This vow full well the king perform'd, In one day fifty knights were slaine, And of the rest, of small account, Thus ended the hunting of Chevy-Chace, God save the King! and bless this lande And grant, henceforth, that foule debate The battle of Humbledown, or Homildon Hill, was fought in 1402. On this occasion, the Earl of Nor thumberland and his son Hotspur gained a victory over the Scots. Thomas Wolsey, the son of a butcher, was born at Ipswich, in Suffolk, A. D. 1471. After finishing his education at Oxford, he became tutor to the sons of the Marquis of Dorset. He was afterwards made chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and was promoted by Henry VII. to the deanery of Lincoln. Henry VIII. bestowed upon him many honourable and lucrative appointments, such as the bishoprics of Lincoln, Durham, and Winchester. He was also made Archbishop of York; and at a later period he was invested by the Pope with the rank of a cardinal. His immense revenues nearly equalled those of the Crown. Part of his wealth was expended in pomp and ostentation, and part of it in the erection of edifices for the advancement of learning. He founded a college, which had, however, a very brief existence, in his native town of Ipswich; the noble college of Christchurch, Oxford, also owes its origin to him. He likewise built a palace at Hampton Court, which he presented to the king. Having given offence to Henry by not promoting the divorce of Queen Catherine, he fell into disgrace, and his estates were confiscated. He retired to his diocese at York, but even there the resentment of his enemies followed him. In 1530 he was arrested on a charge of high treason, and was committed to the custody of the lieutenant of the Tower, who had orders to convey him to London. He was taken ill on the road, and died in Leicester Abbey on the 29th November, 1530, and was buried in the middle of one of the abbey chapels. WOLSEY'S FALL. Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!! And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear ; In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, 1 Wolsey is here addressing Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex. He was born at Putney, in Surrey, and was the son of a blacksmith. By his talents he rose to be the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Keeper of the Privy Seal, and Vicar-General of the kingdom. New opened, that is, I now see things as they are. Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee: Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, oh, Cromwell, And-prithee, lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe, And my integrity to Heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. Oh, Cromwell, Cromwell, I served my king, He would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies! WOLSEY'S DEATH. The manner of his death is told to Queen Katherine by one Griffith, a Gentleman-Usher to the Queen. At last, with easy roads1, he came to Leicester, 1 By short stages. In the following piece, although the poet shuns to celebrate the victory of Waterloo, yet he gives us a most beautiful description of the evening which preceded the battle of Quatre Bras, the alarm which called out the troops, and the hurry and confusion which preceded their march. Stop! for thy tread is on an empire's dust! Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! About six o'clock on the evening of the 15th June (1815), Wellington received intelligence of the advance of the French; and having ordered the concentration of troops on Quatre Bras, "dressed and went to a ball at the Duchess of Richmond's, where his manner was so undisturbed, that no one discovered that any intelligence of importance had arrived; many brave men were there assembled amidst the scenes of festivity, and surrounded by the smiles of beauty, who were, ere long, locked in the arms of death."-Alison. |