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Title: Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland (3 of 6): England (5 of 9)
The History of Edward the Fift and King Richard the Third Unfinished
Author: Raphael Holinshed
Release Date: May 8, 2014 [EBook #45614]
Language: English
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THE HISTORIE OF
KING EDWARD THE FIFT,
AND
KING RICHARD THE THIRD vnfinished,
Written by Maister Thomas More then one of the vnder shiriffes of
London, about the yeare of our Lord 1513, according to a copie of his
owne hand, printed among his other Works.
[Sidenote: 1483.]
King Edward the fourth of that name, after that he had liued fiftie &
thrée yeeres, seuen moneths, and six daies, and thereof reigned two
and twentie yeares, one moneth, & eight daies, died at Westminster the
ninth dale of Aprill, the yeare of our redemption, a thousand foure
hundred fourescore and thrée; leauing much faire issue, that is to
wit, Edward the prince, a thirtéene yeares of age, Richard duke of
Yorke two yeares yoonger; Elizabeth, whose fortune and grace was after
to be quéene, wife vnto king Henrie the seuenth, and mother vnto the
eight; Cicilie, not so fortunate as faire; Briget, which representing
the vertue of hir, whose name she bare, professed and obserued a
religious life in Dertford, an house of close nunnes; Anne, that was
after honorablie married vnto Thomas, then lord Howard, and after earle
of Surrie; and Katharine, which long time tossed in either fortune,
sometime in wealth, oft in aduersitie, at the last, if this be the last
(for[1] yet she liueth) is by the benignitie of hir nephue king Henrie
the eight, in verie prosperous estate, and worthie hir birth and vertue.
[1] She liued at such time as this storie was penned.
[Sidenote: The loue of the people.]
This noble prince deceassed at his palace of Westminster, and with
great funerall honor and heauinesse of his people from thence conueied,
was interred at Windsor. A king of such gouernance & behauior, in time
of peace (for in warre each part must néeds be others enimie) that
there was neuer anie prince of this land, atteining the crowne by
battell, so heartilie beloued with the substance of the people: nor
hée himselfe so speciallie in anie part of his life, as at the time
of his death. Which fauour and affection, yet after his deceasse, by
the crueltie, mischiefe, and trouble of the tempestuous world that
followed, highlie toward him more increased. At such time as he died,
the displeasure of those that bare him grudge for king Henrie's sake
the sixt, whome he deposed, was well asswaged, & in effect quenched, in
that manie of them were dead in more than twentie yeres of his reigne,
a great part of a long life: and manie of them in the meane season
growne into his fauour, of which he was neuer strange.
[Sidenote: Description of Edward the fourth.]
He was a goodlie personage, and princelie to behold, of heart
couragious, politike in counsell, in aduersitie nothing abashed, in
prosperitie rather ioifull than proud, peace iust and mercifull, in
warre sharpe and fierce, in the field bold and hardie, and nathelesse
no further (than wisedome would) aduenturous, whose warres who so well
considered, he shall no lesse commend his wisedome where he voided,
than his manhood where he vanquished. He was of visage louelie,
of bodie mightie, strong, and cleane made: howbeit, in his latter
daies with ouer liberall diet somewhat corpulent and boorelie, and
nathelesse not vncomelie. He was of youth greatlie giuen to fleshlie
wantonnesse: from which health of bodie, in great prosperitie and
fortune, without a speciall grace hardlie refraineth, the poet implieng
no lesse and saieng:
Mens erit apta capi tunc cùm lætissima rerum.
Vt seges in pingui luxuriabit humo.
This fault not greatlie gréeued the people: for neither could anie one
mans pleasure stretch and extend to the displeasure of verie manie,
and was without violence, and ouer that in his latter daies lessed,
and well left. In which time of his latter daies this realme was in
quiet and prosperous estate, no feare of outward enimies, no warre in
hand, nor none toward, but such as no man looked for. The people toward
the prince, not in a constrained feare, but in a willing and louing
obedience: among themselues the commons in good peace. The lords, whome
hée knew at variance, himselfe in his death bed appeased: he had left
all gathering of monie (which is the onelie thing that withdraweth the
hearts of English men from the prince) nor anie thing intended he to
take in hand, by which he should be driuen therto: for his tribute out
of France he had before obteined; and the yeare foregoing his death, he
had obteined Berwike.
[Sidenote: Sée before pag. 705.]
And albeit that all the time of his reigne he was with his people, so
benigne, courteous, and so familiar, that no part of his vertues was
more estéemed: yet the condition in the end of his daies (in which
manie princes by a long continued souereigntie decline into a proud
port from debonair behauior of their beginning) maruellouslie in him
grew and increased: so farre foorth, that in summer (the last that
euer hée saw) his highnesse being at Windsor in hunting, sent for the
maior & aldermen of London to him for none other errand, but to haue
them hunt & be merrie with him, where he made them not so statelie,
but so fréendlie and familiar chéere, and sent venison from thence so
freelie into the citie, that no one thing in manie daies before gat him
either more hearts, or more heartie fauour amongest the common people;
which oftentimes more estéeme and take for greater kindnesse a little
courtesie, than a great benefit.
So deceassed (as I haue said) this noble king, in that time in which
his life was most desired. Whose loue of his people, and their entire
affection towards him, had béene to his noble children (hauing in
themselues also as manie gifts of nature, as manie princelie vertues,
as much goodlie towardnesse as their age could receiue) a maruellous
fortresse and sure armor, if diuision and dissention of their fréends
had not vnarmed them, and left them destitute, and the execrable desire
of souereigntie prouoked him to their destruction: which if either
kind or kindnesse had holden place, must néeds haue béene their chéefe
defense. For Richard the duke of Glocester, by nature their vncle, by
office their protector, to their father beholden, to themselues by
oth and allegiance bounden, all the bands broken that bind man and
man togither, without anie respect of God or the world, vnnaturallie
contriued to beréeue them, not onelie their dignitie, but also their
liues.
[Sidenote: Richard duke of Yorke.]
But forsomuch as this dukes demeanor ministreth in effect all the whole
matter whereof this booke shall intreat, it is therefore conuenient
somewhat to shew you yer we further go, what maner of man this was,
that could find in his hart such mischiefe to conceiue. Richard duke
of Yorke, a noble man and a mightie, began not by warre, but by law
to chalenge the crowne, putting his claime into the parlement, where
his cause was either for right or fauor so farre foorth aduanced,
that king Henrie his bloud (albeit he had a goodlie prince) vtterlie
reiected, the crowne was by authoritie of parlement intailed vnto the
duke of Yorke and his issue male in remainder, immediatlie after the
death of king Henrie. But the duke not induring so long to tarrie, but
intending vnder pretext of dissention and debate arising in the realme,
to preuent his time, and to take vpon him the rule in king Henrie his
life, was with manie nobles of the realme at Wakefield slaine, leauing
thrée sonnes, Edward George, and Richard.
[Sidenote: Edward.]
[Sidenote: George duke of Clarence.]
All thrée as they were great states of birth, so were they great and
statelie of stomach, greedie and ambitious of authoritie, and impatient
of partners. Edward reuenging his fathers death, depriued king Henrie,
and atteined the crowne. George duke of Clarence was a goodlie noble
prince, and at all times fortunate, if either his owne ambition had not
set him against his brother, or the enuie of his enimies[2] his brother
against him. For were it by the quéene and lords of hir bloud, which
highlie maligned the kings kinred (as women commonlie not of malice,
but of nature hate them whome their husbands loue) or were a proud
appetite of the duke himselfe, intending to be king; at the least wise
heinous treason was there laid to his charge: and finallie, were hée
faultie, were he faultlesse, attainted was he by parlement, and iudged
to the death, and therevpon hastilie drowned in a butt of malmesie.
Whose death king Edward (albeit he commanded it) when he wist it was
doone, pitiouslie bewailed, and sorrowfullie repented.
[2] Had not set.
[Sidenote: The description of Richard the third.]
Richard the third sonne, of whome we now intreat, was in wit and
courage equall with either of them, in bodie and prowesse farre vnder
them both, litle of stature, ill featured of limmes, crooke backed, his
left shoulder much higher than his right, hard fauoured of visage, and
such as is in states called warilie, in other men otherwise; he was
malicious, wrathfull, enuious, and from afore his birth euer froward.
It is for truth reported, that the duchesse his mother had so much adoo
in hir trauell, that she could not be deliuered of him vncut; and that
he came into the world with the féet forward, as men be borne outward,
and (as the fame runneth also) not vntoothed, whether men of hatred
report aboue the truth, or else that nature changed hir course in his
beginning, which in the course of his life manie things vnnaturallie
committed. So that the full confluence of these qualities, with the
defects of fauour and amiable proportion, gaue proofe to this rule of
physiognomic:
Distortum vultum sequitur distorsio morum.
None euill capteine was he in the warre, as to which his disposition
was more méetlie than for peace. Sundrie victories had he, & sometimes
ouerthrowes; but neuer on default as for his owne person, either
of hardinesse or politike order. Frée was he called of dispense,
and somewhat aboue his power liberall: with large gifts he gat him
vnstedfast fréendship, for which he was faine to pill and spoile in
other places, and got him stedfast hatred. He was close and secret, a
déepe dissembler, lowlie of countenance, arrogant of heart, outwardlie
companiable where he inwardlie hated, not letting to kisse whome he
thought to kill: despitious and cruell, not for euill will alway, but
ofter for ambition, and either for the suertie or increase of his
estate.
[Sidenote: The death of king Henrie the sixt.]
Friend and fo was much what indifferent, where his aduantage grew, he
spared no mans death whose life withstoode his purpose. He slue with
his owne hands king Henrie the sixt, being prisoner in the Tower, as
men constantlie said, and that without commandement or knowledge of the
king, which would vndoubtedlie (if he had intended that thing) haue
appointed that butcherlie office to some other, than his owne borne
brother. Some wise men also wéene, that his drift courtlie conueied,
lacked not in helping foorth his brother of Clarence to his death:
which he resisted openlie, howbeit somewhat (as men déemed) more
faintlie than he that were hartilie minded to his wealth.
And they that thus déeme, thinke that he long time in king Edwards life
forethought to be king; in case that the king his brother (whose life
he looked that euill diet should shorten) should happen to deceasse (as
in déed he did) while his children were yoong. And they déeme, that for
this intent he was glad of his brothers death the duke of Clarence,
whose life must néeds haue hindered him so intending, whether the same
duke of Clarence had kept him true to his nephue the yoong king, or
enterprised to be king himselfe. But of all this point is there no
certeintie, and who so diuineth vpon coniectures, maie as well shoot
too farre as too short.
Howbeit this haue I by credible information learned, that the
selfe night, in which king Edward died, one Mistlebrooke, long yer
morning, came in great hast to the house of one Pottier dwelling in
Redcrosse-stréet without Creplegate: and when he was with hastie
rapping quickelie letten in, he shewed vnto Pottier, that king Edward
was departed. "By my truth man" quoth Pottier, "then will my maister
the duke of Glocester be king." What cause he had so to thinke, hard it
is to saie; whether he being toward him, anie thing knew that he such
thing purposed, or otherwise had anie inckeling thereof: for he was not
likelie to speake it of nought.
But now to returne to the course of this historie. Were it that the
duke of Glocester had of old foreminded this conclusion, or was now at
erst therevnto mooued, and put in hope by the occasion of the tender
age of the yoong princes, his nephues (as opportunitie & likelihood
of spéed putteth a man in courage of that he neuer intended) certeine
it is that he contriued their destruction, with the vsurpation of
the regall dignitie vpon himselfe. And forsomuch as he well wist and
holpe to mainteine a long continued grudge and heart-burning betwéene
the quéens kinred and the kings bloud, either partie enuieng others
authoritie, he now thought that their diuision should be (as it was in
déed) a furtherlie beginning to the pursuit of his intent.
Nay he was resolued, that the same was a sure ground for the foundation
of all his building, if he might first (vnder the pretext of reuenging
of old displeasure) abuse the anger and ignorance of the tone partie
to the destruction of the tother; and then win to his purpose as manie
as he could, and those that could not be woone, might be lost yer they
looked therfore. For of one thing was he certeine, that if his intent
were perceiued, he should soone haue made peace betwéene both the
parties with his owne bloud. King Edward in his life, albeit that this
dissention betwéene his fréends somewhat irked him: yet in his good
health he somewhat the lesse regarded it: bicause he thought whatsoeuer
businesse should fall betwéene them, himselfe should alwaie be able to
rule both the parties.
But in his last sicknesse, when he perceiued his naturall strength so
sore inféebled, that he despaired all recouerie, then he, considering
the youth of his children, albeit he nothing lesse mistrusted than
that that hapned; yet well foreséeing that manie harmes might grow by
their debate, while the youth of his children should lacke discretion
of themselues, & good counsell of their fréends, of which either partie
should counsell for their owne commoditie, & rather by pleasant aduise
to win themselues fauor, than by profitable aduertisement to doo the
children good, he called some of them before him that were at variance,
and in especiall the lord marquesse Dorset the quéenes sonne by hir
first husband.
[Sidenote: Hastings lord chamberleine maligned of the quéene & hir kin.]
So did he also William the lord Hastings a noble man, then lord
chamberleine, against whome the quéene speciallie grudged, for the
great fauour the king bare him: and also for that she thought him
secretlie familiar with the king in wanton companie. Hir kinred also
bare him sore, as well for that the king had made him capteine of
Calis, which office the lord Riuers, brother to the quéene, claimed of
the kings former promise, as for diuerse other great gifts which he
receiued, that they looked for. When these lords, with diuerse other of
both the parties, were come in presence, the king lifting vp himselfe,
and vnderset with pillowes, as it is reported, on this wise said vnto
them.
The oration of the king on his death-bed.
My lords, my déere kinsmen and alies, in what plight I lie you sée,
and I feele. By which the lesse while I looke to liue with you, the
more deepelie am I mooued to care in what case I leaue you, for
such as I leaue you, such be my children like to find you. Which if
they should (as God forbid) find you at variance, might hap to fall
themselues at warre, yer their discretion would serue to set you at
peace. Ye sée their youth, of which I reckon the onelie suertie to
rest in your concord. For it sufficeth not that all you loue them, if
ech of you hate other: if they were men, your faithfulnesse happilie
would suffice. But childhood must be mainteined by mens authoritie, and
slipper youth vnderpropped with elder counsell, which neither they can
haue but ye giue it, nor ye giue it if ye gree not.
For where ech laboureth to breake that the other maketh, and for hatred
of ech of others person impugneth ech others counsell, there must it
néeds be long yer anie good conclusion go forward. And also while
either partie laboureth to be chéefe, flatterie shall haue more place
than plaine and faithfull aduise: of which must néeds insue the euill
bringing vp of the prince, whose mind in tender youth infect, shall
redilie fall to mischéefe and riot, and draw dowue with his noble relme
to ruine. But if grace turne him to wisedome: which if God send, then
they that by euill meanes before pleased him best, shall after fall
furthest out of fauour: so that euer at length euill drifts shall draw
to nought, and good plaine waies prosper.
Great variance hath there long béene betwéene you, not alwaie for great
causes. Sometimes a thing right well intended, our misconstruction
turneth vnto woorse; or a small displeasure doone vs, either our owne
affection or euill toongs aggreeueth. But this wot I well, ye neuer had
so great cause of hatred, as ye haue of loue. That we be all men, that
we be christian men, this shall I leaue for preachers to tell you; and
yet I wot néere whether anie preachers words ought more to mooue you,
than his that is by & by going to the place that they all preach of.
[Sidenote: The nature of ambition.]
But this shall I desire you to remember, that the one part of you is
of my bloud, the other of mine alies; and ech of you with other either
of kinred or affinitie; which spirituall kinred of affinitie, if the
sacraments of Christs church beare that weight with vs that would God
they did, should no lesse mooue vs to charitie, than the respect of
fleshlie consanguinitie. Our Lord forbid, that you loue together the
woorse, for the selfe cause that you ought to loue the better. And yet
that happeneth, and no where find we so deadlie debate, as among them,
which by nature and law most ought to agrée togither. Such a pestilent
serpent is ambition and desire of vaine glorie and souereigntie, which
among states where she once entereth, creepeth foorth so farre, till
with diuision and variance she turneth all to mischéefe: first longing
to be next vnto the best, afterward equall with the best, & at last
chéefe and aboue the best.
Of which immoderate appetite of worship, and thereby of debate and
dissention, what losse, what sorow, what trouble hath within these few
yeares growne in this realme, I praie God as well forget, as we well
remember. Which things if I could as well haue foreseene, as I haue
with my more paine than pleasure prooued, by Gods blessed ladie (that
was euer his oth) I would neuer haue woone the courtesie of mens knées,
with the losse of so manie heads. But sithens things passed can not be
gaine called, much ought we the more beware, by what occasion we haue
taken so great hurt afore, that we eftsoones fall not in that occasion
againe.
Now be those greefs passed, and all is (God be thanked) quiet, and
likelie right well to prosper in wealthfull peace vnder your coosins my
children, if God send them life and you loue. Of which two things, the
lesse losse were they, by whom though God did his pleasure, yet should
the realme alwaie find kings, and peraduenture as good kings.
But if you among your selues in a childs reigne fall at debate, manie
a good man shall perish, and happilie he too, and ye too, yer this
land find peace againe. Wherfore in these last words that euer I looke
to speake with you, I exhort you and require you all, for the loue
that you haue euer borne to me; for the loue that I haue euer borne
vnto you; for the loue that our Lord beareth to vs all; from this time
forward (all greefs forgotten) ech of you loue other. Which I verilie
trust you will, if ye anie thing earthlie regard, either God or your
king, affinitie or kinred, this realme, your owne countrie, or your
owne suertie. And therewithall the king no longer induring to sit vp,
laid him downe on his right side, his face towards them: and none was
there present that could refraine from wéeping.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: A counterfet and pretended reconcilement.]
But the lords recomforting him with as good words as they could, and
answering for the time as they thought to stand with his pleasure,
there in his presence, as by their words appeared, ech forgaue other,
and ioined their hands togither, when (as it after appeared by their
déeds) their hearts were farre asunder. As soone as the king was
departed, the noble prince his sonne drew toward London, which at
the time of his deceasse kept his houshold at Ludlow in Wales, which
countrie being farre off from the law and recourse to iustice, was
begun to be farre out of good rule, and waxen wild robbers and reauers,
walking at libertie vncorrected. And for this occasion the prince was
in the life of his father sent thither, to the end that the authoritie
of his presence should refraine euill disposed persons from the
boldnesse of their former outrages.
[Sidenote: Lord Riuers.]
[Sidenote: The duke of Glocesters solicitations.]
To the gouernance and ordering of this yoong prince at his sending
thither, was there appointed sir Anthonie Wooduile lord Riuers, and
brother vnto the quéene, a right honourable man, as valiant of hand
as politike in counsell. Adioined were there vnto him other of the
same partie; and in effect euerie one as he was néerest of kin vnto
the quéene, so was he planted next about the prince. That drift by
the quéene not vnwiselie deuised, whereby hir bloud might of youth
be rooted into the princes fauour, the duke of Glocester turned vnto
their destruction; and vpon that ground set the foundation of all his
vnhappie building. For whome soeuer he perceiued either at variance
with them, or bearing himselfe their fauour, he brake vnto them some by
mouth, & some by writing.
Nay, he sent secret messengers saieng, that it neither was reason, nor
in anie wise to be suffered, that the yoong king their maister and
kinsman, should be in the hands and custodie of his mother's kinred,
sequestred in maner from their companie and attendance, of which euerie
one ought him as faithfull seruice as they, and manie of them farre
more honourable part of kin than his mother's side. Whose bloud (quoth
he) sauing the kings pleasure, was full vnméetelie to be matched with
his: which now to be as who say remooued from the king, and the lesse
noble to be left about him, is (quoth he) neither honourable to his
maiestie nor to vs, and also to his grace no suertie, to haue the
mightiest of his fréends from him; and vnto vs no little ieopardie, to
suffer our well prooued euill willers to grow in ouer-great authoritie
with the prince in youth; namelie, which is light of beléefe and soone
persuaded.
Yée remember (I trow) king Edward himselfe, albeit he was a man of age
& discretion, yet was he in manie things ruled by the bend, more than
stood either with his honor, or our profit, or with the c[=o]moditie of
any man else, except onlie the immoderate aduancement of themselues.
Which, whether they sorer thirsted after their owne weale, or our wo,
it were hard (I wéene) to gesse. And if some folks fréendship had not
holden better place with the king, than anie respect of kinred, they
might peraduenture easilie haue betrapped and brought to confusion
some of vs yer this. Why not as easilie as they haue doone some other
alreadie, as néere of his roiall bloud as we? But our Lord hath wrought
his will, and (thanks be to his grace) that perill is past. Howbeit as
great is growing, if we suffer this yoong king in our enimies hand,
which without his witting might abuse the name of his commandement,
to anie of our vndooing, which thing God [defend] and good prouision
forbid.
[Sidenote: A consent to worke wickednesse.]
Of which good prouision none of vs hath anie thing the lesse néed, for
the late made attonement, in which the kings pleasure had more place
than the parties willes. Nor none of vs (I beléeue) is so vnwise,
ouersoone to trust a new fréend made of an old fo; or to thinke that
an hourlie kindnesse, suddenlie contracted in one houre, continued yet
scant a fortnight, should be déeper settled in their stomachs, than
a long accustomed malice manie yeares rooted. With these words and
writings, and such other, the duke of Glocester soone set on fire them
that were of themselues easie to kindle, & in speciallie twaine, Edward
duke of Buckingham, and William lord Hastings then chamberleine, both
men of honour & of great power; the one by long succession from his
ancestrie, the other by his office and the kings fauour. These two,
not bearing ech to other so much loue, as hatred both vnto the quéenes
part: in this point accorded togither with the duke of Glocester, that
they would vtterlie remoue from the kings companie all his mothers
fréends, vnder the name of their enimies.
Vpon this concluded the duke of Glocester, vnderstanding that the
lords, which at that time were about the king, intended to bring him
vp to his coronation acc[=o]panied with such power of their fréends,
that it should be hard for him to bring his purpose to passe, without
the gathering and great assemblie of people and in maner of open warre,
whereof the end (he wist) was doubtfull, and in which the king being on
their side, his part should haue the face and name of a rebellion: he
secretlie therfore by diuers means caused the quéene to be persuaded
and brought in the mind, that it neither were néed, and also should be
ieopardous, the king to come vp strong.
For whereas now euerie lord loued other, and none other thing studied
vpon, but about the coronation and honor of the king: if the lords of
hir kindred should assemble in the kings name much people, they should
giue the lords, betwixt whome and them had béene sometime debate, to
feare and suspect, least they should gather this people, not for the
kings safegard, whom no man impugned, but for their destruction, hauing
more regard to their old variance, than their new attonement. For which
cause they should assemble on the other partie much people againe for
their defense, whose power she wist well far stretched: and thus should
all the realme fall on a rore. And of all the hurt that thereof should
insue, which was likelie not to be little, and the most harme there
like to fall where she least would, all the world would put hir and hir
kindered in the wight, and saie that they had vnwiselie and vntrulie
also broken the amitie & peace that the king hir husband so prudentlie
made, betwéene his kin and hirs in his death bed and which the other
partie faithfullie obserued.
The quéene, being in this wise persuaded, such word sent vnto hir
sonne, and vnto hir brother being about the king, and ouer that the
duke of Glocester himselfe and other lords the chiefe of his bend,
wrote vnto the king so reuerentlie, and to the quéenes fréends there
so louinglie, that they nothing earthlie mistrusting, brought the
king vp in great hast, not in good spéed, with a sober companie. Now
was the king in his waie to London gone from Northampton, when these
dukes of Glocester and Buckingham came thither, where remained behind
the lord Riuers the kings vncle, intending on the morrow to follow
the king, and to be with him at Stonie Stratford [certeine] miles
thence earlie yer he departed. So was there made that night much
fréendlie chéere betwéene these dukes & the lord Riuers a great while,
but inc[=o]tinent, after that they were openlie with great courtesie
departed, and the lord Riuers lodged, the dukes secretlie with a few
of their most priuie fréends set them downe in councell, wherein they
spent a great part of the night.
[Sidenote: The practices of the duke of Buckingham & Glocester.]
And at their rising in the dawning of the daie, they sent about
priuilie to their seruants in their Ins & lodgings about, giuing them
commandement to make themselues shortlie readie, for their lords were
to horsse backeward. Vpon which messages, manie of their folke were
attendant, when manie of the lord Riuers seruants were vnreadie. Now
had these dukes taken also into their custodie the keies of the In,
that none should passe foorth without their licence. And ouer this,
in the high waie toward Stonie Stratford, where the king lay, they
had bestowed certeine of their folke, that should send backe againe,
and compell to returne, anie man that were gotten out of Northampton,
toward Stonie Stratford, till they should giue other licence. For as
much as the dukes themselues intended for the shew of their diligence,
to be the first that should that daie attend vpon the kings highnesse
out of that towne. Thus bare they folke in hand.
But when the lord Riuers vnderstood the gates closed, and the waies on
euerie side beset, neither his seruants nor himselfe suffered to gone
out, perceiuing well so great a thing without his knowledge not begun
for naught, comparing this manner present with this last nights chéere,
in so few houres so great a change, maruellouslie misliked. Howbeit,
sith he could not get awaie, and kéepe himselfe close, he would not,
least he should séeme to hide himselfe for some secret feare of his
owne fault, whereof he saw no such cause in himselfe; he determined
vpon the suertie of his owne conscience, to go boldlie to them, and
inquire what this matter might meane. Whom as soone as they saw, they
began to quarrell with him and saie that he intended to set distance
betwéene the king and them, and to bring them to confusion, but it
should not lie in his power.
[Sidenote: The lord Riuers put in ward.]
And when he began (as he was a verie well spoken man) in goodlie
wise to excuse himselfe, they tarried not the end of his answer, but
shortlie tooke him, and put him in ward, and that doone, foorthwith
went to horssebacke, and tooke the waie to Stonie Stratford, where
they found the king with his companie, readie to leape on horssebacke,
and depart forward to leaue that lodging for them, bicause it was too
streight for both companies. And as soone as they came in his presence,
they light adowne with all their companie about them. To whome the duke
of Buckingham said; Go afore gentlemen, & yeomen kéepe your roomes.
And thus in a goodlie araie, they came to the king, and on their knées
in verie humble wise saluted his grace, which receiued them in verie
ioious and amiable manner, nothing earthlie knowing nor mistrusting as
yet.
[Sidenote: The lord Greie is quarrelled against.]
But euen by and by in his presence they piked a quarrell to the lord
Richard Greie; the kings other brother by his mother, saieng, that he
with the lord marquesse his brother, & the lord Riuers his vncle, had
compassed to rule the king and the realme, and to set variance among
the states, and to subdue and destroie the noble bloud of the Realme.
Toward the acc[=o]plishing wherof they said that the lord marquesse
had entered into the Tower of London, & thence taken out the kings
treasure, and sent men to the sea. All which things these dukes wist
well were doone for good purposes and necessarie, by the whole councell
at London, sauing that somewhat they must saie.
Vnto which words the king answered; What my brother marquesse hath
doone I cannot saie, but in good faith I dare well answer for mine
vncle Riuers and my brother here, that they be innocent of anie such
matter. Yea my liege (quoth the duke of Buckingham) they haue kept
their dealing in these matters farre fro the knowledge of your good
grace. And foorthwith they arrested the lord Richard and sir Thomas
Vaughan knight, in the kings presence; and brought the king and all
backe vnto Northampton, where they tooke againe further councell. And
there they sent awaie from the king, whom it pleased them, and set
new seruants about him, such as liked better them than him. At which
dealing he wept, and was nothing content; but it booted not.
[Sidenote: The death of the lord Rivers & other.]
And at dinner, the duke of Glocester sent a dish from his owne table
vnto the lord Riuers, praieng him to be of good chéere: all should
be well inough. And he thanked the duke, and praied the messenger to
beare it to his nephue the lord Richard, with the same message for
his comfort, who he thought had more néed of comfort, as one to whome
such aduersitie was strange. But himselfe had béene all his dates in
vse therewith, & therefore could beare it the better. But for all
this comfortable courtesie of the duke of Glocester, he sent the lord
Riuers, and the lord Richard, with sir Thomas Vaughan into the north
countrie, into diuerse places to prison, and afterward all to Pomfret,
where they were in conclusion beheaded.
[Sidenote: The quéene taketh sanctuarie.]
In this wise the duke of Glocester tooke vpon himselfe the order
and gouernance of the yoong king, whome with much honor and humble
reuerence he conueied vpward towards the citie. But anon, the tidings
of this matter came hastilie to the quéene a little before the midnight
following, and that in the sorest wise; that the king hir son was
taken, hir brother, hir sonne, & hir other fréends arrested, and sent
no man wist whither, to be doone with God wot what. With which tidings
the quéene in great flight & heauinesse, bewailing hir childes reigne,
hir fréends mischance, and hir owne infortune, damning the time that
euer she dissuaded the gathering of power about the king, gat hir selfe
in all the hast possible with hir yoonger sonne and hir daughters
out of the palace of Westminster, in which she then laie, into the
sanctuarie, lodging hir selfe and hir companie therein the abbats place.
Now came there one in likewise not long after midnight from the
lord chamberleine, to doctor Rotheram the archbishop of Yorke, then
chancellor of England, to his place not farre from Westminster, and for
that he shewed his seruants that he had tidings of so great importance,
that his maister gaue him in charge, not to forbeare his rest, they
letted not to wake him, nor he to admit this messenger in, to his bed
side. Of whom he heard that these dukes were gone backe with the kings
grace from Stonie Stratford vnto Northampton. Notwithstanding sir
(quoth he) my lord sendeth your lordship word, that there is no feare:
for he assureth you that all shall be well. I assure him (quoth the
archbishop) be it as well as it will, it will neuer be so well as we
haue séene it.
And therevpon, by and by after the messenger departed, he caused in
all the hast all his seruants to be called vp, and so with his owne
houshold about him, and euerie man weaponed, he tooke the great seale
with him, and came yet before daie vnto the quéene. About whom he found
much heauinesse, rumble, hast and businesse, carriage and conueiance of
hir stuffe into sanctuarie, chests, coffers, packs, fardels, trussed
all on mens backs, no man vnoccupied, some lading, some going, some
discharging, some comming for more, some breaking downe the walles to
bring in the next waie, and some yet drew to them that holpe to carrie
a wrong waie: such made their lucre of others losse, praising a bootie
aboue beautie, to whome the poets verse may be well applied, to wit:
[Sidenote: _Tibul. lib. 2. eleg. 3._]
Ferrea non Venerem sed prædem sæcula laudant.
[Sidenote: The desolate state of the quéene.]
The quéene hir selfe sate alone alow on the rushes all desolate and
dismaid, whome the archbishop comforted in best manner he could,
shewing hir that he trusted the matter was nothing so sore as she
tooke it for, and that he was put in good hope and out of feare by
the message sent him from the lord chamberleine. Ah wo woorth him
(quoth she) for he is one of them that laboureth to destroie me and my
bloud. Madame (quoth he) be yée of good chéere, for I assure you, if
they crowne anie other king than your sonne, whome they now haue with
them, we shall on the morrow crowne his brother, whome you haue here
with you. And here is the great seale, which in likewise as that noble
prince your husband deliuered it vnto me; so here I deliuer it vnto
you, to the vse and behoofe of your sonne: and therewith he betooke hir
the great scale, and departed home againe, yet in the dawning of the
daie.
By which time, he might in his chamber window sée all the Thames full
of boates of the duke of Glocesters seruants, watching that no man
should go to sanctuarie, nor none could passe vnsearched. Then was
there great commotion and murmur, as well in other places about,
as speciallie in the citie, the people diuerslie diuining vpon this
dealing. And some lords, knights, and gentlemen, either for fauour of
the quéene, or for feare of themselues, assembled in sundrie companies,
and went flockmele in harnesse: and many also, for that they reckoned
this demeanor attempted, not so speciallie against the other lords, as
against the king himselfe in the disturbance of his coronation. But
then by and by the lords assembled togither at [a certeine place.]
[Sidenote: Neuerthelesse he was depriued thereof shortlie after.]
Toward which méeting, the archbishop of Yorke fearing that it would
be ascribed (as it was indéed) to his ouermuch lightnesse, that he so
suddenlie had yéelded vp the great seale to the quéene, to whome the
custodie thereof nothing perteined, without especiall commandement of
the king, secretlie sent for the seale againe, and brought it with
him after the customable maner. And at this méeting the lord Hastings
(whose truth toward the king no man doubted, nor néeded to doubt)
persuaded the lords to beléeue, that the duke of Glocester was sure
and fastlie faithfull to his prince, and that the lord Riuers, and
lord Richard with the other knights, were for matters attempted by
them against the duke of Glocester and Buckingham, put vnder arrest
for their suertie, not for the kings ieopardie: and that they were
also in safegard, and there no longer should remaine, than till the
matter were, not by the dukes onelie, but also by all the other lords
of the kings councell indifferentlie examined, & by others discretions
ordered, and either iudged or appeased.
But one thing he aduised them beware, that they iudged not the matter
too farre foorth, yer they knew the truth; nor turning their priuate
grudges into the common hurt, irriting and prouoking men vnto anger,
and disturbing the kings coronation, towards which the dukes were
comming vp, that they might peraduenture bring the matter so farre out
of ioint, that it should neuer be brought in frame againe. Which strife
if it should hap (as it were likely) to come to a field, though both
parties were in all other things equall; yet should the authoritie be
on that side where the king is himselfe. With these persuasions of the
lord Hastings, whereof part himselfe beléeued, of part he wist the
contrarie, these commotions were somewhat appeased. But speciallie by
that, that the dukes of Glocester and Buckingham were so néere and
came so shortlie on with the king, in none other manner, with none
other voice or semblance than to his coronation, causing the fame to
be blowen about, that these lords and knights which were taken, had
contriued the destruction of the dukes of Glocester and Buckingham, and
of other noble bloud of the realme, to the end that themselues would
alone demeane and gouerne the king at their pleasure.
And for the colourable proofe thereof, such of the dukes seruants
as rode with the carts of their stuffe that were taken (among which
stuffe, no maruell though some were harnesse, which at the breaking
vp of that houshold must néeds either be brought awaie or cast awaie)
they shewed vnto the people all the waies as they went; "Lo here be the
barrels of harnesse that these traitors had priuilie conueied in their
carriage to destroie the noble lords withall." This deuise albeit that
it made the matter to wise men more vnlikelie, well perceiuing that the
intendors of such a purpose would rather haue had their harnesse on
their backs, than to haue bound them vp in barrels, yet much part of
the common people were therewith verie well satisfied, and said it were
almesse to hang them.
[Sidenote: The king's comming to London.]
[Sidenote: The duke of Glocester made protector.]
When the king approched néere to the citie, Edmund Shaw goldsmith,
then maior, with William White, and Iohn Matthew shiriffes and all the
other aldermen in scarlet, with fiue hundred horsse of the citizens,
in violet, receiued him reuerentlie at Harnesie; and riding from
thence accompanied him into the citie, which he entered the fourth
daie of Maie, the first and last yeare of his reigne. But the duke of
Glocester bare him in open sight so reuerentlie to the prince, with all
semblance of lowlinesse, that from the great obloquie in which he was
so late before, he was suddenlie fallen in so great trust, that at the
councell next assembled he was made the onelie man, chosen and thought
most méet to be protector of the king and his realme, so that (were
it destinie or were it follie) the lambe was betaken to the woolfe to
kéepe.
[Sidenote: The bishop of Lincolne made lord chancellor.]
At which councell also, the archbishop of Yorke chancellor of England,
which had deliuered vp the great seale to the quéene, was thereof
greatlie reprooued, and the seale taken from him, and deliuered to
doctor Russell bishop of Lincolne, a wise man and a good, and of much
experience, and one of the best learned men vndoubtedlie that England
had in his time. Diuerse lords and knights were appointed vnto diuerse
roomes. The lord chamberleine and some other kept still their offices
that they had before. Now all were it so that the protector so sore
thirsted for the finishing of that he had begun, that thought euerie
daie a yeare till it were atchiued; yet durst he no further attempt, as
long as he had but halfe his preie in his hand.
[Sidenote: The protectors oration.]
And why? Well did he wéet, that if he deposed the one brother, all the
realme would fall to the other, if he either remained in sanctuarie,
or should happilie be shortlie conueied to his fathers libertie.
Wherfore incontinent at the next méeting of the lords at the councell,
he proposed to them, that it was a heinous déed of the quéene, &
procéeding of great malice toward the kings councellors, that she
should kéepe in sanctuarie the kings brother from him, whose speciall
pleasure & comfort were to haue his brother with him. And that by hir
doone to none other intent, but to bring all the lords in obloquie and
murmur of the people.
As though they were not to be trusted with the kings brother, that
by the assent of the nobles of the land, were appointed as the
kings néerest fréends, to the tuition of his owne roiall person.
The prosperitie whereof standeth (quoth he) not all in kéeping from
enimies, or ill viand, but partlie also in recreation, and moderate
pleasure: which he cannot (in this tender youth) take in the companie
of ancient persons, but in the familiar conuersation of those that be
neither farre vnder, nor farre aboue his age: and neuerthelesse of
estate conuenient to accompanie his noble maiestie. Wherefore, with
whome rather, than with his owne brother?
And if anie man thinke this consideration light (which I thinke none
thinks that loues the king) let him consider, that sometime without
small things, greater cannot stand. And verelie, it redoundeth greatlie
to the dishonor both of the kings highnesse, and of all vs that béene
about his grace, to haue it run in euerie mans mouth, not in this
realme onlie, but also in other lands (as euill words walke far) that
the kings brother should be faine to kéepe sanctuarie. For euerie man
will wéene, that no man will so doo for naught. And such euill opinion
once fastned in mens harts, hard it is to wrest out, and may grow to
more gréefe than anie man can here diuine.
[Sidenote: The lord cardinall thought the fittest man to deale with the
quéene for the surrendring of hir sonne.]
Wherefore me thinketh it were not worst to send vnto the quéene, for
the redresse of this matter, some honorable trustie man, such as both
tendereth the kings weale and the honour of his councell, and is
also in fauour and credence with hir. For all which considerations,
none séemeth more méetlie, than our reuerend father here present my
lord cardinall, who may in this matter doo most good of anie man, if
it please him to take the paine; which I doubt not of his goodnesse
he will not refuse for the kings sake and ours, and wealth of the
yoong duke himselfe, the kings most honorable brother, and (after my
souereigne lord himselfe) my most déere nephue, considered that thereby
shall be ceassed the slanderous rumor and obloquie now going, and the
hurts auoided that thereof might insue, and much rest and quiet grow to
all the realme.
And if she be percase so obstinate, and so preciselie set vpon hir
owne will, that neither his wise and faithfull aduertisement can not
mooue hir, nor anie mans reason content hir; then shall we by mine
aduise, by the kings authoritie fetch him out of that prison, and bring
him to his noble presence, in whose continual companie he shall be so
well cherished and so honorablie intreated, that all the world shall
to our honour and hir reproch perceiue that it was onelie malice,
frowardnesse, or follie, that caused hir to kéepe him there. This is
my purpose and mind in this matter for this time, except anie of your
lordships anie thing perceiue to the contrarie; for neuer shall I (by
Gods grace) so wed myselfe to mine owne will, but that I shall be
readie to change it vpon your better aduises.
When the protector had said, all the councell affirmed, that the motion
was good and reasonable; and to the king and the duke his brother,
honorable; and a thing that should ceasse great murmur in the realme,
if the mother might be by good means induced to deliuer him. Which
thing the archbishop of Yorke, whome they all agréed also to be thereto
most conuenient, tooke vpon him to mooue hir, and therein to doo his
vttermost deuoir. Howbeit, if she could be in no wise intreated with
hir good will to deliuer him, then thought he, and such other as were
of the spiritualtie present, that it were not in anie wise to be
attempted to take him out against hir will.
[Sidenote: Reasons why it was not thought méet to fetch the quéens son
out of sanctuarie.]
For it should be a thing that would turne to the great grudge of all
men, and high displeasure of God, if the priuilege of that holie place
should now be broken, which had so manie yeares be kept, which both
kings and popes so good had granted, so manie had confirmed, and which
holie ground was more than fiue hundred yeares ago (by saint Peter in
his owne person in spirit accompanied with great multitudes of angels
by night) so speciallie halowed, & dedicated to God (for the proofe
wherof, they haue yet in the abbeie saint Peters cope to shew) that
from that time hitherward, was there neuer so vndeuout a king that
durst that sacred place violate, or so holie a bishop that durst it
presume to consecrate.
And therefore (quoth the archbishop of Yorke) God forbid that anie man
should for anie thing earthlie, enterprise to breake the immunitie &
libertie of the sacred sanctuarie, that hath béene the safegard of so
manie a good mans life. And I trust (quoth he) with God grace, we shall
not néed it. But for anie maner néed, I would not we should doo it.
I trust that shée shall be with reason contented, and all things in
good maner obteined. And if it happen that I bring it not so to passe,
yet shall I toward it so farre foorth doo my best, that ye shall all
well perceiue, that no lacke of my deuoir, but the mother's dread and
womanish feare shall be the let.
[Sidenote: The duke of Buckingh[=a]s words against the quéene.]
Womanish feare, naie womanish frowardnesse (quoth the duke of
Buckingham.) For I dare take it vpon my soule, she well knoweth she
néedeth no such thing to feare, either for hir son or for hir selfe.
For as for hir, here is no man that will be at war with women. Would
God some of the men of hir kin were women too, & then should all be
soone in rest. Howbeit there is none of hir kin the lesse loued,
for that they be hir kin, but for their owne euill deseruing. And
nathelesse, if we loued neither hir nor hir kin, yet were there no
cause to thinke that wee should hate the kings noble brother, to whose
grace we our selues be of kin. Whose honor, if she as much desired as
our dishonor, and as much regard tooke to his wealth as to hir owne
will, she would be as loth to suffer him to be absent from the king,
as anie of vs be. For if she haue anie wit (as would God she had as
good will as she hath shrewd wit) she reckoneth hir selfe no wiser than
she thinketh some that be here, of whose faithfull mind she nothing
doubteth, but verelie beléeueth and knoweth, that they would be as
sorie of his harme as hir selfe, and yet would haue him from hir if she
bide there: and we all (I thinke) contented, that both be with hir,
if she come thence, and bide in such place where they may with their
honors be. Now then, if she refuse in the deliuerance of him, to follow
the counsell of them, whose wisdome she knoweth whose truth she well
trusteth: it is easie to perceiue, that frowardnesse letteth hir and
not feare. But go to, suppose that she feare (as who maie let hir to
feare hir owne shadow) the more she feareth to deliuer him the more
ought we feare to leaue him in hir hands.
For if she cast such fond doubts, that she feare his hurt: then will
she feare that he shall be fet thence. For she will soone thinke,
that if men were set (which God forbid) vpon so great mischiefe, the
sanctuarie would little let them: which good men might (as me thinketh)
without sin somewhat lesse regard than they doo. Now then, if she
doubt, least he might be fetched from hir, is it not likelie inough
that she shall send him some where out of the realme? Verelie I looke
for none other. And I doubt not, but shée now as sore mindeth it, as we
the let thereof. And if she might happen to bring that to passe (as it
were no great maistrie, we letting hir alone) all the world would saie,
that we were a wise sort of councellors about a king, that let his
brother be cast awaie vnder our noses.
[Sidenote: Of sanctuaries.]
And therefore, I insure you faithfullie for my mind, I will rather
(mauger hir mind) fetch him awaie, than leaue him there, till hir
frowardnesse and fond feare conueie him awaie. And yet will I breake no
sanctuarie therefore. For verelie, sith the priuileges of that place,
and other like, haue béene of long continued, I am not he that would
be about to breake them. And in good faith, if they were now to begin,
I would not be he that should be about to make them. Yet will I not
say naie, but that it is a déed of pitie, that such men as the sea, or
their euill debtors haue brought in pouertie, should haue some place of
libertie, to kéepe their bodies out of danger of their cruell creditors.
And also, if the crowne happen (as it hath doone) to come in question,
while either part taketh other as traitors, I will well there be some
places of refuge for both. But as for théeues, of which these places
be full, and which neuer fall from the craft, after they once fall
thereto, it is pitie the sanctuarie should serue them. And much more,
mankillers, whome God bad to take them from the altar and kill them,
if their mother were wilfull. And where it is otherwise, there néed we
not the sanctuaries that God appointed in the old law. For if either
necessitie, his owne defense, or misfortune draweth him to that déed,
a pardon serueth, which either the law granteth of course, or the king
of pitie maie. Then looke me now how few sanctuarie men there be, whome
anie fauourable necessitie compelled to go thither. And then sée on the
other side, what a sort there be commonlie therin of them, whom wilfull
vnthriftinesse hath brought to naught.
[Sidenote: Westminster and saint Martins.]
[Sidenote: The abuse of sanctuaries.]
What a rabble of théeues, murtherers, and malicious heinous traitors,
and that in two places speciallie; the one at the elbow of the citie,
the other in the verie bowels. I dare well auow it, weie the good that
they doo, with the hurt that commeth of them, and ye shall find it much
better to lacke both, than haue both. And this I saie, although they
were not abused as they now be, & so long haue be, that I feare me euer
they will be, while men be afraid to set their hands to the mendment,
as though God & S. Peter were the patrones of vngratious liuing. Now
vnthrifts riot & run in debt, vpon boldnesse of these places, yea, and
rich men run thither with poore mens goods, there they build, there
they spend, & bid there creditors go whistle them. Mens wiues run
thither with their husbands plate, & saie they dare not abide with
their husbands for beating. Théeues bring thither their stollen goods,
and there liue thereon.
There deuise they new robberies, nightlie they steale out, they rob,
and reaue, and kill, and come in againe, as though those places gaue
them not onelie a safegard for the harme they haue doone, but a licence
also to doo more. Howbeit, much of this mischiefe (if wise men would
set their hands to it) might be amended, with great thanks to God, and
no breach of the priuilege. The residue, sith so long ago, I wote néere
what pope, and what prince more pitious than politike, hath granted it,
& other men since, of a certeine religious feare, haue not broken it,
let vs take a paine therewith, and let it a Gods name stand in force,
as farre foorth as reason will, which is not fullie so farre foorth,
as may serue to let vs of the fetching foorth of this noble man to his
honor and wealth, out of that place, in which he neither is, nor can be
a sanctuarie man.
[Sidenote: The vse of sanctuaries.]
A sanctuarie serueth alwaie to defend the bodie of that man that
standeth in danger abroad, not of great hurt onlie, but also of lawfull
hurt: for against vnlawfull harmes, neuer pope nor king intended to
priuilege anie one place, for that priuilege hath euerie place. Knoweth
anie man, anie place wherein it is lawfull one man to doo another
wrong? That no man vnlawfullie take hurt, that libertie, the king, the
law, and verie nature forbiddeth in euerie place, and maketh (to that
regard) for euerie man euerie place a sanctuarie. But where a man is by
lawfull means in perill, there néedeth he the tuition of some speciall
priuilege, which is the onelie ground and cause of all sanctuaries.
From which necessitie, this noble prince is farre, whose loue to his
king, nature and kinred prooueth; whose innocencie to all the world,
his tender youth prooueth; and so sanctuarie, as for him, neither none
he néedeth, nor also none can haue. Men come not to sanctuarie, as
they come to baptisme, to require it by their godfathes, he must aske
it himselfe that must haue it, and reason; sith no man hath cause to
haue it, but whose conscience of his owne fault maketh him fane, néed
to require it. What will then hath yonder babe, which and if he had
discretion to require it, if néed were, I dare say would now be right
angrie with them that kéepe him there? And I would thinke without anie
scruple of conscience, without anie breach of priuilege, to be somewhat
more homelie with them that be there sanctuarie men in déed.
For if one go to sanctuarie with another mans goods, whie should not
the king, leauing his bodie at libertie, satisfie the partie of his
goods, euen within the sanctuarie? For neither king nor pope can giue
anie place such a priuilege, that it shall discharge a man of his
debts, being able to paie. [And with that, diuerse of the clergie
that were present (whether they said it for his pleasure, or as they
thought) agréed plainlie, that by the law of God, and of the church,
the goods of a sanctuarie man should be deliuered in paiment of his
debts, and stollen goods to the owner, and onlie libertie reserued him
to get his liuing with the labor of his hands.]
Verelie (quoth the duke) I thinke you say verie truth. And what if a
mans wife will take sanctuarie, bicause she lust to run fr[=o] hir
husband, I would wéene if she could alledge none other cause, he maie
lawfullie without anie displeasure to saint Peter, take hir out of
saint Peters church by the arme. And if no bodie maie be taken out of
sanctuarie, that saith hée will bide there: then if a child will take
sanctuarie, bicause he feareth to go to schoole, his maister must let
him alone. And as simple as that sample is, yet is there lesse reason
in our case than in that; for therein, though it be a childish feare,
yet is there at the leastwise some feare, and herein is there none at
all. And verelie, I haue often heard of sanctuarie men, but I neuer
heard earst of sanctuarie children.
And therefore, as for the conclusion of my mind, who so maie haue
deserued to néed it, if they thinke it for their suertie, let them
kéepe it. But he can be no sanctuarie man, that neither hath wisdome
to desire it, nor malice to deserue it; whose life or libertie can
by no lawfull processe stand in ieopardie. And he that taketh one
out of sanctuarie to doo him good, I saie plainlie, that he breaketh
no sanctuarie. When the duke had doone, the temporall men whole, and
a good part of the spirituall also, thinking no hurt earthlie meant
toward the yoong babe, condescended in effect, that if he were not
deliuered, he should be fetched. Howbeit they thought it all best in
the auoiding of all maner of rumor, that the lord cardinall should
first assaie to get him with hir good will.
Wherevpon all the councell came vnto the Star-chamber at Westminster;
and the lord cardinall, leauing the protector with the councell in the
Star-chamber, departed into the sanctuarie to the quéene, with diuers
other lords with him: were it for the respect of his honor, or that she
should by presence of so manie perceiue, that this errand was not one
mans mind: or were it, for that the protector intended not in this
matter to trust anie one man alone; or else, that if she finallie were
determined to kéepe him, some of that companie had happilie secret
instruction, incontinent (mauger hir mind) to take him, and to leaue
hir no respit to conueie him, which she was likelie to mind after this
matter broken to hir, if hir time would in anie wise serue hir.
When the quéene and these lords were come togither in presence, the
lord cardinall shewed vnto hir, that it was thought vnto the protector,
and vnto the whole councell that hir kéeping of the kings brother
in that place, was the thing which highlie sounded, hot onelie to
the great rumor of the people and their obloquie; but also to the
importable gréefe and displeasure of the kings roiall maiestie, to
whose grace it were as singular a comfort, to haue his naturall brother
in companie, as it was their both dishonour, and all theirs and hirs
also, to suffer him in sanctuarie, as though the one brother stood in
danger and perill of the other [and therefore more conuenient it were
they should be togither, than parted asunder; that the world may well
thinke and saie both of their kinred and also of them, when they shall
sée and heare how they kéepe continual companie, and liue in mutuall
amitie (as becometh brethren) which bringeth commodities with it, for
number, infinite; and for vse, comfortable and necessarie; as it is
truelie said:
Quæ ligat vnanimes foelix concordia fratres,
O quales fructus vtilitatis habet!]
[Sidenote: Protector.]
The cardinall shewed hir likewise, that the councell therefore had
sent him vnto hir to require hir the deliuerie of him, that he might
be brought vnto the kings presence at his libertie, out of that place,
which they reckoned as a prison; and there should he be demeaned
according to his estate: and she in this dooing, should both doo great
good to the realme, pleasure to the councell, and profit to hir selfe,
succour to hir fréends that were in distresse, and ouer that (which he
wist well she speciallie tendered) not onelie great comfort and honor
to the king, but also to the yoong duke himselfe, whose both great
wealth it were to be togither, as well for manie greater causes, as
also for their both disport & recreation. Which thing the lord estéemed
no slight, though it séeme light, well pondering that their youth
without recreation and plaie cannot indure; nor anie stranger, for the
conuenience of both their ages and estates, so méetlie in that point
for anie of them, as either of them for other.
[Sidenote: The quéenes answer.]
[Sidenote: The quéene is loth to part with her son.]
My lord (quoth the quéene) I saie not naie, but that it were verie
conuenient, that this gentleman, whome yée require, were in companie
of the king his brother: and in good faith, me thinketh it were as
great commoditie to them both, as for yet a while to béene in the
custodie of their mother, the tender age considered of the elder of
them both, but speciallie the yoonger, which (besides his infancie,
that also néedeth good looking to) hath a while béene so sore diseased,
vexed with sicknesse, and is so newlie rather a little amended, than
well recouered, that I dare put no person earthlie in trust with his
kéeping, but my selfe onelie, considering that there is (as physicians
saie) and as we also find, double the perill in the recidiuation,
than was in the first sicknesse, with which disease nature being sore
laboured, forewearied and weakened waxeth the lesse able to beare out
and susteine a new surfet. And albeit there might be founden other that
would happilie doo their best vnto him, yet is there none that either
knoweth better how to order him, than I that so long haue kept him: or
is more tenderlie like to cherish him, than his owne mother that bare
him.
No man denieth, good madame (quoth the cardinall) but that your grace
were of all folke most necessarie about your children: and so would all
the councell not onelie be content, but glad that ye were (if it might
stand with your pleasure) to be in such place as might stand with their
honour. But if you doo appoint your selfe to tarrie héere, then thinke
they it more conuenient that the duke of Yorke were with the king
honourablie at his libertie, to the comfort of them both: than héere
as a sanctuarie man, to their both dishonour and obloquie, sith there
is not alwaie so great necessitie to haue the child to be with the
mother: but that occasion may sometime be such, that it should be more
expedient to kéepe him elsewhere. Which in this well appeareth, that
at such time as your déerest sonne then prince, and now king, should
for his honor, and good order of the countrie, kéepe houshold in Wales,
farre out of your companie: your grace was well content therewith your
selfe.
[Sidenote: The quéenes mistrust of the lord protector.]
Not verie well content (quoth the quéene) and yet the case is not like,
for the tone was then in health, and the tother is now sicke. In which
case, I maruell greatlie, that my lord protector is so desirous to haue
him in his kéeping, where if the child in his sicknesse miscarried
by nature, yet might he run into slander and suspicion of fraud. And
where they call it a thing so sore against my childes honor, and theirs
also, that he bideth in this place: it is all their honours there to
suffer him bide, where no man doubteth he shall be best kept; and that
is héere, while I am héere, which as yet intend not to come foorth and
ieopard my selfe after other of my fréends, which would God were rather
héere in suertie with me, than I were there in ieopardie with them.
[Sidenote: The lord Howard, saith _Edw. Hall_.]
Whie madame (quoth another lord) know you anie thing whie they should
be in ieopardie? Naie verelie sir (quoth shée) nor whie they should be
in prison neither, as they now be. But it is (I trow) no great maruell
though I feare, least those that haue not letted to put them in duresse
without colour, will let as little to procure their destruction without
cause. The cardinall made a countenance to the other lord, that he
should harpe no more vpon that string; and then said he to the quéene,
that he nothing doubted, but that those lords of hir honorable kin,
which as yet remained vnder arrest, should vpon the matter examined,
doo well inough: and as toward hir noble person, neither was nor could
be anie maner ieopardie.
Whereby should I trust that (quoth the quéene) in that I am giltlesse?
As though they were giltie, in that I am with their enimies better
loued than they? When they hate them for my sake, in that I am so néere
of kin to the king? And how far they be off, if that would helpe, as
God send grace it hurt not, and therefore as for me, I purpose not as
yet to depart hence. And as for this gentleman my sonne, I mind that he
shall be where I am, till I sée further: for I assure you, for that I
sée some men so greedie, without anie substantiall cause to haue him,
this maketh me much the more fearder to deliuer him.
Truelie madame, quoth he, and the fearder that you be to deliuer him,
the fearder bin other men to suffer you to kéepe him, least your
causelesse feare might cause you further to conueie him; and manie be
there that thinke he can haue no priuilege in this place, which neither
can haue will to aske it, nor malice to deserue it. And therefore, they
reckon no priuilege broken, though they fetch him out; which if yée
finallie refuse to deliuer him, I verelie thinke they will. So much
dread hath my lord his vncle, for the tender loue he beareth him, least
your grace should hap to send him awaie.
[Sidenote: The quéenes replie vpon the lord cardinall.]
A sir (quoth the quéene) hath the protector so tender zeale, that
he feareth nothing but least he should escape him? Thinketh he that
I would send him hence, which neither is in the plight to send out.
And in what place could I reckon him sure, if he be not sure in this
sanctuarie, whereof was there neuer tyrant yet so diuelish that durst
presume to breake? And I trust God is as strong now to withstand his
aduersaries as euer he was. But my sonne can deserue no sanctuarie, and
therefore he can not haue it. Forsooth he hath found a goodlie glose,
by which that place that may defend a théefe, may not saue an innocent.
But he is in no ieopardie, nor hath no néed thereof, would God he had
not.
Troweth the protector (I praie God he may prooue a protector) troweth
he that I perceiue not wherevnto his painted processe draweth? It
is not honourable that the duke bide héere: it were comfortable for
them both, that he were with his brother, bicause the king lacketh a
plaifellow. Be you sure? I praie God send them both better plaifellowes
than him, that maketh so high a matter vpon such a trifling pretext:
as though there could none be founden to plaie with the king, but if
his brother that hath no lust to plaie for sicknesse, come out of
sanctuarie out of his safegard to plaie with him. As though princes (as
yoong as they be) could not plaie but with their péeres, or children
could not plaie but with their kinred, with whome for the more part
they agrée much woorse than with strangers.
But the child cannot require the priuilege. Who told him so? He shall
heare him aske it, and he will. Howbeit, this is a gaie matter. Suppose
he could not aske it, suppose he would not aske it, suppose he would
aske to go out. If I saie he shall not; if I aske the priuilege but for
my selfe, I say he that against my will taketh him out, breaketh the
sanctuarie. Serueth this libertie for my person onelie, or for my goods
too? Yée may not hence take my horsse fro me: and may you take my child
fro me? He is also my ward: for as my learned councell sheweth me, sith
he hath nothing by descent holden by knights seruice, the law maketh
his mother his gardian. Then may no man I suppose take my ward fro me
out of sanctuarie, without the breach of the sanctuarie.
[Sidenote: This that is héere betwéene this marke (*) & this marke
(*) was not writt[=e] by him in English but is translated out of this
historie which he wrote in Latine.]
And if my priuilege could not serue him, nor he aske it for himselfe,
yet sith the law committeth to me the custodie of him, I may require
it for him, except the law giue a child a gardian onelie for his goods
and lands, discharging him of the cure and safe kéeping of his bodie,
for which onelie both lands and goods serue. (*) And if examples be
sufficient to obteine priuilege for my child, I néed not farre to
séeke. For in this place in which we now be (and which is now in
question whether my child may take benefit of it) mine other sonne
now king was borne, and kept in his cradle and preserued to a more
prosperous fortune, which I praie God long to continue. And as all you
know, this is not the first time that I haue taken sanctuarie.
For when my lord my husband was banished, and thrust out of his
kingdome, I fled hither, being great with child, and héere I bare the
prince. And when my lord my husband returned safe againe, and had the
victorie, then went I hence to welcome him home, and from hence I
brought my babe the prince vnto his father, when he first tooke him
in his armes. And I praie God that my sonnes palace may be as great
safegard vnto him now reigning, as this place was sometime to the
kings enimie. In which place I intend to kéepe his brother, sith, &c.
(*) Wherefore héere intend I to kéepe him, sith mans law serueth the
gardian to kéepe the infant.
The law of nature will the mother to kéepe hir child, God's law
priuilegeth the sanctuarie, and the sanctuarie my sonne, sith I feare
to put him in the protectors hands that hath his brother alreadie, and
were (if both failed) inheritor to the crowne. The cause of my feare
hath no man to doo to examine. And yet feare I no further than the
law feareth, which (as learned men tell me) forbiddeth euerie man the
custodie of them, by whose death he maie inherit lesse land than a
kingdome. I can no more but whosoeuer he be that breaketh this holie
sanctuarie, I praie God shortlie send him néed of sanctuarie, when he
maie not come to it. For taken out of sanctuarie would I not my mortall
enimie were.
[Sidenote: The lord cardinall vseth an other waie to persuade the
quéene.]
The lord cardinall, perceiuing that the quéene waxed euer the longer
the farther off, and also that she began to kindle and chafe, and
spake more biting words against the protector, and such as he neither
beléeued, and was also loth to heare, he said to hir for a finall
conclusion, that he would no longer dispute the matter: but if she were
content to deliuer the duke to him, and to the other lords present, he
durst laie his owne bodie & soule both in pledge, not onelie for his
suertie, but also for his estate. And if she would giue them a resolute
answer to the contrarie, he would foorthwith depart therewithall,
and shift who so would with this businesse afterwards: for he neuer
intended more to mooue hir in that matter, in which she thought that he
& all other also (saue hir selfe) lacked either wit or truth: wit, if
they were so dull that they could nothing perceiue what the protector
intended: truth, if they should procure hir sonne to be deliuered into
his hands, in whom they should perceiue toward the child anie euill
intended.
The quéene with these words stood a good while in a great studie.
And forsomuch as hir séemed the cardinall more readie to depart than
some of the remnant, and the protector himselfe readie at hand; so
that she verelie thought she could not kéepe him, but that he should
incontinentlie be taken thense: and so conueie him elsewhere, neither
had she time to serue hir, nor place determined, nor persons appointed,
all things vnreadie, this message came on hir so suddenlie, nothing
lesse looking for than to haue him fet out of sanctuarie, which she
thought to be now beset in such places about, that he could not be
conueied out vntaken, and partlie as she thought it might fortune
hir feare to be false, so well she wist it was either néedlesse or
bootlesse: wherefore if she should néeds go from him, she déemed it
best to deliuer him.
[Sidenote: She falleth to a resolution touching hir sonnes deliuerie.]
And ouer that, of the cardinals faith she nothing doubted, nor of some
other lords neither, whome she there saw. Which as she feared least
they might be deceiued: so was she well assured they would not be
corrupted. Then thought she it should yet make them the more warilie
to looke to him, and the more circumspectlie to sée to his suertie,
if she with hir owne hands betooke him to them of trust. And at the
last she tooke the yoong duke by the hand, and said vnto the lords: My
lords (quoth she) and all my lords, I neither am so vnwise to mistrust
your wits, nor so suspicious to mistrust your truths: of which thing I
purpose to make you such a proofe, as if either of both in you, might
turne both you and me to great sorow, the realme to much harme, and you
to great reproch.
For lo, here is (quoth she) this gentleman, whom I doubt not but I
could here kéepe safe, if I would, what euer anie man say: & I doubt
not also, but there be some abroad so deadlie enimies vnto my bloud,
that if they wist where anie of it laie in their owne bodie, they
would let it out. We haue also experience that desire of a kingdome
knoweth no kinred. The brother hath béene the brothers bane: and maie
the nephues be sure of their vncle? Ech of these children is the
others defense while they be asunder, and ech of their liues lieth in
the others bodie. Kéepe one safe and both be sure, and nothing for
them both more perillous, than to be both in one place. For what wise
merchant aduentureth all his goods in one ship?
All this notwithstanding, here I deliuer him and his brother in him,
to kéepe, into your hands, of whom I shall aske them both afore God &
the world. Faithfull ye be that wot I well, & I know well you be wise.
Power and strength to kéepe him (if you list) lacke ye not of your
selfe, nor can lacke helpe in this cause. And if ye can not elsewhere,
then maie you leaue him here. But onelie one thing I beséech you, for
the trust which his father put in you euer, & for the trust that I put
in you now, that as farre as ye thinke that I feare too much, be you
well ware that you feare not as farre too little. And therewithall she
said vnto the child: Fare well mine owne sweete sonne, God send you
good kéeping: let me kisse you yet once yer you go, for God knoweth
when we shall kisse togither againe. And therewith she kissed him and
blessed him, turned hir backe and wept and went hir waie, leauing the
child wéeping as fast. [Howbeit she was sorie afterwards that she had
so parted from hir son (when it was past hir power to procure remedie,
& no hope of helpe left against afterclaps) which is the common case of
all that kind, as the prouerbe saith:
Femineus verè dolor est post facta dolere.]
[Sidenote: O dissimulation.]
[Sidenote: This that is here betwéene this marke (*) & this marke (*)
was not written by him in English but is translated out of his historie
which he wrote in Latine.]
When the lord cardinall, and these other lords with him, had receiued
this yoong duke, they brought him into the Star-chamber, where the
protector tooke him in his armes and kissed him with these words:
Now welcome my lord euen with all my verie heart. And he said in that
of likelihood as he thought. Therevpon foorthwith they brought him
vnto the king his brother into the bishops palace at Paules, and from
thense thorough the citie honourablie into the Tower, out of the which
after that daie they neuer came abroad. (*) When the protector had
both the children in his hands, he opened himselfe more boldlie, both
to certeine other men, and also cheeflie to the duke of Buckingham.
Although I know that manie thought that this duke was priuie to all
the protectors counsell, euen from the beginning; and some of the
protectors fréends said, that the duke was the first moouer of the
protector to this matter, sending a priuie messenger vnto him, streict
after king Edwards death.
But others againe, which knew better the subtill wit of the protector,
denie that he euer opened his enterprise to the duke, vntill he
had brought to passe the things before rehearsed. But when he had
imprisoned the quéenes kinsfolks, & gotten both his sonnes into his
owne hands, then he opened the rest of his purpose with lesse feare
to them whome he thought méet for the matter, and speciallie to the
duke, who being woone to his purpose, he thought his strength more than
halfe increased. The matter was broken vnto the duke by subtill folks,
and such as were their craftes-masters in the handling of such wicked
deuises: who declared vnto him that the yoong king was offended with
him for his kinsfolks sake, and if he were euer able he would reuenge
them, who would pricke him forward therevnto if they escaped (for they
would remember their imprisonment) or else it they were put to death,
without doubt the yoong K. would be carefull for their deaths, whose
imprisonment was gréeuous vnto him.
Also that with repenting the duke should nothing auaile, for there was
no waie left to redéeme his offense by benefits, but he should sooner
destroie himselfe than saue the king, who with his brother and his
kinsfolks he saw in such places imprisoned, as the protector might
with a becke destroie them all: and that it were no doubt but he would
doo it in déed, if there were anie new enterprise attempted. And that
it was likelie, that as the protector had prouided priuie gard for
himselfe, so had he spials for the duke, and traines to catch him, if
he should be against him; and that peraduenture from them, whome he
lest suspected. For the state of things and the dispositions of men
were then such, that a man could not well tell whome he might trust, or
whom he might feare.
[Sidenote: The dukes full resolution, to go thorough with his
enterprise.]
These things and such like, being beaten into the dukes mind, brought
him to that point, that where he had repented the way that he had
entered; yet would he go foorth in the same; and sith he had once
begun, he would stoutlie go thorough. And therefore to this wicked
enterprise, which he beléeued could not be voided, he bent himselfe,
and went through; and determined, that sith the common mischéefe could
not be amended, he would turne it as much as he might to his owne
commoditie. Then it was agréed, that the protector shuld haue the dukes
aid to make him king, and that the protectors onelie lawfull sonne
should marrie the dukes daughter, and that the protector should grant
him the quiet possession of the earldome of Hereford, which he claimed
as his inheritance, and could neuer obteine it in king Edwards time.
Besides these requests of the duke, the protector of his owne
mind promised him a great quantitie of the kings treasure, and of
his houshold stuffe. And when they were thus at a point betwéene
themselues, they went about to prepare for the coronation of the yoong
king, as they would haue it séeme. And that they might turne both the
eies and minds of men from perceiuing of their drifts other-where, the
lords being sent for from all parts of the realme, came thicke to that
solemnitie. But the protector and the duke, after that they had sent
the lord cardinall, the archbishop of Yorke then lord chancellor, the
bishop of Elie, the lord Stanleie, and the lord Hastings then lord
chamberlaine, with manie other noble men (*) to common & deuise about
the coronation in one place, as fast were they in an other place,
contriuing the contrarie, and to make the protector king.
To which councell albeit there were adhibited verie few, and they were
secret: yet began there here and there abouts, some maner of muttering
among the people, as though all should not long be well, though they
neither wist what they feared, nor wherefore: were it, that before
such great things, mens hearts of a secret instinct of nature misgiue
them; as the sea without wind swelleth of himselfe sometime before a
tempest: or were it that some one man, happilie somewhat perceiuing,
filled manie men with suspicion, though he shewed few men what he
knew. Howbeit somewhat the dealing it selfe made men to muse on the
matter, though the councell were close. For by little and little all
folke withdrew from the Tower, and drew vnto Crosbies in Bishops gates
stréet, where the protector kept his houshold. The protector had the
resort, the king in maner desolate.
While some for their businesse made sute to them that had the dooing,
some were by their fréends secretlie warned, that it might happilie
turne them to no good, to be too much attendant about the king without
the protectors appointment, which remooued also diuerse of the princes
old seruants from him, and set new about him. Thus manie things comming
togither, partlie by chance, partlie of purpose, caused at length not
common people onelie, that woond with the wind, but wise men also,
and some lords eke to marke the matter and muse thereon; so farre
foorth that the lord Stanleie that was after earle of Derbie, wiselie
mistrusted it, and said vnto the lord Hastings, that he much misliked
these two seuerall counccels. For while we (quoth he) talke of one
matter in the tone place, little wot we wherof they talke in the tother
place.
[Sidenote: Catesbie and his conditions described.]
My lord (quoth the lord Hastings) on my life neuer doubt you: for while
one man is there, which is neuer thense, neuer can there be thing once
mooued, that should sound amisse toward me, but it should be in mine
eares yer it were well out of their mouths. This ment he by Catesbie,
which was of his néere secret councell, and whome he verie familiarlie
vsed, and in his most weightie matters put no man in so speciall trust,
reckoning himselfe to no man so liefe, sith he well wist there was no
man so much to him beholden as was this Catesbie, which was a man well
learned in the lawes of this land, and by the speciall fauour of the
lord chamberlaine, in good authoritie, and much rule bare in all the
countie of Leicester, where the lord chamberlains power cheeflie laie.
But suerlie great pitie was it, that he had not had either more truth,
or lesse wit. For his dissimulation onelie kept all that mischéefe vp.
In whome if the lord Hastings had not put so speciall trust, the lord
Stanleie & he had departed with diuerse other lords, and broken all the
danse, for manie ill signs that he saw, which he now construes all to
the best. So suerlie thought he, that there could be none harme toward
him in that councell intended, where Catesbie was. And of truth the
protector and the duke of Buckingham made verie good semblance vnto
the lord Hastings, and kept him much in companie. And vndoubtedlie the
protector loued him well, and loth was to haue lost him, sauing for
feare least his life should haue quailed their purpose.
For which cause he mooued Catesbie to prooue with some words cast
out a farre off, whether he could thinke it possible to win the lord
Hastings vnto their part. But Catesbie, whether he assaied him, or
assaied him not, reported vnto them, that he found him so fast, and
heard him speake so terrible words, that he durst no further breake.
And of truth, the lord chamberlaine of verie trust shewed vnto Catesbie
the distrust that others began to haue in the matter. And therefore
he, fearing least their motion might with the lord Hastings minish
his credence, wherevnto onelie all the matter leaned, procured the
protector hastilie to rid him. And much the rather, for that he trusted
by his death to obteine much of the rule that the lord Hastings bare in
his countrie: the onelie desire whereof was the allectiue that induced
him to be partner, and one speciall contriuer of all this horrible
treason.
[Sidenote: An assemblie of lords in the Tower.]
Wherevpon soone after, that is to wit, on the fridaie [being the
thirtéenth of Iune] manie lords assembled in the Tower, and there
sat in councell, deuising the honourable solemnitie of the kings
coronation, of which the time appointed then so néere approched, that
the pageants and subtilties were in making daie & night at Westminster,
and much vittels killed therfore, that afterward was cast awaie. These
lords so sitting togither communing of this matter, the protector
came in amongst them, first about nine of the clocke, saluting them
courteouslie, and excusing himselfe that he had béene from them so
long, saieng merilie that he had béene a sléeper that daie.
[Sidenote: The behauior of the lord protector in the assemblie of the
lords.]
After a little talking with them, he said vnto the bishop of Elie;
My lord you haue verie good strawberies at your garden in Holborne,
I require you let vs haue a messe of them. Gladlie my lord (quoth
he) would God I had some better thing as readie to your pleasure as
that! And therewithall in all the hast he sent his seruant for a
messe of strawberies. The protector set the lords fast in communing,
and therevpon praieng them to spare him for a little while, departed
thense. And soone after one houre, betwéene ten & eleuen he returned
into the chamber amongst them all, changed with a woonderfull soure
angrie countenance, knitting the browes, frowning and fretting, and
gnawing on his lips: and so sat him downe in his place.
All the lords were much dismaid and sore maruelled at this maner of
sudden change, and what thing should him aile. Then, when he had sitten
still a while, thus he began: What were they worthie to haue that
compasse and imagine the destruction of me, being so néere of bloud
vnto the king, and protector of his roiall person and his realme? At
this question, all the lords sat sore astonied, musing much by whome
this question should be meant, of which euerie man wist himselfe
cléere. Then the lord chamberlaine (as he that for the loue betwéene
them thought he might be boldest with him) answered and said, that
they were worthie to be punished as heinous traitors, whatsoeuer they
were. And all the other affirmed the same. That is (quoth he) yonder
sorceresse my brothers wife, and other with hir (meaning the quéene.)
At these words manie of the other lords were greatlie abashed, that
fauoured hir. But the lord Hastings was in his mind better content,
that it was mooued by hir, than by anie other whome he loued better:
albeit his heart somewhat grudged, that he was not afore made of
counsell in this matter, as he was of the taking of hir kinred, and of
their putting to death, which were by his assent before deuised to be
beheaded at Pomfret this selfe same daie, in which he was not ware that
it was by other deuised, that he himselfe should be beheaded the same
daie at London. Then said the protector: Ye shall all sée in what wise
that sorceresse, and that other witch of hir counsell Shores wife, with
their affinitie, haue by their sorcerie and witchcraft wasted my bodie.
And therwith he plucked vp his dublet sléeue to his elbow vpon his left
arme, where he shewed a weerish withered arme, and small; as it was
neuer other.
Herevpon euerie mans mind sore misgaue them, well perceiuing that this
matter was but a quarrell. For they well wist that the quéene was too
wise to go about anie such follie. And also if she would, yet would
she of all folke least, make Shores wife of hir counsell, whome of all
women she most hated, as that concubine whome the king hir husband had
most loued. And also, no man was there present, but well knew that his
arme was euer such since his birth. Nathelesse, the lord chamberlaine
(which from the death of king Edward kept Shores wife, on whome he
somewhat doted in the kings life, sauing (as it is said) he that while
forbare hir of reuerence toward the king, else of a certeine kind of
fidelitie to his fréend) answered and said: Certeinelie my lord, if
they haue so heinouslie doone, they be worthie heinous punishment.
[Sidenote: The lord Stanleie wounded.]
What (quoth the protector) thou seruest me I wéene with ifs and with
ands, I tell thée they haue so doone, and that I will make good on thy
bodie traitor: and therewith as in a great anger, he clapped his fist
vpon the boord a great rap. At which token one cried, Treason, without
the chamber. Therewith a doore clapped, and in come there rushing men
in harnesse, as manie as the chamber might hold. And anon the protector
said to the lord Hastings: I arrest thée traitor: What me my lord?
(quoth he.) Yea thée traitor quoth the protector. And an other let flie
at the lord Stanleie, which shrunke at the stroke, & fell vnder the
table, or else his head had béene cleft to the téeth: for as shortlie
as he shranke, yet ran the bloud about his eares.
[Sidenote: Lord Hastings lord chamberleine beheaded.]
Then were they all quickelie bestowed in diuerse chambers, except the
lord chamberleine, whome the protector bad spéed and shriue him apace,
for by saint Paule (quoth he) I will not to dinner till I sée thy head
off. It booted him not to aske whie, but heauilie tooke a priest at
aduenture, & made a short shrift: for a longer would not be suffered,
the protector made so much hast to dinner, which he might not go to,
vntill this were doone, for sauing of his oth. So was he brought foorth
to the gréene beside the chappell within the Tower, and his head laid
downe vpon a long log of timber, and there striken off, and afterward
his bodie with the head interred at Windsor beside the bodie of king
Edward, both whose soules our Lord pardon. [Thus began he to establish
his kingdome in bloud, growing thereby in hatred of the nobles, and
also abridging both the line of his life, and the time of his regiment:
for God will not haue bloudthirstie tyrants daies prolonged, but will
cut them off in their ruffe; according to Dauids words:
[Sidenote: _Buchan. in psal. 55._]
Impio, fallaci, auidoque cædis
Fila mors rumpet viridi in iuuenta.]
[Sidenote: The lord Stanleie's dreame.]
A maruellous case is it to heare either the warnings of that he should
haue voided, or the tokens of that he could not void. For the selfe
night next before his death, the lord Stanleie sent a trustie messenger
vnto him at midnight in all the hast, requiring him to rise and ride
awaie with him, for he was disposed vtterlie no longer to bide, he
had so fearfull a dreame; in which him thought that a boare with his
tuskes so rased them both by the heads, that the bloud ran about both
their shoulders. And forsomuch as the protector gaue the boare for his
cognisance, this dreame made so fearfull an impression in his heart,
that he was throughlie determined no longer to tarrie, but had his
horsse readie, if the lord Hastings would go with him, to ride yet so
farre the same night, that they should be out of danger yer daie.
Ha good Lord (quoth the lord Hastings to this messenger) leaneth my
lord thy maister so much to such trifles, and hath such faith in
dreames, which either his owne feare fantasieth, or doo rise in the
nights rest by reason of his daies thought? Tell him it is plaine
witchcraft to beléeue in such dreames, which if they were tokens of
things to come, why thinketh he not that we might be as likelie to make
them true by our going, if we were caught & brought backe, as fréends
faile fliers; for then had the boare a cause likelie to rase vs with
his tusks, as folke that fled for some falsehood. Wherefore, either is
there perill, or none there is in déed: or if anie be, it is rather in
going than biding. And in case we should néeds fall in perill one waie
or other, yet had I rather that men should sée that it were by other
mens falsehood, than thinke it were either by our owne fault, or faint
heart. And therefore go to thy maister (man) and commend me to him, &
praie him be merrie & haue no feare: for I insure him I am as sure of
the man that he woteth of, as I am of mine owne hand. God send grace
sir (quoth the messenger) and went his waie.
[Sidenote: Foretokens of imminent misfortune to the lord Hastings.]
Certeine is it also, that in riding towards the Tower, the same morning
in which he was beheaded, his horsse twise or thrise stumbled with
him, almost to the falling. Which thing albeit ech man wote well
dailie happeneth to them, to whom no such mischance is toward; yet hath
it béene of an old rite and custome obserued, as a token oftentimes
notablie foregoing some great misfortune. Now this that followeth was
no warning, but an enuious scorne. The same morning yer he was vp, came
a knight vnto him, as it were of courtesie, to accompanie him to the
councell; but of truth sent by the protector to hast him thitherwards,
with whome he was of secret confederacie in that purpose; a meane man
at that time and now of great authoritie.
This knight (I say) when it happened the lord chamberleine by the waie
to staie his horsse, & common a while with a priest whome he met in the
Tower stréet, brake his tale, and said merilie to him; What my lord, I
pray you come on, whereto talke you so long with that priest? you haue
no néed of a priest yet: and therwith he laughed vpon him, as though he
would say, Ye shall haue soone. But so little wist the tother what he
ment, and so little mistrusted, that he was neuer merrier, nor neuer
so full of good hope in his life, which selfe thing is oft séene a
signe of change. But I shall rather let anie thing passe me, than the
vaine suertie of mans mind so néere his death [flattering himselfe with
deceitfull conceipts of inward motions of life to be prolonged, euen in
present cases of deadlie danger, and heauie misfortunes offering great
mistrust; as he did that is noted for speaking like a foole:
[Sidenote: _Mani. lib. 4. Astro._]
Non est (crede mihi) sapientis dicere, Viuam:
Nascentes morimur, finísq; ab origine pendet.]
Vpon the verie Tower wharfe, so néere the place where his head was off
soone after, there met he with one Hastings a purseuant of his owne
name. And at their méeting in that place, he was put in remembrance
of another time, in which it had happened them before to méet in
like manner togither in the same place. At which other time the lord
chamberleine had béene accused vnto king Edward by the lord Riuers the
quéenes brother, in such wise, as he was for the while (but it lasted
not long) farre fallen into the kings indignation, & stood in great
feare of himselfe. And forsomuch as he now met this purseuant in the
same place, that ieopardie so well passed, it gaue him great pleasure
to talke with him thereof, with whome he had before talked thereof in
the same place, while he was therein.
And therefore he said: Ha Hastings, art thou remembred when I met thée
here once with an heauie heart? Yea my lord (quoth he) that remember I
well, and thanked be God, they gat no good, nor you no harme thereby.
Thou wouldest say so (quoth he) if thou knewest as much as I know,
which few know else as yet, and mo shall shortlie. That meant he by the
lords of the quéenes kinred that were taken before, and should that
daie be beheaded at Pomfret: which he well wist, but nothing ware that
the ax hung ouer his owne head. In faith man (quoth he) I was neuer so
sorie, nor neuer stood in so great dread in my life, as I did when thou
and I met here. And lo how the world is turned, now stand mine enimies
in the danger (as thou maiest hap to heare more hereafter) and I neuer
in my life so merrie, nor neuer in so great suertie.
[Sidenote: The description of the lord Hastings.]
O good God, the blindnesse of our mortall nature, when he most feared,
he was in good suertie; when he reckoned himselfe surest, he lost his
life, and that within two houres after. Thus ended this honorable man,
a good knight and a gentle, of great authoritie with his prince, of
liuing somewhat dissolute, plaine and open to his enimie, & secret to
his friend, easie to beguile, as he that of good heart and courage
forestudied no perils, a louing man, and passing well beloued: verie
faithfull, and trustie inough, trusting too much. Now flew the fame
of this lords death swiftlie through the citie, and so foorth further
about like a wind in euerie mans eare. But the protector, immediatlie
after dinner, intending to set some colour vpon the matter, sent in all
the hast for manie substantiall men out of the citie into the tower.
Now at their comming, himselfe with the duke of Buckingham, stood
harnessed in old ill faring briganders, such as no man should wéene,
that they would vouchsafe to haue put vpon their backs, except that
some sudden necessitie had constreined them. And then the protector
shewed them, that the lord chamberleine, and other of his conspiracie,
had contriued to haue suddenlie destroied him, and the duke, there the
same day in the councell. And what they intended further, was as yet
not well knowne. Of which their treason he neuer had knowledge before
ten of the clocke the same forenoone, which sudden feare draue them to
put on for their defense such harnesse as came next to hand. And so had
God holpen them, that the mischiefe turned vpon them that would haue
doone it. And this he required them to report.
[Sidenote: The protectors proclamation.]
Euerie man answered him faire, as though no man mistrusted the matter,
which of truth no man beléeued. Yet for the further appeasing of the
peoples minds, he sent immediatlie after diner in all the hast one
herald of armes, with a proclamation to be made through the citie in
the kings name, conteining, that the lord Hastings, with diuerse other
of his traitorous purposes, had before conspired the same day to haue
slaine the lord protector, and the duke of Buckingham sitting in the
councell; and after to haue taken vpon them to rule the king & the
realme at their pleasure, and therby to pill and spoile whome they
list vncontrolled. And much matter there was in that proclamation,
deuised to the slander of the lord chamberleine, as that he was an ill
councellor to the kings father, intising him to manie things highlie
redounding to the minishing of his honour, and to the vniuersall hurt
of the realme.
[Sidenote: The life and déeds of the lord chamberlaine laid open.]
The meanes whereby; namelie, his euill companie, sinister procuring,
and vngratious example, as well in manie other things, as in the
vicious liuing and inordinate abusion of his bodie, with manie other,
and also speciallie with Shores wife, which was one also of his most
secret counsell in this most heinous treason, with whome he laie
nightlie, and namelie the night last past next before his death.
So that it was the lesse maruell, if vngratious liuing brought him
to an vnhappie ending, which he was now put vnto by the most dread
commandement of the kings highnesse, and of his honorable and faithfull
councell, both for his demerits, being so openlie taken in his falslie
conceiued treason, and also least the delaieng of his execution might
haue incouraged other mischiefous persons, partners of his conspiracie,
to gather and assemble themselues togither, in making some great
commotion for his deliuerance: whose hope being now by his well
deserued death politikelie repressed, all the realme should (by Gods
grace) rest in good quiet and peace.
Now was this proclamation made within two houres after that he was
beheaded, and it was so curiouslie indicted, & so faire written in
parchment, in so well a set hand, and therewith of it selfe so long a
processe, that euerie child might well perceiue that it was prepared
before. For all the time, betwéene his death and the proclaming, could
scant haue sufficed vnto the bare writing alone, all had it béene but
in paper, and scribled foorth in hast at aduenture. So that vpon the
proclaming thereof, one that was schoolemaister of Powles of chance
standing by, and comparing the shortnesse of the time with the length
of the matter, said vnto them that stood about him; Here is a gaie
goodlie cast foule cast awaie for hast. And a merchant answered him,
that it was written by prophesie.
[Sidenote: Shores wife spoiled of all that she had.]
Now then by and by, as it were for anger, not for couetise, the
protector sent into the house of Shores wife (for hir husband dwelled
not with hir) and spoiled hir of all that euer she had, aboue the value
of two or thrée thousand markes, and sent hir bodie to prison. And when
he had a while laid vnto hir (for the maner sake) that she went about
to bewitch him, and that she was of counsell with the lord chamberleine
to destroie him: in conclusion, when that no colour could fasten vpon
these matters, then he laid heinouslie to hir charge, that thing that
hir selfe could not denie, and that all the world wist was true, and
that nathelesse euerie man laughed at, to heare it then so suddenlie so
highlie taken, that shée was naught of hir bodie.
[Sidenote: Shores wife put to open penance.]
And for this cause (as a goodlie continent prince, cleane and
faultlesse of himselfe, sent out of heauen into this vicious world for
the amendment of mens maners) he caused the bishop of London to put hir
to open penance, going before the crosse in procession vpon a sundaie
with a taper in hir hand. In which she went in countenance and pase
demure so womanlie; that albeit she were out of all araie, saue hir
kirtle onelie, yet went she so faire and louelie, namelie while the
woondering of the people cast a comelie rud in hir cheeks (of which she
before had most misse) that hir great shame wan hir much praise among
those that were more amorous of hir bodie, than curious of hir soule.
And manie good folks also that hated hir liuing, & glad were to sée
sin corrected: yet pitied they more hir penance, than reioised therin,
when they considered that the protector procured it, more of a corrupt
intent, than anie vertuous affection.
[Sidenote: The descripti[=o] of Shores wife.]
This woman was borne in London, worshipfullie friended, honestlie
brought vp, and verie well maried, sauing somewhat too soone, hir
husband an honest citizen, yoong and goodlie, & of good substance. But
forsomuch as they were coupled yer she were well ripe, she not verie
feruentlie loued him, for wh[=o] she neuer longed, which was happilie
the thing that the more easilie made hir incline vnto the kings
appetite, when he required hir. Howbeit the respect of his roialtie,
the hope of gaie apparell, ease, and other wanton wealth, was able
soone to pearse a soft tender heart, [so that she became flexible and
pliant to the kings appetite and will; being so blinded with the bright
glorie of the present courtlie brauerie which shée inioied, that she
vtterlie forgat how excellent a treasure good name and fame is, and of
what incomparable sweetnesse, euen by the iudgement of him, whose match
for wisdome the world neuer bred vp, saieng:
[Sidenote: _Eob. Hess. in Eccles. Sal._]
Sunt optanda magis puræ bona nomina famæ,
Nobilis vnguenti quàm pretiosus odor.]
But when the king had abused hir, anon hir husband (as he was an honest
man, and one that could his good, not presuming to touch a kings
concubine) left hir vp to him altogither. When the king died, the lord
chamberleine tooke hir, which in the kings daies, albeit he was sore
inamoured vpon hir, yet he forbare hir; ether for reuerence, or for a
certeine friendlie faithfulnesse. Proper she was and faire; nothing
in hir bodie that you would haue changed, but if ye would haue wished
hir somewhat higher. Thus saie they that knew hir in hir youth. Albeit
some that now sée hir (for yet[3] she liueth) deem hir neuer to haue
béene well visaged: whose iudgement séemeth me somewhat like, as though
men should gesse the beautie of one long before departed by hir scalpe
taken out of the charnell house.
[3] Meaning when this storie was written.
[Sidenote: K. Edwards thrée concubines.]
For now is she old, leane, withered and dried vp, nothing left but
riuelled skin and hard bone. And yet being euen such, who so well
aduise hir visage, might gesse and deuise, which parts how filled would
make it a faire face. Yet delighted not men so much in hir beautie,
as in hir pleasant behauiour. For a proper wit had she, and could
both read well and write, merrie in companie, readie and quicke of
answer, neither mute, nor full of bable, sometime tawnting without
displeasure, and not without disport. The king would saie that he had
thrée concubines, which in thrée diuerse properties diuerslie excelled.
One the merriest, another the wiliest, the third the holiest harlot in
his realme, as one whome no man could get out of the church lightlie to
any place, but it were to his bed.
The other two were somewhat greater personages, and nathelesse of their
humilitie content to be namelesse, and to forbeare the praise of those
properties: but the merriest was this Shores wife, in whom the king
therefore tooke speciall pleasure. For manie he had, but hir he loued;
whose fauour to say the truth (for sin it were to beelie the diuell)
she neuer abused to anie mans hurt, but to manie a mans comfort and
reléefe. Where the king tooke displeasure, shée would mitigate and
appease his mind: where men were out of fauour, she would bring them in
his grace. For manie that had highlie offended shée obteined pardon. Of
great forfeitures she gat men remission.
Finallie, in manie weightie sutes she stood manie a man in great stead,
either for none or verie small rewards, and those rather gaie than
rich; either that she was content with the déed it selfe well doone;
or for that she delighted to be sued vnto, and to shew what she was
able to doo with the king; or for that wanton women and wealthie be
not alwaies courteous. I doubt not some shall thinke this woman too
slight a thing to be written of, and set among the remembrances of
great matters: which they shall speciallie thinke, that happilie shall
estéeme hir onelie by that they now sée hir.
But me séemeth the chance so much the more worthie to be remembred, in
how much she is now in the more beggerlie condition, vnfréended and
worne out of acquaintance, after good substance, after as great fauour
with the prince, after as great sute and séeking to with all those,
that those daies had businesse to spéed; as manie other men were in
their times, which be now famous onelie by the infamie of their ill
déeds. Hir dooings were not much lesse, albeit they be much lesse
remembred, bicause they were not so euill. For men vse if they haue an
euill turne, to write it in marble: and who so dooth vs a good turne,
we write it in dust, which is not worst prooued by hir: for at this
daie she beggeth of manie at this daie liuing, that at this daie had
begged if she had not béene.
[Sidenote: Sir Richard Ratcliffe.]
Now was it so deuised by the protector and his councell, that the
selfe daie, in which the lord chamberleine was beheaded in the Tower
of London, and about the selfe same houre, was there (not without his
assent) beheaded at Pomfret, the foreremembred lords & knights that
were taken from the king at Northampton and Stonie Stratford. Which
thing was doone in the presence, and by the order of sir Richard
Ratcliffe knight, whose seruice the protector speciallie vsed in that
councell, and in the execution of such lawlesse enterprises, as a man
that had béene long secret with him, hauing experience of the world,
and a shrewd wit, short & rude in spéech, rough and boisterous of
behauiour, bold in mischiefe, as far from pitie as from all feare of
God.
[Sidenote: The lord Riuers & other beheaded.]
This knight bringing them out of the prison to the scaffold, and
shewing to the people about that they were traitors (not suffering them
to declare & speake their innocencie, least their words might haue
inclined men to pitie them, and to hate the protector and his part)
caused them hastilie, without iudgement, processe, or maner of order
to be beheaded, and without other earthlie gilt, but onelie that they
were good men, too true to the king, and too nigh to the quéene. Now
when the lord chamberleine & these other lords and knights were thus
beheaded, and rid out of the waie: then thought the protector, that
when men mused what the matter meant, while the lords of the realme
were about him out of their owne strengths, while no man wist what to
thinke, nor whom to trust, yer euer they should haue space to dispute
and digest the matter and make parties; it were best hastilie to pursue
his purpose, and put himselfe in possession of the crowne, yer men
could haue time to deuise anie waie to resist.
[Sidenote: Edmund Shaw maior of London.]
But now was all the studie by what meanes this matter, being of it
selfe so heinous, might be first broken to the people, in such wise
that it might be well taken. To this councell they tooke diuerse, such
as they thought méetlie to be trusted, likelie to be induced to that
part, and able to stand them in stéed either by power or policie.
Among whome they made of councell Edmund Shaw knight then maior of
London, which vpon trust of his owne aduancement, whereof he was
of a proud heart highlie desirous, should frame the citie to their
appetite. Of spirituall men they tooke such as had wit, and were in
authentic among the people for opinion of their learning, and had no
scrupulous conscience. Among these had they Iohn Shaw clearke brother
to the maior, and frier Penker, prouinciall of the Augustine friers
both doctors of diuinitie, both great preachers, both of more learning
than vertue, of more fame than learning. For they were before greatlie
estéemed among the people: but after that neuer.
[Sidenote: Doct. Shaw.]
[Sidenote: Frier Penker.]
Of these two the one had a sermon in praise of the protector before the
coronation, the other after, both so full of tedious flatterie, that no
mans eares could abide them. Penker in his sermon so lost his voice,
that he was fame to leaue off, and come downe in the midst. Doctor
Shaw by his sermon lost his honestie, & soone after his life, for
verie shame of the world, into which he durst neuer after come abroad.
But the frier forced for no shame, and so it harmed him the lesse.
Howbeit some doubt, and manie thinke, that Penker was not of counsell
in the matter before the coronation, but after the common maner fell to
flatterie after: namelie sith his sermon was not incontinentlie vpon
it, but at saint Marie hospitall at the Easter after.
[Sidenote: The chiefest deuise to depose the prince.]
But certeine it is, that doctor Shaw was of counsell in the beginning,
so farre foorth that they determined that he should first breake
the matter in a sermon at Paules crosse, in which he should (by the
authoritie of his preaching) incline the people to the protectors
ghostlie purpose. But now was all the labor and studie in the deuise
of some conuenient pretext, for which the people should be content to
depose the prince, and accept the protector for king. In which diuerse
things they deuised. But the chéefe thing & the weightiest of all that
inuention rested in this, that they should alledge bastardie, either in
king Edward himselfe, or in his children, or both. So that he should
séeme disabled to inherit the crowne, by the duke of Yorke, and the
prince by him.
To laie bastardie in king Edward, sounded openlie to the rebuke of the
protectors owne mother, which was mother to them both; for in that
point could be no other color, but to pretend that his owne mother was
an adultresse, which notwithstanding, to further this purpose he letted
not. But neuerthelesse he would that point should be lesse and more
fauourablie handled: not euen fullie plaine and directlie, but that
the matter should be touched aslope craftilie, as though men spared in
that point to speake all the truth, for feare of his displeasure. But
the other point concerning the bastardie that they deuised to surmize
in king Edwards children, that would he should be openlie declared
and inforced to the vttermost. The colour and pretext whereof cannot
be well perceiued, but if we first repeat you some things long before
doone about king Edwards mariage.
[Sidenote: Sée before _pag. 283_.]
[Sidenote: Dame Elizabeth Greie.]
After that king Edward the fourth had deposed king Henrie the sixt,
and was in peaceable possession of the realme, determining himselfe
to marie (as it was méet both for him selfe & the realme) he sent
ouer in ambassage the erle of Warwike, with other noble men in his
companie to Spaine, to treat & conclude a mariage betwéene K. Edward
& the kings daughter of Spaine. In which thing the erle of Warwike
found the parties so toward & willing, that he speedily (according to
his instructions without any difficultie) brought the matter to very
good c[=o]clusion. Now hapned it, that in the meane season there came
to make a sute by petition to the king dame Elizabeth Greie, which was
after his quéene, at that time a widow, borne of noble bloud, by hir
mother, duches of Bedford, yer she maried the lord Wooduile, hir father.
Howbeit, this dame Elizabeth hir selfe, being in seruice with quéene
Margaret, wife vnto king Henrie the sixt, was maried vnto one [Iohn]
Greie an esquier, whome king Henrie made knight vpon the field that he
had on [Barnet heath by saint Albons] against king Edward. But litle
while inioied he that knighthood: for he was at the same field slaine.
After which doone, and the earle of Warwike, being in his ambassage
about the afore remembred mariage, this poore ladie made humble sute
vnto the king, that she might be restored vnto such small lands as hir
late husband had giuen hir in iointure. Whome when the king beheld, and
heard hir speake as she was both faire and of a goodlie fauor, moderate
of stature, well made and verie wise: he not onelie pitied hir, but
also waxed inamoured of hir. And taking hir afterward secretlie aside,
began to enter in talking more familiarlie. Whose appetite when she
perceiued, she vertuouslie denied him.
[Sidenote: A wise answer of a chast and continent ladie.]
But that did she so wiselie, and with so good maner, and words so well
set, that she rather kindled his desire than quenched it. And finallie,
after manie a méeting, much wooing, and many great promises, she well
espieng the kings affection toward hir so greatlie increased, that
she durst somewhat the more boldlie saie hir mind, as to him whose
hart she perceiued more feruentlie set, than to fall off for a word.
And in conclusion, she shewed him plaine, that as she wist hir selfe
too simple to be his wife, so thought she hir selfe too good to be
his concubine. The king much maruelling at hir constancie (as he that
had not béen woont elsewhere to be so stiffelie said naie) so much
estéemed hir continencie and chastitie, that he set hir vertue in the
stéed of possession and riches: and thus taking counsell of his desire,
determined in all possible hast to marie hir.
[Sidenote: The kings mother.]
Now after he was thus appointed, and had betwéene them twaine insured
hir: then asked he counsell of his other fréends, and that in such
maner, as they might then perceiue it booted not greatlie to say naie.
Notwithstanding the duches of Yorke his mother was so sore mooued
therewith, that she dissuaded the mariage as much as she possible
might; alledging that it was his honour, profit and suertie also, to
marie in a noble progenie out of his realme, wherevpon depended great
strength to his estate, by the affinitie and great possibilitie of
increase of his possession. And that he could not well otherwise doo,
séeing that the earle of Warwike had so farre mooued alreadie: which
were not likelie to take it well, if all his voiage were in such wise
frustrate, and his appointment deluded. And she said also, that it was
not princelie to marie his owne subiect, no great occasion leading
therevnto, no possessions, or other commodities depending therevpon;
but onlie as it were a rich man that would marie his maid, onelie for a
little wanton dotage vpon hir person.
In which mariage manie mo commend the maidens fortune, than the
maisters wisedome. And yet therein (she said) was more honestie than
honour in this mariage. For somuch as there is betwéene no merchant
and his owne maid so great difference, as betwéene the king and this
widow. In whose person, albeit there was nothing to be misliked; yet
was there (she said) nothing so excellent, but that it might be found
in diuerse other that were more méetlie (quoth she) for your estate,
and maidens also; whereas the onelie widowhead of Elizabeth Greie,
though she were in all other things conuenient for you, shuld yet
suffice (as me séemeth) to refraine you from hir mariage, sith it is
an vnfitting thing, and a verie blemish and high disparagement to the
sacred maiestie of a prince, that ought as nigh to approch priesthood
in cleannesse as he dooth in dignitie, to be defiled with bigamie in
his first mariage.
[Sidenote: The kings answer to his mother.]
The king, when his mother had said, made hir answer, part in earnest,
part in plaie merilie, as he that wist himselfe out of hir rule. And
albeit he would gladlie that she should take it well, yet was at
a point in his owne mind, tooke she it well or otherwise. Howbeit
somewhat to satisfie hir, he said, that albeit mariage (being a
spirituall thing) ought rather to be made for the respect of God,
where his grace inclineth the parties to loue togither, as he trusted
it was in his, than for the regard of anie temporall aduantage: yet
neuerthelesse, him séemed that this mariage, euen worldlie considered,
was not vnprofitable. For he reckoned the amitie of no earthlie
nation so necessarie for him, as the fréendship of his owne, which he
thought likely to beare him so much the more hartie fauour, in that he
disdained not to marie with one of his owne land.
And yet if outward aliance were thought so requisite, he would find the
meanes to enter thereinto, much better by other of his kin, where all
the parties could be contented, than to marie himselfe whome he should
happilie neuer loue; and for the possibilitie of more possessions,
leese the fruit and pleasure of this that he had alreadie. Tor small
pleasure taketh a man of all that euer he hath beside, if he be wiued
against his appetite. And I doubt not (quoth he) but there be (as ye
say) other, that be in euerie point comparable with hir. And therefore
I let not them that like them to wed them. No more is it reason, that
it mislike anie man, that I marrie where it liketh me. And I am sure
that my cousine of Warwike neither loueth me so little, to grudge at
that I loue; nor is so vnreasonable, to looke that I should in choise
of a wife, rather be ruled by his eie, than by mine owne: as though I
were a ward that were bound to marie by the appointment of a gardian.
[Sidenote: Libertie preferred before a kingdome.]
I would not be a king with that condition, to forbeare mine owne
libertie in choise of mine owne mariage. As for possibilitie of more
inheritance by new affinitie in strange lands, is oft the occasion of
more trouble than profit. And we haue alreadie title by that meanes
vnto so much, as sufficeth to get and kéepe well in one mans daies.
That she is a widow, and hath alreadie children; by Gods blessed ladie,
I am a bacheler, and haue some too, and so ech of vs hath a proofe that
neither of vs is like to be barren. And therefore (madame) I praie
you be content, I trust in God she shall bring foorth a yoong prince
that shall please you. And as for the bigamie, let the bishop hardlie
laie it in my waie when I come to take orders. For I vnderstand it is
forbidden a preest, but I neuer wist it yet, that it was forbidden
a prince. [This spake he as alluding to the libertie of princes,
whose lust standeth oftentimes for law, and their opinion for reason,
according to the saieng of the poet;
[Sidenote: _Claudi._]
----tunc omnia iure tenebis
Cùm poteris rex esse.]
[Sidenote: Elizabeth Lucie.]
The duches with these words nothing appeased, and séeing the king
so set thereon, that she could not pull him backe. So highlie she
disdained it, that vnder pretext of hir dutie to Godward, she deuised
to disturbe this mariage, and rather to helpe that he should marie one
dame Elizabeth Lucie, whome the king had also not long before gotten
with child. Wherefore the kings mother openlie obiected against his
mariage, as it were in discharge of hir conscience, that the king was
sure to dame Elizabeth Lucie and hir husband before God. By reason of
which words, such obstacle was made in the matter, that either the
bishops durst not, or the king would not proceed to the solemnization
of this wedding, till these same were clearlie purged, and the truth
well and openlie testified. Wherevpon dame Elizabeth Lucie was then
sent for.
[Sidenote: The kings mariage.]
And albeit that she was by the kings mother and manie other put in
good comfort, to affirme that she was ensured vnto the king: yet when
she was solemnlie sworne to saie the truth, she confessed that they
were neuer ensured. Howbeit she said his grace spake so louing words
vnto hir, that she verelie hoped he would haue married hir. And that
if it had not béene for such kind words, she would neuer haue shewed
such kindnesse to him, to let him so kindlie get hir with child. This
examination solemnlie taken, when it was cléerelie perceiued, that
there was none impediment: the king with great feast and honourable
solemnitie married dame Elizabeth Greie, and hir crowned quéene that
was his enimies wife, and manie times had praied full hartilie for his
losse, in which God loued hir better than to grant hir hir boune.
[Sidenote: The king fled.]
[Sidenote: The prince borne.]
[Sidenote: King Henrie the sixt set vp.]
[Sidenote: Of the earle of Warwike.]
But when the earle of Warwike vnderstood of this marriage, he tooke it
so highlie that his ambassage was deluded, that for verie anger and
disdaine he (at his returning) assembled a great puissance against the
king, and came so fast vpon him yer he could be able to resist, that
he was faine to void the realme, and flee into Holland for succor,
where he remained for the space of two yeares, leauing his new wife
at Westminster in sanctuarie, where she was deliuered of Edward the
prince, of whome we before haue spoken. In which meane time the earle
of Warwike tooke out of prison, and set vp againe king Henrie the
sixt, who was before by king Edward deposed, and that much what by the
power of the erle of Warwike, which was a wise man, and a couragious
warriour, and of such strength, what for his lands, his aliance, and
fauor with all people, that he made kings and put downe kings almost at
his pleasure, and not impossible to haue atteined it himselfe, if he
had not reckoned it a greater thing to make a king than to be a king.
[Sidenote: The earle of Warwike slaine.]
But nothing lasteth alwaie: far in conclusion, king Edward returned,
and with much lesse number than he had at Barnet on the Easter daie
field, slue the earle of Warwike, with manie other great estates
of that partie, & so stablie atteined the crowne againe, that he
peaceablie enioied it vntill his dieng daie: and in such plight left
it, that it could not be lost but by the discord of his verie friends,
or falsehood of his feigned fréends. I haue rehearsed this businesse
about this marriage somewhat the more at length, bicause it might
thereby the better appeare, vpon how slipperie a ground the protector
builded his colour, by which he pretended king Edwards children to
be bastards. But that inuention, simple as it was, it liked them to
whome it sufficed to haue somewhat to saie, while they were sure to be
compelled to no larger proofe than themselues list to make.
[Sidenote: Doc. Shaw's sermon.]
Now then (as I began to shew you) it was by the protector and his
councell concluded, that this doctor Shaw should in a sermon at Pauls
crosse signifie to the people, that neither king Edward himselfe, nor
the duke of Clarence, were lawfullie begotten, nor were not the verie
children of the duke of Yorke, but gotten vnlawfullie by other persons,
in adulterie, of the duches their mother. And that also dame Elizabeth
Lucie was verilie the wife of king Edward, and so the prince and all
his children bastards, that were begotten vpon the quéene. According to
this deuise doctor Shaw the sundaie after, at Paules crosse in a great
audience (as alwaie assembled great number to his preaching) he tooke
for his theame; Spuria vitilamina non agent radices altas, that is to
saie; Bastard slippes shall neuer take déepe root.
Therevpon when he had shewed the great grace that God giueth, and
secretlie insundeth in right generation after the lawes of matrimonie,
then declared he, that commonlie those children lacked that grace, and
for the punishment of their parents were (for the more part) vnhappie,
which were gotten in base, and speciallie in adulterie. Of which,
though some, by the ignorance of the world and the truth hid from
knowledge, inherited for the season other mens lands, yet God alwaie so
prouideth, that it continueth not in their bloud long: but the truth
comming to light, the rightfull inheritors be restored, and the bastard
slip pulled vp yer it can be rooted déepe. And so he did laie for the
proofe and confirmation of this sentence certeine insamples taken out
of the old testament, and other ancient histories.
[Sidenote: This preacher was taught his lesson yer he came into the
pulpit.]
[Sidenote: K. Edward slandered in a sermon.]
Then began he to descend into the praise of the lord Richard late duke
of Yorke, calling him father to the lord protector, and declared the
title of his heires vnto the crowne, to whome it was (after the death
of king Henrie the sixt) intailed by authoritie of parlement. Then
shewed he that his verie right heire of his bodie lawfullie begotten
was onelie the lord protector. For he declared then, that king Edward
was neuer lawfullie married vnto the quéene, but was before God husband
vnto dame Elizabeth Lucie, and so his children bastards. And besides
that, neither king Edward himselfe, nor the duke of Clarence, among
those that were secret in the houshold, were reckoned verie suerlie for
the children of the noble duke, as those that by their fauours more
resembled other knowne men than him. From whose vertuous conditions he
said also that the late king Edward was far off.
[Sidenote: A maruellous deuise to mooue the assemblie.]
But the lord protector he said, the verie noble prince, the speciall
paterne of knightlie prowesse, as well in all princelie behauior, as
in the lineaments and fauour of his visage, represented the verie face
of the noble duke his father. This is, quoth he, the fathers owne
figure, this is his owne countenance, the verie print of his visage,
the sure vndoubted image, the plaine expresse likenesse of that noble
duke. Now was it before deuised, that in the speaking of these words,
the protector should haue comen in among the people to the sermon ward,
to the end that those words méeting with his presence, might haue béen
taken among the hearers, as though the Holie-ghost had put them in the
preachers mouth, & should haue mooued the people euen there to crie;
King Richard, king Richard: that it might haue béene after said, that
he was speciallie chosen by God, and in maner by miracle. But this
deuise quailed, either by the protectors negligence, or the preachers
ouermuch diligence.
[Sidenote: K. Richard commended by the preacher.]
For while the protector found by the waie tarieng least he should
preuent those words, and the doctor fearing that he should come yer
his sermon could come to these words, hasted his matter thereto, he
was come to them and past them, and entered into other matters yer the
protector came. Whome when he beheld comming, he suddenlie left the
matter with which he was in hand, and without anie deduction therevnto,
out of all order, and out of all frame, began to repeat those words
againe: "This is the verie noble prince, the speciall patrone of
knightlie prowesse, which as well in all princelie behauior, as in
the lineaments & fauor of his visage, representeth the verie face of
the noble duke of Yorke his father: this is the fathers owne figure,
this is his owne countenance, the verie print of his visage, the sure
vndoubted image, the plaine expresse likenesse of the noble duke, whose
remembrance can neuer die while he liueth."
[Sidenote: Note the course of Gods iudgement.]
While these words were in speaking, the protector accompanied with the
duke of Buckingham, went through the people into the place where the
doctors commonlie stand in the vpper storie, where he stood to hearken
the sermon. But the people were so farre fr[=o] crieng; K. Richard,
that they stood as they had béene turned into stones, for woonder of
this shamefull sermon. After which once ended, the preacher gat him
home, and neuer after durst looke out for shame, but kept him out of
sight like an owle. And when he once asked one that had béene his
old friend what the people talked of him, all were it that his owne
conscience well shewed him that they talked no good; yet when the
tother answered him, that there was in euerie mans mouth spoken of him
much shame, it so strake him to the heart, that within few daies after
he withered and consumed awaie [for verie thought and inward pine,
procured by irrecouerable cares, whose nature is noted by obseruation
of their effects:
[Sidenote: Ouid. iib. 3. met.]
Attenuant vigiles corpus miserabile curæ.]
Then on the tuesdaie following this sermon, there came to the Guildhall
in London the duke of Buckingham, accompanied with diuerse lords and
knights mo than happilie knew the message that they brought. And there
in the east end of the hall, where the maior kéepeth the Hustings, the
maior and all the aldermen being assembled about him, all the commons
of the citie gathered before them. After silence commanded vpon great
paine in the protectors name: the duke stood vp, and (as he was neither
vnlearned, and of nature maruellouslie well spoken) he said vnto the
people with a cleare and lowd voice in this maner of wise.
The duke of Buckingham's oration to the assemblie of the maior,
aldermen, and commoners.
[Sidenote: A notable persuasion.]
Friends, for the zeale and heartie fauour that we beare you, we be
comen to breake vnto you of a maner right great and weightie, and no
lesse weightie than pleasing to God, and profitable to all the realme:
nor to no part of the realme more profitable, than to you the citizens
of this noble citie. For whie, that thing that we wote well ye haue
long time lacked, and sore longed for, that yée would haue giuen great
good for, that yée would haue gone farre to fetch; that thing we be
come hither to bring you without your labour, paine, cost, aduenture or
ieopardie. What thing is that? Certes the suertie of your owne bodies,
the quiet of your wiues and your daughters, the safegard of your goods:
of all which things in times past ye stood euermore in doubt. For
who was there of you all, that would reckon himselfe lord of his own
goods among so manie grens & traps as was set therefore, among so much
pilling and polling, among so manie taxes and tallages, of which there
was neuer end, & oftentimes no néed? Or if anie were, it rather grew of
riot, and vnreasonable wast, that anie necessarie or honourable charge.
[Sidenote: Burdet.]
So that there was dailie pilled fro good men and honest, great
substance of goods, to be lashed out among vnthrifts; so far forth,
that fifteenes sufficed not, nor anie vsual names of knowne taxes: but
vnder an easie name of beneuolence and good will, the commissioners so
much of euerie man tooke as no man could with his good will haue giuen.
As though that name of beneuolence had signified, that euerie man
should paie, not what himselfe of his owne good will list to grant, but
what the king of his good will list to take. Which neuer asked little,
but euerie thing was hawsed aboue the measure, amercements turned into
fines, fines into ransoms, small trespasses into misprison, misprison
into treason. Whereof (I thinke) no man looketh that we should remember
you of examples by name, as though Burdet were forgotten, that was for
a word spoken in hast cruellie beheaded, by the misconstruing of the
laws of this realme, for the princes pleasure.
[Sidenote: Markam.]
[Sidenote: Cooke.]
With no lesse honour to Markam then chéefe iustice, that left [the
benefit & dignitie] of his office, rather than he would assent to the
dishonestie of those, that either for feare or flatterie gaue that
iudgment. What Cooke, your owne worshipful neighbour, alderman and
maior of this noble citie, who is of you so either negligent that he
knoweth not, or so forgetful that he remembreth not, or so hard hearted
that he pittieth not that worshipful mans losse? What speake we of
losse? His vtter spoile and vndeserued destruction, onelie for that
it hapned those to fauour him whome the prince fauoured not. We néed
not (I suppose) to rehearse of these anie mo by name, sith there be (I
doubt not) manie héere present, that either in themselues or in their
nigh friends haue knowne, as well their goods as their persons greatlie
indangered, either by feigned quarrels, or small matters aggreeued with
heinous names. And also there was no crime so great, of which there
could lacke a pretext.
[Sidenote: Open warre not so ill as ciuill.]
For sith the king, preuenting the time of this inheritance, atteined
the crowne by battell: it sufficed in a rich man for a pretext of
treason, to haue béene of kinred or aliance, néere familiaritie, or
legier acquaintance with any of those that were at anie time the kings
enimies, which was at one time and other more than halfe the relme.
Thus were neither your goods in suertie, and yet they brought your
bodies in ieopardie, beside the common aduenture of open warre, which
albeit that it is euer the will and occasion of much mischéefe, yet is
it neuer so mischeeuous, as where any people fall at distance among
themselues; nor in none earthlie nation so deadlie and so pestilent,
as when it happeneth among vs; and among vs neuer so long continued
dissention, nor so manie batels in that season, nor so cruell and so
deadlie fought, as was in that kings daies that dead is, God forgiue it
his soule.
[Sidenote: Ciuill warre the occasion of manie great inconueniencies.]
In whose time, and by whose occasion, what about the getting of the
garland, kéeping it, leesing and winning againe, it hath cost more
English bloud, than hath twise the winning of France. In which inward
war among our selues, hath béene so great effusion of the ancient noble
bloud of this realme, that scarselie the halfe remaineth, to the great
infeebling of this noble land, beside manie a good towne ransacked and
spoiled by them, that haue béene going to the field or comming from
thence. And peace long after not much surer than war. So that no time
was therein, which rich men for their monie, and great men for their
lands, or some other for some feare, or some displeasure were not out
of perill. For whom trusted he that mistrusted his owne brother? Whome
spared he that killed his owne brother? Or who could perfectlie loue
him, if his owne brother could not?
[Sidenote: Shores wife more sued vnto than all the lords in England.]
What maner of folke he most fauoured we shall for his honour spare to
speake of. Howbeit this wote you well all, that who so was best, bare
alwaie least rule; & more sute was in his daies to Shores wife a vile
and an abbominable strumpet, than to all the lords in England: except
vnto those that made hir their proctor. Which simple woman was well
named & honest, till the king for his wanton lust and sinfull affection
bereft hir from hir husband, a right honest substantiall yoong man
among you. And in that point, which in good faith I am sorie to speake
of, sauing that it is in vaine to kéepe in counsell that thing that all
men know, the kings greedie appetite was insatiable, and euerie where
ouer all the realme intollerable.
[Sidenote: He directeth his spéech to the communaltie of the citie.]
For no woman was there anie where, yoong or old, rich or poore, whome
he set his eie vpon, in whome he anie thing liked, either person
or fauour, spéech, pase, or countenance, but without anie feare of
God, or respect of his honour, murmur or grudge of the world, he
would importunelie pursue his appetite, and haue hir, to the great
destruction of manie a good woman, and great dolor to their husbands,
and their other fréends; which being honest people of themselues, so
much regard the cleannesse of their house, the chastitie of their
wiues, and their children, that them were leauer to leese all that they
had beside, than to haue such a villanie doone them. And all were it
that with this and other importable dealing, the realme was in euerie
part annoied: yet speciallie yée héere the citizens of this noble
citie, as well for that amongest you is most plentie of all such things
as minister matter to such iniuries as for that at you were néerest at
hand, sith that néere héere abouts was commonlie his most abiding.
[Sidenote: London the kings especiall chamber.]
And yet be yée the people, whome he had as singular cause well and
kindlie to intreat, as anie part of his realme; not onelie for that the
prince (by this noble citie, as his speciall chamber, & the speciall
well renowmed citie of this realme) much honourable fame receiueth
among all other nations: but also for that yée (not without your great
cost, & sundrie perils & ieopardies in all his warres) bare euen your
speciall fauor to his part. Which your kind minds borne to the house
of Yorke, sith he hath nothing worthilie acquited, there is of that
house that now by Gods grace better shall: which thing to shew you is
the whole summe and effect of this our present errand. It shall not (I
wot well) néed that I rehearse you againe, that yée haue alreadie heard
of him that can better tell it, and of whome I am sure yée will better
beléeue it. And reason is that it so be.
[Sidenote: Doct. Shaw commended by the duke of Buckingh[=a].]
[Sidenote: A slanderous lie confirmed.]
I am not so proud, to looke therefore that yée should reckon my words
of as great authoritie as the preachers of the word of God, namelie a
man so cunning and so wise, that no man better woteth what he should
saie, and thereto so good and vertuous, that he would saie the thing
which he wist he should not saie, in the pulpit namelie, into the
which no honest man commeth to lie. Which honorable preacher, yée
well remember, substantiallie declared vnto you at Paules crosse, on
sundaie last passed, the right & title that the most excellent prince
Richard duke of Glocester, now protector of this realme, hath vnto the
crowne and kingdome of the same. For as the worshipfull man groundlie
made open vnto you, the children of king Edward the fourth were neuer
lawfullie begotten, forsomuch as the king (leaning his verie wife dame
Elizabeth Lucie) was neuer lawfullie maried vnto the quéene their
mother, whose bloud, sauing that he set his voluptuous, pleasure before
his honor, was full vnméetelie to be matched with his; and the mingling
of whose blouds togither, hath béene the effusion of a great part of
the noble bloud of this realme.
[Sidenote: The title of K. Richard to the crowne.]
Whereby it may well séeme the mariage not well made, of which there is
so much mischéefe growne. For lacke of which lawfull coupling, & also
of other things which the said worshipfull doctor rather signified
than fullie explaned, & which things shall not be spoken for me, as the
thing wherein euerie man forbereth to say that he knoweth in auoiding
displeasure of my noble lord protector, bearing (as nature requireth) a
filiall reuerence to the duchesse his mother. For these causes (I say)
before remembred that is to wit, for lacke of other issue lawfullie of
the late noble prince Richard duke of Yorke, to whose roiall bloud the
crowne of England and of France is by the high authoritie of parlement
intailed, the right and title of the same is by the iust course of
inheritance (according to the c[=o]mon lawes of the land) deuolued &
commen vnto the most excellent prince the lord protector, as to the
verie lawfullie begotten sonne of the foreremembred noble duke of Yorke.
[Sidenote: The dignitie and office of a king full of care & studie.]
Which thing well considered, and the great knightlie prowesse pondered,
with manifold vertues, which in his noble person singularlie abound;
the nobles and commons also of this realme, and speciallie in the north
part, not willing anie bastard bloud to haue the rule of the land, nor
the abusions before in the same vsed anie longer to continue, haue
condescended and fullie determined, to make humble petition to the
most puissant prince the lord protector, that it maie like his grace
(at our humble request) to take vpon him the guiding and gouernance of
this realme, to the wealth and increase of the same, according to his
verie right and iust title. Which thing I wote it well, he will be loth
to take vpon him, as he whose wisdome well perceiueth the labor and
studie both of mind and bodie, that come therewith, to whomsoeuer so
will occupie the roome, as I dare say hée will, if he take it. Which
roome I warne you well is no childs office. And that the great wise man
well perceiued, when hée said: Væ regno cuius rex puer est: Wo is that
realme that hath a child to their king.
Wherefore so much the more cause haue we to thanke God, that this
noble personage, which is so rightlie intituled therevnto, is of so
sad age, & thereto so great wisdome ioined with so great experience,
which albeit hée will bée loth (as I haue said) to take it vpon him,
yet shall he to our petition in that behalfe more gratiouslie incline,
if ye the worshipfull citizens of this the chéefe citie of this realme,
ioine with vs the nobles in our said request. Which for your owne
weale (we doubt not) but ye will: and nathelesse I heartilie pray
you so to doo, whereby you shall doo great profit to all this realme
beside, in choosing them so good a king, and vnto your selues speciall
commoditie, to whom his maiestie shall euer after beare so much the
more tender fauor, in how much he shall perceiue you the more prone and
beneuolentlie minded toward his election. Wherein déere friends what
mind you haue, wee require you plainlie to shew vs.
* * * * *
When the duke had said, and looked that the people, whome he hoped that
the maior had framed before should after this proposition made, haue
cried; King Richard, king Richard: all was husht and mute, and not one
word answered therevnto. Wherewith the duke was maruellouslie abashed,
and taking the maior neerer to him, with other that were about him
priuie to that matter, said vnto them softlie, What meaneth this, that
the people be so still? Sir (quoth the maior) percase they perceiue
you not well. That shall we mend (quoth he) if that will helpe. And by
& by somewhat lowder he rehearsed to them the same matter againe in
other order, and other words, so well and ornatlie, and nathelesse so
euidentlie and plaine, with voice, gesture and countenance so comelie,
and so conuenient, that euerie man much maruelled that heard him, and
thought that they neuer had in their liues heard so euill a tale so
well told [insomuch that he séemed as cunning an orator, as he, of
whome the poet spake to his high praise & c[=o]mendation, saieng:
Quælibet eloquio causa fit apta suo.]
[Sidenote: The election of K. Richard hardlie to be preferred.]
[Sidenote: Fitz William recorder.]
But were it for woonder or feare, or that each looked that other should
speake first: not one word was there answered of all the people that
stood before, but all was as still as the midnight, not somuch as
rowning amongest them, by which they might séeme to commune what was
best to do. When the maior saw this, he with other partners of that
councell drew about the duke, and said that the people had not béene
accustomed there to be spoken vnto, but by the recorder, which is the
mouth of the citie, and happilie to him they will answer. With that the
recorder, called Fitz William, a sad man, & an honest, which was so new
come into that office, that he neuer had spoken to the people before,
and loth was with that matter to begin, notwithstanding therevnto
commanded by the maior, made rehearsall to the commons of that the duke
had twise rehearsed to them himselfe.
But the recorder so tempered his tale, that he shewed euerie thing as
the dukes words, and no part his owne. But all this noting no change
made in the people, which alwaie after one stood as they had béene men
amazed. Wherevpon the duke rowned vnto the maior and said; This is a
maruellous obstinate silence: and therewith he turned vnto the people
againe with these words; Déere friends, we come to mooue you to that
thing, which peraduenture we not so greatlie néeded but that the lords
of this realme, and the commons of other parties might haue sufficed,
sauing that we such loue beare you, and so much set by you, that we
would not gladlie doo without you, that thing in which to be partners
is your weale and honor, which (as it séemeth) either you sée not, or
weie not. Wherefore we require you giue vs answer one way or other,
whether you be minded, as all the nobles of the realme be, to haue this
noble prince, now protector, to be your king or not.
[Sidenote: K. Richards election preferred by voices of confederacie.]
At these words the people began to whisper among themselues secretly,
that the voice was neither lowd nor distinct, but as it were the sound
of a swarme of bées, till at the last in the nether end of the hall, an
ambushment of the dukes seruants and Nashfields, and other belonging
to the protector, with, some prentisses and lads that thrust into the
hall amongst the prease, began suddenlie at mens backs to crie out, as
lowd as their throtes would giue; King Richard, king Richard: and threw
vp their caps in token of ioy. And they that stood before, cast backe
their heads maruelling therof, but nothing they said. Now when the duke
and the maior saw this maner, they wiselie turned it to their purpose,
and said it was a goodlie crie, & a ioifull, to heare euerie man with
one voice, no man saieng naie.
Wherefore friends (quoth the duke) sith we perceiue it is all your
whole mind to haue this noble man for your king (whereof we shall make
his grace so effectuall report, that we doubt not but it shall redound
vnto your great weale and commoditie) we require ye, that ye to morrow
go with vs, and we with you vnto his noble grace, to make our humble
request vnto him in maner before remembred. And therewith the lords
came downe, and the companie dissolued and departed, the more part all
sad: some with glad semblance that were not verie merrie, and some
of those that came thither with the duke not able to dissemble their
sorrow, were faine at his backe to turne their face to the wall while
the dolor of their hearts burst out of their eies.
[Sidenote: The maiors comming to Bainards castell vnto the lord
protector.]
Then on the morrow after, the maior with all the aldermen, and chiefe
commoners of the citie, in their best maner apparelled, assembling
themselues togither, resorted vnto Bainards castell, where the
protector laie. To which place repaired also (according to their
appointment) the duke of Buckingham, and diuerse noble men with him,
beside manie knights and other gentlemen. And therevpon the duke
sent word vnto the lord protector, of the being there of a great and
honourable companie, to mooue a great matter vnto his grace. Wherevpon
the protector made difficultie to come out vnto them, but if he first
knew some part of their errand, as though he doubted and partlie
mistrusted the comming of such a number vnto him so suddenlie, without
anie warning or knowledge, whether they came for good or harme.
Then the duke, when he had shewed this to the maior and other, that
they might thereby sée how little the protector looked for this matter,
they sent vnto him by the messenger such louing message againe, and
therewith so humblie besought him, to vouchsafe that they might resort
to his presence to propose their intent, of which they would vnto none
other person anie part disclose; that at the last he came foorth of his
chamber, and yet not downe vnto them, but stood aboue in a gallerie
ouer them, where they might sée him, and speake to him, as though he
would not yet come too néere them till he wist what they ment. And
therevpon the duke of Buckingham first made humble petition vnto him on
the behalfe of them all, that his grace would pardon them, and licence
them to propose vnto his grace the intent of their comming, without his
displeasure, without which pardon obteined, they durst not be bold to
mooue him of that matter.
In which albeit they ment as much honor to his grace, as wealth to all
the realme beside, yet were they not sure how his grace would take
it, whome they would in no wise offend. Then the protector (as he was
verie gentle of himselfe, and also longed sore to wit what they ment)
gaue him leaue to propose what him liked, verelie trusting (for the
good mind that he bare them all) none of them anie thing would intend
vnto himward, wherewith he ought to bée gréeued. When the duke had this
leaue and pardon to speake, then waxed he bold to shew him their intent
and purpose, with all the causes moouing them therevnto (as ye before
haue heard) and finallie to beséech his grace, that it would like him,
of his accustomed goodnesse and zeale vnto the realme, now with his eie
of pitie to behold the long continued distresse and decaie of the same,
and to set his gratious hands to redresse and amendment thereof.
[Sidenote: O singular dissimulation of king Richard.]
All which he might well doo, by taking vpon him the crowne and
gouernance of this realme, according to his right and title lawfullie
descended vnto him, and to the laud of God, profit of the land, & vnto
his noble grace so much the more honour, and lesse paine, in that,
that neuer prince reigned vpon anie people, that were so glad to liue
vnder his obeisance, as the people of this realme vnder his. When
the protector had heard the proposition, he looked verie strangelie
thereat, and answered: that all were it that he partlie knew the things
by them alledged to be true, yet such entire loue he bare vnto king
Edward and his children, that so much more regarded his honour in
other realmes about, than the crowne of anie one of which he was neuer
desirous, that he could not find in his hart in this point to incline
to their desire. For in all other nations, where the truth were not
well knowne, it should peraduenture be thought, that it were his owne
ambitious mind and deuise, to depose the prince, and take himselfe the
crowne.
[Sidenote: K. Richard spake otherwise than he meant.]
With which infamie he would not haue his honour stained for anie
crowne, in which he had euer perceiued much more labour and paine,
than pleasure to him that so would vse it, as he that would not, were
not worthie to haue it. Notwithstanding, he not onlie pardoned them
the motion that they made him, but also thanked them for the loue and
hartie fauour they bare him, praieng them for his sake to giue and
beare the same to the prince, vnder whom he was, and would be content
to liue, and with his labour and counsell (as farre as should like
the king to vse him) he would doo his vttermost deuoir to set the
realme in good state, which was alreadie in this little while of his
protectorship (the praise giuen to God) well begun, in that the malice
of such as were before occasion of the contrarie, and of new intended
to be, were now partlie by good policie, & partlie more by Gods
speciall prouidence, than mans prouision, repressed.
Vpon this answer giuen, the duke by the protectors licence, a little
rowned aswell with other noble men about him, as with the maior
and recorder of London. And after that (vpon like pardon desired &
obteined) he shewed alowd vnto the protector, that for a finall
conclusion, that the realme was appointed K. Edwards line should not
anie longer reigne vpon them, both for that they had so farre gone,
that it was now no suertie to retreat, as for that they thought it
for the weale vniuersall to take that waie, although they had not yet
begun it. Wherefore, if it would like his grace to take the crowne vpon
him, they would humblie beséech him therevnto. If he would giue them a
resolute answer to the contrarie, which they would be loth to heare,
then must they néeds séeke and should not faile to find some other
noble man that would. These words much mooued the protector, which
else (as euerie man may wéet) would neuer of likelihood haue inclined
therevnto.
[Sidenote: The protector taketh vpon him to be king.]
But when he saw there was none other waie, but that either he must take
it, or else he and his both go from it, he said vnto the lords and
commons; Sith we perceiue well that all the realme is so set, whereof
we be verie sorie, that they will not suffer in any wise king Edwards
line to gouerne them, whom no man earthlie can gouerne against their
willes; & we well also perceiue, that no man is there, to whome the
crowne can by iust title apperteine, as to our selues, as verie right
heire lawfully begotten of the bodie of our most déere father Richard
late duke of Yorke, to which title is now ioined your election, the
nobles and commons of this realme, which we of all titles possible take
for the most effectuall: we be content and agrée fauourablie to incline
to your petition and request, and (according to the same) here we take
vpon vs the roiall estate, preheminence and kingdome of the two noble
realmes, England and France: the one from this daie forward by vs and
our heires to rule, gouerne, and defend; the other by Gods grace, and
your good helpe, to get againe and subdue, and establish for euer in
due obedience vnto this realme of England, the aduancement wherof we
neuer aske of God longer to liue than we intend to procure.
[Sidenote: A made match to cousen the people.]
With this there was a great shout, crieng; King Richard, king Richard.
And then the lords went vp to the king (for so was he from that time
called) and the people departed, talking diuerslie of the matter,
euerie man as his fantasie gaue him. But much they talked and maruelled
of the maner of this dealing, that the matter was on both parts made so
strange, as though neither had euer communed with other thereof before,
when that themselues wist there was no man so dull that heard them, but
he perceiued well inough that all the matter was made betwéene them.
Howbeit some excused that againe, and said all must be doone in good
order though: and men must sometime for the maners sake, not be aknowen
what they know [though it be hard to outreach the circumspect, wise, &
vigilant minded man; as the poet saith:
[Sidenote: _Iuuenal. sat. 2._]
----non facile est tibi
Decipere Vlyssem.]
For at the consecration of a bishop, euerie man woteth well by the
paieng for his buls, that he purposeth to be one, & though he paie
for nothing else. And yet must he be twise asked whether he will be
bishop or no, and he must twise saie naie, and the third time take it,
as compelled therevnto by his owne will. And in a stage plaie, all
the people know right well, that one plaieng the Soldan, is percase a
sowter; yet if one should can so little good, to shew out of season
what acquaintance he hath with him, and cast him by his owne name while
he standeth in his maiestie, one of his tormentors might hap to breake
his head (and worthie) for marring of the plaie. And so they said, that
these matters be kings games, as it were stage plaies, and for the more
part plaied vpon scaffolds, in which poore men be but the lookers on.
And they that wise be will meddle no further. For they that sometime
step vp, and plaie with them, when they can not plaie their parts, they
disorder the plaie, and doo themselues no good.
Thus farre Edward the fift, who was neuer king crowned, but shamefullie
by his vncle slaine, as in the processe following appeereth,
RICHARD.
Transcriber's Notes:
Simple grammar and typographical errors were corrected. Spelling
variations were changed to the most common version. The archaic
spelling was not otherwise corrected.
Italics markup is enclosed in _underscores_.
Characters with a macron are indicated as [=x] where "x" is the
character with a macron.
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