'At the last Cornish commotion Sir Richard Greynuile the elder, with his Ladie and followers, put themselves into this Castle, and there for awhile indured the Rebels siege, incamped in three places against it, who wanting great Ordinance, could have wrought the besieged small scathe, had his friends, or enemies, kept faith and promise: but some of those within, slipping by night over the wals, _with their bodies after their hearts_, and those without, mingling humble intreatings with rude menaces, he was hereby wonne, to issue forth at a posterne gate for parley. The while, a part of those rakehels, not knowing what honestie, and farre lesse, how much the word of a souldier imported, stepped betweene him and home, laid hold on his aged unweyldie body and threatened to leaue it liuelesse, if the inclosed did not leaue their resistance. So prosecuting their first treacherie against the prince, with suteable actions towards his subjects, they seized on the Castle, and exercised the uttermost of their barbarous crueltie (death excepted) on the surprised prisoners. The seely (_i.e._ harmless) gentlewomen, without regard of sexe or shame, were stripped from their apparrell to their verie smockes, and some of their fingers broken, to plucke away their rings, & Sir Richard himself made an exchange from Trematon Castle, to that of Launceston, with the Gayle to boote.' Sir Richard, who married Matilda Bevill, died in 1550; and I have been fortunate enough to find two of his poetical effusions--apparently in his own handwriting, now very indistinct in places--amongst the 'Additional MSS.' in the British Museum. They appear to me to be well worth inserting, notwithstanding their queer versification and grammar, and their odd orthography: 'IN PRAISE OF SEAFARINGE MEN IN HOPES OF GOOD FORTUNE. 'Whoe seekes the waie to win Renowne Or flies with wyinges of ye Desarte Whoe seekes to wear the Lawrell crowen Or hath the mind that would espire Tell him his native soyll eschew Tell him go rainge and seke Anewe 'Eche hawtie harte is well contente With euerie chance that shalbe tyde No hap can hinder his entente He steadfast standes though fortune slide The sun quoth he doth shine as well A brod as earst where I did dwell 'In change of streames each fish can live Eche soule content with everie Ayre Eche hawtie hart remaineth still And not be Dround in depe Dispaire Wherfor I judg all landes a likes To hawtie hartes whom fortune seekes 'Two pass the seaes som thinkes a toille Som thinkes it strange abrod to rome Som thinkes it agrefe to leave their soylle Their parentes cynfolke and their whome Thinke soe who list I like it nott I must abrod to trie my lott