The Earl whom we now speak of, however, has slept soundly in
spite of a more serious disturbance than any blast of a trumpet, unless
it were the final one. Some centuries after his death, the floor of the
chapel fell down and broke open the stone coffin in which he was buried;
and among the fragments appeared the Earl of Warwick, with the color
scarcely faded out of his checks, his eyes a little sunken, but in other
respects looking as natural as if he had died yesterday. But exposure to
the atmosphere appeared to begin and finish the long-delayed process of
decay in a moment, causing him to vanish like a bubble; so that, almost
before there had been time to wonder at him, there was nothing left of
the stalwart Earl save his hair. This sole relic the ladies of Warwick
made prize of, and braided it into rings and brooches for their own
adornment; and thus, with a chapel and a ponderous tomb built on purpose
to protect his remains, this great nobleman could not help being brought
untimely to the light of day, nor even keep his love-locks on his skull
after he had so long done with love.
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