were performed before her, and took no interest in Spenser or his work. If the Elizabethan writers made her name famous, conferred glory on her reign, and celebrated herself in extravagant terms, it was not because Elizabethan literature owed anything to her. In temper she was rather preElizabethan, or at most Early Elizabethan, than truly Elizabethan. Her last literary criticism was uttered shortly before her death, but throws a light backward on her whole life-one remembers what poetry and Shakespeare were to Tennyson on his death-bed. When Elizabeth was in her last illness, Sir John Harington, her godson, was gratified to note that she 'inquired of some matters which I have written,' he says, and tried to feed her humour' by reading to her some of his verses; 'whereat she smiled once and was pleased to say [to the discomfited poet], "When thou dost feel creeping time at thy gate, these fooleries will please thee less."'

John Foxe, the martyrologist, was born at Boston in 1516. He studied at Oxford, where he applied himself with ardour to the study of divinity, and was ultimately drawn to the doctrines of the Reformers; the consequence being that his position in Magdalen became unbearable, and he resigned his fellowship in 1545. He was not expelled, as used to be said. He was tutor in the Lucy house at Charlecote, and then in the family of the Duchess of Richmond at Reigate, in Surrey, where he continued till the persecutions of Mary's reign made him flee for safety to the Continent. Passing through Antwerp, Frankfort, and Strasburg to Basel, he there supported himself by correcting the press for the printer Oporinus. At the accession of Queen Elizabeth he returned to England, and was kindly received and provided for by the Duke of Norfolk, who had been his pupil at Reigate. Through other powerful friends, he might now have obtained considerable preferment; but, entertaining conscientious scruples as to surplices and some of the ceremonies of the Church, he declined the offers made to him, except that of a prebend at Salisbury, which he accepted with reluctance. He pled in vain for mercy for the persecuted Anabaptists. He died in 1587.

Foxe published numerous controversial treatises and sermons, besides an apocalyptic Latin mysteryplay, called Christus Triumphans (Basel, 1556). But the work that has immortalised his name is his History of the Acts and Monuments of the Christian Martyrs and Matters Ecclesiastical passed in the Church of Christ from the Primitive Beginning to these our Days, as well in other Countries as namely in England and Scotland, popularly known as Foxe's Book of Martyrs, the first part of which was published in Latin at Strasburg in 1554. The first English edition (folio) appeared in 1563. Sanctioned by the bishops, it was ordered by the Anglican Convocation of 1571 to be placed in the hall of every episcopal palace in England; and it went through

His

four editions in Foxe's lifetime, and many more since his death. The book is not a biographical record of those whom Foxe regarded as God's martyred saints; it is an enthusiastic apology of the Reformation, a fierce impeachment of the errors of the Roman Church, a compendium of controversial theology. Next to the Bible it moulded the temper of English Protestants. Foxe's statements cannot be accepted as trustworthy evidence, if unsupported from other sources. story is doubtless substantially true, although his credulity and obvious prejudice hardly suggest critical capacity in the selection of his authorities. But in those days most strong natures were prejudiced, and bitterly prejudiced, one way or other. People who can admire Mr Froude's brilliant gifts as a historian, and make allowance for his keen prejudices, should not be too severe on Foxe's partisanship. And Foxe was no doubt as thoroughly sincere in his abhorrence of popery and papists as in his joy in the privileges of the newer light. He possessed the gift of graphic narrative, knew thoroughly how to use interesting episodes, and relieved the pathos and the horrors of his story by homely touches and even amusing episodes. And his work will survive as a noble monument of English.

From the 'Book of Martyrs.'

[Under the year 1555 Foxe tells at length 'a Notable History of William Hunter, a Young Man, an apprentice of 19 years, pursued to Death by Justice Brown, for the Gospel's Sake, worthy of all Young Men and Parents to be read.' William Hunter, apprentice to a silk-weaver in London, was discharged from his master's employment for refusing to attend mass. Having returned to the house of his father at Brentwood, he attracted the attention of the spiritual authorities by reading the Scriptures on the desk in Brentwood chapel. The sumner, Father Atwell, challenged him, and reported the matter to the Vicar; he questioned him closely on transubstantiation, and reported to the magistrate, Master Brown, who caused the constable to arrest Hunter, and brought the heretic before Bonner, the Bishop of London. Hunter was repeatedly examined by the Bishop, put in the stocks, kept in irons in prison for nine months, and, having been five times examined, was at length condemned in the consistory at St Paul's, when Foxe was present. Hunter was sent for a time to Newgate, and then to Brentwood to prepare for death. The conversations with all his various visitors, including Master Higbed, a gentleman of Essex, who was one of the next victims, are detailed with suspicious precision by Foxe, who gives the last part of the story thus:]

In the meanetime, Williams father and mother came to him, and desired heartily of God that he might continue to the end in that good waie which hee had begun; and his mother sayde to him that she was glad that ever she was so happie to beare such a childe, which could find in his heart to lose his life for Christs names sake. Then William sayde to his mother: For my little paine which I shall suffer, which is but a short braide, Christ hath promised me, mother,' sayd he, ‘a crowne of joy may you not bee glad of that, mother?' With that, his mother kneeled downe on her knees, saying: 'I pray God strengthen thee, my sonne, to the end yea, I thinke thee as well bestowed as any childe that ever I bare.'

At the which words, Maister Higbed tooke her in his arms, saying: 'I rejoice' (and so said the others) 'to see you in this mind, and you have a good cause to rejoice.' And his father and mother both saide that

they were never of other minde, but praied for him, that as he had begun to confesse Christ before men, he likewise might so continue to the end. Williams father said: 'I was afraid of nothing, but that my son should have bin killed in the prison for hunger and cold, the bishop was so hard to him.' But William confessed after a month that his father was charged with his boorde [board], that he lacked nothing, but had meate and cloathing enough, yea, even out of the court, both mony, meate, clothes, woode, and coales, and all things necessary.

to

Thus they continued in their inne, being the Swan in Brentwood, in a parlor, whither resorted many people of the country to see those good men which were there; and many of Williams acquaintance came him, and reasoned with him, and he with them, exhorting them to come away from the abhomination of popish superstition and idolatry.

Thus passing away Saturday, Sunday, and Munday, on Munday, at night, it hapned that William had a dreame about two of the clock in the morning, which was this: how that he was at the place where the stake was pight where he should be burned, which (as hee thought in his dreame) was at the towns end where the butts stood, which was so indeed; and also hee dreamed that he met with his father as he went to the stake, and also that there was a priest at the stake, which went about to have him recant. To whom he said (as he thought in his dreame), how that he bade him: Away, false prophet, and how that he exhorted the people to beware of him and such as he was; which things came to passe indeed. It hapned that William made a noise to himselfe in his dreame, which caused M. Higbed and the others to wake him out of his sleepe, to know what he lacked. When he awaked, he told them his dreame in order as is said.

Now when it was day, the sheriffe, M. Brocket, called on to set forward to the burning of William Hunter. Then came the sheriffes son to William Hunter, and embraced him in his right arme, saying: 'William, be not afraid of these men which are here present with bowes, bills, and weapons, ready prepared to bring you to the place where you shall be burned.' To whom William answered: 'I thank God I am not afraid; for I have cast my coumpt what it will cost me, already.' Then the sheriffes son could speake no more to him for weeping. Then William Hunter plucked up his gown, and stepped over the parlour grounsell, and went forward cheerefully, the sheriffes servant taking him by one arm, and his brother by another; and thus going in the way, he met with his father, according to his dreame, and he spake to his son, weeping, and saying: 'God be with thee, son William ;' and William said: 'God be with you, father, and be of good comfort, for I hope we shall meet againe, when we shall be mery.' His father said: 'I hope so, William,' and so departed. So William went to the place where the stake stood, even according to his dreame, whereas all things were verie unreadie. Then William tooke a wet broom fagot, and kneeled down thereon, and read the 51st Psalme, till he came to these words: The sacrifice of God is a contrite spirit; a contrite and a broken heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.'

Then said Master Tirell of the Beaches, called William Tirel: Thou liest,' said he; thou readest false, for the words are, "an humble spirit.”’ But William said: "The translation sayth "a contrite heart."'

·

'Yea,' quoth M. Tyrell, the translation is false; ye translate books as ye list your selves, like heretickes.' 'Well,' quoth William, there is no great difference in those words.' Then said the sheriffe: 'Here is a letter from the queen: if thou wilt recant, thou shalt live; if not, thou shalt be burned.' 'No,' quoth William, I will not recant, God willing.' Then William rose, and went to the stake, and stood upright to it. Then came one Richard Ponde a bailiff, and made fast the chain about William. Then said Master Brown: 'Here is not woode enough to burn a legge of him.' Then said William: 'Good people, pray for me; and make speed, and dispatch quickly; and pray for mee while yee see me alive, good people, and I will pray for you likewise.' How!' quoth Master Brown, 'pray for thee? I will pray no more for thee than I will pray for a dogge.' To whom William answered: Master Brown, now you have that which you sought for, and I pray God it be not laide to your charge in the last daie: howbeit, I forgive you.' Then said Master Brown: 'I aske no forgivenesse of thee.' 'Well,' said William, if God forgive you not, I shall require my bloud at your hands.' Then said William: Sonne of God, shine upon me!' and immediately the sunne in the element shone out of a dark cloude so full in his face that hee was constrained to looke another way; wherat the people mused, because it was so darke a little time afore. Then William took up a fagot of broom, and embraced it in his armes. Then this priest which William dreamed of came to his brother Robert with a popish booke to carrie to William, that hee might recant; which booke his brother would not meddle withall. Then William, seeing the priest, and perceiving how hee would have showed him the booke, saide: 'Away, thou false prophet! Beware of them, good people, and come away from their abhominations, lest that you be partakers of their plagues.' Then quoth the priest: Look how thou burnest here; so shalt thou burne in hell.' William answered: Thou liest, thou false prophet! Away, thou false prophet! away!'

Then there was a gentleman which said: 'I pray God have mercie upon his soul.' The people said: 'Amen, Amen.' Immediately fire was made. Then William cast his psalter right into his brother's hand, who said: 'William, thinke on the holy passion of Christ, and be not afraide of death.' And William answered: 'I am not afraid.' Then lift he up his hands to heaven, and said: 'Lord, Lord, Lord, receive my spirit!' And casting downe his head againe into the smothering smoke, he yeelded up his life for the truth, sealing it with his bloud to the praise of God.

Better known is Foxe's account of 'The Behaviour of Dr Ridley and Master Latimer':

Upon the north-side of the towne, in the ditch over against Baily [Balliol] colledge, the place of execution was appointed; and for feare of any tumult that might arise, to let the burning of them, the lord Williams was commanded by the queenes letters, and the housholders of the city, to be there assistant, sufficientlie appointed. And when every thing was in a readiness, the prisoners were brought forth by the maior and the bayliffes. Master Ridley had a faire blacke gowne furred, and faced with foines, such as he was wont to weare beeing bishop, and a tippet of velvet furred likewise about his neck, a velvet night-cap upon his head, and a corner cap upon

the same, going in a paire of slippers to the stake, and going between the maior and an alderman, etc. After him came master Latimer in a poor Bristow freeze frock all worne, with his buttoned cap, and a kerchiefe on his head all readie to the fire, a newe long shrowde hanging over his hose downe to the feet; which at the first sight stirred mens hearts to rue upon them, beholding on the one side the honour they sometime had, and on the other, the calamitie whereunto they were fallen.

Master doctour Ridley, as he passed toward Bocardo, looked up where master Cranmer did lie, hoping belike to have seene him at the glass windowe, and to have spoken unto him. But then master Cranmer was busie with Frier Soto and his fellowes, disputing together, so that he could not see him through that occasion. Then master Ridley, looking backe, espied master Latimer comming after, unto whom he said, 'Oh, be ye there?' 'Yea,' said master Latimer, 'have after as fast as I can follow.' So he following a prettie way off, at length they came both to the stake, the one after the other, where first Dr Ridley entring the place, marvellous earnestly holding up both his hands, looked towards heaven. Then shortlie after espying master Latimer, with a wondrous cheereful looke he ran to him, imbraced and kissed him; and, as they that stood neere reported, comforted him saying, 'Be of good heart, brother, for God will either asswage the furie of the flame, or else strengthen us to abide it.' With that went he to the stake, kneeled downe by it, kissed it, and most effectuouslie praied, and behind him master Latimer kneeled, as earnestlie calling upon God as he. they arose, the one talked with the other a little while, till they which were appointed to see the execution, remooved themselves out of the sun. What they said I can learn of no man.

After

Then Dr Smith, of whose recantation in king Edwards time ye heard before, beganne his sermon to them upon this text of St Paul in the 13 chap. of the first epistle to the Corinthians: Si corpus meum tradam igni, charitatem autem non habeam, nihil inde utilitatis capio, that is, 'If I yeelde my body to the fire to be burnt, and have not charity, I shall gaine nothing thereby.' Wherein he alledged that the goodnesse of the cause, and not the order of death, maketh the holines of the person; which he confirmed by the examples of Judas, and of a woman in Oxford that of late hanged her selfe, for that they, and such like as he recited, might then be adjudged righteous, which desperatelie sundered their lives from their bodies, as hee feared that those men that stood before him would doe. But he cried stil to the people to beware of them, for they were heretikes, and died out of the church. And on the other side, he declared their diversities in opinions, as Lutherians, Ecolampadians, Zuinglians, of which sect they were, he said, and that was the worst: but the old church of Christ and the catholike faith beleeved far otherwise. At which place they lifted uppe both their hands and eies to heaven, as it were calling God to witnes of the truth: the which countenance they made in many other places of his sermon, whereas they thought he spake amisse. Hee ended with a verie short exhortation to them to recant, and come home again to the church, and save their lives and soules, which else were condemned. His sermon was scant in all a quarter of an houre.

Doctor Ridley said to master Latimer, 'Will you begin

to answer the sermon, or shall I?' Master Latimer said: 'Begin you first, I pray you.' 'I will,' said master Ridley.

Then the wicked sermon being ended, Dr Ridley and master Latimer kneeled downe uppon their knees towards my lord Williams of Tame, the vice-chancellour of Oxford, and divers other commissioners appointed for that purpose, which sate upon a forme thereby. Unto whom master Ridley said: 'I beseech you, my lord, even for Christs sake, that I may speake but two or three wordes.' And whilest my lord bent his head to the maior and vice-chancellor, to know (as it appeared) whether he might give him leave to speake, the bailiffes and Dr Marshall, vice-chancellor, ran hastily unto him, and with their hands stopped his mouth, and said: 'Master Ridley, if you will revoke your erroneous opinions, and recant the same, you shall not onely have liberty so to doe, but also the benefite of a subject; that is, have your life.' 'Not otherwise?' said maister Ridley. 'No,' quoth Dr Marshall. Therefore if you will not so doe, then there is no remedy but you must suffer for your deserts.' 'Well,' quoth master Ridley, so long as the breath is in my bodie, I will never deny my Lord Christ, and his knowne truth: Gods will be done in me!' And with that he rose up and said with a loud voice Well then, I commit our cause to almightie God, which shall indifferently judge all.' To whose saying, maister Latimer added his old posie, 'Well! there is nothing hid but it shall be opened.' And he said, he could answer. Smith well enough, if hee might be suffered.

Incontinently they were commanded to make them readie, which they with all meeknesse obeyed. Master Ridley tooke his gowne and his tippet, and gave it to his brother-in-lawe master Shepside, who all his time of imprisonment, although he might not be suffered to come to him, lay there at his owne charges to provide him necessaries, which from time to time he sent him by the sergeant that kept him. Some other of his apparel that was little worth, hee gave away; other the bailiffes took. He gave away besides divers other small things to gentlemen standing by, and divers of them pitifullie weeping, as to sir Henry Lea he gave a new groat; and to divers of my lord Williams gentlemen some napkins, some nutmegges, and races [roots] of ginger; his diall, and such other things as he had about him, to every one that stood next him. Some plucked the pointes of his hose. Happie was he that might get any ragge of him. Master Latimer gave nothing, but very quickly suffered his keeper to pull off his hose, and his other aray, which to look unto was very simple: and being stripped into his shrowd, hee seemed as comly a person to them that were there present as one should lightly see; and whereas in his clothes hee appeared a withered and crooked sillie olde man, he now stood bolt upright, as comely a father as one might lightly behold.

Then master Ridley, standing as yet in his trusse, said to his brother: 'It were best for me to go in my trusse still.' 'No,' quoth his brother, 'it will put you to more paine and the trusse will do a poore man good.' Whereunto master Ridley said: 'Be it, in the name of God;' and so unlaced himselfe. Then beeing in his shirt, he stood upon the foresaid stone, and held up his hande and said: 'O heavenly Father, I give unto thee most heartie thanks, for that thou hast called mee to be a professour of thee, even unto death. I beseech thee,

Lord God, take mercie upon this realme of England, and deliver the same from all her enemies.'

Then the smith took a chaine of iron, and brought the same about both Dr Ridleyes and maister Latimers middles; and as he was knocking in a staple, Dr Ridley tooke the chaine in his hand, and shaked the same, for it did girde in his belly, and looking aside to the smith, said: 'Good fellow, knocke it in hard, for the flesh will have his course.' Then his brother did bringe him gunnepowder in a bag, and would have tied the same about his necke. Master Ridley asked what it was. His brother said, 'Gunnepowder.' 'Then,' sayd he, 'I take it to be sent of God; therefore I will receive it as sent of him. And have you any,' sayd he, for my brother?' meaning master Latimer. 'Yea, sir, that I have,' quoth his brother. Then give it unto him,' sayd hee, 'betime; least ye come too late.' So his brother went, and caried of the same gunnepowder unto maister Latimer.

In the meanetime Dr Ridley spake unto my lord Williams, and saide: My lord, I must be a suter unto your lordshippe in the behalfe of divers poore men, and speciallie in the cause of my poor sister; I have made a supplication to the queenes majestie in their behalves. I beseech your lordship for Christs sake, to be a mean to her grace for them. My brother here hath the supplication, and will resort to your lordshippe to certifie you herof. There is nothing in all the world that troubleth my conscience, I praise God, this only excepted. Whiles I was in the see of London divers poore men tooke leases of me, and agreed with me for the same. Now I heare say the bishop that now occupieth the same roome will not allow my grants unto them made, but contrarie unto all lawe and conscience hath taken from them their livings, and will not suffer them to injoy the same. I beseech you, my lord, be a meane for them; you shall do a good deed, and God will reward you.'

Then they brought a faggotte, kindled with fire, and laid the same downe at Dr Ridleys feete. To whome master Latimer spake in this manner: 'Bee of good comfort, master Ridley, and play the man. Wee shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never bee putte out.'

And so the fire being given unto them, when Dr Ridley saw the fire flaming up towards him, he cried with a wonderful lowd voice: In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum: Domine recipe spiritum meum.' And after, repeated this latter part often in English, Lord, Lord, receive my spirit;' master Latimer crying as vehementlie on the other side, 'O Father of heaven, receive my soule!' who received the flame as it were imbracing of it. After that he had stroaked his face with his hands, and as it were bathed them a little in the fire, he soone died (as it appeared) with verie little paine or none. And thus much concerning the end of this olde and blessed servant of God, master Latimer, for whose laborious travailes, fruitfull life, and constant death the whole realme hath cause to give great thanks to almightie God.

But master Ridley, by reason of the evill making of the fire unto him, because the wooden faggots were laide about the gosse [gorse], and over-high built, the fire burned first beneath, being kept downe by the wood; which when he felt, hee desired them for Christes sake to let the fire come unto him. Which when his brother-in-law heard, but not well understood, intending to rid him out of his

paine (for the which cause hee gave attendance), as one in such sorrow not well advised what hee did, heaped faggots upon him, so that he cleane covered him, which made the fire more vehement beneath, that it burned cleane all his neather parts, before it once touched the upper; and that made him leape up and down under the faggots, and often desire them to let the fire come unto him, saying, 'I cannot burne.' Which indeed appeared well; for, after his legges were consumed by reason of his strugling through the paine (whereof hee had no release, but onelie his contentation in God), he showed that side toward us cleane, shirt and all untouched with flame. Yet in all

this torment he forgate not to call unto God still, having in his mouth, 'Lord have mercy upon me,' intermedling this cry, 'Let the fire come unto me, I cannot burne.' In which paines he laboured till one of the standers by with his bill pulled off the faggots above, and where he saw the fire flame up, he wrested himself unto that side. And when the flame touched the gunpowder, he was seen stirre no more, but burned on the other side, falling downe at master Latimers feete. Which some said happened by reason that the chain loosed; other said that he fel over the chain by reason of the poise of his body, and the weakness of the neather lims.

Some said that before he was like to fall from the stake, hee desired them to hold him to it with their billes. However it was, surelie it mooved hundreds to teares, in beholding the horrible sight; for I thinke there was none that had not cleane exiled all humanitie and mercie, which would not have lamented to beholde the furie of the fire so to rage upon their bodies. Signes there were of sorrow on everie side. Some tooke it greevouslie to see their deathes, whose lives they held full deare: some pittied their persons, that thought their soules had no need thereof. His brother mooved many men, seeing his miserable case, seeing (I say) him compelled to such infelicitie, that he thought then to doe him best service when he hastned his end. Some cried out of the lucke, to see his indevor (who most dearelie loved him, and sought his release) turne to his greater vexation and increase of paine. But whoso considered their preferments in time past, the places of honour that they some time occupied in this common wealth, the favour they were in with their princes, and the opinion of learning they had in the university where they studied, could not chuse but sorrow with teares to see so great dignity, honour, and estimation, so necessary members sometime accounted, so many godly vertues, the study of so manie yeres, such excellent learning, to be put into the fire and consumed in one moment. Well! dead they are, and the reward of this world they have alreadie. What reward remaineth for them in heaven, the day of the Lord's glorie, when hee commeth with his saints, shall short lie, I trust, declare.

Perhaps the best-known edition of Foxe's Book of Martyrs is that by Cattley (8 vols. 1837-41), but it is far from perfect; in the last paragraph quoted, for example, Cattley had altered lucke' to 'fortune.' The best is that in the 'Reformation' series of the Ecclesiastical Historians of England, edited by Mendham and Pratt (8 vols. 1853 et seq.), with Townsend's vindication against the attacks of Catholic critics. But many of the Catholic criticisms were justified; and Foxe's exaggerations and want of historical precision were fully exposed by Dr S. N. Maitland in a series of pamphlets (1837-42). The biography of Foxe, attributed to his son Samuel, and published in both Latin and English in the 1641 edition of the Acts, is certainly apocryphal, although it has formed the basis of numerous popular memoirs.

Raphael Holinshed (HOLYNSHED, HOLLINGSHEAD, &c.), principal writer of the Chronicles which bear his name, is said by Wood to have been educated at one of the universities, and to have become a minister of God's Word. It is certain that he came to London; was a translator in the printing-office of the German, Reginald Wolfe; was steward to Thomas Burdet of Bromcote, in Warwickshire; and died about the year 1580. He had Leland's MSS. at his command, and he was assisted by William Harrison (1534-93), who, born in London and educated at both universities, became chaplain to Lord Cobham and Canon of Windsor; and by Richard Stanyhurst (1547-1618), born in Dublin, educated at Oxford, who, destined to be afterwards famous as the translator of Virgil, wrote for Holinshed on Irish affairs under the guidance of the Jesuit martyr, Edmund Campion. Prefixed to the historical portion of the work is a description of Britain and its inhabitants, by William Harrison, which gives an interesting picture of the state of the country and manners of the people in the sixteenth century. This is followed by a history of England to the Norman Conquest, by Holinshed; a history and description of Ireland, by Stanyhurst ; additional chronicles of Ireland, translated (from Giraldus Cambrensis and others) or written by Holinshed and Stanyhurst; a description and history of Scotland, mostly translated from Hector Boece and Major, by Holinshed and others; and, lastly, a history of England, by Holinshed, from the Norman Conquest to 1577, when the first edition of the Chronicles was published. The book was eagerly welcomed and widely read; but some passages reflecting on debatable topics offended the queen and the ministers, and had to be cancelled. The second edition, when it appeared in 1587, was revised and continued down to 1586 under the editorship of John Hooker or Vowell, chamberlain of Exeter and uncle of 'the Judicious Hooker,' who had for coadjutors John Stow, elsewhere mentioned; Abraham Fleming (1552?— 1607), a translator from the classics, a poor poet but a competent antiquary; and Francis Thynne, calling himself Boteville (1545?-1608), the Lancaster Herald. In this second edition of 1587, several sheets containing matter offensive to the queen and her ministers were mutilated in all but the first impressions; but the uncastrated text was restored in the excellent edition in six volumes quarto published in London in 1807-8. Shakespeare got the material of almost all his historical plays from the Chronicles, and sometimes copied the very words. It was from Holinshed-who followed Boece-that Shakespeare derived the groundwork of Macbeth, as well as of King Lear and (in part) of Cymbeline. In Lear Shakespeare partly followed an earlier play based on Holinshed: the passages of Holinshed paraphrased in Henry VI. are themselves paraphrases of Hall. And the author (or authors) of Henry VIII. might have taken the passages originally due to Cavendish's Life of

Wolsey either from MS., from the second edition of Holinshed which had followed Cavendish, or from Stow, whose Chronicles contains selections from Cavendish.

Sometimes the text of Shakespeare's plays is little more than a blank verse rearrangement of Holinshed's facts and words. Thus in Act I. scene i. of Henry V. the Salic law is thus expounded: There is no barre

To make against your Highnesse claim to France
But this which they produce from Pharamond :
'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant,'
'No woman shall succeed in Salic land ;'
Which Salike land the French unjustly gloze
To be the Realme of France and Pharamond
The founder of this Law and Female Barre;
Yet their own Authors faithfully affirme
That the Land Salike is in Germanie
Betweene the Flouds of Sala and of Elve,
Where Charles the Great, &c.

In Holinshed it is thus put: 'Against the surmised and false law Salike, which the Frenchmen allege ever against the kings of England in barre of their just title to the crowne of France. The verie words of that supposed law are these: "In terram salicam mulieres ne succedant;" that is to say, "Into the Salike land let not woman succeed." Which the French glossers expound to be the realme of France, and that this law was made by King Pharamond: whereas their owne authors affirme that the land Salike is in Germanie, betweene the rivers of Elbe and Sala; and that where Charles the Great,' &c.

So in Act IV. scene viii. the list of prisoners and slain reported to the king after Agincourt is quite amusingly close to Holinshed's, as will appear from the last few lines.

The king, having recited the long list of French slain, says:

Here was a Royall fellowship of death!

Where is the number of our English dead?
Edward the Duke of Yorke, the Earle of Suffolke,
Sir Richard Ketlie, Davy Gam, Esquire:
None else of name; and of all other men
But five and twentie.

The corresponding sentence in Holinshed is: 'Of Englishmen there died at this battell, Edward Duke of Yorke; the Earle of Suffolke; Sir Richard Kikelie; and Davie Gamme, Esquier; and of all other not aboue five and twentie persons.' The parallelisms have been worked out at length by Mr Boswell-Stone in his Shakespeare's Holinshed (1896).

Holinshed tells at great length the proton pseudos, the fundamental fable about Brutus, the eponymous hero of Britain, which from the days of Geoffrey of Monmouth continued so long to falsify English history. Britain, it appears, was peopled within two hundred years after the flood by the children of Japhet, whose son Samothes was the founder of Celtica, including Gallia and Britannia, and was succeeded by five kings of