Wildly alarmed, his attendants summoned Dr.
King, the physician in waiting, who immediately bled him, and had
him carried to bed. Then tidings spread throughout the palace,
that his majesty hovered betwixt life and death; which should
claim him no man might say. Whereon the Duke of York hastened to
his bedside, as did likewise the queen, her face blanched, her
eyes wild with terror. His majesty after some time recovering
consciousness, slowly realized his sad condition. Then he
conceived a fear, the stronger as begotten by conviction, that
the sands of his life had run their course. Throughout that day
and the next he fainted frequently, and showed symptoms of
epilepsy. On Wednesday he was cupped and bled in both jugulars;
but on Thursday he was pronounced better, when the physicians,
anxious to welcome hope, spoke of his probable recovery.
But, alas, the same evening he grew restless, and signs of fever
became apparent. Jesuits' powders, then of great repute, were
given him, but with no good result. Complaining of a pain in his
side, the doctors drew twelve ounces more of blood from him.
Exhaustion then set in; all hope of life was over.
Meanwhile, the capital was in a state of consternation. Prayers
for his majesty's recovery were offered up in all churches
throughout the city; likewise in the royal chapels, where the
clergy relieved each other every quarter of an hour. Crowds
gathered by day and night without the palace gates, eager to
learn the latest change in the king's condition from those who
passed to and fro.
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