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This vow full well the king perform'd,
After, at Humbledown1;

In one day fifty knights were slaine,
With lords of high renowne;

And of the rest, of small account,
Did many hundreds dye.

Thus ended the hunting of Chevy-Chace,
Made by the Erle Percy.

God save the King! and bless this lande
With plenty, joy, and peace;

And grant, henceforth, that foule debate
"Twixt noblemen may cease.

The battle of Humbledown, or Homildon Hill, was fought in 1402. On this occasion, the Earl of Nor

thumberland and his son Hotspur gained a victory over the Scots.

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Thomas Wolsey, the son of a butcher, was born at Ipswich, in Suffolk, A. D. 1471. After finishing his education at Oxford, he became tutor to the sons of the Marquis of Dorset. He was afterwards made chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and was promoted by Henry VII. to the deanery of Lincoln. Henry VIII. bestowed upon him many honourable and lucrative appointments, such as the bishoprics of Lincoln, Durham, and Winchester. He was also made Archbishop of York; and at a later period he was invested by the Pope with the rank of a cardinal. His immense revenues nearly equalled those of the Crown. Part of his wealth was expended in pomp and ostentation, and part of it in the erection of edifices for the advancement of learning. He founded a college, which had, however, a very brief existence, in his native town of Ipswich; the noble college of Christchurch, Oxford, also owes its origin to him. He likewise built a palace at Hampton Court, which he presented to the king.

Having given offence to Henry by not promoting the divorce of Queen Catherine, he fell into disgrace, and his estates were confiscated. He retired to his diocese at York, but even there the resentment of his enemies followed him. In 1530 he was arrested on a charge of high treason, and was committed to the custody of the lieutenant of the Tower, who had orders to convey him to London. He was taken ill on the road, and died in Leicester Abbey on the 29th November, 1530, and was buried in the middle of one of the abbey chapels.

WOLSEY'S FALL.

Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new opened.2 Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear

;

In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of-say I taught thee
Say Wolsey-that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour-
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me!
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition.
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?

1 Wolsey is here addressing Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex. He was born at Putney, in Surrey, and was the son of a blacksmith. By his talents he rose to be the Chancellor

of the Exchequer, Keeper of the Privy Seal, and Vicar-General of the kingdom.

New opened, that is, I now see things as they are.

Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, oh, Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king;

And-prithee, lead me in:

There take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,

And my integrity to Heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. Oh, Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal

I served my king, He would not in mine age

Have left me naked to mine enemies!

WOLSEY'S DEATH.

The manner of his death is told to Queen Katherine by one Griffith, a Gentleman-Usher to the Queen.

At last, with easy roads1, he came to Leicester,
Lodged in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably received him;
To whom he gave these words, "O FATHER ABBOT,
AN OLD MAN BROKEN WITH THE STORMS OF STATE,
IS COME TO LAY HIS WEARY BONES AMONG YE;
GIVE HIM A LITTLE EARTH FOR CHARITY!"
So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness
Pursued him still; and, three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold should be his last), full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
King Henry VIII.

1 By short stages.

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In the following piece, although the poet shuns to celebrate the victory of Waterloo, yet he gives us a most beautiful description of the evening which preceded the battle of Quatre Bras, the alarm which called out the troops, and the hurry and confusion which preceded their march.

Stop! for thy tread is on an empire's dust!
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust?
Nor column trophied for triumphal show?
None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so.
As the ground was before, thus let it be.-
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow!
And is this all the world has gain'd by thee,
Thou first and last of fields! king-making victory?
There was a sound of revelry by night',
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

About six o'clock on the evening of the 15th June (1815), Wellington received intelligence of the advance of the French; and having ordered the concentration of troops on Quatre Bras, "dressed and went to a ball at the Duchess of Richmond's, where his manner was so undisturbed, that

no one discovered that any intelligence of importance had arrived; many brave men were there assembled amidst the scenes of festivity, and surrounded by the smiles of beauty, who were, ere long, locked in the arms of death."-Alison.

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