When I am dead, good wench,

Let me be used with honour: strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me,
Then lay me forth; although unqueen'd, yet like
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.

Henry VIII., act iv. scene 2.

The epilogue to this drama, whether written by Shakespeare, or, as many contend, by Ben Jonson, defines well the meaning of the play, when it says that the poet relies for its success upon "the merciful construction of good women." For this piece and its female characters should indeed inspire women with profound gratitude towards a poet who represents a queen and heroine who is above all things an excellent woman, displaying in the midst of frightful trials all the best womanly qualities, thus proving that a noble, pure feminine heart is the home of the noblest virtue, the highest truth and purity. Seldom has more flattering homage been paid to the sex than by Shakespeare in his presentation of Catherine of Arragon.

CONCLUSION

WE have ended. They have all passed before our vision, these female figures a mighty genius created, inspiring them with warm fresh life, and filling them with the breath of his spirit. We seem to have lived and suffered in their company. They have passed before us, powerful and terrible criminals, and noble women diffusing happiness, joy, and blessing, the strong and the weak, the happy and the wretched. We have looked into their eyes, we have heard their voices. They have spoken of all the bliss and woe of earth, of all the riddles of man's breast, of virtue and vice, of love and hate, of heaven and hell.. We have felt all springs that move the soul of mankind. The poet's magic wand has laid open the depths of woman's nature, wherein, beside lovely and exquisite emotions, terrible passions play their dangerous and fatal part. with thankfulness and wonder. back to him continually, with always thirst to drink at the fresh and inexhaustible fountain of his poetry; we lose ourselves in the beauty and eternal youth of his creations. We listen unwearied to his mighty harp, for

We take leave of the poet But not for ever. We turn constant new delight. We

He sings of love and springtime, of the world's golden youth,
Of freedom and of righteousness, of holiness and truth;
He sings of all that's sweetest the heart of man that sways,
He sings of all that's highest the heart of man to raise.

INDEX