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1    With the restoration of the king a spirit of extravagant
2joy being spread over the nation, that brought on with it
3the throwing off the very professions of virtue and piety:
4all ended in entertainments and drunkenness, which overran

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5the three kingdoms to such a degree, that it very much
6corrupted all their morals. Under the colour of drinking
7the king's health, there were great disorders and much riot
8every where: and the pretences to religion, both in those
9of the hypocritical sort, and of the more honest but no less
10pernicious enthusiasts, gave great advantages, as well as
11they furnished much matter, to the profane mockers at all
12true piety. Those who had been concerned in the former
13transactions thought they could not redeem themselves
14from the censures and jealousies that these brought on
15them by any method that was more sure and more easy,
16than by going in to the stream, and laughing at all religion,
17telling or making stories to expose both themselves and
18their party as impious and ridiculous.
19    The king was then thirty years of age, and, as might
20have been supposed, past the levities of youth and the
21extravagance of pleasure. He had a very good understanding:
22he knew well the state of affairs both at home
23and abroad. He had a softness of temper, that charmed
24all who came near him, till they found how little they could
25depend on good looks, kind words, and fair promises, in
26which he was liberal to excess, because he intended nothing
27by them but to get rid of importunity, and to silence all
28further pressing upon him. He seemed to have no sense
29of religion: both at prayers and sacrament he, as it were,
30took care to satisfy people that he was in no sort concerned
31in that about which he was employed: so that he was very
32far from being an hypocrite, unless his assisting at those
33performances was a sort of hypocrisy, as no doubt it was;
34but he was sure not to increase that by any the least
35appearance of devotion. He said once to my self, he was
36no atheist, but he could not think God would make a man

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37miserable only for taking a little pleasure out of the way.
38He disguised his popery to the last: but when he talked
39freely, he could not help letting himself out against the
40liberty that under the Reformation all men took of inquiring
41into matters: for from their inquiring into matters of religion,
42they carried the humour further, to inquire into matters of
43state. He said often, he thought government was a much
44safer and easier thing where the authority was believed
45infallible, and the faith and submission of the people was
46implicit: about which I had once much discourse with him.
47He was affable and easy, and loved to be made so by all
48about him. The great art of keeping him long was, the
49being easy, and the making every thing easy to him. He
50had made such observations on the French government,
51that he thought a king who might be checked, or have his
52ministers called to an account by a parliament, was but
53a king in name. He had a great compass of knowledge,
54though he was never capable of great application or study.
55He understood the mechanics and physic; and was a good
56chemist, and much set on several preparations of mercury,
57chiefly the fixing it. He understood navigation well: but
58above all he knew the architecture of ships so perfectly,
59that in that respect he was exact rather more than became
60a prince. His apprehension was quick, and his memory
61good; and he was an everlasting talker. He told his
62stories with a good grace: but they came in his way too
63often. He had a very ill opinion both of men and women;
64and did not think there was either sincerity or chastity in

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65the world out of principle, but that some had either the one
66or the other out of humour or vanity. He thought that
67nobody served him out of love: and so he was quits with
68all the world, and loved others as little as he thought they
69loved him. He hated business, and could not be easily
70brought to mind any: but when it was necessary, and he
71was set to it, he would stay as long as his ministers had
72work for him. The ruin of his reign, and of all his affairs,
73was occasioned chiefly by his delivering himself up at his
74first coming over to a mad range of pleasure. One of the
75race of the Villiers, then married to Palmer, a papist, soon
76after made earl of Castlemaine, who afterwards, being separated
77from him, was advanced to be duchess of Cleveland,
78was his first and longest mistress, by whom he had five
79children. She was a woman of great beauty, but most
80enormously vicious and ravenous, foolish but imperious,

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81ever uneasy to the king, and always carrying on intrigues
82with other men, while yet she pretended she was jealous of
83him. His passion for her, and her strange behaviour
84towards him, did so disorder him, that often he was not
85master of himself, nor capable of minding business, which, in
86so critical a time, required great application: but he did then
87so entirely trust the earl of Clarendon that he left all to his
88care, and submitted to his advices as to so many oracles.
89    The earl of Clarendon was bred to the law, and was like
90to grow eminent in his profession. When the wars began
91he distinguished himself so in the house of commons, that
92he became considerable, and was much trusted all the
93while the king was at Oxford. He stayed beyond sea
94following the king's fortunes, till the restoration; and
95was now an absolute favourite, and the chief or the only
96minister, but with too magisterial a way. He was always
97pressing the king to mind his affairs, but in vain. He
98was a good chancellor, only a little too rough, but
99very impartial in the administration of justice. He
100never seemed to understand foreign affairs well: and yet
101he meddled too much in them. He had too much levity
102in his wit, and did not always observe the decorum of his
103post. He was haughty, and was apt to reject those who
104addressed themselves to him, with too much contempt.
105He had such regard to the king, that when places were
106disposed of, even otherwise than as he advised, yet he
107would justify what the king did, and disparage the pretensions
108of others, not without much scorn; which created
109him many enemies. He was indefatigable in business,

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110though the gout did often disable him from waiting on the
111king: yet, during his credit, the king came constantly to
112him when he was laid up by the gout.
113    The man next to him in favour with the king was the
114duke of Ormond: a man every way fitted for a court, of
115a graceful appearance, a lively wit, and a cheerful temper:
116a man of great expense, decent even in his vices, for he
117always kept up the forms of religion. He had gone through
118many transactions in Ireland with more fidelity than success.
119He had made a treaty with the Irish, which was broken
120by the great body of them, though some few of them
121adhered still to him. But the whole Irish nation did still
122pretend, that, though they broke the agreement first, yet he,
123or rather the king in whose name he had treated with them,
124was bound to perform all the articles of the treaty. He
125had miscarried so in the siege of Dublin that it very much
126lessened the opinion of his military conduct: yet his constant
127attendance on his master, his easiness to him, and his
128great sufferings for him, raised him to be lord steward of
129the household, and lord lieutenant of Ireland. He was firm
130to the protestant religion, and so far firm to the laws that
131he always gave good advices: but even when bad ones were
132followed, he was not for complaining too much of them.
133    The earl of Southampton was next to these. He was
134a man of great virtues, and of very good parts: he had a
135lively apprehension, and a good judgment. He had merited
136much by his constant adhering to the king's interests during
137the war, and by the large supplies he had sent him every
138year during his exile; for he had a great estate, and only
139three daughters to inherit it. He was made lord treasurer:
140but he grew soon weary of business; for as he was subject
141to the stone, which returned often and violently upon him,
142so he retained the principles of liberty, and did not go in to
143the violent measures of the court. When he saw the king's
144temper, and his way of managing, or rather of spoiling,

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145business, he grew very uneasy, and kept himself more out
146of the way than was consistent with that high post. The
147king stood in some awe of him, and saw how popular he
148would grow if put out of his service: and therefore he chose
149rather to bear with his ill humour and contradiction, than to
150dismiss him. He left the business of the treasury wholly in
151the hands of his secretary, sir Philip Warwick, who was an
152honest but a weak man; he understood the common road
153of the treasury; but, though he pretended to wit and politics,
154he was not cut out for that, and least of all for writing of
155history. But he was an incorrupt man, and during seven
156years management of the treasury he made but an ordinary
157fortune out of it. Before the restoration the lord treasurer
158had only a small salary, with an allowance for a table, but
159he gave, or rather sold, all the subaltern places, and made
160great profits out of the estate of the crown: but now, that
161being gone, and the earl of Southampton disdaining to sell
162places, the matter was settled so, that the lord treasurer
163was to have £8000 a year, and the king was to name all the
164subaltern officers. And it continued to be so all his time:
165but since that time the lord treasurer has both the £8000
166and a main hand in the disposing of those places.

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167    The man that was in the greatest credit with the earl of
168Southampton was sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, who had
169married his niece, and became afterwards so considerable,
170that he was raised to be earl of Shaftesbury. Since he came
171to have so great a name, and that I knew him for many
172years, and in a very particular manner, I will dwell a little
173longer on his character; for it was of a very extraordinary
174composition. He began to make a considerable figure
175very early. Before he was twenty, he came into the house
176of commons, and was on the king's side, and undertook to
177get Wiltshire and Dorsetshire to declare for him, but he
178was not able to effect it. Yet prince Maurice breaking
179articles to a town that he had got to receive him, furnished
180him with an excuse to forsake that side, and to turn to the
181parliament. He had a wonderful faculty in speaking to
182a popular assembly, and could mix both the facetious and
183the serious way of arguing very agreeably. He had
184a particular talent of making others trust to his judgment,
185and depend on it: and he brought over so many to a submission
186to his opinion, that I never knew any man equal
187to him in the art of governing parties, and of making
188himself the head of them. He was, as to religion, a deist
189at best. He had the dotage of astrology in him to a high

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190degree: he told me, that a Dutch doctor had from the stars
191foretold him the whole series of his life. But that which
192was before him, when he told me this, proved false, if he
193told true: for he said he was yet to be a greater man than
194he had been. He fancied that after death our souls lived
195in stars. He had a general knowledge of the slighter
196parts of learning, but understood little to bottom: so he
197triumphed in a rambling way of talking, but argued slightly
198when he was held close to any point. He had a wonderful
199faculty at opposing, and running things down; but had not
200the like force in building up. He had such an extravagant
201vanity in setting himself out, that it was very disagreeable.
202He pretended that Cromwell offered to make him king.
203He was indeed of great use to him, in withstanding the
204enthusiasts of that time. He was one of those who pressed
205him most to accept of the kingship, because, as he said
206afterwards, he was sure it would ruin him. His strength
207lay in the knowledge of England, and of all the considerable
208men in it. He understood well the size of their understanding
209and their tempers: and he knew how to apply
210himself to them so dexterously, that, though by his
211changing sides so often it was very visible how little he was
212to be depended on, yet he was to the last much trusted by
213all the discontented party. He had no sort of virtue, for
214he was both a lewd and corrupt man and had no regard
215either to truth or justice. He was not ashamed to reckon
216up the many turns he had made: and he valued himself
217on the doing it at the properest season, and in the best
218manner: and was not out of countenance in owning his

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219unsteadiness and deceitfulness. This he did with so much
220vanity, and so little discretion, that he lost many by it, and
221his reputation was at last run so low that he could not have
222held much longer, had not he died in good time, either for
223his family or for his party. The former would have been
224ruined if he had not saved it by betraying his party.
225    Another man very near of the same sort, who passed
226through many great employments, was Annesley, advanced
227to be earl of Anglesea; who had much more knowledge,
228and was very learned, chiefly in the law. He had a faculty
229of speaking indefatigably upon every subject: but he spoke
230ungracefully, and did not know that he was ill at raillery,
231for he was always attempting it. He understood our
232government well, and had examined far into the original
233of our constitution. He was capable of great application,
234and was a man of a grave deportment, but stuck at nothing,
235and was ashamed of nothing. He was neither loved nor
236trusted by any man or any side: and he seemed to have
237no regard to the common decencies of justice and truth,
238but sold every thing that was in his power: and sold himself
239so often, that at last the price fell so low that he
240grew useless, because he was so well known that he was
241universally despised.

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242    Holles was a man of great courage, and of as great
243pride. He was counted for many years the head of the
244presbyterian party. He was faithful and firm to his side,
245and never changed through the whole course of his life.
246He engaged in a particular opposition to Cromwell in the
247time of the war. They hated one another equally. Holles
248seemed to carry this too far: for he would not allow Cromwell
249to have been either wise or brave; but often applied
250Solomon's observation to him, that the battle was not to the
251strong, nor favour to the men of understanding, but that
252time and chance happened to all men . He was well versed
253in the records of parliament, and argued well, but too
254vehemently; for he could not bear contradiction. He had
255the soul of an old stubborn Roman in him. He was
256a faithful but a rough friend, and a severe but fair enemy.
257He had a true sense of religion, and was a man of an
258unblameable course of life, and of a sound judgment when
259it was not biassed by passion. He was made a lord for
260his merit in bringing about the restoration.

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261

CHAPTER IX.

262
263

THE POPISH TERROR AND THE IMPEACHMENT OF
264DANBY. DISSOLUTION OF THE PENSIONARY
265PARLIAMENT.

266
267    Three days before Michaelmas Dr. Tonge came to me.
268I had known him at Sir Robert Moray's. He was a gardener
269and a chemist, and was full of projects and notions.
270He had got some credit in Cromwell's time, and that kept
271him poor. He was a very mean divine, and seemed credulous
272and simple, but I had always looked on him as a
273sincere man. At this time he told me of strange designs
274against the king's person; and that Coniers, a Benedictine,
275had provided himself of a poniard, with which he undertook
276to kill him. I was amazed at all this, and did not
277know whether he was crazed, or had come to me on design
278to involve me in a concealing of treason. So I went to
279Lloyd, and sent him to the secretary's office with an
280account of that discourse of Tonge's, since I would not be
281guilty of misprision of treason. He found at the office that
282Tonge was making discoveries there, of which they made
283no other account but that he intended to get himself to be
284made a dean. I told this next morning to Littleton and
285Powle, and they looked on it as a design of Danby's, to be
286laid before the next session, thereby to dispose them to
287keep up a greater force, since the papists were plotting
288against the king's life. This would put an end to all
289jealousies of the king, now the papists were conspriring
290against his life. But lord Halifax, when I told him of it,
291had another apprehension of it. He said, considering the
292suspicions all had of the duke's religion, he believed every
293discovery of that sort would raise a flame which the court

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294would not be able to manage. Two days after that,
295Titus Oates was brought before the council. He was the
296son of an anabaptist teacher, who afterwards conformed
297and got into orders, and took a benefice, as this his son
298did. He was proud and ill natured, haughty, but ignorant.
299He conversed much with Socinians, and had been complained
300of for some very indecent expressions concerning
301the mysteries of the Christian religion. He was once presented
302for perjury, but he got to be a chaplain in one of the
303king's ships, from which he was dismissed upon a complaint
304of some unnatural practices, not to be named. He got
305a qualification from the duke of Norfolk as one of his
306chaplains: and there he fell into much discourse with the
307priests that were about that family. He seemed inclined
308to be instructed in the popish religion. One Hutchinson,
309a Jesuit, had that work put on him. He was a weak and
310light-headed man, and afterwards came over to the church
311of England. He was a curate about the city near a year, and
312came oft to me, and preached once for me. He seemed to
313be a sincere, devout man, who did not at all love the order,
314for he found they were a crafty, deceitful and meddling
315sort of people. They never trusted him with any secrets, but
316employed him wholly in making converts. He went afterwards
317back to that church. So all this was thought a
318juggle only to cast an odium upon Oates. He told me
319that Oates and they were always in ill terms. They did
320not allow him above ninepence a day, of which he complained

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321much, and Hutchinson relieved him often. They
322wished they could be well rid of him, and sent him beyond
323sea, being in very ill terms with him. This made him
324conclude, that they had not at that time trusted him with
325their secrets. He was kept for some time at S. Omer's,
326and from thence sent through France into Spain, and was
327now returned into England. He had been long acquainted
328with Tonge, and made his first discovery to him, and by
329the means of one Kirby a chemist, that was sometimes in
330the king's laboratory, they signified the thing to the king.
331So Tonge had an audience, and told the king a long thread
332of many passages, all tending to the taking away his life;
333of which the king, as he afterwards told me, knew not what
334it could amount to, yet among so many particulars he did
335not know but there might be some truth. So he sent him
336to Danby, who intended to make some use of it, but could
337not give much credit to it, and handled the matter too
338remissly: for, if at first the thing had been traced quick,
339either the truth or the imposture of the whole affair might
340have been made appear. The king ordered Danby to say
341nothing of it to the duke. In the mean while some letters
342of an odd strain relating to plots and discoveries were sent
343by the post to Windsor, directed to Bedingfield, the duke's
344confessor; who, when he read them, carried them to the
345duke, and protested he did not know what they meant, nor
346from whom they came. The duke carried them to the
347king: and he fancied they were writ either by Tonge or
348Oates, and sent on design to have them intercepted for
349giving credit to the discovery. The duke's enemies on the
350other hand gave out that he had got some hints of the discovery,
351and brought these as a blind to impose on the king.
352The matter lay in a secret and remiss management for six

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353weeks. At last, on Michaelmas eve, Oates was brought
354before the council, and entertained them with a long relation
355of many discourses he had heard among the Jesuits, of
356their design to kill the king. He named persons, places,
357and times, almost without number. He said many Jesuits
358had disguised themselves, and were gone to Scotland, and
359held field conventicles, on design to distract the government
360there. He said he was sent first to St. Omer's, then to
361Paris, and from thence to Spain, to negotiate this design;
362and that upon his return, that he brought many letters
363and directions from beyond sea, there was a great meeting
364of the Jesuits held in London, in April last, in different
365rooms in a tavern near St. Clement's; and that he was
366employed to convey the resolutions of those in one room to
367those in another, and so to hand them round. The issue
368of the consultation was, that they came to a resolution to
369kill the king by shooting, stabbing, or poisoning him. That
370several attempts were made, all which failed in the execution,
371as shall be told when the trials are related. While
372he was going on, waiting for some certain evidence to
373accompany his discovery, he perceived they were jealous of
374him, and so he durst not trust himself among them any
375more. In all this there was not a word of Coniers, of
376which Tonge had spoke to me: so that was dropped.
377This was the substance of what he told the first day.
378Many Jesuits were upon this seized on that night, and the
379next day, and their papers were sealed up. Next day he
380accused Coleman of a strict correspondence with P. de la
381Chaise, whose name he had not right, for he called him

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382Father le Shee: and he said in general that Coleman was
383acquainted with all their designs. Coleman had a whole
384day to make his escape, if he had thought he was in any
385danger. And he had conveyed all his papers out of the
386way: only he forgot a drawer under a table, in which the
387papers relating to 74, 75, and a part of 76 were left: and
388from these I drew the negotiations that I have formerly
389mentioned as directed by him. If he had either left all his
390papers or withdrawn all, it had been happy for his party.
391Nothing had appeared if all had been destroyed: or if all
392had been left, it might have been concluded that the whole
393secret lay in them. But he left enough to give great
394jealousy, and no more appearing all was believed that the
395witnesses had deposed. Coleman was out of the way the
396second day, but hearing that there was a warrant out
397against him, he delivered himself next day to the secretary
398of state. When Oates and he were confronted, Oates did
399not know him at first: but he named him when he heard
400him speak, yet he only charged him upon hearsay: so he
401was put in a messenger's hands. Oates named Wakeman,
402the queen's physician, but did not know him at all, and
403being asked if he knew anything against him, he answered
404he did not, adding, God forbid he should say any thing
405more than he knew, he would not do that for all the world.
406Nor did he name Langhorn, the famous lawyer, that
407indeed managed all their concerns. The king found him
408out in one thing: he said, when he was in Spain, he was
409carried to Don John, who promised great assistance in the
410execution of their designs. The king, who knew Don John
411well, asked him what sort of a man he was: he answered,
412he was a tall lean man: now Don John was a little fat man.
413At first he seemed to design to recommend himself to the
414duke and the ministers: for he said he heard the Jesuits oft

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415say, that the duke was not sure enough to them: and they
416were in doubt whether he would approve of their killing the
417king: but they were resolved if they found him stiff in that
418matter to despatch him likewise. He said they had oft
419made use of his name, and counterfeited his hand and seal
420without his knowledge. He said the Jesuits cherished the
421faction in Scotland against Lauderdale; and intended to
422murder the duke of Ormond, as a great enemy to all their
423designs: and he affirmed he had seen many letters in
424which these things were mentioned, and had heard them oft
425spoke of. He gave a long account of the burning of
426London, at which time he said they intended to have killed
427the king: but they relented when they saw him so active
428in quenching the fire, that, as he said, they had kindled.
429    The whole town was all over inflamed with this discovery.
430It consisted of so many particulars that it was
431thought to be above invention. But when Coleman's
432letters came to be read and examined, it got a great
433confirmation; since by these it appeared that so many
434years before, they thought the designs for the converting
435the nation, and rooting out the pestilent heresy that had
436reigned so long in these northern kingdoms, was very near
437its being executed: mention was oft made of the duke's
438great zeal for it: and as many indecent reflections were
439made on the king, for his unconstancy, and his disposition
440to be brought to anything for money. They depended
441upon the French king's assistance: and therefore were
442earnest in their endeavours to bring about a general peace,
443as that which must finish their design. On the second
444day after this discovery, the king went to Newmarket.

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445This was censured as a very indecent levity in him, to go
446and see horse races, when all people were so much possessed
447with this extraordinary discovery, to which Coleman's
448letters had gained an universal credit. While the king
449was gone, Tonge desired to speak with me. So I went to
450him to Whitehall, where both he and Oates were lodged
451under a guard. I found him so lifted up, that he seemed
452to have lost the little sense he had. Oates came in and
453made me a compliment, that I was one that was marked
454out to be killed. He had before said the same of Stillingfleet,
455but he made that honour he did us too cheap, when
456he said Tonge was to be served in the same manner,
457because he had translated the Jesuits' morals into English.
458He broke out into great fury against the Jesuits, and said
459he would have their blood: but I, to divert him from that
460strain, asked him, what were the arguments that prevailed
461on him to change his religion, and to go over to the church
462of Rome? He upon that stood up, and laid his hands on
463his breast, and said, God and his holy angels knew that he
464had never changed, but that he had gone among them on
465purpose to betray them. This gave me such a character of
466him, that I could have no regard to anything that he either
467said or swore after that.
468    A few days after this a very extraordinary thing happened,
469that contributed more than any other thing to the
470establishing the belief of all this evidence. Sir Edmund
471Berry Godfrey was an eminent justice of peace, that lived
472near Whitehall. He had the courage to stay in London,
473and keep things in order, during the plague, which gained
474him much reputation, and upon which he was knighted.
475He was esteemed the best justice of peace in England, and
476kept the quarter where he lived in very good order. He
477was then entering upon a great design of taking up all
478beggars, and putting them to work. He was thought vain
479and apt to take too much upon him: but there are so few
480men of public spirits, that small faults, though they lessen
481them, yet ought to be gently censured. I knew him well,

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482and never had reason to think him faulty that way. He
483was a zealous protestant, and loved the church of England,
484but had kind thoughts of the nonconformists, and was not
485forward to execute the laws against them: and he, to avoid
486the being put on doing that, was not apt to search for
487priests or mass-houses: so that few men of his zeal lived in
488better terms with the papists than he did. Oates went to
489him the day before he appeared at the council board; and
490made oath of the narrative he intended to make, which he
491afterwards published. This seemed to be done in distrust
492of the privy council, as if they might stifle his evidence;
493which to prevent, he put it in safe hands. Upon that
494Godfrey was chid for his meddling in so tender a matter;
495and it was generally believed that Coleman and he were
496long in a private conversation, between the time of his
497Coleman's being put in the messenger's hands and his
498being made a close prisoner: which was done as soon as
499report was made to the council of the contents of his
500letters. It is certain Godfrey grew apprehensive and
501reserved: for meeting me on the streets, after some discourse
502of the present state of affairs, he said he believed he
503himself should be knocked on the head. Yet he took no
504care of himself, and went about, according to his own
505maxim, still without a servant, for he used to say that the
506servants in London were corrupted by the idleness and ill
507company they fell into while they attended on their masters.
508On that day fortnight in which Oates had made his discovery,
509being a Saturday, he went abroad in the morning,
510and was seen about one o'clock near S. Clement's church,
511but was never seen any more. He was a punctual man to
512good hours: so his servants were amazed when he did not
513come home: yet, he having an ancient mother that lived
514at Hammersmith, they fancied he had heard she was dying,
515and so was gone to see her. Next morning they sent
516thither, but heard no news of him. So his two brothers,
517who lived in the city, were sent to. They were not
518acquainted with his affairs: so they did not know whether

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519he might not have stepped aside for debt, since at that time
520all people were calling in their money, which broke a great
521many: but no creditor coming about the house, they on
522Tuesday published his being thus lost. The council sat
523upon it, and were going to order a search of all the houses
524about the town; but were diverted from it, by many stories
525that were brought them by the duke of Norfolk: sometimes
526it was said he was indecently married, and the scene
527was often shifted of the places where it was said he was.
528Norfolk's officiousness in this matter, and the last place he
529was seen at being near Arundel house, brought him under
530great suspicion. On Thursday one came into a bookseller's
531shop after dinner, and said he was found thrust
532through with a sword. That was presently brought as
533news to me, but the reporter of it was not known. That
534night late his body was found in a ditch, about a mile out
535of town, near St. Pancras church. His sword was thrust
536through him, but no blood was on his clothes or about
537him. His shoes were clean, his money was in his pocket:
538but nothing was about his neck, and a mark was all round
539it, an inch broad, which shewed he was strangled. His
540breast was likewise all over marked with bruises, and his
541neck was broken. All this I saw; for Lloyd and I went
542to view his body. There were many drops of white waxlights

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543on his breeches; which he never used himself; and
544since only persons of quality or priests use those lights,
545this made all people conclude in whose hands he must have
546been. And it was visible he was first strangled, and then
547carried to that place, where his sword was run into his dead
548body. For a while it was given out that he was a hypochondriacal
549man, and had killed himself. Of this the
550king was possessed, till Lloyd went and told him what he
551had seen. The body lay two days exposed, many going
552to see it, who went away much moved with the sight.
553And indeed men's spirits were so sharpened upon it, that
554we all looked on it as a very great happiness that the
555people did not vent their fury upon the papists about
556the town.