Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Wol. But farre beyond my depth: my high‑blowne Pride
Wol. At length broke vnder me, and now ha's left me
Wol. Weary, and old with Seruice, to the mercy
Wol. Of a rude streame, that must for euer hide me.
Wol. Vaine pompe, and glory of this World, I hate ye,
Wol. I feele my heart new open'd. Oh how wretched
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