Sur. Thou'rt a proud traitor, priest.

Wol. Proud Lord, thou lieft:

Within these forty hours Surrey durft better
Have burnt that tongue, than faid fo.
Sur. Thy ambition,

Thou scarlet 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 of 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:
Whilst your great goodness, 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 cause can witness.
If I lov'd many words, Lord, I fhould tell you,
You have as little honefty as honour;

That I i'th' way of loyalty and truth

Toward the King, my ever royal master,

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

Sur. By my foul,

Your long coat, prieft, protects you, thou fhould't feel

My fword i'th' 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 poifon to thy ftomach.

Sur.

"

Sur. Yes, that goodness

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,

Into your own hands, Card'nal, by extortion:

The goodness of your intercepted packets

You writ to th' Pope, against the King; your goodness,
Since you provoke me, fhall be most notorious.
My Lord of Norfolk, as you're truly noble,
As you refpect the common good, the state
Of our defpis'd nobility, our iffues,
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen,
Produce the grand fum of his fins, the articles
Collected from his life. I'll startle

you

Worfe than the facring bell, when the brown wench
Lay kiffing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.

Wol. How much methinks I could despise this man,
But that I'm bound in charity against it!

Nor. Those articles, my Lord, are in th' King's hand: But thus much, they are foul ones.

Wol. So much fairer

And spotless shall mine innocence arife,
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, Sir,

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. First, that without the King's affent or knowledge

You wrought to be a Legat, 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.

Suf. That without the knowledge
Either of King or council, when you went
Ambaffador to th' 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 State's allowance,
A league between his Highnefs and Ferrara.

Suf. That out of meer ambition you have made
Your holy hat be stamp'd on the King's com.

Sur. That you have sent innumerable 7 'fums,`
(By what means got, I leave to your own confcience)
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have for dignities, to th' meer 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 lye open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to fee him
So little of his great self.

Sur. I forgive him.

Suf. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is,
Because all those things you have done of late.
By your pow'r legatine within this kingdom,
Fall in the compafs of a Præmunire,

That therefore fuch a writ be fued against you;
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
And chattels 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,

VOL. IV.

7 fubftance,

Gg

8 caftles... old edit. Theob. emend.

The

The King fhall know it, and no doubt shall thank
So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.

you.

[Exeunt all but Wolfey.

Wol. So farewel to the little good you bear me!
Farewel, a long farewel to all my greatnefs!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow bloffoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day comes a froft, a killing froft,
And when he thinks, good eafie man, full furely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
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 must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world! I hate ye,
I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on Princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that fmile he would afpire to,
That fweet afpect of Princes, and 9 'his` ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have:
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

Enter Cromwell, standing amaz'd,

Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom. I have no pow'r to fpeak, Sir.
Wol. What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes? can thy fpirit wonder

9 our

A great

A great man fhould decline? nay, if You weep,

I'm fall'n indeed.

Crom. How does your Grace?

Wol. Why, well;

Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell.

I know my self now, and I 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 fhoulders,
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 a man that hopes for heav'n.

Crom. I'm glad your Grace has made that right use

of it.

Wol. I hope I have: I'm able now methinks, Out of a fortitude of foul I feel,

T'endure more miferies, and greater far

Than my 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 More is chofen Lord Chancellor in your place.

Wol. That's fomewhat fudden

But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his Highnefs' favour, and do justice
For truth's fake and his confcience; that his bones,
When he has run his courfe and fleeps in bleffings,
May have a tomb of orphans tears wept on him!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome;
Inftall'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol. That's news indeed.

Crom. Laft, that the Lady Anne,

Whom the King hath in fecrecy long married,

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