The History of King Richard the
Third
Sir
Thomas More
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T h e
h i s t o r y
o f k i n g
R i -
chard the thirde
(vnfinished) written by Master
Thomas More than one of the vndersherriffs of
London: a-
bout the
yeare of our Lorde, 1513. VVhich worke
hath
bene before this tyme printed in
hardynges Cronicle, and
in Hallys Cronicle: but
very muche corrupte in many
places, sometyme
hauyng lesse, and sometyme ha-
uing more, and
altered in wordes and whole
sentences: muche
varying fro the co-
pie of his own hand, by
which
thys is printed.
Yng Edwarde of that name the fowrth, after that
hee hadde lyued fiftie and three yeares, seven
monethes, and five dayes, and thereof reygned two and
twentye yeres, one moneth, and eighte dayes, dyed at
Westmynster the nynth daye of Aprill, the yere of oure
redempcion, a thowsande foure houndred foure score and
three, leavinge muche fayre yssue, that is to witte,
Edwarde the Prynce, a thirtene yeare of age: Richarde
duke of Yorke, two yeare younger: Elizabeth, whose
fortune and grace was after to bee Quene, wife unto
kinge Henrie the seuenth, and mother unto the eighth:
Cecily not so fortunate as fayre: Brigette, whiche
representynge the vertue of her, whose name she bare,
professed and obserued a religious lyfe in Dertforde,
an house of close Nunnes: Anne, that was after
honourablye marryed unto Thomas, than Lorde Hawarde,
and after Earle of Surrey. And Katheryne whiche longe
tyme tossed in either fortune sommetime in wealth,
ofte in aduersitye, at the laste, if this bee the
laste, for yet she lyveth, is by the benignitye of her
Nephewe, Kinge Henrye the eighte, in verye prosperous
estate, and woorthye her birth and vertue.
This noble Prince
deceased at his Palice of Westminster, and with greate
funerall honoure and heavynesse of his people from
thence conueyde, was entered at Windesor. A Kinge of
such governaunce and behauioure in time of peace (for
in war eche parte must needes bee others enemye) that
there was never anye Prince of this lande attaynynge
the Crowne by battayle, so heartely beloued with the
substaunce of the people: nor he hymselfe so
speciallye in anye parte of his life, as at the time
of his death. Whiche fauour and affection yet after
his decease, by the crueltie, mischiefe, and trouble
of the tempestious worlde that folowed, highelye
towarde hym more increased. At suche time as he died,
the displeasure of those that bare him grudge, for
kinge Henries sake the sixte, whome he deposed, was
well asswaged, and in effecte quenched, in that that
manye of them were dead in more then twentie yeares of
his raigne, a great parte of a longe lyfe. And many of
them in the meane season growen into his fauoure, of
whiche he was neuer straunge. He was a goodly
parsonage,
| Descripcion of Edwarde the fourth |
and very Princely to behold, of hearte couragious,
politique in counsaile, in aduersitie nothynge
abashed, in prosperitie, rather ioyfull than prowde,
in peace iuste and mercifull, in warre, sharpe and
fyerce, in the fielde, bolde and hardye, and
nathelesse no farther then wysedome woulde,
aduenturouse. Whose warres who so well consyder, hee
shall no lesse commende hys wysedome where hee voyded,
than hys mannehoode where he vainquished. He was of
visage lovelye, of bodye myghtie, stronge, and cleane
made: howe bee it in his latter dayes wyth over
liberall dyet, sommewhat corpulente and boorelye, and
nathelesse not uncomelye, hee was of youthe greatelye
geuen to fleshlye wantonnesse: from whiche healthe of
bodye in greate prosperitye and fortune, withoute a
specyall grace hardelye refrayneth. Thys faute not
greatlye gryued the people: for neyther could any one
mans pleasure, stretch and extende to the dyspleasure
of verye manye, and was wythoute violence, and ouer
that in hys latter dayes: lessyd and wel lefte. In
whych tyme of hys latter daies, thys Realm was in
quyet and prosperous estate: no feare of outewarde
enemyes, no warre in hande, nor none towarde, but such
as no manne looked for: the people towarde the Prynce,
not in a constrayned feare, but in a wyllynge and
louynge obedyence: amonge them selfe, the commons in
good peace. The Lordes whome he knewe at Varyaunce,
hymselfe in hys deathe bedde appeased. He hadde left
all gatherynge of money (which is the onelye thynge
that withdr[a]weth the heartes of Englyshmenne fro the
Prynce) nor anye thynge entendeth hee to take in
hande, by which hee shoulde bee dryeuen
theretoo, for hys Trybute oute of Fraunce hee hadde
before obtayned. And the yere foregoynge hys deathe,
hee hadde obtayned Barwycke. And al bee it that all
the tyme of hys raygne, hee was wyth hys people, soo
benygne, courteyse and so familyer, that no parte of
hys vertues was more estemed: yet that condicyon in
the ende of hys dayes (in which many princes by a long
continued souerainty, decline in to a prowde porte
from debonayre behauioure of theyr beginning
(meruaylouslye in him greive and increased: so
farrefoorthe that in the sommer the laste that euer he
sawe, hys hyghenesse beeyng at Wyndesore in huntynge,
sente for the Mayre and Aldermenne of London to hym,
for none other eraunde, but too haue them hunte and
bee mery with hym, where hee made them not so
stratelye, but so frendely and so familier chere, and
sente Venson from thence so frelye into the Citye,
that no one thing in manye dayes before, gate hym
eyther moe heartes or more heartie fauoure amonge the
common people, whiche oftentymes more esteme and take
for greatter kindenesse, a lyttle courtesye, then a
greate benefyte. So deceased (as I haue said) this
noble Kynge, in that tyme, in which hys life was moste
desyred. Whose love of hys people and theyr entiere
affeccion towarde him, hadde bene to hys noble
children (havynge in themselfe also as manye gyftes of
nature, as manie Princely vertues, as muche goodlye
towardnesse as theire age coulde receiue) a
meruailouse forteresse and sure armoure, if deuision
and discencion of their frendes, hadde not unarmed
them, and lefte them destitute, and the execrable
desire of souerayntee, prouoked him to theire
destruccion, which yf either kinde or kindenesse hadde
holden place, muste needes haue bene theire chiefe
defence. For Richarde the Duke of Gloucester, by
nature theyr Uncle, by office theire protectoure, to
theire father beholden, to them selfe by othe and
allegyaunce bownden, al the bandes broken that binden
manne and manne together, withoute anye respecte of
Godde or the worlde, unnaturallye contriued to bereue
them, not onelye their dignitie, but also their liues.
But forasmuche as this Dukes demeanoure ministreth in
effecte all the whole matter whereof this booke shall
entreate, it is therefore conueniente, sommewhat to
shewe you ere we farther goe, what maner of manne this
was, that could fynde in his hearte, so muche
mischiefe to conceiue.
Richarde Duke of Yorke,
a noble manne and a mightie,
beganne not by warre, but by lawe, to challenge the
crown, puttyng his claime into the parliamente. Where
hys cause was eyther for right or fauour so
farrefoorth auaunced, that kinge Henrye his bloode
(all bee it he hadde a goodlye Prince) vtterlye
reiected, the Crowne was by authoritye of parliament
entaylled vnto the Duke of York and his issue male in
remainder immediatelye after the deathe of Kinge
Henrye. But the Duke not endurynge so longe to tarye,
but entending vnder pretexte of discencion and debate
arisynge in the realme, to preuente his time, and take
vppon him the rule in Kinge Harry his life, was with
manye nobles of the realme at Wakefielde slaine,
leauinge three sonnes, Edwarde, George, and Richarde.
Al three as they wer great states of birthe, soo were
they greate and statelye of stomacke, gredye and
ambicious of authoritie, and
impacient of parteners. Edward reuenging his fathers
death, depriued king Henrie, and attained the crown.
George Duke of Clarence was a goodly noble Prince, and
at all pointes fortunate, if either his owne ambicion
had not set him against his brother, or the enuie of
his enemies, his brother agaynste hym.
For were it by the Queene and the Lordes of her bloode
whiche highlye maligned the kynges kinred (as women
commonly not of malice but of nature hate them whome
theire housebandes loue) or were it a prowde appetite
of the Duke himself entendinge to be king: at the lest
wise heinous Treason was there layde to his charge,
and finallye wer hee fautye were hee faultlesse,
attainted was hee by parliament, and iudged to the
death, and thereupon hastely drouned in a Butte of
Malmesey, whose death kyng Edwarde (albeit he
commaunded it) when he wist it was done, pitiously
bewailed and sorowfully repented.
| The
descripcion of Richard the thirde |
Richarde the third sonne,
of whom we nowe entreate, was in witte and courage
egall with either of them, in bodye and prowesse farre
vnder them bot, little of stature, ill fetured of
limmes, croke backed, his left shoulder much higher
then his right, hard fauoured of visage, and suche as
is in states called warlye, in other menne otherwise,
he was malicious, wrathfull, enuious, and from afore
his birth, euer frowarde. It is for trouth reported,
that the Duches his mother had so muche a doe in her
travaile, that shee coulde not bee deliuered of hym
uncutte: and that hee came into the worlde with the
feete forwarde, as menne bee borne outwarde, and (as
the fame runneth) also not vntothed, whither menne of
hatred reporte aboue the trouthe, or elles that nature
chaunged her course in hys beginninge, whiche in the
course of his lyfe many thinges vnnaturallye
committed. None euill captaine was hee in the warre,
as to whiche his disposicion was more metely then for
peace. Sundrye victories hadde hee, and sommetime
ouerthrowes, but neuer in defaulte as for his owne
parsone, either of hardinesse or polytike order, free
was he called of dyspence, and sommewhat aboue hys
power liberall, with large giftes hee get him
vnstedfaste frendshippe, for whiche hee was fain to
pil and spoyle in other places, and get him stedfast
hatred. Hee was close and secrete, a deepe dissimuler,
lowlye, of counteynaunce, arrogant of heart, outwardly
coumpinable where he inwardely hated, not letting to
kisse whome hee thoughte to kyll: dispitious and
cruell, not for euill will alway, but after for
ambicion, and either for the suretie or encrease of
his estate. Frende and foo was muche what indifferent,
where his advauntage grew, he spared no man deathe,
whose life withstoode his purpose. He slewe with his
owne handes king Henry the sixt, being prisoner in the
Tower, as menne
| The
death of king Henry the sixt |
constantly saye, and that without commaundemente or
knoweledge of the king, whiche woulde vndoubtedly yf
he had entended that thinge, haue appointed that
boocherly office, to some other than his owne borne
brother.
Somme wise menne also weene, that his drifte couertly
conuayde, lacked not in helping furth his brother of
Clarence to his death: whiche hee resisted openly,
howbeit somewhat (as menne demed) more faintly then he
that wer hartely minded to his welth. And they that
thus deme, think that he long time in king Edwardes
life, forethought to be king in case that that king
his brother (whose life hee looked that euil dyete
shoulde shorten) shoulde happen to decease (as in dede
he did) while his children wer yonge. And thei deme,
that for thys intente he was gladde of his brothers
death that Duke of Clarence, whose life must nedes
haue hindered hym so entendynge, whither the same Duke
of Clarence had he kepte him true to his Nephew the
yonge king, or enterprised to be kyng himselfe. But of
al this pointe, is there no certaintie, & whoso
diuineth vppon coniectures, maye as wel shote to farre
as to short. How beit this haue I by credible
informacion learned, that the selfe nighte in whiche
kynge Edwarde died, one Mystlebrooke longe ere
mornynge, came in greate haste to the house of one
Pottyer dwellyng in reddecrosse strete without
crepulgate: and when he was with hastye rappyng
quickly letten in, hee shewed vnto Pottyer that kynge
Edwarde was departed. By my trouthe manne quod Pottier
then wyll my mayster the Duke of Gloucester bee kynge.
What cause hee hadde soo to thynke harde it is to
saye, whyther hee being toward him, anye thynge knewe
that hee suche thynge purposed, or otherwyse had anye
inkelynge thereof: for hee was not likelye to speake
it of noughte.
But nowe to returne to the course of this hystorye,
were it that the duke of Gloucester hadde of olde
foreminded this conclusion, or was nowe at erste
thereunto moued, and putte in hope by the occasion of
the tender age of the younge Princes, his Nephues (as
opportunitye and lykelyhoo[d]e of spede, putteth a
manne in courage of that hee neuer entended) certayn
is it that hee contriued theyr destruccion, with the
vsurpacion of the regal dignitye uppon hymselfe. And
for as muche as hee well wiste and holpe to mayntayn,
a long continued grudge and hearte brennynge betwene
the Quenes kinred and the kinges blood eyther partye
enuying others authoritye, he nowe thought that their
deuision shoulde bee (as it was in dede) a fortherlye
begynnynge to the pursuite of his intente, and a sure
ground for the foundacion of al his building yf he
might firste vnder the pretext of reuengynge of olde
displeasure, abuse the anger and ygnoraunce of the
tone partie, to the destruccion of the tother: and
then wynne to his purpose as manye as he coulde: and
those that coulde not bee wonne, myght be loste ere
they looked therefore. For of one thynge was hee
certayne, that if his entente were perceiued, he shold
soone haue made peace beetwene the bothe parties, with
his owne bloude.
Kynge Edwarde in his
life, albeit that this discencion beetwene hys frendes
sommewhat yrked hym: yet in his good health he
sommewhat the lesse regarded it, because hee thought
whatsoeuer busines shoulde falle betwene them,
hymselfe should alwaye bee hable to rule bothe the
parties.
But in his laste sickenesse, when hee receiued his
naturall strengthe soo fore enfebled, that hee
dyspayred all recouerye, then hee consyderynge the
youthe of his chyldren, albeit hee nothynge lesse
mistrusted then that that happened, yet well
foreseynge that manye harmes myghte growe by theyr
debate, whyle the youth of hys children shoulde lacke
discrecion of themself and good counsayle, of their
frendes, of whiche either party shold counsayle for
their owne commodity and rather by pleasaunte aduyse
too wynne themselfe fauour, then by profitable
aduertisemente to do the children good, he called some
of them before him that were at variaunce, and in
especiall the Lorde Marques Dorsette the Quenes sonne
by her fyrste housebande, and Richarde the Lorde
Hastynges, a noble man, than lorde chaumberlayne
agayne whome the Quene specially grudged, for that
great fauoure the kyng bare hym, and also for that
shee thoughte hym secretelye familyer with the kynge
in wanton companye. Her kynred also bare hym sore, as
well for that the kynge hadde made hym captayne of
Calyce (whiche office the Lorde Ryuers, brother to the
Quene claimed of the kinges former promyse as for
diuerse other greate giftes whiche hee recyued, that
they loked for. When these lordes with diuerse other
of bothe the parties were comme in presence, the kynge
liftinge vppe himselfe and vndersette with pillowes,
as it is reported on this wyse sayd vnto them. My
Lordes, my
| The
oracion of the kyng, in his death bed |
dere kinsmenne and allies, in what plighte I lye you
see, & I feele. By whiche the lesse whyle I looke
to lyue with you, the more depelye am I moued to care
in what case I leaue you, for such as I leaue you,
suche bee my children lyke to fynde you. Whiche if
they shoulde (that Godde forbydde) fynde you at
varyaunce, myght happe to fall themselfe at warre ere
their discrecion would serue to sette you at peace. Ye
se their youthe, of whiche I recken the onely suretie
to reste in youre concord. For it suffiseth not that
al you loue them, yf eche of you hate other. If they
wer menne, your faithfulnesse happelye woulde suffise.
But childehood must be maintained by mens authoritye,
& slipper youth vnderpropped with elder counsayle,
which neither they can haue, but ye geue it, nor ye
geue it, yf ye gree not. For wher eche laboureth to
breake that the other maketh, and for hated of ech
others parson, impugneth eche others counsayle, there
must it nedes bee long ere anye good conclusion goe
forwarde. And also while either partye laboureth to
bee chiefe, flattery shall haue more place then plaine
and faithfull aduyse, of whyche muste needes ensue the
euyll bringing vppe of the Prynce, whose mynd in
tender youth infect, shal redily fal to mischief and
riot, & drawe [down] with this noble realme to
ruine, but if grace turn him to wisdom: which if god
send, then thei that by euill menes before pleased him
best, shal after fall farthest out of fauour, so that
euer at length euil driftes drewe to nought, &
good plain wayes prosper. Great variaunce hath ther
long bene betwene you, not alway for great causes.
Some time a thing right wel intended, our
misconstruccion turneth vnto worse or a smal
displeasure done vs, eyther our owne affeccion or euil
tongues agreueth. But this wote I well ye neuer had so
great cause of hatred, as ye haue of loue. That we be
al men, that we be christen men, this shall I leaue
for preachers to tel you (and yet I wote nere whither
any preachers woordes ought more to moue you, then his
that is by and by gooying to the place that thei all
preache of.) But this that I desire you to remember,
that the one parte of you is of my bloode, the other
of myne alies, and eche of yow with other, eyther of
kinred or affinitie, whiche spirytuall kynred of
affynyty, if the sacramentes of Christes Churche,
beare that weyghte with vs that woulde Godde thei did,
shoulde no lesse moue vs to charitye, then the
respecte of fleshlye consanguinitye. Dure Lorde
forbydde, that you loue together the worse, for the
selfe cause that you ought to loue the better. And yet
that happeneth. And no where fynde wee so deadlye
debate, as amonge them, whyche by nature and lawe
moste oughte to agree together. Suche a pestilente
serpente
is ambicion and desyre of vaineglorye and soueraintye,
whiche amonge states where he once entreth crepeth
foorth so farre, tyll with deuision and variaunce hee
turneth all to mischiefe. Firste longing to be nexte
the best, afterwarde egall with the beste, and at
laste chiefe and aboue the beste. Of which immoderate
appetite of woorship, and thereby of debate and
dissencion what losse what sorowe, what trouble hathe
within these fewe yeares growen in this realme, I
praye Godde as well forgeate as wee well remember.
Whiche thinges yf I coulde as well haue foresene, as I
haue with my more payne then pleasure proued, by
Goddes blessed Ladie (that was euer his othe) I woulde
neuer haue won the courtesye of mennes knees, with the
losse of soo many heades. But sithen thynges passed
canot be gaine called, muche oughte wee the more
beware, by what occasion we haue taken soo greate
hurte afore, that we eftesoones fall not in that
occasion agayne. Nowe be those griefes passed, and all
is (Godde bee thanked) quiete, and likelie righte wel
to prosper in wealthfull peace vnder youre coseyns my
children, if Godde sende them life and you loue. Of
whyche twoo thinges, the lesse losse wer they by whome
thoughe Godde dydde hys pleasure, yet shoulde the
Realme alway finde kinges and paraduenture as good
kinges. But yf you among youre selfe in a childes
reygne fall at debate, many a good man shal perish and
happely he to, and ye to, ere thys land finde peace
again. Wherefore in these last wordes that euer I
looke to speake with you: I exhort you and require you
al, for the loue that I haue euer born to you, for the
loue that our lord beareth to vs all, from this time
forwarde, all grieues forgotten, eche of you loue
other. Whiche I verelye truste you will, if ye any
thing earthly regard, either godde or your kinge,
affinitie or kinred, this realme, your owne countrey,
or your owne surety. And therewithal the king no
longer enduring to to sitte vp, laide him down on his
right side, his face towarde them: and none was there
present that coulde refraine from weeping. But the
lordes recomforting him with as good wordes as they
could, and answering for the time as thei thought to
stand with his pleasure, there in his presence (as by
their wordes appered ech forgaue other, & ioyned
their hands together, when (as it after appeared by
their dedes) their herts, wer far a sonder. As sone as
the king was departed, that noble prince his sonne
drew toward London, which at the time of his decease,
kept his houshold at Ludlow in wales. Which countrey
being far of from the law and recourse to iustice, was
begon to be farre out of good wyll & waxen wild,
robbers and riuers walking at libertie vncorrected.
And for this encheason the prince was in the life of
his father sente thither, to the end that the
authoritie of his presence, should refraine euil
disposed parsons from the boldnes of their formar
outrages, to the governaunce and ordering of this yong
prince at his sending thyther, was there appointed sir
Antony Woduile Lord Riuers
and brother unto the Quene, a right honourable man, as
valiaunte of hande as politike in counsayle. Adioyned
wer there vnto him other of the same partie, and in
effect euery one as he was nerest of kin vnto the
Quene, so was planted next about the prince. That
drifte by the Quene not vnwisely deuised, whereby her
bloode mighte of youth be rooted in the princes fauor,
the Duke of Gloucester turned vnto their destruccion,
& vpon that grounde set the foundacion of all his
vnhappy building. For whom soeuer he perceiued, either
at variance with them, or bearing himself their fauor,
hee brake vnto them, some by mouth, som by writing
& secret messengers, that it neyther was reason
nor in any wise to be suffered, that the yong king
their master and kinsmanne, shoold bee in the handes
and suctodye of his mothers kinred, sequestred in
maner from theyr compani & attendance, of which
eueri one ought him as faithful seruice as they, and
manye of them far more honorable part of kin then his
mothers side: whose blood (quod he) sauing the kinges
pleasure, was ful unmetely to be matched with his:
whiche nowe to be as who say remoued from the kyng,
& the lesse noble to be left aboute him, is (quod
he) neither honorable to hys magestie, nor vnto vs,
and also to his grace no surety to haue the mightiest
of his frendes from him, and vnto vs no little
ieopardy, to suffer our wel proued euil willers, to
grow in ouergret authoritie with the prince in youth,
namely which is lighte of beliefe and sone perswaded.
Ye remember I trow king Edward himself, albeit he was
a manne of age and of discrecion, yet was he in manye
thynges ruled by the bende, more then stode either
with his honour, or our profite, or with the comoditie
of any manne els, except onely the immoderate
advauncement of them selfe. Whiche whither they sorer
thirsted after their own weale, or our woe, it wer
hard I wene to gesse. And if some folkes frendship had
not holden better place with the king, then any
respect of kinred, thei might peraduenture easily haue
be trapped and brought to confusion somme of vs ere
this. Why not as easily as they haue done some other
alreadye, as neere of his royal bloode as we. But our
lord hath wrought his wil, and thanke be to his grace
that peril is paste. Howe be it as great is growing,
yf wee suffer this yonge kyng in our enemyes hande,
whiche without his wyttyng, might abuse the name of
his commaundement, to ani of our vndoing, which thyng
god and good prouision forbyd. Of which good prouision
none of vs hath any thing the lesse nede, for the late
made attonemente, in whyche the kinges pleasure hadde
more place then the parties willes. Nor none of vs I
belieue is so vnwyse, ouersone to truste a newe frende
made of an olde foe, or to think that an houerly
kindnes, sodainely contract in one houre continued,
yet scant a fortnight, shold be deper setled in their
stomackes: then a long accustomed malice many yeres
rooted.
With these wordes and
writynges and suche other, the Duke of Gloucester sone
set a fyre, them that were of themself ethe to kindle,
and in especiall twayne, Edwarde Duke of Buckingham,
and Richard Lord Hastinges and chaumberlayn, both men
of honour and of great power. The tone by longe
succession from his ancestrie, the tother by his
office and the kinges fauor. These two not bearing
eche to other so muche loue, as hatred bothe vnto the
Quenes parte: in this poynte accorded together wyth
the Duke of Gloucester, that they wolde vtterlye amoue
fro the kynges companye, all his mothers frendes,
vnder the name of their enemyes. Upon this concluded,
the Duke of Gloucester vnderstanding, that the Lordes
whiche at that tyme were aboute the kyng, entended to
bryng him vppe to his Coronacion, accoumpanied with
suche power of theyr frendes, that it shoulde bee
harde for him to brynge his purpose to passe, without
the gathering and great assemble of people and in
maner of open warre, wherof the ende he wiste was
doubtuous, and in which the kyng being on their side,
his part should haue the face and name of a rebellion:
he secretly therefore by diuers meanes, caused the
Quene to be perswaded, and brought in the mynd, that
it neither wer nede, & also shold be ieopardous,
the king to come vp strong. For where as nowe euery
lorde loued other, and none other thing studyed vppon,
but about the Coronacion and honoure of the king: if
the lordes of her kinred shold assemble in the kinges
name muche people, thei should geue the lordes atwixte
whome and them hadde bene sommetyme debate, to feare
and suspecte, leste they shoulde gather thys people,
not for the kynges sauegarde whome no manne enpugned,
but for theyr destruccion, hauyng more regarde to
their olde variaunce, then their newe attonement. For
whiche cause thei shoulde assemble on the other partie
muche people agayne for their defence, whose power she
wyste wel farre stretched. And thus should all the
realme fall on a rore. And of al the hurte that therof
should ensue, which was likely not to be litle, and
the most harme there like to fal wher she lest would,
all the worlde woulde put her and her kinred in the
wyght, and say that thei had vnwyselye and vntrewlye
also, broken the amitie and peace that the kyng her
husband so prudentelye made, betwene hys kinne and
hers in his death bed, and whiche the other party
faithfully obserued.
The Quene being in this
wise perswaded, suche woorde sente vnto her sonne, and
vnto her brother being aboute the kynge, and ouer that
the Duke of Gloucester hymselfe and other Lordes the
chiefe of his bende, wrote vnto the kynge soo
reuerentelye, and to the Queenes frendes, there soo
louyngelye, that they nothynge Earthelye mystrustynge,
broughte the Kynge vppe in great haste, not in good
speede, with a sober coumpanye. Nowe was the king in
his waye to London gone, from Northampton, when these
Dukes of Gloucester and Buckyngham came thither. Where
remained behynd, the Lorde Ryuers the Kynges vncle,
entending on the morowe to folow the Kynge, and bee
with hym at Stonye Stratford [eleuen] miles thence,
earely or hee departed. So was there made that nyghte
muche frendely chere betwene these Dukes and the Lord
Riuers a greate while. But incontinente after that
they were oppenlye with greate courtesye departed, and
the Lorde Riuers lodged, the Dukes secretelye with a
fewe of their moste priuye frendes, sette them downe
in counsayle, wherin they spent a great parte of the
nyght. And at their risinge in the dawnyng of the day,
thei sent about priuily to their seruantes in their
Innes and lodgynges about, geuinge the commaundemente
to make them selfe shortely readye, for their Lordes
wer to horsebackward. Vppon whiche messages, manye of
their folke were attendaunt, when manye of the lorde
Riuers seruantes were vnreadye. Nowe hadde these Dukes
taken also into their custodye the kayes of the Inne,
that none shoulde passe foorth without theyr licence.
And ouer this in the high waye towarde Stonye
Stratforde where the Kynge laye, they hadde beestowed
certayne of theyr folke, that shoulde sende backe
agayne, and compell to retourne, anye manne that were
gotten oute of Northampton toward Stonye Stratforde,
tyll they should geue other lycence. For as muche as
the Dukes themselfe entended for the shewe of theire
dylygence, to bee the fyrste that shoulde that daye
attende vppon the Kynges highnesse oute of that towne:
thus bare they folke in hande. But when the Lorde
Ryuers vnderstode the gates closed, and the wayes on
euerye side besette, neyther hys seruanted nor hymself
suffered to gone oute, parceiuyng well so greate a
thyng without his knowledge not begun for noughte,
comparyng this maner present with this last nightes
chere, [in] so few houres so gret a chaunge
marueylouslye misliked. How be it sithe hee coulde not
geat awaye, and keepe himselfe close, hee woulde not,
leste hee shoulde seeme to hyde him selfe for some
secret feare of hys owne faulte, whereof he saw no
such cause in hym self: he determined vppon the
suretie of his own conscience, to goe boldelye to
them, and inquire what thys matter myghte meane. Whome
as soone as they sawe, they beganne to quarell with
hym, and saye, that hee intended to sette distaunce
beetweene the Kynge and them, and to brynge them to
confusion, but it shoulde not lye in hys power. And
when hee beganne (as hee was a very well spoken
manne,) in goodly wise to excuse himself, they taryed
not the ende of his aunswere, but shortely tooke him
and putte him in warde,
| The
Lorde Riuers putte in warde |
and that done, foorthwyth wente to horsebacke, and
took the waye to stonye Stratforde. Where they founde
the kinge with his companie readye to leape on
horsebacke, and departe forwarde, to leaue that
lodging for them, because it was to streighte for
bothe coumpanies. And as sone as they came in his
presence, they lighte adowne with all their companie
aboute them. To whome the Duke of Buckingham saide,
goe afore Gentlemenne and yomen, kepe youre rowmes.
And thus in a goodly arraye, thei came to the kinge,
and on theire knees in very humble wise, salued his
grace: whiche receyued them in very ioyous and amiable
maner, nothinge earthlye knowing nor mistrustinge as
yet. But euen by and by in his presence, they piked a
quarell to the Lord Richard
Graye, the kynges other brother by his mother, sayinge
that hee with the lorde Marques his brother and the
Lorde Riuers his vncle, hadde coumpassed to rule the
kinge and the realme, and to sette variaunce among the
states, and to subdewe and destroye the noble blood of
the realm. Toward the accoumplishinge whereof, they
sayde t[h]at the Lorde Marques hadde entered into the
Tower of London, and thence taken out the kinges
Treasor, and sent menne to the sea. All whiche thinge
these Dukes wiste well were done for good purposes and
necessari by the whole counsaile at London, sauing
that somewhat thei must sai. Vnto whiche woordes, the
king aunswered, what my brother Marques hath done I
cannot saie. But in good faith I dare well aunswere
for myne vncle Riuers and my brother here, that thei
be innocent of any such matters. Ye my leige quod the
Duke of Buckingham thei haue kepte theire dealing in
these matters farre fro the knowledge of your good
grace. And foorthwith thei arrested the Lord Richarde
and sir Thomas Waughan knighte, in the kinges
presence, and broughte the king and all backe vnto
Northampton, where they tooke againe further
counsaile. And there they sente awaie from the kinge
whom it pleased them, and sette newe seruauntes aboute
him, suche as lyked them better than him. At whiche
dealinge hee wepte and was nothing contente, but it
booted not. And at dyner the Duke of Gloucester sente
a dishe from his owne table to the lord Riuers,
prayinge him to bee of good chere, all should be well
inough. And he thanked the Duke, and prayed the
messenger to beare it to his Nephewe the lorde Richard
with the same message for his comfort, who he thought
had more nede of coumfort, as one to whom such
aduersitie was straunge. But himself had bene al his
dayes in vre therwith, and therfore coulde beare it
the better. But for al this coumfortable courtesye of
the Duke of Gloucester he sent the lord Riuers and the
Lorde Richarde with sir Thomas Vaughan into the Northe
countrey
| The
death of the lorde Riuers and other |
into diuers places to prison, and afterward al to
Pomfrait, where they were in conclusion beheaded.
In this wise the Duke of
Gloucester tooke vpon himself the order &
gouernance of the young king, whom with much honor
& humble reuerence he conuayed vppewarde towarde
the citye. But anone the tidinges of this mater came
hastely to the quene, a litle before the midnight
folowing, & that in the sorest wise that the king
her sonne was taken, her brother, her sonne and her
other frendes arested, & sent no man wist whither,
to be done with god wot what. With which tidinges the
quene in gret f[r]ight & heuines, bewailing her
childes r[u]in, her frendes mischance, & her own
infortune, damning the time that euer shee diswaded
the gatheryng of power aboute the kinge, gate her self
in all the haste possible with her yonger sonne and
her doughters oute of the Palyce of westminster in
whiche shee then laye, into the Sainctuarye, lodginge
| The
Quene taketh saintuary |
her selfe and her coumpanye there in the Abbottes
place.
Nowe came there in one likewise not longe after
myddenighte, fro the Lorde Chaumberlayn vnto the arch
bishoppe of Yorke then Chaunceller of Englande to his
place not farre from Westminster. And for that he
shewed his seruauntes that hee hadde tidings of soo
greate importaunce, that his maister gaue him in
charge, not to forbeare his reste, they letted not to
wake hym, nor hee to admitte this messenger in to his
bedde syde. Of whome hee hard, that these dukes were
gone backe with the Kynges grace from Stonye
Stratforde vnto Northampton. Notwithstanding sir quod
hee, my Lorde sendeth youre Lordeshippe woorde, that
there is no feare. For hee assureth you that all shall
bee well. I assure him quod the Archebishoppe bee it
as well as it will, it will neuer bee so well as wee
haue seene it. And thereuppon by and by after the
messenger departed, he caused in all the haste all his
seruauntes to bee called vppe, and so with his owne
householde aboute hym, and euerie man weaponed, hee
tooke the greate Seale with him, and came yet beefore
day vnto the Queene. Aboute whom he found muche
heauinesse, rumble, haste and businesse, carriage and
conueyaunce of her stuffe into Sainctuary, chestes,
coffers, packes, fardelles, trusses, all on mennes
backes, no manne vnoccupyed; somme lading, somme
goynge, somme descharging, somme commynge for more,
somme breakinge downe the walles to bring in the nexte
waye, and somme yet drewe to them that holpe to carrye
a wronge waye. The Quene her self satte alone alowe on
the rishes all desolate and dismayde, whome the
Archebishoppe coumforted in the best manner hee
coulde, showinge her that hee trusted the matter was
nothynge so sore as shee tooke it for. And that he
was putte in good hope and oute of feare, by the
message sent him from the Lorde Chamberlaine. Ah woo
worthe him, quod she, for hee is one of them that
laboureth to destroye me and my bloode. Madame quod
he, be ye of good chere. For I assure you if thei
crowne any other kinge then your sonne, whome they
nowe haue with them, we shal on the morowe crowne his
brother whome you haue here with you. And here is the
greate Seale, whiche in likewise as that noble prince
your housebande deliuered it vnto me, so here I
deliuer it vnto you, to the use and behoofe of youre
sonne, and therewith hee betooke her the greate Seale,
and departed home agayne, yet in the dauninge of the
daye. By which time hee might in his chaumber window,
see all the Temmes full of bootes of the Duke of
Gloucesters seruantes, watchinge that no manne shoulde
go to Sanictuary, nor none coulde pass vnserched. Then
was there greate commocion and murmure aswell in other
places about, as specially in the city, the people
diuerselye diuininge vppon this dealinge. And somme
Lordes, Knightes, and Gentlemenne either for fauoure
of the Quene, or for feare of themselfe, assembled in
sundry coumpanies, and went flockmele in harneis: and
manye also, for that they reckened this demeanor
attempted, not so specially against the other Lordes,
as agaynste the kinge hymselfe in the disturbaunce of
hys Coronacion. But then by and by the Lordes
assembled together at [London]. Towarde which meting,
the Archebishoppe of Yorke fearing that it wold be
ascribed (as it was in dede) to his ouermuch
lightnesse, that he had so sodainly had yelded up the
great seale to the Quene, to whome the custodye
thereof nothing partained, without especial
commaundement, of the king, secretely sent for the
Seale againe, and brought it with him after the
customable maner. And at this meting, the lord
Hasting, whose trouth towarde the king no manne
doubted nor neded to doubte, perswaded the Lordes to
belieue, that the Duke of Gloucester, was sure and
fastlye faithfull to hys prince, and that the lorde
Riuers and Lord Richard with the other knightes wer
for maters attempted by them against the dukes of
Gloucester & Buckingham, putte vnder arreste for
theire surety, not for the Kynges ieopardye: and that
thei were also in savegarde, and there no lenger
shoulde remayn, then tyll the matter wer, not by the
dukes onelye, but also by all the other Lordes of the
Kynges counsayle indifferentelye examyned, and by
other discrecions ordered, and eyther iudged or
appeased. But one thynge hee aduised them beware, that
they iudged not the matter to farrefoorth, ere they
knewe the trueth, nor turnynge theire priuate grudges
into the common hurte, yrritinge and prouoking menne
vnto anger, and disturbynge the Kynges Coronacion,
towarde whiche the Dukes were commynge vppe, that thei
mighte paraduenture brynge the matter so farre oute of
ioynt, that it shold neuer be brought in frame agayne.
Whiche stryfe if it should happe as it were likelye to
come to a fielde, though both parties were in all
things egall, yet shoulde the authoritie bee on that
syde where the Kynge is hymselfe. With these
parswasions of the Lorde Hastynges, whereof parte hym
selfe belieued, of parte he wist the contrarye, these
commocions were sommewhat appeased. But specyally, by
that that the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham were
so nere, and came so shortelye on with the kynge, in
none other maner, with none other voyce or semblaunce,
then to his coronacion, causynge the fame to bee
blowen about, that these Lordes and knyghtes whiche
were taken, hadde contryued the destuccyon of the
Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham, and of other the
noble bloode of the Realme, to the ende that them
selfe woulde alone, demeane and gouerne the king at
their pleasure. And for the colourable proofe thereof,
such of the Dukes seruantes as rode with the cartes of
theyr stuffe that were taken (amonge whiche stuffe no
meruayle thoughe somme were harneys, whiche at the
breakinge vp of that householde, muste needes eyther
bee broughte awaye or caste awaye) they shewed vnto
the people al the waye as they wente: loe here bee the
barelles of harneys that this traitours had priuelye
conuayd in their carryage to destroye the noble lordes
with all. This deuise all be it that it made the
matter to wise men more vnlykely, well perceyuying
that the intendours of suche a purpose, wolde rather
haue hadde theyr harneys on the backes, then taue
bounde them vppe in barrelles, yet muche part of the
common people were therewith verye well satisfyed, and
said it wer almoise to hange them.
When the kynge approched
nere to the citie, Edmonde Sha goldesmithe then Mayre,
with Willyam White and Iohn Mathewe sheriffis, and all
the other aldermenne in scarlette with fiue hundred
horse of the citezens in violette, receiued hym
reuerentlye at Harnesy: and rydynge from thence,
accoumpanyed him in to the citye,
| The
kinges commynge to London |
whiche hee entered the fowrth daye of Maye, the firste
and laste yeare of hys raygne. But the Duke of
Gloucester bare him in open sighte so reuerentelye to
the Prince, with all semblaunce of lowlinesse, that
from the great obloquy in which hee was soo late
before, hee was sodainelye fallen in soo greate
truste, that at the counsayle next assembled, hee was
made the onely manne chose and
thought moste mete, to bee protectoure of the king and
hys realme, so (that were it destenye or were it foly)
the lamb was betaken to the wolfe to kepe. At whiche
counsayle also the Archebishoppe of Yorke
Chauncelloure of Englande, whiche hadde deliuered vppe
the greate Seale to the Quene, was thereof greatlye
reproued, and the Seale taken from hym and deliuered
to doctour
| The
bishop of Lincolne made Lorde chauncellour |
Russell, bysshoppe of Lyncolne, a wyse manne & a
good and of muche experyence, and one of the beste
learne[d] menne vndoubtedlye that Englande hadde in
hys time. Diuers Lordes and knigh[t]es were appoynted
vnto dyuerse rowmes. The Lorde Chaumberlayne and somme
other, kept styll theyr offices that they hadde
beefore. Nowe all were it soo that the protectoure so
soore thyrsted for the finyshynge of that hee hadde
begonne, that thoughte euerye daye a yeare tyll it
were atchyeued, yet durste hee no further attempte as
longe as had but halfe his praye in his hande: well
wittinge that yf hee deposed the one brother, all the
Realme would falle to the tother, yf hee either
remayned in Sainctuarye, or shoulde happelye bee
shortelye conuayde too hys farther libertye. Wherefore
incontinente at the
nexte metynge of the Lordes at the counsayle, hee
preposed vnto them, that it was a haynous deede of the
Quene, and procedinge of great malyce towarde the
Kynges counsayllers, that she should keepe in
Sanctuarye the Kynges brother from hym, whose specyall
pleasure and coumforte were to haue his brother with
hym. And that by her done to none other entente, but
to brynge all the Lordes in obloquie and murmure of
the people. As thoughe they were not to be trusted
with the Kynges brother, that by the assente of the
nobles of the lande wer appoynted as the Kynges
nereste friendes, to the tuicyon of his owne royall
parsone. The prosperytye whereof standeth (quod hee)
not all in keepynge from enemyes or yll vyande, but
partelye also in recreacion and moderate pleasure:
which he cannot in this tender youthe take in the
coumpanye of auncient parsons, but in the famylier
conuersacyon of those that bee neyther farre vnder,
nor farre aboue his age. And nathlesse of estate
conuenient to accoumpanye his noble magestie.
Wherefore with whom rather then with his owne brother?
And yf anye manne thinke this consideracion light
(whiche I thynke no manne thynketh that loueth the
Kynge) lette hym consyder that sommetime withoute smal
thinges greatter cannot stande. And verlye it
redowndeth greatelye to the dishonoure both of the
kinges highnesse and of al vs that bene about his
grace, to haue it runne in euery mans mouth, not in
this realme onely, but also in other landes (as euyll
woordes walke farre:) that the Kynges brother shoulde
bee fayne to keepe Saynctuarye. For euerye manne will
weene, that no manne wyll so dooe for noughte. And
suche euyll oppinyon once fastened in mennes heartes,
harde it is to wraste oute, and maye growe to more
grief than anye manne here canne diuine.
Wherefore mee thynketh it
were not woorste to sende vnto the Quene for the
redresse of this matter, somme honourable trustye
manne, suche as bothe tendereth the Kynges weale, and
the honoure of his counsaile, and is also in fauoure
and credence wyth her. For al which consideracions,
none seemeth mee more metelye than oure reuerente
father here presente, my Lorde Cardynall, who maye in
this matter dooe moste good of anye manne, yf it
please hym to take the payne. Whiche I doubte not of
his goodnesse he wyll not refuse, for the Kynges sake
and ours, and wealthe of the younge Duke hym selfe the
kinges moste honourable brother, and after my
soueraygne Lorde hymself, my moste dere Nephewe:
considered that thereby shall bee ceased the
slanderous rumoure and obloquye nowe goynge and the
hurtes auoyded that thereof mighte ensue, and much
rest and quyete growe to all the realme. And yf shee
bee percase so obstynate, and so preciselye sette
vppon her owne wyl, that neyther his wise and faithful
aduertysemente canne moue her, nor any mannes reason
content her: then shall wee by myne aduyse, by the
Kynges authoritye fetche hym out of that prisone, and
brynge hym to his noble presence, in whose continuall
coumpanye he shal bee so well cherished and so
honurablye entreated, that all the world shall to our
honor and her reproch, perceiue that it was onelye
malyce, frowardenesse, or foly, that caused her to
keepe him there. This is my minde in this matter for
this time, excepte any of your Lordeshippes anye
thinge perceiue to the contrarye. For neuer shal I by
gods grace so wedde my selfe to myne own will, but
that I shall bee readye to chaunge it vppon youre
better aduyses.
When the protectoure
hadde said, al the counsayl affyrmed that the mocion
was good and reasonable, and to the kynge and the Duke
his brother, honourable, and a thing that should cease
greate murmure in the realme, if the mother might be
by good meanes enduced to delyuer hym. Whiche thynge
the Archebishoppe of Yorke, whome they all agreed also
to bee thereto most conuenyente, tooke vppon hym to
moue her, and therein to dooe hys vttermoste deuowre.
Howe bee it if shee coulde bee in no wyse
entreated with her good wyll to delyuer hym, then
thoughte hee and suche other as were of the
spiritualtye present, that it were not in anye wyse to
be attempted to take him oute agaynste her wil. For it
would bee a thynge that shoulde tourne to the great
grudge of all menne, and hyghe dyspleasure of Godde,
yf the priueledge of the holye place should nowe bee
broken?
Whiche hadde so manye yeares bee kepte, whyche bothe
Kynges and Popes soo good hadde graunted, so many
hadde confirmed, and whiche holye grounde was more
then fyue hundred yeare agoe by Saincte Peter his own
parson in spirite, accoumpanyed with greate multitude
of Aungelles, by nyghte so specyallye halowed and
dedicate to Godde, (for the proofe wherof they haue
yet in the Abbay Sainct Peters cope to shewe) that
from that tyme hytherwarde, was there neuer so
vndeuowte a Kinge, that durst that sacred place
violate, or so holye a Bishoppe that durste it presume
to consecrate. And therefore (quod the Archebishoppe
of Yorke) Godde forbydde that anye manne shoulde for
anye thynge earthly enterpryse to breake the
immunitee, and libertye of that sacred Sainctuary,
that hath bene the safegarde of so many a good mannes
life. And I truste (quod he) with Gods grace, we shall
not nede it. But for ani maner nede, I would not we
shoulde dooe it. I truste that shee shall bee with
reason contented, and all thynge in good maner
obtayned. And yf it happen that I brynge it not so to
passe, yet shall I towarde it so farrefoorth dooe my
beste, that ye shall all well perceiue, that no lacke
of my deuoure, but the mothers drede and womannishe
feare, shall be the let. Womannishe feare, naye
womannishe frowardnesse (quod the Duke of Buckyngham.)
For I dare take it vppon my soule, she well knoweth
she needeth no such thyng to feare, either for her
sonne or for her selfe. For as for her, here is no
manne that wil bee at warre with women. Woulde God
some of the men of her kynne, were women too, and then
shoulde al bee soone in reste. Howe bee it there is
none of her kinne the lesse loued, for that they bee
her kinne, but for their owne euill deservinge. And
nathelesse if we loued neither her nor her kinne, yet
were there no cause to thinke that we should hate the
kynges noble brother, to whose Grace wee ourse selfe
bee of kynne. Whose honoure if shee as much desyred as
oure dishonoure, and as muche regarde tooke to his
wealthe, as to her owne will, she woulde bee as lothe
to suffer him from the kinge, as anye of vs bee. For
if shee haue anye witte, (as woulde Godde she hadde as
good will as she hathe shrewde witte) she reckoneth
her selfe no wiser then shee thinketh some that bee
here, of whose faithefull mynde, she nothing doubteth,
but verelye beleueth and knoweth, that they woulde bee
as sorye of his his harme as her selfe, and yet would
haue hym from her yf she byde there. And wee all (I
thinke) contente, that bothe bee with her, yf she come
thence and bide in suche place where they maie with
their honoure bee.
Nowe then yf she refuse
in the deliueraunce of hym, to folowe the counsaile of
them whose wisdom she knoweth, whose trouth she wel
trusteth: it is ethe to perceiue, that frowardnesse
letteth her, and not feare. But goe to suppose that
she feare (as who maye lette her to feare her owne
shadowe) the more she feareth to delyuer hym, the more
oughte wee feare to leaue him in her handes. For if
she caste such fonde doubtes, that shee feare his
hurte: then wyll she feare that hee shall bee fette
thence. For she will soone thinke, that if menne were
sette (whiche Godde forbydde) vppon so greate a
mischeife, the saintuarye woulde litle let them. Which
good menne mighte as mee thynketh without sinne
sommewhat lesse regarde then they do.
Nowe then if she doubte
leste hee mighte bee fetched from her, is it not
likelye ynoughe that she shall sende him somme where
out of the realme? Verely I looke for none other. And
I doubte not but shee nowe as sore myndeth it, as wee
the lette thereof. And yf she myghte happen to brynge
that to passe, (as it were no greate maistrye, wee
lettinge her alone) all the worlde woulde saye that
wee wer a wyse sort of counsaylers aboute a kynge,
that lett his brother bee caste awaye vnder oure
noses. And therefore I ensure you faythfully for my
minde, I wyll rather maugrye her mynde, fetche hym
awaye, then leaue hym ther, til her frowardnes or fond
feare conuay hym awaye. And yet will I breake no
Saintuary therefore. For verelye sithe the priuileges
of that place and other lyke, haue bene of long
continued, I am not he that woulde bee aboute to
breake them. And in good faith if they were nowe to
begynne, I woulde not bee he that shoulde bee aboute
to make them. Yet wyll I not saye naye, but that it is
a deede of pitie, that suche menne as the sea or theyr
euill dettours haue broughte in pouertye, shoulde haue
somme place of libertye, to keepe their bodies oute of
the daunger of their cruell creditours. And also yf
the Crowne happen (as it hathe done) to comme in
questyon, whyle eyther parte taketh other as
Traytours, I wyll well there bee somme places of
refuge for bothe. But as for theeues, of whiche these
places bee full, and which neuer fall fro the crafte,
after thei once falle thereto, it is pitie the
saintuarye shoulde serue them. And muche more
mannequellers whome Godde badde to take from the
aulter and kyll them, yf theyr murther were wylfull.
And where it is otherwyse there neede wee not the
sayntuaryes that God appointed in the olde lawe. For
yf eyther necessitie, hys owne defence, or misfortune
drawe hym to that dede, a pardon serueth which eyther
the law graunteth of course, or the Kynge of pitie
maye.
Then looke me nowe how
few saintuarye menne there bee, whome any fauourable
necessitie compelled to gooe thyther. And then see on
the tother syde what a sorte there be commonly
therein, of them whome wylfull vnthriftynesse hathe
broughte to nought.
What a rabble of theues,
murtherers, and maliciuos heyghnous Traitours, and
that in twoo places specyallye. The tone at the elbowe
of the Citie, the tother in the verye bowelles. I dare
well auowe it, waye the good that they dooe, with the
hurte that commeth of them, and ye shall fynde it
muche better to lacke bothe, then haue both. And this
I saye, although they were not abused as they nowe
bee, and so longe haue bee, that I feare mee euer they
wyll bee whyle menne bee a fearde to sette theyr
handes to the mendement: as thoughe Godde and Saincte
Peter were the Patrons of vngracious lyuinge.
Nowe vnthriftes ryote and
runne in Dette, vppon the boldenesse of these places:
yea and ryche menne runne thither with poore mennes
goodes, there they builde, there thei spende and bidde
their creditours gooe whistle them. Mens wyues runne
thither with theyr housebandes plate, and saye, thei
dare not abyde with theyr housbandes for beatinge.
Theues bryng thyther theyr stollen goodes, and there
lyve thereon. There deuise thei newe roberies,
nightlye they steale out, they robbe and reue, and
kyll, and come in again as though those places gaue
them not onely a safe garde for the harme they haue
done, but a licence also to dooe more. Howe bee it
muche of this mischeife if wyse menne woulde sette
their handes to, it myghte bee amended, with greate
thank of god and no breache of the priuiledge. The
residew sith so long agoe I wote neere what Pope and
what Prince more pyteous then politique: hathe
graunted it and other menne since of a certayne
relygious feare haue not broken it, lette vs take a
payne therewith, and lette it a Goddes name stande in
force, as farrefoorth as reason wyll. Whiche is not
fullye so farrefoorth, as may serue to lette vs of the
fetchynge foorthe of this noble manne to his honoure
and wealthe, oute of that place in whiche he neither
is, nor canne bee a Saynctuary manne.
A Sainctuarye serueth
alway to defende the bodie of that manne that standeth
in daunger abrode, not of greate hurte onelye, but
also of lawful hurte. For agaynste vnlawfull harmes,
neuer Pope nor Kynge entended to priueledge anye one
place. For that priueledge hath euery place. Knoweth
anye manne anye place wherein it is lawefull one manne
to dooe another wrong? That no manne vnlawfully take
hurt, that libertie, the Kynge, the lawe, and verye
nature forbiddeth in euery place, and maketh to that
regarde for euerye manne euerye place a Saintuarye.
But where a man is by lawful meanes in perill, there
needeth he the tuicion of some special priuilege,
which is the the only ground and cause of al
saintuaryes. From whiche necessitie this noble prince
is far. Whose loue to his king, nature & kinred
proueth, whose innocence to al the world, his tender
youth proueth. And so saintuary as for him, neither
none he nedeth, nor also none can haue. Men come not
to saintuary as they come to baptisme, to require it
by their Godfathers. He must ask it himself that muste
haue it. And reason, sithe no man hath cause to haue
it, but whose conscience of his own faut maketh hym
faine neede to require it, what wil then hath yonder
[babe]? which and if he had discecion to require it,
yf nede were, I dare saye would nowe bee right angry
with them that kepe him ther. And I woulde thynke
withoute anye scruple of conscience, without any
breache of priueledge, to bee sommewhat more homely
with them that be there saintuary men in dede. For if
one go to saintuary with another mannes goodes, why
should not the kyng leauinge his bodye at libertie,
satisfy the part of his goodes euen within the
saintuary? For neither king nor Pope can geue any
place such a priueledge, that it shall discharge a man
of his dettes being able to paye.
And with that divers of the clergy that were
present, whither thei said it for his pleasure, or as
thei thought, agreed plainly, that by the law of god
and of the church the goodes of a saintuarye man
shoulde be deliuered in paiment of his dets, and
stollen goodes to the owner, and onelye libertie
reserued him to geat his lyuing with the labour of his
handes. Verely (quod the duke) I thinke you say very
trueth. And what if a mannes wyfe will take saintuary,
because she lyste to runne from her husbande: I woulde
wene if she can allege none other cause, he may
lawfullye without any displeasure to sainct Peter,
take her out of .S. Peters churche by the arme. And yf
no body maye be taken out of saintuarye that sayth he
wyll bide there: Then yf a childe will take
saintuarie, because hee feareth to goe to schole, hys
mayster must lette hym alone. And as simple as that
saumple is, yet is there lesse reason in our case,
then in that. For therein though it be a childish
feare, yet is ther at the leastwise some feare. And
herein is there none at all. And verelye I haue often
heard of saintuarye menne. But I neuer heard erste of
saintuarye chyldren. And therefore as for the
conclusion of my minde, who so maie haue deserued to
neede it, yf thei thinke it for theyr suretye, lette
them kepe it. But he cannot bee no saintuarye manne,
that neither hath wisedom to desire it, nor malice to
deserue it, whose lyfe or libertye can by no lawfull
processe stand in ieopardie. And he that taketh one
oute of saintuary to dooe hym good, I saye plainely
that he breaketh no saintuary.
When the Duke hadde done, the temporall menne whole,
and good part of the spirituall also, thinking none
hurt erthly ment towarde the younge babe, condescended
in effecte, that if he were not deliuered, he should
be fetched. Howbeit they thoughte it all beste, in the
auoydyng of all maner of rumour, that the Lorde
Cardinall shoulde fyrst assaye to geat him with her
good will. And thervppon all the counsaile came vnto
the sterrechaumber at westminster. And the Lorde
Cardinall leauinge the protectour with the counsell in
the sterrechaumber, departed into the saintuary to the
Quene, with divers other lordes with him, were it for
the respecte of hys honoure, or that she shoulde by
presence of so manye perceyue that this erande was not
one mannes minde, or were it for that the protectour
entended not in this matter to trust any one manne
alone, or els that if she finally wer determined to
kepe him, somme of that company had happely secret
instruccion incontinent magry her minde to take him
and to leaue her no respite to conuaye hym, whiche she
was likely to mind after this matter broken to her, yf
her time would in any wyse serue her.
When the Quene and these
Lordes were comme together in presence, the Lorde
Cardinall shewed vnto her, that it was thought vnto
the protectour and vnto the whole counsayle, that her
kepyng of the kinges brother in that place was the
thing whiche highlye souned, not onelye to the greate
rumoure of the people and theyr obloquye, but also to
the importable griefe and displeasure of the kinges
royall maiestie. To whose grace it were as singuler
coumforte, to haue his naturall brother in company, as
it was their bothe dishonour and all theirs and hers
also, to suffer hym in saintuarye. As though the tone
brother stode in danger and perill of the tother. And
he shewed her that the counsel therfore had sent him
vnto her, to require her the deliuerye of him, that
hee might bee brought vnto the kinges presence at his
libertie, oute of that place whiche they reckoned as a
prisone. And ther should he be demeaned accordyng to
his estate. And she in this doing should bothe dooe
great good to the realme, pleasure to the counsell and
profyt to her selfe, succour to her frendes that were
in distres, and ouer that (which he wiste well she
speciallye tenderid). Not onely great comfort and
honour to the king, but also to the yong duke himself,
whose both great welthe it were to bee together, as
well for many greater causes, as also for their both
disporte and recreacion: which thing the lord estemed
not slight, thoughe it seme lyght, well pondering that
their youthe without recreacion & play, cannot
endure nor any estraunger for the conuenience of their
both ages & estates, so metely in that pointe for
any of them as either of them for other.
¶ My lord (quod the quene:) I saye not nay, but
that it were very conuenient, that this gentilman whom
ye require, were in the company of the kinge his
brother. And in good faith me thinketh it were as
great commoditie to them both as for yet a while, to
ben in the custody of their mother, the tender age
consydred of the elder of them both, but speciall the
yonger, which besides his infancie that also nedeth
good loking to, hath a while ben so sore diseased
vexed with sicknes, and is so newly rather a lyttle
amended then well recouered, that I dare put no parson
erthly in trust with his keping but my selfe onely,
considering, that there is as phisicians saye, &
as we also finde, double the perill in the
reciduacion, that was in the first sicknes, with which
disease nature being forelaborid, foreweried and
weaked, waxeth the lesse able to beare out a new
surfet. And albeit there might be founden other, that
would happely doe theyr best vnto him: yet is there
none that either knoweth better how to order him, then
I that so long haue kept him: or is more tenderly like
to cherishe him, then hys own mother that bare him. No
man denieth good madam (quod the Cardinal) but that
your grace were of all folke most necessary aboute
your children: & so woulde al the counsell, not
onely be content, but also glad that ye were, if it
might stand with your pleasure to be in such place as
might stande with their honour. But yf you appoint
your selfe to tary here, then thinke they yet more
conuenient, that the duke of yorke wer with the king
honorably at his liberte to the comfort of them both,
then here as a saintuary man to their both dishonour
and obloquy: sith there is not alwaye so great
necessitie to haue the childe bee with the mother, but
that occasion may sometime be such, that it should be
more expedient to kepe him els where. Which in this
well appeareth that at such time as your derest sonne
then prince and now king, should for his honour and
good order of the Countrey, kepe householde in Wales
farre out of your company: your grace was well
contente there wyth your selfe. Not very well content,
quod the Quene: And yet the case is not like: for the
tone was then in helthe, and the tother is now sike.
In which case I merueile greatly that my lord
protectour is so disirous to haue him in his keping
where if the child in his sicknes miscaried by nature,
yet might he runne into slaunder and suspicion of
fraude. And where they call it a thinge so sore
against my childes honour and theirs also, that he
bydeth in this place: it is all their honours there to
suffer him byde, where no manne doubteth, hee shall be
beste kepte. And that is here, while I am here, whiche
as yet intende not to come forthe and iubarde my selfe
after other of my frendes: which woulde god wer rather
here in suertie with me, then I were there in iubardy
with them. Whye Madame (quod a nother Lorde) know you
any thing why thei should be in iubardye? Nay verely
sur quod shee, nor why they should be in prison
neither, as they now be. But it is I trow no great
maruaile though I fere, lest those that haue not
letted to put them in duresse with out colour, wil let
as lytle to procure their distruccion without cause.
The Cardinall made a continuance to the tother
Lord, that he should harp no more vpon that string.
And then said he to the Quene, that he nothing
doubted, but that those lordes of her honorable kinne,
which as yet remained vnder arrest should vpon the
matter examined, do wel ynough. Ans as toward her
nobele person, neither was nor coulde be, any maner
iubardy. Wherby should I truste that (quod the Quene)
In that I am giltles? As though they were gilty. In
that I am with their enemies better beloued then thei?
When they hate them for my sake. In that I am so nere
of kinne to the king? And how farre be they of, if
that would helpe as god send grace it hurt not. And
therfore as for me, I purpose not as yet to departe
hence. And as for this gentilman my sonne, I mynde
that he shalbe where I am till I see further. For I
assure you, for that I se some men so gredye withowte
any substaunciall cause to haue him, this maketh me
much the more farder to deliuer him. Truely madame,
quod he, and the farder that you be to delyuer him,
the farder bene other men to suffer you to kepe hym,
lest your causeles fere might cause you ferther to
conuay him. And many be there that thinke that he can
haue no priuelege in this place, which neither can
haue wil to aske it, nor malyce to deserue it. And
therefore they recken no pryuilege broken, though thei
fetche him out. Which if ye fynally refuse to deliuer
him, I verly thynke they will. So much drede hath my
Lorde his vncle, for the tender loue he bereth him,
lest your grace shold
hap to send him awaye. A syr quod the Quene, hath the
protectour so tender zele to him, that he fereth
nothing but lest he should escape him. Thinketh he
that I would send hym hence, which neyther is in the
plight to send out, and in what place could I reckon
him sure, if he be not sure in this the sentuarye
whereof, was there never tiraunt yet so deuelish, that
durste presume to breake. And I trust god as strong
now to withstande his aduersaries, as euer he was. But
my sonne can deserue no sentuary, and therefore he
cannot haue it. Forsooth he hath founden a goodly
glose, by whiche that place that may defend a thefe,
may not saue an innocent. But he is in no iupardy nor
hath no nede therof. Wold god he had not. Troweth the
protector (I pray god he may proue a protectour)
troweth he that I parceiue not whereunto his painted
processe draweth? It is not honorable that the duke
bide here: it were comfortable for them both that he
wer with his brother, because the king lacketh a play
felowe be ye sure. I pray god send them both better
play felowes then hym, that maketh so high a matter
vpon such a trifling pretext: as though there coulde
none be founden to playe with the kyng, but if his
brother that hath no lust to play for sicknes, come
oute of sanctuary out of hys sauegarde, to play with
him. As though princes as yonge as thei be, could not
play but with their Peres, or children could not play
but with their kyndred, wit[h] whom for the more part
they agree much worse then wyth straungers. But the
childe cannot require the priuelege, who tolde hym so?
he shall here him aske it and he will.
Howbeit this is a gay matter: Suppose he could not
ask it, suppose he would not aske it, suppose he
woulde aske to goe owte, if I saye he shall not, if I
aske the priuilege but for my selfe, I say he that
agaynst my wyll taketh out him, breaketh the
sanctuary. Serueth this liberty for my person only, or
for my goodes to? ye maye not hence take my horsse fro
me: and maye you take my childe fro me? he is also my
warde, for as my lerned counsell sheweth me, syth he
hath nothing by discent holden by knightes seruice,
the law maketh, his mother his gardaine. Then may no
man, I suppose take my warde fro me oute of
sanctuarye, wythout the breche of the sanctuary. And
if my pryuelege could not serue hym, nor he aske it
for hymselfe, yet sythe the lawe committeth to me the
custody of him, I may require it for hym, excepte the
lawe giue a childe a gardayne onely for his goodes
& hys landes, discharging hym of the cure and
saufe kepyng of hys body, for whych only both landes
& goodes serue.
| This
that is here betwene this marke, ‡
and this marke * was not written by M. More in
this history written by him in englishe but is
translated oute of this history which he wrote in
laten |
‡And if examples be sufficient to obtayne
priuiledge for my chylde, I nede not farre to seeke.
For in thys place in which we now be (and whych is now
in questyon whyther my chylde may take benefyte of it)
myne other sonne now kyng was born, and kept in hys
cradle, and preserued to a more prosperous fortune,
which I pray god long to continu. And as all you know,
this is not the first tyme that I have taken
sanctuarye, for when my lord my husbande was banished
& thrust out of his kingdom, I fled hither being
great with child, and here I bare the prynce. And when
my lorde my husbande retourned safe again and had the
victorye, then went I hence to welcome him home, and
from hence I brought my babe the prynce vnto hys
father, when he fyrste toke hym in hys armes. And I
praye God that my sonnes palace may be as great
sauegard to him now rayning, as thys place was
sometime to the kin[g]es enemye. In whych place I
entend to kepe his brother sith &c. *
Wherfore here intend I to
kepe him sins mans law serueth the gardain to kepe the
infant. The law of nature wyll the mother kepe her
childe. Gods law pryuelegeth the sanctuary, & the
sanctuary my sonne, sith I fere to put hym in the
protectours handes that hath hys brother already, and
were if bothe fayled, inheritour to the crowne. The
cuase of my fere hath no man to doe to examine. And
yet fere I no ferther then the law fereth which as
lerned men tell me forbiddeth euery man the custody of
them, by whose death he may inherite lesse lande then
a kingdome. I can no more, but whosoeuer he be that
breketh this holy sanctuary: I pray god shorttly sende
him nede of sanctuary, when he may not come to it. For
taken out of sanctuary would I not my mortall enemy
were.
The lord Cardinall
perceiuing that the quene waxed euer the lenger the
farder of, and also that she began to kindle and
chafe, and speke sore biting words against the
protectour, and such as he neither beleued, and was
also loth to here, he said vnto her for a finall
conclusion, that he woulde no leger dispute the
matter. But if she were content to deliuer the duke to
him & to the other lordes there present, he durst
lay his owne body & soule both in pledge, not
onely for his suerty but also for hys estate. And if
she woulde giue them a resolute aunswere to the
contrary, he would forthwith depart there with all,
and shyfte whoso would with thys busynes afterwarde:
for he neuer entended more to moue her in that matter,
in which she thought that he and all other saue
herselfe, lacked either wit or trouth. Wit if they
were so dul, that they coulde nothing perceiue what
the protectour [entended]: trouthe if they should
procure her sonne to be delyuered into his handes, in
whom thei shold perceyue toward the childe any euil
intended.
The quene with these
wordes stode a good while in a great study. And for
asmuch her semed the Cardinall more redy to depart,
then some of the remnant, & the protectour himself
redy at hand, so that she verely thought she coulde
not kepe him there, but that hee shoulde incontinent
be taken thence: & to conuay him els where,
neyther had shee time to serue her, nor place
determined, nor parsons appointed, all thinge vnredy
thys message came on her so sodaynely, nothing lesse
loking for them to haue him fet out of sentuary, which
she thought to be now beset in such places about, that
he coulde not be conuaied out vntaken, & partly as
she thought it might fortune her fere to bee false, so
will she waste it was either nedeles or boteles:
wherfore if she shold nedes go from him, she dempte it
beste to deliuer him. And ouer that of the Cardinals
faith she nothing doubted, nor of some other lordes
neither, whom she there saw. Which as she fered lest
they might bee deceiuid: so was she well assured they
would not be corrupted: Then thought she it should yet
make them the more warely to loke to him, & the
more sircumspectly to se to his surety, if she with
her owne handes betoke him to them of trust. And at
the last she toke the yong duke by the hande, and said
vnto the lordes: my lord (quod she) & all my
lordes, I neither am so vnwise to mistrust your
wittes, nor so suspicious to mistruste your trouthes.
Of which I purpose to make you such a proofe, as if
either of both lacked in you, might tourne both me to
great sorowe, the realme to much harme, and you to
great reproche. For loe here is (quod she) this
gentilman, whom I doubt not but I could here kepe safe
if I woulde, whatsoeuer any man say. And I doubt not
also but ther be some abrode so deadly enemies vnto my
blood, that if thei wist where any of lay in their
owne body, they would let it out. We haue also had
experience that the
desire of a kingdome knoweth no kinred. The brother
hath bene the brothers bane. And may the nepheus be
sure of their vncle? Eche of these children is others
defence while they be a sunder, and eche of their
liues lieth in the others body. Kepe one safe &
both be sure, and nothing for them both more
perilouse, then to be both in one place. For what wise
merchaunt aduentureth all his good in one ship? All
this notwithstanding, here I deliuer him and hys
brother in him, to kepe into your handes, of whome I
shall aske them both afore god and the world.
Faithfull ye be that wot I wel and I know wel you be
wise. Power & strenght to kepe him if ye list
neither lacke ye of your self, nor can lack helpe in
this cause. And if ye cannot els where, then may you
leue him here. But only one thing I beseche you for
the trust that his father put in you euer, and for
trust that I put in you now, that as farre as ye
thinke that I fere to muche, be you well ware that to
fere not as far to little. And therewithall she said
vnto the child: farewel my own swete sonne, god send
you good keping, let me kis you ones yet ere you goe,
for God knoweth when we shal kis togither agayne. And
therewith she kissed him, & blessed him, turned
her back and wept and went her way, leauing the childe
weping as fast. When the lord Cardinal & these
other lordes with him, had receiued this yong duke,
thei brought him into the sterrechamber where the
protectour toke him in his armes & kissed him with
these wordes:
Now welcome my lord euen with al my very hart. And he
sayd in that of likelihod as he thought. Thereupon
forthwith they brought him to the kynge his brother
into the bishoppes palice at powles, & from thence
through the citie honorably into the tower, out of
which after that day they neuer came abrode.
‡When the
protector had both the children
| This
that is here betwene thys mark ‡
& this mark * was not written by M. More in
this history written by him in englishe, but is
translated out of this history which he wrote in laten |
in his handes, he opened himself more boldly, both to
certaine other men, and also cheifly to the duke of
Buckingham. Although I know that many thought, that
this duke was priuy to al the protectours counsel,
euen from the beginning[.] And some of the protectours
frendes said, that the duke was the first mouer of the
protectoure to this matter, sending a priuie messenger
vnto him, streight after king Edwards death. But other
agai[n] which knewe better the suttle wit of the
protectour, deny that he euer opened his enterprise to
the duke, vntill he had brought to passe the thinges
before rehersed. But when he had imprsoned the quenes
kinsefolkes, & gotten bothe her sonnes into his
owne handes, than hee opened the rest of his purpose
with lesse fere to them whom he thought mete for the
matter, and specially to the duke: who being wonne to
his purpose, he thought his strength more then halfe
encreased. The matter was broken vnto the duke, by
suttell folkes, and such as were their crafte maisters
in the handling of such wicked deuises: who declared
vnto him, that the yong king was offended with him for
his kinsfolkes sakes, and that if he were euer able,
he would reuenge them. Who wold prick him forward
therunto, if they escaped (for they would remembre
their imprisonment). Or els if thei wer put to death,
without doubte the younge king wold be careful for
their deathes, whose imprisonment was greuous vnto
him. And that with repenting the duke should nothing
auaile: for there was no way left to redeme his
offence by benefites: but he should soner distroy
himself than saue the king, who with his brother &
his kinsefolkes he saw in such places imprisoned, as
the protectour might with a beck distroy them al: and
that it were no doubte but he woulde do it in dede, if
there wer any new enterprise attempted. And that it
was likely that as the protectour had prouided priuy
garde for himself, so had he spialles for the duke,
and traines to catche hym, if he should be againste
him, & that paraduenture from them, whom he least
suspected. For the state of thinges & the
disposicions of men wer than such, that a man could
not wel tell whom he might truste, or whom he might
feare. These thinges and such like, being beaten into
the dukes minde, brought him to that pointe, that
where he had repented the way that he had entred, yet
wold he go forth in the same: & since he had ones
begon, he would stoutly go through. And therefore to
thys wicked enterprise, which he beleued coulde not
bee voided, hee bent himselfe and went through: and
determined, that since the comon mischief could not be
amended, he wold tourne it as much as he might to hys
owne commodite.
Than it was agreed, that the protectour should
haue the dukes aide to make him king, & that the
protectours onely lawful sonne, should mary the dukes
daughter, and that the protectour shold graunt [him
the] quiet possession of the Erledome of Hertford,
which he claimed as his enheritance, and could neuer
obtain it in king Edwardes time. Besides these
requestes of the duke, the protectour of hys owne
minde promised him a great quantite of the kinges
tresure & of his howsehold stuffe. And when they
wer thus at a point betwene themselfes, they went
about to prepare for the coronacyon of the yong king
as (they would haue it seme. And that they might turne
both the eies & mindes of men, from perceiuing of
their driftes other where the lordes being sent for
from al parties of the realme, came thick to that
solemnite. But the protectour & the duke, after
that, that they had set the lord Cardinall, the
Archebishoppe of Yorke than lorde Chauncellour, the
Bishoppe of Ely, the lord Stanley & the lord
Hastinges than lord chamberleine, with many other
noble men* to commune & deuise about the
coronacion in one place: as fast were they in an other
place contryuyng the contrary, & to make the
protectour kyng. To which counsel, albeit there were
adhibit very few, & they very secret: yet began
there here & there about, some maner of muttering
amonge the people, as though al should not long be
wel, though they neither wist what thei feared nor
wherfore: were it that before such great thinges, mens
hartes of a secret instinct of nature misgiueth them.
As the sea without wind swelleth of himself sometime
before a tempest: or were it that some one man happely
somwhat perceiuing, filled mani men with suspicion,
though he shewed few men what he knew. Howbeit somwhat
the dealing self made men to muse on the mater, though
the counsell were close. For litle and little all
folke withdrew from the Tower, and drew to Crosbies
place in Bishops gates strete wher the protectour kept
his household. The protectour had the resort, the king
in maner dessolate. While some for their busines made
sute to them that had the dooing, some were by their
frendes secretly warned, that it might happelye tourne
them to no good, to be to much attendaunt about the
king without the protectours appointment: which
remoued also diuers of the princes olde seruantes from
him, & set newe aboute him. Thus many thinges
comming togither p[a]rtly by chaunce, partly of
purpose, caused at length, not comen people that waue
with the winde, but wise men also & soe lordes,
yeke to marke the mater and muse theron: so ferforth
that the lord Stanly, that was after Erle of Darbie,
wisely mistrusted it, & saied vnto the lord
Hasting, that he much misliked these two seuerall
counsels. For while we (quod he) talke of one matter
in the tone place, litle wote we wherof they talk in
the tother place. My lord (quod the lord Hastinges) on
my life neuer doute you. For while one man is there
which is neuer thence, neuer can there be thinge ones
minded that should sownde amisse toward me, but it
should be in mine eares ere it were well oute of their
mouthes. This ment he by
Catesby, which was of his nere secret counsail, and
whome he veri familiarly vsed, and in his most weighty
matters put no man in so special trust, rekening
hymself to no man so liefe, sith he well wist there
was no man to him so much beholden as was thys
Catesby, which was a man wel lerned in the lawes of
this lande, & by the special fauour of the lord
chamberlen, in good aucthorite & much rule bare in
al the county of Leceter where the Lord Chamberlens
power chiefly laye. But surely great pity was it, that
he had not had either more trouthe or lesse wytte. For
his dissimulacion onelye, kepte all that mischyefe
vppe. In whome if the lord Hastinges had not put so
speciall trust, the lord Stanley and he had departed
with diuerse other lordes, and broken all the daunce,
for many il signed that hee sawe, which he nowe
const[r]ues all to the beste. So suerly thoughte he
that there could be none harme toward him in that
counsaile entended where Catesby was. And of trouth
the protectour and the Duke of Buckingham made very
good semblaunce vnto the Lord Hastinges, and kept him
much in company. And vndoubtedly the protectour loued
him wel, & loth was to haue loste him, sauing for
fere lest his life shoulde haue quailed their purpose.
For which cause he moued Catesby to proue wyth some
words cast out a farre of, whither he could thinke it
possible to winne the lord Hasting into their part.
But Catesby whither he assayed him or assaied him not,
reported vnto them, that he founde him so fast, and
hard him speke so terrible woordes, that he durst no
further breke. And of theouth the lord Chamberlen of
very trust shewed vnto Catesbye, the mistrust that
other began to haue in the mater. And therfore he
fering lest their mocions might with the lord
Hastinges minishe his credence, wherunto onely al the
matter lenid, procured the protectour hastely to ridde
him. And much the rather, for that he trusted by his
deth to obtaine much of the rule that the lorde
Hastinges bare in his countrey: the only desire
whereof, was the allectiue that induced him to be
partener and one specyall contriuer of al this
horrible treson.
Wherupon
| The
counsell in the tower |
sone after that is to wit, on the friday]the
[thirtene] day of [Iune] many Lordes assembled in the
tower, and there sat in counsaile, deuising the
honorable solempnite of the kinges coronacion, of
which the time appointed so nere approched, that the
pageauntes and suttelties were in making day and night
at westminster, and much vitaile killed therfore, that
afterward was cast away. These lordes so sytting
togyther comoning of thys matter, the protectour came
in among them, fyrst aboute ix. of the clock, saluting
them curtesly, & excusyng hymself that he had ben
from them so long, saieng merely that he had bene a
slepe that day. And after a little talking with them,
he sayd vnto the Bishop of Elye: my lord you haue very
good strawberies at your gardayne in Holberne, I
require you let vs haue a messe of them. Gladly my
lord, quod he, woulde god I had some better thing as
redy to your pleasure as that. And therwith in al the
hast he sent his seruant for a messe of strauberies.
The protectour sette the lordes fast in comoning, and
therupon prayeng them to spare hym for a little while,
departed thence. And sone after one hower betwene .x.
& .xi. he returned into the chamber among them, al
changed with a wonderful soure angrye countenaunce,
knitting the browes, frowning and froting and knawing
on hys lippes and so sat him downe, in hys place: al
the lordes much dismaied & sore merueiling of this
maner of sodain chaunge, and what thing should him
aile. Then when he had sitten still a while, thus he
began: what were they worthy to haue, that compasse
& ymagine the distruccion of me, being so nere of
blood vnto the king and protectour of his riall person
& his realme. At this question, al the lordes sat
sore astonied, musyng much by whome thys question
should be ment, of which euery man wyst himselfe
clere. The the lord chamberlen, as he that for the
loue betwene them thoughte he might be boldest with
him, aunswered and sayd, that thei wer worthye to bee
punished as heighnous traitors whatsoeuer they were.
And al the other affirmed the same. That is (quod
he) yonder sorceres my brothers wife & other with
her meaning the quene. At these wordes many of the
other Lordes were gretly abashed that fauoured her.
But the lord Hastinges was in his minde better
content, that it was moued by her, then by any other
whom he loued better: Albeit hys harte somewhat
grudged, that he was not afore, made of counsell in
this mater as he was of the taking of her kynred, and
of their putting to death, which were by his assent
before, deuised to bee byhedded at Pountfreit, this
selfe same day, in which he was not ware that it was
by other deuised, that himself should the same day be
behedded at London. Then said the protectour: ye shal
al se in what wise that sorceres and that other witch
of her counsel shoris wife with their affynite, haue
by their sorcery & witchcraft wasted my body. And
therwith he plucked vp hys doublet sleue to his elbow
vpon hist left arme, where he shewed a werish withered
arme and small, as it was neuer other. And thereupon
euery mannes mind sore migaue them, well perceiuing
that this matter was but a quarel. For wel thei wist,
that the quene was to wise to go aboute any such
folye. And also if she would, yet wold she of all
folke leste make Shoris wife of counsaile, whom of al
women she most hated, as that concubine whom the king
her husband had most loued. And also no man was ther
present, but wel knew that his harme was euer such
since his birth. Natheles the lorde Chamberlen (which
fro the death of king Edward kept Shoris wife, on
whome he somwhat doted in the kinges life, sauing as
it is sayd he that while forbare her of reuerence
towarde hys king, or els of a certaine kinde of
fidelite to hys frende) aunswered & sayd:
certainly my lorde if they haue so heinously done,
& thei be worthy heinouse punishement. What quod
the protectour thou seruest me I wene wtih iffes &
with andes, I tel the thei haue so done, & that I
will make good on thy body traitour. And therwith as
in a great anger, he clapped his fist vpon the borde a
great rappe. At which token giuen, one cried treason
without the c[h]ambre. Therwith a dore clapped, and in
come there rushing men in harneys as many as the
chambre might hold. And anon the protectour sayd to
the lorde Hastinges: I arest the traitour. What me my
Lorde quod he. Yea the traitour, quod the
protectour.
| The lord
Standley wounded |
And a nother let flee at the Lorde Standley which
shronke at the stroke & fel vnder the table, or
els his hed had ben clefte to the tethe: for as
shortely as he shranke, yet ranne the blood aboute hys
eares. Then were they al quickly bestowed in diuerse
chambres, except the lorde Chamberlen, whom the
protectour bade spede & shryue hym a pace, for by
saynt Poule (quod he) I wil not to dinner til I se
thy hed of. It boted him not to aske why but heuely he
toke a priest at aduenture, & made a short shrift,
for a longer would not be suffered, the protectour
made so much hast to dyner: which he might not go to
til this wer done for the sauing of his othe.
| The
Lorde Chamberlein behedded |
So was he brought forth into the grene beside the
chappel within the tower, & his head laid down
vpon a long lof of timbre, and there stricken of, and
afterward his body with the hed entred at Windsore
beside the body of kinge Edward, whose both soules our
lord p[ar]don.
A merueilouse case is it
to here, either the warninges of that he shoulde haue
voided, or the tokens of that he could not voide. For
the self night next before his death, the lord
Standley sent a trustie secret messenger vnto him at
midnight in al the hast, requiring hym to rise &
ryde away with hym, for he was disposed vtterly no
lenger to bide: he had so fereful a dreme, in which
him
thoughte that a bore with his tuskes so raced them
both bi the heddes, that the blood ranne aboute both
their shoulders. And forasmuch as the protector gaue
the bore for his cognisaunce, this dreme made so
fereful an impression in his hart, that he was
throughly determined no lenger to tary, but had his
horse redy, if the lord Hastinges wold go with him to
ride so far yet the same night, that thei shold be out
of danger ere dai. Ey good lord quod the lord
Hastinges to this messenger, leneth my lord thi master
so much to such trifles, & hath such faith in
dremes, which either his own fere fantasieth or do
rise in the nightes rest by reson of his daye
thoughtes? Tel him it is plaine witchcraft to beleue
in suche dremes: which if they wer tokens of thinges
to come, why thinketh he not that we might be as liely
to make them true by our going if we were caught &
brought back (as frendes fayle fleers) for then had
the bore a cause likely to race vs with his tuskes, as
folke that fled for some falshed, wherfore either is
ther no peryl, nor none there is in dede: or if any
be, it is rather in going then biding. And if we
should nedes cost fall in perill one way or other: yet
had I leuer that men should se it wer by other mens
falshed, then thinke it were either our owne faulte or
faint hart. And therfore go to thy master man, &
commende me to him & pray him be mery & have
no fere: for I ensure hym I am as sure of the man that
he woteth of, as I am of my own hand. God sende grace
sir quod the messenger, and went his way.
Certain is it also, that in the riding toward the
tower, the same morning in which he was behedded, his
hors twise or thrise stumbled with him almost to the
falling, which thing albeit eche man wote wel daily
happeneth to them to whom no such mischaunce is
toward: yet hath it ben of an olde rite & cutome,
obserued as a token often times n[o]tably foregoing
some great misfortune. Now this that foloweth was no
warning, but an enemiouse scorne. The same morning ere
he were vp, came a knight vnto him, as it were of
curtesy to accompany hym to the counsaile, but of
trouth sent by the protectour to hast him thitherward,
wyth whom he was of secret confederacy in that
purpose, a meane man at that time, and now of gret
auctorite. This knight when it happed the lord
Chamberlen by the way to stay his horse, and comen a
while with a priest whome he met in the tower strete,
brake his tale & said merely to him: what my lord
I pray you come on, whereto talke you so long with
that priest, you have no nede of a prist yet: &
and therewith he laughed vpon him, as though he would
say, ye shal haue sone. But so litle wist the tother
what he ment, & so little mistrusted, that he was
neuer merier nor neuer so full of good hope in his
life: which self thing is often sene a signe of
chaunge. But I shall rather let anye thinge passe me,
then the vain sureti of mans mind so nere his death.
Vpon the very tower wharfe so nere the place where his
hed was of so sone after, there met he with one
Hastinges a purseuant of his own name. And of their
meting in that place, he was put in remembraunce of an
other time, in which it had happened them before, to
mete in like maner togither in the same place. At
which other tyme the lord Chamberlein had ben accused
vnto king Edward, by the lord Riuers the quenes
brother, in such wise that he was for the while (but
it lasted not long) farre fallen into the kinges
indingnacion, & stode in gret fere of himselfe. And
for asmuch as he nowe met this purseuant in the the
same place that iubardy so wel passed: it gaue him
great pleasure to talke with him therof with whom he
had before talked thereof, in the same place while he
was therin. And therfore he said: Ah hastinges, art
y[ou] rememmbered when I met thee here ones with an
heuy hart: Yea my lord (quod he) that remembre I
wel, & thanked be God they gate no good, nor ye
none harme thereby. Thou wouldest say so quod he, if
thou knewest asmuch as I know, which few know els as
yet & moe shall shortly. That ment he by the
lordes of the quenes kindred that were taken before,
and should that day be behdded at Poumfreit: which he
wel wyst, but nothing ware that the axe hang ouer his
own hed. In faith man quod he, I was neuer so sory,
nor neuer stode in so great dred in my life, as I did
when thou and I met here. And lo how the world is
turned, now stand mine enemies in that daunger (as
thou maist hap to here more hereafter) & I neuer
in my life so mery, nor neuer in so great suerty. O
good god, the blindnes of our mortall nature, when he
most feared, he was in good suerty: when he reckened
him self surest, he lost his life, & that within
two houres after. Thus ended this honorable man, a
good knight and a gentle, of gret
| The
descripcion of the lord Hastinges |
aucthoritie with his prince, of liuing somewhat
dessolate, plaine & open to his enemy, &
secret to his frend: eth to begile, as he that of good
hart & corage forestudied no perilles. A louing
man & passing wel beloued. Very faithful, &
trusty ynough, trusting to much.
Now flew the fame of this
lordes death, swiftly through the citie, & so
forth farder about like a winde in euery mans ere. But
the protector immediatelye after diner, entending to
set some colour upon the matter, sent in al the hast
for many substauncial men out of the city into the
Tower. And at their comming, himself with the Duke of
Bukingham, stode harnesed in old il faring briginders,
such as no man shold wene that thei wold vouchsafe to
haue put vpon their backes, except that some sodaine
necessitie had constrained them. And then the
protectour shewed them, that the lord chamberlain,
& other of his conspiracy, had contriued to haue
sodeinly destroide him & the duke, ther the same
day in the counsel. And what thei intended further,
was as yet not well knowen. Of whiche their treson he
neuer had knowlage before x. of the clock the same
fore none. Whiche sodain fere draue them to put on for
ther defence such harneis as came next to hande. And
so had god holpen them, that the mischief turned vpon
them that wold haue done it. And this he required them
to report. Eueri man answered him fair, as though no
man mistrusted the mater which of trouth no man
beleued. Yet for the further appesing of the peoples
mind, he sent immediatli after diner in al the hast,
one herode of armes, with a proclamacion
| The
protectors proclamcion |
to be made through the city in the kinges name,
conteyning that the lord Hastinges with diuers other
of his traytorous purpose, had before conspired the
same day, to haue slaine the lord protector & the
duke of Buckingham sitting in the counsel, & after
to haue taken vpon them to rule the king & the
realm at their pleasure, & therbi to pil &
spoil whom thei list vncontroled. And much mater was
ther in the proclamcion diuised, to the slaunder of
the lord chamberlain, as that he was an euil
counsellor to the kinges father, intising him to many
thinges highlye redounding to the minishing of his
honor, & to the vniuersal hurt of his realm, by
his euyl company, sinister p[ro]curing, & vngracious
ensample, as wel in many other thinges as in the
vicious liuing & inordinate abusion of his body,
both with many other, & also specialli with
shores wife, which was one also of his most secret
counsel of this heynous treson, with whom he lay
nightli, & nameli the night last passed next
before his death, so that it was the less meruel, if
vngracious liuyng brought him to an vnhappy ending:
which he was now put vnto, by the most drede
commaundement of the kinges highnes & of his
honorable & faithful counsel, bothe for his
demerites, being so openli taken in his falsli
conceiued treson, & also lest the delaying of his
execucion, might haue encoraged other mischiuous
p[er]sons p[ar]tners of his conspiracy, to gether &
assemble themself together in makyng some gret
commocion for his deliueraunce, whose hope now being
by his wel deserued deth politikely repressed, al the
realm shold bi gods grace rest in good quiete and
peace. Now was this proclamacion made within .ii.
houres after that he was beheded, & it was so
curiously indited, &so fair writen in parchment in
so wel a set hande, & therwith of it self so long
a p[ro]cesse, that eueri child might wel p[er]ceive, that
it was prepared before. For al the time betwene his
death & the p[ro]claiming could scant haue suffised
vnto the bare wryting alone, all had it bene but in
paper & scribled forth in hast at adventure. So
that vpon the p[ro]claming therof, one that was scole
master of Poules of chaunce standing by, &
comparing the shortnes of the time with the length of
the matter, said vnto them that stode about him here
is a gay goodly cast, foule cast awai for hast. And a
merchant answered hym, that it was writen by p[ro]fecy.
Now then by & bi, as it wer for anger not for
couetise, the p[ro]tector sent into the house of shores
wife
(for her husband dwelled not with her) & spoiled
her of al that euer she had, aboue the value of .ii.
or .iii. M. marks, & sent her body to prison. And
when he had a while laide vnto her for the maner sake,
that she went about to bewitch him, & that she was
of counsel with the lord chamberlein to destroy him: in
conclusion, when that no colour could fasten vpon these
matters, then he layd heinously to her charge, &
the thing that she her self could not deny, that al
the world wist was true, & that natheles euery man
laughed at to here it then so sodainly so highly
taken, that she was nought of her body. And for thys
cause (as a goodly continent prince clene &
fautles of himself, sent oute of heauen into this
vicious world for the amendment of mens maners) he
caused the bishop of London to put her to open
penance, going before the crosse in processionvpon a
sonday with a taper in her hand. In which she went in
countenance & pace demure so womanly, & albe it
she were out of al array saue her kyrtle only: yet
went she so fair & louely, namelye while the
wondering of the people caste acomly rud in her chekes
(of whiche she before had most misse) that her great
shame wan her much praise, among those that were more
amourous of her body then curious of her soule. And
many good folke also that hated her liuing, & glad
wer to se sin corrected: yet pitied thei more her
penance, then reioyced therin, when thei considred
that the protector p[ro]cured it, more of a corrupt
intent then ani vertuous affeccion.
| The
descrypcion of Shores wife |
This woman was born in London, worshipfully frended,
honestly brought vp, & very wel maryed, sauing
somewhat to sone, her husbande an honest citezen,
yonge & goodly & of good substance. But
forasmuche as they were coupled ere she wer wel ripe,
she not very feruently loued, for whom she neuer
longed. Which was happely the thinge, that the more
easily made her encline vnto the kings appetite when
he required her. Howbeit the respect of his royaltie,
the hope of gay apparel, ease, plesure & other
wanton welth, was hable soone to perse a softe tender
hearte. But when the king had abused her, anon her
husband (as he was an honest man & one that could his good, not
presuming to touch a kinges concubine) left
her vp to him al togither. When the king died, the
lord Chamberlen toke her. Which in the kinges daise,
albeit he was was sore ennamored vpon her, yet he
forbare her, either for reuerence, or for a certain
frendly faithfulnes. Proper she was & faire:
nothing in her body that you would haue changed, but
if you would haue wished her somewhat higher. Thus say
thei that knew her in her youthe. Albeit some that now
se her (for yet she liueth) deme her neuer to haue ben
wel visaged. Whose iugement semeth me somwhat like, as
though men should gesse the bewty of one longe before
departed, by her scalpe taken out of the charnel
house: for now is she old lene, withered & dried
vp, nothing left but ryuilde skin & hard bone. An
yet being euen such: whoso wel aduise her visage,
might gesse & deuise which partes how filled, wold
make it a faire face. Yet she delited not men so much
in her bewty, as in her plesant behauiour. For a
proper wit had she, & could both rede wel &
write, mery in company, redy & quick of aunswer,
neither mute nor ful of bable, sometime taunting
without displeasure not without disport.
| King
Edwardes .iii. concubines |
The king would say that he had .iii. concubines, which
in three diuers properties diuersly exceled. One the
meriest, an other the wiliest, the thirde the holiest
harlot in his realme, as one whom no man could get out
of the church lightly to any place, but it wer to his
bed. The other two were somwhat greter parsonages,
& Natheles of their humilitie content to be
nameles, & to forbere the praise of those
properties. But the meriest was this Shoris wife, in
whom the king therfore toke speciall pleasure. For
many he had, but her he loued, whose fauour to saithe
trouth (for sinne it wer to belie the deuil) she neuer
abused to any mans hurt, but to many a mans comfort
& relief: where the king toke displeasure, she
wolud mitigate & appease his mind: where men were
out of fauour, she wold bring them in his grace. For
many that had highly offended, shee obtained pardon.
Of great forfetures she gate men remission. And
finally in many weighty sutes, she stode many men in
gret stede, either for none, or very smal rewardes,
& those rather gay then rich: either for that she
was content with the dede selfe well done, or for that
she delited to be suid vnto, & to show what she
was able to do wyth the king, or for that wanton women
and welthy be not alway couetouse. I doubt not some
shal think this woman to sleight a thing, to be
written of & set amonge the remembraunces of great
matters: which thei shal specially think, that happely
shal esteme her only by that thei now see her. But me
semeth the chaunce so much the more worthy to be
remembred, in how much she is now in the more beggerly
condicion, vnfrended & worne out of acquantance,
after good substance, after as gret fauour with the
prince, after as gret sute & seking to with al
those that those days had busynes to spede, as many
other men were in their times, which be now famouse,
only by the infamy of their il dedes. Her doinges were
not much lesse, albeit thei be muche lesse remembered,
because thei were not so euil. For men vse if they
haue an euil turne, to write it in marble: & whoso
doth vs a good tourne, we write it in duste which is
not worst proued by her: for at this daye shee beggeth
of many at this daye liuing, that at this day had
begged if she had not bene.
| The Lord
Riuers and other behedded |
Now was it so deuised by
the protectour & his counsel, that the self day
in which the lord Chamberlen was behedded in the tower
of London, & about the selfsame hower, was there
not without his assent behedded at Poontfraite, the
fore remembred lordes & knightes that were taken
from the king at Northampton & Stony Stratford.
Which thinge was done in the presence & by the
order of syr
Richard Ratclif knight, whose seruice the protector
specially vsed in the counsel and in thexecucion of
such lawles enterprises, as a man that had ben long
secret with him, hauing experience of the world &
a shrewde wit, short & rude in speche, rough &
rough & boistiouse of behauiour, bold in mischief,
as far from pitie as from al fere of god. This knight
bringing them out of the prison to the scafold, &
shewing to the people about that thei were Traitors,
not suffring them to speke & declare their
innocence lest their wordes might haue inclined men to
pity them, & to hate the protectour & his
part: caused them hastly without iugement, processe,
or maner of order to be behedded, & without other
earthly gilt, but only that thei were good men, to be
true to the king & to [nigh] to the quene.
Now when
the lord Chamberlen & these other lordes were
thus behedded & ridde out of the way: then thought
the protectour, that while men mused what the mater
ment, while the lordes of the realme wer about him out
of their owne strenghtis, while no man wist what to
thinke nor whome to trust, ere euer they should haue
space to dispute & digest the mater & make
parties: it wer best hastly to pursue his purpose,
& put himself in possession of the crowne, ere men
could haue time to deuise ani wais to resist. But now
was al the study, by what meane thys matter being of
it self so heinouse, might be first broken to the
people, in such wise that it might be wel taken. To
this counsel they toke diuerse, such as they thought
metely to be trusted, likely to be indused to the
parte, & able to stand them in stede, either by
power or policy.
| Edmunde
Shaa Maier of London |
Among whom, they made of Counsail Edmond Shaa knight
then Maier of London, which vpon trust of his own
aduauncement, whereof he was of a proud hart highly
desirouse, shold frame the cite to their appetite. Of
spiritual men thei toke such as had wit, & were in
aucthorite among the peple for oppinion of ther
lerning, & had no scrupilouse consience.
| Doctour
Shaa. Frere Penker |
Among these had thei Iohn Shaa clerke brother to the
Maier, & freer Penker prouincial of the Augustine
freers both doctors of diuinitie, both gret prechars,
both of more learning then vertue, of more fame then
lerning. For thei were before gretly estemed among the
peple: but after that neuer. Of these two the tone had
a sermon in praise of the protectour before the
coronacion, the tother after, both so ful of tediouse
flatery, that no mans eares could abide them. Penker
in his sermon so lost his voice that he was faine to
leaue of & come downe in the middes. Doctour Shaa
by his sermon lost his honestie, & sone after his
life, for very shame of the worlde, into which he
durst neuer after come abrode. But the frere forced
for no shame, & so it harmed him the lesse.
Howbeit some dout & many thinken, that Penker was
not of counsel of the mater before the coronacion, but
after the comen maner fell to flattery after: namely
sith his sermon was not incontinent vpon it, but at S.
Mary hospytall at the Ester after. But certaine is it,
that Doctour Shaa was of counsel in the beginning, so
farre forth that they determined that he should first
breke the mater in a sermon at Poules Crosse, in
whiche he shold by the aucthoritie of his preaching,
encline the peple to the protectours ghostly purpose.
But now was al the labour & study, in the deuise
of some convenient pretext, for which the peple should
be content, to depose the prince & accept the
protector for kinge. In which diuerse thinges they
deuised. But the chief thing & the weighty of al
that inuencion, rested in this that they should allege
bastardy, either in king Edward himselfe, or in his
children, or both. So that he should seme dihabled to
inherite the crowne by the duke of Yorke, and the
prince by him. To lay bastardy in kynge Edward, sowned
openly to the rebuke of the protectours owne mother,
which was mother to them both: for in that point could
be none other colour, but to pretend that his own
mother was one aduouteresse which not withstanding to
farther this purpose he letted not: but Natheles he
would the point should be lesse & more fauorably
handled, not euen fully plain & directly, but that
the matter should be touched a slope craftely, as
though men spared in that point to speke al the trouth
for fere of his displeasure. But the other point
concerning the bastardy that they deuised to sumise in
King Edwards children, that wold he should be openly
declared & inforsed to the vttermost. The coloure
& pretext wherof cannot be wel p[er]ceiued, but if
we first repete you some thinges longe before done
about king Edwardes mariage.
After that king Edward
the fourthe had deposed kinge Henry the sixt, & was
in peasyble possession of the realme, determining
himself to mary, as it was requisite bothe for himself
& for the realme, he sent over in embassiate, the
Erle of warwike with other noble men in his company
vnto Spaine, to intreate & conclude a mariage
betwene king Edward & the kinges doughter of
Spain. In which thing the Erle of Warwik founde the
parties so toward & willing, that he spedely
according to his instruccions, without any difficulty
brought the matter to verye good conclusion.
Now happed it that in the meane season, there came to
make a sute by peticion to the king, dame Elizabeth
Gray which was after his quene, at that tyme a widow
borne of noble blood, specyally by her mother, which
was Duches of Bedford ere she maried the lord Wodefeld
her father. Howbeit this dame Elizabeth her self being
in seruice with quene Margaret, wife vnto king Henry
the .vi. was maried vnto one [Iohn] Gray a squier whom
king Henry made knight vpon the field that he had on
[Shroue Tuesday] at [Saint Albans] against king Edward.
And litle while enioyed he that knighthod, for he was
at the same field slaine. After which done, & the
Erle of Warwik being in his embassiate about thafore
remebred mariage, this pore Lady made humble sute vnto
the king, that she might be restored vnto such smal
landes as her late husband had giuen her in iointure.
Whom when the king beheld, & hard her speke, as
she was both faire, of a good fauour, moderate of
stature, wel made & very wise: he not only pitied
her, but also waxed ennamored on her. And taking her
afterward secretly aside, began to entre in talking
more familiarly. Whose appetite when she perceiued,
she verteousely denyed him. But that did she so
wiseli, & with so good maner, & wordes so wel
set, that she rather kindled his desire then quenched
it. And fynally after many a meting, much woing &
many great promises, she wel espied the kinges
affeccion toward her so greatly encresed, that she
durst somwhat the more boldly say her minde, as to hym
whose harte she perceiued more fimely set, then to
fall of for a worde. And in conclusion she shewed him
plaine, that as she wist herself to simple to be his
wife, so thought she her self to good to be his
concubine. The king much merueling of her constaunce,
as he that had not ben wont els where to be so
stiffely sayd naye, so muche estemed her contynence
and chastitie, that he set her vertue in the stede of
possession & riches. And thus taking counsaile of
his desyre, determined in al possible hast to mary
her. And after he was thus appointed, & hadde
betwene them twain ensured her: then asked he counsel
of his other frendes, and that in suche maner, as thei
might ethe perceiue it boted not greatly to say nay.
Notwithstanding the Duches of york his mother was so
sore moued therewith, that she diswaded the mariage as
much as she possible might alleging that it was in his
honor, profite, and surety also, to mary in a noble
progeny out of his realm, wherupon depended gret
strength to his estate by the affinitie & gret
possibilitie of encrease of his possessions. And that
he could not well otherwise do, standing that the
Earle of warwik had so far moued already. Whiche wer
not likely to take it well, if al his viage were in
suche wise frustrate, and his appointmentes deluded.
And she said also that it was not princely to mary hys
owne subiect, no gret occasion leading thervnto, no
possessions, or other commodityes, depending therupon,
but onely as it were a rich man that would mary his
mayde, onely for a litle wanton dotage vppon her
parson. In which mariage manye moe commend the maidens
fortune, then the maisters wisdom. And yet
therin she said was more honesty, then honor in this
mariage. Forasmuch as there is betwene no merchant
& his own maid so gret difference, as betwene the
king and this widowe. In whose parson albeit ther was
nothing to be misliked, yet was there she saide:
nothing so excellent, but it might be founden in
divers other, that wer more metely (quod she) for your
estate, & maydens also, wheras the only widowhed
of Elizabeth Gray though she wer in al other thinges
conuenient for you, shold yet suffice as me semeth to
refrain you from her mariage, sith it is an vnsitting
thing, & a veri blemish, & highe
disparagement, to the sacre magesty of a prince, that
ought as nigh to approche priesthode in clenes as he
doth in dignitie, to be defouled with bigamy in his
first mariage.
| The
kynges answer to his mother |
The king when his mother had said, made her answer
part in ernest part in play merely, as he that wiste
himself out of her rule. And albeit he would gladly
that she shold take it wel, yet was at a pointe in his
owne mynde, toke she it wel or otherwise.
Howbeit
somwhat to satisfy her he saide, that albeit mariage
being a spiritual thing, ought rather to be made for
the respect of God where his grace enclineth the
parties to loue together as he trusted it was in his
then for the regard of any temporal aduauntage: yet
natheles him semed that this mariage euen worldly
considred, was not vnprofitable. For he reckened the
amitye of no earthly nacion so necessari for him, as
the frendship of his own. Which he thought likely to
beare him so muche the more herty fauor in that he
disdayned not to marye with one of his own land. And
yet yf outeward aliance wer thought so requisite, he
wold find the meanes to enter therinto, much better bi
other of his kin, wher al the parties could be
contented, than to mary himself, whom hee shoulde
happelye neuer loue, and for the possibility of more
possessions, lese the fruit & pleasure of this
that he had alredy. For smal pleasure taketh a man of
al that euer he hath beside, yf he bee wiued against
his appetite. And I doubt not quod he but there be as
ye saye other, that be in euery point comparable with
her. And therefore I let not them that like them to
wedde them. No more is it reason that it mislike any
man, that I mary where it liketh me. And I am sure
that my cosein of warwik neither loueth me so litle,
to grudge at that I loue, nor is so vnreasonable to
loke that I shold in choise of a wife, rather than be
ruled by his eye, then by mine own: as though I wer a
ward that wer bound to mary by thapointment of a
gardain. I wold not be a kyng with that condicion, to
forbere mine own liberty in choise of my own mariage.
As for possibilitie of more inheritaunce by new
affinity in estraunge landes, is ofte the occasion of
more trouble then profite. And we haue already title
by that meanes, to so much as suffiseth to get &
kepe wel in one mans daies. That she is a widow &
hath alredy children, by gods blessed Ladye I am a
batcheler & haue some to: & so eche of vs
hath a profe that neither of vs is lyke to be barain.
And therfore madam I pray you be content, I trust in
god she shal bring furth a young prince, that shal
please you. And as for the bigamy, let the bishop
hardely lay it in my wai, when I come to take orders.
For I vnderstand it is forbidden a priest, but I neuer
wiste it yet that it was forbidden a prince. The
Duchesse with these wordes nothyng appeased, and seing
the king so set thereon that she coulde not pull him
backe, so hyghelye she dysdained it, that vnder
pretect of her duetye to Godwarde, shee deuised to
disturbe this mariage, and rather to help that he
shold mary one dame
Elizabeth Lucy, whom the king had also not long before
gotten with child. Wherefor the kinges mother obiected
openly against his mariage, as it were in discharge of
her conscience, that the kinge was sure to dame
Elizabeth Lucy and her husband before god. By reson of
which wordes, such obstacle was made in the mater,
that either the Bishoppes durst not, or the king would
not, procede to the solempnisacion of this weding, til
these same wer clerely purged, & the trouth wel
& openly testified. Wherupon dame Elysabeth Lucy
was sent for. And albeit that she was by the kinges
mother & many other put in good comfort, to
affirme that she was ensure vnto the king: yet when
she was solempnely sworne to say the trouth, she
confessed that they were neuer ensured. Howbeit she
sayed his grace spake so louing wordes vnto her, that
she verely hopid he wold have maried her. And that if
it had not ben for such kind wordes, she would never
have shewed such kindenes to him, to let him so kindly
get her with childe. This examinacion sole[m]pnly taken,
when it was clerely perceiued that there was none
impediment:
the king with gret feast & honorable solempnite,
maried dame Elisabeth Grai and her crowned quene that
was hys enemies wife, & many time had praied full
hartly for his losse. In which god loued her better,
then to graunt her her bone.
But when the Erle of
Warwick vnderstode of this mariage, he tooke it so
highly that his embasiate was deluded, that for very
angre & disdaine,
he at his retourne assembled a
gret puisaunce against the king, and came so fast
vppon him or he could be able to resist, that he
was faine to voide the realme & fle into hollaund
for succour.
The
prince borne
King Kenry the .vi. set vp
Of the
Erle of warwik |
Wher he remayned for the space of .ii. yeres, leuing
hys new wife in westminster in sanctuary, wher she was
deliuered of Edward the prince, of whom we before haue
spoken. In which mene time the Erle of warwik toke out
of prison and set vp againe Henry the .vi. which was
before by king Edward deposed and that much what by
the power of the Erle of warwike: which was a wiseman
& a couragiouse warriour, & of such strength,
what for his landes his alliaunce and fauer with al
the people, that he made kinges and put down kinges
almost at his pleasure, & not impossible to haue
attained it himselfe, if he had not rekened it a
greater thing to make a king then to be a king. But
nothing
lasteth alway, for in conclusion king Edwarde
returned, and with much lesse number then he had, at
Barnet on thestre daye felde, slewe the Erle of wawik
with many other great estates of that partie, & so
stably attained the crowne againe, that he peassybly
enioyed it vntil his dieng day: and in such plight
left it, that it could not be lost, but by the
discorde of his verye frendes, or falshed of his
fained frendes.
I haue rehersed this
busines about this mariage somwhat the more at lenght,
because it might therby the better appere how slipper
a grounde the protector builded his colour, by which
he pretended king Edwardes children to be bastardes.
But that inuencion simple as it was, it liked them to
whom it suffised to haue somwhat to say, while they
wer sure to be compelled to no larger proofe then
themselfe list to make.
Now then as I began to shew you, it was by the
protectour & his counsaile concluded, that this
doctour Sha should in a sermon at Poules Crosse,
sygnifie to the people, that neither king Edward
himself, nor the Duke of Clarence, were lawfully
begotten, nor were not the very children of the duke
of Yorke, but gotten vnlawfully by other parsons by
thaduoutry of the duches their mother. And that also
dame Elisabeth Lucy was verely the wife of king
Edward, and so the prince and all his children
bastardes that were gotten vpon the quene. According
to this deuise, doctour Shaa the sonday after at
Poules crosse in a gret audience (as alwy assembled
gret numbre to his preching) he toke for his tyme Spuria vitulamina
non agent radices altas. That
is to say bastard slippes shal neuer take depe roote.
Thereupon when he had shewed the great grace that god
giueth & secretly infowndeth in the right
generacion after the lawes of matrimony, then declared
he that comenly those children lacked that grace,
& for the punishment of their parentes were for
the most parte vnhappie, which were gotten in baste
and specciallye in aduowtrie. Of which, though some by
the ignoraunce of the world & the trouth hid fro
knowlege enherited for the season other mennes landes,
yet god alway so prouideth, that it continueth not in
their blood long, but the trouth comming to light, the
rightful inheritors be restored, & the bastard
slip pulled vp, ere it can be rooted depe. And when he
had laid for the proofe & confirmacion of this
sentence, certain ensamples taken out of the olde
testament & other auncient histories, then began
he to descend into the praise of the lord Richarde
late duke of York, calling him father to the lord
protectour, & declared the title of hys heires
vnto the crowne, to whom it was after the deathe of
King Henry the sixte entailed by authoritye of
parleamente. Then shewed he that his very right heire
of his body lawfully begotten, was onely the lord
protector. For he declared then, that king Edward was
neuer lawfully maried, vnto the quene, but was before
god, husband vnto dame Elizabeth Lucye, & so his
children bastardes. And besides that, neither king
Edward himself, nor the duke of Clarence among those
that wer secret in the household, wer reckened very
surely for the children of the noble Duke, as those
that by their fauours more resembled other knowen men
then him. From whose vertuous condicions, he said,
that very noble prince, the special paterne of
knightly prowes, as well in all princely behauor as
in the liniamentes & fauor of his visage,
represented the verye face of the noble duke his
father. This is quod he, the fathers owne figure, this
is his own countenance, the very prent of his visage,
the sure vndoubted image, the plaiyne expresse likenes
of that noble Duke.
Nowe was it before
deuised, that in the speaking of these wordes, the
protector should haue comen in among the people to the
sermonwarde, to thend that those words meting with his
presence, might haue been taken among the hearers, as
thoughe the holye ghost had put them in the preachers
mouth, & should haue moued the people euen ther,
to crie Richard king Richard, that it might haue bene
after said, that he was specially chosen by god &
in maner by miracle. But this deuise quailed either by
the protectors negligence, or the preachers ouermuche
diligence. For while the protector found by the way
tarying lest he should preuent those woordes, &
the doctor fearing that he should come ere his sermon
could come to those wordes hasted his matter thereto:
he was com to them & past them & entred into
other matters ere the protector came. Whom when he
beheld coming, he sodainly lefte the matter, with
which he was in hand, and without ani deducion
therunto, out of al order, & oute of al frame,
began to repete those wordes again: this is the verye
noble prince, the special patrone of knightly prowes,
which aswell in al princelye behaueor, as in the
liniamentes & fauor of his visage, representeth
the very face of the noble duke of york his father.
This is the fathers own figure, this his own
countenance, the very printe of his visage, the sure
vndouted ymage, the plain expresse lykenes of the
noble duke, whose remembrance can neuer dye while he
liueth. Whyle these wordes wer in speaking, the
protector accompanied with the duke of Buckingham,
went thorow the people into the place where the
doctors comonly stand in the vpper story, where he
stode to hearken the sermon. But the people wer so
farre fro crying king Richard, that thei stode as thei
had bene turned into stones, for wonder of this
shamefull sermon. After whiche once ended, the
preacher gate him home & neuer after durst looke
out
for shame, but kepe him out of sight lyke an owle. And
when he once asked one that had bene his old frend,
what the people talked of him, al wer it that his own
conscience wel shewed him that thei talked no good,
yet when the tother answered him that there was in
euery mans mouth spoken of him much shame, it so
strake him to the heart, that within fewe daies after
he withered & consumed away. Then on the tewesday
folowing this sermon, there came vnto the yeld hall in
London the duke of Buckingham, accompanied with diuers
lordes and knightes, mo then happely knewe the message
that thei brought. And there in the east ende of the
hall where the maire kepeth the hustinges, the maire
& al the aldermen being assembled about him, all
the commons of the citie, gathered before them, after
silence commaunded vpon greate pain in the protectors
name: the Duke stode vp, and (as he was neither
vnlearned, and of nature marueilouslye well spoken)
hee saide vnto the people with a clere and a loude
voice in this maner of wyse.
| The duke
of Buckinghams oracion |
Frendes, for the zeale & heartye fauour that we
beare you, we be comen to breake vnto you, of a matter
ryghte great & weighty, and no lesse weightye,
then pleasing to God and profitable to all the realme:
nor to no part of the realm more profitable, then to
you the citezens of this noble citie. For why, that
thyng that we wote well ye haue long time lacked and
sore longed for, that ye would haue geuen great good
for, that ye woulde haue gone farre to fetche, that
thynge wee bee comme hyther to bringe you, withoute
youre labour, payne, coste, aduenture or iopardie.
What thynge is that? certes the suretye of your owne
bodyes, the quiete of youre wiues and youre doughters,
the safegarde of youre goodes: of all whiche thynges
in tymes passed ye stoode euer more in doubte. For who
was there of you all, that woulde recken hym selfe
Lorde of his own good, among so many grennes and
trappes as was set therfore, among so much pilling and
polling, among so may taxes & tallages, of whiche
there was neuer ende, & often time no nede: or if
any wer, it rather grew of riote & vnresonable
wast, then any necessarye or honorable charge. So that
there was dayly pilled fro good men & honest, gret
substaunce of goodes to be lashed oute among
vnthriftes so farforth that fiftenes suffised not, nor
ani vsual names of knowen taxes: but vnder an easy
name of beneuolence & good will, the commissioners
so much of euery man toke, as noman would with his
good wil haue giuen. As though the name of
beneuolence, had signified that euery man shold pay,
not what himself of his good wil list to graunt, but
what the king of his good will list to take.
Which
neuer asked litle, but euery thing was hawsed aboue
the mesure: amercementes turned into fines, fines into
raunsomes, smal trespas to misprision, misprision into
treson. Wherof I thinke no man loketh that we should
remembre you of examples by name, as though
Burdet were forgotten, that was for a worde spoken in
hast, cruelly behedded, by the misconstruing of the
lawes of thys realme for the princes plesure: with no
les honour to
Markam then chief Iustyce, that left his office rather
then he would assent to that iudgement, then to the
dishonesty of those, that either for fere or flatterie
gaue that iudgement. What
Coke your own worshipful neibour alderman & Mayer
of this noble citie, who is of you either so negligent
that he knoweth not, or so forgetfull that he
remembreth not, or so harde hearted that he pitieth
not, that worshipful mans losse? What speke we of
losse? his vtter spoile and vnderserued distruccyon,
only for that it happed those to fauor him, whome the
prince fauored not. We nede not I suppose to reherse
of these any mo by name, sith ther be I doubte not
many here present, that either in themself or their
nighe frendes, haue knowen as well their goodes as
their parsons greatly endaungered, either by fained
quarels, or smal matters agreuid with heinouse names.
And also there was no crime so great, of whiche there
could lack a pretext. For sithe the king preuenting the
time of his enheritaunce attained the crowne by
batayl: it suffised in a riche man for a pretext of
treson, to haue ben of kinred or alliaunce nere
familiarite or leger aquaintaunce with any of those
that were at any time the kinges enemies, which was at
one time & other, more then halfe the realme. Thus
wer nether your goods in surety & yet thei brought
your bodies in iubardi besyde the comen aduenture of
open warre, which albeit that it is euer the wil &
occasion of much mischief, yet is it neuer so
mischeuouse, as where any peple fal at distaunce among
themself, nor in none erthly nacion so dedely & so
pestilent, as when it happeneth among vs & among vs
neuer so long continued dissension, nor so many
battailes in the season, nor so cruel & deadly
foughten, as was in the kinges daies that dead is god
forgiue it his soule. In whose time & by whose
occasion, what about the getting of the garland,
keping it, lesing & winning againe, it hath cost
more englishe blood then hath twise the winning of
Fraunce.
In which inward warre among our self, hath ben so gret
effucion of the auncient noble blood of this realme,
that scarcely the half remaineth, to the gret
infebling of this noble land, beside many a good town
ransakid & spoiled, by them that haue ben going to
the field or cumming from thence. And peace long
after not much surer then war. So that no time was
ther in which rich men for their mony, & gret men
for their landes or some other for some fere or some
displesure were not out of peryl. For whome trusted he
that mistrusted his own brother? whom spared he that
killed his own brother? or who could parfitely loue
him, if hys owne brother could not? what maner of
folke he most fauoured, we shall for hys honour spare
to speke of, howbeit thys wote you wel al, that whoso
was beste, bare alway lest rule, & more sute was
in his dayes vnto Shores wife a vile & abhominable
strumpet, then to al the lordes in England, except
vnto those that made her their proctoure which simple
woman was wel named & honest, tyll the kyng for his
wanton lust & sinful affeccion byreft her from her
husband a right honest substauncial yong man among
you. And in that point which in good faith I am sorye
to speke of, sauing that it is in vain to kepe in
counsel that thing that al men know, the kinges gredy
appetite was insaciable, and euery where ouer al the
realme intollerable. For no woman was there any where
yong or olde, riche or pore, whom he set his eie vpon,
in whome he anythinge lyked either person or fauour,
speche, pace, or countenance, but without any fere of
god, or respect of his honour, murmure or grudge of
the worlde, he would importunely pursue hys appetite,
and haue her, to the gret destruccion of many a good
woman, & greate dolor to their housebande, and
theyr other frendes, whiche being honest people of
themself, so much regarde the clennes of their house,
the chastitie of theyr wifes and their children, that
them wer leuer to leese all that thei haue besyde,
then to haue suche a villany done them. And all were
it that with this and other importable dealing, the
realme was in euery part annoyd: yet specially ye here
the citezens of this noble citie, as well for that
among you is most plenty of all such thinges as
minister matter to such iniuries, as for that you were
nereste at hande, sith that nere here about was
comonly his most abyding. And yet bee ye the people
whom he had as singuler cause wel and kyndly to
entreate, as any part of his realme, not onely for
that the prince by
| London
the kinges special chaumber |
this noble citye, as his special chamber & the
speciall wel renoumed citye of his realme, much
honorable fame receiueth among all other nacions: but
also for that ye not without your great coste and
sundry perils and iopardies in all his warres, bare
euer your specyall fauoure to his parte whiche youre
kynde myndes borne to the house of York, sith he hath
nothing worthely acquited, ther is of that house that
now by gods grace better shal, which thing to shewe
you is the whole some and effect of this our present
errande. It shall not I wote well nede that I rehearse
you agayn that ye haue alreadye harde, of him that
can better tell it, and of whom I am sure ye wil
better beleue it. And reason is that it so be. I am
not so proude to looke therfore, that ye shoulde
recken my wordes of as great authoritie as the
preachers of the worde of god, namelye a manne so
cunninge and so wise that no manne better woteth what
he should say, and thereto so good and vertuous that
he would not say the thyng whiche he wist he shoulde
not say, in the pulpet namely into which none honest
man commeth to lie, which honorable preacher ye wel
remember substancially declared vnto you at Poules
crosse on Sunday last passed, the righte and title that
the most excellent Prince Richard duke of Gloucester now
protectour of this realme, hath vnto the crown &
kingdom of the same. For as that worshipful man
groundly made open vnto you, the children of king
Edward the fourth wer neue lawfully begotten,
forasmuch as the king (liuing his very wife dame
Elizabeth Lucy) was neuer lawfully married vnto the
Quene their mother, whose bloode sauing that he set
volupteous pleasure before his honor, was full
vnmetely to bee matched with his, and the mengling of
whose bloodes together, hath bene the effusion of great
parte of the noble blood of this realme. Wherby it
maye wel seme that mariage not well made, of which
ther is so much mischief growen. For lack of which
lawfull accoupling, & also of other thinges, which the said
worshipful
doctor rather signified then fully explaned, & which
thynges shal not be spoken for me as the thing wherin euery man
forbeareth
to say that he knoweth in auoidinge dyspleasure of my
noble lord protector, bearinge as nature requireth a
filial reuerence to the duches his mother, for these
cause I say before remembred, that is to wit for lack
of other issue lawfully comming of the late noble
prince Richard duke of York to whose roial bloode the
crown of England and of Fraunce, is by the high
authoritie of parliament entailed, the right and title
of the same, is by the iust course of enheritance
accordinge to the comon law of this lande, deuolute
& comen vnto the most excellent prince the lord
protector as to the very lawfully begotten sonne of
the fore remembred noble duke of Yorke. Which thing
well considred, & the greate knightly prowes
pondred, with manyfolde vertues which in his noble
parson singularly abound, the nobles & commons
also of this realm, & specially of the north
partes, not willing any bastard blood to haue the rule
of the land, nor the abusions before in the same vsed
any longer to continue, haue condiscended & fullye
determined to make humble peticion vnto the most
puisant prince, the lord protector: that it maye like
his grace at our humble request, to take vpon him the
guiding & gouernance of this realm, to the welth
& encrease of the same, according to his very
right & iust title. Which thing I wote it wel he
wilbe loth to take vpon him, as he whose wisdom well
perceiueth the labor & study both of minde &
of bodye that shal come therewith, to whom so euer so wel
occupy that roume, as I dare say he wil if he take it.
Which roume I warne you well is no childes office. And
that the greate wise manne well percieued. When hee
sayde: Veh regno cuius rex puer est. Woe is
that Realme, that hathe a chylde to theyre Kynge.
Wherefore soo muche the more cause haue we to thank
god, that this noble parsonage which is so
ryghteousely intitled thereunto, is od so sadde age,
and therto of so great wisedome ioined with so great
experience: whiche albeit he wil be lothe as I haue
said to take it vpon him: yet shall he to oure
peticion in that behalf the more graciously encline if
ye the worsshipfull citezens of this the chiefe citie
of this realme, ioyne wyth vs the nobles in our said
request. Which for your owne weale we doubte not but
ye will, and natheles I hartelye praye you so to doe,
wherby you shall doe gret profite to all this realme
beside in chosing them so good a king, and vnto your
selfe speciall commodite, to whome hys maiesty shall
euer after beare so muche the more tender fauour, in
howe much he shall perceiue you the more prone &
beneuolently minded toward his eleccion. Wherin dere
frendes what mind you haue, wee require you plainely
to shew vs. When the duke had saied, and looked that
the people whome he hoped that the Mayer had framed
before, shoulde after this proposicion made, haue
cried king Richarde, king Richard: all was husht and
mute, and not one word aunswered therunto. Wherewith
the duke was meruailously abashed, and taking the
Maier nere to him, with the other that were about him
priuey to that matter, saied vnto them softlye what
meaneth this, that this peple be so stil. Sir quod the
Mayer parcase they perceyue you not well. That shal we
mende (quod he) if that wyll helpe. And by and by
somewhat louder, he rehersed them the same matter
againe in other order and other wordes, so wel and
ornately, & natheles so euidently and plaine, with
voice gesture and countenance so cumly and so
conuenient, that eueryman much meruailed that heard
him, and thought that they neuer had in their liues
heard so euill a tale so well tolde. But were it for
wonder or feare, or that eche looke that other shoulde
speake fyrste: not one woorde was there aunswered of
all the people that stode before, but al was as styl
as the midnight, not so much as rowning among them, by
whych they myght seme to comen what was best to doe,
when the Mayer saw thys he wyth other pertiners of
that counsayle, drew aboute the duke and sayed that
the people had not ben accustomed there to be spoken
vnto but by the recorder, whiche is the mouth of the
citie, and happely to him they will aunswere,
With that the recorder called Fitz Wyllyam a sadde man
and an honest, whiche was so new come into that office
that he neuer had spoken o the peple before, and loth
was with that matter to beginne, not withstanding
thereunto commaunded by the Mayer, made rehersall to
the comens of that the duke had twise rehersed them
himselfe. But the recorder so tempered his tale, that
he shewed euery thing as the dukes wordes and no part
of his owne. But all thys nothing no chaunge made in
the people which alway after one, sode as they had ben
men amased, wherupon the duke rowned vnto the Mayer
and sayd: Thys is a maruelouse obstinate silence, and
therewith he turned vnto the peple againe with these
wordes: dere frendes we cume to moue you to that thing
which peraduenture we not so greately neded, but that
the lordes of thys realme and the comens of other
parties, might haue suffised, sauing that we such loue
bere you, and so much sette by you, that we woulde not
gladly do withoute you, that thing in which to bee
parteners is your weale & honour which as it
semeth, eyther you se not or way not. Wherfore we
require you giue aunswer one or other, whither you be
mynded as all the nobles of the realme be, to haue
this noble prynce now protectour to be your kyng or
not. At these wodes the people began to whisper among
themselfe secretly, [t]hat the voyce was neyther loude
nor distincke, but as it were the sounde of a swarm of
bees, tyl at the last in [the nether] ende of the hal, a
bushement of the dukes seruantes and Nashefeldes and
other longing to the protectour, with some prentises
and laddes that thrust into the hal amonge the prese,
began sodainlye at mennes backes to crye owte as lowde
as their throtes would gyue: king Rycharde kinge
Rycharde, and threwe vp their cappes in token of ioye.
And they that stode before, cast back theyr heddes
meruailing thereof, but nothing they sayd. And when
the duke and the Maier saw thys maner, they wysely
turned it to theyr purpose. And said it was a goodly
cry and a ioyfull to here, euery man with one voice no
manne sayeng nay. Wherfore frendes, quod the duke,
sins that we parceiue it is al your hole mindes to
haue this noble man for your king whereof we shall
make his grace so effetuall reporte, that we doubte
not but it shall redounde vnto your great weal and
commoditye: we require ye that ye to morow go with vs
and wee with you vnto his noble grace, to make our
humble request vnto him in maner before remembred. And
therewith the lordes came downe, and the company
dissolued and departed, the more part al sad, som with
glad semblaunce that wer not very mery, and some of
those that came thyther with the duke, not able to
dissemble theyr sorow, were faine at his backe to
turne theyr face to the wall, while the doloure of
their heart brast oute at theyr eyen.
Then
| The
mayers commynge to Baynardes castel |
on the morowe after, the mayre with all the aldermen
and chiefe comeners of the citie in their beste maner
apparailed, assembling themself together resorted vnto
Baynardes castell where the protector lay. To which
place repaired also according to theyr [appo]intmente
the duke of Buckingham, with dyuers noble menne with
him, beside manye knightes and other gentlemen. And
thereupon the duke sent worde vnto the lord
protectour, of the being there of a great and
honourable coumpanye, to moue a great matter vnto his
grace.
Whereupon the protectour made difficultie to
come oute vnto them, but if he first knewe some part
of theyr errande, as though he doubted and partelye
dystrusted the commyng of suche noumber vnto him so
sodainlye, withoute anye warnyng or knowledge, whyther
they came for good or harme, then the Duke when he had
shewed this vnto the maire and other, that they mighte
thereby see howe lytle the protectour loked for this
matter, thei sent vnto him by the messenger suche
louyng message againe, and therewith so humblye
besought hym to vouchsafe that thei might resort to
hys presence, to purpose their intent, of which they
would vnto none other parson any part disclose, that
at the laste hee came foorth of his chamber, and yet
not down vnto them, but stode aboue in a galarye ouer
them, where they mighte see hym & speake to him,
as though he woulde not yet come to nere them tyll he
wist what they mente. And thereuppon the Duke of
Buckingham fyrste made humble peticion vnto him, on
the behalfe of them all, that his grace woulde pardon
them and lycence them to purpose vnto hys grace the
intent of their commyng with oute his displeasure,
withoute whiche pardon obtayned, they durst not be
bold to moue him of that matter. In whiche albeit
thei ment as muche honor to hys grace as wealthe to al
the realm beside, yet were they not sure howe hys
grace woulde take it, whom they would in no wyse
offende. Then the protector as hee was very gentle of
hymselfe, and also longed sore to wit what they mente,
gaue hym leaue to purpose what hym lyked, verely
trustyng for the good minde that he bare them al, none
of them ani thing would intende vnto hym warde, where
with he ought to be greued. When the duke had this
leaue & pardon to speake, then waxed he bolde to
shewe hym theyr intent and purpose, with all the
causes mouing them thereto as ye before haue harde,
and finally to beseche hys grace, that it wold lyke
him of his accustomed goodnes and zeale vnto the
realm, now with his eye of pitie, to beholde the long
contiued distres and decay of the same and to sette
his gracious handes to the redresse and amendement
therof, by taking vppon him the crowne and gouernaunce
of theis realme, according to his right and tytle
lawfully descended vnto hym, and to the laude of god,
profyte of the land, and vnto his grace so muche the
more honour and lesse paine, in [that] neuer prince
raigned vpon any people, that were so glad to liue
vnder hys obeysaunce as the people of this realme
vnder his. When the protector had hard the proposicion,
he loked very strangely therat, and answered: That all
were it that he partli knew the thinges by them
alledged to be true: yet such entier loue he bare vnto
king Edward and his children, that so muche more
regarded hys honour in other realmes about, then the
crowne of any one, of which he was neuer desyrous,
that he could not fynde in his hearte in this poynte
to enclyne to theyr desyre. For in all other nacyons
where the trueth wer not wel knowen, it shold
paraduenture be thought, that it were his owne
ambicious minde and deuise, to depose the prince &
take himself the crown. With which infami he wold not
haue his honoure stayned for anye crowne. In whiche he
had euer parceyued muche more labour and payn, the
pleasure to hym that so woulde so vse it, as he that
woulde not were not worthy to haue it. Not
withstanding he not only pardoned them the mocion that
they made him, but also thanked them for the loue and
hearty fauoure they bare him, prayinge them for his
sake to geue and beare the same to the prynce, vnder
whom he was and would be content to lyue, & with
his labour and counsel as farre as should like the
kyng to vse him, he woold doe his vttermost deuor to
set the realm in good state. Whiche was alreadye in
this litle while of his protectorship (the prayse
geuen to god) wel begon, in that the malice of such as
wer before occasion of the contrary and of new
intended to bee, were nowe partelye by good policye,
partly more by goddes special prouidence then mans
prouision repressed. Vpon this answer geuen, the Duke
by the protectours lycence, a lytle rouned, aswell
with other noble men about him as with the mayre and
recorder of London. And after that vpon lyke pardone
desyred and obtayned, he shewed aloude vnto the
protectour, that for a fynal conclusion, that the
realm was appointed king Edwardes lyne shoulde not any
longer reigne vpon them, both for that thei had so
farre gone, that it was now no surety to retreate, as
for that they thought it for the weale vniuersal to
take that wai although they had not yet begonne it.
Wherfore yf it would lyke hys grace to take the crowne
vpon him, they woulde humblye beseche hym thereunto.
If he woulde geue them a resolute aunswere to the
contrary, whyche they woulde bee lothe to heare, than
muste they needes seke and shold not faile to fynd
some other noble manne that woulde. These wordes muche
moued the protectoure, whiche els as euery manne may
witte, would neuer of likelyhoode haue inclyned
therunto. But when he saw ther was none other way, but
that eyther he must take it or els he and his bothe
goe fro it, he said vnto the lordes and commons: Sith
we parceiue wel that al the realm is so set, whereof
we be very sorye that they wil not suffer in any wise
king Edwardes line to gouerne them, whom no manne
earthly can gouerne again their willes, and we wel
also perceue, that no manne is there, to whom the
crown can by so iust tytle appertayn as to our self,
as verye ryghte heyre lawfullye begotten of the bodye
of oure moste deere father Rycharde late Duke of
Yorke, to whiche tytle is nowe ioyned your elleccion,
the nobles & comons of this realm, whiche wee of
all titles possible take for most effectual: we be
content & agre fauourably to incline to your
peticion and request, and accordyng to the same,
| The
protector taketh uppon him to be kynge |
here we take vppon vs the royall estate, preeminence
and kyngdome of the two noble realmes, England and
Fraunce, the tone fro this day forward by vs and our
heires to rule, gouerne and defend, the tother by
goddes grace & youre good helpe to geat again and
subdewe, and established for euer in due obedyence
vnto this realme of Englande, thaduancement wherof we
neuer aske of god longer to lyue then we entende to
procure. With this there was a great shout, crying
Richarde king Rychard. And then the lordes went vp to
the kyng (for so was he from that time called) and the
people departed, talkyng diuersly of the matter euery
man as his fantasye gaue hym. But muche they talked
and marueiled of the maner of this dealing, that the
matter was on both partes made so straunge, as though
neither had euer communed with other thereof before,
when that themself wel wist there was no man so dul
that heard them, but he perceiued wel inough, that all
the matter was made betwene them. Howbeit somme
excused that agayne, and sayde all must be done in
good order though. And menne must sommetime for the
manner sake not bee a knowen what they knowe. For at
the consecracion of a bishop, euery man woteth well by
the paying for his bulles, that he purposeth to be
one, & though he paye for nothing elles. And yet
must he bee twise asked whyther he wil be bishop or
no, and he muste twyse say naye, and at the third tyme
take it as compelled ther vnto by his owne wyll. And
in a stage play all the people know right wel, that he
that playeth the sowdayne is percase a sowter. Yet if
one should can so lyttle good, to shewe out of
seasonne what acquaintance he hath with him, and calle
him by his owne name whyle he standeth in his
magestie, one of his tormentors might hap to breake
his head, and worthy for marring of the play. And so
they said that these matters bee Kynges games, as it
were stage playes, and for the more part plaied vpon
scafoldes. In which pore men be but the lokers on. And
thei that wise be, wil medle no farther. For they that
sometyme step vp and playe with them, when they cannot
play their partes, they disorder the play & do
themself no good.
‡The nexte
daye the Protectoure with a great
| This
that is here betwene this marke ‡
& this marke * was not writen by master
More in this history written by him in English, but is
translated out of this history which he wrote in latin |
traine wente to westmynster halle and there when he
had placed himself in the court of the kinges bench,
declared to the audience, that he woulde take vpon him
the crowne in that place there, wher the king himself
sitteth and ministreth the law: because he considred
that it was the chiefest duety, of a kyng to minister
the lawes. Then with as pleasant an oracion as he
could, he went about to win vnto him, the nobles, the
marchantes, the artificers, and in conclusion al kinde
of men. But specially the lawyers of this realme. And
fynally to thentent that no man shoulde hate hym for
feare, and that his deceitful clemency mighte geat him
the good wyll of the people, when he had declared the
dyscomoditie of discorde, and the commodyties of
concorde and vnitie, he made an open proclamacion,
that he did put oute of his minde all enymities, and
that he there did openly pardon all offences committed
against him. And to the entente that he might shew a
proofe thereof, he commaunded that one Fogge whom he
had long deadly hated, shold be brought than before
him. Who being brought oute of the saintuary by (for
thither had he fled, for fere of hym) in the sight of
the people, he tooke him by the hand. Whiche thyng the
common people reioysed at and praised, but wise men
tooke it for a vanitye. In his returne homewarde, whom
so euer he met he saluted. For a minde that knoweth it
self giltye, is in a maner deiected to a seruile
flattery.
When he hadde begonne his
reygne the [twenty sixth] day of Iune, after this
mockishe selccion, than was he Crowned the [sixte] day
of Iuly. And that solemnitie was furnished for the
most part, with the selfe same prouision that was
appointed for the Coronacion of his nephew.*
Now fell ther mischieues
thick. And as the thinge euill gotten is neuer well
kept: through all the time of his reygne, neuer ceased
there cruel death & slaughter, till his owne
destrucccion ended it. But as he finished his time
with the beste death, and the most righteous, that is
to wyt his own: so began he with the most piteous and
wicked, I meane the lamentable murther of his
innoocent nephewes, the young king and his tender
brother. Whose death and final infortune hathe
natheles so far comen in question, that some remain
yet in doubt, whither they wer in his dayes destroyde
or no. Not for that onely that
Perken Warbecke, by many folkes malice, and mooe
folkes foly, so long space abusyng the worlde, was
aswel with princes as the porer people, reputed and
taken for the yonger of those two, but for that also
that all thynges wer in late daies so couertly
demeaned, one thing pretended and an other ment, that
there was nothyng so plaine and openly proued, but
that yet for the comen custome of close &
| Close
delyng is euer suspected |
couert dealing, men had it euer inwardly suspect, as
many well counterfaited iewels make the true
mistrusted. Howbeit concerning that opinion, with the
occasions mouing either partie, we shall haue place
more at large to entreate, yf we hereafter happen to
write the time of the late noble prince of famous
memory king Henry the seuenth, or parcase that history
of Perkin in any compendious processe by it selfe. But
in the meane time for this present matter, I shall
rehearse you the dolorous end of those babes, not
after euery way that I haue heard, but after that way
thay I haue so hard by such men & by such meanes,
as me thinketh it wer hard but it should be true.
King
Richarde after his coronacion, takyng his way to
Gloucester to visit in his newe honor, the towne of
which he bare the name of his old, deuised as he
roode, to fulfil that thing which he before had
intended. And forasmuch as his minde gaue him, that
his nephewes liuing, men woulde not recken that hee
could haue right to the realm, he thought therfore
without delay to rid them, as though the killing of
his kinsmen, could amend his cause, and make him a
kindly king. Whereuppon he sent one
| Iohn
Grene
Robert Brakenbury constable of the Tower
|
Iohn Grene whom he specially trusted, vnto sir Robert
Brakenbery constable of the Tower, with a letter and
credence also, that the same sir Robert shoulde in any
wise put the two children to death. This Iohn Grene
did his errande vnto Brakenbery kneling before our
Lady in the Tower, who plainely answered that he would
neuer putte them to death to dye therfore, with which
answer Ihon Grene returning recounted the same to
Kynge Richarde at Warwick yet in his way. Wherwith he
toke such displeasure and thought, that the same
night, he said vnto a secret page of his: Ah whome
shall a man trust? those that I haue brought vp my
selfe, those that I had went would most surely serue
me, euen those fayle me, and at my commaundemente wyll
do nothyng for me. Sir quod his page there lyeth one
on your paylet without, that I dare well say to do
your grace pleasure, the thyng were right harde that
he wold refuse, meaning this by
sir Iames Tyrell, which was a man of right goodlye
parsonage, and for natures gyftes, woorthy to haue
serued a muche better prince, if he had well serued
god, and by grace obtayned asmuche trouthe & good
will as he had strength and witte. The man had an high
heart, and sore longed vpwarde, not rising yet so fast
as he had hoped, being hindered and kept vnder by the
meanes of sir Richard Ratcliffe and sir William
Catesby,
| Authority loueth no partners |
which longing for no moo parteners of the princes
fauour, and namely not for hym, whose pride thei wist
would beare no pere, kept him by secrete driftes out
of all secrete trust. Whiche thyng this page wel had
marked and knowen. Wherefore thys occasion offered, of
very speciall frendship he toke his time to put him
forward, & by such wise doe him good, that al the
enemies he had except the deuil, could neuer haue done
him so muche hurte. For vpon this pages wordes king
Richard arose. (For this communicacion had he sitting
at the draught, a conuenient carpet for such a
counsaile) and came out in to the pailet chamber, on
which he found in bed sir Iames and sir Thomas Tyrels,
of parson like and brethren of blood, but nothing of
kin in condicions. Then said the king merely to them:
What sirs be ye in bed so soone, and calling vp syr
Iames, brake to him secretely his mind in this
mischieuous matter. In whiche he founde him nothing
strange. Wherfore on the morrow he sente him to
Brakenbury with a letter, by which he was commaunded
to deliuer sir Iames all the kayes of the Tower for
one nyght, to the ende he might there accomplish the
kinges pleasure, in such thing as he had geuen him
commaundement. After which letter deliuered and the
kayes receiued, sir Iames appointed the night nexte
ensuing to destroy them, deuysing before and preparing
the meanes. The prince as soone as the protector left
that name and toke himself as king, had it shewed vnto
him, that he should not reigne, but his vncle should
haue the crowne. At which worde the prince sore
abashed, began to sigh and said: Alas I woulde my
vncle woulde lette me haue my lyfe yet, though I lese
my kingdome. Then he that tolde him the tale, vsed him
with good wordes, and put him in the best comfort he
could. But forthwith was the prince and his brother
bothe shet vp, and all other remoued from them, onely
one called black wil or William slaughter except, set
to serue them and see them sure. After whiche time the
prince neuer tyed his pointes, nor ought rought of
himselfe, but with that young babe hys brother,
lingered in thought and heauines til this tratorous
death, deliuered them of that wretchednes. For Sir
Iames Tirel deuised that thei shold be murthered in
their beddes. To the execucion wherof, he appointed
| Miles
Forest
Ihon Dighton
|
Miles Forest one of the foure that kept them, a felowe
fleshed in murther before time. To him he ioyned one
Iohn Dighton his own horsekeper, a big brode square
strong knaue. Then al the other beeing remoued from
them, thys Miles Forest and Iohn Dighton, about
midnight (the sely children lying in their beddes)
came into the chamber, and sodainly lapped them vp
among the clothes so be wrapped them and entangled
them keping down by force the fetherbed and pillowes
hard vnto their mouthes, that within a while smored
and stifled, theyr breath failing, thei gaue vp to god
their innocent soules into the ioyes of heauen,
leauing to the tormentors their bodyes dead in the
bed.
| The yong
kyng and his brother murthered |
Whiche after that the wretches parceiued, first by the
strugling with the paines of death, and after long
lying styll, to be throughly dead: they laide their
bodies naked out vppon the bed, and fetched sir Iames
to see them. Which vpon the sight of them, caused
those murtherers to burye them at the stayre foote,
metely depe in the grounde vnder a great heape of
stones. Than rode sir Iames in geat haste to king
Richarde, and shewed him al the maner of the murther,
who gaue hym gret thanks, and as som say there made
him knight. But he allowed not as I have heard, the
burying in so vile a corner, saying that he woulde
haue them buried in a better place, because thei wer a
kinges sonnes. Wherupon thei say that a prieste of syr
Robert Brakenbury toke vp the bodyes again, and
secretely entered them in such place, as by the
occasion of his deathe, whiche onely knew it could
neuer synce come to light. Very trouthe is it &
well knowen, that at such time as syr Iames Tirell was
in the Tower, for Treason committed agaynste the moste
famous prince king Henry the seuenth, bothe Dighton an
he were examined, & confessed the murther in
maner aboue writen, but whither the bodies were
remoued thei could nothing tel. And thus as I haue
learned of them that much knew and litle cause had to
lye, wer these two noble princes, these innocent
tender children, borne of moste royall bloode, brought
vp in great wealth, likely long to liue to reigne and
rule in the realme, by traitorous tiranny taken,
depryued of their estate, shortly shitte vp in prison,
and priuily slaine and murthered, theyr bodies cast
god wote where by the cruel ambicion of their
vnnaturall vncle and his dispiteous tormentors. Which
thinges on euery part wel pondered: god neuer gaue
this world a more notable example, neither in what
vnsuretie standeth this worldy wel, or what mischief
worketh the prowde enterprise of an hyghe heart, or
finally what wretched end ensueth such dispiteous
crueltie. For first to beginne with the ministers,
Miles Forest at sainct Martens pecemele rotted away.
Dighton in ded walketh on a liue in good possibilitie
to bee hanged ere he dye. But sir Iames Tirel dyed at
Tower hill, beheaded for treason. King Richarde
himselfe as ye shal herafter here, slain in the field,
hacked and hewed of his enemies handes, haryed on
horsebacke dead, his here in despite torn and togged
lyke a cur dogge. And the mischief that he tooke,
within lesse then thre yeares of the mischiefe that he
dyd. And yet all the meane time spente in much pain
and trouble outward, much feare anguish and sorow
within. For I haue heard by credible report of such as
wer secrete with his chamberers, that after this
abhominable deede done, he neuer hadde quiet in his
minde, hee neuer thought himself sure.
| The out
& inward troubles of tyrauntes |
Where he went abrode, his eyen whirled about, his body
priuily fenced, his hand euer on his dager, his
countenance and maner like one alway ready to strike
againe, he toke ill rest a nightes, lay long wakyng
and musing, sore weried with care & watch, rather
slumbred then slept, troubled wyth feareful dreames,
sodainly sommetyme sterte vp, leape out of his bed
& runne about the chamber, so was his restles
herte continually tossed & tumbled with the
tedious impression & stormy remembrance of his
abominable dede. Nowe hadde he outward no long time in
rest. For hereupon sone after began the conspiracy or
rather good confederacion, betwene the Duke of
Buckingham and many other gentlemen against him.
Thoccasion wheruppon the king and the Duke fell out,
is of diuers folke diuers wyse pretended. This duke as
I haue for certain bene enformed, as soone as the duke
of Gloucester vpon the death of kyng Edward came to
York, & there had solemne funeral seruice for king
Edward, sente thither in the most secret wise he
could, one Persal his trusty seruant, who came in to
Iohn warde a chamberer of like secret trust with the
Duke of Gloucester, desiring that in the most close
& covert maner, he might be admitted to the
presence and speche of his maister. And the duke of
Gloucester aduertised of hys desyre, caused him in the
dead of the night after al other folk auoyded, to be
brought vnto him in his secret chamber, wher Persall
after his masters recommendacion shewed him, that he
had secretly sente hym to shew him, that in this new
worlde he would take such part as he wold, & wait
vpon him with a .M. good felowes if neede wer. The
messenger sent back with thanks, & some secret
instruccion of the protectors mind: yet met him again
with farther message from the duke his master, within
a few dayes after at Notingham: whither the protector
from york with many gentlemen of the north countrey to
the number of sixe .C. horses, was comen on his way to
London ward. And after secrete meting &
communicacion had, eftsoone, departed. Wherupon at
Northampton the duke met with the protector himself,
wyth CCC. horses & from thence still contynued
with, partner of all his deuises, till that after his
coronacion thei departed as it semed very great
frendes at Glocester. From whence as sone as the duke
came home, he so lightli turned from him and so highly
conspired against him, that a man would marueil wherof
the chaunge grew. And surely the occasion of theyr
variaunce is of diuers men diuersly reported. Some
haue I heard say, that they duke a litle before the
coronacion among other thinges, required of the
protector the duke of Hefordes landes, to which he
pretended himself iust inheritor. And forasmuch as the
title which he claimed by inheritance, was somewhat
enterlaced with the title to the crowne by the line of
king Henry before dipriued: the protector conceiued
such indignacion, that he reiected the dukes request
with many spiteful & minatory wordes. Which so
wounded his hert with hatred & mistrust, that he
neuer after could endure to loke a right on king
Richard, but euer feared his own life, so farfoorth
that when the protectour rode through London toward
his coronacion, he fained himself sick, because he
wold not ride with hym. And the tother taking it in
euil part, sent hym worde to rise, & come ride or
he wold make him be caried. Wherupon he rode on with
euil wil, & that notwithstanding on the morow rose
from the feast faining himself sicke, & kyng
Richard said it was done in hatred and dispite of him.
And they say that euer after continually ech of them
liued in such hatred & distrust of other, that the
duke verilye looked to haue bene murthered at
Gloucester. From which nathles he in fair maner
departed. But surely some right secrete at the daies
deny this: & many right wise men, think it
vnlikely, (the depe dissimuling nature of those bothe
men considered, & what nede in that grene world
the protector had of the duke, and in what peril the
duke stode if he fell once in suspicion of the
tiraunt) that either the protector wold geue the duke
occasion of displeasure, or the duke the protector
occasion of mistrust. And vtterly men think, that yf
kyng Richard had any such oppinion conceiued: he would
neuer haue suffred him to escape his handes. Very
trouth it is, the duke was an high minded man, &
euyll could beare the glory of an other, so that I
haue heard of som that said thei saw it, that the duke
at such time as the crown was first set vpon the
protectors hed, his eye could not abide the sight
thereof, but wried hys hed an other way. But men say
that he was of trouth not wel at ease, & that both
to king Richard wel knowen, & not yl taken, nor
ani demaund of the dukes vncourteisly reiected, but he
both with gret giftes & high behests, in most
louing trusty maner departed at Gloucester. But sone
after his coming home to Breknock, hauing ther in his
custody by the commaundement of king Richard, doctor
Morton bishop of Ely, who as ye before herd was taken
in the counsel at theTower, waxed with him familiar.
Whose wisedom abused his pride to his own deilueraunce
& the dukes destruccion. The bishop was a man of
great natural wit, very wel lerned, & honorable in
behaueor, lacking no wise waies to win fauor. He had
bene fast upon the part of king Henry while that part
was in wealth, & natheles left it not nor forsoke
it in wo, but fled the realme with the quene & the
prince, while king Edward had the king in prison,
neuer came home but to the field. After which lost,
& that parte vtterly subdued, the tother for his
faste faith & wisedom, not only was contente to
receiue him, but also woed him to come & had him
from thence forth bothe in secret trust & very
speciall fauor. Whiche he nothing deceiued. For he
being as ye haue heard after king Edwardes death,
first taken by the tirant for his trouth to the king,
found the meane to set this duke in his top, ioined
gentlemen together in aid of king Henry, deuising
first the maryage betwene him & king Edwardes
doughter, by whiche his faith declared & good
seruice to bothe his masters at once, with infinite
benefite to the realm, by the coniunccion of those
twoo bloodes in one, whose seueral titles had long
enquieted the land, he fled the realm, went to Rome,
neuer minding more to medle with the world til the
noble prince king Henry the .vii. gate him home again,
made him archbishop of Canturburye & chaunceller
of England wherunto the Pope ioned thonor of Cardinal.
Thus liuing many dayes in asmuch honor as one man
mighte well wish, ended them so godly, that his death
with gods mercy wel changed his life. Thys man
therfore as I was about to tell you, by the long &
often alternate proofe, aswel of prosperitie as aduers
fortune, hadde gotten by great experience the verye
mother & maistres of wisdom, a depe insighte in
politike worldli driftes. Wherby perceiuing now this
duke glad to comen with him, fed him with faire wordes
and many pleasaunt praises. And parceiuing by the
processe of their communicacions, the dukes pride now
& then balke oute a lytle breide of enuy toward
the glory of the king, & therby feling him ethe
to fal out yf the matter were well handled: he
craftelye sought the waies to pricke him forwarde
taking alwaies thoccasion of his comming & so
keping himself close within his bondes, that he rather
semed him to folow hym then to lead him. For when the
duke first began to praise & bost the king, &
shewe how much profit the realm shold take by his
reign: my lord Morton aunswered: surely my lord foly
wer it for me to lye, for yf I wold swere the
contrary, your lordship would not I weene beleue, but
that if the worlde woold haue gone as I would haue
wished, king Henryes sonne had had the crown & not
king Edward. But after that god had ordered hym to
lese it, and kinge Edwarde to reigne, I was neuer soo
mad, that I would with a dead man striue against the
quicke. So was I to king Edward faithfull chapleyn,
& glad wold haue bene that his childe had
succeeded him. Howebeit if the secrete iudgement of
god haue otherwyse prouided: I purpose not to spurne
againste a prick, nor labor to set vp that god pulleth
down. And as for the late protector & now kyng.
And euen there he left, saying that he had alredy
medled to muche with the world, and would fro that day
medle with his boke and his beedes and no farther.
Then longed the duke sore to here what he would haue
sayd, because he ended with the king & there so
sodeinly stopped, & exhorted him so familiarly
betwene them twain, to be so bold to say what soeuer
he thought, wherof he faithfully promised there should
neuer come hurte & paraduenture more good then he
would wene, and that himselfe intended to vse his
faithful secret aduise and counsayle whiche he saide
was the only cause for whiche he procured of the kyng
to haue him in his custody where he might recken
himself at home, and els had he bene put in the handes
of them, with whome he should not haue founded the
lyke fauor. The bishop right humbly thanked him &
said, in good faith my lord I loue not much to talk
muche of princes, as thing not all out of peril,
thoughe the word be without fault forasmuch as it shal
not be taken as the party ment it, but as it pleaseth
the prince to conster it. And euer I think on Esops
tale, that were the lion had proclaimed that on pain
of deth there should none horned beast abide in that
wood, one that had in his forehed a bonch of flesh,
fled awaye a great pace. The fox that saw him run so
faste, asked him whither he made al that hast. And he
aunswered, in faith I neither wote nor reck, so I wer
once hence because of this proclamacion made of horned
beastes. What fole quod the fox thou maist abide wel
inough, the lyon ment not by thee, for it is none horn
that is in thine head. No mary quod he that wote I wel
ynough. But what & he cal it an horn, wher am I
then? The duke laughed merely at the tale, & said,
my lord I warant you, neither the lyon nor the bore
shal pyke anye matter at any thyng here spoken, for it
shall neuer come nere their eare. In good fayth sir
said the bishop if it did, the thing that I was about
to say, taken aswel as afore god I ment it, could
deserue but thank. And yet taken as I wene it wold,
might happen to turne me to litle good and you to
lesse. Then longed the duke yet moch more to wit what
it was. Wherupon the bishop said: in good faith my
lord, as for the late protector, sith he is now king
in possession, I purpose not to dispute his title. But
for the weale of this realm, wherof his grace hath now
the gouernaunce, & wherof I am my self one poore
member, I was about to wish, that to those good
habilities wherof he hath already right many, litle
nedyng my prayse: it might yet haue
pleased Godde for the better store, to haue geuen
him some of suche other excellente vertues
mete for the rule of a realm, as our lorde
hath planted in the parsone of youre grace.
(.'.)
![[Renascence Editions]](./gifs/ren.gif)
