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Crom. How does your Grace?
Wol. Why well ;
Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities;
A ftill 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 fink a navy, too much honour. -
O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heav'n!
CROM, I'm glad your Grace has made that right use of
Wol. I hope I have; I'm able now, methinks,
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
T! indure more miseries, and greater far,
weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad ?
CROM. The heaviest and the worst, Is your displeasure with the King.
WOL, God bless him.
CROM. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is chosen
Lord Chancellor in your place.
Wol. That's somewhat sudden-
But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his Highnefs' favour, and do justice
For truth's fake and his conscience; that his bones,
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings,
May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on him !
What more ?
CROM That Cranmer is return'd with' welcome ;
Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news indeed.
CROM. 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,
Wol. There was the weight that pull’d me down:
The King has gone beyond me: all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever,
No sun shall ever usher forth my 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've 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.
CROM. O my Lord,
Must I then leave you? Muit 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 your's.
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries, but thou haft-forc'd me,
Out of thy honeit 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 must more be heard, say then I taught thee;
Say, Wolfey, that once rode the waves of glory,
And founded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and fafe one, though thy master miss'dit.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me:
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then
(Tho'th' image of his Maker) hope to win by't?
Love thyself laft; cherish those hearts that wait 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'it, O Cromweli
Thou fall'it a blessed martyr. Serve the King-
And pr’ythee 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 Heav'n, is all
I dare now call my 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.
Crom. Good Sir, have patience.
Wol. So I have. Farewel
The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.
LOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!'
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You fulph'rous and thought executing fires,
Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick' rotundity o'th' world;
Crack nature's mould, all germins spill at once
That make ungrateful man!
Rumble thy belly full, spit fire, spout rain! :
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters. -
I tas not you, ye elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdoms, call’d you
You owe me no subscription. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure.-Here I stand your brave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man;
But yet I call you servile ministers, ,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd battles, 'gainst a head,
So old and white as this. Oh! oh ; 'tis foul.“
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble thou wretch,
That haft within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhip'd of justice ! Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjure, and thou simular of virtue,
That art inccituous ! caitiff, shake to pieces,
That' under cover of convivial feeming,
Has practis'd on man's life-Clofe pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask
Those dreadful summoners grace!
I am a man,
More finn'd against, than finning.
S this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle tow'rd my hand ? come,
let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee ftill.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to fight ? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heart-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw ,
Thou marshel'st me the
that I was going ;
And such an instrument I was to use,
eyes are made the fools o' th other senses,
Or else worth all the rest, I see thee ftill ;
And on the blade o'th' dudgeon, gouts of blood,
Which was not so before--- There's no such thing-
It is the bloody business, which informs
Thus to mine eyes.--Now o'er one half the world
Nature feeins dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings : and wither'd Murther,
(Alarum'd by his cciitinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rds his design
Moves like a ghost.---Thou found and firm-set earth,