—Know, smiler! at thy peril thou art pleased:
Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain.”
This is the state of man, by the experience of Shakspeare’s Wolsey: to-day he puts forth the tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, and bears his blushing honours thick upon him. He is exceeding glad, even as the prophet of his gourd; but a worm is preparing, or if not, a frost; and next day, or at latest
“The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost;
And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening,—nips his root,
And then he falls.”
The worm may speed in its mission, or otherwise; but the fulfilment of its mission is only a question of time. There is a
... “little rift within the lute,
That by-and-by will make the music mute,