Syph. Rather fay your love.
Jub. Syphax, I've promis'd to preferve my temper Why wilt thou urge me to confefs a flame
I long have ftifled and would fain conceal?
Syph. Believe me, prince, tho hard to conquer love, 'Tis eafy to divert and break its force. Abfence might cure it, or a fecond mistress Light up another flame and put out this. The glowing dames of Zama's royal court Have faces flufh'd with more exalted charms; The fun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads, Works up more fire and color in their cheeks; Were you with thefe, my prince you'd foon forget The pale unripen'd beauties of the north.
Jub. 'Tis not a fet of features, nor complexion, The tincture of the fkin, that I admire. Beauty foon grows familiar to the lover, Fades in his eyes, and palls upon the fenfe. The virtuous Marcia towers above her fex: True, fhe is fair (Oh how divinely fair!) But ftill the lovely maid improves her charms, With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom, And fanctity of manners. Cato's foul Shines out in every thing the acts or speaks. While winning mildness and attractive smiles Dwell in her looks, and, with becoming grace,
Soften the rigor of her father's virtues.
Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praife!
Wol. FAREWEL, a long farewel, to all my greatness !
This is the state of man: To day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow bloffoms And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; The third day comes a froft, a killing froft, And when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely, His greatnefs is a ripening, nips his fhoot; And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, Thefe many fummers in a fea 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 fervice, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate you! I feel my heart now open'd. Oh ! how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! There is, betwixt that fmile he would aspire to, That fweet afpect of princes and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have ; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to rife again.
Why, how now Cromwell?
Crom. I have not power to speak, Sir. Wol. What amazed
misfortunes? Can thy fpirit wonder
A great man fhould decline? Nay, if you weep, I'm fallen indeed.
Crem. How does your grace?
Wol. Why, well;
Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now and I feel, within me,
A peace, above all earthly dignities;
A ftill and quiet confcience. The king has cured me ; I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, Thefe ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would fink a navy, too much honor; O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen,
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 foul I feel,
To endure more miferies and greater far,
Than my weak hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?
Crom. The heavieft and the worst,
Is your difpleasure with the king.
Wol. God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chofen Lord Chancellor, in your place.
Wol. That's fomewhat fudden
But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highnefs' favor, and do justice,
For truth's fake and his confcience; that his bones, When he has run his courfe and fleeps in bleffings, May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on him! What more?
Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 'Wol. That's news indeed!
Crom. Laft that the Lady Anne,
Whom the king hath in fecrecy long married, This day was view'd in open as the 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 loft forever.
No fun fhall ever ufher forth my honors, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my
fmiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; 1 am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master. Seek the king,
(That fun I pray may never fet) I've told him
What, and how true thou art; he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will fir him,
(I know his noble nature) not to let
Thy hopeful fervice perish too. Go Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thy own future fafety.
Muft I then leave you? Muft I needs forego So good, fo noble, and fo true a master? Bear witnefs all that have not hearts of iron, With what a forrow Cromwell leaves his lord; The King hall have my fervice: But, my prayers, For ever, and for ever, fhall be yours.
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to fhed a tear In all my miferies; but thou haft forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, And when I am forgotten, as I fhall be,
And fleep in dull cold marble, where mention Of me muft no more be heard, fay then, I taught thee; Say, Wolfey that once rode the waves of glory, And founded all the depths and fhoals of honor, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rife in ; A fure and fafe one, tho thy master miss'd it. Mark but my fall and that which ruin'd me : Cromwell, I charge thee fling away ambition; By that fin fell the angels; how can man then (Tho the image of his maker) hope to win by it? Love thyfelf laft; cherish those hearts that wait thee! Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not, Let all the ends thou aim'ft at, be thy country's,
Thy God's and truth's; then, if thou fall'ft, O Cromwell, Thou fall'ft 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.
And my integrity to heav'n is all
I dare to call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but ferv'd my God with half the zeal, I ferv'd my king, he would not in my age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Crom. Good Sir, have patience.
Wol. So I have. Farewel
The hopes of court! My hopes in Heaven do dwell.
The quarrel of BRUTUS and CASSIUS. THAT you have wrong'd me doth appear in this,
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians Wherein my letter (praying on his fide, Because I knew the man) was flighted of.
Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in fuch a cafe. Caf. In fuch a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offense should bear its comment. Bru. Yet let me tell you, Caffius, you yourself Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm To fell and mart your offices for gold,
You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or be affured that fpeech were elfe your last.
Bru. The name of Caffius honors this corruption, And chaftifement doth therefore hide its head.
Bru. Remember March; the ides of March remember; Did not great Julius bleed for juftice' fake? What villain touch'd his body that did stab, And not for justice? What, fhall one of us, That ftruck the foremost man of all this world, But for fupporting robbers; fhall we now Contaminate our fingers with thefe bribes ? And fell the mighty meed of our large honors For fo much trafh as may be grafped thus? I would rather be a dog and bay the moon, Than fuch a Roman.
Caf. Brutus, bay not me,
I'll not endure it; you forget yourself, To hedge me in; I am a foldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions.
Bru. Go to; you are not, Caffius. Caf. I am.
Bru. I fay you are not.
Caf. Urge me no more. I fhall forget myselfHave mind upon your health-tempt me no farther.
Bru. Away, flight man!
Caf. Is it poffible?
Bru. Hear me for I will fpeak.
Muft I give way and room to your raffi cholar?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?
Caf. Muft I endure all this?
Bru. All this? ay more. Fret till your proud heart breaks.
Go tell your fervants how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Muft I budge?
Must I obferve you? Muft I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor? Be affured,
You fhall digeft the venom of your fpleen, Tho it do fplit you! for, from this day forth,
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