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    The Life and Death of Lord Cromwell
    The Life and Death of Lord Cromwell
    The Life and Death of Lord Cromwell
    Ebook95 pages57 minutes

    The Life and Death of Lord Cromwell

    By William Shakespeare

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    Elizabethan play, sometimes attributed in part to Shakespeare. According to Wikipedia: "William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright."
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSeltzer Books
    Release dateMar 1, 2018
    ISBN9781455447459
    The Life and Death of Lord Cromwell
    Author

    William Shakespeare

    William Shakespeare is the world's greatest ever playwright. Born in 1564, he split his time between Stratford-upon-Avon and London, where he worked as a playwright, poet and actor. In 1582 he married Anne Hathaway. Shakespeare died in 1616 at the age of fifty-two, leaving three children—Susanna, Hamnet and Judith. The rest is silence.

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      Book preview

      The Life and Death of Lord Cromwell - William Shakespeare

      The Life And Death Of The Lord Cromwell, Attributed In Part To William Shakespeare

      published by Samizdat Express, Orange, CT, USA

      established in 1974, offering over 14,000 books

      Other plays partially attributed to William Shakespeare:

      Cromwell

      Edward III

      Faire Em

      Fairy Tale in Two Acts

      London Prodigal

      Merry Devil

      Puritaine Widdow

      Sir John Oldcastle

      Sir Thomas More

      Tragedy of Locrine

      Two Noble Kinsmen

      All's One

      feedback welcome: info@samizdat.com

      visit us at samizdat.com

      THE ACTORS NAMES.

      OLD CROMWELL, a Black-smith at Putney.

      Young THOMAS CROMWELL his son.

      HODGE, WILL, and TOM, old Cromwell's servants.

      Earl of BEDFORD and his Host.

      Dukes of NORFOLK and SUFFOLK.

      Sir CHRISTOPHER HALES.

      Cardinal WOLSEY.

      Sir THOMAS MOOR.

      GARDINER Bishop of Winchester.

      Sir RALPH SADLER.

      M. BOUSER a Merchant.

      BANISTER, a broken Merchant and his wife.

      BAGOT, a cruel covetous Broker.

      FRISKIBALL a Florentine Merchant.

      The Governours of the ENGLISH house at ANTWERP.

      States and Officers of BONONIA.

      Good-man SEELY and his wife JOAN.

      CHORUS.

      A POST.

      MESSENGERS.

      USHERS and SERVANTS.

      LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER.

      TWO CITIZENS.

      TWO MERCHANTS.

      ACT I. SCENE I. Putney.  The entrance of a smith's shop.

      [Enter three Smiths, Hodge and two other, old Cromwell's

      men.]

      HODGE.

      Come, masters, I think it be past five a clock; is it not

      time we were at work: my old Master he'll be stirring

      anon.

      FIRST SMITH.

      I cannot tell whether my old master will be stirring or

      no:  but I am sure I can hardly take my afternoon's nap,

      for my young Master Thomas, he keeps such a quile in

      his study, with the Sun, and the Moon, and the seven

      stars, that I do verily think he'll read out his wife.

      HODGE.

      He skill of the stars! there's good-man Car of Fulhum,

      he that carried us to the strong Ale, where goody

      Trundell had her maid got with child:  O he knows the

      stars.  He'll tickle you Charles Waine in nine degrees.

      That same man will tell you goody Trundell when her

      Ale shall miscarry, only by the stars.

      SECOND SMITH.

      Aye, that's a great virtue; indeed I think Thomas be no

      body in comparison to him.

      FIRST SMITH.

      Well, masters, come, shall we to our hammers?

      HODGE.

      Aye, content; first let's take our morning's draught, and

      then to work roundly.

      SECOND SMITH.

      Aye, agreed; go in, Hodge.

      [Exit omnes.]

      ACT I. SCENE II. The same.

      [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

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