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And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well :
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd


He said he did, and with his deed did crown
His word upon you: since I had my office
I have kept you next my heart; have not alone
Employ'd you where high profits might come

But par'd my present havings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.
Wol. Aside.

What should this mean? 160
Sur. Aside. The Lord increase this business!
K. Hen.
Have I not made you
The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me
If what I now pronounce you have found true;
And if you may confess it, say withal
If you are bound to us or no. What say you?
Wol. My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,
Shower'd on me daily, have been more than


My studied purposes requite; which went
Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours
Have ever come too short of my desires,
Yet fil'd with my abilities. Mine own ends
Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed
To the good of your most sacred person and
The profit of the state. For your great graces
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks,
My prayers to heaven for yon, my loyalty,
Which ever has and ever shall be growing,
Till death, that winter, kill it.

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On you than any; so your hand and heart,
Your brain, and every function of your power,
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,
As 'twere in love's particular, be more
To me, your friend, than any.
I do profess 190
That for your highness' good I ever labour'd
More than mine own; that am, have, and will be,
Though all the world should crack their duty to

And throw it from their soul; though perils did
Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, and
Appear in forms more horrid, yet my duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.
K. Hen.
"Tis nobly spoken.
Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,
For you have seen him open 't. Read o'er this;
Giving him papers.
And after, this; and then to breakfast with
What appetite you have.
Exit KING, frowning upon Cardinal WOLSEY :
the Nobles throng after him, smiling and


Wol. What should this mean? What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes: so looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him;

Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;
I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so:
This paper has undone me! 'Tis the account 210
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 eross 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 'twill 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


The letter, as I live, with all the business
I writ to 's holiness. Nay then, farewell!
I have touch'd the highest point of all my


And from that full meridian of my glory
I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see 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 seal presently
Into our hands; and to confine yourself
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's,
Till you hear further from his highness.



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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 every thing may bring my ruin!
Follow your envious courses, men of malice;
You have Christian warrant for 'em, 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-patent: now who 'll take it?
Sur. The king, that gave it.
It must be himself then. 251
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,
Thou scarlet sin, robb'd 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,
Weigh'd 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, Absolv'd him with an axe.

Wol. This and all else This talking lord can lay upon my credit, I answer is most false, The duke by law Found his deserts: 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 should tell you You have as little honesty as honour, That in the way of loyalty and truth Toward the king, my ever royal master, Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be, And all that love his follies.

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Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st feel

My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. 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,
Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward
And dare us with his cap like larks.


Is poison to thy stomach.



All goodness

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


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 despis'd 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

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

But, thus much, they are foul ones.
So much fairer 300
And spotless shall mine innocence arise
When the king knows my truth.

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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 Cassado, 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 caus'd

Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. Sur. Then that you have sent innumerable substance,

By what means got I leave to your own con. science,

To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have for dignities; to the mere undoing
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are; 330
Which, since they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.
O my lord!
Press 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 see


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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 pramunire,


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 medita-

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 hopes; 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 ventur'd, 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 open'd. 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, and stands amazed. Why, how now, Cromwell! Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.


What! amaz'd | 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.

At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
I am fall'n indeed.
How does your grace?



Why, well;

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,

A still 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 sink a navy, too much honour:
O! 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis 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?
The heaviest and the worst
Is your displeasure with the king.
God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is

Lord chancellor in your place.
That's somewhat sudden:
But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice
For truth's sake and his conscience; that his

When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,

May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! What more?


That Cranmer is return'd with

Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol. That's news indeed.


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. 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, 410 Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me,


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 have told

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.

O my lord!
Must I then leave you? must I needs forgo
So good, so noble, and so true a master?


Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 430 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 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 't?
Love thyself last 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

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
I dare now call mine own.


O Cromwell,

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Garter in his coat of arms, and on his head a gilt copper crown,

5. Marquess DORSET, bearing a sceptre of gold; on his head a demi-coronal of gold. With him, the Earl of SURREY, bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an earl's coronet. Collars of SS.

5. Duke of SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on his head, bearing a long white wand, as high-steward. With him, the Duke of NORFOLK, with the rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of SS.

7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports; under it, the QUEEN in her robe; in her hair richly adorned with pearl, crowned. On each side her, the Bishops of London and Winchester. 8. The old Duchess of NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold, wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN'S


9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlets of gold without flowers.

They pass over the stage in order and state.

Second Gent. A royal train, believe me. These I know;

Who's that that bears the sceptre?

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Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;
Our king has all the Indies in his arms,
And more and richer, when he strains that

I cannot blame his conscience.
First Gent.

They that bear The cloth of honour over her, are four barons Of the Cinque-ports.

Second Gent. Those men are happy; and so are all are near her.


I take it, she that carries up the train
Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.
First Gent. It is; and all the rest are countesses.
Second Gent. Their coronets say so. These are
stars indeed;

And sometimes falling ones.
First Gent.

No more of that. Exit Procession, and then a great flourish of trumpets.

Enter a third Gentleman.

God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?

Third Gent. Among the crowd i' the Abbey; where a finger

Could not be wedg'd in more: I am stifled
With the mere rankness of their joy.

Second Gent.

You saw

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How was it? 60

Third Gent. Well worth the seeing.

Second Gent.
Third Gent. As well as I am able. The rich

Good sir, speak it to us.


To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off
Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen
A distance from her; while her grace sat down
To rest awhile, some half-an-hour or so,
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
The beauty of her person to the people.
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

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That had not half a week to go, like rams
I never saw before. Great-bellied women,
In the old time of war, would shake the press,
No man living
And make 'em reel before 'em.
Could say 'This is my wife' there; all were woven
So strangely in one piece.
Second Gent.
Third Gent. At length her grace rose, and
with modest paces

But what follow'd? s

Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and saint-like

Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly.
Then rose again and bow'd 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 perform'd, the choir,
With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
Together sung Te Deum. So she parted,

And with the same full state pac'd back again To York-place, where the feast is held.

First Gent.

Sir, You must no more call it York-place, that 's past; For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost : 'Tis now the king's, and call'd Whitehall. Third Gent. I know it; But 'tis so lately alter'd that the old name Is fresh about me. Second Gent.

What two reverend bishops Were those that went on each side of the queen? Third Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one, of Winchester,

Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary;
The other, London.

Second Gent.

He of Winchester


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

Grif. How does your grace? Kath. O Griffith! sick to death: My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair: So; now, methinks, I feel a little ease. Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou ledd'st me, That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead?

Grif. Yes, madam; but I think your grace, Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to 't. Kath. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he


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Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity.'

So went to bed, where eagerly his sickness
Pursu'd him still; and three nights after this,
About the hour of eight, which he himself
Foretold should be his last, full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently
on him!


Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
And yet with charity. He was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion
Tied all the kingdom; simony was fair-play;
His own opinion was his law; i' the presence
He would say untruths, and be ever double
Both in his words and meaning. He was never,
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful;
His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing:
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.


Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. May it please your highness To hear me speak his good now? Kath.

Yes, good Griffith; I were malicious else. Grif. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle. He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not; But to the men that sought him sweet as



And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
Which was a sin, yet in bestowing, madam,
He was most princely. Ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with

Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; 60
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little :
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing God.
Kath. After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
To keep mine honour from corruption,
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
With thy religious truth and modesty,
Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with


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