"You have done your work," said Astley to the parliamentary officers; "and may now go to play, unless you choose to fall out among yourselves."[*] The condition of the king during this whole winter was to the last degree disastrous and melancholy.

As the dread of ills is commonly more oppressive than their real presence, perhaps in no period of his life was he more justly the object of compassion.

His vigor of mind, which, though it sometimes failed him in acting, never deserted him in his sufferings, was what alone supported him; and he was determined, as he wrote to Lord Digby, if he could not live as a king, to die like a gentleman; nor should any of his friends, he said, ever have reason to blush for the prince whom they had so unfortunately served.[**] The murmurs of discontented officers, on the one hand, harassed their unhappy sovereign; while they overrated those services and sufferings which they now saw must forever go unrewarded.[***] The affectionate duty, on the other hand, of his more generous friends, who respected his misfortunes and his virtues as much as his dignity, wrung his heart with a new sorrow, when he reflected that such disinterested attachment would so soon be exposed to the rigor of his implacable enemies.

Repeated attempts which he made for a peaceful and equitable accommodation with the parliament, served to no purpose but to convince them that the victory was entirely in their hands.

They deigned not to make the least reply to several of his messages, in which he desired a passport for commissioners.[****] * Rush, vol.vii.p.