When the Princess Elizabeth lost her mother, her wardrobe, which was none of the most brilliant before, became of very mean condition. Lady Bryan wrote to Cromwell that “she hath neither gown nor kirtle, nor petticoat, nor no manner of linen, nor forsmocks, nor kerchiefs, nor rails (night-dresses), nor body stichets, nor handkerchiefs, nor sleeves, nor mufflers, nor biggins” (the last two signifying day caps and night caps), and the whole list showing that the little lady was as ill provided for as any villein’s daughter in the land. No wonder that she was at an early period smartly touched by rheumatism. When she came to the court of Edward VI. she was remarkable for the simplicity of her dress; it was religiously grave, as prescribed by the polemical ‘Journaux des Modes’ edited by Calvinistic divines. Dr. Aylmer, in his ‘Harbour for Faithful Subjects,’ says:—“The King, her father, left her rich clothes and jewels; and I know it to be true, that in seven years after his death she never in all that time looked upon that rich attire and precious jewels but once, and _that_ against her will; and that there never came gold or stone upon her head till her sister forced her to lay off her former soberness, and bear her company in her glittering gayness; and then she so bore it that all might see that her body carried what her heart disliked. I am sure that her maidenly apparel which she used in King Edward’s time, made the noblemen’s wives and daughters ashamed to be dressed and painted like peacocks, being more moved with her most virtuous example than all that ever Paul or Peter wrote touching the matter.” The needle was the solace of Elizabeth in her captivity in the Tower and at Woodstock, and the instrument of her pastime in the days of her greatness. Taylor, a very properly named poet to have sung the praise of the needle, says of her in his poem:— “When this great Queen, whose memory shall not By any turn of time be overcast,— For when the world and all therein shall rot, Yet shall her glorious fame for ever last,— When she a maid had many troubles past, From gaol to gaol by Marie’s angry spleen, And Woodstock and the Tower in prison fast, And after all was England’s peerless Queen; Yet howsoever sorrow came or went, She made the needle her companion still, And in that exercise her time she spent, As many living yet do know her skill. Thus she was still, a captive or else crown’d, A needlewoman royal and renowned.”