Imatges de pÓgina



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Dramatis Personæ.


UKE of Norfolk.

Duke of Suffolk. Earl of Bedford and his Hoft. Cardinal Wolsey Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. Sir Thomas Moor. Sir Christopher Hales. Sir Ralph Sadler. Old Cromwell, a Blacksmith of Putney, Young Thomas Cromwell, his Son. Master Bouser, a Merchant. Banister, a broken Merchant, and his wife, Bagot, a cruel covetous Broker. Friskiball, a Florentine Merchant. The Governors of the English House at Antwerp. States and Officers of Bononia. Goodman Seely, and his Wife Joan. Lieutenant of the Tower. Hodge, Will and Tom, old Cromwell's Servants. Two Citizens, Two Merchants. A Post. Messengers. Uhers, and Servants.



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Enter Hodge, and two other Smiths, Servants to

old Cromwell.

OME, Masters, I think it be past five a
Clock, is it not time we were at Work? my
old Mafter he'll be stirring anon.

i Smith. I cannot tell whether my old Mafter will be stirring or no; but I am sure I

can hardly take my Afternoons 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 Wits.

Hodge. 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.

2 Smith. Ay, that's a great Virtue indeed; I think Thomas Be no Body in comparison to him.

1 Smith. Well, Masters, come, shall we to our Hammers?

Hodge. Ay, content ; first let's take our Mornings Draught, and then to work roundly. 2 Smith, Ay, agreed, go in, Hodge.

[Excunt. Enter young Cromwell. Crom. Good Morrow, Morn, I do falute 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 die, 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 hope's inrolld; My Books are all the Wealth I do posless, And unto them I have ingag'd my Heart ; O, Learning, how divine thou seem'st to me! Within whose Arms is all Felicity. Peace with your Hammers, leave your knocking there,

[Here within they beat with their Hammers. You do disturb my Study and my Rest; Leave off, I say, you mad me with the Noise.

Enter Hodge, and the two Men.
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.

2 Smith. Ay, this ’tis for him to make him a Gentleman: Shall we leave work for your mufing? that's well i'faith ; But here comes my old Master now.


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