To hear ine speak his good now?

CATH. Yes, good Cromwell, I were malicious else.

CROM. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashion'd to much honour from his

cradle : He was a fcholar, and a ripe and good one ;. Exceeding wife, fair spoken, and persuad


Lofty and four, to them that lov'd him not, But to those men that fought him, fweet as

the summer. And though he were unsaitsfy'd in getting, (Which was a sin) yet in bestowing, Ma

dam, He was most princely ; ever witness for him Those twins of learning that he rais’d in

you, Ipswich and Oxford ! one of which fell with

him, Unwilling to out-live the good he did it:


The other, though unfinish’d, yet so fa

mous, So excellent' in art, and still so rising, That Christendom fh all ever speak his vir

tue, His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; For then, and not till then, he felt himself, And found the blessedness of being little : And to add greater honours to his age Than man could give him, he dy'd, fearing


CATH. After


death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Cromwell. Whom I most hated living thou hast made

me, With thy religious truth and modesty, Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him !



Hasan; or, the Camel Driver.

In filent horror, o'er the boundless waste,
The driver Hassan with his camels pass’d :
One cruse of water on his back he bore,
And his light fcrip contain'd a scanty store ;
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,
To guard his shaded face from scorching

The sultry sun had gain'd the middle sky,
And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh :
The beasts, with pain, their dusty way pur.

fue, Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the

view ! With desperate forrow wild, th' affrighted


Thrice figh'd, thrice struck his breast, and

thus began : VOL. II.


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• Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,

[way ! When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my

Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind, The thirst or pinching hunger that I find ! Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst al

fwage, When fails this cruse, his unrelenting rage ; Soon shall this fcrip its precious load resign ; Then what but tears and hunger shall be

thine ?


Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear In all my griefs a more than equal share ! Here, where no springs in murmurs break

away, Or moss-crown'd fountains mitigate the day, In vain ye hope the green delights to know, Which plains inore bless’d, or verdant vales

bestow : Mere rocks alone, and tasteless fands are found,

(around. And faint and fickly winds for ever howl


Sad was the hour, and luckless was the

day, When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my


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Curft be the gold and silver which persuade
Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade !
The lily peace outthines the silver store,
And Life is dearer than the golden ore :

money tempts us o'er the detart brown,
To every distant mart and wealthy town.
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sca
And are we only yet repaid by thee?
Ah! why this ruin so attractive made ?
Or why, fond man, so easily tray'd ?
Why heed we not, while mad we hafte

The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure's

song? Or wherefore think the flowry mountain's

fide, The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride,



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