Within their alabaster innocent arms : Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.

A book of prayers on their pillow lay; Which once," quoth Forrest, "almost changed my mind;

But, O, the devil"-there the villain stopp'd;

When Dighton thus told on,-"We smothered

The most replenished sweet work of Nature,

That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd."

Hence both are gone, with conscience and

Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee;

Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

CARDINAL WOLSEY'S DEATH. AT last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,

Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot,

With all his convent, honourably receiv'd

him;

To whom he gave these words,-"0 father abbot,

An old man, broken with the storms of

state,

Is come to lay his weary bones among

ye;

Give him a little earth for charity!" So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness

Pursued him still; and, three nights after About the hour of eight (which he himthis,

self

Foretold should be his last), full of repen tance,

Continual meditations, tears, and soi

rows,

He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in

peace.

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,-pr'ythee, lead me in ;

There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny, 't is the King's: my robe,

And my integrity to Heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal

AWAY!

Measure for Measure.

TAKE, O take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.

Hide, O hide those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears: But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.

high,

WHAT WIN I IF I GAIN? WHAT Win I if I gain the thing I seek?

silver breast

Who buys a minute's mirth, to wail a week?

Or sells eternity to get a toy?

For one sweet grape, who will the wine destroy?

[crown, Or what fond beggar, but to touch the Would with the sceptre strait be strucken down?

Rape of Lucrece.