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O Griffith, sick to death: My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, Willing to leave their burden: Reach a chair; So,-now, methinks, I feel a little ease. Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, That the great child of Honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead?

Grif. Yes, Madam; but, I think, your grace, Out of the pain you suffered, gave no ear to it.

Kath. Pr’ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died:
If well, he stepped before me, happily,
For my example.
Well, the voice goes,

For after the stout Earl Northumberland
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
(As a man sorely tainted) to his answer,
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill,
He could not sit his mule.

Alas! poor man!
Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Lei-

Lodged in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honorably received him;
To whom he gave these words;—0) father abbot
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his.

s weary bones among ye;
Give him a lillle earth for charity!
So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness
Pursued him still; and three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.

Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him!
Yet thus far Griffith give me leave to speak him,
And yet with charity, -He was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion
Ty'd all the kingdom: simony was fair play;
His own opinion was his law: In the presence

He would say untruths; and be ever double,
Both in his words and meaning: He was never
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful:
His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
Of his own body he was ill, and

The clergy ill example.

Noble Madam,
Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
We write in water. May it please your highness
To hear me speak his good now?

Yes, good Griffith;
I were malicious else.

This Cardinal,
Though from a humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle,
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading:
Lofty and sour, to them that loved him not;
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
(Which was a sin) yet in bestowing, madam,
He was most princely: Ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he raised in you,
Ipswich and Oxford! One of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
The other, though unfinished, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little:
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died, fearing God.

Kath. After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
To keep mine honour from corruption,
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
With thy religious truth, and modesty,

Now in his ashes honour: Peace be with him! -
Patience, be near me still; and set me lower:
I have not long to trouble thee.--Good Griffith,
Cause the musicians play me that sad note
I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to.


No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all
The multitude of Angels, with a shout
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
As from blest voices uttering joy, Heaven rung
With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled
The eternal regions: lowly reverent
Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground
With solemn adoration down they cast
Their crowns inwove with amaranth, and gold;
Immortal amaranth, a flower which once
In Paradise, fast by the tree of life,
Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence
To Heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows,
And flowers, aloft, shading the fount of life,
And where the river of bliss through midst of Heaven
Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream:
With these that never fade the spirits elect
Bind their resplendent locks inwreathed with beams;
Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright
Pavement, that like a sea of Jasper shone,
Impurpled with celestial roses smiled.
Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took,
Harps ever tuned, that, glittering by their side,
Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet
Of charming symphony they introduce
Their sacred song, and waken raptures high;
No voice exempt, no voice but well could join
Melodious part, such concord is in Heaven.

Thee, Father, first they sung, omnipotent,
Immutable, immortal, infinite,
Eternal King; the Author of all being,

Fountain of light, thyself invisible Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sittest Throned inaccessible, but when thou shadest The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine, Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear, Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest seraphim Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes. Thee next they sang, of all creation first, Begotten Son, divine similitude, In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud Made visible, the Almighty Father shines, Whom else no creature can behold; on thee Impressed the effulgence of his glory bides, Transfused on thee his ample spirit rests. He, Heaven of Heavens, and all the powers therein, By thee created, and by thee threw down The aspiring dominations: thou that day Thy Father's dreadful thunder didst not spare, Nor stop thy flaming chariot wheels, that shook Heaven's everlasting frame, while o'er the necks Thou drov'st of warring angels disarrayed. Back from pursuit thy powers with loud acclaim Thee only extolled, Son of thy Father's might, To execute fierce vengeance on his foes. Not so on man; him, through their malice fallen, Father of mercy and grace, thou didst not doom So strictly, but much more to pity incline: No sooner did thy dear and only Son Perceive thee purposed not to doom frail man So strictly, but more to pity inclined, He, to appease thy wrath, and end the strife Of mercy and justice in thy face discerned, Regardless of the bliss wherein he sat Second to thee, offered himself to die For man's offence. O unexampled love, Love no where to be found less than divine! Hail, Son of God, Saviour of men! thy name Shall be the copious matter of my song, Henceforth, and never shall my harp thy praise Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin.


COWPER. In colleges and halls in ancient days, When learning, virtue, piety, and truth, Were precious, and inculcated with care, There dwelt a sage called Discipline. His head, Not yet by time completely silvered o'er, Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, But strong for service still, and unimpaired. His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile Play'd on his lips, and in his speech was heard Paternal sweetness, dignity and love. The occupation dearest to his heart Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke The head of modest and ingenious worth, That blushed at its own praise; and press the youth Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew Beneath his care a thriving vigorous plant; The mind was well informed, the passions held Subordinate, and diligence was choice. If e'er it chanced, as sometimes chance it must, That one among so many overleaped The limits of control, his gentle eye Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke: His frown was full of terror, and his voice Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe, As left him not, till penitence had won Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. But Discipline, a faithful servant long, Declined at length into the vale of years: A palsy struck his arm; his sparkling eye Was 'quench'd in rheums of age; his voice, unstrung, Grew tremulous, and moved derision more Than rev’rence, in perverse rebellious youth. So colleges and halls neglected much Their good old friend; and Discipline at length, O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell sick and died. Then Study languish’d. Emulation slept, And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene Of solemn farce, where Ignorance in stilts, His cap well lined with logic not his own,

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