Part 17

Sur. This cannot saue you: I thanke my Memorie, I yet remember Some of these Articles, and out they shall. Now, if you can blush, and crie guiltie Cardinall, You'l shew a little Honestie

Wol. Speake on Sir, I dare your worst Obiections: If I blush, It is to see a Nobleman want manners

Sur. I had rather want those, then my head; Haue at you. First, that without the Kings assent or knowledge, You wrought to be a Legate, by which power You maim'd the Iurisdiction of all Bishops

Nor. Then, That in all you writ to Rome, or else To Forraigne Princes, Ego & Rex meus Was still inscrib'd: in which you brought the King To be your Seruant

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

Sur. Item, You sent a large Commission To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude Without the Kings will, or the States allowance, A League betweene his Highnesse, and Ferrara

Suf. That out of meere Ambition, you haue caus'd Your holy-Hat to be stampt on the Kings Coine

Sur. Then, That you haue sent inumerable substance, (By what meanes got, I leaue to your owne conscience) To furnish Rome, and to prepare the wayes You haue for Dignities, to the meere vndooing Of all the Kingdome. Many more there are, Which since they are of you, and odious, I will not taint my mouth with

Cham. O my Lord, Presse not a falling man too farre: 'tis Vertue: His faults lye open to the Lawes, let them (Not you) correct him. My heart weepes to see him So little, of his great Selfe

Sur. I forgiue him

Suf. Lord Cardinall, the Kings further pleasure is, Because all those things you haue done of late By your power Legatine within this Kingdome, Fall into 'th' compasse of a Premunire; That therefore such a Writ be sued against you, To forfeit all your Goods, Lands, Tenements, Castles, and whatsoeuer, and to be Out of the Kings protection. This is my Charge

Nor. And so wee'l leaue you to your Meditations How to liue better. For your stubborne answer About the giuing backe the Great Seale to vs, The King shall know it, and (no doubt) shal thanke you. So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinall.

Exeunt. all but Wolsey.

Wol. So farewell, to the little good you beare me. Farewell? A long farewell to all my Greatnesse. This is the state of Man; to day he puts forth The tender Leaues of hopes, to morrow Blossomes, And beares his blushing Honors thicke vpon him: The third day, comes a Frost; a killing Frost, And when he thinkes, good easie man, full surely His Greatnesse is a ripening, nippes his roote, And then he fals as I do. I haue ventur'd Like little wanton Boyes that swim on bladders: This many Summers in a Sea of Glory, But farre beyond my depth: my high-blowne Pride At length broke vnder me, and now ha's left me Weary, and old with Seruice, to the mercy Of a rude streame, that must for euer hide me. Vaine pompe, and glory of this World, I hate ye, I feele my heart new open'd. Oh how wretched Is that poore man, that hangs on Princes fauours? There is betwixt that smile we would aspire too, That sweet Aspect of Princes, and their ruine, More pangs, and feares then warres, or women haue; And when he falles, he falles like Lucifer, Neuer to hope againe. Enter Cromwell, standing amazed.

Why how now Cromwell? Crom. I haue no power to speake Sir

Car. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes? Can thy Spirit wonder A great man should decline. Nay, and you weep I am falne indeed

Crom. How does your Grace

Card. Why well: Neuer so truly happy, my good Cromwell, I know my selfe now, and I feele within me, A peace aboue all earthly Dignities, A still, and quiet Conscience. The King ha's cur'd me, I humbly thanke his Grace: and from these shoulders These ruin'd Pillers, out of pitty, taken A loade, would sinke a Nauy, (too much Honor.) O 'tis a burden Cromwel, 'tis a burden Too heauy for a man, that hopes for Heauen

Crom. I am glad your Grace, Ha's made that right vse of it

Card. I hope I haue: I am able now (me thinkes) (Out of a Fortitude of Soule, I feele) To endure more Miseries, and greater farre Then my Weake-hearted Enemies, dare offer. What Newes abroad? Crom. The heauiest, and the worst, Is your displeasure with the King

Card. God blesse him

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is chosen Lord Chancellor, in your place

Card. That's somewhat sodain. But he's a Learned man. May he continue Long in his Highnesse fauour, and do Iustice For Truths-sake, and his Conscience; that his bones, When he ha's run his course, and sleepes in Blessings, May haue a Tombe of Orphants teares wept on him. What more? Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Install'd Lord Arch-byshop of Canterbury

Card. That's Newes indeed

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in secrecie long married, This day was view'd in open, as his Queene, Going to Chappell: and the voyce is now Onely about her Corronation

Card. There was the waight that pull'd me downe. O Cromwell, The King ha's gone beyond me: All my Glories In that one woman, I haue lost for euer. No Sun, shall euer vsher forth mine Honors, Or gilde againe the Noble Troopes that waighted Vpon my smiles. Go get thee from me Cromwel, I am a poore falne man, vnworthy now To be thy Lord, and Master. Seeke the King (That Sun, I pray may neuer set) I haue told him, What, and how true thou art; he will aduance thee: Some little memory of me, will stirre him (I know his Noble Nature) not to let Thy hopefull seruice perish too. Good Cromwell Neglect him not; make vse now, and prouide For thine owne future safety

Crom. O my Lord, Must I then leaue you? Must I needes forgo So good, so Noble, and so true a Master? Beare witnesse, all that haue not hearts of Iron, With what a sorrow Cromwel leaues his Lord. The King shall haue my seruice; but my prayres For euer, and for euer shall be yours

Card. Cromwel, I did not thinke to shed a teare 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 farre heare me Cromwel, And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleepe in dull cold Marble, where no mention Of me, more must be heard of: Say I taught thee; Say Wolsey, that once trod the wayes of Glory, And sounded all the Depths, and Shoales of Honor, Found thee a way (out of his wracke) to rise in: A sure, and safe one, though thy Master mist it. Marke but my Fall, and that that Ruin'd me: Cromwel, I charge thee, fling away Ambition, By that sinne fell the Angels: how can man then (The Image of his Maker) hope to win by it? Loue thy selfe last, cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more then Honesty. Still in thy right hand, carry gentle Peace To silence enuious Tongues. Be iust, and feare not; Let all the ends thou aym'st at, be thy Countries, Thy Gods, and Truths. Then if thou fall'st (O Cromwell) Thou fall'st a blessed Martyr. Serue the King: And prythee leade me in: There take an Inuentory of all I haue, To the last peny, 'tis the Kings. My Robe, And my Integrity to Heauen, is all, I dare now call mine owne. O Cromwel, Cromwel, Had I but seru'd my God, with halfe the Zeale I seru'd my King: he would not in mine Age Haue left me naked to mine Enemies