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ain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye! feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched s that poor man that hangs on princes' fa
here is, betwixt that file we wouldafpire to, hat fweet afpect of princes, and our ruin, fore pangs and fears than war or womenhave; nd, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, ever to hope again.
Cardinal Wolfey's Speech to Cromwell. Cromwell, I did not think to fhed a tear all my miferies; but thou haft forc'd me nt of thy honest truth, to play the woman. t's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
Purfued him ftill! and, three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold fhould be his laft), full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears and forrow,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His bleffed part to heaven, and flept in peace,
His Vices and Virtues.
nd, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
ad fleep in dull cold marble, where no men-
me more must he heard of, fay, I taught
Wolfey, that once trod the ways of glory,
d founded all the depths and thoals of ho-
and thee a way, out of his wreck, to rife in; ure and fafe one, tho' thy mafter mifs'd it. rk but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. mwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; that fin fell the angels; how can man then, image of his Maker, hope to win by 't? ve thy felf laft: cherish thofe hearts that hate thee;
ruption wins not more than honesty.
linthy right hand carry gentle peace,[not:
filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear
all the ends thou aim'it at, be thy coun-
y God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'ft,O
on fall'ita bleffed martyr. Serve the king;
d, pr'ythee, lead me in:-
ere take an inventory of all I have,
the last penny: 'tis the king's: My robe,
d my integrity to Heaven, is all [well,
are now call mine own. O Cromwell, Crom-
11 but ferv'd my God with half the zeal
rv'd my king, he would not in mine age
e left me naked to mine enemies!
So may he reft; his faults lie gently on him!
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to fpeak
And yet with charity-he was a man [him,
Of an unbour.ded ftomach, ever ranking
Himfelf with princes; one, that by fuggestion
Tied all the kingdom: fimony was fair play;
His own opinion was his law: I' the prefence
He would fay untruths; and be ever double,
Both in his words and meaning: He was never,
But where he went to ruin, pitiful:
His promifes were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he now is, nothing.
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example
Griff. Noble Madam,
Men's evil manners live in brafs; the ir virtues
We write in water.
Tho' from an humble ftock, undoubtedly
Was fafhion'd to much honour. From his
He was a fcholar, and a ripe and good one;
Exceeding wife, fair fpoken, and perfuadings
Lofty and four to them that lov'd him not;
But, to thofe men that fought him, sweet as
And though he were unfatisfied in getting
(Which was a fin), yet in beftowing, madam,
He was moft princely: ever witnefs for him,
Thofe twins of learning that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with
Unwilling to out-live the good he did it:
The other, though unfinish'd, yet fo famous,
So excellent in art, and ftill fo rifing,
That Christendom fhall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happinefs upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the bleffednefs of being little.
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing God,
Such a noife arose
the fhrouds make at fea in a stiff tempeft,
loud, and to as many tunes: Hats, cloaks,
oublets, I think) flew up; and, had their
loofe, this day they had been loft. Such
ever faw before. Great-bellied women,
at had not half a week to go, like rams
the old time of war, would thake the prefs,
d make'em reel before 'em. No man living
uld fay, "this is my wife," there; all were
ftrangely in one piece.
Cardinal Wolfey's Death.
At laft, with eafy roads, he came to Leicester, To load a falling man.
dg'd in the abbey,where the rev'rend abbot,
ath all his convent,honourablyreceiv'd him;
whom he gave the fewords: "Ofather abbot,
Anold man, broken with the ftorms of ftate,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye:
Give him a little earth for charity?"
went to bed: where eagerly his fickness
-Men that make
Envy and crooked malice nourishment,
Dare bite the best..
-Love and meeknefs, Lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition:
Win ftraying fouls with modesty again,
Caft none away.
—'Tis a cruelty,
Archbishop Cranmer's Prophecy.
Let me fpeak, Sir, [utter For Heav'n now bids me; and the words I Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth, [her!) This royal infant (Heaven ftill move about Tho' in a cradle, yet now promises Upon
Uponthis land a thoufand, thoufand bleffings, | And talking ofthe Alps and Apennines,
Which time fhall bring to ripeness.She fhall be
(But few now living can behold that goodnefs)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that fhall fucceed: Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue,
Than this bleft foul fhall be. All princely
That mould up fuch a mighty piece as this,
With all the virtues that attend the good, [her:
Shall still be doubled on her. Truth fhall nurfe
Holy and heavenly thoughts ftill counfel her;
She fhall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own fhall |
Her foes fhake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with forrow.
In her days every man fhall eat in fafety,
Under his own vine, what he plants; and fing
The merryfongs of peace to all his neighbours.
God fhall be truly known; and thofe about her
From her fhall read the perfect ways of honour.
And by thofe claim their greatnefs, not by
Nor fhall this peace fleep with her; but, as
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her afhes new create another heir,
As great in admiration as herself;
So fhall the leave her bleffednefs to one
(When Heaven shall call her from this cloud
Who, from the facred afhes of her honour,
Shall ftar-likerife, as great in fame as fhe was,
And so stand fix'd, Peace, plenty, love, truth,
That were the fervants to this chofen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;
Wherever the bright fun of heaven fhall fhine,
His honour and the greatnefs ofhis name [rith,
Shall be, and make new nations. He fhall fou-
And, like a mountain cedar reach his branches
To all the plains about him: our children's
Shall fee this, and bless Heaven. [children
26. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN. SHAKSPEARE.
"Goop-den, Sir Richard-God a' mercy
The Pyrenean, and the river Po),
It draws towards fupper in conclufion, fo.
But this is worshipful fociety,
And fits the mounting spirit, like myself:
For he is but a baftard to the time,
That doth nor fmack of obfervation.
A Defcription of England.
That pale, that white-fac'd shore, Whofe foot fpurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her ifianders;
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the
That water-walled bulwark, ftill fecure main,
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmoft corner of the west,
Salute thee for her king.
Dfeription of an English Army.
His marches are expedient to this tow,
His forces ftrong, his foldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother queen,
An Até ftirring him to blood and ftrife;
With her, her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a bastard of the king deceas'd;
And all the unfettled humours of the land-
Rafh, inconfiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons'fpleens-
Have fold their fortunes at their native homes,
Bearing their birthrights proudly on the
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a baver choice of dauntlefs fpirits,
Than now the English bottoms have wafto'e,
Did never float upon the fwelling tide,
To do offence and feath in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumftance; they are at hand.
By how much unexpected, by fo much
We muft awake endeavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occasion.
What cracker is this fame, that deafs our ear
With this abundance of fuperfluous breath
Defcription of Victory, by the French.
You men of Angiers, open wide your g
And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne,
Who, by the hand of France, this day
fellow," [mother And if his namebe George, I'll call him Peter: Much work for tears in many an Eng For new made honour dothforget men's names; | Whofe fons lie fcatter'd on the bleed 'Tis too refpective and too fociable
For your converfion. Now your traveller-Many a widow's hufband grovelling lies,
He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mefs:
And when my knightly ftomach is fuffic'd,
Why then I fuck my teeth, and catechife
My pick'd man of countries:-My dear Sir,
(Thus leaning on mine elbow, I begin)
I fhall befeech you"-that is question now;
And then comes anfwer like an ABC book;
"O Sir," fays anfwer, "at your best command,
"At your employment, at yourfervice, Sir:"-
"No, Sir," fays question, "I, fweet Sir, at
And fo, ere anfwer knows what question
(Saving in dialogue of compliment;
Coldly embracing the difcolour'd earth;
And victory, with little lofs, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French;
Who are at hand, triumphantly difplay'd,
To enter conquerors.
Rejoice you men of Angiers, ring your bells, King John, your king, and England's, dota approach,
Commander of this hot maliciousday![bright,
Their armours that march'd hence, fo filver
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen'sblood,
There stuck no plume in any English creft,
t is removed by a staff of France; colours do return in thofe fame hands t did difplay them when we first march'd forth;
, like a jolly troop of huntfinen, come lufty English, all with purpled hands, d in the dying flaughter of their foes. A complete Lady.
ufty love fhould go in queft of beauty, ere fhould he find it fairer than in Blanch? alous love fhould go in fearch of virtue, re fhould he find it fairer than in Blanch? ve, ambitious, fought a match of birth, fe veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch?
On Commodity, or Self-Intereft. -Rounded in the ear
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great:
Of nature's gifts thou may'ft with lilies boaft
| And with the half-blown rofe.
I will inftruct my forrows to be proud; For griefis proud, and makes his owner stoop. Conftance to Auftria.
O Lymoges! O Auftria! thou doft fhame That bloody fpoil: thou flave, thou wretch, thou coward;
Thou little valiant, great in villany!
Thou ever ftrong upon the ftronger fide;
Thoufortune's champion, that doft neverfight,
But when her humorous 1 ady (hip is by,
To teach thee fafety! thou art perjur'd too,
And footh'it up greatnefs. What a fool art
A ramping fool! to brag, to ftamp, and fwear,
Upon my party! thou cold-blooded flave,
Haft thou not fpoke like thunder on my side?
Been fworn my foldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy ftars, thy fortune, and thy ftrength?
And doft thou now fail over to my foes?
Thou wear a lion's hide! doffit, for fhame,
And hanga calf'sfkin on thofe recreant limbs.
The Horrors of a Confpiracy.
I had a thing to fay-but let it go
The fun is in the heaven; and the proud day,
Attended with the pleafures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,
To give me audience. If the midnight-bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;
If this fame were a church-yard where we
A Woman's Fears.
hou fhalt be punith'd for thus frighting
I am fick and capable of fears; [me,
refs'd with wrongs, and therefore full of
idow, hufbandlefs, fubject to fears; [fears;
oman, naturally born to fears; [jeft,
tho' thou now confefs thou didst but
h my vex'd fpirits I cannot take a truce,
they will quake and tremble all this day.
Tokers of Grief.
hat doft thou mean by fhaking of thy head?
y dost thou look fo fadly on my fon?
at means that hand upon that breast of
y holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
e a proud river peering o'er its bounds?
thefe fad figns confirmers of thy words?
en fpeak again; not all thy former tale,
this one word, whether thy tale be true.
4 Mother's Fondness for a beautiful Child.
f thou, that bid't me be content, were
ly, and fland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Il of unpleafing blots, and fightlefs ftains,
me, foolish, crooked, fwart, prodigious,
tch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending
ould not care, I then would be content; r then I fhould not love thee: no, nor thou come thy great birth, nor deferve a crown. it thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy!
And thou poffeffed with a thousand wrongs: Or if that furly fpirit, melancholy, thick. Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, (Which elfe runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot laughter keep men's eyes
And ftrain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A paflion hateful to my purposes);
Or if that thou couldst fee me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, uting conceit alone
Without eyes, ears, and harmful found of
Then in defpite of brooded watchful day, would into thy bofom pour my thoughts; But ah, I will not.
A Mother's Ravings.
I am not mad; this hair I tear, is mine; My name is Conftance, I was Geffrey's wifes Young Arthur is my fon, and he is loft: I am not mad-I would to heaven I were ! For then 'tis like I fhould forget myself: O, if I could, what grief fhould I forget! Preach fome philofophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal; For, being not inad, but fenfible of grief, My reafonable part produces reafon How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself. If I were mad, I fhould forget my fon, Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he:
Father Cardinal, I have heard you say, That we fhall fee and know our triends in heaven:
If that be true, I fhall fee my boy again;
For, fince the birthof Cain, thefirft male-child,
To him that did but yesterday fufpire,
There was not fuch a gracious creature born.
But now will canker forrow eat my bud,
And chafe the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
And fo he'll die; and, ruling fo again,
When I fhall meet him in the court of heaven.
I fhall not know him: therefore, never, never
Muft I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Conft. He talks to me, that never had a fon,
K.Phil. You are as fond of grief as of
[child, Conft. Grief fills the room up of my abfent Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words; Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reafon to be fond of grief.
There's nothing in this world can make me Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, [joy: Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the inftant of repair and health, The fit is strongeft; evils that take leave, On their departure most of all thew evil.
Danger lays Hold of any Support. He that ftands upon a flipp'ry place, Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
Arthur's pathetic Speeches to Hubert. Methinks, nobody should be fad but I: Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as fad as night, Only for wantonnefs. By my Christendom, So were I out of prifon, and kept sheep, I should be merry as the day is long.
Have you the heart? when your head did
I knit my handkerchief about your brows (The beft I had, a princefs wrought it me), And I did never afk it you again: And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time; Saying, what lack you? and, where lies your grief?
Many a poor man's fon would have lain till, Or, what good love may I perform for you? And ne'er have fpoke a loving word to you; But you at your fick fervice had a prince. Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, And call it cunning: do, and if you will; If Heaven be pleas'd that you must ufe meill, Why then you muft.-Will you pur est mine eyes?
These eyes that never did, nor never fhall, So much as frown on you?—
Alas, what need you be fo boift'rous rough I will not struggle, I will stand itone-ftill. For Heaven's fake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away,
And I will fit as quiet as a lamb;
will not ftir, nor wince, nor fpeak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly:
Thruft but these men away, and I'll forgive
Whatever torment you do put me to.—
Is there no remedy?
Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.
Arth, O Heaven! that there were but a moth
A grain, a duft, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious fenfe! Then, feeling what fmall things are boift'roe
Your vile intent muft needs feem horrible. To add to Perfection, fuperfluous, and fufpicia
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To fmooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper light To feek the beauteous eye of heaven to garni, Is wafteful and ridiculous excefs.
In this the antique and well noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigured:
And, like a fhifted wind unto a fail,
It makes the courfe of thoughts to fetch
Startles and frights confideration; [about;
Makes found opinions fick, and truth ful
For putting on fo new a fashion'd robe.
This is the man should do the bloody deed;
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
Doesfhew the mood of a much troubled breast.
The colour of the king doth come and go
Between his purpofe and bis confcience,
w afmith stand with his hammer, thus,
e whilft his iron did on the anvil cool,
hopen mouth, fwallowing a taylor's news;
10 with his fhears and measure in his hand,
ding on flippers (which his nimble hafte
falfely thruft upon contrary feet),
of many a thousand warlike French,
t were embattled and rank'd in Kent:
ther lean unwash'd artificer
off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
ings' evil Purpofes too fervilely and haftily
the curfe of kings, to be attended laves, that take their humours for a warbreak into the bloody houfe of life; [rant , on the winking of authority, nderftand a law; to know a meaning lang 'rous majefty, when, perchance,
e upon humour than advis'd respect.
A Villain's Look, and wicked Zeal.
ow oft the fight of means to do ill deeds
es deeds ill done 1 Hadft not thou been
ellow by the hand of nature mark'd, [by,
sted, and fign'd, to do a deed of fhame,
s murder had not come into my mind:
ft thou but hook thy head, or made a
nifpake darkly what I purposed;
urn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
id me tell my tale in exprefs words;
pfhame had truck me dumb, made me
I thofe thy fears might have wrought fears
Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That fhall reverberate all as loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another thall,
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder.
The Approach of Death.
It is too late, the lite of all his blood
Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain
(Which fome fuppofe the foul's frail dwell-
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretel the ending of mortality.
Madness occafioned by Poison.
ruft not thofe cunning waters of his eyes,
villany is not without fuch rheum;
the, long traded in it, makes it feem
e rivers of remorfe and innocency.
A Man's Tears.
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That filverly doth progress on thy cheeks:
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation;
But this effufion of fuch manly drops,
This fhow'r, blown up by tempeft of the foul,
Startles mine eyes,and makes me more amaz'd,
Than had I feen the vaulty top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm
Commend thefe waters to thofe baby-eyes
That never faw the giant-world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune other than at feafts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of goffiping.
Despair. fthou didst but confent
this most cruel act, do but defpair, d, if thou want' a cord, the fmalleft thread at ever fpider twisted from her womb Il ferve to ftrangle thee; a rush will be a [thyfelf,
hang thee on; or, wouldst thou drown t but a little water in a spoon,
id it fhall be as all the ocean,
ough to stifle fuch a villain up.
Strike up the drums, and let the tongue
Plead for our int'reft.
Ay,marry, now my foul hath elbow-room,
It would not out at windows, nor at doors,
There is fo hot a fummer in my bofom,
That all my bowels crumble up to duft :
I am a fcribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and againft this fire
Do I fhrink up.