When Knevet thought things had gone far enough, and
was about to take her off the rack, Wriothesley, the
Chancellor,* commanded the Lieutenant to strain her on
the rack again. He refused, and then Wriothesley and a
creature called Eich, throwing off their gowns, racked her
with their own hands. The consequence was that when
the day of her execution came she was unable to walk,
and was brought into Smithfield in a chair. When
letters were brought to her, offering her pardon if she
would recant, she would not look at them. The cowardly
wretches who were in charge, Wriothesley, the old Duke
of Norfolk, the Earl of Bedford, and the Lord Mayor,
were afraid lest they should be injured by the gunpowder
that was used, and it took a good deal of explanation to
quiet their fears. But this lovely and constant lady had
no fears, and died with three others, Shaxton the recanter
being ordered to preach to them. Yes, the Apostate might
preach, but such a piece of history will preach as long as

* This fiend was a renegade, being an ' ' earnest doer against the Pope in
my Lord Cromwell's time." — Bale.
