WOLSEY.
Why, well.
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience. The King has cured me,
I humbly thank his Grace, and from these shoulders,
These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy: too much honour.
O, ’tis a burden, Cromwell, ’tis a burden
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
CROMWELL.
I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.
WOLSEY.
I hope I have. I am able now, methinks,
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
To endure more miseries and greater far
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?
CROMWELL.
The heaviest and the worst
Is your displeasure with the King.
WOLSEY.
God bless him.
CROMWELL.
The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord Chancellor in your place.
WOLSEY.
That’s somewhat sudden.
But he’s a learned man. May he continue
Long in his Highness’ favour, and do justice
For truth’s sake and his conscience, that his bones,
When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,
May have a tomb of orphans’ tears wept on him.
What more?
CROMWELL.
That Cranmer is returned with welcome,
Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
WOLSEY.
That’s news indeed.
CROMWELL.
Last, that the Lady Anne,
Whom the King hath in secrecy long married,
This day was viewed in open as his Queen,
Going to chapel, and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.