or me hereafter to judge of death, both as to the
unavoidableness, suddenness, and little effect of it upon the spirits of
others, let a man be never so high, or rich, or good; but that all die
alike, no more matter being made of the death of one than another,
and that even to die well, the praise of it is not considerable in the
world, compared to the many in the world that know not nor make anything
of it, nor perhaps to them (unless to one that like this poor gentleman,
who is one of a thousand, there nobody speaking ill of him) that will
speak ill of a man. Coming to St. James's, I hear that the Queen did
sleep five hours pretty well to-night, and that she waked and gargled
her mouth, and to sleep again; but that her pulse beats fast, beating
twenty to the King's or my Lady Suffolk's eleven; but not so strong as
it was. It seems she was so ill as to be shaved and pidgeons put to her
feet, and to have the extreme unction given her by the priests, who were
so long about it that the doctors were angry. The King, they all say;
is most fondly disconsolate for her, and weeps by her, which makes her
weep;

["The queen was given over by her physicians,..., and the
good nature of the king was much affected with the situation in
which he saw! a princess whom, though he did not love her, yet he
greatly esteemed. She loved him tenderly, and thinking that it was
the last time she should ever speak to him, she told him 'That the
concern he showed for her death was enough to make her quit life
with regret; but that not possessing charms sufficient to merit his
tenderness, she had at least the consolation in dying to give place
to a consort who might be more worthy, of it and to whom heaven,
perhaps, might grant a blessing that had been refused to her.' At
these words she bathed his hands with some tears which he thought
would be her last; he mingled his own with hers, and without
supposing she would take him at his word, he conjured her to live
for his sake."--Grammont Memoirs, chap. vii.]

which one this day told me he reckons a good sign, for that it carries
away some rheume from the head. This morning Captain Allen tells me how
the famous Ned Mullins, by a slight fall, broke his leg at the ancle,
which festered; and he had his leg cut off on Saturday, but so ill done,
notwithstanding all the great chyrurgeons about the town at the doing
of it, that they