“The Prior went alone on a hurdle, and the holy friars confessed to each other as they went along, the Prior embracing the crucifix and saying many prayers. When they were arrived at the gallows they took one of the first and cast a rope about his neck, and the hangman asked his pardon. Then all the others placed themselves so that they should see the first die, the Prior exhorting in Latin and comforting him as he was led up. The friar turned to the hangman and said, ‘Brother, do thy duty.’ The rope being placed on the gallows, the hangman whipped the horse, and the friar remained hanging. Directly, before he was half-dead, they cut the rope and stripped him: then they ripped up his belly, plucked out his bowels and his heart, and cast them into the fire that was burning there, and afterwards they cut off his head and quartered the body. The holy friars looked on at all this, praying the whole time, and when the first execution was finished the Sheriff said to the other fathers: ‘Ye see what has become of your companion: you had better repent and you will be forgiven.’ Altogether in one voice, which was as if the Holy Ghost himself was speaking, they cried, ‘Sheriff, we are only impatient to join our brother.’ Each one offered himself as first for martyrdom, and they all died like the first.” The English Chronicles record the Carthusian martyrdoms in this year 1535 (20th April, five men; and 19th June, three men) at Tyburn, and this note appears to refer to the second execution. The quarters were seared with pitch and set up at the gates on London Bridge and before the Charter House. The Spaniard says that the quarters remained incorrupt. In all the number there are few brighter names than those of the Earl of Kildare and his four kinsmen, whose capture, imprisonment, and death (1537) furnished a deplorable tale of Tudor treachery and vengeance. The earl, who had been involved in one of the numerous rebellions in Ireland, which were the chronic state of that unhappy country, had been promised pardon if he repaired to England. The story, so full of pathos, and of the fear of death, brightened by the heroism of the younger brother, cannot be better told than in Hollinshed’s quaint phrases: