At the time of the Reformation, the last prioress (but one), Florence Bormewe, refused to surrender her monastery to the King’s emissaries. They wrote: “Albeit we have used as many ways with her as our poor wits could attain, yet in the end we could not by any persuasion bring her to any conformity, but at all times she resteth and so remaineth in these terms.” She answered, “If the King’s Highness command me to go from this house I will gladly go, though I beg my bread, and as for pension I care for none.” The death of this brave prioress saved her from further humiliation.
Joan Darell was abbess at the time of the Dissolution; she surrendered to King Henry VIII. Dec. 4th, 1540.
The old Chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth gives Amesbury as the place of Queen Guinevere’s penitential retirement. The modern poet, Tennyson, takes the same view:
“Queen Guinevere had fled the Court and sat
There in the holy house at Almesbury.”
Antiquarians disagree as to whether the fine church now standing—with its lancet windows, pointed arches, and massive turret—is the old abbey church, or only that of the parish. In an obscure corner at the back of the church is found a window of quite another description—very beautiful, and more approaching to the “rose” style of architecture. Of the old stained glass only a few broken fragments remain. On one piece is a picture of a fair-haired, long-necked woman suppose to represent Queen Guinevere.
The churchyard (lying to the south of the old church), with its grey tombstones and dark green yew-trees, has a solemn, calm and peaceful air. Over a grave is found the following epitaph:—
“Altho’ his body here doth lye
Till the last trump doth it raise,
His soul is now in heaven high
And sings Jehovah’s praise.”
I now finish my description of Amesbury’s monastic period and turn to the modern years. According to a good authority, Henry VIII. bestowed Amesbury upon Edward, Earl of Hertford, afterwards Duke of Somerset and Lord Protector in the succeeding reign. After his trial, death sentence, and execution, the lands were confiscated by the Crown till the reign of Queen Elizabeth, who probably restored them to the Protector’s son, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford. This gentleman was thrice married, his last wife being a widow of fascinating beauty and charm. She had previously been engaged to Sir George Rodney, who loved her madly, but, being ambitious, she left him for Lord Hertford. The day before the marriage, Sir George Rodney travelled to the inn at Amesbury and waited for the home-coming of the bride and bridegroom. All the night he occupied himself by composing a dying love song written with his own blood. Upon the arrival in the village of his false love, he went to greet her, and fell upon his sword and expired at her feet. I give the following extract from the poem, which is somewhat long and tedious:—
“Sir George Rodney before he killed himself—
What shall I do that am undone,
Where shall I fly myself to shunne?
Ah mee! myselfe must kill,
And yet I die against my will.
In starry letters I behold
My death in the Heavens enrolled.
There finde it wrytt in skyes above
That I (poore I) must die for love.
’Twas not my love deserved to die,
O no! it was unworthy I.
I for her love should not have dyde,
But that I had no worth beside.
Ah mee! that love such woe procures,
For without her no love endures.
I for her vertues her doe serve,
Doth such a love a death deserve?”