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Against your sacred person, in God's name,
Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up
To the sharpest kind of justice.

You are meek, and humble mouth'd;
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,.
With meekness and humility: but

your heart
Is cramm’d with arrogancy, spleen and pride.
You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours
Gone slightly o'er high steps; and now are mounted
Where powers are your retainers: and your words,
Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,
You tender more your person's honour, than
Your high profession spiritual.

That man i’ the world, who shall report he has
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
For speaking false in that; Thou art, alone,
(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,
Obeying in commanding,—and thy parts
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thec out,)t
The qucen of earthly queens.

Have I liv'd thus long-(let me speak myself,
Since virtue finds no friends,)—a wite, a true one?
A woman (I dare say without vain glory,)
Never yet branded with suspicion?
Have I with all my full affections
Still met the king? lov'd him next heav'n? obey'd hiin?
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him?
Almost forgot my prayers to content him?
And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords.

Appearance. † Speak out thy merits.
Served him with superstitious attention.

Bring me a constant woman to her husband, ihat ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure,
And to that woman when she has done most,
Yet will I add an honour,-a great patience.

Like the lily,
That once was mistress of the field, and flourishid
I'll hang my head, and perish.

The hearts of princes kiss obedience,
So much they love it: but to stubborn spirits,
They swell, and grow as terrible as torms.

Some strange commotion
Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts;
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,
Then, lays his finger on his temple; straight,
Springs out into fast gait:* then stops again,
Strikes his breast hard: and anon, he casts
His eye against the moon: in most strange postures
We have seen him set himself.

FIRM ALLEGIANCE. Though perils did Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty, As doth a rock against the chiding flood, Should the approach of this wild river break, And stand unshaken yours.

EXTERNAL EFFECTS OF ANGER. What sudden anger's this? how have I reap') it? Fe parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chased lion Upon the daring huntsman that has galld him; Then makes him nothing.

FALLING GREATNESS. Nay then, farewell! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And, from that full meridian of my glory,

* Steps.


Ihaste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.


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 hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears bis 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 ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders This mar y summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now hast lest me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new open'd; 0, 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.

Cardinal WOLSEY'S SPEECH TO CROMWELL. 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 Or me more must be heard of,--say, I taught thee, Sav, 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 sell 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 scar 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 Crom-
Thou fall’st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; (well,
And,--Prythee, lead me in:
There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe,
And niy integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. O 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.



Such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks,
(Doublets, I think,) flew up; and had their faces
Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
I never saw before. Great-bellied women,
That had not half a week to go, like rams
In the old time of war, would shake the press.
And make them reel before them. No man living
Could say, This is my wife, there; all were woren
So strangely in one piece.

At last, with easy roads,* he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him;
To whom he gare these words, –0, father abbol,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a lillle earth for charity!

* By short stages.

So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness
Pursu'd lim still; and, three nights after this,
About the hour of eight, (which he himself
Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.

So may he rest: his faults lay gently on him!
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
And yet with charity, He was a man
Or an unbounded stomach,* ever ranking
Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion
Try'd all the kingdom: simony was fair play;
His own opinion was his law: I’ the presencet
He would say untruths; and be ever double,
Both in his words and meaning: He was never,
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful:
His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.

Noble madam, Men's eril manners live in brass; their virtues Wė write in water.

This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashion’d tof much honour. From his cradle, He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one; Exceeding wise, fair spoken and persuading; Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summcr. And though he were unsatisfied in getting, (hich was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely: Ever witness for him Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, Ipswich, and Oxford! one of which fell with him, Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;

Price. t of the king. Forined for. $ Ipswich.

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