Enter the Bishop of ROCHESTER, Constable of St Roch. What intricate confusion have we here? And more than so, the servant of that heretic Irishm. Fait me be no servant of de lort Cobham; me be Mack-Shane of Ulster. Roch. Otherwise called Harpool of Kent; go You cannot blind us with your broken Irish. Sir John. Trust me, lord bishop, whether Irish Harpool or not Harpool, that I leave to the trial : So that we cannot prosecute the cause, [Exeunt. SCENE XI.-Hertford. A Hall of Justice. Enter a Gaoler and his Servant, bringing forth Lord COBHAM in irons. The justices are coming to the bench : Cob. O, give me patience to endure this scourge, Here comes my lady. Sorrow, 'tis for her Hur. I'faith, my lord, I am in, get out how I can. Cob. What will that help us? Being known, We shall for heresy be put to death, Har. Ay, ay, my lord; Harpool is so resolved. Enter the Judge of Assize, and Justices; the May- Judge. Now, master mayor, what gentleman is that You bring with you before us to the bench? Mayor. The lord Powis, and if it like your honour, Will't please you take your place? Madam, your May here, or where you will, repose yourself, L. Pow. I will withdraw unto some other room, And my conceit doth tell me, 'tis our friend Gaol. Bring forth the prisoners, see the court I cannot tell, but we shall know anon. prepared; Mean time, as you pass by them, ask the question; But do it secretly, that you be not seen, us; But John of Lancashire, and Joan his wife. names; So, gentle lady, pass; for being spiedL. Pow. My heart I leave, to bear part of your grief. [Exit Lady Powis. Judge. Call the prisoners to the bar. Sir Richard Lee, What evidence can you bring against these people, To prove them guilty of the murder done? Sir Rich. This bloody towel, and these naked knives: Beside, we found them sitting by the place For which they stand indicted at the bar; Sir John. Yes, my good lord; no sooner had he slain His loving master for the wealth he had, [Delivers a Letter Sir Rich. Is this the wolf whose thirsty throat My dear son's blood? art thou the cursed snake Judge. What answer you, why law should not Traitor to God, thy master, and to me, proceed, According to this evidence given in, To tax you with the penalty of death? These hands should be thy executioner. Judge. Patience, sir Richard Lee; you shall have justice. Cob. That we are free from murder's very The fact is odious; therefore take him hence, thought, And know not how the gentleman was slain. 1 Just. How came this linen-cloth so bloody then? L. Cob. My husband hot with travelling, my lord, His nose gushed out a bleeding; that was it. 2 Just. But how came your sharp-edged knives unsheathed? L. Cob. To cut such simple victual as we had. Judge. Say we admit this answer to those articles, What made you in so private a dark nook, As was the thick where the dead corpse was thrown? Cob. Journeying, my lord, from London, from the term, Down into Lancashire, where we do dwell, But who are these? and DOLL. Con. Stay judgment, and release those inno And being hanged until the wretch be dead, Irishm. Pr'thee, lord shudge, let me have mine own cloaths, my strouces there; 25 and let me be hang'd in a wyth after my own country, the Irish fashion. Judge. Go to; away with him.-And now, sir John, [Exeunt Gaoler and Irishman. Although by you this murder came to light, Yet upright law will not hold you excused, For you did rob the Irishman; by which You stand attainted here of felony : Beside, you have been lewd, and many years Led a lascivious, unbeseeming life. Sir John. O but, my lord, sir John repents, and he will mend. Judge. In hope thereof, together with the fa your My lord of Rochester intreats for you, Sir Rich. And for amends, Judge. Your kindness merits praise, sir Rich ard Lee: So let us hence. [Exeunt all except Powis and COBHAM. 25 Trowsers. Pow. But Powis still must stay. ere yet remains a part of that true love wowes his noble friend, unsatisfied d unperformed; which first of all doth bind me gratulate your lordship's safe delivery; id then entreat, that since unlook'd-for thus e here are met, your honour would vouchsafe ride with me to Wales, where, to my power, ough not to quittance those great benefits have received of you, yet both my house, y purse, my servants, and what else I have, 26 Are all at your command. Deny me not: I know the bishop's hate pursues you so, As there's no safety in abiding here. Cob. 'Tis true, my lord, and God forgive him for it. Pow. Then let us hence. You shall be straight provided Of lusty geldings: and once entered Wales, 26 —Where, to my power,-The old copies read-where though my power. This cannot, I think, be ght. Perhaps we ought to read, where though my power May not acquittance those great benefits I have received of you, yet both my house, -where though it be not in my power to repay all the obligations that I have received from you, yet will do my utmost to shew my gratitude.-MALONE. I would read, where through my power, Though not, &c. PERCY. SCENE-Partly in London, and the adjoining District; partly in Antwerp and Bononis. A booke called the Lyfe and Death of the Lord Cromwell, as yt was lately acted by the Lord Chamberin his Servantes, was entered on the Stationers' Books, by William Cotton, August 11,1602; and the play. I am informed, was printed in that year. I have met with no earlier edition than that published in 1613| in the title of which it is said to be written by W. S. I believe these letters were not the initials of the | real author's name, but added merely with a view to deceive the public, and to induce them to supper|| this piece the composition of Shakespeare. The fraud was, I imagine, suggested by the appearance of our author's King Henry VIII., to which the printer probably entertained a hope that this play would be considered as a sequel or second part. Viewed in this light, the date of the first edition of the present peri formance in some measure confirms that which has been assigned to King Henry VIII; which, for the reasons stated in the Attempt to ascertain the order in which the Plays of Shakespeare were written, (Vol. L) p. 309. last edit.) is supposed to have been first acted in 1601, or 1602. The present piece, we find, fel lowed close after it. King Henry VIII. it appears, was, after its first exhibition, laid by for some years and revived with great splendour in 1613. The attention of the town being now a second time called the story and age of Wolsey, so favourable an opportunity was not to be lost; accordingly a second inpression of the Life and Death of Lord Cromwell was issued out in that year. This play has been hitherto printed without any division of acts or scenes.-MALONE. The part of history on which this play is founded, occurs in Fuller, Stow, Speed, Holinsbed, &t. but more amply in Fox's Book of Martyrs. The particulars relating to Francesco Frescobaldi, (whom our author, or his printer, so familiarly has styled Friskiball,) were first published by Bandello the novelist, in 1554. “Francesco Frescobaldi fa cortesia ad un straniero, e nè ben remeritato, essendo colui diuenuto contestabile d'Inghilterra." Seconda Parte, Novell. 34. This story is translated by Fox, edit. 1596. Vol. II. p. 1082,-STEEVENS. ACT I. ENE I.-Putney. The entrance of a Smith's Enter HODGE, WILL, and Toм. Hodge. Come, masters, I think it be past five lock; is it not time we were at work? my old ster, he'll be stirring anon. Will. I cannot tell whether my old master will stirring or no; but I am sure I can hardly take afternoon's nap, for my young master Thomas. keeps such a coil in his study, with the sun, d the moon, and the seven stars, that I do verily ink he'll read out his wits. Hodge. He skill of the stars? There's goodman ir of Fulham, (he that carried us to the strong 2, where goody Trundel had her maid got with ild) O, he knows the stars; he'll tickle you harles's wain in nine degrees: that same man Il tell goody Trundel when her ale shall miscar, only by the stars. Tom. Ay! that's a great virtue indeed; I think, omas be nobody in comparison to him. ■ Will. Well, masters, come; shall we to our mmers? Hodge. Ay, content: first let's take our morng's draught, and then to work roundly. Tom. Ay, agreed. Go in, Hodge. SCENE II.-The same. Enter Young CROMWELL. [Exeunt. Crom. Good morrow, morn; I do salute thy brightness. he night seems tedious to my troubled soul, hose black obscurity binds in my mind thousand sundry cogitations: nd now Aurora with a lively dye dds comfort to my spirit, that mounts on high; oo high indeed, my state being so mean. Hy study, like a mineral of gold, Makes my heart proud, wherein my hope's enrolled; Ty books are all the wealth I do possess, and unto them I have engaged my heart. , 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! ou do disturb my study and my rest: Leave off, I say you mad nie with the noise. Enter HODGE, WILL, and TOM. Hodge. Why, how now, master Thomas? how ow? will you not let us work for you? Crom. You fret my heart with making of this noise. Hodge. How, fret your heart? av, but Thomas, ou'll fret your father's purse, if you let us from orking. 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. Enter Old CROMWELL. Old Crom. You idle knaves, what are you loit'ring now? No hammers walking, and my work to do! Old Crom. Why knave, I say, have I thus cark'd and cared, And all to keep thee like a gentleman; I cry you mercy; are your ears so fine? In hope that one day thou'dst relieve my age; Crom. Father, be patient, and content yourself: Old Crom. 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 '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 [Aside. me. A good boy Tom, I con thee thank, Tom; Are not all creatures subject unto time, |