BEATON OR BEATOUN OR BETON (David, Cardinal and Archbishop, an implacable enemy of Protestants. He knew neither rest nor mercy in his determination to crush the Reformed Faith, and his execution of George Wishart drew down upon him the execration of all good men), 1449-1546. "_I am a priest! Fie! Fie! All is gone._" Cardinal Beaton was assassinated in May, 1546, in the chamber of his castle, by a band of men who sympathized with the Reformers, headed by Norman Leslie. BEAUFORT (Henry, half-brother of Henry IV. He was made cardinal in 1426, and in 1430 he crowned Henry IV. at Notre Dame. He presided over the tribunal that sent the Maid of Orleans to the stake, and is supposed to have participated in the murder of the Duke of Gloucester), 1370-1447. "_I pray you all pray for me._" Some authorities give his last words thus: "And must I then die? Will not all my riches save me? I could purchase a kingdom, if that would save my life! What! is there no bribing death? When my nephew, the Duke of Bedford, died, I thought my happiness and my authority greatly increased; but the Duke of Gloucester's death raised me in fancy to a level with kings, and I thought of nothing but accumulating still greater wealth, to purchase at last the triple crown. Alas! how are my hopes disappointed! Wherefore, O my friends, let me earnestly beseech you to pray for me, and recommend my departing soul to God!" _Harpsfield: Hist. Eccles. edit. Duaci, 1622, p. 643._ A few minutes before his death, his mind appeared to be undergoing the tortures of the damned. He held up his two hands, and cried--"Away! away!--why thus do ye look at me?" He seemed to behold some horrible spectre by his bedside.[4] [4] _Enter the KING, SALISBURY, WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed._ _King._ How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. _Car._ If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain. _King._ Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is seen so terrible! _War._ Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee: _Car._ Bring me unto my trial when you will. Died he not in his bed? where should he die? Can I make men live, whether they will or no? O, torture me no more! I will confess. Alive again? Then show me where he is: I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul. Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. _King._ O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! O, beat away the busy meddling fiend That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, And from his bosom purge this black despair! _War._ See how the pangs of death do make him grin!