WOLSEY.
What do you think of the several states
And princes' Courts as you have travelled?
CROMWELL.
My Lord, no Court with England may compare,
Neither for state nor civil government:
Lust dwells in France, in Italy, and Spain,
From the poor peasant to the Prince's train,
In Germany and Holland riot serves,
And he that most can drink, most he deserves:
England I praise not, for I here was borne,
But that she laugheth the others unto scorn.
WOLSEY.
My Lord, there dwells within that spirit
More than can be discerned by outward eye.
Sir Christopher, will you part with your man?
HALES.
I have sought to profer him to your Lordship,
And now I see he hath prefered himself.
WOLSEY.
What is thy name?
CROMWELL.
Cromwell, my Lord.
WOLSEY. Then, Cromwell, here we make thee Solicitor of our causes, and nearest next our self. Gardiner give you kind welcome to the man.
[Gardiner embraces him.]
MORE.
My Lord, you are a royal Winer,
Have got a man besides your bounteous dinner.
Well, Knight, pray we come no more:
If we come often, thou maist shut thy door.
WOLSEY.
Sir Christopher, hadst thou given me half thy lands,
Thou couldest not have pleased me so much as with
This man of thine. My infant thoughts do spell:
Shortly his fortune shall be lifted higher;
True industry doth kindle honour's fire.
And so, kind master of the Rules, farewell.