ལ་

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,

And hang their heads with sorrow.

with her:

Good grows

In her days, every man shall eat in safety,
Under his own vine, what he plants, and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors:
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honor,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir,

As great in admiration as herself ;—

So shall she leave her blessedness to one, (When Heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness)

Who, from the sacred ashes of her honor,

Shall starlike rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth,
terror,

That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him.
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honor and the greatness of his name

Shall be, and make new nations: he shall florish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches

To all the plains about him. Our children's children Shall see this, and bless Heaven.

K. Hen.

Thou speakest wonders. Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, An aged princess: many days shall see her,

And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more! but she must die,
She must; the saints must have her: yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass

To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Hen. O lord archbishop,

Thou hast made me now a man; never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing.

This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,

That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire

To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.
I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden:
I have received much honor by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way,
lords:

Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye;
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
He has business at his house; for all shall stay :
This little one shall make it holiday.

[Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

"Tis ten to one, this play can never please
All that are here. Some come to take their ease,
And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,
They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the city
Abused extremely, and to cry,—'That's witty!'
Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,
All the expected good we are like to hear
For this play at this time, is only in
The merciful construction of good women;
For such a one we show'd them.1

If they smile,

And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while
All the best men are ours: for 'tis ill hap,
If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap.

1 In the character of Katharine.

END OF VOL. IX.

BIBL