This stern-countenanced invalid was the dread Henry VIII.  He
said--and his face grew gentle as he began to speak--

“How now, my lord Edward, my prince?  Hast been minded to cozen me, the
good King thy father, who loveth thee, and kindly useth thee, with a
sorry jest?”

Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let him,
to the beginning of this speech; but when the words ‘me, the good King’
fell upon his ear, his face blanched, and he dropped as instantly upon
his knees as if a shot had brought him there.