[Exit servant.]
BEDFORD.
A Neopolitan? bid him come in.
Were he as cunning in his Eloquence
As Cicero, the famous man of Rome,
His words would be as chaff against the wind.
Sweet tongued Ulysses that made Ajax mad,
Were he and his tongue in this speaker’s head,
Alive he wins me not; then, tis no conquest dead.
[Enter Cromwell like a Neopolitan, and Hodge with him.]
CROMWELL.
Sir, are you the master of the house?
HOST.
I am, sir.
CROMWELL.
By this same token you must leave this place,
And leave none but the Earl and I together,
And this my Peasant here to tend on us.
HOST.
With all my heart. God grant, you do some good.
[Exit Host. Cromwell shuts the door.]
BEDFORD.
Now, sir, what’s you will with me?
CROMWELL.
Intends your honour not to yield your self?