_Wol._ So farewell to the little good you bear me.[609] 350 Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness![610] This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,[611] 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,[612] 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,[613] 360 But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride[614] 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:[615] 365 I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,[616] That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,[617] More pangs and fears than wars or women have: 370 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. _Enter_ CROMWELL, _and stands amazed_.[618] Why, how now, Cromwell! _Crom._ I have no power to speak, sir. _Wol._ What, amazed At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder[619] A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,[620] 375 I am fall'n indeed. _Crom._ How does your grace? _Wol._ 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, 380 I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken[621] 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! 385 _Crom._ I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.[595][622] _Wol._ I hope I have: I am able now, methinks,[622] Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, To endure more miseries and greater far Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 390 What news abroad? _Crom._ The heaviest and the worst Is your displeasure with the king. _Wol._ God bless him! _Crom._ The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen[623] Lord chancellor in your place.