of his tormentors might hap to break his head, and worthily, for marring of the play. And so they said, that these matters be kings' games, as it were stage-plays, and for the more part played upon scaffolds; in which poor men be but the lookers-on, and they who wise be will meddle no farther. For they who sometimes step-up and play with them, when they cannot play their parts, they disorder the play and do themselves no good.

The next day, the protector, with a great train, went to Westminster-hall. And there, when he had placed himself in the court of the King's-bench, declared to the audience, that he would take upon him the crown in that place there, where the king himself sitteth and ministreth the law; because he considered that it was the chiefest duty of a king to minister the laws. Then, with as pleasant an oration as he could, he went about to win unto him, the nobles, the merchants, the artificers, and in conclusion, all kind of men; but specially the lawyers of this realm. And finally, to the intent that no man should hate him for fear, and that his deceitful clemency might get him the good-will of the people, when he had declared the discommodity of discord, and the commodities of concord and unity, he made an open proclamation, that he did put out of his mind all enmities, and that he there did openly pardon all offences committed against him. And to the intent that he might shew a proof thereof, he commanded that one Fogge, whom he had long deadly hated, should be brought then before him. Who being brought out of the sanctuary by, for

thither had he fled for fear of him, in the sight of the people, he took him by the hand. Which thing the common people rejoiced-at and praised, but wise men took it for a vanity. In his return homeward, whomsoever he met he saluted; for a mind that knoweth itself guilty, is in a manner dejected to a servile flattery.

When he had begun his reign the

day of June, af

ter this mockish election, then was he crowned the day of the same month. And that solemnity was furnished for the most part with the self same provision, that was appointed for the coronation of his nephew.

Now fell there mischiefs thick. And as the thing evil gotten is never well kept, through all the time of his reign never ceased there cruel death and slaughter, till his own destruction ended it. But, as he finished his time with the best death and the most righteous, that is, to-wit his own; so began he with the most piteous and wicked, I mean the lamentable murder of his innocent nephews, the young king and his tender brother. Whose death and final infor. tune hath nevertheless so far come in question, that some remain yet in doubt whether they were in his days destroyed or no. Not for that only, that Perkin Warbecke, by many folks' malice and more folks' folly, so long space abusing the world, was, as well with princes as the poorer people, reputed and taken for the younger of those two. But for that also, that all things were in late days so covertly demeaned, one thing pretended and another meant, that

there was nothing so plain and openly proved but that yet, for the common custom of close and covert dealing, men had it ever inwardly suspect; as, many well-counterfeited jewels make the true, mistrusted.

Howbeit concerning that opinion, with the occasions moving either party, we shall have place more at large to entreat, if we hereafter happen to write the time of the late noble prince of famous memory King Henry VII, or percase that history of Perkin in any compendious process by itself. But in the meantime for this present matter, I shall rehearse you the dolorous end of those babes; not after every way that I have heard, but after that way that I have so heard, by such men and by such means, as methinketh it were hard but it should be true.

King Richard, after his coronation, taking his way to Gloucester, to visit in his new honour the town of which he bare the name of his old, devised as he rode to fulfil that thing which he before had intended. And forasmuch as his mind gave him, that, his nephews living, men would not reckon that he could have right to the realm, he thought therefore without delay to rid them; as though the killing of his kinsmen could amend his cause, and make him a kindly king. Whereupon he sent one John Grene, whom he specially trusted, unto Sir Robert Brakenbery, constable of the Tower, with a letter and credence also, that the same Sir Robert should in anywise put the two children to death. This John Grene did his errand unto Brakenbery kneeling

before our Lady in the Tower; who plainly answered, that he would never put them to death, to die therefore. With which answer John Grene returning, recounted the same to King Richard at Warwick, yet on his way.

Wherewith he took such displeasure and thought, that the same night be said unto a secret page of his, ah! whom shall a man trust? Those that I have brought-up myself, those that I had weened would most surely serve me, even those fail me, and at my commandment will do nothing for me.

Sir, quoth his page, there lieth one on your pailet without, who I dare well say, to do your grace pleasure, the thing were right hard that he would refuse; meaning this by Sir James Tyrel, who was a man of right goodly personage, and, for nature's gifts, worthy to have served a much better prince; if he had well served God, and by grace obtained as much truth and good will as he had strength and wit. The man had an high heart and sore longed upward; not rising yet so fast as he had hoped, being hindered and kept-under by the means of Sir Richard Ratcliffe and Sir William Catesby; who longing for no more partners of the prince's favour, and namely not for him (whose pride they wist would bear no peer) kept him by secret drifts out of all secret trust. Which thing this page well had marked and known. Wherefore, this occasion offered, of very special friendship, he took his time to put him forward, and by suchwise do him good, that all the enemies he had except the devil could never have done him so much hurt.

For upon this page's words King Richard arose (for this communication had he sitting at the draught, a convenient carpet for such a council), and came-out into the pailet-chamber; on which he found in bed Sir James and Sir Thomas Tyrel, of person like and brethren of blood, but nothing of kin in conditions. Then said the king merrily to them, what sirs be ye in bed so soon? and calling-up Sir James, brake to him secretly his mind in this mischievous matter, in which he found him nothing strange. Wherefore on the morrow he sent him to Brakenbery with a letter, by which he was commanded to deliver Sir James all the keys of the Tower for one night, to the end he might there accomplish the king's pleasure in such thing as he had given him commandment. After which letter delivered and the keys received, Sir James appointed the night next ensuing to destroy them, devising before and preparing the means.

The prince, as soon as the protector left that name and took himself as king, had it shewed unto him that he should not reign but his uncle should have the crown. At which word the prince sore abashed, began to sigh and said, alas! I would my uncle would let me have my life yet though I lose my kingdom! Then he who told him the tale used him with good words, and put him in the best comfort he could. But forthwith were the prince and his brother both shut-up, and all others removed from them, only one called Black Will or William Slaughter excepted, set to serve them and see them sure. After which time, the prince never tied his