The Life of Sir Thomas More/Appendix 7

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search

No. VII.

In August in the Yere of our Lord 1534, and in the xxvith Yere of the Raygne of King Henrye the Eyght, the Ladye Alyce Alington, (Wife to Syr Gyles Alington, Knighte, and Daughter to Syr Thomas More's second and last Wife ) wrote a Letter to Maistres Margaret Roper, the Copy whereof here followeth.

Syster Roper, with all my heart, I recomend me unto you, thanking you for all kyndnesse. The cause of my wrytynge at thys time is, to shew you that at my coming home, within ii howres after, my Lord Chauncellor did come to take a course at a bucke in our parke, the which was to my husband a great comfort, that it would please him so to dooe. Then when he had taken hys pleasure and kilde his dere, he went to Syr Thomas Barnestons to bed: where I was the next day with him at his desyre, ye which I could not say nay to, for me thought he dyd byd me heartelye: and most especially, because I would speake to him for my father. And when I sawe my tyme, I dyd desire hym as humbly as I coulde that he would (as I have heard say that he hath been) be still good lord unto my father. Fyrst he answered me, that he would be as gladde to doe for hym as for hys father, and that (he sayd) did appeare very well, when the matter of the nonne was layde to his charge. And as for thys other matter, he mervayled that my father is so obstinate in his owne conceite, in that every body went furth withall, save onelye the blynde bysshoppe and he. And in good faythe (sayde my Lorde) I am very gladde that I have no learning, but in a fewe of Isopes fables, of the whiche I shall tell you one. There was a countrey in the which ther were almoste none but fooles, savyng a few which were wise, and they by theyr wisdom knew that ther shold fall a great rayne, the whiche shoulde make all theym fooles, that shoulde be fowled or wet therewith. They seying that, made them caves under the ground, till all the rayne was paste. Than they came furth, thinking to make the fooles dooe what they lyste, and to rule theym as they woulde. But the fooles woulde none of that, but woulde have the rule themselves for all theyr craft. And when the wyse men saw that they coulde not obteyn theyr purpose they wished that they had been in the rayne, and had defoyled theyr clothes with them. When this tale was tolde, my lord dyd laugh very merely. Than I sayd to hym, that for al hys mery fable I did put no doutes but that he woulde be good lord unto my father when he sawe hys tyme. He sayde, I woulde not have your father so scrupulous of his conscience. And then he tolde me another fable, of a Lyon an Asse and a Wolfe, and of theyr confession. Fyrst the Lyon confessed that he had deuoured al the beastes that he could come by. His confessour assoyled hym because he was a king, and also it was his nature so to doe. Than came the poor Asse, and sayde that he tooke but one strawe out of hys maisters shoe for hunger, by the meanes wherof he thought that hys maister did take colde. Hys confessour coulde not assoile this great trespas, but by and by sent hym to the byshop. Than came the Wolfe and made hys confession, and he was straytly commanded that he should not passe vi pence at a meale. But when the sayde wolfe had used this diet a little whyle, he waxed very hungry, in so much, that on a day when he sawe a cowe with her calfe come by him, he sayd to himselfe I am very hungry, and faine would I eate, but that I am bounde by my gostly father. Notwithstanding that, my conscience shall judge me. And than if that be so, than shall my conscience be thus, that the cowe doth seme to me now but woorth a grote. And than if the cowe be but woorth a grote, than is the calfe but woorth ii pence; so did the wolfe eate bothe the cowe and the calfe. Now my good sister, hath not my lord told me two prety fables. In good fayth they pleased me nothing, nor I wist not what to say, for I was abashed of his aunswer. And I see no better suite than to almightie God; for be is the comforter of all sorrowes, and will not fayle to send his coumfort to his servauntes when they have moste nede. Thus fare ye well mine owne good sister. Written the Monday after Saint Laurence, in haste,

Your Sister,

ALICE ALINGTON.