AND

KING RICHARD THE THIRD vnfinished,

Written by Maister Thomas More then one of the vnder shiriffes of

London, about the yeare of our Lord 1513, according to a copie of his

owne hand, printed among his other Works.

[Sidenote: 1483.]

King Edward the fourth of that name, after that he had liued fiftie &

thrée yeeres, seuen moneths, and six daies, and thereof reigned two

and twentie yeares, one moneth, & eight daies, died at Westminster the

ninth dale of Aprill, the yeare of our redemption, a thousand foure

hundred fourescore and thrée; leauing much faire issue, that is to

wit, Edward the prince, a thirtéene yeares of age, Richard duke of

Yorke two yeares yoonger; Elizabeth, whose fortune and grace was after

to be quéene, wife vnto king Henrie the seuenth, and mother vnto the

eight; Cicilie, not so fortunate as faire; Briget, which representing

the vertue of hir, whose name she bare, professed and obserued a

religious life in Dertford, an house of close nunnes; Anne, that was

after honorablie married vnto Thomas, then lord Howard, and after earle

of Surrie; and Katharine, which long time tossed in either fortune,

sometime in wealth, oft in aduersitie, at the last, if this be the last

(for[1] yet she liueth) is by the benignitie of hir nephue king Henrie

the eight, in verie prosperous estate, and worthie hir birth and vertue.

[1] She liued at such time as this storie was penned.

[Sidenote: The loue of the people.]

This noble prince deceassed at his palace of Westminster, and with

great funerall honor and heauinesse of his people from thence conueied,

was interred at Windsor. A king of such gouernance & behauior, in time

of peace (for in warre each part must néeds be others enimie) that

there was neuer anie prince of this land, atteining the crowne by

battell, so heartilie beloued with the substance of the people: nor

hée himselfe so speciallie in anie part of his life, as at the time

of his death. Which fauour and affection, yet after his deceasse, by

the crueltie, mischiefe, and trouble of the tempestuous world that

followed, highlie toward him more increased. At such time as he died,

the displeasure of those that bare him grudge for king Henrie's sake

the sixt, whome he deposed, was well asswaged, & in effect quenched, in

that manie of them were dead in more than twentie yeres of his reigne,

a great part of a long life: and manie of them in the meane season

growne into his fauour, of which he was neuer strange.

[Sidenote: Description of Edward the fourth.]

He was a goodlie personage, and princelie to behold, of heart

couragious, politike in counsell, in aduersitie nothing abashed, in

prosperitie rather ioifull than proud, peace iust and mercifull, in

warre sharpe and fierce, in the field bold and hardie, and nathelesse

no further (than wisedome would) aduenturous, whose warres who so well

considered, he shall no lesse commend his wisedome where he voided,

than his manhood where he vanquished. He was of visage louelie,

of bodie mightie, strong, and cleane made: howbeit, in his latter

daies with ouer liberall diet somewhat corpulent and boorelie, and

nathelesse not vncomelie. He was of youth greatlie giuen to fleshlie

wantonnesse: from which health of bodie, in great prosperitie and

fortune, without a speciall grace hardlie refraineth, the poet implieng

no lesse and saieng:

Mens erit apta capi tunc cùm lætissima rerum.

Vt seges in pingui luxuriabit humo.

This fault not greatlie gréeued the people: for neither could anie one

mans pleasure stretch and extend to the displeasure of verie manie,

and was without violence, and ouer that in his latter daies lessed,

and well left. In which time of his latter daies this realme was in

quiet and prosperous estate, no feare of outward enimies, no warre in

hand, nor none toward, but such as no man looked for. The people toward

the prince, not in a constrained feare, but in a willing and louing

obedience: among themselues the commons in good peace. The lords, whome

hée knew at variance, himselfe in his death bed appeased: he had left

all gathering of monie (which is the onelie thing that withdraweth the

hearts of English men from the prince) nor anie thing intended he to

take in hand, by which he should be driuen therto: for his tribute out

of France he had before obteined; and the yeare foregoing his death, he

had obteined Berwike.

[Sidenote: Sée before pag. 705.]

And albeit that all the time of his reigne he was with his people, so

benigne, courteous, and so familiar, that no part of his vertues was

more estéemed: yet the condition in the end of his daies (in which

manie princes by a long continued souereigntie decline into a proud

port from debonair behauior of their beginning) maruellouslie in him

grew and increased: so farre foorth, that in summer (the last that

euer hée saw) his highnesse being at Windsor in hunting, sent for the

maior & aldermen of London to him for none other errand, but to haue

them hunt & be merrie with him, where he made them not so statelie,

but so fréendlie and familiar chéere, and sent venison from thence so

freelie into the citie, that no one thing in manie daies before gat him

either more hearts, or more heartie fauour amongest the common people;

which oftentimes more estéeme and take for greater kindnesse a little

courtesie, than a great benefit.

So deceassed (as I haue said) this noble king, in that time in which

his life was most desired. Whose loue of his people, and their entire

affection towards him, had béene to his noble children (hauing in

themselues also as manie gifts of nature, as manie princelie vertues,

as much goodlie towardnesse as their age could receiue) a maruellous

fortresse and sure armor, if diuision and dissention of their fréends

had not vnarmed them, and left them destitute, and the execrable desire

of souereigntie prouoked him to their destruction: which if either

kind or kindnesse had holden place, must néeds haue béene their chéefe

defense. For Richard the duke of Glocester, by nature their vncle, by

office their protector, to their father beholden, to themselues by

oth and allegiance bounden, all the bands broken that bind man and

man togither, without anie respect of God or the world, vnnaturallie

contriued to beréeue them, not onelie their dignitie, but also their

liues.

[Sidenote: Richard duke of Yorke.]

But forsomuch as this dukes demeanor ministreth in effect all the whole

matter whereof this booke shall intreat, it is therefore conuenient

somewhat to shew you yer we further go, what maner of man this was,

that could find in his hart such mischiefe to conceiue. Richard duke

of Yorke, a noble man and a mightie, began not by warre, but by law

to chalenge the crowne, putting his claime into the parlement, where

his cause was either for right or fauor so farre foorth aduanced,

that king Henrie his bloud (albeit he had a goodlie prince) vtterlie

reiected, the crowne was by authoritie of parlement intailed vnto the

duke of Yorke and his issue male in remainder, immediatlie after the

death of king Henrie. But the duke not induring so long to tarrie, but

intending vnder pretext of dissention and debate arising in the realme,

to preuent his time, and to take vpon him the rule in king Henrie his

life, was with manie nobles of the realme at Wakefield slaine, leauing

thrée sonnes, Edward George, and Richard.

[Sidenote: Edward.]

[Sidenote: George duke of Clarence.]

All thrée as they were great states of birth, so were they great and

statelie of stomach, greedie and ambitious of authoritie, and impatient

of partners. Edward reuenging his fathers death, depriued king Henrie,

and atteined the crowne. George duke of Clarence was a goodlie noble

prince, and at all times fortunate, if either his owne ambition had not

set him against his brother, or the enuie of his enimies[2] his brother

against him. For were it by the quéene and lords of hir bloud, which

highlie maligned the kings kinred (as women commonlie not of malice,

but of nature hate them whome their husbands loue) or were a proud

appetite of the duke himselfe, intending to be king; at the least wise

heinous treason was there laid to his charge: and finallie, were hée

faultie, were he faultlesse, attainted was he by parlement, and iudged

to the death, and therevpon hastilie drowned in a butt of malmesie.

Whose death king Edward (albeit he commanded it) when he wist it was

doone, pitiouslie bewailed, and sorrowfullie repented.

[2] Had not set.

[Sidenote: The description of Richard the third.]

Richard the third sonne, of whome we now intreat, was in wit and

courage equall with either of them, in bodie and prowesse farre vnder

them both, litle of stature, ill featured of limmes, crooke backed, his

left shoulder much higher than his right, hard fauoured of visage, and

such as is in states called warilie, in other men otherwise; he was

malicious, wrathfull, enuious, and from afore his birth euer froward.

It is for truth reported, that the duchesse his mother had so much adoo

in hir trauell, that she could not be deliuered of him vncut; and that

he came into the world with the féet forward, as men be borne outward,

and (as the fame runneth also) not vntoothed, whether men of hatred

report aboue the truth, or else that nature changed hir course in his

beginning, which in the course of his life manie things vnnaturallie

committed. So that the full confluence of these qualities, with the

defects of fauour and amiable proportion, gaue proofe to this rule of

physiognomic:

Distortum vultum sequitur distorsio morum.

None euill capteine was he in the warre, as to which his disposition

was more méetlie than for peace. Sundrie victories had he, & sometimes

ouerthrowes; but neuer on default as for his owne person, either

of hardinesse or politike order. Frée was he called of dispense,

and somewhat aboue his power liberall: with large gifts he gat him

vnstedfast fréendship, for which he was faine to pill and spoile in

other places, and got him stedfast hatred. He was close and secret, a

déepe dissembler, lowlie of countenance, arrogant of heart, outwardlie

companiable where he inwardlie hated, not letting to kisse whome he

thought to kill: despitious and cruell, not for euill will alway, but

ofter for ambition, and either for the suertie or increase of his

estate.

[Sidenote: The death of king Henrie the sixt.]

Friend and fo was much what indifferent, where his aduantage grew, he

spared no mans death whose life withstoode his purpose. He slue with

his owne hands king Henrie the sixt, being prisoner in the Tower, as

men constantlie said, and that without commandement or knowledge of the

king, which would vndoubtedlie (if he had intended that thing) haue

appointed that butcherlie office to some other, than his owne borne

brother. Some wise men also wéene, that his drift courtlie conueied,

lacked not in helping foorth his brother of Clarence to his death:

which he resisted openlie, howbeit somewhat (as men déemed) more

faintlie than he that were hartilie minded to his wealth.

And they that thus déeme, thinke that he long time in king Edwards life

forethought to be king; in case that the king his brother (whose life

he looked that euill diet should shorten) should happen to deceasse (as

in déed he did) while his children were yoong. And they déeme, that for

this intent he was glad of his brothers death the duke of Clarence,

whose life must néeds haue hindered him so intending, whether the same

duke of Clarence had kept him true to his nephue the yoong king, or

enterprised to be king himselfe. But of all this point is there no

certeintie, and who so diuineth vpon coniectures, maie as well shoot

too farre as too short.

Howbeit this haue I by credible information learned, that the

selfe night, in which king Edward died, one Mistlebrooke, long yer

morning, came in great hast to the house of one Pottier dwelling in

Redcrosse-stréet without Creplegate: and when he was with hastie

rapping quickelie letten in, he shewed vnto Pottier, that king Edward

was departed. "By my truth man" quoth Pottier, "then will my maister

the duke of Glocester be king." What cause he had so to thinke, hard it

is to saie; whether he being toward him, anie thing knew that he such

thing purposed, or otherwise had anie inckeling thereof: for he was not

likelie to speake it of nought.

But now to returne to the course of this historie. Were it that the

duke of Glocester had of old foreminded this conclusion, or was now at

erst therevnto mooued, and put in hope by the occasion of the tender

age of the yoong princes, his nephues (as opportunitie & likelihood

of spéed putteth a man in courage of that he neuer intended) certeine

it is that he contriued their destruction, with the vsurpation of

the regall dignitie vpon himselfe. And forsomuch as he well wist and

holpe to mainteine a long continued grudge and heart-burning betwéene

the quéens kinred and the kings bloud, either partie enuieng others

authoritie, he now thought that their diuision should be (as it was in

déed) a furtherlie beginning to the pursuit of his intent.

Nay he was resolued, that the same was a sure ground for the foundation

of all his building, if he might first (vnder the pretext of reuenging

of old displeasure) abuse the anger and ignorance of the tone partie

to the destruction of the tother; and then win to his purpose as manie

as he could, and those that could not be woone, might be lost yer they

looked therfore. For of one thing was he certeine, that if his intent

were perceiued, he should soone haue made peace betwéene both the

parties with his owne bloud. King Edward in his life, albeit that this

dissention betwéene his fréends somewhat irked him: yet in his good

health he somewhat the lesse regarded it: bicause he thought whatsoeuer

businesse should fall betwéene them, himselfe should alwaie be able to

rule both the parties.

But in his last sicknesse, when he perceiued his naturall strength so

sore inféebled, that he despaired all recouerie, then he, considering

the youth of his children, albeit he nothing lesse mistrusted than

that that hapned; yet well foreséeing that manie harmes might grow by

their debate, while the youth of his children should lacke discretion

of themselues, & good counsell of their fréends, of which either partie

should counsell for their owne commoditie, & rather by pleasant aduise

to win themselues fauor, than by profitable aduertisement to doo the

children good, he called some of them before him that were at variance,

and in especiall the lord marquesse Dorset the quéenes sonne by hir

first husband.

[Sidenote: Hastings lord chamberleine maligned of the quéene & hir kin.]

So did he also William the lord Hastings a noble man, then lord

chamberleine, against whome the quéene speciallie grudged, for the

great fauour the king bare him: and also for that she thought him

secretlie familiar with the king in wanton companie. Hir kinred also

bare him sore, as well for that the king had made him capteine of

Calis, which office the lord Riuers, brother to the quéene, claimed of

the kings former promise, as for diuerse other great gifts which he

receiued, that they looked for. When these lords, with diuerse other of

both the parties, were come in presence, the king lifting vp himselfe,

and vnderset with pillowes, as it is reported, on this wise said vnto

them.

The oration of the king on his death-bed.

My lords, my déere kinsmen and alies, in what plight I lie you sée,

and I feele. By which the lesse while I looke to liue with you, the

more deepelie am I mooued to care in what case I leaue you, for

such as I leaue you, such be my children like to find you. Which if

they should (as God forbid) find you at variance, might hap to fall

themselues at warre, yer their discretion would serue to set you at

peace. Ye sée their youth, of which I reckon the onelie suertie to

rest in your concord. For it sufficeth not that all you loue them, if

ech of you hate other: if they were men, your faithfulnesse happilie

would suffice. But childhood must be mainteined by mens authoritie, and

slipper youth vnderpropped with elder counsell, which neither they can

haue but ye giue it, nor ye giue it if ye gree not.

For where ech laboureth to breake that the other maketh, and for hatred

of ech of others person impugneth ech others counsell, there must it

néeds be long yer anie good conclusion go forward. And also while

either partie laboureth to be chéefe, flatterie shall haue more place

than plaine and faithfull aduise: of which must néeds insue the euill

bringing vp of the prince, whose mind in tender youth infect, shall

redilie fall to mischéefe and riot, and draw dowue with his noble relme

to ruine. But if grace turne him to wisedome: which if God send, then

they that by euill meanes before pleased him best, shall after fall

furthest out of fauour: so that euer at length euill drifts shall draw

to nought, and good plaine waies prosper.

Great variance hath there long béene betwéene you, not alwaie for great

causes. Sometimes a thing right well intended, our misconstruction

turneth vnto woorse; or a small displeasure doone vs, either our owne

affection or euill toongs aggreeueth. But this wot I well, ye neuer had

so great cause of hatred, as ye haue of loue. That we be all men, that

we be christian men, this shall I leaue for preachers to tell you; and

yet I wot néere whether anie preachers words ought more to mooue you,

than his that is by & by going to the place that they all preach of.

[Sidenote: The nature of ambition.]

But this shall I desire you to remember, that the one part of you is

of my bloud, the other of mine alies; and ech of you with other either

of kinred or affinitie; which spirituall kinred of affinitie, if the

sacraments of Christs church beare that weight with vs that would God

they did, should no lesse mooue vs to charitie, than the respect of

fleshlie consanguinitie. Our Lord forbid, that you loue together the

woorse, for the selfe cause that you ought to loue the better. And yet

that happeneth, and no where find we so deadlie debate, as among them,

which by nature and law most ought to agrée togither. Such a pestilent

serpent is ambition and desire of vaine glorie and souereigntie, which

among states where she once entereth, creepeth foorth so farre, till

with diuision and variance she turneth all to mischéefe: first longing

to be next vnto the best, afterward equall with the best, & at last

chéefe and aboue the best.

Of which immoderate appetite of worship, and thereby of debate and

dissention, what losse, what sorow, what trouble hath within these few

yeares growne in this realme, I praie God as well forget, as we well

remember. Which things if I could as well haue foreseene, as I haue

with my more paine than pleasure prooued, by Gods blessed ladie (that

was euer his oth) I would neuer haue woone the courtesie of mens knées,

with the losse of so manie heads. But sithens things passed can not be

gaine called, much ought we the more beware, by what occasion we haue

taken so great hurt afore, that we eftsoones fall not in that occasion

againe.

Now be those greefs passed, and all is (God be thanked) quiet, and

likelie right well to prosper in wealthfull peace vnder your coosins my

children, if God send them life and you loue. Of which two things, the

lesse losse were they, by whom though God did his pleasure, yet should

the realme alwaie find kings, and peraduenture as good kings.

But if you among your selues in a childs reigne fall at debate, manie

a good man shall perish, and happilie he too, and ye too, yer this

land find peace againe. Wherfore in these last words that euer I looke

to speake with you, I exhort you and require you all, for the loue

that you haue euer borne to me; for the loue that I haue euer borne

vnto you; for the loue that our Lord beareth to vs all; from this time

forward (all greefs forgotten) ech of you loue other. Which I verilie

trust you will, if ye anie thing earthlie regard, either God or your

king, affinitie or kinred, this realme, your owne countrie, or your

owne suertie. And therewithall the king no longer induring to sit vp,

laid him downe on his right side, his face towards them: and none was

there present that could refraine from wéeping.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: A counterfet and pretended reconcilement.]

But the lords recomforting him with as good words as they could, and

answering for the time as they thought to stand with his pleasure,

there in his presence, as by their words appeared, ech forgaue other,

and ioined their hands togither, when (as it after appeared by their

déeds) their hearts were farre asunder. As soone as the king was

departed, the noble prince his sonne drew toward London, which at

the time of his deceasse kept his houshold at Ludlow in Wales, which

countrie being farre off from the law and recourse to iustice, was

begun to be farre out of good rule, and waxen wild robbers and reauers,

walking at libertie vncorrected. And for this occasion the prince was

in the life of his father sent thither, to the end that the authoritie

of his presence should refraine euill disposed persons from the

boldnesse of their former outrages.

[Sidenote: Lord Riuers.]

[Sidenote: The duke of Glocesters solicitations.]

To the gouernance and ordering of this yoong prince at his sending

thither, was there appointed sir Anthonie Wooduile lord Riuers, and

brother vnto the quéene, a right honourable man, as valiant of hand

as politike in counsell. Adioined were there vnto him other of the

same partie; and in effect euerie one as he was néerest of kin vnto

the quéene, so was he planted next about the prince. That drift by

the quéene not vnwiselie deuised, whereby hir bloud might of youth

be rooted into the princes fauour, the duke of Glocester turned vnto

their destruction; and vpon that ground set the foundation of all his

vnhappie building. For whome soeuer he perceiued either at variance

with them, or bearing himselfe their fauour, he brake vnto them some by

mouth, & some by writing.

Nay, he sent secret messengers saieng, that it neither was reason, nor

in anie wise to be suffered, that the yoong king their maister and

kinsman, should be in the hands and custodie of his mother's kinred,

sequestred in maner from their companie and attendance, of which euerie

one ought him as faithfull seruice as they, and manie of them farre

more honourable part of kin than his mother's side. Whose bloud (quoth

he) sauing the kings pleasure, was full vnméetelie to be matched with

his: which now to be as who say remooued from the king, and the lesse

noble to be left about him, is (quoth he) neither honourable to his

maiestie nor to vs, and also to his grace no suertie, to haue the

mightiest of his fréends from him; and vnto vs no little ieopardie, to

suffer our well prooued euill willers to grow in ouer-great authoritie

with the prince in youth; namelie, which is light of beléefe and soone

persuaded.

Yée remember (I trow) king Edward himselfe, albeit he was a man of age

& discretion, yet was he in manie things ruled by the bend, more than

stood either with his honor, or our profit, or with the c[=o]moditie of

any man else, except onlie the immoderate aduancement of themselues.

Which, whether they sorer thirsted after their owne weale, or our wo,

it were hard (I wéene) to gesse. And if some folks fréendship had not

holden better place with the king, than anie respect of kinred, they

might peraduenture easilie haue betrapped and brought to confusion

some of vs yer this. Why not as easilie as they haue doone some other

alreadie, as néere of his roiall bloud as we? But our Lord hath wrought

his will, and (thanks be to his grace) that perill is past. Howbeit as

great is growing, if we suffer this yoong king in our enimies hand,

which without his witting might abuse the name of his commandement,

to anie of our vndooing, which thing God [defend] and good prouision

forbid.

[Sidenote: A consent to worke wickednesse.]

Of which good prouision none of vs hath anie thing the lesse néed, for

the late made attonement, in which the kings pleasure had more place

than the parties willes. Nor none of vs (I beléeue) is so vnwise,

ouersoone to trust a new fréend made of an old fo; or to thinke that

an hourlie kindnesse, suddenlie contracted in one houre, continued yet

scant a fortnight, should be déeper settled in their stomachs, than

a long accustomed malice manie yeares rooted. With these words and

writings, and such other, the duke of Glocester soone set on fire them

that were of themselues easie to kindle, & in speciallie twaine, Edward

duke of Buckingham, and William lord Hastings then chamberleine, both

men of honour & of great power; the one by long succession from his

ancestrie, the other by his office and the kings fauour. These two,

not bearing ech to other so much loue, as hatred both vnto the quéenes

part: in this point accorded togither with the duke of Glocester, that

they would vtterlie remoue from the kings companie all his mothers

fréends, vnder the name of their enimies.

Vpon this concluded the duke of Glocester, vnderstanding that the

lords, which at that time were about the king, intended to bring him

vp to his coronation acc[=o]panied with such power of their fréends,

that it should be hard for him to bring his purpose to passe, without

the gathering and great assemblie of people and in maner of open warre,

whereof the end (he wist) was doubtfull, and in which the king being on

their side, his part should haue the face and name of a rebellion: he

secretlie therfore by diuers means caused the quéene to be persuaded

and brought in the mind, that it neither were néed, and also should be

ieopardous, the king to come vp strong.

For whereas now euerie lord loued other, and none other thing studied

vpon, but about the coronation and honor of the king: if the lords of

hir kindred should assemble in the kings name much people, they should

giue the lords, betwixt whome and them had béene sometime debate, to

feare and suspect, least they should gather this people, not for the

kings safegard, whom no man impugned, but for their destruction, hauing

more regard to their old variance, than their new attonement. For which

cause they should assemble on the other partie much people againe for

their defense, whose power she wist well far stretched: and thus should

all the realme fall on a rore. And of all the hurt that thereof should

insue, which was likelie not to be little, and the most harme there

like to fall where she least would, all the world would put hir and hir

kindered in the wight, and saie that they had vnwiselie and vntrulie

also broken the amitie & peace that the king hir husband so prudentlie

made, betwéene his kin and hirs in his death bed and which the other

partie faithfullie obserued.

The quéene, being in this wise persuaded, such word sent vnto hir

sonne, and vnto hir brother being about the king, and ouer that the

duke of Glocester himselfe and other lords the chiefe of his bend,

wrote vnto the king so reuerentlie, and to the quéenes fréends there

so louinglie, that they nothing earthlie mistrusting, brought the

king vp in great hast, not in good spéed, with a sober companie. Now

was the king in his waie to London gone from Northampton, when these

dukes of Glocester and Buckingham came thither, where remained behind

the lord Riuers the kings vncle, intending on the morrow to follow

the king, and to be with him at Stonie Stratford [certeine] miles

thence earlie yer he departed. So was there made that night much

fréendlie chéere betwéene these dukes & the lord Riuers a great while,

but inc[=o]tinent, after that they were openlie with great courtesie

departed, and the lord Riuers lodged, the dukes secretlie with a few

of their most priuie fréends set them downe in councell, wherein they

spent a great part of the night.

[Sidenote: The practices of the duke of Buckingham & Glocester.]

And at their rising in the dawning of the daie, they sent about

priuilie to their seruants in their Ins & lodgings about, giuing them

commandement to make themselues shortlie readie, for their lords were

to horsse backeward. Vpon which messages, manie of their folke were

attendant, when manie of the lord Riuers seruants were vnreadie. Now

had these dukes taken also into their custodie the keies of the In,

that none should passe foorth without their licence. And ouer this,

in the high waie toward Stonie Stratford, where the king lay, they

had bestowed certeine of their folke, that should send backe againe,

and compell to returne, anie man that were gotten out of Northampton,

toward Stonie Stratford, till they should giue other licence. For as

much as the dukes themselues intended for the shew of their diligence,

to be the first that should that daie attend vpon the kings highnesse

out of that towne. Thus bare they folke in hand.

But when the lord Riuers vnderstood the gates closed, and the waies on

euerie side beset, neither his seruants nor himselfe suffered to gone

out, perceiuing well so great a thing without his knowledge not begun

for naught, comparing this manner present with this last nights chéere,

in so few houres so great a change, maruellouslie misliked. Howbeit,

sith he could not get awaie, and kéepe himselfe close, he would not,

least he should séeme to hide himselfe for some secret feare of his

owne fault, whereof he saw no such cause in himselfe; he determined

vpon the suertie of his owne conscience, to go boldlie to them, and

inquire what this matter might meane. Whom as soone as they saw, they

began to quarrell with him and saie that he intended to set distance

betwéene the king and them, and to bring them to confusion, but it

should not lie in his power.

[Sidenote: The lord Riuers put in ward.]

And when he began (as he was a verie well spoken man) in goodlie

wise to excuse himselfe, they tarried not the end of his answer, but

shortlie tooke him, and put him in ward, and that doone, foorthwith

went to horssebacke, and tooke the waie to Stonie Stratford, where

they found the king with his companie, readie to leape on horssebacke,

and depart forward to leaue that lodging for them, bicause it was too

streight for both companies. And as soone as they came in his presence,

they light adowne with all their companie about them. To whome the duke

of Buckingham said; Go afore gentlemen, & yeomen kéepe your roomes.

And thus in a goodlie araie, they came to the king, and on their knées

in verie humble wise saluted his grace, which receiued them in verie

ioious and amiable manner, nothing earthlie knowing nor mistrusting as

yet.

[Sidenote: The lord Greie is quarrelled against.]

But euen by and by in his presence they piked a quarrell to the lord

Richard Greie; the kings other brother by his mother, saieng, that he

with the lord marquesse his brother, & the lord Riuers his vncle, had

compassed to rule the king and the realme, and to set variance among

the states, and to subdue and destroie the noble bloud of the Realme.

Toward the acc[=o]plishing wherof they said that the lord marquesse

had entered into the Tower of London, & thence taken out the kings

treasure, and sent men to the sea. All which things these dukes wist

well were doone for good purposes and necessarie, by the whole councell

at London, sauing that somewhat they must saie.

Vnto which words the king answered; What my brother marquesse hath

doone I cannot saie, but in good faith I dare well answer for mine

vncle Riuers and my brother here, that they be innocent of anie such

matter. Yea my liege (quoth the duke of Buckingham) they haue kept

their dealing in these matters farre fro the knowledge of your good

grace. And foorthwith they arrested the lord Richard and sir Thomas

Vaughan knight, in the kings presence; and brought the king and all

backe vnto Northampton, where they tooke againe further councell. And

there they sent awaie from the king, whom it pleased them, and set

new seruants about him, such as liked better them than him. At which

dealing he wept, and was nothing content; but it booted not.

[Sidenote: The death of the lord Rivers & other.]

And at dinner, the duke of Glocester sent a dish from his owne table

vnto the lord Riuers, praieng him to be of good chéere: all should

be well inough. And he thanked the duke, and praied the messenger to

beare it to his nephue the lord Richard, with the same message for

his comfort, who he thought had more néed of comfort, as one to whome

such aduersitie was strange. But himselfe had béene all his dates in

vse therewith, & therefore could beare it the better. But for all

this comfortable courtesie of the duke of Glocester, he sent the lord

Riuers, and the lord Richard, with sir Thomas Vaughan into the north

countrie, into diuerse places to prison, and afterward all to Pomfret,

where they were in conclusion beheaded.

[Sidenote: The quéene taketh sanctuarie.]

In this wise the duke of Glocester tooke vpon himselfe the order

and gouernance of the yoong king, whome with much honor and humble

reuerence he conueied vpward towards the citie. But anon, the tidings

of this matter came hastilie to the quéene a little before the midnight

following, and that in the sorest wise; that the king hir son was

taken, hir brother, hir sonne, & hir other fréends arrested, and sent

no man wist whither, to be doone with God wot what. With which tidings

the quéene in great flight & heauinesse, bewailing hir childes reigne,

hir fréends mischance, and hir owne infortune, damning the time that

euer she dissuaded the gathering of power about the king, gat hir selfe

in all the hast possible with hir yoonger sonne and hir daughters

out of the palace of Westminster, in which she then laie, into the

sanctuarie, lodging hir selfe and hir companie therein the abbats place.

Now came there one in likewise not long after midnight from the

lord chamberleine, to doctor Rotheram the archbishop of Yorke, then

chancellor of England, to his place not farre from Westminster, and for

that he shewed his seruants that he had tidings of so great importance,

that his maister gaue him in charge, not to forbeare his rest, they

letted not to wake him, nor he to admit this messenger in, to his bed

side. Of whom he heard that these dukes were gone backe with the kings

grace from Stonie Stratford vnto Northampton. Notwithstanding sir

(quoth he) my lord sendeth your lordship word, that there is no feare:

for he assureth you that all shall be well. I assure him (quoth the

archbishop) be it as well as it will, it will neuer be so well as we

haue séene it.

And therevpon, by and by after the messenger departed, he caused in

all the hast all his seruants to be called vp, and so with his owne

houshold about him, and euerie man weaponed, he tooke the great seale

with him, and came yet before daie vnto the quéene. About whom he found

much heauinesse, rumble, hast and businesse, carriage and conueiance of

hir stuffe into sanctuarie, chests, coffers, packs, fardels, trussed

all on mens backs, no man vnoccupied, some lading, some going, some

discharging, some comming for more, some breaking downe the walles to

bring in the next waie, and some yet drew to them that holpe to carrie

a wrong waie: such made their lucre of others losse, praising a bootie

aboue beautie, to whome the poets verse may be well applied, to wit:

[Sidenote: _Tibul. lib. 2. eleg. 3._]

Ferrea non Venerem sed prædem sæcula laudant.

[Sidenote: The desolate state of the quéene.]

The quéene hir selfe sate alone alow on the rushes all desolate and

dismaid, whome the archbishop comforted in best manner he could,

shewing hir that he trusted the matter was nothing so sore as she

tooke it for, and that he was put in good hope and out of feare by

the message sent him from the lord chamberleine. Ah wo woorth him

(quoth she) for he is one of them that laboureth to destroie me and my

bloud. Madame (quoth he) be yée of good chéere, for I assure you, if

they crowne anie other king than your sonne, whome they now haue with

them, we shall on the morrow crowne his brother, whome you haue here

with you. And here is the great seale, which in likewise as that noble

prince your husband deliuered it vnto me; so here I deliuer it vnto

you, to the vse and behoofe of your sonne: and therewith he betooke hir

the great scale, and departed home againe, yet in the dawning of the

daie.

By which time, he might in his chamber window sée all the Thames full

of boates of the duke of Glocesters seruants, watching that no man

should go to sanctuarie, nor none could passe vnsearched. Then was

there great commotion and murmur, as well in other places about,

as speciallie in the citie, the people diuerslie diuining vpon this

dealing. And some lords, knights, and gentlemen, either for fauour of

the quéene, or for feare of themselues, assembled in sundrie companies,

and went flockmele in harnesse: and many also, for that they reckoned

this demeanor attempted, not so speciallie against the other lords, as

against the king himselfe in the disturbance of his coronation. But

then by and by the lords assembled togither at [a certeine place.]

[Sidenote: Neuerthelesse he was depriued thereof shortlie after.]

Toward which méeting, the archbishop of Yorke fearing that it would

be ascribed (as it was indéed) to his ouermuch lightnesse, that he so

suddenlie had yéelded vp the great seale to the quéene, to whome the

custodie thereof nothing perteined, without especiall commandement of

the king, secretlie sent for the seale againe, and brought it with

him after the customable maner. And at this méeting the lord Hastings

(whose truth toward the king no man doubted, nor néeded to doubt)

persuaded the lords to beléeue, that the duke of Glocester was sure

and fastlie faithfull to his prince, and that the lord Riuers, and

lord Richard with the other knights, were for matters attempted by

them against the duke of Glocester and Buckingham, put vnder arrest

for their suertie, not for the kings ieopardie: and that they were

also in safegard, and there no longer should remaine, than till the

matter were, not by the dukes onelie, but also by all the other lords

of the kings councell indifferentlie examined, & by others discretions

ordered, and either iudged or appeased.

But one thing he aduised them beware, that they iudged not the matter

too farre foorth, yer they knew the truth; nor turning their priuate

grudges into the common hurt, irriting and prouoking men vnto anger,

and disturbing the kings coronation, towards which the dukes were

comming vp, that they might peraduenture bring the matter so farre out

of ioint, that it should neuer be brought in frame againe. Which strife

if it should hap (as it were likely) to come to a field, though both

parties were in all other things equall; yet should the authoritie be

on that side where the king is himselfe. With these persuasions of the

lord Hastings, whereof part himselfe beléeued, of part he wist the

contrarie, these commotions were somewhat appeased. But speciallie by

that, that the dukes of Glocester and Buckingham were so néere and

came so shortlie on with the king, in none other manner, with none

other voice or semblance than to his coronation, causing the fame to

be blowen about, that these lords and knights which were taken, had

contriued the destruction of the dukes of Glocester and Buckingham, and

of other noble bloud of the realme, to the end that themselues would

alone demeane and gouerne the king at their pleasure.

And for the colourable proofe thereof, such of the dukes seruants

as rode with the carts of their stuffe that were taken (among which

stuffe, no maruell though some were harnesse, which at the breaking

vp of that houshold must néeds either be brought awaie or cast awaie)

they shewed vnto the people all the waies as they went; "Lo here be the

barrels of harnesse that these traitors had priuilie conueied in their

carriage to destroie the noble lords withall." This deuise albeit that

it made the matter to wise men more vnlikelie, well perceiuing that the

intendors of such a purpose would rather haue had their harnesse on

their backs, than to haue bound them vp in barrels, yet much part of

the common people were therewith verie well satisfied, and said it were

almesse to hang them.

[Sidenote: The king's comming to London.]

[Sidenote: The duke of Glocester made protector.]

When the king approched néere to the citie, Edmund Shaw goldsmith,

then maior, with William White, and Iohn Matthew shiriffes and all the

other aldermen in scarlet, with fiue hundred horsse of the citizens,

in violet, receiued him reuerentlie at Harnesie; and riding from

thence accompanied him into the citie, which he entered the fourth

daie of Maie, the first and last yeare of his reigne. But the duke of

Glocester bare him in open sight so reuerentlie to the prince, with all

semblance of lowlinesse, that from the great obloquie in which he was

so late before, he was suddenlie fallen in so great trust, that at the

councell next assembled he was made the onelie man, chosen and thought

most méet to be protector of the king and his realme, so that (were

it destinie or were it follie) the lambe was betaken to the woolfe to

kéepe.

[Sidenote: The bishop of Lincolne made lord chancellor.]

At which councell also, the archbishop of Yorke chancellor of England,

which had deliuered vp the great seale to the quéene, was thereof

greatlie reprooued, and the seale taken from him, and deliuered to

doctor Russell bishop of Lincolne, a wise man and a good, and of much

experience, and one of the best learned men vndoubtedlie that England

had in his time. Diuerse lords and knights were appointed vnto diuerse

roomes. The lord chamberleine and some other kept still their offices

that they had before. Now all were it so that the protector so sore

thirsted for the finishing of that he had begun, that thought euerie

daie a yeare till it were atchiued; yet durst he no further attempt, as

long as he had but halfe his preie in his hand.

[Sidenote: The protectors oration.]

And why? Well did he wéet, that if he deposed the one brother, all the

realme would fall to the other, if he either remained in sanctuarie,

or should happilie be shortlie conueied to his fathers libertie.

Wherfore incontinent at the next méeting of the lords at the councell,

he proposed to them, that it was a heinous déed of the quéene, &

procéeding of great malice toward the kings councellors, that she

should kéepe in sanctuarie the kings brother from him, whose speciall

pleasure & comfort were to haue his brother with him. And that by hir

doone to none other intent, but to bring all the lords in obloquie and

murmur of the people.

As though they were not to be trusted with the kings brother, that

by the assent of the nobles of the land, were appointed as the

kings néerest fréends, to the tuition of his owne roiall person.

The prosperitie whereof standeth (quoth he) not all in kéeping from

enimies, or ill viand, but partlie also in recreation, and moderate

pleasure: which he cannot (in this tender youth) take in the companie

of ancient persons, but in the familiar conuersation of those that be

neither farre vnder, nor farre aboue his age: and neuerthelesse of

estate conuenient to accompanie his noble maiestie. Wherefore, with

whome rather, than with his owne brother?

And if anie man thinke this consideration light (which I thinke none

thinks that loues the king) let him consider, that sometime without

small things, greater cannot stand. And verelie, it redoundeth greatlie

to the dishonor both of the kings highnesse, and of all vs that béene

about his grace, to haue it run in euerie mans mouth, not in this

realme onlie, but also in other lands (as euill words walke far) that

the kings brother should be faine to kéepe sanctuarie. For euerie man

will wéene, that no man will so doo for naught. And such euill opinion

once fastned in mens harts, hard it is to wrest out, and may grow to

more gréefe than anie man can here diuine.

[Sidenote: The lord cardinall thought the fittest man to deale with the

quéene for the surrendring of hir sonne.]

Wherefore me thinketh it were not worst to send vnto the quéene, for

the redresse of this matter, some honorable trustie man, such as both

tendereth the kings weale and the honour of his councell, and is

also in fauour and credence with hir. For all which considerations,

none séemeth more méetlie, than our reuerend father here present my

lord cardinall, who may in this matter doo most good of anie man, if

it please him to take the paine; which I doubt not of his goodnesse

he will not refuse for the kings sake and ours, and wealth of the

yoong duke himselfe, the kings most honorable brother, and (after my

souereigne lord himselfe) my most déere nephue, considered that thereby

shall be ceassed the slanderous rumor and obloquie now going, and the

hurts auoided that thereof might insue, and much rest and quiet grow to

all the realme.

And if she be percase so obstinate, and so preciselie set vpon hir

owne will, that neither his wise and faithfull aduertisement can not

mooue hir, nor anie mans reason content hir; then shall we by mine

aduise, by the kings authoritie fetch him out of that prison, and bring

him to his noble presence, in whose continual companie he shall be so

well cherished and so honorablie intreated, that all the world shall

to our honour and hir reproch perceiue that it was onelie malice,

frowardnesse, or follie, that caused hir to kéepe him there. This is

my purpose and mind in this matter for this time, except anie of your

lordships anie thing perceiue to the contrarie; for neuer shall I (by

Gods grace) so wed myselfe to mine owne will, but that I shall be

readie to change it vpon your better aduises.

When the protector had said, all the councell affirmed, that the motion

was good and reasonable; and to the king and the duke his brother,

honorable; and a thing that should ceasse great murmur in the realme,

if the mother might be by good means induced to deliuer him. Which

thing the archbishop of Yorke, whome they all agréed also to be thereto

most conuenient, tooke vpon him to mooue hir, and therein to doo his

vttermost deuoir. Howbeit, if she could be in no wise intreated with

hir good will to deliuer him, then thought he, and such other as were

of the spiritualtie present, that it were not in anie wise to be

attempted to take him out against hir will.

[Sidenote: Reasons why it was not thought méet to fetch the quéens son

out of sanctuarie.]

For it should be a thing that would turne to the great grudge of all

men, and high displeasure of God, if the priuilege of that holie place

should now be broken, which had so manie yeares be kept, which both

kings and popes so good had granted, so manie had confirmed, and which

holie ground was more than fiue hundred yeares ago (by saint Peter in

his owne person in spirit accompanied with great multitudes of angels

by night) so speciallie halowed, & dedicated to God (for the proofe

wherof, they haue yet in the abbeie saint Peters cope to shew) that

from that time hitherward, was there neuer so vndeuout a king that

durst that sacred place violate, or so holie a bishop that durst it

presume to consecrate.

And therefore (quoth the archbishop of Yorke) God forbid that anie man

should for anie thing earthlie, enterprise to breake the immunitie &

libertie of the sacred sanctuarie, that hath béene the safegard of so

manie a good mans life. And I trust (quoth he) with God grace, we shall

not néed it. But for anie maner néed, I would not we should doo it.

I trust that shée shall be with reason contented, and all things in

good maner obteined. And if it happen that I bring it not so to passe,

yet shall I toward it so farre foorth doo my best, that ye shall all

well perceiue, that no lacke of my deuoir, but the mother's dread and

womanish feare shall be the let.

[Sidenote: The duke of Buckingh[=a]s words against the quéene.]

Womanish feare, naie womanish frowardnesse (quoth the duke of

Buckingham.) For I dare take it vpon my soule, she well knoweth she

néedeth no such thing to feare, either for hir son or for hir selfe.

For as for hir, here is no man that will be at war with women. Would

God some of the men of hir kin were women too, & then should all be

soone in rest. Howbeit there is none of hir kin the lesse loued,

for that they be hir kin, but for their owne euill deseruing. And

nathelesse, if we loued neither hir nor hir kin, yet were there no

cause to thinke that wee should hate the kings noble brother, to whose

grace we our selues be of kin. Whose honor, if she as much desired as

our dishonor, and as much regard tooke to his wealth as to hir owne

will, she would be as loth to suffer him to be absent from the king,

as anie of vs be. For if she haue anie wit (as would God she had as

good will as she hath shrewd wit) she reckoneth hir selfe no wiser than

she thinketh some that be here, of whose faithfull mind she nothing

doubteth, but verelie beléeueth and knoweth, that they would be as

sorie of his harme as hir selfe, and yet would haue him from hir if she

bide there: and we all (I thinke) contented, that both be with hir,

if she come thence, and bide in such place where they may with their

honors be. Now then, if she refuse in the deliuerance of him, to follow

the counsell of them, whose wisdome she knoweth whose truth she well

trusteth: it is easie to perceiue, that frowardnesse letteth hir and

not feare. But go to, suppose that she feare (as who maie let hir to

feare hir owne shadow) the more she feareth to deliuer him the more

ought we feare to leaue him in hir hands.

For if she cast such fond doubts, that she feare his hurt: then will

she feare that he shall be fet thence. For she will soone thinke,

that if men were set (which God forbid) vpon so great mischiefe, the

sanctuarie would little let them: which good men might (as me thinketh)

without sin somewhat lesse regard than they doo. Now then, if she

doubt, least he might be fetched from hir, is it not likelie inough

that she shall send him some where out of the realme? Verelie I looke

for none other. And I doubt not, but shée now as sore mindeth it, as we

the let thereof. And if she might happen to bring that to passe (as it

were no great maistrie, we letting hir alone) all the world would saie,

that we were a wise sort of councellors about a king, that let his

brother be cast awaie vnder our noses.

[Sidenote: Of sanctuaries.]

And therefore, I insure you faithfullie for my mind, I will rather

(mauger hir mind) fetch him awaie, than leaue him there, till hir

frowardnesse and fond feare conueie him awaie. And yet will I breake no

sanctuarie therefore. For verelie, sith the priuileges of that place,

and other like, haue béene of long continued, I am not he that would

be about to breake them. And in good faith, if they were now to begin,

I would not be he that should be about to make them. Yet will I not

say naie, but that it is a déed of pitie, that such men as the sea, or

their euill debtors haue brought in pouertie, should haue some place of

libertie, to kéepe their bodies out of danger of their cruell creditors.

And also, if the crowne happen (as it hath doone) to come in question,

while either part taketh other as traitors, I will well there be some

places of refuge for both. But as for théeues, of which these places

be full, and which neuer fall from the craft, after they once fall

thereto, it is pitie the sanctuarie should serue them. And much more,

mankillers, whome God bad to take them from the altar and kill them,

if their mother were wilfull. And where it is otherwise, there néed we

not the sanctuaries that God appointed in the old law. For if either

necessitie, his owne defense, or misfortune draweth him to that déed,

a pardon serueth, which either the law granteth of course, or the king

of pitie maie. Then looke me now how few sanctuarie men there be, whome

anie fauourable necessitie compelled to go thither. And then sée on the

other side, what a sort there be commonlie therin of them, whom wilfull

vnthriftinesse hath brought to naught.

[Sidenote: Westminster and saint Martins.]

[Sidenote: The abuse of sanctuaries.]

What a rabble of théeues, murtherers, and malicious heinous traitors,

and that in two places speciallie; the one at the elbow of the citie,

the other in the verie bowels. I dare well auow it, weie the good that

they doo, with the hurt that commeth of them, and ye shall find it much

better to lacke both, than haue both. And this I saie, although they

were not abused as they now be, & so long haue be, that I feare me euer

they will be, while men be afraid to set their hands to the mendment,

as though God & S. Peter were the patrones of vngratious liuing. Now

vnthrifts riot & run in debt, vpon boldnesse of these places, yea, and

rich men run thither with poore mens goods, there they build, there

they spend, & bid there creditors go whistle them. Mens wiues run

thither with their husbands plate, & saie they dare not abide with

their husbands for beating. Théeues bring thither their stollen goods,

and there liue thereon.

There deuise they new robberies, nightlie they steale out, they rob,

and reaue, and kill, and come in againe, as though those places gaue

them not onelie a safegard for the harme they haue doone, but a licence

also to doo more. Howbeit, much of this mischiefe (if wise men would

set their hands to it) might be amended, with great thanks to God, and

no breach of the priuilege. The residue, sith so long ago, I wote néere

what pope, and what prince more pitious than politike, hath granted it,

& other men since, of a certeine religious feare, haue not broken it,

let vs take a paine therewith, and let it a Gods name stand in force,

as farre foorth as reason will, which is not fullie so farre foorth,

as may serue to let vs of the fetching foorth of this noble man to his

honor and wealth, out of that place, in which he neither is, nor can be

a sanctuarie man.

[Sidenote: The vse of sanctuaries.]

A sanctuarie serueth alwaie to defend the bodie of that man that

standeth in danger abroad, not of great hurt onlie, but also of lawfull

hurt: for against vnlawfull harmes, neuer pope nor king intended to

priuilege anie one place, for that priuilege hath euerie place. Knoweth

anie man, anie place wherein it is lawfull one man to doo another

wrong? That no man vnlawfullie take hurt, that libertie, the king, the

law, and verie nature forbiddeth in euerie place, and maketh (to that

regard) for euerie man euerie place a sanctuarie. But where a man is by

lawfull means in perill, there néedeth he the tuition of some speciall

priuilege, which is the onelie ground and cause of all sanctuaries.

From which necessitie, this noble prince is farre, whose loue to his

king, nature and kinred prooueth; whose innocencie to all the world,

his tender youth prooueth; and so sanctuarie, as for him, neither none

he néedeth, nor also none can haue. Men come not to sanctuarie, as

they come to baptisme, to require it by their godfathes, he must aske

it himselfe that must haue it, and reason; sith no man hath cause to

haue it, but whose conscience of his owne fault maketh him fane, néed

to require it. What will then hath yonder babe, which and if he had

discretion to require it, if néed were, I dare say would now be right

angrie with them that kéepe him there? And I would thinke without anie

scruple of conscience, without anie breach of priuilege, to be somewhat

more homelie with them that be there sanctuarie men in déed.

For if one go to sanctuarie with another mans goods, whie should not

the king, leauing his bodie at libertie, satisfie the partie of his

goods, euen within the sanctuarie? For neither king nor pope can giue

anie place such a priuilege, that it shall discharge a man of his

debts, being able to paie. [And with that, diuerse of the clergie

that were present (whether they said it for his pleasure, or as they

thought) agréed plainlie, that by the law of God, and of the church,

the goods of a sanctuarie man should be deliuered in paiment of his

debts, and stollen goods to the owner, and onlie libertie reserued him

to get his liuing with the labor of his hands.]

Verelie (quoth the duke) I thinke you say verie truth. And what if a

mans wife will take sanctuarie, bicause she lust to run fr[=o] hir

husband, I would wéene if she could alledge none other cause, he maie

lawfullie without anie displeasure to saint Peter, take hir out of

saint Peters church by the arme. And if no bodie maie be taken out of

sanctuarie, that saith hée will bide there: then if a child will take

sanctuarie, bicause he feareth to go to schoole, his maister must let

him alone. And as simple as that sample is, yet is there lesse reason

in our case than in that; for therein, though it be a childish feare,

yet is there at the leastwise some feare, and herein is there none at

all. And verelie, I haue often heard of sanctuarie men, but I neuer

heard earst of sanctuarie children.

And therefore, as for the conclusion of my mind, who so maie haue

deserued to néed it, if they thinke it for their suertie, let them

kéepe it. But he can be no sanctuarie man, that neither hath wisdome

to desire it, nor malice to deserue it; whose life or libertie can

by no lawfull processe stand in ieopardie. And he that taketh one

out of sanctuarie to doo him good, I saie plainlie, that he breaketh

no sanctuarie. When the duke had doone, the temporall men whole, and

a good part of the spirituall also, thinking no hurt earthlie meant

toward the yoong babe, condescended in effect, that if he were not

deliuered, he should be fetched. Howbeit they thought it all best in

the auoiding of all maner of rumor, that the lord cardinall should

first assaie to get him with hir good will.

Wherevpon all the councell came vnto the Star-chamber at Westminster;

and the lord cardinall, leauing the protector with the councell in the

Star-chamber, departed into the sanctuarie to the quéene, with diuers

other lords with him: were it for the respect of his honor, or that she

should by presence of so manie perceiue, that this errand was not one

mans mind: or were it, for that the protector intended not in this

matter to trust anie one man alone; or else, that if she finallie were

determined to kéepe him, some of that companie had happilie secret

instruction, incontinent (mauger hir mind) to take him, and to leaue

hir no respit to conueie him, which she was likelie to mind after this

matter broken to hir, if hir time would in anie wise serue hir.

When the quéene and these lords were come togither in presence, the

lord cardinall shewed vnto hir, that it was thought vnto the protector,

and vnto the whole councell that hir kéeping of the kings brother

in that place, was the thing which highlie sounded, hot onelie to

the great rumor of the people and their obloquie; but also to the

importable gréefe and displeasure of the kings roiall maiestie, to

whose grace it were as singular a comfort, to haue his naturall brother

in companie, as it was their both dishonour, and all theirs and hirs

also, to suffer him in sanctuarie, as though the one brother stood in

danger and perill of the other [and therefore more conuenient it were

they should be togither, than parted asunder; that the world may well

thinke and saie both of their kinred and also of them, when they shall

sée and heare how they kéepe continual companie, and liue in mutuall

amitie (as becometh brethren) which bringeth commodities with it, for

number, infinite; and for vse, comfortable and necessarie; as it is

truelie said:

Quæ ligat vnanimes foelix concordia fratres,

O quales fructus vtilitatis habet!]

[Sidenote: Protector.]

The cardinall shewed hir likewise, that the councell therefore had

sent him vnto hir to require hir the deliuerie of him, that he might

be brought vnto the kings presence at his libertie, out of that place,

which they reckoned as a prison; and there should he be demeaned

according to his estate: and she in this dooing, should both doo great

good to the realme, pleasure to the councell, and profit to hir selfe,

succour to hir fréends that were in distresse, and ouer that (which he

wist well she speciallie tendered) not onelie great comfort and honor

to the king, but also to the yoong duke himselfe, whose both great

wealth it were to be togither, as well for manie greater causes, as

also for their both disport & recreation. Which thing the lord estéemed

no slight, though it séeme light, well pondering that their youth

without recreation and plaie cannot indure; nor anie stranger, for the

conuenience of both their ages and estates, so méetlie in that point

for anie of them, as either of them for other.

[Sidenote: The quéenes answer.]

[Sidenote: The quéene is loth to part with her son.]

My lord (quoth the quéene) I saie not naie, but that it were verie

conuenient, that this gentleman, whome yée require, were in companie

of the king his brother: and in good faith, me thinketh it were as

great commoditie to them both, as for yet a while to béene in the

custodie of their mother, the tender age considered of the elder of

them both, but speciallie the yoonger, which (besides his infancie,

that also néedeth good looking to) hath a while béene so sore diseased,

vexed with sicknesse, and is so newlie rather a little amended, than

well recouered, that I dare put no person earthlie in trust with his

kéeping, but my selfe onelie, considering that there is (as physicians

saie) and as we also find, double the perill in the recidiuation,

than was in the first sicknesse, with which disease nature being sore

laboured, forewearied and weakened waxeth the lesse able to beare out

and susteine a new surfet. And albeit there might be founden other that

would happilie doo their best vnto him, yet is there none that either

knoweth better how to order him, than I that so long haue kept him: or

is more tenderlie like to cherish him, than his owne mother that bare

him.

No man denieth, good madame (quoth the cardinall) but that your grace

were of all folke most necessarie about your children: and so would all

the councell not onelie be content, but glad that ye were (if it might

stand with your pleasure) to be in such place as might stand with their

honour. But if you doo appoint your selfe to tarrie héere, then thinke

they it more conuenient that the duke of Yorke were with the king

honourablie at his libertie, to the comfort of them both: than héere

as a sanctuarie man, to their both dishonour and obloquie, sith there

is not alwaie so great necessitie to haue the child to be with the

mother: but that occasion may sometime be such, that it should be more

expedient to kéepe him elsewhere. Which in this well appeareth, that

at such time as your déerest sonne then prince, and now king, should

for his honor, and good order of the countrie, kéepe houshold in Wales,

farre out of your companie: your grace was well content therewith your

selfe.

[Sidenote: The quéenes mistrust of the lord protector.]

Not verie well content (quoth the quéene) and yet the case is not like,

for the tone was then in health, and the tother is now sicke. In which

case, I maruell greatlie, that my lord protector is so desirous to haue

him in his kéeping, where if the child in his sicknesse miscarried

by nature, yet might he run into slander and suspicion of fraud. And

where they call it a thing so sore against my childes honor, and theirs

also, that he bideth in this place: it is all their honours there to

suffer him bide, where no man doubteth he shall be best kept; and that

is héere, while I am héere, which as yet intend not to come foorth and

ieopard my selfe after other of my fréends, which would God were rather

héere in suertie with me, than I were there in ieopardie with them.

[Sidenote: The lord Howard, saith _Edw. Hall_.]

Whie madame (quoth another lord) know you anie thing whie they should

be in ieopardie? Naie verelie sir (quoth shée) nor whie they should be

in prison neither, as they now be. But it is (I trow) no great maruell

though I feare, least those that haue not letted to put them in duresse

without colour, will let as little to procure their destruction without

cause. The cardinall made a countenance to the other lord, that he

should harpe no more vpon that string; and then said he to the quéene,

that he nothing doubted, but that those lords of hir honorable kin,

which as yet remained vnder arrest, should vpon the matter examined,

doo well inough: and as toward hir noble person, neither was nor could

be anie maner ieopardie.

Whereby should I trust that (quoth the quéene) in that I am giltlesse?

As though they were giltie, in that I am with their enimies better

loued than they? When they hate them for my sake, in that I am so néere

of kin to the king? And how far they be off, if that would helpe, as

God send grace it hurt not, and therefore as for me, I purpose not as

yet to depart hence. And as for this gentleman my sonne, I mind that he

shall be where I am, till I sée further: for I assure you, for that I

sée some men so greedie, without anie substantiall cause to haue him,

this maketh me much the more fearder to deliuer him.

Truelie madame, quoth he, and the fearder that you be to deliuer him,

the fearder bin other men to suffer you to kéepe him, least your

causelesse feare might cause you further to conueie him; and manie be

there that thinke he can haue no priuilege in this place, which neither

can haue will to aske it, nor malice to deserue it. And therefore, they

reckon no priuilege broken, though they fetch him out; which if yée

finallie refuse to deliuer him, I verelie thinke they will. So much

dread hath my lord his vncle, for the tender loue he beareth him, least

your grace should hap to send him awaie.

[Sidenote: The quéenes replie vpon the lord cardinall.]

A sir (quoth the quéene) hath the protector so tender zeale, that

he feareth nothing but least he should escape him? Thinketh he that

I would send him hence, which neither is in the plight to send out.

And in what place could I reckon him sure, if he be not sure in this

sanctuarie, whereof was there neuer tyrant yet so diuelish that durst

presume to breake? And I trust God is as strong now to withstand his

aduersaries as euer he was. But my sonne can deserue no sanctuarie, and

therefore he can not haue it. Forsooth he hath found a goodlie glose,

by which that place that may defend a théefe, may not saue an innocent.

But he is in no ieopardie, nor hath no néed thereof, would God he had

not.

Troweth the protector (I praie God he may prooue a protector) troweth

he that I perceiue not wherevnto his painted processe draweth? It

is not honourable that the duke bide héere: it were comfortable for

them both, that he were with his brother, bicause the king lacketh a

plaifellow. Be you sure? I praie God send them both better plaifellowes

than him, that maketh so high a matter vpon such a trifling pretext:

as though there could none be founden to plaie with the king, but if

his brother that hath no lust to plaie for sicknesse, come out of

sanctuarie out of his safegard to plaie with him. As though princes (as

yoong as they be) could not plaie but with their péeres, or children

could not plaie but with their kinred, with whome for the more part

they agrée much woorse than with strangers.

But the child cannot require the priuilege. Who told him so? He shall

heare him aske it, and he will. Howbeit, this is a gaie matter. Suppose

he could not aske it, suppose he would not aske it, suppose he would

aske to go out. If I saie he shall not; if I aske the priuilege but for

my selfe, I say he that against my will taketh him out, breaketh the

sanctuarie. Serueth this libertie for my person onelie, or for my goods

too? Yée may not hence take my horsse fro me: and may you take my child

fro me? He is also my ward: for as my learned councell sheweth me, sith

he hath nothing by descent holden by knights seruice, the law maketh

his mother his gardian. Then may no man I suppose take my ward fro me

out of sanctuarie, without the breach of the sanctuarie.

[Sidenote: This that is héere betwéene this marke (*) & this marke

(*) was not writt[=e] by him in English but is translated out of this

historie which he wrote in Latine.]

And if my priuilege could not serue him, nor he aske it for himselfe,

yet sith the law committeth to me the custodie of him, I may require

it for him, except the law giue a child a gardian onelie for his goods

and lands, discharging him of the cure and safe kéeping of his bodie,

for which onelie both lands and goods serue. (*) And if examples be

sufficient to obteine priuilege for my child, I néed not farre to

séeke. For in this place in which we now be (and which is now in

question whether my child may take benefit of it) mine other sonne

now king was borne, and kept in his cradle and preserued to a more

prosperous fortune, which I praie God long to continue. And as all you

know, this is not the first time that I haue taken sanctuarie.

For when my lord my husband was banished, and thrust out of his

kingdome, I fled hither, being great with child, and héere I bare the

prince. And when my lord my husband returned safe againe, and had the

victorie, then went I hence to welcome him home, and from hence I

brought my babe the prince vnto his father, when he first tooke him

in his armes. And I praie God that my sonnes palace may be as great

safegard vnto him now reigning, as this place was sometime to the

kings enimie. In which place I intend to kéepe his brother, sith, &c.

(*) Wherefore héere intend I to kéepe him, sith mans law serueth the

gardian to kéepe the infant.

The law of nature will the mother to kéepe hir child, God's law

priuilegeth the sanctuarie, and the sanctuarie my sonne, sith I feare

to put him in the protectors hands that hath his brother alreadie, and

were (if both failed) inheritor to the crowne. The cause of my feare

hath no man to doo to examine. And yet feare I no further than the

law feareth, which (as learned men tell me) forbiddeth euerie man the

custodie of them, by whose death he maie inherit lesse land than a

kingdome. I can no more but whosoeuer he be that breaketh this holie

sanctuarie, I praie God shortlie send him néed of sanctuarie, when he

maie not come to it. For taken out of sanctuarie would I not my mortall

enimie were.

[Sidenote: The lord cardinall vseth an other waie to persuade the

quéene.]

The lord cardinall, perceiuing that the quéene waxed euer the longer

the farther off, and also that she began to kindle and chafe, and

spake more biting words against the protector, and such as he neither

beléeued, and was also loth to heare, he said to hir for a finall

conclusion, that he would no longer dispute the matter: but if she were

content to deliuer the duke to him, and to the other lords present, he

durst laie his owne bodie & soule both in pledge, not onelie for his

suertie, but also for his estate. And if she would giue them a resolute

answer to the contrarie, he would foorthwith depart therewithall,

and shift who so would with this businesse afterwards: for he neuer

intended more to mooue hir in that matter, in which she thought that he

& all other also (saue hir selfe) lacked either wit or truth: wit, if

they were so dull that they could nothing perceiue what the protector

intended: truth, if they should procure hir sonne to be deliuered into

his hands, in whom they should perceiue toward the child anie euill

intended.

The quéene with these words stood a good while in a great studie.

And forsomuch as hir séemed the cardinall more readie to depart than

some of the remnant, and the protector himselfe readie at hand; so

that she verelie thought she could not kéepe him, but that he should

incontinentlie be taken thense: and so conueie him elsewhere, neither

had she time to serue hir, nor place determined, nor persons appointed,

all things vnreadie, this message came on hir so suddenlie, nothing

lesse looking for than to haue him fet out of sanctuarie, which she

thought to be now beset in such places about, that he could not be

conueied out vntaken, and partlie as she thought it might fortune

hir feare to be false, so well she wist it was either néedlesse or

bootlesse: wherefore if she should néeds go from him, she déemed it

best to deliuer him.

[Sidenote: She falleth to a resolution touching hir sonnes deliuerie.]

And ouer that, of the cardinals faith she nothing doubted, nor of some

other lords neither, whome she there saw. Which as she feared least

they might be deceiued: so was she well assured they would not be

corrupted. Then thought she it should yet make them the more warilie

to looke to him, and the more circumspectlie to sée to his suertie,

if she with hir owne hands betooke him to them of trust. And at the

last she tooke the yoong duke by the hand, and said vnto the lords: My

lords (quoth she) and all my lords, I neither am so vnwise to mistrust

your wits, nor so suspicious to mistrust your truths: of which thing I

purpose to make you such a proofe, as if either of both in you, might

turne both you and me to great sorow, the realme to much harme, and you

to great reproch.

For lo, here is (quoth she) this gentleman, whom I doubt not but I

could here kéepe safe, if I would, what euer anie man say: & I doubt

not also, but there be some abroad so deadlie enimies vnto my bloud,

that if they wist where anie of it laie in their owne bodie, they

would let it out. We haue also experience that desire of a kingdome

knoweth no kinred. The brother hath béene the brothers bane: and maie

the nephues be sure of their vncle? Ech of these children is the

others defense while they be asunder, and ech of their liues lieth in

the others bodie. Kéepe one safe and both be sure, and nothing for

them both more perillous, than to be both in one place. For what wise

merchant aduentureth all his goods in one ship?

All this notwithstanding, here I deliuer him and his brother in him,

to kéepe, into your hands, of whom I shall aske them both afore God &

the world. Faithfull ye be that wot I well, & I know well you be wise.

Power and strength to kéepe him (if you list) lacke ye not of your

selfe, nor can lacke helpe in this cause. And if ye can not elsewhere,

then maie you leaue him here. But onelie one thing I beséech you, for

the trust which his father put in you euer, & for the trust that I put

in you now, that as farre as ye thinke that I feare too much, be you

well ware that you feare not as farre too little. And therewithall she

said vnto the child: Fare well mine owne sweete sonne, God send you

good kéeping: let me kisse you yet once yer you go, for God knoweth

when we shall kisse togither againe. And therewith she kissed him and

blessed him, turned hir backe and wept and went hir waie, leauing the

child wéeping as fast. [Howbeit she was sorie afterwards that she had

so parted from hir son (when it was past hir power to procure remedie,

& no hope of helpe left against afterclaps) which is the common case of

all that kind, as the prouerbe saith: