THE CLOSING SCENE. BUT let it now sufficient be, that I The last scene of his act of life bewray, Which gives th' applause to all, doth glorify The work; for 'tis the evening crowns the day. This action of our death especially Shows all a man. Here only is he found. With what munition he did fortify His heart; how good his furniture hath been. For on the morrow, after the surprise As might be, ere his sickness should grow worse. I am resolv'd and ready in this case. It cannot come t' affright me any way; And I will meet it smiling; for I know THE CLOSING SCENE. Which, howsoever, being tyrannical, Although the fervour of extremity, Which often doth throw those defences down, Which in our health wall in infirmity, Might open lay more than we would have known; Yet did no idle word in him bewray Any one piece of Nature ill set in; Those lightnesses that anything will say, Could say no ill of what they knew within. Such a sure lock of silent modesty Was set in life upon that noble heart, As if no anguish nor extremity Could open it, t' impair that worthy part; Unto devotion, and to sacred skill, That furnish perfect held; that blessed flame Continued to the last in fervour still. And when his spirit and tongue no longer could Do any certain services beside, Ev'n at the point of parting they unfold, With fervent zeal, how only he rely'd Samuel Daniel. FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. THE DIRGE OF THE FAMOUS. Fear no more the frown o' the great, The Sceptre, Learning, Physic, must Fear no more the lightning-flash, No exorciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Ghost unlaid forbear thee! William Shakespere. WOLSEY'S WARNING. CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me, Let's dry our tears and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of,—say, I taught thee; Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,- To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 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! I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age Shakespere. |