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Love. I expect the tailor, about turning my coat ;~ don't you
think this coat will look well enough turned, and with new buttons, for a wedding suit ?
Lap. For pity's sake, Sir, don't refuse me this small favor : I shall be undone, indeed, Sir. If it were but so small a matter as ten pounds, Sir
Love. I think I hear the tailor's voice. Lap. If it were but five pounds, Sir; but three pounds, Sir ; nay, Sir, a single guinea would be of service for a day or two. [As he offers to go out on either side, he intercepts kim.]
Love. I must go, I can't stay hark, there! Somebody calls me—I anı very much obliged to you, indeed; I am very much obliged to you.
Lap. Go to the devil, like a covetous good for nothing villain as you are.
Ramilie is in the right; however, I shall not quit the affair ; for though I get nothing out of him, I am sure of my reward from the other side.
VI.—Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell.—Hehry VIH. Wo!. FAREWELL* a long farewell to all my greatnes ! This is the state of man ; to day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope ; tomorrow blossoms, Arid bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 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 1 do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, These many sunimers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth } my high blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary and olid with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and giory of the world, I hate ye! I fuel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet regard of princes, and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have ; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Enter Cromwell. Why, how now, Cromwell ?
Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir,
Wol. Whatj amaz'd
Crom. How does your grace ?
Wol. Why, well ;
Crom. The Heaviest and the worst
Wol. God bless him t
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is cho sen Lord Chancellor in your place.
Wol. That's somewhat sudden-
Crom. That Cranmer is rcturn'd with welcome ;
Hal. Thai's news indeed !
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
Crom. Oh, my lord !
Wol. Cromwell I did not think to shed a tear
(Though the image of his Maker) hope to win by't?
Crom. Good Sir, have patience.
Wol. So I have. Farewell
VII.—Sir Charles and Lady Racket.
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE. Lady R. O LA! I'm quite fatigued I can hardly move- Why don't you help nc, you barbarous man?
Sir C. There—take my arm
Lady R. But I won't be laughed at I don't loTe you.
Sir C. Don't you u ?
Lady R. No. Dear me! This glove! Why don't you help me off with my glove ? Pshav! You awkward thing; Vet it alone ; ycu an't fit to be about me. Reach me a chair-you have to compassion for me
- I am so glad to sit down. Why do you drag me to routs ? You know I hate 'em.
Sir C. Oh ! There's no existing, no breathing, unless one does as other people of fashion do.
Lady R. But I'm out of humor-.I lost all my money.
Sir C. Never fret for that—I don't value furee huge dred pounds, to contribute to your happiness.
Lady R. Don't you ? Not value three hundred pounds to please me?
Sir C. You know I don't.
Lady R. Ah ! You fond fool !—But I imate gamingIt almost metamorphoses a woman into a fury. Do you know that I was frighted at myself several times ton night ?. I had a huge oath at the very tip of my tongue.
Sir C. Had yon?
Lady R. I caught myself at it and so I bit my lips And then I was crammed up in a corner of the room, with such a strange party, nt a whist table, looking et black and red spots—Did you mind 'em ?
Sir C. You know 1 was busy elsewhere.
Lady R. There was that strange unaccountable woman, Mrs. Nightshade. She behaved ?o strangely to her husband—a poor, inoffensive, gcodnatured, good sort of R good for nothing kind of a But she so teazed hims How could you play that card ? Ah, you've a head, and so has n pin.--You're a numskull, you know you are—Ma'am he's the poorest head in the world ;he docs not know what he is about; you know you don't Ah, fie ! I'm asham'd of
you \" Sir C. She has served to divert you, I see.
Lady R. And then to crown alldhere was my lady Clackit, who runs on with an eternal volubility of nothing, out of all season, time and place.- In the very midst of the game, she begins—« Lard, Ma'am, I was apprehensive I should not be able to wait on your I: dyship--my poor little dog, Pompey--the sweetest thuig in the world !—A spade led! There's the knave. I was fetching a walk, Me'em, the other morning in the Park--A fine frosty morning it was. Ilove frosty weather of all things-et me look at the last trick and so Me'm, little Pompey—and if your ladyship was to see the dear creature pinched with the frost, and mincing his steps along the Mall—with his pretty little innocent face
I vow I don't know what to play.--And so, Mc'em, while I was talking to Captain Flimsey—your ladyship knows Captain Flimsey. Nothing but rubbish in my hand I I can't help it.—And so, Me'em, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor little Pompey--the dear