Cromwell — Act first

"To-morrow—'twill be June the twenty-fifth—A person whom Lord Broghill once esteemedHis Lordship will await at the Three Cranes,Hard by the wine-market, where two streets meet."[He looks about him.This is the tavern—'tis the selfsame placeWhich Charles, forsook of God at Worcester,

Striving to save his head, having lost his crown,Alone and friendless, in mid-London chose,Therein to hide from Cromwell.[He looks again at the letter.Therein to hide from Cromwell.But this note,Which I had yesterday, whence does it come?The hand—Ormond [rising.]May God preserve Lord Broghill!Broghill [eying him disdainfully from head to foot.May God preserve Lord Broghill!What!Was 't you, my friend, who caused me, at this hour,To quit my dwelling for this smoky den?Tell me your name. Whence came you? Or from whom?What is your errand?—I have seen this man.Ormond.Lord Broghill!Broghill.Lord Broghill! Answer me! Knaves of your sortAre fit to amuse our servants at our doors;And to entreat them well is all the honourThat those of our rank owe to those of yours.I find you bold!Ormond. I find you bold! Saving your Lordship's presence—Discourse you as a people's nobleman,A friend of Cromwell?Broghill. A friend of Cromwell? The old Puritan,If you perchance should wake him thus betimes,Would have you hanged full thirty cubits high,To change the course of your ideas.Ormond [aside.] To change the course of your ideas. Awake him!Rather I hope to send him off to sleep!Broghill.Cromwell, who'll soon be seated on the throne,Will find a way to chastise the canaille.Ormond.His throne's a block, his purple is bloodstained.

A turncoat subject of the Stuarts, youHave not remembered it.Broghill. Have not remembered it. That glance—that voice!Who are you, in God's name?Ormond. Who are you, in God's name? Broghill doth ask!Remember you, my Lord, the Irish wars?Together in those days we served the King.Broghill.'Tis my Lord Ormond! My old friend, 'tis you![He grasps his hands affectionately.In London—you! Great God! and on the eveOf the very day when, flushed with victory,Cromwell doth clothe himself with power supreme!What do you here, unhappy man?Ormond. What do you here, unhappy man? My duty.Broghill.Have I misjudged thee? But this sombre air,My lord—the passing years—and above allThis ministerial garb—you are so changed!Ormond.Less changed than you, Broghill. You bend the knee,Ay, Broghill does obeisance at the feetOf Cromwell, execrable regicide !In garb I've changed, but you in heart and soul!So you who in our combats loomed so grand,You rose so high, to fall so low at last !Broghill.Ah! vanquished, I do pity you; proscribed,I you revere; but language of this sort—Ormond. Is no less just than harsh. But list to me:You may atone for all. Serve me—Broghill. You may atone for all. Serve me— With Cromwell?Oh, yes, I hasten to implore his grace.You are proscribed, and I can save your life.

Ormond.Stay! Ask me rather to protect your head.Your upstart champion, protector, king,Your Cromwell is more near his fall than I.Broghill.What do I hear?Ormond. What do I hear? Once more hear what I say:Consumed with spleen, and of the paltry namesOf highness and protector all a-weary,'Tis Cromwell's purpose, to be raised aloftTo the King's throne, to be by monarchs hailedWith the proud title of His Majesty.And in this spoil, which all do share, he takesThe bloodstained heritage of Charles the First.And he shall have it all! his throne and bier.The King king-killer in his pride shall learnHow heavy is the crown; and that, althoughOne seizes it by craft and violence,It crushes oft the heads that it adorns.Broghill.What do you say?Ormond. What do you say? To-morrow, at the hourWhen Westminster shall open for this kingWhom hell is soon to consecrate, I sayThat you will see him wallow in his blood,Felled by our swords, ay, on the very stepsOf the throne that he an instant has usurped!Broghill.Madman! the army is his suite, and ayeThat moving wall of iron protects his life.Do you know e'en the number of his guards?How will you force a passage through three ranksOf halberds and his mail-clad infantry,His heralds, clubmen and black musketeers,And scarlet cuirassiers?Ormond. And scarlet cuirassiers? They are with us.Broghill.What is your hope? To see the CavaliersUnited with the Roundheads?

Ormond. United with the Roundheads? You will seeWith your own eyes, here in this place, ere long,The King's men mingling with the partisansOf Parliament. The lowering PuritansObey the voice of their fanaticism.They'll have no more of Oliver than Charles.If Cromwell grasps the throne, then at their handsHe dies. Lambert, his rival and their chief,Doth join with us. He ventures to aspireTo replace Cromwell, but we'll look to that!Spanish and Flemish gold have won for usMany confederates within these walls.'Tis a fair game in short,—we cast the die!Broghill.Cromwell is very shrewd! you stake your head.Ormond.For whom to-morrow'll be a festal day,God alone knows. Our plot's success is sure.This morning Rochester will hither bringSedley and Jenkins, Clifford, DavenantThe poet, who the King's secret commandsDoth bear to us. To the same rendezvousSir Richard Willis, Harrison and CarrWill come.Broghill.But they're in prison; they are foesWhom Cromwell holds in durance in the Tower.Ormond.A word confounds thee. Bound by diverse tiesTo the same fate—to compass Cromwell's fall,—Our ranks include Barkstead the regicide,The Keeper of the Tower, whom the hopeOf pardon hath impelled to side with us.You see how artfully our scheme's devised.In a vast network Cromwell is enmeshed.He'll not escape! Beneath the throne he rears,Like-minded interests have digged a pit.

To this end came I from the Continent.I fain would save your head, Broghill, and nowI ask you in King Charles the Second's name,My royal master: "Do you choose to liveA faithful subject, or to die a traitor?"Broghill.What say you?Ormond. What say you? To the standard of the KingReturn.Broghill. Return. Alas! I, too, in the old daysWas a leal, faithful subject; for our KingI took strong castles and defended towns;And I, who once was soldier of the Stuarts,Am now, by cruel destiny, transformedTo Cromwell's courtier! To his dreary fate,Dear Ormond, leave a wretched renegade!Do you, in your turn, list, and be my judge.—During the conflict with the Parliament,I hither came to raise a regiment.Like you I lay in hiding, and a priceWas set upon my head. One day I hadA visit from a stranger. It was Cromwell.—My life was in his hand. He saved my life.In gratitude my duty I forgot.He took possession of me, and ere longI was, like him, a sacrilegious rebel.My arm doth his republicans uphold,And, for my King first raised, against him fights.Cromwell hath since created me a peer,Lieutenant-general of artillery,A judge of his High Court and Privy Council.Thus, by his favour raised to highest rank,Falls he, I must fall likewise by his side;Nor can I, faithless to my lawful King,Whatever love I bear his noble house,Renew my faith unstained by treachery.

Ormond.Deplorable and wonted consequenceOf civil strife! O God! on what slight threadsVirtues political depend to-day!How many owe their fall to their harsh fate!How many who appear as white as snowAre simply fortunate! Broghill! with usShatter the yoke that doth oppress us all;Prove your repentance!Broghill. Prove your repentance! What! another crime?Nay. In your fatal secret I may beA confidant discreet, but nought beyond.Neutral in this sad conflict, be it mineTo undergo your triumph, or to breakYour fall. Whoever be the conqueror,Faithful to both, with Cromwell to succumb,Or move him to be merciful to you.Ormond.To hold your peace and act not! So you'll beTo Cromwell false, yet serve not your true master.In God's name be to us a sincere friendOr sincere foe, and not half-false, half-true!Denounce me, rather!Broghill [haughtily.]Denounce me, rather! For those words, my lord,Were you not outlawed, you should answer me!Ormond [offering him his hand.Forgive me, Broghill; an old soldier I,Full twenty years, faithful to my King,My duty I performed. Upon my bodyAre written well-nigh all my servicesAnd well-nigh all my battles, in deep scars;By many a skilful chief have I been taught—Prince Rupert and the Marquis of Montrose;I've led without vainglory and obeyedWithout complaint. 'Neath helm and coat of mailI have grown old and grey; the death I saw

Of Strafford and of Derby; and the fieldsOf Dunbar, Tredagh, Naseby, Worcester—Those combats of the only arms on earthThat could uphold or strike down England's throne;I saw that throne, by conflict shaken, fall;I have made war on ranters, preachers, saints;My hand, engaged in never-ending strife,Can tell how many strokes will dull the sword.Ah well! I near at last my labours' goal,Cromwell must fall! A new day is at hand.But must it be, to sadden all my joy,To dim my glory, that a friend must die,A victim of my victory? Old comrade,Remember that we two our dauntless bladesHave bathed in the same blood, and breathed the dustOf the same conflicts. For the second timeAnd last, Broghill, I ask, in the King's name:Wilt live a faithful subject, or wilt dieA traitor?—Think on 't. Ormond will awaitYour answer in an hour.[He writes on a piece of paper, which he hands to Broghill.Your answer in an hour. Hereon is writMy borrowed name and secret dwelling-place.Broghill [pushing away the paper.Ah! do not tell me! No. I know too much.For long the same tent sheltered us, I know,But my sad fate must be fulfilled. Farewell.Neither informer nor confederateI'll be. I will forget all you have said.But are you of success in such a plotFully assured? Nought Cromwell doth escape.His eye is ever upon Europe fixed,His hand envelopes her. And when your hand

Seeks for a place to strike him, it may beHe holds the thread that makes your arm to move.So tremble, Ormond.Ormond. So tremble, Ormond. Leave me, good my lord.I kiss your lordship's hand.[Exit Lord Broghill; the door closes behind him.

I kiss your lordship's hand. Let's think no more on 't.

[He resumes his seat and seems lost in thought. While he muses, a voice is heard, constantly drawing nearer, and singing the following words to a lively tune:A soldier, stern-faced wight,A page detains one night,A page of roguish bearing."My bonny page, beware!Whither so early faring,When the streets deserted are,Your satin doublet wearing?"

"Beneath my cloak I bearA long sword and guitar;And a tryst to keep I'm out, sir.I many a rebel tame,And many a husband flout, sir;My guitar is for the dame,And my sword for the jealous lout, sir."

[The voice breaks off. Some one knocks at the door at the back of the stage. Then the voice resumes.

But the sentry with a frownFrom his lofty tower looked down,And thus to the page made answer:"Fair page, I trust you not;Why wake before the dawn, sir?'Tis rather for war, I wot,Than to put your heart in pawn, sir."

[The knocking is repeated, louder.Ormond [rising to open the door.Who sings thus? 'Tis some fool—or Rochester.[He opens the door and looks into the street.Himself!—and faith, he's scribbling on his knee![Enter Lord Rochester gaily, with a pencil and paper in his hand.

Rochester [with a slight salutation.Pardon, my lord, I did but write my song.Ah! I must tell you—[He begins to write on his knee.Ah! I must tell you— God protect your Grace!—One scarce can see.—Do you await our friends?—What think you of the air?[He sings.A soldier, stern-faced wight,A page detains one night—

For our instruction, exile hath its value.It is an old French air I learned in Paris.Ormond [shaking his head.]I fear the soldier 'll stop the comely pageFor good and all!Broghill. [glancing at his song.For good and all! The rest is over leaf.[He holds out his hand to Lord Ormond.Good! ever foremost at the post!—Our friends?—Would you have liked it better had I writ:—

A soldier stern of eye,Detains as he passes by,A page of roguish bearing,—

Instead of:—

A soldier, stern-faced wight,A page detains one night,A page, etc.

The repetition of "a page" hath charm,Is it not so? The French—Ormond. Is it not so? The French— A truce, my lord.I have not wit enough to judge your talent.Rochester.But I esteem you a most worthy judge.And for a proof thereof I'll read to youA new quatrain.[He rises and begins in a dramatic tone.A new quatrain. "O fair Egeria!"[He interrupts himself.I pray thee, guess to whom it is addressed.Ormond.My lord, the time to jest, meseems, has passed.[Aside.God's blood! Charles is no less insane than heTo send him to me!

Rochester. To send him to me! Nay, 'tis serious,Nor of my quatrains the least excellent.And, more, 'tis writ for such a charming maid!For Frances Cromwell!Ormond. For Frances Cromwell! Frances Cromwell?Rochester. For Frances Cromwell! Frances Cromwell? Yes.I'm sick with love of her.Ormond. I'm sick with love of her. The youngest childOf Cromwell?Rochester. Of Cromwell? Ay, of Cromwell! 'Pon my word,She's a sweet creature; nay,—what do I say?—An angel, in good sooth!Ormond. An angel, in good sooth! By all the gods!Lord Rochester in love with—Rochester. Lord Rochester in love with—Frances Cromwell.By your surprise I readily divineThat you that radiant beauty ne'er have seen.Years seventeen, black hair, a noble port,Fair as a lily, and such shapely hands!Such lovely eyes, my lord! a very sylph!A nymph! I saw her only yesterday.She was ill-coifed; no matter! EverythingHer charms enhances, everything becomes her.'Tis said that 'twas but last month that she cameTo London, and that, having by her auntBeen nurtured, far from Cromwell's side, she loves,Ay, dearly loves the King.Ormond. Ay, dearly loves the King. Pure balderdash,Lord Rochester! But, pray, where saw you her?Rochester.Last night, at Westminster, at the great feastThat London City to old Cromwell gave.—May God confound him!—I was curiousTo see his Mightiness; but when I stoodBeside his daïs, first of all I saw

Frances, so modest and so beautiful,And, charmed and stricken dumb, I saw nought else.Albeit pushed and jostled by the mob;My eyes from that sole object wavered not;And, when I left the place, I could not sayWhether, in speaking, Cromwell stands erectOr stoops, whether his forehead is too low,His nose too long, or whether he is sadOr merry, plain or comely, dark or fair.In all that multitude, I saw but one,A woman, and since then, upon my soul,My lord, I'm mad!Ormond. My lord, I'm mad! I' faith, I think 'tis so.Rochester.This is my rondeau—in the latest mode.Ormond.'Tis all the same to me.Rochester. 'Tis all the same to me. The same! nay, nay!You know that Shakespeare, if the truth be told,Is but a savage, Wither a great man.Is there in all "Macbeth" a madrigal?The English taste retreats before the French;Talent—Ormond [aside.] Talent—A murrain on the English taste!And on the French taste! and the quatrain too!St. George! His folly is past remedy.[Aloud.Pardon, my lord. To speak without reserve,At such a time, 'twould better you becomeTo counsel me, to tell me where we stand,How many gentlemen will join our ranks,And if in Lambert we've a sure ally,—Than to sing madrigals to Cromwell's daughters!Rochester.Your lordship is o'er-rude. I may, methinks,Untraitorously love a beauteous maid.Ormond.Her father, too?

Rochester. Her father, too? You take offence, it seems.Truly, I know not why. My amouretteWould surely entertain his Majesty.Through Cromwell's daughter I wage war on him.Moreover, I have little awe of him.Although we never met that I recall,We both for mistress had, at the same time,That Lady Dysart, who, so gossip says,Is soon to wed our dear Lord Lauderdale.Ormond.Never would I have thought that Cromwell couldBe slandered; but he's chaste, and why deny it?He hath the stern, austere moralityOf a sincere reformer.Rochester [laughing.] Of a sincere reformer. He, austere!Ah! that austerity of his doth hideFull many a mystery; the hypocriteHath often proved that e'en the PuritanIs to mankind akin. But by your leave,Return we to the quatrain.Ormond [aside.] Return we to the quatrain. By St. George!He dogs me still, the quatrain on his lips![Aloud.] Hark ye, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester,You are still young, and I am growing old.The ancient chivalric traditions IDo still maintain, wherefore I dare to say,My lord, that all these sonnets, madrigals,Rondeaus, quatrains, and ballads, wherewithalYour Paris fools are entertained, are wellFor petty folk and those of humble birth.Why, pettifogging lawyers grind them out!But, Rochester, your peers would blush with shameTo stoop to rhyme quatrains and madrigals.My lord, you 're of an ancient noble race,Your arms, unless my memory's at fault,

Bear an earl's coronet and a peer's cloak,With this device: Aut nunquam aut semper.My Latin is to seek, let me confess,But thus in English doth the motto read:"Sustain the King and your own feudal rights,"And do not madrigals and sonnets make;"Leave such employment to the common herd."And so, my lord, be more solicitousOf our hereditary rank; no moreDo what the humblest baronet or squire,Whose arms are flint and steel, would scorn to do!No verses!Rochester. No verses! Gad! 'tis a decree in form.That my offence is heinous, I agree.But amongst other rhymers, one and allOf lowliest estate, a fellow criminalI mark Armand Duplessis Richelieu,The poet-cardinal; why hold my peace?Ay, e'en if the supporters of my shieldsWere England's lion and the unicorn,Still would I write rondeaus and madrigals![Aside.] The dear old man is in a savage humour.[He looks toward the door and cries:Oh! come and change the subject, Davenant!

[Enter Davenant in a simple costume of black. Ample cloak and high-crowned hat.

Rochester [running toward Davenant.Dear poet, we await you here to readA quatrain to you.Davenant [saluting the two noblemen.A quatrain to you. 'Tis another quest

That brings me here. My lords, may God be with you!Ormond.Do you bring news from Germany, dear sir?Davenant.Yes, from Cologne I came.Ormond. Yes, from Cologne I came. You saw the King?Davenant.No, but his Majesty had speech with me.Ormond.I do not understand you, by my faith.Davenant.Here's the whole mystery. Cromwell, beforeHe gave consent that I should leave this realm,Did summon me before him and demandMy plighted word that I'd not see the King.I promised. But no sooner in CologneWas I than I recalled the wiles I learnedIn Gascony: I wrote the King to begThat I might to his presence be admittedAt night, without a light.Rochester [laughing.] At night, without a light. Most excellent!Davenant.His Majesty, who vouchsafed to assent,Gave audience to me, and honoured meWith his commands to be conveyed to you.Thus, to my twofold duty loyal ever,I had speech with the King, yet saw him not.Rochester [laughing heartily.]Ah! Davenant, the ruse was well devised.You've writ no more diverting comedy.Ormond [to Rochester, in an undertone.Diverting! I mislike such trickery.A poet's oath is held of no account.But subtleties like this, the which I callBy other names, would never satisfyA gentleman's conception of true honour.[To Davenant.] And the King's written order?Davenant. And the King's written order? In my hat.

I keep it always, in a velvet bag.I'm sure, at least, that none will seek it there.

Rochester [to Davenant, in an undertone.The while he reads that scroll, I'll read to youSome verses.Ormond [reading half aloudSome verses. "To our tried and loyal subject,"James Butler, Marquis of Ormond: it is"Our wish that Rochester be introduced"To Cromwell's presence at Whitehall."Rochester. To Cromwell's presence at Whitehall. Oho!The King would have me violate his daughter?[To Davenant.] My quatrain doth commemorate her charms.Ormond [reading.]"That a narcotic with his wine be mixed."While sleeping in his bed he must be seized,"And brought to us alive. We will ourselves"Do justice. Furthermore, have confidence"In Davenant. Such is our royal will."Charles, Rex."

Charles, Rex. Egad! 'Tis easier said than done,In truth. In God's name, how is RochesterTo be to Cromwell's bedroom introduced?We needs must be adroit.Davenant. We needs must be adroit. I know a manIn Cromwell's suite, an old doctor of laws,

Milton, interpreter and secretary;A blind man—a good clerk, but wretched poet.Rochester.What! Milton, friend of the King's murderers,Who wrote the "Iconoclast," and God knows what!The great Saumaise's mean antagonist!Davenant.I'm well content to be his friend to-day.No chaplain the Protector has, methinks.[Pointing to Rochester.For my lord, Milton can obtain the post.Ormond [laughing.}A chaplain! Rochester! In very truthA most diverting masquerade!Rochester. A most diverting masquerade! And why,Lord Ormond? I can play a rôle at willIn comedy; in "Le Roi Bücheron"I've played the thief,—as you know, Davenant,—And I can well assume the characterOf a psalm-singing Puritan divine.One needs but preach until one swims in sweat,And harp forever on the Golden Calf,The dragon, Jezer's flutes and Endor's caves;To gain access to Cromwell, a sure means.Davenant [seating himself at the table, and writing.Armed with this line from me, I promise you,That Milton will commend you, good my lord,To the old devil, and that he will takeYou for his chaplain.Rochester. You for his chaplain. Frances I shall see![He puts out his hand eagerly to take Davenant's letter.Davenant.But let me fold it.Rochester. But let me fold it. Frances!Ormond [to Rochester.] But let me fold it. Frances! For the maid,In heaven's name, play no mad pranks!

Rochester [aside.] In heaven's name, play no mad pranks! Nay, nay!If, haply, I my quatrain could bestowUpon her! Oft a quatrain lights the spark.[Aloud, to Davenant.Once in the citadel, what must I do?Davenant [handing him a phial.]Herein is a most potent sleeping-draught.The King to be is always served at nightWith hippocras wherein is dipped a sprigOf rosemary. Therein this powder pour,And bribe the guard at the park gate.And bribe the guard at t [To Ormond.] The restIs our affair.Ormond. Is our affair. But wherefore does the KingCommand that Cromwell, by a coup de main,Be carried off to-night, whenas he diesTo-morrow? E'en by his own partisansHis death is sworn.Davenant. His death is sworn. And that's the reason on 't.The King would fain protect him from the blowsAimed by the Puritans. It is his willTo do without their aid. And, furthermore,'Tis often well to have a living foeFor hostage.Rochester. For hostage. And the funds?Davenant. For hostage. And the funds? Moored in the ThamesThere lies a brig with a large sum in goldWhich will be brought to us. Meanwhile, at need,Manasseh, a vile Jew, doth offer usA gen'rous credit to be drawn upon.Ormond.'Tis well.Davenant. 'Tis well. But let us none the less retainThe Roundheads' succour. 'Tis an oak whose rootsSpread deep and far, that we would overthrow.Let their alliance hold, and let th' old fox

If he elude our snares, fall 'neath their daggers!Rochester.Well said, dear Davenant! high-sounding words!Trust the true poet to speak metaphors!Cromwell an oak and fox in one same breath!A fox with daggers slain.—You are the torchOf th' English Pindus! Wherefore, master mine,I crave your judgment—Ormond [aside.] I crave your judgment—Bah! again the quatrain.Rochester.On certain verses which last night—Ormond. On certain verses which last night—My lord,Is this the place?Rochester [aside.] Is this the place? What narrow-minded foolsAll these great nobles be! If it so chanceThat one of them have wit, he loses caste!Davenant [to Rochester.]When Charles the Second is in Windsor Lodge,You shall repeat your verses, good my lord,And we'll invite to this same spot, to hear,Wither and Waller and St. Albans, too.—By your good leave, I cry your mercy now.Ormond.Yes, let us plot in peace.Yes, let us plot ... [To Davenant.] 'Twas nobly said,My friend![Aside.] Wilmot should die of very shame;Davenant the poet is less mad than he.Rochester [to Davenant.You will not listen, then?Davenant. You will not listen, then? Lord RochesterHimself, methinks, will not insist thereon.We've divers matters to deliberateTouching our plot.Rochester. Touching our plot. You think my quatrain bad!Because I have not written masqueradesAnd tragi-comedies!—So be it, sir!

[To Lord Ormond, in an undertone.Pure rhapsodies! If he declines to hear,'Tis that he's jealous!Davenant. 'Tis that he's jealous! What! My lord is wroth?Rochester.Deuce take you! leave me.Davenant. Deuce take you! leave me. Nay, upon my life,I did not think to wound you!Ormond. I did not think to wound you! Prithee, my lord—Rochester [turning away.]Pride!Davenant. Pride! Deign, my lord—Rochester [repelling him.]Rank envy!Ormond [warmly.] Rank envy! By St. George!To gentle measures I am not inclined.One drop makes the full cup to overflow.—My lord, the veriest fop who cuts a dashIn Paris, the last fribble who on Place RoyaleDisplays his hat with all its drooping plumes,His ribbons and lace frill and curly wigAnd bottines highly varnished, has a mindLess filled than yours is with absurd conceits!Rochester [in a rage.]My lord, you're not my father! Your grey hairsIn vain bear aid to your insulting speech.Your words are young and make us of like age.For this affront you 'll answer me, by God!Ormond.With all my heart. Out sword, my pretty spark.[They both draw their swords.I' faith, your swagger moves me not a whit![They cross swords.Davenant [rushing between them.How now, my lords! Peace! peace! and instantly!Rochester [fencing.]Nay, peace is well, my friend, but war is better!

Davenant [still striving to separate them.Suppose the watch should hear you![There comes a knock on the door.Suppose the watch should hear you! Some one knocks.[The knocking is repeated, louder than before.In heaven's name, my lords![They continue to fight.In heaven's name, my lords! In the King's name![The two lords pause and lower their swords.—Another knock.All 's lost! Some one has called the guard, perchance.

Carr.Is this the place appointed for the saintsTo meet, my brethren?Davenant [returning his salutation.] To meet,… Even so.[To Lord Ormond, in an undertone.] To meet,… Even so. 'Tis thusThat these damned Puritans do name themselves.[Aloud, to Carr.Welcome to this conventicle, my brother.[Carr walks slowly toward them.Ormond [to Lord Rochester, in an undertone.Our bellicose outbreak was most absurd.Let us stop here. I gave the first offence.

Let us be friends.Rochester [bowing]'Tis as you please, my lord.Ormond.Think we henceforward of the King alone,Whose service hath dire need of both our hands.Rochester.It is no less my duty than my joy.[They shake hands.Great God! is't not enough to be assailedWith exile, banishment, death sentences,A price upon our heads, et cœtera,—The sad result of our ill-omened wars—[He points to his disguise.And this felt hat, and this infernal cloak?

Continue, brethren!—At the holy placeWhen I arrive, methinks, of all the guestsAssembled at the blessed banquet, IAm the least worthy. Let no man arise,To greet old Carr. The clamour wherewithalYour voices fell upon my ears, I seeWas but a contest of arms spiritual.Rochester [aside]The devil take him!Carr. The devil take him! Contests of that sortAre most familiar to me; pray resumeThose combats which the spirit do sustain.Rochester [to Davenant, in an undertone.Or make one render up his spirit.Davenant [in the same tone.] Or make one render up his spirit. Peace!Carr.'Tis written: "Go ye all throughout the world,And preach my word."Rochester [to Davenant, in an undertone.And preach my word." I'll con my chaplain's rôle.

Carr [after a pause.]Of the Long Parliament I've earned the wrath.The Tower hath held me under lock and keyMourning our liberties, these seven years,Vanished 'neath Cromwell's rule. My gaoler saidTo me this morning, throwing wide my door:—"At the Three Cranes thou art awaited. Go!"Its tribes doth Israel convoke; at last"Cromwell's to be o'erthrown, and in his fall"The foul abuses that corrupt the state."—So went I forth, and as in days of oldJacob to Mesopotamia, I comeTo your fraternal door. My soul awaitsYour blessed healing words, as does the earthThe rain from heaven. I am girt aboutAnd made unclean with malediction dire.Wherefore with hyssop purify me, pray;For if your eyes turn not their light upon me,I shall be as a dead man in the tomb!Rochester [to Davenant, in an undertone.]What shocking jargon!Davenant [in the same tone.] From th' Apocalypse.Carr.My soul doth crave the light.Rochester [aside.] My soul doth crave the light. Then put an endTo the eclipse! I gather from his speechHe's from the Tower and his name is Carr.He's one of the conspirators sent hitherBy Barkstead. This same Carr's a sectary,A bird of prey. Assisted by Strachan,In the late war he drew his forces offFrom the encampment of the Parliament.The Parliament confined him in the Tower;But, Master Davenant, blush you to knowThat Cromwell he reproached for that he didBy treachery the Parliament dissolve

That prisoned him.Davenant [in an undertone.] That prisoned him. An Independent heOf common type? Ranter? Socinian?Ormond [in an undertone.]No, he's a millenary. He believesThat for a thousand years to come the saintsWill rule unhindered.—Goodly folk the saints!Carr [apparently absorbed in gloomy meditation.Brethren, I've suffered sore! I was forgotIn my dark cell, like one long years dead.The Parliament, which I, alas! outraged,Oliver Cromwell had with force expelled,And I, in durance, moaned old England's fate,As, by the lonesome lake, the pelican;Myself, too, I bemoaned! By sin's hot flameMy brow was branded, withered was my arm;Accursèd by the God whom I proclaim,Like unto wood by fire half consumedWas I. Alas! so bitterly I've wept,My bones are burned, my skin clings tight to them.But now the Lord on me hath taken pity,And raiseth me. Upon the temple-rockMy blade is sharpened; therewith I will smiteThe traitor Cromwell, and expel from ZionThe desolation of perdition!Rochester [to Davenant, in an undertone.By my good name! a most unique harangue!Carr.Amongst you I resume my unstained robe.Rochester [aside.]Great God!Carr. Great God! Lead me along the narrow way;And laud yourselves, whose hearts are free from guile.The thousand years are come. The saints whom GodDoth aid, from Gog to Magog, soon will ruleThe world. And you are saints!Rochester. The world. And you are saints! You do us honour.

Carr [with enthusiasm.The stones of Zion to the Lord are dear.Rochester.Well said!Carr. Well said! If God lay not His hand on me,Like as one dumb I open not my mouth.'Tis you to whom my ear will always list,For heavenly manna in your speech abounds![To Lord Ormond.Tell me—methought you were of diverse minds—What text evoked your sacred controversy?Rochester.A moment since?—It was about a verse—[Aside.] Egad! what if my quatrain pleasure him!E'en now he listens with unequalled zestTo what I say! What poet, in good sooth,Could see an ear ope so wide, and notThrow verses in? I'll risk the madrigal,Let come what may! First let us give him wine.It is well known that when the glasses clinkOur sternest Puritans sometimes unbend.[Aloud.] You should be thirsty, sir?Carr. You should be thirsty, sir? Nay! not athirstNor hungry! I eat ashes, friend, like bread.Rochester [aside.]If so he dines, then he may eat alone.No matter![Aloud.] No matter! Landlord! boy!No matter! … boy! [A waiter appears.] Bring muscadine,Wine, hippocras!

Wine, hippocras! You asked—much thanks!—whatWe were discussing here a moment since.

It was a quatrain—Carr. It was a quatrain—Quatrain?Rochester. It was a quatrain—Quatrain? Certes, yes.Carr.A quatrain! what is that?Rochester. A quatrain! what is that? 'Tis—like a psalm.Carr.Ah! then I listen.Rochester. Ah! then I listen. Give me, my good sir,Your candid judgment.—"Fair Egeria!"—Oh! she to whom these verses are addressedIs Frances called; but that too vulgar nameWould ring too hollow far in gallant verse.I needs must change it; long I swayed in doubt'Twixt Gorselidis and Parthenope;And finally I chose Egeria,Sweet name of her who was the cherished nymphOf the sage Numa—legislator he,And I a member of the Parliament.That was more fitting. Judged I not aright?But hearken to the am'rous madrigal:—[He assumes a seductive and languishing air."O fair Egeria! you set my heart aflame!"Your eyes wherein Don Cupid lights a conqu'ring fire,"Are glowing mirrors which do concentrate the flame"Whose rays consume my very soul."What say you to't?

Carr. What say you to't? Damnation! demons! death!May heaven and the saints forgive my words!But how can I, unmoved, hear at my sideThe torrent of obscenities pour forth!Avaunt thou, Edomite, Amalekite.And Midianite!

Rochester [laughing.]What wealth of rhymes in ite!I' faith! this fellow's an originalMuch more diverting than Lord Ormond is!Carr [indignantly.]Like Satan, thou didst to the mountain-topConduct me, and thy tongue did say to me:"Newly thou art come forth from rigid fasting;"Art thou athirst? the whole world's at thy feet."Rochester.I simply offered you a cup of wine.Carr.And I gave ear to him as if he wereA heavenly spirit! To his lying wordsMy soul did ope, as to the dew from heavenDoth Sharon's lily. He a ghastly soreDoth show, and not the treasures undefiledOf a pure heart!Rochester. Of a pure heart! My quatrain! that, a sore!Carr [with increasing excitement.A frightful, bleeding sore, wherein one seesEpiscopacy, popery and schism,And love and lust! an ulcer past all cure,Where Moloch-Cupid doth with AshtorethDischarge his ordure!Rochester. Discharge his ordure! Pardon, my good sir,Egeria it is, not Ashtoreth.Carr.Thy mouth spits venom wherewithal my soulPolluted is. Away, all ye who doIniquity and fornication—go!My bones you wither even to their marrow!Nathless the saints will triumph! Your curst raceWill never bend them like the slender reed;And when the mighty waters burst their banksThey will not reach their feet!Rochester. They will not reach their feet! Thou dotest, sirrah

What purpose, then, would your long boots subserve?If it rain not on you, why these broad brims?Carr [bitterly.]Such words befit a son of Zerviah!

Ay, ay! a magus he! a man-faced sphinx!In Sodom fashion costumed and adorned!Satan not otherwise his doublet wears.So does he strut and swagger, with laced cuffs,And hides his cloven foot, lest it be seen,With silken stockings and rosetted shoes,And knots his garter well above the knee!These rings and gawds, to Vishnu consecrate,Are of the idol Nabo amulets;And, to the end that Hell itself may laughAt all his splendour, shameless he displaysBehind his ear the love-lock odious!Ormond.Fools, both!Carr [in a frenzy of passion.Fools, both! Nay, nay, these be no saints!Rochester [laughing.] Nay, nay, these be no saints! Hast done?Carr.A club of demons, this, a sabbath-feastOf papists! They are Cavaliers! I go!Rochester.Farewell!Carr. Farewell! My feet do walk on burning coals!

Joyce [stopping Carr.]How now! Wouldst go when we have but arrived?Carr.Enter not Nineveh! Joyce, thou art deceived.Hence, from this spot accursèd! Harrison,Barebones! these men are Cavaliers, not saints!—Joyce [to Carr.] Treason! But, my old Carr, these CavaliersAre with us. We must needs their arms employIn lack of others. They are our allies.Carr.Death to the royal party! With the sonsOf Belial I make no alliance, none!Joyce [to Overton.]As simple-minded as of old.As simple-minded as of old. [To Carr.] Come, stay!Carr [with a gloomy air of resignation.Ay, to protect you from their blighting touch.

Ormond [to Davenant, in an undertone.That poltroon Lambert is behind his time.

He must have seen the scaffold in his dreams.Rochester [to the other two, in an undertone.Our friends, the saints, wear a forbidding mien!We are but three, and by St. Paul! their forceIs most disquieting.—[He looks toward the door.Is most disquieting.—Aha! but hereAre reinforcements come: Lord Rosebery,Clifford—and Sedley—and Lord Drogheda.—Ormond [rising.]And th' illustrious Jenkins, whom the tyrant lists,The while he doth his virtue persecuteBecause he fears it.

Rosebery [gaily.]Because he fears it. Rochester! Lord Ormond!And Davenant! how hot it is, my lords!Carr [in a corner, aside.Lord Ormond! Rochester!Ormond [to Lord Rosebery, in an undertone and with a displeased expression.Lord Ormond! Rochester! Speak not so loud.Rosebery [glancing askance at the Roundheads, in an undertone.Ah! I saw not yon crows.Ormond [in an undertone.] Ah! I saw not yon crows. Beware, my lord,Lest you be food for them some day!

Clifford [gaily.] Lest you be food for them some day! How, now!The tables overturned so soon! I' faith!So you've begun!—And but two mugs for three IWho fasts among you?—Let us mend this fault.

I'm thirsty, ay, and hungry.Carr [wrathfully, aside.] I'm thirsty, ay, and hungry. They have mouthsTo gnaw withal—no more! Hunger and thirst!The heathen! 'tis their never-ending hymn.They're shrouded in their carnal appetites!

Ormond.Sir Richard Willis!

Sir Richard Willis [to the Cavaliers.Sir Richard Willis! For an instant freedFrom durance, doth old Richard drag himselfTo you, dear friends. A poor, weak man, alas!And from the persecutions suffering stillWhich weigh upon my life. My eyes have grownUnwonted to the light, so constantlyDoth Cromwell meditate to harass me!Ormond.My poor old friend!

Willis. My poor old friend! But do not pity me,If, step by step, brought almost to the tomb,My branded arm, inflamed with holy zeal,Doth help to raise again the lawful throne;Or if it be God's will that all that's leftOf my old blood, while I proclaim my faith,Shall flow for my true King!Ormond. Shall flow for my true King! O loyaltySublime!Rochester. Sublime! Most reverend fidelity!Willis.Among you I the lowliest am, my lords.My sole good fortune is that I have beenThe most maltreated servant of the King.Doctor Jenkins.How fruitful are your virtuous qualitiesOf honourable deeds to emulate!Willis [with a deprecatory gesture.Here are our Roundheads; whom do we await?Ormond.Lambert is missing still. Cowards are slow.Rochester [to Rosebery and Clifford, drinking.How stiff and formal are these saints of ours,All with their broad-brimmed felts like yew-trees shaped!Willis [to Lord Ormond.Who are these sectaries?Ormond. Who are these sectaries? The two who standTogether yonder, Ludlow and Plinlimmon,Members of Parliament; then Carr, who dothWith glance of hate and terror follow us;"Damned" Barebones, the inspired cordwainer.Willis.Who is this Barebones?Davenant [to Sir Richard, in an undertone.]Ah! he is unique.

A foe to tyranny, upholstererTo Cromwell, leather-maker to our saints,He feeds, as at two cribs, at those two shrines.Murder and feast, both doth he furnish forth.His voice proscribes the head of Cromwell crowned,And he supplies the decorations ofThe crowning. Worthy man, his efforts allDevoting to this twofold end to-day,He works, while praising God, for Satan's pomp.A zealous tradesman and fanatic saint,The bigot sells to Noll, to whom he lendsHis credit, the same throne that he doth curse,At the best price he can.Willis. At the best price he can. Was not his brotherThe Speaker of the Commons House?Davenant. The Speaker of the Commons House? He was,In the late Parliament, whereof this manHimself was one.Willis [to Lord Ormond.] Himself… The others—who are they?Ormond.Regicide Harrison, and OvertonAnd Garland regicides.Clifford. And Garland regicides. Can some one sayWhich of the three is Satan?Ormond. Which of the three is Satan? Peace, my lord!'Tis Joyce, kidnapper of the King, who speaks.Rosebery.Detested breed!Rochester. Detested breed! What pleasure it would beTo pick a quarrel with yon Roundhead cursWho outrage God! How gladly I would makeTheir heads more round, by cutting off their ears!And what a pleasant pastime to attackThe precious rascals—were they not our friends!

Ormond.Lambert, at last!Carr [aside.] Lambert, at last! A monstrous mystery!Lambert.Hail to the old friends of old England! hail!Ormond [to his friends.The time draws near to venture the great stroke.Let us conclude th' alliance and matureOur plans.[He walks toward Lambert, who comes forward to meet him:Our plans. Christ crucified—Lambert. Our plans. Christ crucified—To save mankind!—We are prepared.Ormond. We are prepared. I have at my commandThree hundred gentlemen, the leaders, these.When do we smite th' accursèd one?Lambert. When do we smite th' accursèd one? When heIs king.Ormond. Is king. To-morrow.Lambert. Is king. To-morrow. Let us strike to-morrow.Ormond.Agreed.Lambert. Agreed. Agreed.Ormond. Agreed. Agreed. The hour?Lambert. Agreed. Agreed. The hour? High noon.Ormond. Agreed. Agreed. The hour? High noon. The place?Lambert.Westminster Hall itself.Ormond. Westminster Hall itself. Allies!Lambert. Westminster Hall itself. Allies! And friends![They shake hands for an instant.[Aside.] The crown is mine! When you have served my ends

To my content, the scaffold of Lord CapelIs not so rotten that it will not holdA block for your head, too!Ormond [aside.] A block for your head, too! He thinks that heIs destined for the throne, and even nowHis gibbet's making ready![A pause.Lambert [aside.] His gibbet's making ready! Well, 'tis done,And I am compromised! They've chosen meTo lead them!—Why did I agree? What odds?I must go on. My fear is most absurd;Besides, who knows, in sooth, where one may go,When one draws back. I'll speak to them.

When one draws back. I'll speak to them. My friends,It hath of late been given us to know,That, in despite of our contemnèd rights,A man who doth himself Protector callOf England would assume unto himselfThe old hereditary royal title.Wherefore we come to you and summon youTo say if it be meet that we chastiseThis upstart pride, and if 'tis your desire,Avenging by your swords our ancient franchise,Abolished or usurped, to doom to death,Without or grace or pardon, OliverCromwell of County Huntingdon? Now, speak,All [except Carr and Harrison.Let Cromwell die!

The Roundheads. Let Cromwell die! Let us annihilateThe traitor!The Cavaliers. The traitor! Let us smite the vile usurper!Overton.No king!Lambert. No king! No master!Harrison. No king! No master! Brethren, by your leave,I will set forth a scruple, with respect.To my mind our base-born oppressor seemsAn instrument of heaven: although he beA tyrant, he an Independent isAt heart, and mayhap he 's the man proclaimedBy Daniel in his prophecy: "The saintsShall seize the kingdom of the world and shallPossess it."Ludlow. Possess it. Ay, so runs the text. NathlessThe prophet, General, doth reassureYour mind, for that same Daniel elsewhere says:"The kingdom to the people of the saintsShall for my plans be given."—Hence 'tis clearThat none must take it ere 'tis given him.Joyce.And then we are "the people of the saints"!Harrison.I bow to your great wisdom. But the whileI do avow myself o'ermatched, nathlessI am not, Ludlow, fully satisfiedThat these texts have the sense you give to them;And I would fain confer with you one dayUpon these themes, forbid to the profane.Some pious friends we may convoke, thereonTo hold deliberation; with their lightsThey will assist our feeble intellects.Ludlow.With all my heart. On Friday, if you please.[Harrison bows in token of assent.Lambert [aside, as if absorbed in his thoughts.

In truth, 'twas most bold that I said to them!

Yon are three new conspirators. Their armsAre wroth that they have come a little lateTo labor in the vineyard; but these menMake proffer of themselves, for well they knowThat it is written: "The same wage to all."Lambert [sighing.]Bid them approach.[The group comes forward toward Lambert.Bid them approach. What are your names, my brothers?One of the Three."Whatever-those-opposed-to-you-may-plot-Against-you-Praise-God" Pimpleton.Another. Against-you-Praise-God" Pimpleton. And mine,Is "Death-to-Sinners" Palmer.The Third. Is "Death-to-Sinners" Palmer I am called"Live-to-be-born-again" Jeroboam d'Emer.Rochester [to Lord Rosebery, in an undertone.What say they?Rosebery [in the same tone.] What say… They've a custom most absurdOf twining Bible verses with their names.Lambert [holding an open Bible in his hand.You swear—Pimpleton. You swear—We, swear?Palmer. You swear—We, swear? Away from us all oaths!Jeroboam d'Emer.Hell alone hears them, ay, and hell confutes them.Pimpleton.From heathen blasphemies may faith deliver us!Lambert.You promise, then—hands on the holy book—[He hesitates.] To strike down Cromwell?

All Three [placing their hands on the Bible.] To strike… Ay.Lambert [in a louder voice.] To strike… Ay. To lend us aid,To hold your peace, and act?All Three. To hold your peace, and act? We promise, ay.Lambert.Be welcome![The three conspirators join the other Puritans.Overton [to Lambert, in an undertone.Be welcome! All goes well as well can be,Courage!Lambert [aside.Courage! To-morrow I shall have, past doubt,A crown the more, or else a head the less!Overton [pointing to the conspirators.Look you—what store of friends!Lambert [aside.] Look you—what store of friends! Of witnesses!Syndercomb [in the group of conspirators.Death to Cromwell!Carr [to the Roundheads.Death to Cromwell! My brethren, when your swordsHave struck down Cromwell, wakened from his dream,That Baal o'erthrown, whom men kneel to adore,What after will you do?Ludlow [pensively.] What after will you do? Ay, what, in sooth?Ormond [aside.]I know.Lambert [embarrassed.] I know. A council we will then create,Of ten at most.Of ten at… [Aside.] Which but one head shall have.Harrison [hastily.] Ten members, General! 'Tis far too few!Say seventy, the number consecrate,As in the Sanhedrim.Carr. As in the Sanhedrim. The lawful powerIs the Long Parliament, dispersed by crime.

Joyce.A council formed of officers, say I.Harrison [growing excited.]To govern there must needs be seventy!Barebones.For England no salvation may there be,So long as we shall not all things ordainAccording to the Bible, and requireTradesmen, for honest profits, to employThe weights and measures of the sanctuary,The sacred numbers, too, and therewithal,For Zion leaving Egypt and Chaldæa,Fathoms for cubits, palms for feet exchange.Garland.'Tis spoken sensibly.Joyce. 'Tis spoken sensibly. Is Barebones mad?A mole, who nothing sees outside his hole!Pray, does he take his counter for a throne,His yardstick for a sceptre, and his capFor a tiara?Plinlimmon [to Joyce, indicating Barebones.For a tiara? Do not jest. Full oftThe spirit doth inspire him.The spirit doth … [To Barebones.] My friend,I do approve thy words.Barebones [puffing himself out.I do approve thy words. That nought be doneBy halves, 'tis fitting that in every shireWe take the foremost men—Joyce [sneeringly.] We take the fore… Ay, the cordwainers!Barebones [to Joyce, bitterly.]Thanks, friend! 'twas said most courteously, in sooth!But you yourself, good Master Cornet Joyce,Ere you became an officer and scoffer,Wert not a tailor?[Joyce makes an angry gesture. Barebones continues.Wert not a tailor? I, whom men esteem

Among the City's notables—[Joyce shakes his fist at him and makes as if to throw himself upon him.Overton [stepping between them.] Among the … Fie! fie!Rosebery [to the Puritans.My friends, the tables of the law, the lawOf the twelve tables—[The Puritans pause and listen.Carr. Of the twelve tables— What is coming now?Rosebery.Doth not ordain that we should die of thirstOr hunger. For my part, I cast my voteFor a good meal; our stomachs empty are.

Carr [gazing at the Cavaliers as they fall to eating.How greedily these demons gorge themselvesWith flesh and wine!Barebones. With flesh and wine! The heathen!Carr [to the Puritans.] With flesh and wine!… List to meEre you go further: are you well assuredThat Cromwell thinks to make himself the king?Overton.Too well assured! A servile ParliamentTo-morrow will his base-born head bedeckWith that forbidden title.All [except Carr.] With that forbidden… Death to him!Harrison.But I cannot conceive what whim impelsCromwell to venture on this monstrous step.He must be mad indeed to crave the throne.Of all the Crown estates nought now remains.Windsor's dismantled, Woodstock is destroyed,And Hampton Court is sold for the behoofOf Cromwell's treasury.Lambert [to Overton.] Of Cromwell's… The doting thief!Who sees in the supreme authority

Nought save the rubies in the diadem;And in the throne, the goal of Cromwell's labours,So many ells of velvet to be soldTo the old-clothes man! By a thirst for goldConsumed, which nought assuages, HarrisonValues the sceptre as a goldsmith might;And if a crown should tempt his itching palm,He'd not usurp it, but would pilfer it.Barebones [in an ecstatic reverie.Ah! wherefore, in these days of misery,Doth God on high of Jacob's lion makeA wretched scapegoat? Oliver bedightIn robes of honour at the Lord's right handSeemed aye to walk; e'en as the ripened grainHe was, and wore th' invulnerable mailOf Judah; when to their bedazzled eyesHe but appeared, the Philistines took flight,Crying: "'Tis he!" He was, O Israel,The pillow of thy bed! but in thy mouthThat honey to foul poison is transformed;He has turned Tyrian, and Edom's sonsAt thee abandoned laugh tumultuously!The Amorites were all athrob with joy,To see a demon drive him them toward;Inflamed by Abishag, he fain would beA king as David was,—but may his fateBe that of Agag!Syndercomb. Be that of Agag! Let th' usurper die!Lambert.He hath o'erfilled the measure of his crimes.Drogheda.Still smokes Drogheda with his victims' blood.Jeroboam d'Emer.His heart doth to Gomorrha's children turn,And Tyre's.

Ormond. And Tyre's. With the royal martyr's bloodHis hands are wet.Harrison. His hands are wet. Regardless of our rightsWon by so many wars, he doth restoreThe Cavaliers their forfeited estates.Palmer.At the lewd feast which, in the City's name,Was given him last night by the Lord Mayor,He was saluted. He received the sword,Then gave it back.Lambert. Then gave it back. Ah! these be kingly airs!Joyce.England is lost!Jenkins. England is lost! Taxes he doth impose,He sits in judgment, and, without appeal,Absolves or convicts.Willis. Absolves or convicts. 'Twas at his behestThat Hamilton, Lord Capell and Lord HollandWere done to death; they were this tiger's prey.Barebones.Doublets of silk he shamelessly doth wear!Overton.To all of us he hath denied our due.Bradshaw is exiled.Rochester. Bradshaw is exiled. Bradshaw is not hanged!Pimpleton.In scorn of Holy Writ he toleratesThe rites of popery and prelacy.Davenant.Of Westminster he hath profaned the tombs!Ludlow.He bade them bury Ireton by torch-light!The Cavaliers.The sacrilegious knave!The Roundheads. The sacrilegious knave! Idolater!Joyce.No, no! my friends; no mercy!Syndercomb [drawing his dagger.] No, no!… Let him die!All [waving their daggers.Let us destroy the tyrant and his brood!

Ormond [walking toward the door.Who's there?Lambert [aside.] Who… The deuce!A Voice [without.] Who's there… A friend.Ormond. Who's … A friend. What wouldst thou have?The Voice.By heaven! A friend, I tell you! Let me in!Ormond.Thy name?The Voice. Thy name? Is Richard Cromwell.All the Conspirators. Thy name? Is Richard Cromwell. Richard Cromwell!Ormond.The son of the Protector!Lambert. The son of the Protector! The whole plotIs known.Rosebery. We needs must open.[He opens the door.—Enter Richard Cromwell.

Richard Cromwell. We needs must open. By my soul!Saw over one so tightly barred a lair?Nay, ne'er was stronghold held beneath such guard!But for your friendly voices, RoseberyAnd Clifford, which above the uproar roseOf cups and tables, your poor Richard wouldHave turned away.[He salutes the conspirators.Have turned away. Good even, gentlemen!Whose was the health you drank? Permit me, pray,

To join in the good wishes you expressed.Clifford [embarrassed.]Dear Richard—we were saying—Rochester [laughing.] Dear Richard—we were… Heaven bless you!Richard.How now! You spoke of me? You are too kind!Barebones [aside.]May hell quench its hot embers in thy flesh!Richard.I do not importune you?Rosebery [stammering.] I do not imp… You?—nay, nay!—Far from it!—We are overjoyed.—Come youTo talk with us of some affair of state?Richard.I come for the same cause that brings you hither.Carr [aside.]Can he be of the plot?Willis [aside.] Can he be of the… What! Richard, too!Richard [raising his voice.]Ah! Messieurs Sedley, Clifford, Rosebery,I do impeach you here of felony!Rosebery [in terror.What does he say?Clifford [in great perturbation.] What… Dear Richard!—What does he say? Dear… [Aside.] He knows all!Sedley [in an agony of fear.I swear to you—Richard. I swear to you— Pray hear me to the end,Then justify yourselves, if that may be.Rosebery [to the others, in an undertone.We are discovered!Downie. We are discovered! Ay, 'tis evident!Richard.'Tis nigh ten years that we have been good friends;Balls, hunting-parties, pleasures of all sorts,Permitted or forbidden, hithertoWe've shared them all—our sorrows and our joys,

Our purses, ay, and e'en our mistresses!Your dogs were mine,—and you my falcons flew;We passed the night 'neath the same balconies;Although the name I bear doth me enrollIn the opposing party, I have livedFraternally with you. But none the less,Despite this brotherly accord, you haveA secret from your Richard! ay, and suchA secret, too!Rosebery. A secret, too! All's lost! What's to be said?Richard.Question your hearts.—Could I have foreseen this?'Tis infamous!Sedley. 'Tis infamous! Dear Richard, on my word—Richard.Ay, seek excuses! Tell me, have I notIn countless ways served you most faithfully?Who was your refuge, in your dire distress,Against the usurers, more deadly foesThan any Roundhead? Tell me, Clifford, you,For whom did I but yesterday repayFour hundred nobles to the Jew Manasseh?Clifford [covered with confusion.I cannot say you nay. The accursèd Jew—Richard.And Downie! even though thy family,Already banished, was by ParliamentAttainted, who became thy suretyWhen thou wert taken into custody?Downie [with embarrassment.'Twas thou.Richard. 'Twas thou. And, Rosebery, whose influenceCaused to be held in prison as a libeller,During a certain night, thy charmer's spouse?Rochester [to Davenant, in an undertone.I' faith, he seems a well-intentioned fellow!Barebones [to Carr, in an undertone.

The shameless Herod! who doth lend the cloakOf power to shield the wicked schemes of lust!Rochester [to Davenant.]His way of making widows I admire.Rosebery [to Richard.]Yes, of your friendship I had touching proofs.But—Richard [folding his arms across his breast.But— And that friendship on my part unmeet,You all reciprocate—by treason base!Lambert [aside.]By treason!Clifford. By treason! What! by treason!Sedley. By treason! What! by treason! God in heav'n!Carr [in amazement.What mean they?Richard [with great animation.What mean they? Ay, to this place you have comeTo drink without me!Rosebery. To drink without me! Ah! I breathe again![To the other Cavaliers, in an undertone.The purpose of the meeting 'scapes his eye:He saw the cups, the daggers he saw not.[To Richard.]Believe me, my dear Richard—Richard. Believe me, my dear Richard Yes, I say,It is high treason! As I live and breathe,Such action on your part doth grieve me sore.What! you get tipsy, and say nought to me?What have I done? Pray, am I not, like you,A ne'er-do-well? Drink without me? Fie! fie!For I can hold my peace. I understandThat, to befool the cunning Puritans,You hide yourselves beneath these broad-brimmed hats,And ample cloaks. But do you hide from me,Who, in this sanctuary, was first of all

To ridicule the sumptuary laws,And the glum Solons whose oppressive actsTax at three shillings every English head?Is this, I pray to know, good comradeship?Did I e'er shrink from your mad escapades?Have I been seen less often than of yore,Despite the recent laws, at cocking-mainsAnd horse-races? In fine have I not matchedIn every point your reckless hardihood,And played with you in all your comedies?Barebones [aside, wrathfully.The Sadducee!Richard. The Sadducee! Duels and merry-makingsAnd sinful pranks have found me ever fain;—What blame you in me?Clifford. What blame you in me? Your good qualities,Whereof the merit is notorious,Are dear to us.Richard. Are dear to us. But no. It well may beThat I do think too highly of myself.Our eyes too often miss our own shortcomings,And only our own better side we see.Have I offended?Sedley. Have I offended? Nay.Richard. Have I offended? Nay. It likes me muchTo be informed.Rosebery. To be informed. Richard!Richard. To be informed. Richard! I make no doubtThat you do me the justice to believeThat I detest these cursed Puritans,As you do?Barebones. As you do? What? As we do?Richard. As you do? What? As we do? So I say.How tolerate those stupid sectaries,Who mar the sacred books with commentaries

Reeking with blood; who, aye on murder bent,Aye praising God, preach sermons without end,Then cheat at cards!Carr [between his teeth.Then cheat at cards! The saints at cards! Thou liest,Child of Herodias!Richard. Child of Herodias! I thought, like them,To launch a jeremiad at your heads.But let us say no more of that.—My friends,To prove to you how little fear I haveOf being compromised with you, how farMy prayers accord with yours, and how I loveThe cause whereon all your desires are fixed,—[He fills a glass and puts it to his lips.I drink the health of Charles, our lawful King!All the Conspirators [thunderstruck.The King!Richard [surprised.]We are alone. Why this dismay?Carr [aside.]I had divined that Israel was deceived.'Tis with the Stuarts that this serpent's lairDoth most concern itself.—But we shall see.Willis [aside.]'Tis Cromwell's son! But if he's of the plot,He's most imprudent.

A Loud Voice Without.What, ho! the tavern open, in the nameOf Parliament![A movement of alarm among the conspirators.Rochester [to Davenant.Of Parliament! Egad! we're fairly caughtHere in our cave, like Cacus!

Lambert [to Joyce, in an undertone.Here in our cave, like Cacus! Cromwell sendsMen hither to arrest us!Joyce [in an undertone.] Men hither… He knows all!This time we may not doubt it.Overton [in an undertone.] This time we… Even so,We'll hew ourselves a passage with our swords.Lambert [in an undertone.And then what should we do? Doubtless the squareIs by his troopers held.[Another blast of the trumpet.Richard [glass in hand.] Is by his… The devil take you!At such a time as this to harass us!The Voice Without.In the name of Parliament, open the door!Barebones.Let us obey. [He goes to the door.Lambert [aside.] Let us… My head upon my neckDoth sit unsteadily, about to fall!

The Crier [after a blast on his trumpet.Silence! Let all give ear to what's to come.—Hum!—"By his Highness"—Harrison [to Garland, in an undertone.Hum!—"By his Highness" Majesty, ere long!The Crier."Oliver Cromwell, of this English landThe Lord Protector, to all subjects true,Civil and military, doth proclaim"—Overton [to Ludlow, in an undertone.Ah! the word "subject" has returned, meseems!The Crier."That, to the end that God's will may be known,Touching the motion in the Commons madeBy the honourable member, Alderman Pack, ,That the said Lord Protector be named King"—Ludlow [to Overton, in an undertone.Good! the usurper hath cast off his mask!The Crier."And, more than all, to save this most discreetAnd learned people from the ills presagedBy the eclipse; and that Almighty GodMay show himself a clement God to all,—The Commons of the English Parliament,Counselled by learned men whom all revere,Have voted an extraordinary fast;Enjoining thereupon all citizensTheir errors, sins and crimes to scrutinize."—'Tis said!A Poursuivant. 'Tis said! Amen!The Crier. 'Tis said! Amen! God bless the English people!The Chief of the Archers.Hereon, considering the aforesaid act,We now enjoin upon all inn-keepersAind them who deal in food and drink, to closeUpon the instant shops and taverns, too;

Lewd places, where th' observance of the fastWould slighted be.Lambert [aside.] Would sligh… Good! once again I'm quitFor the mere fright![To the Puritan conspirators, in an undertone.For the mere fright! Until to-morrow. Now,Methinks, 'tis time to part.Garland [in an undertone.] Methinks,… Where shall we meet?Barebones [in an undertone.In the great hall at Westminster. To-morrow.Before the fatal hour shall sound his knell,To his unholy throne, by me prepared,I, Noll's upholsterer, will introduce you.

Overton.'Tis well. Now let us part, in silence all,But openly.Crier and Poursuivants. But openly. God bless the English people.The Puritan Conspirators [under their breath.And death to Cromwell!

[Exeunt the Puritans.

And death to Cromwell! Bah! 'tis tiresomeTo be thus hunted in a joyous feast!'Tis plain my father is no longer young.For my part, I would have no throne on earth,At cost of a fast-day.

[Exit with the Cavaliers.