Either of king or council, when you went
Ambaffador to the emperor you made bold
To carry into Flanders the great feal.

Sur. Item, you fent a large commiffion
To Gregory de Caffalis, to conclude,

Without the king's will, or the state's allowance, A league between his highness and Ferrara.

Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd Your holy hat to be ftampt on the king's coin. Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable subftance

(By what means got Ileave to your own conscience),
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have for dignities; to the mere undoing
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are;
Which, fince they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.

Cham. O my lord,

Prefs not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue:
His faults lies open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to fee him
So little of his great felf.

Sur. I forgive him.

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure isBecause all those things, you have done of late By your power legatine within this kingdom, Fall into the compafs of a Præmunire— That therefore such a writ be su'd against you; To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, Caftles, and whatsoever, and to be

Out of the king's protection :-This is my charge.

Nor. And fo we'll leave you to your meditations How to live better. For your stubborn answer, About the giving back the great feal to us,

The

The king shall know it, and, no doubt, fhall thank So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal! [you. [Exeunt all but WOLSEY.

:

Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the ftate of man; To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow bloffoms, And bears his blufhing honours thick upon him The third day comes a froft, a killing froft; And-when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely His greatnefs is a ripening-nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that fwim on bladders, Thefe many fummers in a fea 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 fervice, to the mercy Of a rude ftream, that muft 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 fmile we would afpire to, That fweet afpect of princes, and our ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

Enter CROMWELL, amazedly.

Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom. I have no power to fpeak, fir.

Wal. What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes? can thy fpirit wonder,

A great man fhould decline? Nay, an you weep, I um fallen indeed.

Crom

Crom. How does your grace?

Wol. Why, well;

Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,

A till and quiet confcience. The king has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
Thefe ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken

A load would fink a navy, too much honour :
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right

ufe of it.

Wol. I hope, I have: I am able now, methinks (Out of a fortitude of foul I feel),

To endure more miferies, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

Crom. The heavieft, and the worst,

Is your displeasure with the king.

Wol. God bless him!

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chofen Lord chancellor in your place.

Wol. That's fomewhat fudden :

But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice

For truth's fake and his confcience; that his bones,
When he has run his courfe, and fleeps in bleffings,
May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on them!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, Inftall'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol. That's news indeed.

Crem. Lait, that the lady Anne,

Whom

Whom the king hath in fecrecy long married,
This day was view'd in open as his queen,
Going to chapel; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down.
O Cromwell,

The king has gone beyond me, all my glories
In that one woman I have loft for ever:
No fun fhall ever iffue forth mine honours
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my fmiles. Go get thee from me, Cromwell;
am a poor fallen man, unworthy now

To be thy lord and mafter: Seek the king;
That fun, I pray, may never fet! I have told him
What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will ftir him.

I know his noble nature, not to let

Thy hopeful fervice perifh too: Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make ufe now, and provide For thine own future fafety.

Crom. O my lord,

Muft I then leave you? must I needs forego
So good, fo noble, and fo true a master?-
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a forrow Cromwell leaves his lord.-
The king fhall have my fervice; but my prayers
For ever, and for eyer fhall be yours.

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to fhed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou haft forc'd me,
Out of thy honeft truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry oureyes: And thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And-when I am forgotten, as I fhall be;
"And fleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of--fay, I taught thee,

Say, Wolfey-that once trod the ways of glory,
And founded all the depths and fhoals of honour-
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rife in;
A fure and fafe one, though thy master mifs'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin❜d me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that fin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyfelf laft: cherish thofe hearts that hate
Corruption wins not more than honefty.
Still in thy right hand earry gentle peace,
To filence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:
Let all the ends, thou aim'ft at, be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'a, O
Cromwell!

Thou fall'it a blessed martyr.

And-Pr'ythee, lead me in:

[thee;

Serve the king;

There take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. OCromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but ferv'd my God with half the zeal
I ferv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Crom. Good fir, have patience.

The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell

[Exeunt.

ACT