You sent me deputy for Ireland; Far from his succour, from the king, from all That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him; Wol. Dare mate a sounder man than Surry can be, Surry. By my soul, Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st feel And from this fellow? if we live thus tamely, Is poison to thy stomach. All goodness Yes, that goodness Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, You writ to the pope, against the king: your goodness, My lord of Norfolk,- As you respect the common good, the state Of our despis'd nobility, our issues, Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen,- Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this man, But that I am bound in charity against it! Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand : But, this much, they are foul ones. Wol. So much fairer, And spotless, shall mine innocence arise, Surry. This cannot save you: I thank my memory, I yet remember Some of these articles; and out they shall. Wol. Speak on, sir: [at you. Surry. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge, You wrought to be a legate; by which power You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. Nor. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else To foreign princes, Ego et Rex meus Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the king Suff Surry. Item, you sent a large commission Without the king's will, or the state's allowance, Suff. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. Surry. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub stance (By what means got, I leave to your own conscience), Cham. O my lord, Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him Surry. I forgive him. That therefore such a writ be sued against you; Out of the king's protection:-This is my charge. The king shall know it, and, no doubt shall thank you. So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. [Exeunt all but Wolsey. Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear ine. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man; To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him: 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, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, Enter CROMWELL, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder, A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, I am fallen indeed. Crom. Wol. How does your grace? Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A peace above all earthly dignities, Why, well; A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, A load would sink a navy, too much honour: Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right use of it. Wol. I hope I have: I am able now, methinks (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel), To endure more miseries, and greater far, Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, God bless him! Is your displeasure with the king. Wol. Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen Lord chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden : But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his highness' favour, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, Wol. That's news, indeed. Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. O The king has gone beyond me, all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever: No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell, To be thy lord and master: Seek the king; That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of ine will stir him (I know his noble nature), not to let Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell, Crom. Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention E |