Pow. But Powis still must stay. And unperformed; which first of all doth bind me 26 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, -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. 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 The night seems tedious to my troubled soul, Adds comfort to my spirit, that mounts on high; [The Smiths beat with their hammers, within. Peace with your hammers! leave your knocking there! You do disturb my study and my rest: 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 No hammers walking, and my work to do! Old Crom. Why knave, I say, have I thus And all to keep thee like a gentleman; I cry you mercy; are your ears so fine? In hope that one day thou'dst relieve my age; Crom. Father, be patient, and content yourself: 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; Are not all creatures subject unto time, And from the dunghill minions do advance The river Thames, that by our door doth pass, 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; 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 And, master Cromwell, I have made a motion 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, Good morrow to kind master Frescobald. Fres. Good morrow to yourself, good master And what's the news, you are so early stirring? 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. For at your suit I have arrested him, Fres. Arrest him at my suit? you were to blame. I speak the truth of him, for nothing else, 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, My state was well-nigh overthrown before; Mrs Ban. O, master Frescobald, pity my husband's case. He is a man hath lived as well as any, band, Nor willingly would I have used him thus, Whom I have often from my trencher fed. Bag. What I have said to him is nought but Mrs Ban. What thou hast said springs from an A cannibal, that doth eat men alive! 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 Ban. This unexpected favour, undeserved, Mrs Ban. My children in their prayers, both For your good fortune and success shall pray. [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? I am sure to have them at an easy rate; 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 |