CHAP. XII. EDWARD I.

WHILE the unfortunate Henry was thus vainly ſtruggling againſt the ungovernable ſpirit of his ſubjects, his ſon and ſucceſſor, Edward, was employed in the Holy wars, where he revived the glory of the Engliſh name, and made the enemies of Chriſtianity tremble. He had arrived at the city of Acon in Paleſtine, juſt as the Saracens were ſitting down to be⯑ſiege [2] it. He ſoon relieved the place, follow⯑ed the enemy, and obtained many victories, which, though ſplendid, were not deciſive. Such, however, were the enemies' terrors at the progreſs of his arms, that they reſolved to deſtroy by treachery that valiant comman⯑der, whom they could not oppoſe in the field. A tribe of Mahometan enthuſiaſts had long taken poſſeſſion of an inacceſſible mountain in Syria, under the command of a petty prince, who went, in the Chriſtian armies, under the name of the Old Man of the Mountain, and whoſe ſubjects were called Aſſaſſins; from whence we have ſince borrowed the name to ſignify a private ſtabber. Theſe men, wholly devoted to their commander, and enflamed with a deteſtable ſuperſtition, undertook to deſtroy any Chriſtian prince or leader, who became obnoxious to their party. It was vain to threaten them with puniſhment; they knew the dangers that awaited them, but, reſolute to deſtroy, they ruſhed upon certain death. Some time before, the capital of this tribe had been taken by the Tartars, and the inhabitants put to the ſword; yet there ſtill remained numbers of them, that were educated in that gloomy ſchool of ſuperſtition; and one of thoſe undertook to murder the prince of England. In order to gain admit⯑tance [3] to Edward's preſence, he pretended to have letters to deliver from the governor of Joppa, propoſing a negociation; and thus he was permitted to ſee the prince, who converſed with him freely in the French language, which the aſſaſſin underſtood. In this manner he continued to amuſe him for ſome time, be⯑ing permitted to have free egreſs and regreſs from the royal apartments. It was on the Friday in Whitſun-week, that he found Ed⯑ward ſitting in his apartment alone, in a looſe garment, the weather being extremely hot. This was the opportunity the infidel had ſo long earneſtly deſired; and looking round to ſee if there were any preſent to prevent him, and finding him alone, he drew a dagger from his breaſt, and attempted to plunge it into the prince's boſom. Edward, had juſt time to perceive the murderer's intention, and, with great preſence of mind, received the blow upon his arm. Perceiv⯑ing the aſſaſſin about to repeat his blow, he ſtruck him at once to the ground with his foot; and wreſting the weapon from his hand, buried it inſtantly in his boſom. The domeſtics hearing a noiſe, quickly came into the room, and ſoon wreaked their reſentment on the perfidious wretch's body, who had thus abuſed the laws of hoſpitality. The wound the prince had re⯑ceived [4] was the more dangerous, as having been inflicted with a poiſoned dagger; and it ſoon began to exhibit ſome ſymptoms that ap⯑peared fatal. He therefore expected his fate with great intrepidity, and made his will, contented to die in a cauſe which he was aſ⯑ſured would procure him endleſs felicity. But his uſual good fortune prevailed; an Engliſh ſurgeon of extraordinary ſkill, by making deep inciſions, and cutting away the mortified parts, completed the cure, and reſtored him to health in little more than a fortnight. A recovery ſo unexpected, was conſidered by the ſuperſti⯑tious army as miraculous; nor were there wanting ſome, who alledged that he owed his ſafety to the piety of Eleanora his wife, who ſucked the poiſon from the wound to ſave his life, at the hazard of her own. However this be, it is probable that the perſonal danger he incurred by continuing the war in Paleſtine, might induce him more readily to liſten to terms of accommodation, which were propoſed ſoon after by the ſoldan of Babylon. He re⯑ceived that monarch's ambaſſadors in a very honourable manner, and concluded a truce with him for ten years, ten weeks, and ten days. Having thus ſettled the affairs of Pa⯑leſtine, in the beſt manner they would admit [5] of, he ſet ſail for Sicily, where he arrived in ſafety, and there firſt heard the news of the king his father's death, as well as that of his own ſon John, a boy of ſix years of age. He bore the laſt with reſignation, but appear⯑ed extremely afflicted at the death of his fa⯑ther; at which, when the king of Sicily ex⯑preſſed his ſurprize, he obſerved that the death of a ſon was a loſs which he might hope to repair, but that of a father was a loſs irre⯑parable.

Though the death of the king happened while the ſucceſſor was ſo far from home, yet meaſures had been ſo well taken, that the crown was transferred with the greateſt tran⯑quility. The high character acquired by the prince, during the late commotions, had pro⯑cured him the eſteem and affection of all ranks of men; and, inſtead of attempting to oppoſe, their whole wiſh was to ſee him once more return⯑ing in triumph. But the prince, ſenſible of the quiet ſtate of the kingdom, did not ſeem in much haſte to take poſſeſſion of the throne; and he ſpent near a year in France, before he made his appearance in England. The honours he received from the great upon the continent; and the acclamations, with which he was every where attended by the people, were too al⯑luring [6] to a young mind to be ſuddenly relin⯑quiſhed: he was even tempted to exhibit proofs of his bravery in a tournament, to which he was invited by the count de Chalons, who defied him to a trial of his ſkill. Impreſſed with high ideas of the chivalry of the times, he accepted the challenge; and propoſed, with his knights, to hold the field againſt all that would enter the liſts. His uſual good fortune at⯑tended him; and his ſucceſs had like to have converted a trial of ſkill into a matter of bloody contention. The count de Chalons, being enraged at being foiled, made a ſerious attack upon the Engliſh, in which ſome blood was idly ſpilt; but Edward and his knights ſtill maintained the ſuperiority. From Chalons Edward proceeded to Paris, where he was magnificently entertained by Philip, king of France, to whom he did homage for the terri⯑tories the kings of England had poſſeſſed in that kingdom. From Paris he ſet out for Gaſcony, to curb the inſolence of Gaſton, count Bearne, who had rebelled in his ab⯑ſence. From thence he paſſed through Mon⯑treuil, where he accommodated ſome differ⯑ences between the Engliſh and Flemings. At length, after various battles, dangers, and fa⯑tigues, he arrived in his native dominions, [7] amidſt the loud acclamations of his people, and was ſolemnly crowned at Weſtminſter by the archbiſhop of Canterbury. The joy of all ranks upon this occaſion was inexpreſſible; the feaſting continued a whole fortnight, at the king's expence; five hundred horſes were turned looſe, as the property of thoſe who could catch them. The king of Scotland, with ſeveral other princes, graced the ſolem⯑nity; and did homage for thoſe territories they held under the Engliſh crown. Nothing, therefore, remained to complete the felicity of the people but the continuance of ſuch proſ⯑perity; and this they had every reaſon to ex⯑pect from the king's juſtice, his oeconomy, and his prudence.

As Edward was now come to an undiſputed throne, the oppoſite intereſts were proportiona⯑bly feeble. The barons were exhauſted by long mutual diſſenſions: the clergy were di⯑vided in their intereſts, and agreed only in one point, to hate the pope, who had for ſome time drained them, with impunity: the people, by ſome inſurrections againſt the convents, appear to have hated the clergy with equal animoſity. Theſe diſagreeing orders only concurred in one point, that of eſteeming and reverencing the king. In ſuch a conjuncture, [8] therefore, few meaſures could be taken by the crown that would be deemed oppreſſive; and we accordingly find the preſent monarch often, from his own authority alone, raiſing thoſe taxes that would have been peremptorily re⯑fuſed to his predeceſſor. However, Edward was naturally prudent; and, though capable of becoming abſolute, he ſatisfied himſelf with moderate power, and laboured only to be ter⯑rible to his enemies.

A.D. 1274 His firſt care was to correct thoſe diſorders which had crept in, under the laſt part of his father's feeble adminiſtration. He propoſed, by an exact diſtribution of juſtice, to give equal protection and redreſs to all the orders of the ſtate. He took every opportunity to inſpect the conduct of all his magiſtrates and judges, and to diſplace ſuch as were negligent, or cor⯑rupt. In ſhort; a ſyſtem of ſtrict juſtice, marked with an air of ſeverity, was purſued throughout his reign; formidable to the peo⯑ple, indeed, but yet adapted to the ungovern⯑able licentiouſneſs of the times. The Jews were the only part of his ſubjects who were refuſed that equal juſtice which the king made boaſt of diſ⯑tributing. As Edward had been bred up in prejudices againſt them, and as theſe were ſtill more confirmed by his expedition to the Holy [9] Land, he ſeemed to have no compaſſion upon their ſufferings. Many were the arbitrary taxes levied upon them; two hundred and eigh⯑ty of them were hanged at once, upon a charge of adulterating the coin of the kingdom; the goods of the reſt were confiſcated, and all of that religion utterly baniſhed the kingdom. This ſeverity was very grateful to the people, who hated the Jews, not only for their tenets, but for their method of living, which was by uſury and extortion.

But Edward had too noble a ſpirit to be con⯑tent with the applauſe this petty oppreſſion acquired; he reſolved to march againſt Le⯑wellyn, prince of North Wales, who had refu⯑ſed to do homage for his dominions, and ſeem⯑ed bent upon renouncing all dependence upon the crown of England. The Welſh had for many ages enjoyed their own laws, language, cuſtoms, and opinions. They were the re⯑mains of the ancient Britons, who had eſcaped the Roman and Saxon invaſions, and ſtill pre⯑ſerved their freedom and their country, uncon⯑taminated by the admiſſion of foreign conque⯑rors. But as they were, from their number, incapable of withſtanding their more powerful neighbours on the plain, their chief defence lay in their inacceſſible mountains, thoſe natural [10] bulwarks of the country.A.D. 1276 Whenever England was diſtreſſed by factions at home, or its forces called off to wars abroad, the Welſh made it a conſtant practice to pour in their irregular troops, and lay the open country waſte where⯑ever they came. Nothing could be more perni⯑cious to a country than ſeveral neighbouring independent principalities, under different commanders, and purſuing different intereſts; the mutual jealouſies of ſuch were ſure to har⯑raſs the people; and wherever victory was pur⯑chaſed, it was always at the expence of the gene⯑ral welfare. Senſible of this, Edward had long wiſhed to reduce that incurſive people, and had ordered Lewellyn to do homage for his territories; which ſummons the Welſh prince refuſed to obey, unleſs the king's own ſon ſhould be delivered as an hoſtage for his ſafe return. The king was not diſpleaſed at this refuſal, as it ſerved to give him a pretext for his intended invaſion. He therefore levied an army againſt Lewellyn, and marched into his country with certain aſſurance of ſucceſs. Upon the ap⯑proach of Edward, the Welſh prince took refuge among the inacceſſible mountains of Snowdon, and there reſolved to maintain his ground, without truſting to the chance of a battle. Theſe were the ſteep retreats, that had for [11] many ages before defended his anceſtors againſt all the attempts of the Norman and Saxon con⯑querors. But Edward, equally vigorous and cautious, having explored every part of his way, pierced into the very center of Lewellyn's territories, and approached the Welſh army in its laſt retreats. Lewellyn at firſt little regard⯑ed the progreſs of an enemy, that he ſuppoſed would make a tranſient invaſion, and then de⯑part; but his contempt was turned into conſter⯑nation, when he ſaw Edward place his forces at the foot of the mountains, and hem up his ar⯑my, in order to force it by famine. Deſtitute of magazines, and cooped upon in a narrow corner of the country, without proviſions for his troops, or paſturage for his cattle, nothing remained but death, or ſubmiſ⯑ſion; ſo that the unfortunate Welſh prince, without being able to ſtrike a blow for his in⯑dependence, was at laſt, obliged to ſubmit at diſcretion, and to receive ſuch terms as the victor was pleaſed to impoſe. Lewellyn con⯑ſented to pay fifty thouſand pounds, as a ſatis⯑faction for damages; to do homage to the crown of England; to permit all other barons, except four near Snowdon, to ſwear fealty in the ſame manner; to relinquiſh the country between Cheſhire and the river Conway; to do [12] juſtice to his own family, and to deliver hoſta⯑ges for the ſecurity of his ſubmiſſion.

A.D. 1271 But this treaty was only of ſhort duration: the oppreſſion of the conqueror, and the in⯑dignant pride of the conquered nation, could not long remain without producing new diſ⯑ſenſions. The lords of the Marches commit⯑ted all kinds of injuſtice on their Welſh neighbours; and although Edward remitted the fifty thouſand pounds penalty, yet he laid other reſtrictions ſome time after upon Lewellyn, which that prince conſidered as more injurious. He particularly exacted a promiſe from him at Wor⯑ceſter, that he would retain no perſon in his prin⯑cipality, that ſhould be diſagreeable to the Eng⯑liſh monarch. Theſe were inſults too great to be endured, and once more the Welſh flew to arms. A body of their forces took the field, under the command of David, the brother of their prince, ravaged the plain country, took the caſtle of Harwardin, made Sir Roger Clifford, juſtice of the Marches, who was very dangerouſly wounded, their pri⯑ſoner, and ſoon after laid ſiege to the caſtle of Ruthland. When the account of theſe hoſtilities was brought to Edward, he aſſembled a nu⯑merous army, and ſet out with a fierce reſolu⯑tion to exterminate Lewellyn and his whole fa⯑mily; [13] and to reduce that people to ſuch an ab⯑ject ſtate, that they ſhould never after be able to revolt, or diſtreſs their more peaceable neighbours. At firſt, however, the king's endeavours were not attended with their uſual ſucceſs; having cauſed a bridge of boats to be laid over the river Menay, a body of forces, commanded by lord Latimer, and de Thonis, paſſed over before it was completely finiſhed, to ſignalize their courage againſt the enemy. The Welſh patiently remained in their fortreſſes till they ſaw the tide flowing in beyond the end of the bridge, and thus cutting off the retreat of the aſſailants. It was then that they poured down from their mountains with hideous out⯑cries; and, with the moſt ungovernable fury, put the whole body that had got over to the ſword. This defeat revived the ſinking ſpirits of the Welſh; and it was now univerſally be⯑lieved by that poor ſuperſtitious people, that heaven had declared in their favour. A ſtory ran, that it was foretold, in the prophecies of Merlin, that Lewellyn was to be the reſtorer of Brutus's empire in Britain: a wizzard had prognoſticated, that he ſhould ride through the ſtreets of London with a crown upon his head. Theſe were inducements ſufficiently ſtrong to perſuade this prince to hazard a deciſive [14] battle againſt the Engliſh. With this view, he marched into Radnorſhire; and paſſing the river Wey, his troops were ſurpriſed and defeated by Edward Mortimer, while he himſelf was abſent from his army, upon a conference with ſome of the barons of that country. Upon his return, ſee⯑ing the dreadful ſituation of his affairs, he ran deſperately into the midſt of the enemy, and quickly found that death he ſo ardently ſought for. One of the Engliſh captains recognizing his countenance, ſevered his head from his bo⯑dy, and it was ſent to London, where it was re⯑ceived with extreme demonſtrations of joy. The brutal ſpirit of the times will ſufficiently appear from the barbarity of the citizens on this occaſion: the head being encircled in a ſil⯑ver coronet, to fulfil the prediction of the wizzard, it was placed by them upon a pillory, that the populace might glut their eyes with ſuch an agreeable ſpectacle. David, the bro⯑ther of this unfortunate prince, ſoon after ſhared the ſame fate; while his followers, quite diſpirited by the loſs of their beloved leader, obeyed but ſlowly, and fought with reluctance. Thus being at laſt totally aban⯑doned, he was obliged to hide himſelf in one of the obſcure caverns of the country; but his retreat being ſoon after diſcovered, [15] he was taken, tried, and condemned, as a traitor. His ſentence was executed with the moſt vigorous ſeverity; he was hanged, drawn and quartered, only for having bravely defend⯑ed the expiring liberties of his native country, and his own hereditary poſſeſſions. With him expired the government, and the diſtinction of his nation. It was ſoon after united to the kingdom of England, made a principality, and given to the eldeſt ſon of the crown. Fo⯑reign conqueſts might add to the glory, but this added to the felicity of the kingdom. The Welſh were now blended with the con⯑querors; and in the revolution of a few ages, all national animoſity was entirely forgotten.

At the time of the conqueſt, however, the Welſh ſubmitted with extreme reluctance; and few nations ever bowed to a foreign yoke with greater indignation. The bards of the coun⯑try, whoſe employment conſiſted in rehearſing the glorious deeds of their anceſtors, were particularly obnoxious to the king, who, con⯑ſidering that while they continued to keep the ancient flame alive, he muſt expect no peace in his new acquiſitions, ordered them to be maſſacred, from motives of barbarous policy, at that time not uncommon. This ſeverity he is ſaid to have ſoftened by another meaſure, [16] equally politic, and far leſs culpable. In or⯑der to flatter their vanity, and amuſe their ſu⯑perſtition, he left his queen to be delivered in the caſtle of Caernarvon; and afterwards pre⯑ſented the child, whoſe name was Edward, to the Welſh lords, as a native of their coun⯑try, and as their appointed prince. The lords received him with acclamations of joy, conſidering him as a maſter, who would go⯑vern them as a diſtinct people from the Eng⯑liſh, there being at that time another heir ap⯑parent to the Engliſh crown. But the death of the eldeſt ſon, Alphonſo, ſoon after made young Edward, who had been thus created prince of Wales, heir alſo to the Engliſh mo⯑narchy; and ever ſince the government of both nations has continued to flow in one un⯑divided channel.

This great and important conqueſt being atchieved, paved the way for one of ſtill more importance, though not attended with ſuch permanent conſequences. Alexander III. king of Scotland, had been killed by a fall from his horſe, leaving only Margaret, his grand-daughter, heir to the crown, who died ſome time after. The death of this princeſs pro⯑duced a moſt ardent diſpute about the ſucceſ⯑ſion to the Scottiſh throne, being claimed by [17] no leſs than twelve competitors. That nation being thus divided into as many factions as there were pretenders, the guardians of the realm would not undertake to decide a diſpute of ſo much conſequence. The nobility of the country were no leſs divided in their opini⯑ons; and, after long debates, they at laſt unani⯑mouſly agreed to refer the conteſt to the deter⯑mination of the king of England. The claims of all the other candidates were reduced to three; who were the deſcendants of the earl of Huntington by three daughters; John Haſtings, who claimed in right of his mother, as one of the co-heireſſes of the crown; John Baliol, who alledged his right, as being deſcended from the eldeſt daughter, who was his grandmother; and Robert Bruce, who was the actual ſon of the ſecond daughter. In this conteſt, which was referred to Edward, he pretended the ut⯑moſt degree of deliberation; and although he had long formed his reſolution, yet he ordered all enquiries to be made on the ſubject, that he might be maſter of the arguments that could be advanced on any ſide of the queſtion. In this reſearch, he ſoon diſcovered that ſome paſſages in old chronicles might be produced to favour his own ſecret inclinations; and without further delay, inſtead of admitting the [18] claims of the competitors, he boldly urged his own; and, to ſecond his pretenſions, ad⯑vanced with a formidable army to the frontiers of the kingdom.

The Scottiſh barons were thunder-ſtruck at theſe unexpected pretenſions; and though they felt the moſt extreme indignation at his proce⯑dure, yet they reſolved to obey his ſummons to meet at the caſtle of Norham; a place ſituated on the ſouthern banks of the Tweed, where he convened the parliament of that country. He there produced the proofs of his ſuperiority, which he alledged were unqueſtionable, and deſired their concurrence with his claims; at the ſame time adviſing them to uſe delibera⯑tion, and to examine all his allegations with impartial juſtice. To a propoſal that appeared in itſelf ſo unreaſonable, no immediate anſwer could be given; for where all is defective, it is not eaſy to ſubmit to the combating a part: the barons, therefore, continued ſilent; and Edward interpreting this for a conſent, ad⯑dreſſed himſelf to the ſeveral competitors to the crown; and, previous to his appointing one of them as his vaſſal, he required their acknowlegement of his ſuperiority. He na⯑turally concluded that none of them would venture to diſoblige the man who was unani⯑mouſly [19] appointed to be the arbitrator of his pre⯑tenſions. Nor was he deceived; he found them all equally obſequious on this occaſion. Ro⯑bert Bruce was the firſt who made the acknow⯑legement, and the reſt quickly followed his example. Edward being thus become the ſu⯑perior of the kingdom, undertook next to conſider which of the candidates was the fitteſt to be appointed under him; or it may be, as they appeared all indifferent to him, which had the juſteſt claim. In order to give this deli⯑beration the appearance of impartiality, an hundred commiſſioners were appointed, forty of them being choſen by the candidates who were in the intereſts of John Baliol; forty by thoſe in the intereſts of Robert Bruce; and twenty, who were choſen by Edward himſelf. Having thus fitted matters to his ſatisfaction, he left the commiſſioners to ſit at Berwick; and went ſouthward, to free their deliberations from all ſhadow of reſtraint. The ſubject of the diſpute ultimately reſted in this queſtion, Whether Baliol, who was deſcended from the elder ſiſter, but farther removed by one de⯑gree, was to be preferred before Bruce, who was actually the younger ſiſter's ſon? The rights of inheritance, as at preſent generally prac⯑tiſed over Europe, were even at that time pretty [20] well aſcertained; and not only the commiſ⯑ſioners, but many of the beſt lawyers of the age, univerſally concurred in affirming Baliol's ſuperior claim. Edward, therefore, pro⯑nounced ſentence in his favour; and that can⯑didate, upon renewing his oath of fealty to England, was put in poſſeſſion of the Scottiſh kingdom, and all its fortreſſes, which had been previouſly put into the hands of the king of England.

Baliol being thus placed upon the Scottiſh throne, leſs as a king than as a vaſſal, Ed⯑ward's firſt ſtep was ſufficient to convince that people of his intentions to ſtretch the preroga⯑tive to the utmoſt. Inſtead of gradually accuſ⯑toming the Scots to bear the Engliſh yoke, and of ſliding in his new power upon them by ſlow and imperceptible degrees, he began at once to give them notice of his intentions. A mer⯑chant of Gaſcony had preſented a petition to him, importing, that Alexander, the late king of Scotland, was indebted to him a large ſum, which was ſtill unpaid, notwithſtanding all his ſollicitations to Baliol, the preſent king, for pay⯑ment; Edward eagerly embraced this opportu⯑nity of exerciſing his new right, and ſummoned the king of Scotland to appear at Weſtminſter, to anſwer in perſon the merchant's complaint. [21] Upon ſubjects equally trivial, he ſent ſix dif⯑ferent ſummonſes, at different times, in one year; ſo that the poor Scottiſh king ſoon per⯑ceived that he was poſſeſſed of the name only, but not the authority of a ſovereign. Willing, therefore, to ſhake off the yoke of ſo trouble⯑ſome a maſter, Baliol revolted, and procured the pope's abſolution from his former oaths of homage. To ſtrengthen his hands ſtill more, he entered into a ſecret treaty with Philip, king of France; which was the commencement of an union between theſe two nations, that for ſo many ſucceeding ages were fatal to the inte⯑reſts of England. To confirm this alliance, the king of Scotland ſtipulated a marriage be⯑tween his eldeſt ſon, and the daughter of Phi⯑lip de Valois.

Edward, to whom theſe tranſactions were no ſecret, endeavoured to ward the threatened blow, by being the firſt aggreſſor; and accor⯑dingly ſummoned John to perform the duty of a vaſſal, and to ſend him a ſupply of forces a⯑gainſt an invaſion from France, with which ſtate he had for ſome time been at variance. He alſo ſummoned him to ſurrender ſome of his principal forts, and to appear at a parlia⯑ment which was held at Newcaſtle. None of theſe commands, as he well foreſaw, being [22] complied with, he reſolved to enforce obedi⯑ence by marching a body of thirty thouſand foot, and four thouſand horſe, into the heart of the kingdom of Scotland. As the Scottiſh nation had little reliance on the vigour, or the courage of their king, they had aſſigned him a council of twelve noblemen to aſſiſt; or more properly ſpeaking, to ſuperintend his proceed⯑ings. They raiſed an army of forty thou⯑ſand men for the preſent emergency, and marched them away to the frontiers, which Edward was now preparing to attack. But ſome of the moſt conſiderable of the Scottiſh nobility, among whom were Robert Bruce and his ſon, endeavoured to ingratiate themſelves with Edward by an early ſubmiſſion, which ſerved not a little to intimidate thoſe who ſtill adhered to their king. The progreſs, there⯑fore, of the Engliſh arms was extremely rapid; Berwick was taken by aſſault; Sir William Douglas, the governor, made priſoner, and a garriſon of ſeven thouſand men put to the ſword. Elated by theſe advantages, Edward diſpatched the earl Warenne, with ten thou⯑ſand men, to lay ſiege to Dunbar; and the Scotch, ſenſible of the importance of that place, advanced with their whole army, under the command of the earls Mar, Buchan, and [23] Lenox, to relieve it. Although the ſuperiori⯑ty of numbers was greatly on their ſide, yet courage and diſcipline was entirely on that of the Engliſh. The conflict was of ſhort conti⯑nuance; the Scots were ſoon thrown into confu⯑ſion, and twenty thouſand of their men were ſlain upon the field of battle. The caſtle of Dunbar, with all its garriſon, ſurrendered the day following; and Edward, who was now come up with the main body of his army, led them onward into the country to certain con⯑queſt. The caſtles of the greateſt ſtrength and importance opened their gates to him almoſt without reſiſtance; and the whole ſouthern part of the country acknowleged the con⯑queror. The northern parts were not ſo eaſily reducible, being defended by the inacceſſible mountains, and intricate foreſts, that deform the face of that country. To make himſelf maſter of this part of the kingdom, Edward re⯑inforced his army with numbers of men levied in Ireland and Wales, who, being uſed to this kind of deſultory war, were beſt qualified to ſeek, or purſue the latent enemy. But Baliol made theſe preparations unneceſſary; he found that a ready ſubmiſſion was more ſafe and eaſy than a fierce reſiſtance drawn out among mountainous deſerts, and thoſe ſolitudes, made [24] ſtill more dreadful by famine. He haſtened, therefore, to make his peace with the victor, and expreſſed the deepeſt repentance for his former diſloyalty. To ſatisfy him ſtill further, he made a ſolemn reſignation of the crown into his hands; and the whole kingdom ſoon after followed his example. Edward thus maſter of the kingdom, took every precaution to ſecure his title, and to aboliſh thoſe diſtinctions, which might be apt to keep the nation in its former independence. He carefully deſtroyed all re⯑cords and monuments of antiquity, that in⯑ſpired the people with a ſpirit of national pride. He carried away a ſtone, which the traditions of the vulgar pretended to have been Jacob's pillow, on which all their kings were ſeated, when they were anointed. This, the ancient tradition had aſſured them, was the mark of their government; and wherever it was placed, their command was always to follow. The great ſeal of Baliol was broke; and that un⯑happy monarch himſelf was carried as a priſoner to London, and committed to cuſtody in the Tower. Two years afterwards he was reſtored to his liberty, and baniſhed to France, where he died in a private ſtation, without making any further attempts to reinſtate himſelf upon the throne; happier perhaps in privacy, than if gratified in the purſuits of ambition.

[25]The ceſſation which was given to Edward by thoſe ſucceſſes, in his inſular dominions, induced him to turn his ambition to the con⯑tinent, where he expected to recover a part of thoſe territories that had been uſurped from his crown, during the imbecillity of his prede⯑ceſſors. There had been a rupture with France ſome time before, upon a very trifling occaſion. A Norman and Engliſh ſhip met off the coaſt, near Bayonne; and having both oc⯑caſion to draw water from the ſame ſpring, there happened a quarrel for the preference. This ſcuffle, in which a Norman was ſlain, produced a complaint to the king of France, who deſi⯑red the complainant to take his own revenge, and not bring ſuch matters before him. This the Normans did ſhortly after; for ſeizing the crew of a ſhip in the channel, they hanged a part of them, together with ſome dogs, in the preſence of all their companions. This produ⯑ced a retaliation from the Engliſh cinque-ports; and the animoſity of the merchants on both ſides being wrought up to fury, the ſea became a ſcene of piracy and murder. No quarter was given on either ſide; the mariners were deſ⯑troyed by thouſands; and at laſt the affair be⯑came too ſerious for the ſovereigns of either ſide to continue any longer unconcerned ſpec⯑tators. [26] Some ineffectual overtures were made for an accommodation; but Edward ſeeing that it was likely to come to an open rupture, gave orders for having his territory of Guien⯑ne, upon the continent, put into a poſture of defence. Nor was he remiſs in making trea⯑ties with ſeveral neighbouring princes, whoſe aſſiſtance he purchaſed, though greatly to the diminution of his ſcanty revenues. He even ſent an army, collected in England from the jails, which had been filled with robbers in the former reign, and who were now made ſervice⯑able to the ſtate. Theſe, tho' at firſt ſucceſsful, under the command of John de Bretagne, earl of Richmond, were, however, ſoon repulſed by the French army, under the command of Charles, brother to the king of France. Yet it was not eaſy to diſcourage Edward from any favourite purſuit.A.D. 1296 In about three years after, he again renewed his attempts upon Guienne, and ſent thither an army of ſeven thouſand men, under the command of his brother, the earl of Lancaſter. That prince gained, at firſt ſome advantages over the French at Bour⯑deaux; but he was ſoon after ſeized with a diſ⯑temper, of which he died at Bayonne.

The king finding his attempts upon that quarter unſucceſsful, reſolved to attack France [27] upon another, where he hoped that kingdom would be more vulnerable. He formed an alliance with John, earl of Holland, by giv⯑ing him his daughter Elizabeth in marriage; and alſo with Guy, earl of Flanders, whoſe aſ⯑ſiſtance he procured, for the ſtipulated ſum of ſeventy-five thouſand pounds. From theſe aſ⯑ſiſtances he entertained hopes of being once more able to recover his hereditary dominions; and he accordingly ſet himſelf earneſtly about providing money for ſuch an arduous under⯑taking. This was not obtained without the greateſt ſtruggles with his clergy and the people; ſo that when he came to take the field in Flanders, at the head of an army of fifty-thouſand men, the proper ſeaſon of ac⯑tion was loſt; wherefore the king of France, and he were glad to come to an accommo⯑dation, by which they agreed to ſubmit their differences to the arbitration of the pope. By his mediation it was agreed between them, that their union ſhould be cemented with a double marriage; that of Edward with Margaret, Philip's ſiſter; and that of the prince of Wales with Iſabella, the French monarch's daughter. Philip was prevailed on to reſtore Guienne to the Engliſh. He agreed alſo, to abandon the king of Scotland, upon condition that Edward [28] ſhould in like manner neglect the earl of Flan⯑ders. Thus, after a very expenſive war, the two monarchs were obliged to ſit down juſt where they began; and, inſtead of making preparations againſt each other, they reſolved to turn the weight of their power upon their weaker neighbours.

But though this expedition was thus fruit⯑leſsly terminated, yet the expences which were requiſite for fitting it out, were not only bur⯑thenſome to the king, but even, in the event, threatened to ſhake him on his throne. In or⯑der at firſt to ſet the great machine in move⯑ment, he raiſed conſiderable ſupplies by means of his parliament; and that auguſt body was then firſt modelled by him into the form in which it continues to this day. As a great part of the property of the kingdom was now, by the introduction of commerce, and the improve⯑ment of agriculture, transferred from the ba⯑rons to the lower claſſes of the people, ſo their conſent was thought neceſſary for the raiſing any conſiderable ſupplies. For this reaſon, he iſſued writs to the ſheriffs, enjoining them to ſend to parliament along with two knights of the ſhire, (as in the former reign) two depu⯑ties from each borough within their county; and theſe provided with ſufficient powers from [29] their conſtituents, to grant ſuch demands as they ſhould think reaſonable for the ſafety of the ſtate. The charges of theſe deputies were to be borne by the borough which ſent them; and ſo far were they from conſidering their deputation as an honour, nothing could be more diſpleaſing to any borough than to be thus obliged to ſend a deputy, or to any indi⯑vidual than to be thus choſen. However, the authority of theſe commoners encreaſed by time. Their union gave them weight; and it became cuſtomary among them, in return for the ſupplies which they had granted, to prefer petitions to the crown for the redreſs of thoſe grievances, under which they ſuppoſed the na⯑tion to labour. The more the king's neceſſities increaſed, the more he found it expedient to give them an early redreſs, till from requeſting, the commons proceeded to requiring; and, having all the property of the nation, they by degrees began to be poſſeſſed of the power. Such was the conſtitution of that parliament, to which Edward applied for aſſiſtance againſt France. He obtained from the barons and knights, a grant of the twelfth of their move⯑ables, from the boroughs an eighth; and from the clergy he reſolved to exact a fifth: but he there found an unexpected reſiſt⯑ance. [30] This body of men, who had already felt the weight of his neceſſities, reſolved to a⯑vail themſelves of any pretext rather than thus ſubmit to ſuch an heavy and diſproportioned impoſition. The pope had ſome time before iſſued a bull, prohibiting the clergy from pay⯑ing taxes to any temporal prince, without per⯑miſſion from the ſee of Rome; and thoſe of England now pleaded conſcience, in refuſing to comply with the king's demand. They al⯑ledged, that they owed obedience to two ſovereigns, a ſpiritual and a temporal; but that their eternal happineſs bound them to obey one, while only their worldly ſafety led them to acknowledge the commands of the other. Edward was ſomewhat mortified at their refuſal, but employed their own argu⯑ments with great force againſt them. He re⯑fuſed them his temporal protection, ordered his judges to receive no cauſe brought before them by the clergy, but to hear and decide all cauſes, in which they were defendants; to do every man juſtice againſt them; and to deny them juſtice even under the greateſt injury.

In this outlawed ſituation, they ſuffered numberleſs hardſhips from every ruffian, while the king's officers remained unconcerned ſpec⯑tators of the ravages committed upon them, without incurring the hatred of oppreſſive [31] or vindictive cruelty. Whenever the clergy ventured from home, they were diſmounted from their horſes, and robbed of their cloaths; the primate himſelf was attacked on the high⯑way, and ſtripped of all his equipage and fur⯑niture. Theſe ſeverities, at length, prevailed; and the clergy agreed to lay the ſums they were taxed in ſome church appointed them, which were to be taken away by the king's officers. Thus at once they obeyed the king, without incurring the cenſures of the pope. But though theſe ſums were very great, yet they were by no means adequate to the wants of the ſtate. New taxes were, therefore, arbitrarily impoſed. Edward laid a duty of forty ſhillings a ſack upon wool; he required the ſheriffs of each county to ſupply him with two thouſand quarters of wheat, and as many of oats, with⯑out conſidering the manner they were to be obtained. Theſe he levied by way of loans, promiſing to pay an equivalent, whenever the exigencies of the ſtate were leſs preſſing. Such various modes of oppreſſion were not ſuffered without murmuring. The clergy were already diſguſted to a man; the people complained at thoſe extortions they could not reſiſt; while many of the more powerful barons, jealous of their own privileges, as well as of national [32] liberty, gave countenance to the general diſ⯑content.

The firſt ſymptoms of this ſpirit of reſiſt⯑ance appeared, upon the king's ordering Hum⯑phry Bohun, the conſtable; and Roger Bigod, the mareſchal of England, to take the com⯑mand of an army that he propoſed to ſend over into Gaſcony, while he himſelf intended to make a diverſion on the ſide of Flanders. But theſe two powerful noblemen refuſed to obey his orders, alledging, that they were obliged by their offices to attend him only in the wars, and not to conduct his armies. A violent altercation enſued. The king, addreſ⯑ſing himſelf to the conſtable, cried out, ‘"Sir earl, by God, you ſhall either go or be hanged."’ To which the haughty baron replied, ‘"Sir king, by God, I will neither go, nor be hang⯑ed."’ This oppoſition quite defeated his ſcheme for the conqueſt of Guienne. He found he had driven prerogative a little too far; and with that preſence of mind which always brought him back, when he had the leaſt gone beyond the line of diſcretion, he deſired to be reconciled to his barons, to the church, and to his people. He therefore pleaded the ur⯑gent neceſſities of the crown; and promiſed, upon his return from Flanders, whither he was [33] then going, to redreſs all grievances, to reſtore the execution of the laws, and to make his ſub⯑jects compenſation for the loſſes which they had ſuſtained. Theſe profeſſions ſerved pretty well to allay the kindling diſcontents of the nation, during his abſence abroad, except that the en⯑ſuing parliament only the two noblemen, at⯑tended by a great body of cavalry and infantry, took poſſeſſion of the city gates, and obliged the king's council to ſign the Magna Charta, and to add a clauſe, to ſecure the nation for ever againſt all impoſitions and taxes, without the con⯑ſent of parliament. This the council readily a⯑greed to ſign; and the king himſelf, when it was ſent over to him in Flanders, after ſome heſitation, thought proper to do the ſame. Theſe conceſ⯑ſions he again confirmed upon his return; and though it is probable he was averſe to granting them, yet he was at laſt brought to give a ple⯑nary conſent to all the articles that were de⯑manded of him. Thus, after the conteſt of an age, the Magna Charta was finally eſtab⯑liſhed; nor was it the leaſt circumſtance in its favour, that its confirmation was procured from one of the greateſt and boldeſt princes that ever ſwayed the Engliſh ſceptre.

But though the confirmation of this charter was obtained without much violence, yet it is [34] probable, that the diſturbance given by Scot⯑land about the ſame time, might have haſt⯑ened its final execution.A.D. 1297 That fierce nation, which had been conquered ſome time before with ſo much eaſe, ſtill diſcovered a ſpirit of independence, that no ſeverity could reſtrain, nor defeats ſubdue. The earl Warrenne had been left juſticiary in that kingdom; and his prudence and moderation were equal to his va⯑lour. He therefore protected the people with his juſtice, as he had ſubdued them by his arms: but being obliged, by the bad ſtate of his health, to leave that kingdom, he left the adminiſtration in the hands of two very im⯑proper miniſters; the one, whoſe name was Ormeſby, was rigorous and cruel; the other, called Creſſingham, was avaricious and mean. Under ſuch an adminiſtration little ſtability could be expected; and their injuſtice ſoon drove this diſtreſſed people into open rebellion. A few of thoſe who had fled into the moſt in⯑acceſſible mountains from the arms of Ed⯑ward, took this opportunity to pour down, and ſtrike for freedom. They were headed by William Wallace, ſo celebrated in Scottiſh ſtory, the younger ſon of a gentleman, who lived in the weſtern part of the kingdom. He was a man of a gigantic ſtature, in⯑credible [35] ſtrength, and amazing intrepidity; eagerly deſirous of independence, and poſſeſſ⯑ed with the moſt diſintereſted ſpirit of patriot⯑iſm. To this man had reſorted all thoſe who were obnoxious to the Engliſh government; the proud, the bold, the criminal, and the ambitious. Theſe, bred among dangers and hardſhips themſelves, could not forbear admir⯑ing in their leader a degree of patience, un⯑der fatigue and famine, which they ſuppoſed beyond the power of human nature to endure; he ſoon, therefore, became the principal ob⯑ject of their affection and their eſteem. His firſt exploits were confined to petty ravages, and occaſional attacks upon the Engliſh. As his forces encreaſed, his efforts became more formidable; every day brought accounts of his great actions; his party was joined firſt by the deſperate, and then by the enterprizing; at laſt, all who loved their country came to take ſhelter under his protection. Thus reinforced, he formed a plan of ſurprizing Or⯑meſby, the unworthy Engliſh miniſter, who reſided at Scone; but though this tyrant eſcaped the meditated irruption, yet his effects ſerved to recompenſe the inſurgents. From this time, the Scots began to grow too powerful for the [36] Engliſh that were appointed to govern them; many of their principal barons joined the in⯑ſurgents; Sir William Douglas was among the foremoſt openly to avow his attachment; while Robert Bruce more ſecretly favoured and promoted the cauſe. To oppoſe this un⯑expected inſurrection, the earl Warrenne col⯑lected an army of forty thouſand men in the north of England, and prepared to attack the Scots, who had by this time croſſed the bor⯑ders, and had begun to ravage the country. He ſuddenly entered Annandale, and came up with the enemy at Irvine, where he ſurprized their forces, who, being inferior in number, capitulated, and promiſed to give hoſtages for their future fidelity. Moſt of the nobility re⯑newed their oaths, and joined the Engliſh army with reluctance, waiting a more favourable oc⯑caſion for vindicating their freedom. Wallace alone diſdained ſubmiſſion; but, with his faith⯑ful followers, marched northwards, with a full intention to protract the hour of ſlavery as long as he could. In the mean time, the earl of Warrenne advanced in the purſuit, and overtook him, where he was advantageouſly poſted, in the neighbourhood of Stirling, on the other ſide of the river Forth. The earl [37] perceiving the favourable ground he had cho⯑ſen, was for declining the engagement; but being preſſed by Creſſingham; a proud man, whoſe private revenge operated over his judg⯑ment, the old earl was at laſt obliged to com⯑ply, and he paſſed over a part of his army to begin the attack. Wallace allowing ſuch num⯑bers of the Engliſh to get over as he thought himſelf ſuperior to, boldly advanced upon them before they were completely formed, and put them entirely to the rout. Part of them were purſued into the river that lay in the rear, and the reſt were cut to pieces. Among the ſlain was Creſſingham himſelf, whoſe memory was ſo extremely odious to the Scotch, that they flead his dead body, and made ſaddles of his ſkin. Warrenne retired with the remains of his army to Berwick, while his purſuers took ſuch caſtles, as were but ill provided for a ſiege. Wallace returned into Scotland, after having thus, for a time, ſaved his country, laden with an immenſe plunder, with which he for a while diſpelled the proſpect of famine, that ſeemed to threaten the nation.

Edward, who had been over in Flanders, while theſe misfortunes happened in England,A.D. 1297 haſtened back with impatience to reſtore his [38] authority, and ſecure his former conqueſts. As the diſcontents of the people were not as yet entirely appeaſed, he took every popular meaſure that he thought would give them ſatis⯑faction. He reſtored to the citizens of London a power of electing their own magiſtrates, of which they had been deprived in the latter part of his father's reign. He ordered ſtrict enquiries to be made concerning the quantity of corn, which he had arbitrarily ſeized for the uſe of his armies, as if he intended to pay the value to the owners. Thus having ap⯑peaſed, if not ſatisfied, all complaints, he le⯑vied the whole force of his dominions; and at the head of an hundred thouſand men, he directed his march to the North, fully reſolved to take vengeance upon the Scots for their late defection.

It may eaſily be ſuppoſed, that the Scots, even if united, were but ill able to reſiſt ſuch an army, commanded by ſuch a king; but their own mutual diſſenſions ſerved to render them ſtill more unequal to the conteſt, and to prepare Edward's way to an eaſy triumph. The Scotch were headed by three commanders, who each claimed an equal ſhare of authority; theſe were the ſteward of Scotland, Cum⯑min [39] of Badenoch, and William Wallace, who offered to give up his command, but whoſe party refuſed to follow any other leader. The Scotch army was poſted at Falkirk, and there propoſed to abide the aſſault of the Eng⯑liſh. They were drawn up in three ſeparate diviſions, each forming a complete body of pikemen, and the intervals filled up with archers. Their horſe were placed in the rear, and their front was ſecured with paliſadoes.

Edward, tho' he ſaw that the advantage of ſitu⯑ation was againſt him, little regarded ſuch a ſu⯑periority, confident of his ſkill and his numbers; wherefore, dividing his forces alſo into three bodies, he led them to the attack. Juſt as he advanced at the head of his troops, the Scotch ſet up ſuch a ſhout, that the horſe, upon which the king rode, took fright, threw and afterwards kicked him on the ribs, as he lay on the ground; but the intrepid mo⯑narch, though ſorely bruiſed with his fall, quickly mounted again with his uſual alacrity, and ordered the Welſh troops to begin the at⯑tack. Theſe made but a feeble reſiſtance a⯑gainſt the Scotch, who fought with determined valour; but Edward ſeeing them begin to de⯑cline, he advanced in perſon at the head of another batallion; and having pulled up the [40] paliſadoes, charged the enemy with ſuch an impetuoſity, that they were no longer able to reſiſt. In this diſtreſs, Wallace did all that lay in the power of man to ſuſtain and avert the ſhock; but the diviſion commanded by Cummin quitting the field, both the diviſions of the lord ſteward, as well as that of Wal⯑lace, lay expoſed to the Engliſh archers, who at that time began to excel thoſe of all other nations. Wallace, for a while, maintained an unequal conteſt with his pikemen; but finding himſelf in danger of being ſurrounded, he was at laſt obliged to give way, and ſlowly to draw off the poor remnant of his troops behind the river Carron. Such was the famous battle of Falkirk, in which Edward gained a complete victory, leaving twelve thouſand of the Scotch, or, as ſome will have it, fifty thouſand, dead upon the field of battle, while the Engliſh had not an hundred ſlain.

A blow ſo dreadful, had not as yet entirely cruſhed the ſpirit of the Scotch nation; and after a ſhort interval, they began to breathe from their calamities.A.D. 1299 Wallace, who had gain⯑ed all their regards by his valour, ſhewed that he ſtill merited them more by his declining the rewards of ambition. Perceiving how much he was envied by the nobility, and [41] knowing how prejudicial that envy would prove to the intereſts of his country, he re⯑ſigned the regency of the kingdom, and hum⯑bled himſelf to a private ſtation. He propoſ⯑ed Cummin as the propereſt perſon to ſupply his room; and that nobleman endeavoured to ſhew himſelf worthy of this pre-eminence. He ſoon began to annoy the enemy; and not con⯑tent with a defenſive war, he made incurſions into the Southern counties of the kingdom, which Edward had imagined wholly ſubdued.A.D. 1302 They attacked an army of the Engliſh lying at Roſlin, near Edinburgh, and gained a com⯑plete victory. The renown of the Scottiſh arms ſoon began to ſpread diſmay among the Engliſh garriſons left in that kingdom; and they evacuated all the fortreſſes, of which they had for ſome time been put in poſſeſſion. Thus once more the taſk of conqueſt was to be per⯑formed over again; and in proportion to their loſſes, the Scotch ſeemed to gather freſh ob⯑ſtinacy.

But it was not eaſy for any circumſtances of bad fortune to repreſs the enterprizing ſpirit of the king.A.D. 1303 He aſſembled a great fleet and army; and, entering the frontiers of Scotland, appeared with a force which the enemy could not think of reſiſting in the open field. The [42] fleet furniſhed the land army with all neceſſary proviſions; while theſe marched ſecurely along, and traverſed the kingdom from one end to the other, ravaging the open country, taking all the caſtles, and receiving the ſubmiſſions of all the nobles. This complete conqueſt, em⯑ployed Edward for the ſpace of two years; but he ſeemed, by the ſeverity of his conduct, to make the natives pay dear for the trouble to which they had put him. He abrogated all the Scottiſh laws and cuſtoms; he endeavour⯑ed to ſubſtitute thoſe of England in their place; he entirely razed or deſtroyed all their monuments of antiquity; and endea⯑voured to blot out even the memory of their former independence and freedom. There ſeem⯑ed to remain only one obſtacle to the final deſtruction of the Scottiſh monarchy, and that was William Wallace, who ſtill continued re⯑fractory; and wandering with a few forces from mountain to mountain, ſtill preſerved his native independence and uſual good fortune. But even their feeble hopes from him were ſoon diſappointed; he was betrayed into the king's hands by Sir John Monteith, his friend, whom he had made acquainted with the place of his concealment, being ſurprized by him as he lay aſleep in the neighbourhood of Glaſ⯑gow. [43] The king, willing to ſtrike the Scotch with an example of ſeverity, ordered him to be conducted in chains to London, whither he was carried amidſt infinite crowds of ſpec⯑tators, who flocked to ſee a man that had of⯑ten filled the whole country with conſterna⯑tion. On the day after his arrival, he was brought to his trial, as a traitor, at Weſtmin⯑ſter-Hall, where he was placed upon an high chair, and crowned with laurel in deriſion. Be⯑ing accuſed of various imputed crimes, he pleaded not guilty, and refuſed to own the juriſdiction of the court, affirming, that it was equally unjuſt and abſurd to charge him with treaſon againſt a prince whoſe title he had never acknowledged; and as he was born un⯑der the laws of another country, it was cruel to try him by thoſe to which he was a ſtranger. The judges diſregarded his defence; for con⯑ſidering Edward as the immediate ſovereign of Scotland, they found him guilty of high-treaſon, and condemned him to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, the uſual puniſhment for ſuch of⯑fences. This ſentence was executed with the moſt rigorous punctuality; and his head and quarters were expoſed in the chief cities of England. Such was the wretched end of a brave man, who had through a courſe of many [44] years, with ſignal perſeverance and conduct, defended his native country againſt an unjuſt invader.

Robert Bruce was among thoſe on whom the cruel fate of Wallace had made the deepeſt impreſſion. This nobleman, whom we have already ſeen as competitor for the crown, and whoſe claims, though ſet aſide by Edward, were ſtill ſecretly purſued, was now actually in the Engliſh army. He never was ſincerely attached to the Engliſh monarch, whom he was in ſome meaſure compelled to follow; and an interview with Wallace, ſometime before that champion was taken, confirmed him in his reſolution to ſet his country free. But as he was now grown old and infirm, he was obliged to give up the flattering ambition of being the deliverer of his people, and to leave it in charge to his ſon, whoſe name was Robert Bruce alſo, and who conceived the project with ardour. This young nobleman was brave, active, and prudent; and a favourable con⯑juncture of circumſtances ſeemed to conſpire with his aims. John Baliol, whom Edward had dethroned, and baniſhed into France, had lately died in that country; his eldeſt ſon conti⯑nued a captive in the ſame place; there was none to diſpute his pretenſions, except Cummin, who [45] was regent of the kingdom; and he alſo was ſoon after brought over to ſecond his intereſts. He, therefore, reſolved upon freeing his coun⯑try from the Engliſh yoke; and although he attended the court of Edward, yet he began to make ſecret preparations for his intended revolt. Edward, who had been informed not only of his intentions, but of his actual en⯑gagements, contented himſelf with ſetting ſpies round him to watch his conduct, and ordered all his motions to be ſtrictly guarded. Bruce was ſtill buſily employed in his endeavours, unconſcious of being ſuſpected, or even of having guardians ſet upon his conduct; but he was taught to underſtand his danger, by a pre⯑ſent ſent him, by a young nobleman of his ac⯑quaintance of a pair of gilt ſpurs, and a purſe of gold. This he conſidered as a warning to make his eſcape, which he did, by ordering his horſes to be ſhod with their ſhoes turned backwards, to prevent his being tracked in the ſnow, which had then fallen.

His diſpatch was conſidered then as very great; A.D. 1306 having travelled from London to Loachmaban, which is near four hundred miles, in ſeven days. Cummin, who had in the be⯑ginning concurred in his ſchemes, was private⯑ly known to have communicated the whole to [46] Edward; and Bruce was reſolved, in the firſt place, to take vengeance upon him for his perfidy. Hearing that he was then at Dum⯑fries, he went thither, and meeting him in the cloiſters of a monaſtery belonging to the Grey Friars, reproached him, in ſevere terms, with his treachery; and drawing his ſword, inſtantly plunged it in his breaſt. Sir Thomas Kirk⯑patrick, one of Bruce's friends, aſking him ſoon after if the traitor was ſlain, and Bruce anſwe⯑ring that he believed ſo, ‘"what, replied the other, only belief; I will ſecure him;"’ and and going back to where Cummin was receiv⯑ing abſolution at the altar, he ſtabbed him to the heart. It is a diſagreeable reflexion, that actions begun in this manner ſhould, never⯑theleſs, terminate in ſucceſs.

Bruce had by this action not only rendered himſelf the object of Edward's reſentment, but involved all his party in the ſame guilt. They had now no reſource left, but to con⯑firm, by deſperate valour, what they had be⯑gun in cruelty; and they ſoon expelled ſuch of the Engliſh forces, as had fixed themſelves in the kingdom. Bruce was ſolemnly crowned king, by the biſhop of St. Andrew's, in the abbey of Scone; and numbers flocked to his ſtandard, reſolved to confirm his preten⯑ſions. [47] Thus, after twice conquering the king⯑dom, and as often pardoning the delinquents; after having ſpread his victories in every quar⯑ter of the country, and receiving the moſt hum⯑ble ſubmiſſions, the old king ſaw, that his whole work was to begin afreſh; and that no⯑thing but the final deſtruction of the inhabitants could give him aſſurance of tranquility. But no difficulties could repreſs the arduous ſpirit of this monarch, who, tho' now verging towards his decline, yet reſolved to ſtrike a parting blow, and to make the Scotch once more tremble at his appearance. He vowed revenge againſt the whole nation; and averred, that nothing but reducing them to the completeſt bondage could ſatisfy his reſentment. He ſummoned his pre⯑lates, nobility, and all who held by knights ſervice, to meet him at Carliſle, which was ap⯑pointed as the general rendezvous; and, in the mean time, he detached a body of forces before him into Scotland, under the command of Aymer de Valence, who began the threatened infliction by a terrible victory over Bruce, near Methuen, in Perthſhire. That warlike com⯑mander fought with great obſtinacy; he was thrice diſmounted from his horſe in the action, and as often recovered: but at laſt he was obliged to fly, and take ſhelter, with a few [48] followers, in the Weſtern Iſles. The earl of Athole, Sir Simon Fraſer, and Sir Chriſtopher Seton, who had been taken priſoners, were executed as traitors on the ſpot. Immedi⯑ately after this dreadful blow, the reſentful king himſelf appeared in perſon, entering Scot⯑land with his army divided into two parts, and expecting to find, in the oppoſition of the peo⯑ple, a pretext for puniſhing them. But this brave prince, who was never cruel but from motives of policy, could not ſtrike the poor ſubmitting natives, who made no reſiſtance. His anger was diſappointed in their humilia⯑tions; and he was aſhamed to extirpate thoſe, who only oppoſed patience to his indignation. It was chiefly upon the nobles of the country that the weight of his reſentment fell. The ſiſter of Bruce, and the counteſs of Buchan, were ſhut up in wooden cages, and hung over the battlements of a fortreſs, and his two bro⯑thers fell by the hands of the executioner. The obſtinacy of this commander ſerved to in⯑flame the king's reſentment. He ſtill conti⯑nued to excite freſh commotions in the High⯑lands; and, though often overcome, per⯑ſiſted in a ſeemingly fruitleſs oppoſition. Ed⯑ward therefore, at laſt, reſolved to give no quarter; and at the head of a great army [49] entered Scotland, from whence he had lately retreated, reſolving to exterminate the whole body of thoſe inſurgents, who ſeemed ſo impla⯑cably averſe to his government. Nothing lay before the refractory Scotch, but proſpects of the moſt ſpeedy and terrible vengeance; while neither their valour, nor their mountains, were found to grant them any permanent protection. But Edward's death put an end to their appre⯑henſions, and effectually reſcued their country from total ſubjection. He ſickened, and died at Carliſle, of a dyſentery; enjoining his ſon, with his laſt breath, to proſecute the enterprize, and never to deſiſt, till he had finally ſubdued the kingdom. He expired,A.D. 1307, July 7. in the ſixty-ninth year of his age, and the thirty-fifth of his reign: after having added more to the ſolid intereſts of the kingdom, than any of thoſe who went before, or ſince ſucceeded him. He was a promoter of the happineſs of the people; and ſeldom attempted exerting any arbitrary ſtretch of power, but with a proſpect of encreaſing the welfare of his ſubjects. He was of a very majeſtic appearance, tall in ſtature, of regular features, with keen piercing black eyes, and an aſpect that commanded reverence and eſteem. His conſtitution was robuſt; his ſtrength and dexterity unequalled, and his [50] ſhape agreeable except from the extreme length and ſmallneſs of his legs, from whence he had the appellation of Longſhanks. He ſeemed to have united all thoſe advantages which, in that age, might be conſidered as true glory. He gained renown by his piety in the Holy Land; he fixed the limits of juſtice at home; he confirmed the rights of the people; he was the moſt expert at martial exerciſes of any man in the kingdom; and was allowed to be a conque⯑ror, by his ſucceſs over the kingdom of Scotland. Succeeding times have, with great juſtice, queſ⯑tioned the merit of ſome of theſe claims; but none can deny him comparative excellence, if they look upon thoſe princes, who either went before, or have ſucceeded. Edward, by his firſt wife, Eleanor of Caſtile, had four ſons, and eleven daughters; of the laſt, moſt died young; of the former, Edward the ſecond alone, his heir and ſucceſſor, ſurvived him.

If we turn to the ſtate of the people du⯑ring his adminiſtration, we ſhall find, that England acquired not only great power, but great happineſs, under his protection. The barons, who might, during this period, be conſidered as a junto of petty tyrants, ready to cry out for liberty, which they alone were to ſhare, were kept under; and their com⯑binations [51] were but feeble and ill ſupported. The monarch was in ſome meaſure abſolute, though he was prudent enough not to exert his power. He was ſevere, indeed; and ſome people tax this ſeverity as a ſtain upon his memory; but let it be remembered, that he was the firſt who began to diſtribute indiſcriminate juſtice. Be⯑fore his time, the people who roſe in inſurrec⯑tions were puniſhed in the moſt cruel man⯑ner, by the ſword of the gibbet; while, at the ſame time, the nobility, who were really guilty, were treated with a degree of lenity, which encouraged them to freſh inſurrections. But what gave Edward's reign a true value with poſ⯑terity, was the degree of power, which the peo⯑ple began to aſſume during this period. The king conſidered the clergy and barons in ſome meaſure as rivals; and to weaken their force, he never attempted to control the ſlow, but certain, advances made by the people, which, in time, entirely deſtroyed the power of the one, and divided the authority of the other.

CHAP. XIII. EDWARD II. ſurnamed of CAERNARVON.

THE pleaſure which the people generally feel at the acceſſion of a new prince, effaces their ſorrow for the deceaſed; the faults of the one are known and hated, while the other, from novelty, receives imputed merit. Much, therefore, was expected from the young prince, and all orders haſtened to take the oath of al⯑legiance to him. He was now in the twenty-third [53] year of his age, of an agreeable figure, of a mild harmleſs diſpoſition, and apparently addicted to few vices. But he ſoon gave ſymp⯑toms of his unfitneſs to ſucceed ſo great a monarch as his father; he was rather fond of the enjoyment of his power, than of ſecuring it; and, lulled by the flattery of his courtiers, he thought he had done enough for glory, when he had accepted the crown. Inſtead, there⯑fore, of proſecuting the war againſt Scotland, according to the injunctions he had received from his dying father, he took no ſteps to check the progreſs of Bruce; his march into that country being rather a proceſ⯑ſion of pageantry, than a warlike expedition. Bruce, no longer dreading a great conqueror in the field, boldly iſſued from his retreats, and even obtained a conſiderable advan⯑tage over Aymer de Valence, who com⯑manded the Engliſh forces. Young Edward looked tamely on; and, inſtead of repreſſing the enemy, endeavoured to come to an accom⯑modation. The Engliſh barons, who had been kept under during the preceding reign, now ſaw that the ſcepter was fallen into ſuch feeble hands,A.D. 1307 that they might re-aſſert their former independence with impunity.

[54]To confirm the inauſpicious conjectures that were already formed of this reign, Edward re⯑called one of his favourites, who was baniſhed during his father's reign, being accuſed of cor⯑rupting the prince's morals. The name of this much loved youth was Piers Gaveſtone, the ſon of a Gaſcon knight, who had been employed in the ſervice of the late king. This young man ſoon inſinuated himſelf into the affections of the prince; and, in fact, was adorned with every accompliſhment of perſon and mind, that were capable of creating af⯑fection: but he was utterly deſtitute of thoſe qualities of heart and underſtanding that ſerve to procure eſteem. He was beautiful, witty, brave, and active; but then he was vicious, effeminate, debauched, and trifling. Theſe were qualities entirely adapted to the taſte of the young monarch, and ſuch as he could not think of living without. He there⯑fore took Gaveſtone into his particular inti⯑macy, and ſeemed to think no rewards equal to his deſerts. Even before his arrival at court from exile, he endowed him with the whole earldom of Cornwal, which had lately fallen to the crown. He married him ſoon after to his own niece, and granted him a ſum of two and thirty thouſand pounds, which the late [55] king had reſerved for the maintenance of one hundred and forty knights, who had under⯑taken to carry his heart to Jeruſalem.

Theſe accumulated favours did not fail to excite the jealouſy and indignation of the ba⯑rons; and Gaveſtone was no way ſolicitous to ſoften their reſentment. Intoxicated with his power, he became haughty and overbearing. He treated the Engliſh nobility, from whom it is probable he received marks of contempt, with ſcorn and deriſion. Whenever there was to be a diſplay of pomp or magnificence, Gaveſtone was ſure to eclipſe all others; and he not only mortified his rivals by his ſuperior ſplendour, but his by ſuperior inſolence.

The barons were ſoon after ſtill more pro⯑voked to ſee this preſumptuous favourite ap⯑pointed guardian of the realm, during a journey the king was obliged to make to Pa⯑ris, to eſpouſe the princeſs Iſabella, to whom he had been long ſince betrothed. They were not remiſs, therefore, upon the arrival of this princeſs, who was imperious and intriguing, to make her of their party, and to direct her animoſity againſt Gaveſtone, which, to do him juſtice, he took little care to avoid. A con⯑ſpiracy was ſoon formed againſt him, at the head of which queen Iſabella, and the earl of [56] Lancaſter, a nobleman of great power, were aſſociated. They bound themſelves by oath to expel Gaveſtone; and began to throw off all reverence for the royal authority, which they ſaw wholly in the poſſeſſion of this over⯑grown favourite. At length, the king found himſelf obliged to ſubmit to their united cla⯑mour; and he ſent Gaveſtone out of the king⯑dom, by appointing him lord-lieutenant of Ireland. But this compliance was of ſhort duration; the weak monarch, long habituated to his favourite, could not live without him; and having obtained a diſpenſation from the pope for his breach of faith, he once more re⯑called Gaveſtone, and even went down to Cheſter to receive him on his firſt landing from Ireland. A parliament was ſoon after aſſembled, where the king had influence ſuf⯑ficient to have his late conduct approved; and this ſerved only to encreaſe his ridicu⯑lous affection, and to render Gaveſtone ſtill more odious. This infatuated creature him⯑ſelf forgetting his paſt misfortunes, and un⯑mindful of future danger, reſumed his former oſtentation and inſolence, and made himſelf every day ſome new enemy.

It was eaſy to perceive, that a combination of the nobles, while the queen ſecretly aſſiſted [57] their deſigns, would be too powerful againſt the efforts of a weak king, and a vain favourite. They were reſolved upon the fall of Gaveſtone, even though that of Edward himſelf ſhould be involved in the ſame ruin. They ſoon, there⯑fore, aſſembled, in a tumultuary parliament, contrary to the king's expreſs command, attend⯑ed with a numerous retinue of armed follow⯑ers; and began their firſt uſurpations, by giving laws to the king.A.D. 1308. March 16. They compelled him to ſign a commiſſion, by which the whole authority of government was to be delegated to twelve perſons, to be choſen by themſelves. Theſe were to have the government of the king⯑dom, and the regulation of the king's houſe⯑hold. They were to enact ordinances for the good of the ſtate, and the honour of the king, their commiſſion was to continue for ſix months, and then they were to lay down their autho⯑rity. Many of their ordinances were accord⯑ingly put in force, and ſome of them appear⯑ed for the advantage of the nation; ſuch as the requiring that the ſheriffs ſhould be men of pro⯑perty; the prohibiting the adulteration of the coin; the excluding foreigners from farming the revenues; and the revoking all the late exorbi⯑tant grants of the crown. All theſe the king, who ſaw himſelf entirely ſtript of his power, [58] could very patiently ſubmit to; but when he learned that Gaveſtone was to be baniſhed for ever from his dominions, he no longer was maſter of his temper; but removing to York, where he was at a ſmall diſtance from the im⯑mediate terror of the confederated power, he inſtantly invited Gaveſtone back from Flanders, whither the barons had baniſhed him; and de⯑claring his puniſhment and ſentence to be ille⯑gal, he openly reinſtated him in all his former ſplendours.A.D. 1312 This was ſufficient to ſpread an alarm over the whole kingdom; all the great barons flew to arms; the earl of Lancaſter put himſelf at the head of this irreſiſtible confede⯑racy; Guy, earl of Warwick, entered into it with fury; the earl of Hereford, the earl of Pembroke, and the earl Warenne, all embra⯑ced the ſame cauſe; whilſt the archbiſhop of Canterbury brought over the majority of the eccleſiaſtics, and conſequently of the people. The unhappy Edward, inſtead of attempting to make reſiſtance, ſought only for ſafety: ever happy in the company of his favourite, he em⯑barked at Tinmouth, and ſailed with him to the caſtle of Scarborough, where he left Gaveſtone, as in a place of ſafety; and then went back to York himſelf, either to raiſe an army to op⯑poſe his enemies; or, by his preſence, to allay [59] their animoſity. In the mean time, Gaveſtone was beſieged in Scarborough by the earl of Pembroke; and had the garriſon been ſuffici⯑ently ſupplied with proviſions, that place would have been impregnable. But Gaveſtone, ſen⯑ſible of the bad condition of the garriſon, took the earlieſt opportunity to offer terms of capi⯑tulation. He ſtipulated, that he ſhould remain in Pembroke's hands as a priſoner for two months; and that endeavours ſhould be uſed, in the mean time, for a general accommodation. But Pembroke had no intention that he ſhould eſ⯑cape ſo eaſily; he ordered him to be conduct⯑ed to the caſtle of Deddington, near Banbury, where, on pretence of other buſineſs, he left him with a feeble guard, which the earl of Warwick having notice of, he attacked the caſtle in which the unfortunate Gaveſtone was confined, and quickly made himſelf maſter of his perſon. The earls of Lancaſter, Hereford, and Arundel, were ſoon apprized of War⯑wick's ſucceſs, and informed that their common enemy was now in cuſtody at Warwick caſtle. Thither, therefore, they haſted with the ut⯑moſt expedition, to hold a conſultation upon the fate of their priſoner. This was of no long continuance; they unanimouſly reſolved to put him to death, as an enemy to the king⯑dom, [60] and gave him no time to prepare for his execution. They inſtantly had him conveyed to a place called Blacklowhill, where a Welch executioner, provided for that purpoſe, ſevered the head from the body. There appeared a deeper ſpirit of cruelty now entering in⯑to the nation, than had been known in times of barbarity and ignorance. It is probable, that the mutual ſlaughters committed by the Chriſtians and Saracens upon each other, in the Cruſades, made the people familiar with blood; and taught chriſtians to butcher each other with the ſame alacrity with which they were ſeen to deſtroy infidels, to whom they ſel⯑dom gave any quarter.

The king, at firſt, ſeemed to feel all the re⯑ſentment which ſo ſenſible an injury could pro⯑duce; but equally weak in his attachment and his revenge, he was ſoon appeaſed, and grant⯑ed the perpetrators a free pardon, upon their making a ſhew of ſubmiſſion and repentance. An apparent tranquility was once more eſta⯑bliſhed among the contending parties; and that reſentment which they had exerciſed upon each other, was now converted againſt the Scotch, who were conſidered as the common enemy. A war had been declared ſome time before with this nation, in order to recover [61] that authority over them, which had been eſta⯑bliſhed in the former reign, and a truce was ſoon after concluded; but the terms of it being ill obſerved on both ſides, the animoſities were kindled afreſh, and the whole military force of England was called out by the king, together with very large reinforcements, as well from the continent, as other parts of the Engliſh domini⯑ons. Edward's army amounted to an hundred thouſand men; while Bruce, king of Scotland, could bring but a body of thirty thouſand to oppoſe him. Both armies met at a place call⯑ed Banockburn, in the kingdom of Scotland, within two miles of Stirling; the one confident in numbers, the other relying wholly on their advantageous poſition. Bruce had a hill on his right flank, and a bog on his left; with a rivulet in front, on the banks of which he had cauſed ſeveral deep pits to be dug, with ſharp ſtakes driven into them, and the whole carefully concealed from the view of the enemy. The onſet was made by the Engliſh; and a very furious engagement enſued between the caval⯑ry on both ſides. The fortune and intrepidity of Bruce gave the firſt turn to the day. He engaged in ſingle combat with Henry de Bo⯑hun, a gentleman of the family of Hereford; and at one ſtroke clove his ſkull with his battle⯑ax [62] to the chine. So favourable a beginning was only interrupted by the night; but the battle renewing at the dawn of the enſuing day, the Engliſh cavalry once more attempted to attack the Scotch army; but unexpectedly found themſelves entangled among thoſe pits which Bruce had previouſly made to receive them. The earl of Glouceſter, the king's ne⯑phew, was overthrown and ſlain: this ſerved to intimidate the whole Engliſh army; and they were ſoon ſtill more alarmed by the appearance of a freſh army, as they ſuppoſed it to be, that was preparing, from a neighbouring height, to fall upon them in the rear. This was only compoſed of waggoners and attendants upon the Scottiſh camp; who had been ſupplied by the king, with ſtandards, and ordered to make as formidable an appearance as they could. The ſtratagem took effect; the Engliſh, intimidated by their loſſes, and diſtracted by their fears, began to fly on all ſides; and throwing away their arms, were purſued with great ſlaughter, as far as Berwick.

Edward himſelf narrowly eſcaped by flight to Dunbar, where he was received by the earl of Marche, and thence conveyed in ſafety by ſea to Berwick. This battle was deciſive in fa⯑vour of the Scotch. It ſecured the indepen⯑dence [63] of the crown of that kingdom; and ſuch was the influence of ſo great a defeat upon the minds of the Engliſh, that for ſome years after no ſuperiority of numbers could induce them to keep the field againſt their formidable adverſaries.

Want of ſucceſs is ever attended with want of authority.A.D. 1314 The king having ſuffered not only a defeat from the Scotch, but alſo hav⯑ing been weakened by ſeveral inſurrections among the Welſh and Iriſh, found his greateſt afflictions ſtill remaining in the turbulence and inſolence of his ſubjects at home. The nobi⯑lity, ever factious, now took the advantage of his feeble ſituation to depreſs his power, and re-eſtabliſh their own. The earl of Lancaſter, and thoſe of his party, no ſooner ſaw the un⯑fortunate monarch return with diſgrace, than they renewed their demands, and were rein⯑ſtated in their former power of governing the kingdom. It was declared, that all offices ſhould be filled from time to time by the votes of parliament, which, as they were influenced by the great barons, theſe effectually took all government into their own hands. Thus, from every new calamity, the ſtate ſuffered; the barons acquired new power; and their aims were not ſo much to repreſs the enemies [64] of their country, as to foment new animoſi⯑ties, and ſtrengthen every foreign confede⯑racy.

A confirmed oppoſition generally produces an oppoſite combination. The king finding himſelf thus ſteadily counteracted in all his aims, had no other reſource but in another favourite, on whom he repoſed all confidence, and from whoſe connexions he hoped for aſ⯑ſiſtance. The name of this new favourite was Hugh Deſpenſer, a young man of a noble Engliſh family, of ſome merit, and very en⯑gaging accompliſhments. His father was a perſon of a much more eſtimable character than the ſon; he was venerable from his years, and reſpected through life for his wiſdom, his valour, and his integrity. But theſe excellent qualities were all diminiſhed and vilified, from the mo⯑ment he and his ſon began to ſhare the king's favour. The turbulent barons, and Lancaſter at their head, regarded him as a rival, and taught the people to deſpiſe thoſe accompliſh⯑ments that only ſerved to eclipſe their own. The king, equally weak and unjuſt in his attach⯑ments, inſtead of profiting by the wiſdom of his favourites, endeavoured to ſtrengthen him⯑ſelf by their power. For this purpoſe he married the younger Spenſer to his niece; he [65] ſettled upon him ſome very large poſſeſſions in the marches of Wales; and even diſpoſ⯑ſeſſed ſome lords unjuſtly of their eſtates, in order to accumulate them upon his favourite. This was a pretext the king's enemies had been long ſeeking for; the earls of Lancaſter and Hereford flew to arms; and the lords Audley and Ammori, who had been diſpoſ⯑ſeſſed, joined them with all their forces. Their firſt meaſure was to require the king to diſmiſs or confine his favourite, the young Spenſer, menacing him, in caſe of a refuſal, with a de⯑termination to obtain by force, what ſhould be denied to their importunities. This requeſt was ſcarce made, when they began to ſhew their reſolution to have redreſs, by pillaging and deſtroying the lands of young Spenſer, and burning his houſes. The eſtates of the father ſoon after ſhared the ſame fate; and the inſur⯑gents having thus ſatiated themſelves with the plunder of this moſt opulent family, marched up to London, to inflict with their own hands, that puniſhment which had been denied to their remonſtrances. Finding a free entrance into the city, they ſo intimidated the parliament that was then ſitting, that a ſentence was procured of per⯑petual exile againſt the two Spenſers, and a for⯑feiture of their fortune and eſtates. But an [66] act of this kind, extorted by violence, was not likely to bind the king any longer than neceſſi⯑ty compelled him. Some time after, having aſſembled a ſmall army to puniſh one of the barons, who had offered an indignity to the queen, he thought it a convenient opportunity to take revenge on all his enemies at once, and to recal the two Spenſers, whoſe company he ſo ardently deſired. In this manner the civil war was kindled afreſh, and the country once more involved in all the horrors of ſlaughter and devaſtation.

The king had now got the ſtart of his ad⯑verſaries, and haſtened by forced marches to⯑wards the borders of Wales, where the ene⯑my's chief power lay. Lancaſter, however, was not ſlow in making head againſt him; hav⯑ing ſummoned together all his vaſſals and re⯑tainers, and being joined by the earl of Here⯑ford. Still farther to ſtrengthen his party, he formed an alliance with the king of Scotland, with whom he had long been privately con⯑nected. But his diligence on this occaſion proved ineffectual; the king at the head of thirty thouſand men preſſed him ſo cloſely, that he had not time to collect his forces toge⯑ther; and, flying from one place to another, he was at laſt ſtopt in his way towards Scot⯑land [67] by Sir Andrew Harcla, who repulſed his forces in a ſkirmiſh in which the earl of Here⯑ford was ſlain, and Lancaſter himſelf taken priſoner. As he had formerly ſhewn little mercy to Gaveſton, there was very little ex⯑tended to him upon this occaſion. He was condemned by a court-martial; and led, mounted on a lean horſe, to an eminence near Pomfret, in circumſtances of the greateſt indig⯑nity, where he was beheaded by a Londoner. The people, with whom he had once been a favourite, ſeemed to have quite forſaken him in his diſgrace; they reviled him, as he was led to execution, with every kind of reproach; and even his own vaſſals ſeemed eager to remove ſuſpicion by their being foremoſt to inſult his diſtreſs. About eighteen more of the principal inſurgents were afterwards con⯑demned and executed in a more legal manner, while others found ſafety by eſcaping to the continent.

A rebellion, thus cruſhed, ſerved only to encreaſe the pride and rapacity of young Spenſer; moſt of the forfeitures were ſeized for his uſe; and in his promptitude to pu⯑niſh the delinquents, he was found guilty of many acts of rapine and injuſtice. He him⯑ſelf laid the train for his own future misfor⯑tunes, [68] and an occaſion ſoon offered for putting it into effect againſt him.A.D. 1324 The king of France, taking the advantage of Edward's weakneſs, reſolved to confiſcate all his foreign domi⯑nions. After a fruitleſs embaſſy from Edward, to diſſuade that monarch from his purpoſe, the queen of England herſelf deſired permiſſion to go over to the court of France, to endeavour to a⯑vert the ſtorm. The French king, tho' he gave her the kindeſt reception, was reſolved to liſten to no accommodation, unleſs Edward in perſon ſhould appear, and do him homage for the domi⯑nions he held under him. This was reckoned a very dangerous ſtep; and what the king of Eng⯑land could not think of complying with, nor what his favourite Spenſer was willing to permit. In this exigence, the queen ſtarted a new expe⯑dient, which ſeemed calculated to get rid of all difficulties. It was, that Edward ſhould reſign the dominion of Guienne to his ſon, now thir⯑teen years of age; and that the young prince ſhould go to Paris, to pay that homage which had been required of the father. With this propoſal all parties agreed; young Edward was ſent to Paris; and the queen, an haughty and ambitious woman, having thus got her ſon in her power, was reſolved to detain him till her own aims were complied with. Among the [69] number of theſe, was the expulſion of the Spen⯑ſers, againſt whom ſhe had conceived a vio⯑lent hatred, from their great influence over the king.

In conſequence of this reſolution, ſhe pro⯑tracted the negociation for ſome time, and be⯑ing at laſt required by the king to return, ſhe replied, that ſhe would never again appear in England, till Spenſer was removed from the royal preſence and baniſhed the kingdom. By this reply, ſhe gained two very conſiderable advantages; ſhe became popular in England, where Spenſer was univerſally diſliked; and ſhe had the pleaſure of enjoying the company of a young nobleman, whoſe name was Mor⯑timer, upon whom ſhe had lately placed her affections. This youth had, in ſome former inſurrection, been condemned for high trea⯑ſon, but had the ſentence commuted into perpetual impriſonment in the Tower. From thence, however, he had the good fortune to eſcape into France, and ſoon became diſ⯑tinguiſhed among his party for his violent animoſity to Spenſer. The graces of his per⯑ſon and addreſs, but particularly his diſlike to the favourite, rendered him very ac⯑ceptable to the queen; ſo that, from being a partizan, he became a lover, and was indulged [70] with all the familiarities that her criminal paſ⯑ſion could confer. The queen's court now, therefore, became a ſanctuary for all the malecontents who were baniſhed their own country, or who choſe to come over. A correſpondence was ſecretly carried on with the diſcontented at home; and nothing now was aimed at, but to deſtroy the favourites, and dethrone the king.

A.D. 1325 To ſecond the queen's efforts, many of the principal nobles prepared their vaſſals, and loudly declared againſt the favourite. The king's brother, the earl of Kent, was led in to engage among the reſt; the earl of Norfolk was prevailed upon, to enter ſecretly into the conſpiracy. The brother and heir to the earl of Lancaſter, was from principle attached to the cauſe; the archbiſhop of Canterbury ex⯑preſſed his approbation of the queen's mea⯑ſures; and the minds of the people were en⯑flamed by all thoſe arts, which the deſigning practiſe upon the weak and ignorant. In this univerſal diſpoſition to rebel, the queen prepared for her expedition; and, accompa⯑nied by three thouſand men at arms, ſet out from Dort harbour, and landed ſafely, without oppoſition, on the coaſt of Suffolk. She no ſooner appeared, than there ſeemed a general [71] revolt in her favour; three prelates, the bi⯑ſhops of Ely, Lincoln, and Hereford, brought her all their vaſſals; and Robert de Watteville, who had been ſent to oppoſe her progreſs, de⯑ſerted to her with all his forces.

In this exigence, the unfortunate Edward vainly attempted to collect his friends, and bring the malecontents to their duty; he was obliged to leave the capital to the reſentment of the prevailing party; and the populace, immediately upon his deſertion, flew out into thoſe exceſſes which are the conſequence of brutality unreſtrained by fear. They ſeized the biſhop of Exeter, as he was paſſing through the city, beheaded him without any form of tri⯑al, and threw his body into the Thames. They alſo ſeized upon the Tower, and agreed to ſhew no mercy to any who ſhould oppoſe their at⯑tempts. In the mean time, the king found the ſpirit of diſloyalty was not confined to the capital alone, but diffuſed over the whole king⯑dom. He had placed ſome dependence upon the garriſon which was ſtationed in the caſtle of Briſtol, under the command of the elder Spenſer; but they mutinied againſt their go⯑vernor, and that unfortunate favourite was de⯑livered up, and condemned by the tumultuous barons to the moſt ignominious death. He [72] was hanged on a gibbet in his armour, his body was cut in pieces and thrown to the dogs, and his head was ſent to Wincheſter, where it was ſet on a pole, and expoſed to the inſults of the populace. Thus died the elder Spenſer, in his ninetieth year, whoſe character even the malevolence of party could not tarniſh. He had paſſed a youth of tranquility and reputation; but his fond compliance with his ſon's am⯑bition, at length involved his age in ruin, though not diſgrace.

Young Spenſer, the unhappy ſon, did not long ſurvive the father; he was taken with ſome others who had followed the fortunes of the wretched king, in an obſcure convent in Wales, and the mercileſs victors reſolved to glut their revenge, in adding inſult to cruelty. The queen had not patience to wait the formality of a tri⯑al; but ordered him immediately to be led forth before the inſulting populace, and ſeemed to take a ſavage pleaſure in feaſting her eyes with his diſtreſſes. The gibbet erected for his execution was fifty feet high; his head was ſent to London, where the citizens received it in brutal triumph, and fixed it on the bridge. Several other lords alſo ſhared his fate; all de⯑ſerving pity indeed, had they not themſelves formerly juſtified the preſent inhumanity, by ſetting a cruel example.

[73]In the mean time the king, who hoped to find refuge in Wales, was quickly diſcovered, and cloſely purſued by his triumphant enemies. Finding no hopes of ſuccour in that part of the country, he took ſhipping for Ireland; but even there his wretched fortune ſeemed willing to perſecute him; he was driven back by con⯑trary winds, and delivered up to his adver⯑ſaries, who expreſſed their ſatisfaction in the groſſneſs of their treatment. He was conduct⯑ed to the capital, amidſt the inſults and re⯑proaches of the people, and confined in the Tower. A charge was ſoon after exhibited againſt him; in which no other crimes but his incapacity to govern, his indolence, his love of pleaſure, and his being ſwayed by evil coun⯑ſellors, were objected againſt him. His depo⯑ſition was quickly voted by parliament; he was aſſigned a penſion for his ſupport, his ſon Edward, a youth of fourteen, was fixed upon to ſucceed him, and the queen was appointed re⯑gent during the minority.

The depoſed monarch but a ſhort time ſur⯑vived his misfortunes; he was ſent from priſon to priſon, a wretched outcaſt,A.D. 1327 and the ſport of his inhuman keepers. He had been at firſt conſigned to the cuſtody of the earl of Lan⯑caſter; but this nobleman, ſhewing ſome marks [74] of reſpect and pity, he was taken out of his hands, and delivered over to lord Berkeley, Montravers, and Gournay, who were entruſt⯑ed with the charge of guarding him month about. Whatever his treatment from lord Berkeley might have been, the other two ſeem⯑ed reſolved, that he ſhould enjoy none of the comforts of life, while in their cuſtody. They practiſed every kind of indignity upon him, as if their deſign had been to accelerate his death by the bitterneſs of his ſufferings. Among other acts of brutal oppreſſion, it is ſaid, that they ſhaved him for ſport in the open fields, uſing water from a neighbouring ditch. The genius of the people muſt have been greatly debaſed, or they would never have per⯑mitted ſuch indecencies to be practiſed on a monarch, whoſe greateſt fault was the violence of his friendſhips. He is ſaid to have borne his former indignities with patience, but all for⯑titude forſook him upon this occaſion; he looked upon his mercileſs inſulters with an air of fal⯑len majeſty, and burſting into tears, exclaim⯑ed, that the time might come, when he would be more decently attended. This, however, was but a vain expectation. As his perſecu⯑tors ſaw that his death might not arrive, even under every cruelty, till a revolution had [75] been made in his favour, they reſolved to rid themſelves of their fears, by deſtroying him at once. Accordingly, his two keepers, Gour⯑nay and Montravers, came to Berkley caſtle, where Edward was then confined; and having concerted a method of putting him to death without any external ſigns of violence, they threw him on a bed, holding him down by a table, which they placed over him. They then ran an horn pipe up his body, through which they conveyed a red hot iron; and thus burnt his bowels, without disfiguring his body. By this cruel artifice, they expected to have their crime concealed; but his horrid ſhrieks, which were heard at a diſtance from the caſtle, ſoon gave a ſuſpicion of the mur⯑der; and the whole was ſoon after divulged, by the confeſſion of one of the accomplices. Misfortunes like his, muſt ever create pity; and a puniſhment ſo diſproportionate to the ſuf⯑ferer's guilt, muſt wipe away even many of thoſe faults, of which Edward was juſtly culpale. He left behind him four children; two ſons, and two daughters: Edward was his eldeſt ſon and ſucceſſor; John, died young; Jane was afterwards married to David Bruce king of Scotland; and Eleanor was married to Regi⯑nald, count of Gueldres.

CHAP. XIV. EDWARD III.

THE parliament, by which young Ed⯑ward was raiſed to the throne, during the life of his father, appointed twelve perſons as his privy-council, to direct the operations of government. Mortimer, the queen's par⯑amour, who might naturally be ſet down as one of the members, artfully excluded him⯑ſelf, under a pretended ſhew of moderation; [77] but at the ſame time he ſecretly influenced all the meaſures that came beneath their deliberation. He cauſed the greateſt part of the royal reve⯑nues to be ſettled on the queen dowager, and he ſeldom took the trouble to conſult the miniſ⯑ters of government in any public undertaking. The king himſelf was ſo beſieged by the favour⯑ite's creatures, that no acceſs could be procured to him, and the whole ſovereign authority was ſhared between Mortimer and the queen, who took no care to conceal her criminal attachment.

A government ſo conſtituted, could not be of long continuance; and the ſlighteſt ſhock was ſufficient to overturn that power, which was founded neither in ſtrength nor virtue. An irruption of the Scotch gave the firſt blow to Mortimer's credit; and young Ed⯑ward's own abilities contributed to its ruin. The Scotch, who had no connexion with either party, were reſolved to take advantage of the feeble ſtate of the nation; and, without re⯑garding the truce that ſubſiſted between the two kingdoms, attempted to ſurpriſe the caſtle of Norham. This commencement of hoſtilities, they ſoon after ſeconded by a formidable invaſion on the northern counties, with an army of twenty thouſand men. Edward, even at this early age, diſcovered that martial diſpoſition, [78] for which he was afterwards ſo famous. He reſolved to intercept them in their retreat; and began his march in the middle of July,A.D. 1327 at the head of an army of threeſcore thouſand men; but after undergoing incredible fatigues, in purſuing them through woods and moraſſes, he was unable to perceive any ſigns of an enemy, except from the ravages they had made, and the ſmoaking ruins of villages, which they had ſet on fire. In this diſappointment, he had no other reſource, but to offer a reward to any who ſhould diſcover the place where the Scots were poſted. This the enemy underſtanding, ſent him word that they were ready to meet him, and give him battle. However, they had taken ſo advantageous a ſituation, on the op⯑poſite banks of the river Ware, that the king found it impracticable to attack them; and no threats could bring them to a battle upon equal terms.

It was in this ſituation, that the firſt breach was diſcovered between the king and Morti⯑mer, the queen's favourite. The young mon⯑arch, all ardour to engage, reſolved that night, at all hazards, not to allow the rava⯑gers to eſcape with impunity; but Mor⯑timer oppoſed his influence to the valour of the king, and prevented an engagement, [79] which might be attended with the moſt deſ⯑tructive conſequences to his authority, whether he won, or loſt the day. Shortly after, the Scotch, under the command of Douglas, made an irruption into the Engliſh camp by night, and arrived at the very tent in which the king was ſleeping. But the young monarch happening to wake in the critical moment, made a valiant defence againſt the enemy; his chamberlain and chaplain died fighting by his ſide; and he thus had time given him to eſcape in the dark. The Scotch being fruſtrated in their deſign upon the king, were contented to decamp for their own country, leaving their tents ſtanding, without any perſon behind them, except ſix Engliſh priſoners, whoſe legs they had broken, to prevent their carrying intelligence to their countrymen. The eſcape of the Scotch was as diſagreeable a circumſtance to the Eng⯑liſh army, as the valour of the young king was applauded and admired. The failure on one part was entirely aſcribed to the queen's favou⯑rite; and the ſucceſs on the other, to the king's own intrepidity. The people began to wiſh for a removal of that authority, which ſtood be⯑tween them and the monarch; and ſpared no pains to aggravate their faults of the gover⯑nors, or to extol the riſing merit of their young ſovereign.

[80]Mortimer now ſaw himſelf exalted to a very precarious ſituation; and was reſolved, on any terms, to procure a peace with Scotland, in or⯑der to fix his power more firmly at home. A treaty was accordingly concluded between the two nations, in which the Engliſh renounced all title to ſovereignty over the ſiſter kingdom; and the Scotch, in return, agreed to pay thirty thouſand marks as a compenſation. The next ſtep that Mortimer thought neceſſary for his ſecurity, was to ſeize the earl of Kent, brother to the late king, an harmleſs and well meaning perſon, who, under a perſuaſion that his brother was ſtill alive, and concealed in ſome ſecret priſon, entered into a deſign of reſtoring him to liberty, and reinſtating him in his former power. Him therefore, Mortimer reſolved to deſtroy; and ſummoning him before parliament, had him accuſed, condemned, and executed, even before the young king had time to interpoſe in his favour. In proportion as Mortimer thus got rid of his enemies, he was careful to enrich himſelf with their ſpoils. The eſtate of the unfortunate earl was ſeized upon for the uſe of the favourite's youngeſt ſon; the immenſe fortunes of the Spenſers were in like manner converted to his uſe. Thus his power became invidious, and his corrupt mo⯑rals made it ſtill more formidable.

[81]It was in this poſture of affairs, that Edward reſolved to ſhake off an authority that was odious to the nation, and particularly reſtrictive upon him. But ſuch was the power of the favourite, that it required as much precaution to overturn the uſurper, as to eſtabliſh the throne. The queen and Mortimer had for ſome time choſen the caſtle of Nottingham for the place of their reſidence; it was ſtrictly guarded, the gates locked every evening, and the keys carried to the queen. It was, there⯑fore, agreed between the king, and ſome of his barons, who ſecretly entered into his deſigns, to ſeize upon them in this fortreſs; and for that purpoſe, Sir William Eland, the governor, was induced to admit them by a ſecret ſubterra⯑neous paſſage, which had been formerly contrived for an outlet, but was now hidden with rubbiſh, and known only to one or two. It was by this, therefore, the noblemen in the king's intereſts entered the caſtle in the night; and Mortimer, without having it in his power to make any reſiſtance, was ſeized in an apartment adjoin⯑ing that of the queen's. It was in vain that ſhe endeavoured to protect him; in vain ſhe entreated them to ſpare her ‘"gentle Mortim⯑er;"’ the barons, deaf to her entreaties, denied her that pity, which ſhe had ſo often refuſed to [82] others. Her paramour was condemned by the parliament, which was then ſitting, without being permitted to make his defence, or even examining a witneſs againſt him. He was hanged on a gibbet at a place called Elmes, about a mile from London, where his body was left hanging for two days after. A ſimilar ſentence paſſed againſt ſome of his adherents, particularly Gournay, and Montravers, the murderers of the late king; but theſe had time to elude puniſhment, by eſcaping to the con⯑tinent. The queen, who was certainly the moſt culpable, was ſhielded by the dignity of her ſituation; ſhe was only diſcarded from all ſhare of power, and confined for life, to the caſtle of Riſings, with a penſion of three thou⯑ſand pounds a year. From this confinement, ſhe was never after ſet free; and though the king annually paid her a viſit of decent cere⯑mony, yet ſhe found herſelf abandoned to uni⯑verſal contempt and deteſtation; and continued for above twenty five years after, a miſerable monument of blaſted ambition.

Edward being thus freed from the control of uſurped authority, reſolved to become po⯑pular, by an expedient which ſeldom failed to gain the affections of the Engliſh. He knew that a conquering monarch was the fitteſt [83] to pleaſe a warlike people. The weakneſs of the Scottiſh government, which was at that time under a minority, gave him a favour⯑able opportunity of renewing hoſtilities; and the turbulent ſpirit of the nobles of that country ſtill more contributed to promote his aims. A new pretender alſo ſtarted up to that throne, namely, Edward Baliol, whoſe father John had been crowned king of Scotland, and Edward reſolved to aſſiſt him in his preten⯑ſions. He therefore gave him permiſſion to levy what forces he was able in England; and with not above three thouſand adventu⯑rers, thus fortuitouſly united, Baliol gained a conſiderable victory over his countrymen, in which twelve thouſand of their men were ſlain. This victory, which was followed by ſome others, ſo intimidated the Scotch, that their armies diſperſed, and the kingdom ſeem⯑ed as if ſubdued by an handful of men. Ba⯑liol, by one of thoſe unexpected turns of for⯑tune, common enough in barbarous times, was crowned king at Scone; and every noble⯑man, who was moſt expoſed to danger, ſub⯑mitted to his authority. But he did not long enjoy his ſuperiority; by another turn equally ſudden, he was attacked and defeated by Sir Archibald Douglas, and obliged to take re⯑fuge [84] in England once more, in a miſerable condition.

An attempt thus unſucceſsfully made by Baliol, only ſerved to enflame the ardour of Edward, who very joyfully accepted of that offer of homage and ſuperiority, which it was Baliol's preſent intereſt to make. He there⯑fore prepared, with all his force, to reinſtate the depoſed king of Scotland, in a govern⯑ment which would ever after be ſubordinate to his own. He accordingly prevailed upon his parliament to give him a ſupply, which they reluctantly did; and, with a well-diſci⯑plined army, he laid ſiege to Berwick, which capitulated after a vigorous defence. It was in attempting to relieve this city, that a gene⯑ral engagement enſued between the Scotch and the Engliſh. It was fought at Halli⯑down hill, a little north of Berwick, with great obſtinacy on both ſides; but the fortune of Edward prevailed. Douglas, the Scottiſh general, was ſlain, and ſoon after the whole army put to the route. This victory was, in a great meaſure, obtained by the expertneſs of the Engliſh archers, who now began to be fa⯑mous over Europe for their peculiar ſkill. All the Scottiſh nobles of chief diſtinction were either ſlain, or taken priſoners; near thirty [85] thouſand of their men fell in the action,A.D. 1333. July 9. while the loſs of the Engliſh only amounted to about fifteen men; an inequality almoſt incredible. This important victory decided the fate of Scotland; Baliol, with very little trouble, made himſelf maſter of the country; and Edward returned in triumph to England, having pre⯑viouſly ſecured many of the principal towns of Scotland, which were declared to be annexed to the Engliſh monarchy. Theſe victories, however, were rather ſplendid than ſervice⯑able; the Scotch ſeeemed about this time, to have conceived an unſurmountable averſion to the Engliſh government; and no ſooner were Edward's forces withdrawn, than they revolted againſt Baliol, and well nigh expelled him the kingdom. Edward's appearance a ſecond time ſerved to bring them to ſubjec⯑tion; but they quickly renewed their animo⯑ſities upon his retiring. It was in vain, there⯑fore, that he employed all the arts of perſua⯑ſion, and all the terrors of war, to induce them to ſubmiſſion; they perſevered in their reluc⯑tance to obey; and they were daily kept in hopes, by promiſes of ſuccour from France.

This kingdom, which had for a long time diſcontinued its animoſities againſt England, began to be an object of Edward's jea⯑louſy [86] and ambition. A new ſcene began to be opened in France, which operated for more than a century, in ſubjecting that country to all the miſeries of war, till Europe at laſt be⯑gan to doubt, whether it was annexed to Eng⯑land by right of arms, or of ſucceſſion. France, at that period, was neither the extenſive, nor the powerful kingdom we ſee it at this day. Many great provinces have been added to it ſince that period, particularly Dauphiny, Pro⯑vence, and Franche Comte; and the govern⯑ment was ſtill more feeble, by thoſe neigh⯑bouring princes, who were pretended ſubjects to the king, but, in reality, formidable rivals of his power. At the time we are ſpeaking of, that kingdom was particularly unfortu⯑nate; and the king ſhared in the general ca⯑lamity. The three ſons of Philip the Fair, in full parliament, accuſed their wives of adul⯑tery; and, in conſequence of this accuſation, they were condemned and impriſoned for life. Lewis Hutin, the ſucceſſor to the crown of France, cauſed his wife to be ſtrangled, and her lovers to be flead alive. After his death, as he left only a daughter, his next brother, Philip the Tall, aſſumed the crown, in preju⯑dice of the daughter; and vindicated his title by the Salic law, which laid it down, that no [87] female ſhould ſucceed to the crown. This law, however, was not univerſally acknow⯑leged, nor ſufficiently confirmed by prece⯑dents, to procure an eaſy ſubmiſſion. They had hitherto enquired but ſlightly in France, whether a female could ſucceed to the king⯑dom; and as laws are only made to regulate what may happen by what has happened al⯑ready, there were no facts upon which to ground the opinions on either ſide of the queſ⯑tion. There were, in reality, precedents to countenance both claims, and thus to keep mankind in ſuſpenſe. The parliament of France had often adjudged the ſucceſſion to women, as Artois was formerly given to a female, in pre⯑judice of the male heir. The ſucceſſion of Champagne had been, on ſome occaſions, given to the daughters; while, on others, they were judged unqualified to ſucceed. We thus ſee that right changed with power; and juſtice, in ſuch a caſe, was unknown, or diſregarded. In the preſent inſtance, the younger brother of the late king, Charles the Fair, jealous of his elder brother's fortune, oppoſed his pre⯑tenſions, and aſſerted, that the late king's daughter was rightful heir to his crown. The cauſe, thus warmly conteſted between the two brothers, was at laſt carried before the parlia⯑ment [88] of France; and they decided, upon the Salic law, in favour of Philip the Elder. This monarch enjoyed the crown but a ſhort time; and dying, left only daughters to ſuc⯑ceed him. Charles, therefore, without a male opponent, ſeized the crown, and enjoyed it for ſome time; but he alſo dying, left his wife pregnant. As there was now no appa⯑rent heir, the regency was conteſted by two perſons, who laid their claims upon this occa⯑ſion. Edward the third urged his pretenſions, as being by his mother Iſabella, who was daughter to Philip the Fair, and ſiſter to the three laſt kings of France, rightful heir to the crown. Philip Valois, on the other hand, put himſelf in actual poſſeſſion of the government, as be⯑ing next heir by the male ſucceſſion. He was, therefore, conſtituted regent of France; and the queen-dowager being unfortunately, ſome time after, brought to bed of a daughter, he was unanimouſly elected king. He was crown⯑ed amidſt the univerſal congratulations of his ſubjects; received the appellation of Philip the Fortunate; and to this he added thoſe qua⯑lities which might merit good fortune, namely, juſtice and virtue. Among other inſtances of his felicity, he might reckon that of the ho⯑mage paid him by Edward, his rival, which [89] he came to offer at Amiens. However, as ſtrength generally inſpires ambition, this ho⯑mage was ſoon followed by a war; and Ed⯑ward diſputed that crown, of which he had juſt before declared himſelf a vaſſal.

A brewer of Ghent was one of thoſe who gave the greateſt aſſiſtance to Edward in this war, and determined him to aſſume the title of king of France. This citizen's name was James Ardevelt, a man grown too powerful for a ſubject; and one of thoſe who, according to Machiavel, kings ought to flatter, or deſtroy. This citizen had, for ſome time, governed his countrymen with a more abſolute ſway than had ever been aſſumed by any of their lawful ſovereigns. He placed and diſplaced magi⯑ſtrates at his pleaſure. He was accompanied by a guard, who, on the leaſt ſignal from him, inſtantly aſſaſſinated any man who had the mis⯑fortune to fall under his diſpleaſure. With the aſſiſtance of this man, therefore, Edward reſolved to undertake the conqueſt of France. He firſt, however, in a formal manner, con⯑ſulted his parliament on the propriety of the undertaking, obtained their approbation, re⯑ceived a proper ſupply of wool, which he in⯑tended to barter with the Flemings; and be⯑ing attended with a body of Engliſh forces, [90] and ſeveral of his nobility, he ſailed over into Flanders, big with his intended conqueſts.

Edward's firſt ſtep was to aſſert his claim to the French crown; to aſſume the title of king of the country, and brand Philip, his rival, with the title of Uſurper.A.D. 1339 Philip, on the other hand, made vigorous preparations to oppoſe him; he even challenged the invader to try their fortune in ſingle combat, upon equal terms, in ſome appointed plain. Edward ac⯑cepted the challenge; for in every action this prince affected the hero; but ſome obſtacles intervening, the war was proſecuted in the uſual manner, both ſides taking every advantage when it happened to offer.

The firſt great advantage gained by the Engliſh was in a naval engagement on the coaſt of Flanders, in which the French loſt two hundred and thirty ſhips, and had thirty thouſand of their ſeamen, and two of their ad⯑mirals ſlain. None of Philip's courtiers, it is ſaid, dared to inform him of the event, till his jeſter gave him a hint, by which he diſco⯑vered the loſs he had ſuſtained. This victory, together with ſome ſucceſsful operations that ſoon after followed, brought on a truce, which neither ſide ſeemed willing to break, till the ambition of Edward was once more excited [91] by the invitation of the count de Mountfort, who had poſſeſſed himſelf of the province of Brittany, and applied to Edward to ſecond his claims. An offer of this kind entirely coin⯑cided with Edward's moſt ſanguine deſires. He immediately ſaw the advantages ariſing from ſuch a propoſal. He was happy in the promiſed aſſiſtance of Mountfort, an active and valiant prince, cloſely united to him by intereſt, and thus opening to him an entrance into the heart of France. On the other hand, he could have no hopes from the ſide of Flanders, as he was obſtructed by thoſe nu⯑merous fortifications which had been raiſed on that frontier. Theſe flattering proſpects, however, were for a while damped by the impriſonment of Mountfort, whoſe aims be⯑ing diſcovered, he found himſelf beſieged in the city of Nantz, and taken. But Jane of Flanders, his wife, ſoon made up for the loſs of her huſband. This lady, who was one of the moſt extraordinary women of her age, courageouſly undertook to ſupport the falling fortunes of her family. She aſſembled the inhabitants of Rennes, where ſhe then reſided; and carrying her infant ſon in her arms, de⯑plored her misfortunes, and attempted to in⯑ſpire the citizens with an affection for her cauſe. The inhabitants of Nantz inſtantly eſpouſed [92] her intereſts, and all the other fortreſſes of Brittany embraced the ſame reſolution; the king of England was apprized of her efforts in his favour, and entreated to ſend her ſuc⯑cours with all poſſible expedition to the town of Hennebone, in which place ſhe reſolved to ſuſtain the attacks of the enemy. She was not deceived in her opinion of the enemies vigilance and activity. Charles de Blois, Phi⯑lip's general, anxious to make himſelf maſter of ſo important a fortreſs as Hennebone, and ſtill more to take the counteſs a priſoner, ſat down before the place with a large army, and conducted the ſiege with indefatigable induſ⯑try. The defence was no leſs vigorous; ſeve⯑ral ſallies were made by the garriſon, in which the counteſs herſelf was ſtill the moſt active, and led on to the aſſault. Obſerving one day that their whole army had quitted the camp to join in a general ſtorm, ſhe ſallied out by a poſtern at the head of three hundred horſe, ſet fire to the enemies tents and baggage, put their ſutlers and ſervants to the ſword, and occa⯑ſioned ſuch an alarm, that the French deſiſted from the aſſault, in order to cut off her com⯑munication with the town. Thus intercepted, ſhe retired to Auray, where ſhe continued five or ſix days; then returning at the head of five hundred horſe, ſhe fought her way through [93] one quarter of the French camp, and return⯑ed to her faithful citizens in triumph. But mere unſupported valour could not repel all the encroachments of an active and ſu⯑perior enemy. The beſiegers had at length made ſeveral breaches in the walls; and it was apprehended that a general aſſault, which was hourly expected, would be fatal. A capitu⯑lation was therefore propoſed, and a conference was already begun, when the counteſs, who had mounted on a high tower, and was look⯑ing towards the ſea with great impatience, de⯑ſcried ſome ſhips at a diſtance. She immedi⯑ately exclaimed that ſuccours were arrived, and forbid any further capitulation. She was not diſ⯑appointed in her wiſhes; the fleet ſhe diſcerned carried a body of Engliſh gentlemen, with ſix thouſand archers, whom Edward had prepared for the relief of Hennebone, but who had been long detained by contrary winds. They entered the harbour, under the conduct of Sir Walter Manny, one of the moſt valiant commanders of his time. This relief ſerved to keep up the declining ſpirits of the Bretons, until the time appointed by the late truce with Edward was expired, on which he was at liberty to re⯑new the war in greater form.

[94] A.D. 1342 He accordingly ſoon after landed at Mor⯑bian, near Vannes, with an army of twelve thouſand men; and being maſter of the field, where no enemy dared to appear againſt him, he endeavoured to give luſtre to his arms, by beſieging ſome of the moſt capital of the ene⯑mies fortifications. The vigour of his operations led on to another truce, and this was ſoon af⯑ter followed by a freſh infraction. The truth is, neither ſide obſerved a truce longer than it coincided with their intereſts; and both had always ſufficient art to throw the blame of per⯑fidy from themſelves. The earl of Derby was ſent by Edward to defend the province of Guienne, with inſtructions alſo to take every poſſible advantage that circumſtances might offer. At firſt, therefore, his ſucceſſes were ra⯑pid and brilliant; but as ſoon as the French king had time to prepare, he met with a very unexpected reſiſtance; ſo that the Engliſh general was compelled to ſtand upon the de⯑fenſive. One fortreſs after another was ſur⯑rendered to the French; and nothing appeared but a total extinction of the power of England upon the continent. In this ſituation, Edward reſolved to bring relief in perſon to his diſtreſſed ſubjects and allies; and accordingly embarked at Southampton,A.D. 1346 on board a fleet of near a [95] thouſand ſail, of all dimenſions. He carried with him, beſides all the chief nobility of Eng⯑land, his eldeſt ſon, the prince of Wales (after⯑wards ſurnamed the black prince) a youth of about fifteen years old, and already remarkable both for underſtanding and valour above his age. His army conſiſted of four thouſand men at arms; ten thouſand archers, ten thouſand Welſh in⯑fantry, and ſix thouſand Iriſh, all which he landed ſafely at La Hogue, a port it Norman⯑dy, which country he determined to make the ſeat of the war.

The intelligence of Edward's landing, and the devaſtation cauſed by his troops, who diſ⯑perſed themſelves over the whole face of the country, ſoon ſpread univerſal conſternation through the French court. The rich city of Caen was taken and plundered by the Engliſh, without mercy; the villages and towns, even up to Paris, ſhared the ſame fate; and the French had no other reſource but by breaking down their bridges, to attempt putting a ſtop to the invader's career. In the mean time, Philip was not idle in making preparations to repreſs the enemy. He had ſtationed one of his generals, Godemar de Faye, with an army on the oppoſite ſide of the river Somme, over which Edward was to paſs; while he himſelf, at the [96] head of an hundred thouſand fighting men, ad⯑vanced to give the Engliſh battle. Edward thus, in the midſt of his victories, unexpect⯑edly expoſed to the danger of being enclo⯑ſed and ſtarving in an enemy's country, pub⯑liſhed a reward to any that ſhould bring him intelligence of a paſſage over the river Som⯑me. This was diſcovered by a peaſant of the country; and Edward had juſt time to get his whole army over the river, when Philip appeared in his rear.

As both armies had for ſome time been in ſight of each other, nothing was ſo eagerly ex⯑pected on each ſide as a battle; and although the forces were extremely diſproportioned, the Engliſh amounting only to thirty thouſand, the French to an hundred and twenty thouſand; yet Edward reſolved to indulge the impetuoſi⯑ty of his troops, and put all to the hazard of a battle. He accordingly choſe his ground, with advantage, near the village of Crecy; and there determined to await with tranquility the ſhock of the enemy. He drew up his men on a gen⯑tle aſcent, and divided them into three lines. The firſt was commanded by the young prince of Wales; the ſecond was conducted by the earls of Northampton and Arundel; and the third, which was kept as a body of reſerve, [97] was headed by the king in perſon. As his ſmall army was in danger of being ſurrounded, he threw up trenches on his flank; and placed all his baggage in a wood behind him, which he alſo ſecured by an entrenchment. Having thus made the proper diſpoſitions, he and the prince of Wales received the ſacra⯑ment with great devotion; and all his beha⯑viour denoted the calm intrepidity of a man reſolved on conqueſt, or death. He rode from rank to rank with a ſerene countenance; bad his ſoldiers remember the honour of their coun⯑try; and by his eloquence animated the whole army to a degree of enthuſiaſtic expectation. It is ſaid alſo by ſome that he firſt made uſe of artillery upon this occaſion; and placed in his front ſome pieces, which contributed not a lit⯑tle to throw the enemy into diſorder.

On the other ſide, Philip, impelled by re⯑ſentment, and confident of his numbers, was more ſolicitous in bringing the enemy to an engagement, than prudent in taking meaſures for the ſucceſs of it. He was adviſed by ſome of his generals to defer the combat till the en⯑ſuing day, when his army would have recovered from their fatigue, and might be diſpoſed into better order, than their preſent hurry permitted them to obſerve. But it was now too late; the [98] impatience of his troops was too great to be reſtrained; they preſſed one upon the other, and no orders could curb their blind impetuo⯑ſity. They were led on, however, in three bodies to oppoſe thoſe of the Engliſh. The firſt line, conſiſting of fifteen thouſand Genoeſe croſs-bow-men, were commanded by Anthony Doria. The ſecond body was led by the count Alençon, brother to the king, and the king himſelf was at the head of the third.

About three in the afternoon, the famous battle of Crecy began, by the French king's ordering the Genoeſe archers to charge; but they were ſo fatigued with their march, that they cried out for a little reſt before they ſhould engage. The count Alençon, being informed of their petition, rode up and reviled them as cowards, commanding them to begin the onſet without delay. Their reluctance to begin, was ſtill more encreaſed by an heavy ſhower which fell that inſtant and relaxed their bow ſtrings; ſo that the diſcharge they made, produced but very little effect. On the other hand, the Eng⯑liſh archers, who had kept their bows in caſes, and were favoured by a ſudden gleam of ſun⯑ſhine, that rather dazzled the enemy, let fly their arrows ſo thick, and with ſuch good aim, that nothing was to be ſeen among the [99] Genoeſe but hurry, terror, and diſmay. The young prince of Wales had preſence of mind to take advantage of their confuſion, and to lead on his line to the charge. The French cavalry, however, commanded by count Alen⯑çon, wheeling round ſuſtained the combat, and began to hem the Engliſh round. The earls of Arundel and Northampton, now came in to aſſiſt the prince, who appeared foremoſt in the very ſhock; and wherever he appeared, turn⯑ing the fortune of the day. The thickeſt of the battle was now gathered round him, and the valour of a boy filled even veterans with aſtoniſhment; but their ſurprize at his courage could not give way to their fears for his ſafety. Being apprehenſive that ſome miſ⯑chance might happen to him in the end, an officer was diſpatched to the king, deſiring that ſuccours might be ſent to the prince's relief. Edward, who had all this time, with great tranquility, viewed the engagement, from a wind-mill, demanded with ſeeming deliberation if his ſon were dead; but being anſwered that he ſtill lived, and was giving aſtoniſhing in⯑ſtances of valour; ‘"then tell my generals, cried the king, that he ſhall have no aſſiſt⯑ance from me; the honour of this day ſhall be his, let him ſhew himſelf worthy the pro⯑feſſion [100] of arms, and let him be indebted to his own merit alone for victory."’ This ſpeech, being reported to the prince and his at⯑tendants, it inſpired them with new courage; they made a freſh attack upon the French ca⯑valry, and count Alençon, their braveſt com⯑mander, was ſlain. This was the beginning of their total overthrow: the French being now without a competent leader, were thrown into confuſion; the Welſh infantry ruſhed into the midſt of the conflict, and diſpatched thoſe with their long knives who had ſurvived the fury of the former onſet. It was in vain that the king of France himſelf, ſeemed almoſt ſingly to main⯑tain the combat; he endeavoured to animate his few followers, both by his voice and ex⯑ample, but the victory was too deciſive to be reſiſted; while he was yet endeavouring to face the enemy, John de Hainault ſeized the reins of his horſe, and, turning him round, carried him off the field of battle. In this en⯑gagement, thirty thouſand of the French were killed upon the field; and, among this number, were John king of Bohemia, James king of Majorca, Ralph duke of Lorrain, nine counts, four and twenty bannerets, twelve hun⯑dred knights, fifteen hundred gentlemen, and four thouſand men at arms. There is ſome⯑thing [101] remarkable in the fate of the Bohemian monarch; who, though blind, was yet willing to ſhare in the engagement. This unfortunate prince, enquiring the fate of the day, was told that all was loſt, and his ſon Charles obliged to retire deſperately wounded; and that the prince of Wales bore down every thing before him. Having received this information, blind as he was, he commanded his knights to lead him into the hotteſt part of the bat⯑tle againſt the young warrior; accordingly, four of them ruſhed with him into the thick⯑eſt part of the enemy, where they were all quickly ſlain.

The whole French army took to flight, and were put to the ſword by the purſuers without mercy, till night ſtopped the carnage. The king, on his return to the camp, flew into the arms of the prince of Wales and exclaimed, ‘"My valiant ſon, continue as you have begun; you have acquitted yourſelf nobly, and are worthy of the kingdom that will be your in⯑heritance."’ The next morning was foggy, and a party of the militia of Rouen coming to join the French army, were routed by the Engliſh at the firſt onſet; many more alſo were decoyed by ſome French ſtandards, which the victors placed upon the mountains, and to [102] which the fugitives reſorted, where they were cut in pieces without mercy. Never was a victory more ſeaſonable, or leſs bloody to the Engliſh than this. Notwithſtanding the great ſlaughter of the enemy, the conquerors loſt but one eſquire, three knights, and a few of inferior rank. The creſt of the king of Bohe⯑mia was three oſtrich feathers, with this motto, Ich Dien; which ſignifies, in the German lan⯑guage, I ſerve. This was thought to be a pro⯑per prize to perpetuate the victory; and it was accordingly added to the arms of the prince of Wales, and it has been adopted by all his ſucceſſors.

But this victory was attended with ſtill more ſubſtantial advantages; for Edward, as mode⯑rate in conqueſt, as prudent in his meaſures to obtain it, reſolved to ſecure an eaſy entrance into France for the future. With this view he laid ſiege to Calais, that was then defended by John de Vienne, an experienced command⯑er, and ſupplied with every thing neceſſary for defence. The king, however, knowing the diffi⯑culty of taking ſo ſtrong a town by force, re⯑ſolved to reduce it by famine. He choſe a ſecure ſtation for his camp; drew entrench⯑ments round the city, and made proper pro⯑viſions for his ſoldiers to endure a winter cam⯑paign. [103] Theſe operations, though ſlow, were at length ſucceſsful. It was in vain that the governor made a noble defence, that he ex⯑cluded all the uſeleſs mouths from the city, which Edward generouſly permitted to paſs unmoleſted through his camp. It was at length taken, after a twelvemonth's ſiege, the defen⯑dants having been reduced to the laſt extre⯑mity by famine and fatigue. The obſtinate reſiſtance, made by the townſmen, was not a little diſpleaſing to Edward; and he had often declared, that when put in poſſeſſion of the place, he would take ſignal revenge for the numbers of men he had loſt during the ſiege. It was with great difficulty, therefore, that he was perſuaded to accept of their ſubmiſſion; and to ſpare their lives, upon condition, that ſix of the moſt conſiderable citizens ſhould be ſent him, to be diſpoſed of as he ſhould think proper; but on theſe he was reſolved to wreak his reſentment, and he gave orders that they ſhould be led into his camp, bare-headed, and bare-footed, with ropes about their necks, in the manner of criminals juſt preparing for inſtant execution. When the news of this fierce reſo⯑lution was brought into the city, it ſpread new conſternation among the inhabitants. Who ſhould be the men, that were thus to be offer⯑ed [104] up as victims to procure the ſafety of all the reſt; and by their deaths appeaſe the vic⯑tor's reſentment, was a freſh ſubject of dread⯑ful enquiry. In this terrible ſuſpenſe, one of the principal inhabitants, whoſe name was Euſtace de St. Pierre, walked forward, and of⯑fered himſelf as willing to undergo any tor⯑tures that could procure his fellow-citizens ſafety. Five more ſoon followed his noble ex⯑ample; and theſe marching out like criminals, laid the keys of their city at Edward's feet; but no ſubmiſſions ſeemed ſufficient to appeaſe his reſentment; and they would in all proba⯑bility have ſuffered death, had not the genero⯑ſity of their conduct affected the queen, who interceded in their behalf, and with ſome diffi⯑culty obtained their pardon.

A.D. 1347 Edward having thus opened himſelf a paſ⯑ſage into France, by which he might at any time pour in his forces, and withdraw them with ſecurity, reſolved on every method that could add ſtrength or ſtability to his new ac⯑quiſition. He ordered all the French inhabi⯑tants to leave the town, and peopled it with his own ſubjects from England. He alſo made it the ſtaple, or principal market for wool, leather, tin, and lead; which were the principal Engliſh commodities for which there was any conſide⯑rable [105] demand upon the continent. All the Engliſh were obliged to bring their goods thi⯑ther; and foreign merchants came to the ſame place to purchaſe them. By theſe means, the city became populous, rich, and flouriſhing; and although it had like to have been taken ſome time after by treachery, it continued for above two centuries after in the poſſeſſion of the Engliſh, and braved all the military power of France.

The treachery, which had like to have reſto⯑red it to the French, aroſe from the perfidy of Aymer de Pavie, an Italian, who had been ap⯑pointed governor of the place. He agreed to deliver it up to the enemy, when his perfidy was diſcovered by Edward, who obliged him to carry on the treaty, and to perſuade the ene⯑my that he was ſtill in their intereſts. Accord⯑ingly a day was appointed for the admiſſion of the French troops into the city; while the king, with a ſtrong body of forces, took care to pre⯑pare for their reception. All thoſe who en⯑tered the city were immediately cut to pieces; and the garriſon, with Edward, and Sir Wal⯑ter Manny at their head, ruſhing out in purſuit of the reſt, a fierce and bloody engagement en⯑ſued, in which the king overthrew and took [106] Euſtace de Ribaumont, a man of remarkable ſtrength and valour, with his own hand.

In this manner, the war between the Engliſh and French was carried on with mutual animo⯑ſity, a war which at once thinned the inhabitants of the invaded country, while it drained that of the invaders. But a deſtruction ſtill more terri⯑ble than that of war contributed, at this time, to deſolate the wretched provinces of Europe. A peſtilence, more dreadful than any mention⯑ed in the annals of hiſtory, which had al⯑ready almoſt diſpeopled Aſia and Africa, came to ſettle upon the weſtern world with encreaſed malignity. It is ſaid to have taken its origin in the great kingdom of Cathay, where it roſe from the earth with the moſt horrid and ſulphureous ſtench, deſtroying all the inhabitants, and even marking plants and minerals with its malig⯑nity. The fourth part of the people were cut off; and it particularly raged with ſuch vio⯑lence in London, that in one year's ſpace, there were buried in the Charter Houſe church-yard, above fifty thouſand perſons. It was in the midſt of this terrible infliction from nature,A.D. 1349 that the ambition of Edward and Philip was exerted for new conqueſts, and was adding to the calamities of mankind. Yet ſtill theſe ra⯑vages [107] were ſilently repairing by commerce and induſtry; theſe arts, which were then deſpiſed by princes, were laying the ſeeds of future opu⯑lence, and encreaſed population. The arts of peace had for ſome time been revived in Italy, and were gradually travelling weſtward; the refinements and the pleaſures of ſenſe, every day began to improve, although intellectual refinements were as yet totally unknown. Sen⯑ſual enjoyments, muſt ever be carried to ſome height before mankind can find leiſure or taſte for entertainments of a more exquiſite nature.

Nor was England free from internal wars during this dreary period. While Edward was reaping victories upon the continent, the Scotch, ever willing to embrace a favourable opportunity of rapine and revenge, invaded the frontiers with a numerous army, headed by David Bruce their king. This unexpected in⯑vaſion, at ſuch a juncture, alarmed the Engliſh, but was not capable of intimidating them. Lionel, Edward's ſon, who was left guardian of England during his father's abſence, was yet too young to take upon him the command of an army; but the victories on the continent, ſeemed to inſpire even women with valour: Philippa, Edward's queen, took upon her the [108] conduct of the field, and prepared to repulſe the enemy in perſon.A.D. 1346 Accordingly, having made lord Percy general under her, ſhe met the Scots at a place called Nevill's Croſs near Durham, and offered them battle. The Scotch king was no leſs impatient to engage; he imagined that he might obtain an eaſy vic⯑tory againſt undiſciplined troops, and headed by a woman. But he was miſerably deceived. His army was quickly routed and driven from the field. Fifteen thouſand of his men were cut to pieces; and he himſelf, with many of his nobles and knights, were taken priſoners, and carried in triumph to London.

This victory diffuſed an univerſal degree of joy through the nation; a captive king was an object that flattered their pride, and they ſoon had new reaſons for exultation. Philip, who was ſurnamed the Fortunate, upon coming to the crown of France, ended his life under the accumulation of every misfortune that could render a king unhappy. John his ſon ſucceeded him on the throne, which was but ill ſupported by Philip, and yet ſtill worſe by him. This weak, yet virtuous prince, up⯑on coming to the crown, found himſelf at the head of an exhauſted nation, and a divided and factious nobility. France at that time, pretty [109] much reſembled England under the reign of a prince of the ſame name ſome ages before. They had parliaments of barons deſpotic over their own hereditary poſſeſſions; and they ob⯑liged John their king, to ſign a charter very much reſembling the Magna Charta, which had formerly been ſigned by his name-ſake of England. The warlike reſources, therefore, of France and England, were at this time very unequal. John was at the head of a nobility, that acknowledged no ſubordination among each other; they led their dependent ſlaves to battle, and obeyed their ſuperiors only as it ſuited their inclination. Their king might more juſtly be ſaid to command a number of ſmall armies under diſtinct leaders, than one vaſt machine, operating with uniformity and united efforts. The French barons paid their own ſoldiers, puniſhed their tranſgreſſions, and re⯑warded their fidelity. But the forces of Eng⯑land were under a very different eſtabliſhment; the main body of the Engliſh army was com⯑poſed of ſoldiers indiſcriminately levied through⯑out the nation, paid by the king, and regard⯑ing him alone as the ſource of preferment or diſgrace. Inſtead of perſonal attendance, the nobility contributed ſupplies in money; and there was only ſuch a number of nobles in the [110] army as might keep the ſpirit of honour alive without injuring military ſubordination.

It was in this ſtate of things, that a ſhort truce which had been concluded between Ed⯑ward and Philip was diſſolved by the death of the latter; and Edward, well pleaſed with the factions that then prevailed in France, was re⯑ſolved to ſeize the opportunity of encreaſing its diſtreſſes. Accordingly the Black Prince was ſent into France with his army, on board a fleet of an hundred ſail; and, landing in Gaſcony, carried his devaſtations into the heart of the country. On the other hand, Ed⯑ward himſelf made an irruption on the ſide of Calais, at the head of a numerous army, and ravaged all the open country. In the mean time John, who was as yet unprepared to op⯑poſe the progreſs of the enemy, continued a quiet ſpectator of their inſults; nor was it till the ſucceeding ſummer's campaign, that he re⯑ſolved to attack the Black Prince,A.D. 1355 whoſe army was by this time reduced to a body of about twelve thouſand men. With ſuch a trifling complement of forces, had this young war⯑rior ventured to penetrate into the heart of France, with a deſign of joining his forces to thoſe of the duke of Lancaſter. But he ſoon found that his ſcheme was im⯑practicable, [111] the country before him was too well guarded to prevent his advancing fur⯑ther; and all the bridges behind were broken down, which effectually barred a retreat. In this embarraſſing ſituation, his perplexity was increaſed, by being informed, that the king of France was actually marching at the head of ſixty thouſand men to intercept him. He at firſt thought of retreating; but ſoon finding it im⯑poſſible, he determined calmly to await the approach of the enemy; and notwithſtanding the diſparity of forces, to commit all to the hazard of a battle.

It was at a place called Maupertuis, near Poictiers, that both armies came in ſight of each other. The French king might very eaſily have ſtarved the Engliſh into any terms he thought proper to impoſe: but ſuch was the impatient valour of the French nobili⯑ty, and ſuch their certainty of ſucceſs, that it might have been equally fatal to attempt re⯑preſſing their ardour to engage. In the mean time, while both armies were drawn out, and expecting the ſignal to begin, they were ſtop⯑ped by the appearance of the cardinal of Peri⯑gord, who attempted to be a meditator between them. However, John, who made himſelf ſure of victory, would liſten to no other terms [112] than the reſtitution of Calais; with which the Black Prince refuſing to comply, the onſet was deferred till the next morning, for which both ſides waited in anxious ſuſpenſe.

It was during this interval, that the young prince ſhewed himſelf worthy of conqueſt; he ſtrengthened his poſt by new intrenchments; he placed three hundred men in ambuſh, with as many archers, who were commanded to at⯑tack the enemy in flank, during the heat of the engagement. Having taken theſe precau⯑tions, and the morning beginning to appear, he ranged his army in three diviſions; the van commanded by the earl of Warwick; the rear by the earls of Saliſbury and Suffolk; and the main body by himſelf. In like man⯑ner, the king of France arranged his forces in three diviſions; the firſt commanded by the Duke of Orleans; the ſecond by the Dau⯑phin, attended by his younger brothers; while he himſelf led up the main body, ſeconded by his youngeſt and favourite ſon, then about fourteen years of age. As the Engliſh were to be attacked only by marching up a long narrow lane, the French ſuffered greatly from their archers, who were poſted on each ſide, behind the hedges. Nor were they in a better ſituation upon emerging from this danger, [113] being met by the black prince himſelf, at the head of a choſen body of troops, who made a furious onſet upon their forces, already in great diſorder. A dreadful overthrow enſued; thoſe who were as yet in the lane recoiled upon their own forces; while the Engliſh troops, who had been placed in ambuſh, took that opportunity to encreaſe the confuſion, and confirm the victory. The dauphin, and the duke of Orleans, were among the firſt that fled. The king of France himſelf made the utmoſt efforts to retrieve by his valour, what his raſhneſs had forfeited; but his ſingle courage was unable to ſtop that conſternation, which had now become general through his army; and his cavalry ſoon flying, he found himſelf totally expoſed to the enemy's fury. He ſaw his nobles falling round him, valiantly fighting in his defence, and his youngeſt ſon wounded by his ſide. At length, ſpent with fatigue, and deſpairing of ſucceſs, he thought of yielding himſelf a priſoner; and frequently cried out, that he was ready to de⯑liver himſelf to his couſin, the prince of Wales. The honour of taking him, however, was re⯑ſerved for a much more ignoble hand; he was ſeized by Dennis de Morbec, a knight of Ar⯑ras, who had been obliged to fly his country for murder.

[114]This ſucceſs was, in a great meaſure, ow⯑ing to the valour and conduct of the black prince; but his moderation in victory was a nobler triumph than had ever graced any for⯑mer conqueror. He came forth to meet the captive monarch with an air of pitying mo⯑deſty; he remonſtrated with him in the moſt humble manner, when he began to complain of his misfortunes, that he ſtill had the com⯑fort left of reflecting, that, though unſucceſs⯑ful, he had done all that deſerved to enſure conqueſt; he promiſed, that a ſubmiſſive de⯑ference to his dignity ſhould never be wanting to ſoften his captivity; and at table he ac⯑tually refuſed to ſit down, but ſtood among the number of his priſoner's attendants, declar⯑ing, that it did not become him, as a ſubject, to ſit down in the preſence of a king.

A.D. 1357 In April following, the prince conducted his royal priſoner through London, attended by an infinite concourſe of people of all ranks and ſtations. His modeſty upon this occaſion was not leſs than before; the king of France was clad in royal apparel, and mounted on a white ſteed, diſtinguiſhed by its ſize and beau⯑ty; while the prince himſelf rode by his ſide upon a mean little horſe, and in very plain attire.

[115]Two kings priſoners in the ſame court, and at the ſame time, were conſidered as glorious atchievements; but all that England gained by them was only glory. Whatever was won in France, with all the dangers of war, and the expence of preparation, was ſucceſſively, and in a manner ſilently, loſt, without the morti⯑fication of a defeat. It may be eaſily ſup⯑poſed, that the treaties which were made with the captive kings, were highly advantageous to the conquerors; but theſe treaties were no longer obſerved, than while the Engliſh had it in their power to enforce obedience. It is true, that John held to his engagements as far as he was able; but by being a priſoner he loſt his authority; and his misfortunes had ren⯑dered him contemptible at home. The dau⯑phin, and the ſtates of France, rejected the treaties he had been induced to ſign; and pre⯑pared, in good earneſt, to repel the meditated invaſions of the conqueror. All the conſider⯑able towns were put into a poſture of defence; A.D. 1358 and every thing valuable in the kingdom was ſecured in fortified places. It was in vain therefore, that Edward tried to allure the dau⯑phin to hazard a battle, by ſending him a de⯑fiance; if was impoſſible to make that cau⯑tious prince change the plan of his operations; [116] it was in vain that Edward alledged the obli⯑gation of the treaties which had been ſigned at London, and plundered the country round to provoke an engagement. He, at length, therefore, thought fit to liſten to equitable terms of peace, which was at laſt concluded, upon condition that king John ſhould be re⯑ſtored to liberty, upon paying a ranſom of about a million and a half of our money. It was ſtipulated, that Edward ſhould for ever renounce all claim to the kingdom of France; and ſhould only remain poſſeſſed of the terri⯑tories of Poictou, Xaintonge, l'Agenois, Pe⯑rigord, the Limouſin, Quercy, Rouvergne, l'Angoumois, and other diſtricts in that quar⯑ter, together with Calais, Guiſnes, Montreuil, and the county of Ponthieu, on the other ſide of France. Some other ſtipulations were made in favour of the allies of England, and forty hoſtages were ſent to England, as a ſecurity for the execution of all theſe conditions.

Upon John's return to his dominions, he found himſelf very ill able to ratify thoſe terms of peace that had been juſt concluded. He was without finances, at the head of an exhauſted ſtate; his ſoldiers without diſcipline, and his peaſants without ſubordination. Theſe had riſen in great numbers; and one of the [117] chiefs of their banditti aſſumed the title of the Friend of God, and the terror of Man. A citizen of Sens, named John Gouge, alſo got himſelf, by means of his robberies, to be acknowledged king; and he ſoon cauſed as many calamities by his devaſtations, as the real king had brought on by his misfortunes. Such was the ſtate of that wretched kingdom, upon the return of its captive monarch; and yet, ſuch was his abſurdity, that he immedi⯑ately prepared for a cruſade into the Holy Land, before he was well replaced on the throne. Had his exhauſted ſubjects been able to equip him for this chimerical project, it is probable he would have gone through with it; but their miſeries were ſuch, that they were even too poor to pay his ranſom. This was a breach of treaty that John would not ſubmit to; and he was heard to expreſs him⯑ſelf in a very noble manner upon the occaſion. ‘"Though, ſays he, good faith ſhould be ba⯑niſhed from the reſt of the earth, yet ſhe ought ſtill to retain her habitation in the breaſt of kings."’ In conſequence of this declaration, he actually returned to England once more, and yielded himſelf a priſoner, ſince he could not be honourably free. It is ſaid by ſome, that his paſſion for the counteſs of [118] Saliſbury was the real cauſe of this journey; but we want at this time the foundations for ſuch an injurious report. He was lodged in the Savoy, the palace where he had reſided during his captivity; and ſoon after he cloſed a long and unfortunate reign, by his death, which happened in about the fifty-ſixth year of his age.A.D. 1364

Charles, ſurnamed the Wiſe, ſucceeded his father on the throne of France; and this mo⯑narch, merely by the force of a finely con⯑ducted policy, and even though ſuffering ſome defeats, reſtored his country once more to tran⯑quility and power. He quelled and diſſipated a ſet of banditti, who had aſſociated them⯑ſelves under the name of Companions, and who had long been a terror to the peaceable inhabitants. He had them enrolled into a body, and led them into the kingdom of Caſ⯑tile againſt Peter, ſurnamed the Cruel, whom his ſubjects had dethroned; and who, by means of an alliance with the Engliſh, endeavoured to get himſelf reinſtated upon the throne. In conſequence of theſe alliances, the Engliſh and French again came to an engagement; their armies on the one ſide command⯑ed by the black prince; on the other, by Henry of Tranſtamarre, and Bertrand du Gueſ⯑clin, [119] one of the moſt conſummate generals, and accompliſhed characters of the age in which he lived. However, the uſual good fortune of the Engliſh prince prevailed; A.D. 1367. April 3. the French loſt above twenty thouſand men, while only four knights, and forty private men on the ſide of the Engliſh were ſlain.

Nevertheleſs theſe victories, were attended with very few good effects. The Engliſh, by their frequent ſupplies, had been quite exhauſt⯑ed, and were unable to continue an army in the field. Charles, on the other hand, cautiouſly forbore coming to any deciſive engagement; but was contented to let his enemies waſte their ſtrength in attempts to plunder a forti⯑fied country. When they were retired, he then was ſure to ſally forth, and poſſeſs him⯑ſelf of ſuch places as they were not ſtrong enough to defend. He firſt fell upon Pon⯑thieu; the citizens of Abbeville opened their gates to him; thoſe of St. Valois, Rue, and Crotoy, imitated the example; and the whole country was, in a little time, reduced to total ſubmiſſion. The ſouthern provinces were, in the ſame manner, invaded by his generals with equal ſucceſs; while the black prince, deſti⯑tute of ſupplies from England, and waſted by a cruel and conſumptive diſorder, was obliged [120] to return to his native country, leaving the af⯑fairs of the ſouth of France in a moſt deſpe⯑rate condition.

In this exigence, the reſentment of the king of England was excited to the utmoſt pitch; and he ſeemed reſolved to take ſignal vengeance on his enemies of the continent. But the fortunate occaſion ſeemed now elapſ⯑ed; and all his deſigns were marked with ill ſucceſs. The earl of Pembroke, and his whole army, were intercepted at ſea, and taken priſoners by Henry, king of Caſtile. This nobleman in perſon attempted to embark with an army for Bourdeaux; but was detained by contrary winds, and obliged to lay aſide the expedition. Sir Robert Knolles, one of his generals on the continent, at the head of thirty thouſand men, was defeated by Bertrand du Gueſclin; while the duke of Lancaſter, at the head of twenty five thouſand men, had the mortification of ſeeing his troops diminiſhed one half by flying parties, without ever coming to a battle. Such was the picture that preſent⯑ed itſelf to this victorious monarch in the de⯑cline of life; and this might well ſerve as a leſſon to the princes of the age, that more per⯑manent advantages are obtained by wiſdom than by valour. Added to his other uneaſi⯑neſſes, [121] he had the mortification to ſee his au⯑thority deſpiſed at home. It was in vain that he ſought refuge, in his age, from the com⯑plaints of his ſubjects, in the arms of a favou⯑rite miſtreſs, whoſe name was Alice Pierce; this only ſerved to exaſperate his people the more againſt him, and to turn their indignation into contempt. But what of all other things ſerved to gloom the latter part of this ſplendid reign, was the approaching death of the black prince, whoſe conſtitution ſhewed but too ma⯑nifeſtly the ſymptoms of a ſpeedy diſſolution. This valiant and accompliſhed prince died in the forty-ſixth year of his age, leaving behind him a character without a ſingle blemiſh; and a degree of ſorrow among the people, that time could ſcarcely alleviate. His affability, clemency, and liberal diſpoſition, have been celebrated by different hiſtorians. Though born in an age, in which military virtues alone were held in eſteem, he cultivated the arts of peace; and ſeemed ever more happy in deſer⯑ving praiſe, than in obtaining it.

The king was moſt ſenſibly affected with the loſs of his ſon; and tried every art to remove his uneaſineſs; he had baniſhed his concubine ſome time before from his preſence, but took her again, in hopes of finding ſome conſolation [122] in her company. He removed himſelf entire⯑ly from the duties and burdens of the ſtate, and left his kingdom to be plundered by a ſet of rapacious miniſters. He did not ſurvive the conſequences of his bad conduct; but died about a year after the prince, at Shene, in Surry, deſerted by all his courtiers, even by thoſe who had grown rich by his bounty. He expired in the ſixty-fifth year of his age, and the fifty-firſt of his reign; a prince more ad⯑mired than loved by his ſubjects, and more an object of their applauſe, than their ſorrow.

A.D. 1377 The reign of Edward was rather brilliant, than truly ſerviceable to his ſubjects. If England, during theſe ſhining triumphs on the continent, gained any real advantage, it was only that of having a ſpirit of elegance and honour diffuſed among the higher ranks of the people. In all conqueſts, ſomething is gained in civil life from the people ſubdued; and as France was at that time evidently more civilized than England, thoſe imitative iſlan⯑ders, as they were then called, adopted the arts of the people they overcame. The meaneſt ſoldier in the Engliſh army now began to fol⯑low his leader from love, and not compulſion; he was brave from ſentiment alone; and had the honour of his country beating in his breaſt, [123] even though in the humbleſt ſtation. This was the time when chivalry was at its high⯑eſt pitch; and many of the ſucceſſes of Eng⯑land were owing to that romantic ſpirit, which the king endeavoured to diffuſe, and of which he was the moſt ſhining example. It was this ſpirit that, in ſome meaſure, ſerved to ſoften the ferocity of the age; being a mixture of love, generoſity, and war. Inſtead of being taught the ſciences, the ſons of the nobility were brought into the field as ſoon as they were able, and inſtructed in no other arts but thoſe of arms; ſuch as the method of ſitting on horſeback, of wielding the launce, running at the ring, flouriſhing at a tournament, and addreſſing a miſtreſs. To attain theſe, was con⯑ſidered as the ſum of all human acquirements; and though war made their only ſtudy, yet the rules of tactics, encampments, ſtratagems, and fortifications, were almoſt totally diſregarded.

It was in this reign that the order of the garter was inſtituted; A.D. 1349 the number received into which was to conſiſt of twenty four perſons, beſide the king. A vulgar ſtory prevails, but unſupported by any ancient authority, that the counteſs of Saliſbury, at a ball, happen⯑ing to drop her garter, the king took it up, and preſented it to her with theſe words, [124] ‘"Honi ſoit qui mal y penſe;"’ Evil to him, that evil thinks. This accident it is ſaid gave riſe to the order and the motto, it being the ſpirit of the times, to mix love and war toge⯑ther, and for knights to plume themſelves upon the ſlighteſt tokens that their miſtreſſes were pleaſed to beſtow.

Edward left many children by his queen Philippa of Hainault; his eldeſt ſon, the black prince, died before him, but left a ſon, named Richard, who ſucceeded to the throne; Ed⯑ward's ſecond ſon was Lionel, duke of Cla⯑rence; the third was called John of Gaunt, from the place of his birth, and was afterwards created duke of Lancaſter. The fourth ſon was Edmund, earl of Cambridge, and after⯑wards duke of York; the fifth ſon was Tho⯑mas, duke of Glouceſter, the moſt ambitious and enterprizing of all his family. There were ſeveral daughters alſo; but as there is no⯑thing material in their hiſtory, we ſhall paſs over their names without further notice.

CHAP. XV. RICHARD II.

RICHARD II. came to the throne of his grandfather, when as yet but eleven years of age, and found the people diſcontented and poor, the nobles proud and rebellious. A ſpi⯑rit of profuſion had entered into the kingdom with the ſpirit of gallantry; which, while it produced indolence and rapacity among the [126] higher orders, produced want and diſobedience among the poor.

As the king was a minor, the govern⯑ment was veſted in the hands of his three uncles, the dukes of Lancaſter, York, and Glouceſter; the difference of whoſe diſpoſitions, it was ſuppoſed, would ſerve to check the de⯑fects of each other. Lancaſter, though ex⯑perienced during the late reign in government, was neither popular nor enterprizing; York was indolent and weak; Glouceſter, turbulent, popular, and ambitious. Under the ſecret in⯑fluence of thoſe, without any regency being appointed, the whole ſyſtem of government was kept together for ſome years; the autho⯑rity eſtabliſhed during the former reign, ſtill continuing to operate in this.

But though government was carried on, yet it was not without many commotions, ariſing either from the impatience of the people, or the ambition of the great: as the late king had left the kingdom involved in many dan⯑gerous and expenſive wars; and as theſe de⯑manded large and conſtant ſupplies, the mur⯑murs of the people encreaſed in proportion. Nor were they leſſened by the manner of car⯑rying on theſe expeditions; which, in general were languid, and upon the whole unſucceſsful. [127] The duke of Lancaſter laid claim to the crown of Caſtile, and made a fruitleſs expedition; the war with France produced no enterprize of luſtre, and that with with Scotland was rather unſucceſsful. The expences, however, of the armaments to face the enemy on every ſide, and a want of oeconomy in the adminiſtration, entirely exhauſted the treaſury; and a new tax of three groats, on every perſon above fifteen, was granted by parliament as a ſupply. The indignation of the people had been for ſome time encreaſing, but a tax ſo unequitable, in which the rich paid no more than the poor, kindled the reſentment of the latter into flame.

Notwithſtanding the numbers who by war, by a reſidence in towns, and by other means had become free, yet there was ſtill multi⯑tudes in the country, who had lands in ville⯑nage, that were only ſlaves to the lords from whom they held. Theſe had ſeen the advan⯑tages of liberty, from its effects upon thoſe of equal rank who had gone to live in towns; and they panted for a participation of thoſe advantages. Several of theſe had become opulent enough to purchaſe their freedom; but by an unjuſt act of parliament in this reign, theſe purchaſes were declared of no validity. This act the peaſants conſidered as an infrac⯑tion [128] of the laws of humanity, and ſuch indeed it muſt be allowed to have been. But it had long been the preſcriptive manner of reaſoning, to have no regard for the rights of a certain claſs of men, who were ſuppoſed too low for juſtice. The ſeeds of diſcontent were ſtill more culti⯑vated by the preaching of ſeveral men, who went about the country, inculcating the natu⯑ral equality of mankind; and conſequently, the right that all had to an equal participation of the goods of nature. Hitherto we have ſeen popular inſurrections only in towns; but we now find the ſpirit of freedom gaining ground in the country. Our citizens at firſt began to perceive their own ſtrength; and not till after did the peaſantry, who had been annexed to the ſoil, claim a ſhare in thoſe advantages. We in this firſt inſtance, find a knowledge of the rights of humanity, diffuſing itſelf even to the very loweſt of the people, and exerting it⯑ſelf in rude and terrible efforts for freedom.

The minds of the peaſants, being thus pre⯑pared for inſurrection, the manner of collect⯑ing this unjuſt poll-tax, ſoon furniſhed them with a pretext for beginning the revolt. It be⯑gan in Eſſex, where a report was induſtriouſly ſpread, that the peaſants were to be deſtroyed, their houſes burned, and their farms plundered. [129] A blackſmith, well known by the name of Wat Tyler, was the firſt that excited them to arms. The tax-gatherers coming to this man's houſe, while he was at work, demanded payment for his daughter, which he refuſed, alledging that ſhe was under the age mentioned in the act. One of the brutal collectors inſiſted on her be⯑ing a full grown woman; and immediately at⯑tempted giving a very indecent proof of his aſſertion. This provoked the father to ſuch a degree, that he inſtantly ſtruck him dead with a blow of his hammer. The ſtanders by ap⯑plauded his ſpirit; and, one and all, reſolved to defend his conduct. He was conſidered as a champion in the cauſe, and appointed the lea⯑der and ſpokeſman of the people. It is eaſy to imagine the diſorders committed by this tumultuous rabble; the whole neighbourhood roſe in arms; they burnt and plundered where⯑ever they came, and revenged upon their for⯑mer maſters, all thoſe inſults which they had long ſuſtained with impunity. As the diſcon⯑tent was general, the inſurgents encreaſed in proportion as they approached the capital. The flame ſoon propagated itſelf into Kent, Hertfordſhire, Surry, Suſſex, Suffolk, Norfolk, Cambridge, and Lincoln. They were found to amount to above an hundred thouſand men, [130] by the time they were arrived at Blackheath; from whence they ſent a meſſage to the king, who had taken ſhelter in the Tower, deſiring a conference with them. With this meſſage Ri⯑chard was deſirous of complying, but was inti⯑midated by their fierce demeanour. In the mean time they had entered the city, burning and plundering the houſes of ſuch as were ob⯑noxious, from their power, or remarkable for their riches. They broke into the Savoy palace, belonging to the duke of Lancaſter, and put ſeveral of his attendants to death. Their animoſity was particularly levelled a⯑gainſt the lawyers, to whom they ſhewed no mercy. Such was the vehemence of their fury, that the king began to tremble for his own ſafe⯑ty; and, knowing that the Tower was not ca⯑pable of ſtanding againſt an aſſault, he went out among them, and deſired to know their demands. To this they made a very humble remonſtrance, requiring a general pardon, the abolition of ſlavery, freedom of commerce in market towns, and a fixed rent inſtead of thoſe ſervices required by the tenure of villenage. As theſe requeſts were reaſonable, the king ſoon complied; and charters were accordingly made out, ratifying the grant. In the mean time, another body of theſe inſurgents had [131] broke into the Tower, and murdered the chancellor, the primate, and the treaſurer, with ſome other officers of diſtinction. They then divided themſelves into bodies, and took up their quarters in different parts of the city. At the head of one of theſe was Wat Tyler, who led his men into Smithfield, where he was met by the king, who invited him to a con⯑ference, under a pretence of hearing and re⯑dreſſing his grievances. Tyler ordering his companions to retire, till he ſhould give them a ſignal, boldly ventured to meet the king in the midſt of his retinue; and accordingly be⯑gan the conference. The demands of this de⯑magogue are cenſured by all the hiſtorians of the time, as inſolent and extravagant; and yet nothing can be more juſt than thoſe they have delivered for him. He required that all ſlaves ſhould be ſet free; that all commonages ſhould be open to the poor as well as the rich, and that a general pardon ſhould be paſſed for the late outrages. Whilſt he made theſe demands, he now and then lifted up his ſword in a mena⯑cing manner; which inſolence ſo raiſed the in⯑dignation of William Walworth, then mayor of London, attending on the king, that, without conſidering the danger to which he expoſed his majeſty, he ſtunned Tyler with a blow of his [132] mace; while one of the king's knights riding up, diſpatched him with his ſword. The mu⯑tineers, ſeeing their leader fall, prepared them⯑ſelves to take revenge; and their bows were now bent for execution, when Richard, though not yet quite ſixteen years of age, rode up to the rebels, and, with admirable preſence of mind, cried, out, ‘"What, my people, will you then kill your king? be not concerned for the loſs of your leader; I myſelf will now be your general; follow me into the field, and you ſhall have whatever you deſire."’ The awed multitude immediately deſiſted; they followed the king as if mechanically into the fields, and there he granted them the ſame charter that he had before given to their companions.

Theſe grants, for a ſhort time, gained the king great popularity; and it is probable it was his own deſire to have them continued; but the nobles had long taſted the ſweets of power, and were unwilling to admit any other to a participation. The parliament ſoon re⯑voked theſe charters of enfranchiſement and pardon; the low people were reduced to the ſame ſlaviſh condition as before, and ſeveral of the ringleaders were puniſhed with capital ſeverity. The inſurrections of the barons a⯑gainſt their kings, are branded in our hiſtory [133] with no great air of invective; but the tumults of the people againſt the barons, are marked with all the virulence of reproach.

The cruelty which was exerciſed againſt the popular leaders upon this occaſion, created no ſmall enmity againſt the king. He had firſt granted them a charter, which implied the juſ⯑tice of their demands; and he was ſeen, ſoon after, weak enough to revoke what he had be⯑fore allowed the juſtice of. It is probable alſo, that his uncles were not backward in encreaſ⯑ing this general diſlike againſt him; as by that means they were more like to continue in their preſent authority. His own capricious con⯑duct, indeed, might very well countenance them in the reſtrictions they placed upon him; as he very ſoon teſtified an eager deſire to go⯑vern, without any of the requiſites to fit him for ſuch a difficult undertaking: he ſoon diſ⯑covered an attachment to favourites, without any merit on their ſide to entitle them to ſuch flattering diſtinctions. Robert Vere, earl of Ox⯑ford, a young man, whoſe perſon was faultleſs, but whoſe morals were debauched, had acquired an entire aſcendant over him. This nobleman was firſt created marquis of Dublin, and then duke of Ireland, with the entire ſovereignty, du⯑ring life, of that iſland. He gave him his own [134] couſin in marriage; and ſoon after permitted him to repudiate her for another lady, of whom he was enamoured. He ſoon became the chan⯑nel through which all royal favour paſſed to the people; and he poſſeſſed all the power, while the king had only the ſhadow of royal⯑ty.

A partiality in princes ever produces ani⯑moſity among their ſubjects. Thoſe noble⯑men, who were either treated with diſreſpect by the favourite, or who thought that they had themſelves better pretenſions to favour, inſtantly took the alarm, and combined againſt him. At the head of this aſſociation were Moubray earl of Nottingham, Fitz Alan earl of Arundel, Percy earl of Northumberland, Montacute earl of Saliſbury, and Beauchamp earl of Warwick. Theſe uniting, reſolved on the deſtruction of the favourite; and they be⯑gan by marking out Michael de la Pole, who was then chancellor, and Oxford's chief friend and ſupporter, as the firſt object of their ven⯑geance. He was accordingly impeached in par⯑liament; and although nothing material was alledged againſt him, ſuch was the intereſt of the conſpiring barons that he was condemned, and deprived of his office.

[135]From puniſhing his miniſters, they ſoon af⯑ter ventured to attack the king in perſon. Un⯑der a pretence that he was as yet unable to govern,A.D. 1386 although he was at that time twenty-one, they appointed a commiſſion of fourteen perſons, upon whom the ſovereign power was to be transferred for a year. This was, in fact, to⯑tally depriving the king of all power, and op⯑preſſing the kingdom with a confirmed ariſto⯑cracy. This meaſure was driven forward by the duke of Glouceſter; and none but thoſe of his own faction were admitted as members of the committee. It was not without a ſtrug⯑gle that the king ſaw himſelf thus totally di⯑veſted of authority; he endeavoured firſt to gain over the parliament to his intereſts, by influencing the ſheriffs of each county, who were then the only returning officers. This meaſure failing, he applied to the judges; and they, either from motives of intereſt, or from conviction, declared that the commiſſion which had deprived him of his authority, was unlawful; and that thoſe who procured or ad⯑viſed it, were puniſhable with death. This ſentence was quickly oppoſed by declarations from the lords; the duke of Glouceſter ſaw his danger if the king ſhould prevail; and ſecretly aſſembling his party, he appeared in [136] arms at Haringay Park, near Highgate, at the head of a body of men, more than ſufficient to intimidate the king, and all his adherents. Theſe inſurgents, ſenſible of their own power, were now reſolved to make uſe of the occa⯑ſion; and began by demanding of the king the names of thoſe who had adviſed him to his late raſh meaſures. A few days after they appeared armed in his preſence, and accuſed, by name, the archbiſhop of York, the duke of Ireland, the earl of Suffolk, and Sir Ro⯑bert Treſilian, one of the judges who had de⯑clared in his favour, together with Sir Nicho⯑las Bember, as public and dangerous enemies to the ſtate. It was now too late for the op⯑poſite party to attempt any other vindication of their conduct than by arms. The duke of Ireland fled into Cheſhire, where he attempted to raiſe a body of forces; but was quickly obliged to fly into Flanders, on the arrival of the duke of Glouceſter with a ſuperior army. Soon after the king was obliged to ſummon a parliament; an accuſation was drawn up a⯑gainſt five of his counſellors; of theſe only Sir Nicholas Bember was preſent; and he was quickly found guilty, condemned, and exe⯑cuted, together with Sir Robert Treſilian, who had been diſcovered and taken during the in⯑terval. [137] But the blood of one or two was not ſufficient to ſatiate the reſentment of the duke of Glouceſter; lord Beauchamp of Holt was ſhortly after condemned and executed; and Sir Simon Burley, who had been appointed the king's governor, ſhared the ſame fate, al⯑though the queen continued for three hours on her knees before the duke, imploring his pardon.

It might be ſuppoſed, that after ſuch a to⯑tal ſubverſion of the royal power, there would be no more ſtruggles, during this reign, be⯑tween the prince and his nominal ſubjects; but whether from the fluctuation of opinions among the people, or from the influence of a military force, which had been lately levied againſt France, we find Richard once more reſolving to ſhake of that power, which had long controled him, and actually bringing the parliament to ſecond his reſolutions.

In an extraordinary council of the nobility,A.D. 1389 aſſembled after Eaſter, he, to the aſtoniſh⯑ment of all preſent, deſired to know his age; and being told that he was turned of two and twenty, he alledged, that it was time then for him to govern without help; and that there was no reaſon that he ſhould be deprived of thoſe rights, which the meaneſt of his ſub⯑jects [138] enjoyed. The lords anſwering, in ſome confuſion, that he had certainly an indiſputable right to take upon himſelf the government of the kingdom: ‘"Yes, replied he, I have long been under the government of tutors; and I will now firſt ſhew my right to power by their removal."’ He then ordered Thomas Arundel, whom the commiſſioners had lately appointed chancellor, to give up the ſeal, which he next day delivered to William of Wickham, biſhop of Wincheſter. He next removed the duke of Glouceſter, the earl of Warwick, and other lords of the oppoſition, from the council. The biſhop of Hereford loſt his office of treaſurer; the earl of Arun⯑del was deprived of the poſt of high-admiral; all the great officers of the houſehold, as well as the judges, were changed; and all the of⯑fices felt the influence of this extraordinary revolution.

The king being thus left at liberty to con⯑duct the buſineſs of government at diſcretion, began by ſhewing many marks of moderation towards thoſe who before had endeavoured to depreſs his power; he ſeemed to be entirely reconciled to his uncles; and he remitted ſome ſubſidies which had been granted him, that ac⯑quired him for a time the affections of the [139] people. But he wanted thoſe arts that are uſually found to procure a laſting reſpect; he was fond of luxurious pleaſures, and idle oſten⯑tation; he admitted the meaneſt ranks to his familiarity; and his converſation was not adapted to impreſs them with a reverence for his morals or abilities. His military talents, on which mankind then placed the greateſt va⯑lue, were ſeldom exerted, and never with any great ſucceſs. The French war was ſcarce heard of; and ſome ſucceſsful inroads of the Scotch, particularly that which brought on a diſputed victory at Otterbone, were only oppoſed by thoſe barons whoſe poſſeſſions lay along the frontier. He gained indeed ſome reputation for arms in Ireland; but his ſucceſſes there were too inſignificant to give him a deciſive character. From thence, the ſmall regard which the public bore his perſon, diſpoſed them to murmur againſt his adminiſtration, and to receive with avidity every complaint which diſcontent, or ambition, ſuggeſted to his pre⯑judice.

Whether the duke of Glouceſter was ſe⯑cretly diſpleaſed with this mean diſpoſition in his royal nephew, or wanted to make himſelf king by fomenting jealouſies againſt him, muſt remain for ever unknown; but certain it is, [140] that he uſed every art to encreaſe the averſion of the nation againſt him, and to eſtabliſh his own popularity. He repreſented the peace which had been juſt then concluded with France,A.D. 1396 as the reſult of the king's puſilani⯑mity; and plauſibly appeared to lament that Richard ſhould have degenerated ſo far from the heroic virtues of his father. He fre⯑quently ſpoke with contempt of the king's perſon and government, and deliberated con⯑cerning the lawfulneſs of throwing off all al⯑legiance to him. Theſe were inſults that de⯑ſerved to be chaſtiſed in any ſubject; but that called aloud for puniſhment in him, whoſe po⯑pularity was dangerous, and who more than once had teſtified a diſpoſition to rebel. As all his conduct was ſecretly obſerved by the king's emiſſaries, Richard at length formed a reſolution of ridding himſelf entirely both of him and his faction, ſenſible that he then had the parliament entirely at his diſpoſal. He accordingly ordered Glouceſter to be imme⯑diately arreſted, and ſent over to Calais, at which place there was no danger of a reſcue from his numerous adherents. The earls of Arundel and Warwick were ſeized at the ſame time; and a parliament was ſummoned at Weſtminſter, which the king knew to be obe⯑dient [141] to his will. This parliament, as he was apprized, paſſed whatever acts he thought pro⯑per to dictate; they annulled for ever the commiſſion of fourteen, which had uſurped upon his authority; they repealed all thoſe acts which had condemned his former miniſ⯑ters; and revoked the general pardon which the king had granted, upon his aſſuming the reins of government into his own hands. In conſequence of this, ſeveral of the party of Glouceſter were impeached, condemned, and executed. Fitz-Alan, archbiſhop of Canter⯑bury, was baniſhed the kingdom, and his tem⯑poralities ſequeſtered. The earl of Arundel vainly attempted to plead the king's general pardon, to ſtop his execution; the earl of Warwick ſhewing ſigns of contrition, had his life ſpared, but was baniſhed to the Iſle of Man. The greateſt criminal yet remained; and a warrant was accordingly iſſued to the earl mareſchal, governor of Calais, to bring over the duke of Glouceſter to take his trial, as the reſt had done. It is probable this no⯑bleman would have ſhared the ſame fate with the reſt of his party; but he was privately diſpatched in priſon, being ſmothered, as it afterwards appeared, between two pillows, by his keepers.

[142]The death of a nobleman ſo popular as the duke, did not fail to encreaſe thoſe animoſities, which had already taken deep root in the king⯑dom. The aggrandiſement of ſome new fa⯑vourites, contributed ſtill more to make the king odious; but though he ſeemed reſolved, by all his actions, to ſet his ſubjects againſt him, it was accident that gave the occaſion for his overthrow. After the deſtruction of the duke of Glouceſter, and the heads of that par⯑ty, a miſunderſtanding broke out among thoſe noblemen, who had joined in the proſecution. The duke of Hereford appeared in parliament, and accuſed the duke of Norfolk of having ſpoken ſeditious words againſt his majeſty, in a private converſation. Norfolk denied the charge; gave Hereford the lie; and offered to prove his innocence by ſingle combat. As proofs were wanting for legal trial, the lords readily acquieſced in that mode of determina⯑tion; the time and place were appointed; and the whole nation waited with anxious ſuſpenſe for the event. At length the day arrived, on which this duel was to be fought; and as combats of this kind were then very prevalent, it may not be amiſs to deſcribe the ceremonies on that occa⯑ſion. Hereford, the chalenger, firſt appeared on a white charger, gaily capariſoned, armed at [143] all points, and holding his drawn ſword. When he approached the liſts, the mareſchal demanded his name and buſineſs; to which he replied, ‘"I am Henry of Lancaſter, duke of Hereford, come hither according to my duty, againſt Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, a falſe traitor to God and the king, the realm and me."’ Then taking the oath that his quarrel was juſt and true, he deſired to enter the liſts, which being granted, he ſheath⯑ed his ſword, pulled down his beaver, croſſ⯑ed himſelf on the forehead, ſeized his lance, paſſed the barrier, alighted, and ſate down in a chair of green velvet, placed at one end of the liſts. He had ſcarce taken his ſeat when the king came into the field with great pomp, attended by the lords, the count de St Pol, who came from France on purpoſe to ſee this famous trial, and ten thouſand men at arms, to prevent tumults and diſturbances. His ma⯑jeſty being ſeated in his chair of ſtate, the king at arms proclaimed, that none but ſuch as were appointed to marſhal the field, ſhould preſume to touch the liſts upon pain of death. Then another herald proclaimed aloud, ‘"Behold here Henry of Lancaſter, duke of Here⯑ford, who has entered the liſts to perform his devoir againſt Thomas Mowbray, duke [144] of Norfolk, on pain of being counted falſe and recreant."’ Juſt then the duke of Nor⯑folk appeared in arms, mounted upon a barb⯑ed horſe, with a coat of arms of crimſon vel⯑vet embroidered with lions of ſilver, and mul⯑bery trees; and having taken his oath before the conſtable and mareſchal, entered the field, exclaiming aloud, ‘"God defend the right."’ Then alighting from his horſe, he placed him⯑ſelf in a chair of crimſon velvet oppoſite to his antagoniſt, at the other end of the liſts. Af⯑ter which, the mareſchal having meaſured their lances, delivered one to the challenger, and ſent a knight with the other to the duke of Norfolk; and proclamation was made that they ſhould prepare for the combat. Accord⯑ingly, mounting their horſes, and cloſing their beavers, they fixed their launces in reſt, and the trumpets ſounded the charge. The duke of Hereford began his career with great vio⯑lence; but, before he could join his antagoniſt, the king threw down his warder, and the heralds interpoſed. By the advice and autho⯑rity of his parliamentary commiſſioners, he ſtopped the combat, and ordered both the combatants to leave the kingdom. The duke of Norfolk he baniſhed for life, but the duke of Hereford only for ten years. Thus the one [145] was condemned to exile without being charged with any offence, and the other without being convicted of any crime. The duke of Norfolk was overwhelmed with grief and deſpondence at the judgment awarded againſt him; he retired to Venice, where, in a little time after, he died of a broken heart. Hereford's behaviour on this occaſion was reſigned and ſubmiſſive, which ſo pleaſed the king, that he conſented to ſhorten the date of his baniſhment four years; and he alſo granted him letters patent, enſuring him the enjoyment of any inheritance which ſhould fall to him during his abſence. But nothing could be more fluctuating than Richard's pro⯑miſes or friendſhip. The earl of Hereford re⯑tiring into Flanders, and from thence to Paris, found there a very favourable reception from the French king. He even opened a treaty of marriage with the daughter of the duke of Berry, uncle to the king of France; but was prevented from completing the alliance by the intereſt of Richard, who, dreading the encreaſ⯑ing power of the baniſhed earl, ſent over the earl of Saliſbury to Paris, with inſtructions to break the match. Such an unexpected injury could not fail to aggravate the reſentment of Hereford; but he had ſtill more cogent reaſons for anger, upon the death of his father, the [146] duke of Lancaſter, which happened ſhortly af⯑ter. Richard, as we before obſerved, had given him letters patent, empowering him to poſſeſs any accidental ſucceſſions that ſhould fall to him while abroad; but being now afraid of ſtrengthening the hands of a man whom he had injured, he revoked thoſe letters, and re⯑tained the poſſeſſion of the Lancaſter eſtate to himſelf.

Such complicated injuries ſerved to en⯑flame the reſentment of Hereford againſt the king; and although he had hitherto con⯑cealed them, he now ſet no bounds to his in⯑dignation; but even conceived a deſire of de⯑throning a perſon who had ſhewn himſelf ſo unworthy of power. Indeed, no man could be better qualified for an enterprize of this nature than the earl of Hereford: he was cool, cautious, diſcerning, and reſolute. He had ſerved with diſtinction againſt the infidels of Lithuania; and he had thus joined to his other merits, thoſe of piety and valour. He was the idol of the ſoldiery, and the favourite of the people; he was immenſely rich, and by blood, or alliance, connected with all the great families of the nation. On the other hand, the king finding himſelf above all reſtraint, gave himſelf up to a ſoft effeminate life, regardleſs [147] of his own ſafety, and of the good of the pub⯑lic. His miniſters following the example of their ſovereign, gave little attention to buſineſs; but ſaw, without any concern, the honour of the nation ſinking into contempt. In this ſitua⯑tion, all people naturally turned their eyes upon the baniſhed earl, as the only perſon from whom they could expect relief, or redreſs. He was ſtimulated by private injuries; and had alliances and fortune ſufficient to give weight to his meaſures. The malcontents only wait⯑ed for the abſence of the king to put their ſchemes in execution; and for theſe an oppor⯑tunity was quickly offered.

The earl of Marche, preſumptive heir to the crown, having been appointed the king's lieu⯑tenant in Ireland, was ſlain in a ſkirmiſh with the natives of that country, which ſo incenſed Richard, that, unmindful of his precarious ſituation at home, he reſolved, with a numerous army, to revenge his death in perſon. The duke of Lancaſter (for that was the title which Hereford aſſumed, upon the death of his fa⯑ther) being informed of Richard's departure for Ireland, inſtantly embarked at Nantz, with a retinue of ſixty perſons, in three ſmall veſſels, and landed at Ravenſpur in Yorkſhire. The earl of Northumberland, who had long been a [148] malcontent, together with Henry Percy, his ſon, who, from his ardent valour, was ſurna⯑med Hotſpur, immediately joined him with their forces. After this junction the con⯑courſe of people coming to liſt under his ban⯑ner was ſo great, that in a few days his army amounted to threeſcore thouſand men.

The duke of York had been left guardian of the realm during Richard's abſence; but his efforts were ineffectual, as the moſt powerful perſons who eſpouſed the king's intereſts were then actually with him in Ireland. The duke, however, aſſembled a body of forty thouſand men at St Alban's; but found them either quite diſpirited, or more attached to the cauſe of the rebels, than of the crown. It had been Here⯑ford's policy, from the beginning, to hide the real motives of his expedition, and to give out that he only aimed at the recovery of his patri⯑mony and dukedom. Upon the preſent occa⯑ſion, therefore, he entreated the duke of York not to oppoſe a loyal and humble ſuppliant in the recovery of his juſt rights; but to concur in a meaſure that was more likely to promote the king's honour, than injure his intereſts. York was deceived by theſe ſpecious profeſ⯑ſions; he declared, that he would not only ap⯑prove, but aſſiſt him in his pretenſions; and [149] both armies meeting, embraced with acclama⯑tions of joy.

Whilſt theſe things were tranſacting in Eng⯑land, Richard continued in Ireland in perfect ſecurity. Contrary winds, which at that time continued to blow for three weeks together, prevented his receiving any news of the rebellion which was begun in his native dominions. Upon the firſt information, therefore, he immediate⯑ly impriſoned the earl of Hereford's brothers, whom he had taken over with him, and then reſolved to go immediately over to fight the ene⯑my in perſon. Yet, ever wavering in his re⯑ſolutions, he was perſuaded to ſtay ſome time longer, till he could prepare ſhips to tranſport all his forces together. This delay completed his ruin; ſo that when he landed at Milford⯑haven with a body of twenty thouſand men, he had the mortification to find that the duke of York had already eſpouſed the intereſts of his rival, and that his force was every way in⯑ferior to that of the enemy. He now, there⯑fore, ſaw himſelf in a dreadful ſituation, in the midſt of an enraged people, without any friend on whom to rely; and forſaken by thoſe, who, in the ſunſhine of his power, had only contributed to fan his follies. His little army gradually began to deſert him, till at laſt he [150] found that he had not above ſix thouſand men, who followed his ſtandard. Thus, not know⯑ing whom to truſt to, or where to turn, he ſaw no other hopes of ſafety, but to throw himſelf upon the generoſity of his enemy, and to gain from pity, what he could not obtain by arms. He, therefore, ſent Hereford word that he was ready to ſubmit to whatever terms he thought proper to preſcribe; and that he earneſtly de⯑ſired a conference. For this purpoſe, the earl appointed him to meet at a caſtle within about ten miles of Cheſter,A.D. 1399 where he came the next day with his whole army. Richard, who the day before had been brought thither by the duke of Northumberland, deſcrying his rival's approach from the walls, went down to receive him; while Hereford, after ſome ceremony, entered the caſtle in complete armour, only his head was bare, in compliment to the fallen king. Richard received him with that open air for which he had been remarkable, and kindly bade him welcome. ‘"My lord the king, returned the earl, with a cool reſpectful bow, I am come ſooner than you appointed; becauſe your people ſay, that for one and twenty years you have governed with rigour and indiſcretion. They are very ill ſatisfied with your con⯑duct; [151] but, if it pleaſe God, I will help you to govern them better for the time to come."’ To this declaration the king made no other anſwer, but ‘"Fair couſin, ſince it pleaſes you, it pleaſes us likewiſe."’

But Hereford's haughty anſwer was not the only mortification the unfortunate Richard was to endure. After a ſhort converſation with ſome of the king's attendants, Hereford or⯑dered the king's horſes to be brought out of the ſtable; and two wretched animals being produced, Richard was placed upon one, and his favourite, the earl of Saliſbury, upon the other. In this mean equipage they rode to Cheſter; and were conveyed to the caſtle, with a great noiſe of trumpets, and through a vaſt concourſe of people, who were no way moved at the ſight. In this manner he was led tri⯑umphantly along, from town to town, amidſt multitudes who ſcoffed at him, and extolled his rival. Long live the good duke of Lancaſter, our deliverer! was the general cry; but as for the king, to uſe the pathetic words of the poet, ‘"None cryed God bleſs him."’ Thus, after re⯑peated indignities, he was confined a cloſe priſoner in the Tower; there if, poſſible, to undergo a ſtill greater variety of ſtudied in⯑ſolence, and flagrant contempt. The wretch⯑ed [152] monarch, humbled in this manner, began to loſe the pride of a king with the ſplendours of royalty, and his ſpirits ſunk to his circum⯑ſtances. There was no great difficultly, there⯑fore, in inducing him to ſign a deed, by which he renounced his crown, as being unqualified for governing the kingdom. Upon this reſig⯑nation Hereford founded his principal claim; but willing to fortify his pretenſions with every appearance of juſtice, he called a parliament, which was readily brought to approve and confirm his claims. A frivolous charge of thirty-three articles was drawn up, and found valid againſt the king; upon which he was ſolemnly depoſed, and the earl of Hereford elected in his ſtead, by the title of Henry IV. Thus began the conteſt between the houſes of York and Lancaſter; which, for ſeveral years after, deluged the kingdom with blood; and yet, in the end, contributed to ſettle and confirm the conſtitution.

When Richard was depoſed, the earl of Northumberland made a motion in the houſe of peers, demanding the advice of parliament, with regard to the future treatment of the de⯑poſed king. To this they replied, that he ſhould be impriſoned in ſome ſecure place, where his friends and partizans ſhould not be [153] able to find him. This was accordingly put in practice; but while he ſtill continued alive, the uſurper could not remain in ſafety. In⯑deed ſome conſpiracies and commotions, which followed ſoon after, induced Henry to wiſh for Richard's death; in conſequence of which, one of thoſe aſſaſſins that are found in every court, ready to commit the moſt horrid crimes for reward, went down to the place of this un⯑fortunate monarch's confinement, in the caſtle of Pomfret; and, with eight of his followers, ruſhed into his apartment. The king con⯑cluding their deſign was to take away his life, reſolved not to fall unrevenged, but to ſell it as dearly as he could; wherefore, wreſting a pole⯑ax from one of the murderers, he ſoon laid four of their number dead at his feet. But he was at length overpowered, and ſtruck dead by the blow of a poll-ax; although ſome aſſert, that he was ſtarved in priſon. Thus died the unfortunate Richard, in the thirty-fourth year of his age, and the twenty-third of his reign. Though his conduct was blameable, yet the puniſhment he ſuffered was greater than his offences; and in the end, his ſufferings made more converts to his family and cauſe, than ever his moſt meritorious actions could have procured them. He left no poſterity, either legitimate or otherwiſe.

[154]It was during this reign, that John Wick⯑liff, a ſecular prieſt, educated at Oxford, be⯑gan to propagate his doctrines; and he has the honour of being the firſt perſon who had ſa⯑gacity to ſee through the errors of the church of Rome, and courage enough to attempt a reformation. He denied the doctrine of the real preſence, the ſupremacy of the church of Rome, and the merit of monaſtic vows. He maintained that the ſcriptures were the ſole rule of faith; that the church was de⯑pendant on the ſtate; that the clergy ought to poſſeſs no eſtates; and that the numerous ceremonies of the church were hurtful to true piety. In ſhort, moſt of his doctrines were ſuch as the wiſdom of poſterity thought fit to eſtabliſh; and Wickliff failed in being a reformer, only becauſe the minds of men were not yet ſufficiently ripened for the truths he endeavoured to inculcate. The clergy of that age did not fail to oppoſe Wickliff with fury; but as his doctrines were pleaſing to the higher orders of the laity, he found protection from their indignation. John of Gaunt was his particular friend and favourer; and when ſum⯑moned to appear before the biſhop of London, that nobleman attended him into the court; and defended him both from the reſentment [155] of the clergy, and the rage of the populace. However, in proceſs of time, he had the ſatis⯑faction to ſee the people, who were at firſt ſtrongly prejudiced againſt him, entirely de⯑claring in his favour; and although he was often cited to appear before the prelates, yet, from the eſtimation he was held in, both among the higher and lower ranks of the laity, he was always diſmiſſed without injury. In this manner he continued during a long life, to leſſen the credit of the clergy, both by his preaching and writings; and at laſt died of a palſy, in the year 1385, at his rectory of Lut⯑terworth, in the county of Leiceſter; while the clergy took care to repreſent his death as a judgment from heaven, for his multiplied he⯑reſies and impieties.

CHAP. XVI. HENRY IV.

A.D. 1399 NUMEROUS formalities are ſeldom uſed but to cover diſtruſt or injuſtice. Henry the fourth, knowing the weakneſs of his title, was, at leaſt, determined to give his corona⯑tion all poſſible ſolemnity, and to make reli⯑gion a cloak to cover his uſurpation. Accord⯑ingly, particular care was taken to procure a certain oil, ſaid to have been preſented by the [157] Virgin Mary to Thomas Becket, during his exile. The phial that contained this precious balm had fallen into the hands of an hermit, who gave it to the duke of Lancaſter, aſſuring him, that all kings anointed with that oil, would become true champions of the church. On the preſent occaſion, being ſeized by Henry among the other jewels of Richard, he was anointed with it in all the forms; at the ſame time declaring, that he had aſcended the throne by the right of conqueſt, the reſigna⯑tion of Richard in his favour, and as the moſt direct deſcendant of Henry the third, king of England. Theſe were the formalities made uſe of to hide his ambition, or perhaps quiet his own fears; for the heir of the houſe of Mortimer, who had in the late reign been de⯑clared in parliament the true heir of the crown, was ſtill alive, although yet but a boy of ſe⯑ven years of age. Him Henry detained, to⯑gether with his younger brother, in an honour⯑able cuſtody, at Windſor caſtle.

But notwithſtanding theſe precautions for his ſecurity, Henry ſoon found that the throne of an uſurper is ever a bed of thorns. Such violent animoſities broke out among the ba⯑rons, in the firſt ſeſſion of his parliament, that forty challenges were given and received, and [158] forty gauntlets thrown down, as pledges of the ſincerity of their reſentment. But though theſe commotions were ſeemingly ſuppreſſed by his moderation for that time, yet they ſoon broke out into rebellion; and a conſpi⯑racy was ſet on foot for ſeizing Henry at Windſor, and replacing Richard on the throne, who was ſuppoſed to be yet alive. This plot was ſet on foot by the earls of Rutland, Kent, Huntington, and lord Spencer, whom Henry had degraded from ſuperior titles, conferred upon them by the late king. The particulars of their ſcheme were committed to writing, and each of the confederates had a copy ſigned by all the reſt. Among the number of theſe, the duke of Aumerle was one, furniſhed with a paper, which he unfortunately dropt out of his boſom, as he was ſitting one day at dinner with his father, the duke of York. The fa⯑ther perceiving ſomething fall, privately took it up, and to his great aſtoniſhment diſcovered the contents, which he reſolved, with all dili⯑gence, to diſcover to the king, and accordingly rode off with the utmoſt expedition to Wind⯑ſor, where the court reſided at that juncture. In the mean time, the ſon finding the ſad miſ⯑chance that happened, and gueſſing the cauſe of his father's expedition, was reſolved, if poſ⯑ſible, [159] to prevent his information; and haſten⯑ing by a ſhorter way, diſcovered the whole to the king, and obtained the royal pardon be⯑fore his father could arrive, who coming ſoon after, produced the paper, with the names of the conſpirators.

In the mean time, while Henry employed the moſt vigorous efforts to diſpel the riſing ſtorm, the conſpirators, finding their firſt inten⯑tions fruſtrated, dreſſed up one of the late king's ſervants, named Maudlin, in royal robes, giv⯑ing out that he was the depoſed monarch, whom they had taken from his priſon, and were willing to replace on the throne. Pity is a paſſion for which the Engliſh have ever been remarkable; majeſty in diſtreſs was an object ſufficient, at once, to excite their loyalty and compaſſion; and they accordingly flocked in great numbers round the ſtandard of the con⯑ſpirators. Their army ſoon became conſider⯑able, and encamped near Cirenceſter, while the leaders took up their head-quarters within the city; yet ſo careleſs or inexperienced were they, that they neglected to place proper guards at the gates and the avenues of the place. This was quickly perceived by the mayor of the town, who was in the intereſts of the king; this magiſtrate aſſembling four hundred men in [160] the night, ſecured the gates, ſo as to exclude the army encamped without, and then he attacked the chiefs within. The earls of Kent and Sa⯑liſbury were taken, after an obſtinate reſiſtance, and beheaded on the ſpot by the mayor's or⯑der. The earls of Huntington, and lord Spencer, eſcaped over the tops of the houſes into the camp, in hopes of ſtorming the town at the head of their forces; but they quickly had the mortification to find the tents and bag⯑gage abandoned by the ſoldiers, who, upon hearing the noiſe and tumult within, had con⯑cluded, that a party of the king's army had entered privately to ſtrengthen the townſmen; and under the conviction of this, they fled with the utmoſt precipitation.

The two lords perceiving that all hope was over, endeavoured to conceal themſelves ſepa⯑rately; but they were ſoon after taken, and loſt their heads upon the ſcaffold by the king's own order. Their deaths were ſoon after followed by thoſe of Sir Thomas Blount, and Sir Bene⯑dict Sely; and when the quarters of theſe un⯑happy men were brought to London, no leſs than eighteen biſhops, and thirty-four mitred abbots, joined the populace, and met them with the moſt indecent marks of joy and exultation. In this ſhocking proceſſion, was ſeen the earl [161] of Rutland carrying the head of lord Spencer, his brother in-law, in triumph, after having betrayed him. This miſcreant had been long enured to blood and treachery: he was in⯑ſtrumental in the murder of his uncle, the duke of Glouceſter, to pleaſe Richard; he ſoon after deſerted the fallen fortunes of that mon⯑arch, and joined with Henry; not long after, he entered into a conſpiracy againſt this mon⯑arch, after having ſworn allegiance to him; and now, at laſt, betrayed thoſe very aſſo⯑ciates whom he had ſeduced into this enter⯑prize, carrying in triumph the marks of his execrable villainies.

But the ſuppreſſion of a ſingle rebellion was not ſufficient to give quiet to a kingdom, threatened with foreign invaſions, and torn by inteſtine diſcontents. The king of France had actually raiſed a vaſt armament to invade Eng⯑land; but a truce was ſoon after concluded for eight and twenty years; and it was agreed, that queen Iſabel, who had been married to Rich⯑ard, but whoſe marriage had never been con⯑ſummated, ſhould return to France, her native country. The Scotch, ſhortly after, began to renew their ancient diſturbances; and while the Engliſh army marched northward to op⯑poſe their incurſions, the Welſh, on the other [162] ſide, under the conduct of Owen Glendour, attacked the kingdom upon the defence⯑leſs quarter. Many were the petty victories gained, and the ravages committed on either part in this conteſt. The name of Owen Glen⯑dour is reſpected among his countrymen to this very day; but as all his conqueſts procur⯑ed no laſting advantage, and as all his victo⯑ries only terminated in fame, they are ſcarce worth a place in the page of hiſtory. It will be ſufficient to obſerve, that whatever honour the Engliſh loſt on the ſide of Wales, they gained an equivalent on that of Scotland; the Welſh maintained their ground, although their chieftain, Glendour, was taken priſoner, while the Scotch ſtill fled before the Engliſh, and would neither ſubmit, nor yet give them battle.

A.D. 1402 It was in a ſkirmiſh between the Scotch and the Engliſh, that Archibald, earl of Douglas, with many of the Scotch nobility, were taken priſoners by the earl of Northumberland, and carried to Alnwick caſtle. This ſucceſs was conſidered at firſt as of ſignal advantage; but it was ſoon attended with conſequences that were fatal to the victors. When Henry received intelligence of this victory, he ſent the earl orders not to ranſom his priſoners, as [163] he intended to detain them, in order to en⯑creaſe his demands, in making peace with Scot⯑land. This meſſage was highly reſented by the earl of Northumberland, who, by the laws of war that prevailed in that age, had a right to the ranſom of all ſuch as he had taken in battle. The command was ſtill more irkſome, as he conſidered the king as his debtor, both for ſecurity and his crown. Indeed, the ob⯑ligations which Henry owed him, were of a na⯑ture the moſt likely to produce ingratitude on the one ſide, and diſcontent on the other. The prince naturally became jealous of that power which had advanced him to the throne; and the ſubject thought himſelf entitled to every favour the crown had to beſtow. Not but that Henry had already conferred the higheſt honours upon him; he had made him conſtable of the kingdom, and given him ſeveral other employ⯑ments; but nothing could ſatisfy this nobleman's ambition, while the king had any thing left to give. Accordingly, ſtung with this ſup⯑poſed injury, he reſolved to overturn a throne which he had the chief hand in eſtabliſhing. A ſcheme was laid, in which the Scotch and Welſh were to unite their forces, and to aſſiſt Northumberland in elevating Mortimer, as the true heir, to the crown of England. When all [164] things were prepared for the intended inſurrec⯑tion, the earl had the mortification to find him⯑ſelf unable to lead on the troops, being ſeized with a ſudden illneſs at Berwick. But the want of his preſence was well ſupplied by his ſon Harry Percy, ſurnamed Hotſpur, who took the command of the troops, and marched them towards Shrewſbury, in order to join his forces with thoſe of Glendour, who, ſome time before, had been exchanged from priſon, and had now advanced with his forces as far as Shropſhire. Upon the junction of theſe two armies, they publiſhed a manifeſto, which aggravated their real grievances, and invented more. In the mean time, Henry, who had received no intelligence of their deſigns, was at firſt greatly ſurpriſed at the news of this rebellion. But fortune ſeemed to befriend him on this occaſion; he had a ſmall army in readi⯑neſs, which he had intended againſt the Scotch, and knowing the importance of diſpatch againſt ſuch active enemies, he inſtantly hur⯑ried down to Shrewſbury, that he might give the rebels battle.

Upon the approach of the two armies, both ſides ſeemed willing to give a colour to their cauſe, by ſhewing a deſire of reconciliation; but when they came to open their mutual de⯑mands, [165] the treaty was turned into abuſe and recrimination. On one ſide was objected rebel⯑lion and ingratitude; on the other, tyranny and uſurpation. The two armies were pretty near⯑ly equal, each conſiſting of about twelve thou⯑ſand men; the animoſity on both ſides was in⯑flamed to the higheſt pitch; and no prudence nor military ſkill could determine on which ſide the victory might incline. Accordingly, a very bloody engagement enſued, in which the generals on both ſides exerted themſelves with great bravery. Henry was ſeen every where in the thickeſt of the fight; while his valiant ſon, who was afterwards the renowned conque⯑ror of France, fought by his ſide, and, though wounded in the face by an arrow, ſtill kept the field, and performed aſtoniſhing acts of valour. On the other ſide, the daring Hotſpur ſupport⯑ed that renown, which he had acquired in ſo many bloody engagements, and every where ſought out the king as a noble object of his indignation. At laſt, however, his death, from an unknown hand, decided the victory; and the fortune of Henry once more prevailed. On that bloody day, it is ſaid that no leſs than two thouſand three hundred gentlemen were ſlain, and about ſix thouſand private men, of whom two thirds were of Hotſpur's army.

[166]While this furious tranſaction was going forward, Northumberland, who was lately re⯑covered from his indiſpoſition, was advancing with a body of troops to reinforce the army of the malcontents, and take upon him the com⯑mand. But hearing by the way of his ſon's and his brother's misfortune, he diſmiſſed his troops, not daring to keep the field with ſo ſmall a force, before an army ſuperior in num⯑ber, and fluſhed with recent victory. The earl, therefore, for a while attempted to find ſafety by flight, but at laſt being preſſed by his purſuers, and finding himſelf totally without reſource, he choſe rather to throw himſelf upon the king's mercy, than lead a precarious and indigent life in exile. Upon his appearing before Henry at York, he pretended that his ſole intention in arming was to mediate be⯑tween the two parties; and this, though but a very weak apology, ſeemed to ſatisfy the king. Northumberland, therefore, received a pardon; Henry probably thinking that he was ſufficiently puniſhed by the loſs of his ar⯑my, and the death of his favourite ſon.

But the extinction of one rebellion only ſeemed to give riſe to another. The arch⯑biſhop of York, who had been promoted during the late reign, entered into a confede⯑racy [167] with the earl of Nottingham, and the earl of Northumberland, who had been ſo lately pardoned, to dethrone the king, and ſet young Mortimer in his place. Had the forces of theſe inſurgents co-operated with thoſe that were ſo lately overthrown, it is poſſible they might have overpowered any body of men, which the king could bring into the field; but they began their operations juſt when their confederates where defeated. This powerful combination, how⯑ever, took the field and publiſhed a manifeſto; in which they reproached Henry with uſurpa⯑tion, tyranny, and murder; they required that the right line ſhould be reſtored, and all griev⯑ances redreſſed. The earl of Weſtmoreland, who had been ſent againſt them with a very infe⯑rior force, demanded a conference, to which they readily conſented. The chiefs, on each ſide, met at Skipton, near York, and, in the preſence of both armies, entered upon the ſubject of their grievances and complaints. The archbi⯑ſhop loudly deplored the nation's injuries and his own; the earl of Shrewſbury, not only al⯑lowed the juſtice of his remonſtrances, but begged of him to propoſe the remedies. The archbiſhop entered upon many ſtipulations, and the earl granted them all. He now, therefore, entreated, that ſince they had nothing more [168] to aſk or to fear, that they would diſmiſs their forces, and truſt to his honour for the reſt. His ſpecious promiſes, and plauſible manners, led them to their ruin. The inſurgents im⯑mediately diſbanded their troops,A.D. 1405 while he gave private orders that his own army ſhould not diſperſe till further notice; and thus having diſqualified them for defence in⯑ſtantly ſeizing upon the archbiſhop, and the earl of Northampton, he carried them to the king. The form of a trial was a very unne⯑ceſſary ceremony, to men whoſe fate was pre⯑determined; the archbiſhop of York was the firſt prelate who was capitally puniſhed in England, the earl of Nottingham ſhared the ſame fate, and the earl of Northumberland found ſafety by flying into Scotland; but he was ſlain a year or two after, in an incurſion, by Sir Thomas Rokeſby, ſheriff of Yorkſhire.

Such advantages ſeemed to promiſe the country, long torn with factions, and threat⯑ened with invaſions, ſome degree of repoſe; but a new calamity now began to appear, which, though ſmall in the beginning, be⯑came in the courſe of ages, attended with moſt dreadful effects. Since Wickliff had pub⯑liſhed his opinions, in the laſt reign, his doctrines met with ſo many partizans, that [169] the clergy began to tremble for their in⯑fluence over the minds of the people. They, therefore, uſed all their intereſt to bring the king over to their party; who had more than once, in former times, declared himſelf in fa⯑vour of the new doctrines. But at preſent, as he was conſcious of the weakneſs of his title to the crown, he was reſolved to make uſe of every ſupport to confirm his pretenſions; and, among others, that offered him by the clergy, was by no means to be thought ſlightly of. He, therefore, ſeemed to liſten with great earneſt⯑neſs to their complaints; and took an occa⯑ſion to direct his parliament to attend to the conſervation of the church, which he aſſerted was then in danger. How reluctant ſoever the houſe of commons might be, to perſecute a ſect, whoſe crime at any rate was but error, the credit of the court, and the cabals of the clergy, at laſt obtained an act for the burning obſtinate heretics. This ſtatute was no ſooner paſt than the clergy reſolved to ſhew that it was not hung out as an empty terror, but that it would be urged with all the force of which it was capable. William Sawtre, a follower of Wickliff, and rector of St. Oſithe's, Lon⯑don, had been condemned by the convocation of Canterbury; and was ſoon after burned [170] alive, by virtue of the king's writ, delivered to the mayor of London. This was the firſt man that ſuffered death in England for the ſake of religion; but the fires once kindled, were not likely to be ſoon extinguiſhed, as the clergy had the power of continuing the flame. They eaſily perceived, that a power of burn⯑ing their enemies would revive that ſhare of temporal power, which they had poſſeſſed ſome centuries before; and in this they were not miſtaken. They thus again renewed their priſtine authority, but upon very different grounds; for as in the Saxon times they fix⯑ed their power upon the affections, ſo they now founded it upon the terrors of the peo⯑ple.

By theſe means Henry ſeemed to ſurmount all his troubles; and the calm, which was thus produced, was employed by him in endeavours to acquire popularity, which he had loſt by the ſeverities exerciſed during the preceding part of his reign.A.D. 1407 For that reaſon, he often permitted the houſe of commons to aſſume powers, which had not been uſually exerciſed by their predeceſſors. In the ſixth year of his reign, when they voted him the ſupplies, they appointed treaſurers of their own, to ſee the money diſburſed for the purpoſes intended; [171] and required them to deliver in their accounts to the houſe. They propoſed thirty very im⯑portant articles for the government of the king's houſhold; and, on the whole, preſerved their privileges and freedoms, more entire during his reign, than that of any of his pre⯑deceſſors. But while the king thus laboured, not without ſucceſs, to retrieve the reputation he had loſt, his ſon Henry, prince of Wales, ſeemed equally bent on incurring the public averſion. He became notorious for all kinds of debauchery; and ever choſe to be ſurround⯑ed by a ſet of wretches, who took pride in committing the moſt illegal acts, with the prince at their head. The king was not a little mor⯑tified at this degeneracy in his eldeſt ſon, who ſeemed entirely forgetful of his ſtation, al⯑though he had already exhibited repeated proofs of his valour, conduct, and generoſity. Such were the exceſſes into which he ran, that one of his diſſolute companions having been brought to trial before Sir William Gaſcoigne, chief juſtice of the king's bench, for ſome miſ⯑demeanor, the prince was ſo exaſperated at the iſſue of the trial, that he ſtruck the judge in open court. The venerable magiſtrate, who knew the reverence that was due to his ſtation, behaved with a dignity that became [172] his office, and immediately ordered the prince to be committed to priſon. When this tranſ⯑action was reported to the king, who was an excellent judge of mankind, he could not help exclaiming in a tranſport; ‘"Happy is the king, that has a magiſtrate endowed with courage to execute the laws upon ſuch an offender; ſtill more happy in having a ſon, willing to ſubmit to ſuch a chaſtiſement."’ This, in fact, is one of the firſt great inſtances we read in the Engliſh hiſtory, of a magiſtrate doing juſtice in oppoſition to power; ſince, up⯑on many former occaſions, we find the judges only miniſters of royal caprice.

Henry, whoſe health had for ſome time been declining, did not long out-live this tranſ⯑action. He was ſubject to fits, which bereav⯑ed him, for the time, of his ſenſes; and which, at laſt, brought on the near approach of death at Weſtminſter. As his conſtitution decayed, his fears of loſing the crown redoubled, even to a childiſh anxiety. He could not be per⯑ſuaded to ſleep, unleſs the royal diadem were laid upon his pillow. He reſolved to take the croſs, and fight the cauſe of the pilgrims to Jeruſalem; and even imparted his deſign to a great council, demanding their opinions re⯑lative to his intended journey: but his diſor⯑der [173] encreaſing to a violent degree, he was ob⯑liged to lay aſide his ſcheme, and to prepare for a journey of much greater importance. In this ſituation, as he was one day in a violent paroxyſm, the prince of Wales took up the crown and carried it away; but the king ſoon after recovering his ſenſes, and miſſing the crown, demanded what was become of it? Be⯑ing informed that the prince of Wales had car⯑ried it off: ‘"What! ſaid the king, would he rob me of my right before my death?"’ But the prince juſt then entering the room, aſſured his father, that he had no ſuch motives in what he had done, went and replaced the crown where he had found it; and having received his father's bleſſing, dutifully retired. The king was taken with his laſt fit, while he was at his devotions before the ſhrine of St. Ed⯑ward the Confeſſor, in Weſtminſter Abbey, and from thence he was carried to the Jeruſa⯑lem Chamber. When he had recovered from his ſwoon, perceiving himſelf in a ſtrange place, he deſired to know where he was, and if the apartment had any particular name: being in⯑formed that it was called the Jeruſalem Cham⯑ber, he ſaid, that he then perceived a prophe⯑cy was fulfilled, which declared that he ſhould die in Jeruſalem. Thus ſaying, and recommend⯑ing [174] his ſoul to his Maker; he ſoon after expir⯑ed, in the forty-ſixth year of his age, and the fourteenth of his reign.

If we conſider this monarch on one ſide of his character, he will appear an object wor⯑thy the higheſt applauſe; if on the other, of our warmeſt indignation. As a man, he was valiant, prudent, cool, and ſagacious. Theſe virtues adorned him in his private character; nor did his vices appear, till ambition brought him within ſight of a throne: it was then that he was diſcovered to be unjuſt, cruel, gloomy, and tyrannical; and though his reign contributed much to the happineſs of his ſub⯑jects, yet it was entirely deſtructive of his own. He was twice married; by his firſt wife, Mary de Bohun, he had four ſons, Henry his ſuc⯑ceſſor, Thomas duke of Clarence, John duke of Bedford, Humphry duke of Glouceſter, and two daughters. By his ſecond wife he had no iſſue.

CHAP. XVII. HENRY V.

THE death of Henry IV. gave the people but very little concern,A.D. 1413 as he had always go⯑verned them rather by their fears than their affections. But the rejoicings made for the ſucceſſion of his ſon, notwithſtanding his ex⯑travagancies, were manifeſt and ſincere. In the very height and madneſs of the revel, he would often give inſtances of the nobleſt diſ⯑poſition; [176] and, though he did not practiſe the virtues of temperance, he always ſhewed that he eſteemed them. But it was his courage which in that martial age chiefly won the peo⯑ple's affection and applauſe. Courage, and ſuperſtition, then made up the whole ſyſtem of human duty; nor had the age any other idea of heroiſm, but what was the reſult of this combination.

The firſt ſteps taken by the young king confirmed all thoſe prepoſſeſſions entertained in his favour. He called together his former companions, acquainted them with his intend⯑ed reformation; exhorted them to follow his example; and thus diſmiſſed them from his preſence, allowing them a competency to ſub⯑ſiſt upon, till he ſaw them worthy of further promotion. The faithful miniſters of his fa⯑ther, at firſt, indeed, began to tremble for their former juſtice, in the adminiſtration of their duty; but he ſoon eaſed them of their fears, by taking them into his friendſhip and confidence. Sir William Gaſcoigne, who thought himſelf the moſt obnoxious, met with praiſes inſtead of reproaches, and was exhorted to perſevere in the ſame rigorous and impartial execution of juſtice.

[177]But Henry did not ſtop here; he ſhewed himſelf willing to correct, not only his own private errors, but thoſe of the former reign. He expreſſed the deepeſt ſorrow for the fate of the unhappy Richard, and ordered his fu⯑neral obſequies to be performed with royal ſolemnity. He ſeemed ambitious to bury all party-diſtinctions in oblivion, the good men of either party were only dear to him; and the bad, vainly alledged their loyalty as an exte⯑nuation of their vices. The exhortations, as well as the example of the prince, gave en⯑couragement to virtue; all parties were equal⯑ly attached to ſo juſt a prince, and the defects of his title were forgot, amidſt the luſtre of his admirable qualities.

In this manner, the people ſeemed happy in their new king; but it is not in the power of man to raiſe himſelf entirely above the preju⯑dices of the age in which he lives, or to cor⯑rect thoſe abuſes, which often employ the ſaga⯑city of whole centuries to diſcover. The vices of the clergy had drawn upon them the contempt and deteſtation of the people; but they were reſolved to continue their ancient power, not by reforming themſelves, but by perſecuting thoſe who oppoſed them. The hereſy of Wickliff, or Lollardiſm, as it was called, be⯑gan, [178] to ſpread every day more and more, while it received a new luſtre from the protection and preaching of Sir John Old caſtle, baron of Cobham, who had been one of the king's domeſtics, and ſtood high in his favour. His character, both for civil and military excel⯑lence, pointed him out to Arundel, arch⯑biſhop of Canterbury, as the proper victim of eccleſiaſtical vengeance; and he applied to the king for permiſſion to indict lord Cobham, as a miſcreant guilty of the moſt atrocious hereſy. But the generous nature of the prince was averſe to ſuch ſanguinary methods of conver⯑ſion; and he begged leave firſt to be permitted to try what effect the arts of reaſon and per⯑ſuaſion would produce upon this bold leader of his ſect. He accordingly deſired a private conference with lord Cobham; but he found that nobleman obſtinate in his opinions, and determined rather to part with life, than what he believed upon conviction. The king, there⯑fore, finding him immoveable, gave him up to the fury of his enemies. Perſecution ever propagates thoſe errors which it aims at abo⯑liſhing. The primate indicted lord Cobham; and with the aſſiſtance of his ſuffragans, con⯑demned him as an heretic to be burnt alive. Cobham, however, eſcaping from the Tower, [179] in which he was confined, the day before his execution, privately went among his party; and ſtimulating their zeal, led them up to London, to take a ſignal revenge of his ene⯑mies. But the king, appriſed of his inten⯑tions, ordered that the city-gates ſhould be ſhut; and coming by night with his guards into St. Giles's fields, ſeized ſuch of the con⯑ſpirators as appeared, and afterwards laid hold of ſeveral parties that were haſtening to the appointed place. Some of theſe were exe⯑cuted, but the greater number pardoned. Cobham himſelf found means of eſcaping for that time; but he was taken about four years after; and never did the cruelty of man in⯑vent, or crimes draw down, ſuch torments as he was made to endure. He was hung up with a chain by the middle; and thus at a ſlow fire burned, or rather roaſted, alive.

Such ſpectacles as theſe muſt naturally ex⯑cite the diſguſt of the people, not only againſt the clergy, but the government itſelf. Henry, to turn their minds from ſuch hideous ſcenes, reſolved to take the advantage of the trou⯑bles in which France was at that time engaged, and purſue the advice of his dying father, who gave it as his laſt inſtructions, that he ſhould employ his ſubjects in foreign expeditions, and [180] thus give all the reſtleſs ſpirits occupation for their inquietude. Charles the fifth, who was then king of France, was ſubject to frequent fits of lunacy, which totally diſqualified him from reigning. During the paroxyſms of his diſeaſe, the ambition of his vaſſals and cour⯑tiers had room for exertion; and they grew powerful from their ſovereign's weakneſs. The adminiſtration of affairs was diſputed between his brother Lewis, duke of Orleans, and his couſin-german, John, duke of Burgundy. Iſa⯑bella, his queen, alſo had her party; and the king vainly attempted to ſecure one alſo in his favour. Each of theſe, as they happened to prevail, branded their captives with the name of traitors; and the gibbets were at once hung with the bodies of the accuſed and the ac⯑cuſers. This, therefore, was thought by Henry a favourable opportunity to recover from France thoſe grants, that had been formerly given up by treaty. But previouſly, to give his intended expedition the appearance of juſ⯑tice, he ſent over ambaſſadors to Paris, offer⯑ing a perpetual peace and alliance, on condi⯑tion of being put in poſſeſſion of all thoſe provinces, which had been raviſhed from the Engliſh during the former reign, and of eſ⯑pouſing Catharine, the French king's daugh⯑ter, [181] in marriage, with a ſuitable dowry. Tho' the French court was at that time extremely averſe to war, yet the exorbitance of theſe de⯑mands could not be complied with; and Henry very probably made them in hopes of a de⯑nial. He therefore aſſembled a great fleet and army at Southampton; and having allur⯑ed all the military men of the kingdom to at⯑tend him, from the hopes of conqueſt, he put to ſea, and landed at Harfleur, at the head of an army of ſix thouſand men at arms, and twenty-four thouſand foot, moſtly archers.

His firſt operations were upon Harfleur; which being preſſed hard, promiſed at a certain day to ſurrender, unleſs relieved before that time. The day arriving, and the garri⯑ſon, unmindful of their engagement, ſtill re⯑ſolving to defend the place, Henry ordered an aſſault to be made, took the town by ſtorm, and put all the garriſon to the ſword. From thence, the victor advanced farther into the country, which had been already rendered de⯑ſolate by factions, and which he now totally laid waſte. But although the enemy made but a feeble reſiſtance, yet the climate ſeem⯑ed to fight againſt the Engliſh; a conta⯑gious dyſentery carrying off three parts of Henry's army. In ſuch a ſituation he had re⯑courſe [182] to an expedient common enough in that barbarous age, to inſpire his troops with confidence in their general. He challenged the dauphin, who commanded in the French army, to ſingle combat, offering to ſtake his pretenſions on the event. This challenge, as might naturally be expected, was rejected; and the French, though diſagreeing internally, at laſt ſeemed to unite, at the appearance of the common danger. A numerous army of four⯑teen thouſand men at arms, and forty thou⯑ſand foot, was by this time aſſembled, under the command of count Albret; and was now placed to intercept Henry's weakened forces on their return. The Engliſh monarch, when it was too late, began to repent of his raſh inroad into a country, where diſeaſe, and a powerful army, every where threatened de⯑ſtruction; he therefore began to think of retiring into Calais. In this retreat, which was at once both painful and dangerous, Henry took every precaution to inſpire his troops with patience and perſeverance; and ſhewed them in his own perſon the brighteſt example of fortitude and reſignation. He was continually harraſſed on his march by flying parties of the enemy; and whenever he attempted to paſs the river Somme, over which his march lay, [183] he ſaw troops, on the other ſide, ready to oppoſe his paſſage. However, he was ſo fortunate as to ſeize by ſurprize a paſſage near St. Quintin, which had not been ſufficiently guarded; and there he ſafely carried over his army.

But the enemy was ſtill reſolved to intercept his retreat; and after he had paſſed the ſmall river of Tertrois at Blangi, he was ſurpriſed to obſerve from the heights, the whole French army drawn up in the plains of Azincourt; and ſo poſted, that it was impoſſible for him to proceed on his march, without coming to an engagement. No ſituation could be more un⯑favourable than that in which he then found himſelf. His army was waſted with diſeaſe; the ſoldiers ſpirits worn down with fatigue, deſtitute of proviſions, and diſcouraged by their retreat. Their whole body amounted but to nine thouſand men; and theſe were to ſuſtain the ſhock of an enemy near ten times their number, headed by expert generals, and plentifully ſupplied with proviſions. This diſparity, as it depreſſed the Engliſh, ſo it raiſed the courage of the French in propor⯑tion; and ſo confident were they of ſucceſs, that they began to treat for the ranſom of their priſoners. Henry, on the other hand, though [184] ſenſible of his extreme danger, did not omit any circumſtance that could aſſiſt his ſituation. As the enemy were ſo much ſuperior, he drew up his army on a narrow ground between two woods, which guarded each flank; and he pa⯑tiently expected, in that poſition, the attack of the enemy. The conſtable of France was at the head of one army; and Henry himſelf, with Edward, duke of York, commanded the other. For a time both armies, as if afraid to begin, kept ſilently gazing at each other, neither be⯑ing willing to break their ranks by making the onſet; which Henry perceiving, with a chearful countenance cried out, ‘"My friends, ſince they will not begin, it is ours to ſet them the example; come on, and the Bleſſed Trinity be our protection."’ Upon this, the whole army ſet forward with a ſhout, while the French ſtill continued to wait their approach with intrepidity. The Engliſh archers, who had long been famous for their great ſkill, firſt let fly a ſhower of arrows three feet long, which did great execution. The French ca⯑valry advancing to repel theſe, two hundred bow-men, who lay till then concealed, riſing on a ſudden, let fly among them, and pro⯑duced ſuch a confuſion, that the archers threw by their arrows, and ruſhing in, fell upon them [185] ſword in hand. The French at firſt repulſed the aſſailants, who were enfeebled by diſeaſe; but they ſoon made up the defect by their va⯑lour; and reſolving to conquer or die, burſt in upon the enemy with ſuch impetuoſity, that the French were ſoon obliged to give way.

In the mean time a body of Engliſh horſe, which had been concealed in a neighbouring wood, ruſhing out, flanked the French infan⯑try, and a general diſorder began to enſue. The firſt line of the enemy being routed, the ſecond line began to march up to interrupt the progreſs of the victory. Henry, therefore, alighting from his horſe, preſented himſelf to the enemy with an undaunted countenance; and at the head of his men fought on foot, en⯑couraging ſome, and aſſiſting others. Eigh⯑teen French cavaliers, who were reſolved to kill him, or die in the attempt, ruſhing from the ranks together, advanced; and one of them ſtunned the king with a blow of his battle-ax. They then fell upon him in a body; and he was upon the point of ſinking under their blows, when David Gam, a valiant Welſhman, aided by two of his countrymen, came up to the king's aſſiſtance, and ſoon turned the at⯑tention of the aſſailants from the king to them⯑ſelves, till at length being overpowered, they [186] fell dead at his feet. Henry had by this time recovered his ſenſes; and freſh troops advanc⯑ing to his relief, the eighteen French cava⯑liers were ſlain; upon which he knighted the Welſhmen, who had ſo valiantly fallen in his defence. The heat of the engagement ſtill encreaſing, Henry's courage ſeemed alſo to encreaſe, and the moſt dangerous ſituation was where he fought in perſon: his brother, who was ſtunned by a blow, fell at his feet; and while the king was piouſly endeavouring to ſuccour him, he received another blow him⯑ſelf, which threw him upon his knees. But he ſoon recovered; and leading on his troops with freſh ardour, they ran headlong upon the enemy; and put them into ſuch diſorder, that their leaders could never after bring them to the charge. The duke of Alençon, who com⯑manded the ſecond line, ſeeing it fly, reſolved, by one deſperate ſtroke, to retrieve the fortune of the day, or fall in the attempt. Wherefore running up to Henry, and at the ſame time crying aloud, that he was the duke of Alençon, he diſcharged ſuch a blow on his head, that it carried off a part of the king's helmet; while, in the mean time, Henry not having been able to ward off the blow, returned it, by ſtriking the duke to the ground, and he was ſoon kill⯑ed [187] by the ſurrounding crowd; all the king's efforts to ſave him proving ineffectual. In this manner, the French were overthrown in every part of the field; their number, being crowded into a very narrow ſpace, were incapa⯑ble of either flying, or making any reſiſtance; ſo that they covered the ground with heaps of ſlain. After all appearance of oppoſition was over, the Engliſh had leiſure to make priſon⯑ers; and having advanced with uninterrupted ſucceſs to the open plain, they there ſaw the remains of the French rear-guard, which ſtill maintained a ſhew of oppoſition. At the ſame time was heard an alarm from behind, which proceeded from a number of peaſants, who had fallen upon the Engliſh baggage, and were put⯑ting thoſe who guarded it to the ſword. Henry, now ſeeing the enemy on all ſides of him, began to entertain apprehenſions from his priſoners, the number of whom exceeded even that of his army. He thought it neceſſary, therefore, to iſſue gene⯑ral orders for putting them to death; but on the diſcovery of the certainty of his victory, he ſtopped the ſlaughter, and was ſtill able to ſave a great number. This ſeverity tarniſhed the glory which his victory would otherwiſe have acquired; but all the heroiſm of that age is tinctured with barbarity.

[188]This battle was very fatal to France, from the number of princes and nobility ſlain, or taken priſoners. Among the number of the ſlain, was the conſtable of France, the two bro⯑thers to the duke of Burgundy, the duke of Alençon, the duke of Barre, and the count de Morle. Among the priſoners, were the duke of Orleans, the duke of Bourbon, with ſeveral others of inferior quality. An archbiſhop of Sens alſo periſhed fighting in this battle. The killed are computed on the whole to have a⯑mounted to ten thouſand men; and as the loſs fell chiefly upon the cavalry, it is pretended, that of theſe eight thouſand were gentlemen. The number of priſoners are computed at fourteen thouſand. All the Eng⯑liſh who were ſlain did not exceed forty, a number amazingly inconſiderable, if we com⯑pare the loſs with the victory.

A.D. 1415. Oct. 25. This victory, how great ſoever it might have been, was attended with no immediate effects. Henry did not interrupt his retreat a moment after the battle of Azincourt; but carried his priſoners to Calais, and from thence to Eng⯑land, where the parliament, dazzled with the ſplendour of his late victories, granted him new ſupplies, though unequal to the expences of a campaign. With theſe ſupplies and new [189] levies,A.D. 1417 he once more landed an army of twen⯑ty-five thouſand men in Normandy, and pre⯑pared to ſtrike a deciſive blow for the crown of France, to which the Engliſh monarchs had long made pretenſions. That wretched coun⯑try was now in a moſt deplorable ſituation. The whole kingdom appeared as one vaſt theatre of crimes, murders, injuſtice, and devaſ⯑tation. The duke of Orleans was aſſaſſinated by the duke of Burgundy; and the duke of Burgundy, in his turn, fell by the treachery of the dauphin. At the ſame time, the duke's ſon, deſirous of revenging his father's death, entered into a ſecret treaty with the Engliſh; and a league was immediately concluded at Arras, between Henry and the young duke of Burgundy, in which the king promiſed to re⯑venge the murder of the late duke; and the ſon ſeemed to inſiſt upon no further ſtipula⯑tions. Henry, therefore, proceeded in his conqueſts, without much oppoſition from any quarter. Several towns and provinces ſubmit⯑ted on his approach; the city of Rouen was beſieged and taken; Pontoiſe and Giſors he ſoon became maſter of. He even threatened Paris by the terror of his power, and obliged the court to move to Troye. It was at this city that the duke of Burgundy, who had ta⯑ken [190] upon him the protection of the French king, met Henry in order to ratify that treaty, which was formerly begun, and by which the crown of France was to be transferred to a ſtranger. The imbecillity into which Charles had fallen, made him paſſive in this remark⯑able treaty; and Henry dictated the terms throughout the whole negotiation. The prin⯑cipal articles of this treaty were, that Henry ſhould eſpouſe the princeſs Catharine; that king Charles ſhould enjoy the title and dignity of king for life; but that Henry ſhould be de⯑clared heir to the crown, and ſhould be in⯑truſted with the preſent adminiſtration of the government; that France and England ſhould for ever be united under one king, but ſhould ſtill retain their reſpective laws and privileges; that Henry ſhould unite his arms with thoſe of king Charles, and the duke of Burgundy, to depreſs and ſubdue the dauphin and his parti⯑zans. Such was the tenor of a treaty, too re⯑pugnant to the real intereſts of both kingdoms to be of long duration; but the contending parties were too much blinded by their reſent⯑ments and jealouſies, to ſee that it is not in the power of princes to barter kingdoms, con⯑trary to the real intereſts of the community.

[191]It was not long after this treaty, that Henry married the princeſs Catharine; after which he carried his father-in-law to Paris, and took a formal poſſeſſion of that capital. There he obtained, from the eſtates of the kingdom, a ratification of the late compact; and then turned his arms, with ſucceſs, againſt the ad⯑herents of the Dauphin, who, in the mean time, wandered about a ſtranger in his own patri⯑mony, and to his enemies ſucceſſes only op⯑poſed fruitleſs expoſtulations.

Henry's ſupplies were not provided in ſuch plenty, as to enable him to carry on the war, without returning in perſon to prevail upon his parliament for freſh ſuccours; and, upon his arrival in England, though he found his ſubjects highly pleaſed with the ſplendor of his conqueſts, yet they ſeemed ſomewhat doubtful as to the advantage of them. A treaty, which in its conſequences was likely to transfer the ſeat of empire from England, was not much reliſhed by the parliament. They therefore, upon various pretences, refuſed him a ſupply equal to his exigencies or his demands, but he was reſolved on purſuing his ſchemes; and joining to the ſupplies granted at home, the contributions levied on the conquered pro⯑vinces, he was able once more to aſſemble an [192] army of twenty-eight thouſand men, and with theſe he landed ſafely at Calais.

In the mean the Dauphin, a prince of great prudence and activity, omitted no opportunity of repairing his ruined ſituation, and to take the advantage of Henry's abſence from France. He prevailed upon the regent of Scotland to ſend him a body of eight thouſand men from that kingdom; and with theſe, and ſome few forces of his own, he attacked the duke of Clarence, who commanded the troops in Henry's abſence, and gained a complete vic⯑tory.

This was the firſt action which turned the tide of ſucceſs againſt the Engliſh. But it was of ſhort duration, for Henry ſoon after appearing with a conſiderable army, the Dau⯑phin fled at his approach; while many of the places, which held out for the Dauphin in the neighbourhood of Paris, ſurrendered to the conqueror. In this manner, while Henry was every where victorious, he fixed his reſidence at Paris; and while Charles had but a ſmall court, he was attended with a very magni⯑ficent one.A.D. 1421 On Whitſunday the two kings and their two queens with crowns on their heads, dined together in public; Charles re⯑ceiving [193] apparent homage, but Henry com⯑manding with abſolute authority.

In the mean time, the Dauphin was chaced beyond the Loire, and almoſt totally diſpoſ⯑ſeſſed of all the northern provinces. He was even purſued into the ſouth, by the united arms of the Engliſh and Burgundians, and threaten⯑ed with total deſtruction. In this exigence, he found it neceſſary to ſpin out the war, and to evade all hazardous actions with a rival who had been long accuſtomed to victory. His prudence was every where remarkable; and, after a train of long perſecutions from fortune, he found her at length willing to declare in his favour, by ridding him of an antagoniſt that was likely to become a maſter.

Henry, at a time when his glory had nearly reached its ſummit, and both crowns were juſt devolved upon him, was ſeized with a fiſtula; a diſorder, which from the unſkilfulneſs of the phyſicians of the times, ſoon became mor⯑tal. Perceiving his diſtemper incurable; and that his end was approaching, he ſent for his brother the duke of Bedford, the earl of War⯑wick, and a few other noblemen, whom he had honoured with his confidence; and to them he delivered, in great tranquility, his laſt will with regard to the government of his kingdom [194] and family. He recommended his ſon to their protection; and though he regretted the be⯑ing unable to accompliſh the great object of his ambition, in totally ſubduing France, yet he expreſſed great indifference at the approach of death; he devoutly waited its arrival, and ex⯑pired with the ſame intrepidity with which he had lived, in the thirty-fourth year of his age, and the tenth year of his reign.

This prince poſſeſſed many virtues, but his military ſucceſſes gave him credit for more than he really poſſeſſed. It is certain, however, that he had the talent of attaching his friends by affa⯑bility, and of gaining his enemies by addreſs and clemency. Yet his reign was rather ſplendid than profitable; the treaſures of the nation were laviſhed on conqueſts, that even though they could have been maintained, would have proved injurious to the nation. Nevertheleſs he died fortunate, by falling in the midſt of his triumphs, and leaving his ſubjects in the very height of his reputation. Charles, who died two months after him, finiſhed a wretched reign, long paſt in frenzy and con⯑tempt, deſpiſed by his friends, inſulted by his allies, and leaving the moſt miſerable ſub⯑jects upon earth.

[195]Henry left by his queen, Catherine of France, only one ſon not full nine months old, who ſucceeded him on the throne; and whoſe mis⯑fortunes, during the courſe of a long reign, ſurpaſſed all the glories and ſucceſſes of his father.

The Engliſh triumphs, at this time, in France, produced ſcarce any good effects at home; as they grew warlike, they became ſavage, and, panting after foreign poſſeſſions, forgot the arts of cultivating thoſe that lay nearer home. Our language, inſtead of improving, was more neglected than before; Langland and Chau⯑cer had begun to poliſh it, and enrich it with new and elegant conſtructions; but it now was ſeen to relapſe into its former rudeneſs, and no poet or hiſtorian of note was born in this tempeſtuous period.

CHAP. XVIII. HENRY VI.

HENRY VI. ſucceſſor to Henry V. was not quite a year old when he came to the throne; and his relations began, ſoon after, to diſpute the adminiſtration of government dur⯑ing his minority. The duke of Bedford, one of the moſt accompliſhed princes of the age, and equally experienced,A.D. 1422 both in the cabinet and the field, was appointed by parliament [197] protector of England, defender of the church, and firſt counſellor to the king. His brother, the duke of Glouceſter, was fixed upon to go⯑vern in his abſence, while he conducted the war in France; and, in order to limit the power of both brothers, a council was named, without whoſe advice and approbation no meaſure of importance could be carried into execution.

Things being adjuſted in this manner, as the conduct of military operations was at that time conſidered in a much ſuperior light to civil em⯑ployments at home, the duke of Bedford fix⯑ed his ſtation in France, to proſecute the ſuc⯑ceſſes of the Engliſh in that part of their do⯑minions, and to repreſs the attempts of Charles VII. who ſucceeded his father to a nomi⯑nal throne. Nothing could be more deplora⯑ble than the ſituation of that monarch on aſ⯑ſuming his title to the crown. The Engliſh were maſters of almoſt all France; and Henry VI. though yet but an infant,A.D. 1423 was ſolemnly inveſted with regal power by legates from Paris. The duke of Bedford was at the head of a numerous army, in the heart of the king⯑dom, ready to oppoſe every inſurrection; while the duke of Burgundy, who had entered into a firm confederacy with him, ſtill remained ſtedfaſt, and ſeconded his claims. Yet, not⯑withſtanding [198] theſe unfavourable appearances, Charles (who though yet but twenty, united the prudence of age with the affability of youth) found means to break the leagues formed againſt him, and to bring back his ſubjects to their natural intereſts and their duty.

However, his firſt attempts were totally deſ⯑titute of ſucceſs; wherever he endeavoured to face the enemy he was overthrown, and he could ſcarcely rely on the friends next his per⯑ſon. His authority was inſulted even by his own ſervants; advantage after advantage was gained againſt him, and a battle fought near Vernueil, in which he was totally defeated by the duke of Bedford, ſeemed to render his affairs wholly deſperate. However, from the im⯑poſſibility of the Engliſh keeping the field without new ſupplies, Bedford was obliged to retire into England, and in the mean time his vigilant enemy began to recover from his late conſternation. Dumois, one of his gene⯑rals, at the head of a thouſand men, compelled the earl of Warwick to raiſe the ſiege of Mon⯑targis; and this advantage, ſlight as it was, began to make the French ſuppoſe that the Engliſh were not invincible.

[199]But they ſoon had ſtill greater reaſon to triumph in their change of fortune, and a new revolution was produced by means apparently the moſt unlikely to be attended with ſucceſs. The aſ⯑ſiſtance of a female of the humbleſt birth, and meaneſt education, ſerved to turn the tide of victory in their favour; and impreſs their enemies with thoſe terrors, which had hitherto rendered them unequal in the field. By this feeble aid, the vanquiſhed became the vic⯑tors; and the Engliſh every where worſted, were at length totally expelled the kingdom.

In the village of Domremi, near Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Lorrain, there lived a coun⯑try girl, about twenty-ſeven years of age, cal⯑led Joan of Arc. This girl had been a ſervant at a ſmall inn; and in that humble ſtation had ſubmitted to thoſe hardy employments which fit the body for the fatigues of war. She was of an irreproachable life, and had hitherto teſti⯑fied none of thoſe enterprizing qualities which diſplayed themſelves ſoon after. She conten⯑tedly fulfilled the duties of her ſituation, and was remarkable only for her modeſty, and love of religion. But the miſeries of her country ſeemed to have been one of the great⯑eſt objects of her compaſſion and regard. Her king expelled his native throne, her country [200] laid in blood, and ſtrangers executing unnum⯑bered rapines before her eyes, were ſufficient to excite her reſentment, and to warm her heart with a deſire of redreſs. Her mind en⯑flamed by theſe objects, and brooding with melancholy ſtedfaſtneſs upon them, began to feel ſeveral impulſes, which ſhe was willing to miſtake for the inſpirations of heaven. Con⯑vinced of the reality of her own admonitions, ſhe had recourſe to one Baudricourt, governor of Vaucouleurs, and informed him of her deſti⯑nation by heaven, to free her native country from its fierce invaders. Baudricourt treated her at firſt with ſome neglect; but her impor⯑tunities at length prevailed; and, willing to make a trial of her pretenſions, he gave her ſome attendants, who conducted her to the French court, which at that time reſided at Chinon.

The French court were probably ſenſible of the weakneſs of her pretenſions; but they were willing to make uſe of every artifice to ſupport their declining fortunes. It was therefore given out, that Joan was actually inſpired; that ſhe was able to diſcover the king among the num⯑ber of his courtiers, although he had laid aſide all the diſtinctions of his authority; that ſhe had told him ſome ſecrets, which were only known [201] to himſelf; and that ſhe had demanded, and minutely deſcribed, a ſword in the church of St. Catharine de Fierbois, which ſhe had never ſeen. In this manner, the minds of the vulgar being prepared for her appearance, ſhe was armed cap-à-pee, mounted on a charger, and ſhewn in that martial dreſs to the people. She was then brought before the doctors of the univerſity; and they, tinctured with the credulity of the times, or willing to ſecond the impoſture, declared that ſhe had actually re⯑ceived her commiſſion from above.

When the preparations for her miſſion were completely blazoned, their next aim was to ſend her againſt the enemy. The Eng⯑liſh were at that time beſieging the city of Orleans, the laſt reſource of Charles, and every thing promiſed them a ſpeedy ſurrender. Joan undertook to raiſe the ſiege; and to render her⯑ſelf ſtill more remarkable, girded herſelf with the miraculous ſword, of which ſhe had before ſuch extraordinary notices. Thus equipped, ſhe ordered all the ſoldiers to confeſs themſelves before they ſet out, ſhe diſplayed in her hand a conſecrated banner, and aſſured the troops of certain ſucceſs. Such confidence on her ſide ſoon raiſed the ſpirits of the French army; and even the Engliſh, who pretended [202] to deſpiſe her efforts, felt themſelves ſecretly influenced with the terrors of her miſſion. A ſupply of proviſions was to be conveyed into the town; Joan, at the head of ſome French troops, covered the embarkation, and entered Orleans at the head of the convoy, which ſhe had ſafely protected. While ſhe was leading her troops along, a dead ſilence and aſtoniſhment reigned among the Engliſh; and they regarded with religious awe that temerity, which they thought nothing but ſupernatural aſſiſtance could inſpire. But they were ſoon rouzed from their ſtate of amazement by a ſally from the town; Joan led on the beſieged, bearing the ſacred ſtandard in her hand, encouraging them with her words and actions, bringing them up to the trenches, and overpowering the beſiegers in their own redoubts. In the attack of one of the forts, ſhe was wounded in the neck with an arrow; but inſtantly pulling out the weapon with her own hands, and getting the wound quickly dreſſed, ſhe haſtened back to head the troops, and to plant her victorious banner on the ramparts of the enemy. Theſe ſucceſſes continuing, the Engliſh found that it was impoſſible to reſiſt troops ani⯑mated by ſuch ſuperior energy; and Suffolk, who conducted the attack, thinking that it [203] might prove extremely dangerous to remain any longer in the preſence of ſuch a courage⯑ous and victorious enemy, raiſed the ſiege, and retreated with all imaginable precaution.

From being attacked, the French now in turn became the aggreſſors. Charles formed a body of ſix thouſand men, and ſent them to beſiege Jergeau, whither the Engliſh, com⯑manded by the earl of Suffolk, had retired, with a detachment of his army. The city was taken; Suffolk yielded himſelf a priſoner; and Joan marched into the place in triumph, at the head of the army. A battle was ſoon after fought near Patay, where the Engliſh were worſted, as before; and the generals, Scales and Talbot, were taken priſoners.

The raiſing of the ſiege of Orleans was one part of the maid's promiſe to the king of France; the crowning him at Rheims was the other. She now declared, that it was time to complete that ceremony; and Charles, in pur⯑ſuance of her advice, ſet out for Rheims, at the head of twelve thouſand men. The towns through which he paſſed opened their gates to receive him; and Rheims ſent him a depu⯑tation, with its keys, upon his approach. The ceremony of his coronation was there per⯑formed with the utmoſt ſolemnity; and the [204] maid of Orleans (for ſo ſhe was now called) ſeeing the completion of her miſſion, deſired leave to retire, alledging, that ſhe had now ac⯑compliſhed the end of her calling. But her ſervices had been ſo great, that the king could not think of parting; her preſſed her to ſtay ſo earneſtly, that ſhe at length complied with his requeſt.

A tide of ſucceſſes followed the perform⯑ance of this ſolemnity; Laon, Soiſſons, Cha⯑teau-Thierri, Provins, and many other towns and fortreſſes in that neighbourhood, ſubmitted to him on the firſt ſummons. On the other hand, the Engliſh, diſcomfited and diſpirited, fled on every quarter, unknowing whether to aſ⯑cribe their misfortunes to the power of ſorce⯑ry, or to a celeſtial influence; but equally ter⯑rified at either. They now found themſelves deprived of the conqueſts they had gained, in the ſame manner as the French had formerly ſubmitted to their power. Their own diviſions, both abroad and at home unfitted them entire⯑ly for carrying on the war; and the duke of Bedford, notwithſtanding all his prudence, ſaw himſelf diveſted of his ſtrong holds in the country, without being able to ſtop the ene⯑mies progreſs. In order, therefore, to revive the declining ſtate of his affairs, he reſolved to [205] have Henry crowned king at Paris, knowing that the natives would be allured to obedience, by the ſplendour of the ceremony.A.D. 143O Henry was accordingly crowned, all the vaſſals that ſtill continued under the Engliſh power ſwear⯑ing fealty and homage. But it was now too late for the ceremonies of a coronation to give a turn to the affairs of the Engliſh; the gene⯑rality of the kingdom had declared againſt them; and the remainder only waited a con⯑venient opportunity to follow the example.

An accident enſued ſoon after, which, though it promiſed to promote the Engliſh cauſe in France, in the end ſerved to render it odious, and conduced to the total evacuation of that country. The duke of Burgundy, at the head of a powerful army, had laid ſiege to Compeign; and the maid of Orleans had thrown herſelf into the place, contrary to the wiſhes of the governor, who did not deſire the company of one whoſe authority would be greater than his own. The garriſon, how⯑ever, were rejoiced at her appearance, and be⯑lieved themſelves invincible under her pro⯑tection. But their joy was of ſhort duration; for Joan having the day after her arrival headed a ſally, and twice driven the enemy from their intrenchments, ſhe was at laſt obliged to re⯑tire, [206] placing herſelf in the rear, to protect the retreat of her forces. But in the end, at⯑tempting to follow her troops into the city, ſhe found the gates ſhut, and the bridge drawn up by order of the governor, who is ſaid to have long wiſhed an opportunity of delivering her up to the enemy.

Nothing could exceed the joy of the be⯑ſiegers, in having taken a perſon who had been ſo long a terror to their arms. The ſer⯑vice of Te Deum was publicly celebrated on this occaſion; and it was hoped that the capture of this extraordinary perſon would re⯑ſtore the Engliſh to their former victories and ſucceſſes. The duke of Bedford was no ſooner informed of her being taken, than he pur⯑chaſed her of the count Vendome, who had made her his priſoner, and ordered her to be committed to cloſe confinement. The credulity of both nations was at that time ſo great, that nothing was too abſurd to gain belief, that coincided with their paſſions. As Joan but a little before, from her ſucceſſes, was regarded as a ſaint, ſhe was now, upon her captivity, conſidered as a ſorcereſs, for⯑ſaken by the daemon who had granted her a fallacious and temporary aſſiſtance. Accord⯑ingly, it was reſolved in council to ſend her to [207] Rouen to be tried for witchcraft; and the bi⯑ſhop of Beauvais, a man wholly devoted to the Engliſh intereſt, preſented a petition againſt her for that purpoſe. The univerſity of Pa⯑ris was ſo mean as to join in the ſame requeſt. Several prelates, among whom the cardinal of Wincheſter was the only Engliſhman, were appointed as her judges. They held their court in Rouen, where Henry then reſided; and the maid, cloathed in her former military apparel, but loaded with irons, was produced before this tribunal. Her behaviour there no way diſgraced her former gallantry; ſhe betrayed neither weakneſs, nor womaniſh ſubmiſſion; but appealed to God and the pope for the truth of her former revelations. In the iſſue, ſhe was found guilty of hereſy and witchcraft, and ſentenced to be burnt alive, the common puniſhment for ſuch offences.

But previous to the infliction of this dread⯑ful ſentence upon her, they were reſolved to make her abjure her former errors; and at length ſo far prevailed upon her, by terror and rigorous treatment, that her ſpirits were en⯑tirely broken, by the hardſhips ſhe was obliged to ſuffer. Her former viſionary dreams began to vaniſh, and a gloomy diſtruſt to take place of her late inſpirations. She publicly declared [208] herſelf willing to recant, and promiſed never more to give way to the vain deluſions which had hitherto miſled her, and impoſed on the people. This was what her oppreſſors de⯑ſired; and willing to ſhew ſome appearance of mercy, they changed her ſentence into perpe⯑tual impriſonment, and to be fed during life on bread and water. But the rage of her ene⯑mies was not yet ſatiated. Perfectly ſatisfied of her guilt, they were willing to know if her reformation was equally certain. Suſpect⯑ing that the female dreſs, which ſhe had conſented to wear, was diſagreeable to her, they purpoſely placed in her apartment a ſuit of men's apparel, and watched for the effect of their temptation upon her. Their cruel ar⯑tifices prevailed. Joan, ſtruck with the ſight of a dreſs in which ſhe had gained ſo much glory, immediately threw off her penitent's robes, and put on the forbidden garment. Her enemies caught her equipped in this man⯑ner; and her imprudence was conſidered as a re⯑lapſe into her former tranſgreſſions. No recan⯑tation would ſuffice, and no pardon would be granted to her. She was condemned to be burnt alive in the market-place of Rouen; and this infamous ſentence was accordingly executed upon her.

[209]Superſtition adds virulence to the natural cruelty of mankind; and this cruel ſentence ſerved only to enflame the hatred between the contending powers, without mending the cauſe of the invaders. One of the firſt misfortunes which the Engliſh felt after this puniſhment, was the defection of the duke of Burgundy, who had for ſome time ſeen the error of his conduct, and wiſhed to break an unnatural connection, that only ſerved to involve his country in ruin. A treaty was therefore be⯑gun, and concluded, between him and Charles, in which the latter made all the atonements poſſible for his offence; and the former agreed to aſſiſt him in driving the Engliſh out of France. This was a mortal blow to their cauſe; and ſuch was its effects upon the populace in London, when they were informed of it, that they killed ſeveral of the duke of Burgundy's ſubjects, who happened to be among them at that time. It might perhaps alſo have haſtened the duke of Bed⯑ford's death, who died at Rouen a few days after the treaty was concluded; and the earl of Cambridge was appointed his ſucceſſor to the regency of France.

From this period, the Engliſh affairs be⯑came totally irretrievable. The city of Paris [210] returned once more to a ſenſe of its duty. Lord Willoughby, who commanded it for the Engliſh, was contented to ſtipulate for the ſafe retreat of his troops to Normandy. Thus ground was continually, though ſlowly, gained by the French; and notwithſtanding their fields were laid waſte, and their towns depopulated, yet they found protection from the weakneſs and diviſions of the Engliſh. At length, both parties began to grow weary of a war, which, though carried on but feebly, was yet a bur⯑then greater than either could ſupport. But the terms of peace inſiſted upon by both were ſo wide of each other, that no hopes of an accommodation could quickly be ex⯑pected. A truce, therefore, for twenty-two months was concluded, which left every thing on the preſent footing between the parties. No ſooner was this agreed upon,A.D. 1443 than Charles employed himſelf with great induſtry and judgment in repairing thoſe numberleſs ills, to which his kingdom, from the continuance of wars, both foreign and domeſtic, had ſo long been expoſed. He eſtabliſhed diſcipline among his troops, and juſtice among his go⯑vernors. He revived agriculture, and repreſſed faction. Thus being prepared once more for taking the field, he took the firſt favourable [211] occaſion of breaking the truce; A.D. 1443 and Normandy was at the ſame time invaded by four powerful armies; one commanded by Charles himſelf, a ſecond by the duke of Brittany, a third by the duke of Alençon, and a fourth by the count Dunois. Every place opened their gates almoſt as ſoon as the French appeared before them. Rouen was the only town that pro⯑miſed to hold out a ſiege; but the inhabitants clamoured ſo loud for a ſurrender, that the duke of Somerſet, who commanded the garriſon, was obliged to capitulate. The battle, or rather the ſkirmiſh, of Fourmingi, was the laſt ſtand which the Engliſh made in defence of their French dominions. However, they were put to the rout, and above a thouſand were ſlain. All Normandy and Guienne, that had ſo long acknowleged ſubjection to England, were loſt in the ſpace of a year; and the Engliſh at length ſaw themſelves entirely diſpoſſeſſed of a country, which for above three centuries they had conſidered as annexed to their native dominions. Calais alone remained of all their conqueſts; and this was but a ſmall compen⯑ſation for the blood and treaſure which had been laviſhed in that country, and only ſerved to gratify ambition with a tranſient applauſe.

[212]It may eaſily be ſuppoſed, that the bad ſuc⯑ceſſes in France, which began almoſt with young Henry's reign, produced diſſenſions and factions among the rulers at home. The duke of Glouceſter, who had been appointed regent of England during his brother's abſence, was not ſo ſecure in his place, but that he had many who envied his ſituation. Among the number of theſe was Henry Beaufort, biſhop of Wincheſter, great uncle to the king, and the legitimate ſon of John of Gaunt. This prelate, to whom the care of the king's per⯑ſon and education had been entruſted, was a man of great capacity and experience, but of an intriguing and dangerous diſpoſition. As he aſpired to the government of affairs, he had continual diſputes with the duke of Glou⯑ceſter, and gained frequent advantages over the open temper of that prince. It was in vain that the duke of Bedford employed all his own authority, and that of parliament, to reconcile them; their mutual animoſities ſerv⯑ed for ſeveral years to embarraſs government, and to give its enemies every advantage. The ſentiments of theſe two leaders of their party were particularly divided with re⯑gard to France. The cardinal encouraged every propoſal of accommodation with that [213] country; the duke of Glouceſter was for maintaining the honour of the Engliſh arms, and winning back all that had been loſt by de⯑feats or delay. In this conteſt, the powers ſeemed nearly divided; and it became incum⯑bent on one ſide to call in new auxiliaries, be⯑fore either party could turn the political ſcale. For this purpoſe, the cardinal was reſolved to ſtrengthen himſelf, by procuring a ſuitable match for Henry, who was now twenty-three years old; and then, by bringing the new made queen over to his intereſts, to turn the balance in his favour. Accordingly, the earl of Suf⯑folk, a nobleman whom he knew to be ſtedfaſt in his attachments, was ſent over to France, apparently to ſettle the terms of the truce, which had been then begun; but, in reality, to procure a ſuitable match for the king. The duke of Glouceſter had before propoſed a daughter of the count Armagnac, but had not influence ſufficient to prevail. The cardinal and his friends had caſt their eye on Margaret of Anjou, daughter of Regnier, titular king of Sicily, Naples, and Jeruſalem; but with⯑out either real power or poſſeſſions. This princeſs was conſidered as the moſt accom⯑pliſhed of the age, both in mind and per⯑ſon; and it was thought would, by her own [214] abilities, be able to ſupply the defects of her conſort, who already appeared weak, timid, and ſuperſtitious. The treaty was therefore haſtened on by Suffolk, and the marriage ſoon after ratified in England.

A.D. 1443 The cardinal now ſtrengthened by this new alliance (for the queen came immediately into his meaſures), the duke of Glouceſter ſoon found himſelf poſſeſſed of only the ſhadow of power without the ſubſtance; all his meaſures were over-ruled by his powerful antagoniſt; and he daily found himſelf inſulted in the moſt cruel manner. One of the principal ſteps his enemies took to render him odious, was to ac⯑cuſe his wife, the dutcheſs, of witchcraft. She was charged with converſing with one Roger Bolingbroke, a prieſt, and reputed ne⯑cromancer; and alſo one Mary Gurdemain, who was ſaid to be a witch. It was aſſerted that theſe three in conjunction had made a fi⯑gure of the king in wax, which was placed before a gentle fire; and as the wax diſſolved, the king's ſtrength was expected to waſte; and upon its total diſſolution his life was to be at an end. This accuſation was readily attended to in that credulous age; and the more it de⯑parted from reaſon, the fitter it was for be⯑coming an object of belief. The priſoners [215] were pronounced guilty; neither the rank of the dutcheſs, nor the innocence of the accuſed, could protect them; ſhe was condemned to do penance, and to ſuffer perpetual impriſonment; Bolingbroke, the prieſt, was hanged, and the woman was burnt in Smithfield.

But this was only the beginning of the duke's diſtreſſes. The cardinal of Wincheſter was reſolved to drive his reſentment to the ut⯑moſt extreme; and accordingly procured a parliament to be ſummoned, not at London, which was too well affected to the duke, but at St. Edmundſbury, where his adherents were ſufficiently numerous to over-awe every opponent. As ſoon as he appeared, he was accuſed of treaſon, and thrown into priſon; and on the day on which he was to make his defence, he was found dead in his bed, though without any ſigns of violence upon his body.

The death of the duke of Glouceſter was univerſally aſcribed to the cardinal of Win⯑cheſter, who himſelf died ſix weeks after, teſti⯑fying the utmoſt remorſe for the bloody ſcene he had acted. What ſhare the queen had in the guilt of this tranſaction is uncertain; her uſual activity and ſpirit made the public con⯑clude, with ſome reaſon, that the duke's ene⯑mies [216] durſt not have ventured on ſuch a deed without her privity. Henry did not fail to ſhare in the general diſguſt that was thus pro⯑duced; and as he wanted abilities, he never had the art to remove any ſuſpicion. From this time diſcontent began to prevail among the people, and faction among the great. A weak prince ſeated on the throne of England, however gentle and innocent, ſeldom fails of having his authority deſpiſed, and his power inſulted. The incapacity of Henry began every day to appear in a fuller light; and the foreign war being now extinguiſhed, the people began to prepare for the horrors of in⯑teſtine ſtrife. In this period of calamity, a new intereſt was revived, which had lain dor⯑mant in the times of proſperity and triumph.

It was now that the Engliſh were to pay the ſevere, though late, penalty for having un⯑juſtly depoſed Richard the ſecond; another Richard, who was duke of York, beginning to think of prefering his claims to the crown. This nobleman was deſcended, by the mother's ſide, from Lionel, one of the ſons of Edward the third, whereas the reigning king was deſ⯑cended from John of Gaunt, a ſon of the ſame monarch, but younger than Lionel. Richard, therefore, ſtood plainly in ſucceſſion [217] before Henry; and he began to think the weakneſs and unpopularity of the preſent reign a favourable moment for ambition. The enſign of Richard was a white roſe, that of Henry a red; and this gave name to the two factions, whoſe animoſity was now about to drench the kingdom with ſlaughter.

The cardinal of Wincheſter being dead, the duke of Suffolk, who had a hand in Glou⯑ceſter's aſſaſſination, took the lead in public affairs; and being ſecretly aided by the intereſt of the queen, managed all with uncontroulable authority. As this nobleman had made his way to power by murder, ſo he was reſolved to maintain himſelf in it by the uſual reſources of bad men, by tyranny over his inferiors, and flattery to the queen. His conduct ſoon excit⯑ed the jealouſy or the hatred of the whole kingdom. The great nobility could ill brook the exaltation of a ſubject above them, who was of a birth inferior to their own. The peo⯑ple complained of his arbitary meaſures; A.D. 1450 and the immenſe acquiſitions which he had made in office, and the blame of every odious and unſucceſsful meaſure, was inſtantly given to him. Suffolk was not ignorant of the hatred of the people; but ſuppoſed that his crimes were ſuch as could not be proved againſt him, [218] or, that if proved, he could readily evade pu⯑niſhment; he endeavoured, therefore, to over⯑awe his enemies by boldly preſenting himſelf to the charge; and he called upon them to ſhew an inſtance of his guilt. This was what the Houſe of Commons had long wiſhed for; and they immediately opened their charge a⯑gainſt him of corruption, tyranny, and treaſon. He was accuſed of being the cauſe of the loſs of France; of perſuading the French king, with an armed force, to invade England; and of betraying in office the ſecrets of his department. This accuſation might have been falſe; but the real motive, which was Suffolk's power, and the cruel uſe he made of it, was left unmentioned, although it was true. It was no eaſy matter for any one man's ſtrength, how great ſoever, to withſtand the united re⯑ſentment of a nation: ſo that the court was o⯑bliged to give up its favourite; and the king, to ſhield him as much as poſſible from popular reſentment, baniſhed him the kingdom for five years. This was conſidered by ſome as an eſcape from juſtice; the captain of a veſſel was therefore employed by his enemies to intercept him in his paſſage to France; he was ſeized near Dover, his head was ſtruck off on the ſide of a long-boat; and his body thrown into the ſea. [219] There is little in the tranſactions of theſe times to intereſt us on the ſide of either party; we ſee ſcarce any think but crimes on both ſides, without one ſhining character, or one virtue to animate the narrative.

By the death of the duke of Suffolk, Rich⯑ard of York ſaw himſelf rid of a potent ene⯑my, and was pleaſed to ſee the diſcontents of the nation daily encreaſe. Among the number of complaints which the unpopularity of the government gave riſe to, there were ſome which even excited inſurrection; particu⯑larly that headed by John Cade, which was of the moſt dangerous nature. This man was a native of Ireland, who had been obliged to fly over into France for his crimes; but ſeeing the people upon his return prepared for violent meaſures, he aſſumed the name of Mortimer; and at the head of twenty thouſand Kentiſh men advanced toward the capital, and encamped at Blackheath. The king being informed of this commotion, ſent a meſſage to demand the cauſe of their aſſembling in arms; and Cade, in the name of the community, anſwered, that their only aim was to puniſh evil miniſters, and procure a redreſs of grievan⯑ces for the people. The king's council deem⯑ing theſe demands ſeditious, a body of fifteen [220] thouſand men was levied to oppoſe the inſur⯑gents; while Henry himſelf marched at their head towards Blackheath. At his approach, Cade retired, as if he had been afraid of an engagement, and lay in ambuſh in a wood, not doubting that he ſhould be purſued by the king's whole army; but the king was content with ſending a detachment after the fugitives, and returning himſelf to London. This was what Cade deſired to ſee, and ſallying out from his ambuſcade, he cut the detachment in pieces.

The citizens of London ſoon after opened their gates to the victor; and Cade for ſome time maintained great order and diſcipline a⯑mong his followers. He always led them out into the field during the night time; and pub⯑liſhed ſevere edicts againſt plunder, and vio⯑lence of every kind.

Next day, being informed that the treaſurer, lord Say, was in the city, he cauſed him to be apprehended, and beheaded without any form of trial; and in the evening returned to the Borough of Southwark. Thus for ſome days he continued the practice of entering the city in the morning, and quitting it at night; but at length being unable to keep his followers within bounds, the citizens reſolved to ſhut [221] their gates againſt him. Cade endeavouring to force his way, an engagement enſued be⯑tween him and the citizens, which laſted all day, and was not diſcontinued until night put an end to the engagement. The archbiſhop of Canterbury, and the chan⯑cellor, who had taken refuge in the Tower, being informed of the ſituation of af⯑fairs, found means to draw up the ſame night an act of amneſty, which was privately diſ⯑perſed among the rebels, which had the deſired effect. Cade ſaw himſelf in the morning aban⯑doned by moſt of his followers, and, retreating to Rocheſter, was obliged to fly alone into the Wolds of Kent, where a price being ſet upon his head by proclamation, he was diſco⯑vered, and ſlain by one Alexander Eden, who, in recompence for this ſervice, was made go⯑vernor of Dover caſtle.

In the mean time, the duke of York ſecretly fomented theſe diſturbances; and, pretending to eſpouſe the cauſe of the people, wrote to the king, adviſing a reformation in the miniſtry; and the houſe of commons was brought over to ſecond his requeſt. An addreſs was pre⯑ſented againſt the duke of Somerſet, the dutcheſs of Suffolk, the biſhop of Cheſter, Sir John Tufton, and lord Dudley, praying the king [222] to remove them for ever from his perſon and councils, and to prohibit them from approach⯑ing within twelve miles of the court. Though the king was willing enough to oppoſe ſo vio⯑lent and arbitrary an attack upon his favour⯑ites, yet he endeavoured to ſoften the general animoſity againſt them, by promiſing to baniſh a part of the obnoxious miniſtry from court for the ſpace of a year.

But partial conceſſions in government are generally bad palliatives. The duke of York, who found the people entirely attached to him, reſolved to avail himſelf of his power; and raiſing a body of ten thouſand men, marched towards London, demanding a reformation of the government, and the removal of the duke of Somerſet from all his power and authority. He had hopes from the beginning that the ci⯑tizens would have thrown open their gates to him; but was much mortified, when he found that he was refuſed admiſſion. Upon his re⯑treat into Kent, a parley enſued between the king and him, in which the duke ſtill inſiſted on the diſmiſſion of Somerſet, with which the king ſeemed at length willing to comply. The duke of York was therefore perſuaded to pay his reſpects to the king in his tent; but on repeat⯑ing his charge againſt the duke of Somerſet, [223] he was ſurprized to ſee that miniſter ſtep from behind the curtain, and offer to juſtify his in⯑nocence. York now perceived his danger, and repreſſed the impetuoſity of his accuſation. As ſoon as he left the preſence, the king com⯑manded him to be apprehended; but ſuch was this nobleman's authority, or ſuch the timidity of the king's council, that they ſuffered him to retire to his ſeat at Wigmore, upon promiſing ſtrict obedience for the future.

But a reconciliation thus extorted could be of no long duration; York ſtill ſecretly aſ⯑pired at the crown, and though he wiſhed no⯑thing ſo ardently, yet he was for ſome time pre⯑vented by his own ſcruples from ſeizing it. What his intrigues failed to bring about, ac⯑cident produced to his deſire. The king fall⯑ing into a diſtemper, which ſo far encreaſed his natural imbecility that it even rendered him incapable of maintaining the appearance of royalty, York was appointed lieutenant and protector of the kingdom, with powers to hold and open parliaments at pleaſure. This was a fatal blow to the houſe of Lancaſter; all the adherents of that party were diſmiſſed from court, and the duke of Somerſet was ſent to the Tower.

[224]York being thus inveſted with a plenitude of power, continued in the enjoyment of it for ſome time; A.D. 1454 but at length the unhappy king recovering from his lethargic complaint; and, as if awaking from a dream, perceived with ſurprize, that he was ſtripped of all his authority. Margaret, his queen, alſo did all in her power to rouze him to a ſenſe of his un⯑worthy ſituation, and prevailed upon him to depoſe the duke of York from his power; in con⯑ſequence of which, that nobleman had inſtant re⯑courſe to arms. The impotent monarch, thus o⯑bliged to take the field, was dragged after his ar⯑my to St. Alban's, where both ſides came to an engagement, in which the Yorkiſts gained a com⯑plete victory, and the duke of Somerſet was ſlain. The king himſelf being wounded, and taking ſhelter in a cottage, near the field of battle, was taken priſoner, and treated by the victor with great reſpect and tenderneſs. From thence he was, ſhortly after, led along in triumph to London; and the duke of York permitting him ſtill to enjoy the title of king, he reſerved to himſelf the title of protector, in which con⯑ſiſted all the real power of the crown.

Henry was now but a priſoner, treated with the ſplendid forms of royalty; yet indolent and ſickly, he ſeemed pleaſed with his ſitua⯑tion, [225] and did not regret that power which was not to be exerciſed without fatigue. But it was otherwiſe with Margaret, his queen. She, naturally bold, active, and endued with maſ⯑culine courage, could not be content with the appearance of that authority, which her enemies alone permitted her to exerciſe; ſhe continued to excite the wretched monarch to a vindica⯑tion of his real dignity, and to ſpur him on to independence. He was, therefore, once more induced to aſſert his prerogative; and the duke of York was obliged to retire, to be in readineſs to oppoſe any deſigns againſt his liberty and life. At firſt a negociation for peace was entered upon by both parties; but their mutual diſtruſts ſoon brought them into the field, and the fate of the kingdom was given up to be determined by the ſword. Their ar⯑mies met at Bloreheath, on the borders of Staffordſhire, and the Yorkiſts gained ſome advantages. But when a more general action was about to enſue, the night before the in⯑tended enagement, Sir Andrew Trollop, who commanded a body of veterans for the duke of York, deſerted with all his men to the king; and this ſo intimidated the whole army of the Yorkiſts, that they ſeparated the next day, without ſtriking a ſingle blow. The duke of [226] York fled to Ireland; the earl of Warwick, one of his boldeſt and ableſt ſupporters, eſcaped to Calais, with the government of which he had been entruſted during the late protectorſhip; and all the party, thus ſuppreſſed, concealed their intentions for a more favourable oppor⯑tunity. Nor was this opportunity long want⯑ing; Warwick having met with ſome ſucceſſes at ſea, landed in Kent, and being there joined by ſome other barons, he marched up to Lon⯑don, amidſt the acclamations of the people. The city immediately opened its gates to him; and his troops encreaſing on every day's march, he ſoon found himſelf in a condition to face the royal army, which haſtened from Coventry to attack him. Never was there a more for⯑midable diviſion of intereſts, or greater inve⯑teracy between the chiefs of either party than the preſent. Warwick was one of the moſt ce⯑lebrated generals of his age, formed for times of trouble, extremely artful, and inconteſtably brave, equally ſkilful in council and the field, and inſpired with a degree of hatred againſt the queen that nothing could ſuppreſs. On the other ſide, the queen ſeemed the only acting general: ſhe ranged the army in battalia, and gave the neceſſary orders, while the poor king was brought forward, an involuntry ſpectator [227] of thoſe martial preparations. Both armies met on a plain near Northampton; the queen's forces amounting to about five and twenty thouſand men, the earl of Warwick's to near double that number. While the queen went about from rank to rank, the king remained in his tent, awaiting the iſſue of the combat with female doubts and apprehenſions. The battle continued for five hours, with the utmoſt ob⯑ſtinacy; but at length the good fortune and the numbers of Warwick were ſeen to prevail. The queen's army was overthrown; and ſhe had the misfortune to ſee the king once more made a priſoner, and brought back to his capital in triumph.

The cauſe of the Yorkiſts being thus con⯑firmed by the ſtrongeſt arguments, thoſe of power, a parliament was called to give it their more formal ſanction. The duke of York, whoſe proſpects began to widen as he roſe, from being contented with the protectorſhip, now began to claim the crown. It was now, for the firſt time, that the houſe of lords ſeemed to enjoy an unbiaſſed deliberative authority; the cauſe of Henry and the duke of York was ſo⯑lemnly debated, each ſide producing their rea⯑ſons without fear or control. This was the firſt time that a ſpirit of true rational liberty [228] ever appeared to exert itſelf in England, and in which recent conqueſt did not ſuperſede all deliberation. The duke of York, though a conqueror, could not entirely gain his cauſe: it was determined that Henry ſhould poſſeſs the throne during his life; and that the duke of York ſhould be appointed his ſucceſſor, to the utter excluſion of the prince of Wales, who, yet but a child, was inſenſible of the in⯑jury that was done him.

The queen, to all appearance, now ſeemed utterly deſtitute of every reſource; her armies were routed, her huſband taken priſoner, and the parliament diſclaimed her cauſe; yet, though ſhe had loſt all, ſhe ſtill retained her native intre⯑pidity and perſeverance. She was a woman of a great mind and ſome faults, but ambition ſeemed to be the leading paſſion in all her con⯑duct. Being now a fugitive, diſtant from the capital, oppoſed by a victorious army, and a conſummate general, ſhe ſtill tried every re⯑ſource to repair her diſaſtrous circumſtances. She flew to Wales; there endeavoured to ani⯑mate her old friends, and to acquire new. The nobility of the North, who regarded themſelves as the moſt warlike of the kingdom, were moved by indignation to find the ſouthern ba⯑rons diſpoſe of the crown, and ſettle the govern⯑ment. [229] They began to conſider the royal cauſe as unjuſtly oppreſſed; and the queen ſoon found herſelf at the head of an army of twenty thouſand men, ready to ſecond her pretenſions. She and her old enemy, the duke of York, once more met upon Wakefield Green, near the caſtle of Sandal; and victory on this occaſion, declared itſelf in favour of the queen. The duke of York was killed in the action; and as his body was found among the ſlain, his head was cut off by Margaret's orders, and fixed on the gates of York, with a paper crown, in deriſion of his pretended title. His ſon, the earl of Rutland, a youth of ſeventeen, was taken pri⯑ſoner and killed in cold blood, by lord Clifford, in revenge for his father's death, who had fallen in the battle of St. Alban's.

Margaret, being victorious, marched to⯑wards London in order to give the king li⯑berty; but the earl of Warwick, who now put himſelf at the head of the Yorkiſts, com⯑manded an army, in which he led about the captive king to give a ſanction to his at⯑tempts. Upon the approach of the Lancaſ⯑trians he conducted his forces, ſtrengthened by a body of Londoners, who were very affectio⯑nate to his cauſe, and he gave battle to the queen at St. Alban's. While the armies were [230] warmly engaged, lord Lovelace, who com⯑manded a conſiderable body of Yorkiſts trea⯑cherouſly withdrew from the combat, and this decided the victory in favour of the queen. Above two thouſand of the Yorkiſts periſhed in the battle, and the perſon of the king again fell into the hands of his own party, to be treaty with apparent reſpect, but real con⯑tempt. Lord Bonville, to whoſe care he had been entruſted, ſtaid with him after the de⯑feat, upon an aſſurance of pardon; but Mar⯑garet, regardleſs of her huſband's promiſe, immediately ordered his head to be ſtruck off.

It only now remained, that the city of Lon⯑don ſhould declare in the queen's favour, but Warwick had previouſly ſecured it in his in⯑tereſts; and the citizens, who dreaded her tu⯑multuous army, refuſed to open their gates to her ſummons. In the mean time, young Ed⯑ward, the eldeſt ſon of the late duke of York, began to repair the loſſes his party had lately ſuſtained, and to give ſpirit to the Yorkiſts. This prince, in the bloom of youth, remarkable for the beauty of his perſon, his bravery, and popular deportment, advan⯑ced towards London with the remainder of Warwick's army; and obliging Margaret to [231] retire, entered the city amidſt the acclamations of the people. Perceiving his own popularity,A.D. 1461 he ſuppoſed that now was the time to lay his claim to the crown; and his friend Warwick, aſſembling the citizens in St. John's fields, pro⯑nounced an harrangue, ſetting forth the title of Edward, and inveighing againſt the tyranny and uſurpation of the houſe of Lancaſter. He then demanded whether they choſe Henry for their king; to which the people crying, a York! a York! he quickly called an aſſembly of lords and biſhops, at Baynard's caſtle, and theſe ratified their choice. The young duke was proclaimed king, by the title of Ed⯑ward IV. and then conducted with great ce⯑remony to the palace, where Henry uſed to lodge when within the walls of the city.

But the miſeries of a civil war were not yet completed, and Margaret was reſolved to ſtrike another blow. Upon her retiring to the North, great numbers flocked to her ſtandard, and ſhe was able, in a few days, to aſſemble an army of ſixty thouſand men in Yorkſhire. On the other ſide, the earl of Warwick conducted young Edward at the head of forty thouſand men to oppoſe her. Both ſides at length met near Touton, in the county of York, to decide the fate of empire, and never was England [232] depopulated by ſo terrible an engagement. It was a dreadful ſight, to behold an hundred thou⯑ſand men of the ſame country engaged againſt each other; and all to ſatisfy the empty am⯑bition of the weakeſt, or the worſt of mankind. While the army of Edward was advancing to the charge, there happened a great fall of ſnow; which driving full in the faces of the enemy blind⯑ed them, and this advantage, ſeconded by an im⯑petuous onſet, decided the victory in their favour. Edward iſſued orders to give no quarter; and a bloody ſlaughter enſued, in which near forty thouſand of the Lancaſtrians were ſlain. Ed⯑ward entered York victorious; and taking down the heads of his father and the earl of Saliſbury, that were placed over the city gates, put up that of the earl of Devonſhire in their ſtead.

In the mean time, Margaret hearing the fate of her army, and being ſenſible that no place in England could now afford her pro⯑tection, ſhe fled with Henry and her ſon to Scotland. But no calamity was able to re⯑preſs her perſeverance; though ſo often over⯑come, yet ſhe was reſolved once more to en⯑ter England with five thouſand men, granted her by the French king; and the unfortunate Henry was led onward, by his preſence to en⯑force [233] her claims. But even here her former ill fortune attended her; and her little fleet was diſperſed by a tempeſt, while ſhe herſelf eſcaped, with ſome difficulty, by entering the mouth of the Tweed. Soon after a defeat, which her few forces ſuffered at Hexham, ſeemed to render her cauſe deſperate; and the cruelty which was practiſed upon all her adhe⯑rents, rendered it ſtill more dangerous.

The loſs of this battle appeared to deprive her of every reſource; ſhe and her huſband were obliged to ſeek for ſafety in a ſeparate flight, without attendants, and without even the neceſſaries of life. The weak unfortunate king, always imprudent, and always unſucceſs⯑ful, thought he could remain concealed in England; but his error was ſoon attended with the obvious conſequences, being taken priſoner, carried to London with ignominy, and confined in the Tower. Margaret was ra⯑ther more fortunate. She flying with her ſon into a foreſt, where ſhe endeavoured to con⯑ceal herſelf, was ſet upon during the darkneſs of the night by robbers, who, either ignorant or regardleſs of her quality, deſpoiled her of her rings and jewels, and treated her with the utmoſt indignity. But ſhe found more reſpect⯑ful treatment from one of thoſe lawleſs men, [234] who, knowing her ſtation, reſolved to procure her ſafety at the hazard of his own; and at laſt conducted her to the ſea-coaſt, whence ſhe made her eſcape to her father in Flanders, who, though very poor, ſtrove as well as he could to ſupply her with the neceſſaries of life. To the ſame court the dukes of Somer⯑ſet and Exeter retired; and they, literally ſpeaking, felt all the miſeries of want. Philip de Comines, the French hiſtorian, ſays he ſaw the duke of Exeter following the duke of Burgundy's equipage bare-footed, and ſerving for his livelihood as a footman. This was a ſtrange ſituation for a lord, who had conducted armies, and was allied to kings and princes; but thoſe enjoyments which ſerved to diſtin⯑guiſh the great from the little, were not ſo ap⯑parent then as at preſent.

Edward being now, by means of the earl of Warwick, fixed upon the throne, reigned in peace and ſecurity, while his title was recogniz⯑ed by parliament, and univerſally ſubmitted to by the people.A.D. 1464 He, began therefore, to give a looſe to his favourite paſſions; and a ſpirit of gallantry, mixed with cruelty, was ſeen to prevail in his court. In the very ſame pa⯑lace, which one day exhibited a ſpectacle of horror, was to be ſeen the day following a [235] maſk or a pageant; and the king would at once gallant a miſtreſs, and inſpect an execution. In order to turn him from theſe purſuits, which were calculated to render him unpopular, the earl of Warwick adviſed him to marry; and, with his conſent, went over to France to pro⯑cure Bona of Savoy as queen, and the match was accordingly concluded. But whilſt the earl was haſtening the negotiation in France, the king himſelf rendered it abortive at home, by marrying Elizabeth Woodville, with whom he had fallen in love, and whom he had vainly endeavoured to debauch. Having thus given Warwick real cauſe of offence, he was reſolved to widen the breach, by driving him from the council. Every incident tended to encreaſe the jealouſy between the king, and this powerful ſubject; the favour ſhewn the queen's party, and the contempt which was thrown upon the earl, manifeſted an open rapture. Warwick, whoſe prudence was equal to his bravery, ſoon made uſe of both to aſſiſt his revenge; he ſeduced the duke of Clarence, brother to the king; and to confirm that nobleman in his intereſts, he gave him his daughter in marriage. Thus an ex⯑tenſive and dangerous combination was formed againſt Edward and his miniſtry; and an ac⯑cident that followed ſoon after, contributed to [236] fan the flame. The inhabitants about St. Leonard's Hoſpital, in Yorkſhire, complained that the duties levied for that inſtitution, which were originally allotted for pious uſes, were now ſecreted by the managers; and they refuſed to contribute their pair. They ſoon after roſe in a body to oppoſe the eccleſiaſtical ſeverities that were levelled againſt them by the earl of Pembroke. It is thought that the earl of Warwick had ſome hand in fomenting theſe diſorders; and although this rebellion was quieted by a pardon from Edward, yet ſome others, that broke out ſhortly after, ap⯑peared favourable to Warwick's deſigns. Ven⯑geance ſeemed to be the only motive this no⯑bleman had in view; and that he purſued with unabating aſſiduity. Plots, treaſons, ſtrata⯑gems, and negotiations, followed each other in rapid ſucceſſion; but at laſt fortune ſeemed to favour Warwick's aims; and the king, as we are told, fell into his power, by accepting an invitation, which the earl gave him, in or⯑der to betray him. Be this as it may, Ed⯑ward had ſoon the good fortune to ſee him⯑ſelf at the head of a numerous army, and in a condition to take ſatisfaction for the treachery of his powerful opponent. Reſolving there⯑fore to take advantage of the enemies weak⯑neſs, [237] after having defeated a party command⯑ed by lord Wells, and cut off his head, he marched to give them battle. In this exi⯑gence, Warwick, and the duke of Clarence, had no other reſource but to quit the king⯑dom; and embarking for Calais, they ſeized upon ſome Flemiſh veſſels, which they found lying along that coaſt, with which they entered one of the ports of France. Here they entered into an union with Margaret, which was dictat⯑ed by neceſſity; both ſides being willing to forget their mutual animoſity, in order to ſecond their revenge. Lewis, the king of France, prepared a fleet to eſcort them; and ſeizing the opportunity, they landed at Dart⯑mouth with a ſmall body of troops, while Ed⯑ward was in the North, ſuppreſſing an inſurrec⯑tion, which had lately appeared there. No⯑thing can be more extraordinary than the ſuc⯑ceſs of Warwick upon this occaſion. The ſpi⯑rit of diſcontent with which many were infect⯑ed, and the general inſtability of the Engliſh nation, conſpired with his ambition; and in leſs than ſix days ſuch multitudes flocked to his ſtandard, that he ſaw himſelf at the head of an army of threeſcore thouſand men.

It was now become Edward's turn to fly the kingdom. He had juſt time to eſcape an at⯑tempt [238] made upon his perſon in the night, by the marquis of Montague; and to embark on board a ſmall fleet, which lay off Lynn in Norfolk. Nor were his dangers leſſened at ſea, where he was chaſed by ſome ſhips belong⯑ing to the Hanſe-towns, who were then at war with both France and England. But at length he landed ſafely in Holland, where he received a cool reception from the duke of Burgundy, with whom he had ſome time before entered into an alliance.

A.D. 1470 In the mean time, Warwick, with his reſiſt⯑leſs army, advanced to London; and once more the poor paſſive king Henry was releaſed from priſon to be placed upon a dangerous throne. A parliament was called, which confirmed Henry's title with great ſolemnity; and Warwick was himſelf received among the people under the title of the King-maker. All the attainders of the Lancaſtrians were reverſ⯑ed; and every one was reſtored, who had loſt either honours or fortune by his former adhe⯑rence to Henry's cauſe. All the conſider⯑able Yorkiſts either fled to the continent, or took ſhelter in ſanctuaries, where the eccle⯑ſiaſtical privileges afforded them protection.

But Edward's party, though repreſſed, was not deſtroyed. Though an exile in Holland, [239] he had many partizans at home; and after an abſence of nine months, being ſeconded by a ſmall body of forces, granted him by the duke of Burgundy, he made a deſcent at Raven⯑ſpur in Yorkſhire. Though at firſt he was cooly received by the Engliſh, yet his army encreaſed upon its march, while his moderation and feigned humility ſtill added to the number of his partizans. London at that time ever ready to admit the moſt powerful, opened her gates to him; and the wretched Henry was once more plucked from his throne, to be ſent back to his former manſion.

Thus Warwick began to experience the inſtability of fortune, and find his party de⯑clining; but what gave the moſt dreadful blow to his hopes was the defection of his ſon-in-law, the duke of Clarence, who went over to Edward, and threw all his weight into the oppoſite ſcale. Nothing now therefore re⯑mained to Warwick, but to cut ſhort a ſtate of anxious ſuſpenſe by hazarding a battle; and though he knew his forces to be inferior to thoſe of Edward, yet he placed his greateſt dependence upon his own generalſhip. With this reſolution, therefore, he marched from St. Alban's, where he was ſtationed, and advan⯑cing towards Barnet, within ten miles of Lon⯑don, [240] there reſolved to wait for Edward, who was not flow in marching down to oppoſe him. Warwick and Edward were at that time con⯑ſidered as the two moſt renowned generals of the age; and now was to be ſtruck the deci⯑ſive blow that was either to ſix Edward on the throne, or to overthrow his pretenſions for ever. The unfortunate Henry alſo was dragged along to be a ſpectator of the engagement; happy in his natural imbecillity, which ſeem⯑ed as a balm to ſooth all his afflictions.

A.D. 1471. April 14. The battle began early in the morning, and laſted till noon; for never did two armies fight with greater obſtinacy and bravery, not ho⯑nour, but life, depending on the iſſue of the conteſt. The example of Warwick inſpired his troops with more than common reſolution, and the victory for a while ſeemed to declare in his favour. But an accident at laſt threw the balance againſt him; from the miſtineſs of the morning, a part of his army happening to miſtake a body of their own forces for that of the enemy, fell furiouſly upon them; and this error turned the fortune of the day. Warwick did all that experience, valour, or conduct could ſuggeſt, to retrieve the miſ⯑take; but it was now too late; no art could cover the former error: wherefore, finding all [241] hopes gone, he was reſolved to ſell the con⯑querors a dear-bought victory. He had, con⯑trary to his uſual practice, engaged that day on foot; and leading a choſen body of troops into the thickeſt of the ſlaughter, he there fell in the midſt of his enemies, covered over with wounds. His brother underwent the ſame fate; and ten thouſand of his adherents were ſlain, Edward having ordered that no quarter ſhould be given.

Margaret, who had been ever fruitful in re⯑ſources, was at that time returning from France with her ſon, the prince of Wales, where ſhe had been negotiating for freſh ſupplies. She had ſcarce time to refreſh herſelf from the fatigues of her voyage, when ſhe received the fatal news of the death of the brave War⯑wick, and the total deſtruction of her party. Though ſhe had hitherto boldly withſtood all the attacks of fortune, the preſent informa⯑tion was too violent a blow for nature to ſup⯑port. Her grief, for the firſt time, found way in a torrent of tears; and yielding to her unhappy fate, ſhe took ſanctuary in the abbey of Beaulieu in Hampſhire.

She had not been long in this melancholy abode before ſhe found ſome few friends ſtill willing to aſſiſt her fallen fortunes. Tudor, [242] earl of Pembroke, Courtney, earl of Devon⯑ſhire, the lords Wenlock and St. John, with other men of rank, exhorted her ſtill to hope for ſucceſs, and offered to aſſiſt her to the laſt. A dawn of hope was ſufficient to revive the cou⯑rage of this magnanimous woman; and the recollection of her former misfortunes gave way to the flattering proſpect of another trial. She had now fought battles in almoſt every province in England; Tewkſbury-Park was the laſt ſcene that terminated her attempts. The duke of Somerſet headed her army; a man who had ſhared her dangers, and had ever been ſteady in her cauſe. He was va⯑liant, generous, and polite; but raſh, and headſtrong. When Edward firſt attacked him in his intrenchments, he repulſed him with ſuch vigour, that the enemy retired with pre⯑cipitation; upon which the duke, ſuppoſing them routed, purſued, and ordered lord Wen⯑lock to ſupport his charge. But unfortunately this lord diſobeyed his orders; and Somerſet's forces were ſoon overpowered by numbers. In this dreadful exigence, the duke, finding that all was over, became ungovernable in his rage; and beholding Wenlock inactive, and remain⯑ing in the very place where he had firſt drawn up his men, giving way to his fury, with his [243] heavy battle-ax in both hands, he ran upon the coward, and with one blow daſhed out his brains.

The queen and the prince were taken priſoners after the battle, and brought into the preſence of Edward. The young prince appeared before the conqueror with undaunted majeſty; and being aſked, in an inſulting manner, how he dared to invade England without leave, the young prince, more mindful of his high birth than of his ruined fortune, replied, ‘"I have en⯑tered the dominions of my father, to revenge his injuries, and redreſs my own."’ The barbarous Edward, enraged at his intrepidity, ſtruck him on the mouth with his gauntlet; and this ſerved as a ſignal for further brutality: the dukes of Glouceſter, Clarence, and others, like wild beaſts, ruſhing on the unarmed youth at once, ſtabbed him to the heart with their daggers. To complete the tragedy, Henry himſelf, who had long been the paſſive ſpectator of all theſe horrors, was now thought unfit to live. The duke of Glouceſter, after⯑wards Richard the third, entering his cham⯑ber alone, murdered him in cold blood. Of all thoſe that were taken, none were ſuffered to ſurvive but Margaret herſelf. It was per⯑haps expected that ſhe would be ranſomed by [244] the king of France; and in this they were not deceived, as that monarch paid the king of England fifty thouſand crowns for her free⯑dom. This extraordinary woman, after hav⯑ing ſuſtained the cauſe of her huſband in twelve battles, after having ſurvived her friends, fortunes, and children, died a few years after in privacy in France, very miſerable indeed; but with few other claims to our pity, except her courage and her diſtreſſes.

CHAP. XIX. EDWARD IV.

OF all people the Engliſh are the moſt truly compaſſionate; and a throne raiſed upon cruelty never wanted enemies among them. No⯑thing could have been more ill-judged than any attempts to govern ſuch a people by the hands of the executioner; and the leaders of either faction ſeemed inſenſible of this truth. Ed⯑ward being now freed from great enemies, [246] turned to the puniſhment of thoſe of leſſer note; ſo that the gibbets were hung with his adverſaries, and their eſtates confiſcated to his uſe. The baſtard Falconbridge, among others, having advanced to London at the head of a ſmall body of forces, was repulſed; and being taken priſoner was immediately executed.

But while Edward was thus rendering him⯑ſelf terrible on the one hand, he was immerſed in abandoned pleaſures on the other. Nature, it ſeems, was not unfavourable to him in that reſpect; as he was univerſally allowed to be the moſt beautiful man of his time. His cour⯑tiers alſo ſeemed willing to encourage thoſe de⯑baucheries in which they had a ſhare; and the clergy, as they themſelves practiſed every kind of lewdneſs with impunity, were ever ready to lend abſolution to all his failings. The truth is, enormous vices had been of late ſo common, that adultery was held but as a very ſlight offence. Among the number of his miſtreſſes was the wife of one Shore, a merchant in the city, a woman of exquiſite beauty and good ſenſe, but who had not vir⯑tue enough to reſiſt the temptations of a beau⯑tiful man, and a monarch.

England now enjoying a temporary calm, Edward thought that the beſt way to ingratiate [247] himſelf with his ſubjects, would be to aſſert his right to his dominions in France, which the inſurrections of his father had contributed to alienate during the former reign. An at⯑tempt of this kind would ſerve to give vent to the malignant diſpoſition of his enemies, and would be ſure to pleaſe the vulgar, who are ever more fond of ſplendid, than of uſeful acquiſitions. To proſecute this ſcheme, the king ſent off to his ally, the duke of Bur⯑gundy, a reinforcement of three thouſand men, and ſoon after paſſed over himſelf at the head of a numerous army. Lewis the eleventh, who was then king of France, was, not with⯑out reaſon, alarmed at this formidable inva⯑ſion, which as he was unable to reſiſt, he ſtrove to obviate by treaty. This ſucceeded more effectually than arms; the two kings had an interview at the bridge of Perpignan; and, upon the promiſe of a ſtipulated ſum, Edward agreed to lead his forces back to England. This monarch wanted to return home to his miſtreſſes to ſpend upon them the money he ex⯑pected to receive from France; and the French monarch hoped ſoon to put himſelf in a poſ⯑ture to refuſe giving theſe ſums which he had only made a promiſe to pay.

[248]Upon the concluſion of this expedition, which thus ended without effect, Edward ap⯑peared no leſs actuated by private paſſions un⯑worthy a ſovereign and a ſtateſman, than jea⯑lous of all who ſeemed to deſpiſe his conduct. Among the detail of private wrongs, which are too minute for hiſtory, an act of tyranny, of which he was guilty in his own family, de⯑ſerves the deteſtation of poſterity. The duke of Clarence, by all his ſervices in deſerting Warwick, had never been able to recover the king's friendſhip, which he had forfeited by his former confederacy with that nobleman. A pretext was therefore ſought to ruin him; and the openneſs of his haſty temper ſoon gave the wiſhed-for occaſion. The king hunting one day in the park of Thomas Burdet, a creature of the duke's, he killed a white buck, which was a great favourite of the owner. Burdet vexed at the loſs, broke into a paſſion, and wiſhed the horns of the deer in the belly of the perſon who had adviſed the king to that inſult. For this trifling exclamation, Bur⯑det was tried for his life, and publicly exe⯑cuted at Tyburn. The duke of Clarence, upon the death of his friend, vented his grief in renewed reproaches againſt his brother, and exclaimed againſt the iniquity of the ſentence. [249] The king, highly offended with this liberty, or uſing that as a pretext againſt him, had him arraigned before the houſe of peers, and ap⯑peared in perſon as his accuſer. In thoſe times of confuſion, every crime alledged by the pre⯑vailing party was fatal; the duke was found guilty; and being granted a choice of the manner in which he would die, he was pri⯑vately drowned in a butt of malmſey in the Tower; a whimſical choice, and implying that he had an extraordinary paſſion for that liquor.

The reſt of this monarch's life was ſpent in riot and debauchery; in gratifications that are pleaſing only to the narrow mind, in uſeleſs treaties with France, in which he was ever de⯑ceived, and in empty threats againſt the mo⯑narch who had deceived him. His parlia⯑ment, become merely the miniſters of his will, conſented, at his requeſt, to a war with France, at a time when his alliances upon the continent were ſo broken, that it was impoſſible for it to ſucceed. The people ſeemed equally pleaſ⯑ſed with the proſpect of an expedition, which, without ſerving, could only tend to impove⯑riſh the nation; and great hopes were revived of once more conquering France. While all were thus occupied with hope, or private diſ⯑truſt, [250] and while Edward was employed in ma⯑king preparations for that enterprize, he was ſeized with a diſtemper, of which he expired in the forty-ſecond year of his age, (and count⯑ing from his firſt uſurpation,) in the twenty-third of his reign. The character of this prince is eaſily ſummed up. His beſt quali⯑ties were courage and beauty; his bad, a com⯑bination of all the vices. Beſide five daugh⯑ters, this king left two ſons, Edward, prince of Wales, his ſucceſſor, then in his thirteenth year; and Richard, duke of York, in his ſe⯑venth.

CHAP. XX. EDWARD V.

UPON the death of Edward, the king⯑dom was divided into two new factions. The queen's family, who, during the laſt reign had grown into power, was became obnoxious to the old nobility, who could not bear to act in ſubordination to perſons whom they conſidered as inferiors. The king himſelf, during his life-time, had been able to over-awe theſe animo⯑ſities; [252] and on his death-bed endeavoured to guard againſt their future encreaſe. He ex⯑preſſed a deſire, that his brother the duke of Glouceſter ſhould be intruſted with the regen⯑cy, and recommended peace and unanimity during the minority of his ſon. But the king was no ſooner dead, than the parties broke out with all their former reſentment; and the duke of Glouceſter, a crafty, wicked, and ambiti⯑ous prince, reſolved to profit by their mu⯑tual contentions.

His firſt aim was to foment the diſcontents of the old nobility, by inſinuating, that the queen wanted to hide the meanneſs of her ori⯑ginal in a multitude of new promotions; at the ſame time he redoubled his profeſſions of zeal and attachment to that princeſs, and thus en⯑tirely gained her confidence. Having ſucceed⯑ed thus far, he gained over the duke of Buck⯑ingham, and ſome other lords, to his intereſts, and prevailed upon them to ſecond him in his attempts to get the guardianſhip of the young king conferred upon him, together with the cuſtody of his perſon.

Being ſure of the aſſiſtance of theſe noble⯑men, he reſolved to take the king out of the cuſtody of the earl of Rivers, his uncle by the mother's ſide; and having procured that [253] nobleman to be arreſted, he met young Edward in perſon, and offered to conduct him up to London, with the moſt profound demonſtra⯑tions of reſpect. Having thus ſecured the per⯑ſon of the king, his next ſtep was to get the charge of the king's brother, a boy of about ſe⯑ven years old, who, with the queen, his mother, had taken ſanctuary in Weſtminſter Abbey. The queen, who had foreſeen from the begin⯑ning the dangers that threatened her family, was very hardly perſuaded to deliver up her child; but at the interceſſion of the primate, and the archbiſhop of York, ſhe was at laſt induced to comply; and claſping her child in her arms, with a laſt embrace, took leave of him with a ſhower of tears. The young king finding that he was to have the pleaſure of his brother's company, was greatly rejoiced at the queen's compliance, not conſidering the fatal intent of theſe preparations; for in a few days after the duke of Glouceſter, who had been made protector of the realm, upon a pretence of guarding their perſons from danger, con⯑veyed them both to the Tower.

Having thus ſecured the perſons of thoſe he intended to deſtroy, his next ſtep was to ſpread a report of their illegitimacy; and, by pretend⯑ed obſtacles, to put off the day appointed for [254] the young king's coronation. Lord Stanly, a man of deep penetration, was the firſt to diſ⯑cloſe his fears of the protector's having ill de⯑ſigns; and communicated his ſuſpicions to lord Haſtings, who long had been firmly attached to the king's family. Haſtings would at firſt give the ſurmiſe no credit; and probably his wiſhes that ſuch a project might not be true, influenced his judgment, and confirmed his ſecurity. But he was ſoon undeceived; for Cateſby, a vile inſtrument of the protector, was ſent to ſound him, and to try whether he could not be brought over to aſſiſt the projected uſur⯑pation. Haſtings treated the propoſal with horror; he profeſſed himſelf immoveable in his adherence to the king; and his death was therefore reſolved on by the protector.

In the mean time, orders had been diſ⯑patched to execute the lords Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan, who had been confined in Pom⯑fret caſtle, and whoſe only crime was their at⯑tachment to the young king. On the very day on which they were beheaded, the protector ſummoned a council in the Tower, whither lord Haſtings, amongſt others, repaired, no way ſuſpecting that his own life was in dan⯑ger. The duke of Glouceſter was capable of committing the moſt bloody and treacherous [255] murders with the utmoſt coolneſs and indif⯑ference. He came thither at nine o'clock in the morning with a moſt chearful countenance, ſaluting the members with the utmoſt affabili⯑ty, and demonſtrations of unuſual good hu⯑mour. He complimented the biſhop of Ely on his early ſtrawberries, and begged to have a diſh of them. He then left the council, as if called away by other buſineſs; but deſired that his abſence might not interrupt the de⯑bates. In about an hour he returned, quite altered in look, knitting his brows, biting his lips, and ſhewing, by a frequent change of countenance, the ſigns of ſome inward pertur⯑bation. A ſilence enſued for ſome time; and the lords looked upon each other, not without reaſon, expecting ſome horrid cataſtrophe. At length, he broke the dreadful ſilence: ‘"My lords, cried he, what puniſhment do they deſerve, who have conſpired againſt my life?"’ This queſtion redoubled the aſto⯑niſhment of the aſſembly; and the ſilence con⯑tinuing, lord Haſtings at length made anſwer, that whoever did ſo, deſerved to be puniſhed as a traitor. ‘"Theſe traitors, cried the pro⯑tector, are the ſorcereſs, my brother's wife, and Jane Shore, his miſtreſs, with others, their aſſociates. See to what a condition [256] they have reduced me by their incantations and witchcrafts."’ Upon which he laid bare his arm, all ſhrivelled and decayed. The amazement of the council ſeemed to encreaſe at this terrible accuſation; and lord Haſtings again ſaid: ‘"If they have committed ſuch a crime, they deſerve puniſhment."’ ‘"If! cried the protector, with a loud voice, doſt thou anſwer me with Ifs? I tell thee that they have conſpired my death; and that thou, traitor, art an accomplice in their crime."’ He then ſtruck the table twice with his hand; and the room was inſtantly filled with armed men. ‘"I arreſt thee, continues he, turning to Haſtings, for high treaſon;"’ and at the ſame time gave him in charge to the ſoldiers. In the mean while, the council-room was filled with tumult and confuſion; and though no reſcue was offered, yet the ſoldiers cauſed a buſtle, as if they apprehended danger. One of them narrowly miſſed cleaving lord Stanly's head with a battle-ax; but he fortunately eſ⯑caped, by ſhrinking under the table. In all probability the fellow had orders for that at⯑tempt, and ſhould Stanley be killed his death might be aſcribed to the tumult cauſed by an intended reſcue. However, though he eſcap⯑ed the blow he was arreſted by the protec⯑tor's [257] order, who was well apprized of his at⯑tachment to the young king. As for lord Haſtings, he was obliged to make a ſhort con⯑feſſion to the next prieſt that was at hand; the protector crying out, By St. Paul, that he would not dine till he had ſeen his head taken off. He was accordingly hurried out to the Little Green before the Tower-chapel, and there be⯑headed on a log of wood, that accidentally lay in the way. Two hours after, a proclamation, very well drawn up, was read to the citizens of London, enumerating his offences, and pal⯑liating the ſuddenneſs of his puniſhment. It was remarked, however, by a merchant a⯑mong the auditors, that the proclamation was certainly drawn up by a ſpirit of prophecy.

The protector, having thus got rid of thoſe he moſt feared, was willing to pleaſe the popu⯑lace by puniſhing Jane Shore, the late king's miſtreſs. This unfortunate woman was an enemy too humble to excite his jealouſy; yet as he had accuſed her of witchcraft, of which all the world ſaw ſhe was innocent, he thought proper to make her an example, for thoſe faults of which ſhe was really guilty. Jane Shore had been formerly deluded from her huſband, who was a goldſmith in Lom⯑bard Street, and continued to live with Ed⯑ward, [258] the moſt guiltleſs miſtreſs in his abandon⯑ed court. She was ever known to intercede for the diſtreſſed, and was uſually applied to as me⯑diator for mercy. She was charitable, generous, and of a moſt pleaſing converſation; her wit being ſaid to be as irreſiſtible as her beauty. As ſhe was blameleſs in other reſpects, the pro⯑tector ordered her to be ſued for incontinency, as having left her huſband to live in adultery with another. It is very probable, that the people were not diſpleaſed at ſeeing one again reduced to former meanneſs, who had for a while been raiſed above them, and enjoyed the ſmiles of a court. The charge againſt her was too notorious to be denied; ſhe pleaded guilty, and was accordingly condemned to walk bare-foot through the city, and to do pe⯑nance in St. Paul's church in a white ſheet, with a wax-taper in her hand, before thouſands of ſpectators. She lived above forty years af⯑ter this ſentence, reduced to the moſt extreme wretchedneſs; and Sir Thomas More, in the ſucceeding reign, aſſures us, that he ſaw her ga⯑thering herbs in a field near the city for her nightly repaſt; an extraordinary example of the ingratitude of courts, and the reverſes of fortune.

[259]The protector now began to throw off the maſk, and to deny his pretended regard for the ſons of the late king, thinking it high time to aſpire at the throne more openly. He had previouſly gained over the duke of Bucking⯑ham, a man of talents and power, by bribes and promiſes of future favour. This noble⯑man, therefore, uſed all his arts to infuſe into the people an opinion of the baſtardy of the late king, and alſo that of his children. Doc⯑tor Shaw, a popular preacher, was hired to harangue the people from St. Paul's Croſs to the ſame purpoſe; where, after having diſplay⯑ed the incontinence of the queen, and inſiſting on the illegality of the young king's title, he then expatiated on the virtues of the protector. ‘"It is the protector, cried he, who carries in his face the image of virtue, and the marks of a true deſcent. He alone can reſtore the loſt glory and honour of the nation."’ It was hoped, upon this occaſion, that ſome of the po⯑pulace would have cried out, Long live king Richard! but the audience remaining ſilent, the duke of Buckingham undertook to per⯑ſuade them, in his turn. His ſpeech was copious upon the calamities of the laſt reign, and the baſtardy of the preſent race; he ſaw only one method of ſhielding off the miſeries that threat⯑ened [260] the ſtate, which was, to elect the protect⯑or; but he ſeemed apprehenſive that he would never be prevailed on to accept of a crown, ac⯑companied with ſuch difficulty and danger. He next aſked his auditors, whether they would have the protector for their king; but was mortified to find that a total ſilence enſued. The mayor, who was in the ſecret, willing to relieve him in this embarraſſing ſituation, obſerved, that the citizens were not accuſtomed to be harrangued by a perſon of ſuch quality, and would only give an anſwer to their recorder. This officer, therefore, repeated the duke's ſpeech, but the people continuing ſtill ſilent, ‘"This is ſtrange obſtinacy, cried the duke; we only require of you, in plain terms, to declare whether, or not, you will have the duke of Glouceſter for your king; as the lords and commons have ſufficient power without your concurrence?"’ After all theſe efforts, ſome of the meaneſt apprentices, in⯑cited by the protector's and Buckingham's ſer⯑vants, raiſing a feeble cry of, ‘"God ſave king Richard!"’ the mob at the door, a deſpicable claſs of people, ever pleaſed with novelty, re⯑peated the cry, and, throwing up their caps, repeated, A Richard! a Richard!

[261]In this manner the duke took the advan⯑tage of this faint approbation; and the next day, at the head of the mayor and aldermen, went to wait upon the protector, at Baynard's Caſtle, with offers of the crown. When Ri⯑chard was told that a great multitude was wait⯑ing at the door, with his uſual hypocriſy he appeared to the crowd in a gallery between two biſhops, and at firſt ſeemed quite ſurpriſed at ſuch a concourſe of people. But when he was informed that their buſineſs was to offer him the crown, he declared againſt accepting it; al⯑ledging his love for the late king, his brother, his affliction for the children under his care, and his own inſufficiency. Buckingham ſeeming diſpleaſed with this anſwer, muttered ſome words to himſelf, but at length plainly told him, ‘"That it was needleſs to refuſe, for that the people were bent on making him king; that they had now proceeded too far to re⯑cede; and therefore, in caſe of his refuſal, were determined to offer the crown where it would meet a more ready acceptance."’ This was a reſolution which the protector's tender⯑neſs for his people would not ſuffer him to ſee effected. ‘"I perceive, cried he, in a modeſt tone, that the kingdom is reſolved to load me with preferments, unequal to my abilities [262] or my choice; yet ſince it is my duty to obey the dictates of a free people, I will, though reluctantly, accept their petition. I there⯑fore, from this moment, enter upon the go⯑vernment of England and France, with a re⯑ſolution to defend the one, and ſubdue the other."’ The crowd being thus diſmiſſed, each man returned home, pondering upon the proceedings of the day; and making ſuch re⯑marks as paſſion, intereſt, or party might ſug⯑geſt.

CHAP. XXI. RICHARD III.

ONE crime ever draws on another; A.D. 1483 juſtice will revolt againſt fraud, and uſurpation re⯑quires ſecurity. As ſoon, therefore, as Ri⯑chard was ſeated upon the throne, he ſent the governor of the Tower orders to put the two young princes to death; but this brave man, whoſe name was Brackenbury, refuſed to be made the inſtrument of a tyrant's will; [264] and ſubmiſſively anſwered, that he knew not how to embrue his hands in innocent blood. A fit inſtrument, however, was not long want⯑ing; Sir James Tyrrel readily undertook the office, and Brackenbury was ordered to reſign to him the keys for one night. Tyrrel chuſing three aſſociates, Slater, Deighton, and Foreſt, came in the night-time to the door of the chamber, where the princes were lodged; and ſending in the aſſaſſins, he bid them execute their commiſſion, while he himſelf ſtaid with⯑out. They found the young princes in bed, and fallen into a ſound ſleep: after ſuffocating them with the bolſter and pillows, they ſhew⯑ed their naked bodies to Tyrrel; who ordered them to be buried at the ſtair-foot, deep in the ground, under an heap of ſtones. Theſe facts appeared in the ſucceeding reign, being con⯑feſſed by the perpetrators; who, however, eſ⯑caped puniſhment for the crime. The bodies of the princes were afterwards ſought for by Henry VII. but could not be found; however, in the reign of Charles II. the bones of two perſons, anſwering their age, were found in the very ſpot where it was ſaid they were bu⯑ried: they were interred in a marble monument by order of the king in Weſtminſter Abbey.

Richard had now waded through every ob⯑ſtacle to the throne; and began, after the [265] manner of all uſurpers, to ſtrengthen his ill-got power by foreign connexions. Senſible, alſo, of the influence of pageantry and ſhew upon the minds of the people, he cauſed himſelf to be crowned firſt at London, and afterwards at York. The clergy he endeavoured to ſe⯑cure by great indulgencies; and his friends, by beſtowing rewards on them, in proportion as they were inſtrumental in placing him on the throne.

But while he thus endeavoured to eſtabliſh his power, he found it threatened on a quarter where he leaſt expected an attack. The duke of Buckingham, who had been too inſtrumental in placing him on the throne, though he had received the greateſt rewards for his ſervices, yet continued to wiſh for more. He had al⯑ready ſeveral poſts and governments conferred upon him; but that nobleman, whoſe avarice was inſatiable, making a demand of the con⯑fiſcated lands in Hereford, to which his family had an ancient claim, Richard, either reluc⯑tantly complied with his requeſt, or but par⯑tially indulged it, ſo that a coolneſs ſoon en⯑ſued; and no ſooner had Buckingham ſup⯑poſed himſelf injured, than he reſolved to de⯑throne a monarch, whoſe title was found⯑ed in injuſtice. At firſt, however, this aſpiring [266] ſubject remained in doubt, whether he ſhould put up for the crown himſelf, or ſet up an⯑other; but the latter reſolution prevailing, he determined to declare for Henry, earl of Richmond, who was at that time an exile in Brittany, and was conſiered as the only ſur⯑viving branch of the houſe of Lancaſter.

Henry, earl of Richmond, was at that time detained in a kind of honourable cuſtody by the duke of Brittany. He was one of thoſe, who had the good fortune to eſcape the nu⯑merous maſſacres of the preceding reigns; but as he was a deſcendant of John of Gaunt, by the female line, he was for that reaſon ob⯑noxious to thoſe in power. He had long lived in exile; and was, at one time, delivered up to the embaſſadors of Edward, who were prepar⯑ing to carry him over to England, when the prince, who delivered him, repented of what he had done, and took him from the ambaſſa⯑dors juſt as they were leading him on ſhip⯑board. This was the youth on whom the duke of Buckingham caſt his eye, to ſucceed to the crown, and a negociation was begun be⯑tween them for that purpoſe. Henry's here⯑ditary right to the throne was doubtful, but the crimes of the uſurper ſerved to ſtrengthen his claims. However, ſtill further to improve his [267] title, a marriage was projected between him and the princeſs Elizabeth, eldeſt daughter of the late king, and the queen dowager was pre⯑vailed on heartily to accede to the meaſure.

Richard, in the mean time, either informed by his creatures, or kept diſtruſtful by con⯑ſcious guilt, began to ſuſpect Buckingham's fi⯑delity; and the ſecret informations which he daily received, left him no room to doubt of the truth of his ſuſpicions. Impreſſed with this jealouſy, therefore, he formed a reſolution of ſending for him to court; and the duke's re⯑fuſing to obey the ſummons, confirmed him in his fears. But he ſoon had the plaineſt proofs of Buckingham's enmity, intelligence arriving that this nobleman was at the head of a large body of men in arms, and marching towards the weſtern ſhore. Richard, whoſe courage no dangers could allay, immediately put him⯑ſelf in a poſture of defence, by levying ſome troops in the North, and prepared to meet the inſurgents with his uſual expedition. But for⯑tune ſeemed his friend on the preſent occaſion, and rendered all his preparations unneceſſary. As Buckingham was advancing by haſty marches towards Glouceſter, where he de⯑ſigned to croſs the Severn, juſt at that time the river was ſwoln to ſuch a degree, that the [268] country on both ſides was deluged, and even the tops of ſome hills were covered with water. This inundation continued for ten days; during which Buckingham's army, com⯑poſed of Welſhmen, could neither paſs the river, nor find ſubſiſtence on their own ſide; they were, therefore, obliged to diſperſe, and return home, notwithſtanding all the duke's ef⯑forts to prolong their ſtay. In this helpleſs ſi⯑tuation, the duke, after a ſhort deliberation, took refuge at the houſe of one Baniſter, who had been his ſervant, and who had received repeated obligations from his family. But the wicked ſeldom find, as they ſeldom exert, friendſhip. Baniſter, unable to reſiſt the temp⯑tation of a large reward that was ſet upon the duke's head, went and betrayed him to the ſheriff of Shropſhire; who, ſurrounding the houſe with armed men, ſeized the duke, in the habit of a peaſant, and conducted him to Sa⯑liſbury; where he was inſtantly tried, con⯑demned, and executed, according to the ſum⯑mary method practiſed in thoſe ages.

In the mean time, the duke of Richmond landed in England; but finding his hopes fruſtrated by the failure of Buckingham, he haſtily ſet ſail again, and returned to Britta⯑ny. Thus every occurrence ſeemed to pro⯑miſe [269] Richard a long poſſeſſion of the crown; however, the authority of parliament was ſtill wanting to give ſanction to the injuſtice of his proceedings; but in thoſe times of ignorance and guilt that was eaſily procured. An act was paſſed, confirming the illegitimacy of Edward's children; an act of attainder alſo was confirmed againſt Henry, earl of Richmond; and all the uſurper's wiſhes ſeemed to be the aim of their deliberations. One thing, however, was want⯑ing to complete Richard's ſecurity, which was the death of his rival; to effect which, he ſent ambaſſadors to the duke of Brittany, ſeem⯑ingly upon buſineſs of a public nature; but, in reality, to treat with Landais, that prince's miniſter, to deliver up Richmond. The mi⯑niſter was baſe enough to enter into the nego⯑tiation; but Richmond having had timely no⯑tice, fled away into France, and juſt reach⯑ed the confines of that kingdom when he found that he was purſued by thoſe who intend⯑ed giving him up to his rival.

Richard thus finding his attempts to ſeize his enemy's perſon unſucceſsful, became every day more cruel, as his power grew more pre⯑carious. Among thoſe who chiefly excited his jealouſy, was the lord Stanly, who was married to the widow of Edward; and to keep [270] him ſtedfaſt in obedience, he took his ſon as an hoſtage for the father's behaviour. He now alſo reſolved to get rid of his preſent queen, Anne, to make room for a match with his niece, the princeſs Elizabeth, by whoſe alliance he hoped to cover the injuſtice of his claims. This lady, whom he deſired to get rid of, was the widow of the young prince of Wales, whom he had murdered with his own hands at Tewkſbury; and it is no ſlight indication of the barbarity of the times, that the widow ſhould accept for her ſecond lord, the mur⯑derer of her former huſband. But ſhe was now rewarded for her former inhumanity, as Richard treated her with ſo much pride and indifference, that ſhe died with grief, accord⯑ing to his ardent expectation. However, his wiſhes were not crowned with ſucceſs in his applications to Elizabeth; the mother, indeed, was not averſe to the match; but the princeſs herſelf treated his vile addreſſes with contempt and deteſtation.

Amidſt the perplexity cauſed by this unex⯑pected refuſal, he received information, that the earl of Richmond was once more making preparations to land in England, and aſſert his claims to the crown. Richard, who knew not in what quarter he might expect the invader, [271] had taken poſt at Nottingham, in the centre of the kingdom; and had given commiſſions to ſeveral of his creatures, to oppoſe the enemy wherever he ſhould land. The account re⯑ceived of Richmond's preparations were not ungrounded; he ſet out from Harfleur in Normandy, with a retinue of about two thou⯑ſand perſons; and, after a voyage of ſix days, arrived at Milford-Haven, in Wales, where he landed without oppoſition. Sir Rice ap Tho⯑mas, and Sir Walter Herbert, who were in-truſted to oppoſe him in Wales, were both in his intereſts; the one immediately deſerted to him, and the other made but a feeble oppoſi⯑tion. Upon news of this deſcent, Richard, who was poſſeſſed of courage and military con⯑duct, his only virtues, inſtantly reſolved to meet his antagoniſt, and decide their mutual preten⯑ſions by a battle. Richmond, on the other hand, being reinforced by Sir Thomas Bour⯑chier, Sir Walter Hungerford, and others, to the number of about ſix thouſand, boldly ad⯑vanced with the ſame intention; and in a few days, both armies drew near Boſworth-field, to determine a conteſt that had now for more than forty years filled the kingdom with ci⯑vil commotions and deluged its plains with blood.

[272]The army of Richard was above double that of Henry; but the chief confidence of the latter lay in the friendſhip and ſecret aſſuran⯑ces of lord Stanly, who, with a body of ſeven thouſand men, hovered near the field of battle, and declined engaging on either ſide.

Richard perceiving his enemy advance, drew up his army, conſiſting of about thirteen thouſand men, in order of battle; he gave the command of the van-guard to the duke of Norfolk, while he led the main body himſelf, with the crown on his head, deſigning by this either to inſpire the enemy with awe, or to ren⯑der himſelf conſpicuous to his own army. The van of Richmond's army, conſiſting of archers, was commanded by John, earl of Oxford; Sir Gilbert Talbot led the right wing, Sir John ſavage the left; while the earl him⯑ſelf, accompanied by his uncle, the earl of Pembroke, placed himſelf in the main body. Lord Stanly, in the mean time, poſted him⯑ſelf on one flank, between the two armies, while his brother took his ſtation on the other, which was oppoſite. Richard ſeeing him thus in a ſituation equally convenient for joining either army, immediately ſent him orders to unite himſelf to the main body, which the o⯑ther refuſing, he gave inſtant orders for be⯑heading [273] lord Stanley's ſon, whom he ſtill kept as an hoſtage. He was perſuaded, however, to poſtpone the execution till after the fight; and attending to the more important tranſac⯑tions of the day, he directed the trumpets to ſound to battle. The two armies approaching each other, the battle began with a ſhower of arrows, and ſoon the adverſe fronts were ſeen cloſing. This was what lord Stanley had for ſome time expected, who immediately profit⯑ing by the occaſion, joined the line of Rich⯑mond, and thus turned the fortune of the day. This meaſure, which was ſo unexpected to the men, though not to their leaders, had a pro⯑portioned effect on both armies, it inſpired unuſual courage into Henry's ſoldiers, and threw Richard's into confuſion. The intrepid tyrant perceiving the danger of his ſituation, ſpurred up his horſe into the thickeſt of the fight, while Richmond quitted his ſtation be⯑hind, to encourage his troops by his preſence in the front. Richard perceiving him, was de⯑ſirous of ending all by one blow; and with ir⯑reſiſtible fury flew through thouſands to attack him. He ſlew ſir William Brandon, the earl's ſtandard bearer, who attempted to ſtop his ca⯑reer. Sir John Cheney having taken Brandon's place, was thrown by him to the ground. Rich⯑mond, in the mean time ſtood firm to oppoſe [274] him; but they were ſeparated by the interpoſing crowd. Richard, thus diſappointed, went, by his preſence, to inſpire his troops at another quarter; but at length perceiving his army every where yielding or flying, and now finding that all was gone, he ruſhed with a loud ſhout into the midſt of the enemy, and there met a better death than his crimes and cruelties deſerved. After the bat⯑tle, his body was found ſtripped among an heap of ſlain, covered over with wounds, and the eyes frightfully ſtaring. In this manner it was thrown acroſs an horſe, the head hanging down on one ſide, and the legs on the other, and thus carried to Leiceſter. It lay there two days expoſed to public view, and then was buried without farther ceremony.

Richard's crown being found by one of Henry's ſoldiers on the field of battle, it was immediately placed upon the head of the con⯑queror, while the whole army, as if inſpired with one voice, cried out, ‘"Long live king Henry!"’

Thus ended the bloody reign of Richard; and by his death the race of the Plantagenet kings, who had been in poſſeſſion of the crown during the ſpace of three hundred and thirty years, became extinct. Thus ended alſo the conteſts between the houſes of York and Lan⯑caſter, by which moſt of the ancient families [275] of the kingdom were extinguiſhed, and more than an hundred thouſand men loſt their lives, either by the ſword or the executioner.

Theſe diſſenſions had, for ſome time, re⯑duced the kingdom to a ſtate of ſavage bar⯑barity. Laws, arts, and commerce, which had before emitted ſome feeble gleams, were en⯑tirely neglected for the practice of arms; and to be a conqueror was ſufficient, in the eyes of the brutal people, to ſtand for every other vir⯑tue. The Engliſh had, as yet, but little idea of legal ſubordination; nor could they give any applauſe to thoſe who attempted to cultivate the arts of peace, the whole of their ſtudy and education being turned for war. The fero⯑city of the people to each other was incredi⯑ble. However, the women, whatever part they took in the diſturbances of the govern⯑ment, were exempted from capital puniſh⯑ments; nor were they ever put to death, ex⯑cept when convicted of witchcraft or poiſon⯑ing. As for the clergy, they were entirely di⯑ſtinct from the laity, both in cuſtoms, laws, and learning. They were governed by the code of civil law, drawn up in the times of Juſtinian; while the laity were held by the common-law, which had been traditional from times immemo⯑rial in the country. The clergy, however we [276] may be told to the contrary, underſtood and wrote Latin fluently; while the laity, on the other hand, underſtood nothing of Latin, but applied themſelves wholly to the French lan⯑guage, when they aſpired at the character of a polite education. The clergy, as a body di⯑ſtinct from the ſtate, little intereſted them⯑ſelves in civil polity; and perhaps they were not diſpleaſed to ſee the laity, whom they con⯑ſidered leſs as fellow-ſubjects than rivals for power, weakening themſelves by continual conteſts, and thus rendering themſelves more eaſily manageable. In ſhort, as there was no knowlege of government among the individu⯑als, but what totally reſulted from power, the ſtate was like a feveriſh conſtitution, ever ſub⯑ject to ferment and diſorder. France, indeed, had ſerved for ſome time as a drain for the peccant humours; but when that was no lon⯑ger open, the diſorders of the conſtitution ſeemed daily to encreaſe, and vented them⯑ſelves at laſt in all the horrors of a long con⯑tinued civil war.

CHAP. XXII. HENRY VII.

AFTER having preſented the reader with a frightful train of treaſons, ſtratagems,A.D. 1485 mur⯑ders, and uſurpations, we are now beginning to emerge into a time of greater importance and glory. We are now to view the conduct of a monarch, who, if not the beſt, was, at leaſt, the moſt uſeful of any that ever ſate upon the Britiſh throne. We are now to be⯑hold [278] a nation of tumult reduced to civil ſub⯑ordination; an inſolent and factious ariſto⯑cracy humbled, wiſe laws enacted, commerce reſtored, and the peaceful arts made amiable to a people, for whom war alone heretofore had charms. Hitherto we have on]y beheld the actions of a barbarous nation, obeying with re⯑luctance, and governed by caprice; but hence⯑forward we may diſcover more refined politics, and better concerted ſchemes; human wiſ⯑dom, as if rouſed from her lethargy of thir⯑teen hundred years, exerting all her efforts to ſubdue the natural ferocity of the people, and to introduce permanent felicity.

Henry's firſt care upon coming to the throne, was to marry the princeſs Elizabeth, daughter of Edward the fourth; and thus he blended the intereſts of the houſes of York and Lan⯑caſter, ſo that ever after they were incapable of diſtinction. Nevertheleſs, being apprehenſive that the people might ſuppoſe he claimed the crown in right of this union, he deferred the queen's coronation till two years after, by which he made the priority of his own claim incon⯑teſtable. His reign alſo happily commenced with an obedience to the forms of law, of which England had hitherto ſeen but few ex⯑amples. An act had been paſſed in the pre⯑ceding [279] reign for the attainder of his friends and followers, which continued ſtill in force; and the names of many members of that houſe, by which it was to be repealed, were expreſly mentioned in the attainder. To ſuf⯑fer theſe to join in repealing that ſtatute, would be admitting them as judges in their own cauſe; but to this Henry prudently objected, obliging them to leave the houſe, till an act was paſſed for reverſing their attainder.

Before this reign, it had been uſual with any perſon who was attainted, after his execu⯑tion, to give away his eſtates to any of the court favourites that happened to be moſt in confidence. Henry wiſely perceived that this ſeverity had two bad effects; the cruelty of the meaſure in the firſt place excited indigna⯑tion; and it alſo made the favourite too powerful for ſubjection. In order to re⯑medy theſe inconveniencies, he made a law to deprive thoſe who were found in arms of their eſtates and effects, and ſequeſter them for the benefit of the crown.

A great part of the miſeries of his prede⯑ceſſors proceeded from their poverty, which was moſtly occaſioned by riot and diſſipation. Henry ſaw that money alone could turn the ſcale of power in his favour; and therefore [280] hoarded up all the confiſcations of his enemies with the utmoſt frugality. From hence he has been accuſed by hiſtorians of avarice; but that avarice which tends to ſtrengthen govern⯑ment, and repreſs ſedition, is not only excuſe⯑able, but praiſe-worthy. Liberality in a king is too often a miſplaced virtue. What is thus given, is generally extorted from the induſ⯑trious and needy, to be laviſhed as rewards on the rich, the inſidious, and the fawning, upon the ſycophants of a court, or the improvers of luxurious refinement. Henry ſhewed himſelf very different from his predeceſſors in theſe re⯑ſpects, as he gave away very few rewards to the courtiers about his perſon; and none ex⯑cept the needy ſhared his benefactions. He releaſed all priſoners for debt in his domi⯑nions, whoſe debts did not amount to forty ſhillings, and paid their creditors from the royal coffers. Thus his oeconomy rendered him not only uſeful to the poor, but enabled him to be juſt to his own creditors, either a⯑broad or at home. Thoſe ſums which he bor⯑rowed from the city of London, or any of his ſubjects, he repaid at the appointed day with the utmoſt punctuality; and in propor⯑tion as he was eſteemed in his own dominions, he became reſpectable abroad.

[281]With regard to the king's ſervants, he was himſelf the only acting miniſter; and as for the reſt, he did not chuſe his under-agents from among the nobility, as had been moſt uſual; but pitched upon John Morton, and Richard Fox, two clergymen, perſons of in⯑duſtry, vigilance, and capacity, to whom he chiefly confided his affairs and ſecret councils. They had ſhared with him in all his former dangers and diſtreſſes; and he now took care that they ſhould participate in his good for⯑tune; the one being ſoon after created biſhop of Ely, the other biſhop of Exeter. He per⯑haps ſuppoſed, that as clergymen were natu⯑rally more dependent on him than the nobili⯑ty, ſo they would be more ſubmiſſive to his commands, and more active in their ſervices.

Immediately after his marriage with Eliza⯑beth, he iſſued a general pardon to all ſuch as choſe to accept it; but thoſe lords who had been the favourites of the laſt reign, and long accuſtomed to turbulence, refuſed his profered tenderneſs, and flew to arms. Lord Lovel, together with Humphrey and Thomas Staf⯑ford, placed themſelves at the head of this in⯑ſurrection; but Henry ſent the duke of Bed⯑ford to oppoſe them, with orders to try what might be done by offering a pardon, before [282] he made any attempts to reduce them. The duke punctually obeyed his inſtructions; and a general promiſe of pardon was made to the rebels, which had a greater effect on the leaders than on their followers. Lovel, who had un⯑dertaken an enterprize that exceeded his cou⯑rage and capacity, was ſo terrified with the fears of deſertion among his troops, that he ſuddenly withdrew himſelf; and, after lurking ſome time in Lancaſhire, made his eſcape into Flanders, where he was protected by the dutcheſs of Burgundy. The Staffords took ſanctuary in the church of Colnham, a village near Abingdon; but it appearing that this church had not the privilege of giving protec⯑tion, they were taken thence; the eldeſt Staf⯑ford was executed at Tyburn; the younger, pleading that he was miſled by his brother, ob⯑tained his pardon. The rebel army, now with⯑out a leader, ſubmitted to the mercy of the king, and were permitted to diſperſe without farther puniſhment.

But the people were become ſo turbulent and factious by a long courſe of civil war, that no governor could rule them, nor any king pleaſe; ſo that one rebellion ſeemed extin⯑guiſhed only to give riſe to another. The king, in the beginning of his reign, had given [283] orders that the ſon of the duke of Clarence, whom we have already mentioned as being drowned in a wine-butt, ſhould be taken from the priſon where he had been confined by Rich⯑ard, and brought to the Tower. This unfortu⯑nate youth, who was ſtyled the earl of Warwick, was, by long confinement, ſo unacquainted with the world, that, as we are told, he could not tell the difference between a duck and an hen. However, the unhappy youth, harm⯑leſs as he was, was made an inſtrument to deceive the people. There lived in Oxford one Richard Simon, a prieſt, who poſſeſſing ſome ſubtlety, and more raſhneſs, trained up one Lambert Simnel, a baker's ſon, to coun⯑terfeit the perſon of the earl of Warwick; and he was previouſly inſtructed by his tutor to talk upon many facts and occurrences, as happening to him in the court of Edward. But as the impoſture was not calculated to bear a cloſe inſpection, it was thought proper to ſhew him firſt at a diſtance; and Ireland was judged the fitteſt theatre for him to ſup⯑port his aſſumed character. The plot unfolded to their wiſhes; Simnel was received with the utmoſt joy, and proclaimed king of Ireland; he was conducted by the magiſtrates and the po⯑pulace of Dublin with great pomp to the Caſ⯑tle, [284] where he was treated conformably to his ſuppoſed birth and diſtinction.

Henry could not help feeling more uneaſi⯑neſs at this bare-faced impoſture than it ſeem⯑ed to deſerve; but the penetrating monarch ſaw that his mother-in-law was at the bottom of it; and he dreaded the fierce inquietude of her temper. He was reſolved, therefore, to take the advice of his council upon this occa⯑ſion; and they, after due deliberation, deter⯑mined upon confining the old queen to a mo⯑naſtery; but, to wipe off the imputation of trea⯑ſon from one ſo nearly allied to the crown, it was given out, that ſhe was thus puniſhed for having formerly delivered up the princeſs her daughter to Richard. The people as uſual murmured at the ſeverity of her treatment; but the king, unmindful of their idle cla⯑mours, perſiſted in his reſolution; and ſhe re⯑mained in confinement till her death, which did not happen till ſeveral years after. The next meaſure was to ſhew Warwick to the people. In conſequence of this, he was taken from the Tower, and led through the princi⯑pal ſtreets of London, after which he was conducted in ſolemn proceſſion to St. Paul's, where great numbers were aſſembled to ſee him. Still, however, they proceeded in Dub⯑lin [285] to honour their pretended monarch; and he was crowned with great ſolemnity, in pre⯑ſence of the earl of Kildare, the chancellor, and the other officers of ſtate. Such impoſi⯑tions upon the people, were very frequent at that time, in ſeveral parts of Europe. Lor⯑rain, Naples, and Portugal, had their impoſ⯑tors, who continued to deceive for a long time without detection. In fact, the inhabitants of every country, were ſo much confined within their own limits, and knew ſo little of what was paſſing in the reſt of the world, that any diſtant ſtory might be propagated, how im⯑probable ſoever. In this manner, king Sim⯑nel, being now joined by lord Lovel, and one or two lords more of the diſcontented party, reſolved to paſs over into England; and accor⯑dingly landed in Lancaſhire, from whence he marched to York, expecting the country would riſe and join him as he marched along. But in this he was deceived; the people averſe to join a body of German and Iriſh troops, by whom he was ſupported, and kept in awe by the king's reputation, remained in tranquility, or gave all their aſſiſtance to the royal cauſe. The earl of Lincoln, therefore, a diſaffected lord, to whom the command of the rebel army was given, finding no hopes but in ſpeedy vic⯑tory, [286] was determined to bring the conteſt to a ſhort iſſue. The oppoſite armies met at Stoke, in the county of Nottingham, and fought a battle, which was more bloody, and more obſtinately diſputed, than could have been expected from the inequality of their forces. But victory at length declared in favour of the king, and it proved deciſive. Lord Lincoln periſhed in the field of battle; lord Lovel was never more heard of, and it was ſuppoſed he ſhared the ſame fate. Simnel, with his tutor Simon, was taken priſoner; and four thouſand of the common men fell in bat⯑tle. Simon being a prieſt could not be tried by the civil power, and was only committed to cloſe confinement. Simnel was too contemp⯑tible to excite the king's fears or reſentment; he was pardoned, and made a ſcullion in the king's kitchen, whence he was afterwards ad⯑vanced to the rank of falconer, in which mean employment he died.

Things being thus quietly ſettled at home; Henry began to turn his thoughts towards his continental connexions, and to eſtabliſh ſome degree of underſtanding between him and the neighbouring ſtates around him. He was too wiſe a prince, not to perceive the fatality of conqueſts upon the continent, which could at [287] beſt produce no other reputation than the empty one of military glory. Yet, while he internally deſpiſed ſuch pernicious triumphs, he was ob⯑liged, in order to gain popularity, to counte⯑nance them. He, therefore, frequently boaſt⯑ed that he was determined to raviſh his king⯑dom of France from the uſurpers, who had long poſſeſſed it; and that he would lay the whole country in blood. But theſe were the diſtant threats of a crafty politician; there was nothing more diſtant from his heart. As far as negociations went, he did all in his power; to keep the intereſts of that kingdom ſo nearly balanced, as to prevent any from growing too powerful; but as for ſuccours of men and money, he too well knew the value of both to laviſh them, as his predeceſſors had done, upon ſuch fruitleſs projects.

About this time the nobles of Brittany, be⯑ing diſguſted with their miniſter, Peter Lan⯑dais, roſe in conſpiracy againſt him,A.D. 1488 and put him to death. Willing to defend one crime by another, they called in the aid of the French monarch, to protect them from the reſentment of their own ſovereign. The French monarch quickly obeyed the call; but inſtead of only bringing the nobles aſſiſtance, over-ran and took poſſeſſion of the greateſt part of the [288] country. The aid of Henry was implored by the diſtreſſed Bretons; but this mo⯑narch appeared more willing to aſſiſt them by negociations than by arms; but though he de⯑termined to maintain a pacific conduct, as far as the ſituation of his affairs would permit, he knew too well the warlike diſpoſition of his ſubjects, and their deſires to engage in any ſcheme that promiſed the humiliation of France, He reſolved, therefore, to take advantage of this propenſity; and to draw ſome ſupplies of money from the people, on pretence of giving aſſiſtance to the duke of Brittany. He ac⯑cordingly ſummoned a parliament to meet at Weſtminſter, and eaſily perſuaded them to grant him a conſiderable ſupply. But money was, at that time, more eaſily granted than le⯑vied in England. A new inſurrection began in Yorkſhire, the people reſiſting the commiſ⯑ſioners who were appointed to levy the tax. The earl of Northumberland attempted to en⯑force the king's command; but the populace, being by this taught to believe that he was the adviſer of their oppreſſions, flew to arms, at⯑tacked his houſe, and put him to death. The mutineers did not ſtop there; but, by the ad⯑vice of one John Achamber, a ſeditious fellow of mean birth, they choſe Sir John Egremont [289] for their leader, and prepared themſelves for a vigorous reſiſtance. The king, upon hearing this raſh proceeding, immediately levied a force, which he put under the earl of Surry; and this nobleman, encountering the rebels, diſſipated the tumult, and took their leader, Achamber, priſoner. Achamber was ſhortly after executed; but Sir John Egremont fled to the court of the dutcheſs of Burgundy, the uſual retreat of all who were obnoxious to government in England.

As Henry had gone thus far in prepara⯑tions for a war with France, he ſuppoſed that it would be too flagrant an impoſition upon the credulity of the nation, not to put a part of his threats in execution. France was by this time poſſeſſed of all Brittany; and a marriage had been lately concluded between the French monarch, and the dutcheſs of the laſt named territory. This acceſſion of power, in a rival ſtate, was formidable not only to Henry, but to Europe. He, therefore, prepared to make a deſcent upon France; and accordingly land⯑ed at Calais, with an army of twenty-five thou⯑ſand foot, and ſixteen hundred horſe, which he put under the command of the duke of Bed⯑ford and the earl of Oxford. But notwithſtand⯑ing this appearance of an hoſtile diſpoſition, [290] there had been ſecret advances made towards a peace three months before, and commiſſion⯑ers had been appointed to treat on the terms. The demands of Henry were wholly pecuniary; and the king of France, who deemed the peaceable poſſeſſion of Brittany an equivalent for any ſum, readily agreed to the propoſals made him. He engaged to pay Henry near two hun⯑dred thouſand pounds ſterling, as a reimburſe⯑ment for the expences of his expedition; and he ſtipulated to pay a yearly penſion to him, and his heirs, of twenty-five thouſand crowns more.

A.D. 1492 Henry, having thus made an advantageous peace, had reaſon to flatter himſelf with the proſ⯑pect of long tranquility; but he was miſtaken; he had ſtill enemies who found means to embroil him in freſh difficulties and dangers. One would have imagined, that from the ill ſucceſs of Simnel's impoſture, few would be willing to embark in another of a ſimilar kind; however, the old dutcheſs of Burgundy, rather irritated than diſcouraged by the failure of her paſt enterprizes, was determined to diſturb that government, which ſhe could not ſubvert. She firſt procured a report to be ſpread, that the young duke of York, ſaid to have been murdered in the Tower, was ſtill living; and finding the rumour greedily received, ſhe ſoon [291] produced a young man, who aſſumed his name and character. The perſon pitched upon to ſuſtain this part, was one Oſbeck or Warbeck, the ſon of a converted Jew, who had been over in England during the reign of Edward IV. where he had this ſon named Peter, but corrupted, after the Flemiſh manner, into Peterkin or Perkin. It was by ſome believed that Edward, among his other amorous adventures, had a ſecret correſpondence with Warbeck's wife, which might account for a ſtriking reſemblance between young Perkin and that monarch. Per⯑kin, following the fortunes of his father, had travelled for many years from place to place; ſo that his birth and circumſtances became thereby unknown, and difficult to be traced by the moſt diligent enquiry. The variety of his adventures might have contributed to aſſiſt the natural ſagacity, and verſatility of his diſ⯑poſition; as he ſeemed to be a youth capable of ſuſtaining any part or any aſſumed character. The dutcheſs of Burgundy found this youth entirely ſuited to her purpoſes; and her leſſons, inſtructing him to perſonate the duke of York, were eaſily learned, and ſtrongly retained by a youth of ſuch quick apprehenſion. In ſhort, his graceful air, his courtly addreſs, his eaſy manners, and elegant converſation, were ca⯑pable [292] of impoſing upon all but ſuch as were conſcious of the impoſture.

The kingdom of Ireland, which ſtill retain⯑ed its attachments to the houſe of York, was pitched upon as the proper place for Perkin's firſt appearance, as it before had favoured that of Simnel. He landed at Corke; and imme⯑diately aſſuming the name of Richard Plan⯑tagenet, drew to him numerous partizans among that credulous people. He wrote let⯑ters to the earls of Deſmond and Kildare, in⯑viting them to join his party; he diſperſed every where the ſtrange intelligence of his eſ⯑cape from his uncle Richard's cruelty; and men, fond of every thing new and wonderful, began to make him the general ſubject of their diſcourſe, and even the object of their favour. From Ireland his fame ſoon ſpread over into France; and Charles ſent Perkin an invitation to his court, where he received him with all the marks of conſideration that were due to his ſuppoſed dignity. The youth, no way dazzled by his elevation, ſupported the pre⯑poſſeſſion which was ſpread abroad in his fa⯑vour; ſo that England itſelf ſoon began to give credit to his pretenſions; while Sir George Neville, Sir John Taylor, and above a hun⯑dred gentlemen more, went to Paris to pay [293] him homage, and offer their ſervices. Upon the peace being ſhortly after concluded be⯑tween France and England, the impoſtor was obliged to make his reſidence at the court of his old patroneſs, the dutcheſs of Burgundy, and the interview between theſe conſcious de⯑ceivers was truly ridiculous. The dutcheſs affected the utmoſt ignorance of his preten⯑ſions, and even put on the appearance of diſ⯑truſt; having, as ſhe ſaid, been already deceiv⯑ed by Simnel. She ſeemed to examine all his aſſertions with the moſt ſcrupulous diffi⯑dence; put many particular queſtions to him, affected aſtoniſhment at his anſwers, and at laſt, after long and ſevere ſcrutiny, burſt out into joy and admiration at his delivery, ac⯑knowledging him as her nephew, as the true image of Edward, and legitimate ſucceſſor to the Engliſh throne. She immediately aſ⯑ſigned him an equipage ſuitable to his preten⯑ſions, appointed him a guard of thirty halber⯑diers; and on all occaſions honoured him with the appellation of the White Roſe of England.

The Engliſh, ever ready to revolt, gave cre⯑dit to all theſe abſurdities; while the young man's prudence, converſation, and deportment, ſerved to confirm what their diſaffection and credulity had begun. All ſuch as were diſ⯑guſted [294] with the king, prepared to join him, but particularly thoſe that were formerly Hen⯑ry's favourites, and had contributed to place him on the throne; thinking their ſervices could never be ſufficiently repaid, now pri⯑vately abetted the impoſture, and became heads of the conſpiracy. Theſe were joined by numbers of the inferior claſs, ſome greedy of novelty, ſome blindly attached to their leaders, and ſome induced by their deſperate fortunes to wiſh for a change.

Among thoſe who ſecretly abetted the cauſe of Perkin, were lord Fitzwater, Sir Simon Mountfort, Sir Thomas Thwaits, and Sir Robert Clifford. But the perſon of the great⯑eſt weight, and the moſt dangerous oppoſition, was Sir William Stanley the lord chamberlain, and brother to the famous lord Stanley, who had contributed to place Henry on the throne. This perſonage, either moved by a blind cre⯑dulity, or more probably by a reſtleſs ambi⯑tion, entered into a regular conſpiracy againſt the king; and a corrſepondence was ſettled between the malecontents in England and thoſe in Flanders.

While the plot was thus carrying on in all quarters, Henry was not inattentive to the de⯑ſigns of his enemies. He ſpared neither labour [295] nor expence to detect the falſehood of the pre⯑tender to his crown; and was equally aſſiduous in finding out who were his ſecret abettors. For this purpoſe he diſperſed his ſpies thro' all Flanders, and brought over, by large bribes, ſome of thoſe whom he knew to be in the ene⯑mies intereſts. Among theſe, Sir Robert Clif⯑ford was the moſt remarkable, both for his conſequence, and the confidence with which he was truſted. From this perſon Henry learned the whole of Perkin's birth and ad⯑ventures, together with the names of all thoſe who had ſecretly combined to aſſiſt him. The king was pleaſed with the diſcovery; but the more truſt he gave to his ſpies, the higher re⯑ſentment did he feign againſt them.

At firſt he was ſtruck with indignation at the ingratitude of many of thoſe about him; but concealing his reſentment for a proper op⯑portunity, he, almoſt at the ſame inſtant, arreſt⯑ed Fitzwater, Mounfort, and Thwaits, together with William Danbery, Robert Ratcliff, Tho⯑mas Creſſenor, and Thomas Aſtwood. All theſe were arraigned, convicted, and condem⯑ned for high treaſon. Mountfort, Ratcliff, and Danbery, were immediately executed; the reſt received pardon. But the principal delin⯑quent yet remained to be puniſhed, whoſe ſtation, [296] as lord chamberlain, and whoſe connexions with many of the principal men in the king⯑dom, ſeemed to exempt him from cenſure. To effect this, Clifford was directed to come over privately to England, and to accuſe Stanley in perſon, which he did to the ſeeming aſtoniſh⯑ment of all preſent. Henry affected to receive the intelligence as falſe and incredible; but Clifford perſiſting in his accuſation, Stanley was committed to cuſtody, and ſoon after ex⯑amined before the council. Finding his guilt but too clearly proved, he did not attempt to conceal it, ſuppoſing that an open confeſſion might ſerve as an atonement, or truſting to his former ſervices for pardon and ſecurity. In this he was miſtaken; after a delay of ſix weeks, during which time the king affected to deliberate upon his conduct, he was brought to trial, when he was condemned, and ſhortly after beheaded. Through the whole of this reign, the king ſeemed to make a diſtinction in the crimes of thoſe who conſpired againſt him: whenever a conſpirator took up arms againſt him, from a conſcientious adherence to principle, and a love of the houſe of York, he generally found pardon; but when a love of change, or an impatience of ſubordination in⯑ſpired the attempt, the offender was ſure to be treated with the utmoſt rigour of the law.

[297]While the adherents of Perkin were thus diſappointed in England, he himſelf attempt⯑ed landing in Kent; the gentlemen of which county gathered in a body to oppoſe him. Their aim was to allure him on ſhore by prof⯑fers of aſſiſtance, and then ſeize his perſon; but the wary youth, obſerving that they had more order and regularity in their movements than could be ſuppoſed in new levied forces, refuſed to commit himſelf into their hands; wherefore they ſet upon his attendants, who had come a-ſhore, of whom they took an hun⯑dred and fifty priſoners. Theſe were tried and condemned, and all of them executed by order of the king, who was reſolved to uſe no lenity to men of ſuch deſperate fortunes.

The young adventurer finding his hopes fruſtrated in this attempt, went next to try his fortune in Scotland. In that country his luck ſeemed greater than in England. James the fourth, the king of that country, received him with great cordiality; he was ſeduced to be⯑lieve the ſtory of his birth and adventures; and he carried his confidence ſo far, as to give him in marriage lady Catharine Gordon, daughter to the earl of Huntley, and a near kinſwoman of his own; a young lady eminent [298] for virtue as well as beauty. But not content with theſe inſtances of favour, he was reſolved to attempt ſetting him on the throne of Eng⯑land. It was naturally expected, that upon Perkin's firſt appearance in that kingdom, all the friends of the houſe of York would riſe in his favour. Upon this ground, therefore, the king of Scotland entered England with a nu⯑merous army, and proclaimed the young ad⯑venturer wherever he went. But Perkin's pretenſions, attended by repeated diſappoint⯑ments, were now become ſtale, even in the eyes of the populace; ſo that, contrary to expecta⯑tion, none were found to ſecond his preten⯑ſions. Being diſappointed in this, he once more returned to Edinburgh, where he con⯑tinued to reſide, till, upon the concluſion of a treaty of peace between the two kingdoms, he was once more obliged to leave Scotland, and to ſeek for a new protector.

In the mean time, Henry found little unea⯑ſineſs at Perkin's irruption, as he was ſenſible it would ſerve him as a pretext to a demand for further ſupplies from parliament, with which he knew they would readily comply. The vote was in fact eaſily enough obtained; but he found it not ſo eaſy to levy the mo⯑ney. The inhabitants of Cornwall were [299] the firſt to refuſe contributing ſupplies for the ſafety of the northern parts of the kingdom, which were ſo very remote from them. Their diſcontents were further inflamed by one Michael Joſeph, a farrier of Bodmin, who had long been the ſpokeſman of the multi⯑tude. To him was joined one Thomas Flam⯑mock, a lawyer; and under the conduct of theſe two, the inſurgents paſſed through the county of Devon, and reached that of Somer⯑ſet, where they were joined by lord Audley, a nobleman of an ancient family, popular in his deportment, but vain, ambitious, and reſt⯑leſs in his temper. Thus headed, and breath⯑ing deſtruction to the king's commiſſioners, they marched with great ſpeed towards Lon⯑don, without, however, committing any de⯑vaſtations by the way. At length, without receiving countenance or reinforcement on their march, they pitched their camp near Elt⯑ham, not far from London. Henry, whoſe courage and intrepidity were never to be moved, had ſome time before levied an army to oppoſe the Scotch; and this he ordered ſouth⯑ward to ſuppreſs the Corniſh inſurrection. On other occaſions it was uſual with him to haſten to a deciſion; and it was a ſaying with him, that he only deſired to ſee his rebels; but as [300] the preſent inſurgents behaved in an inoffenſive manner, he protracted his attack for ſome time, till at length it was begun by lord Daubeny, who, after ſome reſiſtance, broke, and put them to flight. Lord Audley, Flammock, and Joſeph, their leaders, were taken and exe⯑cuted; but the reſt, to the number of ſix⯑teen thouſand, were diſmiſſed without further puniſhment.

A.D. 1497 In the mean time, the reſtleſs Perkin being diſmiſſed Scotland, and meeting with a very cold reception from the Flemings, who now deſired to be at peace with the Engliſh, re⯑ſolved to continue his ſcheme of oppoſition; and once more took refuge among the wilds and faſtneſſes of Ireland. Impatient, how⯑ever, of an inactive life, he held a conſultation with his followers, Herne, Skelton, and Aſt⯑ley, three broken tradeſmen; and by their ad⯑vice he reſolved to try the affections of the Corniſh men, whoſe diſcontents the king's late lenity had only contributed to enflame. Theſe were a tumultuous multitude, too ignorant for gratitude; and upon their return aſcribed the royal clemency to fear, inducing their coun⯑trymen to believe that the whole kingdom was ready to riſe to vindicate their quarrel. It was in conſequence of theſe ſuggeſtions that [301] they determined to ſend for Perkin to put himſelf at their head; and he no ſooner made his appearance among them at Bodmin in Cornwall, than the populace, to the number of three thouſand men, flocked to his ſtand⯑ard. Elated with this appearance of ſucceſs, he took on him, for the firſt time, the title of Richard the fourth, king of England; and, not to ſuffer the ſpirits of his adherents to lan⯑guiſh, he led them to the gates of Exeter. Finding the inhabitants obſtinate in refuſing to admit him, and being unprovided with artil⯑lery to force an entrance, he reſolved to con⯑tinue before it, until poſſeſſed of a ſufficient force to make a farther progreſs into the king⯑dom. In the mean time, Henry being in⯑formed of his landing and his deſigns, ex⯑preſſed great joy upon the occaſion, declaring that he ſhould now have the pleaſure of an in⯑terview with a perſon whom he long wiſhed to ſee. All the courtiers ſenſible of Perkin's deſ⯑perate ſituation, and the general ſuſpicion there was of their own fidelity, prepared themſelves to aſſiſt the king with great ala⯑crity. The lords Daubeny and Broke, the earl of Devonſhire, and the duke of Buck⯑ingham, all appeared at the head of their re⯑ſpective forces, and ſeemed eager for an op⯑portunity [302] of diſplaying their courage and loy⯑alty. Perkin being informed of theſe great preparations broke up the ſiege of Exeter, and retired to Taunton. His followers by this time amounted to ſeven thouſand men, and appeared ready to defend his cauſe; but his heart failed him; and inſtead of bringing them into the field, he privately deſerted them, and took ſanctuary in the monaſtery of Beau⯑lieu, in the New Foreſt. His wretched ad⯑herents, left to the king's mercy, found him ſtill willing to pardon; and, except a few of the ring-leaders, none were treated with capi⯑tal ſeverity. The lady Catharine Gordon, wife to Perkin, fell into the conqueror's hands, and was treated by him with all the lenity due to her ſex and quality. She was placed in a reputable ſtation near the perſon of the queen, and aſſigned a penſion, which ſhe enjoyed till her death. But the manner in which Perkin himſelf was to be treated appeared more doubt⯑ful. At firſt, it was ſuggeſted by ſome, that he ſhould be taken forcibly from the ſanctuary to which he had fled, and made a public ex⯑ample; but Henry thought that milder me⯑thods would anſwer as well. He therefore employed ſome perſons to treat with Perkin, and to perſuade him, under promiſe of a par⯑don, [303] to deliver himſelf up to juſtice, and to confeſs and explain all the circumſtances of his impoſture. His affairs being altogether deſ⯑perate, he embraced the king's offers, with⯑out heſitation, and quitted the ſanctuary. Henry being deſirous of ſeeing him, he was brought to court, and conducted through the ſtreets of London in a kind of mock triumph, amidſt the deriſion and inſults of the popu⯑lace, which he bore with the moſt dignified reſignation. He was then compelled to ſign a confeſſion of his former life and conduct, which was printed and diſperſed throughout the nation; but it was ſo defective and con⯑tradictory, that inſtead of explaining the pre⯑tended impoſture, it left it ſtill more doubtful than before; and this youth's real pretenſions are to this very day an object of diſpute among the learned. However, though his life was granted him, he was ſtill detained in cuſtody, and keepers were appointed to watch over his conduct. But his impatience of any confine⯑ment could not be controuled; he broke looſe from his keepers, and flying to the ſanctuary of Shyne, put himſelf in the hands of the prior of that monaſtery. He was once again prevailed on to truſt himſelf to the king's mercy; but in order to reduce him to the low⯑eſt [304] ſtate of contempt, he was ſet in the ſtocks at Weſtminſter and Cheapſide, and obliged to read aloud, in both places, the confeſſion which had been formerly publiſhed in his name. From this place of ſcorn, he was conveyed to the Tower, where it was thought the ſtrength of his priſon would be ſufficient to reſtrain his reſtleſs active diſpoſition; but nothing could re⯑preſs his habits of inquietude. He had inſinu⯑ated himſelf into the intimacy of four ſervants of the lieutenant of the Tower; and by their means opened a correſpondence with the un⯑fortunate Warwick,A.D. 1499 who had been confined there for many years before, and kept in a ſtate of utter ignorance. In all probability Perkin was permitted to enter into this corre⯑ſpondence with him by the connivance of the king, who hoped that his enterpriſing genius, and inſinuating addreſs, would engage the ſimple Warwick in ſome project that would furniſh a pretext for taking away their lives, which accordingly happened. Perkin tam⯑pered with the ſervants, who, it is ſaid, agreed to murder their maſter, and thus ſecure the gates of the Tower, by which the priſoners might make their eſcape to ſome ſecure part of the kingdom.

That the danger might appear more immi⯑nent and preſſing, ſo as to juſtify the ſteps [305] which Henry intended to take, another diſtur⯑bance was raiſed at the ſame time in Kent, where a young man called Ralph Wilford, the ſon of a cordwainer, perſonated the earl of Warwick, under the conduct and direction of one Patrick, an Auguſtine monk, who in his ſermons exhorted the people to take arms in his favour. This friar, who had been uſed as a tool by the king's emiſſaries, was arreſted, to⯑gether with his pupil; and Wilford was hang⯑ed without ceremony, but the tutor obtained his pardon. This was the prelude to the fate of Perkin, and the earl of Warwick; the for⯑mer of whom was tried at Weſtminſter; and being convicted on the evidence of the ſer⯑vants of the Tower, was hanged at Tyburn with John Walter, mayor of Corke, who had conſtantly adhered to his cauſe in all the vi⯑ciſſitudes of his fortune. Blewet and Aſtwood, two of the ſervants, underwent the ſame fate; but ſix other perſons, condemned as accompli⯑ces in the ſame conſpiracy, were pardoned. In a few days after Perkin's execution, the wretched earl of Warwick was tried by his peers; and being convicted of high-treaſon, in conſequence of pleading guilty to the ar⯑raignment, was beheaded on Tower-Hill, and in him ended the laſt male branch of the houſe [306] of Plantagenet. The deplorable end of this innocent nobleman, and the fate of Perkin, who, notwithſtanding all that appeared againſt him, was, by the unprejudiced part of the na⯑tion, deemed the real ſon of king Edward, filled the whole kingdom with ſuch averſion to the government of king Henry, that to throw the odium from himſelf, he was obliged to lay it to the account of his ally, Ferdinand of Arragon, who he ſaid ſcrupled his alliance, while any prince of the houſe of York remain⯑ed alive.

There had been hitherto nothing in this reign but plots, treaſons, inſurrections, impoſ⯑tures, and executions; and it is probable that Henry's ſeverity proceeded from the continual alarms in which they held him. It is certain, that no prince ever loved peace more than he; and much of the ill-will of his ſubjects aroſe from his attempts to repreſs their inclinations for war. The uſual preface to all his treaties was, ‘"That when Chriſt came into the world peace was ſung; and when he went out of the world peace was bequeathed."’ He had no ambition to extend his power, except only by treaties and by wiſdom; by theſe he render⯑ed himſelf much more formidable to his neigh⯑bours, than his predeceſſors had by their vic⯑tories; [307] they became terrible to their own ſubjects; he was chiefly dreaded by rival kings.

He had all along two points principally in view; one to depreſs the nobility and clergy, and the other to exalt and humanize the popu⯑lace. From the ambition and turbulence of the former, and from the wretchedneſs and credulity of the latter, all the troubles in the former reigns had taken their original. In the feudal times, every nobleman was poſſeſſed of a certain number of ſubjects, over whom he had an abſolute power; and therefore, upon every ſlight diſguſt, he was able to influence them to join him in his revolt or diſobedience. Henry, therefore, wiſely conſidered, that the giving theſe petty tyrants a power of ſelling their eſtates, which before his time were unali⯑enable, would greatly weaken their intereſt. With this view he procured an act, by which the nobility were granted a power of diſpoſing of their eſtates; a law infinitely pleaſing to the commons, and not diſagreeable even to the nobles, ſince they had thus an im⯑mediate reſource for ſupplying their taſte for prodigality, and anſwering the demands of their creditors. The blow reached them in their poſterity alone; but they were too ignorant to be affected by ſuch diſtant diſtreſſes.

[308]His next ſcheme was to prevent their giving liveries to many hundreds of their dependants, who were thus retained to ſerve their lord, and kept like the ſoldiers of a ſtanding army, to be ready at the command of their leader. By an act paſſed in this reign, none but menial ſervants, were permitted to wear a livery under ſevere penalties; and this law was enforced with the moſt punctual obſervance. The king one day paying a viſit to the earl of Oxford, was entertained by him with all poſſible ſplen⯑dour and hoſpitality. When he was ready to depart, he ſaw ranged upon both ſides a great number of men dreſſed up in very rich li⯑veries, apparently to do him honour. The king, ſurprized at ſuch a number of domeſtics, as he pretended to ſuppoſe them, aſked lord Oxford whether he entertained ſuch a large number of domeſtics; to which the earl, not perceiving the drift of the queſtion, replied, that they were only men whom he kept in pay to do him honour upon ſuch occaſions. At this the king ſtarted back, and ſaid, ‘"By my faith, my lord, I thank you for your good cheer; but I muſt not ſuffer to have the laws broken before my face; my attorney-general muſt talk with you."’ Oxford is ſaid to have paid no leſs than fifteen thouſand marks as a compoſition for his offence.

[309]We have already ſeen, in a thouſand in⯑ſtances, what a perverted uſe was made of mo⯑naſteries, and other places appropriated to re⯑ligious worſhip, by the number of criminals who found ſanctuary and protection there. This privilege the clergy aſſumed as their un⯑doubted right; and thoſe places of pretended ſanctity were now become the abode of mur⯑derers, robbers, and conſpirators. Witches and magicians were the only perſons that were forbid to avail themſelves of the ſecurity theſe ſanctuaries afforded; and they whoſe crimes were only fictitious, were the only people who had not the benefit of ſuch a retreat. Henry uſed all his intereſt with the pope to get theſe ſanctuaries aboliſhed; but was not able to ſuc⯑ceed. All that he could procure was, that if thieves, murderers, or robbers, regiſtered as ſanctuary men, ſhould ſally out, and commit freſh offences, and retreat again, in ſuch caſes they might be taken out of the ſanctuary, and delivered up to juſtice.

Henry was not remiſs in abridging the pope's power, while, at the ſame time, he profeſſed the utmoſt ſubmiſſion to his commands, and the greateſt reſpect for the clergy. The pope at one time was ſo far impoſed upon by his ſeeming attachment to the church, that he [310] even invited him to renew the cruſades for re⯑covering the Holy Land. Henry's anſwer de⯑ſerves to be remembered. He aſſured his ho⯑lineſs that no prince in Chriſtendom would be more forward to undertake ſo glorious and ne⯑ceſſary an expedition; but as his dominions lay very diſtant from Conſtantinople, it would be better to apply to the kings of France and Spain for their aſſiſtance; and in the mean time he would go to their aid himſelf, as ſoon as all the differences between the Chriſtian princes ſhould be brought to an end. This was at once a polite refuſal, and an oblique reproach.

But while he thus employed his power in low⯑ering the influence of the nobles and clergy, he was uſing every art to extend the privileges of the people. In former reigns they were ſure to ſuffer on whatever ſide they fought, when they were unſucceſsful. This rendered each party deſperate in a declared civil war, as no hopes of pardon remained, and conſe⯑quently terrible ſlaughters were ſeen to enſue. He therefore procured an act, by which it was eſtabliſhed, that no perſon ſhould be impeach⯑ed or attainted for aſſiſting the king for the time being, or, in other words, the ſovereign who ſhould be then actually in poſſeſſion of the [311] throne. This excellent ſtatute ſerved to re⯑preſs the deſire of civil war, as ſeveral would naturally take arms in defence of that ſide, on which they were certain of loſing nothing by a defeat; and numbers would thus ſerve to in⯑timidate rebellion. Thus the common people, no longer maintained in vicious idleneſs by their ſuperiors, were obliged to become in⯑duſtrious for their ſupport. The nobility, in⯑ſtead of vying with each other in the number and boldneſs of their retainers, acquired by de⯑grees a more civilized ſpecies of emulation; and endeavoured to excel in the ſplendour and elegance of their equipages, houſes, and ta⯑bles. In fact, the king's greateſt efforts were directed to promote trade and commerce, be⯑cauſe this naturally introduced a ſpirit of li⯑berty among the people, and diſengaged them from all dependence, except upon the laws and the king. Before this great aera, all our towns owed their original to ſome ſtrong caſtle in the neighbourhood, where ſome powerful lord generally reſided. Theſe were at once fortreſſes for protection, and priſons for all ſorts of criminals. In this caſtle there was uſually a garriſon armed and provided, de⯑pending entirely on the nobleman's ſupport and aſſiſtance. To theſe ſeats of protection, artifi⯑cers, [312] victuallers, and ſhop-keepers, naturally reſorted, and ſettled on ſome adjacent ſpot to furniſh the lord and his attendants with all the neceſſaries they might require. The farmers alſo, and the huſbandmen in the neighbour⯑hood, built their houſes there to be protected againſt the numerous gangs of robbers called Robertſmen, that hid themſelves in the woods by day, and infeſted the open country by night. Henry endeavoured to bring the towns from ſuch a neighbourhood, by inviting the inhabitants to a more commercial ſituation. He attempted to teach them frugality, and a juſt payment of debts, by his own example; and never once omitted the rights of the mer⯑chant, in all his treaties with foreign princes.

But it muſt not be concealed, that from a long contemplation upon the relative advanta⯑ges of money, he at laſt grew into an habit of conſidering it as valuable for itſelf alone. As he grew old his avarice ſeemed to predominate over his ambition; and the methods he took to encreaſe his treaſures, cannot be juſtified by his moſt ardent admirers. He had found two miniſters, Empſon and Dudley, perfectly qua⯑lified to ſecond his avaricious intentions. They were both lawyers; the firſt of mean birth, brutal manners, and an unrelenting temper; [313] the ſecond, better born, and better bred, but equally ſevere and inflexible. It was their uſual practice to commit, by indictment, ſuch perſons to priſon as they intended to oppreſs; from whence they ſeldom got free, but by pay⯑ing heavy fines, which were called mitigations and compoſitions. By degrees, as they were grown more hardened in oppreſſion, the very forms of law were omitted; they determined in a ſummary way upon the properties of the ſubject, and confiſcated their effects to the royal treaſury. But the chief inſtruments of oppreſſion employed by theſe miniſters were the penal ſtatutes, which, without conſidera⯑tion of rank, quality, or ſervices, were rigidly put in execution againſt all men.

In this manner, was the latter part of this active monarch's reign employed in ſchemes to ſtrengthen the power of the crown, by amaſſing money, and extending that of the people. He had the ſatisfaction about that time of comple⯑ting a marriage between Arthur,A.D. 1500 the Prince of Wales, and the Infanta Catharine of Spain, which had been projected and negotiated du⯑ring the courſe of ſeven years. But this mar⯑riage proved, in the event, unproſperous. The young prince ſickened and died in a few months after, very much regretted by the [314] whole nation; and the princeſs was obliged ſhortly after to marry his ſecond ſon Henry, who was created Prince of Wales in the room of his brother. The prince himſelf made all the oppoſition which a youth of twelve years of age was capable of; but as the king perſiſt⯑ed in his reſolution, the marriage was, by the pope's diſpenſation, ſhortly after ſolemnized.

The magnificence of theſe nuptials was ſoon after eclipſed by the accidental arrival of Philip, the arch-duke of Caſtile, with Joan his conſort. Theſe perſonages had embarked for Spain during the winter ſeaſon, in order to take the advantage of an invitation, which the people of that country had offered to place them upon the Spaniſh throne. Meeting, how⯑ever, with a violent tempeſt in their voyage, they were obliged to take ſhelter in Weymouth harbour, where they were honourably received by Sir John Trenchard, a gentleman of autho⯑rity in the county of Dorſet.A.D. 1506 The king ſoon after being informed of their arrival, ſent in all haſte the earl of Arundel to compliment them on their ſafe eſcape; and to inform them that he intended ſhortly paying them a viſit in per⯑ſon. Philip knew that this was but a polite method of detaining him; and, for the ſake of diſpatch, he reſolved to anticipate his viſit, and [315] to have an interview with him at Windſor. Henry received him with all the magnificence poſſible, and with all ſeeming cordiality; but was reſolved to reimburſe himſelf for the ex⯑pence of his pageants, by advantages that would be more ſubſtantially conducive to his own intereſts, and thoſe of the nation. There had been ſome years before a plot carried on againſt him by the earl of Suffolk; for which Sir James Tyrrel, and Sir James Windham, had been condemned and executed, while Suf⯑folk, the original contriver, had made his eſ⯑cape into the Low Countries, where he found protection from Philip. But he was now given up at Henry's requeſt, and being brought over to England, he was impriſoned in the Tower. A treaty of commerce was alſo agreed upon between the two ſovereigns; which was at that time of the greateſt benefit to England, and continues to remain as the ground work of all other commercial treaties to this day.

Henry having thus ſeen England in a great meaſure civilized by his endeavours, his people pay their taxes without conſtraint, the nobles confeſſing a juſt ſubordination, the laws alone inflicting puniſhment, the towns beginning to live independant of the powerful, commerce every day encreaſing, the ſpirit of faction ex⯑tinguiſhed, [316] and foreigners either fearing Eng⯑land or ſeeking its alliance, he began to per⯑ceive the approaches of his end. He then re⯑ſolved to reconcile himſelf to heaven; and by diſtributing alms, founding religious houſes, and granting a general pardon to all his ſub⯑jects, to make an atonement for the errors of his reign. It was in this diſpoſition that he died of the gout in his ſtomach,A.D. 1509 having lived fifty-two years and reigned twenty-three. Since the times of Alfred, England had not ſeen ſuch another king. He rendered his ſub⯑jects powerful and happy, and wrought a greater change in the manners of the people, than it was poſſible to ſuppoſe could be affect⯑ed in ſo ſhort a time. If he had any fault that deſerves to be marked with reproach, it was that having begun his reign with oecono⯑my, as he grew old his deſires ſeemed to change their object from the uſe of money, to the pleaſure of hoarding it. But he ought in this to be pardoned, as he only ſaved for the public; the royal coffers being then the only treaſury of the ſtate; and in proportion to the king's finances, the public might be ſaid to be either rich or indigent.

About this time all Europe, as well as England, ſeemed to rouſe from the long le⯑thargy, [317] during which it continued for above twelve hundred years. France, Spain, Portu⯑gal, and Sweden enjoyed excellent monarchs; who encouraged and protected the riſing arts, and ſpread the means of happineſs. The Por⯑tugueſe ſailed round the Cape of Good Hope, under the command of Vaſquez de Gama; and the Spaniards, under the conduct of Columbus, had made the diſcovery of the new world of America. It was by accident only, that Henry had not a conſiderable ſhare in theſe great naval diſcoveries; for Columbus, after meet⯑ing with many repulſes, from the courts of Portugal and Spain, ſent his brother Bartholo⯑mew into England in order to explain his pro⯑jects to the king, and to crave his protection for the execution of them. Henry invited Co⯑lumbus to England; but his brother in return⯑ing being taken by pirates, was detained in his voyage, and Columbus in the mean time, ſucceeding with Iſabella, happily effected his enterprize. Henry was not diſcouraged by this diſappointment; he fitted out Sebaſtian Cabot, a Venetian dwelling at Briſtol, and ſent him weſtward in ſearch of new countries.A.D. 1498 This adventurer diſcovered the main land of Ame⯑rica to the North; then ſailed Southward along the coaſt, and diſcovered Newfoundland and [318] other countries; but returned without making any ſettlement. The king, ſoon after, expend⯑ed fourteen thouſand pounds in building one ſhip, called the GREAT HARRY. This was, properly ſpeaking, the firſt ſhip in the Engliſh navy. Before this period, when the king wanted a fleet, he had no other expedient but to hire ſhips from the merchants.

CHAP. XXIII. HENRY VIII.

NO prince ever came to the throne with a conjuncture of circumſtances more in his favour than Henry VIII. who now,A.D. 1509 in the eighteenth year of his age, undertook the government of the kingdom. His prudent father left him a peaceful throne, a well ſtored treaſury, and an undiſputed ſucceſſion. By his father's ſide he claimed from the houſe of Lancaſter, and [320] by his mother's, from that of York. He was in friendſhip with all the powers of Europe, and his ſubjects were every day growing more powerful and more wealthy; commerce and arts had for ſome time been introduced into the kingdom, and the Engliſh ſeemed willing to give them a favourable reception. The young king himſelf was beautiful in perſon, expert in polite exerciſes, open and liberal in his air, and loved by all his ſubjects. The old king, who was himſelf a ſcholar, had him inſtructed in all the learning of the times; ſo that he was an adept in ſchool-divinity before the age of eighteen.

But favourable as theſe circumſtances were, Henry ſoon ſhewed that they went but a ſhort way in forming a good character, they were merely the gifts of nature, or accompliſhments, implanted by the aſſiduity of his father; but he wanted the more ſolid advantages, which were to be of his own formation, a good heart, and a ſound underſtanding. The learning he had, if it may deſerve that appellation, ſerved only to enflame his pride, but not control his vicious affections; the love of his ſubjects broke out in their flattery, and this was another meteor to lead him aſtray. His vaſt wealth, inſtead of relieving the public, or encreaſing [321] his power, only contributed to ſupply his de⯑baucheries, or gratify the rapacity of the mi⯑niſters of his pleaſures. But it had been hap⯑py for his people if his faults had reſted here; he was a tyrant, humanity takes the alarm at his cruelties; and however fortunate ſome of his meaſures might prove in the event, no good man but muſt revolt at his motives, and the means he took for their accompliſhment.

The firſt action which ſhewed that the pre⯑ſent reign was to be very different from the former, was the puniſhment of Empſon and Dudley, who were obnoxious to the populace for having been the ready inſtruments of the late king's rapacity. They were immediately cited before the council, in order to anſwer for their conduct; but Empſon, in his defence, alledged that ſo far from deſerving cenſure for his paſt conduct, he was confident his actions rather merited reward and approbation. Tho' a ſtrict execution of the law was the crime of which he and Dudley were accuſed; although theſe laws had been eſtabliſhed by the volun⯑tary conſent of the people; notwithſtanding all their expoſtulations, Empſon and Dudley were ſent to the Tower, and ſoon after brought to their trial. As the ſtrict diſcharge of their duty, in executing the laws, could not be al⯑ledged [322] againſt them as a crime, to gratify the people with their puniſhment, they were accuſ⯑ed of having entered into a conſpiracy againſt the preſent king; and of intentions to ſeize, by force, the adminiſtration of government. Nothing could be more improbable and un⯑ſupported than ſuch a charge; nevertheleſs the jury were ſo far infected with popular preju⯑dice, that they gave a verdict againſt them, and they were both executed, ſome time after, by a warrant from the king.

This meaſure, which betrayed an unjuſt compliance with popular clamour, was followed by another ſtill more detrimental to the na⯑tion, although ſtill more pleaſing to the people. Julius the ſecond was at that time pope, and had filled all Europe with his intrigues and ambition; but his chief reſentment was levell⯑ed againſt Lewis, king of France, who was in poſſeſſion of ſome valuable provinces of Italy, from which he hoped, by his intrigues, to re⯑move him. For this purpoſe he entered into a treaty with Ferdinand, king of Spain, and Henry of England; to each of whom he of⯑fered ſuch advantages as were moſt likely to enflame their ambition, in caſe they fell upon Lewis on their reſpective quarters; while he undertook himſelf to find him employment in [323] Italy. Henry, who had no other motives but the glory of the expedition, and the hopes of receiving the title of the Moſt Chriſtian King, which the pope aſſured him would ſoon be wreſted from Lewis, to be conferred upon him, readily undertook to defend his cauſe; and his parliament being ſummoned, as rea⯑dily granted ſupplies for a purpoſe ſo much favoured by the people. The ſpirit of chival⯑ry and foreign conqueſt was not yet quite ex⯑tinguiſhed in England; the kingdom of France was ſtill an object they deſired to poſſeſs, and Henry, in compliance with their wiſhes, gave out that he intended ſtriking for the crown. It was in vain that one of his old prudent counſellors objected, that conqueſts on the con⯑tinent would only drain the kingdom, without enriching it; and that England, from its ſitua⯑tion, was not fitted to enjoy extenſive empire: the young king, deaf to all remonſtrances, and burning with military ardour, reſolved to undertake the war. The marquis of Dorſet was firſt ſent over, with a large body of forces, to Fontarabia, to aſſiſt the operations of Fer⯑dinand; but that faithleſs and crafty monarch had no intentions of effectually ſeconding their attempts, wherefore they were obliged to re⯑turn home without effect.

[324]A conſiderable fleet was equipped, ſome time after,A.D. 1513 to annoy the enemy by ſea, and the command entruſted to Sir Edward Howard; who, after ſcouring the Channel for ſome time, preſented himſelf before Breſt, where the French navy lay, and challenged them to com⯑bat. As the French were unequal to the ene⯑my, they determined to wait for a reinforce⯑ment, which they expected under the command of Prejeant de Bidoux, from the Mediterra⯑nean. But in this the gallant Howard was reſolved to diſappoint them; and, upon the ap⯑pearance of Prejeant with ſix gallies, who had time to take refuge behind ſome batteries, which were planted on the rocks that lay on each ſide him; he boldly rowed up with two gallies, followed by barges filled with officers of diſtinction. Upon coming up to Prejeant's ſhip, he immediately faſten⯑ed upon it, and leaped on board, followed by one Carroz, a Spaniſh cavalier, and ſeven⯑teen Engliſhmen. The cable, mean while, which faſtened both ſhips together, was cut by the enemy, and the admiral was thus left in the hands of the French; but as he ſtill continued to fight with great gallantry, he was puſhed over board by their pikes, and periſhed in the ſea. Upon his misfortune the [325] fleet retired from before Breſt, and the French navy, for a while, kept poſſeſſion of the ſea.

This ſlight repulſe, only ſerved to enflame the king's ardour to take revenge upon the enemy; and he ſoon after ſent a body of eight thouſand men to Calais, under the command of the earl of Shrewſbury; and another body of ſix thouſand followed ſhortly after, under the conduct of lord Herbert. He prepared to follow himſelf with the main body and rear, and arrived at Calais, attended by numbers of the Engliſh nobility. But he ſoon had an at⯑tendant, who did him ſtill more honour. This was no leſs a perſonage than Maximilian, em⯑peror of Germany, who had ſtipulated to aſſiſt him with eight thouſand men; but being un⯑able to perform his engagements, joined the Engliſh army with ſome German and Flemiſh ſoldiers, who were uſeful in giving an example of diſcipline to Henry's new levied ſoldiers. He even enliſted himſelf in the Engliſh ſervice, wore the croſs of St. George, and received pay, an hundred crowns a day, as one of Henry's ſubjects and captains.

Henry being now at the head of a formid⯑able army, fifty thouſand ſtrong, it was ſup⯑poſed that France muſt fall a victim to his am⯑bition. But that kingdom was not threatened [326] by him alone; the Swiſs, on another quarter, with twenty-five thouſand men, were prepar⯑ing to invade it; while Ferdinand of Arragon, whom no treaties could bind, was only waiting for a convenient opportunity of attack on his ſide to advantage. Never was the French monarchy in ſo diſtreſſed a ſituation; but the errors of its aſſailants procured its ſafety. The Swiſs entered into a treaty with Tremouille, the French general, who gave them their own terms, ſatisfied that his maſter would reſcind them all, as not having given him any powers to treat; Ferdinand continued to remain a quiet ſpectator, vainly waiting for ſome effec⯑tual blow to be ſtruck by his allies; and Hen⯑ry ſpent his time in the ſiege of towns, which could neither ſecure his conqueſts, or advance his reputation.

The firſt of theſe were Terouanne, a little town ſituated on the frontiers of Picardy, which kept him employed for more than a month, although the garriſon ſcarce amounted to a thouſand men. The beſieged, after ſome time, falling ſhort of proviſions, a very bold and deſperate attempt was made to ſupply them, which was attended with ſucceſs. A French captain, whoſe name was Fontrailles, led up a body of eighteen hundred men, each [327] of whom carried a bag of gunpowder, and two quarters of bacon behind him. With this ſmall force he made a fierce and unexpected irruption into the Engliſh camp; and, ſur⯑mounting all reſiſtance, advanced to the ditch of the town, where each horſeman threw down his burthen. Then immediately returning up⯑on the gallop, they were again ſo fortunate as to break through the Engliſh, without any great loſs in the undertaking. But the party of horſe that was ſent to cover the retreat, was not ſo ſucceſsful. Though this body of troops was commanded by the boldeſt and braveſt cap⯑tains of the French army, yet, on ſight of the Engliſh, they were ſeized with ſuch an account⯑able panic, that they immediately fled, and had many of their beſt officers taken priſoners. This action was called by the French the bat⯑tle of Guinegate, from the place where it was fought; but by the Engliſh the battle of the Spurs, as the French, upon that day, made more uſe of their ſpurs than their ſwords, to procure ſafety.

After this victory, which might have been followed with very important conſequences, had the victors marched forward to Paris, Henry ſat down to make ſure of the little town, which had made ſuch an obſtinate reſiſtance; [328] and found himſelf, when it was obliged to ſur⯑render, maſter of a place, which neither recom⯑penced the blood, nor the delay that were ex⯑pended in the ſiege.

From one error Henry went on to another. He was perſuaded to lay ſiege to Tournay, a great and rich city of Flanders, which at that time was in poſſeſſion of the French. This ſiege, though it took up little time, yet ſerved to retard the great object, which was the conqueſt of France; and Henry hearing that the Swiſs were returned home, and being elated with his trifling ſucceſſes, reſolved to tranſport his army back to England, where flattery was put to the torture, to make him happy in the glory of his ridiculous expedi⯑tion. A truce was concluded ſoon after be⯑tween the two kingdoms; and Henry conti⯑nued to diſſipate, in more peaceful follies, thoſe immenſe ſums, which had been amaſſed by his predeceſſor for very different purpoſes.

The ſucceſs which, during his foreign ex⯑pedition, attended his arms in the North of England, was much more important and de⯑ciſive. A war having been declared between the Engliſh and Scots, who ever took the opportunity to fall on, when their neighbours were embroiled with France, the king of that [329] country ſummoned out the whole force of his kingdom; and having paſſed the Tweed with a body of fifty thouſand men, ravaged thoſe parts of Northumberland which lay along the banks of that river. But as his forces were numerous, and the country barren, he ſoon began to want proviſions; ſo that many of his men deſerting, returned to their native coun⯑try. In the mean time, the earl of Surry, at the head of twenty-ſix thouſand men, ap⯑proached the Scotch, who were encamped on a riſing ground, near the hills of Cheviot. The river Till ran between both armies, and prevented an engagement; wherefore the earl of Surry ſent an herald to the Scotch camp, challenging the enemy to deſcend into the plain, which lay to the ſouth, and there to try their valour on equal ground. This offer not being accepted, he made a feint, as if he in⯑tended marching away towards Berwick, which putting the Scotch in motion to annoy his rear, he took advantage of a great ſmoke, cauſed by the firing their huts, and paſſed the little river, which had hitherto prevented the engagement. Both armies now perceiving that a combat was inevitable, they prepared for the onſet with great compoſure and regularity. The Engliſh divided their army into two lines; [330] lord Howard led the main body of the firſt line; Sir Edmond Howard the right wing, and Sir Marmaduke Conſtable the left; the earl of Surry himſelf commanded the main body of the ſecond line, aſſiſted by lord Da⯑cres, and Sir Edward Stanley, to the right and the left. The Scots, on the other hand, pre⯑ſented three diviſions to the enemy; the mid⯑dle commanded by the king himſelf, the right by the earl of Huntley, and the left by the earls of Lenox and Argyle; a fourth diviſion, under the earl of Bothwell, made a body of reſerve. Lord Huntley began the onſet, charg⯑ing the diviſion of lord Howard with ſuch fury, that it was immediately put to confuſion, and routed. But this diviſion was ſo ſeaſon⯑ably ſupported by lord Dacres, that the men rallied, and the battle became general. Both ſides fought a long time with incredible impe⯑tuoſity, until the Highlanders, being galled by the Engliſh artillery, broke in ſword in hand upon the main body, commanded by the earl of Surry; and at the head of theſe, James fought with the moſt forward of the nobility. They attacked with ſuch velocity, that the hinder line could not advance in time to ſuſ⯑tain them, ſo that a body of Engliſh inter⯑cepted their retreat. James being thus almoſt [331] ſurrounded by the enemy, refuſed to quit the field, while it was yet in his power; but, alight⯑ing from his horſe, formed his little body into an orb, and in this poſture fought with ſuch deſperate courage, as reſtored the battle. The Engliſh, therefore, were again obliged to have recourſe to their artillery and arrows, which made a terrible havock; but night ſeparating the combatants, it was not till the day follow⯑ing that lord Howard perceived that he had gained a great and glorious victory. The Engliſh had loſt no perſons of note, but the whole flower of the Scotch nobility were fallen in battle. Ten thouſand of the common men were cut off, and a body, ſuppoſed to be that of the king, was ſent to London, where it re⯑mained unburied, as a ſentence of excommuni⯑cation ſtill remained againſt James, for having leagued with France againſt the Holy See. But upon Henry's application, who pretended that that prince in the inſtant before his death had diſcovered ſome ſigns of repentance, ab⯑ſolution was given him, and the body was in⯑terred. However, the populace of Scotland ſtill continued to think their king alive; and it was given out among them that he had ſe⯑cretly gone on a pilgrimage to Jeruſalem.

[332]Theſe ſucceſſes only ſerved to intoxicate Henry ſtill the more; and while his pleaſures, on the one hand, engroſſed his time, the pre⯑parations for repeated expeditions exhauſted his treaſures. As it was natural to ſuppoſe the old miniſters, who were appointed to di⯑rect him by his father, would not willingly concur in theſe idle projects, Henry had, for ſome time, diſcontinued aſking their advice, and chiefly confided in the counſels of Thomas, afterwards cardinal Wolſey, who ſeemed to ſe⯑cond him in his favourite purſuits. Wolſey was a miniſter who complied with all his maſter's in⯑clinations, and flattered him in every ſcheme to which his ſanguine and impetuous temper was inclined. He was the ſon of a private gentleman, and not of a butcher, as is com⯑monly reported, of Ipſwich. He was ſent to Oxford ſo early, that he was a bachelor at fourteen, and at that time was called the boy bachelor. He roſe by degrees, upon quit⯑ting college, from one preferment to another, till he was made rector of Lymington by the marquis of Dorſet, whoſe children he had inſtructed. He had not long reſided at this living, when one of the juſtices of the peace put him in the ſtocks for being drunk, and raiſing diſturbances at a neighbouring fair. [333] This diſgrace, however, did not retard his pro⯑motion; for he was recommended as chaplain to Henry the ſeventh; and being employed by that monarch in a ſecret negotiation re⯑ſpecting his intended marriage with Margaret of Savoy, he acquitted himſelf to that king's ſatisfaction, and obtained the praiſe both of diligence and dexterity. That prince having given him a commiſſion to Maximilian, who at that time reſided at Bruſſels, was ſurpriſed in leſs than three days after to ſee Wolſey pre⯑ſent himſelf before him; and, ſuppoſing that he had been delinquent, began to reprove his delay. Wolſey, however, ſurpriſed him with aſſurances that he was juſt returned from Bruſ⯑ſels, and had ſucceſsfully fulfilled all his ma⯑jeſty's commands. His diſpatch on that occa⯑ſion procured him the deanery of Lincoln, and in this ſituation it was that he was intro⯑duced by Fox, biſhop of Wincheſter, to the young king's notice, in hopes that he would have talents to ſupplant the earl of Surry, who was favourite at that time, and in this Fox was not out in his conjectures. Preſently af⯑ter, being introduced at court, he was made a privy-counſellor; and as ſuch, had frequent opportunities of ingratiating himſelf with the young king, as he appeared at once complying, [334] ſubmiſſive, and enterprizing. Wolſey uſed every art to ſuit himſelf to the royal temper; he ſung, laughed, and danced with every liber⯑tine of the court; neither his own years, which were near forty, nor his character of a clergyman, were any reſtraint upon him, or tended to check, by ill-timed ſeverities, the gaiety of his companions. To ſuch a weak and vicious monarch as Henry, qualities of this nature were highly pleaſing; and Wolſey was ſoon acknowledged as his chief favourite, and to him was entruſted the chief admini⯑ſtration of affairs. The people began to ſee with indignation the new favourite's mean con⯑deſcenſions to the king, and his arrogance to themſelves. They had long regarded the vi⯑cious haughtineſs, and the unbecoming ſplen⯑dour of the clergy, with envy and deteſtation; and Wolſey's greatneſs ſerved to bring a new odium upon that body, already too much the object of the people's diſlike. His character being now placed in a more conſpicuous point of light, daily began to manifeſt itſelf the more. Inſatiable in his acquiſitions, but ſtill more magnificent in his expence; of extenſive capa⯑city, but ſtill more unbounded in enterprize; ambitious of power, but ſtill more deſirous of glory; inſinuating, engaging, perſuaſive, and [335] at other times lofty, elevated, and command⯑ing: haughty to his equals, but affable to his dependents; oppreſſive to the people, but liberal to his friends; more generous than grateful; formed to take the aſcendant in every intercourſe, but vain enough not to cover his real ſuperiority.

He had been advanced ſoon to the biſhopric of Lincoln; but this he afterwards reſigned,A.D. 1515 upon being promoted to the archbiſhopric of York. Upon the capture of Tournay, he had been promoted to the ſee of that place; but beſides, he got poſſeſſion at very low leaſes of the revenues of Bath, Worceſter, and Here⯑ford, biſhoprics filled by Italians, who were al⯑lowed to reſide abroad, and who were glad to compound for this indulgence, by parting with a conſiderable ſhare of their profits. Beſides many other church preferments, he was allow⯑ed to unite with the ſee of York, firſt that of Durham, next that of Wincheſter; and his appetite ſeemed to encreaſe, by the means that were taken to ſatisfy it. The pope, obſerving his great influence over the king, was deſirous of engaging him in his intereſts, and created him a cardinal. His train conſiſted of eight hundred ſervants, of whom many were knights and gentlemen. Some, even of the nobility, [336] put their children into his family as a place of education; and whoever was diſtinguiſhed by any art or ſcience, paid court to the cardinal, and were often liberally rewarded. He was the firſt clergyman in England who wore ſilk and gold, not only on his habit, but alſo on his ſaddles and the trappings of his horſes.

Beſide theſe various diſtinctions the pope ſoon after conferred upon him that of legate, deſign⯑ing thus to make him inſtrumental in draining the kingdom of money, upon pretence of em⯑ploying it in a war againſt the Turks, but in reality with a view to fill his own coffers. In this he ſo well ſerved the court of Rome, that ſome time after the poſt of legate was conferred up⯑on him for life; and he now united in his perſon the promotions of legate, cardinal, archbiſhop, and prime miniſter.

Soon after, Warham, chancellor, and arch⯑biſhop of Canterbury, a man of a very mo⯑derate temper, choſe rather to retire from pub⯑lic employment, than maintain an unequal conteſt with the haughty cardinal. Wolſey inſtantly ſeized on the chancellorſhip, and ex⯑erciſed the duties of that employment with great abilities and impartiality. The duke of Norfolk finding the king's treaſures exhauſted, and his taſte for expence ſtill continuing, was [337] glad to reſign his office of treaſurer, and retire from court. Fox, biſhop of Wincheſter, who had firſt been inſtrumental in Wolſey's riſe, withdrew himſelf in diſguſt; the duke of Suf⯑folk alſo went home with a reſolution to re⯑main private, whilſt Wolſey availed himſelf of their diſcontents, and filled up their places by his creatures, or his perſonal aſſiduity. Theſe were vaſt ſtretches of power; and yet the churchman was ſtill inſatiable. He procur⯑ed a bull from the pope, empowering him to make knights and counts, to legitimate baſ⯑tards, to give degrees in arts, law, phyſic, and divinity; and to grant all ſorts of diſpenſations. So much pride and power could not avoid giving high offence to the nobility, yet none dared vent their indignation, ſo greatly were they in terror of his vindictive temper.

In order to divert their envy from his inordinate exaltation, he ſoon entered into a correſpondence with Francis the firſt, of France, who had taken many methods to work upon his vanity, and at laſt ſucceeded. In conſequence of that monarch's wiſhes, Henry was perſuaded by the cardinal to deliver up Tournay once more to the French; and he alſo agreed to an interview with that monarch. This expenſive congreſs was held between [338] Guiſnes and Ardres, near Calais; within the Engliſh pale, in compliment to Henry for croſ⯑ſing the ſea. The two monarchs, after ſalut⯑ing each other in the moſt cordial manner, retired into a tent erected for the purpoſe, where Henry proceeded to read the articles of their intended alliance. As he began to read the firſt words of it, ‘"I, Henry, king,"’ he ſtopt a moment; and then ſubjoined only ‘"of England,"’ without adding France, the uſual ſtyle of Engliſh monarchs. Francis remarked this delicacy, and expreſſed his approbation by a ſmile. Nothing could exceed the magnifi⯑cence of the nobility of both courts on this oc⯑caſſon. Many of them involved themſelves in large debts; and the penury of a life was ſcarce ſufficient to reimburſe the extravagance of a few days. Beſide, there at firſt appeared ſome⯑thing low and illiberal in the mutual diſtruſts that were conſpicuous on this occaſion; the two kings never met without having the num⯑ber of their guards counted on both ſides; every ſtep was carefully adjuſted; they paſſed each other in the middle-point between both places, when they went to viſit their queens; and at the ſame inſtant that Henry entered Ardres, Francis put himſelf into the hands of the Engliſh at Guiſnes. But Francis, who is [339] conſidered as the firſt reſtorer of true polite⯑neſs into Europe, put an end to this low and illiberal method of converſing. Taking one day with him two gentlemen and a page, he rode directly into Guiſnes, crying out to the Engliſh guards that they were their priſoners, and deſiring to be carried to their maſter. Hen⯑ry was not a little aſtoniſhed at the appear⯑ance of Francis; and taking him in his arms, ‘"My brother, ſaid he, you have here given me the moſt agreeable ſurpriſe; you have ſhewn me the full confidence I may place in you; I ſurrender myſelf your priſoner from this moment."’ He then took from his neck a collar of pearls of great value, and putting it on Francis, begged him to wear it for the ſake of his priſoner. Francis agreed; and giving him a bracelet of double the value of the former, inſiſted on his wearing it in turn. Henry went the next day to Ardres, without guards or attendants; and confidence being now ſufficiently eſtabliſhed between theſe mon⯑archs, they employed the reſt of the time in feaſts and tournaments.

Some months before a defiance had been ſent by the two kings to each other's court,A.D. 1520 and through all the chief cities of Europe, importing, that Henry and Francis, with four⯑teen [340] aids, would be ready in the plains of Picardy to anſwer all comers that were gentle⯑men, at tilt and tourney. Accordingly, the monarchs, now all gorgeouſly apparelled, en⯑tered the liſts on horſeback, Francis ſurround⯑ed with Henry's guards, and Henry with thoſe of Francis. They were both at that time the moſt comely perſonages of their age, and pri⯑ded themſelves on their expertneſs in the mili⯑tary execiſes. The ladies were the judges in theſe feats of chivalry; and they put an end to the encounter whenever they thought proper. It is ſuppoſed that the crafty French monarch was willing to gratify Henry's vanity by allow⯑ing him to enjoy a petty pre-eminence in theſe paſtimes. He ran a tilt againſt Monſieur Grandeval, whom he diſabled at the ſecond encounter. He engaged Monſieur de Mont⯑morency, whom, however, he could not throw from the ſaddle. He fought at faulchion with a French nobleman, who preſented him with his courſer, in token of ſubmiſſion.

But theſe empty ſplendours were not ſuffi⯑cient to appeaſe the jealouſy of the nobles at home, or quiet the murmurs of the people. Among theſe, the duke of Buckingham, the ſon of him who loſt his life in the reign of Richard the third, was the foremoſt to com⯑plain. [341] He had often been heard to treat the cardinal's pride and profuſion with juſt con⯑tempt; and carrying his reſentment perhaps to an improper length, ſome low informers took care that Wolſey ſhould be apprized of all. The ſubſtance of his impeachment was, that he had conſulted a fortune-teller concern⯑ing his ſucceſſion to the crown, and had affect⯑ed to make himſelf popular. This was but a weak pretext to take away the life of a no⯑bleman, whoſe father had died in defence of the late king; but he was brought to a trial, and the duke of Norfolk, whoſe ſon had mar⯑ried his daughter, was created lord ſteward, to preſide at this ſolemn procedure. He was con⯑demned to die, as a traitor, by a jury, conſiſt⯑ing of a duke, a marquis, ſeven earls, and twelve barons. When the ſentence was pro⯑nouncing againſt him, and the high ſteward came to mention the word traitor, the unhap⯑py priſoner could not contain his indignation. ‘"My lords, cried he to the judges, I am no traitor; and for what you have now done againſt me, take my ſincere forgiveneſs; as for my life, I think it not worth petitioning for; may God forgive you, and pity me."’ He was ſoon after executed on Tower-Hill.

[342]By this time, all the immenſe treaſures of the late king were quite exhauſted on empty pageants, guilty pleaſures, or vain treaties and expeditions. But the king relied on Wolſey alone for repleniſhing his coffers; and no per⯑ſon could be fitter for the purpoſe. His firſt care was to get a large ſum of money from the people, under the title of a benevolence, which added to its being extorted the morti⯑fication of being conſidered as a free gift. Henry little minded the manner of its being raiſed, provided he had the enjoyment of it; however, his miniſter met with ſome oppoſi⯑tion in his attempts to levy theſe extorted con⯑tributions. In the firſt place, having exacted a conſiderable ſubſidy from the clergy, he next adreſſed himſelf to the houſe of commons; but they only granted him half the ſupplies he demanded. Wolſey was at firſt highly of⯑fended at their parſimony, and deſired to be heard in the houſe; but as this would have deſtroyed the very form and conſtitution of that auguſt body, they replied, that none could be permitted to ſit and argue there, but ſuch as had been elected members. This was the firſt attempt made in this reign, to render the king maſter of the debates in parliament. Wolſey firſt paved the way; and, unfortunate⯑ly [343] for the kingdom, Henry too well improved upon his plans ſoon after.

A treaty with France, which threatened to make a breach with the emperor, induced Henry to wiſh for new ſupplies, or at leaſt he made this the pretext of his demands. But as the parliament had teſtified their reluctance to indulge his wiſhes, he followed the advice of Wolſey, and reſolved to make uſe of his prerogative alone for that purpoſe. He iſſued out commiſſions to all the counties of England for levying four ſhillings in the pound upon the clergy, and three ſhillings and four-pence from the laity; nor did he attempt to cover the violence of the meaſure, by giving it the name either of benevolence or loan. This unwar⯑rantable ſtretch of royal power was quickly op⯑poſed by the people; they were unwilling to ſubmit to impoſitions unknown till now, and a general inſurrection threatened to enſue. Henry had the prudence to ſtop ſhort in that dangerous path into which he had entered; and declared, by circular letters to all the counties, that what was demanded was only by way of benevolence. But the ſpirit of op⯑poſition, once rouſed, was not ſo eaſily quieted; the citizens of London heſitated on the de⯑mand; and in ſome parts of the country inſur⯑rections [344] were actually begun, which were ſup⯑preſſed by the duke of Suffolk. Theſe im⯑poſts, which were firſt adviſed by Wolſey, not happily ſucceeding, he began to loſe a little of his favour with the king; and this diſpleaſure was ſtill more encreaſed by the complaints of the clergy, who accuſed him of extortion. Henry reproved Wolſey, in ſevere terms, which rendered him more cautious and art⯑ful for the future. As an inſtance of his cunning, having built a noble palace, called York Place, at Weſtminſter, for his own uſe, fearing now the general cenſure againſt him, he made a preſent of it to the king, aſſuring him, that from the firſt he intended it as an offer to his majeſty. Thus Wolſey's impunity only ſerved to pave the way to greater extortions. The pride of this prelate was great; but his riches were ſtill greater. In order to have a pretext for amaſſing ſuch ſums, he undertook to found two new colleges in Oxford, for which he received every day freſh grants from the pope and the king. To execute this fa⯑vourite ſcheme, he obtained a liberty of ſup⯑preſſing ſeveral monaſteries, and converting their revenues to the benefit of his new foun⯑dation. Whatever might have been the pope's inducement to grant him theſe privileges, no⯑thing [345] could be more fatal to the pontiff's in⯑tereſts; for Henry was thus himſelf taught ſhortly afterwards to imitate, what he had ſeen a ſubject perform with impunity.

Hitherto the adminiſtration of all affairs was carried on by Wolſey; for the king was contented to loſe, in the embraces of his miſ⯑treſſes, all the complaints of his ſubjects; and the cardinal undertook to keep him igno⯑rant, in order to continue his own uncontrolled authority. But now a period was approach⯑ing, that was to put an end to this miniſter's exorbitant power. One of the moſt extraor⯑dinary and important revolutions that ever employed the attention of man, was now ripe for execution. This was no leſs a change than the Reformation; to have an idea of the riſe of which, it will be proper to take a curſory view of the ſtate of the church at that time, and to obſerve by what ſeemingly contradic⯑tory means Providence produces the moſt happy events.

The church of Rome had now, for more than a thouſand years, been corrupting the ancient ſimplicity of the Goſpel, and convert⯑ing into a temporality the kingdom of another world. The popes had been frequently ſeen at the head of their own armies, fighting for [346] their dominions with the arm of fleſh, and forgetting in cruelty and deteſtable maxims of ſtate, all the pretended ſanctity of their cha⯑racters. The cardinals, prelates, and digni⯑taries of the church, lived in envied ſplen⯑dour, were ſerved like voluptuous princes; and ſome of them were found to poſſeſs eight or nine biſhopricks at once. Wherever the church governed, it exerted that power with cruelty; ſo that to their luxuries were uſual⯑ly added the crime of tyranny too. As for the inferior clergy, both popiſh and proteſ⯑tant writers exclaim againſt their abandoned and diſſolute morals. They publicly kept miſtreſſes, and bequeathed to their illegitimate children whatever they were able to ſave from their pleaſures, or extort from the poor. There is ſtill to be ſeen a will made by a biſhop of Cambray, in which he ſets aſide a certain ſum for the baſtards he has had already, and thoſe which, by the bleſſing of God, he may yet happen to have. In many parts of England and Germany, the people obliged their prieſts to have concubines; ſo that the laity might preſerve their wives with greater ſecurity; while, at the ſame time, the poor laborious peaſant and artizan ſaw all the fruits of their toil go, not to cloathe and maintain their own little fa⯑milies, [347] but to pamper men, who inſulted them with lectures, to which their example appeared a flat contradiction. But the vices of the clergy were not greater than their ig⯑norance; few of them knew the meaning of their Latin maſs. Their ſagacity was chiefly employed in finding out witches, and exor⯑ciſing the poſſeſſed; but what moſt encreaſed the hatred of the people againſt them was the ſelling pardons and abſolutions for ſin, at certain ſtated prices. A deacon, or ſubdea⯑con, who committed murder, was abſolved from his crime, and allowed to poſſeſs three benefices upon paying twenty crowns. A bi⯑ſhop or abbot might commit murder for about ten pounds of our money. Every crime had its ſtated value; and abſolutions were given for ſins not only already committed, but ſuch as ſhould be committed hereafter. The wiſeſt of the people looked with ſilent deteſtation on theſe impoſitions; and the ignorant themſelves, whom fortune ſeemed to have formed for ſlavery, began to open their eyes to ſuch glar⯑ing abſurdities.

Theſe vices and impoſitions were now al⯑moſt come to a head; and the encreaſe of arts and learning among the laity, propagated by means of printing, which had been lately in⯑vented, [348] began to make them reſiſt that power, which was originally founded in deceit. Leo the tenth was at that time pope,A.D. 1519 and eagerly employed in building the church of St. Peter at Rome. In order to procure money for car⯑rying on that expenſive undertaking, he gave a commiſſion for ſelling indulgences, a prac⯑tice that had been often tried before. Theſe were to free the purchaſer from the pains of purgatory; and they would ſerve even for one's friends, if purchaſed with that intention. There were every where ſhops opened, where they were to be ſold; but in general they were to be had at taverns, brothels, and gam⯑ing houſes. The Auguſtine friars had uſually been employed in Saxony to preach the indul⯑gencies, and from this truſt had derived both profit and conſideration; but the pope's mi⯑niſter ſuppoſing that they had found out illicit methods of ſecreting the money, transferred this lucrative employment from them to the Dominicans. Martin Luther, profeſſor in the univerſity of Wirtemberg, was an Auguſtine monk, and one of thoſe who reſented this transfer of the ſale of indulgencies from one order to another. He began to ſhew his in⯑dignation by preaching againſt their efficacy; and being naturally of a fiery temper, and [349] provoked by oppoſition, he inveighed againſt the authority of the pope himſelf. Being driven hard by his adverſaries ſtill as he en⯑larged his reading, in order to ſupport his tenets, he diſcovered ſome new abuſe or error in the church of Rome. The people, who had long groaned under the papal tyranny, heard his diſcourſes with pleaſure, and defend⯑ed him againſt the authority and machinations of his enemies. Frederic, elector of Saxony, ſurnamed the Wiſe, openly protected him; the republic of Zurich even reformed their church according to the new model; and Lu⯑ther, a man naturally inflexible and vehement, was become incapable, either from promiſes of advancement, or terrors of ſeverity, to re⯑linquiſh a ſect, of which he was himſelf the founder. It was in vain, therefore, that the pope iſſued out his bulls againſt Luther; it was in vain that the Dominican friars procured his books to be burned; he boldly abuſed the Dominicans, and burned the pope's bull in the ſtreets of Wirtemberg. In the mean time, the diſpute was carried on by writing on either ſide. Luther, though oppoſed by the pope, the conclave, and all the clergy, ſupported his cauſe ſingly, and with ſucceſs. As the controverſy was new, his ignorance of many [350] parts of the ſubject was not greater than theirs; and ill as he wrote, they anſwered ſtill worſe. Opinions are inculcated upon the minds of mankind, rather by confidence and perſever⯑ance, than by ſtrength of reaſoning, or beauty of diction; and no man had more confidence or more perſeverance than he. In this diſpute, it was the fate of Henry to be a champion on both ſides. His father, who had given him the education of a ſcholar, permitted him to be inſtructed in ſchool-divinity, which then was the principal object of learned enquiry. Henry, therefore, willing to convince the world of his abilities in that ſcience, obtain⯑ed the pope's permiſſion to read the works of Luther, which had been forbidden, under pain of excommunication. In conſequence of this, the king defended the ſeven ſacraments, out of St. Thomas Aquinas; and ſhewed ſome dexterity in this ſcience, though it is thought that Wolſey had the chief hand in directing him. A book being thus finiſhed in haſte, it was ſent to Rome for the pope's approbation, which it is natural to ſuppoſe would not be with-held. The pontiff, raviſhed with its elo⯑quence and depth, compared it to the labours of St. Jerome or St. Auguſtine; and reward⯑ed the author with the title of Defender of the [351] Faith, little imagining that Henry was ſoon to be one of the moſt terrible enemies that ever the church of Rome had to contend with.

Beſides theſe cauſes, which contributed to render the Romiſh church odious and con⯑temptible, there were ſtill others, proceeding from political meaſures. Clement the ſeventh had ſucceeded Leo, and the hereditary animoſi⯑ty between the emperor and the pope breaking out into a war, Clement was impriſoned in the caſtle of St. Angelo; and with thirteen cardi⯑nals, his adherents, kept in cuſtody for his ran⯑ſom. As the demands of the emperor were exorbitant, Henry undertook to negotiate for the pope, and was procuring him a very fa⯑vourable treaty; but his holineſs, in the mean time, corrupting his guards, had the good for⯑tune to procure his eſcape from confinement; and leaving the treaty unfiniſhed, ſent Henry a letter of thanks for his mediation. The violence of the emperor, taught Henry that popes might be injured with impunity; and the be⯑haviour of the pope manifeſted but little of that ſanctity or infallibility to which the pon⯑tiffs pretended. Beſides, as Henry had laid the pope thus under obligations, he ſuppoſed that he might, upon any emergency, expect a grate⯑ful return.

[352]It was in this ſituation of the church and the pope, that a new ſcene was going to be opened, which was to produce endleſs diſturbances, and to change the whole ſyſtem of Europe.A.D. 1527 Henry had now been eighteen years married to Ca⯑tharine of Arragon, who, as we have related, had been brought over from Spain to marry his elder brother, who died a few months after co-habitation. But notwithſtanding the ſub⯑miſſive deference paid to the indulgence of the church, Henry's marriage with this princeſs did not paſs without ſcruple and heſitation. The prejudices of the people were in general bent againſt a conjugal union between ſuch near relations; and the late king, though he had ſolemnized the eſpouſals, when his ſon was but twelve years of age, gave many intima⯑tions that he intended to annul them at a pro⯑per opportunity. Theſe intentions might have given Henry ſome doubts and ſcruples con⯑cerning the legitimacy of his marriage; but as he had three children by the princeſs, and as her character and conduct were blameleſs, he for a while kept his ſuggeſtions private. But ſhe was ſix years older than him; and the decay of her beauty, together with particular infirmities and diſeaſes, had contributed to make him deſirous of another conſort. How⯑ever, [353] though he felt a ſecret diſlike to her per⯑ſon, yet for a long time he broke out into no flagrant act of contempt; contented to range from beauty to beauty among the ladies of his court, and his rank always procuring him a ready compliance. But Henry was carried forward, though perhaps not at firſt excited, by a motive much more powerful than the tacit ſuggeſtions of his conſcience. It happen⯑ed that among the maids of honour, then attending the queen, there was one Anna Bul⯑len, the daughter of Sir Thomas Bullen, a gentleman of diſtinction, and related to moſt of the nobility. He had been employed by the king in ſeveral embaſſies, and was mar⯑ried to a daughter of the duke of Norfolk. The beauty of Anne ſurpaſſed whatever had hitherto appeared at this voluptuous court; and her education, which had been at Paris, tended to ſet off her perſonal charms. Her features were regular, mild, and attractive, her ſtature elegant, though below the middle ſize, while her wit and vivacity exceeded even her other allurements. Henry, who had never learned the art of reſtraining any paſſion that he deſired to gratify, ſaw and loved her; but after ſeveral efforts to induce her to comply with his criminal deſires, he found that with⯑out [354] marriage, he could have no chance of ſuc⯑ceeding. This obſtacle, therefore, he hardily undertook to remove; and as his own queen was now become hateful to him, in order to procure a divorce, he alledged that his con⯑ſcience rebuked him for having ſo long lived in inceſt with the wife of his brother. In this pretended perplexity, therefore, he applied to Clement the ſeventh, who owed him many obligations, deſiring to diſſolve the bull of the former pope, which had given him permiſſion to marry Catharine; and to declare that it was not in the power, even of the holy ſee, to diſpenſe with a law ſo ſtrictly enjoined in ſcrip⯑ture. The unfortunate pope was now in the utmoſt perplexity; queen Catharine was aunt to the emperor, who had lately made him a priſoner, and whoſe reſentment he dreaded to rekindle by thus injuring ſo near a relation: beſide, he could not in prudence declare the bull of the former pope illicit, for this would be giving a blow to the doctrine of papal in⯑fallibility. On the other hand, Henry was his protector and friend, the dominions of England were the chief reſource from whence his finances were ſupplied, and the king of France, ſome time before, had got a bull of divorce in ſomewhat ſimilar circumſtances. In [355] this exigence, he thought the wiſeſt method would be to ſpin out the affair by a negocia⯑tion; and, in the mean time, ſent over a com⯑miſſion to Wolſey, in conjunction with the archbiſhop of Canterbury, or any other Eng⯑liſh prelate, to examine the validity of the king's marriage, and the former diſpenſation; grant⯑ing them alſo a proviſional diſpenſation for the king's marriage with any other perſon. When this meſſage was laid before the council in England, they prudently conſidered that an advice given by the pope in this ſecret manner, might very eaſily be diſavowed in public; and that a clandeſtine marriage would totally inva⯑lidate the legitimacy of any iſſue the king ſhould have by ſuch a match. In conſe⯑quence of this, freſh meſſengers were diſ⯑patched to Rome, and evaſive anſwers return⯑ed, the pope ſtill continuing to promiſe, re⯑cant, diſpute, and temporize; hoping that the king's paſſion would never hold out during the tedious courſe of an eccleſiaſtical contro⯑verſy. In this he was entirely miſtaken. Henry had been long taught to diſpute as well as he, and quickly found, or wreſted, many texts of ſcripture to favour his opinions or his paſſions. To his arguments he added threats, aſſuring the pope, that the Engliſh were already but too [356] well diſpoſed to withdraw from the holy ſee; and that if he continued uncomplying, the whole country would readily follow the ex⯑ample of a monarch, who, ſtung by ingrati⯑tude, ſhould deny all obedience to a pontiff by whom he had always been treated with falſehood and duplicity. The king even pro⯑poſed to his holineſs, whether in caſe he were not permitted to put away his preſent queen, he might not have a diſpenſation for having two wives at a time.

The pope, perceiving the eagerneſs of the king, at one time had thoughts of complying with his ſollicitations, and ſent cardinal Cam⯑pegio, his legate, to London, who, with Wol⯑ſey, opened a court for trying the legitimacy of the king's preſent marriage, and cited the king and the queen to appear before them. They both preſented themſelves; and the king anſwered to his name when called; but the queen, inſtead of anſwering to her's, roſe from her ſeat, and throwing herſelf at the king's feet, in the moſt pathetic manner,A.D. 1592 entreated him to have pity upon her helpleſs ſituation. A ſtranger, unprotected, unfriended, ſhe could only rely on him as her guardian and defender, on him alone who knew her ſubmiſſion and her inno⯑cence, and not upon any court, in which her ene⯑mies [357] prevailed, and would wreſt the laws againſt her; ſhe, therefore, refuſed the preſent trial, where ſhe could expect neither juſtice nor im⯑partiality. Yet notwithſtanding the queen's objections, her trial went forward; and Henry ſhortly hoped to be gratified in his moſt ſan⯑guine expectations. The principal point which came before the legates, was the proof of prince Arthur's conſummation of his marriage with Catharine, which ſome of his own expreſſions to that purpoſe, tended to confirm. Other topics were preparing, tending to prove the in⯑ability of the pope himſelf to grant ſuch a diſ⯑penſation; and the buſineſs ſeemed now to be drawing near a period, when, to the great ſur⯑prize of all, Campegio all of a ſudden, with⯑out any warning, and upon very frivolous pre⯑tences, prorogued the court; and ſhortly af⯑ter transferred the cauſe before the court of Rome.

During the courſe of theſe perplexing ne⯑gociations, on the iſſue of which Henry's hap⯑pineſs ſeemed to depend, he had at firſt ex⯑pected to find in his favourite Wolſey, a warm defender, and a ſteady adherent; but in this he found himſelf miſtaken. Wolſey ſeemed to be in pretty much the ſame dilemma with the pope. On the one hand, he was to pleaſe his [358] maſter the king, from whom he had received a thouſand marks of favour; and on the other hand, he feared to diſoblige the pope, whoſe ſervant he more immediately was, and who beſides had power to puniſh his diſobedience. He, therefore, reſolved to continue neuter in this controverſy; and though of all men the moſt haughty, he gave way on this occaſion to his colleague Campegio in all things, pre⯑tending a deference to his ſkill in canon law. Wolſey's ſcheme of temporizing was highly diſpleaſing to the king, but for a while he en⯑deavoured to ſtifle his reſentment, until it could act with more fatal certainty. He for ſome time looked out for a man of equal abilities and leſs art; and it was not long before acci⯑dent threw into his way one Thomas Cran⯑mer, of greater talents, and probably of more integrity. Cranmer was a doctor of divinity, and a profeſſor at Cambridge, but had loſt his office upon marrying contrary to the inſtitutes of the canon law, which enjoined celibacy to all the clergy. He had travelled in his youth into Germany; and it was there he became acquainted with Luther's works, and embraced his doctrines. This man happening to fall one evening into company with Gardiner ſe⯑cretary of ſtate, and Fox the king's almoner, [359] the buſineſs of the divorce became the ſubject of converſation. He gave it as his opinion, that the readieſt way to quiet the king's con⯑ſcience, or to extort the pope's conſent, would be to conſult all the univerſities of Europe upon the affair; an advice which being brought to the king, pleaſed him ſo much, that Cranmer was deſired to follow the court.

The king finding himſelf provided with a perſon who could ſupply Wolſey's place, appeared leſs reſerved in his reſentments againſt that prelate. The attorney-general was ordered to prepare a bill of indictment againſt him; and he was ſoon after commanded to reſign the great ſeal. Crimes are eaſily found againſt a favourite in diſgrace, and the courtiers did not fail to encreaſe the catalogue of his errors. He was ordered to depart from York-place palace; and all his furniture and plate were converted to the king's uſe. The inventory of his goods being taken, they were found to exceed even the moſt extravagant ſurmiſes. Of fine holland alone there were found a thouſand pieces; the walls of his pa⯑lace were covered with cloth of gold and ſil⯑ver; he had a cup-board of plate of maſſy gold; all the reſt of his riches and furniture were in proportion, and probably their great⯑neſs [360] invited the hand of power. The parlia⯑ment ſoon after confirmed the ſentence of the court of Star-chamber againſt him, and he was ordered to retire to Eſher, a country ſeat which he poſſeſſed near Hampton; there to await the king's further pleaſure, with all the fluctuations of hope and apprehenſion. Still, however, he was in poſſeſſion of the archbiſho⯑pric of York and biſhopric of Wincheſter; and the king gave him diſtant gleams of hope, by ſending him a ring accompanied with a gracious meſſage. Wolſey, who, like every bad character, was proud to his equals and mean to thoſe above him, happening to meet the king's meſſenger on horſeback, immediate⯑ly alighted, and throwing himſelf on his knees in the mire, received, in that abject manner, thoſe marks of his majeſty's condeſcenſion. But his hopes were ſoon overturned, for after he had mained ſome time at Eſher, he was ordered to remove to his ſee of York; where he took up his reſidence at Cawood, and rendered himſelf very popular in the neighbourhood by his affa⯑bility. He was not allowed to remain long unmoleſted in this retreat. He was arreſted by the earl of Northumberland, at the king's command, for high treaſon, and preparations were made for conducting him to London, in [361] order to his trial. He at firſt refuſed to com⯑ply with the requiſition, as being a cardinal; but finding the earl bent on performing his commiſſion, he complied, and ſet out, by eaſy journies, for London to appear as a criminal, where he had acted as a king. In his way he ſtayed a fortnight at the earl of Shrewſbury's; where, one day at dinner, he was taken ill, not without violent ſuſpicions of having poiſoned himſelf. Being brought forward from thence, he with much difficulty reached Leiceſter Ab⯑bey; where the monks coming out to meet him, he ſaid, ‘"Father abbot, I am come to lay my bones among you;"’ and immediately ordered his bed to be prepared. As his diſorder encreaſed, an officer being placed near, at once to guard and attend him, he ſpoke to him, a little before he expired, to this effect; ‘"I pray you have me heartily recommended unto his royal majeſty; he is a prince of a moſt royal carriage, and hath a princely heart, and rather than he will miſs, or want any part of his will, he will endanger one half of his kingdom. I do aſſure you, I have kneeled before him, for three hours together, to perſuade him from his will and appetite, but could not prevail. Had I but ſerved God as diligently as I have ſerved the [362] king, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs. But this is the juſt reward, that I muſt receive for my indulgent pains and ſtudy; not regarding my ſervice to God, but only to my prince."’ He died ſoon after, in all the pangs of remorſe, and left a life which he had all along rendered turbid by am⯑bition, and wretched by mean aſſiduities. He left two natural children behind him, one of whom, being a prieſt, was loaded with church preferments.

Henry being now freed from the controul of a perſon, who had for ſome time been an ob⯑ſtacle to his intentions, by Cranmer's advice, he had the legality of his preſent marriage con⯑vaſſed in all the moſt noted univerſities of Europe. It was very extraordinary to ſee the king on one ſide ſoliciting the univerſities to be favourable to his paſſion; and, on the other the emperor preſſing them with equal ardour to be favourable to his aunt. Henry liberally rewarded thoſe doctors who declared on his ſide; and the emperor granted benefices to ſuch as voted in conformity to his wiſhes. Time has diſcovered theſe intrigues. In one of Henry's account books, we find the diſ⯑burſements he made on theſe occaſions. To a [363] ſub-deacon he gave a crown, to a deacon two crowns; and ſo of the reſt, in proportion to the conſequence of the ſtation or opinion. The perſon, however, who bribed on theſe occa⯑ſions, excuſed himſelf, by declaring, that he never paid the money till after the vote was given. In this conteſt, the liberalities, and conſequently the votes of Henry prevailed; his intrigues for a favourable deciſion being bet⯑ter carried on, as he was moſt intereſted in the debate. All the colleges of Italy and France unanimouſly declared his preſent marriage a⯑gainſt all law divine and human; and there⯑fore alledged, that it was not in the power of the pope himſelf to grant a diſpenſation. The only places where this deciſion was moſt warmly op⯑poſed, were at Oxford and Cambridge; but they alſo concurred in the ſame opinion at laſt, having furniſhed out the formality of a debate. But the agents of Henry were not content with the ſuf⯑frage of the univerſities alone; the opinions of the Jewiſh Rabbis were alſo demanded; how⯑ever, their ſuffrages were eaſily bought up.

Henry being thus fortified by the ſuffrages of the univerſities, was now reſolved to op⯑poſe even the pope himſelf, and began in par⯑liament by reviving an old law againſt the [364] clergy, by which it was decreed, that all thoſe who had ſubmitted to the legantine authority had incurred ſevere penalties. The clergy, to conciliate the king's favour, were compelled to pay a fine of an hundred and eighteen thouſand pounds. A confeſſion was likewiſe extorted from them, that the king was protector and ſupreme head of the church and the clergy of England. By theſe conceſ⯑ſions a great part of the profits, and ſtill more of the power, of the church of Rome, was cut off. An act ſoon after was paſſed againſt levy⯑ing the firſt fruits, or a year's rent, of all the biſhopricks that fell vacant. The tie that held Henry to the church being thus broken, he reſolved to keep no further meaſures with the pontiff. He therefore privately married Anne Bullen, whom he had created marchioneſs of Pembroke, the duke of Norfolk, uncle to the new queen, her father, mother, and doctor Cranmer being preſent at the ceremony. Soon after finding the queen pregnant, he publicly owned his marriage, and, to colour over his diſobedience to the pope with an appearance of triumph, he paſſed with his beautiful bride through London, with a magnificence greater than had been ever known before. The ſtreets [365] were ſtrewed, the walls of the houſes were hung with tapeſtries, the conduits ran with wine, and an univerſal joy was diffuſed among the people, who were contented rather with the preſent feſtivity, than ſollicitous to examine the motives of it. Catharine, who had all along ſupported her claims with reſolution, and yet with modeſty, was cited to a trial; but refu⯑ſing to appear, ſhe was pronounced contuma⯑cious, and judgment given againſt the validity of her marriage with the king. At length, therefore, finding the inutility of further re⯑ſiſtance, ſhe retired to Ampthill, near Dunſta⯑ble, where ſhe continued the reſt of her life in privacy and peace.

In the mean time, when this intelligence was conveyed to Rome, the conclave was in a rage; and the pope, incited by their ardour, and frighted alſo by the menaces of the em⯑peror, publiſhed a ſentence, declaring queen Catharine alone to be Henry's lawful wife, and requiring him to take her again, with a denunciation of cenſures in caſe of refuſal. On the other hand, Henry finding that his ſub⯑jects of all ranks had taken part with him, and had willingly complied with his attempts to break a foreign dependence, reſolved no lon⯑ger [366] to renew theſe ſubmiſſions which no power could extort. The people had been prepared by degrees for this great innovation: care had been taken for ſome years to inculcate the doctrine, that the pope was entitled to no au⯑thority beyond the limits of his own dioceſe. The king, therefore, no longer delayed his me⯑ditated ſcheme of ſeparating entirely from the church of Rome. The parliament was at his devotion; the majority of the clergy was for him, as they had already declared againſt the pope, by decreeing in favour of the divorce; and the people, above all, wiſhed to ſee the church humbled, which had ſo long controlled them at pleaſure, and grown opulent by their labours and diſtreſſes. Thus all things con⯑ſpiring to co-operate with his deſigns, he at once ordered himſelf to be declared by his clergy the ſupreme head of the church; the parliament confirmed the title, aboliſhed all authority of the pope in England, voted all tributes,A.D. 1534 formerly paid to the holy ſee, as ille⯑gal, and entruſted the king with the collation to all eccleſiaſtical benefices. The nation came into the king's meaſures with joy, and took an oath, called the oath of ſupremacy; all the credit of the pope, that had ſubſiſted [367] for ages, was now at once overthrown, and none ſeemed to repine at the revolution, ex⯑cept thoſe who were immediately intereſted by their dependence on the court of Rome.

But though Henry had thus ſeparated from the church, yet he had not addicted himſelf to the ſyſtem of any other reformer. The idea of hereſy ſtill appeared deteſtable, as well as formidable, to him; and whilſt his reſentment againſt the ſee of Rome had removed one part of his early prejudices, he made it a point never to relinquiſh the reſt. Separate as he ſtood from the catholic church, and from the Roman pontiff, the head of it, he ſtill valued himſelf on maintaining the catholic doctrines, and on guarding by fire and ſword the imagined purity of its eſtabliſhments. His miniſters and courtiers were of as motley a character as his conduct, and ſeemed to waver, during the whole reign, between the ancient and the new religion. The young queen, en⯑gaged by intereſt, as well as inclination, favour⯑ed the cauſe of the reformers; Thomas Crom⯑well, who, from being a creature of Wolſey, and who, by an admirable defence of the con⯑duct of his old maſter, had been taken into the favour and confidence of the king, em⯑braced [368] the ſame views. Being a man of pru⯑dence and ability, he was very ſucceſsful in promoting the reformation, though in a con⯑cealed manner. Cranmer, who was now be⯑come archbiſhop of Canterbury, had all along adopted the proteſtant tenets, and had gained Henry's friendſhip by his candour and ſin⯑cerity. On the other hand, the duke of Nor⯑folk adhered to the old mode of worſhip; and by the greatneſs of his rank, as well as by his talents for peace and war, he had great weight in the king's council. Gardiner, lately cre⯑ated biſhop of Wincheſter, had enliſted him⯑ſelf in the ſame party; and the ſuppleneſs of his character, and the dexterity of his con⯑duct, had rendered him extremely uſeful to it. The king, mean while, who held the balance between theſe contending factions, was en⯑abled, by the courtſhip paid him by both pro⯑teſtants and catholics, to aſſume an immea⯑ſurable authority.

As the mode of religion was not as yet known, and as the minds of thoſe who were of oppoſite ſentiments were extremely exaſper⯑ated, it naturally followed that ſeveral muſt fall a ſacrifice in the conteſt between ancient eſtabliſhments, and modern reformation. The [369] reformers were the firſt who were exhibited as unhappy examples of the vindictive fury of thoſe who were for the continuance of ancient ſuperſtitions. One James Bainham, a gen⯑tleman of the Temple, being accuſed of fa⯑vouring the doctrines of Luther, had been brought before Sir Thomas More during his chancellorſhip; and, after being put to the torture, was condemned as a relapſed heretic, and was burned in Smithfield. One Thomas Bilney, a prieſt, had embraced the new doc⯑trine; but being terrified into an abjuration, he was ſo ſtung with remorſe, that he went into Norfolk, publicly recanting his former con⯑duct, and expoſing the errors of popery. He was ſoon ſeized, tried in the biſhop's court, condemned as a relapſed heretic, and burnt accordingly. On the other hand, Henry was not remiſs in puniſhing ſuch as diſowned the propriety of his late defection from Rome; and the monks, as they ſuffered moſt by the reformation, ſo they were moſt obnoxious, from their free manner of ſpeaking, to the royal reſentment.

To aſſiſt him in bringing theſe to puniſh⯑ment, the parliament had made it capital to deny his ſupremacy over the church; and many priors and eccleſiaſtics loſt their lives for this [370] new ſpecies of crime. But of thoſe who fell as a ſacrifice to this ſtern and unjuſt law, none are ſo much to be regretted as John Fiſher, biſhop of Rocheſter, and the celebrated Sir Thomas More. Fiſher was a prelate eminent for his learning and morals; but ſo firmly at⯑tached to ancient opinions, that he was thrown into priſon, and deprived of his eccleſiaſtical revenues; ſo that he had ſcarce even rags to cover him in his ſevere confinement. He was ſoon after indicted for denying the king's ſu⯑premacy, condemned, and beheaded.

Sir Thomas More is intitled to ſtill greater pity, as his merits were greater. This extra⯑ordinary man, who was one of the revivers of ancient literature, and inconteſtably the fore⯑moſt writer of his age, had, for ſome time, refuſed to act in ſubſerviency to the capricious paſſions of the king. He had been created chancellor; but gave up that high office, ra⯑ther than concur in the breach with the church of Rome. The auſterity of this man's virtue, and the ſanctity of his manners, had in no wiſe encroached on the gentleneſs of his temper; but even in the midſt of poverty and diſgrace he could preſerve that natural gaiety, which was probably inſpired by conſcious innocence. But on the preſent occaſion, being put into [371] confinement, no entreaties nor arguments could prevail with him to ſpeak an entire acknow⯑legement of the juſtice of the king's claims. One Rich, who was then ſollicitor-general, was ſent to confer with him; and in his preſence he was inveigled to ſay, that any queſtion with regard to the law, which eſtabliſhed that pre⯑rogative, was like a two-edged ſword. If a perſon anſwered one way it would confound his ſoul; if another, it would deſtroy his body. Theſe words were ſufficient for the baſe in⯑former to hang an accuſation upon; and as trials at that time were but mere formalities, the jury gave ſentence againſt More, who long expected his fate. His natural chearful⯑neſs attended him to the laſt. When he was mounting the ſcaffold, he ſaid to one, ‘"Friend, help me up; and when I go down again, let me ſhift for myſelf."’ The executioner aſking him forgiveneſs, he granted the re⯑queſt, but told him, ‘"You will never get credit by beheading me, my neck is ſo ſhort."’ Then laying his head on the block, he bid the executioner ſtay till he had put a⯑ſide his beard, for ſaid he, that has never com⯑mitted treaſon.

The concurrence which the people ſeemed to lend to theſe fierce ſeverities, added to the [372] great authority which Henry from his ſevere and fierce deportment poſſeſſed, induced him to proceed ſtill farther in his ſcheme of inno⯑vation. As the monks had all along ſhewn him the greateſt reſiſtance, he reſolved at once to deprive them of future power to injure him. He accordingly empowered Cromwell, ſecreta⯑ry of ſtate, to ſend commiſſioners into the ſe⯑veral counties of England to inſpect the mona⯑ſteries; and to report, with rigorous exactneſs, the conduct and deportment of ſuch as were reſident there. This employment was readily undertaken by ſome creatures of the court, namely, [...]ayton, London, Price, Gage, Petre, and Belaſis, who are ſaid to have diſcovered monſtrous diſorders in many of the religious houſes. Whole convents of women abandoned to all manner of lewdneſs, friars accomplices in their crimes, pious frauds every where prac⯑tiſed to encreaſe the devotion and liberality of the people, and cruel and inveterate factions maintained between the members of many of theſe inſtitutions. Theſe accuſations, whether true or falſe, were urged with great clamour againſt theſe communities; and a general hor⯑ror was excited in the nation againſt them.

The king now, therefore, thought he might with ſafety, and even ſome degree of popu⯑larity, [373] aboliſh theſe inſtitutions; but willing to proceed gently at firſt, he gave directions to parliament to go no farther at preſent than to ſuppreſs the leſſer monaſteries,A.D. 1536 who poſſeſſed revenues below the value of two hundred pounds a year. By this act, three hundred and ſeventy-ſix monaſteries were ſuppreſſed; and their revenues, amounting to thirty-two thouſand pounds a year, were granted to the king, beſides their goods and plate, computed at an hundred thouſand pounds more. But this was only the beginning of his confiſca⯑tions; for about two years after, he reſolved upon the entire deſtruction of all monaſteries whatſoever. A new viſitation was therefore appointed, and freſh crimes were alſo pro⯑duced; ſo that his ſeverities were conducted with ſuch ſeeming juſtice and ſucceſs, that in leſs than two years, he became poſſeſſed of all the monaſtic revenues. Theſe, on the whole, amounted to ſix hundred and forty-five, of which twenty-eight had abbots, who enjoyed a ſeat in parliament. Ninety colleges were demoliſhed in ſeveral counties; two thouſand three hundred and ſeventy-four chantries, and free chapels, and an hundred and ten hoſpi⯑tals. The whole revenue of theſe eſtabliſh⯑ments amounted to one hundred and ſixty-one [374] thouſand pounds, which was about a twentieth part of the national income. The loſs therefore which was ſuſtained by the clergy upon this occaſion, was by no means ſo great or mortifying as the cruel inſults and reproaches to which they were expoſed for their former frauds and avarice. The num⯑berleſs reliques which they had amaſſed, to de⯑lude and draw money from the people, were now brought forward, and expoſed before the populace with the moſt poignant contempt. An angel with one wing, that brought over the head of the ſpear that pierced the ſide of Chriſt; coals that had roaſted St. Lawrence, the parings of St. Edmond's toes, certain re⯑lics to prevent rain, others to ſtop the gene⯑ration of weeds among corn. There was a crucifix at Boxley in Kent, diſtinguiſhed by the appellation of the Rood of Grace, which had been long in reputation for bending, raiſ⯑ing, rolling the eyes, and ſhaking the head. It was brought to London, and broke to pieces at Paul's Croſs; and the wheels and ſprings by which it was actuated ſhewn to the people. At Hales in Glouceſterſhire, the monks had carried on a profitable traffick with the pre⯑tended blood of Chriſt in a cryſtal phial. This relic was no other than the blood of a [375] duck killed weekly, and exhibited to the pil⯑grim; if his prayers were accepted, the blood was ſhewn him; if ſuppoſed to be rejected, the phial was turned; and being on one ſide opake, the blood was no longer to be ſeen. But the ſpoils of St. Thomas à Becket's ſhrine at Canterbury exceed what even imagination might conceive. The ſhrine was broken down; and the gold that adorned it filled two large cheſts, that eight ſtrong men could hardly carry out of the church. The king even cited the ſaint himſelf to appear, and to be tried and condemned as a traitor. He or⯑dered his name to be ſtruck out of the Calen⯑dar, his bones to be burned, and the office for his feſtival to be ſtruck out of the Breviary. Such were the violent meaſures with which the king proceeded againſt theſe ſeats of indolence and impoſture; but as great murmurs were ex⯑cited by ſome upon this occaſion, he took care that all thoſe who could be uſeful to him, or even dangerous in caſes of oppoſition, ſhould be ſharers in the ſpoil. He either made a gift of the revenues of the convents to his principal cour⯑tiers, or ſold them at low prices, or exchanged them for other lands on very diſadvantageous terms. He alſo erected ſix new biſhopricks, Weſtminſter, Oxford, Peterborow, Briſtol, [376] Cheſter, and Glouceſter, of which the laſt five ſtill continue. He alſo ſettled ſalaries on the abbots and priors, proportioned to their for⯑mer revenues or their merits; and each monk was allowed a yearly penſion of eight marks for his ſubſiſtence.

But though the king had entirely ſeparated himſelf from Rome, yet he was unwilling to follow any guide in conducting a new ſyſtem. He would not therefore wholly aboliſh thoſe practices, by which prieſtcraft had been car⯑ried to ſuch a pitch of abſurdity. The invo⯑cation of ſaints was not yet aboliſhed by him, but only reſtrained. He procured an act, or, more properly ſpeaking, gave orders, to have the Bible tranſlated into the vulgar tongue; but it was not permitted to be put into the hands of the laity. It was a capital crime to believe in the pope's ſupremacy; and yet equally heinous to be of the reformed reli⯑gion, as eſtabliſhed in Germany. His opi⯑nions were at length delivered in a law, which, from its horrid conſequences, was afterwards termed the Bloody Statute, by which it was ordained, that whoever, by word or writing, denied tranſubſtantiation, whoever maintained that the communion in both kinds was neceſ⯑ſary, whoever aſſerted that it was lawful for [377] prieſts to marry, whoever alledged that vows of chaſtity might be broken, whoever main⯑tained that private maſſes were unprofitable, or that auricular confeſſion was unneceſſary, ſhould be found guilty of hereſy, and burned or hanged as the court ſhould determine. As the people were at that time chiefly compoſed of thoſe who followed the opinions of Lu⯑ther, and ſuch as ſtill adhered to the pope, this ſtatute, with Henry's former decrees, in ſome meaſure excluded both, and opened a field for perſecution, which ſoon after pro⯑duced its dreadful harveſts.

Theſe ſeverities, however, were preceded by one of a different nature, ariſing neither from religious nor political cauſes, but merely from tyrannical caprice. Anne Bullen, his queen, had been always a favourer of the re⯑formation, and conſequently had many ene⯑mies on that account, who only waited ſome fit occaſion to deſtroy her credit with the king; and that occaſion preſented itſelf but too ſoon. The king's paſſion was by this time quite palled by ſatiety; as the only de⯑ſire he ever had for her aroſe from that bru⯑tal appetite, which enjoyment ſoon deſtroys, he was now, fallen in love, if we may ſo proſtitute the expreſſion, with another, and [378] languiſhed for the poſſeſſion of Jane Seymour, who had for ſome time been maid of honour to the queen.

As ſoon as the queen's enemies perceived the king's diſguſt, they ſoon reſolved on tak⯑ing the firſt opportunity of gratifying his in⯑clination to get rid of her, by producing crimes againſt her, which his paſſions would quickly make real.A.D. 1536 The counteſs of Roch⯑ford in particular, who was married to the queen's brother, herſelf a woman of infamous character, began with the moſt cruel inſinua⯑tions againſt the reputation of her ſiſter-in-law. She pretended that her own huſband was engaged in an inceſtuous correſpondence with his ſiſter; and not contented with this inſinua⯑tion, repreſented all the harmleſs levities of the queen, as favours of a criminal nature. The king's jealouſy firſt appeared openly in a tilt⯑ing at Greenwich, where the queen happened to drop her handkerchief, as was ſuppoſed, to one of her minions to wipe his face, after having over-heated himſelf in the exerciſe. Though this might have been very harmleſs, the king abruptly retired from the place, and ſent orders to have her confined to her apart⯑ment. Anne ſmiled at firſt, thinking the king was in jeſt; but when ſhe found it was a very [379] ſerious affair, ſhe received the ſacrament in her cloſet, ſenſible of what little mercy ſhe had to expect from ſo furious a tyrant.

In the mean time, her enemies were not re⯑miſs in enflaming the accuſation againſt her. The duke of Norfolk, from his attachment to the old religion, took care to produce ſeveral witneſſes accuſing her of incontinency with ſome of the meaner ſervants of the court. Four perſons were particularly pointed out as her paramours; Henry Norris, groom of the ſtole, Weſton, and Brereton, gentlemen of the king's bed-chamber, together with Mark Smeton, a muſician. As theſe had ſerved her with much aſſiduity, their reſpect might have been con⯑ſtrued by ſuſpicion into more tender attach⯑ments. The next day the queen was ſent to the Tower, earneſtly proteſting her innocence, and ſending up prayers to heaven for aſſiſt⯑ance in this extremity. She in vain begged to be admitted into the preſence of the king; the Lady Bullen, her uncle's wife, who had always hated her, was ordered to continue in the ſame chamber; and ſhe made a report of all the in⯑coherent ravings of the afflicted priſoner. She owned that ſhe had once rallied Norris on his delaying his marriage, and had told him that he probably expected her, when ſhe ſhould be [380] a widow. She had reproved Weſton, ſhe ſaid, for his affection to a kinſwoman of hers, and his indifference towards his wife; but he told her that ſhe had miſtaken the object of his af⯑fection, for it was herſelf. She affirmed, that Smeton had never been in her chamber but twice, when he played on the harpſichord; but ſhe acknowledged that he once had the bold⯑neſs to tell her, that a look ſufficed him.

Every perſon at court now abandoned the unhappy queen in her diſtreſs, except Cran⯑mer, who, though forbid to come into the king's preſence, wrote a letter to him in behalf of the queen; but his interceſſion had no effect. On the twelfth day of May, Norris, Weſton, Brereton, and Smeton, where tried in Weſt⯑minſter-Hall, when Smeton was prevailed upon, by the promiſe of a pardon, to confeſs a criminal correſpondence with the queen; but he was never confronted by her he accuſed; and his execution with the reſt, ſhortly after, ſerved to acquit her of the charge. Norris, who had been much in the king's favour, had an offer of his life, if he would confeſs his crime, and accuſe his miſtreſs; but he rejected the propoſal with contempt, and died profeſſ⯑ing her innocence, and his own.

[381]In the mean time, the queen, who ſaw the terrible appearance of her fortunes, endea⯑voured to ſoften the king by every endeavour to ſpare the lives of the unfortunate men, whoſe deaths were decreed. But his was a ſtern jealouſy foſtered by pride; and nothing but her removal could appeaſe him. Her letter to him upon this occaſion, written from the Tower, is full of the tendereſt expoſtulations, and too remarkable to be omitted here; as its manner ſerves at once to mark the ſituation of her mind, and ſhews to what a pitch of refine⯑ment ſhe had carried the language even then. It is as follows.

It was not to be expected that eloquence could prevail on a tyrant, whoſe paſſions were to be influenced by none of the nobler mo⯑tives; the queen and her brother were tried by a jury of peers; but upon what proof or pre⯑tence the crime of inceſt was urged againſt them is unknown; the chief evidence, it is ſaid, [385] amounted to no more, than that Rochford had been ſeen to lean on her bed before ſome com⯑pany. Part of the charge againſt her was, that ſhe had declared to her attendants, that the king never had her heart; which was con⯑ſidered as a ſlander upon the throne, and ſtrain⯑ed into a breach of a late ſtatute, by which it was declared criminal to throw any ſlander up⯑on the king, queen, or their iſſue. The un⯑happy queen, though unaſſiſted by counſel, defended herſelf with great judgment, and pre⯑ſence of mind; and the ſpectators could not forbear declaring her entirely innocent. She anſwered diſtinctly to all the charges brought againſt her: but the king's authority was not to be controuled; ſhe was declared guilty; and her ſentence ran, that ſhe ſhould be burn⯑ed or beheaded at the king's pleaſure. When this terrible ſentence was pronounced againſt her, ſhe could not help offering up a prayer to Heaven, vindicating her innocence; and in a moſt pathetic ſpeech to her judges, averred the injuſtice of her condemnation. But the tyrant, not ſatisfied with this vengeance, was deſirous alſo of having her daughter declared illegitimate; and remembering the report of a contract between her and Percy, earl of Nor⯑thumberland, prevailed upon the queen, either [386] by promiſe of life, or of executing the ſentence in all its rigour, to confeſs ſuch a contract. The afflicted primate, who ſat as judge, thought himſelf obliged, by this confeſſion, to pro⯑nounce the marriage null and invalid; and Henry, in the tranſports of his malignant pro⯑ſecution did not ſee, that if her marriage had been invalid from the beginning, the ſentence for adultery muſt have been invalid alſo.

She, who had been once the envied object of royal favour, was now going to give a me⯑lancholy inſtance of the capriciouſneſs of for⯑tune: upon her returning to priſon, ſhe once more ſent proteſtations of her innocence to the king. ‘"You have raiſed me, ſaid ſhe, from privacy to make me a lady; from a lady you made me a counteſs; from a counteſs, a queen; and from a queen I ſhall ſhortly be⯑come a ſaint in heaven."’ On the morning of her execution, ſhe ſent for Kingſtone, the keeper of the Tower, to whom, upon entering the priſon, ſhe ſaid, ‘"Mr. Kingſtone, I hear I am not to die till noon, and I am ſorry for it; for I thought to be dead before this time, and free from a life of pain."’ The keeper attempt⯑ing to comfort her, by aſſuring her the pain would be very little, ſhe replied, ‘"I have heard the executioner is very expert; and [387] (claſping her neck with her hands, laughing,) I have but a little neck."’ When brought to the ſcaffold, from a conſideration of her child Elizabeth's welfare, ſhe would not enflame the minds of the ſpectators againſt her proſe⯑cutors, but contented herſelf with ſaying, ‘"that ſhe was come to die as ſhe was ſentenced by the law."’ She would accuſe none, nor ſay any thing of the ground upon which ſhe was judg⯑ed; ſhe prayed heartily for the king, and call⯑ed him ‘"a moſt merciful, and gentle prince; that he had always been to her a good and gra⯑cious ſovereign; and that if any one ſhould think proper to canvaſs her cauſe, ſhe deſired him to judge the beſt."’ She was beheaded by the executioner of Calais, who was brought over as much more expert than any in Eng⯑land. Her body was negligently thrown into a common cheſt of elm tree, made to hold ar⯑rows, and was buried in the Tower. Anne Bullen ſeemed to be guilty of no other crime, than that of having ſurvived the king's affec⯑tions; and although many crowned heads were already put to death in England, ſhe was the firſt that underwent all the forms of law, and was beheaded on a ſcaffold.

The people, in general, beheld her fate with pity; but ſtill more, when they diſcovered the [388] cauſe of the tyrant's impatience to deſtroy her; for the very next day after her execution, he married the lady Jane Seymour, his cruel heart being no way ſoftened by the wretched fate of one that had been ſo lately the object of his warmeſt affections. He alſo ordered his par⯑liament to give him a divorce between her ſen⯑tence and execution; and thus he endeavoured to baſtardize Elizabeth, the only child he had by her, as he had in the ſame manner formerly baſtardized Mary, his only child by queen Ca⯑tharine.

It is eaſy to imagine, that ſuch various inno⯑vations, and capricious cruelties, were not felt by the people without indignation; but their murmurs were fruitleſs, and their complaints diſregarded. Henry now made himſelf um⯑pire between thoſe of the ancient ſuperſtition, and the modern reformation; both looked up to him for aſſiſtance, and at mutual enmity with each other, he took the advantage of all. Beſide, he had all the powerful men of the na⯑tions on his ſide, by the many grants he had made them of the lands and goods of which he had deſpoiled the monaſteries. It was eaſy for him, therefore, to quell the various inſurrec⯑tions which his preſent arbitrary conduct pro⯑duced, as they were neither headed by any [389] powerful man, nor conducted with any kind of foreſight, but merely the tumultuary efforts of anguiſh and deſpair. The firſt riſing was in Lincolnſhire, headed by doctor Mackrel, prior of Barlings; and though this tumultuary army, amounted to twenty thouſand men, upon a proclamation being made, with aſſurances of pardon, the populace diſperſed; and Mackrel, with ſome more of the leaders, falling into the king's hands, were put to death. Another riſing followed ſoon after, in the North, a⯑mounting to above forty thouſand men, who were preceded by prieſts, carrying the enſigns of their function before the army; and all ſeem⯑ing chiefly inſpired with an enmity againſt Cromwell, whom they conſidered as the in⯑ſtigator of the king's ſeverities. But theſe alſo were ſoon diſperſed upon finding their pro⯑viſions grown ſhort; after having in vain en⯑deavoured to attack the duke of Norfolk's army, which was ſent againſt them, and from which they were ſeparated by a rivulet that was ſwoln by heavy rains. A new inſurrec⯑tion broke out out ſhortly after, headed by Muſgrave and Tilby; but the inſurgents were diſperſed and put to flight by the duke of Norfolk. Beſides, one Aſke, a gentleman of that part of the country, who led the firſt in⯑ſurrection, [390] lord Darcy, Sir Robert Conſtable, Sir John Bulmer, Sir Thomas Percy, Sir Ste⯑phen Hamilton, Nicholas Tempeſt, and Wil⯑liam Lumley, were thrown into priſon, con⯑demned, and executed. Henry, enraged by multiplied revolts, was reſolved to put no bounds to his ſeverities; and the birth of a prince, afterwards Edward the ſixth, and the death of the queen, who ſurvived this joyful occaſion but two days, made but a ſmall pauſe in the fierce ſeverity with which thoſe were treated who were found to oppoſe his will.

In the midſt of theſe commotions, the fires of Smithfield were ſeen to blaze with unuſual fierceneſs. Thoſe who adhered to the pope, or thoſe who followed the doctrines of Luther, were equally the objects of royal vengeance, and eccleſiaſtical perſecution. From the mul⯑tiplied alterations which were made in the na⯑tional ſyſtems of belief, moſtly drawn up by Henry himſelf, few knew what to think, or what to profeſs. They were ready enough, indeed, to follow his doctrines, how inconſiſt⯑ent or contradictory ſoever; but as he was continually changing them himſelf, they could hardly purſue ſo faſt as he advanced before them. Thomas Cromwell, raiſed by the king's caprice, from being a blackſmith's ſon, to be [391] a royal favourite, for tyrants ever raiſe their favourites from the loweſt of the people, to⯑gether with Cranmer, now become archbiſhop of Canterbury, were both ſeen to favour the re⯑formation with all their endeavours. On the other hand, Gardiner biſhop of Wincheſter, together with the duke of Norfolk, were for leading the king back to his original ſuperſti⯑tion. In fact, Henry ſubmitted to neither; his pride had long been ſo enflamed by flat⯑tery, that he thought himſelf entitled to regu⯑late, by his own ſingle opinion, the religious faith of the whole nation.

In this univerſal terror and degeneracy of mankind, during which the ſeverities of one man alone was ſufficient to keep millions in awe, there ſeemed to be a poor ſchool-maſter in London, who boldly ſtood up for the rights of humanity, and ventured to think for him⯑ſelf. This man's name was John Lambert, who hearing doctor Taylor preach upon the real preſence in the ſacrament, preſented him with his reaſons for contradicting that doctrine. The paper was carried to Cranmer and Latimer, who were then of the opinion of Luther on that head, and endeavoured to bring him over to their opinions. But Lambert remain⯑ed ſteady in his belief; and they were morti⯑fied [392] when, inſtead of recanting, he appealed to the king himſelf. This was a challenge that pleaſed Henry's vanity, and willing at once to exert his ſupremacy, and diſplay his learning, he accepted the appeal; and public notice was given of his intended diſputation. For this purpoſe, ſcaffolds were erected in Weſtmin⯑ſter-Hall for the accommodation of the audience; and Henry appeared on his throne, accompa⯑nied with all the enſigns of majeſty. The pre⯑lates were placed on his right hand, the tem⯑poral peers on his left. The judges, and moſt eminent lawyers, had a place aſſigned them behind the biſhops; the courtiers of the greateſt diſtinction, behind the peers. Poor Lambert was produced in the midſt of this ſplendid aſſembly, with not one creature to de⯑fend or ſupport him. The biſhop of Cheſter opened the conference by declaring, that the king, notwithſtanding any ſlight alterations he had made in the rites of the church, was yet determined to maintain the purity of the catholic faith; and to puniſh, with the utmoſt ſeverity, all departure from it. After this preamble, ſufficient to terrify the boldeſt diſ⯑putant, the king aſked Lambert, with a ſtern countenance, what his opinion was of tranſub⯑ſtantiation. When Lambert began his ora⯑tion [393] with a compliment to his majeſty, Henry rejected his praiſe with diſdain and indigna⯑tion. He afterwards entered upon the diſ⯑cuſſion of that abſtruſe queſtion; and endea⯑voured to preſs Lambert with ſome arguments, drawn from the ſcriptures and the ſchoolmen. At every word the audience were ready to ſe⯑cond him with their applauſe and admiration. Lambert, however, no way diſcouraged, was not ſlow to reply; but here Cranmer ſtept in and ſeconded the king's proofs by ſome new topics. Gardiner entered the liſts in ſupport of Cranmer; Tonſtal took up the argument after Gardiner; Stokeſley brought freſh aid to Tonſtal. Six biſhops more appeared ſuc⯑ceſſively in the field againſt the poor ſolitary diſputator, who, for five hours, long attempt⯑ed to vindicate his doctrines, till at laſt fatigu⯑ed, confounded, brow-beaten, and abaſhed, he was reduced to ſilence. The king then re⯑turning to the charge, demanded if he was convinced; and whether he choſe to gain life by recantation, or to die for his obſtinacy? Lambert, no way intimidated, replied, that he caſt himſelf wholly on his majeſty's clemency; to which Henry replied, ‘"that he would ne⯑ver protect an heretic; and, therefore, if that was his final anſwer, he muſt expect to be [394] committed to the flames."’ Lambert, no way terrified, heard Cromwell read the ſentence, by which he was condemned to be burnt alive, with the utmoſt compoſure; and as if his per⯑ſecutors were reſolved to try his fortitude, the executioners were ordered to make his puniſhment as painful as they could. He was, therefore, burned at a ſlow fire, his legs and thighs being firſt conſumed; and when there appeared no end of his tortures, ſome of the guards, more merciful than the reſt, lifted him on their halberts; and while he yet continued to cry out, ‘"None but Chriſt! None but Chriſt!"’ he was wholly conſumed by the ſur⯑rounding fire.

This poor man's death ſeemed to be only a ſignal for that of many more. Adulation had whiſpered the king with ſuch an opinion of his own ability, that he now reſolved to puniſh rigorouſly all thoſe who ſhould preſume to differ from him in point of opinion, without making any diſtinction between Catholic or Lutheran. Soon after, no leſs than five hun⯑dred perſons were impriſoned for contradict⯑ing the opinions delivered in the bloody ſta⯑tute; and received protection only from the lenity of Cromwell. For ſome time, alſo, doc⯑tor Barnes, who had been inſtrumental in [395] Lambert's execution, felt, in his turn, the ſe⯑verity of the perſecuting ſpirit; and by a bill in parliament, without any trial, was condemn⯑ed to the flames, diſcuſſing theological queſ⯑tions at the very ſtake. With Barnes were executed one Gerrard, and Jerome, for the ſame opinions. Three Catholics, alſo, whoſe names were Abel, Fetherſtone, and Powel, were dragged upon the ſame hurdles to execution; and declared, that the moſt grievous part of their puniſhment, was the being coupled with ſuch heretical miſcreants as were united in the ſame calamity.

During theſe horrid tranſactions, Henry was reſolved to take another queen, and, after ſome negotiation upon the continent, he contracted a marriage with Anne of Cleves, his aim being by her means to fortify his alliances with the princes of Germany. Nor was he led into this match without a moſt ſcrupulous exami⯑nation on his ſide, of the lady's perſonal ac⯑compliſhments. He was aſſured by his envoy that ſhe was of a very large perſon, which was the more pleaſing to him, as he was at that time himſelf become very corpulent, and con⯑ſequently required a ſimilar figure in a wife. He was ſtill further allured by her picture, in which Holbein, who drew it, was, it ſeems, [396] more a friend to his art than to truth; for he greatly flattered her. The king, therefore, upon her landing went privately to meet her at Rocheſter, where he was very much damp⯑ed in his amorous ardour. He found her big indeed, and tall as he could wiſh; but utterly devoid of grace and beauty; ſhe could alſo ſpeak but one language, her native Ger⯑man; ſo that her converſation could never recompence the defects of her perſon. He ſwore ſhe was a great Flanders mare; and add⯑ed that he could never ſettle his affections upon her. However, ſenſible that he would greatly diſoblige her brother the duke, and conſequently all the German princes in his al⯑liance, he reſolved to marry her; and he told Cromwell, who was chiefly inſtrumental in this affair, that ſince he had gone ſo far, he would put his neck into the yoke, whatever it coſt him. The marriage was accordingly celebrated; but the king's diſguſt was only encreaſed by it; he told Cromwell the next morning, that he hated her more than ever; and even ſuſpected her not to be a true maid, a circumſtance in which he thought himſelf extremely ſkilful. Cromwell ſaw the danger he incurred by having been inſtrumental in forming this union; but he endeavoured by [397] his aſſiduity, and humble adulation, to keep the king from coming to extremities with him.

But he ſhould have known that a tyrant once offended is implacable. Henry's aver⯑ſion to the queen ſecretly encreaſed every day; and he at length reſolved to get rid of her, and his prime miniſter together. The fall of this favourite was long and ardently wiſhed for by a great part of the nation. The nobility hated a man, who from ſuch mean beginnings, was placed before the firſt perſons in the kingdom; for beſides being made vicar-general, which gave him almoſt abſolute authority over the clergy, he was lord privy-ſeal, lord chamberlain, and maſter of the wards. He had alſo obtained the order of the garter, a dignity which had hitherto been only conferred on the moſt illuſtrious families; and to carry his exaltation ſtill higher, he had been made earl of Eſſex. The proteſtants diſliked him for his concurrence with the king's will in their perſecution; and the papiſts deteſted him, as the inveterate enemy of their religion. It only remained, therefore, with the king to haſten or retard the puniſhment of a man, who had ſcarce a partizan in the nation, except himſelf. But he had a ſtrong cauſe of diſlike to him for his late unpropitious alliance; and [398] a new motive was ſoon added for encreaſing his diſpleaſure. He had fixed his affection on Catharine Howard, niece to the duke of Nor⯑folk; and the only method of gratifying this new paſſion was, as in former caſes, diſcard⯑ing the preſent queen to make a room for a new one. The duke of Norfolk had long been Cromwell's mortal enemy, and eagerly embraced this opportunity to deſtroy a man he conſidered as his rival. He therefore made uſe of all his niece's arts to ruin the favourite; and when his project was ripe for execution, he obtained a commiſſion from the king to arreſt Cromwell for high treaſon. His diſ⯑grace was no ſooner known, then all his friends forſook him, except Cranmer, who wrote ſuch a letter to Henry in his behalf, as no other man in the kingdom would have preſumed to offer. However, he was accuſed in parlia⯑ment of hereſy and treaſon; and without being ever heard in his own defence, condemned to ſuffer the pains of death, as the king ſhould think proper to direct. Cromwell's fortitude ſeemed to forſake him in this dreadful exigen⯑cy. He wrote to the king for pardon; ſaid, that the frail fleſh incited him continually to apply to his grace for mercy, and ſubſcribed his epiſtle with a heavy heart, and a trembling [399] hand, ‘"from the king's moſt miſerable priſoner and poor ſlave at the Tower, Thomas Crom⯑well. Mercy, mercy, mercy."’

Cromwell's letter touched the hard heart of the monarch; he ordered it to be read to him three times; and then, as if willing to gain a victory over all his ſofter feelings, he ſigned the warrant for beheading him upon Tower-Hill. When he was brought to the ſcaffold, his regard for his ſon hindered him from ex⯑patiating upon his own innocence; he thanked God for bringing him to that death for his tranſgreſſions, confeſſed he had often been ſe⯑duced, but that he now died in the catholic faith. It was thus that Henry, not ſatis⯑fied with the death of thoſe whom he choſe to puniſh, repreſſed their complaints alſo; and terrified the unhappy ſufferers from the laſt conſolation of the wretched, the ſatisfaction of upbraiding their perſecutors. In this man⯑ner, the unhappy ſufferer having ſpent ſome time in his private devotions, ſubmitted his neck to the executioner, who mangled him in a moſt terrible manner. A few days after his death, a number of people were execut⯑ed together upon very different accuſations. Some for having denied the king's ſupremacy, and others for having maintained the doctrines of Luther.

[400]About a month after the death of Cromwell, the king declared his marriage with Catharine Howard, whom he had ſome time before pri⯑vately eſpouſed. This was regarded as a very favourable incident by the catholic party; and the ſubſequent events for a while turned out to their wiſh. The king's councils being now entirely directed by Norfolk and Gardiner, a furious perſecution commenced againſt the proteſtants; and the law of the ſix articles was executed with rigour; ſo that a foreigner, who was then reſiding in England, had reaſon to ſay, that thoſe who were againſt the pope were burned, and thoſe who were for him were hanged. The king, with an oſtentatious im⯑partiality, reduced both parties to an equal ſhare of ſubordination, and infuſed terror into every breaſt.

But the meaſure of his ſeverities was not yet filled up. He had thought himſelf very happy in his new marriage. He was ſo cap⯑tivated with the queen's accompliſhments, that he gave public thanks for his felicity, and de⯑ſired his confeſſor to join with him in the ſame thankſgiving. This joy, however, was of very ſhort duration. While the king was at York, upon an intended conference with the king of Scotland, a man of the name of Laſ⯑ſels [401] had waited upon Cranmer at London; and from the information of this man's ſiſter, who had been ſervant to the dutcheſs-dowager of Norfolk, he gave a very ſurprizing account of the queen's incontinence. He averred that ſhe led a very lewd life before her mar⯑riage, and had carried on a ſcandalous corre⯑ſpondence with two men, called Derham and Mannock; and that ſhe continued to indulge herſelf in the ſame criminal pleaſures ſince ſhe had been raiſed to her preſent greatneſs. Cran⯑mer was equally ſurprized and embarraſſed at this intelligence, which he communicated to the chancellor, and ſome other members of the privy-council, who adviſed him to make the king acquainted with the whole affair on his return to London. The archbiſhop knew the hazards he ran by intermedling in ſuch delicate points; but he alſo knew the dangers he incurred by ſuppreſſing his information. He therefore reſolved to communicate what he had heard to writing, in the form of a me⯑morial; and this he ſhortly after delivered into the king's own hand, deſiring his majeſty to read it in private. Henry at firſt diſbelieved, or pretended to diſbelieve, the report; he or⯑dered the keeper of the privy-ſeal to examine Laſcelles, who perſiſted in his former narra⯑tive; [402] and even produced his ſiſter to confirm his account. Upon this, Derham and Man⯑nock were arreſted, and they quickly confeſſed their own guilt, and the queen's incontinency. They went ſtill farther, by impeaching the old lady Rochford, who had formerly been ſo inſtrumental in procuring the death of Anne Bullen. They alledged that this lady had in⯑troduced one Culpepper into the queen's bed-chamber, who ſtayed with her from eleven at night till four in the morning. When the queen was firſt examined relative to her crime, ſhe denied the charge; but afterwards finding that her accomplices were her accuſers, ſhe confeſſed her incontinence before marriage, but denied her having diſhonoured the king's bed ſince their union. But three maids of ho⯑nour, who were admitted to her ſecrets, ſtill fur⯑ther alledged her guilt; and ſome of them con⯑feſſed having paſt the night in the ſame bed with her and her lovers. The king was ſo affected at this diſcovery that he burſt into a flood of tears, and bitterly lamented his misfortune. Derham, Mannock, and Culpepper, were con⯑victed and executed; but he was reſolved to throw the odium of the queen's death upon the parliament, who had always ſhewn them⯑ſelves the ready miniſters of all his ſeverities. [403] Theſe ſervile creatures, upon being informed of the queen's crime and confeſſion, found her quickly guilty, and petitioned the king that ſhe might be puniſhed with death; that the ſame penalty might be inflicted on the lady Rochford, the accomplice of her debauch⯑eries; and that her grand-mother, the dutcheſs dowager of Norfolk, together with her father, mother, and nine others, men and women, as having been privy to the queen's irregulari⯑ties, ſhould participate in her puniſhment. With this petition the king was moſt gra⯑ciouſly pleaſed to agree; they were condemn⯑ed to death by an act of attainder, which, at the ſame time, made it capital for all per⯑ſons to conceal their knowlege of the de⯑baucheries of any future queen. It was alſo enacted, that if the king married any wo⯑man who had been incontinent, taking her for a true maid, ſhe ſhould be guilty of trea⯑ſon, in caſe ſhe did not previouſly reveal her guilt. The people made merry with this abſurd and brutal ſtatute; and it was ſaid, that the king muſt henceforth look out for a widow. After all theſe laws were paſſed, in which the moſt wonderful circumſtance is, that a body of men could ever be induced to give their conſent, the queen was be⯑headed [404] on Tower Hill, together with the lady Rochford, who found no great degree of com⯑paſſion, as ſhe had herſelf before tampered in blood. The queen was more pitied, as ſhe owned that ſhe had led a diſſolute life before marriage; but denied in her laſt moments, and with the utmoſt ſolemnity, that ſhe had ever been untrue ſince her marriage with the king. The public exclaimed ſo loudly againſt the ſeverity of the act, which brought in ſo many accomplices of her guilt, that the king did not think proper to execute ſentence upon them, though ſome of them were long de⯑tained in confinement.

Henry having thus, by various acts of ty⯑ranny, ſhewn that he was abandoned to all ideas of juſtice, morals, or humanity, at laſt took it into his head to compoſe a book of religion, which was to be the code by which his ſubjects ſhould for the future regulate all their belief and actions. Having procured an act of parliament for this purpoſe, in which all ſpiritual ſupremacy was declared to be veſted in him,A.D. 1541 he publiſhed a ſmall volume ſoon after, called the Inſtitution of a Chriſtian Man, which was received by the convocation, and voted to be the infallible ſtandard of or⯑thodoxy. All the abſtruſe points of juſtifica⯑tion, [405] faith, free-will, good works, and grace, are there defined with a leaning towards the opinion of the reformers; while the ſacraments, which a few years before were only allowed to be three, are there encreaſed to their original number of ſeven, conformable to the ſentiments of the catholics. But the king was not long ſatis⯑fied with this code of belief; for he ſoon after procured a new book to be compoſed, call⯑ed The Erudition of a Chriſtian Man, which he publiſhed upon his own authority; and though this new creed differed a good deal from the former, yet he was no leſs poſitive in requiring aſſent to this, than he had been to the former. In both theſe books he was very ex⯑plicit in enforcing the doctrine of paſſive obe⯑dience; ſo that his inſtitutions were not likely to weaken what he ſo powerfully enforced by his ſeverities.

But his authority in religion was not more uncontrolled than in temporal concerns. An alderman, one Read, who had refuſed to aſſiſt him with a benevolence, was preſſed as a pri⯑vate centinel, and ſent to ſerve in an army which was levied againſt an incurſion of the Scotch. In this manner, all who oppoſed his will were either preſſed or impriſoned, happy if they eſcaped with ſuch ſlight puniſhments. His [406] parliament made a law, by which the king's proclamations were to have the ſame force as ſtatutes; and to facilitate the execution of this act, by which all ſhadow of liberty was totally removed, they appointed that any nine of the privy council ſhould form a legal court for puniſhing all diſobedience to all proclama⯑tions. Thus the king was empowered to iſſue a proclamation to deſtroy the lives, or take away the properties, of any of his ſubjects; and the only redreſs was to himſelf in council.

In about a year after the death of the laſt queen,A.D. 1543 Henry once more changed his condi⯑tion, by marrying his ſixth and laſt wife, Ca⯑tharine Parr, who, according to the ridiculous ſuggeſtions of the people, was, in fact, a widow. She was the wife of the late lord Latimer; and was conſidered as a woman of diſcretion and virtue. She was already paſſed the meridian of life, and managed this capri⯑cious tyrant's temper with prudence and ſuc⯑ceſs. His amiable days had long been over; he was almoſt choaked with fat, and had contracted a moroſe air, very far from inſpir⯑ing affection. Nevertheleſs, this woman, ſa⯑crificing her appetites to her ambition, ſo far prevailed in gaining his confidence, that ſhe was appointed regent of the kingdom during [407] his abſence in France, whither he paſſed over at the head of thirty thouſand men, to pro⯑ſecute a war which had been declared be⯑tween him and the French king. He there behaved, as in all his former undertakings, with ineffectual oſtentation. Inſtead of march⯑ing into the heart of the country, he ſat down before Boulogne, which was obliged to capi⯑tulate; and his ally, the emperor, making a ſeparate peace, Henry was obliged to return with his army into England, where he found his ſubjects ready to offer him their accuſtom⯑ed adulation, and to praiſe him for an enter⯑prize in which, at an infinite charge, he had made an acquiſition that was of no manner of benefit.

But of all his ſubjects none ſeemed more abandoned and baſely ſervile than the par⯑liament, which it might have been reaſonably ſuppoſed would rather be the protectors of the people, than the ſlaves of the crown. Upon his return from his expenſive French expedi⯑tion, after profeſſions of the greateſt ſubmiſ⯑ſion and profound acknowledgement, they granted him a ſubſidy equal to his demands, and added to it a gift, which will make their me⯑mory odious to the moſt diſtant poſterity. By one vote they beſtowed upon him all the revenues [408] of the two univerſities, as well as of ſome other places of education and public worſhip. But rapacious as this monarch was, he refrain⯑ed from deſpoiling theſe venerable ſeminaries of their ancient endowments; however they ow⯑ed their ſafety to his lenity, and not to the pro⯑tection of this baſe and degenerate parliament.

Nor was he leſs juſt upon another occaſion with regard to the ſuggeſtions of his council, who had long conceived an hatred againſt Cranmer, and laboured to deſtroy him. This juſt and moderate man had all along owed his ſafety to his integrity; and ſcorning intrigue himſelf, was therefore the leſs liable to be cir⯑cumvented by the intrigues of others. The catholic party had long repreſented to the king that Cranmer was the ſecret cauſe of moſt of the diviſions which tore the nation, as his example and ſupport were the chief props of hereſy. Henry ſeeing the point to which they tended, and deſirous of knowing how far they would carry their intrigues, feigned a compliance with their wiſhes, and ordered the council to make enquiry in⯑to the primate's conduct and crimes. All the world therefore concluded that his diſ⯑grace was certain, and his death inevitable. His old friends who, from mercenary motives, [409] had been attached to him, now began to treat him with mortifying neglect; he was obliged to ſtand ſeveral hours among the ſervants at the door of the council-chamber before they deigned to admit him; and he made his ap⯑pearance among them only to be informed that they had determined to ſend him to the Tower. But Cranmer was not to be intimi⯑dated by their menaces; he appealed to the king; and when that was denied him, he pro⯑duced a ring, which Henry had given him to make uſe of upon that emergency. The council was confounded; and ſtill more ſo, when, in the preſence of the king, they found themſelves ſeverely reproved, and Cran⯑mer taken into more than former favour. Henry obliged them all to embrace as a ſign of their reconciliation; and Cranmer, from his gentle nature, rendered this reconciliation more ſincere on his part than is uſual in ſuch forced compliances.

Still, however, the king's ſeverity to the reſt of his ſubjects continued as fierce as ever. For ſome time he had been imcommoded by an ulcer in his leg; the pain of which, added to his corpulence, and other infirmities, encreaſ⯑ed his natural iraſcibility to ſuch a degree, that ſcarce any, of even his domeſtics, approached [410] him without terror. It was not to be expected, therefore, that any who differed from him in opinion, ſhould, at this time particularly, hope for pardon. Among the many whoſe unme⯑rited ſufferings excite our pity and indignation, the fate of Anne Aſkew deſerves to be parti⯑cularly remembered. This lady was a woman of merit as well as beauty, and connected with many of the principal ladies at court. It is ſaid that ſhe kept up a ſecret correſpondence with the queen herſelf, who ſecretly favoured the reformation; and this correſpondence only ſerved to haſten this poor woman's ruin, the chancellor being known to be her enemy. However this be, ſhe happened to differ from the eſtabliſhed code of belief, particularly in the article of the real preſence; and, notwith⯑ſtanding the weakneſs of her ſex and age, ſhe was thrown into priſon, and accuſed of hereſy. In this ſituation, with courage far beyond what might be expected, ſhe employed her time in compoſing prayers and diſcourſes, and vindicating the truth of her opinions. The chancellor, who was much attached to the ca⯑tholic party, was ſent to examine her with re⯑gard to her abettors at court; but ſhe main⯑tained the utmoſt ſecrecy, and would accuſe none. In conſequence of this contumacy, as [411] it was called, the poor young lady was put to the torture; but ſhe ſtill continued reſolute, and her ſilence teſtified her contempt of their petty cruelties. The chancellor, therefore, became outrageous, and ordered the lieu⯑tenant of the Tower, who executed this pu⯑niſhment, to ſtretch the rack ſtill harder; which he refuſing to do, and, though menaced, ſtill perſiſting in a refuſal, the chancellor himſelf, intoxicated with religious zeal, graſped the cords himſelf, and drew it ſo violently, that the woman's body was almoſt torn aſunder. But her conſtancy was greater than the barbari⯑ty of her perſecutors; ſo that, finding no o⯑ther method to ſubdue her, ſhe was condemned to be burned alive. She received this ſentence with a tranſport of joy, and as a releaſe from a ſtate of the greateſt pain to the greateſt fe⯑licity. As all her joints had been diſlocated by the rack, ſo that ſhe could not ſtand, ſhe was carried to the place of execution in a chair. Together with her, were brought Nicholas Be⯑lenian a prieſt, John Laſſals of the king's houſ⯑hold, and John Adams a taylor, who had all been condemned for the ſame crime. They were tied to the ſtake; and in that dreadful ſi⯑tuation informed, that upon recanting, they ſhould be granted their lives. But they re⯑fuſed [412] a life that was to be gained by ſuch proſtitution; and they ſaw, with tranquility, the executioner kindle the flames which con⯑ſumed them.

From this indiſcriminate ſeverity the queen was not herſelf entirely ſecure. She had for ſome time attended the king in his indiſpoſi⯑tion, and endeavoured to ſooth him by her arts and aſſiduity. His favourite topic of con⯑verſation was theology, and Catharine, who was tinctured with the ſpirit of the times, would now and then enter into a debate with him, upon many ſpeculative tenets, that were then in agitation between the Catholics and Luthe⯑rans. Henry, highly provoked that ſhe ſhould preſume to differ from him, made complaints of her obſtinacy to Gardiner, who gladly laid hold of the opportunity to enflame the quarrel. Even articles of impeachment were drawn up againſt her, which were brought to the king by the chancellor to be ſigned; but in return⯑ing home, he happened to drop the paper. It was very lucky for the queen, that the perſon who found it was in her intereſts; it was immediately carried to her, and the contents ſoon made her ſenſible of the danger to which ſhe was expoſed. In this exigence, ſhe was reſolved to work upon the king; and paying him her cuſtomary viſit, he [413] led her, as uſual, to the ſubject of theology, which at firſt ſhe ſeemed to decline, but in which ſhe afterwards engaged, as if merely to gratify his inclinations. In the courſe of her conver⯑ſation, however, ſhe gave him to know, that her whole aim in talking, was to receive his inſtructions, and not to controvert them; that it was not for her to ſet her opinions in oppo⯑ſition to thoſe that ſerved to direct the nation; but ſhe alledged, ſhe could not help trying every art that could induce the king to exert that eloquence which ſerved, for the time, to mitigate his bodily pain. Henry ſeemed charm⯑ed at this diſcovery; ‘"And is it ſo, ſweet heart, cried he, then we are perfect friends again."’ Juſt after this reconciliation, the chancellor made his appearance, with a party of forty purſuivants at his heels, prepared to take the queen into cuſtody. But the king advan⯑ced to meet him; and ſeemed to expoſtulate with him in the ſevereſt terms. The queen could overhear the terms, knave, fool, and beaſt, which he very liberally beſtowed upon that ma⯑giſtrate; and his being ordered to depart. When he was gone, ſhe interpoſed in his de⯑fence; but the king could not help ſaying, ‘"Poor ſoul, you know not how little entitled this man is to your good offices."’ From thence⯑forth [414] the queen was careful not to offend Hen⯑ry's humour by contradiction; ſhe was con⯑tented to ſuffer the divines to diſpute, and the executioner to deſtroy. The fires accordingly were kindled againſt the heretics of both ſides as uſual, during which dreadful exhibitions, the king would frequently aſſemble the houſes of parliament, and harangue them with florid orations, in which he would aver, that never prince had a greater affection for his people; nor ever people had a greater affection for their king. In every pauſe of theſe extraor⯑dinary orations, ſome of his creatures, near his perſon, would begin to applaud; and this was followed by loud acclamations, from all the reſt of the audience.

But though his health was declining apace, yet his implacable cruelties were not the leſs frequent. His reſentments were diffuſed in⯑diſcriminately to all; at one time a proteſtant, and at another a catholic, were the objects of his ſeverity. The duke of Norfolk and his ſon, the earl of Surry, were the laſt that felt the injuſtice of the tyrant's groundleſs ſuſpi⯑cions. The duke was a nobleman who had ſerved the king with talents and fidelity; his ſon was a young man of the moſt promiſing hopes, who excelled in every accompliſhment that became [415] a ſcholar, a courtier, and a ſoldier. He ex⯑celled in all the military exerciſes, which were then in requeſt; he encouraged the fine arts by his practice and example; and it is remark⯑able, that he was the firſt who brought our language, in his poetical pieces, to any degree of refinement. He celebrated the fair Geral⯑dina in all his ſonnets, and maintained her ſu⯑perior beauty in all places of public conten⯑tion. Theſe qualifications, however, were no ſafeguard to him againſt Henry's ſuſpicions; he had dropt ſome expreſſions of reſentment againſt the king's miniſters, upon being diſ⯑placed from the government of Boulogne; and the whole family was become obnoxious from the late incontinency of Catharine Howard, the queen who was executed. From theſe mo⯑tives, therefore, private orders were given to arreſt the father and ſon; and accordingly they were arreſted both on the ſame day, and con⯑fined to the Tower. Surry being a commoner, his trial was the more expeditious; and as to proofs, there were many informers baſe enough to betray the intimacies of private confidence, and all the connections of blood. The dutcheſs dowager of Richmond, Surry's own ſiſter, enliſted herſelf among the number of his ac⯑cuſers; and Sir Richard Southwell alſo, his [416] moſt intimate friend, charged him with infidelity to the king. It would ſeem, that at this dreary period, there was neither faith, nor honour to be found in all the nation; Surry denied the charge, and challenged his accuſer to ſingle combat. This favour was refuſed him; and it was alledged, that he had quartered the arms of Edward the Confeſſor on his eſcut⯑cheon, which alone was ſufficient to convict him of aſpiring to the crown. To this he could make no reply; and indeed any anſwer would have been needleſs, for neither parliaments nor juries, during this reign, ſeem to be guided by any other proofs, but the will of the crown. This young nobleman was, therefore, con⯑demned for high treaſon, notwithſtanding his eloquent and ſpirited defence; and the ſen⯑tence was ſoon after executed upon him on Tower-Hill. In the mean time the duke en⯑deavoured to mollify the king by letters and ſubmiſſions; but the monſter's hard heart was rarely ſubject to tender impreſſions. The parlia⯑ment,A.D. 1546 meeting on the fourteenth day of January, a bill of attainder was found againſt the duke of Norfolk; as it was thought he could not ſo eaſily have been convicted on a fair hearing by his peers. The only crime that his accuſers could allege againſt him was, that he had once ſaid, [417] that the king was ſickly, and could not hold out long; and the kingdom was likely to be torn between the contending parties of differ⯑ent perſuaſions. Cranmer, though engaged for many years in an oppoſite party to Norfolk, and though he had received many and great injuries from him, would have no hand in ſo unjuſt a proſecution; but retired to his ſeat at Croydon. However, the death warrant was made out, and immediately ſent to the lieute⯑nant of the Tower. The duke prepared for death, the following morning was to be his laſt; but an event of greater conſequence to the kingdom intervened, and prevented his exe⯑cution.

The king had been for ſome time approach⯑ing faſt towards his end; and for ſeveral days all thoſe about his perſon plainly ſaw that his ſpeedy death was inevitable, The diſorder in his leg was now grown extremely painful; and this, added to his monſtrous corpulency, which rendered him unable to ſtir, made him more furious than a chained lion. He had been ever ſtern and ſevere; he was now outrageous. In this ſtate he hid continued for near four years before his death, the terror of all, and the tormentor of himſelf; his courtiers having no inclination to make an enemy of him, as [418] they were more ardently employed in conſpir⯑ing the death of each other. In this manner, therefore, he was ſuffered to ſtruggle, without any of his domeſtics having the courage to warn him of his approaching end, as more than once during this reign, perſons had been put to death for foretelling the death of the king. At laſt, Sir Anthony Denny had the courage to diſcloſe to him this dreadful ſecret; and, contrary to his uſual cuſtom, he received the tidings with an expreſſion of reſignation. His anguiſh and remorſe was at this time greater than can be expreſſed; he deſired that Cran⯑mer might be ſent for; but before that prelate could arrive, he was ſpeechleſs. Cranmer de⯑ſired him to give ſome ſign of his dying in the faith of Chriſt, he ſqueezed his hand, and immediately expired, after a reign of thirty-ſeven years, and nine months, in the fifty-ſixth year of his age.A.D. 1547 Some kings have been ty⯑rants from contradiction and revolt; ſome from being miſled by favourites, and ſome from a ſpirit of party. But Henry was cruel from a depraved diſpoſition alone; cruel in government, cruel in religion, and cruel in his family. Our divines have taken ſome pains to vindicate the character of this brutal prince, as if his conduct, and our reformation [419] had any connexion with each other. There is nothing ſo abſurd as to defend the one by the other; the moſt noble deſigns are brought a⯑bout by the moſt vicious inſtruments; for we ſee even that cruelty and injuſtice were thought neceſſary to be employed in our holy redemption.

With regard to foreign ſtates, Henry made ſome expeditions into France, which were at⯑tended with vaſt expence to the nation, and brought them no kind of advantage. How⯑ever, he all along maintained an intercourſe of friendſhip with Francis, which appeared diſintereſted and ſincere. Againſt the Scotch he was rather more ſucceſsful; his gene⯑rals having worſted their incurſive armies on ſeveral occaſions. They particularly gained a ſignal advantage, beſide that already related of Floden field, at a place near Pinkey-Houſe, in which near ten thouſand Scots were ſlain. But that which gave England the greateſt aſcendency over that nation, was the ſpirit of concord which ſoon after ſeemed to prevail be⯑tween the two kingdoms; and that ſeemed to pave the way for their being in time united under the ſame ſovereign. There were ten parliaments ſummoned in this reign, and twenty-three ſeſſions held; but the whole time [420] in which theſe parliaments ſat, during this long reign, did not exceed three years and an half. The foreign commerce of England, during this age, was moſtly confined to the Netherlands. The merchants of the Low-Countries bought the Engliſh commodities, and diſtributed them into the other parts of Europe. Theſe commodities, however, were generally little more than the natural produc⯑tions of the country, without any manufac⯑tures; for it muſt be obſerved at this time that foreign artificers much ſurpaſſed the Eng⯑liſh in dexterity, induſtry, and frugality; and it is ſaid that at one time not leſs than fifteen thouſand artizans of the Flemiſh nation alone were ſettled in London.