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In this issue:
-Edward II, Part One
A moment of truth: I had spent several days of researching and preparing to write the convoluted story of the unhappy reign of Edward II, King of England from 1307-1326. Then, by chance, I ran across "A Child's History of England" by master storyteller Charles Dickens. It contained a chapter on Edward II, which I immediately read.
How refreshing! After the scholarly, judgmental, often bitingly sarcastic tracts written by an infinity of historians about the only openly gay king in the history of England, I savored the gentle Dickens and came away from him, when done, cleansed of the centuries of contempt and disdain heaped upon poor Edward by churls who have not ever, nor will they ever, understand the profundity, the beauty, the solace, the divinity, the grace of a man loving another man.
Mind you, Edward was a fool, and his lovers were arrogant, vainglorious men, and Dickens really didn't like them at all, but Dickens was a gentleman. Let him speak for himself. When you have the skeleton of the story, I will pad it out with some notes later.
From Charles Dickens, Part One:
Edward the Second, the first Prince of Wales, was twenty-three years old when his father died. There was a certain favourite of his, a young man from Gascony (in France), named Piers Gaveston, of whom his father had so much disapproved that he had ordered him out of England, and had made his son swear by the side of his sick-bed, never to bring him back. But, the Prince no sooner found himself King, than he broke his oath, as so many other Princes and Kings did (they were far too ready to take oaths), and sent for his dear friend immediately.
Now, this same Gaveston was handsome enough, but was a reckless, insolent, audacious fellow. He was detested by the proud English Lords: not only because he had such power over the King, and made the Court such a dissipated place, but, also, because he could ride better than they at tournaments, and was used, in his impudence, to cut very bad jokes on them; calling one, the old hog; another, the stage-player; another, the Jew; another, the black dog of Ardenne. This was as poor wit as need be, but it made those Lords very wroth; and the surly Earl of Warwick, who was the black dog, swore that the time should come when Piers Gaveston should feel the black dog's teeth.
It was not come yet, however, nor did it seem to be coming. The King made him Earl of Cornwall, and gave him vast riches; and, when the King went over to France to marry the French Princess, Isabella, daughter of Philip le Bel (the Handsome): who was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world: he made Gaveston, Regent of the Kingdom. His splendid marriage-ceremony in the Church of Our Lady at Boulogne, where there were four Kings and three Queens present (quite a pack of Court Cards, for I dare say the Knaves were not wanting), being over, he seemed to care little or nothing for his beautiful wife; but was wild with impatience to meet Gaveston again.
When he landed at home, he paid no attention to anybody else, but ran into the favourite's arms before a great concourse of people, and hugged him, and kissed him, and called him his brother. At the coronation which soon followed, Gaveston was the richest and brightest of all the glittering company there, and had the honour of carrying the crown. This made the proud Lords fiercer than ever; the people, too, despised the favourite, and would never call him Earl of Cornwall, however much he complained to the King and asked him to punish them for not doing so, but persisted in styling him plain Piers Gaveston.
The Barons were so unceremonious with the King in giving him to understand that they would not bear this favourite, that the King was obliged to send him out of the country. The favourite himself was made to take an oath (more oaths!) that he would never come back, and the Barons supposed him to be banished in disgrace, until they heard that he was appointed Governor of Ireland. Even this was not enough for the besotted King, who brought him home again in a year's time, and not only disgusted the Court and the people by his doting folly, but offended his beautiful wife too, who never liked him afterwards.
He had now the old Royal want - of money - and the Barons had the new power of positively refusing to let him raise any. He summoned a Parliament at York; the Barons refused to make one, while the favourite was near him. He summoned another Parliament at Westminster, and sent Gaveston away. Then, the Barons came, completely armed, and appointed a committee of themselves to correct abuses in the state and in the King's household.
He got some money on these conditions, and directly set off with Gaveston to the Border-country, where they spent it in idling away the time, and feasting, while Bruce made ready to drive the English out of Scotland. For, though the old King had even made this poor weak son of his swear (as some say) that he would not bury his bones, but would have them boiled clean in a caldron, and carried before the English army until Scotland was entirely subdued, the second Edward was so unlike the first that Bruce gained strength and power every day.
The committee of Nobles, after some months of deliberation, ordained that the King should henceforth call a Parliament together, once every year, and even twice if necessary, instead of summoning it only when he chose. Further, that Gaveston should once more be banished, and, this time, on pain of death if he ever came back. The King's tears were of no avail; he was obliged to send his favourite to Flanders. As soon as he had done so, however, he dissolved the Parliament, with the low cunning of a mere fool, and set off to the North of England, thinking to get an army about him to oppose the Nobles. And once again he brought Gaveston home, and heaped upon him all the riches and titles of which the Barons had deprived him.
The Lords saw, now, that there was nothing for it but to put the favourite to death. They could have done so, legally, according to the terms of his banishment; but they did so, I am sorry to say, in a shabby manner. Led by the Earl of Lancaster, the King's cousin, they first of all attacked the King and Gaveston at Newcastle. They had time to escape by sea, and the mean King, having his precious Gaveston with him, was quite content to leave his lovely wife behind. When they were comparatively safe, they separated; the King went to York to collect a force of soldiers; and the favourite shut himself up, in the meantime, in Scarborough Castle overlooking the sea.
This was what the Barons wanted. They knew that the Castle could not hold out; they attacked it, and made Gaveston surrender. He delivered himself up to the Earl of Pembroke - that Lord whom he had called the Jew - on the Earl's pledging his faith and knightly word, that no harm should happen to him and no violence be done him.
Now, it was agreed with Gaveston that he should be taken to the Castle of Wallingford, and there kept in honourable custody. They travelled as far as Dedington, near Banbury, where, in the Castle of that place, they stopped for a night to rest. Whether the Earl of Pembroke left his prisoner there, knowing what would happen, or really left him thinking no harm, and only going (as he pretended) to visit his wife, the Countess, who was in the neighbourhood, is no great matter now; in any case, he was bound as an honourable gentleman to protect his prisoner, and he did not do it. In the morning, while the favourite was yet in bed, he was required to dress himself and come down into the court-yard. He did so without any mistrust, but started and turned pale when he found it full of strange armed men. 'I think you know me?' said their leader, also armed from head to foot. 'I am the black dog of Ardenne!' The time was come when Piers Gaveston was to feel the black dog's teeth indeed.
They set him on a mule, and carried him, in mock state and with military music, to the black dog's kennel - Warwick Castle - where a hasty council, composed of some great noblemen, considered what should be done with him. Some were for sparing him, but one loud voice - it was the black dog's bark, I dare say - sounded through the Castle Hall, uttering these words: 'You have the fox in your power. Let him go now, and you must hunt him again.'
They sentenced him to death. He threw himself at the feet of the Earl of Lancaster - the old hog - but the old hog was as savage as the dog. He was taken out upon the pleasant road, leading from Warwick to Coventry, where the beautiful river Avon, by which, long afterwards, William Shakespeare was born and now lies buried, sparkled in the bright landscape of the beautiful May-day; and there they struck off his wretched head, and stained the dust with his blood.
When the King heard of this black deed, in his grief and rage he denounced relentless war against his Barons, and both sides were in arms for half a year.
(End of first part of Dickens' chapter. More tomorrow.)
Ben Boxer pitches in:
As you can see, the high drama of Edward II's life as King of England descended to melodrama in the matter of his voluptuous interest in Piers Gaveston. Piers was the son of a Gascon, or French, knight who was close to Edward's father, Edward I, more popularly known as Longshanks. There are conflicting stories about how Piers came to the court. Some say that he was a playmate of Edward's as a child, but that is unlikely. Piers' birth date is not known, but most accept his as older than Edward. Since one may pick and choose here, I offer what strikes me as a likely scenario.
We know several things for certain. Edward was a weak boy, uninterested in sports, who rode his horse poorly and never did well in the manly skills essential to his time, place, and position---namely, jousting, handling the javelin, longbow archery, and swordsmanship. All such equipment was heavy and unwieldy and required strength and skill, certainly when wearing chain mail or armor for protection against injury.
Piers was strong and, it is said, handsome, darkly French, with an athlete's body, and highly skilled in all the manly arts. He probably spent his early childhood in Gascony, in France, but may have come to court to visit his father often, on which occasions he may have known Edward. Piers, however, is known to have soldiered in Flanders, which means he would have been away fighting a war.
Many sources suggest that Longshanks brought Piers into Edward's life about 1300, when Edward was 15 or 16. I imagine that Longshanks was disappointed in his foppish son and cast about for a manly young man who could be both trainer and companion for him. Thus, he sent for Piers to prepare Edward for his future role as a warrior king. In 1301, Edward would be sent off to fight the Scots.
If Edward had known Piers before that time, it would have been as a pubescent boy. During Piers' time in Flanders, Edward had passed puberty and become a cum-dripping, horny young man. One look at this hot young Frenchman with muscles like steel and the face of an angel may have driven him out of his mind. Certainly, his affection for Piers was proved to be mindlessly obsessive in the extreme for the next dozen years until Piers met his untimely death in 1312.
Piers, although the son of a knight, was a commoner all the same, not to the manner born. Longshanks gave him a rank making him more suitable as a companion to his son, a notch above a page or squire. It probably took no more than a week or two of wrapping his manly arms around the royal lad to demonstrate the proper handling of a bow, or of a hand up on the seat of his pants to improve his horse-mounting technique, to call to his attention the royal pecker jutting hard down Edward's stocking leg.
I have no doubt there came a magic moment when the embarrassed royal found himself lifted bodily from horseback and slipped frontward down Pier's torso. Given the randy natures of two young and healthy men, they were probably true cum-panions by the time Edward's feet touched the ground. I am going to say that Edward was 16, and Piers was 22. Judging from my research, on that point there is no legit historian who can beat me down.
There seem to be no paintings or other likenesses of Piers at any age that I know of. History has done a good job of expunging whatever representations of him once existed. Even if Edward had kept a miniature arounbd after Piers' death, Queen Isabella, who quite naturally hated Piers, would surely have disposed of it after Edward was dead. Isabella was destined to become known as the She-Wolf of France.
One can hardly blame her for hating Piers. He had usurped her marriage bed and left her to suffer alone. Edward even made a gift to Piers of the jewels which had been meant for her. The death of Piers Gaveston, however, wold serve her well. After his execution, Edward turned to her long enough to sire four children, one of whom would be his heir, Edward III.
In the Christopher Marlowe dramatization of Edward's life, Marlowe he takes the liberty of dramatizing a wrenching death scene which never happened, where poor Edward weeps wildly over the corpse of his love. The scene is carried over into the Bertolt Brecht adaptation and the Derek Jarman film.
I have attached herewith two pictures. One is the death scene from a recent performance of the Brecht play, and the other is a picture of two lovers in the British version of television's "Queer as Folk," Vince and Nathan (?), the characters named Bryan, 29, and Justin, 17, in the American version, in which Justin is besotted over the older, more worldly Bryan, just as Edward went gaga over the older Piers.
(To be continued)
We left off in Charles Dickens' version of Edward II's story where the King heard of "this black deed," i.e. the beheading of the great love of his youth, the handsome commoner Piers Gaveston.
Enraged and grief-stricken, he went to war against the noblemen who had killed Piers, but while he was ineffectually engaged in pursuing his own agenda, the Scots rallied around Robert the Bruce and prepared themselves to wage real war on England. A series of skirmishes led to the decisive battle at Bannockburn, where the Scots, by means of courage, cunning, and bravado, scored an important victory in their ongoing war for independence from England.
Plague and famine succeeded in England; and still the powerless King and his disdainful Lords were always in contention. Some of the turbulent chiefs of Ireland made proposals to Bruce, to accept the rule of that country. He sent his brother to them, who was crowned King of Ireland. He afterwards went himself to help his brother in his Irish wars, but his brother was defeated in the end and killed. Robert Bruce, returning to Scotland, still increased his strength there.
As the King's ruin had begun in a favourite, so it seemed likely to end in one. He was too poor a creature to rely at all upon himself; and his new favourite was one Hugh le Despenser, the son of a gentleman of ancient family. Hugh was handsome and brave, but he was the favourite of a weak King, whom no man cared a rush for, and that was a dangerous place to hold. The Nobles leagued against him, because the King liked him; and they lay in wait, both for his ruin and his father's.
Now, the King had married him to the daughter of the late Earl of Gloucester, and had given both him and his father great possessions in Wales. In their endeavours to extend these, they gave violent offence to...divers...angry Welsh gentlemen, who resorted to arms, took their castles, and seized their estates. The Earl of Lancaster had first placed the favourite (who was a poor relation of his own) at Court, and he considered his own dignity offended by the preference he received and the honours he acquired; so he, and the Barons who were his friends, joined the Welshmen, marched on London, and sent a message to the King demanding to have the favourite and his father banished.
At first, the King unaccountably took it into his head to be spirited, and to send them a bold reply; but when they quartered themselves around Holborn and Clerkenwell, and went down, armed, to the Parliament at Westminster, he gave way, and complied with their demands.
His turn of triumph came sooner than he expected. It arose out of an accidental circumstance. The beautiful Queen happening to be travelling, came one night to one of the royal castles, and demanded to be lodged and entertained there until morning. The governor of this castle, who was one of the enraged lords, was away, and in his absence, his wife refused admission to the Queen; a scuffle took place among the common men on either side, and some of the royal attendants were killed. The people, who cared nothing for the King, were very angry that their beautiful Queen should be thus rudely treated in her own dominions; and the King, taking advantage of this feeling, besieged the castle, took it, and then called the two Despensers home.
Upon this, the confederate lords and the Welshmen went over to Bruce. The King encountered them at Boroughbridge, gained the victory, and took a number of distinguished prisoners; among them, the Earl of Lancaster, now an old man, upon whose destruction he was resolved. This Earl was taken to his own castle of Pontefract, and there tried and found guilty by an unfair court appointed for the purpose; he was not even allowed to speak in his own defence. He was insulted, pelted, mounted on a starved pony without saddle or bridle, carried out, and beheaded. Eight-and-twenty knights were hanged, drawn, and quartered. When the King had despatched this bloody work, and had made a fresh and a long truce with Bruce, he took the Despensers into greater favour than ever, and made the father Earl of Winchester.
One prisoner, and an important one, who was taken at Boroughbridge, made his escape, however, and turned the tide against the King. This was Roger Mortimer, always resolutely opposed to him, who was sentenced to death, and placed for safe custody in the Tower of London. He treated his guards to a quantity of wine into which he had put a sleeping potion; and, when they were insensible, broke out of his dungeon, got into a kitchen, climbed up the chimney, let himself down from the roof of the building with a rope-ladder, passed the sentries, got down to the river, and made away in a boat to where servants and horses were waiting for him.
He finally escaped to France, where Charles le Bel, the brother of the beautiful Queen (Isabella), was King. Charles sought to quarrel with (her husband) the King of England, on pretence of his not having come to do him homage at his coronation. It was proposed that the beautiful Queen should go over to arrange the dispute; she went, and wrote home to the King, that as he was sick and could not come to France himself, perhaps it would be better to send over the young Prince, their son, who was only twelve years old, who could do homage to her brother in his stead, and in whose company she would immediately return. The King sent him: but, both he and the Queen remained at the French Court, and Roger Mortimer became the Queen's lover.
When the King wrote, again and again, to the Queen to come home, she did not reply that she despised him too much to live with him any more (which was the truth), but said she was afraid of the two Despensers. In short, her design was to overthrow the favourites' power, and the King's power, such as it was, and invade England. Having obtained a French force of two thousand men, and being joined by all the English exiles then in France, she landed, within a year, at Orewell, in Suffolk, where she was immediately joined by the Earls of Kent and Norfolk, the King's two brothers; by other powerful noblemen; and lastly, by the first English general who was despatched to check her: who went over to her with all his men.
The people of London, receiving these tidings, would do nothing for the King, but broke open the Tower, let out all his prisoners, and threw up their caps and hurrahed for the beautiful Queen. The King, with his two favourites, fled to Bristol, where he left old Despenser in charge of the town and castle, while he went on with the son to Wales.
The Bristol men being opposed to the King, and it being impossible to hold the town with enemies everywhere within the walls, Despenser yielded it up on the third day, and was instantly brought to trial for having traitorously influenced what was called 'the King's mind' - though I doubt if the King ever had any. He was a venerable old man, upwards of ninety years of age, but his age gained no respect or mercy. He was hanged, torn open while he was yet alive, cut up into pieces, and thrown to the dogs. His son was soon taken, tried at Hereford before the same judge on a long series of foolish charges, found guilty, and hanged upon a gallows fifty feet high, with a chaplet of nettles round his head.
His poor old father and he were innocent enough of any worse crimes than the crime of having been friends of a King, on whom, as a mere man, they would never have deigned to cast a favourable look. It is a bad crime, I know, and leads to worse; but, many lords and gentlemen - I even think some ladies, too, if I recollect right - have committed it in England, who have neither been given to the dogs, nor hanged up fifty feet high.
The wretched King was running here and there, all this time, and never getting anywhere in particular, until he gave himself up, and was taken off to Kenilworth Castle. When he was safely lodged there, the Queen went to London and met the Parliament. And the Bishop of Hereford, who was the most skilful of her friends, said, What was to be done now? Here was an imbecile, indolent, miserable King upon the throne; wouldn't it be better to take him off, and put his son there instead? I don't know whether the Queen really pitied him at this pass, but she began to cry; so, the Bishop said, Well, my Lords and Gentlemen, what do you think, upon the whole, of sending down to Kenilworth, and seeing if His Majesty (God bless him, and forbid we should depose him!) won't resign?
My Lords and Gentlemen thought it a good notion, so a deputation of them went down to Kenilworth; and there the King came into the great hall of the Castle, commonly dressed in a poor black gown; and when he saw a certain bishop among them, fell down, poor feeble-headed man, and made a wretched spectacle of himself. Somebody lifted him up, and then...the Speaker of the House of Commons almost frightened him to death by making him a tremendous speech to the effect that he was no longer a King, and that everybody renounced allegiance to him.
After which...the Steward of the Household nearly finished him, by coming forward and breaking his white wand - which was a ceremony only performed at a King's death. Being asked in this pressing manner what he thought of resigning, the King said he thought it was the best thing he could do. So, he did it, and they proclaimed his son next day.
I wish I could close his history by saying that he lived a harmless life in the Castle and the Castle gardens at Kenilworth, many years - that he had a favourite, and plenty to eat and drink - and, having that, wanted nothing. But he was shamefully humiliated. He was outraged, and slighted, and had dirty water from ditches given him to shave with, and wept and said he would have clean warm water, and was altogether very miserable.
He was moved from this castle to that castle, and from that castle to the other castle, because this lord or that lord, or the other lord, was too kind to him: until at last he came to Berkeley Castle, near the River Severn, where (the Lord Berkeley being then ill and absent) he fell into the hands of two...ruffians.
One night - it was the night of September the twenty-first, one thousand three hundred and twenty-seven - dreadful screams were heard, by the startled people in the neighbouring town, ringing through the thick walls of the Castle, and the dark, deep night; and they said, as they were thus horribly awakened from their sleep, 'May Heaven be merciful to the King; for those cries forbode that no good is being done to him in his dismal prison!'
Next morning he was dead - not bruised, or stabbed, or marked upon the body, but much distorted in the face; and it was whispered afterwards, that those two villains had burnt up his inside with a red-hot iron.
If you ever come near Gloucester, and see the centre tower of its beautiful Cathedral, with its four rich pinnacles, rising lightly in the air; you may remember that the wretched Edward the Second was buried in the old abbey of that ancient city, at forty-three years old, after being for nineteen years and a half a perfectly incapable King.(End of selection from Charles Dickens' "A Chlld's History of England.") Little more need be said about this tragic King who was a queen, the only openly homosexual king in the history of England, although, of course, we have in our "little histories" here "Queen" James of the biblical KJV, who was not "open" in the same blatant sense as Edward II. There was never any mystery about Edward's homosexuality, He made no effort to conceal his passion for Piers Gaveston, truly his greatest love, or sundry other men who crossed his path in due course, or his infatuation with the younger Despenser, whose chief attraction in the beginning may have been a certain resemblance to Piers.
Dickens' reference to Edward's executioners having "burnt up his inside with a red-hot iron" was as horrifying as it sounds. A common mode of execution for a homosexual in those times, if he weren't burnt publicly at the stake, was a red-hot poker anally inserted. On orders from his wife, Queen Isabella, and her Machiavellian lover, Roger Mortimer, Edward was killed in a manner which did not leave obvious marks of death on the corpse as in stabbing or strangulation, to make them look less guilty, perhaps? So much for general acceptance of gay love. They still say, stick it up your ass! A memorable moment for me came a few years ago while I watched a visual survey on American television about what should be "done about homosexuals." A pair of young rednecks in the Deep South, lounging outside a pool parlor with lighted cigarettes dangling from their lips, were asked the question. The husky one with his belly hanging over his belt said, "They make me puke!" The other, a hot little number with big basket and bubble buns, replied in a long, slow drawl, "Ah thank they orta be executed!" Whereupon, the first chimed in: "You dang right! I'd git my Winchester outten the truck and stuff it up their butt and SHOOT!"
Executing gays was one of society's nastier habits during the Middle, those famous Dark, Ages, and continued into the Renaissance. Attached is a 13th-century woodcut showing gays being prepped for burning in France, called "The Punishment of Sodomites."
Edward's death, however, was avenged. Let's see what our friend Charles Dickens has to say about that: From Chapter XVIII of "A Child's History of England - England Under Edward the Third":
Roger Mortimer, the Queen's lover (who escaped to France in the last chapter), was far from profiting by the examples he had had of the fate of favourites. Having, through the Queen's influence, come into possession of the estates of the two Despensers, he became extremely proud and ambitious, and sought to be the real ruler of England. The young King, who was crowned at fourteen years of age with all the usual solemnities, resolved not to bear this, and soon pursued Mortimer to his ruin....
The young King, thinking the time ripe for the downfall of Mortimer, took counsel with Lord Montacute how he should proceed. A Parliament was going to be held at Nottingham, and that lord recommended that the favourite should be seized by night in Nottingham Castle, where he was sure to be. Now, this, like many other things, was more easily said than done; because, to guard against treachery, the great gates of the Castle were locked every night, and the great keys were carried up-stairs to the Queen, who laid them under her own pillow.
But the Castle had a governor, and the governor being Lord Montacute's friend, confided to him how he knew of a secret passage underground, hidden from observation by the weeds and brambles with which it was overgrown; and how, through that passage, the conspirators might enter in the dead of the night, and go straight to Mortimer's room. Accordingly, upon a certain dark night, at midnight, they made their way through this dismal place: startling the rats, and frightening the owls and bats: and came safely to the bottom of the main tower of the Castle, where the King met them, and took them up a profoundly-dark staircase in a deep silence.
They soon heard the voice of Mortimer in council with some friends; and bursting into the room with a sudden noise, took him prisoner.
The Queen cried out from her bedchamber, 'Oh, my sweet son, my dear son, spare my gentle Mortimer!' They carried him off, however; and, before the next Parliament, accused him of having made differences between the young King and his mother, and of having brought about the death of the Earl of Kent, and even of the late King; for, as you know by this time, when they wanted to get rid of a man in those old days, they were not very particular of what they accused him. Mortimer was found guilty of all this, and was sentenced to be hanged at Tyburn. The King shut his mother up in genteel confinement (a convent), where she passed the rest of her life; and now he became King in earnest.
(End of Dickens selection)
Charles Dickens was off by 30 years in the age of Hugh Despenser the Elder, of the father-and-son Dispensers who were the ill-fated last favorites of Edward II. He was not in his 90s; he was a silverfox of 64. His son, also named Hugh, was 36 when he died. Edward was 41 at the time. He was killed a year later, at age 42.
The world has assumed that Hugh the Younger was Edward's squeeze, but if you read the following 14th-century account of the Despensers' separate executions, you will note that it was the silverfox father who was disemboweled and his entrails burnt, not the son. This suggests that Hugh the Elder was accorded the "special" treatment (as the Nazis would have put it) usually reserved for gay men. It implies to me that Edward's real last lover may have been the older man, if not both the father and the son.
Alonge with the Queene and prince and their Army goeth this lord Thomas to Bristoll, where Hugh Spenser the elder Earle of Winchester was taken, And without answering for himself was drawn and hanged in his Armor, taken down alive, and bowelled, his bowells burnt, his head smote off and sent to Winchester, his body hanged up againe and after fower dayes cut to peeces and cast to dogs to bee eaten.
Thence through Wales in search after the kinge, the Queene and her Army come to Hereford; The kinge on the 16th of November is found out and taken, with Hugh Spenser the sonne Earle of Gloucester; The kinge is conveyed to Kenellworth, The Earle is brought to Hereford, where clad in his coat Armor he was dragged to the place of execution, where beinge first hanged upon a gallows fifty foot high, was afterwards beheaded and cut into quarters, his head sett up at London, and his quarters in fower parts of the kingdome.
End of silverfoxesclub-digest V1 #216