uce him to give a different one. He
was willing, it seems, to take an oath of obedience to the sovereign and
his successors, but what he would _not_ do was to swear that the king
was the head of the church, and some words declaring this had been
introduced--whether carelessly or wilfully we do not know--into the Act
of Succession, with which they had nothing to do. It was his refusal to
take this part of the oath which caused the downfall of More.

* * * * *

For four days sir Thomas remained a prisoner in the care of the abbot of
Westminster; then he was sent to the Tower. Sir Richard Southwell
conveyed him there and placed him under the custody of the lieutenant of
the Tower, sir Edmund Walsingham, an old friend of the More family. As
appears to have been the custom, his cap and outside gown were taken
from him and kept by the porter, and a man set to spy upon his actions.
This was sorely against the wishes of his gaoler, who would fain have
made More's captivity in the Beauchamp Tower as light as might be; but
at first it was needful to be very strict, lest inquiries should be
made. Later, he was for a while allowed writing materials; he went to
church in St. Peter ad Vincula, where so many famous captives lie
buried, and occasionally walked in the garden, or took exercise in the
narrow walk outside his cell. By-and-by, too, occasional visits from his
family were permitted; his stepdaughter, lady Alington, came to see him,
and so did her mother, dame Alice, More's daughter-in-law Anne, and most
frequently of all his daughter Margaret.

With these indulgences he might have been content, for all his life he
had made the best of things, but the expenses of his captivity weighed
on his soul. The barest food for himself and his servant cost him
fifteen shillings a week (over 5 l. now), and some months later, when
he was convicted of high treason and the lands granted him by the king
were taken from him, his wife was forced to sell her own clothes so that
the money might be paid. But this, we may hope, she kept from sir
Thomas, whose body was bent and broken by painful diseases, though his
spirit was as cheerful as ever. He could even 'inwardly' laugh at dame
Alice when she came to see him for complaining that she would die for
want of air if she was left all night in a locked cell, when 'he knew
full well that every night she shut her own chamber, both doors and
windows, and what was the d