Wolf. That's fomewhat fudden

But he's a learned Man. May he continue
Long in his Highnefs' Favour, and do Justice
For Truth's fake and his Confcience, that his Bones,
When he has run his Course, and fleeps in Bleffings,
May have a Tomb of Orphans Tears wept on him!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with Welcome;
Inftall'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
Wolf. That's News, indeed.

Crom. Laft, that the Lady Ann,

Whom the King hath 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.

Wolf. 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 for ever.
No Sun fhall ever ufher forth my Honours,
Or gild again the noble Troops, that waited
Upon my Smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fall'n Man, unworthy now

To be thy Mafter. Seek the King; 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 perifh too. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not, be mindful, and provide
For thine own future Safety,

Crom. O, my Lord,

Muft I then leave you? Muft I needs forgo
So good, fo noble, and fo true a Mafter?
Bear witnefs, all that have not Hearts of Iron,
With what a Sorrow Cromwell leaves his Lord.
The King fhall have my Service; but my Prayers
For ever, and for ever fhall be yours.

Welf. Cromwell, I did not think to fhed a Tear
In all my Miferies; but thou haft forc'd me,
Out of thy honeft Truth, to play the Woman
Let's dry our Eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
Mark by my Fall, and that which ruin'd me,
And when I am forgotten, as I fhall be,
And fleep in dull cold Marble, where no mention
Of me must more be heard: fay then, I taught thee;

Say,

Say, Wolfey, that once rode the Waves of Glory,
And founded all the Depths and Shoals of Honour,
Found thee a Way, out of this Wreck, to rife in;
A fure and fafe one, tho' thy Mafter miss'd it.
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 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 bleffed Martyr. Serve the King;

And, prithee, lead me in

There take an Inventory of all I have;

To the laft Penny, 'tis the King's.

And my Integrity to Heaven, is all

My Robe,

I now dare 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 mine Age
Have left me naked to mine Enemies.

Crom. Good Sir, have Patience.

Wolf. So I have. Farewel

The Hopes of Court, my Hopes are fix'd on Heaven.

LESSON IX.

The Quarrel of Brutus and Caffius in the Play of Julius Cæfar.

Caffius. T

HAT 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 (writ on his behalf,

Because I knew the Man) was difregarded.

Brutus. You wrong'd yourself to write in fuch a Cause.
Caf. In fuch a Time as this, it is not meet

That every nice Offence should bear its Comment.
Brut. Nay, let me tell you, Caffius, you yourself
Are much fufpected of an itching Palm;

And that you fell your Offices for Gold,
To Undefervers.

Caf. I an itching Palm?

;

You know that you are Brutus, that speak this
Or, by the Gods, this Speech were else your last.
Brut. The Name of Caffius honours this Corruption,
And Chaftisement doth therefore hide its Head.

Caf. Chaftilement !

Brut. Remember March, the Ides of March remember!
Did not great Julius bleed for Juftice fake?
What Villain touch'd his Body, that did ftab,
And not for Juftice? What, fhall one of us,
That ftruck the foremoft Man of all the World,
But for fupporting Robbers; fhall we now
Contaminate our Fingers with base Bribes?
And fell the mighty Meed of our large Honours
For fo much Trafh, as may be grafped thus ?---
I had rather be a Dog, and bay the Moon,
That fuch a Roman.

Caf. Brutus, bay not me ;

I'll not endure it; I am a Soldier. I,
Older in Practice; abler than yourself
To make Conditions.

Brut. Go to; you are not, Caffius,
Caf. I am.

Brut. I fay you are not.

Caf. Urge me no more, I fhall forget myfelf

Have mind upon your Health

Brut. Away, flight Man!

Caf. Is't poffible?

Brut. Hear me, for I will fpeak.

tempt me no farther.

Muft I give way and room to your rash Choler?

Shall I be frighted when a Madman ftares?

Caf. O Gods! muft I endure all this?

Brut. All this! ay, more. Fret till your proud Heart break

Go, fhew your Slaves how choleric you are,
And make your Bondmen tremble.

Muft I obferve you? Muft I ftand and crouch
Under your tefty Humour? By the Gods,
You fhall digeft the Venom of your Spleen,
Tho' it do fplit you: For from this Day forth,
I'll ufe you for my Mirth, yea, for my Laughter,
When you are wafpifh.

Caf. Is it come to this?

Brut. You fay, you are a better Soldier?

Let it appear fo; make your Vaunting true,

And

3

And it fhall please me well.

For mine own part, I fhall be glad to learn of noble Men.

Caf. You wrong me every way-you wrong me, Brutus ; I faid an elder Soldier; not a better.

Did I fay, better?

Brut. If you did, I care not.

Caf. When Cafar liv'd, he durft not thus have mov'd me. Brut. Peace, Peace, you durft not fo have tempted him. Caf. I durft not!

Brut. No.

Caf. What! durft not tempt him?

Brut. For your Life you durft not.

Caf. Do not prefume too much upon my Love;
I may do that I fhall be forry for.

Brut. You have done that, you should be forry for.
There is no Terror, Caffius, in your Threats;
For I am arm'd fo ftrong in Honefty,

That they pafs by me, as the idle Wind,
Which I refpect not. I did fend to you

For certain Sums of Gold, which you deny'd me;
For I can raise no Money by vile Means ;
By Heaven, I had rather coin my Heart,

And drop my Blood for Drachma's, than to wring
From the hard Hands of Peasants their vile Trafh,
By any Indirection. I did fend

To you for Gold to pay my Legions,

Which you deny'd me; was that done like Caffius?
Should I have anfwer'd Caius Caffius fo?

When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous

To lock fuch rafcal Counters from his Friends,
Be ready, Gods, with all your Thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces,

Caf. I deny'd you not.

Brut. You did.

Caf. I did not

he was but a Fool,

That brought my Answer back-Brutus hath riv'd my Heart. A Friend fhould bear a Friend's Infirmities,

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Brut. I do not. Still you practife them on me.

Caf. You love me not.

Brut. I do not like your Faults.

Caf. A friendly Eye could never fee fuch Faults.
Brut. A Flatt'rer's would not, tho' they do appear

As huge as high Olympus.

Caf

Caf. Come, Anthony, and young Octavius, come; Revenge yourselves alone on Caffius,

For Caffius is a-weary of the World;

;

Hated by one he loves; braved by his Brother;
Check'd like a Bondman; all his Faults obferv'd ;
Set in a Note-Book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,
To caft into my Teeth. OI could weep
My Spirit from mine Eyes!-There is my Dagger,
And here my naked Breaft-within, a Heart
Dearer than Plutus' Mine, richer than Gold;
If that thou need'ft a Roman's, take it forth.
I, that deny'd thee Gold, will give my Heart;
Strike as thou didst at Cæfar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worft, thou lov'dft him better
Than ever thou lov'dft Caffius.

Be

Brut. Sheath your Dagger;

angry when you will, it fhall have Scope ;
Do what you will, Difhonour fhall be Humour.
O Caffius, you are yoked with a Lamb,
That carries Anger, as the Flint bears Fire;
Who, much enforced, fhews a hafty Spark,
And ftraight is cold again.

Caf. Hath Caffius liv'd

To be but Mirth and Laughter to his Brutus,

When Grief, and Blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him?
Brut. When I fpoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Caf. Do you confefs fo much? Give me your Hand.
Brut. And my Heart too.

Caf. O Brutus !

Brut. What's the matter?

[Embracing.

Caf. Have you not Love enough to bear with me, When that raih Humour, which my Mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

Brut. Yes, Caffius, and from henceforth

When you are over-earneft with your Brutus,

He'll think, your Mother chides, and pafs it by.

LESSON