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.

HALES.