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560 cravetts; he gave to the vicars a silver cup of great weight, and a massive bowl of silver to the canons. From Yorke he was removed hither to Canterbury, and here he sate one month above seventeen years. In which time, at the west end of his church, he built a faire spire steeple, called to this day Arundell steeple, and bestowed a tunable ring of five bells on the same, which he dedicated to the Holy Trinity, to the blessed Virgin Mary, to the angel Gabriel, to Saint Blase, and the fifth to St John the Evangelist. This much he effected; howsoever hee was no sooner warm in his seate, than that he, with his brother, the Earl of Arundell, were condemned of high treason, his brother executed, and he banished the kingdom, and so lived in exilement the space of near two yerrs, until the first of the raigne of Henry Fourth. This worthy prelate died of a swelling in his tongue, which made him unable to eate, drink, or speake for a time before his death, which happened February 20, anno 1413." In Fox's History of the Martyrs, the Archbishop appears in a different light. "After the decease or martyrdom of these who were executed in the month of January A.D. 1414, in the next month, and in the same year, God took away the great enemy of his word, and rebel to his king, Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, whose death followed after the execution of these good men, by the marvellous stroke of God, so suddenly, may seem somewhat to declare their innocency, and that he was also one great procurer of their death, in that God would not suffer him longer to live, striking him immediately with death."

And here we may notice, that we have within an hour been reading in Fox's Martyrs, "the Examination of William Thorpe, penned with his own hand," of which the Martyrologist says well,—"Next comes the history of Master William Thorpe, a valiant warrior under the triumphal banner of Christ, with the process of his examination before Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury. In his examination (A. D. 1407) thou shall have, good reader, both to learn and to marvel To learn, in that thou shall hear truth discoursed and discussed, with the contrary reasons of the adversary dissolved. To marvel, for thou shalt behold large, in this man, the marvellous force and strength of the Lord's might, Spirit, and grace, working and fighting in his soldiers, and also speaking in their mouths according to the word of his promise." The author of the Poem before us, has well studied the character of the Archbishop's mind, exhibited in that "Examination"—worked most effectively upon the materials he found there—and not with ingenuity only, but with genius, transferred the spirit of the persecutor from a real to a fictitious case, of the persecuted from that of William Thorpe, the Protestant Christian, who was indeed given to the fire, to that of Anne Ayliffe, who knew not how to choose between the Cross and the Crescent, and perishes only before our imagination, in these flames.

And the haughty Churchman speaks well—yea even as if he were a humble Christian. Who shall say that he is not sincere in hatred of heresy, and would fain persuade the heretic to adopt the only creed by which she may save her soul alive? To show her how wicked is her own creed and how wild, would be a fruitless task with her—to him and the brethren a painful one—nay, might haply "taint some less instructed breast" with her unhallowed and sinful delusions. Enough that she has confessed her tenets, and that Holy Church condemns them—therefore the mother of souls must rescue this erring child as from a fascinating serpent—from a slippery cliff and a gulf of fire. Oh! that the poor, dear, infatuated, lost creature would but recant and repent, and how blessed an office would it be for that servant of the Lord of mercy as well as judgment, to save her soul from perdition, and her body from the flames!

For, hear how like a disciple of Jesus the Primate says

"Taken,—I call to witness you, whose aid Thereto was lent, and Heaven, for whose we pray'd, No art was unemploy'd, no time exempt, No labour spared, unwearied no attempt; All, wit could compass, zeal and pity gave,