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never be got at, when all discussion is regulated by those who hold the reigns of government, to whom the discovery of truth is not always acceptable. Neither is it true, as some people imagine, that no government can withstand the daily attacks of the press. Men know when they are prosperous, and although they love to grumble at all that is going on, no quantity of rhetoric will persuade a nation, that is in possession of liberty, to risk a civil war, in order to obtain a change in the form of government. A minister may generally so manage,

as

either to endure, or to overcome popular clamour. The slanderous whisper of the emperor of Russia's courtiers is ten times more dangerous to a good minister than the angry hubbub of the king of England's people."

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This volume contains much that is curious, not only for the antiquarian, but for the general reader who is fond of this kind of amusement. It gives an account of the queen's entertainment by the countess of Derby, at Harefield-place, Middlesex, in July, 1602; with some particulars relative to several earlier visits at Loseley, Chichester, BarnElms, Putney, &c.; it also details circumstances belonging to the princely fêtes at Kenilworth, Coventry, Warwick, Worcester, &c.; and contains extracts from the unpublished letters of John Chamberlain, esq. to sir Dudley Carleton, relative to her majesty's progresses, her sickness, and death.

Harefield-place, to which the first pages are devoted, is situated in the north-western angle of Middlesex, three miles from Uxbridge, and eighteen from London; the abode of the then dowager lady Derby. "The mansion-house, which is situated near the church, was the ancient residence of the lords of the manor. And here it was that the lord keeper Egerton and the countess dowager of Derby were honoured by a visit from queen Elizabeth; and here, in or about the year 1635, Milton's Arcades was presented to the same countess dowager in her second widowhood, by some noble persons of her family."

"After the queene entered (out of the high-way) into the deamesne grounde of Harefielde, near the Dayrie-howse, she was mett with two persons, the one representing a baylife, the other a dayrie-maide, with the speech. Her majesty being on horse-backe, stayed under a tree (because it rayned) to heare it.

"B. Why, how now, Joane! are you heere? Gods my life, what make you heere, gaddinge and gazinge after this manner? You come to buy gape-seede, doe you?

Wherefore come you abroade now I faith can you tell? "Jo. I come abroade to welcome these strangers.

"B. Strangers? how knew you there would come strangers?

"Jo. All this night I could not sleepe, dreaming of greene rushes; and yesternight the chatting of the pyes, and the chirkinge of the frisketts, did foretell as much; and, besides that, all this day my left eare glowed, and that is to me (let them all say what they will) allwaies a signe of strangers

strangers, if it be in the summer; 'marye, if it be in the winter, tis a signe of anger. But what make you in this company, I pray you? "B. I make the way for these strangers, which the way-maker himself could not doe; for it is a way was never passed before. Besides, the Mrs. of this faire company, though she know the way to all men's harts, yet she knowes the way but to few men's howses, except she love them very well, I can tell you; and therefore I myselfe, without any commission, have taken upon me to conduct them to the house.

"Jo. The house? which house? doe you remember yourselfe? which way goe you?

"B. I goe this way, on the right hand. Which way should I goe?

"Jo. You say true, and you're a trim man; but I faith I'll talke noe more to you, except you ware wyser. I pray you hartely, 'forsooth, come neare the house, and take a simple lodginge with vs to-night; for I can assuere you that yonder house that he talks of is but a pigeon-house, which is very little if it were finisht, and yet very little of it is finisht. And you will believe me, vpon my life, lady, I saw carpenters, and bricklayers, and other workmen about it within less then these two howers. Besides, I doubt my Mr. and Mrs. are not at home; or, if they be, you must make your owne provision; for they have noe provision for such strangers. You should seeme to be ladies; and we in the country have an old saying, that halfe a pease a day will serve a lady.'

I

know not what you are, nether am I acquainted with your dyet; but, if you will goe with me, you shall haue cheare for a lady: for first you shall haue a dayntie sillibub; next a messe of clowted creame; stroakings, in good faith, redd cowes milk, and they say in London that's restorative: you shall have greene cheeses and creame. (I'll speake a bould word) if the queene herself (God save her grace) [were here*,] she might be seene to eat of it. Wee will not greatly bragge of our possets, but we would be loath to learne to praise and if you loue frute, forsooth, wee haue jenitings, paremayns, russet coates, pippines, able-johns, and perhaps a pareplum, damsone, I or an apricocke too, but that they are noe dainties this yeare; and therefore, I pray, come near the house, and wellcome heartily, doe soe.

"B. Goe to, gossip; your tongue must be running. If my Mrs. should heare of this, I faith shee would give you little thankes I can tell you, for offeringe to draw so faire a flight from her pigeon-house (as you call it) to your dayrie-house.

"Jo. Wisely, wisely, brother Richard; I faith as I would vse the matter, I dare say shee would giue me great thankes: for you know my Mrs. charged me earnestly to retaine all idele hearvestfolkes that past this way; and my meaning was, that, if I could hold them all this night and to-morrow, on Monday morning to carry them into the fields; and to make them earne their entertaynement well and thriftily; and to that end I

"The words within the brackets are wanting in the MS. R.C."

have heere a rake* and forke,* to deliver to the best huswife in all this company.

"B. Doe soe then: deliver them to the best huswife in all this company; for wee shall haue as much vse of her paines and patience there as here. As for the dainties that you talke of, if you have any such, you shall doe well to send them; and as for these strangers, sett thy hart at rest, Joane; they will not rest with [thee] this night, but will passe on to my Mr. house.

"Jo. Then, I pray, take this rake and forke with you; but I am ashamed, and woe at my hart, you should goe away soe late. And I pray God you repent you not, and wish yourselves here againe, when you finde you haue gone further and fared worsse."

After this pithy dialogue, the queen enters the house, where another conversation, to welcome her, ensues between Place and Time.

"Place in a partie colored roabe, like the brick house.

"Time with yellow haire, and in a green roabe, with a hower glasse, stopped, not runninge.”

This, also, is so whimsical a specimen of the fashion of the age, that we cannot resist quoting it.

"P. Wellcome, good Time. "T. Godden, my little pretie priuat Place.

"P. Farewell, godbwy Time; are you not gone? doe you stay heere? I wonder that Time should stay any where; what's the cause?

66 T. If thou knewst the cause, thou wouldst not wonder; for I

stay to entertaine the Wonder of this time; wherein I would pray thee to ioyne mee, if thou wert not too little for her greatness; for it weare as great a meracle for thee to receive her, as to see the ocean shut up in a little creeke, or the circumference shrinke vnto the pointe of the center.

"P. Too little! by that reason shee should rest in noe place, for no place is great ynough to receive her. Too little! I haue all this day entertayned the sunn, which, you knowe, is a great and glorious guest; hee's but euen now gone downe yonder hill; and now he is gone, methinks, if Cinthia her selfe would come in his place, the place that contaynde him should not be too little to

receave her.

"T. You say true, and I like, your comparison; for the guest that wee are to entertaine doth fill all places with her divine vertues, as the sunn fills the world with the light of his beames. But say, poor Place, in what manner didst thou entertaine the sunn?

"P. I received his glory, and was fill'd with it: but, I must confesse, not according to the proportion of his greatnes, but according to the measure of my capacitie; his bright face [methought] was all day turnd vpon mee; nevertheless his beames in infinite abundance weere disperst and spread vpon other places.

"T. Well, well; this is noe time for vs to entertaine one another, when wee should ioine to en tertaine her. Our entertaynment of this goddesse will be much alike; for though her selfe shall

"A note in the original MS. calls these 2 Juells;' probably in the form, one of a rake, and the other of a fork; bat how elegant such a form or shape of a jewel might be, I cannot say. R.C."

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ecclipse

ecclipse her soe much, as to suffer her brightness to bee shadowed in this obscuere and narrow Place, yet the sunne beames that follow her, the traine I meane that attends vpon her, must, by the necessitie of this Place, be diuded from her. Are you ready, Place? Time is ready.

"P. Soe it should seeme, indeed, you are so gay, fresh, and cheerfull. You are the present Time, are you not? then what neede you make such haste? Let me see, your wings are clipt, and, for ought I see, your hower-glasse

runnes not.

"T. My wings are clipt, indeed, and it is her hands hath clipt them: and, tis true, my glasse runnes not indeed it hath bine stopt a long time, it can never rune as long as I waite upon this Mris. I [am] her Time; and Time weare very vngratefull, if it should not euer stand still, to serue and preserue, cherish and delight her, that is the glory of her time, and makes the Time happy wherein she liueth.

"P. And doth not she make Place happy as well as Time? What if she make thee a contynewall holy-day, she makes me a perpetuall sanctuary. Doth not the presence of a prince make a cottage a court, and the presence of the gods make euery place heauen? But, alas, my littlenes is not capable of that happiness that her great grace would impart vnto me: but, weare I as large as there harts that are mine owners, I should be the fairest Pallace in the world; and weere I agreeable

to the wishes of there hartes, 1 should in some measure resemble her sacred selfe, and be in the outward frount exceeding faire, and in the inward furniture exceeding rich.

"A diamond. Original MS." + "Some word wanting, probably robe. R. C."

"T. In good time do you remember the hearts of your owners; for, as I was passing to this place, I found this Hart, which, as my daughter Truth tould mee, was stolne by owne of the nymphes from one of the seruants of this goddesse; but her guiltie conscience enforming her that it did belong only of right vnto her that is Mrs. of all harts in the world, she cast [it] from her for this time; and Oportunity, finding it, deliuered it vnto me. Heere, Place, take it thou, and present it vnto her as a pledge and mirror of their harts that owe thee.

"P. It is a mirror, indeed, for so it is transparent. It is a cleare hart, you may see through it. It hath noe close corners, noe darkenes, noe unbutifull spott in it. I will, therefore, presume the more boldly to deliver it; with this as surance, that Time, Place, Persons, and all other circumstances, doe concurre altogether in bidding her wellcome."

The third entertainment is, "The humble Petition of a guiltlesse La

dy, delivered in writing upon Munday morninge, when the † of rainbowes was · presented to the Q. by the La. Walsingham.

"Beauties rose,‡ and vertues booke,
Angells minde, and angells looke,

To all saints and angells deare,
Clearest maicstie on earth,
Heauen did smile at your faire birth,

And since your daies have been most cleare

See the two last lines of the fifth stanza.

"Queen Elizabeth, Beauty's Rose,' &c. had now attained the blooming age of sixty-nine! She danced, however, in 1602. See p. 24."

Only

Only poore St. Swythen* now
Doth heare you blame his cloudy brow:
But that poore St. deuoutly sweares,
It is but a tradition vaine

That his much weeping causeth raine
For Sts in heauen shedd no teares:
But this he saith, that to his feast
Commeth Iris, an vnbidden guest,

In her moist roabe of collers gay;
And she cometh, she ever staies,
For the space of forty daies,

And more or losse raines euery day.
But the good St, when once he knew,
This raine was like to fall on you,

If Sts could weepe, he had wept as much
As when he did the lady leade
That did on burning iron tread,
To ladies his respect is such.

He gently first bids Iris goe
Unto the Antipodes below,

But shee for that more sullen grew.
When he saw that, with angry looke,
From her her rayneie roabes he tooke,
Which heere he doth present to you.
It is fitt it should with you remaine,
For you know better how to raine.
Yet if it raine still as before,
St. Swythen praies that
you would
guesse,
That Iris doth more roabes possesse,
And that you should blame him no more."
The account of the last pageant
is thus narrated:-

"March 30th, 1603. I make no question but you have heard of our great loss before this came to you; and no doubt but you shall hear her majesty's sickness and manner of death diversely related; for even here the Papists do tell strange stories, as utterly void of truth, as of all civil honesty and humanity. I had good means to understand how the world went, and find her disease to be nothing but a settled and unremovable melancholy, insomuch that she could not be won or persuaded, neither by councils, divines, physicians, nor the women about her, once to sup, or touch any physic, though ten or twelve physicians, that were continually about her,

with all manner of asseverations of perfect and easy recovery, if she would follow their advice; so that it cannot be said of her, as it was of the emperor Hadrian, Turba Medicorum occidit Regem; for they say, she died only for lack of physic.

"Here was some whispering that her brain was somewhat distempered; but there was no such matter; only she held an obstinate silence for the most part, because she had a persuasion, that if she once lay down she should never rise; could not be got to go to bed in a whole week, till three days before her death; so that after three weeks languishing, she departed, being the 24th of this present, being on Lady's Eve, between two and three in the morning, as she was born on our Lady's Eve, in September. And as one Lee was mayor of London when she came to the crown; so is there one Lee mayor now she left it.

"The archbishop of Canterbury, the bishop of London, the almoner, and other her chaplains and divines, had access to her in her sickness divers times, when she gave good testimony of her faith by word, but specially towards her ends by signs, when she was speechless, and would not suffer the archbishop to depart as long as she had sense; but held him twice or thrice when he was going, and could no longer endure, both by reason of his own weakness and compassion of hers.

"She made no will, nor gave any thing away; so that they which came after shall find a well

"Alluding to an ancient prejudice, still entertained by the common people, that a rainy St. Swithins's day (the 15th of July) will be followed by forty days of the same weather. This is a confirmation, if any were wanting of the date of the visit. R. C."

I 2

furnished

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