Travelling through the ages we encounter another procession, when a youthful bride from Denmark passed over the bridge, and was received by the citizens with the same joy and splendour.
As Alexandra, the Rose of Denmark, she took possession of our hearts, and has reigned there from that time to this, first as Princess of Wales and now Queen of England and long may that winsome presence remain with us.
In the fifteenth century we read of another great procession over the bridge. The Lord Mayor and citizens had gone forth in gorgeous array to meet the King, Harry of Monmouth, at Blackheath, on his return to England after his marvellous victory at Agincourt, where the flower of French chivalry was laid in the dust.
Well might the bells ring and conduits run with wine, the citizens bedeck themselves and their houses, and shouts of welcome hail the conquerors as they passed over the old bridge, Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster - their names still familiar today - that fought with him upon St. Crispin's Day.
Then the scene shifts to the pleasant garden of the Temple close by the river's brink, where the red and the white roses are plucked by Richard Plantagenet and Warwick, and a brawl begins which soon shall grow into that deadly feud called the Wars of the Roses, and "send a thousand souls to death and deadly night."
What authority Shakespeare had for thus fixing the scene of the incident at the Temple is now unknown; probably it was a tradition in his day and believed in by all.
Thus the fifteenth century draws to its close, but the river glided undisturbed by the strife, which does not approach its banks. The sixth Henry passes and repasses in his barge, first bound for the Tower as a prisoner, later back again to Westminster as a King.