Lay kiffing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.

Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this

man,

But that I'm bound in charity against it!

Nor. Thofe articles, my Lord, are in th' King's hand:

But thus much, they are foul ones.

Wol. So much fairer,

And fpotlefs, fhall mine innocence arife;
When the King knows my truth.

Sur. This cannot fave you :

I thank my memory, I yet remember
Some of thefe articles, and out they fhall.

Now, if you can, blufh, and cry guilty, Cardinal:
You'll fhew a little honesty.

Wol. Speak on, Sir,

I dare your worst objections.

If I blush,

It is to fee a nobleman want manners.

Sur. I'd rather want thofe than my head; have at you.

First, that without the King's affent, or knowledge,
You wrought to be a legate; by which power
You maimed the jurifdiction of all bishops.

Nor. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or elfe To foreign princes, Ego & Rex meus

Was ftill infcrib'd; in which you brought the King To be your fervant.

Suf. That without the knowledge

Either of King or Council, when you went
Ambaffador to th' Emperor, you made bold
To carry into Flanders the great Seal.

Sur. Item. You fent a large commiffion

To Gregory de Caffado, to conclude,

Without the King's will or the ftate's allowance,
A league between his Highefs and Ferrara.

Suf. That out of meer ambition, you have made Your holy hat be stampt on the King's coin

Sur

Sur. Then, that you have fent innumerable fubstance

(By what means got, I leave to your own conscience)
To furnish Rome; and to prepare the ways
You have for dignities, to th' meer undoing
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are,
Which, fince they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.

Cham. O, my Lord,

Prefs 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 fee him
So little of his great felf.

Sur. I forgive him.

Suf. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is,
Because all thofe things you have done of late,
By your power legatine within this kingdom,
Fall in the compafs of a Pramunire,

That therefore fuch a writ be fued against you,
To forfeit all you goods, lands, tenements,
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be

Out of the King's protection. This is my charge.
Nor. And fo we'll leave you to your meditations
How to live better. For your ftubborn answer,
About the giving back the great Seal to us,

The King fhall know it; and, no doubt, fhall thank

you.

So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.

In former Editions: Caftles, and whatever.] I have ventur'd to fubflitute Chattels here, as the Author's genuine Word, because the Judgment in a Writ of Premunire is, that the Defendant fhall be out of the King's Protection; and his Lands

[Exeunt all but Wolfey.

and Tenements, Goods and CHATTELs forfeited to the King; and that his Body fhall remain in prifon at the King's pleafure. This very Defcrption of the Pramunire is fet out by Holingfbead in his Life of K. Henry VIII. p. 909.

Gg 2

THEOBALD.

SCENE

Wol. So farewel to the little good you bear me,
Farewel, a long farewel to all my greatness!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow bloffoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him,
The third day comes a froft, a killing froft,
And when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely
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,
Thefe many fummers in a fea 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 fervice, 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. Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on Princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that fmile we would afpire to,
That fweet afpect of Princes, and our ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have;

4-Nips his root;] As Spring frofts are not injurious to the roots of fruit trees, I should imagine the poet wrote SHOOT, i. e. that tender boot on which are the young leaves and blooms. The comparison as well as expreffion of nips is jufter too in this reading. He has the fame thought in Love's Labour Loft.

Byron is like an envious neaping froft

WARBURTON.

Here is a long note. But at laft we may as well continue the ancient reading. Vernal frofts indeed do not kill the rest, but then to nip the shoots does not kill That bites the firft-born infants the tree or make it fall. The meof the spring. taphor will not in either reading So Milton in Sampson Agonistes, correspond exactly with nature.

And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

Enter Cromwell, ftanding amaz'd.

Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom. I have no power to fpeak, Sir.

Wol. What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes? can thy fpirit wonder,
A great man fhould decline? nay, if you weep,
I'm fall'n indeed

Crom. How does your Grace?

Wol. Why, well;

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,
I humbly thank his Grace; and, from thefe fhoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity taken

A load would fink a navy, too much honour.
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heav'n.

Crom. 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.
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 chofen

Lord Chancellor in your place.

Wol. That's fomewhat fudden

But he's a learned man. May he continue

Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice

For truth's fake and his confcience; that his bones,

When

When he has run his courfe, and fleeps in bleffings,
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on him!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome;
Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news, indeed.

Crom. Laft, that the lady Anne,

Whom the King hath in fecrecy 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 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,

1 know his noble nature, not to let

Thy hopeful fervice perifh too. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make ufe now, and provide
For thine own future fafety.

Crom. O my Lord,

Must I then leave you? muft I needs forego
So good, fo noble, and fo true a master?
Bear witnefs, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a forrow, Cromwell leaves his Lord.
The King fhall have my fervice; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, fhall be yours.