The glowing dames of Zama's royal court
Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms:
The sun that roiis his chariot o'er their heads,
Works up more fire and color in their cheeks;
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget
The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north.

Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, nor complexion,
The tincture of the skin, that I admire.
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eyes, and palls upon his sense.
The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex :
True, she is fair, (O how divinely fair!)
But still the lovely maid improves her charms
With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom,
And sanctity of manners. Cato's soul.
Shines out in every thing she acts or speaks.
While winning mildness and attractive smiles
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace,
Soften the rigor of her father's virtues.

Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!

Wol.

a

This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow, blossoms, And bears his blushing honors 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 shoot; 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 forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate you; I feel my heart now opened. Oh how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have, And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to rise again.
Why, how now, Cromwell?
Crom. I have not power to speak, Sir.
Wol. What, amazed

At 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. Why, well;

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.

I know myself now, and I feel, within me,
A peace above all earthly dignities;

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured 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 honor;
O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!

Enter Cromstell

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 soul I feel,

To endure more miseries and greater far,

Than my weak hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

Crom. The heaviest ar.d 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
Long in his highness' favor, and do justice

For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones,
When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,
May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on him!
What more?

Crom. That Crammer is returned 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,
This day was view'd in open as the Queen,
Going to Chapel; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down; O

Cromwell.

1

The king has gone beyond me; all my glories,
In that one woman, I have lost forever.
No sun shall ever usher forth my honors,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my
smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master. Seek the king,
(That sun I pray may never set) I've told him
What, and how true thou art; he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him,
(I know his noble nature) not to let

Thy hopeful service perish too. Go, Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
For thy own future safety.

Crom. O my Lord,

Must then leave you? Must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord;
The king shall have my service: But, my prayers,
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.

Wol. 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 duil cold marble, where mention
Of me must no more be heard, say then, I taught thee:
Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, tho thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall and that which ruin'd me;
Cromwell, I charge thee fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels: how can man then
(Tho the image of his Maker) hope to win by it?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that wait 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 enus thou aimʼst at, be thy country's,

Thy God's and truth's: then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,

T

1.

Thou fall'st a blessed Martyr. Serve the king-
And prithee lead me in-

My robe,

There take an inventory of all I have;
To the last penny, 'tis the king's.
And my integrity to heav'n is all
I dare to call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal,
I serv'd my king, he would not in my age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Crom. Good Sir, have patience.

Wol. So I have.

Farewel

The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.

Cas

THA

The Quarrel of BRUTUS and CASSIUS.
HAT you have wrong'd me doth appear in this,
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella,
For taking bribes here of the Sardinians;
Wherein my letter (praying on his side,
Because I knew the man) was slighted of.

Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet
That every nice offense should bear its comment.
Bru. But let me tell you Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm!

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or be assured that speech were else your last.

Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore nide its head.

Cas. Chastisement!

Bru. Remember March; the ides of March remember; Did not great Julius bleed for justice's sake? What villain touch'd his body that did stab, And not for justice? What, shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers; shall we now Contaminate our fingers with these bribes? And sell the mighty meed of our large honors For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I would rather be a dog and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.

Cas, Brutus, bay not me,

I'll not endure it; you forget yourself,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.

Bru. I say you are not.
Cas. Urge me no more. I shall forget myself
Have mind upon your health-tempt me no farther.
Bru. Away, slight man!
Cas. Is it possible?

Bru. Hear me for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

Cas. Must I endure all this?

I

Bru. All this? ay more. Fret till your proud heart breaks. Go tell your servants how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor? Be assured, You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Tho it do split you! for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, yea for my laughter, When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say you are a better soldier;
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well. For my own part,

I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way-you wrong me, Brutus. I said, an older soldier, not a better; Did I say a better?

Bru. If you did, I care not.

Cas. When Cæsar liv'd he durst not thus have mov'd mę. Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not?

Bru. No.

Cas. What durst not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love; do what I shall be sorry for.

may

Bru. You have done what you shall be sorry for, There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ;