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Bruhinbury Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Clarence. Ő I have passl a miserable night,
So full of fearful «lreams, of ugly sights,
That as I ain a Christian faithful man,'
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;.
So full of lismal terror was the time.
Bruk. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell mo
Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
And, in my coinpany, my brother Gloster:
Who from iny cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches; thence we look d toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befall'n us. As we paced along
Upon the gidiy footing of the batches,
Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Loril! miethought, what pain it was to drown!
What (Treadful noise of water in mille ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes !
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
d theisand men, that fishes gnaw il upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, beaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, in valueil 2 jewels,
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.
some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes,
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death 1o gaze upon these secrets of the deep?
Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wandering air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
O, then began the tempest to my soul!
I pass'il, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was iny great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cried aloud, What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?
And so lie vanishd: Then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with briglit bair
Dabbleal in blood; and he shriek'd out alond,
Clarence is come false, fleeting,' perjured Clarence-
That słabb d me in the field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!
With that, methought a legion of foul fiends
Environd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted yo ;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done these things,
That now give evidence against my soul,
For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:
O, spare my guiltless wise, and my poor children !
Richard III, Act I. Scene .
FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. Carlinal Wolsey, after his fall from the favor of Henry VIII., thus sililo quizes, and afterwards confers with his servant Cromwell
Wolsey. 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,
Anil bears his blushing honors thick upon him:
The third clay, comes a frost, a killing frost;
Ann!,- wlien he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, -uips his root,
And then he falli, as I do. I have ventured,
Like linie wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;
B:lt far beyond iny (lepth: my high-blown pride
Ar length broke m er ine; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rule strearn, that must for ever 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 langs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that sinile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when lie falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never 10 hope again. -
Enter Cromwell, aniazediy.
Why, how now, Cromwell?
I have no power to speak, sir.
At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, and you weep,
I am fallen indeed.
How does your grace ?
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me,
I bumbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honor:
( 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,
'Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right use of it.
Wol. I hope I have; I am able now, methinks,
(Out of a fortitude of 'soul I feel,)
To endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?
The heaviest, and the worst,
Is your displeasure with the king.
God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord Chancellor in your place.
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 blessings,
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em!1
Crom. That Cranmer is return d with welcome.
Install d lord archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news indeed.
Last, that the Lady Anne,
Whom the king liath in secrecy long married,
This day was view'd in open, as his queen,
Going to chapel; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.
Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell
The king has gone beyond me, all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever:
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee froin me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lori and master: Seek the king;
That sun I pray may never set! I have told him
What, and how true thou art; he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him,
!I know his noble nature,) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish wo: Good Cromwell,
1 The chancellor is the general guardian of orphans.
Neglect him not, make use now, and provide
For thine own future safety.
O my lord,
Must I then leave you? Must I needs foregn
So goal, so noble, and so true a master ?
Bear witness, all that have not liearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves luis lord.
The king shall have my service; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced 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
Of me more must be heard of,-say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey,—that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,-
Found thee a way, ort of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss d il.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin’d me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, Aling away ambition;'
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, liope 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 fear not:
Let all the ends thou ain'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truths; then is lliou sallist, O Cromwell,
Thiou fall 'st a blessed martyr. Serve :he king,
And, Prythee, lead me in:
There take an inventory of all I bave,
To the last penny; 'tis the king's; my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. () Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.2
Crom. Good sir, have patience.
So I have. Farewell
The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.
Henry VIII, Act III. Scene II.
QUEEN MAB, THE QUEEN OF THE FAIRIES, 1 0, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm,
Prickd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers,
And in this state she gallops night by night,
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
Oer ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which of the angry Mal) with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.'
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice!
Sometines she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,'
Of healthis five fathom deep;? and then, anon,
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene IV.
LIFE AND DEATH WEIGHED. To be, or not to be, that is the question Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them? To die,—to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,—'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die;-to sleep; To sleep perchance to dream;-ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
I Swonis made of Spanish steel were thought the best
* That is, drinking deeply each other's health.