Why, well; Wol. Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 379 A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, A load would sink a navy, too much honour. 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 Crom. Wol. 390 The heaviest and the worst God bless him! Is your displeasure with the king. Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Wol. That's somewhat sudden : Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, 400 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, 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: 410 No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, 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; I know his noble nature--not to let Thy hopeful service perish too: good Cromwell, Crom. O my lord, Must I then leave you? must I needs forgo Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 420 430 In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, 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, 440 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O 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 450 I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! Crom. Good sir, have patience. Wol. So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. [Exeunt. |