se it to drag
its weary body so slowly along its slimy course.

My sole occupation, with which I tried to prevent my mind from
brooding, was the reading of the different sad histories of those which
writ down their thoughts, and fates to be, upon their--and now
my--prison's walls. One of these, whose sadness and beautiful
resignation--even though it hath no great poetic merit--most affected
me, I now set down. The lines and words are imprinted on the pages of
my memory with such a force as never can fade, so long as the old, worn
book doth hold together. Here they are, my children; and much profit
may be gathered from their calmness and resignation:--

"Somewhat musing, and more mourning,
In remembering the unsteadfastness,
This world being of such wheeling,
Me contrarying, what can I guess?

"I fear, doubtless, remediless,
Is now to seize my woful chance;
For unkindness, withouten less, (lessening)
And no redress, doth me avance.

"With displeasance, to my grievance,
And no surance of remedy;
Lo, in this trance, now in substance,
Such is my dance, willing to die.

"Methinks, truly, bounden am I,
And that greatly, to be content;
Seeing plainly Fortune doth wry
All contrary from mine intent

"My life was lent me to one intent;
It is nigh spent. Welcome Fortune!
But I ne went (thought) thus to be shent,
But she it meant, such is her won (wont)"[1]

Evidently the woeful writer of these lines had been condemned to death.
His bones had now lost their fleshly mantle, and forgotten he lay, far
from those he loved. "How long ere I shall be in the same condition?"
thought I, as I stood before my secure-barred window and gazed at the
rain, as it fell in one unceasing torrent.

"Verily the heavens do weep for the sufferings of poor England," I said
aloud; for now I spoke unto myself as though I were another.

For I know not how many days, for in my sorrow I lost all track of
time, the rain fell with unabated fury.

How I longed to hear how fared my gentle Hazel.

"Hell and furies!" would I cry, and grip at the same time the iron bars
that stood like the gate of Hell betwixt me and my liberty. How
relieving did it feel to my pent up hate to twist at an iron bar and
imagine that it was Catesby's throat I held.

"Ha! thou accursed villain!" would I cry aloud, "thou now shalt know
the fury of my vengeance!" Then would I strike the cruel metal wit