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A good Wife.

A lofs of her,

That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never loft her luitre;
Of her, that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with; even of her,
That, when the greateft ftroke of fortune fails,
Will blefs the king.

The Blefings of a low Station.

I is better to be lowly born,
And
range with humble livers in content,
Thin to be perk'd up in a glitt'ting grief,
And wear a golden forrow.

Queen Catharine's Speech to her Husband.
Alas, Sir,

In what have I offended you? What cause
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure,
That thus you fhould proceed to put me off,
And take your good grace from me? Heaven
witnefs,

I have been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to your will conformable :
Ever in fear to kindle your diflike,

Yea, fubject to your count'nance; glad or forry
As I faw it inclin'd. When was the hour,
I ever contradicted your defire,

O made it not mine too? Which of your friends
Have I not strove to love, although I knew
He were mine enemy? What friend of mine,
That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I
Continue in my king? Nay, gave notice,
He was from thence difcharg'd? Sir, call to mind
'That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
Upward of twenty years; and have been blefs'd
With many children by you. If, in the courfe
And procefs of this time, you can report,
And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,
Against your facred perfon, in God's name
Turn me away; and let the foul' contempt
Shut door upon me, and to give me up
To the fharpeft kind of justice.

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Where pow'rs.re your retainers: and your words, Domeities to you, terve your will, as 't pleafe Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, You tender more your perion's honour, than Your high profeilion fpiritual.

King Henry's Character of Queen Catharine. That man i'the world who all report he has A better wife, let him in nevght be truffed, For speaking falle in that: Thou art, aione, (I ti y rar qualities. fweet gentlenes,

hy meekreis font-like, wife-like government, Obeying in commanding, and thy parts Sovereign and pious citè, cold but speak thee out) The queen of ently que ns.

On her own Merit.

Have I liv'd thus long (let me fpeak myself, Since virtue finds no friends) a wife, a true one? A woman (I dare fay without vain glory) Never yet branded with fufpicion? Have I with all my full affection

[him >
Still met the king: lov'd him next Heaven? obey'd
Been, out of fondnefs, fuperftitious to him?
Almoft forgot my prayers to content him?
And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well, lords.
Bring me a conftant woman to her husband,
One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his plea-
fure;

And to that woman, when the has done met,
Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.
Queen Catharine compared to a Lily.
-Like the lily,

That once was miftrefs of the field, and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head, and perish.

Obedience to Princes.

The hearts of princes kils obedience,
So much they love it: but to ftubborn spirits,
They fwell, and grow as terrible as storms.
Horror, its cutward Effects.

-Some ftrange commotion
Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts;
Stops on a fudden, looks upon the ground,
Then lays his finger on his temple; straight
Springs out into faft gait; then stops again,
Strikes his breaft hard; and anon he cafts

His eye against the moon: in moft ftrange poftures
We've feen him fet himself.

Firm Allegiance.

-Though perils did

Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, and
Appear in forms as horrid; yet my duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And ftand unfhaken yours.

Anger, its external Effects.

What fudden anger 's this? How have I reap'd He parted frowning from me, as if ruin [it ? Leap'd from his eyes: fo looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntíman that has gall'd him; Then makes him nothing.

Falling Greatness. -Nay, then farewel! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full ineridian of my glory, I hatte now to my fetting. I fhall fall, Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man fee me more.

The Viciffitudes of Life.

So farewel to the little good you bear me. Farewel, a long farewel, to all my greatnefs! This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blufhing honours thick upon him: The third day comes a frott, a killing frott; And when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely His greatne's is a ripening, nijs his root, And then he falls, as I do. i have veatur'd, Like little wanton boys, that twim on bladders,

This may immers in a fea of glory;
Burt, Myone my depth: my high-blown pride
At Lightroke under me; and now has leit me,
Ivedrys
nd old with fervice, to the mercy
Giards it can, that muft for ever hide me.
ain poop 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 fmile we would aipire to,
That feet afpect of princes, and our ruin,
More pangs and fears thaa war or women have;
An, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Near to hope again.

Cardinal Wolfey's Speech to Cromwell.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miferies; but thou haft forc'd me,
Out of thy honeft truth, to play the woman.
Le's day our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I fhail be,
Ad fleep in duil cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, fay, I taught thee,
Say, Wolfey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And founded all the depths and fhoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rife in;
A fure and fafe one, though thy mafter mifs'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that fin feil the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyfelf laft: cherish thofe hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honefty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not:
Let all the ends thou aim'ft at, be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall ft, O
Cromwell,

Thou fali'ft a blessed martyr. Serve the king;
And, pr'ythee, 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 ferv'd my God with half the zca!
I ferv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies!

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As the fhrouds make at fea in a fi tempeft,
As loud, and to as many tunes: Hars, cloaks,
(Doublets, I think), flew up; and had their faces
Been loofe, this day they had been ft. Such joy
I never faw before. Creat-bellied women,
That had not half a week to go, like rams
In the old time of war, would thake the prefs,
And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living
Could fay, "this is my wife," there; all were woven
So ftrangely in one piece.

Cardinal Wolfey's Death.

"Give him a little earth for charity!"
So went to bed: where eagerly his fickness
Purfaed him still; and, three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold thould be his laft), full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears and forrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
This bleffed part to heaven, and flept in peace.
His Vices and Virtues.

So may he reft; his faults he gently on him! Yet thus far, Grifth, give me leave to fpeak him, And yet with charity—he was a man Of an unbounded ftomach, ever ranking Himfelf with princes; one, that by fuggeftion Tied all the kingdom: fimony was fair play; His own opinion was his law: I' the prefence He would fay untruths; and be ever double, Both in his words and meaning: He was never, But where he went to ruin, pitiful: His promifes were, as he then was, mighty; But his performance, as he now is, nothing. Of his own body he was ill, and gave The clergy ill example.

Griff. Noble Madam,

Men's evil manners live in brafs; their virtucs We write in water.

This cardinal,

Tho' from an humble ftock, undoubtedly
Was fafhion'd to much honour. From his cradle
He was a fcholar, and a ripe and good one;
Exceeding wile, fair fpoken, and perfuading:
Lofty, and four, to them that lov'd him not;
But, to thofe men that fought him, fweet as fummer.
And though he were untatisfied in getting
(Which was a fin), yet in beftowing, madam,
He was moft princely: ever witnefs for him
Thofe twins of learning that he rais'd in you,
Iplwich and Oxford ! one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to out-live the good he did it :
The other, though unfinith 'd, yet fo famous,
So excellent in art, and ftill fo rifing,
That Chriftendom fhall ever fpeak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happine's upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the bleffeducts of being little :
And, to add greater honcurs to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing God.
Malicious Men.

-Men that make

Envy and crooked malice nourishment,
Dare bite the beft.➖➖➖

A Church-Man.
-Love and meekness, Lord,
Become a church-man better than ambition:
Win ftraying fouls with modefty again,
Caft none away.

Inhumanity. 'Tis a cruelty,

Archbishop Cranmer's Prophecy.

At last, with ealy roads, he came to Leicester, To load a falling man.—— Lodg'd in the abbey; where the rev'rend abbot, With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him; To whom he gave thefe words: "O father abbot, "An old man, broken with the ftorms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;

-Let me fpeak, Sir,

For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. f 4 Thus

And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
The Pyrenean, and the river Po),
It draws toward fupper in conclufion, fo.
But this is worthipful fociety,
And fits the mounting fpirit, like myself :
For he is but a bastard to the time,
That doth not fmack of obfervation.

This royal infant (Heaven ftill move about her!), I (Saving in dialogue of compliment;
Tho' in a cradle, yet now promifes
Upon this land a thoufand, thoufand bleffings,
Which time fhall bring to ripenefs. She thall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that fhall fucceed: Sheba was never
More covetous of wifdom, and fair virtue,
Than this bleft foul fhall be. All princely graces,
That mould up fuch a mighty piece as this,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall ftill be doubled on her. Truth fhall nurse her;
Holy and heavenly thoughts ftill counfel her.
She thall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own fhall blefs
Her focs fhake like a field of beaten corn, [her;
And hang their heads with forrow. Good grows

with her.

In her days, ev'ry man fhall cat in fafety,
Under his own vine, what he plants; and fing
The merry fongs of peace to all his neighbours.
God thall be truly known; and thofe about her
From her fhall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by thole claim their greatnefs, not by blood.
Nor thall this peace fleep with her; but, as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her athes new create another heir,

As great in admiration as herfelf;

So fhall fhe leave her bleffedness to one

A Defcription of England.

That pale, that white-fac'd thore,
Whole foot fpurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her iflanders;
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, ftill fecure
And confident from foreign purpofes,
Even till that utmoft corner of the west,
Salute thee for her king.

Defcription of an English Army.
His marches are expedient to this town,
His forces ftrong, his foldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother queen,
An Até tirring him to blood and ftrife;
With her, her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain
With them a baftard of the king deceas'd;
And all the unfettled humours of the land-
Rafh, inconfiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies faces, and fierce dragons fpleens→

(When Heaven shall call her from this cloud of Have fold their fortunes at their native homes,

darkness)

Who, from the facred afhes of her honour,
Shall ftar-like rife, as great in fame as the was,
And fo ftand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth,

terror,

That were the fervants to this chofen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;
Wherever the bright fun of heaven thall fhine,
His honour and the greatnefs of his name
Shall be, and make new nations: He fhall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
Toall the plains about him; our children's children
Shall fee this, and blefs Heaven.

Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless fpirits,
Than now the Englith bottoms have waft o'er,
Did never float upon the fwelling tide,
To do offence and fcath in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand,
Courage.

By how much unexpected, by fo much
We must awake endeavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occafion.
A Boafter.

What cracker is this fame, that deafs our ears

§ 26. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF With this abundance of fuperfluous breath?

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"fellow," And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter: For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 'Tis too refpective and too fociable For your converfion. Now travellerHe and his toothpick at my worship's mefs: And when my knightly ftomach is fuffic'd, Why then I fuck iny teeth, and catechife My picked man of countries:-" My dear Sir, (Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin)

44

Defcription of Victory, by the French.
You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,
And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in;
Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whofe fons lie fcatter'd on the bleeding ground:
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the difcolour'd earth;
And victory, with little lofs, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French;
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
To enter conquerors.

By the English.

Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells, King John, your king, and England's, doth approach,

Commander of this hot malicious day!

I shall befeech you"-that is queftion now; And then comes anfwer like an ABC book :— O Sir," fays anfwer, "at your best command, At your employinent, at your fervice, Sir:"- Their armours, that march'd hence fo filver bright, "No, Sir," fays queftion, "I, fweet Sir, at yours." Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; And fo, er anftver knows what queftion woull,There stuck no plume in any English creft,

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That

That is removed by a staff of France;
Our colours do return in thofe fame hands
That did difplay them when we first march'd forth;
And, like a jolly troop of huntfmen, come
Our lufty English, all with purpled hands,
Dyed in the dying flaughter of their foes.
A complete Lady.

If lufty love fhould go in queft of beauty,
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous love fhould go in fearch of virtue,
Where fhould he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If love, ambitious, fought a match of birth,
Whofe veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch:

On Commodity, or Self-Intereft.
-Rounded in the ear

Grief.

I will inftru&t my forrows to be proud;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner ftoop.
Confiance to Auftria.

O Lymoges O Auftria! thou dost shame That bloody fpoil: thou flave, thou wretch, thou coward;

Thou little valiant, great in villainy!

Thou ever ftrong upon the ftronger fide!
Thou fortune's champion, that doft never fight,
But when her humorous lady fhip is by,
To teach thee fafety! thou art perjur'd too,
And footh'ft up greatnefs. What a fool art thou
A ramping fool! to brag, to ftamp, and fwear,
Upon my party! theu cold-blooded flave,
Haft thou not fpoke like thunder on my fide?
Been fworn my foldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy ftars, thy fortune, and thy ftrength!
And doft thou now fall over to my foes?

With that fame purpofe-changer, that fly devil;
That broker, that ftill breaks the pate of faith;
That daily break-vow; he that wins of all,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids-Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it, for fhame,
Who having no external thing to lofe

But the word maid-cheats the poor maid of that;
That fmooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commo-
dity-

Commodity, the bias of the world;
The world, which of itself is poised well,
Made to run even, upon even ground;
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
This fway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpofe, courfe, intent;
And this fame bias, &c.

A Woman's Fears.

Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am fick and capable of fears;
Opprefs'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;
A widow, hufbandlefs, fubject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears;

And tho' thou now confefs thou didst but jeft,
With my vex'd fpirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
Tokens of Grief.

What doft thou mean by fhaking of thy head:
Why doft thou look fo fadly on my fon?
What means that hand upon that breath of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er its bounds?
Be thefe fad figns confirmers of thy words?
Then fpeak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

A Mother's Fondness for a beautiful Child.
If thou, that bid'ft me be content, were grim,
Ugly, and fland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleafing blots, and fightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, fwart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content;
For then I fhould not love thee: no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deferve a crown.
But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy!
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great:
Of nature's gifts thou mayft with lilics boaft,
And with the half-blown rofe.

And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.
The Horrors of a Conspiracy.

I had a thing to fay-but, let it go:
The fun is in the heaven; and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,
To give me audience. If the midnight-bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowfy race of night;
If this fame were a church-yard where we ftand,
And thou poffeffed with a thoufand wrongs;
Or if that furly fpirit, melancholy,

Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick
(Which clfe runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot laughter keep men's eyes,
And ftrain their checks to idle merriment,
A paffion hateful to my purpofes);
Or if that thou couldst fee me without eyes,
Hear me without thine cars, and make reply
Without a tongue, ufing conceit alone
Without eyes, cars, and harmful found of words;
Then, in defpight of brooded watchful day,
But ah, I will not.—
I would into thy bofom pour my thoughts:

A Mother's Ravings.

I am not mad; this hair I tear, is mine;
My name is Conftance, I was Geffrey's wife;
Young Arthur is my fon, and he is loft:
I am not mad-I would to heaven I were!
For then 'tis like I fhould forget myself:
O, if I could, what grief thould I forget!
Preach fome philofophy to make me mad,
And thou fhalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal;
For, being not mad, but fenfible of grief,
My reafonable part produces reafon
How I may be deliver'd of thefe woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself.
If I were mad, I fhould forget my fon,
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he:
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel,
The diff'rent plague of cach calamity.
Apofirople to Death.

-O amiable, lovely death
They odoriferous ftench! found rottennefs!

Arife forth from the couch of lafting night,
Thou hate and terror to profperity,
And I will kits toy deteitable bones:
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;
And ring thefe fingers with thy houfehold worms;
And top this gap of breath with fulfome duft,
And be a carrion moniter like thyfelf:
Come, gin on me, and I will think thou smil'st,
And bufs thee as thy wife! mifery's love,
O, çome to me!

A Mother's Grief.

Father Cardinal, I have heard you fay, That we fhall fee and know our friends in heaven: If that be true, I thall fee my boy again; For, fince the birth of Cain, the first male-child, To him that did but yesterday fulpite, There was not fuch a gracious creature born. But now will canker forow eat my bad, And chafe the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghot; As dim and meagre as an ague's rit; And to he'll die, and, ifing to ag da, When I fhall meet nia in the court of heaven, I shall not know him: therefore, never, never Maft I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. Conf. He talks to me, that never had a ton. K. Phil.. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. Conf. Grief fills the room up of my abfent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.

Defponde icy.

And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; But you at your fick fervice had a prince. Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, And call it, cunning: do, and if you will; If Heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, Why then you muft.-Will you put out mineeyes? Thefe eyes, that never did, nor never fhall, | So much as frown on you?

Alas, what need you be fo boift'rous rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-full.
For Heaven's take, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive thefe men away,
And I will fit as quiet as a lamb;

I will not itir, nor wince, nor fpeak a word,
Nor look upon the iron aagerly:
Thruft but thefe men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever tooment you do put me to.-
Isere no remedy?

Hub. None, eu: to lofe your eves.

t

[yours, Arth. Heaven' that there were but a moth in A grain, a duft, a gnat, a wandʼring hair, Any annoyance in that precious fente! Then,feelingwhitfmall things areb ift'rous there,

Your vile intent maft needs feem horrible.

To add to Perfection, fuperfluous, and fufpicious.
To gild refined gold, to paint the huy,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To fmooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper light
To feek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wafteful and ridiculous excels.

In this, the antique and well-noted face Of plain old form is much disfigured:

There's nothing in this world can make me joy: And, like a fhifted wind unto a fail,

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

Departing Diseases.

Before the curing of a ftrong difeafe, Even in the inftant of repair and health, The fit is strongest; evils that take leave, On their departure most of all thew evil.

Danger lays hold of any Support. He that ftands upon a flipp'ry place, Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.

Arthur's pathetic Speeches to Hubert. Methinks, nobody fhould be fad but I: Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as fad as night, Only for wantonnefs. By my Christendom, So were I out of prifon, and kept theep, I thould be merry as the day is long.

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Have you the heart? when your head did butake, I knit my handkerchief about your brows (The belt I had, a princefs wrought it me), And I did never afk it you again : And with my hand at midnight held your head; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and ason cheer'd up the heavy time; Saying, what lack you? and, where lies your grief Or, what good love may 1 perform for you? Many a poor man's fon would have laik til,

It makes the courfe of thoughts to fetch about
Startles and frights confideration;

Makes found opinion fick, and truth fufpected,
For putting on fo new a fafhion'd robe.
Murderer's Look.

This is the man fhould do the bloody deed; The image of a wicked heinous fault Lives in his eye; that clofe afpect of his Does fhew the mood of a much troubled breaft. Struggling Confcience.

The colour of the king doth come and go Between his purpose and his confcience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles fet: His paffion is fo ripe, it needs must break.

News-tellers on the Death of Arthur.
Old men and beldamis, in the streets,
Do prophety upon it dangeroutly:
Young Arthour's death is common in their mouths;
And, when they talk of him, they thake their heads,
And whifper one another in the car;

And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrift,
Whilft he that hears makes fearful action,
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I faw a faith ftand with his hammer, thus,
The whilft his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth, fwallowing a taylor's news;
Who, with his fhears and mesure in his hand,
Standing on flippers (which his nimble hafte

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