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Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounc'd
The bitter fentence of poor Clarence' death?
Before I be convict by course of law,
To threaten me with death is moft unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope to have redemption,
That you depart, and lay no hands on me :
The deed you undertake is damnable.
1 Vil. What we will do, we do upon command.
2 Vil. And he that hath commanded, is our King.
Clar. Erroneous vaffals! the great King of Kings
Hath in the Table of his Law commanded,
That Thou shalt do no murder. Will you then
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's?
Take heed for he holds vengeance in his hand,
To hurl upon their heads that break his law.
2 Vil. And that fame vengeance doth he hurl on thee
For falfe forfwearing, and for murder too :
Thou didst receive the facrament, to fight
In quarrel of the Houfe of Lancaster.
i Vil. And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didit break that vow; and with thy treach'rous blade Unrip'dit the bowels of thy Sovereign's fon.
2 Vil. Whom thou wert fworn to cherish and defend. 1 Vil. How canft thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou haft broke it in fuch high degree?
Clar. Alas! for whofe fake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his fake.
He fends you not to murder me for this,
For in that fin he is as deep as I.
If God will be avenged for the deed,
O, know you yet, he doth it publicly.
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
He needs no indirect, nor lawless course,
To cut off thofe that have offended him.
1 Vil. Who made thee then a bloody minifter, When gallant, fpringing, brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was ftruck dead by thee?
Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 1 Vil. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now, to flaughter thee.
Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me:
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you are hired for meed, go back again,
And I will fend you to my brother Glofter,
Who will reward you better for my life,
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.
2 Vil. You are deceiv'd, your brother Glo'fter hates you Clar. Oh, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear. Go you to him from me.
Both. Ay, fo we will.
Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York Blefs'd his three fons with his victorious arm, And charg'd us, from his foul, to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship. Bid Glo'fter think on this, and he will weep.
1 Vil. Ay, millftones; as he leffon'd us to weep. Clar. O do not flander him, for he is kind.
1 Vil. As fnow in harveft.-You deceive yourself; 'Tis he that fends us to deftroy you here.
Clar. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune, And hugg'd me in his arms, and fwore with fobs, That he would labour my delivery.
1 Vil. Why fo he doth, when he delivers you From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.
2 Vil. Make peace with God, for you must die, my Lord.
Clar. Have you that holy feeling in your foul,
To counfel me to make my peace with God;
And are you yet to your own fouls so blind,
That you will war with God, by murd'ring me?
O, Sirs, confider, they that fet you on
To do this deed will hate you for the deed.
2 Vil. What fhall we do?
Clar. Relent, and fave your fouls.
Which of you, if you were a prince's fon,
Being pent from liberty, as I am now,
If two fuch murderers as yourfelves came to you,
Would not intreat for life? Ah! you would beg,
Were you in my distress
1 Vil. Relent! "Tis cowardly and womanish.
Clar. Not to relent, is beaftly, favage, devilish.
My friend, I fpy some pity in thy looks:
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
Come thou on my fide, and intreat for me. A begging Prince what beggar pities not ? 2 Vil. Look behind you, my Lord.
1 Vil. Take that, and that; if all this will not do,
I'll drown you in the malmfy-butt within.
2 Vil. A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd.
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
Of this most grievous guilty murder !
Re-enter firft Villain.
1 Vil. How now? what mean'ft thou, that thou help'ft
By Heaven, the Duke shall know how flack you've been.
2 Vil. I would he knew, that I had fav'd his brother!
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I fay;
For I repent me that the Duke is flain.
1 Vil. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.
-Well, I'll go hide the body in fome hole,
Till that the Duke give order for his burial;
And, when I have my meed, I must away;
For this will out, and then I must not stay.
No. XV.-KING HENRY VIII.
ACT III. SCENE II. Wolfey alone,
So farewel to the little good you bear me.
Farewel, a long farewel to all my greatness!
This is the ftate of man: To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow bloffoms,
And bears his blushing honours 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 root;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys that fwim on bladders,
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 ftream, that mufl for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on Princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that fmile he would aspire to,
'That fweet afpect of Princes, and our ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have;
And, when he falls, he falls, like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Enter Cromwell, ftanding amazed.
Why, how now, Cromwell?
Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir.
Wol. What! amaz'd
At my misfortunes? Can thy fpirit wonder
A great man fhould decline? Nay, if you weep,
I am fallen indeed.
Crem. How does your Grace?
Wol. Why well;
Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myfelf now, and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities;
A till and quiet confcience. The King has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his Grace; and from thefe fhoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity taken
A load would fink 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 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 displeasure 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 Highness' favour, and do juftice
For truth's fake and his confcience; that his bones,
When he has run his course, and fleeps in bleflings,
May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on him!
Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Inftall'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news, indeed.
Crom. Lait, that the Lady Anne,
Whom the King hath in fecrecy 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 loft for ever.
No fun fhall ever usher forth my honours,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my fmiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I 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 ftir him,
I know his noble nature, not to let
Thy hopeful fervice perish too. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make ufe now, and provide
For thine own future safety.
Crom. O, my Lord,
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 fhall have my fervice; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear