Holy Church, to viciate and infect the good order and true policy of government.'

I come now to the last branch of my charge, which is, 'That I teach princes villany, and how to enslave and oppress their subjects.' If any man will read over my book of the prince with impartiality and ordinary charity, he will easily perceive, that it is not my intention therein to recommend that government, or those men there described to the world; much less to teach men to trample upon good men, and all that is sacred and venerable upon earth, laws, religion, honesty, and what not. If I have been a little too punctual in describing these monsters, and drawn them to the life in all their lineaments and colours, I hope mankind will know them the better, to avoid them, my treatise being both a satyre against them, and a true character of them.

"Whoever, in his empire, is tied to no other rules than those of his own will and lust, must either be a saint or else a very devil incarnate; or, if he be neither of these, both his life and his reign are like to be very short; for whosoever takes upon him so execrable an employment, as to rule men against the laws of nature and reason, must turn all topsy turvy, and never stick at any thing;' for, if he once halt, he will fall and never rise again, &c. And so I bid you farewell. (1 April, 1537.)

THE HISTORY OF THE MOST UNFORTUNATE PRINCE,
KING EDWARD THE SECOND;

With choice Political Observations on him and his unhappy Favourites,
GAVESTON AND SPENCER:

Containing several rare passages of those times, not found in other historians; found among the papers of, and supposed to be writ by, the Right Honourable Henry Viscount Faulkland, sometime Lord Deputy of Ireland.

Henry Cary, Viscount Faulkland, (among whose papers the following history was found) was born at Aldnam, in Hertfordshire; his extraordinary parts, being a most accomplished gentleman, and a compleat courtier, got him such an esteem with King James the First, that he thought him a person fitly qualified to be Lord Deputy of Ireland (the government of which place required, at that time, a man of more than ordinary abilities) which trust he very well discharged. Being recalled into England, he lived honourable here, until, by an unfortunate accident, he broke his leg in Theobald's Park; of which, soon after, he died. He was a person of great gallantry, the ornament and support of his country, which he served with no less faithfulness and prudence abroad, than honour and justice at home, being an excellent statesman. During his stay at the University of Oxford, his chamber was the rendesvouz of all the eminent wits, divines, philosophers, lawyers, historians, and politicians of that time; for whose conversation he became eminent in all those qualifications.

The subject of the following history (supposed to be written by the above-mentioned nobleman) is the unhappy lives, and untimely deaths, of that unfortunate English King, Edward the Second, and his two Favourites, Gaveston and Spencer;

for his immoderate love to whom,' says Dr. Heylin, he was hated by the nobles, and contemned by the Commons." 'This King,' saith Sir Richard Baker, was a comely person, and of great strength, but much-given to drink, which rendered him unapt to keep any thing secret. His greatest fault was, he loved but one: for, if his love had been divided, it could not have been so violent; and, though love moderated be the best of affections, yet the extremity of it is the worst of passions. Two virtues were eminent in him, above all his predecessors, continence and abstinence; so continent, that he left no base issue behind him; so abstinent, that he took no base courses for raising money.'

Our author closes his history without declaring the particulars of the murder of this Prince; wherefore I shall give you an account thereof, as I find it set down by the aforesaid Sir Richard Baker.

Many ways were attempted to take away his life. First, they vexed him in his diet, allowing him nothing that he could well endure to eat, but this succeeded not: then they lodged him in a chamber over carrion, and dead carcases, enough to have poisoned him; and, indeed, he told a workman at his window, he never endured so great a misery in all his life; but neither did this succeed. Then they attempted it by poisons, but whether by the strength of his constitution, or by the Divine Providence, neither did this succeed. At last the Pestilent Achitophel, the Bishop of Hereford, devised a letter to his keepers, Sir Thomas Gourney and Sir John Mattrevers, blaming them for giving him too much liberty, and for not doing the service which was expected from them; and in the end of his letter wrote this line, Edvardum occidere nolite timere bonum est; craftily contriving it in this doubtful sense, that both the keepers might find sufficient warrant, and bimself excuse. The keepers, guessing at his meaning, took it in the worst sense, and accordingly put it into execution. They took him in his bed, and casting heavy bolsters upon him, and pressing him down, stifled him; and, not content with that, they heated an iron red-hot, and, through a pipe, thrust it up into his fandament, that no marks of violence might be seen; but, though none were seen, yet some were heard: for, when the fact was in doing, he was heard to roar and cry all the castle over. This was the lamentable end of King Edward of Carnarvan, Son of King Edward the First.'

What became of the actors and abettors of this deep tragedy, Sir Winston Churchill tells us, in these words :

'Poor Prince, how unkindly was he treated, upon no other account but that of his overgreat kindness! Other princes are blamed for not being ruled by their counsellors, he for being so; who, whilst he lived, they would have thought him to be a sot, but, being dead, they could have found in their hearts to have made him a saint. How far he wrouged his people doth not appear, there being few or no taxations laid upon them all his time; but, how rude and unjust they were towards him, is but too manifest. But their violence was severely paid by divine vengeance, not only upon the whole kingdom, (when every vein in the body politick was afterwards opened, to the endangering the letting out the life-blood of the monarchy in the age following) but upon every particular person consenting to, or concerned in his death. For as the throne of his son, that was thus set in blood, (though without his own guilt) continued to be imbrued all his reign, which lasted above fifty years, with frequent executions, battles, or slaughters; the sword of justice, or his own, being hardly ever sheathed all his time: so it is said, that the queen herself died mad, upon the apprehension of her own, in Mortimer's disgrace, who was executed at Tyburn, and hung there two days, to be a spectacle of scorn. The king's brother, Edmond, had this punishment of his disloyalty, to be condemned to lose his head for his loyalty, it being suggested (and happy had it been for him if it had been proved) that he endeavoured the restoration of his brother; his death being embittered by the mockery of fortune, whilst, by keeping him upon the scaffold five hours together before any body could be found that would execute him, he was deluded with a vain hope of being saved. The fiend, Tarlton, Bishop of Hereford, who invented the cursed oracle that justified the murderers, died with the very same torture, as if the hot iron, that scared his conscience, had been thrust into his bowels. Of the two murderers, one was taken and butchered at sea, the other died in exile, perhaps more miserable. And for the nobility in general, that were actors in this tragedy, they had this curse upon them, that most of their race were cut off by those civil discords.

of their divided families, to which this strange violation gave the first beginning, not long after. A dreadful example, both to prince and people, that usurp unlawful methods to accomplish their unjust intentions.

'DWARD the Second, born at Carnarvan, was immediately after the death of Edward the First, his father, crowned King of England. If we may credit the historians of those times, this prince was of an aspect fair and lovely, carrying in his outward appearance many promising predictions of a singular expectation. But the judgment, not the eye, must have prcheminence in the censure of human passages; the visible calendar is not the true character of inward perfection, evidently proved in the life, reign, and untimely death of this unfortunate monarch.

His story eclipseth this glorious morning, making the noon-tide of his sovereignty full of tyrannical oppressions, and the evening more memorable by his death and ruin. Time, the discoverer of truth, makes evident his imposture, and shews him to the world in conversation light, in will violent, in condition wayward, and in passion irreconcileable.

Edward, his father, a king no less wise than fortunate, by his discreet providence, and the glory of his arms, had laid him the sure foundation of a happy monarchy. He makes it his last care so to inable and instruct him, that he might be powerful enough to keep it so. From this consideration he leads him to the Scotish wars, and brings him home an exact and able scholar in the art military. He shews him the benefit of time and occasion, and makes him understand the right use and advantage. He instructs him with the precious rules of discipline, that he might truly know how to obey, before he came to command a kingdom. Lastly, he opens the closet of his heart, and presents him with the politick mysteries of state, and teacheth him how to use them by his own example; letting him know, that all these helps are little enough to support the weight of a crown, if there were not a correspondent worth in him that wears it.

These principles make the way open, but the prudent father had a remaining task of a much harder temper. He beheld many sad remonstrations of a depraved and vicious inclination; these must be purified, or his other cautions were useless, and to little purpose. A corruption in nature, that by practice hath won itself the habit of being ill, requires a more than ordinary care to give it reformation. Tenderness of fatherly love abuseth his belief, and makes him ascribe the imperfections of the son, to the heat of youth, want of experience, and the wickedness of those that had betrayed his unripe knowledge, and easy nature, with so base impressions. He imagines, age, and the sad burthen of a kingdom, would, in the sense of honour, work him to thoughts more innocent and noble; yet he neglects not the best means to prepare and assure it. He extends the use of intreaty, and useth the befitting severity of his paternal power; making his son know, he must be fit for a scepter, before he enjoy it. He takes from him those tainted humours of his leprosy, and enjoins him by all the ties of duty and obedience, no more to admit the society of so base and unworthy companions. Gaveston, the Ganymede of his affections, a man, as base in birth as conditions, he sentenceth to perpetual exile.

The melancholy apparitions, of this loth to depart, give the aged father an assurance, that this syren had too dear a room in the wanton cabinet of his son's heart. He strives to enlighten his mind, and to make him quit the memory of that dotage, which he foresaw, in time, would be his destruction. But death overtakes him before he could give it perfection; the time is come, that he must, by the law of nature, resign both his life and kingdom.

He summons his son, and bequeaths him this dying legacy; commanding him, as he will in another day answer his disobedience, never to repeal his sentence. To his kindred and peers, that with sad tears and watery eyes, were the companions of his death-bed, he shortly discourseth the base conditions of this parasite, and lets them understand both their own and the kingdom's danger, if they withstood not his return, if it were occasioned. They knew his injunctions were just, and promise to observe them; he is not satisfied till they bind it with an oath, and vow religiously to perform it. This sends him out of the world with more confidence, than in the true knowledge of his son's wilful disposition he had cause to ground on.

The father's funeral rights performed, Edward, in the pride of his years, undertakes the crown and guidance of this glorious kingdom. He glories in the advantage, knowing himself to be an absolute king, and at liberty; yet thinks it not enough, till the belief of the kingdom did equally assure it. He esteems no act more proper to confirm it, than running in a direct strain of opposition against his predecessor's will and pleasure. The strong motive of his violent affection suggests reasons, that the majesty of a king may not be confined from his dearest pleasure. When he was a son, and a subject, he had witnessed his obedience: being now a king and a sovereign, he expects a correspondence of the same nature. Where there was so ready an inclination in the will, reason found strength enough to warrant it; which made him make Gaveston's return the first act of his sovereignty. No protestation of his lords, nor persuasion of his council, can work a diversion, or win so much as a befitting respect. The barons, that were unable to withstand, are contented to obey, attending the issue of this so dangerous a resolution. Where the news was so pleasing, the journey is as sudden; Gaveston loseth not a minute, till he felt the embraces of his royal lord and

master.

Edward, having thus regained his beloved Damon, is so transported with his presence, that he forgets the will and ordinary respect, due to the greatest lords and pillars of this kingdom; and hence proceeds their first discontent and murmur. Many ways are invented to dissolve this enchantment, but none more fit and worthy than to engage him in the sacred knot of wedlock. The interest of a wife was believed the only remedy to engross or divert those unsteady affections, which they beheld so loosely and unworthily prostituted. Isabel, the daughter of the French King, the goodliest and beautifullest lady of her time, is moved, and the tender on all sides as plausibly accepted.

This sends Edward, scarce a king of nine months standing, into France, and brings him back, seized of a jewel, which, not being rightly valued, occasioned his ensuing ruin. The excellency of so sweet and virtuous a

companion could not so surprise her bridegroom, but Gaveston still kept possession of the fairest room in his affections. He makes it more noto rious by creating him Earl of Cornwall, and the gift of the goodly castle and lordship of Wallingford.

Gaveston applies himself wholly to the humour of the king, and makes each word that falls from his mouth an oracle. Their affections go hand in hand, and the apparent injustice of the one, never found contradiction of the other. The subject's voice was so fortunate, that it was always concurrent where the king maintained the party. If the discourse were arms, Gaveston extolled it as an heroic virtue; if peace, he maintained it not more useful than necessary; unlawful pleasure, he stiled a noble recreation; and unjust actions, the proper and becoming fruits of an absolute monarchy. These glosses so betray the willing car that heard them, that no honour is thought great and good enough for the reporter. The greatest command and offices are in the person or disposure of Gaveston. The command of war, and all provisions foreign and domestic, are committed solely to his care and custody. All treaties for peace or war had their success or ruin by his direction and pleasure. The king signed no dispatch, private or publick, but by his consent or appointment: so that all men believed their sovereign to be a meer royal shadow, without a real substance. Neither was it enough to advance him beyond his desert, or the rules of a modest proportion; but his power must be made more extant, in the commitment, to the Tower, of the Bishop of Chester, whom he quarrels, as the occasion of his first banishment.

These insolencies, carried with so great an height and contempt, are accompanied with all the remonstrances of a justly grieved kingdom, The ancient nobility, that disdained such an equal, justly exclaim against the iniquity of the time that made him their superior. The grave senators, that understood their own worths, are discontent to see themselves rejected, while upstarts, by money or favour, possess the higher places. The soldier, that with his blood had purchased his experience, laments his own dishonour; seeing unworthy striplings advanced, while he, like the ruins of a goodly building, is left to the wide world, without use or reparation. The Commons, in a more intemperate fashion, make known their griefs and sad oppressions.

Gaveston, that both saw and knew the general discontent, sought not to redress it; but, with an ill advised confidence, strives to outdare the worst of his approaching danger. Lincoln, Warwick, and Pembroke, whose noble hearts disdained the overgrown height of this untimely mushroom, let the king know their fidelity, and his apparent error. must free himself, and right them, or else they will seek it in another fashion.

Edward knew their complaints were just, yet was most unwilling to hear or relieve them; till, seeing their strong resolution, and himself wholly unprovided to withstand the danger, he makes his affections stoop to the present necessity, and consents to a second banishment of his so dearly beloved favourite. Gaveston, in the height and pride of his ambition, is forced to leave his protector, and to make Ireland the place of