<B CEHIST2B>
<Q E2 NN HIST HAYWARD>
<N ANNALS ELIZABETH>
<A HAYWARD JOHN>
<C E2>
<O 1570-1640>
<M X>
<K X>
<D ENGLISH>
<V PROSE>
<T HISTORY>
<G X>
<F X>
<W WRITTEN>
<X MALE>
<Y 40-60>
<H PROF>
<U X>
<E X>
<J X>
<I X>
<Z NARR NON-IMAG>
<S SAMPLE X>


[^HAYWARD, SIR JOHN.
ANNALS OF THE FIRST FOUR YEARS OF
THE REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.
CAMDEN SOCIETY, VII.
ED. J. BRUCE.
LONDON, 1840.
PP. 2.13  - 11.5    (SAMPLE 1)
PP. 60.11 - 64.9    (SAMPLE 2)
PP. 86.28 - 90.29   (SAMPLE 3)^]

<S SAMPLE 1>
<P 2>
   During this tyme, a Parliament was held at London, where the
Nobility of the Realme remayned with a more constant            #
countenance,
eyther as holding themselves assured, or for that they
would not descend to any other seeming. When they received
certaine intelligence of the death of Queene Mary, they         #
assembled
together in the upper howse, and, after a short debatement,     #
sent
to the Speaker of the Parliament, desiring him to come to them
forthwith, accompanyed with the whole body of the lower house,
[{for that they had{] to impart a matter of importance unto     #
them.
When they were come, and had setled themselves to attentione,
Doctor Heath, Archbishop of Yorke, and Lord Chauncelor of       #
England,
with a composed countenance and voice, as neither glad at
the death of the old Prince, nor discontended at the new,       #
declared
to them the assured advertisement of the death of the Queene:
That albeit the Parliament by this heavy accident did dissolve,
yet for that they had bin elected to represent the common       #
people
<P 3>
of the Realme, and to deale for them in matters of estate, they
could noe waye better dischardge that trust, then in joyninge   #
with
the Lords to publish the next Successour to the Crowne: That
the right and title of Lady Elizabeth, sister to the deceased
Queene, and onely daughter then surviving of King Henry the
Eighth, was esteemed by the Lords free from all quarrell, free
from all questione and doubt: that in no case expeditione is    #
more
expedient, than in these high passages of State, for            #
extinguishing
as well the vayne hopes of enemyes, as the false and needelesse
feares of friendes: that for this cause the Lords had desired   #
their
presence, that, with joynt consent of the whole assembly, the   #
Lady
Elizabeth might forthwith be proclaymed Queene.
   The Knights and Burgesses gave easy consent to that which
they sawe noe reason to deny. If happily some few had noe       #
inclination
that waye, yet, beeing unable to stay the course of so greate
a current, they were content not to shew a will to affect that
which they had no power to effect. Soe the same day shee was
proclaymed Queene by the principall Heraalts-at-Armes - first,
at the Pallace at Westminster, directly before the Hall-dore,   #
afterwards
at the Crosse in Cheape, and in other places of the Citye.
This ceremony was performed upon Thursday, the seventeenth
day of November, in the yeare 1558, in the five-and-twentieth
yeare of her age, when shee had been well instructed by         #
experience
and adversity, two excellent teachers for her, who had a        #
judgment
farre beyond her yeares.
   The same daye Reygnold Poole, Cardinall, and not long before
made Archbishop of Canterbury, departed this life, doubtfull    #
whether
<P 4>
by naturall disease, or by violence of griefe, or by some other
strange inforcement. He was one of the younger sonnes of        #
Margaret,
Countesse of Salisbury, daughter to George, Duke of Clarence, 
brother to King Edward the Fourth. Hee was learned and
eloquent, of noe comely presence, but of good grace in          #
delivering
his speach: herewith haughty, ambitious, and vehement in the    #
pursuite
of his purposes. Whereupon, as he had been formerly impatient
for not atteyning to the full degrees of his desires and        #
hopes, so
now, most of all, in fore-seeing the abatement of his honour,   #
and
the alteratione of the relligeone which hee did professe; for   #
establishment
whereof, in former times, he had practised so farr that
he had reasone to conceive he could not be indured in the       #
change.
   For the change in Religion which then insued, and had alsoe
happened not long before, was easily fore-seene by men of       #
understanding,
not onely by reasone of the consciences of the Princes,
formed in them by education, but alsoe out of their particular
interests and endes. For King Henry the eighth had taken to
wife Katherine of Arragon, who had beene formerly marryed to
Prince Arthur his elder brother; for which marriage (being      #
within
the degrees expressely prohibited in Leviticus) the Bishop of   #
Rome
gave a dispensatione. Now King Henry, following the opinione of
those Divines (as well Catholickes as Protestants) who judged   #
those
prohibitiones to bee naturall and morall, and that noe power    #
uppon
earth had power to grant a dispensatione against them, put away
Queen Katherine, and marryed Queene Anne Bullen, whilest she
still remained in life. Of this Katherine he had issue Mary; of
Anne Bullen, Elizabeth. So it was a marveilous motive for Queen
Mary to embrace and advance the authority of the Bishop of
Rome, for that the validity of King Henryes marryage with       #
Queene
Katherine her mother, was thereupon grounded: And this hath
not bin the weakest threed in the Pope's net, by dispensing in
<P 5>
such prohibited marriages to hoald Princes obnoxious unto him.
But on the other side, because yf the Bishop of Rome had power
to dispense in the first marriage of King Henry the eyght, then
was the subsequent marriage with Anne Bullen voyde; besides
the command of conscience, it was alsoe an inducement in        #
reasone
for Queene Elizabeth to reject his authority. And, albeit many
greate Princes doe neyther so easily resist, nor so moderately  #
follow
their desires as other men, because, by how much more they are
accustomed to be honoured and obeyed, by so much lesse          #
(advancing 
their wills above other respects) are they able to indure
to have their purposes eyther frustrated or delayed: yet was    #
not
this alteratione brought in sodaynly (as in other places it was
usually done) but by a more felt than seene manner of           #
proceeding.
Yea, some colour of hope was conceived, that noe alteratione
should be made at all; for that a Proclamatione was presently
set foorth, that no man should alter any Rites or Ceremonyes at
that tyme used in the Church: And, because, in such divisione   #
of
opinions, the Pulpits often serve as drummes and fiffes, to
inflame fury, Proclamatione was made, that noe man might        #
preach,
but such as should be allowed by authority: and thes alsoe were
charged to forbeare treating of controversyes in Religion not   #
to
move dispute touching governement, eyther for altering or       #
reteyning
the present forme. Hereuppon no Sermon was preached at Paules
<P 6>
Crosse, untill the Rehearsall Sermon was made upon the Sunday
after Easter: at which tyme when the Preacher was ready to
mount into the Pulpet, the keye could not be found: and when,
by commandement of the Lord Mayor, it was opened by a
smyth, the place was very filthy and uncleane. Alsoe the Ports
and Havens were diligently kept, that noe man might passe forth
of the Realme, or enter therein, without eyther licence or      #
notice at
the least, whereby many suspiciones and doubtes, and happily    #
some
dangeres, were prevented. Lastly, inhibitione was straightly    #
given
that no monyes should be made over by exchange for a tyme.
   And, for that the presence of the Prince is of greatest      #
moment
to establish affayres, the Queene, the next day after her       #
title was
proclaimed, removed from Hatfield, in Hartfordshire, where shee
then lay, towardes London; and was upon the way incountred
and intertained in all places with such a concourse of people,  #
with
soe lively representationes of love, joy and hope, that it      #
farr exceeded
her expectatione. The people of all sorts (even such whose
fortunes were unlike either to bee amended or impaired by       #
change)
went many myles out of the City to see her, some uppon          #
particular
affectione to her person, others upon opinione of good to the   #
State,
some uppon an ordinary levity and delight in change, and not a
few because they would doe as others did; all with like         #
fervency
contending who should most neerly approach unto her, who should
most cherefully bestow uppon her all honourable titles and      #
happy
wishes.
   Now, if ever any persone had eyther the gift or the stile    #
to winne
the hearts of people, it was this Queene; and if ever shee did  #
expresse
the same, it was at that present, in coupling mildnesse with
majesty as shee did, and in stately stouping to the meanest     #
sort.
All her facultyes were in motione, and every motione seemed a   #
well
guided actione; her eye was set upon one, her eare listened to
another, her judgement ranne uppon a third, to a fourth shee    #
addressed
<P 7>
her speech, her spiritt seemed to be every-where, and yet
so intyre in her selfe, as it seemed to bee noe where else.     #
Some
shee pityed, some shee commended, some shee thanked, at others
shee pleasantly and wittily jeasted, contemning noe person,     #
neglecting
noe office; and distributing her smiles, lookes, and graces,    #
soe
artificially, that thereupon the people againe redoubled the    #
testimonyes
of their joyes; and afterwards, raising every thing to the
highest straine, filled the eares of all men with immoderate    #
extolling
their Prince.
   Shee was a Lady, upon whom nature had bestowed, and well
placed, many of her fayrest favores; of stature meane, slender,
streight, and amiably composed; of such state her carriage, as
every motione of her seemed to beare majesty: her haire was     #
inclined
to pale yellow, her foreheade large and faire, a seemeing sete
for princely grace; her eyes lively and sweete, but             #
short-sighted;
her nose somewhat rising in the middest; the whole compasse of
her countenance somewhat long, but yet of admirable beauty, not
so much in that which is tearmed the flower of youth, as in a   #
most
delightfull compositione of majesty and modesty in equall       #
mixture.
But without good qualityes of mynde, the gifts of nature are    #
like
paynted floweres, without eyther vertue or sappe; yea,          #
sometymes
they grow horrid and loathsome. Now her vertues were such as
might suffice to make an Aethiopian beautifull, which, the      #
more a
man knowes and understands, the more he shall admire and love.  #
In
life, shee was most innocent; in desires, moderate; in          #
purpose, just;
of spirit, above credit and almost capacity of her sexe; of     #
divine
witt, as well for depth of judgment, as for quicke conceite     #
and speedy
expeditione; of eloquence, as sweete in the utterance, soe      #
ready and
easie to come to the utterance: of wonderfull knowledge both in
<P 8>
learning and affayres; skilfull not only in the Latine and      #
Greeke,
but alsoe in divers other forraine languages: none knew better
the hardest art of all others, that is, of commanding men, nor
could more use themselves to those cares without which the
royall dignity could not be supported. She was relligeous,
magnanimous, mercifull and just; respective of the honour of
others, and exceeding tender in the touch of her owne. Shee
was lovely and loving, the two principall bands of duty and
obedience. Shee was very ripe and measured in counsayle and
experience, as well not to lett goe occasiones, as not to take  #
them
when they were greene. Shee maintained Justice at home, and
Armes abroad, with great wisdome and authority in eyther place.
Her majesty seemed to all to shine though courtesy: but as shee
was not easy to receive any to especiall grace, so was shee     #
most
constant to those whom shee received; and of great judgment to
know to what point of greatnesse men were fit to bee advanced.
Shee was rather liberall than magnificent, making good choys
of the receivoures; and for this cause was thought weake by     #
some
against the desire of money. But it is certaine that beside the
want of treasure which shee found, her continuall affayres in   #
Scottland,
France, the Low Countries, and in Ireland, did occasione
greate provisione of money, which could not bee better          #
supplyed,
than by cutting off eyther excessive or unnecessary expence at
home. Excellent Queene! what doe my words but wrong thy
worth? what doe I but guild gold? what but shew the sunne
<P 9>
with a candle, in attempting to prayse thee, whose honor doth
flye over the whole world upon the two wings of Magnanimity
and Justice, whose perfection shall much dimme the lustre of    #
all
other that shall be of thy sexe? I will no longer staye upon
generall descriptiones, but proceede to such particular acts    #
as shall
manifest much more than I have said.
   When shee came to London, shee was lodged the first night    #
in 
the Charter-howse, where many greate persones, eyther for       #
birth,
or worthinesse, [{or place in the State,{] resorted unto her;   #
and now,
rising from dejected feares to ambitious hopes, contended who
should catch the first hold of her favour. The Queene did beare
her selfe moderately and respectively to all, desiring them,    #
if they
would not be deceived in her, that they would not be the first  #
to
deceive themselves: that they would not prejudice her in their
opiniones, as not by uncourteous suspicions and doubts, so not  #
by
immoderate expectationes and hopes, promisinge unto themselves
out of a suddayne likeing more then is fitt, or peradventure    #
possible,
to be performed: the fayleance whereof would eyther change or
abate theyr loves: that they would lay aside all fore-taken     #
conceits,
<P 10>
which, like painted glasse, doth colour all things which are
seene through it. Lastly, that they would not too rashly judge  #
of
her actions, as being privie neither to the occasiones of       #
them, nor
to their endes.
   So, after shee had passed the offices of court done to her   #
by
the Nobility and others, the day following, in the afternoone,
shee rode from thence to the Tower. At the Charter-howse gate
the Mayor of the city met her, and the Recorder with a short
speech saluted her in the name of the whole city. Shee rode in
great state through Barbican, the Mayor riding with Garter
King at Armes, and carrying a Scepter before her: shee entered
at Cripplegate, and so passed by the Wall to Bishoppes-gate.    #
This
gate was richly hanged, and thereuppon the Wayts of the City
sounded loud Musicke. At the head of the streete a scholler of
Paul's Schoole made to her a short speach in Latine Verses;
next unto him stood the Company of Mercers within their rayles,
and after them all the other Companyes, extending to the        #
furthest 
end of Mart lane. When she entred Mart lane a peale
of ordnance began at the Tower, which continued halfe an
hour or thereabouts. The presence of the Queene gave            #
perfectione
and life to all thes solemnityes. Shee answeared such
speaches as wer made unto her; shee graced every persone eyther
of dignity or employment; shee soe cheerfully both observed and
accepted every thing, that in the judgement of all men, all     #
these
honours were esteemed too meane for her worth. When shee was
entred into the Tower, shee thus spake to those about her:
"Some have fallen from being Princes of this land, to be        #
prisoners
in this place; I am raysed from beeing prisoner in this
<P 11>
place, to bee Prince of this land. That dejectione was a worke  #
of
God's justice; this advancement is a worke of his mercy; as
they were to yeeld patience for the one, so I must beare my     #
selfe
towards God thankfull, and to men mercifull and beneficiall     #
for the
other."

<S SAMPLE 2>
<P 60>
   This advise beinge taken, battery was forthwith made with    #
nine
peices of ordinance against the steples, and although they lay  #
a
quarter of a mile of, yet the peices that lay upon St.          #
Anthonie's
steple were by them dismounted, and within six or seaven tyre
after, the peices on St. Nicholas steple were likewise cast     #
downe,
togither with a gunner that stode by one of them. The battery
continued all that daie, and especially against St. Nicholas    #
Church,
which the enimies had made their stoorehowse for provision, so  #
as
the walles and roofe were torne, and the steple altogither      #
defaced.
   And bycause the trenches were unfitt, in regard both of      #
distance
and scituation, to do anie great harme to the walles on that 
side of the towne, the pioners, as well Englishe as Scotts,     #
were
imploied to cast newe trenches, and to raise a mount on the     #
south
and south-west of the towne. The daie after the begininge of
this worke, about 300 or 400 shot of the French were secretly   #
sett
out of Lieth under covert of a place called litle London,       #
ready to
breake forth as occasion should invite them; after this a fewe
horsemen issued forth, and lightly hovered upon the Englishe
armie. At the last certeyne Englishe lances charged upon them,
whereupon they retired, and drewe the Englishe within danger of
<P 61>
their shot, but they agayne were as hotly saluted, partely by a
supplie of smale shot from the armie, and partlie by the        #
artillery
from the trenches; and, albeit the French did behave themselves
bravelie that daie, in skirmishinge almost two howers in the    #
face
of the cannon, yet were they enforced with much expence of
blood to retyre themselves into the towne.
   Diverse like games of fortune were plaied, with some losse   #
to
both parties, the French beinge desirous to give impediment to
the Englishe pioneers, but, either by their naturall rashenes,  #
or ill
fortune, they returned, for the most part, with disadvantage.   #
At
the last the trenches were finished, whereof some drewe so nere
to the towne, that a harquebuze might reach them that were in
the grene bullwarke close to the walles. Then was the armie
removed to the newe trenches, and, as they passed, manie peces  #
of
artillery were discharged from the towne against them; as they  #
were
busied in setlinge their campe, the French salied forth, and    #
offered
skirmishe, but the Englishe, beinge then both divided in        #
companie
and otherwise imploied, held them selues within their strength.
   Presently after this the Englishe assaulted a trench, which  #
the
French men had made without the towne, slue the skout and
diuerse soldiers that were within it, and made themselves       #
masters
of the place. Then they gave a great alarme to the towne both
by land and by water, and in the meane time, the newe trenches
were planted with canon. This done, the battery began on that
part of the towne against the walles, with effect answerable to
the assaylant's desire.
   On a certeyne daie, whilest this battery continued, a        #
sodaine
fire was raised towards eveninge in Lieth, which was no sooner
espied by the Englishe, but they discharged their ordinance     #
against
the same place, so, as helpe beinge dangerous, and the winde
growinge, the flame mightilie encreased and raged all that      #
night,
and imbraced also some of their stoore howses, so as much of    #
their
<P 62>
provision was consumed: the sodainenes of the adventure, and    #
the
darckenes of the night brought a great feare and confusion upon
them within the towne. Notwithstandinge, the French regarded
lesse their safety than their glory, salied forth at the same   #
tyme
and maineteyned skirmishe almost two howres. They manned
the walles also, and prepared all thinges, as if the assault    #
should
presently have bene given. But the breach was not then held
reasonable, and therefore an alarme onlie was made, and         #
certeyne
soldiers entered the ditch to veiwe exactly the state of the    #
walles.
   After this two trenches were made; the one was planted with
great ordinance, in the other certeyne shot were lodged, to     #
beate
of those who should appeare in defence of the walles. Then were
two false assaults given, onlie to discover where the           #
flanckees of
the breach did lie, and no sooner had the Englishe approched    #
the
ditch, but two or three voleyes of shot were discharged against
them from the flanckees, whereby about twenty of them were
slaine or hurt. Hereupon the battery was bent against the
flanckees, and in the greatest fury thereof, the French made a
salie upon the newe trenches, and so lyvelie charged the        #
Englishe,
that they constreyned them to give grownd a good waye, and,
notwithstandinge, redublinge in courage upon the importance of
their danger, they drave the French againe home to the towne;
and in the meane tyme, the great artillery did much hurt on     #
both
sides. In the very heat of these hurliments, the English burnt  #
one
of the milles beyond the water, and the daie followinge the     #
other,
which, when the French endeavoured to save, they were so galed
by two demie-culveringes from the trenches, that they were      #
constreyned
to abandon the enterprise.
   And nowe the artillery had executed so well, that, by the    #
opinion
of the Englishe commanders, the breach was faire, and the
towne in fit state to be assaulted: and thus it was comonly     #
concluded
by some, bycause they demed so inded; by others, through
<P 63>
a rashe impaciencie, more apt to contemne dangers, then able to
judge them; by the rest, to show themselves valiant, in things
which perteyne to the hasard more of the soldieres then         #
themselves;
and herein also they were supported by manie bold blouds
amonge the comon soldieres, who confirmed this devise with all
sorts of hopes which men followed with fortunate succes do no
lesse usually then vainely frame.
   Hereupon the generall, reposinge so great assurance both in  #
the
courage and fortune of his soldiers, commanded them, upon the
sixt daie of Maie, towards the eveninge, that they should be    #
readie
in armes by midnight, and, in the meane season, gave order that
the battery should not cease: he encouraged them also that      #
euery
man should go to his charge, and shewe the same will to execute
the enterprise which they had done to undertake it; that they   #
had
no more neede to doubt of the victorie, then they had to doubt  #
of
their owne valour; that it was in vaine to have so often chased
their enimies to their burrowes, if then they could not ferret  #
them
out of their hoales; that, if they vanquished the first bruit   #
of danger,
which, like a storme, would be furious and short, the residue
of the enterprise would be easy to attcheive.
   On the other side, the French, haveinge often tasted the     #
tough
temper of the Englishe, omitted no preparacion for their        #
defence,
knowinge right well, that there is no greater token of          #
receyving a
blowe then when men esteme to much of themselves and to litle
of their enimies, presuminge also that manie former good        #
fortunes
of the Englishe began to bred a presuminge boldnes.
   The next morninge by ij of the clocke diverse bands of       #
Englishe,
with greater courage then preparacion, advanced towardes
the towne. The lancers and light horsemen were appoynted to
girde the feild, the residue of the foote were left to defend   #
the
trenches, and to endanger those who should make appearance
upon the walles. The assailants pressed forwards and entered    #
the
<P 64>
ditches with boldenes inoughe, some approchinge the walles,     #
some
the bulwarks, others attemptinge the breach besids the milles.
But when they came to the impe of their exploite, the breach    #
was
fownd in good condition of defence, and for the bulwarks and    #
the
walles, the ladders were too short by two yards and more.       #
Besids,
the French had stopped the current of the river that night, 
whereby the ditches were so anoyed with water, that they were
troublesome to passe, albeit no other impediment should have
bene offered.

<S SAMPLE 3>
<P 86>
   This yeare, in Aprill, one William Geffry was whipped from 
the Marshall-sea, in Southwarke, untill he came to Bedlame,
without Bishopsgate, for affirming that one John More, whoe
then laye in Bedlame, was Jesus Christ, and that the same       #
Geffrye
was his disciple; uppon his heade was sett a paper, wherein
was expressed the quality of his offence, in thes wordes -      #
"William
<P 87>
Geffrye, a most blasphemous hereticke, denying Christ our       #
Saviour
[{to be{] in heaven." At Bedlame, John More was brought
fourth, before whom Geffrye was whipped, untill he confessed
that Jesus Christ was in heaven. Then was More examined, who
answearing both stoutly and crosly, was commanded to put offe
his apparrell, which he readily perfourmed, and then was tyed   #
to
a cart. But scarce had he bin whipped one bow-shott in length,
but he confessed that Jesus Christ was in heaven, and that he,
the sayd More, was a miserable man. Then was More returned 
prisoner to Bedlame, and Geffrye to the Marshall-sea, where     #
they
had remayned prisoneres about a yeere and a halfe before. I     #
have
sett downe this as a notable president to convince and reclayme
hereticks both obstinate and absurd, especially when they rise  #
to
any high pitch of madnesse; for, from some degree, without      #
exceptione,
I exempt none.
   Uppon the fourth of June, in the afternoone, the steeple of
Paules, in London, was fired by lightening. The fire was seene
to breake foorth about two or three yardes beneath the foote of
the Crosse, not much greater in appearance then the flame of a
candle, from whence it burned downward, and in short tyme
imbraced the whole spire of the steeple, and all the rooffes    #
of the
church. This fire was the more terrible, by reasone it was in a
conspicuous place, and threatned danger unto many, and was      #
alltogether
unapproacheable for remedy, as well in regard of the height
of the church as of the falling downe of the moulten lead. The
flames flew over many partes of the city; sparkes, and small
coales, were cast soe farr as the conduite in Fleete streete;   #
the
channelles about the church wer stopped, and the streetes       #
seemed
to be paved with leade. The people, being strooke with          #
amazement,
filled all places with tumult and confusione, expecting a
generall calamity of the city, and, thereuppon, buysying        #
themselves
to remove such goodes out of ther howses as they wer
<P 88>
most desirous to save. The fury of the fire was soe greate,     #
that,
within the space of fowre howres, it burned downe the spire of
the steeple and all the rooffes of the church. The timber worke
was consumed, the leade moulten, the belles cast downe, which
made a hideous noyse in the fall; the stone work, alsoe,        #
especially
towardes the topp, was sore shaken and weakened with the force
of the fire. And herein wer two things especially admired and
observed by some: one was, the sodayne encrease of the fire,    #
for
that it was noe sooner begunne, but foorthwith it was at the
highest; the other was, that, as if it had beene destined       #
onely for
the ruine of that place, it beganne at the topp of the spire    #
of the
steeple, and from thence fastened uppon every part of the       #
rooffes
of the church, and yet fell not from the rooffes (where the     #
fire did
most rage) uppon any of the buildings underneath. Hereuppon
strange conjectures wer conceived, as of secret causes, soe of  #
vayne
events, which did never ensue.
   Immediately uppon this misadventure, the Queene directed
her letteres to the Lord Mayor and citizens of London to take
speedy order for the repayring of thes harmes; and, for ther
better encouragement, shee delivered foorthwith one thousand
markes in gould toward the charge, and a warrant for one        #
thousand
loades of timber, to be taken out of her woodes or parkes
wheresoever. The citizenes of London granted a benevolence,
and three fifteenes, to be presently payd. The clergie of the   #
province
of Canterbury granted the fortieth part of the yearely valew
of thos benefices which payd first fruites, and of those which  #
payd
noe first fruits, the thirtieth part. The clergie of the        #
diocesse of
London granted the thirtieth part of the yearely valew of such
benefices as were charged with first fruites, and the twentieth
part of thos that were charged. All this, being collected       #
together,
with many other voluntary contributiones besides, amounted
to the sum of 5,968=li=. 16=s=. 1=d=. ob. Two of the clergie    #
of the
<P 89>
church of St. Paule, and sixe citizenes of London, wer          #
appoynted
to oversee and sett forward the worke, who used such diligence
in ther charge, that, within one month after the firing of the
church, all the fower greate roofes wer covered with a sleight
roofe of boordes and leade, onely to preserve the walles,       #
floores,
and vaultes, from the enjurie of the rayne. And, before the
yeare was expired, all the long rooffes wer raysed of new and
strong timber, the most part whereof was framed in Yorkshire,
and by sea conveyed to London: the charges of which worke
amounted to the summe of 5,982=li=. 13=s=. 4=d=. ob.
   Soe the receites wer fully expended; and yett the two        #
crosse-roofes,
which stand north and south, were not finished, but remayned 
still covered with boardes untill the yeare 1564. At
which tyme they wer raysed and perfected at the onely charge of
Edmund Grindall, then Bishopp of London, whoe expended, out
of his proper estate, 720=li=. in finishing that worke. This    #
Bishopp
was a man famous, whilest he lived, for his deepe judgment,     #
both
in learning and affayres of the world; famous, alsoe, both for  #
his
industry and gift in preaching; but cheifly he was famous for   #
his
magnanimous courage, in that it was noe lesse easy to divert    #
the
sunne from his proper course, then to pervert him to indirect
actiones. Hereuppon, because he stoode inflexible, eyther to a
bad cause or from a good, because his authority could not be
made serviceable eyther to the ambitione or lustes of otheres,
certayne greate persones wer displeased against him, and drew
uppon him some displeasure from the Queene. But, for that he
was not fearefull of the losse of his dignity, he was esteemed  #
by
her the more worthy to retayne it. And yet I am not assured
that the memory of his vertues would not have worne out, if     #
this
[{the{] last worke (worthie of any account) which, since that   #
tyme,
hath hitherto bin bestowed uppon the church of St. Paule, had
not beene an occasione to preserve them in lyfe.
<P 90>
   The Church of St. Paule in London was first built by         #
Ethelbert,
the first Christiane King of the Saxones, wherein Melitus
(one of those fowre whoe wer sent by Pope Gregory to convert
the Saxones) was appoynted to have his sea. This church was
ruined in the 20=th= yeare of William the Victor, by a raging   #
fire,
which did prostrate the greatest part of the city of London.    #
Hereupon
Maurrice, at that tyme Bishopp of London, beganne the
foundatione of the new Church of St. Paule; a worke so          #
admirable
that many conjectured it would never have bin finished.         #
Rychard,
his next successor, as well in vertue as in place, purchased    #
the
ground about the church, whereuppon many buildings did stand,
and incloased it with a strong wall of stone for a place of     #
buriall,
of which walle many partes continue at this tyme on both sides  #
of
the church, but covered and obscured with dwelling houses. He
expended all the revenues of his Bishopricke in advancing the   #
building
of this church, and maynteyned himselfe uppon his patrimony
and freindes, and yet all which he could doe, made noe greate   #
shew.
And albeit the succeedinge Bishoppes did with all diligence     #
drive
on the worke, yet was not the building of the steeple finished  #
untill
the sixth yeare of King Henry the Third, neyther could it be
made fitt for dedicatione untill the 24=th= yeare of the same   #
King's 
reigne. In that yeare it was dedicated by Roger Bishopp of      #
London,
the King beeing present, attended with many personages of 
honour, whoe wer all feasted by the bishopp and canonnes of the
same church. The length of this churche is 720 foote, the       #
bredth
thereof 130; the height of the steeple was 520 foote, whereof   #
the
stone worke, which still remayneth, is 260, and the spire, now
burned, was likewise 260. The bodye of the church is a 150      #
foote
in height.



