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Updated: May 28, 2025
Symon, Lord Bishop of Worcester, having received a letter from the Prioress of the White Ladies, praying him for an interview at his leisure, sent back at once a most courtly and gracious answer, that he would that same day give himself the pleasure of visiting the Reverend Mother, at the Nunnery, an hour after Vespers.
Father Symon was cast into prison, where he died, after having confessed that his protege was Lambert Simnel, the son of a joiner at Oxford. Nothing shows the strength of the Kildare party, and the weakness of the English interest, more than that the deputy and his partizans were still continued in office.
Symon was to be taken in upon some composition." Prestongrange smiled. "These are our friends!" said he. "And what were your reasons for dissenting, Mr. David?" I told them without concealment, expressing, however, with more force and volume those which regarded Prestongrange himself. "You do me no more than justice," said he.
When Hugh d'Argent ceased speaking, Symon of Worcester did not immediately make reply. He sat looking into the fire, fingering, with his left hand, the gold cross at his breast, and drumming, with the fingers of his right, upon the carved lion's head which formed the arm of his chair.
We were also served with wild turkey, which was also fat and of a good flavor; and a wild goose, but that was rather dry. Everything we had was the natural production of the country. We saw here, lying in a heap, a whole hill of water-melons, which were as large as pumpkins, and which Symon was going to take to the city to sell.
Here was another who remembered in pictures, and Symon of Worcester loved the gallop, and rush, and breeze of the sea, which had swept through the chamber, in the eager young voice of his envoy. "Yes, my son," said the Bishop. "You have returned, not merely in time, but with two days to spare. Was there ever fleeter messenger! Indeed my choice was well made and my trust well placed.
Her letter to Symon was well on its way. She remembered with comfort and gladness certain things she had written in that letter. Then as the pine wood swallowed the messengers with a joyous bound of reaction her whole mind turned to Hugh. Three steps below her, a page waited, holding a dagger which she had been wont to wear, when riding in the forests. She had sent it out to be sharpened.
Symon of Worcester softly laughed, as at something which stirred an exceeding tender memory. "She will probably say: 'You amaze me, my lord! Indeed, my lord, you amaze me! His Holiness the Pope may rule at Rome; you, my Lord Bishop, rule in the cities of this diocese; but I rule in this Nunnery, and while I rule here, such a thing as this shall never be!"
Then he rose, and rang the Convent bell. On the steps of Warwick Castle stood the Knight and his bride. Their eyes still lingered on the archway through which the noble figure of Symon, Bishop of Worcester, mounted upon his black mare, Shulamite, had just disappeared from view. The marriage had taken place in the Castle chapel, half an hour before, with an astonishing amount of pomp and ceremony.
"He is filled," said his admirers, "by the Spirit of God, and is thus so energized that he can work incessantly, without experiencing ordinary human weakness." And none knew that it was a part of his religion to Symon of Worcester, to hide his weariness from others. Yet once when, in her chamber, he sat talking with the Prioress, she had risen, of a sudden, saying: "You are tired, Father.
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