“SCENE 4. Richard Penderell’s house at Hobbal Grange. Enter the King, old Mrs. Penderell, and her son Richard. “_The King_.—We must not stop here long, the air is full of spies, The night now favours us; no moon nor stars Shine out to show us to our enemies. Let’s hence to Wales, fidelity lives there More than on English soil. Oft have I read Of their unvarying faith to those they served, What straits and stratagems they felt and wrought, To save misfortune’s sons from grievous fates. “_R. Penderell_.—We must disguise you more; Rub well your hands in the wet dirt, Here, take this bill, a woodman you must be, And for a name let William Jones suffice; Shew no dread, but speak few words, For fear they should betray your better teaching. Come, let’s away, I have a friend at Madeley, Wolfe by name, faithful and trusty.” William Penderell acting as barber, the king was eased of his royal locks, his hands and face were toned down to that of a country labourer, and he sallied forth, wood-bill in hand, in the direction of Madeley, with “a country-fellow,” whose borrowed suit he travelled in. To understand his majesty’s toilet the reader must conceive the royal person in a pair of ordinary grey cloth breeches—“more holy than the wearer”—rather roomy in the slack; a leathern doublet, greasy about the collar; hose much darned; shoes that let in dirt and wet to the royal feet—ventilators in their way; and above all a sugar-loaf hat, rain proof by reason of grease, turned up at the sides, the corners acting as water-spouts. Thus disguised, the rain pouring in torrents, on a dark night, along a rough by-road, “guided by the rustling sound of Richard’s calf-skin breeches,” through mud and mire, over ruts, plunging now and then into swollen streams, the king and his guide travelled in the direction of Madeley. Slamming the gate at Evelyth bridge, in the middle of the night, brought out the miller, who ordered them to stand, and raised an outcry of “Rogues, rogues.” Foot-sore and weary, resolving sometimes to go no farther, then plucking up their spirits and trudging on, the house of Mr. Wolfe, who had “hiding holes for priests,” was reached, where the king slept in a barn. Hearing from Mr. Wolfe’s son, who had escaped from Shrewsbury, that every bridge and boat were in the possession of the Roundheads, so that escape in that direction was hopeless, it was decided to advise his majesty to return. Mr. Wolfe, according to Pepys, persuaded the king to put on “a pair of old green yarn stockings, all worn and darned at the knees, with their feet cut off, to hide his white ones, for fear of being observed;” and Mrs. Wolfe having again had recourse to walnut-juice for the purpose of deepening the tone upon the royal face, he again set out in the direction of Boscobel. The king, in the diary above quoted, is made to say:—