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 cloyster'd 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?

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

Post.
I do, sir.

Crom.
Well, pr'ythee make then all the haste thou canst;
For there be certain English gentlemen
Are bound for Venice, and may happily want,
An if that you should linger by the way:
But in the hope that you will make good speed,
There's two angels, to buy you spurs and wands^{3 note}.

Post.
I thank you, sir; this will add wings indeed. [Exit Post.

Crom.
Gold is of power to make an eagle's speed. Enter Mrs. Banister.
What gentlewoman is this that grieves so much?
It seems she doth address herself to me.

Mrs. Ban.

God save you, sir. Pray is your name master Cromwell?

Crom.
My name is Thomas Cromwell, gentlewoman.

Mrs. Ban.
Know you one Bagot, sir, that's come to Antwerp?

Crom.
No, trust me, I ne'er saw the man; but here
Are bills of debt I have receiv'd against
One Banister, a merchant fall'n to decay.

Mrs. Ban.
Into decay indeed, 'long of that wretch.
I am the wife to woeful Banister,
And by that bloody villain am pursu'd,
From London, here to Antwerp. My husband
He is in the governour's hands; and God
Of heaven knows how he will deal with him.
Now, sir, your heart is fram'd of milder temper;
Be merciful to a distressed soul,
And God no doubt will treble bless your gain.

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

Mrs. Ban.
O speak to Bagot, that same wicked wretch:
An angel's voice may move a damned 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'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 assur'd, that what I can effect,
To do you good, no way I will neglect.

Mrs. Ban.
That mighty God that knows each mortal's heart,
Keep you from trouble, sorrow, grief, and smart. [Exit Mistress Banister.

Crom.
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 know not to what state
Our stars and destinies have us assign'd;
Fickle is Fortune, and her face is blind. [Exit.

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