What appetite you

have.

[Exit KING, frowning upon CARDINAL WOLSEY: the Nobles throng after him, smiling and whispering.

Wol. What sudden anger's this: how have I reaped it? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leaped from his eyes. So looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman that has galled him: Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper; I fear, the story of his anger.-'T is 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 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 '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?"

What should this mean?

The letter, as I live, with all the business

I writ to his holiness! Nay then, farewell:

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 patents. Now who'll take it?
Sur. The King, that gave it.

Wol.

It must be himself, then.
Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.
Wol.
Proud lord, thou liest:
Within these forty hours Surrey durst better
Have burnt that tongue than said so.
Thy ambition,

Sur.
Thou scarlet sin, robbed 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)
Weighed 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, Absolved him with an axe.

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 despised 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.
So much fairer

Wol.

Nor. Then that, in all you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes, "Ego et Rex meus"
Was still inscribed in which you brought the King
To be your servant.

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 seal.

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 stamped 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.
Cham.
O my lord!

Press not a falling man too far: 'tis virtue.
His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct them. My heart weeps to see him
So little of his great self.

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 præmunire,— 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 hope; 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 ventured, 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 opened. 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, amazedly.

Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.
Wol.
What, amazed

At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
I am fallen indeed.

I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,

These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy; too much honour.
O 't is 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.
What news abroad?

Wol. There was the weight that pulled 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.

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 forced 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 missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined 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 thyselflast: 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-pr'y thee, lead me in:

There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny: 't is the King's: my robe
And my integrity to heaven is all

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal

I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Crom. Good sir, have patience.

3rd Gent. That I did.

1st Gent. How was it?

3rd Gent. Well worth the seeing.

2nd Gent. Good sir, speak it to us.

3rd Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen To a prepared place in the choir, fell off

A distance from her; while her grace sat down

To rest a while, some half an hour or so,
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
The beauty of her person to the people.
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
That ever lay by man: which when the people
Had the full view of, such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
As loud and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks
(Doublets, I think), flew up; and had their faces
Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
I never saw before. Great-bellied women,
That had not half a week to go, like rams
In the old time of war, would shake the press,

3rd Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest paces

Came to the altar; where she kneeled, and saint like
Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and prayed devoutly;
Then rose again, and bowed her to the people:
When by the Archbishop of Canterbury
She had all the royal makings of a queen :
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
Laid nobly on her: which performed, the choir
With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
Together sung "Te Deum." So she parted,
And with the same full state paced back again
To York-place, where the feast is held.

However, yet there's no great breach: when it comes,
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from himn.

2nd Gent. Who may that be, I pray you?
3rd Gent.
Thomas Cromwell:

A man in much esteem with the King, and truly
A worthy friend.—The King

Has made him master o' the jewel-house,
And one, already, of the privy-council.
2nd Gent. He will deserve more.
3rd Gent.

Yes, without all doubt.
Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests:
Something I can command. As I walk thither
I'll tell ye more.
Both.

You may command us, sir.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Kimbolton.

Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH and PATIENCE.

Grif. How does your grace?