And if that Famine chance to pinch their Maws,
Being us❜d to faft, it breeds lefs Pain,

Hales. Fill me fome Wine; I'll anfwer Cardinal Wolfey : My Lord, we English Men are of more freer Souls, Than hunger-starv'd, and ill-complexion'd Spaniards; They that are rich in Spain, fpare belly Food, To deck their Backs with an Italian Hood, And Silks of Sevil, and the pooreft Snake, That feeds on Lemmons, Pilchers, and ne'er heated His Pallet with fweet Flesh, will bear a case More fat and gallant than his ftarved Face: Pride, the Inquifition, and this belly-evil, Are, in my Judgment, Spain's three-headed Devil. Moor. Indeed it is a plague unto their Nation, Who ftagger after in blind Imitation.

Hal. My Lords, with welcome, I prefent your Lordships a folemn Health.

Moor. I love Health well, but when as Healths do bring Pain to the Head, and Bodies furfeiting :

Then cease I Healths:

Nay fpill not Friend, for though the drops be fmall,
Yet have they force, to force Men to the Wall.
Wol. Sir Chriftopher, is that your Man?

Hal. And like your Grace, he is a Scholar, and a Linguist, One that hath travelled many parts of Christendom, my (Lord. Wol. My Friend, come nearer, have you been a Traveller? Crom. My Lord, I have added to my Knowledge, the France, Spain, Germany, and Italy: (Low Countries.

And tho' small gain of Profit I did find,
Yet did it please my Eye, content my Mind.
Wol. What do you think of the feveral States,
And Princes Courts as you have travelled ?... ·

Crom. My Lord, no Court with England may compare,
Neither for State, nor Civil Government:
Luft dwells in France, in Italy, and Spain,
From the poor Peafant, to the Prince's Train;
In Germany, and Holland, Riot ferves,
And he that most can drink, moft he deferves:
England I praise not: For I here was born,

Y 3

But

But that she laugheth the others unto fcorn.
Wol. My Lord, there dwells within that Spirit,
More than can be discern'd by outward Eye;
Sir Chriftopher, will you part with your Man?

Hales. I have fought to proffer him to your Lordship, And now I fee he hath preferr'd himself?

Wol. What is thy Name?

Crom. Cromwell, my Lord.

(our Caufes,

Wol. Then, Cromwell, here we make thee Sollicitor of

And nearest next our felf:

Gardiner, give you kind welcome to the Man,

Gardiner embraces him.

Moor. My Lord, you are a royal Winner,
Hath got a Man, befides your bounteous Dinner.
Well, Knight, pray we come no more:
If we come often, thou may'ft fhut thy Door
Wol. Sir Chriftopher, hadit thou given me
Half thy Lands, thou could eft not have pleased me
So much as with this Man of thine,

My infant Thoughts do fpell:

Shortly his Fortune fhall be lifted higher,
True Industry doth kindle Honour's Fire,
And fo, kind Mafter of the Rolls, farewel.
Hales. Cromwell, farewell.

Grom. Cromwell takes his leave of you,
That ne'er will leave to love, and honour you.

[Exeunt. The Mufick plays as they go out.
Enter Chorus.

Cho. Now Cromwell's highest Fortunes do begin.
Wolfey that lov'd him, as he did his Life:
Committed all his Treafure to his Hands,"
Wolfey is dead, and Gardiner his Man
Is now created Bishop of Winchefter:
Pardon if we omit all Wolfey's Life,
Because our Play depends on Cromwell's Death,
Now fit and fee his higheft State of all;
His height of rifing and his fudden fall:
Pardon the Errors are already paft,
And live in hope the best doth come at last :
My hope upon your Favour doth depend,
And look to have your liking e'er the end.

[Exit.

Enter

Enter Gardiner Bishop of Winchester, the Dukes of Norfolk and of Suffolk, Sir Thomas Moor, Sir Chriftopher Hales, and Cromwell.

Nor. Mafter Cromwell, fince Cardinal Wolfey's Death,
His Majefty is given to understand,

There's certain Bills and Writings in your Hand,
That much concern the State of England;

My Lord of Winchester, is it not fo?

Gar. My Lord of Norfolk, we two were whilome Fellows, And Mafter Cromwell, though our Master's love,

Did bind us, while his love was to the King,

It is no boot now to deny those things,
Which may be prejudicial to the State:

And though that God hath rais'd my Fortune higher,
Than any way I looked for, or deferv'd,
Yet my Life, no longer with me dwell,
Than I prove true unto my Sovereign.

Suf. What fay you, Mafter Cromwell? have you those
Writings, ay, or no?

Crom. Here are the Writings, and upon my Knees,
I give them up unto the worthy Dukes,

Of Suffolk, and of Norfolk; he was my Master,
And each vertuous Part

That liv'd in him, I tender'd with my Heart,
But what his Head complotted 'gainst the State,
My Country's love commands me that to hate.
His fudden Death I grieve for, not his Fall,
Because he fought to work my Countries thrall.
Suf. Cromwell, the King fhall hear of this thy Duty;
Whom I affure my felf, will well reward thee;
My Lord, let's go unto his Majefty,

And fhow thofe Writings which he longs to fee.

[Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk.

Enter Bedford haftily.

Bed. How now, whofe this, Cromwell?

By my Soul, welcome to England:

Thou once didft fave my Life, didft thou not, Cromwell ?

Crom. If I did fo, 'tis greater Glory

For me that you remember it,

Than for my felf vainly to report it.

Bed. Well, Cromwell, now is the time,

I fall commend thee to my Sovereign:
Cheer up thy felf, for I will raife thy State,
A Ruffel yet was never found ingrate.

Hal. O how uncertain is the Wheel of State,
Who lately greater than the Cardinal,

For Fear, and Love; and now who lower lies?
Gay Honours are but Fortune's flatteries,

And whom this Day Pride and Promotion fwells,
To Morrow Envy and Ambition quells.

Moor. Who fees the Cob-web intangle the poor Fly,
May boldly fay the Wretch's Death is nigh.

Gard. I know his State, and proud Ambition,

Were too too violent to laft over-long.

[Exit.

Hal. Who foars too near the Sun, with golden Wings, Melts them, to ruin his own Fortune brings.

Enter the Duke of Suffolk.

Suf. Cromwell, kneel down in King Henry's Name, Arife, Sir Thomas Cromwell, thus begins thy Fame. Enter the Duke of Norfolk.

Nor. Cromwell, the Majefty of England,
For the good liking he conceives of thee,
Makes thee Mafter of the Jewel-house,
Chief Secretary to himself, and withal,

Creates thee one of his Highness's Privy-Council.
Enter the Earl of Bedford.

Bed. Where is Sir Thomas Cromwell? is he Knighted?
Suf. He is, my Lord.

Bed. Then, to add Honour to his Name,

The King creates him Lord Keeper of his Privy-Seal,

And Mafter of the Rolls;

Which you, Sir Chriftopher, do now enjoy:

The King determines higher place for you.

(fert.

Crom. My Lords, thefe Honours are too high for my Moor. O content thee, Man, who would not chufe it?

De

Yet thou art wife, in feeming to refuse it.

Gard. Here's Honours, Titles and Promotions;

I fear this climbing will have a fudden fall.
Nor. Then come, my Lords, let's altogether bring
This new-made Counsellor to England's King.

[Exeunt all but Gardiner. Gard

Gard. But Gardiner means his Glory shall be dim'd:
Shall Cromwell live a greater Man than I?
My Envy with his Honour now is bred,
I hope to fhorten Cromwell by the Head.

Enter Frisbibal very poor.

Frif. O Friskibal, what fhall become of thee?
Where shalt thou go, or which way fhalt thou turn?
Fortune, that turns her too unconftant Wheel,
Hath turn'd thy Wealth and Riches in the Sea;
All parts abroad where-ever I have been,
Grow weary of me, and denies me Succour ;
My Debtors they, that should relieve my want,
Forfwear my Mony, fay they owe me none:
They know my State too mean to bear out Law;
And here in London, where I oft have been,
And have done good to many a wretched Man,
And now moft wretched here, defpis'd my felf
In vain it is more of their Hearts to try;
Be patient therefore, lay thee down and die.

A

[Exit.

[He lies down.

Enter Goodman Seely, and his Wife Joan. Seely. Come Joan, come, let's fee what he will do for us now? I wis we have done for him, when many a time and often he might have gone a hungry to Bed.

Wife. Alas Man, now he is made a Lord, he'll never look upon us; he'll fulfil the old Proverb, Set Beggars a Horfe back and they'll ride: a, well a day for my Cow; fuch as he hath made us come behind hand, we had never pawn'd our Cow elle to pay our Rent.

Seely. Well Joan, he'll come this way; and by God's Dickers I'll tell him roundly of it, and if he were ten Lords; a fhall know that I had not my Cheese and my Bacon for nothing.

Wife. Do you remember Husband, how he would mouch upon my Cheese-Cakes, he hath forgot this now, but now we'll remember him.

Seely. Ay, we shall have now three flaps with a Fox Tail: But i'faith I'll gibber a Joint, but I'll tell him his own; ftay, who comes here? O, ftand up, here he comes, ftand

up.

Enter