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I think by this he is.
: Wol. Leave me a while.- [Exit CROMWELL.
It shall be to the Duchess of Alençon,
The French king's sister: he shall marrry her.-
Anne Bullen! No, I'll no Anne Bullens for him:
There is no more in it than fair visage.-Bullen!
No, we'll no Bullens.-Speedily I wish

To hear from Rome.-The Marchioness of Pem-
broke !

Nor. He's discontented.
Suf.

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You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the in-
ventory

Of your best graces in your mind; the which
You were now running o'er; you have scarce time
May be, he hears the king To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span
To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that
I deem you an ill husband; and am glad
To have you therein my companion.

Does whet his anger to him.
Sur.

Lord, for thy justice!

Sharp enough,

Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman; a knight's
daughter,

To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen!
This candle burns not clear; 'tis I must snuff it;
Then out it goes.-What though I know her vir-
tuous,

And well deserving? yet I know her for
A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to
Our cause. Again, there is sprung up
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one
Hath crawled into the favour of the king,
And is his oracle.

Nor.

He is vexed at something.

Wol.

Sir,

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As I will lend you cause, my doing well
With my well saying!
K. Hen.

Suf. I would 'twere something that would fret And 'tis a kind of good

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'Tis well said again;
deed to say well:
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you:
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
home,

But par'd my present havings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.
Wol.
What should this mean?
Sur. The Lord increase this business! [Aside.
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 could
My studied purposes requite; which went
Beyond all men's endeavours:-1 do profess
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
you,

And throw it from their soul; though perils did

P

Abound, as thick as thought could make them, 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: then to breakfast, with
What appetite you have.
[Exit KING, frowning upon Cardinal WOLSEY:
the Nobles throng after him, smiling and
whispering.
Wot.
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
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 '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
Pope?"

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

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
bear me.
go d you
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, amazedly.

Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder

Re-enter the Dukes of NORFOLK and SUFFOLK, the A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, 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.
Wol.

Stay, Where's your commission, lords? words cannot

carry

Authority so weighty.

Suf.
Who dares cross them,
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. 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.

Wol.
It must be himself, then.
Suf. Lord Cardinal, the king's further pleasure

is,

Because all those think you have done of late By your power legatine within this kingdom,

I am fallen indeed.

Crom. Wol.

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?
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

chosen

Lord chancellor in your place.

Wol. 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 bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May ha e a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! 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 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, Crom-
well,

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.

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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.
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Crom-
well;

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 wrack, 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, 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
Cromwell,

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, 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.

Farewell

The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE.-Kimbolton.

ACT IV.

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

Grif. How does your grace?

Kath. Ŏ, 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 led'st me, That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead?j

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 died:

If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,
For my example.
Grif.
Well, the voice goes, madam :
For after the stout Earl Northumberland
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
(As a man sorely tainted) to his answer,
ile fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill,

Alas, poor man!

He could not sit his mule.
Kath.
Grif. At last, with

Leicester,

easy roads, he came to

Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him;
To whom he gave these words,-" O father abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity!"
So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness
Pursued 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

* Pride.

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And though he were unsatisfied in getting
(Which was a sin), yet in bestowing, madam,
He was most princely;

as

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 him!
Patience, be near me still; and set me lower.
I have not long to trouble thee.-Good Griffith,
Cause the musicians play me that sad note
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to.
Sad and solemn music.

Pat.
Do you note,
How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks,
And of an earthy cold? Mark her eyes!
Bid the music leave.

Kath.
They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases.
Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray..
Heaven comfort her!

Pat.

Deserve we no more reverence?

Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon:
My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this
fellow

Let me ne'er see again.

Noble lady,

[Exeunt GRIFFITH and Messenger.
Re-enter GRIFFITH, with CAPUCIUS.
Kath. What is your pleasure with me?
Cap.
First, mine own service to your grace; the next,
The king's request that I would visit you;
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you his princely commendations,
And heartily entreats you take good comfort.

Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too
late;

'Tis like a pardon after execution:

That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me;
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.
How does his highness?

Cap.
Madam, in good health.
Kath. So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor

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ness

The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter:
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-
Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature;
I hope she will deserve well); and a little
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,
Heaven knows how dearly. Remember me
In all humility unto his highness:
Say, his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him,
For so I will.-Mine eyes grow dim.-Farewell,
My lord.-Griffith, farewell-Nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed;
Call in more women.- When I am dead, good
wench,

Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me,
Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
You are a saucy fellow: I can no more.
[Exeunt, leading KATH.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. An't like your grace,

Kath.

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CORIOLANUS.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

CARIOLANUS, a noble Roman, and General. TITUS LARTIUS and COMINIUS, Generals. MENENIUS AGRIPPA, friend to Coriolanus, SICINIUS,

JUNIUS BRUTUS,} tribunes of the people.

TULLUS AUFIDIUS, general of the Volscians.
VOLUMNIA, mother to Coriolanus.
VIRGILIA, wife to Coriolanus.
VALERIA, friend to Virgilia.

ACT I.

SCENE.-Rome. An Apartment in Marcius' house. Entez VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA: They sit down on two low stools, and sew.

Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express yourself in a more comfortable sort: If my son were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour, than in his embracements, where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied, when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way; when, for a day of king's entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her beholding; I,-considering how honour would become such a person; that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir,- -was pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; whence he returned with his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child, than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam? how then?

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Gent. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.

Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire my-
self.

Vol. Indeed you shall not.
Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum;
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair;

As children from a bear, the Volces shunning him:
Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus,-
"Come on, you cowards!" His bloody brow
With his mailed hand then wiping, forth he goes;
Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his hire.

Citizens, guards, servants, &c.

Vir. His bloody brow! O, Jupiter, no blood! Vol. Away, you fool! it more becomes a man Than gilt his trophy :-Tell Valeria We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent. Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius ! Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee, And tread up his neck.

Re-enter Gentlewoman, with VALERIA, and her
Usher.

Val. My ladies both, good day to you.
Vol. Sweet madam.

Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship.

Val. How do you both? you are manifest housekeepers. What are you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith.-How does your litle son?

Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a drum, than look upon his schoolmaster.

Val. O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear 'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together he has

such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and up again; catched it again: or whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth, and tear it; O, I warrant, how he mammocked it!

Vol. One of his father's moods.
Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.
Vir. A crack, madam.

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Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the idle huswife with me this after

noon.

Vir. No, good madam; I will not out of doors. Val. Not out of doors?

Vol. She shall, she shall.

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience; I will not over the threshold till my lord return from the wars.

Val. You would be another Penelope : yet, they say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths.

Val. In truth, la, go with me and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband.

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