The Life of Cardinal Wolsey

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIVE DOCUMENTS.

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. 62
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

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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.

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WHO WROTE CAVENDISH’S LIFE OF WOLSEY? — The Life of Thomas 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.

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 |To whom, Lord Herbert.| 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.

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. |To whom the Peerages.| 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.

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 |but erroneously.| 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].

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 |A third claimant.| 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 |George Cavendish the real author.| 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.

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 |Writers who have advanced his claim.| 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 |Wanley.| 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 |Grove.| 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: |Douce.| 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 |Wordsworth.| 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.

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.

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 |all modern.| 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 |Dugdale and the Duchess of Newcastle do not ascribe it to him.| 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.

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 |Manuscripts;| 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]. |reason for their multiplication.| 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.

Trifling as it appears, we have now had nearly all that has ever been alleged as rendering it |No evidence in his favour from the MSS.| 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.

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].

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].

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 |His employments, promotions, and rewards.| 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

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.

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.

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?

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, |The author married and a father before 1530.| only to serve me, and I have nothinge to rewarde him for his highe merittes." p. 517.

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, |Not so Sir William Cavendish.| 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.

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.

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 |How the early years of Sir William Cavendish may have been spent.| 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.

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 |Marries Sir William St. Lowe;| 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 |becomes Countess of Shrewsbury.| 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 |Has a present of jewels from Mary Queen of Scots.| 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 |Death of the Earl.| 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 |Mr. Lodge’s character of her.| 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 |Anecdote of Queen Elizabeth.| 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 |Letters to her.| 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.

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?

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.”

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 |Married before 1526.| 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.

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 |Lived in the three reigns.| 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY.
ENGRAVED BY E. SCRIVEN.
AFTER THE ORIGINAL PICTURE.

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

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.

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.

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.

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?”

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:

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.

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

[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 ministration of due reverence, and to see your person preserved from 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.

ADDITIONAL NOTES TO THE LIFE OF WOLSEY.

APPENDIX.

SOME PARTICULARS OF THE LIFE OF QUEEN ANNE BOLEIGNE. — LETTER I. — LETTER II. — LETTER III. — LETTER IV. — LETTER V. — LETTER VI. — LETTER VII. — LETTER VIII. — LETTER IX. — LETTER X. — LETTER XI. — LETTER XII. — LETTER XIII. — LETTER XIV. — LETTER XV. — LETTER XVI. — LETTER XVII. — LETTER XVIII. — LETTER XIX. — LETTER XX. — A TRUE DESCRIPTION, OR RATHER A PARALLEL BETWEENE CARDINALL WOLSEY, ARCH-BISHOP OF YORK, AND WILLIAM LAUD, ARCH-BISHOP OF CANTERBVRIE, &c.

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.

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.

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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.

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[220] 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.

WILLM̄ KYNG[STON]

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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		WILLM̄ KYNGSTON.
. . . tt downe to denr 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 .

WILLM̄ KYNG[STON.]

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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.

WILLM̄ KYNGST[ON.]

To Mast^r Seretory.

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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.....

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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.

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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 n̄mbr[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 . . . . . .

WILLM̄ KYNG[STON.]

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.]

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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 lr̅e̅s. 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 w̄ch 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 lr̅e̅s: 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 lr̅e̅s. 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.

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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.

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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.

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Cardinal Wolsey to Secretary Gardener,

Desiring his favour in a suit against him for a debt of 700l. 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.

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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.

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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 benig͂ly 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.

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PRINTED IN THE YERE 1641.

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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.

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The Will of Thomas Wolsey, Cardinal Wolsey’s father; E Libro Testamentorum in Registro principali Dni. Epi. Norwic. Multon inscripto, fo. 146. a. — Fisher, Bishop of Rochester. — 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. — A Memoryall of suche Communication as my Lorde Legatts grace had with the Quenes Almoner. — Itinerary of Cardinal Wolseys last Journey Northward, 1530. — 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 . — 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.

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.

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^rofyt 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.

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 dan̄os 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 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.

[EX. MS. INTER ARCHIVA ACADEMIA CANTABRIG.]

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.

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.

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 som̄e 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.

WILLIAM LE NEVE.
L. YORKE.
DANCER HANCOCKE.

[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. — PROLOUG DE L’AUCTOR G. C. — LE HISTORYE CARDINALIS EBORACENSIS. — SPECIMEN OF AN EPITAPHE ON QUENE MARIE. BY GEORGE CAVENDISH: CONSISTING OF FIFTEEN STANZAS. — TH’AUCTOR TO HIS BOOKE. — FOOTNOTES: — Transcriber’s Notes:

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.

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.

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 boons?

All is but vayn-glory, now have I 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!

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.

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
Ᾱ REGNOR̄ 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.

[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.”

[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]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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.

[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.

[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 20,000l. 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 Dn̄us 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.”

[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, 8vo. 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.

[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.”

[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.

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