History of England

"Some people are on the pitch, they think it's all over [Geoff Hurst scores], it is now!"

"Herkens, god yemen, Comley, corteys, and god, On of the best that yever bare bowe, Hes name was Roben Hode.Roben Hood was the yemans name, That was boyt corteys and fre; For the loffe of owre ladey, All wemen werschepyd he."

"Lythe and listin, gentilmen, That be of frebore blode; I shall you tel of a gode yeman, His name was Robyn Hode."

"A Yeman hadde he, and servaunts namo At that tyme, for him liste ryde so; And he was clad in cote and hood of grene; A sheef of pecok-arwes brighte and kene Under his belt he bar ful thriftily; (Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly: His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe), And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe. A not-heed hadde he, with a broun visage. Of wode-craft wel coude he al the usage. Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer, And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler, And on that other syde a gay daggere, Harneised wel, and sharp as point of spere; A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene. An horn he bar, the bawdrik was of grene; A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse."

"My father was a Yoman, and had no landes of hys own, only he had a farme of iii. or iiii. pound by yere at the uttermooste, and here upon he tilled so much as kept halfe a dosen men. He had walke for a hundred shepe, and my mother milked xxx. kyne. He was able and did finde the kyng a harnesse, with himselfe, and his horse, whyle he came to the place that he shoulde receive the kynges wages. I can remembre, that I buckled hys harnesse, when he wente unto Blacke heathe felde. He kept me to schole, or els I hadde not bene able to have preached before the kinges majesty now. He maryed my systers wyth v. pounde, or xx. nobles a piece, so that he brought them up in godlinesse, and fear of God. He kepte hospitality for his pore neighboures. And some almesse he gave to the pore, and al thys dyd he of the said farm. Where he that now hath it, payeth xvi. pound by yere or more, and is not able to do any thing for his prince, for him selfe, nor for his children, or geve a cup of drink to the pore. Thus al the enhansyng and rearing goth to your private commodity and welth. So that where ye had a single to much, you have that : and sins the same, ye have enhansed the rent, and so have encresed another to muche. So nowe ye have double to muche, which is to to muche. But let the precher preach til his tong be worn to the stomps, nothing is amended. We have good statutes made for the common wealth as touching commeners, enclosers, many metings and sessions, but in the end of the matter, there commeth nothing forthe. Well, well, thys is one thing I wil say unto you, from whence it commeth I know, even from the devd. I know his intent in it. For if ye bring it to passe, that the yomanry be not able to put their sonnes to schole (as in dede universities do wondrously decay al redy) and that they be not able to marrye theyr daughters to the avoidynge of whoredome I say ye plucke salvation from the people, and utterly destroye the realme. For by yomans sonnes, the faith of Christe is, and hath bene maintayned chieflye. Is this realme taughte by rich mens sonnes? No, no, read the chronicles, ye shall finde somtime noble mennes sonnes, whych have bene unpreaching bishops and prelates, but ye shal fynde none of them learned men. But verily, they that shoulde looke to the redresse of these thinges, be the greatest againste them. In thys realme are a great many of folkes, and amongest many, I knowe but one of tender zeale, at the mocyon of his pore tenauntes, hath let down his landes to the old rentes for their relief. For Gods love, let not him be a Phenix, let him not be alone, let him not be an Hermite closed in a wal, some good man folow him, and do as he geveth example."

"... And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture. Let us swear That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not, For there is none of you so mean and base That hath not noble luster in your eyes."

"What of the men? The men were bred in England: The bowmen—the yeomen, The lads of dale and fell. Here’s to you—and to you! To the hearts that are true And the land where the true hearts dwell."

"A Frankeleyn was in his companye; Whyt was his berd, as is the dayesye. Of his complexioun he was sangwyn. Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn. To liven in delyt was ever his wone, For he was Epicurus owne sone, That heeld opinioun, that pleyn delyt Was verraily felicitee parfyt. An housholdere, and that a greet, was he; Seint Iulian he was in his contree. His breed, his ale, was alwey after oon; A bettre envyned man was no-wher noon. With-oute bake mete was never his hous, Of fish and flesh, and that so plentevous, It snewed in his hous of mete and drinke, Of alle deyntees that men coude thinke. After the sondry sesons of the yeer, So chaunged he his mete and his soper. Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe, And many a breem and many a luce in stewe. Wo was his cook, but-if his sauce were Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his gere. His table dormant in his halle alway Stood redy covered al the longe day. At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire; Ful ofte tyme he was knight of the shire. An anlas and a gipser al of silk Heng at his girdel, whyt as morne milk. A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour; Was no-wher such a worthy vavasour."

"His outside is an ancient Yeoman of England, though his inside may give arms (with the best gentleman) and ne'er see the herald. There is no truer servant in the house than himself. Though he be master, he says not to his servants, 'Go to field,' but, 'Let us go;' and with his own eye doth both fatten his flock and set forward all manner of husbandry. He is taught by nature to be contented with a little; his own fold yields him both food and raiment: he is pleased with any nourishment God sends, whilst curious gluttony ransacks, as it were, Noah's Ark for food, only to feed the riot of one meal. He is ne'er known to go to law; understanding to be law-bound among men is like to be hide-bound among his beasts; they thrive not under it: and that such men sleep as unquietly as if their pillows were stuffed with Lawyers' penknives. When he builds, no poor tenant's cottage hinders his prospect: they are indeed his Almshouses, though there be painted on them no such superscription: he never sits up late, but when he hunts the Badger, the vowed foe of his Lambs: nor uses he any cruelty, but when he hunts the hare, nor subtilty, but when he setteth snares for the Snite or pitfalls for the Blackbird; nor oppression, but when in the month of July he goes to the next river and shears his sheep. He allows of honest pastime, and thinks not the bones of the dead anything bruised, or the worse for it, though the country lasses dance in the churchyard after evensong. Rock Monday, and the Wake in Summer, Shrovings, the wakeful catches on Christmas Eve, the Hoky, or Seed-cake, these he yearly keeps, yet holds them no relics of Popery. He is not so inquisitive after news derived from the privy closet, when the finding an aerie of Hawks in his own ground, or the foaling of a Colt come of a good strain, are tidings more pleasant, more profitable. He is lord paramount within himself, though he hold by never so mean a Tenure; and dies the more contentedly (though he leave his heir young), in regard he leaves him not liable to a covetous Guardian. Lastly, to end him: he cares not when his end comes, he needs not fear his Audit, for his quietus is in heaven."

"The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins, as they were called, who, by the law and spirit of the English constitution, were entitled to hold themselves independent of feudal tyranny, became now unusually precarious. If, as was most generally the case, they placed themselves under the protection of any of the petty kings in their vicinity, accepted of feudal offices in his household, or bound themselves by mutual treaties of alliance and protection, to support him in his enterprises, they might indeed purchase temporary repose; but it must be with the sacrifice of that independence which was so dear to every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of being involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the ambition of their protector might lead him to undertake. On the other hand, such and so multiplied were the means of vexation and oppression possessed by the great Barons, that they never wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, to harass and pursue, even to the very edge of destruction, any of their less powerful neighbours, who attempted to separate themselves from their authority, and to trust for their protection, during the dangers of the times, to their own inoffensive conduct, and to the laws of the land."

"This wealthy franklin is proud, fierce, jealous, and irritable, a withstander of the nobility, and even of his neighbours, Reginald Front-de-Bœuf and Philip Malvoisin, who are no babies to strive with. He stands up sternly for the privileges of his race, and is so proud of his uninterrupted descend from Hereward, a renowned champion of the Heptarchy, that he is universally called Cedric the Saxon; and makes a boast of his belonging to a people from whom many others endeavour to hide their descent, lest they should encounter a share of the vae victis, or severities imposed upon the vanquished."

"To my true king I offered free from stain Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain. For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away, And one dear hope, that was more prized than they. For him I languished in a foreign clime, Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood’s prime; Heard on Lavernia Scargill’s whispering trees, And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees; Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep, Each morning started from the dream to weep; Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave The resting place I asked, an early grave. Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone, From that proud country which was once mine own, By those white cliffs I never more must see, By that dear language which I spake like thee, Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear O’er English dust. A broken heart lies here."

"The old men sat with hats pulled down, Their claret cups before them: Broad shadows hid their sullen eyes, The tavern lamps shone o’er them, As a brimming bowl, with crystal fill’d, Came borne by the landlord’s daughter, Who wore in her bosom the fair white rose, That grew best over the water.Then all leap’d up, and join’d their hands With hearty clasp and greeting, The brimming cups, outstretch’d by all, Over the wide bowl meeting. “A health,” they cried, “to the witching eyes Of Kate, the landlord’s daughter! But don’t forget the white, white rose That grows best over the water.”Each others’ cups they touch’d all round, The last red drop outpouring; Then with a cry that warm’d the blood, One heart-born chorus roaring— “Let the glass go round, to pretty Kate, The landlord’s black-eyed daughter. But never forget the white, white rose That grows best over the water.”Then hats flew up and swords sprang out, And lusty rang the chorus— “Never,” they cried, “while Scots are Scots, And the broad Frith’s before us.” A ruby ring the glasses shine As they toast the landlord’s daughter, Because she wore the white, white rose That grew best over the water.A poet cried, “Our thistle’s brave, With all its stings and prickles; The shamrock with its holy leaf Is spar’d by Irish sickles. But bumpers round, for what are these To Kate, the landlord’s daughter, Who wears at her bosom the rose as white, That grows best over the water?”They dash’d the glasses at the wall, No lip might touch them after; The toast had sanctified the cups That smash’d against the rafter; Then chairs thrown back, they up again, To toast the landlord’s daughter. But never forgot the white, white rose That grew best over the water."

"He tripp’d up the steps with a bow and a smile, Offering snuff to the chaplain the while, A rose at his button-hole that afternoon— ’Twas the tenth of the month, and the month it was June.Then shrugging his shoulders he look’d at the man With the mask and the axe, and a murmuring ran Through the crowd, who, below, were all pushing to see The gaoler kneel down, and receiving his fee.He look’d at the mob, as they roar’d, with a stare, And took snuff again with a cynical air. “I’m happy to give but a moment’s delight To the flower of my country agog for a sight.”Then he look’d at the block, and with scented cravat Dusted room for his neck, gaily doffing his hat, Kiss’d his hand to a lady, bent low to the crowd, Then smiling, turn’d round to the headsman and bow’d.“God save King James!” he cried bravely and shrill, And the cry reach’d the houses at foot of the hill, “My friend, with the axe, à votre service,” he said; And ran his white thumb ’long the edge of the blade.When the multitude hissed he stood firm as a rock; Then kneeling, laid down his gay head on the block, He kiss’d a white rose, in a moment ’twas red With the life of the bravest of any that bled."

"Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing, Onward, the sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king Over the sea to Skye.Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar, Thunderclaps rend the air, Baffled, our foes stand by the shore, Follow they will not dare.Many’s the lad fought on that day, Well the claymore could wield, When the night came, silently lay Dead in Culloden’s field.Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep, Ocean’s a royal bed. Rock’d in the deep Flora will keep Watch o’er your weary head.Burned are our homes, exile and death, Scattered the loyal men. Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath, Charlie will come again."

"Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye.Mull was astern, Rum on the port, Eigg on the starboard bow; Glory of youth glowed in his soul; Where is that glory now?Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye.Give me again all that was there, Give me the sun that shone! Give me the eyes, give me the soul, Give me the lad that’s gone!Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye.Billow and breeze, islands and seas, Mountains of rain and sun, All that was good, all that was fair, All that was me is gone."

"When, two days previously, the news of the approaching end had been made public, astonished grief had swept over the country. It appeared as if some monstrous reversal of the course of nature was about to take place. The vast majority of her subjects had never known a time when Queen Victoria had not been reigning over them. She had become an indissoluble part of their whole scheme of things, and that they were about to lose her appeared a scarcely possible thought. She herself, as she lay blind and silent, seemed to those who watched her to be divested of all thinking—to have glided already, unawares, into oblivion. Yet, perhaps, in the secret chambers of consciousness, she had her thoughts, too. Perhaps her fading mind called up once more the shadows of the past to float before it, and retraced, for the last time, the vanished visions of that long history—passing back and back, through the cloud of years, to older and ever older memories—to the spring woods at Osborne, so full of primroses for Lord Beaconsfield—to Lord Palmerston's queer clothes and high demeanour, and Albert's face under the green lamp, and Albert's first stag at Balmoral, and Albert in his blue and silver uniform, and the Baron coming in through a doorway, and Lord M. dreaming at Windsor with the rooks cawing in the elm-trees, and the Archbishop of Canterbury on his knees in the dawn, and the old King's turkey-cock ejaculations, and Uncle Leopold's soft voice at Claremont, and Lehzen with the globes, and her mother's feathers sweeping down towards her, and a great old repeater-watch of her father's in its tortoiseshell case, and a yellow rug, and some friendly flounces of sprigged muslin, and the trees and the grass at Kensington."

"They sey that owre sovereyn lorde is above his lawys to his pleysewr, and he may make it and breke it as hym lyst, withe owt eny distinction. The contrary is trew, and elles he shuld not have sworn to kepe it."

"The law servyth of nowght ellys in thes days but for to do wrong, for nothyng is sped almost but false maters by coulour of the law for mede, drede, and favor, and so no remedy is had in the cowrt of conscience in eny wyse."

"We wyll that all men knowe we blame not all the lordys, ne all tho that is about the kyngs person, ne all jentyllmen ne yowmen, ne all men of lawe, ne all bysshopes, ne all prestys, but all suche as may be fownde gylty by just and trew enquery and by the law."

"Be brave, then; for your captain is brave, and vows reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny. The three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops, and I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And when I am king, as king I will be,—"

"The thing that would have best suited the circus side of my nature would have been to resign the Boss-ship and get up an insurrection and turn it into a revolution; but I knew that the Jack Cade or the who tries such a thing without first educating his materials up to revolution grade is almost absolutely certain to get left. I had never been accustomed to getting left, even if I do say it myself. Wherefore, the “deal” which had been for some time working into shape in my mind was of a quite different pattern from the Cade-Tyler sort."

"Mortality, behold and fear! What a change of flesh is here! Think how many royal bones Sleep within this heap of stones."

"On a very gloomy dismal day, just such a one as it ought to be, I went to see Westminster Abbey."

"As I passed along the side walls of Westminster Abbey, I hardly saw any thing but marble monuments of great admirals, but which were all too much loaded with finery and ornaments, to make on me at least, the intended impression."

"Westminster Abbey is nature crystallized into a conventional form by man, with his sorrows, his joys, his failures, and his seeking for the Great Spirit. It is a frozen requiem, with a nation's prayer ever in dumb music ascending."

"The Elizabethans were passionate admirers of the exotic; eager importers of the new and foreign styles in food and dress as in building."

"... While the Elizabethan world was still going on — and in some respects it was still continuing, in modified form, until the Second World War — British and American historians were able to see the reign of Queen Elizabeth I as a glory age. This was how the Elizabethans saw themselves. Their great plot, Edmund Spenser, named his Faerie Queene (who was a projection of Elizabeth herself) Gloriana, and her capital, an idealized London, he named Cleopolis — the Greek for 'Glory-ville'. Modern historians from, let us say, James Anthony Froude (1819–84) to (1903–97) wrote about the Elizabethan Age with celebratory brio. They note, correctly, that this was the age when the history of modern England (and Wales) really began."

"In many respects the Elizabethan era is a turning point in English history. Above all, it was a time of economic expansion in which Shakespeare's kinsmen were led to search for new markets in various parts of their contemporary world. It meant the achievement of a greater initiative on the high seas, and a decisive settlement of accounts with Spain, brought about by the defeat of the in 1588. That victory marked the beginning of English domination of the Atlantic. But the Elizabethan era was also a time of enormous progress in the realm of English culture, a time when Renaissance literature flourished and advances were made in the theatre, in the arts and in science, and in the whole field of material and artistic achievement. This noteworthy advance in civilization was to a large extent the result of England's economic and social development during the sixteenth century."