103 



Oh, England! once who hadst the only fame 



Of being kind to all who hither came 



For refuge and protection, how couldst thou 



So strangely alter thy good nature now, 



Where there was so much excellence to move, 



Not only thy compassion, but thy love? 



'Twas strange on earth, save Caledonian ground, 



So impudent a villain ceuld be found, 



Such majesty and sweetness to accuse; 



Or, after that, a judge would not refuse 



Her sentence to pronounce ; or that being done, 



Even amongst bloody'st hangmen, to find one 



Durst, though her face was veil'd, and neck laid down, 



Strike off the fairest head e'er wore a crown. 



And what state policy there might be here, 



Which does with right too often interfere, 



I 'm not to judge : yet thus far dare be bold, 



A fouler act the sun did ne'er behold.* 



Plott, in his Staffordshire, calls Mr. Cotton " his worthy, 

 learned, and most ingenious friend." Sir John Hawkins 

 thus speaks of him: — " He was both a wit and a scholar; of 



• Essex lost his head for having said that Elizabeth grew old and can- 

 kered, and that her mind was as crooked as her carcase. Perhaps the beauty 

 of Mary galled Elizabeth. 



The Quarterly Review of July, 1828, thus remarks: — "When Elizabeth's 

 wrinkles waxed many, it is reported that an unfortunate master of the Mint 

 incurred disgrace, by a too faithful shilling; the die was broken, and only 

 one mutilated impression is now in existence. Her maids of honour took 

 the hint, and were thenceforth careful that no fragment of a looking glass 

 should remain in any room of the palace. In fact, the lion-hearted lady had 

 not heart to look herself in the face for the last twenty years of her life." 



It seems that Elizabeth was fond of executions. She loved Essex, of all 

 men, best; and yet the same axe which murdered Anne Bulleyn, was used 

 to revenge herself on him. The bloody task took three strokes, which so 

 enraged the multitude, (who loved Essex) that they would have torn the 

 executioner to pieces, had not the soldiers prevented them. Mr. Hutton, 

 in his " Journey to London," observes, that " their vengeance ought to have 

 been directed against the person who caused him to use it." What her re- 

 flections were on these two bloody acts when on her death-bed, we scarcely 



