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And take upon command! what help we have
That to your wanting may be minister'd.

Orla. Then but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'a in pure love; till he be first sufficed,-
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,—
I will not touch a bit.

Duke Sen. Go find him out,

And we will nothing waste till your return.

Orla. I thank ye: and be bless'd for your good comfort

[Exit

Duke Sen. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy:

.

This wide and universal theatre

Presents more woful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

Jaq. All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms:
And then, the whining school-boy with his satchel,
And shining morning-face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then the lover;
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice;

In fair round belly, with good capon lined,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,2
Full of wise saws and modern3 instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side:
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion:
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

As You Like It, Act II. Scene VII.

CLARENCE'S DREAM.

he Duke of Clarence, having been imprisoned in the Tower, for the pur of being murdered, by his brother Richard III., thus relates to Sir Rent Brakenbury, the lieutenant of the Tower, his dream of the preceding niy at

1 At your command.

1.n Shakspeare's time beards were of different cuts, according to different characters and profes mor. The soldier had one fashion, the judge another, &c. 8 Trite, common instances

Brakenbury Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Clarence. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,

So full of feaful dreams, of ugly sights,

That as I am a Christian faithful man,'
I would not spend another such a night,

Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me. Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower,

And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;

And, in my company, my brother Gloster:

Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befall'n us. As we paced along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes,
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wandering air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;

O, then began the tempest to my soul!

I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cried aloud, What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?
And so he vanish'd: Then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair

1 That is, not an infidel.

2 Invaluable.

Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,
Clarence is come—false, fleeting,' perjured Clarence—
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him, furies, take him tɔ your torments!
With that, methought a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done these things,-
That now give evidence against my soul,
For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:

O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!

Richard III., Act I. Scene IV.

FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY.

Cardinal Wolsey, after his fall from the favor of Henry VIII., thus solilo quizes, and afterwards confers with his servant Cromwell:

Wolsey. 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 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,-uips his root,
And then he 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, 1 hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspéct 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.

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A great man should decline? Nay, and you weep,

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A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken

A load would sink a navy, too much honor:

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,

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
Long in his highness' favor, 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!1
What more?

Crom.

That Cranmer is return'd 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,

This day was view'd in open, as his queen,

Going to chapel; and the voice is now

Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd 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 honors,

Or gild again the

Upon my smiles.

oble troops that waited

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,

1 The chancellor is the general guardian of orphans.

Neglect him not, make use now,
For thine owa future safety.

and provide

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 eyés; 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 honor,—
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;1
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, Pr'ythee, 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.2

Crom. Good sir, have patience.

Wol.

So I have. Farewell

The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.

Henry VIII., Act III. Scene .

QUEEN MAB, THE QUEEN OF THE FAIRIES.

O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes

1 Ambition here means a criminal and inordinate ambition, that endeavors to obtain honors by dia honest means. 2 This sentence was really uttered by Wolsey.

3 "The imagery which Shakspeare has employed in describing the persons, manners, and occupa tions of the Fairies, will be deemed not less his peculiar offspring, nor inferior in beauty, novelty, and wildness of painting, to that which the magic of his pencil has diffused over every other part of the visionary world."-Drake.

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