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Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miferies; but thou haft forc'd me,
Out of thy honeft truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I fhall be,

And fleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me muft more be heard, fay then I taught thee,
Say, Wolfey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And founded all the depths and fhoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in,
A fure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me;
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition,
By that fin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyself laft; cherish those hearts, that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.

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nothing fo infamous in tradition, as the fuppofed advice given to one of our kings, to cherish his enemies and be in no pain for his friends. I am of opinion the Poet wrote

-cherish thofe hearts that

WAIT thee..
i. e. thy dependents. For the
contrary practice had contribut-
ed to Wolfey's ruin. He was not
careful enough in making depen-
dents by his bounty, while in-
tent in amaffing wealth to him-
felf. The following line feems
to confirm this correction,

Corruption wins not more
bonefty.

than

i. e. you will never find men won over to your temporary occafions by bribery so useful to you as friends made by a juft and generous munificence.

Gg 4

WARBURTON.

Still

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not. Let all the ends, thou aim'ft at, be thy country's, Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'ft, O Cromwell,

Thou fall'it a bleffed martyr, Serve the King;

And Prythee, lead me in

There, take an inventory of all I have ;

To the last penny, 'tis the King's.

And my integrity to heav'n, is all

My robe,

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but ferv'd my God with half the zeal
I ferv'd my King, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Crom. Good Sir, have patience.

Wol. So I have. Farewel

The hopes of Court! my hopes in heav'n do dwell.

[Exeunt,

ACT IV. SCENE

I.

Y

A Street in Westminster.

Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another.

I GENTLEMAN.

OU'RE well met ' once again,

2 Gen. And fo are you.

Gen You come to take your ftand here, and be

hold

The lady Anne pafs from her Coronation.

tered by Wolfey.
1-once again.] alluding to

This fentence was really ut

their former meeting in the fecond act.

2 Gen. 'Tis all my bufinefs. At our laft encounter, The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.

1 Gen. 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd for

row;

This, general joy.

2 Gen. 'Tis well; the citizens,

I'm fure, have fhewn at full their loyal minds,
And, let 'em have their rights, they're ever forward
In celebration of this day with shows,.
Pageants, and fights of honour.

1 Gen. Never greater,

Nor, I'll affure you, better taken, Sir.

2 Gen. May I be bold to ask what that contains, That paper in your hand?

1 Gen. Yes, 'tis the lift

Of those that claim their offices this day,

By cuftom of the Coronation.

The Duke of Suffolk is the firft, and claims

To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,
To be Earl Marshal; you may read the rest.

2 Gen. I thank you, Sir; had I not known those customs,

I should have been beholden to your paper.
But, I beseech you what's become of Catharine,
The Princess Dowager? how goes her business?

1 Gen. That I can tell you too; the Archbishop
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
Learn'd and rev'rend fathers of his order,
Held a late court at Dunstable, fix miles
From Ampthil, where the princess lay; to which
She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not:
And, to be short, for not appearance and
The King's late fcruple, by the main affent

this day-] Hanmer reads, thefe days, but Shakespeare meant fuch a day as this, a coronation day. And fuch is the English idi

om, which our author commonly prefers to grammatical nicety.

Of

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And the late marriage made of none effect;
Since which, fhe was removed to Kimbolton,
Where the remains now fick.

2 Gen. Alas, good lady!

The trumpets found; ftand clofe, the Queen is com

ing.

[Hautboys.

The Order of the Coronation.

1. A lively flourish of trumpets.

2. Then, two Judges.

3. Lord Chancellor, with the purfe and mace before him. 4. Chorifters finging.

[Mufick. 5. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then Garter in bis coat of arms, and on his head a gilt copper

crown.

6. Marquis of Dorfet, bearing a his bead a demi-coronal of gold.

4

Scepter of gold, on With him, the Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of filver with the dove, crown'd with an Earl's Coronet. Collars of SS. 7. Duke of Suffolk in his robe of fate, his coronet on bis head, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward. With him the Duke of Norfolk, with the rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of SS. 8. A canopy born by four of the Cinque ports, under it the Queen in her robe; in ber bair richly adorned with pearl, crowned. On each fide her, the bishops of London and Winchester.

9. The old Dutchefs of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold, wrought with flowers, bearing the Queen's train. 10. Certain Ladies or Counteffes, with plain circlets of gold without flowers.

They pass over the ftage in order and state, and then Exeunt, with a great flourish of trumpets.

2 Gent.

2 Gen. A royal train, believe me-thefe I knowWho's that, who bears the Scepter?

I Gen. Marquis Dorfet.

And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.

2 Gen. A bold brave gentleman. That should be The Duke of Suffolk.

1 Gen. 'Tis the fame: High Steward. 2 Gen. And that my Lord of Norfolk. 1 Gen. Yes.

2. Gen. Heav'n bless thee!

[Looking on the Queen

Thou haft the sweetest face I ever look'd on.

Sir, as I have a foul, fhe is an angel;

Our King has all the Indies in his arms,

And more and richer, when he ftrains that lady;
I cannot blame his confcience.

1. Gen. They, that bear

The cloth of ftate above her, are four barons
Of the Cinque-ports.

2 Gen. Those men are happy; fo are all, are near her.

I take it, fhe that carries up the train,

Is that old noble lady, the dutchefs of Norfolk.

1 Gen. It is, and all the rest are counteffes.

2 Gen. Their coronets fay fo. These are ftars indeed,

And fometimes falling ones.

1 Gen. No more of that.

Enter a third Gentleman

God fave you, Sir! Where have you been broiling?

3

Gen. Among the crowd i' th' Abbey, where a finger

Could not be wedg'd in more; I am ftifled,

With the meer ranknefs of their joy.

2 Gen. You faw the ceremony?

3 Gen. I did.

1 Gen. How was it?

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