Buckingham's death took place at Helmsby, in Yorkshire, and the
immediate cause was an ague and fever, owing to having sat down on the
wet grass after fox-hunting. Pope has given the following forcible, but
inaccurate account of his last hours, and the place in which they were
passed:--

'In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung,
The floors of plaster and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repaired with straw,
With tape-tied curtains never meant to draw;
The George and Garter dangling from that bed,
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,
Great Villiers lies:--alas! how changed from him,
That life of pleasure and that soul of whim!
Gallant and gay, in Claverdon's proud alcove,
The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love,
Or, just as gay, at council in a ring
Of mimic'd statesmen and their merry King.
No wit to flatter left of all his store,
No fool to laugh at, which he valued more,
Then victor of his health, of fortune, friends,
And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.'

Far from expiring in the 'worst inn's worst room,' the duke breathed his
last in Kirby Moorside, in a house which had once been the best in the
place. Brian Fairfax, who loved this brilliant reprobate, has left the
only authentic account on record of his last hours.

The night previous to the duke's death Fairfax had received a message