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Cardinal Wolsey's Lamentation of his Fall.

SHAKESPEAR. TAREWELL, a long Farewell to all my Greati

ness! This is the State of Man ; to-day he puts forth The tender Leaves of Hope ; 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 eafy Man, full surely His Greatness is a ripening, nips his Root ; And then falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, 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 for ever hide me. Vain Pomp and Glory of this World, I hate you; I feel my Heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched Is that poor Man, that hangs on Princes Favours ! There is, betwixt that Smile which we aspire to, That fweet Regard of Princes, and our Ruin, More Pangs and Fears than War and Women know; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. 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 WomanLet's dry our Eyes: And thus far hear me, Cromwell; Mark but my Fall, and that which ruin'd me, And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And seep in dull cold Marble, where no Mention

Of

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Preservation by Land and by Sea . .' A Divine O DE.

SPECTATOR. HI TOW are thy Servants blefi, O Lord!.

11 How sure is their Defence! . .
Eternal Wisdom is their Guide, .

Their Help. Omnipotence.

2. In

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2. In foreign Realms, and Lands remote,

Supported by Thy Care,
Through burning Climes I pass’d unhurt,

And breath'd in tainted Air.

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7. For tho' in dreadful Whirls we hung

High on the broken Wave,
I knew Thou wert not flow to Hear,

Nor Impotent to Save.

8. The Storm was laid, the Winds retir'd,

Obedient to thy Will;
The Sea, that roar’dat thy Command,

At thy Command was still.

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RECOVERY from SICKNESS.
A Divine ODE.

SPECTATOR,

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4. But Thou hast told the troubled Mind,

Who does her Sins lament,
The timely Tribute of her Tears -

Shall endless Woe prevent.

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6. For never shall my Soul despair

Her Pardon to procure,
Who knows thine only Son has dy'd

To make her Pardon fure.

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On Mrs. Mason. "In Bristol Cathedral.

By the Rev. Mr. W. Mason.

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