CROMWELL. O, the man that pursues Banister. Here are the bills of debt you sent to me: As for the man, you know best where he is. It is reported you have a flinty heart, A mind that will not stoop to any pity, An eye that knows not how to shed a tear, A hand that’s always open for reward; But, master Bagot, would you be ruled by me, You should turn all these to the contrary. Your heart should still have feeling of remorse, Your mind according to your state be liberal To those that stand in need and in distress; Your hand to help them that do stand in want, Rather than with your poise to hold them down; For every ill turn show your self more kind; Thus should I do; pardon, I speak my mind. BAGOT. Aye, sir, you speak to hear what I would say, But you must live, I know, as well as I: I know this place to be extortion, And tis not for a man to keep him, But he must lie, cog with his dearest friend, And as for pity, scorn it, hate all conscience. But yet I do commend your wit in this, To make a show of what I hope you are not; But I commend you and tis well done: This is the only way to bring your gain. CROMWELL. My gain! I had rather chain me to an oar, And like a slave there toil out all my life, Before I’d live so base a slave as thou: I, like an hypocrite, to make a show Of seeming virtue and a devil within! No, Bagot, would thy conscience were as clear: Poor Banister ne’er had been troubled here. BAGOT. Nay, good master Cromwell; be not angry, sir. I know full well you are no such man; But if your conscience were as white as Snow, It will be thought that you are other wise. CROMWELL. Will it be thought that I am other wise? Let them that think so know they are deceived. Shall Cromwell live to have his faith misconstered? Antwerp, for all the wealth within thy Town, I will not stay here not two hours longer. As good luck serves, my accounts are all made even; Therefore I’ll straight unto the treasurer. Bagot, I know you’ll to the governour; Commend me to him, say I am bound to travail, To see the fruitful parts of Italy, And as you ever bore a Christian mind, Let Banister some favour of you find. BAGOT. For your sake, sir, I’ll help him all I can— [Aside.] To starve his heart out ere he get a groat. So, master Cromwell, do I take my leave, For I must straight unto the governour. [Exit Bagot.] CROMWELL. Farewell, sir; pray you remember what I said.— No, Cromwell, no; thy heart was ne’er so base, To live by falsehood or by brokery! But ’t falles out well, I little it repent; Hereafter, time in travel shall be spent. [Enter Hodge, his father’s man.]