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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, I humbly thank his Grace; and, from these shoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity taken
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,
Out of a fortitude of foul I feel,
T' indure more miferies, and greater far, weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?
CROм. 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; Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
WOL. That's news indeed.
CROM. Laft, that the Lady Anne,
WOL. There was the weight that pull'd me down:
The King has gone beyond me all my glories
No fun fhall ever ufher forth my honours,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited.
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 ftir him,
(I know his noble nature) not to let
Thy hopeful fervice perish too. Good Cromwell,
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 dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell,
And fleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
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'ft a blessed martyr. Serve the King
And pr'ythee lead me in
There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny, 'tis the King's. My robe,
And my integrity to Heav'n, is all
I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but ferv'd my God with half the zeal
I ferv'd my King, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
CROM. Good Sir, have patience.
WOL. So I have.
The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.
CHA P. XXI.
L E A R.
BLOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanes, fpout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
Singe my white head. And thou, all-fhaking thunder,
Crack nature's mould, all germins fpill at once
Rumble thy belly full, fpit fire, fpout rain!
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads,
Rive your concealing continents, and afk
-I am a man,
To feeling, as to fight? or art thou but
As this which now I draw.
S this a dagger which I fee before me,
The handle tow'rd my hand? come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I fee thee still.
Thou marshal'ft me the way that I was going;
Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other fenfes,
And on the blade of th' dudgeon, gouts of blood,
Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er one half the world