S., W. · published 1613 · first performed or written 1600 [c.1599-1602] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T31 Popes, cardinals and the crown · 498 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T31: cardinal, pope, king, lord, majesty, holy, rome, france, church, lords.
Now Cromwell's highest fortunes doth begin. Wolsey that loved him as he did his life: Committed all his treasure to his hands, Wolsey is dead, and Gardiner his man, Is now created Bishop of Winchester: Pardon if we omit all Wolsey's life, Because our play depends on Cromwell's death, Now sit and see his highest state of all; His height of rising: and his sudden fall, Pardon the errors is all ready past, And live in hope the best doth come at last: My hope upon your favour doth depend▪ And look to have your liking ere the end. Master Cromwell, since Cardinal Wolsey's death, His Majesty is given to understand, There's certain bills and writings in your hand, That much concerns the state of England: My Lord of Winchester is it not so? My Lord of Norfolk, we two were whilom fellows, And Master Cromwell, though our masters love: Did bind us, while his love was to the King, It is no boot now to deny those things Which may be prejudicial to the state: And though that God hath raised my fortune higher, Than any way I looked for, or deserved. Yet my life no longer with me dwell, Then I prove true unto my Sovereign: What say you master Cromwell have you those writings, I, or no? Here are the writings, and upon my knees, I give them up, unto the worthy Dukes, Of Suffolk, and of Norfolk: he was my Master, And each virtuous part That lived in him, I tendered with my heart, But what his head complotted 'gainst the state. My country's love commands me that to hate: His sudden death I grieve for, not his fall, Because he sought to work my country's thrall. Cromwell, the King shall here of this thy duty, Whom I assure myself will well reward thee: My Lord, let's go unto his Majesty, And show these writings which he longs to see. How now, whos's this Cromwell? By my soul, welcome to England: Thou once didst save my life, didst not Cromwell? If I did so, 'tis greater glory for me that you remember it, Then for myself vainly to report it. Well Cromwell, now is the time, I shall commend thee to my Sovereign: Cheer up thyself, for I will raise thy state, A Russel yet was never found ingrate. O how uncertain is the wheel of state, Who lately greater than the Cardinal, For fear, and love: and now who lower lies? Gay honours are but Fortune's flatteries▪ And whom this day, pride and promotion swell, To morrow, envy and ambition quells. Who sees the Cobweb entangle the poor Fly, May boldly say the wretch's death is nigh. I know his state and proud ambition, Was too too violent to last overlong. Who soars too near the sun with golden wings, Melts them, to ruin his own fortune brings. Cromwell kneel down in king Henry's name, Arise sir Thomas Cromwell, thus begins thy fame.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Now Cromwells higheſt fortunes doth begin. Wolſay that lou'd him as he did his life: Committed all his treaſure to his hands, Wolſay is dead, and Gardiner his man, Is now created Biſhop of Wincheſter: Pardon if we omit all Wolſayes life, Becauſe our play depends on Cromwells death, Now ſit and ſee his higheſt ſtate of all; His height of ryſing: and his ſodaine fall, Pardon the errors is all ready paſt, And liue in hope the beſt doth come at laſt: My hope vpon your fauour doth depend▪ And looke to haue your liking ere the end. Maiſter Cromwell, ſince Cardinall Wolſayes death, His Maieſtie is giuen to vnderſtand, There's certaine billes and writings in your hand, That much concernes the ſtate of England: My Lord of Wincheſter is it not ſo? My Lord of Norfolke, we two were whilome fellowes, And Maiſter Cromwell, though our Maiſters loue: Did binde vs, while his loue was to the King, It is no boote now to deny thoſe things Which may be preiudiciall to the ſtate: And though that God hath raiſde my fortune hyer, Then any way I lookt for, or deſeru'de. Yet my life no longer with me dwell, Then I prooue true vnto my Soueraigne: What ſay you maiſter Cromwell haue you thoſe writings, I, or no? Here are the writings, and vpon my knees, I giue them vp, vnto the worthy Dukes, Of Suffolke, and of Norfolke: he was my Maiſter, And each vertuous part That liued in him, I tendered with my hart, But what his head complotted gainſt the ſtate. My countries loue commands me that to hate: His ſudden death I greeue for, not his fall, Becauſe he ſought to worke my countries thrall. Cromwell, the King ſhall here of this thy dutie, Whom I aſſure my ſelfe will well reward thee: My Lord, lets goe vnto his Maieſtie, And ſhow theſe writings which he longs to ſee. How now, whoſe this Cromwell? By my ſoule, welcome to England: Thou once didſt ſaue my life, didſt not Cromwell? If I did ſo, 'tis greater glory for me that you remember it, Then for my ſelfe vainely to report it. Well Cromwell, now is the time, I ſhall commend thee to my Soueraigne: Cheere vp thy ſelfe, for I will raiſe thy ſtate, A Ruſſel yet was neuer found ingrate. O how vncertaine is the wheele of ſtate, Who lately greater then the Cardinall, For feare, and loue: and now who lower lies? Gay honours are but Fortunes flatteries▪ And whom this day, pride and promotion ſwel, To morrow, enuie and ambition quels. Who ſees the Cob-web intangle the poore Flie, May boldly ſay the wretches death is nigh. I know his ſtate and proud ambition, Was too too violent to laſt ouer-long. Who ſoares too neare the ſunne with golden winges, Mealtes them, to ruine his owne fortune brings. Cromwell kneele downe in king Henries name, Ariſe ſir Thomas Cromwell, thus beginnes thy fame.