Some little memory of me will stir him,
I know his noble nature, not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
For thine own future safety.

Crom. 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
Forever, and forever, shall be yours.

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries, but thou hast forced
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, where no mention
Of me must more be heard, say then I taught thee--,
Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in:
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me:
Cromwell I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
Though the image of his maker hope to win by't?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that wait 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; then if thou fallist, o Crom-

well, Thou fall’st a blessed martyr. Serve the kingAnd 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, are all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal

I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Crom. Good Sir, have patience.

Wol. So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! My hopes in Heaven do dwell,


Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-

Clarence. 0, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terrour was the time.

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you

tell me.

Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tower, And was embarked to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Gloucester, Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward Eng

land, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befallen us. As we passed along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in my ears! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men that fishes knawed upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels; All scattered in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's sculls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon

the secret of the deep?
Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vast, and wandering air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony?

Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life; O, then began the tempest of my soul: I passed, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger-soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who cried aloud-__- What scourge of perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?" And so he vanished. Then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud“Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, furies! take him to your torments!". With that, methought a legion of foul fiends Environed me, and howled into mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked; and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream.

Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. 0, Brakenbury, I have done those things That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,

But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:
O spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!
I pray thee, Brakenbury, stay by me:
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Interview between Waverly and Fergus Mac-Ivor, at Carlisle, previous to the execution of the latter.

WAVERLY. After a sleepless night, the first dawn of morning found Waverly on the esplanade in front of the old Gothic gate of Carlisle castle. But he paced it long in every direction, before the hour when, according to the rules of the garrison, the gates were opened, and the drawbridge lowered. He produced his order to the sergeant of the guard, and was admitted. The place of Fergus' confinement was a gloomy and vaulted apartment in the central part of the castle; a huge old tower, supposed to be of great antiquity, and surrounded by outworks, seemingly of Henry VIII's time, or somewhat later. The grating of the huge old-fashioned bars and bolts, withdrawn for the purpose of admitting Edward, was answered by the clash of chains, as the unfortunate chieftain, strongly and heavily fettered, shuffled along the stone floor of his prison, to fling himself into his friend's arms.

“My dear Edward,” he said, in a firm and even cheerful voice, “this is truly kind. I heard of your approaching happiness with the highest pleasure; and how does Rose? and how is our old whimsical friend the Baron? Well, I am sure, from your looks-and how will you settle precedence between the three ermines passant, and the bear and boot-jack?" “How, 0 how, my dear Fergus, can you talk of such things at such a moment?» _“Why, we have entered Carlisle with happier auspices, to be sure-on the 16th of November last, for example, when we marched in, side by side, and hoisted the white flag on these ancient towers. But I am no boy, to sit


down and weep because the luck has gone against

I knew the stake which I risked; we played the game boldly, and the forfeit shall be paid manfully.

“You are rich," he continued, “Waverly, and you are generous; when you hear of these poor Macİvors being distressed about their miserable possessions by some harsh overseer or agent of government, remember you have worn their tartan, and are an adopted son of their race. The Baron, who knows our manners, and lives near our country, will apprize you of the time and means to be their protector. Will you promise this to the last Vich Ian Vohr?”–Edward, as may well be believed, pledged his word; which afterwards he so amply redeemed, that his memory still lives in these glens by the name of the Friend of the Sons of Ivor.- Would to God,” continued the chieftain," I could bequeath to you my rights to the love and obedience of this primitive and brave race: or at least, as I have striven to do, persuade poor Evan to accept of his life upon their terms; and be to you what he has been to me, the kindest--the bravest-the most devoted"

The tears which his own fate could not draw forth, fell fast for that of his foster-brother. “But,” said he, drying them, “that cannot be. You cannot be to them Vich Ian Vohr; and these three magic words," said he, half smiling, "are the only Open Sesame to their feelings and sympathies; and poor Evan must attend his foster-brother in death, as he has done through his whole life.”

_66 And I am sure," said Maecombich, raising himself from the floor, on which, for fear of interrupting their conversation, he had lain so still, that, in the obscurity of the apartment, Edward was not aware of his presence,—"I am sure Evan never desired nor deserved a better end than just to die with his chieftain."

A tap at the door now announced the arrival of the priest; and Edward retired while he administered to both prisoners the last rites of religion, in


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