To lead out many to the Holy Land ; Lest rest and lying still might make them look With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out, You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; SHAKSPEARE CHAP. XIII. HENRY VI, WARWICK, AND CARDINAL BEAUFORT. K. Hen. How fares my Lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy Sov'reign. Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another Island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, War. Beaufort, it is thy Sov'reign speaks to thee. K. Hen. O thou Eternal Mover of the Heav'ns, SHAKSPEARE. CHAP. XIV. WOLSEY AND CROMWELL. him; Wol. 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 his blushing honours thick upon The third day comes a frost-a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a rip'ning, nips his shoot;' And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, These 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 the world, I hate ye I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, P e! Never to hope again. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no pow'r to speak, Sir. Wol. What! amaz'd At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder Crom. How does your Grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A peace above all earthly dignities; A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, A load would sink a navy, too much honour. O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden Too heavy for a man that hopes for Heav'n! Crom. I'm glad your Grace has made that right use of it. Wol. I hope I have: I'm able now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, T'endure more miseries, and greater far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.- Crom. The heaviest and the worst Is your displeasure with the King. Wol. God bless him! Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden But he's a learned man. May he continue For truth's sake and bis conscience; that his bones, Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Wol. That's news indeed! Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in secresy long married, This day was view'd in open as his Queen, Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down: O The king has gone beyond me; all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever! No sun shall ever usher forth my honours, Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; To be thy lord and master. Seek the king, (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego 1 Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that wait thee; Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell! And prithee lead me in There take an invent'ry of all I have, My robe, I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Crom. Good Sir, have patience. Wol. So I have. Farewell 'The hopes of court! My hopes in Heav'n do dwell. SHAKSPEARE. CHAP. XV. LEAR. BLOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow! Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires, Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder, Crack Nature's mould, all germins spill at once, Rumble thy bellyfull, spit fire, spout rain! |