own subjects he roasted alive for not holding
the Pope's opinions. Thus, an unfortunate
student named John Frith, and a poor simple
tailor named Andrew Hewet who loved him
very much and said that whatever John Frith
believed he believed, were burnt in Smithfield
—to show what a capital Christian the King
was.

But, these were speedily followed by two
much greater victims, Sir Thomas More, and
John Fisher the Bishop of Rochester. The
latter, who was a good and amiable old man,
had committed no greater offence than believing
in Elizabeth Barton, called the Maid of
Kent—another of those ridiculous women who
pretended to be inspired, and to make all sorts
of heavenly revelations, though they indeed
uttered nothing but vile nonsense. For this
offence, as it was pretended, but really for
denying the King to be the supreme Head
of the Church, he got into trouble, and was
put in prison; but, even then, he might have
been suffered to die naturally (short work
having been made of executing the Kentish
Maid and her principal followers), but that
the Pope, to spite the King, resolved to make
him a cardinal. Upon that, the King made
a ferocious joke to the effect that the Pope
might send Fisher a red hat—which is the way
they make a cardinal—but he should have no
head on which to wear it; and he was tried
with all unfairness and injustice, and sentenced
to death. He died like a noble and virtuous old
man, and left a worthy name behind him. The
King supposed, I dare say, that Sir Thomas
More would be frightened by this example;
but, as he was not to be easily terrified, and,
thoroughly believing in the Pope, had made up
his mind that the King was not the rightful
Head of the Church; he positively refused to
say that he was. For this crime he too was
tried and sentenced, after having been in
prison a whole year. When he was doomed
to death, and came away from his trial with
the edge of the executioner's axe turned
towards him—as was always done in those
times when a state prisoner came to that
hopeless pass—he bore it quite serenely, and
gave his blessing to his son, who pressed
through the crowd in Westminster Hall
and kneeled down to receive it. But when
he got to the Tower Wharf, on his way back
to his prison, and his favourite daughter
MARGARET ROPER, a very good woman, rushed
through the guards again and again, to kiss
him and to weep upon his neck, he was overcome
at last. He soon recovered, and never
more showed any feeling but cheerfulness and
courage. When he was going up the steps
of the scaffold to his death, he said jokingly
to the Lieutenant of the Tower, observing
that they were weak and shook beneath
his tread, "I pray you, master lieutenant,
see me safe up; and for my coming down
I can shift for myself." Also he said to the
executioner, after he had laid his head upon
the block, "Let me put my beard out of
the way; for that, at least, has never
committed any treason." Then his head was
struck off at a blow. These two executions
were worthy of King Henry the Eighth.
Sir Thomas More was one of the most virtuous
men in his dominions, and the Bishop was one
of his oldest and truest friends. But to be a
friend of that fellow was almost as dangerous
as to be his wife.

When the news of these two murders got to
Rome, the Pope raged against the murderer
more than ever Pope raged since the world
began, and prepared a Bull, ordering his
subjects to take arms against him and
dethrone him. The King took all possible
precautions to keep that document out of his
dominions, and set to work in return to
suppress a great number of the English
monasteries and abbeys.

This destruction was begun by a body of
commissioners, of whom Cromwell (whom the
King had taken into great favor) was the
head; it was carried on through some few
years to its entire completion. There is no
doubt that many of these religious establishments
were religious in nothing but in name,
and were crammed with lazy, indolent, and
sensual monks. There is no doubt that they
imposed upon the people in every possible
way; that they had images moved by wires,
which they pretended were miraculously
moved by Heaven; that they had among
them a whole tun measure full of teeth, all
purporting to have come out of the head of
one saint, who must indeed have been a very
extraordinary person with that enormous
allowance of grinders; that they had bits of
coal, which they said had fried Saint
Lawrence, bits of toe-nails which they said
belonged to other famous saints; penknives, and
boots, and girdles, which they said belonged
to others; and that all these bits of rubbish
were called Relics, and adored by the ignorant
people. But, on the other hand, there is
no doubt either, that the King's officers and
men punished the good monks with the bad,
did great injustice, demolished many beautiful
things and many valuable libraries, destroyed
numbers of paintings, stained glass windows,
fine pavements, and carvings; and that the
whole court were ravenously greedy and
rapacious for the division of this great spoil
among them. The King seems to have grown
almost mad in the ardor of this pursuit,
for he declared Thomas a Becket a traitor,
though he had been dead so many years, and
had his body dug up out of his grave. He
must have been as miraculous as the monks
pretended, if they had told the truth, for he
was found with one head on his shoulders,
and they had shown another as his undoubted
and genuine head ever since his death; it
had brought them vast sums of money, too.
The gold and jewels on his shrine filled
two great chests, and eight men tottered as
they carried them away. How rich the
monasteries were, you may infer from the fact