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I writ to's Holiness. Nay, then farewel;

I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness;
And from that full meridian of my glo y
I hate now to my letting. • I fhall fall,
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man fee me more,

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Enter to Wolfey, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain.

Lmands you

Nor. Hear the King's pleasure, Cardinal, who comTo rende up the great feal prefently Into our hands, and to confine yourself To fher house, my Lord of Winchester's, Till you hear further from his Highness.

Wol. Stay

Where s your commiffion, Lords? words cannot carry Authority fo mighty.

Suf. Who dare cross 'em,

Bearing the King's will from his mouth exprefsly?

Wol. Till I find more than will, or words to do it, (I mean your malice), know, officious Lords,

I dare, and must deny it.

Now I feel

Of what coarse metal ye are molded,
How eagerly ye follow my difgrace,

-Envy;

As if it fed ye; and how fleek and wanton
Y'appear in ev'ry thing may bring my ruin.
Follow your envious courfes, men of malice;
You've Christian warrant for 'em, and, no doubt,
In time will find their fit rewards. That feal
You afk with fuch a violence, the King

(Mine and your master) with his own hand gave me ; Bade ine enjoy it, with the place and honours,

During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,

Ty'd it by letters patents. Now, who'll take it?
Sur. The King, that gave it.

Wol. It must be himself then.

Sur. Thou'rt a proud traitor, priest.

Wol. Proud Lord, thou lyeft.

Within these forty hours Surrey durft better

Have burnt that tongue, than faid so.

!

Sur. Thy ambition,

Thou scarlet fin, robb'd this bewailing land
Of Noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.
The heads of all thy brother Cardinals,-

(With thee and all thy best parts bound together),
Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!
You lent me Deputy for Ireland,

Far from his fuccour; from the King; from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav ft him!
Whilft your great goodness, out of holy pity,
Abfolv'd him with an ax.

Wol. This, and all elfe

This talking Lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer, is most falfe. The Duke by law
Found his deserts. How innocent I was
From any private malice in his end,
His noble jury and foul caufe can witness.
If I lov'd many words, Lord, I fhould tell you,
You have as little honefty as honour ;

That I, i'th' way of loyalty and truth
Toward the King, my ever-royal master,
Dare mate a founder man than Surrey can be,
And all that love his follies.

Sur. By my foul,

Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldft feel
My fword i'th' life-blood of thee elfe. My Lords,

Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ?

And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,

To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,

Farewel, nobility; let his Grace go forward,
And dare us with his cap, like larks.

Wol. All goodness

Is poifon to thy stomach.

Sur. Yes, that goodness

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,

Into your own hands, Card'nal, by extortion;

The goodness of your intercepted packets

You writ to th' Pope, against the King; your goodness,

Since you provoke me, fhall be most notorious.

My Lord of Norfolk, as you're truly noble,

As you respect the common good, the fate
Of our defpis'd nobility, our iffues,

Who, if he live, will fcarce be gentlemen,

Produce the grand fum of his fins, the articles
Collected from his life. I'll ftartle you,

Worfe than the facring bell, when the brown wench Lay kiffing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.

Wol. How much, methinks, I could defpife this man, But that I'm bound in charity against it!

Nor. Those articles, my Lord, are in th' King's hand: But thus much, they are foul ones.

Wol. So much fairer

And ipotlefs fhall mine innocence arife,
When the King knows my truth,
Sur. This cannot fave you.

I thank my memory, I yet remember
Some of these articles, and out they fhall.
Now, if you can, blufh, and cry, Guilty, Cardinal;
You'll fhew a little honesty.

Wol. Speak on, Sir;

I dare your worst objections: if I blush,

It is to fee a Nobleman want manners.

Sur. I'd rather want those than my head; have at you, First, that without the King's affent or knowledge, You wrought to be a legate; by which power You maim'd the jurifdiction of all bishops.

Nor. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else To foreign princes, Ego & Rex meus

Was ftill infcrib'd; in which you brought the King To be your fervant.

Suf. That, without the knowledge

Either of King or council, when you went
Ambaffador to th' Emperor, you made bold
To carry into Flanders the

great

feal.

Sur. Item, You fent a large commission
To Gregory de Caffado, to conclude,

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

Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have made
Your holy hat be stamp'd on the King's coin.
Sur. That you have fent innumerable fums

(By what means got, I leave to your own confcience) To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways You have for dignities, to th' 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 lie 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 is,
Becaufe all those things you have done of late
By your pow'r legatine within this kingdom,
Fall in the compass of a præmunire,

That therefore fuch a writ be su'd against you,
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
And chattles, and whatfoever, 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 seal to us,
The King thall know it, and, no doubt shall thank
So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.
[Exeunt all but Wolfey.

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Wol. So farewel to the little good you bear me!
Farewel, a long farewel to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes; to morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a trost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his thoot;
And then he falls, as I do I have ventur d,
Like little wanton boys, that iwim 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 stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched
VOL. V.
E e

you.

Is that poer man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwist that smile he would aspire to,
1 hat fweet afpect of princes, and his ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have ;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

Enter Cromwell, standing amaz'd.

Why, how now Cromwell?

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

At my misfortunes? can thy fpirit wonder
A great man fhould decline! nay, if you weep,
I'm fallen indeed.

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 ftill and quiet confcience. The King has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his Grace; and from thefe fhoulders,
Thele 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 heav'n!

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 foul I feel,

T'endure more miferies, and greater far,

Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

Crom. The heaviest, and the worst,

Is your difpleasure 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 bleflings,

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