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doubt; but his hair was not grey, for I have seen it, by the favour of Sir Henry Halford, as cut from the head, after the late disinterment at Windsor. It was of the most beautiful brown, without a single grey hair. In the Isle of Wight, the faithful and affectionate Morley parted with bim for ever in this world.
One of the most affecting passages, and therefore seldom taken notice of by professed historians, relating to the sorrows of Charles the First, is set before us by an eye-witness, Sir Philip Warwick.
“At the Treaty, he was permitted to have the Duke of Richmond, Marquis of Hartford, Earls of Southampton and Lindsay, Juxon Bishop of London, Duppa of Salisbury, Sanders, Henchman, and MorLEY, &c. The King's Lords and Gentlemen only stood about his chair, but were not to speak a word IN HIS ASSISTANCE, while he singly disputed with all the before-mentioned able men (Pembroke, Salisbury, Vane the younger, Say, Hollis, &c.) If at any time the King found himself at need to ask a question, or that any of his Lords thought fit to advise him, in his ear, to hesitate before he answered, he himself would retire into his own chamber, or one of his penmen prayed him, from the Lords, to do so; but more liberty than this his attendants were not allowed !” * If ever there was a picture of the most refined cruelty, it is this !
The crafty Covenanters, as cold as crafty, and as despiteful as cold, were prepared with every entan
* Warwick's Memoirs,
gling question; and he, singly, before the whole assembly, was required to answer.” Warwick proceeds:
“I remember on one day he over did himself” (it was indeed the most momentous question as affecting himself): “it was upon the great Article, whether he or the Parliament began the war? and, in effect, at whose door the blood should lie? The King retiring to his chamber, I took the confidence to step to my Lord of Northumberland, and say to him, “My good Lord, remember how gracious this good Prince hath been to you compassionate his distresses, and the strait he is now in!' He civilly, but positively, replied — “Sir, it is impossible for me to do any thing; for the King in this point is safe,* as a King, but we cannot be so.'
“ Two replies which the King made to two gentlemen that day were observable; the one to a gentleman, now a Lord, who pressed hardly upon him : “A good nature, Sir, (said he,) would not offer what you say; nor is it true logic !””
Thus was he baited, arguing singly before this array of cold, astute enemies, amid silent, compassionate friends — arguing, mildly, courteously, majestically, yet most acutely- for LIFE OR DEATH!
The honest relator proceeds in the following most affecting detail :
“I never saw him shed tears but once, and he turned presently his head away, for he was then
* How safe he was events proved.
dictating to me somewhat in a window, and he was loth to be discerned; and the Lords and Gentlemen were then in the room, and his back was towards them ; but I can hereof take my oath, that they were the biggest drops that I ever saw fall from an eye, but he recollected himself, and soon stifled them !"*
In the account of the burial of the King in Windsor Chapel by Sir Thomas Herbert, the spot where the body was laid is described minutely, opposite the eleventh stall. The whole account is singularly impressive; but it is extraordinary it should ever have been supposed that the place of interment was unknown, when this description existed. At the late accidental disinterment, some of his hair was cut off. Soon after, the following lines were written, which I now set before the reader for the first time.
ON THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST,
AT NIGHT, IN ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSOR.+
The Castle-clock had tolld midnight,
With mattock and with spade,
His corse in earth we laid.
* Cromwell, who had the gift of prayer and crying at will, called the broken-hearted King "a dissembler!”
+ As this composition might appear, in some turns of expression, to resemble a celebrated military funeral dirge (the death of Sir John Moore), I can only say, it was written soon VOL. I.
The coffin bore his name, that those
Of other years might know,
Whose bones were laid below.
“Peace TO THE DEAD” no children sung,
Slow pacing up the nave;
As deep we dug his grave.
We only heard the winter's wind,
In many a sullen gust,
We murmur'd, “ Dust to dust!"
A moon-beam, from the arches' height,
Stream'd, as we plac'd the stone;
And all the windows shone.
We thought we saw the banners then,
That shook along the walls,
Were gazing from the stalls.
after the account of the late disinterment of Charles. The metre and phrase is the same as some lines published twenty years ago :
“O'er my poor Anna's lonely grave
“Spirit of Discovery."
"Tis gone! again, on tombs defac'd,*
Sits darkness more profound,
Our shadows on the ground.
And now the chilly, freezing air,
Without, blew long and loud;
Where He - slept in his shroud.
We laid the broken marble floor
No name, no trace appears
We thought of him with tears.
After the melancholy completion of the drama, and the burial of his kind master, Morley resolved to leave England, but waited, as we have said, to take his earthly farewell of a noble friend, brought to the scaffold in the same cause.
This was the brave, and loyal, and virtuous, and intrepid Lord Capel. Whitelock, speaking of his noble demeanour at this awful hour, says, appeared on the scaffold, without any clergyman! Yes. Being insulted by the inspired soldiery, his dying friend, to secure him from this brutality, took his last leave of him at the foot of the scaf. fold. This generous nobleman's conduct, at that trying hour, evinced from whom he had learnt the
* Every thing in the Chapel now defaced.