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And therefore,-since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,-
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.


The silent hours steal on,
And flaky darkness breaks within the east.


DECEIT. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice !


True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings, Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

The weary sun hath made a golden set,
And, by the bright track of his fiery car,
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.

RICHMOND'S PRAYER. O Thou, whose captain I account myself, Look on my forces with a gracious eye; Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall The usurping helmets of our adversaries ! Make us thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise thee in thy victory! To thee I do commend my watchful soul Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes; Sleeping, and waking, 0, defend me still !

RICHARD STARTING OUT OF HIS DREAM. Give me another horse, bind up my wounds, Have mercy, Jesu !-Soft; I did but dream.O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!The lights burn blue.--It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? myself ?


Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.



To climb steep hills,
Requires slow pace at first : anger is like
A full hot horse, who being allowed his way,
Self-mettle tires him.


New customs,
Though they be, never so ridiculous,
Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are fullow'd.


A loss of her
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
Of her, that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with ; even of her
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
Will bless the king.

"Tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk’d up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.


Though perils did Abound as thick as thought could make them, and Appear in forms more horrid, yet my duty, As doth a rock against the chiding flood, Should the approach of this wild river break, And stand unshaken yours.


Nay, then, farewell ! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting: I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.

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CARDINAL WOLSEY'S SPEECH TO CROMWELL. 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 honour,Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin’d me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;

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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 :
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 aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st 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,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. O 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.

So farewell to the little good you bear me. :
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 him :
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full 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,
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 this world, I hate ye !

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