Enter a Post.

Post. I pray, sir, are you ready to dispatch me? Crom. Yes; here's those sums of money you

You

must carry.

go so far as Frankfort, do you not? Post. I do, sir.

Crom. Well, pr'ythee make then all the haste thou canst;`

For there be certain English gentlemen Are bound for Venice, and may happily want, An if that you should linger by the way; But in the hope that you will make good speed, There's two angels, to buy you spurs and wands.+ Post. I thank you, sir; this will add wings indeed. [Exit Post. Crom. Gold is of power to make an eagle's speed.

Enter Mrs BANISTER.

What gentlewoman is this that grieves so much?

It seems she doth address herself to me. Mrs Ban. God save you, sir. Pray is your name master Cromwell?

Crom. My name is Thomas Cromwell, gentle

woman.

Mrs Ban Know you one Bagot, sir, that's come to Antwerp?

Crom. No, trust me, I ne'er saw the man; but here

Are bills of debt I have received against
One Banister, a merchant fallen to decay.
Mrs Ban. Into decay indeed, 'long of that
wretch.

I am the wife to woeful Banister,
And by that bloody villain am pursued,
From London, here to Antwerp. My husband
He is in the governor's hands; and God
Of heaven knows how he will deal with him.
Now, sir, your heart is framed of milder temper;
Be merciful to a distressed soul,

And God no doubt will treble bless your gain. Crom. Good mistress Banister, what I can, I will,

In any thing that lies within my power.

Mrs Ban. O speak to Bagot, that same wicked wretch;

An angel's voice may move a damned devil. Crom. Why is he come to Antwerp, as you hear?

Mrs Bun. I heard he landed some two hours

since.

Crom. Well, mistress Banister, assure yourself I'll speak to Bagot in your own behalf, And win him to all the pity that I can. Mean time, to comfort you in your distress, Receive these angels to relieve your need; And be assured, that what I can effect, To do you good, no way I will neglect.

Mrs Ban. That mighty God, that knows each mortal's heart,

Keep you from trouble, sorrow, grief, and smart! [Exit Mistress BANISTER. Crom. Thanks, courteous woman, for thy hearty prayer.

It grieves my soul to see her misery;
But we that live under the work of fate,
May hope the best, yet know not to what state
Our stars and destinies have us assigned;
Fickle is Fortune, and her face is blind. [Erit.

SCENE II-A Street in Antwerp.

Enter BAGOT.

Bag. So, all goes well; it is as I would have it. Banister, he is with the governor, And shortly shall have gyves upon his heels. It glads my heart to think upon the slave; I hope to have his body rot in prison, And after hear his wife to hang herself, And all his children die for want of food. The jewels I have with me brought to Antwerp, Are reckon'd to be worth five thousand pound; Which scarcely stood me in three hundred pound. I bought them at an easy kind of rate; I care not much which way they came by them, That sold them me; it comes not near my heart; And lest they should be stolen, (as sure they are,) I thought it meet to sell them here in Antwerp; And so have left them in the governor's hand, Who offers me within two hundred pound Of all my price; but now no more of that.— I must go see an if my bills be safe, The which I sent before to master Cromwell; That if the wind should keep me on the sea, He might arrest him here before I came; And in good time, see where he is.

you not.

Bag. It may be so, sir; but my name is Bagot; The man that sent to you the bills of debt.

Crom. O, you're the man that pursues Banister. Here are the bills of debt you sent to me; As for the man, you know best where he is. It is reported you have a flinty heart, A mind that will not stoop to any pity, An eye that knows not how to shed a tear, A hand that's always open for reward. But, master Bagot, would you be ruled by me, You should turn all these to the contrary; Your heart should still have feeling of remorse, Your mind, according to your state, be liberal To those that stand in need and in distress;

SCENE III.-Another Street in the same. Enter the Governor of the English Factory, BAGOT, Mr and Mrs BANISTER, and two Officers,

Gov. Is Cromwell gone then, say you, master
Bagot?

On what dislike, I pray you? what was the cause?
Bag. To tell you true, a wild brain of his own;
Such youth as he can't see when they are well.
He is all bent to travel, (that's his reason,)
And doth not love to eat his bread at home.

Gov. Well, good fortune with him, if the man
be gone.

We hardly shall find such a one as he,
To fit our turns, his dealings were so honest.
But now, sir, for your jewels that I have,-
What do you say? what, will you take my price?
Bag. O, sir, you offer too much under foot.
Gov. 'Tis but two hundred pound between us,
man;

What's that in payment of five thousand pound? Bag. Two hundred pound! by'r Lady, sir, 'tis great;

Before I got so much it made me sweat.

Gov. Well, master Bagot, I'll proffer you fairly. You see this merchant, master Banister, Is going now to prison at your suit; His substance all is gone; what would you have? Yet, in regard I knew the man of wealth, (Never dishonest dealing, but such mishaps Have fall'n on him, may light on me or you) There is two hundred pound between us two; We will divide the same; I'll give you one, On that condition you will set him free. His state is nothing; that you see yourself; And where nought is, the king must lose his right. Bag. Sir, sir, I know you speak out of your love; 'Tis foolish love, sir, sure, to pity him. Therefore content yourself; this is my mind; To do him good I will not bate a penny.

Ban. This is my comfort, though thou dost no good,

A mighty ebb follows a mighty flood.

So, fare you well, sir; I must take my leave;
My haste and business doth require so.
Gov. Before you dine, sir? What, go you out of
town?

Bow. I'faith, unless I hear some news in town, I must away; there is no remedy.

Gov. Master Bowser, what is your business? may I know it?

Bow. You may so, sir, and so shall all the city. The king of late hath had his treasury robb'd, And of the choicest jewels that he had; The value of them was seven thousand pounds. The fellow that did steal these jewels is hanged; And did confess, that for three hundred pound He sold them to one Bagot dwelling in London. Now Bagot's fled, and, as we hear, to Antwerp; And hither am I come to seek him out; And they that first can tell me of his news, Shall have a hundred pound for their reward. Ban. How just is God to right the innocent! Gov. Master Bowser, you come in happy time; Here is the villain Bagot that you seek, And all those jewels have I in my hands.Here, officers, look to him, hold him fast.

Bag. The devil owed me a shame, and now hath paid it.

Bow. Is this that Bagot? Fellows, bear him
hence;

We will not now stand here for his reply.
Lade him with irons; we will have him tried
In England, where his villanies are known.

Bag. Mischief, confusion, light upon you all! O hang me, drown me, let me kill myself; Let go my arms, let me run quick to hell, Bow. Away; bear him away; stop the slave's mouth. [Exeunt Officers and BAGOT. Mrs Ban. Thy works are infinite, great God of heaven!

Gov. I heard this Bagot was a wealthy fellow.
Bow. He was indeed; for when his goods were

seized,

Of jewels, coin, and plate, within his house Was found the value of five thousand pound; His furniture fully worth half so much; Which being all distrained for the king,

And they again, out of their bounteous mind,
Have to a brother of their company,
A man decayed by fortune of the seas,
Given Bagot's wealth, to set him up again,
And keep it for him; his name is Banister.

Gov. Master Bowser, with this most happy

Gov. The hundred pound I must receive, as due For finding Bagot, I freely give to you.

Bow. And, master Banister, if so you please, I'll bear you company, when you cross the seas. Ban. If it please you, sir ;-my company is but

mean:

Stands with your liking, I will wait on you. 5

Gov. I am glad that all things do accord so well. Come, master Bowser, let us in to dinner; And, mistress Banister, be merry, woman. Come, after sorrow now let's cheer your spirit; Knaves have their due, and you but what you inerit. [Exeunt:

SCENE I.-The principal Bridge at Florence. Enter CROMWELL and HODGE in their shirts,and without hats.

Hodge. Call you this seeing of fashions? marry would I had staid at Putney still. O, master Thomas, we are spoil'd, we are gone. Crom. Content thee, man; this is but fortune. Hodge. Fortune! a plague of this fortune, it makes me go wet-shod; the rogues would not leave me a shoe to my feet.

For my hose,

They scorned them with their heels:
But for my doublet and hat,

O Lord, they embraced me,
And unlaced me,

And took away my clothes,
And so disgraced me.

Crom. Well, Hodge, what remedy? what shift shall we make now?

Hodge. Nay, I know not. For begging, I am naught; for stealing, worse. By my troth, I must even fall to my old trade, to the hammer and the horse-heels again :-But now the worst is, I am not acquainted with the humour of the horses in this country; whether they are not coltish, given much to kicking, or no for when I have one leg in my hand, if he should up and lay t'other on my chaps, I were gone; there lay I, there lay Hodge. Crom. Hodge, I believe thou must work for us both.

Hodge. O, master Thomas, have not I told you of this? Have not I many a time and often said, Tom, or master Thomas, learn to make a horseshoe, it will be your own another day: this was not regarded. Hark you, Thomas! what do you call the fellows that robb'd us?

Crom. The banditti.

Hodge. The banditti do you call them? I know not what they are call'd here, but I am sure we call them plain thieves in England. O, Tom, that we were now at Putney, at the ale there!

Crom. Content thee, man: here, set up these two bills,

And let us keep our standing on the bridge. The fashion of this country is such, If any stranger be oppress'd with want, To write the manner of his misery; And such as are disposed to succour him, [HODGE sets up the Bills. Will do it. What, Hodge, hast thou set them up? Hodge. Ay, they are up; God send some to read them, and not only to read them, but also to look on us: and not altogether look on us, but to relieve us. O, cold, cold, cold!

[CROMWELL stands at one end of the Bridge, and HODGE at the other,

Enter FRESCOBALD,

Fres. [reads the Bills.] What's here?
Two Englishmen, and robb'd by the banditti!
One of them seems to be a gentleman.
'Tis pity that his fortune was so hard,
To fall into the desperate hands of thieves:
I'll question him of what estate he is..
God save you, sir. Are you an Englishman.
Crom. I am, sir, a distressed Englishman.
Fres. And what are you, my friend?

Hodge. Who, I, sir? by my troth I do not know myself, what I am now; but, sir, I was a smith, sir, a poor farrier of Putney. That's my master, sir, yonder; I was robb'd for his sake, sir.

Fres. I see you have been met by the banditti, And therefore need not ask how you came thus. But, Frescobald, why dost thou question them Of their estate, and not relieve their need? Sir, the coin I have about me is not much: There's sixteen ducats for to clothe yourselves, There's sixteen more to buy your diet with, And there's sixteen to pay for your horse-hire. 'Tis all the wealth, you see, my purse possesses; But if you please for to enquire me out, You shall not want for aught that I can do. My name is Frescobald, a Florence merchant, A man that always loved your nation.

Crom. This unexpected favour at your hands Which God doth know if e'er I shall requite―

PERCY.

Necessity makes me to take your bounty,
And for your gold can yield you nought but thanks.
Your charity hath help'd me from despair;
Your name shall still be in my hearty prayer.
Fres. It is not worth such thanks: come to my
house;

Your want shall better be relieved than thus. Crom. I pray, excuse me; this shall well suffice,

To bear my charges to Bononia,

Whereas a noble earl is much distressed.
An Englishman, Russel, the earl of Bedford,
Is by the French king sold unto his death.
It may fall out, that I may do him good;
To save his life, I'll hazard my heart-blood.
Therefore, kind sir, thanks for your liberal gift;
I must be gone to aid him; there's no shift.

Fres. I'll be no hinderer to so good an act.
Heaven prosper you in that you go about!
If fortune bring you this way back again,
Pray let me see you: so I take my leave;
All good a man can wish, I do bequeath.

[Exit FRESCOBALD. Crom. All good that God doth send, light on your head!

There's few such men within our climate bred. How say you, Hodge? is not this good fortune? Hodge. How say you? I'll tell you what, master Thomas; if all men be of this gentleman's mind, let's keep our standings upon this bridge; we shall get more here, with begging, in one day, than I shall with making horse-shoes in a whole year. Crom. No, Hodge, we must be gone unto Bononia,

There to relieve the noble earl of Bedford;
Where, if I fail not in my policy,

I shall deceive their subtle treachery.

Hodge. Nay, I'll follow you. God bless us from the thieving banditti again!

[Exeunt.

Bed. First shall the ocean be as dry as sand, Before alive they send me unto France. I'll have my body first bored like a sieve, And die as Hector, 'gainst the Myrmidons, Ere France shall boast, Bedford's their prisoner. Treacherous France! that, 'gainst the law of arms, Hath here betrayed thine enemy to death. But be assured, my blood shall be revenged Upon the best lives that remain in France. Enter a Servant.

Stand back, or else thou run'st upon thy death. Ser. Pardon, my lord; I come to tell your ho

nour,

That they have hired a Neapolitan,
Who by his oratory hath promised them,
Without the shedding of one drop of blood,
Into their hands safe to deliver you;
And therefore craves none but himself may enter,
And a poor swain that attends upon him.
Bed. A Neapolitan? bid him come in.
[Exit Servant.
Were he as cunning in his eloquence,
As Cicero, the famous man of Rome,
His words would be as chaff against the wind.
Sweet-tongued Ulysses, that made Ajax mad,
Were he, and his tongue in this speaker's head,
Alive he wins me not; then 'tis no conquest, dead.
Enter CROMWELL in a Neapolitan habit, and

HODGE.

[Exit Host. CROMWELL shuts the door. Bed. Now, sir, what is your will with me? Crom. Intends your honour not to yield yourself?

Bed. No, goodman goose, not while my sword doth last.

Is this your eloquence for to persuade me?
Crom. My lord, my eloquence is for to save you:
I am not, as you judge, a Neapolitan,
But Cromwell, your servant, and an Englishman.
Bed. How! Cromwell? not my farrier's son?
Crom. The same, sir; and am come to succour

you.