Against the lords and sovereigns of the world? Is there a nation in the wilds of Africa, Syph. Gods! Where's the worth that sets this people Above your own Numida's tawny sons! Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow? Make human nature shine, reform the soul, Lup [warmth.. Syph. Patience, just Heavens! Excuse an old man'sWhat are those wondrous, civilizing arts, This Roman polish and this smooth behaviour, That render man thus tractable and tame? Are they not only to disguise our passions, To set our looks at variance with our thoughts,. To check the starts and sallies of the soul, And break off all its commerce with the tongue?: In short, to change us into other creatures, Than what our nature or the gods design'd us? Jub. To strike thee dumb, turn up thine eyes to Cato! While good, and just, and anxious for his friends, ・ He strives with thirst and hunger, toil snd heat; The pomp and pleasure which his soul can wish, Syph. Believe me prince, there's not an African Jub. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern But grant that others could with equal glory Heavens with what strength, what steadiness of mind, How doeshe rise against a load of woes, And thank the gods that threw the weight upon him! Had not your royal father thought so highly Syph. Abandon Cato. Jub. Syphax, I should be more than twice an orphan ́ By such a loss. Syph. Ay, there's the tye that binds you! unate Jub. Syphax, your zeal becomes importunate; I've hitherto permitted it to rave, And talk at large! but learn to keep it in, Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it. Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart. When not a breath of wind flies o'er its surface. Syph. Alas, my prince I'll guide you to your safety Jub. I do believe thou would'st; but tell me how? Syph. Fly from the fate of Cæsars foes. Jub. My father scorn'd to do it. Syph. And therefore died. Jub. Better to die ten thousand deaths, Than wound my honor. Syph. Rather say your love. Jub. Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my temper; Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame I long have stifled and would fain conceal? Syph. Believe me, prince, tho' hard to conquer love, 'Tis easy to divert and break its force. Absence might cure it, or a second mistress Light up another flame and put out this.. The glowing dames of Zama's royal court Jub. 'Tis not a set of features, nor complexion, Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praise! F WOLSET and CROMWELL. him; AREWEL, a long farewel to all my greatness! Wol. This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow, blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely, His greatness is a ripening, nips his shoot; And then he falls as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanten boys that swim on bladders, These many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond any depth; my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and, now, has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate you; I feel my heart now opened. O how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to That sweet aspect of princes and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have, And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to rise again. Why, how now, Cromwell? Enter Cromwelt. Crom. I have not the power to speak, Sir. 1 At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder A great man should decline? Nay if you weep, I'm fall'n indeed. Crom. How does your grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me; A load would sink a navy, too much honour; 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, To endure more miseries and greater far, Than my weak hearted enemies dare offer. 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. May he continue Wol. That's somewhat sudden- For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome, Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, |