THE STREETS OF LONDON. 31 



All murder'd for within the hollow crown, 



That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 



Keeps Death his court : and there the antic sits 



Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 



Allowing him a breath, a little scene 



To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; 



Infusing him with self and vain conceit, 



As if this flesh, which wails about our life, 



Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus, 



Comes at the last, and with a little pin 



Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king ! 



Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 



With solemn rtverence; throw away respect, 



Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, 



For you have thus mistook me all this while : 



I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 



Need friends : subjected thus, 



How can you say to me I am a king ?' 



The climax is splendid ; and the whole passage magnificently 

 graphic, and exquisitely polished, and beautiful in style and lan- 

 guage." 



"The palace of Savoy," resumed our friend, "underwent the 

 usual changes incident to noble mansions, when left stranded by the 

 receding tide of fashion ; the town out-grew it and, as a hospital, a 

 prison, and a scene of ruins, made the hiding-place for traitors and 

 cut-throats of all castes and conditions, its remains were at last 

 removed, and no trace remains but its name linked with the historic 

 memoirs, which endear it to us. And here we come to one of the 

 best specimens of your street architecture Somerset-house the pro- 

 duction of John of Padua, Inigo Jones, and Sir William Chambers." 



" Ay, the ' proud Duke of Somerset,' and his young charge, 

 Edward VI. History has hardly done justice to Somerset, 



' Men's evil manners live in brass, their 

 Virtues we write in water : ' 



and the man whose blood was worshipped by a populace must have 

 had qualities of no common order. Northumberland, who hounded 

 him to death, was in his day as much execrated as his victim was 

 beloved." 



" True, and his royal nephew would alone have been sufficient to 

 wrest his memory from evil tongues and evil times. What a strange 

 family history is his ! His brother Thomas, the lord high admiral, 

 was, I think, one of the most thorough-paced villains that ever drew 

 the breath of life ; and much as we may deplore the punishment of 

 one brother by another, it is impossible to withhold our approbation 

 from the conduct of the Protector. Poor Catherine Parr, whose 

 life had more than once been jeopardied by her savage husband 

 Henry VIII., found a thrice-dyed villain in Seymour, and dearly 

 rued the precipitate and indecorous step of wedding a subject, ere 

 her late lord and master was well removed." 



