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1    During this tyme, a Parliament was held at London, where the
2Nobility of the Realme remayned with a more constant countenance,
3eyther as holding themselves assured, or for that they
4would not descend to any other seeming. When they received
5certaine intelligence of the death of Queene Mary, they assembled
6together in the upper howse, and, after a short debatement, sent
7to the Speaker of the Parliament, desiring him to come to them
8forthwith, accompanyed with the whole body of the lower house,
9for that they had to impart a matter of importance unto them.
10When they were come, and had setled themselves to attentione,
11Doctor Heath, Archbishop of Yorke, and Lord Chauncelor of England,
12with a composed countenance and voice, as neither glad at
13the death of the old Prince, nor discontended at the new, declared
14to them the assured advertisement of the death of the Queene:
15That albeit the Parliament by this heavy accident did dissolve,
16yet for that they had bin elected to represent the common people

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17of the Realme, and to deale for them in matters of estate, they
18could noe waye better dischardge that trust, then in joyninge with
19the Lords to publish the next Successour to the Crowne: That
20the right and title of Lady Elizabeth, sister to the deceased
21Queene, and onely daughter then surviving of King Henry the
22Eighth, was esteemed by the Lords free from all quarrell, free
23from all questione and doubt: that in no case expeditione is more
24expedient, than in these high passages of State, for extinguishing
25as well the vayne hopes of enemyes, as the false and needelesse
26feares of friendes: that for this cause the Lords had desired their
27presence, that, with joynt consent of the whole assembly, the Lady
28Elizabeth might forthwith be proclaymed Queene.
29    The Knights and Burgesses gave easy consent to that which
30they sawe noe reason to deny. If happily some few had noe inclination
31that waye, yet, beeing unable to stay the course of so greate
32a current, they were content not to shew a will to affect that
33which they had no power to effect. Soe the same day shee was
34proclaymed Queene by the principall Heraalts-at-Armes - first,
35at the Pallace at Westminster, directly before the Hall-dore, afterwards
36at the Crosse in Cheape, and in other places of the Citye.
37This ceremony was performed upon Thursday, the seventeenth
38day of November, in the yeare 1558, in the five-and-twentieth
39yeare of her age, when shee had been well instructed by experience
40and adversity, two excellent teachers for her, who had a judgment
41farre beyond her yeares.
42    The same daye Reygnold Poole, Cardinall, and not long before
43made Archbishop of Canterbury, departed this life, doubtfull whether

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44by naturall disease, or by violence of griefe, or by some other
45strange inforcement. He was one of the younger sonnes of Margaret,
46Countesse of Salisbury, daughter to George, Duke of Clarence,
47brother to King Edward the Fourth. Hee was learned and
48eloquent, of noe comely presence, but of good grace in delivering
49his speach: herewith haughty, ambitious, and vehement in the pursuite
50of his purposes. Whereupon, as he had been formerly impatient
51for not atteyning to the full degrees of his desires and hopes, so
52now, most of all, in fore-seeing the abatement of his honour, and
53the alteratione of the relligeone which hee did professe; for establishment
54whereof, in former times, he had practised so farr that
55he had reasone to conceive he could not be indured in the change.
56    For the change in Religion which then insued, and had alsoe
57happened not long before, was easily fore-seene by men of understanding,
58not onely by reasone of the consciences of the Princes,
59formed in them by education, but alsoe out of their particular
60interests and endes. For King Henry the eighth had taken to
61wife Katherine of Arragon, who had beene formerly marryed to
62Prince Arthur his elder brother; for which marriage (being within
63the degrees expressely prohibited in Leviticus) the Bishop of Rome
64gave a dispensatione. Now King Henry, following the opinione of
65those Divines (as well Catholickes as Protestants) who judged those
66prohibitiones to bee naturall and morall, and that noe power uppon
67earth had power to grant a dispensatione against them, put away
68Queen Katherine, and marryed Queene Anne Bullen, whilest she
69still remained in life. Of this Katherine he had issue Mary; of
70Anne Bullen, Elizabeth. So it was a marveilous motive for Queen
71Mary to embrace and advance the authority of the Bishop of
72Rome, for that the validity of King Henryes marryage with Queene
73Katherine her mother, was thereupon grounded: And this hath
74not bin the weakest threed in the Pope's net, by dispensing in

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75such prohibited marriages to hoald Princes obnoxious unto him.
76But on the other side, because yf the Bishop of Rome had power
77to dispense in the first marriage of King Henry the eyght, then
78was the subsequent marriage with Anne Bullen voyde; besides
79the command of conscience, it was alsoe an inducement in reasone
80for Queene Elizabeth to reject his authority. And, albeit many
81greate Princes doe neyther so easily resist, nor so moderately follow
82their desires as other men, because, by how much more they are
83accustomed to be honoured and obeyed, by so much lesse (advancing
84their wills above other respects) are they able to indure
85to have their purposes eyther frustrated or delayed: yet was not
86this alteratione brought in sodaynly (as in other places it was
87usually done) but by a more felt than seene manner of proceeding.
88Yea, some colour of hope was conceived, that noe alteratione
89should be made at all; for that a Proclamatione was presently
90set foorth, that no man should alter any Rites or Ceremonyes at
91that tyme used in the Church: And, because, in such divisione of
92opinions, the Pulpits often serve as drummes and fiffes, to
93inflame fury, Proclamatione was made, that noe man might preach,
94but such as should be allowed by authority: and thes alsoe were
95charged to forbeare treating of controversyes in Religion not to
96move dispute touching governement, eyther for altering or reteyning
97the present forme. Hereuppon no Sermon was preached at Paules

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98Crosse, untill the Rehearsall Sermon was made upon the Sunday
99after Easter: at which tyme when the Preacher was ready to
100mount into the Pulpet, the keye could not be found: and when,
101by commandement of the Lord Mayor, it was opened by a
102smyth, the place was very filthy and uncleane. Alsoe the Ports
103and Havens were diligently kept, that noe man might passe forth
104of the Realme, or enter therein, without eyther licence or notice at
105the least, whereby many suspiciones and doubtes, and happily some
106dangeres, were prevented. Lastly, inhibitione was straightly given
107that no monyes should be made over by exchange for a tyme.
108    And, for that the presence of the Prince is of greatest moment
109to establish affayres, the Queene, the next day after her title was
110proclaimed, removed from Hatfield, in Hartfordshire, where shee
111then lay, towardes London; and was upon the way incountred
112and intertained in all places with such a concourse of people, with
113soe lively representationes of love, joy and hope, that it farr exceeded
114her expectatione. The people of all sorts (even such whose
115fortunes were unlike either to bee amended or impaired by change)
116went many myles out of the City to see her, some uppon particular
117affectione to her person, others upon opinione of good to the State,
118some uppon an ordinary levity and delight in change, and not a
119few because they would doe as others did; all with like fervency
120contending who should most neerly approach unto her, who should
121most cherefully bestow uppon her all honourable titles and happy
122wishes.
123    Now, if ever any persone had eyther the gift or the stile to winne
124the hearts of people, it was this Queene; and if ever shee did expresse
125the same, it was at that present, in coupling mildnesse with
126majesty as shee did, and in stately stouping to the meanest sort.
127All her facultyes were in motione, and every motione seemed a well
128guided actione; her eye was set upon one, her eare listened to
129another, her judgement ranne uppon a third, to a fourth shee addressed

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130her speech, her spiritt seemed to be every-where, and yet
131so intyre in her selfe, as it seemed to bee noe where else. Some
132shee pityed, some shee commended, some shee thanked, at others
133shee pleasantly and wittily jeasted, contemning noe person, neglecting
134noe office; and distributing her smiles, lookes, and graces, soe
135artificially, that thereupon the people againe redoubled the testimonyes
136of their joyes; and afterwards, raising every thing to the
137highest straine, filled the eares of all men with immoderate extolling
138their Prince.
139    Shee was a Lady, upon whom nature had bestowed, and well
140placed, many of her fayrest favores; of stature meane, slender,
141streight, and amiably composed; of such state her carriage, as
142every motione of her seemed to beare majesty: her haire was inclined
143to pale yellow, her foreheade large and faire, a seemeing sete
144for princely grace; her eyes lively and sweete, but short-sighted;
145her nose somewhat rising in the middest; the whole compasse of
146her countenance somewhat long, but yet of admirable beauty, not
147so much in that which is tearmed the flower of youth, as in a most
148delightfull compositione of majesty and modesty in equall mixture.
149But without good qualityes of mynde, the gifts of nature are like
150paynted floweres, without eyther vertue or sappe; yea, sometymes
151they grow horrid and loathsome. Now her vertues were such as
152might suffice to make an Aethiopian beautifull, which, the more a
153man knowes and understands, the more he shall admire and love. In
154life, shee was most innocent; in desires, moderate; in purpose, just;
155of spirit, above credit and almost capacity of her sexe; of divine
156witt, as well for depth of judgment, as for quicke conceite and speedy
157expeditione; of eloquence, as sweete in the utterance, soe ready and
158easie to come to the utterance: of wonderfull knowledge both in

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159learning and affayres; skilfull not only in the Latine and Greeke,
160but alsoe in divers other forraine languages: none knew better
161the hardest art of all others, that is, of commanding men, nor
162could more use themselves to those cares without which the
163royall dignity could not be supported. She was relligeous,
164magnanimous, mercifull and just; respective of the honour of
165others, and exceeding tender in the touch of her owne. Shee
166was lovely and loving, the two principall bands of duty and
167obedience. Shee was very ripe and measured in counsayle and
168experience, as well not to lett goe occasiones, as not to take them
169when they were greene. Shee maintained Justice at home, and
170Armes abroad, with great wisdome and authority in eyther place.
171Her majesty seemed to all to shine though courtesy: but as shee
172was not easy to receive any to especiall grace, so was shee most
173constant to those whom shee received; and of great judgment to
174know to what point of greatnesse men were fit to bee advanced.
175Shee was rather liberall than magnificent, making good choys
176of the receivoures; and for this cause was thought weake by some
177against the desire of money. But it is certaine that beside the
178want of treasure which shee found, her continuall affayres in Scottland,
179France, the Low Countries, and in Ireland, did occasione
180greate provisione of money, which could not bee better supplyed,
181than by cutting off eyther excessive or unnecessary expence at
182home. Excellent Queene! what doe my words but wrong thy
183worth? what doe I but guild gold? what but shew the sunne

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184with a candle, in attempting to prayse thee, whose honor doth
185flye over the whole world upon the two wings of Magnanimity
186and Justice, whose perfection shall much dimme the lustre of all
187other that shall be of thy sexe? I will no longer staye upon
188generall descriptiones, but proceede to such particular acts as shall
189manifest much more than I have said.
190    When shee came to London, shee was lodged the first night in
191the Charter-howse, where many greate persones, eyther for birth,
192or worthinesse, or place in the State, resorted unto her; and now,
193rising from dejected feares to ambitious hopes, contended who
194should catch the first hold of her favour. The Queene did beare
195her selfe moderately and respectively to all, desiring them, if they
196would not be deceived in her, that they would not be the first to
197deceive themselves: that they would not prejudice her in their
198opiniones, as not by uncourteous suspicions and doubts, so not by
199immoderate expectationes and hopes, promisinge unto themselves
200out of a suddayne likeing more then is fitt, or peradventure possible,
201to be performed: the fayleance whereof would eyther change or
202abate theyr loves: that they would lay aside all fore-taken conceits,

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203which, like painted glasse, doth colour all things which are
204seene through it. Lastly, that they would not too rashly judge of
205her actions, as being privie neither to the occasiones of them, nor
206to their endes.
207    So, after shee had passed the offices of court done to her by
208the Nobility and others, the day following, in the afternoone,
209shee rode from thence to the Tower. At the Charter-howse gate
210the Mayor of the city met her, and the Recorder with a short
211speech saluted her in the name of the whole city. Shee rode in
212great state through Barbican, the Mayor riding with Garter
213King at Armes, and carrying a Scepter before her: shee entered
214at Cripplegate, and so passed by the Wall to Bishoppes-gate. This
215gate was richly hanged, and thereuppon the Wayts of the City
216sounded loud Musicke. At the head of the streete a scholler of
217Paul's Schoole made to her a short speach in Latine Verses;
218next unto him stood the Company of Mercers within their rayles,
219and after them all the other Companyes, extending to the furthest
220end of Mart lane. When she entred Mart lane a peale
221of ordnance began at the Tower, which continued halfe an
222hour or thereabouts. The presence of the Queene gave perfectione
223and life to all thes solemnityes. Shee answeared such
224speaches as wer made unto her; shee graced every persone eyther
225of dignity or employment; shee soe cheerfully both observed and
226accepted every thing, that in the judgement of all men, all these
227honours were esteemed too meane for her worth. When shee was
228entred into the Tower, shee thus spake to those about her:
229"Some have fallen from being Princes of this land, to be prisoners
230in this place; I am raysed from beeing prisoner in this

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231place, to bee Prince of this land. That dejectione was a worke of
232God's justice; this advancement is a worke of his mercy; as
233they were to yeeld patience for the one, so I must beare my selfe
234towards God thankfull, and to men mercifull and beneficiall for the
235other."

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236    This advise beinge taken, battery was forthwith made with nine
237peices of ordinance against the steples, and although they lay a
238quarter of a mile of, yet the peices that lay upon St. Anthonie's
239steple were by them dismounted, and within six or seaven tyre
240after, the peices on St. Nicholas steple were likewise cast downe,
241togither with a gunner that stode by one of them. The battery
242continued all that daie, and especially against St. Nicholas Church,
243which the enimies had made their stoorehowse for provision, so as
244the walles and roofe were torne, and the steple altogither defaced.
245    And bycause the trenches were unfitt, in regard both of distance
246and scituation, to do anie great harme to the walles on that
247side of the towne, the pioners, as well Englishe as Scotts, were
248imploied to cast newe trenches, and to raise a mount on the south
249and south-west of the towne. The daie after the begininge of
250this worke, about 300 or 400 shot of the French were secretly sett
251out of Lieth under covert of a place called litle London, ready to
252breake forth as occasion should invite them; after this a fewe
253horsemen issued forth, and lightly hovered upon the Englishe
254armie. At the last certeyne Englishe lances charged upon them,
255whereupon they retired, and drewe the Englishe within danger of

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256their shot, but they agayne were as hotly saluted, partely by a
257supplie of smale shot from the armie, and partlie by the artillery
258from the trenches; and, albeit the French did behave themselves
259bravelie that daie, in skirmishinge almost two howers in the face
260of the cannon, yet were they enforced with much expence of
261blood to retyre themselves into the towne.
262    Diverse like games of fortune were plaied, with some losse to
263both parties, the French beinge desirous to give impediment to
264the Englishe pioneers, but, either by their naturall rashenes, or ill
265fortune, they returned, for the most part, with disadvantage. At
266the last the trenches were finished, whereof some drewe so nere
267to the towne, that a harquebuze might reach them that were in
268the grene bullwarke close to the walles. Then was the armie
269removed to the newe trenches, and, as they passed, manie peces of
270artillery were discharged from the towne against them; as they were
271busied in setlinge their campe, the French salied forth, and offered
272skirmishe, but the Englishe, beinge then both divided in companie
273and otherwise imploied, held them selues within their strength.
274    Presently after this the Englishe assaulted a trench, which the
275French men had made without the towne, slue the skout and
276diuerse soldiers that were within it, and made themselves masters
277of the place. Then they gave a great alarme to the towne both
278by land and by water, and in the meane time, the newe trenches
279were planted with canon. This done, the battery began on that
280part of the towne against the walles, with effect answerable to
281the assaylant's desire.
282    On a certeyne daie, whilest this battery continued, a sodaine
283fire was raised towards eveninge in Lieth, which was no sooner
284espied by the Englishe, but they discharged their ordinance against
285the same place, so, as helpe beinge dangerous, and the winde
286growinge, the flame mightilie encreased and raged all that night,
287and imbraced also some of their stoore howses, so as much of their

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288provision was consumed: the sodainenes of the adventure, and the
289darckenes of the night brought a great feare and confusion upon
290them within the towne. Notwithstandinge, the French regarded
291lesse their safety than their glory, salied forth at the same tyme
292and maineteyned skirmishe almost two howres. They manned
293the walles also, and prepared all thinges, as if the assault should
294presently have bene given. But the breach was not then held
295reasonable, and therefore an alarme onlie was made, and certeyne
296soldiers entered the ditch to veiwe exactly the state of the walles.
297    After this two trenches were made; the one was planted with
298great ordinance, in the other certeyne shot were lodged, to beate
299of those who should appeare in defence of the walles. Then were
300two false assaults given, onlie to discover where the flanckees of
301the breach did lie, and no sooner had the Englishe approched the
302ditch, but two or three voleyes of shot were discharged against
303them from the flanckees, whereby about twenty of them were
304slaine or hurt. Hereupon the battery was bent against the
305flanckees, and in the greatest fury thereof, the French made a
306salie upon the newe trenches, and so lyvelie charged the Englishe,
307that they constreyned them to give grownd a good waye, and,
308notwithstandinge, redublinge in courage upon the importance of
309their danger, they drave the French againe home to the towne;
310and in the meane tyme, the great artillery did much hurt on both
311sides. In the very heat of these hurliments, the English burnt one
312of the milles beyond the water, and the daie followinge the other,
313which, when the French endeavoured to save, they were so galed
314by two demie-culveringes from the trenches, that they were constreyned
315to abandon the enterprise.
316    And nowe the artillery had executed so well, that, by the opinion
317of the Englishe commanders, the breach was faire, and the
318towne in fit state to be assaulted: and thus it was comonly concluded
319by some, bycause they demed so inded; by others, through

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320a rashe impaciencie, more apt to contemne dangers, then able to
321judge them; by the rest, to show themselves valiant, in things
322which perteyne to the hasard more of the soldieres then themselves;
323and herein also they were supported by manie bold blouds
324amonge the comon soldieres, who confirmed this devise with all
325sorts of hopes which men followed with fortunate succes do no
326lesse usually then vainely frame.
327    Hereupon the generall, reposinge so great assurance both in the
328courage and fortune of his soldiers, commanded them, upon the
329sixt daie of Maie, towards the eveninge, that they should be readie
330in armes by midnight, and, in the meane season, gave order that
331the battery should not cease: he encouraged them also that euery
332man should go to his charge, and shewe the same will to execute
333the enterprise which they had done to undertake it; that they had
334no more neede to doubt of the victorie, then they had to doubt of
335their owne valour; that it was in vaine to have so often chased
336their enimies to their burrowes, if then they could not ferret them
337out of their hoales; that, if they vanquished the first bruit of danger,
338which, like a storme, would be furious and short, the residue
339of the enterprise would be easy to attcheive.
340    On the other side, the French, haveinge often tasted the tough
341temper of the Englishe, omitted no preparacion for their defence,
342knowinge right well, that there is no greater token of receyving a
343blowe then when men esteme to much of themselves and to litle
344of their enimies, presuminge also that manie former good fortunes
345of the Englishe began to bred a presuminge boldnes.
346    The next morninge by ij of the clocke diverse bands of Englishe,
347with greater courage then preparacion, advanced towardes
348the towne. The lancers and light horsemen were appoynted to
349girde the feild, the residue of the foote were left to defend the
350trenches, and to endanger those who should make appearance
351upon the walles. The assailants pressed forwards and entered the

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352ditches with boldenes inoughe, some approchinge the walles, some
353the bulwarks, others attemptinge the breach besids the milles.
354But when they came to the impe of their exploite, the breach was
355fownd in good condition of defence, and for the bulwarks and the
356walles, the ladders were too short by two yards and more. Besids,
357the French had stopped the current of the river that night,
358whereby the ditches were so anoyed with water, that they were
359troublesome to passe, albeit no other impediment should have
360bene offered.

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361    This yeare, in Aprill, one William Geffry was whipped from
362the Marshall-sea, in Southwarke, untill he came to Bedlame,
363without Bishopsgate, for affirming that one John More, whoe
364then laye in Bedlame, was Jesus Christ, and that the same Geffrye
365was his disciple; uppon his heade was sett a paper, wherein
366was expressed the quality of his offence, in thes wordes - "William

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367Geffrye, a most blasphemous hereticke, denying Christ our Saviour
368to be in heaven." At Bedlame, John More was brought
369fourth, before whom Geffrye was whipped, untill he confessed
370that Jesus Christ was in heaven. Then was More examined, who
371answearing both stoutly and crosly, was commanded to put offe
372his apparrell, which he readily perfourmed, and then was tyed to
373a cart. But scarce had he bin whipped one bow-shott in length,
374but he confessed that Jesus Christ was in heaven, and that he,
375the sayd More, was a miserable man. Then was More returned
376prisoner to Bedlame, and Geffrye to the Marshall-sea, where they
377had remayned prisoneres about a yeere and a halfe before. I have
378sett downe this as a notable president to convince and reclayme
379hereticks both obstinate and absurd, especially when they rise to
380any high pitch of madnesse; for, from some degree, without exceptione,
381I exempt none.
382    Uppon the fourth of June, in the afternoone, the steeple of
383Paules, in London, was fired by lightening. The fire was seene
384to breake foorth about two or three yardes beneath the foote of
385the Crosse, not much greater in appearance then the flame of a
386candle, from whence it burned downward, and in short tyme
387imbraced the whole spire of the steeple, and all the rooffes of the
388church. This fire was the more terrible, by reasone it was in a
389conspicuous place, and threatned danger unto many, and was alltogether
390unapproacheable for remedy, as well in regard of the height
391of the church as of the falling downe of the moulten lead. The
392flames flew over many partes of the city; sparkes, and small
393coales, were cast soe farr as the conduite in Fleete streete; the
394channelles about the church wer stopped, and the streetes seemed
395to be paved with leade. The people, being strooke with amazement,
396filled all places with tumult and confusione, expecting a
397generall calamity of the city, and, thereuppon, buysying themselves
398to remove such goodes out of ther howses as they wer

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399most desirous to save. The fury of the fire was soe greate, that,
400within the space of fowre howres, it burned downe the spire of
401the steeple and all the rooffes of the church. The timber worke
402was consumed, the leade moulten, the belles cast downe, which
403made a hideous noyse in the fall; the stone work, alsoe, especially
404towardes the topp, was sore shaken and weakened with the force
405of the fire. And herein wer two things especially admired and
406observed by some: one was, the sodayne encrease of the fire, for
407that it was noe sooner begunne, but foorthwith it was at the
408highest; the other was, that, as if it had beene destined onely for
409the ruine of that place, it beganne at the topp of the spire of the
410steeple, and from thence fastened uppon every part of the rooffes
411of the church, and yet fell not from the rooffes (where the fire did
412most rage) uppon any of the buildings underneath. Hereuppon
413strange conjectures wer conceived, as of secret causes, soe of vayne
414events, which did never ensue.
415    Immediately uppon this misadventure, the Queene directed
416her letteres to the Lord Mayor and citizens of London to take
417speedy order for the repayring of thes harmes; and, for ther
418better encouragement, shee delivered foorthwith one thousand
419markes in gould toward the charge, and a warrant for one thousand
420loades of timber, to be taken out of her woodes or parkes
421wheresoever. The citizenes of London granted a benevolence,
422and three fifteenes, to be presently payd. The clergie of the province
423of Canterbury granted the fortieth part of the yearely valew
424of thos benefices which payd first fruites, and of those which payd
425noe first fruits, the thirtieth part. The clergie of the diocesse of
426London granted the thirtieth part of the yearely valew of such
427benefices as were charged with first fruites, and the twentieth
428part of thos that were charged. All this, being collected together,
429with many other voluntary contributiones besides, amounted
430to the sum of 5,968^li. 16^s. 1^d. ob. Two of the clergie of the

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431church of St. Paule, and sixe citizenes of London, wer appoynted
432to oversee and sett forward the worke, who used such diligence
433in ther charge, that, within one month after the firing of the
434church, all the fower greate roofes wer covered with a sleight
435roofe of boordes and leade, onely to preserve the walles, floores,
436and vaultes, from the enjurie of the rayne. And, before the
437yeare was expired, all the long rooffes wer raysed of new and
438strong timber, the most part whereof was framed in Yorkshire,
439and by sea conveyed to London: the charges of which worke
440amounted to the summe of 5,982^li. 13^s. 4^d. ob.
441    Soe the receites wer fully expended; and yett the two crosse-roofes,
442which stand north and south, were not finished, but remayned
443still covered with boardes untill the yeare 1564. At
444which tyme they wer raysed and perfected at the onely charge of
445Edmund Grindall, then Bishopp of London, whoe expended, out
446of his proper estate, 720^li. in finishing that worke. This Bishopp
447was a man famous, whilest he lived, for his deepe judgment, both
448in learning and affayres of the world; famous, alsoe, both for his
449industry and gift in preaching; but cheifly he was famous for his
450magnanimous courage, in that it was noe lesse easy to divert the
451sunne from his proper course, then to pervert him to indirect
452actiones. Hereuppon, because he stoode inflexible, eyther to a
453bad cause or from a good, because his authority could not be
454made serviceable eyther to the ambitione or lustes of otheres,
455certayne greate persones wer displeased against him, and drew
456uppon him some displeasure from the Queene. But, for that he
457was not fearefull of the losse of his dignity, he was esteemed by
458her the more worthy to retayne it. And yet I am not assured
459that the memory of his vertues would not have worne out, if this
460the last worke (worthie of any account) which, since that tyme,
461hath hitherto bin bestowed uppon the church of St. Paule, had
462not beene an occasione to preserve them in lyfe.

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463    The Church of St. Paule in London was first built by Ethelbert,
464the first Christiane King of the Saxones, wherein Melitus
465(one of those fowre whoe wer sent by Pope Gregory to convert
466the Saxones) was appoynted to have his sea. This church was
467ruined in the 20^th yeare of William the Victor, by a raging fire,
468which did prostrate the greatest part of the city of London. Hereupon
469Maurrice, at that tyme Bishopp of London, beganne the
470foundatione of the new Church of St. Paule; a worke so admirable
471that many conjectured it would never have bin finished. Rychard,
472his next successor, as well in vertue as in place, purchased the
473ground about the church, whereuppon many buildings did stand,
474and incloased it with a strong wall of stone for a place of buriall,
475of which walle many partes continue at this tyme on both sides of
476the church, but covered and obscured with dwelling houses. He
477expended all the revenues of his Bishopricke in advancing the building
478of this church, and maynteyned himselfe uppon his patrimony
479and freindes, and yet all which he could doe, made noe greate shew.
480And albeit the succeedinge Bishoppes did with all diligence drive
481on the worke, yet was not the building of the steeple finished untill
482the sixth yeare of King Henry the Third, neyther could it be
483made fitt for dedicatione untill the 24^th yeare of the same King's
484reigne. In that yeare it was dedicated by Roger Bishopp of London,
485the King beeing present, attended with many personages of
486honour, whoe wer all feasted by the bishopp and canonnes of the
487same church. The length of this churche is 720 foote, the bredth
488thereof 130; the height of the steeple was 520 foote, whereof the
489stone worke, which still remayneth, is 260, and the spire, now
490burned, was likewise 260. The bodye of the church is a 150 foote
491in height.