Imatges de pÓgina
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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 liking ? nay, gave notice
He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind
That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest

children by you: If, in the course

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 sacred person, in God's name,
Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up
To the sharpest kind of justice.

You are meek, and humble mouth'd;
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming*,
With meekness and humility: but your

Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours,
Gone slightly o’er low steps; and now are mounted
powers your

retainers: and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will

, as't please.
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,
You tender more your person's honour, than
Your high profession spiritual.

That man i'the world, who shall report he has
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
For speaking false in that; Thou art, alone
(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government -

* Appearance.


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Obeying in commanding,--and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out*), The

queen of earthly queens.


QUEEN KATHARINE ON HER OWN MERIT. Have I liv'd thus long-(let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends),—a wife, a true one? A woman (I dare say, without vain glory), Never yet branded with suspicion? Have I with all my full affections

shim? Still met the king?' lov’d him next heaven? obey'd Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? Almost forgot my prayers to content him? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour,-a great patience.

QUEEN KATHARINE COMPARED TO A LILY. Like the lily, That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, I'll hang my head, and perish.

The hearts of princes kiss obedience,
So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits,
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.


OUTWARD EFFECTS OF HORROR. Some strange commotion

* Speak out thy merits. + Served him with superstitious attention.

Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts ;
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,
Then lays his finger on his temple; straight,
Springs out into fast gait*; then, stops again,
Strikes his breast hard; and anon, he casts
His eye against the moon: in most strange postures
We have seen him set himself,


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.


What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chafed lion
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall’d him;
Then makes him nothing.


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.


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


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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 ripening,—nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur’d,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

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;
I feel

my heart new open'd: 0, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs

and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

CARDINAL WOLSEY'S SPEECH TO CROMWELL. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, CromAnd when I am forgotten, as I shall be; [well; 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
Corruption wins not more than honesty. [thee;
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 Crom-
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; [well,
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 serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.




Such a noise arose As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks, (Doublets, I think), flew up; and had their faces Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy I never saw before. Great-belly'd women, That had not half a week to


In the old tin of war, would shake the press,
And make them reel before them. No man living
Could say, This is my wife, there; all were woven
So strangely in one piece.

At last, with easy roads*, he came to Leicester,

* By short stages.

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