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 Lord Chancellor. But all my care, Cromwell, depends on thee. Thou art a man differing from vulgar form, And by how much thy spirit is ranked bove these In rules of Art, by so much it shines brighter By travel whose observance pleads his merit, In a most learned, yet unaffecting spirit, Good Cromwell, cast an eye of fair regard Bout all my house, and what this ruder flesh, Through ignorance, or wine, do miscreate, Salve thou with courtesy: if welcome want, Full bowls and ample banquets will seem scant. CROMWELL. Sir, what soever lies in me, Assure you, I will shew my utmost duty. [Exit Cromwell.] HALES. About it, then; the Lords will straight be here.— 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 Messenger.] MESSENGER. Sir, the Lords be at hand. HALES. They are welcome; bid Cromwell straight attend us, And look you all things be in perfect readiness. [The Music plays. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, Sir Thomas More and Gardiner.] WOLSEY. O, sir Christopher, You are too liberal. What, a banket to? 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 banket end, That it may then salve our defect of fair: Yet Welcome now and all that tend on you. WOLSEY. Thanks to the kind master of the Rules. 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, And they are men of active disposition. This I gather: that by their sparing meat Their body is more fitter for the wars, And if that famine chance to pinch their maws, Being used to fast it breeds less pain. HALES. Fill me some Wine: I’ll answer Cardinal Wolsey. My Lord, we English are of more freer souls Than hungerstarved and ill complexioned spaniards. They that are rich in Spain spare belly food, To deck their backs with an Italian hood, And Silks of Civil: And the poorest Snake, That feeds on Lemons, Pilchers, and near heated His pallet with sweet flesh, will bear a case More fat and gallant than his starved face. Pride, the Inquisition, and this belly evil, Are, in my judgement, Spain’s three headed devil. MORE. Indeed it is a plague unto their nation, Who stagger after in blind imitation. HALES. My Lords, with welcome, I present your Lordships A solemn health.