Chertsey still keeps up some fascinating customs. She has two quaintly named fairs, "Black Cherry Fair" on August 6, and "Goose and Onion Fair" on September 26, when she presides over the selling of horses and poultry. But the oldest and best custom is the ringing of the curfew bell, which still peals out to St. Anne's Hill and over Chertsey Mead from September 29 to March 25. The Chertsey bells are some of the finest in the country. The original curfew bell, which is supposed to have hung in the Abbey, tolled for the funeral of Henry VI, murdered a few hours before in the Tower of London, and hurried to Chertsey to be buried "without priest, clerk, torch or taper, singing or saying." According to the safer chronicles, the dead king's body was ferried to the Abbey by water. But Shakespeare in _Richard III_ sends the corpse through London streets "borne in an open coffin; gentlemen bearing halberds to guard it; and Lady Anne as mourner." It is when Lady Anne, widow of the murdered king's son, tells the bearers to go "toward Chertsey with your holy load," that the coffin is stopped by the murderer Gloucester, and then follows that strange duel of hearts and words between the murderer and the prince's widow: GLOSTER. Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which, if thou please to hide in this true breast, And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it open to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. [_He lays his breast open. She offers at it with his sword._ Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry,-- But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward,-- [_She again offers at his breast._ But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [_She lets fall the sword._ Take up the sword again or take up me. ANNE. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner. GLO. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. ANNE. I have already. GLO. That was in thy rage; Speak it again, and, even with the word, This hand, which for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love: To both their deaths shalt thou be necessary. ANNE. I would I knew thy heart. GLO. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue. ANNE. I fear me both are false. GLO. Then never man was true. ANNE. Well, well, put up your sword. GLO. Say, then, my peace is made. ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter. GLO. But shall I live in hope? ANNE. All men, I hope, live so. GLO. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. ANNE. To take, is not to give. [_She puts on the ring._