Made me put this main secret in the packet
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this?
No new device to beat this from his brains?
I know 't will stir him strongly; Yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune

Will bring me off again. What 's this- To the Pope?'
The letter, as I live, with all the business

I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell!

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness:
And, from that full meridian of my glory,

I haste now to my setting. I shall fall

Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.

Re-enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord
Chamberlain.

Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal: who commands you
To render up the great seal presently
Into our hands; and to confine yourself
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's,

Till you hear further from his highness.

Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly?

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 moulded,―envy.
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,

As if it fed ye? and how sleek and wanton
Ye appear in everything may bring my ruin !
Follow your envious courses, men of malice;

You have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt,
In time will find their fit rewards. That seal

You ask with such a violence, the king,

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

During my life, and, to confirm his goodness,

Tied it by letters patent: Now, who'll take it?
Sur. The king, that gave it.

Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!
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; Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,

Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st feel

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.

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.

I dare your worst objections: if I blush,

It is, to see a nobleman want manners.

Suf. I'd rather want those than my head. Have at you. 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
To be your servant.

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 Ferrara.

Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caused

Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.

Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance,
(By what means got, I leave 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, since they are of you, and odious,

I will not taint my mouth with.

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 pramunire,—
That therefore such a writ be sued against you;
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be

Out of the king's protection :-This is my charge.
Nor. And so 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 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 me. Farewell, a long farewell, 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 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,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell:

I know myself now; and I feel within

A peace above all earthly dignities,

A still and quiet conscience. The king has curd 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, 't is 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, methinks,

(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)

To endure more miseries, and greater far,

Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.

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!
What more?

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

Wol. That's news indeed.
Crom.

Last, that the lady Anne,

Whom the king hath in secrecy 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 lost for ever:

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,

Or gild again the noble troops that waited

Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell,

I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now

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 me will stir him,

(I know his noble nature,) not to let

Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
For thine own future safety.

O, my lord,

Crom.
Must I then leave you? must I needs forego

So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.-
The king shall have my service; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.

Let's dry our eyes and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And,-when I am forgotten, as I shall be ;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of,-say, I taught thee:
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour.-
Found thee a way, out of his wrack, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?

Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee;