A year before. It is not to be question'd Th't they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, th't 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)-advis'd; whose counsel I will implore; if not, i' the name of God, Your pleasure-be fulfilled! Wolsey. You have here, (lady,) (And-of your choice,) these reverend fathers; men— Of singular-integrity-and learning, Yea, the elect-of the land, who are assembled To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless, For your own quiet as to rectify What is unsettled-in the king. Campeius.⚫ His grace Hath spoken well,-and justly: therefore, (madam,)— And th't, (without delay,) their arguments— Be now produced-and heard. Queen. To you I speak. Wolsey. Queen. Lord cardinal, Your pleasure,—madam? I am about to weep; but, thinking th't Sir, We are a queen, (or long-have dream'd so,) certain I'll turn-to sparks—of fire. Wolsey. Be patient-yet. Queen. I will, when you are humble; nay,—before, Or God-will punish me. I do believe, (Induced by potent circumstances,) that You are mine enemy; and make my challenge You shall not be my judge: for it is you- (Which God's dew-quench!) Therefore I say again, I utterly-abhor,-yea, from my soul— Refuse you-for my judge: whom, yet-(once more,)— Wolsey. I do profess, You speak not-like yourself; who ever—yet— Have stood to charity,—and display'd the effects Of disposition gentle,-and of wisdom O'ertopping-woman's power. Madam,—you do me wrong: I have no spleen-against you; nor injustice— For you, or any: how far I have proceeded, By a commission-from the consistory, Yea, the whole consistory-of Rome. You charge me— The king-is present: if it be known to him- Remove these thoughts from you: the which-bofore You, (gracious madam)—to unthink—your speaking,— Queen. My lord, my lord,— I am a simple woman,-much-too weak To oppose your cunning. You're meek—and humble-mouthed; Cam. [She courtesies to the King, and offers to depart. Stubborn to justice,-apt-to accuse it, and Disdainful to be tried by it; 't is not well. She's going away. King. Call her again. Crier. Katharine,—(queen of England,)-come into the court. Grif. Madam-you are call'd back. Queen. What need you-note it? pray you, keep your way: When you are call'd return. Now-the Lord help; They vex me-past my patience! Pray you,―pass on :— I will not tarry: no, nor ever—more— (Upon this business)-my appearance make In any of their courts. [Exeunt Queen, Griffith, etc. King. Go thy ways,-Kate: That man-i' the world who shall report he has A better wife,-let him-in nought-be trusted, For speaking false-in that. Thou art, alone, If thy rare qualities,-sweet gentleness,— Thy meekness-saint-like,-wife-like government,— (Sovereign-and pious-else,)-could speak thee out, And, (like her true nobility,) she has Carried herself toward me. XXXII. THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED. MRS. NORTON. My beautiful! my beautiful! That standest meekly by, With thy proudly-arched-and glossy neck, Thy dark-and fiery eye,— Fret not-to roam the desert—now, With all thy wingéd speed; I may not mount on thee-again: The stranger-hath thy bridle-rein, The morning sun-shall dawn again; Shall I gallop-through the desert paths, Evening shall darken-on the earth, And o'er the sandy plain Some other steed, with slower step, Shall bear me home again. Yes, thou must ga! the wild-free breeze,· The brilliant sun and sky, Thy master's house,-from all of these My exiled one-must fly. Thy proud-dark eye-will grow less proud, Thy step-become less fleet, And vainly-shalt thou arch thy neck Thy master's hand-to meet. Then must I, (starting,) wake—to feel- Ah, rudely then, unseen by me, Till foam-wreaths lie, (like crested waves,) And the rich blood th't's in thee swells In the indignant pain, Till careless eyes (which rest on thee) Will they ill use thee? If I thought—- Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed, So gentle, yet so free. And yet if haply, when thou'rt gone, My lonely heart-should yearn, Return? Alas! my Arab steed, What shall thy master do When thou, (who wert his all of joy,) Slow and unmounted-will I roam, Where, (with fleet step-and joyous bound,) And, (sitting down-by that green well,) 'Twas here he bowed-his glossy neck When last-I saw him—drink! Away? I could not live a day-and know- Who said th❜t I had given thee up Shall claim thee-for his pains! XXXIII.-SONG OF THE WORLD-MONEY-MAKING. MASSEY. Coining the heart, brain, and sinew (to gold,) O God! O God! must this-(evermore)—bo The spring is calling from brae-and bower, With its heart-in its musical gratitude panting, Once more to drink in-the life-breathing air, To recall again-the pleasures-that were In infancy's-innocent hours, To wash the earth-stains-and the dust-from my soul In nature's reviving tears once more; To feast at her banquet,—and drink-from her bowl- Ah me! ah me! it is heavenly—then, And hints of the spirit-world,-(near-alway,) Are stirring and stirred at my heart again, Like leaves-to the kiss-of May: It is but a dream,-yet-'t is passing sweet, And when-(from its spells)-my spirit-is waking, For I was not made-(merely)—for money-making. My soul-leaneth out-to the whisperings Of the mighty,—the marvelous spirits of old; Big-for the moan—of humanity. |