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as the court should determine. As the people were at that time chiefly composed of those who followed the opinions of Luther, 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 prosecution, which soon after produced 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 Boleyn, his queen, had been always a favourer of the reformation, and consequently had many enemies 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 quitepalled by satiety; as the only desire he ever had for her arose from that brutal appetite, which enjoyment soon destroys, he was now fallen in love, if we may so prostitute the expression with another, and languished for the possession of Jane Seymour, who had for some time been maid of honour to the queen.

A. D. 1536.

As soon as the queen's enemies perceived the king's disgust, they soon resolved on taking the first opportunity of gratifying his inclination to get rid of her, by producing crimes against her, which his passions would quickly make real. The countess of Rochford in particular, who was married to the queen's brother, herself a woman of infamous character, began with the most cruel insinuations 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 insinuation, represented all the harmless levities of the queen, as favours of a criminal nature. The king's jealousy first appeared open

ly in a tilting 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 aparment. Anne smiled

at first, thinking the king was in jest; but when she found it was a very 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 remiss in inflaming the accusation against her. The duke of Norfolk, from his attachment to the old religion, took care to produce several witnesses accusingher 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 bedchamber, together with Mark Smeton, a musician. As these had served her with much assiduity, their respect might have been construed by suspision into more tender attachments. The next day the queen was sent to the Tower, earnestly protesting her innocence, and sending up prayers to heaven for assistance in this extremity. She in vain begged to be admited into the presence of the king the lady Boleyn, 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 incoherent 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 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 affection, 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 boldness to tell her, that a look sufficed him.

Every person at court now abandoned the unhappy queen in her distress, except Cranmer, who, tho' 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 12th day of May, Norris, Weston, Brereton, and Smeton, were tried in Westminster-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 professing her innocence, and his

own.

In the mean time, the queen, who saw the terrible appearance of her fortunes, endeavoured to soften the king by every endeavour to save 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 refinement she had carried the language even then. It is as follows:

"Sir,

"Your grace's displeasure, and my imprisonment, are things so strange to me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether igno rant. Whereas you send unto me, (willing me to confess a truth, and so obtain your favour,) by such an one, whom you know to be mine ancient professed enemy. I no sooner received this message by him, than I rightly conceived your meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed may procure my safety, I shall with all willingness and duty perform your command.

"But let not your grace ever imagine that your poor wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a fault, where not so much as a thought thereof preceded. And to speak a truth, never prince had wife more loyal in all duty, and in all true affection, than you have ever found in Anne Boleyn: With which name and place I could willingly have contented myself, if God and your grace's pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did

at any time so far forget myself in my exaltation. or received queenship, but that I always looked for such an alteration as I now find; for the ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation than your grace's fancy, the least alteration I knew was fit and sufficient to draw that fancy to some other object. You have chosen me from a low estate to be your queen and companion, far beyond my desert or desire. If then you have found me worthy of such honour, good your grace let not any light fancy, or bad counsel of mine enemies, withdraw your princely favour from me; neither let that stain, that unworthy stain of a disloyal heart towards your good grace, ever cast so foul a blot on your most dutiful wife, and the in

fant princess your daughter. Try me, good king, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers and judges; yea, let me receive an open trial, for my truth shall fear no open shame; then shall you see either mine innocence cleared, your suspicion and conscience satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, your grace may be freed from an open censure;

and

mine offence being so lawfully proved, your grace is at liberty both before God and man, not only to execute worthy punishment on me, as an unlawful wife, but to follow your affection already settled on that party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose name I could some good while since have pointed unto your grace, not being ignorant of my suspicion therein.

"But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my death, but an infamous slander must bring you the enjoying your desired happiness, then I desire of God that he will pardon your great sin therein, and likewise mine enemies, the instruments thereof; and that he will not call you to a 'strict account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at his general judgment seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear, and in whose judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the world may think of me) mine innocence shall be openly known and sufficiently cleared.

"My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear the burden of your grace's displeasure; and that it may not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen, who, (as I understand) are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found favour in your sight, if ever the name of Anne Boleyn, hath been pleas. ing in your ears, then let me obtain this request

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