Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed. Why how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What! amazed At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder I'm fallen indeed. Crom. How does your Grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A peace above all earthly dignities A still and quiet conscience. The King has cured me, A load would sink a navy-too much honour. Oh, '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, T'endure more miseries, and greater far, Crom. The heaviest and the worst Is 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 For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones, Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome; Crom. Last, that the Lady Ann, Whom the King hath in secrecy long married, This day was viewed in open as his Queen, 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 lost for ever. No sun shall ever usher forth my honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited To be thy lord and master. Seek the King. I know his noble nature, not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Crom. O my lord, Must I then leave you? must I needs forego Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee; 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 heav'n, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! Had I but served my God with half the zeal Crom. Good sir, have patience Wol. So I have. The hopes of court. Farewell My hopes in heav'n do dwell. PROTEUS AND VALENTINE. SHAKSPEARE. [See page 312.] Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu! Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel. Wish me partaker in thy happiness, When thou dost meet good hap; and, in thy danger, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, Val. And on a love-book pray for my success. Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, Pro. Val. What? To be In love, when scorn is bought with groans; coy looks With heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights. If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain If lost, why then a grievous labour won; Pro. So by your circumstance, you call me fool. Methinks should not be chronicled for wise. Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in all the finest wits of all. Val. And writers say, As the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker, ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Once more adieu: my father at the road SCENE FROM "EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR." BEN JONSON. " [Born 1574, Ben Jonson appeared as a dramatist in his twentieth year. His father was a clergyman, but died before his birth; and his mother marrying, a second time, a bricklayer, Ben was taken from Westminster school at an early age, and put to the same employment. Disliking this occupation, he enlisted as a soldier, and served in the Low Countries, and is reported to have "killed his man in single combat, in view of both armies. On his return to England. he entered St. John's College, Cambridge; his stay there must have been limited, for when about twenty, he married the daughter of a London actor, making his debût at a low theatre near Clerkenwell; at the same time he commenced writing for the stage. About this time he quarrelled with a brother actor; they fought a duel with swords, and again Jonson killed his antagonist. He was committed to prison on a charge of murder, but discharged without a trial. In 1596 he produced his still celebrated comedy, "Every Man in his Humour;" this was followed by "Every Man out of his Humour." In 1603 "Sejanus," a classic drama; and, subsequently, three comedies,—viz., "Volpone," "The Alchemist," and "Epicene; or, the Silent Woman." second classical tragedy, "Catiline," appeared in 1611. In 1619 he was appointed Poet Laureate, and by virtue of his office he had to supply the court masques, in which he displayed much fancy, feeling, and sentiment. Jonson was a member of the Mermaid Club, founded by Sir Wa er Raleigh, of which Shakspeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, and other poets were also members. An attack of palsy embittered Jonson's later days, and he was compelled to write when his pen had lost its vigour. Jonson died in difficulties, 1637. He was buried in Westminster Abbey-the only inscription on his grave-stone being, for long afterwards, "O RARE BEN JONSON!] CHARACTERS: CAPTAIN BOBADIL, a Braggadocio. MASTER MATTHEW, a Simpleton. SCENE-The mean and obscure lodging of BOBADIL. BOBADIL discovered. Enter to him MASTER MATTHEW. Mat. Save you, sir; save you, captain. His Bob. Gentle Master Matthew! Is it you, sir? Please you to sit down. Mat. Thank you, good captain, you may see I am somewhat audacious. Bob. Not so, sir. I was requested to supper last night by a sort of gallants, where you were wish'd for, and drunk to, I assure you Mat. Vouchsafe me, by whom, good captain ? Bob. Marry, by young Wellbred and others. Why, hostess, a stool here for this gentleman. Mat. No haste, sir; 'tis very well. Bob. Body o' me!-it was so late ere we parted last night, 1 can scarce open my eyes yet; I was but new risen, as you came: how passes the day abroad, sir?-you can tell. Mat. Faith, some half hour to seven: now, trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat and private ! Bob. Ay, sir; sit down, I pray you. Mr. Matthew (in any case) possess no gentlemen of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. Mat. Who! I sir ?-no. Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is convenient, but in regard I would not be too popular, and generally visited as some are. Mat. True, captain, I conceive you. Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour in me (except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily engaged, as yourself, or so), I could not extend thus far. Mat. O Lord, sir, I resolve so. Bob. I confess I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, above all the tumult and roar of fortune. What new book ha' you there? What! Go by, Hieronymo ! Mat. Ay, did you ever see it acted? Is't not well penn❜d? Bob. Well penn'd! I would fain see all the poets of these times pen such another play as that was!-they'll prate and swagger and keep a stir of art and devices, when (as I am a gentleman), read 'em, they are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows, that live upon the face of the earth again. 66 66 Mat. Indeed; here are a number of fine speeches in this book. "O eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears!" There's a conceit !-fountains fraught with tears! "O life, no life, but lively form of death!" Another! "O world, no world, but mass of public wrongs!" A third! "Confused and fill'd with murder and misdeeds!" A fourth! O, the muses! Is't not excellent? Is't not simply the best that ever you heard, captain? Ha! how do like it ? Bob. "Tis good. Mat. "To thee, the purest object to my sense, The most refined essence heaven covers, Send I these lines, wherein I do commence If they prove rough, unpolish'd, harsh, and rude, [BOBADIL is making him ready all this while. Mat. This, sir? a toy o' mine own, in my nonage; the infancy of my muses! But when will you come and see my study? Good faith, I can show you some very good things I have done of late. That boot becomes your leg passing well, captain, methinks. Bob. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen now use. Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak o' the fashion, Master Wellbred's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly. This Y |