Wol. That's news indeed! CROM. Laft, that the lady Anne, Whom the king hath in fecrecy long married, Going to chapel; and the voice is now WOL. There was the weight that pull'd me down: O The king has gone beyond me: all my glories In that one woman I have loft for ever. No fun fhall ever ufher forth my honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my fmiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ! To be thy lord and mafter. Seek the king, What, and how true thou art; he will advance thee: (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful fervice perifh too. Good Cromwell, CROM. O my lord, Muft I then leave you? Muft I needs forego WOL. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear Let Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, And fleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Still in thy right hand carry gentle Peace, To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not. Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'ft, O Cromwell! And pr'ythee lead me in There take an inventory of all I have, To the laft penny, 'tis the king's. My robe, I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! CROM. Good Sir, have patience, WoL. So I have. Farewel The hopes of court! my hopes in Heaven do dwell. CHAP. XXI. LEAR. BLOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow! You cataracts, and hurricanes, fpout Till you have drench'd our fteeples, drown'd the cocks! You fulph'rous and thought-executing fires, Singe my white head. And thou all-fhaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world! Crack Nature's mould. all germins fpill at once That make ungrateful man! Rumble thy belly full, fpit fire, fpout rain! But yet I call you That have with two pernicious daughters join'd That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, Unwhip'd of justice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand; Has practis'd on man's life-Clofe pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents, and ask I am a man, More finn'd againft, than finning. SHAKSPEARE CHAP. XXII. MACBETH's SOLILOQUY. Is this a dagger which I fee before me, The handle tow'rd my hand? come, let me clutch thee.— To feeling, as to fight? or art thou but Thou marshal'ft me the way that I was going; Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other fenfes, Thus to mine eyes. -Now o'er one half the world Nature-feems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 'The curtain's fleep; now Witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings: and wither'd Murther, (Alarm'd by his centinel, the wolf, Whofe howl's his watch) thus with his ftealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rds his defign $ 5 Hear Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear And take the present horror from the time, Which now fuits with it.Whilft I threat, he lives— That fummons thee to heaven or to hell! SHAKSPEARE, CHAP. XXIII. MACDUFF, MALCOLM, AND ROSSE. MACD. SEE who comes here! MAL. My countryman: but yet I know him not. MACD. My ever-gentle coufin, welcome hither. MAL. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove The means that makes us strangers! ROSSE. Sir, Amen. MACD. Stands Scotland where it did? ROSSE. Alas! poor country! Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing, Is there scarce ask'd, for whom : and good men's lives Dying or e'er they ficken. MACD. Oh, relation Too nice, and yet too true! |