Puslapio vaizdai

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,)

To endure more miseries, and greater far,

Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?


Crom. The heaviest and the worst

your displeasure with the king.

Wol. God bless him!

Crom. The next is that Sir Thomas More 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 'em!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome:
Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol. That's news indeed!

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne,

Whom the King hath in secresy 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

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 have 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 forc'd 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 shall be;

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me must more be heard of, say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wrack, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined 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 serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Crom. Good sir, have patience.

Wol. So I have.


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

Battle of Crecy.


THE king of England at length collected a greater army than on former expeditions, which was disembarked near Cape la Hogue, about the end of July, 1346. They speedily reduced Caen and Lower Normandy, on the south of the Seine. Edward marched along the left bank of the river towards Paris, burnt St. Germains and St. Cloud, and insulted by a few of his light troops the suburbs of the capital. Philip, who had fixed his head-quarters at St. Denis, broke down all the bridges to prevent Edward from joining

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the 60,000 Flemings who had crossed the northern frontiers. Meantime the English army so deceived the French by a feint march towards Paris, that Philip sent the larger part of his troops to the relief of his capital; so that Edward's bowmen cleared the remains of the bridge of Poissy, which was capable of being so far repaired that the English, rapidly wheeling round, were able to pass it before Philip discovered the stratagem. The king of France appears then to have resolved on defending the line of the Somme, on which his opponents had vainly attempted to force the bridges of St. Remi, Long, and Pecquigny.

Philip, who had encamped at Amiens with 100,000 men, took advantage of the checks received by the English to take possession of Airaines, which they had evacuated two hours before; having pursued their way to Oisemont, where they found themselves cooped up between the sea, the Somme, and the French army, far more numerous than their own. At midnight, on the 24th of August, 1346, they found means, with great difficulty and danger, to cross the ford of Blanchetaque, which was passable at low water. An action was fought in the centre of the river between Edward's vanguard and the troops who, under Godamar du Fay, were appointed to defend the pass. The latter was defeated, and routed with a loss of 2000 men; only a few French stragglers remained on the left bank to join Philip; and Edward took possession of Crotoi, a village on the sea-coast to the right.

Philip waited a day at Abbeville for reinforcements. This day was employed by Edward in refreshing his troops and surveying the ground. He was now master of his own place and time for the fight, and he chose his position at Crecy, a small town on the road to Hesdin. The Battle of Crecy, still memorable after the lapse of ages, was fought on Saturday the 26th of August, 1346. Edward posted his main body on the ascent of the rising ground, under his heroic son, then a stripling of fifteen years of age: a separate body covered the prince's left: the king was at the head of the reserve, which occupied the bridge. He superintended in person the refreshment and repose. Philip arrived on the ground before noon, after a long march from Abbeville, and in spite of the counsel of his wary veterans attacked the enemy with an army wearied and confused by their disorderly advance. The Genoese archers, fatigued by their heavy cross-bows, in a sultry and tempestuous march, rushed forward with loud cries to attack the Engfish bowmen, who were the strength of Edward's army. These last stood still; even on the second charge they stirred not one foot." When they got within shot of their foes, they let fly their arrows so thickly that they came like snow. The Genoese fled, and some of the heavy-armed troops were involved in their confusion. John of Luxemburgh, king of Bohemia, who commanded Philip's main body, though nearly blind, commanded his followers to bring him into the hottest part of the battle, and used his sword so valiantly that messengers were sent to solicit aid from the king to his son. "Is my son dead ?" said Edward.—" No, sir,” replied


the knight; "but he is hardly matched."-" Return to those who sent you," said the king," and say that they send no more to me while my son is alive. Let them suffer him to win his spurs; for if God be pleased, I will this journey (day) be his.”

John of Luxemburgh, who disdained quarter, was slain by the young hero, who thence assumed the motto of Ich dien—I serve. The rout, as often happened in that age, became universal. The vast disproportion of loss showed a panic which dissolves an army, and marked the unsparing vengeance of the pursuit. Three knights only are said to have fallen among the English army. On the French sides the kings of Majorca and Bohemia, the Duke of Lorraine, the count d'Alençon, brother to Philip, with 1200 knights, 1500 gentlemen, 4000 men at arms, and 30,000 infantry, are said to have perished in this tremendous defeat.

Macbeth's Soliloquy.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,


The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable

As this which now I draw.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,
And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still;
And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood,
Which was not so before.-There's no such thing.
It is the bloody business which informs

Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er one half the world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murther,
(Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sound and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
The very stones prate of my where-about,
And take the present hour from the time,

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