fames, which commonly print | ley, a scrivener; for Secretary better than printed proclamations. Frion was gone. These told him that he was mightily overseen, both when he went into Kent, and when he went into Scotland; the one being a place so near London, and under the king's nose; and the other a nation so distasted with the people of England, that if they had loved him never so well, yet they could never have taken his part in that company. But if he had been so happy as to have been in Cornwall at the first, when the people began to take arms there, he had been crowned at Westminster before this time. For, these kings, as he had now experience, would sell poor princes for shoes. But he must rely wholly upon people; and therefore advised him to sail over with all possible speed into Cornwall; which accordingly he did, having All this while the rebellion of Cornwall, whereof we have spoken, seemed to have no relation to Perkin; save that perhaps Perkin's proclamation had stricken upon the right vein, in promising to lay down exactions and payments, and so had made them now and then have a kind thought on Perkin. But now these bubbles by much stirring began to meet, as they use to do upon the top of water. The king's lenity, by that time the Cornish rebels who were taken and pardoned, and, as it was said, many of them sold by them that had taken them, for twelve pence and two shillings apiece, were come down into their country, had rather emboldened them than reclaimed them; insomuch as they stuck not to say to their neigh-in his company four small barks, bours and countrymen, that the king did well to pardon them, for that he knew he should leave few subjects in England, if he hanged all that were of their mind; and began whetting and inciting one another to renew the commotion. Some of the subtilest of them, hearing of Perkin's being in Ireland, found means to send to him to let him know, that if he would come over to them they would serve him. When Perkin heard this news, he began to take heart again, and advised upon it with his council, which were principally three; Herne, a mercer that had fled for debt; Skelton, a tailor; and Ast | with some six score or seven score fighting men. He arrived in September at Whitsand-Bay, and forthwith came to Bodmin, the Blacksmith's town; where there assembled unto him to the number of three thousand men of the rude people. There he set forth a new proclamation, stroking the people with fair promises, and humouring them with invectives against the king and his government. And as it fareth with smoke, that never loseth itself till it be at the highest; he did now before his end raise his style, entitling himself no more Richard, Duke of York, but Richard the Fourth, King of England. His council advised him by all means to make himself master of some good walled town; as well to make his men find the sweetness of rich spoils, and to allure to him all loose and lost people, by like hopes of booty; as to be a sure retreat to his forces, in case they should have any ill day, or unlucky chance in the field. Wherefore they took heart to them, and went on, and besieged the city of Exeter, the principal town for strength and wealth in those parts. When they were come before Exeter, they forbare to use any force at the first, but made continual shouts and outcries to terrify the inhabitants. They did likewise in divers places call and talk to them from under the walls, to join with them and be of their party, telling them that the king would make them another London if they should be the first town that should acknowledge him. But they had not the wit to send to them, in any orderly fashion, agents or chosen men to tempt them or to treat with them. The citizens on their part showed themselves stout and loyal subjects. Neither was there so much as any tumult or division among them; but all prepared themselves for a valiant defence and making good the town; for well they saw that the rebels were of no such number or power that they needed to fear them as yet; and well they hoped, that before their numbers increased, the king's succours would come in. And, howso ever, they thought it the extremest of evils to put themselves at the mercy of those hungry and disorderly people. Wherefore, getting all things in good order within the town, they, nevertheless, let down with cords from several parts of the walls privily, several messengers (that if one came to mischance, another might pass on), which should advertise the king of the state of the town and implore his aid. Perkin also doubted that succours would come ere long, and therefore resolved to use his utmost force to assault the town, and for that purpose, having mounted scaling ladders in divers places upon the walls, made at the same instant an attempt to force one of the gates. But having no artillery or engines, and finding that he could do no good by ramming with logs of timber, nor by the use of iron bars and iron crows, and such other means at hand, he had no way left him but to set one of the gates on fire, which he did. But the citizens, well perceiving the danger, before the gate could be fully consumed, blocked up the gate and some space about it on the inside with faggots and other fuel, which they likewise set on fire, and so repulsed fire with fire; and in the meantime raised up rampiers of earth, and cast up deep trenches to serve instead of wall and gate. And for the escalades, they had so bad success, as the rebels were driven from the walls with the loss of two hundred men. Perkin, hearing this thunder cf arms, and preparations against him from so many parts, raised his siege, and marched to Taunton; beginning already to squint one eye upon the crown and another upon the sanctuary; though the Cornish men were become, like metal often fired and quenched, churlish, and that would sooner break than bow; swearing and vowing not to leave him, till the uttermost drop of their blood were spilt. He was at his rising from Exeter between six and seven thousand strong, many having come unto him after he was set before Exeter, upon fame of so great an enterprise, and to partake of the spoil; though upon the raising of his siege some did slip away. When he was come near Taunton, he dissembled all fear, and seemed all the day to use diligence in preparing all things ready to fight. But about midnight he fled with three score horse to Bewdley in the New Forest, where he and divers of his company registered themselves sanctuary-men, leaving his Cornish men to the four winds; but yet thereby easing them of their vow, and using his wonted compassion, not to be by when his subjects' blood should be spilt. The king, as soon as he heard of Perkin's flight, sent presently five hundred horse to pursue and apprehend him, before he should get either to the sea, or to that same little island called a sanctuary. But they came too late for the latter of these. Therefore all they could do was to beset the sanctuary, and to maintain a strong watch about it, till the king's pleasure were further known. As for the rest of the rebels, they, being destituted of their head, without stroke stricken, submitted themselves unto the king's mercy. And the king, who commonly drew blood, as physicians do, rather to save life than to spill it, and was never cruel when he was secure; now he saw the danger was past, pardoned them all in the end, except some few desperate persons, which he reserved to be executed, the better to set off his mercy towards the rest. * * * * Perkin was brought unto the king's court, but not to the king's presence; though the king, to satisfy his curiosity, saw him sometimes out of a window, or in passage. He was in show at liberty, but guarded with all care and watch that was possible, and willed to follow the king to London. But from his first appearance upon the stage, in his new person of a sycophant or juggler, instead of his former person of a prince, all men may think how he was exposed to the derision not only of the courtiers, but also of the common people, who flocked about him as he went along that one might know afar off where the owl was by the flight of birds; some mocking, some wondering, some cursing, some prying and picking matter out of his countenance and gesture to talk of: so that the false honour and respects, which he had so long enjoyed, was plentifully repaid in scorn and contempt. As soon as he was come to London, the king gave also the city the solace of this May-game; for he was conveyed leisurely on horseback, but not in any ignominious fashion, through Cheapside and Cornhill, to the Tower, and from thence back again unto Westminster, with the churm of a thousand taunts and reproaches. But to amend the show, there followed a little distance of Perkin, an inward counsellor of his, one that had been serjeant farrier to the king. This fellow, when Perkin took sanctuary, chose rather to take an holy habit than an holy place, and clad himself like an hermit, and in that weed wandered about the country, till he was discovered and taken. But this man was bound hand and foot upon the horse, and came not back with Perkin, but was left at the Tower, and within few days after executed. Soon after, now that Perkin could tell better what himself was, he was diligently examined; and after his confession taken, an extract was made of such parts of them as were thought fit to be divulged, which was printed and dispersed abroad; wherein the king did himself no right; for as there was a laboured tale of particulars, of Perkin's father and mother, and grandsire and grandmother, and uncles and cousins, by names and sirnames, and from what places he travelled up and down; so there was little or nothing to purpose of anything concerning his designs, or any practices that had been held with him ; nor the Duchess of Burgundy herself, that all the world did take knowledge of, as the person that had put life and being into the whole business, so much as named or pointed at. So that men, inissing of that they looked for, looked about for they knew not what, and were in more doubt than before; but the king chose rather not to satisfy, than to kindle coals. * * * * It was not long but Perkin, who was made of quicksilver, which is hard to hold or imprison, began to stir. For, deceiving his keepers, he took him to his heels, and made speed to the sea-coasts. But presently all corners were laid for him, and such diligent pursuit and search made, as he was fain to turn back, and get him to the house of Bethlehem, called the priory of Sheen (which had the privilege of sanctuary), and put himself into the hands of the prior of that monastery. The prior was thought an holy man, and much reverenced in those days. He came to the king, and besought the king for Perkin's life only, leaving him otherwise to the king's discretion. Many about the king were again more hot than ever, to have the king take him forth- and hang him. But the king, that had an high stomach, and could not hate any that he despised, bid "take him forth and set the knave in the stock ;" and so promising the prior his life, he caused him to be brought forth. And within two or three days after, upon a scaffold set up in the palace court at Westminster, he was fettered and set in the stocks for the whole day. And the next day after, the like was done by him at the cross in Cheapside, and in both places he read his confession, of which we made mention before; and was from Cheapside conveyed and laid up in the Tower. But it was ordained, that this winding- ivy of a Plantagenet should kill the true tree itself. For Perkin, after he had been awhile in the Tower, began to insinuate himself into the favour and kindness of his keepers, servants to the lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Digby, being four in number; Strangeways, Blewet, Astwood, and Long Roger. These varlets, with mountains of promises, he sought to corrupt, to obtain his escape; but knowing well, that his own fortunes were made so contemptible, as he could feed no man's hopes, and by hopes he must work, for rewards he had none, he had contrived with himself a vast and tragical plot; which was, to draw into his company Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, then prisoner in the Tower; whom the weary life of a long imprisonment, and the often and renewing fears of being put to death, had softened to take any impression of counsel for his liberty. This young prince he thought these servants would look upon, though not upon himself; and therefore, after that by some message by one or two of them, he had tasted of the earl's consent; it was agreed that these four should murder their mas ter, the lieutenant, secretly, in the night, and make their best of such money and portable goods of his, as they should find ready at hand, and get the keys of the Tower, and presently let forth Perkin and the earl. But this conspiracy was re| vealed in time, before it could be executed. And in this again the opinion of the king's great wisdom did surcharge him with a sinister fame, that Perkin was but his bait to entrap the Earl of Warwick. And in the very instant while this conspiracy was in working, as if that also had been the king's industry, it was fatal, that there should break forth a counterfeit Earl of Warwick, a cordwainer's son, whose name was Ralph Wilford; a young man taught and set on by an Augustin friar, called Patrick. They both from the parts of Suffolk came forwards into Kent, where they did not only privily and underhand give out that this Wilford was the true Earl of Warwick, but also the friar, finding some light credence in the people, took the boldness in the pulpit to declare as much, and to incite the people to come in to his aid. Whereupon they were both presently apprehended, and the young fellow executed, and the friar condemned to perpetual imprisonment. This also happening so opportunely, to represent the danger to the king's estate from the Earl of Warwick, and thereby to colour the king's severity that followed; together with the madness of the friar so vainly and desperately to divulge |