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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.
Oh, no!
He is but Occasion's pupil. Partly 'tis
That our minds piece the vacant intervals
Of his wild words with their own

As in the imagery of summer clouds,
Or coals of the winter fire, idlers find
The perfect shadows of their teeming

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,
In my boudoir, and-


Be seen the current of the coming wind.
Queen. Your brain is overwrought
with these deep thoughts.
Come, I will sing to you; let us go try
These airs from Italy; and, as we pass
The gallery, we'll decide where that

Shall hang-the Virgin Mother
With her child, born the King of heaven
and earth,


Whose reign is men's salvation.
you shall see

A cradled miniature of yourself asleep, Stamped on the heart by never-erring love;

Liker than any Vandyke ever made,
A pattern to the unborn age of thee,
Over whose sweet beauty I have wept
for joy

[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

others, as Judges. PRYNNE as a Will pass, and leave no wreck of what
Prisoner, and then BASTWICK.


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

Forbear, my lord! The tongue, which
now can speak


No terror, would interpret, being dumb,
Heaven's thunder to our harm; .
And hands, which now write only their
own shame,

Laud. Bring forth the prisoner Bast-
wick let the clerk

Recite his sentence.

"That he pay five

Pounds to the king, lose both his ears,
be branded

With red-hot iron on the cheek and
And be imprisoned within Lancaster

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"
among men would be,

Should not be put into effect, now speak.
Juxon. If you have aught to plead
in mitigation,

Did all the ministers of Heaven's revenge
Flinch thus from earthly retribution. I
Thus, my lords. If, Could suffer what I would inflict.
like the prelates, I
[Exit BASTWICK guarded.
Were an invader of the royal power,
Bring up
A public scorner of the word of God,
Profane, idolatrous, popish, superstitious,
Impious in heart and in tyrannic act,
Void of wit, honesty, and temperance;
If Satan were my lord, as theirs,—our God
Pattern of all I should avoid to do;
Were I an enemy of my God and King
And of good men, as ye are ;-I should

The Lord Bishop of Lincoln.—
(To Strafford).
Know you not
That, in distraining for ten thousand


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,
Which, when ye wake from the last But of the office which should make it
sleep, shall turn

To cowls and robes of everlasting fire.
But, as I am, I bid ye grudge me not
The only earthly favour ye can yield,


Were it as vile as it was ever spotless. Mark too, my lord, that this expression strikes

His Majesty, if I misinterpret not.
Enter BISHOP WILLIAMS guarded.
Strafford. 'Twere politic and just
that Williams taste

Sailing athwart St. Margaret's.
Hail, fleet herald
Of tempest! that rude pilot who shall

The bitter fruit of his connection with
The schismatics. But you, my Lord

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..
Beyond the curses, calumnies, and lies
Of atheist priests!
And thou
Fair star, whose beam lies on the wide

Who grew beneath his smile-

Would therefore beg
The office of his judge from this High

Athwart its zones of tempest and of calm,
Bright as the path to a beloved home,
Oh, light us to the isles of the evening

That it shall seem, even as it is, that I,
In my assumption of this sacred robe,
Have put aside all worldly preference,
All sense of all distinction of all persons, Like floating Edens cradled in the
All thoughts but of the service of the
Bishop of Lincoln !


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

WELL, his Daughter, and young SIR

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?
The vanes sit steady
Upon the Abbey towers. The silver

Receive, thou young
of Paradise,
These exiles from the old and sinful


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


keep green

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
Of cradling peace built on the mountain
To which the eagle spirits of the free,
Which range through heaven and earth,

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.

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"There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
No flower upon the ground,
And little motion in the air
Except the mill-wheel's sound."


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:

great stream

But I, whom thoughts which must re- Of people there was hurrying to and main untold fro,

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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
Bathed in the same cold dew my brow
and hair,

Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam,

Of a green Apennine: before me fled
The night; behind me rose the day;
the deep

Was at my feet, and Heaven above my
When a strange trance over my fancy

Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, Which was not slumber, for the shade Some flying from the thing they feared, it spread

and some

Seeking the object of another's fear;

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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


as there

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

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