He sent the book, among other persons, to the Queen of
Bohemia, with a phrase, the translation of a trite Latin commonplace,
which may have been the parent of one which became famous in our time;
and with an expression of absolute confidence in the goodness of his own
work.
"I have read in books that it is accounted a great bliss for a man
to have _Leisure with Honour_. That was never my fortune. For time
was, I had Honour without Leisure; and now I have _Leisure without
Honour_.... But my desire is now to have _Leisure without
Loitering_, and not to become an abbey-lubber, as the old proverb
was, but to yield some fruit of my private life.... If King Henry
were alive again, I hope verily he would not be so angry with me
for not flattering him, as well pleased in seeing himself so truly
described in colours that will last and be believed."
But the tide had turned against him for good. A few fair words, a few
grudging doles of money to relieve his pressing wants, and those
sometimes intercepted and perhaps never rightly granted from an
Exchequer which even Cranfield's finance could not keep filled, were all
the graces that descended upon him from those fountains of goodness in
which he professed to trust with such boundless faith.
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