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Love. I think I hear the tailor's voice.
Lap. If it were but five pounds, Sir; but three pounds, Sir; nay, Sir, a single guinea would be of service for a day or two. [As he offers to go out on either side, she intercepts him.]
Love. I must go, I can't stayhark there! Somebody calls me I am very much obliged to you, indeed; I am very much obliged to you.
Lap. Go to the devil, like a covetous good for nothing villain as you are. Ramile is in the right; however, I shall not quit the affair; for though I get nothing out of him, I am sure of my reward from the other side.
VI.-Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell.-HENRY VIII. NAREWELL, a long farewell to all my greatness 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 shootAnd then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on hladders, 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 ye! I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet regard of princes and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Why, how now Cromwell?
Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir.
Wol. What, amaz'd
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,
Crem. How does your grace?
Wel. Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
A still and quiet conscience The king has cur'd me,
A load would sink a navy, too much honor.
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!
Crom. I'm glad your Grace has made that right use of
Wol. I hope I have: I'm able, now, methinks,
T'endure 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 Moore 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 Cranmer is return'd with welcome;
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 his queen,
Only about her coronation.
Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down; ✪
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,
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
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.
Neglect him not; make use now and provide
Crom. Oh, my lord!
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
Wol. Cromwell-I did not think to shed a tear
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
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,
There take an inventory of all I have;
I dare now call my own. Oh! Cromwell, Cromwell!
I serv'd my king-he would not in mine age
Wel. So I have. Farewell
The hopes of courts! My hopes in heaven do dwell.
VII.-Sir Charles and Lady Racket.-THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Lady R. O
LA! I'm quite fatigued-I can hardly move- -Why don't you help me, you
Sir C. There-take my arm-
Lady R. But I won't be laughed at--I don't love your
Sir C. Don't you?
Lady R. No. Dear me! This glove! Why don't you help me off with my glove? Pshaw! You awkward thing; let it alone; you an't fit to be about me. Reach me a chair-you have no compassion for me-I am so glad to sit down-Why do you drag me to routs ?-You know I hate 'em.
Sir C. Oh! There's no existing, no breathing, unless one does as other people of fashion do.
Lady R. But I'm out of humor-I lost all my money. Sir C. How much?
Lady R. Three hundred.
Sir C. Never fret for that-I don't value three hundred pounds to contribute to your happiness.
Lady R. Don't you? Not value three hundred pounds to please me?
Sir C. You know I don't.
Lady R. Ah! You fond fool!-But I hate gaming-It almost metamorphoses a woman into a fury.-Do you know that I was frighted at myself several times tonight? I had a huge eath at the very tip of my tongue. Sir C. Had you?
Lady R. I caught myself at it-and so I bit my lips.
And then I was crammed up in a corner of the room, with such a strange party, at a whist table, looking at black and red spots-Did you mind 'em?
Sir C. You know I was busy elsewhere.
Lady R. There was that strange unaccountable woman, Mrs. Nightshade. She behaved so strangely to her husband!-a poor, inoffensive, good natured, good sort of a good for nothing kind of a man. But she so teazed him "How could you play that card? Ah, you've a head, and so has a pin.-You're a numskull, you know you are-Ma'am he's the poorest head in the world;-he does not know what he is about; you know you don't→ Ah, fie! I'm asham'd of you!"
-there was my
Sir C. She has serv'd to divert you, I see. Lady R. And then to crown alllady Clackit, who runs on with an eternal volubility of nothing, out of all season, time and place. In the very midst of the game she begins-"Lard, Ma'am, I was apprehensive I should not be able to wait on your ladyshipmy poor little dog, Pompey-the sweetest thing in the world!-A spade led! There's the knave.-I was fetching a walk, Me'em, the other morning in the ParkA fine frosty morning it was. I love frosty weather of all things-let me look at the last trick- -and so Me'em, while I was talking to Captain Flimsey-your ladyship knows Captain Flimsey. Nothing but rubbish in my hand! I can't help it. And so, Me'em, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor little Pompey-the dear creature has the heart of a lion; but who can resist five at once?
And so Pompey barked for assistance—the hurt he received was upon his chest-the doctor would not advise him to venture out till the wound is healed, for fear of an inflammation. Pray what's trumps?"
Sir C. My dear, you would make an excellent actress. Lady R. Well, now, let's go to rest-but, Sir Charles, how shockingly you play'd that last rubber, when I stood looking over you!
Sir. C. My love, I play'd the truth of the