in the transitional condition of the country. "The
burden I am driven to sustain," said Davison, "doth utterly weary me. If
Sir Philip Sidney were here, and if my Lord of Leicester follow not all
the sooner, I would use her Majesty's liberty to return home. If her
Majesty think me worthy the reputation of a poor, honest, and loyal
servant, I have that contents me. For the rest, I wish

'Vivere sine invidia, mollesque inglorius annos
Egigere, amicitias et mihi jungere pares.'"

There was something almost prophetic in the tone which this faithful
public servant--to whom, on more than one occasion, such hard measure was
to be dealt--habitually adopted in his private letters and conversation.
He did his work, but he had not his reward; and he was already weary of
place without power, and industry without recognition.

"For mine own particular," he said, "I will say with the poet,

'Crede mihi, bene qui latuit bene vixit,
Et intra fortunam debet quisque manere suam.'"

For, notwithstanding the avidity with which Elizabeth had sought the
cautionary towns, and the fierceness with which she had censured the
tardiness of the States, she seemed now half inclined to drop the prize
which she had so much coveted, and to imitate the very languor which she
had so lately rebuked. "She hath what she desired," said Davison, "and
might yet have more, if this content her not. Howsoever you value the
places at home, they are esteemed here, by such as know them best, no
little increase to her Majesty's honour, surety, and greatness, if she be
as careful to keep them as happy in getting them. Of this, our cold
beginning doth already make me jealous."

Sagacious and resolute Princess as she was, she showed something of
feminine caprice upon this grave occasion. Not Davison alone, but her
most confidential ministers and favourites at home, were perplexed and
provoked by her misplaced political coquetries. But while the alternation
of her hot and cold fits drove her most devoted courtiers out of
patience, there was one symptom that remained invariable throughout all
her paroxysms, the rigidity with which her hand was locked. Walsingham,
stealthy enough when an advantage was to be gained by subtlety, was
manful and determined in his dealings with his friends; and he had more
than once been offended with Elizabeth's want of frankness in these
transactions.

"I find you grieved, and not without cause," he wrote to Davison