Crom.
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^{4 note};
Too high indeed, my state being so mean.
My study, like a mineral of gold,
Makes my heart proud, wherein my hope's enroll'd:
My books are all the wealth I do possess,
And unto them I have engag'd my heart.
O, learning, how divine thou seem'st to me,
Within whose arms is all felicity! [The smiths beat with their hammers, within.
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, Will, and Tom.

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.

Hodge.

How, fret your heart? ay, but Thomas, you'll fret your father's purse, if you let us from working^{5 note}
.

Tom.

Ay, 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.

Old Crom.
You idle knaves, what are you loit'ring now?
No hammers walking, and my work to do⁶9Q1359 ^note

Hodge.

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

Old Crom.
Why knave, I say, have I thus cark'd and car'd^{7 note},
And all to keep thee like a gentleman;
And dost thou let my servants at their work^{8 note},
That sweat for thee, knave, labour thus for thee?

Crom.
Father, their hammers do offend my study.

Old Crom.
Out of my doors, knave, if thou lik'st it not.
I 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.

Crom.
There's money, father; I will pay your men. [Throws money among them.

Old Crom.
Have I thus brought thee up unto my cost,
In hope that one day thou'd'st 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.

Old Crom.
You build a house? you knave, you'll be a beggar.
Now afore God all is but cast away,
That is bestow'd 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 Tom;
Well said Tom; gramercy Tom.—
In to your work, knaves; hence, you saucy boy^{9 note}

Crom.
Why should my birth keep down my mounting spirit?
Are not all creatures subject unto time,
To time, who doth abuse the cheated world^{1 note},
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
Wears out a noble train to beggary;
And from the dunghil 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^{2 note}

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 dispatch'd his petition for the lords of the council or no.

Crom.

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

Old Crom.

That's well said, Tom; a good lad, Tom.

Bow.

Now, master Cromwell, have you dispatch'd this petition?

Crom.

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

Bow.
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, an if you like of it.

Our secretary at Antwerp, sir, is
Dead; and 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 with your liking it stand, master Cromwell.

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

Old Crom.

Body of me, Tom, make haste, lest 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 here for master Bowser.

Bow.

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

Crom.

I will attend you, sir.

Old Crom.

Farewel, Tom: God bless thee, Tom! God speed thee, good Tom!