Some time after his condemnation Mr. secretary Cromwel waited on Sir Thomas, and entreated him to accept his Majesty's pardon, upon the condition of taking the oath, and expressed great tenderness towards him. This visit and seeming friendship of Cromwel not a little affected him, he revolved in his mind the proposal which he made, and as his fate was approaching, perhaps his resolution staggered a little, but calling to mind his former vows, his conscience, his honour, he recovered himself again, and stood firmly prepared for his fall. Upon this occasion it was that he wrote the following verses, mentioned both by Mr. Roper and Mr. Hoddeson, which I shall here insert as a specimen of his poetry. Ey flattering fortune, loke thou never so fayre, Or never so pleasantly begin to smile, As tho' thou would'st my ruine all repayre, During my life thou shalt not me begile, Trust shall I God to entre in a while His haven of heaven sure and uniforme, Ever after thy calme loke I for a storme. On the 6th of July, 1534, in the 54th year of his age, the sentence of condemnation was executed upon him on Tower Hill, by severing his head from his body. As he was carried to the scaffold, some low people hired by his enemies cruelly insulted him, to whom he gave cool and effectual answers. Being now under the scaffold, he looked at it with great calmness, and observing it too slenderly built, he said merrily to Mr. Lieutenant, "I pray you, Sir, see me safe up, and for my coming down let me shift for myself." When he mounted on the scaffold, he threw his eyes round the multitude, desired them to pray for him, and to bear him witness that he died for the holy catholic church, a faithful servant both to God and the King. His gaiety and propension to jesting did not forsake him in his last moments; when he laid his head upon the block, he bad the executioner stay till he had removed aside his beard, saying, "that that had never committed treason." When the executioner asked his forgiveness, he kissed him and said, "thou wilt do me this day a greater benefit than any mortal man can be able to give me; pluck up thy spirit man, and be not afraid to do thy office, my neck is very short, take heed therefore that thou strike not awry for saving thy honesty." Thus by an honest but mistaken zeal fell Sir Thomas More; a man of wit and parts superior to all his contemporaries of integrity unshaken; of a generous and noble disposition; of a courage intrepid; a great scholar and a devout christian. Wood says that he was but an indifferent divine, and that he was very ignorant of antiquity and the learning of the fathers, but he allows him to be a man of a pleasant and fruitful imagination, and a statesman beyond any that succeeded him. His works besides those we have already mentioned are chiefly these, A Merry Jest, How a Serjeant will learn to play a Friar, written in verse. Verses on the hanging of a Painted Cloth in his Father's House.