Then she began: "Good Christian people, I am come hither to die by the law, therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, but only to die, and to yield myself humbly unto the will of my lord the king. I pray God to save the king, and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler or more merciful prince there never was. If any person will meddle with my cause, I require them to judge the best. Thus I take my leave of the world and of you, and I heartily desire that you all will pray for me." She then removed her hat and collar, as well as the close cap from her head, and handed them to her ladies, who were weeping so bitterly that they could not aid her. Then turning to them she said: "And ye, my damsels, who ever showed yourselves so diligent in my service, and who are now to be present at my last hour {402}and mortal agony, as in good fortune ye were faithful to me, so even in this my miserable death ye do not forsake me. And as I cannot reward you for your true service to me, I pray you take comfort for my loss. Forget me not, and be always faithful to the king's grace, and to her whom with happier fortune, ye may have as your queen and mistress. Esteem your honor far above your life, and in prayers forget not to pray for my soul." Mary Wyatt, the sister of Sir Thomas Wyatt, the poet, who was one of Anne's devoted friends, attended her on the scaffold, and received her last gift, which was a little book of devotions bound in black enamel and gilt. She then whispered a few words to this lady, and kneeling down, placed her head upon the block. Time was allowed the poor unfortunate queen to say; "O Lord God, have pity on my soul," when the sword fell. With one stroke, the head of Anne Boleyn was severed from her body, and rolled in the dust. There is a black marble monument in the ancient church of Horndon-on-the-Hill, in Essex, pointed out as the burial place of Anne Boleyn, but as it bears no name, no notice or inscription of any kind, there is no proof that her body lies there. A great epic poet has beautifully said:-- "Tradition! oh, tradition! thou of the seraph tongue; The ark that links two ages, the ancient and the young." {403} CHAPTER XXIV. JANE SEYMOUR, THIRD QUEEN OF HENRY VIII. (A.D. 1536-1537.)