THE PITTIFVLL LIFE OF KING EDVVARD the Fifth.

THE Eternall God calling to his Mercy the Noble Prince King Edward the Fourth of that Name,This Kings time with some part of King Richard the third, as shall ap­peare by a note made at that place, was written by Sir Tho­mas Moore. Edward his eldest sonne (Prince of Wales) began his Reigne the ninth day of A­pril, in the yeere of our Lord, 1483. and in the 23. yeere of [Page 2] Lewis the eleventh then French King: Which young Prince reigned a small space and little season over this Realme, either in pleasure or liberty. For his Uncle Richard Duke of Glouce­ster, within three months de­prived him not onely of his Crowne and Regality, but also unnaturally bereft him of his naturall life: And for the de­claration by what crafty engin he first attempted his ungraci­ous purpose, and by what false, colourable and untrue allegati­ons he set forth openly his pre­tensed enterprise, and finally, by what shamefull, cruell, and detestable act he performed the same; Ye must first consider of whom he and his Brother de­scended, their natures, condi­tions and inclinations, and then you shall easily perceive, that there could not be a more cruell Tyrant appointed to [Page 3] atchieve a more abominable enterprise.

Their Father was Richard Plantagenet, Richard Plantage­net Duke of Yorke., Duke of Yorke, which began not by warre, but by Law to challenge the crown of England, putting his claime in the Parliament, holden the thirtieth yeere of King Henry the sixth, where either for right or for favour, his cause was so set forth and advanced, that the Blood of the said King Henry, although he had a goodly Son, was clearly abjected, and the Crowne of the Realme (by au­thority of Parliament) entay­led to the Duke of Yorke and his Heires after the decease of the said King Henry the Sixth. But the Duke not intending so long to tarry, but minding un­der the pretext of dissention growne and risen within the Realm, and of Covenants made in the Parliament, not kept, [Page 4] but broken, to prevent the time and to take upon him the Governance in King Henries life, was by too much hardi­nesse slaine at the Battaile of Wakefield, leaving behind him three sonnes, Edward, George, and Richard. All these three as they were great estates of Birth, so were they great and stately of stomacke, greedy of promo­tions, and impatient partners of rule and authority.The 3. sonnes of Richard Duke of Yorke de­scribed.

This Edward revenged his Fathers death, and deposed King H [...]nry the Sixth, and at­tained the Crowne and Scepter of the Realme.

George Duke of Clarence was a goodly and well [...]eatured Prince, in all things fortun [...]te, if either his owne ambition had not for him against his Brother, or the envy of his e­nemies had not set his Broth [...]r against him: for were it by the [Page 5] Queene or the Nobles of her Bloud, which highly malig­ned the Kings Kindred (as wo­men commonly, not of malice, but of Nature, hate such as their husbands love) or were it a proud appetite of the Duke himselfe, intending to be King, at the least wise, heinous Trea­son was laid to his charge, and finally were he in fault or were he faultlesse, attainted was hee by Parliament,George Duke of Clarence drowned in a But of Ma [...]msey. and judged to death; and thereupon hastily drowned in a But of Malmsey within the Towre of London. Whose death King Edward (al­though hee commanded it) when he wist it was done, pit­teously hee bewailed and sor­rowfully repented it.

Richard Duke of Gloucester, The De­scription of Richard the 3. the third Sonne (of which I must most entreat) was in wit and courage equ [...]ll with the o­ther, but in beauty and linea­ments [Page 6] of Nature farre under­neath both, for he was little of stature, evill featured of limbes, crooke-backed, the left shoul­der much higher then the right, hard favoured of visage, such as in estates is called a warlike visage, and among common persons a crabbed face. He was malicious, wrathfull and envi­ous; and as it is reported, his Mother the Dutches had much adoe in her travell, that shee could not be delivered of him uncut, and that hee came into the world the feet forward, as men be borne outward, and as the fame ran, not untoothed: whether that men of hatred reported above the truth, or that Nature changed his course in his beginning, which in his life committed many things un­naturally, this I leave to Gods Judgement. Hee was no e­vill Captaine in warre, as to [Page 7] the which, his disposition was more inclined, then to peace. Sundry Victories he had, and some Overthrowes, but never for default of his owne person, either for lacke of hardinesse or politicke order. Free hee was of his exspences, and some­what above his power liberall; with large gifts he gat him un­stedfast friendship: for which cause he was faine to borrow, pill and extort in other places, which gat him stedfast hatred. Hee was close and secret, a deep dissembler, lowly of counte­nance, arrogant of heart, out­wardly familiar where he in­wardly hated, not letting to kisse whom he thought to kill, spitefull and cruell, not al­way for ill will, but oftner for ambition and to serve his pur­pose; friend and foe were all indifferent: where his advan­tage grew, hee spared no mans [Page 8] death whose life withstood his purpose. He slew in the Tower King Henry the Sixth;King Hen­ry the 6. slaine in the Tow­er by Ri­chard the 3. saying, Now is there no Heire male of King Edward the third, but we of the House of Yorke: which murder was done without King Edward his assent, which would have appointed that butcherly office to some other, rather then to his owne Brother.

Some Wise men also thinke, that his drift lacked not in helping forth his owne Bro­ther of Clarence to his death, which thing in all appearance he resisted, although hee in­wardly minded it. And the cause thereof was, as men no­ting his doings and procee­dings did marke (because that he long in King Edwards time thought to obtaine the Crown, in case that the King his Bro­ther, (whose life he looked that ill dyet would soone shorten) [Page 9] should happen to decease, as he did indeed, his children being young. And then if the Duke of Clarence had lived, his pre­tensed purpose had been farre hindered: For if the Duke of Clarence had kept himselfe true to his Nephew the young King, every one of these casts had bin a Trumpe in the Duke of Glou­cesters way: but when he was sure that his Brother of Cla­rence wat dead, then hee knew that hee might worke without that danger. But of these points there is no certainety, and whosoever divineth or conjectureth, may as well shoot too farre as too short: but this conjecture afterward tooke place (as few doe) as you shall perceive hereafter.

But before I declare to you how this Richard Duke of Glouc [...]ster began his mischie­vous imagined and pretended [Page 10] enterprise, as apparently shall be opened, I must a little put you in remembrance of a lo­ving and charitable act, no lesse profitable then pleasing to the whole Commonalty, if it had bin so inwardly thought as it was outwardly dissembled, which King Edward did, lying on his death bed, not long be­fore he dyed. For in his life, although that the division a­mongst his friends somewhat grieved and vexed him, yet in his health he lesse regarded and tooke heed to it, by reason that he thought that he was able in all things to rule both parties, were they never so obstinate: But in his last sicknesse (which continued longer then false and fantasticall tales have un­truly and falsely surmised, as I my selfe that wrote this Pam­phlet truely knew) when hee perceived his naturall strength [Page 11] was gone, and hoped little of recovery by the arts of all his Physicians, which he perceived onely to prolong his life; Then he began to consider the youth of his Children, howbeit hee nothing lesse mistrusted then that that hapned; yet he wisely foreseeing and considering, that many harmes might ensue by the debate of his Nobles, while the youth of his children should lack discretion and good coun­sell of their friends, (for hee knew well that every part would worke for their owne commodity, and rather by pleasant advice to win them­selves favour, then by profita­ble advertisement to doe the Children good:) wherefore ly­ing on his death bed at West­minster, hee called to him such Lords as then were about him, whom hee knew to be at vari­ance, especially the Lord Mar­quesse [Page 12] Dorset son to the Queen, and the Lord Hastings, against whom the Queene especially grudged for the favour that the King bare him, and also she thought him familiar with the King in wanton company: her Kin bare him envy, aswell for that the King made him Cap­taine of Calice, which office the Lord Rivers Brother to the Queene claimed of the King by his former promise, as of divers other gifts which hee received that they looked for. And when these Lords with divers other of both parties were come unto the Kings presence, he caused himselfe to be raised up with pillowes, and as I can guesse, said thus or much like in sentence to them.An Ex­hortation of King Edward the 4. on his death bed.

My Lords, my deare kins­men and allies, in what plight I now lye, you see, and I per­fitly feele; by the which I look [Page 13] the lesse while to live with you, therefore the more deeply I am moved to care in what case I leave you; for such as I leave you, such are my children like to finde you, which if they should finde at variance (as God forbid) they themselves might hap to fall at warre, ere their discretion would serve to set you at peace: You see their youth, of which I reckon the onely surety to rest in your concord. For it sufficeth not all you to love them, if each of you hate other: If they were men, your faithfulnesse might hap to suffice, but childhood must bee maintained by mens authority, and slippery youth underpropped with elder counsell; which they can never have except you give it, nor you give it except you agree; for where each laboureth to breake that the other maketh, [Page 14] and for hatred each impugneth others counsell, there must needes be a long tract, ere any good conclusion can issue. And further, while each partie laboureth to be chiefe flatterer, adulation shall then have more place, then plaine and faithfull advice, of which must needes ensue the evill bringing up of the Prince, whose minde, in tender youth infected, shall readily fall to mischiefe and riot, and draw downe this No­ble Realme to ruine: But if grace turne him to wisedome (which God send him) then they which by evill meanes pleased him best, shall after fall farthest out of favour, so that at the length evill drifts drive to naught, and good plaine wayes prosper and flourish. Great variance hath beene betweene you, not alwayes for great cau­ses: Sometime a thing right [Page 15] well intended and misconstru­ed, hath beene turned to the worse, or a small displeasure done to you, either by your owne affection, or by insti­gation of evill tongues, hath beene sorely aggravated. But this I know wel, you had never so great cause of hatred, as you have of love, because wee be all men, and that we be all Chri­stian men.

This I will leave to Preachers to tell you, and yet I know not whether any Preachers words ought more to move you, then I that am going by and by to the place that they alpreach of. But this shall I desire of you to remember, that the one part of you being of my bloud, the o­ther of my allies, and each of you with other either of kin­red or affinity, which is the very spirituall affinity and kin­red in Christ, as all partakers [Page 16] of the Sacraments of Christs Church. The weight of which consanguinity if we did beare, as would to God wee did, then should wee more be moved to spirituall charity then to flesh­ly consanguinity. Our Lord forbid that you love the worse together for the selfe-same cause that you ought to love the better, and yet that hap­neth; for no where finde wee so deadly debate as amongst them which by nature and law most ought to agree together. Such a Serpent is ambition and de­sire of vaine glory and sove­raignty, while amongst estates, when he is once entred, he cree­peth forth so farre, till with di­vision and variance hee turneth all to mischiefe; First longing to be next to the best, afterward equall with the best, and at the last chiefe and above the best. Of which immoderate appetite [Page 17] of worship, and the debate and dissention that grew thereby, what losse, what sorrow, what trouble hath within these few yeeres growne within this Realme, I pray God as well to forget as wee well remember; which thing if I could as well have foreseene, as I have with my more paine then pleasure proved, by God his blessed Lady (that was his common oath) I would never have won the courtesies o [...] mens knees with the losse of so many heads. But sith things passed cannot be called againe▪ much more ought we to beware, by what occasi­on we have taken so great hurt before that wee presently fall not into that occasion againe. Now be these griefs p [...]ssed, and all is quiet, thanked bee God and likely well to prosper in wealthfull peace, under your Cousins my children, if God [Page 18] send them life, and you love and concord. Of which two things, the lesse losse were they, by whom although God did his pleasure, yet should this Realme alwayes finde K [...]ngs, and peradventure as good Kings as they. But if you a­mongst your selves in a childes Raigne fall at debate, many a good man shall innocently pe­rish, and hee and you also, ere this Land finde peace and quiet againe: wherefore in these last words that ever I look to speak to you, I exhort and require you all, for the love that you have borne to mee, and for the love that I have borne to you, and for the love that our Lord beareth to us all; From this time forward, all griefes for­gotten, each of you love other, which I verily trust you will, if you any thing regard God or your Kings affinity or kindred, [Page 19] this Realme, your owne Coun­try, or your owne safety and wealth. And therewithall, the King for faintnesse no longer enduring to sit up, layed him downe on his right side, his face toward them. And there was none present that could for­beare weeping, but the Lords comforted him with as good words as they could, and an­swered for the time, as they thought should stand with his pleasure. And there in his pre­sence (as by their words ap­peared) each forgave other, and joyned their hands toge­ther, when, as it after appeared by their deedes, their hearts were farre asunder. And so within a few dayes, this Noble Prince deceased at Westminster, the ninth day of April, in the yeere of our Lord, 1483. after that he had raigned 22. yeeres, one month, and eight dayes, [Page 20] and was with great Funerall pompe conveiged to Windsore, leaving behinde him two sons, Edward the Prince (of whom this story entreateth) a childe of 13. yeeres of age, Richard Duke of Yorke two yeeres yon­ger then the Prince, and five daughters, Elizabeth, which by Gods Grace was married to King Henry the seventh and Mother to King Henry the 8. Cicile not so fortunate as faire, first wedded to the Vicount W [...]ll [...], after to one Kyne, and lived not in great wealth, Brid­ [...] [...]rofessed her selfe a close Nunne at S [...]on, Anne was mar­rie [...] to Lord Thomas Howard Earle of Surr [...]y and Duke of Norfolk, Katherine the youn­gest daughter was married to Lord William Courtney, sonne to the E [...]rle of Devonshire, which long time [...]ssed in ei­ther fortune, sometime in [Page 21] wealth, after in adversity, till the benignity of her Nephew King Henry the eighth brought her into a sure estate, accor­ding to her degree and Pro­geny.

This King Edward was such a Prince of Governance and behaviour in the time of peace (for in the time of warre each must bee others enemy) that there was never any King in this Realme attaining the Crowne by warre and battaile, so heartily beloved with the more substance of his people, nor hee himselfe so specially favoured in any part of his life, as at the time of his death: which favour and affection yet after his death, by the cruelty, mischiefe and trouble of the tempestuous world that fol­lowed, highly towards him more encreased. At such time as he dyed, the displeasure of [Page 22] those that bare him a grudge for King Henry the sixth his sake (whom he deposed) was well asswaged, and in effect quenched within the space of 22. yeeres, which is a great part of a mans life, and some were reconciled and growne into his favour, of the which he was never strange, when it was with true heart demanded. Hee was goodly of Personage, and Princely to behold, of heart couragious, politicke in coun­sell, and in adversity nothing abashed, in prosperity rather joyfull then proud, in peace just and mercifull, in war sharpe and fierce, in the Field bold and hardy, and yet neverthe­lesse no farther then reason and policie would adventure, whose warres whosoever circumspect­ly and advisedly considereth, hee shall no lesse commend his wisedome and policie where [Page 23] he avoided them, then his man­hood where hee vanquished them. Hee was of visage full-faced and lovely, of body mighty, strong and clean made: with over-liberall and wanton dyet he waxed something cor­pulent and burly, but never­thelesse not uncomely. Hee was in youth greatly given to fleshly wantonnesse, from the which health of body in, great prosperity and fortune, with­out an especiall grace hardly refraineth. This fault little grieved his people; for neither could any one mans pleasure stretch or extend to the displea­sure of very many, nor a multi­tude bee grieved by a private mans fantasie or voluptuous­nesse, when it was done with­out violence. And in his latter dayes he left all wild dalliance, and fell to gravity, so that hee brought his Realme into a [Page 24] wealthy and prosperous estate, all feare of outward enemies were cleerely extinguishe [...], and no warre was in hand, nor none toward, but such as no man looked for. The people were toward their Prince not in a constrained feare, but in a true, loving, and wilfull obe­dience among themselves, and the Commons were in good peace. The Lords whom hee knew at variance, hee on his death bed (as hee thought) brought to good concord, love and amity. And a little before his death, he had left gathering of money of his subjects, which is the onely thing that draw­eth the hearts of English men from their Kings and Princes: nor nothing he enterprised nor tooke in hand, by the which he should be driven thereunto. For his tribute out of France he had a little before recovered [Page 25] and obtained. And the yeere before he dyed, hee recovered againe the Towne of Barwicke against the King of Scots. And albeit that all the time of his reigne, he was so benigne, cour­teous and familiar, that no part of his vertues was esteemed more than those high humili­ties: Yet that condition in the end of his last dayes decayed not, in the which many Prin­ces by a long continued Sove­raignty, decline to a proud port and behaviour from their conditions accustomed at their beginning. Yet lowlinesse and gentlenesse so farre forth in him increased, that the Sum­mer before he dyed, hee being at Havering at the Bower, sent for the Maior of London thither, onely to hunt and make pastime, where hee made them not so hearty but so fa­miliar and friendly cheere, and [Page 26] sent also to their Wives such plenty of Venison, that no one thing in many dayes before gat him either more hearts or more hearty favour amongst the common people, which oftentimes more esteeme and take for great kindnesse a little courtesie, then a great profit or benefit.

And so this Noble Prince deceased, as you have heard, in that time his life was most de­sired, and when his people most desired to keepe him: Which love of his people, and their en­tire affection toward him, had beene to his Noble Children (having in themselves also as many gifts of Nature, as many Princely vertues, as much good towardnesse as their age could receive) a marvellous fortresse and a sure armour, if the divi­sion and dissention of their friends had not unarmed them, [Page 27] and left them destitute, and the execrable desire of Soveraignty provoked him to their destru­ction, which if either kind or kindnesse had holden place, must needes have beene their defence. For Richard Glouce­ster, by nature their Uncle, by Office their Protectour, to their Father greatly beholden, and to them by oath and allegiance bounden, all the bonds broken and violated which binde man and man together, without any respect of God or the World, unnaturally contrived to be­reave them, not onely of their dignity and pre-eminence, but also of their naturall lives and worldly felicity.

And first to shew you, that by conjecture he pretended this thing in his Brothers life, yee shall understand for a truth that the same night that King Ed­ward dyed, one called Mistel­brooke, [Page 28] long ere the day sprung, came to the house of one Pot­tier dwelling in Redcrosse-street without Cripple Gate of Lon­don, and when he was with ha­sty wrapping quickly let in, the said Mistelbrooke shewed unto Pottier that King Edward was that night deceased: by my truth, quoth Pottier, then will my Master the Duke of Gloucester be King, and that I warrant thee. What cause hee had so to thinke, hard it is to say, whether hee being his ser­vant knew any such thing pre­tended, or otherwise had any inkling thereof, but of all likelihood hee spake it not of nought.

But now to returne to the true History, were it that the Duke of Gloucester had of old sore practised this conclusion, or was before-time moved thereunto, and put in hope by [Page 29] the tender age of the young Princes his Nephews, as oppor­tunity and likelihood of speed putteth a man in courage of that that he never intended. Certaine it is, that he being in the North parts, for the good governance of the Countrey, being advertised of his Bro­thers death, contrived the de­struction of his Nephewes with the usurpation of the Royall Dignity and Crowne. And forasmuch as he well wist, and had holpe to maintaine a long continued grudge and heart-burning betweene the Queenes kindred and the Kings Bloud, either part envying others au­thority, he now thought, as it was indeed, a furtherly begin­ning to the pursuit of his in­tent, and a sure ground and situation of his unnatural buil­ding, if hee might under the pretence of revenging of old [Page 30] displeasures, abuse the igno­rance and anger of the one party to the destruction of the other, and then to win to his purpose as many as he could: and such as could not be won, might be lost ere they looked for it. But of one thing hee was certaine, that if his in­tent were once perceived, hee should have made peace be­tweene both parties with his owne bloud: but all his intent he kept secret till hee knew his friends; of the which Henry the Duke of Buckingham was the first that sent to him, after his Brothers death, a trusty ser­vant of his, called Persivall, to the City of Yorke, where the Duke of Gloucester kept the K. his brothers Funeralls. This Persivall came to Iohn Ward a cret Chamberer to the Duke of Gloucester, desiring that hee in close and covert manner might [Page 31] speake with the Duke his Ma­ster: whereupon in the dead of the night, the Duke sent for Persivall (all other being avoi­ded) which shewed to the Duke of Gloucester, that the Duke of Buckingham, his Master, in this new World would take such part as hee would, and would farther waite upon him with a thousand good fellowes, if need were.

The Duke sent backe the Messenger with great thankes, and divers privie instructions by mouth: which Persivall did so much by his travell, that he came to the Duke of Bucking­ham his Master into the Mar­ches of Wales, and presently af­ter with new instructions met with the Duke of Gloucester at Notingham, which was come out of the North-country with many Knights and Gentlemen, to the number of 600. Horse [Page 32] and more, in his journey to­wards London. And after se­cret meeting and communica­tion had betweene him and the Duke of Gloucester, hee retur­ned with such speed, that hee brought the Duke of Bucking­ham his Master to meete with the Duke of Gloucester not far from Northampton, with three hundred Horses, and so they two came together to Nor­thampton, where they first began their unhappy enterprise, and so the Duke of Buckingham continued stil with the Duke of Gloucester till he was crowned King, as yee shall plainely per­ceive hereafter.

The young King, at the death of his Father, kept hous­hold at Ludlow, for his Father had sent him thither for Ju­stice to be done in the Marches of Wales, to the end that by the authority of his presence, the [Page 33] wilde Welshmen and evill dis­posed persons should refraine from their accustom'd murthers and outrages. The governance of this young Prince was com­mitted to Lord Anthony Wood­vile Earle Rivers and Lord Scales, Brother to the Queene, a wise, hardy, and honourable personage, as valiant of hands as politick in Counsell; and with him were associate others of the same party, and in effect, every one as hee was neere of kin unto the Queene, so was he planted next about the Prince. That drift by the Queene see­med to be devised, whereby her bloud might of right in tender youth be so planted in the Princes favour, that after­ward it should hardly be era­dicated out of the same.

The Duke of Gloucester tur­ned all this to their destructi­on, and upon that ground set [Page 34] the foundation of his unhap­py building: For whom soe­ver he perceived to be at vari­ance with them, or to beare to­ward himselfe any favour, hee brake unto them, some by mouth, some by writing and secret messengers, that it was neither reason, nor yet to bee suffered, that the young King their Master and kinsman should be in the hands and cu­stody of his Mothers kindred, sequestred in manner from their company and attendance, of which every one ought him as faithfull service as they, and many of them of far [...] more ho­nourable part of kin then his Mothers side, whose bloud, quoth the Duke of Glouce­ster, saving the Kings pleasure, was farre unmeet to be matched with his, which now to be re­moved from the King, and the least Noble to bee left about [Page 35] him, is, quoth he, neither ho­nourable to his Majesty, nor to us, and also to him lesse surety, to have his Nobles and migh­tiest of his friends from him, and to us all no little danger to suffer, and especially our ill willers to grow into great au­thority with the King in youth, namely, which is light of beliefe and soone perswa­ded.

Yee remember, that King Edward himselfe, albeit he was both of age and discretion, yet was he ruled in many things by that faction, more then stood ther with his honour, or our profit, or with the commodity of any man else, except onely the immoderate advancement of themselves, which whether they thirsted sore after their owne weale or no, it were hard I thinke to guesse. And if some folkes friendship had not hol­den [Page 36] better place with the King, then any respect of kindred, they might, peradventure, ease­ly have trapped and brought to confusion some of us ere this; and why not as easely as they have done others, or this as neere of the Bloud Royall, but our Lord hath wrought his will, and thanked be his grace, that perill is past: howbeit▪ as great is growing, if wee suffer this young King in his enemies hands which without his wit­ting might abuse the name of his commandement to any of our undoing; which things, God and our good provision forbid; of which good provi­sion, none of us have any thing the lesse need for the late at­tonement made, in which the Kings pleasure had more place then the parties hearts or wills, nor none of us is so unwise, or so much overseene, as to trust a [Page 37] new friend made of an old foe, or to thinke that any onely kindenesse so sodainly contra­cted in an houre, continued scantly yet a fortnight, should be deeper set in our stomackes then a long accustomed malice many yeeres rooted.

With these perswasions and writings, the Duke of Glouce­ster set on fire them which were easie to kindle, and especially two, Henry Duke of Bucking­ham, and William Lord Ha­stings, and Lord Chamberlaine, both men of honour and of great power, the one by long succession from his Ancestors, the other by his Offices and the Kings favour. These two not bearing each to other so much love, as hatred both to the Queenes bloud, accorded to­gether with the Duke of Glou­cester, that they would remove from the King all his Mothers [Page 38] friends, under the name of their enemies.

Whereupon the Duke of Gloucester, being advertised that the Lords about the King intended to bring him to Lon­don to his Coronation, accom­panied with such a number of their friends, that it should be hard for him to bring his pur­pose to passe, without the as­sembling and gathering of people, and in manner of open warre, wherof the end he knew was doubtfull, and in the which the King being on the other side, his part should have the name and face of Rebelli­on:

He secretly therefore by di­vers meanes, caused the Queene to be pe [...]swaded, that it was neither need, and should also be dangerous for the King to come up so strong; for as now, every Lord loved other, and [Page 39] no other thing studied for, but the triumph of his Coronation, and honour of the King. And if the Lords about the King should assemble, in the Kings name, much people, they should give the Lords betwixt whom and them there had beene some time debate, an occasion to feare and suspect, lest they should gather this people, not for the Kings safe-guard, whom no man impugned, but for their destruction, having more regard to their old variance, then to their new atonement; for the which cause, they on the other part might assemble men also for their defence, whose powers shee knew well stretched farre; and thus should all the Realme fall in an up­roare, and of the mischief that thereof should ensue (which was likely to be not a little) the most harme was like to fall [Page 40] where she least would, and then all the World would put her and her kindred in the blame; saying, That they had unwise­ly and untruly broken the ami­ty and peace, which the King her Husband had so prudently made between her kindred and his, which amity his Kinne had alwayes observed.

The Queene being thus per­swaded, sent word to the King and to her Brother, that there was no cause nor need to as­semble any peope, and also the Duke of Gloucester and other Lords of his side, wrote unto the King so reverently, and to the Queenes friends there so lovingly, that they nothing earthly mistrusting, brought the King toward London with a sober company in great haste (but not in good speed) till hee came to Northampton, and from thence hee removed to Stony [Page 41] Stratford. On which day, the two Dukes and their traine came to Northampton, faigning that Stony Stratford could not lodge them all, where they found the Earle Rivers, inten­ding the next morning to have followed the King, and to bee with him early in the mor­ning. So that night, the Dukes made to the Earl Rivers friend­ly cheere, but as soone as they were departed, very familiar, with great courtesie in open sight, and the Earle Rivers lod­ged, the two Dukes with a few of their privie friends fell to Councell, wherein they spent a great part of the night, and in the dawning of the day, they sent about privily to their ser­vants in their lodgings, to haste to horsebacke, for their Lords were in manner ready to ride, whereupon all their servants were ready ere the Lord Rivers [Page 42] servants were awake. Now had the Dukes taken the keyes of the Inne into their possession, so that none should issue out without their consent. And over this in the high way to­ward Stony Stratford, they set certaine of their folkes that should cause and compell to re­turne againe all persons that were passing from Northamp­ton to Stony Stratford, saying that the Dukes themselves would be the first that should come to the King from Nor­thampton: thus they bare folks in hand. But when the Earle Rivers understood the Gates closed, and the wayes on every side beset, neither his servants, neither himselfe suffered to goe out, perceiving so great a thing without his knowledge, not begun for nought, comparing this present doing with the last nights cheere, in so few houres [Page 43] so great a change, marvellously misliked it. Howbeit, sith hee could not get away, hee deter­mined not to keepe himselfe close, lest hee should seeme to hide himselfe for some secret feare of his owne fault, where­of he saw no such cause in him­selfe; wherefore on the surety of his owne conscience hee de­termined to goe to them, and to inquire what this matter might meane: Whom as soone as they saw, they began to quar­rell with him, affirming that he pretended to set distance be­tweene the King and them, to bring them to confusion, which should not lye in his po­wer; and when he began, as he was an eloquent and well-spo­ken man, in goodly wise to ex­cuse himselfe, they would not heare his answer, but tooke him by force and put him in ward. And then they moun­ted [Page 44] on horsebacke and came in haste to Stony Stratford, where the King was going to horse­backe, because hee would leave the lodging for them, for it was too straight for both the com­panies. And when they came to his presence, they alighted and their company about them, and on their knees salu­ted him, and hee them gently received, nothing earthly knowing nor mistrusting as yet. The Duke of Buckingham said aloud, On afore Gentle­men, and Yeomen keepe your roomes, and therewith in the Kings presence they picked a quarrell to the Lord Richard Grey the Queenes sonne, and Brother to the Lord Marquesse, and halfe Brother to the King, saying, that hee and the Mar­quesse his Brother, and the Lord Rivers his Uncle, had compassed to rule the King and [Page 45] the Realme, and set variance betweene the estates, and to subdue and destroy the Noble Bloud of the Realme. And to­ward the accomplishment of the same, they said, the Lord Marquesse had entred in­to the Tower of London, and thence had taken out treasure, and sent men to the Sea, which things these Dukes knew well were done for a good purpose, and as very necessary, appoin­ted by the whole Counsell at London, but somewhat they must say: Unto the which words the king answered, what my Brother Marquesse hath done, I cannot say, but in good faith, I dare well answer for my Uncle Rivers and my Bro­ther here, that they bee inno­cent of such matters. Yea, my Liege, quoth the Duke of Buck­ingham, they have kept the dea­ling of these matters farre from [Page 46] the knowledge of your good Grace. And forth-with they arrested the Lord Richard and Sir Thomas Vaughan, and Sir Richard Hawte, knights, in the Kings presence, and brought the King and all backe to Nor­thampton, where they tooke farther counsell in their af­faires. And there they sent from the King whom it plea­sed them, and set about him such servants as better pleased them then him. At which dea­ling he wept and was not con­tent, but it booted not. And at dinner, the Duke of Gloucester sent a dish from his owne Ta­ble to the Lord Rivers ▪ praying him to be of good cheere, and all should be well: hee thanked him, and prayed the Messenger to beare it to his Nephew the Lord Richard with like words, whom he knew to have need of comfort, as one to whom such [Page 47] adversity was strange, but hee himselfe had beene alwayes enured therewith, and there­fore could beare it the better. But for all this message, the Duke of Gloucester sent the Lord Rivers, the Lord Richard and Sir Thomas Vaughan, and Sir Richard Hawte into the North parts into divers pri­sons, but at last, all came to Pomfret, where they all foure were beheaded without judge­ment.

In this manner as you have heard, the Duke of Gloucester tooke on him the Governance of the young King, whom with much reverence hee conveighed towards London. These ty­dings came hastily to the Queene before midnight, by a very sore report, that the King her sonne was taken, and that her Brother and her other son, and other her friends were ar­rested [Page 48] and sent, no man knew whither. With this heavie ti­dings the Queene bewailed her childs ruine, her friends mis­chance, and her owne misfor­tune, cursing the time that ever she was perswaded to leave the gathering of people to bring up the King with a great power, but that was passed, and there­fore now she tooke her younger sonne, the Duke of Yorke, and her daughter, and went out of the Palace of Westminster into the Sanctuary, and there lod­ged in the Abbots place, and shee and all her children and company were registred for Sanctuary persons. The same night there came to Doctor Ro­theram Archbishop of Yorke, and Lord Chancelour, a mes­senger from the Lord Cham­berlaine to Yorke place beside Westminster; the Messenger was brought to the Bishops Bed [Page 49] side, and declared to him that the Dukes were gone back with the young King to Northamp­ton, and declared further, that the Lord Hastings his master sent him word, that hee should feare nothing, for all should be well. Well, (quoth the Arch­bishop) be it as well as it will, it will never be so well as wee have seene it, and then the mes­senger departed. Whereupon the Bishop called up all his ser­vants, and tooke with him the great Seale, and came before day to the Queen, about whom hee found much heavinesse, rumble, haste, businesse, con­veyance and carriage of her stuffe into Sanctuary; every man was busie to carry▪ beare and convey stuffe, chests and fardels, no man was unoccupied, and some carried more then they were commanded to another place.

[Page 50]The Queene sat alone below on the Rushes all desolate and dismaid, whom the Archbi­shop comforted in the best manner that he could, shewing her, that the matter was no­thing so sore as she took it for, and that hee was put in good hope and out feare by the mes­sage sent to him from the Lord Hastings. A woe worth him, quoth the Queene, for it is hee that goeth about to destroy me and my bloud. Madame, quoth he, be of good comfort, and I assure you, if they crowne any other King then your sonne, whom they now have, we shall on the morrow crowne his Brother, whom you have here with you. And here is the Great Seale, which in likewise as your Noble Husband deli­vered it to mee, so I deliver it to you, to the use of your Son, & therewith delivered her the [Page 51] Great Seale, and departed home in the dawning of the day. And when hee opened his windowes and looked on the Thames, hee might see the River full of Boats, of the Duke of Gloucester his servants wat­ching, that no person should goe to Sanctuary, nor none should passe unsearched.

Then was there great ru­mour and commotion in the Citie, and in other places, the people diversly divined upon this dealing. And divers Lords, Knights and Gentlemen, either for favour of the Queene, or for feare of themselves, assem­bled companies, and went stocking together in harnesse. And many also, for that they recounted this demanour at­tempted, not so specially a­gainst other Lords, as against the King himselfe, in distur­bance of his Coronation, [Page 52] therefore they assembled by and by together, to commune of this matter at London. The Archbishop of Yorke, fearing that it would be ascribed (as it was indeed) to over-much lightnesse, that he so suddenly had yeelded up the Great Seale to the Queene, to whom the custody thereof nothing ap­pertained without especiall commandement of the King, secretly sent for the Seale a­gaine, and brought it with him, after the accustomed manner, to meete with the Lords.

At this meeting, the Lord Hastings, whose truth toward the King no man doubted, no [...] needed to doubt, perswa­ded the Lords to beleeve, that the Duke of Gloucester was faithfull and sure towards his Prince, and that the Lord Ri­vers, the Lord Richard, and o­ther [Page 53] Knights apprehended, were for matters attempted by them against the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham, put under arrest, for their surety, and not for the Kings danger, and that they were also in safe­guard there to remaine, till the matter were (not by the Dukes onely) but also by all the other Lords of the Kings Counsell indifferently exami­ned, and by their discretions ordered, and either judged or appeased. And one thing hee advised them to beware of, that they judged not the matter too farre forth ere they knew the truth, nor turning their pri­vate grudges into the common hurt, irriting and provoking men unto anger; and distur­bing the Kings Coronation, toward which the Dukes were comming, for that, then might peradventure bring the matter [Page 54] so farre out of joynt, that it should never bee brought in frame againe, which if it should hap as it were likely to come to a field, though all parties were in all other things equall, yet should the authority bee on that side, where the King is himselfe; with these perswa­sions of the Lord Hastings, whereof part hee himselfe be­leeved, and of part hee knew well the contrary, these com­motions were somewhat ap­peased. But especially, because the Dukes of Buckingham and Gloucester were so neere, and came on [...]o shortly with the King, in no other manner, nor no other voyce or semblance then to his Coronation, cau­sing the [...]ame to be blowne a­bout, that such persons as were apprehended, had contrived the destruction of the Dukes of Gloucester and of Buckingham, [Page 55] and other of the Noble Bloud of this Realme, to the intent that they alone would rule and governe the King. And for the colour thereof, such of the Dukes servants as rod with the Carts of their stuffe which was taken, among the which stuffe, no marvell though some were harnesse, which at the breaking up of such an houshold must be brought away or cast away, they shewed to the people, and as they went, said, Lo, here be the Barrels of harnesse that these Traytors had privily conveyed in their carriages to destroy the Noble Lords with­all. This divers, (although it made the matter to wise men more unlikely) well percei­ving that the intenders of such a purpose, would rather have had their harnesse on their backes, then to have bound them up in barrels, yet much [Page 56] part of the common people were therewith right well sa­tisfied.

Edmund Shaw Ma­ior of London.When the King approached neere the City, Edmund Shaw Goldsmith, then Maior of the City, with the Aldermen and Sheriffes in Scarlet, and five hundred commoners in murrey received his Grace reverendly at Harnesay Parke, and so con­veighed him to the City, where hee entred the fourth day of May, in the first and last yeere of his Reigne, and was lodged in the Bishop of Londons Pa­lace: but the Duke of Glouce­ster bare him in open sight so reverently, saying to all men as he rode▪ Behold your Prince and Soveraigne Lord, and made such semblance of lowlinesse to his Prince, that from the great obloquy that hee was in so late before, he was suddenly fallen in so great trust, that at [Page 57] the Councell next assembled, he was made the onely chiefe Ru­ler, and thought most meet to be Protectour of the King and his Realme: so that, were it destiny, or were it folly, the Lambe was betaken to the Wolfe to keepe. At which counsell the Archbishop of Yorke was sore blamed for de­livering the Great Seale to the Queene, and the Seale taken from him, and delivered to Do­ctor Iohn Russell Bishop of Lin­colne, a wise man and a good, and of much experience, and divers Lords and Knights were appointed to divers roomes: the Lord Chamberlaine and some other kept the roomes that they were in before, but not many.

Now were it so that the Pro­tectour (which alwayes you must take for the Duke of Glou­cester) sore thirsted for the [Page 58] atchieving of his pretended enterprise, and thought every day a yeere till it were perfor­med, yet durst he no farther at­tempt, as long as hee had but halfe his prey in his hand, well witting that if hee deposed the one brother, all the Realme would fall toth'other, if he re­mained either in Sanctuary or should haply bee shortly con­veighed to his Fathers liberty. Wherefore incontinent at the next meeting of the Lords in Councell, hee propounded to them, that it was an heinous thing of the Queene, and pro­ceeding of great malice toward the Kings Councellors, that she should keepe the Kings Brother in Sanctuary from him whose speciall pleasure and comfort were to have his Brother with him, and that to bee done by her to no other intent, but to bring all the Lords in an oblo­quy [Page 59] and murmure of the peo­ple, as though they were not to bee trusted with the Kings Brother, which Lords were by the whole assent of the Nobles of the Realme, appointed as the Kings neere friends, to the tu­ition of his Royall Person, the prosperity whereof (quoth he) standeth not alone in keeping from enemies and evill dyet, but partly also in recreation and moderate pleasure, which hee cannot take in his tender youth in the company of old and ancient persons, but in the familiar conversation of those that be not farre under, nor farre above his age, and never­thelesse, of estate convenient to accompany his Majesty, where­fore with whom rather then with his owne Brother? and if any man thinke this conside­ration light (I thinke no man so thinketh that loveth the [Page 60] King) let him consider, that sometime without small things greater cannot stand, and veri­ly it redoundeth greatly to the dishonour of the Kings high­nesse, and of all us that bee a­bout his Grace, to have it come in any mans mouth, not in this Realme onely, but also in o­ther Lands (as evill words walke farre) that the Kings Brother should bee faine to keepe Sanctuary. For every man will judge, that no man will so doe for nought, and such opinions fastned in mens hearts be hard to bee wrested out, and may grow to more griefe then any man here can divine. Wherefore, mee think­eth, it were not the worst to send to the Queene some hono­rable and trusty personage, such as tendreth the Kings weale and the honour of his Counce, and is also in credit and favour with [Page 61] her; for w^ch considerations none seemeth more meetly to me thē the reverend Father, my Lord Cardinall, Archbishop of Can­terbury, who may in this matter doe most good of all men, if it please him to take the paine, which I doubt not of his good­nesse hee will not refuse, for the Kings sake & ours, and wealth of the young Duke himselfe, the Kings most honourable Brother, and for the comfort of my Soveraigne Lord him­selfe, my most dearest Nephew; considering, that thereby shall be ceased the slanderous rumor and obloquy now going a­broad, and the hurts avoided that thereof might ensue, and then must rest and quietnesse grow to all the Realme. And if shee perhaps be so obstinate, and so precisely set in her own will and opinion, that neither his wise and faithfull advertise­ment [Page 62] can move her, nor any mans reason satisfie her, then shall wee by my advice, by the Kings authority fetch him out of that prison, and bring him to his Noble presence, in whose continuall company hee shall be so well cherished, and so honourably intreated, that all the world shall to our honour and her reproach, perceive that it was onely malice, froward­nesse and folly, that caused her to keepe him there. This is my minde for this time, except that any of you, my Lords, perceive to the contrary, for never shall I by Gods Grace sowed my selfe unto mine owne will, but I shall bee ready to change it upon your better ad­vices.

When the Protectour had said, all the Councell affirmed that the motion was good and reasonable, and to the King [Page 63] and the Duke honourable, and a thing that should cease great murmure in the Realme, if the Mother might by good meanes be induced to deliver him; which thing the Archbishop of Canterbury, whom they all agreed also to be most conve­nient thereunto, tooke upon him to move her, and thereto to doe his uttermost endeavor. Howbeit if shee could in no wise be intreated with her good will to deliver him, then thought he and such of the spi­rituality as were present, that it were not in any wise to bee attempted, to take him out a­gainst her will, for it would be a thing that should turne to the grudge of all men, and high displeasure of God, if the pri­viledge of that place should bee broken, which had so many yeeres been kept, which both Kings and Popes had granted [Page 64] and confirmed, which ground was sanctified by Saint Peter himselfe more then five hun­dred yeeres agoe. And sith that time, was never so unde­vout a King, that ever enterpri­sed that sacred priviledge to violate, nor so holy a Bishop that durst presume the Church of the same to consecrate: and therefore, quoth the Arch­bishop, God forbid that any man should, for any earthly enterprise, breake the immuni­ty and liberty of that sacred Sanctuary, that hath beene the safeguard of so many a good mans life: but I trust, quoth he, wee shall not need it, but for any manner of need I would we should not doe it, I trust that [...]hee with reason shall bee contented, and all things in good manner obtained. And if it hap that I bring it not to passe, yet shall I further it to [Page 65] my best power, so that you all shall perceive my good will, diligence, and endeavour: But the Mothers dread and wo­manish feare shall bee the let if any be.

Nay, womanish froward­nesse, quoth the Duke of Buck­ingham, for I dare take it on my soule, that she well knoweth that shee needeth no such thing to feare, either for her sonne or for her selfe. For as for her, here is no man that will be at warre with women, would God some men of her kin were wo­men too, and then should all be soon at rest. Howbeit, there is none of her kinne the lesse lo­ved for that they be of her kin, but for their owne evill deser­ving.

And put the case, that wee neither loved her nor her kin, yet there were no cause why wee should hate the Kings No­ble [Page 66] Brother, to whose Grace wee our selves bee kin, whose Honour if shee desired as our dishonour, and as much regard tooke to his wealth as to her owne will, she could be as loth to suffer him to be absent from the King as any of us, if she had any wit, as would God she had as good will as shee hath frow­ard wit. For shee thinketh her selfe no wiser then some that are here, of whose faithfull mindes she nothing doubteth, but verily beleeveth and ac­knowledgeth, that they would be as sory of his harme as her owne selfe, and yet they would have him from her if shee abide there.

And we all, I thinke, be con­tent that both her children bee with her, if shee came from thence, and abide in such a place where they may be with their honour. Now if shee re­fuse [Page 67] in the, deliverance of him, to follow the wisedome of them, whose wisdome shee knoweth, whose approbate fi­delity shee well trusteth; it is easie to perceive frowardnesse letteth her, and not feare. But goe to, suppose that she feareth (as who may let her to feare her owne shadow) the more we ought to feare to leave him in her hands, for if shee cast such fond doubts that shee feare his hurt, then will she feare that he shall be fetcht thence, for shee will soone thinke, that if men were set (which God forbid on so great a mischiefe) the San­ctuary wil little let them, which Sanctuary good men, as mee thinketh, might without sinne somewhat lesse regard then they doe.

Now then, if she doubt lest he might bee fetched from her, is it not likely that she will send [Page 68] him somewhere out of the Realme? Verily I looke for none other. And I doubt not but she now as sore mindeth it, as wee minde the let thereof: And if shee might hap to bring that purpose to passe, as it were no great mastery to doe, we let­ting her alone, all the world would say, that wee were a sort of wise Counsellors about a King, to let his Brother be cast away under our noses. And therefore I ensure you faith­fully, for my minde, I will ra­ther, ma [...]ger her stomack; fetch him away, then leave him there till her feare or fond froward­nesse convey him away, and yet will I breake no Sanctuary, for verily sith the priviledge of that place,Of San­ctuaries. and other of that sort, have so long continued, I would not goe about to breake it, but if they were now to be­gin, I would not be hee should [Page 69] make them; yet will not I say nay, but it is a deed of pittie, that such men as the chance of the Sea, or their evill debtors have brought into povertie, should have some place of re­fuge to keepe in their bodies out of the danger of their cru­ell creditors. And if it fortune the Crowne to come in questi­on, as it hath done before this time, while each part taketh o­ther for Traytors, I thinke it necessary to have a place of re­fuge for both: But as for theeves and murderers, whereof these places be full, and which never fall from their craft after they once fall thereunto, it is pittie that every Sanctuary should serve them, and especi­ally wilfull murtherers, whom God commandeth to bee taken from the Altar, and to bee put to death. And where it is o­therwise then in these cases, [Page 70] there is no need of Sanctuaries, appointed by God in the Old Law. For if necessity of his owne defence, or misfortune drived him to that deed, then a pardon serveth him, which ei­ther is granted of course, or the King of pitty and compas­sion giveth.

Now looke how few Sanctu­ary men there be, whom ne­cessity or misfortune compel­led to goe thither: And then see on the other [...]ide, what a sort there be commonly there­in of such, whom wilfull un­thriftinesse hath brought to naught; What a rabble of Theeves, Murtherers and mali­cious hainous Traytors be, and that in two places especially, the one at the elbow of the Ci­tie, and the other in the very bowels, I dare well avow it, if you weigh the good that they doe, with the hurt that com­meth [Page 71] of them, yee shall finde it much better to lose both then to have both. And this, I say, although they were not abused, (as they now bee and so long have been) that I feare me ever they will be while men be a­fraid to set their hands to the amendment, as though God and Saint Peter were the Pa­trons of ungracious living. Now unthrifts riot and run in debt upon boldnesse of these places; yea, and rich men run thither with poor mens goods, there they build, there they spend and bid their creditors goe whistle. Mens Wives run thither with their Husbands Plate, and say they dare not a­bide with their Husbands for beating; Theeves bring thi­ther stolne goods, and live thereon. There devise they new robberies nightly, and steale out and rob, rive, and kill [Page 72] men, and come again into those places, as though those places gave them not only a safeguard for the harme that they have done, but a license also to doe more mischiefe: howbeit, much of this great abusion, (if wise men would set their hands there unto) might be amended, with great thankes of God and no breache of the priviledge. The conclusion is, sith it is so long agoe▪ I wot not what Pope and what Prince, more pitious then politicke, hath granted it, and other men sensible of a religi­ous feare, have not broken it▪ let us take paines with it, and let it stand a Gods Name in his force, as farre forth as reason will, which is not so farre forth as may serve to let us of the fet­ching forth of this Noble man, to his honour and wealth, out of that place, in the which hee neither is nor can be a Sanctu­ary [Page 73] or priviledged man. A Sanctuary ever serveth to de­fend the body of that man that standeth in danger abroad, not of great hurt only, but of law­full hurt; for against unlaw­full hurts and harmes, no Pope nor King intended to privi­ledge any one place, wherein it is lawfull for one man to doe another man wrong. That no man unlawfully take hurt, that liberty, the King, the Law, and very nature forbiddeth in every place, and maketh in that re­gard, for every man, every place a Sanctuary; but whereas man is by lawfull meanes in perill, there needeth he the tui­tion of some speciall privilege, which is the onely ground of all Sanctuaries, from which necessity this Noble Prince is farre, whose love to his King, Nature and kindred proveth, whose innocencie to all the [Page 74] world, his tender youth affir­meth, and so Sanctuary as for him is not necessary, and none he can have. Men come not to Sanctuary, as they come to Baptisme, to require it by God­fathers, he must aske it himselfe that must have it, and reason, sith no man hath cause to have it, but whose cōscience of his own fault maketh him have need to require it. What will then hath yonder Babe, which if hee had discretion to require it, if need were, I dare say would be now right angry with them that keep him there? And I would thinke without any scruple of conscience, without any breach of priviledge, to bee somewhat more homely with them that be their Sanctuary men indeed, that if one goe to Sanctuary with another mans goods, why should not the King, leaving his body at liberty, satisfie the [Page 75] party of his goods even within the Sanctuary; for neither King nor Pope can give any place such a priviledge, that it shall discharge a man of his debts, being able to pay.

And with that, divers of the Clergy that were there present, whether they said it for his pleasure, or as they thought, agreed plainely by the Law of God and of the Church, that a Sanctuary man should be deli­vered in payment of his debts, and stolne goods to the owner, and onely liberty reserved to him, to get his living by the la­bour of his hands. Verily, quoth the Duke, I thinke ye say very truth: And what if a mans wife take Sanctuary, be­cause shee list to run from her husband? I would thinke, if she can alledge no other cause, hee may lawfully, without any displeasure done to Saint Pe­ter, [Page 76] take her out of Saint Peters Church by the arme. And if no body may bee taken out of Sanctuary, because he saith hee will abide there, then if a child will take Sanctuary, because he feareth to goe to Schoole, his Master must let him alone. And as simple as that example is, yet is there lesse reason in our case then in it; for there, though it be a childish feare, yet is there at the least some feare, and herein is no feare at all. And verily I have heard of Sanctu­ary men, but I never heard be­fore of Sanctuary children; and therefore, as for the con­clusion of my minde, whosoe­ver may deserve to have need of it, if they thinke it for their surety, let them keepe it, but he can be no Sanctuary man, that hath no other discretion to desire it, nor malice to de­serve it, whose life nor liberty [Page 77] can by any lawful processe stand in danger: and hee that taketh one out of Sanctuary to do him good, I say plainely hee brea­keth no Sanctuary.

When the Duke hand done, the temporall men wholly, and the most part of the spirituall men also, thinking no hurt earthly meant toward the yong Babe, condescend in effect, that if hee were not delivered hee should be fetched out. How­beit, they thought it best in a­voiding of all manner of ru­mour, that the Cardinall should first assay, to get him with her good will. And thereupon all the Councell came to the Star-Chamber at Westminster, and the Cardinall leaving the Pro­tector and other Lords in the Starre-Chamber, departed in­to the Sanctuary to the Queen, accompanied with certaine Lords, were it for the respect [Page 78] of his honour, or that shee should by the persons of so many, perceive that his er­rand was not onely one mans minde, or were it for that the Protector intended not in this matter to trust one man alone, or else if she finally were deter­mined to keepe him, some of the company had peradventure some secret instruction incon­tinent, mauger her will, to take him, and to leave her no respit to conveigh him.

When the Queene and these Lords were come together in presence, the Cardinall shewed unto her, that it was thought to the Lord Protectour and the whole Councell, that her kee­ping of the Kings Brother in that place highly sounded, not onely to the grudge of the peo­ple, and their obloquy, but al­so to the importable griefe and displeasure of the Kings Royall [Page 79] Majesty, to whose Grace it were a singular comfort to have his naturall Brother in compa­ny, and it was to both their dis­honours, and hers also, to suf­fer him in Sanctuary, as though the one Brother stood in dan­ger and perill of the other. And hee shewed her farther, that the whole Councell had sent him to require of her the delivery of him, that hee might bee brought to the Kings presence at his liberty out of that place, which men reckoned as a pri­son, and there should he be de­meaned according to his estate and degree, and she in this do­ing, should both do great good to the Realme, pleasure to the Councell, profit to her selfe, succour to her friends that were in distresse, and over that, which he knew well shee specially ten­dred, not onely great comfort and honour to the King, but [Page 80] also to the young Duke him­selfe, both whose great weale it were to be together, aswel for many greater causes, as also for both their disport and recrea­tion, which things the Lords esteemed not light, though it seemed light, well pondering that their youth without recre­ation and play cannot endure, nor any stranger for the con­venience of both their ages and estates so meet in that point for any of them, as the either of them for the other.

My Lord (quoth the Queen) I say not nay, but that it were very convenient that this Gen­tleman whom you require were in the company of the King his Brother, and in good faith, me thinketh it were as great com­modity to them both, as for yet a while to be in the custo­dy of their Mother, the tender age considered of the elder of [Page 81] them both, but especially the younger, which besides his in­fancie, that also needeth good looking to, hath a while beene so sore diseased with sicknesse, and is so newly, rather little a­mended then well recovered, that I dare put no person earthly in trust with his kee­ping, but my selfe onely, consi­dering there is, as Physicians say, and as wee also finde, dou­ble the perill in the resiluation that was in the first sicknesse, with which disease Nature be­ing sore laboured, forewearied and weakned, waxeth the lesse able to beare out a new surfeit. And albeit there might bee found other that would haply doe their best unto him, yet is there none that either knoweth better how to order him then I, that so long have kept him, or is more tenderly like to che­rish him, then his owne Mo­ther [Page 82] that bare him. No man denyeth, good Madame, quoth the Cardinall, that your Grace of all folke were most necessary about your children, and so would all the Councell, not onely be content, but also glad that it were, if it might stand with your pleasure, to be in such place as might stand with their honour. But if you ap­point your selfe to tarry here, then thinke they it more con­venient, the Duke of Yorke were with the King honourably at his liberty to the comfort of them both, then here as a San­ctuary man to both their dis­honors and obloquy, sith there is not alway so great necessity to have the child with the Mo­ther, but that occasion some­time may be such, that it should be more expedient to keep him elsewhere, which in this well appeareth, that at such time [Page 83] that your most dearest sonne then Prince and now King, should for his honour and good order of the Country keepe houshold in Wales farre out of your keeping, your Grace was well content therewith your selfe. Not very well content (quoth the Queene) and yet the case is not like, for the one was then in health, the other is now sicke, in which case I mar­vell greatly why my Lord Pro­tector is so desirous to have him in keeping, where if the childe in his sicknesse miscarried by nature, yet might hee run into slander and suspition of fraud. And they call it a thing so sore against my childes honour and theirs also, that hee abideth in this place, it is all their ho­nours, there to suffer his abode, where no man doubteth h [...] sha [...]l be best kept, and that is heere while I am here, which as yet [Page 84] intend not to come forth and danger my selfe after other my friends, which would God were rather here in surety with me, then I were there in dan­ger with them.

Why Madame (quoth the Lord Howard) know you any thing, why they should bee in danger? Nay verily (quoth she) nor why they should be in prison neither, as they now be, but I trow it is no great mar­vell, though I feare lest those that have not letted to put them in durance without co­lour, will let as little to procure their destruction without cause. The Cardinall made a counte­nance to the Lord Howard, that he should harpe no more upon that string; and then said hee to the Queene, that he nothing doubted, but those Lords of her kinne, the which remained under arrest, should upon the [Page 85] matter examined doe well e­nough, and as toward her No­ble person, neither was, nor could be any manner of dan­ger.

Whereby should I trust that (quoth the Queene) in that I am guiltlesse, as though they were guilty, in that I am with their enemies better beloved then they, when they hate them for my sake, in that I am so neere to the King, and how farre be they off that would helpe, as God send Grace they hurt not. And therefore as yet I purpose not to depart hence: As for this Gentleman, my son, I minde he shall bee where I am till I see further, for I see some men so greedy without any substantiall cause to have him, which maketh mee much more warie and scrupulous to deli­ver him.

Truly Madame (quoth the [Page 86] Cardinall) the further that yee bee to deliver him, the further be other men to suffer you to keepe him, lest your causelesse feare might cause you farther to conveigh him, and many thinke he can here have no pri­viledge, which can have nei­ther will to aske it, nor yet ma­lice or offence to need it. And therefore, they reckon no pri­viledge broken, although they fetch him out of Sanctuary, which if you finally refuse to deliver him, I thinke verily the Councell will enfranchise him, so much dread hath my Lord his Uncle, for the tender love he beareth him, lest your Grace should send him away.

Ah, quoth the Queene, hath hee so tender a zeale to him, that hee feareth nothing, but lest hee should escape him? Thinketh hee, that I would send him hence, which is nei­ther [Page 87] in the plight to send out? and in what place could I rec­kon him sure, if he be not sure in this Sanctuary? where­of was there never Tyrant yet so devillish, that durst at­tempt to breake the priviledge, and I trust God is now as strong to withstand his adversaries as ever he was. But my sonne can deserve no Sanctuary, you say, and therefore hee can not have it, forsooth the Lord Protector hath sent a goodly glose, by the which that place that may de­send a theefe, may not save an innocent: but he is in no dan­ger, nor hath no need thereof, I would God hee had not. Troweth the Protector, (I pray God he may prove a Protector, rather then a destroyer, where­unto his painted processe draw­eth) that it is not honourable that the Duke bide here? it were more comfortable to [Page 88] them both, that he were with his Brother, because the King lacketh a play-fellow, yea bee sure, I pray God send him bet­ter play-fellowes then him that maketh so high a matter upon such a trifling pretext, as though there could none bee found to play with the King, but that his Brother, w^ch hath no lust to play for sicknesse, must come out of Sanctuary, out of his safeguard, to play with him; as though that Prin­ces so young as they be, could not play without their Peeres, or children could not play without their kindred, with whom for the most part they agree much worse then with strangers. But the childe, you say, cannot require the privi­ledge, who told the Protector so? Aske him, and you shall heare him aske it, and so shall hee, if yee will. Howbeit, this [Page 89] is a strange matter; suppose hee could not aske it, and thinke he would not aske it, and imagine he would aske to goe out, if I say he shall not: Note, if I aske the priviledge for my selfe, I say, that hee that against my will taketh out him, breaketh Sanctuary. Serveth this liber­ty for my person onely, or for my goods too? you may not from hence take my Horse from me, if I stale him not nor owe you nothing: then fol­loweth it, that you may not take my childe from me, hee is also my ward, for as farre as my learned Councell sheweth me, he hath nothing by descent holden by Knights service, but by socage: then the Law ma­keth me his guardian, then may no man lawfully (I suppose) take my ward from mee out of this place, without the breach of Sanctuary, and if my privi­ledge [Page 90] could not serve him, nor he aske it for himselfe, yet sith the Law committeth to me the custody of him, I may require it for him, expect the Law give the Infant a guardian onely for his goods, discharging him of the care and safe-keeping of his body, for which onely both goods and lands serve: Where­fore here intend I to keep him, sith mans Law serveth the guar­dian to keepe the infant, and the Law of Nature willeth the Mother to keep the child, and Gods Law priviledgeth the Sanctuary, and the Sanctuary priviledgeth my Sonne, sith I feare to put him to the Pro­tectors hands, that hath his Brother already, which is (if both failed) inheritor to the Crowne as heire Male, as hee saith. The cause of my feare no man hath to doe to exa­mine, and yet feare I no further [Page 91] then the Law feareth, which as learned men tell mee, forbid­deth every man the custody of them, by whose death he may inherit lesse Land then a King­dome.

I can say no more, but who­soever hee be that breaketh this holy Sanctuary, I pray God send him shortly need of San­ctuary, when he may not come to it, for I would not that my mortall enemy should be taken out of Sanctuary.

The Cardinall perceived that the Queene ever the longer the farther off, and also that shee began to kindle and chafe, and speak sore biting words against the Protector, and such as hee neither beleeved, and also was loth to he [...]re, he said to her, for a finall conclusion, that hee would no more dispute the matter, and if she were content to deliver the Duke to him and [Page 92] to the other Lords there pre­sent, hee durst lay his owne bo­dy and soule both in pledge, not onely for his surety, but also for his estate, and surely he knew nor suspected any cause but he might so doe (but hee knew not all.) And further he said, if shee would give him a resolute answer to the contra­ry, hee would therewith de­part incontinent, and shift who so would with his businesse af­terward, for he never intended further to move her in the mat­ter, in the which shee thought that he and all other also, save her selfe, lacked either wit or dull truth; Wit, if they were so that they nothing could per­ceive what the Protector inten­ded, and if they should procure her sonne to be delivered into his hands, in whom they should perceive towards the child any evill will intended, then shee [Page 93] might thinke all the Councell both evill advised, and of little fidelity to their Prince.

The Queene with these words stood in a great study, and forasmuch as she saw the Lord Cardinall more readie to depart then the remnant, and the Protector himselfe rea­dy at hand, so that shee verily thought that shee could not keepe him there, but he should bee incontinent taken thence, and to conveigh him elsewhere, neither had shee time to serve her, nor place determined, nor persons appointed to conveigh him, and so all things were un­ready, when this message came so suddenly on her, nothing lesse looking for, then to have him out of Sanctuary, which she knew now men to be set in all places about, that hee could not be conveighed out untaken, and party as shee thought it [Page 94] might fortune her feare to bee false: so well shee knew it was either needlesse or bootlesse. Wherefore, if shee should needs goe from him, shee deemed best to deliver him, and especially of the Cardinals faith shee no­thing doubting, nor of some other Lords whom shee saw there, which as she feared lest they might be deceived, so well was she assured, that they would not be corrupted: then thought she that it would make them the more warily to looke to him, and the more circum­spectly to see his surety, if shee with her owne hands betooke him them by trust, and at the last she tooke the young Duke by the hand, and said unto the Lords, my Lord (quoth shee) and all my Lords▪ neither am I so unwise to mistrust your wits, nor so suspicious to mistrust your truths: of the which [Page 95] thing I purpose to make such a proofe, that if either of both lacked in you, might turn both me to great sorrow, the Realm to much harme, and you to great reproach. For loe, here is, quoth shee, this Gentleman, whom I doubt not, but I could keepe safe if I would, whatsoe­ver any man say, and I doubt not also, but there be some a­broad so deadly enemies unto my Bloud, that if they knew where any of it lay in their owne body, they would let it out: wee have also experience, that the desire of a Kingdome knoweth no kindred, the Bro­ther hath beene the Brothers bane, and may the Nephewes be sure of the Uncle? each of these children are others de­fence, while they be asunder, and each of their lives lyeth in others body, keepe one safe and both be sure, and nothing to [Page 96] both more perilous then both to be in one place: for a wise Merchant never adventureth all his goods in one Ship. All this notwithstanding, here I deliver him and his Brother in him, to keepe to your hands, of whom I shall aske them both before God and the world. Faithfull you be, and that I know well, and I know you be wise, and of power and strength if you list to keep him, for you lacke no helpe of your selves, nor need to lacke no helpe in this case, and if you cannot else-where, then may you leave him here: But onely one thing I beseech you, for the trust that his Father put you in ever, and for the trust I put you in now, that as far as you thinke that I feare too much, yee bee well ware that you feare not too lit­tle. And therewithall she said to the Childe, Farewell mine [Page 97] owne sweet Sonne, God send you good keeping, let me once kisse you ere you goe, for God knoweth when we shall kisse to­gether againe, and therewith she kissed him, and blessed him, and turned her backe and wept, going her way, leaving the poore innocent childe weeping as fast as the Mother.

When the Cardinall and the other Lords had received the young Duke, they brought him into the Star-Chamber, where the Protector tooke him into his armes, and kissed him with these words; now welcome my Lord with all my very heart, and hee said in that of likeli­hood even as hee inwardly thought, and thereupon forth­with brought him to the King his Brother into the Bishops Palace at Pauls, and from thence through the Citie hono­rably into the Tower, out of [Page 98] which after that day they ne­ver came abroad. When the Protector had both the chil­dren in his possession, yea and that they were in a sure place, he then began to thirst to see the end of his enterprise. And to avoid all suspition, hee cau­sed all the Lords which hee knew to be faithfull to the King, to assemble at Baynards Castle, to commune of the or­der of the Coronation, while he and other of his complices and of his affinity, at Crosbies Place, contrived the contrary, and to make the Protectour King; to which Councell there were adhibited very few, and they very secret.

Then began here and there some muttering amongst the people, as though all things should not long be well, though they knew not what they fea­red, nor wherefore: were it, [Page 99] that before such great things, mens hearts (of a secret instinct of Nature) misgive them, as the South wind sometime swel­leth of it selfe before a Tem­pest: or were it that some one man haply somewhat percei­ving, filled many men with su­spition, though hee shewed few men what he knew: howbeit, the dealing it selfe made men to muse on the matter, though the Councel were close, for by little and litt [...]e all folke drew from the Tower where the King was, and drew to Crosbies Place, so that the Protector had all the resort, & the King was in man­ner desolate. While some made suit unto them that had the do­ing, some of them were by their friends secretly warned, that it might haply turn to no good to them, to be too much attendant on the King without the Pro­tectors appointment, which [Page 100] removed diverse of the kings old servants from him, and set new in their places about him.

Thus many thinges com­ming together, partly by chance, and partly by purpose, caused at length, not common people onely, which waver with the wind, but wise men also and some Lords to marke the matter and muse therupon: insomuch that the Lord Stan­ley, which afterward was Earle of Derby, wisely mistrusted it, and said to the Lord Hastings, that he much misliked these two severall Councels: for while we, quoth he, talke of one matter at the one place, little know we whereof they talke in the other: peace▪ my Lord, quoth the Lord Hastings; on my life, never doubt you, for while one man is there, which is never thence, neither can there bee a­ny [Page 101] thing once minded that should sound amisse towards me, but it should be in my eares as soone as out of their mouths. This hee meant by Catesby which was neere of his seeret counsell, and whom hee most familiarly used in his weighty matters, putting no man in so speciall trust as hee, reckoning himselfe to bee beloved of no man more then he; knowing well that there was no man so much beholding to him as was this Catesby, which was a man well learned in the lawes of this Realme, and by the speciall favour of the Lord Hastings in good authority, and bore much rule in the countries of Leicester & Northampton, where the Lord Hastings power lay. But surely great pittie was it that he had not more thruth or lesse wit, for his dissimulation onely, kept all that mischiefe [Page 102] up▪ in whom if the Lord Ha­stings had not put so speciall trust, the L. Stanley and he, with divers other Lords, had depar­ted into their countries and broken all the dance, for many evill signes that hee saw, which hee now constructed all for the best; so [...]urely thought he that there cou [...]d be no harme inten­ded towa [...]ds him in that coun­cill where Catesby was. And of t [...]uth the Protector and the Duke of Buckingham did seeme to shew very much countenance unto the Lord Hastings, and kept him often in their compa­ny. And undoubtedly the Pro­tector loved him well, and loth he was to have lost him, saving for feare lest his life should have quailed their purpose; for the which cause hee moved Catesby to prove with some words cast out afarre off, whe­ther hee could thinke it possible [Page 103] to winne the Lord Hastings to their part. But Catesby, whe­ther hee assayed him or assayed him not, reported unto him that hee found him so fast, and heard him speake so terrible words, that he durst no further breake unto him: and of a truth the Lord Hastings of very trust shewed unto Catesby the mistrust that others began to have in the matter. And there­fore he fearing least their moti­ons might with the Lord Ha­stings diminish his credit, whereunto onely all the matter leaned; procured the Protectour hastily to rid him, and much the rather, for he trusted by his death to obtaine much of the rule which the Lord Hastings bare in his countrey; the onely desire whereof, was the the thing that induced him to bee procurer, and one of the specia­lest contrivers of all this horri­ble [Page 104] treason. Whereupon the Lord Protector caused a Coun­cell to bee set at the Tower on the friday the thirteenth day Iune, where was much commu­ning for the honorable solem­nitie of the Coronation, of the which the time appointed ap­proached so neare, that the Pa­geants were a making day and night at Westminster, and vi­tailes killed, which afterwards was cast away.

These Lords thus sitting com­muning of this matter, the Pro­tector came in among them about nine of the clocke, salu­ting them curteously, excu­sing himselfe that hee had beene from them so long, say­ing merrily that he had beene a sleepe that day. And after a lit­tle talking with them, he said to the Bishop of Ely, my Lord, you have very good strawberies in your garden at Holbourne, I [Page 105] require you let us have a messe of them. Gladly (my Lord, quoth he) I would I had some better thing as ready at your pleasure as that, and with that in all hast he sent his servant for a dish of Strawberies. The Pro­tectour set the Lords fast on communing, and thereupon prayed them to spare him a lit­tle, and so he departed and came againe betweene ten and eleven of the clocke into the chamber, all changed with a sowre angry countenance, knitting the browes, frowning and fretting, gnawing of his lips and so set him downe in his place. All the Lords were dismayed, and sore marvelled at this manner and suddaine change, what hee should ayle. When he had sit­ten a while, thus hee began: What were they worthy to have, that compasse and imagine the destruction of mee being so [Page 106] neare of blood to the King and Protector of this his Royall Realme? At which question, all the Lords sate sore astonied, musing much by whom the question should bee meant, of which every man knew himself cleere.

Then the Lord Hastings, who for the familiarity that was be­tweene them, thought he might be boldest with him, answered and said, that they were wor­th [...]e to be punished as haynous traytors whatsoever they were, and all the other affirmed the same: that is (quoth he) yonder Sorceresse, my brothers wife, & others with her, meaning the Queene: at these words many of the Lords were sore abashed which favored her, but the Lord Hastings was better content in his minde, that it was moved by her, then by any other that hee loved better, albeit his heart [Page 107] grudged that hee was not afore made of the counsell of this matter, as well as hee was of the taking of her kindred, and of their putting to death, which were by his assent before devi­sed to be beheaded at Pomfrete, this self same day, in the which he was not aware that it was by others devised, that he him­selfe should the same day be be­headed at London: then said the Protectour, See in what wise that Sorceresse, and others of her councell, as Shores wife with her affinitie, have by their sorcery and witchcraft thus wasted my body: and therewith plucked up his doublet sleeve to his elbow on his left arme, where hee shewed a werish wi­thered arme, and small, as it was never other. And therefor eve­ry mans minde misgave them, well perceiving that this mat­ter was but a quarrell; for [Page 108] they knew that the Queene was both too wise to goe about any such folly, & also if she would, yet she would not make Shores wife of her counsell, whom of al women she most hated, as that concubine whom the King her husband most loved.

Also, there was no man there but knew that his arme was ever such since the day of his birth: Neverthelesse the Lord Hastings, which from the death of King Edward kept Shores wife, on whom he som­what doted in the Kings life, saving it is said that he forbare her for reverence towards his King, or else of a certaine kind of fidelity towards his friend; Yet now his heart somewhat grudged to have her whom hee loved so highly accused, and as he knew well, untruly; there­fore he answered and said, cer­tainely my Lord, if they have [Page 109] so done, they bee worthy of haynous punishment. What, quoth the Protectour, thou ser­vest mee, I thinke with if and with and, I tell thee they have done it, and that I will make it good on thy body, traytor. And therewith (as in a great anger) he strooke his fist on the boord a great rappe; at which token given, one cryed treason without the chamber, and ther­with a doore clapped, and men in armes came rushing in, as many as the chamber could hold. And anone the Protector said to the Lord Hastings, I a­rest thee Traytour: what me my Lord quoth he? yes thou Tray­tour, quoth the Protector. And one let fly at the Lord Stanley, who shrunke at the stroke, and fell under the Table, or else his head had been cleft to the teeth, for as suddenly as he shrunk; yet the blood ran about his eares. [Page 110] Then was the Archbishop of Yorke, and Doctour Morton Bishop of Ely, and the Lord Stanley and divers others ta­ken, and bestowed in severall chambers, save the Lord Ha­stings (whom the Protectour commanded to speede and shrive him apace) for by Saint Paul (quoth he) I will not dine till I see thy head off. It booted him not to aske why, but hea­vily hee tooke a Priest at aven­ture, and made a short shrift, for a longer would not be suffered, the Protectour made so much hast to his dinner, who might not goe to it till this murther were done, for saving of his un­gratious oath. So was hee brought forth into the greene besides the Chappell within the Tower, and his head layed downe on a logge of timber that lay there for building of the Chappell, and there ty­rannously [Page 111] stricken off; and af­ter his body and head were en­terred at Windsor by his Master King Edward the fourth, Late deceased.

A miraculous case it is to heare, either the warnings that he should have avoyded, or the tokens of that hee could not avoid. For the next night be­fore his death, the Lord Stanley sent to him a trusty messenger at midnight in all the haste, requi­ring him to rise and ride away with him, for hee was disposed utterly no longer for to abide, for he had a fearefull dreame in the which hee thought that a Bore with his tuskes so rased them both by the heads, that the blood ran about both their shoulders; and for asmuch as the Protectour gave the Bore for his cognisance, hee imagi­ned that it should be he. This dreame made such a fearefull [Page 112] impression in his heart, that he was throughly determined no longer to tarry, but had his horse ready, if the Lord Ha­stings would goe with him. So that they would ride so farre that night, that they should bee out of danger by the next day. A good Lord (quoth the Lord Hastings) to the messen­ger, leaneth my Lord thy Ma­ster so much to such trifles, and hath hee such faith in dreames, which either his owne feare fantasieth, or doe rise in the nights rest by reason of the daies thought? Tell him it is plaine witchcraft to beleeve in such dreames, which if they were tokens of things to come, why thinketh hee not that wee might as likely make them true by our going if we were caught and brought backe, (as friends flyers) for then had the bore a cause likely to rase us with his [Page 113] tuskes, as folkes that fled for some falshood: wherfore either there is perill, but indeed there is none, or if any be, it is rather in going then abiding. And if wee must needes fall into perill one way or other, yet had I rather that men should see it were by other mens falshood, then thinke it were either our owne fault or faint feeble heart, and therefore goe to thy Mai­ster and commend me to him, and tell him I pray him to bee merry and have no feare, for I assure him, I am assured of the man he wotteth of, as I am sure of mine owne hand. God send grace (quoth the messenger) and so departed. Certaine it is also, that in riding towards the Tower the same morning in which he was beheaded, his horse that hee accustomed to ride on, stumbled twice or thrice almost to the falling, [Page 114] which thing although it hap­peneth to them daily to whom no mischance is towards, yet hath it beene as an old evill to­ken observed as a going toward mischiefe. Now this that fol­loweth was no warning, but an envious scorne: the same mor­ning before he was up from his bed, where Shores wife lay with him all night, there came to him sir Thomas Haward son to the Lord Haward (which Lord was once of the priviest of the Lord Protectours counsell and doing) as it were of curte­sie to accompany him to the councell, but of truth sent by the Lord Protectour to hast him thitherward.

This sir Thomas, while the Lord Hastings stayed a while commoning with a Priest whō he met in Towerstreete, brake the Lords tale, saying to him merrily, what my Lord I pray [Page 115] you come on, wherefore talke you so long with that Priest, you have no neede of a Priest yet, and laughed upon him, as though he would say, you shall have neede of one soone: But little thought the other what hee meant (but before night these words were well remem­bred by them that heard them) so the true Lord Hastings little mistrusted, and was never meri­er, nor thought his life in more suretie in all his dayes, which thing is often a signe of change: but I shall rather let any thing passe mee then the vaine surety of mans minde so neere his death; for upon the very Tow­erwharfe, so neere the place where his head was off so soone after, as a man might cast a ball, a Pursievant of his owne called Hastings met with him; and of their meeting in that place hee was put in remembrance a­nother [Page 116] time, in which it happe­ned them to meete before toge­ther in the place, at which time the Lord Hastings had been ac­cused to King Edward by the Lord Rivers the Queenes bro­ther, insomuch that he was for a while, which lasted not long, highly in the Kings indignati­on, as hee now met the same Pursevant in the same place, the jeoperdie so well passed, it gave him great pleasure to talke with him thereof, with whom he had talked in the same place of that matter, and therefore he said; Ah Hastings, art thou re­membred when I met thee here once with a heavie heart? Yea my Lord (quoth he) that I re­member well, and thankes bee to God they got no good, nor you harme thereby; thou woul­dest say so (quoth hee) if thou knewest so much as I do, which few know yet, and more shall [Page 117] shortly, that meant he that the Earle Rivers, and the Lord Ri­chard, and Sir Thomas Vaughan, should that day be beheaded at Pomfret, as they were indeed, which act he knew well should be done, but thought not that the Axe hung so neere his owne head.

In faith man (quoth hee) I was never so sory, nor never stood in so great danger of my life, as I did when thou and I met here, and loe the world is turned now, now stand mine enemies in the danger, as thou maist hap to heare more here­after, and I never in my life merrier, nor never in so great surety. I pray God it prove so (quoth Hastings) prove, quoth he? doubtest thou that) nay, nay, I warrant thee; and so in manner displeased, hee entred into the Tower, where he was not long alive, as you have [Page 118] heard. O Lord God, the blind­nesse of our mortall nature, when he most feared, he was in most surety, and when he rec­koned himselfe most sure, hee lost his life, and that within two houres after. Thus ended this honourable man, a good Knight and gentle, of great au­thority with his Prince, of li­ving somewhat dissolute, plaine and open to his enemy, and sure and secret to his friend, easie to beguile, as hee that of good heart and courage fo [...] ­saw no perils, a loving man and passing well beloved, very faithfull, and trusty enough, bu [...] trusting too much was his de­struction, as you may per­ceive.

Now flew the fame of thi [...] Lords death through the City and farther about, like a win [...] in every mans eare; but th [...] Protector immediately afte [...] [Page 119] dinner (intending to set some colour upon the matter) sent in all the haste for many sub­stantiall men out of the City into the Tower, and at their comming, himselfe with the Duke of Buckingham, stood harnessed in old ill-favoured Briganders, such as no man would thinke that they would have vouchsafed to have put on their backes, except some so­daine necessity had constrained them. Then the Lord Prote­ctor shewed them, that the Lord Hastings and other of his conspiracie, had contrived to have suddenly destroyed him and the Duke of Buckingham there the same day in Councel, and what they intended far­ther, was yet not well known, of which their treason hee had never knowledge before ten of the clock the same forenoone, which sodaine feare drave them [Page 120] to put on such harnesse as came next to their hands for their defence, and so God holpe them, that the mischiefe tur­ned upon them that would have done it, and thus he requi­red them to report. Every man answered faire, as though no man mistrusted the matter, which of truth no man belee­ved. Yet for the further appea­sing of the peoples mindes, hee sent immediately after dinner an Herald of Armes with a Proclamation through the Ci­rie of London, which was pro­claimed in the Kings Name, that the Lord Hastings, with divers other of his trayterous purpose, had before conspired, the same day, to have slaine the Protector and the Duke of Buckingham, fitting in Coun­cell; and after to have taken upon them the rule of the King and the Realme at their plea­sure, [Page 121] and thereby to pill and spoile whom they list uncon­trouled, and much matter was devised in the same Proclama­tion to the slander of the Lord Hastings, as that he was an e­vill Councellor to the Kings Father, entising him to many things highly redounding to the diminishing of his honour, and to the universall hurt of his Realme, by his evill company, and sinister procuring, and un­gracious example, aswell in many other things, as in viti­ous living, and inordinate a­busing of his body, both with many other, and especially with Shores wife, which was one of his secret Councell in this heinous treason, with whom hee lay nightly, and namely the night passed next before his death, so that it was the lesse marvell, if ungracious living brought him to an un­happy [Page 122] end, which he was now put to by the command of the Kings Highnesse, and of his honorable and faithfull Coun­cell, both for his demerits, be­ing so openly taken in his false contrived treason, and also lest the delaying of his execution might have encouraged other mischievous persons partners of his conspiracie, to gather and assemble themselves toge­ther in making so great com­motion for his deliverance, whose hope now, being by his well deserved death politickly repressed, all the Realme shall by Gods grace rest in good quiet and peace.

Now was this proclamation made within two houres after hee was beheaded, and it was so curiously indited, and so faire written in Parchment in a faire set hand, and therwith so large a processe, that every child [Page 123] might perceive that it was pre­pared and studied before, and (as some men thought) by Ca­tesby, for all the time betweene his death and the publishing of the Proclamation could scarce have sufficed to the bare wri­ting of it alone, albeit that it had beene in paper, and scri­bled forth in hast at adventure. So that upon the proclaiming thereof, one that was schoole­master at Pauls standing by, and comparing the shortenesse of the time with the length of the matter, said to them that stood about him: here is a gay good­ly cast, fouly cast away for haste. And a Merchant that stood by him, said, that it was written by inspiration and prophesie. Now then by and by, as it were for anger, and not for covetousnesse the Protector sent Sir Thomas Howard to the house of Shores wife (for her [Page 124] Husband dwelt not with her) which spoyled her of all that ever she had, above the value of two or three thousand Markes, and sent her body to prison. And the Protector had laid to her for the manner sake, that shee was of Councell with the Lord Hastings to destroy him. In conclusion, when no colour could fasten upon these mat­ters, then he layed heinously to her charge that thing that shee could not deny, for all the world knew that it was true, and that notwithstanding every man laughed to heare it then so suddenly, so highly taken, that she was naught of her bo­dy. And for this cause, as a godly continent Prince, cleane and fau [...]tlesse of himselfe, sent out of Heaven into this vicious world, for the amendment of mens manners, hee caused the Bishop of London to put her to [Page 125] open penance, going before a crosse one Sunday at procession with a taper in her hand. In the which she went in countenance and pace so womanly, and al­beit she was out of all array sa­ving her kirtle onely, yet went shee so faire and lovely, and namely when the wondering of the people cast a comly red in her cheekes, of the which be­fore she had most misse, that her great shame woon her much praise amongst them that were more amorous of her body, thē curious of her soule: and many good folk that hated her living and were glad to see sinne cor­rected, yet pittied they more her penance then rejoyced at it; whē they considered that the Pro­tectour did it more of a corrupt minde then any vertuous af­fection.The dis­cription of Shores wife.

This woman was borne in London, well friended, honestly [Page 126] brought up, and very well mar­ried, saving somewhat too soon, her husband an honest and a young Citizen, godly and of good substance, but forasmuch as they were coupled before she was well ripe, shee not very fer­vently loved for whom shee ne­ver longed, which was the thing (by chance) that the more ea­sily made her to incline to the Kings appetite, when hee requi­red her. Howbeit the respect of his royaltie, the hope of gaine, apparrell, ease, pleasure, and o­ther wanton wealth was able soone to pierce a soft tender heart: but when the King had abused her, anon her husband being an honest man would not presume to touch a Kings con­cubine, but left her up to him altogether. When the King died, the Lord Hastings tooke her, which in the Kings dayes, albeit that he was sore enamo­red [Page 127] with her yet hee forbare, either for a princely re [...]erence, or for a certaine friendly faithfulnesse. Proper shee was and faire, nothing in her body that you could have changed, but if you would have wished her somewhat higher. This say they that knew her in her youth, some said and judged that she had beene well favored, and some judged the contrary, whose judgement seemeth like as men gesse the beauty of one long before departed, by a shape taken out of a charnell house, and this judgement was in the time of King Henry the eight, in the eighteenth yeare of whose reigne she dyed, when she had nothing but a rivelled skin & bone. Her beauty pleased not men so much as her plea­sant behaviour, for shee had a proper wit, and could both reade and write, merry in [Page 128] company, ready and quicke of answer, neither mute nor full of bable, sometimes taunting with­out displeasure, but not with­out disport. King Edward would say he had three concubines, which in divers proper­ties diversly excelled, one the merriest the other the wi [...]est the third the holiest harlot in the Realme, as one, whom no man could get out of the Church to any place lightly,The dis­cription of King Edwards three Concu­bines. unlesse it were to his bed, the other two were somewhat greater personages then Mistris Shore, and yet ne­verthelesse of their humilitie were content to bee namelesse, and to forbeare the praise of these properties. But the merri­est was Shores wife, in whom the King therefore tooke great pleasure, for many he had, but her hee loved, whose favour to say the truth (for it were sinne to belie the devill) she never ab­used [Page 129] to any mans hurt, but to many mens comfort and reliefe. For where the King tooke dis­pleasure, shee would mitigate and appease his minde, where men were out of favour, shee would bring them into his grace, for many that had high­ly offended, shee obtained par­don, and of great forfeitures she gate remission, and finally in many weighty suites shee stood many men in great stead, either for none or for very small re­ward: and those rather gay then rich, either that shee was content with the deede well done, or for that shee delighted to bee sued unto, and to shew what shee was able to doe with the King, or for that that wan­ton women and wealthy be not alwaies covetous. I doubt not some men will thinke this wo­man to be too slight to be writ­ten of among grave and weigh­ty [Page 130] matters, which they shall specially thinke that happily saw her in her age and adversi­ty, but we thinke the chance so much more worthy to bee re­membred, in how much after wealth she fell to poverty, and from riches to beggery, un­friended, out of acquaintance, after great substance, after so great favour with her Prince, after as great suite and seeking to with all those which in those dayes had businesse to speed, as many other men were in their times, which bee now famous only by the infamy of their e­vill deedes, her doings were not much lesse, albeit they be much lesse remembred, because they were not evill, for men use to write an evill turne in marble stone, but a good turne in the dust; which is not worst pro­ved by her, for after her wealth she went begging of many that [Page 131] had begged themselves if shee had not hope them, such was her chance.

Now was it devised by the Protectour and his Councell, that the same day that the Lord Chamberlain was headed in the Tower of London, and about the same houre, should be beheaded at Pomfret the Earle Rivers, and the Lord Richard the Queenes sonne, sir Thomas Vaughan, and sir Richard Haute, which as you heard were taken at Northamp­ton and Stony stratford by the consent of the Lord Hastings; which execution was done by the order and in the presence of sir Richard Ratclif knight, whose service the Protectour specially used in the Councell, and in the execution of such lawlesse enterprises, as a man that had beene long secret with him, having experience of the world, a notable wit, short [Page 132] and rude in speech, rough and boysterous of behaviour, bold in mischiefe, and as farre from pittie as from all feare of God.

This Knight brought these foure persons to the Scaffold at the day appointed, and shewed to all the people that they were Traitours, not suffering the Lords to speake, and to de­clare their innocency, lest their words might have inclined men to pitty them▪ and to hate the Protectour and his part, and so without judgement and pro­cesse of the Law caused them to bee beheaded without other earthly guilt, but onely they were good men, and true to the King, & too nie to the Queene; insomuch that sir Thomas Vaughan going to his death said; A mischeife take them that tooke the prophesie that G. should destroy King Edwards children, for George Duke of [Page 133] Clarence, Lord George, which for that suspition is now dead, but now remaineth Richard G. Duke of Gloucester, which now I see is he that shall and will ac­complish the Prophesie, and de­stroy King Edwards children, and all their allies and friends, as it appeareth by us this day; whom I appeale to the high tri­bunall of God for his wrong­full murther, and our true inno­cency. And then Ratclife said, you have well appealed, lay downe your head, yea quoth sir Thomas, I dye in right, be­ware you dye not in wrong, and so that good Knight was beheaded, and the other three, and buried naked in the Mona­sterie at Pomfret.

When the Lord Hastings and those other Lords and Knights were thus beheaded and rid out of the way, then the Protectour caused it to bee pro­clamed [Page 134] that the Coronation for divers great and urgent causes should bee deferred till the second day of November, for then thought he, that while men mused what the matter meant, and whiles the Lords of the Realme were about him, out of their owne strengths, and while no man knew what to thinke, nor whom to trust, or whether they should have time or space to digest the matter, and make parts; it were best hastily to pursue his purpose, and put himselfe in possession of the Crowne, before men could have time to devise any waies to resist. But now was all the stu­die, how this matter, being of it selfe so haynous, might be first broken to the people in such wise as it might bee well taken.

To this councell they tooke divers, such as they thought [Page 135] meet to be trusted, and likely to be induced to that part, and a­ble to stand them in stead, either by power or by policie. A­mong whom, they made of Councell Edmond Shaw then Mayor of London, which upon trust of his owne advancement, where he was of a proud heart, highly desirous, tooke upon him to frame the Citty to their appetite. Of Spirituall men they tooke such as had wit, and were in authority amongst the people for opinion of their learning, and had no scrupulus conscience. Amongst these had, they tooke Ralph Shaw clearke, brother to the Mayor, and Frier Pinkie, provinciall of the Augustine Friers, both Doctors in Divinity, both great Preach­ers, both of more learning then vertue, of more fame then lear­ning and yet of more learning then truth. For they were be­fore [Page 136] greatly esteemed among the people, but after that, never none of those two were regar­ded. Shaw made a Sermon in praise of the Protectour before the Coronation, and Pynkie made one after the Cornation, both so full of tedious flattery, that no good mans eares could abide them: Pynkie in his Ser­mon so lost his vocye, that hee was faine to leave off and come downe in the midst: Doctor Shaw by his Sermon lost his honesty, and soone after his life, for very shame of the world, in­to the which he durst never af­ter much come abroad: but the Frier feared no shame, and so it harmed him the lesse. How­beit, some doubt, and many thinke, that Pynkie was not of Councell before the Coronati­on, but after the common man­ner fell to flattery after; name­ly, because his Sermon was not [Page 137] incontinent upon it, but at S. Mary Spitle the Easter after. But certaine it is, that Doctor Shaw was of Councell in the beginning, in so much that they determined that hee should first breake the matter in a Sermon at Paules Crosse, in which hee should by the authority of his Preaching induce the people to encline to the Protectors ghost­ly purpose. But now was all the labour and study in the de­vice of some convenient pre­text, for which the people should be content to depose the Prince, and accept the Pro­tectour for their King. In which deuers, things they devi­sed, but the cheife thing, and the weight of all that invention rested in this; that they should alledge bastardy in King Ed­ward himselfe, or in his chil­dren, or both; so that he should seeme disabled to inherite the [Page 138] Crowne by the Duke of Yorke, and the Prince by him. To lay bastardy in King Edward sounded openly to the rebuk of the Protectours owne mother, which was mother to them both. For in that point could be no other colour, but to pre­tend that his owne mother was an Adultresse; but neverthelesse he would that point should bee lesse and more finely and close­ly handled, not even fully plaine and directly, but touched upon craftily, as though men spared in that point to speake all the truth for feare of his displea­sure. But that other point con­cerning the bastardy they de­vised to surmise in King Ed­ward his Children, that hee desired should be openly decla­red and enforced to the utter­most. The colour and pretext whereof cannot be well percei­ved, except wee repeate some [Page 139] things long before done about King Edwards Marriages.

After King Edward the fourth had deposed King Henry the sixt, and was in peaceable pos­session of the Realme; hee de­termined with himselfe to mar­ry (as was requisite) both for himselfe and for the Realme: he sent the Earle of Warwick and divers other noble men in am­bassage to the French King, to entreate a marriage betweene the King and Bona, sister to the French Queene, then being in France. In which thing the Earle of Warwick found the parties so toward and willing, that hee speedily without any difficultie according to his in­structions brought the matter to a good conclusion. Now happeneth it in the meane sea­son, there came to make a sute to the King by Petition; Dame Elizabeth Gray, (which after [Page 140] was his Queene) then a wid­dow, borne of noble blood, specially by her mother, which was Dutches of Bedford, and she was married to sir Richard Woodvile, Lord Rivers, her Fa­ther.

Howbeit, this Elizabeth be­ing in service with Queene Margaret wife to King Henry the sixt, was married to one Iohn Grey Esquier, whom King Henry made Knight at the last battell of Saint Albons, but little while hee enjoyed his knighthood, for at the same field he was slaine.

After when King Edward was King, and the Earle of War­wicke beeing on his Embassage, this poore Lady made her sute to the King to bee restored to such small lands as her husband had given her in joynture; whō when the King beheld, and heard her speak, as she was both [Page 141] faire and of good favour, mo­derate of stature, well made, and very wise; he not alone pitch­ed on her, but also waxed en­amored on her, and taking her secretly aside, began to enter in­to talking more familiarly, whose appetite when shee per­ceived, shee vertuously denyed him, but that shee did so wisely, and that with so good manner, and words so well set, that shee rather kindled his desire then quenched it. And finally, after many a meeting & much woo­ing, and many great promises, she well perceived the Kings af­fection towards her so greatly increased, that shee durst some­what the more boldly say her minde, as to him whose heart she perceived more fervently set then to fall off for a word. And in conclusion shee shewed him plaine, that as shee thought her selfe too simple to bee his wife, [Page 142] so shee thought her selfe too good to be his concubine. The King much marvelling at her constancy, as hee that had not beene before elswhere so stiffely said nay, so much esteemed her continency and chastity, that he set her vertue in stead of pos­session and riches: And thus taking counsell of his owne de­sire, determined in haste to mar­ry her.

And after that hee was thus appointed, and had betw [...]ene them twaine assured her, then asked he counsell of his secret friends, and that in such man­ner, that they might easily per­ceive that it booted them not to say nay. Notwithstanding, the Dutches of York his mother was so sore moved therewith, that she disswaded that marri­age as much as shee possible might: alleaging that it was his honour, profit, and surety, [Page 143] to marry in some noble proge­ny out of his Realme, where­upon depended great strength to his estate by that affinity, and great possibility of increase of his dominions. And that hee could not well otherwise doe, considering the Earle of War­wicke had so farforth entred into the matter already, which was not like to take it well if all his voyage were in such wise frustrate, and his appointment deluded. And she said further, that it was not Princely to marry his owne Subject, no greater occasion leading there unto; no possessions nor o­ther commoditie depending thereupon, but onely as a rich man would marry his maiden onely for a little wanton do­tage upon her person. In which marriage many men commend more the maidens fortune then the mans wise­dome: [Page 144] and yet shee said that there was more honesty, then honour in this marriage; for asmuch as there is not betweene a Merchant and his maide so great a difference, as betweene a King and his Subject, a great Prince and a poore widdow. In whose person, although there were nothing to bee mis­liked, yet was there, said shee, nothing so excellent, but that it might bee found in divers other that were more mee (quoth she) for your estate, yea and maidens also, the onely widowhood of Dame Eliza­beth Grey (although she were in all other points and things convenient for you) should suf­fice, as I th [...]nke, to refraine you from her marriage, since it is an unfitting thing, and a great blemish to the sacred Majesty of a Prince, that ought as neere to approach priesthood in [Page 135] cleannesse, as he doth in digni­ty, to be defiled with bigamy in his first marriage. The King made his Mother an answer, part in earnest, and part in play merrily, as hee that knew him­selfe out of her rule: and al­beit he would gladly that shee should take it well, yet was hee at a point in his owne minde, tooke shee it well or otherwise. Howbeit, somewhat to satisfie her, hee said, that albeit mar­riage being a spirituall thing, ought rather to be made for the respect of God; where his grace inclineth, the parties ought to incline to love together (as he trusted it was in his case) ra­ther then for the regard of any temporall advantage: yet ne­verthelesse he deemed this mar­riage well considered not to be unprofitable, for hee reckoned the amity of no earthly Nation to be so necessary for him, as [Page 136] the friendship of his owne, which hee thought likely to beare him so much the more hearty favour, in that hee dis­dained not to marry with one of his owne Land: and yet if outward alliance were thought so requisite, he would finde the meanes to enter thereunto much better by other of his kin, where all parties could be contented, then to marry himselfe, wherein hee should never haply love, and for the possibility of possessions lose the fruit and pleasure of this that he had already. For small pleasure taketh a man of all that ever he hath beside▪ if hee be wived against his appetite, and I doubt not (quoth he) but there be, as you say, others that be in every point compa­rable with her; and therefore I let not them that like them to marry them, no more is it [Page 137] reason that it mislike any man that I marry where it liketh me. And I am sure, that my Cousin of Warwicke, neither loveth me so little, to grudge at that that I love, nor is so un­reasonable, to looke that I should in choice of a wife ra­ther be ruled by his eye then by mine owne, as though I were a ward that were bound to marry by the appointment of a Guardian. I would not be a King with that condition, to forbeare mine owne liberty in choice of mine owne marriage. As for possibility of more inhe­ritance by new affinity in strange Lands, is oft the occasi­on of more trouble then pro­fit. And wee have already title by that meanes, as sufficeth to so much as sufficeth to get and keepe well in one mans dayes. That she is a widdow and hath already children: By God his [Page 138] blessed Lady, I am a Batchelor and have some too, and so each of us hath a proofe, that nei­ther of us is like to be barren. And therefore, Madame, I pray you be content, I trust to God she shall bring forth a young Prince that shall please you. And as for the bigamy, let the Bishop hardly lay it to my charge when I come to take orders, for I understand it is forbidden a Priest, but I never knew that it was forbidden a Prince.

The Dutchesse with these words nothing appeased, and seeing the King so set on, that she could not pluck him backe, so highly she disdained it, that, under pretence of her duty to­ward God▪ shee devised to di­sturbe this marriage, and ra­ther to helpe, that hee should marry one Dame Elizabeth Lu­cie, whom the King not long [Page 139] before had gotten with childe; wherefore the Kings Mother objected openly against this marriage (as it were in dis­charge of her conscience) that the King was sure to Dame E­lizabeth Lucy, and her husband before God, by reason of which words such obstacle was made in that matter, that either the Bishop durst not, or the King would not proceed to the so­lemnization of the marriage, till his fame were cleerely pur­ged, and the truth well and openly testified. Whereupon Dame Elizabeth Lucy was sent for, and albeit shee was by the Kings Mother and many other put in good cōfort that she was ensured to the King, yet when she was solemnly sworne to say the truth, she confessed she was never ensured. Howbeit, shee said, his Grace spake such lo­ving words to her, that shee ve­rily [Page 140] hoped, that he would have married her, and if such kinde words had not been, she would never have shewed such kinde­nesse to him, to let him so kind­ly get her with child. This ex­amination solemnely taken, it was cleerely proved, that there was no impediment to let the King to marry; wherefore, he shortly after at Grafton beside Stony Stratford married the La­dy Elizabeth Grey very privi­ly, which was his enemies wife, and had prayed heartily for his losse, in the which God lo­ved her better, then to grant her her boon, for then had shee not been his wife: And after that shee was crowned Queene, and her father was created Earle Rivers, and her sonne created Marquesse Dorset. But when the Earle of Warwicke understood of this marriage, he took it so highly, that there­of [Page 141] ensued much blood-shed, as is declared before in the Story of Edward the fourth.

I have rehearsed this mar­riage somewhat the more at length, because it might there­by the better appeare upon how slippery a ground the Pro­tector builded his colour, by which he pretended King Ed­wards children to be Bastards: but the invention, as simple as it was, liked them to whom it sufficeth to have somewhat to say, while they were sure to bee compelled to no larger proofe then themselves list to make.

Now to returne where I left, 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 [Page 142] were lawfully begotten, nor were the very children of the Duke of Yorke, but begot­ten unlawfully by other per­sons by adultery of the Dut­chesse their Mother. And Dame Elizabeth Lucy was the very wife of King Edward, and so Prince Edward and all the children begotten on the Queen were Bastards. And accor­ding to this device, Doctor Shaw the Sunday after, at Paules Crosse, in a great audi­ence (as alwayes a great num­ber assembled to his preaching) came into the Pulpit, taking for his Theme, Spuria vitula­mina non dabunt radices altos, Sapien. 4. that is to say, Ba­stard slippes shall never take deepe rootes: Whereupon when he had shewed the great grace that God giveth, and se­cretly infundeth in right ge­neration after the Lawes of [Page 143] Matrimony, then declared hee, that those children commonly lacked that grace and (for the punishment of their parents) were for the most part unhap­py, which were ilegitimate, and especially in adultery, of which though some (by the ignorance of the world, and truth hid from knowledge) have inherited for a season other mens Lands, yet God al­wayes so provideth, that it continueth not in their bloud long, but the truth comming to light, the rightfull inheri­tors be restored and the bastard slippes plucked up ere it can be rooted deepe. And when hee had layed for the proofe and confirmation of this sentence, examples taken out of the old and new Testament and other ancient Histories, then began he to descend to the praise of the Lord Richard Duke of Yorke, [Page 144] calling him father to the Pro­tector, and declared his Title to the Crowne by inheritance, and also by entai [...]e authorised by Parliament after the death of King Henry the sixth. Then shewed he, that the Lord Pro­tector was only the right heire of his body lawfully begotten. Then declared hee, that King Edward was never lawfully married to the Queene, but his wife before God, was Dame Elizabeth Lucy, and so his children were Bastards. And besides that, that neither King Edward himselfe, nor the Duke of Clarence (amongst them that were secret in the Duke of Yorkes houshold) were never reckoned surely to be the chil­dren of the Noble Duke, as those that by their favours more resembled other knowne men, then him; from whose vertuous conditions, hee said [Page 145] also, that King Edward was farre off. But the Lord Pro­tector (quoth hee) that very Noble Prince, the speciall Pa­tron of Knightly Prowesse, as well in all Princely behavior, as in the lineaments and favour of his visage, representeth the very face of the Noble Duke his Father. This is (quoth he) the Fathers owne figure, this is his owne countenance, the very print of his visage, the sure un­doubted image, the plaine ex­presse likenesse of that Noble Duke.

Now was it before devised, that in the speaking of these words, the Protector should have come in amongst the peo­ple to the Sermon, to the end, that these words so meeting with his presence, might have beene taken amongst the hea­rers, as though the Holy Ghost had put them in the Preachers [Page 146] mouth, and should have moved the people even there to have cryed, King Richard, that it might have been after said, that he was specialy chosen by God, and in manner by miracle: but this device quailed, either by the Protectors negligence, or the Preachers over-hasty diligence. For while the Protector, found by the way tarrying, lest he should have prevented these words, the Doctor fearing, that he should come ere his Sermon could come to those words, hasting his matter thereto, he was come to them and past them, and entred into other matters ere the Protector came, whom when hee beheld com­ming, hee left the matter in hand, and out of all order, and out of all frame, began to repeat those words againe: This is the very Noble Prince, the especiall Patrone [Page 147] of Knightly prowesse, which aswell in all Princely behavi­viour, as in the lineaments and favour of his visage, represen­teth the very face of the Noble Duke of York his father. This is his Fathers owne figure, this is his owne countenance, the very print of his visage, the sure un­doubted image, the plaine ex­presse likenesse of that Noble Duke, whose remembrance can never dye while hee liveth: While these words were spea­king, the Protector accompa­nied with the Duke of Buck­ingham, went through the peo­ple up into the place where the Doctors stand, where they heard out the Sermon: but the people were so farre from cry­ing King Richard, that they stood as they had beene turned into stones for wonder of this shamefull Sermon: after which once ended, the Preacher gat [Page 148] him home and never after durst looke out for shame, but kept him out of sight as an owle, and when hee asked any of his old friends, what the people talked of him, although that his owne conscience will shew him that they talked no good, yet when the other answered him, that there was in every mans mouth of him much shame spoken, it so strooke him to the heart, that in few dayes after hee withered away.

Then on the Tuesday after, next following this Sermon, being the seventeenth day of Iune, there came to Guild Hall London, the Duke of Bucking­ham, and divers Lords and Knights, more then happily knew the message that they brought. And at the East end of the Hall where the Hoystings be kept, the Duke and the Ma­jor and the other Lords sate [Page 149] downe, and the Aldermen also, all the commons of the Citty being assembled and standing before them. After silence com­manded upon a great paine in the Protectours name: The Duke stood up, and as hee was well learned and of nature mar­velously well spoken, he said to the people with a cleare and a loud voyce: Friends, for the the zeale and hearty favour that we bare you, we bee come to breake off a matter right great and weightie, and no lesse weightie then pleasing to God, and profitable to the Realme, nor to no part of the Realme more profitable, then to you the Citizens of this noble Citie. For why, the thing that you have long lacked, and as we well know, sore longed for, that you would have gone farre to fetch: that thing we be come hither to bring you, without your la­bour, [Page 150] paine, cost, adventure, or danger. What thing is that? Certainely the surety of your owne bodies, the quiet of your wives and daughters, and the safegard of your wives and daughters, and the safegard of your goods: Of all which things in times past you stood in doubt. For who was hee of you all that could reckon him­selfe Lord of his owne goods, amongst so many gynnes and trappes as were set for them, a­mong so much pilling and pol­ling, among so many taxes and talliages, of the which there was never end, and often times no neede, or if any were, it grew rather of riot, or of unreasona­ble wast, then any necessary ho­norable cha [...]ge, so that there was daily plucked and pilled from good and honest men great substance of goods, to bee lashed out among unthrifts, so [Page 151] farre forth that fifteenes sufficed not, nor any usuall termes of knowne taxes, but under an ea­sie name of benevolence and good will, the commissioners tooke so much of every man, as no man would with his good will have given. As though the name of benevolence had sig­nified, that every man should pay, not what he of himselfe of his good will list to grant, but what the King of his good will list to take, who never asked lit­tle, but every thing was haun­sed above the measure, amerce­ments turned into fines, fines in­to treason, where I thinke that no man looketh that wee shall remember you of examples by name, as though Burdet were forgotten, which was, for a word spoken, in haste cruelly beheaded. (This Burdet was a Merchant dwelling in Cheape­side at the signe of the Crowne, [Page 152] which now is the signe of the Flower-de-luce over against Soper-lane: This man merily in the ruffling time of King Ed­ward the fourths raigne, said to his owne sonne, that hee would make him inheritor of the Crowne, meaning his owne house: but these words King Edward made to be misconstru­ed, and interpreted that Burdet meant the Crowne of the Realme: wherfore within lesse space then foure houres, he was apprehended, judged, drawne and quartered in Cheapeside, by the misconstruing of the lawes of the Realme for the Princes pleasure; with no lesse honour to Markam chiefe Justice then, which lost his office rathen then hee would assent to that judge­ment.

What neede I to speake of sir Thomas Cooke, Alderman and Mayor of this noble Cittie? [Page 153] who is of you either for negli­gence that wotteth not, or so forgetfull that hee remembreth not, or so hard-hearted that he pittieth not that worshipfull mans losse? what speake I of losse, his wonderfull spoyle and undeserved destruction, onely because it happened him to fa­vour them whom the Prince fa­vored not. We need not rehearse of these any more by name, sith I doubt not that here be many present, that either in themselves or their nigh friends, aswell their goods as their persons, were greatly endangered either by fained quarrells or small matters aggravated with hai­nous names, and also there was no crime so great, of which there could lacke a pretext. For sith the King preventing the time of his inheritance, attained the Crowne by battell, it suffi­ced in a rich man for a pretext [Page 154] of treason, to have beene of kin­red or aliance, neere of familia­ritie, or longer of acquaintance with any of those, that were at any time the Kings enemies, which was at one time or ano­ther more then halfe the Realm. Thus were neither your goods nor lands in sure­ty, and yet they brought your bodies in jeopardie, besides the common adventure of open warre; which albeit, that it is ever the will and occasion of much mischiefe, yet it is never so mischievous, as where any people fall in division [...] distance among the [...]selves and in no Realme earthly so deadly and so pes [...]ilent, as when it hap­peneth amongst us. And among us never contiued so long dis­sention, nor so many battels in any season, nor so cruell nor so deadly fought as were in the Kings daies that is dead. In [Page 155] whose time and by whose occa­sion, what about the getting of the Garland, keeping it, leesing and winning it againe, it hath cost more English blood then hath the twice winning of France. In which inward war amongst our selves hath beene so great effusion of the ancient noble blood of this Realme, that scarcely the halfe remai­neth, to the great enfeebling of this noble land; besides many a good towne ransaked and spoyled by them that have been going to the field, or returning from thence, and peace after, not much surer then warre. So that no time was there in the which rich men for their mo­ney, and great men for their lands, or some other for some feare or for some displeasure were out of perill. For whom trusted hee that mistrusted his owne brother? Whom spared [Page 156] hee that killed his owne Bro­ther? Could not such manner of folke that he most favoured doe somewhat (wee shall for his honour spare to speake) howbeit, this you know well all, that whoso was best, bare ever the least rule, and more suite in his dayes was to Shores wife, a vile and abominable strumpet, then to all the Lords in England, except unto those that made her their Protector, which simple woman was yet well named and honest, till the King for his wanton lust and sinfull affection bereft her of her Husband, a right honest man and substantiall amongst you. And in that point, which in good faith I am sory to speake of, saving that it is vaine to keepe in Counsell that thing that all men knowe, the Kings greedy appetite was insatiable, and every where [Page 157] over all the Realme intolera­ble. For no woman was there any where, young or old, poor or rich, whom he set his eye upon, whom hee any thing li­ked, either for person or beau­ty, speech, pace or counte­nance, but without any feare of God, or respect of his Honour, murmure, or grudging of the world, hee would importunately pursue his appetite and have her, to the great destruction of many a good woman, and great do­lour to their husbands and friends, which being honest people of themselves, so much regarded the cleannesse of their houses, the chastity of their wives and children, that they had rather lose all that they had besides, then to have such a villany done to them.

And albeit, that with this and other importable dealing, [Page 158] the Realme was in every place annoyed, yet specially you the Citizens of this Nobility, as for that amongst you is most plenty of such things as mini­ster matter to such injuries, as for that you were neerest hand, sith that neere here about was his most common abiding. And yet be yee a people whom he had as singular a cause well and truly to intreat, as any part of his Realme: not onely for that the Prince by this No­ble Citie, as of his speciall Chamber and renouned Citie of this Realme, receiveth much honourable fame amongst all other Nations, but also for that, you not without your great cost and sundry favours and dangers in all his warres, bare ever your especiall favour to his part: which your kinde mindes borne to the house of Yorke, sith hee hath nothing [Page 159] worthily requirid you, there is of the house now which by Gods grace shall make you full recompence, which thing to shew you, is the whole summe and effect of our arrand. It shall not neede I hope, to re­hearse unto you againe that you have already heard of him that can better tell it, and of whom I am sure ye will better beleeve it, (and reason it is that it should bee so) I am not so proud to looke therefore that you should receive my words of so great authority as the Preachers of the word of God, namely a man so cunning and so wise, that no man knoweth better what hee should doe and say, and thereto so good and vertuous that he would not say the thing, which hee ought not to say in the pulpit, namely, into the which no honest man commeth to lie: which hono­rable [Page 160] preacher, ye well remem­ber, substantially declared to you at Paules Crosse on Sun­day last past, the right and title of the most excellent Prince Richard Duke of Gloucester, now Protector of this his Realme, which he hath unto the Crowne of the Kingdome of the same. For that worshipfull man made it perfectly and groundedly open unto you. The children of King Edward the fourth were never lawfully begotten, for as much as the King (leaving his very wife Dame Elizabeth Lucy) was ne­ver lawfully married to the Queene their mother, whose blood, saving hee set his volup­tuous pleasure before his ho­nour, was full unmeetly to bee matched with his (the ming­ling of which two bloods toge­ther, hath beene the effusion of a great part of the noble [Page 161] blood of this Realme) whereby it may well be seene, that mar­riage was not well made, of which there is so much mis­chiefe growne. For lacke of which lawfull copulation, and also of other things which the said worshipfull Doctor, ra­ther signified then fully explai­ned, and which thing shall not be spoken for me, as the thing that every man forbeareth to say that hee knoweth, in a­voiding the displeasure that my noble Lord Protector, bearing, as nature requireth a filiall reve­rence to the Dutches his Mo­ther. For these causes before remembred, I say that for lacke of issue lawfully comming of the late noble Prince Richard Duke of Yorke, to whose Royall blood the Crownes of England and of France, are by the high authority of a parliament en­tailed, the right and title of the [Page 162] same is by just course of inheri­tance according to the com­mon law of this land, devol­ved and come unto the most ex­cellent Prince the Lord Pro­tector, as to the very lawfull begotten sonne of the fore-re­membred noble Duke of Yorke. Which thing well considered, and the knightly prowesse with many vertues which in his no­ble person singularly doe a­bound; The Nobles and Com­mons of this Realme, and specially of the North parts, not willing any bastard blood to have the rule of the land, nor theabuses in the same before used and exercised any longer to continue, have fully condescended and utterly determined to make humble petition unto the puisant Prince the Lord Protector, that it may like his grace at our humble request, to take upon [Page 163] him the guiding & government of this Realme, to the wealth and increase of the same, accor­ding to his very right and just title; which thing, I know well hee will bee loth to take upon him, as he whose wisedome well perceiveth, the labour and stu­dy both of mind and body that shall come therewith to him, whosoever shall occupy that rome. I dare say he will, if he take it (for I warrant you that that roome is no childes office) and that the great wise man well perceived when he said Vae regno, cujus Rex puer est, woe to that Realme whose King is a child; wherefore so much the more cause have we to thanke God, that this noble personage which is so righteously entitu­led thereto, is of so solid age▪ and thereto of so great wise­dome, joyned with so great ex­perience, which albeit, he will [Page 164] bee loth as I have said, to take upon him, yet shall hee to our petition in that behalfe the more graciously inclin if ye the worshipfull Citizens of this Cittie, being the cheife cittie of the Realme, joyne with us the nobles in our said request, which for your owne weale we doubt not but that ye will. And yet neverthelesse, wee pray yo [...] so to doe, whereby ye shall doe great profit to all this his Realme: Beside that, in choo­sing them so good a King, it shall bee to your selfe a speciall commoditie, to whom his Ma­jestie shall ever after beare so much the more tender favour, in how much hee shall perceive you the more prone and bene­volently minded towards his election: wherein deare friends, what minde ye have we require you plainely to shew us: When the Duke had said, and looked [Page 165] that the people whom he ho­ped that the Mayor had framed before, should after this flatte­ring proposition made, have cried King Richard, King Ri­chard, all was still and mute, and not one word answered unto: wherewith the Duke was mar­vellously abashed, and taking the Major neere to him, with o­ther that were about him privie to the matter, said unto them softly; What meaneth this, that the people be so still? Sir, quoth the Major, perhaps they perceive you not well; that shall we amend, quoth he, if that will helpe, and therewith some­what lowder rehearsed the same matter againe, in other and o­ther words, so well and order­ly, and neverthelesse so evident­ly and plaine, with voice, ge­sture, and countenance so come­ly and so convenient, that every man much marvelled that [Page 166] heard him, and thought that they never heard in their lives so evill a tale so well told. But were it for 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 were as still as the midnight, not so much as whispering among them, by which they might seeme once to commune what was best to doe. When the Major saw this, hee with other partners of the Councell, drew about the Duke and said, that the people had not beene accustomed there to be spoken unto, but by the Re­corder, which is the mouth the Citie, and happily to him they will answer. With that the Re­corder, called Thomas Fitz-Wil­liam, a solid man and an ho­nest, which was but newly come to the office, and never had spoken to the people be­fore, [Page 167] and loth hee was with that matter to beginne, not­withstanding, being thereunto commanded by the Major, made a rehearsall to the com­mons of that which the Duke had twice proposed himselfe; but the Recorder so tempered his tale, that hee shewed every thing as the Dukes words were, and no part of his owne, but all this made no change in the people, which all as one stood as they had beene amased. Whereupō, the Duke whispered with the Major, and said, this is a marvellous obstinate silence, and therewith turned to the people againe with these words: Deare friends, wee come to move you to that thing which peradventure wee greatly needed not, but that the Lords of this Realme, and com­mons of other parts might have sufficed, saving such love wee [Page 168] beare you, and so much set by you, that we would not gladly doe without you, that thing in which to bee partners is your weale and honour, which as to us seemeth you see not, or weigh not: Wherefore wee require you to give us an answer, one or other, whether ye be minded, as all the Nobles of the Realme be▪ to have this Noble Prince now Protector to be your King? And at these words the people began to whisper among themselves secretly, that the voyce was nei­ther lowd nor base, but like a swarme of bees till at the last at the nether end of the hall a company of the Dukes servants and one Nashfield, & others belong­ing to the Protector, with some prentises and lads that thrusted themselves into the hall a­mongst the preasse, began so­dainely at mens backes to cry out as loude as they could, King [Page 169] Richard, King Richard; and there threw up their cappes in token of joy, and they that stood before cast backe their heads marvelling thereat, but nothing they said. And when the Duke and the Major saw this manner, they wisely tur­ned it to their purpose, and said it was a goodly cry and a joyful, to heare every man with one voyce, and no man saying nay. Wherefore friends (quoth the Duke,) sith wee perceive that it is all your whole mindes to have this noble man for your King, whereof wee shall make his grace so effectuall re­port that we doubt not but that it shall redound to your great wealth and commoditie. Wee therefore require you, that to morrow ye goe with us, and we with you to his Noble Grace to make our humble Petition and request to him in manner be­fore [Page 170] remmebred. And therwith the Lords came downe, and the company dissolved and depar­ted, the most part all sad, some with glad semblance that were not very merry, and some of them that came with the Duke, not able to dissemble their sor­row, were faine even at his back to turne their face to the wall, while the dolour of their hearts brast out of their eyes.

Then on the morrow the Major and Aldermen, and chiefe commanders of the Cit­tie in their best manner aparel­led, assembling them together at Pauls, resorted to Baynards Castle where the Protector lay, to which place also according to the appointment repaired the Duke of Bu [...]kingham, and divers nobles with him, besides many Knights and Gentlemen. And thereupon the Duke sent word to the Lord Protector of [Page 171] the being thereof a great hono­rable company to move a great matter to his Grace. Wherupon the Protector made great dif­ficultie to come downe to them, except hee knew some part of their errand, as though hee doubted, and partly mistrusted the company of such a number to him so suddenly, without a­ny warning or knowledge, whether they came for good or harme. Then when the Duke had shewed this to the Major and others, that they might thereby see how little the Pro­tector looked for this matter; they sent againe by the messen­ger, such loving message, and therewith so humbly besought him to vouchsafe that they might resort to his presence to propose their intent, of which they would to no other person disclose any part; At the last hee came out of his chamber, [Page 172] and yet not downe to them, but in a galery over them, with a Bishop on each hand of him, where they beneath might see him and speake to him, as though he would not yet come neere them, till hee knew what they meant. And thereupon, the Duke of Buckingham first made humble petition to him on the behalfe of them all, that his grace would pardon them, and licence them to shew unto his grace the intent of their comming without his displea­sure; without which pardon obtained, they durst not bee so bold to moove him of that matter. In which, albeit they meant asmuch honour to his grace, as wealth to all the Realme besids, yet were they not sure how his grace would take it, whom in no wise they would offend. Then the Protector, as he was very gentle of himselfe, [Page 173] and also longed sore apparent­ly to know what they meant, gave him leave to deliver his message, verily trusting for the good minde that hee bare unto them all, none of them would intend any thing to his hurt, wherewith hee thought to be grieved. When the Duke had this leave and pardon to speak, then waxed hee bold to shew him their intent and purpose, with all the causes moving them thereunto, as ye before have heard. And finally, to be­seech his grace that it would like him of his accustomed goodnesse and zeale unto the Realme, now with his eye of pitty to behold the long con­tinued distresse and decay of the same, and set his gracious hand to the redresse and amendment thereof, by taking upon him the Crowne of the Realme accor­ding to his right and title law­fully [Page 174] descended unto him, and to the laud of God, profit and surety of the Land, and unto his grace so much the more honour and lesse paine, in that that never prince reigned upon any people that were so glad to live under his obeisance, as the people of this realme under his.

Whē the Protector had heard the Proposition▪ he looked very strangely there at, and made an­swere, that albeit he knew part­ly the things by them alleged to bee true, yet such entire love he bare to King Edward and his children, & much more regar­ded his honour in other Realmes about, then the crowne of any one, of which hee was never desirous, for in all other nations where the truth were not well knowne, it should per­adventure bee thought that it were his owne ambitious mind [Page 175] and device to depose the Prince, and to take the Crowne him­selfe; with which infamy hee would in no wise have his ho­nour stayned for any crowne, in which he ever had perceived much more labour and paine, then pleasure to him that so would use it, as hee that would not and were not worthy to have it. Notwithstanding, hee not onely pardoned them of the motion that they made him, but also thanked them for the love and harty favour they bare him, praying them for his sake to beare the same to the Prince under whom he was and would bee content to live, and with his labour and counsaile, as far as it should like the King to use it, he would do his utter­most devoir to set the Realme in good estate which was al­ready in the little time of his Protectorship (praysed be God) [Page 174] well begun, in that the malice of such as were before the oc­casion of the contrary, and of new intended to bee, were now partly by good policy, partly more by Gods provi­dence, then mans provision, re­pressed and put under.

Vpon this answer given, the Duke of Buckingham by the Protectors licence a little roun­ded, as well with other noble men about him as with the Major and Recorder of Lon­don. And after that upon like pardon desired and obtained, he shewed alowd unto the Pro­tector, for a finall conclusion, that the Realme was determi­ned that King Edwards line should no longer reigne over them, both that they had so far gone, that it was now no suretie to retreate (as for that they thought it the best way for the whole Realme, although they [Page 175] had not yet begun it) Where­fore if it would like his Grace to take the Crowne upon him, they would humbly beseech him thereunto, and if he would give them a resolute answer to the contrary (which they would be loth to heare) then must they seek, and should not faile to find some other noble man that would. These words much moved the Protector, which, as every man of small intelligence may judge, would never have enclined thereto: but when he saw there was no other way but that he must take it, or else hee and his both to goe from it, hee said to Lords and Commons, sith it is, we perceive well, that all the Realme is so set (where­of we be very sorry) that they will not suffer in any wise King Edward ▪ his line to governe them, whom no man earthly can governe against their wills: [Page 178] And we also perceive that there is no man to whom the Crown can by so just title appertaine as to our selfe, as very right heire lawfully begotten of the body of our most dread and deare Father Richard late Duke of Yorke, to which title is now joyned your election, the nobles and commons of the Realme, which wee of all titles possibly take for most effectuall, wee bee content and agree favorably to encline to your petition and request, and according to the same, here we take upon us the Royall estate of preheminence and Kingdome of the two Noble Realmes, England and France, the one from this day forward by us and our heires to rule, governe, and defend, the other by God his grace and your good helpe to get againe, subdue and establish for ever in due obedience unto this realme [Page 179] of England, the advancement whereof, we never aske of God longer to live then we intend to procure and set forth. With this there was a great cry and shout, crying King Richard, and so the Lords went up to the King, and so hee was after that day so called. But the people departed talking diversly of the matter, every man as his fanta­cie gave him, but much they marvelled of this manner of de­laying, that the matter was on both parts made so strange, as though never the one part had communed with the other part thereof before, when they knew that there was no man so dull that heard them, but he percei­ved well enough that all the matter was made betweene them. Howebeit, some excused that againe, saying; all things must bee done in good order, and men must sometimes for the [Page 178] manner sake not bee knowne what they know▪ For at the consecration of a Bishop, every man perceiveth by payment of his Bulles that hee intendeth to bee one, yet when hee is twice asked whether he will bee a Bi­shop, he must twice say nay, and at the third time take it upon him as compelled thereto by his owne will. And in a stage play, the people know right well that hee that playeth the Soldan, is perhaps a cobler yet if one of his acquaintance perhaps of little nurture should call him by his name while hee stan­deth in his Majesty, one of his tormentors might fortune to breake his head for marring the play. And so they said, these matters bee Kings games, as it were stage-playes, and for the most part played up­on scaffolds, in which poore men bee but lookers on, and [Page 179] they that bee wise, will med­dle no further, for they that step up with them, when they cannot play their parts, they disorder the play, and doe themselves no good.

THE TRAGICALL HISTORIE OF KING RICHARD THE THIRD.

I Am loth to re­member, but more I abhor to write, the misery of this unfortunate King, which by fraud entred, by ty­ranny proceeded, and by so­daine death ended his unfortu­nate life: But if I should not declare the flagicious facts of the evill Kings, aswell as I have done the notable acts of vertu­ous Kings, I should neither ani­mate, nor encourage rulers of Realmes, Countries, and Seig­niories to follow the steps of [Page 186] their profitable Progenitors, for to attaine to the type of ho­nour and worldly fame: neither yet advertise Kings being prone to vice & wickednesse, to avoide and expell all sinne and mis­chiefe, for dread of obloquie and worldly shame: for con­trary set to contrary is more apparent, as white joyned to blacke maketh the fayrer shew: Wherefore, I will proceede in his acts after my accustomed usage.

Richard, the third of that name, usurped the Crowne of England, and openly tooke up­on him to bee King, the ninth day of Iune, in the yeare of our Lord, one thousand foure hun­dred fourescore and three, and in the twenty fifth yeare of Lewis the eleventh then being the King of France: and the morrow after, hee was Procla­med King, and with great so­lemnity [Page 187] rode to Westminster, and there [...] in the seate Roy­all, and called the Judges of the Realme before him, staightly commanding them to execute the Lawes without favour or delay, with many good exhor­tations (of the which hee fol­lowed not one) and then hee departed towards the Abby, and at the Church doore hee was met with Procession, and there was delivered to him by the Abbot the Scepter of Saint Edward, and so went and offe­red to Saint Edwards shrine, while the Monkes sang Te deum with a faint courage; and from the Church hee returned to the Palace, where he lodged till the Coronation. And to bee sure of all enemies (as hee thought) hee sent for five thousand men out of the North against his Coronation, which came up evill apparelled and worse har­nessed, [Page 188] in rusty harnesse, neither defensable nor scoured to the sale, which mustered in Finsbu­ry fi [...]ld, to the great disdaine of all the lookers on.

The fourth day of Iuly hee came to the Tower by water with his wife, and the fifth day he created Edward his onely be­gotten sonne, a child of tenne yeares old, Prince of Wales, and Iohn Haward, a man of great knowledge and vertue (aswell in councell as in battell) hee created Duke of Norfolke, and sir Thomas Haward his sonne he created Earle of Surry, and William Lord Barkeley was then created Earle of Notingham, and Francis Lord Lovell was then made Vicount Lovell, and the Kings Chamberlaine, and Lord Stanley was delivered out of ward for feare of his sonne the Lord Strange, which was then in Lancashire gathering [Page 189] men (as men said) and the said Lord was made Steward of the Kings houshold; likewise the Arch-Bishop of Yorke was deli­vered: But Morton Bishop of Ely, was deliverd to the Duke of Buckingham to keepe in ward, who sent him to his ma­nour of Brecknoke in Wales, from whence hee escaped to King Richards confusion. The same night the King made seventeene Knights of the Bath. The next day he roade through London with great pompe, and especially the Duke of Buck­ingham was richly apparelled, and his horse trapped in blew velvet embroidered with the naves of carts burning of gold: which trapper was borne by footmen from the ground, with such solemne fashion, that all men much admired it.

On the morrow being the sixt day of Iuly, the King came [Page 100] towards his Coronation into Westminster Hall, where his Chappell & all the Prelates mi­tered received him▪ And so they in order of Procession passed forward: After the Procession followed the Earle of Nor­thumberland with a pointlesse sword naked, and the Lord Stanley bore the Mace of the Constableship. The Earle of Kent bore the second sword on the right hand of the King na­ked. The Lord Lovell bore an other sword on the left hand. Then followed the Duke of Suffolke with the Scepter, and the Earle of Lincolne with the Ball and Crosse. After them followed the new Earle of Sur­rey with the sword of Estate in a rich scabbard. On the right side of him went the Duke of Norfolke bearing the Crowne: then followed King Richard in a Circot and robe of purple [Page 191] velvet under a Canopie borne by the barrons of the five Ports, going betweene the Bishops of Bathe and Duresme. The Duke of Buckingham with the rod of the high Steward of England bare the Kings traine. After him followed the Earle of Hun­tington, bearing the Queenes Scepter, and the Vicount Lisle, bearing the rod with the Dove. And the Earle of Wiltshire bare the Queenes Crowne. Then followed Queene Anne daugh­ter to Richard Earle of War­wicke, in robes like to the King, between two Bishops, and a ca­nopie over her head, borne by the Barons of the Ports. On her head a rich Coronall set with stones & pearles. After her fol­lowed the countesse of Richmond heire to the Duke of Somerset, w^ch bare up the Queenes traine. After followed the Dutches of Suffolke and Norfolke with [Page 192] Countesses, Barronesses, Ladies, and many faire Gentlewomen: in this order they passed tho­row the palace, & entred the Ab­bie at the West end, and so came to their seates of estate. And af­ter diverse songs solemly sung, they both descended to the high Altar, and were shifted from their robes, and had di­verse places open from the mid­dle upward, in which places they were annointed. Then both the King and the Queene changed them into cloathes of gold, and ascended to their seates, where the Cardinall of Canterbury and other Bishops Crowned them according to the old custome of the Realme, giving him the Scepter in his left hand, and the ball with the crosse in the right hand, and the Queene had the Scepter in her right hand, and the rod with the Dove in the left hand: [Page 193] On every side of the King stood a Duke, and before him stood the Earle of Surrey with the sword in his hands. And on e­very side of the Queene standing a Bishop and a Lady kneeling. The Cardinall sung the Masse, and after paxe; The King & the Queene descended, and before the high Altar they were both houseled with one host divided betweene them. After Masse fi­nished, they both offered at Saint Edwards shrine, and there the King left the Crowne of Saint Edward, and put on his owne Crowne. And so in or­der as they came, they departed to Westminster-hall, and so to their chambers for a season, during which time the Duke of Norfolke came into the Hall, his horse trapped to the ground in cloth of gold as high Marshall, and voyded the Hall.

[Page 194]About foure of the clocke the King and Queene entred into the Hall, and the King sate in the middle, & the Queene on the left hand of the table & on every side of her a Countesse holding a cloth of pleasance, when shee list to drinke. And at the right hand of the King sate the Bi­shop of Canterbury, the Ladies sate all on one side in the middle of the Hall, and at the table a­gainst thē sate the Chancellour and all the Lordes. At the Ta­ble next the cupboord sate the Major of London. And at the Table behind the Lords, sate the Barons of the Ports. And at the other boords sate Noble and Worshipfull personages. When all persons were set, the Duke of Norfolke Earle Mar­shall, the Earle of Surrey, Con­stable for that day, the Lord Stanl [...]y Lord Steward, sir Wil­l [...]am Hopton Treasurer, and sir [Page 195] Thomas Percy Controler, came in & served the King solemnly with one dish of gold, and ano­ther of silver. And the Queene all in gilt vessels, and the Bi­shops all in silver. At the second course came into the Hall, sir Robert Democke the Kings champion, making a Procla­mation, that whosoever would say that King Richard was not lawfully King, hee would fight with him at the utterance, and threw downe his Gauntlet: and then all the Hall cryed out King Richard. And so hee did in three parts of the Hall, and then one brought him a cup of wine coverd, and when hee had dranke he cast out the wine, and departed with the cup. After that, the Heralds cried a largesse thrice in the Hall, and so went up to their stage. At the end of dinner, the Major of London served the King and Queene [Page 196] with sweete wine, and had of each of them a cup of gold with a cover of gold. And by that time that all was done, it was darkenight: and so the King returned to his chamber, and e­very man to his lodging. When this feast was thus finished, the King sent home all the Lords into their countries that would depart, except the Lord Stan­ley, whom hee retained till hee heard what his sonne the Lord Strange went about. And to such as went home, hee gave straight charge and comman­dement to see their Countries well ordered, & that no wrong nor extortion should bee done to his subjects. And thus hee taught others to execute justice and equitie, the contrary wher­of he daily exercised: hee also with great rewards given to the Northerne men which hee sent for to his Coronation, sent [Page 197] them home to their Countrey with great thankes. Whereof divers of them, (as they all bee of nature very greedy of autho­ritie, and especially when they thinke to have any comfort or favour,) tooke on them so highly, and wrought such Ma­steries, that the King was faine to ride thither in his first yeare, and to put some in execution, and stay the Country, or else no small mischiefe had ensu­ed.

Incontinent after this, he sent a solemne Embassage to Lewis the French King, to conclude a league and amitie with him, trusting also to obtaine the tri­bute which King Edward his brother had before out of France: but the French King so abhorred him and his crueltie, that he would neither see nor heare his Embassadors, and so in vaine they returned.

[Page 198]Now after this triumphant Coronation there fell mischiefs thicke and thicke, and as the thing evill gotten is never well kept, so through all the time of his usurped reigne, never ceased there cruell murther, death and slaughter, till his own destructi­on ended it. But as hee finished with the best death and most fitting, that is to say his owne, so beganne he with the most pitteous and wicked, I meane the lamentable murther of his innocent Nephewes, the young King and his tender bro­ther, whose death and finall for­tune hath neverthelesse so farre come in question that some re­mained long in doubt whether they were in his dayes destroy­ed or no. Not for that that Parkin Warbeck by many folkes folly so long space abusing the world▪ was aswell with Princes as with poore people reputed [Page 199] and taken for the yonger of these two: But for that also that all things were so covertly demeaned, one thing pretended, and another meant, that there was nothing so plaine and o­penly proved, but that yet for the common custome of close covert dealing, men had it ever inwardly suspect, as many well counterfet jewels make the true mistrusted. Howbeit, concer­ning that opinion, men may see the conveiance thereof in the Noble Prince King Henry the seventh, in the processe of Par­kin. But in the meane season, for this present matter I shall rehearse to you the dolorous end of these two babes, not af­ter every way that I have heard, but after that way that I have so heard by such men and such meanes, as I thinke it to be hard but it should be true.

King Richard after his Coro­nation, [Page 200] taking his way to Glou­cester, The de­struction of King Edwards Children. to visite in his new ho­nour the towne, of which hee bare the name of old, devised as hee roade to fulfill that thing which hee before had intended. And forasmuch as his minde gave him that his Nephewes li­ving, men would not recon that hee could have right to the Realme▪ he thought therefore without delay to rid them, as though the killing of his kins­men might end his cause, and make him kindly King. Where­upon he sent Iohn Greene, whom he specially trusted, unto sir Robert Brakenbury Constable of the Tower, with a letter and credence also, that the same sir Robert in any wise should put the two children to death. This Iohn Greene did his errand to Brakenbury, kneeling before our Lady in the Tower, who plainely answered that hee [Page 201] would never put them to death to dye therefore. With the which answer Greene returned, recompting the same to King Richard at Warwicke yet on his journey, wherewith hee tooke such displeasure and thought, that the same night hee said to a secret page of his: Ah, whom shall a man trust? they that I have brought up my selfe, they that I thought would have most surely served mee, even those faile me, and at my command­ment will doe nothing for mee. Sir, quoth the page, there lieth one in the palet chamber with­out, that I dare say, will doe your Grace pleasure, the thing were right hard that he would refuse, meaning this by Iames Tirell, which was a man of a goodly personage, and for the gifts of nature worthy to have served a much better Prince, if he had well served God, and by [Page 202] grace obtained to have as much truth and good will, as hee had strength and wit. The man had an high heart and sore longed upward, not rising yet so fast as he had hoped, being hindered and kept under by sir Richard Ratcliffe, and sir William Cates­bey, which longing for no more partners of the Princes favour, namely not for him, whose pride they knew would beare no peere, kept him by secret drifts out of all secret trust: which thing this page had well marked and knew: wherefore this occasion offered, of very speciall friendship spied his time to set him forward, and in such wise to doe him good, that all the enemies that he had (ex­cept the devill) could never have done him so much hurt and shame; for upon the pages words, King Richard arose (for this communication had he sit­ting [Page 203] on a draft, a convenient carpet for such a councell) and came out into the palet cham­ber, where hee did finde in bed the said Iames Tyrell and sir Thomas Tyrell, of person like, and brethren of blood, but no­thing of kinne in conditions. Thē said the King merrily, what sirs, bee you in bed so soone? and called up Iames Tyrell, and brake to him secretly his minde in this mischievous matter, in the which hee found him nothing strange. Wherefore on the mor­row he sent him to Brakinbury with a letter, by the which hee was commanded to deliver to the said Iames all the keyes of the Tower for a night, to the end that he might there accom­plish the Kings pleasure in such things as hee there had given him in commandement. After which letter delivered, and the keyes received, Iames appoin­ted [Page 204] the next night ensuing to destroy them, devising before and preparing the meanes.

The Prince assoone as the Protector tooke upon him to be King, and left the name of Protectour, was thereof adver­tised and shewed, that he should not reigne, but his Vncle should have the Crowne. At which word the Prince sore abashed, began to sigh and say: Alas I would mine Vncle would let mee have my life although I leese my Kingdome. Then he that told him the tale used him with good words, and put him in the best comfort that hee could, but forthwith hee and his brother were both shut up, and all other removed from them, one called Black Will, or William Slaughter onely ex­cept, which were set to serve them, and foure other to see them sure. After which the [Page 205] the Prince never tyed his points, nor any thing regarded himselfe, but with that young babe his brother lingered in thought and heavinesse, till this trayterous deede delivered thē of that wretchednesse.

For Iames Tirrell devised that they should bee murthered in their beds, and no blood shed: to the execution wherof, he appointed Myles Forest, one of the foure that before kept them, a fellow flesh-bred in murther before time: and to him he joyned one Iohn Digh­ton his owne horsekeeper, a big, broade, square, and strong knave. Then all the other be­ing removed from them,King Ed­wards Children murthered this Miles Forest and Iohn Dighton about midnight, the silly chil­dren lying in their beddes, came into the chamber, and suddenly lapped them up a­mongst the cloathes, and so be­wrapped [Page 206] them, keeping downe by force the fetherbed and pillowes hard under their mouthes, that within a while they smothered & stifled them, and their breaths failing, they gave up to God their innocent soules into the joyes of heaven, leaving to the tormenters their bodies dead in the bed, which after the wretches perceived, first by the strugling with the pang of death, and after long lying still, to be through dead, they layed the bodies out upon the bed, and fetched Iames Tir­rell to see them, which when he saw them perfectly dead, hee caused the murtherers to bury them at the stayre foote, meet­ly deepe in the ground, under a heape of stones.

Then rode Iames Tirrell in great haste to King Richard, and shewed him all the manner of the murther, who gave him [Page 207] thankes, and as men say, there made him Knight, but hee al­lowed not their buriall in so vile a corner, saying; that hee would have them buried in a better place, because they were a Kings sonnes: Loe the hono­rable courage of a King, for he would recompence a detestable murther with a solemne obse­quie. Wherupon a priest of Sir Robert Brakenburies tooke them up & buried them in such a place secretly as by the occasion of his death (which was shortly af­ter) w^ch only knew it, the very truth could never yet bee very well and perfectly known. For some say that King Richard caused the Priest to take them up and close them in leade and to put them in a coffin full of holes, hooked at the endes with two hookes of iron, and so to cast them into a place called the Blacke deepes at the Thames [Page 208] mouth, so that they should ne­ver rise up nor bee seene a­gaine. This was the very truth unknowne, by reason that the said Priest died so shortly and disclosed it never to any person that would utter it. And for a truth, when sir Iames Tirrell was in the Tower for treason committed to King Henry the seventh, both he and Dighton were examined together of this point, and both they confessed the murther to bee done in the same manner as you have heard, but whither the bodies were removed, they both affir­med they never knew. And thus as I have learned of them that knew much, and little cause had they to lie, where these two noble Princes, these inno­cent tender children, borne of the most royall blood, and brought up in great wealth, likely long to live, to raigne [Page 209] and rule in the Realme, by trayterous tyrannie taken and deprived of their estate, shortly shut up in Prison and privily slaine and murthered by the cruell ambition of their unna­turall Vncle and his dispiteous tormenters: which things on e­very part well pondered, God gave this world never a more notable example, either in what unsurety standeth this worlds weale, or what mischiefe wor­keth the proud enterprise of an high heart, or finally, what wretched end insueth such dis­piteous crueltie.

For first to beginne with the Ministers, Miles Forest, at Saint Martins le grant, by peece meales miserably rotted away: Iohn Dighton, lived at Caleys long after, no lesse disdained and hated then pointed at, and there dyed in great miserie: But sir Iames Tirrell was be­headed [Page 210] on the Tower hill for Treason: And King Richard himselfe was slaine in the field, hacked and hewen by his ene­mies hands, hurried on a horse backe naked being dead, hee is here in despight torne and tug­ged like a curre dogge. And the mischiefe that hee tooke within lesse then three yeares, of the mischief that he dyed in three moneths bee not compa­rable, and yet all the meane time spent in much trouble and paine outward, and much feare, dread, and anguish within. For I have heard by credible report of such as were secret with his chamberers, that after this abo­minable deede done, hee never was quiet in his minde, he never thought himselfe sure where he went abroad, his body privily fainted, his eye wherled about, his hand ever on his dagger, his countenance and manner like [Page 211] alwayes to strike againe, hee took ill rest on nights, lay long waking and musing, for wearied with care and watch, rather slumbred then slept, troubled with fearefull dreames, sud­denly sometime start up, leape out of his bed and looke about the chamber; so was his rest­lesse heart continually tossed and tumbled with the tedious impression and stormy remem­brance of his abhominable murther and execrable Ty­rannie.

King Richard by this abo­minable mischiefe and scele­rous act, thinking himselfe well relieved both of feare and thought, would not have it kept councell but within a few dayes caused it to run in a com­mon rumour that the two chil­dren were suddenly dead, and to this intent as it is to be dee­med, that now no heire Male [Page 212] being alive of King Edwards body lawfully begotten, the people would be content with the more patient heart and quiet minde, to obey him and suffer his rule and governance: but when the same of this de­testable fact was revealed, and divulged thorow the whole Realme, there fell generally such a dolour and inward sor­row into the hearts of all the people, that all feare of his cru­elty set a side, they in every Towne, street, and place, open­ly wept, and pittiously sobbed. And when their sorrow was somewhat mitigate, their in­ward grudge could not refraine but cry out in places publike and also private, furiously say­ing, what creature of all crea­tures is so malicious and so obstinate an enemy either to God, or to Christian Religion, or to humane Nature, which [Page 213] would not have abhorred, or at the least abstained from so miserable a murther of so exe­crable a tyranny? To murther a man is much odious, to kill a woman, is in manner unna­turall, but to slay and destroy innocent Babes, and young In­fants, the whole world abhor­reth, and the blood from the earth cryeth to Almighty God for vengeance. If the common people cryed out, I assure you the friends of the Queene and her children, made no lesse exclamation and com­plaint with loud voyce▪ lamen­tably crying and saying, alas what will [...]e doe to others, that thus shamefully murdereth his owne bloud without cause or desert? whom will hee save, when hee slayeth the poore Lambes committed to him in trust? now wee see and behold, that the most cruell tyranny [Page 214] hath invaded the Common­wealth; now wee see that in him is neither hope of Justice nor trust of Mercy, but abun­dance of cruelty and thirst of innocent bloud.

But when this newes was first brought to the infortunate mo­ther of the dead children yet being in Sanctuary, no doubt but it strake to her heart, like the sharpe dart of death; for when shee was first informed of the murther of her two Sonnes, shee was suddenly amazed with the greatnesse of the cruelty, that for feare she sounded and fell downe to the ground, and there lay in a great agony like to a dead corps. And after that shee came to her memory, and was revived againe, shee wept and sobbed, and with pittifull scrieches shee replenished the whole Mansion, her brest shee strooke, her faire haire shee tore, [Page 215] and pulled in pieces, and being overcome with sorrow and pensivenesse, rather desired death then life, calling by name divers times her sweet Babes, accounting her selfe more then mad, that she deluded by wile and fraudulent promises, deli­vered her younger sonne out of the Sanctuary to his enemy to be put to death, thinking that next the oath made to God broken, and the duty of alle­geance toward her children violated, she of all creatures in that point was most seduced and deceived. After long la­mentation, when shee saw no hope of revenging otherwise, she kneeled downe and cryed on God to take vengeance for the deceitfull perjury, as who said shee nothing mistrusted but once hee would remember it. What is hee living, that if hee remember and behold these [Page 216] two noble infants without de­serving, so shamefully murthe­red, that will not abhorre the fact, yea and be moved and tor­mented with pitty and mercy. And yet the world is so fraile, and our nature so blinde, that few be stirred with such exam­ples, obliviously forgetting, and little considering, that of­tentimes for the offences by the Parents perpetrate and com­mitted, that sinne is punished in their line and posterity. This chance might so happē to these innocent children, because King Edward their Father and Pa­rent offended in staining his conscience: hee made his so­lemne oath before the Gate of the City of Yorke (as you have heard before) and promised and sware one thing by his word, thinking cleane contra­ry in his heart, as after did ap­peare. And afterward by the [Page 217] death of the Duke of Clarence his brother, hee incurred (of likelihood) the great displea­sure toward God.

After this murther thus per­petrated, and that hee had visi­ted his Towne of Gloucester, which hee for his old Dignity both loved and with ample li­berties and priviledges en­dowed and decorated, he tooke his journy toward the County of Yorke, where the people abusing his lawfull favour (as hee both favoured and trusted them in his heart) had of late presumed to attempt divers routs and riots contray to his lawes, and infringing of his peace, and upon hope of his maintenance, were so elated, that no Lord, were he never of so great power, could either pacifie or rule them, till the King himselfelfe came perso­nally thither, to set a concord [Page 218] and an unity in that Country, and to bridle and rule the rude rusticall and blustering bold people of that region, and so he by long journeying came to the Citie of Yorke, where the Citizens received him with great pompe and triumph, ac­cording to the qualities▪ of their education, and quantity of their substance and ability, and made divers dayes, playes, and Pageants in token of joy and solace. Wherefore King Richard magnified and applau­ded of the North Nation, and also to shew himself apparantly before them in habit royall with Scepter in hand and Dia­dem on his head, made Pro­clamation, that all persons should resort to Yorke on the day of the Ascention of our Lord, where all men should both behold and see him, his Queene and Prince in their [Page 291] high estates and degrees, and al­so for their good wills, should have received many thankes, large benefits & magnificent re­wards. At the day appointed the whole clergie assembled in Copes richly vested, and so with a reverent ceremonie went about the citie in procession, af­ter whom folowed the King with his Crowne and Scepter apparelled in his Circot robe royall accōpanied with no smal number of the nobilitie of his Realme: after whom marched in order Queene Anne his wife crowned, leading in her left hand Prince Edward her son, having on his head a demy crown appointed for the degree of a Prince. The King was had in that triumph in such honour and the common people of the North so rejoyced that they extolled and praysed him farre above the Starres. After this so­lemne [Page 220] feast and glorious pompe he kept great counsellers there, as well for the ordering of the countrey in time, as for the brideling and punishing of such as there had misgoverned them­selves: and further of the gen­tlemen of that countrey, he aug­mented the number of his do­mestical Ministers and servants, in the which persons he put his whole trust and affiance. When all things were thus discreetly ordered, hee returned by No­tingham, and after came to Lon­don: whom more for dread then for love, the Citezens re­ceived in great companies.

Thus King Richard by a new invented crueltie, & late practi­sed tyranny, obtained and grew to high praise and honour, and then by the admiration and judgment of the common mul­titude, he was most esteemed to bee exalted into Heaven, when [Page 121] hee covertly had intelligence, that hee was like to loose his e­state, and could by no meanes have long continuance in his usurped power: for assuredly after the death of King Edwards children, when any bluste­ring winde, perrilous thunder, or terrible tempest, chanced or were apparently like to happen: Sodainely the peo­ple having in their fresh me­morie the facinorous act of their King and Prince, would openly cry and make voci­feration, that God did take vengance and punish the poore Englishmen, for the crime and offence of their ungratious King, whom they blamed, ac­cursed and wished to have ex­treame tortures. Although King Richard heard often of these slaunderous words & ma­licious sayings, and knew well by what persons they were spo­ken, [Page 222] yet he durst not with strong hand bee on the first inventors revenged, knowing that some time it is no wisedome to refuse or disdaine them that tell a ru­ler his dutie or declare to him his misbehaviour towards the common wealth, or counsell him to amend and change his ill life. After this great felicity, he fell againe into a great feare and pensivenesse of minde, and because he could by no meanes either correct or amend things that were past, he determined by doing his dutie in all things to his commons, to obliterate and put out of memorie that note of infamie with the which his fame was justly spotted and stayned, and to cause the people to conceive so good an opinion of him, that from thence forth no calamity nor trouble should bee adjudged to happen to the common wealth, either by his [Page 223] negligence or by his misgo­vernment (although it is difficile and strange shortly to turne and plucke out such qualities and usages as have of long time beene incorporated in a mans minde, and rooted in his man­ners and conditions.) There­fore whether it was for the per­formance of his former intent of amendment, or (as common fame flew abroad) that he tooke repentance of his mischievous acts and scelerate doings, hee turned over the leafe, and began an order of a new life, and pre­tended to have the name of a good and vertuous man, by the reason that hee shewed himselfe more just, more meeker, more familiar, more liberall (especi­ally amongst the poore people) then before hee had accustomed to doe; and so by this meanes he firmely trusted first to ob­taine of God forgivenesse of his [Page 224] offences and crimes, and after to live and take away the ene­my and inward grudge that the common people bare in their mindes towards him, and in conclusion, to obtaine their friendly love and assured fa­vour. Hee furthermore began and enterprised divers things as well publike as private, the which hee being prevented by sodayne death did neither ac­complish nor begin to conclu­sion, for hee [...]egan to found a Colledge of a hundred Priests, which foundation with the founder shortly tooke an end. To please the common people also, hee in his high Court of Parliament enacted divers and sundry good lawes and profita­ble statutes, and especially one against strangers and foren wrought wares, not to bee transported into this Realme, which commodious act for the [Page 225] common wealth, if hee had lived, hee had fully purposed to have advanced and set for­ward, and put in execution. But afterwards evidently it appeared to all persons, that onely feare (which is not a master long in office and in continuall authoritie) and not justice, caused King Richard at that very time to waxe bet­ter, and amend his wicked and sinfull life, for shortly after, the goodnesse of the man which was but painted and fraudu­lent, suddenly waxed cold and vanished away. And from thenceforth not onely all his Councellors doings and pro­ceeding suddenly decayed and resorted to none effect: But also fortune began to frowne and turned her wheele downe­wards from him, in so much that he lost his onely begotten sonne Edward in the third [Page 226] moneth after hee had created him Prince of Wales.