And, after, this: and then to breakfast, with
What appetite you have.

[Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal WOLSEY; the Nobles throng after him, whispering and fmiling.

Wol. What fhould this mean?

What fudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin

Leap'd from his eyes: fo looks the chafed lion
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him
Then makes him nothing. I muft read this paper;
I fear, the story of his anger.—’Tis so ;—
This paper has undone me :-'Tis the 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 crofs devil
Made me put this main fecret in the packet
I fent the king? Is there no way to cure this?
No new device to beat this from his brains?
I know 'twill ftir him ftrongly; yet I know
A way, if it take right, in fpight 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, farewel!

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

I hafte now to my fetting: I fhall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man fee 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 feal presently

Into our hands; and to confine yourself
To Efther-houfe, my lord of Winchefter's,
Till you hear further from his highness.
Wol. Stay.

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

Suf. Who dare crofs '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 muft deny it.(2) Now I feel
Of what coarfe metal ye are moulded,-Envy.
How eagerly ye follow my difgrace,

As if it fed ye! and how fleek and wanton
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!
Follow your envious courfes, men of malice!
You have chriftian warrant for 'em, and, no doubt,
In time will find their fit rewards. That seal,
You afk with fuch a violence, the king

(Mine, and your mafter), with his own hand gave me :
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,
During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,
Ty'd it by letters patent: 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 lieft;

Within thefe forty hours, Surrey durft better
Have burnt that tongue, than said so.

Sur. Thy ambition,

Thou fcarlet 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 beft parts bound together), Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague on your policy! You fent 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 goodnefs, out of holy pity, Abfolv'd him with an axe.

Wol. This, and all elfe

This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer, is moft falfe. The duke by law
Found his deferts; how innocent I was
From any private malice in his end,
His noble jury and foul caufe can witnefs.
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you,
You have as little honefty as honour;

That I, in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the king, my ever royal mafter,

(2) Till I find more than will or words (I mean more than your malicious will and words) to do it; that is, to carry authority fo mighty; I will deny to return what the king has given me. JOHNS.

Dare mate a founder man than Surrey can be,
And that love his follies.

Sur. By my foul,

Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'ft feel
My fword 'the 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 poison to thy ftomach.

Sur. 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 the pope, against the king: your goodness,
Since you provoke me, fhall be moft notorious.
-My lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,
As you refpect the common good, the state
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 startle you

Worfe than the sacring bell,(2) when the brown wench
Lay kiffing in your arms, lord cardinal,

Wol. How much, methinks, I could defpife 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 spotlefs, fhall mine innocence arise,
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 shall.
Now, if you can blush, and cry, guilty, cardinal,
You'll fhew a little honesty.

Wol. Speak on, fir;

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.

(2) The little bell, which is rung to give notice of the hoft approaching when it is carried in proceffion, as alfo in other offices of the Romish church, is called the facring, or confecration bell; from the French, facrer. THEO. VOL. VI.

F

Firft, 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. 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 feal.

Sur. Item, you fent a large commiffion
To Gregory de Caffalis, 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 to be ftampt on the king's coin.

Sur. Then, that you have fent innumerable fubftance (By what means got, I leave to your own confcience) 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, 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,—
Because all those things you have done of late
By your power legatine within this kingdom,
Fall in the compass of a Præmunire,-

That therefore fuch a writ be fu'd 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 fo we'll leave you to your meditations
How to live better. For your stubborn answer,
About the giving back the great feal to us,

The king fhall know it, and, no doubt, fhall thank you. So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal! [Exeunt all but WOLSEY.

Wol. So farewel to the little good you bear me.
Farewel, a long farewel, to all my greatnefs!
This is the ftate of man; To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow bloffoms,
And bears his blufhing honours thick upon him :
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost :
And-when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely
His greatnefs is a ripening,-nips his root,(3)
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys that fwim on bladders,
These 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 ftream, that muft 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 fmile we would aspire to,
That sweet afpect of princes, and our ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

Enter CROMWELL amazedly.

-Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom. I have no power to speak, fir.

Wol. What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder,

A great man fhould decline? Nay, an you weep,

I am fallen indeed.

Crom. How does your grace ?

Wol. Why, well;

Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell.

I know myself now; and 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 these shoulders,
Thefe 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 man that hopes for heaven.

(3) So Milton, in Sampfon Agonites,

Abortive as the first-born bloom of spring,
"Nipp'd with the lagging rear of winter's froft.'

WARBI.