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glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offenses enforced, for which he suffered death.

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark An'tony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the com’monwealth: as which of you shall not? With this I depart: That, as I blew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the saina dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to weed my death.


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CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest trurn, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And, when I am forgotten, 'as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold narole, where no mention
Of me must more be heard, - say, then, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in,
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me!
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition !
By that sin fell the āngels : how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee :
Corruption wins not more than honesty;
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, 0, Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a bless'ed 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 Heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. O, Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not, in mine age,
Have left me naked to mine enemies ! SAAKSPEARI

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What, then, remains,
But in the cause of nature to stand forth, .
And turn this frame of things the right side up?
For this the hour is come, the sword is drawn;
And tell your masters vainly they resist.
Nature, that slept beneath their poisonous drugs,
Is up and stirring, and from north and south,
From east and west, from England and from France,
From Germany, and Flanders, and Navarre,
Shall stand against them like a beast at bay.

The blood that they have shed will hide no longer
In the blood-slāken soil, but cries to heaven.
Their cruelties and wrongs against the poor
Shall quicken into swarms of venomous snakes,
And hiss through all the earth, till o'er the earth,
That ceases then from hissings and from groans,
Rises the song-How are the mighty fallen!
And by the peasant's hand !
Low lie the proud,
And smitten with the weapons of the poor,-

The blacksmith's hammer and the woodman's ax!
Their tale is told ; and for that they were rich,
And robbed the poor; and for that they were strong,
And scourged the weak; and for that they made laws
Which turned the sweat of labor's brow to blood,-
For these their sins the nations cast them out.

These things come to pass
From small beginnings, because God is just.


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1. It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the hori’zon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in, - glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendor, and joy. O, what a revolution ! and what a heart must I have, to contem'plate without emotion that elevation and that fall !

2. Little did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom. Little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her, in a nation of gallant men, - in a nation of men of honor and of cavaliers ! I thought ten thousand swords must have

* Born 1755; beheaded 1792. Pronounce Mă-ré' An-twah-nět'.

leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult.

3. But the age of chivalry is gone; that of sophisters, economists and calculators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished forever. Never, never more, shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitūde itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom!

4. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defense of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness.

EDMUND BURKE. (1730 — 1797.)

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1. MORE worthy pens than mine have described that scene: the oak pulpit standing out by itself, above the school seats; the tall, gallant form, the kindling eye, the voice — now soft as the low notes of a flute, now clear and stirring as the call of the light infantry bugle- of him who stood there, Sunday after Sunday, witnessing and pleading for his Lord, the King of

* For some account of Dr. Arnold, the teacher, see page 115.

righteousness, and love, and glory, with whose spirit he was filled, and in whose power he spoke; the long lines of young faces rising, tier above tier, down the whole length of the chapel, from the little boy's who had just left his mother, to the young man's who was going out next week into the great world, rejoicing in his strength. It was a great and solemn sight.

2. But what was it, after all, which seized and held these three hundred boys, - dragging them out of themselves, willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes, on Sunday afternoons ? True, there were boys scattered up and down the school, who, in heart and head, were worthy to hear, and able to carry away, the deepest and wisest words then spoken. But these were a minority always, generally a very small one, often so small a one as to be countable on the fingers of your hand. What was it that moved and held us, the rest of the three hundred reckless, childish boys, who feared the Doctor with all our hearts, and very little besides in heaven or earth?

3. We could n't enter into half that we heard; we had n't the knowledge of our own hearts, or the knowledge of one another, and little enough of the faith, hope, and love, needed to that end. But we listened, as all boys, in their better moods, will listen,- ay, and men too, for the matter of that,--to a man whom we felt to be, with all his heart, and soul, and strength, striving against whatever was mean, and unmanly, and unrighteous, in our little world. It was not the cold, clear voice of one giving advice and warning, from serene heights, to those who were struggling and sinning below; but the warm, living voice, of one who was fighting for us and by our side, and calling on us to help him and ourselves, and one another.

4. And so, wēarily and little by little, but surely and steadily on the whole, was brought home to the young

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