CROM. How does your Grace ? Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now, and I feel within me 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. O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen, CROм. 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. 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 CROM. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; WOL. 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 WOL. There was the weight that pull'd me down: 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; 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; (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful service perifh too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make ufe now, and provide CROM. O my Lord, Muft I then leave you? Muft I needs forego WOL. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear Let's Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, And fleep in dull cold marble, where no mention To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not. Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'ft, O Cromwell, Thou fall'ft a bleffed martyr. And pr'ythee lead me in Serve the King There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny, 'tis the King's. My robe, I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, I ferv'd my King, he would not in mine age CROM. Good Sir, havé patience. WOL. So I have. Farewel The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell. SHAKESPEAR 'CHA P. B CHAP. L EA LOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow! Till you have drench'd our fteeples, drown'd the cocks! Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world; Crack nature's mould, all germins fpill at once That make ungrateful man! Rumble thy belly full, fpit fire, fpout rain! That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, Unwhip'd of juftice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand; Has practis'd on man's life-Clofe-pent up guilts, S this a dagger which I fee before me, I The handle tow'rd my hand? come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I fee thee still. As this which now I draw.. Thou marshal'ft me the way that I was going; Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other fenfes, Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er one half the world Whofe howl's his watch) thus with his flealthy pace, Hear |