FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. WOLSEY. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! WOL. Enter CROMWELL, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell? CROM. I have no power to speak, sir. What, amazed my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blos- A great man should decline? Nay, and you This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth soms, At weep, 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 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate To endure more miseries, and greater far, ye; I feel my wretched The heaviest, and the worst, Is that poor man that hangs on princes' Is your displeasure with the king. favors! WOL. God bless him ! CROM. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their Lord chancellor in your place. ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or woman And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, WOL. 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; Some little memory of me will stir him (I know his noble nature) not to let 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: Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Crom- Corruption wins not more than honesty. well, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide CROM. Must I then leave you? must I needs forego Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 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, I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.. to Leicester, Lodged in the abbey, With all his convent, honorably received 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 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 But his performance, as he is now, nothing, GRIF. Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass; their vir- We write in water. May it please Your To hear me speak his good now? KATH. I were malicious else. Whom I most hated living thou hast made me, With thy religious truth and modesty, Patience; be near me still, and set me I have not long to trouble thee. Good Yes, good Griffith; Cause the musicians play me that sad note This cardinal, GRIF. 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, 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 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 genius pour. With splendid gifts you ne'er will seek the Is there a man whom even as Jove you shrine, To tempt the power you worship as divine: To venal nobles you consign the task 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! prize, Like him believe beneficent and wise? What are you doubtful? Such may Staius be? 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 you may mock your god Because his mercy still hath spared the rod |