Have I not made you The prime man of the state?

King
Have I not made you
The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me
If what I now pronounce you have found true;
And, if you may confess it, say withal
If you are bound to us or no. What say you?

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness,
And from that full meridian of my glory
I haste now to my setting.

Wolsey
My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,
Showered on me daily, have been more than could
My studied purposes requite, which went
Beyond all man’s endeavors. My endeavors
Have ever come too short of my desires,
Yet filed with my abilities. Mine own ends
Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed
To th’ good of your most sacred person and
The profit of the state. For your great graces
Heaped upon me, poor undeserver, I
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks,
My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty,
Which ever has and ever shall be growing
Till death—that winter—kill it.
King
Fairly answered.
A loyal and obedient subject is
Therein illustrated. The honor of it
Does pay the act of it, as, i’ th’ contrary,
The foulness is the punishment. I presume
That, as my hand has opened bounty to you,
My heart dropped love, my power rained honor, more
On you than any, so your hand and heart,
Your brain, and every function of your power
Should—notwithstanding that your bond of duty
As ’twere in love’s particular—be more
To me, your friend, than any.
Wolsey
I do profess
That for your Highness’ good I ever labored
More than mine own, that am, have, and will be—
Though all the world should crack their duty to you
And throw it from their soul, though perils did
Abound as thick as thought could make ’em, and
Appear in forms more horrid—yet my duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.
King
’Tis nobly spoken.—
Take notice, lords: he has a loyal breast,
For you have seen him open ’t.
 He hands Wolsey papers.
Read o’er this,
And after, this; and then to breakfast with
What appetite you have.
 King exits, frowning upon the Cardinal;
 the nobles throng after him smiling
 and whispering, and exit.
Wolsey
What should this mean?
What sudden anger’s this? How have I reaped it?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
Leaped from his eyes. So looks the chafèd lion
Upon the daring huntsman that has galled him,
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper—
I fear, the story of his anger.
 He reads one of the papers.
’Tis so.
This paper has undone me. ’Tis th’ accompt
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together
For mine own ends—indeed, to gain the popedom
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,
Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet
I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this?
No new device to beat this from his brains?
I know ’twill stir him strongly; yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune
Will bring me off again.
 He looks at another paper.
What’s this? “To th’ Pope”?
The letter, as I live, with all the business
I writ to ’s Holiness. Nay then, farewell!
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.