ACT III. SCENE 1.  London. The QUEEN'S apartments  Enter the QUEEN and her women, as at work    QUEEN KATHARINE. Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows       sad with troubles;     Sing and disperse 'em, if thou canst. Leave working.                      SONG          Orpheus with his lute made trees,         And the mountain tops that freeze,           Bow themselves when he did sing;         To his music plants and flowers         Ever sprung, as sun and showers           There had made a lasting spring.          Every thing that heard him play,         Even the billows of the sea,           Hung their heads and then lay by.         In sweet music is such art,         Killing care and grief of heart           Fall asleep or hearing die.                Enter a GENTLEMAN    QUEEN KATHARINE. How now?   GENTLEMAN. An't please your Grace, the two great Cardinals     Wait in the presence.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Would they speak with me?   GENTLEMAN. They will'd me say so, madam.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Pray their Graces     To come near. [Exit GENTLEMAN] What can be their business     With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour?     I do not like their coming. Now I think on't,     They should be good men, their affairs as righteous;     But all hoods make not monks.           Enter the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS    WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness!   QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife;     I would be all, against the worst may happen.     What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?   WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw     Into your private chamber, we shall give you     The full cause of our coming.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here;     There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,     Deserves a corner. Would all other women     Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!     My lords, I care not-so much I am happy     Above a number-if my actions     Were tried by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry eye saw 'em,     Envy and base opinion set against 'em,     I know my life so even. If your business     Seek me out, and that way I am wife in,     Out with it boldly; truth loves open dealing.   WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis-sima-   QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin!     I am not such a truant since my coming,     As not to know the language I have liv'd in;     A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious;     Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you,     If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake:     Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord Cardinal,     The willing'st sin I ever yet committed     May be absolv'd in English.   WOLSEY. Noble lady,     I am sorry my integrity should breed,     And service to his Majesty and you,     So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant     We come not by the way of accusation     To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,     Nor to betray you any way to sorrow-     You have too much, good lady; but to know     How you stand minded in the weighty difference     Between the King and you, and to deliver,     Like free and honest men, our just opinions     And comforts to your cause.   CAMPEIUS. Most honour'd madam,     My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,     Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace,     Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure     Both of his truth and him-which was too far-     Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,     His service and his counsel.   QUEEN KATHARINE.  [Aside]  To betray me.-     My lords, I thank you both for your good wins;     Ye speak like honest men-pray God ye prove so!     But how to make ye suddenly an answer,     In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,     More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit,     And to such men of gravity and learning,     In truth I know not. I was set at work     Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking     Either for such men or such business.     For her sake that I have been-for I feel     The last fit of my greatness-good your Graces,     Let me have time and counsel for my cause.     Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!   WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King's love with these fears;     Your hopes and friends are infinite.   QUEEN KATHARINE. In England     But little for my profit; can you think, lords,     That any Englishman dare give me counsel?     Or be a known friend, 'gainst his Highness' pleasure-     Though he be grown so desperate to be honest-     And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,     They that must weigh out my afflictions,     They that my trust must grow to, live not here;     They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,     In mine own country, lords.   CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace     Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.   QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir?   CAMPEIUS. Put your main cause into the King's protection;     He's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much     Both for your honour better and your cause;     For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye     You'll part away disgrac'd.   WOLSEY. He tells you rightly.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both-my ruin.     Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye!     Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge     That no king can corrupt.   CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us.   QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye,     Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;     But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye.     Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?     The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady-     A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?     I will not wish ye half my miseries:     I have more charity; but say I warned ye.     Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once     The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.   WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction;     You turn the good we offer into envy.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye,     And all such false professors! Would you have me-     If you have any justice, any pity,     If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits-     Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?     Alas! has banish'd me his bed already,     His love too long ago! I am old, my lords,     And all the fellowship I hold now with him     Is only my obedience. What can happen     To me above this wretchedness? All your studies     Make me a curse like this.   CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv'd thus long-let me speak myself,     Since virtue finds no friends-a wife, a true one?     A woman, I dare say without vain-glory,     Never yet branded with suspicion?     Have I with all my full affections     Still met the King, lov'd him next heav'n, obey'd him,     Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him,     Almost forgot my prayers to content him,     And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well, lords.     Bring me a constant woman to her husband,     One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure,     And to that woman, when she has done most,     Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.   WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.   QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,     To give up willingly that noble title     Your master wed me to: nothing but death     Shall e'er divorce my dignities.   WOLSEY. Pray hear me.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth,     Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!     Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.     What will become of me now, wretched lady?     I am the most unhappy woman living.     [To her WOMEN]  Alas, poor wenches, where are now       your fortunes?     Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,     No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me;     Almost no grave allow'd me. Like the My,     That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,     I'll hang my head and perish.   WOLSEY. If your Grace     Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,     You'd feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady,     Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places,     The way of our profession is against it;     We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.     For goodness' sake, consider what you do;     How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly     Grow from the King's acquaintance, by this carriage.     The hearts of princes kiss obedience,     So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits     They swell and grow as terrible as storms.     I know you have a gentle, noble temper,     A soul as even as a calm. Pray think us     Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.   CAMPEIUS. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues     With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit,     As yours was put into you, ever casts     Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you;     Beware you lose it not. For us, if you please     To trust us in your business, we are ready     To use our utmost studies in your service.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Do what ye will my lords; and pray       forgive me     If I have us'd myself unmannerly;     You know I am a woman, lacking wit     To make a seemly answer to such persons.     Pray do my service to his Majesty;     He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers     While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers,     Bestow your counsels on me; she now begs     That little thought, when she set footing here,     She should have bought her dignities so dear.              Exeunt    ACT III.SCENE 2.  London. The palace  Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD CHAMBERLAIN    NORFOLK. If you will now unite in your complaints     And force them with a constancy, the Cardinal     Cannot stand under them: if you omit     The offer of this time, I cannot promise     But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces     With these you bear already.   SURREY. I am joyful     To meet the least occasion that may give me     Remembrance of my father-in-law, the Duke,     To be reveng'd on him.   SUFFOLK. Which of the peers     Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least     Strangely neglected? When did he regard     The stamp of nobleness in any person     Out of himself?   CHAMBERLAIN. My lords, you speak your pleasures.     What he deserves of you and me I know;     What we can do to him-though now the time     Gives way to us-I much fear. If you cannot     Bar his access to th' King, never attempt     Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft     Over the King in's tongue.   NORFOLK. O, fear him not!     His spell in that is out; the King hath found     Matter against him that for ever mars     The honey of his language. No, he's settled,     Not to come off, in his displeasure.   SURREY. Sir,     I should be glad to hear such news as this     Once every hour.   NORFOLK. Believe it, this is true:     In the divorce his contrary proceedings     Are all unfolded; wherein he appears     As I would wish mine enemy.   SURREY. How came     His practices to light?   SUFFOLK. Most Strangely.   SURREY. O, how, how?   SUFFOLK. The Cardinal's letters to the Pope miscarried,     And came to th' eye o' th' King; wherein was read     How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness     To stay the judgment o' th' divorce; for if     It did take place, 'I do' quoth he 'perceive     My king is tangled in affection to     A creature of the Queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.'   SURREY. Has the King this?   SUFFOLK. Believe it.   SURREY. Will this work?   CHAMBERLAIN. The King in this perceives him how he coasts     And hedges his own way. But in this point     All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic     After his patient's death: the King already     Hath married the fair lady.   SURREY. Would he had!   SUFFOLK. May you be happy in your wish, my lord!     For, I profess, you have it.   SURREY. Now, all my joy     Trace the conjunction!   SUFFOLK. My amen to't!   NORFOLK. An men's!   SUFFOLK. There's order given for her coronation;     Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left     To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords,     She is a gallant creature, and complete     In mind and feature. I persuade me from her     Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall     In it be memoriz'd.   SURREY. But will the King     Digest this letter of the Cardinal's?     The Lord forbid!   NORFOLK. Marry, amen!   SUFFOLK. No, no;     There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose     Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius     Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave;     Has left the cause o' th' King unhandled, and     Is posted, as the agent of our Cardinal,     To second all his plot. I do assure you     The King cried 'Ha!' at this.   CHAMBERLAIN. Now, God incense him,     And let him cry 'Ha!' louder!   NORFOLK. But, my lord,     When returns Cranmer?   SUFFOLK. He is return'd in his opinions; which     Have satisfied the King for his divorce,     Together with all famous colleges     Almost in Christendom. Shortly, I believe,     His second marriage shall be publish'd, and     Her coronation. Katharine no more     Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager     And widow to Prince Arthur.   NORFOLK. This same Cranmer's     A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain     In the King's business.   SUFFOLK. He has; and we shall see him     For it an archbishop.   NORFOLK. So I hear.   SUFFOLK. 'Tis so.          Enter WOLSEY and CROMWELL      The Cardinal!   NORFOLK. Observe, observe, he's moody.   WOLSEY. The packet, Cromwell,     Gave't you the King?   CROMWELL. To his own hand, in's bedchamber.   WOLSEY. Look'd he o' th' inside of the paper?   CROMWELL. Presently     He did unseal them; and the first he view'd,     He did it with a serious mind; a heed     Was in his countenance. You he bade     Attend him here this morning.   WOLSEY. Is he ready     To come abroad?   CROMWELL. I think by this he is.   WOLSEY. Leave me awhile.                              Exit CROMWELL     [Aside]  It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,     The French King's sister; he shall marry her.     Anne Bullen! No, I'll no Anne Bullens for him;     There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen!     No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish     To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!   NORFOLK. He's discontented.   SUFFOLK. May be he hears the King     Does whet his anger to him.   SURREY. Sharp enough,     Lord, for thy justice!   WOLSEY.  [Aside]  The late Queen's gentlewoman, a knight's       daughter,     To be her mistress' mistress! The Queen's queen!     This candle burns not clear. 'Tis I must snuff it;     Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous     And well deserving? Yet I know her for     A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to     Our cause that she should lie i' th' bosom of     Our hard-rul'd King. Again, there is sprung up     An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one     Hath crawl'd into the favour of the King,     And is his oracle.   NORFOLK. He is vex'd at something.          Enter the KING, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL    SURREY. I would 'twere something that would fret the string,     The master-cord on's heart!   SUFFOLK. The King, the King!   KING. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated     To his own portion! And what expense by th' hour     Seems to flow from him! How, i' th' name of thrift,     Does he rake this together?-Now, my lords,     Saw you the Cardinal?   NORFOLK. My lord, we have     Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion     Is in his brain: he bites his lip and starts,     Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,     Then lays his finger on his temple; straight     Springs out into fast gait; then stops again,     Strikes his breast hard; and anon he casts     His eye against the moon. In most strange postures     We have seen him set himself.   KING. It may well be     There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning     Papers of state he sent me to peruse,     As I requir'd; and wot you what I found     There-on my conscience, put unwittingly?     Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing     The several parcels of his plate, his treasure,     Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which     I find at such proud rate that it outspeaks     Possession of a subject.   NORFOLK. It's heaven's will;     Some spirit put this paper in the packet     To bless your eye withal.   KING. If we did think     His contemplation were above the earth     And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still     dwell in his musings; but I am afraid     His thinkings are below the moon, not worth     His serious considering.                         [The KING takes his seat and whispers LOVELL,                                            who goes to the CARDINAL]   WOLSEY. Heaven forgive me!     Ever God bless your Highness!   KING. Good, my lord,     You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory     Of your best graces in your mind; the which     You were now running o'er. You have scarce time     To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span     To keep your earthly audit; sure, in that     I deem you an ill husband, and am glad     To have you therein my companion.   WOLSEY. Sir,     For holy offices I have a time; a time     To think upon the part of business which     I bear i' th' state; and nature does require     Her times of preservation, which perforce     I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,     Must give my tendance to.   KING. You have said well.   WOLSEY. And ever may your Highness yoke together,     As I will lend you cause, my doing well     With my well saying!   KING. 'Tis well said again;     And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well;     And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you:     He said he did; and with his deed did crown     His word upon you. Since I had my office     I have kept you next my heart; have not alone     Employ'd you where high profits might come home,     But par'd my present havings to bestow     My bounties upon you.   WOLSEY.  [Aside]  What should this mean?   SURREY.  [Aside]  The Lord increase this business!   KING. Have I not made you     The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me     If what I now pronounce you have found true;     And, if you may confess it, say withal     If you are bound to us or no. What say you?   WOLSEY. My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,     Show'r'd on me daily, have been more than could     My studied purposes requite; which went     Beyond all man's endeavours. My endeavours,     Have ever come too short of my desires,     Yet fil'd with my abilities; mine own ends     Have been mine so that evermore they pointed     To th' good of your most sacred person and     The profit of the state. For your great graces     Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I     Can nothing render but allegiant thanks;     My pray'rs to heaven for you; my loyalty,     Which ever has and ever shall be growing,     Till death, that winter, kill it.   KING. Fairly answer'd!     A loyal and obedient subject is     Therein illustrated; the honour of it     Does pay the act of it, as, i' th' contrary,     The foulness is the punishment. I presume     That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you,     My heart dropp'd love, my pow'r rain'd honour, more     On you than any, so your hand and heart,     Your brain, and every function of your power,     Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,     As 'twere in love's particular, be more     To me, your friend, than any.   WOLSEY. I do profess     That for your Highness' good I ever labour'd     More than mine own; that am, have, and will be-     Though all the world should crack their duty to you,     And throw it from their soul; though perils did     Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, and     Appear in forms more horrid-yet my duty,     As doth a rock against the chiding flood,     Should the approach of this wild river break,     And stand unshaken yours.   KING. 'Tis nobly spoken.     Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,     For you have seen him open 't. Read o'er this;                                                   [Giving him papers]     And after, this; and then to breakfast with     What appetite you have.                 Exit the KING, frowning upon the CARDINAL; the NOBLES                              throng after him, smiling and whispering   WOLSEY. What should this mean?     What sudden anger's this? How have I reap'd it?     He parted frowning from me, as if ruin     Leap'd from his eyes; so looks the chafed lion     Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him-     Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;     I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so;     This paper has undone me. 'Tis th' account     Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together     For mine own ends; indeed to gain the popedom,     And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,     Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil     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 'twill 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 th' Pope.'     The letter, as I live, with all the business     I writ to's 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 to WOLSEY the DUKES OF NORFOLK and         SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD         CHAMBERLAIN    NORFOLK. 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.   WOLSEY. Stay:     Where's your commission, lords? Words cannot carry     Authority so weighty.   SUFFOLK. Who dares cross 'em,     Bearing the King's will from his mouth expressly?   WOLSEY. 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 every thing may bring my ruin!     Follow your envious courses, men of malice;     You have Christian warrant for 'em, 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-patents. Now, who'll take it?   SURREY. The King, that gave it.   WOLSEY. It must be himself then.   SURREY. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.   WOLSEY. Proud lord, thou liest.     Within these forty hours Surrey durst better     Have burnt that tongue than said so.   SURREY. Thy ambition,     Thou scarlet sin, 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 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,     Absolv'd him with an axe.   WOLSEY. This, and all else     This talking lord can lay upon my credit,     I answer is most false. The Duke by law     Found his deserts; how innocent I was     From any private malice in his end,     His noble jury and foul cause can witness.     If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you     You have as little honesty as honour,     That in the way of loyalty and truth     Toward the King, my ever royal master,     Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be     And an that love his follies.   SURREY. By my soul,     Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel     My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. 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,     Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forward     And dare us with his cap like larks.   WOLSEY. All goodness     Is poison to thy stomach.   SURREY. Yes, that goodness     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 th' 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,     Whom, 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.   WOLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man,     But that I am bound in charity against it!   NORFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the King's hand;     But, thus much, they are foul ones.   WOLSEY. So much fairer     And spotless shall mine innocence arise,     When the King knows my truth.   SURREY. This cannot save you.     I thank my memory I yet remember     Some of these articles; and out they shall.     Now, if you can blush and cry guilty, Cardinal,     You'll show a little honesty.   WOLSEY. Speak on, sir;     I dare your worst objections. If I blush,     It is to see a nobleman want manners.   SURREY. I had 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.   NORFOLK. 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.   SUFFOLK. Then, that without the knowledge     Either of King or Council, when you went     Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold     To carry into Flanders the great seal.   SURREY. Item, you sent a large commission     To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,     Without the King's will or the state's allowance,     A league between his Highness and Ferrara.   SUFFOLK. That out of mere ambition you have caus'd     Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the King's coin.   SURREY. 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.   CHAMBERLAIN. O my lord,     Press 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 see him     So little of his great self.   SURREY. I forgive him.   SUFFOLK. 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 th' compass of a praemunire-     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.   NORFOLK. 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   WOLSEY. 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 to hope again.           Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed      Why, how now, Cromwell!   CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir.   WOLSEY. What, amaz'd     At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder     A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,     I am fall'n indeed.   CROMWELL. How does your Grace?   WOLSEY. Why, well;     Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.     I know myself now, and I feel within me     A peace above all earthly dignities,     A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur'd 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, 'tis a burden     Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!   CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.   WOLSEY. 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.     What news abroad?   CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst     Is your displeasure with the King.   WOLSEY. God bless him!   CROMWELL. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen     Lord Chancellor in your place.   WOLSEY. 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 him!     What more?   CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,     Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.   WOLSEY. That's news indeed.   CROMWELL. 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.   WOLSEY. 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 fall'n 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.   CROMWELL. O my lord,     Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo     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.   WOLSEY. 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 wreck, 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 it?     Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee;     Corruption wins not more than honesty.     Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace     To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not;     Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,     Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,     Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!     Serve the King, and-prithee lead me in.     There take an inventory of all I have     To the last penny; 'tis the King's. My robe,     And my integrity to heaven, is all     I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!     Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal     I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age     Have left me naked to mine enemies.   CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience.   WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell     The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.           Exeunt