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The glowing dames of Zama's royal court
Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, nor complexion,
Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise!
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.
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
Crom. How does your grace?
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel, within me,
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me;
A load would sink a navy, too much honor;
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.
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
For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones,
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,
Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down; O
The king has gone beyond me; all my glories,
Thy hopeful service perish too. Go, Cromwell,
Crom. O my Lord,
Must then leave you? Must I needs forego
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not,
Thy God's and truth's: then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed Martyr. Serve the king-
There take an inventory of all I have;
Crom. Good Sir, have patience.
Wol. So I have.
The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.
The Quarrel of BRUTUS and CASSIUS.
Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
Cas. I an itching palm!
You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
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,
Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius.
Bru. I say you are not.
Bru. Hear me for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Cas. Must I endure all this?
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;
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?
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.
Bru. You have done what you shall be sorry for, There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ;