LIEUTENANT.
If he were rich, what is Sir Thomas More,
That all this while hath been Lord Chancellor?
MORE.
Say ye so, Master Lieutenant? what do ye think
A man, that with my time had held my place,
Might purchase?
LIEUTENANT.
Perhaps, my lord, two thousand pound a year.
MORE.
Master Lieutenant, I protest to you,
I never had the means in all my life
To purchase one poor hundred pound a year:
I think I am the poorest Chancellor
That ever was in England, though I could wish,
For credit of the place, that my estate were better.
LIEUTENANT.
It’s very strange.
MORE.
It will be found as true.
I think, sir, that with most part of my coin
I have purchased as strange commodities
As ever you heard tell of in your life.
LIEUTENANT.
Commodities, my lord!
Might I (without offence) enquire of them?
MORE.
Croutches, Master Lieutenant, and bare cloaks;
For halting soldiers and poor needy scholars
Have had my gettings in the Chancery:
To think but what a cheat the crown shall have
By my attainder! I prithee, if thou beest a gentleman,
Get but a copy of my inventory.
That part of poet that was given me
Made me a very unthrift;
For this is the disease attends us all,
Poets were never thrifty, never shall.
[Enter Lady More mourning, Daughters, Master Roper.]
LIEUTENANT.
Oh, noble More!—
My lord, your wife, your son-in-law, and daughters.