The Comic History of EnglandÀ Beckett, Gilbert Abbott
History
The Comic History of England
À Beckett, Gilbert Abbott
Great Britain -- History -- Humor
Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, did something towards restoring the English
ascendency in France; but Philip of Burgundy thought he would try his
hand at a siege, and fixed upon Calais as being the most convenient. The
Duke of Gloucester, hearing he had a tremendous army assembled in front
of the town, sent over to Philip an offer to fight him. "Only stop there
till I get at you," were Gloucester's words; to which Burgundy replied,
that he should be happy to wait the English duke's convenience. Four
days, however, before the latter landed, the former was seized with
a panic--and, taking suddenly to his heels, his thirty thousand men
scampered wildly after him. Philip, who had set the example, and
must have been flighty to have commenced such an insane flight, was
completely run off his legs by the ruck of fugitives in his rear; and
he was swept into the very heart of Flanders, before he could ascertain
what his soldiers were driving at. Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, did
something towards retrieving the failing fortunes of the English; but,
as both parties were getting into a nervous state--running away through
sheer panics, crying out before they were hurt, and flying before they
were pursued--a truce was agreed upon. It was for two years, to expire
on the 1st of April, 1446,--and there could not have been a more
appropriate day than that devoted to All Fools, to renew hostilities
which were injurious to all parties.
Henry, of Windsor, was now twenty-four; but, though a man in years,
he was still an infant in intellect. He was physically full-grown, but
mentally a dwarf; and what had been in childhood the gentleness of
the lamb, became in manhood downright sheepishness. His conversational
powers would not have allowed him to say "bo to a goose," had it
been necessary for him to address to that foolish bird that unmeaning
monosyllable. Even his mother had turned her back upon him, as a noodle
she could make nothing of, and had married Owen Tudor, Esquire, an
obscure gentleman of Wales, who boasted, nevertheless, a royal descent,
or at least maintained that the Tudors were so called from being not
above Two-doors off from such illustrious lineage. The Queen-mother had
died, but had left a lot of little Tudors, under the care of O. T., her
_bourgeois gentilhomme_ of a husband.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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