Ifis noblé jury and foul cause can witness.
If I lov'd many words, Lord, I should tell you,
You have as little honesty as honour;

That I, in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the King, my ever royal Master,
Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be,
And all that love his follies.

Sur. By my soul,

Your long coat, priest, protects yon; tlou·

should'st feel

My sword the life-blood of thee else.

Lords,

Can ve endure to hear this arrogance?

And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,
Farewell nobility; let his Grace go forward,
And dare us with his cap, like larks.

Wol. All goodness

Is poison to thy stomach.

Sur. Yes, that goodness

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,
Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion;
The goodness of your intercepted packets,

You writ to the Pope, against the King: your goodness,

Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.→
My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,
As you respect the common good, the state
Of our despis'd nobility, our issues,

Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen,"
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
Collected from his life: I'll startle you

Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown

wench

Lay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.

:I

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, thus much, they are foul ones.

Wol. So much fairer,

And spotless, shall mine innocence arise,
When the King knows my truth.

Sur. This cannot save you:

I thank my memory, I yet remember
Some of these articles; and out they shall."
Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, Cardinal,
You'll show a little honesty..

Wol. Speak on, Sir:

I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
It is, to see a nobleinap want manners.

Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have

nt you.

First, that, without the King's assent, or knowledge,

You wrote to be a Legate; by which power
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all Bishops.
Nor. Then, that, in all you wit to Rome,
or else

To foreign Princes, Ego et Rex meus

Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the King To be your servant,

Suf. Then, that, without the knowledge Either of King or council, when you went Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold To carry into Flanders the great seal,

Sur. Item, you sent a large commission: To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude,

Without the King's will, or the state's allowance, A league between his Highness and Farrara.

Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have

caus'd

Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the King's

in. Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance,

(By what means got, I leave to your own cons science,)

To furnist Rome, and to prepare
the Ways
You have for dignities; to the mere undoing
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are:
Which, since they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.

Cham. O my Lord,

品

T

Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue:
His faults lie open to the laws; let them, Le
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him
So little of his great self.

Sur. I forgive him.

Suf, Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure

is,

Because all those things, you have done of late
By your power legatine within this kingdom,
Fall into the compass of a praemunire,
That therefore such a writ be su'd against you
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
Chattles, and whatsoever, and to be

Out of the King's protection: This is my charge.
Nor. And so we'll leave you to your medita-

tions

How to live better. For your stubborn answer,
About the giving back the great seal to us,,
The King shall know it, and, no doubt,..

thank your

shall

So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.

[Exeunt all but WOLSEY.

**f Wol.

Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear

me.

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 hiem: 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 hule 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,
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?

At

Crom. I have no power to speak, Sir.
Wol. What, amaz'd

my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder,

A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep;
I am fallen indeed.

Crom. How does your Grace ?
Wol. Why, well;

VOL. XIII.

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

A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur'd,

me,

I humbly thank his Grace; and from these, shoulders,

These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink 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 use of it.

Wol. I hope, I have: I am able now, me-
thinks,

(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)

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

Crom. The heaviest, and the worst,

Is your displeasure 'with the King.

Wol. God bless him!

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 bles→ 'sings,

May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.