SEELY. Art not changed, art old Tom still! Now God bless the good Lord Tom. Home, Joan, home; I'll dine with my Lord Tom to day, and thou shalt come next week. Fetch my Cow; home, Joan, home.

WIFE. Now God bless thee, my good Lord Tom; I'll fetch my cow presently.

[Exit Wife.]

[Enter Gardiner.]

CROMWELL. Sirra, go to yon stranger; tell him I Desire him stay at dinner. I must speak With him.

GARDINER. My Lord of Norfolk, see you this same bubble, That same puff? but mark the end, my Lord, Mark the end.

NORFOLK. I promise you, I like not something he hath done, But let that pass; the King doth love him well.

CROMWELL. God morrow to my Lord of Winchester. I know you bear me hard about the Abbey lands.

GARDINER. Have I not reason, when religion is wronged? You had no colour for what you have done.

CROMWELL. Yes; the abolishing of Antichrist, And of this Popish order from our Realm. I am no enemy to religion, But what is done, it is for England's good. What did they serve for but to feed a sort Of lazy Abbots and of full fed Friars? They neither plow, nor sow, and yet they reap The fat of all the Land, and suck the poor: Look, what was theirs, is in King Henry's hands; His wealth before lay in the Abbey lands.

GARDINER. Indeed these things you have alleged, my Lord, When God doth know the infant yet unborn Will curse the time the Abbeys were pulled down. I pray, now where is hospitality? Where now may poor distressed people go, For to relieve their need, or rest their bones, When weary travel doth oppress their limbs? And where religious men should take them in, Shall now be kept back with a Mastiff do, And thousand thousand--

NORFOLK. O, my Lord, no more: things past redress Tis bootless to complain.

CROMWELL. What, shall we to the Convocation house?

NORFOLK. We'll follow you, my Lord; pray, lead the way.

[Enter Old Cromwell like a Farmer.]

OLD CROMWELL. How? one Cromwell made Lord Keeper since I left Putney And dwelt in Yorkshire. I never heard better news: I'll see that Cromwell, or it shall go hard.

CROMWELL. My aged father! state set aside, Father, on my knee I crave your blessing: One of my servants go and have him in; At better leisure will we talk with him.

OLD CROMWELL. Now if I die, how happy were the day! To see this comfort rains forth showers of joy.

[Exit Old Cromwell.]

NORFOLK. This duty in him shows a kind of grace.

CROMWELL. Go on before, for time draws on apace.

[Exit all buy Friskiball.]

FRISKIBALL. I wonder what this Lord would have with me. His man so strictly gave me charge to stay: I never did offend him to my knowledge. Well, good or bad, I mean to bide it all; Worse than I am now never can befall.

[Enter Banister and his wife.]

BANISTER. Come, wife, I take it be almost dinner time, For master Newton, and master Crosby sent To me last night, they would come dine with me, And take their bond in: I pray thee, hie thee home, And see that all things be in readiness.

MISTRESS BANISTER. They shall be welcome, husband; I'll go before.-- But is not that man master Friskiball?

[She runs and embraces him.]

BANISTER. O heavens, it is kind master Friskiball! Say sir, what hap hath brought you to this pass?

FRISKIBALL. The same that brought you to your misery.

BANISTER. Why would you not acquaint me with your state? Is Banister your poor friend quite forgot: Whose goods, whose love, whose life and all is yours?

FRISKIBALL. I thought your usage would be as the rest, That had more kindness at my hands than you, Yet looked askance, when as they saw me poor.

MISTRESS BANISTER. If Banister should bear so base a heart, I never would look my husband in the face, But hate him as I would a Cockatrise.

BANISTER. And well thou mightest, should Banister deal so. Since that I saw you, sir, my state is mended: And for the thousand pound I owe to you, I have it ready for you, sir, at home; And though I grieve your fortune is so bad, Yet that my hap's to help you make me glad. And now, sir, will it please you walk with me?

FRISKIBALL. Not yet I cannot, for the Lord Chancellor Hath here commanded me to wait on him, For what I know not: pray God tis for my good.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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