He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could,
No doubt, remembering things that were,
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,
And himself a sober, respectable cur.

I'm better now; that glass was warming, -
You rascal limber your lazy feet!
We must be fiddling and performing

For supper and bed, or starve on the street. Not a very gay life to lead, you think?

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink; The sooner, the better for Roger and me!

J. T. TROWBRidge.

CARDINAL WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST OFF BY KING HENRY VIII.

NAY, then, farewell,

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness;
And, from that full meridian of my glory,

I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.

So farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!

full surely

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 him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And, when he thinks — good, easy man
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers 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 old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, 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 wars or women have,
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

SHAKESPEARE.

WOLSEY TO CROMWELL.

CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, 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 marble, where no mention
Of me must more be heard of,
say 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 miss'd it.

Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition!
By that sin fell the angels: 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, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed 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. Oh, 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.

SHAKESPEARE.

PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY.

THE quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven,
Upon the place beneath; it is twice bless'd,-
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,

It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,-
That in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render

The deeds of mercy.

I have spoke thus much

To mitigate the justice of thy plea;

Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice

Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

SHAKESPEARE.

FROM THE ANCIENT MARINER.

THE fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow followed free;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.

Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down,

'Twas sad as sad could be;

And we did speak only to break

The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion:

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, everywhere,

And all the boards did shrink ·

Water, water, everywhere,

Nor any drop to drink,

The very deep did rot: - O Christ!
That ever this should be!

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout

The death-fire danced at night;

The water, like a witch's oils,

Burnt green, and blue, and white.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

THE PHANTOM SHIP.

THERE passed a weary time. Each throat

Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!

How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward, I beheld

A something in the sky!

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;

It moved, and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!

And still it neared and neared;
As if it dodged a water-sprite,

It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;

Through utter drought all dumb we stood!

I bit my arm, I sucked my blood,

And cried, A sail, a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,

Agape they heard me call:

Gramercy! they for joy did grin,

And all at once their breath drew in,

As they were drinking all.