Alas! this was for some time perfectly impossible! Off went pistols, and down went helmets! One hero got his foot out of his own stirrup, whilst that of a neighbour's intruded into it; some strayed to the vicinity of their horses' necks, and not a few wandered to the less honourable neighbourhood of the tail! But at last all was right, and then they enjoyed the shouting, and helped to shout too, but whether from having enjoyed the spectacle, or from being rejoiced at its conclusion, seemed a little uncertain. Then, the ladies swung their handkerchiefs, which were as white as those articles generally are on public occasions. The soldiers bowed and looked pleased, for they had done their duty, and were his Majesty's soldiers; and they were sound in "lith and limb;" and their swords were in their scabbards (rattling like knives in a knife-box); and they were going to have a good dinner, and hear long speeches after it. So I came home, and I thought their not having injured themselves was one good thing, but their not having injured any one else was a better. And every body who had seen them thought so too! M. J. J. In this wise the Duke of Glocester took upon himself the order and governance of the young King, whom with much honour and humble reverence he conveyed towards London. But and the tidings of this matter came hastily to the Queen, a little before the midnight following, and that, in the secret-wise, her son was taken, her brother, her son, and other friends, arrested, and sent no man wist whither, to be done with God wot what. With which tidings the Queen, with great heaviness, bewailed her child's reign, her friends' mischance, and her own misfortune; damning the time that ever she dissuaded the gathering of powers about the King, got herself, in all haste possible, with her young son and her daughter, out of the Palace of Westminster, in which they then lay, into the Sanctuary, lodging herself and company there in the Abbot's place. Speed's History of England, Book ix. SCENE I. ELIZABETH, widow of EDWARD IV., in the Palace at Westminster, watching her younger son, RICHARD sleeping. Eliz. THE minster-clock tolls midnight-I have watched Night after night, and heard the same sad sound Knolling-the same sad sound, night after night; More awful spoke, as with a voice from heaven, are not," till, like dreams of yesterday, The very echo dies. Oh! my poor child, Thou hast been long asleep-by the pale lamp With its ten thousand voices shall awake, To heaven's still gate!-Now all is hushed as death- [A messenger enters, and announces to her that Eliz. Oh! my poor child; thou sleepest now in peace! Wilt thou sleep thus, another year? Shall I Hang o'er thee with a mother's look of love? Thus bend beside thy bed? thus part the hair Upon thy forehead? and thus kiss thy cheek? Richard, awake! the tiger is abroad! We must to Sanctuary instantly. (RICHARD awaking.) Rich. Oh! I have had the sweetest dreams, dear mother; Methought my brother Edward and myself, And Eliz. Come, these are no times to talk of dreams, We must to Sanctuary, my poor boy We'll talk of dreams hereafter-kneel with me. [Takes him from his couch and kisses him. Rich. Mother, why do you weep and tremble so? Eliz. I have a pain at heart!-Come, stir thee, boy, Lift up thy innocent hands to heaven, here kneel And pray with me before this crucifix. [Her daughters enter, and they all kneel together. SCENE II. In Sanctuary at Westminster. Rich. Oh! my dear mother, why do we sit here, Amid these dusky walls and arches dim, When it is summer in the fields without, And sunshine? Say, is not my brother King? Why will he not come here to play with me? Shall I not see my brother? Eliz. My own child,— Oh! let me hide these tears upon thy head! Thy brother! shalt thou see him? yes, I hope Come, I will tell a tale. There was a boy, Who had a cruel uncle Rich. I have heard My uncle Gloster was a cruel man— |