From "Henry VIII"-Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell.

Wol. 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 be falls, as I do. I have ventured,
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 opened: oh, 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.

Enter CROMWELL, amazedly.

Why, how now, Cromwell?

What, amazed

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.

Wol.

At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder

A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
I am fallen indeed.

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 ruined pillars, out of pity, taken

A load would sink a navy, too much honour:
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.

Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.
Wol. I hope I have: I am 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, and the worst,

God bless him!

Is your displeasure with the king.

Wol.

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' favour, 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 orphans' tears wept on 'em!
What more?

Crom.

That Cranmer is returned with welcome,

Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news indeed.

Crom.

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,

This day was viewed in

Last, that the Lady Anne,

open, as his queen,

Going to chapel; and the voice is now

Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pulled me down. O Cromwell

The king has gone beyond me; all my glories

In that one woman I have lost for ever:

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,

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 have 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: good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
For thine one future safety.

Crom.

O my lord,

Must I 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 dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of—say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey-that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,-
Found thee a way, out of his wrack, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?
Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate 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 ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king;

And, prithee, lead me in:

There take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, He would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Othello's Account of his Courtship of Desdemona.
Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approved good masters,-
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending

Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field;

And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic

For such proceeding I am charged withal

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still questioned me the story of my life,
From year to year,-the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have passed.

I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances;

Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,

*

And portance in my travel's history:

Wherein of antres † vast, and deserts idle,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,

It was my hint to speak,-such was the process;—

And of the cannibals that each other eat,

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Do

grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline;

* Conduct, behaviour.

† Caves, from Lat, antrum.

But still the house affairs would draw her thence ;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof my parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffered. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:

She swore,-in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful :

She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished

That Heaven had made her such a man: she thanked me; And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
She loved me for the dangers I had passed;

And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used.

* Among the Greeks the great god of flocks and shepherds.