Imatges de pÓgina

SCENE III. Horror, its outward Effects.

Some strange commotion
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 ; ftrait,
Springs out into fast gait, then stops again ;
Strikes his breast hard, and then, anon, he casts
His eye against the moon : in most strange postures
We've seen him set himself.

Firm Allegiance.

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

Scene IV. Anger, its external Effects. What sudden anger's this? How have I reap'd it? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin


(4) As doth, lic. This fimile is used both by Virgil and. Homer.

He, like a rock amidst the feas unmov’d,
Stands opposite resisting; like a rock
Amidst the fea: which while the roaring tide
Encroaches, with its weight itself sustains
Among the noisy waves : in vain the cliffs
Foaming rebellow loud ; and all around
The broken sea-weed dashes on its sides.

See Trap. Æn. 70 And again ;

He like a rock, which o'er the ocean wide,
Hangs prominent, expos'd to winds and waves
And all the rage of fea and sky endures,
Stands fix'd unmovidna

See Id. Æn. 109

Leap'd from his eyes. (5) So looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman, that has gall’d him; Then makes him nothing.

Falling Greatness.

-Nay, then farewel !
I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness
And, froin 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.

Scene VI. The Vicisitudes of Life.
So farewel to the liitle good you bear me.
Farewel ! a long farewel to all my greatness!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts

The tender leaves of hopes, 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, (6) nips his root,
And then he falls as I do; I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that swiin on bladders,


(5) So looks, &c.]

So when on sultry Libya's defert sand,
The lion spies the hunter hard at hand :
Couch'd on the earth the doubtful favage lies,
And waits a while, till all his fury rise :
His lashing tail provokes his swelling sides,
And high upon his neck, his mane with horror rides :
Then, if at length the flying dart infeft,
Or the broad fpear invade his ample breast,
Scorning the wound, he yawns a dreadful roar,
And Aies Hike lightning on the hostile Moor.

Rowe's Luran, B. 1. (6) Nips bis ront.] It is plain the poet speaks of the destruction of the tree by the frost ripping and killing the root, not the

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 !
I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, 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 our ruin,

and fears thun war or women have; And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifir, Never to hope again.

More pangs

Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell.

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my mileries ; but thou hast forc'd me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the womanLet'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 must more be heard ; say then I taught thee; Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And founded all the depths and shouls 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 which ruin'd me: (7) Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that fin felt the angels ; how can man then (The image of his maker) hope to win by't?

(8) Love

leaves and blossoms: so that Mr. Warburton's criticism is unne. cessary. See Love's Labour Loft.

(7) Cromwell

, &c.]. In the second part of Henry VI. A. I. 9. 4. che duke of Gifier says to his wife,

Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.

(8) Love thyself laft : cherish those hearts, that hate

thee : Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tonues. (9) Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'it at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'it, o Crom

weil, Thou fall'it a blessed martyr. Serve the king;


(8) Love, &c.] The whole meaning of this advice seems to Be this : “ Pay less regard to your own interest than to that of your friends; love them first, yourself laft, nay, even after your enemies ; for it is necessary for you to cherish those that hate you, to heap favours on them, and thereby make 'em your friends; for even corruption and bribery itself wins not more than honesty and open-dealing." There seems a peculiar excel. lence in this advice of Wolley, whose pride had occasioned him to despise his enemies, and contemn all their feeble efforts, as he judg’d, to harm him: and instead of loving himself last, he had placed there his first and fole affection. So that Mr. W'a-burton's criticism falls to the ground, whọ, obferving, “ that this, tho' an aamirable precept for our conduct in private life, was never design’d for the magistrate or public minister,, gives his opinion the poet wrote;

Cherith those hearts that wait thee.

Sir T. Hanmer flattens the line by reading it,

Cherish ev'n the hearts that hate thee. This passage appears with double propriety, when we consider it comes from the mouth of a divine, who may be supposed to have had this verse of St. Matthew in view. Love your enemies, bless them that curfe. you, do good to them that hate you. Chap. v. ver. 44

(9) Be juft, &c.] The power and blessing of a good heart, and conscience, are mentioned in the 40th page foregoing. Miltong in bis Comus, fpeaks thus excellently of a virtuous man.

He that has light within his own clear breast,
May fit i'th' center and enjoy bright day :
But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,,
Benighted walks under the mid-day fun ;,
Himself is his own dungeon.

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 heav'n, is all
I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell! Cromwell!
Had I but serv'd ny 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 tempeft,
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 loft. Such joy
I never saw before. Great belly'd women,
That had not half a week to go, like rams
In the old time of war, would shake the press,
And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living
Could say, this is my wife there, all were woven
So strangely in one piece.

SCENE II. Cardinal Wolsey's Death

At last with easy roads he came to Leicester; Lodg’d in the abbey; where the rev'rend abbot, With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him; To whom he gave these words,

6. O father abbot, “ An old man, broken with the storms of state, 46 Is come to lay his weary bones among you,, « Give him a little earth for charity!" So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness Pursu'd him still, and three nights after this, About the hour of eight, (which he himself.


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