e healthy."

The king smiled with satisfaction. It never came into his head to doubt
the earl's words. It seemed to him perfectly natural that the weal of
his people depended on his person; but yet it was always a lofty and
beautiful song, and he loved to have his courtiers repeat it.

The king, as we have said, smiled, but there was something unusual in
that smile, which did not escape the earl.

"He is in the condition of a hungry anaconda," said Earl Douglas to
himself. "He is on the watch for prey, and he will be bright and lively
again just as soon as he has tasted a little human flesh and blood. Ah,
luckily we are well supplied in that way. Therefore, we will render
unto the king what is the king's. But we must be cautious and go to work
warily."

He approached the king and imprinted a kiss on his hand.

"I kiss this hand," said he, "which has been to-day the fountain through
which the wisdom of the head has been poured forth on this blessed
paper. I kiss this paper, which will announce and explain to happy
England God's pure and unadulterated word; but yet I say let this
suffice for the present, my king; take rest; remember awhile that you
are not only a sage, but also a man."

"Yes and truly a weak and decrepit one!" sighed the king, as with
difficulty he essayed to rise, and in so doing leaned so heavily and the
earl's arm that he almost broke down under the monstrous load.

"Decrepit!" said Earl Douglas, reproachfully. "Your majesty moves to-day
with as much ease and freedom as a youth, and my arm was by no means
needed to help you up."

"Nevertheless, we are growing old!" said the king, who, from his
weariness, was unusually sentimental and low-spirited to-day.

"Old!" repeated Earl Douglas. "Old, with those eyes darting fire, and
that lofty brow, and that face, in every feature so noble! No, your
majesty, kings have this in common with the gods--they never grow old."

"And therein they resemble parrots to a hair!" said John Heywood, who
just then entered the room. "I own a parrot which my great-grandfather
inherited from his great-grandfather, who was hair-dresser to Henry the
Fourth, and which to-day still sings with the same volubility as he
did a hundred years ago: 'Long live the king! long live this paragon of
virtue, sweetness, beauty, and mercy! Long live the king!' He has cried
this for hundreds of years, and he has repeated it for Henry the Fifth
and Henry the Sixth, for Henry the Seventh