Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Wol. Is that poore man, that hangs on Princes fauours?
Wol. There is betwixt that smile we would aspire too,
Wol. That sweet Aspect of Princes, and their ruine,
Wol. More pangs, and feares then warres, or women haue;
Wol. And when he falles, he falles like Lucifer,
Wol. Neuer to hope againe.
Wol. Enter Cromwell, standing amazed.
Wol. Why how now Cromwell?
Crom. Crom.
Crom. I haue no power to speake Sir.
Car. Car.
Car. What, amaz'd
Car. At my misfortunes? Can thy Spirit wonder
Car. A great man should decline. Nay, and you weep
Car. I am falne indeed.
Crom. How does your Grace.
Card. Card.
Card. Why well:
Card. Neuer so truly happy, my good Cromwell,