Page 1701 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

So fare you well, my little good lord Cardinal.
Exeunt all but Wolsey

WOLSEY
So farewell, to the little good you bear me. [350]
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, [355]

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, [360]

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. [365]
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; [370]
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.
Enter Cromwell, standing amazed
Why, how now, Cromwell?

CROMWELL
I have no power to speak, sir.

WOLSEY
What, amazed
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder

A great man should decline? Nay, and you weep [375]
I am fall’n indeed.