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Henry had now dealt with such enemies as he knew of, but there were those who were not known to him. He soon knew of Lord Clifford's opposition, for he had openly left the kingdom and joined the party of the duchess. Henry therefore adopted stratagem; he offered Clifford a pardon if he would return, and a reward if he would name his accomplices. Clifford agreed to do both. A scheme was arranged between them and carried into effect. Whilst a council was sitting Clifford rushed in, acknowledged his guilt, and begged for mercy. A pardon was promised if he would disclose the names of his accomplices; the first he named was Lord Stanley, who was then sitting in the council. Letters and other proofs were produced, and shortly afterwards Lord Stanley was executed.

Warbeck's friends were now getting gradually less in number and influence. He then went to Scotland, where James IV. not only believed in him, but married him to a near relative, the Lady Catherine Gordon. He also lent him troops to invade the north of England, but the men of those northern counties defeated him, and sent him flying back to the Scottish king.

He next tried Ireland, where he had received some favour previously. He was soon at the head of a small army of about 600 men-about the greatest ragamuffins on the island. With these he ventured a landing on the coast of Cornwall, which he thought the most vulnerable part of England. Notwithstanding his previous defeats, his forces were increased to 3000. The royal forces met them, and there would have been a battle, only-Warbeck galloped away the night before, and hid himself in a sanctuary near the New Forest.

The rest of the story is soon told. His forces

were scattered like chaff before the wind. Warbeck gave himself up on promise of his life being spared. He was placed in the Tower, from which he tried to escape. He was captured, put into the stocks, and made to read a confession of his true history, while all the mob hooted and pelted him. Once more he attempted to escape, was re-captured, and this time hanged at Tyburn. And so ended the life of the unhappy Perkin Warbeck.

LESSON 16.

STORIES FROM ENGLISH HISTORY.

IV. THE FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY.

as-pect, look, countenance

chap-lain, clergyman

in-stall-a-tion, placing in

office

com-mon-er, one of the com- ne-go-ti-ate, arrange

[blocks in formation]

realm, kingdom

[blocks in formation]

Scarcely any commoner in England ever rose to such a height of dignity and power as Thomas Wolsey. Whether we regard the story of his being the son of a butcher of Ipswich, or that of his being the son of a poor gentleman, as true, his rapid advancement to the highest positions in the realm is most astonishing. But quickly as he rose, his fall was still more rapid, and his end is a sad story of worldly ambition.

When at school young Wolsey showed signs of great talent, so his father sent him to Oxford

[graphic][subsumed]

University, where he early distinguished himself by his industry and learning. After teaching for some time in a school, he entered the Church, and became chaplain to King Henry VII., with whom he was a great favourite, on account of his cleverness and business talent.

After the accession of Henry VIII. to the throne, the advancement of Wolsey became very rapid. He was raised to the rank of canon, then to that of dean, then to that of bishop, and lastly to that of Archbishop of York. But the king was not the only power who promoted the favoured man; the pope made him a cardinal, in the hope to retain his influence for the Church. Still another honour awaited Wolsey from the king, and a few months later he was made Lord Chancellor.

He was now at the very height of his fame and power. His income was that of a prince, and he lived in princely style. The famous Hampton Court Palace was built by him, and furnished with exquisite taste; he then, on its completion, handed it over to his royal master as a present.

was

You will remember that Henry VIII. divorced from his first wife, Catherine of Arragon. When the king expressed his wish for this divorce to Wolsey, the latter was not unwilling to aid the king to bring it about; but he was very anxious that the king should not marry Anne Boleyn. Wolsey was therefore employed by Henry to negotiate with the pope to obtain a grant of divorce. Whether the delay which ensued was purposely caused by Wolsey or not, we do not know, but the whole blame was laid upon him by the impatient king.

From that time Wolsey fell in his sovereign's favour. He was dismissed from the royal court,

and after many other signs of the king's anger, he was sent to live at York. The friends who had fawned upon him and flattered him in his greatness now forsook him, or treated him with disrespect. Still, for nearly a year he lived there in comparative peace; a day was even fixed for his installation in the cathedral, a ceremony which had been put off from time to time by him.

The very day before, a messenger came from the king to arrest him for high treason, and to command his attendance in London. His health was so feeble and his spirits so broken by this last blow, that it was with difficulty he could commence the southward journey. When he reached Leicester Abbey, he told the monks, who had come out with torches to meet him, that he had come to lay his bones among them. And so it proved. He lay for a few days partly unconscious, and then died. His last words were, 'Had I but served God as faithfully as I have served the king, He would not now have given me over in my grey hairs.'

In Shakespeare's Henry VIII., Act iii. Scene 2, Wolsey is represented as saying to himself, when first deprived of his offices of state :

'Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth; my high-blown pride

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