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A GREAT SOUL CANNOT SUFFER

LONG.
CROMWELL. How does your grace ?
WOLSEY.

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.

B

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