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Love. I expect the tailor, about turning my coat ;don't you think this coat will look well enough turned, and with new buttons, for a wedding suit ?
Lap. For pity's sake, Sir, don't refuse me this small favor:
I shall be undone, indeed, Sir. If it were but
so small a matter as ten pounds, Sir
Love. I think I hear the tailor's voice.
Lap. If it were but five pounds, Sir; but three pounds, Sir; nay, Sir, a single guinea would be of service for a day or two. [As he offers to go out on either side, he intercepts kim.]
Love. I must go, I can't stay hark, there! Somebody calls me—I an: very much obliged to you, indeed; I am very much obliged to you.
Lap. Go to the devil, like a covetous good for nothing villain as you are. Ramilie is in the right; however, I shall not quit the affair; for though I get nothing out of him, I am sure of my reward from the other side.
VI.—Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell-HENRY VIH. Wo!. FAREWELL* a long farewell to all my greatness This is the state of man; to day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; tomorrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him i 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 shoot— And then he falls, as 1 do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, These many sunimers 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 forever hide me. Vain pomp and giory of the world, I hate ye! I fuel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet regard of princes, and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Why, how now, Cromwell?
Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir,
Wol. Whatj amaz'd
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,,
Crom. How does your grace?
Wol. Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
A peace above all earthly dignities—
A still and quiet conscience. The king has curs'd me,
A load would sink a navy, too much honor.
Crom. I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it.
Wol. I hope I have: I'm able, now, metbinks,
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
T'endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?
Crom. The Heaviest and the worst
Is your displeasure with the king.
Wol. God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place.
Wol. That's somewhat sudden
But he's a learned man. May he continue
For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones,
Crom. That Cranmer is rcturn'd with welcome ;
Wol Thai's news indeed!
Crom, Last; that the Lady Anne,
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
Only about her coronation.
Wei. There was the weight that pull'd me down : O Cromwell!
The king has gone beyond me; all my glories
In that one woman I have lost forever.
No sun shall ever usher forth my honors,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get the from me, Cromwell;
To be thy lord and master, seek the king-
(I know his noble nature) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too.
Crom. Oh, my lord!
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
Wol. Cromwell—I did not think to shed a tear
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
(Though the image of his Maker) hope to win by't? Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that wait thee: Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear hot.
Thy God's and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
And pri'thee lead me in
There take an inventory of all I have ;
I dare now call my own. Ob, Cromwell, Cromwell!
I scrv'd my king—he would not in mine age
Crom. Good Sir, have patience.
Wol. So I have. Farewell
The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.
VII-Sir Charles and Lady Racket.—
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Lady R. O LA! I'm quite fatigued I can hardly move- -Why don't you help nc, you barbarous man? Sir C. There—take my arm
Lady R. But I won't be laughed atI don't loTe you.
Sir C. Don't you ?
Lady R. No. Dear me! This glove! Why don't you help me off with my glove? Pshaw! You awkward thing; Vet it alone; ycu an't fit to be about me. Reach me a chair-you have no compassion for me—I am so glad to sit down—Why do you drag me to routs ?-You know I hate 'em.
Sir C. Oh! There's no existing, no breathing, unless one does as other people of fashion do.
Lady R. But I'm out of humor-I lost all my money. Sir C. How much?
Lady R. Three hundred.
Sir C. Never fret for that—I don't value furee hundred pounds, to contribute to your happiness.
Lady R. Don't you? Not value three hundred pounds to please me?
Sir C. You know I don't.
Lady R. Ah! You fond fool!—But I hate gaming— It almost metamorphoses a woman into a fury.—Do you know that I was frighted at myself several times tonight ?. I had a huge oath at the very tip of my tongue. Sir C. Had yon?
Lady R. I caught myself at it—and so I bit my lips. And then I was crammed up in a corner of the room, with such a strange party, nt a whist table, looking et black and red spots—Did you mind 'em?
Sir C. You know 1 was busy elsewhere.
Lady R. There was that strange unaccountable woman, Mrs. Nightshade. She behaved ?o strangely to her husband a poor, inoffensive, gcodnatured, good sort of R good for nothing kind of a man. -But she so teazed him—"How could you play that card? Ah, you've a head, and so has n pin.—You're a numskull, you know you are—Ma'am he's the poorest head in the world ;— he docs not know what he is about; you know you don't —Ah, fie! I'm asham'd of you
Sir C. She has served to divert you, I see.
Lady R. And then to crown all- there was my lady Clackit, who runs on with an eternal volubility of nothing, out of all season, time and place.In the very midst of the game, she begins—« Lard, Ma'am, I was apprehensive I should not be able to wait on your I: dyship my poor little dog, Pompey—the sweetest thing in the world !—A spade led! There's the knave.— I was fetching a walk, Me'em, the other morning in the Park—A fine frosty morning it was. I love frosty weath-er of all things—let me look at the last trick and so Me'm, little Pompey—and if your ladyship was to see the dear creature pinched with the frost, and mincing his steps along the Mall—with his pretty little innocent face —I vow I don't know what to play. And so, Mc'em, while I was talking to Captain Flimsey—your ladyship knows Captain Flimsey. Nothing but rubbish in my hand I can't help it.—And so, Me'em, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor little Pompey—the dear