein
there is nothing more untrue. The truth whereof I perfectly know, for
I was made privy to the same, and sent to York to foresee all things,
[and] to prepare according for the same, which should have been much
more mean and base than all other of his predecessors heretofore hath
done.

It came so to pass, that upon Allhallown day, one of the head officers
of the church, which should, by virtue of his office, have most
doings in this stallation, [was] to dine with my lord at Cawood; and
sitting at dinner they fell in communication of the order of his
stallation, who said to my lord that he ought to go upon cloth from
St. James's chapel (standing without the gates of the city of York)
unto the minster, the which should be distributed among the poor. My
lord, hearing this, made answer to the same in this wise. "Although,"
quoth he, "that our predecessors went upon cloth right sumptuously,
we do intend, God willing, to go afoot from thence without any such
glory[184], in the vamps of our hosen. For I take God to be my very
judge that I presume not to go thither for any triumph or vain glory,
but only to fulfil the observance and rules of the church, to the
which, as ye say, I am bound. And therefore I shall desire you all
to hold you contented with my simplicity, and also I command all my
servants to go as humbly without any other sumptuous apparel than they
be constantly used, and that is comely and decent to wear[185]. For I
do assure you, I do intend to come to York upon Sunday at night, and
lodge there in the dean's house, and upon Monday to be stalled; and
there to make a dinner for you of the close, and for other worshipful
gentlemen that shall chance to come to me at that time; and the next
day to dine with the mayor, and so return home again to Cawood that
night, and thus to finish the same, whereby I may at all times resort
to York Minster without other scrupulosity or offence to any of you."

This day could not be unknown to all the country, but that some must
needs have knowledge thereof, whereby that notice was given unto the
gentlemen of the country, and they being thereof as well advertised
as abbots, priors, and others, of the day of this solemnization, sent
in such provision of dainty victuals that it is almost incredible;
wherefore I omit to declare unto you the certainty thereof. As of
great and fat beeves and muttons, wildfowl, and venison, both red and
fallow, and divers other dainty meats, such as the time of the year
did serve, sufficient to furnish a great and a sumptuous feast, all
which things were unknown to my lord: forasmuch as he being prevented
and disappointed of his reasonable purposed intent, because he was
arrested, as ye shall hear hereafter; so that the most part of this
provision was sent to York that same day that he was arrested, and
the next day following; for his arrest was kept as close and secret
from the country as it could be, because they doubted the people,
which had him in great love and estimation for his accustomed charity
and liberality used daily among them, with familiar gesture and
countenance, which be the very means to allure the love and hearts of
the people in the north parts.

Or ever I wade any further in this matter, I do intend to declare unto
you what chanced him before this his last trouble at Cawood, as a sign
or token given by God what should follow of his end, or of trouble
which did shortly ensue, the sequel whereof was of no man then present
either premeditate or imagined. Therefore, for as much as it is a
notable thing to be considered, I will (God willing) declare it as
truly as it chanced according to my simple remembrance, at the which I
myself was present.

My lord's accustomed enemies in the court about the king had now my
lord in more doubt than they had before his fall, considering the
continual favour that the king bare him, thought that at length the
king might call him home again; and if he so did, they supposed, that
he would rather imagine against them than to remit or forget their
cruelty, which they most unjustly imagined against him. Wherefore they
compassed in their heads that they would either by some means dispatch
him by some sinister accusation of treason, or to bring him into the
king's indignation by some other ways. This was their daily imagination
and study, having as many spials, and as many eyes to attend upon his
doings as the poets feigned Argus to have; so that he could neither
work or do any thing, but that his enemies had knowledge thereof
shortly after. Now at the last, they espied a time wherein they caught
an occasion to bring their purpose to pass, thinking thereby to have
of him a great advantage; for the matter being once disclosed unto the
king, in such a vehemency as they purposed, they thought the king would
be moved against him with great displeasure. And that by them executed
and done, the king, upon their information, thought it good that he
should come up to stand to his trial; which they liked nothing at all;
notwithstanding he was sent for after this sort. First, they devised
that he should come up upon arrest in ward, which they knew right well
would so sore grieve him that he might be the weaker to come into the
king's presence to make answer. Wherefore they sent Sir Walter Walshe,
knight, one of the gentlemen of the king's privy chamber, down into the
country unto the Earl of Northumberland[186] (who was brought up in
my lord's house), and they twain being in commission jointly to arrest
my lord of hault treason. This conclusion fully resolved, they caused
Master Walshe to prepare himself to this journey with this commission,
and certain instructions annexed to the same; who made him ready to
ride, and took his horse at the court gate about one of the clock at
noon, upon Allhallown day, towards the north. Now am I come to the
place where I will declare the thing that I promised you before of a
certain token of my lord's trouble; which was this.

My lord sitting at dinner upon Allhallown day, in Cawood Castle,
having[187] at his board's end divers of his most worthiest chaplains,
sitting at dinner to keep him company, for lack of strangers, ye
shall understand, that my lord's great cross of silver accustomably
stood in the corner, at the table's end, leaning against the tappet
or hanging of the chamber. And when the table's end was taken up, and
a convenient time for them to arise; in arising from the table, one
Doctor Augustine, physician, being a Venetian born, having a boisterous
gown of black velvet upon him, as he would have come out at the table's
end, his gown overthrew the cross that stood there in the corner, and
the cross trailing down along the tappet, it chanced to fall upon
Doctor Bonner's head, who stood among others by the tappet, making of
curtsy to my lord, and with one of the points of the cross razed his
head a little, that the blood ran down. The company standing there were
greatly astonied with the chance. My lord sitting in his chair, looking
upon them, perceiving the chance, demanded of me being next him, what
the matter meant of their sudden abashment. I showed him how the cross
fell upon Doctor Bonner's head. "Hath it," quoth he, "drawn any blood?"
"Yea forsooth, my lord," quoth I, "as it seemeth me." With that he cast
down his head, looking very soberly upon me a good while without any
word speaking; at the last, quoth he, (shaking of his head) "_malum
omen_[188];" and therewith said grace, and rose from the table, and
went into his bedchamber, there lamenting, making his prayers[189].
Now mark the signification, how my lord expounded this matter unto me
afterward at Pomfret Abbey. First, ye shall understand, that the cross,
which belonged to the dignity of York, he understood to be himself; and
Augustine, that overthrew the cross, he understood to be he that should
accuse him, by means whereof he should be overthrown. The falling
upon Master Bonner's head, who was master of my lord's faculties and
spiritual jurisdictions, who was damnified by the overthrowing of the
cross by the physician, and the drawing of blood betokened death,
which shortly after came to pass; about the very same time of the day
of this mischance, Master Walshe took his horse at the court gate, as
nigh as it could be judged. And thus my lord took it for a very sign
or token of that which after ensued, if the circumstance be equally
considered and noted, although no man was there present at that time
that had any knowledge of Master Walshe's coming down, or what should
follow. Wherefore, as it was supposed, that God showed him more secret
knowledge of his latter days and end of his trouble than all men
supposed; which appeared right well by divers talks that he had with me
at divers times of his last end. And now that I have declared unto you
the effect of this prodigy and sign, I will return again to my matter.

The time drawing nigh of his stallation; sitting at dinner, upon the
Friday next before Monday on the which he intended to be stalled at
York, the Earl of Northumberland and Master Walshe, with a great
company of gentlemen, as well of the earl's servants as of the country,
which he had gathered together to accompany him in the king's name, not
knowing to what purpose or what intent, came into the hall at Cawood,
the officers sitting at dinner, and my lord not fully dined, but being
at his fruits, nothing knowing of the earl's being in his hall. The
first thing that the earl did, after he came into the castle, [he]
commanded the porter to deliver him the keys of the gates, who would in
no wise deliver him the keys, although he were very roughly commanded
in the king's name, to deliver them to one of the earl's servants.
Saying unto the earl, "Sir, ye do intend to deliver them to one of
your servants to keep them and the gates, and to plant another in my
room; I know no cause why ye should so do, and this I assure you that
you have no one servant, but that I am as able to keep them as he, to
what purpose soever it be. And also, the keys were delivered me by my
lord my master, with a charge both by oath, and by other precepts and
commandments. Therefore I beseech your lordship to pardon me, though
I refuse your commandment. For whatsoever ye shall command me to do
that belongeth to my office, I shall do it with a right good will as
justly as any other of your servants." With that quoth the gentlemen
there present unto the earl, hearing him speak so stoutly like a man,
and with so good reason: "Sir," quoth they, "he is a good fellow, and
speaketh like a faithful servant to his master; and like an honest
man: therefore give him your charge, and let him keep still the gates;
who, we doubt not, will be obedient to your lordship's commandment."
"Well then," quoth the earl, "hold him a book," and commanded him to
lay his hand upon the book, whereat the porter made some doubt, but
being persuaded by the gentlemen there present, was contented, and laid
his hand upon the book, to whom, quoth the earl, "Thou shalt swear,
to keep well and truly these gates to the king our sovereign lord's
use, and to do all such things as we shall command thee in the king's
name, being his highness' commissioners, and as it shall seem to us at
all times good, as long as we shall be here in this castle; and that
ye shall not let in nor out at these gates, but such as ye shall be
commanded by us, from time to time," and upon this oath he received the
keys at the earl's and Master Walshe's hands.

Of all these doings knew my lord nothing; for they stopped the stairs
that went up to my lord's chamber where he sat, so that no man could
pass up again that was come down. At the last one of my lord's
servants chanced to look down into the hall at a loop that was upon
the stairs, and returned to my lord, [and] showed him that my Lord of
Northumberland was in the hall; whereat my lord marveled, and would
not believe him at the first; but commanded a gentleman, being his
gentleman usher, to go down and bring him perfect word. Who going down
the stairs, looking down at the loop, where he saw the earl, who then
returned to my lord, and showed him that it was very he. "Then," quoth
my lord, "I am sorry that we have dined, for I fear that our officers
be not stored of any plenty of good fish, to make him such honourable
cheer as to his estate is convenient, notwithstanding he shall have
such as we have, with a right good will and loving heart. Let the table
be standing still, and we will go down and meet him, and bring him up;
and then he shall see how far forth we be at our dinner." With that
he put the table from him, and rose up; going down he encountered the
earl upon the midst of the stairs, coming up, with all his men about
him. And as soon as my lord espied the earl, he put off his cap, and
said to him, "My lord, ye be most heartily welcome; (and therewith they
embraced each other). Although, my lord," quoth he, "that I have often
desired, and wished in my heart to see you in my house, yet if ye had
loved me as I do you, ye would have sent me word before of your coming,
to the intent that I might have received you according to your honour
and mine. Notwithstanding ye shall have such cheer as I am able to make
you, with a right good will; trusting that ye will accept the same of
me as of your very old and loving friend, hoping hereafter to see you
oftener, when I shall be more able and better provided to receive you
with better fare." And then my lord took the Earl of Northumberland
by the hand, and led him up into the chamber; whom followed all the
earl's servants; where the table stood in the state that my lord left
it when he rose, saying unto the earl, "Sir, now ye may perceive how
far forth we were at our dinner." Then my lord led the earl to the
fire, saying, "My lord, ye shall go into my bedchamber, where is a
good fire made for you, and there ye may shift your apparel until your
chamber be made ready. Therefore let your male be brought up: and or
ever I go, I pray you give me leave to take these gentlemen, your
servants, by the hands." And when he had taken them all by the hands,
he returned to the earl, and said, "Ah, my lord, I perceive well that
ye have observed my old precepts and instructions which I gave you,
when you were abiding with me in your youth, which was, to cherish your
father's old servants, whereof I see here present with you a great
number. Surely, my lord, ye do therein very well and nobly, and like
a wise gentleman. For these be they that will not only serve and love
you, but they will also live and die with you, and be true and faithful
servants to you, and glad to see you prosper in honour; the which I
beseech God to send you, with long life." This said, he took the earl
by the hand, and led him into his bedchamber. And they being there all
alone, save only I, that kept the door, according to my duty, being
gentleman usher; these two lords standing at a window by the chimney,
in my lord's bedchamber, the earl trembling said, with a very faint and
soft voice, unto my lord, (laying his hand upon his arm) "My lord, I
arrest you of high treason." With which words my lord was marvellously
astonied, standing both still a long space without any further words.
But at the last, quoth my lord, "What moveth you, or by what authority
do you this?" "Forsooth, my lord," quoth the earl, "I have a commission
to warrant me and my doing." "Where is your commission?" quoth my lord;
"let me see it." "Nay, sir, that you may not," quoth the earl. "Well
then," quoth my lord, "I will not obey your arrest: for there hath
been between some of your predecessors and mine great contentions and
debate grown upon an ancient grudge, which may succeed in you, with
like inconvenience, as it hath done heretofore. Therefore, unless I see
your authority and commission, I will not obey you." Even as they were
debating this matter between them in the chamber, so busy was Master
Walshe in arresting of Doctor Augustine, the physician, at the door,
within the portal, whom I heard say unto him, "Go in then, traitor,
or I shall make thee." And with that, I opened the portal door, and
the same being opened, Master Walshe thrust Doctor Augustine in before
him with violence. These matters on both the sides astonished me very
sore, musing what all this should mean; until at the last, Master
Walshe, being entered the chamber, began to pluck off his hood, the
which he had made him with a coat of the same cloth, of cotton, to
the intent he would not be known. And after he had plucked it off, he
kneeled down to my lord, to whom my lord spake first, commanding him
to stand up, saying thus, "Sir, here my Lord of Northumberland hath
arrested me of treason, but by what authority or commission he showeth
me not; but saith, he hath one. If ye be privy thereto, or be joined
with him therein, I pray you show me." "Indeed, my lord," quoth Master
Walshe, "if it please your grace, it is true that he hath one." "Well
then," said my lord, "I pray you let me see it." "Sir, I beseech your
grace hold us excused," quoth Master Walshe, "there is annexed unto
our commission a schedule with certain instructions which ye may in no
wise be privy unto." "Why," quoth my lord, "be your instructions such
that I may not see them? Peradventure, if I might be privy to them, I
could the better help you to perform them. It is not unknown unto you
both I am assured, but I have been privy and of counsel in as weighty
matters as this is, for I doubt not for my part, but I shall prove and
clear myself to be a true man, against the expectation of all my cruel
enemies. I have an understanding whereupon all this matter groweth.
Well, there is no more to do. I trow, gentleman, ye be one of the
king's privy chamber; your name, I suppose, is Walshe; I am content
to yield unto you, but not to my Lord of Northumberland, without I see
his commission. And also you are a sufficient commissioner yourself
in that behalf, inasmuch as ye be one of the king's privy chamber;
for the worst person there is a sufficient warrant to arrest the
greatest peer of this realm, by the king's only commandment, without
any commission. Therefore I am ready to be ordered and disposed at
your will, put therefore the king's commission and your authority in
execution, a God's name, and spare not, and I will obey the king's will
and pleasure. For I fear more the cruelty of my unnatural enemies,
than I do my truth and allegiance; wherein, I take God to witness, I
never offended the king's majesty in word or deed; and therein I dare
stand face to face with any man alive, having indifferency, without
partiality."

Then came my Lord of Northumberland unto me, standing at the portal
door, and commanded me to avoid the chamber: and being loath to depart
from my master, [I] stood still, and would not remove; to whom he
spake again, and said, "There is no remedy, ye must needs depart."
With that I looked upon my lord, (as who sayeth, shall I go?) upon
whom my lord looked very heavily, and shook at me his head. Perceiving
by his countenance it booted me not to abide, and so I departed the
chamber, and went into the next chamber, where abode many gentlemen of
my fellows, and other, to learn of me some news of the matter within;
to whom I made report what I saw and heard; which was to them great
heaviness to hear.

Then the earl called divers gentlemen into the chamber, which were for
the most part his own servants; and after the earl and Master Walshe
had taken the keys of all my lord's coffers from him, they gave the
charge and custody of my lord's person unto these gentlemen. [And
then] they departed, and went about the house to set all things in
order that night against the next morning, intending then to depart
from thence (being Saturday) with my lord; the which they deferred
until Sunday, because all things could not be brought to pass as they
would have it. They went busily about to convey Doctor Augustine away
to London-ward, with as much speed as they could, sending with him
divers honest persons to conduct him, who was tied under the horse's
belly. And this done, when it was night, the commissioners assigned two
grooms of my lord's to attend upon him in his chamber that night where
they lay; and the most part of the rest of the earl's gentlemen and
servants watched in the next chamber and about the house continually
until the morrow, and the porter kept the gates, so that no man could
go in or out until the next morning. At which time my lord rose up,
supposing that he should have departed that day, howbeit he was kept
close secretly in his chamber, expecting continually his departure
from thence. Then the earl sent for me into his own chamber, and
being there he commanded me to go in to my lord, and there to give
attendance upon him, and charged me upon an oath that I should observe
certain articles. And going away from him, toward my lord, I met with
Mr. Walshe in the court, who called me unto him, and led me into his
chamber, and there showed me that the king's highness bare towards me
his princely favour, for my diligent and true service that I daily
ministered towards my lord and master. "Wherefore," quoth he, "the
king's pleasure is, that ye shall be about your master as most chiefest
person, in whom his highness putteth great confidence and assured
trust; whose pleasure is therefore, that ye shall be sworn unto his
majesty to observe certain articles, in writing, the which I will
deliver you." "Sir," quoth I, "my Lord of Northumberland hath already
sworn me to divers articles." "Yea," quoth he, "but my lord could
not deliver you the articles in writing, as I am commanded specially
to do. Therefore, I deliver you this bill with these articles, the
which ye shall be sworn to fulfil." "Sir," then quoth I, "I pray
you to give me leave to peruse them, or ever I be sworn, to see if
I be able to perform them." "With a right good will," quoth he. And
when I had perused them, and understood that they were but reasonable
and tolerable, I answered, that I was contented to obey the king's
pleasure, and to be sworn to the performance of them. And so he gave
me a new oath: and then I resorted to my lord, where he was in his
chamber sitting in a chair, the tables being covered for him ready to
go to dinner. But as soon as he perceived me coming in, he fell into
such a woful lamentation, with such rueful terms and watery eyes, that
it would have caused the flintiest heart to have relented and burst
for sorrow. And as I and other could, [we] comforted him; but it would
not be. "For," quoth he, "now that I see this gentleman (meaning me)
how faithful, how diligent, and how painful since the beginning of my
trouble he hath served me, abandoning his own country, his wife, and
children; his house and family, his rest and quietness, only to serve
me, and remembering with myself that I have nothing to reward him for
his honest merits grieveth me not a little. And also the sight of
him putteth me in remembrance of the number of my faithful servants,
that I have here remaining with me in this house; whom I did intend
to have preferred and advanced, to the best of my power, from time
to time, as occasion should serve. But now, alas! I am prevented, and
have nothing left me here to reward them; for all is deprived me, and
I am left here their desolate and miserable master, bare and wretched,
without help or succour, but of God alone. Howbeit," quoth he to me
(calling me by my name), "I am a true man, and therefore ye shall never
receive shame of me for your service." I, perceiving his heaviness and
lamentable words, said thus unto him: "My lord, I nothing mistrust your
truth: and for the same I dare and will be sworn before the king's
person and his honourable council. Wherefore, (kneeling upon my knees
before him, I said,) my lord, comfort yourself, and be of good cheer.
The malice of your uncharitable enemies, nor their untruth, shall
never prevail against your truth and faithfulness, for I doubt not but
coming to your answer, my hope is such, that ye shall so acquit and
clear yourself of all their surmised and feigned accusations, that
it shall be to the king's contentation, and much to your advancement
and restitution of your former dignity and estate." "Yea," quoth he,
"if I may come to mine answer, I fear no man alive; for he liveth not
upon the earth that shall look upon this face (pointing to his own
face), shall be able to accuse me of any untruth; and that knoweth mine
enemies full well, which will be an occasion that I shall not have
indifferent justice, but they will rather seek some other sinister
ways to destroy me." "Sir," quoth I, "ye need not therein doubt, the
king being so much your good lord, as he hath always showed himself
to be, in all your troubles." With that came up my lord's meat; and
so we left our communication, I gave him water, and sat him down to
dinner; with whom sat divers of the earl's gentlemen, notwithstanding
my lord did eat very little meat, but would many times burst out
suddenly in tears, with the most sorrowfullest words that hath been
heard of any woful creature. And at the last he fetched a great sigh
from the bottom of his heart, saying these words of scripture[190],
"_O constantia Martirum laudabilis! O charitas inextinguibilis! O
pacientia invincibilis, quæ licet inter pressuras persequentium visa
sit despicabilis, invenietur in laudem et gloriam ac honorem in
tempore tribulationis._" And thus passed he forth his dinner in great
lamentation and heaviness, who was more fed and moistened with sorrow
and tears than with either pleasant meats or delicate drinks. I suppose
there was not a dry eye among all the gentlemen sitting at the table
with him. And when the table was taken up, it was showed my lord, that
he could not remove that night, (who expected none other all that day),
quoth he, "Even when it shall seem my lord of Northumberland good."

The next day, being Sunday, my lord prepared himself to ride when he
should be commanded; and after dinner, by that time that the earl had
appointed all things in good order within the castle, it drew fast
to night. There was assigned to attend upon him five of us, his own
servants, and no more; that is to say I, one chaplain, his barber, and
two grooms of his chamber, and when he should go down the stairs out
of the great chamber, my lord demanded for the rest of his servants;
the earl answered, that they were not far; the which he had inclosed
within the chapel, because they should not disquiet his departure.
"Sir, I pray you," quoth my lord, "let me see them or ever I depart,
or else I will never go out of this house." "Alack, my lord," quoth
the earl, "they should trouble you; therefore I beseech you to content
yourself." "Well," quoth my lord, "then will I not depart out of this
house, but I will see them, and take my leave of them in this chamber."
And his servants being inclosed in the chapel, having understanding of
my lord's departing away, and that they should not see him before his
departure, began to grudge, and to make such a rueful noise, that the
commissioners doubted some tumult or inconvenience to arise by reason
thereof, thought it good to let them pass out to my lord, and that done
they came to him into the great chamber where he was, and there they
kneeled down before him; among whom was not one dry eye, but pitifully
lamented their master's fall and trouble. To whom my lord gave
comfortable words and worthy praises for their diligent faithfulness
and honest truth towards him, assuring them, that what chance soever
should happen unto him, that he was a true man and a just to his
sovereign lord. And thus with a lamentable manner, shaking each of them
by the hands, was fain to depart, the night drew so fast upon them.

My lord's mule and our horses were ready brought into the inner court;
where we mounted, and coming to the gate which was shut, the porter
opened the same to let us pass, where was ready attending a great
number of gentlemen with their servants, such as the earl assigned to
conduct and attend upon his person that night to Pomfret, and so forth,
as ye shall hear hereafter. But to tell you of the number of people
of the country that were assembled at the gates which lamented his
departing was wondrous, which was about the number of three thousand
persons; who at the opening of the gates, after they had a sight of his
person, cried all with a loud voice, "God save your grace, God save
your grace! The foul evil take all them that hath thus taken you from
us! we pray God that a very vengeance may light upon them!" Thus they
ran crying after him through the town of Cawood, they loved him so
well. For surely they had a great loss of him, both the poor and the
rich: for the poor had of him great relief; and the rich lacked his
counsel in any business that they had to do, which caused him to have
such love among them in the country.

Then rode he with his conductors towards Pomfret; and by the way
as he rode, he asked me if I had any familiar acquaintance among
the gentlemen that rode with him. "Yea, sir," said I, "what is your
pleasure?" "Marry," quoth he, "I have left a thing behind me which I
would fain have." "Sir," said I, "if I knew what it were, I would send
for it out of hand." "Then," said he, "let the messenger go to my Lord
of Northumberland, and desire him to send me the red buckram bag, lying
in my almonry in my chamber, sealed with my seal." With that I departed
from him, and went straight unto one Sir Roger Lassels, knight, who
was then steward to the Earl of Northumberland (being among the rout
of horsemen as one of the chiefest rulers), whom I desired to send
some of his servants back unto the earl his master for that purpose;
[who] granted most gently my request, and sent incontinent one of his
servants unto my lord to Cawood for the said bag; who did so honestly
his message, that he brought the same to my lord immediately after he
was in his chamber within the abbey of Pomfret; where he lay all night.
In which bag was no other thing enclosed but three shirts of hair,
which he delivered to the chaplain, his ghostly father, very secretly.

Furthermore, as we rode toward Pomfret, my lord demanded of me, whither
they would lead him that night. "Forsooth, sir," quoth I, "but to
Pomfret." "Alas," quoth he, "shall I go to the castle, and lie there,
and die like a beast?" "Sir, I can tell you no more what they do
intend; but I will enquire here among these gentlemen of a special
friend of mine who is chief of all their counsel."

With that I repaired unto the said Sir Roger Lassels, knight, desiring
him most earnestly that he would vouchsafe to show me, whither my lord
should go to be lodged that night; who answered me again that my lord
should be lodged within the abbey of Pomfret, and in none other place;
and so I reported to my lord, who was glad thereof; so that within
night we came to Pomfret Abbey, and there lodged.

And the earl remained still all that night in Cawood Castle, to see
the despatch of the household, and to establish all the stuff in some
surety within the same.

The next day they removed with my lord towards Doncaster, desiring
that he might come thither by night, because the people followed him
weeping and lamenting, and so they did nevertheless although he came in
by torchlight, crying, "God save your grace, God save your grace, my
good lord cardinal," running before him with candles in their hands,
who caused me therefore to ride hard by his mule to shadow him from the
people, and yet they perceived him, cursing his enemies. And thus they
brought him to the Blackfriars, within the which they lodged him that
night.

And the next day we removed to Sheffield Park, where the Earl of
Shrewsbury lay within the lodge, and all the way thitherward the people
cried and lamented as they did in all places as we rode before. And
when we came into the park of Sheffield, nigh to the lodge, my Lord of
Shrewsbury, with my lady his wife, a train of gentlewomen, and all my
lord's gentlemen and yeomen standing without the gates of the lodge to
attend my lord's coming, to receive him with much honour; whom the
earl embraced, saying these words, "My lord," quoth he, "your grace is
most heartily welcome unto me, and [I am] glad to see you in my poor
lodge, the which I have often desired; and [should have been] much more
gladder, if you had come after another sort." "Ah, my gentle lord of
Shrewsbury," quoth my lord, "I heartily thank you: and although I have
no cause to rejoice, yet, as a sorrowful heart may joy, I rejoice,
my chance which is so good to come unto the hands and custody of so
noble a person, whose approved honour and wisdom hath been always
right well known to all noble estates. And, sir, howsoever my ungentle
accusers have used their accusations against me, yet I assure you,
and so before your lordship, and all the world, I do protest, that my
demeanour and proceedings hath been just and loyal towards my sovereign
and liege lord; of whose behaviour and doings your lordship hath had
good experience; and even according to my truth and faithfulness so
I beseech God to help me in this my calamity." "I doubt nothing of
your truth," quoth the earl, "therefore, my lord, I beseech you, be of
good cheer, and fear not; for I have received letters from the king
of his own hand in your favour and entertaining, the which you shall
see. Sir, I am nothing sorry, but that I have not wherewith worthily
to receive you, and to entertain you, according to your honour and my
good will; but such as I have, ye are most heartily welcome thereto,
desiring you to accept my good will accordingly, for I will not receive
you as a prisoner, but as my good lord, and the king's true faithful
subject; and here is my wife come to salute you." Whom my lord kissed
bareheaded, and all her gentlewomen; and took my lord's servants by
the hands, as well gentlemen and yeomen as other. Then these two lords
went arm and arm into the lodge, conducting my lord into a fair chamber
at the end of a goodly gallery, within a new tower where my lord was
lodged. There was also in the midst of the same gallery a traverse of
sarsenet drawn; so that the one part was preserved for my lord, and the
other part for the earl.

Then departed all the great number of gentlemen and other that
conducted my lord to the earl of Shrewsbury's. And my lord being there,
continued there eighteen days after; upon whom the earl appointed
divers gentlemen of his servants to serve my lord, forasmuch as he had
a small number of servants there to serve; and also to see that he
lacked nothing that he would desire, being served in his own chamber at
dinner and supper, as honourably, and with as many dainty dishes, as he
had most commonly in his own house being at liberty. And once every
day the earl would resort unto him, and sit with him communing upon
a bench in a great window in the gallery. And though the earl would
right heartily comfort him, yet would he lament so piteously, that it
would make the earl very sorry and heavy for his grief. "Sir," said he,
"I have, and daily do receive letters from the king, commanding me to
entertain you as one that he loveth, and highly favoureth; whereby I
perceive ye do lament without any great cause much more than ye need
to do. And though ye be accused (as I think in good faith unjustly),
yet the king can do no less but put you to your trial, the which is
more for the satisfying of some persons, than for any mistrust that
he hath in your doings." "Alas!" quoth my lord to the earl, "is it
not a piteous case, that any man should so wrongfully accuse me unto
the king's person, and not to come to mine answer before his majesty?
For I am well assured, my lord, that there is no man alive or dead
that looketh in this face of mine, [who] is able to accuse me of any
disloyalty toward the king. Oh! how much it grieveth me that the king
should have any suspicious opinion in me, to think that I would be
false or conspire any evil to his royal person; who may well consider,
that I have no assured friend in all the world in whom I put my trust
but only in his grace; for if I should go about to betray my sovereign
lord and prince, in whom is all my trust and confidence before all
other persons, all men might justly think and report, that I lacked
not only grace, but also both wit and discretion. Nay, nay, my lord,
I would rather adventure to shed my heart's blood in his defence,
as I am bound to do, by mine allegiance and also for the safeguard
of myself, than to imagine his destruction; for he is my staff that
supporteth me, and the wall that defendeth me against my malignant
enemies, and all other: who knoweth best my truth before all men, and
hath had thereof best and longest experience. Therefore to conclude, it
is not to be thought that ever I would go about or intend maliciously
or traitorously to travel or wish any prejudice or damage to his royal
person or imperial dignity; but, as I said, defend it with the shedding
of my heart blood, and procure all men so to do, and it were but only
for the defence of mine own person and simple estate, the which mine
enemies think I do so much esteem; having none other refuge to flee
to for defence or succour, in all adversity, but under the shadow of
his majesty's wing. Alas! my lord, I was in a good estate now, and in
case of a quiet living right well content therewith: but the enemy that
never sleepeth, but studieth and continually imagineth, both sleeping
and waking, my utter destruction, perceiving the contentation of my
mind, doubted that their malicious and cruel dealings would at length
grow to their shame and rebuke, goeth about therefore to prevent the
same with shedding of my blood. But from God, that knoweth the secrets
of their hearts and of all others, it cannot be hid, ne yet unrewarded,
when he shall see opportunity. For, my good lord, if you will show
yourself so much my good friend as to require the king's majesty, by
your letters, that my accusers may come before my face in his presence,
and there that I may make answer, I doubt not but ye shall see me
acquit myself of all their malicious accusations, and utterly confound
them; for they shall never be able to prove, by any due probations,
that ever I offended the king in will, thought, and deed. Therefore
I desire you and most heartily require your good lordship, to be a
mean for me, that I may answer unto my accusers before the king's
majesty. The case is his; and if their accusations should be true, then
should it touch no man but him most earnestly; wherefore it were most
convenient that he should hear it himself in proper person. But I fear
me, that they do intend rather to dispatch me than I should come before
him in his presence; for they be well assured, and very certain, that
my truth should vanquish all their untruth and surmised accusations;
which is the special cause that moveth me so earnestly to desire to
make mine answer before the king's majesty. The loss of goods, the
slander of my name, ne yet all my trouble, grieveth me nothing so much
as the loss of the king's favour, and that he should have in me such an
opinion, without desert, of untruth, that have with such travail and
pains served his highness so justly, so painfully, and with so faithful
a heart, to his profit and honour at all times. And also again, the
truth of my doings against their unjust accusations proved most just
and loyal should be much to my honesty, and do me more good than to
attain great treasure; as I doubt not but it will, if [the case] might
be indifferently heard. Now, my good lord, weigh ye my reasonable
request, and let charity and truth move your noble heart with pity,
to help me in all this my truth, wherein ye shall take no manner of
slander or rebuke, by the grace of God." "Well then," quoth my Lord
of Shrewsbury, "I will write to the king's majesty in your behalf,
declaring to him by my letters how grievously ye lament his displeasure
and indignation; and what request ye make for the trial of your truth
towards his highness." Thus after these communications, and divers
others, as between them daily was accustomed, they departed asunder.

Where my lord continued the space after of a fortnight, having goodly
and honourable entertainment, whom the earl would often require to
kill a doe or two there in the park, who always refused all manner of
earthly pleasures and disports either in hunting or in other games, but
applied his prayers continually very devoutly; so that it came to pass
at [a] certain season sitting at dinner in his own chamber, having at
his board's end that same day, as he divers times had to accompany him,
a mess of the earl's gentlemen and chaplains, and eating of roasted
wardens at the end of his dinner, before whom I stood at the table,
dressing of those wardens for him: beholding of him [I] perceived his
colour often to change, and alter divers times, whereby I judged him
not to be in health. Which caused me to lean over the table, saying
unto him softly, "Sir, me seemeth your grace is not well at ease." He
answered again and said, "Forsooth, no more I am; for I am," quoth he,
"suddenly taken about my stomach, with a thing that lieth overthwart my
breast as cold as a whetstone; the which is but wind; therefore I pray
you take up the cloth, and make ye a short dinner, and resort shortly
again unto me." And after that the table was taken up, I went and sat
the waiters to dinner, without in the gallery, and resorted again to
my lord, where I found him still sitting where I left him very ill
at ease; notwithstanding he was in communication with the gentlemen
sitting at the board's end. And as soon as I was entered the chamber,
he desired me to go down to the apothecary, and to inquire of him
whether he had any thing that would break wind upward, and according
to his commandment I went my way towards the apothecary. And by the
way I remembered one article of mine oath before made unto Master
Walshe, which caused me first to go to the earl, and showed him both
what estate he was in, and also what he desired at the apothecary's
hand for his relief. With that the earl caused the apothecary to be
called incontinent before him; of whom he demanded whether he had any
thing to break wind that troubleth one in his breast; and he answered
that he had such gear. "Then," quoth the earl, "fetch me some hither."
The which the apothecary brought in a white paper, a certain white
confection unto the earl, who commanded me to give the assay thereof to
the apothecary, and so I did before him. And then I departed therewith
bringing it to my lord, before whom I took also the assay thereof, and
delivered the same to my lord, who received the same wholly altogether
at once. And immediately after he had received the same, surely he
avoided exceeding much wind upward. "Lo," quoth he, "now you may see
that it was but wind; but by the means of this receipt I am, I thank
God, well eased and so he rose from the table, and went to his prayers,
as he accustomedly did after dinner. And being at his prayers, there
came upon him such a laske, that it caused him to go to his stool; and
being there the earl sent for me, and at my coming he said, "Forasmuch
as I have always perceived you to be a man, in whom my lord your
master hath great affiance; and for my experience, knowing you to be
an honest man" (with many more words of commendation than need here to
be rehearsed), said, "It is so, that my lord, your lamentable master,
hath often desired me to write to the king's majesty that he might
come unto his presence, to make answer to his accusations; and even
so have I done; for this day have I received letters from his grace,
by Sir William Kingston, knight, whereby I do perceive that the king
hath in him a very good opinion; and upon my often request, he hath
sent for him, by the said Sir William, to come up to answer, according
to his own desire; who is in his chamber. Wherefore now is the time
come that my lord hath often desired to try himself and his truth, as
I trust much to his honour; and I put no doubt in so doing, that it
shall be for him the best journey that ever he made in all his life.
Therefore now would I have you to play the part of a wise man, to
break first this matter unto him so wittily, and in such sort, that he
might take it quietly in good part: for he is ever so full of sorrow
and dolor in my company, that I fear me he will take it in evil part,
and then he doth not well: for I assure you, and so show him that the
king is his good lord, and hath given me the most worthy thanks for his
entertainment, desiring and commanding me so to continue, not doubting
but that he will right nobly acquit himself towards his highness.
Therefore, go your ways to him, and so persuade with him that I may
find him in good quiet at my coming, for I will not tarry long after
you." "Sir," quoth I, "I shall, if it please your lordship, endeavour
me to accomplish your commandment to the best of my power. But, sir, I
doubt one thing, that when I shall name Sir William Kingston, he will
mistrust that all is not well; because he is constable of the tower,
and captain of the guard, having twenty-four of the guard to attend
upon him." "Marry it is truth;" quoth the earl, "what thereof, though
he be constable of the tower? yet he is the most meetest man for his
wisdom and discretion to be sent about any such message. And for the
guard, it is for none other purpose but only to defend him against all
them that would intend him any evil, either in word or deed; and also
they be all, or for the most part, such of his old servants as the king
took of late into his service, to the intent that they should attend
upon him most justly, and doth know best how to serve him." "Well,
sir," said I, "I will do what I can," and so departed toward my lord.

And at my repair I found him sitting at the upper end of the gallery,
upon a trussing chest of his own, with his beads and staff in his
hands. And espying me coming from the earl, he demanded of me what
news. "Forsooth, sir," quoth I, "the best news that ever came to you;
if your grace can take it well." "I pray God it be," quoth he, "what is
it?" "Forsooth, sir," quoth I, "my Lord of Shrewsbury, perceiving by
your often communication that ye were always desirous to come before
the king's majesty, and now as your most assured friend, hath travailed
so with his letters unto the king, that the king hath sent for you
by Master Kingston and twenty-four of the guard, to conduct you to
his highness." "Master Kingston," quoth he, rehearsing his name[191]
once or twice; and with that clapped his hand on his thigh, and gave
a great sigh. "Sir," quoth I, "if your grace could or would take all
things in good part, it should be much better for you. Content yourself
for God's sake, and think that God and your friends hath wrought for
you, according to your own desire. Did ye not always wish that ye might
clear yourself before the king's person, now that God and your friends
hath brought your desire to pass, ye will not take it thankfully? If ye
consider your truth and loyalty unto our sovereign lord, against the
which your enemies cannot prevail, the king being your good lord as he
is, you know well, that the king can do no less than he doth, you being
to his highness accused of some heinous crime, but cause you to be
brought to your trial, and there to receive according to your demerits;
the which his highness trusteth, and saith no less but that you shall
prove yourself a just man to his majesty, wherein ye have more cause to
rejoice than thus to lament, or mistrust his favourable justice. For I
assure you, your enemies be more in doubt and fear of you, than you
of them; that they wish that thing, that I trust they shall never be
able to bring to pass with all their wits, the king (as I said before)
being your indifferent and singular good lord and friend. And to prove
that he so is, see you not how he hath sent gentle Master Kingston for
you, with such men as were your old true servants, and yet be as far as
it becometh them to be only to attend upon you, for the want of your
own servants, willing also Master Kingston to remove you with as much
honour as was due to you in your high estate; and to convey you by such
easy journeys as ye shall command him to do; and that ye shall have
all your desires and commandments by the way in every place, to your
grace's contentation and honour. Wherefore, sir, I humbly beseech your
grace, to imprint all these just persuasions with many other imminent
occasions in your discretion, and be of good cheer; I most humbly with
my faithful heart require your grace, wherewith ye shall principally
comfort yourself, and next give all your friends and to me and other
of your servants good hope of your good speed." "Well, well, then,"
quoth he, "I perceive more than ye can imagine, or do know. Experience
of old hath taught me." And therewith he rose up, and went into his
chamber, to his close stool, the flux troubled him so sore; and when
he had done he came out again; and immediately my Lord of Shrewsbury
came into the gallery unto him, with whom my lord met, and then they
both sitting down upon a bench in a great window, the earl asked him
how he did, and he most lamentably, as he was accustomed, answered,
thanking him for his gentle entertainment. "Sir," quoth the earl, "if
ye remember ye have often wished in my company to make answer before
the king; and I as desirous to help your request, as you to wish,
bearing towards you my good will, have written especially to the king
in your behalf; making him also privy of your lamentable sorrow, that
ye inwardly receive for his high displeasure; who accepteth all things
and your doings therein, as friends be accustomed to do in such cases.
Wherefore I would advise you to pluck up your heart, and be not aghast
of your enemies, who I assure you have you in more doubt than ye would
think, perceiving that the king is fully minded to have the hearing
of your case before his own person. Now, sir, if you can be of good
cheer, I doubt not but this journey which ye shall take towards his
highness shall be much to your advancement, and an overthrow of your
enemies. The king hath sent for you by that worshipful knight Master
Kingston, and with him twenty-four of your old servants, who be now of
the guard, to defend you against your unknown enemies, to the intent
that ye may safely come unto his majesty." "Sir," quoth my lord, "as
I suppose Master Kingston is constable of the tower." "Yea, what of
that?" quoth the earl, "I assure you he is only appointed by the king
for one of your friends, and for a discreet gentleman, as most worthy
to take upon him the safe conduct of your person; for without fail the
king favoureth you much more, and beareth towards you a secret special
favour, far otherwise than ye do take it." "Well, sir," quoth my lord,
"as God will, so be it. I am subject to fortune, and to fortune I
submit myself, being a true man ready to accept such ordinances as
God hath provided for me, and there an end: sir, I pray you, where is
Master Kingston?" "Marry," quoth the earl, "if ye will, I will send for
him, who would most gladly see you." "I pray you then," quoth my lord,
"send for him." At whose message he came incontinent, and as soon as my
lord espied him coming in to the gallery, he made haste to encounter
him. Master Kingston came towards him with much reverence; and at his
approach he kneeled down and saluted him on the king's behalf; whom
my lord bareheaded offered to take up, but he still kneeled. "Then,"
quoth my lord, "Master Kingston, I pray you stand up, and leave your
kneeling unto a very wretch replete with misery, not worthy to be
esteemed, but for a vile abject utterly cast away, without desert;
and therefore, good Master Kingston, stand up, or I will myself kneel
down by you." With that Master Kingston stood up, saying, with humble
reverence, "Sir, the king's majesty hath him commended unto you." "I
thank his highness," quoth my lord, "I trust he be in health, and
merry, the which I beseech God long continue." "Yea, without doubt,"
quoth Master Kingston: "and so hath he commanded me first to say unto
you, that you should assure yourself that he beareth you as much good
will and favour as ever he did; and willeth you to be of good cheer.
And where[192] report hath been made unto him, that ye should commit
against his royal majesty certain heinous crimes, which he thinketh
to be untrue, yet for the ministration of justice, in such cases
requisite, and to avoid all suspect of partiality [he] can do no less
at the least than to send for you to your trial, mistrusting nothing
your truth and wisdom, but that ye shall be able to acquit yourself
against all complaints and accusations exhibited against you; and to
take your journey towards him at your own pleasure, commanding me to
be attendant upon you with all damage and inconveniences that might
ensue; and to elect all such your old servants, now his, to serve you
by the way, who have most experience of your diet. Therefore, sir, I
beseech your grace to be of good cheer; and when it shall be your good
pleasure to take your journey, I shall give mine attendance." "Master
Kingston," quoth my lord, "I thank you for your good news: and, sir,
hereof assure yourself, that if I were as able and as lusty as I have
been but of late, I would not fail to ride with you in post: but, sir,
I am diseased with a flux[193] that maketh me very weak. But, Master
Kingston, all these comfortable words which ye have spoken be but for
a purpose to bring me into a fool's paradise: I know what is provided
for me. Notwithstanding, I thank you for your good will and pains taken
about me; and I shall with all speed make me ready to ride with you
to-morrow." And thus they fell into other communication, both the
earl and Master Kingston with my lord; who commanded me to foresee and
provide that all things might be made ready to depart the morrow after.
I caused all things to be trussed up, and made in a readiness as fast
as they could conveniently.

When night came that we should go to bed, my lord waxed very sick
through his new disease, the which caused him still continually from
time to time to go to the stool all that night; insomuch from the
time that his disease took him, unto the next day, he had above fifty
stools, so that he was that day very weak. The matter that he voided
was wondrous black, the which physicians call choler adustine; and
when he perceived it, he said to me, "If I have not some help shortly,
it will cost me my life." With that I caused one doctor Nicholas, a
physician, being with the earl, to look upon the gross matter that
he avoided; upon sight whereof he determined how he should not live
past four or five days; yet notwithstanding he would have ridden with
Master Kingston that same day, if the Earl of Shrewsbury had not been.
Therefore, in consideration of his infirmity, they caused him to tarry
all that day.

And the next day he took his journey with Master Kingston and the
guard. And as soon as they espied their old master, in such a
lamentable estate, they lamented him with weeping eyes. Whom my lord
took by the hands, and divers times, by the way, as he rode, he would
talk with them, sometime with one, and sometime with another; at night
he was lodged at a house of the Earl of Shrewsbury's, called Hardwick
Hall, very evil at ease. The next day he rode to Nottingham, and there
lodged that night, more sicker, and the next day we rode to Leicester
Abbey; and by the way he waxed so sick that he was divers times likely
to have fallen from his mule[194]; and being night before we came
to the abbey of Leicester, where at his coming in at the gates the
abbot of the place with all his convent met him with the light of many
torches; whom they right honourably received with great reverence. To
whom my lord said, "Father Abbot, I am come hither to leave my bones
among you," whom they brought on his mule to the stairs foot of his
chamber, and there alighted, and Master Kingston then took him by the
arm, and led him up the stairs; who told me afterwards that he never
carried so heavy a burden in all his life. And as soon as he was in
his chamber, he went incontinent to his bed, very sick. This was upon
Saturday at night; and there he continued sicker and sicker.

Upon Monday in the morning, as I stood by his bed side, about eight
of the clock, the windows being close shut, having wax lights burning
upon the cupboard, I beheld him, as me seemed, drawing fast to his
end. He perceiving my shadow upon the wall by his bed side, asked who
was there? "Sir, I am here," quoth I; "How do you?" quoth he to me.
"Very well, sir," quoth I, "if I might see your grace well." "What is
it of the clock?" said he to me. "Forsooth, sir," said I, "it is past
eight of the clock in the morning." "Eight of the clock?" quoth he,
"that cannot be," rehearsing divers times, "eight of the clock, eight
of the clock, nay, nay," quoth he at the last, "it cannot be eight of
the clock: for by eight of the clock ye shall lose your master: for
my time draweth near that I must depart out of this world." With that
Master Doctor Palmes, a worshipful gentleman, being his chaplain and
ghostly father, standing by, bade me secretly demand of him if he would
be shriven, and to be in a readiness towards God, whatsoever should
chance. At whose desire I asked him that question. "What have you to do
to ask me any such question?" quoth he, and began to be very angry with
me for my presumption; until at the last Master Doctor took my part,
and talked with him in Latin, and so pacified him.

And after dinner, Master Kingston sent for me into his chamber, and
at my being there, said to me, "So it is, that the king hath sent me
letters by this gentleman Master Vincent, one of your old companions,
who hath been of late in trouble in the Tower of London for money that
my lord should have at his last departing from him, which now cannot
be found. Wherefore the king, at this gentleman's request, for the
declaration of his truth hath sent him hither with his grace's letters
directed unto me, commanding me by virtue thereof to examine my lord in
that behalf, and to have your counsel herein, how it may be done, that
he may take it well and in good part. This is the chief cause of my
sending for you; therefore I pray you what is your best counsel to use
in this matter for the true acquittal of this gentleman?" "Sir," quoth
I, "as touching that matter, my simple advice shall be this, that your
own person shall resort unto him and visit him, and in communication
break the matter unto him; and if he will not tell the truth, there
be that can satisfy the king's pleasure therein; and in anywise speak
nothing of my fellow Vincent. And I would not advise you to tract the
time with him; for he is very sick, and I fear me he will not live
past to-morrow in the morning." Then went Master Kingston unto him;
and asked first how he did, and so forth proceeded in communication,
wherein Master Kingston demanded of him the said money, saying, "that
my lord of Northumberland hath found a book at Cawood that reporteth
how ye had but late fifteen hundred pounds in ready money, and one
penny thereof will not be found, who hath made the king privy by his
letters thereof. Wherefore the king hath written unto me, to demand of
you if you know where it is become; for it were pity that it should
be embezzled from you both. Therefore I shall require you, in the
king's name, to tell me the truth herein, to the intent that I may
make just report unto his majesty what answer ye make therein." With
that my lord paused awhile and said, "Ah, good Lord! how much doth
it grieve me that the king should think in me such deceit, wherein I
should deceive him of any one penny that I have. Rather than I would,
Master Kingston, embezzle, or deceive him of a mite, I would it were
moult, and put in my mouth;" which words he spake twice or thrice very
vehemently. "I have nothing, ne never had (God being my judge), that I
esteemed, or had in it any such delight or pleasure, but that I took
it for the king's goods, having but the bare use of the same during
my life, and after my death to leave it to the king; wherein he hath
but prevented my intent and purpose. And for this money that ye demand
of me, I assure you it is none of mine; for I borrowed it of divers
of my friends to bury me, and to bestow among my servants, who have
taken great pains about me, like true and faithful men. Notwithstanding
if it be his pleasure to take this money from me, I must hold me
therewith content. Yet I would most humbly beseech his majesty to see
them satisfied, of whom I borrowed the same for the discharge of my
conscience." "Who be they?" quoth Master Kingston. "That shall I show
you," said my lord. "I borrowed two hundred pounds thereof of Sir John
Allen of London; and two hundred pounds of Sir Richard Gresham; and two
hundred pounds of the master of the Savoy; and two hundred pounds of
Doctor Hickden, dean of my college in Oxford; and two hundred pounds
of the treasurer of the church of York; and two hundred pounds of the
dean of York; and two hundred pounds of parson Ellis my chaplain; and
a hundred pounds of my steward, whose name I have forgotten; trusting
that the king will restore them again their money, for it is none of
mine." "Sir," quoth Master Kingston, "there is no doubt in the king;
ye need not to mistrust that, but when the king shall be advertised
thereof, to whom I shall make report of your request, that his grace
will do as shall become him. But, sir, I pray you, where is this
money?" "Master Kingston," quoth he, "I will not conceal it from the
king; I will declare it to you, or I die, by the grace of God. Take a
little patience with me, I pray you." "Well, sir, then will I trouble
you no more at this time, trusting that ye will show me to-morrow."
"Yea, that I will, Master Kingston, for the money is safe enough, and
in an honest man's keeping; who will not keep one penny from the king."
And then Master Kingston went to his chamber to supper.

Howbeit my lord waxed very sick, most likeliest to die that night, and
often swooned, and as me thought drew fast toward his end, until it was
four of the clock in the morning, at which time I asked him how he did.
"Well," quoth he, "if I had any meat; I pray you give me some." "Sir,
there is none ready," said I; "I wis," quoth he, "ye be the more to
blame, for you should have always some meat for me in a readiness, to
eat when my stomach serveth me; therefore I pray you get me some; for
I intend this day, God willing, to make me strong, to the intent I may
occupy myself in confession, and make me ready to God." "Then, sir,"
quoth I, "I will call up the cook to provide some meat for you; and
will also, if it be your pleasure, call for Master Palmes, that ye may
commune with him, until your meat be ready." "With a good will," quoth
he. And therewith I went first, and called up the cook, commanding him
to prepare some meat for my lord; and then I went to Master Palmes and
told him what case my lord was in; willing him to rise, and to resort
to him with speed. And then I went to Master Kingston, and gave him
warning, that, as I thought, he would not live; advertising him that
if he had any thing to say to him, that he should make haste, for he
was in great danger. "In good faith," quoth Master Kingston, "ye be to
blame: for ye make him believe that he is sicker, and in more danger
than he is." "Well, sir," quoth I, "ye shall not say another day but
that I gave you warning, as I am bound to do, in discharge of my duty.
Therefore, I pray you, whatsoever shall chance, let no negligence be
ascribed to me herein; for I assure you his life is very short. Do
therefore now as ye think best." Yet nevertheless he arose, and made
him ready, and came to him. After he had eaten of a cullis made of a
chicken, a spoonful or two; at the last, quoth he, "Whereof was this
cullis made?" "Forsooth, sir," quoth I, "of a chicken." "Why," quoth
he, "it is fasting day, and St. Andrew's Eve." "What though it be,
sir," quoth Doctor Palmes, "ye be excused by reason of your sickness?"
"Yea," quoth he, "what though? I will eat no more."

Then was he in confession the space of an hour. And when he had ended
his confession, Master Kingston bade him good-morrow (for it was about
seven of the clock in the morning); and asked him how he did. "Sir,"
quoth he, "I tarry but the will and pleasure of God, to render unto him
my simple soul into his divine hands." "Not yet so, sir," quoth Master
Kingston, "with the grace of God, ye shall live, and do very well; if
ye will be of good cheer." "Master Kingston, my disease is such that
I cannot live; I have had some experience in my disease, and thus it
is: I have a flux with a continual fever; the nature whereof is this,
that if there be no alteration with me of the same within eight days,
then must either ensue excoriation of the entrails, or frenzy, or else
present death; and the best thereof is death. And as I suppose, this
is the eighth day: and if ye see in me no alteration, then is there
no remedy (although I may live a day or twaine), but death, which is
the best remedy of the three." "Nay, sir, in good faith," quoth Master
Kingston, "you be in such dolor and pensiveness, doubting that thing
that indeed ye need not to fear, which maketh you much worse than ye
should be." "Well, well, Master Kingston," quoth he, "I see the matter
against me how it is framed; but if I had served God as diligently
as I have done the king, he would not have given me over in my grey
hairs[195]. Howbeit this is the just reward that I must receive for my
worldly diligence and pains that I have had to do him service; only
to satisfy his vain pleasure, not regarding my godly duty. Wherefore
I pray you, with all my heart, to have me most humbly commended unto
his royal majesty; beseeching him in my behalf to call to his most
gracious remembrance all matters proceeding between him and me from the
beginning of the world unto this day, and the progress of the same:
and most chiefly in the weighty matter yet depending; (meaning the
matter newly began between him and good Queen Katherine) then shall
his conscience declare, whether I have offended him or no. He is sure
a prince of a royal courage, and hath a princely heart; and rather
than he will either miss or want any part of his will or appetite, he
will put the loss of one half of his realm in danger. For I assure you
I have often kneeled before him in his privy chamber on my knees, the
space of an hour or two, to persuade him from his will and appetite:
but I could never bring to pass to dissuade him therefrom. Therefore,
Master Kingston, if it chance hereafter you to be one of his privy
counsel, as for your wisdom and other qualities ye are meet to be, I
warn you to be well advised and assured what matter ye put in his head,
for ye shall never put it out again.

"And say furthermore, that I request his grace, in God's name,
that he have a vigilant eye to depress this new pernicious sect of
Lutherans[196], that it do not increase within his dominions through
his negligence, in such a sort, as that he shall be fain at length
to put harness upon his back to subdue them; as the king of Bohemia
did, who had good game, to see his rude commons (then infected with
Wickliffe's heresies) to spoil and murder the spiritual men and
religious persons of his realm; the which fled to the king and his
nobles for succour against their frantic rage; of whom they could get
no help of defence or refuge, but [they] laughed them to scorn, having
good game at their spoil and consumption, not regarding their duties
nor their own defence. And when these erroneous heretics had subdued
all the clergy and spiritual persons, taking the spoil of their
riches, both of churches, monasteries, and all other spiritual things,
having no more to spoil, [they] caught such a courage of their former
liberty that then they disdained their prince and sovereign lord with
all other noble personages, and the head governors of the country,
and began to fall in hand with the temporal lords to slay and spoil
them, without pity or mercy, most cruelly. Insomuch that the king and
other his nobles were constrained to put harness upon their backs, to
resist the ungodly powers of those traitorous heretics, and to defend
their lives and liberties, who pitched a field royal against them;
in which field these traitors so stoutly encountered, the party of
them was so cruel and vehement, that in fine they were victors, and
slew the king, the lords, and all the gentlemen of the realm, leaving
not one person that bare the name or port of a gentleman alive, or
of any person that had any rule or authority in the common weal. By
means of which slaughter they have lived ever since in great misery
and poverty without a head or governor, living all in common like
wild beasts abhorred of all Christian nations. Let this be to him an
evident example to avoid the like danger, I pray you. Good Master
Kingston, there is no trust in routs, or unlawful assemblies of the
common people; for when the riotous multitude be assembled, there is
among them no mercy or consideration of their bounden duty; as in the
history of King Richard the Second, one of his noble progenitors, which
[lived] in that same time of Wickliffe's seditious opinions. Did not
the commons, I pray you, rise against the king and the nobles of the
realm of England; whereof some they apprehended, whom they without
mercy or justice put to death? and did they not fall to spoiling and
robbery, to the intent they might bring all things in common; and at
the last, without discretion or reverence, spared not in their rage
to take the king's most royal person out of the Tower of London, and
carried him about the city most presumptuously, causing him, for the
preservation of his life, to be agreeable to their lewd proclamations?
Did not also the traitorous heretic, Sir John Oldcastle, pitch a field
against King Henry the Fifth, against whom the king was constrained
to encounter in his royal person, to whom God gave the victory? Alas!
Master Kingston, if these be not plain precedents, and sufficient
persuasions to admonish a prince to be circumspect against the
semblable mischief; and if he be so negligent, then will God strike and
take from him his power, and diminish his regality, taking from him his
prudent counsellors and valiant captains, and leave us in our own hands
without his help and aid; and then will ensue mischief upon mischief,
inconvenience upon inconvenience, barrenness and scarcity of all things
for lack of good order in the commonwealth, to the utter destruction
and desolation of this noble realm, from the which mischief God of his
tender mercy defend us.

"Master Kingston, farewell. I can no more, but wish all things to have
good success. My time draweth on fast. I may not tarry with you. And
forget not, I pray you, what I have said and charged you withal: for
when I am dead, ye shall peradventure remember my words much better."
And even with these words he began to draw his speech at length, and
his tongue to fail; his eyes being set in his head, whose sight failed
him. Then we began to put him in remembrance of Christ's passion; and
sent for the abbot of the place to anneal[197] him, who came with all
speed, and ministered unto him all the service to the same belonging;
and caused also the guard to stand by, both to hear him talk before
his death, and also to witness of the same; and incontinent the clock
struck eight, at which time he gave up the ghost, and thus departed he
this present life[198]. And calling to our remembrance his words, the
day before, how he said that at eight of the clock we should lose our
master, one of us looking upon an other, supposing that he prophesied
of his departure.

Here is the end and fall of pride and arrogancy of such men, exalted by
fortune to honours and high dignities; for I assure you, in his time of
authority and glory, he was the haughtiest man in all his proceedings
that then lived, having more respect to the worldly honour of his
person than he had to his spiritual profession; wherein should be all
meekness, humility, and charity; the process whereof I leave to them
that be learned and seen in divine laws[199].

After that he was thus departed, Master Kingston sent an empost to the
king, to advertise him of the death of the late Cardinal of York by one
of the guard, that both saw and heard him talk and die. And then Master
Kingston calling me unto him and to the abbot, went to consultation for
the order of his burial.

After divers communications, it was thought good, that he should be
buried the next day following; for Master Kingston would not tarry the
return of the empost. And it was further thought good that the mayor
of Leicester and his brethren should be sent for, to see him personally
dead, in avoiding of false rumours that might hap to say that he was
not dead but still living. Then was the mayor and his brethren sent
for; and in the mean time the body was taken out of the bed where he
lay dead; who had upon him, next his body, a shirt of hair, besides his
other shirt, which was of very fine linen Holland cloth; this shirt
of hair was unknown to all his servants being continually attending
upon him in his bedchamber, except to his chaplain, which was his
Ghostly Father; wherein he was buried, and laid in a coffin of boards,
having upon his dead corpse all such vestures and ornaments as he was
professed in when he was consecrated bishop and archbishop, as mitre,
crosses, ring, and pall, with all other things appurtenant to his
profession. And lying thus all day in his coffin open and barefaced,
that all men might see him lie there dead without feigning; then when
the mayor, his brethren, and all other had seen him, lying thus until
four or five of the clock at night, he was carried so down into the
church with great solemnity by the abbot and convent, with many torches
light, singing such service as is done for such funerals.

And being in the church the corpse was set in our lady chapel, with
many and divers tapers of wax burning about the hearse, and divers
poor men sitting about the same, holding of torches light in their
hands, who watched about the dead body all night, whilst the canons
sang dirige, and other devout orisons. And about four of the clock
in the morning they sang mass. And that done, and the body interred,
Master Kingston, with us, being his servants, were present at his said
funeral, and offered at his mass. And by that time that all things were
finished, and all ceremonies that to such a person were decent and
convenient, it was about six of the clock in the morning.

Then prepared we to horseback, being St. Andrew's Day the Apostle, and
so took our journey towards the court[200], being at Hampton Court;
where the king then lay. And after we came thither, which was upon St.
Nicholas' Eve, we gave attendance upon the council for our depeche.

Upon the morrow I was sent for by the king to come to his grace; and
being in Master Kingston's chamber in the court, had knowledge thereof,
and repairing to the king, I found him shooting at the rounds in the
park, on the backside of the garden. And perceiving him occupied in
shooting, thought it not my duty to trouble him: but leaned to a tree,
intending to stand there, and to attend his gracious pleasure. Being in
a great study, at the last the king came suddenly behind me, where I
stood, and clapped his hand upon my shoulder; and when I perceived him,
I fell upon my knee. To whom he said, calling me by name, "I will,"
quoth he, "make an end of my game, and then will I talk with you:" and
so departed to his mark, whereat the game was ended.

Then the king delivered his bow unto the yeoman of his bows, and went
his way inward to the palace, whom I followed; howbeit he called for
Sir John Gage, with whom he talked, until he came at the garden postern
gate, and there entered; the gate being shut after him, which caused me
to go my ways.

And being gone but a little distance the gate was opened again, and
there Sir Harry Norris called me again, commanding me to come in to
the king, who stood behind the door in a nightgown of russet velvet,
furred with sables; before whom I kneeled down, being with him there
all alone the space of an hour and more, during which time he examined
me of divers weighty matters, concerning my lord, wishing that liever
than twenty thousand pounds that he had lived. Then he asked me for the
fifteen hundred pounds, which Master Kingston moved to my lord before
his death. "Sir," said I, "I think that I can tell your grace partly
where it is." "Yea, can you?" quoth the king; "then I pray you tell me,
and you shall do us much pleasure, nor it shall not be unrewarded."
"Sir," said I, "if it please your highness, after the departure of
David Vincent from my lord at Scroby, who had then the custody thereof,
leaving the same with my lord in divers bags, sealed with my lord's
seal, [he] delivered the same money in the same bags sealed unto a
certain priest (whom I named to the king), safely to keep to his use."
"Is this true?" quoth the king. "Yea, sir," quoth I, "without all
doubt. The priest shall not be able to deny it in my presence, for I
was at the delivery thereof[201]." "Well then," quoth the king, "let me
alone, and keep this gear secret between yourself and me, and let no
man be privy thereof; for if I hear any more of it, then I know by whom
it is come to knowledge."

"Three may," quoth he, "keep counsel, if two be away; and if I thought
that my cap knew my counsel, I would cast it into the fire and burn
it. And for your truth and honesty ye shall be one of our servants,
and in that same room with us, that ye were with your old master.
Therefore go to Sir John Gage our vice chamberlain, to whom I have
spoken already to give you your oath, and to admit you our servant in
the same room; and then go to my Lord of Norfolk, and he shall pay you
all your whole year's wages, which is ten pounds, is it not so?" quoth
the king. "Yes, forsooth, sire," quoth I, "and I am behind thereof for
three quarters of a year." "That is true," quoth the king, "for so we
be informed, therefore ye shall have your whole year's wages, with our
reward delivered you by the Duke of Norfolk." The king also promised
me furthermore, to be my singular good and gracious lord, whensoever
occasion should serve. And thus I departed from him.

And as I went I met with Master Kingston coming from the council, who
commanded me in their names to go straight unto them, whom they had
sent for by him, "And in any wise," quoth he, "for God's sake, take
good heed what ye say; for ye shall be examined of such certain words
as my lord your late master had at his departure, and if you tell
them the truth," quoth he, "what he said, you shall undo yourself;
for in any wise they would not hear of it: therefore be circumspect
what answer ye make to their demands." "Why, sir," quoth I, "how have
ye done therein yourself?" "Marry," quoth he, "I have utterly denied
that ever I heard any such words; and he that opened the matter first
is fled for fear; which was the yeoman of the guard that rode empost
to the king from Leicester. Therefore go your ways, God send you good
speed; and when you have done, come to me into the chamber of presence,
where I shall tarry your coming to see how you speed, and to know how
ye have done with the king."

Thus I departed, and went directly to the council chamber door; and as
soon as I was come, I was called in among them. And being there, my
Lord of Norfolk spake to me first, and bade me welcome to the court,
and said, "My lords, this gentleman hath both justly and painfully
served the cardinal his master like an honest and diligent servant;
therefore I doubt not but of such questions as ye shall demand of him,
he will make just report, I dare undertake the same for him. How say
ye, it is reported that your master spake certain words, even before
his departure out of this life; the truth whereof I doubt not ye know;
and as ye know, I pray you report; and fear not for no man. Ye shall
not need to swear him, therefore go to, how say you, is it true that
is reported?" "Forsooth, sir," quoth I, "I was so diligent attending
more to the preservation of his life than I was to note and mark every
word that he spake: and, sir, indeed, he spake many idle words, as men
in such extremities do, the which I cannot now remember. If it please
your lordships to call before you Master Kingston, he will not fail to
show you the truth." "Marry, so have we done already," quoth they, "who
hath been here presently before us, and hath denied utterly that ever
he heard any such words spoken by your master at the time of his death,
or at any time before." "Forsooth, my lords," quoth I, "then I can say
no more; for if he heard them not, I could not hear them; for he heard
as much as I, and I as much as he. Therefore, my lords, it were much
folly for me to declare any thing of untruth, which I am not able to
justify." "Lo!" quoth my Lord of Norfolk, "I told you as much before;
therefore go your ways:" quoth he to me, "you are dismissed, and come
again to my chamber anon, for I must needs talk with you."

I most humbly thanked them, and so departed; and went into the chamber
of presence to meet with Master Kingston, whom I found standing in
communication with an ancient gentleman, usher of the king's privy
chamber, called Master Radcliffe. And at my coming, Master Kingston
demanded of me, if I had been with the counsel; and what answer I made
them. I said again, that I had satisfied them sufficiently with my
answer; and told him the manner of it. And then he asked me how I sped
with the king; and I told him partly of our communication; and of his
grace's benevolence and princely liberality; and how he commanded me
to go to my Lord of Norfolk. As we were speaking of him, he came from
the council into the chamber of presence; as soon as he espied me, he
came unto the window, where I stood with Master Kingston and Master
Radcliffe; to whom I declared the king's pleasure. These two gentlemen
desired him to be my good lord. "Nay," quoth he, "I will be better unto
him than ye wene; for if I could have spoken with him before he came
to the king, I would have had him to my service; (the king excepted)
he should have done no man service in all England but only me. And
look, what I may do for you, I will do it with right good will." "Sir,
then," quoth I, "would it please your grace to move the king's majesty
in my behalf, to give me one of the carts and horses that brought up
my stuff with my lord's (which is now in the tower), to carry it into
my country." "Yea, marry, will I," quoth he, and returned again to
the king; for whom I tarried still with Master Kingston. And Master
Radcliffe, who said, that he would go in and help my lord in my suit
with the king. And incontinent my lord came forth, and showed me, how
the king was my good and gracious lord; and had given me six of the
best horses that I could choose amongst all my lord's cart horses,
with a cart to carry my stuff, and five marks for my costs homewards;
and "hath commanded me," quoth he, "to deliver you ten pounds for
your wages; being behind unpaid; and twenty pounds for a reward;"
who commanded to call for Master Secretary to make a warrant for all
these things. Then was it told him, that Master Secretary was gone to
Hanworth for that night. Then commanded he one of the messengers of the
chamber to ride unto him in all haste for those warrants; and willed
me to meet with him the next day at London; and there to receive both
my money, my stuff, and horses, that the king gave me: and so I did;
of whom I received all things according, and then I returned into my
country.

And thus ended the life of my late lord and master, the rich and
triumphant legate and cardinal of England, on whose soul Jesu have
mercy! Amen.


_Finis quod G. C._


Who list to read and consider, with an indifferent eye, this history,
may behold the wondrous mutability of vain honours, the brittle
assurance of abundance; the uncertainty of dignities, the flattering of
feigned friends, and the tickle trust to worldly princes. Whereof this
lord cardinal hath felt both of the sweet and the sour in each degree;
as fleeting from honours, losing of riches, deposed from dignities,
forsaken of friends, and the inconstantness of princes favour; of all
which things he hath had in this world the full felicity, as long as
fortune smiled upon him: but when she began to frown, how soon was
he deprived of all these dreaming joys and vain pleasures. The which
in twenty years with great travail, study, and pains, obtained, were
in one year and less, with heaviness, care, and sorrow, lost and
consumed. O madness! O foolish desire! O fond hope! O greedy desire
of vain honours, dignities, and riches! Oh what inconstant trust and
assurance is in rolling fortune! Wherefore the prophet said full
well, _Thesaurizat, et ignorat, cui congregabit ea_. Who is certain
to whom he shall leave his treasure and riches that he hath gathered
together in this world, it may chance him to leave it unto such as
he hath purposed? but the wise man saith, _That an other person, who
peradventure he hated in his life, shall spend it out, and consume it_.


THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

[44] The autograph MS. begins here.

[45] He was born in the year 1471. See Fiddes's _Life of Wolsey_, p.
2. 1726. By some it has been said that his father was a _butcher_,
but the foundation for this assertion is not known. The zealous
biographer of the cardinal, Mr. Grove, made two successive journeys
to Ipswich for the purpose of obtaining information respecting him,
but the whole fruit of both expeditions was ascertaining the Christian
name of Wolsey's father, and that he was a man of some substance! He
printed, however, what he calls "The Life of Robert Wolsey, of Ipswich,
_Gentleman_," in 1761! The will of Wolsey's father was published by Dr.
Fiddes, and for its curiosity I shall give it a place in the Appendix.

[46] The place was Lymington, in the Diocese of Bath and Wells. He was
instituted October 10, A. D. 1500. _Fiddes_, p. 5.

[47] The tradition is, that Wolsey was set in the stocks by Sir Amyas
Pawlet's direction, for disorderly conduct at a fair where he had drunk
to excess. The ground for this assertion is not known, but it seems to
rest upon no earlier authority than that of Sir John Harrington. It may
be remarked that Storer, in his metrical Life of Wolsey, represents him
as the injured party:

      "Wrong'd by a knight for no desert of mine."


[48] September, 1501.

[49] Fiddes asserts that Sir John Nanfan was a Somersetshire gentleman.
Nash, in his History of Worcestershire states, that the father and
the son have been confounded, and that it was Sir Richard Nanfan, a
gentleman of that county, who was captain of Calais about this time, i.
e. circa 1503. His son's name was Sir John; but it is evident that the
words _a very grave and ancient_ knight can only apply to Sir Richard.

[50] _Place_, or _office_.

[51] Wolsey had not only the address and good qualities necessary to
the acquisition of such friends, but also retained them to the last.
The affection of Bishop Fox is apparent in the last letter which he
wrote to him; and Sir Thomas Lovell's esteem was manifested to the
close of his life, for he leaves him in his will "a standing cup of
golde, and one hundred marks in golde."

[52] This mission related to the intended treaty of marriage between
Henry the Seventh, and the Duchess Dowager of Savoy.

[53] Shakspeare represents the cardinal as "Exceeding wise, fair spoken
and persuading;" and one of the charges exhibited against him was,
that "at the privy council he would have all the words to himself, and
consumed the time with a fair tale!"

[54] _Dispatch._

[55] _Understanding._

[56] Wordsworth's Ed.

[57] By _passengers_ the reader will see by the context that the
_passage boats_ are meant. It was the usual phrase to signify a
ferryman, and also his boat, from _passager_, Fr. Thus in Baret's
Alvearie, "A _passenger_, one that conveyeth over many, convector."

[58] Thomas Storer, in his metrical Life of Wolsey, 1599, has the
following stanza, in which the expedition Wolsey used on this occasion
is not unpoetically alluded to:

    "The Argonautic vessel never past
    With swifter course along the Colchian main,
    Than my small bark with fair and speedy blast
    Convey'd me forth, and reconvey'd again;
    Thrice had Arcturus driv'n his restless wain,
    And heav'n's bright lamp the day had thrice reviv'd
    From first departure, till I last arriv'd."

This poem was reprinted by Mr. Park in the Supplement to the Harleian
Miscellany. There are extracts from it in the Retrospective Review,
Vol. v. p. 275.

[59] He was collated Feb. 2. A. D. 1508. Le Neve's _Fasti_. p. 146.

[60] These words follow in most of the manuscripts, but are probably an
interpolation: "and mother afterwards of the queen's highness, that now
is, (whose virtuous life and godly disposition Jesu long preserve, and
continue against the malignity of her corrupt enemies!)"

[61] This house merged to the crown by the attainder of Empson, and
appears to have been a princely dwelling, for in the patent, an orchard
and twelve gardens are enumerated as belonging to it. The grant bears
date in 1510. It stood upon the ground which is now occupied by
Salisbury Square and Dorset Street, its gardens reaching to the banks
of the river.

[62] _Who had._ MS. L.

[63] _Was._ MS. L.

[64] Dr. Wordsworth has cited a passage from Sir Thomas More, in his
_Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation_, in which is a lively and
characteristic picture, "designed, no doubt, to represent the cardinal
at the head of his own table." I could not refuse myself the pleasure
of laying it before the reader.

"_Anthony._ I praye you, cosyn, tell on. _Vincent._ Whan I was fyrste
in Almaine, uncle, it happed me to be somewhat favoured with a great
manne of the churche, and a great state, one of the greatest in all
that country there. And in dede whosoever might spende as muche as
hee mighte in one thinge and other, were a ryght great estate in anye
countrey of Christendom. But glorious was hee verye farre above all
measure, and that was great pitie, for it dyd harme, and made him abuse
many great gyftes that God hadde given him. Never was he saciate of
hearinge his owne prayse.

So happed it one daye, that he had in a great audience made an oracion
in a certayne matter, wherein he liked himselfe so well, that at his
diner he sat, him thought, on thornes, tyll he might here how they that
sat with hym at his borde, woulde commend it. And whan hee had sitte
musing a while, devysing, as I thought after, uppon some pretty proper
waye to bring it in withal, at the laste, for lacke of a better, lest
he should have letted the matter too long, he brought it even blontly
forth, and asked us al that satte at his bordes end (for at his owne
messe in the middes there sat but himself alone) howe well we lyked
his oracyon that he hadde made that daye. But in fayth Uncle, whan
that probleme was once proponed, till it was full answered, no manne
(I wene) eate one morsell of meate more. Every manne was fallen in so
depe a studye, for the fyndynge of some exquisite prayse. For he that
shoulde have brought oute but a vulgare and a common commendacion,
woulde have thoughte himself shamed for ever. Than sayde we our
sentences by rowe as wee sat, from the lowest unto the hyghest in good
order, as it had bene a great matter of the comon weale, in a right
solemne counsayle. Whan it came to my parte, I wyll not saye it, Uncle,
for no boaste, mee thoughte, by oure Ladye, for my parte, I quytte
my selfe metelye wel. And I lyked my selfe the better beecause mee
thoughte my wordes beeinge but a straungyer, wente yet with some grace
in the Almain tong wherein lettyng my latin alone me listed to shewe
my cunnyng, and I hoped to be lyked the better, because I sawe that
he that sate next mee, and should saie his sentence after mee, was an
unlearned Prieste, for he could speake no latin at all. But whan he
came furth for hys part with my Lordes commendation, the wyly Fox,
hadde be so well accustomed in courte with the crafte of flattry that
he wente beyonde me to farre.

And that might I see by hym, what excellence a right meane witte may
come to in one crafte, that in al his whole life studyeth and busyeth
his witte about no mo but that one. But I made after a solempne vowe
unto my selfe, that if ever he and I were matched together at that
boarde agayne: when we should fall to our flattrye, I would flatter in
latin, that he should not contende with me no more. For though I could
be contente to be out runne by an horse, yet would I no more abyde it
to be out runne of an asse. But Uncle, here beganne nowe the game, he
that sate hygheste, and was to speake, was a great beneficed man, and
not a Doctour onely, but also somewhat learned in dede in the lawes of
the Churche. A worlde it was to see howe he marked every mannes worde
that spake before him. And it semed that every worde the more proper it
was, the worse he liked it, for the cumbrance that he had to study out
a better to passe it. The manne even swette with the laboure, so that
he was faine in the while now and than to wipe his face. Howbeit in
conclusion whan it came to his course, we that had spoken before him,
hadde so taken up al among us before, that we hadde not lefte hym one
wye worde to speake after.

_Anthony._ Alas good manne! amonge so manye of you, some good felow
shold have lente hym one. _Vincent._ It needed not as happe was Uncle.
For he found out such a shift, that in hys flatteryng he passed us
all the mayny. _Anthony._ Why, what sayde he Cosyn? _Vyncent._ By our
Ladye Uncle not one worde. But lyke as I trow Plinius telleth, that
whan Appelles the Paynter in the table that he paynted of the sacryfyce
and the death of Iphigenia, hadde in the makynge of the sorowefull
countenances of the other noble menne of Greece that beehelde it,
spente oute so much of his craft and hys cunnynge, that whan he came to
make the countenance of King Agamemnon her father, whiche hee reserved
for the laste, ... he could devise no maner of newe heavy chere and
countenance--but to the intent that no man should see what maner
countenance it was, that her father hadde, the paynter was fayne to
paynte hym, holdyng his face in his handkercher. The like pageant in
a maner plaide us there this good aunciente honourable flatterer. For
whan he sawe that he coulde fynde no woordes of prayse, that woulde
passe al that hadde bene spoken before all readye, the wyly Fox woulde
speake never a word, but as he that were ravished unto heavenwarde
with the wonder of the wisdom and eloquence that my Lordes Grace hadde
uttered in that oracyon, he fette a long syghe with an Oh! from the
bottome of hys breste, and helde uppe bothe hys handes, and lyfte uppe
bothe his handes and lift uppe his head, and caste up his eyen into
the welkin and wepte. _Anthony._ Forsooth Cosyn, he plaide his parte
verye properlye. But was that greate Prelates oracion Cosyn, any thyng
prayseworthye?" _Sir Thomas More's Works_, p. 1221, 1222.

[65] _i.e._ haughty.

[66] June 1513.

[67] 100 crowns a day.

[68] "Heaven and happiness eternal is τὸ ξητόυμενον, that
which is joined in issue, to which we are intituled, for which we
plead, to which we have right; from whence by injury and treachery we
have been ejected, and from whence _by fine force_ we are kept out: for
this we do _clamare_, by the Clergy, our Counsel, in the view of God
and Angels." _Montague's Diatribe upon Selden's History of Tithes_, p.
130. _W._

[69] He was consecrated bishop of Lincoln, March 26, A. D. 1514. _Le
Neve's Fasti_, p. 141. _W._

[70] Bambridge was poisoned (according to Stow) by Rinaldo da Modena,
his chaplain, who was incited to the act by revenge, having suffered
the indignity of a blow from the archbishop.

[71] Dr. Robert Barnes preached a Sermon on the 24th of December,
1525, at St. Edward's Church in Cambridge, from which Sermon certain
Articles were drawn out upon which he was soon after called to make
answer before the Cardinal. Barnes has left behind him a description of
this examination. The sixth of these Articles was as follows. "I wyll
never beleeve that one man may be, by the lawe of God, a Byshop of two
or three cities, yea of an whole countrey, for it is contrarye to St.
Paule, which sayth, _I have left thee behynde, to set in every citye a
byshop_."

"I was brought afore my Lorde Cardinall into his Galary, (continues Dr.
Barnes), and there hee reade all myne articles, tyll hee came to this,
and there he stopped, and sayd, that this touched hym, and therefore
hee asked me, if I thought it wronge, that one byshop shoulde have
so many cityes underneath hym; unto whom I answered, that I could no
farther go, than St. Paules texte, whych set in every cytye a byshop.
Then asked hee mee, if I thought it now unright (seeing the ordinaunce
of the Church) that one byshop should have so many cities. I aunswered
that I knew none ordinaunce of the Church, as concerning this thinge,
but St. Paules sayinge onelye. Nevertheles I did see a contrarye custom
and practise in the world, but I know not the originall thereof. Then
sayde hee, that in the Apostles tyme, there were dyvers cities, some
seven myle, some six myle long, and over them was there set but one
byshop, and of their suburbs also: so likewise now, a byshop hath
but one citye to his cathedrall churche, and the country about is as
suburbs unto it. Me thought this was farre fetched, but I durst not
denye it." _Barnes's Works_, p. 210. A. D. 1573. _W._

[72] This was not the first time in which this point of precedency had
been contested. Edward III, in the sixth year of his reign, at a time
when a similar debate was in agitation, having summoned a Parliament at
York, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and all the other Prelates of his
Province, declined giving their attendance, that the Metropolitan of
all England might not be obliged to submit his Cross to that of York,
in the Province of the latter. _Fox_, p. 387, 388. _W._

[73] Wolsey, in his endeavours to obtain the purple pall, had relied
much on the assistance of Adrian, Bishop of Bath, himself a cardinal,
then the Pope's collector in England, but residing at Rome, and
acting by Polydore Vergil, his deputy. Adrian being either unable or
unwilling to render the expected service, Wolsey, conceiving that
he had been betrayed, seized upon the deputy collector, Polydore,
and committed him to the Tower, where he remained, notwithstanding
repeated remonstrances from the court of Rome, until the elevation of
Wolsey to the cardinalate procured his liberty. This will account for
the unfavourable light in which Wolsey is placed in Polydore Vergil's
History.

[74] "Not farre unlike to this was the receaving of the Cardinals
hatte. Which when a ruffian had brought unto him to Westminster under
his cloke, he clothed the messenger in rich aray, and sent him backe to
Dover againe, and appoynted the Bishop of Canterbury to meet him, and
then another company of Lordes and Gentles I wotte not how oft, ere it
came to Westminster, where it was set on a cupborde and tapers about,
so that the greatest Duke in the lande must make curtesie thereto: yea
and to his empty seat he being away." _Tindal's Works_, p. 374. _Fox's
Acts_, p. 902. _W._

[75] Dr. Fiddes and Mr. Grove remark, that this is a prejudiced
statement of the case, and that Cavendish was misled by false
information. It does not indeed appear that Wolsey used any indirect
means to supersede Archbishop Warham, and the following passages in
the correspondence of Sir Thomas More with Ammonius seem to prove the
contrary. Sir Thomas says: "The Archbishop of Canterbury hath at length
resigned the office of Chancellor, which burthen, as you know, _he
had strenuously endeavoured to lay down for some years_; and the long
wished for retreat being now obtained, he enjoys a most pleasant recess
in his studies, with the agreeable reflection of having acquitted
himself honourably in that high station. The Cardinal of York, _by the
Kings Orders_, succeeds him; who discharges the duty of the post so
conspicuously as to surpass the hopes of all, notwithstanding the great
opinion they had of his other eminent qualities: and what was most
rare, to give so much content and satisfaction after so excellent a
predecessor."

Ammonius, writing to Erasmus, says: "Your Archbishop, with the King's
good leave, has laid down his post, which that of York, _after much
importunity_, has accepted of, and behaves most beautifully."

[76] This is noticed by the satirist Roy, in his invective against
Wolsey:

    Before him rydeth two prestes stronge,
    And they beare two crosses right longe,
      Gapinge in every man's face:
    After them follow two lay-men secular,
    And each of them holdinge a pillar
      In their hondes, insteade of a mace.
    Then followeth my lord on his mule
    Trapped with gold, &c.

Dr. Wordsworth, misled by Anstis, has erroneously attributed this
satire to Skelton, confounding it probably with that writer's

    "Why come ye not to court."

See note at the end of the Life.

[77] Even so early as the reign of Henry III, the annual amount of the
benefices in the hands of Italians, in this kingdom, was 70,000 marks;
more than three times the value of the whole revenue of the crown. _M.
Paris, in Vit. Hen. III. Ann. 1252._

                          _Wordsworth._


[78] These are termed _under pastelers_, in the more recent MSS.

[79] The _Gospeller_ was the priest who read the Gospel. The
_Pisteller_, the clerk who read the Epistle.

[80] _Revestry_, from the French _Revestir_; contractedly written
_Vestry_.

[81] Those Lords that were placed in the great and privy chambers were
_Wards_, and as such paid for their board and education. It will be
seen below that he had a particular officer called "Instructor of his
Wards." _Grove._

[82] Among whom, as we shall see below, was the eldest son of the Earl
of Northumberland. This was according to a practice much more ancient
than the time of Wolsey; agreeably to which, young men of the most
exalted rank resided in the families of distinguished ecclesiastics,
under the denomination of pages, but more probably for the purposes of
education than of service. In this way Sir Thomas More was brought up
under Cardinal Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury; of whom he has given a
very interesting character in his Utopia. From Fiddes's Appendix to the
Life of Wolsey, p. 19, it appears that the custom was at least as old
as the time of Grosthed, Bishop of Lincoln, in the reign of Henry III,
and that it continued for some time during the seventeenth century.
In a paper, written by the Earl of Arundel, in the year 1620, and
intitled _Instructions for you my son William, how to behave yourself
at Norwich_, the earl charges him, "You shall in all things reverence,
honour, and obey my Lord Bishop of Norwich, as you would do any of
your parents: esteeminge whatsoever he shall tell or command you, as
if your grandmother of Arundell, your mother, or myself should say it:
and in all things esteem yourself as my lord's page; a breeding, which
youths of my house, far superior to you, were accustomed unto; as my
grandfather of Norfolk, and his brother, my good uncle of Northampton,
were both bredd as pages with bishopps." See also Paul's _Life of
Archbishop Whitgift_, p. 97.

It is not out of place to mention, what we are told by Sir George
Wheler in his _Protestant Monastery_, p. 158. A. D. 1698. "I have
heard say, in the times no longer ago than King Charles I, that many
noblemen's and gentlemen's houses in the country were like academies,
where the gentlemen and women of lesser fortunes came for education
with those of the family; among which number was the famous Sir
Beaville Granville and his lady, father and mother of our present lord
of Bath." _W._

[83] Dr. Wordsworth's edition says _one hundred and eighty_. The
manuscripts differ in stating the numbers, the edition of 1641 has
_eight hundred persons_. And, in consequence, Wolsey has been so far
misrepresented, by some writers, as to have it asserted that he kept
_eight hundred servants_!

[84] At Bruges, "he was received with great solemnity, as belongeth
unto so mighty a pillar of Christes church, and was saluted at the
entring into the towne of a merry fellow which sayd, _Salve rex regis
tui, atque regni sui_, Hayle both king of thy king, and also of his
realme." _Tindal's Works_, p. 370, A. D. 1572.

[85] _Liveries_, are things _'livered_, i. e. delivered out.

[86] Bread of the finest flour. _A cast_ is a share or allotment.

[87] So our author, in his _poetical legend_, dwells upon this regal
pomp of his master:

    'My crossis twayne of silver long and greate,
    That dayly before me were carried hyghe,
    Upon great horses opynly in the streett;
    And massie pillers gloryouse to the eye,
    With pollaxes gylt that no man durst come nyghe
    My presence, I was so pryncely to behold;
    Ridyng on my mule trapped in silver and in golde.'

See Appendix.

[88] The pillar, as well as the cross, was emblematical, and designed
to imply, that the dignitary before whom it was carried was a _pillar_
of the church. Dr. Barnes, who had good reason why these pillars should
be uppermost in his thoughts, glances at this emblem, in the case
of the cardinal, in the following words; "and yet it must bee true,
because a _pillar of the church_ hath spoken it." _Barnes' Works_, p.
210, A. D. 1572. See also _Tindal's Works_, p. 370. _W._

[89] It was made One of the Articles of Impeachment against him:
"That by his outrageous Pride he had greatly shadowed a long season
his Grace's Honour." Art. XLIV. Sir Thomas More, when Speaker of the
House of Commons, noticing a complaint which had been made by the
cardinal, that nothing could be said or done in that house, but it
was presently spread abroad, and became the talk of every tavern or
alehouse, "Masters, (says he) forasmuche as my lord cardinall latelie
laied to our charges the lightnes of our tongues for things uttered out
of this house, it shall not in my minde be amisse to receive him with
all his pompe, with his maces, his pillers, pollaxes, his crosses, his
hatt, and the greate seal too; to thintent, that if he finde the like
fault with us heereafter, wee maie be the bolder from ourselves to laie
the blame on those that his grace bringeth hither with him." _Roper's
Life of Sir Thomas More_, p. 21, edit. 1817. Sir Thomas also, in his
Apology, written in the year 1533, reflects severely upon the change
introduced among the clergy, through the cardinall's means, in the
luxury and sumptuousness of their dress. _Works_, p. 892.

The pulpit likewise occasionally raised its voice against him. Doctor
Barnes, who was burnt in Smithfield in the year 1541, preached at St.
Edward's Church in Cambridge, a sermon, for which he was called to
appear before the cardinal. This was a part of their dialogue, as it
is related in Fox: "What Master Doctor (said the cardinall) had you
not a sufficient scope in the Scriptures to teach the people, but that
my golden shoes, my pollaxes, my pillers, my golden cushions, my cross
did so sore offend you, that you must make us _ridiculum caput_ amongst
the people? We were jolily that day laughed to scorne. Verely it was
a sermon more fitter to be preached on a stage than in a pulpit; for
at the last you said I weare a paire of _redde_ gloves, I should say
_bloudie_ gloves (_quoth you_) that I should not be cold in the midst
of my ceremonies. And Barnes answered, I spake nothing but the truth
out of the Scriptures, according to my conscience, and according to the
old doctors." _Fox's Acts_, p. 1088. _W._

The following curious passage from Doctor Barnes's 'SUPPLICATION TO THE
KING,' printed by Myddelton, in 12mo, without date, is probably more
correct than the exaggeration of the good old martyrologist. It opens
to us, as Dr. Wordsworth justly remarks, some part of the philosophy
upon which the cardinal defended the fitness of that pomp and state
which he maintained.

"Theie have _baculum pastolarem_ to take shepe with, but it is not
like a shepeherdes hooke, for it is intricate and manifolde crooked,
and turneth always in, so that it may be called a mase, for it hath
neither beginning nor ending, and it is more like to knocke swine and
wolves in the head with, than to take shepe. _Theie have also pillers
and pollaxes_, and other ceremonies, which no doubte be but trifels and
thinges of nought. I praye you what is the cause that you calle your
staffe a shepeherdes staffe? You helpe no man with it? You comforte no
man?--You lift up no man with it? But you have stryken downe kynges,
and kyngedomes with it; and knocked in the head Dukes and Earls with
it. Call you this a sheepeherdes staffe? There is a space in the
shepeherdes staffe for the foote to come oute againe, but youre staffe
turneth and windeth alwayes inwarde and never outewarde, signifieing
that whatsoever he be that cometh within your daunger, that he shall
neuer come oute againe. This exposition youre dedes do declare, let
them be examined that you have had to do with; and let us see howe they
have escaped youre shepeherdes hooke. But these be the articles for
the which I must nedes be an heretike, never the less all the worlde
may see how shamefully, that I have erred agaynst your holinesse in
saying the truth. _My Lord Cardinall reasoned with me in this article,
all the other he passed over, saving this and the sixth article. Here
did he aske, "if I thought it good and reasonable, that he shulde lay
downe his pillers and pollaxes and coyne them?"_ Here is the heresye
that is so abhomynable. _I made him answere, that I thoughte it well
done. "Than, (saide he), howe thynke you, were it better for me (being
in the honour and dignitie that I am) to coyne my pillers and pollaxes
and to give the money to five or sixe beggers; than for to maintaine
the commenwelthe by them, as I do? Do you not recken (quod he) the
commenwelthe better than fyve or sixe beggers?"_ To this I did answere
that I rekened it more to the honour of God and to the salvation of
his soule and also to the comforte of his poore bretheren that they
were coyned and given in almes, and as for the commenwelthe dyd not
hange of them, (where be they nowe?) for as his grace knewe, the
commenwelthe was afore his grace, and must be when his grace is gone,
and the pillers and pollaxes came with him, and should also go away
with him. Notwithstanding yf the commenwelthe were in suche a condicion
that it had nede of them, than might his grace so longe use them, or
any other thinge in theyr stede, so long as the commenwelth neded them,
Notwithstanding I sayd, thus muche dyd I not say in my sermon agaynst
them, but all onely I dampned in my sermon the gorgeous pompe and pride
of all exterior ornamentes. Than he sayde, "Well--you say very well."
But as well as it was said I am sure that these wordes made me an
heretike, for if these wordes had not bene therein, mine adversaries
durst never have shewed their faces against me. But now they knewe
well that I could never be indifferently hearde. For if I had got the
victorie than must all the Bishops and my Lord Cardinal have laid downe
all their gorgeous ornamentes, for the which they had rather burne xx
such heretikes as I am, as all the worlde knoweth. But God is mighty,
and of me hath he shewed his power, for I dare say they never intended
thing more in their lives, than they did to destroy me, and yet God, of
his infinite mercy, hath saved me, agaynst all their violence: unto his
Godly wisdome is the cause all onely knowne. The Byshop of London that
was then, called Tunstal, after my departing out of prison, sayd unto a
substancyal man, that I was not ded (for I dare say his conscience did
not recken me such an heretike, that I wolde have killed myself, as the
voyce wente, but yet wolde he have done it gladly of his charyte) but
I was, saide he, in Amsterdam (where I had never been in my lyfe, as
God knoweth, nor yet in the Countrey this ten yeares) and certaine men
dyd there speake with me (said he) and he fained certaine wordes that
they shulde say to me, and I to them, and added thereunto that the Lord
Cardinal woulde have me againe or it shulde coste hym a greate somme of
money, howe moche I do not clerelye remember. I have marvayle that my
Lorde is not ashamed, thus shamefully and thus lordly to lye, althoughe
he might doo it by auctoritie. And where my Lord Cardinal and he wold
spend so moche money to have me agayne, I have great marvayle of it,
What can they make of me? (I am now here, what say you to me?) I am a
symple poore wretche, and worthe no mans money in the worlde (saving
theirs) not the tenth peny that they will give for me, and to burne me
or to destroye me, cannot so greatly profyt them. _For when I am dead,
the sunne, and the moone, the starres, and the element, water and fyre,
ye and also stones shall defende this cause againste them rather than
the verity shall perish._"

[90] _Chambers_, short guns, or cannon, standing upon their breeching
without carriages, chiefly used for festive occasions; and having their
name most probably from being little more than _chambers_ for powder.
It was by the discharge of these _chambers_ in the play of Henry
VIIIth. that the Globe Theatre was burnt in 1613. Shakspeare followed
pretty closely the narrative of Cavendish.

[91] _Mumchance_ appears to have been a game played with _dice_, at
which silence was to be observed.

[92] _Rounding_, sometimes spelt _rowning_, i. e. _whispering_.

[93] "The king gave good testymony of his love to this lady, creating
her in one day Marquesse of Pembroke (that I may use the words of the
patent) for the nobylity of her stocke, excellency of her virtues and
conditions, and other shewes of honesty and goodness worthyly to bee
commended in her. And giving her a patent for a 1000 pounds yerely to
maynteyne this honour with. She was the first woman, I read, to have
honor given to her and her heyres male."

                                        _Sir Roger Twysden's MS. note._


[94] "Not above seven yeares of age, Anno 1514." as appears from a
fragment of this life with notes by Sir Roger Twysden, of which a few
copies were printed in 1808, by Mr. Triphook, from whence also the
following note is copied.

[95] "It should seeme by some that she served three in France
successively; Mary of England maryed to Lewis the twelfth, an. 1514,
with whome she went out of England, but Lewis dying the first of
January following, and that Queene (being) to returne home, sooner
than either Sir Thomas Bullen or some other of her frendes liked she
should, she was preferred to Clauda, daughter to Lewis XII. and wife to
Francis I. then Queene (it is likely upon the commendation of Mary the
Dowager), who not long after dying, an. 1524, not yet weary of France
she went to live with Marguerite, Dutchess of Alançon and Berry, a Lady
much commended for her favor towards good letters, but never enough
for the Protestant religion then in the infancy--from her, if I am not
deceived, she first learnt the grounds of the Protestant religion; so
that England may seem to owe some part of her happyness derived from
that Lady."

[96] This expression, unless the author himself were misinformed, must
not be extended to imply an absolute precontract. Lord Herbert, in
his Life of Henry VIII. p. 448, has published an original letter from
this nobleman, then Earl of Northumberland, written in the year 1536,
a short time before Q. Anne's suffering, in which he denies any such
contract, in the most solemn terms. This letter will be found in the
Appendix. _W._

I have placed this letter in the Appendix (Letter VIII) for the
convenience of the reader.

[97] Geffrey Bollen, a gentlemen of Norfolk, Mayor of London, 1457,
marryed one of the daughters and heyres of Thomas Lord Hoo and
Hastings, by whome he had William Bolleyn (knight of the Bath at
Richard 3ds coronation) who marryed the Earl of Ormonds daughter
(he though of Ireland, sate in the English parliament above English
Barons), by her he had Thomas Bollen, whome the Erle of Surrey after
Duke of Norfolk chose for his son-in-law; of which marriage this Anne
was born, 1507.

                                 _Note from Sir R. Twysden's MS. Frag._


[98] This was the Lady Mary Talbot, daughter to George Earl of
Shrewsbury, by whom he had no issue. "Though little ceremony, and
probably as little time, was used in patching up these nuptials. As
might be expected, they were most unhappy. So we are told, on the
authority of the earl's own letters, in the very laboured account of
the Percy family given in Collins' Peerage, ed. 1779, perhaps the
best piece of family history in our language. "Henry, the unthrifty
Earl of Northumberland, died at Hackney in the prime of life, about
ten or twelve years after he had consented to this marriage. Of this
term but a very small portion was spent in company of his lady. He
lived long enough, however, not only to witness the destruction of his
own happiness, but the sad termination of Anne Boleyn's life. In the
admirable account of the Percy family, referred to above, no mention
is made of the lady who, on these terms, consented to become Countess
of Northumberland, in her long widowhood. She sequestered herself from
the world at Wormhill, on the banks of the Derbyshire Wye, amidst
some of the sublimest scenery of the Peak. Wormhill is about eighteen
miles from Sheffield, where Lady Northumberland's father, brother, and
nephew, successively Earls of Shrewsbury, spent the greater part of
their lives."

                         _Who wrote Cavendish's Life of Wolsey?_ p. 30.

The reader will be pleased to refer to the note as it now stands in
Mr. Hunter's Essay, prefixed to the present edition. He thinks that
_Wreshill_, and not _Wormhill_, must be meant, as there is no other
evidence to show that Lady Percy had a house at Wormhill.

[99] i. e. _fumed_. This metaphorical use of the word has not occurred
to me elsewhere.

[100] The charms of Anne had also attracted Sir Thomas Wyatt, and
some of his poems evidently allude to his passion; he was afterwards
closely questioned as to the nature of his intimacy with her. A very
curious narrative of some particulars relating to this attachment, from
the pen of a descendant of the poet, has fortunately been preserved
among the MS. collections of Lewis the antiquary. A few copies of this
memoir were printed in 1817, but as it has still almost the rarity of
a manuscript, I shall enrich my Appendix by reprinting it as a most
curious and valuable document relating to this eventful period of our
history.

[101] In the very interesting memoir of Anne Boleyn, by George Wyat,
which the reader will find in the Appendix, the queen's prudent conduct
is mentioned, and the following anecdote related: 'These things being
well perceived of the queen, which she knew well to frame and work her
advantage of, and therefore the oftener had her (i. e. Anne Boleyn) at
cards with her, the rather also that the king might have the less her
company, and the lady the more excuse to be from him, also she esteem
herself the kindlier used, and yet withal the more to give the king
occasion to see the nail upon her finger. And in this entertainment,
of time they had a certain game, that I cannot name, then frequented,
wherein dealing, the king and queen meeting they stopt; and the young
lady's hap was, much to stop at a king. Which the queen noting, said to
her, playfully, '_My Lady Anne, you have good hap to stop at a king,
but you are like others, you will have all or none_.'

[102] Yet nothing can be more strong than her expressions of gratitude
and affection to the cardinal at this period when his assistance was of
importance to her views. Two letters of hers to the cardinal have been
published by Burnet, I. 55, [see our Appendix, Letter XI.] in which she
says: "all the days of my life I am most bound of all creatures next
the king's grace to love and serve your grace; of the which I beseech
you never to doubt that ever I shall vary from this thought as long as
any breath is in my body. And as touching your grace's trouble with
the sweat, I thank our Lord that them that I desired and prayed for
are scaped, and that is the king and you. And as for the coming of the
Legate, I desire that much, and if it be God's pleasure, I pray him
to send this matter shortly to a good end, and then I trust, my lord,
to recompense part of your great pains." In another letter she says:
"I do know the great pains and troubles that you have taken for me,
both day and night, is never like to be recompensed on my part, but al
only in loving you next the king's grace above all creatures living."
In a third letter, published by Fiddes, "I am bound in the mean time
to owe you my service: and then look what thing in the world I can
imagine to do you pleasure in, you shall find me the gladdest woman
in the world to do it, and next unto the king's grace, of one thing I
make you full promise to be assured to have it, and that is my hearty
love unfeignedly during my life." It should seem, therefore, unless
we suppose her to have been insincere in her expression of gratitude,
that her animosity did not proceed from any displeasure at the rupture
of the affair with Lord Percy; but from subsequent causes. She was
probably worked upon by the cardinal's enemies in the court.

[103] The name of this person was Giovanni Joacchino Passano, a
Genoese; he was afterwards called Seigneur de Vaux. The emperor, it
appears, was informed of his being in England, and for what purpose.
The cardinal stated that Joacchino came over as a merchant, and that
as soon as he discovered himself to be sent by the Lady Regent of
France, he had made de Praet (the emperor's ambassador) privy thereto,
and likewise of the answer given to her proposals. The air of mystery
which attached to this mission naturally created suspicion, and after a
few months, De Praet, in his letters to the emperor, and to Margaret,
the governess of the Netherlands, expressed his apprehension that all
was not right, and the reasons for his surmises. His letters were
intercepted by the cardinal, and read before the council. Charles and
Margaret complained of this insult, and the cardinal explained as well
as he could. At the same time protesting against the misrepresentation
of De Praet, and assuring them that nothing could be further from his
wish than that any disunion should arise between the king his master
and the emperor; and notwithstanding the suspicious aspect of this
transaction, his dispatches both immediately before and after this
fracas strongly corroborate his assertions. [See additional note at the
end of the Life.] Wolsey suspected that the Pope was inclined toward
the cause of Francis, and reminded him, through the Bishop of Bath, of
his obligations to Henry and Charles. The Pope had already taken the
alarm, and had made terms with the French king, but had industriously
concealed it from Wolsey, and at length urged in his excuse that he
had no alternative. Joacchino was again in England upon a different
mission, and was an eyewitness of the melancholy condition of the
cardinal when his fortunes were reversed. He sympathised with him,
and interested himself for him with Francis and the Queen Dowager, as
appears by his letters published in _Legrand, Histoire du Divorce de
Henri VIII._

[104] Dr. Fiddes has justly observed, that Cavendish, in his account of
these transactions, asserted some things not only without sufficient
authority, but contrary to the evidence of documents which he has
adduced. By these it appears, that if there was any delay in the
supplies promised on the part of England it was purely accidental;
and that the remissness of the emperor to furnish his quota was the
principal cause of the extremity to which the Duke of Bourbon's army
was reduced. Cavendish is also wrong in his relation of the siege of
Pavia and its consequences. The fact is, that the Duke of Bourbon did
not command in the town, but marched at the head of the imperial army
to relieve it; and the garrison did not sally out until the two armies
were engaged. The demonstrations of joy with which the victory at Pavia
was received in London is also an argument for the sincerity of Henry
and the cardinal at this time. The story of the treaty between Henry
and Francis, said to have been found in the tent of the latter after
the victory, is also a mere fiction. In the spirit of a true son of the
Apostolic Church, Cavendish deprecates every thing which might tend
to bring the Pope into jeopardy; and he cannot help bearing hard even
upon the cardinal, because he was thought indirectly the cause 'of all
this _mischief_.' What is here said receives confirmation from some
interesting letters of the cardinal in the Appendix to Galt's Life of
Wolsey, No. IV. V. VI. p. cxxxiv, &c. 4to edition, Lond. 1812.

[105] These intrigues, in which the cardinal bore so large a part, did
not redound to the glory of his country. Our merry neighbours even then
had begun to make our diplomatic inferiority the subject of their sport
and ridicule. William Tindall, in his _Practice of popish Prelates_,
referring to these events, tells us, "The Frenchmen of late dayes made
a play or a disguising at Paris, in which the emperour daunsed with the
pope and the French king, and weried them, the king of England sitting
on a hye bench, and looking on. And when it was asked, why he daunsed
not, it was answered, that he sate there, _but to pay the minstrels
their wages onely_: as who should say, wee paid for all mens dauncing."
_Tindall's Works_, p. 375. A. D. 1572. _W._

[106] A _brake_ here seems to signify a _snare_ or _trap_. The word has
much puzzled the commentators on Shakspeare (See Measure for Measure,
Act II. Sc. 1). One of its antient significations was a _sharp bit_
to break horses with. A farrier's _brake_ was a machine to confine or
trammel the legs of unruly horses. An antient instrument of torture was
also called _a brake_; and a thorny _brake_ meant an intricate thicket
of thorns. Shakerly Marmion, in his comedy of 'Holland's Leaguer',
evidently uses the word in the same sense with Cavendish:

    "-------Her I'll make
    A stale to catch this courtier in _a brake_."


[107] The 3d Day of July (1526), the Cardinal of Yorke passed through
the City of London, with many lords and gentlemen, to the number of
twelve hundred horse----The 11th day of May he took shipping at Dover,
and landed at Calais the same day.

                                                    _Grafton_, p. 1150.


[108] _Lanzen-Knechts_, the name by which these bands of German
mercenaries were then designated.

[109] Cavendish uses this word again in his poems:

    "Wherin was found a certyn _defuse_ clause
    Wrested by craft to a male intente." p. 139.

See _Fox's Acts_, &c. p. 1769:

"_Cook._ Then answere me, What sayest thou to the blessed sacrament of
the altar? Tell me:

"_Jackson._ I answered; it is a _diffuse_ question, to aske me at the
first dash, you promising to deliver me." See also p. 1574. "_Diffuse_
and _difficult_."

It appears to have been used in the sense of _obscure_, but _difficult_
is the reading of Grove's edition. I find _diffused_ explained by
Cotgrave "_diffus_, _espars_, OBSCURE." And in a Latin Greek and
English Lexicon by R. Hutton, printed at London by H. Bynneman, 1583,
the Latin adverb, _obscure_, is interpreted "darkely, obscurely,
DIFFUSELY."

[110] The great seal could not be carried out of the king's dominions
without violating the law; letters patent were passed to enable Dr.
Taylor to hold it in his absence.

[111] _Stradiots and Arbenois._ These were light armed cavalry, said by
Guicciardini to have been Greek mercenaries in the service of Venice,
retaining their Greek name στρατιώται. Arbenois is Albanians,
_Albanois_, FR. The following passage from _Nicot Thresor de la Langue
Françoise, ed. 1606. fol._ will fully explain this:

"A présent on apelle en particulier _Albanois_ ces hommes de cheval
armez à la légère, autrement dit Stratiote, ou _Stradiots_ (par la
consonne moyenne), qui portent les chapeaux à haute testière, desquels
on se sert pour chevaux légers, qui viennent dudit pays d'Albanie,
dont les Papes se servent encore de ce temps és garnisons de plusieurs
villes du Saint siège, _Albani, olim Epirotæ_."

[112] In like manner, we saw, a little above, that at Calais he gave
"benediction and pardon." From a letter to the cardinal, from Humfrey
Monmouth, confined in the Tower on suspicion of heresy, we may gather
what notion was entertained, even by comparatively enlightened men,
of the efficacy of these pardons. "If I had broken most part of the
Ten Commandments of God, being penitent and confessed (I should be
forgiven) by reason of certain pardons that I have, the which my
company and I had graunted, whan we were at Rome, going to Jerusalem,
of the holy father the pope, _a pœna et a culpa_, for certain times in
the year: and that, I trust in God, I received at Easter last past.
Furthermore I received, when your grace was last at Pawles, I trust in
God, your pardon of _a pœna_ _et a culpa_; the which I believe verily,
if I had done never so great offences, being penitent and confessed,
and axing forgiveness, that I should have forgiveness." _Strype's
Ecclesiast. Memor._ vol. i. p. 248. Appendix. The cardinal had also a
bull granted by Pope Leo Xth. A. D. 1518. to give in certain cases and
conditions plenary remission from all sins. _Fiddes_, p. 48. Appendix.
_W._

[113] Among other distinguished honours conferred by Francis upon
the Cardinal was the singular privilege of pardoning and releasing
prisoners and delinquents confined in the towns through which he
passed, in the same manner as the king himself was used to do: the only
culprits excluded from the power of pardon given him by this patent
were those guilty of the most capital crimes.

[114] i. e. _Switzers_. Cavendish revels in his subsequent description
of the _tall Scots_ who formed the French king's body guard.

[115]

      Whose mule if it should be sold
      So gayly trapped with velvet and gold
      And given to us for our schare,
    I durst ensure the one thing
    As for a competent lyvynge
      This seven yeare we should not care.
                                           _Roy's Satire._

In the picture of the Champs de drap d'or, which has been engraved by
the Society of Antiquaries, the cardinal appears mounted on a richly
caparisoned mule.

[116] A previous negotiation of a singular nature had been begun, for
the Bishop of Bath writes to the cardinal in March, 1527, that "Francis
is very desirous to have the Princess Mary, and to have her delivered
into his hands as soon as the peace is concluded. Our king pretends
her non age, and will have all, pension, &c., concluded first. The
Queen Regent is earnest also for the present marriage: Saying there
is no danger, for she herself was married at xi. And for this match
there might be a device to satisfy both sides, saying the princess
will be well toward xii by August. At that time both princes should
meet at Calais with a small company and charge, there her son, after
the marriage solemnized, might abide himself for an hour or less with
my Lady Princess; she said the king her son was a man of honour and
discretion, and would use no violence, especially the father and mother
being so nigh; meaning, that _conatus ad copulam cum illa, quæ est
proxima pubertati, prudentia supplente ætatem_, should make every thing
sure that neither party should now vary. So the king her son might
be assured of his wife, and King Henry carry back his daughter till
she should be accounted more able, &c. This overture our ambassadors
think very strange." _Fiddes Collections_, p. 176. The Bishop of Bath
returned into England soon after the cardinal went on his mission, to
relate to Henry the course adopted by the cardinal in treating with
Francis, and also to explain to him certain devices concerning his own
secret matters. _Mr. Master's Collections._

[117] Skinner explains this word, _a curtain_. It evidently signifies
here an enclosed or divided space or seat, decorated with rich
draperies or curtains. In another place we have _a traverse of
sarsenet_, which confirms Skinner's explanation.

[118] Grises, greeses, or _steps_, for it was spelt various ways
according to the caprice of the writer, from the Latin _gressus_.

[119] The _roodeloft_ was the place where the cross stood; it was
generally placed over the passage out of the church into the chancel.

[120] The passage within brackets is not to be found in any of the more
recent MSS., nor in Dr. Wordsworth's edition.

[121] Erasmus, in a letter to Aleander, dwells with delight upon this
custom:

"Quanquam si Britanniæ dotes satis pernosses Fauste, næ tu alatis
pedibus, huc accurreres; et si podagra tua non sineret, Dædalum te
fieri optares. Nam ut e pluribus unum quiddam attingam. Sunt hic
nymphæ divinis vultibus, blandae, faciles, et quas tu tuis Camænis
facile anteponas. _Est præterea mos nunquam satis laudatus_: Sive
quo venias omnium osculis exciperis; sive discedas aliquo, osculis
demitteris: redis? redduntur suavia; venitur ad te? propinantur suavia:
disceditur abs te? dividuntur basia: occuritur alicubi? basiatur
affatim: denique, quocunque te moveas, suaviorum plena sunt omnia. Quæ
si tu, Fauste, gustasses semel quam sint mollicula, quam fragrantia,
profecto cuperes non decennium solum, ut Solon fecit, sed ad mortem
usque in Anglia peregrinari." _Erasmi Epistol._ p. 315, edit. 1642.
"It becometh nat therefore the persones religious to folowe _the maner
of secular persones_, that in theyr congresses and commune metyngs or
departyng done use to kysse, take hands, or such other touchings, that
good religious persones shulde utterly avoyde." _Whytford's Pype of
Perfection._ fol. 213. b. A. D. 1532. _W._

[122] This name is spelt _Creeky_ and _Crykky_ in the autograph MS. In
Wordsworth's edition it is Crokey. Grove has it _Crockly_, and two of
the MSS. copies _Crokir_. I know not whether I have divined the true
orthography, but there was a noble family of this name at the time.

[123] _Evensong._ "Which persons for their waiting befoir noon hath
licence at afternoon to go about their own business from the saide noon
to iij of the clocke that evensong begin."

                               _Northumberland Household Book_, p. 310.


[124] The shalme, or shawm, was a wind instrument like a hautboy, with
a swelling protuberance in the middle. In "Commenius's Visible World,"
translated by Hoole, 1659, the Latin word _gingras_ is translated by
shawn, and the form of the instrument is represented as below. Its
proper name appears to have been _shawme_; it is derived from the
Teutonic. Drayton mentions it as shrill-toned: 'E'en from the shrillest
_shaum_ unto the cornamute.'

                            _Polyolbion_ v. iv. p. 376.

[Illustration]


[125] _Now_, Wordsworth's edit. The passages within brackets which
follow are not found in any other manuscript: a space almost always
marking the deficiency of this relation, and the succeeding account of
the libels of the French against the cardinal.

[126] Catherine Reneé, one of the daughters of Louis the Twelfth. It
does not seem that this exposition of the cardinal's views in regard
to the union of Henry with this princess, in case of a divorce, were
without foundation, for he persuaded himself that Henry's passion for
Anne Boleyn would soon subside, and thought this alliance a sure mode
of perpetuating the peace and union between the sovereigns. The other
part of the assertion was proved true by the subsequent treaty, in
which it was agreed that the Princess Mary should marry either Francis,
or the Duke of Orleans; the first if he should remain a widower until
she was of sufficient age, the second if it seemed expedient that
Francis should keep his faith to the emperor, and marry his sister
Leonora, to whom he was contracted by the Treaty of Madrid. Hence the
necessity of keeping these designs secret, and the cardinal's anger at
their developement.

[127] This passage stands in the ordinary MSS., and in Dr. Wordsworth's
edition, in the following abridged and confused manner. The
transcribers of the MSS. appear to have been sensible that their copy
was defective, for in several of them one or two blank leaves are here
left.

"Now shortly after there were divers malicious practices pretended
against us by the French, who by their theft somewhat impaired us:
whereupon one of them, being a man I was well acquainted with,
maintained a seditious untruth, openly divulged, and set forth by
a subtle and traitorous subject of their realm, saying also that
he doubted not, but the like had been attempted within the king of
England his majesty's dominions; but to see so open and manifest
blasphemy to be openly punished, according to their traitorous deserts,
notwithstanding I saw but small redress."

[128] The twentieth of October, A. D. 1527. The embassadors were the
Maréchal de Montmorency, the Bishop of Bayonne, the President of Rouen,
and Monsieur d'Humieres.

[129] The book of ceremonies (compiled under the influence of the
Bishops Gardiner and Tonstall, and in opposition to that of Cranmer,
about the year 1540, and designed to retain in the church many operose
and superstitious rites, by setting them off with the aids of a
philosophical and subtle interpretation), describing in succession
the different parts of the Canon of the Mass, proceeds thus, "Then
saith the priest _thrice_, _Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, &c._
advertising us of _three_ effects of Christ's passion; whereof the
_first_ is, deliverance from the misery of sin; the _second_ is from
pain of everlasting damnation; wherefore he saith twice _Miserere
nobis_, that is to say, _Have mercy on us_; and the _third_ effect is,
giving of everlasting peace, consisting in the glorious fruition of
God." _Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials_, Vol. i. p. 289. Records. See
also _Mirror of our Lady_. fol. 189, and _Becon's Works_. Vol. iii.
fol. 49. A. D. 1564. _W._

[130] These cupboards or rather sideboards of plate were necessary
appendages to every splendid entertainment. The form of them somewhat
resembled some of the old cumbrous cabinets to be found still in
ancient houses on the continent. There was a succession of step-like
stages, or desks, as Cavendish calls them, upon which the plate was
placed. The reader will have a better conception than description
can convey of this piece of antient ostentation, from a print in
a very curious work by Julio Bello, entitled LAUREA AUSTRIACA:
_Francof._ 1627, folio, p. 640. Where our King James I. is represented
entertaining the Spanish ambassadors in 1623.

[131] _Proface._ An expression of welcome equivalent to Much good
may it do you! Mr. Steevens conjectured it to be from the old French
expression, '_Bon prou leur face_,' which is to be found in Cotgrave
_in voce_ PROU. This was a happy conjecture of Mr. Steevens, for Mr.
Nares has pointed out its true origin in the old Norman-French or
Romance language: 'PROUFACE souhait qui veut dire, bien vous fasse,
_proficiat_.' ROQUEFORT. _Glossaire de la Langue Romane._

[132] 'Mademoiselle de Boulan à la fin y est venue, et l'a le Roy logée
en fort beau logis, qu'il a fait bien accoustrer tout auprès du sien,
et luy est la cour faicte ordinairement tous les jours plus grosse que
de long temps ne fut faicte à la Royne.'

                                     _Lettre de l'Evesque de' Bayonne._


[133] It is a question of fact which has been warmly debated, whether
the suffrages of the Universities in Henry's favour were purchased by
money. It does not seem very necessary that _we_ should enter into this
dispute. But any one who wishes so to do, may consult _Burnet's Hist.
of the Reformation_, Vol. iii. p. 401, Appendix. _Harmer's Specimen of
Errors_, p. 7. _Fiddes's Life of Wolsey_, p. 420. _Poli Epistolæ_, Vol.
i. p. 238. A. D. 1744. _W._

[134] Eight of these determinations soon after were printed in one
volume, with a long Discourse in support of the judgments contained
in them, under the following title: "The Determinations of the moste
famous and moste excellent Universities of Italy and Fraunce, that it
is so unlefull for a man to marry his Brother's Wyfe, that the Pope
hath no power to dispence therewith: imprinted by Thomas Berthelet the
viith day of Novembre, 1531." They were also published in Latin: in
which language they are exhibited by Bishop Burnet in his _Hist. of the
Reformation_, Vol. i. book ii. No. 34. Records. _W._

[135] i. e. the _Bulla_ or Papal seal. The passage marked with * *
contains three words which I could not decipher.

[136] Doctor _Stephen_ Gardiner, afterwards Bishop of Winchester,
at this time in great estimation with Wolsey. In letters and other
documents of this period he is often called Doctor _Stevens_. Mr.
Grainger in the third vol. of Bishop Burnet's Hist. of the Reformation,
p. 385, Appendix, intimates that this was a colloquial vulgarism;
"_vulgarly_, as Stephen Gardiner was Mr. _Stevyns_, in Wolsey's
Letter." But it is questionable, I think, whether this is the true
account of that name. The bishop himself, in his Declaration of his
Articles against George Joye, A. D. 1546, fol. 3. b. of the 4to
edition, thus speaks of it, "a booke, wherein he wrote, how Doctor
_Stevens_ (by _whiche name_ I was _then_ called) had deceyved him."

In Doctor Barnes' account of his examination before the bishops at
Westminster, he calls Gardiner "Doctor Stephen then secretary."

[137] The reader may consult Burnet's Hist. of the Reformation, Vol.
iii. p. 46-48. The bishop affirms positively that the king did not
appear personally, but by proxy; and that the queen withdrew after
reading a protest against the competency of her judges. "And from this
it is clear (says the bishop), that the speeches that the historians
have made for them are all plain falsities." It is easy to contradict
the confident affirmation of the historian upon the authority of a
document published by himself in his Records, i. 78. It is a letter
from the king to his agents, where he says: "At which time both we
and the queen appeared in person, and they minding to proceed further
in the cause, the queen would no longer make her abode to hear what
the judges would fully descern, but incontinently departed out of the
court; wherefore she was thrice preconnisate, and called eftsoons to
return and appear; which she refusing to do, was denounced by the
judges _contumax_, and a citation decerned for her appearance on
Friday." Which is corroborated also by _Fox's Acts_, p. 958. Indeed the
testimony for the personal appearance of the king before the cardinals
is surprisingly powerful; even though we do not go beyond Cavendish,
and the other ordinary historians. But in addition to these, Dr.
Wordsworth has produced the authority of William Thomas, Clerk of the
Council in the reign of King Edward VI, a well informed writer; who,
in a professed Apology for Henry VIII, extant in MS. in the Lambeth
and some other libraries, speaking of this affair affirms, "that the
Cardinal (Campeggio) caused the king as a private party in person to
appear before him, and the Lady Katharine both." P. 31.

[138] Hall has given a different report of this speech of the queen's,
which he says was made _in French_, and translated by him, as well as
he could, from notes taken by Cardinal Campeggio's secretary. In his
version she accuses Wolsey with being the first mover of her troubles,
and reproaches him, in bitter terms, of pride and voluptuousness: such
harsh language could hardly deserve the praise '_modeste tamen eam
locutum fuisse_,' given by Campeggio.

[139] See _Neve's Animadversions on Phillips's Life of Cardinal Pole_,
p. 62.

[140] Nothing of this kind is to be found in the journal of this
embassy, or in the letters of the bishop and his companions, which have
been preserved, and many of which have been published by _Le Grand,
Histoire du Divorce de Henri VIII._

[141] "In a Manuscript Life of Sir Thomas More, written not many
years after Longland's death, this account is given. 'I have heard
Dr. Draycot, that was his (Longland's) chaplain and chancellor, say,
that he once told the bishop what rumour ran upon him in that matter;
and desired to know of him the very truth. Who answered, that in very
deed he did not break the matter after that sort, as is said: but the
king brake the matter to him first; and never left urging him until he
had won him to give his consent. Of which his doings he did forethink
himself, and repented afterward.' MSS. Coll. Eman. Cantab." Baker's
Notes on _Burnet's Hist. of the Reformation_: in Burnet, Vol. iii. p.
400, Appendix. The same Life is among the MSS. in the Lambeth Library,
No. 827, (see fol. 12), and, I have reason to think, was composed
about the year 1556, and by Nicolas Harpsfield. From these concurrent
testimonies it should appear, that the charge which has been often
urged against Wolsey, that it was through his intrigues that Longland
first suggested his scruples to the king, is unfounded. _W._

Wolsey was at the time loudly proclaimed as the instigator of the
divorce, and though he denied it upon some occasions, he admitted it
on others; but Cardinal Pole asserts that it was first suggested by
certain divines whom Anne Boleyn sent to him for that purpose. It is
remarkable that he says this when writing to the king, and would surely
not have ventured to say so if he had not had good grounds for the
assertion.

[142] July, 1529.

[143] This determination of Campeggio was in consequence of secret
instructions from the pope (unknown to Wolsey), at the instance of the
emperor, who had prevailed upon the pontiff to adjourn the court and
remove the cause to Rome.

[144] These proceedings led the way to the next great step in the
progress of the Reformation, the renunciation of the pope's authority,
and the establishment of the regal supremacy. The following account,
from an unpublished treatise, of the manner in which these questions
were first brought to the king's mind (whether authentic or not) may
not be unacceptable to my readers.

"Now unto that you say, that because Pope Clement would not dispense
with his second matrimonie, his majestie extirped out of England the
papal authoritie, a thinge of most auncient and godly reverence as you
take it, I aunsweare that after the kinges highness had so appeared in
person before the Cardinal Campegio, one of the princes of his realm,
named the _Duke of Suffolk_, a great wise man, and of more familiaritie
with the kinge than any other person, asked his majestie, 'how this
matter might come to passe, that a prince in his own realme should so
humble himself before the feet of a vile, strange, vitious priest,'
(for Campegio there in England demeaned himself in very deed most
carnally -- --). Whereunto the king aunswered, "he could not tell;
but only that it seemed unto him, the spiritual men ought to judge
spiritual matters; and yet as you saye (said the king) me seemeth there
should be somewhat in it, and I would right gladly understand, why and
how, were it not that I would be loth to appeare more curious than
other princes." "Why, sir (sayd the duke), your majestie may cause the
matter to be discussed secretly by your learned men, without any rumour
at all." "Very well (sayd the kinge), and so it shall be." And thus
inspired of God, called he diverse of his trusty and great doctours
unto him; charging them distinctly to examine, _what lawe of God should
direct so carnal a man as Campegio, under the name of spiritual, to
judge a king in his owne realme_. According unto whose commandment,
these doctors resorting together unto an appointed place, disputed this
matter _large et stricte_, as the case required. And as the blacke by
the white is knowen, so by conferring the oppositions together, it
appeared that the evangelical lawe varied much from the canon lawes in
this pointe. So that in effect, because two contraries cannot stand
_in uno subjecto, eodem casu et tempore_, they were constrained to
recurre unto the kinges majesties pleasure, to knowe whether of these
two lawes should be preferred: who smiling at the ignorance of so fonde
a question aunsweared, that the Gospell of Christ ought to be the
absolute rule unto all others; commanding them therefore to followe
the same, without regard either to the civile, canon, or whatsoever
other lawe. And here began the quicke: for these doctours had no sooner
taken the Gospel for their absolute rule, but they found this popish
authoritie over the kinges and princes of this earth to be usurped."
_William Thomas's Apology for King Henry the Eighth_, written A. D.
1547. p. 34. Lambeth Library. MSS. No. 464. _W._

[145] The history and occasion of this great obligation of the Duke
of Suffolk to the cardinal, who plainly intimates that but for his
interposition the duke must have lost his life, does not appear to be
known to the historians. See _Fiddes's Life of Wolsey_. p. 454. _W._

A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1755 (Dr. Pegge), who appears
to have paid much attention to the Cardinal Wolsey's history, suggests
that Wolsey was the means of abating the anger of Henry at the marriage
of Suffolk with his sister Mary Queen of France, which might have been
made a treasonable offence. A letter from Mary to Wolsey, dated March
22, 1515, after her marriage with Suffolk, which is still extant in the
Cotton Collection, gives some probability to this conjecture.

[146] i. e. Dr. Stephen Gardiner.

[147] i. e. The season of hunting, when the hart is in _grease_ or
full season. Dr. Wordsworth's edition and the more recent manuscripts
read--'all _that_ season.'

[148] The following additional particulars of the route are found
in more recent MSS. "And were lodged the first night at a towne in
Bedfordshire, called Leighton Bussarde, in the parsonage there, being
Mr. Doctor Chambers's benefice, the kings phisitian. And from thence
they rode the next day."

[149] The king had listened to their suggestions against the
cardinal, and they felt assured of success; they are represented by
an eyewitness, as boasting openly that they would humble him and all
churchmen, and spoil them of their wealth: "La faintaisie de ces
seigneurs est, que lui mort ou ruiné ils déferrent incontinent icy
l'estat de l'eglise, et prendront tous leurs biens; qu'il seroit ja
besoing que je le misse en chiffre, car ils le crient en plaine table."

                    _L'Evesque de Bayonne, Le Grand_, Tom. iii. p. 374.


[150] "Le pis de son mal est, que Mademoiselle de Boulen a faict
promettre à son Amy qu'il ne l'escoutera jamais parler; car elle pense
bien qu'il ne le pourroit garder d'en avoir pitié."

        _Lettre de l'Eveque de Bayonne ap. Le Grand_, Tom. iii. p. 375.

The manor of THE MOOR was situate in the parish of Rickmansworth, in
Hertfordshire; the site is still called Moor Park. It was purchased
and the house built by George Neville, Archbishop of York. Edward the
fourth had promised to make that prelate a visit there, and while he
was making suitable preparations to receive his royal master he was
sent for to Windsor, and arrested for high treason. The king seized
at the Moor all his rich stuff and plate to the value of 20,000_l._
keeping the archbishop prisoner at Calais and Hammes. _Stowe_, A^o.
1472. There was a survey of the house in 1568, by which it appears the
mansion was of brick, the chief buildings forming a square court, which
was entered by a gate-house with towers: the whole was moated. It was
then in a dilapidated state.

[151] "Le Cardinal Campège est encores à Douvres, et à ceste heure
(je) viens d'entendre que, soubz couleur de faute de Navires, on ne le
veult laisser passer, sans y prendre avis, de paeur qu'il n'emporte le
thrésor du Card. d'Yorc."

      _Lettre de l'Evesque de Bayonne, apud Le Grand Hist. du Divorce._


[152] The Term then began the ninth of October.

[153] Esher.

[154] The Eighteenth November, 1529.

[155] This inventory is preserved among the Harleian MSS. No. 599.

[156] These words follow in the more recent MSS. "Yet there was laide
upon every table, bokes, made in manner of inventories, reporting the
number and contents of the same. And even so there were bokes made
in manner of inventories of all things here after rehearsed, wherein
he toke great paines to set all things in order against the king's
comming."

[157] Baudkyn, cloth made partly of silk and partly of gold. Derived
from _Baldacca_, an Oriental name for Babylon, being brought from
thence.--"_Baldekinum_--pannus omnium ditissimus, cujus, utpote
stamen ex filio _auri_, subtegmen ex _serico_ texitur, plumario opere
intertextus." _Ducange Glossar. in voce._ It sometimes is used for a
_canopy_ or _cloth of state_.

[158] The name of Cardinal Wolsey's fool is said to have been "Master
Williams, otherwise called Patch." An inquiry into this very curious
feature in the domestic manners of the great in ancient times could not
fail to be very interesting. Mr. Douce has glanced at the subject in
his Illustrations of Shakspeare; and gave his friends reason to hope
for a more enlarged inquiry at a future period: it would afford me real
pleasure to hear that his intentions were not finally abandoned.

[159] The Bishop of Bayonne, who paid him a visit of commiseration at
this period, gives the following affecting picture of his distress,
in a most interesting letter which will be found in the Appendix; he
says: "J'ay esté voir le Cardinal en ses ennuis, où que j'y ay trouvé
_le plus grand example de fortune qu' on ne sçauroit voir_, il m'a
remonstré son cas en la plus mauvaise rhétorique que je vis jamais,
_car cueur et parolle luy falloient entièrement_; il a bien pleuré et
prié que le Roy et Madame voulsissent avoir pitié du luy--mais il m'a
à la fin laissé sans me povoir dire austre chose qui vallist mieux que
son visage; qui est bien dechue de la moitié de juste pris. Et vous
promets, Monseigneur, que sa fortune est telle que ses ennemis, encores
qu'ils soyent Anglois, ne se sçauroyent garder d'en avoir pitié, ce
nonobstant ne le laisseront de le poursuivre jusques au bout." He
represents him as willing to give up every thing, even the shirt from
his back, and to live in a hermitage if the king would desist from his
displeasure.

[160] Dr. Wordsworth's edition and the later manuscripts read:
"_which had bine a strange sight in him afore_;" but this can hardly
be right? The splendour of Cromwell's subsequent fortunes, their
tragical close, and the prominent figure he makes in the events of this
reign, which are among the most important of modern history, gives
this circumstantial account a great degree of interest. His father
was a blacksmith at Putney, the son was first an agent to an English
factory at Antwerp, then a trooper in the Duke of Bourbon's army, and
was present at the sacking of Rome. It appears that he assisted Mr.
Russell (afterwards Earl of Bedford), in making his escape from the
French at Bologna, and it is probably to this circumstance that he
owed the friendly offices of that gentleman at a subsequent period.
After passing some time in the counting-house of a Venetian merchant,
he returned to England and studied the law. Wolsey, it appears, first
met with him in France, and soon made him his principal agent in the
dissolution of monasteries and the foundation of his colleges. It was
a trust which he discharged with ability, and is said to have enriched
himself; yet he here complains that he "never had any promotion at
the cardinal's hands to the increase of his living." And he tells the
cardinal in his troubles, that "the soliciting his cause hath been very
chargeable to him, and he cannot sustain it any longer without other
respect than he hath had heretofore." He says, "I am a thousand pounds
worse than I was when your troubles began." And after announcing the
king's determination to dissolve the cardinal's colleges, he says:
"I intreat your grace to be content, and let your prince execute his
pleasure."

Cardinal Pole relates that he openly professed to him his Machiavelian
principles; he had learned, he said, "that vice and virtue were
but names, fit indeed to amuse the leisure of the learned in their
colleges, but pernicious to the man who seeks to rise in the courts
of princes. The great art of the politician was, in his judgment, to
penetrate through the disguise which sovereigns are accustomed to
throw over their real inclinations, and to devise the most specious
expedients by which they may gratify their appetites without appearing
to outrage morality or religion." He shared largely in the public odium
in which the cardinal was held, and Pole, who was then in London, says
that the people loudly clamoured for his punishment.

[161] The day after it appears Cromwell was at court, and sought an
audience from the king, which was granted him; Cardinal Pole, who had
the account from Cromwell himself and others who were present, relates
that upon this occasion Cromwell suggested to the king a mode of
overcoming the difficulty of the pope's opposition to the divorce, by
taking the authority into his own hands, and declaring himself head of
the church within his own realm. The king gave ear to the proposition,
and was so well pleased with Cromwell, that he thanked him, and
admitted him to the dignity of a privy counsellor. This was the first
step; to carry into effect this project his assistance was deemed
necessary, and he arrived at length to the highest honours of the
state; but at last became the victim of his own Machiavelian intrigues,
and the vindictive spirit of the monarch. It has been doubted whether
Cromwell deserves the credit of attachment to his fallen master to the
whole extent which some writers have supposed. It is evident, from
the very interesting conversation above, that he despaired of ever
seeing Wolsey reinstated in his fortunes, and he was too subtle in his
policy to have endeavoured to swim against the stream of court favour.
That the cardinal suspected his fidelity to his cause is evident
from fragments of two letters published by Fiddes among Mr. Master's
collections, in one of which Cromwell says: "I am informed your grace
hath me in some diffidence, as if I did dissemble with you, or procure
any thing contrary to your profit and honour. I much muse that your
grace should so think or suspect it secretly, considering the pains I
have taken, &c. Wherefore I beseech you to speak without faining, if
you have such conceit, that I may clear myself; I reckoned that your
grace would have written plainly unto me of such thing, rather than
secretly to have misrepresented me. But I shall bear your grace no less
good will. Let God judge between us! Truly your grace in some things
overshooteth yourself; there is regard to be given to what things you
utter, and to whom."

The cardinal, in answer to this, protests: "that he suspects him not,
and that may appear by his deeds, so that he useth no man's help nor
counsel but his. Complaint indeed hath been made to him, that Cromwell
hath not done him so good offices as he might concerning his colleges
and archbishoprick; but he hath not believed them; yet he hath asked of
their common friends how Cromwell hath behaved himself towards him; and
to his great comfort hath found him faithful. Wherefore he beseecheth
him, with weeping tears, to continue stedfast, and give no credit to
the false suggestions of such as would sow variance between them, and
so leave him destitute of all help."

But the testimony of Cavendish in his favour is conclusive; he says
that, by reason of "his honest behaviour in his master's cause, he grew
into such estimation in every man's opinion, that he was esteemed to be
the most faithfullest servant to his master of all other, wherein he
was of all men greatly commended."

[162] In _prease_, i. e. the _press_ or _crowd_.

[163] A writer before cited (Dr. Pegge), is of opinion that the House
of Commons could not do otherwise than acquit him, notwithstanding the
validity of several of the articles alleged against him, because he had
either suffered the law for them already, or they were not sufficiently
proved: indeed some of them were not proper grounds of censure.

'Wolsey says of these articles himself, "whereof a great part be
untrue: and those which be true are of such sort, that by the doing
thereof no malice or untruth can be arrected unto me, neither to the
prince's person nor to the state." The rejection of the bill may be
justly ascribed to the relentment of the king, for Cromwell would not
have dared to oppose it, nor the Commons to reject it, had they not
received an intimation that such was the royal pleasure.'

[164] During the visit of the Emperor Charles V. to Henry VIII. "on
Monday at nine of the clocke at night, was begun a banquet, which
endured till the next morning at three of the clocke, at the which
banquet the emperor, the king, and the Queene did wash together, the
Duke of Buckingham giving the water, the Duke of Suffolke holding the
towel. Next them did washe _the Lord Cardinall_, the Queene of Fraunce,
and the Queene of Arragon. At which banquet the emperor kept the
estate, the king sitting on the left hand, next him the French Queene;
and on the other side sate the Queene, _the Cardinall_, and the Queene
of Aragon; which banquet was served by the emperor's owne servants."
_Stowe's Annals_, p. 510. edit. 1615. _W._

[165] This instrument is published by Fiddes in his Collections, p. 224.

[166] The anguish and anxiety he suffered may be seen by the letters
written at this period to his old servants Cromwell and Gardiner; I
have placed them in the Appendix, as a necessary illustration of this
affecting picture.

[167] In an extract from a letter to Cromwell, published by Fiddes, the
cardinal says: "My fever is somewhat asswaged, and the black humour
also, howbeit I am entering into the kalends of a more dangerous
disease, which is the dropsy, so that if I am not removed into a dryer
air, and that shortly, there is little hope." And in a letter to
Gardiner, which will be found in the Appendix, he repeats his wish to
be removed from Asher: "Continuing in this moiste and corrupt ayer,
beyng enteryd in the passion of the dropsy, _Appetitus et continuo
insomnio_, I cannot lyve: wherfor of necessyte I must be removed to
some dryer ayer and place."

[168] _Stuff_ was the general term for all kind of _moveables_ or
baggage. See the instrument of the king's benefaction to the cardinal
after his forfeiture by the premunire, in Rymer's Fœdera, and in
Fiddes' Collections. The reader will find the _Schedule_ which was
affixed to it, in our Appendix.

[169] "From the old gallery next the king's lodging, unto the first
gatehouse." _Wordsworth's Edition._

[170] "Of four thousand marks," say the more recent MSS. and Dr.
Wordsworth's Edit.

[171] Those to whom they were granted appear to have been the Lord
Sandys and his son Thomas; Sir William Fitzwilliam, Sir Henry Guilford,
Sir John Russel, and Sir Henry Norris. This suit to the cardinal seems
to have been successfully brought about. Their pensions out of the
revenues of the see of Winchester were settled on them for life by Act
of Parliament, notwithstanding the just objection in the text. Rot.
Parl. clxxxviii. Stat. 22 Hen. VIII. c. 22.

[172] From the Ital. _intagliare_, to cut, carve, &c.

[173] _Prêt, Somme prêtée._ Fr. A sum in advance. _W._

[174] "His train was in number one hundred and threescore persons."
This addition is in Dr. Wordsworth's edition and the later MSS.

[175] He was now fifty-nine years old.

[176] The book of Ceremonies before cited, which was compiled in
the reign of Henry VIII. observes: "Upon Easter Day in the morning
_the ceremonies_ of the _resurrection_ be very laudable, to put us
in remembrance of Christ's resurrection, which is the cause of our
justification." _Strype's Eccles. Memorials_, v. i. p. 294. _Records._
What these ceremonies were we may collect from the Rubrics upon that
day, in the _Processionale secundum usum Sarum_. fol. 72. edit. 1555;
which are to this effect: On Easter Day, before mass, and before the
ringing of the bells, let the clerks assemble, and all the tapers
in the church be lighted. Then two persons shall draw nigh to the
sepulchre, and after it is censed let them take the cross out of the
sepulchre, and one of them begin _Christus resurgens_. Then let the
procession commence. After this they shall all worship (_adorent_)
the cross. Then let all the crucifixes and images in the church be
unveiled, &c. &c. In like manner Good Friday also had its peculiar
ceremonies. Bishop Longland closes his sermon preached on that day
before King Henry VIII. A. D. 1538, in the following manner: "In meane
season I shall exhorte you all in our Lord God, _as of old custome
hath here this day bene used_, every one of you or ye departe, with
moost entire devocyon, knelynge tofore our Savyour Lorde God, this
our Jesus Chryst, whiche hath suffered soo muche for us, to whome we
are soo muche bounden, _whoo lyeth in yonder sepulchre_; in honoure
of hym, of his passyon and deathe, and of his five woundes, to say
five Pater-nosters, five Aves, and one Crede: that it may please his
mercifull goodness to make us parteners of the merites of this his most
gloryous passyon, bloode, and deathe." _Imprynted by Thomas Petyt._ See
also Michael Wood's _Dialogue or Familiar Talks_. A. D. 1554. Signat.
D. 3. _W._

[177] See above, page 158, Dr. Wordsworth's note.

[178] In Mr. Ellis's very interesting collection of Historical Letters,
vol. i. p. 176, there is an extract of a letter from Sir William
Fitzwilliams, then on a mission in France, relating a conversation he
had with the French king upon his hearing the Duke of Buckingham was in
the Tower. With the Cardinal's answer.

[179] The favourable representation given of this portion of the
cardinal's life, notwithstanding what is said by Fox, p. 908, is fully
confirmed by an authority which cannot be suspected of partiality to
his memory, that of a State Book, which came out from the office of the
king's printer in the year 1536, intituled _A Remedy for Sedition_.
"Who was lesse beloved in the Northe than my lord cardynall, God have
his sowle, before he was amonges them? Who better beloved, after he had
ben there a whyle? We hate oft times whom we have good cause to love.
It is a wonder to see howe they were turned; howe of utter enemyes they
becam his dere frendes. He gave byshops a ryght good ensample, howe
they might wyn mens hartys. There was few holy dayes, but he would ride
five or six myle from his howse, nowe to this parysh churche, nowe to
that, and there cause one or other of his doctours to make a sermone
unto the people. He sat amonges them, and sayd masse before all the
paryshe. He sawe why churches were made. He began to restore them to
their ryght and propre use. He broughte his dinner with hym, and bad
dyvers of the parish to it. He enquired, whether there was any debate
or grudge betweene any of them; yf there were, after dinner he sente
for the parties to the churche, and made them all one. Men say well
that do well. Godde's lawes shal never be so set by as they ought,
before they be well knowen." Signat. E. 2. _W._

[180] In the more recent MS. and in Dr. Wordsworth's edition, "Newsted
Abbey."

[181] Next, _i.e._ nearest.

[182] The prevailing hour of dinner with our ancestors appears to have
been much earlier. In the Northumberland Household Book it is said, "to
X of the clock that my lord goes to dinner."

"With us," says Harrison, in the Description of England, prefixed to
Holinshed's Chronicle, p. 171, "the Nobilitie, Gentrie, and Students
do ordinarilie go to dinner at eleven before noone, and to supper at
five, or betweene five and six at afternoone. The merchants dine and
sup seldome before twelve at noone, and six at night, especiallie in
London. The husbandmen dine also at high noone, as they call it, and
sup at seven or eight: but out of the tearme in our Universities the
scholars dine at ten. As for the poorest sort, they generally dine and
sup when they may: so that to talke of their order of repast, it were
but a needlesse matter."

"_Theophilus._ You wente to diner betyme I perceave. _Eusebius._ Even
as I doe commonly, when I have no busynes, betwene nyne and ten; me
thinkes it is a good houre: for by that meanes I save a breakfast,
whyche for such idlers as I am, is most fittest." _Dialogue between
Eusebius and Theophilus._ Signat. B 4. A. D. 1556. _W._

[183] Dr. Brian Higden at that time bore the office.

[184] The Cardinal perhaps remembered the credit which was gained by
his successful rival Cardinal Adrian, who being elected to the papacy
by the Conclave, through the influence of the emperor Charles V.
"before his entry into the cittie of Rome (as we are told by one of Sir
Thomas More's biographers), putting off his hose and shoes, and as I
have credibly heard it reported, bare-footed and bare-legged, passed
through the streets towards his Palace, with such humbleness, that
all the people had him in great reverence." Harpsfield's _Life of Sir
Thomas More_. Lambeth MSS. No. 827, fol. 12. _W._

[185] Storer, in his Poetical Life of Wolsey, 1599, has availed himself
of this declaration of the cardinal, in a passage justly celebrated
for its eminent beauty. The image in the second stanza is worthy of a
cotemporary of Shakspeare:

    I did not mean with predecessors pride,
      To walk on cloth as custom did require;
    More fit that cloth were hung on either side
      In mourning wise, or make the poor attire;
      More fit the dirige of a mournful quire
    In dull sad notes all sorrows to exceed,
    For him in whom the prince's love is dead.

    I am the tombe where that affection lies,
      That was the closet where it living kept;
    Yet wise men say, Affection never dies;--
      No, but it turns; and when it long hath slept,
      Looks heavy, like the eye that long hath wept.
    O could it die, that were a restfull state;
    But living, it converts to deadly hate.


[186] Dr. Percy, in the notes to the Northumberland Household Book, has
adduced a very curious extract from one of the letters of this Earl of
Northumberland, which he thinks affords a "full vindication of the earl
from the charge of ingratitude in being the person employed to arrest
the cardinal." However this may be, the earl appears to have felt the
embarrassment of his situation; he trembled, and with a faltering voice
could hardly utter the ungracious purport of his mission. To a mind
of any delicacy the office must have been peculiarly distressing, and
even supposing the earl to have been formerly treated in an arbitrary
and imperious manner by the cardinal, it is one which he should have
avoided. As the letter gives a very curious picture of the manners as
well as the literature of our first nobility at that time, I shall
place it in my appendix; the very curious volume in which it is to be
found being of great rarity and value.

[187] "In the houses of our ancient nobility they dined at long tables.
The Lord and his principal guests sate at the upper end of the first
table, in the Great Chamber, which was therefore called the Lord's
Board-end. The officers of his household, and inferior guests, at long
tables below in the hall. In the middle of each table stood a great
salt cellar; and as particular care was taken to place the guests
according to their rank, it became a mark of distinction, whether a
person sate above or below the salt."--_Notes on the Northumberland
Household Book_, p. 419.

[188] The enemies of Archbishop Laud, particularly in the time of
his troubles, were fond of comparing him with Cardinal Wolsey: and a
garbled edition of this life was first printed in the year 1641, for
the purpose of prejudicing that great prelate in the minds of the
people, by insinuating a parallel between him and the cardinal. It is
not generally known that, beside the edition of this life then put
forth, a small pamphlet was also printed with the following title,
"A true Description or rather Parallel betweene Cardinall Wolsey,
Archbishop of York, and William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1641."
As it is brief, and of extreme rarity, I shall give it a place in the
Appendix.

[189] "But what he did there, I know not." The more recent MS. and Dr.
Wordsworth's edition have this reading.

[190] The words which follow, I apprehend, are part of some
ecclesiastical hymn. It was not unusual to attribute the name of
_Scripture_ to all such compositions; and to whatever was read in
churches. "Also I said and affirmed" (the words are part of the
recantation of a Wickliffite), "that I held no _Scripture_ catholike
nor holy, but onely that is contained in the Bible. For the legends and
lives of saints I held hem nought; and the miracles written of hem, I
held untrue." Fox's _Acts_, p. 591. _W._

[191] "I know not whether or no it be worth the mentioning here
(however we will put it on the adventure), but Cardinal Wolsey, in
his life time was informed by some fortune-tellers, _that he should
have his end at Kingston_. This, his credulity interpreted of Kingston
on Thames; which made him alwayes to avoid the riding through that
town, though the nearest way from his house to the court. Afterwards,
understanding that he was to be committed by the king's express order
to the charge of Sir Anthony [William] Kingston (see Henry Lord Howard
in his Book against Prophecies, chap. 28, fol. 130), it struck to his
heart; too late perceiving himself deceived by that father of lies in
his homonymous prediction." Fuller's _Church History_. Book v. p. 178.
_W._

[192] _where_ for _whereas_.

[193] In the old garbled editions the passage stands thus: "But alas! I
am a diseased man, having a fluxe (at which time it was apparent that
_he had poisoned himself_); it hath made me very weak," p. 108, edit.
1641. This is a most barefaced and unwarranted interpolation. The words
do not occur in any of the MSS. Yet the charge of his having poisoned
himself was repeated by many writers among the reformers without
scruple. See Tindall's _Works_, p. 404. _Supplications to the Queen's
Majesty_, fol. 7. A. D. 1555. Fox's _Acts_, p. 959.

[194] "This is an affecting picture," says a late elegant writer.
"Shakspeare had undoubtedly seen these words, his portrait of the
sick and dying Cardinal so closely resembling this. But in these
words is this chronological difficulty. How is it that Hardwick Hall
is spoken of as a house of the Earl of Shrewsbury's in the reign of
Henry VIII, when it is well known that the house of this name between
Sheffield and Nottingham, in which the Countess of Shrewsbury spent
her widowhood, a house described in the Anecdotes of Painting, and
seen and admired by every curious traveller in Derbyshire, did not
accrue to the possessions of any part of the Shrewsbury family till
the marriage of an earl, who was grandson to the cardinal's host, with
Elizabeth Hardwick, the widow of Sir William Cavendish, in the time of
Queen Elizabeth?--The truth however is, that though the story is told
to every visitor of Hardwick Hall, that "the great child of honour,
Cardinal Wolsey," slept there a few nights before his death; as is
also the story, perhaps equally unfounded, that Mary Queen of Scots
was confined there; it was _another_ Hardwick which received the weary
traveller for a night in this his last melancholy pilgrimage. This
was Hardwick-upon-Line in Nottinghamshire, a place about as far to
the south of Mansfield as the Hardwick in Derbyshire, so much better
known, is to the north-west. It is now gone to much decay, and is
consequently omitted in many maps of the county. It is found in Speed.
Here the Earl of Shrewsbury had a house in the time of Wolsey. Leland
expressly mentions it. "The Erle [of Shrewsbury] hath a parke and
manner place or lodge in it called Hardewike-upon-Line, a four miles
from Newstede Abbey." Itin. vol. v. fol. 94, p. 108. Both the Hardwicks
became afterwards the property of the Cavendishes. Thoroton tells us
that Sir Charles Cavendish, youngest son of Sir William, and father of
William Duke of Newcastle, "had begun to build a great house in this
lordship, on a hill by the forest side, near Annesly-wood-House, when
he was assaulted and wounded by Sir John Stanhope and his men, as he
was viewing the work, which was therefore thought fit to be left off,
some blood being spilt in the quarrel, then very hot between the two
families.--_Thoresby's Edit. of Thoroton_, vol. ii. p. 294."--WHO WROTE
CAVENDISH'S LIFE OF WOLSEY? p. 18.

[195] Mr. Douce has pointed out a remarkable passage in Pittscottie's
History of Scotland (p. 261, edit. 1788,) in which there is a great
resemblance to these pathetic words of the cardinal. James V. imagined
that Sir James Hamilton addressed him thus in a dream. "Though I was a
sinner against God, I failed not to thee. Had I been as good a servant
to the Lord my God as I was to thee, I had not died that death."

[196] In the yeare 1521, the cardinal, by virtue of his legatine
authority, issued a mandate to all the bishops in the realme, to take
the necessary means for calling in and destroying all books, printed
or written, containing any of the errors of Martin Luther: and further
directing processes to be instituted against all the possessors and
favourers of such books, heresies, &c. The mandate contained also a
list of forty-two errors of Luther. See Wilkins's _Concilia_, vol. iii.
p. 690-693; and Strype's _Ecclesiastical Memorials_, vol. i. p. 36-40.
_W._

[197] To administer the _extreme unction_. "The _fyfth sacrament_ is
anoyntynge of seke men, the whiche oyle is halowed of the bysshop, and
mynystred by preestes to them that ben of lawfull age, in grete peryll
of dethe: in lyghtnes and abatynge of theyr sikenes, yf God wyll that
they lyve; and in forgyvynge of theyr venyal synnes, and releasynge of
theyr payne, yf they shal deye." _Festival_, fol. 171. _W._

[198] He died Nov. 29, 1530. Le Neve's _Fasti_, p. 310.

According to the superstitious credulity of that age, the death of
Wolsey was said to have been preceded by a portentous storm. See
LETTERS FROM THE BODLEIAN, Vol. ii. page 17. In a letter from Dr.
Tanner to Dr. Charlett, dated Norwich, Aug. 10, 1709, is the following
passage:

"On the other side is a coeval note at the end of an old MS.
belonging to our cathedral, of the odd exit of the great Cardinal
Wolsey, not mentioned, I think, in Cavendish, or any of the ordinary
historians,--much like Oliver's wind.

"Anno Xti, 1530, nocte immediate sequente quartum diem Novemb. vehemens
ventus quasi per totam Angliam accidebat, et die proximè sequente
quinto sc. die ejusdem mensis circa horam primam post meridiem
captus erat Dūus Thomas Wulsye Cardinalis in ædibus suis de Cahow
[Cawood] infra Diocesam suam Eboracensem; et postea in itinere ejus
versus Londoniam vigilia St. Andreæ prox. sequente apud Leycestriam
moriebatur, quo die ventus quasi Gehennalis tunc fere per totam Angliam
accidebat, cujus vehementia apud Leystoft infra Dioc. Norwicensem et
alibi in diversis locis infra Regnum Angliæ multæ naves perierunt."

_Ad finem Annalium Bartholomæi Cotton. MS. in Biblioth. Eccl. Cath.
Norwic. habetur hæc notata._

[199] The excellent author of the dissertation on this life doubted
whether this passage was not an interpolation, because "Wolsey is
spoken of in terms so different from those used in other parts of the
book." But it is only a proof of the integrity of the biographer, whose
upright heart and devout catholic spirit would not conceal the truth.

[200] This passage follows in the more recent MSS. "riding that same
day, being Wednesday, to Northampton; and the next day to Dunstable;
and the next day to London; where we tarried untill St. Nicholas Even,
and then we rode to Hampton Court."

[201] Here is another addition, in the more recent MSS. to the
following effect: "Who hath gotten diverse other rich ornaments into
his hands, the which be not rehersed or registered in any of my lords
books of inventory, or other writings, whereby any man is able to
charge him therewith, but only I."




ADDITIONAL NOTES TO THE LIFE OF WOLSEY.


PAGE 95. The Letter of Anstis, referred to in the note, is addressed
to Fiddes, and is printed in his Collections. It relates to a rude
representation of the House of Lords in the reign of King Henry VIII.
but that learned herald and antiquary has made it the vehicle of some
observations, which may not be misplaced here.

"Almost every action of Wolsey hath been interpreted as an instance of
pomp, ambition, or insolence; notwithstanding, probably, upon a strict
examination, most of them will be found to be strictly precedented.
This particular of _two crosses_ gave Polydore Virgil an opportunity
of making an uncharitable reflection: "Non contentus unâ cruce, qua
utebatur, quod Archiepiscopus esset Eboracensis, alteram præ se
ferri voluit, per duos sacerdotes statura elegantes, et equis magnis
insidentes, qui aperto capite, quocunque anni tempore incederent. Nunc
plane constat Wolsæum suæ sibi conscium esse culpæ, qui propterea
binas in pompa habet cruces, quod una non satis foret ad ejus expianda
commissa." Anstis then cites the passage from Roy's satire, which he
mistakingly attributes to Skelton; and proceeds thus: "Here is a long
catalogue, and yet possibly not one particular is singular to the
cardinal. For the same honours, according to the known customs of Rome,
were to be paid to every Legate _de Latere_ as to the sovereign pontiff
himself: Nay, he might of right use all papal ensigns and ornaments,
for which Parisius (De Resignat. L. 7. qu. 13. n. 6 et 7) produces the
vouchers."

"I know not what was the figure of the _pillars_ here mentioned; but it
was not an unusual ensign, because Chaucer, in the Plowman's Tale, v.
2044, setting forth the duty of a clergyman, says thus:

    And usin none yerthly honours,
    Ne croune, ne curious covertours,
    Ne _pillar_, ne other proud pall, &c.

According to the present customs in this country, no one will charge
the cardinal's riding on a mule to be a mark of his insolence or
haughtiness, neither was it any testimony of his humility, but a usage
of his age, in correspondence to the ancient practice of clergymen, who
esteemed it unbecoming them to ride upon a horse, when our Saviour rode
on the foal of an ass. Thus St. Basil on Psalm 32, _Exclusus est ab usu
sanctorum equus_. And here I cannot forbear from diverting you with the
odd simplicity of the style wherein Peraldus (Summæ de Superbia, tom.
2) expresses himself on this occasion: "Christus nunquam equitavit,
tantum semel asinavit, atque adeo neque mulavit, neque palafredavit,
neque dromedariavit." His sentiment was as of some other rigid
disciplinarians at that time, that the clergy should travel on foot.
It is well known that our judges, till the first year of Queen Mary,
rode always to Westminster on mules, (v. Dugdal. Orig. Juridic. p. 38).
Christopher Urswicke, who had been Dean of Windsor, in his will made
10 Oct. 1521, devises to Mr. Cuthbert Tunstall, Maister of the Rolls,
"his gowne of blacke furred with martron, his typpet of sarcenet furred
with sables, and his little _mule_ with saddle and bridle and all hir
harneys." (Lib. Mainwaryng, in Cur. Prærog.) And upon the motive of
an affected humility it doubtless was that John de Beverle, in his
will dated 1380, "Volo quod corpus meum sit ductum ab hospitio meo
per duos asinos, si possint inveniri." (Registr. Beckingham Episcopi
Lincoln.) The sumptuary law for apparel, 24 Hen. 8. c. 13, prohibits
all persons to wear upon their horse, _mule_, or other beast, any silk
of purpure, &c. Of the custom of the clergy, see Bede Eccles. Hist. 1.
3, c. 14, and 1. 4, c. 3: and that they first began to ride on mares,
1. 2, c. 13, unless there be some error in the print. As to Cardinals,
David Chambre, in his History of the Popes abridged, acquaints us that
Innocent IV. gave them liberty to ride on horseback, and that Pope
Clement V. ordained they should ride upon asses, according to the
example of our Saviour.

But these rich trappings and housings of the cardinal's mule may give
offence; herein he could justify himself by an especial privilege to
those of his degree:--_Equitare mulas phaleratas, et clavam argenteam
ante se deferre_ (Cohelii Notitia Cardinalatus, p. 28). Here then is
a poleaxe or mace also, and the same author, p. 30, acquaints us that
in the Roman court the cardinals "dum equitant _mulas_, præmittunt
apparitores cum argenteis _clavis_ et _bulgis_ ab acupictoribus
gentilitiis insignibus auro et argento redimitis, necnon famulos duos
pedissequos (parafrænarios vocant) baculis duobus innixos."


Page 137. The circumstances attending the interception of De Praet's
dispatches, mentioned in the note, are thus related in a letter of
Wolsey's to Mr. Sampson, printed in the Appendix to Galt's Life of
Wolsey, p. clv. No. vi. 4to. 1812.

"It hath bene of a long season, and from sundry parts, reported unto
the king's hignes and to me at divers times, that Mon^{sr} de Praet,
who resideth here ambassador for the emperor, hath continually bene a
man disposed and inclined to make, in his letters and writings, both
to the emperor and the Lady Margaret, seditious and sinister reports;
saying many times, upon his own fantasie, suspicion, and conjecture,
things clearly untrue, and compassing at other times, when things have
been done, sayd, or set forth, frendly, kindlie, and lovinglie, soe
to cowch his reports, and the circumstances of the doings thereof, as
though the gratuities shewed by the king's highnes, have from time to
time been conduced by the industrie, pollicy, and labour of the sayd
ambassadors; ascribing, therefore, the laude and thank therof unto
himself, wherby he might acquire the more grace and favor of the sayd
emperor and Lady Margaret. To these things the kings highnes and I
were not over hasty to give soone creddence; but supposing the sayd
ambassador to be a p^rsonage of more vertue and inclinacion to good
then now he proveth to be, I would some times admonish him, in general
words of such advertisement; exhorting and advising him to be well
ware how he, being a minister betwene two princes so neerly conjoined
in intelligence, should attempt or doe any thing to the hinderance
thereof; but rather, regarding the office of a good ambassador to doe
that in him is for the nourishing and increase of the same. Wherein he
alwayes made me such answere that I conceaved noe further suspicion or
jealousy towards him in that behalfe; being therefore the more franke
and plaine with him in all my conferences, as he, that for the singuler
good mind which I have alwayes borne unto the emperors honor, weale,
and suretie, would procede with his majestie, sincerelie, plainely,
and truelie. And as familiarly, kindly, and lovinglie hath the kings
highnes and I admitted, entertayned, and used the sayd de Praet at
all times, as the most hearty love betwene the kings highnes and his
majestie doth require, making him privie, and having him present,
at all such comunicacions and accesses have bene of other princes
ambassadors, or of any matter worthy advertisement or knowledge, to the
intent that he should make most credible and plaine relacion thereof
unto th'emperor and other to whom it appertained."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * He then relates, that upon one occasion he
sent for the ambassador "to make him participant of such newes as
the kings highnes and I had received, as also to understand whether
he had any good newes in confirmation of the same." And after a long
communication, he "seeming to be joyous and well contented, giving me
thanks on the emperors behalfe, departed."

"Three days before that, as many times is here accustomed, it was
appointed that, as that night following, which was the xj^{th} day
at night, a privie watch should be made in London, and by a certaine
cercoute and space about it: in the which watch was taken, passing
between London and Brainford, by certaine of the watch appointed to
that quarter, one ryding towards the said Brainford; who, examined
by the watch, answered soe closely, that upon suspicion thereof they
searched him, and found seacretly hid about him a little pacquet of
letters, subscribed in French, which the sayd watch p^rceaving, brought
the letters unto a man of lawes clarke, being of the same company;
who, supposing the bearer of them to be either a spie or a messenger
from some merchant, stranger, or other, intendinge to disclose things
unto the emperor, and p^rceaving the sayd pacquet to be in the taking
of it, by the unlearned men of the watch, broken and evil handled,
looked in the letters. And thinking the same, by reason of the ciphers,
more suspect, brought it unto the king's solicitor, being in the same
watch; who not acquainted with the name of the sayd de Praet, brought
the letters soe opened unto Sir Thomas Moore, being in another watch
neere unto the same; and he presented them, in the morning following,
unto me, being in the chancery at Westminster; which, when I had read,
knowing how farr the effect of them was discrepant from the truth, anon
I conceived the former adv^rtisements made unto me touching the said
ambassadors accustomed usage in making sinister reports, to be true.
And p^rceyving by the sayd letters, that albeit the usage is not here
that strangers should passe through the realme without a passport,
yet one of the foulkes was depeched by the sayd ambassador the day
before with letters towards Spaine,--wherin it was like there might be
as evill or worse report then in these, I with all diligence sent to
countermande the sayd former letters, or any other depeched at that
time by the sayd ambassador. And soe was taken also a pacquet of his
letters directed to my Lady Margaret, which original letters directed
unto th'emperor, with copies of those addressed unto my Lady Margaret,
viewed and overlooked, and the untruth mencioned in them deprehended,
I send unto your hands herewith, as well because th'emperor may know
such things as his folkes on this side doe advertise his majestie of,
which may conferr to the furtherance of his affaires; as also, because
the same may hereby the more assuredlie and p^rfectlie understand
and p^rceave that the sayd de Praet hath of lykelyhood contrived noe
few matters untrue and fayned in his letters sent of a long season,
as well into Spayne as into Flanders. Wherof there is much apparance,
by reason of such proceeding, strange demeanour, and suspicion, as
hath seemed to have bene had towards the kings grace, both on that
side and in Flanders of a good season, soe that it is evident to be
conjectured that the sayd de Praet hath done more hurt, detriment, and
damage, by his evil reports in the comon affaires, then ever he can
be able to reduble or amend; and surely has by the same deserved much
more blame than I will reherse." He then enters into detail of the
misrepresentations of De Praet, who, he says, would have long since
been denounced to the emperor as "a man of insufficient qualities,
inexpert and far unmeet to be ambassador from so great a prince," had
it not been out of courtesy to that potentate and his council. And
further, that "De Praet being not a little abashed, ne without cause,
made first exception at the intercepting of his letters, as he would
not give credence to the manner of their interception, and the opening
of them by a fortunate error, as is aforesayd, saying that ambassadors
doe write unto their princes that which in their conceipt is thought
good, referring the judgment unto others. He affirmed also, that till
this time it could not ne should be ever found in any of his letters,
that he hath made evill report either of the king's highnes or of me,
as by his original letters, which he sayd he desired and would be gladd
should and might be showed, he would be judged, and that the cause and
occasion moving him thus to write at this time, was only the being here
of John Joachym by viij moneths, the difficulty made to condescend unto
the truce proposed at Rome, the not advancing of an army on this side,
as was spoken of, and the refusal of the kings highnes to contribute
any thing to the defence of Italy."

To this Wolsey states the long and circumstantial answer he gave, in
which he asserts that he was not privy to Joachinos coming, and that
it was some time after his arrival that he disclosed to him what he
was, and that as soon as he discovered himself to be sent from the Lady
Regent, he made de Praet privy thereto, praying him to advertise the
Lady Margaret and the emperor, as he also would do and did.

To this he states 'that De Praet could make no other answer than that
he wrote his fantasy, and remitted the judgment to wiser men.' The
whole letter is well worth attention as an example of Wolsey's talent
in diplomacy; and though his apology is not very convincing, it must be
confessed to be very skilful and ingenious.

                                FINIS.




APPENDIX.




                        EXTRACTS FROM THE LIFE
                                  OF
                  THE VIRTUOUS CHRISTIAN AND RENOWNED
                         QUEEN ANNE BOLEIGNE.

                         BY GEORGE WYATT, ESQ.

            WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

        FROM THE MANUSCRIPT COLLECTIONS OF THE REV. JOHN LEWIS.





    Great princes favourites their fair leaves spread,
    But as the marigold at the sun's eye;
    And in themselves their pride lies buried,
    For at a frown they in their glory die.

    SHAKSPEARE.


_Among the other calumnies with which the memory of the unfortunate
Queen Anne Boleyn has been aspersed by the enemies of the Reformation,
it has been said--"that she had long carried on a criminal intercourse
with Sir Thomas Wyatt the poet; who, we are told, had gone so far
as to confess to the king that he had debauched her; and had urged
this, in the first instance, as an argument to dissuade the king
from marrying her." The story requires no refutation; but Wyatt's
name having been called in question when Anne Boleyn's conduct was
scrutinized, gave the forgers of fabulous history an opportunity of
engrafting their libellous inventions on slight circumstances, in order
to give them something of the colour of probability. How far there
was any foundation for these calumnies will now appear. The following
interesting pages were written, it is presumed, by the grandson of the
poet, George Wyatt, Esquire, sixth son and heir of Sir Thomas Wyatt
the younger, who was beheaded for rebellion in the first year of the
reign of Queen Mary. The writer died at the advanced age of eighty,
at Boxley in Kent, in the year 1624, and seems to have meditated a
complete exposure of such parts of Saunders' Book on the Reformation as
came within his own immediate knowledge. He was maternal uncle to Sir
Roger Twysden, and in 1623 communicated to him part of his collections.
A fragment of the Life of Cardinal Wolsey, by George Cavendish, was
in the late Mr. Bindley's library, to which we have already referred,
at p. 120 of the present edition; prefixed to which was the following
note by Sir Roger Twysden.-- "I receaved this from my uncle Wyatt,
Anno 1623, who beeing yonge had gathered many notes towching this lady,
not without an intent to have opposed Saunders." It is remarkable
that this fragment from Wolsey's Life has been twice printed as a
piece of original and authentic cotemporary history, without suspicion
of its being an extract from Cavendish;--the first time for private
distribution, in 1808, and secondly by Dr. Nott, in his appendix to
Wyatt's Poems, in 1816._

_The manuscript from which the present very interesting memoir is
printed was purchased at the late Sir Peter Thompson's sale. It is in
the hand writing of the Rev. John Lewis, of the Isle of Thanet, the
celebrated antiquary. It was printed in 1817 for a few noblemen and
gentlemen, but twenty-seven copies only having been taken off, may be
considered still to have almost the rarity of a manuscript._





SOME PARTICULARS OF THE LIFE OF QUEEN ANNE BOLEIGNE.


The peculiar means that I have had, more than others, to come to some
more particular knowledge of such things as I intend to handle, ought
to draw thus much from me; yet much more the request of him that hath
been by authority set on work in this important business, both for
the singular gifts of God in him, of wisdom, learning, integrity, and
virtue; and also the encouragement I have had of late from the right
reverend my Lord of Canterbury's grace, to set down what understanding
I have had of this matter, is both my warrant, and a bond the more upon
my conscience, to hold me urged and constrained not to neglect such
an opportunity of my service to the church, my prince, and country.
Principally his desire was, and my purpose in satisfying it, to deliver
what I knew, touching certain things that happened to the excellent
lady, the LADY ANNE BOLEIGNE, about the time of her first coming to
the court. Yet, considering I had some other knowledge of things that
might be found serviceable no less than that, and also might give
light and life to the faithful narration of this whole matter, I have
supposed it would fall best, to deliver the same, as it were, under
the description of her whole life; and this the more particularly and
frankly, that, all things known, those that I understood were to visit
it again might take what they should think most material for their use.
And would to God I could give that grace and felicity of style unto it
that the worthiness of the subject doth require, notwithstanding that
in this regard I am the less carefull, for that it is to pass through
their hands that can give it better vesture; and I shall the more turn
my care to intend the sincere and faithful delivery of that which I
have received from those that both were most likely to come to the
most perfect knowledge hereof, and had least cause or, otherwise for
themselves, could least give just reason of suspicion to any, either
of mind, or partiality, or wit, to fayne or misreport any whit hereof.
And, indeed, chiefly the relation of those things that I shall set down
is come from two. One a lady[202], that first attended on her both
before and after she was queen, with whose house and mine there was
then kindred and strict alliance. The other also a lady of noble birth,
living in those times, and well acquainted with the persons that most
this concerneth, from whom I am myself descended. A little, therefore,
repeating the matter more high, I will derive the discourse hereof
from the very spring and fountains, whence may appear most clearly by
what occasion and degrees the stream of this whole cause hath grown to
such an ocean as it were of memorable effects through all our parts
of Christendom, not by chance or wits of men so much as even by the
apparent work of God, as I hope presently to make plain to all men.

The see of _Rome_ having risen, in this our age, unto a full tide of
all wickedness, had overflowed all these parts of the world with the
floods of her evils, whereby was occasioned and had beginning the ebb
of all her pomp, power, and glory, every particular devising, as if it
had been by one consent and accord (so showing it the more apparently
to come of God), to provide for the time to come against her so great
inundation of mischiefs. Hereof, in _England_, _Germany_, _Italy_,
and in many other places, sundry persons of singular learning and
piety, one succeeding another, at divers times, opened their mouths
as trumpets to call men to this work upon several occasions, all
rising from the outrageous corruptions and foaming filth of that see.
But chiefly and most notoriously, in the time of Henry the Eighth,
of famous memory, this came to pass by the just judgment of God upon
her, and his mercy upon us, where the same polity by which she had in
custom, and then made herself most assured, to strengthen herself in
giving to princes licence to unlawful contracts (esteeming thereby to
tie them and their issue the more strongly to her); the bond of so evil
counsel breaking suddenly, set at liberty the certain means of this
great opposition against her after almost through all Europe. So little
assurance especially have evil foundations of usurped authorities
against the provoked judgments of God by sin, and general displeasure
of man upon just conceived indignities.

There was, at this present, presented to the eye of the court the
rare and admirable beauty of the fresh and young Lady Anne Boleigne,
to be attending upon the queen. In this noble imp, the graces of
nature graced by gracious education, seemed even at the first to have
promised bliss unto her aftertimes. She was taken at that time to have
a beauty not so whitely as clear and fresh above all we may esteem,
which appeared much more excellent by her favour passing sweet and
cheerful; and these, both also increased by her noble presence of shape
and fashion, representing both mildness and majesty more than can be
expressed. There was found, indeed, upon the side of her nail upon one
of her fingers, some little show of a nail, which yet was so small, by
the report of those that have seen her, as the workmaster seemed to
leave it an occasion of greater grace to her hand, which, with the tip
of one of her other fingers, might be and was usually by her hidden
without any least blemish to it. Likewise there were said to be upon
some parts of her body certain small moles incident to the clearest
complexions. And certainly both these were none other than might more
stain their writings with note of malice that have caught at such light
motes in so bright beams of beauty, than in any part shadow it, as may
right well appear by many arguments, but chiefly by the choice and
exquisite judgments of many brave spirits that were esteemed to honour
the honourable parts in her, even honoured of envy itself.

Amongst these, two were observed to be of principal mark. The one was
_Sir Thomas Wiat_, the elder[203], the other was the king himself.
The knight, in the beginning, coming to behold the sudden appearance
of this new beauty, came to be holden and surprised somewhat with the
sight thereof; after much more with her witty and graceful speech, his
ear also had him chained unto her, so as finally his heart seemed to
say, _I could gladly yield to be tied for ever with the knot of her
love_, as somewhere in his verses hath been thought his meaning was to
express[204]. She, on the other part, finding him to be then married,
and in the knot to have been tied then ten years, rejected all his
speech of love; but yet in such sort as whatsoever tended to regard of
her honour, she showed not to scorn, for the general favour and good
will she perceived all men to bare him, which might the rather occasion
others to turn their looks to that which a man of his worth was brought
to gaze at in her, as, indeed, after it happened. The king is held
to have taken his first apprehension of this love after such time as
upon the doubt in those treaties of marriage with his daughter Mary,
first with the Spaniard, then with the French: by some of the learned
of his own land he had vehemently in their public sermons, and in his
confessions to his ghostly fathers, been prayed to forsake that his
incestuous life by accompanying with his brother's wife; and especially
after he was moved by the cardinal, then in his greatest trust with the
king, both for the better quietness of his conscience, and for more
sure settling of the succession to more prosperous issue.

[Illustration: SIR THOMAS WYATT K^T.]

About this time, it is said that the knight, entertaining talk with
her as she was earnest at work, in sporting wise caught from her a
certain small jewel hanging by a lace out of her pocket, or otherwise
loose, which he thrust into his bosom, neither with any earnest request
could she obtain it of him again. He kept it, therefore, and wore it
after about his neck, under his cassock, promising to himself either
to have it with her favour or as an occasion to have talk with her,
wherein he had singular delight, and she after seemed not to make
much reckoning of it, either the thing not being much worth, or not
worth much striving for. The noble prince having a watchful eye upon
the knight, noted him more to hover about the lady, and she the more
to keep aloof of him; was whetted the more to discover to her his
affection, so as rather he liked first to try of what temper the regard
of her honour was, which he finding not any way to be tainted with
those things his kingly majesty and means could bring to the battery,
he in the end fell to win her by treaty of marriage, and in this talk
took from her a ring, and that wore upon his little finger; and yet all
this with such secrecy was carried, and on her part so wisely, as none
or very few esteemed this other than an ordinary course of dalliance.
Within few days after, it happened that the king, sporting himself at
bowls, had in his company (as it falls out) divers noblemen and other
courtiers of account, amongst whom might be the Duke of Suffolk, Sir F.
Brian, and Sir T. Wiat, himself being more than ordinarily pleasantly
disposed, and in his game taking an occasion to affirm a cast to be his
that plainly appeared to be otherwise; those on the other side said,
with his grace's leave, they thought not, and yet, still he pointing
with his finger whereon he wore her ring, replied often it was his,
and specially to the knight he said, Wiat, I tell thee it is mine,
smiling upon him withal. Sir Thomas, at the length, casting his eye
upon the king's finger, perceived that the king meant the lady whose
ring that was, which he well knew, and pausing a little, and finding
the king bent to pleasure, after the words repeated again by the king,
the knight replied, And if it may like your majesty to give me leave
to measure it, I hope it will be mine; and withal took from his neck
the lace whereat hung the tablet, and therewith stooped to measure
the cast, which the king espying, knew, and had seen her wear, and
therewithal spurned away the bowl, and said, It may be so, but then
am I deceived; and so broke up the game. This thing thus carried was
not perceived for all this of many, but of some few it was. Now the
king, resorting to his chamber, showing some discontentment in his
countenance, found means to break this matter to the lady, who, with
good and evident proof how the knight came by the jewel, satisfied the
king so effectually that this more confirmed the king's opinion of her
truth than himself at the first could have expected. Shortly, upon the
return of the cardinal, the matter of the dutchess[205] cooling every
day more and more, his credit also waned till it was utterly eclipsed;
and that so busied the great personages that they marked the less the
king's bent, the rather for that some way it seemed helpful to their
working against the cardinal. The king also took here opportunity to
proceed to discover his full and whole meaning unto the lady's father,
to whom we may be sure the news was not a little joyful.

All this notwithstanding, her virtue was not so dased with the glory
of so forcible attractives, but that she stood still upon her guard,
and was not, as we would suppose, so easily taken with all these
appearances of happiness; whereof two things appeared to be the causes.
One the love she bare ever to the queen whom she served, that was also
a personage of great virtue: the other her conceit that there was not
that freedom of conjunction with one that was her lord and king as with
one more agreeable to her estate. These things being well perceived
of, the queen shew she knew well to frame and work her advantage of,
and therefore the oftener had her at cards with her, the rather also
that the king might have the less her company, and the lady the more
excuse to be from him; also she esteem herself the kindlier used, and
yet withal the more to give the king occasion to see the nail upon her
finger. And in this entertainment of time they had a certain game that
I cannot name then frequented, wherein dealing, the king and queen
meeting they stopped, and the young lady's hap was much to stop at a
king; which the queen noting, said to her playfellow, My Lady Anne,
you have good hap to stop at a king, but you are not like others, you
will have all or none. So often earnest matters are delivered under
game. Yet had the king his times, and she in the end yielded to give
her consent of marriage to him, whom hardly ever any before was found
able to keep their hold against. This was now so far to the pleasure
of the king, that forthwith he with her and her father concluded to
open the matter to the council, all other things being ripe thereunto,
and specially for that it was not possible to keep it any longer
from the talk of men near his person, and the more, the queen being
found to take such knowledge thereof. It is thought then the table
was diversely carried to give opinion upon this matter; some of the
nobility wishing rather to have had so good hap lighted to some of
their own houses; others that it had not been at all; some inclining to
either of these as depending on them; but most liked better the king's
own choice, both for the hope of issue, and that the greatness of great
men should not grow too great to sway with in managing of matters of
state. But howsoever, it appeared manifestly that presently there were
practices discovered on all sides under sundry arts, on the parts of
Spain, from Rome and that faction, and from the queen herself, and
specially some with the king, some with the lady herself, plotted to
break or stay at the least till something might fall between the cup
and the lip, that might break all this purpose with one of them, if
it might have been. And verily one of these may seem for this present
occasion not unmeet to be recounted; which was this: There was conveyed
to her a book pretending old prophecies, wherein was represented the
figure of some personages, with the letter H upon one, A upon another,
and K upon the third, which an expounder thereupon took upon him to
interpret by the king and his wives, and to her pronouncing certain
destruction if she married the king. This book coming into her chamber,
she opened, and finding the contents, called to her maid of whom we
have spoken before, who also bore her name: "Come hither, Nan," said
she, "see here a book of prophecy; this he saith is the king, this the
queen, mourning, weeping and wringing her hands, and this is myself
with my head off." The maid answered, "If I thought it true, though he
were an emperor, I would not myself marry him with that condition."
"Yes, Nan," replied the lady, "I think the book a bauble; yet for the
hope I have that the realm may be happy by my issue, I am resolved to
have him whatsoever might become of me."

The Romish fable-framer[206], if he may be believed, affirmeth another
practice after this sort: "That Sir Thomas Wiat coming to the council,
for his better security, confessed to have had dealings with that lady,
before he had any perceiving of the king's purpose of marriage; but not
being credited by the king, that Wiat, as not finding it well he was
not believed, affirmed he would bring the king where he might see him
enjoy her. And that again being delivered by the Duke of Suffolk to
the king, he yet believed it not." But it is certain that the whole or
greatest part of this is fiction; for the persons, manner, and event of
these things have been utterly mistaken and misshapen. For I have heard
by the report of one of right good and honourable account, and of much
understanding in such things, who also hath the truth of his word in
high respect, that it was Sir Francis Brian that confessed such a like
thing to the king by another lady, with other success more likely,
which was that the king thereupon pardoned _him_ indeed, but rejected
and gave over the lady ever after to him. Whether the duke might, upon
the sight of that which happened at bowls, take any occasion with the
king to dissuade the marriage, supposing the knight could not or would
not otherwise have cleared himself and the lady, but by confessing and
craving pardon for it as done before he had knowledge of the king's
intention, I cannot say; and by guess I will not affirm it in any case
of any, much less of so worthy and noble a personage. Only this I
say, that if he did so, I believe verily that he was greatly deceived
therein of his expectation; as finding that by good proof the knight
could clear himself and her of that matter, even to the full assuring
and ascertaining of the king of the manner of his coming by the jewel
without her dishonour, and that so the duke, if he did so, might come
to find himself had gone too far, as to have purchased to himself
thereby mislike both of the king and queen, whereupon he might turn
his heavy displeasure to the knight ever after. I know of a certainty,
that the knight had a most high opinion of that princely lady's noble
virtues as by trial, and chiefly in the matter of the bowls; in that
she took not or interpreted ill of his deed (as herself, being in her
own conscience clear), but as he meant it to the king's disport before
knowledge of the marriage. This is true also, that Sir Thomas Wiat
was twice sifted and lifted at, and that nobleman both times his most
heavy adversary, as I have to show under the knight's own hand in his
answer to his last indictment. Neither could I ever learn what might
be the cause of his so perpetual grudge, save only that it appeareth
to be as old as this. Some man might perhaps be led to think that the
duke might have a special end to draw him to enter and venture so far
to the breaking off the match. And it is true that he was then married
with the king's second sister, when the king had then remaining but one
only daughter, and then she also questioned whether legitimate: That
then also was procured a statute to cut off foreign titles; and it is
true also, that after the ambition of some to occasion hereby to thrust
the duke's issue, even before the proper and lawful issue of the king,
into the regal seat. All this notwithstanding, I will never be induced
to give that opinion of that nobleman, but rather I would think, if
he did any such thing, in any sort giving colour to this fancy of the
Roman legender, he did it upon zeal that in his conceit it was true,
and that he thought the knight would so far confess it as done before
talk of the king's marriage, when he saw he had passed so far in the
measuring of the cast. And though the whole fiction have scarcely so
much as shadow of colour of any appearance, yet for that part where
he deviseth that Sir Thomas should before the council apeach himself
and that lady, or after not being credited, offer to make the king see
him to have to do with her, this showing itself sufficiently falsified
to any wise and understanding reader, especially considering it
particularly with the circumstances, it is so far from all likelihood,
as all presumptions are flat against it, as in a word or two shall now
be showed.

For that princely lady, she living in court where were so many brave
gallants at that time unmarried, she was not like to cast her eye
upon one that had been then married ten years. And her parents, then
in good and honourable place, resident in court, and themselves of no
mean condition, they would keep, no doubt, a watchful eye over her
to see she should not roam to the hinderance of her own preferment, a
course so foul with one where was no colour of marriage. The King's
eye also was a guard upon her, as also those that pleased the king in
recounting the adventures of love happening in court made it hard,
specially for the shortness of time after her placing there, and the
king's own love. Also she that held out against such a king where was
hope of marriage, what was like she should do to the knight, where his
own lady and her friends were still to attend upon their doings, whose
testimonies of the honourable carriage of that lady are therefore here
most strong for her? And for the knight, if he had enjoyed her, was he
so far desperately wicked and a monster in love, that he would openly,
purposely, and to his own disgrace, vaunt the spoil of a maid of so
good friends and likelihoods of advancements, without all regard of God
or man? especially when she had stood so well upon the assurance of her
own innocence for the matter of the jewel without turning him to any
displeasure thereby. Those that knew him best, knew him far from that
dishonest disposition chiefly in this kind, and for so gross a villany.
And if he had been of that mind, yet was he known not of so little wit
or understanding, upon a point that was not very likely to be known, to
discover his own and her evil; where was a great deal more likelihood
that, the king believing her rather than him, he was to incur a more
certain and greater mischief, that might in all presumption, fall by
the heavy displeasure of them both upon himself ever after. And if
we could imagine him both so wretchedly dishonest, and so very a sot
(neither of which could be found of him), his father then counsellor
to the king, for his wisdom, years, and experience, more grave, would
not have suffered him yet to quit himself so fondly and to be so mad;
especially as when the king had showed not to believe it, then to run
more obstinately to offer when the king had made her privy hereunto,
to bring her that the king should see her also so mad as to yield to
him after she had given consent of marriage to the king. Who would not
believe them also mad, that would believe so mad a carriage of such a
business amongst grave and wise men, howsoever the railing Romanist be
so mad to write it so as he would seem mad with reason? For the king
also, besides that he had more occasion and means than any other to
note and observe her doings, yet much more (as the nature of generous
spirits carries them) he was watchful upon the knight, as in other
things so chiefly in this, not to be outrun at this garland of love;
so as by himself and by the eyes of others, there was not any trip but
would have been spied, no likelihood but would have carried suspicion
with it; how much more would the knight's confession have sunk into
his head? Would he, being so wise a prince, have forgotten that the
soberness of his choice would serve much for satisfying the world,
touching his divorce? Had he not time, had he not leisure to learn, to
inquire and sift out all things? His care used in gathering opinions
of universities, and in informing princes of the whole matter, with
all circumstances in the managing this cause, by the space of some
years, show he was not so passionate a lover, but also withal a wise
and considerate prince. But it is said the king believed it not! Yet
what? when the knight (as this tale saith) offered to make the king see
it, and that avowed to the council! Could such a prince as he swallow
this? Doubtless none that hath his wits will think so, none that knew
the complexion of the king could induce himself to suppose a thing so
incredible. The case of Sir Francis Brian's[207] opening of his love
had another effect, and shows plainly that the king was of another
metal, since he cast off that Lady loved right dearly (as hath been
said) without farther matter. And doubtless in this case, he believing
the matter would have thrown off this lady also, the marriage not yet
consummate, and he having in his own realm and abroad beauties enough
to content him, and means enough also to push on some other. But it
is devised the king believed it not. Not believing it, think we the
knight could have escaped punishment of a slanderer, though he might
by confessing, avoid the punishment of a malefactor (as they say)
after? This no outrageous madman would believe. If the king would or
could have passed it over, the lady in honour could not, nor might. But
suppose also that supposal beyond all suppose. Though they punished
it not, would they, think ye, have put him in credit and advancement
after? Would they have had him chief ewerer even the very day of her
coronation? Would they have employed him ambassador in that matter of
the marriage? Yea, I say more! would the king also have rewarded him
with a good portion of lands soon upon this? But all these were so as
we have alleged them. The Chronicles have his service on that day of
coronation. His embassages were twice about this matter known right
well: I have seen the patents of the grant myself[208]. And these
things, the last especially, I the rather allege, for that the knight
useth them himself as testimonies of the king's good opinion of him, in
his defence before mentioned, which also by the king and his council in
those times was liked and allowed of as his just purgation, by which
they acquitted him. Finally, that his defence then may and is to be
esteemed his defence now also in this case not to be contemned, and
may thus be considered. This reporteth that he was twice winnowed. The
matters were the same both times, the accusations so frivolous, the
inducements and proofs so idle, that they prove nothing more than that
there lacked no wills in his adversary to do him hurt, than that they
had any least colour of matter to work it. Nothing so impertinent,
nothing so unlikely that they allege not. Yea and his most trusty and
best services they had the chief matters of their accusation, nothing
was so fond that they ripped not up to his discredit, at the least
if it might have been. Yet in all this was no word or signification
of any such matter. Though it had not been brought as the ground of
his accusation, would it not have been drawn forth to aggravate or
induce the matter? Undoubtedly it would, either in the queen's life in
his first trouble, and it would have done well to revenge if he had
done her this wrong, or after to her overthrow, or else in his second
trouble against him. But no one word is or was in it touching any such
matters.

After so many cross billets of cunning polities, surmounted by the
guiding providence of God, after so many trials of her truth, passed
through by her wise and virtuous governance, the king having every way
made so thorough proof how deep root honour had taken in her bosom, and
having found it not to be shaken even by him, this royal and famous
prince Henry the Eighth, resolving her matchless perfections meet alone
to be joined with his, now at the length concluded forthwith to knit up
this marriage, although for certain causes the same was thought more
convenient to be performed somewhat privately and secretly. On the
twenty-fifth of January[209], therefore, the ceremony was consummate.
The king also, shortly after having himself more ascertained, and by
more inward trial more assured of her spousal truth, would yet farther
testify that his opinion of her, by giving her that highest honour he
could give her virtues, in having her solemnly and royally crowned. And
thus we see they lived and loved, tokens of increasing love perpetually
increasing between them. Her mind brought him forth the rich treasures
of love of piety, love of truth, love of learning. Her body yielded
him the fruits of marriage, inestimable pledges of her faith and loyal
love. And touching the former of these, it is here first not to be
forgotten, that of her time (that is during the three years that she
was queen) it is found by good observation, that no one suffered for
religion, which is the more worthy to be noted for that it could not
so be said of any time of the queens after married to the king. And
amongst other proofs of her love to religion to be found in others,
this here of me is to be added. That shortly after her marriage, divers
learned and christianly disposed persons resorting to her, presented
her with sundry books of those controversies that then began to be
questioned touching religion, and specially of the authority of the
pope and his clergy, and of their doings against kings and states. And
amongst other, there happened[210] one of these, which, as her manner
was, she having read, she had also noted with her nail as of matter
worthy the king's knowledge[211]. The book lying in her window, her
maid (of whom hath been spoken) took it up, and as she was reading it,
came to speak with her one[212] then suitor to her, that after married
her; and as they talked he took the book of her, and she withal, called
to attend on the queen, forgot it in his hands, and she not returning
in some long space, he walked forth with it in his hand, thinking it
had been hers. There encountered him soon after a gentleman of the
cardinal's of his acquaintance, and after salutations, perceiving the
book, requested to see it, and finding what it was, partly by the
title, partly by some what he read in it, he borrowed it and showed it
to the cardinal. Hereupon the suitor was sent for to the cardinal and
examined of the book, and how he came by it, and had like to have come
in trouble about it, but that it being found to have pertained to one
of the queen's chamber, the cardinal thought better to defer the matter
till he had broken it to the king first, in which meantime the suitor
delivered the lady what had fallen out, and she also to the queen,
who, for her wisdom knowing more what might grow thereupon, without
delay went and imparted the matter to the king, and showed him of the
points that she had noted with her finger. And she was but newly come
from the king, but the cardinal came in with the book in his hands to
make complaint of certain points in it that he knew the king would
not like of, and withal to take occasion with him against those that
countenanced such books in general, and specially women, and as might
be thought with mind to go farther against the queen more directly if
he had perceived the king agreeable to his meaning. But the king that
somewhat afore distasted the cardinal, as we have showed, finding the
notes the queen had made, all turned the more to hasten his ruin, which
was also furthered on all sides.

On the other part, of her body she bare him a daughter on the
seventh[213] of September, to the great joy then of all his people,
both for that the king had now issue legitimate of his own body, and
for the hope of more after. The king also he expressed his joy for
that fruit sprung of himself, and his yet more confirmed love towards
her, caused her child openly and publickly to be proclaimed PRINCESS
ELIZABETH at the solemnity of her baptising, preferring his younger
daughter legitimate before the elder in unlawful wedlock. And after
this again, at the prorogation of the parliament, the thirtieth of
March[214], he had every lord, knight, and burgess sworn to an act of
succession, and their names subscribed to a schedule fixed to the same
statute, where it was enacted, that his daughter princess Elizabeth, he
having none other heir male, should succeed him to the crown.

And after were commissioners sent to all parts of the realm to take
the like oath of all men and women in the land. Neither also were her
virtues only enclosed in her own breast or shut up in her own person.
She had procured to her chaplains[215], men of great learning and of no
less honest conversing, whom she with hers heard much, and privately
she heard them willingly and gladly to admonish her, and them herself
exhorted and encouraged so to do. Also at the first, she had in court
drawn about her, to be attending on her, ladies[216] of great honour,
and yet of greater choice for reputation of virtue, undoubted witnesses
of her spousal integrity, whom she trained upon with all commendations
of well ordered government, though yet above all by her own example she
shined above them all, as a torch that all might take light of, being
itself still more bright. Those that have seen at _Hampton Court_ the
rich and exquisite works by herself, for the greater part wrought by
her own hand and needle, and also of her ladies, esteem them the most
precious furniture that are to be accounted amongst the most sumptuous
that any prince may be possessed of. And yet far more rich and precious
were those works in the sight of God which she caused her maids and
those about her daily to work in shirts and smocks for the poor. But
not staying here her eye of charity, her hand of bounty passed through
the whole land; each place felt that heavenly flame burning in her; all
times will remember it, no place leaving for vain flames, no times for
idle thoughts. Her ordinary amounted to fifteen hundred pounds at the
least, yearly, to be bestowed on the poor. Her provisions of stock for
the poor in sundry needy parishes were very great. Out of her privy
purse went not a little to like purposes. To Scholars in exhibition
very much: so as in three quarters of a year her alms was summed to
fourteen or fifteen thousand pounds.

She waxing great again and not so fit for dalliance, the time was taken
to steal the king's affection from her, when most of all she was to
have been cherished. And he once showing to bend from her, many that
least ought shrank from her also, and some lent on the other side; such
are the flexible natures of those in courts of princes for the most
part. Unkindness grew, and she was brought abed before her time with
much peril of her life, and of a male child dead born, to her greater
and most extreme grief. Being thus a woman full of sorrow, it was
reported that the king came to her, and bewailing and complaining unto
her the loss of his boy, some words were heard break out of the inward
feeling of her heart's dolours, laying the fault upon unkindness,
which the king more than was cause (her case at this time considered)
took more hardly than otherwise he would if he had not been somewhat
too much overcome with grief, or not so much alienate. Wise men in
those days judged that her virtues was here her default, and that if
her too much love could, as well as the other queen, have borne with
his defect of love, she might have fallen into less danger, and in
the end have tied him the more ever after to her when he had seen
his error, and _that_ she might the rather have done respecting the
general liberty and custom of falling then that way. Certainly, from
henceforth the harm still more increased, and he was then heard to say
to her: he would have no more boys by _her_. Having thus so many, so
great factions at home and abroad set loose by the distorned favour of
the king, and so few to show themselves for her, what could be? what
was otherlike but that all these guests lighting on her at once should
prevail to overthrow her, and with her those that stood under her fall?
She and her friends therefore were suddenly sent to the Tower: and this
gracious queen coming unto the entry of the gate, she falling down upon
her knees made that place a reverend temple to offer up her devout
prayers, and as a bale there her soul beaten down with afflictions to
the earth, with her faithful prayers bounded up to heaven. "O Lord,"
said she, "help me, as I am guiltless of this whereof I am accused."
The time approached for the hearing of her cause. The place of her
trial in the Tower may somewhat discover how the matter was liked
to be handled. Nor there was it appointed the better to conceal the
heinousness of the accusation, though that might be the pretence. For
that was published in parliament that it might from thence spread
abroad over all. Her very accusations speak and even plead for her;
all of them, so far as I can find, carrying in themselves open proof
to all men's consciences of mere matter of quarrel, and indeed of a
very preparation to some hoped alteration. The most and chief of them
showing to have come from _Rome_, that popish forge of cunning and
treachery, as _Petrarch_ long since termed it.

    _Nido di tradimenti in cui si cuova
    Quanto mal per lo mondo hoggi si spandi._

    Nest of treasons in which is hatch'd and bred
    What ill this day the world doth overspread.

For that most odious of them, something is to be esteemed by the
apparent wrongs of the other evil handling of matters. But for this
thing itself, partly it is incredible, partly by the circumstances
impossible. Incredible, that she that had it her word as it were, the
spirit of her mind, as hath been said, that she was _Cæsar's_ all,
not to be touched of others, should be held with the foul desire of
her brother. Again, she having so goodly a prince to please her, who
also had showed himself able to content more than one, that she should
yet be carried to a thing so much abhorring even womanly years and to
nature itself, much more to so christian a queen. Impossible, for the
necessary and no small attendance of ladies ever about her, whereof
some, as after appeared, even aspired unto her place and right in the
king's love; yea, by manifest prevention before their time. And indeed,
hereof, it was her very accusers found it impossible to have colour
to charge her with any other than her brother, which also made it no
less impossible even for him alike as other. Impossible, I say, because
neither she could remove so great ladies, by office appointed to attend
upon her continually, from being witnesses to her doings; neither for
the danger she saw she stood in, and the occasion daily sought, would
she for her own wisdom, and also by the advertisements of her kindred
and followers, whereof she had many of most great understanding,
experience, and faith, about her. Besides, she could not but be made
more wary and wakeful, if for none other cause, yet even to take away
all colour from her enemies, whose eyes were everywhere upon her to
pick matter, and their malicious hearts bent to make some where they
found none; as plainly enough was to be seen when they were driven to
those straits to take occasion at her brother's more private being with
her; the more grudged at perhaps, for that it might be supposed his
conference with her might be for the breaking off the king's new love.
For the evidence, as I never could hear of any, so small I believe it
was. But this I say, well was it said of a noble judge of late, that
"half a proof where nature leadeth was to be esteemed a whole proof."
On the contrary, in this case he would have said, whole and very
absolute proofs to have been needful in such a case against nature.
And I may say, by their leaves, it seems themselves they doubted their
proofs would prove their reproofs, when they durst not bring them to
the proof of the light in open place. For this principal matter between
the queen and her brother, there was brought forth, indeed, witness,
his wicked wife accuser of her own husband, even to the seeking of his
blood, which I believe is hardly to be showed of any honest woman ever
done. But of her, the judgment that fell out upon her, and the just
punishment by law after of her naughtiness, show that what she did
was more to be rid of him than of true ground against him. And that
it seemeth those noblemen that went upon the queen's life found in
her trial, when it may appear plainly by that defence of the knight
that oft hath been here mentioned, that the young nobleman the Lord
Rochford, by the common opinion of men of best understanding in those
days, was counted and then openly spoken, condemned only upon some
point of a statute of words then in force. And this and sundry other
reasons have made me think often that upon some clause of the same
law they grounded their colour also against her, and that for other
matters she had cleared herself well enough. It seemeth some great
ones then had their hands in drawing in that law to entangle or bridle
one another, and that some of them were taken in the same net, as good
men then thought worthily. Surely my Lord Cromwell and this young lord
were taken in those entanglements, and the knight himself, of whom is
spoken, had hardly scaped it, as may appear by his defence, if he had
not by the well delivering of the goodness of his cause broken through
it. And this may well serve to admonish men to be well aware how far
they admit of laws that shall touch life upon construction of words;
or, at the least, admitting them, how far they leave to lawyers to
interpret of them, and especially that thereby they give not excuse to
juries to condemn the innocent when sway of time should thrust matters
upon them. Thus was she put upon her trial by men of great honour; it
had been good also if some of them had not been to be suspected of
too much power and no less malice. The evidence were heard indeed,
but close enough, as enclosed in strong walls. Yet, to show the truth
cannot by any force be altogether kept in hold, some belike of those
honourable personages there, more perhaps for countenance of others'
evil than for means by their own authority to do good (which also
peradventure would not have been without their own certain perils), did
not yet forbear to deliver out voices that caused every where to be
muttered abroad, that that spotless queen in her defence had cleared
herself with a most wise and noble speech. Notwithstanding such a
trial, such a judgment found her guilty, and gave sentence of death
upon her at home, whom others abroad, living to feel her loss, found
guiltless.

The woful sentence was given; burning or heading at the king's
pleasure, leaving open some small place to pity for the kind of death,
which the king's conscience (no doubt) moved him to take in appointing
the more honourable death. Within those walls this execution was to be
done. What needed that? The love known indeed to her by the people was
not to be feared of the king, her love being such to him as to her last
breath she stood to acquit and defend him by her words at her death,
carrying a very true image of her former love and life. "Christian
people!" said she, "I am come to die, and according to law, and by law
I am judged to death, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I
am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak any thing of that whereof
I am accused and condemned to die. But I pray God save the king, and
send him long to reign over you, for a gentler and more merciful prince
was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle, and sovereign
lord. If any person will meddle of my cause, I require him to judge the
best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you, and I heartily
desire you all to pray for me. O Lord, have mercy on me! To God I
commend my soul." And so she kneeling down said, "To Christ I commend
my soul. Jesu, receive my soul!" The bloody blow came down from his
trembling hand that gave it, when those about her could not but seem to
themselves to have received it upon their own necks, she not so much
as shrieking at it. God provided for her corpse sacred burial, even in
place as it were consecrate to innocents.

                           END OF THE MEMOIR
                         OF QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN.

 _The following letters, relating to the arrest and behaviour in prison
 of Queen Anne Boleyn, are in themselves so interesting that no apology
 seems necessary for placing them in juxtaposition with the foregoing
 interesting memoir. They have been recently given to the public in Mr.
 Ellis's accurate and interesting collection of Historical Letters;
 that gentleman has preferred printing them as mutilated fragments,
 to supplying the_ lacunæ _by such means as I have ventured to adopt.
 Strype saw these letters previous to the calamitous fire in 1731,
 which injured so many valuable papers in the Cottonian Collection,
 and he has given large extracts from them of the most interesting
 passages: from this source, therefore, I have filled up such chasms
 as I could, that the reader may not be tantalized by the enigma-like
 appearance of a few disjointed words. The passages supplied have been
 carefully distinguished by printing them in Italics between brackets,
 and as Strype was a sufficiently accurate Antiquary, and faithful
 in his extracts, it is presumed that the reader may rely upon the
 authenticity of the passages thus supplied._

 _The reader is already acquainted with the writer, Sir William
 Kingston, the Lieutenant or Constable of the Tower, from the figure he
 makes in the Life of Wolsey. See p. 369, et seq._


LETTER I.

_Sir William Kingston to Secretary Cromwell, upon Queen Anne's
committal to the Tower._

[MS. COTTON, OTHO C. X. fol. 225.]

Thys ys to advertyse you apon my Lord of Norfolk and the kyngs
counsell depart[_inge_] from the Towre I went before the quene in to
hyr lodgyng, & [_then she_] sayd unto me, M. Kyngston, shall I go in
to a dungyn? Now, madam, y[_ou_] shall go into your logyng that you
lay in at your coronacion. It ys to gu[_de_] for me, she sayd, Jesu,
have mercy on me; and kneled downe wepyng a [_great_] pace, and in the
same sorow fell in to agret lawyng, and she hathe done [_so_] mony
tymes syns. And then she desyred me to move the kyngs hynes that she
[_myght_] have the sacarment in the closet by hyr chambr, that she
my[_ght pray_] for mercy, for I am as clere from the company of man,
as for s[_yn, sayd she as I_] am clere from you, and am the kyngs
trew wedded wyf; and then sh[_e sayd_] M. Kyngston, do you know wher
for I am here, and I sayd Nay, and then [_she sayd_] when saw you
the kyng? and I sayd, I saw hym not syns I saw [_him in_] the Tylte
yerde, and then M. K. I pray you to tell me wher my [_Lord Roch_]ford
ys? and I told hyr I saw hym afore dyner in the cort. O [_where ys_]
my sweet brod'er? I sayd I left hym at York place, and so I dyd. I
[_hear say, say_]d she, that I shuld be accused with iij men; and I
can say [_no more but_] nay, withyowt I shuld oppen my body; and ther
with opynd [_her gown sayeng, O Nor_]res, hast thow accused me, thow
ar in the Towre with me, & [_thou and I shal_]l dy to gether: and,
Marke, thou art here to. O my mother, [_thou wilt dy_] for sorow, and
meche lamented my lady of Worcet^r, for by ca[_wse her child_] dyd not
store in hyr body, and my wyf sayd what shuld [_be the cawse, she_]
sayd for the sorow she toke for me: and then she sayd M. K[_ingston,
shall I dy_] with yowt just^s; & I sayd, the porest sugett the kyng
[_hath had justis, and_] ther with she lawed. All thys sayings was
yester ny[_ght_] . . . . . . . . & thys moryng dyd talke with mestrys
Cosȳ[217], [_and said that Nor_]res dyd say on Sunday last unto the
quenes amn[_er, that he wold sw_]ere for the quene that she was a gud
woman. [_And then sayd Mrs._] Cosyn, Madam, why shuld ther be hony
seche maters [_spoken of? Mary_,] sayd she, I bad hym do so, for I
asked hym why he [_went nat thorough with_] hys maryage? and he made
ansur he wold tary [_a time. Then said she, you_] loke for ded mens
showys; for yf owth cam[_e to the king but good_,] you wold loke to
have me; and he sayd, yf he [_should have ony soche thought_,] he
wold hys hed war of; and then she sayd, [_she could undo him if she
wold_,] and ther with thay fell yowt. Bot [_she said, she more feared
Weston; for_] on Wysson Monday ^{Twysday} last [_Weston told he_]r that
Nores cam more u[_nto her chawmbre for her then for M_]age[218], and
further . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wher I
was commaunded to charge the gentlewemen that y gyf thaye atende apon
the quene, that ys to say, thay shuld have now commynycaseon with hyr,
in lese[219] my wyf ware present, and so I dyd hit, notwithstaundyng it
canot be; for my lady Bolen and mestrys Cosyn lyes on the quenes palet,
and I and my wyf at the dore with yowt, so at[4] thay most nedes talke
at[220] be without; bot I have every thyng told me by mestrys Cosyn
that she thynks met for mee to knowe, and tother ij gentlewemen lyes
with yowt me, and as I may knowe [_the_] kings plesur in the premysses
I shall folow. From the Towre this mo . . .

S^r. syns the makyng of thys letter the quene spake of West[_on[221]
that she_] had spoke to hym by cause he dyd love hyr kynswoma[_n Mrs.
Skelton and that s_]he sayd he loved not hys wyf; and he made anser to
hyr [_again that he_] loved won in hyr howse bettr then them bothe[;
_she asked him who is that? to which he answered_] that it ys your
self; and then she defyed hym.

                                                  WILL[=M] KYNG[_STON_]


LETTER II.

_Sir William Kingston to Secretary Cromwell, on Queen Anne's behaviour
in Prison._

[MS. COTTON, OTHO C. X. fol. 222.]

After your departyng yesterday, Greneway gentilman ysshar cam to me,
& . . . M. Caro and Mast^r Bryan commanded hym in the kyngs name to my
[_Lord of_]

Rotchfort from my lady hys wyf, and the message was now
more . . . . . se how he dyd; and also she wold humly sut unto the
kyngs hy[_nes_] . . . . for hyr husband; and so he gaf hyr thanks,
and desyred me to know [_at what_] tyme he shuld cum affore the kyngs
counsell, for I thynk I s[_hall not_] cum forthe tyll I cum to my
jogement, wepyng very . . . . . . . . I departed from hym, and when
I cam to the chambr the [_quene heard_] of me and sent for me, and
sayde I here say my lord my [_brother is_] here; it ys trowth, sayd
I; I am very glad, said sh[_e that we_] bothe be so ny together;
and I showed hyr here wase . . . . Weston and Brerton, and she made
very gud countenans . . . . I also sayd, M. Page and Wyet wase mo,
then she sayd he ha . . . . on hys fyst tother day and ye here now
bot ma . . . . . . I shall desyre you to bayre a letter from me [_to
Master_] Secretory; and then I sayd, madam, tell it me by [_word of
mouth & I_] will do it, and so gaf me thanks saying, I ha[_ve moche
marvell_] that the kyng's counsell comes not to me; and thys [_same
day she_] sayd we shuld have now rayne tyll she ware [_delivered owt_]
of the Towre. I pray you it may be shortly by [_cawse of the_] fayre
wether. You know what I mayne. The quen[_e sayd this_] nyght that the
kyng wyst what he dyd wh[_an he put soche_] ij abowt hyr as my lady
Boleyn and Mestres [_Cosyns, for_] thay cowd tell hyr now thyng of my
[_lord her father nor_] nothyng ellys, bot she defyed them all. B[_ot
upon this my lady Bolen_] sayd to hyr, seche desyre as you heve ha[_d
to soche tales_] hase browthe you to thys. And then sayd [_Mrs. Stoner,
Marke_] ys the worst cheryssht of heny m[_an in the howse, for he_]
wayres yernes, she sayd that was [_becaws he was no_] gentleman. Bot he
wase never in m[_y chamb^r but at Winchestr, and_] ther she sent for
hym to ple[_y on the virginals, for there my_] logyng was [_above the
kings_] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . for I never spake with hym syns, bot apon
Saterday before May day, and then I fond hym standyng in the ronde
wyndo in my chambr of presens, and I asked why he wase so sad, and
he ansured and sayd it was now mater, and then she sayd, you may not
loke to have me speke to you as I shuld do to anobull man, by cause
you be aninferer persson. No, no, madam, aloke sufficed me; and thus
far you well . . [_s_]he hathe asked my wyf whether heny body maks
thayr bed . . . . [_m_]y wyf ansured and sayd, nay, I warant you, then
she say . . . . . . . y myght make baletts Well now bot ther ys non
bet . . . . . . . . d that can do it, yese sayd my wyf master Wyett
by . . . sayed trew.

. . . . my lord my brod' will dy.}
 . . . . ne I am sur thys was as }  WILL[=M] KYNGSTON.
. . . tt downe to den^r thys day.}

. . . . . thys day at diner I sent M. Nores hys diner & sent
hym . . . . . . . . a knave to hys prest that wayted apon hym
withe . . . . . . . . . . . t unto hym, and he ansured hym
agayn . . . . . . . . . . . . ny thyng of my confession he ys worthye
to have . . . . . . . hyt I defy hym; and also he desyreth to
hav . . . . . . . . . [_ha_]lf anowre yf it may be the kyngs plesur .

                                                   WILL[=M] KYNG[STON.]


LETTER III.

_Sir William Kyngston to Secretary Cromwell, with further details of
the Queen's conduct._

[MS. COTTON, OTHO C. X. fol. 224 b.]

    S^R.

The quene hathe meche desyred to have here in the closet the
sacarments, & also hyr amner who she supposeth to be Devet; for won
owre she ys determyned to dy, and the next owre meche contrary to that.
Yesterday after your departyng I sent for my wyf, & also for mestrys
Cossyn to know how the[222] had done that day, they sayd she had bene
very mery and made agret dyner, and yet sone after she called for hyr
supper, havyng marvell wher I was all day; and after supper she sent
for me, and at my commyng she sayd, "Wher have you bene all day," and
I mad ansure I had bene with prysoners, "so," she sayd, "I thowth I
hard M. Tresur[_er_,"] I ansured he was not here; then she be gan talke
and sayd I was creuely handeled ... a Grēweche with the kyngs counsell
with my lord of Norfolke that he sayd, [_Tut, tut, tut_,] and shakyng
hys hed iij or iiij tymes, and as for Master Tresurer he was in the
[_Forest of Windsor_.] You know what she meynes by that, and named M^r.
Controler to be avery [_gentleman_] ... she to be a quene and crevely
handeled as was never sene; bot I [_think the king_] dose it to prove
me, and dyd lawth with all and was very mery, and th[_en she said I
shall have just_]ists; and then I sayde have now dowt ther[_in_]; then
she sayd yf hony man [_accuse me I can say bot n_]ay, & thay can bring
now wytnes, and she had talked with the gentell[_wemen_] ... sayd I
knew at Marks commyng to the Towre that nyght I reysayved ... at it
was x. of the cloke or he ware well loged, and then she sayd ... knew
of Nores goyng to the Towre, and then she sayd I had ... next yf it
had bene leyd she had wone, and then she sayd I w[_old God I had m_]y
bysshoppys for thay wold all go to the kyng for me, for I thy[_nke
the most part of_] Yngland prays for me, and yf I dy you shall se the
grette[_st punishment for m_]e withyn thys vij yere that ever cam to
Yngland, & then sh[_e sayd I shal be in heaven, for_] I have done mony
gud dedys in my days, bot zit I thynke [_moche onkindnes yn the_] kyng
to put seche abowt me as I never loved: I showed [_her that the king
toke theym_] to be honest and gud wemen, bot I wold have had [_of myn
owne prevy chambre_,] weche I favor most &c.

                                                 WILL[=M] KYNGST[_ON_.]

 To Mast^r Seretory.


LETTER IV.

 _Edward Baynton to the Treasurer: declaring that only one person,
 named Mark, will confess any thing against Queen Anne._

[MS. COTTON, OTHO C. X. fol. 209. b.]

    M^R THEASURER,

This shalbe to advertyse yow that here is myche communycacion that
noman will confesse any thyng agaynst her, but allonly Marke of any
actuell thynge. Wherfore (in my folishe conceyte) it shulde myche
toche the kings hono^r if it shulde no farther appeere. And I cannot
beleve but that the other two bee as f[_ully_] culpapull as ever was
hee. And I thynke assur[_edly_] the on kepith the others councell. As
many .... conjectures in my mynde causeth me to thynk ... specially
of the communycacion that was last bet[_wene_] the quene and Master
Norres. M^r. Aumener [_tolde_] me as I wolde I myght speke with M^r.
S[_ecretorie_] and yow together more playnely expresse my ... yf case
be that they have confessyd like wret ... all thyngs as they shulde do
than my n....... at apoynte. I have mewsed myche at ...... of mastres
Margery whiche hath used her .... strangely toward me of late, being
her fry[_nde_] as I have ben. But no dowte it cann[_ot be_] but that
she must be of councell therewith, [_there_] hath ben great fryndeship
betwene the q[_ene and_] her of late. I here farther that the que[_ne_]
standith styfly in her opynyon that she wo...... whiche I thynke is in
the trust that she . ... ther two. But if yo^r busynes be suche ..
.... not com, I wolde gladly com and wayte . ...... ke it requysyte.
From Grenewy[_che_] ....... mornyng.

                                                            EDWARD.....


LETTER V.

 _Sir William Kyngston to Secretary Cromwell, May 16^{th}. 1536, upon
 the preparations for the execution of my Lord Rochford and Queen Anne._

[HARL. MS. 283. fol. 134. _Orig._]

    SIR,

Thys day I was with the kyng's grace and declared the petysyons of
my Lord of Rochford, wherin I was answred. Sir, the sayd lord meche
desyreth to speke with you, weche towchet hys consyens meche as he
sayth, wherin I pray you I may know your plesur, for by cause of my
promysse made unto my sayd lord to do the same, and also I shall desyre
you further to know the kyngs plesur towchyng the quene, as well for
her comfyt as for the preparacion of skefolds and hother necessarys
consernyng. The kyng's grace showed me that my lord of Cantorbury shuld
be hyr confessar, and was here thys day with the quene; & not[223]
in that mater, sir, the tyme ys short, for the kyng supposeth the
gentelmen to dy to morow, and my lord of Rocheford with the reysydew
of gentelmen, & as zit with yowt [_confession_] weche I loke for, bot
I have told my lord of Rocheford that he be in aredynes to morow to
sulfur execusyon, and so he accepse[224] it very well, and will do his
best to be redy, Notwithstandyng he wold have reysayved hys ryghts,
weche hathe not bene used and in especiall here. Sir, I shall desyre
you at[225] we here may know the kyngs plesur here as shortly as may
be, at[225] we here may prepayre for the same weche[226] ys necessary,
for the same we here have now may for to do execusyon. Sir, I pray you
have gud rymembrance in all thys for hus[227] to do, for we shalbe redy
al ways to our knowlage. Zit thys day at dyner the quene sayd at[225]
she shuld go to Anvures[228] & ys in hope of lyf, and thus far you well.

                                                        WILLM KYNGSTON.


LETTER VI.

_Sir William Kingston to Lord Cromwell, apparently May 18^{th} 1536._

[MS. COTTON, OTHO C. X. fol. 223.]

   SYR,

Thys shalbe to advertyse you I have resayved your lett^r wherin yo[_u
wolde_] have strangerys conveyed yowt of the Towre and so thay be by
the [_meanis_] of Richard Gressum, & Will-m Loke, & Wythepoll, bot the
[=n]mbr[229] of stra[_ngers past_] not XXX. and not mony; Hothe and
the inbassit^r of the emperor had a [_servaunt_] ther and honestly put
yowt. S^r yf we have not an owre[230] serten [_as it may_] be knowen
in London, I thynke he[_re_] wilbe bot few and I thynk [_a resonable_]
humbur[231] ware bes: for I suppose she wyll declare hyr self to b[_e
a good_] woman for all men bot for the kyng at the o^r of hyr de[_th.
For thys_] mornyng she sent for me that I myght be with hyr at [_soche
tyme_] asshe reysayved the gud lord to the in tent I shuld here by[_r
speke as_] towchyng her innosensy alway to be clere. & in the writy[_ng
of this_] she sent for me, and at my commyng she sayd, M. Kyngston, I
he[_ar saye I shall_] not dy affore none, & I am very sory ther fore;
for I thowth [_than to_] be dede [_an_]d past my payne. I told hyr it
shuld be now payne it w[_as so sottell. And then she said I_] hard say
the execut^r. was very gud, and I have a ly[_ttle necke, and put he_]r
hand abowt it lawyng hartely.

I have sen[_e mony men_ &] also wemen executed and at they have bene in
gre[_te sorrowe, and to my knowle_]ge thys lady hathe meche joye and
plesur in dethe. [_Sir, hyr Amner is conti_]newally with hyr, and hasse
byne syns ij of the clo[_cke after midnight. This is_] the effect of
hony thyng that ys here at [_thys tyme, and thus fare yow_] well.

                                          Your . . . . . .

                                                 WILL[=M] KYNG[_STON_.]

LETTER VII.

 _From the Earl of Northumberland, addressed "To his beloved Cosyn
 Thomas Arundel, one of the Gentlemen of my Lord Legates prevy
 chambre." It was written soon after the death of the Earl's father, in
 1527. Referred to at p. 339 of Wolsey's life._

[FROM THE ARCHIVES OF THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND.]

Bedfellow, after my most harte recommendacion: Thys Monday the iijd
off August I resevyd by my servaunt, Letters from yow beryng datt the
XX^{th} day off July, deliveryd unto hym the sayme day at the kyngs
town of Newcastell; wher in I do perseayff my lord Cardenalls pleasour
ys to have such boks as was in the Chapell of my lat lord and ffayther
(wos soll Jhu pardon). To the accomplyshment of which at your desyer
I am confformable, notwithstanding I trust to be able ons to set up a
chapel off myne owne. But I pray God he may look better upon me than
he doth. But me thynk I have lost very moch, ponderyng yt ys no better
regardyd; the occasion wher off he shall persayff.

Fyrst, the long lyeng of my tressorer[232], with hys very hasty and
unkynd words unto hym, not on my parte deserved.

Also the news off Mr. Manyng, the which ys blon obroud over all
Yorksher; that neyther by the kyng[233], nor by my lord cardenall am I
regardyd; And that he wyll tell me at my metyng with hym, when I come
unto Yorksher; which shall be within thys month, God wyllyng: but I
ffer[234] my words to M^r Manyng shall displeas my lord; for I will be
no ward.

Also, bedfellow, the payns I tayk and have taykyn sens my comyng
hether, are not better regardyd; but by a fflatteryng Byshope of
Carel[235] and that fals Worm[236] shall be broth[237] to the messery
and carffulness that I am in; and in such slanders, that now and my
lord cardenal wold, he cannot bryng me howth[238] thereof.

       *       *       *       *       *

I shall with all sped send up your lettrs with the books unto my lord's
grace, as to say iiij Anteffonars[239], such as I thynk were not seen a
gret wyll; v Gralls; an Ordeorly; a Manuall; viij^{th} Proffessioners,
And ffor all the ressidew, they not worth the sending, nor ever was
occupyd in my lords chapel. And also I shall wryt at thys time as ye
have wylled me.

Yff my lord's grace wyll be so good Lord unto me, as to gyf me
lychens[240] to put Wyll^m Worme within a castell of myn off Anwyk in
assurty, unto the tyme he have accomptyd ffor more money rec^d. than
ever I rec^d., I shall gyff hys grace ij C^{li}. and a benefiss off
a C. worth unto hys colleyg, with such other thyngs resserved as his
[grace] shall desyre; but unto such tyme as myne Awdytors hayth takyn
accompt off him: wher in good bedfellow do your best, ffor els he shall
put us to send myselff, as at owr metyng I shall show yow.

And also gyff secuer credens unto this berer, whom I assur yow I have
ffonddon a marvellous honest man, as ever I ffownd in my lyff. In hast
at my monestary of Hul Park the iij^d. day of August. In the owne hand
off

                          Yours ever assured,

                                                     H. NORTHUMBERLAND.

 To my bedfellow Arundel.


LETTER VIII.

 _The Earl of Northumberland to Cromwell, denying any contract or
 promise of marriage between Anne Bullen and himself._

[ORIGINAL, COTT. LIB. OTHO C. 10.]

M^R SECRETARY, This shall be to signifie unto you that I perceive by
Sir Raynold Carnaby, that there is supposed a precontract between the
queen and me; wherupon I was not only heretofore examined upon my oath
before the Archbishopps of Canterbury and York, but also received the
blessed sacrament upon the same before the Duke of Norfolk, and other
the king's highnes' council learned in the spiritual law; assuring
you M^r Secretary, by the said oath, and blessed body which affore I
received, and hereafter intend to receive, that the same may be to my
damnation, if ever there were any contracte or promise of marriage
between her and me. At Newington Green, the xiijth day of Maye, in
the 28^{th} year of the reigne of our soveraigne lord King Henry the
VIII^{th}.

                                               Your assured,

                                                        NORTHUMBERLAND.


LETTER IX.

_Queen Catherine of Arragon and King Henry VIII^{th} to Cardinal
Wolsey, a joint letter, 1527._

[MS. COTTON, VITELL. B. XII. fol. 4.]

 Mr. Ellis has printed this letter in its mutilated condition; I have
 ventured to supply the _lacunæ_ from the copy in Burnet's History of
 the Reformation, vol. i. p. 55. Burnet obtained his transcript when
 it was in a perfect state, but has unaccountably attributed the first
 part of the letter to Anne Boleyn. It is however said by Mr. Ellis to
 be in the hand-writing of Catherine, and cannot but be considered very
 interesting.

MY LORD, in my moste humblyst wys that my hart can thinke [I _desire
you to pardon_] me that I am so bold to troubyl yow with my sympyl
[& _rude wryteng, estemyng_] yt to prosed from her that is muche
desirus to kno[_we that youer grace does well_.] I paersave be this
berar that you do; the wiche I [_praye God long to continewe_,] as I
am moste bonde to pray, for I do know the g[_reate paines and trowbles
that_] you have taken for me bothe day and nyght [_is never like to
be recompensyd on_] my part, but allonly in loveng you next on to the
[_kinges grace above all_] creatures leveng; and I do not dought but
the [_dayly proffes of my deades_] shall manefestly declaer and aferme
my wryte[_ng to be trewe, and I do_] truste you do thynke the same.
My lord, I do assure you I do long to heare from you som newes of the
legat, for I do hope and [_they come from you they_] shall be very
good, and I am seur that you deseyre [_it as moche as I_] and more,
and ytt waer possibel as I knowe ytt ys not: And thus remaineing in a
stedfast hope I make anend of my letter, [_writtyn with the hande_] of
her that is moste bounde to be----

 ➔_Here Queen Catherine's part ends, the rest is in the hand-writing of
 Henry the Eighth._

The wrytter of thys letter wolde not cease tyll she had [_caused me
likewise_] to set to my hand desyryng yow thowgh it be short to t[_ake
it in good part_.] I ensure yow ther is nother of us but that grettly
desyry[_th to see you, and_] muche more rejoyse to heare that you have
scapyd thys plage [_so well, trustyng_] the fury thereof to be passyd,
specially with them that k[_epyth good diett_] as I trust you doo. The
not heryng of the legates arywall [_in Franse causeth_] us sumwhat to
muse; nottwithstandyng we trust by your dily[_gens and vigilancy_]
(with the assystence of Almyghty God) shortly to be easyd owght [_of
that trouble_.] No more to yow at thys tyme but that I pray God send
yow [_as good health_] and prosperity as the wryters wolde.

                 By your lovyng so[_veraign & frende_]

                                                           HENR[_Y R._]


LETTER X.

_Anne Boleyn to Cardinal Wolsey._

[FIDDES' COLLECTIONS, p. 256.]

MY LORD, after my most humble recommendations this shall be to gyve
unto your grace as I am most bownd my humble thanks for the gret payn
& travelle that your grace doth take in steudyeng by your wysdome and
gret dylygens how to bryng to pas honerably the gretyst welth that is
possyble to come to any creator lyving, and in especyall remembryng
howe wretchyd and unworthy I am in comparyng to his hyghnes. And for
you I do know my selfe never to have deservyd by my desertys that
you shuld take this gret payn for me, yet dayly of your goodnes I do
perceyve by all my frends, and though that I had nott knowlege by them
the dayly proffe of your deds doth declare your words and wrytyng
toward me to be trewe; nowe good my Lord your dyscressyon may consyder
as yet how lytle it is in my power to recompence you but all onely wyth
my good wyl, the whiche I assewer you that after this matter is brought
to pas you shall fynd me as I am: bownde in the mean tym to owe you my
servyse, and then looke what a thyng in thys woreld I can immagen to
do you pleasor in, you shall fynd me the gladyst woman in the woreld
to do yt, and next unto the kyngs grace of one thyng I make you full
promes to be assewryd to have yt and that is my harty love unfaynydly
deweryng my lyf, and beying fully determynd with Godds grace never to
change thys porpos, I make an end of thys my reude and trewe meanyd
letter, praying ower Lord to send you moche increase of honer with long
lyfe. Wrytten with the hand of her that besechys your grace to except
this letter as prosydyng from one that is most bownde to be

                            Your humble and

                                         obedient servante,

                                                           ANNE BOLEYN.


LETTER XI.

_Anne Boleyn to Cardinal Wolsey._

FROM FIDDES' COLLECTIONS, p. 255.

_Collated with the Original in the Cottonian Collection. Brit. Mus.
Otho_ C. X. fol. 218.

MY LORD, in my most humblyst wyse that my powuer hart can thynke I do
thanke your grace for your kind letter, and for youer rych and goodly
present, the whyche I shall never be able to desarve wyth owt your gret
helpe, of the whyche I have hetherto hade so grete plente that all the
dayes of my lyfe I ame moaste bownd of all creators next the kyngs
grace to love and serve your grace, of the whyche I besyche you never
to dowte that ever I shalle vary frome this thought as long as ony
brethe is in my body. And as tochyng your grace's troble with the swet
I thanke ower Lord that them that I desyerd and prayed for ar scapyd,
and that is the kyng and you. Not doughthyng bot that God has preservyd
you bothe for grete cawsys knowen allonly to his hygh wysdome. And as
for the commyng of the legate I desyer that moche; and yf it be Goddis
pleasor I pray him to send this matter shortly to a good ende; and then
I trust my lord to recompense part of your grete panys, the whych I
must requyer you in the meane tyme to excepte my good wyll in the stede
of the power, the whyche must prosede partly from you as ower Lourd
knoweth to whome I be syche to sende you longe lyfe with continewance
in honor. Wrytten wyth the hande of her that is most bound to be

                            Your humble and

                                        obedyent servante,

                                                           ANNE BOLEYN.


LETTER XII.

_Cardinal Wolsey in his Distress to Thomas Cromwell._

MS. COTTON. VESP. F. XIII. fol. 76.

_From Fiddes' Collections, p. 256. Collated with the Original._

    MYN OWNE ENTERLY BELOVYD CROMWELL,

I beseche you as ye love me and wyl evyr do any thyng for me, repare
hyther thys day as sone as the parlement ys brokyn up, leyng aparte
all thyngs for that tyme; for I wold nat onely commynycat thyngs unto
yow wherin for my comfort & relief I wold have your good sad, dyscret
advyse & counsell, but also opon the same commytt sertyng thyngs
requyryng expedicion to yow, on my behalf to be solycytyd: this I pray
you therfor, to hast your commyng hyther assafore, with owt omyttyng
so to do, as ye tendyr my socor, reliff & comfort, and quyetnes of
mynde. And thus fare ye well: from Asher, in hast, thys Satyrday in the
mornyng, with the rude hande & sorrowful hert of your assuryd lover

                                                     T. CAR^{LIS} EBOR.

I have also serteyn thyngs consernyng yowr sylf wych I am suere ye
wolbe glad to here & knowe: fayle not therfore to be here thys nygth,
ye may retorne early in the mornyng ageyn yf nede shul so requyre. _Et
iterum vale._

Mr. Augusteyn[241] shewyd me how ye had wryttyn onto me a lettre wherin
ye shuld adv^rtyse of the comyng hyther of the Duke of Norfolke: I
assure you ther cam to my hands no suche lettre.


LETTER XIII.

_From Wolsey to Dr. Stephen Gardener, Secretary of State._

 Communicated to Mr. Grove by Mr. Littleton, afterwards Lord Littleton,
 who possessed the original. It is now in the _Ashmole Museum_ at
 Oxford.

    MY OWNE GOODE MASTYR SECRETARY,

Goyng this day out of my pue to sey masse, your lettres datyd
yesternygth at London wer delyveryd unto me; by the contynue wherof I
undyrstand, that the kyng's hyhnes, of hys excellent goodnes & cheryte
ys contentyd, that I shall injoy & have the admynystracion of Yorke
merly, with the gyftts of the promocyons spiritual & temporall of the
same, reservyd onely onto his nobyll grace the gyft of v or vj of the
best promocions. And that hys pleasure ys, I shal leve Wynchester
& Saynt Albons. As hereonto Mr. Secretary, I can nat expresse howe
moche I am bowndyn to the kyng's royal majeste for thys hys gret &
bowntawse liberalyte, reputyng the same to be moche more then I shal
ever be abyl to deserve. Howbeyt yf hys majeste, consyderyng the short
& lyttyl tyme that I shal lyve here in thys world, by the reason of
such hevynes as I have conceyved in my hert, with the ruinyuose of the
olde howsys & the decay of the said archbyshopryck at the best to the
sum of viii C Marcke yearly, by the reason of the act passyd for Fynys
of Testaments, wth also myn long paynful servys and poore degre; and
for the declaration of hys grace's excellent cheryte, yf hys hyhnes be
myndyd I shal leve Wynchester & Saynt Albon's, wych I supposyd, when
I maid my submyssyon, not offendying in my trewth towards hys royal
parson, dygnyte, or majeste royal, I should not now have desyrvyd to
have left; and much the more knowyng his grace's excellent propensyon
to pyte & mercy, & rememberyng the francke departyng with of all that
I had in thys world, that I may have summe convenyent pension reservyd
unto me, suche as the kyng's hyhnes of hys nobyll charite shal thynke
mete, so orderyng his that shal succede and my lyvyng, that the same
may be of lyck valew yeerly and exstent. Whereat my trust ys, and my
herte so gevyth me, that hys majeste wold make no dyffyculte, yf yt
may lycke yow friendly to propone the same, assuryng yow that I desyre
not thys for any mynde (God ys my judge), that I have to accumulate
good, or desyre that I have to the muke of world; for, God be thankyd,
at thys ower I set no more by the ryches & promocyons of the world,
then by the roshe undyr my fote; but onely for the declaration of the
kyng's favor & hyhe cheryte, & to have wherewith to do good dedys, &
to helpe my poore servants and kynnysfolks. And furthermore that yt
wold please the kyng's excellent goodnes by your freindly medyacion,
consyderyng how slendyrly I am furnyshyed in my howse, nowe specially
that the apparell of Wynchester and Saynt Albons shal be takyn from me,
to geve and appoynt unto me a convenyent fernyture for the same, _non
ad pompam, sed necessariam honestatem_. And yf I may have the free gyft
and dysposycion of the benefyces, yt shalbe gretly to my comfort. And
yet when any of the v or vi pryncypall shal fortune to be voyd, the
kyng's grace being myndyd to have any of them, hys hyhnes shalbe as
sure of the same, as though they wer reservyd. And thus by his nobyl &
mercyful goodnes delyvered owt of extreme calamite, & restoryd to a
newe fredome, I shal, with God's mercy & help, so ordyr my lyff, that I
trust hys majeste shal take special comfort therin, & be pleasyd with
the same: _Spero quod hoc, quæ peto, non videbitur magna_. Howbeyt I
most humbly submyt and referre all my petytions, _immo ipsam vitam_,
to his gracyous ordynance & pleasure, praying yow to declare & sygnify
the same, supplying myn indysposycion & lacke of wyt, conceyvyd by
reason of my extreme sorowe & hevynes, that the same may be to the
kyng's contentacion, wherin I had lever be ded then to offende in word,
thowght, or dede, and as towching the grantyng of the fee of one c li.
for Mr. Nores duryng hys lyff for hys good servys done unto the kyng's
hyhnes, for the wych I have always lovyd him, and for the singuler
good hert and mynde, that I knowe he hath alweys borne unto me, I am
content to make out my grawnte upon the same, ye & it wol please the
kyng to inlarge it one c. li. more; and semblably cause Mr. Thesauror
hath the kepyng of the kyng's game nygh to Fernam, I wold gladly, if
it may stand with the kyng's pleasure, grawnte unto hym the reversion
of such thinges as the Lord Sands hath there, with the ampliacon of
the fee above that wych is oldely accustomyd, to the sum of xl. li.
by the yeere; & also I wold gladly geve to Mr. Comptroller a lycke
fee, & to Mr. Russel, another of xx. li. by the yeere. Remyttyng thys
and all other my sutes to the kyng's hyhnes pleasure, mercy, pity, &
compassion, moste holly. Beseechyng hys Hyhnes so nowe gracyously to
ordyr me, that I may from hensforth serve God quietly & with repose
of mynd, & pray as I am most bowndyn, for the conservacyon & increase
of his most nobyll and royal astate. And thus with my dayly prayer I
byd yow farewell. From Asher hastely with the rude hand and moste hevy
herte of

                    Yowr assuryd frende & bedysman,

                                                     T. CAR^{LIS} EBOR.


LETTER XIV.

_Cardinal Wolsey to Dr. Stephen Gardener._

This Letter was also communicated to Mr. Grove by Mr. Littleton. It is
now in the Ashmole Museum at Oxford.

    MY OWNE GOODE MASTYR SECRETARY,

Aftyr my moste herty commendacions I pray yow at the reverens of God
to helpe, that expedicion be usyd in my persuts, the delay wherof so
replenyshyth my herte with hevynes, that I can take no reste; nat
for any vayne fere, but onely for the miserable condycion, that I am
presently yn, and lyclyhod to contynue yn the same, onles that yow,
in whom ys myn assuryd truste, do help & releve me therin; For fyrst,
contynuyng here in this mowest & corrupt ayer, beyng enteryd into
the passyon of the dropsy. _Cum prostatione appetitus et continuo
insomnio._ I cannat lyve: Wherfor of necessyte I must be removyd
to some other dryer ayer and place, where I may have comodyte of
physycyans. Secondly, havyng but Yorke, wych is now decayd, by viii C.
li. by the yeere, I cannot tell how to lyve, & kepe the poore nombyr of
folks wych I nowe have, my howsys ther be in decay, and of evry thyng
mete for howssold onprovydyd and furnyshyd. I have non apparell for my
howsys ther, nor money to bring me thether, nor to lyve wyth tyl the
propysse tyme of the yeere shall come to remove thether. Thes thyngs
consyderyd, Mr. Secretary, must nedys make me yn agony and hevynes,
myn age therwith & sycknes consyderyd, alas Mr. Secretary, ye with
other my lordys shewyd me, that I shuld otherwyse be furnyshyd & seyn
unto, ye knowe in your lernyng & consyens, whether I shuld forfet my
spiritualties of Wynchester or no. Alas! the qualytes of myn offencys
consyderyd, with the gret punishment & losse of goodes that I have
sustaynyd, owt to move petyfull hertys; and the moste nobyl kyng, to
whom yf yt wold please yow of your cherytable goodnes to shewe the
premyses aftyr your accustomable wysdome & dexteryte, yt ys not to
be dowbtyd, but his highnes wold have consyderacyon & compassyon,
aggmentyng my lyvyng, & appoyntyng such thyngs as shuld be convenient
for my furniture, wych to do shalbe to the kyng's high honor, meryte,
& dyscharge of consyens, & to yow gret prayse for the bryngyng of the
same to passe for your olde brynger up and lovying frende. Thys kyndnes
exibite from the kyng's hyghnes shal prolong my lyff for some lytyl
whyl, thow yt shall nat be long, by the meane whereof hys grace shal
take profygtt, & by my deth non. What ys yt to hys hyhnes to give some
convenyent porcion owt of Wynchester, & Seynt Albons, hys grace takyng
with my herty good wyl the resydew. Remember, good Mr. Secretary, my
poore degre, & what servys I have done, and how nowe approchyng to
deth, I must begyn the world ageyn. I besech you therfore, movyd with
pity and compassyon soker me in thys my calamyte, and to your power
wych I knowe ys gret, releve me; and I wyth all myn shal not onely
ascrybe thys my relef unto yow, but also praye to God for the increase
of your honor, & as my poore shal increase, so I shal not fayle to
requyte your kyndnes. Wryttyn hastely at Asher, with the rude and
shackyng hand of

                         Your dayly bedysman,

                                      And assuryd frend,

                                                     T. CAR^{LIS} EBOR.

 To the ryght honorable and my assuryd frende Mastyr Secretary.


LETTER XV.

_Cardinal Wolsey to Secretary Gardener_,

Desiring him to write to him and give him an account of the king's
intentions with regard to him. (_From Strype._)

Myn own good mastyr secretary, albeit I am in such altiration and
indisposition of my hede & body, by the meansse of my dayly sorowe &
hevynesse, that I am fen omit to writ any long l[=re]s. Yet my trustyng
frend, Thomas Crowmwel, retornyng & reparyng unto yow, I cowde nat
forbere, but brively to put yow in remembrance: how that aftyr the
consultation takyn by the kyngs hyghnes opon myn orderyng, which ye
supposyd shulde be on Sunday was sevennyght, ye wolde not fayle to
advertyse me at the length of the specialties thereof. Of the [=w]ch to
here & have knowleg, I have & dayly do looke for. I pray yow therefore
at the reverens of God, & of this holy tyme, & as ye love & tendyr my
poore lyf, do so moche as to wrytt onto me your seyd l[=re]s: wherby
I may take some cumfort & rest: nat dowting but your hert is so gentyl
& pityful, that havyng knowleg in what agony I am yn, ye wole take the
payne to send onto me your seyd consollatory l[=re]s. Wherby ye shal
nat onely deserve toward God, but also bynde me to be as I am, your
contynual bedysman. Wrytten this mornyng at Asher, with the rude hand
and sorroweful hert of yours with hert and prayer.

                                        T. CARDINALIS EBOR. Miserrimus.

 To the right honorable Mr. Secretary.


LETTER XVI.

_Cardinal Wolsey to Secretary Gardener._

To draw up his pardon. (_From Strype._)

    MYN OWNE GOOD MASTYR SECRETARY,

Aftyr my moste herty recommendations, with lycke thanks for your
goodnes towards me, thes shal be to advertyse yow that I have beyn
informyd by my trusty frend Thomas Cromwell that ye have signifyed onto
hym to my syngular consolation how that the kynges highnes movyd with
pety & compassyon, & of hys excellent goodnes & cheryte consyderyng
the lamentable condition & stat that I stand yn, hath wyllyd yow
with other lords and mastyrs of hys honorable cownsell, to intende
to the perfyghtyng & absolvyng without further tract or delay of myn
end & appoyntement; and that my pardon shulde be made in the moste
ample forme that my counsell cowde devise. For thys the kyngs moste
gracyous remembrance, procedyng of hymself, I accompt my sylf not onely
moste bowndyn to serve & pray for the preservation of hys moste royal
majestie, but also thancke God that ye have occasion given onto you to
be a sollycyter & setter forth of such thynges as do & shall conserve
my seyde ende. In the makyng & compowndyng wherof myn assured truste
is, that ye wole shewe the love & affection wych ye have & bere towards
me, your olde lover & frende: so declaryng your self therin, that the
worlde may parceyve that by your good meanys the kyng ys the bettyr
goode lorde unto me; & that nowe newly in maner comyng to the world,
ther maye be such respect had to my poore degree, olde age & longe
contynued servys, as shal be to the kyngs hygh honor & your gret prayse
& laude. Wych ondowtydly shall folowe yf ye optinde yowre benyvolens
towards me, & men perceive that by your wisdome & dexterite I shalbe
relevyd, & in this my calamyte holpen. At the reverens therefore of God
myn owne goode Mr. Secretary, & refugy, nowe set to your hande, that I
may come to a laudable end & repos, seyng that I may be furnyshyd aftyr
such a sorte & maner as I may ende my short tyme & lyff to the honor of
Crystes churche & the prince. And besides my dayly prayer & true hert
I shal so requyte your kyndnes, as ye shall have cause to thyncke the
same to be well imployde, lycke as my seyd trusty frende shall more
amply shewe onto you. To whom yt may please yow to geve firme credens
and lovyng audyens. And I shall pray for the increase of your honour.
Wryttyn at Assher with the tremyllyng hand & hevy hert of your assuryd
lover & bedysman

                                                    T. CARD^{LIS} EBOR.

 To the ryght honorable and my singular good frende Mayster Secretary.


LETTER XVII.

_Cardinal Wolsey to Secretary Gardener_,

Desiring him to favour the cause of the Provost of Beverly, and to
intercede with the king for him and his colleges. (_From Strype._)

    MYNE AWNE GENTIL MAISTER SECRETARY,

After my mooste herty recommendations, these shal be to thanke you for
the greate humanite, lovyng & gentil recule, that ye have made unto the
poore Provost of Beverly: & specialy, for that ye have in such wise
addressed hym unto the kings highnes presence, that his grace not onely
hath shewed unto hym, that he is his goode & gracious lorde, but also
that it hath pleased hys majeste to admitte & accepte hym as his poore
orator & scholer. Wherby both he & I accompte our selfs so bounden
unto you, that we cannot telle how to requite this your gratitude &
kyndenes; mooste hartely praying you to contynue in your good favour
towards hym, & to take hym & his pore causis into your patrocynye &
protection. And, as myne assured expectation & trust is, to remember
the poor state & condition that I stond in, & to be a meane to the
kyngs highness for my relefe in the same. In doyng wherof ye shal not
onely deserve thanks of God, but also declare to your perpetual laud
and prayse, that ye beyng in auctorite, have not forgoten your olde
maister & frynde. And in the wey of charite, & for the love that ye
bere to virtue, & _ad bona studia_, be meane to the kyngs highnes for
my poore colleges; and specially for the college of Oxford. Suffer not
the things, which by your greate lernyng, studie, counsaile & travaile,
hath bene erected, founden, & with good statutes & ordinances, to
the honour of God, increase of vertue & lernyng established, to be
dissolved or dismembred. Ye do know, no man better, to what use the
monasteries, suppressed by the popis licence, the kyngs consente
concurryng with the same, & a pardon for the premoneri[242], be
converted. It is nat to be doubted, but the kyngs highnes, of his high
vertue & equite, beyng informed how every thing is passed, his mooste
gracious license & consente (as is aforesaid) adhibited therunto, wol
never go aboute to dissolve the said incorporations or bodyes, wherof
so greate benefite & commodite shal insue unto his realme & subjects.
Superfluities, if any such shal be thought & founden, may be resecat;
but to destroy the hole, it were to greate pitie.

Eftsones therefore, good Maister Secretaire, I beseche you to be good
maister & patrone to the said colleges: "Et non sinas opus manuum
tuarum perire, aut ad nihilum redige." Thus doyng, both I, & they shal
not onely pray for you, but in such wise deserve your paynes, as ye
shal have cause to thinke the same to be wel bestowed & imployed, like
as this present berer shal more at the large shewe unto you. To whom
it may please the same to geve firme credence. And thus mooste hartely
fare ye wel. From Sothewell, the xxiij^{th} day of July.

                          Your lovyng frende,

                                                     T. CAR^{LIS} EBOR.

 To the right honorable & my singular good frende M^r Doctor Stephyns,
 Secretory to the Kings Highnes.


LETTER XVIII.

_Cardinal Wolsey to Secretary Gardener_,

Desiring his favour in a suit against him for a debt of 700_l._ by one
Strangwish. (_From Strype._)

    MYNE AWNE GOOD MAISTER SECRETARY,

After my mooste harty recommendations, these shal be to desire, &
mooste effectuelly to pray you to be good maister & friende unto me,
concernyng the uncharitable sute of Strangwishe for vij C li., which
he pretendith that I shulde owe unto hym, for the ward of Bowes. And
albeit there was at his fyrste comyng to my service, by our mutual
consents, a perfecte end made between hym & me for the same, yet nowe
digressyng therfrom, perceyvyng that I am out of favour, destitute of
socour, & in calamite, he not onely newly demaundyth the said vij C li.
but also hath made complaint unto the kyngs highnes, surmittyng, that
I shulde, contrary to justice, deteyne from hym the said vij C li. For
the redresse whereof, it hath pleased the kyngs majeste to direct his
mooste honorable letters unto me; the contents wherof I am sure be nat
unknown unto you. And insuing the purporte therof, & afore the delyvere
of the same thre days by past, notwithstanding my greate necessite
& poverte, onely to be out of his exclamation & inquietnes, I have
written to my trusty friende, M^r Cromwel, to make certeyn reasonable
offres unto hym for that intent and purpose; moost hartely beseching
you to helpe, that upon declaration of such things, as upon my part
shal be signified unto you by the said Maister Cromwell, some such end,
by your friendely dexterite, may bee made betwixt us, as shal accorde
with good congruence, & as I may supporte & be hable (myne other debts
and charges considered) to bere. In the doyng wherof, ye shall bynde me
to be your dayly bedesman, as knoweth God, who alwayes preserve you.
From Sothewell, the xxv^{th} day of August.

                       Yours with hert & prayer,

                                                     T. CAR^{LIS} EBOR.

 To my right entierly welbiloved frende M^r Stephyn Gardener, Secretory
 to kyngs highnes.


LETTER XIX.

_Lettre de Monsieur de Bellay Evesque de Bayonne à M^r le Grant
Maistre._ De Londres le xvij Oct. 1529.

[MSS. DE BETHUNE BIBLIOTH. DU ROY, V. 8603. f. 113.]

MONSEIGNEUR, depuis les lettres du Roy & les aultres vostres que je
pensoye sur l'heure envoyer, cette depesche a estée retardé jusques
à présent, parce qu'il a fallu faire & refaire les lettres que je
vous envoyé tout plein de fois, & pour ce aller & venir souvent,
tant les Ducs mêmes qu'aultres de ce conseil à Windesore, dont toute
à cette heure ils les m'ont envoyées en la forme que verrez par le
double d'iceux. Ils me prient le plus fort du monde de faire qu'on ne
trouve mauvais si en ces expéditions, & mesmement en ce que touche
le principal de la depesche, je ne suis de tout satisfait comme je
vouldroye, & aussi eulx mesmes, s'excusans que leur manière de négocier
envers leur maistre n'est encore bien dressée, mais pour l'advenir
doibvent faire merveilles, & en baillent de si grands asseurances &
si bien jurées, que je ne puis me garder de les croire; je n'ay point
refreschy mes lettres au Roy, car je ne voy point qu'il y en ait
matière.

Au demourant, j'ay esté voir le Cardinal en ses ennuis, où j'ay trouvé
les plus grand exemple de fortune que on ne scauroit voir, il m'a
remonstré son cas en la plus mauvaise rhétorique que je viz jamais,
car cueur & parolle luy failloient entièrement; il a bien plouré &
prié que le Roy & Madame voulsissent avoir pitié de luy, s'ils avoyent
trouvé qu'il leur eust guardé promesse de leur estre bon serviteur
autant que son honneur & povoir se y est peu estendre, mais il me à
la fin laissé sans me pouvoir dire autre chose qui vallist mieux que
son visage, qui est bien descheu de la moitié de juste pris: & vous
promets, Monseigneur, que sa fortune est telle que ses ennemis, encore
qu'ils soyent Angloys, ne se scauroyent guarder d'en avoir pitié, ce
nonobstant ne le laisseront de le poursuivre jusques au bout, & ne
voyt de moyen de son salut, aussi ne fais-je sinon qu'il plaise au
Roy & à Madame de l'ayder. De légation, de sceau d'auctorité, de
crédit il n'en demande point, il est prest de laisser tout jusques à
la chemise, & que on le laisse vivre en ung hermitage, ne le tenant
ce Roy en sa mal grâce: Je l'ay reconforté au mieulx que j'ay peu,
mais je n'y ay sceu faire grant chose: Depuis par un en qui il se
fie, il m'a mandé ce qu'il vouldroit qu'on feist pour luy de la plus
grand partie, luy voyant qu'il ne touchoit au bien des affaires du
Roy qu'on luy accordast la plus raisonnable chose qui demande, c'est
que le Roy escripvist à ce Roy qu'il est un grand bruit de par delà
qu'il l'ait recullé d'autour de luy, & fort eslongé de la bonne grâce,
en sorte qu'on dict qu'il doibve estre destruict, ce que ne pense
totalement estre comme on le dict; toutefois pour la bonne fraternité,
qu'ils ont ensemble, & si grant communication de tous leurs plus grans
affaires, l'a bien voulu prier de y avoir égard, affin qu'il n'en
entre souldainement quelque mauvaise fantasie envers ceulx qui ont
veu qu'en si grant solemnité & auctorité, il ait servy d'instrument
en cette perpétuelle amitié tant renommée par toute la Chrétienté; &
que si d'adventure il estoit entré en quelque malcontentement de luy,
il veüille ung peu modérer son affection, comme il est bien sûr que
luy vouldront conseiller ceulx qui sont autour de sa personne & au
maniement de ses plus grandes affaires. Voilà, Monseigneur, la plus
raisonable de toutes ses demandes, en laquelle ne me veulx ingérer de
dire mon advis, si diray-je bien qu'il n'y a personne ici qui deust
prendre à mal telle lettre; & mesment là où ils considéreront, comme de
facit ils font, qu'il sont forcés de prendre & tenir plus que jamais
votre party, & d'advantage asseureray bien que la plus grant prinse
qu'ils ayent peû avoir suz luy du commencement, & qui plus leur a
servi à le brouiller envers le Roy, a esté qu'il déclara à ma venuë
decza trop ouvertement de vouloir aller à Cambray, car les aultres
persuaderent au maistre ce que c'estoient, seulement pour éviter
d'estre à l'expédition du mariage, & outre cela vous promets que sans
luy les aultres mectoyent ce Roy en ung terrible train de rompre la
pratique de paix dont vous escripvis quelque mot en ce temps-la, mais
j'en laissay dix fois en la plume, voyant que tout estoit rabillé,
je vous les diray estant là, & je suis seur que le trouverez fort
estrange: Il me semble, Monsieur, que à tout cela, & plusieurs aultres
choses que bien entendez de vous-mesmes, on doibt avoir quelque égard,
vous donnerez, s'il vous plaist, advis au Roy & à Madame de tout cecy,
affin qu'ils advisent ce qu'il leur plaira en faire, s'ils pensent
n'empirer par cela leurs affaires, je croy que voulentiers, outre ce
que sera quelque charité, ils vouldront qu'on cognoisse qu'ils ayent
retiré ung leur affectionné serviteur, & tenu pour tel par chescun, des
portes d'enfer; mais sur tout, Monseigneur, il desire que ce Roy ne
connoisse qu'ils en ayent esté requis, & que il les en ay fait requerir
en façon du monde, cela l'acheveroit d'affoller; car pour vous dire
le vray, & hormis toute affection, je vous asseure que la plus grant
prinse que ses ennemis ayent euë sur luy, outre celle du mariage, ce
a esté de persuader ce Roy que il avoit tousjours eu en temps de paix
et de guerre intelligence secrette à Madame, de laquelle ladite guerre
durant il avoit eu des grants presens, qui furent cause que Suffolc
estant à Montdidier, il ne le secourut d'argent comme il debvoit, dont
avint que il ne prit Paris; mais ils en parlent en l'oreille de ce
propos, afin que je n'en soy adverty. Quant auxdits presens, il espère
que Madame ne le nuyra où il en sera parlé, de toutes aultres choses
il s'en recommande en sa bonne grâce. La fantaisie de ces seigneurs
est que luy mort ou ruiné, il deffèrent incontinent icy l'estat de
l'Eglise, & prendront tous leurs biens, qu'il seroit ja besoing que je
misse en chiffre, car ils le crient en plaine table; je croy qu'ils
feront de beaux miracles, si m'a dict vostre grant prophète au visaige
bronsé, que ce Roy ne vivre gueres plus que........ au quel, comme
vous sçavez, à ce que je voy par ses escriptures, il n'a baillé terme
que de la monstre de May. Je ne veulx oublier à vous dire que si le
Roy & Madame veullent faire quelque chose pour le Légat, il faudroit
se haster, encores ne seront jamais icy ses lettres que il n'ait
perdu le sceau, toutefois il ne pense plus à cela, elles serviront
pour le demourant, aussi venant icy mon successeur, comme chascun
s'attend qu'il viendra dans peu des jours, ils luy donnassent charge
d'en parler; le pis de son mal est que Mademoiselle de Boulen a faict
promettre à son amy que il ne l'escoutera jamais parler; car elle pense
bien qu'il ne le pourrait garder d'en avoir pitié.

Monseigneur, tout ce qui sera de bon en tout ce discours, vous le
sçaurez prendre comme tel; s'il y aura riens qui semble party de trop
d'affection, je vous supplie m'ayder à en excuser, & qu'il soit pris
de bon part, car là où la matière seroit mauvaise si vous assureray-je
bien que l'intention n'est telle, et la dessus est bien temps pour vous
& pour moy que je facze fin à la présente, me recommande humblement en
vostre bonne grâce, & pryant nostre Seigneur qu'il vous doint bonne vie
& longue.

                                           Vostre humble Serviteur,

                                                J. DU BELLAY,

                                                    Evesque de Bayonne.

  De Londres, le xvij d'Octobre.
    à Monsiegneur
        Monseigneur
      Le Grant Maistre & Marechal de France.


LETTER XX.

_Thomas Alward to Thomas Cromwell._ A. D. 1529.

[MS. COTTON. VITELLIUS B. XII. fol. 173. _Orig._]

 "The following Letter (says Mr. Ellis), though mutilated, presents a
 genuine picture of one of the last interviews with which Wolsey was
 favoured by his Sovereign. It is dated on the 23^d. of September;
 sixteen days after which the King's attorney presented the indictment
 against him in the Court of King's Bench upon the Statute of Provisors.

 "Thomas Alward, the writer of this Letter, appears to have been the
 Keeper of Wolsey's Wardrobe. He has been already incidentally named in
 the Letter which relates to the foundation of Ipswich College."


    MAISTER CROMWEL,

 In my mooste hartiest wise I [_commende me_] unto you; advertisyng
 the same that I have dely[_vered your lres_] unto my lordis grace who
 did immediatly rede over [_the same_] after the redyng wherof his
 grace did put theym in ... and so kepte theym always close to hym
 self. Th[_is I note_] unto you, bicause I never sawe hym do the like
 bifo[_re time_] the which your lettres his grace commaunded me....
 And first, the same hertely thankyth you for your ... advertysement
 made unto hym from tyme to tyme [_of soche_] things as ye have written
 unto his grace wherin I know [_ye have_] don unto his grace singular
 pleasur and good service; and as [_for_] the vain bruts which goth
 against my lords [_grace_] I assur you as fer as may apper unto my
 said [_lord and_] other that be his servaunts, they be mervailous
 false, ... and gretely I do mervaile wherof the same shul[_de arise_]
 for I assur you that in this vacacion tyme [_dyvers_] lettres wer
 written by the kyngs commaundment from [_Mr. Ste_]vyns unto my
 said lord, by the which his adv[_ise_] and opinion was at sundry
 tymes desired ... in the kyngs causis and affaires, unto the which
 lettres [_aunswer_] was made from tyme to tyme, as well by my lords
 [_wry_]tyng as also by the sendyng of his servaunts to the[_courte
 with_] instructions by mouth to the kyng's highnes as the [_mater_]
 and case did requir. Over this the noblemen and gentry [_as well_]
 in my lords goyng to the courte as also in his retourne from [_the_]
 same dyd mete and incounter hym at many places gently [_and_] humaynly
 as they wer wonte to do. On Sonday last my lords grace, with the
 Legat Campegius cam unto the courte at Grene[_wiche_] wher they wer
 honorably receyved and accompanyed with sundry of the kings counsaile
 and servaunts, and so brought bifor masse onto the king's presence,
 who graciously and beni[~g]ly after the accustumed goodnes of his
 highnes, with very familiar and loving acountenance did welcome theym.
 And after communication and talkyng awhiles with my Lorde Campegius,
 his grace talked a grete while with my lorde a parte, which don, they
 departed all to geder in to chapel. And immediatly after dyner my
 lords grace went again unto the kyngs highnes beyng then in his pryvie
 chamber wher they wer commonyng and talkyng to geder at the leeste for
 the space of ij. houres, no person beyng present, and a friende of
 myne beyng of the prive chamber told me at my lords departur that tyme
 from thens ther was as good and as familiar accountynaunce shewed and
 used betwene theym as ever he sawe in his life heretofor. This don
 my lords grace with the legat retourned unto theyr logyng at Maister
 Empson's place. On Monday in the mornyng my lord leving the legat at
 his logyng went again unto the kyngs grace, and after long talkyng
 in his privie chamber to geder, the kyng, my lord, and all the hole
 counsaile sate to geder all that for'none aboute the kyngs matiers
 and affaires. In the after none, my lords grace having then with hym
 the Legat Campegius, went to the kyng's grace, and after talkyng and
 communication had a long whilis with the legat a parte they both toke
 ther leve of the kyngs highnes in as good fascion and maner, and with
 asmoche gentilnes, as ever I saw bifor. This don, the kyngs grace went
 huntyng. The legate retourned to Maister Empson, and my lords grace
 taried ther in counsaile til it was darke nyght. Further mor my Lord
 of Suffolke, my Lord of Rochford, Maister Tuke, and Master Stevyns
 did as gently [_be_]have theymselfs, with as moche observaunce and
 humy[_lyte to_] my lords grace as ever I sawe theym do at any [_tyme_]
 tofor. What they bere in ther harts I knowe n[_ot_.] Of the premissis
 I have seen with myne ies; wherfor I boldely presume and thinke that
 they be ferre [_furth_] overseen that sowth[243] the said false and
 untrewe reports: ascerteynyng you if ye coulde marke som[_e of the_]
 chief stirrers therof ye shulde do unto his grace [_moche_] pleasur.
 Assone as ye can spede your bysynes th[_ere my_] lord wolde be very
 glad of your retourne. My lord wilbe on Monday next at London. And the
 Legat [_Cam_]pegius  shal departe shortely oute of Englonde. A[_nd
 thus_] makyng an ende I commit you to the tuicion and g[_widance of_]
 Almyghty God. From Saint Albons the xxiij^{th} S[_ep_]tember.

 All the gentilmen of my lords chamber with the... ...[244] of
 commendith them hartely unto you.

                      Yowrs to my lytle [_power_]
                                                         THOMAS ALVARD.

FOOTNOTES:

[202] Mrs. Anne Gainsford.

[203] See the Earl of Surrey's character of him, in an Elegy on his
Death, among his poems.

[204] It is presumed that the allusion is here to Sir Thomas Wyatt's
verses entitled "A description of such a one as he would love:"

    A face that should content me wonderous well,
    Should not be faire, but lovely to behold:
    Of lively loke, all griefe for to repel
    With right good grace, so would I that it should
    Speak, without words, such words as none can tell;
    Her tresse also should be of cresped gold.
      With wit and these perchance I might be tide
      And knit againe the knot that should not slide.

    _Songes and Sonettes_, 8_vo._ 1557, _p._ 35. 2.


[205] The King of France's sister.

[206] _Sanders De Origine ac Progressu Schismatis Anglicani. Libri_ 3.
This book was first printed at Cologne, in 1585, and passed through
several editions, the last in 1628. It was subsequently translated
into French, and printed in 1673-4; which induced Burnet to write his
History of the Reformation. In the appendix to his first volume he
gives a particular account of Sanders' book, and refutes the calumnies
and falsehoods contained in it. This called forth a reply from the
catholic party, under the title of _Histoire du Divorce de Henry_ VIII.
_par Joachim Le Grand_. _Paris_, 1688, 3 vols. 12mo. A work not without
interest on account of the documents printed in the third volume, some
of which I have found useful as illustrations of the present work.

[207] Sir Francis Brian was one of the most accomplished courtiers
of his times: a man of great probity and a poet. Wyatt addresses his
third satire to him, and pays a high compliment in it to his virtue
and integrity. He was, like Wyatt, firmly attached to the Protestant
cause: on this account he seems to have drawn on himself the hatred
of the Roman Catholic party. Sanders, in his malevolent account of
the Reformation in England, relates the following absurd and wicked
story of him.--Cum autem Henrici Regis domus ex perditissimo hominum
constaret, cujusmodi erant aleatores, adulteri, lenones, assentatores,
perjuri, blasphemi, rapaces, atque adeò hæretici, inter hos insignis
quidem nepos extitit, Franciscus Brianus, Eques Auratus, ex gente et
stirpe Bolenorum. Ab illo rex quodam tempore quæsivit, quale peccatum
videretur matrem primum, deinde filium cognoscere.--Cui Brianus,
"Omnino," inquit, "tale O rex quale gallinam primùm, deinde pullum
ejus gallinaceum comedere." Quod verbum cum rex magno risu accepisset,
ad Brianum dixisse fertur. "Næ! tu merito meus est Inferni Vicarius."
Brianus enim jam prius ob impietatem notissimam vocabatur, "Inferni
Vacarius." Post autem et "Regius Inferni Vicarius." Rex igitur cum et
matrem prius, et postea filiam Mariam Bolenam pro concubina tenuisset,
demum at alteram quoque filiam, Annam Bolenam, animum adjicere cœpit.
_De Schismate Anglicano_, p. 24.

This disgusting calumny is repeated by the followers of Sanders, and
among others by Davanzati, in his _Schisma d'Inghilterra_, p. 22,
Ed. 1727. And yet that history is presented by the Curators of the
_Studio_ at Padua, to the youth educated there as "una stimabilissima
Storia; descritta con quei vivi e forti colori che soli vagliano a far
comprendere l'atrocita del successo dello Schisma d'Inghilterra." How
(says Dr. Nott, from whom this note is taken) can the bonds of charity
be ever brought to unite the members of the Roman Catholic communion
with those of the reformed church, so long as their youth shall be thus
early taught to consider our Reformation as the portentous offspring
of whatever was most odious in human profligacy, and most fearful in
blasphemy and irreligion?" _Memoirs of Sir Thomas Wyatt_, p. 84.

[208] 32 Henry VIII. A. D. 1540.

[209] A. D. 1532-3.

[210] Tyndal's Obedience of a Christian Man.

[211] This curious and interesting occurrence, which probably had
considerable effect in furthering the progress of the Reformation, is
told with more circumstance by Strype, from the manuscripts of Fox.
It is so entirely corroborated by what is here said, that I think it
incumbent upon me to place it in juxtaposition with Wyatt's narrative.

"Upon the Lady Anne waited a young fair gentlewoman, named Mrs.
Gainsford; and in her service was also retained Mr. George Zouch. This
gentleman, of a comely sweet person, a Zouch indeed, was a suitor
in the way of marriage to the said young lady: and among other love
tricks, once he plucked from her a book in Englishe, called Tyndall's
Obedience, which the Lady Anne had lent her to read. About which time
the Cardinal had given commandment to the prelates, and especially
to Dr. Sampson, dean of the king's chapel, that they should have a
vigilant eye over all people for such books, that they came not abroad;
that so as much as might be, they might not come to the king's reading.
But this which he most feared fell out upon this occasion. For Mr.
Zouch (I use the words of the MS.) was so ravished with the spirit of
God speaking now as well in the heart of the reader, as first it did
in the heart of the maker of the book, that he was never well but when
he was reading of that book. Mrs. Gainsford wept because she could not
get the book from her wooer, and he was as ready to weep to deliver it.
But see the providence of God:--Mr. Zouch standing in the chapel before
Dr. Sampson, ever reading upon this book; and the dean never having
his eye off the book, in the gentleman's hand, called him to him, and
then snatched the book out of his hand, asked his name, and whose man
he was. And the book he delivered to the cardinal. In the meantime, the
Lady Anne asketh her woman for the book. She on her knees told all the
circumstances. The Lady Anne showed herself not sorry nor angry with
either of the two. But, said she, 'Well, it shall be the dearest book
that ever the dean or cardinal took away.' The noblewoman goes to the
king, and upon her knees she desireth the king's help for her book.
Upon the king's token the book was restored. And now bringing the book
to him, she besought his grace most tenderly to read it. The king did
so, and delighted in the book. "For (saith he) this book is for me and
all kings to read." And in a little time, by the help of this virtuous
lady, by the means aforesaid, had his eyes opened to the truth, to
advance God's religion and glory, to abhor the pope's doctrine, his
lies, his pomp, and pride, to deliver his subjects out of the Egyptian
darkness, the Babylonian bonds that the pope had brought his subjects
under. And so contemning the threats of all the world, the power of
princes, rebellions of his subjects at home, and the raging of so many
and mighty potentates abroad; set forward a reformation in religion,
beginning with the triple crowned head at first, and so came down
to the members, bishops, abbots, priors, and such like."--_Strype's
Ecclesiastical Memorials_, vol. i. p. 112.

[212] Mr. George Zouch.

[213] So it is in the Calendars prefixed to the Book of Common Prayer
in Queen Elizabeth's reign. Lord Herbert says it was the sixth, Sanders
the eighth, and Archbishop Cranmer the thirteenth or fourteenth.

[214] A. D. 1534.

[215] Shaxton and Latimer.

[216] To every one of these she gave a little book of devotions, neatly
written on vellum, and bound in covers of solid gold enamelled, with a
ring to each cover to hang it at their girdles for their constant use
and meditation.

One of these little volumes, traditionally said to have been given
by the queen when on the scaffold to her attendant, one of the
Wyatt family, and preserved by them through several generations,
was described by Vertue as being seen by him in the possession of
Mr. George Wyatt of Charterhouse Square, in 1721. Vide _Walpole's
Miscellaneous Antiquities_, printed at Strawberry Hill, 1772, No. II.
p. 13. It was a diminutive volume, consisting of one hundred and four
leaves of vellum, one and seven-eighths of an inch long by one and
five-eighths of an inch broad; containing a metrical version of parts
of thirteen Psalms: and bound in pure gold richly chased, with a ring
to append it to the neck-chain or girdle. It was in Mr. Triphook's
possession in the year 1817.

[217] Cosȳ: this woman's name was Cousyns.

[218] Probably the name of one of her attendants.

[219] unless.

[220] that.

[221] Sir Francis Weston.

[222] they.

[223] note.

[224] accepts.

[225] that.

[226] _i. e._ what.

[227] us.

[228] Anvers, Antwerp.

[229] number.

[230] an hour.

[231] number.

[232] That is his long continuance with the cardinal.

[233] He had probably disobliged the king by his attachment to Anne
Boleyn.

[234] fear.

[235] Carlisle.

[236] William Worm, whom he mentions in a former letter, as the person
who betrayed him.

[237] brought.

[238] out.

[239] Antiphonars, Gralls, Orderlys, Manuals, and Professionaries,
are books containing different portions of the Roman Catholic Ritual.
See Percy's Northumberland Household Book, p. 446, and Burn's
Ecclesiastical Law.

[240] _licence._ There is a tradition at Alnwick that an auditor was
formerly confined in the dungeon under one of the towers till he could
make up his accounts to his lord's satisfaction.

[241] Dr. Augustine, or Agostino, a native of Venice, was physician
to the cardinal, and was arrested at Cawood at the same time with his
master, being treated with the utmost indignity: v. _Life_, pp. 348,
351. In the Cottonian MS. Titus b. i. fol. 365, there is a letter
of his to Thomas Cromwell, in Italian, requiring speedy medical
assistance, apparently for Cardinal Wolsey. It is dated Asher, Jan.
19th, 1529-30. Cavendish describes him as being dressed in a "boistous
gown of black velvet;" with which he overthrew one of the silver
crosses, which broke Bonner's head in its fall.

[242] Premunire.

[243] soweth.

[244] _f._ rest thereof.




                          A TRUE DESCRIPTION,

                               OR RATHER

                              A PARALLEL

                               BETWEENE

                           CARDINALL WOLSEY,

                         ARCH-BISHOP OF YORK,

                                  AND

                             WILLIAM LAUD,

                    ARCH-BISHOP OF CANTERBVRIE, &c.

                       PRINTED IN THE YERE 1641.




 _The following parallel between Laud and Wolsey is referred to in a
 note at p. 342 of the Life of Wolsey. It was printed at the same time
 and for the same purpose as the first garbled edition of that life;
 namely--to prejudice Archbishop Laud in the minds of the people. The
 press then teemed with pamphlets levelled at him, and in the same
 volume I find two others: "The Character of an untrue Bishop, with a
 Recipe to recover a Bishop if he were lost." And--"England's Rejoycing
 at the Prelates Downfall, written by an Ill-willer to the Romish
 Brood:" both of the same date._




A TRUE DESCRIPTION,

OR RATHER

A PARALLEL

BETWENE

CARDINAL WOLSEY AND ARCH-BISHOP LAUD.


There be two primates, or arch-bishops throughout England and
Wales, Canterburie and Yorke, both metropolitans, York of England,
Canterburie of all England, for so their titles runne. To the primate
of Canterburie bee subordinate thirteene bishops in England, and foure
in Wales. But the primate of Yorke hath at this time but two suffragans
in England: namely, the Bishops of Carliele, and Durham: though hee
had in King Lucius dayes, (who was the first Christian king of this
our nation) all the prelacy of Scotland within his jurisdiction:
Canterburie commanding all from this side the River Trent to the
furthest limits of Wales; and York commanding all from beyond the
Trent to the utmost bounds of Scotland, and hitherto, their prime
archiepiscopall prerogatives may (not unproperly) be paralleld.

In the time of Henrie the first were potent two famous prelates,
Anselme of Canterburie, who durst contest against the king, and Girald
of Yorke, who denyed to give place or any precedence at all to Anselme.
Thomas Becket, who was first chancellour, and after Arch-bishop of
Canterburie, in the reigne of Henrie the Second, bore himselfe so
insolently against the king his soveraigne, that it cost him his life,
being slaine in the church as he was going to the altar. But above all,
the pride, tyrannie, and oppression of the Bishop of Ely, in the reigne
of Richard the First, wants example, who was at once Chancellour of
England, and Regent of the land, and held in his hand at once the two
Arch-bishopricks of York and Canterburie, who never rid abroad without
a thousand horse for his guard to attend him, whom we may well parallel
with the now great Cardinall of France: and need hee had of such a
traine to keep himselfe from being pulled to peeces by the oppressed
prelates, and people, equally extorting from the clergie and laietie;
yet he in the end, disguising himselfe in the shape of an old woman,
thinking to passe the sea at Dover, where hee awayted on the Strand,
a pinace being hired for that purpose, he was discovered by a sayler,
and brought backe to abide a most severe sentence. Stephen Lancthon,
Archbishop of Canterburie, in the time King Iohn, would not absolve the
land, being for sixe yeares together indicted by the pope, till the
king had payd unto him and the rest of the bishops, eighteene thousand
markes in gold; and thus I could continue the pride of the prelacie,
and their great tyrannie through all the kings reignes: But I now fall
upon the promist parallel betwixt Thomas Wolsey, Arch-bishop of York,
and Cardinall, and William Laud, Doctor in Divinitie, and Arch-bishop
of Canterburie.

They were both the sonnes of meane and mechanick men, Wolsey of a
butcher, Laud of a cloth worker. The one borne in Ipswich (threescore
miles), the other in Reading, thirtie miles distant from the City of
London, both of them verie toward, forward, and pregnant grammar
schollars, and of singular apprehensions, as suddenly rising to the
first forme in the schoole. From thence, being yong, they were removed
to the Vniversitie of Oxford, Wolsey admitted into Maudlin Coledge,
Laud into St. Iohns; and as they were of different times, so they
were of different statures; yet either of them well shapt according
to their proportions; Wolsey was of a competent tallnesse, Laud of a
lesse size, but might be called a prettie man, as the other a proper
man: both of ingenious and acute aspects, as may appeare by this mans
face, the others picture. In their particular colledges they were alike
proficients, both as active of body as braine, serious at their private
studies, and equally frequent in the schooles, eloquent orators,
either to write, speake, or dictate, daintie disputants, well verst in
philosophy, both morall, physicall, and metaphysical, as also in the
mathematicks, and neither of them strangers to the muses, both taking
their degrees according to their time; and through the whole academie,
Sir Wolsey was called the boy-batchelour, and Sir Laud the little
batchelour.

The maine study that either of them fixt upon was theology: for though
they were conversant in all the other arts and sciences, yet that
they solely profest, and by that came their future preferment; Wolsey
being Batchelour was made schoole-master of Maudlin Schoole in Oxford:
but Laud came in time to be master of St. Iohns Colledge in Oxford,
therein transcending the other, as also in his degrees of Master of
Art, Batchelour of Divinitie, and Doctor of Divinitie, when the other
being suddenly cald from the rectorship of his schoole, to be resident
upon a countrie benefice, he took no more academicall degrees, than
the first of Batchelour, and taking a strange affront by one Sir
Amias Paulet, a knight in the countrie, who set him in the stocks, he
indured likewise divers other disasters: but that disgrace he made the
knight pay dearely for, after he came to be invested in his dignitie.
Briefely, they came both to stand in the princes eye; but ere I proceed
any further, let me give the courteous reader this modest caveat, that
he is to expect from me onely a parallell of their acts and fortune,
but no legend of their lives; it therefore briefely thus followeth.

Both these from academicks comming to turne courtiers; Wolsey, by his
diligent waiting, came to insinuate himselfe into the brests of the
privie counsellours. His first emploiment was in an embassie to the
emperour, which was done by such fortunate, and almost incredible
expedition, that by that only he grew into first grace with King Henry
the Seventh, father to King Henry the Eighth. Laud, by the mediation
and meanes wrought by friends, grew first into favour with King Iames
of sacred memory, father to our now royall soveraigne King Charles.
They were both at first the kings chaplaines, Wolseyes first preferment
was to bee Deane of Lincolne, of which hee was after bishop. Lauds
first ecclesiasticall dignity was to be Deane of Saint Davids, of which
he was after bishop also. And both these prelaticall courtiers came
also to be privie counsellours. Woolsey in the beginning of Henry the
Eighth's raigne, was made Bishop of Tourney in France, soone after
Bishop of Lincoln, and before his full consecration (by the death of
the incumbent) was ended, translated to the Arch-bishoprick of York,
and all this within the compasse of a yeare; Laud, though not so
suddainly, yet very speedily was from St. Davids removed to London,
and from London to Canterburie, and this in the beginning of the reigne
of King Charles. Thus you see they were both arch-bishops, and as Laud
was never cardinall, so Woolsey was never Canterburie.

But in some things the cardinall much exceeded Canterburie, as in
holding all these bishopricks at once, when the other was never
possest but of one at one time. The cardinall also held the bishoprick
of Winchester, of Worcester, Bath and Wells, with a fourth, and two
abbat-ships in commendam: He had besides an hat sent him from Rome,
and made himselfe cardinall, (that being before but Yorke) he might
over-top Canterburie. But our William, howsoever he might have the
will, yet never attained to that power, and howsoever hee could not
compasse a hat from Rome, yet made the meanes to have a consecrated
miter sent from Rome; which was so narrowly watcht, that it came not to
his wearing. Moreover, the cardinall extorted the chancellourship from
Canterburie; but we finde not that Canterburie ever either trencht upon
the jurisdiction, or tooke any thing away from the arch-bishoprick of
York.

Woolsey likewise farre out-went him in his numerous traine, and the
noblenesse thereof, being waited on not onely by the prime gentrie,
but even of earles, and earles sonnes, who were listed in his family,
and attended him at his table, as also in his hospitalitie, his open
house being made free for all commers, with the rare and extraordinarie
state of his palace, in which there were daily uprising and downe-lying
a thousand persons, who were his domestick servants. Moreover in
his many entertainments of the K. with masks, and mightie sumptuous
banquets, his sumptuous buildings, the prince-like state he carried
in his forraigne embassages, into France, to the emperor, &c. in which
he spent more coyne in the service of his king, for the honour of his
countrie, and to uphold the credit of his cardinals cap, than would
(for the time) have paid an armie royal. But I answer in behalfe of
our Canterburie, that hee had never that meanes or imployment, by
which hee might make so vain-glorious a show of his pontificalitie,
or archiepiscopall dignitie: For unbounded mindes may bee restrained
within narrow limmits, and therefore the parallel may something hold in
this too.

They were also in their judiciall courts equally tyrannous; the one
in the chancerie, the other in the high commission: both of them at
the councell boord, and in the starre-chamber alike draconically
supercilious. Blood drawne from Doctor Bonners head by the fall of his
crosse presaged the cardinals downfall. Blood drawne from the eares of
Burton, Prin, and Bastwick, was a prediction of Canterburies ruine;
the first accidentall, the last premeditate and of purpose[245]. The
cardinall would have expelled all the Lutherans and Protestants out of the
realme, this our Canterburie would have exil'd both our Dutch and
French church out of the kingdome. The cardinall took maine delight
in his foole Patch, and Canterburie tooke much delight in his
partie-coloured cats. The cardinall used for his agents Bonner and
others, Canterburie for his ministers, Duck, Lamb, and others. They
both favoured the Sea of Rome, and respected his holinesse in it. The
cardinall did professe it publickly, the arch-bishop did reverence it
privately. The cardinalls ambition was to bee pope, the arch-bishop
strove to bee patriarch, they both bid fairely for it, yet lost their
aime; and farre easier it is for men to descend than to ascend.

The cardinall (as I have said) was very ambitious; the arch-bishop
was likewise of the same minde, though better moulded, and of a more
politick braine, having a close and more reserved judgement in all
his observations, and more fluent in his deliverie. The cardinall was
verie curious in his attire and ornament of his body, and took great
delight in his traine, and other his servants for their rich aparrell;
the arch-bishop his attire was neat and rich, but not so gaudie as
the cardinals was, yet tooke as much felicitie in his gentlemens rich
aparrell, especially those that waited on his person, as ever the
cardinall did, though other men paid for them: and if all men had their
owne, and every bird her feather, some of them would bee as bare as
those that professe themselves to bee of the sect of the Adamists: To
speake truth, the arch-bishops men were all given to covetousnesse and
wantonnesse; that I never heard of was in the cardinals men.

As the cardinall was sumptuous in his buildings, as that of White Hall,
Hampton Court, &c. as also in laying the foundation of two famous
coledges, the one at Ipswich, where he was borne, the other at Oxford,
where he had his breeding: so Christ-Church, which he left unfinished,
Canterburie hath since repaired; and wherein he hath come short of
him in building, though he hath bestowed much on St. Iohns Coledge,
yet he hath out-gone him in his bountie of brave voluminous books,
being fourescore in number, late sent to the Bodleian or Universitie
Librarie: Further, as the cardinall was Chancelour of England, so
Canterburie was Chancellour of Oxford: And as the cardinall by
plucking downe of some small abbies, to prepare stone for his greater
structures, opened a gap for the king, by which he tooke the advantage
utterly to raze and demolish the rest: so Canterburie by giving way
for one bishop to have a temporall triall; and to be convicted, not by
the clergie, but the laitie, so he left the same path open both for
himselfe and the rest of the episcopacie: of which, there before scarce
remained a president.

I have paralleld them in their dignities: I will conclude with a
word or two concerning their downefalls. The cardinall fell into the
displeasure of his king, Canterburie into an extreame hatred of the
commons: both were arrested of high treason, the cardinall by processe,
Canterburie by parliament. The cardinall at Keywood Castle neare
Yorke, Canterburie at Westminster neare London; both their falls were
speedy and suddaine: The cardinall sate as this day in the high court
of chancerie, and within two dayes after was confined to his house;
Canterburie as this day sate at the counsell boord, and in the upper
house of parliament, and the same day committed to the blacke rod, and
from thence to the Tower: The cardinall dyed at Leicester some say of a
flux; Canterburie remaines still in the Tower, onely sick of a fever.
_Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas._


FINIS.

FOOTNOTES:

[245] This mention of omens reminds me that Dr. Wordsworth in his
notes to Wolsey's Life has related the following affecting anecdote of
Archbishop Laud.

"The year 1639 we all know was big with events calamitous to Laud, and
to the church and monarchy. In Lambeth Library is preserved a small
pane of glass, in which are written with a diamond pencil the following
words:

                         Memorand: Ecclesiæ de
                   Micham, Cheme et Stone, cum aliis
                         fulguro combusta sunt
                          Januar: 14, 1638/9.
                          Omen evertat Deus.

On a piece of paper the same size as the glass and kept in the same
case with it, is written by the hand of Abp. Wake, as follows: "This
glasse was taken out of the west-window of the gallery at Croydon
before I new-built it: and is, as I take it, the writing of Abp. Laud's
own hand."




_The Will of Thomas Wolsey, Cardinal Wolsey's father; E Libro
Testamentorum in Registro principali Dni. Epi. Norwic. Multon
inscripto, fo. 146. a._


In Dei Nomine, amen. The xxxi day of the Moneth of September the yer
of our Lord God a m. cccclxxxxvi. I Robert Wulcy of Ipyswiche hool of
mend and in good memory beyng, make my testament and my last wyll in
this maid wyse. Fyrst, I bequeth my soull to Almyghty God, our Lady
Sent Mary, and to all the company of hevyn, and my body to be buryed
in the churche yard of our Lady Sent Mary of Neum^rket. Also I beq. to
the hey aut^r of the pariche of Sent Nicholas of Ippyswiche vi^{_s._}
vij^{_d._} Also I beq. to the pentyng of the archangell ther, xl^{_s._}
Itm. I wyll that if Thomas my son be a prest, w^tin a yer next after
my decesse, than I wyll that he syng for me and my frends, be the
space of a yer, and he for to have for his salary x marc, and if the
seyd Thomas my son be not a prest than I wyll that a nother honest
prest syng for me and my frends the term aforeseyd and he to have the
salary of x marc. Itm. I wyll that Johan my wyf have all my lands and
ten^{ts}. in the pariche of Sent Nicholas in Ippiswich aforesaid, and
my free and bond londs in the piche of S^t Stoke to geve and to sell
the residew of all my goods afor not bequethed, I geve and bequethe to
the good disposition of Johan my wyff, Thomas my soon, and Thomas Cady,
whom I order and make my executors to dispose for me as thei shall
think best to ples allmyghty God and p^{ro}fyt for my soull; and of
this my testiment and last wyll I orden and make Richard Farrington
sup^rvisour, and he for to have for his labour xiij^{_s._} iiij^{_d._}
and yf the seid Richard deserve more he for to have more of Johan
my wyff. Itm. I beq. to the seyd Thomas Cady my executor aforeseyd
xiij^{_s._} iiij^{_d._} Yevyn the day yer and place above wretyn.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Probatum fuit presens Testamentum apud Gipwic. coram nobis Offic.
Cans. Dm. Epi Norwic._ xj _die mensis Octobris Anno Dm. Millimo_
cccc^{mo} lxxxxvi. _In cujus rei testimonium Sigillum, &c._





_Fisher, Bishop of Rochester._


Bishop Fisher's opposition to Henry's divorce, as noticed by Cavendish
at p. 222, subsequently cost him his head. Besides his letter to Wolsey
maintaining the validity of the marriage with Catherine, published
by Fiddes in his Appendix to the Life of Wolsey, and in Collier's
Ecclesiastical History, vol. 2 Records, he wrote a larger discourse
in Latin, "De Causa Matrimonii Regis Angliæ," which was long thought
to exist only in MS. But in a late sale by public auction in London,
of Don Jos Antonio Conde's Library, a printed copy was purchased for
Mr. Heber, which appears to have issued from the press at Alcala
(Complutum) in Spain. The printer of which says the manuscript copy
was given him by the Arch-bishop of Toledo. It is probable that the
Spanish agents in England contrived to obtain a copy and sent it
to the emperor. It would not have been allowed to issue from the
press in England. It is remarkable that Ribadineira in his Historia
Ecclesiastica de Inglaterra, Madrid, 1588, p. 59. _rev._ mentions
that Fisher presented his book to the legates. "Los que por parte de
la Reyna tratavan este negocio eran los mas graves y doctos Teologos
y Perlados de todo el Reyno y entre ellos Gulielmo Varamo Arçopispo
Cantuariense y Primado de Inglaterra, y otros cinco Obispos de grande
autoridad. Pero el que mas se mostrava era Juan Fischero Obispo
Roffense, varon por cierto exemplar, y no solamente lumbrera del reyno
de Inglaterra, sino de toda la christiandad, espejo de santidad, sal
del pueblo, y verdadero Doctor de la Yglesia. El qual salio en publico,
_y presentò a los Legados_ UN LIBRO _doctissimo que avia escrito_ EN
DEFENSION DEL MATRIMONIO _del Rey y de la Reyna_, y amonestoles con
razonamiento gravissimo que no buscassen dificultades donde no las
avia, ni permitiessen que se pervirtiesse la verdad clara y manifiesta
de la sagrada Escritura, y se debilitasse la fuerça de las leyes
ecclesiasticas que en esta causa eran evidentes, y estavan tan bien
entendidas. Que pensassen y considerassen atentamente los da[=n]os
innumerables que deste divorcio se podian seguir: el odio entre el
Rey Enrique y Carlos Emperador: las parcialidades de los principes
que los seguirian: las guerras crueles de fuera y dentro del reyno: y
lo que mas importava, las dissensiones en materia de la Fè, sçismas,
heregias, y sectas infinitas. Yo dize por aver estudiado esta materia,
y gastado en ella mucho tiempo y trabajo, oso afirmar que no ay en la
tierra potestad que pueda deshazer este matrimonio, ni desatar lo que
Dios atò. Y esto que digo no solamente _lo pruevo claramente_ EN ESTE
LIBRO, con los testimonias irrefragable de la sagrada Escritura, y de
los santos Doctores, pero tambien estoy aparejado a defenderlo con
el derramamiento de mi sangre: dixolo Roffense, y como lo dixo, assi
cumplio. Aviendo hablado de esta manera aquel varon illustre por la
fama de su doctrina, excellente por la santidad de la vida, admirable
por la dignidad de Perlado, y por sus canas venerable." Ribadineira
says that four _other_ Doctors, and three Bishops, also offered other
books which they had composed in defence of the validity of the Queen's
marriage: the proof of this assertion is yet to seek.

A manuscript copy of Fisher's book is said to be among those presented
by the Duke of Norfolk to the Royal Society. We may hope to have all
that relates to this venerable prelate in a more tangible form when
the Rev. John Lewis's Life of him shall be given to the world. I have
the satisfaction to add that it has been some time at press, under the
editorial care of the Rev. Theodore Williams of Hendon, and cannot fail
to prove a valuable addition to Ecclesiastical Biography.




 _The Instrument of the Kings gift to the Cardinal after his forfeiture
 by the premunire, which so much revived his hopes, is printed by Rymer
 and by Fiddes. The following is the Schedule appended to it. V. Life,
 291._


The Money, Goods, and Cattells, given by the King's Grace to the Lorde
Cardinall, whereof mention is made in the King's Lettres Patentes
hereunto annexed.

Fyrste in Redy Money, MMM _li._

Item, in Plate, Nyne Thowsand Fyve Hundred Thre-score Fyve oz. dim.
quarter, at iij^_s_ viij^_d_ the oz. amounteth to MDCCLII _li._ iij^_s_
viii^_d_.

Item, Dyvers Apparell of Houshold, as Hangyngs, Beddyng, Napry, and
other thyngs, as appereth by the Inventorie of the same--amountyng in
Value by Estimation, DCCC _li._

Item, In Horses and Geldyngs lxxx with their Apparel, valued by
Estimation, CL _li._

Item, in Mules for the Saddell vi. with their Apparell, valued by
Estimation, LX _li._

Item, in Mules for Carriage vi with their Apparell, valued by
Estimation, XL _li._

Item, in Lyng on thowsand valued by Estimation, XL _li._

Item, in Cod and Haberden viij c valued by Estimation, XL _li._

Item, in Salt viii Waye valued by Estimation, X _l._

Item, in Implements of the Kytchen as Potts, Pannes, Spitts, Peawter
Vessell, and other things necessarie for the same, valued by
Estimation, LXXX _l._

Item, LII. Oxen valued by Estimation, LXXX _l._

Item, in Muttons LXX valued by Estimation XII _l._

Item, the Apparell of his Body, valued by Estimation, CCC _l._

          Summa, vi M. ccc. lxxiv. _l._ iij^_s._ vii^_d._ ob.




_A Memoryall of suche Communication as my Lorde Legatts grace had with
the Quenes Almoner._

[EX. MS. INTER ARCHIVA ACADEMIA CANTABRIG.]

 This interesting paper is published in Fiddes, from the communication
 of the learned and Reverend Mr. Baker. It is so necessary a supplement
 to the very interesting interview of the two Cardinals with Katherine,
 given by Cavendish, that I could not resolve to withhold it from
 the reader, who may not chance to have ready access to Dr. Fiddes'
 ponderous volume.


Fyrst my lordes grace taking for introduction & commencement of his
graces purposes & devyses, excogitate by the same for the totall
extermination of suche heresies as daily encreased in Cambrydge: &
that his grace thought more convenyent the same to be done by the
commyssaries then the Bysshops of Rochester or Elie, shewed his
pleasure & determination was to send him thyther, as well for that he
was of good reputation & credytt there, beinge a M'^r of a colledge
in the same, as also for that he had in tymes passed used hym in lyke
busyness. To which the said M^r Almoner, fyrst excusing the remission
of his wonte and bounde offyce & dewtie in vysitinge his grace, &
most humblie beseching the same not to impute yt as proceding of
any alienation of his trewe hart & devotion he bare unto the same,
answered, that he woold most gladly taike upon him the said province &
jorney; desyringe nevertheles his grace that he might defer the same
untyll 20 dayes were past & expired, in which space he might well
performe his residence at Wyndesore. Unto which petycyon his grace
condescendyng, & takynge the same as a full resolution in that behalfe,
pretendinge also to have had noon other cause or matter unto him,
fynished that communicacion, and sodenly asked hym what tydyngs he had
hard of late in the courte?--

To this he answered, that he hard noon, but that yt was much bruted
that a Legatt shuld come hyther into England.--Whereuppon his grace
inferred what the quene thought of his comynge, and for what purpose
he should come?----To this he said, that she was fully perswaded &
believed that his comynge was only for the decision of the cause of
matrimonie dependinge betweene her & the kinges highnes.

Hereupon my lordes grace taking just occasion further to entre in
this mater, & fyrste makyng rehersall of sondrie excellent benefitts
with which his grace had indewed hym, to thend he shuld doo the kings
highnes trewe & faithfull service, & sithe adjuring him upon his
fidelitie, his othe, & _sub sigillo confessionis_, and suche other
obtestations, to conceale & kepe secrete whatsoever his grace shuld
then communicate unto hym, and never to propale the same to any man
lyvyng, oonles he had expresse commandement by the kyngs highnes or his
grace so to doo, desyred hym that he wold faithfully entierly & hooly
declare unto his grace all & singuler soche thinges as he knewe of the
quenes dysposicion, minde, sayings, purpose & intent in this mattier.

To this the said M^r Almoner fyrst alleging & declaring of how
singuler and perfytt devocyon he was towards the kyngs hyghnes and my
lords grace, & that he wold not oonly be moost redy to execute his
commandements, but also to kepe secrete suche things as his grace
shuld wyll him so to doo: answered, that he hard the quene oft saie
that yf in this cause she myght attaine & injoye her naturall defence &
justice, she distrusted nothing butt yt should taike suche effecte as
shuld be acceptable both to God & man. And that for theese causes:--

Fyrst for that it was in the ieies of God moost plaine & evydent that
she was never knowen of Prince Arthure. Secondly, for that neyther of
the judges were competent, being bothe the kings subjects, beneficed
within his realme, & delegate from the pope at the contemplation of
the king, she being never hard, ne admytted to her defence. Thirdly,
for that she ne had ne myght have within this realme any indifferent
counsaile. Fynally, for that she had in Spaine two bulles, the oone
beinge latter daite than the other, but bothe of suche effycacie &
strengthe, as shulde sone remove all objections & cavyllations to be
maide to thinfringing of this matrymonie.

To this my lord's grace replying said, he marvelled not a lyttle of her
so undyscrete ungodly purposes & sayings, which caused him to conceyve
that she was neyther of suche perfection, ne vertue as he had thought
in tymes past to have been in her: & so entering in refutation of all
the premisses said:--

Fyrst, where she saithe that she was not knowen of Prince Arthure,
verely it is a weake & much unsure grownde for her to leane unto,
being so urgent & vehement presumptions _non solum Juris, sed etiam de
Jure_ to the contrarie, which and of congreuence ought to wey more in
every equall judges brest then her symple allegation. For it cannot be
denied but that bothe he & she was then of suche yers as was mete and
hable to explete that act. It is also verey notarie, that thei dyd lye
together, bothe here & in Waylles, by the space of three quarters of a
yere. Furthermore, nothing was so muche desyred of bothe there parentes
as the consummation of the said act: Insomuche that the counsailers of
Ferdinando being resident here for that purposse dyd send the sheets
thei ley in, spotted with bloude, into Spaine, in full testimonye &
prouf therof. The counsaillers also of bothe parties moste solemnelye
sworne affearme in there treaties & saien that the matrymonie was
consummate by that act. Forthermore the comen voyce through England is,
that the said Prince Arthure shuld oftymes boost oon mornyng how ofte
he had been the nyght before in the myddes of Spaine: Insomuche that
commonlye his so primature deathe was imputed onely to _nimio coitu_.

Fynally, King Henry VIIth of blessed memorie, wold not by certaine
space after the deathe of the saide prince, permytte or suffer that
the kings highnes shuld injoye the name & tytle of Prince, onely for
that it was dowbted by such as than was most abowte the quene whether
she was conceaved wyth chylde or noo. And therefore these presumptions
beinge of suche sorte & nature, my lords grace said, the quene shuld
do lyke neyther wyse ne vartuouse lady to adhere partinacely to the
contrarie.

To the seconde his grace replied, saying that if she shuld refuse and
decline the judgment of those parsons unto whome the pope's holiness
had delegated the examination of this cause, she shuld not do well,
butt so doing rather incurr the indignacyon of the see apostolique,
deserve the obloque & hatred of all good chossin people & ingenerate
in there hartes a perpetuall hate & enmitie against her. For sythe
the popes holines proceadythe in thys commyssyon at the intercession
or motion of no partie, but onely _ex mero motu pastorali officio_, &
sith that his holines notwithstanding he being notoriously certyfied
that they be the kings subjects, & benefyced within his realme hathe
approved there parsons as moost mete and worthie to have the hole
decision of this cawse commytted unto them: with that also theire
parsons be qualyfyed with so hyghe preemynence & dignitie, as by the
common lawe cannot be refused as suspect. Fynallie sythe the same
parsons being straitly commanded by the king's hyghnes, all affection
of mede or drede set apart, onely to attend, waye, regard & consyder
the justyce of the cawse as they shall therunto answere on perell of
there owne sowles & his dreadfull indignacion, have no cawse which thei
shuld varye or deflect their sentence otherwyse than justyce shall
require, specially in a cawse of suche wayght & importance, & wherin
they for unrighteouse judgement shuld acquire nothing els but theire
owne dampnation, eternall ignominie & indignation of theire prince:
yf she shuld refuse suche parsons as suspect, it might well be saide
that she geveth tytles honour to the auctoritie of the churche, & that
this realme were marvelouslie destytute of men of sincere learnyng &
conscience, to the great slaunder of the same.

And fynally his grace said, that yf this exception shuld be admytted as
suffycyent cawse of recusation, for that they be benefyced by the kings
hyghnes, than this cawse of matrymonie myght nowhere be ventylated
or dyscussed within Christindone, for that there are no parsons of
auctorite & lernyng in any regyon out of this realme, againe whome
the king's highnes might not alleadge, in lyke manner, lyke cawse of
recusation & suspicion. The pope's holines & the holle clargie of
Ytallie, Flaunders, Spaine, Denmarke & Scotlande, being now eyther
confederate or in thraldome & captivitie of the emperor's tyranny.

To the third, concerning counsaillors to be retained on her behalf, my
lords grace saide, that although he was ryght well assured of the kings
singuler propencyon & inclination to justyce, & that above all things
his pleasour was justyce shuld be equally mynistred to eyther parte in
this cawse, being also never wylling or in mynde at any tyme, but that
she shuld have aide and assistance of so well lerned men, so wyse, and
of so good conscience, as might any be founde within this realme: yet
his grace thought that consydering the nature of this cawse to be of
suche sorte, as necessarily impliethe the hole tytle of succession of
this realme, lyke as yt were not expedyent, ne myght in any wyse be
suffred withowt great dangier & perell which might therby ensue, to
maike any aliene or straunger previe herunto, specially the Spaniards
having now intelligence with the King of Scotts; So his grace thought
that the quene wold not insyst in so fryvolous petition, which might
never be graunted unto her, but be content to admytt and adhybyt suche
lerned men as be here in this region her counsaillors, namely suche as
by theire othes solempnly maide & vowed, & by expresse commandement
_et optima gratia_ of the king's highnes, shuld withowt frawde or
corruption shew unto her theire sentence and openions: and desyring
the contrarie hereof his grace said she shuld doe nothing but declare
her owne sensuall affection to sett forthe that whiche, all due prouf,
bothe by Gods lawe & mans law hath justly condemned. And thus ended my
lords graces talke with M^r Almoner.

⁂ Robert Shorton S. T. P. then master of Pembroke Hall and canon of
Windsor was almoner to the queen, preferr'd by her to the deanery of
Stoke Suffolk, the same that was internuncius cardinali de evocandis
viris doctis Cantabrigia Oxoniam, and sometime dean of the cardinal's
chapel.




_Itinerary of Cardinal Wolseys last Journey Northward, 1530._


He set out from Richmond at the beginning of Passion Week, but we
know not on what precise day. The first days journey was to Hendon in
Middlesex, where he lodged for the night at the house of the abbot of
Westminster.

The next day he removed to a place called the Rye, the abode of the
Lady Parry.

The third day to Royston, where he lodged in the monastery.

The fourth day to Huntingdon, where he sojourned for the night in the
abbey.

On Palm Sunday he reached the Abbey of Peterborough, which he made his
abode until the Thursday in Easter week, his train for the most part
being at board wages in the town. Here he celebrated Palm Sunday, going
with the monks in procession, and bearing his palm with great humility.
He kept his Maunday on the Thursday so named, with the accustomed
ceremonies and bounties to the poor. On Easter Sunday he also went in
procession in his cardinal's habit, and performed the service of high
mass very devoutly.

From Peterborough he went to visit his old friend Sir William
Fitzwilliams, about four miles from thence, who received him with great
joy and hospitality. He went there on Thursday in Easter week and
remained until the Monday following, on which day he went to Stamford
and lay there that night.

On Tuesday he went to Grantham, where he lodged in the house of a
gentleman named Hall.

On Wednesday he removed to Newark, where he rested in the castle.

On Thursday to Southwell, where was a palace belonging to his see of
York, but this being out of repair he was lodged in the house of one
of the prebends. At Whitsuntide he removed into the palace, keeping a
noble table, where he was visited by the chief persons of the country.

At the latter end of _grease time_ he removed to Scroby, another house
belonging to his see of York, being as much regretted at Southwell
as he was greeted at Scroby. In his way to Scroby he took Welbeck or
Newsted Abbey, from thence to Rufford Abbey to dinner, and slept at
Blythe Abbey, reaching Scroby on the following day, where he remained
until Michaelmas.

About Michaelmas day he removed to his seat of Cawood Castle, twelve
miles (said by Cavendish to be only seven) from York, and in his way
thither he lay two nights and a day at St. Oswald's Abbey, where he
held a confirmation. He lay at Cawood long after, says Cavendish, with
much honour.

His clergy here waited upon him to take order for his inthronization,
which he seems to have desired should be conducted with as little pomp
as possible. The ceremony was fixed to take place on the Monday after
All Hallown Tide, but he was arrested on the Friday before (fourth of
November) at Cawood, by the Earl of Northumberland and Mr. Welsh.

They left Cawood with him in custody on Sunday the sixth. The first
night he was lodged in the Abbey of Pomfret.

The next day [7^{th}] they removed to Doncaster.

The third day [8^{th}] to Sheffield Park, a seat of the Earl of
Shrewsbury (afterwards appointed by Queen Elizabeth for the meeting
of her and Mary Queen of Scots, which never took place), where he
continued eighteen days, being there seized with the flux. Here Sir
William Kingston the Constable of the Tower came to take charge of his
person, and on Thursday the twenty-fourth of November they set forward,
the cardinal hardly able to sit upright on his mule. They passed the
night at Hardwicke upon Line in Nottinghamshire. (_See note on the
Life_, p. 379.)

On Friday the twenty-fifth they rode to Nottingham, and lodged there
that night.

On Saturday the twenty-sixth at night, they reached Leicester Abbey; he
had many times like to have fallen from his mule by the way; telling
the abbot as he entered he had come to lay his bones among them. He
gradually became worse, and died at eight o'clock in the morning of
Tuesday November the twenty-ninth.




 _Beside the solemn mass performed by Cardinal Wolsey upon the
 ratification of peace between the French and English kings, which
 is described at p. 190 of the Life, he officiated at another great
 ceremony of thanksgiving upon occasion of the Pope's deliverance
 from captivity. The particulars of which are preserved in the
 archives of the Herald's College in an ancient book written by Thomas
 Walle, Windsor Herald, and published by Dr. Fiddes at p. 179 of his
 Collections. For the convenience of the reader who may not possess Dr.
 Fiddes's Life of Wolsey, I have thought it desirable to place this
 curious relation in my Appendix._

 _The Comming and Reseyving of the Lord Cardinall into Powles for the
 Escaping of Pope Clement_ VII. A. D. 1527. A^o Regni Henrici VIII.
 XIX^{th}.


Memorandum that the fifth day of January beyng Sunday even in the year
aforesaid, the Lord Thomas Wolcy Cardinall of Yorke &c. landyd betweene
eight of the clocke and nyne in the morninge at the Black fryars at
London, with great company of noblemen and gentlemen, where met with
him the Embassadours of the Pope, of the Emperour, the Frenche kinge,
of Venise, of Florence, of Millain. And so procedyd on horseback unto
Powles church dore, where they did alight. And ther the officers of
armes longing unto the king gave there theire attendance, and at his
alighting put on there sootes of armes. And here was also foure of
the doctors, prebendarys of the sayd Powles, in copes and grey amys,
which bare a rich canape over him of cloth of gould. And so the lord
cardinall procedyd, havyng themperours embassadour on his right hand,
and the Frenche kinges [embassadour] on his lifte hand, untill he came
to the arches where was prepared a bank with quyshions and carpets,
where the said Lord kneled, and there mete him, in Pontificalibus, the
Bushop of London, the Bushop of St. Asse [Asaph] which censyd him: And
the Bushop of Lincoln, the Bushop of Bath, the Bushop of Llandaff,
the Lord Priour of Westm^r, the Priour of St. Saviours, th Abbots of
Stratford, and of Towerhill, the Priour of Christ-churche, of St. Mary
Spytell, with other to the so[=m]e of xvi miters. And so the procession
of the hole quyer procedyd fourth, havyng thambassadours with him as
afore, up to the quier, and so to the high aultier, wher, his oblation
doon, he went with him into his travers, and duringe that the howre was
a singing he was revestyd in Pontificalibus, and then he with all the
other prelats, the quiere of Powles and his hole quiere, with his suit
of rich copes, went in procession within the said church, the officers
of arms about him, and next after him thembassadours, and then the
Mayor of London, and the other estates and gentlemen, with the aldermen
of the cittie.

The procession doon, the Masse of the Trinity was begun, songen by the
Byshop of London; the Priour of St. Mary Spittell Gospeller; the Priour
of Christ Church Pistoler. The masse doon the lord cardinall with the
other prelatz went unto the quyer dore, where Doctor Capon declaryd
the calamities, miseries, and the opprobrious deeds and works, with
the great suffrance that our mother the Holy Churche hath suffryd, not
allonly by the Lutherian sorte, which was lyke to have sortyd to an
ungracious effecte; but also now of late of the great unhappy delings
of the Paynymes, and violators of our Christien faith, the men of
warr belonging to the emperor. In the sorrowful destruction of Rome,
where they, like miscreantz, nothing regarding nother God nor shame,
violentlye tooke and by force imprisoned our Holy Father the Pope, the
which now of late by the helpe of our Lord God, which se his churche in
p^rdicion, did releive hit againe; insomuch that our said Holy Father
is escapyd their hands, wherfore the Lord Legats grace by the kings
commandement hath here caused as this day, this noble assemble to be
had, to the end that lauds praysings and congratulations might be gyven
by all true Christien people unto Almighty God, and the hole company of
Heaven.

And thus doing, the said lord cardinall did give his benediction to
all the people. Which Doctor Capon sayd, much more than I can reherse,
and this doon the sayd lord retournyd to the aultier wher the lord
cardinal began _Te Deum_, the which was solempnly songen with the
kingis trumpetts and shalmes, as well Inglishmen as Venysians, which
doon every man repayred home. And the Lord Legat Cardinall went to his
place to dynner, and the embassadours with him.

 _Copied out of an ancient book written by Thomas Walle Windsore, and
 afterwards Garter, folio 126. Examined by us_,

                                                       WILLIAM LE NEVE.
                                                              L. YORKE.
                                                       DANCER HANCOCKE.




 _The Ceremonial of receiving the Cardinal's Hat, sent by the Pope to
 Wolsey._ Extracted from a MS. in the Herald's Office. Ceremon. vol. 3.
 p. 219.

[FROM FIDDES' COLLECTIONS. _See p. 92._]


In the yeare of our Lord 1515, the 15^{th} daie of November, being
Thursdaie and the seaventh yeare of our sovereigne lord King Henry
the Eight, the said prothonitary enter'd into London, which before
according was mett bothe at the sea side, likewise at Canterbury and
at Rochester with the bishop of the same, and at Black Heath theare
mett with him the Reverend Father in God the Bishop of Lincolne, the
Earle of Essex, and many other gent. of great honour, both spiritual
and temporal, and soe proceeded through London, the Bishop of Lincolne
ridinge on the right hand [of] the said prothonitary and the Earle of
Essex on his left hand, having with them sixe horses or above, and
they all well beseeming and keeping a good order in their proceeding.
The Maior of London with the aldermen on horseback in Cheapside, and
the crafte stoode in the streets after there custome: and when the
said Hatt was comen to the Abbey of Westminster, wheare at the north
door of the same was redie th Abbot and eight abbotts besides him,
all in pontificalibus, and honorabilie received it; and in like sort
the same conveied to the high alter, whearuppon it was sett. The
Sundaie next following, the eightenth daie, the most Reverend Father
in God my Lord Cardinal, well accompanied with noble and gentlemen,
both spiritual and temporal, being on horseback, as knights, barons,
bishops, earles, dukes, and arch-bishops, all in due order proceeded
from his place betwixt eight and nyne of the clocke to the abbey; and
at the dore beforesaid, his grace with all the noble men descended
from their horses and went to the high alter, wheare on the south
side was ordeyned a goodlie travers from my Lord Cardinal, and when
his grace was comen into it, imediatelie began the Masse of the Holy
Ghost, songen by the Arch-bishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of Lincoln
Gospeller, and the Bishop of Excester Epistoler, th Arch Bishops of
Armachan and Dublyn, the Bishops of Winchester, Duresme, Norwiche,
Ely, and Landaffe, and viii abbotts, as of Westminster, Saint Albans,
Bury, Glastonbury, Reading, Glocestre, Winche-Combe, Tewkesbury, and
the Prior of Coventrie, all in pontificalibus. The Bishop of Rochester
was crosier to my Lord of Canterbury during the mass. M^r Doctor
Collet, Deane of Powles, made a brief collation or proposition, in
which especially he touched thre things, That is to witt, the name of a
cardinal, and wheareof it is said, alsoe the highe honour and dignitie
of the same, and as keeping the articles due and belonging to it, and
by what meanes he obtained to this high honour chieflie, as by his own
merits, theare naminge divers and sundrie vertues that he hath used,
which have been the cause of his high and joyous promotion to all the
realme. The second cause of his promotion was through our sovereigne
lord the king, for the greate zeale and favour that our holy father the
pope hath to his grace. The second thing, is touching the dignitie of
a prince as having power judicial. The third, of a bishop signifying
both the old and newe lawe, and havinge the power of them, and also
the highe and great power of a cardinal, and howe he betokeneth the
free beames of wisdome and charitie, which the apostles received of
the Holie Ghoste on Whitsundaie, and a cardinal representeth the order
of seraphin, which continually brenneth in the love of the glorious
Trinity; and for thies considerations a cardinal is onelie apparrelled
with redd, which collour onelie betokeneth nobleness; and howe these
three estates before named be collocated and placed in heaven, also he
exhorteth theare my lord cardinal, saying to him in this wise: _Non
magnitudo superbum extollat nobilitatissimum honorisq; dignitate_. But
remember that our Saviour in his owne person said to his disciples,
_Non veni ministrari, sed ministrare; & qui minor inter vos his maior
regno Celorum, et qui se exaltat humiliabilitur, & qui se humiliat
exaltabitur_; my lord cardinal, be glad and enforce your selfe always
to doe and execute righteousness to riche and poore, and mercy with
truth; and desired all people to praie for him that he might the
rather observe these poynts, and in accomplishinge the same what his
reward shall be in the Kingdom of Heaven; and so ended. The Bull was
read by Doctor Vecy, Deane of the King's Chappell, and Excestre, and
at Agnus Dei came forth of his travers my Lord Cardinal and kneeled
before the middle of the high alter, wheare for a certayne tyme he laye
gravelling, his hood over his head, during benedictions and prayers,
concerning the high Creation of a Cardinal, said over him by the Right
Reverend Father in God the Arch-Bishop of Canterburie, which alsoe
sett the hatt uppon his head. Then Te Deum was sung. All service and
ceremonies finished, my Lord came to the doore before-named, led by
the Dukes of Norffolk and Suffolk, where his grace with all the noble
men ascended uppon their horses, and in good order proceeded to his
place by Charing Crosse, next before him the crosse, preceeding it
the mace such as belongeth a cardinal to have, and then my Lord of
Canterbury, havinge no crosse borne before him, with the Bishop of
Winchester, before them the Duke of Norffolk and Suffolk together, and
in like order the residue of the noblemen, as the Bishop of Durham with
the Popes Orator, then the Marquess Dorsett with the Earle of Surrey,
the Earle of Shrewsburie, the Earle of Essex, the Earle of Wiltshire,
the Earle of Derby, the Lord of St. Johns, the Lord Fitzwater, the
Lord of Burgaveny, the Lord Dawbeny, the Lord Willoughby, the Lord
Hastings, the Lord Ferrers, the Lord Lattimer, the Lord Cobham, and
the Lord Darcey, Sir Henry Marney, Sir John Peche, Sir Thomas a Parr,
Sir Nicholas Vaux, and so all other Banneretts, Knyghts, and Gentlemen
before, after their degrees, and following his grace the Arch-bishop of
Armachan and Dublyn, the Bishops of Lincolne and Norwiche, Excestre,
Ely, and Rochester, and the ----, after them, my Lords Cardinals place,
being well sorted in every behalfe, and used with goodlie order, the
hall and chambers garnished very sumptuouslie with riche arras, a great
feast kept as to suche a highe and honourable creation belongeth.
At the which were the King & Queene and the French Queene, with all
the noblemen above specified, alsoe present at the creation the Lord
Fineaux, the Lord Read, the Barons of the Exchequer, with other Judges
and Serjeants at Law.


FINIS.




POEMS.

BY

GEORGE CAVENDISH.


The Poems of George Cavendish, which accompany the Life of Wolsey in
the Original Autograph Manuscript, consist of a series of Visions upon
the Fortunes and Fall of the most eminent Persons of his time.

The reader is here presented with the Prologue; the Legend of Wolsey;
and the Author's Address to his Book; with two stanzas from a long
Epitaph on Queen Mary. This specimen, it is presumed, will be deemed
sufficient to convey an idea of the style of Cavendish in verse.
It should be remembered, that the Mirror for Magistrates, which
subsequently became so popular, had not then been given to the world.
Cavendish, therefore, may have formed his plan from Lydgate's Fall of
Princes. Traces of the same kind of versification, which is evidently
intended to depend more on rhythmical cadence than the number of feet
in the verse, will be found in Skelton, in Stephen Hawes, Nicholas
Grimoald, and other contributors to Tottel's Miscellany of Songes and
Sonnettes. In the MS. copy there is no punctuation; but instead we
have the mark of the pause or cæsura in the middle and occasionally at
the end of the line; as may be remarked in the example on the plate of
fac-similes.


PROLOUG DE L'AUCTOR G. C.

    In the monyth of June, I lyeng sole alon
    Under the umber[246] of an oke with bowes pendant,
    Whan Phebus in Gemynys had his course overgon
    And entered Cancer, a sygne retrogradant,
    In a mean measure his beams radyant,
    Approaching Leo, than mused I in mynd
    Of fykkellness of Fortune and the course of kynd[247];

    How some are by fortune exalted to riches,
    And often such as most unworthy be;
    And some oppressed in langor and sykness,
    Some wayling, lakkyng welthe, by wretched povertie;
    Some in bayle and bondage, and some at libertie:
    With other moo gystes[248] of fortune varyable;
    Some pleasant, some mean, and some onprofitable.

    But after dewe serche and better advisement,
    I knewe by Reason that oonly God above
    Rewlithe thos thyngs, as is most convenyent,
    The same devysing to man for his behove[249];
    Wherefore Dame Reason did me persuade, and move

    To be content with my small estate,
    And in this matter no more to vestigate.

    Whan I had debated all thyng in my mynd,
    I well considered myne obscure blyndness;
    So that non excuse could I see or fynd,
    But that my tyme I spent in idelnes;
    For this me thought, and trew it is doughtles,
    That since I ame a reasonable creature,
    I owght my reason and wytt to put in ure[250].

    Than of what matter myght I devise to wright,
    To use my tyme and wytte to excercyse,
    Sithe most men have no pleasour or delight
    In any history, without it sownd to vice:
    Alass! shold I than, that ame not young attise
    With lewed ballatts, faynt harts to synne,
    Or flatter estatts[251] some favor of them to wynne.

    What than shall I wright? the noble doughtyness
    Of estatts that used is now a dayes?
    I shall than lak matter; for gredy covetousnes
    Of vayne riches, whiche hathe stopt all the wayes
    Of worthy chyvallry, that now dayly sore dekayes:
    And yet thoughe some behave them nobly,
    Yet some ther be that dayly doth the contrarye.

    For some lovyth meat fynne and delicious,
    And some baudye[252] brothes, as their educasion hath be;
    So some lovethe virtue, and some tales vicious:
    Sewerly suche tales get ye non of me,
    But to eschewe all ociosite,
    Of Fortune's fykellnes hereafter shall I wright,
    How greatest estatts she overthrowyth by myght.

    Thoughe I onworthe this tragedy do begyne,
    Of pardon I pray the reders in meke wyse;
    And to correct where they se fault therein,
    Reputing it for lak of connyng exercyse.
    The cause that moved me to this enterprise
    Especyally was that all estatts myght see
    What it is to trust to Fortune's mutabylitie.

    With pen and ynke I toke this work in hand,
    Redy to wright the deadly dole and whofull playnt
    Of them whose fall the world doth understand;
    Which for feare made my heart to faynt:
    I must wright playn; colours have I none to paynt;
    But termes rude their dolours to compile;
    An wofull playnt must have an wofull style.

    To whome therefore for helpe shall I nowe call?
    Alas! Caliope my calling will utterly refuse;
    For mornyng dities and woo of Fortune's falle
    Caliope dyd never in hir dyties use;
    Wherefore to hir I might my self abuse:
    Also the Musis that on Parnasus syng
    Suche warblyng dole did
    never temper stryng.

    Now to that Lord whose power is celestiall,
    And gwydyth all thyng of sadnes and of blysse,
    With humble voyce to the I crie and call,
    That thou wouldest direct my sely[253] pen in this:
    For, wantyng of thy helpe, no marvel thoughe I mysse;
    And by thy grace, though my style be rude,
    In sentence playne I may full well conclude.

    Nowe by thy helpe this hystory I will begyn,
    And from theffect varie nothing at all;
    For if I shold, it ware to me great synne
    To take uppon me a matter so substancyall,
    So waytie, so necessarie, of fame perpetuall:
    And thus to be short, oon began to speke
    With deadly voyce, as thoughe his hart wold breke.


                           FINIS QUOD G. C.


LE HISTORYE

CARDINALIS EBORACENSIS.

    O Fortune! (quoth he) shold I on the complayn,
    Or of my negligence, that I susteyn this smart?
    Thy doble visage hathe led me to this trayne;
    For at my begynnyng thou dydst ay take my part,
    Untill ambysion had puffed up my hart
    With vainglory, honor, and usurped dignytie,
    Forgettyng cleane my naturall mendycitie.

    From povertie to plentie, which now I see is vayn,
    A cardinal I was, and legate de latere,
    A byshope and archbysshope, the more to crease my gayn
    Chauncellor of Englond, Fortune by hir false flatterie
    Dyd me advance, and gave me such auctorytie
    That of hyghe and low I toke on me the charge,
    All England to rewle, my power extendyd large.

    Whan Fortune with favor had set me thus aloft,
    I gathered me riches; suffisance could not content;
    My fare was superfluous, my bed was fyne and soft;
    To have my desiers I past not what I spent:
    In yerthe, such abondaunce Fortune had me lent,
    Yt was not in the world that I could well requier,
    But Fortune strayt wayes did graunt me my desier.

    My byldyngs somptious, the roffes with gold and byse[254]
    Shone lyke the sone in myd day spere,
    Craftely entaylled[255] as connyng could devise,
    With images embossed, most lively did appere;
    Expertest artificers that ware both farre and nere,
    To beautyfie my howssys, I had them at my will:
    Thus I wanted nought my pleasures to fullfill.

    My galleries ware fayer both large and long,
    To walke in them whan that it lyked me best;
    My gardens sweet, enclosed with walles strong,
    Embanked with benches to sytt and take my rest;
    The knotts so enknotted, it cannot be exprest[256],
    With arbors and alyes so pleasant and so dulce,
    The pestylent ayers with flavors to repulse.

    My chambers garnysht with arras fynne,
    Importyng personages of the lyvelyest kynd:
    And whan I was disposed in them to dynne,
    My clothe of estate there ready did I fynd,
    Furnysshed complett according to my mynd;
    The subtyll perfumes of muske and sweet amber,
    There wanted non to perfume all my chamber.

    Plate of all sorts most curiously wrought,
    Of facions new, I past not of[257] the old,
    No vessell but sylver before me was brought,
    Full of dayntes vyands, the some cannot be told;
    I dranke my wynne alwayes in sylver and in gold:
    And daylye to serve me, attendyng on my table,
    Servaunts I had bothe worshipfull and honorable.

    My crosses twayne of sylver long and greate,
    That dayly byfore me ware carried hyghe,
    Upon great horses, opynly in the strete,
    And massie pillars gloriouse to the eye,
    With pollaxes gylt that no man durst come nyghe
    My presence, I was so pryncely to behold,
    Ridyng on my mule trapped in sylver and gold.

    My legantyne prerogatyve was myche to myn avayle,
    By vertue wherof I had thys high preemynence:
    All vacant benefices I did them strayt retaylle,
    Presentyng than my clarke, as sone as I had intellygence:
    I prevented the patron, ther vaylled[258] no resistence;
    All bysshopes and prelates durst not oons denay,
    They doughted so my power, they myght not dysobey.

    Thus may you see how I to riches did attayne,
    And with suffisaunce my mynd was not content;
    Whan I had most, I rathest[259] wold complayne;
    For lake of good, alas! how I was blent[260]!
    Where shall my gatheryngs and good be spent?

    Some oon, perchance, shall me thereof dyscharge,
    Whom I most hate, and spend it owt at large[261].

    Sytting in Jugement, parcyall ware my doomes;
    I spared non estatte, of hyghe or low degree;
    I preferred whom me lyst, exaltyng symple gromes
    Above the nobles; I spared myche the spritualtie,
    Not passyng myche on the temperaltie;
    Promotyng such to so hyghe estate
    As unto prynces wold boldly say chek-mate.

    Oon to subdewe that did me always favor,
    And in that place another to avaunce,
    Ayenst all trewthe, I did my busy labor,
    And, whilest I was workyng witty whiles in Fraunce,
    I was at home supplanted, where I thought most assuraunce:
    Thus who by fraud fraudelent is found,
    Fraud to the defrauder will aye rebound.

    Who workyth fraude often is disceyved;
    As in a myrror, ye may behold in me;
    For by disceyt, or I had it perceyved,
    I was disceyved; a guerdon mete parde
    For hyme that wold, ayenst all equite,
    Dysceyve the innocent, that innocent was in deede;
    Therefore Justice of Justice ayenst me must proceede.

    For by my subtill dealyng thus it came to passe,
    Cheafely disdayned, for whome I toke the payn;
    And than to repent it was too late, alas!
    My purpose I wold than have changed fayn;
    But it wold not be, I was perceived playn:
    Thus Venus the goddesse that called is of love
    Spared not with spight to bryng me from above.

    Alas! my soverayn Lord, thou didest me avaunce,
    And settest me uppe in thys great pompe and pryde,
    And gavest to me thy realme in governaunce;
    Thy pryricely will why did I set aside,
    And followed myn own, consideryng not the tyde,
    How after a floode an ebbe comyth on a pace?
    That to consider, in my tryhumphe I lakked grace.

    Now fykkell Fortune torned bathe hir whele,
    Or I it wyst[262], all sodenly, and down she did me cast;
    Down was my bed, and upward went my hele,
    My hold faylled me that I thought suer and fast;
    I se by experience, hir favor doth not last;
    For she full low now hath brought
    me under, Though I on hir complayn, alas! it is no wonder.

    I lost myne honor; my treasure was me beraft;
    Fayn to avoyd, and quykly to geve place,
    Symply to depart, for me nothing was laft,
    Without penny or pound I lived a certyn space,
    Untill my soverayn Lord extendyd to me his grace;

    Who restored me sufficient, if I had byn content
    To mayntayn myn estate, both of loud and rent.

    Yet, notwithstanding, my corage was so hault,
    Dispight of mine enemyes rubbed me on the gall,
    Who conspyred together to take me with asault;
    They travelled without triall to geve me a fall:
    I therefore entendyd to trie my frends all;
    To forrayn potentates wrott my letters playn,
    Desireng their ayd, to restore me to favor againe.

    Myn ennemyes, perceiving, caught thereof dysdayn,
    Doughtyng the daynger, dreamed on the dought;
    In councell consulting, my sewte to restrayn,
    Accused me of treason, and brought it so about
    That, travelling to my trial, or I could trie it owte,
    Death with his dart strake me for the nons[263],
    In Leicester, full lowe, where nowe lyeth my boons.

    Loo, nowe you may see what it is to trust
    In worldly vanyties that voydyth with the wynd;
    For death in a moment consumeth all to dust:
    No honor, no glory, that ever man cowld fynd,
    But Tyme with hys tyme puttythe all out of mynd;
    For Tyme in breafe tyme duskyth the hystory
    Of them that long tyme lyved in glory.

    Where is my tombe that I made for the nons,
    Wrought of fynne copper, that cost many a pound,
    To couche in my carion and my rotten boots?
    All is byt vayn-glory, now I have found,
    And small to the purpose, when I am in the ground;
    What doth it avaylle me, all that I have,
    Seyng I ame deade and laved in my grave?

    Farewell Hampton Court, whos founder I was;
    Farewell Westminster Place, now a palace royall;
    Farewell the Moore, let Tynnynainger[264] passe;
    Farewell, in Oxford, my college cardynall;
    Farewell, in Ipsewich, my schole gramaticall:
    Yet oons farewell, I say, I shall you never see;
    Your somptious byldyng, what now avayllethe me?

    What avayllyth my great aboundance?
    What is nowe left to helpe me in this case?
    Nothing at all but dompe in the daunce,
    Among deade men to tryppe on the trace:
    And for my gay housis now have I this place
    To lay in my karcas, wrapt in a sheete,
    Knytt with a knott at my lied and my feete.

    What avayleth now my feather bedds soft,
    Sheets of Raynes[265], long, large, and wide,
    And dyvers devyses of clothes chaynged oft;
    Or vicious chapleyns walking by my syde,
    Voyde of all vertue, fullfilled with pryde,
    Which bathe caused me, by report of suche fame,
    For ther myslyvyng to have an yll name.

    This is my last complaynt, I can say you no more,
    But farewell my servant that faythefull hathe be;
    Note well these words, quod he, I pray the therfore,
    And wright them thus playn, as I have told them the,
    All which is trewe, thou knowest well, parde;
    Thou faylledst me not, untill that I dyed,
    And now I must depart, I maye no longer byde!


SPECIMEN

OF

AN EPITAPHE ON QUENE MARIE.

BY GEORGE CAVENDISH:

CONSISTING OF FIFTEEN STANZAS.

    Discend from hevyn, O Muse Melpomene,
    Thou mournfull goddesse, with thy sisters all,
    Passe in your playnts the wofull Niobe,
    Tome musyke to mone with teeres eternall,
    Blake be your habetts, dyme, and funeral;
    For deathe bathe bereft, to our great dolour,
    Mary our mastres, our quene of honor.

    Our quene of honor, compared aptly
    To VERITAS VICTRIX, daughter of Tyme,
    By God assisted, amased in armye,
    When she a virgin cleare, without cryme,
    By ryght, without might, did happely clyme
    To the stage royal, just inheritor,
    Proclaymed Mary our quene of honor.


TH'AUCTOR TO HIS BOOKE.

    Crepe forthe, my boke, under the proteccion
    Of suche as have bothe learnyng and eloquence;
    Humbly submyttyng the to the correccion
    Of worthy writers of virtuous excellence,
    Besechyng all them, of ther benygn pacience
    To take the meanyng, however the matter frame,
    Of this thyn auctor, abasshed of his name.

    For, first of all, whan I do behold
    Of famous writers the goodly circumstance,
    My quaking hand my penne unnethe can hold,
    So dombe I ame of doctryn, lame of experience,
    Stakeryng in style, onsavery of sentence,
    Save oonly hope, that saithe withouten fayll,
    That my well meanyng shall quytt my travayll.

    Thus, not presumyng of learnyng ne eloquence,
    Hope made me shove the boote from the shore;
    Desyryng no thyng for my fare or expence,
    But only good wyll; I aske no more:
    And for[266] the hurt of envy that myght rore,
    I shall set my shrowd[267] for my defence,
    Under the mantell of well wyllyng audyence.

    And principally this my work for to assist,
    I humbly beseche that Lord that is eternall
    To defend my penne that wrott this with my fist,
    To be my savegard, my staffe, and my wall;
    And consequently for feare least I shold fall
    In the daynger of the learned[268] and honorable sort,
    I pray them all my lamenes to support.

    Least perchaunce the pleasaunt floode do faylle
    Of witty writing or sugred eloquence,
    Followe, therfore, good wyll at the boots taylle,
    Me to preserve in the waves of ignorance,
    Socoured by hope and gentill sufferance:
    Nowe hale uppe, skuller; God graunt me wynd,
    And Jhesu defend me to my lives end.

    Whan thou, my boke, comest into the prease
    Bothe of the wyse and learned multitude,
    To excuse thyn auctor thou canst do no lesse,

    Wantyng learnyng, and of utterance rude,
    Which did never this enterprise entrude;
    Trustyng either of wytt or learnyng,
    But for an exercise, and non other thyng.

               FINIE ET COMPILÉ LE XXIIIJ JOUR DE JUNIJ
   Ā REGNO[=R] PHILIPPI REX & REGINE MARIE IIIJ^{TO}. & V^{TO}.[269]

                          PER LE AUCTOR G. C.

  _Novus Rex, nova Lex: Nova sola Regina, probz pene ruina._


                                FINIS.




                                LONDON:

                PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.


FOOTNOTES:

[246] _umber_, i. e. shade, _ombre_, Fr.

[247] _kynd_, is _nature_.

[248] _gystes_, or _gests_, are _actions_.

[249] For his _behove_, for his _behoof_ or _advantage_.

[250] To put in _ure_, i. e. to put in _use_. Thus in Ferrex and
Porrex, by Sackville:

    And wisdome willed me without protract
    In speedie wise to put the same in _ure_.


[251] _estatts_, i. e. nobles, persons of rank or great estate.

[252] This word was used by our ancestors to signify any thing _greasy_
or _filthy_; the revolutions of language have at length confined it to
one only of its ancient acceptations, that of _obscenity_.

[253] _sely_, i. e. _simple_.

[254] _gold and byse_, is gold and _purple_.

[255] _entaylled_, i. e. carved, vide p. 300.

[256] This is no uninteresting picture of the seclusion desired by our
ancestors in the old geometric style of gardening. Of this curious
knot-garden of Wolsey the remains are still to be seen at Hampton
Court, the maze there forming part of it.

[257] _I past not of_, i. e. I cared not for.

[258] _vaylled_, availed.

[259] _rathest_, i. e. soonest.

[260] _blent_, i. e. _blind_.

[261] This is a version of the concluding passage of the Life of the
Cardinal.

[262] _wyst_, i. e. knew.

[263] for the _nons_, or _nonce_, for the _purpose_.

[264] This is _Tittenhanger_, in Hertfordshire, which Wolsey held as
Abbot of St. Albans: there was formerly a palace belonging to the
Abbots of St. Albans there.

[265] Sheets of _Raynes_. The fine linen used by our ancestors is
frequently called cloth of _Raynes_. Rennes in Brittanny was formerly
celebrated for its manufacture of fine linen. In the enumeration of the
cardinal's treasures at Hampton Court, many pieces of cloth of Raynes
are mentioned. In the Old Phrase Book, entitled Vulgaria, by W. Horman,
1519, is the following passage: "He weareth a shurte of _Raynis_ whan
curser wold serve him."

[266] "And _for_ the hurt of envy," i. e. _against_ the hurt of envy.
Envy being the _cause_ of his seeking to shrowd himself.

[267] A _shrowd_, signified a shield or buckler, and metaphorically any
kind of defence, coverture, or place of protection.

[268] ----"least I shold fall _In the daynger_ of the learned and
honorable sort."

That is, "lest I should encounter their _censure_, or fall into the
control of their severe judgment." The phrase has its origin from the
barbarous Latin _in dangerio_, and is common to Chaucer and our elder
writers as well as to Shakspeare and his cotemporaries.

[269] By this is meant the Fourth Year of the Reign of Philip, and
the Fifth of Queen Mary, answering to 1558. The Latin rhyming couplet
Cavendish appears to have added after the commencement of Elizabeth's
reign. How far from a true prophecy it proved, the long and prosperous
reign of Elizabeth may witness.


       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

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