When Cromwell entered the King’s service, it was inevitable that the policy he adopted should force him to abandon all hope of popularity with the people at large, as soon as his real position became generally known. The efforts Henry and his minister made to conceal the identity of the true author of the sweeping changes of the years 1530-1534, bear testimony to the fact that they were both perfectly well aware of the opposition the new measures must arouse in the minds of those who were outside the Court circle and consequently could not see the reason of them. For a long time these efforts were crowned with success. We have seen that it was not until the year 1535 that those who were in close proximity to the King discovered what a power Cromwell had become in Church and State. It was even longer before the country people began to realize the true state of affairs. News of the extraordinary revolution in ecclesiastical matters, of the King’s divorce and second marriage, of the packed Parliaments, and of the ruthless execution of so-called heretics, slowly spread among the rural population. The changes were certainly unwelcome, but they were universally thought to be the work of the King alone, and traditional English respect for royalty was sufficient to check any serious outbreak. The common people contented themselves with vague murmurings and disloyal speeches which were soon suppressed through the efficiency of Cromwell’s agents; and by the opening of the year 1535 the King and his minister began to hope that the crisis had been tided over. But they were destined to be disappointed. At the very moment when he began to think himself secure in his almost exclusive enjoyment of his master’s favour, Cromwell took a measure which was destined to conduce directly to the formidable rising that nearly hurled him from his hard-won place. The moment the Vicar-general sent out his agents to visit the monasteries, the Englishman of the country began to realize that the puzzling changes, of which he had hitherto understood so little, were going to have an important and also a disagreeable effect on his own life. Up to this time he had been unwilling actively to express his dissatisfaction at the new measures, because they had seemed but remotely connected with his own fortunes: but now there came an evidence to the contrary which he did not fail to appreciate. The army of outcast monks and nuns, from whom in old days he had been accustomed to receive every sort of kindness, now passed his door, begging for food and shelter. The spoil which he had perhaps filched from the monastery suppressed near by, had not been sufficient to repay him for the injury to the inmates whom he had been taught to love and respect. His griefs are vividly described in the following verses of a song written for the Yorkshire rebels in the autumn of 1536: