With shame and sorrow filled:
Shame for his folly; sorrow out of time
For plotting an unprofitable crime.--Dryden.
We must once more take our readers back, if it be but for the space of a couple of hours, and introduce them into the bedchamber of a king: a place, we believe, as yet sacred from the sacrilegious foot of any novelist.
In the castle of Guisnes, then, and in the sleeping-room of Henry the Eighth, King of England, stood, exactly opposite the window, a large square bed, covered with a rich coverlet of arras, which, hanging down on each side, swept the floor with its golden fringe. High overhead, attached to the wall, was a broad and curiously-wrought canopy, whereon the laborious needle of some British Penelope had traced, with threads of gold, the rare and curious history of that famous knight, Alexander the Great, who was there represented with lance in rest, dressed in a suit of Almaine rivet armour, overthrowing King Darius; who, for his part, being in a mighty fright, was whacking on his clumsy elephant with his sceptre, while the son of Philip, with more effect, appeared pricking him up under the ribs with the point of his spear.
In one corner of the chamber, ranged in fair and goodly order, were to be seen several golden lavers and ewers, together with fine diapers and other implements for washing; while hard by was an open closet filled with linen and plate of various kinds, with several Venice glasses, a mirror, and a bottle of scented waters. In addition to these pieces of furniture appeared four wooden settles of carved oak, which, with two large rich chairs of ivory and gold, made up, at that day, the furniture of a king's bed-chamber.
The square lattice window was half-open, letting in the sweet breath of the summer morning upon Henry himself, who, with his head half-covered with a black velvet nightcap, embroidered with gold, still lay in bed, supporting himself on his elbow, and listening to a long detail of grievances poured forth from the rotund mouth of honest Jekin Groby, who, by the king's command, encumbered with his weighty bulk one of the ivory chairs by the royal bedside.
Somewhat proud of having had a lord for the companion of his perils, the worthy clothier enlarged mightily upon the seizure of himself and Lord Darnley by Sir Payan Wileton, seasoning his discourse pretty thickly with "My lord did," and "My lord said," but omitting altogether to mention him by the name of Sir Osborne, thinking it would be a degradation to his high companionship so to do; though, had he done so but once, it would have saved many of the misfortunes that afterwards befel.
Henry heard him calmly, till he related the threats which Sir Payan held out to his prisoner, in that interview of which Jekin had been an unperceived witness; then starting up, "Mother of God!" cried the king, "what has become of the young gallant? Where is he? ha, man? Now, heaven defend us! the base traitor has not murdered him! ha?"
"Lord 'a mercy! you've kicked all the clothes off your grace's worship," cried Jekin: "let me kiver you up! you'll catch a malplexy, you will!"
"God's life! answer me, man!" cried Henry. "What has become of the young lord, Osborne Darnley?--ha?"
"Bless your grace! that's just what I cannot tell you," replied Jekin; "for I never saw him after we got out."