To hear me speak his good now?

CATH. Yes, good Cromwell,

I were malicious elfe.

CROM. This cardinal,

Though from an humble ftock, undoubtedly Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle :

He was a fcholar, and a ripe and good one ;. Exceeding wife, fair fpoken, and perfuad


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

And though he were unfaitsfy'd in getting, (Which was a fin) yet in bestowing, Ma


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


Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with


Unwilling to out-live the good he did it :


The other, though unfinish'd, yet so fa


So excellent in art, and still so rifing,
That Christendom fhall ever speak his vir-


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 my death I wish no other

No other speaker of my living actions,
To keep mine honour from corruption,
But fuch an honeft chronicler as Cromwell.
Whom I moft hated living thou haft made


With thy religious truth and modesty,

Now in his afhes honour. Peace be with




Haffan; or, the Camel Driver.


N filent horror, o'er the boundless waste, The driver Haffan with his camels pass'd: One crufe 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 fhaded face from fcorching fand.

The fultry fun had gain'd the middle sky, And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh: The beafts, with pain, their dufty way pur fue,

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Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view !

With defperate forrow wild, th' affrighted

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Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the


day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my

Ah little thought I of the blafting wind, The thirft or pinching hunger that I find! Bethink thee, Hassan, where fhall thirst asfwage,

When fails this crufe, his unrelenting rage; Soon fhall this fcrip its precious load refign; Then what but tears and hunger fhall be thine?

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

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

bestow :


Mere rocks alone, and tastelefs fands are [around. And faint and fickly winds for ever howl


Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,

When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my


Curft be the gold and filver which perfuade
Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade!
The lily peace outfhines the filver store,
And Life is dearer than the golden ore:
Yet money tempts us o'er the defart brown,
To every distant mart and wealthy town.
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the fca;
And are we only yet repaid by thee?
Ah! why this ruin fo attractive made?
Or why, fond man, fo eafily betray'd?
Why heed we not, while mad we hafte

The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure's fong?

Or wherefore think the flow'ry mountain's


The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's


C 2


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