BEDFORD

Am I betrayed, was Bedford born to die, By such base slaves in such a place as this: Have I escaped so many times in France, So many battles have I over passed, And made the French stir when they hard my name; And am I now betrayed unto my death, Some of their hearts blood first shall pay for it. The traitors do desire to have my blood, But by my birth, my honour, and my name: By all my Hope's, my life shall cost them deer. Open the door, isle venture out upon them, And if I must die, then isle die with honour. First shall the Ocean be as dry as sand, Before alive they send me unto France: I'll have my body first bored Like a Sive, And die as Hector, gainst the Myrmidons, Ear France shall boast Bedfordes their prisoner, Treacherous France that gainst the law of arms: Hath here betrayed thy enemy to death, But be assured my blood shall be revenged, Upon the best lives that remains in France, Stand back, or else thou runnest upon thy death. A Neopolitan bid him come in, Were he as cunning in his Eloquence: As Cicero the famous man of Room, His words would be as chaff against the wind, Sweete-tong'd Ulysses that made Aiaxe mad; Were he and his tongue in this speakers head, Alive he wins me not, then 'tis no conquest dead. Now sir, whats your will with me? No good man goose, not while my sword does last, Is this your eloquence for to persuade me. How Cromwell, not my Farriers son. And what avails it me that thou art here. Tut man thou talkest of things impossible, Dost thou not see that we are round beset: How then is it possible, we should escape. Oh wondrous good: But wilt thou venture Hodge? Come then lets change our apparel straight. How dost thou Like us Cromwell, is it well? No trust me Hodge. How now, whose this Cromwell? By by soul, welcome to England: Thou once didst save my life, didst not Cromwell? Well Cromwell, now is the time, I shall commend thee to my Sovereign: Cheer up thy self, for I will raise thy state, A Russell yet was never found ingrate Where is sir Thomas Cromwell is he knighted, Then to add honour to his name, The King creates him Lord keeper of his privy Seal: And master of the Rolls, Which you sir Christopher do now enjoy; The King determines higher place for you. Another Thomas, pray God it be not Cromwell. Is Cromwell false, my heart will never think it. If it be so, my heart does bleed with sorrow. How chance that you concealed it all this time? Pardon me Lords, for I must needs depart, Their proofs are great, but greater is my heart. My soul is Like a water troubled, And Gardener is the man that makes it so, Oh Cromwell I do fear thy end is near: Yet I'll prevent their malice if I can, And in good time, see where the man does come, Who little knows how nears his day of dome. You must, well what remedy, I fear too soon you must be gone indeed, The king hath business, but little dost thou know, Whose busy for thy life: thou thinks not so. How smooth and easy is the way to death. To Lambeth, so: go fetch me pen and ink, I and Lord Cromwell there shall talk enough, I and our last I fear and if he come, He writes a letter. Hear take this letter, and bear it to Lord Cromwell, Bid him read it, say it concerns him near, Away begone, make all the hast you can, To Lambeth do I go a woeful man. Amen, and root thee from the land, For while thou livest truth cannot stand. It grieves me for to see his sudden fallen. Be patient good my Lord in these extremes.