That shall return, unless you fend him back.
Gov. O this Misfortune, how it mads my Heart?
The Neopolitan hath buguil'd us all.
Hence with this Fool, what fhall we do with him,
The Earl being gone? a plague upon it all.
Hodge. No I'll affure you, I am no Earl, but a Smith, Sir, One Hodge, a Smith at Putney, Sir;
One that hath gulled you, that hath bored you, Sir.
Gov. Away with him, take hence the Fool you came for.
Hodge. Ay, Sir, and I'll leave the greater Fool with you.
Mef. Farewel, Bononians. Come, Friend, along with me.
Hodge. My Friend, afore, my Lordship will follow thee.
Gov. Well, Mantua, fince by thee the Earl is loft, Within few Days I hope to fee thee croft.
Cho. Thus far you fee how Cromwell's Fortune pass'd.
The Earl of Bedford being fafe in Mantua,
Defires Cromwell's Company into France,
To make requital for his Courtefie:
But Cromwell doth deny the Earl his Suit,
And tells him that thofe Parts he meant to fee,
He had not yet fet footing on the Land,
And fo directly takes his way to Spain;
The Earl to France, and fo they both do part.
Now let your Thoughts as fwift as is the Wind,
Skip fome few Years, that Cromwell spent in Travel ;
And now imagine him to be in England,
Servant unto the Mafter of the Rolls:
Where in fhort time he there began to flourish,
An Hour Shall show you what few Years did cherish.
The Mufick plays, they bring out the Banquet. Enter Str
Chriftopher Hales, Cromwell, and two Servants.
Hales. Come, Sirs, be careful of your Master's Credit ;
And as our Bounty now exceeds the Figure
Of common Entertainment, fo do
you,
With Looks as free as is your Master's Soul,
Give formal Welcome to the thronged Tables,
That shall receive the Cardinal's Followers,
And the Attendance of the great Lord Chancellor.
And laft to you, that thefe good News do bring.
Gov. The hundred Pound I muft receive, as due
For finding Bagot, I freely give to you.
Bow. And, Mafter Banifter, if fo you please,
I'll bear you Company, when you cross the Seas.
Ban. If it pleafe you, Sir, my Company is but mean,
Stands with your liking, I'll wait on you.
Gov. I am glad that all things do accord fo well:
Come, Mafter Bowfer, let us 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 Merit.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter Cromwell and Hodge in their Shirts, and without
Hats.
Hodge. Call ye this feeing of Fashions?
Marry would I had ftaid at Putney ftill,
O, Mafter 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-fhod, the Rogues would not leave me a Shooe to my Feet; for my Hofe, they fcorn'd them with their Heels; but for my Doublet and Hat, O Lord, they embrac'd me, and unlac'd me, and took away my Cloaths, and fo difgrac'd
Crom. Well, Hodge, what Remedy?
What fhift fhall we make now?
Hodge. Nay I know not, for begging I am naught, for ftealing worfe; by my troth, I muft even fall to my old Trade, to the Hammer and the Horfe-heels again; but now the worst is, I am not acquainted with the humour of the Horfes 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 me Chops, I were gone, there lay I, there lay Hodge.
Crom. Hodge, I believe thou must work for us both.
Hodge. O, Mafter Thomas, have not I told you of this? have not I many a time and often faid, Tom, or Mafter Thomas, learn to make a Horfe-fhooe, it will be your own another Day; this was not regarded. Hark you, Thomas what do you call the Fellows that robb'd us?
Hodge. The Bandetti, do you call them? I know not what they are call'd here, but I am fure we call them plain Thieves in England. O, Tom, that we were now at Putney, at the Ale there.
Crom. Content thee, Man, here fet up these two Bills, And let us keep our standing on the Bridge:
The Fashion of this Country is fuch,
If any Stranger be oppreffed with want,
To write the manner of his Mifery,
And fuch as are difpos'd to fuccour him,
Will do it. What, haft thou fet them up?
Hodge. Ay they're up, God fend fome 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.
[One ftands at one end, and one at t'other.
Enter Friskibal the Merchant, and reads the Bills. Frif. What's here? two Englishmen robb'd by the Bandetti,
One of them feems to be a Gentleman:
Tis pity that his Fortune was so hard,
To fall into the defperate Hands of Thieves.
I'll question him, of what Eftate he is.
God fave you, Sir, are you an Englishman?
Crom. I am, Sir, a diftreffed Englishman.
Frif. And what are you, my Friend.
Hodge. Who, I Sir, by my troth I do not know my felf, what I am now, but, Sir, I was a Smith, Sir, a poor Farrier of Putney, that's my Mafter, Sir, yonder, I was robb'd for his fake, Sir.
Frif. I fee you have been met by the Bandetti,
And therefore need not ask how you came thus.
But Friskibal, why doft thou question them
Of their Eftate, and not relieve their need?
Sir, the Coin I have about me is not much:
There's fixteen Duckets for to cloath your felves,
There's fixteen more to buy your Diet with,
And there's fixteen to pay for your Horfe-hire.
Tis all the Wealth, you fee, my Purfe poffeffes;
But if you pleafe for to enquire me out,
You fhall not want for ought that I can do,
My Name is Friskibal, a Florence Merchant:
A Man that always lov'd your Nation.
Crom. This unexpected favour at your Hands,
Which God doth know, if ever I fhall requite it,
Neceffity 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 fhall ftill be in my hearty Prayer.
Frif. It is not worth fuch thanks, come to my House,
Your want fhall better be reliev'd than thus.
Crom. I pray excufe me, this fhall well fuffice,
To bear my charges to Bononia,
Whereas a noble Earl is much diftrefs'd:
An Englishman, Ruffel the Earl of Bedford
Is by the French King fold unto his Death, 1
It may fall out, that I may do him good:
To fave 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.
Frif. I'll be no hinderer to fo good an A&,
Heav'n profper you, in that you go about:
If Fortune bring you this back again,
Pray let me fee you; fo I take my leave,
All good a Man can with, I do bequeath.
Crom. All good that God doth fend, light on your Head, There's few fuch Men within our Climate bred.
How fay you now, Hodge, is not this good Fortune? Hodge. How fay you, I'll tell you what, Mafter Thomas, If all Men be of this Gentleman's Mind,
Let's keep our standings upon this Bridge,
We fhall get more here, with begging in one Day,
Than I fhall with making Horseshooes in a whole Year.
Crom. No, Hodge, we must be gone unto Bononia,
There to relieve the noble Earl of Bedford:
Where if I fall not in my Policy,
I shall deceive their fubtle Treachery.
Hodge. Nay, I'll follow you, God bless us from the thie
Enter Bedford and his Hoft.
Bed. Am I betray'd? was Bedford born to die
By fuch bafe Slaves, in fuch a Place as this?
Have I efcap'd fo many times in France,
So many Battels have I over-pafs'd,
And made the French ftir, when they heard my Name:
And am I now betray'd unto my Death?
Some of their Hearts Blood firft fhall pay for it.
Hoft. They do defire, my Lord, to fpeak with you.
Bed. The Traitors do defire to have my Blood,
But by my Birth, my Honour, and my Name;
By all my Hopes, my Life fhall coft them dear.
Open the Door, I'll venture out upon them,
And if I muft die, then I'll die with Honour.
Hoft. Alas, my Lord, that is a defperate Course,
They have begirt you, round about the House:
Their meaning is to take you Prisoner,
And fo to fend your Body unto France.
Bed. Firft fhall the Ocean be as dry as Sand,
Before alive they fend me unto France:
I'll have my Body firft bor'd like a Sieve,
And die as Hector, 'gainst the Mermydons,
E'er France fhall boaft, Bedford's their Prisoner,
Treacherous France, that 'gainst the Law of Arms,
Hath here betray'd thy Enemy to Death:
But be affur'd, my Blood fhall be reveng'd
Upon the best Lives that remain in France.
Stand back, or else thou run'ft upon thy Death.
Ser. Pardon, my Lord, I come to tell your Honour, That they have hired a Neapolitan,
Who by his Oratory hath promis'd them,
Without the fhedding of one drop of Blood,
Into their Hands fafe to deliver you,
And therefore craves none but himself may enter,
And a poor Swain that attends on him.
Bed. A Neapolitan? bid him come in,
Were he as cunning in his Eloquence,
As Cicero the famous Man of Rome,
His words would be as Chaff against the Wind.
Sweet tongu'd Vlyffes, that made Ajax mad,
Were he and his Tongue in this Speaker's Head,
Alive he wins me not; then 'tis no Conqueft.
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