WOLSEY'S FALL. (SHAKESPEARE.)

Wolsey. 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 opened. Oh, 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.

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 more must be heard-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 ruined 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-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 served my God with half the zeal
I served my King, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

NOTE.-Thomas Wolsey was Archbishop of York and Lord High Chancellor of England under Henry VIII. When the King desired the Pope to grant him a divorce from his wife, Katharine of Arragon, the negotiations were entrusted to Wolsey. Failing to carry these on to Henry's satisfaction, he was disgraced and stripped of all his honours. He died at Leicester in 1530, while on his way from York to London under

arrest.

CAN

THE BIG SHOE. (ANON.)

you find out the likeness? A portly old dameThe mother of millions-Britannia by name:

And-howe'er it may strike you, in reading the song—
Not stinted in space for lodging the throng:-
Since the sun can himself hardly manage to go,
In a day and a night, from the heel to the toe!

On the arch of the instep she builds up her throne;
And, with seas rolling under, she sits there alone :
With her heel at the foot of the Himmalehs planted,
And her toe in the icebergs unchilled and undaunted.

Yet though justly of all her fine family proud,
'Tis no light undertaking to rule such a crowd;
Not to mention the trouble of seeing them fed,
And dispensing, with justice, the broth and the bread.

Some will seize upon one-some are left with the other,
And so the whole household gets into a pother!

But the rigid old dame has a summary way

Of her own-when she finds there is mischief to pay :

She just takes up the rod, and she lays down the spoon,
And makes their rebellious backs tingle right soon;
Then she bids them, while yet the sore smarting they feel,
To lie down, and go to sleep-under her heel!

Only once was she posed-when the little boy Sam (Who had always before been as meek as a lamb)

Refused to take 'tea,' as his mother had bid,
And returned saucy answers because he was chid.

Not content even then, he cut loose from her throne,
And set about making a 'shoe' of his own,

Which succeeded so well, and was filled up so fast,
That the world, in amazement, confessed at the last-
Looking on at the work with a gasp and a stare-
That 'twas hard to tell which would be the best of the
pair.

Side by side they are standing together to-day;

Side by side may they keep their strong foothold for aye! And beneath the broad sea, whose blue depths intervene, May the finishing string' lie unbroken between !