I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched Enter CROMWell. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder, Crom. How does your grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. A still and quiet conscience. Crom. I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it. Wol. I hope I have: I'm able now, methinks, 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 For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 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 marry'd, Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. 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, To be thy lord and master: Seek the king; I have told him What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too: Go, Cromwell. Must I then leave you? must I needs forego well; And,—when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: : Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.-Lead me in:- To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe, I dare now call mine own.-O Cromwell, Cromwell, Crom. Good sir, have patience. Wol. So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. [Exeunt. ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. An Apartment at Kimbolton. Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick, attended by CROMWELL, PATIENCE, AGATHA, and CICELY, who lead her to her Chair. Crom. How does your grace? Kath. O, Cromwell, sick to death: My legs, like loaded branches, bow to the earth, Willing to leave their burden. Didst thou not tell me, Cromwell, as thou led'st me, That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead? Crom. Yes, madam; but I think, your grace, Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. Kath. Pr'ythee, good Cromwell, tell me how he died: If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, For my example. Crom. Well, the voice goes madam: For after the stout Earl Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him forward (As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer, He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, He could not sit his mule. Kath. Alas, poor man! Crom. At last, with easy roads, he came to Lei cester; Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking His promises were, as he then was, mighty; Crom. Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues Kath. Yes, good Cromwell; I were malicious else. Crom. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly |