But, though Bacon had his pardon, he had not received permission to come within the verge of the Court, which meant that he could not live in London.  His affairs were in great disorder, his health was bad, and he was cut off from books.  He wrote an appeal to the Peers who had condemned him, asking them to intercede with the King for the enlargement of his liberty.  “I am old,” he wrote, “weak, ruined, in want, a very subject of pity.”  The Tower at least gave him the neighbourhood of those who could help him.  “There I could have company, physicians, conference with my creditors and friends about my debts and the necessities of my estate, helps for my studies and the writings I have in hand.  Here I live upon the sword-point of a sharp air, endangered if I go abroad, dulled if I stay within, solitary and comfortless, without company, banished from all opportunities to treat with any to do myself good, and to help out my wrecks.”  If the Lords would recommend his suit to the King, “You shall do a work of charity and nobility, you shall do me good, you shall do my creditors good, and it may be you shall do posterity good, if out of the carcase of dead and rotten greatness (as out of Samson’s lion) there may be honey gathered for the use of future times.”  But Parliament was dissolved before the touching appeal reached them; and Bacon had to have recourse to other expedients.  He consulted Selden about the technical legality of the sentence.  He appealed to Buckingham, who vouchsafed to appear more placable.  Once more he had recourse to Gondomar, “in that solitude of friends, which is the base-court of adversity,” as a man whom he had “observed to have the magnanimity of his own nation and the cordiality of ours, and I am sure the wit of both”—­and who had been equally kind to him in “both his fortunes;” and he proposed through Gondomar to present Gorhambury to Buckingham “for nothing,” as a peace-offering.  But the purchase of his liberty was to come in another way.  Bacon had reconciled himself to giving up York House; but now Buckingham would not have it:  he had found another house, he said, which suited him as well.  That is to say, he did not now choose to have York House from Bacon himself; but he meant to have it.  Accordingly, Buckingham let Bacon know through a friend of Bacon’s, Sir Edward Sackville, that the price of his liberty to live in London was the cession of York House—­not to Buckingham, but of all men in the world, to Lionel Cranfield, the man who had been so bitter against Bacon in the House of Commons.  This is Sir Edward Sackville’s account to Bacon of his talk with Buckingham; it is characteristic of every one concerned: