FRISKIBALL. I thank you both; I pray, do dine with me. Within these three days, if God give me leave, I will to Florence, to my native home. Bagot, hold; there’s a Portague to drink, Although you ill deserved it by your merit. Give not such cruel scope unto your heart; Be sure the ill you do will be requited. Remember what I say, Bagot; farewell. Come, Master Banister; you shall with me. My fare is but simple, but welcome heartily. [Exit all but Bagot.] BAGOT. A plague go with you; would you had eat your last! Is this the thanks I have for all my pains? Confusion light upon you all for me. Where he had wont to give a score of crowns, Doth he now foist me with a Portague? Well, I will be revenged upon this Banister. I’ll to his creditors, buy all the debts he owes, As seeming that I do it for good will. I am sure to have them at an easy rate, And when tis done, in christendom he stays not, But I’ll make his heart to ache with sorrow: And if that Banister become my debtor, By heaven and earth I’ll make his plague the greater. [Exit Bagot.] ACT II. [Enter Chorus.] CHORUS. Now, gentlemen, imagine that young Cromwell is In Antwerp ledger for the English Merchants: And Banister, to shun this Bagot’s hate, Hearing that he hath got some of his debts, Is fled to Antwerp, with his wife and children; Which Bagot hearing is gone after them: And thither sends his bills of debt before, To be revenged on wretched Banister. What doth fall out, with patience sit and see, A just requital of false treachery. [Exit.] ACT II. SCENE I. Antwerp. [Cromwell in his study with bags of money before him casting of account.] CROMWELL. Thus far my reckoning doth go straight & even, But, Cromwell, this same ployding fits not thee: Thy mind is altogether set on travel, And not to live thus cloistered like a Nun. It is not this same trash that i regard, Experience is the jewel of my heart. [Enter a Post.] POST. I pray, sir, are you ready to dispatch me? CROMWELL. Yes; here’s those sums of money you must carry; You go so far as Frankford, do you not? POST. I do, sir. CROMWELL. Well, prithee make all the hate thou canst, For there be certain English gentlemen Are bound for Venice, and my happily want, And if that you should linger by the way: But in hope that you’ll make good speed, There’s two Angels to buy you spurs and wands. POST. I thank you, sir; this will add wings indeed. [Exit Post.] CROMWELL. Gold is of power would make an Eagle speed. [Enter Mistress Banister.] What gentlewoman is this that grieves so much? It seems she doth address her self to me. MISTRESS BANISTER. God save you, sir, sir; pray, is your name master Cromwell? CROMWELL. My name is Thomas Cromwell, gentlewoman. MISTRESS BANISTER. Know you not one Bagot, sir, that’s come to Antwerp? CROMWELL. No, trust me, I never saw the man, But here are bills of debt I have received, Against one Banister, a Merchant fallen into decay.