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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 him.]
Love. I must go, I can't stay--hark, there! Somebody calls me I am very much obliged to you, 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. VII-Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell.-HENRY VIII. Wol. 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; The third day come a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, nips his shootAnd then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. These many sumers 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 glory of the world, I hate ye! I feel my new heart open'd. Oh, 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.
Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir.
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
Crom. How does your grace ?
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
A still and quiet conscience. The king has curst me,
A load would sink a navy, too much honor.
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven !
Crom. I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it.
Wol. I hope I have: I'm able, now, methinks,
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, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on him! -What more?
Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury..
Wol. That's news indeed!
Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne,
Whom the king hath in secresy long married,
Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down: 0
The king has gone beyond me; all my glories
No sun shall ever usher forth my honors,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
(I know his noble nature) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell;
Crom. Oh, my lord!
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
Wol. Cromwell-I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries-but thou hast forc'd me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the womanLet's dry our eyes; and thus far bear me, Cromwell. And when I am forgotten as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must more be heard-say then I taught thee: Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, 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 which ruined me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
(Though the image of his Maker) hope to win by't?
To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear not.
There take an inventory of all I have;
I dare now call my own. Oh, Cromwell, Cromwell!
Crom. Good Sir, have patience.
The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.
VII.-Sir Charles and Lady Racket.-
Lady R. O LA! I'm quite fatigued-I can hardly Why don't you help me, you barbarous man?
Sir C. There-take my aia
Lady R. But I won't be laugh'd at-I don't love
Sir C. Don't you?
Lady R. No. Dear me! This glove! Why don't you neip me off with my glove? Pshaw! You awkward, thing; let it alone; you an't fit to be about me. Reach me a chair-you have no compassion for me 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 three hun.
dred 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 gamingIt 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 you?
Lady R. I caught myself at it-and so I bit my lips. And then as crammed up in a corner of the room, with such a strange party, at a whist table, looking at black and red spots-Did you mind 'em ?
Sir C. You know I was busy elsewhere.
Lady R. There was that strange unaccountable wo man, Mrs. Nightshade. She behaved so strangely to her husband-a poor, inoffensive, good natured, goodsort of a 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 a pin.-You're a numskull, you know you are-Ma'am he's the poorest head in the world;—he does not know what he is about; you know you don'tAh, 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 ladyshipmy poor little dog, Pompey-the sweetest thingin 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 weather of all things--let me look at the trick-and so Me'em, 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 f vow I don't know what to play. And so, Me'em, while I was talking to Captain Flimsey--your ladyship knows Captain Flimsey-Nothing but rubbish in my hand!-- can't help it.--And so, Me'em, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor little Pompey--the dear.