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at my child! [Sarnem prepares to measure.] Villain, stop! You measure 'gainst the sun.

Ges. And what of that ? What matter whether to or from the sun ?

Tell. I'd have it at my back.
mark, and not on him that shoots:
Ges. Give him his way.
Tell. I should like to see the apple I must hit.
Ges. There, take that.

The sun should shine upon the
I will not shoot against the sun.
[Sarnem paces and goes out.]

Tell. You've picked the smallest one.

Ges. I know I have. Thy skill will be the greater if thou hittest it. Tell. True, true! I did not think of that. I wonder I did not think of that. A larger one had given me a chance to save my boy. Give me my bow and quiver.

Ges. [To an attendant.] Give him a single arrow.

Tell. [Looks at it and breaks it.] Let me see my quiver. It is not one arrow in a dozen I would use to shoot with at a dove, much less a dove like that.

Ges. Shew him the quiver.

[Sarnem takes the apple, and leads out the boy to place them: meanwhile Tell conceals an arrow under his garment. He then selects another arrow.]

Tell. Is the boy ready? be my witnesses, that, if his for the chance of saving it. silent!

Keep silence now for Heaven's sake, and life's in peril from my hand, 'tis only For mercy's sake keep motionless and

[He aims and shoots in the direction of the boy. Sarnem enters with the apple on the arrow's point.]

Sar. The boy is safe-no hair of him is touched!
Tell. Thank Heaven!

[As he raises his arms the concealed arrow falls.] Ges. Unequalled archer!-Ha! why this concealed? Tell. To kill THEE, tyrant, had I slain my boy.



The following dialogue describes the first meeting between Hamlet and Horatio, on his return from the University. Horatio has to report to him that his father's ghost walks the ramparts of the castle every night.

Hor. Hail to your lordship!
Ham. I am glad to see you well.
Horatio ?-or I do forget myself.1

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name" with you: But what make you3 from Wittenberg, Horatio?

Hor. A truant disposition; good my lord.

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so:
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself:-I know you are no truant-
But what is your affair at Elsinore ?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;
I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon't.

Hor. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio.
My father! methinks I see my father!

Hor. Oh where, my lord?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio!

Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again!

Hor. My lord-I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw! who?

Hor. My lord, the king, your father.

Ham. The king, my father!

Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent7 ear; 'til I may deliver Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you.


Ham. For heaven's love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waste and middle of the night
Been thus encountered 10: :—a figure like your father
Armed at all points, exactly cap-à-pie,"1
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walked
By their opprest and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distilled
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,

Stood dumb and spoke not to him.-This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did,

And I, with them, the third night kept the watch,
Where, as they had delivered, both in time,


Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes!

Ham. But where was this?

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watched.
Ham. Did you not speak to it ?

Mar. My lord, I did,

But answer made it none : yet once methought
It lifted up its head, and did address

Itself to motion, like as it would speak :
But even then the morning cock crew loud;
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanished from our sight.

Ham. 'Tis very strange!

Hor. As I do live, my honoured lord, 'tis true,
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of it.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to-night?

Hor. We do, my lord.
Ham. Armed, say you?

Hor. Armed, my lord.
Ham. From top to toe?
Hor. My lord, from head to foot.

Ham. Then saw you not his face?

Hor. O yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, looked he frowningly?

Hor. A countenance more

In sorrow than in anger.

Ham. Pale or red?

Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fixed his eyes on you?

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amazed you.
Ham. Very like—very like.

Stayed it long?

Hor. While one with moderate haste
Might tell a hundred.

Ham. His beard was grizzled? no?

Hor. It was as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silvered.

Ham. I will watch to-night;
Perchance 'twill walk again.



MEANINGS:-1. The emphasis is on myself. 2. The name of servant. 3. What are you doing? 4. Business. 5. Most determined foe. 6. Wonder. 7. Attentive. 8. Testimony. 9. Silence. 10. Met. 11. Head to foot.


The following is the interview between Cardinal Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell, after the king has stripped Wolsey of all his honours, and dismissed him from all his offices.

Wol. Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.

What! amazed

At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,
I'm fallen indeed.

How does your grace?



Why, well;

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities-

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me,
I humbly thank his grace: and from these shoulders,
These ruined pillars, out of pity taken

A load would sink a navy-too much honour.
Oh, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.

Crom. I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it.
Wol. I hope I have. I'm able now, methinks,

Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
T'endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

The heaviest and the worst
Is your displeasure with the king.

God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord Chancellor in your place.

That's somewhat sudden-
But he is a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice
For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones,
When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on him.
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome;
Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol. That's news, indeed!
Last, that the Lady Ann,
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
This day was viewed in open as his queen,
Going to chapel; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.


Wol. There was the weight that pulled me down, O Cromwell,

The king has gone beyond me. All my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever.

No sun shall ever usher forth my honours,

Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master. Seek the king.
That sun, I pray, may never set. I've told him
What and how true thou art; he will advance thee.
Some little memory of me will stir him,
I know his noble nature, not to let

Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not: make use, now, and provide
For thine own future safety.


O my lord,

Must I then leave you? must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord!
The king shall have my service; but my prayers
For ever and for ever shall be yours.

Wol. 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 tears, 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, say then 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 missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that which 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-prithee, lead me in.


There, take an inventory of all I have:
To the last penny 'tis the king's. My robe,

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