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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; Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me, And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold inarble, where no mention Of'me must more be heard: say then, I taught thee; Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves of glory, And sounded all the depths and.shoals of honour, Found thee a way, out of this wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. Cromwell, I charge thee, throw away ambition; By that sin fell the angels; how can man then (The image of his Maker) hope to win by it? Love thyselflast;cherish those hearts that wait 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 inThere take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny, 'tis the king's. My robe,
But all our praises why should lords engross? ?
Who feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state,
sick? The Man of Ross relieves, Prescribes, attends, the med'cine takes and gives. Is there a variance? Enter but his door, Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more.. Despairing quacks with curses fled the place, And vile attornies, now an useless race. “ Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue “ What all so wish, but want the pow'r to do. . " O what sums that gen’rous hand supply? • What mines to swell that boundless charity?" Of debts and taxes, wife or children clear, This man possessid--five hundred pounds a year. Blush, grandeur, blush; proud courts, withdraw:
Ye little stars! hide
his form, his name almost unknown?” Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.'.
c. His race,
GOD works in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform:
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
And works his sov'reign will.
The clouds ye so much dread, Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his
grace; Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes are rip’ning fast,
Unfolding every hour:
But wait to smell the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain; God is his own Interpreter,
And he shall make it plain.
ON THE WORDS,
“ If thou knewest who it is," &c.
AT Jacob's well a stranger sought
His ardent thirst to clear;
The Font of LIFE so near:
For LIVING DRAUGHTS had sigh’d;
Those living draughts deny’d. And Jacob's Well (no glass so true)
Britannia’s image shows;
But who the Stranger knows?
Or soon her loss deplore:
Come drink, and thirst no more!