“The king, who had arrived at Salisbury to give battle to the prince, was overwhelmed with misfortunes. All England appeared in commotion. The capital was full of discontent; the very fleet declared for a free parliament; and surrounded, as he believed, by a disaffected army, he knew not in whom to confide. He withdrew his army, and retired to London; but when informed of his daughter the princess Anne’s escape, “God help me,” cried he, with tears of anguish, “my own children have deserted me.” Every new disaster increased his perturbation. He summoned a council of peers; issued writs for new parliament; dispatched commissioners to propose a treaty: but as the prince, amidst the acclamations of all ranks, continued to advance, he was bereft of all fortitude and strength of mind. His conduct was irresolute, pusillanimous, absurd; and unable to submit to necessity, yet incapable of a single effort of generous despair, he sunk, without dignity, beneath his misfortunes. His father’s execution was still present to his desponding thoughts; and he listened credulously to every suggestion of personal danger, without reflecting either on the difference of the characters or of the times. His terrors were flattered as the result of political wisdom, and he was easily persuaded that his departure would produce a scene of anarchy to accelerate the recovery of absolute power. His hopes were absurdly placed on the public confusion, to increase which he recalled and burnt the writs for a new parliament; directed Feversham to disband the army; threw the great seal into the Thames; and with a single attendant, embarked in a small vessel at midnight for France, whither the queen and his son had before been secretly conveyed. When he was intercepted at Feversham and brought back to Whitehall, the returning affections of the city might have convinced him that the nation was not yet lost. In this delicate extremity he attempted to resume his authority by an indiscreet proclamation against the late excesses; {856} but was required at midnight to remove from the palace, and permitted to retire to Rochester, with an obvious design to connive at his escape. He was convinced himself that his departure would prove acceptable to the prince; and the few friends who adhered in adversity to his fortunes, urged him to remain. But the despair of life returned. An expression of his father’s was remembered—that ‘short is the distance between the prison and the grave of kings:’ and by the desertion of his kingdom, which he was destined never to revisit, he left his rival an unbloody victory, and a vacant throne.—The revolution was accomplished in Scotland with the same ease and success.”