General Words

General Words is in English.

Arras

Arras. A tapestry or wall-hanging.

On 01 Apr 1495 Cecily "Rose of Raby" Neville Duchess York 1415-1495 (79) made her last will. It was proved 27 Aug 1495.

Source: A Selection From the Wills of Eminent Persons by Camden Society (Great Britain). Published 1838. Transcribed by John Gough Nichols and John Bruce.

IN the name of allmyghty God, the blessed Trinite, fader and son and the holigost, trusting in the meanes and mediacions of oure blessed Lady Moder, of oure most blessed Saviour Jh'u Crist, and by the intercession of holy Saint John Baptist, and all the saintes of heven: I, CECILLE, wife unto the right noble prince Richard late Duke of Yorke (83), fader unto the most cristen prince my Lord and son King Edward the iiij th (52), the first day of Aprill the yere of our Lord M.CCCC.lxxxxv. after the computacion of the Church of Englond, of hole mynde and body, loving therfore be it to Jh'u, make and ordeigne my testament in fourme and maner ensuyng.

Furst, I bequeath and surrendour my soule in to the mercifull handes of allmyghty God my maker, and in to protecion of the blessed yrgin our lady Saint Mary, and suffrage of Saint John Baptist, and of all other saintes of heven. Also my body to be buried beside the body of my moost entierly best beloved Lord and housbond, fader unto my said lorde and son, and in his tumbe within the collegiate church of Fodringhay, a if myn executours by the sufferaunce of the King (38) finde goode sufficient therto; and elles at the Kinges (38) pleasure. And I will that after my deceasse all my dettes sufficiently appering and proved be paid, thanking oure Lord at this tyme of making of this my testament to the knolege of my conscience I am not muche in dett; and if it happen, as I trust to God it shalnot, that there be not found sufficient money aswell to pay my dettes as to enture my body, than in advoiding such charges as myght growe for the same, the whiche God defende, I lymytte and assigne all such parcelles of plate as belongith to my chapell, pantry, cellour, ewry, and squillery, to the perfourmyng of the same, as apperith in the inventary, except such plate as I have bequeithed. Also I geve and bequeith to the Kinges noble grace all such money as is owing to me of the customes, and two cuppes of gold.

Also I geve and bequeith to the Quene (29) a crosse croslette of diamantes, a sawter with claspes of silver and guilte enameled covered with grene clothe of golde, and a pix with the fleshe of Saint Cristofer.

Also I bequeith to my lady the Kinges moder (51) a portuos with claspes of gold covered with blacke cloth of golde.

Also I geve to my lord Prince (8) a bedde of arres of the Whele of Fortune and testour of the same, a counterpoint of arras and a tappett of arres with the pope.

Also I geve to my lord Henry Duke of Yorke (3) b three tappettes of arres, oon of them of the life of Saint John Baptist, another of Mary Maudeleyn, and the thirde of the passion of our Lord and Saint George.

And if my body be buried at Fodringhay in the colege there with my most entierly best beloved lord and housbond (83), than I geve to the said colege a square canapie of crymeson clothe of gold with iiij. staves, twoo auter clothes of crymeson clothe of gold, twoo copes of crymeson cloth of gold, a chesibull and twoo tenucles of cryinyson clothe of golcrvith iij. abes, c twoo auter clothes of crymeson damaske browdered, a chesibull, twoo tenucles, and iij. copes of blewe velwett brodered, with iij. abes, thre masse bokes, thre grayles, and vij. processioners.

Also I geve to the colege of Stoke Clare a chesibull and twoo tenucles of playn crymyson cloth of gold with iij. abes, twoo auter clothes, a chesibull, twoo tenucles, and fyve coopes of white damaske browdered, with iij. abes, twoo awter clothes of crymeson velwett upon the velwete (sic), a vestement of crymeson playne velvet, iiij. antiphoners, iiij. grayles, and sixe processioners.

Also I geve to the house of Sion two of the best coopes of crymyson clothe of gold.

Note. These next four people refer to her grand-daughters, children of Edward IV.

Also I geve to my doughter Brigitte (14) the boke of Legenda Aurea in velem, a boke of the life of Saint Kateryn of Sene, a boke of Saint Matilde.

Also I geve to my doughter Cecill (26) a portuous with claspes silver and gilte covered with purple velvet, and a grete portuous without note.

Also I geve to my doughter Anne (19) the largest bedde of bawdekyn, withe countrepoint of the same, the barge with bailies, tilde, and ores belonging to the same.

Also I geve to my doughter Kateryn (15) a traves of blewe satten.

Also I geve to my doughter of Suffolke (50) a the chare with the coveryng, all the quoshons, horses, and harneys belonging to the same, and all my palfreys.

Note. The next people are her grand-children, children of her daughter Elizabeth York Duchess Suffolk 1444-1503 (50).

Also I geve to my son of Suffolke (24) b a clothe of estate and iij. quoschons of purpull damaske cloth of gold.

Also I geve to my son Humfrey (21) c two awter clothes of blewe damaske brawdered and a vestyment of crymeson satten for Jh'us masse.

Also I geve to my son William (17) d a traves of white sarcenet, twoo beddes of downe, and twoo bolsters to the same.

Also I geve to my doughter Anne priores of Sion (19), a boke of Bonaventure and Hilton in the same in Englishe, and a boke of the Revelacions of Saint Burgitte.

Also I woll that all my plate not bequeithed be sold, and the money thereof be putte to the use of my burying, that is to sey, in discharging of suche costes and expensis as shalbe for carying of my body from the castell of Barkehampstede unto the colege of Fodringhey. And if any of the said plate be lefte unexpended I woll the said colege have it.

Also I geve to the colege of saint Antonies in London an antiphoner with the ruelles of musik in the later ynd.

Also I geve unto Master Richard Lessy all suche money as is owing unto me by obligations what soever they be, and also all such money as is owing unto me by the Shirfe of Yorkeshire, to helpe to bere his charges which he has to pay to the Kinges grace, trusting he shall the rather nyghe the said dettes by the help and socour of his said grace.

Also I geve to Master William Croxston a chesibull, stoles, and fanons of blake velwett, with an abe.

Also I geve to Master Eichard Henmershe a chesibill, stoles, and fanons of crymyson damaske, with an abe; and a chesibill, stoles and fanons of crymeson saten, with an abe.

Also I geve to Sir John More a frontell of purpull cloth of gold, a legend boke, and a colett boke.

Also I give to Sir Kandall Brantingham a chesibill, stoles, and fanons of white damaske, orfreys of crymson velvet, with an abe, the better of bothe.

Also I geve to Sir William Grave a chesibill, stoles, and fanons of white damaske, orfreys of crymeson velvett, with an abe; a masse-boke that servith for the closett, a prymour with claspes silver and gilt, covered with blewe velvett, and a sawter that servith for the closett covered with white ledder.

Also I geve to Sir John Blotte a gospell boke, a pistill covered with ledder, and a case for a corporax of grene playne velvett. Also I geve to Sir Thomas Clerk a chesibill, twoo tenucles, stoles, fanons, of rede bawdeken, with iij. abes.

Also I geve to Sir William Tiler twoo coopes of rede bawdekyn.

Also I geve to Robert Claver iij. copes of white damaske brawdered, and a gowne of the Duchie b facion of playne blake velvett furred with ermyns.

Also I geve to John Bury twoo old copes of crymysyn satten cloth of gold, a frontell of white bawdekyn, twoo curteyns of rede sarcenett fringed, twoo curteyns of whit sarcenet fringed, a feder bed, a bolstour to the same, the best of feders, and two whit spervers of lynyn.

Also I geve to John Poule twoo auter clothes, a chesibull, twoo tenucles, stoles, and fanons of white bawdekyn, with iij. abes; a short gowne of purple playne velvett furred with ermyns, the better of ij. and a kirtill of damaske with andelettes of silver and gilt furred.

Also I geve to John Smyth twoo auter clothes, a chesibill, twoo tenucles, stoles, and fanons of blew bawdekyn, with iij. abes. Also I geve to John Bury twoo copes of crymysyn clothe of gold that servith for Sondays.

Also I geve to John Walter a case for corporax of purple playne velvett, twoo cases for corporax of blewe bawdekyn, twoo auter clothes, a chesibill of rede and grene bawdekyn, a canapie of white sarcenett, iij. abes for children, and iiij. pair of parrours of white bawdekyn, twoo pair parrours of crymsyn velvett, twoo pair parrours of rede bawdekyn, a housling towell that servith for my selfe, twoo corteyns of blewe sarcenett fringed, a sudory of crymy-syn and white, the egges blak, a crose cloth and a cloth of Saint John Baptist of sarcenett painted, a long lantorn, a dext standing doble, twoo grete stondardes and ij. litill cofers.

Also I geve to John Peit-wynne twoo vestimentes of white damaske, a white bedde of lynnyn, a federbedde and a bolstour, and a short gowne of purple playne velvet furred with sabilles. Also I geve to Thomas Lentall six auter clothes of white sarcenett, with crosses of crymsyn velvet.

Also I geve to John Long iij. peces of bawdekyn of the lengur sorte. Also I geve to Sir [John] Verney knighte and Margarett his wiffe a a crosse [of] silver and guilte and berall, and in the same a pece of the holy crosse and other diverse reliques.

Also I geve to Dame Jane Pesemershe, widue, myne Inne that is called the George in Grauntham, during terme of her life; and after her decesse I woll that the reversion therof be unto the college of Fodringhay for evermore, to find a prest to pray for my Lord my housbond (83) and me.

Also I geve to Nicholas Talbott and Jane his wife a spone of gold with a sharp diamount in the ende, a dymy-sent of gold with a collumbine and a diamont in the same, a guirdill of blewe tissue harnessed with gold, a guirdill of gold with a bokull and a pendaunt and iiij. barres of gold, a hoke of gold with iij. roses, a pomeamber of gold garnesshed with a diamont, sex rubies and sex perles, and the surnap and towell to the same.

Also I geve to Richard Boyvile and Gresild his wife my charrett and the horses with the harnes that belongith therunto, a gowne with a dymy trayn of purpull saten furred with ermyns, a shorte gowne of purple saten furred with jennetes, a kirtill of white damaske with aunde lettes silver and gilte, a spone of gold, a dymysynt of gold with a columbyne garnesshed with a diainant, a saphour, an amatist, and viij. perles, a pomeamber of gold enameled, a litell boxe with a cover of gold and a diamant in the toppe.

Also I geve to Richard Brocas and Jane his wife a long gown of purpull velvett upon velvet furred with ermyns, a greate Agnus of gold with the Trinite, Saint Erasmus, and the Salutacion of our Lady; an Agnus of gold with our Lady and Saint Barbara; a litell goblett with a cover silver and part guild; a pair of bedes of white amber gauded with vj. grete stones of gold, part aneled, with a pair of bedes of x. stones of gold and v. of corall; a cofor with a rounde lidde bonde with iron, which the said Jane hath in her keping, and all other thinges that she hath in charge of keping.

Also I geve to Anne Pinchbeke all other myne Agnus unbequeithed, that is to sey, ten of the Trinite, a litell malmesey pott with a cover silver and parte guilte, a possenett with a cover of silver, a short gowne of playne russett velvett furred with sabilles, a short gowne of playne blewe velvett furred with sabilles, a short gowne of purple playn velvet furred with grey, a tester, a siler, and a countrepoint of bawdekyn, the lesser of ij.

Also I geve to Jane Lessy a dymysent of gold with a roos, garnisshed with twoo rubies, a guirdell of purple tissue with a broken bokull, and a broken pendaunt silver and guilte, a guirdill of white riband with twoo claspes of gold with a columbyne, a guirdell of blewe riband with a bokell and a pendaunt of gold, a litell pair of bedes of white amber gaudied with vij. stones of gold, an haliwater stope with a strynkkill silver and gilte, and a laier silver and part guilte.

Also I geve to John Metcalfe and Alice his wife all the ringes that I have, except such as hang by my bedes and Agnus, and also except my signet, a litell boxe of golde with a cover of golde, a pair of bedes of Ixj. rounde stones of golde gaudied with sex square stones of golde enemeled, with a crosse of golde, twoo other stones, and a scalop shele of geete honging by.

Also I geve to Anne Lownde a litell bokull and a litell pendaunt of golde for a guirdill, a litell guirdell of golde and silke with a bokill and a pendaunt of golde, a guirdell of white riband with aggelettes of golde enameled, a hoke of golde playne, a broken hoke of golde enameled, and a litell rounde bottumed basyn of silver.

Also I geve to the house of Asshe-rugge a chesibull and ij. tenucles of crymysyn damaske embrawdered, with thre abes.

Also I geve to the house of Saint Margaretes twoo auter clothes with a crucifix and a vestiment of grete velvet.

Also I geve to the parish church of Stoundon a coope of blewe bawdekyn, the orffreys embrawdered.

Also I geve to the parishe church of Much Barkehampstede a coope of blewe bawdekyn, the orffreys embrawdered.

Also I geve to the parish church of Compton by sides Guilford a eorporax case of blake cloth of gold and iiij. auter clothes of white sarcenett embrawdered with garters.

Also I geve to Alisaunder Cressener my best bedde of downe and a bolster to the same.

Also I geve to Sir Henry Haidon knyght a tablett and a cristall garnesshed with ix. stones and xxvij. perles, lacking a stone and iij. perles.

Also I geve to Gervase Cressy a long gown of playn blewe velvet furred with sabilles.

Also I geve to Edward Delahay twoo gownes of musterdevilers furred with mynckes, and iiij u of money.

Also I geve to Thomas Manory a short gowne of crymesyn playn velvet lyned, purfilled with blake velvet, and iiij ll in money.

Also I geve to John Broune all such stuf as belongith to the kechyn in his keping at my place at Baynardcastell in London, and iiij u in money.

Also I geve to William Whitington a short gown of russett cloth furred with matrons and calabour wombes, a kirtill of purpull silke chamblett with awndelettes silver and gilte, all such floures of brawdery werke and the cofer that they be kept in, and xls. in money.

Also I geve to all other gentilmen that be daily a waiting in my houshold with Mr. Richard Cressy and Robert Lichingham everich of theime iiij u in money.

Also I geve to every yoman that be daily ad waiting in my houshold with John Otley xls. in money.

Also I geve to every grome of myne xxvj s. viij d. in money. And to every page of myne xiij s. iiij d. in money.

Also I geve to Robert Harison xls. in money and all the gootes.

And if ther be no money founde in my cofers to perfourme this my will and bequest, than I will that myne executours, that is to sey the reverend fader in God Master Olyver King bisshop of Bath (63), Sir Reignolde Bray (55) knight, Sir Thomas Lovell, councellours to the Kinges grace, Master William Pikinham doctour in degrees dean of the colege of Stoke Clare, Master William Felde master of the colege of Fodringhey, and Master Richard Lessy dean of my chapell, havyng God in reverence and drede, unto whome I geve full power and auctorite to execute this my will and testament, make money of such goodes as I have not geven and bequeithed, and with the same to content my dettes and perfourme this my will and testament.

And the foresaid reverend fader in God, Sir Rignold Bray knyght, Sir Thomas Lovell knyght, Master William Pikenham, and Master William Felde, to be rewarded of suche thinges as shalbe delivered unto theme by my commaundement by the hondes of Sir Henry Haidon knyght stieward of my houshold and Master Richard Lessy, humbly beseching the Kinges habundant grace in whome is my singuler trust to name such supervisour as shalbe willing and favorabull diligently to se that this my present testament and will be perfittely executed and perfourmyd, gevyng full power also to my said executours to levey and receyve all my dettes due and owing unto me at the day of my dethe, as well of my receyvours as of all other officers, except such dettes as I have geven and bequeathed unto Master Richard Lessy aforesaid, as is above specified in this present will and testament.

And if that Master Richard Lessy cannot recover such money as I have geven to hym of the Shirffes of Yorkeshire and of my obligacions, than I will he be recompensed of the revenues of my landes to the sume of v c. marcs at the leest.

IN WITTENESSE HEROF I have setto my signet and signemanuell at my castell of Berkehamstede the last day of May the yere of our Lord abovesaid, being present Master Richard Lessy, Sir William Grant my confessour, Richard Brocas clerc of my kechyn, and Gervays Cressy. Proved at "Lamehithe" the 27 th day of August, A.D. 1495, and commission granted to Master Richard Lessy the executor in the said will mentioned to administer, &c. &c.

Around 1510 Meynnart Wewyck Painter 1460-1525 is believed to have painted the portrait of Henry VII King England and Ireland 1457-1509. Around 1520 Unknown Painter. Netherlands. Portrait of Henry VII King England and Ireland 1457-1509. Around 1675 Unknown Painter. Portrait of Elizabeth York Queen Consort England 1466-1503. From a work of 1500. Around 1510 Meynnart Wewyck Painter 1460-1525. Portrait of Margaret Beaufort Countess Richmond 1443-1509 in the Masters Lodge St John's College. Commissioned by John Fisher Bishop of Rochester 1469-1535. Note the Beaufort Arms on the wall beneath which is the Beafort Portcullis. Repeated in the window. She is wearing widow's clothes, or possibly that of a convent; Gabled Headress with Lappets. On 29 Mar 2019, St John's College, Cambridge, which she founded, announced the portrait was original work by Wewyck. Around 1500. Unknown Painter. Portrait of Arthur Tudor Prince of Wales 1486-1502. 1536 Hans Holbein The Younger Painter 1497-1543. Portrait of King Henry VIII of England and Ireland 1491-1547. 1540 Hans Holbein The Younger Painter 1497-1543. Miniature portrait of King Henry VIII of England and Ireland 1491-1547. Around 1525 Unknown Painter. Netherlands. Portrait of King Henry VIII of England and Ireland 1491-1547.

Diary of Henry Machyn March 1556. 25 Mar 1556. The xxv day of Marche was owre Lady day, the Annunsyasyon, at Bow chyrche in London was hangyd with cloth of gold, and with ryche hares [arras] and cossens for the commyng of my lord cardenall Polle (56); ther dyd the bysshope of Vosseter dyd synge he masse mytyred; and ther wher dyver bysshopes, as the bysshope of Ely (50), bysshope of London (56), and bysshope of Lynkkolne (46), and the yerle of Penbroke (55), and ser Edward Hastynges (35), the master of horsse, and dyvers odur nobuls, and after masse done to my lord (unfinished).

Around 1560 Steven van der Meulen Painter -1564. Portrait of William Herbert 1st Earl Pembroke 1501-1570.

Diary of Henry Machyn October 1559. 05 Oct 1559. [The] v day of October cam to [London by Ald]gatt the prynse of Sweythen (25), and [so to Leadenhall], and done [down] Gracyous-strett corner in a howse stod [the lord] marques of Northamtun (47) and my lord Ambros Dudley (29) [and other gentlemen and] lades; and my lord of Oxford (43) browth (him) from Col[chester] and my lord Robart Dudley (27), the master of the quen('s) horse; and trumpettes bloyng in dyvers places; and thay had [a great] nombur of gentyllmen ryd with cheynes a-for them, and after them a ij C [200] of yomen rydyng, and so rydyng over the bryge unto the bysshope of Wynchastur plasse, for [it] was rychely hangyd with ryche cloth of arres, wrought with gold and sylver and sylke, and ther he remanyth.

Around 1539 Hans Holbein The Younger Painter 1497-1543. Drawing of William Parr 1st Marquess Northampton 1512-1571. In 1587 William Segar Painter 1554-1663. Portrait of Robert Dudley 1st Earl of Leicester 1532-1588. Around 1575 Unknown Painter. Portrait of Robert Dudley 1st Earl of Leicester 1532-1588. Around 1575 Unknown Painter. Portrait of Robert Dudley 1st Earl of Leicester 1532-1588 wearing his Garter Collar.

John Evelyn's Diary 08 October 1641. 08 Oct 1641. Being the morning I came away, I went to see the Prince's Court, an ancient, confused building, not much unlike the Hofft, at the Hague: there is here likewise a very large Hall, where they vend all sorts of wares. Through this we passed by the chapel, which is indeed rarely arched, and in the middle of it was the hearse, or catafalco, of the late Archduchess, the wise and pious Clara Eugenia. Out of this we were conducted to the lodgings, tapestried with incomparable arras, and adorned with many excellent pieces of Rubens (64), old and young Breugel, Titian, and Stenwick, with stories of most of the late actions in the Netherlands.

By an accident, we could not see the library. There is a fair terrace which looks to the vineyard, in which, on Pedestals, are fixed the statues of all the Spanish kings of the house of Austria. The opposite walls are painted by Rubens (64), being an history of the late tumults in Belgia: in the last piece, the Archduchess shuts a great pair of gates upon Mars, who is coming out of hell, armed, and in a menacing posture; which, with that other of the Infanta taking leave of Don Philip the Fourth, is a most incomparable table.

From hence, we walked into the park, which for being entirely within the walls of the city is particularly remarkable; nor is it less pleasant than if in the most solitary Recesses; so naturally is it furnished with whatever may render it agreeable, melancholy, and country-like. Here is a stately heronry, divers springs of water, artificial cascades, rocks, grots, one whereof is composed of the extravagant roots of trees cunningly built and hung together with wires. In this park are both fallow and red deer.

From hence, we were led into the Menage, and out of that into a most sweet and dehcious garden, where was another grot of more neat and costly materials, full of noble statues, and entertaining us with artificial music; but the hedge of water, in form of lattice-work, which the fountaineer caused to ascend out of the earth by degrees, exceedingly pleased and surprised me; for thus with a pervious wall, or rather a palisade hedge of water, was the whole parterre environed.

There is likewise a fair aviary; and in the court next it are kept divers sorts of animals, rare and exotic fowl, as eagles, cranes, storks, bustards, pheasants of several kinds, and a duck having four wings. In another division of the same close are rabbits of an almost perfect yellow colour.

There was no Court now in the palace, the Infante Cardinal (32), who was the Governor of Flanders, being dead but newly, and every one in deep mourning.

At near eleven o'clock, I repaired to his Majesty's (40) agent. Sir Henry De Vic (42), who very courteously received me, and accommodated me with a coach and six horses, which carried me from Brussels to Ghent, where it was to meet my Lord of Arundel (56), Earl Marshal of England, who had requested me when I was at Antwerp to send it for him, if I went not thither myself.

Thus taking leave of Brussels and a sad Court, yet full of gallant persons, (for in this small city, the acquaintance being universal, ladies and gentlemen, I perceived, had great diversions and frequent meetings,) I hasted towards Ghent. On the way, 1 met with divers little waggons, prettily contrived and full of peddling merchandises, dravm by mastiff-dogs, harnessed completely like so many coachhorses; in some four, in others six, as in Brussels itself I had observed. In Antwerp I saw, as I remember, four dogs draw five lusty children in a chariot: the master commands them whither he pleases, crying his wares about the streets. After passing through Ouse, by six in the evening, I arrived at Ghent. This is a city of so great a circumference, that it is reported to be seven leagues round; but there is not half of it now built, much of it remaining in fields and desolate pastures even within the walls, which have strong gates towards the west, and two fair churches.

Here I beheld the Palace wherein John of Gaunt and Charles V were born; whose statue stands in the market-place, upon a high pillar, with his sword drawn, to which (as I was told) the magistrates and burghers were wont to repair upon a certain day every year with ropes about their necks, in token of submission and penance for an old rebellion of theirs; but now the hemp is changed into a blue ribbon. Here is planted the basilisco, or great gun, so much talked of. The Lys and the Scheldt meeting in this vast city, divide it into twenty-six islands, which are united by many bridges, somewhat resembling Venice. This night I supped with the Abbot of Andoyne, a pleasant and courteous priest.

In 1611 Robert In 1633 Anthony Van Dyck Painter 1599-1641. Portrait of King Charles I of England, Scotland and Ireland 1600-1649 known as Charles I with M.De St Antoine. Around 1637 Anthony Van Dyck Painter 1599-1641. Portrait of King Charles I of England, Scotland and Ireland 1600-1649. In 1618 Daniel Mijtens Painter 1590-1648. Portrait of Thomas Howard 21st Earl Arundel 4th Earl Surrey 1st Earl Norfolk 1585-1646. In 1630 Daniel Mijtens Painter 1590-1648. Portrait of Thomas Howard 21st Earl Arundel 4th Earl Surrey 1st Earl Norfolk 1585-1646 and wearing his Garter Collar. Around 1629 Peter Paul Rubens Painter 1577-1640. Portrait of Thomas Howard 21st Earl Arundel 4th Earl Surrey 1st Earl Norfolk 1585-1646. 1548. Titian Painter 1488-1576. Equestrian Portrait of Charles V Holy Roman Emperor 1500-1558. 1519. Bernard Van Orley Painter 1491-1541. Portrait of Charles V Holy Roman Emperor 1500-1558.

John Evelyn's Diary 14 September 1644. 14 Sep 1644. We took post for Richelieu, passing by l'Isle Bouchard, a village in the way. The next day, we arrived, and went to see the Cardinal's Palace, near it. The town is built in a low, marshy ground, having a narrow river cut by hand, very even and straight, capable of bringing up a small vessel. It consists of only one considerable street, the houses on both sides (as indeed throughout the town) built exactly uniform, after a modern handsome design. It has a large goodly market house and place, opposite to which is the church built of freestone, having two pyramids of stone, which stand hollow from the towers. The church is well built, and of a well-ordered architecture, within handsomely paved and adorned. To this place belongs an Academy, where, besides the exercise of the horse, arms, dancing, etc., all the sciences are taught in the vulgar French by Professors stipendiated by the great Cardinal, who by this, the cheap living there, and divers privileges, not only designed the improvement of the vulgar language, but to draw people and strangers to the town; but since the Cardinal's death, it is thinly inhabited; standing so much out of the way, and in a place not well situated for health, or pleasure. He was allured to build by the name of the place, and an old house there belonging to his ancestors. This pretty town is handsomely walled about and moated, with a kind of slight fortification, two fair gates and drawbridges. Before the gate, toward the palace, is a spacious circle, where the fair is annually kept. About a flight-shot from the town is the Cardinal's house, a princely pile, though on an old design, not altogether Gothic, but mixed, and environed by a clear moat. The rooms are stately, most richly furnished with tissue, damask, arras, and velvet, pictures, statues, vases, and all sorts of antiquities, especially the Cæsars, in oriental alabaster. The long gallery is painted with the famous acts of the Founder; the roof with the life of Julius Cæsar; at the end of it is a cupola, or singing theatre, supported by very stately pillars of black marble. The chapel anciently belonged to the family of the Founder. The court is very ample. The gardens without are very large, and the parterres of excellent embroidery, set with many statues of brass and marble; the groves, meadows, and walks are a real Paradise.

Merlin and Vivien.

A storm was coming, but the winds were still,

And in the wild woods of Broceliande,

Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old

It looked a tower of ivied masonwork,

At Merlin’s feet the wily Vivien lay.

For he that always bare in bitter grudge

The slights of Arthur and his Table, Mark

The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice,

A minstrel of Caerleon by strong storm

Blown into shelter at Tintagil, say

That out of naked knightlike purity

Sir Lancelot worshipt no unmarried girl

But the great Queen herself, fought in her name,

Sware by her—vows like theirs, that high in heaven

Love most, but neither marry, nor are given

In marriage, angels of our Lord’s report.

He ceased, and then—for Vivien sweetly said

(She sat beside the banquet nearest Mark),

"And is the fair example followed, Sir,

In Arthur’s household?"—answered innocently:

"Ay, by some few—ay, truly—youths that hold

It more beseems the perfect virgin knight

To worship woman as true wife beyond

All hopes of gaining, than as maiden girl.

They place their pride in Lancelot and the Queen.

So passionate for an utter purity

Beyond the limit of their bond, are these,

For Arthur bound them not to singleness.

Brave hearts and clean! and yet—God guide them—young."

Then Mark was half in heart to hurl his cup

Straight at the speaker, but forbore: he rose

To leave the hall, and, Vivien following him,

Turned to her: "Here are snakes within the grass;

And you methinks, O Vivien, save ye fear

The monkish manhood, and the mask of pure

Worn by this court, can stir them till they sting."

And Vivien answered, smiling scornfully,

"Why fear? because that fostered at thy court

I savour of thy—virtues? fear them? no.

As Love, if Love is perfect, casts out fear,

So Hate, if Hate is perfect, casts out fear.

My father died in battle against the King,

My mother on his corpse in open field;

She bore me there, for born from death was I

Among the dead and sown upon the wind—

And then on thee! and shown the truth betimes,

That old true filth, and bottom of the well

Where Truth is hidden. Gracious lessons thine

And maxims of the mud! ‘This Arthur pure!

Great Nature through the flesh herself hath made

Gives him the lie! There is no being pure,

My cherub; saith not Holy Writ the same?’—

If I were Arthur, I would have thy blood.

Thy blessing, stainless King! I bring thee back,

When I have ferreted out their burrowings,

The hearts of all this Order in mine hand—

Ay—so that fate and craft and folly close,

Perchance, one curl of Arthur’s golden beard.

To me this narrow grizzled fork of thine

Is cleaner-fashioned—Well, I loved thee first,

That warps the wit."

Loud laughed the graceless Mark,

But Vivien, into Camelot stealing, lodged

Low in the city, and on a festal day

When Guinevere was crossing the great hall

Cast herself down, knelt to the Queen, and wailed.

"Why kneel ye there? What evil hath ye wrought?

Rise!" and the damsel bidden rise arose

And stood with folded hands and downward eyes

Of glancing corner, and all meekly said,

"None wrought, but suffered much, an orphan maid!

My father died in battle for thy King,

My mother on his corpse—in open field,

The sad sea-sounding wastes of Lyonnesse—

Poor wretch—no friend!—and now by Mark the King

For that small charm of feature mine, pursued—

If any such be mine—I fly to thee.

Save, save me thou—Woman of women—thine

The wreath of beauty, thine the crown of power,

Be thine the balm of pity, O Heaven’s own white

Earth-angel, stainless bride of stainless King—

Help, for he follows! take me to thyself!

O yield me shelter for mine innocency

Among thy maidens!

Here her slow sweet eyes

Fear-tremulous, but humbly hopeful, rose

Fixt on her hearer’s, while the Queen who stood

All glittering like May sunshine on May leaves

In green and gold, and plumed with green replied,

"Peace, child! of overpraise and overblame

We choose the last. Our noble Arthur, him

Ye scarce can overpraise, will hear and know.

Nay—we believe all evil of thy Mark—

Well, we shall test thee farther; but this hour

We ride a-hawking with Sir Lancelot.

He hath given us a fair falcon which he trained;

We go to prove it. Bide ye here the while."

She past; and Vivien murmured after "Go!

I bide the while." Then through the portal-arch

Peering askance, and muttering broken-wise,

As one that labours with an evil dream,

Beheld the Queen and Lancelot get to horse.

"Is that the Lancelot? goodly—ay, but gaunt:

Courteous—amends for gauntness—takes her hand—

That glance of theirs, but for the street, had been

A clinging kiss—how hand lingers in hand!

Let go at last!—they ride away—to hawk

For waterfowl. Royaller game is mine.

For such a supersensual sensual bond

As that gray cricket chirpt of at our hearth—

Touch flax with flame—a glance will serve—the liars!

Ah little rat that borest in the dyke

Thy hole by night to let the boundless deep

Down upon far-off cities while they dance—

Or dream—of thee they dreamed not—nor of me

These—ay, but each of either: ride, and dream

The mortal dream that never yet was mine—

Ride, ride and dream until ye wake—to me!

Then, narrow court and lubber King, farewell!

For Lancelot will be gracious to the rat,

And our wise Queen, if knowing that I know,

Will hate, loathe, fear—but honour me the more."

Yet while they rode together down the plain,

Their talk was all of training, terms of art,

Diet and seeling, jesses, leash and lure.

"She is too noble" he said "to check at pies,

Nor will she rake: there is no baseness in her."

Here when the Queen demanded as by chance

"Know ye the stranger woman?" "Let her be,"

Said Lancelot and unhooded casting off

The goodly falcon free; she towered; her bells,

Tone under tone, shrilled; and they lifted up

Their eager faces, wondering at the strength,

Boldness and royal knighthood of the bird

Who pounced her quarry and slew it. Many a time

As once—of old—among the flowers—they rode.

But Vivien half-forgotten of the Queen

Among her damsels broidering sat, heard, watched

And whispered: through the peaceful court she crept

And whispered: then as Arthur in the highest

Leavened the world, so Vivien in the lowest,

Arriving at a time of golden rest,

And sowing one ill hint from ear to ear,

While all the heathen lay at Arthur’s feet,

And no quest came, but all was joust and play,

Leavened his hall. They heard and let her be.

Thereafter as an enemy that has left

Death in the living waters, and withdrawn,

The wily Vivien stole from Arthur’s court.

She hated all the knights, and heard in thought

Their lavish comment when her name was named.

For once, when Arthur walking all alone,

Vext at a rumour issued from herself

Of some corruption crept among his knights,

Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair,

Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood

With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice,

And fluttered adoration, and at last

With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more

Than who should prize him most; at which the King

Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by:

But one had watched, and had not held his peace:

It made the laughter of an afternoon

That Vivien should attempt the blameless King.

And after that, she set herself to gain

Him, the most famous man of all those times,

Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts,

Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls,

Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens;

The people called him Wizard; whom at first

She played about with slight and sprightly talk,

And vivid smiles, and faintly-venomed points

Of slander, glancing here and grazing there;

And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer

Would watch her at her petulance, and play,

Even when they seemed unloveable, and laugh

As those that watch a kitten; thus he grew

Tolerant of what he half disdained, and she,

Perceiving that she was but half disdained,

Began to break her sports with graver fits,

Turn red or pale, would often when they met

Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him

With such a fixt devotion, that the old man,

Though doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times

Would flatter his own wish in age for love,

And half believe her true: for thus at times

He wavered; but that other clung to him,

Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went.

Then fell on Merlin a great melancholy;

He walked with dreams and darkness, and he found

A doom that ever poised itself to fall,

An ever-moaning battle in the mist,

World-war of dying flesh against the life,

Death in all life and lying in all love,

The meanest having power upon the highest,

And the high purpose broken by the worm.

So leaving Arthur’s court he gained the beach;

There found a little boat, and stept into it;

And Vivien followed, but he marked her not.

She took the helm and he the sail; the boat

Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps,

And touching Breton sands, they disembarked.

And then she followed Merlin all the way,

Even to the wild woods of Broceliande.

For Merlin once had told her of a charm,

The which if any wrought on anyone

With woven paces and with waving arms,

The man so wrought on ever seemed to lie

Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower,

From which was no escape for evermore;

And none could find that man for evermore,

Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm

Coming and going, and he lay as dead

And lost to life and use and name and fame.

And Vivien ever sought to work the charm

Upon the great Enchanter of the Time,

As fancying that her glory would be great

According to his greatness whom she quenched.

There lay she all her length and kissed his feet,

As if in deepest reverence and in love.

A twist of gold was round her hair; a robe

Of samite without price, that more exprest

Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs,

In colour like the satin-shining palm

On sallows in the windy gleams of March:

And while she kissed them, crying, "Trample me,

Dear feet, that I have followed through the world,

And I will pay you worship; tread me down

And I will kiss you for it;" he was mute:

So dark a forethought rolled about his brain,

As on a dull day in an Ocean cave

The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall

In silence: wherefore, when she lifted up

A face of sad appeal, and spake and said,

"O Merlin, do ye love me?" and again,

"O Merlin, do ye love me?" and once more,

"Great Master, do ye love me?" he was mute.

And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel,

Writhed toward him, slided up his knee and sat,

Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet

Together, curved an arm about his neck,

Clung like a snake; and letting her left hand

Droop from his mighty shoulder, as a leaf,

Made with her right a comb of pearl to part

The lists of such a board as youth gone out

Had left in ashes: then he spoke and said,

Not looking at her, "Who are wise in love

Love most, say least," and Vivien answered quick,

"I saw the little elf-god eyeless once

In Arthur’s arras hall at Camelot:

But neither eyes nor tongue—O stupid child!

Yet you are wise who say it; let me think

Silence is wisdom: I am silent then,

And ask no kiss;" then adding all at once,

"And lo, I clothe myself with wisdom," drew

The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard

Across her neck and bosom to her knee,

And called herself a gilded summer fly

Caught in a great old tyrant spider’s web,

Who meant to eat her up in that wild wood

Without one word. So Vivien called herself,

But rather seemed a lovely baleful star

Veiled in gray vapour; till he sadly smiled:

"To what request for what strange boon," he said,

"Are these your pretty tricks and fooleries,

O Vivien, the preamble? yet my thanks,

For these have broken up my melancholy."

And Vivien answered smiling saucily,

"What, O my Master, have ye found your voice?

I bid the stranger welcome. Thanks at last!

But yesterday you never opened lip,

Except indeed to drink: no cup had we:

In mine own lady palms I culled the spring

That gathered trickling dropwise from the cleft,

And made a pretty cup of both my hands

And offered you it kneeling: then you drank

And knew no more, nor gave me one poor word;

O no more thanks than might a goat have given

With no more sign of reverence than a beard.

And when we halted at that other well,

And I was faint to swooning, and you lay

Foot-gilt with all the blossom-dust of those

Deep meadows we had traversed, did you know

That Vivien bathed your feet before her own?

And yet no thanks: and all through this wild wood

And all this morning when I fondled you:

Boon, ay, there was a boon, one not so strange—

How had I wronged you? surely ye are wise,

But such a silence is more wise than kind."

And Merlin locked his hand in hers and said:

"O did ye never lie upon the shore,

And watch the curled white of the coming wave

Glassed in the slippery sand before it breaks?

Even such a wave, but not so pleasurable,

Dark in the glass of some presageful mood,

Had I for three days seen, ready to fall.

And then I rose and fled from Arthur’s court

To break the mood. You followed me unasked;

And when I looked, and saw you following me still,

My mind involved yourself the nearest thing

In that mind-mist: for shall I tell you truth?

You seemed that wave about to break upon me

And sweep me from my hold upon the world,

My use and name and fame. Your pardon, child.

Your pretty sports have brightened all again.

And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice,

Once for wrong done you by confusion, next

For thanks it seems till now neglected, last

For these your dainty gambols: wherefore ask;

And take this boon so strange and not so strange."

And Vivien answered smiling mournfully:

"O not so strange as my long asking it,

Not yet so strange as you yourself are strange,

Nor half so strange as that dark mood of yours.

I ever feared ye were not wholly mine;

And see, yourself have owned ye did me wrong.

The people call you prophet: let it be:

But not of those that can expound themselves.

Take Vivien for expounder; she will call

That three-days-long presageful gloom of yours

No presage, but the same mistrustful mood

That makes you seem less noble than yourself,

Whenever I have asked this very boon,

Now asked again: for see you not, dear love,

That such a mood as that, which lately gloomed

Your fancy when ye saw me following you,

Must make me fear still more you are not mine,

Must make me yearn still more to prove you mine,

And make me wish still more to learn this charm

Of woven paces and of waving hands,

As proof of trust. O Merlin, teach it me.

The charm so taught will charm us both to rest.

For, grant me some slight power upon your fate,

I, feeling that you felt me worthy trust,

Should rest and let you rest, knowing you mine.

And therefore be as great as ye are named,

Not muffled round with selfish reticence.

How hard you look and how denyingly!

O, if you think this wickedness in me,

That I should prove it on you unawares,

That makes me passing wrathful; then our bond

Had best be loosed for ever: but think or not,

By Heaven that hears I tell you the clean truth,

As clean as blood of babes, as white as milk:

O Merlin, may this earth, if ever I,

If these unwitty wandering wits of mine,

Even in the jumbled rubbish of a dream,

Have tript on such conjectural treachery—

May this hard earth cleave to the Nadir hell

Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat,

If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon,

Till which I scarce can yield you all I am;

And grant my re-reiterated wish,

The great proof of your love: because I think,

However wise, ye hardly know me yet."

And Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said,

"I never was less wise, however wise,

Too curious Vivien, though you talk of trust,

Than when I told you first of such a charm.

Yea, if ye talk of trust I tell you this,

Too much I trusted when I told you that,

And stirred this vice in you which ruined man

Through woman the first hour; for howsoe’er

In children a great curiousness be well,

Who have to learn themselves and all the world,

In you, that are no child, for still I find

Your face is practised when I spell the lines,

I call it,—well, I will not call it vice:

But since you name yourself the summer fly,

I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat,

That settles, beaten back, and beaten back

Settles, till one could yield for weariness:

But since I will not yield to give you power

Upon my life and use and name and fame,

Why will ye never ask some other boon?

Yea, by God’s rood, I trusted you too much."

And Vivien, like the tenderest-hearted maid

That ever bided tryst at village stile,

Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears:

"Nay, Master, be not wrathful with your maid;

Caress her: let her feel herself forgiven

Who feels no heart to ask another boon.

I think ye hardly know the tender rhyme

Of ‘trust me not at all or all in all.’

I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once,

And it shall answer for me. Listen to it.

‘In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,

Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers:

Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

‘It is the little rift within the lute,

That by and by will make the music mute,

And ever widening slowly silence all.

‘The little rift within the lover’s lute

Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit,

That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

‘It is not worth the keeping: let it go:

But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.

And trust me not at all or all in all.’

O Master, do ye love my tender rhyme?"

And Merlin looked and half believed her true,

So tender was her voice, so fair her face,

So sweetly gleamed her eyes behind her tears

Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower:

And yet he answered half indignantly:

"Far other was the song that once I heard

By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit:

For here we met, some ten or twelve of us,

To chase a creature that was current then

In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns.

It was the time when first the question rose

About the founding of a Table Round,

That was to be, for love of God and men

And noble deeds, the flower of all the world.

And each incited each to noble deeds.

And while we waited, one, the youngest of us,

We could not keep him silent, out he flashed,

And into such a song, such fire for fame,

Such trumpet-glowings in it, coming down

To such a stern and iron-clashing close,

That when he stopt we longed to hurl together,

And should have done it; but the beauteous beast

Scared by the noise upstarted at our feet,

And like a silver shadow slipt away

Through the dim land; and all day long we rode

Through the dim land against a rushing wind,

That glorious roundel echoing in our ears,

And chased the flashes of his golden horns

Till they vanished by the fairy well

That laughs at iron—as our warriors did—

Where children cast their pins and nails, and cry,

‘Laugh, little well!’ but touch it with a sword,

It buzzes fiercely round the point; and there

We lost him: such a noble song was that.

But, Vivien, when you sang me that sweet rhyme,

I felt as though you knew this cursed charm,

Were proving it on me, and that I lay

And felt them slowly ebbing, name and fame."

And Vivien answered smiling mournfully:

"O mine have ebbed away for evermore,

And all through following you to this wild wood,

Because I saw you sad, to comfort you.

Lo now, what hearts have men! they never mount

As high as woman in her selfless mood.

And touching fame, howe’er ye scorn my song,

Take one verse more—the lady speaks it—this:

"‘My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier mine,

For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine,

And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were mine.

So trust me not at all or all in all.’

"Says she not well? and there is more—this rhyme

Is like the fair pearl-necklace of the Queen,

That burst in dancing, and the pearls were spilt;

Some lost, some stolen, some as relics kept.

But nevermore the same two sister pearls

Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other

On her white neck—so is it with this rhyme:

It lives dispersedly in many hands,

And every minstrel sings it differently;

Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls:

‘Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to love.’

Yea! Love, though Love were of the grossest, carves

A portion from the solid present, eats

And uses, careless of the rest; but Fame,

The Fame that follows death is nothing to us;

And what is Fame in life but half-disfame,

And counterchanged with darkness? ye yourself

Know well that Envy calls you Devil’s son,

And since ye seem the Master of all Art,

They fain would make you Master of all vice."

And Merlin locked his hand in hers and said,

"I once was looking for a magic weed,

And found a fair young squire who sat alone,

Had carved himself a knightly shield of wood,

And then was painting on it fancied arms,

Azure, an Eagle rising or, the Sun

In dexter chief; the scroll ‘I follow fame.’

And speaking not, but leaning over him

I took his brush and blotted out the bird,

And made a Gardener putting in a graff,

With this for motto, ‘Rather use than fame.’

You should have seen him blush; but afterwards

He made a stalwart knight. O Vivien,

For you, methinks you think you love me well;

For me, I love you somewhat; rest: and Love

Should have some rest and pleasure in himself,

Not ever be too curious for a boon,

Too prurient for a proof against the grain

Of him ye say ye love: but Fame with men,

Being but ampler means to serve mankind,

Should have small rest or pleasure in herself,

But work as vassal to the larger love,

That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.

Use gave me Fame at first, and Fame again

Increasing gave me use. Lo, there my boon!

What other? for men sought to prove me vile,

Because I fain had given them greater wits:

And then did Envy call me Devil’s son:

The sick weak beast seeking to help herself

By striking at her better, missed, and brought

Her own claw back, and wounded her own heart.

Sweet were the days when I was all unknown,

But when my name was lifted up, the storm

Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it.

Right well know I that Fame is half-disfame,

Yet needs must work my work. That other fame,

To one at least, who hath not children, vague,

The cackle of the unborn about the grave,

I cared not for it: a single misty star,

Which is the second in a line of stars

That seem a sword beneath a belt of three,

I never gazed upon it but I dreamt

Of some vast charm concluded in that star

To make fame nothing. Wherefore, if I fear,

Giving you power upon me through this charm,

That you might play me falsely, having power,

However well ye think ye love me now

(As sons of kings loving in pupilage

Have turned to tyrants when they came to power)

I rather dread the loss of use than fame;

If you—and not so much from wickedness,

As some wild turn of anger, or a mood

Of overstrained affection, it may be,

To keep me all to your own self,—or else

A sudden spurt of woman’s jealousy,—

Should try this charm on whom ye say ye love."

And Vivien answered smiling as in wrath:

"Have I not sworn? I am not trusted. Good!

Well, hide it, hide it; I shall find it out;

And being found take heed of Vivien.

A woman and not trusted, doubtless I

Might feel some sudden turn of anger born

Of your misfaith; and your fine epithet

Is accurate too, for this full love of mine

Without the full heart back may merit well

Your term of overstrained. So used as I,

My daily wonder is, I love at all.

And as to woman’s jealousy, O why not?

O to what end, except a jealous one,

And one to make me jealous if I love,

Was this fair charm invented by yourself?

I well believe that all about this world

Ye cage a buxom captive here and there,

Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower

From which is no escape for evermore."

Then the great Master merrily answered her:

"Full many a love in loving youth was mine;

I needed then no charm to keep them mine

But youth and love; and that full heart of yours

Whereof ye prattle, may now assure you mine;

So live uncharmed. For those who wrought it first,

The wrist is parted from the hand that waved,

The feet unmortised from their ankle-bones

Who paced it, ages back: but will ye hear

The legend as in guerdon for your rhyme?

"There lived a king in the most Eastern East,

Less old than I, yet older, for my blood

Hath earnest in it of far springs to be.

A tawny pirate anchored in his port,

Whose bark had plundered twenty nameless isles;

And passing one, at the high peep of dawn,

He saw two cities in a thousand boats

All fighting for a woman on the sea.

And pushing his black craft among them all,

He lightly scattered theirs and brought her off,

With loss of half his people arrow-slain;

A maid so smooth, so white, so wonderful,

They said a light came from her when she moved:

And since the pirate would not yield her up,

The King impaled him for his piracy;

Then made her Queen: but those isle-nurtured eyes

Waged such unwilling though successful war

On all the youth, they sickened; councils thinned,

And armies waned, for magnet-like she drew

The rustiest iron of old fighters’ hearts;

And beasts themselves would worship; camels knelt

Unbidden, and the brutes of mountain back

That carry kings in castles, bowed black knees

Of homage, ringing with their serpent hands,

To make her smile, her golden ankle-bells.

What wonder, being jealous, that he sent

His horns of proclamation out through all

The hundred under-kingdoms that he swayed

To find a wizard who might teach the King

Some charm, which being wrought upon the Queen

Might keep her all his own: to such a one

He promised more than ever king has given,

A league of mountain full of golden mines,

A province with a hundred miles of coast,

A palace and a princess, all for him:

But on all those who tried and failed, the King

Pronounced a dismal sentence, meaning by it

To keep the list low and pretenders back,

Or like a king, not to be trifled with—

Their heads should moulder on the city gates.

And many tried and failed, because the charm

Of nature in her overbore their own:

And many a wizard brow bleached on the walls:

And many weeks a troop of carrion crows

Hung like a cloud above the gateway towers."

And Vivien breaking in upon him, said:

"I sit and gather honey; yet, methinks,

Thy tongue has tript a little: ask thyself.

The lady never made unwilling war

With those fine eyes: she had her pleasure in it,

And made her good man jealous with good cause.

And lived there neither dame nor damsel then

Wroth at a lover’s loss? were all as tame,

I mean, as noble, as the Queen was fair?

Not one to flirt a venom at her eyes,

Or pinch a murderous dust into her drink,

Or make her paler with a poisoned rose?

Well, those were not our days: but did they find

A wizard? Tell me, was he like to thee?

She ceased, and made her lithe arm round his neck

Tighten, and then drew back, and let her eyes

Speak for her, glowing on him, like a bride’s

On her new lord, her own, the first of men.

He answered laughing, "Nay, not like to me.

At last they found—his foragers for charms—

A little glassy-headed hairless man,

Who lived alone in a great wild on grass;

Read but one book, and ever reading grew

So grated down and filed away with thought,

So lean his eyes were monstrous; while the skin

Clung but to crate and basket, ribs and spine.

And since he kept his mind on one sole aim,

Nor ever touched fierce wine, nor tasted flesh,

Nor owned a sensual wish, to him the wall

That sunders ghosts and shadow-casting men

Became a crystal, and he saw them through it,

And heard their voices talk behind the wall,

And learnt their elemental secrets, powers

And forces; often o’er the sun’s bright eye

Drew the vast eyelid of an inky cloud,

And lashed it at the base with slanting storm;

Or in the noon of mist and driving rain,

When the lake whitened and the pinewood roared,

And the cairned mountain was a shadow, sunned

The world to peace again: here was the man.

And so by force they dragged him to the King.

And then he taught the King to charm the Queen

In such-wise, that no man could see her more,

Nor saw she save the King, who wrought the charm,

Coming and going, and she lay as dead,

And lost all use of life: but when the King

Made proffer of the league of golden mines,

The province with a hundred miles of coast,

The palace and the princess, that old man

Went back to his old wild, and lived on grass,

And vanished, and his book came down to me."

And Vivien answered smiling saucily:

"Ye have the book: the charm is written in it:

Good: take my counsel: let me know it at once:

For keep it like a puzzle chest in chest,

With each chest locked and padlocked thirty-fold,

And whelm all this beneath as vast a mound

As after furious battle turfs the slain

On some wild down above the windy deep,

I yet should strike upon a sudden means

To dig, pick, open, find and read the charm:

Then, if I tried it, who should blame me then?"

And smiling as a master smiles at one

That is not of his school, nor any school

But that where blind and naked Ignorance

Delivers brawling judgments, unashamed,

On all things all day long, he answered her:

"Thou read the book, my pretty Vivien!

O ay, it is but twenty pages long,

But every page having an ample marge,

And every marge enclosing in the midst

A square of text that looks a little blot,

The text no larger than the limbs of fleas;

And every square of text an awful charm,

Writ in a language that has long gone by.

So long, that mountains have arisen since

With cities on their flanks—thou read the book!

And ever margin scribbled, crost, and crammed

With comment, densest condensation, hard

To mind and eye; but the long sleepless nights

Of my long life have made it easy to me.

And none can read the text, not even I;

And none can read the comment but myself;

And in the comment did I find the charm.

O, the results are simple; a mere child

Might use it to the harm of anyone,

And never could undo it: ask no more:

For though you should not prove it upon me,

But keep that oath ye sware, ye might, perchance,

Assay it on some one of the Table Round,

And all because ye dream they babble of you."

And Vivien, frowning in true anger, said:

"What dare the full-fed liars say of me?

They ride abroad redressing human wrongs!

They sit with knife in meat and wine in horn!

They bound to holy vows of chastity!

Were I not woman, I could tell a tale.

But you are man, you well can understand

The shame that cannot be explained for shame.

Not one of all the drove should touch me: swine!"

Then answered Merlin careless of her words:

"You breathe but accusation vast and vague,

Spleen-born, I think, and proofless. If ye know,

Set up the charge ye know, to stand or fall!"

And Vivien answered frowning wrathfully:

"O ay, what say ye to Sir Valence, him

Whose kinsman left him watcher o’er his wife

And two fair babes, and went to distant lands;

Was one year gone, and on returning found

Not two but three? there lay the reckling, one

But one hour old! What said the happy sire?"

A seven-months’ babe had been a truer gift.

Those twelve sweet moons confused his fatherhood."

Then answered Merlin, "Nay, I know the tale.

Sir Valence wedded with an outland dame:

Some cause had kept him sundered from his wife:

One child they had: it lived with her: she died:

His kinsman travelling on his own affair

Was charged by Valence to bring home the child.

He brought, not found it therefore: take the truth."

"O ay," said Vivien, "overtrue a tale.

What say ye then to sweet Sir Sagramore,

That ardent man? ‘to pluck the flower in season,’

So says the song, ‘I trow it is no treason.’

O Master, shall we call him overquick

To crop his own sweet rose before the hour?"

And Merlin answered, "Overquick art thou

To catch a loathly plume fallen from the wing

Of that foul bird of rapine whose whole prey

Is man’s good name: he never wronged his bride.

I know the tale. An angry gust of wind

Puffed out his torch among the myriad-roomed

And many-corridored complexities

Of Arthur’s palace: then he found a door,

And darkling felt the sculptured ornament

That wreathen round it made it seem his own;

And wearied out made for the couch and slept,

A stainless man beside a stainless maid;

And either slept, nor knew of other there;

Till the high dawn piercing the royal rose

In Arthur’s casement glimmered chastely down,

Blushing upon them blushing, and at once

He rose without a word and parted from her:

But when the thing was blazed about the court,

The brute world howling forced them into bonds,

And as it chanced they are happy, being pure."

"O ay," said Vivien, "that were likely too.

What say ye then to fair Sir Percivale

And of the horrid foulness that he wrought,

The saintly youth, the spotless lamb of Christ,

Or some black wether of St Satan’s fold.

What, in the precincts of the chapel-yard,

Among the knightly brasses of the graves,

And by the cold Hic Jacets of the dead!"

And Merlin answered careless of her charge,

"A sober man is Percivale and pure;

But once in life was flustered with new wine,

Then paced for coolness in the chapel-yard;

Where one of Satan’s shepherdesses caught

And meant to stamp him with her master’s mark;

And that he sinned is not believable;

For, look upon his face!—but if he sinned,

The sin that practice burns into the blood,

And not the one dark hour which brings remorse,

Will brand us, after, of whose fold we be:

Or else were he, the holy king, whose hymns

Are chanted in the minster, worse than all.

But is your spleen frothed out, or have ye more?"

And Vivien answered frowning yet in wrath:

"O ay; what say ye to Sir Lancelot, friend

Traitor or true? that commerce with the Queen,

I ask you, is it clamoured by the child,

Or whispered in the corner? do ye know it?"

To which he answered sadly, "Yea, I know it.

Sir Lancelot went ambassador, at first,

To fetch her, and she watched him from her walls.

A rumour runs, she took him for the King,

So fixt her fancy on him: let them be.

But have ye no one word of loyal praise

For Arthur, blameless King and stainless man?"

She answered with a low and chuckling laugh:

"Man! is he man at all, who knows and winks?

Sees what his fair bride is and does, and winks?

By which the good King means to blind himself,

And blinds himself and all the Table Round

To all the foulness that they work. Myself

Could call him (were it not for womanhood)

The pretty, popular cause such manhood earns,

Could call him the main cause of all their crime;

Yea, were he not crowned King, coward, and fool."

Then Merlin to his own heart, loathing, said:

"O true and tender! O my liege and King!

O selfless man and stainless gentleman,

Who wouldst against thine own eye-witness fain

Have all men true and leal, all women pure;

How, in the mouths of base interpreters,

From over-fineness not intelligible

To things with every sense as false and foul

As the poached filth that floods the middle street,

Is thy white blamelessness accounted blame!"

But Vivien, deeming Merlin overborne

By instance, recommenced, and let her tongue

Rage like a fire among the noblest names,

Polluting, and imputing her whole self,

Defaming and defacing, till she left

Not even Lancelot brave, nor Galahad clean.

Her words had issue other than she willed.

He dragged his eyebrow bushes down, and made

A snowy penthouse for his hollow eyes,

And muttered in himself, "Tell her the charm!

So, if she had it, would she rail on me

To snare the next, and if she have it not

So will she rail. What did the wanton say?

‘Not mount as high;’ we scarce can sink as low:

For men at most differ as Heaven and earth,

But women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.

I know the Table Round, my friends of old;

All brave, and many generous, and some chaste.

She cloaks the scar of some repulse with lies;

I well believe she tempted them and failed,

Being so bitter: for fine plots may fail,

Though harlots paint their talk as well as face

With colours of the heart that are not theirs.

I will not let her know: nine tithes of times

Face-flatterer and backbiter are the same.

And they, sweet soul, that most impute a crime

Are pronest to it, and impute themselves,

Wanting the mental range; or low desire

Not to feel lowest makes them level all;

Yea, they would pare the mountain to the plain,

To leave an equal baseness; and in this

Are harlots like the crowd, that if they find

Some stain or blemish in a name of note,

Not grieving that their greatest are so small,

Inflate themselves with some insane delight,

And judge all nature from her feet of clay,

Without the will to lift their eyes, and see

Her godlike head crowned with spiritual fire,

And touching other worlds. I am weary of her."

He spoke in words part heard, in whispers part,

Half-suffocated in the hoary fell

And many-wintered fleece of throat and chin.

But Vivien, gathering somewhat of his mood,

And hearing "harlot" muttered twice or thrice,

Leapt from her session on his lap, and stood

Stiff as a viper frozen; loathsome sight,

How from the rosy lips of life and love,

Flashed the bare-grinning skeleton of death!

White was her cheek; sharp breaths of anger puffed

Her fairy nostril out; her hand half-clenched

Went faltering sideways downward to her belt,

And feeling; had she found a dagger there

(For in a wink the false love turns to hate)

She would have stabbed him; but she found it not:

His eye was calm, and suddenly she took

To bitter weeping like a beaten child,

A long, long weeping, not consolable.

Then her false voice made way, broken with sobs:

"O crueller than was ever told in tale,

Or sung in song! O vainly lavished love!

O cruel, there was nothing wild or strange,

Or seeming shameful—for what shame in love,

So love be true, and not as yours is—nothing

Poor Vivien had not done to win his trust

Who called her what he called her—all her crime,

All—all—the wish to prove him wholly hers."

She mused a little, and then clapt her hands

Together with a wailing shriek, and said:

"Stabbed through the heart’s affections to the heart!

Seethed like the kid in its own mother’s milk!

Killed with a word worse than a life of blows!

I thought that he was gentle, being great:

O God, that I had loved a smaller man!

I should have found in him a greater heart.

O, I, that flattering my true passion, saw

The knights, the court, the King, dark in your light,

Who loved to make men darker than they are,

Because of that high pleasure which I had

To seat you sole upon my pedestal

Of worship—I am answered, and henceforth

The course of life that seemed so flowery to me

With you for guide and master, only you,

Becomes the sea-cliff pathway broken short,

And ending in a ruin—nothing left,

But into some low cave to crawl, and there,

If the wolf spare me, weep my life away,

Killed with inutterable unkindliness."

She paused, she turned away, she hung her head,

The snake of gold slid from her hair, the braid

Slipt and uncoiled itself, she wept afresh,

And the dark wood grew darker toward the storm

In silence, while his anger slowly died

Within him, till he let his wisdom go

For ease of heart, and half believed her true:

Called her to shelter in the hollow oak,

"Come from the storm," and having no reply,

Gazed at the heaving shoulder, and the face

Hand-hidden, as for utmost grief or shame;

Then thrice essayed, by tenderest-touching terms,

To sleek her ruffled peace of mind, in vain.

At last she let herself be conquered by him,

And as the cageling newly flown returns,

The seeming-injured simple-hearted thing

Came to her old perch back, and settled there.

There while she sat, half-falling from his knees,

Half-nestled at his heart, and since he saw

The slow tear creep from her closed eyelid yet,

About her, more in kindness than in love,

The gentle wizard cast a shielding arm.

But she dislinked herself at once and rose,

Her arms upon her breast across, and stood,

A virtuous gentlewoman deeply wronged,

Upright and flushed before him: then she said:

"There must now be no passages of love

Betwixt us twain henceforward evermore;

Since, if I be what I am grossly called,

What should be granted which your own gross heart

Would reckon worth the taking? I will go.

In truth, but one thing now—better have died

Thrice than have asked it once—could make me stay—

That proof of trust—so often asked in vain!

How justly, after that vile term of yours,

I find with grief! I might believe you then,

Who knows? once more. Lo! what was once to me

Mere matter of the fancy, now hath grown

The vast necessity of heart and life.

Farewell; think gently of me, for I fear

My fate or folly, passing gayer youth

For one so old, must be to love thee still.

But ere I leave thee let me swear once more

That if I schemed against thy peace in this,

May yon just heaven, that darkens o’er me, send

One flash, that, missing all things else, may make

My scheming brain a cinder, if I lie."

Scarce had she ceased, when out of heaven a bolt

(For now the storm was close above them) struck,

Furrowing a giant oak, and javelining

With darted spikes and splinters of the wood

The dark earth round. He raised his eyes and saw

The tree that shone white-listed through the gloom.

But Vivien, fearing heaven had heard her oath,

And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork,

And deafened with the stammering cracks and claps

That followed, flying back and crying out,

"O Merlin, though you do not love me, save,

Yet save me!" clung to him and hugged him close;

And called him dear protector in her fright,

Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright,

But wrought upon his mood and hugged him close.

The pale blood of the wizard at her touch

Took gayer colours, like an opal warmed.

She blamed herself for telling hearsay tales:

She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept

Of petulancy; she called him lord and liege,

Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve,

Her God, her Merlin, the one passionate love

Of her whole life; and ever overhead

Bellowed the tempest, and the rotten branch

Snapt in the rushing of the river-rain

Above them; and in change of glare and gloom

Her eyes and neck glittering went and came;

Till now the storm, its burst of passion spent,

Moaning and calling out of other lands,

Had left the ravaged woodland yet once more

To peace; and what should not have been had been,

For Merlin, overtalked and overworn,

Had yielded, told her all the charm, and slept.

Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm

Of woven paces and of waving hands,

And in the hollow oak he lay as dead,

And lost to life and use and name and fame.

Then crying "I have made his glory mine,"

And shrieking out "O fool!" the harlot leapt

Bewpers

Caltrop

Caltrop. A metal object with multiple spikes designed to injure man or horse that steps on it.

Chronicle of Gregory 1461. Ande at the nyght aftyr the batayle the kynge blessyd hys sone the Prynce, and Doctor Morton brought forthe a boke that was fulle of orysons, and there the boke was oppenyd, and blessyd that yong chylde cum pinguedine terre et cum rore celi [Note. "with the richness of the earth and with the dew of heaven"], and made hym knyght. And the yong knyght weryd a payre of bregant yerys i-coveryd with purpylle velvyt i-bete with golde-smythe ys worke. And the Prynce made many knyghtys. The fryste that he made was Androwe Trolloppe, for he was hurte and myght not goo for a calletrappe in hys fote; and he sayde, "My lorde, I have not deservyd hit for I slowe but xv men, for I stode stylle in oo place and they come unto me, but they bode stylle with me." And then come Whytyngam, Tresham, and many moo othyr, and were made knyghtys that same tyme.

Carts Tail

Carts Tail. A small cart pushed or pulled by hand or drawn by a horse or pony

Diary of Henry Machyn January 1553. 13 Jan 1553. The xiij day of January was put apon the pelore a woman for she wold have poyssoned her husband dwellyng with-in the Powlles bake-howsse, and the xiiij day she was wyped at a cart harsse [carts tail], and nakyd up-ward, and the xviij day folowhyng she was a-gayne apone the pelere [pillory] for slanderyng.... with the compeny of the ..

Diary of Henry Machyn September 1554. 14 Sep 1554. The xiiij day of September was iij sett in the pelere for playhyng with falsse dysse and deseyffeng honest men in playng; and the same day was ij wypyd a-bowt London, [after] a care-hars [carts tail], for lotheryng, and as wacabondes wher they taken.

Diary of Henry Machyn April 1555. 21 Apr 1555. The xxj day of Aprell ther was wypyd at a cart-hors [carts tail] iij, j man and ij women, and anodur man a-lone, ij old men with whyt berdes, and on was for carehyng ....

Diary of Henry Machyn May 1555. 15 May 1555. The xv day of May was a generall prossessyon from Powlles and unto Leydynhall and downe Gracious-strett, and tornyd done Estchepe, and so to Powlles a-gayn; for [there] whent ij C. pore men with bedes in ther handes, and iij C. powre women of evere parryche, ij men and ij vomen, ij and ij to-gether, and after all the men-chylderyn of the hospetall, and after the chylderne of sant Antonys, and then all the chyltheryn of Powlles and all ther masters and husshers, and then all the prestes and clerkes, and the bysshope, and my lord mare and the althermen, and all the crafftes of London in ther leveray. The sam tym as thay wher a-gohyng a-prossessyon in Chepe ther cam a frantyke man and hangyd a-bowt a prest ij podynges, and after he was browth to the bysshope, and after to my lord mayre, and after to the contur for ys folyssnes .... wypyd at a care-hars [carts tail] a-bowt the ....

Diary of Henry Machyn December 1555. 04 Dec 1555. The iiij day of Desember was a voman [set in the] pelere for beytyng of her chyld with rodes and .... to peteusly; and the sam day was a man and a voman cared a-bowt London at a care-arse [carts tail] for baudry and ...

Diary of Henry Machyn January 1557. 08 Jan 1557. The viij day of January dyd ryd in a care at Westmynster the wyff of the Grayhond, and the Abbott['s] servand was wypyd becaus that he toke her owt of the care, at the care-harse [carts tail].

Falchion

Falchion. A one-handed, single-edged sword of European origin. The falchion looks rather like the seax and later the sabre, and in other versions more like a machete with a crossguard.

Diary of Henry Machyn March 1555. 25 Mar 1555. The xxv day of Marche, the wyche was owre lade [day,] ther was as gret justes as youe have sene at the tylt at Vestmynster; the chalyngers was a Spaneard and ser Gorge Haward (30); and all ther men, and ther horsses trymmyd in whyt, and then cam the Kyng (27) and a gret mene [menée, ie retinue] all in bluw, and trymmyd with yelow, and ther elmets with gret tuyffes [tufts ie plumes.] of blue and yelow fether, and all ther veffelers [whifflers ie forerunners] and ther fotemen, and ther armorers, and a compene lyke Turkes red in cremesun saten gownes and capes, and with fachyons [falchions], and gret targets; and sum in gren, and mony of dyvers colers; and ther was broken ij hondred stayffes and a-boyff.

Around 1573 Sofonisba Anguissola Painter 1532-1625. Portrait of Philip Around 1560 Antonis Mor Painter 1517-1577. Portrait of Philip Around 1550. Titian Painter 1488-1576. Portrait of Philip Around 1554. Titian Painter 1488-1576. Portrait of Philip Around 1594. Juan Pantoja de La Cruz Painter 1553–1608. Portrait of Philip

Gilliflowers

Gilliflowers. Fragrant flowers such as the wallflower.

Diary of Henry Machyn July 1559. 10 Jul 1559. [The x day of July was set up in Greenwich park a goodly] bankett[ing-house made with fir] powlles, and deckyd with byrche and all maner [of flowers] of the feld and gardennes, as roses, gelevors, [lavender, marygolds,] and all maner of strowhyng erbes and flowrs. [There were also] tentes for kechens and for all offesers agaynst [the morrow,] with wyne, alle, and bere.

Orisons

Chronicle of Gregory 1461. Ande at the nyght aftyr the batayle the kynge blessyd hys sone the Prynce, and Doctor Morton brought forthe a boke that was fulle of orysons, and there the boke was oppenyd, and blessyd that yong chylde cum pinguedine terre et cum rore celi [Note. "with the richness of the earth and with the dew of heaven"], and made hym knyght. And the yong knyght weryd a payre of bregant yerys i-coveryd with purpylle velvyt i-bete with golde-smythe ys worke. And the Prynce made many knyghtys. The fryste that he made was Androwe Trolloppe, for he was hurte and myght not goo for a calletrappe in hys fote; and he sayde, "My lorde, I have not deservyd hit for I slowe but xv men, for I stode stylle in oo place and they come unto me, but they bode stylle with me." And then come Whytyngam, Tresham, and many moo othyr, and were made knyghtys that same tyme.

Polliards

Polliards. Trees that have been pollarded ie cut to make their branches grow laterally.

Diary of Samuel Pepys 18 October 1664. 18 Oct 1664. Up and to the office, where among other things we made a very great contract with Sir W. Warren for 3,000 loade of timber.

At noon dined at home. In the afternoon to the Fishery, where, very confused and very ridiculous, my Lord Craven's (56) proceedings, especially his finding fault with Sir J. Collaton and Colonell Griffin's' report in the accounts of the lottery-men.

Thence I with Mr. Gray in his coach to White Hall, but the King (34) and Duke being abroad, we returned to Somersett House. In discourse I find him a very worthy and studious gentleman in the business of trade, and among-other things he observed well to me, how it is not the greatest wits, but the steady man, that is a good merchant: he instanced in Ford and Cocke, the last of whom he values above all men as his oracle, as Mr. Coventry (36) do Mr. Jolliffe. He says that it is concluded among merchants, that where a trade hath once been and do decay, it never recovers again, and therefore that the manufacture of cloath of England will never come to esteem again; that, among other faults, Sir Richard Ford (50) cannot keepe a secret, and that it is so much the part of a merchant to be guilty of that fault that the Duke of Yoke is resolved to commit no more secrets to the merchants of the Royall Company; that Sir Ellis Layton is, for a speech of forty words, the wittiest man that ever he knew in his life, but longer he is nothing, his judgment being nothing at all, but his wit most absolute. At Somersett House he carried me in, and there I saw the Queene's (54) new rooms, which are most stately and nobly furnished; and there I saw her, and the Duke of Yorke (31) and Duchesse (27) were there. The Duke (31) espied me, and came to me, and talked with me a very great while about our contract this day with Sir W. Warren, and among other things did with some contempt ask whether we did except Polliards, which Sir W. Batten (63) did yesterday (in spite, as the Duke I believe by my Lord Barkely (62) do well enough know) among other things in writing propose.

Thence home by coach, it raining hard, and to my office, where late, then home to supper and to bed.

This night the Dutch Embassador desired and had an audience of the King (34). What the issue of it was I know not. Both sides I believe desire peace, but neither will begin, and so I believe a warr will follow. The Prince (44) is with his fleet at Portsmouth, and the Dutch are making all preparations for warr.

Before 1656 Gerrit van Honthorst Painter 1592-1656. Portrait of William Craven 1st Earl Craven 1608-1697. Around 1642. William Dobson Painter 1611-1646. Portrait of the future King Charles II of England Scotland and Ireland 1630-1685. Before 1691. John Riley Painter 1646-1691. Portrait of King Charles II of England Scotland and Ireland 1630-1685. Around 1665 John Greenhill Painter 1644-1676. Portrait of King Charles II of England Scotland and Ireland 1630-1685 in his Garter Robes. Around 1661 John Michael Wright 1617-1694. Portrait of King Charles II of England Scotland and Ireland 1630-1685 in his coronation robes. Before 11 Jul 1671 Adriaen Hanneman Painter 1603-1671. Portrait of King Charles II of England Scotland and Ireland 1630-1685. 1675. Hendrick Danckerts Painter 1625-1680. Portrait of Royal Gardener John Rose presenting a pineappel to King Charles II Before 23 Jun 1686 Mary Beale aka Cradock Painter 1633-1699. Portrait of William Coventry 1628-1686. Around 1625 John Hoskins Painter 1590-1664. Portrait of Henrietta Maria Bourbon Queen Consort England 1609-1669. Before 09 Dec 1641 Anthony Van Dyck Painter 1599-1641. Portrait of Henrietta Maria Bourbon Queen Consort England 1609-1669 and the dwarf Jeffrey Hudson. Before 09 Dec 1641 Anthony Van Dyck Painter 1599-1641. Portrait of Henrietta Maria Bourbon Queen Consort England 1609-1669 and her son Charles James Stewart 1629-1629. Before 09 Dec 1641 Anthony Van Dyck Painter 1599-1641. Portrait of Henrietta Maria Bourbon Queen Consort England 1609-1669. Before 1694 John Michael Wright 1617-1694. Portrait of King James II when Duke of York. Around 1666 Peter Lely Painter 1618-1680. Portrait of King James II and Anne Hyde Queen Consort England 1637-1671. See Diary of Samuel Pepys 24 March 1666. Before 04 Jan 1674 Peter Lely Painter 1618-1680. Portrait of King James II wearing his Garter Robes. Around 1672 Henri Gascar Painter 1635-1701. Portrait of King James II. Around 1661 Peter Lely Painter 1618-1680. Portrait of Anne Hyde Queen Consort England 1637-1671. Around 1662 Peter Lely Painter 1618-1680. Portrait of Anne Hyde Queen Consort England 1637-1671. One of the Windsor Beauties. Around 1665 Peter Lely Painter 1618-1680. Portrait of Anne Hyde Queen Consort England 1637-1671. Around 1642. William Dobson Painter 1611-1646. Portrait of the Prince Rupert, Colonel John Russell 1620-1687 and Colonel William Murray. Before 1656 Gerrit van Honthorst Painter 1592-1656. Portrait of Prince Rupert. Around 1672 John Michael Wright 1617-1694. Portrait of Prince Rupert. Around 1680 Simon Pietersz Verelst 1644-1710. Portrait of Prince Rupert.

Pusillanimity

Pusillanimity. Lack of courage or determination; timidity.

Rosin

Rosin is an alternative name for pitch. Used for torches.

Seax

Seax. A type of small sword, knife or dagger typical of the Germanic peoples of the Migration period and the Early Middle Ages, especially the Saxons, whose name derives from the weapon.

Sizar

Sizar. An undergraduate at Cambridge University or at Trinity College, Dublin, receiving financial help from the college and formerly having certain menial duties.

In 1546 Archbishop Matthew Hutton 1529-1606 (17) became a sizar at Trinity College. He graduated BA in 1552. Became a Fellow in 1553. Graduated MA in 1555 and BD in 1562.

On 23 Mar 1610 Francis Prujean Physician 1593-1666 (17) entered Caius College as a sizar.

Strangury

Strangury. The painful, frequent urination of small volumes that are expelled slowly only by straining and despite a severe sense of urgency, usually with the residual feeling of incomplete emptying.

Diary of Henry Machyn October 1561. 28 Oct 1561. The xxviij day of October at xij of the cloke at mydnyght ded good ser Rowland Hylle (63) knyght and late mayre of this nobull cette of London, and merser, the wyche he ded of the strangwyllyon.

Tawer

Tawer. Make hide into leather without the use of tannin, especially by soaking it in a solution of alum and salt.

Whiffler

Whiffler. An attendant who cleared the way for a procession. From wifle ie a battle-axe.

Diary of Henry Machyn July 1559. 01 Jul 1559. The furst day of July all the craftes of London send owt a (blank) men of armes, as well be-sene as ever was when owt of London, boyth waffelers in cott of velvet and cheynes, with gunes, mores-pykes, and halbardes, and flages, and in-to the duke of Suffoke('s) parke in Sowthwarke, and ther they mustered a-for my lord mayre (50); and ther was a howsse for bred and dryng [drink], to gyffe the sawgyars [soldiers] to ett and drynke, and they then after thay lay and mustered in sant Gorges ffeld tyll x of the cloke. [The next morning they removed towards Greenwich to the court there, and thence into Greenwich park, where they tarried] tyll viij of the cloke, and then thay [marched] to the lawne, and ther thay mustered in harnes, [and the gunners] in shurttes of maylle, and at v of the cloke at nyght the Quen (25) [came] in to the galere of the parke gatt, and the inbassadurs and lordes [and ladies, to a] grett nombur, and my lord marques, and my lord admerall (49), and my [lord Robert Dudley (27), and] dyvers mo lordes and knyghtes, and they rod to and fro [to view them, and] to sett the ij batelles in a-ray; and after cam trumpeters bluwing [on] boyth partes, and the drumes and fluttes; and iij ansettes [onsets] in evere bat[elle]; so thay marchyd forward, and so the gunes shott and the morespykes [en]contered to-gether with gratt larum, and after reculyd bake [again]; after the towne army lost ther pykes and ther gunes and bylle .. rely, and contenent they wher sturyd with a-larum; and so evere man toke to ther weypons agayne; by and by the trumpetes and the drumes and gones playd, and shott, and so they whent to-gether as fast as they could. Al thys wyll the Quen('s) grace and the inbasadurs and the lordes and lades be-held the skymychsyng; and after they reculyd bake agayn; and after master chamburlayn and dyvers of the commenars and the wyffelers cam to the Quen, and ther the Quen('s) grace thankyd them hartely, and all the cette [city]; and contenent ther was the grettest showtt that ever was hard, and hurlyng up of capes [caps], that her grace was so mere [merry], for ther was a-buyff above lyk M [1000] pepull besyd the men that mustered; and after ther was runyng at the tyltt, and after evere [man] home to London and odur plasses.

Around 1546. William Scrots Painter 1517-1553. Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland before her accession painted for her father. Around 1570 Hans Eworth Painter 1520-1574. Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland. In 1579 George Gower Painter 1540-1596. The Plimton Sieve Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland. Around 1585 William Segar Painter 1554-1663. Ermine Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland. Around 1592 Marcus Gheeraerts Painter 1562-1636. The Ditchley Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland. After 1585 Unknown Painter. Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland. Around 1563 Steven van der Meulen Painter -1564. Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland. In 1587 William Segar Painter 1554-1663. Portrait of Robert Dudley 1st Earl of Leicester 1532-1588. Around 1575 Unknown Painter. Portrait of Robert Dudley 1st Earl of Leicester 1532-1588. Around 1575 Unknown Painter. Portrait of Robert Dudley 1st Earl of Leicester 1532-1588 wearing his Garter Collar.