IN SOM NU M.

Q

UOT mihi regnatos jam nunc complectitur almâ,

Quot miferos, requie Somnus! vis mellea Somni, Quæ res grata foves! quonam depulfa timore, Ponderibus defefla tuis non lumina condis,

Nec mihi permulces Lethæo flumine fenfus ?

Heu! quid pauperibus gaudes concumbere lect Stramineo, fufus circum quo fumeus humor, Stridula vel faciles irritat mufca fopores?

Heu! quid tecta citis pedibus regalia vitas,

Magnificofque toros; qùo thurea te vocat aura,

Te vocat incaffùm dulciffima tibia cantu?

Quæ,

O thou dull god, why ly'ft thou with the vile

In loathfome beds, and leav'ft the kingly couch,

A watch-cafe to a common larum bell?

Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,

Seal up the fhip's-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,

In cradle of the rude imperious furge;

And in the vifitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monftrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the flipp'ry shrouds ;
That, with the hurly, death, itself awakes:
Canft thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repofe

To the wet fea boy, in an hour fo rude,

And, in the calmeft, and the ftillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? then happy, lowly clown!
Uneafy lies the head that wears a crown.

WOLSEY

Quæ, malefane, tuum fuadent faftidia numen Dormitare cafâ, thalamos et linquere regum,

Queîs tonat affiduâ tanquam cuftodia voce?

Nautæ, quando agitur pinus, ludibria ponti, Amplexo malum, fundisne oblivia curæ ? Dumque etiam venti difcordia flamina mifcent Altùm incurvantes monftrofa cacumina, funes Et dum ftridentes inter fragor intonat ingens, Territa quo fomnis mors exilit ipfa tumultu: O levis, ut placuit tibi, diro turbine cœli, Equoribus nautæ tabentia membra levare? Et quanquam fileant ædes, atque omnia circum Jam fileant, adfintque irritamenta foporis, Defiderata negas foevus tua gaudia regi?

O fortunati nimiùm, fua fi bona nôrint

Agricolæ nobis eft irrequieta corona:

O caput infelix, quod tu premis, aurea cura!

WOL.

WOLSEY AND CROMWELL.

"F

FROM SHAKESPEAR.

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 bloffoms,
And bears his blufhing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a froft, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full furely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his shoot;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that fwim on bladders,
Thefe many fummers in a fea 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 ftream, that muft for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye!

CARDINALIS WOLSEIUS LOQUITUR.

AGNA vale, æternumque vale mea gloria! vitas

MA

Sic hominum fua fata regunt: nunc læta virescit Gemma fpei teneræ, cràs copia florea fplendet, Et tum purpurei passìm funduntur honores. Tertia lux oritur; glacies venit afpera plantis, Gloria cumque viro facili matura videtur, Frigore pertentans tempeftas excutit illam, Atque mei fimilis, fimilem dabit ille ruinam. Æftates multas puer ut lafcivit in undis, Utribus evectus, pelagi nimìs alta petivi; Me tandem ambitio fluviis tumefacta reliquit Confectum, et totus fubmergor gurgite vafto. Odi te, fplendor, te vanaque gloria mundi!