More pangs and fears than wars or women have. Never to hope again! Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee,- Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Thy God's and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, And Prithee, 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 THE EXECUTION OF SIR THOMAS MORE. JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE. THE scaffold had been awkwardly erected, and shook as he placed his foot upon the ladder. "See me safe up," he said to Kingston; "for my coming down I can shift for myself. He began to speak to the people, but the sheriff begged him not to proceed, and he contented himself with asking for their prayers, and desiring them to bear witness for him that he died in the faith of the Holy Catholic Church, and a faithful servant of God and the king. He then repeated the Miserere psalm on his knees; when he had ended and had risen, the executioner, with an emotion which promised ill for the manner in which his part in the tragedy would be accomplished, begged his forgiveness. More kissed him. "Thou art to do me the greatest benefit that I can receive," he said. "Pluck up thy spirit, man, and be not afraid to do thine office. My neck is very short; take heed, therefore, that thou strike not awry for saving of thine honesty." The executioner offered to tie his eyes. "I will cover them myself," he said; and binding them in a cloth which he had brought with him, he knelt and laid his head upon the block. The fatal stroke was about to fall, when he signed for a moment's delay while he moved aside his beard. "Pity that should be cut," he murmured; "that has not committed treason!" With which strange words, the strangest perhaps ever uttered at such a time, the lips most famous through Europe for eloquence and wisdom closed forever. V SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. CHARLES KINGSLEY. EXTRACT. WHO is that short, sturdy, plainly dressed man who stands, with legs a little apart and hands behind his back, looking up with keen gray eyes into the face of each speaker? His cap is in his hands, so you can see the bullet head of crisp brown hair and the wrinkled forehead, as well as the high cheek-bones, the short, square face, the broad temples, the thick lips which are yet as firm as granite. A coarse, plebeian stamp of man; yet the whole figure and attitude are that of boundless determination, self-possession, energy; and when at last he speaks a few blunt words, all eyes are turned respectfully upon him,- for his name is Francis Drake. EPIGRAM ON FRANCIS DRAKE. BEN JONSON. THE stars above will make thee known If man were silent here; The sun himself cannot forget His fellow-traveller. ROBIN HOOD. JOHN KEATS. No! those days are gone away, Since men knew nor rents nor leases. No! the bugle sounds no more, Past the heath and up the hill; On the fairest time of June Some old hunting ditty, while Gone the merry morris din; She would weep, and he would craze; So it is yet let us sing |