Of gleaning all the land’s wealth into one,

Into your own hands, Card’nal, by extortion;

The goodness of your intercepted packets

You writ to th’ Pope against the King; your

goodness—

Since you provoke me—shall be most notorious.

My lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,

As you respect the common good, the state

Of our despised nobility, our issues—

Whom if he live will scarce be gentlemen—

Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles

Collected from his life. (To Wolsey) I’ll startle you

Worse than the sacring-bell when the brown wench

Lay kissing in your arms, lord Cardinal.

CARDINAL WOLSEY ⌈aside⌉

How much, methinks, I could despise this man,

But that I am bound in charity against it.

NORFOLK (to Surrey)

Those articles, my lord, are in the King’s hand;

But thus much—they are foul ones.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

So much fairer

And spotless shall mine innocence arise

When the King knows my truth.

SURREY

This cannot save you.

I thank my memory I yet remember

Some of these articles, and out they shall.

Now, if you can blush and cry ‘Guilty’, Cardinal,

You’ll show a little honesty.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Speak on, sir;

I dare your worst objections. If I blush,

It is to see a nobleman want manners.

SURREY

I had rather want those than my head. Have at you!

First, that without the King’s assent or knowledge

You wrought to be a legate, by which power

You maimed the jurisdiction of all bishops.

NORFOLK (to Wolsey)

Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else

To foreign princes, ‘Ego et Rex meus’

Was still inscribed—in which you brought the King

To be your servant.

SUFFOLK (to Wolsey) Then, that without the knowledge

Either of King or Council, when you went

Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold

To carry into Flanders the great seal.

SURREY (to Wolsey)

Item, you sent a large commission

To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,

Without the King’s will or the state’s allowance,

A league between his highness and Ferrara,

SUFFOLK (to Wolsey)

That out of mere ambition you have caused

Your holy hat to be stamped on the King’s coin.

SURREY (to Wolsey)

Then, that you have sent innumerable substance—

By what means got, I leave to your own conscience—

To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways

You have for dignities to the mere undoing

Of all the kingdom. Many more there are,

Which since they are of you, and odious,

I will not taint my mouth with.

LORD CHAMBERLAIN

O, my lord,

Press 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 see him

So little of his great self.

SURREY

I forgive him.

SUFFOLK

Lord Cardinal, the King’s further pleasure is—

Because all those things you have done of late,

By your power legantine within this kingdom,

Fall into th’ compass of a praemunire—

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.

NORFOLK (to Wolsey)

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

CARDINAL WOLSEY

So farewell—to the little good you bear me.

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man. Today he puts forth

The tender leaves of hopes; tomorrow 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 ventured,

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 opened. 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, who then stands amazed

Why, how now, Cromwell?

CROMWELL

I have no power to speak, sir.

CARDINAL WOLSEY What, amazed

At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder

A great man should decline?

⌈Cromwell begins to weep⌉

Nay, an you weep

I am fall’n indeed.

CROMWELL

How does your grace?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Why, well—

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.