Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell. A ftill and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, A load would fink a navy, too much honour. - 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 foul I feel, T indure more miferies, and greater far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.. CROM. The heaviest and the worst, WOL. God bless him. CROM. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. WOL. That's fomewhat fudden But he's a learned man. May he continue For truth's fake and his confcience; that his bones, CROM That Cranmer is return'd with welcome ; WOL. That's news indeed. CROM. Laft, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in fecrecy long married, This day was view'd in open as his Queen, Going to chapel; and the voice is now WOL. There was the weight that pull'd me down: The King has gone beyond me: all my glories In that one woman I have loft for ever. Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my fmiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; To be thy lord and master. Seek the King, (That fun I pray may never fet) I've told him What and how true thou art; he will advance thee: "Some little memory of me will ftir him, (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful fervice perifh too. Good Cromwell, CROM. O my Lord, Muft I then leave you? Muft I needs forego WOL. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear L t' Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To filence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'ft, O Cromwell, Thou fall'it a blessed martyr. Serve the King And pr'ythee lead me in There take an inventory of all I have, To the laft penny, 'tis the King's. My robe, And my integrity to Heav'n, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, I ferv'd my King, he would not in mine age CROM. Good Sir, have patience. WOL. So I have. Farewel The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell. SHAKSPEARE. СНАР. 1 CHA P. XXI. LEA R. BLOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!' You cataracts, and hurricanoes, fpout Till you have drench'd our fteeples, drown'd the cocks! Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder, Rumble thy belly full, fpit fire, fpout rain! `- Your horrible pleafure.-Here I ftand your brave, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high engender'd battles, 'gainst a head, Let the great gods, Oh! oh '; 'tis foul.. That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble thou wretch, That haft within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhip'd of juftice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand; Has practis'd on man's life-Close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents, and ask SHAKSPEARE, CHAP. XXII. MACBETH's SOLILOQUY. S this a dagger which I fee before me, I$ The handle tow'rd my hand? come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vifion, fenfible To feeling, as to fight? or art thou but Thou marshel'st me the way that I was going; Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other fenfes, Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er one half the world Whofe howl's his watch) thus with his ftealthy pace, Hear |