ish thy death,
I will not be thy executioner.

GLO. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

ANNE. I have already.

GLO. That was in thy rage;
Speak it again, and, even with the word,
This hand, which for thy love, did kill thy love,
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love:
To both their deaths shalt thou be necessary.

ANNE. I would I knew thy heart.

GLO. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue.

ANNE. I fear me both are false.

GLO. Then never man was true.

ANNE. Well, well, put up your sword.

GLO. Say, then, my peace is made.

ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.

GLO. But shall I live in hope?

ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.

GLO. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

ANNE. To take, is not to give.

[_She puts on the ring._

King Henry's funeral is history; another tale of the Chertsey curfew
bell is legend. It was first put into the form of a story and dramatised
by a now almost forgotten novelist-poet, Albert Smith, who was born at
Chertsey himself, and wrote books which were illustrated by Leech. He
called his story _Blanche Heriot: a Legend of the Chertsey Church_, and
the play in its outline follows the legend. Blanche's lover, Neville,
the nephew of Warwick the Kingmaker, had been captured by the Yorkists
and condemned to die on Chertsey Mead within twenty-four hours. There
was a hope of reprieve if he could send his ring as a token to the king.
He sent it, but the messenger returning with the pardon was late, and
the twenty-four hours were up while the reprieve was being carried over
Laleham Ferry. But the knell for the death-stroke never sounded; Blanche
had climbed the curfew tower and held the clapper of the great bell. The
story has always been popular locally, but it first reached a really
wide audience, perhaps, when Mr. Clifford Harrison embodied it in his
poem _The Legend of Chertsey_. Since then, reciters' audiences have had
their fill.

About a mile outside the town lies St. Anne's Hill, chiefly notable,
perhaps, to-day because on its southern slope stands a house which was
at one time the residence of Charles James Fox. Its older title to fame
was the magnificence of its view. On the highest point stood St. Anne's
Chapel, of which the half-buried ruin of but a single wall remains. It
is, Aubrey remarks, "a most romancy place, from whence you have the
Prospect over Middlesex and Surrey, London,