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6 and in as much harmony with

you, as I have lived with Pæ


Persisting in her determination, she found means to provide herself with a dagger; and one day, when she observed a more than usual gloom on the countenance of Pætus, and per-ceived that death, by the hand of the executioner appeared to him more terrible than in the field of glory-perhaps too, sensible that it was chiefly for her fake that he wished to live she drew the dagger from her side, and stabbed herself before his eyes. Then instantly plucking



weapon from her breast, she presented it to her husband, say: ing, “My Pætus, it is not pain6 ful.'


When from her breast chaste Arria (natch'd

the sword, And gave the deathful weapon to her lord ; My wound, she said, believe me, docs not

smart, But thine, alone, my Pætus, pains my heart,

Character of Cardinal Wolfey..



OW does your grace ?
Cath. O Cromwell, fick to death :
My legs like loaded branches bow to th'

Willing to leave their burden: reach a chair-


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So-now methinks I feel a little ease.
Didft thou not tell me, Cromwell, as thou

led'st me,

That the great child of honour, Cardinal

Wolsey, Was dead ?

CROM. Yes, Madam ; but I think your

grace, Out of the pain you suffer’d, gave no car

to't. CATH. Prythee, gcod Cromwell, tell

me how he dy'd. If well, he stept before me happily, For my example.

Crom. Well, the voice goes, Madam. For after the stout earl of Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him

forward (As a man forely tainted) to his answer, He fell fick suddenly, and grew fo ill He could not fit his mule.

CATÆ. Alas, poor man !


CRCM. At last, with easy roads he came

to Leicester, i udg'd in the abbey ; where the rev'rend

abbot, With all his convent, honourably receiv'd


; To whom he gave these words. +6 O fa

ther Abbot, An old man broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity !” So went to bed; where eagerly his fickness Pursu'd him still, and three nights after this, About the hour of eight (which he himself Foretold should be his last) full of repen

tance, Continual meditations, tears and sorrows, He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heav'n, and sept in peace.

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Cath. So may he rest, his faults lie

bury'd with him ! Yet thus far, Cromwell, give me leave to speak him,


And yet with charity s he was a man
Of an unbounded ftomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes : one that by suggef-

tion Tith'd all the kingdom ; fimony was fair

play : His own opinion was his law. I'th' 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 promifes were, as he then was, mighty; But his performance, as he now is, nothing. Of his own body he was ill, and gave The clergy ill example.

CROM, Noble Madam, Men's evil manners live in brafs, their vir


We write in water*. May it please your highness


* Had Shakespear never written another line but this, 'twere sufficient to make him (what he is) immortal,

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