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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cromwell, by Alfred B. Richards
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Cromwell
+
+Author: Alfred B. Richards
+
+Release Date: December 24, 2004  [eBook #14448]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROMWELL***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Al Haines
+
+
+
+CROMWELL
+
+A Drama, in Five Acts
+
+by
+
+ALFRED B. RICHARDS
+
+Author of "CROESUS, King of Lydia," a Tragedy; "VANDYCK," a Play of
+Genoa, "DEATH AND THE MAGDALEN," and other Poems; "THE DREAM
+OF THE SOUL," and other Poems; "OXFORD UNMASKED;" Part II
+of "BRITAIN REDEEMED;" and "POEMS, ESSAYS AND OPINIONS."
+
+London:
+Printed by Petter, Duff, and Co.
+Playhouse Yard, Blackfriars
+
+MDCCCLII
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
+
+
+CROMWELL.
+
+MILTON, his Secretary.
+
+ARTHUR WALTON.
+
+BASIL, his Half-Brother.
+
+SIR SIMON NEVEL, their Uncle.
+
+IRETON, Son-in-law of Cromwell.
+
+HARRISON,          )
+DESBOROUGH,        )
+BRADSHAW,          )
+MARTEN,            )  Parliamentarians.
+LILBURNE,          )
+HACKER,            )
+LUDLOW,            )
+SIR HARRY VANE,    )
+
+WILLIAM, Servant to Arthur.
+
+HEZEKIAH NEWBORN, Host.
+
+PEARSON, Attendant on Cromwell.
+
+WYCKOFF, Accomplice of Basil.
+
+BOWTELL, an Ironside.
+
+Cavaliers, Roundheads, Officers, Gentlemen, Soldiers,
+Guests of the Inn, Poachers, Citizens, a Preacher,
+Old Man, Trooper, Servants, Messengers, &c., &c.
+
+THE LADY CROMWELL.
+
+ELIZABETH, her Daughter.
+
+FLORENCE NEVEL, Daughter of Sir Simon.
+
+LADY FAIRFAX.
+
+BARBARA, Maid of Florence.
+
+Attendants, Women, &c.
+
+
+
+
+CROMWELL.
+
+ACT I.
+
+SCENE I.
+
+[_1st Cut._]                           [_2nd Grooves._]
+
+_A Lane near a Village.  Afternoon._
+
+_Enter ARTHUR WALTON and WILLIAM, R.S.E._
+
+_Arthur._  Give me your arm, my feet tread heavily;
+The sameness of this scene doth pierce my heart
+With thronging recollections of the past.
+There is nought chang'd--and what a world of care,
+Of sorrow, passion, pleasure have I known,
+Since but a natural part of this was I,
+Whose voice is now a discord to the sounds
+Once daily mellow'd in my youthful being.
+Methinks I feel like one that long hath read
+A strange and chequer'd story, and doth rise,
+With a deep sigh to be _himself_ again.
+
+_Will._  One would not think, Sir, how much blood had stain'd
+Old England, since we left her, finding thus
+All things so peaceful; but one thing I mark'd
+As we did skirt the village.
+
+_Arth._  What was that?
+
+_Will._  The king's face was defac'd--the sign o' the inn
+At jolly Master Gurton's--mind you not
+How sad it look'd?  Yet 'neath it I've been gay,
+A time or two; 'tis not my fortune now:
+Those bright Italian skies have even marr'd
+My judgment of clear ale.
+
+_Arth._  I'faith 'twill need
+A marvellous scant repair.
+
+_Will._  One jovial day
+Of honest mud and wholesome English fog.
+
+_Arth._  That sign! 'twas once the royal head of James;
+Some thirsty limner passing made it Charles;
+I've heard it said 'twas e'en our good Queen Bess,
+By curious folk that trac'd her high starch'd ruff
+In the quaint faded back of antique chair,
+Her stomacher in Charles's shrivell'd vest--
+Who in his turn is gone.  Well, take this letter,
+See the old knight; but not a word to him.
+Stay, I forgot, my little rosy cousin
+Should be a woman now; thus--full of wiles,
+Glancing behind the man that trusts her love
+To his best friend, and wanton with the girls
+She troops with, in such trifling, foolish sort,
+To turn the stomach of initiate man.
+Fie!  I care not to hear of her; yet ask
+If she be well.  Commend me to my brother;
+Thou wilt not tarry--he will give thee gold,
+And haste to welcome me--go!  At the inn
+We'll meet some two hours hence.
+
+[_Exit R._]
+
+_Will._  Hem!  I doubt much
+About this welcoming.--Sad human Nature!
+This brother was a careful, godly youth
+That kept accounts, and smiling pass'd a beggar,
+Saying, "Good-morrow, friend," yet never gave.
+Where head doth early ripen, heart comes late--
+Therefore, I say, I doubt this welcoming.   [_Exeunt._]
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+[_Last Cut._]                          [_2nd Grooves._]
+
+_An Apartment in a Manor House._
+
+_Enter BASIL WALTON and FLORENCE, R._
+
+_Basil._ [_following Florence._]  I'll break thy haughty spirit!
+
+_Flor._  Will you, sir?--
+'Tis base, ungentle, and unmannerly,
+Because, forsooth, you covet my poor wealth,
+Which likes me not, as I care not for it,
+To persecute a helpless girl like me.
+
+_Basil._  I will protect thee; but accept my love.
+Nay, do not frown so.
+
+_Flor._  Love! say'st thou?  Profane,
+Vile misuse of that sacred word.  Away!
+Touch not my hand with your cold fingers--Off!
+
+_Basil._  Thou foolish child, wouldst throw thyself away
+Upon some beggar? were he here, perchance
+Thy cousin Arthur?  Come, our lands unite,
+Be prudent--
+
+_Flor._  Prudent!
+Oh, there is no match
+Half so imprudent, as when interest
+Makes two, in heart divided, one--no work
+So vain, so mean, so heartless, dull and void,
+As that of him who buys the hollow "yes"
+From the pale lips where Love sits not enthron'd,
+Nor fans with purple wing the bosom's fire.
+Prudence! to waste a life, lose self-respect,
+Or e'en the chance of love bestowed and met?--
+
+_Basil._  Sweet cousin, wilt not love me?
+
+_Flor._  No! nor wish
+To hate thee, could I help it--therefore, go!
+
+_Basil._  Well then I must--  [_Seizes her hand._]
+
+_Flor._  For pity's sake; if not
+I'll fly thee and my home.
+
+_Basil._  Ha! leave your father,
+Desert the old man in his hour of need?
+Fine ethics, truly.  [_Advances._]
+
+_Flor._  Heaven!  Leave me, sir--
+There something tells me Arthur will return,
+Whom you have cozen'd of his heritage,
+And then he'll aid me.
+
+_Basil._  [_Aside._]  Hath she seen him then,
+Or heard?  I must beware--
+
+[_A Servant enters and beckons him out, L._]
+
+Nay! none can know.
+[_Aside._] Doubtless a message from him--I must see
+That they meet not, or else--
+[_Aloud._] Adieu! fair cousin;
+I trust you'll find your senses yet ere long.
+
+[_Exit BASIL, L._]
+
+_Flor._  Once more he's gone--O world! indeed thou art
+Too oft the bad man's friend.
+
+_Sir Sim._  [_Within._] Ho! nephew Basil,
+Ho!  Basil!
+
+[_Enter SIR SIMON, R._]
+Where's my nephew?  [_To Florence._]
+
+_Flor._  He has left
+This moment, sir!
+O listen, he is rude.
+I cannot wed him,--Father! make me not
+Unhappy--
+
+_Sir Sim._  Nay!  Thou know'st, indeed, my child,
+How I do love thee.  'Tis a good young man,
+And wealthy--no fool, like his brother.  Fool,
+Said I?--a madman, ape, dolt, idiot, ass,
+An honourable ass to give the land
+His weak sire left him, to our Basil--Ha!
+_He'll_ give none back, I think !--no! no!
+Come, girl!
+Wouldst thou be foolish, too?  I would not marry
+For money only, understand--no! no!
+That I abhor, detest, but in my life
+I never saw a sweeter, properer youth.
+You like him not?  Tush! marriage doth bring liking.
+Ay! love too--you are young!
+
+_Flor._  But, I've enough--
+Why wed at all?
+
+_Sir Sim._  Girl! girl!  I say, would'st drive
+Thy father mad!  A very handsome man,
+A healthy fine young man--lands joining too!
+Nay!  I could curse you, wench!  Not have him?
+This
+Comes from your mawkish sentiment.  You are
+No child of mine--
+
+_Flor._  Dear father!  Hear me!
+
+_Sir Sim._  Mark!
+You're not of legal age--I'll drive you forth.
+I'd rather see you dead, here, at my feet,
+Than baulk my counsels thus.  Nay, try and see
+If sentiment will feed you, trick you out.
+O, who would be a father?
+
+_Flor._  Have I not
+E'er shown you love and duty?
+
+_Sir Sim._  Then obey!
+If I'd said nought--Oh! then you'd been in love
+With him, against my will--
+
+_Flor._  No, sir, indeed!
+Spare me--I'll think--I'll try.  Be kind to me!
+
+_Sir Sim._  Well, well, child, 'tis not right to treat me thus:
+If I were full of passion--harsh, unkind,
+Your conduct were less cruel.  But, you'll kill
+The old man some day with your cruelty.
+You don't care for him--not you; yet he acts
+All for your good.  Some day you'll think so when
+You've lost him.  Come, come, dry your tears, now kiss me;
+I should die happy, were you married well.
+I am old--all this agitation kills me.
+
+_Flor._  Nay, father, talk not so.
+
+_Sir Sim._  You should obey me.
+Your mother never dar'd oppose me thus;
+She swore obedience, and I made her keep it.
+
+_Flor._  [_Aside._] My mother, she died young, and yet too old;
+The breath of her whole life was one long sigh;
+She look'd like her own mourning effigy.
+Her sad "good morrow" was as others say
+"Good night."  We never saw her smile but once,
+And then we wept around her dying couch,
+For 'twas the dazzling light of joy that stream'd
+Upon her from the opening gates of heaven;
+That smile was parted, she so gently died,
+Between the wan corpse and the fleeting spirit.
+
+_Sir Sim._  [_Aside._] She looks just like her mother.
+That pale face
+Making its sad obedience a reproach.
+If she would flout, sulk, scold, resist my will,
+I'd make her have him ere the day grew cold.
+
+_Flor._  Her very kisses chill'd our infant brows;
+She pluck'd the very flowers of daily life
+As from a grave where Silence only wept,
+And none but Hope lay buried.  Her blue eyes
+Were like Forget-me-nots, o'er which the shade
+Of clouds still lingers when the moaning storm
+Hath pass'd away in night.  It mattered not,
+They were the home from which tears never wander'd.
+
+_Sir Sim._  [_Aloud._] I shall lose patience shortly.
+Oh, that gout!
+Here, girl, assist me.  Would you see me fall?
+
+_Flor._  Well, father, leave me to myself awhile.
+I would obey you if I could.
+
+_Sir Sim._  That's right.
+You know I'm rough, but then who loves you like
+A father?  You ought not to try me thus;
+Indeed you ought not.  Come, my dear, we'll go,
+And find your cousin.  [_FLORENCE hesitates._]  Hey! not now?  Beware,
+'Tis better now! no nonsense.  Come, come, come.
+You know you can do what you please with me,
+But then you must be more obedient--so!
+[_Going slowly, R._]
+Your hand! You do me harm, girl! with this strife.
+Gently--your cousin never frets me thus.  [_Exeunt, R._]
+
+[_Enter BASIL reading a letter, WILLIAM following, L.
+FLORENCE returns, R., and steals behind them, and
+listens to their conversation._]
+
+_Basil._  [_With a letter in his hand._]  Good William,
+thou shalt drink to me.  [_Gives him money._]
+And art thou still called thirsty William?
+
+_Will._  What answer shall I bear to my master?
+
+_Basil._  Thy master?  'Tis a good youth, though a
+wild--I hope he be well.  Yet, frankly, I would that
+he had not just now returned.  Our uncle is so violent,
+and will not hear his name.  Arthur hath been so
+imprudent, loose, eh?  William, I regret the old man
+hath heard of these things.
+
+_Will._  My master is a very Puritan, sir!
+
+_Basil._  [_Aside._] Let his worth go begging, then--but
+he will soon be bad as his fortunes demand.  Your
+poverty-stricken gentlemen were better on the coast of
+Barbary than in this civilized country.  And whatever
+he do, he shall be judged harshly.  [_Aloud to William._]
+
+I doubt not--Lies, lies; I said so at the time.  Then
+you see my cousin Florence, a simple girl, trembles
+at his very name.  You cannot wonder at it;--such
+stories have been told.  Confess now, William, thy
+master hath been a prodigal.  Doth he pay thy wages?
+Thou art scurvily clad.  I have a place now--as it were.
+
+_Will._  I desire no better, sir!  I thank you, than
+where I am.
+
+_Basil._  Oh!  I did not mean unless you had left my
+brother first.  Now, he desireth a thousand pound.
+Simply I have it not.  There is no rent paid now.
+I would he had written rather than come.  I will
+give him five hundred that I have, if he will pledge
+me his honourable word to leave England for five
+years.  Are there not wars abroad whereby men live?--
+
+_Will._  And die!
+
+_Basil._  I would I could see him.  But I have
+promised mine uncle not, and he cannot bear any shock
+to his health.  Go, tell him this.
+
+_Will._  Worshipful Master Basil! you will excuse
+me, but I must speak my master's mind.  He saith
+he hath signed away his inheritance to thee, and that
+he expects this small gift, ere he comes among ye.
+He is but in sorry plight of dress, and he hath ever
+shown much affection for you.
+
+_Basil._  Does he threaten?  Hark ye, I owe him
+nought.  Let justice be done.  The fortune was mine
+by birth.  Our father acted basely.  My brother did
+very properly restore it.  Shall he boast of a bare act
+of justice?  He hath no claim on me.  Shall I
+furnish his profligacies, his expenses, his foreign
+debaucheries, because I have gotten back mine own?
+
+_Will._  You will not see him?--
+
+_Basil._  No!
+
+_Will._  Nor send him the money?--
+
+_Basil_.  No! except with the proviso I told thee of.
+
+_Will._  You have no other message?--
+
+_Basil._  No!
+
+_Will._  Oh!  Well, sir, I think the execution of my
+barren commission needs no farther stay.  Touching
+that small portion of mammon wherewith thou wouldst
+endow my master's passage across the seas, in his
+name I will venture to refuse the gratility.
+
+_Basil._  Wouldst jest, villain?  There are stocks!
+Back to the beggar that sent thee.          [_Exit R._]
+
+[_WILLIAM going, L., FLORENCE approaches him from behind._]
+
+_Flor._  Good friend! I have heard something of
+your discourse.  I would fain see thy master.
+
+_Will._  Art thou not his cousin, lady?
+
+_Flor._  I am.
+
+_Will._  He hath often spoken of thee far hence.
+
+_Flor._  We were children together.  Is his temper
+sweet as it used to be?  Hath he grown taller?  I
+have much to say to him.  Is he sunburnt?  Doth
+he wear a beard?  They say much ill of him.
+
+_Will._  Lady! believe it not; [_aside_]--for I affect
+much his society.  [_Aloud._]  He is a good master and
+kind, though of a strange mood.  For women, he
+cannot abear them.
+
+_Flor._  Indeed!  Good friend, nevertheless I must
+see your master.  Bring me to him.
+
+_Will._  I am going to the inn, where he awaits me.
+Will it please you to meet me opposite the old barn in
+two hours?
+
+_Flor._  I will, I will, for I need his advice much.
+I am sore distressed.  Here is for thee.  Lose no time!
+[_Gives him money._]  Farewell!  [_Exit R._]
+
+_Will._  By'r lady, angels! both of them.  [_Exit L._]
+
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+_An extensile landscape, with a road on the L;
+overhung with foliage.  A Country Inn, U.E.R.  Table,
+chairs, villagers sitting, a waiter bringing in
+refreshments during the symphony of the following_
+
+GLEE and CHORUS.
+
+Cold, oh! cold the March winds be;
+High up in a leafless tree
+The little bird sits and wearily twits,
+The woods with perjury:
+But the cuckoo-knave sings hold his stave,
+(Ever the spring comes merrily)
+And "O poor fool!" sings he--
+For this is the way in the world to live,
+To mock when a friend hath no more to give,
+Whether in hall or tree!
+
+[_The villagers retire severally._]
+
+[_Enter WILLIAM, L._]
+
+_Will._  So this publican hath ceased to be a sinner!
+To think now of old sophisticate Gurton being called
+Hezekiah Newborn.  Gadso, he babbles of salvation
+like the tap his boy left running this morning to see
+the troop of cavaliers go by.  Yet I marked the
+unregenerate Gurton swore round ere Newborn found his
+voice to upbraid sourly as becomes a saint.  He hath
+been more civil since I heard him.  O Newborn,
+how utterly shalt thou be damned!
+
+[_Enter HOST._]
+
+_Host._  The Lord be with thee, young man.  It did
+seem to me that thou wert discoursing aloud in
+prayer.  Doth thy master desire any creature-comfort?
+
+_Will._  Master Gurton! thy belly hath kept pace
+with thy righteousness.
+
+_Host._  Ha!  Who told thee my carnal name?  I
+prithee abstain.  It doth remind me of the bonds of
+the flesh.
+
+_Will._  Simply, thou art known to me.  I am William
+Nutbrown.
+
+_Host._  Nay!  What, mine own friend Will, that had
+his bastard fathered on me?  Why, he was a youth!
+
+_Will._  He was!  A youth of promise.  Behold the
+fulfilment in these legs, this manly bosom!
+
+_Host._  O wonderful! and to think I knew thee not!
+But thou art horribly, and as it were most monstrously
+improved?  Will Nutbrown! to be sure--and whence
+comest thou?
+
+_Will._  From the land of beccaficos, mine old
+Newborn! but thou understandest not--thou hast merely
+observed the increase of local timber and the decay of
+pigeon-houses.  Thy sole chronicle hath been the ripe
+birth of undistinguishable curly-headed village
+children, and the green burial of undistinguished village
+bald old men hath been thine only lesson.  Thou hast
+simply acquired amazement at the actions of the man
+of experience.  Doth a quart measure still hold a quart?
+
+_Host._  Alas! more--I will tell thee of it.  These be
+sore times for us.  You must know there hath been a
+Parliament commission of inquiry into weights and
+measures, and last Michaelmas a year, no! let me
+see--well, marry! there came down--
+
+_Will._  Well, well, thou shalt finish anon.
+
+_Host._  It went nigh to kill me.
+
+_Will._  Thou shalt tell me all hereafter.
+
+_Host._  Damnation! but I am glad.  The Lord
+forgive me!  I had nearly sworn.
+
+_Will._  Thou hadst--nearly.
+
+_Host._  And art thou a vessel of grace, or a brand
+given to the burning?  Of a verity--
+
+_Will._  Come, no lies with me!  I shall doubt thee
+if thou cantest one word except in thy calling.  Yet
+I saw by thy first look thou wert glad to see me; so
+give me thy hand, and I will shake it ere some one
+calls for a draught of ale, and thou dost relapse into
+the sordid and muddy calculation that makes thy
+daily self, and so forget that the friend of thy youth
+hath revisited thee.  Nay, fear not, I will not betray
+thee to thy present customers.  But first tell me, why
+thou art so changed: seeing that the cavaliers should
+be thy best friends?
+
+_Host._  Friend Will!  Twill tell thee--the cavaliers
+drink lustily, and of claret and sherris with spice,
+whereas, it is true, the elect chiefly do affect ale.  But,
+O Will! your cavalier--not to speak of my keeping
+never a serving wench honest for a month, and I have
+daughters now grown--your best cavalier would ever
+pull out a long embroidered purse, with one gold piece
+in it, regarding which he would briskly swing it round,
+and jerking it together, replace in his doublet, saying
+between his hiccups, "Prithee, sweet Spigot!" or it
+may he, "Jolly Master Gurton! chalk it up; when the
+king hath his own again, I will repay thee;" or "I
+will go coin it from Noll's ruby nose," and would ride
+away singing, and in a fortnight the poor gentleman
+would surely be slain.  And, as for your worst kind of
+cavalier, when I did gently remind him, he would
+swear and draw his rapier and make a fearful pass
+near my belly--that I was glad to see him depart
+with a skinful of mine own wine unpaid for.
+Moreover, Master Will, an he were handsome and a
+moon-raker, my wife, that is now at rest, would ever take
+his part, and cry shame on me for a cuckoldy villain
+to teaze a sweet, loyal gentleman so, that would pay
+when a could--moreover--
+
+_Will._  Hold!  Thy reasons are sufficient--Thou art,
+worthy Hezekiah! become a saint, to escape
+martyrdom.  Methinks I see the gallant foin at thy belly.
+
+[_Draws his sword and makes a feint at the Host._]
+
+Sa! sa!
+
+_Host._  Have a care--[_William makes feints._]
+
+_Will._  I shall die!  Gadzookers! thus, was it
+thus!--and thy wife--a cuckoldy villain--merely a figure
+of speech though, Master Gurton!  Eh?  Thou didst
+not suspect?
+
+_Host._  Wilt thou be quiet; I see no jest.
+
+_Will._  Nay, I'll be bound not.  Sa! Sa!
+
+_Host._  Laugh an thou likest; but put up thy toasting-iron.
+
+_Will._  Well, thou hast reason for thanksgiving.
+But I think thy wife was right, if the poor
+gentleman's thrust was drunken, 'twas a compliment to
+thy wine.  A scurvy rogue to ask for his money
+when he was poor, and thy wine did affect him.
+
+_Host._  But to speak seriously, good Will, what
+bringeth thee here?  Who is thy master!  Can I
+assist thee in anything?
+
+_Will._  Well, I pity thee, and will say no more.  My
+master is young Arthur Walton.  He hath returned.
+He gave up the fortune to his brother Basil.
+
+_Host._  I thought he was settled abroad.
+
+_Will._  No! no!  He is here, and now he wanteth
+assistance from his brother; for we are in some
+present straits, and this Basil will have nought to say
+to him.  What I shall want of thee is information of
+the family; and mayhap thy daughter will have to
+see Mistress Florence for us with a message.
+
+[_Enter TAPSTER and two or three Roundhead Soldiers, L._]
+
+_Tap._  Master, master! here be soldiers quartered on us.
+
+_Will._  The Philistines be upon thee!
+
+_Host._  O Lord!----be praised.  See directly and
+water the double ale--Tell my daughter to lock up
+the Trinidado tobaccos--Haste!
+
+[_Enter IRETON, HARRISON, and Soldiers, L.U.E._]
+
+_Ire._  [_Reading Papers._] Give us to drink, good
+measure; for the flesh is thirsty.  That we have shall
+be paid.  Who is that fellow [_points to William_] with
+his sword drawn?
+
+_Har._  Ha! a malignant.--Smite him!
+
+_Sold._  Lo! he shall die.
+
+_Host._  Hold! hold! 'tis an innocent youth.  He
+did but draw his weapon to defy the evil one.  He is
+strong in prayer.  [_To William aside._]  Speak quickly,
+an thou lovest thyself--something from Tobit, or the
+Psalmody.
+
+_Har._  Thou hearest--Sin-Despise! touch not the
+youth.  Lo, I myself have wrestled with the powers
+of darkness.  [_To William._]  In what shape cometh he?
+
+_Will._  With horns, an't please you, [_Aside._] very
+like Master Newborn there.
+
+_Har._  [_To himself._]  With me 'tis different.  In the curtain'd night,
+A Form comes shrieking on me,
+With such an edg'd and preternatural cry
+'T would stir the blood of clustering bats from sleep,
+Tear their hook'd wings from out the mildew'd eaves,
+And drive them circling forth--
+I tell ye that I fight with him until
+The sweat like blood puts out my burning eyes.
+Call you this dreaming?
+
+_Will._  [_Aside to the Host._] Dost think the gentleman eats suppers?
+
+_Ire._  A plague upon his damn'd repentant fancies!
+
+_Har._  [_Still to himself._] 'Twas on the heath,
+As he did gripe and hold it from his breast,
+He cut my blade with fifty pallid fingers,
+On his knees, crying out
+He had at home an old and doating father;
+And yet I slew him!
+There was a ribbon round his neck
+That caught in the hilt of my sword.
+A stripling, and so long a dying?  Why
+'Tis most unnatural!
+
+_Host._  [_Aside to William._] I would not have his
+conscience to be vintner to the Parliament.
+
+_Will._  [_To Host._] Nor I, for my master to be a
+fat-witted Duke, and I his chief serving-man.
+
+_Ire._  Here we need counsel, and he raves of dreams
+And devils.  Yet, 'tis true, he fights as if
+He were possess'd by them.
+Come, Harrison!
+Will you not hear how fortune dawns upon us?--
+
+_Har._  Ay! indeed--
+Excuse me, Ireton, I was something absent;
+I think my health of late is shatter'd much.
+Sometimes I talk aloud.  Did I not speak
+But now of Joab in the Bible,
+And how he did slay Abner?--
+Thou know'st I read the Scripture very oft.
+
+_A Trooper._  Ay! he goes to bed with it under his
+pillow, lest the evil one should prevail.  Desborough
+told him of it.
+
+_Har._  Heard you of Falkland's death?
+
+_Ire._  At Newbury?--
+I did.  On either side, in this sad war
+The good and noble seem the ripest fruit,
+And so fall first.
+
+_Har._  Thus let them perish, all
+That strive against the Lord.
+Is Cromwell nigh?--
+
+_Ire._  He will be here anon.
+
+_Har._  [_To himself._] The mighty men
+Of Israel slew _all_.  It was a sin
+To spare the child in the womb.
+I am a fool
+To shiver thus to think that night must come.
+The lion trembles at the sun's eclipse,
+But, not for murder of the innocent lamb.
+Who walks across my grave?--
+
+_Ire._  Come, let us go:
+I cannot pray or wrestle in the spirit;
+But let us talk of earthly fights and toils.
+I love fat quarters in a Bishopric
+As well as any preacher of us all.
+
+_Har._  Come, men, to quarters--
+In four hours' time we march
+To join Lord Essex--see your girths are slack'd,
+Your pistols prim'd, your beasts fed, and your souls
+Watching for grace, the word is "Kill and slay"--
+'Twere best all eat, for I will fast and pray.
+
+[_Exeunt HARRISON and IRETON, R.S.E._]
+
+_A Soldier._  [_To William._] I say, wilt thou discourse?
+
+_2nd Sold._  Give him a text.
+
+_3rd Sold._  He lacketh speech--He is a dumb Amalekite.
+
+_1st Sold._  I will even awaken him with a prick of my sword.
+
+_Host._  Nay! he is strong in the word.  [_To William._]
+Preach something, if thou beest wise.
+
+_Will._  What the devil!--
+
+_3rd Sold._  Ay! uplift thy voice against Beelzebub.
+
+_Host._  Thou couldst talk fast enough just now.
+
+_Will._  Gurton! for this I will undo thee.
+Newborn! thou didst just now water thine ale.  Hezekiah!
+thou dissemblest, which is more than thy wife used
+to do; for she feared thee not.
+
+_Host._  I pity thee, and will say no more.
+
+_1st Sold._  Here is a stool, let him mount thereon.
+
+_Will._  These be ignorant knaves.  I will practice
+on them.  It may come to good.  [_Mounts the stool._]  The
+Lord leadeth his people through the wilderness to
+salvation, crinkeldom cum crankeldom.  [_Mutters to himself._]
+
+_Soldiers._  Hum!
+
+_Will._  Of all thirsts, there be none like that after
+righteousness.--[_Mutters to himself._]
+
+_Soldiers._  Hum!
+
+_Will._  [Aside.] For strong ale, which I think hath
+to do with the conversion of this Gurton.  [_Mutters
+to himself._]
+
+_1st Sold._  Lift thy voice higher, that we stumble
+not in the dark.
+
+_Will._  [_Aside._]  I would I could remember a
+text--anything will do--[_Aloud._]  The General Cromwell
+hath, they say, a red nose, and doth never spit white,
+which I look upon as a great sign, as was the burning
+bush to Moses!
+
+_2nd Sold._  Ha! Blasphemest thou?
+
+_3rd Sold._  He scoffeth!
+
+_4th Sold._  Down with him.
+
+_Host._  O fool!  There will be blood spilt!
+
+[_They drag WILLIAM down (the HOST vainly
+endeavouring to interfere) and buffet him; as
+Sin-Despise draws his sword, the trumpets
+sound outside to saddle._]
+
+[_Enter HARRISON, R.S.E._]
+
+_Har._  Why dally ye?  Away!  Smite hip and thigh.
+To horse, to horse! what ho!  Zerubbabel!
+Mount, mount, I say, for bloody Goring's near--
+To saddle, ho!
+
+[_They immediately fall into line, and leave
+quickly, L.  The trumpets are still heard
+sounding.  Exeunt all but HOST and WILLIAM, who
+arranges his collar and adjusts himself._]
+
+_Host._  [Breathless.] What thinkest thou of this?
+
+_Will._  Think! what of?  Thy late wife's virtue?
+I would she were here.
+
+_Host._  These be now your civil wars: didst
+mark? he said all should have been paid.  Now, with them
+that were here, there were some fourscore and ten
+quarts that might have been drunk, had they staid
+an hour or so; and now to ride off thirsty to be killed.
+
+_Will._  Well, it might have been worse, for they
+might have drunk it, and departed in that military
+haste which precludes payment.
+
+_Host._  Ay! ay! thou wilt have thy jest.
+
+[_Exit into house._]
+
+[_Enter ARTHUR WALTON, L._]
+
+_Arth._  Where hast thou been so long?
+
+[_To WILLIAM._]
+
+_Will._  Truly at the burial of one Generosity!
+
+_Arth._  And what manner of person was he?
+
+_Will._  A fool in this world, but an angel of light in
+the next; if the word of God be true, which I
+remember to have heard in my childhood in the church
+there.
+
+_Arth._  And how was he buried?
+
+_Will._  About the setting of the sun, when he had
+no more to give.  I saw none in the garb of
+mourning, though many wore long faces, because their gain
+was stopped.
+
+_Arth._  And what wrote they on his tomb?
+
+_Will._  Other names than his own.  Extravagance,
+folly, imprudence, were the best terms there.  One
+whom he had released from gaol, carved madness with
+a flint stone.  There was but one would have painted
+his true name, but his tears defaced it--a humble
+dependent, who had been faithful to him, but whom
+he regarded not, being accustomed to his services.
+
+_Arth._  Out! rogue!  I have humoured thee too
+long, leave thy rascal allegory.  Hast seen my brother?
+
+_Will._  Ay, and thy cousin.  She is a rare girl, and
+remembereth thee well.  Thy brother is not attached
+to thee.  He will give thee five hundred pounds if
+thou wilt swear to quit England for ever.  He abuseth
+thee finely, saith thou art a debauched vagabond,
+which is an insult to me thy serving companion,
+whom he threatened with the stocks.  Wilt thou not
+slay him?
+
+_Arth._  O monstrous!  Can it be?  Fool that I
+have been.  My father, thou wert right, indeed!
+
+_Will._  Thy cousin would see thee.  She is miserable
+about something, and will be here presently.
+
+_Arth._  I will wither him with my reproaches.
+
+_Will._  You have bad stuff to deal with.  He will
+not become good suddenly, as in some stage-plays.
+You shall not frown him into a virtuous act.  Nevertheless,
+abuse him, an 'twill do thee good.  Look you,
+dear master, I will describe him.  He hath a neat
+and cheerful aspect, and talketh very smoothly; nay,
+for a time he shall agree with everybody, that you
+shall think him the most good-natured fellow alive;
+he shall be as benevolent as a lawyer nursing his leg,
+whilst he listens to the tale of him whom his client
+oppresseth, and you shall win him just as easily.
+Let the question of gain put him in action, and the
+devil inside shall jump out, like an ape stirred up to
+malice.  He affects, too, a vulgar frankness, which is
+often the mask of selfishness, as a man who helps
+himself first at table with a "ha! ha!" in a facetious
+manner, a jocose greediness, which is most actual,
+real earnest within.
+
+_Arth._  Alas! If this be true, what chance have
+I? for such a one as thou describest would call charity
+herself a cheat, and deem the emotion of an angel
+morbid generosity.
+
+_Will._  Bless you, he hath reasons! he would refuse
+tenpence to a starving wretch, because he owed ten
+pounds to his shoemaker, though he had ten thousand
+in his coffers at home.  Yet would he still owe the
+ten pounds.
+
+_Arth._  Nay, cease!  I love not to hear it.
+
+_Will._  And yet so meanly would he adopt appearances
+in the world's eye, that should he have to cross
+a muddy street where a beggar kept a passage clear
+with his besom, lest the gallants should soil their
+bravery, he would time his crossing, till one driven,
+or on horseback, should be near, that he might pass
+hurriedly on without giving him a groat, as in fear
+of being o'erridden.  Like Judas--
+
+_Arth._  Cease! cease! I bid thee cease!
+
+_Will._  Thy cousin is very beautiful and gentle.
+
+_Arth._  I will but see her, then my sword must carve
+my fortunes.  Did she speak kindly of me?  Alas!  I
+need some welcoming.  Go seek her.  It is time.
+
+[_Exit WILLIAM, R._]
+
+O sweet hour!
+In yonder heaven deep the stars are lit
+For evening service of seraphic quires--
+Eternal pomp of serried, blazing worlds,
+The heraldry of God, ere yet Time was.
+The moon hangs low, her golden orb impearl'd
+In a sweet iris of delicious light,
+That leaves the eye in doubt, as swelling die
+Round trills of music on the raptur'd ear,
+Where it doth fade in blue, or softly quicken.
+How, through each glade, her soft and hallowing ray
+Stole like a maiden tiptoe, o'er the ground,
+Till every tiny blade of glittering grass
+Was doubled by its shadow.
+Can it be,
+That evil hearts throb near a scene like this?
+And yet how soon comes the Medusa, Thought,
+To chill the heart's blood of sweet fantasy!
+For, O bright orb!
+That glid'st along the fringe of those tall trees,
+Where a child's thought might grasp thee,
+Art thou not
+This night in thousand places hideous?  To think
+Where thy pale beams _may_ revel--on the brow
+Of ghastly wanderers, with the frozen breast
+And grating laugh, in murder's rolling eye,
+On death, corruption, on the hoary tomb,
+Or the fresh earth-mould of a new-made grave,
+On gaping wounds, on strife,--the pantomime
+Of lying lips, and pale, deceitful faces--
+Ay! searching every scene of rank pollution,
+In each foul corner busy as at play,
+With new horror gilding vice, disease, decay,
+Boast not, pale moon! to me thy harlot ray!
+
+[_Enter WILLIAM, R._]
+
+_Will._  Sir, they come!
+Your collar is unfasten'd and your hair disorder'd.
+Let me--[_Attempts to adjust AUTHUR'S dress._]
+
+_Arth._  Heed it not! I thought you knew me better.
+
+_Will._  Just a moment.--
+
+_Arth._  No! yet will I meet her softly.
+She is the only creature of her sex,
+For whom I feel some kindness; 'tis because
+I knew her ere I knew the world beside,
+And all the lie of passion, that is nurs'd
+For long in early blighted hearts alone,
+Whom rank possession of the thing they pin'd for,
+Had cured in one short month.--Well, I'll be kind,
+Nay more, affectionate--
+
+[_Enter FLORENCE and BARBARA, R.  He salutes her distantly._]
+
+Fair mistress, thus
+I claim a young acquaintance, that hath grown
+Old in long absence.
+
+_Flor._  [_Rushing to him_] Arthur! dearest.  Arthur!
+How strange!  Dear cousin!  Sir!  I wish'd to see you,
+Needing protection--nay!  I was to blame,
+Too hasty, you must think me bold indeed!
+
+_Arth._  [_Aside_] Is all her nature, art?--How beautiful!
+[_Aloud._]  Dear Florence.  [_Attempts to take her hand warmly,
+she bows._]  I have scarcely words to speak.
+Cousin!  I'll be your champion.  [_Aloud._]
+
+_Flor._  There is nought
+In which you can assist me?  I have come
+Here, cousin, to entreat you, take this money.
+Indeed, you can repay me quite soon, when
+Your brother is more just.  It is for him
+That I would give it--
+
+_Arth._  For him? yes! you are
+Betroth'd?
+
+_Flor._  My father wills so--
+
+_Arth._  I need not
+This money--
+
+_Flor._  Cousin, take it.  You are proud.
+Will you refuse me?
+
+_Arth._  'Tis my character
+To doubt your sex, and yet from you I'd take it,
+But that I need it not in truth.
+
+_Flor._  Why doubt us?
+Ah! cousin, I have heard you have been wild,
+And so think women false, as you deceive them.
+
+_Arth._  That you have heard is false!
+
+_Flor._  I thought so.  Now
+I could indeed imagine it were true.
+Because, perchance, you've lightly won some hearts,
+Thus you must be severe and scoff at all,
+As if you had good reason!--It is proof
+Of an ungenerous mind or scatter'd heart.
+
+_Arth._  Fair cousin, at your feet I would recant
+Mine error.
+
+_Flor._  'Tis polite, sir, thus to yield
+All your experience.
+
+_Arth._  Nay, then!  Do you not
+Believe a man may once love faithfully?
+
+_Flor._  'Twere base to doubt it--yet I think not you:
+You know you could not tell if it were true,
+Your love might be a jest.     [_She goes up the stage._]
+
+_Arth._  [_following FLORENCE._]  By heaven!  No.
+
+[_WILLIAM and BARBARA come forward._]
+
+_Will._  Young woman! I doubt not your attachment,
+nor wonder at your love; but it cannot be returned.
+Principle forbids; and this heart is blighted.
+
+_Barb._  Plighted, or not, I want none of it.  What
+nonsense the man talks!
+
+_Will._  This beard--what think you of it?
+
+_Barb._  That it is red.
+
+_Will._  Yet 'tis not for you.
+
+_Barb._  I would humbly desire so.
+
+_Will._  Do you know, lively rustic, that the beard
+of Mars, the god of war, is auburnly inclined?  It is
+much affected by the ladies of the south.
+
+_Barb._  I would they had it then, for it is an abhorr'd
+thing here.
+
+_Will._  What a rank prude is woman, thus to
+disguise her inclination.  They call thee
+Barbara--Bab! restrain not thy fancy.  Come, hang round my neck
+and love me.  What! wouldst thou be an exception
+to thy sex?
+
+_Barb._  [_Strikes him._] Take that, thou coxcomb!
+
+[_Runs up the stage, WILLIAM follows, ARTHUR
+and FLORENCE advancing._]
+
+_Arth._  Break not my dream.  It is not late.  The night
+Will lose her beauty as thy footsteps fade
+In distance from me.  Florence, go not yet.
+I had a thousand loyal thoughts, I swear,
+To utter, and as many questions, Florence,
+To ask thee of thyself.  Thou lovest not,
+Thou canst not love my brother; for thou saidst
+As much, nay more, this moment.
+
+_Flor._  Did I so?
+Perchance I might have done; but then I love
+My father--
+
+_Arth._  Tell me so again!
+
+_Flor._  Indeed, I love
+My father!
+
+_Arth._  Cruel! no, I'd have thee say
+If thou dost love my brother.
+
+_Flor._  He's my cousin.
+
+_Arth._  Or any one!
+
+_Barb._  Dear lady, it is time.
+
+_Flor._  Farewell, sir! yet I bid you take this purse
+'Tis justice--nay, my will!
+
+_Arth._  Oh, farewell, Florence
+May angels light thy feet, and all the stars
+From heaven race with envious beams to shed
+Celestial brightness on the path thou blessest.
+
+[_Exit FLORENCE, R.  ARTHUR gazes after
+FLORENCE.  WILLIAM and BARBARA, coming down, L._]
+
+_Will._  Sweet Bab, I love thee.
+
+_Barb._  That is a man's saying.
+
+_Will._  Thou wouldst not have it said by anything
+but a man.  Thou wilt not forget?
+
+_Barb._  There, yes! no! anything!
+
+[_Tries to get away.  WILLIAM gives BARBARA a kiss._]
+
+_Barb._  Oh, dear, I must go.  [_Exit R._]
+
+_Arth._  She's gone!
+
+_Will._  They are, sir!
+
+_Arth._  What _they_--
+
+_Will._  Mistress Florence and Barbara, sir!
+
+_Arth._  Why stand here prating, then?
+Go follow; see no harm comes, quick, the road
+Is dangerous.  I'll wait here.  Leave them not
+Before they are safe in.  [_Exit WILLIAM, R._]
+For thy sake, Florence,
+I will believe perfection's in thy sex.
+How much I might have said.  Yes!  I have been
+Imagination's wildest fool to deck
+With qualities that did beseem them not
+All the worst half of women.  Thus we stoop
+To pick up hectic apples from the ground,
+Pierc'd by the canker or the unseen worm,
+And tasting deem none other grow but they,
+Whilst on the topmost branches of life's tree
+Hangs fruitage worthy of the virgin choir
+Of bright Hesperides.  Soft!  Who comes here?
+Surely my rascal is not yet return'd--
+The times are full of plotting.  I will hide--
+
+[_Stands aside.  Voices heard._]
+
+[_Enter four POACHERS, one carrying a fawn._]
+
+_1st Poach._  I tell thee that I heard 'em bay.
+
+_2nd Poach._  And I too!  Curse me, but I thought
+his fangs did meet in the calf of my leg.
+
+[_Enter POACHERS, L.U.E._]
+
+_3rd Poach._  'Tis like it was the tooth of a dog-bramble.
+
+_2nd Poach._  Well, well; it is the nature of man
+to hunt forbidden deer.
+
+_Arth._  [Aside] And to carve his name on benches.
+
+_2nd Poach._  And while game be preserved, there
+will be the likes of we.
+
+_3rd Poach._  Right too.  But it is a mortal sin to
+make us men into dog's-meat, and to hunt us with
+foreign bloodhound varmint.  Hast heard, friend
+Gregory, who stole my apples?
+
+_4th Poach._  Not I!
+
+_3rd Poach._  Would I could catch the thieving
+rascals!  Look ye, the tree is mine, and it does but hang
+over the road a scantling; and, as sure as nights are
+dark, comes me some ragged pilferers, that have not to
+pay an honest drunkenness, and basely steal my apples.
+
+_Arth._  [Aside] Oh, most benighted conscience of
+the villains!
+
+_4th Poach._  Shall I lend thee my bull-bitch to watch
+thy tree?  She hath a real gripe for a rascally thin
+leg.  Your orphan, your cast-away, hath no chance
+with her, I warrant.  A rare bitch!
+
+_Arth._ [_Aside_] O gentle sophist! what a line is here;
+Lions tear wolves, wolves rend the stricken deer.
+
+_3rd Poach._  Well, now, I thank thee, friend
+Gregory.  Thou art a true man.  I will so belabour and
+flay any of the cyder-blooded rascals, an thy bitch
+shall hold him; 'twill do a man good to hear of it.
+
+_1st Poach._  I know the bitch.  She'll kill them
+outright!  These be right times.  There be no inquests
+now, Master Gregory?
+
+_4th Poach._  What's that to me more than you
+others?  I did not murder him!
+
+_1st Poach._  Who?  The Puritan young gentleman
+whom Noll the brewer, that is general now, made
+such a stir about--
+
+_3rd Poach._  As if plenty didn't die in these wars--
+
+_1st Poach._  Or the girl, Gregory! eh? the girl by
+the well, with her finger cut, and her throat--
+
+_4th Poach._  Damn thee, have done!  She was dead,
+ere I found her, and I did but take--
+
+_1st Poach._  The ring, thou wouldst say.
+
+_2nd and 3rd Poach._  Come, confess now!
+
+_Arth._  [_Aside_] This is black devilry.  Alas! poor England!
+How many private, sleeping villanies
+Now wake to horrid life that else had slept,
+But for the times' most bloody anarchy?
+
+_2nd Poach._  They say this Cromwell is near these parts.
+
+_4th Poach._  I heard another speak! [_Loud_]  I never
+saw the girl till she was brought in, I tell ye.
+
+_2nd Poach._  I heard it too.
+
+_1st Poach._  'Twas a cricket, or some such fowl.
+
+_3rd Poach._  There's some one near.  Look sharp!
+
+_4th Poach._  Let's beat about--
+[_Loudly_]  As for the girl, I saw her brought in.  'Twas
+a piteous sight--A love business, mark ye!  I did not
+find her.  [_They discover ARTHUR._]
+
+_1st Poach._  Ha!
+
+_4th Poach._  Silence him!
+
+_3rd Poach._  Curse thee, what brings thee here?--
+
+_Arth._  Offhands! ye know me not.  [_To 4th POACHER._]
+Thou murderous dog!
+Wilt cut my throat as thou didst hers?--
+
+[_4th POACHER staggers back._]
+
+_4th Poach._  Will no one finish him?  'Tis a spy;
+he will tell of ye all.
+
+[_ARTHUR struggles and they strike at him._]
+
+[_Enter CROMWELL, R.U.E._]
+
+_Crom._  Who be these knaves?  What, murder!
+Ha! then strike:
+Down with the sons of Belial!
+
+[_Strikes down 4th POACHER with his sword.  The rest fly._]
+
+The Lord is merciful to thee, young man! [_To ARTHUR._]
+Another moment, and thy soul had fled--
+Wherefore, I hope, since it hath chanced so,
+And yet not chanc'd, since 'tis appointed thus,
+That no one falls or lives, unless the God
+Of battles hath decreed.  Wherefore I trust
+Thou art of the good work.
+
+[_Enter WILLIAM, R._]
+
+_Will._  My master bloody?--
+A dead man on the ground!--a knight of the road
+by his looks--  [_Sees CROMWELL._]
+What a grim stranger!
+
+_Crom._  Sirrah! move
+That carrion.  [_WILLIAM going up to his Master._]
+
+_Will._  Sir!  I wait on this gentleman.
+What a look!  [_Aside._]  I am sure he is either the
+devil, or some great Christian.  [_Aloud._]  I will, my
+Lord!  [_Moves the body._]  Come along!  To think
+now this dead, two-legged thing should have been
+active enough just now to catch a four-footed live
+deer.  No sooner does a man die, but you would
+think he had swallowed the lead of his coffin.  Come
+along!  Lord! how helpless it is!  Why, he shall no
+more kick at his petty devouring, no, no more than if
+he were a dead king! [_Exit with body, U.E.L._]
+
+_Crom._  Ha! 'Tis well said.
+Would that this blood had not been shed.
+'Tis dreadful
+To send a soul destroy'd to plead against
+The frail destroyer.  Yet I could not help it.
+[_TO ARTHUR._]
+How farest thou now?
+
+_Arth._  Good sir, I thank you for
+My life so promptly sav'd--not courtesy,
+But breath did fall me.
+
+_Crom._  'Tis a fearful thing
+That I have done.  A life!  I might have struck
+Less fiercely.  God forgive me for the deed.
+[_To Arthur._] Would he have slain thee?
+
+_Arth._  'Twas a murderer
+Most double-dyed in blood.  I heard them speak
+His guilt.--
+
+_Crom._  O, I could weep! and yet his death
+Had the best reason for't.
+Whence comest thou, sir?
+
+_Arth._  I am but late returned unto this land.
+
+[_Re-enter WILLIAM._]
+
+_Will._  Yes! yes, from Italy, Rome, gracious sir!
+Us'd to these things, you see--
+
+_Crom._  Peace, knave, thou scoffest!
+Revilest thou; because a fellow-sinner's dead?
+Shame be upon thee!
+
+_Will._  [_Aside._] If I should be impertinent to him,
+'twill be behind his back.  He hath a quelling eye;
+although a man fear not.  Now, amidst other brave men
+with swords, he would be as one that carried sword,
+and petronel to boot.
+
+_Crom._  [_To Arthur._] I fain would hear from thee, young sir,
+More of the land from whence thou comest.  'Tis
+My hap, I thank God's holy will, to stay
+In this my country, lifting now her head
+From the curst yoke of proud Idolatry,
+Lately so vexing her, I thought to leave,
+A little while ago, her shores for ever,
+Unto the new Jerusalem, beyond
+The western ocean, where there are no kings,
+False worship, or oppression--but, no more.
+What say'st thou of this Italy?  John Milton
+Loves well to speak romantic lore of Rome--
+A poet, though a great and burning light.
+I would have knowledge of it to confound him;
+A sober joke, a piece of harmless mirth.
+What think'st thou then of Rome where Brutus liv'd?
+
+_Arth._  'Tis the decay of a once splendid harlot,
+Painting her ruin, that the enthusiast eye
+Lives on the recollection still, and thus
+The alms of passers by still meet her cravings.
+She stands, her scarr'd proud features mock'd with rags,
+Fixt at the end of a great thoroughfare,
+With shrill gesticulation, fawning ways,
+Clinging unto the traveller to sustain
+Her living foul decay, and death in life,
+She is the ghoul of cities; for she feeds
+Upon the corpse of her own buried greatness.
+
+_Crom._  Doubtless thou hast seen much to fill thy mind
+With such disgust.
+
+_Arth._  Good, sir!  I did scarce feel it,
+Till I return'd.
+
+_Will._  Nay, sir! I do remember as we stood in
+the mouldy big Circus, having sundry of the lousy
+population idling within, whereby I did then liken it
+to a venerable cheese, in which is some faint stir of
+maggotry, that thou didst make a memorable speech
+against the land, where the only vocation of a nobleman
+is to defile the streets and be pimp to his own wife.
+
+_Arth._  Cease, cease, yet there is truth in what he says.
+
+_Crom._  Yet are there not amends in poetry,
+Art, science, and a thousand delicate thoughts
+Glowing on canvass, chisell'd in cold forms,
+The marbled dreams of sculptor's classic brain?
+Milton hath told of these.
+
+_Arth._   Alas! 'tis but
+Corruption's gilding.  'Tis the trick of vice
+Full oft to pander in a graceful form;
+But when the finer chords of hearts are set
+In eyes glued to a dancer's feet, or ears
+Strain'd to the rapture of a squeaking fiddle,
+Think you 'tis well?  Oh, say, should Englishmen
+Arrive at this, such price to set on art,
+Ne'er rivalling the untaught nightingale,
+That with their ears shut to wild misery,
+Deaf to starvation's groans, the prayer of want,
+The giant moan of hunger o'er the land,
+Till the sky darken with the face of angels,
+God's smiling ministers, averted--then!
+To buy a male soprano they should give
+His price in gold, that peach-fed lords and dames
+Might have their senses tickled with the trills
+Evolv'd from a soft, tumid, warbling throat--
+Why then farewell to England and her glory!
+
+_Crom._  Methinks the end of all things should be near,
+When that doth happen!
+
+_Arth._  Did I hear aright
+That Milton was thy friend?
+
+_Crom._  Yea! with the saints,
+That crowd in arm'd appeal before high Heaven
+To set this nation free.  He is my friend,
+And England's.
+
+_Arth._  I in Italy did know
+That excellent man.  Full often we have sat
+Upon the white and slippery marble limb
+Of some great ruin'd temple, whilst all round
+Was dipp'd in the warm, lustrous atmosphere
+We know not here, and purple eve did glow
+With shadows soft as beds of fallen roses,
+And he hath spoken in clear tones until
+He built up all again, and glory's home
+Grew glorious as ever.  Then his voice
+Would sudden deepen into holy thought
+And mournful sweet philosophy, 'till all
+The air grew musical and my soul good.
+How well do I remember it.
+Yes!  Milton was
+My honour'd tutor and my loving friend.
+
+_Crom._  Came not his thoughts here often?--
+
+_Arth._  Latterly,
+He would speak much of England, and of change
+Political, and coming strife and battles--
+
+_Crom._  Ay! battles--
+Hast thou not a sword, young man?
+Thou should'st be friend of righteousness to know
+That zealous patriot and pure-minded man,
+Of whom thou spakest; surely he hath taught thee
+More than mere classic lore--wisdom and faith
+To help this stricken people from the thrall
+Of their idolatrous, self-seeking rulers?
+
+_Arth._  Fair sir!  I know you not enough for this:
+I am a stranger to these hapless broils
+Between your sovereign and some of you.
+Yet let me thank you for this worthless life--
+Worthless indeed, could I so lightly join
+So grave a cause as yours.  Still deem me not
+The serf of custom to uphold a wrong,
+Or slave of tyrants to deny a right,
+Or such a one whose brib'd and paltry soul
+Aims shafts of malice at a patriot's heart,
+Hating the deed he cannot estimate:
+As if, when some great exile to our land
+Whose lips were touched with freedom's sacred fire,
+But poor in wealth as virtue's richest heir,
+Came speaking of the wrongs his country bore,
+Men said in youth he robb'd an orphan trust,
+The proof since burnt, betray'd a trusting friend,
+Haply now dead, or any other lie
+So monstrous, wicked, gross, improbable,
+That weak men found it easier to believe
+Than the invention; while the bad in heart,
+By true worth most offended, felt relief,
+Protesting still they wish'd it were not so,
+With that lean babble, custom's scant half-mask,
+Worn uselessly by hatred.
+Think me not
+Of these--nor yet too rash in sympathy.
+I would reflect well ere I draw the sword
+To fling the sheath away; I bid you now
+A kind farewell.
+
+_Crom._  Full soon to meet array'd
+In arms, the instruments of Heaven together
+Thou art of us.  Thy heart, thy tongue, thy sword.
+Are ours--now good night!   [_With emotion._]
+Sir, this poor land
+Needs all her honest children--noble sorrow,
+And yet a cheerful spirit to assert
+The truth of right, yea!  God's eternal truth,
+Lest the world die a foolish sacrifice
+And perish flaming in the night of space,
+An atheist torch to warn the universe--
+Smile not, I pray thee.  We meet soon; farewell!
+
+[_Exit CROMWELL, L._]
+
+_Arth._  A rude and uncurb'd martialist!--and yet
+A God-intoxicated man.  'Tis not
+A hypocrite, too haggard is his face,
+Too deep and harsh his voice.  His features wear
+No soft, diluted, and conventional smile
+Of smirk content; befitting lords, and dukes,
+Not men of nature's honoured stamp and wear--
+How fervently he spake
+Of Milton.  Strange, what feeling is abroad!
+There is an earnest spirit in these times,
+That makes men weep--dull, heavy men, else born
+For country sports, to slip into their graves,
+When the mild season of their prime had reach'd
+Mellow decay, whose very being had died
+In the same breeze that bore their churchyard toll,
+Without a memory, save in the hearts
+Of the next generation, their own heirs,
+When they in turn grew old and thought of dying--
+Even such men as these now gird themselves
+With swords and Bibles, and, nought doubting, rush
+Into the world's undying chronicles!
+This struggle hath in it a solemn echo
+Of the old world, when God was present still
+In fiery columns, burning oracles:
+Ere earnest faith and new reality
+Had grown diluted, fading from the earth
+Through feeble ages of a mock existence,
+Whose Heaven and Hell were but as outer fables,
+That trouble not man's stage-like dream of life.
+
+[_Exit into the Inn._]
+
+
+END OF ACT I.
+
+
+
+
+ACT II.
+
+SCENE I.
+
+[_2nd Grooves._]
+
+_A large Barn with folding doors.  In it a number of
+Cavaliers drinking at various rude tables.  Some
+women are interspersed among them.  Many are
+playing at dice, &c.  Their arms are piled in a corner._
+
+_1st Cav._  [_Sings_]
+
+   Noll's red nose,
+   In a bumper here goes
+ To Beelzebub his own master;
+   With the pikes at his flank
+   Of our foremost rank,
+ And the devil to find him plaster,
+   Fairfax and Harrison,
+   On them our malison.
+ But drink and sing
+ A health to the KING--
+   Gentlemen! steady,
+   Fill, now be ready.
+
+_All._  He _shall_ have his own again!
+
+[_Shouting and huzzaing._]
+
+_A Cav._  A _toast_! gentlemen.  "Noll's nose a-fire,
+and the devil's youngest daughter to baste it with
+aqua-vitae!"
+
+_All._  Ha! ha!
+
+_A Cav._  Would that Goring's moonrakers might
+come across the snuffling organ and cut it off.  We
+would have it by way of _pavillon_.  Thou, Frank
+Howard! shouldst carry it as senior cornet.  Thou
+wouldst be like curly-headed David with the spoils
+of the Philistine drum-major Goliah.  Led on by
+its light we'd march direct to Whitehall, our trumpets
+sending dismay to the virtue of the starched coifs of
+the round rosy rogues of London.
+
+_A Cav._  [_Arranging his love-lock._] Plague on't, I
+don't think their virtue would tremble at the chance.
+
+_Anoth. Cav._  Lord! what rumpling of sober
+dimities!  Poor little plump partridges, they cannot help
+their forced puritanism.--But all women are for king
+and cavalier in their hearts.
+
+[_Two Cavaliers advance with angry gestures to
+the front of the stage._]
+
+_1st Cav._  I tell thee, Wilmington! 'twas I she did regard.
+
+_2nd Cav._  And I tell thee that thou thinkest wrong.
+I know she loves me.
+
+_1st Cav._  Did she tell thee so?
+
+_2nd Cav._  This kerchief was hers.
+
+_1st Cav._  Bah! Thou didst steal it from thy
+mother, boy!  Go home and return it to her.
+
+_2nd Cav._  Ha!
+
+_3rd Cav._  Who is this piece of goods--she at the
+White Dragon?
+
+_1st Cav._  Nay, a mercer's daughter.  Wouldst like
+the address?  She entertaineth well.
+
+_2nd Cav._  How!  'Tis false!
+
+_1st Cav._  I met her yestereen, and she said thou
+shouldst have been a canting Psalmsinger.  Thou art
+so innocent a youth.
+
+_2nd Cav._  Hell's fire!  I'll not bear this.  I tell
+thee she waved her hand to me from her lattice, and
+dropped this kerchief.
+
+_1st Cav._  And to me she gave her garter when I left her.
+
+_2nd Cav._  To hang thyself?  Nay, thou liest!
+
+_1st Cav._  [_Strikes him down._] Take that, thou fool!
+
+[_He rises, they draw.  Closing in of the
+Cavaliers near, confusion._]
+
+_3rd Cav._  Hold, gentlemen!  'Tis a mere wanton!
+I believe these wenches are dowered by old Noll to
+set our young hot-bloods by the ears.  Hold!  'Tis
+not worth!
+
+[_They continue tonight.  The 2nd Cavalier is wounded._]
+
+_A Cavalier, richly dressed, who has entered, L., in the
+meanwhile, and made inquiring gestures._
+
+_Cav._  For _whose_ sake?
+O shame! shame!
+The King--
+The Queen needs all your blood, and ye must shed it
+In shameless broils like these!
+Thus the dear blood that should, if spilt it be,
+Dye our white spotless cause with its rich crimson,
+Must now for every muslin thing that spites
+Her prentice-lover, making fools of you.
+And O ye others, loyal gentlemen!
+I weep indeed for England and our King,
+To see ye all, in this the perilous gasp
+Of hardy enterprize, yourselves forget,
+Like Circe's brutish swine.  I tell ye now,
+While ye are lost in drunken quarrelling,
+Cromwell is near.
+
+_3rd or 4th Cav._  The King shall have his own.
+Lillibullero!
+
+_Cav._   I say, thee General Cromwell
+Is on the road with some four hundred men,
+And will surprise us.  [_Confused movement to arm._]
+
+_1st Cav._  [_Who has continued to drink._]  Ha!  What
+does it concern thee with thy preaching?  Dost thou
+want ought here?  [_Touching his sword-hilt._]  I care
+not for thee or Noll.  Would he were here, and a
+matter of four thousand to back him.  [_Draws._]  Sa! sa! canst
+fight as well as talk?  Wilt take up the
+bilbo?  Come, adopt the weapon of him I have sliced.
+Come, be nimble, sir, jig.  I would fain go visit the
+haulage of my fancy.
+
+[_A confused noise without._]
+
+_Cav._  Too late!  O gentlemen! here, Willsden, is
+thy sword.  Varley, arouse thee!  The enemy!
+Away, women!  Come, gentlemen--this table--a
+barricade, so-- [_1st Cavalier stands in his way._]  Off,
+fool!  [_Hurls him aside._]
+
+_A tremendous explosion; the wide doors behind are
+burst in by a petard; the barn falls, and discovers
+a view of York.  Enter CROMWELL with IRONSIDES
+through the break._
+
+_Crom._  Yield, sons of Belial!
+
+_Cav._  O Charles, my king!
+'Tis time to die, ere see thy cause thus lost!
+
+[_Throws himself on the pikemen._]
+
+Here, cavaliers! a blow, one blow, 'tis Noll
+The butcher, brewer Noll, that in your songs
+Ye send to hell so often.  Send him now,
+If ye be men, not cowards.  What! at loss!
+
+[_1st Cavalier staggers against him as he parries
+two or three pikemen, and he receives a mortal
+stroke, and falls.  During this the other
+cavaliers are struck down or disarmed._]
+
+Alas!  I might have reach'd him, but betray'd
+By our own rotten conduct, die--Oh, had I words
+Now could I prophesy--destruction--Charles!
+My king!  [_Dies._]
+
+_Crom._  There _is_ no king save one, and He
+Is with us!  [_Points to 1st Cavalier._]
+Yon poor wretch--what saith he?
+Nay!
+Strike not his mouth.
+
+_1st Cav._  I defy thee, Satan!  I'll back my rapier,
+an' thou wilt fight, Brewer!  Curse on thy muddy
+veins, thou hast no honourable desperation in thee.
+Come, if thou beest a man, give up thy odds.  What,
+ho!  Excalibur!
+
+[_Makes a rush to get at CROMWELL_]
+
+_Crom._  It seemeth that
+The ungodly fret.  Go, place him in the stocks.
+I charge ye harm him not--
+But give him ale,
+Wine, and a scurvy song-book--Such as he
+Do make us triumph.  Fie, fie, Cornet Dean!
+Well, stop his mouth, an't please ye; come, away!
+[_Trumpets sound._]
+This is a gift of God, see burial
+Unto the dead--now on to Marston Moor.
+
+[_Exeunt U.E.R._]
+
+[_Enter WILLIAM, U.E.L._]
+
+_Will._  So my master hath at last turned roundhead
+with a vengeance, and therefore I, to whom the rogue
+is necessary, am here, on the brink of nowhere.  To
+think that so much merit may be quenched by the
+mechanical art of a base gunner, who hath no fear in
+his actions; for I take it that a discreet reverence for
+the body we live in, which the vulgar term fear,
+shows the best proof of the value of the individual.
+Egad! life here is as cheap as the grass on an empty
+common, where there is no democracy of goose to
+hiss at the kingly shadow of a single ass in God's
+sunshine.  My master hath not done well; for he
+must have known that I could not leave him without
+a moral guide and companion--to die, too, with the
+sin of my unpaid wages on his conscience.  Well,
+pray heaven, there come soon a partition of the crown
+jewels amongst us, after which I will withdraw this
+right arm from a cause I cannot approve; but to
+cherish principles one should not lack means;
+therefore, [_taking the feather from his cap and throwing
+it down_] lie thou there, carnal device! and I will go
+look for a barber and be despoiled, like a topsy-turvy
+Samson, not to lose strength, but to gain it.  I thank
+heaven that our camp did yesterday fall in dry places,
+for there were many of these sour-visaged soldiers
+called me Jonah, and I did well to escape ducking
+in a horse-pond.  Soft, here be some of them coming.
+Yestere'en I committed sacrilege in a knapsack, and
+stole a small Bible from amid great plunder for my
+salvation.  Now will I feign to read it, and I doubt
+not the sin will be pardoned, for self-preservation is
+the second law of nature, as I have generally observed
+fornication to be the first!
+
+_Enter a party of Soldiers, R._
+
+[_Looking up._] These be some of Oliver's Ironsides;
+every one of whom is, as David, a man of war and a
+prophet; truly they are more earnest and sober than
+the others.
+
+_1st Troop._  To-morrow we shall sup in York.
+
+_Will._  [Aside.] How the man of war identifies
+himself with the remnant of those that shall sup.
+
+_2nd Troop._  Not so--for this morning, when a
+surrender was demanded, they would have hanged
+our messenger.  That raging Beelzebub, Rupert, in
+expected hourly to the relief.  [_Distant firing._]
+There! there! he is come.
+
+_1st Troop._  What say the generals?
+
+_2nd Troop._  Our own Cromwell is very prompt;
+but the rest chafe much, and the Scots are sore backsliders.
+
+_3rd Troop._  I would we might be led on and the
+trumpets sounded, that the walls of yon Jericho
+might fall about their ears, and deliver them into our
+hands alive.
+
+_Will._  Worthy martialist! may I speak?
+
+_1st Troop._  Ay so?
+
+_Will._  Is the King there in person?
+
+_2nd Troop._  Surely not; he is in that city of
+abomination, Oxford.
+
+[_Here CROMWELL enters, U.E.R., with his face covered._]
+
+_Will._  Is it not true that ye did ask them that
+guard the city to yield it in the King's name?
+
+_2nd Troop._  I heard the message: it was so worded.
+
+_Will._  'Tis an excellent contradiction, to fight for
+and against.  If ye should meet the King now in
+battle, would you fire on him with your pistols, or
+cleave him with your swords?
+
+_1st Troop._  Nay!
+
+_Crom._  [_Discovering himself._] But I say, yea!
+
+_Will._  [Without seeing CROMWELL.]  What, in his
+own name, kill him for himself, for his own sake, as
+it were?  I would fain argue that with your general--[_sees
+CROMWELL._]--another time.  Farewell, worthy sirs!
+
+_Crom._  Stay, thou base knave! I'll have thee whipped without
+The army of the saints.  Hearken ye all!
+Charles Stuart I would gladly smite to death:
+Not as a king, but as a man that fights
+Against the honour, conscience of the king,
+And the true rights of all his loving subjects.
+Is any here the muscles of whose arm
+Grow slack to think he may meet such an one
+In arms to-morrow?  Let him home to-day,
+God and his country have no need of him.
+
+_Soldiers._  A Cromwell! Cromwell!
+Lead on, we'll slay the king.
+
+_Crom._  I did but say
+If ye should meet him, ye would not turn back.
+
+_Soldiers._  No!  No!
+
+_Crom._  Nor slur the onset?
+
+_Soldiers._  No!
+
+_Crom._  Nor spare
+A courtier for his likeness to the King?
+
+_Soldiers._  No!  No!
+
+_Crom._  Why then ye are mine own, [_observing the soldiers._]
+My brave and trusty Ironsides!  See here
+Are some right honest faces I have known
+From childhood, and they'll follow me to death,
+If needed.--Let the paltry Scot go hence,
+And even Fairfax rein his charger back--
+We'll on unto the breach.  The Lord Himself
+Will ride in thunder with our mail-clad host:
+The proudest head that ever wore a crown
+Shall not withstand us.--Strike! and spare not!  Ho!
+Down with the curs'd of God!
+
+_Soldiers._  A Cromwell!  Cromwell!
+Let us come on!
+
+_Crom._  The sun that stood in Heaven,
+Until his beams grew red with two days' blood
+Of slaughtered Canaan, shall see them flee
+like chaff before us--
+
+_Soldiers._  Joshua! cry aloud,
+A Joshua!--
+
+_Crom._  These gay Philistine lords
+That fight for Dagon, will ye fly them, or
+Hurl them and Dagon down?--
+
+_Soldiers._  A Samson!  Samson!
+
+[_Distant cannon heard.  Cheering from the Soldiers._]
+
+_Will._  [_Aside._] Here's gory enthusiasm!  Now
+whilst every man is ready to preach individually on
+his own account, and the whole collectively are about
+to sing a psalm, I will endeavour to steal away
+unperceived, lest any of them, imagining himself
+somewhere between Deuteronomy and Kings, should take
+it upon himself to proclaim that I come from Gibeon,
+and so--
+
+_Crom._  [_To William._]  Hither! sirrah!  It is well I
+know the master that thou servest, or else thy back
+had paid the license of thy speech.  Tell him I would
+speak with him two hours hence in his own quarters.
+[_Exit William, U.E.L._]  Good friend, [_to a soldier_] I
+am thirsty in the flesh.  Get me, I prithee, a cup of thine
+ale.  [_Soldier goes out._]  [_To another soldier._] Give me
+thy pipe, Ruxton! is it right Trinidado?--[_To them
+all._]  Think ye now, the generals fare better than ye
+do--I mean now, Desborough or Rossiter, or our
+brave Ireton?
+
+_A Soldier._  Ay! do they.  But just now we saw a
+store of good things carried into Desborough's tent.
+Lo! there goes Jepherson and Fight-the-good-Fight
+Egerton this instant to feast on the fat things of the
+earth.  [_Here the soldier gives him a cup of ale._]
+
+_Crom._  [_Pausing ere he drinks._]  What is thy
+name, friend?
+
+_A Soldier._  [_Near._] Born-again Rumford.
+
+_Crom._  A babe, I do protest, a babe of grace.  See
+you not, he cannot speak himself.  [_Drinks, and
+throws the remainder over Born-again Rumford's
+beard.  Returns the cup and prepares his pipe._]  Now,
+Born-again!  I think thou art baptized again!  [_The
+soldiers laugh._]  So there is feasting and gluttony
+amongst our captains.  Hearken ye, I shall call a
+conference straightway.  When the generals be come,
+which they will do with sore grumbling, then do ye
+fall to and spare not!  I will stand between you and
+the fierce wrath of them that be spoiled.  Three rolls
+on the kettledrum shall be the signal.  See that ye
+leave nothing.  [_Going, L._]
+
+[_As he goes he strikes his pipe on the back of the
+corslet of one of the soldiers; so that the
+ashes fall on his neck._]
+
+_Sol._  Now may the devil!
+
+_Crom._  Ho! swearest thou?--fy! fy! for shame,
+Orderly officer! set Hezekiah Sin-Despise down in
+thy book five shillings for an oath.  Truly Sin-Despise
+is no fitting name for thee, but rather
+'Overcome-by-Sin.'  Come, as I did tempt thy railing,
+I will pay thy fine.  [_Gives him money._]  Tush! grin not so,
+man.  I thought my Ironsides were proof against fire
+as well as steel.  [_Exit, L._]
+
+_Shouts of the Soldiers._  Live, Cromwell! live, our
+worthy general!
+
+[_WILLIAM re-enters and joins the Soldiers.  Exeunt, B._]
+
+_Enter ARTHUR reading a letter, U.E.L._
+
+"----and so, cousin, I am very miserable, and if
+you have this influence with the General Cromwell,
+whose fair daughter I do so well remember, get me a
+home with her; for, alas! I can stay no longer here.
+And yet my father?  But to wed with one that I
+despise, it is impossible, and all things are prepared,
+I look to you alone for rescue.  Farewell.  _Florence._"
+
+I will!  I will "Postscript.  I hear you are
+engaged in these dreadful wars.  Pray heaven! you
+have chosen aright; for I know not.  But peril not
+your life more than becomes true valour; for I have
+heard you are dear to many.  Adieu!"  _I_ dear to
+many?--let's see, there is my faithful serving-man--poor
+fellow, he likes not this life, and doth assume
+an amusing kind of fear, but I do believe thinking
+more of me than himself.  Well then; I had a dog;
+but he was lost the night of our passage, when but
+for his inveterate barking, for which I beat him, I
+had surely been drowned in the cabin, where I slept,
+when the vessel was stranded--he loved me; but for
+more--I know them not.
+
+O dearest Florence! were I lov'd indeed by thee,
+There were indeed a bright star in the sky,
+To guide my shatter'd bark of destiny! [_Retires, U.R._]
+
+_Enter CROMWELL, IRETON, DESBOROUGH, and others,
+U.E.L., ARTHUR joins them._
+
+_Crom._  Thus, gentlemen, the reports being ended, I
+would but detain you a short while in prayer.
+
+_Des._  Nay! as I said before, we are fatigued, and
+the body needs refreshment.
+
+_Ire._  [Apart to Cromwell.] How the pampered boar frets!
+
+_Crom._  [_To Desborough._] Will you to my tent?--I
+can give you a soldier's fare, with a soldier's welcome,
+a crust and cup of ale, and we can discourse what
+remains.
+
+_An Officer._  Indeed we are engaged; but if the
+General Cromwell would honour us--
+
+_Crom._  I thank you, I have supped ere you have dined.
+
+[_Drum rolls.  A loud shout of merriment and clatter is heard._]
+
+_Des._  What is that--in my tent too!
+
+[_Looking off, R.  WILLIAM comes forward, R._]
+
+By Heaven! rank mutiny.  I'll have them shot.
+
+_Will._  Nay! worthy sir, knock out the priming of
+your wrath from the matchlock of your vengeance,
+and abide till to-morrow, when you shall see many
+a stout fellow and gormandizer to boot levelled.  [_To
+Cromwell._]  Great Sir! they complain that the wine
+is thin.
+
+_Crom._  Go purchase some strong waters.  [_Gives
+him money._]  I must not have my fellows' stomachs
+unsettled.  Here, thou graceless knave.
+
+_Will._  An't please you, we had no time for grace;
+but we return thanks to you, under Heaven.
+
+_Des._  This then is your work, General Cromwell!
+Call you this discipline?
+
+_Crom._  [_To the Soldiers as they enter, R._] Go hence,
+you rascals.
+
+[_Soldiers entering with whooping and shouts._]
+
+Sound bugles! fall in! quick march!
+
+[_The Soldiers march round and fall in a line in perfect order,
+WILLIAM bringing up the rear, shouldering a bone._]
+
+_Ire._  [_To Arthur Walton._] See you now the bent
+of this?  How he doth make them his own?  I tell
+you that the day will come, this host shall follow him
+alone, ay! and perchance England--
+
+_Crom._  [_To Desborough, who has remained apart,
+indignant._]  Come, Desborough! if thou hast digested
+thine indignation--[_Taking Desborough's arm, kindly._]
+
+_Ire._  As he will never his dinner.
+
+_Crom._  Thou wilt unto my tent, where is store of
+wholesome food.
+
+_Enter HARRISON, L., hurriedly._
+
+_Har._  I fear they will not sally forth; our host
+Meanwhile will melt away.  Despondency
+Sits heavy on my soul.
+
+[_Firing is heard from the town._]
+
+_Ire._  If they abide
+In York, we'd best draw off.  [_Exit ARTHUR, L._]
+
+_Crom._  But Rupert! Rupert!
+Wilt he not fight--The fiery-headed fool
+Will rush out on us from yon fenced town,
+And then--Whom have we here?
+
+[_An Orderly hastens in._]
+
+_Ord._  The earl doth bid you
+Prepare for instant action; Rupert and Newcastle
+Are forth outside the gates.
+
+_Crom._  Said I not so?--
+Their hearts are hardened by the Lord of hosts.
+[_Musketry in the distance._] [_To an officer entering._]
+Did you not hear me when I said "Bring up the
+fascines?"  How shall we cross the ditch?  Do you
+not heed?  Quick, man!
+
+_Offi._  Even as Balaam said to Balak, Lo! I will but
+speak what the Lord hath put in my mouth.  [_Turning
+to the Soldiers._]  Wherefore, I say, O brethren,
+be ye as they the Lord set apart to Gideon--
+
+_Crom._  [_Striking him with his pistol butt._] Take
+that, thou babbling fool! this is no fitting time to
+preach.  Ho! Jepherson.  Bring up the facines.
+
+_Enter ARTHUR, L., to CROMWELL._
+
+_Arth._  Fairfax is beaten, and our right wing scattered.
+
+_Crom._  Hist! dismay not these.  Doth Rupert follow them?
+
+_Arth._  He doth fight fiercely.
+
+_Crow._  Then will I meet him.  Victor to victor, we
+will close together.  Ho! forward!
+
+[_Another Officer enters._]
+
+_Offi._  The musketry of Belial hath mowed our
+ranks, and the sons of Zeruiah--
+
+_Crom._  Tush, tell me not of Zeruiah, or, by the
+Eternal, I will smite thee!  Speak in English.
+
+_Offi._  The Scotch are in disorder.  Lucas, and
+Porter, and the malignant Goring are playing havoc
+with them.  Newcastle, with his white coats, is
+winning on us at the pike's point.
+
+_Crom._  That's what is done.  What is to do?  What
+says the General?
+
+_Offi._  That you charge Rupert.
+
+_Crom._  Why did you not speak sooner?
+I am dead
+To hear you drawl thus.  Righteous Lambert, on!
+Bring up the regiments.
+Tell brave Frizell,
+He shall see sport anon--
+
+[_A Soldier gives him his morion._]
+
+I will not wear it!
+I cannot see around--
+
+[_A heavy discharge of cannon heard without._]
+
+Ho! Desborough,
+
+Here is a dinner for thee.  See thou carve it
+Right well.  On! on! a Cromwell for a Rupert!
+
+_Soldiers._  The Lord and Cromwell!
+
+_Crom._  Nay, not thus: shout rather
+"God and his people!  England!  Liberty!"
+
+[_Exeunt L._]
+
+[_Different parties of wounded Soldiers enter U.E.L;
+some being assisted, and others staggering; the scene
+becomes dark and obscured with clouds of smoke.
+Several Soldiers fall down._]
+
+[_Enter WILLIAM, R., meeting a wounded Trooper, L._]
+
+_Troop._  How goes the day?  Why art thou not
+with the saints, that are now fighting?
+
+_Will._  I was about to fight; but they waited not
+for me.  It is all over now.  The king hath no more
+chance than a butterfly three days at sea amongst a
+covey of Mother Carey's chickens.  I would pursue,
+but lack spurs and a horse, or you should not find me
+here; [_Aside._] or within ten miles of it.
+
+_Troop._  Get me some water, friend!
+
+_Will._  Ah! you would have watered me in a pond
+two days since; but here--this is better than water.
+
+[_The Soldier takes a flask from him._]
+
+_Troop._  I think thou saidst that the malignants
+were smitten.  Praised be the Lord!  Yet I would I
+had not seen my father's white hairs amid yon
+accursed red coats.  I parried a stroke from him that
+must have jarred the old man's arm.
+
+[_Falls back exhausted._]
+
+_Will._  An' this be not a lesson!  I have no father
+that is a malignant, and could therefore only undergo
+simple murder.  However, [_touching the hilt of his
+sword_] rest thou there! in Mercy's hallowed name--nay
+more, as rashness is animal, so a due timidity
+is soul, which is mind, and I have a great mind to
+run away, and mind being soul, I think I have a
+greater soul than Alexander.
+
+[_A loud discharge of cannon, L._]
+
+Now if it were not for that, this foolish brute, my
+body, might rush off in that direction, but it don't,
+for a great mind prevents it, therefore--
+
+[_Stage more dark.  He runs off in an opposite
+direction to the shot, R.  More wounded enter
+and fall down, U.E.L._]
+
+_Enter an Old Man in the King's uniform, of red coats, L._
+
+_Old Man._  I thought the day was ours.  The headlong Rupert
+Swept all before him, like the wind that bends
+The thin and unkind corn, his men were numb
+With slaying, and their chargers straddling, blown
+With undue speed, as they had hunted that
+Which could not turn again--e'en thus was Rupert,
+When round to meet his squadrons came a host
+Like whirlwind to the wind.
+There was a moment that the blood-surge roll'd
+Hither and thither, while you saw in the air
+Ten thousand bright blades, and as many eyes
+Of flame flashed terribly.  Then Rupert stay'd
+His hot hand in amazement,
+And all his blood-stain'd chivalry grew pale:
+The hunters, chang'd to quarry, fled amain,
+I saw the prince's jet-black, favourite barb
+Thrown on her haunches; then away, away,
+Her speed did bear him safe.  Then there came one,
+A grisly man, with head all bare and grey,
+That shouted, "Smite and scatter, spare not, ho!
+Ye chosen of the Lord!" and they did smite,
+As on the anvil; till the plumed helms
+Of all our best bent down.  Alas! alas!
+That I should see this day---
+
+[_Looks about and finds his son._]
+
+What's this, my son!
+Wounded? my disobedient child?
+I thought of him
+But now in charging, as I met a foe
+That beat my sword-arm down--had he been there
+I had not suffer'd--nay, what colours these?
+_Against_ the king?--he is my son; I'll bear
+Him off, and win him to his king and me.
+
+[_Takes him up, several cross the stage flying.
+Musketry from L. to R.  A shot strikes the
+Old Man, who falls.  Several officers and
+soldiers enter fighting with swords and firearms._]
+
+_CROMWELL enters pursuing, L. to R._
+
+_Crom._  Strike home! spare none!  The father with the son,
+That fights for tyranny.  [To a Trooper.]  Give me thy sword!
+Mine own is hack'd with slaying--
+Where is Rupert?
+The haughty Rupert now?--
+Where is this king,
+That tempts the God of battles?--Are they gone,
+That cost these precious lives?
+
+[_Here the sun breaks out in splendour and lights
+up the battle-ground behind._]
+
+"Let God arise,
+And let his enemies be scattered!"
+
+
+
+END OF ACT II.
+
+
+
+
+ACT III.
+
+SCENE, I.
+
+[_1st Grooves._]
+
+_An apartment in Cromwell's house._
+
+_Enter CROMWELL, ARTHUR, the LADY ELIZABETH, L._
+
+_Crom._  To have a home, that is no fitting home,
+Is worse than the sad orphan's part, who gathers
+His lean crumbs from the world's wide eager table,
+And pares the flint-stones borne in stranger breasts,
+To eke him out against the cruel winds--
+
+[_Crosses to his daughter._]
+
+Thou say'st she was thy playmate--
+Come, thou hast
+Mov'd the stern soldier to thy woman's will.
+Go, sir! [To Arthur.] and fetch this Florence from her roof.
+There should be no such scandal done in England,
+As the loud insult of a marriage forc'd
+Before God's altar.
+
+_Arth._  If they do oppose?
+
+_Crom._  Thy brother is a worker in my hands,
+Leave him to me; the old man loves his wealth
+Too well.  I say, go quickly, and return
+With speed direct--I'd have thee near me, [_Aside._] for
+Thy noble confidence that dares to speak
+The first-fruits of thy mind,--
+I have regard [_Aloud._]
+For thee, young man, see that you keep it warm
+As now--but mind, no swords, as ye are brothers--
+Not e'en reproach.--Sweet heart, when foolish mercy
+[_To his daughter._]
+Doth beg an idle tale from thy dear lips,
+Perchance thou'lt seek thy father--until then,
+All good be with thee!  [_Crosses to R._]
+Sir! I will direct [_To Arthur._]
+A present escort for you.
+
+[_Exit CROMWELL, R._]
+
+_Arth._   Lady! deem
+My heart coin'd into words to thank you nothing
+For payment of this service.
+
+_Eliz._  Sympathy
+Is just as often born of happiness,
+As bitter suffering of the world's contempt.
+Within the magic circle of a home,
+Happy and loved as mine is,
+The heart is touched with pity's gentle wand
+To do her lightest bidding--
+But in this,
+There is no kind emotion worth the name;
+For I would see my school-fellow and friend
+To talk old nothings, something still to us,
+And look beneath the lashes of her eyes,
+To learn her plaint against the selfish world,
+And read her trust in Heaven--
+Is she fair
+As childhood promised ?--[_Looking archly at Arthur._]
+Do you know, I think
+You love her more than cousinship demands?
+
+_Arth._  Nay! she is worthy of all love.
+
+_Eliz._  Well, well, sir!
+I shall know when I see you both together.
+
+_Exeunt ELIZABETH, R., ARTHUR, L._
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+[_1st Cut._]                             [_2nd Grooves._]
+
+_A Hall in a Manor House.--Discovered SIR SIMON,
+in an easy chair, supported by servants, BASIL and
+FLORENCE attending._
+
+_Sir Sim._  I am thy father.  Would'st kill me, girl?
+O dear!  I saw Master Stacker, the court physician
+that was, to-day.  [Coughs.]  Oh, I am very ill.
+
+_Flor._  Dear father! what said he?
+
+_Sir Sim._  That I have a disease of the heart.  Now
+I don't agree with him.  There he is mistaken.  Why
+I might die instantly with a disease of the heart.
+He is a clever man, but quite mistaken there.  You
+see, my heart never beats fast, but when I am
+agitated, and I was out of breath this morning with
+the stairs--O dear! [_Places his hand to his heart._]
+Thou dost agitate me, girl--but there is no disease
+here--no! no!  I am very ill--but I shall not die
+yet!
+
+_Flor._  Dear father! pray be careful.
+
+_Sir Sim._  Now, had he said 'twas asthma--'tis a
+long-lived complaint.  I have known very old men
+with asthma.  Our chirurgeon, Master Gilead Stubbs,
+said I was asthmatic, and we have been much together.
+Many a good flagon of claret have we drank, and
+should he not know my constitution?
+
+_Basil._  Uncle!
+
+_Sir Sim._  Yes, yes, I know.  [_To Florence._] Come,
+thou must marry him.  Curse on this physician.  I
+never felt so before.  [_Places his hand to his heart._]
+
+_Flor._  Oh, father; do not urge this suit!
+
+_Sir Sim._  Girl! I will leave thee nought if thou
+dost not--save my curse!
+
+_Flor._  No, no!
+
+_Sir Sim._  All my hopes----'Tis very odd.  Stop,
+stop! I have a pain here, here!  Wilt thou promise?
+
+_Basil._  Murderess!
+
+_Flor._  I will do all.  O God!
+
+_Enter ARTHUR, L._
+
+_Sir Sim._  Who is this?  'Tis their father!  I
+promised him that Arthur should wed my daughter.
+He is come to claim her, and see, he beckons me--
+
+[_Falls back and dies in the chair, servants bear him off, R._]
+
+_Basil._  Dead, dead!  I am frustrated.
+
+_Flor._  Oh, Arthur! look to my father.
+
+_Arth._  [_Returning and supporting her._]  Thou hast
+no father, Florence!  I have a home for thee, with
+one that's young and gentle like thyself.  [_She faints._]
+
+_Basil._  Mark, thou art my brother!  I swear [_Aside._]
+I will have vengeance!  At the moment too
+She yielded.  Beggar, thus to thwart me--Oh,
+If I dar'd, I could smite him, as he smiles
+On that unconscious, pretty piece of goods.
+
+[_Retires, L., surly, looking at ARTHUR.  Servants
+come in with BARBARA._]
+
+_Arth._  Take her unto her chamber 'till we leave.
+
+[_Servants take FLORENCE off, exeunt, R., all but BASIL._]
+
+_Enter WYCKOFF stealthily to BASIL, L._
+
+_Wyck._  As for your brother, in these troublesome
+times, as I said, it were less trouble to put him out of
+the way in a broil.  Colour it with the affectation of
+party spirit, and, as you are on both sides, in a
+manner, it matters not on which you disagree.  You
+might draw swords yourselves, and have me and one
+or two stout fellows near, who would rush in and stab
+him, as it were, to prevent mischief between you.
+
+_Basil._  I tell you, it will not do.  He is a favourite
+with Cromwell.  How often am I to tell you that I
+would not break with Noll.  There are secrets!  You
+see one does not know yet which side will prevail.
+
+_Wyck._  Well, I cannot help you.  If, now, it were
+to circumvent a woman, to betray a saucy piece of
+virtue--then I would go great lengths in deception;
+remind me that I tell thee a story will make thee
+laugh.  'Twas ere my trip to America.  I would
+have sold her to the plantations.  'Sblood, will not
+that do for him?--
+
+_Basil._  I tell there is better.
+
+_Wyck._  Doth he know that by your father's disposition
+of the property, his relinquishment of it in your
+favour is void!  I say, the old fellow knew thee well,
+eh?  [_Laughs._]
+
+_Basil._  Curse on thy ribald jests; keep them for the
+girls thou betrayest.  No, no, he knows nothing.
+
+_Wyck._  Let me tell thee of the girl.  She loved a
+mean fellow that was her father's apprentice, and
+perspired in good behaving.  A tremulous young
+man; with hissing red cheeks and a clump hand that
+looked through his fingers during evening prayers at
+the maid-servants, as they knelt; yet cried "Amen"
+with a reverence, and had the gift to find his own
+bedchamber afterward.  It was a mercy to pave her
+from him, for they had surely procreated fools.  Yet
+she liked not the sea, and one night she fell overboard
+in a calm, and the sharks had a white morsel.  She
+walked in her sleep.  I wish, though, she had left
+her ear-rings behind.
+
+_Basil._  Hush! hush!
+
+_Wyck._  Thus it is to be such a fellow as you.  You
+pretend to be so tender-hearted.  Well, I never wished
+to kill my brother.  If I had one I could love him,
+unless he were a damned scrupulous sinner, that
+makes faces at doing what he is always wishing.
+Why, hark you, with your peccadilloes, you resemble
+a monkey over a hot dish of roasted chestnuts; you
+keep grinning round with your mouth watering, till
+they get cold, before you taste.
+
+_Basil._  I tell thee that I hate him and fear him
+not.  Would that his blood might freeze upon my
+door-step on a December night!  If he were here
+now, I would stab him before thee.
+
+_Wyck._  Ay, in the back.
+
+_Basil._  But I have a plan that shall undo him most
+securely.  Come in here, and I will tell thee over a
+stoup of right claret.
+
+_Wyck._  Now you speak reason; for I am but a
+dry rogue, and am never fit for much early in the
+morning, without I sit up all night.  [_Exeunt, L._]
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+[_Last Cut._]                        [_2nd Grooves._]
+
+_A handsomely fitted Chamber in London.--A practicable
+window in F._
+
+_Enter ARTHUR WALTON, FLORENCE, the LADY ELIZABETH CROMWELL._
+
+_Eliz._  [_To Arthur._] Urge not your suit through me, when she is here.
+Give half Love's reasons that to me you gave,
+Why she should not be cruel, and I think
+You'll hardly find her so--[_To Florence._]
+Nay! be not scornful,
+You know I can betray you--[_Goes to the window._]
+
+_Flor._  Oh, be silent!
+
+_Arth._  Dear cousin, will you forth to walk?  The day
+Is fine.
+
+Eliz.  [_Running to the window._]  I do protest it has
+been raining long.
+
+_Arth._  To-morrow I must leave--
+
+_Flor._  To-morrow, really?
+Shall you be absent long?  Adieu, then, sir.
+
+[_Going._]
+
+_Arth._  Distraction!  I deserve not this unkindness.
+Florence, why spurn my love thus?--
+
+_Flor._  Nay, I think
+But just escaped one brother's persecution, 'tis
+Too bad another should annoy me.
+
+_Arth._  Pardon,
+Madam, my cousin; henceforth I'll not grieve you.
+
+[_Going._]
+
+_Flor._  Stay!
+
+_Arth._  [_Rushing to her._]  What is it?
+
+_Flor._  Nothing, but I think you promis'd
+To ride my horse; you know she is too gay;
+Nay, 'tis no matter if you have forgotten.
+It is no wonder, since you walked so long
+With those two foreign ladies yesterday:
+The youngest dresses somewhat out of taste
+To suit our English fancy.  Did you not
+The other evening speak of English dress
+As something prudish, not quite to your taste?
+Are you going far to-morrow?--
+
+_Arth._  They are not foreign,
+I do assure you; I have known them long,
+The daughters of my honour'd friend, John Milton.
+
+_Eliz._  [_Aside._] She knows it well as he does.
+
+_Flor._  No?  Indeed?
+
+_Arth._  [_Pointing to Elizabeth._]  Ask her.
+
+_Flor._  I am not curious, sir, to hear
+With whom you walk; but, if you mention them,
+Of course 'tis natural I speak of it--
+Elizabeth!
+Will you come here and answer him! he talks
+Of one old Milton's daughters, when I'd ask
+About the fashions.
+
+_Eliz._  [_With emotion, at the window._]  See, there goes another
+Doom'd to the block; the excellent Laud scarce cold
+Within his grave--
+It makes me heart-sick, girl!
+To live, when just men die, that love their king,
+And I, his daughter, _his_, that wills it so,
+And does not stir to save them--nay, approves,
+Condemns, and sanctions;
+O 'tis dreadful! dreadful!
+
+_Arth._  [_To FLORENCE._] Is she thus often!
+
+_Flor._  Ay, too often thus
+Of late she suffers.  [_Runs to her._]
+Dear Elizabeth!
+There, Walton, go!
+
+_Arth._  And may I hope?--
+
+_Flor._  Is this a time?
+Do you not see she is ill?--
+You will return,
+Ere long--go, call a servant!
+
+[_He looks at her, she waves her hand impatiently,
+he goes out.  Exit ARTHUR, L._]
+
+_Eliz._  [_Points to the window._] Is it gone?--
+He was quite young.  Think you my father sat
+In judgment on him?
+
+_Flor._  Know you not he is
+Now with the army?
+
+_Eliz._  True! true!
+
+[_Passes her hand over her brow._] It is o'er.
+Where is your cousin gone?
+
+_Flor._  Who?
+
+_Eliz._  Arthur Walton.
+
+_Flor._  Oh! he has left.
+
+_Eliz._  Your answer to him?
+
+_Flor._  None.
+
+_Eliz._  Out, flirt!  I found you weeping, and you told me
+You lov'd him--
+
+_Flor._  Did I?  I'd forgotten it.
+
+_Eliz._  Well, you will lose him thus.
+
+_Flor._  Then, he's not worth
+The keeping, in my thought.
+
+_Eliz._  You have done wrong.
+I know the business he is gone upon.
+You may not see him more--
+
+_Flor._  I don't believe it,
+Although he said it.
+
+_Eliz._  Girl! he hath to do
+A secret and most dangerous mission.
+
+_Flor._  What!
+In truth!--I'll call him back to speak to you.
+
+[_Runs to the window._]
+
+Ah! he has gallop'd off so fast without
+Once turning.  Ah! to danger--Oh, wretch! wretch!
+Fool that I am.  [_Weeps._]
+
+_Eliz._  [_To FLORENCE._] Poor child!
+You love him, then?
+
+_Flor._  Oh! yes, I love him all--
+All, for I am not vain.  There is no thought
+Dividing the wild worship of my soul.
+
+_Eliz._  And yet you spoke so carelessly, and trifled
+With this the noblest and the best oblation,
+A woman--but a poor divinity,
+I fear at best, my Florence!--may receive,
+The heart of a true gentleman.  I mean
+No creature of dull circumstance, himself
+A mean incumbrance on his own great wealth.
+How oft before their lovers women try
+To seem what they are not--if true their hearts,
+As thine is, apes not more fantastic show--
+If mean and paltry, frankness is the flag
+'Neath which they trim their pirate, little bark
+To capture their rich prize--
+
+_Flor._  Enough! enough!
+I know it all, I cannot help it, if
+He were here now, I could not choose but do it.
+I have a head-ache.  I must weep alone.
+I pray you to excuse me for an hour.
+
+[_She goes out, R.S.E._]
+
+_Eliz._  Poor girl! how needless is the pain she gives
+Two true and faithful hearts--and I myself,
+That never had the chance to love, or heart
+To give away, yet seem to know so well
+What it must be.--Oh, were I Florence now,
+Could I have dealt so harshly with him?--No!
+Why, one would think I lov'd him.  She said so
+But yesterday.  Indeed I love them both--
+Him for his love of her.  Elizabeth!
+Why burns thy cheek thus?--Yet a transient thought
+Might stain the wanderings of a seraph's dream,
+And thou art mortal woman.  Oh, beware!
+Dwell not on "might have," "could;" since "cannot be"
+Points from thy past to thy futurity.  [_Exit, L._]
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+[_4th Grooves._]
+
+_A rustic Garden, with an Arbour in F.  A Table, on
+which are Books, Papers, &c._
+
+_Enter ARTHUR, U.E.R._
+
+_Arth._  She's soul-less like the rest, and I am but
+A tame romantic fool to worship her--
+I will not see her more, and thus the faults
+Which, from her beauty, seem'd like others' charms,
+Shall give her semblance of a Gorgon--
+No!
+Rather her beauty will so soften down
+In sweet forgetfulness of all beside,
+That growing frenzied at the loss I find
+E'en shipwreck'd hope were better than despair.
+Here comes my friend.
+
+_Enter MILTON slowly, L._
+
+_Arth._ Good even, Master Milton.
+
+_Mil._  Ha! is it thou? my poor eyes are grown dim,
+Methinks, with ever gazing back upon
+The glorious deeds of ages long flown by.
+Welcome, dear friend--most welcome to these arms.
+Nay! it is kind to seek me thus--
+Thine eyes
+Are bright still; yet thy cheek is furrow'd more
+Than should be; thou'rt not happy--Nay, I know,
+Like all true hearts that beat in English breasts,
+Thine must be most unhappy in these times--
+
+_Arth._  I am so--
+
+_Mil._  Thou hast fought well.  I have heard it--
+
+_Arth._  From Cromwell?
+
+_Mil._  Yes, from him--
+
+_Arth._  It is of him
+That I would speak, as well as of this cause
+That we call Freedom.
+I have doubts of all
+That urge this cruel war--Where is the end?
+I fight against a tyrant, not a king
+To set a tyrant up, or what is worse,
+A hundred tyrants.  Think you it may be
+A struggle for the power they feign to hate!
+
+_Mil._  What have you seen to make you think so!
+
+_Arth._  Much!
+The spirit of a demon host that strives
+Each for himself against the common good,
+Rather than that true patriot zeal of Rome
+We us'd to read of--hatred, jealousy,
+With the black ferment of the hungry mob
+To gain by loss of others; and the aim
+Of one man, more than all, seems set upon
+An elevation high, as Hell is deep;
+For such, if gain'd, the fit comparison.
+
+_Mil._  The common error of a generous mind,
+To do no good, and shrink within itself,
+Sick of the jostling of the wolfish throng.
+Your cause is just; though devils fight for it,
+Heaven with its sworded angels doth enlist them:
+So works a wise and wondrous Providence.
+
+_Arth._  Tell me, what think you then of Cromwell?
+Is he
+Ambitious, cruel, eager, cunning, false,
+Slave to himself and master sole of others?
+Is his religion but as puppet-wires,
+To set a hideous idol up of self,
+Like some fierce God of Ind?  Or is he but
+A fiery pillar leading the sure way--
+Arriv'd, content to die by his own light,
+As others lived upon his burning truth,
+And struggled to him from surrounding darkness?
+
+_Mil._  There is much good in him, yet not all good;
+And yet believe the cause he seeks divine.
+Listen! this is the worst 'twere possible
+To speak of him.  He is a man,
+Whom Heaven hath chosen for an instrument,
+Yet not so sanctified, to such high use,
+That all the evil factions of the heart,
+Ambition, worldly pride, suspicion, wrath,
+Are dead within him--and thus, mark you how
+Wisdom doth shine in this, more than if pure,
+With unavailing; excellent tears and woe,
+He pray'd afar in dim and grottoed haunt
+To quench the kingdom's foul iniquities--
+An interceding angel had not done it
+So well as this fierce superstitious man.
+
+_Arth._  But if the king be prisoner and were slain?
+
+_Mil._  I trust not that; yet kings are not divine--
+
+_Arth._  Nor churches, temples, still ye would not rend
+The altar vow'd to Heaven.
+
+_Mil._  No, but purge
+The living fire upon it, when the name
+Is brutish and discolour'd.--When kings fail,
+Let's bastardize the craven to his breed,
+And hurl him recreant down!
+
+_Arth._  But not destroy--
+
+_Mil._  'Twould heal the sight of millions yet unborn.
+
+_Arth._  In this I am not with you; yet I grant
+So far 'tis well.  I trust a different end.
+The king, that hath much noble feeling in him,
+Will yield; and then we will give back again
+His just prerogative--
+
+_Mil._  It may be so.
+Where is the high-soul'd Stratford?--The same weakness
+That yielded there is obstinacy now,
+To the last drop of the pride-tainted blood
+That through the melancholy Stuart's veins
+Doth creep and curdle--
+
+_Arth._  You do make me sad--
+
+_Mil._  Nay, there is sadness in the noble task
+Appointed us.  An hour past came Cromwell here
+As full of sorrow for the king; as thou--
+Hating the sour and surly Presbyter
+And bitter wrath of the fierce Parliament.
+He parted from me in an angry mood
+Because I coldly met his warm desire
+That Charles might reign again--
+
+_Arth._  Indeed!  Is't so?
+
+_Enter a Servant to MILTON, R._
+
+_Serv._  There is a messenger would see you, sir!
+
+_Mil._  I will be back anon, pray rest awhile.
+
+[_Goes out, R.  Servant follows MILTON._]
+
+_Arth._  He should be right, that is so wise and good,
+Living like some angelic visitant,
+Dismay'd not from his purpose and great aim
+By all the fierce and angry discord round.
+So one in sober mood and pale high thought
+Stands in a door-way, whence he sees within
+The riot warm of wassailing, and hears
+All the dwarf Babel of their common talk,
+As each small drunken mind floats to the top
+And general surface of the senseless din;
+Whilst every tuneless knave doth rend the soul
+Of harmony, the more he hath refus'd
+To sing; ere Bacchus set him by the ears
+With common sense, his dull and morning guide;
+And stutterers speak fast, and quick men stutter,
+And gleams of fitful mirth shine on the brow
+Of moody souls, and careless gay men look
+Fierce melodrama on their friends around;
+While talk obscene and loyalty mark all;
+Then good or bad emotions meet the eye,
+Like a mosaic floor, whose black and white
+Glistens more keenly, moisten'd by the stain
+Of liquor widely spilt.
+
+_Re-enter Servant, R._
+
+_Serv._  Sir! will you enter?
+'Tis Master Andrew Marvel that is here.
+
+[_Exeunt, R._]
+
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+[_1st Cut._]                 [_3rd Grooves._]
+
+_A Room in GURTON'S Alehouse.  Night._
+
+_Enter WILLIAM, with a letter in his hand, S.E.R._
+
+_Will._  So now, a letter from my Master to his
+cousin, and then, of course, an answer to that.  I had
+need go get myself fitted like Mercury, with wings
+at his heels.  To be the lacquey of a man that hath
+quarrelled with his mistress!  And to know the final
+issue all the time, that it is sure to be made up
+between them.  And to hear him mutter "the last,"
+between his teeth, while sealing it.  He was to have
+journeyed this evening, too, but the General Cromwell,
+with a face very red and perturbed, and a nose
+as it were of lava; his wart being ignited like the
+pimple of a salamander, hath been desiring to see
+him instantly.  There is something going to happen
+among them.  Well, in these confused days,
+Since I'm of those that have got nought to lose,
+Perchance I may step in some richer shoes!
+
+[_Exit, L._]
+
+_Enter the HOST, partly undressed, in his sleep,
+with a candle in his hand.  He walks carefully
+about the Room, and then exit, U.E.R.
+On the other side, as he goes out, enter
+WYCKOFF and BASIL, S.E.L._
+
+_Basil._  I thought I heard a noise.
+
+_Wyck._  'Tis an old house, and probably there is a
+Parliament of grey rats busy.  I mind well aboard
+ship, as I did once visit the hold, where we had store
+of ingots and bales of wealthy goods, I saw them
+sitting.  I ordered the long boat to be cast loose and
+got ready, but said nothing, except to a few; for I
+knew something would happen; and sure enough in
+three days was a leak--whew! I hear the bubbling
+of the water now in my head--here I am, you see----
+
+_Basil._  And the rest?--
+
+_Wyck._  Are there! [_Points downwards._]
+In the long-boat we found a very old rat; a tough
+morsel; but we ate him, and drank sea-water.  We
+were forced to throw the gold overboard!  [_Looks
+around._] Is there nothing we can get to swig now?--
+
+_Basil._  They are all abed.
+
+_Wyck._  I hate the sound of snoring, when I am
+about at night.  It puts one in mind of groans.  Shall
+I rouse the host?--
+
+_Basil._  No! no! to business--first to hide these papers.
+
+_Wyck._  Ay! and about thy brother.
+
+_Basil._  You see these letters addressed to me
+in his name by Sir Marmaduke Langdale, touching
+the rising in the North, I will place them under yon
+plank in the floor.  'Tis already loosened.  Then,
+when he is accused to Cromwell, who hath strong
+doubts of him--I have seen to that; besides, I know
+him, he doth fear for the king, and will incense them
+all--I will have them found, and then--
+
+_Wyck._  Why thou art Satan's trump-card!  Mind
+I have been thy faithful tool, thy messenger, and
+love thee--thou mayest as well sign me the paper
+thou didst speak of--five hundred a year--I will then
+eschew dice and go live virtuously with a woman and
+repent my youthful misdeeds.  I am not like thee, to
+sin when I have plenty.
+
+_Basil._  Yes! yes! but come, assist--[_They lift up a
+plank, U.E.L., in the floor, and deposit papers; as
+they do so, enter HOST, still asleep, U.E.R.  He goes
+to a cup-board, which he opens, and then pouring out
+a glass of spirits--drinks, and gives a kind of satisfied
+grunt._] Hold! we are seen.  [_Draws a dagger._]
+
+_Wyck._  [_Springing up._] The devil! where is my
+knife?--Hist!  Do you not see?--he sleeps.  I have
+seen this before.  Did I not tell you of the girl?--I
+have heard them teaze him about this.  [_To Basil._]  Be
+quiet, fool! [_They watch the HOST; he takes a pitcher of
+water and pours into the flask he had been drinking
+from._]  The damned old thief!  I could have sworn
+it yesterday.  He waters his strong drink.  That's
+why I have not been so well here.  I have a cursed
+cholic these three days, and missed the warm nip it
+should give my stomach.  The poisonous old dog!
+
+_Basil._  Are you sure?
+
+_Wyck._  Look at his eyes.  You shall see me flourish
+my blade before them, and he shall not wink.  But
+don't touch him.  [_He goes up to him and menaces
+him._] 'Tis all safe; he will go now.  [_The HOST
+replaces the things, and goes slowly out, U.E.R.  The
+clock strikes twelve._] Come, let us see where he puts
+his keys.  [_They steal out after him._]
+
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+[_Last Grooves._]
+
+_A large apartment dimly lighted.  Tables with
+writing materials.  A practicable door and stairs in
+L.F., practicable doors, R. and L.U.E.'S, chairs, &c._
+
+_CROMWELL enters, R., very much agitated, followed by
+his daughter ELIZABETH.  After pacing across and
+back, he stops short in the middle of the stage and
+speaks._
+
+_Crom._  Have I not promis'd thee that I will save him,
+If he will save himself?  [_To his daughter._]
+
+_Eliz._  Thou hast, dear father.
+And then, with blessings on thy righteous name,
+Rejecting all they offer thee, vain titles,
+And selfish, mean, dishonourable honours,
+Thou wilt return unto our natural home
+At Huntingdon, and I will read to thee,
+As I was wont.  Thy hair then will not whiten
+So fast, and sometimes thou wilt have a smile
+Upon thy countenance, that grows so stern
+Of late, I hardly dare look up to thee,
+And call thee "dearest father"--
+Shall it be?
+Did the king speak thee fair?
+
+_Crom._  [_Gloomily._]  Too fair, too fair!
+E'en to be honest fair.  Our good John Milton
+Speaks bitter words.  He saith Lord Strafford grac'd
+Right well the block, that put his trust in him.
+What saith the Scripture of the faith of princes?
+
+_Eliz._  'Twas not the fault of Charles that Strafford died.
+
+_Crom._  It was his fault to sign--
+He should have died
+Himself first.  Daughter! urge me not--I'll do
+What the Lord wills in this.  Go! mind the household,
+Thou little Royalist.
+
+_Eliz._  Nay! father, hear me--
+
+_Crom._  Away, puss!  Where are Richard and thy husband?
+
+_Eliz._  I will not leave thee, 'till thou promisest--
+
+_Crom._  As the Lord liveth, is it not enough
+To struggle with a royal hypocrite,
+To keep his feet from falling, 'mid dissension,
+On all sides, worse than chaos, liker hell!
+To be thus baited, by one's own pale household,
+Prating of what they may not understand?
+Thy brother Richard with his heavy step,
+Ploughing his way from book-cas'd room to room,
+With eye as dull as huckster's three-day's fish,
+And just as silent; then thy mother with
+Her tearful and beseeching look, that moves
+Like a green widow in a mourning trance,
+The very picture of "God help us all;"
+And thou, with sickly whining worse than they,
+Do ye think I shall do murder?
+Why not go
+At once unto the foe, and there be spurn'd
+By Henrietta, that false Delilah?--
+Or plot my death for loyalty?  What is
+A father in your minds weigh'd with a king?
+Yet what is "king" to you? ye were not bred
+To lick his moral sores in ecstasy,
+And bay like hounds before the royal gate
+On all the world beside--Go hence! go hence!
+I would be left alone--
+
+_Eliz._  O father, hold!
+And pardon me for my distracted thought.
+Thou knowest best, and I am wrong indeed:
+I did but pine to see thee more with us,
+To see thee happier--
+
+_Crom._  My child, my child!
+Mercy shall look with eyes like thine on me
+Though justice frown beside.  [_Takes her hand._]
+Look up, my child!
+Ask what thou wilt except our country's shame.
+
+[_Cromwell hands Elizabeth off, R., and remains
+looking after her._]
+
+_Enter, R.D.U.E., MILTON, IRETON, BRADSHAW, MARTEN,
+HARRISON (who brings a saddle and places it upon
+the table), LILBURNE, ARTHUR WALTON, LUDLOW.
+Enter, L., Sir HARRY VANE, HACKER, same time._
+
+_Brad._  [_A letter in his hand.  To VANE and
+HACKER, who have just entered._] So, gentlemen--Had
+you been here just now, you would have heard
+at length, this precious information, which our worthy
+General Cromwell, and Ireton here, have laid before
+us.  A letter to the Queen, and secret intercourse
+with France--a rare betrayal, and richly worded too.
+'Tis well we have friends at court, ere now it had
+been at Dover.
+
+_Vane._  I thought he did stand pledged to all we ask'd.
+
+_Har._  The royal Judas! [_Cromwell comes forward._]
+
+_Crom._  O sirs! It is but
+A king's prerogative to break his faith.
+We are not fitting judges of this thing.
+
+_Har._  But we will judge.  I say, whose dogs are we!
+
+_Crom._  Peace, Harrison.  Thou naughty traitor!
+Peace.
+
+_Ireton._  Away with all, save vengeance on the deed.
+
+_Brad._  [_After placing the letter in the saddle._]
+There! in that greasy, patch'd and reeking leather,
+Lies a king's royal word, a Stuart's honour,
+The faith of Charles, his most majestic pledge
+Broken, defil'd, dishonour'd evermore.
+
+_Har._  Why cry ye not, "God save our righteous King"?
+
+_Crom._  Through me, he did proclaim, he would accept
+Our army's terms.  Alas! had we been cozen'd,
+I, that believed his false tongue, had betray'd
+The hope of Israel---
+
+_Vane._  It is true, indeed,
+He is the slave of his pernicious Queen.
+
+_Mar._  I say the King of England henceforth is
+An alien in blood, a bitter traitor--
+What doth he merit of us?
+
+_Ireton._  This!  'Tis right
+That one man die for all, and that the nation
+For one man perish not--
+
+_Crom._  Ho! what? son Ireton.
+
+_Vane._  Alas! indeed he merits not to live.
+
+_Brad._  What say ye?
+
+_Ireton._  Death!
+
+_Mar.  Har.  Lilb.  Lud.  Hacker._  [_Severally._] Death!
+Death!
+
+_Brad._  I think, Sir Harry,
+You said, "not live," the others all say, "Death,"
+Why then we are agreed--
+Stay!  General Cromwell,
+There was no word from you--
+
+_Crom._  I thought to save
+My breath; ye were so eager.
+
+_Arth._  Hold, a moment.
+I do desire your ears--
+
+_Crom._  Our _ears_?  Your _years_
+Should teach you silence, sir! before your elders,
+Till they have said--
+We would hear Master Milton:
+He hath to speak.  [_To Milton._]
+What think you of the man,
+The king, that arm'd the red, apostate herd
+In Ireland against our English throats?
+Was it well done; deserves it that we crouch?
+
+_Mil._  Oh, it was base, degrading and unhappy,
+To make God's different worship, damning means
+Of an unholy war between his people;
+To be the beggar of his people's blood,
+To set that crown upon his false, weak brow,
+His pale, insolvent, moat dishonour'd brow,
+From which, too wide, it slipp'd into the mire,
+To fit him ne'er again.--
+
+_Crom._  A right good figure!
+Who'll pluck the crown from out this royal mire?
+
+_Mar._  They say his queen, our foreign, English queen,
+Doth ofttimes antler him; perchance 'tis reason
+Why his crown fits him not.
+
+_Mil._  Oh, it was base
+To use such means to gain such selfish end!
+So I have heard,
+There _have_ been men, in such a hapless clime,
+As this poor Ireland, unctuous, wordy men,
+With slug-like skins, and smiling, cheerful faces,
+That, with their pamper'd families, grew fat,
+By bleeding Famine's well-nigh bloodless frame;
+Lessening the pauper's bitter, scanty bread,
+Season'd with salt tears; shredding finer still
+The blanket huddled to the stone-cold heart
+Of the wild, bigot, ghastly, dying wretch.--
+Thus, for a devilish and unnatural gain,
+Mowing the lean grass of a Golgotha!
+Sitting, like grinning Death, to clutch the toll
+Tortur'd from poverty, disease and crime;
+And this with Liberty upon their lips,
+Bland words, and specious, vulgar eloquence,
+And large oaths, with the tongue thrust in the cheek,
+And promises, as if they were as gods,
+And no God held the forked bolt above!
+Turning all ignorance, disaffection, hatred,
+Religion, and the peasant's moody want,
+To glut themselves with hard-wrung copper coins,
+Verjuic'd with hot tears, thin and watery blood;
+Brazening the conscious lie unto the world
+That it was done for hallowing Freedom's sake,
+Until the names of "Freedom," "Patriot," stank,
+Blown on and poison'd by these beggar lips;
+That men had need to coin fresh words to mean
+The holy things with stale use so defil'd.
+
+_Arth._  But Charles hath not done _this_!  Our poet friend,
+Full of the knowledge of all times, hath painted
+A picture all in vain.
+
+_Vane._  But he hath done
+A mischief similar--I see the point--
+Hath he not arm'd the bigot, ghastly wretch,
+To stab our English lives? hath he not sown
+A crop of wild sedition, discord, hate,
+Using the vain creed of the rabble herd
+To wage this war against us?
+
+_Ire._  Hath he not
+Tamper'd with France, our curst fantastic foe,
+And natural enemy?
+
+_Brad._  Did he not first
+Unfurl his bloody standard to the winds
+At Nottingham, since when peace hath not smil'd
+On all this tortur'd land?
+
+_Har._  And are we not,
+The servants of the Lord, betray'd, despis'd,
+Insulted, wrong'd, by this false Ahab?--Come,
+Let him stand forth before his peers--the people,
+And die the death!--
+Cromwell, what sayest thou?
+Why dost _thou_ lack speech?
+
+_Crom._  I am mute to think
+Of what ye all say--words--ye dare not do it--
+I say ye dare not, though ye were to die
+Not doing, what your gross and eager speech
+Makes easier than to cough, or spit, or cry
+"God save the King;"--but ere your thought hath fled
+A rood, a yard into the empty air,
+Dissolv'd is your high counsel, and Dismay
+Whips all the noble blood that fir'd your cheeks
+To the pale mantle of a creamy fear.
+Fie! fie! ye dare not do it--nay, son Ireton,
+What, Harrison so boisterous? keep your frowns
+To look upon his trial, since 'tis so--
+
+[_Pointing to IRETON._]
+
+Now hath he not a traitorous brow like his,
+Perchance, that did stab Caesar? those were days
+When men did e'en as much as they dar'd hint at.
+
+_Har._  I said not _stab_, but bring him to the block:
+Let God's eye be upon the multitude,
+Theirs on the scaffold, the attesting sun
+Shine on the bare axe and th' uncover'd head.
+It is no coward act, lest he might sin;
+For he hath sinn'd, until our very dreams
+Bid England's tyrant die.
+
+_Arth._  Oh, hear me yet:
+I had not join'd you, save I thought he sinn'd;
+I had not counselled, fought with you like brothers,
+But that I deem'd your cause was just, and honour'd
+Of good men and of God--I had not given
+My childish prejudice and old belief
+To carry arms against my country's king,
+But for the sake of mercy and of justice,
+And here I take my stand.
+
+_Crom._  Why then stand there, till we come back again.
+'Tis time to part--Come, Ludlow!
+
+_Arth._  Hath he not
+Virtues that might rebuke us all?--ay, virtues
+More excellent in him than all his subjects, since
+All Sin doth aim at Kings, to be her own.
+'Tis hard for princes to outshine in worth
+The meanest wretch that from his road-side hovel
+Shouts forth with hungry voice, "Long live the King!"
+
+_Crom._  O wise and excellent argument, that
+There should be no more kings.
+Why spoil a man
+That hath a soul, a precious soul, to lose,
+To make a king that cannot help but sin?
+Let there be no more kings.
+
+_Arth._  Then kill not Charles,
+For Charles the Second, reigns in England then.
+
+_Crom._  Hum, perchance--
+
+_Arth._  _He_ hath done us no offence,
+Ye would not slay him, if ye had him here.
+I tell ye, banish Charles, this present man,
+And none shall question, whilst his feeble race
+And name shall dwindle hence, as shall arise
+The fair proportions of our Commonwealth
+On the decay of kings, not on the death
+Of one weak monarch.--
+What! doth any here
+Wish that himself be king?
+
+_Crom._  He raves!
+
+_Vane._  Nay! listen!
+He hath much reason.
+
+_Crom._  [_Throws a cushion at Ludlow._] Ho! there regicide!
+Have at thee!  [_Confusion._]
+
+_Arth._  [ Vainly attempts to speak.] Gentlemen, I say then--Hear!
+
+[_MILTON and others commence leaving.  LUDLOW
+pursues CROMWELL, who finally runs down
+stairs, pursued by the former._]
+
+_Arth._  [_To Milton._] Nay! nay! my friend.
+
+_Milt._  Another time.
+This is not seemly.
+
+_Har._  Surely, doth the Lord
+Need us elsewhere.  Who holdeth forth below?
+
+[_They all go but Arthur._]
+
+_Re-enter CROMWELL from the stairs._
+
+_Crom._  I do protest that I am out of breath--
+Yet I commend thy reasoning.
+
+_Arth._  But, my Lord.--
+
+_Crom._  That rascal, Ludlow!
+
+_Arth._  Will the trial be?
+
+_Crom._  'Twould justify us much.
+
+_Arth._  But if he die--
+
+_Crom._  [_In a hurried tone and walking off._]
+It is not thy affair, or mine--Why now--
+Let's talk anon, I'm tir'd.  Hast thou seen
+My daughter Frances?--fares she well to-day?
+Give me thine arm--I do admire thy reasons.
+You see, these angry fanatics boil over;
+'Twill simmer down anon--The king must live.
+And yet he hath done much--wrought evil work,
+And so--
+
+[_Exeunt.  CROMWELL leaning on his arm and talking rapidly._]
+
+
+END OF ACT III.
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV
+
+SCENE I.
+
+[_2nd Grooves._]
+
+_GURTON'S Ale House._
+
+_Host and Guests._
+
+_Host._  So they say the king is to die.  Well, his
+head hath swung at my door many a year, and I
+cannot say but that there was custom.  Good day to
+you, Master Gilead Stubbs, you have a good mile to
+walk.  Shall the boy go with you?
+
+_Mast. Stubbs._  Nay! nay!  I thank you, I will
+with Master Jesson here.  You have lost the Captain.
+Where is he?--
+
+_Host._  What, that Wyckoff?  Gone, and his score
+left unpaid.  Moreover, I think 'twas he that hid
+my keys.
+
+_A Guest._  Ah! how was it?
+
+_Host._  I have never lost them before.  It was in
+my secret place, and yon Wyckoff had to do with it.
+He was drunk the morning I missed them without
+being served.  I am glad he is gone.
+
+_Guests._  Good day, Master Newborn, good day.
+
+_Host._  The Lord be with ye; [_Exeunt Guests._] and
+make sound vessels of ye! [_Aside._] for the holding of
+good liquor.  This is the best company I have had for
+long.  How restless I feel.  I cannot help thinking of
+my dream, that Wyckoff and the other would have
+slain me, and 'twas in this very room.  Let me see, I
+dreamt too they hid something--this plank seems
+loose.  I could fancy now this were the fag-end of my
+dream--[_Lifts the Plank._] What is here?--As I live,
+my keys, and a bundle of papers.-- [_Reads._] "To
+Master Arthur Walton?"  Why, he hath not been here,
+for long.  If now it 'twere Basil his brother and the
+Captain had left them here--from Sir Marmaduke
+Langdale too.  Here is something wrong.  I feel
+choked.  Let me put them back.  Why now, I could
+swear I had seen them placed there.  It is very odd.
+And to think of my keys too.  I could fancy they
+were only skeletons.  Yet I know their jingle well.
+I'll to my brewer now, and, as there is no one here, I
+say [_looks round_] God keep the poor king's head on
+his shoulders, and may it be long ere he die on his
+bier!  [_Exit, R._]
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+[_1st Cut._]                             [_3rd Grooves._]
+
+_An Apartment in Hampton Court.  The LADY ELIZABETH
+reading.  In an inner chamber are ARTHUR and FLORENCE.
+Practicable door 2nd E.R._
+
+[_ARTHUR is heard singing to a lute in the adjoining chamber._]
+
+SONG
+
+ When thy lover, dear, is nigh thee,
+   Look not on the world around,
+ In his eyes be thy blue vision,
+   In his eyes thy vision bound--
+ For thou'lt find all Heaven, I swear,
+ By thy gaze reflected there!
+
+ In thy ripe lips is his summer,
+   Autumn in thy braided hair;
+ Jealous is he of spring's snow-drops
+   Stolen from thy neck's warm care;
+ But the winter of his mind
+ Is when thou, love, art unkind:
+ In thee rounded, thus, his year,
+ Joy, doubt, sweet content, and fear.
+
+_Eliz._  [_Throwing down the book._] The black print
+seems all red--I cannot read!
+
+[_Points to the inner room._]
+
+Mine eyes burn so--And they are happy there
+Together--'twas my work--and now I wish
+That seas convuls'd by tempests were between them;
+And an eternal veil of blackness girded
+The one from the other--each in separate light,
+But still apart! apart!  O horror, why
+Doth their communion cast such hopeless gloom
+Upon me, more than all a father's guilt,
+A sovereign's woe?--O daughter of a traitor!
+Traitoress!  Thou lovest him thy friend doth love,
+And--he loves her! ay, that is it, he loves her.
+
+[_Laughs hysterically._]
+
+I am a wedded wife.  There is no stain
+Of guilty wish.  I ne'er thought to be his:
+No! no! False wretch, thou dost this moment.  Hold,
+'Tis past!
+Oh! would that I were far remov'd,
+Not seeing, hearing, knowing all their lore,
+Not feeling their young blest affection jar
+Through every fibre--thus!
+This is the day
+The king's fate is decided--If he die
+Arthur will hate us, hate my father, me,
+The regicide's pale daughter--thus to think
+Of the king's life! that was my only prayer
+Before; and now it fades on my cold lips,
+And startles me to hear it!   [_MUSIC is heard within._]
+O my heart!
+It seems as though a thousand daggers' points
+Would not suffice to stab it, so it might
+Feel some release--  [_Falls on her knees._]
+My God! forsake me not!
+
+_As the music ends, enter the LADY CROMWELL; she
+approaches her daughter, and, bending over her,
+lifts her up._
+
+_Lady Crom._  What is it, child?--I have now heard from Fairfax:
+He saith it will not be--Thy father is
+But stern unto the last--
+He'll pray to God
+And God will aid him--
+
+_Eliz._  But _His_ judgments, mother!
+Are awful.  Did not Christ condemn the mind
+That is polluted with a guilty thought,
+As if 'twere done?
+
+_Lady Crom._  This weary thought of hers
+About the  king hath turn'd her brain.
+Dear daughter,
+Rouse thee, he will not die!
+
+_Enter a Messenger, others of the family, the LADY
+FAIRFAX in deep mourning._
+
+_Lady Fairf._  The king is sentenced.
+Death!   [_Bell tolls._]
+
+_ELIZABETH, raising herself, falls back into her
+Mother's arms with a sudden scream.  They
+carry her back._
+
+_Enter ARTHUR and FLORENCE._
+
+_Arth._  Then, madam, let us part--'tis better.
+
+_Flor._  Yes,
+I think so, sir.
+
+_Arth._  I cannot brook this treatment--
+
+_Flor._  I do not wish you--
+
+_Arth._  Heartless!
+
+_Flor._  Certainly,
+A heart is troublesome; it oft makes fools
+Of those that own it--
+I should hate a man
+Made me ridiculous.
+
+_Arth._  Farewell!
+
+_Flor._  Farewell!
+
+[_FLORENCE runs to the LADY ELIZABETH._]
+
+_Arth._  [_Joining the group._]  What is the matter?
+
+_One of the Domestics._  Sir, the king is sentenc'd
+To death; it is too much for her--
+
+_Arth._  Alas!
+Is it even so?--
+
+_Flor._  [_To Arthur._] Arthur! here, lend your aid
+To bear her hence--Elizabeth!  'Tis Florence--
+
+[_He attempts to raise her._]
+
+_Eliz._  I tell you I can stand--
+His arm?  [_Aside._]
+Away! [_Aloud._]
+Sir, do not touch me, you ill-treat my friend!
+
+_Flor._  To think she heard, my folly--
+Sir, I fancy [_To Arthur._]
+She will be better, if you are not here--
+
+[_He bows and is about to retire._]
+
+_Enter CROMWELL and PEARSON followed by two or
+three officers._
+
+_Crom._  Where be ye all?--
+[_To an Officer._] These to your Colonel Pride--
+[_Exit officer, L._]
+And thou to Rich; tell him to watch and fast,
+[_To another._]
+For I have need of him--[_Exit officer, L._]
+What coil is this?--[_To his Family._]
+My daughter ill! send a physician, quick:
+Pearson, look to it--
+I am ill myself.
+'Twas a sore trial, ye have heard of it--
+The man must die--
+
+_Eliz._  No! father, as you hope
+For mercy, no!
+
+_Crom._  Peace, simpleton.  It was
+The voice of all this people.
+
+_Arth._  General, hear me:
+Thou hadst the power to save--
+
+_Crom._  Ay!  Master Walton,
+Thou thinkest so?--
+
+_Arth._  I do!--
+
+_Crom._  And dar'st to speak it?
+
+_Arth._  Dare! General Cromwell!  [_Takes off his sword._]
+Here, look, is my sword,
+I'll never more bear arms with thee or thine.
+
+_Crom._  I do protest thou wilt not--
+Take his sword; [_To an Officer._]
+I did not think to find this kite so tame.
+Good, honest Master Walton, tell me now
+What news from Langley, virtuous Master Walton?
+Nay, never look with that blank wonderment,
+Friend Arthur Walton--
+[_ARTH. attempts to speak._] Tush, sir, not a word--
+As the Lord liveth, thou shalt die the death--
+Take him away.  I hate his open brow
+More than a dozen dark-fac'd royalists
+In arms against us.
+
+_Arth._  What doth this mean?--
+Frenzy
+Hath surely seized him--
+
+_Crom._  No! the sense
+To know thee, hypocrite!
+
+_Flor._  O Arthur! Arthur!
+What has he done?  [_Rushes to his arms._]
+Forgive me, dearest Arthur!
+Sir, he's not guilty--  [_To Cromwell._]
+
+_Crom._  Silence, woman! Take him
+Away!
+
+_Eliz._  My veins thrill!  Parted?--No!  No!  No!
+Perish the mean thought--
+Let me aid them, though
+I die; then o'er my quiet grave, my thought
+Doth sculpture them in prayer--
+[_To Cromwell._]  He is innocent,
+My father!  Let him go--Do you not see
+They love each other?--
+
+_Crom._  Art thou not ashamed?
+Thou wanton girl!
+
+_Arth._  My Florence!  I am happy
+Since thou dost love me.  I know nought of that
+With which he charges me--
+
+_Flor._  I know thou dost not:
+Thou shalt not die!
+O man of blood, beware! [_To Cromwell._]
+If thou'rt deceived, repentance comes too late.
+Is that a traitor's look!  Thou canst not quell it
+Back'd by an army.
+Thou hast bitter moments
+E'en now.  The king--
+
+_Crom._  I'll hear no more--remove him.  [_A pause._]
+Yet I will give three days, if in that time
+Ye prove him innocent, 'tis well--If not,
+He dies the death!
+
+[_ARTHUR is seized; ELIZABETH clings to her
+Father, who looks on her with an expression
+of anger, which gradually softens into
+affection.  Exeunt, on the one side, ARTHUR, L. with
+his Guards, on the other, CROMWELL, with his
+Family, &c., R._]
+
+_Enter WILLIAM and HOST, U.E.R._
+
+_Will._  Come on, I tell thee they are all gone.  Have
+I not liberty here?
+
+_Host._  Hem!  Did'st thou notice how that young imp
+of a page flouted thee, when thou did'st civilly inquire
+the hour of the day?  Thou wert welcome as a wet
+Sunday to his new feather.  I doubt whether I
+myself will continue to know thee.
+
+_Will._  Is there no way to save him?  If now it
+were the marriage of his heart something might
+occur; but I never yet heard of an accident on the
+road to a gallows.
+
+_Host._  Cheer up! cheer up! we must all die, young
+and old.  I have had my trials.  In these wars I have
+known very estimable men die that owed me money.
+There is your true trial now.
+
+_Will._  If he had been slain on the right side, and
+died comely with a love-lock as a gentleman should.
+But to perish by the false canting rebel that he served.
+He a traitor!  My master!  The innocentest youth
+alive.  Why even I, that have some claim, could not
+find it in my heart to cheat him.  It would have been
+an insult to my understanding to impose upon him that
+had no suspicions, and would leave out his doublet
+in the morning to be cleaned unemptied, when he had
+won uncounted pieces of gold at night--Alas!  Alas!
+
+_Host._  Come along, thou mayest as well drink; for
+weeping will not mend thee.  Besides, I have something
+to tell thee about him and his brother Basil, and
+one Wyckoff, that hath left his score unpaid; but I
+cannot remember it just now.
+
+[_He takes him by the arm and leads him out, L._]
+
+_Enter BASIL, WALTON, and FLORENCE, R._
+
+_Basil._  He is my half-brother, it is true; but shall
+he betray the true cause for that?  Shall our
+consanguinity make me so weak?
+
+_Flor._  Oh, Basil! you have said that you can save him--
+Save him that lov'd you well, that gave you all
+That was his own--
+
+_Bas._  May curses light on him!
+Why should his sneaking face thus cross my love?
+
+_Flor._  In Heaven alone I put my trust to save him;
+Profane my sight no longer, sir.  Away!
+
+_Bas._  You are right--Let him die--Tis I am wrong
+To save a traitor thus, a damned traitor--
+
+_Flor._  Blasphemer, silence!
+
+_Bas._  Oh, a traitor's death!
+'Tis none so envious--but as I'm his brother,
+I thought to save our name from this foul blot.
+
+_Flor._  Oh, agony!
+
+_Bas._  'Tis true his life
+Is nothing, and 'tis forfeit--but his name
+Dishonour'd, tainted--
+
+_Flor._  Hold, hold! Let me think.
+Have mercy!  No?
+[_Aside._] Then let me die for him,
+For thus I could not live.  [_Aloud._] I will be yours,
+But not yet--
+
+_Bas._  O, I'll give a month.  I am
+A courteous wooer--then, perchance your love
+May date, ere we are married--'Tis well so--
+
+[_Attempts to take her by the hand._]
+
+_Flor._  I pray you, leave me now--
+
+_Bas._  You swear then--
+
+_Flor._  Yes!
+
+_Bas._  By all that's holy?
+
+_Flor._  Sir! it is enough,
+I have said that if you claim me in a month,
+I will be yours, if living--go! now, go!
+
+_Bas._  Remember that his life alone I promise--
+
+_Flor._  His life, his life!  O God! Quick, save his life--
+
+[_He takes her hand, which he kisses; she withdraws
+it with an expression of pain.  Exeunt, FLORENCE, L.,
+BASIL, R._]
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+[_Last Cut._]                           [_3rd Grooves._]
+
+_View of Westminster Abbey.  Sunset._
+
+_Enter three or four Citizens, meeting severally._
+
+_1st Cit._  The skies weep not, there is no shock to the earth.
+Art thou not Peter Ingram?  Yet the king
+Hath been beheaded, lost his head!
+The king
+Of England murther'd, slain in open day!
+
+_2nd Cit._  I did not think they would do it--
+Who'll be king
+Now he is dead?
+
+_3rd Cit._  Why some say none.
+
+_4th Cit._  Indeed,
+The Parliament is king.
+
+_2nd Cit._  They say that Cromwell
+Had much to do in this.
+Were you there?
+
+_1st Cit._  No.
+
+_Others._  Nor I.
+
+_2nd Cit._  Here comes another.  We shall hear,
+If he hath seen.
+
+_Enter another Citizen._
+
+_5th Cit._  Oh, eyes!  Oh, ears!  Alas!
+
+_1st Cit._  Were you there?
+
+_5th Cit._  Was I not?  He died right well,
+As 'twere a man that nothing had to lose,
+Save the poor head he gave his enemies.
+
+_1st Cit._  Indeed you're right, he had not much of late.
+
+_2nd Cit._  How was it?
+
+_5th Cit._  Well, they would not let him speak
+Much, for the sound of the drums--are ye this way?
+My wife is waiting, she is curious; come,
+I'll tell you all I saw--  [_Exeunt severally._]
+
+_Enter two Gentlemen, R. and L._
+
+_1st Gent., L._  All, then, is o'er: the body they have taken
+To lie in Whitehall--
+
+_2nd Gent., R._  So I heard.  Where are
+The men who order'd it?
+
+_1st Gent._  I know not.  Cromwell
+Was there; I noted him.
+
+_2nd Gent._  How looked he when
+The king came forth?  I had no eyes for aught
+Except the prisoner.
+
+_1st Gent._  It so happen'd that,
+Marking his face by chance, I could not keep
+My eyes from off him.
+
+_2nd Gent._  Ay, how did he seem?
+For he had much to do in this great matter.
+
+_1st Gent._  Ere all was ready, while 'mid wolfish noise
+The patient pale king lipp'd the deafen'd air,
+O'er Cromwell's face approaching doom grew large
+In stony horror.  Then 'twas calm and fix'd.
+Destruction's god, from his broad, wizard throne,
+Might on the front of coming whirlwinds, as
+They near'd his footstool, look unchang'd as he did:
+Sphinx-like!
+But, when the deed was done,
+The flash that left the swift-descending axe
+In triumph fiercely shot into his eyes,
+A moment welling quick successive fires,
+Like sudden birth of stars 'tween wintry clouds:
+Then came a look of doubt and wonderment,
+As if it were a thing he knew not of,
+And shudder'd at, amaz'd that it was so.
+His hollow eye wan'd like the moon's eclipse;
+And then he clutch'd his sword, and strove to read
+Men's faces near him, and so, furious, leapt
+On his black war-horse, standing saddled by,
+And unattended, save by that red scene,
+Like an arm'd pestilence, rode swift--away!
+
+_2nd Gent._  You make me tremble with your picture; surely
+This Cromwell is a great and wondrous man.
+
+_1st Gent._  Unto all fortune doth he shape himself;
+One knows not where he learnt it.
+
+_2nd Gent._  They do say
+A something did appear to him in youth,
+Telling he should be great.
+
+_1st Gent._  I think he hath
+Whisper'd that round to choke the envious
+With supernatural awe.
+
+_2nd Gent._  I know not; but
+He hath great power with the army, gain'd
+By most corporeal acts.
+
+_1st Gent._  Shall you attend
+The funeral?
+
+_2nd Gent._  It were not wise, I think;
+There will be riots.  It grows dark.
+Good evening!
+
+[_They part, 1st Gent. R., 2nd Gent. L., Exeunt._]
+
+_The stage grows dark.  Enter a Drunken Preacher
+with a Rabble of Soldiers, Artisans, and Women,
+U.E.L. and R._
+
+_Preach._  So, my beloved, this Ahab has lost his
+head, as it might be the froth of thin ale.  I am
+thirsty in the flesh!  Will no man be a surety for
+a poor preacher of the Lord at the sign of Balaam's
+Ass?  'Tis hard by; and I would speak a few more
+words of grace on this soul-stirring occasion, but my
+tongue is parched.  Ho! every one that thirsteth,
+come unto me,--or I will go with you.
+
+_A Soldier._  Hold thy peace; for I would fain speak.
+This is a great day in Israel.
+
+_Preach._  Hear me, my brethren!  This is a false prophet.
+
+_Sold._  Smite him!
+
+_Woman._  Nay, touch him an' you dare.  [_To the
+Soldier._]  'Tis Master Ephraim Bumling.  I would
+thy head were chopped off, like the sour-faced king's
+this morning.
+
+_1st Art._  Down with all kings!
+
+_2nd Art._  No taxes!
+
+_3rd Art._  We'll all be kings!
+
+_4th Art._  With our heads on, though.
+
+_1st Art._  Cease quarrelling, and come and play at skittles.
+
+_2nd Art._  With the king's head for a ball?
+
+_A Woman._  Ay, he was a bad man to his wife,
+and deserved to die.
+
+_3rd Art._  And a pagan Turk.
+
+_2nd Art._  That would have made all us Christians deny pork.
+
+_3rd Art._  And built ships with our houses.
+
+_2nd Art._  Well, it's a rare sight to see a king die.
+A bishop is something; but a king is a treat for a poor man's holiday.
+
+_1st Art._  But we shall not be poor now.
+
+_All._  Down with all kings!  Live Cromwell! live
+the Parliament, live Fairfax, live everybody!
+
+[_Exeunt severally._]
+
+_Stage dark.  The moon shines brilliantly upon the abbey._
+
+_Enter CROMWELL, cloaked, U.E.R._
+
+_Crom._  This night the place looks older than it is,
+As if some future centuries had pass'd,
+Leaving their shadows on it--
+Yon tall towers,
+That pierce the unsettled sky,
+Seem not to point unto the stars that watch
+My coming greatness; but with solemn air
+To frown back on the memory of Cromwell--
+Yon dark cathedral, whose sharp turret spires
+Look like funereal firs on Ararat,
+When the sun setting stream'd in blood upon
+The fast decaying waters--that huge pile
+Of gloomy worship to the God of ages,
+Feels like this age's tomb and monument.
+Would I were buried in it, so I might
+Sleep there--for O, I cannot sleep to-night.
+My molten blood runs singing through my veins.
+It is no wonder: I have known less things
+Disturb my rest; besides, there is a thought
+Hath led me forth--Come, let me deal with it.
+
+'Tis midnight!  Now to face him were a deed,
+To feel that one had done it--not to tell.
+To fold the arms and look upon the work
+That I have wrought with stedfast, iron will--
+There's evil fascination in the thought:
+Grows to desire!
+I cannot stay my feet!
+Like one in dreams, or hurried by a storm,
+That hales him on with wild uncertain steps,
+I move on to the thing I dread.
+[_Sighs deeply._]
+Methought
+A voice stole on mine ears--as if a sword
+[_Sighs again._]
+Clove the oppressive air.  Why do I shrink?
+On Naseby field my bare head tower'd high;
+And now I bend me, though my tingling ears
+Unconscious but drink in the deep-drawn sigh,
+That doth attend on greatness.
+This is folly.
+O coward fancy, lie still in thy grave!
+A king doth keep his coffin, why not thou?
+I'll meet him like a conqueror, whose cheek
+Flushes with manly pity.  Could it be
+That he had lived without his country's shame!
+But no! and thus, I come, Charles Stuart! to tell
+Thy bloodless clay, that I repent me _not_!
+No! if a hecatomb of kings were slain,
+I'd own the deed unto their legion'd spirits!  [_Exit, L._]
+
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+[_Last Grooves._]
+
+_A State Room in Whitehall.  The moon shines through
+the windows._
+
+_On a large bed with crimson hangings, surmounted
+with black plumes, is seen a Coffin and pall, richly
+emblazoned with the royal arms of England.  On
+each side an Ironside keeping guard with a matchlock.
+They walk to and fro, and speak as they meet._
+
+_1st Iron._  I tell thee, Bowtell, I would this watch
+were over.
+
+_2nd Iron._  I would it were a bright morning, with
+our pike-heads glittering in the sun.  I would rather
+it were a charge of Rupert's best cavalry in our rear.
+
+_1st Iron._  I mind when I saw him once alive, 'twas
+at the close of the fight, and he would have charged
+once more, but a false Scotch noble held him back to
+his ruin.  Had I been he, I would have cloven the
+false Scot to the chine.  I was a prisoner, and near
+him; he had a tall white plume then.  His dark face
+showed very eager beneath it.
+
+_2nd. Iron._  Ay, I have heard good Jepherson tell
+of it, and how the Lord blinded them all.
+
+_1st Iron._  I mind his very words,--
+"Charles Stuart begs a little loyal blood
+To do him right--a charge, but one more charge!
+Come on, we do command, come on.
+O cowards!
+Had I but fifty of my nephew Rupert!"
+And then he waved his sword, as 'twere the whole
+cut and thrust exercise in the air at once, and his
+plume fluttered like a white bird in the eye of a
+tempest.  If he should speak now--[_A footstep is
+heard, both look round._]
+
+_2nd Iron._  Didst thou hear nought?
+
+_1st Iron._  O for a stoop of strong waters!
+
+_2nd Iron._  Hist! 'twas like a soldier's tread in the
+long gallery beyond.
+
+_1st Iron._  Nay, 'tis the echo of thine own feet.
+
+_2nd Iron_  'Tis a footstep.  Hark, it stops!
+
+_1st Iron._  Do thou speak.
+
+_Enter CROMWELL, L._
+
+[_They bring their matchlocks to bear._] The word, or
+else we fire!
+
+_Crom._  [_Muttering._] Had Zimri peace, who slew
+his master?
+
+_2nd Iron._  Hold! 'Tis the General.
+
+_Crom._  Ha! how fare you?
+
+[_The Soldiers move towards the door, coming from
+the coffin._]
+
+Stay, Bowtell!
+Open me yonder coffin, dost not hear?
+Quick, fool!  Thy mouth is all agape; as if
+Thou didst lack tidings.  What dost quiver for?
+Give me thy sword.  [_Wrenches open the coffin._]
+I would see how he looks:
+Perchance, I may undo the look he sent,  [_Aside._]
+In search of me this morn from off the scaffold.
+
+_Bow._  My Lord!
+Shall we go?
+
+_Crom._  Ay, I would lift my voice
+In prayer awhile.  Nay, leave your matchlocks.  So.
+
+[_Exeunt Soldiers._]
+
+[_The steps of the Soldiers are heard gradually
+retreating.  CROMWELL following them to the side._]
+
+It is an hour since I did speak to them!
+The air is life-like and intelligent,
+I seem to fret it as I move along;
+Yet this is Death's abode!
+
+[_Looks cautiously round--calls in another tone._]
+
+Ho! there--hola!
+We are alone.   I do forget me--stay--
+
+[_Advances to the coffin._]
+
+Like the hot iron to the quivering flesh
+Be this test to my soul, to look on him,
+To set my living face by his dead face;
+Then tax him with the deeds for which I slew him.
+
+[_Opens the coffin very gently._]
+
+O Thou discrowned and insensible clay!
+Thou beggar corpse!
+Stripp'd, 'midst a butcher'd score, or so, of men,
+Upon a bleak hill-side, beneath the rack
+Of flying clouds torn by the cannon's boom,
+If the red, trampled grass were all thy shroud,
+The scowl of Heaven thy plumed canopy,
+Thou might'st be any one!
+How is it with thee?  Man!  Charles Stuart!  King!
+See, the white, heavy, overhanging lids
+Press on his grey eyes, set in gory death!
+How blanch'd his dusky cheek! that late was flush'd
+Because a people would not be his slaves,
+And now a, worm may mock him--
+This strong frame
+Promis'd long life, 'tis constituted well;
+'Twas but a lying promise, like the rest!
+Dark is the world, of tyranny within
+Yon roofless house, where Silence holds her court
+Before Decay's last revel.
+Yet, O king,
+I would insult thee not.  But if thy spirit
+Circle unseen around the guilty clay,
+Till it be buried, and those solemn words
+Give "dust to dust," leaving the soul no home
+On this vain earth,
+O hear me!
+Or if still
+There be a something sentient in the body,
+Through all corruption's stages, till our frames
+Rot, rot, and seem no more,--and thus the soul
+Is cag'd in bones through which the north wind rattles,
+Or haunts the black skull wash'd up by the waves
+Upon the moaning shore--poor weeping skull,
+From whose deep-blotted, eyeless socket-holes
+The dank green seaweed drips its briny tear--
+If it be so, that round the festering grave,
+Where yet some earth-brown, human relic moulders,
+The parting ghost may linger to the last,
+Till it have share in all the elements,
+Shriek in the storm, or glide in summer air,
+O hear me!
+
+Or, if thou hast stood already,
+Shrivell'd, but for His mercy, into nought,
+Before the blaze of Heaven's offended eye,
+And hast receiv'd thy sentence--Hear me, thence!
+There is none with us now!
+Thus then I lay my hand upon thy breast,
+And while my heart is nearly still as thine,
+Swear that I slew thee but to stop thy crimes;
+(O soul of Charles, wilt thou not plead for Cromwell?)
+Swear that I would my head were low as thine,
+Could'st thou have liv'd belov'd, and loving England--
+For I have done a deed in slaying thee
+Shall wring the world's heart with its memory;
+Men shall believe me not, as they are base,
+Fools shall cry "hypocrite," as they dare judge
+The naked fervour of my struggling soul.
+God judge between us!--I am arm'd in this,
+Could'st thou have reign'd, not crushing English hearts
+With fierce compression of thine iron sway,
+Cromwell had liv'd contented and unknown
+To teach his children loyalty and faith
+Sacred and simple, as the grass-grown mound,
+That should have press'd more lightly on his bones,
+Than ever greatness on his wearied spirit!
+
+_Re-enter the Ironsides, L.  They ground their Matchlocks._
+
+[_CROMWELL starting._] Another blow? no, no! there was but one:
+He suffered nothing!
+
+_Bowt._  Worthy General,
+We are return'd.
+
+_Crom._  [_Replacing his Cloak, after covering the
+Coffin, as before._] Ha! have ye drunk well, fellows?
+I knew not that ye had such cold work here.
+[_Gives them Money._]
+Now, on your lives, no word of this.
+
+_Bowt._  May 't please you,
+What form of Government shall we have now?
+
+_Crom._  It does not please me, fool! to stand here prating;
+Ask _him_ trick'd out in yonder lying state,
+Who shall succeed him.  [_Points to the Coffin._]
+Surely, I know nought,
+That am the meanest servant of the Lord
+To do his work alone.  See ye to yours.    [_Exit, L._]
+
+[_The Sentinels resume their walk.  The Clock strikes
+one.  As it strikes, the Guard is heard approaching,
+and whilst it is relieving them the Scene closes._]
+
+
+END OF ACT IV.
+
+
+
+
+ACT V.
+
+SCENE I.
+
+[_Last Grooves._]
+
+_Table, Chairs, Writing Materials._
+
+_Whitehall.  LADY CROMWELL, R. and FLORENCE, L.
+Discovered coming forward._
+
+_Lady Crom._ R.  No! There is not one of us he
+would hear save Elizabeth, and since the day before
+yesterday, as I tell you, she hath been in a raging
+fever, and delirious; and, to-morrow, you tell me, it
+is fixed that your cousin dies.  Will not the Protector
+see you?
+
+_Flor._ L.  He will not!
+
+_Lady Crom._  Alas! poor maid.  I know not what to do.
+
+_Flor._  Madam, where doth your daughter lie!--
+
+_Lady Crom._  In my room, this way--why, you
+look sadly yourself--pale as a corpse.
+
+_Flor._  Do I?--I would have it so.  Think you it is
+an easy death when the heart bleeds inwardly?
+
+_Lady Crom._  Hush! cease talking so, child!
+
+_Flor._  I do remember, journeying hither once,
+On horseback, that I saw a poor lad, slain
+In some sad skirmish of these cruel wars;
+There seem'd no wound, and so I stay'd by him,
+Thinking he might live still.  But, ever, whilst
+I stretch'd to reach some trifling thing for aid,
+His sullen head would slip from off my knee,
+And his damp hair to earth would wander down,
+Till I grew frighten'd thus to challenge Death,
+And with the king of terrors idly play.--
+Yet those pale lips deserted not the smile
+Of froward, gay defiance, lingering there,
+Like a tir'd truant's sleeping on the grass,
+Mid the stray sun-beams of unsadden'd hope,
+Dreaming of one perpetual holiday.
+
+_Lady Crom._  And was he dead?--Tell me what came of him.
+
+_Flor._  The silent marches of the stars had clos'd
+The slow retreat of that calm summer noon,
+Ere I compos'd his gentle limbs to rest,
+And left him where he lay.  No crimson wound,
+No dark ensanguin'd stain did sully him:
+Yet had some fatal missile reach'd his heart,
+That bled, as mine does now, within, within!
+
+_Lady Crom._  How sad a tale; yet; all will still be well.
+Yield not to this wild burst of agony.
+
+_Flor._  O, I was happy and I knew it not,
+But jested with the heart that lov'd me well.
+The sickening echo of each foolish word
+I said to pain him comes to torture me--
+
+_Lady Crom._  Cease, cease! Indeed my heart is sad enough.
+My daughter needs us.
+
+_Flor._  O forgive me, Madam!
+My grief seem'd thoughtless of another's woe,
+And I that love her so?--I'll go with you
+This instant, watch by her, and pray for all
+This most unhappy world.  Come, let us seek her--
+Haste!  Will she know me, think you?  Lean on me,
+You are fatigued with watching.  I am strong.
+
+[_Exeunt, U.E.R._]
+
+_Enter CROMWELL alone, R._
+
+_Crom._  How well he died, that liv'd not well--his words
+Strike cold here.  Kings have died ere now, whose lives
+Were needless, hurtful to their people's good,
+But none so meek as this.  O Cromwell!  Cromwell!
+Hast thou done well!  O could an angel light
+The deepest corner of thy secret mind,
+And tell thee thou'rt not damned to Hell for this,
+The avenging act of horror--or that, inspir'd,
+Thou wert the minister of Heaven's decree,
+And that ambition drugg'd not thy design
+With soul-consuming poison!  I, this I,
+Have done it--for what!--Which is't?  To live and reign?
+Or crown the smiling land with good?  Well, both!
+If I have sinn'd, it was at least for all.
+The puny stripling calls not his love, lust:
+The passions that we have in us may blend
+With noble purpose and with high design;
+Else men who saw the world had gone astray
+Would only wish it better--and lie down,
+In vain regret to perish.--
+How his head
+Roll'd on the platform with deep, hollow sound!
+Methinks I hear it now, and through my brain
+It vibrates like the storm's accusing knell,
+Making the guilty quake.  I am not guilty!
+It was the nation's voice, the headsman's axe.
+Why drums it then within my throbbing ear?--
+I slew him not!
+
+_Enter PEARSON, L._
+
+_Pear._  My Lord! there is one here
+Would speak with you--
+
+_Crom._  Admit him.  Am I not
+The servant of this country, to see all
+That come to me?--
+
+[_PEARSON goes out, and returns with BASIL.  PEARSON retires, L._]
+
+_Basil._  Health to the General!
+
+_Crom._  Good Master Basil, welcome.
+I am griev'd,
+Most griev'd in spirit for your brother; yet
+I must not pardon him.  I have receiv'd
+Your protestation--
+
+_Basil._  I have done much service,
+Good service to the state; I ask his life,
+Not liberty.
+
+_Crom._  It cannot be, and yet
+I lov'd him well myself.  It must not be,
+[_Pause._] Yet you have done good service.  I am glad
+You do insist on it.  I had not yielded
+To any other--but you have a right
+To ask this thing, and I am bound to grant it;
+I am glad it comes from you, his brother, here--
+
+[_Signs a paper and hands it to BASIL._]
+
+What will you do with him?
+
+_Basil._  I fear, my Lord,
+There is such treason prov'd--the colonies--
+
+_Crom._  Nay!  Let him where he will; but not to stay
+In England for his head--he dies, if found here
+Two days hence--
+
+_Basil._  Thanks, my Lord, it shall be seen to.
+A brother's thanks--farewell--  [_He goes out, L._]
+
+_Crom._  How different is
+The aspect of these brethren, most unlike
+The soul of each to his face--The brow of Arthur
+So open and so clear, and yet a traitor.
+Indeed, methinks the countenance, which oft
+Is the mask fitted to the character
+Of gross and eager sensualists, is but
+A lying index to the subtle souls
+Of villains more acute.
+Come hither, Pearson!
+Thou know'st me well.  Speak, wherefore doubting thus
+I feel my soul aghast at its own being?
+Methought just now all Hell did cry aloud,
+"Conscience can give no peace, the liar Conscience,
+That knows not what she prates"--Out, out on
+Conscience!
+She that did whisper peace unto my soul,
+But now, before the fearful shadow came
+That since my boyhood often visits me,
+And with dark musings fills my brain perturb'd;
+Making the current of my life-blood stagnate,
+My heart the semblance of a muffled bell,
+Within my ribs, its tomb; my flesh creep like
+The prickly writhings of a new-slough'd snake;
+Each several moment as the awaken'd glare
+Of the doom'd felon starting from his sleep,
+While the slow, hideous meaning of his cell
+Grows on him like an incubus, until
+The truth shoots like an ice-bolt to his brain
+From his dull eyeball; then, from brain to heart
+Flashes in sickening tumult of despair--
+As in this bosom.
+
+_Pear._  'Tis black Melancholy!
+I've read of such, my Lord; it hath no part
+With what men think, or do;--'tis physical--
+A holy preacher feels the self-same thing,
+That ne'er outstepp'd his sacred village round;
+'Tis often nurs'd of this damp, noxious climate:
+Most excellent men have suffer'd it--
+Thou know'st
+I have seen bloody deeds beneath the sun
+Upon the Spanish main, when I was young.
+
+_Crom._  What of them, say?--I thought thou loved'st not
+To speak thyself a pirate--
+
+_Pear._  'Twas, my Lord,
+Ere I knew grace, or my most honour'd master.
+
+_Crom._  I trust thou art forgiven.
+
+_Pear._  I'd not speak
+Of deed of mine, my Lord.  I did but think
+That in the sunlit tropics I had known
+The wantonness of cruelty; and seen
+Aged men grown grey in crime, whose hair thus blanch'd
+Show'd white, like sugar by hot blood refin'd.
+
+_Crom._  What of this!--Tell me what thou knew'st of them.
+
+_Pear._  I never knew desponding doubt or fear
+Curdle the healthy current of their veins;
+They never shudder'd at a blood-red kerchief,
+But on their shining knife-blades, as they smok'd
+On deck through the long summer noon, would show
+The dents and notches to their younger fellows,
+As thus--"This cut a Spanish merchant's throat,
+With wealthy ingots laden; this the rib-bone
+Of his lean Rib, that clutch'd an emerald brooch
+Too eagerly, hath rasp'd--and here, d'ye see a chip?
+This paid the reckoning of a skin-flint purser."
+
+_Crom._  What meanest thou by this?--
+
+_Pear._  I mean, my Lord,
+The frequent gloom that clouds thy noble spirit,
+Is born of humours natural to thy body;
+And, as foul vapours blur the honest sun,
+Hangs o'er the face of the high enterprize,
+That hath enrich'd thy name, not harm'd thy soul.
+
+_Enter a Servant, L._
+
+_Ser._  My Lord, good Master Milton waits without,
+Desiring presence of you.--
+
+_Crom._  Pearson, go.
+I would see him alone.  Perchance his words
+[_Exit PEARSON, L.  Servant follows._]
+May ease my tortur'd breast.
+[_Rings a small bell.  Enter a Servant, L._]
+Ask quickly, how
+My daughter fares, if she be better--
+[_Servant crosses behind and exit, R._]
+Lo!
+If I should lose her.  Nay! it cannot be.
+My thoughts seem driven like the wind-vex'd leaves
+That eddy round in vain: fy, fy upon me!
+Was not Saul doom'd? but David slew him not,
+Yet Heaven led him through the winding cave,
+Sealing the watchers' lids, and to his hand
+Gave the bright two-edg'd blade, that in his eyes
+Looked with cold meaning, bloodless it remain'd--
+Would it were so now!
+
+_Servant re-enters, R._
+
+_Ser._  She is worse, my Lord,
+And raves incessantly; the doctors shook
+Their heads when I did ask, and bade me tell you
+There is no hope--
+
+_Crom._  [_Motions him to go._]  Why comes not Master Milton?
+
+[_Servant crosses behind to L. sees Milton._]
+
+_Ser._  My Lord, he waits without for aid to enter.
+
+[_Exit Servant, L. and re-enters leading MILTON._]
+
+_Crom._  Good Milton, I am sick at heart.  Think you the world
+Will judge me very harshly?--
+
+_Mil._  Sir, believe
+By far the nobler half of England's hearts
+Will be yours, when long centuries have nurs'd
+The troubles of these frantic times to rest;
+The feverish strife, the hate and prejudice
+Of these days, soon shall fly, and leave great acts
+The landmarks of men's thoughts, who then shall see
+In these events that shake the world with awe,
+But a great subject, and a base bad king
+Interpreted aright.
+
+_Crom._  [_Aside._] My child! my child!
+She is dying, and condemns me--[_to Milton_] Thou art wise,
+Prudent, and skill'd in learned rhetorick--
+Think'st thou 'twere sad to gaze upon the look,
+That sudden on the harlot's painted features,
+Set in the stale attraction of forc'd smiles,
+Darkens so wildly--that, like one amaz'd,
+From the crack'd glass she staggers, to her brow
+Lifts her wan, jewell'd finger--tries to think?
+The wanton provocation of her features
+Chang'd all to sickly twilight, blank dismay--
+And when thought comes, to see the poor wretch quiver,
+Her eyes' fire turn'd to water--those blue eyes,
+Where once sweet fancies woven danc'd in fight--
+To see the Present, Future, Past, appal her?--
+The Spectre of her grown up life arise
+Ever between her childhood's innocent dawn,
+And the lost thing, herself--to see her choke
+Upon her scanty food?--see grim Despair
+Clutch her polluted bosom?--see her teeth,
+Pearls that have outliv'd their neglected home,
+Shine whiter in that ruin?--
+
+_Mil._  'Twere a sight
+To bid the palsied heart of Lewdness grieve,
+Youth grow a hermit, Age old vices leave!
+
+_Crom._  Yet hast thou ne'er beheld the thing, I say?--
+Thou answerest me not.  I know thy life;
+'Twas ever pure; still thou art of this world,
+And so hast read their living epitaph,
+Whose souls being buried in lust's grave, at night
+Their mortal frames walk forth--reversing death.
+I ask thee, then, dost thou not know the thing
+That I have painted?
+
+_Mil._  [_Aside._] Is his mind distraught?
+[_Aloud._] I have seen this, and more.  What of it?
+
+_Crom._  Thus!
+Shall he that caus'd it suffer?
+
+_Mil._  On his Mood
+Vampires should batten--
+
+_Crom._  Yet, 'tis like she met
+His guilty thought half-way; 'twas in the course
+Of nature, when the blood is hot.  Contention
+Led both to the encounter.  When youth sins,
+Reason flies daunted--to return with arms
+Poison'd and terrible.--
+
+_Mil._  The lean excuse
+Of whirlwind Passion's victims.  Homicide,
+Murder, theft, rapine, plead it--
+
+_Crom._  Think you then,
+Should one array'd in reasoning manhood's arms
+Have done this?  Were the victim bright and good,
+Round whose young heart sweet household fancies play'd,
+Each natural thought of her enthusiast mind
+Pure as the snow that softly veils the earth
+'Tween Christide eve and morning white-enrob'd;
+And yet her sum of suffering were great
+As that, which I have painted for the child
+Of sin and misery--her silken cheek
+Defil'd by ashen trace of furrowing tears,
+Her sinless eye dim as a Magdalen's;
+And he that caus'd it lov'd her as a father,
+Knowing no fiery passion, unchaste thought,
+To rob him of his brain, his heart, and then--
+
+_Mil._  There's no such thing!
+
+_Crom._  There is, I say, here! here!
+
+_Mil._  Lord General, I stand amazed!
+
+_Crom._  Judgment!
+The Judgment! my good Milton.  O my child!
+My best belov'd, my sweet Elizabeth,
+Is such a sacrifice.  The cause how different,
+But the effect the same.  Thou think'st it strange
+To pluck such image from remembrance forth--
+And use it thus.  There is a chain unseen,
+Linking the human beggar to the king,
+Virtue to vice; whereon doth sympathy
+Like lightning play between the two extremes,
+And so connect them.  There is none can say
+"I am not as that man in anything."
+I spoke of one that was a woman, one
+That died repentant, one perchance in Heaven!
+My daughter's face, I tell thee, grows like her's.
+Reason not on it.  O! The fault is here
+Why she lies stricken thus.      [_Touches his breast._]
+Her tender frame
+Pines day and night, her young life breeding, sapp'd,
+Curs'd in the tainted thought of my ambition--
+And she will die and sink into the grave,
+Prey'd on by doubt and horror of her father!
+Ere Hampden's death had seal'd the bond of strife,
+Thou knowest not, how oft to quit these shores
+With angel fervour she entreated me,
+And girt by true hearts--all my soul held dear--
+To seek a home in that far western clime--
+Nay, start not at the name--America!*
+Where boundless forests whisper Liberty
+With all their million-musick'd leaves, and blue lakes
+Murmur it, and great cataracts, that light
+With flash of whirling foam the tempest's scowl,
+To souls untam'd as they, roar Freedom!
+[_Crosses the Stage._]  Ay!
+Thus to escape remorse--
+Leaving this work to God and to His will,
+That I perchance too rashly made mine own,
+And noble hearts had follow'd and I had sav'd
+Her, so soon lost for ever!  Is not this
+A thought had madden'd Brutus, though all Rome
+Did hail him saviour, while the Capitol
+Rock'd, like a soul-stirr'd Titan, to its base
+With their free acclamation?--
+
+_Mil._  Was there not
+Another Brutus?--
+
+_Crom._  Tell me not of Rome!
+Why speak not of the warriors of the forest
+Where I had gone, but for black destiny!
+They triumph in the torture of their kind,
+Their grinning honour must be stain'd with blood;
+'Tis their religion to be feelingless.
+Why dost not lead me through yon corridor
+To gaze upon some hawk-nos'd effigy,
+And say, "This Roman slew his friend, his brother,
+His daughter--'Twas a great soul, and he liv'd
+A thousand years ago, and this is reason
+For thy warm daughter's death--that breathes and speaks
+With dainty actions nestling round thy heart,
+Woven in thine existence"--her, I priz'd
+More than the rest, whose gentle voice was as
+The harp of David to my gloomy soul--
+Go! thou art wise; but here thy skill is folly!
+
+_Mil._  I little dreamt, my lord! to hear you speak
+So wildly and so sadly of the course
+Of your most virtuous and ennobling deeds.
+Think not I do not mourn the angel light
+That beam'd upon your path, soon haply fled,
+Flushing the sky with rosy winnowings
+Of dove-like wings, a Spirit, to the God
+Who gave her thee, and so recalls.  She is
+A pure devoted woman, and thy child--
+Thus far I understand thy soul's repinings.
+But so to start as shaken by a dream
+From an unquiet couch, to grope in night
+And wailing darkness, thus to storm and rave,
+To mock the God of battles and thy might;
+To let the rod that scourg'd the pestilent land
+Fall from thy tender hold--I had not thought
+Of this, and I had rather died than see it.
+True thou wert less than father, more than man
+To bear no sorrow.  Yet should England soar
+Far, far above the sad domestic grave
+Of Cromwell's dearest love of kin or kind;
+And the big tear, that in the eye will gather,
+In him should only halo freedom's sun
+With brighter lustre, holier radiance.
+
+_Crom._  Speak on, the passion passes.  Yet be kind,
+Read not thy lesson sternly; for in grief
+There is much tumult and forgetfulness.
+When my son died 'twas different; though his death
+Went to my heart, indeed it did, a son
+That might have wielded England's destinies;
+And now I cannot look beyond the night
+Of mine own day (it is late evening with me
+Already) for a soul to guide this people.
+How bravely bare I his young, glorious death,
+And when one died at Marston afterward,
+I wrote his father bidding him rejoice,
+And something boasted of mine own bereavement,
+I said, "Forget your private sorrow, sir,
+In this late public mercy, victory
+Unto the saints."  O bitter fool, to chide
+A father so, when I might lose my daughter!
+
+[_A trumpet is heard without._]
+
+Hear'st thou?  [_Walks up and down a moment._] 'Tis
+Harrison.  News from the camp
+Forget this, honour'd friend!     [_To Milton._]
+
+_Mil._  I will, I do!
+
+_Crom._  Now I could hew my way
+Amidst a thousand.  Give me my steel cap,
+My sword and iron greaves, my vant-braces:
+I will array in proof.
+What is the shock
+Of living squadrons to the armed thoughts,
+Whose dark battalions I have just now quell'd?
+I would the clouds of battle roll'd around
+This moment.  Lo! my spirit is reviv'd
+Like Samson's, when he drank at Ramath-lehi--
+
+_Enter IRETON and IRONSIDES, L._
+
+What is it?
+
+_Ire._  Mutiny! The soldiers swear
+That they will have their right--
+
+_Crom._  Their _right_, said'st thou?
+Come, Ireton, you and I will give them it;
+But, by the Lord, they'll wish for wrong again
+Ere I have done with them.
+
+_Ire._  'Twere best to take
+Your faithful guard--
+
+_Crom._  I'll take _none_.  What!  They are
+Mine own.  I'll deal with them.
+If thou dost fear,
+Son Ireton, stay behind.  What! be afraid
+Of my own rascals I have drill'd and led
+So frequently?
+
+Come on, I did but need
+This pretty farce to stir me.  Mutiny!
+I'll strike the leaders' heads off, at the head
+Each of his column--
+
+Follow me, son Ireton!
+No other--
+
+[_Exit CROMWELL and IRETON, L.  The guard look amazed._]
+
+_Mil._  Who thus seeing him, shall say,
+This man is not Heaven's chosen instrument? [_Exit. L._]
+
+[_The Ironsides follow Milton._]
+
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+[_1st Cut._]                         [_3rd Grooves._]
+
+_Near the Tower.  A Street in London._
+
+_People are seen gazing from windows and balconies.
+Slow military music is heard behind the scenes.
+It gradually approaches U.E.L.  Enter a procession
+of Soldiers, in the midst ARTHUR bare-headed.
+He looks up to a balcony, where FLORENCE
+is standing--she waves a handkerchief and throws
+it to him.  He kisses it, and placing it in his
+bosom, smiles, then slowly exeunt, U.E.R._
+
+_Enter BASIL hurriedly, L.  FLORENCE comes from
+the door of the house to meet him.  She is dressed
+in a white robe._
+
+_Bas._  Well, madam, how is it!  To live or die?
+
+_Flor._  Oh! hasten, hasten.  They are gone; you may
+Fall down, be stopp'd, give me the pardon--quick!
+
+_Basil._  No!  I think not.  I'll take it.  Think you of
+Your promise--will you keep it?
+
+_Flor._  Yes! yes! if I live
+A month, I will be thine.
+
+_Basil._  Tis well! I go:
+I am a little lame, but shall be there,
+I do protest, in time.  They give some moments
+To stale device of prayer; as if they car'd
+For him they slay--What! anxious?  So am I,
+That have so great a stake in this event,
+To save a brother and to gain a wife--
+
+[_Kisses the tips of his fingers._]
+
+A rivederci, as the Italian saith.   [_Goes out, U.E.R._]
+
+_Flor._  The hands of yonder clock do pierce my heart
+Like daggers till he comes.  O God! forgive me,
+Let me but know him safe, and die of joy,
+Ere I have time to think upon the rest.
+
+_Enter ELIZABETH, L., as if just risen.  At the same
+time, WILLIAM and the HOST, accompanied by a Guard,
+pass by, from L. to U.E.R._
+
+_Will._  This way, this way!
+
+_Eliz._  Do you not hear the hollow bell still tolling?
+Hark!
+
+_Flor._  There is no sound now--
+
+_Eliz._  If my father said
+He should not die, it was to comfort me;
+Do not believe them, if they tell you so.
+Give me your arm unto the scaffold, girl.
+
+[_Florence hesitates._]
+
+Jealous?--Is this a time?--What!--
+
+[_Two or three Attendants come in._]
+
+Then I'll go
+Alone-- [_She takes one of her Attendants by the arm._]
+
+_Flor._  Nay, dear Elizabeth! his life
+Is sav'd--
+
+_Eliz._  Believe them not; wilt thou not come?
+Nay, then!  [_Exit with Ladies, U.E.R._]
+
+_Flor._  What means her passion?  He comes not!
+My heart grows chill--
+Would I might follow her.
+I promis'd not.  Did I not see the pardon.
+O, this is dreadful!
+
+_Re-enter BASIL, U.E.R._
+
+_Distant shouting is heard._
+
+_Basil._  Hear you there?  He lives!
+
+_Flor._  [_Falls on her knees._] O Heaven!  I thank thy gracious mercy.
+
+_Basil._  Now!
+Remember thou art pledged to be my bride.
+
+_Flor._  Have I then sav'd his life, to torture him
+With base destruction of the thing he loves?
+
+_Basil._  Give me thine hand.
+
+_Flor._  No! no!  There is a portal
+By which the trembling victim may escape
+From thy fierce tiger gripe--There is a way
+Unto the weak, and though a giant grasp,
+He shall but seize with eager cruel hand
+The white reflection other fluttering robe,
+Leaving her pure and undefil'd to Heaven--
+Angels have whisper'd it to me--
+
+_Basil._  Forsworn?--
+
+_Flor._  Nay! traitor to thy God and king!  My hand
+I've pledg'd thee ere a short month have elaps'd,
+And thou shalt claim it then, if then thou wilt.
+
+_Basil._  What mean'st thou, maiden?  There is a strange light
+In the sweet lustre of thy thrilling eye,
+There is a bright spot on thy velvet cheek;
+Thy throat of arched fall is now thrown back,
+As one had check'd a white Arabian steed;
+Thy nostril wide dilates, Sibylline, grand;
+Thy moist and crimson lip tempts wildly--come!
+For thou art beautiful, and thy light step
+Shall on the hills be glorious, when thou'rt given
+A help-mate unto Israel--
+
+_Flor._  Never!
+
+_Basil._  How?--
+Hast thou not sworn?
+
+_Flor._  There is a point where all
+That binds the struggling wretch to aught on earth,
+Be it a bond of hate and grief like mine,
+Or sweet communion of young hearts that love,
+Be it a sacrifice to infamy, or pride
+Of mothers in their offspring, or the work
+Of master-spirits' high philosophy,
+Doth rank with things that were--
+
+_Basil._  Thou speakest riddles.
+
+_Flor._  A colder hand than thine is on my heart,
+I am another's bride!  A month must pass
+Ere thou can'st claim me.  Was not that the bond?
+
+_Basil._  In these brisk times, a month goes quickly by.
+
+_Flor._  Within a week I'll wed, but not with thee.
+Pray, sir, go hence, you do distract my thoughts
+From my lov'd bridegroom.
+
+_Basil._  Speak, whom mean'st thou?
+
+_Flor._  Death.
+A thousand deaths, ere wed with thee.  Dost hear?
+I am faint.  Lo! thy cruel, eager gaze
+Grows grimly dark and indistinct.  Pray Heaven
+I shall not see it any more.  Farewell,
+I pardon thee.
+
+_Basil._  Not so!  May curses blight me,
+If I do lose thee thus.   [_Seizes her._]
+
+_Flor._  Help!
+
+_Basil._  Wilt thou budge
+Thus from thy promise?--Nay then--
+
+_Flor._  Help! O help!
+
+_Enter ARTHUR, Soldiers, WILLIAM, HOST, &c., U.E.R.
+After them WYCKOFF, who stands at a little distance.
+Loud cries of "Pardon, a free pardon from the Protector."_
+
+_Basil._  What does this mean?  Look to your prisoner: seize him.
+
+_An Officer._  [_Seizing Basil._]  In the Protector's name, we do!
+
+_Basil._  Away!
+Let go!
+
+_An Officer._  [_Points to Arthur._] 'Twere best ask him for mercy.  'Tis
+For him to say--
+
+_Will._  Ay, ask us, ask me!--Hanging is too good
+for you.  You are found out, and [_points to the Host_]
+'twas this blessed old fool that has undone you.  Yes,
+you may look, but your hair will not curl any
+longer.  Your plot is discovered.  Noll knows all,
+and will only spare your life on condition of the
+colonies.  [_During this time Florence and Arthur
+are locked in each other's arms._]  Look there!
+There is happiness--there's fish-hooks and broken
+glass bottles and tin-tacks in your gullet.  Stomach
+that.  Tol de rol!
+
+_Host._  While now they are here, I have a great
+mind to charge that Wyckoff with my little bill!
+
+_Basil._  O guilt, guilt, guilt!
+Success ne'er lit yet on thy feeble brow,
+But ever mock'd thee with dissembling leer,
+Whilst at thy feet graves open, at thy heart
+Remorse points daggers, and thou walk'st the world,
+Blood on thine hand and fever in thine eye,
+Friendless, by that thou lovest scorn'd the most.
+
+_Arthur._  [_To Florence._] Thou wilt live now?
+
+_Flor._  I would have died for thee,
+Joy doth not kill!   [_Points to BASIL._]
+O, order them to free him;
+He is thy brother, would have sav'd thee, though
+For a base guerdon; yet he would have sav'd thee.
+
+_An Officer._  We cannot free him!
+
+_Basil._  [_Points to Wyckoff._] Why not take him too?--
+He is guiltier than I am.--
+
+_Wyck._  [_Aloud._]  Traitor! O
+Thou most pernicious traitor.  [_Aside._] Damn him, coward!
+He will tell all, unless I stop it thus.
+
+[_Draws his sword._]
+
+This for the Commonwealth!  [_Stabs BASIL._]
+
+_Basil._  O, I am kill'd!
+Will ye see this?--  [_To Arthur._]
+Revenge me, some of you!
+
+[_Falls into the Soldiers arms and is borne off, U.E.R._]
+
+_Officer._  [_Points to WYCKOFF._]
+Seize him, ye have a warrant for his life.
+The scaffold were defil'd.  Unto the gallows!
+
+[_WYCKOFF is borne off struggling._]
+
+_Wyck._  'Twas for the state!  O mercy!
+Arthur Walton!
+He would have slain you!  Mercy! mercy--
+
+_Arth._  [_Supporting Florence._]  Heaven!
+How just and awful these thy punishments.
+
+_Enter CROMWELL attended, L._
+
+_Crom._  I did you wrong, yet eagerly excused
+The death I thought you merited.
+
+_Arth._  My Lord,
+I owe no malice, and I wish you well,
+As you shall deal with England, whose sad shores
+I fain would quit awhile with her I love,
+After these heavy griefs.
+
+_Crom._  And you will leave me?
+I would it were not so; for all around
+I am hemm'd in by doubters.  Perfidy
+Makes mouths at me.  Suspicion rears her head,
+Hissing upon my path.  And my friends drop off,
+Leaving a sting behind!
+Stay!  Arthur Walton,
+England doth bid thee stay!
+
+_Arth._  I came here, when
+A king did threaten England's liberties,
+Her charter'd rights.  He cannot threaten now.
+His power has pass'd to others.  I am not
+Ambitious.  If they use it well, 'tis well,
+And I am needed not--
+
+_Crom._  [_Crosses to R._] Farewell, then, Sir;
+But not, I trust, for ever.  Go, in peace,
+Amid the voices of the nations hear and note
+What they shall say of England and of Cromwell.
+Farewell, sweet lady, pray for her and me.
+
+[_To FLORENCE._]
+
+Come, I have business, both of you, farewell!
+
+[_Exeunt all, but WILLIAM and HOST._]
+
+_Host._  Confess now, I have done well in discovering
+these villanies.
+
+_Will._  Ay, thou art an Eldorado of cunning.
+
+_Host._  Herein you see the man of experience: I
+did not rush to tell it all directly.
+
+_Will._  No, indeed, thou didst not, and had I not
+been there to extract the pearl of discovery from the
+jaw-bone of ignorance with the forceps of discernment,
+my Master by this time had been sped.
+
+_Host._  Why, I was in the very nick of time.  I am
+older than thou art.
+
+_Will._  Thy experience did ever squint, and the
+obliquity of the mind grows worse with years.  Yet
+I grant thee, as it hath happened, thou hast been
+equal to the occasion, which is true greatness, and
+that thou art great no one who looks at thee can deny.
+I am glad that Wyckoff hath at length paid his long
+reckoning.
+
+_Host._  But he hath not, he hath not!
+
+_Will._  Did you not see them take him?--
+
+_Host._  Tis all very well to jest, but I have often seen,
+that when a poor man is defrauded, first there is no
+justice whatsoever, and again, if there be any, it is
+in this wise, that, while the wrong-doer suffers by the
+Law, the Law swallows up the simple desired thing,
+which is restitution.  The Law takes the money, the
+Law disposes of the chattels, and finally, Jack Ketch,
+who is the Law's Ancient and most grim functionary,
+lays claim to the clothes.  There was more real
+justice, friend Will, in the little finger of the Law
+of Moses, than in the whole right arm and sword
+of our boasted English trull, and you may throw
+her scales and blind-man's-buff frippery into the
+bargain.
+
+_Will._  Stop, stop, thou art struck with an apoplexy
+of sense.  Wisdom peeps through both thine eyes, like
+the unexpected apparition of a bed-ridden old woman
+at a garret window.  Thou art the very owl of Minerva,
+and the little bill, that thou ever carriest with thee,
+is given thee for this purpose, to peck at man's
+frailty in the matter of repayment.  Come, thou art
+in danger.  I must have thee bled.
+
+_Host._  I tell thee I have bled, as much as e'er a
+kettle-pated fellow of them all in these wars.  I am
+defunct of nearly all my substance.
+
+_Will._  Substance?  Why there is scarcely a doorway
+thou canst pass through; and if one of Hell's
+gate-posts be not put back a foot or two, thou wilt be
+left, at thy latter end, like a huge undelivered parcel
+in the lumber-room of Charon.
+
+_Host._  I know not any carrier of that name, but 'tis
+ill twitting a man, when he is in earnest, and did I
+not love thee, and were this not a day of rejoicing,
+thou shouldest drink no more out of mine own silver
+flagon.
+
+_Will._  Nay, I meant not to offend thee.  Come,
+we part soon.  My master will pay thee thrice that
+thou hast lost by this captain.
+
+_Host._  Pish!  I care not for ten times the money.
+Thou understandest not the feelings of a tradesman.
+
+_Will._  Come along, come along.  The boat stays
+under the bridge.  Mistress Barbara is already on
+board the ship, and swears that tar is the perfumery
+of Satan.  Come, I may never see thee again, and
+although we shall not moisten our parting with tears,
+it would scarcely, methinks, be appropriate that we
+should say to each other "God be with you!" thirsting.
+[_Exeunt._]
+
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+[_Last Grooves._]
+
+_Drawing-room at Whitehall, with practicable folding
+doors and curtains, in the last Cut, 3rd Grooves.
+A Nurse discovered in attendance.  The Lady ELIZABETH
+is lying on a Couch, surrounded by the Family of
+CROMWELL.  Her Sisters are kneeling around her._
+
+_Eliz._  Leave me awhile; I shall be better soon.
+I would but see my father; pray you seek him,
+I wish to speak with him.
+
+_Lady Crom._  Nay, my sweet child,
+You must not be alone.
+
+_Eliz._  Dear mother, pardon,
+I shall be better.
+
+_Nurse._  The physician said
+She must not be denied the thing she asks.
+
+_Lady Crom._  Well, then--but let me cover thee, my sweet,
+The night is cold.
+
+_Eliz._  No! no! I scarce can breathe.
+
+_Lady Crom._  Indeed she mends, her eyes are brighter.  Come.
+
+[_They rise, and go out quietly._]
+
+_Eliz._  [_Raising herself._] Unbare my beating bosom to the wind,
+And let the breath of Heaven wander through
+The dreary twilight of my tangled hair.
+Mine eyes shall never sparkle any more,
+Save with the fearful glitter of unrest;
+My cheeks flush not with any hope on earth;
+But with the live glow in their ash burn on.
+Death holds his Carnival of winter roses
+Till their last blossom drops within the grave.
+Hush! what was that?  I thought I heard a noise:
+He comes, my father comes!  Away all thought
+Of self--Away, base passion, that would bind
+My winged soul to earth,--hush! hush! he comes.
+[_Pause._]
+Twas but the night-wind's flagging breath!  No sound
+Of mortal footstep, as it hither crept
+Tiptoe and carefully, 'twas like a murderer,
+That in his sleep walks forth.  See, how he threads his way
+'Mid all the antique chattels of the room
+Where it was none!  Mark, where his careful feet
+Avoid yon blood-stains, though they shrink not when
+The grey rat courses o'er them!  Nay, 'tis gone.
+A shape of fancy's painting to the sight.
+'Twas but the wind, I said--whose fleeting voice
+The vaulted corridor did syllable aloud,
+Mingling my name with tombs.
+Again, I hear
+It is his heavy footstep--
+
+_Enter CROMWELL, L._
+
+Father! here
+Come close and press me warmly to thee, quick!
+Lest Death step in between us--'
+Reach me here
+That cup.  My voice fails--not that hand! 'tis blood,
+
+[_He lets fall the cup._]
+
+As in my dreams.  I would assoil him.  Father!
+'Tis said, upon the giddy verge of life
+The eye grows steady, and the soul sees clear
+Thought guiding action in all human things,
+Not in the busy, whirling masque of life,
+Reality unreal, but in truth.
+Then the eye cuts as the chirurgeon's knife
+Mocks the poor corpse.  I saw not when he died:
+Yet last night was a scaffold, there! all black,
+And one stood visor'd by, with glittering axe
+Who struck the bare neck of a kneeling form--
+Methought the head of him that seem'd to die,
+With ghastly face and painful, patient stare,
+Glided along the sable, blood-gilt floor,
+As unseen fiends did pull it by its mass
+Of dank and dabbled hair, and when I turn'd
+Mine eyes to see it not, the headsman's mask
+Had fallen to the ground--
+Thou didst not do it?
+For it was _thy_ face.  Father, answer me!  [_She
+implores in a very earnest attitude, and gradually
+falls back._]
+
+_Crom._  [_Stands amazed at his daughter's action._]
+I'll hear no more.  'Twas not my daughter spoke--
+She's dead, and Heaven reproves me with a voice
+From yon pale tenement of clay.  My hair's on end.
+She said that fiends dragg'd his, 'tis mine they tug.
+Avaunt! I meant well.  [_Shouts are heard without._]
+Hark! hear without
+A Babel of hoarse demons clamouring loud
+For Cromwell, the Protector!
+
+[_His daughter points upward._]
+
+No! not there.
+I cannot follow thee.  A Spirit stands,
+Anointed, in the breach of Heaven's walls,
+Behind him streams intolerable light,
+His floating locks are crown'd--His look repels--
+I was his murderer on earth--His gaze
+Speaks pity; but not pardon--Let me rise,
+There's mercy on his brow--I fall, I fall.
+I tell ye loose me, ere I see him not:
+His form recedes, clouds hide him from my sight:
+A hand of midnight grasps me by the throat.
+They call'd me Cromwell when I liv'd on earth,
+And said I slew a king.  There is no air--
+
+[_He sinks exhausted on a chair._]
+
+_Enter PEARSON._
+
+_Eliz._  [_To PEARSON._]
+Pearson, thou lov'st him?
+
+_Pear._  Madam, with a love
+Born of those moments when men's lives are cheap.
+
+[_Looks at CROMWELL._]
+
+The dark fit is upon him.  I have found
+'Tis best to leave him to himself;--
+
+_Eliz._  No! no!
+There is no time.  My breath is short.  O Pearson,
+Rouse him from that cold torpor, ere I die.
+Life will not turn my hour-glass any more,
+Whose thin sands, sinking at their centre fast,
+Ebb hollowly away.  I would but speak
+A few soft words of comfort, pray him to
+Repent; there is repentance,--for his heart
+Sinn'd not so deeply as the world may think.
+
+_Crom._  [_Raising himself._] Who said repentance?
+What's done, is done well.
+I stand acquitted.  Daughter, cheer thee, rise.
+Thou shalt recover, my sweet darling.  List!
+It was the Lord reveal'd it to me.
+
+_Eliz._  Cease!
+Father, blaspheme no longer; with such words
+Feed the wild fever of the enthusiast crew,
+Pander to hypocrites; but not here, now,
+Deceive thyself, or me--
+
+[_During this Pearson has slowly withdrawn._]
+
+_Crom._  This is not well;
+As the Lord liveth, those poor lips, my child,
+Speak foolishness.  Who taught thee to rebuke
+Thy father?  Know, he stands 'twixt thee and God,
+Not thou between the living God and him.
+
+_Eliz._  What was that agony that tore thee now?--
+Why didst thou swoon and talk of murder, kings,
+Of hell and sulphur and the mocking fiends?
+
+_Crom._  Must thou now learn that when my soul is dark
+With sorrow, agitation, melancholy,
+I am possess'd with black delirious fits?--
+'Twas so ere thou wert born, ere I was call'd
+Unto a burden heavier, than man
+Unsuffering may bear; but, daughter, listen!
+I am not guilty! if the human mind
+May keep account with its own issuings forth
+To act and do; if thought deceive us not,
+And reason live in man.  I am not guilty, if
+The blind chimera of an earth-crown'd king
+Be less than God's truth--not, if it be well
+To love this people; to have drawn the sword
+For mercy's sake alone.  I am not guilty!
+(O God! call back her eyes' fast fading light,
+Lest she die judging me.)  I am not guilty!
+Except in loving thee too well.  My lips
+Shall speak no more at the eternal judgment
+Than this--
+
+_Eliz._  'Tis truth!  It cannot be but truth,
+All things seem different, yet just now I thought
+To see more clearly, whilst I dar'd to judge him--
+How happy am I now--forgive me, oh!
+My father!
+
+_Crom._  It has been, that I have shrunk
+From noble consciousness of the good work,
+For love of thee--seeing thee pine and faint,
+Deeming thy parent guilty of much blood,
+And great deeds for the small base thought of self.
+Thus, like the patriarch, I have cried aloud
+Unto the Lord, rebelling thus against
+His holy will.  This is my darkest error.
+
+_Eliz._  Now, let me comfort him and die in peace.
+O father, 'tis another love that bends
+This blighted form to earth.
+
+_Crom._  Ha!  What is this?
+Thy husband!
+
+_Eliz._  Fear not, I am pure in thought
+And deed--yet I was married early,
+Ere I had lov'd.  I could not choose but love,
+When I saw one--No matter--I am pure;
+But death is welcome.  Do not frown on me:
+I ne'er had told thee, but for comfort's sake,
+Lest thou shouldst think that thou hadst slain thy daughter.
+
+_Crom._  Can this be true?
+And she is dying thus!
+Would I had known it sooner; ere, alas!
+It was too late.  Come, tell me everything.
+
+[_He kneels down beside her._]
+
+_Eliz._  Nay, let this thing go by; clasp me unto thee.
+Forgive me all the pain that I have cost thee.
+I feel as if I were again a child
+That prattled by thy side, ere strife had come,
+And sown those wrinkles in thy lofty brow;
+'Bend till my faded fingers reach to smooth them!
+I cannot think but of an evening walk,
+When thou didst tell me of the life of David,
+And how he dwelt with God--'twas on the bench
+Round the oak tree in the fair pasturage,
+[_Organ plays._]
+Behind the church;--see, see, yon arched window
+Is full of light.  Hush! they are singing, hush!
+The sun is cheerful!  Nature praises God.
+Leave me not yet, my father, spare one hour
+Unto thy child.  Nay, then, we shall meet soon.
+Thou smil'st, sweet Spirit, all the rest grows dim!
+See by yon pale and monumental form,
+The old man kneeling, weeps.  I come!  I come!
+
+[_Falls back and dies, her hands clasped in the
+attitude of a recumbent marble effigy.  During
+the latter part, till the interruption, an organ
+is heard playing solemn music._]
+
+_Enter a Servant, L.; he makes a sign that some one is
+coming.  CROMWELL bows his head.  Enter a PHYSICIAN,
+LADY CROMWELL, and Sisters, L._
+
+_Phy._  Doth she sleep?--
+
+_Crom._  Ay, tread softly, for the ground
+Is holy--
+
+_Phy._  [_Addressing the body._] Lady!
+
+_Crom._  He, she answereth,
+Is there!  [_Points above._]
+
+_Lady Crom._  Dead! oh, Elizabeth!
+
+_Crom._   Why griev'st thou, woman!
+Rejoice with the angels rather.
+Did I not hear
+But now an organ?--  [_To the Physician._]
+
+_Phy._  'Twas, I think, my lord,
+Your secretary, Milton.
+
+_Crom._  Let him come here.
+
+[_Exit PHYSICIAN, U.E.R.  During this time, LADY
+CROMWELL kneels by the body of her daughter, whilst
+a curtain is drawn round the couch.  The folding-doors
+and curtains close all in as CROMWELL goes, L._]
+
+_Enter an OFFICER and Officers in Naval Uniform
+with Despatches, L._
+
+_Offi._  These to your Highness!
+
+_Crom._  [_Tearing them open._] C.  From our admiral,
+The gallant Blake.  Another victory--
+The Hollanders have yielded, that did late
+Insult our English flag.
+
+[_Shouting is heard without._]
+
+_Milton._  [_Who has entered, U.E.R., unperceived._]
+Most humble tenders
+From France and Spain await your Excellency.
+
+_Crom._  Ay! we will treat anon.
+
+_Milton._   The Turks have yielded
+The traitor Hyde--The Vaudois, sav'd, are blessing,
+In their bright peaceful valleys, your great name,
+First in their prayers to Heaven--
+
+_An Usher._  Sir, there are messages
+From various sects; the enfranchis'd Jews, and all
+Whose burdens you have lighten'd, pray to see you.
+
+_Crom._  Let all come in.  I need all grateful hearts
+Around me now.
+
+_Enter an Officer with IRONSIDES, L._
+
+_Offi._  [_Speaking softly._] My lord!
+
+_Crom._  Speak out, I say!
+Thou tear'st my heart-strings with thy whispering.
+It is grown a habit here not wanted more.
+Sir, I am childless.  Speak your message out.
+I have no heart now, save for England's glory.
+
+_Offi._  My lord, will't please you to receive these letters?
+Dunkirk is ceded to the English crown.
+
+_Crom._  Crown, sirrah?
+Where didst thou teach thy tongue that tinsel word?
+Go, mend thy speech, although thou bear'st good tidings.
+
+_He walks to and fro._
+
+Had she but liv'd to hear this.  Yet, O God,
+Thy will be done!
+
+[_To an officer._]
+
+Now let the cannon speak,
+And trumpets tell this news unto the nation.
+
+[_Flourish of trumpets and cannon behind the scenes._]
+
+'Tis well!  I'll make the name of England sound
+As great, as glorious, with as full an echo,
+As ever that of Rome in olden time.
+By distant shores, in every creek and sea,
+Her fleets shall lend proud shadows to the waters,
+While their loud salvos silence hostile forts
+With luxury of daring.  Englishmen
+Shall carry welcome with their wanderings.
+Her name shall be the world's great watchword, fram'd
+To make far tyrants tremble, slaves, rejoicing,
+Unlock their lean arms from their hollow breasts,
+And good men challenge holy brotherhood,
+Where'er that word of pride is heard around.
+For this the shallow name of king be lost
+In the majestic freedom of the age.
+'Tis slaves have need of trappings for their lords.
+By Heaven, I say, a score of kings, each back'd
+By his mean date of twenty rotted sires,
+Could do no more than this.  I will be more
+Than all these weak and hireling Stuarts.  This
+Let Time and England judge, as years roll on.
+
+[_Flourish as the curtain falls._]
+
+
+
+*This is a line interpolated, in my last revision of
+the passage, from Shelley's "Revolt of Islam."  It was
+pointed out to me by a friend, who thought it would give
+force and clearness to the contest.  The noble stanzas
+on America, from which it is taken, will be found in
+Ascham's edition of "Shelley's Poems," page 147,
+commencing with
+
+ "There is a people mighty in its youth."
+
+
+
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