Thomas Lord Cromwell

Title: Thomas Lord Cromwell

Dubious author: William Shakespeare

Release date: May 1, 1999 [eBook #1736] Most recently updated: September 30, 2025

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1736

Credits: the PG Shakespeare Team, a team of about twenty Project Gutenberg volunteers

The Life and Death of The Lord Cromwell, attributed in part to William

Shakespeare.

THE ACTORS NAMES.

OLD CROMWELL, a Black-smith at Putney. Young THOMAS CROMWELL his son. HODGE, WILL, and TOM, old Cromwell’s servants. Earl of BEDFORD and his Host. Dukes of NORFOLK and SUFFOLK. Sir CHRISTOPHER HALES. Cardinal WOLSEY. Sir THOMAS MOOR. GARDINER Bishop of Winchester. Sir RALPH SADLER. M. BOUSER a Merchant. BANISTER, a broken Merchant and his wife. BAGOT, a cruel covetous Broker. FRISKIBALL a Florentine Merchant. The Governours of the ENGLISH house at ANTWERP. States and Officers of BONONIA. Good-man SEELY and his wife JOAN. CHORUS. A POST. MESSENGERS. USHERS and SERVANTS. LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER. TWO CITIZENS. TWO MERCHANTS.

ACT I. SCENE I. Putney. The entrance of a smith’s shop.

[Enter three Smiths, Hodge and two other, old Cromwell’s men.]

HODGE. Come, masters, I think it be past five a clock; is it not time we were at work: my old Master he’ll be stirring anon.

FIRST SMITH. I cannot tell whether my old master will be stirring or no: but I am sure I can hardly take my afternoon’s 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 wife.

HODGE. He skill of the stars! there’s good-man Car of Fulhum, he that carried us to the strong Ale, where goody Trundell had her maid got with child: O he knows the stars. He’ll tickle you Charles Waine in nine degrees. That same man will tell you goody Trundell when her Ale shall miscarry, only by the stars.

SECOND SMITH. Aye, that’s a great virtue; indeed I think Thomas be no body in comparison to him.

FIRST SMITH. Well, masters, come, shall we to our hammers?

HODGE. Aye, content; first let’s take our morning’s draught, and then to work roundly.

SECOND SMITH. Aye, agreed; go in, Hodge.

[Exit omnes.]

ACT I. SCENE II. The same.

[Enter young Cromwell.]

CROMWELL. Good morrow, morn, I do salute 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 dye, 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 hopes enrolled; My books is all the wealth I do possess.

[Here within they must beat with their hammers.]

And unto them I have engaged my heart. O learning, how divine thou seems to me: Within whose arms is all felicity. Peace with your hammers! leave your knocking there: 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?

CROMWELL. You fret my heart, with making of this noise.

HODGE. How, fret your heart? Aye, but Thomas, you’ll fret your father’s purse if you let us from working.

SECOND SMITH. Aye, this tis for him 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 CROMWELL. You idle knaves, what, are you loitering 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.

OLD CROMWELL. Why, knave, I say, have I thus carked & car’d And all to keep thee like a gentleman; And dost thou let my servants at their work, That sweat for thee, knave, labour thus for thee?

CROMWELL. Father, their hammers do offend my study.

OLD CROMWELL. Out of my doors, knave, if thou likest it not. I cry you mercy! is your ears so fine? I tell thee, knave, these get when I do sleep; I will not have my Anvil stand for thee.

CROMWELL. There’s money, father, I will pay your men.

[He throws money among them.]

OLD CROMWELL. Have I thus brought thee up unto my cost, In hope that one day thou wouldst relieve my age, And art thou now so lavish of thy coin, To scatter it among these idle knaves.

CROMWELL. Father, be patient, and content your self. The time will come I shall hold gold as trash: And here I speak with a presaging soul, To build a palace where now this cottage stands, As fine as is King Henry’s house at Sheene.

OLD CROMWELL. You build a house! you knave, you’ll 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 it was his mother’s doing, To send him to the University. How? build a house where now this cottage stands, As fair as that at Sheene!—[Aside.] He shall not hear me. A good boy Tom! I con thee thank Tom! Well said Tom! gramarcies Tom!— Into your work, knaves; hence, you saucy boy.

[Exit all but young Cromwell.]

CROMWELL. Why should my birth keep down my mounting spirit? Are not all creatures subject unto time: To time, who doth abuse the 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 riffe-raffe of their age: for Time and Fortune Wears out a noble train to beggary, And from the hunghill minions do advance To state and mark in this admiring world. This is but course, which in the name of Fate Is seen as often as it whirls about: 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 maist live to flourish and control.

[Enter Old Cromwell.]

OLD CROMWELL. Tom Cromwell! what, Tom, I say!

CROMWELL. Do you call, sir.

OLD CROMWELL. Here is master Bowser come to know if you have dispatched his petition for the Lords of the counsel or no.

CROMWELL. Father, I have; please you to call him in.

OLD CROMWELL. That’s well said, Tom; a good lad, Tom.

[Enter Master Bowser.]

BOWSER.

Now, Master Cromwell, have you dispatched this petition?

CROMWELL. I have, sir; here it is: please you peruse it.

BOWSER. It shall not need; we’ll read it as we go by water: And, Master Cromwell, I have made a motion May do you good, and if you like of it. Our Secretary at Antwerp, sir, is dead, And the Merchants there hath sent to me, For to provide a man fit for the place: Now I do know none fitter than your self, If with your liking it stand, master Cromwell.

CROMWELL. With all my heart, sir, and I much am bound, In love and duty for your kindness shown.

OLD CROMWELL. Body of me, Tom, make haste, least some body get between thee and home, Tom. I thank you, good master Bowser, I thank you for my boy; I thank you always, I thank you most heartily, sir. Ho, a cup of Beer there for master Bowser.

BOWSER. It shall not need, sir. Master Cromwell, will you go?

CROMWELL. I will attend you, sir.

OLD CROMWELL. Farewell, Tom; God bless thee, Tom; God speed thee, good Tom.

[Exit omnes.]

ACT I. SCENE III. London. A street before Frescobald’s house.

[Enter Bagot, a Broker, solus.]

BAGOT. I hope this day is fatal unto some, And by their loss must Bagot seek to gain. This is the lodging of master Friskiball, A liberal Merchant, and a Florentine, To whom Banister owes a thousand pound, A Merchant Banckrout, whose Father was my master. What do I care for pity or regard? He once was wealthy, but he now is fallen, And this morning have I got him arrested, At the suit of master Friskiball, And by this means shall I be sure of coin, For doing this same good to him unknown: And in good time, see where the merchant comes.

[Enter Friskiball.]

BAGOT. Good morrow to kind master Friskiball.

FRISKIBALL. Good morrow to your self, good master Bagot, And what’s the news, you are so early stirring: It is for gain, I make no doubt of that.

BAGOT. It is for the love, sir, that I bear to you. When did you see your debtor Banister?

FRISKIBALL. 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.

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

FRISKIBALL. Arrest him at my suit? you were to blame. I know the man’s misfortune to be such, As he’s not able for to pay the debt, And were it known to some he were undone.

BAGOT. 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 harlots’ 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.

FRISKIBALL. 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, the officers.

[Enter Banister, his wife, and two officers.]

BANISTER. O master Friskiball, you have undone me. My state was well nigh overthrown before, Now altogether down-cast by your means.

MISTRESS BANISTER. O master Friskiball, pity my husband’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.

FRISKIBALL. 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 be known thereof.

BANISTER. This is that damned Broker, that same Bagot, Whom I have often from my Frencher fed. Ingrateful Villain for to use me thus!

BAGOT. What I have said to him is naught but truth.

MISTRESS BANISTER. What thou hast said springs from an envious heart. A Cannibal 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 debt, O think,. we would not bide that penury. Be merciful, kind master Friskiball. My husband, children, and my self will eat But one meal a day, the other will We keep and sell As part to pay the debt we owe to you: If ever tears did pierce a tender mind, Be pitiful, let me some favour find.

BAGOT. Be not you so mad, sir, to believe her tears.

FRISKIBALL. 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, be gone, there’s for your pains.— You know you owe to me a thousand pound: Here, take my hand; if ear God make you able, And place you in your former state again, Pay me: but if still your fortune frown, Upon my faith I’ll never ask you crown: I never yet did wrong to men in thrall, For God doth know what to my self may fall.

BANISTER. This unexpected favour, undeserved, Doth make my heart bleed inwardly with joy. Ne’er may ought prosper with me is my own, If I forget this kindness you have shown.

MISTRESS BANISTER. My children in their prayers, both night and day, For your good fortune and success shall pray.

FRISKIBALL. I thank you both; I pray, do dine with me. Within these three days, if God give me leave, I will to Florence, to my native home. Bagot, hold; there’s a Portague 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 is but simple, but welcome heartily.

[Exit all but Bagot.]

BAGOT. 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, Doth he now foist me with a Portague? Well, I will be revenged upon this Banister. I’ll to his creditors, buy all the debts he owes, As seeming that I do it for good will. I am sure to have them at an easy rate, And when tis done, in christendom he stays not, But I’ll 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.]

ACT II.

[Enter Chorus.]

CHORUS. Now, gentlemen, imagine that young Cromwell is In Antwerp ledger for the English Merchants: And Banister, to shun this Bagot’s hate, Hearing that he hath got some of his debts, Is fled to Antwerp, with his wife and children; Which Bagot hearing is gone after them: 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.

[Exit.]

ACT II. SCENE I. Antwerp.

[Cromwell in his study with bags of money before him casting of account.]

CROMWELL. Thus far my reckoning doth go straight & even, But, Cromwell, this same ployding 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.]

POST. I pray, sir, are you ready to dispatch me?

CROMWELL. Yes; here’s those sums of money you must carry; You go so far as Frankford, do you not?

POST. I do, sir.

CROMWELL. Well, prithee make all the hate thou canst, For there be certain English gentlemen Are bound for Venice, and my happily want, And if that you should linger by the way: But in hope that you’ll make good speed, There’s two Angels to buy you spurs and wands.

POST. I thank you, sir; this will add wings indeed.

[Exit Post.]

CROMWELL. Gold is of power would make an Eagle speed.

[Enter Mistress Banister.]

What gentlewoman is this that grieves so much? It seems she doth address her self to me.

MISTRESS BANISTER. God save you, sir, sir; pray, is your name master Cromwell?

CROMWELL. My name is Thomas Cromwell, gentlewoman.

MISTRESS BANISTER. Know you not one Bagot, sir, that’s come to Antwerp?

CROMWELL. No, trust me, I never saw the man, But here are bills of debt I have received, Against one Banister, a Merchant fallen into decay.

MISTRESS BANISTER. Into decay, indeed, long of that wretch. I am the wife to woeful Banister: And by that bloody villain am pursued From London here to Antwerp. My husband he is in the governour’s hands, And God no doubt will treble bless your gain.

CROMWELL. Good mistress Banister, what I can, I will, In any thing that lies within my power.

MISTRESS BANISTER. O speak to Bagot, that same wicked wretch, An Angel’s voice may move a damned devil.

CROMWELL. Why, is he come to Antwerp, as you here?

MISTRESS BANISTER. I heard he landed some two hours since.

CROMWELL. Well, mistress Banister, assure your self. I’ll speak to Bagot in your own behalf, And win him to all the pity that I can. Mean time, 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 I will neglect.

MISTRESS BANISTER. That mighty God, that knows each mortal’s heart, Keep you from trouble, sorrow, grief, and smart.

[Exit Mistress Banister.]

CROMWELL. Thanks, courteous woman, for thy hearty prayer. It grieves my soul to see her misery, But we that live under the work of fate, May hope the best, yet knows not to what state Our stars and destinies hath us assigned. Fickle is fortune and her face is blind.

[Exit.]

ACT II. SCENE II. A street in Antwerp.

[Enter Bagot solus.]

BAGOT. So all goes well; it is as I would have it. Banister he is with the Governour And shortly shall have guives upon his heels. It glads my heart to think upon the slave; I hope to have his body rot in prison, And after here his wife to hang her self, And all his children die for want of food. The Jewels that I have brought to Antwerp Are recond to be worth five thousand pound, Which scarcely stood me in three hundreth pound. I bought them at an easy kind of rate; I care not which way they came by them That sold them me, it comes not near my heart: And least thy should be stolen—as sure they are— I thought it meet to sell them here in Antwerp, And so have left them in the Governour’s hand, Who offers me within two hundreth pound Of all my price. But now no more of that: I must go see and if my bills be safe, The which I sent to master Cromwell, That if the wind should keep me on the sea, He might arrest him here before I came:

[Enter Cromwell.]

And in good time, see where he is. God save you sir.

CROMWELL. And you: pray pardon me, I know you not.

BAGOT. It may be so, sir, but my name is Bagot, The man that sent to you the bills of debt.

CROMWELL. O, the man that pursues Banister. Here are the bills of debt you sent to me: As for the man, you know best where he is. It is reported you have 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 stand in want, Rather than with your poise to hold them down; For every ill turn show your self more kind; Thus should I do; pardon, I speak my mind.

BAGOT. Aye, sir, you speak to hear what I would say, But you must live, I know, as well as I: I know this place to be extortion, And tis not for a man to keep him, But he must lie, cog with his dearest friend, And as for pity, scorn it, hate all conscience. But yet I do commend your wit in this, To make a show of what I hope you are not; But I commend you and tis well done: This is the only way to bring your gain.

CROMWELL. My gain! I had rather chain me to an oar, And like a slave there toil out all my life, Before I’d live so base a slave as thou: I, like an hypocrite, to make a show Of seeming virtue and a devil within! No, Bagot, would thy conscience were as clear: Poor Banister ne’er had been troubled here.

BAGOT. Nay, good master Cromwell; be not angry, sir. I know full well you are no such man; But if your conscience were as white as Snow, It will be thought that you are other wise.

CROMWELL. Will it be thought that I am other wise? Let them that think so know they are deceived. Shall Cromwell live to have his faith misconstered? Antwerp, for all the wealth within thy Town, I will not stay here not two hours longer. As good luck serves, my accounts are all made even; Therefore I’ll straight unto the treasurer. Bagot, I know you’ll to the governour; Commend me to him, say I am bound to travail, To see the fruitful parts of Italy, And as you ever bore a Christian mind, Let Banister some favour of you find.

BAGOT. For your sake, sir, I’ll help him all I can— [Aside.] To starve his heart out ere he get a groat. So, master Cromwell, do I take my leave, For I must straight unto the governour.

[Exit Bagot.]

CROMWELL. Farewell, sir; pray you remember what I said.— No, Cromwell, no; thy heart was ne’er so base, To live by falsehood or by brokery! But ’t falles out well, I little it repent; Hereafter, time in travel shall be spent.

[Enter Hodge, his father’s man.]