Peace to his Soul if God's good pleasure be?! Shakespeare. But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Why, how now, Cromwell? CROM. I have no power to speak, Sir. At my misfortunes ? Can thy spirit wonder A great man fhould decline? Nay, if you weep CROM. How does your Grace? WOL. Why, well; Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell. A peace above all earthly dignities; A ftill and quiet confcience. The king has cur'd me, A load would fink a navy, too much honour. CROM. I'm glad your Grace has made that right use of it. WOL. I hope I have: I'm able now, methinks, T'endure more miferies, and greater far, What What news abroad? CROM. The heaviest and the worst, Is your difpleasure 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 For truth's fake and his confcience; that his bones, CROM. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome ; WOL. That's news indeed. CROM. Laft, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in fecrecy long married, 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 loft for ever. • No fun fhall ever ufher forth my honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my fmiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now To be thy lord and mafter. Seek the King, (That fun I pray may never fet) I've 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 fervice perish too. Good Cromwell, Neglect Neglect him not; make ufe now, and provide CROM. O my Lord, Muft I then leave you? Muft I needs forego So good, fo noble, and so true a master ? WOL. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not. Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'ft, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a bleffed martyr. Serve the King o And pr'ythee lead me in There take an inventory of all I have, To the laft penny, 'tis the King's. My robe, And my integrity to Heav'n, is all |