Thomas Lord Cromwell

Act I. Scene I. Putney. the Entrance of a Smith’s Shop.

HODGE. Come, masters, I think it be past five a clock; is it not time we were at work: my old Master he’ll be stirring anon.

FIRST SMITH. I cannot tell whether my old master will be stirring or no: but I am sure I can hardly take my afternoon’s nap, for my young Master Thomas, he keeps such a quile in his study, with the Sun, and the Moon, and the seven stars, that I do verily think he’ll read out his wife.

HODGE. He skill of the stars! there’s good-man Car of Fulhum, he that carried us to the strong Ale, where goody Trundell had her maid got with child: O he knows the stars. He’ll tickle you Charles Waine in nine degrees. That same man will tell you goody Trundell when her Ale shall miscarry, only by the stars.

SECOND SMITH. Aye, that’s a great virtue; indeed I think Thomas be no body in comparison to him.

FIRST SMITH. Well, masters, come, shall we to our hammers?

HODGE. Aye, content; first let’s take our morning’s draught, and then to work roundly.

SECOND SMITH. Aye, agreed; go in, Hodge.

Act I. Scene Ii. the Same.

CROMWELL. Good morrow, morn, I do salute thy brightness. The night seems tedious to my troubled soul, Whose black obscurity binds in my mind A thousand sundry cogitations: And now Aurora, with a lively dye, Adds comfort to my spirit that mounts on high— Too high indeed, my state being so mean. My study, like a mineral of gold, Makes my heart proud, wherein my hopes enrolled; My books is all the wealth I do possess.

And unto them I have engaged my heart. O learning, how divine thou seems to me: Within whose arms is all felicity. Peace with your hammers! leave your knocking there: You do disturb my study and my rest. Leave off, I say, you mad me with the noise.

HODGE. Why, how now, Master Thomas, how now? Will you not let us work for you?

CROMWELL. You fret my heart, with making of this noise.

HODGE. How, fret your heart? Aye, but Thomas, you’ll fret your father’s purse if you let us from working.

SECOND SMITH. Aye, this tis for him to make him a gentleman. Shall we leave work for your musing? that’s well, I faith; But here comes my old master now.

OLD CROMWELL. You idle knaves, what, are you loitering now? No hammers walking and my work to do! What, not a heat among your work to day?

HODGE. Marry, sir, your son Thomas will not let us work at all.

OLD CROMWELL. Why, knave, I say, have I thus carked & car’d And all to keep thee like a gentleman; And dost thou let my servants at their work, That sweat for thee, knave, labour thus for thee?

CROMWELL. Father, their hammers do offend my study.

OLD CROMWELL. Out of my doors, knave, if thou likest it not. I cry you mercy! is your ears so fine? I tell thee, knave, these get when I do sleep; I will not have my Anvil stand for thee.

CROMWELL. There’s money, father, I will pay your men.

OLD CROMWELL. Have I thus brought thee up unto my cost, In hope that one day thou wouldst relieve my age, And art thou now so lavish of thy coin, To scatter it among these idle knaves.

CROMWELL. Father, be patient, and content your self. The time will come I shall hold gold as trash: And here I speak with a presaging soul, To build a palace where now this cottage stands, As fine as is King Henry’s house at Sheene.

OLD CROMWELL. You build a house! you knave, you’ll be a beggar. Now, afore God, all is but cast away, That is bestowed upon this thriftless lad. Well, had I bound him to some honest trade, This had not been, but it was his mother’s doing, To send him to the University. How? build a house where now this cottage stands, As fair as that at Sheene!—[Aside.] He shall not hear me. A good boy Tom! I con thee thank Tom! Well said Tom! gramarcies Tom!— Into your work, knaves; hence, you saucy boy.

CROMWELL. Why should my birth keep down my mounting spirit? Are not all creatures subject unto time: To time, who doth abuse the world, And fills it full of hodge-podge bastardy? There’s legions now of beggars on the earth, That their original did spring from Kings: And many Monarchs now whose fathers were The riffe-raffe of their age: for Time and Fortune Wears out a noble train to beggary, And from the hunghill minions do advance To state and mark in this admiring world. This is but course, which in the name of Fate Is seen as often as it whirls about: The River Thames, that by our door doth pass, His first beginning is but small and shallow: Yet keeping on his course, grows to a sea. And likewise Wolsey, the wonder of our age, His birth as mean as mine, a Butcher’s son, Now who within this land a greater man? Then, Cromwell, cheer thee up, and tell thy soul, That thou maist live to flourish and control.

OLD CROMWELL. Tom Cromwell! what, Tom, I say!

CROMWELL. Do you call, sir.

OLD CROMWELL. Here is master Bowser come to know if you have dispatched his petition for the Lords of the counsel or no.

CROMWELL. Father, I have; please you to call him in.

OLD CROMWELL. That’s well said, Tom; a good lad, Tom.

BOWSER.

Now, Master Cromwell, have you dispatched this petition?

CROMWELL. I have, sir; here it is: please you peruse it.

BOWSER. It shall not need; we’ll read it as we go by water: And, Master Cromwell, I have made a motion May do you good, and if you like of it. Our Secretary at Antwerp, sir, is dead, And the Merchants there hath sent to me, For to provide a man fit for the place: Now I do know none fitter than your self, If with your liking it stand, master Cromwell.

CROMWELL. With all my heart, sir, and I much am bound, In love and duty for your kindness shown.

OLD CROMWELL. Body of me, Tom, make haste, least some body get between thee and home, Tom. I thank you, good master Bowser, I thank you for my boy; I thank you always, I thank you most heartily, sir. Ho, a cup of Beer there for master Bowser.

BOWSER. It shall not need, sir. Master Cromwell, will you go?

CROMWELL. I will attend you, sir.

OLD CROMWELL. Farewell, Tom; God bless thee, Tom; God speed thee, good Tom.

Act I. Scene Iii. London. a Street Before

Frescobald’s house.

BAGOT. I hope this day is fatal unto some, And by their loss must Bagot seek to gain. This is the lodging of master Friskiball, A liberal Merchant, and a Florentine, To whom Banister owes a thousand pound, A Merchant Banckrout, whose Father was my master. What do I care for pity or regard? He once was wealthy, but he now is fallen, And this morning have I got him arrested, At the suit of master Friskiball, And by this means shall I be sure of coin, For doing this same good to him unknown: And in good time, see where the merchant comes.

BAGOT. Good morrow to kind master Friskiball.

FRISKIBALL. Good morrow to your self, good master Bagot, And what’s the news, you are so early stirring: It is for gain, I make no doubt of that.

BAGOT. It is for the love, sir, that I bear to you. When did you see your debtor Banister?

FRISKIBALL. I promise you, I have not seen the man This two months day; his poverty is such, As I do think he shames to see his friends.

BAGOT. Why, then, assure your self to see him straight, For at your suit I have arrested him, And here they will be with him presently.

FRISKIBALL. Arrest him at my suit? you were to blame. I know the man’s misfortune to be such, As he’s not able for to pay the debt, And were it known to some he were undone.

BAGOT. This is your pitiful heart to think it so, But you are much deceived in Banister. Why such as he will break for fashion sake, And unto those they owe a thousand pound, Pay scarce a hundred. O, sir, beware of him. The man is lewdly given to Dice and Drabs, Spends all he hath in harlots’ companies; It is no mercy for to pity him. I speak the truth of him, for nothing else, But for the kindness that I bear to you.

FRISKIBALL. If it be so, he hath deceived me much, And to deal strictly with such a one as he— Better severe than too much lenity. But here is Master Banister himself, And with him, as I take, the officers.

BANISTER. O master Friskiball, you have undone me. My state was well nigh overthrown before, Now altogether down-cast by your means.

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