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 SIR WILLIAM TRUSSEL,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,SIR THOMAS BLOUNT,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 black ruffians,called THOMAS GOURNAY and WILLIAM OGLE.
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,Gournay and Ogle,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.
