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Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him*?
QUEEN KATHARINE COMPARED TO A LILY.
Like the lily That once was mistress of the field, and flourish’d, I'll hang my head, and perish.
OUTWARD EFFECTS OF HORROR.
Some strange commotion Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts ; Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then, lays his finger on his temple; straight, Springs out into fast gaitt; then, stops again, Strikes his breast hard; and anon, he casts His eye against the moon: in most strange postures We have seen him set himself.
Though perils did Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty, As doth a rock against the chiding flood, Should the approach of this wild river break, And stand unshaken yours.
EXTERNAL EFFECTS OF ANGER. What sudden anger's this ? how have I reap'd it? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes : So looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman that has gall’d him; Then makes him nothing.
* Served him with superstitious attention.
So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell, 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 honours 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 root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur’d, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This 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 ye ; I feel my heart new open'd: 0, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Nay then, farewell! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting; I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.
CARDINAL WOLSEY'S SPEECH TO CROMWELL.
OBEDIENCE TO PRINCES.
The hearts of princes kiss obedience, So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits, They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.
Such a noise arose As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks, (Doublets, I think, flew up; and had their faces Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy I never saw before.
Great-bellied women, That had not half a week to go, like rams In the old time of war, would shake the press, And make them reel before them. No man living Could say, This is my wife; there all were woven So strangely in one piece.
CARDINAL WOLSEY'S DEATH. At last, with easy roads*, he came to Leicester, Lodg’d in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him; To whom he gave these words - father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity! So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness Pursu'd him still; and three nights after this, About the hour of eight, (which he himself Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance, Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
WOLSEY'S VICES AND VIRTUES,
This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashion’d tof much honour. From his cradle, He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one; Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : Lofty and sour, to them that lov'd him not; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer, And, though he were unsatisfied in getting, (Which was a sin), yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely: Ever witness for him Those twins, of learning that he rais'd in you, Ipswich, and Oxford! one ß of which fell with him, Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; The other, though unfinish’d, yet so famous, So excellent in art, and still so rising, That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ;
+ Of the king