The History of King Richard the Third by Thomas More. But then, by and by, the lords assembled together at London. To ward which meeting, the Archbishop of York (age 59), fearing that it would be ascribed (as it was indeed) to his overmuch lightness that he so suddenly had yielded up the Great Seal to the Queen-to whom the custody thereof nothing pertained without special commandment of the King-secretly sent for the Seal again and brought it with him after the customary manner. And at this meeting, the Duke of Buckingham, whose loyalty toward the King no man doubted nor needed to doubt, persuaded the lords to believe that the Duke of Gloucester (age 30) was sure and fastly faithful to his Prince and that the Lord Rivers (age 43) and Lord Richard (age 26) with the other knights were, for matters attempted by them against the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham, put under arrest for the dukes' safety not for the King's jeopardy and that they were also in safeguard and should remain there no longer till the matter were, not by the dukes only but also by all the other lords of the King's Council indifferently examined and by other discretions ordered, and either judged or appeased. But one thing he advised them beware, that they judged not the matter too far forth before they knew the truth-for by turning their private grudges into the common hurt, irritating and provoking men unto anger, and disturbing the King's coronation, toward which the dukes were coming up, they might perhaps bring the matter so far out of joint, that it should never be brought in frame again. This strife, if it should happen to come to battle, as it was likely, though both parties were in all things equal, yet should the authority be on that side where the King is himself.

With these arguments of the Duke of Buckingham - part of which he believed; part, he knew the contrary - these commotions were somewhat appeased, but especially because the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham (age 28) were so near, and came so quickly on with the King, in none other manner, with none other voice or semblance, than to his coronation, causing the story to be blown about that those lords and knights who were taken had contrived the destruction of the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham (age 28) and of other noble blood of the realm, to the end that they themselves would alone manage and govern the King at their pleasure. And for the false proof thereof, some of the dukes' servants rode with the carts of the stuff that were taken (among such stuff, no marvel, but that some of it were armor, which, at the breaking up of that household, must needs either be brought away or cast away), and they showed it unto the people all the way as they went: "Lo, here be the barrels of armor that these traitors had privately conveyed in their carriage to destroy the noble lords withal." This device, although it made the matter to wise men more unlikely, who well perceived that, if the intenders meant war, they would rather have had their armor on their backs than to have bound them up in barrels, yet much part of the common people were therewith very well satisfied, and said it were like giving alms to hang them.

When the King approached near to the city, Edmund Shaa (age 47), goldsmith then mayor, with William White and John Mathew, sheriffs, and all the other aldermen in scarlet, with five hundred horse of the citizens in violet, received him reverently at Hornsey, and riding from thence, accompanied him in to the city, which he entered the fourth day of May, the first and last year of his reign.

But the Duke of Gloucester bore himself in open sight so reverently to the Prince, with all semblance of lowliness, that from the great obloquy in which he was so late before, he was suddenly fallen in so great trust, that at the Council next assembled, he was the only man chosen and thought most suitable to be Protector (age 30) of the King and his realm, so that-were it destiny or were it folly-the lamb was given to the wolf to keep. At which Council also the Archbishop of York (age 59), Chancellor of England, who had delivered up the Great Seal to the Queen (age 46), was thereof greatly reproved, and the Seal taken from him and delivered to Doctor Russell, Bishop of Lincoln, a wise man and good and of much experience, and one of the best learned men undoubtedly that England had in his time. Diverse lords and knights were appointed unto diverse offices. The Lord Chamberlain and some others kept still their offices that they had before.

Now all was such that the Protector (age 30) so sore thirsted for the finishing of what he had begun-though he thought every day a year till it were achieved-yet he dared no further attempt as long as he had but half his prey in hand, well knowing that if he deposed the one brother, all the realm would fall to the other, if he either remained in sanctuary or should by chance be shortly conveyed farther away to his liberty.

Wherefore straight away at the next meeting of the lords at the Council, he proposed unto them that it was a heinous deed of the Queen (age 46), and proceeding from great malice toward the King's counselors, that she should keep in sanctuary the King's brother from him, whose special pleasure and comfort were to have his brother with him. And that by her such was done to no other intent, but to bring all the lords in obloquy and murmur of the people, as though they were not to be trusted with the King's brother-they who were, by the assent of the nobles of the land, appointed as the King's nearest friends for the protection of his own royal person.

"The prosperity whereof stands," said he, "not all in keeping from enemies or ill viands, [poison?] but partly also in recreation and moderate pleasure, which he cannot in this tender youth take in the company of elder persons, but in the familiar conversation of those who be neither far under nor far above his age, and nevertheless of state appropriate to accompany his noble majesty. Wherefore with whom rather than with his own brother? And if any man think this consideration light (which I think no man thinks who loves the King), let him consider that sometimes without small things, greater cannot stand. And verily it redounds greatly to the dishonor both of the King's Highness and of all us that have been about his Grace, to have it run in every man's mouth, not in this realm only, but also in other lands (as evil words walk far), that the King's brother should be glad to keep sanctuary. For every man will suppose that no man will so do for nothing. And such evil opinion, once fastened in men's hearts, hard it is to wrest out, and may grow to more grief than any man here can divine.

"Wherefore I think it were not worst to send unto the Queen (age 46) for the redress of this matter some honorable trusty man, such as both values the King's welfare and the honor of his Council, and is also in favor and credible with her. For all which considerations, none seems to me more suitable than our reverent father here present, my Lord Cardinal (age 65), who may in this matter do most good of any man, if it please him to take the pain. Which I doubt not of his goodness he will not refuse, for the King's sake and ours, and the well being of the young Duke himself, the King's most honorable brother, and after my Sovereign Lord himself, my most dear nephew, considering that thereby shall be ceased the slanderous rumor and obloquy now going about, and the hurts avoided that thereof might ensue, and much rest and quiet grow to all the realm.

"And if she be perchance so obstinate, and so precisely set upon her own will that neither his wise and faithful instruction can move her, nor any man's reason content her, then shall we, by mine advice, by the King's authority, fetch him out of that prison, and bring him to his noble presence, in whose continual company he shall be so well cherished and so honorably treated that all the world shall to our honor, and her reproach, perceive that it was only malice, audacity, or folly, that caused her to keep him there. This is my mind in this matter for this time, except any of your lordships anything perceive to the contrary. For never shall I by God's grace so wed myself to mine own will, but that I shall be ready to change it upon your better advice."

When the Protector (age 30) had spoken, all the Council affirmed that the motion was good and reasonable, and to the King and the Duke his brother, honorable, and a thing that should cease great murmur in the realm, if the mother might be by good means induced to deliver him. Such a thing the Archbishop of Canterbury (age 65), whom they all agreed also to be thereto most appropriate, took upon himself to move her, and therein to give his uttermost best effort. However, if she could be in no way entreated with her good will to deliver him, then thought he and such others as were of the clergy present that it were not in any way to be attempted to take him out against her will. For it would be a thing that should turn to the great grudge of all men, and high displeasure of God, if the privilege of the holy place should now be broken, which had so many years been kept, and which both king and popes so good had granted, so many had confirmed, and which holy ground was more than five hundred years ago by Saint Peter, his own person come in spirit by night, accompanied with great multitude of angels, so specially hallowed and dedicated it to God (for the proof whereof they have yet in the Abbey Saint Peter's cloak to show) that from that time forward was there never so undevout a king who dared that sacred place to violate, or so holy a bishop that dared presume to consecrate.

"And therefore," said the Archbishop of Canterbury, "God forbid that any man should for any earthly enterprise break the immunity and liberty of that sacred sanctuary that has been the safeguard of so many a good man's life. And I trust," said he, "with God's grace, we shall not need it. But for any manner need, I would not we should do it. I trust that she shall be with reason contented, and all things in good manner obtained. And if it happen that I bring it not so to pass, yet shall I toward it so far forth do my best, that you shall all well perceive that no lack of my dutiful efforts, but the mother's dread and womanish fear, shall be the impediment."

"Womanish fear, nay womanish perversity," said the Duke of Buckingham. "For I dare take it upon my soul, she well knows she needs no such thing to fear, either for her son or for herself. For as for her, here is no man that will be at war with women. Would God some of the men of her kin were women too, and then should all be soon at rest. However, there is none of her kin the less loved for that they be her kin, but for their own evil deserving. And nevertheless, if we loved neither her nor her kin, yet were there no cause to think that we should hate the King's noble brother, to whose Grace we ourself be of kin. Whose honor, if she as much desired as our dishonor and as much regard took to his well being as to her own will, she would be as loath to suffer him from the King as any of us be. "For if she have any wit (as would God she had as good will as she has shrewd wit), she reckons herself no wiser than she thinks some that be here, of whose faithful mind, she nothing doubts, but verily believes and knows that they would be as sorry of his harm as herself, and yet would have him from her if she abide there. And we all, I think, are satisfied that both be with her, if she come thence and abide in such place where they may with their honor be.

"Now then, if she refuse in the deliverance of him, to follow the counsel of them whose wisdom she knows, whose truth she well trusts, it is easy to perceive that perversity hinders her, and not fear. But go to, suppose that she fear (as who may let her to fear her own shadow), the more she fears to deliver him, the more ought we fear to leave him in her hands. For if she cast such fond doubts that she fear his hurt, then will she fear that he shall be fetched thence. For she will soon think that if men were set (which God forbid) upon so great a mischief, the sanctuary would little impede them, for good men might, as I think, without sin somewhat less regard it than they do.

"Now then, if she doubt lest he might be fetched from her, is it not likely enough that she shall send him somewhere out of the realm? Verily, I look for none other. And I doubt not but she now thinks with great exertion on it, even as we consider the hindrance of sanctuary. And if she might happen to bring that to pass (as it were no great accomplishment, we letting her alone), all the world would say that we were a wise sort of counselors about a King-we that let his brother be cast away under our noses. And therefore I assure you faithfully for my mind, I will rather defy her plans, fetch him away, than leave him there, till her perversity or fond fear convey him away. "And yet will I break no sanctuary therefore. For verily since the privileges of that place and other like have been of long continued, I am not he that would be about to break them. And in good faith if they were now to begin, I would not be he that should be about to make them. Yet will I not say nay, but that it is a deed of pity that such men of the sea or their evil debtors have brought in poverty, should have some place of liberty, to keep their bodies out of the danger from their cruel creditors. And also if the Crown happen (as it has done) to come in question, while either part takes the other as traitors, I will well there be some places of refuge for both. But as for thieves, of which these places be full, and which never fall from the craft after they once fall thereto, it is pity the sanctuary should serve them. And much more murderers whom God bade to take from the altar and kill them, if their murder were willful. And where it is otherwise there need we not the sanctuaries that God appointed in the old law. For if either necessity, his own defense or misfortune draw him to that deed, a pardon serves which either the law grants of course, or the King of pity may.

"Then look me now how few sanctuary men there be whom any favorable necessity compelled to go thither. And then see on the other side what a sort there be commonly therein, of them whom willful prodigality has brought to nought. What a rabble of thieves, murderers, and malicious, heinous traitors, and that in two places specially: the one at the elbow of the city, the other in the very bowels. I dare well avow it. Weigh the good that they do with the hurt that comes of them, and you shall find it much better to lack both, than have both. And this I say, although they were not abused as they now be, and so long have been, that I fear me ever they will be while men be afraid to set their hands to the amendment: as though God and Saint Peter were the patrons of ungracious living.

"Now prodigals riot and run in debt upon the boldness of these places; yea, and rich men run thither with poor men's goods; there they build, there they spend and bid their creditors go whistle them. Men's wives run thither with their husbands' money, and say they dare not abide with their husbands for beating. Thieves bring thither their stolen goods, and there live thereon. There devise they new robberies; nightly they steal out, they rob and pillage and kill, and come in again as though those places gave them not only a safeguard for the harm they have done, but a license also to do more. However, much of this mischief, if wise men would set their hands to it, might be amended with great thanks to God and no breach of the privilege. The residue, since so long ago I knew never what pope and what prince more piteous than prudent has granted it, and other men because of a certain religious fear have not broken it, let us take a pain therewith, and let it in God's name stand in force, as far forth as reason will. Which is not fully so far forth as may serve to prevent us from fetching forth this noble man to his honor and wealth, out of that place in which he neither is nor can be a sanctuary man.

"A sanctuary serves always to defend the body of that man that stands in danger abroad, not of great hurt only, but also of lawful hurt. For against unlawful harms, never pope nor king intended to privilege any one place. For that privilege has every place. Know you any man any place wherein it is lawful for one man to do another wrong? That no man unlawfully take hurt, that liberty, the King, the law, and very nature forbid in every place and make to that regard for every man a sanctuary every place. But where a man is by lawful means in peril, there needs he the protection of some special privilege, which is the only ground and cause of all sanctuaries. From which necessity this noble prince is far. His love to his King, nature and kindred prove, whose innocence to all the world his tender youth proves. And so sanctuary as for him, neither none he needs, nor also none can have.

"Men come not to sanctuary as they come to baptism, to require it by their godfathers. He must ask it himself that must have it. And what reason-since no man has cause to have it but whose conscience of his own fault makes him feign need to require it-what reason then will yonder babe have? which, even if he had discretion to require it, if need were, I dare say would now be right angry with them that keep him there. And I would think without any scruple of conscience, without any breach of privilege, to be somewhat more homely with them that be there sanctuary men indeed. For if one go to sanctuary with another man's goods, why should not the King, leaving his body at liberty, satisfy the part of his goods even within the sanctuary? For neither king nor pope can give any place such a privilege that it shall discharge a man of his debts, being able to pay."

And that diversity of the clergy that were present, whether they said it for his pleasure or, as they thought, agreed plainly that by the law of God and of the church the goods of a sanctuary man should be delivered in payment of his debts, and stolen goods to the owner, and only liberty reserved him to get his living with the labor of his hands.

"Verily," said the Duke, "I think you say very truth. And what if a man's wife will take sanctuary because she wishes to run from her husband? I would think if she can allege none other cause, he may lawfully-without any displeasure to Saint Peter-take her out of Saint Peter's church by the arm. And if nobody may be taken out of sanctuary that says he will abide there, then if a child will take sanctuary because he fears to go to school, his master must let him alone. And as simple as that example is, yet is there less reason in our case than in that. For therein, though it be a childish fear, yet is there at the leastwise some fear. And herein is there none at all. And verily I have often heard of sanctuary men. But I never heard before of sanctuary children. And therefore, as for the conclusion of my mind, whosoever may have deserved to need it, if they think it for their safety, let them keep it. But he can be no sanctuary man that neither has wisdom to desire it nor malice to deserve it, whose life or liberty can by no lawful process stand in jeopardy. And he that takes one out of sanctuary to do him good, I say plainly that he breaks no sanctuary."

When the Duke had done, the laymen entire and a good part of the clergy also, thinking no earthly hurt was meant toward the young babe, agreed in effect that, if he were not delivered, he should be fetched. However, they all thought it best, in the avoiding of all manner of rumor, that the Lord Cardinal should first attempt to get him with her good will. And thereupon all the Council came unto the Star Chamber at Westminster. And the Lord Cardinal, leaving the Protector (age 30) with the Council in the Star Chamber, departed into the sanctuary to the Queen (age 46) with diverse other lords with him-were it for the respect of his honor, or that she should by presence of so many perceive that this errand was not one man's mind, or were it for that the Protector (age 30) intended not in this matter to trust any one man alone, or else, if she finally were determined to keep him, some of that company had perhaps secret instruction immediately, despite her mind, to take him and to leave her no chance to take him away, which she was likely to plan after this matter was revealed to her, if her time would in any way serve her.

When the Queen (age 46) and these lords were come together in presence, the Lord Cardinal showed unto her that it was thought by the Protector (age 30) and the whole Council that her keeping of the King's brother in that place was the thing which highly sounded, not only to the great rumor of the people and their obloquy, but also to the unbearable grief and displeasure of the King's royal majesty; to whose Grace it were as singular comfort to have his natural brother in company, as it was to both their dishonor and all theirs and hers also, to suffer him in sanctuary-as though the one brother stood in danger and peril of the other. And he showed her that the Council therefore had sent him unto her to require her the delivery of him that he might be brought unto the King's presence at his liberty, out of that place that they reckoned as a prison. And there should he be treated according to his estate. And she in this doing should both do great good to the realm, pleasure to the Council and profit to herself, assistance to her friends that were in distress, and over that (which he knew well she specially valued), not only great comfort and honor to the King, but also to the young Duke himself, for both of them great wealth it were to be together, as well for many greater causes, as also for their both entertainment and recreation; which thing the lords esteemed not slight, though it seem light, well pondering that their youth without recreation and play cannot endure, nor find any stranger according to the propriety of both their ages and estates so suitable in that point for any of them as either of them for the other.

"My lord," said the Queen (age 46), "I say not nay, but that it were very appropriate that this gentleman whom you require were in the company of the King his brother. And in good faith I think it were as great advantage to them both, as for yet a while, to be in the custody of their mother, the tender age considered of the elder of them both, but especially the younger, who besides his infancy that also needs good looking to, has awhile been so sore diseased, vexed with sickness, and is so newly rather a little amended than well recovered, that I dare put no earthly person in trust with his keeping but myself alone, considering, that there is, as physicians say, and as we also find, double the peril in the relapse that was in the first sickness, with which disease-nature being forelabored, forewearied and weakened-grows the less able to bear out a new excess of the illness. And although there might be found another who would by chance do their best unto him, yet is there none that either knows better how to order him than I that so long have kept him; or is more tenderly like to cherish him than his own mother that bore him."

"No man denies, good Madam," said the Cardinal, "but that your Grace were of all folk most necessary about your children, and so would all the Council not only be content but also glad that you were, if it might stand with your pleasure to be in such place as might stand with their honor. But if you appoint yourself to tarry here, then think they yet more apt that the Duke of York were at his liberty honorably with the King-to the comfort of them both than here as a sanctuary man to both their dishonor and obloquy. Since there is not always so great necessity to have the child be with the mother, but that occasion may sometime be such that it should be more expedient to keep him elsewhere. Which in this well appears that, at such time as your dearest son, then Prince and now King, should for his honor and good order of the country, keep household in Wales far out of your company, your Grace was well content therewith yourself."

"Not very well content," said the Queen (age 46), "and yet the case is not like: for the one was then in health, and the other is now sick. In which case I marvel greatly that my Lord Protector (age 30) is so desirous to have him in his keeping, where if the child in his sickness miscarried by nature, yet might he run into slander and suspicion of fraud. And where they call it a thing so sore against my child's honor and theirs also that he abides in this place, it is all their honors there to suffer him abide where no man doubts he shall be best kept. And that is here, while I am here, which as yet I intend not to come forth and jeopardize myself after the fashion of my other friends, who, would God, were here in surety with me rather than I were there in jeopardy with them."

"Why, Madam," said another lord, "know you anything why they should be in jeopardy?"

"Nay, verily, Sir," said she, "nor why they should be in prison neither, as they now be. But it is, I trust, no great marvel, though I fear lest those that have not omitted to put them in duress without falsity will omit as little to procure their destruction without cause." The Cardinal made a countenance to the other lord that he should harp no more upon that string. And then said he to the Queen (age 46) that he nothing doubted but that those lords of her honorable kin, who as yet remained under arrest should, upon the matter examined, do well enough. And as toward her noble person, neither was nor could be any manner of jeopardy.

"Whereby should I trust that?" said the Queen (age 46). "In that I am guiltless? As though they were guilty. In that I am with their enemies better beloved than they? When they hate them for my sake. In that I am so near of kin to the King? And how far be they away, if that would help, as God send grace it hurt not. And therefore as for me, I purpose not as yet to depart hence. And as for this gentleman my son, I mind that he shall be where I am till I see further. For I assure you, because I see some men so greedy without any substantial cause to have him, this makes me much the more further from delivering him."

"Truly, madam," said he, "and the further that you be to deliver him, the further be other men to suffer you to keep him, lest your causeless fear might cause you farther to convey him. And many be there that think that he can have no privilege in this place, who neither can have will to ask it, nor malice to deserve it. And therefore they reckon no privilege broken, though they fetch him out, which, if you finally refuse to deliver him, I verily think they will (so much dread has my Lord, his uncle, for the tender love he bears him), lest your Grace should by chance send him away."

"Ah, sir," said the Queen (age 46), "has the Protector (age 30) so tender zeal to him that he fears nothing but lest he should escape him? Thinks he that I would send him hence, which neither is in the plight to send out, and in what place could I reckon him sure, if he be not sure in this the sanctuary, whereof there was never tyrant yet so devilish that dared presume to break. And, I trust God, the most holy Saint Peter-the guardian of this sanctuary-is as strong now to withstand his adversaries as ever he was.

"But my son can deserve no sanctuary, and therefore he cannot have it. Forsooth he has found a goodly gloss by which that place that may defend a thief may not save an innocent. But he is in no jeopardy nor has no need thereof. Would God he had not. Trusts the Protector (age 30) (I pray God he may prove a Protector (age 30)), trusts he that I perceive not whereunto his painted process draws? He says it is not honorable that the Duke abide here and that it were comfortable for them both that he were with his brother because the King lacks a playfellow. Be you sure. I pray God send them both better playfellows than him who makes so high a matter upon such a trifling pretext-as though there could none be found to play with the King unless his brother, who has no lust to play because of sickness, come out of sanctuary, out of his safeguard, to play with him. As though princes as young as they be could not play but with their peers, or children could not play but with their kindred, with whom for the most part they agree much worse than with strangers.

"But the child cannot require the privilege-who told him so? He shall hear him ask it, if he will. However, this is a gay matter: Suppose he could not ask it; suppose he would not ask it; suppose he would ask to go out. If I say he shall not, if I ask the privilege but for myself, I say he that against my will takes out him, breaks the sanctuary. Serves this liberty for my person only, or for my goods too? You may not hence take my horse from me, and may you take my child from me? He is also my ward, for as my learned Council shows me, since he has nothing by descent held by knight's service, the law makes his mother his guardian. Then may no man, I suppose, take my ward from me out of sanctuary, without the breech of the sanctuary. And if my privilege could not serve him, nor he ask it for himself, yet since the law commits to me the custody of him, I may require it for him-unless the law give a child a guardian only for his goods and his lands, discharging him of the care and safekeeping of his body, for which only both lands and goods serve.

"And if examples be sufficient to obtain privilege for my child, I need not far to seek. For in this place in which we now be (and which is now in question whether my child may take benefit of it) mine other son, now King, was born and kept in his cradle and preserved to a more prosperous fortune, which I pray God long to continue. And as all you know, this is not the first time that I have taken sanctuary, for when my lord, my husband, was banished and thrust out of his kingdom, I fled hither being great with child, and here I bore the Prince. And when my lord, my husband, returned safe again and had the victory, then went I hence to welcome him home, and from hence I brought my babe the Prince unto his father, when he first took him in his arms. And I pray God that my son's palace may be as great safeguard to him now reigning, as this place was sometime to the King's enemy. In which place I intend to keep his brother.

"Wherefore here intend I to keep him because man's law serves the guardian to keep the infant. The law of nature wills the mother keep her child. God's law privileges the sanctuary, and the sanctuary my son, since I fear to put him in the Protector's (age 30) hands that has his brother already; and if both princes failed, the Protector (age 30) were inheritor to the crown. The cause of my fear has no man to do but examine. And yet fear I no further than the law fears, which, as learned men tell me, forbids every man the custody of them by whose death he may inherit less land than a kingdom. I can no more, but whosoever he be that breaks this holy sanctuary, I pray God shortly send him need of sanctuary, when he may not come to it. For taken out of sanctuary would I not my mortal enemy were."

The Lord Cardinal, perceiving that the Queen (age 46) grew ever longer the further off and also that she began to kindle and chafe and speak sore, biting words against the Protector (age 30), and such as he neither believed and was also loath to hear, he said unto her for a final conclusion that he would no longer dispute the matter. But if she were content to deliver the Duke to him and to the other lords there present, he dared lay his own body and soul both in pledge, not only for his safety but also for his estate. And if she would give them a resolute answer to the contrary, he would forthwith depart therewithal, and manage whosoever would with this business afterward; for he never intended more to move her in that matter in which she thought that he and all others, save herself, lacked either wit or truth-wit, if they were so dull that they could nothing perceive what the Protector (age 30) intended; truth, if they should procure her son to be delivered into his hands, in whom they should perceive toward the child any evil intended.

The Queen (age 46) with these words stood a good while in a great study. And forasmuch to her seemed the Cardinal more ready to depart than some of the remnant, and the Protector (age 30) himself ready at hand, so that she verily thought she could not keep him there, but that he should immediately be taken thence; and to convey him elsewhere, neither had she time to serve her, nor place determined, nor persons appointed, all things unready because this message came on her so suddenly, nothing less expecting than to have him fetched out of sanctuary, which she thought to be now beset in such places about that he could not be conveyed out untaken, and partly as she thought it might fortune her fear to be false, and so well she knew it was either needless or without remedy to resist; wherefore, if she should needs go from him, she thought it best to deliver him. And over that, of the Cardinal's faith she nothing doubted, nor of some other lords neither, whom she there saw, which as she feared lest they might be deceived, so was she well assured they would not be corrupted. Then thought she it should yet make them the more warily to look to him and the more circumspect to see to his safety, if she with her own hands gave him to them of trust. And at the last she took the young Duke by the hand, and said unto the lords:

"My Lord," said she, "and all my lords, I neither am so unwise to mistrust your wits, nor so suspicious to mistrust your truths. Of which thing I purpose to make you such a proof that, if either of both lacked in you, might turn both me to great sorrow, the realm to much harm, and you to great reproach. For, lo, here is," said she, "this gentleman, whom I doubt not but I could here keep safe if I would, whatsoever any man say. And I doubt not also but there be some abroad, so deadly enemies unto my blood, that if they knew where any of it lay in their own body, they would let it out.

"We have also had experience that the desire of a kingdom knows no kindred. The brother has been the brother's bane. And may the nephews be sure of their uncle? Each of these children is the other's defense while they be asunder, and each of their lives lies in the other's body. Keep one safe and both be sure, and nothing for them both more perilous than to be both in one place. For what wise merchant ventures all his goods in one ship?

"All this notwithstanding, here I deliver him and his brother in him-to keep into your hands-of whom I shall ask them both before God and the world. Faithful you be, that know I well, and I know well you be wise. Power and strength to keep him, if you wish, neither lack you of yourself, nor can lack help in this cause. And if you cannot elsewhere, then may you leave him here. But only one thing I beseech you for the trust that his father put in you ever, and for trust that I put in you now, that as far as you think that I fear too much, be you well wary that you fear not as far too little." And therewithal she said unto the child: "Farewell, my own sweet son. God send you good keeping. Let me kiss you once yet before you go, for God knows when we shall kiss together again." And therewith she kissed him, and blessed him, turned her back and wept

and went her way, leaving the child weeping as fast.

When the Lord Cardinal and these other lords with him had received this young duke, they brought him into the Star Chamber where the Protector (age 30) took him in his arms and kissed him with these words:

"Now welcome, my Lord, even with all my very heart." And he said in that of likelihood as he thought. Thereupon forthwith they brought him to the King, his brother, into the Bishop's Palace at Paul's, and from thence through the city honorably into the Tower, out of which after that day they never came abroad.

When the Protector (age 30) had both the children in his hands, he opened himself more boldly, both to certain other men, and also chiefly to the Duke of Buckingham, although I know that many thought that this Duke was privy to all the Protector's (age 30) counsel, even from the beginning.

And some of the Protector's (age 30) friends said that the Duke was the first mover of the Protector (age 30) to this matter, sending a private messenger unto him, straight after King Edward's death. But others again, who knew better the subtle cunning of the Protector (age 30), deny that he ever opened his enterprise to the Duke until he had brought to pass the things before rehearsed. But when he had imprisoned the Queen's (age 46) kinsfolks and gotten both her sons into his own hands, then he opened the rest of his purpose with less fear to them whom he thought meet for the matter, and specially to the Duke, who being won to his purpose, he thought his strength more than half increased.

The matter was broken unto the Duke by subtle folks, and such as were masters of their craft in the handling of such wicked devices, who declared unto him that the young king was offended with him for his kinsfolks' sakes, and that if he were ever able, he would revenge them, who would prick him forward thereunto if they escaped (for the Queen's (age 46) family would remember their imprisonment). Or else if his kinsfolk were put to death, without doubt the young king would be sorrowful for their deaths, whose imprisonment was grievous unto him. And that with repenting the Duke should nothing avail: for there was no way left to redeem his offense by benefits, but he should sooner destroy himself than save the King, who with his brother and his kinsfolks he saw in such places imprisoned, as the Protector (age 30) might with a nod destroy them all; and that it were no doubt but he would do it indeed, if there were any new enterprise attempted. And that it was likely that as the Protector (age 30) had provided private guard for himself, so had he spies for the Duke and traps to catch him if he should be against him, and that, perchance, from them whom he least suspected. The state of things and the dispositions of men were then such that a man could not well tell whom he might trust or whom he might fear. These things and such like, being beaten into the Duke's mind, brought him to that point where he had repented the way he had entered, yet would he go forth in the same; and since he had once begun, he would stoutly go through. And therefore to this wicked enterprise, which he believed could not be avoided, he bent himself and went through and determined that since the common mischief could not be amended, he would turn it as much as he might to his own advantage.

Then it was agreed that the Protector (age 30) should have the Duke's aid to make him king, and that the Protector's (age 30) only lawful son should marry the Duke's daughter, and that the Protector (age 30) should grant him the quiet possession of the Earldom of Hertford, which he claimed as his inheritance and could never obtain it in King Edward's time. Besides these requests of the Duke, the Protector (age 30) of his own mind promised him a great quantity of the King's treasure and of his household stuff. And when they were thus at a point between themselves, they went about to prepare for the coronation of the young king as they would have it seem. And that they might turn both the eyes and minds of men from perceiving their plans, the lords, being sent for from all parties of the realm, came thick to that solemnity.

But the Protector (age 30) and the Duke, after that, once they had set the Lord Cardinal, the Archbishop of York (then Lord Chancellor), the bishop of Ely (age 63), Lord Stanley, and Lord Hastings (age 52) (then Lord Chamberlain) with many other noble men to commune and devise about the coronation in one place, as fast were they in another place contriving the contrary, and to make the Protector (age 30) king. To which council, although there were admittedly very few, and they very secret, yet began there, here and there about, some manner of muttering among the people, as though all should not long be well, though they neither knew what they feared nor wherefore: Were it that before such great things, men's hearts of a secret instinct of nature misgives them, as the sea without wind swells of itself sometime before a tempest; or were it that some one man haply somewhat perceiving, filled many men with suspicion, though he showed few men what he knew. However, somewhat the dealing itself made men to muse on the matter, though the council was closed. For little by little all folk withdrew from the Tower and drew to Crosby's Place in Bishopsgate Street where the Protector (age 30) kept his household. The Protector (age 30) had the people appealing to him; the King was in manner alone. While some for their business made suit to them that had the doing, some were by their friends secretly warned that it might haply turn them to no good to be too much attendant about the King without the Protector's (age 30) appointment, who removed also many of the Prince's old servants from him, and set new ones about him. Thus many things coming together-partly by chance, partly by purpose-caused at length not only common people who wave with the wind, but also wise men and some lords as well, to mark the matter and muse thereon, so far forth that the Lord Stanley, who was afterwards Earl of Darby, wisely mistrusted it and said unto the Lord Hastings (age 52) that he much disliked these two several councils.

"For while we," said he, "talk of one matter in the one place, little know we whereof they talk in the other place."

"My Lord," said the Lord Hastings (age 52), "on my life, never doubt you. For while one man is there who is never thence, never can there be things once minded that should sound amiss toward me, but it should be in mine ears before it were well out of their mouths."

This meant he by Catesby, who was of his near secret counsel and whom he very familiarly used, and in his most weighty matters put no man in so special trust, reckoning himself to no man so dear, since he well knew there was no man to him so much beholden as was this Catesby, who was a man well learned in the laws of this land, and by the special favor of the Lord Chamberlain in good authority and much rule bore in all the county of Leicester where the Lord Chamberlain's power chiefly lay. But surely great pity was it that he had not had either more truth or less wit. For his dissimulation alone kept all that mischief up. If the Lord Hastings (age 52) had not put so special trust in Catesby, the Lord Stanley and he had departed with diverse other lords and broken all the dance, for many ill signs that he saw, which he now construed all to the best, so surely thought he there could be none harm toward him in that council intended where Catesby was. And of truth the Protector (age 30) and the Duke of Buckingham made very good semblance unto the Lord Hastings (age 52) and kept him much in company. And undoubtedly the Protector (age 30) loved him well and loath was to have lost him, saving for fear lest his life should have quelled their purpose. For which cause he moved Catesby to prove with some words cast out afar off, whether he could think it possible to win the Lord Hastings (age 52) to their part. But Catesby, whether he tried him or questioned him not, reported unto them that he found him so fast and heard him speak so terrible words that he dared no further say. And of truth the Lord Chamberlain, with great trust, showed unto Catesby the mistrust that others began to have in the matter.

Evelyn's Diary. 01 Oct 1661. I sailed this morning with his Majesty (age 31) in one of his yachts (or pleasure boats), vessels not known among us till the Dutch East India Company presented that curious piece to the King (age 31); being very excellent sailing vessels. It was on a wager between his other new pleasure boat, built frigate-like, and one of the Duke of York's (age 27); the wager £100; the race from Greenwich, Kent [Map] to Gravesend, Kent [Map] and back. The King (age 31) lost it going, the wind being contrary, but saved stakes in returning. There were divers noble persons and lords on board, his Majesty (age 31) sometimes steering himself. His barge and kitchen boat attended. I brake fast this morning with the King (age 31) at return in his smaller vessel, he being pleased to take me and only four more, who were noblemen, with him; but dined in his yacht, where we all ate together with his Majesty (age 31). In this passage he was pleased to discourse to me about my book inveighing against the nuisance of the smoke of London, and proposing expedients how, by removing those particulars I mentioned, it might be reformed; commanding me to prepare a Bill against the next session of Parliament, being, as he said, resolved to have something done in it. Then he discoursed to me of the improvement of gardens and buildings, now very rare in England comparatively to other countries. He then commanded me to draw up the matter of fact happening at the bloody encounter which then had newly happened between the French and Spanish Ambassadors near the Tower, contending for precedency, at the reception of the Swedish Ambassador; giving me orders to consult Sir William Compton (age 36), Master of the Ordnance, to inform me of what he knew of it, and with his favorite, Sir Charles Berkeley (age 31), captain of the Duke's life guard, then present with his troop and three foot companies; with some other reflections and instructions, to be prepared with a declaration to take off the reports which went about of his Majesty's (age 31) partiality in the affairs, and of his officers' and spectators' rudeness while the conflict lasted. So I came home that night, and went next morning to London, where from the officers of the Tower [Map], Sir William Compton (age 36), Sir Charles Berkeley (age 31), and others who were attending at this meeting of the Ambassadors three days before, having collected what I could, I drew up a Narrative in vindication of his Majesty (age 31), and the carriage of his officers and standers-by.

Calendars. 13 Nov 1664. 93. William Coventry (age 36) to [Sec. Bennet (age 46)]. Hopes the wind will change, and bring the Charles and the other ships out of the river; will not then fear what Opdam can do, though the men are raw, and need a little time at sea. The Ruby and Happy Return have brought some supernumeraries, but 500 more are wanted; 200 are expected from Plymouth, but till some runaways are hanged, the ships cannot be kept well manned. Sends a list of some fit to be made examples of in the several counties where they were pressed, with the names of those who pressed them. The Dutch ship named before is brought in, and two others are stayed at Cowes, Isle of Wight by virtue of the embargo, the order in Council making no exception for foreigners, The King's pleasure should be known therein, as the end, which is to gather seamen, does not seem to require the stopping of foreigners. Prize officers must- be sent speedily to [Portsmouth], Dover, and Deal. Those at Deal, Kent [Map] should have men in readiness to carry prizes up the river, that the men belonging to the fleet be not scattered. Persons should also be hastened to 'take care of the sick and wounded. The Duke (age 31) intends to appoint Erwin captain of the ship hired to go to St. Helena; he is approved by the East India Company, which is important, trade being intermixed with convoy, and they find fault if a commander of the King's ships bring home any little matter privately bought. The Duke has divided the fleet into squadrons, assigning to each a vice and rear adiniral; Sir John Lawson (age 49) and Sir William Berkeley to his own, Mennes (age 65) and Sansum to Prince Rupert's (age 44), Sir George Aiscue (age 48) [Ayscough] and Teddeman to the Earl of Sandwich. Hopes in a few days to be in much better order, if good men can be got. Will send a list of the squadrons. The Guernsey is damaged by running aground. Rear-Admiral Teddeman, with 4 or 5 ships, has gone to course in the Channel, and if he meet any refractory Dutchmen, will teach them their duty. The King's declaration for encouraging seamen has much revived the men, and added to their courage. [Four pages.]

Evelyn's Diary. 18 Aug 1673. My Lord Clifford (age 43), being about this time returned from Tunbridge [Map], and preparing for Devonshire, I went to take my leave of him at Wallingford House; he was packing up pictures, most of which were of hunting wild beasts and vast pieces of bull-baiting, bear-baiting, etc. I found him in his study, and restored to him several papers of state, and others of importance, which he had furnished me with, on engaging me to write the "History of the Holland War", with other private letters of his acknowledgments to my Lord Arlington (age 55), who from a private gentleman of a very noble family, but inconsiderable fortune, had advanced him from almost nothing. The first thing was his being in Parliament, then knighted, then made one of the Commissioners of sick and wounded, on which occasion we sat long together; then, on the death of Hugh Pollard, he was made Comptroller of the Household and Privy Councillor, yet still my brother Commissioner; after the death of Lord Fitz-Harding, Treasurer of the Household, he, by letters to Lord Arlington (age 55), which that Lord showed me, begged of his Lordship to obtain it for him as the very height of his ambition. These were written with such submissions and professions of his patronage, as I had never seen any more acknowledging. The Earl of Southampton then dying, he was made one of the Commissioners of the Treasury. His Majesty (age 43) inclining to put it into one hand, my Lord Clifford (age 43), under pretense of making all his interest for his patron, my Lord Arlington (age 55), cut the grass under his feet, and procured it for himself, assuring the King (age 43) that Lord Arlington (age 55) did not desire it. Indeed, my Lord Arlington (age 55) protested to me that his confidence in Lord Clifford (age 43) made him so remiss and his affection to him was so particular, that he was absolutely minded to devolve it on Lord Clifford (age 43), all the world knowing how he himself affected ease and quiet, now growing into years, yet little thinking of this go-by. This was the great ingratitude Lord Clifford (age 43) showed, keeping my Lord Arlington (age 55) in ignorance, continually assuring him he was pursuing his interest, which was the Duke's (age 39) into whose great favor Lord Clifford (age 43) was now gotten; but which certainly cost him the loss of all, namely, his going so irrevocably far in his interest.

Evelyn's Diary. 18 Sep 1683. After dinner, I walked to survey the sad demolition of Clarendon House, that costly and only sumptuous palace of the late [his former father-in-law] Lord Chancellor Hyde, where I have often been so cheerful with him, and sometimes so sad: happening to make him a visit but the day before he fled from the angry Parliament, accusing him of maladministration, and being envious at his grandeur, who from a private lawyer came to be father-in-law to the Duke of York (age 49), and as some would suggest, designing his Majesty's (age 53) marriage with the Infanta of Portugal (age 44), not apt to breed. To this they imputed much of our unhappiness; and that he, being sole minister and favorite at his Majesty's (age 53) restoration, neglected to gratify the King's (age 53) suffering party, preferring those who were the cause of our troubles. But perhaps as many of these things were injuriously laid to his charge, so he kept the government far steadier than it has proved since. I could name some who I think contributed greatly to his ruin,-the buffoons and the MISSIS, to whom he was an eye-sore. It is true he was of a jolly temper, after the old English fashion; but France had now the ascendant, and we were become quite another nation. The Chancellor gone, and dying in exile, the [his former brother-in-law] Earl his successor sold that which cost £50,000 building, to the young Duke of Albemarle (age 30) for £25,000, to pay debts which how contracted remains yet a mystery, his son (age 30) being no way a prodigal. Some imagine the Duchess his daughter (age 29) [Note. Daughter-in-law?] had been chargeable to him. However it were, this stately palace is decreed to ruin, to support the prodigious waste the Duke of Albemarle (age 30) had made of his estate, since the old man died. He sold it to the highest bidder, and it fell to certain rich bankers and mechanics, who gave for it and the ground about it, £35,000; they design a new town, as it were, and a most magnificent piazza [square]. It is said they have already materials toward it with what they sold of the house alone, more worth than what they paid for it. See the vicissitudes of earthly things! I was astonished at this demolition, nor less at the little army of laborers and artificers leveling the ground, laying foundations, and contriving great buildings at an expense of £200,000, if they perfect their design.

Evelyn's Diary. 17 Dec 1684. Early in the morning I went into St James' Park [Map] to see three Turkish or Asian horses, newly brought over, and now first shewed to his Ma* (age 54). There were foure, but one of them died at sea, being three weekes coming from Hamborow. They were taken from a Bashaw at the siege of Vienna, at the late famous raising that leaguer. I never beheld so delicate a creature as one of them was, of somewhat a bright bay, two white feet, a blaze; such a head, eyes, cares, neck, breast, belly, haunches, legs, pasterns, and feete, in all reguards beautifull and proportion'd to admiration; spirited, proud, nimble, making halt, turning with that swiftnesse, and in so small a compasse, as was admirable. With all this so gentle and tractable as call'd to mind what I remember Busbequius speakes of them, to the reproch of our groomes in Europe, who bring up their horses so churlishly as makes most of them retain their 111 habits. They trotted like does, as if they did not feele the ground. 500 guinnies was demanded for the first; 300 for the second; and 200 for the third, wch was browne. All of them were choicely shap'd, but the two last not altogether so perfect as the first. It was judg'd by the spectators, among whom was the King (age 54), [his son-in-law] Prince of Denmark (age 31), Duke of Yorke (age 51), and several of the Court, noble persons, skill'd In horses, especialy Mons. Faubert and his sonn, (provost masters of yc Academie, and esteem'd of the best in Europe,) that there were never seene any horses in these parts to be compar'd with them. Add to all this, the furniture, consisting of embroidery on the saddle, houseings, quiver, bow, arrows, scymeter, sword, mace, or battle-axe a la Turcisq; the Bashaw's velvet mantle furr'd with the most perfect Ermine I ever beheld; all which, yron-worke in common furniture, being here of silver, curiously wrought and double gilt, to an incredible icon. Such and so extraordinary was the embrodery, that I never saw any thing approching it. The reins and headstall were of crimson silk, cover'd with chaines of silver gilt. There was also a Turkish royal standard of an horse's taile, together with all sorts of other caparisons belonging to a general's horse, by which one may estimate how gallantly and magnificently those infidels appeare in the field, for nothing could be seene more glorious. The gentleman (a German) who rid the horse was in all this garb. They were shod with yron made round and closed at the heele, with a hole in the middle about as wide as a shilling. The hoofes most intire.

Evelyn's Diary. 16 Sep 1685. There was something said of the second sight happening to some persons, especialy Scotch; upon which his Ma*, and I think Lord Arran, told us that Mons a French nobleman, lately here in England, seeing the late Duke of Monmouth come into yc play-house at London, suddenly cried out to somebody sitting in the same box, Voila Monsieur comme il entre sans tete. Afterwards his Ma* (age 51) spoke of some reliques that had effected strange cures, particularly a piece of our Bl. Saviour's Crosse, that heal'd a gentleman's rotten nose by onely touching; and speaking of the golden crosse and chaine taken out of the coffin of St. Edward the Confessor at Westmr*, by one of the singing men, who, as the scaffolds were taking down after his Ma*s coronation, espying a hole in the tomb, and something glisten, put his hand in, and brought it to the Deane, and he to the King; his Maty began to put the Bishop in mind how earnestly the late King (his brother) call'd upon him, during his agonie, to take out what he had in his pocket. I had thought, said the King, it had ben for some keys, which might lead to some cabinet that his Ma* would have me secure; but, says he, you well remember that I found nothing in any of his pockets but a crosse of gold, and a few insignificant papers; and thereupon he shew'd us the crosse, and was pleas'd to put it into my hand. It was of gold, about three inches long, having on one side a crucifix enamell'd and emboss'd, the rest was grav'd and garnish'd with goldsmiths' work, and two pretty broad table amethists (as I conceiv'd), and at the bottom a pendant pearle; within was inchas'd a little fragment, as was thought, of the true Crosse, and a Latine inscription in gold and Roman letters. More company coming in, this discourse ended. I may not forget a resolution which his Ma* made, and had a little before enter'd upon it at ye Council Board at Windsor or Whitehall, that the Negroes in the Plantations should all be baptiz'd, exceedingly declaiming against that impiety of their masters prohibiting it, out of a mistaken opinion that they would be ipso facto free; but his Ma* persists in his resolution to have them christen'd, wch piety ye Bishop blessed him for.

Evelyn's Diary. 05 May 1686. There being a Seale It was fear'd we should be requir'd to passe a doquett dispensing with Dr Obadiah Walker (age 70) and four more, whereof one was an apostate curate of Putney, ye others officers of University College, Oxford, to hold their masterships, fellowships, and cures, and keepe publiq schooles, and enjoy all former emoluments, notwithstanding they no more frequented or us'd the public formes of prayers or communion with ye Church of England, or took yc test and oathes of allegiance and supremacy, contrary to 20 Acts of Parliament; which dispensation being also contrary to his Ma*'s (age 52) owne gracious declaration at ye beginning of his reigne, gave umbrage (as well it might) to every good Protestant, nor could we safely have pass'd it under the Privy Seale, wherefore it was done by immediate warrant, sign'd by Mr. Solicitor. This Walker (age 70) was a learned person, of a monkish life, to whose tuition I had more than 30 yeares since recommended the sonns of my worthy friend Mr. Hyldyard of Horsly in Surrey, believing him to be far from what he prov'd, an hypocritical conceal'd Papist, by wch he perverted the eldest sonn of Mr. Hyldyard, Sr Edwd Hale's (age 41) eldest sonn, and severall more, to the greate disturbance of the whole Nation, as well as of the University, as by his now publiq defection appear'd. All engines being now at work to bring in Popery, wch God in mercy prevent ! This day was burnt in the old Exchange, by the common hangman, a translation of a booke written by ye famous Monsr Claude, relating onely matters of fact concerning the horrid massacres and barbarous proceedings of ye French King (age 47) against his Protestant subjects, without any refutation of any facts therein; so mighty a power and ascendant here had the French Ambass', who was doubtlesse in greate indignation at the pious and truly generous charity of all the Nation, for ye reliefe of those miserable sufferers who came over for shelter. About this time also the Duke of Savoy (age 19), instigated by ye French King to extirpate the Protestants of Piedmont, slew many thousands of those innocent people, so that there seem'd to be an universal designe to destroy all that would not go to masse, throughout Europe. Quod avertat D. O. M ! No faith in Princes!

Grammont. Miss Hamilton had much difficulty to suppress her laughter during this harangue: however, she told him, that she thought herself much honoured by his intentions towards her, and still more obliged to him for consulting her, before he made any overtures to her relations: "It will be time enough," said she, "to speak to them upon the subject at your return from the waters; for I do not think it is at all probable that they will dispose of me before that time, and in case they should be urgent in their solicitations, your nephew William will take care to acquaint you; therefore, you may set out whenever you think proper; but take care not to injure your health by returning too soon."

The Chevalier de Grammont, having heard the particulars of this conversation, endeavoured as well as he could to be entertained with it; though there were certain circumstances in the declaration, notwithstanding the absurdity of others, which did not fail to give him some uneasiness. Upon the whole, he was not sorry for Russell's departure; and, assuming an air of pleasantry, he went to relate to the king, how Heaven had favoured him, by delivering him from so dangerous a rival. "He is gone then, Chevalier?" said the king "Certainly, Sir," said he, "I had the honour to see him embark in a coach, with his asthma, and country equipage, his perruque à calotte, neatly tied with a yellow riband, and his old-fashioned hat covered with oil-skin, which becomes him uncommonly well: therefore, I have only to contend with William Russell, whom he leaves as his resident with Miss Hamilton; and, as for him, I neither fear him upon his own account, nor his uncle's: he is too much in love himself, to pay attention to the interests of another; and as he has but one method of promoting his own, which is by sacrificing the portrait, or some love-letters of Mrs. Middleton, I have it easily in my power to counteract him in such kind of favours, though I confess I have pretty well paid for them."

"Since your affairs proceed so prosperously with the Russells," said the king, "I will acquaint you that you are delivered from another rival, much more dangerous, if he were not already married: my brother has lately fallen in love with Lady Chesterfield." "How many blessings at once!" exclaimed the Chevalier de Grammont: "I have so many obligations to him for this inconstancy, that I would willingly serve him in his new amour, if Hamilton was not his rival: nor will your majesty take it ill, if I promote the interests of my mistress's brother, rather than those of your majesty's brother." "Hamilton, however," said the king, "does not stand so much in need of assistance, in affairs of this nature. as the Duke of York; but I know Lord Chesterfield is of such a disposition, that he will not suffer men to quarrel about his wife, with the same patience as the complaisant Shrewsbury; though he well deserves the same fate." Here follows a true description of Lord Chesterfield.

He had a very agreeable face, a fine head of hair, an indifferent shape, and a worse air; he was not, however, deficient in wit: a long residence in Italy had made him ceremonious in his commerce with men, and jealous in his connection with women. He had been much hated by the king, because he had been much beloved by Lady Castlemaine: it was reported that he had been in her good graces prior to her marriage; and as neither of them denied it. it was the more generally believed.

He had paid his devoirs to the eldest daughter of the Duke of Ormond, while his heart was still taken up with his former passion. The king's love for Lady Castlemaine, and the advancement he expected from such an alliance, made him press the match with as much ardour as if he had been passionately in love: he had therefore married Lady Chesterfield without loving her, and had lived some time with her in such coolness, as to leave her no room to doubt of his indifference. As she was endowed with great sensibility and delicacy, she suffered at this contempt: she was at first much affected with his behaviour, and afterwards enraged at it; and, when he began to give her proofs of his affection, she had the pleasure of convincing him of her indifference.

They were upon this footing, when she resolved to cure Hamilton, as she had lately done her husband, of all his remaining tenderness for Lady Castlemaine. For her it was no difficult undertaking: the conversation of the one was disagreeable, from the unpolished state of her manners, her ill-timed pride, her uneven temper, and extravagant humours: Lady Chesterfield, on the contrary, knew how to heighten her charms, with all the bewitching attractions in the power of a woman to invent, who wishes to make a conquest.

Besides all this, she had greater opportunities of making advances to him, than to any other: she lived at the Duke of Ormond's, at Whitehall, where Hamilton, as was said before, had free admittance at all hours: her extreme coldness, or rather the disgust which she shewed for her husband's returning affection, wakened his natural inclination to jealousy: he suspected that she could not so very suddenly pass from anxiety to indifference for him, without some secret object of a new attachment; and, according to the maxims of all jealous husbands, he immediately put in practice all his experience and industry, in order to make a discovery, which was to destroy his own happiness.

Hamilton, who knew his disposition, was, on the other hand, upon his guard, and the more he advanced in his intrigue, the more attentive was he to remove every degree of suspicion from the earl's mind: he pretended to make him his confidant, in the most unguarded and open manner, of his passion for Lady Castlemaine: he complained of her caprice, and most earnestly desired his advice how to succeed with a person whose affections he alone had entirely possessed.

Chesterfield, who was flattered with this discourse, promised him his protection with greater sincerity than it had been demanded: Hamilton, therefore, was no further embarrased than to preserve Lady Chesterfield's reputation, who, in his opinion, declared herself rather too openly in his favour: but whilst he was diligently employed in regulating, within the rules of diseretion, the partiality she expressed for him, and in conjuring her to restrain her glances within bounds, she was receiving those of the Duke of York; and, what is more, made them favourable returns.

He thought that he had perceived it, as well as every one besides; but he thought likewise, that all the world was deceived as well as himself: how could he trust his own eyes, as to what those of Lady Chesterfield betrayed for this new rival? He could not think it probable, that a woman of her disposition could relish a man, whose manners had a thousand times been the subject of their private ridicule; but what he judged still more improbable was, that she should begin another intrigue before she had given the finishing stroke to that in which her own advances had engaged her: however, he began to observe her with more circumspection, when he found by his discoveries, that if she did not deceive him, at least the desire of doing so was not wanting. This he took the liberty of telling her of; but she answered him in so high a strain, and treated what he said so much like a phantom of his own imagination, that he appeared confused without being convinced: all the satisfaction he could procure from her, was her telling him, in a haughty manner, that such unjust reproaches as his ought to have had a better foundation.

Lord Chesterfield had taken the same alarm; and being convinced, from the observations he had made, that he had found out the happy lover who had gained possession of his lady's heart, he was satisfied; and without teazing her with unnecessary reproaches, he only waited for an opportunity to confound her, before he took his measures.

After all, how can we account for Lady Chesterfield's conduct, unless we attribute it to the disease incident to most coquettes, who, charmed with superiority, put in practice every art to rob another of her conquest, and spare nothing to preserve it.

Grammont. Lady Robarts was then in the zenith of her glory: her beauty was striking; yet notwithstanding the brightness of the finest complexion, with all the bloom of youth, and with every requisite for inspiring desire, she nevertheless was not attractive. The Duke of York, however, would probably have been successful, if difficulties, almost insurmountable, had not disappointed his good intentions: Lord Robarts, her husband, was an old, snarling, troublesome, peevish fellow, in love with her to distraction, and, to complete her misery, a perpetual attendant on her person.

She perceived his royal highness's attachment to her, and seemed as if she was inclined to be grateful: this redoubled his eagerness, and every outward mark of tenderness he could possibly shew her; but the watchful husband redoubling his zeal and assiduity, as he found the approaches advance, every art was practised to render him tractable: several attacks were made upon his avarice and his ambition. Those who possessed the greatest share of his confidence, insinuated to him, that it was his own fault, if Lady Robarts, who was so worthy of being at court, was not received into some considerable post, either about the queen or the duchess: he was offered to be made lord lieutenant of the county where his estate was; or to have the management of the Duke of York's revenues in Ireland, of which he should have the entire disposal, provided he immediately set out to take possession of his charge; and having accomplished it, he might return as soon as ever he thought proper.

He perfectly well understood the meaning of these proposals, and was fully apprized of the advantages he might reap from them: in vain did ambition and avarice hold out their allurements; he was deaf to all their temptations, nor could ever the old fellow be persuaded to be made a cuckold. It is not always an aversion to, or a dread of this distinction, which preserves us from it: of this her husband was very sensible; therefore, under the pretence of a pilgrimage to Saint Winifred the virgin and martyr, who was said to cure women of barrenness, he did not rest, until the highest mountains in Wales were between his wife and the person who had designed to perform this miracle in London, after his departure.

The duke was for some time entirely taken up with the pleasures of the chase, and only now and then engaged in those of love; but his taste having undergone a change in this particular, and the remembrance of Lady Robarts wearing off by degrees, his eyes and wishes were turned towards Miss Brook; and it was in the height of this pursuit, that Lady Chesterfield threw herself into his arms, as we shall see, by resuming the sequel of her adventures.

Grammont. About this time Talbot returned from Portugal: this connection had taken place during his absence; and without knowing who Lady Southesk was, he had been informed that his master was in love with her. A few days after his arrival, he was carried, merely to keep up appearances, to her house by the duke; and after being introduced, and some compliments having been paid on both sides, he thought it his duty to give his royal highness an opportunity to pay his compliments, and accordingly retired into the ante-chamber, which looked into the street, and placed himself at the window to view the people as they passed.

He was one of the best-meaning men in the world on such occasions; but was so subject to forgetfulness and absence of mind, that he once forgot, and left behind him at London, a complimentary letter which the duke had given him for the Infanta of Portugal, and never recollected it till he was going to his audience.

He stood sentry, as we have before said, very attentive to his instructions, when he saw a coach stop at the door, without being in the least concerned at it, and still less, at a man whom he saw get out of it, and whom he immediately heard coming up stairs.

The devil, who ought to be civil upon such occasions, forgot himself in the present instance, and brought up Lord Southesk in propriâ personâ: his royal highness's equipage had been sent home, because my lady had assured him that her husband was gone to see a bear and a bull baiting, an entertainment in which he took great delight, and from whence he seldom returned until it was very late; so that Southesk, not seeing any equipage at the door, little imagined that he had such good company in his house; but if he was surprised to see Talbot carelessly lolling in his wife's ante-chamber, his surprise was soon over. Talbot, who had not seen him since they were in Flanders, and never supposing that he had changed his name: "Welcome, Carnegy, welcome, my good fellow," said he, giving him his hand, "where the devil have you been, that I have never been able to set eyes on you since we were at Brussels? What business brought you here? Do you likewise wish to see Lady Southesk? If this is your intention, my poor friend, you may go away again; for I must inform you, the Duke of York is in love with her, and I will tell you in confidence, that, at this very time, he is in her chamber."

Southesk, confounded as one may suppose, had no time to answer all these fine questions: Talbot, therefore, attended him down stairs as his friend; and, as his humble servant, advised him to seek for a mistress elsewhere. Southesk, not knowing what else to do at that time, returned to his coach; and Talbot, overjoyed at the adventure, impatiently waited for the duke's return, that he might acquaint him with it; but he was very much surprised to find that the story afforded no pleasure to those who had the principal share in it; and his greatest concern was, that Carnegy had changed his name, as if only to draw him into such a confidence.

This accident broke off a commerce which the Duke of York did not much regret; and indeed it was happy for him that he became indifferent; for the traitor Southesk meditated a revenge, whereby, without using either assassination or poison, he would have obtained some satisfaction upon those who had injured him, if the connection had continued any longer.

He went to the most infamous places, to seek for the most infamous disease, which he met with; but his revenge was only half completed; for after he had gone through every remedy to get quit of his disease, his lady did but return him his present, having no more connection with the person for whom it was so industriously prepared.

Grammont. The next day the news was made public, and the whole court was eager to pay her that respect, from a sense of duty, which in the end became very sincere.

The petits-maîtres who had spoken against her, seeing their intentions disappointed, were not a little embarrassed. Women are seldom accustomed to forgive injuries of this nature; and, if they promise themselves the pleasure of revenge, when they gain the power, they seldom forget it: in the present case, however, the fears of these petits-maîtres were their only punishment.

The Duchess of York, being fully informed of all that was said in the cabinet concerning her, instead of shewing the least resentment, studied to distinguish, by all manner of kindness and good offices, those who had attacked her in so sensible a part; nor did she ever mention it to them, but in order to praise their zeal, and to tell them, "that nothing was a greater proof of the attachment of a man of honour, than his being more solicitous for the interest of his friend, or master, than for his own reputation:" a remarkable example of prudence and moderation, not only for the fair sex, but even for those who value themselves most upon their philosophy among the men.

The Duke of York, having quieted his conscience by the declaration of his marriage, thought that he was entitled, by this generous effort, to give way a little to his inconstancy: he therefore immediately seized upon whatever he could first lay his hands upon: this was Lady Carnegy, had been in several other hands. She was still tolerably handsome, and her disposition, naturally inclined to tenderness, did not oblige her new lover long to languish. Every thing coincided with their wishes for some time: Lord Carnegy, her husband, was in Scotland; but his father dying suddenly, he as suddenly returned with the title of Southesk, which his wife detested; but which she took more patiently than she received the news of his return. Some private intimation had been given him of the honour that was done him in his absence; nevertheless, he did not shew his jealousy at first; but, as he was desirous to be satisfied of the reality of the fact, he kept a strict watch over his wife's actions. The Duke of York and her ladyship had, for some time, been upon such terms of intimacy, as not to pass their time in frivolous amusements; however, the husband's return obliged them to maintain some decorum: he therefore never went to her house, but in form, that is to say, always accompanied by some friend or other, to give his amours at least the appearance of a visit.

The History of King Richard the Third by Thomas More. Now was it before devised that in the speaking of these words the Protector should have come in among the people during the sermon, to the end that those words, meeting with his presence, might have been taken among the hearers as though the Holy Ghost had put them in the preacher's mouth and should have moved the people even there to cry, "King Richard! King Richard!"-that it might have been afterwards said that he was specially chosen by God and in manner by miracle.

But this device failed, either by the Protector's negligence, or the preacher's overmuch diligence. For while the Protector delayed along the way lest he should arrive before those words, and while the Doctor, fearing that the Protector should come before his sermon would come to those words, hasted his matter thereto, the preacher came to them and past them and entered into other matters before the Protector came. When the Doctor beheld his coming, he suddenly left the matter with which he was in hand, and without any deduction thereunto, out of all order, and out of all frame, began to repeat those words again: "This is the very noble prince, the special pattern of knightly prowess, which as well in all princely behavior, as in the lineaments and favor of his appearance, represents the very face of the noble Duke of York, his father. This is the father's own figure, this his own countenance, the very print of his visage, the sure undoubted image, the plain express likeness of the noble Duke, whose remembrance can never die while he lives."

While these words were in speaking, the Protector, accompanied with the Duke of Buckingham, went through the people into the place where the doctors commonly stand in the upper story, where he stood to hear the sermon. But the people were so far from crying "King Richard" that they stood as they had been turned into stone, for wonder of this shameful sermon. After which once ended, the preacher got himself home and never after dared look out for shame, but kept himself out of sight like an owl. And when he once asked one that had been his old friend what the people talked of him, although his own conscience well showed him that they talked no good, yet when the other answered him that there was in every man's mouth spoken of him much shame, it so struck him to the heart that within few days after, he withered and consumed away.

Then on the Tuesday following this sermon, there came unto the Guildhall in London the Duke of Buckingham, accompanied with diverse lords and knights, who more than by chance knew the message that they brought. And there in the east end of the hall where the Mayor keeps the Court of Hustings, the Mayor and all the Aldermen being assembled about him, all the commons of the city gathered before them, after silence commanded upon great pain in the Protector's name, the Duke stood up, and (as he was not unlearned and of nature marvelously well spoken) he said unto the people, with a clear and a loud voice, in this manner the following:

"Friends, for the zeal and hearty favor that we bear you, we come to reveal unto you, a matter right great and weighty, and no less weighty than pleasing to God and profitable to all the realm, nor to no part of the realm more profitable than to you, the citizens of this noble city. Why? That thing that we know well you have long time lacked and sore longed for, that you would have given great good for, that you would have gone far to fetch-that thing we come hither to bring you, without your labor, pain, cost, adventure, or jeopardy.

"What thing is that? Certainly, the surety of your own bodies, the quiet of your wives and your daughters, the safeguard of your goods: of all which things in times past you stood ever more in doubt. For who was there among you that would reckon himself lord of his own goods, among so many snares and traps as was set, among so much pillaging and extortion, among so many taxes and arbitrary ones at that-of which there was never end and oftentimes no need, or if any were, it rather grew of riot and unreasonable waste than any necessary or honorable charge? So that there was daily, pillaged from good and honest men, great substance of goods to be squandered out among prodigals so far forth that fifteenths sufficed not, nor any of the usual names of known taxes; but under an easy name of "benevolence and good will" the commissioners so much of every man took, as no man would with his good will have given-as though the name of "benevolence" had signified that every man should pay, not what he himself of his good will pleases to grant, but what the King of his good will pleases to take, who never asked little, but everything was hiked above the measure: adjudged punishments turned into fines, fines into ransoms, small trespass to imprisonment, imprisonment into treason.

Grammont. The Duke of York found this last accusation greatly out of bounds, being convinced he himself had sufficient proofs of the contrary: he therefore returned thanks to these officious informers for their frankness, ordered them to be silent for the future upon what they had been telling him, and immediately passed into the king's apartment.

As soon as he had entered the cabinet, Lord Falmouth, who had followed him, related what had passed to the Earl of Ossory, whom he met in the presence chamber: they strongly suspected what was the subject of the conversation of the two brothers, as it was long; and the Duke of York appeared to be in such agitation when he came out, that they no longer doubted that the result had been unfavourable for poor Miss Hyde. Lord Falmouth began to be affected for her disgrace, and to relent that he had been concerned in it, when the Duke of York told him and the Earl of Ossory to meet him in about an hour's time at the chancellor's.

They were rather surprised that he should have the cruelty himself to announce such a melancholy piece of news: they found his royal highness at the appointed hour in Miss Hyde's chamber: a few tears trickled down her cheeks, which she endeavoured to restrain. The chancellor, leaning against the wall, appeared to them to be puffed up with something, which they did not doubt was rage and despair. The Duke of York said to them, with that serene and pleasant countenance with which men generally announce good news: "As you are the two men of the court whom I most esteem, I am desirous you should first have the honour of paying your compliments to the Duchess of York: there she is."

Surprise was of no use, and astonishment was unseasonable on the present occasion: they were, however, so greatly possessed with both surprise and astonishment, that in order to conceal it, they immediately fell on their knees to kiss her hand, which she gave to them with as much majesty as if she had been used to it all her life.

The History of King Richard the Third by Thomas More. Of these two, the one had a sermon in praise of the Protector before the coronation, the other after; both so full of tedious flattery that no man's ears could abide them. Penker in his sermon so lost his voice that he was glad to leave off and come down in the midst. Doctor Shaa by his sermon lost his honesty and soon after his life, for very shame of the world, into which he dared never after come abroad. But the friar cared not for shame, and so it harmed him the less. However, some doubt and many think that Penker was not of counsel of the matter before the coronation, but after the common manner fell to flattery afterwards; namely, because his sermon was not immediately after it, but at Saint Mary's Hospital on the Easter after. But certain is it that Doctor Shaa was of counsel in the beginning so far forth that they determined he should first break the matter in a sermon at Paul's Cross, in which he should, by the authority of his preaching, incline the people to the Protector's ghostly purpose.

But now was all the labor and study in the device of some appropriate pretext for which the people should be content to depose the Prince and accept the Protector for king, for which diverse things they devised. But the chief thing, and the most weighty of all that invention, rested in this: they should allege bastardy, either in King Edward himself, or in his children, or both, so that he should seem unable to inherit the crown by the Duke of York, and the Prince by him. To lay bastardy in King Edward sounded openly to the rebuke of the Protector's own mother, who was mother to them both; for in that point could be none other color, but to pretend that his own mother was one adulteress, which, not withstanding, to further his purpose he omitted not; but nevertheless, he would the point should be less and more favorably handled, not even fully plain and directly, but that the matter should be touched upon, craftily, as though men spared, in that point, to speak all the truth for fear of his displeasure. But the other point, concerning the bastardy that they devised to surmise in King Edward's children, that would he be openly declared and enforced to the uttermost. The color and pretext whereof cannot be well perceived but if we first repeat to you some things long before done about King Edward's marriage.

After King Edward the Fourth had deposed King Henry the Sixth and was in peaceful possession of the realm, determining himself to marry, as it was requisite both for himself and for the realm, he sent over in embassy the Earl of Warwick with other noble men in his company unto Spain to entreat and conclude a marriage between King Edward and the king's daughter of Spain. In which thing the Earl of Warwick found the parties so toward and willing that he speedily, according to his instructions, without any difficulty brought the matter to a very good conclusion.

Now it happened in the meanwhile that there came to make a suit by petition to the King, Dame Elizabeth Gray, who was after his Queen, at that time a widow born of noble blood, specially by her mother, who was Duchess of Bedford before she married the Lord Woodville, Elizabeth's father. However, this Dame Elizabeth, herself being in service with Queen Margaret, wife unto King Henry the Sixth, was married unto one John Gray, a squire, whom King Henry made knight upon the battlefield where he had fought on Shrove Tuesday at Saint Albans against King Edward. And little while enjoyed he that knighthood, for he was at the same field slain. After he had died, and the Earl of Warwick being in his embassy about the before mentioned marriage, this poor lady made humble suit unto the King that she might be restored unto such small lands as her late husband had given her during their marriage. Whom when the King beheld and heard her speak, as she was both fair, of a good favor, moderate of stature, well made and very wise, he not only pitied her, but also grew enamored with her. And taking her afterward secretly aside, began to enter into talking more familiarly. Whose appetite, when she perceived it, she virtuously denied him. But that did she so wisely, and with so good manner, and words so well set, that she rather kindled his desire than quenched it. And finally after many a meeting, much wooing, and many great promises, she well spied the King's affection toward her so greatly increased that she dared somewhat the more boldly say her mind, as to him whose heart she perceived more firmly set than to fall off for a word. And in conclusion she showed him plain that as she knew herself too simple to be his wife, so thought she herself too good to be his concubine. The King, much marveling at her constancy, as he that had not been wont elsewhere to be so stiffly told nay, so much esteemed her continence and chastity that he set her virtue in the place of possession and riches. And thus taking counsel of his desire, determined in all possible haste to marry her. And after he was thus resolved, and there had between them an agreement been assured, then asked he counsel of his other friends, and in such manner, as they might easily perceive it remedied not greatly to say nay.

The History of King Richard the Third by Thomas More. According to this device, Doctor Shaa, the Sunday after, at Paul's Cross in a great audience (as always assembled great numbers to his preaching), he took for his theme Spuria vitulamina non agent radices altas, that is to say, "bastard slips shall never take deep root." Thereupon, when he had showed the great grace that God gives and secretly grants in right generation after the laws of matrimony, then declared he that commonly those children lacked that grace and, for the punishment of their parents, were for the most part unhappy, who were begotten in bastardy and especially in adultery. Of which, though some by the ignorance of the world and the truth hid from knowledge inherited for the time other men's lands, yet God always so provides that it continues not in their blood long, but the truth coming to light, the rightful inheritors be restored, and the bastard slip pulled up before it can be rooted deep. And when he had laid for the proof and confirmation of this sentence certain examples taken out of the Old Testament and other ancient histories, then began he to descend into the praise of the Lord Richard, late Duke of York, calling him father to the Lord Protector, and declared the title of his heirs unto the crown, to whom it was, after the death of King Henry the Sixth, entailed by authority of Parliament. Then showed he that his very right heir, of his own body lawfully begotten, was the Lord Protector alone. For he declared then, King Edward was never lawfully married unto the Queen, but was before God husband unto Dame Elizabeth Lucy, and so his children bastards. And besides that, neither King Edward himself, nor the Duke of Clarence, among those that were secret in the household, were reckoned very surely for the children of the noble Duke, as those that by their favors more resembled other known men than him, from whose virtuous conditions he said also that King Edward was far off. But the Lord Protector, he said, that very noble prince, the special pattern of knightly prowess, as well in all princely behavior as in the lineaments and favor of his appearance, represented the very face of the noble duke, his father. "This is," said he, "the father's own figure; this is his own countenance, the very print of his visage, the sure undoubted image, the plain express likeness of that noble duke."

Grammont. The Duke of York consented, and Lord Falmouth having assembled both his counsel and his witnesses, conducted them to his royal highness's cabinet, after having instructed them how to act: these gentlemen were the Earl of Arran, Jermyn, Talbot, and Killegrew, all men of honour; but who infinitely preferred the Duke of York's interest to Miss Hyde's reputation, and who, besides, were greatly dissatisfied, as well as the whole court, at the insolent authority of the prime minister. The duke having told them, after a sort of preamble, that although they could not be ignorant of his affection for Miss Hyde, yet they might be unacquainted with the engagements his tenderness for her had induced him to contract; that he thought himself obliged to perform all the promises he had made her; but as the innocence of persons of her age was generally exposed to court scandal, and as certain reports, whether false or true, had been spread abroad on the subject of her conduct, he conjured them as his friends, and charged them upon their duty, to tell him sincerely every thing they knew upon the subject, since he was resolved to make their evidence the rule of his conduct towards her. They all appeared rather reserved at first, and seemed not to dare to give their opinions upon an affair of so serious and delicate a nature; but the Duke of York having renewed his entreaties, each began to relate the particulars of what he knew, and perhaps of more than he knew, of poor Miss Hyde; nor did they omit any circumstance necessary to strengthen the evidence. For instance, the Earl of Arran, who spoke first, deposed, that in the gallery at Honslaerdyk, where the Countess of Ossory, his sister-in-law, and Jermyn, were playing at nine-pins, Miss Hyde, pretending to be sick, retired to a chamber at the end of the gallery; that he, the deponent, had followed her, and having cut her lace, to give a greater probability to the pretence of the vapours, he had acquitted himself to the best of his abilities, both to assist and to console her.

Talbot said, that she had made an appointment with him in the chancellor's cabinet, while he was in council; and, that not paying so much attention to what was upon the table, as to what they were engaged in, they had spilled a bottle full of ink upon a despatch of four pages, and that the king's monkey, which was blamed for this accident, had been a long time in disgrace.

Jermyn mentioned many places where he had received long and favourable audiences: however, all these articles of accusation amounted only to some delicate familiarities, or at most, to what is generally denominated the innocent part of an intrigue; but Killegrew, who wished to surpass these trivial depositions, boldly declared that he had had the honour of being upon the most intimate terms with her: he was of a sprightly and witty humour, and had the art of telling a story in the most entertaining manner, by the graceful and natural turn he could give it: he affirmed that he had found the critical minute in a certain closet built over the water, for a purpose very different from that of giving ease to the pains of love: that three or four swans had been witnesses to his happiness, and might perhaps have been witnesses to the happiness of many others, as the lady frequently repaired to that place, and was particularly delighted with it.

The History of King Richard the Third by Thomas More. Then on the morrow after, the Mayor with all the Aldermen and chief commoners of the city, in their best manner appareled, assembling themselves together, resorted unto Baynard's Castle [Map] where the Protector lay. To which place repaired also, according to their appointment, the Duke of Buckingham with diverse noble men with him, besides many knights and other gentlemen. And thereupon, the Duke sent word unto the Lord Protector of there being a great and honorable company to move a great matter unto his Grace.

Whereupon the Protector made difficulty to come out unto them unless he first knew some part of their errand, as though he doubted and partly distrusted the coming of such number unto him so suddenly without any warning or knowledge, whether they came for good or harm. Then the Duke, when he had showed this unto the Mayor and others, that they might thereby see how little the Protector expected this matter, they sent unto him by messenger such loving message again, and therewith so humbly besought him to graciously condescend so that they might come into his presence and propose their intent, of which they would unto none other person any part disclose, that at the last he came forth from his chamber, and yet not down unto them, but stood above in a gallery over them, where they might see him and speak to him, as though he would not yet come too near them till he knew what they meant.

And thereupon the Duke of Buckingham first made humble petition unto him, on behalf of them all, that his Grace would pardon them and give them permission to present unto his Grace the intent of their coming without his displeasure, without which pardon obtained, they dared not be bold to move him of that matter. In which, although they meant as much honor to his Grace as wealth to all the realm beside, yet were they not sure how his Grace would take it, whom they would in no way offend.

Then the Protector, as if he was very gentle himself and also longed sore to know what they meant, gave him leave to propose what he liked, verily trusting, because of the good mind that he bore them all, none of them would intend anything toward him wherewith he ought to be grieved.

When the Duke had this leave and pardon to speak, then grew he bold to show him their intent and purpose, with all the causes moving them thereto, as you before have heard, and finally to beseech his Grace that it would like him of his accustomed goodness and zeal unto the realm, now with his eye of pity, to behold the long continued distress and decay of the same, and to set his gracious hands to the redress and amendment thereof by taking upon him the crown and governance of this realm, according to his right and title lawfully descended unto him, and to the praise of God, profit of the land, and unto his Grace so much the more honor and less pain, in that never a prince reigned upon any people that were so glad to live under his rule as the people of this realm under his.

When the Protector had heard the proposition, he looked very strangely thereat and answered that although he partly knew the things by them alleged to be true, yet such entire love he bore unto King Edward and his children, that he so much more regarded his honor in other realms than the crown of any one, of which he was never desirous, that he could not find in his heart in this point to incline to their desire. For in all other nations, where the truth was not well known, it should perhaps be thought it were his own ambitious mind and device to depose the Prince and take for himself the crown. With such infamy he would not have his honor stained for any crown-a crown that he had ever perceived held much more labor and pain than pleasure to him that so would so use it, and he who would not use it were not worthy to have it. Not withstanding, he not only pardoned them the motion that they made him, but also thanked them for the love and hearty favor they bore him, praying them, for his sake, to give and bear the same to the Prince, under whom he was and would be content to live; and with his labor and counsel, as far as should the King like to use him, he would do his uttermost duty to set the realm in good state, which was already in this little while of his protectorship (the praise given to God) well begun, in that the malice of such as were before occasion of the contrary-and of new intended to be-were now, partly by good policy, partly more by God's special providence than man's provision, repressed.

Upon this answer given, the Duke, by the Protector's permission, a little whispered as well with other noble men about him, as with the Mayor and Recorder of London. And after that, upon like pardon desired and obtained, he showed aloud unto the Protector, for a final conclusion, that the realm was resolved King Edward's line should not any longer reign upon them, both because they had gone so far that there was now no safety to retreat, and because they thought it for the common good to take that way, although they had not yet begun it. Wherefore, if it would please his Grace to take the crown upon him, they would humbly beseech him thereunto. If he would give them a resolute answer to the contrary, which they would be loath to hear, then they must needs seek, and should not fail to find, some other noble man that would.

These words much moved the Protector, who else, as every man may know, would never of likelihood have inclined thereunto. But when he saw there was none other way, but either he must take it or else he and his both must go from it, he said unto the lords and commons: "Since we perceive well that all the realm is so set-whereof we be very sorry they will not suffer in any way King Edward's line to govern them, whom no earthly man can govern against their wills-and because we also perceive well that no man is there to whom the crown can by so just title appertain as to ourself as very right heir, lawfully begotten of the body of our most dear father, Richard, late Duke of York-to which title is now joined your election, the nobles and commons of this realm, which we of all titles possible take for most effectual-we be content and agree favorably to incline to your petition and request, and according to the same, here we take upon us the royal estate, preeminence, and kingdom of the two noble realms, England and France: the one from this day forward by us and our heirs to rule, govern and defend; the other, by God's grace and your good help, to get again and subdue and establish forever in due obedience unto this realm of England-the advancement-whereof we never ask of God longer to live than we intend to procure."

With this there was a great shout, crying, "Richard! King Richard!" And then the lords went up to the King (for so was he from that time called) and the people departed, talking diversely of the matter, every man as his fancy gave him.

But much they talked and marveled of the manner of this dealing, that the matter was on both parts made so strange, as though neither had ever communed thereof with the other before, when that they themselves well knew there was no man so dull who heard them, but he perceived well enough that all the matter was made between them. However, some excused that again and said all must be done in good order. And men must sometimes for the sake of manner not acknowledge what they know. For at the consecration of a bishop, every man knows well by the paying for his bulls that he purposes to be one, even though he pay for nothing else. And yet must he be twice asked whether he will be bishop or not, and he must twice say nay, and at the third time take it as compelled thereunto by his own will. And in a stage play all the people know right well that he who plays the sultan is perchance a shoemaker. Yet if one should be so foolish as to show out of turn what acquaintance he really has with him, and call him by his own name while he acts as his majesty, one of his tormentors might, by chance, break his head, and do so rightly for marring of the play. And so they said that these matters be kings' games, as it were, stage plays, and for the most part played upon scaffolds, in which poor men be but the on-lookers. And they that wise be, will meddle no further. For they who sometimes step up and play with them, when they cannot play their parts, they disorder the play and do themselves no good.

Grammont. But before we enter into the particulars of this adventure, let us take a retrospect of the amours of his royal highness, prior to the declaration of his marriage, and particularly of what immediately preceded this declaration. It is allowable sometimes to drop the thread of a narrative, when real facts, not generally known, give such a variety upon the digression as to render it excusable: let us see then how those things happened.

The Duke of York's marriage with the chancellor's daughter was deficient in none of those circumstances which render contracts of this nature valid in the eye of heaven: the mutual inclination, the formal ceremony, witnesses, and every essential point of matrimony, had been observed.

Though the bride was no perfect beauty, yet, as there were none at the court of Holland who eclipsed her, the duke, during the first endearments of matrimony, was so far from repenting of it, that he seemed only to wish for the king's restoration, that he might have an opportunity of declaring it with splendour; but when he saw himself enjoying a rank which placed him so near the throne; when the possession of Miss Hyde afforded him no new charms; when England, so abounding in beauties, displayed all that was charming and lovely in the court of the king his brother; and when he considered he was the only prince, who, from such superior elevation, had descended so low, he began to reflect upon it. On the one hand, his marriage appeared to him particularly ill suited in every respect: he recollected that Jermyn had not engaged him in an intimacy with Miss Hyde, until he had convinced him, by several different circumstances, of the facility of succeeding: he looked upon his marriage as an infringement of that duty and obedience he owed to the king; the indignation with which the court, and even the whole kingdom, would receive the account of his marriage, presented itself to his imagination, together with the impossibility of obtaining the king's consent to such an act, which for a thousand reasons he would be obliged to refuse. On the other hand, the tears and despair of poor Miss Hyde presented themselves; and still more than that, he felt a remorse of conscience, the scruples of which began from that time to rise up against him.

In the midst of this perplexity he opened his heart to Lord Falmouth, and consulted with him what method he ought to pursue. He could not have applied to a better man for his own interests, nor to a worse for Miss Hyde's; for at first, Falmouth maintained not only that he was not married, but that it was even impossible that he could ever have formed such a thought; that any marriage was invalid for him, which was made without the king's consent, even if the party was a suitable match: but that it was a mere jest, even to think of the daughter of an insignificant lawyer, whom the favour of his sovereign had lately made a peer of the realm, without any noble blood, and chancellor, without any capacity; that as for his scruples, he had only to give ear to some gentlemen whom he could introduce, who would thoroughly inform him of Miss Hyde's conduct, before he became acquainted with her; and provided he did not tell them that he really was married, he would soon have sufficient grounds to come to a determination.

Grammont. The court, as we have mentioned before, was an entire scene of gallantry and amusements, with all the politeness and magnificence, which the inclinations of a prince, naturally addicted to tenderness and pleasure, could suggest; the beauties were desirous of charming, and the men endeavoured to please; all studied to set themselves off to the best advantage; some distinguished themselves by dancing; others by show and magnificence; some by their wit, many by their amours, but few by their constancy. There was a certain Italian at court, famous for the guitar; he had a genius for music, and he was the only man who could make any thing of the guitar: his style of play was so full of grace and tenderness, that he would have given harmony to the most discordant instruments. The truth is, nothing was so difficult as to play like this foreigner. The king's relish for his compositions had brought the instrument so much into vogue, that every person played upon it, well or ill; and you were as sure to see a guitar on a lady's toilette, as rouge or patches. The Duke of York played upon it tolerably well, and the Earl of Arran like Francisco himself. This Francisco had composed a saraband, which either charmed or infatuated every person; for the whole guitarery at court were trying at it, and God knows what an universal strumming there was. The Duke of York, pretending not to be perfect in it, desired Lord Arran to play it to him. Lady Chesterfield had the best guitar in England. The Earl of Arran, who was desirous of playing his best, conducted his royal highness to his sister's apartments; she was lodged at court, at her father's, the Duke of Ormond's, and this wonderful guitar was lodged there too. Whether this visit had been preconcerted or not, I do not pretend to say; but it is certain that they found both the lady and the guitar at home; they likewise found there Lord Chesterfield, so much surprised at this unexpected visit, that it was a considerable time before he thought of rising from his seat, to receive them with due respect.

Jealousy, like a malignant vapour, now seized upon his brain; a thousand suspicions, blacker than ink, took possession of his imagination, and were continually increasing; for whilst the brother played upon the guitar to the duke, the sister ogled and accompanied him with her eyes, as if the coast had been clear, and no enemy to observe them. This saraband was at least repeated twenty times; the duke declared it was played to perfection. Lady Chesterfield found fault with the composition; but her husband, who clearly perceived that he was the person played upon, thought it a most detestable piece. However, though he was in the last agony, at being obliged to curb his passion, while others gave a free scope to theirs, he was resolved to find out the drift of the visit; but it was not in his power; for having the honour to be chamberlain to the queen, a messenger came to require his immediate attendance on her majesty. His first thought was to pretend sickness; the second to suspect that the queen, who sent for him at such an unseasonable time, was in the plot; but at last, after all the extravagant ideas of a suspicious man, and all the irresolutions of a jealous husband, he was obliged to go.

We may easily imagine what his state of mind was when he arrived at the palace. Alarms are to the jealous, what disasters are to the unfortunate: they seldom come alone, but form a series of persecution. He was informed that he was sent for to attend the queen at an audience she gave to seven or eight Muscovite ambassadors: he had scarce begun to curse the Muscovites, when his brother-in-law appeared, and drew upon himself all the imprecations he bestowed upon the embassy: he no longer doubted his being in the plot with the two persons he had left together; and in his heart sincerely wished him such recompense for his good offices as such good offices deserved. It was with great difficulty that he restrained himself from immediately acquainting him what was his opinion of such conduct: he thought that what he had already seen was a 'sufficient proof of his wife's infidelity; but before the end of the very same day, some circumstances occurred, which increased his suspicions, and persuaded him, that they had taken advantage of his absence, and of the honourable officiousness of his brother-in-law. He passed, however, that night with tranquillity; but the next morning, being reduced, to the necessity either of bursting or giving vent to his sorrows and conjectures, he did nothing but think and walk about the room until Park-time. He went to court, seemed very busy, as if seeking for some person or other, imagining that people guessed at the subject of his uneasiness: he avoided every body; but at length meeting with Hamilton, he thought he was the very man that he wanted; and having desired him to take an airing with him in Hyde Park, he took him up in his coach, and they arrived at the Ring, without a word having passed between them.