Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness! This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes, 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 open'd: O, 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.—

Enter CROMWELL.

Why, how now, Cromwell?

What, amazed

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir,

Wol.

At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder

A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, I am fallen indeed.

Crom.

How does your grace?

Wol.

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.

I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,

Why, well;

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd 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 honour:
O, 't is a burden, Cromwell, 't is a burden,

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.

Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.

Wol. I hope I have; I am able now, methinks, (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)

To endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

Crom.

The heaviest and the worst

God bless him!

Is your displeasure with the king.

Wol.

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen.

Lord Chancellor in your place.

Wol.

But he's a learned man.

That's somewhat sudden :

May he continue

Long in his highness' favour, 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 orphans' tears wept on 'em! 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 secrecy 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.
O Cromwell,

The king has gone beyond me; all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever;

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell,
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now

To be thy lord and master: seek the king;

That sun, I pray, may never set! I have 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 use now, and provide
For thine own future safety.

O, my lord,

Crom.
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
For ever, and for ever, 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 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?

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, 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: my robe,

And my integrity to heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. O 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.

SCENE FROM "JULIUS CÆSAR."

BY SHAKESPEARE.

CASSIUS. BRUTUS.

Cassius. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in

this:

You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella,
For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
Wherein my letters, praying on his side,
Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

Brutus. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet
That every nice offence should bear his comment.
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ;
To sell and mart your offices for gold

To undeservers.

Cas.

I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.
Cas. Chastisement !

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember!

Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
And not for justice? What, shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world