Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day. SHAKESPEARE. CHA P. X I X. Henry VI. Warwick, and Cardinal K. Henry. How fares my lord? Speak, Beau fort, to thy sovereign. Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's Enough to purchase such another island, K. Henry. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, thee. you will: Car. Bring me unto my trial when Dy'd he not in his bed? Where should he die? Can I make men live whether they will or no? Oh, torture me no more! I will confessAlive again? Then show me where he is : I'll give a thousand pound to look upon himHe hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them : Comb down his hair: look! look! it stands upright, Like lime twigs set to catch my winged soul. Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. K. Henry. O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! Oh, beat away the busy meddling fiend That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, And from his bosom purge this black despair. —Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heaven's bliss, Hold up thine hand, make signal of thy hope. He dies, and makes no sign! Ŏ God, forgive him. War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. K. Henry. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, And let us all to meditation. CHA P. X X. SHAKESPEARK. Wolsey and Cromwell. Wol. FAREWEL, a long farewel to all my great ness! This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth Why, how now, Cromwell? At Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir, my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep, I'm fall'n indeed. Crom. How does your grace? Wol. Wol. Why well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, I humbly thank his grace; and, from these shoulders', These ruin'd pillars, out of pity taken A load would sink a navy, too much honour. . Wol. I hope I have: I'm able now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, T' indure more miseries, and greater far, Crom. The heaviest and the worst, Is your displeasure with the King. Wol. God bless him. Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden But he's a learned man. May he continue Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 'Wol. That's news indeed. Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in secrecy long married, Only about her coronation. Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down: 0 Cromwell, P The King has gone beyond me: all my glories To be thy lord and master. Seek the king, Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety. Crom. O my lord, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, Corruption wins not more than honesty. and fear not. Still in thy right hand carry gentle Peace, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king- There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny, 'tis the king's. My robe, I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! Crom. Good Sir, have patience. Wol. So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! my hopes in Heaven do dwell. CHA P. X X I. Lear. SHAKESPEARE. BLow winds, and crack your cheeks;rage, blow! LOW You, cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires, der, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world! Crack Nature's mould, all germins spill at once That make ungrateful man! Rumble thy belly full, spit fire, spout rain Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters. I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdoms, call'd you children; You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your brave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man; But yet I call you servile ministers, |