Edward the 5 King of England ●●d France Lord of Ireland    

THE HISTORY OF THE PITIFUL Life, and unfortunate Death of Edward the fifth, and the than Duke of York his brother▪  
With the troublesome and tyrannical government of usurping Richard the third, and his miserable end.  
Written by the Right Honourable Sir Thomas Moor, sometimes Lord Chancellor of England▪  
LONDON▪ Printed by Thomas pain for the Company of Stationers, and are to be sold by Mich: Young, at his shop in Bedford-street in Covent-Garden, near the new Exchange. 1641.   

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL SIR JOHN LENTHALL Knight, Martial of the Kings-bench.  
SIR,  
IT is not unknown to the World, the great ear, earnest, sedulity & laudable custom that hath always been observed in all ages for the preservation of antiquities; by means whereof, the acts and occurrences of former times are so clearly demonstrated, as if they were manifested to the world by a perfect and lively representation, which affordeth in itself a double profit, doth thereby allure all well-disposed persons to the imitation of those things which are honest and virtuous, and to the evitation of such things as are evil and obnoxious, letting them thereby understand the happy issue and success of the one, and the miserable and wretched end and event of the other: for histories are as so many Records and Registers of matters that hath been already past, which being a thing that our humane natures are much inclined unto, gives a great pleasure and delight in the reading: Especially to those that are well affected to the same. The consideration hereof hath moved me to revive that which hath for a long time been raked up in the embers of oblivion. For there coming by chance into my hand a book long since printed, the author whereof was that famous and learned Knight Sir Thomas Moor, sometimes Lord Chancellor of England; wherein is set forth the short Reign, and unfortunate death of the two young Princes, Edward the fith, & the then Duke of York his brother, with the troublesome and tyrannical government of usurping Richard the third, and his miserable end, both which for the matter of the subject, & the worth of the Author (who lived in those times) deserves to be memorised to succeeding ages; which having for many years escaped the press, and by that means likely to be utterly lost, I have thought it not amiss to put to my helping hand, for the restoring of it to the world; and because I know you to be a gentleman that delights yourself in matters of this nature, I am bold to crave your patronage herein, and that you would be pleased to shelter it under the wings of your protect on, not doubting but by that means, it will be as welcome to the world, and as well entertained, as it hath formerly been, which being the thing I wish, together with your pardon for this my presumption, I humbly rest  
Yours to Command, W. S.   

THE PITIFUL LIFE OF KING EDWARD the Fifth.  
THE Eternal God calling to his Mercy the Noble Prince King Edward the Fourth of that Name, 
This King's time with some part of King Richard the third, as shall appear by a note made at that place, was written by Sir Thomas Moor.  Edward his eldest son (Prince of Wales) began his Reign the ninth day of April, in the year of our Lord, 1483. and in the 23. year of Lewis the eleventh then French King: Which young Prince reigned a small space and little season over this Realm, either in pleasure or liberty. For his Uncle Richard Duke of Gloucester, within three months deprived him not only of his Crown and Regality, but also unnaturally bereft him of his natural life: And for the declaration by what crafty engine he first attempted his ungracious purpose, and by what false, colourable and untrue allegations he set forth openly his pretenced enterprise, and finally, by what shameful, cruel, 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 cruel Tyrant appointed to achieve a more abominable enterprise.  
Their Father was Richard Plantagenet, 
Richard Plantagenet Duke of York. , Duke of York, which began not by war, but by Law to challenge the crown of England, putting his claim in the Parliament, holden the thirtieth year 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 Crown of the Realm (by authority of Parliament) entailed to the Duke of York and his Heirs 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 dissension grown and risen within the Realm, and of Covenants made in the Parliament, not kept, but broken, to prevent the time and to take upon him the Governance in King Henry's life, was by too much hardiness slain at the Battle of Wakefield, leaving behind him three sons, Edward, George, and Richard. All these three as they were great estates of Birth, so were they great and stately of stomach, greedy of promotions, and impatient partners of rule and authority. 
The 3. sons of Richard Duke of York described.   
This Edward revenged his Father's death, and deposed King H●nry the Sixth, and attained the Crown and Sceptre of the Realm.  
George Duke of Clarence was a goodly and well featured Prince, in all things fortunate, if either his own 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 Queen or the Nobles of her Blood, which highly maligned the King's Kindred (as women commonly, not of malice, but of Nature, hate such as their husband's love) or were it a proud appetite of the Duke himself, intending to be King, at the least wise, heinous Treason was laid to his charge, and finally were he in fault or were he faultless, attainted was he by Parliament, 
George Duke of Clarence drowned in a But of Malmsey.  and judged to death; and thereupon hastily drowned in a But of Malmsey within the Tower of London. Whose death King Edward (although he commanded it) when he wist it was done, piteously he bewailed and sorrowfully repented it.  
Richard Duke of Gloucester, 
The Description of Richard the 3.  the third Son (of which I must most entreat) was in wit and courage equal with the other, but in beauty and lineaments of Nature far underneath both, for he was little of stature, evil featured of limbs, crooke-backed, the left shoulder much higher than 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, wrathful and envious; and as it is reported, his Mother the Duchess had much ado in her travel, that she could not be delivered of him uncut, and that he 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 God's Judgement. He was no evil Captain in war, as to the which, his disposition was more inclined, then to peace. Sundry Victories he had, and some Overthrows, but never for default of his own person, either for lack of hardiness or politic order. Free he was of his expenses, and somewhat above his power liberal; with large gifts he got him unsteadfast friendship: for which cause he was fain to borrow, pill and extort in other places, which got him steadfast hatred. He was close and secret, a deep dissembler, lowly of countenance, arrogant of heart, outwardly familiar where he inwardly hated, not letting to kiss whom he thought to kill, spiteful and cruel, not always for ill will, but oftener for ambition and to serve his purpose; friend and foe were all indifferent: where his advantage grew, he spared no man's death whose life withstood his purpose. He slew in the Tower King Henry the Sixth; 
King Henry the 6. slain in the Tower by Richard the 3.  saying, Now is there no Heir male of King Edward the third, but we of the House of York: which murder was done without King Edward his assent, which would have appointed that butcherly office to some other, rather than to his own Brother.  
Some Wise men also think, that his drift lacked not in helping forth his own Brother of Clarence to his death, which thing in all appearance he resisted, although he inwardly minded it. And the cause thereof was, as men noting his doings and proceedings did mark (because that he long in King Edward's time thought to obtain the Crown, in case that the King his Brother, (whose life he looked that ill diet would soon shorten) should happen to decease, as he did indeed, his children being young. And then if the Duke of Clarence had lived, his pretenced purpose had been far hindered: For if the Duke of Clarence had kept himself true to his Nephew the young King, every one of these casts had been a Trump in the Duke of Gloucesters' way: but when he was sure that his Brother of Clarence wat dead, than he knew that he might work without that danger. But of these points there is no certainty, and whosoever divineth or conjectureth, may as well shoot too far as too short: but this conjecture afterward took place (as few do) as you shall perceive hereafter.  
But before I declare to you how this Richard Duke of Glouc●ster began his mischievous imagined and pretended enterprise, as apparently shall be opened, I must a little put you in remembrance of a loving and charitable act, no less profitable than pleasing to the whole Commonalty, if it had been so inwardly thought as it was outwardly dissembled, which King Edward did, lying on his death bed, not long before he died. For in his life, although that the division amongst his friends somewhat grieved and vexed him, yet in his health he less regarded and took 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 sickness (which continued longer than false and fantastical tales have untruly and falsely surmised, as I myself that wrote this Pamphlet truly knew) when he perceived his natural strength was gone, and hoped little of recovery by the arts of all his Physicians, which he perceived only to prolong his life; Then he began to consider the youth of his Children, howbeit he nothing less mistrusted than that that happened; yet he wisely foreseeing and considering, that many harms might ensue by the debate of his Nobles, while the youth of his children should lack discretion and good counsel of their friends, (for he knew well that every part would work for their own commodity, and rather by pleasant advice to win themselves favour, then by profitable advertisement to do the Children good:) wherefore lying on his death bed at Westminster, he called to him such Lords as then were about him, whom he knew to be at variance, especially the Lord marquis Dorset son to the Queen, and the Lord Hastings, against whom the Queen especially grudged for the favour that the King bore him, and also she thought him familiar with the King in wanton company: her Kin bore him envy, aswell for that the King made him Captain of Calais, which office the Lord Rivers Brother to the Queen claimed of the King by his former promise, as of divers other gifts which he received that they looked for. And when these Lords with divers other of both parties were come unto the King's presence, he caused himself to be raised up with pillows, and as I can guess, said thus or much like in sentence to them. 
An Exhortation of King Edward the 4. on his death bed.   
My Lords, my dear kinsmen and allies, in what plight I now lie, you see, and I perfectly feel; by the which I look the less 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 find you, which if they should find at variance (as God forbid) they themselves might hap to fall at war, ere their discretion would serve to set you at peace: You see their youth, of which I reckon the only 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 faithfulness might hap to suffice, but childhood must be maintained by men's authority, and slippery youth underpropped with elder counsel; which they can never have except you give it, nor you give it except you agree; for where each laboureth to break that the other maketh, and for hatred each impugneth others counsel, there must needs be a long tract, ere any good conclusion can issue. And further, while each party laboureth to be chief flatterer, adulation shall then have more place, then plain and faithful advice, of which must needs ensue the evil bringing up of the Prince, whose mind, in tender youth infected, shall readily fall to mischief and riot, and draw down this Noble Realm to ruin: But if grace turn him to wisdom (which God send him) than they which by evil means pleased him best, shall after fall farthest out of favour, so that at the length evil drifts drive to naught, and good plain ways prosper and flourish. Great variance hath been between you, not always for great causes: Sometime a thing right well intended and misconstrued, hath been turned to the worse, or a small displeasure done to you, either by your own affection, or by instigation of evil tongues, hath been sorely aggravated. But this I know well, you had never so great cause of hatred, as you have of love, because we 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 aught more to move you, than 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 blood, the other of my allies, and each of you with other either of kindred or affinity, which is the very spiritual affinity and kindred in Christ, as all partakers of the Sacraments of Christ's Church. The weight of which consanguinity if we did bear, as would to God we did, then should we more be moved to spiritual charity then to fleshly consanguinity. Our Lord forbid that you love the worse together for the selfsame cause that you ought to love the better, and yet that happeneth; for no where find we so deadly debate as amongst them which by nature and law most ought to agree together. Such a Serpent is ambition and desire of vain glory and sovereignty, while amongst estates, when he is once entered, he creepeth forth so far, till with division and variance he turneth all to mischief; First longing to be next to the best, afterward equal with the best, and at the last chief and above the best. Of which immoderate appetite of worship, and the debate and dissension that grew thereby, what loss, what sorrow, what trouble hath within these few years grown within this Realm, I pray God as well to forget as we well remember; which thing if I could as well have foreseen, as I have with my more pain than pleasure proved, by God his blessed Lady (that was his common oath) I would never have won the courtesies o● men's knees with the loss of so many heads. But sith things passed cannot be called again▪ much more ought we to beware, by what occasion we have taken so great hurt before that we presently fall not into that occasion again. Now be these griefs p●ssed, and all is quiet, thanked be God and likely well to prosper in wealthful peace, under your Cousins my children, if God send them life, and you love and concord. Of which two things, the less loss were they, by whom although God did his pleasure, yet should this Realm always find K●ngs, and peradventure as good Kings as they. But if you amongst yourselves in a child's Reign fall at debate, many a good man shall innocently perish, and he and you also, ere this Land find peace and quiet again: 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 me, 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 griefs forgotten, each of you love other, which I verily trust you will, if you any thing regard God or your King's affinity or kindred, this Realm, your own Country, or your own safety and wealth. And therewithal, the King for faintness no longer enduring to sit up, laid him down on his right side, his face toward them. And there was none present that could forbear 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 joined their hands together, when, as it after appeared by their deeds, their hearts were far asunder. And so within a few days, this Noble Prince deceased at Westminster, the ninth day of April, in the year of our Lord, 1483. after that he had reigned 22. years, one month, and eight days, and was with great Funeral pomp conveiged to Windsor, leaving behind him two sons, Edward the Prince (of whom this story entreateth) a child of 13. years of age, Richard Duke of York two years younger than the Prince, and five daughters, Elizabeth, which by God's Grace was married to King Henry the seventh and Mother to King Henry the 8. Cicile not so fortunate as fair, first wedded to the Viscount W●ll●●, after to one Cows, and lived not in great wealth, Brid●●●●rofessed ●rofessed herself a close Nun at S●on, Anne was marrie● to Lord Thomas Howard Earl of Surr●y and Duke of Norfolk, Katherine the youngest daughter was married to Lord William Courtney, son to the E●rle of Devonshire, which long time ●●ssed in either fortune, sometime in 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 war each must be others enemy) that there was never any King in this Realm attaining the Crown by war and battle, so heartily beloved with the more substance of his people, nor he himself 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, mischief and trouble of the tempestuous world that followed, highly towards him more increased. At such time as he died, the displeasure of those that bore him a grudge for King Henry the sixth his sake (whom he deposed) was well assuaged, and in effect quenched within the space of 22. years, which is a great part of a man's life, and some were reconciled and grown into his favour, of the which he was never strange, when it was with true heart demanded. He was goodly of Personage, and Princely to behold, of heart courageous, politic in counsel, and in adversity nothing abashed, in prosperity rather joyful then proud, in peace just and merciful, in war sharp and fierce, in the Field bold and hardy, and yet nevertheless no farther than reason and policy would adventure, whose wars whosoever circumspectly and advisedly considereth, he shall no less commend his wisdom and policy where he avoided them, than his manhood where he vanquished them. He was of visage full-faced and lovely, of body mighty, strong and clean made: with over-liberall and wanton diet he waxed something corpulent and burly, but nevertheless not uncomely. He was in youth greatly given to fleshly wantonness, from the which health of body in, great prosperity and fortune, without an especial grace hardly refraineth. This fault little grieved his people; for neither could any one man's pleasure stretch or extend to the displeasure of very many, nor a multitude be grieved by a private man's fantasy or voluptuousness, when it was done without violence. And in his latter days he left all wild dalliance, and fell to gravity, so that he brought his Realm into a wealthy and prosperous estate, all fear of outward enemies were clearly extinguishe●, and no war was in hand, nor none toward, but such as no man looked for. The people were toward their Prince not in a constrained fear, but in a true, loving, and wilful obedience among themselves, and the Commons were in good peace. The Lords whom he knew at variance, he on his death bed (as he 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 only thing that draweth the hearts of English men from their Kings and Princes: nor nothing he enterprised nor took in hand, by the which he should be driven thereunto. For his tribute out of France he had a little before recovered and obtained. And the year before he died, he recovered again the Town of Berwick against the King of Scots. And albeit that all the time of his reign, he was so benign, courteous and familiar, that no part of his virtues was esteemed more than those high humilities: Yet that condition in the end of his last days decayed not, in the which many Princes by a long continued Sovereignty, decline to a proud port and behaviour from their conditions accustomed at their beginning. Yet lowliness and gentleness so far forth in him increased, that the Summer before he died, he being at Havering at the Bower, sent for the Mayor of London thither, only to hunt and make pastime, where he made them not so hearty but so familiar and friendly cheer, and sent also to their Wives such plenty of Venison, that no one thing in many days before got him either more hearts or more hearty favour amongst the common people, which oftentimes more esteem and take for great kindness a little courtesy, than 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 keep him: Which love of his people, and their entire affection toward him, had been to his Noble Children (having in themselves also as many gifts of Nature, as many Princely virtues, as much good towardness as their age could receive) a marvellous fortress and a sure armour, if the division and dissension of their friends had not unarmed them, and left them destitute, and the execrable desire of Sovereignty provoked him to their destruction, which if either kind or kindness had holden place, must needs have been their defence. For Richard Gloucester, by nature their Uncle, by Office their Protector, to their Father greatly beholden, and to them by oath and allegiance bounden, all the bonds broken and violated which bind man and man together, without any respect of God or the World, unnaturally contrived to bereave them, not only of their dignity and pre-eminence, but also of their natural lives and worldly felicity.  
And first to show you, that by conjecture he pretended this thing in his Brother's life, ye shall understand for a truth that the same night that King Edward died, one called Mistelbrooke, 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 showed 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 he had so to think, hard it is to say, whether he being his servant knew any such thing pretended, or otherwise had any inkling thereof, but of all likelihood he spoke it not of nought.  
But now to return 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 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. Certain it is, that he being in the North parts, for the good governance of the Country, being advertised of his Brother's death, contrived the destruction of his Nephews with the usurpation of the Royal Dignity and Crown. And forasmuch as he well wist, and had holp to maintain a long continued grudge and heartburning between the Queen's kindred and the King's Blood, 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 he might under the pretence of revenging of old 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 he was certain, that if his intent were once perceived, he should have made peace between both parties with his own blood: but all his intent he kept secret till he knew his friends; of the which Henry the Duke of Buckingham was the first that sent to him, after his Brother's death, a trusty servant of his, called Persivall, to the City of York, where the Duke of Gloucester kept the K. his brother's Funerals. This Persivall came to john Ward a cret Chamberer to the Duke of Gloucester, desiring that he in close and covert manner might speak with the Duke his Master: whereupon in the dead of the night, the Duke sent for Persivall (all other being avoided) which showed to the Duke of Gloucester, that the Duke of Buckingham, his Master, in this new World would take such part as he would, and would farther wait upon him with a thousand good fellows, if need were.  
The Duke sent back the Messenger with great thanks, and divers privy instructions by mouth: which Persivall did so much by his travel, 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 Nottingham, which was come out of the North-country with many Knights and Gentlemen, to the number of 600. Horse and more, in his journey towards London. And after secret meeting and communication had between him and the Duke of Gloucester, he returned with such speed, that he brought the Duke of Buckingham his Master to meet 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 still with the Duke of Gloucester till he was crowned King, as ye shall plainly perceive hereafter.  
The young King, at the death of his Father, kept household 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 wild Welshmen and evil disposed persons should refrain from their accustomed murders and outrages. The governance of this young Prince was committed to Lord Anthony Woodvile Earl Rivers and Lord Scales, Brother to the Queen, a wise, hardy, and honourable personage, as valiant of hands as politic in Counsel; and with him were associate others of the same party, and in effect, every one as he was near of kin unto the Queen, so was he planted next about the Prince. That drift by the Queen seemed to be devised, whereby her blood might of right in tender youth be so planted in the Prince's 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 the foundation of his unhappy building: For whom soever he perceived to be at variance with them, or to bear toward himself any favour, he broke unto them, some by mouth, some by writing and secret messengers, that it was neither reason, nor yet to be suffered, that the young King their Master and kinsman should be in the hands and custody of his Mother's kindred, sequestered in manner from their company and attendance, of which every one ought him as faithful service as they, and many of them of far● more honourable part of kin than his Mother's side, whose blood, quoth the Duke of Gloucester, saving the King's pleasure, was far unmeet to be matched with his, which now to be removed from the King, and the least Noble to be left about him, is, quoth he, neither honourable to his Majesty, nor to us, and also to him less 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 belief and soon persuaded.  
Ye remember, that King Edward himself, albeit he was both of age and discretion, yet was he ruled in many things by that faction, more than stood there with his honour, or our profit, or with the commodity of any man else, except only the immoderate advancement of themselves, which whether they thirsted sore after their own weal or no, it were hard I think to guess. And if some folk's friendship had not holden better place with the King, than any respect of kindred, they might, peradventure, easily have trapped and brought to confusion some of us ere this; and why not as easily as they have done others, or this as near of the Blood Royal, but our Lord hath wrought his will, and thanked be his grace, that peril is past: howbeit▪ as great is growing, if we suffer this young King in his enemy's hands which without his witting might abuse the name of his commandment to any of our undoing; which things, God and our good provision forbid; of which good provision, none of us have any thing the less need for the late atonement made, in which the King's pleasure had more place than the parties hearts or wills, nor none of us is so unwise, or so much overseen, as to trust a new friend made of an old foe, or to think that any only kindness so suddenly contracted in an hour, continued scantly yet a fortnight, should be deeper set in our stomaches then a long accustomed malice many years rooted.  
With these persuasions and writings, the Duke of Gloucester set on fire them which were easy to kindle, and especially two, Henry Duke of Buckingham, and William Lord Hastings, and Lord Chamberlain, both men of honour and of great power, the one by long succession from his Ancestors, the other by his Offices and the King's favour. These two not bearing each to other so much love, as hatred both to the Queen's blood, accorded together with the Duke of Gloucester, that they would remove from the King all his Mother's 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 pass, without the assembling and gathering of people, and in manner of open war, whereof the end he knew was doubtful, 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 means, caused the Queen to be persuaded, 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 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 King's name, much people, they should give the Lords betwixt whom and them there had been some time debate, an occasion to fear and suspect, lest they should gather this people, not for the King's safeguard, 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 she knew well stretched far; and thus should all the Realm fall in an uproar, and of the mischief that thereof should ensue (which was likely to be not a little) the most harm was like to fall where she lest 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 Kin had always observed.  
The Queen being thus persuaded, 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 Queen's 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 he came to Northampton, and from thence he removed to Stony Stratford. On which day, the two Dukes and their train came to Northampton, feigning that Stony Stratford could not lodge them all, where they found the Earl Rivers, intending the next morning to have followed the King, and to be with him early in the morning. So that night, the Dukes made to the Earl Rivers friendly cheer, but as soon as they were departed, very familiar, with great courtesy in open sight, and the Earl Rivers lodged, the two Dukes with a few of their privy friends fell to Council, 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 horseback, for their Lords were in manner ready to ride, whereupon all their servants were ready ere the Lord Rivers servants were awake. Now had the Dukes taken the keys of the Inn into their possession, so that none should issue out without their consent. And over this in the high way toward Stony Stratford, they set certain of their folks that should cause and compel to return again 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 bore folks in hand. But when the Earl Rivers understood the Gates closed, and the ways on every side beset, neither his servants, neither himself suffered to go out, perceiving so great a thing without his knowledge, not begun for nought, comparing this present doing with the last night's cheer, in so few hours so great a change, marvellously misliked it. Howbeit, sith he could not get away, he determined not to keep himself close, lest he should seem to hide himself for some secret fear of his own fault, whereof he saw no such cause in himself; wherefore on the surety of his own conscience he determined to go to them, and to inquire what this matter might mean: Whom as soon as they saw, they began to quarrel with him, affirming that he pretended to set distance between the King and them, to bring them to confusion, which should not lie in his power; and when he began, as he was an eloquent and well-spoken man, in goodly wise to excuse himself, they would not hear his answer, but took him by force and put him in ward. And then they mounted on horseback and came in haste to Stony Stratford, where the King was going to horseback, because he would leave the lodging for them, for it was too strait 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 he them gently received, nothing earthly knowing nor mistrusting as yet. The Duke of Buckingham said aloud, On afore Gentlemen, and Yeomen keep your rooms, and therewith in the King's presence they picked a quarrel to the Lord Richard Grey the Queen's son, and Brother to the Lord marquis, and half Brother to the King, saying, that he and the marquis his Brother, and the Lord Rivers his Uncle, had compassed to rule the King and the Realm, and set variance between the estates, and to subdue and destroy the Noble Blood of the Realm. And toward the accomplishment of the same, they said, the Lord marquis had entered 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 Counsel at London, but somewhat they must say: Unto the which words the king answered, what my Brother marquis hath done, I cannot say, but in good faith, I dare well answer for my Uncle Rivers and my Brother here, that they be innocent of such matters. Yea, my Liege, quoth the Duke of Buckingham, they have kept the dealing of these matters far from the knowledge of your good Grace. And forthwith they arrested the Lord Richard and Sir Thomas Vaughan, and Sir Richard Hawte, knights, in the King's presence, and brought the King and all back to Northampton, where they took farther counsel in their affairs. 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 own Table to the Lord Rivers▪ praying him to be of good cheer, and all should be well: he thanked him, and prayed the Messenger to bear it to his Nephew the Lord Richard with like words, whom he knew to have need of comfort, as one to whom such adversity was strange, but he himself had been always enured therewith, and therefore could bear 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 four were beheaded without judgement.  
In this manner as you have heard, the Duke of Gloucester took on him the Governance of the young King, whom with much reverence he conveyed towards London. These tidings came hastily to the Queen before midnight, by a very sore report, that the King her son was taken, and that her Brother and her other son, and other her friends were arrested and sent, no man knew whither. With this heavy tidings the Queen bewailed her child's ruin, her friend's mischance, and her own misfortune, cursing the time that ever she was persuaded to leave the gathering of people to bring up the King with a great power, but that was passed, and therefore now she took her younger son, the Duke of York, and her daughter, and went out of the Palace of Westminster into the Sanctuary, and there lodged in the Abbot's place, and she and all her children and company were registered for Sanctuary persons. The same night there came to Doctor Rotheram Archbishop of York, and Lord Chancellor, a messenger from the Lord Chamberlain to York place beside Westminster; the Messenger was brought to the Bishop's Bed 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 he should fear nothing, for all should be well. Well, (quoth the Archbishop) be it as well as it will, it will never be so well as we have seen it, and then the messenger departed. Whereupon the Bishop called up all his servants, and took with him the great Seal, and came before day to the Queen, about whom he found much heaviness, rumble, haste, business, conveyance and carriage of her stuff into Sanctuary; every man was busy to carry▪ bear and convey stuff, chests and fardels, no man was unoccupied, and some carried more than they were commanded to another place.  
The Queen sat alone below on the Rushes all desolate and dismayed, whom the Archbishop comforted in the best manner that he could, showing her, that the matter was nothing so sore as she took it for, and that he was put in good hope and out fear by the message sent to him from the Lord Hastings. A woe worth him, quoth the Queen, for it is he that goeth about to destroy me and my blood. Madame, quoth he, be of good comfort, and I assure you, if they crown any other King than your son, whom they now have, we shall on the morrow crown his Brother, whom you have here with you. And here is the Great Seal, which in likewise as your Noble Husband delivered it to me, so I deliver it to you, to the use of your Son, & therewith delivered her the Great Seal, and departed home in the dawning of the day. And when he opened his windows and looked on the Thames, he might see the River full of Boats, of the Duke of Gloucester his servants watching, that no person should go to Sanctuary, nor none should pass unsearched.  
Then was there great rumour and commotion in the City, and in other places, the people diversely divined upon this dealing. And divers Lords, Knights and Gentlemen, either for favour of the Queen, or for fear of themselves, assembled companies, and went stocking together in harness. And many also, for that they recounted this demanour attempted, not so specially against other Lords, as against the King himself, in disturbance of his Coronation, therefore they assembled by and by together, to commune of this matter at London. The Archbishop of York, fearing that it would be ascribed (as it was indeed) to overmuch lightness, that he so suddenly had yielded up the Great Seal to the Queen, to whom the custody thereof nothing appertained without especial commandment of the King, secretly sent for the Seal again, and brought it with him, after the accustomed manner, to meet with the Lords.  
At this meeting, the Lord Hastings, whose truth toward the King no man doubted, no● needed to doubt, persuaded the Lords to believe, that the Duke of Gloucester was faithful and sure towards his Prince, and that the Lord Rivers, the Lord Richard, and other 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 King's danger, and that they were also in safeguard there to remain, till the matter were (not by the Duke's only) but also by all the other Lords of the King's Counsel indifferently examined, and by their discretions ordered, and either judged or appeased. And one thing he advised them to beware of, that they judged not the matter too far forth ere they knew the truth, nor turning their private grudges into the common hurt, irriting and provoking men unto anger; and disturbing the King's Coronation, toward which the Dukes were coming, for that, than might peradventure bring the matter so far out of joint, that it should never be brought in frame again, which if it should hap as it were likely to come to a field, though all parties were in all other things equal, yet should the authority be on that side, where the King is himself; with these persuasions of the Lord Hastings, whereof part he himself believed, and of part he knew well the contrary, these commotions were somewhat appeased. But especially, because the Dukes of Buckingham and Gloucester were so near, and came on ●o shortly with the King, in no other manner, nor no other voice or semblance then to his Coronation, causing the ●ame to be blown about, that such persons as were apprehended, had contrived the destruction of the Dukes of Gloucester and of Buckingham, and other of the Noble Blood of this Realm, to the intent that they alone would rule and govern the King. And for the colour thereof, such of the Duke's servants as rod with the Carts of their stuff which was taken, among the which stuff, no marvel though some were harness, which at the breaking up of such an household must be brought away or cast away, they showed to the people, and as they went, said, Lo, here be the Barrels of harness that these Traitors had privily conveyed in their carriages to destroy the Noble Lords withal. 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 harness on their backs, then to have bound them up in barrels, yet much part of the common people were therewith right well satisfied.  

Edmund Shaw Mayor of London.  When the King approached near the City, Edmund Shaw Goldsmith, than Mayor of the City, with the Aldermen and Sheriffs in Scarlet, and five hundred commoners in murrey received his Grace reverendly at Harnesay Park, and so conveyed him to the City, where he entered the fourth day of May, in the first and last year of his Reign, and was lodged in the Bishop of London's Palace: but the Duke of Gloucester bore him in open sight so reverently, saying to all men as he road▪ Behold your Prince and Sovereign Lord, and made such semblance of lowliness to his Prince, that from the great obloquy that he was in so late before, he was suddenly fallen in so great trust, that at the Council next assembled, he was made the only chief Ruler, and thought most meet to be Protector of the King and his Realm: so that, were it destiny, or were it folly, the Lamb was betaken to the Wolf to keep. At which counsel the Archbishop of York was sore blamed for delivering the Great Seal to the Queen, and the Seal taken from him, and delivered to Doctor john Russell Bishop of Lincoln, a wise man and a good, and of much experience, and divers Lords and Knights were appointed to divers rooms: the Lord Chamberlain and some other kept the rooms that they were in before, but not many.  
Now were it so that the Protector (which always you must take for the Duke of Gloucester) sore thirsted for the achieving of his pretended enterprise, and thought every day a year till it were performed, yet durst he no farther attempt, as long as he had but half his prey in his hand, well witting that if he deposed the one brother, all the Realm would fall toth'other, if he remained either in Sanctuary or should haply be shortly conveyed to his Father's liberty. Wherefore incontinent at the next meeting of the Lords in Council, he propounded to them, that it was an heinous thing of the Queen, and proceeding of great malice toward the King's Councillors, that she should keep the King's Brother in Sanctuary from him whose special pleasure and comfort were to have his Brother with him, and that to be done by her to no other intent, but to bring all the Lords in an obloquy and murmur of the people, as though they were not to be trusted with the King's Brother, which Lords were by the whole assent of the Nobles of the Realm, appointed as the Kings near friends, to the tuition of his Royal Person, the prosperity whereof (quoth he) standeth not alone in keeping from enemies and evil diet, but partly also in recreation and moderate pleasure, which he cannot take in his tender youth in the company of old and ancient persons, but in the familiar conversation of those that be not far under, nor far above his age, and nevertheless, of estate convenient to accompany his Majesty, wherefore with whom rather then with his own Brother? and if any man think this consideration light (I think no man so thinketh that loveth the King) let him consider, that sometime without small things greater cannot stand, and verily it redoundeth greatly to the dishonour of the King's highness, and of all us that be about his Grace, to have it come in any man's mouth, not in this Realm only, but also in other Lands (as evil words walk far) that the King's Brother should be fain to keep Sanctuary. For every man will judge, that no man will so do for nought, and such opinions fastened in men's hearts be hard to be wrested out, and may grow to more grief than any man here can divine. Wherefore, me thinketh, it were not the worst to send to the Queen some honourable and trusty personage, such as tendereth the King's weal and the honour of his Counce, and is also in credit and favour with her; for which considerations none seemeth more meetly to me then the reverend Father, my Lord Cardinal, Archbishop of Canterbury, who may in this matter do most good of all men, if it please him to take the pain, which I doubt not of his goodness he will not refuse, for the King's sake & ours, and wealth of the young Duke himself, the Kings most honourable Brother, and for the comfort of my Sovereign Lord himself, my most dearest Nephew; considering, that thereby shall be ceased the slanderous rumour and obloquy now going abroad, and the hurts avoided that thereof might ensue, and then must rest and quietness grow to all the Realm. And if she perhaps be so obstinate, and so precisely set in her own will and opinion, that neither his wise and faithful advertisement can move her, nor any man's reason satisfy her, then shall we by my advice, by the King's authority fetch him out of that prison, and bring him to his Noble presence, in whose continual company he shall be so well cherished, and so honourably entreated, that all the world shall to our honour and her reproach, perceive that it was only malice, frowardness and folly, that caused her to keep him there. This is my mind for this time, except that any of you, my Lords, perceive to the contrary, for never shall I by God's Grace sowed myself unto mine own will, but I shall be ready to change it upon your better advices.  
When the Protector had said, all the Council affirmed that the motion was good and reasonable, and to the King and the Duke honourable, and a thing that should cease great murmur in the Realm, if the Mother might by good means be induced to deliver him; which thing the Archbishop of Canterbury, whom they all agreed also to be most convenient thereunto, took upon him to move her, and thereto to do his uttermost endeavour. Howbeit if she could in no wise be entreated with her good will to deliver him, than thought he and such of the spirituality as were present, that it were not in any wise to be attempted, to take him out against her will, for it would be a thing that should turn to the grudge of all men, and high displeasure of God, if the privilege of that place should be broken, which had so many years been kept, which both Kings and Popes had granted and confirmed, which ground was sanctified by Saint Peter himself more than five hundred years ago. And sith that time, was never so undevout a King, that ever enterprised that sacred privilege 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, break the immunity and liberty of that sacred Sanctuary, that hath been the safeguard of so many a good man's life: but I trust, quoth he, we shall not need it, but for any manner of need I would we should not do it, I trust that ●hee with reason shall be contented, and all things in good manner obtained. And if it hap that I bring it not to pass, yet shall I further it to my best power, so that you all shall perceive my good will, diligence, and endeavour: But the Mother's dread and womanish fear shall be the let if any be.  
Nay, womanish frowardness, quoth the Duke of Buckingham, for I dare take it on my soul, that she well knoweth that she needeth no such thing to fear, either for her son or for herself. For as for her, here is no man that will be at war with women, would God some men of her kin were women too, and then should all be soon at rest. Howbeit, there is none of her kin the less loved for that they be of her kin, but for their own evil deserving.  
And put the case, that we neither loved her nor her kin, yet there were no cause why we should hate the King's Noble Brother, to whose Grace we ourselves be kin, whose Honour if she desired as our dishonour, and as much regard took to his wealth as to her own will, she could be as loath 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 she hath froward wit. For she thinketh herself no wiser than some that are here, of whose faithful minds she nothing doubteth, but verily believeth and acknowledgeth, that they would be as sorry of his harm as her own self, and yet they would have him from her if she abide there.  
And we all, I think, be content that both her children be with her, if she came from thence, and abide in such a place where they may be with their honour. Now if she refuse in the, deliverance of him, to follow the wisdom of them, whose wisdom she knoweth, whose approbate fidelity she well trusteth; it is easy to perceive frowardness letteth her, and not fear. But go to, suppose that she feareth (as who may let her to fear her own shadow) the more we ought to fear to leave him in her hands, for if she cast such fond doubts that she fear his hurt, then will she fear that he shall be fetched thence, for she will soon think, that if men were set (which God forbid on so great a mischief) the Sanctuary will little let them, which Sanctuary good men, as me thinketh, might without sin somewhat less regard than they do.  
Now then, if she doubt lest he might be fetched from her, is it not likely that she will send him somewhere out of the Realm? Verily I look for none other. And I doubt not but she now as sore mindeth it, as we mind the let thereof: And if she might hap to bring that purpose to pass, as it were no great mastery to do, we letting her alone, all the world would say, that we 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 mind, I will rather, ma●ger her stomach; fetch him away, then leave him there till her fear or fond frowardness convey him away, and yet will I break no Sanctuary, for verily sith the privilege of that place, 
Of Sanctuaries.  and other of that sort, have so long continued, I would not go about to break it, but if they were now to begin, I would not be he should make them; yet will not I say nay, but it is a deed of pity, that such men as the chance of the Sea, or their evil debtors have brought into poverty, should have some place of refuge to keep in their bodies out of the danger of their cruel creditors. And if it fortune the Crown to come in question, as it hath done before this time, while each part taketh other for Traitors, I think it necessary to have a place of refuge for both: But as for thiefs and murderers, whereof these places be full, and which never fall from their craft after they once fall thereunto, it is pity that every Sanctuary should serve them, and especially wilful murderers, whom God commandeth to be taken from the Altar, and to be put to death. And where it is otherwise then in these cases, there is no need of Sanctuaries, appointed by God in the Old Law. For if necessity of his own defence, or misfortune drived him to that deed, than a pardon serveth him, which either is granted of course, or the King of pity and compassion giveth.  
Now look how few Sanctuary men there be, whom necessity or misfortune compelled to go thither: And then see on the other ●ide, what a sort there be commonly therein of such, whom wilful unthriftiness hath brought to naught; What a rabble of Thiefs, Murderers and malicious heinous Traitors be, and that in two places especially, the one at the elbow of the City, and the other in the very bowels, I dare well avow it, if you weigh the good that they do, with the hurt that cometh of them, ye shall find it much better to lose both then to have both. And this, I say, although they were not abused, (as they now be and so long have been) that I fear me ever they will be while men be afraid to set their hands to the amendment, as though God and Saint Peter were the Patrons of ungracious living. Now unthrifts riot and run in debt upon boldness of these places; yea, and rich men run thither with poor men's goods, there they build, there they spend and bid their creditors go whistle. men's Wives run thither with their Husband's Plate, and say they dare not abide with their Husbands for beating; Thiefs bring thither stolen goods, and live thereon. There devise they new robberies nightly, and steal out and rob, rive, and kill men, and come again into those places, as though those places gave them not only a safeguard for the harm that they have done, but a licence also to do more mischief: howbeit, much of this great abusion, (if wise men would set their hands there unto) might be amended, with great thanks of God and no breach of the privilege. The conclusion is, sith it is so long ago▪ I wot not what Pope and what Prince, more piteous than politic, hath granted it, and other men sensible of a religious fear, have not broken it▪ let us take pains with it, and let it stand a God's Name in his force, as far forth as reason will, which is not so far 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 he neither is nor can be a Sanctuary or privileged man. A Sanctuary ever serveth to defend the body of that man that standeth in danger abroad, not of great hurt only, but of lawful hurt; for against unlawful hurts and harms, no Pope nor King intended to privilege any one place, wherein it is lawful for one man to do 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 lawful means in peril, there needeth he the tuition of some special privilege, which is the only ground of all Sanctuaries, from which necessity this Noble Prince is far, whose love to his King, Nature and kindred proveth, whose innocence to all the 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 Baptism, to require it by Godfathers, he must ask it himself that must have it, and reason, sith no man hath cause to have it, but whose conscience of his own fault maketh him have need to require it. What will then hath yonder Babe, which if he 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 think without any scruple of conscience, without any breach of privilege, to be somewhat more homely with them that be their Sanctuary men indeed, that if one go to Sanctuary with another man's goods, why should not the King, leaving his body at liberty, satisfy the party of his goods even within the Sanctuary; for neither King nor Pope can give any place such a privilege, that it shall discharge a man of his debts, being able to pay.  
And with that, divers of the Clergy that were there present, whether they said it for his pleasure, or as they thought, agreed plainly by the Law of God and of the Church, that a Sanctuary man should be delivered in payment of his debts, and stolen goods to the owner, and only liberty reserved to him, to get his living by the labour of his hands. Verily, quoth the Duke, I think ye say very truth: And what if a man's wife take Sanctuary, because she list to run from her husband? I would think, if she can allege no other cause, he may lawfully, without any displeasure done to Saint Peter, take her out of Saint Peter's Church by the arm. And if no body may be taken out of Sanctuary, because he saith he will abide there, then if a child will take Sanctuary, because he feareth to go to School, his Master must let him alone. And as simple as that example is, yet is there less reason in our case then in it; for there, though it be a childish fear, yet is there at the least some fear, and herein is no fear 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 mind, whosoever may deserve to have need of it, if they think it for their surety, let them keep 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 can by any lawful process stand in danger: and he that taketh one out of Sanctuary to do him good, I say plainly he breaketh no Sanctuary.  
When the Duke hand done, the temporal men wholly, and the most part of the spiritual men also, thinking no hurt earthly meant toward the young Babe, condescend in effect, that if he were not delivered he should be fetched out. Howbeit, they thought it best in avoiding of all manner of rumour, that the Cardinal should first assay, to get him with her good will. And thereupon all the Council came to the Star-Chamber at Westminster, and the Cardinal leaving the Protector and other Lords in the Star-chamber, departed into the Sanctuary to the Queen, accompanied with certain Lords, were it for the respect of his honour, or that she should by the persons of so many, perceive that his errand was not only one man's mind, 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 keep him, some of the company had peradventure some secret instruction incontinent, maugre her will, to take him, and to leave her no respite to convey him.  
When the Queen and these Lords were come together in presence, the Cardinal showed unto her, that it was thought to the Lord Protector and the whole Council, that her keeping of the King's Brother in that place highly sounded, not only to the grudge of the people, and their obloquy, but also to the importable grief and displeasure of the King's Royal Majesty, to whose Grace it were a singular comfort to have his natural 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 peril of the other. And he showed her farther, that the whole Council had sent him to require of her the delivery of him, that he might be brought to the King's 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 Realm, pleasure to the Council, profit to herself, succour to her friends that were in distress, and over that, which he knew well she specially tendered, not only great comfort and honour to the King, but also to the young Duke himself, both whose great weal 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 them both, but especially the younger, which besides his infancy, that also needeth good looking to, hath a while been so sore diseased with sickness, and is so newly, rather little amended then well recovered, that I dare put no person earthly in trust with his keeping, but myself only, considering there is, as Physicians say, and as we also find, double the peril in the resiluation that was in the first sickness, with which disease Nature being sore laboured, forewearied and weakened, waxeth the less able to bear out a new surfeit. And albeit there might be found other that would haply do 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, than his own Mother that bore him. No man denyeth, good Madam, quoth the Cardinal, that your Grace of all folk were most necessary about your children, and so would all the Council, not only 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 yourself to tarry here, then think they it more convenient, the Duke of York were with the King honourably at his liberty to the comfort of them both, then here as a Sanctuary man to both their dishonours and obloquy, sith there is not always 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 that your most dearest son than Prince and now King, should for his honour and good order of the Country keep household in Wales far out of your keeping, your Grace was well content therewith yourself. Not very well content (quoth the Queen) and yet the case is not like, for the one was then in health, the other is now sick, in which case I marvel greatly why my Lord Protector is so desirous to have him in keeping, where if the child in his sickness miscarried by nature, yet might he run into slander and suspicion of fraud. And they call it a thing so sore against my child's honour and theirs also, that he 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 here while I am here, which as yet intent not to come forth and danger myself after other my friends, which would God were rather here in surety with me, than I were there in danger with them.  
Why Madam (quoth the Lord Howard) know you any thing, why they should be 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 marvel, though I fear lest those that have not letted to put them in durance without colour, will let as little to procure their destruction without cause. The Cardinal made a countenance to the Lord Howard, that he should harp no more upon that string; and then said he to the Queen, that he nothing doubted, but those Lords of her kin, the which remained under arrest, should upon the matter examined do well enough, and as toward her Noble person, neither was, nor could be any manner of danger.  
Whereby should I trust that (quoth the Queen) in that I am guiltless, as though they were guilty, in that I am with their enemies better beloved than they, when they hate them for my sake, in that I am so near to the King, and how far be they off that would help, as God send Grace they hurt not. And therefore as yet I purpose not to depart hence: As for this Gentleman, my son, I mind he shall be where I am till I see further, for I see some men so greedy without any substantial cause to have him, which maketh me much more wary and scrupulous to deliver him.  
Truly Madam (quoth the Cardinal) the further that ye be to deliver him, the further be other men to suffer you to keep him, lest your causeless fear might cause you farther to convey him, and many think he can here have no privilege, which can have neither will to ask it, nor yet malice or offence to need it. And therefore, they reckon no privilege broken, although they fetch him out of Sanctuary, which if you finally refuse to deliver him, I think verily the Council 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 Queen, hath he so tender a zeal to him, that he feareth nothing, but lest he should escape him? Thinketh he, that I would send him hence, which is neither 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 devilish, that durst attempt to break the privilege, and I trust God is now as strong to withstand his adversaries as ever he was. But my son can deserve no Sanctuary, you say, and therefore he can not have it, forsooth the Lord Protector hath sent a goodly gloze, by the which that place that may descend a thief, may not save an innocent: but he is in no danger, nor hath no need thereof, I would God he had not. Troweth the Protector, (I pray God he may prove a Protector, rather than a destroyer, whereunto his painted process draweth) that it is not honourable that the Duke bide here? it were more comfortable to them both, that he were with his Brother, because the King lacketh a playfellow, yea be sure, I pray God send him better playfellows than him that maketh so high a matter upon such a trifling pretext, as though there could none be found to play with the King, but that his Brother, which hath no lust to play for sickness, 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 Peers, or children could not play without their kindred, with whom for the most part they agree much worse than with strangers. But the child, you say, cannot require the privilege, who told the Protector so? Ask him, and you shall hear him ask it, and so shall he, if ye will. Howbeit, this is a strange matter; suppose he could not ask it, and think he would not ask it, and imagine he would ask to go out, if I say he shall not: Note, if I ask the privilege for myself, I say, that he that against my will taketh out him, breaketh Sanctuary. Serveth this liberty for my person only, or for my goods too? you may not from hence take my Horse from me, if I stolen him not nor owe you nothing: then followeth it, that you may not take my child from me, he is also my ward, for as far as my learned Council showeth me, he hath nothing by descent holden by Knight's service, but by socage: then the Law maketh me his guardian, then may no man lawfully (I suppose) take my ward from me out of this place, without the breach of Sanctuary, and if my privilege could not serve him, nor he ask it for himself, 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 only for his goods, discharging him of the care and safe-keeping of his body, for which only both goods and lands serve: Wherefore here intent I to keep him, sith man's Law serveth the guardian to keep the infant, and the Law of Nature willeth the Mother to keep the child, and God's Law privilegeth the Sanctuary, and the Sanctuary privilegeth my Son, sith I fear to put him to the Protectors hands, that hath his Brother already, which is (if both failed) inheritor to the Crown as heir Male, as he saith. The cause of my fear no man hath to do to examine, and yet fear I no further than the Law feareth, which as learned men tell me, forbiddeth every man the custody of them, by whose death he may inherit less Land than a Kingdom.  
I can say no more, but whosoever he 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 mortal enemy should be taken out of Sanctuary.  
The Cardinal perceived that the Queen ever the longer the farther off, and also that she began to kindle and chafe, and speak sore biting words against the Protector, and such as he neither believed, and also was loath to he●re, he said to her, for a final conclusion, that he would no more dispute the matter, and if she were content to deliver the Duke to him and to the other Lords there present, he durst lay his own body and soul both in pledge, not only for his surety, but also for his estate, and surely he knew nor suspected any cause but he might so do (but he knew not all.) And further he said, if she would give him a resolute answer to the contrary, he would therewith depart incontinent, and shift who so would with his business afterward, for he never intended further to move her in the matter, in the which she thought that he and all other also, save herself, 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 son to be delivered into his hands, in whom they should perceive towards the child any evil will intended, than she might think all the Council both evil advised, and of little fidelity to their Prince.  
The Queen with these words stood in a great study, and forasmuch as she saw the Lord Cardinal more ready to depart then the remnant, and the Protector himself ready at hand, so that she verily thought that she could not keep him there, but he should be incontinent taken thence, and to convey him elsewhere, neither had she time to serve her, nor place determined, nor persons appointed to convey him, and so all things were unready, when this message came so suddenly on her, nothing less looking for, then to have him out of Sanctuary, which she knew now men to be set in all places about, that he could not be conveyed out untaken, and party as she thought it might fortune her fear to be false: so well she knew it was either needless or bootless. Wherefore, if she should needs go from him, she deemed best to deliver him, and especially of the Cardinal's faith she nothing doubting, nor of some other Lords whom she 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 look to him, and the more circumspectly to see his surety, if she with her own hands betook him them by trust, and at the last she took the young Duke by the hand, and said unto the Lords, my Lord (quoth she) and all my Lords▪ neither am I so unwise to mistrust your wits, nor so suspicious to mistrust your truths: of the which thing I purpose to make such a proof, that if either of both lacked in you, might turn both me to great sorrow, the Realm to much harm, and you to great reproach. For lo, here is, quoth she, this Gentleman, whom I doubt not, but I could keep safe if I would, whatsoever any man say, and I doubt not also, but there be some abroad so deadly enemies unto my Blood, that if they knew where any of it lay in their own body, they would let it out: we have also experience, that the desire of a Kingdom knoweth no kindred, the Brother hath been the Brother's bane, and may the Nephews be sure of the Uncle? each of these children are others defence, while they be asunder, and each of their lives lieth in others body, keep one safe and both be sure, and nothing to 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 keep to your hands, of whom I shall ask them both before God and the world. Faithful 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 lack no help of yourselves, nor need to lack no help in this case, and if you cannot elsewhere, then may you leave him here: But only one thing I beseech you, for the trust that his Father put you in ever, and for the trust I put you in now, that as far as you think that I fear too much, ye be well ware that you fear not too little. And therewithal she said to the Child, Farewell mine own sweet Son, God send you good keeping, let me once kiss you ere you go, for God knoweth when we shall kiss together again, and therewith she kissed him, and blessed him, and turned her back and wept, going her way, leaving the poor innocent child weeping as fast as the Mother.  
When the Cardinal and the other Lords had received the young Duke, they brought him into the Star-Chamber, where the Protector took him into his arms, and kissed him with these words; now welcome my Lord with all my very heart, and he said in that of likelihood even as he inwardly thought, and thereupon forthwith brought him to the King his Brother into the Bishop's Palace at Paul's, and from thence through the City honourably into the Tower, out of 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 suspicion, he caused all the Lords which he knew to be faithful to the King, to assemble at Baynard's 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 Protector King; to which Council 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, that before such great things, men's hearts (of a secret instinct of Nature) misgive them, as the South wind sometime swelleth of itself before a Tempest: or were it that some one man haply somewhat perceiving, filled many men with suspicion, though he showed few men what he knew: howbeit, the dealing itself made men to muse on the matter, though the Council were close, for by little and little all folk 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 removed divers of the kings old servants from him, and set new in their places about him.  
Thus many things coming together, partly by chance, and partly by purpose, caused at length, not common people only, which waver with the wind, but wise men also and some Lords to mark the matter and muse thereupon: insomuch that the Lord Stanley, which afterward was Earl of Derby, wisely mistrusted it, and said to the Lord Hastings, that he much misliked these two several Counsels: for while we, quoth he, talk of one matter at the one place, little know we whereof they talk 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 be any thing once minded that should sound amiss towards me, but it should be in my ears as soon as out of their mouths. This he meant by Catesby which was near of his secret counsel, and whom he most familiarly used in his weighty matters, putting no man in so special trust as he, reckoning himself to be beloved of no man more than 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 laws of this Realm, and by the special 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 pity was it that he had not more thruth or less wit, for his dissimulation only, kept all that mischief up▪ in whom if the Lord Hastings had not put so special trust, the L. Stanley and he, with divers other Lords, had departed into their countries and broken all the dance, for many evil signs that he saw, which he now constructed all for the best; so ●urely thought he that there cou●d be no harm intended towards him in that council where Catesby was. And of truth the Protector and the Duke of Buckingham did seem to show very much countenance unto the Lord Hastings, and kept him often in their company. And undoubtedly the Protector loved him well, and loath he was to have lost him, saving for fear lest his life should have quailed their purpose; for the which cause he moved Catesby to prove with some words cast out afar off, whether he could think it possible to win the Lord Hastings to their part. But Catesby, whether he assayed him or assayed him not, reported unto him that he found him so fast, and heard him speak so terrible words, that he durst no further break unto him: and of a truth the Lord Hastings of very trust showed unto Catesby the mistrust that others began to have in the matter. And therefore he fearing lest their motions might with the Lord Hastings diminish his credit, whereunto only all the matter leaned; procured the Protector hastily to rid him, and much the rather, for he trusted by his death to obtain much of the rule which the Lord Hastings bore in his country; the only desire whereof, was the the thing that induced him to be procurer, and one of the specialest contrivers of all this horrible treason. Whereupon the Lord Protector caused a Council to be set at the Tower on the friday the thirteenth day june, where was much communing for the honourable solemnity of the Coronation, of the which the time appointed approached so near, that the Pageants were a making day and night at Westminster, and victuals killed, which afterwards was cast away.  
These Lords thus sitting communing of this matter, the Protector came in among them about nine of the clock, saluting them courteously, excusing himself that he had been from them so long, saying merrily that he had been a sleep that day. And after a little talking with them, he said to the Bishop of Ely, my Lord, you have very good strawberries in your garden at Holborn, I require you let us have a mess 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 Strawberries. The Protector set the Lords fast on communing, and thereupon prayed them to spare him a little, and so he departed and came again between ten and eleven of the clock into the chamber, all changed with a sour angry countenance, knitting the brows, frowning and fretting, gnawing of his lips and so set him down in his place. All the Lords were dismayed, and sore marvelled at this manner and sudden change, what he should ail. When he had sitten a while, thus he began: What were they worthy to have, that compass and imagine the destruction of me being so near of blood to the King and Protector of this his Royal Realm? At which question, all the Lords sat sore astonished, musing much by whom the question should be meant, of which every man knew himself clear.  
Then the Lord Hastings, who for the familiarity that was between them, thought he might be boldest with him, answered and said, that they were worth●e to be punished as heinous traitors whatsoever they were, and all the other affirmed the same: that is (quoth he) yonder Sorceress, my brother's wife, & others with her, meaning the Queen: at these words many of the Lords were sore abashed which favoured her, but the Lord Hastings was better content in his mind, that it was moved by her, then by any other that he loved better, albeit his heart grudged that he was not afore made of the counsel of this matter, as well as he 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 himself should the same day be beheaded at London: then said the Protector, See in what wise that Sorceress, and others of her council, as Shore's wife with her affinity, have by their sorcery and witchcraft thus wasted my body: and therewith plucked up his doublet sleeve to his elbow on his left arm, where he showed a werish withered arm, and small, as it was never other. And therefore every man's mind misgave them, well perceiving that this matter was but a quarrel; for they knew that the Queen was both too wise to go about any such folly, & also if she would, yet she would not make Shore's wife of her counsel, whom of all women she most hated, as that concubine whom the King her husband most loved.  
Also, there was no man there but knew that his arm was ever such since the day of his birth: Nevertheless the Lord Hastings, which from the death of King Edward kept Shore's wife, on whom he somewhat doted in the King's life, saving it is said that he forbore her for reverence towards his King, or else of a certain kind of fidelity towards his friend; Yet now his heart somewhat grudged to have her whom he loved so highly accused, and as he knew well, untruly; therefore he answered and said, certainly my Lord, if they have so done, they be worthy of heinous punishment. What, quoth the Protector, thou servest me, I think with if and with and, I tell thee they have done it, and that I will make it good on thy body, traitor. And therewith (as in a great anger) he struck his fist on the board a great rap; at which token given, one cried treason without the chamber, and therewith a door clapped, and men in arms came rushing in, as many as the chamber could hold. And anon the Protector said to the Lord Hastings, I arrest thee Traitor: what me my Lord quoth he? yes thou Traitor, quoth the Protector. And one let fly at the Lord Stanley, who shrunk 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 ears. Then was the Archbishop of York, and Doctor Morton Bishop of Ely, and the Lord Stanley and divers others taken, and bestowed in several chambers, save the Lord Hastings (whom the Protector commanded to speed 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 ask why, but heavily he took a Priest at aventure, and made a short shrift, for a longer would not be suffered, the Protector made so much haste to his dinner, who might not go to it till this murder were done, for saving of his ungracious oath. So was he brought forth into the green besides the Chapel within the Tower, and his head laid down on a log of timber that lay there for building of the Chapel, and there tyrannously stricken off; and after his body and head were interred at Windsor by his Master King Edward the fourth, Late deceased.  
A miraculous case it is to hear, either the warnings that he should have avoided, or the tokens of that he 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 he was disposed utterly no longer for to abide, for he had a fearful dream in the which he thought that a Boar with his tusks so razed them both by the heads, that the blood ran about both their shoulders; and for as much as the Protector gave the Boar for his cognisance, he imagined that it should be he. This dream made such a fearful impression in his heart, that he was throughly determined no longer to tarry, but had his horse ready, if the Lord Hastings would go with him. So that they would ride so far that night, that they should be 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 he such faith in dreams, which either his own fear fantasieth, or do rise in the night's rest by reason of the day's thought? Tell him it is plain witchcraft to believe in such dreams, which if they were tokens of things to come, why thinketh he not that we might as likely make them true by our going if we were caught and brought back, (as friends flyers) for then had the bore a cause likely to raze us with his tusks, as folks that fled for some falsehood: wherefore either there is peril, but indeed there is none, or if any be, it is rather in going then abiding. And if we must needs fall into peril one way or other, yet had I rather that men should see it were by other men's falsehood, then think it were either our own fault or faint feeble heart, and therefore go to thy Master and commend me to him, and tell him I pray him to be merry and have no fear, for I assure him, I am assured of the man he wotteth of, as I am sure of mine own hand. God send grace (quoth the messenger) and so departed. Certain it is also, that in riding towards the Tower the same morning in which he was beheaded, his horse that he accustomed to ride on, stumbled twice or thrice almost to the falling, which thing although it happeneth to them daily to whom no mischance is towards, yet hath it been as an old evil token observed as a going toward mischief. Now this that followeth was no warning, but an envious scorn: the same morning before he was up from his bed, where Shore's 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 Protectors counsel and doing) as it were of courtesy to accompany him to the council, but of truth sent by the Lord Protector to hast him thitherward.  
This sir Thomas, while the Lord Hastings stayed a while commoning with a Priest whom he met in Towerstreete, broke the Lords tale, saying to him merrily, what my Lord I pray you come on, wherefore talk you so long with that Priest, you have no need of a Priest yet, and laughed upon him, as though he would say, you shall have need of one soon: But little thought the other what he meant (but before night these words were well remembered by them that heard them) so the true Lord Hastings little mistrusted, and was never merrier, nor thought his life in more surety in all his days, which thing is often a sign of change: but I shall rather let any thing pass me then the vain surety of man's mind so near his death; for upon the very Towerwharfe, so near the place where his head was off so soon after, as a man might cast a ball, a Pursievant of his own called Hastings met with him; and of their meeting in that place he was put in remembrance another time, in which it happened them to meet before together in the place, at which time the Lord Hastings had been accused to King Edward by the Lord Rivers the Queen's brother, insomuch that he was for a while, which lasted not long, highly in the King's indignation, as he now met the same Pursuivant in the same place, the jeoperdie so well passed, it gave him great pleasure to talk with him thereof, with whom he had talked in the same place of that matter, and therefore he said; Ah Hastings, art thou remembered when I met thee here once with a heavy heart? Yea my Lord (quoth he) that I remember well, and thanks be to God they got no good, nor you harm thereby; thou wouldst say so (quoth he) if thou knewest so much as I do, which few know yet, and more shall shortly, that meant he that the Earl 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 near his own head.  
In faith man (quoth he) I was never so sorry, nor never stood in so great danger of my life, as I did when thou and I met here, and lo the world is turned now, now stand mine enemies in the danger, as thou mayst hap to hear 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, he entered into the Tower, where he was not long alive, as you have heard. O Lord God, the blindness of our mortal nature, when he most feared, he was in most surety, and when he reckoned himself most sure, he lost his life, and that within two hours after. Thus ended this honourable man, a good Knight and gentle, of great authority with his Prince, of living somewhat dissolute, plain and open to his enemy, and sure and secret to his friend, easy to beguile, as he that of good heart and courage foresaw no perils, a loving man and passing well beloved, very faithful, 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 man's ear; but th● Protector immediately after dinner (intending to set some colour upon the matter) sent in all the haste for many substantial men out of the City into the Tower, and at their coming, himself with the Duke of Buckingham, stood harnessed in old ill-favoured Briganders, such as no man would think that they would have vouchsafed to have put on their backs, except some sudden necessity had constrained them. Then the Lord Protector showed them, that the Lord Hastings and other of his conspiracy, had contrived to have suddenly destroyed him and the Duke of Buckingham there the same day in Council, and what they intended farther, was yet not well known, of which their treason he had never knowledge before ten of the clock the same forenoon, which sudden fear drove them to put on such harness as came next to their hands for their defence, and so God holp them, that the mischief turned upon them that would have done it, and thus he required them to report. Every man answered fair, as though no man mistrusted the matter, which of truth no man believed. Yet for the further appeasing of the people's minds, he sent immediately after dinner an Herald of Arms with a Proclamation through the Cirie of London, which was proclaimed in the King's Name, that the Lord Hastings, with divers other of his traitorous purpose, had before conspired, the same day, to have slain the Protector and the Duke of Buckingham, fitting in Council; and after to have taken upon them the rule of the King and the Realm at their pleasure, and thereby to pill and spoil whom they list uncontrolled, and much matter was devised in the same Proclamation to the slander of the Lord Hastings, as that he was an evil Councillor to the King's Father, enticing him to many things highly redounding to the diminishing of his honour, and to the universal hurt of his Realm, by his evil company, and sinister procuring, and ungracious example, aswell in many other things, as in vicious living, and inordinate abusing of his body, both with many other, and especially with Shore's wife, which was one of his secret Council in this heinous treason, with whom he lay nightly, and namely the night passed next before his death, so that it was the less marvel, if ungracious living brought him to an unhappy end, which he was now put to by the command of the King's Highness, and of his honourable and faithful Council, 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 conspiracy, to gather and assemble themselves together in making so great commotion for his deliverance, whose hope now, being by his well deserved death politicly repressed, all the Realm shall by God's grace rest in good quiet and peace.  
Now was this proclamation made within two hours after he was beheaded, and it was so curiously indicted, and so fair written in Parchment in a fair set hand, and therewith so large a process, that every child might perceive that it was prepared and studied before, and (as some men thought) by Catesby, for all the time between his death and the publishing of the Proclamation could scarce have sufficed to the bare writing of it alone, albeit that it had been in paper, and scribbled forth in haste at adventure. So that upon the proclaiming thereof, one that was schoolmaster at Paul's standing by, and comparing the shortness of the time with the length of the matter, said to them that stood about him: here is a gay goodly cast, foully cast away for haste. And a Merchant that stood by him, said, that it was written by inspiration and prophecy. Now then by and by, as it were for anger, and not for covetousness the Protector sent Sir Thomas Howard to the house of Shore's wife (for her Husband dwelled not with her) which spoiled her of all that ever she had, above the value of two or three thousand Marks, and sent her body to prison. And the Protector had laid to her for the manner sake, that she was of Council with the Lord Hastings to destroy him. In conclusion, when no colour could fasten upon these matters, than he laid heinously to her charge that thing that she could not deny, for all the world knew that it was true, and that notwithstanding every man laughed to hear it then so suddenly, so highly taken, that she was naught of her body. And for this cause, as a godly continent Prince, clean and faultless of himself, sent out of Heaven into this vicious world, for the amendment of men's manners, he caused the Bishop of London to put her to open penance, going before a cross 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 only, yet went she so fair and lovely, and namely when the wondering of the people cast a comely red in her cheeks, of the which before she had most miss, that her great shame won her much praise amongst them that were more amorous of her body, then curious of her soul: and many good folk that hated her living and were glad to see sin corrected, yet pitied they more her penance then rejoiced at it; when they considered that the Protector did it more of a corrupt mind then any virtuous affection. 
The description of Shore's wife.   
This woman was borne in London, well friended, honestly 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, she not very fervently loved for whom she never longed, which was the thing (by chance) that the more easily made her to incline to the King's appetite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect of his royalty, the hope of gain, apparel, ease, pleasure, and other wanton wealth was able soon 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 King's concubine, but left her up to him altogether. When the King died, the Lord Hastings took her, which in the King's days, albeit that he was sore enamoured with her yet he forbore, either for a princely re●erence, or for a certain friendly faithfulness. Proper she was and fair, 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 been well favoured, and some judged the contrary, whose judgement seemeth like as men guess the beauty of one long before departed, by a shape taken out of a charnel house, and this judgement was in the time of King Henry the eight, in the eighteenth year of whose reign she died, when she had nothing but a riveled skin & bone. Her beauty pleased not men so much as her pleasant behaviour, for she had a proper wit, and could both read and write, merry in company, ready and quick of answer, neither mute nor full of babble, sometimes taunting without displeasure, but not without disport. King Edward would say he had three concubines, which in divers properties diversely excelled, one the merriest the other the wi●est the third the holiest harlot in the Realm, as one, whom no man could get out of the Church to any place lightly, 
The description of King Edward's three Concubines.  unless it were to his bed, the other two were somewhat greater personages than Mistress Shore, and yet nevertheless of their humility were content to be nameless, and to forbear the praise of these properties. But the merriest was Shores wife, in whom the King therefore took great pleasure, for many he had, but her he loved, whose favour to say the truth (for it were sin to belie the devil) she never abused to any man's hurt, but to many men's comfort and relief. For where the King took displeasure, she would mitigate and appease his mind, where men were out of favour, she would bring them into his grace, for many that had highly offended, she obtained pardon, and of great forfeitures she gate remission, and finally in many weighty suits she stood many men in great stead, either for none or for very small reward: and those rather gay then rich, either that she was content with the deed well done, or for that she delighted to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to do with the King, or for that that wanton women and wealthy be not always covetous. I doubt not some men will think this woman to be too slight to be written of among grave and weighty matters, which they shall specially think that happily saw her in her age and adversity, but we think the chance so much more worthy to be remembered, in how much after wealth she fell to poverty, and from riches to beggary, unfriended, out of acquaintance, after great substance, after so great favour with her Prince, after as great suit and seeking to with all those which in those days had business to speed, as many other men were in their times, which be now famous only by the infamy of their evil deeds, her doings were not much less, albeit they be much less remembered, because they were not evil, for men use to write an evil turn in marble stone, but a good turn in the dust; which is not worst proved by her, for after her wealth she went begging of many that had begged themselves if she had not hope them, such was her chance.  
Now was it devised by the Protector and his Council, that the same day that the Lord Chamberlain was headed in the Tower of London, and about the same hour, should be beheaded at Pomfret the Earl Rivers, and the Lord Richard the Queen's son, 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 Protector specially used in the Council, and in the execution of such lawless enterprises, as a man that had been long secret with him, having experience of the world, a notable wit, short and rude in speech, rough and boisterous of behaviour, bold in mischief, and as far from pity as from all fear of God.  
This Knight brought these four persons to the Scaffold at the day appointed, and showed to all the people that they were Traitors, not suffering the Lords to speak, and to declare their innocency, lest their words might have inclined men to pity them▪ and to hate the Protector and his part, and so without judgement and process of the Law caused them to be beheaded without other earthly guilt, but only they were good men, and true to the King, & too nigh to the Queen; insomuch that sir Thomas Vaughan going to his death said; A mischief take them that took the prophecy that G. should destroy King Edward's children, for George Duke of Clarence, Lord George, which for that suspicion is now dead, but now remaineth Richard G. Duke of Gloucester, which now I see is he that shall and will accomplish the Prophecy, and destroy King Edward's children, and all their allies and friends, as it appeareth by us this day; whom I appeal to the high tribunal of God for his wrongful murder, and our true innocency. And then Ratclife said, you have well appealed, lay down your head, yea quoth sir Thomas, I die in right, beware you die not in wrong, and so that good Knight was beheaded, and the other three, and buried naked in the Monastery at Pomfret.  
When the Lord Hastings and those other Lords and Knights were thus beheaded and rid out of the way, than the Protector caused it to be proclaimed that the Coronation for divers great and urgent causes should be deferred till the second day of November, for than thought he, that while men mused what the matter meant, and whiles the Lords of the Realm were about him, out of their own strengths, and while no man knew what to think, 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 himself in possession of the Crown, before men could have time to devise any ways to resist. But now was all the study, how this matter, being of itself so heinous, might be first broken to the people in such wise as it might be well taken.  
To this council they took divers, such as they thought meet to be trusted, and likely to be induced to that part, and able to stand them in stead, either by power or by policy. Among whom, they made of Council Edmond Shaw then Mayor of London, which upon trust of his own advancement, where he was of a proud heart, highly desirous, took upon him to frame the City to their appetite. Of Spiritual men they took 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 took Ralph Shaw clerk, brother to the Mayor, and Friar Pinkie, provincial of the Augustine Friars, both Doctors in Divinity, both great Preachers, both of more learning than virtue, of more fame than learning and yet of more learning than truth. For they were before greatly esteemed among the people, but after that, never none of those two were regarded. Shaw made a Sermon in praise of the Protector before the Coronation, and Pynkie made one after the Cornation, both so full of tedious flattery, that no good man's ears could abide them: Pynkie in his Sermon so lost his vocye, that he was fain to leave off and come down in the midst: Doctor Shaw by his Sermon lost his honesty, and soon after his life, for very shame of the world, into the which he durst never after much come abroad: but the Friar feared no shame, and so it harmed him the less. Howbeit, some doubt, and many think, that Pynkie was not of Council before the Coronation, but after the common manner fell to flattery after; namely, because his Sermon was not incontinent upon it, but at S. Marry Spittle the Easter after. But certain it is, that Doctor Shaw was of Council in the beginning, in so much that they determined that he should first break the matter in a Sermon at Paul's Cross, in which he should by the authority of his Preaching induce the people to incline 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 Protector for their King. In which devers, things they devised, but the chief thing, and the weight of all that invention rested in this; that they should allege bastardy in King Edward himself, or in his children, or both; so that he should seem disabled to inherit the Crown by the Duke of York, and the Prince by him. To lay bastardy in King Edward sounded openly to the rebuk of the Protectors own mother, which was mother to them both. For in that point could be no other colour, but to pretend that his own mother was an Adultress; but nevertheless he would that point should be less and more finely and closely handled, not even fully plain and directly, but touched upon craftily, as though men spared in that point to speak all the truth for fear of his displeasure. But that other point concerning the bastardy they devised to surmise in King Edward his Children, that he desired should be openly declared and enforced to the uttermost. The colour and pretext whereof cannot be well perceived, except we repeat some things long before done about King Edward's Marriages.  
After King Edward the fourth had deposed King Henry the sixth, and was in peaceable possession of the Realm; he determined with himself to marry (as was requisite) both for himself and for the Realm: he sent the Earl of Warwick and divers other noble men in ambassage to the French King, to entreat a marriage between the King and Bona, sister to the French Queen, then being in France. In which thing the Earl of Warwick found the parties so toward and willing, that he speedily without any difficulty according to his instructions brought the matter to a good conclusion. Now happeneth it in the mean season, there came to make a suit to the King by Petition; Dame Elizabeth Grace, (which after was his Queen) than a widow, borne of noble blood, specially by her mother, which was Duchess of Bedford, and she was married to sir Richard Woodvile, Lord Rivers, her Father.  
Howbeit, this Elizabeth being in service with Queen Margaret wife to King Henry the sixth, was married to one john Grey Esquire, whom King Henry made Knight at the last battle of Saint Albon, but little while he enjoyed his knighthood, for at the same field he was slain.  
After when King Edward was King, and the Earl of Warwick being on his Embassage, this poor Lady made her suit to the King to be restored to such small lands as her husband had given her in jointure; whom when the King beheld, and heard her speak, as she was both fair and of good favour, moderate of stature, well made, and very wise; he not alone pitched on her, but also waxed enamoured on her, and taking her secretly aside, began to enter into talking more familiarly, whose appetite when she perceived, she virtuously denied him, but that she did so wisely, and that with so good manner, and words so well set, that she rather kindled his desire then quenched it. And finally, after many a meeting & much wooing, and many great promises, she well perceived the King's affection towards her so greatly increased, that she durst somewhat the more boldly say her mind, as to him whose heart she perceived more fervently set then to fall off for a word. And in conclusion she showed him plain, that as she thought herself too simple to be his wife, so she thought herself too good to be his concubine. The King much marveling at her constancy, as he that had not been before elsewhere so stiffly said nay, so much esteemed her continency and chastity, that he set her virtue in stead of possession and riches: And thus taking counsel of his own desire, determined in haste to marry her.  
And after that he was thus appointed, and had betw●ene them twain assured her, than asked he counsel of his secret friends, and that in such manner, that they might easily perceive that it booted them not to say nay. Notwithstanding, the Duchess of York his mother was so sore moved therewith, that she dissuaded that marriage as much as she possible might: alleging that it was his honour, profit, and surety, to marry in some noble progeny out of his Realm, whereupon depended great strength to his estate by that affinity, and great possibility of increase of his dominions. And that he could not well otherwise do, considering the Earl of Warwick had so farforth entered 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 own Subject, no greater occasion leading there unto; no possessions nor other commodity depending thereupon, but only as a rich man would marry his maiden only for a little wanton dotage upon her person. In which marriage many men commend more the maiden's fortune then the man's wisdom: and yet she said that there was more honesty, than honour in this marriage; for as much as there is not between a Merchant and his maid so great a difference, as between a King and his Subject, a great Prince and a poor widow. In whose person, although there were nothing to be misliked, yet was there, said she, nothing so excellent, but that it might be found in divers other that were more me (quoth she) for your estate, yea and maidens also, the only widowhood of Dame Elizabeth Grey (although she were in all other points and things convenient for you) should suffice, as I th●nke, to refrain you from her marriage, since it is an unfitting thing, and a great blemish to the sacred Majesty of a Prince, that aught as near to approach priesthood in cleanness, 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 he that knew himself out of her rule: and albeit he would gladly that she should take it well, yet was he at a point in his own mind, took she it well or otherwise. Howbeit, somewhat to satisfy her, he said, that albeit marriage being a spiritual 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 temporal advantage: yet nevertheless he deemed this marriage well considered not to be unprofitable, for he reckoned the amity of no earthly Nation to be so necessary for him, as the friendship of his own, which he thought likely to bear him so much the more hearty favour, in that he disdained not to marry with one of his own Land: and yet if outward alliance were thought so requisite, he would find the means to enter thereunto much better by other of his kin, where all parties could be contented, then to marry himself, wherein he 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 he 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 reason that it mislike any man that I marry where it liketh me. And I am sure, that my Cousin of Warwick, neither loveth me so little, to grudge at that that I love, nor is so unreasonable, to look that I should in choice of a wife rather be ruled by his eye then by mine own, 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 forbear mine own liberty in choice of mine own marriage. As for possibility of more inheritance by new affinity in strange Lands, is oft the occasion of more trouble than profit. And we have already title by that means, as sufficeth to so much as sufficeth to get and keep well in one man's days. That she is a widow and hath already children: By God his blessed Lady, I am a Bachelor and have some too, and so each of us hath a proof, that neither of us is like to be barren. And therefore, Madam, 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 Duchess with these words nothing appeased, and seeing the King so set on, that she could not pluck him back, so highly she disdained it, that, under pretence of her duty toward God▪ she devised to disturb this marriage, and rather to help, that he should marry one Dame Elizabeth Lucy, whom the King not long before had gotten with child; wherefore the King's 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 solemnisation of the marriage, till his fame were clearly purged, and the truth well and openly testified. Whereupon Dame Elizabeth Lucy was sent for, and albeit she was by the King's Mother and many other put in good comfort that she was insured to the King, yet when she was solemnly sworn to say the truth, she confessed she was never insured. Howbeit, she said, his Grace spoke such loving words to her, that she verily hoped, that he would have married her, and if such kind words had not been, she would never have showed such kindness to him, to let him so kindly get her with child. This examination solemnly taken, it was clearly 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 enemy's wife, and had prayed heartily for his loss, in the which God loved her better, then to grant her her boon, for than had she not been his wife: And after that she was crowned Queen, and her father was created Earl Rivers, and her son created marquis Dorset. But when the Earl of Warwick understood of this marriage, he took it so highly, that thereof ensued much bloodshed, 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 appear upon how slippery a ground the Protector builded his colour, by which he pretended King Edward's 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 be compelled to no larger proof than themselves list to make.  
Now to return where I left, as I began to show you, it was by the Protector and his Council concluded, that this Doctor Shaw should in a Sermon at Paul's Cross signify to the people, that neither King Edward himself, nor the Duke of Clarence were lawfully begotten, nor were the very children of the Duke of York, but begotten unlawfully by other persons by adultery of the Duchess 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 Paul's Cross, in a great audience (as always 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 slips shall never take deep roots: Whereupon when he had showed the great grace that God giveth, and secretly infundeth in right generation after the Laws of Matrimony, than declared he, 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 men's Lands, yet God always so provideth, that it continueth not in their blood long, but the truth coming to light, the rightful inheritors be restored and the bastard slips plucked up ere it can be rooted deep. And when he had laid for the proof and confirmation of this sentence, examples taken out of the old and new Testament and other ancient Histories, than began he to descend to the praise of the Lord Richard Duke of York, calling him father to the Protector, and declared his Title to the Crown by inheritance, and also by entail authorised by Parliament after the death of King Henry the sixth. Then showed he, that the Lord Protector was only the right heir of his body lawfully begotten. Then declared he, that King Edward was never lawfully married to the Queen, but his wife before God, was Dame Elizabeth Lucy, and so his children were Bastards. And besides that, that neither King Edward himself, nor the Duke of Clarence (amongst them that were secret in the Duke of York's household) were never reckoned surely to be the children of the Noble Duke, as those that by their favours more resembled other known men, then him; from whose virtuous conditions, he said also, that King Edward was far off. But the Lord Protector (quoth he) that very Noble Prince, the special Patron of Knightly Prowess, as well in all Princely behaviour, 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 own figure, this is his own countenance, the very print of his visage, the sure undoubted image, the plain express likeness of that Noble Duke.  
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 been taken amongst the hearers, as though the Holy Ghost had put them in the Preachers mouth, and should have moved the people even there to have cried, King Richard, that it might have been after said, that he was specially chosen by God, and in manner by miracle: but this device quailed, either by the Protectors negligence, or the Preachers overhasty 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 entered into other matters ere the Protector came, whom when he beheld coming, he left the matter in hand, and out of all order, and out of all frame, began to repeat those words again: This is the very Noble Prince, the especial Patron of Knightly prowess, 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 own figure, this is his own countenance, the very print of his visage, the sure undoubted image, the plain express likeness of that Noble Duke, whose remembrance can never die while he 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 far from crying King Richard, that they stood as they had been turned into stones for wonder of this shameful Sermon: after which once ended, the Preacher got him home and never after durst look out for shame, but kept him out of sight as an owl, and when he asked any of his old friends, what the people talked of him, although that his own conscience will show him that they talked no good, yet when the other answered him, that there was in every man's mouth of him much shame spoken, it so struck him to the heart, that in few days after he withered away.  
Then on the Tuesday after, next following this Sermon, being the seventeenth day of june, there came to Gild Hall London, the Duke of Buckingham, and divers Lords and Knights, more than happily knew the message that they brought. And at the East end of the Hall where the Hoysting be kept, the Duke and the Major and the other Lords sat down, and the Aldermen also, all the commons of the City being assembled and standing before them. After silence commanded upon a great pain in the Protectors name: The Duke stood up, and as he was well learned and of nature marvellously well spoken, he said to the people with a clear and a loud voice: Friends, for the the zeal and hearty favour that we bore you, we be come to break off a matter right great and weighty, and no less weighty than pleasing to God, and profitable to the Realm, nor to no part of the Realm more profitable, then to you the Citizens of this noble City. For why, the thing that you have long lacked, and as we well know, sore longed for, that you would have gone far to fetch: that thing we be come hither to bring you, without your labour, pain, cost, adventure, or danger. What thing is that? Certainly the surety of your own bodies, the quiet of your wives and daughters, and the safeguard of your wives and daughters, and the safeguard of your goods: Of all which things in times past you stood in doubt. For who was he of you all that could reckon himself Lord of his own goods, amongst so many gynnes and traps 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 need, or if any were, it grew rather of riot, or of unreasonable waist, than any necessary honourable charge, so that there was daily plucked and peeled from good and honest men great substance of goods, to be lashed out among unthrifts, so far forth that fifteen sufficed not, nor any usual terms of known taxes, but under an easy name of benevolence and good will, the commissioners took 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 himself 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 think that no man looketh that we 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 Cheapside at the sign of the Crown, which now is the sign of the Flower-de-luce over against Soper-lane: This man merrily in the ruffling time of King Edward the fourth's reign, said to his own son, that he would make him inheritor of the Crown, meaning his own house: but these words King Edward made to be misconstrued, and interpreted that Burdet meant the Crown of the Realm: wherefore within less space than four hours, he was apprehended, judged, drawn and quartered in Cheapside, by the misconstruing of the laws of the Realm for the Prince's pleasure; with no less honour to Markam chief Justice then, which lost his office rathen than he would assent to that judgement.  
What need I to speak of sir Thomas Cook, Alderman and Mayor of this noble City? who is of you either for negligence that wotteth not, or so forgetful that he remembreth not, or so hardhearted that he pitieth not that worshipful man's loss? what speak I of loss, his wonderful spoil and undeserved destruction, only because it happened him to favour them whom the Prince favoured 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 feigned quarrels or small matters aggravated with heinous names, and also there was no crime so great, of which there could lack a pretext. For sith the King preventing the time of his inheritance, attained the Crown by battle, it sufficed in a rich man for a pretext of treason, to have been of kindred or alliance, near of familiarity, or longer of acquaintance with any of those, that were at any time the King's enemies, which was at one time or another more than half the Realm. Thus were neither your goods nor lands in surety, and yet they brought your bodies in jeopardy, besides the common adventure of open war; which albeit, that it is ever the will and occasion of much mischief, yet it is never so mischievous, as where any people fall in division 〈◊〉 distance among themselves and in no Realm earthly so deadly and so pestilent, as when it happeneth amongst us. And among us never contived so long dissension, nor so many battles in any season, nor so cruel nor so deadly fought as were in the King's days that is dead. In whose time and by whose occasion, what about the getting of the Garland, keeping it, losing and winning it again, it hath cost more English blood then hath the twice winning of France. In which inward war amongst ourselves hath been so great effusion of the ancient noble blood of this Realm, that scarcely the half remaineth, to the great enfeebling of this noble land; besides many a good town ransacked and spoilt by them that have been going to the field, or returning from thence, and peace after, not much surer than war. 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 fear or for some displeasure were out of peril. For whom trusted he that mistrusted his own brother? Whom spared he that killed his own Brother? Could not such manner of folk that he most favoured do somewhat (we shall for his honour spare to speak) howbeit, this you know well all, that whoso was best, bore ever the least rule, and more suit in his days was to Shore's 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 sinful affection bereft her of her Husband, a right honest man and substantial amongst you. And in that point, which in good faith I am sorry to speak of, saving that it is vain to keep in Counsel that thing that all men know, the King's greedy appetite was insatiable, and every where over all the Realm intolerable. For no woman was there any where, young or old, poor or rich, whom he set his eye upon, whom he any thing liked, either for person or beauty, speech, pace or countenance, but without any fear of God, or respect of his Honour, murmur, or grudging of the world, he 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 cleanness 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 villainy done to them.  
And albeit, that with this and other importable dealing, the Realm 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 nearest hand, sith that near here about was his most common abiding. And yet be ye a people whom he had as singular a cause well and truly to entreat, as any part of his Realm: not only for that the Prince by this Noble City, as of his special Chamber and renowned City of this Realm, 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 wars, bore ever your especial favour to his part: which your kind minds borne to the house of York, sith he hath nothing worthily required you, there is of the house now which by God's grace shall make you full recompense, which thing to show you, is the whole sum and effect of our errand. It shall not need I hope, to rehearse unto you again that you have already heard of him that can better tell it, and of whom I am sure ye will better believe it, (and reason it is that it should be so) I am not so proud to look 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 he should do and say, and thereto so good and virtuous that he would not say the thing, which he ought not to say in the pulpit, namely, into the which no honest man cometh to lie: which honourable preacher, ye well remember, substantially declared to you at Paul's Cross on Sunday last passed, the right and title of the most excellent Prince Richard Duke of Gloucester, now Protector of this his Realm, which he hath unto the Crown of the Kingdom of the same. For that worshipful 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 Queen their mother, whose blood, saving he set his voluptuous pleasure before his honour, was full unmeetly to be matched with his (the mingling of which two bloods together, hath been the effusion of a great part of the noble blood of this Realm) whereby it may well be seen, that marriage was not well made, of which there is so much mischief grown. For lack of which lawful copulation, and also of other things which the said worshipful 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 he knoweth, in avoiding the displeasure that my noble Lord Protector, bearing, as nature requireth a filial reverence to the Duchess his Mother. For these causes before remembered, I say that for lack of issue lawfully coming of the late noble Prince Richard Duke of York, to whose Royal blood the Crowns of England and of France, are by the high authority of a parliament entailed, the right and title of the 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 lawful begotten son of the fore-remembred noble Duke of York. Which thing well considered, and the knightly prowess with many virtues which in his noble person singularly do abound; The Nobles and Commons of this Realm, 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 puissant Prince the Lord Protector, that it may like his grace at our humble request, to take upon him the guiding & government of this Realm, to the wealth and increase of the same, according to his very right and just title; which thing, I know well he will be loath to take upon him, as he whose wisdom well perceiveth, the labour and study both of mind and body that shall come therewith to him, whosoever shall occupy that room. I dare say he will, if he take it (for I warrant you that that room is no child's office) and that the great wise man well perceived when he said Vae regno, cujus Rex puer est, woe to that Realm whose King is a child; wherefore so much the more cause have we to thank God, that this noble personage which is so righteously entitled thereto, is of so solid age▪ and thereto of so great wisdom, joined with so great experience, which albeit, he will be loath as I have said, to take upon him, yet shall he to our petition in that behalf the more graciously inclin if ye the worshipful Citizens of this City, being the chief city of the Realm, join with us the nobles in our said request, which for your own weal we doubt not but that ye will. And yet nevertheless, we pray yo● so to do, whereby ye shall do great profit to all this his Realm: Beside that, in choosing them so good a King, it shall be to yourself a special commodity, to whom his Majesty shall ever after bear so much the more tender favour, in how much he shall perceive you the more prone and benevolently minded towards his election: wherein dear friends, what mind ye have we require you plainly to show us: When the Duke had said, and looked 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 near to him, with other that were about him privy 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 help, and therewith somewhat louder rehearsed the same matter again, in other and other words, so well and orderly, and nevertheless so evidently and plain, with voice, gesture, and countenance so comely and so convenient, that every man much marvelled that heard him, and thought that they never heard in their lives so evil a tale so well told. But were it for fear, or that each looked that other should speak 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 seem once to commune what was best to do. When the Major saw this, he with other partners of the Council, drew about the Duke and said, that the people had not been accustomed there to be spoken unto, but by the Recorder, which is the mouth the City, 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, and loath he was with that matter to begin, notwithstanding, being thereunto commanded by the Major, made a rehearsal to the commons of that which the Duke had twice proposed himself; but the Recorder so tempered his tale, that he showed every thing as the Duke's words were, and no part of his own, but all this made no change in the people, which all as one stood as they had been amazed. Whereupon, the Duke whispered with the Major, and said, this is a marvellous obstinate silence, and therewith turned to the people again with these words: Dear friends, we come to move you to that thing which peradventure we greatly needed not, but that the Lords of this Realm, and commons of other parts might have sufficed, saving such love we bear you, and so much set by you, that we would not gladly do without you, that thing in which to be partners is your weal and honour, which as to us seemeth you see not, or weigh not: Wherefore we require you to give us an answer, one or other, whether ye be minded, as all the Nobles of the Realm 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 voice was neither loud nor base, but like a swarm of bees till at the last at the nether end of the hall a company of the Duke's servants and one Nashfield, & others belonging to the Protector, with some prentices and lads that thrusted themselves into the hall amongst the press, began suddenly at men's backs to cry out as loud as they could, King Richard, King Richard; and there threw up their caps in token of joy, and they that stood before cast back their heads marveling 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 hear every man with one voice, and no man saying nay. Wherefore friends (quoth the Duke,) sith we perceive that it is all your whole minds to have this noble man for your King, whereof we shall make his grace so effectual report that we doubt not but that it shall redound to your great wealth and commodity. We therefore require you, that to morrow ye go with us, and we with you to his Noble Grace to make our humble Petition and request to him in manner before remmebred. And therewith the Lords came down, 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 fain even at his back to turn their face to the wall, while the dolour of their hearts braced out of their eyes.  
Then on the morrow the Major and Aldermen, and chief commanders of the City in their best manner apparelled, assembling them together at Paul's, resorted to Baynard's 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 the being thereof a great honourable company to move a great matter to his Grace. Whereupon the Protector made great difficulty to come down to them, except he knew some part of their errand, as though he 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 harm. Then when the Duke had showed this to the Major and others, that they might thereby see how little the Protector looked for this matter; they sent again 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 he came out of his chamber, and yet not down to them, but in a gallery over them, with a Bishop on each hand of him, where they beneath might see him and speak to him, as though he would not yet come near them, till he knew what they meant. And thereupon, the Duke of Buckingham first made humble petition to him on the behalf of them all, that his grace would pardon them, and licence them to show unto his grace the intent of their coming without his displeasure; without which pardon obtained, they durst not be so bold to move him of that matter. In which, albeit they meant as much honour to his grace, as wealth to all the Realm besides, 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 himself, and also longed sore apparently to know what they meant, gave him leave to deliver his message, verily trusting for the good mind that he bore unto them all, none of them would intend any thing to his hurt, wherewith he thought to be grieved. When the Duke had this leave and pardon to speak, than waxed he bold to show 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 goodness and zeal unto the Realm, now with his eye of pity to behold the long continued distress and decay of the same, and set his gracious hand to the redress and amendment thereof, by taking upon him the Crown of the Realm according to his right and title lawfully 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 less pain, in that that never prince reigned upon any people that were so glad to live under his obeisance, as the people of this realm under his.  
When the Protector had heard the Proposition▪ he looked very strangely there at, and made answer, that albeit he knew partly the things by them alleged to be true, yet such entire love he bore to King Edward and his children, & much more regarded his honour in other Realms about, than the crown of any one, of which he was never desirous, for in all other nations where the truth were not well known, it should peradventure be thought that it were his own ambitious mind and device to depose the Prince, and to take the Crown himself; with which infamy he would in no wise have his honour stained for any crown, in which he ever had perceived much more labour and pain, than pleasure to him that so would use it, as he that would not and were not worthy to have it. Notwithstanding, he not only pardoned them of the motion that they made him, but also thanked them for the love and hearty favour they bore him, praying them for his sake to bear the same to the Prince under whom he was and would be content to live, and with his labour and counsel, as far as it should like the King to use it, he would do his uttermost devoir to set the Realm in good estate which was already in the little time of his Protectorship (praised be God) well begun, in that the malice of such as were before the occasion of the contrary, and of new intended to be, were now partly by good policy, partly more by God's providence, than man's provision, repressed and put under.  
Upon 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 showed aloud unto the Protector, for a final conclusion, that the Realm was determined that King Edward's line should no longer reign over them, both that they had so far gone, that it was now no surety to retreat (as for that they thought it the best way for the whole Realm, although they had not yet begun it) Wherefore if it would like his Grace to take the Crown upon him, they would humbly beseech him thereunto, and if he would give them a resolute answer to the contrary (which they would be loath to hear) then must they seek, and should not fail 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 inclined thereto: but when he saw there was no other way but that he must take it, or else he and his both to go from it, he said to Lords and Commons, sith it is, we perceive well, that all the Realm is so set (whereof we be very sorry) that they will not suffer in any wise King Edward▪ his line to govern them, whom no man earthly can govern against their wills: And we also perceive that there is no man to whom the Crown can by so just title appertain as to ourself, as very right heir lawfully begotten of the body of our most dread and dear Father Richard late Duke of York, to which title is now joined your election, the nobles and commons of the Realm, which we of all titles possibly take for most effectual, we be content and agree favourably to incline to your petition and request, and according to the same, here we take upon us the Royal estate of pre-eminence and Kingdom of the two Noble Realms, England and France, the one from this day forward by us and our heirs to rule, govern, and defend, the other by God his grace and your good help to get again, subdue and establish for ever in due obedience unto this realm of England, the advancement whereof, we never ask of God longer to live than we intent 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 he was after that day so called. But the people departed talking diversely of the matter, every man as his fantasy 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 between them. Howbeit, some excused that again, saying; all things must be done in good order, and men must sometimes for the manner sake not be known what they know▪ For at the consecration of a Bishop, every man perceiveth by payment of his Bulls that he intendeth to be one, yet when he is twice asked whether he will be a Bishop, he must twice say nay, and at the third time take it upon him as compelled thereto by his own will. And in a stage play, the people know right well that he that playeth the Sultan, is perhaps a cobbler yet if one of his acquaintance perhaps of little nurture should call him by his name while he standeth in his Majesty, one of his tormentors might fortune to break his head for marring the play. And so they said, these matters be Kings games, as it were stageplayss, and for the most part played upon scaffolds, in which poor men be but lookers on, and they that be wise, will meddle no further, for they that step up with them, when they cannot play their parts, they disorder the play, and do themselves no good.  
FINIS.   


Richard the 3● King of England and France Lord of Ireland    

THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF THE LIFE AND REIGN OF RICHARD THE THIRD.  
Written by the Right Honourable Sir Thomas Moor, Lord Chancellor of England.  
LONDON, Printed by T. Paine and M. Simmons. 1641.   

THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF KING RICHARD THE THIRD.  
I Am loath to remember, but more I abhor to write, the misery of this unfortunate King, which by fraud entered, by tyranny proceeded, and by sudden death ended his unfortunate life: But if I should not declare the flagitious facts of the evil Kings, aswell as I have done the notable acts of virtuous Kings, I should neither animate, nor encourage rulers of Realms, Countries, and Signories to follow the steps of their profitable Progenitors, for to attain to the type of honour and worldly fame: neither yet advertise Kings being prone to vice & wickedness, to avoid and expel all sin and mischief, for dread of obloquy and worldly shame: for contrary set to contrary is more apparent, as white joined to black maketh the fairer show: Wherefore, I will proceed in his acts after my accustomed usage.  
Richard, the third of that name, usurped the Crown of England, and openly took upon him to be King, the ninth day of june, in the year of our Lord, one thousand four hundred fourscore and three, and in the twenty fifth year of Lewis the eleventh then being the King of France: and the morrow after, he was Proclaimed King, and with great solemnity rode to Westminster, and there 〈◊〉 in the seat Royal, and called the Judges of the Realm before him, staightly commanding them to execute the Laws without favour or delay, with many good exhortations (of the which he followed not one) and then he departed towards the Abbey, and at the Church door he was met with Procession, and there was delivered to him by the Abbot the Sceptre of Saint Edward, and so went and offered to Saint Edward's shrine, while the Monks sang Te deum with a faint courage; and from the Church he returned to the Palace, where he lodged till the Coronation. And to be sure of all enemies (as he thought) he sent for five thousand men out of the North against his Coronation, which came up evil apparelled and worse harnessed, in rusty harness, neither defensable nor scoured to the sale, which mustered in Finsbury field, to the great disdain of all the lookers on.  
The fourth day of july he came to the Tower by water with his wife, and the fifth day he created Edward his only begotten son, a child of ten years old, Prince of Wales, and john Haward, a man of great knowledge and virtue (aswell in council as in battle) he created Duke of Norfolk, and sir Thomas Haward his son he created Earl of Surry, and William Lord Barkeley was then created Earl of Nottingham, and Francis Lord Lovel was then made Viscount Lovel, and the King's Chamberlain, and Lord Stanley was delivered out of ward for fear of his son the Lord Strange, which was then in Lancashire gathering men (as men said) and the said Lord was made Steward of the King's household; likewise the Archbishop of York was delivered: But Morton Bishop of Ely, was delivered to the Duke of Buckingham to keep in ward, who sent him to his manor of Brecknoke in Wales, from whence he escaped to King Richard's confusion. The same night the King made seventeen Knights of the Bath. The next day he road through London with great pomp, and especially the Duke of Buckingham was richly apparelled, and his horse trapped in blue velvet embroidered with the naves of carts burning of gold: which trapper was borne by footmen from the ground, with such solemn fashion, that all men much admired it.  
On the morrow being the sixth day of july, the King came towards his Coronation into Westminster Hall, where his Chapel & all the Prelates mitered received him▪ And so they in order of Procession passed forward: After the Procession followed the Earl of Northumberland with a pointless sword naked, and the Lord Stanley bore the Mace of the Constableship. The Earl of Kent bore the second sword on the right hand of the King naked. The Lord Lovel bore an other sword on the left hand. Then followed the Duke of Suffolk with the Sceptre, and the Earl of Lincoln with the Ball and Crosse. After them followed the new Earl of Surrey with the sword of Estate in a rich scabbard. On the right side of him went the Duke of Norfolk bearing the Crown: then followed King Richard in a Circot and robe of purple velvet under a Canopy borne by the barons of the five Ports, going between the Bishops of bath and Duresme. The Duke of Buckingham with the rod of the high Steward of England bore the King's train. After him followed the Earl of Huntingdon, bearing the Queen's Sceptre, and the Viscount Lisle, bearing the rod with the Dove. And the Earl of Wiltshire bore the Queen's Crown. Then followed Queen Anne daughter to Richard Earl of Warwick, in robes like to the King, between two Bishops, and a canopy over her head, borne by the Barons of the Ports. On her head a rich coronal set with stones & pearls. After her followed the countess of Richmond heir to the Duke of Somerset, which bare up the Queen's train. After followed the Duchess of Suffolk and Norfolk with Countesses, Barronesses, Ladies, and many fair Gentlewomen: in this order they passed thorough the palace, & entered the Abbey at the West end, and so came to their seats of estate. And after divers songs solemnly sung, they both descended to the high Altar, and were shifted from their robes, and had divers places open from the middle upward, in which places they were anointed. Then both the King and the Queen changed them into clothes of gold, and ascended to their seats, where the Cardinal of Canterbury and other Bishops Crowned them according to the old custom of the Realm, giving him the Sceptre in his left hand, and the ball with the cross in the right hand, and the Queen had the Sceptre in her right hand, and the rod with the Dove in the left hand: On every side of the King stood a Duke, and before him stood the Earl of Surrey with the sword in his hands. And on every side of the Queen standing a Bishop and a Lady kneeling. The Cardinal sung the Mass, and after pax; The King & the Queen descended, and before the high Altar they were both houseled with one host divided between them. After Mass finished, they both offered at Saint Edward's shrine, and there the King left the Crown of Saint Edward, and put on his own Crown. 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 Norfolk came into the Hall, his horse trapped to the ground in cloth of gold as high Marshal, and voided the Hall.  
About four of the clock the King and Queen entered into the Hall, and the King sat in the middle, & the Queen on the left hand of the table & on every side of her a Countess holding a cloth of pleasance, when she list to drink. And at the right hand of the King sat the Bishop of Canterbury, the Ladies sat all on one side in the middle of the Hall, and at the table against them sat the Chancellor and all the Lords. At the Table next the cupboard sat the Major of London. And at the Table behind the Lords, sat the Barons of the Ports. And at the other boards sat Noble and Worshipful personages. When all persons were set, the Duke of Norfolk Earl Martial, the Earl of Surrey, Constable for that day, the Lord Stanl●y Lord Steward, sir Will●am Hopton Treasurer, and sir Thomas Percy controller, came in & served the King solemnly with one dish of gold, and another of silver. And the Queen all in gilt vessels, and the Bishops all in silver. At the second course came into the Hall, sir Robert Democke the King's champion, making a Proclamation, that whosoever would say that King Richard was not lawfully King, he would fight with him at the utterance, and threw down his Gauntlet: and then all the Hall cried out King Richard. And so he did in three parts of the Hall, and then one brought him a cup of wine covered, and when he had drank 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 Queen with sweet 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 he retained till he heard what his son the Lord Strange went about. And to such as went home, he gave strait charge and commandment to see their Countries well ordered, & that no wrong nor extortion should be done to his subjects. And thus he taught others to execute justice and equity, the contrary whereof he daily exercised: he also with great rewards given to the Northern men which he sent for to his Coronation, sent them home to their Country with great thanks. Whereof divers of them, (as they all be of nature very greedy of authority, and especially when they think to have any comfort or favour,) took on them so highly, and wrought such Masteries, that the King was fain to ride thither in his first year, and to put some in execution, and stay the Country, or else no small mischief had ensued.  
Incontinent after this, he sent a solemn Embassage to Lewis the French King, to conclude a league and amity with him, trusting also to obtain the tribute which King Edward his brother had before out of France: but the French King so abhorred him and his cruelty, that he would neither see nor hear his Ambassadors, and so in vain they returned.  
Now after this triumphant Coronation there fell mischiefs thick and thick, and as the thing evil gotten is never well kept, so through all the time of his usurped reign, never ceased there cruel murder, death and slaughter, till his own destruction ended it. But as he finished with the best death and most fitting, that is to say his own, so began he with the most piteous and wicked, I mean the lamentable murder of his innocent Nephews, the young King and his tender brother, whose death and final fortune hath nevertheless so far come in question that some remained long in doubt whether they were in his days destroyed or no. Not for that that Parkin Warbeck by many folk's folly so long space abusing the world▪ was aswell with Princes as with poor people reputed and taken for the younger 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 plain and openly proved, but that yet for the common custom of close covert dealing, men had it ever inwardly suspect, as many well counterfeit jewels make the true mistrusted. Howbeit, concerning that opinion, men may see the conveyance thereof in the Noble Prince King Henry the seventh, in the process of Parkin. But in the mean 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 means, as I think it to be hard but it should be true.  
King Richard after his Coronation, taking his way to Gloucester, 
The destruction of King Edward's Children.  to visit in his new honour the town, of which he bore the name of old, devised as he road to fulfil that thing which he before had intended. And forasmuch as his mind gave him that his Nephews living, men would not recon that he could have right to the Realm▪ he thought therefore without delay to rid them, as though the kill of his kinsmen might end his cause, and make him kindly King. Whereupon he sent john 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 john Greene did his errand to Brakenbury, kneeling before our Lady in the Tower, who plainly answered that he would never put them to death to die therefore. With the which answer Greene returned, recompting the same to King Richard at Warwick yet on his journey, wherewith he took such displeasure and thought, that the same night he said to a secret page of his: Ah, whom shall a man trust? they that I have brought up myself, they that I thought would have most surely served me, even those fail me, and at my commandment will do nothing for me. Sir, quoth the page, there lieth one in the palet chamber without, that I dare say, will do your Grace pleasure, the thing were right hard that he would refuse, meaning this by james 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 grace obtained to have as much truth and good will, as he 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 Ratcliff, and sir William Catesbey, which longing for no more partners of the Prince's favour, namely not for him, whose pride they knew would bear no peer, 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 special friendship spied his time to set him forward, and in such wise to do him good, that all the enemies that he had (except the devil) could never have done him so much hurt and shame; for upon the pages words, King Richard arose (for this communication had he sitting on a draft, a convenient carpet for such a council) and came out into the palet chamber, where he did find in bed the said james Terrell and sir Thomas Terrell, of person like, and brethren of blood, but nothing of kin in conditions. Then said the King merrily, what sirs, be you in bed so soon? and called up james Terrell, and broke to him secretly his mind in this mischievous matter, in the which he found him nothing strange. Wherefore on the morrow he sent him to Brakinbury with a letter, by the which he was commanded to deliver to the said james all the keys of the Tower for a night, to the end that he might there accomplish the King's pleasure in such things as he there had given him in commandment. After which letter delivered, and the keys received, james appointed the next night ensuing to destroy them, devising before and preparing the means.  
The Prince assoon as the Protector took upon him to be King, and left the name of Protector, was thereof advertised and showed, that he should not reign, but his Uncle should have the Crown. At which word the Prince sore abashed, began to sigh and say: Alas I would mine Uncle would let me have my life although I lose my Kingdom. Then he that told him the tale used him with good words, and put him in the best comfort that he could, but forthwith he and his brother were both shut up, and all other removed from them, one called Black Will, or William Slaughter only except, which were set to serve them, and four other to see them sure. After which the the Prince never tied his points, nor any thing regarded himself, but with that young babe his brother lingered in thought and heaviness, till this traitorous deed delivered them of that wretchedness.  
For james Tirrell devised that they should be murdered in their beds, and no blood shed: to the execution whereof, he appointed Miles Forest, one of the four that before kept them, a fellow flesh-bred in murder before time: and to him he joined one john Dighton his own horsekeeper, a big, broad, square, and strong knave. Then all the other being removed from them, 
King Edward's Children murdered  this Miles Forest and john Dighton about midnight, the silly children lying in their beds, came into the chamber, and suddenly lapped them up amongst the clothes, and so bewrapped them, keeping down by force the featherbed and pillows hard under their mouths, that within a while they smothered & stifled them, and their breaths failing, they gave up to God their innocent souls into the joys of heaven, leaving to the torments their bodies dead in the bed, which after the wretches perceived, first by the struggling with the pang of death, and after long lying still, to be through dead, they laid the bodies out upon the bed, and fetched james Tirrell to see them, which when he saw them perfectly dead, he caused the murderers to bury them at the stair foot, meetly deep in the ground, under a heap of stones.  
Then road james Tirrell in great haste to King Richard, and showed him all the manner of the murder, who gave him thanks, and as men say, there made him Knight, but he allowed not their burial in so vile a corner, saying; that he would have them buried in a better place, because they were a King's sons: Lo the honourable courage of a King, for he would recompense a detestable murder with a solemn obsequy. Whereupon a priest of Sir Robert Brakenburies' took them up & buried them in such a place secretly as by the occasion of his death (which was shortly after) which only knew it, the very truth could never yet be very well and perfectly known. For some say that King Richard caused the Priest to take them up and close them in lead and to put them in a coffin full of holes, hooked at the ends with two hooks of iron, and so to cast them into a place called the Black deeps at the Thames mouth, so that they should never rise up nor be seen again. This was the very truth unknown, 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 james 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 murder to be 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 royal blood, and brought up in great wealth, likely long to live, to reign and rule in the Realm, by traitorous tyranny taken and deprived of their estate, shortly shut up in Prison and privily slain and murdered by the cruel ambition of their unnatural Uncle and his dispiteous torments: which things on every part well pondered, God gave this world never a more notable example, either in what unsurety standeth this world's weal, or what mischief worketh the proud enterprise of an high heart, or finally, what wretched end ensueth such dispiteous cruelty.  
For first to begin with the Ministers, Miles Forest, at Saint Martins le grant, by piece meals miserably rotten away: john Dighton, lived at Caleys long after, no less disdained and hated then pointed at, and there died in great misery: But sir james Tirrell was beheaded on the Tower hill for Treason: And King Richard himself was slain in the field, hacked and hewn by his enemy's hands, hurried on a horse back naked being dead, he is here in despite torn and tugged like a cur dog. And the mischief that he took within less than three years, of the mischief that he died in three months be not comparable, and yet all the mean time spent in much trouble and pain outward, and much fear, dread, and anguish within. For I have heard by credible report of such as were secret with his chamberers, that after this abominable deed done, he never was quiet in his mind, he never thought himself sure where he went abroad, his body privily fainted, his eye whirled about, his hand ever on his dagger, his countenance and manner like always to strike again, he took ill rest on nights, lay long waking and musing, for wearied with care and watch, rather slumbered then slept, troubled with fearful dreams, suddenly sometime start up, leap out of his bed and look about the chamber; so was his restless heart continually tossed and tumbled with the tedious impression and stormy remembrance of his abominable murder and execrable Tyranny.  
King Richard by this abominable mischief and scelerous act, thinking himself well relieved both of fear and thought, would not have it kept council but within a few days 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 heir Male being alive of King Edward's body lawfully begotten, the people would be content with the more patient heart and quiet mind, to obey him and suffer his rule and governance: but when the same of this detestable fact was revealed, and divulged thorough the whole Realm, there fell generally such a dolour and inward sorrow into the hearts of all the people, that all fear of his cruelty set a side, they in every Town, street, and place, openly wept, and piteously sobbed. And when their sorrow was somewhat mitigate, their inward grudge could not refrain but cry out in places public 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 would not have abhorred, or at the least abstained from so miserable a murder of so execrable a tyranny? To murder a man is much odious, to kill a woman, is in manner unnatural, 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 cried out, I assure you the friends of the Queen and her children, made no less exclamation and complaint with loud voice▪ lamentably crying and saying, alas what will ●e do to others, that thus shamefully murdereth his own blood without cause or desert? whom will he save, when he slayeth the poor Lambs committed to him in trust? now we see and behold, that the most cruel tyranny hath invaded the Commonwealth; now we see that in him is neither hope of Justice nor trust of Mercy, but abundance of cruelty and thirst of innocent blood.  
But when this news 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 sharp dart of death; for when she was first informed of the murder of her two Sons, she was suddenly amazed with the greatness of the cruelty, that for fear she sounded and fell down to the ground, and there lay in a great agony like to a dead corpse. And after that she came to her memory, and was revived again, she wept and sobbed, and with pitiful scrieches she replenished the whole Mansion, her breast she struck, her fair hair she tore, and pulled in pieces, and being overcome with sorrow and pensiveness, rather desired death then life, calling by name divers times her sweet Babes, accounting herself more then mad, that she deluded by wile and fraudulent promises, delivered her younger son 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 allegiance toward her children violated, she of all creatures in that point was most seduced and deceived. After long lamentation, when she saw no hope of revenging otherwise, she kneeled down and cried on God to take vengeance for the deceitful perjury, as who said she nothing mistrusted but once he would remember it. What is he living, that if he remember and behold these two noble infants without deserving, so shamefully murdered, that will not abhor the fact, yea and be moved and tormented with pity and mercy. And yet the world is so frail, and our nature so blind, that few be stirred with such examples, obliviously forgetting, and little considering, that oftentimes for the offences by the Parents perpetrate and committed, that sin is punished in their line and posterity. This chance might so happen to these innocent children, because King Edward their Father and Parent offended in staining his conscience: he made his solemn oath before the Gate of the City of York (as you have heard before) and promised and swore one thing by his word, thinking clean contrary in his heart, as after did appear. And afterward by the death of the Duke of Clarence his brother, he incurred (of likelihood) the great displeasure toward God.  
After this murder thus perpetrated, and that he had visited his Town of Gloucester, which he for his old Dignity both loved and with ample liberties and privileges endowed and decorated, he took his journey toward the County of York, where the people abusing his lawful favour (as he both favoured and trusted them in his heart) had of late presumed to attempt divers routs and riots contrary to his laws, 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 pacify or rule them, till the King himselfelfe came personally thither, to set a concord and an unity in that Country, and to bridle and rule the rude rustical and blustering bold people of that region, and so he by long journeying came to the City of York, where the Citizens received him with great pomp and triumph, according to the qualities▪ of their education, and quantity of their substance and ability, and made divers days, plays, and Pageants in token of joy and solace. Wherefore King Richard magnified and applauded of the North Nation, and also to show himself apparently before them in habit royal with Sceptre in hand and Diadem on his head, made Proclamation, that all persons should resort to York on the day of the Ascension of our Lord, where all men should both behold and see him, his Queen and Prince in their high estates and degrees, and also for their good wills, should have received many thanks, large benefits & magnificent rewards. At the day appointed the whole clergy assembled in Copes richly vested, and so with a reverend ceremony went about the city in procession, after whom followed the King with his Crown and Sceptre apparelled in his Circot robe royal accompanied with no small number of the nobility of his Realm: after whom marched in order Queen Anne his wife crowned, leading in her left hand Prince Edward her son, having on his head a demi 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 rejoiced that they extolled and praised him far above the Stars. After this solemn feast and glorious pomp he kept great counsellors there, as well for the ordering of the country in time, as for the bridling and punishing of such as there had misgoverned themselves: and further of the gentlemen of that country, 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, he returned by Nottingham, and after came to London: whom more for dread then for love, the Citizens received in great companies.  
Thus King Richard by a new invented cruelty, & late practised tyranny, obtained and grew to high praise and honour, and then by the admiration and judgement of the common multitude, he was most esteemed to be exalted into Heaven, when he covertly had intelligence, that he was like to lose his estate, and could by no means have long continuance in his usurped power: for assuredly after the death of King Edward's children, when any blustering wind, perilous thunder, or terrible tempest, chanced or were apparently like to happen: Suddenly the people having in their fresh memory the facinorous act of their King and Prince, would openly cry and make vociferation, that God did take vengeance and punish the poor Englishmen, for the crime and offence of their ungracious King, whom they blamed, accursed and wished to have extreme tortures. Although King Richard heard often of these slanderous words & malicious sayings, and knew well by what persons they were spoken, yet he durst not with strong hand be on the first inventors revenged, knowing that some time it is no wisdom to refuse or disdain them that tell a ruler his duty or declare to him his misbehaviour towards the common wealth, or counsel him to amend and change his ill life. After this great felicity, he fell again into a great fear and pensiveness of mind, and because he could by no means either correct or amend things that were passed, he determined by doing his duty in all things to his commons, to obliterate and put out of memory that note of infamy with the which his fame was justly spotted and stained, and to cause the people to conceive so good an opinion of him, that from thence forth no calamity nor trouble should be adjudged to happen to the common wealth, either by his negligence or by his misgovernment (although it is difficile and strange shortly to turn and pluck out such qualities and usages as have of long time been incorporated in a man's mind, 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 took repentance of his mischievous acts and scelerate doings, he turned over the leaf, and began an order of a new life, and pretended to have the name of a good and virtuous man, by the reason that he showed himself more just, more meeker, more familiar, more liberal (especially amongst the poor people) then before he had accustomed to do; and so by this means he firmly trusted first to obtain of God forgiveness of his offences and crimes, and after to live and take away the enemy and inward grudge that the common people bare in their minds towards him, and in conclusion, to obtain their friendly love and assured favour. He furthermore began and enterprised divers things as well public as private, the which he being prevented by sudden death did neither accomplish nor begin to conclusion, for he ●egan to found a College of a hundred Priests, which foundation with the founder shortly took an end. To please the common people also, he in his high Court of Parliament enacted divers and sundry good laws and profitable statutes, and especially one against strangers and forens wrought wares, not to be transported into this Realm, which commodious act for the common wealth, if he had lived, he had fully purposed to have advanced and set forward, and put in execution. But afterwards evidently it appeared to all persons, that only fear (which is not a master long in office and in continual authority) and not justice, caused King Richard at that very time to wax better, and amend his wicked and sinful life, for shortly after, the goodness of the man which was but painted and fraudulent, suddenly waxed cold and vanished away. And from thenceforth not only all his Councillors doings and proceeding suddenly decayed and resorted to none effect: But also fortune began to frown and turned her wheel downwards from him, in so much that he lost his only begotten son Edward in the third month after he had created him Prince of Wales.  

The second year of his Reign.  
ANd shortly after, in his second year of his reign he was unquieted by conspiracy, or rather a confederacy between the Duke of Buckingham and many other Gentlemen against him, as ye shall hear: But the occasion why the Duke and the King fell out, is of divers folk diversely pretended. This Duke as you have heard before, assoon as the Duke of Gloucester after the death of King Edward was come to York, and there had solemn funeral service done for King Edward, sent to him a secret servant of his called Persall, with such messages as you have heard before. And after the Duke of Buckingham came with three hundred horse to Northampton, and still continued with him, as partner and chief organ of his devices till after his Coronation, they departed, seeming all to be very good friends at Gloucester. From whence assoon as the Duke came home, he so highly conspired against him, that a man would marvel whereof the change grew in so short a space. Some say this occasion was, that a little before the Coronation, the Duke required the King amongst other things to be restored to the Earl of herford's lands: and forasmuch as the title which he claimed by inheritance, was somewhat interlaced with the title of Lancaster, which house made a title to the Crown, and enjoyed the same three descents, as all men knew, till the house of York deprived the third King, which was Henry the sixth, King Richard somewhat mistrusted and conceived such an indignation, that he rejected the Duke's request, with many spiteful, and minatory words, which so wounded the Duke's heart with hatred and mistrust, that he could never after endure to look right on King Richard, but ever feared his own life, so far forth, that when the Protector should ride to his Coronation, he feigned himself sick, because he would do him no honour. And the other taking it in evil part, sent him word to rise and ride, or he would make him to be carried. Whereupon, gorgeously apparelled, and sumptuously trapped with burning cart navos of gold embroidered, he road before the King through London with an evil will and worse heart. And that notwithstanding, he rose the day of the Coronation from the feast, feigning himself ficke, whic● King Richard said was done in hate and despite of him. And therefore men said that each of them ever after lived continually in such hatred and distrust of other, that the Duke looked verily to have been murdered at Gloucester, from which he in fair manner departed: but surely▪ such as were right secret with both▪ affirmed all this to be untrue; and otherwise men think it unlikely, the deep dissembling nature of both these men well considered. And what need in that green world the Protector had of the Duke, and in what peril the Duke stood if he fell once in suspicion of that tyrant, that either the Protector would give the Duke occasion of displeasure, or the Duke the Protector occasion of mistrust. And surely men think, that if King Richard had any such opinion conceived in him, he would never have suffered him to avoid his hands or escape his power: but very true it is, that the Duke of Buckingham was an high minded man, and ill could bear the glory of another, so that I have heard of some that saw it, that he at such time as the Crown was set upon the Protectors head, his eye could never abide the sight thereof, but wried his head another way, but men said he was not well at ease, and that was both to King Richard well known and well taken, nor any demand of the Duke's request uncurteously rejected, but gently deferred, but both he with great gifts and high behests in most loving and trusty manner departed from the King to Gloucester. Thus every man judged as he thought, but soon after his coming home to Brecknock, having there by King Richard's commandment Doctor Morton Bishop of Ely, who before as you have heard, was taken at the Council at the Tower, waxed with him very familiar, whose only wisdom abused his pride, to his own deliverance, and the Duke's destruction. The Bishop was a man of great natural wit, very well learned, and of honourable behaviour, lacking no wise ways to win favour. He was first upon the part of King Henry, while that part was in wealth, and neither left it nor forsook it in woe, but fled the Realm with the Queen and the Prince. And while King Edward had King Henry in prison, he never returned but to the field at Barnet: after which field lost and utterly subdued, and all partaking extinguished, King Edward for his fast faith & wisdom, was not only content to receive him, but also wooed him to come, and had him from thenceforth both in secret trust and special favour, whom he never deceived. For he being after King Edward's death first taken by the tyrant for his truth to the King, found the means to set the Duke in his top, and joined gentlemen together in aid of the Earl of Richmond, which after was named King Henry the seven●h: First devising the marriage between the Lady Elizabeth, daughter to King Edward the fourth, by the which his faithful and true service declared to both his masters at once, was an infinite benift to the Realm, by the conjunction of the bloods of Lancaster and York, whose funeral titles had long unquieted the Realm. This man afterwards escaped from the Duke and fled the Realm, and never returned, and went to Rome, never minded to meddle with the world, till King Henry the seventh sent for him, and after made him Archbishop of Canterbury and Chancellor of England, and after was made Cardinal, and lived well to all men's judgements, and died well. But to return to the former purpose, he by the long and often alternate proof, as well of prosperity as adverse fortune, had gotten by great experience the very mother and mistress of wisdom, and deep insight in politic and worldly drifts, whereby perceiving now the Duke to commune with him, fed him with fair words and many praises, and perceiving by the grief of their communications the Duke's pride now and then to balk out a little brayed of envy towards the glory of the King, and thereby feeling him easy to fall out if the matter were well handled, he craftily sought the ways to prick him forward▪ taking always the occasion of his coming, and also keeping himself close within his bands, that he rather seemed to follow him then to lead him. For when the Duke began first to praise and boast the King, & to show how much profit the Realm should take by his reign: Bishop Morton answered, surely my Lord, folly it were for me to lie, for I am sure if I would swear the contrary ye would not once believe me, but if the world would have begun as I would have wished, that King Henry's son had had the Crown, and not King Edward▪ then would I have been his true and faithful subject, but after that God had ordained him to lose it, and King Edward to reign, I was never so mad with a dead man to strive against the quick, so was I ever to King Edward a faithful and true chaplin, and glad would have been that his children should have succeeded him, howbeit if the secret judgement of God have otherwise provided, I purpose not to spurn against the prick, nor labour to set up that God pulleth down. And as for the late protector, and now King, and with that word he left, saving that he said that he had already meddled too much with the world, and would from that day meddle with his book and beads, and no further. Then longed the Duke sore to hear, what he would have said, because he ended with the King, and there so suddenly stopped, and exhorted him familiarly, between them both to be bold and to say whatsoever he thought, whereof he faithfully promised there should never come hurt, and peradventure more good than he would think: And that he himself intended to use his faithful secret advice and counsel, which he said was the only cause for the which he procured of the King to have him in his custody, where he might reckon himself at home, or else he had been put in the hands of them with whom he should not have found like favour. The Bishop right humbly thanked him, and said, in good faith my Lord, I love not much to talk of Prince's, as of a thing not all out of peril, although the word be without fault, but yet it must be as it pleaseth the Prince to construe it. And ever I think on Aesop's talk, that when the Lion had proclaimed that on pain of death there should no horned beasts come into the wood, one beast that had a bunch of flesh growing out of his head, fled a great pace: the fox that saw him fly with all the haste, asked him whither he fled? In faith, quoth he, I neither know nor care, so I were once hence, because of the proclamation made against horned beasts. What fool, quoth the fox, the Lion never meant it by thee, for that which thou hast is no horn in thy head. No marry, quoth he, I know that well enough, but if he say it is a horn, where am I then? The Duke laughed merrily at the tale, and said, my Lord I warrant you, neither the Lion nor the Boar shall pick any matter at any thing here spoken, for it shall never come near their ears. In good faith sir, said the Bishop, if it did, the thing that I was about to say taken as well, as before God I meant it, could deserve but thanks, and yet taken as I think it would, might happen to turn me to little good, and you to less.  
Then longed the Duke much more to know what it was. Whereupon the Bishop said. In good faith my Lord, as for the late Protector▪ sith he is now King in possession, I purpose not to dispute his title, but for the wealth of this realm, whereof his grace hath now the governance, and whereof I myself am a poor member, I was about to wish that to those good abilities whereof he hath already right many, little needing my praise, yet might it have pleased God for the better store to have given him some of such other excellent virtues meet for the rule of the Realm, as our Lord hath planted in the person of your grace, and there left off again. The Duke somewhat marveling at his sudden pauses, as though they were but parentheses, with a high countenance said: my Lord, I evidently perceive, and no less note your often breathing and sudden stopping in your communication, so that to my intelligence your words neither come to any direct or perfect sentence in conclusion, whereby either I might perceive and have knowledge what your inward intent is now toward the King, or what affection you bear toward me. For the comparison of good qualities ascribed to us both (for the which I myself knowledge and recognise to have none, nor look for no praise of any creature for the same) maketh me not a little to muse, thinking that you have some other privy Imagination, by love or by grudge ingraved and imprinted in your heart, which for fear you dare not, or for childish shamefastness you be ashamed to disclose and reveal and especially to m● being your friend, which on my honour do assure you to be as secret in this case, as the deaf and dumb person is to the singer, or the tree to the hunter. The Bishop being somewhat bolder, considering the Duke's promise, but most of all animated and encouraged, because he knew the Duke desirous to be exalted and magnified, and also he perceived the inward hatred and privy rancour which he bore towards King Richard, was now bouldned to open his stomach even to the very bottom, intending thereby to compass how to destroy and utterly to confound King Richard, and to deprive him of his dignity royal, or else to set the Duke so fair with the desire of ambition, that he himself might be safe, and escape out of all danger and peril, which thing he brought shortly to conclusion both to the King's destruction and the Duke's confusion & to his own safeguard, and finally, to his high promotion. And so (as I said before) upon trust and confidence of the Duke's promise, the Bishop said: my singular good Lord, sith the time of my captivity, which being in your grace's custody, I may rather call it a liberal liberty more than a strait imprisonment, in avoiding idleness, the mother and nourisher of all vices, in reading books and ancient pamphlets, I have found this sentence written, that no man is borne free and in liberty of himself only, for one part of duty he oweth or should owe to his parents for his procreation by a very natural instinct and filial courtesy: another part▪ to his friends and kinsfolk▪ for proximity of blood, and natural amity doth of very duty challenge and demand: But it the native country in the which he tasted first the sweet air of this pleasant flattering world after his nativity, demandeth as a debt by a natural bond neither to be forgotten, nor yet to be put in oblivion, which saying causeth me to consider in what case this Realm my native country now standeth, and in what estate and assuranc before this time it hath continued: what governor we now have, and what ruler we might have, for I plainly perceive the Realm being in this case must needs decay and be brought to utter confusion and final extermination: But one hope I have incorporate in my breast, that is, when I consider and in my mind do diligently remember, and daily behold your noble personage, your justice and indifference, your fervent love towards your country & likewise theirs to you, the great learning, pregnant wit and goodly eloquence, which so much doth abound in the person of your grace, I must needs think this Realm fortunate, yea twice more than fortunate, which hath such a Prince in store, meet and apt to be a governor, in whose person being endued with so many qualities consisteth and resteth the very undoubted similitude and image of true honour. But on the other side when I call to memory the good qualities of the late Protector and now called King, so violated and subverted by tyranny, so changed and altered by usurped authority, so clouded and shadowed by blind and insatiable ambition, yea and so suddenly (in manner by a metamorphosis) transformed from politic civility, to detestable tyranny; I must needs say, and justly affirm, that he is neither meet to be a King of so noble a Realm, nor so famous a Realm meet to be governed by such a tyrant: Was not his first enterprise to obtain the Crown begun and incepted by the murder of divers noble, valiant, true, and virtuous personages? Oh a holy beginning to come to mischievous ending: did he not secondarily proceed contrary to all laws of honesty, shamefully against his own natural mother, being a woman of much honour, and more virtue, declaring her openly to be a woman given to carnal affection, and dissolute living (which thing if it had been true, as it was not indeed: every good and natural child would have rather been silent, then have blazed it abroad, and especially she being alive.) Declaring furthermore his two brethren and his two nephews to be bastards, and to be borne in adultery, yet not with all this is he content. After that he had obtained the garland for the which he so long thirsted, he caused the two poor innocents' his nephews committed to him for especial trust, to be murdered and shamefully to be killed. The blood of which silly and little babes daily cries to God, from the earth for vengeance: alas my heart sobbeth, to remember this bloody butcher and cruel murderer, what surety shall be in this Realm to any person, either for life or goods under such a cruel Prince, which regardeth not the destruction of his own blood, and then less the loss of others. And most especially, as often times it chanceth, where a covetous or a cruel Prince taketh suspicion, the smallest swarving that is possible (if the thing be misconstured) may be the cause of the destruction of many guiltless persons: and especial of noble and wealthy personages having great possessions and riches: Such a Lord is Lucifer when he is entered into the heart of a proud Prince given to covetousness and cruelty.  
But now, my Lord, to conclude what I mean towards your noble person, I say and affirm, if you love God, your lineage, or your native country, you must yourself take upon you the Crown and Diadem of this noble Empire, both for the maintenance of the honour of the same (which so long hath flourished in fame and renown) as also for the deliverance of your natural country men, from the bondage and thraldom (worse than the captivity of Egypt) of so cruel a tyrant and arrogant oppressor. For thus I dare say, if any foreign Prince or potentate, yea the Turk himself would take upon him the regiment here and the Crown, the Commons would rather admit and obey him, then to live under such a bloodsucker and child-killer: but how much more joyful and glad would they be to live under your grace, whom they all know to be a ruler meet and convenient for them to live under despise not, nor forsake so manifest occasion so lovingly offered. And if yourself knowing the pain and travail that appartaineth to the office of a king, or for any other considerra●ion, will refuse to take upon you the 〈…〉 of this Realm 〈…〉 adjure you by the faith that you owe to God, by your honour, and by your oath made to Saint George patron of the noble order of the Garter (whereof you be a companion) and by the love and affection that you bear to your native country & the people of the same, to devise some way how this Realm now being in misery, may by your high discretion and princely policy, be brought and reduced to some surety and convenient regiment under some good governor by you to be excogitate: for you are the very patron, the only help, refuge, and comfort of the poor, amazed and desolate commons of this Realm. For if you could either devise to set up again the lineage of Lancaster, or advance the eldest daughter of King Edward to some high and puissant Prince, not only the new crowned King shall small time enjoy the glory of his dignity, but also all civil war should cease, all domestical discord should sleep, and peace, profit and quietness should be set forth and embraced. When the Bishop had thus ended his saying, the Duke sighed and spoke not of a great while which sore abashed the Bishop, and made him change colour: which thing when the Duke perceived, he said, be not afraid my Lord, all promises shall be kept, to morrow we will commune more: let us go to supper, so that night they communed no more, not a little to the inquietation of the Bishop, which now was even as desirous to know the Duke's mind and intent, as the Duke longed the day before to know his opinion and meaning. So the nex day, the Duke sent for the Bishop and rehearsed to him in manner, (for he was both witty and eloquent) all the communication had between them before, and so paused a while, and after a little season putting off his bonnet he said: O Lord God creator of all things, how much is this Realm of England and the people of the same bounden to thy goodness, for where we now be in vexation and trouble, with great storms oppressed, sailing and tossing in a desperate ship without good Master or Governor: by thy help good Lord I trust ere long time past, that we shall provide for such a ruler as shall be both to thy pleasure, and also to the security and safeguard of this noble Realm. And then he put on his bonnet, saying to the Bishop, my Lord of Ely, whose true heart and sincere affection toward me at all times I have evidently perceived and known, and now most of all our last privy communication and secret devising, I must needs in heart think and with mouth confess and say, that you be a sure friend, a trusty counsellor, a vigilant foreseer, a lover of your country, a anturall countryman: for which kindness, for my part, I most lovingly render to you my hearty thanks now with words: hereafter trusting to recompense and remunerate you with deeds, if life and power shall serve. And sith at our last communication, you have disclosed, and opened the very secrets and privities of your stomach, touching the Duke of Gloucester now usurper of the Crown, and also have a little touched the advancement of the two noble families of York and Lancaster: I shall likewise not only declare and manifest unto you, all my open acts, attempts and doings, but also my privy intents, and secret cogitations. To the intent that as you have unbuckled your heart of your privy meanings and secret puposes to me: so shall all my cloudy working, close devices, and secret imaginations, be (as clear as the sun) revealed, opened, and made lightsome to you.  
And to begin, I declare; that when King Edward was deceased, to whom I thought myself little or nothing beholden, (although we two had married two sisters) because, he neither promoted nor preferred me, as I thought I was worthy and had deserved, neither favoured nor regarded me, according to my degree and birth: for surely I had by him little authority and less rule, and in effect nothing at all: which caused me the less to favour his children, because I found small humanity, or none in their parent. I than began to study, and with mature deliberation, to ponder and consider, how and in what manner this Realm should be ruled and governed. And first I remembered an old proverb worthy of memory, that often ruineth the Realm, where children rule, and women govern. This old Adage so sunk, and settled in my head, that I thought it a great error, and extreme mischief to the whole Realm, either to suffer the young King to rule, or the Queen his mother to be a governor over him, considering that her brethren, and her first children (although they were not extract of high and noble lineage) took more upon them, and more exalted themselves by reason of the Queen, than did the King's brethren, or any Duke in his Realm: Which in conclusion turned to their confusion. Then I being persuaded with myself in this point, thought it necessary both for the public and profitable wealth of this Realm, and also for mine own commodity and emolument, to take part with the Duke of Gloucester: Whom I azure you I thought to be as clean without dissimulation, as tractable without injury, as merciful without cruelty, as now I know him perfectly to be a dissembler without verity, a tyrant without pity, yea and worse than the tyrant Phalaris, destitute of all truth & clemency: And so by my means, at the first council holden at London, when he was most suspected of that thing that after happened, (as you my Lord know well enough) he was made Protector and defender, both of the King and of the Realm, which authority once gotten, and the two children partly by policy brought under his governance, he being moved with the gnawing and covetous serpent, desired to reign, and never ceased privily to exhort and require (yea and sometimes with minatory terms to persuade me & other Lords aswell spiritual as temporal, that he might take upon him the Crown, till the Prince came to the age of four and twenty years, and were able to govern the Realm, as a mature and sufficient King: Which thing when he saw me somewhat stick at, both for the strangeness of the example (because no such precedent had been seen) and also because we remembered that men once ascended to the highest type of honour and authority will not gladly descend again, he then brought in instruments, authentic Doctors, Proctors, and notaries of the Law, with depositions of divers witnesses, testifying King Edward's children to be bastards, which depositions then I thought to be as true, as now I know them to be feigned, and testified by persons with rewards untruly subordinate. When the said depositions were before us read and diligently heard, he stood up bareheaded, saying; Well my Lords, even as I and you sage and discreet councillors would that my Nephews should have no wrong: So I pray you to do me nothing but right. For these witnesses and sayings of famous Doctors being true, I am only the undoubted heir to Lord Richard Plantagenet Duke of York; adjudged to be the very heir to the Crown of this Realm by authority of Parliament, which things, so by learned men to us for a verity declared, caused me and other to take him for our lawful and undoubted Prince and sovereign Lord. For well we know that the Duke of Clarence Son, by reason of the attainder of his Father, was disabled to inherit, and also the Duke himself was named to be a bastard, as I myself have heard spoken, and that upon great presumptions more times than once: so again by my aid and favour, he of a Protector was made a King, and of a subject made a Governor, at which time he promised me upon his fidelity, laying his hand in mine at Baynard's Castle that the two young Princes should live, and that he would so provide for them, and so maintain them in honourable estate, that I and all the Realm ought and should be content. But when he was once Crowned King, and in full possession of the whole Realm, he cast away his old conditions as the Adder doth his skin, verifying the old proverb, honours change manners, as the Parish Priest remembreth not that he was ever Parish Clarke. For when I myself sued to him for my part of the Earl of hartford's lands, which his brother King Edward wrongfully detyned and withheld from me, and also required to have the office of the high Constable ship of England, as divers of my noble ancestors before this time have had, and in long descent continued:  
In this my first suit, showing his good mind towards me, he did not only first delay me, and afterward deny me, but gave me such unkind words, with ●uch taunts and retaunts, yea in manner check and check mate to the uttermost proof of my patience. As though I had never furthered him but hindered him, as though I had put him down, and not set him up▪ yet all these ingratitudes & undeserved unkindnesses I bore closely and suffer patiently and covertly remenbred, outwardly dissembling that I inwardly thought, and so with a painted countenance I passed the last summer in his last company, not without many fair promises, but without any good deeds. But when I was credibly informed of the death of the two young innocents', his own natural Nephews, contrary to his faith and promise, to the which God be my judge I never agreed nor condescended, O Lord, how my veins panted, how my body trembled, and my heart inwardly grudged, in so much that I so abhorred the sight, and much more the company of him, that I could no longer abide in his court, except I should be openly revenged. The end whereof was doubtful, and so I feigned a cause to depart, and with a merry countenance and a dispightful heart I took my leave humbly of him (he thinking nothing less than that I was displeased) and so returned to Brecknock to you.  
But in the journey as I returned, whether it were by the inspiration of the holy Ghost, or▪ by Melancolous disposition, I had divers and sundry imaginations how to deprive this unnatural Uncle, and bloody butcher, from his royal seat, and princely dignity. First I fantasied, that if I list to take upon me the Crown, and imperial Sceptre of the Realm, now was the time fit and convenient. For now was the way made plain, and the gate opened, and occasion given, which now neglected, should peradventure never take such effect and conclusion. For I saw he was disdained of the Lords temporal, execrate and accursed of the Lords spiritual, detested of all gentlemen, and despised of all the commonalty: So that I saw my chance as perfectly, as I saw my own Image in a glass, that there was no person (if I had been greedy to attempt the enterprise) could nor should have won the ring, or got the goal before me. And on this point I rested in imagination secretly with myself, two days at Teukesbury. And from thence sojourning I mused & thought it was not best nor convenient to take upon me as a conqueror, for than I knew that all men, and especially the nobility, would with all their power withstand me, both for rescuing of possessions and tenours, as also for subverting of the whole estate, Laws, and Customs of the Realm: Such a power hath a conqueror, as you know well enough my Lord. But at the last, in all this doubtful case there sprang a new branch out of my head, which surely I thought should have brought forth fair flowers, but the sun was so hot that they turned to dry weeds; for I suddenly remembered that Lord Edmond Duke of Somerset my Grandfather was with King Henry the sixth in the second and third degrees from john Duke of Lancaster lawfully begotten: So that I thought sure my mother being eldest daughter to Duke Edmond, that I was next to King Henry the sixth of the house of Lancast●r. This title pleased well such as I made privy of my counsel, but much more it encouraged my foolish desire, and elevated my ambitious intent, in so much that I clearly judged, and in mine own mind was determinately resolved, that I was indubitated heir of the house of Lancaster, and thereupon concluded, to make my first foundation, and erect my new building. But whether God so ordered, or by fortune it so chanced, while I was in a maze, either to conclude suddenly on this title, and to set it open amongst the common people, or to keep it secret a while, see the chance: as I road between Worcester and Bridgnorth, I encountered with the lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond, now wife to the Lord Stanley, which is the very daughter and sole heir to john Duke of Somerset, my grandfathers elder brother: Which was as clean out of my mind as though I had never never seen her, so that she and her son the Earl of Richmond be both bulwark and portcolice between, and the gate, to enter into the majesty royal and getting of the Crown. And when we had communed a little concerning her son, as I shall show you after, and were departed, she to our Lady of Worcester, and I toward Shrewsbury: I then new changed and in manner amazed, began to dispute with myself, little considering that thus my earnest was turned even to a tittle not woth esteem. Presently I imagined whether I were best to take upon me, by the election of the nobility and commonalty, which me thought easy to be done, the usurpers' King thus being in hatred and abhorred of this whole Realm, or to take it by power, which standeth in fortune's chance, and difficile to be achieved and brought to pass. Thus rumbling & tossing, in the waves of ambiguity, between the stone and sacrifice, I considered first the office, duty, and pain of a King, which surely think that no mortal man can justly, and truly observe, except he be called, elected, and specially appointed by God, as King David and divers others have been.  
But further I remembered that if I once took on me the Sceptre, and the governance of the Realm: That of two extreme enemies I was daily sure, but of one trusty friend (which now adays be gone a pilgrimage) I was neither assured nor credibly ascertained (such is the world's mutation) for I manifestly perceived that the daughters of King Edward, and their allies, and friends, which be no small number, being both, for his sake much beloved, and also for the great injury & manifest tyranni done to them, by the new usurper, much lamented, and pitied, would never cease to bark if they cannot bite at the one side of me. Likewise my cousin the Earl of Richmond, his aides & kinsfolk, which be not of little power, will surely attempt like a fierce grayhound, either to bite or to pierce me on the other side. So that my life and rule should ever hang by a hair, never in quiet, but ever in doubt of death or deposition. And if the said two lineages of York and Lancaster, which so long have strived for the imperial Diadem, should join in one against me, than were I surely mated and the game gotten. Wherefore I have clearly determined, and with myself concluded, utterly to relinquish all such fantastical imaginations concerning the obtaining of the Crown. But all such plagues, calamities and troubles (which I feared and suspected) might have chanced on me if I had taken the rule and regiment of this real, I shall with a reredemaine so make them rebound to our common enemy that calleth himself King, that the best stopper that he hath at tennis shall not well stop without a fault: for as I told you before, the Countess of Richmond in my return from the new named King, meeting me in the high way, prayed me first for kindred sake, secondly for the love I bore to my grandfather Duke Humphrey, which was sworn brother to her father, to move the King to be good to her son Henry Earl of Richmond, and to licence him with his favour to return again into England: and if it were his pleasure so to do, she promised that the Earl her son should marry one of King Edward's daughters at the appointment of the King without any thing to be taken or demanded for the said espousals, but only the King's favour, which request I soon overpassed, and gave her fair words and so departed. But after in my lodging, when I called to memory with a deliberate study, and did circumspctly ponder them, I fully adjudged that the holy Ghost caused her to move a thing (the end whereof she could not consider) both for the security of the Realm as also for the preferment of her child, and the destruction and final confusion of the common enemy King Richard. Which thing she neither then thought, I am sure, as I by her words could make conjecture, nor I myself cast not her desire to be so profitable to the Realm as I now do perceive, but such a Lord is God▪ that with a little sparkle he kindleth a great fire, and so finally to declare to you the very conclusion to the which I am both bend and set, my mind is, and my power and purpose shall help, that the Earl of Richmond very heir of the house of Lancaster (in the quarrel of the which lineage, both my father and grandfather lost their lives in battle) shall take to wife Lady Elizabeth, eldest daughter to K. Edward; by the which marriage both the houses of York and Lancaster may be obtained and united in one, to the clear establishment of the title to the Crown of this noble Realm. To the which conclusion if the mothers of both parties, and especially the Earl himself, and the Lady will agree, I doubt not but the bragging Boar, which with his tusks raseth every man's skin, shall not only be brought to confusion as he hath deserved, but that this Empire shall ever be certain of an undubitate heir, and then shall all civil and intestine war cease, which hath so long continued, to the parting of many men's Crowns, & this Realm shall be reduced again to quietness, renown, and glory. This invention of the Duke many men thought after, that it was more imagined for the inward hatred that he bear to King Richard, then for any favour that he bore to the Earl of Richmond. But of such doubtful matters, it is not best to judge for erring to far from the mind and intent of the actor: But whatsoever he intended, this device once opened to King Richard was the very occasion, that he was rounded shorter by the whole head, without attainder or judgement.  
When the Duke had said, the Bishop, which ever favoured the house of Lancaster, was wondrous joyful, and much rejoiced to hear this device, for now came the wind about even as he would have it; for all his imagination tended to this effect, to have King Richard subdued, and to have the lines of K. Edward▪ and King Henry the sixth again raised and advanced. But Lord how he rejoiced to think how that by this marriage the lineages of York and Lancaster should be conjoined in one, to the very stead fastness of the public wealth of this Realm.  
And lest the Duke's courage should suage, or his mind should again alter, as it did often before, as you may easily perceive by his own tale; He thought to set up all the sails he had, to the intent that the ship of his pretended purpose might come shortly to some sure port: And said to the Duke, my Lord; sith by Gods high provision & your incomparable wisdom and policy, this noble conjunction was first moved, now it is convenient, yea and necessary to consider, what personages and friends we shall first make privy of this high device and politic conclusion. By my truth quoth the Duke we will begin with my Lady of Richmond the Earl's mother which knoweth where he is, either in captivity or at large in Britain. For I heard say that the Duke of Britain restored him to liberty immediately after the death of King Edward, by whose means he was restrained. Sith you will begin that way (said the Bishop) I have an old friend with the Countess, a man sober, secret, and well witted, called Reignold Bray, whose prudent policy I have known to have compassed things of great importance▪ for whom I shall secretly send if it be your pleasure, & I doubt not he will gladly come, and with a good will. So with a little diligence, the Bishop wrote a letter to Reighnold Bray, requiting him to come to Brecknock with speed, for great and urgent causes touching his Mistress: and no other thing was declared in the letter. So the messenger road into Lancashire where Bray was with the Countess and Lord Thomas Stanley her husband, & delivered the letter, which when he had read, he took it as a sign or presage of some good fortune to come, and so with the messenger he came to the Castle of Brecknock, where the Duke and the Bishop declared what thing was devised both to set the Realm in a quiet steadfastness, and also for the high preferment of the Earl of Richmond's son to his Lady and Mistress: Willing her first to compass how to obtain the good will of Queen Elizabeth, and also of her eldest daughter bearing the same name: and after secretly to send to her son into Britain to declare what high honour was prepared for him if he would swear to marry the Lady Elizabeth assoon as he was King and in Royal possession of the Realm. Reighnold Bray with a glad heart forgetting nothing hiven to him in charge, in gread haste and with good speed returned to the Countess his Lady and Mistress.  
When Bray was departed and this great doleful vessel once set a broach, the Bishop thrusting for nothing more than for liberty, when he saw the Duke pleasant and well minded toward him told, the Duke that if he were in his Isle of Ely he could make many friends to further their enterprise, and if he were there & had but four day's warning, he little regarded the malice of King Richard, his country was so strong. The Duke knew well all this to be true, but yet loath he was that the Bishop should depart, for he knew well that as long as the Bishop was with him, he was sure of politic advice, sage council, and circumspect proceeding. And so he gave the Bishop fair words, saying that he should shortly depart, and that well accompanied for fear of enemies. The Bishop being as witty as the Duke was wily, did not tarry till the Duke's company were assembled, but secretly disguised in a night departed (to the Duke's great displeasure) and came to his see of Ely, where he found money and friends, and so sailed into Flanders, where he did the Earl of Richmond good service, and never returned again till the Earl of Richmond after being King sent for him, and shortly promoted him to the See of Canterbury. Thus the Bishop wound himself from the Duke when he had most need of his aid, for if he had tarried still the Duke had not made so many blabbes of his council, nor put so much confidence in the Welshmen, nor yet so temerariously set forward without knowledge of his friends as he did, which things were his sudden overthrow as they that knew it did report.  
When Reighnald Bray had declared his message, and privy instruction to the Countess of Richmond his Mistress, no marvel though she were joyous and glad, both of the good news and also for the obtaining of such a high friend in his son's cause as the Duke was, wherefore she willing not to slip this matter, but to farther it to the uttermost of her power and ability, devised a means how to break this matter to Queen Elizabeth then being in sanctuary at Westminster. And thereupon she having in her family at that time for the preservation of her health, a certain Welshman called Lewes, learned in Physic, which for his gravity and experience was well known and much esteemed amongst great estates of the Realm: with whom she used sometimes liberally and familiarly to talk; now having opportunity and occasion to break her mind unto him of this weighty matter, declared that the time was come that her son should be joined in marriage with Lady Elizabeth, daughter and heir to King Edward, and that King Richard being taken and reputed of all men for the common enemy of the Realm, should out of all honour and estate be dejected, and of his rule and kingdom be clearly spoilt and expulsed: and required him to go to Queen Elizabeth (with whom in his faculty he was of counsel) not as a messenger, but as one that came friendly to visit and consolate her, and as time and place should require to make her privy of this device, not as a thing concluded, but as a purpose by him imagined. This Physician did not long linger to accomplish her desire, but with good diligence repaired to the Queen, being still in the sanctuary at Westminster. And when he saw time proper and convenient for his purpose, he said unto her: Madam, although my imagination be very simple, and my device more foolish, yet for the entire affection that I bear towards you and your children, I am so bold to utter unto you a secret and privy conceit that I have cast & compassed in my fantastical brain. When I well remember, and no less consider the great loss and damage that you have sustained by the death of your noble and loving husband, and the great dolour and sorrow that you have suffered and tolerated by the cruel murder of your innocent children: I can no less do both of bounden duty and christian charity, then daily study, and hourly imagine not only how to bring your heart to comfort & gladness, but also devise how to revenge the righteous quarrel of you and your children on that bloody bloodsucker and cruel tyrant King Richard.  
And first consider, what battle, what manslaughter, what mischief hath risen in this Realm by the dissension between the two noble houses of York and Lancaster, which two families (as I have contrived) if they may be joined in one, I think, yea and doubt not but your line shall be again restored to the pristinate estate & degree to your great joy and comfort, and to the utter confusion of your mortal enemy the usurper King. You know very well madam, that of house the of Lancaster, the Earl of Richmond is nxet of blood, which is living & a lusty young bachelor, & to the house of York your daughters now are heirs: if you could agree and invent the means how to couple your eldest daughter with th● young Earl of Richmond in matrimony, no doubt but the usurper of the Realm should be shortly deposed, and your heir again to her right restored.  
When the Queen had heard this friendly motion (which was as far from her thought as the man that the rude people say is in the Moon) Lord how her spirits revived, and how her heart leapt in her body for joy and gladness. And first giving laud to almighty God as the chief author of her comfort, secondly to Master Lewes the deviser of the good news and tidings, instantly besought him, that as he had been the first inventor of so good an enterprise, that now he would not relinquish nor desist to follow the same: desiring him further (because he was appertaining to the Countess of Richmond mother to the Earl Henry) that he would with all diligence resort to her then lodging in her husband's place within the city of London, and to declare on the Queen's behalf to the Countess, that all the friends and favourers of King Edward her husband, should assist and take part with the Earl of Richmond her son, so that he would take a corporal oath after the Kingdom obtained, to espouse and take to wife the Lady Elizabeth her daughter, or else Lady Cecile, if the eldest daughter were not then living.  
Master Lewes with all dexterity so sped his business, that he made and concluded a final end and determination of this enterprise between the two mothers, and because he was a Physician, and out of all suspicion and misdeeming, he was the common currer and daily messenger between them, aiding and setting forth the invented conspiracy against King Richard. So the Lady Margaret Countess of Richmond brought into a good hope of the preferment o● her son, made Reyghnold Bray her most faithful servant chief solicitor and privy procurer of this conspiracy, giving him in charge, secretly to invegle and attract such persons of nobility to join with her, and to take her part as he knew to be ingenious, faithful, diligent, and of activity. This Reighnold Bray within few days brought unto his lure (first of all taking of every person a solemn oath to be true and secret) sir Gyles Daubeney, sir john Cheiney knight, Richard Guylford, and Thomas Rain Esquiors, and divers others. The Countess of Richmond was not so diligent for her part, but Queen Elizabeth was as vigilant on the other side, and made friends, and appointed Councillors to set forward and advance her business. In the mean season the Countess of Richmond took into her service Christopher Urswick, an honest and a wise Priest, and after an oath of him for to be secretly taken and sworn, she uttered to him all her mind & council, adhibiting to him the more confidence and truth that he all his life had favoured and taken part with King Henry the sixth, and as a special jewel put to her service by sir Lewes her Physician. So the mother studious for the prosperity of her son appointed this Christopher Vrsewicke to sail into Britain to the Earl of Richmond, and to declare and to demonster to him all pacts and agreements between her and the Queen agreed and concluded: But suddenly she remembering that the Duke of Buckingham was one of the first inventors, and a secret founder of this enterprise, determined to send some personage of more estimation than her chaplain, and so elected Hugh Conway esquire, and sent him into with a great some of money to her son, giving him charge to declare to Earl the great love especial favour that the most part of the nobility of the Realm bore towards him, the benevolent minds which the whole commonalty frankly offered & liberally exhibited to him, willing & advising him not to neglect so good an occasion apparently offered, but with all speed & diligence to addict and settle his mind & full intention how to return home again into England, where he was both wished and looked for, giving him farther monition and counsel to take land and arrival in the principality of Wales, where he should not doubt to find both aid, comfort and friends. Richard Guylford, lest Hugh Conwey might fortune to be taken or stopped at Plymouth, where he intended to take his navigation, sent out of Kent Thomas Rame with the same instruction: and both made such diligence and had such wind and weather, the one by land from Calais, and the other by water from Plymouth, that within less than an hour both arrived in the Duke of Britain's court, and spoke with the Earl of Richmond, which from the death of K. Edward went at his pleasure and liberty, and to him counted and manifested the cause and effect of their message and Embassage. When the Earl had received this joyful message, which was the more pleasant because it was unlooked for, he rendered to Jesus his saviour his most humble and hearty thanks, being in firm credence and belief that things as he with busy mind and laborious intent had wished and desired, could never have taken any effect without the help and preferment of Almighty God. And now being put in comfort of his long longing, he did communicate and break to the Duke of Britain all his secrets and privy messages which were to him declared, advertising him that he was entered into a sure and steadfast hope to obtain and get the Crown and Kingdom of the Realm of England, desiring him both of his good will and friendly help toward the achiving of his offered enterprise, promising him when he came to his intended purpose, to render to him again equal kindnesses and condign gratulations.  
Although the Duke before that day by Thomas Hutton Ambassador from King Richard had both by money and prayers been solicited and moved to put again into safe custody the Earl of Richmond, he nevertheless promised faithfully to aid him, and his promises he truly performed.   

The third year.  
Whereupon the Earl with all diligence sent into England again Hugh Conwey and Thomas Rame, which should declare his coming shortly into England, to the intent that all the things which by counsel might be for his purpose provided, should be accelerate and hasted, and that all things doubtful should of his friends be prudently foreseen, in avoiding all engines and snares which King Richard had or might have set in disturbance of his purpose, and he in the mean season would make his abode still in Britain, till things necessary for his journey were prepared and brought in a readiness.  
In the mean season the chieftains of the conjuration in England began together many enterprises: Some in convenient fortresses put strong garrisons: Some kept armed men privily, to the intent when they should have knowledge of the Earls landing, they would begin to stir up the war: Others did secretly move and solicit the people to rise and make an insurrection: Others (amongst whom john Morton Bishop of Ely then being in Flanders was chief) by privy letters, and cloaked messenger's, did stir and invite to this new conjunction▪ all such which they certainly knew to have a rooted hatred, or to bear a cankered malice towards King Richard and his proceedings  
Although this great enterprise were never so privily handled, and so secretly amongst so circumspect persons treated, compassed & conveyed, yet knowledge thereof came to the ears of K. Richard, which with the sudden chance was not a little moved and astonished. First, because he had no host ready prepared and conscribed. Secondarily, he knew not where to occur and meet his enemies, or whither to go or where to tarry. Wherefore he determined to dissemble the matter, as though he knew nothing, till he had assembled his host, and in the mean season either by the rumour of the common people, or by the diligence of his exploratours and espials to investigate & ●earch out all the Counsels, determinations, intents and compasses of his close adversaries, or else by crafty policy to intercept and take some person of the same conjuration, considering that there is no more secret nor hid especial than that which lurketh in dissimulation of knowledge and intelligence, or is hidden in the name and shadow of counterfeit humanity and feigned kindness. And because he knew the Duke of Buckingham to be the chief head and aid of the conjuration, he thought it most necessary to pluck him from that part either by fair promises or open war. Whereupon he addressed his loving letters to the Duke, as full of mellifluous words, humanity & familiarity as the interior cogitation & privy meaning was full of malice, rancour, and poison: giving farther in charge to the messenger that carried the letter to promise to the Duke on his behalf golden hills and silver rivers, and with all gentle and pleasant means to persuade and exhort the Duke to come to the Court. But the Duke as wily as the King, mistrusting the fair flattering words, and the gay promises to him so suddenly without any cause offered, knowing the crafty casts of K. Richard's bow, which in divers affairs before times he had seen practised, required the King to pardon him, excusing himself that he was so diseased in his stomach, that he could scarce take any refection or rest. King Richard not being content with this excuse, would in no wise admit the same, but incontinent directed to the Duke other letters of a more rougher and haughty sort, not without minatory terms and checking words, commanding him, all excuses set apart, to repair without any delay to his royal presence. The Duke made to the messenger a determinate answer that he would not come to his mortal enemy, whom he neither loved nor favoured: and immediately prepared open war against him, and persuaded all his complices and partakers, that every man should in his quarter with all diligence raise up the people and make a commotion. And by this means almost in one moment Thomas Marques Dorcet came out of Sanctuary, where he since the beginning of Richard's days had continued, whose life by the only help of sir Thomas Lovel Esquire, was preserved from all danger and peril in this troublous world, & gathered together a great band of men in Yorkshire. Sir Edward Courtney and Peter his brother Bishop of Exeter, raised another army in Devonshire and Cornwall.  
In Kent, Richard Gilford, and other Gentlemen, collected a great company of Soldiers, and openly began War. But King Richard which in the mean time had gotten together a great strength and puissance, thinking it not most for his part beneficial, to disperse and divide his Army into small branches, and particularly to persecute any one of the conjuration by himself; determined, all other being set aside, with his whole puissance to set on the chief head, which was the Duke of Buckingham. And so removing from London, he took his journey toward Salisbury▪ to the intent that in his journey, he might set on the Duke's army, if he might know him in any place encamped, or in order of Battle arrayed. The King was scarce two day's journey from Salisbury when the Duke of Buckingham accompanied with a great power of wild Welshmen, whom he, being a man of that courage and sharp speech, in manner against their wills had rather thereto enforced & compelled by Lordly and straight commandment then by liberal wages and gentle reteynour, which thing was the very occasion why they left him desolate and cowardly forsook him. The Duke with all his power marched through the forest of Dean●, intending to have passed the river Severne at Gloucester, and there to have joined in army with the Courtneys and other Western men of his confederacy and affinity, which if he had done, no doubt but K. Richard, had been in great jeopardy either of privation of his Realm or loss of his life or both. But see the chance, before he could attain to Severne side, by force of continual rain and moisture, the river rose so high, that it overflowed all the country adjoining, insomuch that men were drowned in their beds, houses with the extreme violence were overturned, children were carried about the fields, swimming in cradles, beasts were drowned on hills, which rage of water lasted continually ten days, insomuch that in the country adjoining they call it to this day, the great water, or the Duke of Buckingham's great water. By this inundation the passages were so closed, that the Duke could not come over Severne to his complices, nor they to him, during the which time, the Welshmen linger idly without money, victuals, or wages, suddenly scaled and departed: and for all the Duke's fair promises, menaces, and enforcements, they would in no wise either go further or abide. The Duke thus abandoned and left almost alone, was of necessity compelled to fly, and in his flight was with this sudden misfortune marvellously disdained: and being unprovided, what counsel he should take and what way he should follow, like a man in despair not knowing what to do, of very trust and confidence conveyed himself into the house of Humphrey Banister his servant, besides Shrewesbury, whom he had tenderly brought up, and whom he above all men loved, favoured and trusted, now not doubting but that in his extreme necessity, he should find him faithful, secret and trusty, intending there covertly to lurk, till either he might raise again a new army, or else shortly to sail into Britain to the Earl of Richmond.  
But when it was known to his adherents which were ready to give battle, that his host was scaled and had left him almost alone, and was fled and could not be found, they were suddenly amazed and stricken with a sudden fear, that every man like persons desperate shifted for himself and fled, some went to Sanctuary and to solitary places, some fled by sea, whereof the most part within a few days after arrived safely in the Duchy of Brittany. Among which number were these persons, Peter Courtney Bishop of Exeter, and Sir Edmond Courtney his brother, by King Henry the sev●nth, after created Earl of D●●onshire, Thomas Marqu●s Dorcet, john Lord Welles, Sir john Burchier, Sir Edmond Woodvile a valiant man in Arms, brother to Queen Elizabeth, Sir Rrbert Willoughby, Sir Gyles Dabeney, Sir Thomas Arundel, Sir john Cheney and his two brethren, Sir William Barkeley, Sir William Brandon, and Thomas his brother, Sir Richard Edgcombe, all these for the most part being Knights, and john Halwell, Edward Powninges a politic captain. At this very season john Morton Bishop of Ely, and Christopher Urswick Priest, and another company of noble men sojourned in Flanders, and by letters and messengers procured many enemies against King Richard; Which using a vigilant eye, and a quick remembrance, being newly come to Salisbury, having perfect notice & knowledge how the Duke was fled, his complices intended to pass out of the Realm▪ First he sent men of war to all the next ports and passages to keep straightly the sea coast, so that no person should pass outward nor take land in the Realm, without their assent and knowledge▪ Secondly, he made Proclamation, that what person could show and reveal where the Duke of Buckingham was, should be highly rewarded, if he were a bondman he should be enfranchised and set at liberty, if he were of free blood, he should have a general pardon & be remunerate with a thousand pounds. Furthermore, because he understood by Thomas Hutton, which as you have heard was newly returned out of Britain, that Francis Duke of Britain not only refused to keep the Earl of Richmond as a prisoner at his contemplation and for his sake, but also was ready to aid and succour the said Earl with men, money, and all things necessary for his transporting into England. Wherefore he rigged and sent out ships of war well furnished and decked with men and artillery, to scour and keep that part of the sea that lieth against Britain, to the intent that if the Earl of Richmond would adventure to sail toward Englnad, either he should be taken captive or be profligate and driven from the coast of England. And moreover, to the intent that every cost, way, passage, and corner should be diligently watched and kept, he set at every dubious and suspected place, men of war, to seek, search, and inquire if any creature could tell tidings of the Duke of Buckinham or of any of his confederation, adherents, fautours or partakers.  
While this busy search was diligently applied and put in execution, Humphrey Banister (were it more for fear of loss of life and goods, or attracted and provoked by the avaricious desire of the thousand pounds) he bewrayed his guest and master to john Mitton then Sheriff of Shropshire, which suddenly with a strong power of men in arms apprehended the Duke in a little grove adjoining to the mansion of Humphrey Banister, and in great haste and evil speed conveyed him apparelled in a peeled black cloak to the city of Salisbury where King Richard then kept his household.  
Whether this Banister bewrayed the Duke more for fear then covetousness many men do doubt: but sure it is, that shortly after he had betrayed the Duke his Master, his son and heir waxed mad and so died in a Boar's sty, his eldest daughter of excellent beauty was suddely stricken with a foul leprosy, his second son very marvellously deformed of his limbs and made decrepit, his younger son in a small puddle was strangled & drowned, and he himself being of extreme age arraigned and found guilty of a murder, and by his Clergy saved. And as for his thousand pound, King Richard gave him not one farthing; saying, that he which would be untrue to so good a master, would be false to all other: howbeit, some say that he had a small office or a farm to stop his mouth withal. The Duke being by certain of the King's council diligently upon interrogatories examined what things he knew prejudicial to the King's person, opened and declared frankly and freely all the conjuration without dissembling or glozing, trusting because he had truly and plainly revealed and confessed all things that were of him required, that he should have licence to speak to the King which (whether it were to sue for pardon and grace, or whether he being brought to his presence, would have sticked him with a dagger, as men then judged) he sore desired and required. But when he had confessed the whole fact and conspiracy upon Alsoules' day without arrignement or judgement, he was at Salisbury in the open marketplace on a new scaffold beheaded and put to death. This death (as a reward) the Duke of Buckingham received at the hands of King Richard, whom he before in his affairs, purposes and enterprises had holden, sustained and set forward above all Gods forbade.  
By this all men may easily perceive that he not only loseth both his labour, travel and industry, & further staineth and spotteth his line with a perpetual ignominy and reproach, which in evil and mischief assisteth and aideth an evil disposed person, considering for the most part, that he for his friendly favour should receive some great displeasure or infortunate chance. Beside that God of his justice in conclusion appointeth to him a condign pain and afflction for his merits and deserts. While these things were thus handled and ordered in England, Henry Earl of Richmond prepared an army of five thousand manly Britons, and forty well furnished ships. When all things were prepared in a readiness, and the day of departing and setting forward was appointed, which was the twelfth day of the month of October, in the year of the incarnation of our Redeemer, one thousand four hundred forty eight, and in the second year of King Richard's reign, the whole army went on shipbord and hoist up their sails, and with a prosperous wind took the sea: but towards night the wind changed, and the weather turned, and so high and terrible a tempest suddenly arose, that with the very power and strength of the storm, the ships were dispersed, severed and separated a sunder: some by force were driven into Normandy, some were compelled to return again into Britain. The ship wherein the Earl of Richmond was, associate only with one other bark was all night tossed and turmoiled. In the morning after, when the rage of the furious tempest was assuaged, and the ire of the blustering was something appeased, about the hour of noon the same day, the Earl approached to the south part of the Realm of England, even at the mouth of the Haven of Pole in the county of Dorset, where he might plainly perceive all the Sea banks and shores garnished and furnished with men of war and soldiers appointed and deputed there to defend his arrival and landing as before is mentioned. Wherefore he gave strait charge and sore commandment, that no person should once presume to take land and go to the shore, until such time as the whole navy were assembled and congregate. And while he expected and lingered taring for that purpose, he sent out a shippe-boate towards the land side to know, whether they that stood there in such a number and so well furnished in apparel defensive were his capital foes and enemies, or else his friends, fosterers, and comforters. They that were sent in exploration and message were instantly desired of the men of war keeping these coasts (which thereof were before instructed and admonished) to descend & take land, affirming that they were appointed by the Duke of Buckingham there to wait and tarry for the arrival and landing of the Earl of Richmond, and to conduct safely to the camp where the Duke not far off lay encamped with a populous army and an host of great strength and vigour, to the intent that the Duke and the Earl joining in puissaunces and forces together might prosecute and chase King Richard being destitute of men, and in manner desperate and fugitive, and so by that means and their own labours and industry to obtain the end of their enterprise which they had before begun.  
The Earl of Richmond suspecting their flattering request to be but a fraud (as it was indeed) after that he perceived none of his ships to appear in his sight, he weighed up his anchors & hoist up his sails, having a prosperous and strenable wind and a fresh gale sent even by God to deliver him from that peril and jeopardy, arrived safe and in security in the Duchy of Normandy, where he to 〈…〉 and solace his soldiers and peope, took his recreation by the space of thredays, and clearly determined with part of his company to pass all by land again into Britain. And in the mean season he sent Orators to the French King called Charles the eight, which newly succeeded his father King Lewis the eleventh, not long before departed to God, requiring of him a safe conduct and licence to pass through his country of Normandy into Britain. The young King having compassion of the misfortune and unfortunate chance of the Earl of Richmond, not only gently granted and assigned to him a passport, but also literally disbursed and departed to him a convenient some of money for his conduct and expenses necessary in his long journey and passage. But the Earl trusting on the French Kings humanity adventured to send his ships home into Britain, and to set forward himself by land on his journey, making no great haste till his messengers were returned, which being with the benefit so comforted, and with hope of prosperous success so encouraged, marched towards Britain with all diligent celerity, intending there to consult further with his lovers and friends of his affairs and enterprises.  
When he was returned again into Britain he was certified by credible information that the Duke of Buckingham had lost his head, and that the Marquis Dorset, and a great number of noble men of England had a little before enquired and searched for him there, and were now returned to Vanues.  
When he had heard these news thus reported, he first sorrowed, & dolorously lamented the first attempt and setting forward of his friends, and especially of the Nobility not to have more fortunately succeeded. Secondly, he rejoiced on the other part, that God had sent him so many valiant and prudent Captains to be his companions in his martial enterprises, trusting surely, and nothing doubting in his own opinion, but that all his business should be wisely compassed and brought to a good conclusion. Wherefore he determining with all diligence to accelerate and set forward his new begun business, departed to Renes, and sent certain of his privy servitors to conduct and bring the Marquis and the other Noble men to his presence. When they knew that he was safely returned into Britain, Lord how they rejoiced and applauded, for before that time they miss him, and knew not in what part of the world to make investigation or search for him.  
For they doubted and no less feared lest he had taken land in England, and fallen into the hands of King Richard, in whose person they knew well was neither mercy nor compassion. Wherefore in all speedy manner they galloped towards him, and him reverently saluted, which meeting after great joy and solace, and no small thanks and gratifications given and rendered on both parts, they consulted and advisedly debated & commoned of their great business and weighty enterprise, in the which season the solene feast of the Nativity of our Saviour Christ happened, on which day all the English Lords went with great solemnity to the chief Church of the City, and there each gave faith and promise to other. The Earl himself first took a corporal oath, and on his honour promising that incontinent after he should be possessed of the Crown and dignity of the Realm of England, he would be conjoined in matrimony with the Lady Elizabeth daughter to King Edward the fourth. Then all the company swore to him fealty, and did to him homage as though he had been that time the Crowned King and anointed Prince, promising faithfully & firmly assuring that they would not only lose their worldly substance, but also be deprived of their lives and worldly felicity, rather than to suffer King Richard, that tyrant, longer to rule and ●aigne over them.  
Which solemn oaths made and taken, the Earl of Richmond declared and communicated all these doings to Francis Duke of Britain, desiring and most heartily requiring him to aid him with a great army to conduct him into his Country, which so sore longed and looked for his return, and to the which he was by the more part of the Nobility called and desired, which (with God's aid and the Duke's comfort) he doubted not in short time to obtain, requiring him further to lend to him a convenient some of money, affirming that all such sums of money which he had received of his especial friends, were spent and exhausted in the preparation of the last journey made towards England, which sums of money after his enterprise once achieved, he in the word of a Prince faithfully promised to repay and restore again. The Duke promised him aid and help, upon confidence whereof he rigged his ships, & set forth his Navy well decked with ordinance, & warlikely furnished with all things necessary, to the intent to sail forward shortly, and to see no convenient time slackly overpassed, nor be pretermitted.  
In the mean season, King Richard apprehended in divers parts of the Realm, certain gentlemen of the Earl of Richmond's faction and confederation, which either intended to sail into Britain towards him, or else at his landing to assist and aid him. Amongst whom, sir George Browne, sir Roger Clifford and four others were put to execution at London, and sir Thomas Sentliger which had married the Duchess of Exeter the Kings own sister, and Thomas Rame and divers others were executed at Exeter. Besides these persons, divers of his household servants whom either he suspected or doubted, were by great cruelty put to shameful death. After this he called a Parliament in the which he attainted the Earl of Richmond and all other persons which were fled out of the Realm for fear of any other cause, as enemies to him & their natural country, and all their lands, goods, and possessions were confiscate and seized to the King's use. And yet not content with this prey which no doubt was of no small value and moment, he laid on the people's necks a great tax and tollage, and surely necessity to that act in a manner compelled him. For what with purging and declaring his innocence concerning the murder of his Nephews towards the world, & what with cost to obtain the love and favour of the commonalty (which outwardly glossed and openly dissembled with him) he gave prodigally so many and so great rewards, that now both he lacked and, scarce knew honestly how to borrow.  
In this troublous season, nothing was more marvelled at then that the Lord Stanley had not been taken and reputed as an enemy to the King, considering the working of the Lady Margaret his wife, mother to the Earl of Richmond: but forasmuch as the enterprise of a woman was of him reputed of no regard or estimation, and that the Lord Thomas her husband had purged himself sufficiently to be innocent of all doings and attempts by her perpetrated and committed, it was given him in charge to keep her in some secret place at home, without having any servant or company, so that from thenceforth she should never send letter nor messenger to her son nor any of his friend or confederates, by the which the King might be molested or troubled, or any hurt or prejudice might be attempted against his realm and commonalty. Which commandment was a while put in execution, and accomplished according to his dreadful commandment. Yet the wild worm of vengeance wavering in his head, could not be content with the death of divers gentlemen suspected of treason, but also he must extend his bloody fury against a poor gentleman called Collingborne for making a small Rhyme of three of his unfortunat Councillors, which were the Lord Lovel, sir Richard Radcliffe his mischievous minion, and sir William Catesbey his secret seducer, which meeter was; 
The Rat, the Cat,  
and Lovel our dog,  
Rule all England  
under the hog.   
Meaning by the hog, the dreadful wild Boar which was the King's cognisance: but because the first line ended in dog, the metrician could not, observing the regiments of meeter end the second verse in Boar, but called the Boar an hog; This poetical Schoolmaster, corrector of breves and longs, caused Collingborne to be abbreviated shorter by the head, and to be divided into four quarters.  
King Richard being thus tormented and tossed in his own conceit and imagination, calling to his remembrance that considerations, amities and other honest bonds and pacts, made, concluded and appointed between Princes and politic governor's are in the cause efficient, especial introduction that their Realms and Countries are fortified and munited with a double power, that is to say, with their own strength and the aid of their friends, devised with himself to practise a league and amity with the King of Scots, which not long before had made divers incursions and roads into the Realm of England, where although he got little, yet surely he lost not much, and thereupon sued to have a truce or peace concluded, which came even as King Richard had wished it. Wherefore commissioners were assigned for both parts to meet at Nottingham the seventh day next ensuing, at which time came thither for the King of England, john Bishop of Lincoln▪ Chancellor of England, Richard Bishop of Saint Ass, john Duke of Norfolk, Henry Earl of Northumb●rland, Thomas Lord Stanley, George Stanley Lord Strange, john Grace Lord Powes, Richard Lord Fitzhngh, john Gunthorpe, keeper of the King's Privy Seal, Thomas Barow Master of the Rolls, sir Thomas Bryan chief Justice of the Common Place, sir Richard Ratcliff Knight, William Catesbey, and Richard Salkeld Esquiers. And for the King of Scots were deputed Colin Earl of Ergile Lord Camp●ell, & Lord Chancellor of Scotland, William Bishop of Aberden, Robert Lord Lyle, Laurence Lord Oliphant, john Drummond of Stobhall, Archibald Qwitelator Archdeacon of Lawdene and Secretary to King james, Lion K. of Arms, & Duncane Dundas. These Councillors divers times met, and after long debating, demanding and denying, in the end of September they fully concluded, and made a determination, the effect whereof followeth in Articles.  


I.  
First, It was appointed and concluded that a perfect Amity and an Inviolable peace should be had and kept between the Realms of England and Scotland, for the space of three years; to begin at the Sun rising the twenty ninth day of September in the year of our Lord One thousand four hundred eighty four, and to continue to the setting of the sun the twenty ninth day of September in the year of Christ's incarnation, one thousand four hundred eighty seven.   

II.  
Item, that▪ during the said years, none of both the Princes, nor their ministers shall make war or invade the Realm or dominion of the other by sea or land, or vex, perturb, or molest the subjects or vassals of either of them, nor shall give counsel, excite or move any other person to make war or invasion on the territories of any of the said Princes.   

III.  
Item, that the town and Castle of Berwick, with▪ all such bounds as were thereto belonging, ●hich were in the English men's hands at the deliverance of the same town by King Henry the sixth, to the King of Scots, shall so peaceably remain in the possession of the King of England dnring the said truce.   

FOUR  
Item, that all other Castles, holds and fortresses, shall peaceably remain in the hands of the possessor and owner without challenge or demand during the said truce, the Castle of Dumbar only excepted, (which was delivered into the English men's hands by the appointment of the Duke of Albany when he fled into France.   

V.  
Item, If the King of Scots do intimate and declare to the King of England, within the space of forty days next ensuing the date hereof, that he will not suffer the said Castle of Dumbar to be possessed of the English nation above the term of six months, that then during the said six months, neither the English men in the Garrison of Dumbar, nor the Scots dwelling and inhabiting about the limits of the same, shall do any hurt, prejudice or damage to any of the sald parties, the said term conti●ning.   

VI  
Item, If after the said six months, any variance or war shall arise between the said two Princes, either for the recovering or defending the said Castle of Dumbarre, yet the said truce, leagne and amity for all other rights and possessions, shall stand in force and be effectual, and that it shall be lawful to each of the said Princes to do what they shall think necessary, both for the obtaining and defending the said Castle of Dumbarre, any thing contained in the treaty of peace notwithstanding.   

VII.  
Item, It is concluded and appointed between the parties aforesaid, that during the said truce, none of both the Princes aforesaid, shall receive into his Realm, territories, or dominions, any traitor or rebel of the other Prince, nor shall maintain, favour, aid or comfort any rebel or traitor which is already fled, or shall hereafter fly into either the said Princes dominions, nor there suffer him or them to tarry or make their abode.   

VIII.  
Item, If any such rebel or traitor shall fortune hereafter to arrive in the Realm or territory of any of the said Princes, that th●n the said Prince, in whose dominion the said traitor or rebel is so arrived, at the instance and request of the other Prince to whom the offence and crime was committed, shall be bound incontinently to deliver the said rebel or traitor to the said demander without fraud or male engine.   

IX.  
Item, That all Scotchmen now inhabiting in England, and sworn to the King of England, shall and may there inhabit and tarry, so that their names within sortie days after the date of this league be certified to the King of Scots, or to his Chancellor, by the King of England, or the warden of the Marches.   

X.  
Item, If during the said amity and peace, it shall fortune any of the wardens of the said Princes without commandment, assent or knowledge of his sovereign Lord and Master, to invade or raise an army in the dominion of the other Prince, and there to slay, burn or spoil: that then the said Prince, to whom the said Wardeine is or shall be subject and vassal, shall within six days next after the fact done and perpetrate, declare the said Wardeine a traitor and rebel, and thereof shall make certificate to the other Prince to whom the injury was committed within twelve days after the said declaration made and denounced.   

XI.  
Item, That in every safe conduct to be granted by either of the said Princes, this clause to be added: Provided always that the obtainer of this safe conduct be no traitor or rebel.   

XII.  
Item, If during this amity and truce, any of the subjects of either Prince do presume or attempt to aid, help, maintain or serve any other Prince against any of the said contractors: Then it shall be lawful to the Prince and his subjects against whom he showed himself enemy and adversary, to apprehend and attach the said subject, going, coming, or tarrying, any act, article or clause in this league to the contrary comprehended notwithstanding.   

XIII.  
Item, It is agreed, appointed, and accorded, that in this traatie and amity shall be comprehended the friends obliged and confederates of both the Princes if they list to enter and accept the league, and thereupon to declare their pleasures within six month's next ensuing: and specially for the King of England's part were named for confederates, The King of Castille and Lion, the King of Arragon, the King of Portugal, the Archduke of Austryche and Burgony, and the Duke of Britain. On the part of the King of Scots were named for confederates, Charles the French King, john King of Denmark and Norwey, and the Duke of Geldres and Britain.   

XIIII.  
Item, It is agreed and concluded between the parties aforesaid that the Lordship of Lorne in the Realm of Scotland, nor the Island of Londay lying in the river of Severne in the Realm of England, shall not be taken nor comprised within the league, but to stand at large as they did before.   

XV.  
Item, That this concord, peace, and amity, should be published, proclaimed and divulged the first day of October next ensuing in the most noble and famous cities and towns of both the Realms and Regions. And conservators were appointed for the sure observation of this league and amity on both parts, whose names follow.  

For the King of England.  
john Earl of Lincone.  
Henry Earl of Northumberland  
Ralph Lord Nevell  
Ralph Lord Greystocke  
Richard Lord Fitz Hugh  
john Lord Scrope  
Thomas Lord Scrope of Massam  
Sir Christopher Moresby  
William Clapton, Esquire  
Humphrey Lord Daker  
Sir Richard Ratcliff  
Sir john Conyers  
Sir Edward Hastings  
Sir Robert Donstable  
Sir Hugh Hastings  
Sir William Evers  
Sir john Huldeston  
William Musgrave, Esquire  
Richard Salkeld, Esquire   

For the King of scott's.  
David Earl of Crafford, and Lord Linsey.  
George Earl of Huntl●y, Lord Gord●n and Badz●nath.  
john Lord Dornel●y  
john Lord Kynedy  
Robert Lord Lile  
Patrick Lord Hales  
Laurence Lord Oliphaunt  
William Lord Borthwike  
Sir john Rosse of Halkehed  
Sir Gilbert johnson of Elphynstone  
Sir john Lundy  
Sir james Ogilly of Arly  
Sir Robert Hamilton of Fingalt●n  
Sir William Balze of Lamington.  
Sir john Kinedy of Blarqhon.  
Sir john Wemes  
Sir William Rochewen  
Edward Crochton of Kirke Paty  
john Dundas  
john Rosse of Montgrenane, these three last were Esquiers.    

XVI.  
Item, It is further condesconded and agreed, that these commissioners whose names ensue, shall meet at Loughmabanstane the eighteenth day of November next ensuing, aswell for redress to be had of certain offences done on the Westmarches, as also for declaring and publishing of the peace and amity.  

Commissioners of the English part.  
The Lord Dacre  
The Lord Fitz Hugh  
Sir Richard Radcliffe  
Sir Christopher Moresby  
Sir Richard Salkeld, or three of them.   

Commissioners for the Scottish part.  
The Lord Kenedy  
The Lord Mountgomory  
The Lord Lile  
john Maxwell steward of Annerd●le.  
Robert Crechton of Sanquhane, or three of them.    

XVII.  
Item, The like Commissioners were assigned to meet at Raydon Borne for the East Marches the first day of December, and also meet at Haldanstanke the fourth day of the said month for the middle Marches.  

Commissioners for the King of England.  
The Earl of Northumberland.  
The Lord Greystorcke  
The Lord Scrope of Massam  
Sir William Gastoyn  
Sir Robert Constable.   

Commissioners for the King of scott's.  
The Earl of Huntley  
The Earl of Angus  
The Earl of Ergile Chancellor of Scotland  
The Lord Wandale  
The Lord Seton  
The Lord Olyphaunt  
The Lord Stobhill.    

XVIII.  
Item, It is agreed that the commessioners aforesaid shall depute and assign certain persons to view and declare the bounds and limits appertaining to the Town of Berwicke according to the true meaning of the league.   

XIX.  
Item, It is agreed and appointed that no person of England or Scotland, shall, during the said truce, build, ear or sow any lands or ground being within the bounds of the batable ground, but to suffer the same to continue in the same condition that it now remaineth.    
When this league and amity was thus concluded, finished and sealed, with all due circumstances thereunto required; although King Richard judged & deemed himself somewhat the more strong and quiet by force of this new amity, and concluded confederacy, yet to augment more the familiarity begun between the King of Scots and him, and to have a double string for his bow, he entreated a new alliance and marriage to be concluded between the Prince of Rothsay eldest son to the King of Scots, and Lady Anne de la Poole, daughter to john Duke of Suffolk, and Lady Anne sister to King Richard, which sister he so much favoured, that he studying all the ways by the which he might advance her offspring and lineage, did not only procure and seek means how to make her daughter a Princess, and consequently a Queen, but also after the death of his son, he proclaimed john Earl of Lincoln his Nephew & her son, heir apparent to the Crown of England, disinheriting King Edward's daughters, whose brethren before you have heard he shamefully killed and murdered.  
The King of Scots having need of Friends, but not so much need as King Richard which was of necessity compelled to seek aiders, and to entertain fautours, the one for favouring of flatterers and base borne persons, and the other not only for tyranny and unnatural homicide, but also for the usurpation of the Crown being of all the Realm detested and disdained, gladly accepted and joyously consented to King Richard's device and conjunction of amity, perfectly remembering that amongst all bonds and obligations of love and amity, that there is neither a surer nor a more perfect lock, than the knot of conjunction in the Sacrament of Matrimony, which was in the very beginning of the first age of man, ordained and instituted in the holy place of Paradise terrestrial by God himself: by reason whereof, the propagation and succession of the humane nature, established upon the sure seat of lawful Matrimony between Princes, may nourish peace, concord and unity, assuage & break the furious rage of truculent Mars and terrible battle, and increase love, favour and familiarity. Wherefore the said Princes sent their Ambassadors and Councillors again to the Town of Nottingham, where the said marriage was by writings and instruments covenanted, condescended and agreed, and affiances made and taken by Proctors and Deputies on both parts, and she immediately called Princess of Rothsay, which name she shortly lost by the short life of King Richard her loving Uncle. Here may well be noted the unnatural love and disordered affection which this kind kinsman showed to his blood: for he not remembering the tyranny that he had executed against his brother's sons, the wrong & manifest injury that he had done to his brother's daughters, both in taking from them their dignity, possessions and living, thought it should redound greatly to his honour and fame, if he promoted his sister's child (to whom he was nothing bound in conscience to make testification) to the dignity of a Queen, rather than to prefer his brother's daughter whom he had untruly and by force disinherited, and of all their right deprived, to the marriage of a mean Esquire: such was his fraternal kindness towards his brother, and such was his large conscience towards his brother's children.  
After this league and Marriage thus concluded and agreed, the King of Scots disdaining that the strong Castle of Dumbarre should remain in the Englishmen hands and possession, wrote a gentle letter to K. Richard, declaring to him that where in the league concluded between them, it was agreed and appointed that he should within forty days next ensuing, express and declare his opinion and meaning concerning the Castle of Dumbarre, whether the said castle should be occupied & stand still in the hands of the Englishmen during the whole time of the truce, or else for the time of six months only; He now certified King Richard by his letters, that he was content that he and his should enjoy the possession of the said Castle quietly and peaceably during the said truce and amity. Nevertheless he required him for the love and familiarity that now both by treaty & alliance was sprung & knit between them, that he would redeliver the said Castle into his hands, which was untruly possessed of the English nation by delivery of rebels and traitors, contrary to all right, equity, and conscience. King Richard dallied with pleasant letters & fair words, and so fooled forth the King of Scots, that he never had Dumbarre delivered while King Richard lived, after whose death, whether it were by treason or by appointment, the Castle was rendered to the King of Scots to his great contentation & rejoicing. Albeit this league and amity thus covenanted and concluded, it might manifestly seem to all persons, that all conjurations and confederacies against King Richard were extinct and put to silence, and in especially cousidering than the Duke of Buckingham and his allies were made out of his way, some by death, and some by banishment and exiling into far Countries and Regions: Yet King Richard more doubting than trusting to his own people and friends, was continually vexed, tossed and unquieted with fear of the return of the Earl of Richmond and his complices and fautoures, which daily dread, and hourly agony, caused him to live in doleful misery, ever unquiet, and in manner in continual calamity. Wherefore he intending to be relieved, and to have all his dolorous imagination alleviated, determined clearly to extirpate & pluck up all the matter and ground of his fear and doubts. Wherefore after long & deliberate consultation had, nothing was for his purpose and intent thought either more necessary or expedient, then once again with price, prayer, and rewards, to attempt the Duke of Britain, in whose territory the Earl of Richmond then abode, to deliver the said Earl into his hands, by which only means he should be discharged of all fear of peril, and brought to rest and quietness both of body and mind. Wherefore incontinent he sent certain Ambassadors to the Duke of Britain, which took upon them (besides the great and ample rewards that they brought with them into Britain) that King Richard should yearly pay and answer the Duke of all the revenues, rents, and profits, of the signories, lands, and possessions, aswell belonging and appertaining to the Earl of Richmond, as to any other noble or gentleman which then were in the Earl's company, if he after that time would keep them in continual prison and restrain them from liberty.  
The Orators furnished with these and other instructions, arrived in Britain, and came to the Duke's house, where with him they could have no manner of communication concerning their weighty affairs, by reason that he being fatigate and weakened by a long and daily infirmity, began a little to wax idle and weak in his wit and remembrance. For which cause Peter Landoyse his chief Treasurer, a man both of pregnant wit and great authority, ruled and judged all things at his pleasure and commandment: for the which cause (as men set into high authority be not best beloved) he excited and provoked against him the malice and evil will of the nobility of Britain, which afterwards for divers great offences by him during his authority perpetrate and committed, by their means was brought to death and confusion. The English Ambassadors moved their message and request to Peter Landoyse, and to him declared their Master's commandment, instantly requiring, and humbly desiring him (in whose power it lay to do all things in Britain) that he would friendly assent to the request of King Ri●hard, offering to him the same rewards of lands, that they should have offered to the Duke.  
This Peter which was no less disdained than hated almost of all the people of Britain, thought that if he did assent and satisfy King Richard's Petition and desire, he should be of power and ability sufficient to withstand and refel the malicious attempts and inventions of his envious adversaries. Wherefore he faithfully promised to accomplish King Richard's request and desire, so that he kept promise with him, that he might be able to withstand the cankered malice of his secret enemies. This act that he promised to do, was not for any grudge or malice that he bore to the Earl of Richmond, for as you have heard before, he delivered him from peril of death at Saint Malos when he was in great doubt of life and jeopardy, but as cause riseth we ever offend, and that cursed hunger of gold and execrable thirst of lucre, and inward fear of loss of authority, driveth the blind minds of covetous men and ambitious persons to evils and mischiefs innumerable, not remembering loss of name, obloquy of the people, nor in conclusion the punishment of God for their merits and deserts. But fortune was so favourable to the public wealth of the Realm of Enggland, that this deadly and dolorous compact took none effect or place. For while posts ran, and letters were sent to and fro for the finishing of this great enterprise between King Richard and Peter Landoyse▪ john Morton Bishop of Ely sojourning then in Flaunders, was was of all this crafty conveyance certified by his secret and sure friends: wherefore he sent Christopher Urswick (which at that very season was come out of Britain into Flaunders) to declare to the Earl of Richmond, how all the deceit and crafty working was conveyed and compassed, giving him in charge to counsel and advise the Earl in all haste possible with all his company to retire out of Britain into France. When these news were brought to the Earl, he then kept house in Vannes, and incontinent dispatched again Christopher Vrswike to Charles the French K. requiring him that he and his might safely pass into France, which desire, impetrated and obtained, the messenger shortly returned to his Lord and Prince. The Earl well perceiving that it was expedient and necessary with all speed and diligence, to look to this weighty matter, calling very few to council, he made exploration and search of all secret and by ways, and sent before all his noble men, as though for a certain familiarity and kindness they should visit and comfort the Duke, which then for recreation and change of air, lay on the borders and confines of France. And secretly he gave charge to the Earl of Pembroke, which was the leader and conductor of his company, that when they approached the marches and limits of Britain, they should divert and take the next way into France. The noble men somewhat suspicious of things newly imagined, without any tarrying or by the journey gazing, scouring the ways as fast as their horse would run, or as they conveniently might bear & sustain, came out of the Duchy of Britain into the Duchy of Angeou in the dominion of France, where they expected the Earls coming, which two days after departed out of Vannes, only accompanied with five servitors, as though he had gone to visit some familiar friend of his in a small village adjoining. No man suspected that he would depart, considering that a great multitude of Englishmen were left and continued in the city, but after he had passed directly five miles forward, he suddenly turned into a solitary wood next adjoining, where clothing himself in the simple coat of his poor servant, made and appointed his said minister, leader and master of his small company, & he as an humble page diligently followed and served his counterfeit governor, never resting nor themselves refreshing, except the baiting of their horses, till they by ways unknown, now this way, now turning that way, came to their company abiding them in Angiers.  
The fourth day after the Earl of Richmond was thus departed, that crafty merchant Perter Landoyse, trusting still after his prey promised by King Richard, was ready to set forward his crew of soldiers, which he privily had consigned with certain trusty captains for that only purpose appointed and elected, to perform and achieve his pretenced enterprise, dissembling & feigning them to be conducted and hired by him to serve the Earl of Richmond, and him to conduct in his return towards his native country, meaning none other thing but to apprehend him and the other noble men in his retinue, which no such fraud suspecting, nor yet any treason imagining, unawares and unprovided and destitute of all aid, and them to cast and detrude suddenly into continual captivity and bondage, to the intent that by this facinorous and naughty act, he might satisfy the charitable request and loving desires of good K. Richard, more for his own profit then for King Richard's gain. But when this crafty dissembler Peter Landoyse, which was no wiliar than an old Fox, perceived that the Earl was departed (thinking that to be true that he imagined) Lord how curriours ran into every coast, how light-horsemen galloped to every street to follow and detain him, i● by any possibility he could be subsecuted and overtaken, and him to incarcerate and bring captive into the city of Vannes. The horsemen made such diligence, and with such celerity set forward their journey, that nothing was more likely than they to have obtained, yea and seized their prey. For the Earl of Richmond was not entered into the Realm of France scarce one hour, but the followers came to the limits and confines of Britain, and durst adventure no further, but vainly without their desire sorrowfully returned. At which season were left at Vannes about the number of three Englishmen, which not being called to counsel, and unawares of this enterprise, but knowing of the Earls sudden departure, were so incontinently astonished, that in a manner they were all in despair both of him and their own security and safeguard. But fortune turned her sail, and otherwise it happened then their fear them encumbered. For the Duke of Britain now being somewhat recovered, was sore displeased, and nothing contented that the Earl of Richmond was in his dominion so uncurteously tracted and entreated, that he should be by fraud and untruth compelled to leave and fly out of his Duchy and country contrary to his honour. Wherefore he took great displeasure with Peter Landoyse his Treasurer, to whom (although he knew not and was ignorant that all the drift was driven and devised by him) he laid the fault and imputed the crime. Wherefore he sent for Edward Woodvile, and Edward Powninges valiant Esquiers of England, and delivered unto them money sufficient for their conduct, willing them them to convey the rest of the Englishmen being in Britain, to the Earl of Richmond's presence.  
When the Earl was thus furnished and appointed with his trusty company, and was escaped all the dangerous labyrinths and snares that were set for him, no marvel though he were jocund and glad of the prosperous success that happened in his affairs. Wherefore lest he should seem to be blotted with the note of ingratitude, he sent divers of his gentlemen to the Duke of Britain, the which should publish and declare to him on the behalf of the Earl, that he and his were only by his benefit and favour conserved and delivered from the imminent danger that they were like to be trapped in. Wherefore at that time he rendered to him most hearty thanks in words, trusting and not doubting, but in time to come liberally to recompense him with acts and deeds.  
After this, the Earl took his journey to Charles the French King, living then at Langes, upon the river of Leyre, to whom after great thanks given for manifold gratuities by him to the Earl showed, he disclosed and manifested the cause and occasion of his access and repair to his person. After that he required of him help and succour, to the intent that by his immortal benefit to him at that time showed, he might safely return to the nobility of his Realm, of whom he was generally called to take upon him the Crown and Sceptre of the Realm, they so much hated and abhorred the tyranny of King Richard. King Charles promised him aid and comfort, and bade him be of good courage and make good cheer, for he assured him that he would gladly show to him his benevolent mind and bountiful liberality. Which King from thence removed to Mountargis, leading with him the Earl of Richmond, and all the noble personages of his retinue and faction.  
While the Earl was thus attendant in the French Court, john Vere Earl of Oxford (which as you have heard before, was by King Edward kept in prison within the Castle of Hams) so persuaded john Blunt captain of the same fortress, and sir john Fortescewe porter of the town of Caleys, that he himself was not only dismissed and set at liberty, but they also abandoning and leaving their fruitful offices, condescended to go with him into France to the Earl of Richmond and to take his part. But james Blunt like a wise captain, because he left his wife remaining in the Castle before his departure, he fortified the same both with new inventions and new soldiers. When the Earl of Richmond saw the Earl of Oxford, he was ravished with an incredible gladness, that he being a man of so high nobility, of such knowledge and practice in feats of war, and so constant, trusty and assured (which always had studied for the maintenance & preferment of the house of Lancaster) was now by God's provision delivered out of captivity and imprisonment, and in time so necessary and convenient come to his aid, succour, and advancement, in whom more sure than any other he might put his trust and confidence, and take less pain and travile in his own person. For it was not hid from him, that such as had ever taken pains with King Edward before this time, came to do him service either for malice that they bore to K. Richard, or else for fear to fall under his truculent rule and tempestuous government. But this man which so often times had personally fought in mortal battle in the quarrel of King Henry the sixth, he judged by divine power and heavenly inspiration to be delivered out of captivity and imprisonment for this only purpose, that he should have a man of his own faction and school, to whom he might surely and faithfully communicate and credit all things as to his own proper person, and therefore being inflamed with an immortal joy for the Earls coming, he began to have a good hope of the happy success of all his pretenced enterprises.  
Not long after, the French King returned again to Paris, whom the Eale of Richmond followed, intending there to solicit his matter to the conclusion Whereupon he besought King Charles to take upon him the whole tuition and defence of him and his cause, so that he and his company being by his means aided and comforted, should confess and say, their wealth, victory and advancement to have flowed and budded forth of his bountifulness & liberality, which they would God willing shortly require. In the mean season divers Englishmen, which either fled out of England for fear, or were at Paris to learn and study good literature and virtuous doctrine came voluntarily and submitted themselves to the Earl of Richmond, and vowed and swore to take his part. amongst whom was Richard Fox a Priest, a man of great wit, and no less learning, whom the Earl incontinent received into secret familiarity, and in brief time erected and advanced him to high dignities and promotions, and in conclusion he made him Bishop of Winchester.  
In the mean season King Richard was credibly advertised what promises and oaths the Earl and his confederates had made and sworn together at Renes, and how by the Earls means all the Englishmen were passed out of Britain into France. Wherefore being sore dismayed, and in manner desperate, because his crafty mischief took no effect in Britain, imagined and devised how to infringe and disturb the Earl's purpose by another mean, so that by the marriage of Lady Elizabeth his niece, he should pretend no claim nor title to the Crown. For he thought if that marriage failed, the Earls chief comb had been clearly cut. And because that he being blinded with the ambitious desire of rule before this time, in obtaining the kingdom, had perpetrate and done many flagitious acts and detestable tyrannies, yet according to the old proverb, let him take the bull that stole away the calf, he thought all facts by him committed in times past to be but of small moment and not to be regarded in comparison of that mischievous imagination which he now newly began and attempted. There came into his ungracious mind a thing not only detestable to be spoken of in the remembrance of man, but much more cruel and abominable to be put in execution. For when he revolved in his wavering mind how great a fountain of mischief toward him should spring, if the Earl of Richmond should be advanced to the marriage of his niece, which thing he heard say by the rumour of her people, that no small number of wise and witty personages enterprised to compass and bring to conclusion.  
He clearly determined to reconcile to his favour his Brother wife, Queen Elizabeth, either's by fair words or liberal promises, firmly believing her favour once obtained, that she would not stick to commit and lovingly credit to him the rule and governance both of her and her daughters, and so by that means the Earl of Richmond of the affinity of his Niece should be utterly defrauded and beguiled. And if no ingenuous remedy could be otherwise invented to save the innumerable mischiefs which were even at hand, and like to fall, if it should happen Queen Anne his wife to depart out of this present world, than he himself would rather take to wife his cousin and niece, the Lady Elizabeth, then for lack of that affinity the whole Realm should run to ruin, as who said, that if he once fell from his estate and dignity, the ruin of the Realm must needs shortly ensue and follow. Wherefore he sent to the Queen, being in Sanctuary, divers and often Messengers, which first should excuse and purge him of all things before against her attempted or procured, and after should so largely promise promotions innumerable and benefits, not only to her, but also to her son Lord Thomas marquis Dorset, that they should bring her if it were possible into some wan hope, or as men say, into a fool's paradise. The Messengers being men both of wit and gravity, so persuaded the Queen with great and pregnant reasons, then with fair and large promises, that she began somewhat to relent, and to give to them no deaf ear, insomuch that she faithfully promised to submit and yield herself fully and frankly to the Kings will and pleasure. And so she putting in oblivion the murder of her innocent children, the infamy and dishonour spoken by the King her husband, the living in adultery laid to her charge, bastarding of her daughters, forgetting also the faithful promise and open oath made to the Countess of Richmond mother to the Earl Henry, blinded by avaricious affection, and seduced by flattering words, first delivered into King Richard's hands her five daughters, as Lambs once again committed to the custody of the ravenous Wolf.  
After she sent Letters to the marquis her son, being then at Paris with the Earl of Richmond, willing him in any wise to leave the Earl, and without delay to repair into England, where for him were provided great honours and honourable promotions, ascertaining him further, that all offences in both parties were forgotten and forgiven, and both he and she highly incorporate in the King's heart. Surely the inconstancy of this woman were much to be marvelled at, if all women had been found constant, but let men speak, yet women of the very bond of Nature will follow their own kind.  
After that King Richard had thus with glorious promises and flattering words pleased and appeased the mutable mind of Queen Elizabeth, which knew nothing less than that he most intended, he caused all his brother's daughters to be conveyed into his Palace with solemn receiving, as though with his new familiar and loving entertainment they should forget, and in their minds obliterate the old committed injury and late perpetrate tyranny.  
Now nothing was contrary and opposite to his pernicious purpose, but that his Mansion was not void of his wife, which thing he in any wise adjudged necessary to be done. But there was one thing that so much feared and dragged him from committing this abominable murder, because, as you have heard before, he began to counterfeit the image of a good and well disposed person, and therefore he was afraid lest the sudden and immature death of his wife once openly known, he should lose the good and credible opinion which the people had of him without desert conceived and reported. But in conclusion, evil counsel prevailed in a wit lately minded to mischief, and turned from all goodness. So that his ungracious desire overcame his honest fear.  
And first to enter into the gates of his imagined enterprise, he abstained both from the bed and company of his wife. After he complained to divers Noble men of the Realm, of the unfortunate sterility and barrenness o● his wife, because she brought forth no fruit and generation of her body. And in special he accounted to Thomas Rotheram Archbishop of York (whom lately he had delivered out of ward and captivity) these impediments of his Queen and divers others, thinking that he would reveal and open to her all these things, trusting the sequel hereof to take his effect, that she hearing this grudge of her husband, and taking therefore an inward thought, would not long live in this world. Of this the Bishop gathered (which well knew the complexion and usage of the King) that the Queen's days were short, and that he declared to certain of his secret friends. And thus he procured a common rumour (but he would not have the author known) to be published and spread abro●d among the common people that the Queen was dead, to the intent that she taking some conceit of this strange fame, should fall into some sudden sickness or grievous malady, and to prove if afterwards she sh●●ld fortune by that or any other ways to lose her life, whether the people would impute her death to the thought or sickness, or thereof would lay the blame to him. When the Queen heard tell that so horrible a rumour of her death was sprung amongst the commonalty, she sore suspected and judged the world to be almost at an end with her, and in that sorrowful agony, she with lamentable countenance and sorrowful cheer, repaired to the presence of the King her husband, demanding of him, what it should mean that he had judged her worthy to die. The King answered her with fair words▪ and with dissembling blandiments and flattering leasings comforted her, bidding her to be of good comfort, for to his knowledge she should have no other cause. But howsoever it fortuned, either by inward thought and pensiveness of heart, or by intoxication of poison (which is affirmed to be most likely) within a few days after, the Queen departed out of this transitory life, & was with due solemnity buried in the church of S. Peter at Westminster. This is the same Anne, one of the daughters of the Earl of Warwick, which as you have heard before, at the request of Lewes the French King, was married to Prince Edward, son to King Henry the Sixt.  
The King thus (according to his long desire) loosed out of the bonds of matrimony, began to cast a foolish fantasy to Lady Elizabeth his niece, making much suit to have her joined with him in lawful matrimony: But because all men, and the maiden herself most of all, detested and abhorred this unlawful and in a manner unnatural copulation, he determined to prolong and d●fer the matter till he were in a more quietness. For all that very season he was oppressed with great, weighty, and urgent causes and businesses on every side, considering, that daily part of the nobility sailed into France to the Earl of Richmond: other privily favoured and aided certain of the conjuration, so that of his short end, few or none were in doubt. And the common people for the most part were brought to such desperation, that many of them had rather be reputed and taken of him in the number of his enemies, then to abide the chance and hazard to have their goods taken as a spoil of victory by his enemies Amongst the noble men whom he most mistrusted, these were the principal, Thomas Lord Stanley, Sir William Stanley his brother, Gilbert Talbot and six hundred other, of whose purposes although King Richard were ignorant yet he gave neither confidence nor credence to any one of them, and least of all to the Lord Stanley, because he was joined in matrimony with the Lady Margaret mother to the Earl of Richmond, as afterward apparently ye may perceive. For when the said Lord Stanley would have departed into his Country to visit his family, and to recreate and refresh his spirits (as he openly said) but the truth was to the intent to be in a perfect readiness to receive the Earl of Richmond at his first arrival into England: the King in no wise would suffer him to depart, before he had left as an hostage in the Court, George Stanley Lord Strange his first begotten son & heir. While King Richard was thus troubled and vexed with imaginations of the tumultuous time that was like to come: Lo even suddenly he heard news that fire was sprung out of the smoke, and the war presently begun, and that the Castle of Hams was delivered into the hands of the Earl of Richmond by the means of the Earl of Oxford, and that not only he, but also james Blunt Captain of the Castle, were fled into France to aid the Earl Henry. Wherefore he thinking it great policy to withstand the first brunt, sent the most part of the garrison of Calais, to recover again by force the castle of Hams. They which were in the Castle perceiving their adversaries to approach, prepared munitions and engines for their defence, and sent also the Earl of Richmond, to advertise him of their sudden obsession, requiring him of hasty aid & speedy succour. The Earl slipping not this first begun assault, sent the Earl of Oxford with an elected company of Soldiers to raise the siege and rescue the Castle: Which at their first arriving pitched their camp not far from their enemies And while King Richard's men gave vigilant eye, weighing lest the Earl of Oxford should take any advantage of them that lay on that side of the Castle, Thomas Brandon with thirty approved men of war by a marish which lay on the other side entered into the Castle. The soldiers within greatly animated and much comforted by this new succour and aid grieved the enemies by shooting from the wall more than they were accustomed to do. And they of the Castle vexed their enemies on the forepart: the Earl of Oxford no less molested and unquieted them on the other part, which was the occasion that King Richard's men offered of their own mere motion licence to all being within the Castle to depart in safety with bag and baggage nothing excepted: which condition the Earl of Oxford, coming only for that purpose to deliver his loving friends out of all peril & danger, and chiefly of all, his old hostess jane Blunt wife to james Blunt the Captain, would in no wise repudiate or refuse. And so leaving the Castle bare and ungarnished both of victual and artillery, came safe to the Earl of Richmond sojourning in Paris. During this time, King Richard was credibly informed of his explorators and espials, that the Earl of Richmond was with long suit in the Court of France sore fatigate and wearied, and desiring great aid, could obtain small relief. In so much that all things went so far backward, that such things as were with great diligence and no less deliberation purposed and determined to be set forward, were now dashed and overthrown to the ground. King Richard either being to light of credence, or seduced and deluded by his crafty tale-tellers, greatly rejoiced as though he had obtained the ooverhand of his enemies with triumph and victory, and thought himself never so surely delivered of all fear and dreadful imaginations so that he needed now no more once for that cause either to wake or break his golden sleep. Wherefore he called home again his ships of war which he had appointed to keep the narrow seas, and dispatched all such soldiers as he had deputed to keep certain garrisons, and to stop certain passages, as you have heard before. Yet lest he might for lack of provision be suddenly trapped, he straightly charged and gave in commandment to all noble men, and in especial such as inhabited near to the Sea coast, and on the frontiers of Wales, that according to the usage of the country, they should keep diligent watch and strong ward, to the intent that his adversaries in no wise should have any place apt or oportune easily to take land without defence or rebutting back. For the custom of the Country's adjoining near to the Sea is (especially in the time of war) on every hill or high place to erect a Beacon with a great lantern in the top, which may be seen and discerned a great space off. And when the noise is once bruited that the enemy approacheth near the land, they suddenly put fire in the lanterns, and make shouts & outrages from town to town, and from village to village. Some run in post from place to place, admonishing the people to be ready to resist the jeopardy, and defend the peril. And by this policy the fame is soon blown to every city and town, insomuch that as well the citizens as the rural people be in short space assembled and armed to refel and put back the new arrived enemies.  
Now to return to our purpose: King Richard thus alleviate of his accustomed pensiveness, began to be somewhat more merrier, and took less thought and care for outward enemies than he was wont to do, as who say, that he with politic provision should withstand the destiny which hung over his head, and was ordained in brief time suddenly to fall. Such is the force and puissance of divine justice, that every man shall less regard, less provide, less be in doubt of all things, when he is most nearest punishment, and next to his mischance for his offences and crimes.  
About this season, while the Earl of Richmond was desiring aid of the French King, certain noble men were there appointed to rule the Realm of France during the minority of King Charles, which amongst themselves were not of one opinion. Of which dissension, Lewes' Duke of Orleans was the chief stirrer, which because he had married Lady johanne sister to the French King, took upon him above other the rule and administration of the whole Realm. By reason of which controversy, no one man only was suffered to rule all, wherefore the Earl of Richmond was compelled to make suit to every one of the Council severally one after another, requiring and desiring them of aid and relief in his weighty business, and so his cause was prolonged and deferred. During which time, Thomas Marquis Dorset, which was as you have heard enticed by his mother to return again into England, partly despairing in the good success of the Earl of Richmond, and partly onerate and vanquished with the fair glozing promises of King Richard, secretly in the night season stole out of Paris, and with all diligent expediton took his journey towards Flanders. When relation of his departure was made to the Earl of Richmond and the other Noble men, no marvel though they were astonished and greatly amazed. Yet that notwithstanding they required of the French King that it might be lawful for them in his name and by his commandment to take and stay their companion, confederate, and partaker of all their council, in what place within his Realm & territory wheresoever they could find him. Which petition once obtained, they sent out curriers into every part, amongst whom Humphrey Cheiny playing the part of a good blood hound, followed the tract of the flyer so even by the sent, that he overtook and apprehended him not far from Comprigne, and so what with reason, and what with fair promises being persuaded, he returned again to his companions. The Earl of Richm●nd unburdened of this misadventure; lest by procrastination of days, and prolonging of time, he might lose the great opportunity of things to him offered and ministered: also lest he should further wound or molest the minds of his faithful and assured friends which daily did expect and tarry for his coming, determined no longer to protract and defer the time▪ but with all diligence and celerity to attempt his begun enterprise, & so obtaining of King Charles a small crew of men, and borrowing certain sums of money of him and of divers other his private friends. For the which he left as debtor, or more likelier as a pledge or hostage, Lord Thomas Marques Dorset, (whom he half mistrusted) and Sir john Bur●hier he departed from the French Court, and came to the City of Rouen. While he tarried there making provision at Bartfleet in the mouth of the River of Seyne for all things necessary for his navy and navigation, tidings were brought to him, that King Richard being without children and now widower, intended shortly to marry with Lady Elizabeth his brother's daughter, and to prefer the Lady Cicile her sister to a man found in a cloud and of an unknown lineage and family. He took this news as a matter of no small moment (and so all things considered, it was of no less importance than he took it for.) For this thing only took away from all his companions their hope and courage that they had to obtain an happy enterprise. And therefore no marvel though it nipped him at the very heart, when he thought that by no possibility he might attain the marriage of any of King Edward's daughters, which was the strongest foundation of his building, by reason whereof he judged that all his friends in England would abandon and shrink from him. Wherefore making not many of his counsel, after divers consultations he determined not yet to set forward, but to tarry and attempt how to get more aid, more friends, and more stronger succours. And amongst all other, it was thought most expedient to allure by affinity in his aid as a companion in arms Sir Walter Harbert, a man of ancient stock and great power amongst the welshmen, which had with him a fair Lady to his sister, of age mature and ripe to be coupled in matrimony. And for the achiving of this purpose, messengers were secretly sent to Henry Earl of Northumberland (which had before married another sister of Sir Walter herbert's) to the intent that he should set forward all this device and purpose: but the ways were so narrowly watched, and so many spies laid, that the messenger proceeded not in his journey and business. But in the mean season, there came to the Earl a more joyful message from Morgan Kidwelly learned in the temporal Law, which declared that Rice ap Thomas, a man of no less valiantness than activity, and john Savage an approved Captain, would with all their power be partakers of his quarrel: And that Reighnold Bray had collected and gotten together no small some of money for the payment of the wages to the soldiers and men of war: admonishing him also to make quick expedition, and to take his course directly into Wales. The Earl of Richmond because he would no longer linger and weary his friends living continually between hope and fear, determined in all convenient haste to set forward, and carried to his ships armour, weapons, victuals▪ and all other ordinances expedient for war. And shortly to speak, all things he prepared which were wont to be necessary and profitable to the variable chances and incertain accidents and jeopardies of war, which requireth preparation of many instruments and things chargeable.  
And that the Earl had made his humble petition and devout prayer to almighty God, beseeching him not only to send him most prosperous wind and sure passage in his journey, but also effectuously desiring his goodness of aid and comfort in his necessity, and victory and supremity over his enemies, only accompanied with two thousand men, and a small number of ships, weighed up his anchors, and hoist up his sails, and in the calends of August he sailed from Harfleet with so prosperous a wind, that the seventh day after his departure he arrived in Wales in the evening at a port called Milford Haven, and incontinent taken land, and came to a place called Dalle, where he heard say that a certain company of his adversaries were laid in garrison to defend his arrival all the last winter And the Earl at the ●un rising removed to Harford W●st, being distant from Dalle not fully ten miles, where he was applauded and received of the people with great joy, and he arrived there so suddenly, that he was come and entered the town at the same time when the Citizens had but knowledge of his coming. Here he heard news which was as untrue, as they truly were reported to him in Normandy, that Rice ap Thomas, and john Savage with body and goods were determined to aid King Richard. While he and his company were somewhat appalled of these new tidings, there came such message from the inhabitants of the town of Pembroke, that refreshed and revived their frozen hearts and daunted courages. For Arnould Butler a valiant Captain, which first ask pardon for his offences before time committed against the Earl of Richmond, and that obtained, declared that the Penbrochians▪ were ready to serve and give their attendance on their natural and immediate Lord jasper Earl of Pembroke. The Earl of Richmond having his army thus increased, departed from Herford West to the town of Cardigan, being five mile distant from thence. While the soldiers were refreshing and trimming themselves in their camp, strange tidings sprung among them without any certain author, that Sir Walter Harberd, which lay with a great crew of men at Carmarden, was now with a great army ready to approach and bid him battle. With which news the army was sore troubled, and every man assayed his armour and proved his weapon and were pressed to defend their enemies. And as they were in this timorous doubt, certain horsemen which the Earl had sent to make exploration and search, returned and reported all the country to be quiet, and no let nor impediment to be laid or cast in their journey. And even at that same time the whole army was greatly recomforted, by reason that the coming of Richard Griffeth, a man of great nobility, the which notwithstanding that he was conversant with Sir Walter Harbert & Richard ap Thomas, yet at that very instant he came to the Earl of Richmond with all his company, which were of no great number. After him, the same day came john Morgan with his men. Then the Earl advanced forward in good haste, making no repose or abode in any one place. And to the intent to pass forward with sure and short expedition, he assaulted every place where his enemies had set any men of war, which with small force and less difficulty he briefly did expugn and vanquish. And suddenly he was by his espials ascertained that Sir Walter Harbert and Rice ap Thomas were in harness before him ready to encounter with his army and to stop their passage. Wherefore like a valiant captain he first determined to set on them, and either to destroy or to take them into his favour, and after with all his power and puissance to give battle to his mortal enemy King Richard. But to the intent his friends should know with what dexterity his attempted enterprise proceeded forward, he sent of his most secret and faithful servants with letters and instructions to the Lady Margaret his mother, to the Lord Stanley and his brother, to Talbot● and to other his trusty friends, declaring to them, that he succoured and holpen with the aid and relief of his friends intended to pass over the river of Siverne at Shrewesbury, & so to pass directly to the city of London, requiring them, as his especial trust and confidence was perplanted in the hope of their fidelity, that they would occur and meet him by the way with all diligent preparation, to the intent that he and they at time propice and place convenient might communicate together the profundity and deepness of all his dubious & weighty business. When the messengers were disparkled with these commandments & admonitions, he marched forwards toward Shrewesbury, and in his passing, there met and saluted him Rice ap Thomas with a goodly band of Welshmen, which making an oath & promise to the Earl, submitted himself wholly to his order and commandment. For the Earl of Richmond two days before made to him promises that if he would swear to take his part and be obedient to him, he would make him chief governor of Wales; which part as he faithfully promised and granted, so after that he had obtained and possessed the Realm and diadem, he liberally performed and accomplished the same. In the mean time, the messengers that were sent, diligently executed the things given to them in charge, and laden with rewards of them to whom they were sent, returned to him the same day that he entered into Shrewesbury, & made relation to him that his friends were ready in all points to do all things for him which either they ought or might do. The Earl Henry brought in good hope with his pleasant message, continued forth his intended journey and came to a little town called Newport &, pitching his camp on a little hill adjoining, reposed himself there that night. In the evening, the same day came to him Sir George Talbot with the whole power of the young Earl of Shrewesbury then being inward, which were accounted to the number of two thousand men. And thus his power increasing he arrived at the town of Stafford, and there paused. To whom came Sir William Stanley accompanied with a few persons, and after that the Earl and he had communed no long time together, he reverted to his soldiers which he had congregate together to serve the Earl, which from thence departed to Lichfield, & lay without the walls in his camp all the night. The next morning he entered into the town, and was with all honour like a Prince received. A day or two before the Lord Stanley having in his band almost five thousand men, lodged in the the same town, but hearing that the Earl of Richmond was marched thitherward, gave to him place, dislodging him and his, and repaired to a town called Adrestone, there abiding the coming of the Earl; and this wily Fox did this act to avoid all suspicion, being afraid lest if he should be seen openly to be a fautour or aider to the Earl his son in law before the day of the battle, that King Richard which did not utterly put in him diffidence and mistrust, would put to some cruel death his son and heir apparent, George Lord Strange, whom King Richard, as you have heard before, kept with him as a pledge or hostage to the intent that the Lord Stanley his father should attempt nothing prejudicial to him.  
King Richard at this season keeping his house in the Castle of Nottingham, was informed that the Earl of Richmond with such banished men as fled out of England to him were now arrived in Wales, and that all things necessary to his enterprise were unprovided, unpurveyed and very weak, nothing meet to withstand the power of such as the King had appointed to resist him. This rumour so inflated his mind, that in manner disdaining to hear speak of so poor a company, determined at the first to take little or no regard to this so small a sparkle, declaring the Earl to be innocent and unwise because that he temerariously attempted such a great enterprise with so small & thin a number of warlike persons, and therefore he gave a definitive sentence, that when he came to that point that he should be compelled to fight against his will, he either should be apprehended alive, or else by all likelihood he should of necessity come to a shameful confusion, and that he trusted to be shortly done by Sir Walter Herbert and Rice ap Thomas, which then ruled Wales with equal power and like authority. But he revolving and casting in his mind that a small war begun and winked at, and not regarded, may turn to a great broil and tumultuous trouble, and that it was prudent policy not to asperne and disdain the little small power and weakness of the enemy, be it never so small, thought it necessary to provide for after claps that might happen and chance. Wherefore he sent to john Duke of Norfolk, Henry Earl of Northumberland, Thomas Earl of Surrey, and to other of his especial and trusty friends of the nobility, which he judged much more to prefer and esteem his wealth and honour then their own riches and private commodity, willing them to muster and view all their servants and tenants, and to elect and choose the most courageous and active persons of the whole number, and with them to repair to his presence with all speed and diligence. Also he wrote to Robert Brak●nbury Lieutenant of the Tower, commanding him with his power to come to his army, and to bring with him as fellows in arms Sir Thomas Burchier, and sir Walter Hungerford, and divers other Knights and Esquiers in whom he had cast no small suspicion.  
While he was thus ordering his affairs, tidings came that the Earl of Richmond was passed Severne & come to Shrewesbury without any detriment or encumbrance. At which message he was sore moved and broiled with Melancholy and dolour, and cried out, ask vengeance of them that contrary to their oaths and promises had fraudulently deceived him. For which cause he began to have diffidence in others, in so much that he determined himself out of hand the same day to occur and resist his adversaries; And in all haste sent out explorators to view and espy what way his enemies kept and passed. They diligently doing their duty, shortly after returned, declaring to the King that the Earl was encamped at the Town of Lichfield. When he had perfect knowledge where the Earl with his army was sojourning, he having continual repair of his subjects to him, began incontinently without delay to marshal and collocate in order his battles (like a valiant captain and politic leader) and first he made his battles to set forward four & four in a rank, marching toward that way whither his enemies, as was to him reported, intended to pass. In the middle part of the army he appointed the traffic and carriage appertaining to the army. Then he (environed with his satellites and yeomen of the Crown) with a frowning countenance and truculent aspect mounted on a great white courser, followed with his footmen, the wings of horsemen coasting and ranging on every side: And keeping this array, he with great pomp entered the town of Leiceste after the sun set. The Earl of Richmond raised his camp and departed from Lichfield to the town of Tomworth thereto near adjoining, and in the mid way passing, there saluted him Sir Walter Hungerford, and sir Thomas Burchier Knights, and divers other, which yielded and submitted themselves to his pleasure. For they being advertised that King Richard had them in suspicion and jealousy, a little beyond Stony stratford left & forsook privily their Captain Robert Brakenbury, and by nocturnal wandering, and in manner by unknown paths and uncertain ways searching, at the last came to the Earl Henry. Divers other noble personages which inwardly hated King Richard worse than a toad or a serpent, likewise to him resorted with their power and strength. There happened in this progression to the Earl of Richmond a strange chance worthy to be noted: for albeit he was a man of haughty and valiant courage, and that his army increased, and daily more and more he waxed puissant and stronger, yet he was not a little afraid because he in no wise could be assured of his father in law Thomas. Lord Stanley, which for fear of the destruction of the Lord Strange his son (as you have heard) as yet inclined to neither party. For if he had gone to the Earl, and that notified to King Richard, his son had shortly been executed. Wherefore sith the Earls fear sprang not of nothing, he accompanied with twenty light horsemen lingered in his journey as a man disconsolate, musing and imagining what was best to be done. And the more to aggravate his melancholy pensiveness, it was showed him that King Richard was at hand with a strong power and a populous army. While he thus pensive dragged behind his host, the whole army came before the town of Tomwoorth, & when he for the deep darkness could not perceive the steps of them that passed on before, and had wandered hither and thither, seeking after his company, and yet not once hearing any noise or whispering of them, he diverted to a little village being about three miles from his army, taking great thought, and much fearing lest he should be espied and so trapped by K. Richard's scoutwatch. There he tarried all night, not once adventuring to ask or demand a question of any creature, he being no more amazed with the jeopardy and peril that was passed, then with this present chance, sore feared it should be a prognostication or prodigiall sign of some unfortunate plague afterward to succeed. As he was not merry being absent from his company, likewise his army much marvelled and no less mourned for his sudden and in tempestuous absence.  
The next morning early in the dawning of the day he returned, and by the conduct of good fortune espied and came to his army, excusing himself, not to have gone out of his way by ignorance, but for a policy devised for the nonce he went from his camp to receive some glad message from certain of his privy friends & secret allies. This excuse made, he privily departed again from his host to the town of Aderstone, where the Lord Stanley and sir William his brother with their bands were abiding. There the Earl came first to his fatherinlaw in a little close, where he saluted him and sir William his brother, and after divers congratulations & many friendly embrace, each rejoiced of the state of the other, and suddenly were surprised with great joy, comfort, and hope of great fortunate success in all their affairs and doings. Afterward they consulted together how to give battle to K. Richard if he would abide, whom they knew not to be far off with an huge army. In the evening of the same day, sir john Savage, sir Brian Sanford, sir Simon Digby, and many other, leaving King Richard, turned & came to the part of the Earl of Richmond with an elect company of men. Which refusal of King Richard's part by men of such experience, did augment and increase both the good hope and the puissance of the Earl of Richmond.  
In the mean season King Richard (which was appointed now to finish his last labour by the very divine justice and providence of God, which called him to condign punishment for his scelerate merits and mischievous deserts) marched to a place meet for two battles to encounter by a village called Bosworth, not far from Leicester, and there he pitched his field, refreshed his soldiers, and took his rest.  
The fame went that he had that same night a dreadful and terrible dream; for it seemed to him being asleep, that he saw divers images like terrible devils, which pulled and haled him, not suffering him to take any quiet or rest. The which strange vision not so suddenly strake his heart with a sudden fear, but it stuffed his head and troubled his mind with many dreadful and busy Imaginations.  
For incontinent after, his heart being almost damped, he prognosticated before the doubtful chance of the battle to come, not using the alacrity and mirth of mind and of countenance as he was accustomed to do before he came towards the battle. And lest that it might be suspected that he was abashed for fear of his enemies, and for that cause he looked so pitifully, he recited and declared to his familiar friends in the morning his wonderful vision and terrible dream. But I think this was no dream, but a punction and prick of his sinful conscience; for the conscience is so much more charged and aggravate, as the offence is greater and more heinous in degree: which prick of conscience although it strike not always, yet at the last day of extreme life it is wont to show and represent to us our faults and offences, and the pains and punishments which hang over our heads for the same, to the intent that at the instant we for our deserts being penitent and repentant may be compelled to lament and bewail our sins like forsakers of this world, jocund to depart out of this miserable life.  
Now to return again to our purpose, the next day after, K. Richard being furnished with men and all abiliments of wa●, bringing all his men out of their camp into the plain, ordered his forward in a marvellous length, in which he appointed both horsemen and footmen, to the intent to imprint in the hearts of them that looked a far off, a sudden terror and deadly fear, for the great multitude of the armed soldiers: and in the fore front he placed the archers like a strong fortified trench or bulwark: over this battle was captain john Duke of Norfolk, with whom was Thomas Earl of Surrey his son. After this long vanguard followed King Richard himself, with a strong company of chosen and approved men of war, having horsemen for wings on both the sides of his battle.  
After that the Earl of Richmond was departed from the communication of his friends as you have heard before, he began to be of a better stomach, and of a more valiant courage, and with all diligence pitched his field just by the Camp of his enemies, and there he lodged that night. In the morning betime he caused his men to put on their armour, apparel themselves ready to fight and give battle, and sent to the Lord Stanley (which was now come with his Band in a place indifferently between both the Armies) requiring him with his men to approach near to his Army, and to help to set the Soldiers in array▪ he answered, that the Earl should set his own men in a good order of battle, while he would array his company, and come to him in time convenient: Which answer made otherwise then the Earl thought or would have judged, considering the opportunity of the time, and the weight of the business, and although he was therewithal a little vexed, began somewhat to hang the head, yet he without any time delaying, compelled by necessity, after this manner instructed and ordered his men. He made his forward somewhat single and slender, according to the small number of his people. In the front he placed the Archers, of whom he made Captain, john Earl of Oxford: to the right wing of the battle, he appointed Sir Gilbert Talbor to be the leader: to the left wing he assigned Sir john Savage, and he with the aid of the Lord Stanley, accompanied with the Earl of Pembroke, having a good company of horsemen, and a small number of footmen: For all his whole number exceeded not five thousand men beside the power of the Stanleys', whereof three thousand were in the field under the Standard of Sir William Stanley: The King's number was double as much, and more.  
When both the Armies were thus ordered, and all men ready to set forward King Richard called his Chieftains together, and to them said: Most faithful and assured fellows, most trusty and well-beloved friends and elected Captains, by whose wisdom and policy, I have obtained the Crown and Type of this famous Realm and noble Region, by whose puissance and valiantness I have enjoyed and possessed the state Royal and dignity of the same ma●g●e the ill will and seditious attempts of all my cankered enemies and insidious adversaries, by whose prudent and politic counsel I have so governed my Realm, people and subjects, that I have omitted nothing appertaining to the office of a just Prince, nor you have pretermitted nothing belonging to the duty of wise and sage Counsellors: So that I may say and truly affirm, that your approved fidelity and tried constancy, maketh me to believe firmly and think, that I am an undoubted King, and an indubitate Prince. And although in the ad●ption and obtaining of the Garland, I being seduced and provoked by sinister counsel and diabolical temptation, did commit a facinorous and detestable act; yet I have with strict penance and salt tears (as I trust) expiated and clearly purged the same offence; which abominable crime I require you of friendship as clearly to forget, as I daily do remember to deplore and lament the same. If you will now diligently call to remembrance in what case and perplexity we now stand, and in what doubtful peril we be now intricked, I doubt not but you in heart will think, and with mouth confess, that if ever amity and faith prevailed between Prince and subjects, or between subject and subject; or if ever bond of allegiance obliged the vassal to love and serve his natural Sovereign Lord, or if any obligation of duty bound any Prince to aid and defend his subjects: All these loves, bonds and duties of necessity, are this day to be experimented, showed and put in experience: For if wise men say true, there is some policy in getting, but much more in keeping; the one being but fortune's chance, and the other high wit and policy; for which cause, I with you, and you with me, must needs this day take labour and pain, to keep and defend with force, that preeminence and possession, which by your prudent devises I have gotten and obtained. I doubt not but you know, how the Devil continual enemy to humane nature, disturber of concord, and sour of sedition, hath entered into the heart of an unknown Welshman (whose father I never knew, nor him personally saw) exciting him to aspire and covet our Realm, Crown and Dignity, and thereof clearly to deprive and spoil us and our posterity; ye, see further, how a company of traitors, thiefs, outlaws and runagates of our own Nation be aiders and partakers of his feat and enterprise, ready at hand to overcome and oppress us; you see also, what a number of beggarly Britain's and faint-hearted French men be with him arrived, to destroy us, our wives and children: which imminent mischiefs and apparent inconveniencies, if we will withstand, we must live together like brethren, fight together like Lions, and fear not to die together like men. And observing and keeping this rule and precept▪ believe me, the fearful Hare never fled faster before the greedy Greyhound, nor the silly Lark before the Sparrow hawk, nor the simple Sheep before the ravenous Wolf, than your proud bragging adversaries astonished and amazed with the only sight of your manly visages, will fly▪ run▪ and skir out of the Field: For if you consider, and wisely ponder all things in your mind, you shall perceive that we have manifest causes, and apparent tokens of Victory. And to begin with the Earl of Richmond, Captain of this rebellion, he is a Welsh milksop, a man of small courage, and of less experience in Martial acts and feats of war, brought up by my brother's means and mine, like a captive in a close Cage in the Court of Francis Duke of Britain, and never saw Army, nor was exercised in Martial affairs, by reason whereof he neither can nor is able on his own wit and experience to guide an Host. For in the wit and policy of the Captain, consisteth the chief adeption of the victory, and overture of the enemies. Secondly, fear not and put away all doubts, for when the Traitors and Runagates of our Realm, shall see us with Banner displayed, come against them, remembering their oath, promise, and fidelity made unto us, as to their Sovereign Lord and anointed King, they shall be so pricked and stimulate in the bottom of their scrupulous consciences, that they for very remorse and dread of the divine plague, will either shamefully fly, or humbly submit themselves to our grace and mercy. And as for the Frenchmen and Britain's, their valiantness is such, that our Noble Progenitors and your Noble Parents, have them oftener vanquished and overcome in one month, than they in the beginning imagined possible to compass and finish in a whole year. What will you make of them, bragger's without audacity, Drunkards without discretion, rybauds without reason▪ cowards without resisting, and in conclusion the most effeminate and lascivious people, that ever showed themselves in front of Battle, ten times more courageous to fly and escape, than once to assault the breast of our strong and populous Army? Wherefore, considering all these advantages, expel out of your thoughts all doubts, and avoid out of your minds all fear, and like valiant Champions advance forth your Standards, and assay whether your enemies can decide, and try the title of Battle by dint of Sword: Advance (I say) again forward my Captains, in whom lacketh neither policy, wisdom nor puissance. Every one give but one sure stripe, and surely the journey is ours. What prevaileth a handful to a whole Realm? desiring you for the love that you bear to me, and the affection that you have to your native and natural country, and to the safeguard of your Prince and yourself, that you will this day take to you your accustomed courage, and courageous spirits, for the defence and safeguard of us all And as for me, I assure you, this day I will triumph by glorious victory, or suffer death for immortal fame. For they be contemned, and out of the palace of fame degraded, dying without renown, which do not as much prefer and exalt the perpetual honour of their native Country, as their own mortal and transitory life. Now Saint George to borrow, let us set forward, and remember well, that I am he which shall with high advancements▪ reward and prefer the valiant and hardy Champions, and punish and torment the shameful cowards and dreadful dastards.  
This exhortation encouraged all such as favoured him, but such as were present, more for dread then love, kissed them openly, whom they inwardly hated; others swore outwardly to take part with such, whose death they secretly compassed, and inwardly imagined; others promised to invade the King's enemies, which fled and fought with fierce courage against the King; others stood still and looked on, intending to take part with the victors and overcommers: So was his people to him unsure and unfaithful at his end, as he was to his Nephew's untrue and unnatural in his beginning.  
When the Earl of Richmond knew by his fore-riders, that the King was so near embattled, he road about his Army, from rank to rank, from wing to wing, giving comfortable words to all men, and that finished (being armed at all pieces saving his Helmet) mounted on a little hill, so that all his people might see and behold him perfectly, to their great rejoicing: For he was a man of no great stature, but so form and decorated with all gifts and lineaments of Nature, that he seemed more an angelical creature, then terrestrial personage; his countenance and aspect was cheerful and courageous, his hair yellow like burnished Gold, his eyes grey, shining and quick, prompt and ready in answering, but of such sobriety, that it could never be judged, whether he were more dull than quick in speaking (such was his temperance) And when he had over-looked his Army over every side, he paused a while, and after with a loud voice and bold spirit, spoke to his Companions these or like the words following:  
If ever God gave victory to men fight in a just quarrel; Or if he ever aided such as made war for the wealth and tuition of their own natural and nutritive Country; Or if he ever succoured them which adventured their lives for the relief of innocents', suppressing of malefactors and apparent offenders; No doubt, my fellows and friends, but he, of his bountiful goodness, will this day send us triumphant victory, and a lucky journey over our proud enemies, and arrogant adversaries: For if you remember and consider the very cause of our just quarre, you shall apparently perceive the same to be true, Godly and virtuous. In the which I doubt not but God will rather aid us (yea and fight for us) then see us vanquished and profligate by such as neither fear him nor his laws, nor yet regard justice or honesty. Our cause is so just that no enterprise can be of more virtue, both by the laws divine and civil, for what can be a more honest, goodly, or godly quarrel then to fight against a captain, being a homicide and murderer of his own blood and progeny? An extreme destroyer of his nobility, to his and our country and the poor subjects of the same, a deadly malle, a firebrand and burden untolerable? besides him, consider who be of his band and company, such as by murder and untruth committed against their own kindred and lineage, yea against their Prince and Sovereign Lord, have disherited me and you, and hath wrongfully detained and usurp over lawful patrimony and lineal inheritance. For he that calleth himself▪ king keepeth from me the Crown and regiment of this noble Realm and Country, contrary to all justice and equity. Likewise, his mates and friends occupy your lands, cut down your woods and destroy your manors, letting your wives and children range abroad for their living: which persons for their penance and punishment I doubt not but God of his goodness will either deliver into our hands as a great gain and booty, or cause them being grieved and compuncted with the prick of their corrupt consciences, cowardly to fly and not abide the battle: besides this I assure you that there be yonder in that great battle, men brought thither for fear and not for love, soldiers by force compelled, and not with good will assembled: persons which desire rather the destruction than the salvation of their master and captain: and finally a multitude, whereof the most part will be our friends, and the least part our enemies. For truly I doubt which is greater, the malice of the soldiers towards their captain, or the fear of him conceived of his people: for surely this rule is infallible, that as ill men daily covet to destroy the good, so God appointeth the good to confound the ill, & of all worldly goods the greatest is, to suppress tyrants, and relieve innocents', whereof the one is ever as much hated as the other is beloved. If this be true (as Clerks preach) who will spare yonder tyrant Richard Duke of Gloucester untruly calling himself King, considering that he hath violated, and broken both the law of God and man, what virtue is in him which was the confusion of his brother, and murtrerer of his nephews? what mercy is in him that flieth his trusty friends aswell as his extreme enemies? Who can have confidence in him which putteth diffidence in all men? If you have not read▪ I have heard Clerks say, that Tarquin the proud for the vice of the body lost the Kingdom of Rome, and the name of Tarquin banished from the City for ever: yet was not his fault so detestable as the fact of cruel Nero, which slew his own mother, and opened her entrails to behold the place of his conception. Behold yonder Richard, which is both Tarquin and Nero, yea a tyrant more than Nero, for he hath not only murdered his Nephew being his King and sovereign Lord, bastarded his noble brethren, and defamed the womb of his virtuous and womanly mother, but also compassed all the means and ways that he could invent how to stuprate & carnally know niece his under the pretence of a cloaked matrimony, which Lady I have sworn and promised to take and make my wife, as you all know and believe. If this cause be not just, and this quarrel godly, let God the giver of victory judge and determine. We have (thanks be given to Christ) escaped the secret treasons in Britain, and avoided the subtle snares of our fraudulent enemies there, passed the troublous seas in good and quiet safeguard, and without resistance have penetrate the ample region and large country of Wales, and are now come to the place which we so much desired, for long we have sought the furious Boar, and now we have found him. Wherefore, let us not fear to enter into the toil where we may surely slay him, for God knoweth that we have lived in the vales of misery, tossing our ships in dangerous storms: let us not now dread to set up our sails in fair weather, having with us both him and good fortune. If we had come to conquer Wales, and had achieved it, our praise had been great, and our gain more; but if we win this battle, the whole Realm of England, with the Lords and Rulers of the same shall be ours, the profit shall be ours, and the honour shall be ours. Therefore labour for your gain, and sweat for your right: while we were in Britain we had small livings and little plenty of wealth or welfare, now is the time come to get abundance of riches and copy of profit which is the reward of your service and merit of your pain. And this remember with yourselves, that before us be our Enemies, and on either side of us be such as I neither surely trust, nor greatly believe, backward we cannot fly: So that here we stand like sheep in a fold circumsepted and compassed between our enemies & our doubtful friends. Therefore let all fear be set aside, and like sworn brethren let us join in one, for this day shall be the end of our travel, and the gain of our labour, either by honourable death or famous victory: And as I trust, the battel● shall not be so sour as the profit shall be sweet. Remember that victory is not gotten with multitude of men, but with the courage of hearts and valiantness of minds. The smaller that our number is, the more glory is to us if we vanquish, if we be overcome, yet no laud is to be attributed, to the victors, considering that ten men fought against one: and if we die so glorious a death in so good a quarrel, neither fretting time, nor cancaring oblivion shall be able to obfuscate or race out of the book of fame either our names or our godly attempt. And this one thing I assure you, that in so just and good a cause, and so notable a quarrel, you shall find me this day rather a dead carrion upon the cool ground, than a free prisoner on a carpit in a Lady's chamber. Let us therefore fight like invincible giants, and set on our enemies like untimerous Tigers, and banish all fear like ramping lions. And advance forward true men against traitors, pitiful persons against murderers▪ true inheritors against usurpers, the scourges of God against tyrants, display my banner with a good courage, march forth like strong & robustious champions, and begin the battle like hardy conquerors, the battle is at hand, and the victory approacheth, and if we shamefully recoil or cowardly fly, we and all our sequel be destroyed and dishonoured for ever. This is the day of gain, and this is the time of loss, get this day victory and be conquerors, and lose this day's battle and be villains, and therefore in the name of God let every man courageously advance forth with his standard.  
These cheerful words he set forth with such gesture of body & smiling countenance, as though already he had vanquished his enemies and gotten the spoil.  
He had scantly finished his saying, but the one army espied the other: Lord how hastily the soldiers buckled their helms, how quickly the archers bent their bows and frushed their feathers, how readily the billmen shook their bills and proved their staves, ready to approach and join, when the terrible trumpet shall sound the bloody blast to victory or death. Between both armies there was a great marsh which the Earl of Richmond left on his right hand for this intent, that it should be on that side a defence for his part, and in so doing he had the sun at his back, and in the faces of his enemies.  
When King Richard saw the Earl's company was passed the marsh▪ he commanded with all haste to set upon them, than the Trumpeters blue, and soldiers shouted, and the King's archers courageously let fly their arrows; the Earls bowmen stood not still, but paid them home again. The terrible shot once past, the armies joined, and came to hand strokes, where neither sword nor bill was spared, at which encounter the Lord Stanley joined with the Earl. The Earl of Oxford in the mean season fearing lest while his company was fight, they should be compassed and circumvented with the multitude of his enemies, gave commandment in every rank that no man should be so hardy as to go above ten foot from the standard, which commandment once known, they knit themselves together, and ceased a little from fight: the adversaries suddenly abashed at the matter▪ & mistrusting some fraud or deceit, began also to pause, and left striking, and not against the will. of many which had rather have had the King destroyed then saved, and therefore they fought very faintly or stood s●ill. The Earl of Oxford bringing all his band together on the one part, set on his enemies afresh; again, the adversaries perceiving that, placed their men slender and thin before, and thick and broad behind, beginning again hardily the battle. While the two forwards thus mortally fought, each intending to vanquish and convince the other, King Richard was admonished by his explorators and espials, that the Earl of Richmond accompanied small with a number of men of arms was not far off, and as he approached & marched towards him, he perfectly knew his personage by certain demonstrations and tokens which he had learned and known of others. And being inflamed with ire, and vexed with outrageous malice, he put his spurs to his horse, and road out of the side of the range of his Battle, leaving the avantguards fight, and like a hungry Lion ran with Spear and rest toward him. The Earl of Richmond perceived well the King furiously came toward him, and because the whole hope of his wealth and purpose was to be determined by Battle, he gladly proffered to encounter with him body to body, and man to man.  
King Richard set on so sharply at the first brunt, that he overthrew the Earl's Standard, and slew Sir William Brandon his Standard Bearer (which was Father to Sir Charles Brandon, by King Henry the 8. created Duke of Suffolk) and matched hand to hand with Sir john Cheiny, a man of great force and strength which would have resisted him, and the said john was by him manfully overthrown, and so he making open passage by dent of sword as he went forward, the Earl of Richmond withstood his violence and kept him at the swords point without advantage, longer than his companions either thought or judged, which being almost in despair of Victory, were suddenly recomforted by Sir William Stanley, which came to succour them with three thousand tall men, at which very instant King Richard's men were driven back and fled, and he himself manfully fighting in the middle of his enemies, was slain & brought to his death as he worthily had deserved.  
In the mean season the Earl of Oxford, with the aid of the Lord Stanley, after no long fight discom●ted the forward of King Richard, whereof a great number were slain in the flight, but the greatest number which (compelled by fear of the King, and not of their mere valiant motion) came to the field, gave never a stroke, and having no harm nor damage, safely departed, which came not thither in hope to see the King prosper and prevail, but to hear that he should be shamefully confounded and brought to ruin.  
In this Battle died few above the number of a thousand persons: And of the Nobility were slain john Duke of Norfolk, which was warned by divers to refrain the Field, insomuch that the night before he should set forward toward the King, one wrote on his Gate: 
jack of Norfolk be not too bold,  
For Dickon thy Master is bought and sold.   
Yet all this notwithstanding, he regarding more his oath, his honour and promise made to King Richard, like a Gentleman and a faithful subject to his Prince, absented not himself from his Master, but as he faithfully lived under him, so he manfully died with him, to his great fame and laud. The●e were slain beside him Walter Lord Ferrer of Chartley, Sir Richard Rad●liffe, and Robert Braken●u●y Lieutenant of the Tower, and not many Gentlemen more. Sir William Catesbey learned in the Laws of the Realm, and one of the chief Counsellors to the late King, with divers others, were two days after beheaded at Leicester. Amongst them that ran away, were Sir Francis Viscount Lovel, and Humphrey Stafford, and Thomas Stafford his Brother, which took Sanctuary at Saint john's at Gloucester. Of Captives and prisoners there was a great number for after the death of King Richard was known and published, every man in manner unarming himself, and casting away his habiliment of war, meekly submitted themselves to the obeisance and rule of the Earl of Richmond: of the which the more part had gladly so done in the beginning, if they might have conveniently escaped from King Richard's espyals, which having as clear eyes as Linx, and as open ears as Midas, ranged and searched in every quarter. Amongst these was Henry the fourth Earl of Northumberland, which whether it was by the commandment of King Richard putting diffidence in him, or he did it for the love and favour that he bore unto the Earl, stood still with a great company and intermitted not in the battle, which was incontinently received into favour and made of the council. But Thomas Howard Earl of Surrey, which submitted himself there, was not taken to grace, because his Father was chief Counsellor, and he lie familiar with with King Richard, but committed to the Tower of London, where he long remained, and in conclusion delivered, and for his truth and fidelity after promoted to high honours and dignities. On the Earl of Richmond's part were slain scarce one hundred persons, amongst whom the principal was sir William Brandon his standard bearer.  
This battle was fought at at Bosworth in Leicestershire, the two and twentieth day of August, in the year one thousand four hundred eighty six; the whole conflict endured little above two hours. King Richard, as the fame went, might have escaped and gotten safeguard by flying. For when they which were next about his person saw and perceived at the first joining of the battle, the soldiers faintly and nothing courageously to set on their enemies, and not only that, but also that some with drew themselves privily out of the press and departed; They began to suspect fraud, and smell treason, and not only exhorted, but determinately advised him to save himself by flight: and when the loss of the battle was eminent and apparent, they brought to him a swift and a light horse to convey him away. He which was not ignorant of the grudge and ill will that the common people bare towards him, casting away all hope of fortunate success and happy chance to come, answered (as men say) he would make an end of all battles, or else there finish his life. Such a great audacity and such a stout stomach reigned in his body; for surely he knew that to be the day in the which it should be decided and determined, whether he should peaceably obtain and enjoy his kingdom during his life, or else utterly forgo and be deprived of the same, with which too much hardiness he being overcome, hastily closed his helmet, and entered fiercely into the hard battle, to the intent to obtain that day a quiet reign, or else to finish there his unquiet life and unfortunate governance. And so this miser at the same very point had like chance and fortune, as happeneth to such which in place of right justice and honesty following their sensual appetite, love, use, and embrace mischief, tyranny, and unthriftiness. Surely these be examples of more vehemency than man's tongue can express▪ to fear and astunne such evil persons as will not live one hour vacant from doing and exercising cruelty, mischief or outrageous living.  
When the Earl had thus obtained victory, and slain his mortal enemy, he kneeled down and rendered to almighty God his hearty thanks with devout and godly orisons, beseeching his goodness to send him grace to advance and defend the catholic faith, and to maintain justice and concord amongst his subjects and people, by God now to his governance committed and assigned: which prayer finished, he replenished with incomparable gladness, ascended up to the top of a little mountain, where he not only praised an●●●●ded his valiant soldiers, but also gave unto them his hearty thanks, with promise of condign recompense for their fidelity and valiant facts, willing and commanding all the hurt and wounded persons to be cured and the dead carcases to be delivered to the Sepulture.  
Then the people rejoiced and clapped hands, crying up to heaven, King Henry, King Henry. When the Lord Stanley saw the good will and gratuity of the people he took the Crown of King Richard which was found amongst the spoil in the field, and set it on the Earl's head, as though he had been elected King by the voice of the people as in ancient times passed in divers Realms it hath been accustomed, and this was the first sign and token of his good luck and felicity. I must put you here in remembrance, how that King Richard putting some diffidence in the Lord Stanley, which had with him as an hostage, the Lord Strange his eldest son, which Lord Stanley as you have heard before joined not at the first with his son in law's army, for fear that King Richard would have slain the Lord Strange his heir. When King Richard was come to Bosworth, he sent a pursuivant to the Lord Stanley, commanding him to advance forward with his company, and to come to his presence; which thing if he refused to do, he swore by Christ's passion that he would strike off his son's head before he dined.  
The Lord Stanley answered the Pursuivant, that if the King did so, he had more sons alive, and to come to him he was not then so determined: when King Richard heard this answer he commanded the Lord Strange incontinent to be beheaded, which was at that very same season when both the armies had ●ight each of the other. The Councillors of King Richard pondering the time and the cause, knowing also the Lord Strange to be innocent of his father's offence, persuaded the King that it was now time to fight▪ and not time to execution, advising him to keep the Lord Strange as a prisoner till the battle was ended, and then at leisure his pleasure might be accomplished. So as God would King Richard infringed his holy oath, and the Lord w●s delivered 〈◊〉 the keepers of the King's ten● to be kept as a prisoner, which when the field was done, and their master slain, and proclamation made to know where the child was, they submitted themselves as prisoners to the Lord Strange, and he gently received them and brought them to the new proclaimed King, where of him and of his father he was received with great joy and gladness.  
After this the whole camp removed with bag and baggage, and the same night in the evening King Henry with great pomp came to the town of Leicester. Where as well for the refreshing of his people and soldiers, as for preparing all things necessary for his journey toward London, he rested and reposed himself two days. In the mean season the dead corpse of King Richard was as shamefully▪ carried to the town of Leicester, as he gorgeously the day before with pomp and pride departed out of the same town. For his body was naked and despoiled to the skin, and nothing left about him, not so much as a clout to cover his privy members, and was trussed behind a pursuivant of arms called Blaunche Senglier or white Boar, like a hog or a calf, the head and arms hanging on the one side of the horse, and the legs on the other side, and all besprinkled with mire and blood, was brought to the Grey Friar's Church within the town, and there laid like a miserable spectacle: but surely considering his mischievous acts and Facinorous doings, men may worthily wonder at such a caitive, and in the said Church he was with no less funeral pomp and solemnity interred, than he would to be done at the burying of his innocent Nephews, whom he caused cruelly to be murdered and unnaturally to be quelled.  
When his death was known, few lamented, and many rejoiced, the proud bragging white Boar (which was his badge) was violently razed and plucked down from every sign and place where it might be espied, so ill was his life that men wished the memory of him to be buried with his carrion corpses: He reigned two years, two months, and one day.  
As he was small and little of stature, so was he of body greatly deformed, the one shoulder higher than the other, his face small, but his countenance was cruel, and such, that a man at the first aspect would judge it to savour and smell of malice, fraud, and deceit: when he stood musing he would bite and chew beasly his nether lip, as who said, that his fierce nature in his cruel body always chafed, stirred, and was ever unquiet: besides that, the dagger that he wore, he would when he studied with his hand pluck up and down in the sheath to the midst, never drawing it fully out; his wit was pregnant, quick and ready, will to ●iegne and apt to dissemble, he had a proud mind, and an arrogant stomach, the which accompanied him to his death, which he rather desiring to suffer by dent of sword, then being forsaken and destitute of his untrue companions, would by coward flight preserve and save his uncertain life: Which by malice, sickness, or condign punishment ●ight chan●e shortly after to come to confusion.  
Thus ended this Prince his mortal life with infamy and dishonour, which never preferred fame or honesty before ambition, tyranny, and mischief. And if he had continued still Protector, and suffered his Nephews to have lived and reigned, no doubt but the Realm had prospered, and he much praised and beloved as he is now abhorred and vilipended, but to God which knew his interior cogitations at the hour of his death I commit the punishment of his offences committed in his life.   
FINIS.