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the business would not have ended in Perkin's person.

When she was brought te

the king, it was commonly said, that the king received her not only with compassion, but with affection; pity giving more impression to her excellent beauty. Wherefore comforting her, to serve as well his eye as his fame, he sent her to his queen to remain with her; giving her very honourable allowance for the support of her estate, which she enjoyed both during the king's life and many years after. The name of the white rose, which had been given to her husband's false title, was continued in common speech to her true beauty.

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The king did also, while he was at Exeter, appoint the lord Darcy, and others, commissioners, for the fining of all such as were of any value, or had any hand or partaking in the aid or comfort of Perkin, or the Cornish men, either in the field or in the flight.

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These commissioners proceeded with such strictness and severity, as did much obscure the king's mercy in sparing of blood, with the bleeding of so mnch treasure. Perkin was brought unto the king's court, but not to the king's presence; though the king, to satisfy his curiosity, saw him sometimes out of a window, or in passage. He was in shew at liberty, but guarded with all care and watch that was possible, and willed to follow the king to London. But from his first appearance upon the stage, in his new person of a sycophant, or juggler, instead of his former person of a prince, all men may think how he was exposed to the derision not only of the courtiers, but also of the common people, who flocked about him as he went along that one might know afar off where the owl was by the flight of birds; some mocking, some wondering, some cursing, some prying and picking matter out of his countenance and gesture to talk of: so that the false honour and respects, which he had so long enjoyed, was plentifully repaid in scorn and contempt. As soon as he was comǝ to London, the king gave also the city the solace of this Maygame; for ue was conveyed leisurely on horseback, but not in any ignominious fashion, through Cheapside and Cornhill, to the Tower, and from thence back again unto Westminster, with the churm of a thousand taunts and reproaches. But to amend the show, there followed a little distance of Perkin, an inward counsellor of his, one that had been serjeant farrier to the king. This fellow, when Perkin took sanctuary, chose rather to take an holy habit than an holy place, and clad himself like an hermit, and in that weed wandered about the country, till he was discovered and taken. But this man was bound hand and foot upon the horse, and came not back with Perkin, but was left at the Tower, and within few days after executed. Soon after, now that Perkin could tell better what himself was, he was diligently examined; and after his confession taken, an extract was made of such parts of them as were thought fit to be divulged, which was printed and dispersed abroad; wherein the king did himself no right; for as there was a laboured tale of particulars, of Perkin's father and mother, and grandsire and grandmother, and uncles and cousins, by names and sirnames, and from what places he travelled up and down; so there was little or nothing to purpose of anything concerning his designs, or any practices that had been held with him; nor the duchess of Burgundy herself, that all the world did take knowledge of, as the person that had put life and being into the whole business, so much as named or pointed at. So that men missing of that they looked for, looked about for they knew not what, and were in more doubt than before; but the king chose rather not to satisfy, than to kindle coals..

It was not long but Perkin, who was made of quicksilver, which is hard to hold or imprison, began to stir. For deceiving his keepers, he took him to his heels, and made speed to the sea-coasts. But presently all corners were laid for him, and such diligent pursuit and search made, as he was fain to turn back, and get him to

the house of Bethlehem, called the priory of Sheen (which had the privilege of Sanctuary), and put himself into the hands of the prior of that monastery. The prior was thought an holy man, and much reverenced in those days. He came to the king, and besought the king for Perkin's life only, leaving him otherwise to the king's discretion. Many about the king were again more hot than ever, to have the king take him forth and hang him. But the king, that had an high stomach, and could not hate any that he despised, bid, "Take him forth, and set the knave in the stock ;" and so promising the prior his life, he caused him to be brought forth. And within two or three days after, upon a scaffold set up in the palace court at Westminster, he was fettered and set in the stocks for the whole day. And the next day after, the like was done by him at the cross in Cheapside, and in both places he read his confession, of which we made mention before; and was from Cheapside conveyed and laid up in the Tower.

But it was ordained, that this winding-ivy of a Plantagenet should kill the true tree itself. For Perkin, after he had been awhile in the Tower, began to insinuate himself into the favour and kindness of his keepers, servants to the lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Digby, being four in number; Strangeways, Blewet, Astwood, and Long Roger. These varlets, with mountains of promises, he sought to corrupt, to obtain his escape; but knowing well, that his own fortunes were made so contemptible, as he could feed no man's hopes, and by hopes he must work, for rewards he had none, he had contrived with himself a vast and tragical plot; which was, to draw into his company Edward Plantagenet, earl of Warwick, then prisoner in the Tower; whom the weary life of a long imprisonment, and the often and renewing fears of being put to death, had softened to take any impression of counsel for his liberty. This young prince he thought these servants would look upon, though not upon himself; and therefore, after that by some message by one or two of them, he had tasted of the earl's consent; it was agreed that these four should murder their master, the lieutenant, secretly, in the night, and make their best of such money and portable goods of his, as they should find ready at hand, and get the keys of the Tower, and presently let forth Perkin and the earl. But this conspiracy was revealed in time, before it could be executed. And in this again the opinion of the king's great wisdom did surcharge him with a sinister fame, that Perkin was but his bait, to entrap the earl of Warwick. And in the very instant while this conspiracy was in working, as if that also had been the king's industry, it was fatal, that there should break forth a counterfeit earl of Warwick, a cordwainer's son, whose name was Ralph Wilford; a young man taught and set on by an Augustin friar, called Patrick. They both from the parts of Suffolk came forwards into Kent, where they did not only privily and underhand give out that this Wilford was the true earl of Warwick, but also the friar, finding some light credence in the people, took the boldness in the pulpit to declare as much, and to incite the people to come in to his aid. Whereupon they were both presently apprehended, and the young fellow executed, and the friar condemned to perpetual imprisonment. This also happening so opportunely, to represent the danger to the king's estate from the earl of Warwick, and thereby to colour the king's severity that followed; together with the madness of the friar so vainly and desperately to divulge a treason, before it had gotten any manner of strength: and the saving of the friar's life, which nevertheless was, indeed, but the privileges of his order; and the pity in the common people, which if it run in a strong stream, doth ever cast up scandal and envy, made it generally rather talked than believed that all was but the king's device. But howsoever it were, hereupon Perkin, that had offended against grace now the third time, was at the last proceeded with, and 'by commissioners of oyer and determiner, arraigned at Westminster, upon divers

treasons committed and perpetrated after his coming on land, within this kingdom, for so the judges advised, for that he was a foreigner, and condemned, and a few days after executed at Tyburn; where he did again openly read his confession, and take it upon his death to be true. This was the end of this little cockatrice of a king, that was able to destroy those that did not espy him first. It was one of the longest plays of that kind that hath been in memory, and might perhaps have had another end, if he had not met with a king both wise, stout, and fortunate.

148.-THE TRAGEDY OF PERKIN WARBECK.

REV. JAMES WHITE.

[The story of Perkin Warbeck will always be interesting to the readers of English history from the mystery that hangs over the nature of his claims. Lord Bacon takes an unfavourable view of his pretensions, as may be expected from his character and the period in which he wrote. It would not have been safe in the reign of a Tudor to have maintained the legitimacy of the son of Edward the Fourth. Yet even through the hostile account of the courtiers of the powers that were, it is easy to perceive that the Pretender possessed great and estimable qualities. His expostulation with the Scottish James against the unnecessary severity of his treatment of the English peasantry, shows either his wise policy or his good heart. His being acknowledged by the Duchess of Burgundy, sister of Edward, his marriage with a lady of the blood royal of Scotland, his reception by many of the adherents of Henry, and his acquaintance with the personages and circumstances of the English court, are difficult to understand on the theory of his being a low and cunningly tutored impostor.

By some, his noble appearance and resemblance to the handsome Edward are accounted for by supposing him to have been a natural son of that dissolute king; but others, and especially Mr. Bailey in his interesting history of the Tower, have advanced very strong arguments in favour of his legitimacy, and the truth of the story of his escape. Mr. Bailey sees no convincing proof of the murder of the two princes from the discovery of the children's bones under a staircase in the Tower, and finds reasons for justifying or excusing the recantation of his claims, which Perkin Warbeck publicly made a short time before his execution. That Henry the Seventh cleared the way for the ill-omened marriage of his son Arthur with Catherine of Castille by the deaths of Edward Earl of Warwick and Perkin Warbeck is well known; and perhaps a confession wrung from a person at the point of death, deluded to the last with hopes of pardon, deserted by his supporters, and probably worked upon by the priests in alliance with the throne, is not much to be relied on as a proof of his imposture. It is even possible to suppose, that for a time he may have been persuaded of the falsehood of his claims, and brought to distrust the recollections of his childhood, which the lapse of so many years and such varied adventures must have rendered obscure and confused.]

SCENE I.

The outside of the Abbey of Beaulieu. The great gate closed.

Enter Henry, Urswick, Attendants, Guards.

Hen. So this is Beaulieu Sanctuary.-Set it here. [They place a chair.

I'll see the very opening of the door,

Now that old Marden's tale has tam 'd his pride,

How say you, deep Divines, that in our hearts

A natural instinct bids us spare our kin?

Why, here is our sweet cousin, this young York,—
This son of our sweet other cousin, cousin Edward,-
Brother of our sweet other cousin, our dear wife,
And yet we love him not.

Urs.

Your grace forgets

That a king's heart has higher claims, than love
To his own kindred.

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[Sits.

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But although I climb
Mountingly o'er the body of this youth,

A round is out of the ladder, and I stop
Mid way; so high, 'twere giddy to look down.
A round, I scarce conceive-
Dull, froward priest !

Urs. Hen.

What boots that Perkin fill a grave as deep

As the earth's centre, if survive that other,

That Warwick, son of malmsey-drinking Clarence,

Heir of the throne, if York were moved from his path?
Urswick, why all the labours I've gone through,
And this the happiest labour of them all,
Were but to lift the crown from Richard's head,
To place it upon Edward's; While our own,
Bent reverent and bare !—A game's half lost
When but half won. How say you?
He's a youth

Urs.

Tender and timid, the young Earl of Warwick.
And if this Richard-

Hen. Pause not for a name.

Urs. Who is of manlier thews, were safely sped,
That other might be moved to turn his mind
From earthly things, to scorn the pomp and toys
Of this vain world, and don the peaceful gown
Of our meek church.

Hen.

[He stops confused.

A priest? Nay, Heav'n forefend! Ambition may be quelled in a lay heart,

But when it fires a Churchman's,-never, never!

When will this Perkin forth?

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The clock strikes-the doors open-the procession begins.

I would not change this hour

Of vengeance on the hated Yorks, the foes

Of me and mine, for all that earth can give!

York and the Duchess advance from the gate.

Here comes the villain Edward's son. Thank heaven,

The fools are blind!

(Aloud)

Bring me this Warbeck forward !

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(Aloud.) You bargain well. Have you forgotten, Sir, Your head is ours already, yours and theirs.

York. I might have kept my sanctuary, Sir,

And wandered from this land untouched, unscathed,
Carrying where' er I went, for forty days,
The Church's holy helm upon my head.

I lift the Church's helm, my head is bare;
Take it, but spare these men.

Hen.

What are you, Sir?

We thought you were our royal cousin of York,

King Edward's son, true brother of our wife,

True prince, true king. What! Have you changed your note ? Are you our rightful Lord ?

York. I thought so, Sir.

Hen. But you confess you now?-Listen, my Lords,

Listen, good gentlemen, followers of this man.

Now Sir, say on. Are you of royal blood?

York. No.

Hen. Then who was your father?

York. Warbeck.

Hen. How dare you, Sir !-base, recreant, renegade, Traitor! How dare you come into our realm,

You, that confess,-that, now the game is lost

Tell your poor dupes-you 're but a cozening knave;

And now make bargain for your life.

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My life I give-as freely give it, Sir,

As Heaven gives light. These, my companions,

Are still within the safeguard of the shrine.

Hen. Are they? Ha! who's that woman? Bring her hither.

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Were he indeed what once he thought he was

Were he a king, with nations at his feet,

He'd have no higher name.

Hen. Psha! Sunder them.

Duch. Dear Warbeck! Oh! I love the name, since yours,

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