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IN SOMN U M.

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UOT mihi regnatos jam nunc complectitur almâ,

Quot miseros, requie Somnus! vis mellea Somni, Quæ res grata foves ! quonam depulsa timore,

Ponderibus defeffa tuis non lumina condis,

Nec mihi permulces Lcthæo flumine sensus ?

Heu! quid pauperibus gaudes concumbere lecto

Stramineo, fusus circum quo fumeus humor,

Stridula vel faciles irritat musca sopores ?

Heu! quid tecta citis pedibus regalia vitas,

Magnificosque toros; qùo thurea te vocat aura,

Te vocat incassùm dulciffima tibia cantu?

Quz,

Othou dull god, why ly’st thou with the vile

In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,

A watch-cafe to a common larum bell ?

Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship’s-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious surge ;

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging thein
With deafʼning clamours in the flipp’ry shrouds;
That, with the hurly, death, itself awakes :

Canst thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repole

To the wet sea boy, in an hour so rude,
And, in the calmnest, and the stillest night,

With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? then happy, lowly clown!

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

WOLSEY Quæ, malesane, tuum suadent fastidia numen

Dormitare calâ, thalamos et linquere regum,

Queîs tonat affiduâ tanquam custodia voce?

Nautæ, quando agitur pinus, ludibria ponti, Amplexo malum, fundisne oblivia curæ ?

Dumque etiam venti discordia flamina miscent

Altùm incurvantes monstrosa cacumina, funes

Et dum stridentes inter fragor intonat ingens,

Territa

quo fomnis mors exilit ipsa 'tumultu :

O levis, ut placuit tibi, diro turbine cæli,

Æquoribus nautæ tabentia membra levare ?

Et quanquam fileant ædes, atque omnia circum

Jam fileant, adfintque irritamenta foporis,
Defiderata negas sovus tua gaudia regi?

O fortunati nimiùm, fua fi bona norint

Agricolæ ! nobis est irrequieta corona :
O caput infelix, quod tu premis, aurea cura!

WOLSEY AND CROMWELL.

FROM

SHAKESPEAR.

Wol.
"F

Arewell, 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 shoot ;

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur’d,

Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,
These 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,
Wcary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye !

CARDINALIS WOLSEIUS LOQUITUR.

AGNA vale, æternumque vale mea gloria! vitas

Sic hominum fua fata regunt: nunc læta virefcit

Gemma spei teneræ, cràs copia florea splendet,

Et tum purpurei passim funduntur honores.

Tertia lux oritur; glacies venit aspera plantis,

Gloria cumque viro facili matura videtur,

Frigore pertentans tempestas excutit illam,

Atque mei fimilis, fimilem dabit ille ruinam.

Æltates multas puer ut lascivit in undis,
Utribus evectus, pelagi nimis alta petivi ;
Me tandem ambitio Auviis tumefacta reliquit
Confectum, et totus fubmergor gurgite vasto.
Odi te, splendor, te vanaque gloria mundi !

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