SCENE III.
London.
A room in sir Christopher Hales's house.
Musick plays; then a banquet is brought in. Enter sir Christopher Hales, Cromwell, and two Servants.
Hales.
Come, sirs, be careful of your master's credit;
And as our bounty now exceeds the figure
Of common entertainment, so do you,
With looks as free as is your master's soul,
Give formal welcome to the thronged tables,
That shall receive the cardinal's followers,
And the attendants of the great lord chancellor.
But all my care, Cromwell, depends on thee:
Thou art a man differing from vulgar form,
And by how much thy spirit's rank'd 'bove these,
In rules of art, by so much it shines brighter
By travel, whose observance pleads his merit,
In a most learn'd, yet unaffecting spirit.
Good Cromwell, cast an eye of fair regard
'Bout all my house; and what this ruder flesh5 note,
Through ignorance, or wine, do miscreate,
Salve thou with courtesy. If welcome want,
Full bowls and ample banquets will seem scant6 note
.
Crom.
Sir, as to whatsoever lies in me,
Assure you, I will shew my utmost duty.
-- 411 --
Hales.
About it then; the lords will straight be here.
[Exit Cromwell.
Cromwell, thou hast those parts would rather suit
The service of the state than of my house:
I look upon thee with a loving eye,
That one day will prefer thy destiny.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Sir, the lords be at hand.
Hales.
They are welcome: bid Cromwell straight attend us,
And look you all things be in perfect readiness.
[Exit Servant.
The musick plays. Enter cardinal Wolsey, sir Thomas More, Gardiner, Cromwell, and other attendants.
Wol.
O, sir Christopher,
You are too liberal: What! a banquet too?
Hales.
My lords, if words could show the ample welcome
That my free heart affords you, I could then
Become a prater; but I now must deal
Like a feast-politician with your lordships;
Defer your welcome till the banquet end,
That it may then salve our defect of fare:
Yet welcome now, and all that tend on you.
Wol.
Our thanks to the kind Master of the rolls.
Come and sit down; sit down sir Thomas More.
'Tis strange, how that we and the Spaniard differ;
Their dinner is our banquet after dinner,9Q1360
And they are men of active disposition.
This I gather, that, by their sparing meat,
Their bodies are more fitter for the wars;
And if that famine chance to pinch their maws,
Being us'd to fast, it breeds in them less pain.
Hales.
Fill me some wine; I'll answer cardinal Wolsey.
-- 412 --
My lord, we English are of more freer souls,
Than hunger-starv'd and ill-complexion'd Spaniards.
They that are rich in Spain, spare belly-food,
To deck their backs with an Italian hood,
And silks of Seville; and the poorest snake7 note
,
That feeds on lemons, pilchards8 note, and ne'er heated
His palate with sweet flesh, will bear a case
More fat and gallant than his starved face9 note
.
Pride, the inquisition, and this belly-evil,
Are, in my judgment, Spain's three-headed devil.
More.
Indeed it is a plague unto their nation,
Who stagger after* note in blind imitation.
Hales.
My lords, with welcome, I present your lordships
A solemn health.
More.
I love healths well; but when as healths do bring
Pain to the head, and body's surfeiting,
Then cease I healths:
-- 413 --
Nay spill not friend; for though the drops be small,
Yet have they force to force men to the wall.
Wol.
Sir Christopher, is that your man?
Hales.
An't like
Your grace, he is a scholar, and a linguist;
One that hath travelled through many parts
Of Christendom, my lord.
Wol.
My friend, come nearer: have you been a traveller?
Crom.
My lord,
I have added to my knowledge, the Low Countries,
With France, Spain, Germany, and Italy;
And though small gain of profit I did find,
Yet it did please my eye, content my mind.
Wol.
What do you think then of the several states
And princes' courts as you have travelled?
Crom.
My lord, no court with England may compare,
Neither for state, nor civil government.
Lust dwells in France, in Italy, and Spain,
From the poor peasant, to the prince's train.
In Germany and Holland, riot serves;
And he that most can drink, most he deserves.
England I praise not for I here was born1 note
,
But that she laughs the others unto scorn.
Wol.
My lord, there dwells within that spirit more
Than can be discern'd by the outward eye:—
Sir Christopher, will you part with your man?
Hales.
I have sought to proffer him unto your lordship;
And now I see he hath preferr'd himself.
Wol.
What is thy name?
Crom.
Cromwell, my lord.
Wol.
Then, Cromwell, here we make thee solicitor
-- 414 --
Of our causes, and nearest, next ourself:
Gardiner, give you kind welcome to the man.
[Gardiner embraces him.
More.
My lord cardinal, you are a royal winner* note
,
Have got a man, besides your bounteous dinner.
Well, my good knight, pray, that we come no more;
If we come often, thou may'st shut thy door.
Wol.
Sir Christopher, hadst thou given me half thy lands,
Thou could'st not have pleas'd me so much as with
This man of thine. My infant thoughts do spell,
Shortly his fortune shall be lifted higher;
True industry doth kindle honour's fire:
And so, kind master of the rolls, farewel.
Hales.
Cromwell, farewel.
Crom.
Cromwell takes his leave of you,
That ne'er will leave to love and honour you2 note
.
[Exeunt. The musick plays as they go out.
Edmond Malone [1780], Supplement to the edition of Shakspeare's plays published in 1778 By Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. In two volumes. Containing additional observations by several of the former commentators: to which are subjoined the genuine poems of the same author, and seven plays that have been ascribed to him; with notes By the editor and others (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10911].
