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diff --git a/14448-0.txt b/14448-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b536b0c --- /dev/null +++ b/14448-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5580 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14448 *** + +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." + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14448 *** |