Imatges de pÓgina

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.
Why, how now, Cromwell ?

Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir.
Wol. What, amaz'd

[Enter Cromwell.

At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline Nay, if you weep,
I'm fallen indeed.

Crom. How does your grace ?
Wol. Why, well;

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities-

A still and quiet conscience. The king has curst me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity taken

A load would sink a navy, too much honor.
Oh, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden

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,
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

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But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favor, and do justice,

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,

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Whom the king hath in secresy long married,
This day was view'd in open as his queen,
Going to chapel; and the voice is now.
Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down: 0

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 thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master; seek the king-
(That sun, I pray, may never set!) I've told him
What and how true thou art; he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him,

(I know his noble nature) not to let

Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell;
Neglect him not; make ase now and provide
For thine own future safety.

Crom. Oh, my lord!

Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord!
The king shall have my service; but my prayers,
Forever and forever shall be yours.

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?
Love hyself 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 not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O 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.
And mine integrity to heaven is all

I dare now call my own. Oh, Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king-he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

My robe,

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.-

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.

-1 am

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.


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