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Pow. But Powis still must stay.
There yet remains a part of that true love
He owes his noble friend, unsatisfied

And unperformed; which first of all doth bind me
To gratulate your lordship's safe delivery;
And then entreat, that since unlook'd-for thus
We here are met, your honour would vouchsafe
To ride with me to Wales, where, to my power,
Though not to quittance those great benefits
I have received of you, yet both my house,
My purse, my servants, and what else I have,

26

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26-Where, to my power,-The old copies read-where though my power. This cannot, I think, be right. Perhaps we ought to read,

where though my power

May not acquittance those great benefits

I have received of you, yet both my house,
My purse, &c.

-where though it be not in my power to repay all the obligations that I have received from you, yet I will do my utmost to shew my gratitude.-MALONE.

I would read,

where through my power,

Though not, &c.

PERCY.

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SCENE-Partly in London, and the adjoining District; partly in Antwerp and Bononia.

A booke called the Lyfe and Death of the Lord Cromwell, as yt was lately acted by the Lord Chamberleya his Servantes, was entered on the Stationers' Books, by William Cotton, August 11, 1602; and the play, I am informed, was printed in that year. I have met with no earlier edition than that published in 1613, in the title of which it is said to be written by W. S. I believe these letters were not the initials of the real author's name, but added merely with a view to deceive the public, and to induce them to suppose this piece the composition of Shakespeare. The fraud was, I imagine, suggested by the appearance of our author's King Henry VIII., to which the printer probably entertained a hope that this play would be considered as a sequel or second part. Viewed in this light, the date of the first edition of the present performance in some measure confirms that which has been assigned to King Henry VIII; which, for the reasons stated in the Attempt to ascertain the order in which the Plays of Shakespeare were written, (Vol. I. p. 309. last edit.) is supposed to have been first acted in 1601, or 1602. The present piece, we find, followed close after it. King Henry VIII. it appears, was, after its first exhibition, laid by for some years, and revived with great splendour in 1613. The attention of the town being now a second time called to the story and age of Wolsey, so favourable an opportunity was not to be lost; accordingly a second impression of the Life and Death of Lord Cromwell was issued out in that year.

This play has been hitherto printed without any division of acts or scenes.-MALONE.

The part of history on which this play is founded, occurs in Fuller, Stow, Speed, Holinshed, &c. but more amply in Fox's Book of Martyrs. The particulars relating to Francesco Frescobaldi, (whom our author, or his printer, so familiarly has styled Friskiball,) were first published by Bandello the novelist, in 1554. "Francesco Frescobaldi fa cortesia ad un straniero, e nè ben remeritato, essendo colui diuenuts contestabile d'Inghilterra." Seconda Parte, Novell. 34. This story is translated by Fox, edit. 159% Vol. II. p. 1082.-STEEVENS.

SCENE I-Putney.

ACT I.

The entrance of a Smith's Shop.

Enter HODGE, WILL, and Toм. Hodge. Come, masters, I think it be past five o'clock; is it not time we were at work? my old master, he'll be stirring anon.

Will. 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 coil in his study, with the sun, and the moon, and the seven stars, that I do verily think he'll read out his wits.

Hodge. He skill of the stars? There's goodman Car of Fulham, (he that carried us to the strong ale, where goody Trundel had her maid got with child) O, he knows the stars; he'll tickle you Charles's wain in nine degrees: that same man will tell goody Trundel when her ale shall miscarry, only by the stars.

Tom. Ay! that's a great virtue indeed; I think, Thomas be nobody in comparison to him.

Will. Well, masters, come; shall we to our hammers?

Hodge. Ay, content: first let's take our morning's draught, and then to work roundly. Tom. Ay, agreed. Go in, Hodge.

SCENE II.-The same.

Enter Young CROMWELL.

[Exeunt.

Crom. 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 inean.
My study, like a mineral of gold,
Makes my heart proud, wherein my hope's enrolled;
My books are all the wealth I do possess,
And unto them I have engaged my heart.
O, Learning, how divine thou seem'st to me,
Within whose arms is all felicity!

[The Smiths beat with their hammers, within. 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.

Enter HODGE, WILL, and TOM.

Hodge. Why, how now, master Thomas? how now? will you not let us work for you? Crom. You fret my heart with making of this

noise.

Hodge. How, fret your heart? ay, but Thomas, you'll fret your father's purse, if you let us from working.

Tom. Ay, 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.

Enter Old CROMWELL.

Old Crom. You idle knaves, what are you
loit'ring 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 Crom. Why knave, I say, have I thus
cark'd and cared,

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?
Crom. Father, their hammers do offend my study.
Old Crom. Out of my doors, knave, if thou lik'st
it not.

I cry you mercy; are your ears so fine?
I tell thee, knave, these get when I do sleep;
I will not have my anvil stand for thee.
Crom. There's money, father; I will pay your
men. [Throws money among them.
Old Crom. Have I thus brought thee up unto
my cost,

In hope that one day thou'dst relieve my age;
And art thou now so lavish of thy coin,
To scatter it among these idle knaves?

Crom. Father, be patient, and content yourself:
The time will come I shall hold gold as trash.
And here I speak with a presaging soul,
To build a palace where this cottage stands,
As fine as is king Henry's house at Sheen.

Old Crom. 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 'twas his mother's doing, To send him to the university.

How? build a house where now this cottage stands, As fair as that at Sheen?-They shall not hear [Aside.

me.

A good boy Tom, I con thee thank, Tom;
Well said, Tom; gramercy, Tom.—
In to your work, knaves! Hence, you saucy boy!
[Exeunt all but Young CROMWELL.
Crom. Why should my birth keep down my
mounting spirit?

Are not all creatures subject unto time,
To time, who doth abuse the cheated 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 riff-raff of their age: for time and fortune
Wears out a noble train to beggary;

And from the dunghill 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 may'st live to flourish and controul.

Enter Old CROMWELL.

SCENE III.-London. A Street before FRES

COBALD'S House.

Enter BAGOT.

Bag. I hope this day is fatal unto some, And by their loss must Bagot seek to gain. This is the lodging of master Frescobald, 2 A liberal merchant, and a Florentine; To whom Banister owes a thousand pound, A merchant-bankrupt, whose father was my mas

ter.

What do I care for pity or regard?

He once was wealthy, but he now is fallen; And I this morning have got him arrested

Old Crom. Tom Cromwell; what, Tom, I say. At suit of this same master Frescobald;
Crom. Do you call, sir?

Old Crom. Here is master Bowser come to know if you have dispatched his petition for the lords of the council, or no.

Crom. Father, I have; please you to call him in. Old Crom. That's well said, Tom; a good lad, Tom.

Enter Bowser.

Bow. Now, master Cromwell, have you dispatched this petition?

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

Bow. 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 have sent to me,
For to provide a man fit for the place:
Now I do know none fitter than yourself,
If with your liking it stand, master Cromwell.
Crom. With all my heart, sir; and I much am
bound

In love and duty, for your kindness shown.

Old Crom. Body of me, Tom, make haste, lest 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 here for master Bowser.

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

Crom. I will attend you, sir.

Old Crom. Farewell, Tom: God bless thee, Tom! God speed thee, good Tom! [Exeunt.

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.
Enter FRESCOBALD.

Good morrow to kind master Frescobald.

Fres. Good morrow to yourself, good master
Bagot.

And what's the news, you are so early stirring?
It is for gain, I make no doubt of that.

Bag. 'Tis for the love, sir, that I bear to you. When did you see your debtor Banister?

Fres. 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.
Bag. Why then assure yourself to see him
straight,

For at your suit I have arrested him,
And here they will be with him presently.

Fres. Arrest him at my suit? you were to blame.
I know the man's misfortunes to be such,
As he's not able for to pay the debt;
And were it known to some, he were undone.
Bug. 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 bath 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 hear to you.

Fres. 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.

2 This is the lodging of master Frescobald.—In all the copies of this play, (that I have seen) this Ita lian merchant is called Friskiball. But as his name is given rightly (omitting only the Italian termination) in Foxs Book of Martyrs, and the other English narratives in which he is mentioned, (some of which the author of this piece had probably read,) I suppose that the corruption was owing either to the transcriber or printer, and therefore have not followed it.-MALONE.

But here is master Banister himself,
And with him, as I take it, the officers.
Enter Mr and Mrs BANISTER, and two Officers.
Ban. O, master Frescobald, you have undone
me!

My state was well-nigh overthrown before;
Now altogether downcast by your means.

Mrs Ban. O, master Frescobald, pity my husband's case.

He is a man hath lived as well as any,
Till envious Fortune and the ravenous sea
Did rob, disrobe, and spoil us of our own.
Fres. Mistress Banister, I envy not your hus-

band,

Nor willingly would I have used him thus,
But that I hear he is so lewdiy given;
Haunts wicked company, and hath enough
To pay his debts, yet will not be known thereof.
Ban. This is that damned broker, that same
Bagot,

Whom I have often from my trencher fed.
Ungrateful villain for to use me thus !

Bag. What I have said to him is nought but
truth.

Mrs Ban. What thou hast said springs from an
envious heart;

A cannibal, that doth eat men alive!
But here upon my knee believe me, sir,
(And what I speak, so help me God, is true,)
We scarce have meat to feed our little babes.
Most of our plate is in that broker's hand;
Which, had we money to defray our debts,
O think, we would not 'bide that penury.
Be merciful, kind master Frescobald;
My husband, children, and myself, will eat
But one meal a day; the other will we keep,
And sell, as part to pay the debt we owe you.
If ever tears did pierce a tender mind,
Be pitiful; let me some favour find.

Fres. Go to, I see thou art an envious man.Good mistress Banister, kneel not to me;

your

desire.

I pray rise up; you shall have
Hold, officers; be gone; there's for your pains.
You know you owe to me a thousand pound;
Here, take my hand; if e'er God make you able,
And place you in your former state again,
Pay me; but yet if still your fortune frown,
Upon my faith I'll never ask a crown.
I never yet did wrong to men in thrall,
For God doth know what to myself may fall.

Ban. This unexpected favour, undeserved,
Doth make my heart bleed inwardly with joy.
Ne'er may aught prosper with me is my own,
If I forget this kindness you have shown.

Mrs Ban. My children in their prayers, both
night and day,

For your good fortune and success shall pray.
Fres. I thank you both; I pray go dine with me.
Within these three days, if God give me leave,
I will to Florence, to my native home.
Hold, Bagot, there's a portague to drink,3
Although you ill deserved by your merit.
Give not such cruel scope unto your heart;
Be sure the ill you do will be requited;
Remember what I say, Bagot; farewell.-
Come, master Banister, you shall with me;
My fare's but simple, but welcome heartily.

[Exeunt all but ВAGOT. Bag. A plague go with you! would you had eat your last!

Is this the thanks I have for all my pains?
Confusion light upon you all for me!
Where he had wont to give a score of crowns,
Doth he now foist me with a portague?
Well, I will be revenged upon this Banister.
I'll to his creditors; buy all the debts he owes,
As seeming that I do it for good will;

I am sure to have them at an easy rate;
And when 'tis doue, in Christendom he stays not,
But I'll make his heart to ache with sorrow.
And if that Banister become my debtor,
By heaven and earth I'll make his plague the
[Exit.
greater.

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3 Hold, Bagot, there's a portague to drink.➡A portague was a gold coin of Portugal, worth about four pounds ten shillings, sterling. Portugaise. Fr.

VOL. I.

2 Y

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