« PreviousContinue »
Love. I think I hear the tailor's voice.
Lap. If it were but five pounds, Sir; but three pounds, Sir; nay, Sir, a single guinea would be of service for a day or two. [As he offers to go out on either side, she intercepts him.]
Love. I must go, I can't stayhark there! Somebody calls me I am very much obliged to you, indeed; I am very much obliged to you.
Lap. Go to the devil, like a covetous good for nothing villain as you are. Ramile is in the right; however, I shall not quit the affair; for though I get nothing out of him, I am sure of my reward from the other side.
VI.-Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell.-HENRY VIII. AREWELL, 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, nips his shootAnd then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, These 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 forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye! I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet regard of princes and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
Why, how now Cromwell?
Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir.
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
Crem. How does your grace?
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
A load would sink a navy, too much honor.
Oh, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden
Crom. I'm glad your Grace has made that right use of
Wol. I hope I have: I'm able, now, methinks,
Crom. The heaviest and the worst
Is your displeasure with the king.
Wol. God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore 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,
Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome;
Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne,
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down; O
The king has gone beyond me; all my glories
No sun shall ever usher forth my honors,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
To be thy lord and master; seek the king-
Crom. Oh, my
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
Wol. Cromwell-I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries-but thou hast forc'd me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman-Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must more be heard-say then, I taught thee: Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves 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 which ruin'd me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, (Though the image of his maker) hope to win by't? Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that wait thee: Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear not.
There take an inventory of all I have;
I dare now call my own. Oh! Cromwell, Cromwell! Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king-he would not in mine age
Crom. Good sir, have patience.
The hopes of courts! My hopes in heaven do dwell.
VII.—Sir Charles and Lady Racket.-THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
LA! I'm quite fatigued-I can hardly move- Why don't you help me, you
Lady R. O
Sir C. There-take my arm
Lady R. But I won't be laughed at--I don't love you.
Sir C. Don't you?
Lady R. No. Dear me! This glove! Why don't you help me off with my glove? Pshaw! You awkward thing; let it alone; you an't fit to be about me. Reach me a chair-you have no compassion for me-I am so glad to sit down-Why do you drag me to routs?—You know I hate 'em.
Sir C. Oh! There's no existing, no breathing, unless one does as other people of fashion do.
Lady R. But I'm out of humor-I lost all my money. Sir C. How much?
Lady R. Three hundred.
Sir C. Never fret for that—I don't value three hundred pounds to contribute to your happiness.
Lady R. Don't you? Not value three hundred pounds to please me?
Sir C. You know I don't.
Lady R. Ah! You fond fool!-But I hate gaming-It almost metamorphoses a woman into a fury.-Do you know that I was frighted at myself several times tonight? I had a huge eath at the very tip of my tongue.
Sir C. Had you?
Lady R. I caught myself at it-and so I bit my lips.
And then I was crammed up in a corner of the room, with such a strange party, at a whist table, looking at black and red spots-Did you mind 'em?
Sir C. You know I was busy elsewhere.
Lady R. There was that strange unaccountable woman, Mrs. Nightshade. She behaved so strangely to her husband!-a poor, inoffensive, good natured, good sort of a good for nothing kind of a man.-But she so teazed him "How could you play that card? Ah, you've a head, and so has a pin.-You're a numskull, you know you are-Ma'am he's the poorest head in the world;-he does not know what he is about; you know you don'tAh, fie! I'm asham'd of you!"
Sir C. She has serv'd to divert you, I see.
Lady R. And then to crown all- there was my lady Clackit, who runs on with an eternal volubility of nothing, out of all season, time and place.In the very midst of the game she begins-"Lard, Ma'am, I was apprehensive I should not be able to wait on your ladyshipmy poor little dog, Pompey-the sweetest thing in the world!-A spade led! There's the knave.-I was fetching a walk, Me'em, the other morning in the ParkA fine frosty morning it was. I love frosty weather of all things-let me look at the last trick-and so Me'em, while I was talking to Captain Flimsey-your ladyship knows Captain Flimsey.-Nothing but rubbish in my hand! I can't help it. And so, Me'em, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor little Pompey-the dear creature has the heart of a lion; but who can resist five at once?
And so Pompey barked for assistance—the hurt he received was upon his chest-the doctor would not advise him to venture out till the wound is healed, for fear of an inflammation. Pray what's trumps?"
Sir C. My dear, you would make an excellent actress: Lady R. Well, now, let's go to rest-but, Sir Charles, how shockingly you play'd that last rubber, when I stood looking over you!
Sir. C. My love, I play'd the truth of the game. Lady R. No, indeed, my dear, you play'd it wrong. Sir C. Po! Nonsense! You don't understand it. Lady R. I beg your pardon, I'm allow'd to play better than you.