bring himself to regard Henry with anything but incurable dislike. He had yielded twice to the apparent necessity of union; once in 1538, when the Lutheran divines visited England; again when the marriage with a Protestant princess promised a renewal of cordiality. On each of these occasions the result had been a failure, for which England was more in fault than Germany; and the second disappointment had been accompanied with scandal and affront. To another effort he may not be censured for having refused to consent. He closed his eyes to the obvious intentions of the Emperor, He could pardon him his treachery to England while he believed him faithful to his promises to the Diet; and, although the more far-seeing among the Lutheran statesmen deplored his unseasonable prejudice,[1] they could prevail only so far as to prevent an absolute rejection of the English offers, and to postpone a final answer till their approaching assembly at Worms.
England was thus left to her own strength. It was well that she would not be taken unprepared. The abbey lands had been melted into cannon; the swords and lances stood ready in the castle halls; the longbow leant against the wall of the peasant's cottage and the sheaf of arrows hung above the chimney. Charles, if he so pleased, might use his opportunity; and it might prove less favourable than his hopes represented it. At
- ↑ 'A quo ejus intempestivissimo præjudicio multos optimos viros diversissimum sentire scio. Maxime cum modo Romanus episcopus contra utrosque calamum stringat, sæviat, et convitia expuat.'—Mont to Henry VIII.: State Papers, vol. x. p. 288.
