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 honour.

O'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!

CROM. I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it.

WOL. I hope I have: I'm able now, methinks,
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
T'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 More1 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 them!
What more?

CROM. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

WOL. That's news indeed!

1 Sir Thomas More-Succeeded Wolsey as Chancellor, but resigned his honours in 1432, and was executed as a traitor for refusing to acknowledge the invalidity of Henry's marriage with Catherine of Arragon.

2 Cranmer-Made Archbishop of Canterbury, 1533. He declared Henry's marriage with Catherine null; aided to bring about the Reformation, and suffered for this at the stake, 1556.

CROM. Last, that the Lady Anne,1
Whom the king had 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 my 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've 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 own 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—

1 Lady Anne-Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII. It was through the marriage of the king with her that Wolsey fell into disgrace.

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 must more be heard, say then 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 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-
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 my 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.

CROM. Good sir, have patience.

WOL. So I have; farewell

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

SHAKSPERE

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' eye-brow. Then the Soldier, Full of strange oaths,d bearded like the pard; Jealous in honour, 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 lin❜d,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern 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 sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in its sourd. 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.

SHAKSPERE.

JOSEPH ADDISON.

"A candid censor, and a friend sincere;

He taught us how to live: and, oh! too high
The price of knowledge, taught us how to die."

ELEGY ON ADDISON.

"The Graces having searched all the world for a temple wherein they might for ever dwell, settled at last in the breast of Addison." [Joseph Addison is celebrated for the quiet humour and tender grace of his writings, prose and poetical. He was born in 1672, and died in 1719. His early education was at the Charterhouse, London, and the University of Oxford. By means of a pension from the Government of the day he was enabled to complete his education by foreign travel, and on his return his talents procured him the office of Under Secretary of State. He afterwards became Member of Parliament, but the "bashfulness of his nature made his wit and eloquence useless in debate. He once rose; but could not overcome his diffidence, and ever after remained silent." Later than this he was made Secretary of State. Addison wrote papers for the celebrated Tatler" and Spectator," most of his contributions being signed with one of the letters of the word "Clio." The effect of these papers was such that "since his time the open violation of decency has always been considered among us as the mark of a fool." The finest poetical work of Addison is "Cato." Previous to his death, which took place in 1719, he sent for the Earl of Warwick, who had been leading a wicked life, and told him, "I have sent for you that you may see in what peace a Christian can die."