At Enter CROMWELL, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell? CROM. I have no power to speak, sir. What, amazed WOL. This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blos- A great man should decline? Nay, and you And bears his blushing honors thick upon I am fallen indeed. And when he thinks, good easy man, full I know myself now, and I feel within me 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. A A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me: peace above all earthly dignities, I humbly thank His Grace; and from these shoulders, These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken WOL. I hope, I have. I am able now, methinks (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel), Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate To endure more miseries, and greater far, ye; I feel my heart new opened. wretched Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. The heaviest, and the worst, Is that poor man that hangs on princes' Is your displeasure with the king. favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, WOL. That sweet aspect of princes, and their Lord chancellor in your place. ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or woman have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, WOL. That's somewhat sudden; 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 The king shall have my service, but my CROM. That Cranmer is returned with wel- In all my miseries, but thou hast forced me come, Installed lord archbishop of Canterbury. WOL. That's news indeed. Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, mention Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee; WOL. There was the weight that pulled Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of me down. Oh, Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me: all my glories I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now What and how true thou art: he will ad vance thee; 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 missed it, Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. tion; 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: Some little memory of me will stir him Neglect him not; make use now, and provide To silence envious tongues. fear not; Let all the ends thou aimest at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's; then if thou fallest, O Cromwell, Thou fallest a blessed martyr. Serve the king; And Prythee, lead me in; There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal CROM. Good sir, have patience. Lodged in the abbey, where the reverend abbot, With all his convent, honorably received him ; To whom he gave these words: "O father An old man broken with the storms of state Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick, led be- Give him a little earth for charity!" GRIF. How does Your Grace? Oh, Griffith, sick to death; My legs like loaden branches bow to the earth, Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair. So! Now, methinks, I feel a little ease. me, That the great child of honor, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead? GRIF. Yes, madam, but I think Your Out of the pain you suffered, gave no car KATH. Prythee, good Griffith, tell me If well, he stepped before me, happily, GRIF. Well, the voice goes, madam; So went to bed, where eagerly his sickness About the hour of eight (which he himself ance, Continual meditations, tears and sorrows, peace. KATH. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak And yet with charity. He was a man tion Tyed all the kingdom; simony was fair play, never, But where he meant to ruin, pitiful; His promises were, as he then was, mighty, Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. May it please Your Highness To hear me speak his good now? КАТН. I were malicious else. Yes, good Griffith; Cause the musicians play me that sad note This cardinal, GRIF. Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashioned to much honor 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 loved him not, But to those men that sought him sweet as summer. And, though he were unsatisfied in getting Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; KATH. After my death I wish no other Which is the wind that brings the flowers? herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honor from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. The west wind, Bessy; and soft and low The birdies sing in the summer hours When the west begins to blow. EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. TEACHINGS OF THE ANCIENTS. FROM THE LATIN OF AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS. ET a white stone of pure un- Oh, Hercules, when next I rake the soil, Which not for thee the less Urge on his fate, nor Heaven condemn the auspicious shines That years revolve and clos ing life declines. deed." To one plain question honestly reply: Haste, then, to celebrate this What are your thoughts of him who rules And large libations to thy As all our judgments rest on what we know And good is still comparative below, genius pour. With splendid gifts you ne'er will seek the shrine, To tempt the power you worship as divine: It ill might suit the selfish and the proud No latent wish left lurking in the breast When truth or virtue is the boon we seek, We can distinctly ask and clearly speak; But when the guilty soul throws off disguise, Then whispered prayers and muttered vows arise: "Oh, in his grave were my old uncle laid, And at his tomb funereal honors paid! Is there a man whom even as Jove you prize, Like him believe beneficent and wise? Who is the juster judge, or Jove or he? Do you believe that Heaven at you connived vived Because o'er you the thunder harmless broke, While the red vengeance struck the blasted oak? Do you conclude that conclude that you may mock your god Because his mercy still hath spared the rod |