Thus the path had been smoothed, mainly through the indefatigable energy of Davison.  Yet that envoy was not able to give satisfaction to his imperious and somewhat whimsical mistress, whose zeal seemed to cool in proportion to the readiness with which the obstacles to her wishes were removed.  Davison was, with reason, discontented.  He had done more than any other man either in England or the Provinces, to bring about a hearty cooperation in the common cause, and to allay mutual heart-burnings and suspicions.  He had also, owing to the negligence of the English treasurer for the Netherlands, and the niggardliness of Elizabeth, been placed in a position, of great financial embarrassment.  His situation was very irksome.

“I mused at the sentence you sent me,” he wrote, “for I know no cause her Majesty hath to shrink at her charges hitherto.  The treasure she hath yet disbursed here is not above five or six thousand pounds, besides that which I have been obliged to take up for the saving of her honour, and necessity of her service, in danger otherwise of some notable disgrace.  I will not, for shame, say how I have been left here to myself.”

The delay in the formal appointment of Leicester, and, more particularly, of the governors for the cautionary towns, was the cause of great confusion and anarchy in the transitional condition of the country.  “The burden I am driven to sustain,” said Davison, “doth utterly weary me.  If Sir Philip Sidney were here, and if my Lord of Leicester follow not all the sooner, I would use her Majesty’s liberty to return home.  If her Majesty think me worthy the reputation of a poor, honest, and loyal servant, I have that contents me.  For the rest, I wish

         ’Vivere sine invidia, mollesque inglorius annos
          Egigere, amicitias et mihi jungere pares.’”

There was something almost prophetic in the tone which this faithful public servant—­to whom, on more than one occasion, such hard measure was to be dealt—­habitually adopted in his private letters and conversation.  He did his work, but he had not his reward; and he was already weary of place without power, and industry without recognition.

“For mine own particular,” he said, “I will say with the poet,

         ’Crede mihi, bene qui latuit bene vixit,
          Et intra fortunam debet quisque manere suam.’”

For, notwithstanding the avidity with which Elizabeth had sought the cautionary towns, and the fierceness with which she had censured the tardiness of the States, she seemed now half inclined to drop the prize which she had so much coveted, and to imitate the very languor which she had so lately rebuked.  “She hath what she desired,” said Davison, “and might yet have more, if this content her not.  Howsoever you value the places at home, they are esteemed here, by such as know them best, no little increase to her Majesty’s honour, surety, and greatness, if she be as careful to keep them as happy in getting them.  Of this, our cold beginning doth already make me jealous.”