John died, and Henry III. not only confirmed the privileges, but granted several more in consideration of the great expense of the building, and Innocent III. gave it the right of a sanctuary. So the work proceeded. The stone was quarried principally from the opposite limestone-beds in the Isle of Wight; and was brought over, says tradition, curiously illustrating the vague notions of ancient geography, which we have seen in Diodorus Siculus,[84] in carts. Not, however, till 1249, some forty-five years after its foundation, was the monastery finished. Henry himself, and his Queen, and Richard, Earl of Cornwall, and a long train of nobles and prelates, came to its dedication on the feast of St. John; Hugh, the first abbot, spending no less than five hundred marks on the entertainment.[85] So, at last, the good work was accomplished, and men came here and lived, taking for their pattern the holy St. Benedict, and finding the problem of life solved by daily prayer to heaven and labour on earth.[86] Here, to its sanctuary, in 1471, after she had landed at Southampton on Easter Day, the very day of the battle of Barnet, fled the Countess of Warwick, wife of the King-maker, slain on that bloody field.[87] Here, too, in 1497, after having raised the siege of Exeter, and deserted his troops at Taunton, fled the worthless Perkin Warbeck, not only an impostor, but a coward, closely pursued by Lord Daubeny and five hundred men. Persuaded, however, by Henry VII.’s promises, he left his shelter only to become a prisoner in the Tower, and finally to expiate his deceit at Tyburn. So years passed at the Abbey, the monks happy in saying their daily prayers, content to see the corn grow, and their vineyards ripen, and their flocks increase, knowing little of the troubles which raged in the outer world, save when some forlorn fugitive arrived. But even what is best becomes the worst. Time brought a change of spirit on all the monasteries. Long before the middle of the sixteenth century the stern earnestness of a former age had dwindled into effeminacy and sensuality. Piety had sunk into gross idolatry; and faith, amongst the laity, had been corrupted into credulity, and, with the priests, into hypocrisy. The greatest blessings had festered into curses. It was so, we know, through all England. And Beaulieu must suffer with the rest of the monasteries. In 1537, the Abbey was dissolved, the last Abbot, Thomas Stephens, with twenty out of the thirty monks, signing the deed of surrender.[88] Stephens was pensioned off with a hundred marks; and some of the monks received various annuities and compensations for their losses. So fell the monastery of Beaulieu, and its stones went to build Henry VIII.’s martello tower at Hurst, and its lead to repair Calshot,[89] to fight against the very Power which had raised it to its glory.