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Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about : to climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first : anger is like
A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him.-Act I, Sc. I.


Be advised ;
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself: we may outrun,
By violent swiftness, that, which we run at,
And lose by over-running. Know you not,
The fire that mounts the liquor till’t run o'er,
In seeming to augment it wastes it ?--Act I, Sc. I.


New customs,
Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay, let ’em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

Act I, Sc. 3.


I were unmannerly, to take you out,
And not to kiss you. — Act I, Sc. 4.

Buck. Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels

Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again
But where they mean to sink ye.-Act 2, Sc. I.


I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,

Than to be perk’d up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.-Act 2, Sc. 3.

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Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice ;

And to bestow your pity on me : for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,
Born out of your dominions; having here
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
In what have I offended you ? what cause
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure,
That thus you should proceed to put me off,
And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,
I have been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to your will conformable ;
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,
Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry
As I saw it inclined : when was the hour
I ever contradicted your desire,
Or made it not mine too? Or which of


Have I not strove to love, although I knew
He were mine enemy? what friend of mine
That had to him derived your anger, did I
Continue in my liking ? nay, gave notice
He was from thence discharged? Sir, call to mind
That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
With many children by you : if, in the course
And process of this time, you can report,
And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,
Against your sacred person, in God's name,
Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me,

and so give me up
To the sharp’st kind of justice. Please you, sir,
The king, your father, was reputed for


A prince most prudent, of an excellent
And unmatch'd wit and judgment : Ferdinand,
My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one
The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many
A year before : it is not to be question'd
That they had gather'd a wise council to them
Of every realm, that did debate this business,
Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly
Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may
Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel
I will implore : if not, i' the name of God,
Your pleasure be fulfillid !--Act 2, Sc. 4.


Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain tops that freeze,

Bow themselves when he did sing :
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers

There had made a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart,

Fall asleep, or hearing, die.Act 3, Sc. I.

Q. Kath. All hoods make not monks. -Act 3, Sc. I.

Q. Kath. Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a Judge

That no king can corrupt. --Act 3, Sc. I.

Qu. Kath.

Like the lily,
That once was mistress of the field, and flourishi’d,
I'll hang my head, and perish.--Act 3, Sc. I.


And then to breakfast, with
What appetite you have.—Act 3, Sc. 2.


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.-Act 3, Sc. 2.

Wol. Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness !

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours 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 root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This 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 for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye !
I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours !
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have:
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.--Act 3, Sc. 2.

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear

In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd 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 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,
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 that 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 it?
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 fallst, O Cromwell,
Thou fall’st a blessed martyr! Serve the king :
And, -pr’ythee, 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 serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.—Act 3, Sc. 2.

Kath. Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou ledd'st me,

That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,

Was dead? Grif.

Yes, madam; but I think your grace,
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
Kath. Pr’ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died :

If well, he stepp'd before me, happily
For my example.


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