Classic Poem

[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.]