_"O, Father Abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity!
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting; I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more!_

* * * * *

_"Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honors 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 forever 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' favors!
There is betwixt that smile he 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!
The King has gone beyond me, all my glories
In that one woman (Anne) I have lost forever;
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell,
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master; seek the King;
That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him
What and how true thou art; he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him
(I know his noble nature) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not, make use now, and provide
For thine own future safety.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of