King Henry VIII. Coriolanus (Google eBook)

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Printed for, and under the direction of, John Bell, 1788
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Page 92 - 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.
Page 91 - 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...
Page 91 - 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 ; And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble...
Page 88 - This 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, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes...
Page 51 - Anne. So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief And wear a golden sorrow.
Page 89 - 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.
Page 14 - O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day ; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away ! Re-enter PANTHINO.
Page 91 - 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.
Page 96 - You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty! Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, Fan you into despair! Have the power still To banish your defenders; till, at length, Your...
Page 89 - 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

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