Crom.
Now, Cromwell, hast thou time to meditate,
And think upon thy state, and of the time.
Thy honours came unsought, ay, and unlook'd for;
Thy fall as sudden, and unlook'd for too.
What glory was in England that had I not?
Who in this land commanded more than Cromwell?
Except the king, who greater than myself?
But now I see what after ages shall;
The greater men, more sudden is their fall.
And now I do remember, the earl of Bedford
Was very desirous for to speak to me;
And afterward sent unto me a letter,
The which I think I still have in my pocket,
Now may I read it, for I now have leisure;
And this I take it is. [Reads.
  My lord, come not this night to Lambeth,
  For if you do, your state is overthrown;
  And much I doubt your life, an if you come:
  Then if you love yourself, stay where you are.
O God, O God! had I but read this letter,
Then had I been free from the lion's paw:
Deferring this to read until to-morrow,
I spurn'd at joy, and did embrace my sorrow. Enter Lieutenant of the Tower, Officers, &c.
Now, master lieutenant, when's this day of death?

Lieu.
Alas, my lord, would I might never see it!
Here are the dukes of Suffolk and of Norfolk,
Winchester, Bedford, and sir Richard Radcliff,
With others; but why they come I know not.

Crom.
No matter wherefore. Cromwell is prepar'd,
For Gardiner has my life and state ensnar'd.
Bid them come in, or you shall do them wrong,
For here stands he who some think lives too long.
Learning kills learning, and, instead of ink
To dip his pen, Cromwell's heart-blood doth drink. Enter the dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk; the earl of Bedford, Gardiner bishop of Winchester, sir Richard Radcliff, and sir Ralph Sadler.

Nor.
Good morrow, Cromwell. What, alone so sad?

Crom.
One good among you, none of you are bad.
For my part, it best fits me be alone;
Sadness with me, not I with any one.
What, is the king acquainted with my cause?

Nor.
He is; and he hath answer'd us my lord.

Crom.
How shall I come to speak with him myself?

Gard.
The king is so advertis'd of your guilt,
He'll by no means admit you to his presence.

Crom.
No way admit me! am I so soon forgot?
Did he but yesterday embrace my neck,
And said that Cromwell was even half himself?
And are his princely ears so much bewitch'd
With scandalous ignomy^{9 note}, and slanderous speeches,
That now he doth deny to look on me?
Well, my lord of Winchester, no doubt but you
Are much in favour with his majesty:
Will you bear a letter from me to his grace?

Gard.
Pardon me; I will bear no traitor's letters.

Crom.
Ha!—Will you do this kindness then? Tell him
By word of mouth what I shall say to you?

Gard.
That will I.

Crom.
But, on your honour will you?

Gard.
Ay, on my honour.

Crom.
Bear witness, lords. Tell him, when he hath known you,
And try'd your faith but half so much as mine,
He'll find you to be the falsest-hearted man
In England: pray, tell him this.

Bed.
Be patient, good my lord, in these extremes.

Crom.
My kind and honourable lord of Bedford,
I know your honour always lov'd me well:
But, pardon me, this still shall be my theme;
Gardiner's the cause makes Cromwell so extreme.
Sir Ralph Sadler, I pray a word with you;
You were my man, and all that you possess
Came by my means: sir, to requite all this,
Say will you take this letter here of me,
And give it with your own hands to the king?

Sad.
I kiss your hand, and never will I rest
Ere to the king this be delivered. [Exit Sadler.

Crom.
Why then yet Cromwell hath one friend in store.

Gard.
But all the haste he makes shall be but vain.
Here is a discharge for your prisoner,
To see him executed presently: [To the lieutenant.
My lord, you hear the tenure of your life^{1 note}.

Crom.
I do embrace it; welcome my last date,
And of this glistering world I take last leave:
And, noble lords, I take my leave of you.
As willingly I go to meet with death,
As Gardiner did pronounce it with his breath.
From treason is my heart as white as snow;
My death procured only by my foe.

I pray commend me to my sovereign king,
And tell him in what sort his Cromwell dy'd,
To lose his head before his cause was try'd^{2 note};
But let his grace, when he shall hear my name,
Say only this; Gardiner procur'd the same. Enter young Cromwell.

Lieu.
Here is your son, sir, come to take his leave.

Crom.
To take his leave? Come hither, Harry Cromwell.
Mark, boy, the last words that I speak to thee^{3 note}:
Flatter not Fortune, neither fawn upon her;
Gape not for state, yet lose no spark of honour;
Ambition, like the plague, see thou eschew it^{4 note};
I die for treason, boy, and never knew it.
Yet let thy faith as spotless be as mine,
And Cromwell's virtues in thy face shall shine:
Come, go along, and see me leave my breath,
And I'll leave thee upon the floor of death* ^note.

Son.
O father, I shall die to see that wound,
Your blood being spilt will make my heart to swound.

Crom.
How, boy! not dare to look upon the axe?
How shall I do then to have my head struck off?

Come on, my child, and see the end of all;
And after say, that Gardiner was my fall.

Gard.
My lord you speak it of an envious heart;
I have done no more than law and equity.

Bed.
O, my good lord of Winchester, forbear:
It would have better seem'd you to have been absent,
Than with your words disturb a dying man^{5 note}
.

Crom.
Who me, my lord? no: he disturbs not me.
My mind he stirs not, though his mighty shock
Hath brought more peers' heads down unto the block.
Farewel, my boy! all Cromwell can bequeath,—
My hearty blessing:—so I take my leave.

Exec.
I am your death's-man; pray my lord forgive me.

Crom.
Even with my soul. Why man, thou art my doctor,
And bring'st me precious physick for my soul.
My lord of Bedford, I desire of you
Before my death a corporal embrace.
Farewel, great lord; my love I do commend,
My heart to you; my soul to heaven I send.
This is my joy, that ere my body fleet,
Your honour'd arms are my true winding-sheet.
Farewel, dear Bedford; my peace is made in heaven.
Thus falls great Cromwell, a poor ell in length,
To rise to unmeasur'd height, wing'd with new strength,
The land of worms, which dying men discover* ^note
:
My soul is shrin'd with heaven's celestial cover. [Exeunt Cromwell, Officers, &c.

Bed.
Well, farewel Cromwell! sure the truest friend
That ever Bedford shall possess again.
Well, lords, I fear that when this man is dead,
You'll wish in vain that Cromwell had a head. Enter an Officer with Cromwell's head.

Offi.
Here is the head of the deceased Cromwell.

Bed.
Pray thee go hence, and bear his head away
Unto his body; interr them both in clay. [Exit Officer. Enter sir Ralph Sadler.

Sad.
How now my lords? What, is lord Cromwell dead?

Bed.
Lord Cromwell's body now doth want a head.

Sad.
O God, a little speed had sav'd his life.
Here is a kind reprieve come from the king,
To bring him straight unto his majesty^{6 note}.

Suf.
Ay, ay, sir Ralph, reprieves come now too late.

Gard.
My conscience now tells me this deed was ill^{7 note}

.
Would Christ that Cromwell were alive again!

Nor.
Come let us to the king, who, well I know,
Will grieve for Cromwell, that his death was so⁸. [Exeunt omnes. ⁸

On the fall of this nobleman many satirical ballads were composed by the party who were adverse to him, one of which may be found in the Reliques of Anc. Poetry, vol. II. p. 64.

To vindicate Shakspeare from having written a single line of this piece would be a waste of time. The poverty of the language, the barenness of incident, and the inartificial conduct of every part of the performance, place it rather perhaps below the compositions of even the second-rate dramatick authors of the age in which it was produced. Dr. Farmer thinks it was written by Thomas Heywood. That poet, according to his own account, having had “either an entire hand or at least a main finger in two hundred and twenty plays,” it is extremely probable that many of his compositions (of which he appears to have taken little care) were printed either without a name, or, as in the present instance, with initial letters calculated to deceive. Malone.

LONDON PRODIGAL.

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