The King, or the Lord Cromwell, or both, make war upon the lesser Houses, dissolving them, seizing their goods, turning the religious out of them upon the world to starve.

His Grace sends Royal Commissioners to visit them, and be judge and jury both.
They were coming here, but I have friends and some fortune of my own, who was not born meanly or ill-dowered, and I found a way to buy them off.

One of these Commissioners, Thomas Legh, as I heard only to-day, makes inquisition at the monastery of Bayfleet, in Yorkshire, some eighty miles away, of which my cousin, Alfred Stukley, whose letter reached me this morning, is the Prior.

Emlyn, I'll go to this rough man--for rough he is, they say.

Old and feeble as I am, I'll seek him out and offer up the ancient House I rule to save your life and Cicely's--yes, and Bridget's also." "You will go, Mother! Oh! God's blessing be on you.