Collected from his Life. I'll startle you Worse than the facring Bell, when the brown Wench Wal. How much methinks I could defpife this Man, Nor. Those Articles, my Lord, are in the King's Hand: But thus much, they are foul ones, Wol. So much fairer And fpotlefs fhall mine Innocence arise, I thank my Memory, I yet remember Some of thefe Articles, and out they fhall. Now, if you can blufh, and cry Guilty, Cardinal, Wol. Speak on, Sir, dare your worft Objections: If I blush, It is to fee a Nobleman want Manners. Sur. I had rather want thofe, than my Head; Have at you. First, that without the King's affent or knowledge, Nor. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else Was ftill infcrib'd; in which you brought the King Suf. Then, that without the knowledge Sur. Item, You fent a large Commiffion Without the King's Will, or the States alowance, Suf. That out of meer Ambition, you have caus'd Of Of all the Kingdom. Many more there are Prefs not a falling Man too far; 'tis Virtue: Sur. I forgive him. Suf. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is, That therefore fuch a Writ be fued against you, Out of the King's Protection. This is my Charge. The King fhall know it, and, no doubt, fhall thank you. So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal. [Exeunt all but Wolley. Wol. So farewel to the little good you bear me. Farewel, a long farewel to all my Greatness. This is the ftate of Man; to day he puts forth The tender Leaves of Hopes, 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 eafie Man, full furely 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 the World, I hate ye, I feel my Heart new open'd. Oh how wretched Is that poor Man that hangs on Princes Favours? There There is betwixt that fmile we would afpire to, 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 Spirit wonder A great Man fhould decline. Nay, and you weep Crom. How does your Grace? Wol. Why, well; Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell,, A Peace above all Earthly Dignities, A ftill and quiet Confcience. The King has cur'd me, A load would fink a Navy, too much Honour. Too heavy for a Man, that hopes for Heav'n. Has made that right ufe of it. Wol. I hope I have: I am able now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of Soul, I feel, To endure more Miferies, and greater far What News abroad? Crom. The heavieft, and the worst, Is your difpleafure with the King. Wol. God bless him. Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moor is chofen Lord Chancellor, in your place. Wol. That's fomewhat fudden But he's a learned Man. May he continue Long in his Highnefs favour, and do Juftice For Truth's-fake, and his Confcience; that his Bones, VOL. IV. R When When he has run his courfe, and fleeps in Bleffings, Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Crom. Laft, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in fecrecy long married, Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. The King has gone beyond me: All my Glories No Sun fhall ever ufher forth mine Honours, To be thy Lord and Mafter. Seek the King, I know his noble Natnre, not to let Thy hopeful service perish 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? Muft I needs forgo Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to fhed a Tear And fleep in dull cold Marble, where no mention Of Of me more must be heard: Say, I taught thee; Still in thy right Hand, carry gentle Peace To filence envious Tongues. Be juft, and fear not. Thy God's and Truth's; then if thou fall'ft, Ŏ Cromwell, Serve the King; and prithee lead me in: There take an Inventory of all I have, To the laft 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. Farewel The hopes of Court, my hopes in Heav'n do dwell. 2 Gen. So are you. 1 Gen. You come to take your Stand here, and behold The Lady Anne pafs from her Coronation. 2 Gen. 'Tis all my Bufinefs. At our laft encounter, The Duke of Buckingham came from his Trial. R 2 I Gen. |