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would be, if the question were to depend entirely upon the arbitrary requisition of the commentators, that Shakspeare's writings must be all of them of a uniform excellence, determined by standards drawn from our sense of his highest excellences. This, however, is not permitted us. But this point we have considered in another place. It has been suggested, that "W. S." might be the initials of Wentworth Smith, another dramatic writer, of whom little is known, but for whom this play has never been claimed.

of considerable merits, which escape our search. | not have been written by Shakspeare." Certainly it Schlegel, speaking of this play, of "the Yorkshire Tragedy," and of "Sir John Oldcastle," says: "They are not only unquestionably Shakspeare's, but, in my opinion, they deserve to be classed among his best and maturest works." After this judgment, we may well hesitate to speak our own. Schlegel proceeds to describe them as แ biographical dramas, and models in this species." Biographical they are, certainly singularly so, indeed-since, in this play of Sir Thomas, we have almost all the events of his life, from his earliest manhood to his death, crowded into the scene with a rapidity of action which defies all reason and probability, and largely overleaps the usual privileges of the dramatic historian. But to call this play, or either of the others mentioned, a model of its kind, betrays a large liberality in the critic which we can not conscientiously emulate Mr. Knight, at the close of his analysis of this play, remarks, that "it would be a waste of time to attempt to show that Thomas Lord Cromwell could

It remains to add, that the subject of Sir Thomas Cromwell is derived from Fuller, Stow, Speed, Holingshead, and other English chroniclers. The events are narrated at large, in Fox's Book of Martyrs. The particulars relating to Frescobald, the benevolent Italian, were first published by Bandello, the novelist, in 1554: "Francesco Frescobaldi, fa cortessa ad un straniero, e nè ben remeritato, essendo colui diuenuto contestabile d'Inghilterra." His story is translated by Fox.

THE HISTORY OF THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

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BAGOT, a money-broker.

FRESCOBALD, a Florentine merchant.

The Governor of the English factory at Antwerp.
Governor and other officers of Bolognia.

Master of an hotel in Bolognia.

SEELY, a publican of Hounslow.
Lieutenant of the Tower.

Young CROMWELL, the son of Thomas.

HODGE, WILL, and Tom, old Cromwell's servants.
Two Citizens.

Mrs. BANISTER.

JOAN, wife to Seely.

Two Witnesses; a Sergeant-at-arms; a Herald; a
Hangman; a Post; Messengers; Officers; Ushers,

and Attendants.

SCENE,-Partly in LONDON, and the adjoining Dis. tricts; partly in ANTWERP and BOLOGNIA.

ACT I.

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

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Crom. Good morrow, morn; I do salute thy bright.
ness!

The night seems tedious to my troubled soul,
Whose black obscurity breeds1 in my mind
A thousand sundry cogitations :

And now Aurora, with a lively dye,
Adds comfort to my spirit that mounts high ;2
Too high, indeed, my state being so mean.
My study, like a mineral of gold,

Makes my heart proud, wherein my hope's enrolled;
My books are all the wealth I do possess,
And unto them I have engaged my heart.
Oh, Learning! how divine thou seem'st to me,-
Within whose arms is all felicity.

[Smiths within hammer. Peace with your hammers, leave your knocking there! You do disturb my study and my rest:

SCENE I.-Putney. The entrance of a Smith's shop. Leave off, I say:—you mad me with your noise.

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 can not tell whether my old master will be stirring or no; but I am sure I can hardly take my

Enter HODGE, WILL, and Toм, from within. 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.

1 Old copy, "binds." 2 Former copies read, " on high."

Hodge. How! fret your heart? Ay. Thomas, but | Is seen as often as it whirls about. you'll fret

Your father's purse if you let us from working.

Tom. Ay, this 'tis for 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, why are you loit'ring
now?

No hammers walking,' and my work to do?
What, not a heat among your work to-day?

Hodge. Marry, sir, your son Thomas will not let us work at all.

The river Thames, that by our door doth pass,
His first beginning is but small and shallow;
Yet, keeping on his course, grows to a sea.
And likewise Wolsey, the wonder of our age,
His birth as mean as mine, a butcher's son;
Now, who, within this land a greater man?
Then, Cromwell, cheer thee up, and tell thy soul,
That thou may'st live to flourish and control.

Enter old CROMWELL.

Old Crom. Tom Cromwell; what, Tom, I say!
Crom. Do you call, sir?

Old Crom. Here is Master Bowser come to know if you have despatched his petition for the lords of the

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cry you mercy; are your ears so fine?

I tell thee, knave, these get when I do sleep;

I will not have my anvil stand for thee.

men.

Crom. There's money, father; I will pay your
[Throws money among them.
Old Crom. Have I thus brought thee up unto my
cost,

In hope that one day thou'dst relieve my age,
And art thou now so lavish of thy coin,
To scatter it among these idle knaves?

Crom. Father, be patient, and content yourself:
The time will come I shall hold gold as trash:
And here, I speak with a presaging soul,
To build a palace where this cottage stands,

As fine as is King Henry's house at Sheen.

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Crom. Father, I have; please you to call him in. Old Crom. That's well said, Tom; a good lad, Tom.

Enter Master BowSER.

Bow. Now, Master Cromwell, have you despatched this petition?

Crom. I have, sir; here it is; please you, peruse it.
Bow. It shall not need; we'll read't as we go by

water.

And, Master Cromwell, I have made a motion
May do you good, an if you like of it.
Our secretary at Antwerp, sir, is dead,
And [now] the merchants there have sent to me,
For to provide a man fit for the place:
Now, I do know none fitter than yourself,
If it stand with your liking, Master Cromwell.
Crom. With all my heart, sir; and I much am
bound,

In love and duty for your kindness shown.

Old Crom. Body o'me, Tom, make haste, lest somebody get between thee and honor, Tom.3 I thank

Old Crom. You build a house! You knave, you'll you, good Master Bowser, I thank you for my boy;

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 me !
[Aside.

A good boy, Tom; I con thee; - thank thee, Tom,
Well said, Tom; Gramercy to ye, Tom!
In to your work, knaves; hence [thou] saucy boy.
[Exeunt all but young CROMWEll.
Crom. Why should my birth keep down my mount-
ing spirit?

Are not all creatures subject unto time;
To time who doth abuse the cheated world,
And fills it full of hodge-podge bastardy?
There's legions now of beggars on the earth,
That their original did spring from kings;
And many monarchs now, whose fathers were
The riff-raff of their age; for time and fortune
Wear out a noble train to beggary;
And from the dunghill, minions2 do advance
To state and mark in this admiring world.
This is but course, which, in the name of fate,

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Enter FRESCOBALD.

Good morrow to kind Master Frescobald.
Fres. Good morrow to yourself, good Master
Bagot;

And what's the news, you are so early stirring?
It is for gain; I make no doubt of that.

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.

Bag. Why then assure yourself to see him straight,
For at your suit I have arrested him,
And here they will be with him presently.

And sell; in part to pay the debt we owe you.
If ever tears did pierce a tender mind,
Be pitiful; let me some favor find.

Fres. Go to; I see thou art an envious man.-
Good Mistress Banister, kneel not to me :
I pray rise up; you shall have your desire.
Hold, officers; begone; there's for your pains.

[Exit Officers.

You know you owe to me a thousand pound;

[TO BANISTER.
Here, take my hand; if e'er God make you able,
Pay me: but, if still [dark] your fortune frown,
And place you in your former state again,
Upon my faith, I'll never ask a crown.
I never yet did wrong to men in thrall,

Fres. Arrest him at my suit? You were to blame, For God doth know what to myself may fall.

I know the man's misfortunes to be such,

As he's not able for to pay the debt;

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And were it known to some, he were undone.

Bag. This is your pitiful heart to think it so ;
But you are much deceived in Banister :
Why, such as he will break for fashion sake,
And unto those they owe a thousand pound,
Pay scarce a hundred. O, sir, beware of him,
The man is lewdly given to dice and drabs;
Spends all he hath in harlot's companies;
It is no mercy for to pity him:

I speak the truth of him, for nothing else,
But for the kindness that I bear to you.

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:
But here is Master Banister himself,
And with him, as I take it, [are] the officers.

Enter BANISTER, his Wife, and two Officers.

Ban. O, Master Frescobald, you have undone me:
My state was well nigh overthrown before,
Now, altogether downcast by your means.

Ban. This unexpected favor, undeserved, Doth make my heart bleed inwardly with joy: Ne'er may aught prosper with me as3 my own, If I forget this kindness you have shown.

Mrs. Ban. My children, in their prayers, both night

and day,

For your good fortune and success shall pray.
Fres. I thank you both; I pray go dine with me ;
Within these three days, if God give me leave,

I will to Florence, to my native home.
Hold, Bagot, there's a portague4 to drink,
Although you ill deserved it by your merit;
Give not such cruel scope unto your heart;
Be sure, the ill you do will be requited:
Remember what I say, Bagot; farewell.
Come, Master Banister, you shall with me,
My fare's but simple, but welcome heartily.
[Exeunt all but BAGOT
Bag. A plague go with you! would you had eat
your last!

Is this the thanks I have for all my pains?
Confusion light upon you all for me!

Where he had wont to give a score of crowns,4

Mrs. Ban. O, Master Frescobald, pity my hus- Doth he now foist me with a portague?

band's case;

He is a man hath lived as well as any,

Till envious fortune and the ravenous sea
Did rob, disrobe, and spoil us of our own.

Fres. Mistress Banister, I envy not your husband,
Nor willingly would I have used him thus:
But that I hear he is so lewdly given,
Haunts wicked company, and hath enough
To pay his debts, yet will not own thereof.

Ban. This is that damned broker, that same Bagot,
Whom I have often from my trencher fed:
Ungrateful villain for to use me thus.

Bag. What I have said to him is naught but truth.
Mrs. Ban. What thou hast said springs from an en-
vious heart!

O! cannibal,2 that doth eat men alive!
But here, upon my knee, believe me, sir;
And what I speak, so help me God, is true!
We scarce have meat to feed our little babes:
Most of our plate is in that broker's hand,
Which, had we money to defray our debts,
O think, we would not bide that penury!
Be merciful, kind Master Frescobald;
My husband, children, and myself will eat
But one meal a day; the other, will we keep

1 Former editions read, "be known thereof"
9 "A cannibal," in other copies.

Well, I will be revenged upon this Banister.
I'll to his creditors; buy the debts he owes,
As seeming that I do it for good will ;
I'm sure to have them at an easy rate;
And when 'tis done, in Christendom he stays not,
But I will make his heart to ache with sorrow;
And if that Banister become my debtor,

By heaven and earth, I'll make his plague the greater.
[Exit BAGOT.

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And thither sends his bills of debt before,

To be revenged on wretched Banister.

What doth fall out, with patience sit and see,

A just requital of false treachery.

SCENE 1.-Antwerp. CROMWELL in his study, dis

Meantime, 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 will I neglect.

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

covered at a table, with bags of money before him, and Keep you from trouble, sorrow, grief, and smart. books of account.

Crom. Thus far my reckoning doth go straight and

even.

But, Cromwell, this same plodding fits not thee;

Thy mind is altogether set on travel,

And not to live thus cloistered, like a nun.

It is not this same trash, that I regard;
Experience is the jewel of my heart.

Enter a Post (courier).

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

You go as far as Frankfort, do you not?

Post. I do, sir.

[Exit Mistress BANISTER. Crom. Thanks, courteous woman, for thy hearty

prayer!

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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;

Crom. Well, pr'ythee, then, make all the haste I hope to have his body rot in prison,

thou canst,

For there be certain English gentlemen

Are bound for Venice, and may haply want,
An if that you should linger by the way:
But in the hope that you will make good speed,
There are two angels to buy spurs and wands.1
Post. I thank you, sir; this will add wings indeed.
Crom. Gold is of power to make an eagle's speed.

Enter Mistress BANISTER.

And after hear his wife to hang herself,
And all his children die for want of food.
The jewels I have brought with me to Antwerp,
Are reckoned to be worth five thousand pound,
Which scarcely stood me in three hundred pound.
I bought them at an easy kind of rate;

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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.

What gentlewoman is this, that grieves so much?
It seems she doth address herself to me.
Mrs. Ban. God save you, sir; is your name Master I must go see an if my bills be safe,

Cromwell?

The which I sent before to Master Cromwell,

Crom. My name is Thomas Cromwell, gentlewo- That, if the wind should keep me on the sea,
He might arrest him here before I came :

man.

Mrs. Ban. Know you one Bagot, sir, that's come And, in good time, see where he is:

to Antwerp?

Crom. No, trust me, I ne'er saw the man ; but here Are bills of deb I have received against One Banister a merchant fallen into decay.

Mrs. Ban. Into decay, indeed, 'long of that wretch! I am the wife to woful Banister,

And, by that bloody villain am pursued,
From London, here to Antwerp, where my husband
Lies in the governor's hands; the God of Heaven
He only knows how he will deal with him!
Now, sir, your heart is framed of milder temper,
Be merciful to a distresséd soul,

And God, no doubt, will trebly bless your gain.
Crom. Good Mistress Banister, what I can, I will,
In anything that lies within my power.

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

An angel's voice may move a damnéd devil.
Crom. Why, is he come to Antwerp, as you hear?
Mrs. Ban. I heard he landed some two hours since.
Crom. Well, Mistress Banister, assure yourself,
I will to Bagot speak in your behalf,
And win him to all the pity that I can :

1 Wands—switches.

God save you, sir.

Enter CROMWELL.

Crom. And you. -Pray, pardon me, I know you

not.

Bag. It may be so, sir; but my name is Bagot; The man that sent to you the bills of debt. Crom. Oh, you're the man that pursues Banister? Here are the bills of debt you sent to me; As for the man, you best know where he is. It is reported you've 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; Your hand to help them that do sink in want, Rather than with your poise to hold them down ; For every ill turn, show yourself more kind:Thus should I; pardon me, I speak my mind. Bag. Ay, sir, you speak to hear what I would say;

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