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book trampled in the dirt.-But for the rainbow. It moved as the sun moved, and... until the top of the Tower... of a cloud through its left-hand tip, and Lambeth Palace look as dark as a rock before the other. Methought I saw a crown figured upon one tip, and a mitre on the other. So, as I had heard treasures were found where the rainbow quenches its points upon the earth, I set off, and at the Tower- But I shall not tell your Majesty what I found close to the closet-window on which the rainbow had glimmered.
King. Speak: I will make my Fool my conscience.
Then conscience is a fool. I saw there a cat caught in a rat-trap. I heard the rats squeak behind the wainscots: it seemed to me that the very mice were consulting on the manner of her death.
My beloved lord, Have you not noted that the Fool of late Has lost his careless mirth, and that his words
Sound like the echoes of our saddest fears?
What can it mean? I should be loth to think
Some factious slave had tutored him.
As in the imagery of summer clouds,
And partly, that the terrors of the time Are sown by wandering Rumour in all spirits;
And in the lightest and the least, may best
Vane's wits perhaps.
Queen. Archy is shrewd and bitter. Archy. Like the season, so blow the winds.-But at the other end of the rainbow, where the gray rain was tempered along the grass and leaves by a tender interfusion of violet and gold in the meadows beyond Lambeth, what think you that I found instead of a mitre ? King. Archy. Something as vain. I saw a gross vapour hovering in a stinking ditch over the carcass of a dead ass, some rotten rags, and broken dishes-the wrecks of what once administered to the stuffing-out and the ornament of a worm of worms. His Grace of Canterbury expects to enter the New Jerusalem some Palm Sunday in triumph on the ghost of this ass.
Queen. Enough, enough! Go desire A thousand times, and now should weep Lady Jane for sorrow, She place my lute, together with the Did I not think that after we were dead music Our fortunes would spring high in him, and that
Mari received last week from Italy,
Be seen the current of the coming wind.
Shall hang-the Virgin Mother
Whose reign is men's salvation.
A cradled miniature of yourself asleep, Stamped on the heart by never-erring love;
Liker than any Vandyke ever made,
[Exit ARCHY. The cares we waste upon our heavy I'll go in.
Would make it light and glorious as a Or I think worth acceptance at your wreath hands,
Of Heaven's beams for his dear innocent Scorn, mutilation, and imprisonment. brow. Even as my Master did, King. Dear Henrietta! Until Heaven's kingdom shall descend on earth,
Or earth be like a shadow in the light Of heaven absorbed- -some few tumultuous years
SCENE III. -THE STAR CHAMBER.
His will whose will is power.
Laud. Officer, take the prisoner from the bar,
And be his tongue slit for his insolence. Bastwick. While this hand holds a pen-
Be his hands
No terror, would interpret, being dumb,
Laud. Bring forth the prisoner Bast-
Recite his sentence.
"That he pay five
With red-hot iron on the cheek and
During the pleasure of the Court."
If you have aught to say wherefore this With bleeding stumps might sign our blood away.
Laud. Much more such 66 mercy"
Should not be put into effect, now speak.
Did all the ministers of Heaven's revenge
The Lord Bishop of Lincoln.—
Upon his books and furniture at Lincoln, Were found these scandalous and seditious letters
Sent from one Osbaldistone, who is fled? I speak it not as touching this poor person;
Your fearful state and gilt prosperity,
To cowls and robes of everlasting fire.
Were it as vile as it was ever spotless. Mark too, my lord, that this expression strikes
His Majesty, if I misinterpret not.
Sailing athwart St. Margaret's.
The bitter fruit of his connection with
Hearts free as his, to realms as pure as
Beyond the shot of tyranny,
Who owed your first promotion to his Beyond the webs of that swoln spider..
Who grew beneath his smile-
Athwart its zones of tempest and of calm,
That it shall seem, even as it is, that I,
Of sunset, through the distant mist of years
Touched by departing hope, they gleam! lone regions,
Williams. Peace, proud hierarch! I know my sentence, and I own it just. Thou wilt repay me less than I deserve, In stretching to the utmost
SCENE IV. -HAMPDEN, PYM, CROM-
Hampden. England, farewell! thou who hast been my cradle, Shalt never be my dungeon or my grave! I held what I inherited in thee, As pawn for that inheritance of freedom Which thou hast sold for thy despoiler's smile:
Where power's poor dupes and victims yet have never
Propitiated the savage fear of kings With purest blood of noblest hearts; whose dew
Is yet unstained with tears of those who wake
To weep each day the wrongs on which it dawns;
Whose sacred silent air owns yet no echo
Of formal blasphemies; nor impious
Wrest man's free worship, from the God who loves,
How can I call thee England, or my To the poor worm who envies us his
Does the wind hold?
Receive, thou young
Of the evening star, spite of the city's smoke,
Tell that the north wind reigns in the upper air.
Mark too that flock of fleecy-winged Of pale blue atmosphere; whose tears
glorious clime, this firmament, whose lights
mitigated influence through their veil
The pavement of this moist all-feeding The frozen wind crept on above, earth; The freezing stream below.
This vaporous horizon, whose dim round Is bastioned by the circumfluous sea, Repelling invasion from the sacred
Presses upon me like a dungeon's grate, A low dark roof, a damp and narrow wall. The boundless universe
Becomes a cell too narrow for the soul That owns no master; while the loathliest ward
Of this wide prison, England, is a nest
and scorn the storm
Of time, and gaze upon the light of truth, Return to brood on thoughts that cannot
And cannot be repelled. Like eaglets floating in the heaven of time, They soar above their quarry, and shall stoop Through palaces and temples thunderproof.
"There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE
SWIFT as a spirit hastening to his
Of glory and of good, the Sun sprang
Rejoicing in his splendour, and the
Of darkness fell from the awakened
The smokeless altars of the mountain
Flamed above crimson clouds, and at the birth
Of light, the Ocean's orison arose, To which the birds tempered their matin lay.
All flowers in field or forest which unclose
Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day,
Swinging their censers in the element, With orient incense lit by the new ray
Burned slow and inconsumably, and
Their odorous sighs up to the smiling air; And, in succession due, did continent,
Isle, ocean, and all things that in them
The form and character of mortal mould, Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear
Their portion of the toil, which he of old
Took as his own, and then imposed on Thick strewn with summer dust, and a them:
But I, whom thoughts which must re- Of people there was hurrying to and main untold fro,
Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep
Was so transparent, that the scene came through
As clear as when a veil of light is drawn O'er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew
That I had felt the freshness of that
Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam,
Of a green Apennine: before me fled
Was at my feet, and Heaven above my
Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, Which was not slumber, for the shade Some flying from the thing they feared, it spread
Seeking the object of another's fear;
All hastening onward, yet none seemed to know
Whither he went, or whence he came, or why
He made one of the multitude, and so
Was borne amid the crowd, as through the sky
One of the million leaves of summer's
Old age and youth, manhood and infancy
Of their own shadow walked and called it death;
And sate as thus upon that slope of And some fled from it as it were a
And others as with steps towards the tomb,
Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath,
And others mournfully within the gloom
Under the self-same bough, and heard Half fainting in the affliction of vain
The birds, the fountains and the ocean hold
But more, with motions which each other crost,
Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air,
Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw, And then a vision on my brain was Or birds within the noonday ether lost,
Upon that path where flowers never grew,
And, weary with vain toil and faint for thirst,
Heard not the fountains, whose melodious dew